#ren.fics

[seungkw1]

vinyl, punk rock, and a little bit of love — yjh

💿🎧 playlist

PAIRING: campus DJ!jeonghan x f!reader GENRE: friends to lovers, college au, 2000s au WC: 16,816 WARNINGS: weed/alcohol consumption, discussion of mental illness, bit o jealousy, angst, idiots in love, semi-public sex but like barely, dry humping, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms, petnames (baby), cum swallowing, lots of whimpering u already know!!!!!, jun cameo and he's real weird again!! (/pos), i made up a bunch of terrible fake band names enjoy A/N: written for @studiosvt's First Time Caller collab! be sure to check out all the other banger fics on the masterlist! i had a blast writing this, loser emo boi jeonghan was not something i knew i needed but i fear i am now in love with him. btw, this fic is set in 2003! peak era for this genre of music if u ask me :) shoutout to the homie @haologram for beta reading, u da best fr ily <3

SYNOPSIS: You met Jeonghan freshman year of college — he seemed a bit strange at first, shy and a bit elusive, but you two instantly became friends when you bonded over your love of alternative music and record stores. You wouldn't necessarily call him your best friend, but as friendships and relationships came and went over the years, Jeonghan was always a constant in your life. It's junior year now, and you're trying to convince him to apply for the open DJ position at the campus radio station. WFVC 90.5 is known for being the hotspot for underground punk music, and with Jeonghan majoring in communications studies you know it's the perfect role for him. He gets the job, and you figure you'd be seeing a lot less of him now that he's busy working the late night shift at the station. But it's quite the opposite — you're spending more time with Jeonghan than ever before, and you start to realize there might be something more than friendship on the horizon for you two.

[ONE]

Filtered sunlight beaming through the treetops hits your eyes as you step out into the quad, making you squint in the sudden brightness that starkly contrasts the dim interior of the Literature Hall you were just in. The air is crisp — not yet chilly, but fresh and invigorating, a tell-tale sign of fall being right around the corner. The quad is buzzing with life, students chattering as they stroll to class, bikes zipping past you on the sidewalk, every bench and shaded spot under a tree occupied with people laughing, reading, relaxing. You leisurely make your way over to your usual spot, but as you approach the small oak near the Communications Building you see two girls you don't recognize sitting in the grass beneath its low branches. Puzzled, you look around, but then you spot a familiar lanky figure standing outside the Comms building. His back is turned to you, so all you can see is the mess of long dark hair upon his head, but the baggy flannel shirt and the black backpack adorned with various pins and patches slung over one shoulder are a dead giveaway. As you head in his direction, you see he appears to be staring straight ahead at a lamppost.

"Hey dork, I was looking for you," you call out playfully as you walk toward him, but he doesn't seem to hear you. Getting closer, you spot the pair of headphones on his head, the wire plugged into the portable CD player in his hand — the loud, raucous sounds of Linkin Park blaring in his ears tinnily resonating through the air from halfway across the sidewalk. When you get within arm's reach you tug on the handle of his backpack. He nearly jumps out of his skin, whipping around and yanking the headphones off his head with a startled expression on his face. When he sees it's you, he relaxes, but not without majorly rolling his eyes.

"Jesus, you fucking scared me," he sighs. He lifts the CD player in his hand and pauses the song, the banging melody ringing through the foam-covered headphones ceasing.

"Sorry," you apologize, but a wide grin spreads on your face. "I didn't think you'd react that much. What are you doing, anyway?" you ask, looking over to the lamppost.

"Nothing," he says quickly, but a flier with bold text catches your eye.

Do you like punk music? Do you like radio? WFVC 90.5 is HIRING for a DJ position! No experience necessary, Communications majors preferred. APPLY NOW at the station (Comms Building 2nd Floor)

"Oh my god, Jeonghan this is perfect!" you exclaim, but your friend shakes his head.

"I was just looking."

"Dude, you HAVE to apply. This is literally your dream job!"

Jeonghan frowns. "I doubt they would hire me."

"What the hell are you talking about? You're exactly the person they're looking for," you tell him. And it's true — Foxville College's singular radio station may be a local joint, but it's famous across all of Wisconsin for being the station for underground grunge, punk, and alternative rock. You've been listening to it since you were a kid, and its where your love of the genres originated. Jeonghan happens to share the exact same music taste — it's how you became friends in the first place back in Freshman year.

"Hey!" Jeonghan calls after you as you both exit the same building. You had just came from the same class, Intro to Poetry, but it's the very first day of school, so he doesn't know your name. But he saw your notebook fall out of your half-open backpack, and you didn't notice it.

He picks up the small, black leather notebook and quickly zips after you. "Excuse me," he tries again, but you're wearing headphones. Your music is loud, and familiar. He taps on your shoulder, startling you slightly.

"Hi, sorry," Jeonghan tells you as you turn to face him, shifting the headphones off one ear so you can hear. "You dropped this." You look at his hands as he extends the notebook to you.

"Oh! That is mine," you remark, taking your headphones off fully now and pausing your music.

"Yeah, your backpack was open."

You look over your shoulder, and sure enough, the bag is half-unzipped.

"Whoops," you tell him with a lighthearted laugh, taking the notebook and putting it back in the bag, making sure to close it all the way this time. "Well, thank you, I appreciate it," you say with a friendly smile. You go to put your headphones back on and walk away, but before you can do so he points at your portable CD player.

"Are you listening to Green Day?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah! I am!" you reply excitedly. "It's the Dookie album, one of my faves."

"That album is so good," he agrees with a smile. "I don't mean this in a rude way or anything," he says shyly. "But you I wouldn't have guessed you'd be into punk music."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," you say with a laugh. "I don't particularly dress very edgy or anything. Maybe I should start dressing the part."

"Wear whatever you want," he responds with a shrug. "The most punk rock thing you can do is be yourself."

"That's very true," you grin back at him. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"I'm Jeonghan," he replies with a soft smile. "It's nice to meet you."

And so you and Jeonghan quickly became friends. He's a pretty quiet guy, very much the opposite of your bubbly, sociable self; but despite your differences you get along well. He's also pretty much the only person you know who likes the same type of music as you, so you definitely share a close bond over that.

"Besides," you say to Jeonghan. "You really should get a job anyway."

"Hey!" he pouts. "Are you calling me broke?"

"Yes. Because you are."

The left corner of his mouth lifts slightly, giving you a half-grin. "So are you, moron."

You playfully give him a light punch in the arm. "Takes one to know one."

"I'll think about it," he concedes.

"You better. If not then I'll submit the application for you."

"Pretty sure that's not allowed," he replies, raising a brow at you.

"Like that's gonna stop me," you inform him.

"Unfortunately, I believe that," he chuckles, rolling his eyes again. "Anyway, c'mon," he says to as he starts walking off. "I have a surprise for you."

"Oh god, what have you done now?" you pretend to complain as you follow after him.

"No no, you're gonna like this one," he grins. "I promise."

"Okay, well now I know where we're going," you say as Jeonghan turns onto Harton Street. The street boasts a Dead End sign, and it's path is winding. You can't see much past the trees, but you know there is only one reason to come down this way.

"I was here over the weekend," you inform him. "I don't need to buy anything else."

"Oh please, like you'd pass up the opportunity to get some new vinyl," he grins.

"Dude, I'm already living off ramen."

"Just trust me."

"Okaaay," you reply, feigning skepticism. "If you say so."

The tires of Jeonghan's 1991 Mercury Tracer crunch as he turns off the main road onto a white gravel drive. A humble building comes into view, its exterior painted pastel yellow with a giant sign reading TURNPIKE RECORDS in a large, swirling font that looks straight out of the 1970s. A neon sign resides in the window, flickering slightly but advertising that the shop is open. There's only one other car in the small lot: a pristine, hot red Chevy Camaro also straight out of the 70s, belonging to the shop's owner.

Jeonghan parks the car and the two of you head into the store. The front door squeaks as you open it, an assortment of small bronze bells hanging above the door ringing out to announce your entry. The familiar, slightly-musty scent of the used record store fills your nose as you walk down the three steps taking you to the shop floor. Aside from the natural light from the window, the place is pretty dim, lit mainly by a couple of bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling and a variety of glowing lava lamps of all shapes, sizes, and colors placed throughout the room. Nearly every inch of wall is covered in a hodge-podge of framed posters and photographs, giving the whole place a chaotic but vibrant feel. Without a doubt, this is your favorite spot in town.

"I wonder if they have the new Muse album yet," you comment, meandering through the empty shop over to the Rock section.

"Not yet," Jeonghan replies as he starts flipping through a nearby discount bin. "I checked already."

You hear a faint swoosh come from behind you. You turn around to see a tall, heavily-tattooed man carrying a large box emerging from the thick velvet curtain that leads to the back of the store — none other than the shop's owner, Tripp. He's in his mid-40s, bald except for a long goatee on his chin, and he has more earrings than you can even count.

"Hey hey, I thought I heard my favorite customers out here!" Tripp says cheerfully when he sees you and Jeonghan. He sets the box on top of the counter, brushing his hands off and coming out to greet you on the floor.

"Oh please, you say that to everyone," you grin at the man.

"Definitely not," he shakes his head. "Besides, between the both of you you guys are keeping me in business. Speaking of," he says as he suddenly snaps and points at you. "I got something for ya."

He quickly returns to the counter and retrieves something from the shelves beneath the register. He walks back to you and hands you an album, light gray in color. You flip it over, and your jaw drops. It's a Japanese edition of Led Zeppelin IV — your favorite album of all time.

"Your friend told me you've been looking for this one," he tells you, nodding his head in Jeonghan's direction. "He convinced me to set it aside for you."

"Wow, that's so nice thank you!!" you tell Tripp excitedly. "How much?"

"Don't worry about it. It's already paid for."

"What?!"

You look over at Jeonghan, but he just smiles back at you sheepishly.

"What the hell, thank you," you grin at him. "You did not have to do that though."

"Actually, I did," Jeonghan admits. "Tripp made me."

Tripp lets out a hearty laugh. "Well regardless, I'm glad it's in the hands of someone I know will really appreciate it."

"Let me pay you back," you say to Jeonghan as Tripp returns to restocking, but he just shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it, really," he tells you warmly.

"Okay, fine. But you're gonna come over and listen to this with me," you insist, poking him in the chest. "We can smoke and I'll order pizza."

Jeonghan's face lights up. "Sounds like a deal to me," he grins.

brrrrrrr

brrrrrrr

The dull trill of the phone rings in your ear as you wait for the call to connect. You've only hit the bong once, but your head already feels like you're floating in the clouds. You mindlessly twirl the cord around your index finger, and you're halfway zoned out by the time the other line picks up.

"Arthur's Pizzeria," a cheerful voice suddenly speaks into your ear. "How can I help you?"

"Yeah hi!" you blurt out in your mildly startled state. "Can I order one large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese for delivery?"

"You got it! What's the address?"

"22 Elmwood Street, Unit 201."

"Great! It'll be about 20 minutes."

With a click you set the handset back onto the hook, returning to the living room. Your roommate won't be back until later, so you two have the place to yourselves — perfect for getting high and lazing around without judgment. Jeonghan sits on the couch, sinking into the cushions already and staring off into space. It takes him a moment to register that you're back; when he notices you, he tries to sit up, but the effort required for it currently seems monumental.

"Pizza ordered?" he asks, peering at you through lazy eyelids.

"Yup," you reply as you plop onto the other end of the couch. "Be here in 20."

"Sweet," he grins. You reach for the bong, grabbing the lighter next to it and lighting a bit more of the bowl. After a decently fat rip and a few solid coughs, you extend it out to Jeonghan.

"Man, I'm so high already," he groans, but he takes the colorful swirled glass from your hand anyway. "Where'd you get this grass?"

"Got it from Joshua," you reply, lifting your feet up onto the couch and tucking them beside you.

"Oh," Jeonghan replies, giving you a look as he exhales a cloud of smoke and hands the bong back over.

"What's your deal with Joshua?" you question, raising your brow at him.

"What? Nothing," he says quickly. "We should open a window."

He gets to his feet and walks across the room, lifting the nearest window up as far as it will go. It's a nice evening — the crisp air from earlier has gotten cooler, but it feels delightful as it begins to drift into the apartment in the light breeze.

"I know you don't like him," you continue, not letting Jeonghan ignore your question. "But I've never known why."

"I never said I didn't like him," he denies, flopping back onto the couch.

"You didn't have to," you point out. "Your face says it all."

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. "Curse my expressive nature. Anyway, I dunno, he just always seems like he's trying to make a move on you."

"Oh, he's like that with everyone," you reply matter-of-factly.

"Right."

"He is," you affirm. "And besides, so what if he was?"

"Huh?" Jeonghan pipes up, seemingly surprised by your question. "Oh, I just mean… I just don't trust guys who are always talking to girls that. Seems sleazy."

"No, really," you reiterate. "He's like that with everyone."

"Okay," he concedes skeptically. "If you say so."

"Should we play some Zeppelin?" you ask, getting up to go grab the record. Jeonghan's face lights up.

"Fuck yeah," he grins.

You put the album on, the signature bold, heavy sounds of the band greeting your ears as you crank up the volume. As you sit there listening, you finish off the bowl with Jeonghan, the air of your apartment now completely overtaken by smoke despite the open window.

"When's that damn pizza gonna get here?" he mumbles, but before you can even respond you hear a knock coming from the front door.

"Whoa, you summoned it," you giggle, rising to your feet a bit too quickly and stumbling slightly on your way over to the door. You answer, having a quick conversation with the usual delivery boy before paying and scurrying back over to the couch, the heavenly smell of hot, greasy pepperoni pizza joining the weed aroma in the room. You don't even bother with plates, instead simply picking up the slices and shoveling them directly into your hungry mouths. The conversation remains paused for a few minutes; you zone out, letting yourself get lost in the music, but eventually your conversation with Jeonghan earlier pops back into your head.

"You really should apply to that DJ job," you say, turning to him, but he just shrugs.

"Eh, I don't think I'd get it."

"Not with that attitude you won't."

"You always say that," he rolls his eyes.

"It's true!" you insist. "Jeonghan, come on. This is basically your dream job, and you're literally the perfect guy for it. Just apply and see what happens!"

"Maybe, I dunno."

"Besides," you add. "You need the money to fund your poor spending habits."

"Hey!" he balks. "I do not have poor spending habits."

You pick up the vinyl sleeve, tapping the little yellow sticker on the cover with a messy $40 scribbled on it in black ink.

"Yeah, you do."

He groans, letting his head fall back into the couch. "You're so annoying," he says to you with a grin.

"Takes one to know one," you tease back. He grabs the nearest throw pillow, lobbing it at you and hitting you in the arm.

"Okay, I probably earned that," you admit with a laugh.

The current song ends, the gentle guitar strums of "Stairway to Heaven" filling your ears as the iconic song begins.

"Oh shit, shut up," you tell Jeonghan, launching the pillow right back at him. He jumps slightly as the unexpected pillow hits him in the chest with a soft thump. "I fucking love this song."

He is about to tell you that duh, everybody with a brain loves this song — but your eyes are closed already, bobbing your head slightly to the beat, clearly already lost in it; so he just shakes his head, chuckling silently to himself.

The both of you feel like you're drifting to a higher plane as the song progresses, fully immersed in the grand crescendo you've both heard so many times yet have never tired of. When it ends, your eyes flutter open again, finding Jeonghan fully sunk into the other end of the couch. You start to wonder if he actually fell asleep, but then he lifts his head, opening his eyes to look at you.

"You know how some people say a hot dog is a sandwich?" he asks. You stare at him for a moment, trying to comprehend in your inebriated state what it was he just said.

"Who the fuck says that?" you inquire once you finally process his question.

"I dunno. People."

"Stupid people, maybe."

"I mean, yeah," he agrees. "But like… do you think pizza is a sandwich?"

You stare at him for a moment. "What?"

"I don't know, it's got bread and cheese and meat and tomatoes, right? Those things go on sandwiches."

"You're high as shit, dumbass," you tell him.

"Okay, well watch this!" He reaches over to the pizza box and picks up a new slice. Turning to show it to you, he slowly folds it in half. "See? That's a sandwich!"

"Oh shut the fuck up," you reply, but you can't help but laugh.

Jeonghan munches on his pizza-sandwich while you reach for your stash, refilling the bowl and lighting up again. When he finishes, you hand the bong over.

"Not like either of us needs it, but whatever man," you say with a pleased grin.

With heavy, banging drum beats, the last song on the album begins to play. This one has always been Jeonghan's favorite, you recall despite being astronomically faded. You glance over at him, finding him staring out the open window into the now-dark night. Certainly not out of the ordinary, but something about him in this moment seems… sad, almost. He notices you watching him, but he seems to have become self-conscious, averting your gaze.

"What's on your mind?"

Jeonghan continues staring out the window, but he lets out a small sigh.

"Do you ever think about how big the universe is?" he asks. "And then it makes you realize how small and meaningless we really are?"

You pause for a minute, considering the gravity of his question.

"No, not really," you finally answer gently. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answers instinctively; but after thinking about it for a moment, he adds: "But sometimes I wonder if I'm not."

"In what way?"

"Just… the whole entire world feels impossibly huge, yet Earth is just a tiny pale blue dot compared to the whole galaxy. In the grand scheme of things, we're nothing. Nothing we do matters."

"I don't think that's true at all."

Jeonghan finally looks over to you, staring at you curiously.

"But how? How can anything have any meaning if we are so tiny?"

"I think that makes everything all that much more meaningful," you reply. "Like… the universe is so huge and vast and yet here we are, chillin' together, existing at just the right time to eat pizza and listen to Zepp. I just think that's a really nice thought."

"Hmm," he mumbles, opening his mouth to say something else — but his words never come. At this point he is so physically relaxed that he seems fused to the couch.

"You're fuckin' blasted, dude," you giggle, reaching over and shaking him playfully.

"Am nottttt," he pouts, but moments later he starts giggling too. "Okay, fine, I am. But, I guess I've just never thought of it that way before."

The album ends, the room falling silent. You get up, casually shuffling over to your ever-growing collection of records that is now taking up the entire corner of the small living room.

"What next?" you ask Jeonghan over your shoulder.

"Surprise me."

You peruse through your titles, not sure exactly what you're looking for; but then one catches your eye.

"Ooh, got it," you say with a grin. You replace the vinyl on the turntable and set the needle in position, the sounds of Dookie by Green Day playing aloud in the room, making Jeonghan smile too.

[TWO]

You stroll through the library, exiting the stacks to make your way to your next class. On your way out, you're surprised to spot Jeonghan, sitting alone at one of the tables. Unexpected — as he usually spends most of his free time out in the quad or in the Comms Building's study space; if he's in the library, it's usually just to take a nap. He has a book on the desk beside him, but it's closed, and he instead seems to be intensely focused on a piece of paper, brow furrowed and deep in thought. You walk over to him, but he doesn't notice you approaching. As you near the desk you can see the word APPLICATION in bold font at the top of the paper.

"Yay, you're doing it!!" you say to him as you appear beside him, shaking him by the shoulder excitedly and making him nearly fly out of his seat.

"Jesus Christ you have got to stop sneaking up on me!" he yelps quietly, but it still earns him a glare from a nearby librarian. She raises her finger to her lips, shushing the two of you before going back to re-shelving books. You sit down in the chair next to him, scooting in close enough so you can whisper.

"This is so exciting!" you tell him in a hushed voice, but he sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm not even sure if I'm gonna turn it in," he admits.

"What? Dude, you're halfway there, just finish and go turn it in!"

"I don't know," he frowns. "They're probably just gonna laugh at me."

You raise your brow at him. "Why on earth would you think they'd do that?"

"Most people do," he shrugs.

"Well, even if they do — which they won't — who cares?" you question. "Just follow your dreams, don't let other people get in the way."

The librarian turns around again, her displeased glare telling you you're still being too loud for her liking.

"C'mon," you say to Jeonghan. "Finish up your application and let's get out of here."

He quickly fills out the rest of the form and you ditch the library together. Jeonghan is done with classes for the day, but he accompanies you across the quad to your next class.

"What are you up to tonight?" he asks. He kicks a pebble along the sidewalk as he walks; you watch his dingy old converse scuff against the ground as he does, noticing the small hole forming in the toe of his right shoe.

"I'm getting dinner with Mark," you reply casually. You see his face drop slightly out of the corner of your eye.

"Basketball team Mark?"

"Yep! We have History of Feminist Literature together, though he's a Economics major so he's just taking it for an elective."

"Hm," Jeonghan says out loud without meaning to.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. You just hardly ever go on dates, that's all."

"Oh, it's not a date," you say plainly, but you see him roll his eyes. "It's not!!" you insist. "We're just friends."

"I doubt he sees it that way."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because dudes only think with their dicks."

"Are you speaking from experience?" you inquire teasingly.

"This is not about me," he mutters, looking mildly embarrassed as he avoids eye contact. Luckily for him, you've arrived at the Literature Hall, giving him an excuse to change the subject.

"Hope you have a good class," he tells you warmly.

"Thanks," you reply with a smile. "Now you go turn in that job application or I'm going to kick your ass."

"I will," he laughs.

"Pinky promise?" you ask, extending your hand. He chuckles, but he connects pinkies with you.

"I promise."

"Good!" you tell him with a grin. "See ya later!"

"See ya," he smiles back.

You unlock your front door quietly, trying not to make noise and wake up your roommate considering how late it is by now. But as you enter the apartment you see her sitting at the computer, back turned to you as she is absorbed in whatever is on the screen.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd still be up," you say as you shut the door and kick your shoes off.

"Oh hey," Mina replies as she turns around to greet you. She lifts her wrist to peer at her watch. "Damn, I didn't realize how late it was."

"What are you doing on the computer?" you inquire, walking over to the desk out of curiosity.

"It's this new MySpace website Irene told me about," she replies, turning back around and double-clicking on something. "It's so sick, I've been here all night making my profile."

"Oh yeah, I've heard of that," you tell her as you watch her scroll through her profile. "Seems pretty cool."

"You should make one!" she tells you. "I can add you to my Top 8 friends."

"Oh, maybe. I'm still getting used to this whole Internet thing, honestly," you laugh.

"Soooo," Mina starts, shutting down the computer and heading into the kitchen. "How was your date with Mark?"

"It wasn't a date," you tell her. "I don't know why everyone keeps saying that."

"Okay, whatever," she responds, browsing through the snack cabinet for a minute before deciding on the bag of Cheeto Puffs. "How was your not-date?"

"It was… good."

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"No, it was!" you assure her. "It's just that… I don't know, he kinda just talked about basketball the whole time."

"Ugh. Typical guy shit," Mina rolls her eyes.

"He's really nice, though…" you say, though you're not sure if you're trying to convince her or yourself more.

"Nice enough to go on a second date — sorry, not-date with?" she raises her brow at you.

"Well, I don't know about that…"

You sigh, feeling a bit dejected suddenly. It's not like you're trying to date or anything, but you can't deny that it would be kinda nice to have at least a little bit more success.

"Maybe I should just give up on dating," you grimace.

Mina pops another Cheeto in her mouth. "I mean, I don't know why you bother. You basically already have a BF."

"What?" you ask, puzzled. "No I don't?"

"C'mon, you're literally hanging out with what's-his-name all the time. The metalhead."

"Jeonghan?? He's not into metal."

"Okay, whatever noise it is you guys listen to."

"It's called punk, and it's cool."

"Riiight."

"Anyway, he's just my friend," you tell her. Her lips curve into a slight grin, and she gives you a look.

"Sure he is."

"I can be friends with dudes!"

"Dudes only think with their dicks," she retorts, echoing Jeonghan's exact words from earlier.

"He's not like that," you assure her.

"Well that's rare, if true. Maybe you should date him."

You roll your eyes, but you're tired. Mina means well, but you don't really feel like having this conversation right now. Luckily, she's already putting her snack away, and then heads off to her room.

"Anyway, I'm off to bed. Goodnight!"

You too head off to bed, but as you brush your teeth you start to think about what Mina said. What if Jeonghan does see me as more than a friend? you wonder to yourself. After all, he did say the exact same thing earlier, too. You don't think he meant it in that way, but now you're beginning to second-guess your intuition…

You go straight to bed, deciding not to think about it anymore tonight.

[THREE]

You have some time between classes, so you take up residence in your usual spot in the quad, sitting on the ground reclined against your usual tree. Fall is officially here now, and it's a bit cold out, but you're perfectly comfortable in your thick sweater and windbreaker. Out of the corner of your eye, you suddenly see something in the distance charging directly at you. Looking up from your book, you see Jeonghan, forgoing the sidewalks and sprinting across the grass straight toward you, waving and flailing his arms like a maniac.

"You look like a psychopath," you call to him as he approaches.

"I got it!!!"

"Got wha— wait, the DJ job?!" you perk up excitedly.

"YES!!"

He plops down on the ground next to you, out of breath from running, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.

"Holy shit, congrats!!" you tell him enthusiastically. "See, I told you you'd get it!"

"I can't believe I almost ripped up the application and threw it in the trash."

"Jeonghan!" you blurt out, hitting him playfully in the arm, but he just shakes his head and laughs.

"I didn't though! You made me pinky promise."

"This is amazing! When do you start?"

"Tonight, actually," he answers. "Unfortunately, I'm stuck on the late night shift since I'm a newbie — 10pm–4am."

"Oh, yikes," you reply concernedly, but he shrugs it off.

"It's fine," he smiles. "I don't sleep anyway."

"Damn, I guess I'm never gonna see you again," you say jokingly, but an unexpected wave of sadness washes over you as your own words sink in.

"No way," he shakes his head resolutely. "We're still gonna hang out. I'll find a way to make it happen."

A fluttering sensation hits your stomach. You hang out with Jeonghan all the time, so you're not sure why you'd have this reaction. But something about the way he said it — "I'll find a way"— feels… different. But, regardless, you're just glad you're still going to be able to see your friend.

"What are you doing until then?" you inquire.

"I was just gonna go grab a bite at the dining hall and then go nap in the library."

"Wanna go to Jacq's instead?" you ask. "My treat."

Jeonghan's face lights up. "Hell yeah," he grins. "That sounds like a way better idea."

The low hum of neon lights buzzes gently through the tune of the usual rotation of 1960s hits as you and Jeonghan sit in the corner booth, chatting and giggling over your meal. Jacqueline's Diner is an old-fashioned joint, and the majority of its clientele is over the age of 60 — but the food is cheap, greasy, and delicious, so the two of you are practically regulars. Jeonghan ordered his usual, chicken tenders and a Cherry Coke float; you opted for a grilled cheese and chocolate milkshake, and you ordered a basket of fries to share.

"You heard about this MySpace?" Jeonghan asks, dipping three large, salty fries in ketchup and shoving them all into his mouth at once.

"Oh yeah," you say, picking the maraschino cherry off the top of the whipped cream and eating it one bite. "Mina's on there, she told me about it. Seems pretty cool."

"I think it sounds lame," he shrugs indifferently.

"What? Why?"

"I dunno, the whole Top 8 friends is kinda weird. Just sounds like one big popularity contest if you ask me."

"Yeah, I guess so," you agree.

"Besides, I don't even have eight friends."

"Oh shut up," you retort. "That's not true!"

"It's okay," Jeonghan chuckles. "I'm just not the kind of guy who has a lot of friends."

"We'll I'd put you in my Top 8," you tell him, but he rolls his eyes. "It's true, I would!"

"C'mon, y/n," he laughs. "You have so many friends."

"Mmm, not really," you reply. "Not ones I hang out with on the regular, anyway. It's mostly you and Mina these days."

"Well, thanks for hanging out with me," he says sheepishly.

"You say that like it's a charity case," you tease him. "I hang out with you because I like you, moron."

Jeonghan says nothing, sipping on his float instead, but the big grin creeping across his face is undeniable.

"So," you ask after a bite of grilled cheese. "Are you excited?"

"For the job?"

"No, for Christmas," you reply jokingly. "Yes, the job!!"

"I guess so," he shrugs. "Mostly I'm just nervous."

"Why?"

"Because what if I'm bad at it and they fire me?"

"Jeonghan, that is not going to happen."

"But I don't know what I'm doing!" he frowns.

"Dude, nobody knows what they're doing when they start a new job," you remind him. "Besides, they're going to train you! You'll learn the ropes in no time."

"What if I don't?"

"I find that hard to believe. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, Hannie. Stop being so hard on yourself."

"Easier said than done," he replies lightheartedly, but his lack of confidence still shows.

"Why is that?" you inquire.

He thinks for a moment. "I don't know," he eventually answers. "Sometimes it just feels like there's a little voice in my head telling me I suck at everything and that I should just give up."

"I worry about you sometimes."

"I'm okay, I promise," he smiles softly at you. "Sorry for being sad so much."

"You don't have to apologize for that," you tell him firmly. "You're my friend and I'm here for you no matter what."

A couple remaining fries sit at the bottom of the basket, calling to you from the red-and-white checkered paper lining. You reach for them, but Jeonghan does too, your hands colliding over the table.

"Ope, sorry," he says timidly, retracting his hand. "You can have it."

"No, you take it," you insist, sliding the basket toward him. "You've got a long night ahead of you, you need the fuel. Speaking of, want another float?"

"No, it's oka—"

But you're already signaling to the waitress across the restaurant, pointing to Jeonghan's empty glass.

"I don't know why I asked," you tell him. "I already knew the answer."

The waitress quickly brings him a refill in a fresh glass, complete with his usual order of an extra cherry on top.

"Thanks, y/n," he smiles. "You're the best."

After you finish your meal and pay, Jeonghan drives you home. He pulls up next to the curb outside your apartment, putting the car into park and turning to face you.

"Thanks again for dinner," he smiles.

"Of course," you smile back. "I got ya. And I'll make sure to tune into WFVC tonight!"

Jeonghan chuckles, shaking his head. "I don't think I'm going to be on the air just yet. I think I gotta be less of a noob first."

"Well, I'll be thinking of you anyway," you tell him with a nod. He drops his head slightly, trying to hide his face behind his long hair.

"Besides, I wanna support the station — and maybe I'll find some new bands I like." You playfully give him a punch him in the arm. "Jut remember to relax, you're gonna crush it."

"I'll do my best," he promises.

"Good!" you nod, opening the passenger door and hopping out of the car. "Later skater," you smile at him, giving him a wave before shutting the door. He waves back, watching you walk toward your building, waiting until you've made it safely inside before shifting the car into gear and driving off.

[FOUR]

Jeonghan stands in the hallway, staring at the windowless, red door in front of him. He pulls a crumpled sticky note out of his jacket pocket, flattening it to reveal C-302 written in smudged pen. Looking up, he triple-checks the room number on the small metal plaque next to the door, but just as the first two times, it still reads C-302. The dozens of band stickers all over the door, some that look like they have been there for decades, are also a dead giveaway — this is it: the campus radio station. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, then reaches for the door handle.

As the door swings open, a small, hectic room comes into view. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line every bit of wall, overflowing with endless stacks of CD cases; the rest of the room is crammed full of all sorts of audio and mixing equipment — some he recognizes, some he doesn't — and it seems that every bit of exposed surface is covered in show posters and even more band stickers. A too-small desk pushed against the far wall houses two computers, and at one of them sits a tough-looking man with a ponytail, seemingly older than himself, but not by much — perhaps a graduate student. The man peers up as Jeonghan enters the room.

"Hi, I'm Jeonghan," he says timidly. "I'm the new student employee, I was told to meet here at 9:45—"

"Yes, hello!" the man says cheerfully, hopping out of his seat and strutting across the room to give Jeonghan a very firm handshake. "I'm A.J., I'm the one running this joint for the most part — aside from Professor Sampson, of course. You're in undergrad, yeah?"

"Yes," Jeonghan replies politely, relieved that the man doesn't have the tough-guy demeanor he initially expected. "I'm a Junior."

"Awesome, well welcome to the team bro! Johnny's almost wrapped in the booth, and then you're on," he says, pointing his thumb back at the small window in the far wall; Jeonghan tries to peer through it, but all he can see is the top of the current DJ's head, clad with chunky headphones. "But don't worry — tonight I'll be showing you the ropes, so you just have to follow my lead. Cool?"

"Yeah, cool," Jeonghan nods in agreement.

"Excellent! Well, for starters, obviously we want to keep the volume to a minimum so there's no background noises when we're on air, but the soundproofing in the booth is good enough that you can talk at a regular volume out here and nobody's gonna hear ya. Just no screaming or anything crazy. As you can see over here," he says, pointing to the packed shelves. "We have quite a number of CDs on file. Now, I assume you're familiar with the station's catalogue?" Jeonghan nods, and A.J. continues. "Good. So you know we don't play anything that's even remotely popular — and if it's ever been on the radio, forget it. Most of our inventory is underground artists, garage bands, et cetera; the purpose of this station is to put a spotlight on new or small groups, show them some love and appreciation. So unless you're big into the local scene, you probably won't have heard of most of these bands."

Jeonghan skims over the nearest shelf, sure enough finding nothing familiar. Instead he finds jewel cases boasting all sorts of unheard-of band names — plunk!, Blister, Pisswizard, The Underwater Grandmas, and Groob, to name a few.

"Anyway, few ground rules. First, if the ON AIR sign is lit, you are live. Don't go saying anything you don't want hundreds of strangers to hear. Second, keep up with the queue, but also clean up after yourself. Don't leave loose CDs laying around, and make sure they go back into their actual cases — makes everyone's jobs easier."

Jeonghan nods attentively, trying not to seem nervous, but he feels like he's not doing a very good job. A.J. seems to notice too, but he claps Jeonghan on the shoulder and gives him a grin.

"Third, and this one's the most important if you ask me: just have fun. As long as you're doing a good job, just be yourself. Nothin' to stress over, I promise."

Jeonghan hears the booth door swing open; peering over A.J.'s shoulder, he sees a tall, dark-haired student stepping out into the main room.

"Ope, looks like we're on," A.J. says to him. "Johnny, this is Jeonghan, our new night shift guy."

Johnny walks over, shaking Jeonghan's hand enthusiastically. "Welcome! Nice to meet you, bro!"

"Thanks," Jeonghan replies, slightly intimidated by how friendly everyone is being, but he smiles politely at his new coworkers.

"Catch you guys 'round!" Johnny says as he takes off, giving the other two men a cheerful salute.

"Alright, the queue will be running for another 10 minutes or so," A.J. says as he enters the booth, pointing at the unlit ON AIR sign. "So in the meantime I can show you the basics…"

As promised, A.J. gives him the rundown, going over the master audio mixer controls, how to queue up songs, how to check the logs to see what's already been played, and a few different generic scripts for radio announcements.

"Like I said, you won't be talking on air just yet. But it's good for practice — and the more you practice the more natural it'll feel," he assures him. "Alright, we're coming up on the end of the queue. Grab some discs from that stack over there — doesn't matter which ones, really — and get them ready, I'll make the announcement." He places the bulky headphones on, pulling the mic in front of him and waiting for the song's outro begin to fade. He signals to Jeonghan as he goes live, the ON AIR sign lighting up bright red above their heads.

"That was 'Bitchcraft' by the Lipstick Dollz, and you're listening to WFVC 90.5 — the hottest place for underground punk and badass rock n' roll," A.J. speaks effortlessly into the mic. "Coming up next for you this hour, we've got some more Doomcock, a few from Spaceshuttle, and The Mary Jane Planes with their newest track, "Reefer Renegade" — only here on WFVC 90.5. Don't you dare touch that fuckin' tuner!"

The ON AIR sign shuts off, its red glow disappearing as the next song begins to play.

"See? Pretty easy," A.J. grins.

"Damn, that sounds so cool when you do it," Jeonghan tells him shyly.

"Don't sweat it, man. You'll get the hang of it in no time!"

Jeonghan isn't so sure, but he tries not to let the negative thoughts win. A.J. has him running the broadcast mixer, learning how to fade in and out and how to balance everything just right. He picks up on it faster than he expected, and the rest of the late-night shift seems to fly by. The job isn't the most exciting thing, but it's fun and interesting — and Jeonghan finds he enjoys even the monotony of mindlessly shelving CDs back into their places. But it seems that as soon as there's a lull in the job, you pop into his mind. By the time it's the middle of the night, he's certain you must have gone to bed by now — but he wonders if you were actually listening earlier. Did she like the music? he muses. Did she think of me at all?

He doesn't know the answer, but he really hopes you did.

The next day, Jeonghan doesn't show up to class.

You don't actually have any classes with him this semester, but after your Advanced Creative Writing class you always meet him in the quad underneath the usual tree. He's usually there first, so you waited for him for about 10 minutes — but he never showed.

Fortunately, his apartment is within walking distance from campus, so you make your way there. You knock on his door, but no response. You try again, a bit louder; after a few moments you hear footsteps from within the unit, shuffling their way toward the front door. The door swings open, revealing a messy-haired Jeonghan wearing pajamas, looking very much like you just woke him up.

"Have you been sleeping all day??" you ask with a grin.

"I guess so," he answers, placing his hand over his mouth as he yawns. "What time even is it?"

"3:23pm," you read from your wristwatch.

"Holy shit," he grumbles. "I slept through everything."

"You must've been exhausted," you point out. "Sorry for waking you up, I just wanted to make sure you were alive."

"No, no — don't apologize," he shakes his head. "Here, come on in," he says as he swings the door open, traipsing back into the apartment. "I'll make us some coffee."

You follow your sleepy friend into his kitchen, where he locates a bag of coffee grounds and starts to brew a fresh pot.

"Soooo," you say eagerly, sitting down at the kitchen table. It's stacked with books, CDs, piles of mail, and one very ripe-looking banana sitting atop a toppled box of Lucky Charms — but you're able to clear off enough space for two coffee mugs. "How was it? Tell me everything!"

"It was actually really good!" he responds enthusiastically, leaning against the counter. The warm aroma of hot coffee drifts across the room as the dark liquid begins to drip into the carafe. "Nothing particularly exciting, since I was just training. But it's all super cool, I think I'm really going to like it."

You haven't seen Jeonghan this excited about something since he scored tickets to the blink-182 concert last summer. He's become one of your closest friends, so you know that he's generally a bit of a melancholy guy — but seeing him so passionate about something really warms your heart. Happiness is a good look on him, you think to yourself.

"What's that look for?" he inquires, raising his brow at you.

"Nothing! I'm just really excited for you," you smile at him. "I was listening last night, you know."

His face lights up. "You were?" he asks eagerly The pot begins to sputter as the coffee finishes brewing; he grabs two mugs, filling them with the beverage: one cup black, for himself, and one with a tablespoon of sugar, for you.

"Of course! I said I was going to, didn't I?"

"You did," he smiles, bringing the mugs to the table and setting yours in front of you. You take a sip — it's piping hot, but it's delicious. "Didja hear any new songs you liked?"

"Yeah, I really liked all of it! There was one band called something weird that I enjoyed, I think it was 'Beenis'?"

Jeonghan laughs. "Yeah, I recall seeing a Beenis in the mix. Hey, speaking of new bands…"

He gets up, fetching his backpack and pulling a slightly-bent bright yellow piece of paper from it. He hands it to you, and you see that it's a flier for a show down at Dizzy's Tavern, a local dive bar known for it's cheap beer and loud, live rock music. The two bands listed are Fuckwagon and The Flagstaff Arizonas — names you've certainly never heard of before, but then again you're not too acquainted with the local music scene.

"My boss told me about this show tonight, apparently Fuckwagon are a pretty well-known name around the station. Said they're always bringing in new demos and singles for us to play," he explains. "I don't work tonight, and I don't know what you're up to, but I thought maybe we could go check it out."

"I'm down! I have nothing else going on today, and that sounds fun!"

"Sweet," Jeonghan replies casually, trying to contain his excitement, but his face is positively beaming. "I'll pick you up at 7:45, then?"

"Sounds like a plan," you grin back at him.

[FIVE]

Dizzy's Tavern is, for lack of better words, a shithole. As you step through the front door you are immediately hit with a wall of cigarette smoke that is somehow both stale and fresh. It's dark inside, the only source of lighting being the red lights above the bar and neon signs of various beer brands hanging around the walls; despite the dim environment, the dinginess of the establishment is still glaringly obvious. The place is a decent size, but it's packed — there are people of all ages, most of whom seem to be clad in leather jackets, and many with hair dyed unnatural colors or a multitude of piercings. The vibe of the place certainly screams punk.

"Holy shit, it's crowded," you remark to Jeonghan as you both shuffle into the crowded bar area.

"We don't have to stay if it's too much—" he quickly offers.

"No, it's okay!" you assure him. "I just think this will be more fun once I have a drink or two in me," you say lightheartedly.

"What do you want to drink?" he asks, grabbing onto your arm gently as you meander through the throng of bodies as not to get separated.

"Jack and Coke," you answer. He raises a brow at you.

"Oh so we're drinking drinking tonight," he smirks.

"Hey, you get whatever you want," you tell him, poking him in the chest. "You don't have to drink just because of me."

"Maybe I want to."

"Okay, just be careful though. I know how much of a lightweight you are."

"Hey!" he protests.

"Well, you are! Am I wrong?"

"No, you're right," he concedes with a smile. "As usual."

He finally gets the bartender's attention, ordering a Jack and Coke for the both of you. You sip it as you make your way through the crowd, holding onto Jeonghan as you head toward the small stage at the back of the bar. The band isn't on yet; according to the flier they should be on any minute now, but you have a feeling that being precisely punctual perhaps isn't very punk rock.

"Let's hang out here," you say, spotting a tiny, unoccupied high-top table off to the side. It's less crowded over here, and not too close to the stage. "I'm sure we will be able to hear just fine."

You're in the middle of a very non-serious debate about Halloween costumes when you spot a familiar face emerging from the nearby hall that leads to the bathrooms. It's Joshua, your weed dealer, and you unintentionally make eye contact with him. His face lights up with recognition, and he waves at you, heading in your direction. Jeonghan looks over his shoulder, doing a poor job of hiding his grimace when he realizes who it is.

"Hey hey!" Joshua says cheerfully as he approaches your table. "What's up you guys?"

"Hi Joshua!" you tell him cheerfully. "We're here to see the show," you explain, nudging your head toward the still-empty stage. You want to ask him what exactly he's doing here, considering that this doesn't seem to be his scene in the slightest, but you figure that might be a bit rude.

"Oh, cool!" he nods eagerly. "Hey, by the way," he says, leaning in to the both of you. "I got some new school supplies coming my way soon, if you catch my drift." He winks at Jeonghan, nudging him playfully with his elbow. "I'll make sure to save the good stuff for you."

Jeonghan stands there frozen with awkwardness at Joshua's directness. "Um," he finally manages to reply. "Yeah, uh, that sounds cool. Thanks."

"Awesome!" Joshua smiles at him sweetly. Turning back to you, he gives you a casual salute.

"Well, I gotta bounce," he excuses himself. "Catch you guys on the flip side."

Once he's out of earshot, you turn to Jeonghan, giving him a knowing look.

"Told you," you tease. "He's like that with everyone."

"Okay, okay, fine," he huffs, raising his hands defeatedly, but a smile spreads across his face. "I believe you now."

Several minutes later, the band finally comes out on stage, eliciting drunken cheering and whooping from the crowd of bar-goers.

"What the fuck is up!!!" the lead singer screams into the microphone. "We're Fuckwagon, and here's some fucking music!"

A screeching guitar riff begins, joined momentarily by crashing drums and a bassline that somehow already seems out of sync with the song. The lead singer appears to be playing the shrill guitar, and the bass player also has a mic; they start singing in tandem — sort of. You're not sure if the sounds coming from either of them can even be considered singing, but they proceed regardless, wailing into the mics as the drummer is already flailing crazily at the drum set. You nod your head to the beat as best you can; turning to Jeonghan, you see he also wears a stunned expression, staring blankly at the raucous scene on the stage.

"Is this the same song or a new one?" you ask him a few minutes later, leaning in to speak into his ear.

"Fuck if I know," he shrugs. He tosses back the rest of his drink, picking up your empty glass as well. "Want another one?"

"Yeah, definitely."

He returns a few minutes later with two fresh Jack and Cokes in hand. The lead singer has somehow already taken his shirt off, revealing a plethora of tattoos that you personally would consider hideous. You and Jeonghan down the drinks fast — unintentionally, but anything to make the music more tolerable. There seems to be no distinction from one song to the next, the night going by in a non-stop cacophony of hard, grungy rock sounds. You don't pay too much attention to the music though, instead talking and laughing with Jeonghan the whole time.

"That's not even the weirdest part," Jeonghan continues his story, resting his elbow on your shoulder as he leans in close to your face. "The next week, I get home and the apartment is filled with boxes of potatoes. Turns out, Jun had built a potato cannon, and he thought he had placed an order for a hundred potatoes — but he had accidentally ordered a hundred ten-pound bags."

"Oh my god," you laugh in disbelief. "How did he not notice, wasn't it expensive??"

"I have genuinely no idea," Jeonghan shakes his head, also laughing. "He just does things like that sometimes."

"I think he has to be the strangest guy I've ever met," you respond. "I can't believe you live with him."

"Hey, he's a great roommate. He's clean, quiet, and half the time he's not even there — off doing god knows what."

"And that was our last song!!!" the lead singer screams into the mic over the drummer continuing his solo despite the song having ended. "Goodnight motherfuckaaaas!!!"

The band exits the stage, the next band already setting up their instruments.

"Thank god," you say to Jeonghan, who is all but fully leaning on you at this point. You pick his drink up off the table, finishing it off before he can drink any more; he doesn't seem to notice.

"You think the next band will be any better?" he asks you, his face mere inches from yours, heavy eyelids blinking slowly in his drunken state.

"There's no way they can possibly be worse than that."

You were wrong. Despite it being harsh and grating, the first band at least had upbeat rock music; the new band consists of six people, one of whom plays the trumpet, and all of whom barely fit on the stage — and their music is dull, drawn-out, and extremely repetitive. You're not sure if lead singer is drunk or if he just sounds like he is, but either way, it's borderline insufferable.

You turn to Jeonghan, about to suggest you call it a night, but he clearly has the exact same thought.

"Should we… leave?"

"Yeeaaaah," you nod eagerly in agreement. "We should leave."

It's even colder now as you step out of the bar, but despite the chilly autumn wind the fresh, smoke-free air feels delightful.

"So," Jeonghan asks as you stroll down the sidewalk together. He drove you to the bar, but neither one of you seem to recall that detail — but you're both too drunk to drive, anyway. "What did you think of… that?"

"I think it sucked shit," you reply honestly. Jeonghan bursts out laughing, making you start giggling too.

"Yeah, that was pretty terrible," he agrees. "Sorry I dragged you to this."

"Don't be!" you insist. "I still had a good time."

"Good," Jeonghan replies, a smile lighting up his face. "I did too."

Though your apartment is further than his, he walks you home first. The alcohol in your system has kept you warm all night, but the cold nighttime breeze is starting to get to you. You shiver, tugging the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands and tucking them into you as you cross your arms to try and stay warm.

"Here," Jeonghan tells you as soon as he notices, immediately taking his jacket off.

"No, I'll be fine—" you start, but he's already wrapping it around your shoulders. The jacket is warm, both from its thick leather and Jeonghan's body heat. You accept it graciously, slipping your arms into the baggy sleeves and zipping it all the way up.

"Thanks," you tell him sincerely. "You're the best."

In the dim orange-y glow of the incandescent streetlamps it's hard to tell, but Jeonghan blushes, his face turning even pinker than the alcohol made him.

