pairing: spider-han x f!reader, established relationship
genre/tags: spider-man/marvel au, oneshot, porn with plot, multiple positions, forced m*sturbation, oral (f!receiving), light face-f*cking, missionary, unprotected sex (don't do that), DOM!reader, subby!sung with some bratty!sung, dragging that man by the tie a few times, itty bitty breeding kink
word count: 5.2k
synopsis: Being Spider-Man's girlfriend is already hard with him almost dying every other week. It also doesn't help that he is now exponentially hotter. Jisung was already pretty, but now the rest of the city seems to think so, too.
playlist: spideyboy
[a/n] this took nearly a month to finish...i really loved the concept and i wasn't going to give up on it! hope it’s not too long~
⋆˚࿔ series: i'm still here, aren't i? ⋆ m.list ⋆
You were sprawled across the couch in a position that would probably concern a chiropractor. One leg dangled over the armrest while the other hooked over the back cushions. With nothing else to occupy your afternoon, you mindlessly scrolled through social media. Jisung had canceled your date at the last minute, so you had nothing better to do.
A video from a local news station caught your attention. The reporter stood in front of a row of trendy artisan storefronts tucked into one of the more aggressively gentrified corners of your borough. The damage behind her was impossible to miss. Windows had been shattered. One shop's front door hung crookedly from a single hinge. Another looked partially scorched. According to the report, an organized string of simultaneous robberies had swept through the market street earlier that day, but all seven suspects had been stopped by Spider-Man.
"I am here with the hero himself!" the reporter announced excitedly, gesturing toward the masked vigilante beside her. "Tell me, Spider-Man, how did it feel to single-handedly apprehend seven dangerous individuals?"
"Well," Spider-Man replied in an almost offensively fake deep voice, "I'm just grateful to help my city. And I hope we can extend some sympathy to our fellow citizens who committed these crimes as well. Sometimes people need difficult lessons in order to grow."
You snorted. Jisung had been trying very hard to improve his public image lately. Not that there had been anything wrong with it before, but he'd recently decided he wanted to be more "intentional" with his appearances. Apparently that meant sounding like a motivational speaker trapped inside a bad Batman impression.
"What a beautiful statement," the reporter sighed, placing a dramatic hand over her heart. "Is there anything else you'd like to—"
She was abruptly cut off. A young woman wrapped in one of those shiny emergency blankets pushed her way into frame.
"I just want to personally thank Spider-Man for everything he's done," she declared, commandeering the microphone before anyone could stop her. Then she grabbed his masked face and kissed him.
Your eyebrows shot upward. The heat that spread through your chest was immediate and unpleasant. The video ended shortly after, but you found yourself scrolling straight to the comments.
That was a mistake.
Over a thousand people were discussing how attractive Spider-Man was. How brave he was. How kind he was. How broad his shoulders looked. How deep his voice sounded.
You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck.
That man had launched himself eight feet into the air and clung to the kitchen ceiling last week because there was a roach in the sink. You had to kill it with a slipper while he stared down at the scene from above.
By the time you reached a comment detailing how badly someone needed Spider-Man "biblically," you had enough. You scrolled away with an aggravated huff.
Unfortunately, your algorithm interpreted this as enthusiastic engagement. The next video was a slow-motion edit of Spider-Man swinging through the city to bass-boosted R&B. Then came a compilation of him catching falling civilians. One focused on his hands. Another edit zoomed in on various…attributes of his suit.
You exited the app. You had officially ruined your own day.
By the time the front door opened, you were still lying on the couch, still staring at your phone with a scowl.
"Hey." Jisung stepped inside dressed in his usual clothes thrown over the suit beneath, a drink carrier in one hand and a small paper bag in the other. "I brought your favorite."
Your eyes narrowed.
"Why is there a phone number written on it?"
He blinked and turned the cup. There, written in black marker beside a smiley face, was a phone number. "I don't know."
"Did you order that as Jisung or Spider-Man?"
"Spider-Man. One of the store owners insisted I take something before I left."
You sighed dramatically and flopped onto your back, abandoning both the conversation and the drink. Jisung remained standing there, still holding the cursed matcha.
"...You good?" He scurried over and set everything on the coffee table.
"I'm fine." You sounded decidedly not fine.
He ran a hand through his hair. "Are you mad I had to cancel?" he asked cautiously. "We can still get dinner."
You considered it. Maybe leaving the apartment would be good. You'd spent the entire afternoon commiserating.
"I don't mind," you finally said. "Are you okay to go out?"
"Yeah. Today was smooth enough." He smiled a little. "Let's get ready."
You looked at him. At his fluffy hair. At the drinks he'd brought you. At the paper bag that undoubtedly contained your favorite pastries. Then your eyes drifted to the phone number still written on the cup.
Your eye twitched.
Jisung insisted you both dress nicely despite only going to the little Italian place a few blocks away. You put on a dress that had definitely gotten shorter since the last time you wore it and even slipped into a pair of heels. Jisung did his best. He wore a white button-up with a tie and the only pair of dress pants he owned. His hair remained characteristically messy and he still paired everything with his beat-up Chucks. Honestly, he looked annoyingly good.
Your mood had improved by the time you arrived. The restaurant was run by a kind older woman who remembered you from when you and Jisung had been even poorer college students. To this day, she made sure your plates were a little too full and that you never left without leftovers. She always sat you at the same tiny table tucked in the back corner, directly across from the bar.
Dinner was lovely.
It had been a while since you'd had a proper date with Jisung. You caught each other up on work, trading stories about lab mishaps and mischievous students. You updated one another on your respective theses, taking turns using jargon the other only vaguely understood. He nodded along as you explained theories and studies. You smiled through explanations of robotics and biomedical engineering. For once, everything felt normal.
Then the television over the bar switched to a news segment about Spider-Man.
"Y/n, did you see what Spider-Man did in Greenpoint today?" your waitress asked. She was lucky you'd known her since she was a teenager.
You straightened slightly. "A little."
"Girl, he took down, like, eleven people and stopped a fire. What a man."
You slowly looked at Jisung. He slowly looked up from his pasta.
"He sure is," you said flatly.
"Ugh." Teresa pressed a hand to her chest. "I wouldn't mind a man in a suit if he looked like that. He's been filling it out lately."
You tried, sincerely, to be civil. "I just noticed."
"I've been noticing," she said with a laugh.
…could Spider-Man bail you out of jail?
She turned to Jisung. "Sorry, Sung. I had to fangirl for a second."
Jisung flashed the brightest smile, like a little kid on Easter. "Nah," he said. "I think he'd like it."
You leered at him, praying lightning would strike him where he sat. He snuck a saucy smile at you.
"Oh, the things I'd say to his face." Teresa fanned herself with her order pad. "Anyway, you guys want the usual dessert?"
Before Jisung could answer, you spoke. "Not tonight. It's been a long day."
"No worries." She scribbled something onto her notepad. "I'll have the kitchen pack it to go."
The walk home was quiet. Your heels clicked sharply against the pavement, each step carrying an attitude of its own. Beside you, Jisung was beginning to grow concerned. When you reached the little park by your building, he gently caught your arm.
"You wanna sit for a bit?" he asked. "It's not late."
You didn't answer. You simply followed him toward the swings. He stood beside you while you took one of the seats. After a moment, he lightly pushed yours.
"Did you like dinner?” he attempted. The swing creaked.
"I'm not mad at you, Ji."
"Okay." He sounded half-relieved, but he gave another small push, still trepidatious. "You're mad at something, though. What is it?"
You chewed the inside of your cheek. "You have hundreds - maybe thousands - of people crushing on you."
The swing stopped. "Huh?"
"Did you not hear Teresa? Do you not check social media?"
"Oh - that.”
You turned. “‘That,’” you repeated. “So you do know!”
"I mean..." He reached out and nudged the swing again, absentmindedly. "They have crushes on Spider-Man."
You looked up at him sharply. "You are Spider-Man."
"Well..." He frowned slightly. "Technically."
"Jisung."
"What? Don't fight me on this." He lifted his hands in surrender. "They don't like me. They like the persona - concept of Spider-Man."
"Did that girl not try to kiss you today? She didn't kiss an idea."
His eyes darted away, a little guiltily at first. "You saw that?"
"Yes!" You threw your hands up. "How often does that happen?"
His expression did something strange. It softened first, then slowly shifted into something far more entertained. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Not...a lot."
You narrowed your eyes. "But it has happened before."
His lips twitched. "Y/n..."
"No, answer the question."
He wore the most insufferable grin.
"Oh my God. It has happened before."
His laugh only made your expression crumple further. “Jisung!” you started, your voice squeaking.
"Okay, okay!" He held his hands up again, still laughing. "A few times."
"A few?"
"They're usually excited. I don't think much of it."
"You don't think much of people flirting with you?"
"I didn't know they were flirting with me."
You couldn’t bare to look at him. You turned away to sneer at the little springy frog thing. He ended up reaching over, gently taking your face in both hands.
"You are jealous."
You immediately peeled his hands away. "I'm not jealous."
"You are."
"I'm not."
The grin on his face was starting to get under your skin. "Then what are you?"
You crossed your arms. "That implies I think they have a shot."
Suddenly, his expression flattened. Then one eyebrow lifted.
"Oh."
You frowned. "What?"
He looked far too delighted. "Ooh." He grabbed onto the chains of the swing. "Possessive. I like this."
"I am not possessive."
"You kind of are."
You swung at him. He leaned back with a laugh, easily dodging.
"Violent, too!" he said, giggling.
"Stop enjoying this."
"I can't!" He was positively beaming now. "You got jealous over Spider-Man."
"I’m not jealous over you."
"Right,” he said seriously, swinging you by the chains tauntingly. “Just of my admirers."
You pushed at his chest, as hard as you could, but of course he didn’t budge.
He leaned forward until he was in your space again, his smile so fond it was irritating. "You know I'm coming home with you, right?"
Your eyebrows pinched together for a moment before the realization hit. The annoyance melted away, replaced by a smile that was far too bright for your mood.
You lingered on Jisung. He didn't need his Spider-Sense to know something had changed. The second he noticed that look, he instinctively leaned back. Not fast enough - your hand found his tie, fingers curling snugly around the knot before giving it a firm tug.
Jisung lurched forward with a startled noise, suddenly not even inches away. It wasn't enough to hurt him - nothing close - but it was enough to catch him completely off guard. He couldn’t meet your eyes. You had to bite back a laugh.
"Then let's go home," you said simply.
You let go and rose from the swing, uselessly smoothing down your dress before starting down the path. Your heels clicked softly against the pavement.
Behind you, the swing creaked. Jisung remained frozen for a second, still holding on to the chains, watching you leave with the same stunned expression. Then, shaking his head to regain some sense, he hurried after you, eyes refusing to look anywhere beyond your short skirt.
By the time you two arrived at your place’s elevator, the tension had gotten palpable. Jisung stayed glued behind you, holding you by the hips so he could rub your ass against him, all while he lazily attacked your neck.
“God, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, pushing up against you brazenly. You shook slightly, trying to fetch your keys from your bag.
You barely got the door open, not with Jisung practically humping you into the frame. When you finally managed to get through, your belongings and shoes were discarded immediately. All that mattered was dragging Jisung by the tie to the couch. He followed gleefully, spread wide so you had ample room to sit on.
When you straddled him, he was already solid and warm. Your weight alone made him gasp. You grinned - it took so little to begin unraveling him. Your lips finally crashed together within the second, hungrily. There was an unwarranted need from the both of you, something surprisingly unsatiated. The kiss was messy, loud, and aggressive.
Jisung’s hands were at your waist before you had even settled, tracing your body thoroughly like it hadn’t been his for years. At first, there was a ghost of hesitation still in his movements. He’d never totally not be on guard about his strength around you. But the way you kissed him back like you were starving made most of that vanish.
Your fingers rested in your favorite spot, his hair. He needed a haircut, so there was plenty to latch your fingers onto and tug, coaxing his lips open so you could deepen the kiss. Jisung held you close, tightening his own grip so there was no distance at all - your bodies pressed against each other perfectly, your lips inseparable.
You broke away reluctantly, but you unfortunately needed air. Your lips were swollen and his were bitten blue already. You two gasped for air like it had been denied. “Bedroom,” you huffed. “Now.”
With no effort whatsoever, he lifted you with an arm. You squeaked and held onto him tighter. He laughed heartily, allowing himself to enjoy for once how dainty you felt clinging to his chest. He threw you down on the bed with calculated strength; you bounced slightly. He meant to follow, to pin you down to the mattress but—
In a firm voice, you uttered, “Kneel.”
Knowing his place, Jisung backed up and fell to his knees, the floor cracking under the impact. You sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, where his hands slid up your legs greedily, pushing up what little of your minidress covered your thighs.
“Hands off,” you said, your face a poignant scowl.
Jisung listened quietly, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric of his slacks between his fingers. He looked up at you through wide, round eyes, his mouth curled into a pitiful pout that would've worked on anyone else.
It fractured your resolve.
Only slightly.
You leaned forward and, this time, you wrapped his tie around your fist and dragged him over so you were forehead-to-forehead. You could feel his uneven breaths against your lips.
“I don’t need to hear random broads call my boyfriend hot,” you whispered slowly.
He gulped, finally understanding.
“I don’t want them commenting on how nice your ass is or how big your bulge is.” You tugged him hard so he got even closer. You spoke into his ear, feeling him tremble in your grasp like he couldn’t easily break it. “I don’t want them touching you or kissing you when that’s my right.”
He swallowed. “That’s n-not me. That’s Spider-Man.”
You pulled him away from your face; he yelped a high, embarrassing hiccupy sound.
“Aren’t you Spider-Man?”
Jisung grew more and more panicked with each second. “I-I am but Ji—I-I would never.”
You tipped your head to the side, mirroring his exaggerated pout with one of your own. “Peter Han seemed so entertained that I was jealous, right?”
He nodded because he knew he had to.
“You thought it was cute that I have sit around and let the world thirst after my boyfriend and I can’t even tell them to stop.”
“Baby, I’m sorry,” and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “Let me make it up to you.”
You brought a free, mocking finger to your cheek as you pretended to mull over his proposition. Seconds dragged on painfull. “Mm, touch yourself,” you volunteered after a while like it was inspired. “Because I won’t be.”
His eyes softened, glassy beneath the light, while his expression cycled through shock and fear and hesitation. He studied your face for any sign that you'd take it back. There wasn't one.
After slowly processing his fate, Jisung settled firmly on the back off his feet and brought a tentative hand to his crotch. His neat fingers trailed down his front slowly before he palmed himself. His breath hitched, his whole big body tensing as he squeezed himself pathetically.
Your shoulder lifted until your cheek pressed against it, a grin you couldn't quite contain tugging at your face. His nice dress-pants had grown uncomfortably tight, obvious by how much his growing bulge strained against the fabric. A dark patch even stained beneath where he grabbed. Jisung was so worked up. His pretty curved nose was pink and he bit his lip mercilessly to keep from moaning.
“You wanna cum, honey?” you asked with all the levity of asking if it’d rain tomorrow.
“Please,” was all Jisung could get out between deep, labored breaths. He looked half-crazed and distraught from so little.
“Then do it yourself,” you sang. “Properly.”
Jisung let out what was hybrid of a choke and a sigh. His right hand was already moist from the dampness of his trousers. His other hand had been clawing into his thigh. Cheeks red and warm, he fumbled with his belt first, keenly aware of your cruel grin as his hands shook. His zipper had barely been lowered before his hard-on dared burst through his boxers. You marveled when his swollen cock finally appeared, fat, red, and shiny with precum.
Unceremoniously, Jisung spat onto his fingers, coating them before he grabbed at his shaft. He finally released a tortured, drawn-out moan as he massaged the length, finding some satisfaction. He gripped himself hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.
“You wish that was me, hm?” you cooed. “Or the bitch you kissed you today?”
“G-god,” he stuttered. “N-never. I swear.” His voice faltered, his hand didn’t.
“I bet you wanted her to lift the mask so she could kiss you properly, right?” you continued, your voice teetering between saccharine and mean. “It probably felt good when she ran her grubby hands up your chest.”
Jisung whined, a hurt cry stuck in his throat, but he also rubbed himself harder. “No, baby.”
“I don’t think so. That’s why you can fuck your hand.”
Jisung panted through half-formed excuses, his own hand unrelenting around his shaft. He rutted into his grip. His desperation made the floor buckled with each thrust; it made the bed dip, too. The neighbors surely could feel and hear every sad tug. You relished in his babbling and the sharp slapping sound his cock made as he chased the poor replacement for own warmth.
“Go ahead, Ji,” you said lightly. “Go make a mess for me.”
A straggled sound replaced a yes. Hunched over, Jisung moaned loudly as he milked himself dry, spilling hastily all over his nice shirt and good pants and the floor. He spurted so much, it shook him. It honestly made you sad how much went to waste. Afterwards, he fell forward, his hands banging onto the hardwood with a boom that was surely going to get reported to the landlord.
Watching him catch his breath on all fours almost convinced you he'd finally reached his limit. The small smile tucked beneath his messy bangs ruined the illusion.
“Ji, come here,” you said, with a poor mask of seriousness. The way he was at your feet within the second, doe-eyes shiny and expecting - you didn’t stand a chance.
In high school, that was the face waiting on your doorstep after he'd run blocks across town because you hadn't answered your phone. In college, those were the round eyes that lingered on the train platform until you disappeared from view. Nowadays, that same gummy smile greeted you through split lips and drying blood, asking about your day while his body quietly put itself back together.
“What did you learn?” you asked, running a hand through his hair.
He melted into your touch. “Spider-Man needs to start shoving civilians to the ground.”
You smacked his head softly. “I won’t let you touch me for a month, Jisung.”
“Okay, okay,” he muttered. “I belong to my hot girlfriend.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle. “‘Belong’ is a strong word.”
“Am I not all yours, though?” He rested his head on your knee, nudging against it like a haughty cat. “Can I show you?”
“You’re real cocky for someone who was crying a minute ago.”
Jisung slowly climbed up from his prostration, his hands finding your hips and pushing you farther into the bed. He still looked a little teary-eyed, his cheeks tinged red, but he was grinning and his length was hard again already.
“Because you’re mean and you like making me cry,” he complained as he crawled above you, straddling you beneath him.
“Fight back.”
“Meh. Don’t wanna.”
He leaned down and kissed you, this time softly and leisurely as if savoring your lips. You could feel a wide smile between each one. He was having the time of his life.
You released him long enough to command, “Take your clothes off.”
He giddily followed - took his time though. He undressed all while stealing mini-glances at you leered at him, like he wanted to your approval.
Staring at that hot man jump out of his pants, with his foot caught in the pant-leg, put all sorts of pressure in your stomach. You'd spent a long time trying to be mature about it - how you felt about that new body of his. It wasn’t exactly a gift, first of all. And it wasn’t new anymore either; for a while now, he’d had broad shoulders, a wide, squishy chest, and arms he couldn’t hide in any shirt. The spider had changed him, turned your already attractive boyfriend into the sort of man strangers openly stared at in grocery stores. That bothered you just as much as the comment sections lusting over Spider-Man. You'd been noticing since high school, how pretty he was. The difference was that now everyone else had caught up.
He returned to run his hands up your sides, riding your dress up so it covered nothing. His fingers shyly settled, stroking a small patch of plump skin.
“What am I allowed to do?” He looked up at you expectantly, long lashes batting with every blink.
You laughed as you sank firmly unto the mattress, getting comfortable. “What do you think you’ve earned?”
His entire face committed to the pout while he thought. “The right to apologize?” God, he could be cute.
“Apologize, then.”
That was all he needed to hear.
He lowered down until his face was mere inches from your warmth. A shaky chuckle escaped as he realized you had been so wet this entire time. It sent a shiver up your spine, your resolve slowly crashing. He brushed a tentative thumb over your panties, the dampness cool and enticing. He continued to stroke slowly as he waited to hear you whimper or something.
A part of you really wanted to make him wait, rile him up some more even if it cost you some of your sanity. But the mattress shook as he rutted into it and his finger only got faster and faster, digging deeper and deeper through soaked folds. You finally had to moan.
It was like a starting gun had gone off - with shameless desperation, he pushed your useless underwear to the side and buried himself between your thighs. He couldn’t stop himself from diving in and prodding his tongue as deep as it could go.
“F-fuck.” You were already struggling to speak, overwhelmed in the best possible way. You tangled your fingers into his hair, keeping him exactly where you wanted him.
Luckily, he was more than happy to delve deeper, licking and sucking like he had been starved.
“Mine,” he murmured between laps. His swollen lips stayed on your clit, moans cascading from your throat freely now. Your thighs instinctively tried to close on him, but he held them open so he could have the space he needed to switch between prodding his tongue into you and sucking your clit for dear life.
Gasping over him, it all had become entirely too much. The heat in your stomach burned and your legs shook. Your hips rolled into his face, fucking his sweaty, spitty face.
He groaned against you, vibrating you from your core. “P-please cum,” he panted, his voice rough and strained. “Cum on my face, please.”
He whined that word against your sopping pussy, finding it within himself to sink his mouth even deeper, determined. One arm reached around one leg to keep your grinding hips close while his other hand slid through the mess you made and rubbed slow circles against your clit. By that point, you choked back sobs while he only got faster and rougher.
In the end, you simply gripped his hair harder and pushed down further as the heat overtook you. Your body trembled, your moans echoing off the walls. Jisung stayed put, working you through it as gently as he could.
For a moment, all you saw were stars. Then Jisung's eyes came into focus as he leaned over to check on you, gently sweeping the hair from your face.
“You okay?” He tried his best to sound normal.
You nodded, but the weight on your leg reminded you that the night wasn’t quite done yet. Jisung caught on a second later and quickly retreated, looking almost sheepish. You offered a weak, teasing smile.
“Help me take my dress off,” you said.
He didn’t need to be told twice. You winced when the cool air washed over you, your body still warm as you came down.
Ready, you gently grabbed Jisung’s arm before he could rummage through the nightstand.
“No condom tonight,” you said simply. “You need to know I’m yours, too.”
His eyes shimmered for a moment, his mouth parted like he hadn’t been aware of that after all these years. He was impossible sometimes. Unable to stop himself, he crashed into your lips first. He had you pinned under him, his mouth claiming every bit of your skin he could find. It took minutes for him to break away.
Eventually, he released you and sat back to freed his patient, overwhelmed erection. You felt a twinge of guilt; it was so flushed.
With low, wanton hiss, he lined himself at your entrance, his swollen tip aching against the heat. He tried, honestly, he wanted to push himself in slowly, to feel you stretch open, but you were so tight and hot and you whimpered while only the head had passed through and he couldn’t help himself - he shoved his fat cock deep inside with one hard thrust.
You moaned, high and much too loud for your annoyed neighbors, as he was already up against your cervix.
“Shit, you’re mine,” Jisung choked. “Why would I want a-anyone else?”
Each word was accompanied by smooth, deliberate plunge into your wet cunt - each ram faster and harder than the last. You were so wet again already - the sound was heavenly to him and only made him want to shove into you harder, feel your tight walls suffocate him.
“J-ji,” you panted against his ear. Your voice was barely audible over the sound of your bodies slapping together. “You’re g-going to cum inside me, r-right?”
His hands stayed planted on either side of your head, his face buried in the crook of your neck. It wasn’t the night to kneed your breasts or admire your waist. He only wanted to feel you flutter against his throbbing cock - to hear you moan his name like it was only word you knew - to fill you up.
“B-baby, wanna cum inside you so much…always.”
His movements grew harsher, his hips cracking into yours madly. You whimpered with him as he slammed into your cervix repeatedly. He felt nothing - he knew nothing - outside your soaked pussy.
“I c-can’t,” you whispered. “I can’t hold on a-any longer. Cum inside me. You’re so good.”
His pace only quickened. “Fuck, baby, I’ll fill you up. I-I promise.”
Shakily, he’d pull himself as far out as he could before pushing into you again. He did it over and over again, until he lost all rhythm and sense. You lost the ability to form words or even sounds that weren’t guttural moans; Jisung figured out he could still get lightheaded.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum, b-babe.”
Jisung’s hands suddenly slammed into your hips as he steadied you to take all of him, every single last drop. His cock twitched, spilling so, so much of him inside you. The load was heavy and fast - it was so much too quick that it spilled back out of you, soiling the sheets.
The room was warm and quiet and comfortable, your bodies slowly relaxing into one another as you unraveled bit by bit. Jisung went slack after he pulled out, collapsing against you with a soft thud. He was so much heavier now. His head rested on your chest, weighty enough that it made breathing a little difficult. You couldn't hold him anymore.
"Ji," you murmured. "Ji, hey." You tapped the side of his head. "Scoot."
With a tired groan, he dragged himself just far enough to lie beside you, but not far. The moment he settled, instinct took over. He gathered you back into his arms, pulling you flush against him until there wasn't any space left between you. Face to face, you still felt impossibly small beneath the shelter of his embrace. You reached up and cupped his flushed cheek. His skin was warm, almost feverish from exhaustion, and his long, straight lashes brushed against your fingertips when he blinked.
"I miss your glasses," you said softly.
Jisung's face scrunched, his brain not yet ready to think yet.
"I can't get used to you without them. It feels like you're missing something."
"I don't need them anymore," he mumbled, the words barely making it out between slow, sleepy breaths.
Your thumb traced the shape of his face - the sharper jaw he'd grown into, the bridge of his nose, a long scar disappearing into his hairline that still hadn't faded all the way yet.
"It's different."
A yawn interrupted him before he spoke again. "You know what's not different?"
He shifted even closer, until you were tucked securely against his chest. You rolled your eyes, already knowing he'd sense it.
"I mean it," he murmured.
He held in his arms even closer, tight like the way someone crosses their fingers.
[ (stray kids) han jisung x female reader ] fluff, friends to ?, oblivious!ji, admirer!reader, passenger princess | warning/s: very mild cursing (“damn”), short
library | fics & drabbles | wanna request?
you and jisung would go on late night drives a lot, just as friends. if either one of you got overwhelmed at an event or just had a bad day in general, you could go out and drive together, (you nine times out of ten the passenger princess), and it felt like the world fell away for a moment. like it was just the two of you and the music filling your ears from the stereo.
well, tonight was one of those nights. you both had just an overall horrible day, and you just needed an escape from reality. so, you got together and got in his car, just driving around the overall area. you were softly humming along to the song playing in the air, elbow perched on the window sill, chin in the palm of your hand. you glanced over at jisung, who was singing along quite a bit louder than you, but you started to really look at him.
inspecting his features with tenderness in your eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. maybe you just never payed enough attention, or maybe it was the small shimmer of the moon that was highlighting his features in a swoon-worthy way, but he was beautiful. not that you ever thought he was ugly, but… damn.
he glanced over at you when your favorite part of the song came on, before looking back to the road, feeling a warmth creep up his neck, which made him beyond grateful for the darkness that encircled you both. he paused his singing for a moment. “do i have something on my face…?” he asked, his voice just barely louder than the now pretty much forgotten music playing in the background.
you shook your head, feeling a warmth creep up your own cheeks despite the cold wind blowing through the car window, quickly looking away as your eyes met his. “no, no… you’re just so… i think this is really your lighting.”
he let out a soft laugh, eyebrows knitting together as he started driving through your neighborhood. “the one where you can barely see me?” he joked, but he was slightly, genuinely confused. why were you looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars? he reached over, turning down the music on the stereo.
“that’s not what i mean and you know that! just… the moonlights’ glow and all. it highlights your eyes well.” you explained. “and your lips.” you mumbled a little bit quieter, not able to hold yourself back.