You arrive outside your apartment a few minutes later.

"Well, goodnight," Jeonghan smiles at you. To his surprise, you suddenly throw your arms around him, leaning your head against his shoulder as you hug him. He tenses up slightly as his inebriated brain tries to process what's happening, but slowly he wraps his arms around you too, sinking into your embrace. It only lasts a few seconds, but the moment simultaneously feels hours long and also over way too fast.

"Goodnight," you reply as you let go, waving as you turn toward the sidewalk to head home. "Get home safe, okay?"

"I will," he nods softly. He watches until you've made it inside, then turns to head back to his own apartment, wondering if you knew that you just completely flipped his world upside down.

[SIX]

You wake up the next day uncomfortably hot.

Prying your eyes open, you see that you're in your living room. Apparently, you were too tired to make it all the way to your bedroom, so you just crashed on the couch, still wearing your shoes and Jeonghan's jacket. Your arm feels like lead as you try to lift it, peering at your watch: 12:16pm.

"Holy shit," you grumble as you hoist yourself up into a sitting position, your head pounding with a killer hangover. A few seconds later, Mina walks into the room.

"Jesus Christ, you're a mess," she tells you bluntly. "What the hell did you do last night?"

"Um, went to a shitty bar and saw a shitty band," you answer, rubbing your aching eyes. "Scratch that — two shitty bands."

"With your boyfriend, I assume?" she asks, glancing at the oversized leather jacket with its many pins and buttons.

"He's not my boyfriend," you mumble through a yawn, shimmying out of the jacket and neatly placing on the armrest next to you.

"Well, you knew who I was talking about without me even saying his name, soooo…"

"Shut uppp," you groan, flopping your tired head onto the back of the couch. With a pleased grin, she heads into the kitchen. You close your eyes, nodding off again, but soon you start to smell fresh coffee, and hear the sound of a sizzling skillet. A few minutes later, Mina returns, carrying a large mug of steaming coffee and a plate of fried eggs and pancakes.

"Here, eat," she says firmly, setting the plate and mug in front of you on the coffee table.

"Thanks, Mina," you smile at her.

After devouring your breakfast, you hop in the shower, standing there under the hot stream of water for far too long — but, you feel a million times better afterward. You toss on some sweats and decide to work on some homework from your bed. After a surprisingly productive afternoon, make your way back to the kitchen to find some dinner. On your way there, you pass by the couch, spotting Jeonghan's jacket still laying there. You feel bad that you didn't remember to give it back last night — after all, this is quite literally his only jacket. You're figure you should just take it over to him after you eat dinner. But, you're pretty sure he mentioned that he was working tonight; and since it's getting late and campus is a closer walk for you anyway, you figure you'll just try and drop it off at the station.

Your walk to campus is eerily empty. You've never seen this few people around, but it is Saturday night, after all. Most people are probably either at home or partying off-campus by this point. You approach the Comms building, suddenly worried that the door might be locked at this hour; but its swings right open when you pull it, and you let yourself inside. You've only had a couple classes in this building before, so you're not familiar with its layout, and you realize you have no idea where the radio station is actually located. You're about to start wandering down the halls in a random direction when you spot a directory by the staircase. The station appears to be on the top floor, so you head up the stairs.

There's no signage for the station, but you figure the bright red door with all the stickers all over it is probably the one you need. You knock at the door quietly, just now realizing that maybe this was a bad idea and that you shouldn't be here. You consider turning around and leaving before you can bother anybody, but then the door swings open. A tough-looking man with long hair and a beard pokes his head out.

"Hi, so sorry to bother you," you tell him apologetically. "But I was wondering if Jeonghan was working tonight? I just wanted to drop off his jacket."

"Oh!" the man replies with a smile, looking suddenly much less intimidating. "Yeah, he's here, come on in!"

You're not sure what exactly you thought a college radio station that plays punk music would look like, but this place seems to fit the bill. You don't see Jeonghan, but then the man points his thumb back to the small window in the far wall.

"He's in the booth right now, but I'll go grab him once we cut to commercial," he tells you. "I'm A.J., by the way," he adds, extending his hand to you.

"Y/n," you introduce yourself.

"Oh, so you're y/n!" A.J. responds amicably. "I've heard all about you.""

"Oh," you reply, feeling your face turn hot suddenly. "Really?"

"Yeah, Jeonghan talks about you all the time. All good things, though, I promise," he smiles. "Hey, I gotta go fax something real quick — just hang out in here for a sec, I'll be right back."

He exits the room, and you walk over to the window, peering into the booth. There's a lot of equipment in the way, but you spot the back of Jeonghan's head, clad with headphones and bobbing his head to whatever must be playing on the radio right now. You can't see his face, but you get the sense that he really is enjoying the job.

A.J. returns in a couple minutes. He waits outside the booth door, glancing at the lit-up ON AIR sign overhead.

"I'll go grab him as soon we're not on air," he tells you. Sure enough, it shuts off a few seconds later, and he slips into the booth. Watching through the window, you see Jeonghan turn around to greet his boss; A.J. points to you through the window, and Jeonghan turns, his face lighting up when he sees it's you.

"Hey!" he says cheerfully as he comes out to greet you. "What are you doing here?"

"Just returning your jacket I accidentally stole from you," you say, extending the garment to him.

"Oh yeah," he chuckles, taking the jacket from you. "I didn't even realize until I was almost home, I was wondering why I was so cold."

"Sorry," you smile apologetically.

"Don't even worry about it," he smiles back at you. "Thanks for bringing it to me, you didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did. I know for a fact that you don't own any other jackets," you tease.

"Okay, you got me there," he grins.

"How's the job going?" you ask.

"It's great!" he answers with more enthusiasm than you're used to from him. "I'm can officially run the show and be on air by myself now, no more supervision required."

"That's so cool," you beam at him. "You seem like you're really liking it so far."

"Yeah," he nods. "I definitely am."

"Well, I should let you get back to work now," you tell him. "Hope you have a good rest of your shift."

"Thanks, y/n," Jeonghan smiles warmly. "See ya later."

The end credits to Law & Order: Special Victims Unit begin to play as you lay on the couch, eating potato chips straight from the bag. It's not particularly the most exciting Saturday night you could be having, but you're enjoying the relaxing night in. You're not really in the mood to keep watching TV, so you grab the remote and shut it off. Mina isn't home yet, so you figure you'd take this opportunity to play your music out loud without wearing headphones. You get up and shuffle over to the boombox perched on the bookshelf, turning it on; it's tuned to the local pop station — clearly Mina used it last. You enjoy this station too, but your mind flashed back to Jeonghan in the booth. Maybe I'll hear him on the air, you think to yourself excitedly. You change the tuner to 90.5 and are greeted by the heavy tune of an unfamiliar but grungy-sounding song.

Plopping back on the couch you reach for your bag of chips again — but over the crinkling of the bag as you stick your hand in it, a very familiar voice comes through on the radio.

"You're listening to WFVC 90.5, the hottest place for underground punk and badass rock n' roll. The track you just heard was "Beautiful Monster" by Meatglove, one of their earliest and most iconic releases. Up next — we've got some Death Day Party for you, as well as a classic from Wunderguts; but first, some local flavor from Z-41 with their newest track "Hell Highway."

You're a bit taken aback by the confidence and air which he delivered his spiel. You can tell he's still getting used to it, but you swear you've never heard him sound so self-assured. The crashing drums of the next song begin; you're getting a bit sleepy, but you're comfy — so you end up laying on the couch for another hour or so, zoned out as you enjoy the music. You're halfway asleep when Mina returns home, so out of it that you don't even hear her come in; but you do hear Jeonghan's voice over the speakers, making you smile as your eyes start to drift close.

"I assume that's your boyfriend on the radio?"

Your eyes shoot open again at the sudden sound of Mina's voice. Looking up, you see her looming above you as she stands beside the armrest.

"I didn't even hear you come in," you tell her, rubbing your tired eyes.

"Yeah, I can tell," she teases. "You wouldn't be swooning and gushing over him like that if you knew I was here."

"I was not," you roll your eyes. "I was like half-asleep."

"Mhmm. Well, I'm going right to bed — goodnight!"

And with that, you're alone with the radio again.

While the commercials play, an idea pops into your head. You remember Jeonghan making an off-hand comment about how the station does take requests — it's just that hardly anyone ever calls them in. You consider for a minute, and then decide, fuck it.

You get up again, quietly heading over to the landline. You're don't actually know the number, so you flip through the phone book, perusing the thin yellow pages for the station. Eventually, you spot it: Foxville College Communications Department, WFVC 90.5 — 555-1004.

You dial the number, the line ringing as you wait for it to connect. You realize you're not even sure what exactly it is you planned to request, considering that the station only plays underground stuff. Anything you would normally request on the radio is off the table.

Before you can think of something, the line picks up.

"WFVC 90.5, we have a caller live on the air," you hear Jeonghan answer the call. "Hi there, whatcha calling for?"

Your stomach drops a bit — you weren't expecting him to actually pick up live on the air. You're not a shy person, but the thought that a bunch of random strangers can hear you right now does make you at least a little bit nervous.

"Hi!" you say cheerfully, careful not to be to so loud as to wake Mina. "Um, I was hoping I could call in a request."

"Of course you can!" he answers. You were wondering if Jeonghan would recognize your voice, but the slight pause and the upward shift in his voice tells you he definitely does. "What are you looking for?"

Thinking on the fly, you say the first thing that pops into your head.

"Well, I don't actually have a specific song in mind," you reply. " Can you play me something upbeat and happy? A song I'd play if I was just chilling with my friend or something."

"I sure can," Jeonghan responds, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice. "What's your name?" he remembers to ask at the last second — of course, he already knows, but he makes sure he sticks to the script.

"Y/n," you tell him.

"Well, y/n, thanks for calling in — we appreciate ya. Got a special one just for you coming up right now: this one's called 'Heart Attack', by good friends of the station, Fever Baby — right here on WFVC 90.5!"

The call ends, the flat tone humming in your ear. You put the receiver back, heading back into the living room. You're not entirely sure how radio requests work, but you assume there's some sort of slight delay. Sure enough, right as you return the end of your call plays, followed by a light and rhythmic guitar strumming — the song he chose for you. You sit down as you listen, the melody picking up with a bright atmosphere. The song is exactly the vibe you were looking for, and you like it a lot. Turns out the band has a female lead too, something you always love, especially in this genre of music. You must've said that once a long time ago, in some off-hand comment, but Jeonghan remembered. That's the thing about Jeonghan, though — he always does.

[SEVEN]

The semester passes by, days getting shorter and temperatures getting lower as the final weeks of fall come to a close. School has kept you plenty busy, with midterms and papers taking up the majority of your time. You haven't been able to have as much of a social life as you would like, which isn't particularly unusual for this time of year; but Jeonghan especially has been busy — late nights at the station have caused his sleep schedule to shift significantly, rendering your schedules largely incompatible. You miss him, and you really hope you can find a way to hang out with him soon.

You're sitting in your apartment studying one night when the phone rings. The phone doesn't have caller ID, but you expect it's one of Mina's friends calling, as she likes to chat on the phone more often than you do. She's not home right now, so you could easily just let it go to voicemail, but something in you feels the urge to answer.

"Hello?" you answer as you pick up, grabbing the nearby stack of sticky notes and a pen in case you need to take a message.

"Hey y/n," you hear Jeonghan say softly through the line.

"Hannie!" you say, surprised but excited to be hearing his voice. "How's it going? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!"

"I know, I've been so busy," he concurs. "I'm tired as hell, but I'm okay. How are you?"

"Same, I'm exhausted but I'm getting by. How's the DJ life treating you?"

"It's good!" he answers eagerly. "I mean, that's why I'm so tired. But in a way it also kinda gives me an energy boost. I know that probably sounds crazy…"

"Not at all," you smile. "That means you really like it! I'm so glad it ended up being a great fit for you."

"Me too," he agrees. "I've been so happy lately. Except for the fact that we haven't hung out like, at all. That part sucks."

"We gotta find some time to hang," you say assertively.

"Actually, that's why I'm calling," he replies. "The Comms Department is having this social thing on Friday night. I wasn't really planning to go, but guests are allowed if you'd wanna come with me. There's gonna be free food."

"Hell yeah, I'm always down for free food," you grin — though, you're much more excited about getting to see Jeonghan finally.

"Cool! It starts at 7, I'll drop by your place around then and we can walk to campus together."

"Sounds good," you say excitedly. "Is this like, a formal event?"

"Um, I don't think so? But like, maybe a little?"

"I'll dress up at least a little, then," you tell him. "I'd rather be overdressed than underdressed."

"Good idea, I'll do the same. Well, I gotta head to work in a few minutes, so I gotta go."

"Have a good shift!" you tell him. "See ya on Friday."

"See ya then, y/n."

Friday afternoon you start rummaging through your closet, looking for something to wear to the social later. You have a few hours until you need to be ready, but you figured you'd give yourself a little extra time to make yourself look at least a little bit nice. It's been a while since you've had an excuse to dress up anyway, so what the hell, why not.

Nothing is particularly catching your eye as you flip through the hangers, until you get to the end and spot a brand new skirt you had completely forgotten about. You pull it out to look at it; it's a black pinstripe pleated mini skirt, brandishing a built-in belt, and it still has the tags on. A bit on the casual side, but you figure if you pair it with a nice sweater and tights that don't have any holes in them the outfit will look just the right amount of sophisticated for the occasion.

Digging through your dresser drawer, you take a look at your sweaters. Most are a bit too tattered, and about half of them are just sweatshirts featuring a band logo, but you do find a deep maroon sweater that you rarely wear. You lay it on your bed above the skirt and grab a pair of tights to lay out as well; all put together, it actually looks pretty nice.

You throw your outfit on and spend a little bit longer than usual putting makeup on, adding some shimmery eyeshadow and some tinted lip gloss to your usual routine of eyeliner and mascara. When you're done styling your hair, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. It's not that you usually look bad, but you definitely tend to dress more on the casual side, so you're pleasantly surprised by how put-together you look right now. Turns out, a little extra effort can go a long way.

You're reading your book a couple hours later when you hear a light knocking at your door. Hopping up off the couch you flutter over to answer it, opening the door to reveal Jeonghan looking the fanciest you've ever seen him. He's still in his leather jacket, of course — but underneath he wears a maroon button-down shirt and crisp black dress pants, and you've never seen his long hair so neat and styled.

"Holy shit, since when do you own dress pants?" you ask with a playful smirk.

"Hey, shut up," he pouts. "I know they look stupid."

"They do not!" you insist. "You look really nice, Jeonghan. I've just never seen you so dressed up. And we even matched on accident!" you chuckle.

"Looks like we did," he smiles. "You look really nice as well," he says, staring at your outfit for a moment but quickly averting his gaze. You typically wear clothes that are at least a little bit baggy, but this sweater fits you snugly, its thin knit fabric accentuating your every curve very flatteringly. Jeonghan tries not to think about it.

"Thanks! Here, let me put my shoes on and then we can bounce."

He steps inside as you grab your Doc Martens, leaning down to slip your feet into them and tighten the laces. Your back is to him as you bend over, and while your skirt isn't super short it does ride up a bit in the process, your thighs on full display through the sheer black tights. He ogles you as you tie the boots up, feeling his face grow hot. He knows you don't notice, but he forces himself to turn away before you do, prying his eyes off of you, but it's too late.

"Um, I'm gonna go pee real quick," he tells you, scurrying off to your bathroom.

"Okie dokie," you reply.

Jeonghan doesn't actually have to pee, but he locks himself in the bathroom anyway. He stares at himself in the mirror, still thrown off by how different he looks all cleaned up.

"Get it together man," he grumbles to himself.

A couple minutes later he returns.

"Ready?" you ask, grabbing your coat.

"Yep!" he says with a smile.

The walk to campus is cold, but there's no wind, so it's surprisingly pleasant. On your way there it begins to snow, huge flakes falling gently through the air and starting to accumulate on the ground. You arrive to the Comms Building, brushing the snow off your jacket before you step through its doors to the warm interior.

"You've got some in your hair, too," Jeonghan points out. You ruffle your hair lightly, shaking the snow off.

"So do you," you tell him, reaching up and brushing your fingers across his hair, brushing the stark white snow out of his long, dark locks. Jeonghan freezes up slightly, grateful that his cheeks are already pink from the cold so you can't see him blushing like an idiot.

"Thanks," he says softly.

You make your way to the end of the hall, where two doors propped open lead you into the event space. Immediately you see that despite your efforts, you are both still noticeably underdressed.

"Welp," he mumbles to you quietly. "Guess I didn't get the memo that this was actually fancy."

"It's okay," you reply reassuringly. "We still look nice." And it's true, but amongst all the suits and heels you still feel a bit out of place.

You make your way over to the food table together, grabbing plates and piling them high with the assortment of hors d'oeuvres on display. It earns you a few judgmental glares from a group of older adults standing nearby, but you're both broke college kids, so you don't really give a fuck.

"Let's go over there," Jeonghan says after you each grab a glass of wine, nudging his head toward the back of the room. You meander through the groups of professors and whomever else standing around and chatting, claiming the two chairs in the corner.

"So, what exactly is this event supposed to be again?" you ask him as you pop a fancy cracker with cheese on it into your mouth.

"Um, I don't actually know," he admits as he sips at wine, glancing around the room. "I thought it was for students and professors to meet each other, but I don't think any of these people are actually students…"

You look around too, and he seems to be right. Everyone is significantly older and distinguished-looking — very clearly not undergraduates.

"Oops," you say, trying not to smile too big. "Does that mean we just walked in here and stole their food?"

A grin starts to spread across his face. "Um, yeah. Looks like it."

He starts to giggle out loud, prompting you to subtly whack him in the leg.

"Shhh, people are gonna notice!" you whisper, but you feel the urge to start laughing too. A voice rings out over the speaker system as somebody starts talking into a microphone. The attendees all turn and face the small stage, where a woman in a sequined navy dress starts to speak.

"Should we go?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, definitely," you reply, tossing back the rest of your wine. "But let's grab some more food on the way out."

Jeonghan grins. "I like the way you think."

After piling the small plastic plates with as much food as you possibly can and grabbing another glass of wine each, you sneak out the back door of the room, quickly making your way towards the building's exit.

"Holy shit," Jeonghan laughs as you burst through the door returning you to the quad. "That was awesome."

"I love to steal free food," you giggle. The falling snow has picked up, blustering around calmly but shrouding everything in a sea of white. "C'mon," you say to him, zipping off toward your usual spot under the small oak tree. "Let's go over here."

You stand together beneath the branches, accepting their humble offering of any sort of cover as you scarf down the rest of the food on your plates.

"I guess we also technically stole these wine glasses," Jeonghan comments as he stares at the remaining red liquid in the bowl. "I didn't even realize they were real."

"Me neither," you say, finishing your drink. "Whoops."

Hors d'oeuvres and wine now gone, you toss the plates in a nearby trashcan, leaving the glasses sitting on the steps to the Comms Building and zooming off before somebody catches you. When you get off campus you slow your pace, strolling casually down the block through the deluge of snow.

"Maybe I should've driven," Jeonghan chuckles. "But also who wants to drive in this weather."

"True," you smile. "But I don't mind the snow. It's nice."

"Me neither."

You chat the whole walk home, taking and laughing about anything and everything and nothing at all. By the time you make it to your building, your cheeks hurt — not only from the cold but from smiling nonstop the whole night.

"Tonight was really fun — even if it wasn't what we expected," you say, turning to face Jeonghan.

"Same here," he smiles softly. "I'm glad I finally got to see you."

"Me too," you beam back. You're thinking about inviting him up, maybe to smoke a J or something, when suddenly his lips are on yours.

Your whole body freezes. His lips are soft, the kiss is sweet, but you were not prepared for it. Quickly he pulls his face back, his eyes widening with fear like a deer in the headlights.

"Sorry," he stammers, then takes off.

"Wait!" you call out after him. "Jeonghan!" But he's gone in the blink of an eye, running off down the street into the snowy night.

[EIGHT]

Almost an entire week passes, and you don't see or hear from Jeonghan once.

You tried calling him, but you just kept getting Jun, who seemed to be confused but didn't ask any questions. You tried to meet him after several of his classes, but he either wasn't there or managed to completely evade you. You even tried e-mailing him, but as you expected, no response.

So you gave up for the time being. You knew he wasn't going to avoid you forever, that eventually he would come back. But damn, you hated waiting for it.

It's now Thursday night. Six nights have gone by, and still radio silence from Jeonghan. You're not even upset with him, you just want to talk to him. There's too many questions swimming around in your brain right now — you can hardly think about anything else.

Why did you kiss me?

Why did you run away?

Why have you been so scared to talk to me?

Do you love me?

The living room boom box softly plays the local classic rock channel as you lay at the couch, staring at the ceiling and thinking too much. For reasons you can't explain, you suddenly get up and go change the tuner to 90.5. You lay back down, unsure what exactly the point of that was, but also you don't really care. You're not even sure if Jeonghan is working tonight, and even if he is it's too early for him to be on — but the radio station is enough to remind you of him. You feel tears begin to well in your eyes, blinking them away quickly.

The DJ eventually comes back on the air; as expected, it's not Jeonghan, but that doesn't make you any less sad about the whole situation. The next song that comes on sounds vaguely familiar, and awful; it occurs to you about two minutes into the song that this sounds like that terrible band you saw at that bar — Fuckwagon or whatever. The one you saw with Jeonghan.

Tears begin to stream down your cheeks. Unable to shut them down, you just let them flow, softly sobbing into the couch.

This is so fucking stupid, you tell yourself. I'm crying to a Fuckwagon song right now. You let out a laugh through your tears, in disbelief of how utterly stupid this scenario is. After crying for a few more minutes, you eventually calm back down. Your mind is a bit clearer now, and you come to the realization that there's nothing stopping you from marching over there right this instant and putting an end to this nonsense.

Fifteen minutes later, you're standing outside Jeonghan's apartment. All that's left is to knock, but now that you're here that part feels daunting. You take a deep breath, slowly raising your hand to the door, then you knock. It comes out a bit more aggressive than you meant it, but you hope that means he'll hear you right away. You hear footsteps trodding toward the door, and then it opens.

"Oh, hi y/n," Jun greets you. He looks frazzled, like you just woke him from a thousand-year slumber.

"Hey, Jun. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," you tell him apologetically.

"Oh, I wasn't asleep," he replies nonchalantly. You're about to ask him what the hell he was doing then, but you decide some questions don't need to be answered. Besides, that's not why you're here.

"Is Jeonghan here?" you cut to the chase. "I was hoping to talk to him."

"Sorry, no," he shakes his head. "You just missed him — he left for work about ten minutes ago."

"Dammit," you mutter.

"Has he still not talked to you since he kissed you?"

You look up at Jun, a perplexed expression coloring your face. "You know about that?"

"Yes," he replies matter-of-factly. "He came home right after that and was freaking out about it. He wasn't exactly very coherent, but through his ramblings I got the general picture."

"Did he say why he was freaking out?" you try.

"He was scared that it was a mistake, that he fucked it all up."

"Fucked what all up?" you ask, furrowing your brow. "Our friendship?"

Jun lets out a gentle sigh. "So you didn't know, then," he says softly. "Jeonghan is in love with you, y/n. Has been since the day he met you."

You make it to campus in record time, speed-walking as fast as you can, zooming across the quad directly toward the Comms Building. You're out of breath as you enter, groaning as you spot the three flights of stairs you now have to climb. But you move quickly anyway, your body seemingly unable to slow down for anything.

This time you don't even bother knocking on the red door. You fling it open, expected to have to come up with some sort of explanation on the fly with his boss, but you are greeted by an empty office. The door slowly closes behind you as you walk over to the booth window. Peering in, sure enough you can see the top of his head as he sits at the broadcast mixer. The ON AIR sign above you is lit; you wait for the red light to shut off, then you knock on the booth door. Jeonghan turns around slowly, looking confused, but then he sees you standing outside the window. His eyes widen, and he leaps out out of his chair, bolting to the door and swinging it open.

"What are you doing here??" he asks, looking genuinely surprised.

"I don't want to get you in trouble, but we have to talk."

"Nobody else is here tonight," he replies. "Here, come inside."

He shuts the door behind you as you enter, but as soon as he does you grab him by the arm and spin him around to face you.

"What the—"

"Why did you run away?"

"I—" He pauses for a moment. "That's… not what I thought you were going to ask," he admits.

"What? Why?"

"Well, I just thought you were going to ask me why I kissed you first."

"Okay," you reply. "Then why did you kiss me?"

Jeonghan sighs, dropping his head slightly; but a moment later he lifts it again, looking you directly in the eyes.

"I kissed you because I love you, y/n. I ran away because I was scared you didn't love me back, and I wasn't prepared to face that reality."

His gaze is locked onto yours so intensely that you feel like you might burst into flames. He looks like he's experiencing every emotion at once, anxiously waiting for you to say something, anything. But you don't know what to say, so you do what only feels right — you throw your arms around him, pulling him into your embrace.

He gasps softly as you squeeze him tight, burying your face into his chest; you can feel the accelerating pace of his heart, thumping against your cheek. He instinctively wraps his arms around you, leaning his head on top of yours.

"I love you too," you say softly. "I didn't realize it for a while — but it's so obvious to me now."

He kisses the top of your head, rubbing your back as you nuzzle your face deeper into his sweater.

"That's the best news I've ever heard."

You could stay here in his embrace indefinitely, but eventually you lift your head, looking deeply into his eyes.

"Kiss me — but for real this time."

Slowly, Jeonghan grabs your face with both hands, eyeing you hungrily before pulling you into a kiss. This time it's slow, sweet; you slip your hands around his waist, clinging to him as you savor it. Your heart pounds in your chest as your lips tug at each other, refusing to let go, pressing your body into his and pushing him up against the door. A soft, involuntarily moan emanates from his throat, and you feel the stiff, growing bulge in his pants against your stomach.

Eventually your lips part, lingering near each other as he presses his forehead into yours.

"Holy shit," he mutters. "I can't believe this is really happening."

He drops his hands from their grasp on your head, unzipping your coat and taking it off of you; tossing it on a nearby desk, he hurriedly slips his hands around your waist, kneading at the soft flesh and holding your body tightly against him. He feels slightly embarrassed by how quickly he got a full-fledged boner, but he's too aroused to care — besides, judging by the burning desire in your eyes, you're feeling the exact same thing right now.

"You're perfect," he tells you, cracking a smile and blushing as the words leave his lips. You grin back, giving him another soft kiss before taking hold of his hands.

"C'mere," you say to him, dragging him over to the sound mixer.

"What are you—oh." You cut him off by giving him a slight push, sitting him down into the thick, sturdy chair. You straddle his lap, pressing your core against his bulge, rubbing yourself against it through both of your jeans.

"Fuck," Jeonghan gasps as your weight presses against his cock; you lean your head down to kiss him again, locking lips as you start to make out, mouths crashing and tongues eagerly dancing against each other. Eventually you begin to sway your hips, unable to contain your excitement. You gasp as your mouths part, tossing your head back as you grind against him harder; his arms around you squeeze tighter, pulling you in as close as physically possible. His face presses against your tits as he rubs his hands over your ass, guiding you as you rock back and forth on top of him.

"Oh my god…" he sighs. He tosses his head back, and you swoop in, kissing the delicate flesh of his neck, making him let out the most pathetic-sounding groan. You moan as you grind your heat against him, getting the both of you off at once.

"F-fuck, that's so hot," his voice wavers.

"If I keep doing this it's gonna make me cum," you tell him, starting to sound whiny and frantic.

"Oh my god, please do."

You increase your pace, pressing your aching clit against his clothed cock. It feels incredible — you simply can't help the soft little cries escaping your lips.

"Can I…" Jeonghan asks, tugging at the button of your jeans.

"Please," you say breathily as you eagerly nod your head. He unfastens the button, tugging down your zipper and opening your pants enough for him to slip his fingers beneath your underwear. You let out a whimper as his fingertips dip into your folds, his lips parting lustfully as he discovers the absolute pool of wetness in your panties right now.

"Fuck," you whine, rubbing your clit against his fingers with fervor. A burning fire builds in your gut, your whole body tensing in anticipation of your release. It washes over you in bursting waves, your body trembling atop Jeonghan as you ride out your orgasm. As your movement slows, you catch your breath, lifting your head to kiss him on the lips. As you open your eyes you get a glimpse at him, you find him looking utterly desperate, and ready to bust at any given moment. You let out a giggle, still in a daze from your high; but you slip off the chair, kneeling down before him between his legs.

"Oh my god, you're gonna kill me," he half-laughs, half-whines. He raises his drenched fingers to his mouth, lapping your juices up feverously, eyes rolling back as he savors the taste of you. You slowly unbuckle the studded leather belt around his waist, unbuttoning his jeans painfully slowly; he wriggles in his seat, silently pleading for you to take his cock out, for you to put your mouth over it…

Finally, you do — reaching into his boxers, you tug them down, wrapping your hand around his hard, thick cock and pulling it out.

"Holy shit," you blurt out, glancing up at him and giving him a giddy smile. "You've been packing this the whole time?!"

He bursts out laughing, cradling your cheek in his hand, slowly guiding your lips to his cock. You lightly circle the tip with your tongue, teasing him; he lets out a sigh, licking his lips as he watches you taste his cock. Slowly you take the head between your lips, suckling it lightly before you start to slide your mouth down his length. You're not even halfway down when it reaches the back of your mouth; you push down further, taking him in your throat, gagging audibly on his size.

"Ohhh, wow," he mumbles as his eyelids flutter back. "That's so good…"

His hips gently push upward as you bob your head up and down, feeding you more of his length as you slide it in and out of your mouth. Your noises escalate, pathetic whining growing louder as you start to increase your pace. He can't help himself — he starts to fuck his cock into your mouth, sliding deep into your throat. Tears well in your eyes, but you continue to stare up at him; the sight is enough to send him over the edge.

"Baby, 'm gonna cum," he groans. A few thrusts later, you feel ropes of hot cum shooting down your throat, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he releases. Soft whimpers escape his trembling lips as he cums hard in your mouth, relishing every moment of the delicious sensation. He strokes your head gently as he finishes; you swallow all his cum, slowly dragging your lips off his spent cock.

"Fuck," he sighs, melting into the chair. Opening his eyes, he looks down at you sweetly, his head still spinning from the orgasm. "Thank you."

"For sucking your dick?" you ask, starting to giggle.

"Yeah," he says with a stupid grin. "That was awesome."

He helps to you your feet, tucking his cock back inside his pants and zipping them up again. He pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you again.

"Sorry I kissed you and ran away like an idiot," he tells you, holding you snugly against him. "That was really stupid and embarrassing."

"You're not an idiot," you reply, playfully thumping him in the chest. "I like you just the way you are."

Jeonghan smiles. In the few years you've known him, you've never seen him radiating with genuine happiness like this — you decide it looks great on him.

[EPILOGUE]

You gasp for air as your head falls back into the pillows, chest heaving in the aftermath of your orgasm. Jeonghan remains parked between your legs, lazily lapping at your soaked pussy — his new favorite place to be.

"Fuck," you sigh, dragging your fingers through his hair. "That was so good."

He lifts his head, his mouth and chin glistening with your juices.

"Good," he replies, grinning at you proudly.

"Kiss me," you plead softly; he crawls up the bed to greet your lips with his, planting a deep kiss onto your mouth. A sudden knocking at your bedroom door makes the both of you jump.

"Hey lovebirds," Mina calls out through the door. "Your take-out just got here. I already paid for it, so you owe me $20."

"It was only $15!" you shout back.

"Service fee. For me," she responds cheekily, already walking away. You roll your eyes, laughing it off. Jeonghan starts kissing your cheeks, pecking gently as the soft skin.

"Hey, that tickles!" you giggle.

"But you look so pretty when you laugh," he replies, continuing to kiss you.

"You're ridiculous."

"I just love you, that's all."

He lifts his head, smiling at you sweetly.

"I love you too," you reply, beaming back at him. "We should go get our food before it gets cold—" you say, starting to try and sit up, but Jeonghan holds you pinned against the bed.

"Hey!" you protest, but he's already sliding back down the bed.

"You have a microwave," he says matter-of-factly, taking hold of your thighs as he positions his face right in front of your dripping core again.

"Besides, I'm not done here yet…"

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, don't forget to REBLOG and COMMENT — your feedback is greatly valued ♡

taglist: @miniseokminnies @kyeomiis @hannieween @smiileflower  @hanniebub

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[seungkw1]

backrooms — ksy

pairing: kwon soonyoung x f!reader genre: psychological horror, enemies to lovers, angst, smut [18+ mdni] wc: 12,667 warnings: depictions of gore, violence, guns/weapons, scary creatures, anomalies, liminal spaces, minor character death, dystopian vibes, a bit lore heavy, reader has a panic attack at one point, brief mention of suicidal ideation, fingering, nipple play, unprotected piv sex (don't do this irl), creampie, praise kink, body worship, talking u through it, dirty talk, petnames (baby, pretty girl) a/n: i am finallyyyyy getting back to the remainder of my halloween series fics!! truly so so sorry it's taking me this long, life has been kicking my ass but i am doing my darndest. as the title suggests, this is an au based on the backrooms!! if you don't know what the backrooms is, it's basically vague internet lore about an alternate reality of liminal spaces you can glitch into. you start at level 0, but there are infinite levels, each one a distinct creepy setting that may contain hostile creatures and appear to go on forever. this was SO fun to write, and although it's fairly dark and a bit scary i hope you guys will enjoy the story :) huge big ol thank u to @miniseokminnies for beta-ing, u da realest ily <3

𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝙲𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 — [𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝] ; [𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝]

SYNOPSIS: Your expedition into the Backrooms takes a turn when all of your crew members are killed, picked off one-by-one by the monstrous Entities that live within this labyrinthian abyss. Now it's just you, left to explore this never-ending liminal hellscape on your own, pressing onward as far as you can go before you too are killed. But when you unexpectedly run into another human, you have to decide whether or not to trust him. His cold, unfriendly demeanor is certainly off-putting, but your life very well might depend on his intel — so what choice do you have, really?

Expedition Andromeda Exodus Crew Commander's Logbook

Day 42 Commander Jarvis is dead. I was able to retrieve his pack before the Entity Epsilon dragged his corpse into the nether. As the First Officer I am to resume his command of the crew — what's left of us anyway. Privates Pierson and Yu also did not survive Level 8. May their souls rest in peace. According to the limited records recovered from prior expeditions, we should be nearing the Null Zone to Level 9. As far as the Axiom Company is concerned, Level 9 is the furthest any crew has reached before being fully exterminated. In my opinion, however, it remains a possibility that others from prior expeditions may have survived — perhaps moving on to higher levels, beyond the Company's reach. Whether they are out there, I suppose we will either find out or die trying. Day 46 We encountered another Entity Epsilon — that makes five. We have not once escaped from one of them as a full crew, and this time was no different. Privates Klipp and Jameson fought valiantly until the very end, but that thing is a monster. May their souls rest in peace. It's just me, Sanchez, and Finn left now. We should have reached a Null Zone by now, but no such luck. I have a bad feeling we've just been going in circles — but we have no choice but to press on. Day 47 Sixth Entity Epsilon encounter. We were so close. The Null Zone was right there, but it was faster. May Privates Sanchez and Finn rest in peace. I have retreated and am writing this in haste from our previous post, but I won't be safe here for much longer. I am going to make a run for the Null Zone. If I don't make it, then so be it.

You slip the tablet into your pack and raise your gun at the ready. Quietly slipping out of the abandoned makeshift tent you've been hiding under, you take a deep breath. Scanning the cavernous tunnels in your periphery, it looks clear — though, that doesn't mean much. You've unfortunately had enough run-ins with the Epsilons at this point to know that they can practically materialize out of thin air. Those fuckers are fast. You know your odds aren't great, but it's not like you have much to lose left anyway.

Heading in the direction of the Null Zone, you break into a sprint. Normally you'd take greater care to move in silence, but you've learned the hard way that all the stealth in the world is fruitless against the Epsilons. So you bolt at top speed, the echoes of your boots thunking against the limestone ground booming through the stale, damp air. If there's one nearby, you're done for.

Your senses start to sting, picking up on the empty resonance of the Null Zone ahead. You're almost there. Just 30 meters more. So close you can taste it. Then a horrific screech fills your ear.

You don't stop, you don't slow, you don't even dare to peek over your shoulder. You know once you do, you're dead meat. You run and run, muscles screaming in agony as you push yourself onward. 20 meters. 10 meters. Five. Four, three, two—

Against all instincts you hurl yourself at the cavern wall between two towering stalagmites. For a split millisecond you consider the possibility that you have misjudged the location of the Null Zone, and that you are about to slam face-first into solid rock. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact.

But it doesn't come.

A sudden deafening silence hits you like a truck. You open your eyes you see yourself hurling face-first into slick, oily pavement. You brace yourself just in time — your palms slamming into the rough ground as you catch yourself. Quickly rolling over you leap back to your feet, reaching for your gun and raising it to position as you rapidly scan your surroundings, but the Epsilon is gone — as is the miserable cave system you'd been in for nearly two weeks. Instead, you find yourself standing in the middle of a street in a suburban neighborhood, dim and shadowy in the moonless nighttime, shrouded in a chilly lingering mist. The caves were an insufferable flavor of quiet, but you had gotten used to its reverberating echoes; here it is just as quiet, but instead of claustrophobic it feels uncomfortably vast. You're not sure which is worse — but you're here now, and there is no going back.

Your head swivels as you peer down the street in both directions. As expected, both ways appear endless — you're used to that by now. No immediate anomalies are detected, and since the Company's intel on Level 9 is practically nonexistent anyway it really doesn't matter which way you go at this point. You decide to go left.

You walk down the center of the silent street, observing the mundane cookie-cutter houses that pass. The only source of light here is the sparse low-wattage street lamps, their incandescent glow seeming to cast more shadows than anything, but still they all look more or less the same: color palettes ranging from gray to beige, windows darkened, manicured lawns sitting picture-perfect without a blade of grass out of place. Painfully bland. You note none of the houses have numbers, but of course they don't.

Eventually you spot a four-way intersection. Approaching the cross street, you pause at its stop sign — the first and only bit of color you've seen thus far. Logistically, it makes the most sense to continue straight; there are no street signs, so the more turns you make the more likely you are to get lost. But there's no logic to the Backrooms — just when you think you're starting to figure things out, everything can change in the blink of an eye. Try to strategize your way out of a situation, and you'll probably end up in a worse one. You decide to turn right.

The pure silence is deafening, causing your ears to ring just enough for it to be irksome. You don't know what Entities await you in Level 9 — anyone who does most likely did not live to tell the tale; and while this place feels somehow even more devoid of life than the cave systems of Level 8 your intuition tells you something awful is present here. Yet you walk for miles and come across nothing but endless empty houses. You wonder what would happen if you tried to go inside one; the thought is appealing — as is the potential of finding an actual bed to sleep in for the first time in months. But the illusion of shelter might cause you to let your guard down, and you're not yet sure if that's a risk you're willing to take.

You stroll for another 15 minutes, passing a few more intersections but continuing on your path ahead. The protocol for a new level is always to scope out the environment first, provided you deem it safe enough to do so. You've always found that a bit laughable — only Level 0 is free of Entities, after all. After that, any sense of safety is merely an illusion. It's a matter of when, not if, something finds you. But by Backrooms standards, you currently feel about as safe as it gets.

Your feet start to drag as you walk on. You have been going practically non-stop for the brutal two weeks spent in the Level 8 caves — a little rest would do you wonders right now. You begin to study each house as you walk past, trying to get a sense of any danger that may be lurking behind their doors. Much of surviving the Backrooms boils down to natural survival instincts; yours are pretty damn good (it's why you were recruited, after all), but you're exhausted. Even the best soldiers start to lose their grip on reality in this state.

You pass on a few dozen houses. None of them have felt dangerous, but uncertainty is making you hesitant, so you reluctantly press on. You're nearly past the umpteenth beige house when something makes you stop. Turning to your left, the house standing before you looks as unremarkable as the rest. But something about it feels different. Whether that's a good thing or not, you are unsure — but there's only one way to find out.

You step onto the sidewalk, slowly approaching the front door. Even up close, you can't make out any single thing through the boxy windows; it's as if they are solidly opaque rather than just dark. Reaching for the handle, you turn it slowly. You were half expecting it to be locked, but it turns, granting you entry. You push it open just a crack, raising your weapon as you peer into the dark house; it looks like an ordinary modern home interior — no immediate signs of Entities or other danger. Slowly you let yourself in, shutting the front door behind you. You tug a small flashlight from your utility belt — an item infrequently used in the Backrooms, as many Entities are attracted to light. Clicking it on, you scan the room, finding nothing but furnishings as dull and uninteresting as the house's exterior. A set of stairs stands before you, but you proceed past it down the first floor's main hall. You open the doors you pass along the way, only finding a half bath and a few empty closets. Stepping into the kitchen, you find it as ordinary as the rest of the house. You're about to head upstairs when a slightly ajar cabinet catches your eye.

Walking over to the counter, you hesitantly reach for the cabinet door. You open it, eyes widening as your flashlight beam falls on the stock of cans and provisions packs behind the door — food.

Your mind starts to race. Without a doubt, humans were once here. But where are they now? If they had moved on to higher Levels, it's unlikely they would have left food behind. Did they die? Are they still here? If so, where are they?

click

The metallic sound behind your ear sends an immediate chill down your spine. You freeze, body going rigid in fear.

"Put the gun down and turn around. Slowly."

The gruff male voice comes from right behind you. You do as it says, cautiously setting your weapon on the counter and raising your hands in the air. Turning slowly you come face to face with the black muzzle of a pistol, held by a tall, scowling man.

"Who are you?" he barks. "You Company?"

He glares at you through narrowed eyes. Between his spiked hair, tattered headband, eyebrow piercing, and the large scar across his cheek, he would look scary even if he weren't holding a gun to your head.

"I'm Commander l/n of the Exodus Crew, Expedition Andromeda. Our mission is to—"

"Yeah, whatever, I know the spiel," the man scoffs. He cocks his head at you. "Where's the rest of your crew?"

"Dead," you answer him with a glare.

"You kill 'em?" he questions, pressing his pistol threateningly into your forehead.

"What?" you balk. "Of course not, why would you even think that?"

"What do you know of Expedition Crusader?" the man continues, disregarding your question.

"Crusader?" you repeat, your brow shifting in confusion. "There's no such expedition from the Axiom Company with that name."

He lets out an incredulous huff.

"Okay, so you know nothing. Got it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you inquire. You glance up at the barrel of the man's pistol. "And can you get this fucking gun out of my face?"

He stares at you for a moment, considering. You are a potential threat, but you also could be of use to him. Eventually he lowers the gun, letting it rest at his hip; you note that he doesn't take his finger off the trigger.

"It means you're just another pawn in the game."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" you stare at him, growing annoyed already. "Who even are you?"

The man looks at you, unanswering, the gears in his head clearly still turning.

"Call me Hoshi," he finally tells you. He gestures to your gun on the counter. "Get your weapon. But try anything funny and I will kill you."

"I won't," you respond as you grab your gun and put it back into its holster. "I'm just glad to see another human," you admit.

The man huffs again. "Right."

"What's your fucking problem?" you question, following him as he walks off toward a door at the other end of the kitchen. As he opens it you see it appears to lead down to the basement. He descends the staircase without responding; you roll your eyes, trudging after him.

"Shut the door behind you," he barks from somewhere in the darkness. You oblige, extinguishing the already inadequate light source. You're about to complain when you hear the strike of a match — Hoshi ignites a single lantern in the middle of the room, casting a faint flow over the basement's contents. You see a neatly piled stash of rations in one corner, an assortment of rifles and weapons in another, and a twin sized mattress with a single blanket pushed up against the wall — clearly this is where he has hunkered down. Hoshi sits down at the single table, where various maps and tablets are scattered, as if he had been studying them.

"Tell me everything you know about the Company and its missions," he says as you sit in the chair opposite from him.

"That's classified—"

He crosses his arms as he shakes his head, cutting you off. "I already know it all. I just want to see how much you know."

"So you're Company then, too."

"Formerly," he grumbles.

"What does that mea—"

"We'll get there. Just start from the beginning."

"The beginning?" you raise your brow at him. "You want a fucking history lesson?"

"Skip the details," he waves his hand dismissively. "Just give me a summary."

You stare at him, mouth slightly ajar. You don't like the idea of just sitting around wasting time, but you are fucking exhausted.

"Fine," you sigh. "In the year 2135 a group of scientists conducting research on particle physics accidentally discovered a gateway to an alternate dimension that became known as the Backrooms. One of the scientists, Zhang, volunteered to be the first person to enter. He went in, and the team waited patiently for him to report back — nobody knew whether time progressed at the same velocity in the Backrooms, after all, so there could be some sort of delay. They gave it a few days, then a few weeks, then several months. But he was never heard from again. The team then decided to set up a base camp in the Backrooms, to conduct further research and transmit data back to Standard Earth. It was a groundbreaking endeavor, and every day it seemed there was a new discovery that made physicists question everything they knew about the fabric of reality. The research was thriving, but there was a major problem: the initial team who went in could not find a way out. Transmissions from the team became less and less frequent; and eventually, radio silence. Optimism began to dwindle, and funding started to run out. The project was in danger of being shut down entirely — but a coalition of wealthy donors founded the Axiom Company to continue the research. They launched Expedition Pioneer, and sent the first official crew in on a recovery mission. They found the base camp, but it seemed abandoned — and the scientists were nowhere to be seen. The recovery operation turned into reconnaissance, and soon the first Null Zone was discovered. That's when they realized there was more than one level to the Backrooms — but just like nobody could return to Standard Earth from Level 0, those who proceeded to Level 1 could not return to the previous Level. This encouraged Axiom to turn the Backrooms into a full-fledged enterprise. More and more expeditions embarked, and more and more Levels were discovered; the physicists began to theorize that the Backrooms actually contained an infinite number of Levels — a never-ending labyrinth of dimensions within dimensions. But of course, there were also the Entities. Entity Alphas were the first, lurking in the shadows of Level 1's parking garage enviro. They were awful enough as is — large, gangly, and fleshy, strong enough to rip humans apart in a single go. But it only got worse when the Pioneer crews discovered they also had the ability to mimic — disguising themselves as fellow crew members, luring you in with a false sense of security and then shredding you into pieces."

You pause as the gruesome imagery flashes through your mind. Gritting your teeth, you reach for your canteen and take a swig of lukewarm water. You've had no one to talk to since the last of your crew were exterminated (except for yourself, but you try to keep that to a minimum — for your safety as well as your sanity), and your throat is already growing hoarse.

"Anyway," you continue, recapping your canteen and clipping it back onto its place on your utility belt. "I'm sure you're all too familiar with the known Entities." Hoshi doesn't respond, continuing to stare at you coldly from across the table. A grimace seems permanently etched onto his face, but you can't get a read on his motives. Frustrating.

"Despite all the setbacks, incredible progress was made. The Company developed a massive database, recording everything known about the Backrooms and each of its Levels. The first few Levels are the most well-known, but documentation exists through Level 8. No reports from further Levels have ever been received, and nothing is known of Level 9. There has even been speculation that Level 9's enviro is inhospitable to humans, that no one who has entered it has survived — but we are currently in Level 9, so clearly that's not true."