“well, thank you…” he replied, pulling into your driveway. although it was just a small murmur, your last words made his heart feel like it might fly out of his chest.
you didn’t realize how your last words came out until later, replaying the moment in your head while laying in your bed and letting out a groan. you couldn’t believe you just said that, but you weren’t lying, so…
synopsis: jisung loves the high of a performance more than anything. the way people scream his name, cheer for his every move. not only is it addictive, but it goes straight to his dick.
pairing: idol!jisung x bsf!reader
genre: smut
contains: jisung being a horny fuck, jerking off, one sided phone sex (?? reader doesn’t realize he’s doing stuff until the very end), pet names (rockstar), probably more but i’m really bad at tagging T-T
word count: 1.2k
requested by: 🪼 anon !!
now playing: in the blur of the rain - jiwoo
[a/n]: sooooo this is my first time writing anything in months, so pretty please be kind if it’s not up to par with my other works ;-; i wrote this in like 3 hrs because i was bored and wanted to dip my toes back into the writing community again, so please give it some grace !! this is not proof read. please enjoy this little treat !! i hope i did your request justice ><
he should be asleep, he knows that.
jisung’s muscles ache like he’s ran a marathon—not a horrible analogy when taking into consideration the ungodly amount of dashing across the stage he did tonight. he always over does it, but he can never seem to do any less. he likes the ache, the way his right hand twitches slightly from how tight he has to hold his mic. likes hearing his beats blasting through his in ears. but what does he like more than anything?
his audience.
the cheering, the familiar syllables of his name echoing through stadiums, the way the fans fucking scream.
he really can’t help it, the way it seeps into his veins and pushes him throughout the rest of their stage. jesus christ, it just feels so fucking good. it’s moments like that when he gets it, gets why people like being in the spotlight.
jisung’s never usually one to be fully confident in his body—cheeks to big, never quite lean like felix, never enough muscle to rival changbin—but hearing the cheers and the chants make him feel like someone else. it leaves him bouncing off the walls with unbridled charisma and an ego bigger than chans (if that’s even possible).
and once the group takes their leave from the stage, ushered into the green room by staff? that shit sticks with him for hours.
so much so that he can reminisce on it with ease later in the solitude of his hotel room, hand shoved down the front of his boxers as his wrists burns with that same ache the rest of his body shares. he’s came once already, but that just serves to make the glide easier, the feeling richer with each stroke of his palm. his nerves are alight, never having fully cooled after the performance he’d given.
if only stay knew… what would they say? would the label him a freak? some stupid horny perv who gets off under what he can only describe unconditional praise?
his hips buck into his hands at the same time a moan falls half choked from his plush lips.
fuck, he’s gonna come again. jisung lets his grip tighten around the base of his dick in semi-desperate attempt to stall the inevitable.
he can still hear it, the way they’d screamed when he’d teased the barest peak of his abdomen, flashing that pretty tattoo on display before letting his shirt fall back into place. he can hear it, and he’s so close, so fucking close to—
riiiing
jisung’s entire body locks up, frozen.
riiiing
who in the hell is calling him at this hour??
riiiing
with the hand not currently painted white and sticky with the aftermath of his previous release, jisung reaches a shaky hand out to where his phone is buzzing on the nightstand.
riiiing
…..
your name slips so easily off his tongue when he sees it lighting up his screen. something about the familiarity of it sends his hips stuttering into the tight fist of his hand.
he should press that little red button at the bottom of his screen, or at the very least toss his phone to some forgotten place on the mattress and let it ring out. it’s late anyways, you’d just take it as him being asleep and carry on with your evening. his fingers twitch around his cock as his thumb hovers over the ‘accept’ button.
bottom lip caught between his teeth, jisung’s already slush of a brain seems to melt even more. honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if his brain slowly started seeping out of his ears, leaving him nothing but a stupid horny mess with no purpose other than—
“holy shit, sungie! do you even *know* how good of a performer you are?!”
jisung blinks once, twice. his thumb must’ve slipped. fuck. he should just end the call now and talk his way out of this when he doesn’t actively have his hand down his pants, but somehow the words “…ya think so?” is tumbling out of his mouth instead.
the question is small, timid almost. shy in a way that doesn’t at all match his current predicament. people on the internet did always mention how striking his duality was, maybe they were right.
he can vaguely make out what sounds like a scoff on your end of the line before you’re hoping back into your own flavor of praise.
“what the fuck do you mean ‘do you think so’? we’ve talked about the whole fishing for compliments thing, ji,” a moment of silence. jisung swallows so hard it feels like his throat is constricting. “…if i wasn’t so awestruck i would hang up on you and toss my compliments at the wall instead. you’re lucky you’re performance was so good, because seriously, ji, how the fuck do you even do that?”
your words go on and on, but they all started fading together whenever his hand started its drag again, the movement being slower now, more tentative. your voice is a beautiful drone in the background of his pleasure, not dissimilar to how the crowd had buzzed during his rap chorus. he manages to pick up a few things though, it’s so fucking hot when you get really in the moment and watching move on stage like that is actually insane, ji are some of his favorites.
he offers no response to your praise, to preoccupied with digging his thumb into the head of his cock and letting out a breathy sound he prays passes as a hum of acknowledgement.
the next time he tunes into your awe filled ramblings, he almost regrets it.
“you really are incredible, jisung. my little rockstar.”
where as everything previous had taken the path to his head, inflating his ego to no bounds, that comment went straight to his dick. he can’t help it this time, the whiny moan that forces it’s way from his throat as his hips force themselves forward into his fist. he doesn’t even think about it, what little filter remained being thrown to god knows were as he chases his peak.
rockstar. my rockstar.
he was so busy letting that name spin in his head like a broken record that he couldn’t even be bothered to register the way your voice had trailed off, letting his little gasps and shattered breaths echo on the otherwise quite line without a second thought.
“…jisung?”
oh. oh fuck.
jisung scrambles for his phone with his free hand, the device long having been laid beside his pillow so the sweet tune of your voice could feed straight into his ear.
“fuck. sorry about that- i, uh, stubbed my toe.” if his other hand hadn’t been pumping down his length with reckless abandon, he’d have half the mind to slap himself upside the head. “i’m gonna like, go now. bye!” he hangs up before you can get another word in.
and that’s how he reaches his second release of the night—head tilted back into the pillows with his phone clutched in one hand and his dick in the other, thumb and forefinger pinching hard under the head as he spills yet another load into his boxers.
oh, and your name on his lips, of course.
because he’s yours after all, isn’t he? you’d said it yourself in full confidence. he’s your little rockstar, so it only feels right to sing a sweet call of your name as he simmers in pleasure and fading adrenaline.
[a/n 2]: are we so back or what??!? what do we think??? im assuming my writing will get better over time, cuz it’s a muscle in my brain that i havent worked in a good long while, but i’m sure it’ll get better guys trust 🙏🙏 i really do hope you enjoyed, and to my darling 🪼 anon: i hope you enjoyed my attempt to bringing your request to life :D
Jisung’s voice was a low, rough vibration that seemed to echo in the small space between your skin and the mattress. The room had a heavy, swirling haze of weed smoke, the blunt long since forgotten and smoldering in the ceramic ashtray on the nightstand.
Everything felt slow, weighted, and warm. Your lungs felt heavy, your vision blurring at the edges as the high settled deep into your bones. Your eyes were glassy and red, matching the hooded, hungry look in his. He rose up from between your thighs, his chin and lips glistening with a wet sheen of your own release, and leaned in.
The kiss was wet, sloppy, and tasted of salt and smoke. You whined into it, your spine curving as you sank deeper into the mattress, your thighs spreading wide across the sheets. You could taste yourself all on him, the slick heat coating his tongue as he mouthed at you, his eyelids heavy and hooded from the high.
His fingers slipped back down, pressing against your swollen clit, rubbing in fast, rhythmic circles that made your hips jerk.
You gasped into the kiss, your body twitching under the onslaught, but Jisung just smirked against your lips, biting down on your bottom lip just hard enough to make you moan.
He pulled back just an inch, his gaze scanning your flushed face and blown out pupils. “So sensitive. You’re shaking for me already.”
You couldn’t even find the words to answer, just a broken, high pitched whine that caught in your throat. Your back arching, pressing yourself harder against his hand, desperate for more of the pressure that was currently driving you insane.
Jisung let out a low, appreciative huff, two fingers sliding deep inside you, the sudden fullness making you gasp and clutch at the sheets. He began to move in a slow, agonizing rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in, hitting your g-spot with a precision that made your vision swim.
“That’s it, baby. Just take it,” he whispered, his tone shifting into something praising and soft. “You’re doing so good for me. Just let it happen.”
and you've been letting it happen for three orgasms already.
The contrast of his gentle words and the relentless pace of his fingers sent you over the edge. You started to sob, a messy, overstimulated sound that echoed in the quiet room, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. You were cuming again, the waves crashing over you so hard that your muscles locked tight around him, pulsing in rhythmic spasms that left you breathless.
He had the nerve and kept the pressure steady, his fingers continuing to work your clit even as you shook, pushing you further into a state of sensory overload. You felt like you were floating and sinking all at once, the smoke-heavy air filling your lungs as you collapsed back into the mattress, your limbs feeling like lead.
Jisung lingered for a moment, watching the way your chest heaved and your eyes rolled back. He leaned down, kissing away a stray tear from your cheek before his gaze dropped to the wetness coating his hand. A slow smirk spreading across his lips. He brought his fingers to your mouth, pressing the slick, salty heat of yourself against your lips.
“Open up for me,” he commanded, sending a shiver straight down your spine.
Your head tilted back, mouth parting instinctively, and you leaned in to meet his hand. As your tongue swiped across his skin, tasting the salt and the heavy, slick heat of your own release, Jisung didn't blink. He kept his gaze locked on yours, his pupils blown wide, watching the way you worked his fingers clean.
“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise sending a fresh wave of heat crashing through your chest.
Jisung withdrew his hand from your mouth with a slow drag, leaving your lips tingling and wet before he reached over to the nightstand, snatching up the joint.
He took a long, slow drag, the cherry glowing bright in the dim room, before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that veiled his face.
He lingered there for a heartbeat, watching you through the haze, before pressing the filter to your lips. You took a deep hit, the smoke hitting your lungs with a familiar, grounding burn that only made the sensitivity between your legs feel more acute. By the time you exhaled and handed it back, the world had softened further, the edges of the room blurring into a warm, indistinct smudge.
He shifted, hovering over you with his arms bracing his weight, his chest heaving. He took one last drag of the joint, before stubbing it out in the tray. The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by the sound of his pants sliding down his thighs.
You watched him, your eyes heavy and glazed, as he freed himself from his pants. The sight of him made a high, needy sound escape your throat. You reached for him, your fingers trembling as you tried to pull him closer, your hips subconsciously tilting upward to meet him.
“Please,” you whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “Jisung, please. I want it. wan' you inside.”
He didn't rush. He liked the way you were falling apart beneath him, the way your voice had gone thin and desperate. He leaned down, his chest brushing against yours, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating hum that settled in your gut. “Yeah? You really want it?” his palm roamed till it stopped at your lower stomach and pressed. “in here?”
“Yes,” you sobbed, your head tossing back against the pillow. “Please, just- now.”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, the words barely a ghost of a sound.
He shifted his weight, leaning up to grab both of your thighs with a firm grip. With one fluid motion, he hauled you toward the edge of the mattress, pulling your hips flush against his. You felt the blunt, heavy heat of him line up against your entrance, the skin there already slick and dripping from everything he’d done to you.
He drove forward, sinking into you in one long, slow plunge that filled every empty space.
“Oh fuck,” you gasped, your voice cracking as your back arched off the sheets. The friction was intense, a searing, solid pressure that made your toes curl and your vision spark white.
“Think you can cum two more times on my cock?”
shortie drabble bcuz I've been busy workin on kinktober for y'all ok ☹️
hanji fucking you after tour🙏 ITS BEEEN SOOOO LONG since he last saw you and he misses you so much...
eating u out for hours bc he gotta make up for being absent for so long, hes so messy and starved. his cock is soo hard, it hurts sm that he has to grind down the mattress but all he wants rn is a taste and pleasuring you because hes so soo sorry🤤☝️
when he does end up inside, he js cant stop.. no matter how overstimulated you both are and how hes js spurting little droplets by now. he js cant stop, he's so hard and he missed this so much. hes crying and whining about it while still going omg. 👅👅👅✌️
jisung wasn’t just touching you, no, he was devouring you.
his lips moved hungrily over the sensitive heat of your core, tongue dragging through slick folds like a man on a mission, groaning shamelessly into every inch of you. long sighs and drawn-out cries spilled from your lips, but it only made him smirk softly between breaths. despite how messy it was— his mouth wet with you, his jaw slick with evidence of just how much he missed you— he didn’t care.
because it wasn’t enough.
jisung had missed this feeling so fucking much. the months apart after his tour had been brutal, waking up to cold sheets and long nights where the closest he got to you was stroking himself in an empty hotel room with your voice echoing in his head. he felt every mile between you like a gaping wound, tearing open wider and wider until the ache became unbearable.
and now that he finally had you underneath him again, whining his name as your thighs shook around his face? there was no way in hell he was stopping.
“’m so sorry,” he murmured, voice muffled by your thighs as he pressed sloppy kisses to the slick skin. “i missed you so much- fuck, so much—”
a sharp gasp hitched in your throat as his lips sucked your clit back into his mouth, teeth scraping ever so lightly to drive you into another wave of sharp, gasping pleasure. yuo didn’t even know how he still had energy, he’d been between your thighs for so long now, driven by sheer desperation— but even as your body convulsed under the sharp overstimulation, there was no stopping him.
his nails dug into your hips, keeping you perfectly in place against his mouth as he groaned against you, hips rutting against the mattress beneath him as his arousal became unbearable. his cock was so fucking hard it actually hurt, aching between his own thighs with little wet stains already smudging the fabric of his boxers, but he wouldn’t let himself stop to do anything about it.
not yet.
you were first, always first, and he needed this more than air.
only when you tugged hard at his hair, voice splintering into soft cries about how you couldn’t take another second of his relentless tongue, did he finally lift his face. his cheeks were flush, chin glistening with your slick, lips swollen from the literal marathon of devouring you.
amd even then, he barely gave you time to breathe before pressing the most filthy, desperate kiss to your lips, the taste of you still fresh in his mouth as he lined himself up.
“i’m sorry, baby- i c-can’t wait anymore, i can’t—”
you barely had time to brace yourself before he pushed into you, all of him at once, filling you so full you nearly sobbed at the sharp burn of it.
and jisung? he was delirious. whimpering softly against your neck as his hips snapped into you. the kind of desperate, helpless rhythm that showed just how much he needed you.
“i missed you- fuck, i missed this,” his breath hitched, voice cracking into little whines as his pace stuttered, already fucking deeper despite how wrecked you both were. “i-it’s been so long, i just- nngh- can’t stop—”
his thighs trembled slightly, his body wracked under the onslaught of his own need, eyes glassy with unshed tears. svery thrust sent sparks of heat through both of you, your nails leaving desperate streaks down his back as your moans bled together in helpless harmony.
“gonna make it up to you,” he babbled, words breaking against another gasp. he buried himself to the hilt, his lips brushing against your salty skin. “i’m so sorry, baby, i just—need—you—”
and neither of you stopped until you were both crying all over again.
Hannie x reader : reader listen to han’s new song but she didn’t know he was this freaky. Lol I just thought it was a cute idea! Congratulations! Love ya work! Hopefully we will get to see more then life is not hectic! Keep us updated on your life too ! I get anxious!
-Estrellita✨
Sing for me, baby
relationships: Han x female!Reader
cws: smut, oral sex (m!receiving), unprotected sex, semi public sex, Han records them without her knowing it, Han not being a sub for the first time ever in a fic of mine hello??
word count: 1973
a/n: thank you for sending me my first ever skz request and participating in the 1,5k follower special, I hope it turned out the way you liked! It was a great idea hehehe. Sorry it took me so long, life can be rough sometimes. But I’m okay btw, don’t worry about silly old me
“Ah, shit”.
Jisung let the door of the recording booth fall shut behind him with a loud slam, making you jolt and look up from your phone.
Originally, you had joined him in the studio after he claimed he wouldn’t need any longer. The plan was to get some food - but that had been two hours ago now.
You stood up, phone discarded on the couch cushion.
“Baby”, you said, stepping up to stand behind his sitting form, hands resting on his shoulders, “You want me to get some takeout? We can eat here if you want, maybe you need a break”.
Jisung groaned, hands frantically rubbing his face before he combed his hair back and out of his sight. You knew he wasn’t mad at you, he was just struggling to keep up the deadline.
“I appreciate it, my love”, he answered, taking one of your hands to bring it to his mouth and kiss your knuckles, “But I really need to get this song done- the lyrics just don’t match the beat and- ugghhh”.
Another frustrated sound before he opened up the document with the lyrics again, staring at the words on screen without really doing anything.
You hummed, gently massaging the muscles in his tensed up shoulders and earning a soft grunt.
“Maybe I just need to rap a bit faster? Let me try it again”, he muttered under his breath, standing up to vanish into the recording booth again.
You could see him through the window, putting on the headphones and starting the beat again on the laptop sat on the little table beside him.
It took the dark haired a few attempts, saying the same words over and over again - restarting the beat, just to stop as soon as he was three words in and restarted once more.
“Fucking- agghhh”, he covered his face with his hands.
You grinned, a very intriguing idea forming in your brain. There was something you knew you could do to help him release some stress.
You opened the door to the recording booth, slipping in without him really noticing, still focused on his project. You let your hands sneak over his body, wrapping your arms around his waist and letting your fingers creep under the fabric of his shirt. You grazed his abs with your nails, stroking him there.
“Baby-“.
“Let me help you, Ji. Relax”, you encouraged him, one of your hands skipping past the waistband of his sweatpants.
“Ohhh- baby, you can’t distract me right now, I need to concentrate”, he tried, but he was already slumping against you.
“I’m not distracting”, you cooed, your hand stroking his cock through his boxer briefs, “You need to calm down, take a quick break and sort your thoughts”.
Jisung laughed, his own hands pulling his pants and underwear down without any more complaints so you had more space to awake his half hard dick.
“And you think an orgasm would help?”.
“I think me sucking your cock would help”, you corrected him with a laugh.
He twitched inside your hand at your words and let out a very tense sigh. You twisted your wrist, sliding your fingers around the tip to make him moan and his head fall forward.
“Let me take care of you”.
You stepped around him, kneeling down immediately and sticking your tongue out to give him a slow but pressured lick.
“Ughhh- maybe you’re right”, he nodded, a hand was in your neck, “But, what if-“.
“I’ll make it quick”, you grinned, licking up the underside of his shaft before slightly sucking on the head and lapping up the leaking pre cum, “You know I can”.
“Ohh, fuck-“, Jisung had to brace himself against the wall with his free hand, the other gently caressing you as you took his length into your mouth inch by inch.
He trembled, trying hard not to be too loud, to hold onto his composure. But your skilled mouth was soon pulling sound after sound out of him - the tiniest whimpers and the most pornographic grunts.
You swallowed around him, taking him in as deep as you could and wrapped a hand around the base to stimulate him like this where your mouth couldn’t reach.
Jisung was easy to get, you knew by now what he liked, where you had to push his buttons for him to come undone. And seeing him folding under no pressure so quickly was insanely hot to you.
There was a tingling sensation running down your body and pooling low in your stomach every time a ragged breath left his parted lips. It was addicting, giving you a rush.
“So good- baby”, he muttered, his grip tightened on your hair, “Fuck- I don’t wanna cum yet-“.
He pushed your head forward just slightly, his hips bucking into you to make his cock hit the back of your throat. You moaned around him at the sudden intrusion and he clenched the muscles of his abdomen.
Your hand wandered, going up to feel the tense abs and skipping over the tattoo on his side momentarily - he was so sensitive on this spot, it made him jolt.
“Why not?”, you asked, letting his cock slide out of your mouth with a wet pop.
“Wanna cum inside your pussy”, Jisung gasped.
He was leaking again and you just opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to catch the drop.
“Oh really?”, you tried to sound nonchalant, “What about your fear of getting caught?”.
Jisung barely was comfortable of touching you in the studio, it wasn’t uncommon for one of his hyungs to come in late while being struck with motivation. But he was so desperate now, so horny, he didn’t even seem to care.
He hauled you up into a standing position, turning you around and pinned your hands against the wall - your arms stretched out in front of you to brace yourself against it like this.
“I need you. Now”, he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, mouth lapping at your skin and making you arch your spine, “Their own fault if they come in-“.
He tugged at the fabric of your shorts, pulling them down with your panties in one go. A strong hand between your shoulder blades pushed you slightly to make you lean forward, the other grabbed a fistful of your ass.
“Maybe this was a great idea”, he muttered, his fingers sliding deeper, between your folds and spreading them, “I can already feel the inspiration flowing”.
You gasped, your pussy throbbing under his touch, the way he gently but quickly massaged you there had you trembling and clenching around nothing in anticipation.
He used your wetness, spreading it over his length thoroughly before guiding his cock to your entrance.
“Don’t hold back, my love. I want to hear you”, he pushed in roughly, not stopping until he bottomed out, “Sing for me, baby”.
Singing was a great metaphor for your screamed out moan, the pain of being stretched out so violently was swallowed by the intense wave of pleasure his fingers on your clit provided.
He stayed like this for a moment, his dick twitching inside your welcoming heat.
“That’s it, taking me so well”, Jisung cooed, a kiss on your neck made you jolt, “So eager to help me, yeah? My pretty girl is so nice to me, gotta return the favor”.
He began to move, not as slow and deliberate as he used to do. He fucked you like he was obsessed, a hand on your hips steadying you.
The slapping sound of your ass hitting his pelvis in combination with the wet squelch of your walls sucking him in with every thrust was a sinful melody, it made you dizzy as he stole your air with it.
The pace wasn’t faltering, not even when he was this close. He was very determined to push moans and whines out of you every time you exhaled - it made him chuckle hoarsely, a grin spreading on his lips, as if this was everything he needed to tumble over the edge.
Jisung filled you up, painting your walls with his cum and fucking it deeper into you with no intention of stopping.
He threw the laptop that had been standing on the table beside you to the couch behind it, swiping off everything else before pushing you towards it.
The manhandling was unfamiliar but very welcome - you could see the hunger and frustration in his eyes and he needed you to soothe his brain working overtime. He turned you around to face him and lifted you to sit on the table.
He looked at you as if he was sorry he used you like this for his own pleasure, but once you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him close again, that hint in his eyes was gone immediately.
Jisung kissed you ferociously and messily - just spit and tongue and teeth. His cock slid back home before his cum even dared to ooze out, he was still so hard, still so hungry and desperate for you.
His thrusts were rhythmic and quick, making you sob into his mouth.
“Need more”, he huffed, kissing away the sweat on your temple, “Feels so good”.
The way Jisung gripped you was full of lust, harshly digging his fingers into your flesh to wrap your legs around his hips.
“Jisung-“, you whimpered.
It was a bit much, a bit too intense - but so so good.
Your orgasm built up so quickly, coming down and crushing you with a blinding fire that let your eyes roll back into your skull and your nails dig into his shoulders.
The table scratched over the floor with his movements, squeaking dangerously.
“Come on”, he encouraged you, “Louder, my love. Scream my name. Show me how pretty it can sound”.
You did as you were told, your body surrendering to him without thinking anymore. Your walls clenched around him, spurring him on to fuck into you with more force, pulling you towards him with every snap of his hips as his name spilled out of your mouth endlessly.
“Baby, you wanna hear my new song?”, Jisung asked with a smile.
It was the kind of smile where his whole face lit up, eyes glowing with excitement as he looked up from his laptop at you.
Both of you were draped out lazily on the couch of your apartment, you just had finished dinner.
“You managed to finish it in time?”, you asked.
“Mh-hmm, with your help”, he either didn’t seem to notice your face flushing up or he was very good at ignoring it, “I had to change the beat and the pace though. But I think it has a nice twist now”.
He was typing away on the keyboard, tongue slightly sticking out and telling you something mischievous was going on.
You furrowed your brows.
“Okay, let me hear it”.
He clicked on it, the song started. It took you a few seconds, your brain worked hard to understand what was going on. But then you noticed it - what was supposed to be the drums in the background sounded suspiciously like skin slapping against skin.
You could clearly hear another voice in the background that wasn’t his. It was your moan. A lot of your moans actually.
“Jisung-“, you whispered, “You didn’t”.
His grin got brighter, reaching the peak of his happiness when you could hear yourself sob every few seconds.
“Don’t you like it?”, he teased you, “You had played a significant part in it”.
“Don’t tell me you’ve sent that to Chan and Changbin”.
Jisung laughed, shaking his head.
“Of course not, I just redid the adlibs and beat for fun. I would never-“, him stopping to talk before this sentence was fully finished wasn’t a good sign, “Oh”.
han jisung absolutely sucks at surprises, but you don't mind as long as you have his clumsy stupid self
my late birthday gift to my baby @kloversung, love you so much,,, thank you for being such an amazing friend! don't mind that unemployed hater hating on u and moots >:(
-
you pushed open the door to your apartment, tired after a long day. all you wanted was a quiet night with jisung. he had been acting strange since morning, sending weird texts and telling you not to come home early because of some excuse about a cockroach in the kitchen.
you already knew something was up.
first, he accidentally facetimed you at lunch while the guys were blowing up balloons behind him. changbin's voice carried through clearly before jisung panicked and ended the call. later that afternoon, a delivery guy showed up with your favorite cake and a note that read "happy birthday y/n!! love, han jisung and the whole team." jisung called right after, sounding out of breath, begging you to pretend you never saw it.
by evening you had received five different spoilers, including a text from minho complaining about jisung's terrible hiding spot. still, you walked in pretending like you had no idea.
the lights flipped on.
"surprise!"
streamers hung all over the living room. balloons floated near the ceiling. a big "happy birthday y/n" banner sat crooked on the wall. all eight members of stray kids stood there grinning at you. food covered the table and music played from someone's phone. felix held up a party hat with a proud smile.
jisung did not even wait a second.
he made a happy little noise and launched himself straight at you. his arms wrapped around your waist as he lifted you off the ground in a tight hug. he buried his face in your neck, voice muffled against your skin.
"y/n! i tried so hard to keep it secret. i really did. but i kept messing up. i just wanted today to be perfect for you."
you laughed and hugged him back, running your fingers through his hair. "sungie, you big disaster. i knew since lunch."
he pulled away just enough to look at you. his cheeks were pink and his eyes shone with pure happiness. "still surprised?"
"the best kind," you said softly. you leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.
the members started cheering and teasing right away. seungmin yelled something about getting a room. hyunjin joined in with dramatic complaints. jisung ignored them completely. he kissed you again, sweet and warm, smiling against your lips.
"happy birthday, baby. i love you so much."
"i love you too," you whispered back. "my favorite spoiler."
he laughed brightly and held you closer while the music got louder. the apartment filled with noise and laughter, exactly the kind of chaos jisung always brought. you would not trade it for anything. ever.
you’re just trying to volunteer for a summer charity event at the pier, but you meet an infuriatingly handsome guy who makes it his mission to get under your skin
pairing: han jisung x fem!reader
genre: fluff, humor, smut
content: jisung is annoying (affectionate), ft. yeji from itzy and jihyo from twice, semi-public sex (car), fingering, riding, creampie, dry humping, unprotected sex (p in v)
word count: 7.0k
a/n: thank you so much for all the love you've shown us so far!!! i thought of this as soon as belen asked me to do this event with her and i wrote it immediately lol. this one was my personal favorite to write, it's just a fun time!! ♡
♡ m.list
a wet hot skz summer event masterlist ☼ schedule
When your company sent out an email saying that they needed volunteers for a charity event at the pier this weekend, you rolled your eyes at the idea. A whole day of small talk with coworkers you barely tolerate, surrounded by corporate greed, but pretending that you just love working for them? Hard pass.
You signed up anyway.
Yeji, your coworker and best friend, would be there too. She’s kind of the one who convinced you to sign up for it, even though you were reluctant at first. She dangled the idea of getting a promotion in front of your face, and you were hooked immediately.
What she failed to mention was that you’d have to sign up for specific booths upon arrival, and that setup started bright and early at 8 am on a Saturday.
“I thought we were just going to unload some boxes and maybe set up some tents,” you groan, moving the trolley of boxes up the angled ramp of the pier. “I don’t want to talk to strangers and beg for money!”
“First of all, you’re not begging for money,” your friend quips. “You’re asking for donations! To save the turtles!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, for the turtles.” You shove the trolley the rest of the way up the creaky planks and stop at the volunteer booth.
“Good morning, ladies!” Jihyo greets the two of you through her megaphone, far too cheerily for this early in the morning. You aren’t surprised she’s running the show, you just wish she weren’t so damn loud. You love her anyway, she was the only one who really tried to show you the ropes when you first joined the company.
“Hi, Jihyo,” you groan, trying to put on your best enthusiastic smile and wave.
“Have you two signed up for your booths yet? Almost all the good ones are gone!” Jihyo gestures to the clipboard on the table behind her. You exchange a look with Yeji and let out a huff of air before heading over to the table.
“By the way, the booth that makes the most money gets a special surprise in the office on Monday!” Jihyo adds, like it’ll somehow make you more excited for hours of sitting around doing nothing. “The kissing booth wins almost every year!”
A kissing booth? In a post-pandemic world?
“That sounds unsanitary and disgusting,” you scoff.
“Oh, c’mon, you don’t have to kiss them on the lips!” she states, like it makes the idea sound any more appealing. “Unless you see a cute guy.” She winks, pushing the clipboard closer.
“That sounds kinda fun, plus we’d be together!” Yeji chimes in. “It won’t be that bad, plus whatever this surprise is, it’s probably worth it!”
You both know the “special office surprise” is more than likely just a stupid pizza party or a gift card. Neither of which is worth having to kiss a bunch of strangers for.
The two of them put on their best puppy eyes as they turn to look at you. “For the turtles?” they say in unison, very creepily.
“Okay, fine!” You give up. These stupid turtles are going to be the death of you.
Maybe a kissing booth won’t actually be that bad. The best case scenario, some handsome guy comes along and gives you his number, sweeps you off your feet, and hopefully, ends your dry spell you’ve been having when it comes to dating.
But then you think about how many people you totally, super, don’t want to kiss, and you shudder at the thought. Cheek kisses for everyone it is.
The sun is starting to rise higher, your fingers are covered in glue, and you’re breaking a sweat trying to help Yeji add the last of the decorations to your booth.
“I’ll go first, if that helps ease your mind,” Yeji chirps up, handing you a stack of glittery pink letters. “You can walk around and play some games!” It does, even just a little.
“Thank you,” you say. “I’m sorry if I’m being a grouch. I’ll try to make the best of today.”
That sentiment is quickly proven false by a flying volleyball that hits your booth, knocking down most of your hard work.
“What the fuck?” you exclaim, almost too stunned to move. You turn to where the ball came from and see a guy with messy brown hair and a blue volunteer shirt jogging over to you.
“I’m so sorry!” he says, running over. You glare at him, and he just smiles back at you.
You can’t find any kind words to say, so you don’t say anything at all as you hand him back his ball. Now you’re going to have to spend extra time redoing the decorations. Fucking dick.
“What booth are you working?” he asks as he takes the ball from you. You look back at him, still pissed off, but surprised now. Your face doesn’t exactly scream friendly and open to conversation right now, and he’s ballsy for trying.
“Hi, I’m Jisung.” He extends his hand out, a grin still planted on his face. “And again, I’m really, really sorry.” He seems apologetic, even if he’s wildly careless. It doesn’t hurt that he’s cute, too.
It’s good enough for now. You wanted to have a good day, and you weren’t going to let a flying ball ruin that. You introduce yourself, begrudgingly shaking his hand. “We’re working the kissing booth.” God, it’s even more embarrassing to say it out loud.
“Wow, really? I didn’t think they still did that.”
“It’s for charity!” you scoff at him.
“Right, the turtles,” he laughs, glancing around your shoulder at your booth, now in shambles thanks to him. “I’ll uh…stop by later.” He sends you a wink and turns, taking the stray ball with him.
Your face must be all scrunched up because Yeji just laughs at you.
“Who even is that?” You turn to start fixing up your booth, the look of disgust still on your face.
“Han Jisung,” she says, like he’s someone important. “The I.T. guy? The one you’re supposed to call when you click on those stupid phishing emails by accident?”
“Oh,” you say. He works at your company, too? “I’ve never met him.” Which is kind of amazing, because you click on those stupid things all the time.
“I think he likes you,” she says with a wink. You roll your eyes at her.
After an extra twenty minutes of re-decorating the booth, the letters are plastered right on the front and shimmer in the sunlight. Slightly crooked, but readable. Patrons are starting to come by, and you get a sinking feeling in your gut.
“Walk around, have a good time!” Yeji shoos you away from the booth as you’re taking a sip of your water. You oblige, since you don’t have too long before it will be your turn at the kissing booth.
“If this goes horribly, I’m blaming you,” you tell her.
“If you find a nice, handsome guy, you’ll be thanking me.” You huff out a laugh and turn to explore the rest of the event.
The pier is lined with tents of games and sponsors of the event. On a normal day, there would be a few rides present and families with children lined up to get on the ferris wheel. Today, there are mostly adults wearing their company's clothing, making small talk with each other. Networking, you suppose.
You walk to the edge of the pier where the crowd is thinner and take a deep breath, staring out into the ocean. The warmth from the sun hits your face, providing comfort in the already chaotic day. You don't love a crowd, but you were trying to keep yourself steady. Today will be a good day, you tell yourself.
The smell of hot dogs and popcorn wafts around you, and it reminds you of a simpler time. Boardwalks in the summertime with your family, the taste of cotton candy, and passing out after a long swim in the ocean. Kids pass by on bikes, and you let out a sigh. You missed being young when life was full of fun, and you didn’t have to worry about rent or a corporate job.
You turn to walk back down the pier towards your booth, taking note of the different games you could play on your break later. They had all the standard carnival games: a ring toss, throwing balls at bottles, squirt gun races, and….a dunk tank?
The sounds of bells and chatter cut through your thoughts as you approach the game. You can’t see who’s running it through the crowd of people gathered around it, but you can certainly hear them. You hear a familiar voice, teasing the patrons who have shown up at the booth.
“Oh, c’mon! My grandma throws better than that!” You weave through the crowd to the front, and you finally see him.
Han Jisung, still in his volunteer shirt, caged in a dunk tank. Dry from head to toe, and talking shit like his life depends on it. “Put some elbow into it, old man!”
Now he’s just being mean. The people seem to love it, though, cackling and pointing as they dig out their wallets to try and get him to shut up. You watch two, then three people line up to grab their balls. The first guy misses the target all three times. The second hits the cage, making Jisung jump and almost fall off his seat. You try to stifle your laugh with your fist, but seeing him like this is hilarious. The third guy misses, and half the crowd seems to give up. It doesn’t look that hard.
“Hey, kissing booth!” Shit. He saw you.
“Me?” you point to yourself, as if he could be talking to anyone else. People start looking over, and you feel like you could crawl into a hole.
“Yeah, you!” he points. “Why don’t you come show them how it’s done?”
You were still slightly irritated at him for fucking up your booth earlier, so you agreed. He looks like he could use a little cooling off anyway. You paid at the booth and took the balls to the starting line.
You take a deep breath and cock your arm back, aiming straight for the target. You throw a bit too wide and hit the spot right next to it.
“Okay, now once more with feeling!” Jisung teases, and your tongue pokes out of your cheek in response. He’s infuriating.
You throw the second one harder, faster. It dings the edge of the bullseye but doesn’t hit it hard enough to send him into the water.
“You gotta hit the target, sweetheart!” he calls with a wink. You clench your jaw. You have to make this. For your own pride and revenge for your booth.
“Do you ever stop talking?” you hiss at him.
“Depends, do you ever stop missing?”
He’s done it now. You let the last ball fly, and hold your breath as you watch it spin towards the target.
Ding!
“Oh sh—”
Splash!
You hear a series of hoots and hollers from the audience behind you. Jisung flails into the water and hits the bottom. You watch through the glass as he pushes himself back up to the surface and paddles to the ladder. A satisfied smile creeps across your face, and you fold your arms in front of you as you wait for him to come back up.
He runs his hand through his wet hair, still blinking away what you’re sure is very, very cold water. His clothes stick to his body, and you notice his muscled arms and lean frame. He’s kind of hot. You snap yourself out of it when he opens his mouth.
“That was personal,” he says, still spitting out water.
“No, that was funny,” you laugh. You start walking forward towards the cage until you’re only a couple of feet from it. “This is personal.” And without batting an eye, you reach over and push the target with your hand.
Ding!
“Wait!”
Splash!
You don’t wait for him to come up before you walk away with a wide smile on your face.
Were you flirting with him? Maybe. But you got a kick out of flustering him, because he’s way too cocky for his own good. He needed to be humbled, and if you had to be the one to do it, then so be it.
“I’ll see you later, kissing booth!” he calls out after you as you weave through the crowd. You roll your eyes so far back into your head it’s basically a full 360.
You catch yourself smiling as you’re walking back to your booth, and promptly shake any thoughts of Jisung away. You will not think of him. Not him jogging over to you this morning. Not him, wet and flustered after you dunked him. Not the fact that he might, maybe, possibly, stop by later.
“You’re back!” Yeji calls out as you walk up to the booth. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah, I did actually,” you reply. You recount the story of Jisung and the dunk tank, both of you laughing to yourselves.
“Do you think he’ll stop by later?” she asks, a sly smirk on her face.
“Oh, god, I hope not.” You’re a liar. A big, fat, pants-on-fire liar.
“Riiighhhttt.” She nods her head with a knowing look, and you know she can see right through you. “Well, it’s your turn!”
Right. And now you get to regret every single life choice you’ve made that has brought you to this single moment. You’re hoping it’s not that bad, and you don’t know if the thought of Jisung showing up repulses you or excites you.
“Don’t forget your chapstick!”
The heat is starting to get to you, even in the protection of the tent that drapes over the booth. You started your shift not even an hour ago, and you’ve already kissed several grandmas, a dude that looked like he lost a bet, and a couple of girls. You’re counting the cash when you hear a mechanical shriek and a familiar voice echoing across the pier.
“STEP RIGHT UP, FOLKS!” Oh god. Please, god, no. You turn towards the noise, and sure enough, Jisung is standing not 10 feet from your booth, screaming into a megaphone.
“Donate to a good cause and kiss a beautiful volunteer! Don’t miss out, she won’t be here all day!”
You’re about to die of embarrassment if he doesn’t stop this nonsense.
“ONLY FIVE DOLLARS! Cheaper than therapy and probably just as healing!” God dammit, where’s Jihyo when you need her?
“Who gave him a megaphone?” you ask, turning towards Yeji. She just shrugs, her lips pressed together, trying to suppress a laugh. This is mortifying.
He finally turns to face you, and you lock eyes. He has a smug ass grin on his face, and you’re trying to gesture to him to tell him to cut it out. But of course, he doesn’t listen, because it’s fucking Han Jisung and he’s the most annoying person to ever breathe the same air as you. He just raises the megaphone back to his mouth.
“LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND OUR NON-BINARY FRIENDS! The same person who VIOLENTLY dunked me in a tank this morning is currently accepting kisses for charity!”
“I’m gonna strangle him,” you mutter under your breath. Yeji snorts behind you.
“I think you like him,” she says.
You whip your head around at the speed of light with a look on your face that could definitely kill someone. “I. Do. Not.”
She’s unconvinced.
“Jisung! What the fuck are you doing!?” you try to shout quietly, but your anger cuts through the chatter of the crowds quite easily.
“Yes?” he says, through the fucking megaphone, because he’s insane and everything is a joke to him.
“Why aren’t you working the dunk tank?”
“I’m on a break!”
“Stop screaming! We can all hear you!”
He maintains eye contact with you, and for a second, you think that he might just let it go. And then, he slowly lifts the megaphone back to his mouth, and you’re covering your ears in preparation.
“ALSO! Just so everyone knows, she has a VERY STRONG throwing arm!” He gets a few laughs from that one, and that’s when you realize that he has a crowd of people standing around him, laughing at his dumb jokes. You’re five seconds away from throwing yourself over the edge of the pier and letting the sea take you.
“I hate you!” you shout back.
“AND SHE HATES ME! But that makes it more exciting!” He sends a wink your way. You cover your face with your hands, praying it's a dream.
He seems content enough with his little show to abandon it and walk over to your booth. He looks annoyingly pleased with himself as he finally sets the megaphone down.
“Where did you even get that?” you ask, still fuming.
“Nicked it from Jihyo,” he chuckles. “She’s probably looking for me now.” You close your eyes and sigh. If the turtles don’t kill you, Jisung certainly will.
“You’re evil, you know that?”
“Evil? But I just got you three more customers!” You glance around his shoulder, and sure enough, there are several people walking towards you. That little shit.
“You are insufferable.”
“I’m a genius,” he quips back. “Everyone loves a guy that can make them laugh.”
You roll your eyes at him, probably for the fifth time this entire conversation. “Whatever, move, there are people waiting.”
Just when you think he’s about to walk away, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He pulls out a crisp bill and slides it across the table. Your heart does a somersault. He leans against the counter on both elbows, waiting expectantly.
“Oh, hell no.”
“Oh, yes.” He bats his eyelashes like he’s trying to be cute.
You cross your arms in defiance, and you’re suddenly at a stand-off.
“You know, if you don’t hurry, I might just have to review the kissing booth over the loudspeaker.” He drops the megaphone on the counter, smirking again like he’s won.
Your jaw drops. “You wouldn’t.”
But he just slowly raises it to his mouth. He doesn’t seem like the type to back down from a dare, and you can’t handle any more public humiliation.
“Jesus, fine, pucker up!” You grab the front of his shirt and yank him forward before he can respond. Your lips slam together, and you feel the warmth and softness of his lips. You have half a mind to stay there for longer than a second, but you know there are people watching around you. You pull away before you really want to, and you’re not quite sure where that feeling came from.
Jisung is looking at you like his brain short-circuited.
“Go,” you say, urging him to leave. He seems to snap out of whatever trance you just put him in.
“I’ll come back later,” he says with a wink as he gets up to leave.
You watch him walk away before you let your breath. You turn to look at Yeji, and she’s giving you the smuggest look you’ve ever seen.
“Don’t,” you warn her.
“I didn’t say anything!” she says, putting her hands up in surrender. You glare at her, but you can’t hide the smile that sneaks across your face.
You take care of the rest of the line, cheek kisses only, before you see Jihyo walking up.
“Hey, girls!” she greets you cheerily. “Have you seen Jisung? I think he stole my megaphone.” Yeji snorts, and your face starts to grow hot at the mention of his name.
“Uh, he was just here, not sure where he went though,” you reply. You didn’t want to lie, but there was a part of you that didn’t want to get him in trouble. Even if he probably deserved it.
“Ah, okay. Well, you should switch off, you’ve been here a while.”
Music to your ears. You would love nothing more than to get away from this godforsaken booth.
You’re thankfully not due back at the booth until cleanup, but you can’t help but feel a bit disappointed about it. Time ticks by as you stop by to say hello to some of your fellow coworkers. Even if seeing them outside of the office makes your skin crawl, they’re good people, and you’re making the best of it.
At least the conversations distract you from your thoughts of a particularly annoying man who doesn’t seem to want to leave your brain.
You wander around the pier again, stopping for a pretzel, watching other people play stupid carnival games as the sun starts to set. You’re watching a fairly unskilled man attempt to win a plushie for his girlfriend at balloon darts when you feel someone come up behind you.
“Hey.” And you know exactly who it is. You turn to see Jisung standing there, hands in his pocket, mouth shut for the first time all day. He’s also, unfortunately, dry now.
“Hi,” you say back, your brain unable to conjure a single clever thing to say to him.
“Um, having a good time so far?” He’s being awkward. You feel awkward. You kissed this man just a couple of hours ago, and now you’re trying to think of a way you can get him to kiss you again.
But you just nod your head, hoping he can’t hear your thoughts. “Yeah, it’s been really fun, how about you?”
“Got dunked a couple of times and got to kiss a beautiful girl, pretty good for a work event, I think.”
Your face gets hot at his comment, and you’re not sure how to respond. He seems to get it, though.
“Walk with me?” he asks, gesturing ahead.
“Sure,” you say casually, even though your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest.
You walk next to each other, casually commenting on the different pier games and how you “could totally beat them.” His shoulder brushes yours accidentally as you’re walking, and you don’t pull away. It’s easy to be around him when he’s not showing off for an audience. He’s pretty calm.
“Oh my god, they even have turtle plushies,” you laugh, pointing up at the hanging turtles above you. You look at him as he looks up at the ceiling.
“I bet I could win one,” he says way too confidently.
“Hey, I’m the one who hit the target,” you smirk. “If anyone’s winning it, it’s me.”
“Okay, let’s see it.” A challenge. One you’ll gladly accept.
He crosses his arms as you step up to the counter. It’s the milk jug game, and you have to knock all the bottles down to get the prize. Piece of cake.
You step back with the balls in hand, and he reaches out to offer to hold the other two. You give him a small smile, thank him softly, and move behind the line.
Your arm cranks back, and you hit the bottles square on. Only one of them topples over, though. You frown at it, wondering how that happened. You know you have to knock all three down at once to win, but you’re determined to get it.
“Try to hit the bottom row,” Jisung whispers in your ear. His voice sends shivers down your spine, and you know if you turned, he would be just inches away from your face.
You shake it off, pull your arm back for a second try, and throw harder. The ball goes flying, and even you're surprised at the speed. The ball hits the cans with a loud thud, knocking two of the bottles down. You’re starting to understand why people always walked away from these games looking annoyed.
As Jisung hands you the third ball, he steps behind you, placing the ball in your hand. “Don’t throw it like you’re mad at it, try it like this,” he says softly. One hand comes up to your elbow to adjust it, and his other hand slides gently on your waist to straighten your posture. Every spot on your skin he touches feels like it’s on fire. You can hardly focus on the bottles in front of you, and all your mind can think of is him.
He steps back, and the cool air brings you back to Earth. You throw it exactly like he showed you, aiming directly for the bottom row. The ball smacks into the bottles, knocking all of them down with a loud crash.
“Woo! Nice job!” Jisung shouts, turning towards you for a high-five. You’re shocked that it worked, and even more shocked that he seems to turn completely back to normal even after that display.
The vendor hands you your stuffed turtle, and you walk away beaming, smiling wider than you have in months.
“Thank you,” you say to Jisung gently. “For helping me.”
“I didn’t do that, you won it,” he says back. “But, uh, yeah, anytime.” He gets shy like he’s replaying the interaction back in his head. You hope he is, because all you can think about is his hand on the small of your back, and where else on your body they might fit.
“Jisung!” You hear a voice call out behind you. It’s definitely Jihyo, coming to probably scold him for stealing her megaphone. You both spin around to see her, hands on her hips. “Give it back.”
“I’m so sorry,” he starts to apologize. “But you should’ve seen the look on her face when—”
“Jisung,” you warn him.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I put it back on your table.” She groans at him and storms off.
You both watch her walk off, and just when she’s out of earshot, you burst out laughing. You were never much of a rule breaker, but something about Jisung and his mostly harmless shenanigans sends you into a fit of laughter. The two of you lean into each other, trying to calm your laughs. You’re standing close enough that anyone passing by might have thought you’d had one too many.
The laughter subsides, and you continue walking to the edge of the pier. The sun is setting now, and streaks of pink, purple, orange, and blue light up the sky. The ocean is dark and mysterious beneath the surface, and the whole scene is beautiful.
“Thank you,” you say gently, leaning against the railing. “Again.”
“For what?” He turns to you, brows pointed up.
“I was grumpy this morning. Thought I’d have a shitty day. But it was fun, and now that I’m thinking about it, it was mostly because of you.”
You exhale, breath unsteady from the sudden confession. Just hours ago, you tried so hard to dislike this man, but something about him convinced you. He’s stupidly handsome,
He smiles widely at you. “I had to do something after fucking up your booth,” he laughs. “Which, I really am sorry for.”
“Apology accepted.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. You watch him as he takes a step forward, eyes scanning your face, darting down to your lips. You can feel your heartbeat through your eardrums, and try to keep your breath steady. You’re still squeezing your turtle plushie, using it to keep you tethered to this moment.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
“You already kissed me,” you tease.
“Yeah, but that was for the turtles,” he jokes back, and he moves closer, his face hovering only inches away from you. “I want one just for me.”
“Okay.”
He leans forward, and you close the gap, your lips meeting in a more gentle manner this time. You didn’t have time to savor it earlier, but now you get to enjoy it. You feel his plush lips against yours, his hand firmly planted on your waist, the warmth of his body against your chest. You move slowly against his mouth, trying not to seem too eager. He holds tighter like he can feel you hesitate, and brings his other hand up to your jaw. The two of you find a delicious rhythm, holding and kissing each other like you’re the only two left on the damn pier.
It’s fucking heaven.
A mechanical shriek rips through the air, and you both jump at the sound. It’s Jiyho, reunited with her precious megaphone once again.
“Oh, it’s clean-up time,” you say, disappointed. You turn back to him, watching as the breeze blows at the loose strands of hair on his forehead, but the moment has passed.
“Find me before you leave, okay?” he says, squeezing you once more before you part.
You nod your head at him and head back to your booth, your plushie still in your arms.
“You’re quiet,” Yeji points out, folding the tablecloths from your booth into boxes.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, sorry, long day.” You don’t tell her that you’re dying to go meet back up with the cute guy you just made out with on the pier at fucking sunset.
“Mhm,” she hums. “Waiting for Jisung?”
You snap your head at her. “What?”
“Oh, c’mon, you’ve been staring at him whenever he’s in your field of vision like all day.”
You scoff at her. You’re not admitting anything to her, at least not now. Not really because you’re embarrassed, but because you can’t give her the satisfaction of being right. She sees right through you and holds her head high, pleased with herself.
You think about it as you finish packing up your booth. In the span of a few hours, Han Jisung has managed to go from a complete stranger to the only person at the forefront of your mind.
“And to think, you almost didn’t come today,” Yeji says to you as you say your goodbyes. You give up on giving her any sassy comebacks, mostly because it’s been a long day, but also because you can’t keep up the act anymore. She’s right, you can’t wait to see Jisung again.
As soon as the last box is packed up and loaded back into the van, you wait for her with puppy dog eyes for her to let you go. She takes her time closing up the van and giving you a long hug before she makes jokes in your ear.
“Be safe, let me know if you’re going home tonight, yeah?” You nod your head. “And for the love of God, use a condom.”
You give her a playful slap as you pull away from the hug, and watch her hop into the van and drive off. You look around the end of the pier and notice that most of the volunteers have left, but there’s one in particular you’re looking for.
Your feet move in the direction of the dunk tank without you having to think twice about it. Several people pass, hauling boxes and bags of things, nodding at you and telling you to have a good night.
You see him talking to another volunteer under the tent, waving his hands around in that animated way he speaks. He catches your eyes as you walk closer and he lights up. He quickly says his goodbyes to whoever he needs to and jogs over to you.
“Hey, you,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. You can't help but let out a giggle, the sound embarrassingly loud and high-pitched. You bury your face into his shoulder to hide. God, you feel like a schoolgirl with a stupid little crush.
You walk side by side down the empty pier, fingers intertwined. You hear the soft sound of the water lapping at the wooden posts below you. The air is warm, comfortable, you almost forget you and Jisung just met only a few hours ago.
“I had fun today,” you say, looking up at him with a shy smile.
Jisung looks down at you, his round eyes warm under the glow of the dim pier lights. “Me too,” he replies softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. He slows to a stop, turning to face you fully.
For a moment you both stand there, smiling at each other like idiots. Then he lets go of your hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles brush against your cheek as he moves his hand to cup your jaw. He leans in slowly, and you close your eyes in response.
The kiss starts soft, much like the one from earlier, before you were interrupted. You press your body close to his, feeling the warmth radiating off of him. Finally, a moment alone where you won’t be interrupted by the chaos of the day.
It doesn’t take long for the kiss to grow hungry. His movements quicken, his tongue enters your mouth desperately and possessively. He reaches for your waist and presses his body against yours. You feel the heat in your body rise, and you’re not sure how much longer this will stay public-friendly.
“I need you,” you whisper to him. “Now.”
He looks at you with wide eyes. “Uh..you mean…like…”
You just nod your head and pull him closer by the loops on his shorts, biting your lip. Yes, Jisung, I need your cock inside of me.
“We could go to the bathroom?” he suggests.
You make a disgusted face. “The one filled with rats? No thanks. I am a lady.”
“Okay, car it is.” He pulls his keys from his pocket and puts his hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the parking lot.
The lot is near empty, being that you’re two of the last people to leave. Thankfully, he’s parked far away from any remaining cars and streetlights. His car is a small black sedan with tinted windows, you notice.
Jisung opens the door to the backseat, and you climb in. He looks around the lot warily, making sure that anyone who would walk by wouldn’t notice the suspiciously parked car in the corner.
Your heart is pounding out of your chest as he climbs in and shuts the door behind him. He only has a second to look at you before you’re back on him, lips crashing together. He melts into you easily, and you feel the heat reignite inside of you.
He settles in the middle and pulls you on top of him, his hands scrambling to feel every inch of you. You tug on his shirt, and he rips it off himself, and you catch a glimpse of his tattoos in the low light. Fuck, that’s hot.
Your hands move up his torso, and you thank god for a moment when your fingertips trace his abs. “God, why are you so fucking hot?”
Jisung chuckles and kisses you harder, deeper.
Everything is moving at double speed. You’re certainly not taking your time, and you’re glad he’s keeping up. He kisses your neck as he tugs your shirt off, followed by your bra, and you can’t help but grind into him when he grabs at your breasts.
“Off…take these off,” you gasp, reaching for the belt on his shorts.
He tugs his shorts off, and they fall to his ankles, groaning as you grind against his bulge through his boxers.
“Your turn,” he leans back to whisper, fingers reaching for the zipper on your shorts.
You hop off of his lap to pull your bottoms off, scrambling back onto him as soon as it hits the floor. His eyes scan over your body, and you hear the air escaping his lungs.
“Fuck, look at you,” he says, taking two handfuls of your ass and squeezing tight. “Am I dreaming?”
A snort comes out of you as you settle back in his lap, bumping your nose against his as you kiss him again. You drag your core over his lap again, and he lets out a groan into your mouth.
The windows fog up fast. The car fills with the sounds of desperate kisses and heavy breathing. You’re soaked through your panties, and the fabric between the two of you isn’t providing the friction you need. Before you can move another muscle, you feel his warm fingers reaching below the waistband of your underwear.
His fingers find your folds, soft and warm and wet. Your hands squeeze his shoulders to steady yourself, and you let out a soft moan into his mouth.
“You’re dripping for me,” he whispers as his fingers drag through your wetness. He finds your clit and you feel a buzz throughout your body.
“Jisung,” you whimper. “Please.”
“Shh,” he coos. “I got you.”
Two thick fingers push inside you, curling against the spot that makes your head spin. You cry out, rocking your hips against his hand, slick dripping down his wrist. His mouth laches onto your breast and your vision blurs, the knot in your belly grows tighter.
Your legs are shaking, and you’re grinding hard against his hand when he suddenly pulls his fingers out. You whine at the loss, but when you open your eyes you watch him reach into his boxers and pull his cock out. It’s long, thick, and hard as a rock.
He pumps himself a couple of times, biting his lip as his eyes scan over you.
“Ready?” he asks, giving you a chance to back out if you’d like. You don’t.
“Yes, please,” you whine, and he moves your panties to the side and lines himself up.
He grabs your hip with one hand and helps you sink down onto him. Your eyes lock and you watch each other's face contort in pleasure as he fills you up. He thrusts the rest of the way until you’re fully seated on him.
“Shit—you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice strained. “You’re so tight, just for me.”
The car rocks as you start to bounce, feeling every vein of his cock drag against your walls. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hips snap up to meet you with every thrust.
“So big,” you moan. “Feels so good, Jisung.” You watch him as you move, sweat glistening against his body, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as you drop down hard against him.
You’re riding him within an inch of his life. He moans louder with every desperate roll of your hips. You feel his cock twitch inside you, and your only wish is for him to fill you up.
He angles you back slightly and takes over your movements. His fingers bruise your waist as he fucks into you at a relentless pace. This angle has his cock pounding into your g-spot, and the heat in your body grows.
The windows are completely fogged, the air around you hot and filled with the smell of sex. Jisung’s movements grow sloppier, and his moans get louder.
“Ji—I’m gonna, I’m close,” you warn him.
“Come on me,” he growls, thrusting up harder. His hand slips between you and he rubs small, tight circles over your clit. “Let me feel you come all over my cock.”
The knot in your belly snaps and your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out his name, your body spasms as you clutch onto him, trying to stay upright. Your cunt clenches around him, dripping on his cock and soaking his lap. He fucks you through it, moaning at the way you squeeze him.
“Baby—fuck,” he cries as he buries himself deep inside you, filling you with hot, thick spurts of his cum.
You collapse against his chest, both of you panting and trembling. Your bodies are hot, skin sticky with sweat. His arms wrap around you tight, his fingers trace small patterns on your back as you both come down.
“You okay?” he whispers.
You nod your head. “Never better,” you laugh.