You stop, wondering if Hoshi is satisfied with your rundown of the shit he certainly already knows. His lips remain pursed, saying nothing but continuing to glare at you.

"Do you have a fucking problem with me?" you spit suddenly.

"That depends," he responds, unfazed by your hostile tone.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It's complicated."

"It's a yes or no question," you scowl.

"You are naive. Things are not as straightforward as you think they are."

"Go ahead then," you huff, growing exasperated. "Explain to me how things really are, since apparently I'm fucking stupid."

"You're not stupid," he states matter-of-factly. "You wouldn't have made it this far if you were."

"Then why are you speaking to me like I am??"

"The truth can be hard to grapple with."

"I've seen Entity Alphas rip a human to shreds in seconds," you glare. "I've seen a Gamma boil my crewmate's skin off with their projectile acid venom. I've watched helplessly as Epsilons picked my crew off one by one, taking them alive and dragging them off to to god knows what kinds of horrors lay waiting in the nether. I assure you, whatever it is, I can handle it."

"That's not what I mean."

You swiftly draw your gun and aim it at Hoshi's forehead, switching the safety off.

"I don't appreciate you wasting my fucking time with your cryptic bullshit," you sneer. "Tell me whatever it is that's so important, or die. Your choice."

Hoshi laughs. An infuriatingly haughty chuckle, aggravated even further by the smug smirk spreading across his face. Your scowl deepens, but he just reclines in his chair, raising his hands and resting them behind his head, nonchalant and arrogant.

"Go ahead darling, shoot me," he shrugs. "I've wanted to blow my fucking brains out every single day for a very long time now. You'd only be doing me a favor. But just know that without me, you'll be dead within days."

Your jaw clenches. Unfortunately, you know he's probably right. You don't know how long Hoshi has been in Level 9, but if he's survived this long he certainly has knowledge that would be useful to you.

"Fine."

You switch the safety back on and lower your weapon.

"But call me darling again and I'm gonna start breaking fingers."

If your threat had any effect on him, his callous face shows no sign of it. Rising to his feet, he begins to quickly move to gather the documents on the table.

"For now I will give you a very basic rundown," he tells you, rolling the papers up and shoving them into a small metal canister retrieved from his pack. "But we can't risk staying here any longer. I'll tell you on the way to our next location. Grab any weapons you want," he instructs, pointing to the stockpile in the corner. "Good chance you'll need 'em."

You have dozens of burning questions, but you hold your tongue. You don't think Hoshi would answer any of them right now anyway.

"Anything I can do?" you inquire after arming yourself with an additional automatic rifle and several hand grenades.

"Collect the provisions from the kitchen," he orders as he folds up the safety blanket into his pack. "I'll be up in a minute."

You turn to head back up the stairs, but you are halted by Hoshi's hand grabbing your wrist. Turning to face him, his piercing eyes bore into yours.

"If anything looks out of place, run."

"What do you m—"

"I mean exactly that. Use your instincts. Your life depends on it now more than ever."

As much as you want to trust Hoshi, you don't. Something about him scares you. You're not sure what — but according to him, there's no time to stand around and think right now. It's either trust him, or fend for yourself. Neither is very appealing, but for the time being, you decide to do as he says.

"Understood," you reply bluntly. He releases your arm, and you proceed up the stairs.

As you saw before, there's not much in the cabinet. It takes you approximately thirty seconds to stow the provisions in your pack. You hear Hoshi's footsteps echoing as he climbs up the stairs; turning, you see him emerge from the dark basement, hauling his belongings and also wielding an automatic rifle. You're about to ask where it is exactly that you two are going, when you notice the houseplant in the hallway. It's a large fern, tall and leafy, and it definitely wasn't there before.

Hoshi's eyes dart to where yours are fixed, immediately registering the anomaly. He turns to tell you to run, but you have already bolted out the back door. He runs after you, following you as you kick down the fence gate with a single blow and bolt into the street.

"LEFT!" he shouts at your back. You turn left, sprinting down the center of the road off into the permanent suburban night. He's fast, advantaged by his height, but you're faster. He lengthens his strides, pushing onward, finally catching up to you at the next intersection.

"Stop!!" he orders, and you do. Back to back, you survey the streets around you. You're not entirely sure what it is you're looking for, but as far as you can see in every direction you find nothing. Intuition tells you you are safe — for now, at least.

"We're clear," Hoshi states. He lowers his gun a bit, but still grips it firmly. "For now."

He turns to face you, his sharp eyes locking onto you.

"You're very good at following orders," he says to you, but by the bitterness in his tone you can tell that it's not a compliment. He walks off, continuing straight down the same street.

You follow him for several blocks, walking a couple meters behind him without conversation, but you quickly begin to grow annoyed.

"What was that?"

"An Entity Zeta," he responds curtly, not bothering to turn around. You wait for him to elaborate, but of course he doesn't.

"And what exactly are the Zetas?" you inquire, speeding your pace to catch up to him. "What's their M.O.?"

His jaw clenches. "They're a hive mind," he answers bitterly. "A massive, interconnected colony of festering, insect-like creatures. Their M.O. is to stalk and ambush. They don't attack right away. They watch you, disguising themselves as familiar objects — waiting until you least expect it, striking when you're at your most vulnerable. If you feel safe for even a moment, you're not."

"And that houseplant was one of them."

"Yes."

"What would have happened?" you press. "If we hadn't ran away?"

"It would've erupted into a swarm of vermin and cleaned all the flesh off our bones within a minute tops."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he huffs. "'Oh' is right."

"Is there any way to fight back?"

"Depends how close they are. If they're too close, no. You either run or you're fucked. If they're further away, fire will deter them, but not for long. There's no true way of 'killing' them off — it'll just retreat back into the hive mind and regenerate."

"You say fire. Are grenades the best bet?"

"Grenades can be effective. But your best bet—" He slips his pack off his shoulder, pulling out an empty beer bottle with a rag sticking out of it. "Is one of these."

You raise your brow at the crude Molotov cocktail, but as you think about it it does makes a lot of sense.

"What do you use to ignite it?"

Hoshi reaches into the breast pocket of his cargo jacket, pulling out something small and tosses it at you. As you catch it, you see it's a matchbook.

"Here," he adds, extending the bottle in his hand to you. "Take this one."

You tuck the matchbook into your own pocket and slip the makeshift bomb into one of the external pockets on your pack.

"Thanks," you tell him amicably. "Hopefully I won't need it."

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He still wears the same scornful expression, but unless your eyes are deceiving you, it seems to have softened ever so slightly.

"You will."

You walk in silence again for a few moments. The question lingering on your mind nags at you, begging to be asked.

"Is your crew still around or is it just you?"

Hoshi stiffens. "Just me," he answers grimly.

"I'm sorry for your loss," you tell him sincerely, but he just scoffs. He continues onward, lips pursed tightly shut as he doesn't reply.

"Did they—"

"I don't want to talk about it," he sneers.

"Okay," you accept. "Sorry."

He says nothing. You go back to walking in silence.

At the next intersection, Hoshi turns right.

"Are we going to a specific location or are we just wandering until we find something?" you ask.

"Specific location. We're close."

You wonder if his bluntness is related to you bringing up his crew, ripping open a not-so-old wound. But in the short span of time you've known him, you've gathered this is just how he is.

"Here," he says a few blocks later, stopping in front of another perfectly nondescript house. He heads for the front door — you follow.

The house's interior is almost identical to the previous one you were in, bland and impersonal.

"I'll sweep upstairs. You take downstairs," he instructs, quickly disappearing up the stairs. You're not sure exactly what you're looking for, since the Zetas can apparently shape shift into anything, but you investigate anyway. The living room, dining room, kitchen, closets, and bathroom all seem fine. The last room to be checked sits behind a closed door; you swing it open, your gun at the ready — but you find nothing but an ordinary bedroom. You check its bathroom as well, but it too is clear.

Hoshi materializes in the doorway as you exit the bathroom.

"Upstairs is clear."

"Downstairs too," you inform him. "I can't believe this one has a real bed," you remark, a grin appearing on your face for the first time in god knows how long.

"They all do," he replies. You turn and give him a look.

"Then why were you sleeping in the basement in the other one?"

"It's not important."

You stare at him blankly for a moment, but then you just shrug.

"Well I'm sleeping here," you announce, plopping your pack down on the floor. "An actual bed, in the Backrooms. It's a goddamn miracle."

"Don't get too comfortable," Hoshi tells you dully, turning to exit the bedroom.

"Will we have to move again soon?" you inquire. He stops, looking back at you.

"It's likely."

"Is there a pattern to the Zetas' movement?" you ask, making him stop in his tracks again. He lets out a small sigh.

"Get some sleep," he says plainly, and then he leaves.

You're about to plop yourself on the bed and go right to sleep, but a thought crosses your mind. You step back into the bathroom, walking over to the shower and turning its knob. To your surprise, it actually turns on, an inviting stream of water spraying from the faucet.

"Holy shit," you mutter to yourself, a wide grin spreading across your face. You're about to begin undressing when an arm reaches from behind you and shuts the water off. You whip around abruptly, finding Hoshi's face hovering above yours. His broad stature towers over you — from this close up, he is even more intimidating than he already ways.

"What the hell?!" you bark at him.

"I told you," he glares down at you. "The Zetas will attack at your most vulnerable."

"I'll be fast."

"No," he insists, crossing his arms. "It's too risky."

"Oh come on," you groan. "I haven't taken a proper shower in ages. Let me have this."

"You're asking to get killed."

"Oh go fuck yourself," you roll your eyes, taking your shirt off anyway. Hoshi averts his eyes; you reach for the knob and turn the water back on. "I'll be five minutes."

"Fine," he grumbles. "I'll stand guard I fucking guess."

You're about to point out that you never asked him to do that, but you just shake your head. There's no point in arguing with him, it seems.

"Suit yourself."

He shuts the door behind him as he exits. You spend the next five minutes basking in the glory of a real, functioning shower. The water is cold, but you don't even care — as far as you're concerned this is the peak of luxury.

After, you exit the bathroom to retrieve the change of clothes from your pack. Sure enough, Hoshi is standing right outside the door; when he sees that you're naked, he quickly turns away.

"Could've given me a fucking warning," he mumbles under his breath.

"Sorry," you say uninterestedly as you get dressed again. "I wasn't about to put those filthy clothes back on."

"I'm dressed now," you announce about a minute later.

"Great."

He starts to walk out of the room when you grab him by the shoulder.

"You should take a shower, too."

"I'm fine," he responds, trying to walk away, but you cling to his shirt, yanking at it to spin him back around.

"Take a fucking shower," you glare at him. "Give me your gun, I'll be on watch."

He grits his teeth, but to your surprise he stomps back into the bathroom.

"I'm not giving you my gun. Use your own."

The door slams shut behind him. You grin as you hear the water turn back on, picking up your weapon and stationing yourself beside the door.

Eight minutes later the ambient rush of the water dissipates. Hoshi appears a few moments later, marching out of the bathroom and making a beeline for the door. You consider teasing him for taking so long, but you are promptly distracted by his stark lack of clothing. He wears only his underwear and headband, the rest of his clothes balled up in his fist sopping wet as he walks out of the room. It was clear from the moment you met him that he had a strong build — but seeing him shirtless, water droplets beading down his back between the crevices of his muscles, very much takes you by surprise.

"See? Wasn't that nice?" you call out to him. He turns back around, his thick pectorals also glistening with water despite the darkness of the room. He stares at you intensely, but the harshness which you've grown accustomed to from him has seemed to mellow slightly.

"Goodnight, Commander l/n," he says calmly, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

You wake about eight hours later. Level 9 has no daylight, so there's no such thing as a true morning — but for the first time in months you actually feel refreshed. You don't know when was the last time you slept this long in one go. Certainly well before your time in the Backrooms.

You find Hoshi in the kitchen, eating beans straight from a can. He still wears a deeply wearied look, but he too seems like he slept well.

"I was just about to wake you," he states, extending the can of beans to you. "You should eat."

You gladly accept the can of beans, spooning a large bite into your mouth.

"I don't know when the last time I had real food was," you comment gleefully as you chew. "All I have left is the dehydrated powder shit and calorie pills."

"We seem to have been the last crew sent in with canned goods," he tells you. "The Company shifted to processed nutrient provisions after us. Cheap bastards."

Your lips twitch into a grin. Getting a full night's rest has seemingly done wonders for the man's demeanor. You consider commenting on it, but you figure he wouldn't appreciate that very much, and the last thing you want to do is piss him off even a little. But, you do still have about a thousand questions for him.

"What were they like?" you ask, treading carefully. "Your crew. You haven't told me much about them."

Hoshi tenses up, a cold expression washing over his face.

"I don't see how it's relevant."

"Okay," you nod acceptingly, not wanting to aggravate him. "How about you then?"

He narrows his eyes at you, confused. "What about me?"

"I don't know, anything. What's your rank?"

"What's it to you?" he cocks his head at you.

"Just trying to make conversation, damn. Sorry," you spit. Irritated, you turn to walk away. You're nearly out of the kitchen when he decides to answer.

"First Officer," he says, his voice less harsh this time. You turn back around; he's still staring at you sternly, but he no longer seems hostile.

"Oh shit, really?" you ask, surprised but interested. "Me too."

"I thought you were Commander," he frowns, wondering if you lied to him before.

"Only after an Epsilon got our initial Commander," you reply, trying not to relive that memory too much.

"Oh. I see," he says quietly, accepting your answer.

"But I suppose rank doesn't mean much of anything anymore," you comment neutrally. "Not when you're the last remaining crewmate."

"I suppose not."

"Well, First Officer Hoshi," you say as you finish off the beans. "What's our course of action for today?"

Hoshi lets out a bewildered laugh. You raise your brow at him, but he just shakes his head.

"Hoshi isn't my real name," he explains. "We all had nicknames, me and my crew."

"What is your name, then?" you ask, genuinely curious, but the minute amount of warmth present in his face quickly fades.

"That's not important."

"That seems to be your answer for everything."

"That's because most things are no longer important," he responds coolly. "Not if you're to survive Level 9."

With that, he departs the kitchen. You sigh. It's exasperating dealing with Hoshi — but you decide to follow him.

"You didn't answer my question," you remind him as you join him in the dining room. He is sitting at the table, notebooks and tablets and maps strewn across its surface just as they were in the previous house's basement.

"What question?"

"I asked you what our course of action is."

"Our course of action is to not die," he states.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, no shit. I mean, is there anything I can do to help?"

"No."

"That can't possibly be true."

He glances up at you, sharp eyes locking into your gaze. Every time, it's intimidating.

"You don't have the intel needed to be of use here."

He says it matter-of-factly, without contempt, but you're still irked by his unintentional rudeness.

"Well, you could fill me in," you suggest, but he just waves his hand at you dismissively.

"That would take too long."

"It's not like we have anything else to do!" you point out, growing annoyed.

"Fine! Here," he barks, grabbing a handful of the maps and shoving them toward you. "Study these."

"Thank you," you say curtly, snatching them from his hand and marching out of the room.

You spend the next few hours studying Hoshi's maps of Level 9. For the most part, they are incomprehensible, and you genuinely start to wonder if he might just be insane. Eventually you bury your head in your hands, groaning with frustration. A few moments later, you sense movement, coming from behind you. You reach for your gun and jump to your feet, swiveling around and pointing the weapon, but it's just Hoshi.

"Fucking hell, don't sneak up on me like that!" you chastise him.

"Apologies." He extends to you an additional piece of paper; you take it, seeing an assortment of keys, diagrams, and notes. "This should help you understand the maps better."

"Gee, thanks, this would've been really helpful several hours ago," you say sardonically as you scan the sheet.

"I made it just now."

"Oh," you reply, lifting your gaze to meet his. "Well, thank you."

He gives you a single nod, spinning on his heel and retreating back to the dining room.

With Hoshi's new notes, you're quickly able to start making sense of the maps. What had previously looked like the scribblings of a madman turn into a vastly complex mathematical schematic depiction of the known areas of Level 9. You're still on the fence about whether the man is insane, but one thing becomes very clear: he's a fucking genius.

A few more hours and your brain is aching from overuse. When the maps start to become convoluted, you decide to call it quits. You gather the papers and return them to Hoshi in the dining room; he's in the exact same spot he was hours ago, poring over some sort of document on his tablet.

"Thank you for the notes," you tell him as you set the maps on one of the few empty spots on the tabletop. "They really helped me start to make sense of things."

"You're welcome," Hoshi replies, the polite words feeling awkward rolling off his tongue. It's been a long time since he's had a casual conversation with anybody that didn't involve giving or receiving orders.

"I'm going to sleep now," you inform him.

"Okay."

"Goodnight, Hoshi," you say cordially.

He simply nods. You figure that's about as much as you're going to get out of him; as you walk out of the room, you hear his voice echo calmly from behind you.

"Goodnight."

As you sleep you have a nightmare.

It's a recurring one — one you've been having for a while now. In it, you're wielding a gun, but it's not like the ones you carry with you in the Backrooms. It's a .45 handgun, and you're frantically reloading it as you crouch behind something that resembles a desk. Your hands are shaky and covered in blood, but it doesn't appear to be yours. A curly-haired man is perched beside you, reloading his own pistol. He's wounded, appearing to have been grazed by a bullet in the arm, one of his glasses lenses half-shattered, but he appears determined; he signals to you to advance.

"Go!! I'll cover you!" he mutters to you under his breath.

"I don't feel very good about this anymore," you reply, cocking your gun. He looks at you somberly, but you can tell he understands.

"Me neither," he says, then smiles at you. "If I don't see you again, it's been a pleasure working with you."

You grin back. "Likewise," you reply.

"On my signal," he tells you. You take a deep breath, shifting to prepare yourself to make a run for it.

"Three… two… one… GO!!!"

You jump to your feet and hurdle yourself over the desk, coming face to face with three men in full riot gear and guns much bigger and scarier than yours. A shot rings out from behind you as your companion shoots at the nearest one — he hits him, and the armed man collapses to the ground. You manage to yank the ballistic shield out of his hands as you pass, wielding it as you sprint toward the emergency exit that the remaining two men are blocking. You hold your fire, focusing on protecting yourself from their bullets with the shield. To your surprise you manage to make it all the way to them without getting hit. You shoot one of them in the leg as you ram the other with the shield as hard as you can — it's enough to knock him over slightly, giving you a chance to shoot at him once before you throw yourself against the door. It opens into a maintenance hallway, its concrete walls and flooring sallowly lit by sparse fluorescent lighting. You bolt toward the left, running as fast as you possibly can muster, hoping to escape before they come after you; but the hallway is vast and open, with no places to hide. Suddenly you are surrounded, flanked by a dozen armed men who seemed to materialize from the walls. One of them shoves you to the ground, your knees slamming into the floor. A siren wails hauntingly in the distance, your ears pound with the rushing blood coursing through your veins, your breathing harsh and erratic. You hear the sound of a rifle cocking into position behind your head, and then—

"Commander! Wake up!"

You bolt upright, finding yourself in the bedroom again. Hoshi hovers above the bed, staring down at you— a menacing sight to wake up to, but not worse than the dream you were having.

"We have to go," he tells you urgently. "Pack your shit as fast as you can."

You don't question him. The alarm in his voice is enough to light a fire under you, and within a minute you've gathered your things. Hoshi reappears in the doorway as you finish lacing your boots.

"Come on," he orders. You hurry after him, following him out the front door into the never-ending suburban night. You run for several blocks, turning down a new street a few times, but soon he begins to slow his pace.

"We should be safe now," he tells you. "But don't let your guard down."

He continues, walking along the sidewalk with his weapon at the ready.

"There's another house nearby. We'll be there soon."

You nod, walking beside him silently for a minute or two.

"How do you know where to go?" you decide to ask. "Like how do you know where is safe?"

He turns, facing you as he speaks. You notice that this is the first time he's done so.

"I've been tracking Zeta movement for long enough now that I can recognize their patterns," he explains. "Once one is activated in one area, there seems to be a recovery period before they can strike within the vicinity again. They also seem to stick to certain paths, though I have no idea why. I assume it has to do with the physical logistics of the hive mind network."

"Damn, you're really fucking smart," you tell him. "Not that I thought you were stupid," you add.

"I used to be an engineer," he replies gruffly.

"What?! How did you end up in a tactical unit then?"

He lets out a bitter laugh. "That's a long story. We turn left here."

"I'm all ears," you try, following him as he turns down the next street.

"Maybe later, when we—"

He stops in his tracks, thrusting his hand out in front of you and forcing you to halt too. Ahead of you are several dozen mailboxes — the blue collection receptacles that you would typically find at a street corner. It occurs to you that you've never seen a mailbox in Level 9 before, but these aren't just posted on the sidewalk — they're on the sidewalks, in the yards, in the middle of the street. All of them seeming to be turned toward you, facelessly staring you down with sinister intent.

"Shit," Hoshi hisses as he frantically reaches for one of the grenades clipped to his pack. He pulls the pin with his teeth and launches it toward the nearest cluster of mailboxes, but it doesn't go off. You reach for the grenades on your own pack, but as you do so one of the blue boxes close to you begins to turn into static, coming to life in a festering swarm and growing tall and sprawling and disgusting. You toss your first grenade, swinging your rifle back into your hands and firing into the mass. It seems to hinder it slightly, making it squeal, but the explosion of the grenade does significantly more damage. It begins to retreat into itself, but two others near Hoshi start to shift into their true form. His second grenade goes off, holding them off momentarily as they let out a grating screech, but the rest of the Zetas are already activating. Remembering the bottle Hoshi had given you, you grab it from your pack.

"Cover me!!" you shout to him as you kneel. Setting the bottle on the ground you reach into your pocket, digging around for the matchbook. Hoshi fires a stream of bullets into the Zeta currently charging toward you; you almost panic, unable to find the matches, but finally your fingers locate the small paper packet. You pry one of the matches off and strike it, holding it to the rag sticking out of the bottle. For a horrible moment you're not sure there's even anything flammable inside it — but giving it a good shake you hear something sloshing around in there. Saying a silent prayer you try the match again, and this time it ignites. A fucking miracle.

"Incoming!!!" you yell to Hoshi. He ducks, and you throw the Molotov cocktail as hard as you can toward the center of the largest cluster of Zetas. The bottle shatters on impact with the pavement, igniting into a massive fireball and engulfing the Entities. The flames spread quickly to the others, extracting a cacophonous symphony of horrible screeches as they all begin to burn — the one weakness of being a hive mind, you suppose.

"RUN!!" Hoshi screams. He takes off in the opposite direction, with you sprinting right behind him. As you dash across the intersection you hear a thunderous BOOOOOOOOM bellow out from behind you. The sound of the Zetas' awful squeals swells, and then disappears, returning the street into silence aside from the crackling of the spreading fire and the pounding of you and Hoshi's boots upon the pavement. You steal a glance back, but there's no mailboxes or Zetas in sight — just the flames lighting up the block with an ominous orange glow.

"Are we clear?" you ask Hoshi through labored breaths. He slows down, walking now instead of running. Turning to look behind him, he nods approvingly.

"Yeah, we're good."

"For now," you add.

"For now," he agrees.

"Where to now?" you inquire as he continues down the street, seeming to know exactly where he's going. He lets out a long sigh.

"My crew's original base camp is not far," he says bitterly. His tone sounds reluctant, and you get the sense he does not want to return to this location — but he knows it's the smartest option.

You turn right a few blocks later, and the base camp comes into view. The tall makeshift fence surrounding the house makes it glaringly obvious where you're headed.

"Damn," you comment as you and Hoshi approach the gate, staring up in awe at what looks to be like electrical wiring rigged on top of and all over the scrapped-together fencing. "This is impressive."

Hoshi doesn't reply. He fiddles with the gate's crude latch, letting the both of you in and shutting it again behind you.

"Let's see if we can light this shit back up," he mutters, stepping up to the tangled assembly of wires beside the gate. He fiddles with it for a minute, a low humming sound filling the air as the electricity comes back on. You look at him in amazement; he gives you a slight smirk.

"I told you, engineer," he says nonchalantly, brushing past you and heading into the house.

You were expecting another lifeless interior, like the past houses, but your eyes widen with surprise as you step through the door. The house does have the same style of bland furnishings as seen before, but scattered everywhere are various belongings: clothes strewn over the couch, papers and notebooks atop the coffee table and floor, empty cans and rations packs discarded haphazardly all around. Most prominent though are the spray painted walls — playful graffiti scribbled alongside what appears to be basic map outlines. You realize you haven't seen this much color, this much life, in a long fucking time; the thought nearly makes you emotional, but you quickly shake it off.

"Do you mind if I sleep now?" you question.

"Sure," Hoshi responds, dropping his pack in the middle of the room and plopping himself onto the couch. "We'll be safe here for a while."

"Great," you reply with a relieved grin, excited at the prospect of getting to sleep in a bed again. You head toward the door that appears to be the master bedroom.

"No!!" Hoshi shouts as you go to open the door. He leaps off the couch and gets between you and the doorway, blocking you from entering.

"Don't fucking touch it," he spits angrily.

"Okay, okay!" you say as you swiftly back up, raising your hands in the air apologetically. "I won't, I'm sorry."

He's glaring at you, but his face quickly drops, his irate expression shifting into one of sorrow.

"Take the room with the blue door upstairs," he orders you quietly. "At the end of the hall."

"Okay," you agree gently. As you turn to go up the staircase, you hear him sigh deeply.

"It was my Commander's room."

You look back over your shoulder. Hoshi stands before the door still, arms crossed and staring down at the floor.

"Were you close?" you ask softly.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," you tell him with sincerity. He nods, saying nothing. You stand there for a few more moments, watching him, wondering if you should say anything else. But you don't; you continue up the stairs without another word, leaving him be.

Sure enough, the room at the end of the hallway sits behind a door spray-painted bright blue. You enter, finding a standard looking bedroom covered in a similar disarray to what was present downstairs. Even with the mess, it feels surprisingly cozy.

You drop your bag to the ground, removing your boots and flopping onto the bed. You're asleep before you can even bother getting under the covers.

As usual, you wake up to darkness. You never thought you would miss daylight this much, but the lack of distinction between day and night in the Backrooms, quite frankly, fucking sucks.

You decide to go downstairs to get something to eat. As you drag yourself out of bed, you see something flutter off the nightstand and onto the floor. You pick up the small piece of paper; it's very wrinkled, edges tattered and slightly torn, but you see that it's a photo. Flipping it over, you see a group of eight people, bright faces smiling with enthusiasm and laughter. Many are holding beer bottles, raising them to the camera with cheers. Hoshi's face pops out to you immediately, but the huge beaming grin on his face makes him looks drastically different, as does the distinct lack of scarring across his cheek. One man in the middle of the group seems to be the central focus of the photo — he holds a cake with lit candles on it, the others pointing at him gleefully.

This must be his crew, you think to yourself. You figure the man in the middle is probably his Commander; it appears to have been his birthday in the photo. You tuck the photo into your pocket, careful not to rip it any further.

Traipsing down the stairs, you spot Hoshi crashed face down into the couch, fast asleep. Carefully you wake up him, patting at his shoulder gently. He flies off the couch, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

"Fucking hell!" you instinctively shout in reaction. Calmer, you add "It's just me."

Hoshi stands before you, looking frazzled, the bandana around his head askew and partially covering one of his eyes. He blinks, realizing you are not a threat. He relaxes slightly, adjusting the headband back into place and sitting back down on the couch with a thump.

"Sorry," he mutters, a yawn overtaking him.

"It's fine. Why didn't you sleep in a bed?" you inquire.

"You were in my bed," he states plainly.

"What?" you say with a laugh. "There's more beds in this house—"

"The couch is fine," he insists firmly. You roll your eyes, but you don't press it any further.

An unopened can of what appears to be beef chili sitting on a nearby shelf catches your eye.

"Mind if I open this?" you ask Hoshi, showing him the can. "We can share."

His face seems to lighten up at the prospect of something besides beans or nutrient powder. "Fine with me," he nods, getting up and walking into the next room. "Here, there's probably some utensils in the kitchen still."

He returns with a very bent metal spoon and a fork that is missing a prong. You sit at opposite ends of the couch, passing the can of chili back and forth as you eagerly devour it.

"As far as I'm concerned," you say, breaking the silence as you shovel a spoonful of the stew into your mouth, "this is a gourmet fucking meal."

Hoshi takes the can as you hand it to him. It disappears in a flash, but the briefest hint of a grin appears on his face for a split second.

"Can I ask you about your crew?" you say delicately after a minute or so of silence. You know it's clearly sensitive topic for him, but you have a feeling he might be more open to talking about them now that he seems to trust you at least a little bit.

Hoshi stares down at the can in his hand, mindlessly stirring the chili with his fork.

"I'm not sure why you want to know about them so bad," he says quietly.

You consider whether you should for a moment, but you decide to ask him about the photo. Carefully removing it from your pocket, you show him the tattered photograph. His expression changes, the coldness disappearing from his face, replaced by wistfulness and regret.

"I found this in your room. I assume this is them?"

He takes it from you, staring at the eight smiling faces in the photo.

"Yeah, that's them."

"This was from before your expedition," you comment, looking at him for confirmation. He gives you a small nod. The room falls silent again, and you accept that that's the most you're probably ever going to get out of him. You start to get up, figuring you should leave him alone.

"It was the week before we set out."

You freeze. Sitting back into the couch, you look over at him again. He's still staring at the picture.

"It was our Commander's 30th birthday," he continues. "His name was Laughlin, but we all called him Blaze. He accidentally started a fire once in the middle of a training course, and the name stuck."

A smile appears on Hoshi's face. It's subtle, but it's a real, genuine smile.

"Tell me about your past," he says, turning to face you.

"My past?" you respond, thrown off by the sudden request. "Um, well I started out at Axiom training in the Research Department, but then I was switched over to Tactical—"

"No," Hoshi cuts you off. "I don't mean that. I mean before Axiom."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what you did prior to joining the Company. Your job, your hobbies, your family, anything."

"Well, I…" you start to tell him, but your mind spins. You rack your brain, trying to picture your life before all this, but you're completely drawing a blank.

"I… can't remember?" you say quietly. You think about your parents, your mom, your dad. You know they exist — so why can't you picture their faces? You try to think about your siblings, but did you even have any? You don't know.

Your heart starts to pound in your chest. You jump to your feet, beginning to pace around the room.

"Why can't I remember?" you whisper, barely audible. You suddenly feel very dizzy.

"It's okay, don't panic," he tells you calmly. But it's too late — your chest has already tightened, and you feel like you're going to throw up. You don't know what else to do, so you bolt upstairs.

"Commander!" Hoshi calls after you, but with your heartbeat pounding in your ears you barely hear him. You run back into the bedroom, slamming the blue door shut behind you. You fall to the ground, your back to the door as you try to steady your breathing. You don't ever remember having panic attacks before, but then again you apparently don't remember anything at all.

You hear the doorknob turn above your head. Hoshi tries to open the door, but it doesn't budge with you slumped against it. He pounds on the door, the knocks thumping against your back.

"Let me in," he insists, but you barely even hear him. He sighs, turning the knob again and forcing the door open with his body weight. It opens enough for him to slip inside; he picks you up off the ground, lifting you with ease and carrying you across the room. He sets you on the bed, sitting down beside you.

"Hey, breathe," he instructs, shaking you gently but firmly. It brings you back to reality a bit; your eyes are able to focus on your surroundings again. "Take a deep breath, you're starting to hyperventilate."

You do as he says, inhaling and exhaling slowly several times. Finally, the panic dissipates. You turn to look at Hoshi beside you.

"Why can't I remember?" you ask again, your voice wavering. He sighs.

"It's a long story, but I'll explain. Do you remember what you told me about Axiom's history before?"

You nod. That was only a few days prior, but it feels like ages ago.

"Well, most of everything you said is true. But there's more — secrets they kept from you and me and almost everybody. There's a reason you don't remember anything about your past: nobody does. And there's good reason for it. Because if the truth got out, the Company would go down in flames."

"That's what you said before, 'the truth'," you recall.

"I wasn't lying when I said it's a tough pill to swallow," he reminds you. "I didn't want to believe it at first, either. But it all goes back to the initial discovery of the Backrooms. It was an accident, a byproduct of a top-secret government experiment conducted as part of research efforts to create a new weapon of mass destruction — one that would make the atomic bomb look like child's play. Word got out, spreading to various government agencies, and people were pissed. Almost everyone opposed the development of the new bomb, so they said they were halting the research. But they lied. A whistleblower eventually exposed them, leading to a massive strike amongst the scientists and engineers working on classified government projects. But the government didn't budge — they executed the whistleblower, hoping to instill fear that would lead to compliance, but it backfired. It instigated an uprising, the scientists and researchers fighting back, but despite their numbers they were no match for the militarized response units. Those who weren't killed were imprisoned and forced into menial labor. That's when Axiom comes along — the 'wealthy donors' it boasts of as its founders were on the government's payroll. The Company was founded as a ruse, pretending to be a neutral third party purely interested in the research, but they quickly rounded up the prisoners to use for their dirty work. But even with brute force and violence, the scientists refused to work. They knew they couldn't just kill them all off — they were far too valuable of assets. So they came up with an alternative solution: implant a neural chip in everyone's heads. The chip repressed memories, and with that they had a blank slate of brilliant minds to brainwash into compliance. Those who were least valuable were sent into the Backrooms first, guinea pigs sent off to their deaths. Once the imprisoned scientists were milked of their knowledge and no longer useful for research purposes, they shipped them off to training for the tactical units to send on their little expeditions. Smart, obedient, but also disposable — it was the perfect source of labor for the job."

You stare blankly at Hoshi, processing everything he just told you. I was right, you think to yourself. He is actually insane.

"You don't believe me," he observes.

"How do you expect me to believe… all that?? This is ridiculous."

"Think about it," he insists. "What other explanation could there be for you not remembering anything pre-Axiom?"

"I don't know!" you shout in frustration, rising to your feet as you begin to pace again. "But surely there's a much more likely explanation than that—"

Hoshi stands, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you back around to face him. He glares down at you, an intense fiery gaze, as he grasps onto your wrists tightly. Your heart begins to pound again in fear — you're stuck here, deep in the fucking Backrooms, in the clutch of a crazy delusional man. What if he kills you? What if this is the end?

He raises your right hand to your head, pressing your fingers into your scalp above your right ear. As he pushes further, you feel something… sharp. It's small, but you wince as it nearly pricks your finger.

"There's your truth," he says quietly. You stare up at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.

"How… how did you figure this out?"

He lets go of your right hand; with his free hand he removes the bandana tied around his forehead, sliding if off his head and dropping it to the floor.

"Look," he says, tilting his head to the side. You let out a soft gasp. Above his right ear, previously concealed by the bandana, is a large, deep gash. It's old enough to be mostly healed, thick scar tissue filling in the wound, but you can tell it's still somewhat recent.

"What happened?" you whisper.

"An Alpha tried to rip my head off," he smirks. "I was fast enough to avoid death, but it still got me pretty good."

He lifts your left hand, drawing it in to the scar. You resist, trying to pull your hand away, but he doesn't let go.

"It's okay, it doesn't hurt," he assured you. "In fact I can't even feel anything there."

He guides your fingers into a groove in the healed skin. As he presses them into his head you feel a similar sharp sensation, but smaller, and more of them.

"I guess it hit me just right," he says with a slight huff of a laugh. "It broke the chip, and suddenly I remembered everything. I was free again. Except, of course I'm not really. I'm still stuck in this fucking hellscape. Some days I wish I had never learned the truth — it would be less painful that way."

The truth. You think back to your recurring dream. What if it wasn't a dream at all, but a memory?

You suddenly realize how close you are to him right now. It should be far too intimate, but you don't want to move for a second.

"Did you tell your crew?" you ask him.

"Yes. Fortunately, they believed me. One by one we helped each other remove the chips. None of us were surgeons, so that part was a bit rough," he grimaces. "But once they were gone, they too remembered everything. The only—"

He stops himself. That part isn't important, you don't need to know about it. But for some reason, he decides to tell you anyway.

"The only member of our crew who didn't remove their chip was Blaze."

"Your Commander," you affirm softly. He nods. "Why not?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I don't know much about his past — but think some part of his unconscious mind remembered something, something too painful experience all over again. I tried to convince him several times, but he didn't want to. So I respected that. But then we made it to Level 9. We'd only lost one crew member up until that point, but the Zetas started to pick us off one by one. Before long, it was just him and I left. He told me he decided he wanted to remove his chip. I was going to do it that night, once we got back to base camp, but he didn't make it back."

Without thinking, you cradle his face in your palm. He inhales sharply, looking into your eyes with equal parts surprise and want.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper. He reaches up to take your wrist in his grasp again, rubbing his thumb slowly over the back of your hand. His eyes close as his head drops, his forehead falling against yours.

"You don't have to be sorry," he mutters. Opening his eyes again, he meets your gaze. Your heart palpitates in your chest, the intimacy making you ache with need. Then, you kiss him.

Your lips crash into his, leaving him momentarily stunned, but quickly his hands drop to your sides, grasping at your waist urgently as he kisses you back. Your hands cling to his face as you press your body into him; he lets out a soft moan into your mouth, making your core throb. His arms squeeze around your torso, drawing you in as close as possible, hands wandering desperately as he eagerly explores every curve of your body. You wrap your arms around his head, clinging to him as you grind against him.

"Fuck," he groans against your lips. Suddenly you are lifted in the air as he picks you up, carrying you back to the bed where he lays you down gently. He crawls on top of you; your legs instinctively open, wrapping around his hips as he presses his weight into you. You pull him back into a kiss, hungrily tugging at his lips once more. You push your hips up against him, your center greeted by a stiffening bulge and drawing another moan out of him.

You sigh as his mouth wanders to your chin, kissing along your jawline up to your earlobe and nipping at it; his lips return to your neck, planting soft, slow pecks into the delicate skin as he works his way down to your collarbone. Your soft whines are driving him insane already; he abruptly sits up, taking off his shirt. He reaches for yours as well, prying it over your head and dropping it to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra, discarding it aside and immediately grasping at your breasts, tugging and kneading the soft flesh in his hands while pinching your nipples between his fingers.

"You're amazing, so fucking hot," he praises. He steals another kiss before hopping up and tugging at your waistband. You hurriedly unbutton your pants, wriggling out of them as he follows suit. As he slips his pants down his thighs his cock comes into view, erect and red with anticipation; the mere sight of it makes your mouth water.

He reaches for your bare pussy as he lays down beside you; you whine softly as his fingers discover the pooling wetness present between your legs.

"God, you're so fucking wet, fuck…"

You let out a moan as his fingers slip inside you, lazily working them in and out of your pussy, your slick collecting on his hand and glistening in the dim lighting.

"That's it, let me hear you baby," he encourages. You let go, moaning unrestrained as you let your hips rock to his touch, grinding your clit against the heel of his hand. It feels incredible, like you never want him to stop touching you.

"Fuck," he hisses through gritted teeth. He leans over, licking your nipple with the tip of his tongue. He starts to swirl his tongue around it, eliciting a string of whimpering from you, curling his fingertips to press against your g-spot.

"Oh my god," you groan, your head falling back onto the pillow.

"So pretty, so perfect," he croons, switching to your other nipple, wetting it with his saliva and dragging his tongue in circles around the bud.

"Feels so good," you mutter breathily, your body writhing as a burning heat swells in your gut.

"Go on, cum for me baby, I wanna see."

He wraps his lips around your nipple, latching on as he sucks on it, his hand speeding its pace. You feel your release wash over you, whining as you cum on his fingers, their deep strokes sending thick pulses of pleasure through your whole body. He slows as you do, releasing his mouth from your breast and lifting his head so he can kiss you again, long and slow, so he can savor it. He slips his fingers out of you, sticking them in his mouth and lapping up your juices, moaning at the taste of you.

You've barely caught your breath when he rolls over on top of you. His tip brushes against your wet cunt; he strokes it up and down over your folds a few times before pressing into your entrance. His cock slips inside, making you gasp, slowly filling you with his whole length.

"Ready?" he asks softly. You nod eagerly, eyes begging him to fuck you. He drags his cock out of you, almost all the way, then plunges it back in, watching himself disappear inside you. The sight is tantalizing, but his eyes meet yours again, falling deep into your gaze as he fucks you with slow, measured strokes. Your arms snake around his torso, clinging to the warm skin of his back as he presses his forehead into yours, his breath becoming more labored with each accelerating thrust. Your shift your hips forward, allowing his cock to reach even deeper inside you, eliciting a string of moans from your throat.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers, lips hovering above yours as his eyes remained locked with yours. "Never wanna leave this pussy."

"Please don't stop," you beg, voice breathy and desperate.

"I won't baby."

He fucks you with burning desire, each powerful stroke sending a delicious shockwave through your body. You cling to him tight, drawing him in even further into a passionate embrace. He groans, savoring the divine way your body squishes against his.

"You're amazing," he mutters into your mouth, frantic kisses placed upon your lips as he tries not to cum just yet — but it's an impossible feat. "Such a perfect little pussy, gonna fill you up baby. Gonna make you nice and full with my cum."

"Please," you whine.

"Keep begging for it, pretty girl," he hums, beginning to lose composure.

"I want your cum," you plead. "Want you to cum inside me and fill me up."

"God, that's so fucking hot," he growls.

"Your cock feels so good," you continue babbling, mind spinning so much you can no longer think straight. "I want you to fuck me every day for the rest of my life."

"I will, baby, I will."

His hand caresses your cheek, rubbing at the warm skin with his thumb as he stares into your watering eyes — utterly intoxicated by you.

"I'm cumming," he groans. "Ohhhh…"

With a series of grunts he releases, powerful ropes of cum shooting up into you as his cock throbs against your squeezing walls. After several bursts he slows, his cock stilling deep inside your cunt as his heavy breaths fall against your lips. He collapses, laying his weight on you as he tucks his head into the crook of your neck. You drag your fingertips up and down his back, delicately dancing across his hot skin and rippling muscles.

"Fuck," he mumbles into the mattress, making you smile. He eventually lifts his head up, kissing you again. "You're incredible."

He slowly pulls his cock out of you, rolling over to your side taking you in his arms. He rests his hand on your belly, planting gentle kisses on your cheek as he holds you.

"Tell me your name," he hums softly into your ear after a few silent minutes.

"It's y/n," you reply, falling into a deep relaxation in his embrace. "Tell me your name."

"Soonyoung," he says quietly.

You lay together, the uncomfortable silence of Level 9 forgotten as the sounds of your breathing and the thumps of your heartbeats fill the air. Eventually, you're unsure whether he's fallen asleep beside you.

"Do you ever think we'll get out of here?" you try anyway.

"No," he replies plainly.

"Why keep going then?"

He thinks for a while. "I don't know," he finally says. "I've been stuck in here so long that this is all I know anymore."

"Do you dream of going back, to your life before?"

You feel him shake his head. "Those are such distant memories at this point. Sometimes I don't even know if they are real or if it's all in my head."

You think back to before, when you questioned whether he was insane and delusional. You think you believe him, about Axiom, about the chip in your head — though, something inside you still isn't entirely convinced. But you're not even sure if any of that matters at this point.

"But it doesn't matter," he continues. "I'm here now, and I can't go back. The only way is forward."

"Does that mean you're trying to find Level 10?" you ask.

"I know where a Null Zone is," he replies.

Surprised, you turn to look at him. "Why haven't you gone yet?"

He sighs. "I lost hope after my I lost my crew. I didn't want to walk further into hell by myself. But I couldn't bring myself to end it all either — so here I am, stuck here in limbo."

You gaze at him, a soft smile appearing on your face. He stares back at you, hopeful.

"I'll go with you," you say quietly. He smiles again — another true smile. You think it suits him well.

"I'd like that."

taglist 1: @minisugakoobies @kwonxy @aaniag @princessjazzyjazz 

@christinewithluv @choco-scoups @unlikelysublimekryptonite @lostmembrane @hearts4cheol

@ninigyuuu @tokitosun @bonsaijoons @reiofsuns2001 @hluisstuff

@meowchella @asyre @hipsdofangirl @dy-kyeom @haoxiaoba

@boltersworldsblog @nidda13 @mae-murdock @renapersa @alikesical 

@humanitysstrongestsoldier1 @mytangerine98 @a-thln @riddlerloveb0t @fancypeacepersona 

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@sevenpersona @chirocatic @jbear00 @strxwberry-skiess @coupsarchive

@kyeomiis @tinycatharsis @hannieween @smiileflower @hanniebub 

[seungkw1]

high maintenance — bsk

♡ pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader ♡ theme: friends to lovers, smut [18+ mdni], humor ♡ wc: 6,861 ♡ warnings: weed consumption, food consumption, extreme levels of horniness lmao, neck grabbing, munch!seungkwan, oral, unprotected piv sex (don't do this fr), cumming in pants, cum eating/swallowing, light wrist pinning, nipple play, fingers in mouth, praise kink, size kink lowkey, hair pulling, hair washing, petnames (baby, good girl) ♡ a/n: happy birthday to my ult of ults, the loml, the cutiest loveliest boy ever, boo seungkwan!!! i could go on for eons naming all of the things i love about him, but i think yall should just read the fic instead ;) hope u like this filth i wrote about u king, ily so much <3 ♡ a/n 2: not beta'd, srry if there's any mistakes~

SYNOPSIS: Seungkwan has smoked weed exactly once in his life, and it went about as poorly as it could. He vowed to never partake again, a promise he's kept until today, when he accidentally ate one of your weed brownies. You spend the night taking care of him so he doesn't freak out, and everything is going surprisingly okay — that is, until he becomes ragingly and uncontrollably horny.

You were having a perfectly normal Saturday until your roommate accidentally ate one of your weed brownies.

Seungcheol was hosting a party tonight at his place. Jihyo was currently out of town on a work trip, and your other roommate Seungkwan had been gaming all day, so you had spent a nice, quiet afternoon baking chocolate chip cookies from scratch to take with you later. Once the cookies were cooled and packed neatly into some tupperware, all that was left was for you to shower and get yourself ready — but first you decided to treat yourself to one of the special brownies you had made the day before. Just a little something to take the edge off — besides, people were bound to be partaking at the party anyway, so if you showed up a little high no one would notice or care.

You take your shower and get dressed. By the time you get to your makeup, you're feeling pleasantly mellowed out. Finishing off with mascara, you grab your purse and head out to the main room to see if your roommate is ready to go yet. As you pass the kitchen you see him standing in there.

"Hey, you ready to go?" you ask. "I can call the Uber if you wan—"

You freeze mid sentence as you realize he is standing next to the opened container of your brownies, dark brown fudgy crumbles sticking to his lips.

"Oh no…"

Seungkwan turns to face you, looking slightly embarrassed to be caught in the act.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I know these were for the party, but I figured it'd be okay for me to have one now. I haven't eaten since breakfast so I was getting hungry."

"Seungkwan," you say quietly. "How many did you eat?"

"Just one," he answers, . "I'm sorry y/n, I shouldn't have taken it without asking—"

"No no, that's not the problem," you cut him off. "Those… aren't for the party though." You point over at the tupperware sitting on the table. "The cookies are."

He looks over at the cookies, then back to the brownies.

"Oh."

"And, uh… Those have weed in them."

You watch as he processes your words, abject horror washing over his face.

"Oh no," he mumbles, clutching his forehead in distress as he stares off into space.