He presses soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, and temple. You both lie there for a moment in the steamy car, still attached and euphoric.
“Let me drive you home,” he says softly, and you agree.
He finds an old shirt on the floor of his car to clean you up with, and helps you get dressed. It’s a bit of a struggle in the back of the car, but you manage to put yourself back to mostly normal.
The car ride home is quiet, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you. His hand finds your thigh and you rest your head against the glass. It feels like you’ve done this a thousand times before. Like you’ve known each other for years.
He pulls in front of your building and you feel a little uneasy. What happens now? You want to ask, but you don’t want to reek of desperation. Maybe this was just a fun day for the two of you, and you’ll say hi when you bump each other at work, but nothing more.
He walks you to the door like a gentleman, and wraps his arms around your neck as he holds you tight. You swear you could fall asleep to the way he smells, warm and inviting.
You’ve fallen head over heels and straight onto your face for this man. This really stupid, really annoying, really fucking hot man.
“You should go on a date with me,” he whispers into your hair, catching you off guard. “For the turtles, of course.”
“What is up with everyone and these stupid turtles?” you laugh into his chest.
He pulls back to look you in the eyes. “The turtles are the reason we’re here right now.” He is dead serious about these turtles. “The turtles are the reason I got laid for the first time in almost a year.” You try to hide your laugh. “The stupid fucking turtles are the reason that I haven’t been able to get you out of my damn head all day.”
Your heart skips a beat. You can’t hide the smile that grows on your face, or the way you wiggle from excitement hearing him say that.
“Please, let me take you out on a date.” He’s practically begging.
“Okay,” you say, nodding your head. “But only because it’s for the turtles.”
He laughs and grabs your hips to pull you back in, meeting your lips to kiss you. It’s perfect, filling you with that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you’re falling in love.
a/n: HAN JISUNG IN A DUNK TANK!!!! RIDING HAN JISUNG IN THE BACK OF A CAR!!!!! i was going to make this quick n dirty since this takes place over the span of like a day but it wanted to be a love story…what can i say im a sucker i cant help myself 😭 but i hope you all enjoyed ♡
Han is the type of guy to wake you up in the middle of the night — 2 a.m, 3 a.m? he doesn't care. he tried to, but he's not the most patient man out there.
He'll take in your drowsiness and tired grumbles. murmuring soft apologies in the ears; pressing gentle kisses to the curve of your neck; an attempt at buttering you up. hoping that maybe you'd notice the bulge pressing at your lower back and realize how horny he's been.
Han who shamelessly ruts against the swell of your ass, voice getting breather with each grind. begging you to please let him rid of your pants.
barely registering your answer, a nod is sufficient for him to tug the barrier off. keeping your panties on, he slides his cock between your folds, wetting your cum with his leaking precum.
Han who's a moaning mess just from gliding his cock back and forth on your now-soaked pussy. blabbering about how wet you are and to allow him inside already.
Han whose voice cracks into a whimper as you squeeze your thighs around him, trapping him into quick, shallow, thrusts. he nudges your clit with every jerk of hips, tilting your face towards him so that his mouth swallows your own quiet moans with a messy kiss.
Han who doesn't get the opportunity to slide inside before he's cumming all over your pussy, white stripes landing inside your panties, forming a sticky wet patch on the fabric. he's panting, fingers digging into your hips as he struggles to catch his breath.
Han who thanks you endlessly for this, yapping about how much he loves you and that you're the best in this world. slowly drifting back to sleep, pretending that he isn't going to wake you up again soon for another of his horny antics.
-> You don't like Han Jisung's girlfriend. He needs a new one.
nerd!jisung x fem!reader
strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, hurt / comfort, college!au, suggestive
4.7K
Warnings: cursing, blatant infidelity, toxic relationship dynamics, Jisung cries but reader is there for him, a lot of the hurt part of the hurt/comfort trope tbh
The iconic cultural reset to which you owe a thank you for teaching hot nerds everywhere how to eat and use their fingers at the same time.
You weren’t kidding when you said nerds are collectively underrated in terms of hotness.
Case in point: Han Jisung.
There’s just something about being close to him that feels so right. Whether or not he feels the same is still to be determined. But you suspect you might get some answers today. After all, how long can a guy and a girl stay locked up in a dorm room alone before something happens?
Not that anything has to happen. Honestly, you’re just excited to spend some alone time with your crush. It’s fun to humble men in the bedroom, whether you’re tying them to the bedpost or tying the score in a virtual world.
You adjust the strap of your laptop bag with an excited smile and lift your hand.
Knock knock~
Will he like your gaming outfit? You went with blue because you're like 89% sure there’s a blue team, and that’s his favorite color.
Or was it black? Or should you have worn red to entice his…interest? Not that you’re expecting anything sexual to happen, but it's not like you're about to discourage it either.
Before you can finish your own thoughts, he answers the door.
"Took you long enough," you tease, hip popped as you stand in the doorway, your blue mini dress hugging your curves. "Ready to lose?"
Oh. Wait a second. Damn. Jisung looks like he's already lost.
Exhausted eyes all red and swollen, like he’s been up all night without a wink of sleep. His complexion is pale, as if he’s barely stepped outside in days, and his usually soft pink lips are clearly chapped from not drinking enough water.
And yet, it is beyond obvious he's expecting you not to notice any of this. What with his worn attempt at a smile and quick response, "Ready to be humbled?"
Instead of answering his question (because let's be honest, you hardly heard it), your brow furrows with concern, lips parting gently.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly.
“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”
“You look like hell.”
“Didn't sleep well,” he shrugs.
“Since when, last year?”
“I'm fine, promise.” As if putting the word promise at the end of his lie will make it more convincing. “Come on in. You can set up next to me at the desk.”
You step inside, slipping your laptop bag off your shoulder as Jisung closes the door behind you.
At first glance, everything appears normal for a guy's dorm room.
Messy bed. Stickered gaming equipment. Textbooks stacked in uneven piles at random places. A familiar hoodie is draped over the back of his chair. That must be one of his favorites because you recall him wearing it pretty regularly, especially on days he's stressed.
Then your eyes land on the mini fridge in the corner.
Metal spoons. A whole stack of them, just sitting on top.
You're not stupid. You've used the cold spoon trick before too, plenty of times.
It's a temporary fix. A band-aid of sorts. Judging by the collection sitting on top of Jisung's mini fridge, someone has been reapplying that band-aid a lot lately.
Your gaze drifts back to his face. To the faint redness around his eyes. To the exhaustion. To the way the skin beneath them still looks slightly puffy despite whatever efforts he's made to hide it.
Because that's the thing about the cold spoon trick. It works…until it doesn't.
You can only constrict swollen blood vessels so many times. You can only reduce so much inflammation. Eventually, the crying starts to win, the evidence lingers, and no amount of cold metal can disguise the fact that your heart is breaking.
“Alright.” Jisung rubs his hands together dramatically. "Let's do this. Just so we're clear, I'm not going easy on you."
"I'd be offended if you did."
You drop into the chair beside him and pull your laptop from your bag while he leans over to help you get everything installed.
His mood seems a little lighter now, thankfully. Not fixed, but definitely distracted at least. This isn't what you want overall, but it's probably the best you can expect right now.
"Okay," he says, scooting closer. "Make an account."
"Done."
"Now log in."
"Done."
"Now prepare yourself for one of the worst mistakes of your life."
You roll your eyes and giggle, “No, silly, that's what you're supposed to do next.”
A reluctant smile finally wins its battle against his exhaustion. It's small and uneven and brief. Gone almost as quickly as it appears. Nothing remarkable that anyone else would probably notice or care. And yet you find yourself openly staring at it anyway.
Jisung leans in closer to look at your screen, one hand settling on the back of your chair while the other skillfully drags across your mousepad. Before you realize what's happened, he's completely invaded your personal space.
Not that you're complaining. The closeness feels effortless and natural as he drifts closer without even thinking about it.
Somewhere along the way, Jisung stopped treating your personal space like it's your personal space. Now he just seems to orbit you whenever you're together, pulled into you by some invisible force he's never once acknowledged out loud, but also has never once fought.
And the more time you spend around him, the more you start to suspect it means something. Not to be dramatic, of course, he's not secretly in love with you yet.
But he is surprisingly tactile for someone so introverted, always wanting to be touching in some way.
Not with everyone! If anything, he's usually quite reserved in the physical touch department.
But with people he trusts? People he likes?
It's different.
He'll lean into them without thinking. Sit close enough that his shoulders touch theirs. Let his knee bump against theirs under a table while acting like he has no idea. Absentmindedly reach out just to make sure they're still there while he's talking.
Physical closeness isn't just physical closeness to him. It's a love language. It's reassurance. It's connection.
And maybe that's why you've started noticing it more lately. Because the longer you stick around, the closer he gets. Like, he always seems to end up beside you regardless of the room or activity.
He's started gravitating toward your space instead of away from it, even when it would seemingly be easier to stand alone. And he never appears bothered by your proximity. If anything, he seems calmer when you're close.
More relaxed. More comfortable.
Which would explain why he's currently half-folded into your personal space while explaining League of Legends. One look into his eyes is enough to tell you this isn't really about the game. He's clearly hurting. Clearly lonely. So, you're not surprised he's getting a little closer than usual.
Not that he's being suave or subtle about it, either. Heartbreak has a habit of settling on a person's face before they’re willing to admit it's there, unable to completely hide it no matter what they do.
But despite wanting to hide the exhaustion, his gaze keeps finding yours.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Every time you look over, he's already looking at you, hand still on the back of your chair, body angled toward yours as if some part of him has already quietly decided you're exactly where he wants to be.
Not flirting. At least, not intentionally, from what you can tell.
Just...looking at you.
Like he's trying to remember something. Or maybe trying to forget something.
His eyes drift over your face while you talk. They linger on your expression, your smile, the way your eyebrows dance when you're being dramatic. Every now and then, they dip briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.
It's not the look of someone falling in love. At least, you don't think it is. You wouldn't be mad if it was, but there's too much sadness in him right now for that.
No, this is something quieter.
And maybe that's what’s throwing you so much. Because usually, Jisung is painfully easy to read. He wears his emotions on his sleeve at all times; he can't help it.
But today, there's too much. Too many emotions competing for space inside him, all crowding his mind and heart – even he can't figure out which feeling is winning.
When he finally tears his gaze away from you to look back at your laptop screen, you miss it.
"So, what's the main objective?” you ask once he's got you in and set up. “I used that word right, right?”
He shoots you a fond look and mods. “Yeah. Destroy the enemy Nexus."
"The what?"
"The giant crystal thing,” he explains. “You'll know it when you see it.”
"Oh. So, I just like…hit it? Easy.”
He glances at you while reaching across your keyboard to adjust a setting. "Uh, not exactly.”
"But basically.”
“Not basically either. There's a lot more that goes into it.” He points at your screen. "Okay, so there are three lanes: top, mid, and bot. Minions spawn every thirty seconds and automatically path down each lane, so you're gonna want to kill them first. Hitting minions last gives you gold, which you use to buy items. The goal is to build enough gold and XP to hit your power spikes before the enemy team does."
“Yep. Easy peasy. None of that seems complicated at all.”
"There’s also jungle camps between the lanes. Junglers clear camps for gold and XP, then gank lanes to create advantages. Also objectives spawn throughout the game, like, Void Grubs, Rift Herald, Dragons, Baron. If you can secure objectives, it gives your team map control, buffs, or siege pressure.”
“Definitely haven't lost me yet.”
"Now, waves need to be managed properly and carefully. Sometimes you slow push, sometimes you freeze, sometimes you hard shove depending on lane state or matchup or objective timers. Just know vision is super important, so place wards. Also, remember not to face-check bushes. And don't forget to track your enemy's cooldowns, level spikes, always watch the minimap so you can rotate when necessary. Oh! And whatever you do, don't overextend without vision.”
He finally pauses.
“Got it?"
"Sungie?”
"Yeah?"
"You're really hot when you speak nerd. But I understood exactly three of those words."
He facepalms and sighs into his hand.
"You're talking really fast!” you whine with a pout on your lips, successfully spawning a smile on his own. “Slow down for me?”
"I thought you said you were going to beat my ass at this game?”
“And I will!” you insist, defensively adjusting in your seat. “Right now I'm losing against the tutorial, not you.”
And then something you weren't expecting, but it lifts your heart and makes your skin tingle with happy goosebumps.
He laughs.
Not the exhausted smile he gave you at the door. Or the fake polite chuckle he’s been hiding behind since you arrived.
A real laugh. Small but definitely there. The sound sends an embarrassing amount of happiness rushing through your chest.
"Okay, how can I simplify this?” he mutters with a sigh, scooting his chair right up next to yours. “Hit things. Get money. Buy stuff. Don't die."
"Oh!” Your eyes light up with a playful hit on his shoulder. “Why didn't you just say that? I'm great at buying stuff and not dying. I've been doing it my whole life.”
The look he gives you suggests he's already accepted that you're about to ignore every piece of advice he offers. But strangely, he couldn't care less.
"So who do I pick?" you ask, scrolling through the list of characters.
"A champion."
"Which one is the hottest?”
Jisung sighs (again) and pinches the bridge of his nose, his glasses sitting on his hand for a moment. “That’s not really how you're supposed to choose–”
“Oh my god!” you gasp. “This one.”
“That's Jinx. She's an ADC.”
“She's a clinically insane badass.”
“I should warn you,” Jisung says unsure, “she's a bit difficult.”
"I can fix her.”
"No,” he chuckles breathlessly. “I mean, she might make you lose since you don't know how to use her.”
"Well, I think you know she's secretly the best character in the game and you're trying to keep all the overpowered champions for yourself.”
You lock in the champion with a smug click and casually sweep your hair behind your shoulder.
“Cute attempt, Sungie. But your sabotage was a little too obvious.”
“The match hasn't even started.”
“And yet my instincts remain flawless.”
Two seconds later, you're loading into your first match, confidence skyrocketing and not backing down.
Jisung watches your screen with the kind of focus usually reserved for brain surgery and bomb defusal. Occasionally pointing and frantically directing you on where to go and what to fight.
At first, it's funny.
Then it becomes mildly concerning.
And then, somehow, it becomes contagious.
Every time you glance over, he's leaning forward in his chair a little bit more, eyes tracking your every move, silently evaluating decisions you don’t even realize you’re making. The sheer seriousness with which he approaches this game is ridiculous…and it starts rubbing off on you.
Suddenly, button-mashing for fun doesn't seem like an option anymore. Not when Jisung is watching your performance and reviewing it like a panel of experts.
Before you know it, you're sitting up straighter, concentrating harder, and genuinely trying your best to destroy your enemy’s alien nexium jewel hub thingy.
Which is honestly ridiculous when you think about it. Because you came here to spend time with your crush, not your laptop.
And yet somehow, against all odds, Han Jisung has tricked you into caring about League of Legends.
Oh my god…are you becoming a nerd…!?
You watch your screen a little closer, trying to focus, but Jisung’s shoulder brushing against yours is hella distracting.
Your fingers flinch on the keyboard, missing the buttons entirely, your reaction time spiraling. Suddenly, your character takes three steps and walks straight into a tower.
Ah! Panic! Press random buttons. Run directly toward an enemy. Die instantly.
Silence.
You slowly sit back, the game over screen flashing mockingly in your face.
Jisung has covered his mouth with both hands. But he's not surprised. He's trying not to smile.
"Did you just…?”
"Don't start,” you warn him, turning in your seat.
"You walked into the tower."
"I saw what happened, chill.”
"You literally walked straight into it. I mean, just right into it.”
"I know.”
“Didn’t even look where you were going.”
“Are you done?”
“Just blindly walked directly–”
“I get it! Geez!”
He loses the battle with himself and starts laughing out loud, shoulders bouncing.
You narrow your eyes and snarl at him, but you're pretty sure your pupils are the shapes of hearts right now.
"Enjoy it while you can, Sungie."
"Oh?"
You point dramatically at your screen and then immediately start another match. "I'm about to become a threat, baby.”
For Jisung, the funniest part is that you're actually terrible at this.
Not hopeless.
Not incapable.
Just genuinely awful.
You don't instinctively check the minimap. You forget which buttons do what every five minutes. Half your decision making process seems based off vibes and blind confidence alone.
And yet you're trying. Really hard. Much harder than anyone would expect you to.
Not because you care about ranked matches or champion builds or objective control, because you clearly don't.
But because you care about him.
The realization settles deep in his chest, somewhat painful and somehow lovely at the same time.
League isn't your thing. If he asked you to choose between a gaming session and almost anything else, he'd bet dirty money on you choosing the other thing every time.
But you're here anyway. You downloaded the game. You listened to his explanations. You showed up carrying a laptop and enough enthusiasm to fool even Faker.
Just to spend time with him. Just to understand something he loves. Just to encourage him.
It's such a simple thing, really, partaking in someone else's hobby. But somehow it feels bigger than any grand gesture he could think of.
Because in a world where so much of his life has felt like people wanting things from him – his time, his attention, his effort, his patience, his tolerance, his sacrifice – it never ends.
You, on the other hand, keep showing up. And all you want is to know him. His favorite boba tea? His school frustrations? What makes him shy? What makes him excited? What makes him tick? Did he sleep well? Did he eat enough? Did he study? Is he being treated fairly?
He doesn't think you'll ever fully understand how much that means. And god help him…he's not sure he'll ever deserve it.
Deserve you.
“Ughh!” you groan in frustration, slamming the buttons instead of pressing them like a sane person. “These fucking minions are everywhere! Do they ever quit!?”
Normally, Jisung would have answered immediately. Probably with an overcomplicated explanation involving wave management or something that only sounds charming when he says it.
But his silence stretches on, long after you expect him to be ranting about how terribly you're handling this objective right now.
With your fingers still on the keyboard, you glance over, ready to scold him for not telling you which minion swarm to attack first.
But what you see makes you do a double-take. And freeze.
Jisung is staring at the screen, but he's completely motionless, eyes glassy and unfocused.
A tear slips down his cheek.
Then another.
Your stomach drops, the useless game forgotten instantly.
Softly, you say his name, "Jisung?” And then a little more firmly when he doesn't budge. “Jisung.”
He blinks himself back into awareness, as if he didn't even realize he was crying while zoning out into nothing.
You turn fully toward him when he sniffles a few times. "Hey, what's wrong?”
No response. No reaction. Not even an attempt to wipe his tears away. They just keep falling, tracing down his cheeks already flushed from raw, bone-deep exhaustion.
Your laptop gets abandoned without a second thought.
"Hey, hey,” you sooth while reaching for his face, gently cupping his cheeks. “Look at me. Why are you crying?”
His skin is warm. Too warm to be simply an overheated dorm room. Your thumbs sweep beneath his eyes, collecting his tears although it's pointless. Each time, another one falls immediately. Then another.
“Jisung, talk to me, please. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
He shakes his head, the movement tiny, almost imperceptible, eyes lowering.
"...tired."
The answer nearly breaks your heart. Because he's not lying; you can hear it in his voice. He is tired. But tired of what, you can only speculate.
Of course, you have your suspicions, and they're probably accurate. But to be honest, that's not entirely important right now.
What's important is what you do in this moment. How you treat him, and what he needs.
You study him for a moment. Then ask quietly, "Do you trust me?"
His eyes lift to yours, red-rimmed and vulnerable. It hurts like hell to see him like this, because his eyes are usually your favorite things about him.
Big, light brown, and impossibly expressive. Deep enough to get lost in for hours. The kind of eyes that crinkle when he laughs and sparkle when he gets too excited about something. The kind of eyes that make him look soft even when he's trying to be sarcastic.
Boba pearl eyes. Round and sweet and comforting and soft.
But these aren't the eyes you're used to falling into. Something hellish has hollowed them out, and yet, they aren't empty. No, that would almost be easier.
They're full. Full of sleepless nights and too many tears and all the thoughts he hasn't said out loud.
For perhaps the first time since you've met him, those beautiful eyes aren't insisting he's okay. They're asking you for help.
After a long moment, he nods.
You stand, placing a hand on his shoulder to make him sit back in his chair.
He looks confused but doesn't resist, doesn't even attempt to ask what you're doing. His whole body submits to your guidance with unwavering trust.
Without a word, you settle yourself across his lap, straddling his waist and resting each of your knees on either side of him.
Reaching up, you gently remove his glasses and place them on the desk behind you. Then you slide both arms around his neck and fall forward onto him, holding him close to yourself.
For a second he just sits there. Frozen. Limp. Unsure of what to do.
Then something breaks. His arms start to lift, his hands following the curve of your legs until they scoop under your thighs and pull you further onto his lap, flush against him so his arms can lock around your waist.
Hard.
The sound that leaves his throat is small, more like a strangled inhale before he starts crying.
Really crying.
His face disappears into your shoulder at first, his entire body trembling as you squeeze him tighter.
You can feel the dampness of his tears soaking into your shirt. Feel the way he keeps pulling you closer, afraid you might disappear or leave. Feel the way his face buries into your neck now, nose sniffling, hands gripping your clothes.
"It's okay," you murmur, holding him together the best way you know how. “I’m right here. It's okay.”
Again and again and again. Until eventually the crying slows, softens, and fades. Until all that's left are the occasional, manageable shaky breaths and swallows.
When he loosens his grip for a moment, you pull back just enough to look at him.
"Will you listen to me?"
He nods immediately, no hesitation whatsoever.
“Do exactly as I say?”
He nods again, hands mindlessly wandering your waist and fidgeting with the hem of your dress at your thighs, the softness of the material and the lines of your body providing a strange sense of comfort and gentleness.
"Good." You stand up, his touch dragging off your body. "Stay there. I'll be right back."
He watches you leave, obediently staring at the door for what feels like hours, not moving an inch without you present.
A few minutes later you return carrying several cold bottles of water from the vending machine downstairs.
You stock most of them into his mini fridge before placing the last one directly into his hands.
"Drink."
He twists off the cap and obeys without question, throat bobbing with each gulp. Halfway through the bottle, he lowers it and looks up at you for confirmation.
“All of it, please.”
Then he finishes the rest without so much as a blink.
You pull out a stick of chapstick from your bag next and hand it to him.
"Good job,” you praise him with a stroke of his head, sparking a sense of accomplishment and pride in him he didn't realize was possible.
Fuck, he has to do whatever it takes to hear you praise him like that again.
“Put this on.”
He gives you a look but doesn't argue, popping the lid off and gently applying it to his chapped lips.
You decide to leave it out on his desk for later, secretly planning on “forgetting” it so he’ll be more likely to use it in the future as well.
“Stand up.”
When he does, you grab the hoodie hanging on the back of his chair. The oversized one that's been washed so many times it's simultaneously the softest thing you've ever touched and falling apart at the seams.
“This is your favorite hoodie?”
He nods.
"The one that helps when you're anxious?”
You half expect him to lie, because it's not exactly something he's openly admitted to you, and has even been known to avoid in conversation.
But to your surprise, he immediately responds, “That's right.” As if the fact that you know about his anxiety doesn't phase him at all. Why wouldn't you know? Even with all his attempts to hide that side of himself, of course, you saw through his facades and masks. Of course, you saw the real him.
“Take off your shirt,” you tell him, not making any implication to move or look away.
For the first time, he doesn't immediately obey, whether because he's shy or surprised or perhaps both.
But you can see there's a bigger part of him that actually really wants to do what you say. It wants to obey, to follow your directions, to submit. A part of him that wants you to be happy and proud of how well he listens to you.
So, he may hesitate for a moment, but then he slowly pulls his shirt off, dropping it on the ground with a deep inhale that fills his chest.
You hold your breath for a moment, caught up in the quiet intimacy of the scene and the way he sways on his feet, subtly but unconsciously moving in closer to you.
Gently, you take a step closer, lift the hoodie, and guide it over his head. As it slips past his messy hair, his face comes back into view, close enough that you can see some faint stubble on his chin, a faint pink on his ears, and the way his eyelids flutter with something that could easily be mistaken for falling in lo--
...it's probably not though. He's in pain. That's all.
While you're at it, you reach up to fix the drawstrings, gently tugging them straight and dragging your palms down his chest to lay them flat. Then softly push his bangs back from his forehead and smooth out his eyebrows.
Then, with your prompting, he carefully slips his arms into the sleeves. You grasp the fabric and pull it down over his torso as it settles around him, the back of your hands lightly brushing his bare skin. You adjust the material on his shoulders too, making sure it sits just right – not too loose, not too tight – so it feels like a warm, familiar hug.
All the while, he soaks in each of your touches, silently praying to whatever diety might be listening that you won't stop. Watching you like you hung the stars in the sky just for him, that you’re his guardian angel come to Earth, his only reason why.
Perhaps the only thing that would make this better is if you could climb into his hoodie with him and dissolve into his skin.
You move over to his bed, crawl onto the comforter, and sit against the wall.
"Come here,” you say, patting the empty space beside you.
Jisung waits, only for a second – to catch his breath at the sight of you on his bed – then crawls onto the mattress and sits next to you, close enough to shamelessly lean his leg against your leg.
You grab his pillow and place it across your lap. All it takes is one little pat for understanding to immediately dawn on his face.
Slowly, he lowers himself down. His head dips softly onto your lap, and you run your fingers gently through his hair, feeling him finally surrender a little of the pain he's been harboring.
His eyes are already drooping less than a minute later.
"Go to sleep, Sungie. Get some rest.”
He gives you a sleepy blink, body fighting itself to stay awake.
“Is this really okay?" His question comes out so quietly it barely exists. You wonder if he really means it, or if he's just asking for your reassurance.
"It's up to you.” Your fingers continue combing through his hair. "If you'd rather I leave, I'll leave."
"No,” he responds immediately, almost desperately. "Stay. Please. I don't want you to go."
You smile softly, because how are you supposed to not smile with Han Jisung laying on your lap, gazing up at you with the prettiest, most vulnerable, tired eyes you've ever had the fortune of seeing?
"I'll stay as long as you want.”
“In that case…” He rolls toward you, nuzzling his face into your stomach until you're not sure he can properly breathe like that.
The movement is so instinctual, so trusting, so natural, it stirs up every protective, maternal instinct in you into overdrive.
Within a matter of minutes, his breathing evens out, signaling that he’s fallen fast asleep.
::
Your fingers continue to move carefully through his hair, gentle yet possessive in a way you have no right to admit aloud just yet. It may be a bit premature, but in your heart, you allow the feeling to become one with your veins:
You're desperately in love with Han Jisung. And whoever hurt your Sungie is going to wish they'd never been fucking born.
☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...
Pairing: Jisung x afab!reader
Genre: fluff & smut no minors pls! (Includes unprotec sex, fingering, nipple play, oral sex) 🌸🔞
Summary: Two strangers share a bench under a flickering streetlamp, waiting for a midnight bus that never arrives.
Wc: 13k
Enjoy reading <33 If you want any specific ideas tell me and I will see what I can do!
A/N: There's smut at the end, this is more of a fluff fic lol skip to the 2nd band aid to read just the smut, I really enjoyed this fic love me some guitarist Jiji, I wrote this as I was rewatching Nana and wanted to write something more romantic (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ
☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...
✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧
"Hey."
The word barely registered over the thrum of bass in your ears, muffled further by the steady hiss of rain against pavement. You blinked water from your lashes and turned your head just enough to see the guy next to you under the flickering bus stop light, dark hair plastered to his forehead, headphones dangling loose around his neck.
"You missed the last one," he said, nodding toward the empty street where the bus should’ve been. "They don’t run this late on Sundays. Learned that the hard way last month."
You tugged one earbud out. "Seriously?"
His laugh came out half-drowned by a passing cars.
"Seriously. Unless you're into midnight walks or taxi's that never run?" He shrugged, shoulders lifting under his soaked jacket. His sneakers were dirty and ruined.
You sighed, wiping rainwater from your phone screen before checking the ride-share app. "Two hour wait. And triple surge pricing." The digits blurred as another big drop hit your screen. "Guess I'm walking."
"Same," he said, shifting his weight from one ruined sneaker to the other. "Which way you headed?"
"Over by the old district," you said, glancing at the darkened storefronts across the street. The neon sign of a 24-hour diner buzzed faintly three blocks down.
"Oh shit, me too." he grinned, the light catching in his dimples. "Jisung, by the way."
You hesitated just long enough for Jisung to notice, his grin softening into something more careful. "Unless you'd rather not walk with a stranger," he said, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. "Which, honestly, fair."