You know for a fact that Seungkwan has consumed weed exactly once in his whole life: at a frat party in college, where he took one singular much-too-fat bong rip that very nearly made him throw up on the spot and quickly sent him into a panic attack. You did your best to calm him down, but once he started sobbing you had no choice but to drag him up two flights of stairs and knock on the door of the room he shared with Jeonghan. Jeonghan, who was very clearly about to have sex with his girlfriend, opened the door with a scowl on his face — but when he saw the state his roommate was in he just rolled his eyes, helping you drag a stumbling Seungkwan over to his bed. His girlfriend glared at you as she marched out of the room, as if this was somehow all your fault, but you were too busy worrying about your friend to concern yourself with that. Jeonghan assured you he would take care of Seungkwan, informing you the next day that once he finally stopped crying he just laid there catatonic for a bit before eventually falling asleep. He didn't show up to any of his classes that day, allegedly too hungover — but you're pretty sure he was also just plain mortified. He swore he'd never touch any form of weed ever again, a promise which you know he's kept — until now.

"I'm so sorry," you apologize profusely, feeling terrible about what you've inadvertently done. "I should have labeled them or something, this is all my fault…"

Seungkwan shakes his head. "No, this one's on me. I should have at least asked." He runs his hand through his hair, looking deeply stressed. "Oh god, this is so bad, I'm such a fucking idiot—"

"You're not an idiot, you just made a mistake."

"Well, we all know what happened last time," he grimaces. "And that was only one hit." His face turns frighteningly pale as the severity of the situation starts to sink in. He begins to visibly panic, pacing around the kitchen frantically. "Oh my god I'm so fucked—"

"Hey," you say softly, quickly walking over to him and grabbing him by the shoulders. "Look at me." He obeys, stilling himself as he stares back at you — eyes round and fearful.

"It's gonna be okay," you reassure him. "I'm not going anywhere."

"But what about the party?" he asks timidly.

You shake your head. "Forget the party. I'm not leaving you alone while you're high."

"It's okay," he declines glumly. "You don't have to babysit me—"

"Yes, I do," you insist. "I've seen how you get after like two beers, and you just took around 10mg of THC."

"Is that a lot?" he asks nervously.

"For you, yeah."

"Oh god," he mumbles, burying his face in his hands.

"Hey, you're gonna be fine," you insist. You give him a pat on the head, not realizing until you're doing it that that's probably kind of weird. You quickly drop your hand as he looks back up at you. "I'll order us a pizza — I also had brownie already, so laying around watching a movie or something sounds pretty good to me right now anyway."

"You had one too?" he asks, looking befuddled. "How are you so normal right now??"

You try not to giggle, but a smile pokes at the corners of your mouth. "Well, it hasn't fully hit yet, but also I'm used to it."

"How long does it take to kick in?"

"Depends," you answer. "But usually around an hour, give or take. Since you haven't eaten it'll probably be faster for you."

"Oh goody."

You pull your phone of your bag, opening the delivery app and typing pizza into the search.

"How do you feel about stuffed crust?"

"Oh man, stuffed crust was the right choice."

Seungkwan shoves the last bite of his slice into his mouth, humming with delight at the cheesy goodness. While you were waiting for your pizza delivery got here, Seungkwan was already starting to feel the effect of the brownie. Before he could freak out, you had tucked him under a weighted blanket on the couch and put How It's Made on the tv. The calmness of the show surprisingly seemed to work — instead of having a panic attack he simply laid there, fully locked into learning about how hammers are made in a factory.

By the time the pizza had arrived, Seungkwan was floating off into space — and admittedly, you were as well. Between the two of you, you nearly polished off the whole pizza in record time, leaving you satisfyingly full and sinking pleasantly into opposite ends of the couch. Few words are exchanged for the next several minutes, the both of you staring at the tv where you were now learning how cheese is made. Soon, the episode ends; as you're fumbling around for the remote you realize you had shifted into laying sideways on the couch, your feet tossed over Seungkwan's extended leg as he reclines, sinking into the sofa's other end.

"Oh shit, sorry," you mumble as you move your feet off of him.

"Hm?" he asks, staring at you blankly from half-shut, bloodshot eyes without moving his body an inch. You giggle, smiling lazily at him.

"You're fucking blasted, dude," you tell him, straining to get the words out of your mouth.

"Yeah," he agrees blindly, having no idea what you said but just going with it, which only sends you into another fit of giggles.

"How're you feeling?" you question, slowly sitting back up on the couch. He stares at you for a moment, the gears visibly turning in his head as he tries to form an answer.

"Umm…" he starts, trailing off for so long that you begin to wonder if he's fallen asleep with his eyes open — but finally, he remembers that he exists. "I feel………weird," he answers.

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"I dunno," he mutters. "Both, I guess."

"Hey," you say to him, your eyes starting to zone out. Blinking as few times, your sight refocuses on his face — his cheeks and ears tinged hot pink. "You're doing great. For real — I thought this was going to be so much worse."

"Don't speak too soon," he replies, his words slurring slightly. "How long is this gonna last?"

"Um, probably like… a few hours? But it depends."

"I think I've been here for a million years already," he laments, making you grin.

"I regret to inform you that it's only been…" You reach for your phone, checking the time as the screen illuminates. "Likeee, an hour? I think."

"Oh god," he groans. "I'm gonna die like this."

"No, you're not," you tell him sternly, stifling down your laughter. "Here, what's your favorite comfort movie?"

"Ummm… " he thinks out loud, furrowing his brow as he tries to rack his brain — a difficult task considering that his head feels like it's full of soup right now. "I don't know, I can't think."

"Okay, what's any movie you like?"

Seungkwan's face scrunches as he concentrates all his effort on trying to come up with the name of any movie. "Mamma Mia," he answers finally.

"Perfect. We'll watch that."

You locate the film on Netflix and put it on, the melody to "I Have a Dream" beginning to play as the movie begins. You quickly get absorbed in the music, humming along to the familiar tune. When the number is over, you glance over at Seungkwan, his face looking sickly pale again.

"Hey, you good?"

"I think I'm scared," he responds quietly, looking in the direction of the tv screen but clearly zoned out.

"Wait right here," you tell him as you slowly hoist yourself off the couch, as if he was going to be going anywhere. You shuffle over to the kitchen and retrieve a glass of ice water, bringing it back to your disheveled roommate.

"Here," you say as you grab his forearm, pulling him up into a sitting position. He blinks dully as you hand him the cup. "Drink this."

He obeys, lifting the rim of the glass to his lips and sipping on the water. You notice his body trembling slightly — you're not sure if he's cold or just freaking out, but regardless you grab the blanket again and wrap it around him. He gratefully accepts, huddling himself in its fabric. The way it's draped over his head like a hood, with only his round face poking out makes you giggle again. He peers up at you through soft, glassy eyes, looking pathetic but adorable.

"What?" he inquires softly.

"Nothing," you grin, sitting down on the couch next to him. "You just kinda look like E.T."

"Hey!"

"No, I mean it in a good way!" you laugh. "I swear."

Seungkwan pretends to pout, but the smile spreading across his cheeks gives him away.

You sit in silence together for a few minutes, attention shifted back to the movie. A distant memory suddenly resurfaces in your foggy mind — you're not sure where it came from, but you start to giggle again. Seungkwan glances over at you, a confused look on his already-dazed face.

"Do you remember that time we got lost in New Orleans on spring break?" you ask him, pulling your feet up onto the couch and tucking them beside you. He can't help but notice that you've scooted closer to him, prompting his heart to flutter anxiously in his chest.

"You mean, when Soonyoung insisted he knew of a haunted cemetery 'just down the block' from Bourbon Street? And then we ended up on the complete opposite side of town from our hotel?" Seungkwan asks with a grin, trying his best to keep his heavy eyelids from fluttering closed. "Yeah, that rings a bell."

"I'm not sure who was dumber, Soonyoung for thinking he knew his way around a city he'd never been to, or us for trusting him."

"In my defense, I was extremely drunk," Seungkwan points out. "My sense of judgment was a bit impaired."

"We all were, which I think was the problem," you giggle. "I distinctly remember you threatening to turn Soonyoung into a ghost yourself."

Seungkwan laughs. "Well, I don't remember that part, but I believe you."

"Yeah, I think I had to stop you from murdering him at least four separate times."

"Sounds about right."

"Well, at least we eventually made it back without anyone getting murdered," you smile. "It is pretty funny in retrospect."

"Yeah, shoutout to that taxi driver," Seungkwan nods. "I kinda thought he was going to murder us at first too, but turns out he was super nice."

"Shoutout Steve, for real," you nod in agreement. Noticing something, you lean over toward your roommate; Seungkwan starts to panic, thinking you were going to kiss him completely out of the blue — but you brush your finger across his cheek.

"You had an eyelash," you comment, reclining back into the couch again — noticeably closer than before. Seungkwan's body untenses a bit. Not that he would be opposed to you kissing him — hell, it's something he's thought about off and on ever since he met you. But if you had done it without warning, right now while he's stoned out of his mind, he would've panicked.

He goes back to staring at the tv, but he's not paying attention to anything that's happening on it. He can't seem to get his mind off you, something he's worked very hard on ever since he signed the lease and moved in with you and Jihyo — and he's gotten quite good at it. But thanks to the dumb weed brownie he stupidly ate, it's become increasingly difficult to exert self-control right now. You had changed out of the outfit you were planning to wear to the party, which was good considering how low-cut your top had been. But the thin sweatpants and tank top you changed into are proving to be infinitely worse. He's seen you without a bra countless times by now, but he's used to ignoring it — a task that's proving to be impossible right now. His eyes keep flickering over to your boobs, as if your nipples poking through the fabric were pulling his gaze in with a magnet. Thankfully you seem to be too high to notice, but he doesn't know how much longer he can contain himself. Eventually, you shiver, crossing your arms to huddle into yourself a bit, which only draws more attention to your cleavage.

"Are you cold? Here," he says to you in a brief moment of clarity, unwrapping the blanket from around himself and offering it to you. You take the other half, scooting in closer so you can both share the blanket. Shit.

He tells himself that since he can't see your body anymore, it'll be fine. He can just ignore the fact that you're so close to him, your thigh pressing into his, your shoulder resting against his arm. But your body heat starts to make him far too hot beneath the blanket. He wishes to throw it off himself, hand the rest of it to you — but he can't. The damn blanket is the only thing stopping you from seeing the massive boner growing in his pants right now. His plan not only failed, but has now backfired horrendously.

He tries and tries to get his mind off of you, tries to think of the most boring, turn-off-ish things he can possibly muster up — but his mind doesn't want to think about taxes or his grandmother or the mitochondria being the powerhouse of the cell. All he can think of is you, and it's driving him fucking crazy.

The urge to touch himself soon becomes unbearable. You're too out of it to register the torturous state he's currently in; you can tell that he's tense, but you just assume it's general weed-induced anxiety. He closes his eyes, shifting in his seat slightly, his cock straining against the fabric of his shorts — but it's no use. He is utterly desperate for relief.

Maybe I can go to the bathroom, he thinks. Maybe getting away from you for a few minutes will help. He's pretty sure he could rub one out in thirty seconds at this point — just cum real quick and get it over with.

Or… She could jerk me off, an evil voice inside his head whispers to him.

The mere thought of your hand on his cock, touching him, is too much to handle. He throws the blanket aside, bolting out of the room before you can see the tent in his pants.

"I'llberightback!!" he shouts, voice nearly cracking. He's gone before you can turn around, his footsteps echoing as he runs down the hallway, followed by the SLAM! of his bedroom door.

You stare at the now-empty hallway, your fried mind trying to process what just happened. Eventually you hoist yourself off the couch, slowly sauntering after him.

"Seungkwan?" you call out as you approach his closed door. You softly knock twice, but then register the heavy breathing coming from the other side. "You okay?"

Silence follows, punctuated only by his deep inhales and exhales.

"I'm fine," he eventually squeaks.

"You don't sound fine," you reply. "And you're not a good liar."

Seungkwan sighs, head thumping against the door as he slumps against it further. He still doesn't answer; you roll your eyes, tapping at the door again.

"Seungkwan."

"Can I ask you something?" he finally says, his timid voice wavering slightly.

"Sure," you answer.

"But you CAN'T laugh at me," he adds insistently.

"I won't," you agree softly.

"Promise?"

"Yes."

He's certain he's going to regret this, but with another deep sigh he just goes for it.

"Is weed supposed to give me a boner?" he asks quietly.

You slap your hand over your mouth, stifling the burst of laughter that threatens to escape you. You promised you wouldn't laugh, but you weren't expecting him to ask that.

"Um, I mean… weed can definitely make you kinda horny, yeah," you answer him.

"This isn't 'kinda'," he replies before he can stop himself. "This is violent."

You picture his cock in your mind, painfully hard and bulging in his shorts. The fact that that's exactly what's happening on the other side of the door, right now, makes your stomach drop. You instinctively squeeze your thighs together, your core hot and aching for relief — but the added stimulation only makes things worse.

You know you shouldn't say anything. Seungkwan is your roommate — you get along well and have been good friends for years now. You have a great, completely 100% platonic relationship, and you'd be devastated if anything were to happen to that.

But you're high, your pussy is wet, and you do not care.

"I could help you," you say quietly through the door.

Seungkwan thinks he must be hearing things. There's no fucking way you just said what he thought you said. Right?

"I—What?" his voice quivers back, his inflection tinged with genuine disbelief.

"You could let me in, if you want," you reply, treading cautiously. "I can help you."

Seungkwan's dick throbs. He grabs the bulge in his fist, squeezing it lightly. This could be her instead, he thinks. If the room wasn't spinning around him before, it is now.

He opens the door, cracking it open just enough to poke his head out.

"Are you sure?" he asks hesitantly. You step into the narrow opening, your face leaning in so close to his that your noses brush.

"I am."

The soft utterance of your words fall hot onto his lips. Without another thought he swings the door open; you immediately step through the threshold, your hands falling to his waist as you kiss him. His hands gravitate to your neck, holding you delicately as he finally gets to kiss you for the first time. You grab him and spin him around, shutting the door behind him and pinning him against it as you bite gently but eagerly at his bottom lip.

"Fuck," he gasps as you push your body into his, his stiff cock bulging against your stomach as your hands slip beneath his t-shirt, gliding over his warm and soft skin.

"Poor baby, you're so hard," you mutter before kissing him again, making a tiny whimper escape his throat. Your lips trail across his face, planting fragile pecks on his supple cheeks.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he mumbles, his eyes falling shut as your lips migrate to the other side of his face, leaving no spot unkissed. His hands slowly drop from your neck, resting on your breasts and giving them a squeeze; you knew he had large, strong hands, but you never expected them to feel so incredible touching you like this.

A louder moan escapes him as you place one hand onto his bulge.

"Tell me what you need, baby," you croon. You stare into his dark eyes, forehead pressed against his, as you begin to massage his cock through his shorts. His jaw drops, mouth hanging slightly open, his eyelids fluttering shut at your touch.

I need you in every way humanly possible, he wants to tell you. But there's one thing in particular — something he's quite literally dreamt about a shameful amount of times before — that he wants more than anything.

"Let me go down on you," he answers, opening his eyes again to gaze into yours. His voice is low and husky, sending an excited rumble through your gut. "Please."

You nod, staring back at him with overwhelming desire. Seungkwan has always been undeniably handsome, but you've never had feelings for him like this before. Maybe it's the weed, maybe you've just been single for a while now and have been yearning for physical intimacy. But it doesn't matter — the only thing that matters right now is that Seungkwan wants you, and you want him.

"I'd love that," you whisper into his open mouth.

Before you know it, you're on his bed, Seungkwan hurriedly stripping your sweatpants and underwear off. He lays himself between your spread legs, positioning his face near your bare pussy.

"Fuck, baby," he mumbles as he runs two fingers through your drenched folds. "You're so wet."

You sigh as he touches you, spreading your juices around and tracing his fingertips over your swelling clit. Looking down at him, he's staring hungrily at your pussy, practically drooling at the sight before him. With a lick of his lips he gazes up at you, holding eye contact as he drags his tongue over your slit. The tiniest bit of pressure and the warmth of his mouth bring relief to your aching cunt, but immediately leave you craving more.

Slowly his tongue dances across your folds, the taste of you flooding his mouth as he laps up your slick arousal — delicious and utterly irresistible.

"Tastes so fucking good," he moans. You cry out softly as he slips his tongue into your hole, leisurely swirling it around inside you. The tip of his nose brushes against your clit, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. Instinctively your hips begin to rock, rubbing your clit over his nose as you tenderly run fingers through his soft brown locks. He begins to increase his pace, working his tongue in and out of your hole, stopping only to suck at it gently before returning to fucking you. Your grip on his hair slowly tightens, holding his head in its position as you start to grind on his face. Eventually he licks up to your clit, flicking his tongue back and forth over the sensitive bud.

"Oh my goddd," you groan. Soft whimpers escape your lips as he eagerly eats you out; the sound is overwhelming — his hips begin to thrust, rubbing his painfully erect cock against the mattress, making him moan into your pussy. Soon he latches onto your clit, sucking at it with increasing intensity, and the sensation is heavenly. A white-hot fire burns in your gut, and you start to feel your orgasm building.

"That feels so good, baby," you whine, clutching at his hair as he sucks on your throbbing clit. "Don't stop."

And he doesn't. He eats your pussy as if it's his last meal on earth, making you moan so loud that the neighbors can certainly hear it, but you're too high and it feels too good for that to even be a concern. Your head falls back onto the pillows as your back begins to arch, your body trembling as he ceaselessly suckles your clit. Seungkwan's arms around your thighs tighten as he grasps onto you, humping the bed desperately as your cries grow louder still. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train — your mind goes blank, an eruption of fireworks overtaking you as your body writhes with pleasure. All you can think of while you release is Seungkwan, Seungkwan, Seungkwan…

You aren't aware that you're also saying it out loud, moaning his name over and over again, but he is. It's all too much — he groans as his hips buck into the bed, cum spurting from his cock and making a fucking mess in his pants.

He couldn't care less. That was incredible, one of best orgasms of his life — and he did it hands-free, face buried in your pussy.

He licks you softly as you both start to come down from your climax, the rush of endorphins combined with the intoxication of the weed making you both feel like you are blissfully floating away into space. A tenderly-placed kiss on your tingling clit zaps you back to reality; you slowly open your eyes, the sight of Seungkwan still between your legs making you grin lazily. You release the clutch you still have on his hair, relaxing your hand as you stroke your fingers through the pretty brown tendrils.

"That was," you say to him between slow, deep breaths, "fucking amazing."

It takes a gargantuan effort, but he lifts his heavy head up to look at you. His eyes are still bloodshot and glazed over, gazing up at you with pure adoration.

"Yeah," he sighs, a big cheesy smile overtaking his round and reddened cheeks. "It was."

It takes your high mind a moment to register that he looks far too relaxed for someone who was previously ragingly aroused. Then, it hits you.

"Did you…" you start hesitantly. He nods before you even finish your question.

"Yeah, I came," he answers, an embarrassed grin coloring his face. "Sorry…"

"Don't be sorry," you tell him, your face prickling with heat. "That's kind of, um, super hot actually."

He flops his head back down onto the bed, unmoving from his current position.

"I'm still so fucking horny," he groans, his voice muffled by the sheets. "This is ridiculous."

"I have great news," you say to him, prompting him to poke his head up again. "I am too. And I really want you to fuck me."

His poor cock starts to throb again. His erection hasn't gone down at all despite cumming already, and now it's becoming achingly stiff once more.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he responds, but desire starts to darken his eyes once more.

"C'mere," you say, grabbing his hand and tugging at his arm. He slowly drags himself up the bed, plopping down on his back and laying beside you. Where his cock lay thick and bulging in his shorts, you see it surrounded by several large, darkened spots on the light fabric where his cum had seeped through. You reach for his waistband, tugging it down and over his dick as you peel his shorts and sticky-wet boxers off his body. You lean over and start to lick the cum off of his stomach, prompting him to let out a euphoric groan.

"Jesus Christ, you're filthy."

"Want me to stop?" you tease, hovering your mouth over his shaft.

"Fuck no," he grins. You drag your tongue up and down his length, taking your time as you clean up the remainder of his mess as he watches gluttonously. His cock starts to leak again, the clear sticky fluid dribbling from his tip and pooling onto his stomach.

"Fuck, I need you," he mumbles, wrapping his hand tightly around your wrist and pulling you back up to him. As you rest your head back onto the pillow he reaches for your tank top, stripping it off of you and freeing your breasts.

"Holy shit," he groans, quickly attaching his mouth to your nearest nipple. You whine as he eagerly sucks on it, nipping gently with his teeth.

"That feels so good," you praise, petting his hair again as you watch him. He switches to your other boob, licking at the nipple as he squeezes the soft flesh in his hand. He goes back and forth for several minutes, eventually making you wriggle and whimper beneath his grasp as arousal overtakes you once more.

Eventually he releases his mouth from your breast. He removes his shirt, tossing it to the floor as he suddenly rolls over on top of you. You gasp softly, your legs opening around him as his cock hovers before your core. You reach for it, giving him a few strokes as you position the head by your entrance. Slowly he pushes it in, leaving your mouth agape as he begins to fill you up. The stretch is divine. He takes his time, letting you get used to him as he goes deeper and deeper inside you. As he bottoms out you let out a small whimper, staring up at him desperately. He leans in to kiss you on the lips.

"I'll go slow," he whispers.

"Don't," you whisper back.

Your gaze is lustful, eyes begging, pleading for him to fuck you and to fuck you now. He begins to move his hips, pulling his cock out nearly all the way, then pushing it back in. Then repeat. And repeat. And repeat, but faster. Your mewls grow louder as he thrusts into you; his strokes are long and measured — if he goes any faster he's going to lose control, and he wants to take his time, wants to savor you.

He keeps that up for as long as he can, which isn't very long at all. Your moans and whimpers quickly start to send him into a frenzy, fucking you fast and hard as your walls squeeze delectably around his cock. He leans down to kiss you, locking lips and slipping his tongue into your mouth as he ceaselessly fucks you; you wrap your arms around his torso, nails digging into his back as you cling to him, holding his body tightly against yours.

Seungkwan feels the heat building in his gut. He fucks you and kisses you and moans into your mouth and holds you tight. Nothing has ever felt better in his life than your pretty little pussy feels around his cock right now; he simply can't get enough of you.

Soon his body is quivering, his thrusts becoming frantic as his orgasm nears. His groans turn whiny, utterly desperate and depraved, as do yours.

"Cum in me," you beg, and that's enough to send him over the edge. He releases, crying out with pure pleasure as he pumps powerful bursts of cum deep into your pussy. The sensation of him filling you up is like nothing else; moans escape your lips as his cock pulses inside you, giving you every last drop of his cum.

Finally, he collapses on top of you, unable to hold himself up any longer. You hug him, squeezing him into you as you plant a string of kisses on his cheek and neck.

"Heyyy stop it," he giggles, barely able to form words between heaving breaths.

"What, are you ticklish?" you tease.

"Pshhh, no," he huffs dismissively.

You tickle his sides. He yelps, hastily grabbing your hands to pry them off of him.

"Okay, okay! Maybe a little bit," he laughs. He interlaces his fingers with yours, holding your hands as he softly pins them against the mattress.

"Good to know," you grin, giving him another, slower kiss.

When your lips part again, Seungkwan sits up slightly. He gently pulls his cock out of you; you sigh as the head pops out.

"Let me see, baby," he coos. You release, letting all of his cum spill out of you and onto the bed. He collects some of it on his fingertips, lifting his hand to your face.

"Open."

You do as he says, sticking your tongue out as you accept his cum-covered fingers in your mouth. You suck lightly on them, eagerly lapping up his release once more.

"Good girl," he grins smugly.

"Hey man, you can't just be saying shit like that to me," you say bewilderedly.

"Why, because you like it?"

"Yeah," you answer, a smile creeping across your face. You grab his face with one hand, squishing his cheeks as you pull him in and kiss him. "Exactly."

"Do you wanna shower with me?" he asks without hesitation. You nod, making him grin excitedly. He stumbles as he gets up, clearly still high as a kite. But he makes his way into the bathroom, turning the shower on and waiting for the water warm up.

Once it's pleasantly hot, he comes and fetches you. You spend about the first 10 minutes or so making out, letting the droplets rain down on you as you cling to each other needily. Seungkwan offers to shampoo your hair for you; you accept, letting him run his fingers through your hair as he lathers thoroughly. The head massage relaxes you so deeply that you nearly start to fall asleep standing up — but you manage to stay awake, watching Seungkwan gaze at you fondly as he rinses your hair, then conditions and rinses again.

"Come sleep in my bed," you say to Seungkwan after a very lengthy shower, yawning as you don your jammies — the cute ones, with the teddy bears on them. He pulls a clean pair of boxers on, also looking very sleepy, but his face lights up.

"Okay," he beams excitedly.

His arm rests around your waist as you head to your room together. Crawling into bed, you roll over and wrap your arms around his torso, snuggling in close. His skin is warm, instantly making you feel cozy. You give him one more kiss on the lips, watching as he surrenders to his sleepiness, abandoning the fight to keep his eyes open.

"Goodnight," you whisper, unsure if he is actually asleep already, but a tiny smile flickers across his face.

"Goodnight, y/n," he mumbles back quietly. "Thanks for taking care of me."

You wake the next morning to find yourself still in Seungkwan's arms. Trying not to wake him, you slowly slip out of his grasp; he begins to stir, but then he rolls over and plops onto his stomach, still fast asleep. You check the time: 10:27am. Much later than you normally sleep, but it's not like you had anything else going on today.

Quietly you exit your room and shut the door behind you. Seungkwan is normally an early riser, but you figured you'd let him sleep a little longer. You pour yourself a bowl of cereal, standing in the kitchen and mindlessly scrolling through social media as you eat it. You open Instagram to see pictures from the party last night, posted by your friends. It did look like a fun time, and normally you'd be bummed to have missed out — but you wouldn't trade last night for anything.

You occupy yourself with a bit of cleaning for the next hour or so, waiting for Seungkwan to wake up, but your bedroom door remains silently shut. Eventually you decide to check on him; opening the door slowly, you see him in the exact same spot you left him in.

"Seungkwan," you say softly as you place your hand on his back, but no response. You shake him gently, then a little less gently, until his eyes finally flicker open.

"Hmm?" he hums groggily.

"Good morning," you say cheerfully. He groans, pulling the pillow over his head.

"What time is it?" he asks, voice muffled as he speaks into the mattress.

"Almost noon."

"Shit," he grumbles.

"How are you feeling?" you ask, rubbing his back softly.

"Like I got hit by a bus."

You try to pry the pillow off his head, but he clings to it tightly. You then yank the sheets off of him, making him whine.

"Nooooo I don't wanna," he mumbles. He yelps as you slap him in the ass.

"C'mon, you can't sleep forever."

He emerges from beneath the pillow, rolling onto his back — grabbing your arms in the process and dragging you back into the bed with him.

"Hey!" you protest, but he pulls you into his embrace, squeezing you as he makes you his little spoon. His hand drifts up your shirt, grabbing your boob as he begins to kiss your neck — all while his very obvious boner presses against your ass.

"Okay, so you're still horny."

"Yes," he answers, rutting against you needily.

"You're helpless," you tease. You roll over to face him, greeted with heavily dilated pupils and flushed cheeks.

"I am," he pouts at you, acting pathetic. "You gotta help me."

You roll your eyes. "So what do you think," you ask, palming his cock through his boxers and making him groan. "Wanna do edibles again with me sometime?"

"Hell no," he responds immediately, shaking his head.

"Aw, I thought you had fun," you pout, letting go of his dick.

"No no, I did!" he insists, grabbing your hand and drawing it back to his bulge. "I just, um… I don't think I need to get high to want to have sex with you again," he answers shyly.

A grin spreads across your face. "I like the sound of that," you say as you lean in to kiss him again.

As your lips break free you give him a light shove, pushing him onto his back and climbing over on top of him. You tug at the waistband of his underwear; his eyes widen excitedly. He lifts his hips off the bed you can pull them off, his hard cock springing into view. You were so high last night that you figured everything was just heightened, but now that you're sober you realize that his dick really is big. Mouth watering, you scoot down to position yourself between his legs, spitting on his cock and spreading it over his length with your fist.

"Ohhh, fuck," he sighs, his head falling back into the pillow. But he wants to watch; he lifts his head back up, petting your head gently as you gaze up at him. You bring his cock to your lips, slowly wrapping them around his tip as you lower your mouth onto him. You slowly swallow as much of his length as you can, until the head pokes at the back of your throat; you pause there for a moment, letting him enjoy the sensation, before pushing it further down your esophagus.

"Oh my fucking god," he groans as you gag on him. Your eyes start to water, but you don't stop, letting his cock choke you as you take him deep in your throat. He gathers your hair, holding it out of your face as your head bobs up and down. Your pace increases; Seungkwan is in heaven — his hips begin to rock, fucking into your mouth as the heat rises in his body. Soon he's whining again, uninhibited pleasure overtaking him.

"Baby, 'm gonna cum," he wails. Moments later his cock begins to pulse, shooting hot white ropes into the back of your mouth as he moans incessantly. As he finishes, his body starts to relax; you swallow, taking every last bit of his cum before slowly dragging your mouth off his length. His tip is still furiously-red, twitching beneath your grasp.

"Oh my god," he mumbles, collapsing into the mattress. You crawl back up beside him; he wraps his arms around you, kissing your face repeatedly and making you giggle.

"You're incredible," he praises you softly. His stomach suddenly rumbles with hunger.

"C'mon, you need to eat," you insist. "It's already lunchtime." You try to get up, but he clings to you. You gasp as he slips his hand down your pants, fingertips brushing over your wet cunt.

"Take these off, baby," he tells you, tugging at your pajamas. "I know exactly what I want to eat."

taglist: @miniseokminnies @kyeomiis @tinycatharsis @hannieween @smiileflower@hanniebub @luvseungcheol @escoupsue @shininghoshstar @coupsv@coupsarchive @seventeenhot

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[seungkw1]

bad influence — csc

😈 pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader 😈 theme: smut [18+ mdni] 😈 wc: 3.8k 😈 warnings: dom!cheol, sub!reader, possessiveness, degradation, size kink, fingering, oral (m. & f. receiving), masturbation, unprotected piv sex (don’t do this irl), hair pulling, mirror sex, dacryphilia, cum swallowing, sending nudes, they’re both toxic af, jackson wang is the party host for the memez, petnames (darling, princess, good girl, slut) 😈 a/n: coups hoes come get y’all juice! ty to @miniseokminnies for beta reading <3

𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝙲𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 — [𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝] ; [𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝]

SYNOPSIS: When you accidentally show up to the Halloween party matching costumes with your situationship, you think your night is ruined. Perhaps, though, you can use him to get what you want – but turns out, that’s exactly what he is thinking as well.

Of course this would happen to you.

You agreed to go to Jackson's Halloween party dressed in matching costumes with your best friend: you’d be the angel, and she’d be the devil. Unfortunately, the day of the party she texted you saying she has a cold and won’t be able to make it. No big deal — it's still a perfectly fine costume on its own. So you show up to the house party, fashionably late, ready to have a fun night — but who else answers the fucking door besides your number one enemy, Seungcheol Choi, dressed in a devil costume.

“Well well well,” he says with a smug grin, his eyes poring up and down your body. You suddenly feel very exposed in the revealing costume. “Look who showed up in matching costumes with me. Miss me that much, huh?”

“Right” you reply as you roll your eyes, not bothering to hide your displeasure. You try to squeeze past him, but he blocks the doorway with his arm.

“Aw come on, baby,” he pouts as he gets closer to you. “I’m just joking with you.”

“Jokes are meant to be funny,” you say with a scowl, pushing him out of the way. 

“Ouch,” he retorts as you slip out of his grip and into the party. You breeze past him, making a beeline to the kitchen. You certainly need a drink now. 

“It’s good to see you, y/n,” he shouts after you as you scurry away. He sounds sincere, which throws you off; you turn around briefly to glance at him, but a stupid smirk forms on his dumb face. You shoot an angry glare at him before turning around and disappearing into the sea of party-goers. 

Whatever, you think to yourself. You're not about to let your past with Seungcheol ruin your whole night.

You spend the next couple hours successfully avoiding him. Eventually, though, he weasels his way into the conversation you’re having with a hot guy you’ve never met before. The conversation had been fairly mundane, mostly him yapping about his big fancy finance job — but you feigned interest as you flirted with him, doing your best to try and get in his pants. To your dismay, this guy (you forgot his name already) is apparently buddies with Seungcheol. It takes all your willpower to maintain a pleasant face, trying to continue your conversation with the hot guy, but they quickly start talking about basketball. You also enjoy watching the sport, but you’re desperate to get out of Seungcheol's presence. You decide to excuse yourself to the restroom, praying that you can catch the guy again later once Seungcheol gets bored and goes somewhere else. 

You hide in the restroom for a few minutes, hoping the coast is clear by now. You open the door to return to the party and-

Seungcheol barges in, closing the door behind him. 

“What the fuck Seungcheol?!” you shout, but he grasps your cheeks with his hand. 

“Come on, y/n, don't act like you're not glad to see me,” he tuts at you. 

You pry his hand off your face. 

“You're so fucking full of yourself.”

He smiles at you — it's a sharp, cocky look, one that tells you his exact intentions. 

“You weren't so rude to me when you were riding my face for 40 minutes the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, and then you fucking ghosted me,” you remind him. 

He shrugs. “Sorry babe, I thought we both knew it was gonna be casual.”

“Even if it was casual you could at least text me back!” you balk at him. 

“Awww,” he coos, brushing your cheek with his palm. “Seems like somebody's a little bit in love with me.”

“Oh fuck you,” you seethe. He towers over you, the intensity of his hefty stature taking you aback — he was already ripped when you last fucked him, but now he's downright beefy. Your stomach does an anxious flip.

He takes a step forward, drawing his body in closer, his lips gravitating toward yours as he delicately holds your chin. A sharp sensation strikes your gut, your cheeks warming as the gap between you narrows. You may still be pissed at him, but your anger turns to desire as you are intimately reminded how fucking hot he is.

“Fuck me? I'd quite like that baby,” he smirks. “I've missed that pretty little pussy of yours.”

“Not interested,” you tell him, but your wavering voice gives away the facade. You try to look away from him, but he tilts your face upwards, forcing your gaze to fall into his eyes.

“You sure about that?” he asks with a shit-eating grin. Before you can utter a syllable he grabs you by the waist, lifting you up and setting you on the counter. Your legs instinctively spread, wrapping around him. You gasp softly as he presses his crotch into yours; you hadn't forgotten how big he is, but the weighty bulge in his pants, even before growing hard, makes your pussy clench.  

His hands grasp your sides as he presses his forehead against yours, staring intensely into your eyes. "Let me kiss you," he mutters in a low, deep voice, his breath hot on your lips as the words fall from his tongue. The urge to taste him becomes unbearable.

"I can't fucking stand you," you hiss as you stare back, but the needy aching in your cunt is quickly overtaking you. You hate him, but god do you fucking want him.

"I can leave right now," he whispers. "Just say the word and I'm gone." A sly grin spreads across his face as he speaks —because he knows you won't do it. You haven't seen each other in months, but he has your pretty little self wrapped around his finger. That thought alone turns him on like nothing else.

Your eyes are locked onto his, furious, but begging him to do it. His lips hover dangerously close, nearly grazing yours. Taunting you. Leaving you no choice but to give in.

"Shut up and fucking kiss me," you grumble. An arrogant look washes over him.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

His mouth presses into yours, hungrily grasping at your lips as the exhilarating taste of you. His large hands caress your waist, grabbing and squeezing, pulling himself in even closer, his broad torso pressing against your chest. The bulging mass resting against your crotch is unignorable.

He moves to kissing your cheek, lips traversing downward; burying his face, he gives you a series of drawn-out pecks all over your neck. You reflexively start to grind your hips into him — the motion is slight, but the lightest of pressure against your clit is enough to send a flash of electricity through your body. He latches onto a patch of skin, sucking tenderly at the sensitive flesh, just enough that you know it's going to leave a mark — but you don't care. You let out a soft, involuntary moan into his ear.

"Mmmm, that's what I like to hear," he grumbles, the sound muffled as he continues sucking at your skin. "You like this, don't you princess?"

"Yeah," your voice quivers as the heat growing in your core becomes too powerful to ignore any longer. You grasp at his shirt as you grind against his bulge again, this time much less subtly. He pulls his head up, nose brushing against yours, hand gliding intuitively up your skirt to your clothed cunt, the pads of his fingers massaging your clit through your underwear. Sticky wetness has overtaken the thin lacy fabric as you drip with arousal.

"You're this wet already?" he asks with genuine surprise. "Fuck, you want me so bad," he smirks.

"Oh, shut up," you gripe, rocking your hips against his fingers. He slips them beneath the lace, stroking your soaked cunt and collecting your juices, rubbing them over your clit as you let out a whine.

"Keep making those noises, darling, you sound so pretty."

You gasp sharply as he slips two fingers inside you, entering your soaking hole with ease. They fill you up with their thickness, the stretch against your walls delectable as he slowly begins to slide them in and out, fucking you with long, steady strokes. Your eyes remain locked on his, staring at him with pure desperation. He smiles, pleased with how you melt at the slightest provocation. You are putty in his hands.

"Ohh," you moan as his thumb finds your clit, applying pressure as his fingers continue pumping inside you. His spare hand finds your hair, grasping at it to pull your head back even further; he kisses you along the jaw as he curls his fingers to reach your g-spot. The stimulation is overwhelming — you whimper as fire burns in your belly. You cling to him, eyes rolling back as your legs begin to quiver. The heat swells and swells, chasing the sweet release of your climax.

"Go on baby, cum for me."

His deep, growling voice sends you over the edge. Your body erupts into orgasm, euphoria surging through your body as he fingers you relentlessly. Loud, blissful moans escape you; he covers your mouth with his free hand, stifling the volume.

"Shhh, whole house is gonna hear you, princess."

You ride out the final waves of your orgasm on his fingers, your clit throbbing against the pad of his thumb. Your cries diminish to quiet whimpers as his hand slows, stroking gently inside you a final few times. His other hand releases its grip on your face, falling to the back of your neck as he draws you in, pressing his mouth into yours. The kiss is long, slow, deliberate — unexpected from a man who fucked you a few times and then ghosted you. But you don't even care. You kiss him back eagerly, deliciously reminded how much of a good kisser he always was.

You out a little whine as his lips depart yours, not wanting it to end. Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, heart still pumping from your high that had you seeing stars. He steadily slides his fingers out of you, bringing them up to your lips.

"Open," he commands in a soft, low voice. You obey; he shoves them into your mouth, as far back as they will go, making your eyes water as you gag. You suck on his fingers, indulging as you lap up your own juices.

"Mmm, that's a good girl," he croons, staring down as you with hunger in his eyes. His hands fall to the sides of your thighs, caressing the bare skin. You release your grasp on his shirt, sliding one hand underneath the fabric — you rest your palm upon his stomach, the unmistakable and familiar tightness of muscles greeting you from underneath the soft layer of flesh. Your other hand drops, feeling the heaviness of the hardened bulge in his pants. He hums as you squeeze it, massaging the thick mass. You undo the button of his jeans, tugging the zipper down over the bulge. His erection springs free, his big cock straining through his underwear. You pull the fabric down, letting his full length rise up, laying flush against his belly. Saliva floods your mouth as the sight of it — cunt aching at the thought of the stretch it's going to give you. You wrap your hand around his girth and give him a few slow strokes.

"Fuck that feels good," he groans. "Look at me."

You look up, finding heavy eyelids drunken with lust. His long dark lashes flutter as he blinks slowly. He lifts your skirt up, pulling your panties aside as he positions his cock at your entrance. He glides his tip up and down your folds, coating it with your slick.

"You ready for me, princess?" he asks smugly. You nod, and he plants a gentle kiss on your lips. The delicate sensation is immediately offset by his cock slipping inside you. You gasp as he pushes the head deep inside you — slowly, letting you get used to his size.

"Ohhh I've missed this pussy," he grunts. "Fuck you're so wet."

He pushes the rest of his cock inside you. You both watch as his entire length disappears into your cunt, eliciting a moan from your throat at the overwhelming sensation of fullness.

"Even better than I remembered," he smiles. He starts to pull his cock out slowly, retrieving his full length, the head popping out as it reaches your entrance. He immediately pushes it back in, deep, then pulls it out again. You cling to his waist as he starts to fuck you, the heightened sensitivity of your pussy brought on by your orgasm delighting in the friction against your walls. He falls into a slow rhythm, holding your hips in place as he drives into you over and over again.

"And to think you were trying to fuck anyone at this party other than me," he tuts. "How cute."

"Oh now you're calling me a slut?" you glare at him. You cry out as he suddenly gives you a rough thrust.

"You're letting me fuck you in the bathroom at somebody else's house right now. Of course you're a little slut." He pulls out of you abruptly; you yelp as he pulls you off the counter, back onto your feet, and spins you around. A large hand pushes down on your back, bending you over the counter. He grabs a fistful of your hair and jerks your head back up, forcing you to look in the mirror. A slight smudge of makeup lines your watery eyes, swollen lips framing your gaped mouth — you already look fucked out, and he hasn't even fucked you properly yet.

He leans over, mumbling softly in your ear in a way that makes the hair on your arms stand up in a chill.

"But you're my little slut."

Grabbing the waistband of your ruined panties, he yanks them down to your thighs to get them out of the way. He pushes his tip into your hole again, slipping his wet cock into your even wetter cunt. From this angle he goes deeper than before, stuffing you positively full, the head of his cock sending a pulse through your body as it bumps into your g-spot.

"Oh my god," you moan as he fucks you, his cock hitting the soft spongy spot with each stroke. Tears flood your eyes again, trickling down your face as you cling desperately to the counter, watching yourself get utterly railed. You look up at Seungcheol in the mirror — his whole face is flushed, cheeks pink underneath a sheen of sweat, his lips reddened and parted as his eyes start to roll back. He grunts with each breath as he fucks his cock into you, quickly losing his composure. He looks like he's about to bust at any moment — and it's fucking hot.

"You like this, baby? You like watching yourself get fucked?" he asks as he stares at your desperate reflection, the mirror fogging up slightly at your labored breaths. You nod, feeling yourself start to cum again.

"Don't stop," you plead, insatiable. He doesn't, his pace continuing fast and rough as your body trembles beneath him. Your walls start to flutter, squeezing his thick cock even tighter, and your second orgasm overtakes you. You bury your face into your arm to muffle your cries as your body shakes, your pussy pulsating as he thrusts into you. You cum long and hard, savoring every moment of it. As your high fades your body stills, relaxing after the rush of endorphins — Seungcheol eases his pace a bit, loosening his grasp on your hair and instead grabbing your ass with both hands.

"I wanna cum in that pretty little mouth of yours," he groans as he gives you a few final strokes. You nod; as soon as he pulls out you turn around, dropping to your knees as you grab his cock and give him a few quick pumps. You put it in your mouth, swallowing as much as you can, the head squeezing deep into your throat as you gag on his size. He holds the back of your head as he starts to fuck into your mouth; saliva coats your lips, dripping down your chin as you choke on him with each measured thrust.

"Fuck you're so hot," he growls. "Ohh, fuck…"

Though your eyes are full of tears, you watch the orgasm unfold across his face: his brows furrow, eyes fluttering closed as his mouth hangs open. A deep moan fills the air as his cock starts throbbing against the walls of your mouth. He holds your head firmly in place as he releases, the salty taste of cum hitting your tongue as hot ropes of it spill into the back of your throat.

"God that's so good…" he groans. He pulses a few more times against your lips as his tip dribbles the last of his release, then slowly pulls himself out of your mouth.

"Show me."

You open wide, sticking your tongue out to show the sticky white pool collected in your throat.

"That's my good little slut. Swallow."

You oblige, swallowing it all at once. You stick your tongue out again, showing off your now-empty mouth. He grins, stuffing his cock back into his jeans as he pulls his pants up.

"C'mere."

He extends his hand to you; as soon as you take it he pulls you off the ground, hoisting you up and directly into his arms. His hands wander across your lower back as he draws you in, lips hovering hotly above yours.

"I knew you were still obsessed with me," he says with an arrogant huff.

"Seems like that goes both ways, babe," you shoot back. "You couldn't even wait to stick your dick in me, had to do it in the bathroom at the party."

"I'd be a fool not to fuck this pussy any chance I get," he murmurs, trying to kiss you, but you press your hand against his chest to hold him back.

"And that's why you never texted me back?" you gibe. "You're right, you're a fucking idiot."

He responds by pushing your ass into the counter again, kneeling to the ground as he sticks his face between your thighs. You let him lick a big stripe over your folds, getting just a taste of you, before you grasp a fistful of his hair and push his head back, holding his mouth just out of reach from your cunt.

"You're gonna have to call me if you want to do that," you gibe, releasing his hair and pulling your underwear back up. He huffs in disbelief as he glares up at you, the look on his face equal parts annoyance and arousal. Ignoring him, you turn to the mirror, wiping the smudged mascara from under your eyes and brushing your hair back into place with your fingers. You adjust your costume, deeming yourself presentable enough to return to the party. You swiftly exit the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. Seungcheol stares at the door, frozen in place, head still spinning from his orgasm as he processes what just happened. He came in here to torment you, and now you've left him here — rejected, on his knees, like some fucking simp. He clenches his jaw, chest tightening as anger starts to swell within him. He's not sure which he's more upset about: you walking away from him, or the fact that he cares.

He doesn't even want to go back out there — he wishes he could just vanish into the walls. But he collects himself, returning to the party a few minutes later. He makes a beeline to the kitchen, grabbing another beer and chugging half of it in one go. With a sigh he walks back into the living room to look for his buddies.

The first thing he sees, though, is you — on the couch, drink in hand, sitting in the lap of the same guy you were flirting with earlier.

He swigs the rest of his beer into his mouth, then leaves the party without another word.

[three days later]

Seungcheol stares at the screen in his hand. He's typed out five different messages now, but erased all of them. He wishes he could just chuck his phone into the ocean — surely that would be less irritating than this. Finally, he types a single word and hits send.

Your phone lights up as you get the text notification.

Seungcheol (DO NOT TEXT): hey

Grinning, you pick up the phone. You didn't know how long it was going to take, but you knew he was going to end up texting you eventually. Going to your settings, you turn on your read receipts, then open his message.

He watches as the Delivered underneath his text turns to Read: 3:49pm. He waits, but several minutes go by without the little typing bubble even popping up. Unfuckingbelievable. He locks his phone and tosses it to the other end of the couch. He's not double texting you like a fucking loser. Forget it.

You're scrolling through Instagram later that evening when a push notification pops up at the top of your screen.

Seungcheol (DO NOT TEXT): don't act like you're too good to text me back

You click on it, hitting him with the read receipt again, before going back to your feed. Might as well see how far you can take this.

You're getting ready for bed when he texts again.

Seungcheol (DO NOT TEXT): wyd

You take a quick mirror selfie and send the pic.

you: just got out of the shower

He clicks on the photo: it's a bit blurry, the mirror lightly fogged with condensation after your warm shower, but he can just make out your nude torso — your free arm rests over your boobs, just barely covering your nipples. He ignores the blood starting to rush to his cock as he replies.

Seungcheol (DO NOT TEXT): you're so fucking annoying you: so you wanna hit or what? Seungcheol (DO NOT TEXT): are you serious? you: you're the one who texted me three times, babe. don't act surprised 😘

Frustrated, he puts his phone face down and reaches for his laptop. He lazily jacks off as he scrolls through pornhub, but nothing is hitting tonight — it hasn't since his dick got a taste of your pussy three days ago. Now you're all he can think of, and it's pissing him off.

He closes the browser and shuts his laptop. Reaching for his phone again, he sees you texted again.

you: so?

He deliberates for a minute, but he can't think clearly — his dick is still hard, after all.

Seungcheol (DO NOT TEXT): fuck you

You start to wonder if you pushed him too far, but you see him still typing. A second message pops up, making you grin.

Seungcheol (DO NOT TEXT): omw be there in 15 minutes

taglist: @minisugakoobies @kwonxy @aaniag @princessjazzyjazz@christinewithluv @choco-scoups @unlikelysublimekryptonite @lostmembrane @hearts4cheol@ninigyuuu @tokitosun @bonsaijoons @reiofsuns2001 @hluisstuff@meowchella @asyre @hipsdofangirl @dy-kyeom @haoxiaoba@boltersworldsblog @nidda13 @mae-murdock @renapersa @alikesical@humanitysstrongestsoldier1 @mytangerine98 @a-thln @riddlerloveb0t @fancypeacepersona@floverchwe @ybimoon @j3nnch3ls3a @eternalsagacrusader @livelaughloveseventeen@sevenpersona @chirocatic @jbear00 @strxwberry-skiess @coupsarchive@kyeomiis @tinycatharsis @hannieween @smiileflower @hanniebub

[seungkw1]

all my heart can say — ljh

Even if my love only amounts to this I'll be your spring to whatever winter it may be This is all my heart can say

—"All My Love" by Seventeen

♡ pairing: lee jihoon x f!reader ♡ theme: fluff, smut [18+ mdni], hurt/comfort, 90s au ♡ wc: 14.3k ♡ warnings: alcohol/food consumption, light angst, mention of minor character death, unprotected piv sex (please do not do this irl), dry humping, bigdick!jihoon bc duh, creampie, praise kink if u squint, the lee jihoon cat dad agenda is alive and well!!! ♡ a/n: written as part of Carats Ridge: A Small Town Collab put on by @imnotshua, @100vern, and @starlightkyeom! be sure to check out the masterlist for all the other amazing fics!! i loved every moment of writing this because i am tragically in love with lee jihoon i fear, i hope yall love it too <3 ♡ a/n 2: no beta we die like men

SYNOPSIS: Carats Ridge, 1991 — In a small town deep in the heart of the Pacific Northwest, a new resident in town causes a stir when he moves into the long-vacant house up on Hemlock Hill. The old superstitions surrounding the house and history begin to resurface, leaving a town full of people who already don't trust outsiders uneager to give the newcomer a warm welcome. To you, the stories are nothing more than a far-fetched local legend, and Jihoon seems nice — so you decide to befriend your new neighbor. The more time you spend with him, though, you start to realize that you've gained something much more than just friendship: you've gained a new perspective on what love can mean, and — for the first time in your life — you learn what it means to be loved.

1

pshhhhhhhh

A fine shower of droplets sprinkles coldly into your face as the vegetable misters suddenly spring to life overhead.

"Dammit!" you grumble to yourself as you quickly retreat from the heads of broccoli you were restocking onto the refrigerator shelves. You pat your face with your sleeve, ridding it of the unwelcomed moisture. You'd think that with the many years you've been working at the Carats Ridge Food Mart you would have learned how to dodge the misters by now, but apparently not.

You step back, waiting for them to shut off again before you finish stacking the last few broccoli heads neatly on top of each other. You reach for the stocking cart handle and push it, moving on to the next display; you get about two feet before the cart stops abruptly as it bumps into something — knocking the topmost of the precariously-stacked boxes of veggies off. You catch it before it falls completely, but not before several root vegetables go tumbling to the red-and-white checkered tile floor. Looking up, you see that you've just ran into a customer's cart with yours.

"I'm SO sorry!" you blurt out as you scramble to retrieve the turnips and rutabagas before they roll away. The man bends down, picking up a stray rutabaga that had bounced over to him and handing it to you as you place the rest of the runaway vegetables back onto the cart. As you turn toward him you are greeted with an unfamiliar face — a rare occurrence when you've lived in a town of 1,200 people for your entire life. It takes you a moment before you register who it is: it's Jihoon Lee, the man who moved into the formerly-abandoned house on Hemlock Hill a couple weeks ago.

"That was an accident, I didn't see you there," you tell him as you accept the rutabaga from him, mildly embarrassed at your blunder. "I should have been looking where I was going, I'm sorry," you apologize again.

"It's alright," the man responds with a small polite smile on his face. He's soft-spoken and seemingly a bit shy, judging by his eyes flickering in and out of your gaze. "No big deal."

"You must be Jihoon," you say to him warmly. "I'm y/n. I heard you were the one who just moved into the house up on Hemlock Hill."

Hemlock Hill. The name feels strange coming off your lips for the first time in a long while. It used to be the talk of the town, due to its former resident: an old woman, known only as Agatha, whom nearly the whole town suspected was a witch. Rumors abounded — according to some she practiced black magic or worshipped the devil, which was scandalous enough in and of itself; but there was also a terrifying rumor amongst schoolchildren that if any child wandered too close on her property, she would cook them and eat them. There was never any proof of the far-fetched tales — but that didn't stop the town from making wild speculations and shunning her from society. One frigid winter's day about 10 years ago she was spotted walking into the woods — dazed and incoherent, barefoot and coatless in the snow — and was never seen again. The police searched for days, but never found her. It was presumed she died from exposure, and that her remains were carried off by a bear or mountain lion. The house sat vacant for the next decade, whispers of rumors of its cursed nature still floating around from time to time — but for the most part, no one likes to talk about it anymore.

"Yeah, that's me," he replies, looking sheepish. "Seems like the whole town knows my name already."

"That's Carol Milford's fault," you say quietly, leaning in so no one happens to overhear you. "She's the resident town gossip — if anyone does anything, she'll find out about it and tell everybody and their grandmother."

Jihoon smiles. "I'd always heard that about small towns, but I didn't know how true it was until I got here. This is all very new to me."

"Where did you move here from?" you ask, returning to stocking the shelves. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Seattle," he answers. "Lived practically in the heart of downtown."

"Oh wow! That's so cool," you tell him earnestly. "I went down to Seattle once as a child. I was only six, so I don't remember all that much, but it felt like a different world."

"It definitely is," Jihoon agrees. The misters suddenly spring to life again right as you're leaning into the shelves.

"Oh, not again!" you mumble, quickly wiping the mist off your face. A grin pokes at the corners of Jihoon's mouth, but he shoves it back down. He was amused by your reaction, not laughing at you — but he met you one minute ago, and he doesn't want to make a bad first impression.

"Anyway, I live just down the road from you," you continue. "About a five minute drive. So I suppose that makes us sort-of neighbors!"

"Oh!" Jihoon remarks interestedly. "That's good to know."

"This is the first time I've ever actually had a new neighbor, so it's pretty exciting for me! If that tells you how eventful it usually is around here," you laugh. "But I'll stop bothering you now and let you get back to your shopping. It was nice to meet you!" you tell him cheerfully.

"You're not bothering me," he smiles calmly. "But it was nice to meet you too."

2

"Here you go, hon."

You look up from your newspaper as the waitress slides a plate of fresh, warm apple pie before you.

"Thanks, Janice," you smile at her.

"Of course," she beams back before scurrying off back behind the counter to tend to the other customers.

You had a longer shift at the Food Mart today and you weren't in the mood to cook, so you stopped by the C.R. Diner on your way home for a hearty meal — which wasn't complete without a slice of their famous pie. As you finish up the delicious apple pastry you reach into your purse and retrieve your wallet, leaving the cash payment on the table behind you as you exit the diner. On your way out, you pass a group of older ladies in the booth behind yours; it's none other than Carol Milford, speaking to her good friends and fellow gossipmongers Matilda Brown and Donna Smith in a hushed tone.

"I heard that's why he moved here — the house is perfect for devil worship, given its history…" she whispers to the other ladies. As you pass, she catches your eye.

"Y/n!" she says to you, waving you over. "Good to see you, darling, how are you?"

"I'm alright, thank you," you reply politely. You don't particularly like the woman, but you know well enough that it's best to stay on her good side.

"We're talking about the new resident," she tells you, lowering her voice slightly. "The one who moved into Agatha's house."

"Yeah, that's Jihoon," you answer casually. "I ran into him at the Food Mart a few days ago, he seemed really nice."

"Be careful with him," Matilda warns. "He's too quiet. And we heard he's practicing black magic just like she was."

You know this is a load of bullshit — a classic case of the elder residents being unwelcoming to a new, young face in town. You don't even believe the old rumors about Agatha, so you certainly don't believe the polite man you met the other day is anything close to a devil worshipper.

"Oh, that's interesting," you say nonchalantly. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Don't speak to him again," Donna tells you insistently. "If you get too close there's a good chance he'll lure you in and use you as a sacrifice."

It takes everything in you not to blatantly roll your eyes at her.

"Right," you reply, desperately trying to get out of the conversation. "Well, thanks for the advice, but I have to head home now. It was nice to see you all."

"Stay safe out there, honey," Carol insists. You nod, giving them a wave as you quickly make your exit.

On your drive home you pass the gravel road leading up to Hemlock Hill, and Jihoon pops into your mind again. You wonder if he even knows about the house's history; you know Carol and company aren't the only ones in town with the same attitude toward it — and you're certain Carol has already told everyone she's seen about the newcomer and his alleged devil worshipping. Most in town know not to fully trust anything she says, but Carats Ridge's superstition around Hemlock Hill runs deep. Jihoon seems like a nice guy — and you just hope others in town meet him with a warm welcome instead of a cold shoulder.

3

"How many entries do we have for the chili cook-off?"

You look up to see Carrie, one of your fellow committee members, looking mildly frazzled. The Yuletide Fest is next weekend, and there's still much to be done in the meantime.

"Um," you reply, picking up one of many clipboards strewn upon the table and counting the names on the list. "Looks like fifteen."

"I thought Tommy Higgins dropped out?"

"He did, but Bill & Susan Alton signed up last minute yesterday before the deadline."

"Okay, great," she replies. "I'll be sure to get that extra table after all so we have enough room."

Yuletide Fest is Carats Ridge's beloved annual tradition — each year on the Winter Solstice nearly the whole town comes out to the makeshift fairgrounds on the town square to celebrate the coming holiday season. There's food, drink, music, and merriment for all — and all of it is put on by you and the other seven members of the Fest committee. A big responsibility, but you've loved the Fest since you were a kid, and despite the stress of it all you love putting the many hours in that it takes to run the whole show. Besides, it's a good way to stay busy this time of year — having a thousand different tasks to juggle all at once is still better than sitting at home, depressed and alone.

You're fortunately at a point where you rarely think about Max anymore, but every once in a while he will find a way to pop into your mind. As you work to untangle the long strand of icicle lights that had been sitting jumbled in a bin since last year, you flash back to Christmas three years ago — the last Christmas you spent with your now-ex-boyfriend. You spent the day together putting up the decorations in your yard, finishing it all up by hanging the lights across the eaves of your house. You very nearly fell off the ladder trying to reach a bit too far; luckily, he caught you before you hit the ground, and you were fine — but that didn't stop him from lovingly teasing you about it for the rest of the season. But Christmas came and went, and soon after so did your relationship. He suddenly decided he'd had enough of small town life and of cold weather, and so practically on a whim he packed his things and headed off for California, leaving Carats Ridge — and you — in the rear view mirror.

Your eyes begin to water, but you quickly brush the tears away before they can fall. In retrospect, your relationship with Max wasn't anything particularly special. You were friends in high school but never dated until a few years after graduation; your only other former boyfriend had also moved away by that point, and you liked Max enough to agree to go on a date with him. Your relationship was fine — happy enough, but even though he was nice you always felt like you weren't getting enough out of it. But, being lonely sounded worse, so you stuck it out. By the time he left, you had gotten so used to being in a relationship that you forgot how to be on your own. You had your friends, sure — and they were there to support and comfort you. But, they couldn't offer you romantic love — and honestly, you came to realize that was something Max didn't even really fulfill for you. You fell into a deep depression; for months you barely left your house, pretty much only going to work and back. It wasn't until Maria suggested the idea of joining the Yuletide Fest committee that you found a reason to go out again.

"C'mon, you've always loved the Fest!" your best friend had reminded you. "And the committee could really use an extra pair of hands."

So you joined the committee. Quickly you acquired about a dozen different responsibilities, leaving you no time to even think about Max anymore. You rekindled your relationship with your community and now you have them to lean on, and for that you are beyond grateful. But still, you often feel alone; there's always that dream of being loved — truly loved — lingering in the back of your mind. You tell yourself it will happen when the moment is right — that you're not doomed to be alone forever. And while you know it's probably true, that there is somebody out there for you, you can't help but wonder when your time will finally come.

4

"If you like piña coladas, and getting caught in the rain…"

The music plays tinnily overhead from Food Mart's old speaker system. You find this song in particular to be bothersome, especially when the store seems to cycle through the same 20 songs over and over again, but you've worked here long enough that you're pretty good at tuning it out. It's been a slow day today — most people aren't grocery shopping mid-afternoon on a rainy Tuesday. You zone out from behind the empty register, staring blankly at the tabloid covers in the checkout line to see if there's anything interesting on them, but no such luck. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a customer heading toward your register. Looking over, you're surprised to see it's Jihoon again, carrying a number of small cans in his hands.

"Hi Jihoon!" you greet him cheerily. "Good to see you again, how are you?"

"Hi, y/n," he smiles timidly as he sets his items on the conveyor belt. "I'm alright, how are you?"

"A bit bored," you admit. "Slow day today." Reaching for the products as they drift toward the scanner, you notice he's buying a handful of cans of Fancy Feast.

"Oh, do you have a cat?" you inquire interestedly as you scan them and place them into a small brown bag.

"No, I don't," he replies, shaking his head. "But there's a stray that's been coming around the house ever since I moved in. I made the mistake of tossing it scraps of chicken and now it won't leave."

"Sounds like it's your cat now," you say with a grin.

"No, no, it's staying outside," he insists. "But it seemed hungry, so I don't mind feeding it."

You ring up the total and Jihoon hands you a couple one dollar bills; you take the cash and give him a quarter in change, your fingertips bumping into his palm lightly as you drop the coin into his hand.

"Thank you," he says politely. As you hand him the paper bag, a thought pops into your head.

"Are you going to the Yuletide Fest?" you ask him. He looks up at you, curious.

"What's that?"

"Only the best day of the year," you grin. "It's a festival that happens on the Winter Solstice every year. This year it's on the 21st — so, this Saturday. I'm on the committee that helps put it together. There's a chili cook-off, all sorts of food and drink, ice skating, live music, carnival games… but the best part is the huge bonfire where you can roast marshmallows," you inform him enthusiastically.

"Wow, that sounds like a huge production. And you put it all together?"

"Myself and a few others, yes," you say proudly. "It's been happening for decades. I loved going as a kid, but even as an adult it's a lot of fun! Nearly the whole town turns out. You should come!"

"Oh, yeah, maybe," he replies. "I'll try and stop by."

"I'll be running the hot cocoa stand this year, come find me and say hi if you do!"

He nods, smiling at you softly.

"I will."

5

"There you go, honey!"

You beam at the small child standing before you as she takes the small styrofoam cup of hot cocoa from you — you made sure to add extra marshmallows, just as she had requested.

"Fank you!" she squeals at the sight of the heaping marshmallows.

"You're welcome!" you tell her, waving goodbye as she excitedly walks back to her parents with her beverage.

As you stash the quarter the child had handed you in the money jar, Kirsten, your fellow hot cocoa stand employee, returns from grabbing another box of cups. As she starts stacking them on the table behind the booth, she notices something, looking out to the fairgrounds with a grimace on her face.

"Look, it's the new guy," she says condescendingly. You follow her gaze to spot none other than Jihoon, slowly wandering around the Fest, seemingly looking for something.

"His name is Jihoon," you inform her casually. She rolls her eyes.

"Whatever, he's a fucking weirdo."

"How so?" you ask, frowning at her. "Have you even met him?"

"No," she scoffs. "And I don't plan too."

"Why not? He's very nice — I've run into him at work a few times now."

"Maybe he seems nice, but you have to be some kind of freak to want to live in that horrible house."

"Do you really believe all those stories about Agatha?" you raise your brow at her.

"She was a batty old witch," Kirsten insists. "God knows what kind of evil magic she was doing up there, the house has to be cursed."

"I think it's much more likely that she was just a lonely, senile old woman," you counter. "There was never any proof of witchcraft found in the house."

"Whatever. That house still gives me the creeps. I don't know why anybody would ever move there."

You purse your lips together, realizing there's probably nothing you can say to change her mind on the matter.

"Would you mind running the stand for a few minutes? I'm going to go say hi."

"Suit yourself," she shrugs. "Your shift is almost over anyway, I'll go find Kelly to take over for you."

"Thanks!" you smile at her, ignoring her negativity. "I'll see you later."

You exit the hot cocoa stand and make a beeline for Jihoon, who is standing in the center of the square looking very lost.

"Hey neighbor!" you call out to him as you approach. He turns, relief washing over his face when he sees it's you.

"Hi," he smiles. "I was trying to find you, but I didn't know where to go."

"You were close," you tell him, pointing to the cocoa stand behind you. "I was right over there." As he looks over to it, Kirsten notices the two of you, glaring at him from across the way. You roll your eyes at her.

"Anyway, I'm so glad you came out!" you say, smiling again as you turn back to Jihoon.

"You sold it so well, I had to come check it out," he smiles back. "This is incredible, you did an amazing job."

"Well, I certainly can't take all the credit, but thank you!" you beam. "Do you want any hot cocoa? I know a guy, you can have it for free," you nudge his arm with your elbow playfully.

"That's alright, I don't think your friend over there likes me very much."

"Oh, ignore her," you say, waving your hand dismissively. "I'll go get it. You want marshmallows?"

Jihoon grins. "Sure."

You quickly go fetch him the promised cocoa — extra marshmallows, of course — not bothering to speak to Kirsten as you do so. You exit the booth and walk back over to him, handing him the steaming cup of cocoa.

"Here you go! On the house."

"Thank you," he says warmly as he accepts the cup. "I appreciate it."

"Anytime," you smile.

You walk Jihoon around the grounds, showing him all there is to see at the Fest, as well as pointing out various townspeople you feel he should know about.

"Ooh! There's the mayor and his wife," you whisper to him, nudging your head in the direction of the gray-haired, bearded man standing at the darts booth.

"Which one?" he asks as he sips the cocoa, downing the delicious beverage.

"The one who looks like an off-duty Santa Claus," you state. Jihoon nearly spits out his drink.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" you ask as he coughs.

"I'm okay," he replies, wiping a dribble of chocolate from his chin, a wide grin spreading across his face. "That was really funny, I just wasn't expecting you to say that."

"Sorry to make you nearly choke," you tell him with a laugh. "Anyway, yeah, Mayor Santa is really nice. Want me to introduce you?"

"Oh, that's alright," he shakes his head. "I don't want to be a bother."

"Well you're certainly not a bother."

"I think most of the people I've met so far would disagree," he shrugs. "But it's okay."

"That's absolutely not okay," you frown. "Have people been rude to your face??"

"I wouldn't say rude," he replies hesitantly. "But definitely a bit… less than welcoming."

"Ugh, I'm really sorry about that," you reply, giving him an apologetic look. A deluge of teenagers suddenly fills the area, hollering and throwing wads of popcorn at each other. You both start moving again, continuing to stroll through the Fest together. "I promise most people here are much nicer than they might seem at first."

"It's okay, I understand why people here wouldn't necessarily trust newcomers. I'm sure I seem like an outsider to them."

"Well, that's definitely part of it…" you start, wondering how much you should say on the matter. But it's his house now — he deserves to know.

"How much do you know about the history of Hemlock Hill?" you ask.

"I know that the lady who lived there before died, if that's what you mean."

"Well yes, that's true," you reply. "But that's just the tip of the iceberg."

Jihoon tilts his head slightly, his eyebrows perking up in curiosity. With a slight sigh, you continue.

"To make a long story short, nearly the whole town was convinced Agatha — the woman who lived there — was a witch who practiced black magic and that the house and the whole hill are cursed now."

Jihoon's eyes widen. "Oh," he remarks. "Well I certainly didn't hear about that part of it."

"Don't worry though — once she died and her house was cleared out they didn't find anything that suggested she was worshipping the devil or anything like that at all," you assure him. "Not that that did much to quell the rumors, though," you admit. "She died ten years ago now, but people still believe that nonsense to this day."

"Wow," Jihoon responds, trying to process this new information. "If you don't mind my asking, do you know how she died?"

"Well, she kind of just wandered off into the woods one day and was never seen again," you tell him. "Some people think she was possessed, but honestly, I think she was just a lonely old recluse who sadly lost her mind."

"That is sad," he agrees, nodding solemnly. "Thank you for telling me though."

"I should probably also tell you that Carol Milford thinks you moved here to worship the devil," you add.

"Oh!" he exclaims. "Well, I can assure you that's not true."

"That's what I tried to tell her, but I'm sure she's told at least half the town about it anyway by now," you say with an eye roll. "I'm really sorry this is the welcome you've received so far. Folks around here can be stubborn, but for the most part they're kindhearted, good people. Hopefully once they get to know you more they'll come to realize that all a bunch of baloney."

Jihoon smiles. "Thanks, I really appreciate you telling me all this, I'm feeling better about everything already."

"Of course! It's your house now, after all. You deserve to know the full story."

By now, you've walked through the entire Fest; as you reach the field at the edge of the fairgrounds, an enormous bonfire pit comes into view, causing Jihoon to stop in his tracks.

"Whoa," he gasps at the majestic sight before him.

"See? I told you — this is the best part," you say, grinning excitedly. "Say, how do you feel about s'mores?"

You and Jihoon make your way over to the bonfire, each taking a long metal skewer and some big, fluffy marshmallows. There's plenty of room around the pit; you find a good spot on the other side of the fire — the rest of the festival providing a gorgeous backdrop as the setting sun begins to fade. Night takes over as you sit together roasting your marshmallows, a massive scattering of stars becoming visible against the darkened sky.

"Wow, I've never seen so many stars before," Jihoon tells you, staring up in amazement at the stunning array of constellations above. "It's beautiful."

You glance over at him, watching as he takes it all in. The dancing flames of the bonfire cast a warm glow upon his lifted face, the light glimmering in the reflection of his dark eyes as he gazes up at the stars. It strikes you how handsome he is — not that you found him unattractive before by any means, but seeing his features up close for the first time, your stomach begins to flutter with excitement.

"Isn't it just lovely?" you remark. Jihoon nods, glancing back over to you; you quickly fix your gaze back on your marshmallow, finding it to be perfectly roasted now.

"S'mores time!" you announce with a grin. You and Jihoon reach for the bar of chocolate sitting between you at the same time, your hands colliding.

"Oops, sorry," you apologize, reaching instead for the graham crackers on the other side of the plate.

"You're alright — here, I got it."

He breaks off a row of chocolate rectangles and hands it to you. You assemble your s'mores, the milk chocolate melting nearly right away as it greets the hot marshmallow. You quickly take a big bite before it can ooze out all over your hands. Jihoon assembles his own s'mores, joining you in taking a bite of the sugary goodness.

"Hits the spot every time," you mumble to him, your mouth still slightly filled with sticky marshmallow.

"I haven't had s'mores in so long," he replies delightedly, finishing off the last bite of his own treat. "That was delicious."

Jihoon's easygoing nature combined with your chatterbox tendencies makes conversation feel effortless; you float naturally from one topic to the next as you sit there together, basking in the tall roaring flames of the bonfire. Your s'mores are long gone, but you have no desire to leave just yet. Without your realizing, nearly an entire hour passes — and the closing hour of the Fest soon arrives.

"Thanks again for coming out," you say to Jihoon as you stroll back through the fairgrounds, the festival staff having kicked everyone out of the fire pit a couple minutes ago. "This was really fun. I'm usually so busy running this whole show that I don't get to experience it like this anymore."

"Thank you for inviting me," Jihoon replies. "I had a really nice time. And I'm feeling a little bit less like a stranger here now," he chuckles.

"Good," you nod. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Away from the massive bonfire now, and with the crowd dissipating as everyone heads home, the cold December wind is starting to chill you to your bones. You shiver, rubbing your palms together to try and warm up your frozen fingers.

"Where are you parked?" Jihoon asks. "I can walk you to your car."

"Oh, thank you — but unfortunately I have to tear down the hot cocoa stand still. Shouldn't take too long though, at least."

"Here," he says to you, retrieving something from his coat pocket. He extends his hand to you, and you see he is offering you a pair of leather gloves. "Take these so you can warm up."

"Oh! That's okay," you tell him, waving your hand to decline. "I'll be fine—"

He places the gloves in your hand anyway. "I insist."

"Okay," you smile at him. "Thank you."

"No problem at all," he nods.

"You better get going before they drag you out of here," you joke as you see a few staff members heading in your direction. Jihoon laughs.

"Alrighty then — goodnight, y/n," he bids you warmly.

"Goodnight! Get home safe."

"I will," he nods. "You do the same."

6

The next morning, you wake up earlier than expected — a bit annoying, since it's Sunday and you were planning to sleep in, but you decide to get up and get a head start on laundry. As you carry the basket of dirty clothes to the laundry room, you spot your jacket hanging on the coat rack by the front door. Walking over to it, the strong residual scent of bonfire smoke hits you; memories of last night immediately flood your mind — memories of sitting by the fire with Jihoon, eating s'mores together, talking and laughing and having a genuinely wonderful time. Smiling absentmindedly, you grab the jacket to toss it in the wash, but something falls from its pocket. You bend down to pick it up, discovering the pair of gloves Jihoon lent you. You set them onto the coffee table, so you can remember to return them to him.

A couple loads of laundry later, you plop down on the couch, ready to laze around and read your new book. As you reach for the novel sitting on the coffee table you notice the gloves again, sitting there beside the paperback, as if waiting for you to do something with them. You flip through the pages to locate your bookmark, starting the next chapter where you left off. The protagonist has just met the love interest, and the story is beginning to heat up — something that normally keeps your undivided attention, but your mind seems to be wandering today. You've only gotten a few pages into the chapter before your eyes flicker back to Jihoon's gloves. You think for a moment. Then, tucking the bookmark between the pages, you toss the book back on the table, grabbing the gloves and your keys as you make your way out the door.

The drive from your house to Jihoon's is a straight shot. There's a couple other houses along Douglas Fir Road, but for the most part it's forested, lined with tall conifer trees — growing denser as you drive deeper into the woods. As you approach a large bend in the road you slow, looking carefully for the entrance to Hemlock Hill Drive. It's a bit hard to see, but a singular rusty mailbox on a wooden post gives it away. You turn onto the gravel road, driving slowly up its steep incline. You're starting to wonder if you're in the wrong place when you finally spot a clearing in the trees up ahead. A charming cabin-style home comes into view; it's clearly old, but much of it looks recently-renovated — a far cry from the cursed, dilapidated house spoken of in the local legends.

You've only been up here one other time in your life — it was sixth grade, and a few of the boys in your class dared you and your friends to sneak onto the property with them. You didn't particularly care for that sort of thing, but then they started calling you chicken, and that was something you were not about to let slide. So you agreed. It was a chilly night — you remember how much you were shivering as you and your friends climbed up the hill. It was dark, nearly pitch black except for the one flashlight you had amongst yourselves. Fear creeped into your bones as you approached the house, all the horrible tales you'd heard of Agatha whirring through your mind as your heart pounded in your ears. The house was unlit as you approached, sitting ominously in the shadows; you felt like it was taunting you, egging you to just come a little closer. The boys were in the middle of bickering about who was brave enough to go knock on the door first when a sudden rustling in the nearby bushes sent all of you running back down the hill, screaming at the top of your lungs as you made your escape.

Seeing it now, years later and in the daylight, you can hardly believe it's the same house. You pull in behind the old blue-and-white pickup truck parked at the end of the drive. The fog is slightly denser up here — lingering in the air like a cold, misty blanket. You climb the steps leading up to the house and knock on the front door. You don't see any lights on inside, but you assume if Jihoon's truck is here then he must be around somewhere. You wait, but no response. You knock again, but something moving in your periphery catches your eye. You turn to spot a large cat walking along the side of the house, headed in your direction. It's a tomcat with a big round head — his long black-and-white fur slightly dusty but still easily spottable against the rich browns and greens of the surrounding foliage.

"Here, kitty kitty," you say as the cat approaches, bending down and reaching out to pet him. You wonder if he's going to run away, but instead he eagerly nuzzles his head against your palm.

Mrrrrow, the cat chirps as you scratch behind his ears.

"Well, aren't you friendly?" you say to the cat. Suddenly noticing the sound of footsteps approaching you from behind, you whip your head around, but it's just Jihoon, sauntering toward you from behind the house with a big stack of chopped firewood in his arms.

"He's getting a little too friendly," he comments as he sets the pile of wood down on the porch. "Guess that's what I get for feeding him." He turns back to face you, his expression warm and welcoming.

"So what brings you up here?"

"I just wanted to return these to you," you reply, pulling his gloves from your pocket and reaching out to hand them to him.

"Oh! You didn't have to drive all the way here just for that," he tells you sheepishly as he takes the gloves from you.

"I told you, I'm only about five minutes down the road," you remind him with a smile. "It's no big deal, really."

"Well, thank you," Jihoon smiles back, his soft cheeks tinged pink from the frigid winter air. "I appreciate it."

"Oh, and here—"

You motion for him to wait as you flutter down the steps, reaching into your car and retrieving something from your glovebox. You return with a miniature spiral notebook in hand, scribbling something on a clean sheet with a ballpoint pen.

"Let me give you my address and phone number. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

You tear the pale yellow sheet from its binding and hand it to Jihoon. He takes it, folding it carefully and tucking it into his shirt pocket.

"You're too nice to me," he chuckles. "But thank you — I will."

"Here," you say, extending the pen and paper to him. "You should give me yours as well."

Phone numbers now exchanged, you've accomplished what you came up here for; as much as you'd like to stay and chat, you did show up to his home unannounced, so you know it's time for you to go.

"Well, I'll let you get back to your firewood now," you tell Jihoon. A hint of sadness seems to flash across his face, but as soon as you blink, it's gone. "It was nice to see you!"

"Good to see you too," he smiles, giving you a wave as you head back down to your car. He watches as you drive away, eyes fixed on you until your car disappears down the hill.

As he steps through the front door to head inside he pulls the small piece of paper from his pocket, staring at your name handwritten neatly in cursive. He searches around the house for where he put his address book — he hasn't needed it once since he moved here, because you are the only person who has actually talked to him so far. He finally locates the small bound booklet in a drawer; he flips to the correct letter and writes down your contact information, contently humming to himself as he does so. He carries on with the renovations he had planned to get done around the house today, catching himself humming again as he paints the window frames, and even singing out loud as he removes gross, wet clumps of leaves from the gutters. As he lays in bed that night, his mind drifts back to you. He decides he needs to find a way to thank you for your kindness, but before he can think of anything he is blissfully drifting off to sleep.

7

Jihoon is driving home from yet another trip to the hardware store when he decides to take a slight detour.

His house is shortly after the intersection of Douglas Fir and Juniper, but instead of going straight he turns left. Juniper Road takes him past Hemlock Hill Drive — but it's also the street you live on. Just like you said, it's about a five minute drive until he reaches a small but cozy-looking red house. Your driveway is vacant, so he assumes you're not home, but he doesn't mind that for this errand. He pulls into the drive and parks; reaching into the breast pocket of his thick, flannel-lined jacket, he locates the small yellow piece of paper he's kept on his person ever since you gave it to him about a week ago. Unfolding it, he double checks your handwriting — he is indeed at the correct house. He retrieves a small, brown envelope from his glovebox and hops out of the truck.

Walking up to your front door, he suddenly becomes a bit nervous. He reminds himself that you showed up to his house unannounced, which he didn't mind, and that you're not even home right now. As climbs the steps up to your porch he sees a small tin letterbox next to your front door — perfect. He drops the card inside and heads back to his truck.

"Leaving already? But you just got here!"

He spins back around, seeing your head poking out from the now-slightly-open front door.

"I didn't think you were home," he replies, taking a few steps back toward the porch. He looks a bit embarrassed, the tips of his ears turning rosy red. "I didn't see your car."

"It's in the shop," you explain. "It was making a weird clunking noise, turns out I had bad motor mounts. If all goes well I'll have it back late tomorrow."

"Oh, wow. How are you getting around then?"

"I'm not," you shrug. "I was just planning to call off work."

"I can give you a ride, if you want," Jihoon offers right away.

"Oh, that's alright, you don't have to do that—"

"It's no problem, really," he insists. He gazes at you warmly. "I don't mind. Besides, you're just down the road — it's not even out of the way."

"Alright, then," you smile softly. "If you insist. I open tomorrow though, so I have to be at Food Mart by 7:30 in the morning."

"Not a problem at all — I can be here at 7:00, if that works."

"Sounds perfect," you grin. "Thank you so much, Jihoon."

"Of course, I'm happy to help."

"So, what did you bring me?" you ask, reaching into the letterbox and pulling out the envelope Jihoon dropped off.

"Oh, just a holiday card," he answers sheepishly, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Figured I'd save on postage."

"Well, next time you drop by be sure to say hi," you tease. "I don't bite. Wanna come in and warm up some?"

He's tempted to say yes, but he shakes his head.

"Thank you, but I have to get back home." He nudges his head toward the wooden planks in his truck bed. "Gotta finish up some repairs on the house before it gets dark."

A flicker of disappointment flashes across your face, but you smile at him.

"Next time, then," you tell him with a nod. "Good luck on the repairs!"

"Thanks, y/n," he replies fondly. "See you in the morning."

You head back inside, carefully tearing the sealed envelope open and pulling out Jihoon's card. On the front is a quaint illustration of a snow-coated forest, a deer standing elegantly between the tall pines. You open it to see a surprisingly lengthy message, written in ink, the lettering slightly messy but still perfectly legible. Leaning against the kitchen counter, you read what he wrote you:

Dear Y/n, I am writing because I want to thank you for your kindness. When I moved to Carats Ridge a few weeks ago, I knew nobody here. Quite frankly, I still don't know anybody — except you. You were the first (and only) person to strike up a real conversation with me, and after a couple weeks of receiving nothing but disdainful glares and muttered whispers as I passed by, the warmth you showed me was like a breath of fresh air. I almost didn't come out to the Yuletide Fest that night — as much as I appreciated the invitation, I didn't want to have to walk into a crowd of strangers whom I knew would not be welcoming toward me. But after much deliberation, I convinced myself to go. I told myself I would just stop by for a few minutes to check things out, that I'd say hi to you and then leave. But then you left your post at the hot cocoa stand, all so you could show me around — and I forgot all about leaving. I had a wonderful night, and it made me feel like I have a place in this town after all. So again, thank you, for being a friend (I hope it's okay that I call you that) when I needed it the most. —Jihoon Lee

It's not until you finish reading that you realize you're crying. You wipe the tears from your face, but they continue to trickle down your cheeks as you read the touching message a second time. Closing the card before you keep crying in the middle of your kitchen, you walk over to your fridge and post it to front of the door with a magnet — right at eye level, so you can see it every time you pass by.

—

You're finishing your second cup of coffee when you hear the soft rumble of Jihoon's truck as he pulls into your driveway again. You peep at the clock — 7:00am on the dot. Quickly donning your coat and boots, you grab your purse and head out to greet him.

"Morning!" you call as you scurry down the steps and over to his car. You see it's already started to snow — a light dusting of flakes starting to cover your yard in a frosty white blanket. Jihoon gets out and walks around the truck, meeting you at the passenger side door.

"Good morning," he says warmly, opening the door for you.

"Thanks!" you say as you hop inside the vehicle, relieved to find it comfortably toasty. Jihoon shuts the door and returns to the driver's seat, shifting the truck into reverse and backing out of your driveway.

"How'd your repairs go yesterday?" you ask as he reaches the main road, shifting into gear and beginning the drive to Food Mart.

"Much better than expected, honestly," he answers cheerily. "Finished up fixing the side of the house. Some of the old wood was rotting — it nearly crumbled in my hands as I stripped it down. But now it's good as new."

"You must be very handy to be fixing all that yourself," you commend him. "Do you work in construction at all?"

Jihoon shakes his head. "Nope, I learned it all from my dad. He was always having me help around the house when I was a kid. I didn't mind it then, but it's definitely been very useful these days."

"That's nice! What do you do for work then, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I'm a writer," he answers. "When I'm not fixing up the house, I'm working on my book."

"Whoa, that's so cool! What's it about?"

"It's um, kind of a science fiction novel. I know that's pretty dorky," he chuckles shyly. "But there's also romance involved."

"Oh, romance is my favorite genre! But I don't think that's dorky at all," you assure him. "It sounds impressive. What made you want to write science fiction?"

"It's always been my favorite genre. Do you know Dune?"

You shake your head. "Sorry, never heard of it."

"That's okay," he smiles. "It's iconic in the world of sci-fi literature, but it's not exactly mainstream. It was my favorite book when I was younger."

"Tell me about it!" you respond. "I'm curious."

"Um," he laughs nervously. "Well, it's quite long and complicated, but basically it's about a boy who moves to a desert planet called Arrakis — there's this highly coveted substance called spice that's basically a magic drug and Arrakis is the only place in the universe where it exists. They mine it from the desert, but there's these massive worms that live in the sand that interfere, and there's also this group of people who live in the desert called the Fremen—"

He glances over at you, seeing the stark confusion on your face.

"Sorry, you lost me at the big sand worm," you giggle.

"Fair enough," he laughs. "But yeah, I love the worldbuilding and the intergalactic politics of it all. My novel is nowhere near as complex, though. I've kind of ended up focusing on the romance aspect of it more than I expected."

"Well I'll definitely have to read it when it's published, then," you smile.

The green roof of Food Mart comes into view as you near your destination. Jihoon turns into the parking lot, pulling into the spot closest to the grocery store's front door.

"Well, here you are," he says as he shifts the car into park. "What time do you get off? I'll come pick you up."

"I get off at 4:00pm, but I'll have to go pick up my car."

"No problem, I can take you to the auto shop."

"Amazing — you're the best!" you beam at him, making him turn slightly pink. "See you later!"

"See you later," he smiles back at you as you exit the truck. He waits to make sure you can get in — it's far too cold to be stranded outside — but luckily the door is already unlocked. You look back as you step inside, giving him a cheerful wave goodbye. He reciprocates, gazing at you softly through the window as you disappear into the store.

—

True to his word, Jihoon returns to Food Mart at 4 o'clock to pick you up. He drives you to the auto shop, where you're relieved to find your car is just about fixed.

"You sure you're fine waiting here by yourself?" he asks when you tell him the good news.

"Yeah! It'll only be about 30 minutes. Please — go home, you don't need to wait around for me."

"Okay," he agrees. "But call me if something comes up, okay?"

"I will. Thanks again for the rides!"

"Of course. See you later, y/n."

Driving home, Jihoon approaches the intersection of Douglas Fir and Juniper. He hesitates at the stop sign, thinking for a moment, before deciding to turn left.

You pull up to your house about 45 minutes later to see Jihoon's truck once again parked outside, and its owner halfway through shoveling the snow from your driveway.

He turns as you slowly pull into the shoveled end of the drive, giving you a polite wave.

"What on earth are you doing??" you inquire as you step out of the car.

"Shoveling your driveway."

"I see that, but why?" 

Jihoon shrugs. "It snowed a couple inches. How else were you going to be able to park?" 

The way he says it is so matter-of-fact, so nonchalant — as if he didn't go out completely of his way to do a massive chore for you without you ever even asking.

You're not entirely sure why, but you nearly burst into tears right then and there. Instead you hold it in, blinking away the excess saline, hoping it appears as though your eyes are watering simply due to the cold.

"You didn't have to do that," you say softly. 

"I know," he replies with a warm smile. "But I wanted to."

"Here, I have an extra shovel," you tell him as you march past him to go grab the tool propped up against the side of the house. "I'll help you finish — we'll be done in no time."

Indeed, with the two of you shoveling — and Jihoon having already done the brunt of the workload — the driveway is clear within fifteen minutes.

"Please, come inside and warm up," you say to him as you put the shovels away. "I insist."

He pauses for a moment, about to politely decline — but he is quite cold.

"Okay," he nods in agreement. 

He follows you through the front door, removing his shoes right away as not to track snow into your home and quickly discarding his several layers of outerwear now that he is in the warmth of inside.

"It's very cozy in here," he compliments you as he takes a look around. "I like it."

"Thank you!" you chime. "I do too."

You don your nearby slippers and head into the kitchen. "I'm going to heat up some leftover soup from the fridge — minestrone that I made the other night. Would you like some?"

"That sounds delightful," he replies. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until right this moment. 

You reheat the minestrone and dish up you and Jihoon each a big, steaming bowl.

"Wine?" you offer after you serve him, picking a bottle of cabernet up off the counter. You had been saving it for something special, and this seems like just the occasion.

"I'm okay, thank you," he declines, waving his hand. Without thinking, he adds "Maybe another time."

"Okay, but I'm holding you to that," you wink as you fetch the corkscrew from the drawer, opening the bottle and pouring yourself a glass.

"This is delicious," Jihoon says between slurping down spoonfuls of the thick, hearty soup. "You are an excellent cook."

"Thank you, I try my best," you reply humbly.

"Well you're doing a great job."

The room falls quiet as you both inhale your meals, but the lull in conversation feels perfectly comfortable. You each have seconds, polishing off the remainder of your big batch of soup; you also decide to pour yourself a second glass of wine as well — just a small one, you think to yourself. 

"Tell me about Seattle," you say as you take the empty dishes and place them in the sink. You look over to Jihoon as you start scrubbing the bowls and spoons with a soapy sponge. "I barely remember it since I was so young when I went, all I remember it feeling huge and magical."

"I don't know about magical," he smiles. "But it's definitely huge and busy and filled with people. Basically, the complete opposite of here."

"I want to go back sometime — and see it not through the eyes of a child," you chuckle. "I've seen photos, the skyline is just so beautiful."

"I suppose it is," he says wistfully. "But not as beautiful as it is up here, if you ask me."

"I think beauty can come in all shapes and forms," you remark, rinsing the bowls and drying them with a towel. You rejoin Jihoon at the kitchen table. "They're both beautiful in their own ways, if you ask me."

He smiles softly. "I suppose that's true."

The question that has been lingering at the back of your mind since you first met him pops into your head again. You weren't sure if you should ask before, since you barely knew the guy — but he did call you his friend, after all.

"What made you leave the hustle and bustle of the big city to move out here — practically the middle of nowhere?" you ask gently. He seems to tense up, a somber expression washing over his face.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want," you quickly backpedal, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, but he shakes his head.

"No, it's alright," he responds with a sigh, staring down at his folded hands atop the table. "It's just… a lot. But to make a long story short, I was engaged. I had proposed to my girlfriend — we had been dating since high school, and it was the only relationship I've ever been in. I didn't know anything else, and I thought I was happy. But as we started to plan for the wedding, I came to realize I just… wasn't happy." 

He shifts his gaze out your window, staring off into the distance pensively. 

"I think I was too young and naïve to know it before that point," he continues. "But it was almost like a revelation: one day I woke up and realized I was putting a lot more into the relationship than she was. I think she did love me, to a degree. But I knew then that if I went through with the marriage, I would end up regretting it. So as scared as I was to do it, I ended things. It went just about as poorly as it possibly could have," he laughs somberly. "She was furious. I don't think it even was about the relationship ending, really — she ended up moving on almost immediately, it seemed. But I think it was about the fact that things were no longer going her way. She told everyone — her family, all of our friends — that I ruined her life. And to be fair, I suppose I kind of did. But in retrospect, I know it wouldn't have lasted long anyway, so I'm glad I saved myself that grief. But when nearly everybody walks out of your life in the blink of an eye… I just didn't know what to do. I had no friends left. My family is still around, but they've made it loud and clear that they think I made a huge mistake. I was sick to my stomach to even go outside and walk around the city that I loved anymore, because everything reminded me of her. So I left. I searched around for the most remote location I could possibly find — and that's how I ended up here. I never had even heard of Carats Ridge, but that was exactly what I wanted. I wanted to get away and forget any of this ever happened. And I do love it here, really — I don't regret moving here at all. But although I left all the physical reminders of my ex behind, I guess I still couldn't escape the emotional damage that was done. "

The room sits still and silent for a moment as he finishes, the heaviness lingering in the air. You take a deep breath, stopping yourself before you start tearing up again.

"I'm so sorry, Jihoon," you finally speak softly. "That's all so awful."

"Yeah," he sighs, shaking his head wistfully. "That all happened almost a year ago now. It's embarrassing that it's still affecting me this much, but truth be told I'm not completely over it yet. But I try my best not to let myself dwell on it anymore."

"That's a huge, life-changing thing that happened to you," you reassure him. "It's okay to not be completely over it. You know what they say — healing isn't linear."

"You're certainly right about that," he replies, a soft smile appearing on face. "Anyway, I'm sorry to dump all that on you, but thank you for listening to me."

The way he says it is so gentle, so grateful — it seems as if you're the first person to properly listen to him in a very long time. And given everything he just told you, you suspect that very well might be true. It nearly breaks your heart.

"Hey, I'm always here if you need someone to talk to," you respond, smiling at him warmly. "Seriously — I mean it."

"Thanks, y/n," he glows warmly back at you. "I really appreciate that." 

Glancing out the window again, Jihoon realizes just how dark it is.

"Wow, it's gotten late," he remarks as he peeks at his watch. "I should get out of your hair now."

Stay, you want to tell him. Stay as long as you want.

"Thanks again for shoveling my driveway. And being my taxi today," you say instead. And for keeping me company, you think as well.

"Anytime — I'm happy to help," he nods.

You walk him to the front door, opening it for him after he's bundled himself back up his coat and boots. 

"Goodnight," you say warmly as he brushes past you. He turns to look at you, and for just a split second his face lingers before yours — so incredibly close it makes your stomach turn to jelly. 

"Goodnight," he speaks softly, his dark eyes fixed intimately on yours for just a moment — then he goes. 

You shut the door, but peek out the front window to watch as he strolls back to his truck. As he starts backing out the driveway, he catches your eye. You're a bit embarrassed that he saw you watching him, but he gives you a friendly wave. You wave back, and he drives off into the night.

8

You're zoned out stocking soup cans on the Food Mart shelves when you register somebody walking toward you out of the corner of your eye. You turn your head, coming back to Earth, ready to assist the customer — but you smile when you realize who it is.

"Well, hey there!" you say brightly.

"Hi, y/n," Jihoon replies with a warm grin. He's pushing an empty cart, seemingly just arriving at the store. "I was hoping you were working today."

"Yep, here I am," you say, trying not to turn completely flustered. "It's been a busy day today — everyone's trying to get their groceries early before the big snowstorm rolls in tomorrow night."

"Yeah, I heard about that," he replies. "Do you really think we're going to get ten inches of snow?"

"We might," you shrug. "It's pretty rare that we get that much all at once, but it does happen every once in a blue moon."