"I'd be an idiot to say no to some company in this weather and time of night," you admitted, nodding toward the diner's bright glow. "Don't try anything though weirdo."
Jisung laughed and fell into step beside you. "So what were you listening to back there?" he asked, flicking water from his headphones. "You looked properly zoned out."
"Ambient city sounds playlist," you admitted, stepping around a deep puddle that reflected neon. "Helps me pretend I’m in a movie when I’m just… buying toilet paper at the convenience store."
Jisung snorted, shaking his head like a wet dog. "That’s actually genius. Mine’s just podcasts about people arguing over whether aliens built the pyramids." He side-eyed you as you both reached the diner’s overhang, shaking water off your sleeves. "You seem like the type who’d have strong opinions about that."
The diner’s warmth hit you first, grease and coffee and the faint hum of a jukebox skipping Elvis mid-chorus. A waitress waved you toward a booth without looking up from her crossword. You slid in opposite Jisung, peeling your jacket off with a damp squelch.
Jisung peeled his own jacket off, grimacing as water dripped onto the cracked vinyl seat. "So," he said, shaking out his sleeves, "you never told me your name."
"Didn't I?" You pretended to think about it. The diner’s overhead light caught the raindrops still clinging to his eyelashes. "It’s—"
"Y/N," you said, watching as Jisung's fingers paused mid-air, headphones dangling from his grip. "Nice to meet you, Jisung."
He blinked, then grinned. "Y/N," he repeated. The jukebox hiccupped back to life behind him, as Jisung leaned forward, elbows on the sticky tabletop. "That suits you. Way better than 'random stranger at the bus stop' anyway."
The waitress appeared with two steaming mugs before either of you could speak again, sliding them across the table with practiced indifference. Jisung wrapped his hands around his mug immediately, sighing as the heat seeped into his rain-chilled fingers.
"So," he said, blowing gently across the surface of his coffee, "what were you doing out so late anyway? Not exactly prime bus-stop hours."
"Library," you said, tapping your nails against your own mug. The ceramic was chipped at the rim. "Lost track of time researching the most boring topic known to mankind."
Jisung raised an eyebrow, steam from his coffee curling around his face as he took a careful sip. "Okay, now you have to tell me. Nothing's more boring than the podcast episode I listened to last week about the history of elevator music."
You laughed, stirring your coffee absently. "Supernatural sightings."
Jisung choked on his coffee, coughing into his sleeve before grinning at you with renewed interest. "No fucking way. Like ghosts? Demons? Don’t tell me you were researching aliens—"
"Urban legends," you clarified, watching as he wiped coffee off his chin with the back of his hand. "Specifically, the ones tied to locations. Like bridges where people swear they’ve seen a woman in white, or abandoned hospitals with shadow figures in the windows when no one’s inside," you finished, watching Jisung's fingers tighten around his mug. His grin had sharpened, eyes alight with the kind of focus people usually reserved for spotting their ex across a crowded room.
"Okay, but you have to know about the one tied to the old district," he said, leaning in far enough that you could smell the rain still clinging to his hoodie. "The laundromat next to the boarded-up movie theatre? People say if you put your ear against the wall at midnight, you can hear the sound of coins dropping into the dryer," Jisung whispered, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush before cracking into laughter.
You kicked his shin under the table, grinning when his coffee sloshed over the rim. "Dick. And here I thought you were gonna say something actually creepy."
Jisung wiped the spilled coffee with a napkin, still grinning like he'd won something.
"What, you wanted ghosts? Fine." He leaned in, lowering his voice as the diner's fluorescent lights flickered overhead, probably just faulty wiring, but the timing was perfect. "Three years ago, some college kid swore he saw a woman in a red dress standing in the alley behind the hardware store. Just… standing there. No footsteps. No sound when she turned to look at him."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a shiver, mostly from the damp clothes clinging to your back. "And then what? She vanished into a cloud of bats?"
Jisung's grin widened, his fingers drumming against the chipped mug. "Nah, worse," he said, eyes gleaming under the diner's flickering lights. "She smiled at him, with all her teeth showing, and then walked straight through the brick wall like it was mist." He paused for effect, watching your reaction with undisguised delight. "Kid dropped his burrito and ran so fast he left his shoes in the alley. They found them the next morning, perfectly lined up, laces untied."
You snorted, but your fingers tightened around your coffee mug. "Bullshit. If that was true, it'd be all over the local news."
Jisung leaned back in the booth, stretching his arms behind his head with a satisfied smirk. "Local news? Nah, they buried it. Too weird, even for them." He flicked a sugar packet across the table at you. "But ask any of the old-timers who drink at the bar across from that alley. They'll tell you the same story."
The sugar packet hit your fingers with a soft flick. You caught it before it could slide off the table, turning it over in your hands like it might hold some hidden answer. "You're telling me," you said slowly, tearing the corner with deliberate precision, "that this town has a ghost who walks through walls?"
Jisung shrugged, watching the sugar pour into your coffee in a slow stream. "Wouldn't be the weirdest thing around here." His voice dropped, conspiratorial.
"You ever notice how the streetlights on Maple always flicker right at midnight? Or how the stray cats all freeze at the same time, like they're hearing something humans can't?"
"You're not wrong," you muttered, stirring your coffee just to watch the sugar swirl into the blackness. "This town's always been dodgy as hell. Remember when they found those tunnels under the old elementary school? And the mayor just—" you mimed zipping your lips "—said it was 'historical plumbing' and called it a day?"
Jisung's laugh was sharp, surprised. "Holy shit, yes. And then the local paper ran that piece about 'quaint small-town mysteries' like they hadn't found literal shackles down there." He tapped his fingers against the mug in a restless rhythm, rain still dripping from his hair onto the table. "My theory? serial killer hideout."
You laughed as the waitress came over with menus, her nails chipped pink and smelling faintly of bleach. She dropped them onto the table with a practiced thud, barely glancing up from her crossword puzzle. "Special's meatloaf," she mumbled. "But I wouldn't."
Jisung flipped the menu open with exaggerated reverence. "Ah, the sacred texts," he intoned, squinting at the grease-smudged laminate.
The menu was laminated yellowed with age, edges curled from decades of grease-stained fingers flipping through its pages. A coffee ring from 2003 stained the dessert section. You traced a finger over the smudged text, squinting at what might’ve been "chili" or possibly "child" under the Specials column.
"Can I get pancakes?" you asked, smiling at Jisung over the rim of your coffee mug as the waitress lingered with her notepad poised.
Jisung's eyes lit up like you'd just proposed a heist. "Fuck yes, pancakes," he said, slapping his menu shut with finality. "But only if we get the kind with chocolate chips and whipped cream."
"Yum," you declared with mock solemnity, sliding the menus back toward the waitress before she could disappear again. Jisung nodded like you'd just sworn a blood oath, pushing his own menu across the table with the gravity of a general surrendering his sword. "Chocolate chip pancakes," you announced. "Extra whipped cream. And—" you shot Jisung a sidelong glance, "—4 sides of bacon. For balance."
"Mind sharing?" Jisung asked, nudging your hand across the table gently. His grin was lopsided, rainwater still dripping from his bangs onto the table. "We only met like ten minutes ago. Lol. It's okay if not." The way he said "lol" out loud, like it was an actual word, made you snort into your coffee.
"Nah, it's fine," you said, nudging the plate of pancakes that just arrived toward the center of the table with your elbow. "We can share the deliciousness together." The words came out more sincere than you'd intended, something about the way Jisung's eyes lit up at the sight of whipped cream made it impossible to deny him.
Jisung wasted no time, dragging a syrup-drenched triangle toward himself with the edge of his fork. "Bless you," he said, voice muffled by a mouthful of pancake. "This is officially the best bus-stop stranger decision I've ever made." A dollop of whipped cream clung to the corner of his mouth as he chewed, and you pointedly ignored the urge to reach across the table and wipe it away with your thumb.
You took a bite just as Jisung gestured wildly with his fork, syrup splattering across his cheek. "Shit," he hissed, dropping his fork to swipe at his face with a crumpled napkin. "Guess I'm wearing my dessert now."
The pancake was somehow both fluffy and slightly crispy at the edges, the chocolate chips melted into perfect pockets of sweetness. You chewed slowly, watching as Jisung scrubbed at his cheek with increasing desperation, only succeeding in smearing the syrup further. "Hold still," you said, snagging a clean napkin from the dispenser and leaning halfway across the table. Jisung froze, his breath hitching as you dabbed at his skin,closer than either of you had been all night, close enough to count the raindrops still clinging to his cheek.
"Shit, this is really good," you said, pulling back with the syrup-stained napkin still pinched between your fingers. Jisung blinked, once, twice—before his grin returned, slower this time, like he was recalibrating after the unexpected closeness.
"Told you," Jisung said, voice lower than before, fingers drumming against his coffee mug. "Best accidental diner decision of my life." He dragged another forkful of pancake.
Jisung’s grin widened as he leaned forward, elbows planted on the diner table. "So, Y/N," he said, "tell me more about yourself."
The overhead light buzzed, casting his face in flickering gold, and you noticed his dimples had a way of lingering even after his smile relaxed.
You swirled your fork in the whipped cream, considering. "What do you wanna know? My blood type? My third-grade teacher’s name? There's not much to say apart from me not being able to read bus times."
"Anything and everything." Jisung smiled shrugging.
"Twenty-two," you said, stabbing a forkful of pancake. "And I like super natural stuff, obviously, and losing at Mario Kart." The whipped cream dissolved on your tongue, sweet and slightly synthetic. "Also, reading and playing the drums.
Jisung snorted, syrup dripping off his fork onto the table. "Twenty-three. And same, but replace Mario Kart with getting kicked out of karaoke bars for 'too much enthusiasm.'" He air-quoted the last part.
Jisung’s grin faltered for half a second, just long enough for you to notice the way his fingers tightened around his fork. "Shit, that reminds me," he said, knocking his knee against the guitar case wedged between the booth and his rain-soaked jacket. "I was supposed to be at band practice tonight. Completely forgot."
You laughed, nodding at the scuffed black case. "Explains the guitar you've been hauling around."
Shifting your eyes, you looked at his guitar case, scuffed black and covered in so many peeling band stickers it was practically its own punk rock mosaic. The remnants of a hundred shows clung to its surface like battle scars, some so old they'd faded into ghostly outlines of logos you half-recognized. One corner was duct-taped together.
"That's seen some shit," you said, tapping your fork against a particularly gnarly sticker, some death metal band with a font so illegible.
Jisung laughed, the kind of full-bodied, snort-included laugh that made the elderly couple in the next booth shoot him a disapproving look. His fingers flew to his mouth too late, as he tried and failed to smother the sound. "Seen some shit?" he repeated, voice pitching higher with amusement. He nudged the guitar case with his knee, sending it tipping sideways against the booth with a thunk. "This bad boy's survived eight mosh pits, a basement flood, and one very pissed-off ex-girlfriend who tried to set it on fire."
You raised an eyebrow, and Jisung's grin turned sheepish as he fixed it with a practiced shove of his hip. "Okay, two ex-girlfriends," he admitted, picking at the duct tape with peeling nail polish. "But in my defense, the second one was totally justified, I did accidentally use her limited-edition Sailor Moon vinyl as a pizza tray."
"Understandable," you nodded, grinning as you swiped a finger through the whipped cream on your plate. "Limited-edition Sailor Moon vinyls are sacred. You're lucky she didn't use your face as a pizza tray."
Jisung clutched his chest dramatically. "She considered it. Left the pizza cutter on my pillow for a week as a warning." He leaned in conspiratorially, the diner light catching the wild glint in his eyes. "Turns out she was just bluffing though, found out later she cried when she stepped on a cockroach. No way she could’ve gone through with dismemberment."
"You never know," you said with a shrug, swirling your fork through the whipped cream remnants on your plate. "First step toward accidental murder is squishing bugs without remorse. Next thing you know, you're hiding bodies under the floorboards."
Jisung laughed again shaking his head. "Nah, see, that's where you're wrong," he countered, leaning in close enough that you could smell the rain still clinging to his hoodie, damp cotton and something faintly strawberry from his shampoo.
"The true first step is developing strong opinions about which way the toilet paper roll should face. That's when the homicidal urges kick in."
You laughed so hard your ribs ached, clutching your side as Jisung's grin widened. He looked absurdly pleased with himself. The elderly couple in the next booth sighed loudly, gathering their coats with theatrical disapproval.
"Shh," Jisung stage-whispered, pressing a finger to his own lips.
"You're gonna get us kicked out of this fine establishment." His attempt at solemnity lasted exactly two seconds before he dissolved into muffled giggles, shoulders shaking as he ducked his head. His hair still damp from the rain, flopped over his forehead, and you had the sudden, ridiculous urge to push it back.
You leave some cash on the table. As Jisung tries to dispute, he fails as you grab his hands.
Jisung blushes and then cleares his throat, "I'm suddenly very thirsty, you?" His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against his mug, the ceramic clinking softly. The flush creeping up his neck had nothing to do with the diner's stifling heat, you could tell by the way his gaze flicked to your lips, then away, like he'd been caught doing something.
"Parched," you admitted, nudging your empty coffee cup.
"Convenience store run?" Jisung asked, already sliding out of the booth with the reckless energy of a man who'd just mainlined three cups of diner coffee. You nodded, grinning as he nearly tripped over his own guitar case, his sneaker squeaking against the floor.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time you shouldered open the diner door, the neon "OPEN" sign flickering above you. Jisung bumped into you from behind, not on purpose, you think. His breath soft against your ear as he mumbled an apology. The sidewalk shimmered with oily puddles reflecting the convenience store's fluorescent glow two doors down.
The convenience store's automatic doors wheezed open with all the enthusiasm of a dying asthmatic, flooding the sidewalk with sterile white light. Jisung hesitated just outside, his sneakers squeaking against the wet pavement as he glanced up.
"Last time I came here," he said, nudging your elbow with his damp sleeve, "the cashier tried to sell me an energy drink that expired in 2017."
Inside, the store smelled like stale nacho cheese and industrial cleaner, the kind of aggressively artificial scent that made your nose hairs revolt. A single fluorescent light buzzed ominously above the snack aisle, casting Jisung's face in flickering shadows as he beelined for the drink coolers. His reflection warped in the glass as he bent down, the guitar case bumping against his calves.
You knelt down beside Jisung, the convenience store's grimy floor pressing cold against your bare knees as you scanned the bottom shelf of drinks. The hem of your skirt rode up higher than intended, but the absurdity of worrying about modesty at 1 AM in a fluorescent-lit purgatory made you snort. Jisung's reflection in the glass door did a comedic double-take, eyes flickering downward for half a second before snapping back up to your face with impressive speed.
"Uh," he said quietly, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his thighs. The cooler hummed between you, vibrating through the glass as you plucked out a can of some obscenely purple energy drink.
"That one's got enough caffeine to kill a small horse," he blurted, reaching past you to grab a peach iced tea instead. His forearm brushed your shoulder, warm despite the rain still clinging to his jacket, and you caught the way his breath hitched when you didn't immediately pull away.
"Maybe I should get something less life-threatening," you giggled, taking the peach tea from Jisung's fingers and tossing the purple death-drink back onto the shelf. It landed with a clatter that made the cashier, a pimpled teenager scrolling through TikTok, glare in your direction.
Jisung grinned, nudging your shoulder with his as he straightened up. "Wise choice. Unless you want your heart to explode at 3 AM while watching conspiracy videos about lizard people." He grabbed a second tea, holding it up like a toast. "To not dying before sunrise."
You bowed dramatically toward Jisung, just as the cashier sighed and punched the total into the ancient register.
Jisung's hand shot out faster than you could blink, his damp sleeve brushing your wrist as he slapped a crumpled bill onto the counter. "Keep the change," he told the cashier, whose expression suggested he'd rather be anywhere else. The register dinged open with a sound like a dying robot, and Jisung snatched both iced teas before you could react, holding them just out of reach.
"Damn… thank you Jisung," you said, watching him juggle the iced teas with the kind of reckless confidence that suggested he definitely was not a professional.
Outside, the rain had tapered off to a misty haze, the streetlights casting everything in a fuzzy halo. Jisung handed you the peach tea, his fingers brushing yours just long enough for you to register how warm they were despite the night chill. "Don't mention it," he said, cracking open his own can with a fizz that echoed off the empty street. "Consider it payment for not letting me walk home alone like some sad, guitar-carrying cliché."
You snorted and smiled at him, shaking your head as he took an exaggerated sip of his iced tea, his throat working as he swallowed, then immediately grimaced at the sweetness. "Tastes like liquid candy," he complained, sticking out his tongue like a kid forced to take medicine.
"Should've gotten the purple death-drink then," you teased, nudging his shoulder with yours as you both walked down the empty street. Jisung's guitar case bumped against his leg with every other step, the sound rhythmic against the quiet hum of the city at this hour, distant car engines, the occasional drip of rainwater from a fire escape.
The alley stretched between the hardware store and a boarded-up laundromat, its entrance partially blocked by a dented dumpster oozing something unidentifiable. Jisung stopped so abruptly you nearly walked into him, his sneakers squeaking against wet pavement as he pointed with his iced tea can. "There it is. The infamous Burrito Ghost Alley."
You squinted into the darkness, the single flickering streetlight did little to illuminate the narrow passageway, casting more shadows than light. "Looks like every other sketchy alley in this town," you said smirking.
Jisung smirked back as you walked past it, seeing shoes, two battered sneakers, perfectly parallel, laces untied, sitting neatly against the alley wall like someone had just stepped out of them and vanished into thin air. You froze mid-step, your own sneaker hovering over a rain-slicked puddle. The alley exhaled a damp breath of mildew and old brick as Jisung's grin widened in the dim light.
"No fucking way," you whispered, but your pulse kicked up anyway, thudding in your ears louder than the distant drip of rainwater from a fire escape. The sneakers were scuffed at the toes, soles worn thin, real shoes, not props.
"Jisung—" you whined, laughter pitching high with nerves as you nudged closer to him, shoulder pressing into the damp fabric of his jacket. The alley seemed to exhale a colder breath just then, ruffling the hair at your nape.
Jisung’s grin faltered for half a second, just long enough for you to notice the way his fingers tightened around his iced tea can. The aluminum dented with a soft crunch.
"Okay, hear me out," he said, voice dropping to a stage whisper as he stepped forward, guitar case bumping against his thigh. "Maybe… someone just really loved this alley and left an offering."
You nudged Jisung hard enough that his iced tea sloshed. "Bullshit," you laughed, rolling your eyes so hard you nearly saw your own brain.
The bang echoed off the alley walls like a gunshot, sharp, sudden, and way too close. You didn’t even think. Your hand shot out and grabbed Jisung’s wrist at the same moment his fingers closed around your elbow, and then you were running, sneakers slapping against wet pavement in perfect, panicked sync. His guitar case slammed against his hip with every stride, the sound lost under the rush of blood in your ears.
You didn’t look back. Couldn’t. The alley blurred around you.
The raccoon emerged from the dumpster one paw clutching a half-eaten burrito. It blinked at you both as you ran further down the block.
"Fuckfuckfuck—" Jisung wheezed, his grip on your arm tightening as you skidded around a corner, nearly losing your balance on the slick pavement. His hoodie sleeve was soaked through where you were clutching it, rain and sweat making the fabric slide under your fingers.
You didn’t stop until you’d put two blocks between you and the alley, collapsing against a bus stop bench with your lungs on fire. Jisung doubled over beside you, his guitar case hitting the pavement with a thunk that would’ve made you wince if you weren’t busy trying not to puke.
It took three heaving breaths before Jisung managed to wheeze out a laugh, thin and high with leftover adrenaline. "Holy shit," he gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His knees buckled, sending him collapsing onto the bus stop bench beside you with all the grace of a marionette with cut strings.
You were still clutching his hand. Your fingers had locked around his pulse point, knuckles white under the streetlight's glow. Jisung didn't pull away. His skin was fever-warm against yours, his heartbeat rabbiting under your thumb at the same frantic tempo as your own.
The realization hit you both at the same moment, fingers still tangled together, palms pressed flush like you'd been holding hands your whole lives instead of just the last ninety seconds of blind panic. Jisung's pulse jumped under your thumb, a wild beat that matched your own. Neither of you moved. The streetlight above flickered, casting his blush as he stared down at your joined hands.
"Uh," Jisung said intelligently. His fingers twitched but didn't pull away, his thumb brushing accidentally-on-purpose against your knuckle. A raindrop slid off his hairline and down his temple, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before disappearing under the collar of his damp hoodie.
"That was so fucking scary.." you breathed out a laugh, sharp and punched-out. Jisung's fingers flexed around yours, warm despite the chill clinging to both your clothes. The streetlight above flickered again, throwing his face into relief, eyes wide, lips parted.
"You okay?" Jisung rasped, thumb tracing circles over your knuckles without seeming to realize he was doing it. His guitar case lay abandoned at his feet, the scuffed black surface reflecting the streetlight's sickly glow.
"mhm, you?" you ask, smiling as you finally catch your breath. Your fingers are still tangled with Jisung's, sticky from spilled iced tea and trembling slightly from adrenaline.
Jisung exhales a laugh that’s more air than sound, his thumb still tracing absent circles over your knuckles. "Never better," he lies, voice cracking on the last syllable. His free hand wipes at his damp forehead, pushing back hair that flops stubbornly into his eyes again. "Just—uh. Really enjoying this impromptu cardio."
"Bro, why did you have to tell me that stupid story?" you groaned, laughing so hard your ribs ached as you finally loosened your death-grip on Jisung's hand, though neither of you made any actual move to untangle your fingers. His palm was warm despite the rain, callouses scraping against your skin in a way that made your pulse stutter.
Jisung's grin was pure chaos in the streetlight, his free hand gesturing wildly as a fresh droplet slid off his nose. "Because!" He wheezed, nearly choking on his own laughter.
"Now whenever you walk past that alley—" Jisung gasped between laughter, nearly slipping off the bench as he clutched his chest, "—you'll always remember me!" His grin was brighter than the flickering streetlight, teeth flashing in the dim glow like he'd just won something. The rainwater dripped from his hair as he shook his head, sending droplets everywhere.
You groaned, tipping your head back against the bus stop shelter with a thunk. "You're the worst," you lied, squeezing his fingers just to feel him jolt.
The bench creaked under Jisung’s weight as he leaned into you, shoulder pressing damp fabric against yours. "Admit it," he murmured, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sent an unnecessary shiver down your spine. "You’re gonna miss me when we get to your stop." His thumb, still tracing idle patterns over your knuckles, paused, as if waiting for your answer.
You pretended to consider this, tilting your head just enough to catch the way his eyes flickered to your mouth when you bit your lip. "Nah," you said smirking.
"This view is nice," you mumbled, stretching your legs out as the bench groaned under both your weights. The river stretched before you, black and silver under the lights, its surface rippling with the occasional raindrop that still fell from the sky.
Jisung's head turned slowly to follow your gaze, his damp hair brushing your temple as he leaned in. "Yeah," he said, voice softer than you'd ever heard it. His thumb still hooked loosely around yours. "Better with company."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It settled over you warm despite the chill, thick with all the things neither of you were saying. Jisung's sneaker nudged yours under the bench, the scuffed toe of his Converse knocking against your ankle like a question.
You fumbled with your bag, the damp fabric sticking to your fingers as you scrambled for the reusable straw you knew you'd shoved in there last week.
Jisung stared dumbfounded with a loving look in his eye, the kind of gaze that made your straw-fumbling fingers freeze mid-motion. His pupils were blown wide from the adrenaline. You watched his throat work as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing against the damp collar of his hoodie. The moment stretched like taffy, impossibly long, until your straw finally emerged with a victorious pop.
"You," Jisung said slowly, voice rough, "are ridiculous." His thumb, still hooked around your pinky, brushed your knuckle again, this time deliberate.
You smiled as you popped the straw into your iced tea. The sound snapped Jisung out of whatever trance he'd been in, his gaze jerking up from your mouth to the straw now bobbing in your drink.
Jisung's chipped black nails curled around his iced tea with surprising delicacy. He took a long sip, throat working as he swallowed, then exhaled through his nose.
The straw made a hollow thunk as you sipped the last of your peach tea, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet between you. Across the river, a single lit window flickered out, someone turning in for the night. Jisung's fingers twitched against yours where they still rested on the damp bench, his pinky curling tighter around yours like he was afraid you'd float away if he let go.
Jisung shifted beside you, his sneaker knocking into yours again, and you could feel the exact moment he decided to say something stupid.
"Did you know," Jisung said suddenly, kicking a pebble into the river with a wet plunk, "this water once froze so solid in 1947 that people drove trucks across it?" His voice took on that particular cadence it did when he was about to spin something ridiculous, half-fact, half-bullshit, entirely entertaining.
You snorted, watching the ripples spread across the inky surface. "Bullshit. That can't be real."
Jisung smirked. "It is," he promised, fingers tightening around yours as he kicked another pebble into the water. "I promise.
You arched an eyebrow, watching his reflection warp in the ripples.
"You're an odd guy, Jisung," you said, smiling up at him as another raindrop slid off the edge of the bus shelter and landed squarely on his nose. He wrinkled his face in a way that made his nose ring glint under the streetlight.
Jisung's grin widened impossibly, his fingers, still laced with yours, twitching as he kicked another pebble into the river.
"Hey Jisung, do you believe in fate?" you ask quietly letting your mouth talk before it catches up with your brain.
Jisung's fingers stilled against yours, his thumb pausing mid-circle over your knuckle. He exhaled through his nose, a soft sound.
"Fate," he repeated. "You mean like… predestined encounters? Cosmic significance in fucked up alley ways?" His voice was light, but when you glanced sideways, his profile was uncharacteristically serious, jaw tight, lower lip caught between his teeth.
"Hmm," Jisung echoed, voice softer now as he tilted his head to study you, the way his gaze lingered on your mouth made your pulse stutter. "Guess so," he murmured, more to himself than to you, his thumb resuming its absent circles over your knuckle. The streetlight above flickered again, plunging his face into shadow just long enough for you to miss the warmth of his gaze.
Jisung cleared his throat first, shifting on the bench so his knee knocked against yours. "So," he started, uncharacteristically hesitant, "if this is fate…" He gestured vaguely between you with his free hand. "Does that mean I get to keep you?"
The sentence caught you off guard. You coughed violently, pressing the back of your hand to your lips as Jisung's words ricocheted around your skull. Keep you. Like you were a stray kitten he'd found in a rainstorm. Like this wasn't just some bizarre midnight encounter with a rain-stained stranger.
Your laughter came out half-strangled. "Wow," you giggled, swiping at your watering eyes with the hem of your sleeve. "That might be the cheesiest thing anyone's ever said to me at a bus stop." You suddenly got cut off as a bus pulled up.
The bus's brakes hissed like a sleeping dragon startled awake, a sound so sudden and loud that Jisung's knee jerked into yours hard. His fingers tightened reflexively as the bus doors wheezed open. The vehicle was nearly empty, its interior lit by flickering fluorescent tubes that made the lone passenger, an elderly man with a newspaper, look like a washed-out ghost.
Jisung's smirk took three full seconds to materialize, his lips quirking first in surprise, then disbelief, before settling into that lopsided grin you were starting to memorize. "Well," he drawled, thumb brushing your knuckle again in a way that felt deliberate now, "looks like buses do run at this time."
You fumbled with your wallet, fingers slipping on damp bills as the bus driver, a woman with purple-streaked hair and a glare that could curdle milk, tapped her fingernails against the bus. Jisung lurched forward before you could react, slapping down a crumpled five-dollar bill with the same reckless energy he did everything else. "Keep the change," he announced again, grinning when the driver sighed and rolled her eyes.
The bus smelled like disinfectant. Jisung's guitar case clipped the edge of a seat as he staggered down the aisle, still off-balance from adrenaline and peach tea, before collapsing into the very back row with a huff. You slid in beside him, knees knocking together as the bus jerked forward with a groan.
The bus shuddered into motion like a reluctant beast, its diesel engine groaning as streetlights began sliding past the rain-streaked windows in amber streaks. Jisung's knee bounced against yours with each pothole, his guitar case wedged awkwardly between his calves as the city blurred into a watercolor smear of neon and shadow. Outside, the river dissolved into the night—its surface fracturing the reflections of apartment windows into liquid constellations that rippled and died as the bus picked up speed.
Jisung exhaled through his nose, a quiet laugh escaping as he tilted his head toward the window. "Look," he murmured, knuckles brushing yours where they rested on the seat between you. A lone sneaker, identical to the abandoned pair in the alley, hung by its laces from a telephone wire, swaying gently in the damp breeze like some wind chimes.
"Every time I see stupid shoes, I'm gonna think of you," you said, laughing as the bus lurched over a pothole, sending Jisung's elbow jamming into you. His grin widened.
"Good," he declared enthusiastically, His fingers still warm where they brushed yours on the vinyl seat, twitched like he wanted to reach for something more.
"That means you'll never forget me. Even when you're eighty and complaining about kids these days leaving perfectly good footwear on power lines."
You smile warmly at him, pressing closer as the bus's fluorescent lights flicker overhead. "Hey," you whisper, nodding toward the elderly man with the newspaper three rows ahead. His pages haven't turned in minutes. "Do you think that guy's a ghost?"
Jisung's fingers tighten around yours instantly, as he leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear. "Obviously," he murmurs, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "Real people don't read the obituaries that intently." The newspaper rustles abruptly as if on cue, making you both jump. Jisung's knee knocks into yours hard enough to bruise.
The newspaper rustled again, this time with unnatural force and Jisung's grip on your hand shivers. "Okay, new plan," he whispered, breath warm against your temple as the bus shuddered around another corner. "If that guy turns around and his eyes are black voids, we're jumping out at the next stop."
You snorted, flexing your fingers in his grasp. "Drama queen," you muttered, but didn't pull away.
"Hey, Y/N?" Jisung's voice cut through the bus's ambient hum, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours on the seat. His thumb traced an absent circle over your knuckle, warm and rough with guitar calluses. "You play drums, right?"
The question caught you mid-breath, your pulse stuttering at the sudden shift in topic. Outside, streetlights flickered past in strobe-like intervals, casting Jisung's face in alternating gold and shadow.
"Mhm." you nodded. "We should start a band," you said, deadpan, just to watch Jisung's face light up like someone had flipped a switch behind his eyes.
His grin split wide. "Obviously," he declared, kicking his guitar case for emphasis. The hollow thunk echoed through the near-empty bus.
The bus hit another pothole, sending Jisung's shoulder slamming into yours with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. His laughter spilled warm against your neck, equal parts startled and delighted, as you both scrambled to right yourselves, fingers still stubbornly intertwined. Outside, the city blurred into streaks of neon and shadow.
"Shit—my stop's coming up," you mumbled.
Jisung's knee stopped bouncing instantly. His fingers tightened for half a second before going slack. "Already?" he asked, voice cracking on the second syllable. The bus's brakes hissed in anticipation, the sound making his guitar case slide forward to bump against your ankles.
The bus hissed as it stopped, doors groaning open like an old man stretching after a nap. Jisung was already halfway out of his seat before the vehicle fully settled as he lurched toward the exit. "I'll walk you to your door," he announced, voice oddly firm despite the way his fingers fumbled with his hoodie strings.
You blinked up at him, still seated. "What about your stop?" you asked, nodding toward the digital display flashing the next destination, five stops past yours. Raindrops streaked the windows behind him. "How are you getting home?"
Jisung's fingers closed around yours again before your sneakers even hit the pavement, his grip warm. "Come on," he grinned, already tugging you toward the sidewalk with reckless momentum. The bus doors wheezed shut behind you, its taillights painting the wet asphalt in temporary red before it drives away into the night.
"You're gonna walk five stops back in the rain?" you laughed, nearly tripping over a uneven crack in the sidewalk as Jisung's enthusiasm outpaced coordination. His hoodie sleeve brushed your wrist as he adjusted his grip to lace your fingers together properly.
Jisung's grin was all teeth, his fingers squeezing yours as he swung your joined hands between you like a pendulum.
"Yup, I wanna walk you home," he declared, as if this was the most obvious decision in the world. His guitar case thumped against his thigh with every other step, the rhythm syncopated by his ruined sneakers splashing through puddles with deliberate recklessness. "Five stops, thirty stops, what's the difference when you've already seen me embarrass myself?"
You laughed, shaking your head. "You're insane," you muttered, but didn't pull away when he tugged you closer to avoid a puddle.
✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧
The porch light buzzed like an angry hornet overhead, flickering twice before settling into a sickly yellow glow. Your keys jingled, too loud in the thick silence between you, as you fumbled with the lock, acutely aware of how close he stood at your shoulder, his breath warm against your damp collar.
"Home sweet home," Jisung murmured, rocking back on his heels with a wet squelch of ruined sneakers. His guitar case bumped against the doorframe with a hollow thunk. "Unless this is also secretly a murder house? Wouldn't even be surprised at this point."
The keys slipped in your rain-slick fingers for the third time, metal clattering against the lock in a way that made Jisung's shoulders shake with silent laughter behind you. When you finally turned, cheeks warm despite the chill, his face was closer than expected, raindrops clinging to his eyelashes like shattered glass.
"Want to come in, Jisung?" The words tumbled out half-teasing, half-serious, your voice dipping low enough that the rain nearly swallowed it whole. Your own brain short-circuited in real time as you swallowed hard.
Jisung muttered something unintelligible before leaning even closer, so close you could count the raindrops caught in his eyelashes. He braced one hand against the doorframe above your head, the other still clutching yours like he'd forgotten how to let go.
"Bad idea," he breathed, but his thumb was already stroking your hair. The porch light chose that moment to flicker violently, casting his face in stuttering shadows that did nothing to hide the way his gaze dropped to your mouth.
"If this is weird I'm sorry," Jisung breathed, the words barely audible over the rain pattering against your porch roof. His breath hitched as he bit his lower lip, a nervous tic you'd noticed hours ago at the diner, and for one suspended heartbeat, the world narrowed to the damp warmth of his fingers tightening around yours, the faint tremble in his grip betraying his actions. Then he leaned in, and every coherent thought evaporated.
His lips were cooler than you expected, pressing against yours with hesitant precision, like he'd mapped out the angle in his head during the bus ride. The kiss lasted three frantic heartbeats before Jisung jerked back, eyes wide as if startled by his own audacity. A droplet slid from his hairline down his temple, tracing the same path his gaze took as it flickered between your eyes and mouth.
Jisung's mouth kept moving, words tumbling out in a jumbled, breathless rush, but all you heard was the frantic hammering of your own pulse. His lips were still parted mid-sentence, rainwater clinging to them in a way that made your stomach swoop. You didn't let him finish. Fingers tightening in the damp fabric of his hoodie, you yanked him forward until his startled exhale warmed your lips a second before you slotted them against his properly.
He made a sound, half gasp, half laugh. His hands fluttered uselessly for a heartbeat before settling on your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip above your hips with enough pressure to leave phantom bruises. The kiss tasted sweet but needy, Jisung's teeth clipping your lower lip when he surged forward to kiss you back with clumsy enthusiasm.
The porch light flickered out entirely, just died as Jisung's teeth caught your lower lip again, his hands sliding up your ribs like he was trying to remember your body with precision. You stumbled backward through the doorway, dragging him with you by the fabric of his hoodie, his guitar case scraping against the threshold before toppling sideways with a hollow thud neither of you acknowledged. Rainwater dripped from his hair onto your cheeks as he crowded you against the entryway wall, his knee slotting between yours with unnerving precision despite the way his fingers trembled where they cradled your jaw.
"Fuck," Jisung breathed against your mouth when you bit down on his bottom lip, his hips jerking forward instinctively. The movement sent his belt buckle scraping against your skirt a rough touch that made him groan low in his throat before swallowing your laughter. His hands dropped to your thighs, hiking them up around his waist with a grunt as he carried you further into the darkened apartment, his sneakers leaving wet footprints on the hardwood.
The door slammed shut behind you with a force that rattled the framed photos on the wall, some portrait tilting askew as Jisung's back hit it, his guitar case abandoned somewhere near the welcome mat. His hands were everywhere at once, clumsy with pent-up energy, fingers catching in your hair while his teeth grazed your lower lip in a way that made your knees buckle.
"Wait—" Jisung gasped when you bit down harder than intended, his hips jerking forward instinctively as his fingers tightened in your shirt. The motion sent you stumbling backward into the coat rack, sending jackets sliding to the floor in a heap of fabric and jangling hangers. He didn't let go, just pinned you there with his body, rainwater from his hoodie seeping through your clothes as his mouth found yours again with renewed urgency.
"Hm?" You blinked up at Jisung, dazed and half-convinced you'd hallucinated the last thirty seconds. His hoodie was soaked through, cold droplets splattering your cheeks as he hovered inches away—chest heaving, lips swollen, eyes blown wide like he'd just sprinted another two blocks instead of kissing you stupid against your own front door.
Jisung's fingers flexed against your hips where he'd grabbed you, like he couldn't decide whether to pull you closer or push you away. His throat worked soundlessly, Adam's apple bobbing against the damp collar of his hoodie as rainwater dripped from his bangs onto your forehead.
"Uh," Jisung managed, voice cracking. His pupils swallowed the last traces of gold in his irises, leaving them dark and endless. "That was—"
"Insane?" you laugh breathlessly, still pinned between him and the wall. His knee pressed warm between your thighs, the denim rough against your skin.
"I don't usually intend to fuck the strangers I meet at bus stops," Jisung blurted, the words exploding out of him. His voice cracked spectacularly on "fuck,"
"I swear," he added weakly, hands fluttering near your hips like confused moths.
You laughed, couldn't help it, the sound bubbling up from your chest as Jisung's ears turned violent red. His expression morphed from dazed to mortified in real time, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish stranded on the countertop. "You think I do?"
Jisung laughed. His shoulders shook against you, rainwater scattering from his hair onto your cheeks as his forehead dropped to your collarbone. "No," he wheezed, fingers tightening in the damp fabric of your shirt. "But holy shit, I hope you do now." His teeth grazed your jaw when he grinned, the sharp edge catching just enough to make your breath hitch.
You could feel his pulse rabbiting where your palm pressed against his throat, the frantic rhythm syncing with yours as his laughter dissolved into uneven breathing. His hoodie smelled like fresh strawberries, the fabric clinging to your fingers when you tugged him closer.
"Idiot," you muttered, but the words lost all bite when Jisung's knee shifted between your thighs, the rough denim dragging against sensitive skin in a way that made your head tip back against the wall with a thud.
Jisung took advantage immediately, mouth hot against your exposed throat, his teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point before soothing the sting with his tongue. The contrast sent sparks skittering down your spine, your fingers tightening in his damp hair as he worked his way back up to your mouth with single-minded focus.
The hallway light flickered on with a click, some automatic sensor triggered by movement and Jisung froze mid-kiss, his lips still parted against yours, pupils blown wide in the sudden brightness. For a suspended moment, you could see every raindrop caught in his eyelashes, every shallow breath fogging the air between you. Then he smirked, slow and devastating.
"Motion-activated?" Jisung murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip where it was already swollen from his teeth. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, warm against your cheek. "Bet I can make it turn off again."
You giggled, "What the fuck does that even mean?" as the warm hallway lighting dimmed automatically, sensors responding to Jisung's exaggerated stillness by softening the glare to something moodier, like the universe itself was setting the scene.
"Fuck I don't know, means I've got skills," Jisung murmured, dragging his teeth along your jaw just to feel you shiver. His knee shifted between your thighs with purpose now, the denim seam rubbing in exactly the wrong-right way that made your breath hitch.
Jisung's sneakers hit the hardwood with twin thuds, skidding halfway across the entryway before colliding with a potted fern. You kicked your own shoes off blindly, one shoe catching on the doormat as Jisung's hands slid under your thighs, lifting you with a grunt that dissolved into laughter against your neck. The sudden movement sent you both staggering sideways, he pinned you against the hallway wall with his hips.
Rainwater dripped from his hair onto your forehead as he kissed you again, all teeth and clumsy enthusiasm, his fingers tangling in the hem of your shirt like he couldn't decide whether to push it up or tear it off.
Your whole body burned with a slow, insistent heat, the kind that had been simmering since Jisung first held your hand. Every accidental touch, every shared glance, every half-stifled laugh had stoked the fire until it threatened to consume you whole. You'd spent the entire night resisting the urge to kiss him senseless, and now, with his lips moving against yours in the dim hallway, you wondered why you'd waited so long.
Your fingers tangled in the damp fabric of Jisung's hoodie as you dragged him down the hallway, half stumbling, half giggling, past the living room.
Jisung's breath hitched when you backed him into your bedroom doorframe. His hands found your waist in the dimness, thumbs brushing the exposed strip of skin where your shirt had ridden up. "You're good at this," he murmured against your lips, voice rough.
"So are you," you laughed, fingers skating up the damp denim stretched over his thigh before brushing deliberately over the hardness beneath.
Jisung's breath punched out of him in a sharp gasp, his hips jerking forward instinctively as his fingers dug into your waist.
The groan that escaped him was low and ragged as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. "Fuck," he breathed. His jeans were still damp from the rain, the denim warm from his body heat but stiff enough that you could feel every twitch and pulse beneath your fingers.
Jisung's whine vibrated against your lips, high-pitched and desperate, as his hips stuttered forward involuntarily. His forehead knocked against yours when you bit down on his lower lip, too hard, judging by the way his breath hitched but instead of pulling away, he moaned into your mouth like you'd struck a nerve.
"No fucking way," you breathed against his swollen lips, fingers tightening in his hoodie.
Jisung's laugh cracked into a gasp when you bit down harder, his hips jerking forward with enough force to make the door rattle behind you. "No joke," he panted, forehead pressed to yours as his fingers trembled against your waist. "I could—" His breath hitched when you rolled your hips against his thigh. "Fuck, I could cum from just kissing you." The admission spilled out half-laughing, half-embarrassed.
You froze and felt the exact moment his whole body cringed at his own words. His ears burned against your cheek, pulse rabbiting where your lips brushed his throat. "That's…" You trailed off, biting back a grin when he groaned louder. "So cute.."
Jisung's breath stuttered when you grinned against his jaw your palm pressing firmer against the undeniable hardness straining against his damp jeans.
"Shitt," he hissed, hips bucking forward involuntarily as your thumb traced the prominent outline through denim. His forehead thunked against your shoulder when you squeezed lightly, the groan that escaped him dissolving into a shuddering exhale against your collarbone. "You're—" His voice cracked spectacularly, fingers scrambling for purchase on your hips as his knee slid higher between your thighs. "You're evil."
The bedroom door groaned as Jisung shouldered it open. Your laughter caught in your throat when he hoisted you up suddenly, hands gripping your thighs with surprising strength, and carried you the remaining few steps to the bed like you weighed nothing. His knee hit the mattress first, sending both of you tilting sideways in an uncoordinated heap of limbs and fabric.
Jisung's elbow jabbed your ribs as he scrambled to right himself, his hoodie sleeve still dripping rainwater onto your pillow. "Graceful," you teased, fingers curling into his soaked collar as he hovered above you, hair plastered to his forehead, lips kiss-swollen and glistening in the dim light filtering through the blinds.
"Cinnamon," Jisung murmured, nose scrunching as he inhaled deeply. "Your whole room smells like…cinnamon toast."
You snorted, yanking open the bedside drawer with more force than necessary. The wood screeched in protest as you looked for a condom packet. "Candles," you admitted, fingers closing around him just as Jisung's knee bumped the mattress.
Jisung's gaze flickered across your bedroom with the same restless energy he'd carried all night, half curious, half distracted by the way your fingers were still tangled in his hoodie. His pupils dilated in the low light, taking in the haphazard stacks of vinyl records on your dresser, the drumsticks scattered across your nightstand like abandoned chopsticks. "You're messy," he observed, voice husky as his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist where it gripped his sleeve.
A slow smirk spread across his face when he noticed the neon sticky notes plastered above your bed, lyric fragments and half-formed melodies scrawled in your rushed handwriting. One read simply "metronome vs heartbeat?" with the word heartbeat underlined three times. Jisung's laugh hitched when he spotted the crumpled coffee sweet wrappers spilling from your half-open desk drawer, the guitar pick collection taped to your mirror in the shape of a middle finger. "This is cute." he smiled warmly taking in everything.
"Don't look too closely," you muttered, pouting as Jisung's fingers trailed over the poorly-taped guitar picks on your mirror. His reflection grinned back at you—cheeks flushed, hair still dripping rainwater onto your carpet—as he deliberately leaned closer to examine your haphazard decor.
"Too late," Jisung sing-songed, tapping the sticky note that read 7am practice?? with a question mark so aggressively scribbled it had torn through the paper. His nose scrunched when he noticed the faint coffee ring stains on your nightstand, the chipped mug holding drumsticks instead of pens. "Oh my god, you're that kind of musician."
You rolled your eyes as Jisung plucked a drumstick from your chipped mug, spinning it between his fingers with exaggerated flourish. "What? I like to know where everything is," you huffed, snatching the stick back and pointing it at the sticky note-covered wall. "Organized chaos, they call it."
Jisung's smirk softened into something dangerously fond as he traced the neon tabs fluttering from your corkboard—each one color-coded, annotated, and arranged in some system only you understood. His fingers brushed over a particularly crumpled note that read "2am ideas - DON’T IGNORE" in all caps, the edges frayed from being ripped angrily out of a notebook. "Chaos, huh?" he murmured, thumb catching on the tape holding it in place.
"You're getting distracted," you huffed as he flopped backward onto your bed.
"Am not," Jisung lied through his teeth, grinning when you brandished the drumstick at him like a sword. His nose ring glinted as he rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand while the other traced the seam of your pillowcase. "Just appreciating the…ambiance." His fingers wandered to the half-peeled sticker on your headboard—some band logo from three years ago.
Jisung's teasing smirk faltered when you swung your leg over his hips, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs. His breath hitched, audible in the sudden stillness, as you settled fully into his lap, the weight of you pressing him deeper into the mattress.
"You were saying?" you murmured, watching his throat bob when you shifted slightly, the friction drawing a bitten-off groan from between his teeth. His hands hovered awkwardly at your waist, fingers twitching like he couldn't decide whether to grip or retreat. Up close, you could see the exact moment his pupils dilated more and more.
Jisung's fingers dug into your hips as you rolled your hips against him slow, deliberate, the damp fabric of his jeans catching against your thighs in a way that made his breath stutter. "Fuck," he breathed, hands scrambling to grip your waist tighter as you rocked forward again.
The button on Jisung's jeans gave way with a stubborn click, your fingers slick with rainwater as you fumbled with the damp denim.
Jisung's thumbs traced the lace trim of your underwear through the skirt fabric. The rough pads of his fingers caught on every rucked-up pleat as he pushed the material higher, his breath stuttering when he finally skimmed bare skin. "You're—" His voice cracked, pupils black as his gaze flickered between your face and where his fingers disappeared under black lace. "Fuck, you're gonna kill me."
Jisung's breath stuttered when your lips found the sensitive spot beneath his ear, his pulse jumping against your tongue as you traced the curve of his jaw.
His hoodie hit the floor, followed by the muffled thud of his shirt being peeled off in one frantic motion. Lean muscles tensing beneath flushed skin as your fingertips skated up his ribs.
Your fingertips traced the ink first, following the winding vine tattoo that snaked up Jisung's ribs like ivy climbing a trellis. The design disappeared beneath the waistband of his briefs, only to emerge again further down, curling around the jut of his hipbone. When you hooked your fingers under the elastic, he made a sound, half gasp, half whine, as the end dipped lower until it disappeared into the thatch of dark hair below.
Jisung breathed out slowly, his stomach muscles twitching when you traced a particular bit just above his hip. His fingers tangled in your hair as you followed the ink lower. The design thickened as it descended, words overlapping in a way that made your mouth water when you realized it led exactly where you'd hoped.
Jisung's hands paused mid-exploration, his fingers twitching against your ribs when his thumbs accidentally brushed the stiff peaks pressing through your damp shirt accidently fallen out of your bra. His breath hitched audibly as you moaned, pupils dilating further as he deliberately dragged both palms upward to cup the weight of your breasts properly. The rough pads of his fingers found your nipples instantly through the thin fabric, circling with agonizing slowness as rainwater dripped from his bangs onto your collarbone.
"You're—" His voice cracked, the word dissolving into a shuddering exhale as he squeezed experimentally, thumbs rubbing tight little circles that made you arch into his touch. Jisung mouthed at the visible outline of your nipple through wet cotton with clumsy enthusiasm. The fabric clung obscenely where his tongue swiped over it, the material going sheer with saliva as he sucked lightly just enough to draw broken gasps from your lips.
The moan slipped out louder before you could stifle it, high-pitched and embarrassingly loud, as Jisung's fingers found your clit through the damp skirt fabric. His touch was electric, fingertips circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble where they bracketed his hips. The rough pads of his fingers caught on the lace beneath your skirt, dragging the delicate material against your oversensitive clit with every deliberate rotation.
"Fuck, Jisung—" The words fragmented into a gasp when he increased the pressure, his other hand gripping your hipbone hard enough to leave fingerprints as he ground his own erection against your thigh. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, lips parted around uneven breaths that ghosted across your skin.
The damp fabric of your shirt peeled away with a sticky sound, clinging stubbornly to your shoulders before finally releasing into Jisung’s eager hands. Cool air hit your overheated skin as the shirt hit the floor somewhere near his abandoned hoodie, but you barely noticed, not when Jisung’s breath hitched audibly, his gaze dragging down your body. His fingers hovered just above your ribs, tracing the air like he was afraid to touch.
Jisung’s voice cracked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as rainwater dripped from his bangs onto your collarbone. His thumb finally brushed the delicate lace of your bra, following the scalloped edge. "You’re fucking unreal..so pretty"
You ran your hand through your damp hair and smiled, something slow and happy that made Jisung's breath break. His pupils dilated further when you dragged your fingers lower, deliberately skimming the rainwater still clinging to his ribs, following the tattoo until your nails scraped lightly over his hipbone.
"Christ," Jisung gasped when your thumb hooked into the waistband of his briefs, his hips jerking upward instinctively as you dragged the damp fabric down just enough to expose the dark trail of hair leading lower. His hands fluttered at your waist like panicked birds before settling with bruising pressure, fingertips digging into your skin as if he could fuse you together through sheer force.
Jisung's fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties with sudden urgency, his thumb slipping beneath the lace before you could blink, and then they were gone, skimming down your thighs in one swift motion that left you gasping against his collarbone. The fabric pooled around your ankles with a whisper, catching briefly before he moved it aside impatiently.
"Fuck, this—" His voice cracked as he fumbled with the clasp of your bra, his guitar-calloused fingers trembling against the delicate hooks. The strap snapped loose unexpectedly, the sudden release sending the garment sliding down your arms like rainwater off a roof. Jisung made a wounded noise in his throat when you shrugged it off completely, his gaze dragging over your bare chest trying to imprint it onto his brain.
He breathed. His Adam's apple bobbed violently when you arched your back just slightly, letting the overhead light catch the water dip between your breasts. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air between you.
"Are you nervous, Jisung?" you whispered against the shell of his ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just hard enough to make him shiver before sealing your lips over his in a slow, claiming kiss. His answering groan vibrated against your mouth, hands fluttering at your hips before finally settling with bruising pressure.
Jisung's laugh came out breathless when you pulled back just enough to see his face.
"Nervous?" he echoed, voice cracking halfway through the word as your fingers traced the prominent bulge straining against his damp briefs. His hips jerked upward instinctively, chasing the friction. "I'm fucking terrified," he admitted with a shaky grin, fingers tightening in the fabric of your skirt. "I-" His words dissolved into a gasp when you rolled your hips against his, the damp lace of your underwear catching on the fabric of his briefs in a way that made you both moan.
Jisung’s breath hitched when your fingers finally hooked into the waistband of his briefs, the elastic snapping against his hips as you dragged them down just enough to free him. His cock sprang free, hot and heavy against your palm, already leaking precum that smeared slick across your fingers. You couldn’t help the smirk that curled your lips, he was pretty, all flushed pink and twitching under your touch, his thighs tensing as you gave him one slow, teasing stroke from base to tip.
"Ah—" Jisung choked, his hips jerking off the mattress as your thumb swiped over the head, spreading the wetness there.
"You’re—ah—stop smiling," he whined, voice breaking as you tightened your grip slightly, watching his abs clench.
"I'm gonna ride you, Jisung," you said, smiling down at him innocently.
Jisung's exhaled nervously. His fingers spasmed against your thighs where they bracketed his hips. His lips parted, no sound came out, just a shaky exhale that fogged the air between you. The flush creeping up his neck deepened when you shifted your weight, the damp heat between your thighs pressing against the hard line of his cock.
The first inch slipped in with obscene ease, your body already slick and pulsing around him before either of you could catch your breath. Jisung made a sound like he'd been gutted, half gasp, half sob, as his hips jerked upward involuntarily, driving himself deeper before freezing. His fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to bruise.
"Fuck—fuck, you're so tight" Jisung's words dissolved into a whine pitched high in his throat when you rolled your hips experimentally, taking him deeper in one slow, deliberate grind.
His cock twitched inside you, the veins along its length pulsing against your walls as his breath came in ragged bursts. You watched his Adam's apple bob violently, his mouth hanging slack around syllables that never formed as you began to move.
Jisung’s cock was long and skinny, the kind that hit deeper than you expected when you finally bottomed out with a moan that dissolved into a gasp. His hips jerked up instinctively a ragged and uncontrolled thrust, before he froze, his entire body trembling beneath you like a guitar string. "Fuck—fuck, I can't—" His voice cracked.
The stretch burned deliciously, your walls fluttering around him as you adjusted as he stared up at you with blown pupils and slack lips.
"You good?" you murmured, shifting experimentally and watching his throat bob as he swallowed audibly.
"You're such a tease," Jisung huffed as he cradled your breasts with both hands, thumbs dragging slow circles over your nipples. His grin was all teeth when you squirmed, knowing exactly how the slightest touches there made your thighs tremble.
The first bounce was hesitant, an experimental roll of your hips that had Jisung's moaning, his fingers digging crescent moons into your thighs.
The second was deliberate, your body lifting almost entirely off him before sinking back down in one fluid motion that punched a deep groan from his lungs. By the third bounce, Jisung's head tipped back against your pillow with a thud, his throat working around silent curses as you set a ruthless pace, the wet slap of skin echoing off your bedroom walls.
Rainwater still dripped from Jisung's hair onto your pillows with every downward stroke, the cold droplets were a sharp contrast to the heat building between your joined bodies.
His hands scrambled, your waist, your hips, the headboard, before settling on your ass with a grip that bordered on painful.
Jisung’s fingers dug into the flesh of your ass hard as you rode him with relentless precision.
"Baby—slow down," he gasped, voice cracking on the last syllable as his hips stuttered beneath you. His cock twitched inside you, the veins along its length pulsing in time with his erratic heartbeat. "I'm gonna—fuck—I'm gonna cum in a minute—"
You laughed, low and breathless, deliberately rolling your hips in a slow, torturous circle that had him whining high in his throat.
"That’s the idea," you murmured against his parted lips, swallowing his groan as you picked up the pace again, the wet slap of skin echoing obscenely in the small room.
Jisung laughed, breathless, ragged, his forehead dropping against yours as his hips stuttered beneath you. The sound dissolved into a groan when you clenched around him deliberately, watching his eyelashes flutter. "Fuck, you're—" His fingers tightened on your hips as he rolled you both over in one fluid motion that left you gasping against the mattress.
The bedsprings creaked in protest as Jisung hovered over you, his knees bracketing your thighs, rainwater dripping from his hair onto your collarbone. He didn't give you time to adjust, just lined himself up and pushed back in with a single, brutal thrust that punched a ragged moan from your lungs.
His cock dragged against your walls, the stretch bordering on painful in the best way, his hips snapping forward with uncharacteristic aggression.
"You don’t listen, do you?" Jisung grinned, fingers digging into your thighs as he fucked into you with rough, snapping thrusts that knocked the breath from your lungs. The bedframe slammed against the wall in a rhythmic crash that would’ve been concerning if either of you could think past the hot friction between you.
Jisung’s laugh came out breathless and uneven, his teeth catching your lower lip when you arched up against him. "Told you—" His voice cracked as your walls clenched around him, his hips stuttering mid-thrust. "—told you I couldn’t last."
His fingers trembled where they gripped you, the calluses from guitar strings dragging against your inner thighs in a way that made your toes curl. The scent of rain and his stupid strawberry shampoo clinging to your sheets as he chased his own release with frantic, shallow rolls of his hips.