"Wow," he muses. "Well I guess we'll just have to wait and see, then. Anyway, speaking of tomorrow night, I had a question for you."

"Oh! Sure, what is it?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner. We can do it early — so you can get home before the storm starts."

A big grin creeps across your face. "I'd love that," you gush excitedly. 

"Excellent," he grins back. "How do you feel about steak?"

"Steak sounds wonderful!"

"Perfect, I'll pick all the ingredients up while I'm here. Let's say, 4:00pm tomorrow?"

"I'll be there at 4 o'clock sharp," you beam.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, y/n."

—

Tiny flecks of snow begin to hit your windshield as you turn onto the steep incline of Hemlock Hill Drive. 

"Guess the snow's coming in early," you mumble to yourself as you pull up to Jihoon's house. You park and make your way to his front door. You're about to knock when it swings open before you.

"Welcome," Jihoon says with a smile as he beckons you in. He's wearing a plain, black apron, slightly messied with stray splatters of sauce. "Come in, it's cold out."

"Looks like the storm might be coming in sooner than expected," you say, brushing the dusting of white flakes off your coat before you step inside.

"Sure looks like it."

As you remove your outerwear, you take in the interior of Jihoon's house for the first time. It looks like the inside of a cabin, with perfectly cozy decor arranged neatly in the tidy space. A large stereo system with a turntable sits in the living room, playing upbeat old-timey swing music at a moderate volume from its speakers.

"It's lovely in here!" you tell him cheerfully. 

"Thank you, but I can't take all the credit. Most of the furniture came with the house," he explains. "It was all rather dusty, but with a bit of effort I got everything cleaned up and good as new, if I do say so myself."

"Wow. So much for the past occupant being an evil witch," you say with a laugh. "Not that I ever really believed any of that. But I'm sure most people in town would be expecting a big cauldron or pentagrams or whatever."

"Can confirm — not a single pentagram found in this house," he grins. "Please, have a seat — dinner is almost ready." As you walk through the house you are hit with the enticing aroma of steak; he leads you to a small table in the dining room, pulling a chair out for you before zipping back into the kitchen to check on the meat. The table is set, covered in a delicate linen tablecloth intricately embroidered with farmhouse scenery.

A couple minutes later he returns, now apron-free, carrying two fine porcelain plates — each bearing hearty roasted potatoes, tender-looking asparagus, and a thick, sizzling filet mignon. 

"Wow, this looks amazing!" you tell him as he sets the first plate before you. 

"One more thing…"

He returns to the kitchen, emerging again moments later with a bottle of expensive-looking cabernet sauvignon and two crystal wine glasses.

"I wasn't sure what else you liked, but I saw you were drinking a cabernet the other night, so I figured this would be a safe bet," he tells you as he opens the bottle with a corkscrew and pours you a glass.

"No, this is perfect," you glow at him.

He sits across from you, the humble size of the table making his closeness feel even more intimate.

"I'd say bon appétit, but that feels way too fancy for me to be saying," he chuckles lightheartedly.

"Are you kidding? This could be a Michelin star meal as far as I'm concerned," you praise. 

You cut into the filet mignon, the tender, juicy meat slicing with ease. Your eyes widen as you take the first bite.

"Pardon my French, but holy shit," you mumble through a mouthful of steak, eyes widening with delight as the delicious flavor floods your mouth. "This is the best steak I've ever had."

"I'm glad you like it," he replies warmly. "My grandmother taught me how to cook from a young age. All this stuff is hers, actually — the dishes, the tablecloth. I've pretty much never used it," he laughs. "Only on special occasions."

"And I'm a special occasion?" you ask playfully as you take a sip of the wine. It's deliciously dry — full-bodied with rich flavor. 

"Of course," he answers matter-of-factly, smiling softly as he looks you in the eyes. Between that and the wine, you feel a rush of heat starting to fill your cheeks.

The delicious meal is quickly devoured — but you remain at the table together long after, conversation and laughter filling the room as the both of you continue to sip at the wine. You don't know how long you and Jihoon have been sitting here talking — it's surely been well over an hour now, but it doesn't feel like it in the slightest.

"More wine?" he asks, cheeks pink and glowing from the alcohol as he picks up the bottle. "Bottle's just about empty, we can finish it up."

"Yes please," you smile at him, the wine also making you a bit giddy.

"Would you like to sit on the couch?" Jihoon asks. "I can start up the fireplace."

"That sounds perfect."

Migrating to the living room, he stops by the stereo system, quickly replacing the finished record with a new vinyl. Softer jazz music begins to play from its speakers as he grabs a couple logs of firewood and sets them in the fireplace, igniting the hearth with a lighter. A soft orange glow fills the room as the fire comes to life, immediately warming up the room.

You're about to sit down on the couch when you notice the seat is already occupied with a large round, black-and-white ball of fur.

"I told you!!" you exclaim. Jihoon — still kneeling before the fireplace — pokes his head up.

"Hm?" 

You reach down to pet the fluffy creature; he wakes up, lifting his big round head and making a brrrrrrp sound.

"I told you you had a cat now!" you grin, patting the animal softly. 

"Oh god, he's not supposed to be on the couch," Jihoon grumbles. "No, still not my cat. I only let him in because of the snowstorm tonight — he's going right back outside as soon as the snow clears."

He walks over to the couch, making a shooing motion to the cat, but the cat just looks at him. 

"C'mon, get off."

"Oh, leave him be. Look how comfy he is!" you say, scratching his furry ears. "He's made himself right at home. Besides, the couch is big enough for all of us."

"Alright, fine," Jihoon concedes. He points his finger at the cat. "But don't get used to this."

With the cat taking up one end of the couch, you and Jihoon take a seat on the other side. There's plenty of room on the couch — it's wide enough for you to each have your own cushion and sit comfortably, but as he takes the end seat you scoot in a little closer to him. He doesn't seem to mind, taking a sip of his wine as he gazes over at you, the flickering flames of the fire illuminated in his eyes. You flash back to that night at the Yuletide fest, sitting by the bonfire, Jihoon at your side. He's even closer now — making your heart beat excitedly in your chest.

"Thanks again for the delicious meal," you say, taking a sip of your wine. "You really went all out."

"You're welcome," he smiles. "I haven't had anyone to cook for in a long time, so this was a real treat."

Silence follows for a few moments. Basking in the warmth of the fire together, you finish your wine; you delicately twirl the stem between your fingers as you stare at the crystalline design of the cup, watching it sparkle in the flames' light. Jihoon also finishes his drink, extending his hand and offering to take your now-empty glass.

"Here," he says, taking the glasses and setting them atop the coffee table. Leaning back into the couch, he turns to look at you again, unknown words sitting upon his lips, waiting to be spoken. You wait, eyes locked with his, suspended in an intimate moment of time; he licks his lips, taking a deep breath.

"I—" he starts, the flicker of his eyes to your lips not going unnoticed. You shift your weight, leaning slightly into him, the side of your thigh pressing gently into his. 

"I just wanted to say, I've really enjoyed spending time with you," he tells you, his face tinged with a flushed shade of pink. 

"Me too," you reply softly, leaning in closer still. The romantic sounds of the jazz album fill the air around you, embellished by the pleasant crackling of the firelogs from the hearth. Jihoon seems anxious — but he decides he can't wait a moment longer.

"Can I kiss you?"

It comes out as barely more than a whisper. His eyes stare into yours expectantly, waiting nervously for a response. You answer with a smile, shining brightly from ear to ear as you nod eagerly. His pupils dilate with excitement, a huge grin spreading across his cheeks. Slowly he leans in, his lips colliding with yours — an eruption of flutters rippling through your body as he kisses you. He tugs at your lips, slow and gentle and loving, savoring every moment of kissing you for the very first time. Your hand slides onto his lap, gripping his thigh as you kiss him back fervently, the darkly sweet flavor of the wine lingering on his mouth as you taste him. His hand brushes against your cheek as he cradles your face in his palm, rubbing your cheekbone tenderly with his thumb. You drag your fingers up his thigh, making him squirm slightly in his seat; you rest your hand upon his waist, grasping at his body through the thick knitting of his sweater. His hand gradually slips to the back of your neck, holding you tightly against him as he kisses you with a passion desperate and urgent. You cling to him as he pulls you into his arms, feverously running your hands over his body as his hands wander — committing every curve of your body to memory. Finally, your lips part, breaking for air; he kisses down your jaw to your neck, pressing his lips softly into the delicate skin, making you gasp with pleasure.

"You're even more perfect than I imagined," he mutters between kisses. He begins to suck at the skin lightly, causing you to let out a soft moan. His hands on your waist suddenly grasp tightly at your flesh, pulling you up and over onto his lap. You hold his face in your hands as you straddle him, kissing him on the lips again. He wraps his arms around your torso, pressing your body into his as he kisses you and kisses you — never wanting to leave this moment. 

The strain in his pants grows increasingly obvious as you make out; you grind your hips against his as you bite at his lower lip, causing him to groan into your mouth in desperation as your core presses into his burgeoning erection.

"Oh my god," he murmurs, grabbing your ass as he presses you into him further. You feel his clothed cock throb beneath his jeans, the thick mass pulsing against your equally aching clit. You've never been so certain of anything as much as you are certain that you need him — and you need him now.

Reaching down, you tug at the button of his pants, looking at him to make sure this is okay — but his pleading eyes staring up at you tell you he wants this just as much as you do. You tug the button open, slowly pulling the zipper down; a simple pair of white underwear comes into view, doing nothing to hide the massive bulge of his stiff cock beneath the fabric. You look down at it as you run your fingertips over it lightly; Jihoon inhales sharply at the sensation, his body tensing up beneath you. You lift your eyes to his face again, finding him staring at you as if he's never desired anything more. You go to stand up; Jihoon grasps at your hands, not wanting you to leave for even a moment — but when he sees you reaching to unfasten your pants he gives you a lazy grin, drunk off wine and lust. You slip your pants off, letting them fall to the floor and stepping free of them. Jihoon reaches for your hips with both hands, slipping his fingers under the delicate fabric of your panties and pulling them down in one swift motion. Discarding those to the ground as well, you sit back onto your knees, straddling his lap as he reaches for his own underwear. He tugs the waistband down, revealing a cock so thick it makes your clit pulse excitedly. You wrap your hand around its width, giving him a few slow strokes. His eyes start to roll back — his pleasure only exacerbated when you drag his tip through your drenched folds.

"Ohhh," he moans as he stares at your cunt. "Fuck you're so wet."

"I want you so bad," you whisper, stroking your clit with the head a few more times as you stare down at him desperately.

"I want you too," he mutters in a low voice, grasping at your hips. You position his tip at your entrance, slowly lowering your cunt onto his cock. Jihoon's mouth drops open, letting out another moan as your walls squeeze tight around his size. You whimper as you bottom out — the entirety of his cock now inside you. You kiss him with urgent need, his hands slipping under your sweater, tantalizingly cold against your warm skin. Slowly, you lift yourself up, dragging your pussy up his length til it's almost all the way off — then dropping again, his cock sliding back into you and making you feel deliciously full.

"Oh my god," you groan, slumping over onto him as your body relaxes with pleasure. He wraps his arms around your torso, squeezing you tight against him as you begin to ride him. The room fills with a symphony of moans as he fucks his cock into you, thrusting up into you slowly but with the perfect amount of intensity. 

“Fuck,” you cry as his pace starts to quicken. “That feels so good…”

“You feel amazing, baby,” he mutters into your ear. You lift your head slightly, laying your forehead against his, gazing into his dark eyes as he stares up at you — both of you enamored and infatuated and very nearly on the brink of orgasm. 

“Jihoon,” you whine, your moans growing louder and longer.

“You sound so pretty like this,” he mumbles, his voice low and grovelly as the breaths of his words hit your lips. “Gonna cum soon, baby.” 

“Me too,” your voice quivers. You press another long kiss into his lips; his hips begin to jerk into you as his body tenses, the overstimulation and the pressure against your clit sending you over the edge. You cry out as your orgasm rushes through you, powerful surges of ecstasy rolling through your body as your core burns white-hot with pleasure. Your walls constrict around his painfully-hard cock as you cum, driving him straight into climax too — you feel him release into you, hot bursts of cum shooting deliciously into your cunt. He fills you up, trickles of white leaking from your pussy all over his cock as he gives you a few final thrusts. Finally, aside from the deep heaving breaths of your chests, both of your bodies still. You collapse onto him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. 

“Wow,” you sigh, laying atop Jihoon as he gently rubs his hands over your back.

“Yeah,” he replies breathily. “I agree.”

Gathering the energy to sit back up, you lift your head; a huge, giddy grin is plastered across Jihoon’s reddened cheeks. You giggle, pressing your nose into his, staring fondly into his eyes. 

“Stay here,” he murmurs softly, giving you a peck on the lips. He fetches a towel and gets you all cleaned up, even lending you a pair of oversized sweatpants so you can be comfortable. You cuddle up on the couch again, entangled in each others’ arms underneath a thick, cozy blanket. 

“Do you think we’re snowed in yet?” you ask softly as you rest your head upon his chest.

“Oh, yeah. We are absolutely snowed in,” he replies with a sheepish laugh. “Sorry, I know you were supposed to be out of here before then — but I must admit you are very distracting.”

“Don’t apologize,” you grin. “Guess you’re stuck with me for the night, then.”

“Guess so,” he smiles, kissing the top of your head tenderly. “But I don’t mind that one bit.”

9

You wake the next morning to the bright glare of the rising sun reflecting off the deluge of snow piled high outside the house.

Sitting up and peering around the room, you realize you’re still in Jihoon’s house — his side of the bed empty beside you. You get up, locating one of his sweatshirts and tossing it on as you walk out into his living room. Out the front window, you can see the top of his beanie-clad head as he is busy shoveling your car out of possibly the most snow you’ve ever seen in your life. 

Donning your coat and boots, you traipse out the front door. The sidewalk from the door to the driveway has a narrow pathway shoveled through the solid twelve inches of snow resting peacefully upon the ground.

“You’ve gotta stop doing this,” you call to him as you saunter over toward him. He looks up, giving you a wave as he grins at you.

“Why?” he inquires.

“Because I’m gonna have to start paying you for doing all this manual labor for me,” you grin back.

“Nope,” he replies, shaking his head. “My services are free.”

“Because you like me?” you tease.

“Yes,” he smiles at you softly. “Because I like you a lot.”

“Let me help you at least—” 

“No need,” he says with a dismissive wave. “I’m almost done. You should go back inside, it’s too cold out here. I’ll be right in.”

“Okay, fine,” you pretend to complain, but you smile back at him. As he turns to finish the last bit of shoveling, you reach down and collect a handful of snow. It’s frigid against your bare palms, but you pack it into a solid sphere anyway and chuck it at Jihoon. It hits him square in the back; he turns, giving you a quizzical look.

“Did you just throw a snowball at me?” 

You respond by throwing another snowball, this time hitting him in the arm. He chuckles, rolling his eyes and returning to shoveling. You lob another one — hitting him in the butt this time. 

“Oops, sorry!” you shout. “That’s not where I was aiming, I swear.”

“Sure it wasn’t,” he laughs.

“C’mon, throw one back!”

He ignores you, removing the last bit of snow from around your car’s back tire. You throw another one, hitting him right in the butt again.

“Okay, that one was on purpose.”

“It sure was,” you reply proudly. “Come onnnn, you’re just gonna stand there and take this?”

He turns, giving you a shrug.

“Fine,” he says as he gathers a small handful of snow off the trunk of your car, barely packing it and tossing it at you. It falls apart midair, showering you in a light dusting of snow. 

“That’s it?” you taunt. “Haven’t you ever been in a snowball fight?”

“Sure, when I was a kid.”

You throw another ball at his chest. “Throw one back or I’m gonna stuff snow down your coat,” you grin mischievously, grabbing a handful and walking toward him.

“Hey!” he shouts, backing away. He grabs a big chunk of snow and lobs it at you, hitting you in the arm. “There! I did it. Happy now?”

“Yes,” you say, chucking more snow in his direction as you continue toward him. His eyes widen as he tries to run, but you’re quicker; you fling your arms around him, planting a big kiss on his cold cheek. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad—” you start, but you stumble and fall, pulling Jihoon to the ground with you.

“I’m sorry!!” you shout apologetically as you both fall into the deep pile of snow. “I didn’t mean to do that!” 

You lift your head to see Jihoon laying beside you, laughing heartily.

“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” he teases, pulling you off the ground with him as he stands back up.

Back inside again, Jihoon makes a fresh pot of coffee. You cuddle up together on the couch once more, steaming mugs in hand as you warm yourselves up underneath the blanket. The cat, still inside, is curled up in a ball on the floor, napping peacefully before the blazing fireplace.

“Gotta be honest,” Jihoon tells you as you snuggle in close. “This was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.”

“Which part?” you ask cheekily. 

“All of it,” he answers matter-of-factly. Smiling shyly, he adds, “Though, the sex was pretty mind-blowing, I must admit.”

“Yeah, it was,” you giggle, laying your head on his shoulder. “Honestly, me too, though. I really like hanging out with you, we should keep doing it.”

Jihoon doesn’t reply. Lifting your head up, you see his eyes starting to water. He quickly blinks the tears away.  

“I just… really appreciate you spending so much time with me. So thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for spending time with you, silly,” you say to him softly. “That’s what friends are for.”

The tears return to his eyes, this time escaping and trickling down his cheeks.

"I was starting to wonder if coming to this town was a mistake,” he tells you, patting his damp face with his sleeve. “After everything that happened, all I wanted was to be alone — but I had no idea how lonely I’d get. But then one day, this beautiful girl hit me with a cart of vegetables in the Food Mart,” he laughs. “And it was one of the best things that ever happened to me."

It’s your turn to start crying. 

“Oh god, what did I say?” he asks with genuine concern. 

“No no, you’re fine,” you reply, chuckling through your tears. “That’s just the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.” You sit up, turning to look at Jihoon. “I’ve never met anyone like you, you know. I’ve only been in a few relationships, but every guy I’ve ever dated barely gave me the time of day. And I thought that was normal — I thought I was just a silly romantic whose expectations were way too high. But then one day you shoveled my entire driveway. I didn’t even ask you to do that, you just did. That was the first time in my life I’ve ever felt truly loved.”

Jihoon wraps his arm around you, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t have much to offer,” he tells you, gazing at you softly. “But if you’ll allow me, I’d love to keep loving you.”

You smile, staring back at him fondly.

“That’s all I could ever need and more.”

EPILOGUE

“Cat! Dinner!”

Jihoon wanders into the living room, carrying a bowl of Fancy Feast. The fluffy critter appears, tail perked up in the air as he trots excitedly to his food spot.

“There you are,” Jihoon says as he sets the food down, petting the cat as he brushes past and starts eating right away.

You look up from your book, staring at him from across the room.

“You’ve gotta name that damn cat.”

Jihoon turns his head to you. 

“What?”

“You need to name him. You can’t just keep calling him ‘cat’.”

“Why not?” he asks plainly, coming to join you on the couch. 

“What do you mean ‘why not’??” you ask incredulously.

“He’s a stray. If I name him that makes him my cat.”

“Jihoon. Look at him.” You gesture across the room to the cat, finished eating already, as he curls up on the fleece blanket Jihoon laid out for him. “He already is your cat.” 

“Alright, fine,” he replies, waving his hand at you. “You can name him if you want.” 

“Yay!” you say excitedly, taking it as a win. “Okay, how about… Hm, what do you think of Sylvester?”

Jihoon makes a face. “Why ‘Sylvester’?”

“Like from Looney Tunes! You know, the black and white cartoon cat?”

“That sounds like an old man name,” he frowns.

“Okay, fine. What about Oreo?”

He shakes his head. “Too basic.”

“Checkers, then.”

“That’s too silly for him,” he declines.

“For it ‘not being your cat’ you sure have some opinions on his name,” you tease. “You have any ideas, then?”

Jihoon looks at the cat for a moment, then looks back to you.

“Rutabaga.”

“What? That’s not black and white!” 

“No,” Jihoon smiles. “But the first time I met you you dropped rutabagas all over the floor.”

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes. “And why exactly do you want to name your cat after my embarrassing blunder?”

He shrugs, leaning over to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“Because it reminds me of you.”

taglist: @miniseokminnies @kyeomiis @tinycatharsis @hannieween @smiileflower

@coupsarchive @reiofsuns2001 @hanniebub @luvseungcheol @escoupsue 

@shininghoshstar @seventeenhot @sourkimchi @haologram @yunjardi

@thestraybunny

[seungkw1]

lessons in ghost hunting — l.c

👻 pairing: lee chan x f!reader 👻 theme: fake dating, humor, smut [18+ mdni] 👻 wc: 8.1k 👻 warnings: extremely made up ghost rituals, mild sexism/homophobia because the ghost is a dick, vague references to suicide, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, unprotected piv sex (big no-no), creampie, jun cameo and he’s real weird (/pos) 👻 a/n: this is a silly one folks! but i had so much fun writing this, and finally my first (posted) lee chan fic!! and please excuse all the ridiculous made-up ghost stuff i truly just pulled it out of my ass lmao but we ball. shoutout to @haologram for beta reading ily 🫶

𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝙲𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 — [𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝] ; [𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝]

SYNOPSIS: When you agreed to go ghost hunting with friends in a haunted asylum, you didn’t even believe in ghosts. But now that you are being haunted by the spirit of a grade-A douchebag it’s up to you and your pretend-boyfriend to get rid of him – before he figures out your ruse.

"You ready yet, Chan?"

"I was born ready."

You roll your eyes exaggeratedly as you shove a small black device into his chest.

"Here, dipshit, Wonwoo told me to hand this to you."

"She's always so mean to me…" Chan pouts as he takes the device from you, attaching it to his utility belt.

"Are you talking to yourself now?" you raise a brow at him. He points to the GoPro strapped to his chest.

"Cameras are rolling, I told you already," he tells you, annoyed. He told Wonwoo bringing you along was a stupid idea. They didn't really need the extra camera, they could've captured plenty of evidence without getting someone to fill in for Jun.

"It's The Pledisville Sanatorium, Chan," he had insisted. "This is the most haunted location in all of Nebraska. We can't squander this opportunity."

"Why don't we just go some other time?" Chan complained, throwing his hands in the air exasperatedly. "We can wait until Jun's elbow isn't broken anymore and then we don't have to bring a fucking amateur along."

"That's gonna take at least two months, maybe three," Wonwoo reminded him. "And ever since Jeonghan and his idiot crew posted that viral TikTok about it, now every ghost hunter in America is going to want to come here. Do you want to get famous or not?"

"I'm not in this for fame," Chan said, folding his arms. "I'm in this for scientific discovery."

"Right, whatever," Wonwoo replied, waving his hand dismissively. "Well somebody else is going to scientific discover the ghosts at Pledisville if we don't get out there soon. We have to get there first."

"Can't we just do it ourselves?"

"You know that'd be way too much work trying to split all the equipment between just two people," Wonwoo said, shaking his head disapprovingly. "We might miss something. And I don't do sloppy work."

"Don't you have literally any other friends besides y/n that could fill in?" Chan pleaded. "What about Seungkwan?"

"Seungkwan's a scaredy cat. He wouldn't even set one foot on the property."

"How about Soonyoung, then? That man doesn't know any fear."

"No. Soonyoung's an idiot."

"Jihoon?" Chan tried, just throwing names out at this point.

Wonwoo shook his head. "I asked him already. His response was: 'No. This is stupid.'"

"What about… I don't know, Soonyoung's girlfriend?"

"She dumped him last week. On the account of him being an idiot."

"Right," Chan grumbled.

"Come on, y/n isn't so bad. Just because she rejected you one time four years ago doesn't mean you can't work with her for one night."

"It was twice…" Chan mumbled under his breath. Wonwoo heard, but chose to ignore him. Chan's beef with you was a personal problem, and he needed to get over it.

So now here you are, assisting Wonwoo and Chan on their "ghost hunt" at an old abandoned asylum. Not exactly your idea of a thrilling Friday night, but you owed Wonwoo one.

"Sorry, sorry, I forgot we were rolling," you reply in a sarcastic tone. "Though I'm not sure why you need to film if we're not even in the building yet."

"Because the entire grounds are potentially haunted," Chan answers, refraining from adding a rude duh to the end of his sentence. "Spirits can be tied to the land itself rather than a specific building. You act like you don't even know anything about ghosts."

"I don't," you tell him plainly. "Considering that ghosts aren't real."

Chan gives you the most offended look you've ever seen on a human face.

"WHAT?!" he hollers as Wonwoo joins you two, hauling the last of the equipment from the car. Chan turns to him, looking like he's going to bite Wonwoo's head off.

"I think y/n neglected to tell you that she doesn't even believe in ghosts, Wonwoo," he informs him. Wonwoo doesn't react.

"No, she didn't," he replies nonchalantly, adding fresh batteries to his flashlight. "I knew that already."

Chan stares back at him, incredulous.

"Then WHY is she even HERE???"

"Because we needed an extra pair of hands, and because she owed me a favor."

"This is unbelievable," Chan laments, but Wonwoo just picks up his gear and starts walking toward the building's entrance.

"Come on, there's no time to waste."

Chan stares at the back of his partner's head as he walks away in sheer disbelief. He turns to you, shooting you an irritated glare. You shrug apologetically, grabbing your bag and following after Wonwoo. Groaning, he grabs his equipment, shuffling slowly behind. He was here to do a job, and he wasn't about to let you of all people ruin his night — never mind his entire career.

"Alright, that's the last night vision cam."

Chan picks his pack up off the floor, wiping debris off of it before slinging it back over his shoulder. Wonwoo had instructed you to go with Chan to set up the team's numerous tripods around the building, placing them in various rooms and hallways he described as "paranormal hotspots". Normally that was his own job along with Chan, while Jun would start scouring the premise with the EMF meter — but obviously, you don't know how any of these tools work, so your role was to follow Chan around with the main video camera while he did his investigating. Besides, that would annoy Chan, and Wonwoo found that amusing.

"We're all set up up here," Chan radios to his friend.

"Roger," Wonwoo's staticky voice rings through the walkie. "You guys take some EMF readings up there, I'm gonna hop into a ghost box session. Don't radio me unless it's an emergency."

"Wow, he takes this very seriously," you remark as Chan clips the walkie to his utility belt. You're not sure how the belt manages to stay up despite being weighed down with so many nonsense ghost devices, but you keep that thought to yourself.

"So do I," he shoots you a bored glare.

"That's not what I meant. I just mean Wonwoo is very intense."

"Yeah, he definitely can be," Chan agrees. "That's why he's the brains of this operation."

"And what does that make you, the brawn?" you tease.

"'I'm the personality," he huffs. "But for the record I do work out every day, thank you very much."

"Whatever you say, big boy."

"I have to cut so much of this stupid audio already…" he grumbles as he brushes past you, heading off down the dingy hallway. You follow, aiming your flashlight into the darkness, but even though it's fairly bright you still can't see very far ahead. You may not believe in ghosts, but this gross building itself is certainly giving you the creeps.

"What are we doing now, EMFs?" you ask as you catch up to Chan. "What's that?"

He grabs one of the many devices from his belt, showing it to you.

"It detects fluctuations in electromagnetic fields," he explains. "The higher the meter goes, the closer the ghost is. We'll start in the psychiatric ward, where there's apparently a high concentration of spirits."

"Why is that?" you inquire as you follow him down the corridor.

"Well, usually the spirits that stick around are attached to the places they haunt for some reason. The more emotionally charged they are, the more likely we are to pick them up on our equipment."

"Emotionally charged… Do you think these guys are mad because they don't want to take their pills?"

He shrugs. "I dunno, maybe. If we pick up any spirits on the EMF readings we can try to ask them." He stops in front of the next doorway. "This is it."

The door to the psych ward is completely off its hinges, propped up against the wall haphazardly, its frosted glass window shattered. A dead rat lays in the center of the doorway.

"Eww," you whine, stepping over it cautiously. "This place is disgusting. Why can't ghosts ever haunt somewhere nice?"

"Believe it or not, this isn't the worst location I've been to," Chan replies. He shines his light around the room, illuminating an array of dilapidated chairs, medicine charts with yellowed papers chewed at the edges by vermin, dozens of pill bottles strewn across the tables and floor, and one horrible looking rickety wheelchair parked dead in the center of the room.

"I don't care if ghosts are real or not, that wheelchair is definitely haunted," you grimace at it as you walk past. Chan makes his way deeper into the ward, poking around in the nurse's office. Something metallic in the corner of the main room catches your eye; walking over to it, you see a cheap silver wristwatch, the kind that was considered fashionable in the Y2K era, lying tarnished under a thick layer of dust. You know better than to touch it, lest you have to get a tetanus shot after this, but something about it intrigues you. You zoom your camera in on it as you nudge the watch with the end of your flashlight — it scrapes against the table's laminate surface, giving a small unpleasant screech.

"I thought I told you not to touch my fucking shit, bitch."

You nearly jump out of your skin at the booming voice from behind. You whip your head around to see a gangly man, no less than six feet tall, looming behind you. He is clean-shaven except for a goatee, with a backwards cap and baggy, grungy clothes, a scowl etched into his face as he glares at you. He looks like the stereotypical asshole from the early 2000s, and you're about to whack him with your flashlight and make a run for it when you notice something odd about him. Your eyes widen as you realize what it is: he's translucent.

It must be a trick of the light, you think to yourself. But the only light currently in the room is coming from your flashlight, and as you shine it on the scary-looking man its beam penetrates through his shimmering body.

Frozen, you stand there staring at him, not knowing what to do — but then you remember why you're here in the first place. Without looking, you raise the camera in your off-hand, aiming it at the man as you prod at his arm with the flashlight. To your bewilderment, it goes right through him.

"Hey man, that's pretty freakin' rude, you know," he says to you.

"Are you… a ghost?"

The words sound dumb as hell departing your lips. The guy stares at you blankly for a moment, before looking down at his own hands.

"Oh, yeah. I am," he says slowly as it registers. "Sometimes I forget."

"Sorry I called you a bitch," he says as he looks back up at you. "I thought you were Nurse Carter. She's always trying to jack my stuff." He scans you up and down with his eyes, a shifty smirk appearing on his face as he rubs his hands together. "You're way hotter than she is, though."

"Eugh," you grumble as your face contorts into a frown. "How are you dead and still a creep? Pick a fucking struggle."

"You're the one who summoned me, sweet cheeks," he grins, stepping closer to you. "Clearly you want some of this."

You take a slow step back. Surely a ghost wouldn't be able to actually hurt you… right? Even if he is a grade A douchebag?

"Not interested, I promise you," you insist, but he just laughs. "Come on, a pretty chick like you shouldn't be walking around single."

"I have a boyfriend," you lie, narrowing your eyes at him. He definitely seems like the misogynistic type that will only leave you alone if he finds out you "belong" to another man, so it's worth a shot.

"Yeah right, what kind of guy would let his girl go ghost hunting in a shithole like this by herself?"

"I'm not by myself, he's in the other room."

As soon as the words roll off your tongue, you immediately regret it. Implying Chan is your boyfriend? What good is that lie going to do?

Speak of the devil, Chan's flashlight beam reappears in the main room as he returns.

"Y/n, who are you talking to-WHAAAT THE FUCK??"

Chan's face goes pale as the ghost turns around, shimmering iridescently in the flashlight beam.

"I've been ghost hunting for three years, and you catch a full-bodied apparition on your first night?!" he balks at you. "I can't believe this…"

"This is your boyfriend?" the ghost asks you, his tone sarcastic. "What a catch."

"Boyfriend?" Chan pipes up, looking at you in genuine confusion. The ghost still has his back to you, so you stare at Chan furiously, telepathically telling him to just go with it. He seems to get the message.

"Of course, I'm her boyfriend," he tells the ghost with poorly-faked confidence. You roll your eyes, but the ghost doesn't seem to register that he's lying.

"Well, don't go leaving her unattended," the ghost scolds Chan smugly. "A scumbag like me might just come along and steal her away."

"At least he's self-aware," Chan mumbles under his breath.

"What the fuck did you say?" the ghost barks, seemingly growing even taller as he approaches Chan.

"Nothing, nothing," Chan backpedals. He grabs a small audio recording device from his belt, clicking it on. "What's your name?"

The ghost huffs. "What is this, a fucking interview? It's Tyler, what about it?"

"Just wondering, if you… Um. Did you die here?"

"What are you, a moron? Of course I fucking did," Tyler scoffs.

"Sorry, sorry," Chan flounders. "Do you remember when? How did you die? Why are you still here-"

"One question at a time, damn," Tyler the ghost interjects. "It was… 2002. I think. I jumped out the fourth story window. I don't know why I'm still fucking here."

"Oh, um, sorry," Chan apologizes sheepishly. "Did you like it here?"

"Yeah, it was fucking paradise," Tyler rolls his eyes. He turns to you. "Is he always this stupid?"

"Only on weekends," you say cheekily. Chan shoots you an annoyed look, but you ignore him.

"Tyler, can I ask you a few more questions-"

"No, I'm bored," the spirit interrupts him, still eyeing you. "You sure you wanna be with this fucking dork?"

"I'd rather be with a dork than a douchebag," you retort. Tyler glares at you.

"Fine. But I'll be around if you change your mind."

A nervous look washes over Chan. "What exactly do you mean by that?" he hesitantly asks the ghost. Tyler turns around, smirking at Chan as he flips him two middle fingers. Then, he disappears into a ball of light, flying into your chest and knocking you to the floor.

"Y/n!!" Chan screams, running to your side, but by the time he gets to you you are unconscious.

"What the fuck are we gonna do??"

"I can't believe I leave you alone with y/n for fifteen minutes and you go and get her killed by a ghost."

"It's not my fault!!"

The two panicked male voices drift into your ears as you slowly blink your eyes open to a gross moldy ceiling. You realize you're on your back, laying on the filthy floor, a backpack propped under your head for support.

"What happened?" you grumble groggily at the two figures you can see in your peripheral vision. Their blurry faces snap toward you.

"I TOLD YOU she wasn't fucking dead!!" you hear Chan yell as the figures rush over to you.

"I didn't say she was dead," Wonwoo insists, kneeling by your side. "But she definitely passed out on your watch."

Your friends come into focus, an equal mix of concern and relief on their faces.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks, brushing dirt off your jacket as he helps you sit upright. "I thought you were a goner after the spirit entered you."

"Chan insists you both encountered a full-bodied apparition," Wonwoo tells you, handing you a water bottle. You take it, the room temperature water feeling refreshing against your dry lips as you take a sip.

"Believe it or not, he's not wrong. Check the cameras, we both were filming-"

Wonwoo shakes his head. "None of the cameras recorded anything once you entered the psych ward, they all just have a black screen. They only picked up visuals again after you passed out. A classic case of ghost-equipment interference."

"Oh," you respond. "That's unfortunate."

"We're used to it, sadly," Chan says glumly.

"Well, do you think we can capture it again?" you ask, trying to stand up, but your knees give out. Wonwoo catches you before you can plop back to the floor.

"You're in no condition to ghost hunt, y/n," he tells you, helping you to your feet slowly. "You need to rest. We'll head back to the motel we passed on the way here."

"I don't want you guys to miss out on your investigation, though," you tell them. You don't particularly care to be here any longer, but you do feel a little responsible for ruining the trip.

"We can leave some of the cameras and sensors here overnight and come grab them in the morning," Chan tells you. "It's not ideal, obviously, but it's better than nothing."

"Come on," he says, offering you his arm. You grab onto it while Wonwoo picks up the rest of the bags, and he slowly leads you out the door. "Let's get out of here."

"Good news, we just got the last two open rooms," Wonwoo announces as he exits the motel office. He hands you and Chan a plastic key card each. "These are for Room 6, I'll be down in Room 10."

You and Chan glance at each other, and then at Wonwoo.

"Aren't you guys gonna room together?" you inquire, a confused expression on your face. You hear Chan let out a deep sigh.

"Come on, Wonwoo, I can deal with your snoring for one night, it's fine," he pleads, but Wonwoo shakes his head.

"Y/n hit her head, we're not leaving her alone overnight," he insists.

"Then you room with her!"

"And keep her up all night with my — what did you call it, 'dying car engine snores'?" Wonwoo raises his brow at Chan. "That would be rude."

"Fine, whatever," Chan says nonchalantly, trying to hide his annoyance. He's all too familiar with Wonwoo's stubbornness, so he knows there's no point in arguing. Besides, as much as he hates to admit it, Wonwoo is right — this sleeping arrangement does make the most sense. You fully passed out earlier, and though it's not his fault in the slightest he still feels pretty bad about it. Leaving you by yourself could be risky, and he doesn't want anything else to happen to you.

The motel room is nice enough — clean, but tiny. The two full size beds barely both fit, with only enough space for a single small nightstand in between them. Chan lets you shower first, and by the time he's finished showering he finds you tucked under the covers of your bed, fast asleep. You look very cute with half of your face smushed into the pillow as you lay cozily on your side, but he tries his hardest not to think about that. He climbs into his own bed, turning the bedside lamp off with a soft click, and within a few minutes he too is fast asleep.

You wake an hour or so later to a bothersome chewing sound. You raise your head up groggily, glaring over at Chan ready to chastise him for eating loudly at this hour — but he's asleep in his bed.

"Having boyfriend trouble, sweetheart?"

You jump at the sudden gruff voice coming from across the room. Panicked, you reach blindly in the dark for the lamp. As you yank the chain the room becomes illuminated in its soft yellow glow, revealing a man sitting in the room's lone chair across from your bed. It takes you a moment to realize that you recognize him.

"Tyler?" you ask incredulously, your voice hoarse with sleep.

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

He reaches into the bag of sunflower seeds in his hand, popping a few in his mouth, crunching them noisily before spitting the shells onto the floor.

"Ew," you grimace. "Can't you at least use the trash can?"

"It's ghost food," he replies, rolling his eyes. "It'll disappear when I do."

You hear Chan stir under the sheets. Glancing over at him, you see him pop one eye open.

"Why is the light on?" he mumbles sleepily, sitting up slightly. He stares at your unwanted ghost visitor for a good five seconds before he processes what he's seeing.

"What the hell?!" he shouts, bolting upright.

"Yup, me again," Tyler tells him smugly, raising his hands out. "I was just asking your cute little girlfriend here why you guys are sleeping in separate beds. Did she dump your goofy ass yet?"

"Who're you calling goofy??" Chan balks.

"You, bitch," Tyler informs him bluntly. "So what'd you do, break her heart? Leave her for another woman?" He pauses, before snidely adding, "Leave her for a man?"

"I—," Chan starts, still too bewildered by this entire situation to even know what to say. "Hey man, being homophobic is for losers."

"Oh so you are a homo then?"

"Does it fucking matter?" Chan retorts, annoyed. "Why are you even here? Go away."

"Oh I'm sorry, I thought you were a ghost hunter," Tyler mocks him. "I'm trying to help you here, dude."

"You're an asshole," Chan shoots back. "I'd rather never ghost hunt again than have to deal with you."

"You're just jealous that your girl wants me more than you."

"I most certainly do not," you glare at Tyler.

"Then why won't you let him sleep with you, huh?" Tyler taunts.

"For your information, Tyler," Chan sneers. "She passed out and hit her fucking head earlier, all thanks to you!"

"Looks like it knocked some sense into her if she's done with you," he smirks.

"She… We… Our relationship is fine," Chan stammers, hoping neither you nor Tyler notice how his ears are burning red right now. "Y/n just needs to get some rest, and she can't do that with you in here bothering her!"

"Fine," Tyler says, popping another handful of sunflower seeds in his mouth. "But you can't escape your relationship problems forever, man." He crunches with his mouth open, the grotesque sound causing you to make a face, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"I'll be waiting for you, baby," he tells you with a wink. He spits the seed shells onto the floor again, then throws up a peace sign in the most insufferable way imaginable.

"Holla if you need me."

In the blink of an eye, he vanishes again.

Chan stares into the now-empty space the bothersome ghost had previously occupied, trying to wrap his tired brain around everything.

"What the fuck is happening?" he grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

"I think I'm being haunted by a douchebag ghost," you say, not believing the words coming out of your own mouth.

"Sure seems that way," Chan agrees.

"This is nuts. A few hours ago I didn't even believe in ghosts." You flop back onto the bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

"Hey, try not to worry about it," Chan tells you calmly. "Try and go back to sleep, you really do need to get some rest."

"Yeah, you're right," you mumble sleepily, rolling over onto your side again. "G'nite."

"Goodnight," Chan says quietly. He flips the lamp off and shuts his eyes, but that jerk's words keep replaying in his mind. He's still not entirely sure why he's pretending to be your boyfriend for a specter, but it does at least seem to be a successful deterrent to the ghost so far. He shakes his head, burying his face in the pillows as he tries to go back to sleep. He can worry about this dumb ghost problem another time.

Chan swears he had an alarm set for 7am, but he doesn't wake up until 9:46 the next morning. By now, Wonwoo had already gone to retrieve the remainder of their ghost gear from the Sanatorium and was eating breakfast at the Denny's down the road from the motel, as a string of texts from his friend with an increasingly-annoyed tone informed him. He peers over to your side of the room, finding you still snoozing peacefully.

"Y/n," he whispers, careful not to startle you, but no response. He tries again a bit louder, but you still don't hear him. He hoists himself out of bed, standing in the small gap between each of your beds as he lightly taps you on the arm.

"Y/n, wake up," he tells you softly. You jolt awake at his touch, looking up frazzledly, but when you see his face you relax.

"Oh, it's you," you sigh with relief. "I was scared the ghost was back."

"Thankfully, no," he replies, sitting back down on his bed. "Anyway, Wonwoo already got the rest of the gear, so once you're ready we can head home."

"Thank god," you reply, swinging your feet to the floor and getting up. "I'm glad I never have to see that awful asylum ever again."

You whisk around the tiny room as you hurriedly pack your things, excited at the prospect of going home and laying in your own bed. Chan notices how your thin pajama pants cling to the curvature of your hips, how your breasts swing underneath your baggy t-shirt; he busies himself with re-folding the already-folded clothes in his bag to distract himself.

You are not doing this again, he tells himself sternly. It took you this long to get over her, don't start catching feelings for y/n all over again.

But deep down, he knows he already has.

Chan is five beers deep and getting his ass kicked in Call of Duty when his phone rings. Your name on his screen throws him for a loop, and his character is killed instantly in his moment of distraction. Shutting the game off, he picks up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sweetie," your voice rings out nervously from the other end of the line. "I'm having a bit of a ghost problem again, can you come over?"

"Um," Chan says, trying to think clearly through his inebriated state. "Yeah? Yeah, for sure. I'm on my way."

"Perfect!" you reply, speaking in a faux cheerful tone. This is the last thing you wanted to do, but you've been trying for over an hour now to rid your home of Tyler to no avail. "See you soon!"

"See you soon," Chan echoes, the call ending with a beep as you hang up. He looks down, observing his unkempt sweatpants and stained white t-shirt. Frowning, he gets up and goes to throw on something at least a little bit more presentable. As he heads out the door, he stares at the keys in his hand, head spinning slightly as he realizes he is definitely too intoxicated to drive right now. With a sigh he opens Uber and types in your address.

Fifteen minutes later, he's standing outside your front door. He knows you literally invited him over, but for some reason he's still anxious. He takes a deep breath and goes to knock, but before his knuckles make contact the door swings open. He looks up, meeting your gaze as you give him a sheepish but grateful smile.

"Oh my god, thank you so much for coming," you mutter quietly. "This dickhead literally won't go away, I've tried everything."

"Of course," Chan replies with a nod, trying not to seem as drunk as he is.

He follows you inside, peering around at your intriguing decor. Your space is colorful and bright, with tasteful touches of whimsy — just like you, he thinks to himself. You suddenly grab his hand as you lead him into your living room. Chan stiffens slightly at the unexpected gesture, but then he sees the familiar specter laying lazily on your couch. Tyler stares at your tv while eating translucent ghost popcorn, seemingly mesmerized by The Force Awakens playing on the screen. A lingering skunky smell fills Chan's nose, and he notices a green glass pipe laying on your coffee table, shimmering just like the ghost himself. Chan clears his throat; Tyler glances up at him with bloodshot red eyes.

"Well well well," he says slowly, words slurring slightly. "Look what the cat dragged in. Have you seen this flick?" he asks, gesturing to the tv. "This shit is crazy, man. I wouldn't have offed myself if I knew how baller technology could get."

"Are you fucking high on ghost weed?" Chan questions, staring at the specter dully.

"Maybe. What about it?"

"You need to leave," Chan tells him sternly, but Tyler just laughs.

"Listen, man. You gotta stop leaving your girlfriend all alone. What am I supposed to do, not show up?"

"Yeah, actually," you reply, annoyed. "That would be ideal."

"Keep acting like you don't want me, babe. I know you're playing hard to get."

"If you had real nuts I would kick them as hard as I could," you shoot back.

"See? She's already trying to get in my pants," he says smugly to Chan. Chan grits his teeth.

"Get the fuck out, NOW!" he yells.

Tyler picks up the ghost pipe and pulls a ghost lighter from his pocket. He lights the bowl and takes a big rip, blowing the large cloud of smoke back at Chan.

"You're-," Tyler starts, but a hacking cough overtakes him. He clears his throat, continuing in a raspy voice. "You're such a fucking buzzkill, I'm out. Later, haters."

With that he disappears, the smoke and odor disappearing as well.

"This is so stupid," you mutter as you drop your head into Chan's shoulder, still holding his hand. Chan isn't sure what to do, but he pats your other arm with his free hand.

"I'm really sorry, y/n. This never should have happened."

"It's not your fault," you sigh, hugging your arms around his waist and leaning into him. Chan freezes, panicking internally, but when you start sobbing quietly into his shoulder he wraps his arms around you.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," he consoles you. "We'll find a way to get rid of him, I promise."

"How do you even get rid of a ghost?" you ponder through a sniffle. You know you should probably let go of him, but the warmth of Chan's body heat is comforting.

"I'm… not entirely sure," he admits. "I've been trying to just find a ghost in the first place for so long that I never got that far."

"Can you stay?"

Chan's stomach drops, his heart rate accelerating in his chest. He hopes you don't notice, but you do.

"I don't want him to come back."

"Of course," Chan answers quickly. "And if he does I'll kick his ass."

You pull your head up, looking at him with a smile on your face.

"You fighting a ghost? Now that I'd like to see."

Chan grins. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." He plops down on the couch, kicking his feet up as he lays down. "Well, I hope you can get some sleep now."

"You know, you don't have to sleep on the couch," you tell him casually. "I have a king size bed, there's plenty of room. If you want."

"Oh," Chan replies, trying to play it cool. "Um, yeah, I mean, if you're okay with that."

"Definitely," you nod. The look you give him is almost… flirtatious. Chan smiles back at you nervously.

He follows you at a safe distance as you head to your bedroom.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower," you tell him. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Cool. Sounds good." He gives you a thumbs up, which he instantly regrets. She already thinks you're a dork, you idiot, he says to himself. You disappear into the bathroom, pushing the door closed; it slowly shuts, giving him a brief flash of your nude back as you pull your shirt over your head.

Between that, the multiple beers, and the ghostly contact high, Chan's head is spinning. He pulls back your covers, awkwardly getting into your bed with his jeans on — immediately regretting changing out of his sweats.

"Whatever," he mumbles to himself.