You moaned, high and shameless, as Jisung's hips snapped forward in a rough, uneven rhythm when you surged up to catch his mouth in a soft kiss, swallowing his gasp. The contrast was dizzying, the brutal pace of his thrusts versus the gentle press of your lips, the way his fingers trembled against your jaw even as his cock buried itself deep inside you with bruising force.
Jisung whimpered, his hips stuttering when you tangled your fingers in his damp hair and tugged just hard enough to make his back arch. Rainwater dripped from his bangs onto your cheeks, mingling with sweat as he broke the kiss to pant against your collarbone, his teeth scraping skin.
"Fuck—fuck, I can't—" His voice cracked, hips jerking erratically as he rutted into you with desperate, shallow thrusts that had you seeing stars.
Jisung’s thumb found your clit again with precision, circling the swollen bud in tight, dizzying spirals that made your thighs jerk uncontrollably against his hips. The pad of his finger, the friction delicious against your oversensitive flesh as he alternated between featherlight brushes and firmer pressure that had you gasping into the crook of his neck. His hips never slowed, if anything, the rhythm grew more erratic, each thrust punctuated by a broken noise from his throat as he chased his own release.
"You’re so close," he panted against your collarbone smirking, teeth scraping skin when you clenched around him involuntarily. His free hand slid beneath your thigh, hiking your leg higher over his hip to sink deeper with a groan that vibrated through your ribs. The angle change made stars burst behind your eyelids, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you with every snap of his hips. "C’mon, baby—let go for me."
Jisung pulled back suddenly, his breath ragged against your inner thigh. "Wait—" His voice cracked, pupils blown wide as he licked his lips. "I wanna taste you." The words barely left his mouth before he was diving down, tongue flat and hot against your clit in one messy, eager swipe that made your hips jerk off the mattress.
His nose bumped against your clit as he lapped at you with the same reckless enthusiasm, his tongue broad and wet against your oversensitive flesh. You gasped, fingers tangling in his rain-damp hair as he hummed appreciatively, the vibration traveling straight to your core.
You stared at him, Jisung between your thighs, tousled hair plastered to his forehead, lips glistening, and couldn't hold back the moan that tore from your throat.
"Fuck—" you choked out, thighs trembling as Jisung's thumbs hooked under your knees, spreading you wider. His nose bumped your clit again when he sucked gently, then harder, like he was trying to drink you in. The streetlight through your half-open blinds painted his cheekbones in sharp relief, shadows catching on his lashes when he glanced up, mouth busy, to watch you fall apart above him.
"You look so good—" The words tumbled out of you in a whine, high and desperate, as Jisung smirked up from between your thighs, his fingers moving perfectly inside you. The vibration of his answering hum against your sensitive skin had your back arching off the mattress, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the sheets tangled beneath you.
Jisung's nose brushed your entrance as he tilted his head, lips sealing around your clit in a messy, wet kiss that made your thighs jerk against his hold. His responding groan sent heat spiraling down to your toes.
"C'mon, pretty girl," Jisung murmured against your thigh, the words vibrating. His lips were slick with you, chin glistening in the dim light when he glanced up through wet lashes. "Let me hear you."
The first orgasm hit like a car crash, sudden and brutal. Your back arched off the mattress as his tongue flattened against your clit one last time, the vibration of his groan sending white-hot sparks up your spine. Jisung's name tore from your throat raw, fingers yanking his hair hard enough to make him whine against you.
Jisung's tongue darted out, a quick lick against his lower lip before his thumb followed, dragging slowly across the wetness there with deliberate precision. His gaze never left yours, pupils black as he sucked the tip of his thumb. The sight punched a ragged gasp from your lungs, your thighs squeezing reflexively around nothing.
"Tastes so nice," Jisung hummed, voice rough with want as he leaned in, his breath hot against your parted lips. His thumb, still damp from his mouth, brushed the corner of your lips in a teasing stroke before he finally, finally kissed you. The kiss was slow, your own slick on his tongue, his fingers curling possessively against your jaw as he licked deeper into your mouth.
His cock, still slick with your arousal, dragged against your inner thigh as he fumbled to line himself up, the blunt head catching at your entrance with a wet sound that made you both groan into the kiss.
"You're still—" you gasped against his mouth when he pushed in without warning, the stretch bordering on painful after your first orgasm. Jisung's answering moan vibrated against your lips.
The squelch was obscene, audible even over the drum of rain against the window and Jisung's ragged panting against your collarbone. His hips snapped forward again, burying his cock to the hilt with a wet slap that made you both gasp. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his waist, still sensitive from your first orgasm, every drag of him inside you sending sparks up your spine.
"I like you so much—" Jisung's words dissolved into a groan as you clenched around him involuntarily, his rhythm stuttering. Rainwater dripped from his hair onto your breasts as he chased his own pleasure with rough, uneven thrusts that knocked the breath from your lungs.
"I like you too, Ji," you gasped against his collarbone, the words muffled by damp skin as Jisung slotted even closer, your chests pressed flush together, his ribs expanding against yours with each ragged breath. His arms wrapped tighter around your shoulders, fingers tangling in your hair as he fucked into you with slow, deep rolls of his hips that made your thighs quiver.
Jisung sighed against your temple, his lips brushing your hairline when he murmured, "Say it again." hips stuttering mid-thrust as if the words had physically unraveled him. You could feel the frantic rabbit-kick of his pulse where your palm splayed against his chest, the heat of him seeping into your skin.
"I like you," you moaned, the words cracking halfway as Jisung's thumb brushed your clit in tight, dizzying circles. His answering kiss was all teeth, rough enough to bruise but tilted just so, his nose bumping yours in a way that felt accidentally romantic. The contrast unraveled you.
Jisung broke the kiss with a wet sound, panting against your mouth. "I can't hold back anymore," his voice wrecked. His cock twitched inside you when you clenched around him reflexively, your thighs shaking where they hooked over his hips.
"Fuck—fuck, I'm—" The words dissolved into a whine high in his throat as you dragged your nails lightly through his rain-damp hair, scratching at his scalp just the way he'd shivered for earlier. His entire body locked up, trembling violently as his cock twitched inside you, warmth spilling messily between your thighs as he rutted through his orgasm with shallow, jerky thrusts.
"Shit—" Jisung gasped when he pulled out abruptly, his cock still pulsing as ropes of cum striped your inner thighs in large amounts. He looked mortified immediately, eyes wide as he scrambled for his discarded hoodie, fingers fumbling the fabric before pressing it clumsily against your skin. "Fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to—" His voice cracked, cheeks flushing dark as he dabbed at the mess with more urgency than precision, his free hand still tangled in your sheets like an anchor.
"You did not just use your hoodie!" You burst into laughter, shoving a handful of tissues at him from your bedside drawer. The absurdity of Jisung frantically mopping up his own mess with the same rain-soaked hoodie he'd been wearing all night, sent you into hysterics, your ribs aching as you clutched the sheets.
Jisung froze mid-dab, the ruined fabric dangling from his fingertips. His ears burned red. "It was an emergency!" he protested, voice cracking as he snatched the tissues from you.
You caught Jisung's wrist before he could scrub at your thighs with another ruined tissue, laughing as his fingers twitched in your grip. His lips parted, probably to protest again, but you kissed him before he could speak, smiling against his mouth as he startled before melting into the touch with a soft sigh.
His lips moved against yours. When you pulled back just enough to see his face, his eyelashes fluttered open slowly, revealing pupils still blown wide with lingering arousal and something softer, more vulnerable.
Jisung exhaled shakily, his fingers flexing against your hip where they'd settled without thought. "That was…" he started, then stopped, shaking his head with a huff of laughter. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, tentative, like he wasn't quite sure he was allowed to touch you now that the frantic energy had dissipated. The streetlight through your half-open blinds painted gold streaks across his collarbones, he didn't look real.
Jisung's lips lingered at your temple, pressing lazy kisses into your skin as his fingers traced idle patterns down your arm. The rain outside had slowed to a murmur, the rhythmic tapping syncing with the fall of his chest beneath your cheek. His heartbeat thudded against your ear, still a little too fast, like he hadn't quite caught his breath from earlier, but his arms around you were loose, comfortable. As if you'd always fit there.
"You're thinking too loud," Jisung mumbled against your hairline, his voice sleep-rough and tinged with amusement. "What's the verdict? Do I get a five-star review or am I getting banned from the premises for using my hoodie?"
You giggled, shaking your head as Jisung's fingers kept twisting absently around the ends of your hair, his touch feather-light yet impossible to ignore. "You're the one playing with my hair," you pointed out, nudging his knee with yours beneath the tangled sheets. "What's on your mind?"
Jisung's fingers stilled for a heartbeat before resuming their idle exploration. "Just thinking," he murmured, so quiet the rain against the window nearly swallowed the words.
"I believe in fate," Jisung said quietly. The words were so soft they barely disturbed the humid air between you. His thumb brushed your cheek like he was memorizing the shape of it. "Ever since I saw you at that bus stop with your headphones in, looking like you wanted to murder the next person who talked to you."
You pouted, couldn't help it, just enough for Jisung to notice before he smirked, thumb brushing the curve of your mouth. His fingers were still tangled in your hair, the damp strands clinging to his knuckles as he traced the shell of your ear with a touch so light it made you shiver. The admission hung between you.
"Fate, hm?" you murmured, nose bumping against his as you shifted closer, sheets rustling beneath you.
pairing: STEM!nerdsung x psych!f!reader, established relationship
genre/tags: college au, brief explicit content, mostly fluff, stars Richard, features Minho the bsf, Soonie catches a stray im sorry
word count: 2.5k
synopsis: Social exchange theory is the psychosocial theory that individuals weigh relationships according to cost-benefit analyses, basing them on whether the aforementioned relationship is beneficial and/or fair over time.
Jisung has someone important he wants you to meet. Her name is Richard.
[a/n] very self-indulgent fic, i think js is so cute it's ridiculous.
also you and minho are friendly, i just like him snarky! my man is funny!
⋆˚࿔ more nerdsung ⋆ masterlist
You had finally caught up. No overdue assignments. No looming exams. No discussion posts hanging over your head like a guillotine. For the first time in weeks, your schedule belonged to you.
Naturally, you spent that freedom sprinting up four flights of stairs because the elevator in Jisung's apartment building had chosen to die. Your bag bounced against your hip as you climbed, the ridiculous collection of charms attached to it jingling loud enough to announce your arrival to the entire complex.
By the time you reached the landing, the apartment door was already open.
Minho leaned against the frame. “Christ," he said. "Do you ever walk anywhere?"
"No." Minho was Jisung's roommate and best friend. He was much too contradictory for your liking - aloof yet observant, serious yet deeply committed to nonsense, a man of few words who only seemed to chime in to inconvenience you - but you didn’t have permission to evaluate him.
"Thought so."
You slipped past him before he could continue.
"Use protection," he called after you.
"Get a job," you shot back. Then you were gone, slamming the door shut behind you.
Jisung barely had time to look up from his desk before you launched yourself at him.
"Hi."
The impact nearly sent his chair rolling backward. He laughed anyway, wrapping his arms around you automatically. "Hi."
Worth the stairs.
Pleasantries were exchanged first, of course. You'd missed him, and Jisung genuinely wanted to know how classes were going. But somewhere between the updates and the complaining, the conversation migrated to his bed, where talking became significantly less productive when you ended up on top of him.
Clothes had long since vanished. You smirked against his mouth, amused as your hands played with his hair. He was inseparable from your face and neck, kissing every inch of you. He chuckled little I miss you’s into your skin with each one, but he slowed down at some point, staying in one spot for a little too long. He wouldn’t leave your chest alone.
You leaned backwards, allowing him more access. He didn’t hesitate, humming gratefully before his scattered kisses got messier.
“Are the condoms still in the drawer?” you asked, tone casual.
Jisung popped up, lips and cheeks a matching shade of magenta. He flashed a shy grin as he reached over to retrieve protection. You pulled it from his hand impatiently, giggling as you quickly got it on him.
Today wasn’t the day to act bashful, but neither of you were desperate either. He carefully lifted your hips and lowered you onto him, making you sigh contently at the stretch. You took him in quickly and well, your body having memorized his already.
You braced yourself with his shoulders and rose and fell with urgent rhythm. The sound of you bouncing off his thighs was mixed with his creaky bed and stifled groans. He tried his best to keep quiet, but he couldn’t help but squeak when you circled your hips just right.
“Missed you,” he mumbled, buried in your neck. “Don’t leave me again.”
His bangs tickled you as you quickened the pace. He could only grip you harder, letting you feel every inch of him tremor inside you. He was close and you felt kind enough to let him finish, so you grinded into him, hard and rough. He groaned, not expecting the force. He panted through it, voice high and strained as he thanked you. He sounded so delicate, even delighted, as you kept him there, using him until it was your turn.
Eventually, you collapsed on top of Jisung with a soft smack. He was sweaty and warm and breathed with the labor of a man who almost died. You sprawled out on his chest, getting comfortable.
Jisung let out a long, dramatic groan beneath you.
“Alive?” you asked.
“…debatable.”
You giggled, nestling closer. His heartbeat thumped steadily beneath your cheek. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in moving anytime soon.
As your gaze wandered around his room - past the shelves of figurines and Legos - something unfamiliar caught your eye. There was a big glass box in the corner. You were a little embarrassed that you missed it on the way in earlier. It wasn’t a fish tank, exactly. It looked more elaborate than that, with branches, climbing structures, and serious looking equipment.
You frowned. That definitely hadn't been there last time.
“Ji,” you said, poking at his chest. “What's that?”
“Huh?” He turned his head like the motion required a sacrifice from his life source.
You pointed. Jisung followed your finger, squinting across the room. His glasses had long since disappeared somewhere into the abyss of his bedroom, forcing him to rely on pure intuition. Then his eyes widened.
“Oh!" The reaction was immediate. Not merely excitement, exactly. More like activation. One second Jisung had been half-dead and incapable of movement. The next, he was sitting upright, forcing you to straddle him and gaze up into his now twinkling eyes.
You burst out laughing. "No way."
"What?"
"You weren't even conscious ten seconds ago."
"I'm conscious now."
"Because of the mystery tank?"
"Maybe."
"Jisung."
"Do you wanna see or not?"
You loved having a nerdy boyfriend. Not the aesthetic kind - not the people who carried books they never finished in tote bags from museums they’ve never been to. Despite his standoffish, slightly brooding exterior, he was a real one. Jisung collected hobbies like they were achievements all while maintaining a 4.0. He watched anime. He read manga and comics and then acted personally offended when you mixed the terms up. He treated competitive games like a second job despite complaining about them constantly. He could quote the Silmarillion and the Orange Catholic Bible. He could spend an hour explaining why two guitars that looked identical were completely different instruments in his humble opinion. Every few months, he discovered something new and immediately devoted his entire personality to it.
Which meant absolutely anything could be waiting inside that tank.
“Wait here,” he said, already scrambling off the bed. He clumsily redressed himself, passing you your shirt and underwear, as well.
After making yourself kind of presentable, you sat on the edge of the bed, kicking your feet while your imagination ran wild.
A turtle would be fine.
A snake would be manageable.
A tarantula would test the limits of your devotion.
The door opened before you could decide where exactly you drew the line. Jisung stepped inside with both hands raised dramatically, like a doctor preparing for surgery.
"Okay," he said. "Important question."
You cocked your head to the side.
"Are you gonna want to hold her?"
Her. Your curiosity doubled.
"Maybe?" You lied.
"Then you need to wash your hands first."
You wanted to hesitate; you wanted to interrogate a bit further. But his hair was a mess. His cheeks were still pink. There was a shine to his skin that made him look warm and impossibly pretty, and he was smiling at you with all the excitement of a little kid about to show off his favorite toy.
You folded immediately.
"Okay."
"Okay," he echoed, pleased.
You dutifully headed for the bathroom. On your way back, you passed through the living room. Minho was stretched across the couch, scrolling through his phone with one hand. One of his cats - the enormous orange one that seemed to gain mass every time you visited - was sprawled across his chest like a weighted blanket.
Without looking up, he said, "You'll be fine."
You paused.
"Hm?"
"Just don't freak out."
That did not inspire confidence.
"And call her cute."
Now you were even more concerned.
"It'll make him happy."
You stared at him. Minho finally glanced up.
"Trust me."
Considering Minho's definition of cute included an almost literal gang of mean, chunky cats, you weren't sure that helped very much.
When you returned to Jisung's room, he was standing in front of the tank with one arm inside. "Hey," he was saying softly. "Daddy wants to introduce you to somebody."
You opened your mouth and then closed it, not having the time to unpack that statement. A beat later, he carefully withdrew his hand. Something tiny clung to his fingers.
"Oh." Your heart immediately melted.
The lizard was adorable. It was mostly white, covered in soft brown patches that reminded you of a cow. It looked impossibly small perched against his hand - not even the size of a full palm, barely as long as the fingers its little toes were wrapped around. For a creature that looked like a miniature dinosaur, it was unbelievably cute.
"This is Richard," Jisung announced. The smile on his face could have powered a city. "She's a crested gecko. She's still a baby, so she's really little."
You looked from the gecko to Jisung. Then back to the gecko. Then back to Jisung.
"...She's a girl?"
"Yeah!"
"Why is her name Richard, then?"
A moment passed.
"Changbin named her."
That somehow explained everything and nothing.
"It's a pun," he continued bashfully.
You laughed. “Of course.”
"But she likes it."
"She likes being named Richard?"
"Yeah!” He said it with such conviction that you couldn't even argue.
Jisung stepped closer and gently held out his hand. Richard immediately turned her head toward you. You froze. The gecko stared. You stared back. She had huge, curious eyes. The kind that made it look like she was genuinely trying to figure you out.
"She's looking at you," Jisung said quietly.
"Yeah, I can see that."
"She's wondering who you are." The fondness in his voice nearly killed you. “She's really only met me and Minho. She hid from my dad when he dropped her off."
You reached out carefully, wiggling a finger. Richard followed the movement with her entire head.
"Oh my God."
"I know," Jisung said immediately, proudly.
"How long have you had her?"
"A few weeks." The answer came instantly, but the follow-up was stammered a bit, like he was guilty. "I-I wanted to introduce you guys when you were less swamped and she was settled in first. I figured it'd take longer, but she's such a happy baby."
His entire face lit up. The gecko could not possibly understand what he was saying. That didn't stop him.
"She lets me hold her every morning before she goes to sleep. Sometimes she'll just sit with me in bed." He smiled down at Richard. "And she'll come out of her cave to stare at Minho and the cats."
"Just stare?"
"Just stare."
"Judgmentally?"
"A little. They deserve it.”
You laughed. Jisung laughed too.
And for a moment, watching him gush over a tiny lizard named Richard, you found yourself thinking the same thing you'd been thinking for months now - somehow, every new thing he cared about became your favorite thing to hear about.
"Do you want to try holding her?" Jisung asked.
You nodded, truly excited. The smile that spread across his face was almost unfair.
"Okay." He adjusted his hands carefully. "Just hold your hand out like this.”
You copied him.
“If she wants to come over, she will. If she doesn't, that's okay too." His voice softened. "She might need more time. She still won't let Minho hold her."
The smug satisfaction that gave you was completely irrational.
You held your hand steady. The tiny gecko tilted her head as though she were conducting a very serious evaluation. For a moment, she simply watched you. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she leaned forward.
One foot. Then another. Slowly, she climbed from Jisung's hand onto yours. Your entire face lit up.
"Oh my God - I've been chosen."
"You have."
You bit your lip to stop yourself from squealing. She was even smaller up close, delicate. Ridiculously tiny compared to the hand she perched on. Richard blinked at you intently. There was something strangely self-satisfied about her expression, like she knew exactly how adorable she was.
"What a brave girl!" Jisung cooed. He was smiling so proudly it was embarrassing. "Daddy is so proud of you."
You paused, then slowly turned toward him, with a poorly hidden smirk.
"Daddy?"
Jisung looked back at you.
"Daddy," you repeated.
"Yeah?" The confusion on his face was genuine.
"You call yourself that?"
"Well..." He shrugged. "She's my daughter." The answer was delivered with complete sincerity.
You hummed. "I'll remember that."
The tips of his ears immediately turned pink.
Richard shifted on your hand, completely unaware that her father was currently being psychologically observed.
"Can I be her mommy?" you asked suddenly.
Jisung's eyes widened. "What?"
You lifted Richard slightly. "I think she likes me."
Richard chose that exact moment to climb farther onto your hand.
"See?" you said. "We're bonding."
Jisung looked between you and the gecko. Then, to your surprise, he smiled. "Of course."
Your heart did a stupid little flip. "Really?"
"Yeah." He reached over to gently scratch beneath Richard's chin. "She already has uncles."
You laughed, an airy, surprised sound. The domesticity of that sentence hit you far harder than it should have.
Richard: one.
Your ability to function: zero.
"Hm." You pretended to think. "Can I be your—"
"Absolutely not."
You burst out laughing. “You don't even know what I was going to say."
"I do."
"You don't."
"You can’t joke like that in front of children!” His face was red now.
Richard suddenly licked the tip of your finger. Both of you froze. Then Jisung pointed. "See? She agrees with me."
"That's not what happened."
"That's exactly what happened."
"Richard, blink twice if you support me."
Richard simply continued sitting there, unblinking, looking pleased with herself.
Traitor.
You lifted her closer to eye level. She watched you back. Tiny. Inquisitive. Completely content.
Honestly, you understood why Jisung was obsessed with her. Then again, you also understood why you were obsessed with Jisung.
Richard settled comfortably in your stretched hand, curling in on herself almost sleepily.
"I really do think she's adopted me," you whispered.
"Good."
"Good?"
Jisung nodded without hesitation. "Yeah."
"Why?"
He looked genuinely confused by the question. "Because I wanted her to like you."
Your heart immediately betrayed you. "Oh."
Jisung reached over to gently pat Richard's head. "You're important to me," he said simply. "I wanted you guys to get along."
Just like that. No grand declaration. No dramatic speech. Just a statement of fact. You looked down at Richard before he could see the ridiculous smile threatening to spread across your face.
Unfortunately, your boyfriend was observant.
"Why are you smiling like that?"
"No reason."
"There is absolutely a reason."
"Focus on your daughter."
"She's our daughter."
You turned around to hide your red face growing hotter and hotter by the second, startling Richard as she peered at her father judgingly. Jisung stood frozen, surprised by his own charm.
From somewhere in the apartment, Minho yelled, "I heard that one."
"Mind your business!" you shouted. Richard stretched forward in solidarity.
pairing: spider-han x f!reader, established relationship
genre/tags: spider-man/marvel au, angst, graphic depictions of injury/violence, g*n references, tw blood, tw derealization
word count: 2.3k
synopsis: Jisung always manages to come home. And sometimes, that's the terrifying part.
playlist: spideyboy
[a/n] i was on an angst kick and i figured this kind of scenario was a little inevitable for the au
ty to my followers who voted for this to be put out first?? lol, love y'all! <3
⋆˚࿔ series: i'm still here, aren't i? ⋆ m.list ⋆
Three days.
The record for Jisung's unexplained disappearances was three days.
Fridays had always been easy to rationalize. He usually came home late anyway, having convinced the custodian to lock up after hours so he could finish work at the lab or chip away at his master's thesis. It wasn't unusual for him to stumble through the front door long after midnight.
Jisung had been good about updating you. A text with an estimated arrival time. A quick call to apologize and let you know it'd be a while. Some acknowledgment that he was alive and on his way home.
You didn't mind waiting.
Sometimes you'd order food so it'd arrive before he did and the two of you could eat together, picking apart your weeks over takeout containers. Sometimes you'd stay awake no matter how late it got. Other nights, especially after starting your new job, you'd hold out until his update came through and then go to sleep, content to see him in the morning.
That Friday, he'd sent a voice message at one in the morning. He never sent you voice messages. You remembered staring at your phone before pressing play. You remembered your thumb shaking.
"Y/n," he rasped. He sounded exhausted. Words came slowly, separated by long, awkward pauses. "I love you so much. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. You're the most incredible person I've ever met. Please take care of yourself. I love you."
You remembered holding your phone in both hands against your chest, refusing to let go. You didn't remember much after that. Not Saturday. Not Sunday. You remembered sitting on the floor by the couch picking at your cuticles until they bled. You remembered staring at the front door until your eyes hurt.
Monday, you had gone to work. It was still too early in the year to leave your students with a substitute, so you'd smiled and taught and pretended your world wasn't quietly unraveling. You'd even convinced yourself he'd be home when you got back.
He wasn't.
The doorbell rang sometime after two in the morning. You had thrown the door open and grabbed him. You remembered his shirt beneath your fists, unable to let go. Later, you realized he had looked terrified. Disheveled. Dressed in mismatched clothes that weren't his.
Tonight marked two days.
No call. No text. He didn't do that anymore. The news hadn't reported any Spider-Man sightings. Tony Stark hadn't appeared at your door like you were some kind of military widow. So you sat awake in bed with your phone in your hands and waited.
Eventually, it erupted with his A.I. assistant, Geomi's voice.
Y/n, Jisung requires immediate assistance.
You were out of bed before you fully woke up. You tumbled toward to front door to find it open already with Jisung stood on the other side, still in his suit and covered in blood.
You couldn't tell where the red of his suit ended and the red of his blood began. The suit hung in shredded pieces, torn open in several places to reveal angry, gaping wounds beneath. Blood soaked through his mask and streamed down one leg. One hand was pressed desperately to his side, fingers slick and stained as he tried futilely to hold himself together.
"Jisung—"
His knees buckled. You barely caught him. The door slammed shut behind you as you half-dragged, half-carried him to the bathroom. He wasn't helping. Whether he couldn't or simply didn't have the strength anymore, you didn't know.
You lowered him into the bathtub me then flicked the light on. He looked worse - so much worse than you could have imagined alone in the dark.
The white light exposed everything - the blood pooling from his head, the tremor in his hands, the frightening pallor beneath what little of his face you could see. He looked grey, like someone had taken all the warmth out of him.
"Geomi," you said, your voice breaking. "What are his vitals?"
Jisung has lost a significant amount of blood. His oxygen saturation is low. The bullet was successfully removed.
Your head snapped up. "...Bullet?"
Silence.
"You were shot?" you whispered. You looked back at him, clutching himself feebly. It might had been undeniable, but who were you to confirm? He only laid there, trembling, a version of himself your nightmares couldn’t even conjure up.
Your hands were already fumbling for your phone that you left behind. "Geomi, call nine-one-one immedia—"
"No." The word came out sharp and pained. "No."
You stared at him. "You were fucking shot," you said, voice rising. "You need to go to a hospital."
"Spider-Man can't show up in the ER." He sucked in a shaky breath and grimaced. "They'll know who I am."
Your hands slid down your face, your nails clawing at you numbly. There was no use arguing despite the pit in your stomach.
"What about the lab?" you said frantically. "Then call Stark. Call someone."
"No!" He nearly shouted it. The force of it made him fold in on himself. "I can't." His breathing became quick and uneven. "He'll know I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. I-I fucked up—"
The words dissolved. He just kept saying it. Again. And again. A frightened, broken mantra. I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.
He curled tighter around himself despite the pain, shoulders shaking. A choked sob escaped him. For one horrible moment, he didn't look like Spider-Man. He looked twenty-five and young and terrified. A boy sitting in your bathtub and bleeding through his fingers.
Your eyes burned. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted someone older and smarter and more capable to walk through the front door and tell you what to do.
Instead, this was your problem now.
Hands shaking, you dropped to your knees and yanked open the cabinet beneath the sink. Inside was his first aid kit. Not the cheap plastic box from a pharmacy with cartoon bandages and travel-sized ointment. This thing looked clinical. with equipment he'd either scavenged from the lab or sweet-talked out of nurses. At the time, you were confused why he’d keep that here when he had specialized technicians at the lab especially for him. Now, staring into it with blood on your hands and your boyfriend slowly falling apart behind you, it felt less like a first aid kit and more like a contingency plan.
You coaxed Jisung to sit upright in the tub. He barely cooperated. His breathing was ragged, each inhale sounding shallow and insufficient, like he couldn't get enough air no matter how hard he tried.
You reached for what remained of his mask. It resisted at first, stubbornly clinging to him. Then it slowly peeled away, tacky with blood and sweat and grime. Without thinking, you pushed his damp bangs off his forehead.
"What do I need to do?" you asked, the stillness in your tone surprising even you.