He stares at your ceiling, listening to the sound of running water, trying not to think about you naked in the shower right now — a task that proves itself annoyingly difficult. He flips over to his stomach, burying his face into the pillow, but it smells too much like you. Giving up, he rolls back over and grabs his phone, opening Twitter and aimlessly scrolling for the remainder of your shower. The water shuts off and you emerge from the bathroom about 10 minutes later, wearing a tank top and a pair of boxer-style pajama shorts, hair damp and skin glowing, looking far too beautiful for Chan to handle right now.

"You don't have to sleep in your jeans, you know," you tell him as you pull the covers back, climbing into the other side of the bed. "That can't be comfortable."

"Um, it's fine," Chan lies.

"Alright, suit yourself." You reach for the lamp and switch it off, bathing the room in darkness.

"Goodnight," you say, flopping over to your side, facing away from Chan — to his relief. Within a few minutes he hears you breathing deeply, fast asleep already. He tries not to toss and turn, so as not to wake you, but he can't get comfortable. Eventually, he gives up, carefully slipping out of bed and removing his jeans, folding them neatly and setting them on the floor. He slips back under the covers — much comfier now. Soon, he too is asleep.

Chan wakes the next morning to you clinging to him like a koala.

He lays there, unsure what to do. He doesn't want to wake you, but he already has slight morning wood, and the soft warm skin of your legs entangled in his is threatening to give him a full-on raging boner. A sudden tingling sensation in his arm alerts him to the fact that he's holding you right now, your torso squishing the limb and making it go numb. He carefully tries to retrieve his arm without waking you, but your eyes flutter open.

"Oh," you mutter sleepily, slowly untangling yourself from him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"It's okay."

You let out a big yawn, rolling back over to your side of the bed. "Thanks for staying again, I guess it worked to keep that d-bag ghost away."

"I guess so," Chan replies. "That guy is the fucking worst." You grin, amused; just thinking about stupid Tyler is enough to make his dick soft again, thankfully.

"Do you have any ideas on where to start? To get rid of him for good, I mean," you ask. "Tyler's a moron, but I don't think we can keep up this ruse forever."

"Yeah, probably not," Chan agrees, but his heart sinks a little. He hates the ghost as much as you do and wants him gone, but he's gonna miss having a reason to be around you. He tries his best to shake it off.

"Not that I don't enjoy spending time with you," you add. "But this shouldn't have to be your problem."

"I don't mind, really!" he tells you, perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm. "But I definitely want him gone too. And I think I know just the guy to help us out here…"

"Okay, here's what you gotta do."

You and Chan are sitting in Jun's dim and bizarrely-decorated office, surrounded by strange equipment that you can only assume has to do with ghost hunting, as well as various alien- and cryptid-related paraphernalia. It's the middle of the day, but you wouldn't know it with the blackout curtain over the room's only window. "Reduces the risk of alien abduction by 75%", he had explained matter-of-factly when asked.

"Since the spirit has attached itself to you, y/n, you have to get it to latch on to someone, or something, else."

You and Chan had explained the whole situation to Jun — leaving out the part where you two have been pretending to be dating, of course.

"Now, obviously this guy is a massive tool," Jun continues, adjusting his casted arm in his sling. ("Whatever you do, do NOT ask him how he broke his elbow", Chan had warned you beforehand.) "So we don't want to burden somebody else with his presence — unless you have any enemies."

You wait for him to go on, but he looks at you expectantly.

"Oh, um, no. I don't have any enemies."

"Okay, good. Now, there's a good chance this Trevor guy was tied to a physical object at the asylum. Can you think of anything that might've been a trigger object?"

You were only at Pledisville two nights ago, but your memory of it is already quite fuzzy — you assume from the whole passing out ordeal. You try to mentally retrace your steps up to the point when Tyler appeared.

"The watch!" you exclaim suddenly. "He appeared after I nudged a watch that was laying on a table in the psych ward."

"That's it!" Jun says enthusiastically, snapping as he shoots you finger guns with his one hand that isn't in a cast. "That's your object. Now, all you have to do is go back to the asylum and follow a few simple steps, and then Terry should be gone for good."

"Ugh," you groan, sinking into the chair defeatedly. "I was so excited to never see that horrible place ever again." You sit back up, looking at Jun, but he is furiously scribbling instructions in his notebook. From the looks of it, his broken elbow is on the same arm as his dominant hand, but that doesn't seem to slow him down much. "Any chance we can banish him to another object?"

"You could," Jun replies without looking up. "But it might not keep him away forever. The best way to guarantee he won't come back is to return him to where he came from."

"Well," you say as you look over at Chan. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Kicking a ghost's ass after all, I guess."

That earns him a big grin from you. "We should get going, then," you say, rising from your seat. "If we start driving now we'll get there just after sunset, which I assume is prime ghost time."

"Actually, that would be 3am," Jun pipes up. "It's often erroneously called 'the witching hour', but ghosts and witches hardly exist on the same plane. Due to the tilt of the Earth and the relative alignment of the polar magnetic fields at that hour there is a higher likelihood of converging dimensions, allowing us humans a greater chance to catch a glimpse into the spirit world and potentially encounter an apparitio-" He pauses as he looks up, seeing by the expression on your face that he's lost you. "Never mind, that's not important here." He rips the sheet of paper from his notebook and holds it out. Chan takes it, folding it neatly and putting it in his pocket.

"Follow those steps exactly and you will be rid of- what was his name again, Taylor? But no substitutions."

You have no clue what that could possibly mean, but you don't question it.

"Thanks, Jun. I really appreciate your help," you smile gratefully at Chan's odd but kind friend.

"How did he break his elbow?" you whisper to Chan as you walk out of Jun's house. You see the edges of his lips twitch upwards.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I'm currently being haunted by a douchebag ghost named Tyler," you remind him. "Try me."

A wide grin spreads across his face.

"You can't make this shit up. He literally slipped on a banana peel."

The asylum is just as disgusting as you remembered it.

You and Chan make your way back up to the psych ward, hauling all the random shit Jun told you to bring with. Turns out he had indeed broken his elbow on his dominant hand, so his handwriting was almost indecipherable, but after the weirdest grocery store trip you've ever taken you're pretty sure you got everything.

You pull out the list again, reading off Jun's instructions.

"'Step 1: Find your trigger object and make a two-inch thick, three-foot diameter salt circle on the ground surrounding it. Use Morton salt, not store brand.'"

Chan grabs the tape measure and the two containers of name-brand salt you purchased and starts constructing the salt ring.

"How does that look?" he asks as he finishes, stepping back to try and get a look at his work. It's not perfect, but good enough.

"That'll do. Okay, 'Step 2: Take eight sprigs of fresh sage and make a six-inch diameter ring directly around the trigger object.'"

Chan pulls a bundle of cilantro out of the grocery bag. There was no fresh sage to be found at the grocery store, and they were conveniently out of dried sage in the herbs section too. "Hopefully this'll work."

Chan makes a cilantro circle on the table around the wrist watch, checking it with the tape measure.

"'Step 3: The haunted individual must stand directly outside the salt circle, facing due East.' Guess that's me." You pull out your phone to find which way is East, positioning yourself on the circle's perimeter.

"'Step 4: The assistant must stand three feet from the circle, directly facing the haunted individual.'"

"Guess that's me," echoes Chan as he measures the ground and takes his place.

"'Step 4: The haunted individual is to call out the name of the spirit (here, "Trevor"), followed by the proceeding words:'"

You clear your throat as you begin. "Tyler," you speak loudly, your voice echoing through the gross, creepy room. "I summon thy presence immediately. Please present thyself."

To your dismay, Tyler appears, standing in the circle facing you, his back to Chan.

"Yo. Why the fuck are you speaking all weird?" he asks you. He then peers around the room, realizing where he is.

"Hey, what the hell are we doing back here?"

"Step 5!" you call to Chan. He pulls the bottle of Holy Water he was hiding behind his back and splashes its contents at Tyler. It appears to do nothing — just going right through him and sprinkling onto the grimy floor.

"Ha!" Tyler laughs haughtily, turning around to face Chan. "You think you're gonna get rid of me that easily, bitch?"

"Step 6!!" Chan yells to you frantically as Tyler begins to drift toward him. You pull a pink BIC lighter from your pocket and hold it to the cilantro. At first it does nothing, the leaves still damp from being misted on the grocery store shelves. You start freaking out as Tyler tries to push Chan over, but Chan holds his ground, swinging at the specter despite not hitting anything. Suddenly, the cilantro ignites, the blazing leaves glowing in the dark dank room. Tyler turns around, looking shocked.

"What the-"

The watch starts to glow, seemingly sucking Tyler's spirit into it.

"Aw, fuck!" Tyler shouts as his figure is magically pulled toward the watch, shrinking until there's nothing left but a ball of light. The orb hovers above the watch for a good five seconds, and then zips into it. The ignited cilantro is suddenly extinguished, the watch ceasing to glow — returning the room to silent darkness.

You and Chan stare at the watch for a moment, then at each other. You both start to grin.

"Did we do it?" you ask hesitantly.

"I… think so," he replies, optimism slowly returning to his face.

"WE DID IT!!!" you finally shout victoriously, prompting him to cheer as well. You run toward him, throwing your arms around him and jumping. He jumps with you, taking you in his embrace, both of you whooping and laughing. As your laughter starts to die down, you lift your head, looking Chan in the eyes. Then, you kiss him.

Chan stands there in shock for a moment as your mouth presses into his, but as he processes what is happening his lips lift into a grin against yours. He kisses you back, holding you squished against him as close as you can physically get, never wanting the moment to end — and for a few minutes, it doesn't. You make out with him, grasping at him desperately as his hands grip your sides tight. Finally, your lips part, both of you breathing deeply as you press your foreheads together.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do that," Chan admits sheepishly. You beam back at him, leaning in to kiss him on the nose.

"We can definitely do it some more, as long as we get out of this disgusting place first," you tell him with a laugh.

"Absolutely," he agrees with a nod. "Fuck this place."

You and Chan walk hand in hand out of the decrepit building, flipping it off gleefully as you drive away.

"Only a two hour drive back," Chan says glumly as the GPS pulls up the directions to take him home.

"Well, I do know of a cheap motel nearby where we could spend the night instead…" you posit. Chan looks over at you, a giddy smile spreading across his face.

"That sounds perfect, actually."

Chan flops onto the bed beside you, both of you sweaty and breathing heavily.

"Holy shit," he groans blissfully. "That was fucking amazing."

You roll over, pulling his body back into you, tangling your legs around him like you did the night before — but this time intentionally. There's too much body heat between the both of you to be cuddling right now, but you don't care, and neither does he.

"You're so beautiful," Chan mutters as he kisses your forehead softly.

"Oh, hush," you tell him, but he just wraps his arms around you.

"I mean it. You're perfect."

"You can't just say things like that to me," you say, looking up at him with a smirk. "It makes me horny."

"Oh," he responds, grinning. "Well in that case you're hot and pretty and cute and sexy and-"

You cut him off with a kiss. His tongue dances against yours, tasting you as he squeezes your butt. Suddenly you roll over on top of him; he looks up at you, surprised but eager, as you reach down. You grab his cock, finding it still hard, giving him a few strokes before positioning your entrance against his tip. You let yourself sit on it, his length slipping into your already-drenched cunt.

"Oh my god," he grumbles. "I could really get used to this, you know."

"Good," you say, starting to ride him slowly, dragging your pussy up and down as your walls squeeze his cock. "I'd like that."

"Like, as friends with benefits?"

"Maybe," you answer, starting to bounce on him, causing him to let out a loud moan. "Orrrrr, I dunno," you continue breathily, pumping his cock in and out of you. "We could like, date for real or something."

Chan smiles, his eyes rolling back into his head as you ride him. "Yeah, that sounds good," he says between grunts. "Great, even."

"But," you say, riding him faster still. "I'm not going on any more ghost hunts with you." Your words are turning whiny, and Chan feels like he's gonna bust again already.

"That's literally so okay," he responds. "I think, fuck-" he moans as you take him deeper.

"Cum in me again," you beg.

"Oh my god," he groans. He reaches for your clit, pressing his thumb into it as you ride him. You soon cum again, and with a few more strokes he releases inside you, more cum dripping from your already-cum-filled pussy as you slide up and down his pulsating cock. You collapse onto him, his cock throbbing inside you as you both come down from your highs.

"I think," he finishes his sentence, "that I'm done with ghost hunting for a while anyway."

"I guess you kinda found what you were looking for, huh."

"Yeah," he says, squeezing you tight in his arms as he plants a warm kiss on your cheek. "I really did."

taglist: @miniseokminnies @minisugakoobies @kwonxy @aaniag @princessjazzyjazz 

@christinewithluv @choco-scoups @unlikelysublimekryptonite @lostmembrane @hearts4cheol

@ninigyuuu @tokitosun @bonsaijoons @reiofsuns2001 @hluisstuff

@meowchella @asyre @hipsdofangirl @dy-kyeom @haoxiaoba

@boltersworldsblog @nidda13 @mae-murdock @renapersa @alikesical 

@humanitysstrongestsoldier1 @mytangerine98 @a-thln @riddlerloveb0t @fancypeacepersona 

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@sevenpersona @chirocatic @jbear00 @strxwberry-skiess @coupsarchive

@kyeomiis @tinycatharsis @hannieween @smiileflower @hanniebub 

[seungkw1]

I Worked At Spirit Halloween And All I Got Was This Dumb Boyfriend — hjs

🎃 pairing: hong jisoo x f!reader 🎃 theme: humor, smut [18+ mdni], fluff 🎃 wc: 6.6k 🎃 warnings: alcohol consumption, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), protected piv sex (wrap it before u tap it folks), wrist pinning, bit o size kink, aftercare (he’s a gentleman ofc), joshua is a massive dork, fluff ending 🎃 a/n: i had sooo much fun writing this one! shua is just a goofy weirdo (/pos) and i hope i encapsulated that well here :) ty @miniseokminnies for being my trusty beta reader as always

𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝙲𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 — [𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝] ; [𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝]

SYNOPSIS: Working at Spirit Halloween isn’t exactly your dream career. The customers are annoying, the pay is mediocre, and if you have to hear The Monster Mash one more time you might actually lose your marbles. At least you have the company of your cute, friendly coworker to help get you through your shifts – but you soon start to realize your feelings toward him might be something a little more complicated than just a silly work crush.

"There you are — can you go look in the back for me and see if we have any more Rumi wigs?"

Your coworker doesn't reply, his back turned as he continues to stock the shelves with black paper plates that say BOO! on them. You stare at the back of his head, wondering why he's ignoring you, when you spot that he has his AirPods in. You grab a pack of pumpkin-patterned napkins and chuck it at his head. He jumps as it whacks him with a light thunk. Joshua spins around, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights — when he sees it's just you, he relaxes.

"Oh, it's you," he sighs in relief as he takes the AirPods off and shoves them in his pocket, loose. "I thought I was gonna have to fight some kids again."

"'Fight some kids'?" you ask, raising your brow at him.

"Yesterday there were some teenagers having a full-on duel with the lightsabers in the accessories aisle," he explains, placing the remainder of the plate sets on the shelf. "I asked them to stop — nicely, mind you — but then they just started hitting me."

"And then you fought them?"

"Not physically, obviously. But I did yell at them and I told them their 'drip' was 'chopped, no cap'."

You burst out laughing.

"And what did they have to say to that?" you ask, grinning.

"They called me cringe and then left."

"Sounds about right," you nod. "Anyway, I need Rumi wigs, we ran out again. Can you grab some from the back?"

"I'll check, but I'm pretty sure we're sold out."

"Oh boy," you groan. "That'll go over well with the 400 girls who come in here every hour looking for K-Pop Demon Hunters stuff, I'm sure."

"Godspeed, soldier," he bids you with a salute. You smile; while you were glad to pick up the seasonal job to make some extra cash, working at Spirit Halloween is certainly not your dream career. The whiny children are annoying, their demanding parents are even worse, and everyone else who shops here is apparently hell-bent on making your life difficult by trashing the place every single day. But working with Joshua always makes the shift at least tolerable. He never fails to make you laugh — and you'd be lying if you said you didn't have at least a little bit of a work crush on him.

"You in tomorrow?" you ask as he grabs the supply cart to take back to storage.

"Yup. Picked up Soonyoung's shift so I'm working a double, because I hate myself apparently," he tells you lightheartedly.

"Oh nice," you reply casually, despite feeling excited at the prospect of seeing him all day. "I'm also working extra hours tomorrow."

"Well it's the last Saturday before Halloween, I'm sure it'll be a super chill and uneventful day of work," he remarks with heavy sarcasm.

"Oh, no doubt," you play along. "Suuuper chill and fun."

"See you tomorrow, then," he tells you with a wave as he makes his way to the back of the store. "Have a good night."

"You too!" you reply cheerfully. You don't realize you're staring at him walking away until he looks back over his shoulder. You quickly start shuffling things aimlessly on the shelf, pretending to be busy.

Maybe you have more than a little crush on Joshua Hong after all.

You're nearly falling asleep eating your sandwich when the door to the break room opens abruptly, slamming into the wall behind it. Startled, you lift your head up to see a frazzled Joshua entering the room.

"Are you okay?" you ask him, concerned.

"Do you think they'll fire me if I punch a customer in the face?" he wonders out loud as he marches to the fridge, grabbing his lunch and joining you at the circular table in the middle of the room.

"Yeah probably," you reply. He pulls a plastic container filled with colorful cereal out of his lunchbox, followed by a small glass bottle of milk and a spoon.

"Might be worth it at this point, honestly."

He notices you staring as he pours the milk into his bowl.

"What, a guy can't have cereal for lunch?"

"I mean, sure," you tell him, your mouth twitching into a smile as you try not to giggle. "I've just never seen somebody bring diy Lucky Charms into a workplace before."

"It's Cap'n Crunch, thank you very much," he replies, putting a large spoonful of it in his mouth.

"My mistake," you grin at him.

You sit there in silence for a minute as you both eat, the room quiet and still in a moment of peace from the hectic scene out in the store. The only sounds in the room are the fridge whirring and the chorus of Spooky Scary Skeletons playing over the tinny speaker system.

"I hate this fucking song," you grumble under your breath. Joshua laughs, the sound of his voice hearty and bright in your ears.

"You sure picked a great store to work at, then," he teases.

"I like Halloween!" you insist. "I'm just tired of hearing the same fuckass song over and over again."

"Fair enough," he smiles. "But only one more week of this shit and then we're free."

"Thank god," you sigh with relief, but your heart sinks a little at the realization that you won't be seeing Joshua anymore come November. You realize you don't even have any idea what he does outside of spooky season — you've never asked.

"So, what will you be up to after this horrible place closes for the year?" you ask casually.

"Looking for another job," he says rolling his eyes. "Hopefully not for long. You would think having a degree would make it easier to find employment but alas."

"What's your degree in?"

"Environmental engineering."

You freeze mid-bite of sandwich.

"You're an engineer?!"

"Allegedly." He waves his hand in the air dismissively.

"Joshua that's literally so cool," you tell him, looking at him with bewilderment. "What the hell is an environmental engineer doing working at Spirit Halloween?"

"Job market sucks shit."

"Tell me about it," you agree dully. "I've been trying to get a permanent position for ages but apparently that's impossible."

"What do you do?" He looks at you with genuine interest — his focus on you is nothing more than friendly, but it's still making you feel a bit giddy inside.

"Oh, I'm a set designer. I work freelance for different television production studios. Also a pretty bleak job market these days," you relate with a glum smile. His eyes widen with intrigue.

"Whoa, that's awesome! I had no idea," he responds enthusiastically. He chuckles, letting out a huff of air. "Look at us — two intelligent adults with interesting careers and yet here we are, selling shitty Halloween decorations to get by."

You blush a little. The attention he's paying you is unexpected, but you're not complaining. And you know he didn't mean it like that, but the way he referred to the two of you as "us" makes you want to skip down the sidewalk whilst singing.

"Living the dream," you reply with a smile. "It's nice to have somebody to commiserate with in this hellhole of a store."

"Me too," he says, the corners of his crinkling softly as he smiles back at you. The flush in your cheeks starts to grow warmer; you pack up your things in your lunchbox and quickly rise from your chair.

"Well, guess I'd better get back out there before I get yelled at," you say, excusing yourself.

"What are you doing after work?"

You pause, turning back around to look at Joshua.

"Like, today?"

"Yeah," he nods.

"Nothing, why?"

"Wanna grab a drink?"

"Oh!" you reply, your face lighting up. "Yeah, um, that sounds great actually," you smile at him. "Though I might need more than one drink by the end of this shift."

"Oh, definitely," he agrees. "Awesome, well, good luck out there."

"You too. Try not to punch anyone."

He grins at you. "No guarantees, but I'll try."

You exit the break room, in such a good mood now that your manager gives you a confused look as you pass by, unused to seeing you so chipper. She nearly is about to question you, but instead she shrugs and returns to her task.

"Excuse me," a voice from behind you calls. You turn to see a customer approaching.

"Hi! How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for the 12-foot tall skeleton, do you have any in stock?"

"We don't sell those, unfortunately — that's Home Depot," you inform them cheerfully. "But here, let me show you some of our skeleton animatronics…"

"Do you have any weird talents?"

"Hm?" you ask as you take a sip of your drink. "Like what?"

Joshua sits across from you at the small bar table for two, the neon signs in the window making him glow a bit in the dim lighting. You're only slightly tipsy at this point, but when you get drunk you get flirty — and Joshua looks good as hell right now. It's taking everything in you not to be full-out swooning at him right now.

"I don't know, anything. Like how some people can wiggle their ears, or juggle."

"Oh, hmm… I don't think so," you reply. "Well maybe — I can solve a Rubik's cube, does that count?"

"Yeah! Stuff like that."

"I can also cry on command."

"Oh! That seems useful," he remarks sincerely.

You nod. "I used it to get out of a speeding ticket once."

"I didn't realize I was in the presence of a criminal mastermind," he grins at you.

"Yeah, I'm actually robbing a bank next weekend," you tell him with a straight face. "Wanna join?"

"Absolutely," he nods, playing along.

"Excellent. Well, how about you? What are your weird talents?"

"Let's see," he thinks. "I can walk in a handstand, do the worm, play the harmonica, I know a few card tricks… Oh! And I can do this."

He clasps his hands, squeezing his palms together repeatedly to make a fart noise.

You stare at him, giving him a confused look.

"Um, I don't know if I'd call that a talent…"

"Sure it is," he says matter-of-factly, looking at you excitedly as he continues to make the sound with his hands.

"Okay, okay, you're very talented," you concede with a hesitant laugh, grabbing his hands and shoving them back down onto the table. "But maybe don't do that in public."

He gives you a cheeky grin. "What, am I embarrassing you?" he teases.

"Only a little," you tease back.

He gazes at you for a moment, eyes filled with adoration and lips curved into a soft smile. Your stomach does a backflip as it hits you: he's definitely into you.

"Another drink might help with that," he tells you. "If you'd like."

"I would like," you nod eagerly.

"Another Dirty Shirley?" he asks as he hops off the tall chair.

"Surprise me."

Joshua returns a few minutes later with two Long Island iced teas.

"Oh my god," you groan. With a laugh you bury your face in your hand. "Immediately regretting that decision."

"I can get you something else-"

"No, this is good. I just think you might be crazy."

Joshua gasps dramatically, pretending to clutch his non-existent pearls.

"Crazy?? What nonsense!" he says in a British accent, for some reason.

"What, no one's ever told you that?" you jest playfully.

"Never. This is the first I'm hearing of this."

Your head falls back as you let out a hearty laugh.

"Well, you're definitely crazy," you tell him as you pick up your drink. "But I like it."

He grabs his drink as well, clinking the glass against yours.

"Cheers, I'll drink to that."

It is a moonless night. The trees around you dance in the brisk October wind, the remainder of their leaves rustling about; it isn't a particularly heavy wind, but it is biting — without the warmth of the midday sun, it chills you to your bones. You cross your arms as you stroll down the sidewalk, side by side with Joshua. You assured him he didn't need to walk you home, but he insisted. What if I want to walk you home?, he proposed with a goofy grin, eyelids hanging slightly in his tipsy state. Okay then, you answered giddily. You weren't terribly drunk, but inebriated enough that you couldn't help being so overtly smitten with him.

You've mostly sobered up now, as has he — the frigid air sharpening your senses as clearer thoughts return to your head. As soon as he notices you bracing yourself against the wind, he starts taking off his jacket.

"Here."

"No, it's okay-" you try to tell him, but he's already slinging the thick denim over your shoulders. It's warm — protecting you from the wind, but also from Joshua's body heat. Your heart flutters at the idea of being cocooned in his essence.

"Better?" he asks.

"Much better," you respond as you wrap yourself snugly with the garment. "Thank you."

"Of course," he smiles at you.

You chat with Joshua for the final few minutes of your walk, talking about nothing in particular but anything that comes to mind. It's comfortable, easy — you wish the night didn't have to end.

"This is it," you announce as you reach your building. You stop outside the entrance, turning to face Joshua; you find him standing much closer to you than you expected.

"Thank you," you tell him as you shrug the jacket off and hand it back to him. "For the jacket and for walking me home."

"Anytime," he says warmly, putting his coat back on. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight, I had a great time."

"Me too," you beam at him.

"This might be a little forward, and you can say no, but…" Your gaze meets his, waiting with anticipation to hear the words fall from his lips. He brushes your cold cheek with his warm hand. "Can I kiss you?"

A huge grin washes over your face.

"Absolutely."

Your heart pounds as he gently takes your chin, tilting your face to greet his as he leans in. Your eyes drift closed as your lips collide with his — they're plush, soft; he savors the taste of you as he kisses you unhurriedly. He rests his hand on your arm, holding your bicep in his grasp as his mouth presses tenderly against yours. When your lips finally part, you open your eyes again; they meet his, finding softness in his dark irises as he gazes sweetly at you.

"Let me give you my phone number," he says to you.

"Oh yeah," you smile. You pull out your phone and swapping devices with him, adding yourself to his contacts as he does the same for you. He hands you your phone back and you tuck it into your pocket.

"See you again soon?" he asks.

You giggle. "I mean yeah, we do work together, after all."

"Outside of work, I mean," he smiles, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Definitely," you agree with a nod.

"Good."

He leans in and gives you a quick peck on your cheek.

"Goodnight," he tells you softly. He walks off with a few backwards steps, so he can look at you for just a bit longer.

You open the door to your building, a rush of warm air hitting your grateful freezing body. You give him a wave.

"Goodnight," you say back. He smiles at you, then disappears into the dark night.

You wake up slowly the next morning, laying in bed half asleep for a few minutes, until you suddenly recall the events of last night. You bolt upright and immediately reach for your phone, anxiously hoping you find a text from Joshua, to make sure it wasn't all a dream. Sure enough, at the top of your notifications: Joshua Hong, 1 Unread Message.

Joshua: good morning :)

You send him a message back right away.

you: hi! good morning!

The typing bubble pops up moments after you send the text — he replies right away.

Joshua: what are you up to today? you: working, unfortunately 🙄 but at least i don't have to close tonight. hbu? Joshua: visiting my parents today! i hope your shift doesn't suck too much 🥲 you: i'm sure it will haha. it's always much better when you're around. Joshua: don't worry, i'll be there in SPIRIT 😏 you: bye 💀💀💀 Joshua: nooo don't go, i promise all of my jokes aren't that bad Joshua: just most of them you: you're a dork Joshua: thank you Joshua: i gotta head out now, but have a good day! tell everyone i don't miss them you: lmaooo u got it 🫡 enjoy your day! Joshua: oh and btw, just wanted to share one of my favorite songs. it reminds me of you :)

You click the Spotify link he sent. The app opens, playing a familiar tune.

"Sunday Morning rain is falling…"

You let the song play as you start to get ready for the day. Every time you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you notice the smile that seems to be permanently etched into your face today.

Finally, the day is here: Friday, October 31. You're so close to the end of this terrible no-good job — you just have to make it through your last shift.

Joshua is also scheduled to work — it's all hands on deck for the last-minute rush before trick-or-treat time. Unfortunately the chaos means you barely get to speak a word to him that isn't about candy buckets or Ghostface masks. You've been talking non-stop all week — you worked together a few times, but otherwise your schedules didn't really line up, so you haven't gotten to really hang out with him since the bar on Saturday. But you're determined to fix that as soon as possible.

You manage to catch him in the break room for approximately one minute. You were only running in to grab some ibuprofen from your bag, to remedy the headache you have due to working retail on a holiday. Joshua is on his lunch break, eating a bowl of oatmeal.

"What, no Cap'n Crunch today?" you tease as you breeze past him toward the staff lockers.

"It's too cold out for cold cereal," he tells you pragmatically.

"So you brought hot cereal."

"Exactly."

There is an additional employee lingering in the break room; you pretend to rummage through your bag, hoping they leave so you can actually talk to Joshua. By some miracle they make their exit right away — you seize the opportunity before someone else walks in.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Absolutely nothing," he says happily. "I've had enough of Halloween this year."

"Come over."

He looks up from his oatmeal, turning around to look at you.

"Really?" he asks eagerly.

"Yes, really. Come hang out at my place and we can celebrate this fucking holiday being over."

His eyes brighten, a grin spreading across his face. "Okay!" he responds enthusiastically. "That sounds great."

The door squeaks as it suddenly swings open. One of the managers walks in; you quickly put your bag away and head back into the store. You turn your head as you walk out the door. The manager's back is turned, so you mouth see you later to Joshua. He winks back at you, making your heart flutter. Immediately upon your return to the floor you are swamped with customers asking you stupid questions. Sighing to yourself, you plaster on a smile and answer in your best customer service voice.

The end of the shift simply can't come fast enough.

As soon as Spirit Halloween closes for the night and season, you book it the fuck out of there. You head home, flopping on the couch first thing, laying there silently in the dark for a good 30 minutes as you recover. Once you've recharged, you get up and start tidying up your place. It's not dirty by any means, but you want it to look extra nice. You shoot Joshua a text, telling him to come over whenever. He replies right away: be there at 8 :)

At 7:59pm, you hear a knock at your door. You flit over, looking through the peephole to make sure it's Joshua and not a serial killer — or worse, trick-or-treaters. You see Joshua, but he's dressed strangely. You open the door to see him standing there in a vampire cape — one of the cheap black and red ones you sold at the store. He smiles, revealing a pair of glow-in-the-dark fangs on his teeth.

"What on earth are you wearing??" you ask incredulously.

"What are you thalking about?" he asks, the plastic fangs causing him speak with a lisp. "This is jutht my outfith."

"Oh my god," you groan, rolling your eyes. You turn around and head back inside, but you don't hear him following you. You look back to see him still standing in the doorway.

"Are you gonna stand there all night?"

"I'm a fampire. You have tho invite me in."

You stare at him. "Joshua I am not doing that."

"Ith's the rules."

"Jesus fucking Christ," you laugh, but he sets down a slim brown paper bag he was apparently holding under his arm onto the floor. He then swoops the cape dramatically and runs off. You stand there, baffled. The door to the stairwell down the hallway opens with a creak, then shuts. You peek out into the hall, but Joshua is gone.

"What the fuck," you mutter to yourself. Assuming he's just pranking you, you wait for him to turn around and come right back, but he doesn't. Confused, you pick up the brown wine bag and bring it inside, setting it on the counter as you locate your phone and text Joshua.

you: ????

About a minute passes, no reply. You start to wonder if you just got stood up in the weirdest way possible when you hear a rap at the door again. You open it to see Joshua, again, this time dressed in a low-budget pirate costume — complete with hat, eyepatch, and scraggly fake beard.

"Arrr!" he shouts, waving a flimsy foam sword in your face. "I've come for yer booty!"

"Oh my GOD will you just get inside??" you beg, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him through the doorway before somebody sees him acting a fool.

"You're insane," you tell him as you shut your front door. He gives you a big shit-eating grin, clearly pleased with himself.

"I thought you said you liked that I was crazy?"

"I do, but you're clearly just trying to embarrass me on purpose," you reply, also grinning. He may be an idiot, but you can't actually be mad at him.

"It's because I like you," he says, following you into the kitchen. He backs you into the counter, spinning you around as he rests his palms on the granite surface. He towers over you as he leans in, the sudden closeness makes you flustered. He puckers his lips, going in to give you a kiss, but you stop him, grabbing the foam sword out of his hand and bopping him on the head with it.

"Hey!"

"You can kiss me, but for the love of god please get rid of the beard first."

"Okay, okay, fair enough," he concedes, tossing the pirate hat aside and pulling the eyepatch and beard off his face. You take the opportunity to reach for the brown bag, finding a bottle of red wine inside.

"Wow, this looks nice," you remark as you open a drawer, retrieving your bottle opener.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I asked the guy at the wine shop to give me the finest wine he had, as long as it was under $30."

You laugh, popping the cork out and pouring each of you a glass. "What, you mean working at Spirit didn't leave you rolling in cash?"

"Shockingly, no," he replies. You hand him a glass, raising yours to his with a clink as they touch.

"Well luckily for us I am able to afford Netflix, thanks to my friend forgetting to log out of her account on my tv and me using it secretly for free," you tell him. "Care for a scary movie?"

"Sounds perfect," he beams at you. You take his free hand and head into the living room together. He takes a seat on your couch, you joining him, squeezing in close right next to him; you lean your head against his shoulder as you turn on the tv and start scrolling through Netflix.

"Anything in particular you wanna watch?" you ask.

"Whatever you'd like," he answers. He rests his spare hand atop your thigh, rubbing you gently with his thumb. You're a little too distracted right now to think of a movie, so you click on the first one you see. It's one you've never heard of, but you're not terribly interested in actually watching a movie right now anyway — not when you have Joshua so very close to you.

You make it about four minutes into the movie when he takes your wine glass, setting both his and yours down on the coffee table. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you in close, leaning his face into yours so your noses touch.

"Now can I kiss you?" he asks softly. The way that he gazes at you tells you he is interested in doing much more than just kissing — but it's a great place to start.

"Please," you whisper back.

His lips press into yours, bringing you back to the sensation you've been dreaming about since you did it once a week ago. Your hand rests on his chest; you can feel his heartbeat thumping, its pace accelerating the longer he kisses you — and he doesn't have any plans to stop anytime soon. Your hands glide around to his back, clinging to him as you squeeze his torso. One of his hands strays, traversing slowly down your side — it rests on the side of your thigh for a few moments, caressing it through your leggings, the intimacy making your skin tingle under his touch. Suddenly he slips his arm underneath your legs, lifting them up and over his own, pulling you onto his lap. You toss your arms around his neck, putting yourself in a position to draw your body in even closer, pressing your chest into his. You feel his mouth twitch into a smile; he reaches for your breast, lightly resting his hand atop it.

"Is this okay?" he asks softly as he ceases kissing you momentarily. His eyes are locked onto yours, gazing at you longingly. You answer by grabbing his hand and squishing it into your boob. A grin spreads across his face — he kisses you again, squeezing your breast eagerly as his mouth grasps hungrily at your lips. Your core starts to ache, heating swelling between your legs at his touch; you press your thighs together in an attempt to quell the sensation — but with Joshua feeling you up relentlessly, it only makes it worse.

You subtly start to grind against his lap as you make out with him, heat rising in the air as your bodies intertwine. Eventually Joshua's lips relocate to your neck, kissing the tender skin delicately as he holds you tight in his arms. You let out a soft, involuntary gasp; it feels incredible — and you desperately want more.

"Joshua…" you plead. He plants a final kiss under your jaw, then raises his face to greet yours again. His expression is drunk with lust — and you can only imagine you look the same.

"Yes?" he asks, staring at you with anticipation.

"I want you."

His pupils dilate, eyes widening excitedly.

"I want you too," he whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. You give him another kiss, then slide your legs off his lap, hopping to your feet as you take his hands in yours and pull at him excitedly. He rises; you intertwine your fingers with his as you lead him into your bedroom. You fall onto your bed together, rolling around and kissing each other with aching desperation. He rolls on top of you, delightfully crushing you with his body weight as he peppers a series of smooches all over your face, making you giggle. Your thighs instinctively spread, allowing him to lay into you. You hum as he presses against your core, cunt pulsating at his touch; wrapping your arms around him you pull him in even closer, causing him to let out a low groan.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters, pressing more kisses into your cheek. You bask in the delicate attention he's giving you, soft touches causing sharp pangs of desire in your gut.

"Can I go down on you?" he quietly asks in your ear, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"Oh my god, please," you beg. He slips a large hand beneath your sweater, feeling the softness of your stomach, before pushing the garment up in request for its removal. You quickly pull it off and toss it aside, leaving you in your bra. Joshua plants a kiss between your breasts, then starts kissing his way down your body. You feel his fingers slip underneath your waistband, tugging down gently; you lift your hips, allowing him to remove your leggings. He slides them down to your ankles, pulling them off with a snap as the elastic slips over your feet. He drops them to the floor and hurriedly pulls your underwear off, yanking them with such vigor that they practically go flying across the room. He then grabs the underside of your thighs, folding you in half as he situates himself between your legs.

"Are you comfy?" he asks gently, sending a chill up your spine as he slowly drags one finger over your slit. You nod eagerly. "Good," he replies, smiling as he lowers his lips onto your clit, giving it the most gentle of kisses. He circles the tip of his tongue delicately around the excited bud a few times, making you hum with pleasure. It drifts down to your hole, finding slick wetness as he presses his tongue into your entrance. You gasp softly, your body reacting to the sensation; he pushes down on the backs of your thighs, holding you in place as he gets to work. His nose bumps into your clit as he works his tongue inside you, making you moan as he dives in. He drags his tongue lazily up and down your folds, tasting every last bit of you.

"God, your pussy is incredible," he groans into your cunt. Making his way back to your clit he suddenly latches on — crying out, you run your fingers through his hair, holding on as he starts to suck on it, the light and quick pulses of his mouth making your head spin. You look down to watch him, his face and nose glistening with your juices as he works at your clit.

"Want your fingers in me," you tell him breathily. He grins, continuing sucking as he glides his middle finger inside you, working it in and out of your hole. It feels incredible, but you instantly crave more.

"One more," you plead. He adds his index finger, stretching you as he flicks his tongue over your throbbing bud. You feel your body tense, breathing heavily as you feel your orgasm coming on.

"I'm really close," you tell him as your eyes begin to flicker back. "Don't stop."

And he doesn't. Sucking on you relentlessly as he fucks you with his fingers, the heat swelling in your core suddenly explodes. You cum, grinding your hips into his mouth as you tighten your grasp on his hair. Despite you practically shoving his face into your cunt, he keeps his pace; you ride the waves of your high, savoring every moment of it before you eventually start to come down. He slows, releasing his hold on your clit in favor of kissing it softly.

"That was fucking incredible," you mumble, winded. You let go of his hair, arms flopping to your sides as you relax into the mattress. He gives your cunt a final kiss before lifting himself up, crawling back on top of you. He's hard now — his erection glaringly obvious in his jeans. You reach for the bulge, kneading it gently in your hand, making him groan.

"Please fuck me," you beg immediately — no time to waste when you're both this horny. He smiles, eyelids heavy as he gazes hungrily at you.

"Say less," he replies. In a flash he stands up, retrieving a small shiny packet from his pocket.

"I see you came prepared," you giggle breathily, still recovering from your orgasm. Joshua smiles.

"I wasn't sure, but... I had a feeling."

He holds it with his teeth while he disrobes, his stiffened dick standing tall in the air as he shimmies out of his clothes. You grin, excitement tingling in your core at the sight of the thick and veiny cock — and the prospect of it being inside you. Ripping the packet open he quickly wraps the condom over his length, jerking himself a few times once it's in place. He crawls back on top of you, slipping his hand underneath your back, lifting you up so he can undo the clasp of your bra. You remove it, both of you now fully nude. He presses his body into yours, his heat radiating to your skin; his tip bumps against your entrance, making his cock twitch. He grabs ahold of it, guiding the head up and down over your pussy a few times.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice gravelly.

"Yeah," you exhale. The way you're laying there beneath him, legs spread and hips bucking softly in anticipation, staring up at him in desperation to be fucked — it is the hottest thing he's ever seen.

"Okay," he whispers. As his large hand wraps around his base he slowly pushes the head inside you; it slips readily into your hole, your walls wavering as he gradually fills you with his length, gripping around his cock so intensely it makes his head spin. With a gentle thrust his entire cock is now inside you, making you gasp.

"Fuck that's a lot of cock," you blurt out. He laughs, face turning pink in slight embarrassment.

"If it's too much I can-"

"Nonono," you cut him off, your hands clinging to his waist as you adjust to his size. "It's perfect."

He grins, the ego boost making his dick throb inside you. He slowly starts to pull his length back out, stopping just before his tip pops out of your entrance, then slowly pushes it all back in. You let out a moan as he reaches deep, stuffing you completely full with his thickness.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, just to be sure he's not overwhelming you — but judging by your soft eyes, furrowed brow, and slightly-parted lips, he's pretty sure he knows the answer.

"Yeah," you moan. He starts fucking you, falling into a steady, rhythmic pace — not taking his eyes off you as he watches you eagerly take his cock.

"Oh my god your pussy is amazing," he groans, increasing his pace. Your eyelids flutter back, whines escaping your lips as Joshua thrusts into you insatiably. He pushes your arms above your head, resting them on the pillow as he pins each of your wrists to the bed with a large, strong hand. You gaze up at him, pathetic and fucked-out, whimpering with each pounding stroke.

"Feels so fucking good, baby," he cries out with abandon, euphoria overtaking him as he reaches orgasm. "Ohhhhh fuck I'm cumming…"

He releases, moans flowing from his open mouth, eyes rolling back into his head as his cock pulsates against your throbbing walls. He cums hard, grunting and groaning as if it's the best orgasm he's ever hard — which quite frankly, it is.

"Oh my goddd," he moans as the tension in his body melts away, thrusts slowing as he gradually comes back to earth. He collapses onto you, releasing his grip on your wrists, his hands sliding up to intertwine his fingers with yours. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, his labored breaths hot on your skin as he recovers.

"That was incredible," he mutters, his low voice in your air giving you an enticing chill. He lifts his head up, gazing down at you lovingly. "You're incredible." Smiling shyly, you kiss him, locking your lips together as you breathe deeply. When your mouths part again, you see a big, goofy grin spread across his face — the same one you saw the night he first kissed you, except now even more enamored.

"What?" you giggle at him.

"Nothing," he replies. "You're just unbelievably beautiful."

"Don't tell me that, I'll fall in love with you," you tell him with a soft laugh. His eyes crinkle as he smiles.

"What if I want you to fall in love with me?"

"Well," you answer, gushing like an idiot. "Then I have good news for you."

His eyes light up. He plants a big kiss on your lips, gently pulling his cock out of you as he does so.

"Wait here," he tells you softly as he gets up. You shiver at the sudden lack of body heat, but he returns quickly with a towel, getting you cleaned up before tucking you under the covers. You grab his hand, tugging at him.

"Get in here."

He joins you under the blankets, wrapping you in his arms as he takes you in as his little spoon. He nestles his face next to yours as he snuggles into you.

"I thought Halloween was going to be ruined for me after this year," you tell him, wrapping your arms around his. "But maybe it's okay after all."

"Well, this is definitely the best Halloween I've ever had," he says contentedly as he kisses your cheek. "All thanks to my sexy pirate costume."

"Despite your stupid pirate costume," you correct. He lets out a laugh.

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

"Hm?" you respond, confused. "You're already thinking about Christmas?"

"I'm thinking about how I'd like to spend it with you."

"Oh," you say softly, smiling excitedly. "I'd like that."

"Me too," he replies. "Maybe if I get lucky you'll let me call you my girlfriend to get my parents off my ass about how single I've been."

"I mean, you can just call me your girlfriend in general."

"Oh! Even better," he responds with a grin, squeezing you in his arms. "I didn't want to move too fast or anything-"

"Eh, who cares," you interject. "I like you. Fuck it."

"You're right," he agrees. "Fuck it!"

"What'd'ya say we go finish that wine and pretend to watch the rest of that movie?" you propose.

"Oh yeah, the movie. What were we watching again?"

"No idea."

"Great," he chuckles. "Fine with me, I don't want to leave yet."

"Don't leave."

You turn around, rolling on top of a surprised-looking Joshua.

"Stay the night. Stay with me."

He beams at you. He didn't want to impose, but he was hoping and praying you would ask.

"I'd love to," he smiles. His soft eyes rest on yours; they are filled with fondness, adoration — much more than you would expect from someone you haven't known very long, but it just feels right. And that's something you very much look forward to getting used to.

taglist 1: @miniseokminnies @minisugakoobies @kwonxy @aaniag @princessjazzyjazz 

@christinewithluv @choco-scoups @unlikelysublimekryptonite @lostmembrane @hearts4cheol

@ninigyuuu @tokitosun @bonsaijoons @reiofsuns2001 @hluisstuff

@meowchella @asyre @hipsdofangirl @dy-kyeom @haoxiaoba

@boltersworldsblog @nidda13 @mae-murdock @renapersa @alikesical

[seungkw1]

in aeternum — xmh

in aeternum /in iˈtɜːrnəm/ Latin phrase — forever; into eternity

🔮 pairing: xu minghao x f!reader 🔮 genre: fantasy, magical realism, smut [18+ mdni] 🔮 wc: 10,627 🔮 warnings: sort of lore-heavy, scary imagery, mild weapon use, some morally gray plot points, mentions of prior physical abuse (not reader), drugging/poisoning, possessiveness, strangers to lovers, size kink, breast play, oral, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv sex (pls don't do this), marking, whining/whimpering, cum play, cum eating, fingering, reader passes out once, praise kink, a bit o' manipulation, petnames (baby, darling, good girl) 🔮 a/n: huge thank u to my goat @miniseokminnies for beta-ing ily!!!

written as part of my Cluetober Series — [masterlist]

SYNOPSIS: You know the woods like the back of your hand. There's little danger to be found, and you feel at home here; but there is one rule: Do not stray beyond the Outer Creek. A rule you've never broken, until today, when you got a bit too carried away foraging for mushrooms. You try to find your way back, to no avail; you are now undeniably lost deep in the forest, a sitting duck for the terrifying beasts that are rumored to live out here. You are very nearly attacked by something when a mysterious stranger appears, fending off the creature and saving your life. The stranger is kind, offering you shelter for the night. You are wary, but you decide to trust him — praying to the gods that it's the right choice.

Today was a perfectly ordinary day picking mushrooms until you got too curious.

You've been in these woods hundreds of times. You know not to stray beyond the Outer Creek — the unexplored part of the forest, where dark necromancers and foul beasts are rumored to live. And so for the most part you stayed far away. The only times you'd venture slightly toward the creek are when you were following the fungi — which is how you found yourself much deeper in the forest than you'd planned to be today. But the trail of puffballs was too good to pass up. I'll only go for another half-mile, you told yourself. Then I'll turn back around.

But you got carried away. It wasn't until you were mere feet away from crossing over the Creek that you realized how far you'd gone. You were about to turn back when you spotted a glowing pair of eyes coming from the dense brush ahead. Startled, you freeze, but a fluffy brown house cat appears from the shadows. He sits down, staring at you with his intensely-green eyes.

"Well hello there, friend," you say softly to the sizeable but tame-looking creature. You approach him slowly, as not to startle him. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I could ask you the same," the wind whispers in your ear as it suddenly picks up. making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The voice is clear as day, but there's nobody else in sight.

"Who said that?" you question, looking around carefully.

"It's me," the voice whispers from where the cat was sitting, but when you whip your head back around to where the feline was sitting you find it empty.

"Come and find meeeee," you hear the voice upon the wind again.

"I don't think so," you remark, collecting your mushroom basket and turning right around to head back the way you came, except… You're not entirely sure which way that was now. You're pretty sure it's this way, the way you were headed, but it all looks the same at this point.

"It's this way, of course," the wind breezes by your ear, but something in your gut tells you it can't be trusted.

"Who are you?"you call out.

"Nobodyyyy…." you hear off in the distance behind you. You instinctually turn towards the voice, but now you've gone and got yourself even more turned around.

"It's this way, I promise," you hear from the same direction as before.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You can't…"

You scan your surroundings one last time. The way the voice is telling you to go is the most logical direction you should head — but you still have an uneasy feeling about it. With a sigh, you take off, hoping you've made the right choice.

You walk for nearly 20 minutes. The voice doesn't speak again, and everything seems to indicate you are going the right way, but you still can't seem to find the main trail. The already-sparse sunlight peeking through the canopy is starting to fade — it is soon going to be dark, and you are lost deep in the forest.

You don't think you've passed the Outer Creek, but with each hesitant footstep you become less and less certain of that. The forest grows dimmer and dimmer, and soon night is upon you. The trees you've known and loved since you were a child no longer seem friendly — they loom tall and ominous above you, shrouding the path ahead in endless shadows, obscuring any sense of direction you had left. Finally, with dread, you admit it: you are incredibly lost.

Soon, the howling begins. It's distant, nowhere near you, but it is wholly unfamiliar — eerie and hollow echoing cries that linger far too long, chilling you to the bone. With every nearby rustle of the brush you brace yourself, expecting some horrible unknown creature to jump out and ambush you at any moment.

It's just the wind, you tell yourself. If something were there it would've attacked you by now. But you cannot be certain — and you can't seem to shake the feeling that you are being followed.

Though you can hardly see, you have a grave feeling you are only going deeper into the unexplored regions. The foliage starts to turn alien — trees larger than you've ever seen before, ambling vines snaking up and around their trunks, as if suffocating them. Brambles in the dense brush keep reaching out as you pass, snagging your dress and forcing you to pause and untangle yourself. To make matters even more terrifying, you start to see strange wooden figures hanging from the trees — bundles of sticks tied together with string to form various shapes. You try not to think about how some of them look… humanoid, like little dolls almost.

Despite everything you trek onward. You swear the howling sounds nearer now. You're nearly about to cry when a low rumble from behind makes all the hair on the back of your neck stand up in a prickle of terror. The approaching footsteps that follow are faint, undetectable if you hadn't been paying attention — but the deep thump, thump, thump, thump resonates through your skull as your heart pounds fearfully in your ribcage. The only thing you have on you to defend yourself is the small foraging knife you use for collecting mushrooms; you grip its wooden handle tight, brandishing the stout blade — a pathetic weapon, but better than nothing… right?

You slowly turn, bracing yourself for whatever horror may jump out at you from any given tree, but you find nothing. Suddenly a grotesque snarl fills your left ear — as if in slow motion, you turn, finding an enormous pair of furious red eyes attached to a gargantuan shadowy figure lunging directly toward you. You throw your arms up, hiding behind them as you brace yourself for the thing to attack you, but the impact doesn't come. You hear it screech, a shrill and awful sound — daring to open your eyes you look up to see a cloaked figure, human-sized, driving a spear into the indiscernible beast. It immediately retreats, scuttling off horridly back into the trees. The cloaked figure starts to turn; you instinctively raise your meager knife — because if they could fend off whatever that thing was then surely they could kill you in a swift second too. But instead you are greeted by a soft face, kind dark eyes looking at you from beneath long straggly waves of black hair. The man sets the end of his long spear onto the ground, carrying it now as a staff.

"It's okay," your savior whispers. He reaches toward you; you instinctively tighten your grip on your knife, raising it in defense, but he gently grabs your wrist, lowering the blade for you.

"Come with me," he orders in a hushed tone. "We're safe for now but it could come back at any moment. Maybe even with a friend or two."

He tugs you along, dragging you hastily through the trees. You know you shouldn't trust a stranger — not out here, especially. But the man did just save your life, and you don't really have much of a choice right now anyway.

"What in the gods' names are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" the man asks as he leads you with purpose. You're unsure where he is taking you, but he is seemingly very familiar with this part of the forest.

"I didn't mean to be. I was picking mushrooms but I got a bit, uh… carried away," you answer, slightly embarrassed. "Next thing I knew I had accidentally crossed the Outer Creek and gotten myself very lost."

"I take it you're from the Southernlands, then."

"Do you mean the Heartlands?" you ask, confused.

"Oh, yes. I've heard that's what they're calling it now."

"What do you mean, 'now'?"

The man turns briefly to look at you, a curious look upon his face.

"I'll explain later," he shakes his head, pulling you along as he picks up speed. "We're almost there, but we must hurry."

"Almost where?"

"My home."

Sure enough, you soon arrive at a small clearing. A humble but cozy-looking cottage awaits you; the man pulls out a skeleton key and quickly unlocks the large wooden door, shuttling you inside.

Whatever you were expecting, the cottage's interior is far from it. It is a small, one-room home, almost cluttered with the amount of tools and trinkets laying upon every surface, but everything seems to belong right where it is. Intricate tapestries adorn the walls, illuminated by the flickering glow of the numerous lanterns hanging from the low ceiling or sat upon a shelf; the furniture all appears to be handcrafted from dark spruce wood, rustic-looking but sanded and polished to near-perfection. A large fireplace stands built into the left-hand wall, its flames wispy and dying but welcoming; past it in the corner is a tiny kitchen with a wood-burning stove and a simple water basin, pots and pants decorating the area as they hang from hooks on the ceiling, surrounded by bundles of fresh drying herbs strung upon thin lines of twine, barrels of fresh-looking fruits and jars of pickled vegetables sitting scattered upon all the tables and counters. On the other side of the cottage sits a large bed, lined with plush pillows and draped with thick woolen blankets; beyond the bed is a massive bookshelf, leather-bound books of all shapes and sizes crammed into every nook and cranny.

"Wow," you whisper as your eyes feast upon your incredible surroundings. "This is so lovely."

"Oh, thank you," the man replies as he locks the door behind him. He sets his staff against the wall and removes his long cloak, hanging it upon the coat rack. As he turns you get a clear look at him: he's much younger than you expected, around your age, and for all the rumors you've heard of the crooked and evil folk who supposedly live out here he looks so… normal.

"Who are you?" you ask as he saunters over to the fireplace, throwing another log upon the dwindling hearth. The flames rise as it catches, radiating warmth throughout the room. You whisk over and kneel before it, warming your cold hands in its heat.

"My name is Hao," he tells you as he fetches a blanket and drapes it around you. You're not that cold, but you welcome its comfort anyway. "And what may I call you?"

Your lips part as you're about to tell him your name, but some small voice in the back of your mind whispers to you: don't tell him.

"You can call me Rosie," you reply. It's not technically a lie — you haven't gone by the old childhood nickname in years, but you figure there's no harm in playing it safe.

"Well, Rosie — you can stay the night here. It's not safe to be out there in the dark. When the sun rises I will lead you back to the creek — you should be able to find your way home from there, yes?"

You nod. "Good," he responds, shuffling past you and into the kitchen. "May I interest you in some stew?"

"Yes, please," you eagerly reply, realizing just how hungry you are by now. A small pot hangs above the stove's flames; he removes the lid, steam filling the air as he dips a long wooden ladle inside, spooning some stew into a ceramic bowl. Its delicious smell hits you as he carries it back into the living room for you, making your stomach gurgle excitedly as he places the bowl into your hands.

"Careful, it's hot."

It is hot, but that doesn't stop you from digging right in. You scarf the whole thing down, graciously accepting seconds when Hao offers them.

"What's it like in the Heartlands?"

He had been silent the entire time you were eating, watching you curiously from the other end of the couch; you were so absorbed in eating that you hadn't even noticed.

"Have you never been?"you ask as you slurp the remaining broth directly from the bowl.

"Not for a very long time," he answers. He speaks casually, but you detect a certain somberness to his words. You want to ask more, but it seems it might be a sore subject, so you don't.

"Um, well, it's pretty nice, I guess," you start. "I run my father's bakery, so I don't have too much free time, but when I do I usually spend it foraging in the woods."

"Like today."

"Yes, exactly. The mushroom trail was particularly good today," you say with a satisfied grin.

"Do others join you?"

"Oh, um, well there's some other foragers in the village, but I prefer to be alone."

"Alone in the woods," he muses. "And you're not scared?"

"Of course not. I know every inch of these woods," you nod confidently. "Well, not these woods," you quickly correct yourself. "The Inner Creek forest, I mean. A lot of people talk, saying that I'm some kind of odd loner for spending all my time in there. But I find it peaceful — I feel very at home."

You're not sure why you're telling him all this, but he's a very an attentive listener. He watches you with interest, his kind eyes resting upon you warmly. He's a stranger, your brain reminds you. You can't trust him. Yet a strange sense of kinship lingers in the air.

"I get it," he nods. "I feel the same way."

You wonder if you should inquire as to what he's doing living all the way out here — it can't hurt to ask, right? But you deliberate for just a moment too long.

"It's getting late," Hao remarks as he glances out the window. "You should get some rest, the walk tomorrow will be quite long."

As much as your mind is racing right now, you are exhausted. The thought of sleeping alone in a stranger's house does make you a bit anxious, but you don't really have any other options.

"You can take my bed," he instructs, gesturing in its direction.

"Oh, no, I couldn't—"

"The linens are fresh. I'm not going to sleep much anyway," he informs you. "I tend to be the most productive in the middle of the night."

You're about to decline again, but what does it really matter anyway? You're going to be unconscious regardless, so safety is a moot point — you might as well be comfortable.

"Okay," you agree with a shrug. "If you say so."

The bed is surprisingly plush. You cozy yourself beneath the sheets, sleepiness quickly washing over you despite your nerves. Your eyes drift closed, and you lay there listening to Hao tinkering with something in the other corner of the cottage; the soft sounds lull you into a trance, and soon you are asleep.

You wake an unknown amount of hours later absolutely freezing.

You tug the blankets all the way up, tucking your chin beneath it as you try to warm yourself, but the cottage air is frigid. Glancing over to the fireplace, you see its embers dwindling, long forgotten by the man aross the room. The only light in the house is the dim glow of the single lit lantern upon Hao's desk where he sits; you can only see the back of his head from here, tilted down between hunched shoulders — but he appears to still be deeply immersed in whatever project he was working on when you fell asleep.

Shutting your eyes, you try your hardest to go back to sleep, but your incessant shivering is unignorable.

"Hao?" you eventually call out quietly into the room. The tinkering stops, his head lifting as he peers over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"I'm cold," you murmur timidly. "Do you have another blanket?"

"Oh," he replies, swiftly rising to his feet. "Of course," he answers as he zips across the room. He retrieves a thick woolen blanket from a large chest and brings it to the bed, unfolding it and gently placing it over you. His hand brushes against your hair as he pulls the blanket up to your face, and you swear it lingers there for just a second too long.

"Thank you," you tell him sheepishly from your cocoon.

"No problem at all." He looks down at you for a moment, eyes tired and dulled, then turns to head back to his desk.

"You should sleep too," you blurt out before he can walk away. He turns back to face you, looking at you curiously.

"You needn't stay awake just because of me." You scoot toward the edge of the bed, making space for him to lay beside you. "I don't mind, really."

He seems to consider for a moment, but without a word he turns and shuffles across the room. Your heart sinks slightly, feeling slightly embarrassed at your perhaps too bold suggestion; but then you hear a soft puff of air, and the lantern upon his desk is extinguished. It's now dark, but you hear approaching footsteps. The blankets lift as he slips beneath the covers, laying himself as close to the edge of the bed as possible.

"You can get comfy," you tell him with a small giggle. "It's your bed after all."

"I am," he lies, resting his head stiffly upon the pillow.

"Alright," you concede. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight," he replies softly.

Hao lays there uncomfortably for the next fifteen or so minutes. You've flopped onto your side, your back to him, seemingly asleep — but that's not stopping his mind from wandering. Imagining how soft you'd be in his arms; imagining running his fingers through your hair; imagining your scent lingering upon his skin even after you've left…

Stop it, he tells himself sternly. This was a bad idea…

He's about to give up on sleep and head back to his desk in defeat when you roll over to face him.

"Can't sleep either?" you ask quietly. You gaze up at him — eyes seeming to glimmer even in the darkness. Hao feels a rush of warmth course through his body; he shifts awkwardly, trying to think of anything in the world to stop him from getting aroused right now, but you are a terrible distraction. It's no secret that he's lonely — he loves living alone in the woods, it's a peaceful way of life and he's never been bothered by the lack of companionship. But you looked so pretty out there, so mysterious and alluring that he had to know more — and now here you are in his bed, a beautiful and dangerous temptation laying right there in his reach.

He shakes his head. "No," he answers, looking back up to the ceiling, avoiding your gaze. But it doesn't stop his heart from racing at the mere thought of you. You watch him for a minute; you roll over a little futher, bringing your body just a bit closer into his.

"I'm still a little cold," you say, casually sliding your hand over the mattress toward him. He tries not to read into it, tries not to delude himself — but then he makes the mistake of glancing over at you again. The way you're looking at him right now is undoubtedly sensuous; he met you mere hours ago, and you are already driving him fucking crazy.

"I can get you another blanket—" he starts, moving to get up, but your hand reaches his beneath the covers. He freezes — the coolness of your palm stings tantalizingly against his warm skin as you rest it upon the back of his hand, sending sparks through his veins. He instinctively turns his hand, letting yours slip into his grasp.

"Tell me to stop," you whisper as you intertwine your fingers with his; Hao lets out a sharp exhale.

"Tell me not to do this." You squeeze his hand, holding it tightly. He resists for a moment, his hand limp in yours, and you begin to think you've gone too far — but you let out a soft gasp as he squeezes back, taking your cold hand in his warm one.

"I can't," he responds, turning his head to look at you.

"Why not?" you ask as you brush a few strands of dark hair out of his eyes, running your fingers delicately over his cheekbones. His round, widened eyes peer back at you — eager and desperate.

"I want you to do this," his voice nearly wavers. He reaches for your face, cradling your cheek in the palm of his hand as he draws you into him — close enough to feel his breaths falling on your lips. "I want you."

Slowly he drags his lower lip over yours, a shaky exhale hot against the delicate skin making your arms tingle with goosebumps. You waste no time, pressing your lips into his as you grasp at his loose shirt and pull him into you; he begins to kiss you, strong with heated passion like nothing you've ever experienced. He savors you — long, slow kisses that elicit a fire in your belly as his hands wander over your body, desperate to touch every inch of you. His fingertips drift to the side of your thigh, tugging up at the fabric of your skirt, requesting its removal. Your lips part briefly, an excited grin coloring your face as you lift your hips, allowing him to pull your dress up and over your body. He drops it to the floor, eyes widened in amazement at the sight of you before him, in nothing but thin linen undergarments, the sheer fabric only barely obscuring the enticing curves beneath. You pull at his shirt, lifting up to reveal his bare chest and toned stomach as he lets you undress him. Your nipples poke through the thin fabric, erect with anticipation; he runs his fingertips over them, feeling the hardened buds, causing an immediate rush of blood to his cock. He can wait no longer — he pulls your top off of you, your soft breasts falling free.

"So beautiful," he whispers as he takes your breasts in his large hands. He rolls over on top of you, sliding down until his tongue greets your nipple, flicking against it gently.

"Ohhh," you sigh, letting him lap lazily at the perked and pebbled bud. A mess of moans quickly arise from your throat, your body squirming beneath his as he licks incessantly at the nipple. Eventually he takes it between his lips, suckling on it as he kneads at the flesh of your breasts.

"That feels… wow," you exhale, words eluding you in the face of such pleasure. Your eyes flutter shut, head falling back into the pillow as the tip of his tongue dances against the hardened nub. He suddenly switches to the other breast, nipping at the bud gently. You cry out, running your fingers through his long hair and grasping at his head; you hold him in place as he sucks away, your hips rocking as your legs spread open further. The heat of your clothed cunt against his bare stomach only worsens his erection; soon, he is painfully hard, trying not to move as not to cause any friction, but the movement of your hips makes that inevitable. He grinds into the bed, the pressure only making his cock throb against the mattress.

"Gods," he gasps as his mouth suddenly unlatches from your breast, lifting himself off the bed slightly, but you quickly grab at his sides and pull him up. His torso sinks into your body, the weight of his large but slender frame crushing you delightfully. You wrap your legs around his hips, grinding your core against his cock. It feels thick, heavy — and you're certain you've never wanted anything more in your life.

His forehead presses against yours, heaving breaths greeting your face as he locks onto your gaze with burning intensity.

"Let me love you," he whispers. "Please."

You stare longingly up into dark eyes, eyes that stare back at you with all the lust in the world. You've never felt so wanted, so utterly desired with pure carnal instinct; it makes your pussy ache deliciously. You nod, desperately eager — a lazy grin spreads across his face, staring down at you like he could devour you.

You reach for his pants, unfastening them and reaching within. Wrapping your palm around his warm cock, you let out a soft gasp — it's thick, and heavy, its weightiness causing an excited pang in your gut. You pull it out, your hand dwarfed by its size in your grasp. You give him a few strokes, squeezing gently as your hand glides up and down its length, making his eyes roll back into his head. The tip is wet, dripping with precum already.

"Your cock is so pretty," you whisper, eyes locked onto the massive shaft in your hand.

"Don't say things that," he grumbles, kissing you fervently. "I'll fall in love," he murmurs into your lips between kisses.

Soon, he cannot wait any longer. He sits up on his knees, reaching for your underwear and yanking them off of you. You lift your legs, allowing him to pull them up and over your feet, tossing them aside hastily. His hands slide to your inner thighs, spreading your legs, revealing your drenched and eager core. He says nothing, stunned into silence by how pretty you are, mouth agape and salivating at the sight of you.

Without warning he dives face-first into your pussy, making you cry out with pleasure. He laps up your juices with feverous need, savoring your incredible flavor on his tongue.

"Hao," you whine, stroking his hair again as he goes down on you. "Feels amazing…"

His mouth never departs your cunt for a single second, dragging his tongue through your slick folds and slipping it in and out of your hole before moving to your clit. He flicks quickly it over the stimulated bud, incessantly and hungrily, causing a white-hot sensation to burn in your stomach.

"Don't stop," you plead, and he doesn't. The burning sensation builds and builds, making you squirm and whimper as you reach orgasm. As you cum on his tongue he grips your thighs tightly, holding you still beneath him as your legs quiver and your back arches with ecstacy. Sure, you've had orgasms before — but they were nothing like this.

Your squirming begins to slow as you come down from your high. His grasp on your thighs loosens, but he still holds onto them as he lets you finish. Your chest heaves deeply as you attempt to catch your breath, but Hao needs to be inside you now. He crawls on top of you again, face hovering above yours as he takes his cock in his hand, guiding it to your entrance. He presses the head in; it slips in with ease, your soaked hole accepting his cock graciously.

"Ohhh, wow…" you mumble, clinging to his sides as he pushes his length into you. You whimper softly as he fills you up, your walls squeezing tightly around his thickness. His full length now inside you, he pauses, taking a deep breath as he gazes down at you longingly.

"Is this okay?" he asks, making sure you're comfortable.

"More than," you reply, staring up at him with eyes begging him to fuck you — a request he is more than pleased to fulfill. He thrusts into you, slowly dragging his cock out and pushing it back in, reaching depths you didn't know were possible. Your nails dig into his back as his pace begins to increase, gradually at first, but before long he is fully fucking you with uninhibited enthusiasm. Soft groans escape his lips, his eyelids fluttering as he strains to keep his gaze on you. But it feels too good — he dips his head into the crevice of your neck, swirling his tongue over the tender skin before planting his lips into your flesh and sucking on it eagerly while he fucks his cock into you. Nothing in the world has ever felt better than this.

"You feel like heaven," he moans into your neck. "So divine."

Unable to form words, you can only reply by whining pathetically — and it is music to his ears. You drag your nails down his back, scratching him and breaking skin in a way he knows will leave a mark. The thought turns him on impossibly more.

"I'm gonna cum, love," he growls into your ear. "Gonna fill you up and make you mine."

He kisses your cheek, dragging his lips across your face to find your mouth again. He kisses you and kisses you until he can hold off his climax not a moment longer. His lips break free from yours, groaning into your mouth as he releases inside you, cock pulsing as his hot cum spills into your cunt. You whine at the incredible sensation, wrapping your arms around his back and pulling him in as close as physically possible as he cums inside you.

"Fuck," he groans as he finishes, his body slowing and sinking into yours. He's practically squishing you, but you delight in the sensation. You relax your grasp on him, dragging your fingertips slowly up and down his marked back. With a kiss, he carefully pulls his cock out of you, watching as his cum drips out of you all over his bedsheets. He collects it on his fingers as it spills out of you, pushing as much of it as he can back into your pussy. You reach for his wrist, pulling it to your mouth and licking the cum off his hand.

"Gods, you're perfect," he praises as he lays down beside you again. He places slow kisses into the fresh bruises on the side of your neck, his large hand resting on your stomach as it rises and falls with your heavy breaths. You close your eyes, relishing in the sweetened intimacy, savoring the delicate attention as a deep sense of relaxation washes over you.

But before long, the noises begin; it starts with the howling wind, rushing angrily around the cottage exterior; then, the scratching sounds come, as if every tree surrounding the house is trying to break into the walls and snatch you away; but the worst is the growls and snarls — they're distant, and barely audible, but they chill you to the core.

The relaxed state you were in quickly dissipates, your muscles tensing anxiously. Hao notices, lifting his head to look at you.

"Relax, love," he mutters softly, taking your face in his hand and cradling it tenderly. "We're safe in here."

"How can you be so sure?" you ask timidly.

He smiles slighty. It's a knowing smile — but honest. "Trust me," he whispers, planting a kiss on your forehead. "I promise."

You nod silently. You do trust him, at least you think. You trusted him enough to let him fuck you, anyway.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace. His body is warm — comforting in the same way as sitting beside the gently roaring fireplace. Sleepiness starts to overcome you, but the many questions swirling around your mind are keeping you awake.

"Earlier, you referred to the Heartlands as the Southernlands," you say quietly. "What did you mean by that?"

Hao's sleepy eyes perk open a bit. He gazes at you silently for a moment, seemingly deep in thought.

"How do you refer to this region of the forest?" he inquires.

"You mean, beyond the Outer Creek?" You think for a moment. "I suppose there's not a specific name for it. The townsfolk don't like to speak of it, really. The elders simply tell us it's forbidden."

"And what do you know of the Banishing?"

"The Banishing," you repeat. You had learned about it in history studies in school; you don't remember all the details, but you're familiar with the story.

"Well, I know that the Heartlands used to live in harmony with the Outer Creek folk," you begin. "But four hundred years ago, an evil witch who lived out here started practicing dark magic. The practice spread, and eventually the witch had corrupted everyone who lived beyond the Outer Creek. The rulers of the Heartlands feared it would spread — so they banished the Outer Creek residents, forbidding them from ever entering our region of the woods again."

Hao nods slowly. "I see."

"But… I've never heard of the Heartlands having the name of the 'Southernlands'," you add. "I still don't understand that part."

"That's because the history you know of is a lie."

"What?" you ask, giving him a strange look. "What do you mean?"

Hao sighs reluctantly, but he starts to explain.

"You said the Heartlands used to live in harmony with the Outer Creek folk," he repeats your words. "That itself is not a lie, but it's also not the full truth. You see, the Heartlands used to be called the Southernlands, and the Outer Creek region was called the Northernlands. The Northernlands have always been sparsely populated compared to the many towns of the Southernlands — those who lived out here long ago did indeed go to and from the Southernlands, mostly for trade. But your polished history neglects to mention perhaps the most critical part of this story: magic was everywhere. Sorcerers lived in the Northernlands as well as the Southernlands, and mystical beasts roamed freely — magic was as commonplace as your mushrooms after a storm. And there was no such thing known as 'dark magic' — people would seek help from the sorcerers just as they would a healer or a priest, they were trusted and integral members of both societies."

He pauses, letting you absorb his words. You have about a hundred questions, and you don't even know where to begin.

"So… there was no evil witch?" you finally utter.

"Not… quite. There was one sorcerer who was discovered to have given numerous women in the town potions to kill their husbands."

"Oh how awful," you remark, a look of disproval coloring your face.

"That is what most people thought of it, yes. But the sorcerer insisted it was only intended for men who abused their wives. Beat them, screamed at them, threatened them — these women were terrified, and no one else in town would do anything to protect them."

"Oh," you reply quietly.

"The sorcerer maintained that if the husbands weren't taken care of, the women would have been killed themselves," Hao continues. "That it was the only way."

"That still doesn't make murder okay."

Hao nods slowly, but he seems to be in disagreement. "The majority of the town shared that same sentiment. The Council immediately outlawed magic, inciting a witch hunt against anyone who disobeyed. All magical creatures were banished to the Northernlands, and — fearful for their lives — the remaining users of magic soon followed them. The irony is that the Council kept one sorcerer captive to do their biddings — so they could maintain the 'peace'." Hao scoffs slightly. "But it was entirely about control. They forced the sorcerer to cast a spell of protection around the Southernlands, a boundary along the Outer Creek which segregated the Northernlands entirely, so no other sorcerers or beasts could ever return."

"What happened to them?" you ask. "The Council and the sorcerer?"

"Eventually they got old and died. The sorcerer vanished, presumably fleeing to the Northernlands to rejoin the others — and the spell behind the barrier was lost. But by that point nearly 100 years had passed. The banished sorcerers and creatures continued to keep to themselves beyond the Outer Creek, never to return. Eventually the history was forgotten — the Southerlands had long since rebranded to the Heartlands, and those old enough to remember the Northernlands had all died by then. The tale lived on only in stories, but those stories became nothing more than distant myths."

You're exhausted, but your mind spins with questions and more questions. One in particular stands out to you, though.

"So why do you live out here?" you ask, a deep yawn overtaking you.

"Well now that's a long story," he chuckles back, clearly equally as tired as you. "But it's getting quite late — I'll tell you in the morning."

He leans in, giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"Get some rest, darling."

You wake the next morning to an empty bed.

Your eyes slowly flutter open to unfamiliar scenery. You blink, looking around for a moment, before you remember where you are.

Hao's cottage looks rather different in the serene glow of the little sunlight that can reach through the thick canopy. Without the warm luminance of the many lanterns, the cottage has a colder feel to it — but not necessarily in a bad way. The clutter is more apparent in daylight, odds and ends stacked in every possible nook and cranny, giving it a strange and mysterious air that wasn't present before. Also not present is Hao — you scan your sleepy eyes across the small home, but it is still and silent and lifeless.

You wait a few minutes, remaining patiently beneath the covers. A few minutes pass, and you wait a few more — but he doesn't return. A bad feeling starts to arise in your gut. Where did he go? Did he abandon me? What if he never comes back??

Fear begins to flood your veins. You can sit around no longer — you quickly hop out of the bed, scurrying to get dressed and gather your belongings and leave before it's too late. Your heartbeat thumps in your ears as you rush toward the door; you grab the handle, swinging the heavy wooden door open — and come face to face with Hao.

You jump at the sight of him. He looks startled, and then concerned.

"Rosie? What's the matter?"

You freeze, staring up at him like a frightened deer.

"Are you alright?" He looks down at you, spotting your cloak on your body and your belongings in tow. "Are you leaving?"

"I— I thought you left," you stammer softly. "I got scared, I don't know…"

He lifts his arm, showing you the small basket resting over his wrist. In it are an assortment of herbs and a few handfuls of berries.

"I was just in the garden," he explains. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. Here—" he says as he steps across the threshold. His body is now terribly close to yours, causing an anxious pang in your stomach. "Let me make us some tea and breakfast."

You quickly take a small step back, lest he lingers a moment too long. Not that you would mind it…

He shuts the door behind him as he walks to his kitchen. You stand there for a moment, still considering running for it, but you figure a bit of breakfast wouldn't hurt. You still have a long journey back, after all.

As you put your things back down, Hao puts a small pot of water on to boil and then returns to the herbs, sorting and pruning them before tossing them into the pot as it begins to bubble. He unwraps the cloth off of a loaf of bread, gently cutting it into thick slices.

"Baked it yesterday," he tells you over his shoulder. "It's quite fresh. Though might not be so impressive to a professional baker," he adds lightheartedly.

"I'm sure it's delicious," you smile as you head over to the table. He serves you the bread with freshly-churned butter and an array of delicious-looking jams, accompanied by this morning's pick of berries and the piping hot tea. The tea's aroma is inviting; you gently blow into your cup as you take a small sip, finding it tastes as lovely as it smells.

"I must thank you for your kindness," you tell him as you spread some blackberry jam across your slice of bread. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't scared off whatever that was last night. And you've been more than generous to me with… everything." Memories of your intimacy last night begin to flutter through your mind; you do your best to ignore them — a task easier said than done.

"Of course," he smiles at you softly. "I'm more than glad I could help."

You sip your tea in silence for a few minutes, musing in the silence about the tales he told you last night. It all seems too impossible — but what reason would he have to lie to you?

Hao seems to be able to read your thoughts. "I understand the stories I told you last night may be difficult to believe."

"I believe you," you tell him. It's mostly true, anyway. "It's just… so much to think about."

You let out a small yawn, your eyelids drooping slightly. The warmth of the tea is starting to make you sleepy again. Unsurprising, given how little you actually were able to rest last night.

"I don't understand why they kept this from us though," you comment.

"The truth can be difficult to swallow," Hao replies with a shrug. "Sometimes the lies feel safer."

You yawn again, bigger this time. Your eyes suddenly feel quite heavy — your cup still has some tea in it, but you return it to its saucer. Best not get too sleepy before you have to go.

"You haven't told me why you live out here, yet," you tell him. Your tired eyes lose focus for a moment; you blink a few times, but the image of Hao before you is still a bit blurry. You press your palm into your forehead as it begins to throb achingly.

"Are you alright?," Hao asks, staring at you with concern. "You don't look so well."

"Yeah," you mumble. "I'm fine, I just…" Your head aches as the room around you wobbles a bit, then begins to spin.

"Rosie?" Hao asks, rising from his seat and catching you just in time before you collapse.

Your ears ring loudly. Faintly and far in the distance, the last thing you hear is him asking "Rosie, can you hear me? Rosie!"

The room goes dark around you, and you are now unconscious.

You wake to the cottage dim and shadowy again. You try to sit up, but can't — your body feels stiff and leaden. A soft groan escapes you; you can't see clearly, but you detect sudden movement in the near distance — a figure rushing toward you.

"Rosie!" Hao's voice calls out as he kneels beside the bed. He holds your heavy head in his hands as your eyes slowly focus on his soft features. "You passed out hours ago, I was so worried."

"What time is it?" you mumble, trying to get out of the bed. "I have to go home—" But you sit up too fast; head spinning dizzily, you fall back into the mattress.

"You're in no condition to travel," he tells you, brows furrowed with worry. "Please, take it easy, I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"What happened?" you ask him, rubbing your temples to sooth your aching head.

"You collapsed at breakfast," he answers, rubbing your arm softly. "You've been unconsious since then." He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. "You feel feverish — you must rest."

You shift back into the pillows, laying down again. You cover your face as tears begin to well in your eyes, quietly starting to cry.

"Hey, hey," Hao softly soothes you, holding you gently in his hands. "I'm going to take care of you, I promise. You're going to be alright."

He crawls over you to lay beside you on the bed. He takes you in his arms, cradling your head against his chest. His heart beats softly in your ear — you find it calming. You sink into his grasp, letting him hold you as close to him as physically possible. Laying there for several minutes in silence, you calm down again. You feel safe here; as long as you are with Hao, nothing can ever happen to you.

Hao watches you intensely. Your beauty is intoxicating; he doesn't know how he can ever let you go.

You feel his gaze on you, but you don't mind one bit. You fiddle with the hem of his top, lifting it slightly to expose his stomach. You press your hand against the warm skin, gliding your palm up and into his shirt. He lets out a huff of laughter; you glance up at him, meeting his eyes that remained fixed on you.

"You really know how to drive me crazy," he mumbles, planting a kiss into your forehead. His hand drifts to your hip, rubbing you through your dress and not-so-subtly squeezing at the flesh of your ass.

"Sorry," you tell him with a smile. He leans in, kissing your lips this time.

"Don't be."

He gathers the fabric of your skirt, pulling it up above your hips to expose your core. His fingertips flirt with the hem of your underwear, brushing against the soft skin of your stomach.

"Is this okay—"

"Yes," you immediately answer, nodding excitedly. He smiles, slipping his hand beneath the fabric, the pads of his fingers dipping into your heat. You sigh, relaxing as he touches you, gently circling around your clit. His movements are slow, but you quickly become aroused; your chest rises and falls with deep breaths as you can't help but squirm against the bed. He pushes one finger into your hole, eliciting a small whine from your throat. He pulses it in and out slowly, but your hips begin to rock restlessly.

"More," you whisper, staring up at him with aching need. He slips a second finger in, pushing them in as deep as he can. As he fucks you he curls his fingertips, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through your body as he easily reaches your most sensitive spot.

"Oh my gods…"

"You're so pretty," Hao murmurs as he leans in to kiss you. His lips tug hungrily at yours as he fucks his fingers into you, his tongue eventually slipping into your mouth to taste you fully. Your moans drift into his mouth, turning him on immensely. He works in and out of your cunt, your juices coating his hand as you drip with arousal. He recalls the sweet flavor of your pussy from last night, and he simply has to taste you again. He pulls his fingers out and lifts them to his lips, shoving them in his mouth and sucking your juices off — delicious, but he's nowhere near satiated.

"You're incredible," he praises as he quickly takes his place between your legs, yanking your underwear off with urgent haste. Immediately his mouth is on you; he flattens his tongue, licking a thick stripe over your slit. You bunch your skirt up in your hands, making sure you can enjoy the view — and gods is it a sight to see. Hao's tongue dances around your folds with expertise, lapping up the incessant wetness dripping from your core.

"Never tasted anything better," he mumbles into your pussy.

With that he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking gently as his fingers take their place inside you again. The pressure against your g-spot combined with the delicate suction upon your stimulated bud kindles a fire in your gut, overwhelming pleasure building and burning white-hot throughout you whole body.

"Hao," you whine, trying to tell him how good it feels, but your release quickly overtakes you. You cum on his face and fingers with an explosion of blissful moans, his name slipping out a few more times in a way that makes his cock throb.

You brush your fingers through his hair as he releases your clit. He carefully retrieves his fingers from inside you, licking the glistening wetness off his hand; he then returns to your cunt, dragging his tongue slowly as he wastes not a single drop of you.

"Kiss me," you mutter softly. He flicks his tongue against your hole for a few more seconds before rising, crawling up to you and pressing his lips into yours. His cock is hard, straining against the fabric of his pants and forming a heavy bulge. You reach for it as he kisses you, stroking his length slowly through the thick canvas, making him moan into your mouth.

"Please fuck me," you beg quietly against his lips.

"Of course, darling," he mumbles through another kiss.

You make quick work of removing his pants, freeing his stiff cock, running your thumb over its reddened, leaking tip. He does not bother to fully undress; in the blink of an eye he is rubbing the head over your pussy, wetting it and making you whimper at the stimulation to your still-throbbing clit.

"Need to feel you," you groan quietly, wriggling your hips as you try to lower yourself onto his cock.

"My baby's so needy," he hums, his dark eyes staring down at you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. Without warning he slips it inside you, making you whine sharply, a pleasurable sensation of fullness overcoming you as he sinks his full length deep into your cunt.

"Never wanna leave this perfect pussy," he mutters into your ear, nipping at your earlobe gently as he begins to drag his cock back out, nearly all the way, then plunging into you again. You let out a loud moan, and he's certain he could cum from the sound alone. He pumps his cock in and out, trying his hardest to go slowly, but the sensation of your walls squeezing against him tightly is overwhelmingly divine.

"More," you plead, gazing up at him with watering eyes.

"You want more, baby?" he croons, fucking you faster now.

"Yes," you moan desperately.

"Gonna fill you up, darling," he promises as he grabs your thighs, lifting them up and over as he practically folds you in half. His cock can reach even deeper now, flooding your eyes with tears at the overwhelming pleasure.

"Tell me you want my cum," he orders sweetly.

"I want it," you whine.

"Tell me this pussy is all mine."

"It's yours, baby."

"Good girl," his voice rumbles, low and husky through his heavy breaths. He gut burns with desire, his release imminent. A few more powerful thrusts and his climax overtakes him, his body stilling except for his pulsing cock spilling his cum inside you and his chest that heaves with racing breaths.

"Fuck," he groans, cock throbbing with a final few bursts of hot white ropes. "Fuck, your pussy is so good."

He catches his breath, slowly pulling his cock out of you, careful not to let his cum spill onto your dress. He fetches a towel, quickly cleaning you off before climbing back into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his embrace.

You lay there in silence, thinking. You feel Hao's gaze locked onto you; lifting your head you greet him face-to-face, finding intensity in his eyes but also softness.

"What are you thinking?" you ask him softly, running your hand beneath his shirt to grasp at his waist. He stares at you curiously for a moment, but then he shakes his head.

"Nothing," he tells you, planting a kiss on your forehead. "You should really get some rest, we'll need to leave at the break of dawn to get you back safely."

You know he's right, but your heart still sinks.

"What if I don't?"

His head tilts, brow furrowing at you with confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asks softly.

"What if I want to stay here with you?"

His eyes darken, but he just shakes his head. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling seemingly deep in thought.

"It's too dangerous," he says quietly. "There's nothing here for you."

"There's you," you tell him quietly, brushing your fingertips against his hand. He seems to stiffen — an unexpectedly cold gesture.

"Don't say that to me," he grumbles, averting your gaze.

"Why not?" you ask, tracing light circles onto the back of his hand.

His jaw clenches for a moment.

"Because," he sighs. "I'd let you stay. Forever, if you asked."

Your palm drifts to his torso, resting your hand atop his stomach.

"Maybe that's what I want."

He shakes his head. "I can't let you do that, Rosie. I'm sorry."

You lay in silence for a minute or so. The terrible sounds from out in the woods have begun again, furious winds against the cottage's exterior that perturb you, animalistic howling that chills you to your core.

"My name isn't actually Rosie," you tell him quietly. He perks up slightly, but still doesn't look at you. "I have been called that before — it was an old childhoodhood nickname. I was known for stealing flowers from every garden in town, the neighbors did not appreciate it one bit," you smile. "But my name is really y/n."

"Why are you telling me this now?" he questions.

"You were a stranger deep in the dark woods, and I was scared. I wasn't sure if I could trust you before," you admit.

He rests his hand atop yours, rubbing your skin softly.

"And what makes you think you can trust me now?"

It is uttered barely more than a whipser, but your stomach drops.

"W-what?" you stammer, your heartbeat beginning to accelerate in your chest. He slips his hand into yours, fingers intertwining as you lay there, frozen with anxiety.

You think back to how you got here in the first place: the mysterious cat, the voice in the wind leading you astray. All of it suspicious, sure, but you hadn't really given it much thought before — you were a bit busy trying not to get killed, and then spending intimate time with Hao…

"It was you," you say to the man laying beside you, voice small and shaky as the realization sinks in. "You led me astray."

"Beautiful and smart," he says calmly, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. He turns his head, greeting you with those dark eyes that pierce right into your soul. "Yes, it was me. I lured you in the wrong direction."

You stare back at him, frightened and enamored and feeling all sorts of conflicting emotions that shouldn't go together.

"Why?" you finally ask, the word whispered faintly as you remained trapped in his alluring gaze.

Hao looks at you as if deep in thought, staring back silently for a few moments.

"I'm not entirely sure," he admits at last. "You just were so beautiful out there — strolling through the woods lithely, foraging your mushrooms without a care in the world. I simply had to know more."

"But… how did you even do that? The voice in the wind, I mean. It called to me, almost as if by magic—"

You stop, horror washing over you as the pieces of the puzzle suddenly all clicking into place in your head. There was only one reason why anyone would be living this deep in the woods in the first place, and you cannot believe it didn't dawn on you sooner.

"You never told me why you live out here," you utter cautiously under your breath. Hao smiles softly, though it is a somber smile.

"I knew you would figure it out before long," he says, releasing your hand in favor of cradling your face in his palm. His touch is warm against your cool skin, yet you shiver. "I live here because I was banished those 400 years ago — all for the crime of seeking justice when no one else would."

Your eyes widen. You had already figured he was one of the magic-users of the old tales, but justice? That can only mean…

"You're the evil witch?!" you stammer in disbelief.

"Sorcerer, darling," he corrects. "We prefer the term sorcerer. As for evil… well, that's all a matter of perspective, isn't it?"

"So you're the one who poisoned all those people," you say, glowering back at him. "I'd say murder is pretty evil."

"I never harmed anyone who didn't deserve it," he says calmly, but you can tell a deep, honest anger is stewing within him. "Those people who received the unfortunate potions were worthless bastards, violent, abusive drunks who treated their wives and children like they were worthless — men that were truly the scum and filth of society."

He pauses, heavy breaths escaping him in his resentment. He stares past you now, his mind hundreds of years in the past.

"I ran the town's apothecary shop. People came to me for all sorts of reasons, seeking everything from common cold cures to tinctures that could calm their nerves. But soon I came to realize a disturbing trend: many women would come in bearing injuries, claiming them to be from household mishaps. But I saw the fear in their eyes — these were no accidents. I mended their wounds and sent them on their way, but I hated that there was nothing else I could do. One very late night a woman actually came to my home, banging on back door and sobbing inconsolably. She had the worst bruises I'd ever seen, accompanied by a broken rib and a wholly shattered spirit. Her husband had very nearly killed her, and she came to me in search of anything that could ease the pain — but I had seen enough. I gave her a small vial and told her to slip it into her husband's coffee; he died the very next day of heart failure. Nobody suspected a thing. Other women came started visiting me, looking for solutions to problems of their own. I was discrete, treading with caution as not to draw attention to myself. Nobody could prove a damn thing, but the town council had always had it out for me. One day a councilman was bucked off his horse and trampled to death; I had nothing to do with that, but they blamed me anyway. Said I placed a curse on him — trust me, if I had thought of that I would've done it sooner." His jaw clenches, tensed by the sour memories. "Never liked him anyway."

Your head spins as you process Hao's words. He admits he killed all those people, and you fucking slept with him. The thought makes your stomach curdle. But if what he says is true, you're not sure if you can really blame him.

"So, they banished you."

"They gave me one of two options: immediate banishment, or being hung at the gallows." He lets out a single huff of a laugh. "Some options, really. Anyone else who was known to have ever so much as attempted to conjur a spell was banished alongside me. Many were angry with me, while others sympathized. But regardless, we all set out for the deep woods of the Northernlands. A new village was formed, but I stayed out here, far from the others. Figured it was for the best that I kept to myself from then on. They went on with their lives, but eventually most of them grew old and died."

"But not you," you say quietly.

"But not me."

"So, you're immortal then."

He shakes his head. "Not quite. But I certainly have a much longer lifespan than the others. As far as I know, there may be a few still out there, but we all keep to ourselves now."

"But, how??"

Hao turns to you, a sly grin appearing on his face.

"Magic, my love."

You lay in silence together for a few minutes. Hao still holds your hand, and for reasons you can't explain, you let him.

"I have one more question," you eventually speak. "Did you drug me this morning?"

Hao is silent, but that's enough of an answer for you.

Eventually, you drift off to sleep. Hao doesn't sleep a wink.

You wake at the brink of dawn at Hao shaking you gently.

"Y/n, wake up."

"Hmm?" you question, popping one eye barely-open.

"You have to leave."

You yawn, not wanting to leave the comfort of the bed. "Right now?"

"Yes, right away."

He pulls the covers off, the coldness of the cottage hitting you abruptly. Reluctantly you allow him to help you up; he hurriedly fetches your boots and cloak.

"Why the rush?" you inquire as you lace up your shoes. Rising to your feet again, he wraps your cloak around you, unanswering. He walks you to the door, handing you your basket of puffballs.

"Hao—" you start, but he shakes his head, opening the door escorting you out.

"Go," he speaks quietly, staring solemnly down at the ground. "Before I try and stop you."

"How will I—"

"You'll know the way," he cuts you off. "Just follow your instincts."

He starts to shut the door, but you reach up and stop it before it closes.

"How can I ever find you again?"

He looks up, gazing back at you through the slim crack in the doorway.

"You shan't," he answers.

"Well I'm going to," you reply, refusing to accept that you will never see him again. He smiles sadly, but says nothing else. The door shuts, and you are once again alone in the woods.

You try not to cry as you start off through the trees again. You don't really know where you're going, and the forest's canopy is too dense for you to tell from where the sun is rising; but through the softly filtered dawn light, you set off in the direction that feels the most like south.

You walk for ten minutes or so in nearly complete silence. There is no breeze, no birds singing; no other signs of life to be seen.

Probably for the better, you think to yourself, remembering the fright you felt two nights ago as you were stalked by the mysterious beasts. But just as the thought passes through your mind, your ears tingle at the rustling coming from the nearby brush. You freeze, unsure if you should be still or simply run for it, but the creeping fear rising in your gut has your feet seemingly glued to the forest floor. You stare at the bush; whatever is in there seems small, but that doesn't necessarily quell your anxiety. Suddenly a pair of glowing eyes appears through the leaves, followed by a small furry creature pouncing out before you. You jump, but recognize the soft brown fur as your feline friend from before.

"Hey there," you say to the familiar animal, leaning down to pet it. "You almost scared me, cat."

The cat rubs against your legs, circling you a few times before heading off in a slightly different direction than you were headed. You watch it walk away, but after a few meters it stops, turning back around to stare at you. The cat makes no sound, but its eyes gaze at you intensely, as if saying follow me.

And so you follow after the cat through the woods. You walk and walk, eventually starting to wonder if it were a mistake to blindly follow after an animal, but soon the familiar sound of gently-flowing water pricks against your ears. Sure enough, a few moments later the Outer Creek comes into sight. You rush towards it, grinning ecstatically as your home forest comes into view. The cat stops before creek, sitting next to a sequence of large rocks you can easily use to hop across the water.

"Thank you," you say to the creature, kneeling down to pet it. It purrs gently, then with a swoosh of its tail knocks your basket out of your hand.

"Hey! You troublemaker," you say to the cat as you scramble to grab your mushrooms before they fall into the creek, but it's already prancing off. As you return the puffballs to the basket, a brief glimmer of something shiny at the bottom catches your eye. You reach in, hand closing around something small and metallic; as you pull it out you realize that it is a compass. It looks antique, with ornate designs etched into its polished gold exterior, but something seems slightly off about it. You rise to your feet again, turning in a circle and watching the needle swivel in a direction that is not north; instead, it points back into the forest — pointing in the direction you just came from.

Standing there at the edge of the brush is the cat. It watches you with a familiar gaze, staring at you knowingly. You grin softly, tucking the compass into your coat pocket for safekeeping. The cat watches as you hop across the stones in the river, making it safely to the otherside — home at last.

You look back at the cat one final time. It watches you for a few more moments, as if saying goodbye, then turns, disappearing into the dense foliage once again.

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