His eyes fluttered open. "I'm..." He paused to catch his breath. Even speaking seemed to cost him. "I'm too weak right now."
Your throat tightened painfully.
"It'll be okay," he mumbled, sounding unconvinced himself. "I just...need a minute."
A minute. As if this was something ordinary. As if he had one.
“I can’t heal right now. The wound needs to be sewed first.” He sagged against the side of the tub.
The adrenaline has worn off, Geomi said.
You looked to the end of the tub where you had flung the mask. She spoke from the grotesque heap.
He only had sufficient energy to remove the bullet and return home.
Moving felt heavy and slow, but the universe hesitated on your behalf. You nodded numbly and turned back to the sink. One deep breath. Your hands wouldn't stop shaking. You washed them anyway. The water ran pink almost immediately.
Swallowing hard, you turned back to Jisung.
The image of the man you loved dying in your bathtub would brand itself into you. It would come back to you at two in the morning when you should've been asleep. On the train home from work. Across the couch when Jisung would smile at you like nothing had happened. You would never forget how warm blood really was or the smell of it. You would keep your nails short after that night because every time they grew out, you'd become convinced there was still something of him beneath them. Whenever Jisung came home and said he was fine, you would never believe him again.
You knelt beside the tub and gently moved his hand from his side. He resisted at first. Then, slowly, he let you. His suit had been reduced to strips of fabric, torn from the side of his chest down toward his hip. There were other marks, too - cuts that looked like they had already begun to heal, as though his body had been trying desperately to keep up with everything that had happened tonight. Beneath his ribs—
You stopped breathing.
The injury was there, impossible to ignore. All at once, the room felt too small. This was too much blood. Too much hurt. Too much for your apartment, your bathroom, your hands. Too much for him.
Ever since you had learned to sleep without him, you had been haunted by visions of all the ways he could die. Not grand ones. Small, terrible things. Him hurt somewhere with no one to call. Him reaching for help that wasn't there. Him dying alone while you slept peacefully in your bed, unaware.
You used to force those thoughts away. Tonight, they had come home with him.
You stopped stalling.
Geomi's voice guided you quietly through what needed to be done. It wasn’t comforting, exactly, having her there, but she filled the silence - reconfirming what you could only assume was correct. You didn't fully understand how she worked. You didn't know whether an artificial intelligence could care about someone, whether she and Jisung had something resembling a friendship, or if she was simply following lines of code. But her small, mechanical voice sounded almost mournful as it echoed off the bathroom tiles.
Disinfect the wound.
You poured saline straight to his side. His throat was too torn to scream, but he tried.
It is standard practice that you numb the area.
“I don’t think I can.”
He will feel pain otherwise.
“I know, Geomi.”
You vaguely remembered getting stitches as a kid. Your mom said to imagine you were toy that needed to be fixed. Almost like watching memory, you watched your hands find the sterile needle and the forceps. Geomi, in her best whisper, dictated what to squeeze, what to hold, what to stab. It was too much like mending a doll or the hem of a shirt - except the doll cried and begged you to stop.
When it was over, you let the instruments fall from your hands. They clattered against the floor, startlingly loud in the silence. You stared at them, at your hands, at the blood that had dried in the creases of your knuckles. You wanted to faint. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to scrub your skin raw and burn the building down.
Instead, you looked at Jisung, curled on his side away from you. You weren't done. You reached for his suit. He protested weakly at first, his hand meekly rising as if to stop you.
"Don't," he murmured.
"You can't stay like this."
His eyes widened and shifted like his mind was racing. You’d never know what he wanted to say. Instead, he let his hand fall. You worked carefully, peeling away what remained of the suit piece by piece. Even moving slowly, you still made him wince. He hissed softly once, then looked almost apologetic for it.
By the time you were finished, he was left in his boxer-briefs, slumped against the back of the tub. He looked exhausted, small. His head lolled against the tile, eyes barely open. You turned on the shower. You just let the water fall over him. It washed through his hair and down his chest, carrying away dirt and sweat and traces of blood alike. Jisung closed his eyes finally and for a long time; all you could hear was the water.
"Geomi," you said softly, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. "Will he be okay?"
No one answered. You had taken off his whole suit, disabling Geomi. You were alone.
You just looked at yourself in the mirror. You barely recognized the person staring back. Your eyes were red and swollen, blown wide with shock. Your hair was wild, sticking to your damp face. There was blood everywhere - on your hands, smeared across your cheek, staining your shirt and the sleeves of your pajamas. None of it was yours.
Your knees hit the floor, collapsing against the side of the tub. You hunched over it, your face buried in your arms. The shower still ran. Something touched your hand. You lifted your head. Jisung's fingers had found yours. They were wet and trembling. Even now, with his eyes half-closed and his face drained of color, he was still reaching for you.
His grip wasn't strong; neither was yours on reality. You felt woozy, every nerve in your body singed raw. The only thing tethering you to the room was the sound of Jisung breathing. It was shallow, rough and laborious, each inhale sounding like work.
You didn't know how long he would stay like that.
You realized you were crying. You stood abruptly and wiped at your face, not wanting him to see. Your hand stopped halfway. You looked down at it. At the blood dried in the lines of your skin.
If he woke up in the morning, would he remember any of this? Would he apologize? Would he explain himself?
You looked at your hands again. They didn't look like yours anymore.
pairing: spider-han x f!reader, established relationship
genre/tags: spider-man/marvel au, tw acrophobia, tw motion sickness, slight angst (really not a lot), sorta hurt/comfort, there is a happy ending, it's weird dating spider-man you know
word count: 5.1k
synopsis: The city looks different from up here. So does Han Jisung.
playlist: spideyboy
[a/n] this was inspired by "Joyride" by cortis. i was going for an almost indie movie kinda vibe. i hope it feels cinematic.
⋆˚࿔ series: i'm still here, aren't i? ⋆ m.list ⋆
Jisung rolled over, the mattress dipping sharply beneath his weight. The movement bounced you a few inches off the bed. At this point, you barely reacted. Random reminders that he was much stronger than he looked had become a normal part of your life.
He had managed to wear you out, though. The rush of traffic beyond the apartment windows blended into a distant hum as you focused on catching your breath. Beside you, Jisung sprawled dramatically across the mattress like he'd been struck down in battle. You knew better though.
His hand found yours a moment later. Absentmindedly, he threaded your fingers together and began fidgeting with them. He'd always done that. During movies, long bus rides, late-night conversations that stretched until sunrise. It was one of those habits you'd stopped noticing until moments like this.
"Y/n," he said quietly. "You wanna try something?"
You cracked one eye open. "Jisung, your Spidey stamina has seriously warped your perception of reality." You propped yourself up on your elbows. "I’m a mere mortal. I can't keep up with you all the time."
"What?" His eyes widened. He shot upright so fast it almost made you laugh. "No! God, that's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
"I wanna show you something." He said it like a secret.
You made a face, still a little too worn out to catch on.
"Please." His voice came out softer this time. "It'll make sense when we're there." There was something boyish in the way he said it. Not pleading, exactly. Just hopeful.
Jisung climbed out of bed first. He spent a moment locating the same pair of jeans he'd abandoned on the floor earlier. You watched him move around the room, unhurried and familiar, while the city lights filtered through the windows. After pulling them on, he crouched beside the ugly IKEA bag shoved against the wall and rummaged through it. Out came the red gloves, then the mask. He tucked the mask into his back pocket and slipped the gloves on with practiced ease.
Eventually, you dragged yourself up as well. You observed him and copied - jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, a jacket. After a second thought, you grabbed a thin scarf from the back of a chair.
By the time you were ready, Jisung was standing beside the large window separating the kitchen from the living room. His back was turned to you. He was fiddling with the latch, brows furrowed in concentration, wearing the same expression he usually reserved for math problems way beyond your scope. Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place.
"I'm going with you?" you asked slowly. "Like...around the city?"
A smile tugged at his mouth. "Yeah." He finally pushed the window open, and distant traffic drifted inside with the cool night air. "Kind of like a joyride."
Your stomach twisted. There were about a hundred different feelings tangled together, none of them easy to name. A lot of them you didn’t want to discuss.
Jisung noticed immediately.
"We don't have to. I mean it." He glanced away before looking back at you. "I just thought..." His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "I wanted to show you what it looks like from up there."
You shook your head in silence, bracing yourself before facing him again. The smile you managed felt small and uncertain, but it was enough. You were trying.
Jisung's expression softened. Of course he understood. He always did.
His hand found yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Okay, you're gonna climb onto my back." He said it carefully, like he was guiding one of your students. “Then you need to hold on as tight as you can. You won't hurt me."
You focused on getting onto his back, ignoring that little slip of confirmation. He crouched to make it easier. You settled your arms around his shoulders. Then tighter. Then tighter still. He was right.
Jisung adjusted his footing. "I'm climbing to the roof first, okay?"
You nodded.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
The moment he moved, every instinct in your body screamed that something was wrong. Not dangerous - wrong. People weren't supposed to accelerate like that. There was no gradual buildup of momentum. No preparation. No warning. Not even that sickening jolt like at the start of a roller coaster. You wrapped yourself around his neck reflexively.
Despite the force, Jisung landed on the edge of the window frame so lightly it barely made a sound. His very body absorbed the impact so completely you would have been confused if you had moved at all if it weren’t for the breeze hitting you from the window. You ducked automatically, convinced your head was about to collide with the glass, but it never came close. His movements were too precise for that.
Before you could fully process it, he moved again.
Forward.
The motion yanked at every organ in your body. Cold air slammed into your face. For a brief, horrible moment, you felt yourself tilt away from the building, first outward…then downward.
You felt yourself flung in an arch, the world rushing at you in the opposite direction. You saw the horizon vanish before your sight, followed by the street below now above your head.
Then Jisung stuck. The stop came so abruptly your teeth clicked together. You stared at brick, inches away from your face. His hand was attached to the facade.
His feet dug in next. The building became a floor. Your stomach lurched. Every part of your brain rejected the image. You were perpendicular to the ground. You knew you were, but your body couldn't make sense of it. It kept waiting for gravity to remember its job.
Jisung started climbing instead. His shoulders rolled beneath your arms. One hand. One foot. The other hand. The other foot. Each movement was smooth and practiced, almost casual. To him, the wall offered the same resistance as a ladder rung.
You found yourself staring at his gloves, morbidly fascinated at the impossible ease with which they released and reattached, at how he never hesitated. He never checked his footing or searched for a handhold. He didn’t pause when he shut the window closed with his foot. He simply knew he would stick. The realization was almost stranger than the height.
Jisung couldn't have reached the roof fast enough. The second his feet touched concrete, you fell off his back and stumbled away from him. Your legs barely worked. The roof pitched beneath you, your stomach still trying to catch up to the fact that the world had stopped moving.
"Y/n."
You took another step back.
"Y/n," Jisung said again, immediately hearing something wrong in your breathing. "I couldn't go the way I normally do. Not with you on my back. I had to—"
You doubled over. You barely made it three steps before vomiting. The rough concrete scraped your knees as you dropped down.
Somewhere behind you, Jisung swore. "We're going back inside." His voice was closer now. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The words tumbled out too fast. "We'll go back. We don't have to do this. I'm sorry."
He sounded panicked. You couldn't answer. Your stomach churned again despite of yourself.
The image replayed behind your eyes. It wasn’t necessarily the height or the danger that unnerved you. It was the familiarity of it. There had been no caution in his movements. No adjustment. No thought. It was as natural as watching someone walk down a hallway. A peculiar feeling settled heavily in your chest knowing that he was now so fundamentally different.
Jisung didn't follow you. For once, he seemed afraid to. He simply waited, holding back his feet and the guilt which threatened to overtake him.
When your stomach finally settled, you sank back on your knees. The city stretched endlessly beyond the ledge. Office towers glowed in the distance, their windows clustered together like constellations. From down below, they had always looked impossibly far away. Now you knew they weren't. Jisung could reach them in minutes.
The thought made your stomach ache again.
Still, slowly, you pushed yourself back to your feet. Jisung hadn't moved. His eyes were red. His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had gone pale.
He looked exactly like Han Jisung.
"I'll be okay," you said, your voice rough.
He dragged his hands over his face and he shook his head. "No, don't do that."
"I'll be fine."
He looked at you then. Miserable. Exhausted. Terrified. "You don't have to be fine right now."
The wind tugged at your jacket and scarf as you stood in silence. Then you crossed the distance between you. Jisung immediately went still. You pressed your hands against his chest. His heartbeat was racing.
"I think I'm allowed to be a little freaked out."
His eyes squeezed shut. You felt his chest rise sharply beneath your palms.
"I'm scared," you admitted quietly. "Not of you."
That got his attention. His eyes opened.
"Just of..." You searched for the words. "Everything else."
Jisung gulped hard. Then, very carefully, he covered one of your hands with his, like he was still checking whether you wanted him to touch you.
"I don't want you hiding from me," you said quietly.
Jisung looked down. “I don’t want you running away.”
"I’m not. I'm grateful you want to share this with me. I really am." You swallowed. "Just...let me do it scared."
For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then he nodded. His breathing was still rough. "Okay."
The word barely left his mouth before he reached into his back pocket. You watched him pull out the mask.
"Here. Wearing it makes me feel less afraid."
Before you could argue, he carefully pulled it over your head. The material tightened and shifted against your skin. Tiny motors whirred. Something clicked near your temples. You startled as lights flickered to life across the lenses. Information flooded your vision. Numbers. Symbols. Graphs. Maps. None of it meant anything to you. You wondered for a second how it offered comfort, all the lights and sounds. But suddenly a voice spoke directly into your ear.
Hello. Jisung, do we have a guest?
You nearly jumped out of your skin. "Why is there a person in here?"
"There isn't." Jisung ran a hand through his hair. "That's Geomi. She’s an AI assistant Stark installed to look after me.”
I prefer co-pilot.
"I’d prefer it shut up."
"Geomi," Jisung interrupted, "is there a guest setting or something?"
Mr. Stark installed the Lover's Protocol three months ago.
Jisung groaned. "Of course he did."
Would you like it activated?
"Please."
The displays vanished instantly. The endless stream of information disappeared. The lenses softened into a faint glow. Everything became quiet. When you blinked, the mask responded with a subtle mechanical flutter that sounded strangely cute. You blinked again just to hear it.
Jisung watched you. "Better?"
You looked out at the city. Without the flood of data, the mask felt less like a machine and more like a window.
"Yeah." Your voice was a little muffled.
His shoulders loosened slightly.
"Are you?"
For a second, he looked like he might lie. Then he took a long breath.
"Yeah," he said. "A little."
Jisung took your hand and led you toward the edge of the roof. This time, he moved slowly.
"Okay." He pointed across the skyline. "See that water tower?"
You followed his finger. "I think so."
"Good. That's our first stop."
His voice had shifted into the careful, methodical tone he used whenever he was trying to solve a problem…or prevent one.
"I'm going to web onto it and swing us over." He glanced at you. "Normally I'd use both web-shooters, but I need an arm free to hold you, so it'll be a little rougher than usual."
The lenses of the mask blinked loudly.
He immediately winced. "'Rougher' is the wrong word."
"It is."
Jisung groaned. "That’s not fair. You know I’m really bad at reassuring people."
You gave him a thumbs-up you didn’t mean.
That earned a snort. "Thank you. That's very encouraging." Then he stepped closer, scooping you up effortlessly. His arm slid beneath your legs while the other steadied your back, lifting you onto his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your stomach did a small flip. You wrapped your arms around his neck automatically. Jisung adjusted his grip until you felt secure against his side.
"You comfortable?" he asked.
"No."
"Fair." You felt him laugh, but his arm tightened slightly around your waist. "You will tell me when you want to stop." The joking edge disappeared from his voice.
It was there again - that carefulness. That determination to make sure you always had a choice.
You looked at the distant water tower. Then at the drop waiting beyond the edge of the roof. "You're going to let me scream a little."
Jisung nodded immediately. "Absolutely."
“Good.” You eyed the edge of the roof. "Also…does Geomi have a protocol if I throw up in the mask?”
I do.
"Oh my God."
Emergency decontamination procedures are available upon request.
Jisung made a horrified noise.
"Why does that exist?" you asked.
Because he has thrown up in the suit before.
"You promised not to bring that up!”
You stared at him through the mask. Jisung stared straight ahead. "...let's go."
Thwip!
The web shot out before you could fully understand the sound. It was impossibly fast. A thin line of white disappeared into the darkness, and Jisung's hand moved with it, precise and automatic. The echo bounced between buildings, too loud in the quiet of the night, like a starting gun.
"Three,” he announced firmly. His grip tightened around you.
"Two." Your stomach dropped before anything happened.
"One."
He ran, only a few steps, then the roof disappeared beneath you. For one long second, there was no sensation at all. No falling. No wind. No sound. No weight. It felt like the world had slowed down just enough for you to notice everything. The mask sharpened the city, almost impossibly so. You could see every window, every streetlight, every car moving below. You could see your neighborhood under you like snapshot.
Then gravity found you. It still did not feel like falling; it felt like being caught, like being yanked you downward all at once. Your body reacted before your brain did. Your grip tightened. Your breath vanished. The street rushed closer. And then—
Thwip!
The fall stopped instantly. The force snapped through your body as the web caught and redirected you back up. Your stomach stayed behind while the rest of you swung forward. You didn't even have time to scream.
Shoot. Grab. Release. Shoot. Every swing was a calculation. Every movement depended on timing. The angle of his wrist. The distance between buildings. The exact moment to let go. It was a rhythm.
He could feel how scared you were. Your arms were locked around him. Your heartbeat was racing. Your breathing came fast through the mask. He hadn't heard the lenses blink once. You were scared.
Then you laughed.
A startled, breathless sound that surprised both of you. Jisung looked over to you. You were still holding on, still terrified, but you were looking. Through the lenses, you saw the city the way he did.
Somewhere between the fear and the rush, there was something magnetic, a deep-seeded thrill that made you understand why he kept coming back. Despite everything, this felt a little like flying.
Jisung landed on the rooftop of one of the newer high-rises near the bridge, the kind with glass walls and rooftop lounges. He hit the ground with barely a sound and no stumble, no adjustment. You, however, were still trying to convince your body that you had just stopped moving. You didn't even jolt in his arms.
Jisung lowered you carefully until your feet touched the roof. Beyond him, the city stretched out. Brooklyn behind you. Manhattan ahead. The skyline burned across the river, every window glowing like a scattered field of stars.
"Hey." Jisung's voice pulled your attention back. "How’re you doing?"
He sounded far too worried. His hands hovered near you like he wasn't sure if he should steady you or give you space.
Her vitals are elevated, but still within a normal range.
"Geomi," Jisung muttered through clenched teeth. "Not now."
"I'm fine." Your voice came out thinner than you wanted. "I think."
Jisung studied your face through the mask. "That's not a very convincing answer."
"How am I supposed to feel?" There was no accusation in your voice. You were genuinely asking because he was the only person in the world who knew how you felt.
Jisung was quiet for a moment, looking out over the skyline. "The first time I made it somewhere on purpose, I ended up at that old laundromat by the Puerto Rican place."
You laughed softly. "Of course you remember the exact location."
"I remember everything. I tested the webs and the shooters before I ever tried anything," he continued. "I thought I knew what I was doing, but it's different when you're actually moving."
You could hear commotion from the bridge.
"I was scared shitless." A small smile pulled at his mouth. "But it was a rush." There was a hint of guilt in his expression, like he was apologizing.
You noticed. "Hey."
His eyes came back to you.
"I get it." You smiled sadly. There was nothing else like it.
Jisung watched your face carefully. "Do you..." he hesitated. "Do you want to try again?"
"Back home?"
"No." He held out his hand. "I want to show you my favorite spot."
You smiled immediately. Then remembered.
"You can't see my face."
A laugh escaped him. "I know you're smiling."
"How?"
"I just do." He scratched the back of his neck. "Are you ready, though?"
You nodded with your entire body.
He laughed again. "Okay."
He picked you up once more. This time, you settled against him almost automatically. One arm circled his shoulders while one of his tightened around your waist. The movement felt familiar already, safe.
Thwip!
The web vanished into the night and he followed. You fell then swung then rose. Again - fell then swung then rose. The motions no longer felt like separate events; they blended into one another until they were melodic. The drop in your stomach. The pull forward. The slow climb upward. It felt strangely like a playground swing.
The river appeared. Your breath caught. From above, it looked endless. Black and glassy, stretching between the boroughs like another sky. The bridges seemed impossibly delicate from here, their lights suspended over darkness.
By the time you reached the other side, your pulse had calmed. The journey hadn't lasted long. You landed on top of one of those newer buildings in Lower Manhattan - another luxury tower your city had somehow decided it needed. Jisung touched down softly. Again, you barely felt it.
This section of the roof was unfinished and bare. No rooftop lounge. No decorative greenery. Just concrete, vents, and maintenance equipment hidden from the people paying absurd amounts of money several floors below.
Jisung set you down. Then he immediately started walking straight toward a small metal door near the center of the roof. He grabbed the handle and shook it once. The door rattled.
"Still broken."
You and the mask blinked.
"I accidentally webbed it shut one time," he explained. "I guess maintenance never doesn’t care enough to fix it." He sounded weirdly pleased about this. "No one's ever up here."
The way he said it made you look at him, hard. He wasn't admiring the skyline. He wasn't looking around. He was checking things - the door, the ledge, and the vents like someone making sure their room looked the same as they left it. Then he finally relaxed.
You realized, with a small start, that he'd been here enough times to have habits.
He looked at you instead. A little smile appeared. "Welcome.”
He helped you down. Sitting on the ledge may have been the hardest part of the night. Every instinct objected to it. Your legs felt unsteady as they dangled over open air, your hands planted firmly against the concrete as though you might slide off. But Jisung stayed close and the view was worth it.
Slowly, you removed the mask. The city looked dreamlike with your own eyes. To one side, Manhattan rose in clusters of glass and steel, every window lit. You'd been inside skyscrapers before, had looked down from observation decks and office buildings, but this was different. You weren't looking through reinforced glass. You were just... here. On a ledge you had absolutely no business sitting on.
"See the little dip in the lights?" You followed where Jisung was pointing. A break in the skyline. The towers suddenly lowered, the lights becoming softer and more scattered.
"Yeah, I do."
"That's our neighborhood."
You looked again. A small smile touched his face.
"In the mask, I can zoom in stupidly close." He scratched his cheek. "If the air's clear enough, I can see our apartment."
His words felt warm in your chest. You looked at the distant patch of Brooklyn. From here, it seemed stitched together from every kind of light imaginable. New glass buildings stood beside old brick ones. Streetlamps glowed amber between dark stretches of tree-lined blocks. It looked ancient and brand new at the same time. Like a galaxy someone had built by hand.
You looked at Jisung. "Do you come here a lot?" He was still staring across the river.
You wouldn't say you were used to him being Spider-Man. You were still a long way from that. It remained uncomfortable, to put it mildly, to reconcile the boy beside you with the person on the news. The secrets still stung. The whole thing still felt impossible some days. And getting Jisung to talk about it was like pulling teeth.
His mouth flattened into that familiar line he always made when he was thinking. "It's quiet here."
You almost said something mean. Isn't it quiet at home? But you looked at the mask in your hands instead. The lenses reflected the city lights in soft, distorted shapes.
"When I first got..." He stopped.
You waited. He always did this. He hated talking about what had happened to him. Hated describing what he could do. Every explanation seemed to embarrass him.
"When I first got my abilities," he tried again, "I didn't really want to be in the neighborhood."
He looked out at Brooklyn. "I got the web-shooters working pretty quickly. They weren't hard to build, so I could leave whenever I wanted."
You glanced at his gloves. They weren't the prototypes. You'd never seen those.
"I'd just come up here sometimes." The wind lifted a few strands of his hair. He looked at you then, expression soft and oddly serious.
"I never liked leaving."
You stared at him, not breaking your gaze. You sure you didn’t hide the surprise well.
"I don't know if I've made that clear."
You thought about all the missed dinners. The unexplained disappearances. The unanswered calls. The nights he came home bruised and exhausted from work supposedly. No, he hadn't made that clear.
But sitting beside him now, with Brooklyn glowing across the river and his favorite rooftop beneath you, you believed him immediately.
He looked back toward home. "I just needed somewhere to think for a while."
You mulled over his words. “What about now?”
A smirk tugged at his mouth. "Oh, I've still got plenty to think about." He leaned back on his hands. "There's a first aid kit in that vent." He nodded toward the large metal unit behind you. "Tools, too."
You looked over your shoulder.
"What?"
"Sometimes I don't want to explain to the lab why I did something stupid to the suit."
You only raised your eyebrows; another time you’d laugh. You looked down at the mask in your lap. Jisung had never said it outright, but you knew this thing complicated him. The mask was freedom. The mask was loneliness. The mask was the reason he could do impossible things and the reason he'd had to keep so much of himself hidden. You weren't sure how you felt about it either. You ran your thumb over one of the lenses.
"Pass it over for a sec."
You looked up. He was holding out his hand.
"What for?"
"I'm gonna grab something."
Your eyes widened. "You're leaving me here?"
He shrugged. "Just for a second. I promise."
You couldn’t make your disapproval clearer on your face. "Jisung."
"You're fine." His laugh only got bigger, but he took the mask gently from your hands anyway and pulled it over his face. The lenses flashed.
Lover's Protocol suspended. Host confirmed.
Then he stood and jumped. You gasped. He was gone almost immediately.
Without you in his arms, he moved differently. Faster. Lighter. He disappeared around the corner of the building in a blur.
Silence settled over the roof. You made the mistake of looking down. Your entire body seized. You were absurdly high. The streets looked fake from here. The cars were little beads of light moving between buildings. The few people out weren't people anymore. Just motion. You swallowed and looked away.
This was where he came to think. You tried to imagine it. Winter snow collecting on the concrete. Summer nights thick with humidity. Rain soaking through his clothes. Jisung sitting exactly where you'd been sitting, alone.
He'd said he could see your apartment from here. The thought settled deep in your chest. On those nights you'd woken to an empty bed and turned on every light in the apartment while waiting for him to come home - had he seen them? Had he watched your windows glow from across the river? Had he sat here while knowing exactly where you were?
You looked back toward Brooklyn. The distance suddenly didn't feel so large. How much of his life had existed up here? And how much of it had he wanted to show you all this time?
You weren't sure how long you sat there thinking. Not long enough. A pair of sneakers landed softly on concrete behind you.
Jisung returned carrying a brown paper bag. He held it up proudly. "There's still a deli around here. I stopped a car from getting thrown into their storefront once, so they feed me for free."
You raised an eyebrow. "They just... feed you?"
"Yeah,” he said like it was normal and obvious. “A few places do as thank you’s. One of the few perks of the job."
Before you could ask any more questions, he dropped onto the ledge beside you with astonishingly little regard for the height. You weren't going to get used to that. He pulled off the mask and handed you a wrapped bagel and a cold can of Coke.
You stared. "A bagel with cream cheese and extra chives?" you asked.
He looked confused. "Yeah."
"You remembered my order."
He looked even more confused. "Of course I did." Then he pulled out his own sandwich. A bacon-egg-and-cheese that had to be at least twenty-five percent grease.
For a while, the only sounds were wrappers crinkling and the occasional hum of traffic drifting up from somewhere impossibly far below. Then the light changed. You looked up. The sun was beginning to rise. Its first rays climbed over the bridge and spilled between the buildings. Beside you, Jisung had gone still.
"I've always felt kind of guilty watching the sunrise by myself." He said it around a bite of sandwich. “It's really pretty."
You followed his gaze. He was right. The city looked entirely different in daylight. The bright yellows and soft oranges turned every glass building into glittering towers. Windows flashed with reflected light. The river caught the sunrise and held it, shimmering gold between Manhattan and Brooklyn. The whole city looked like a jewelry box someone had forgotten to close.
Neither of you spoke between bites. You just sat there, eating breakfast on a rooftop you never would have found on your own, watching the world wake up beside Spider-Man.
You broke the silence first. "Did you ever see me?"
Jisung looked over. "What?"
"When I turned all the lights on."
He frowned.
"You said you can see our apartment from here."
Understanding slowly crossed his face. "Oh."
You looked back toward Brooklyn. "I used to wake up and look for you."
For a while, he didn't answer. The city continued to brighten around you.
"Sometimes," he said quietly.
You looked at him, expectingly.
"Sometimes I'd be up here and the lights would come on." He swallowed. "I didn't know what to do about it.”
Your bagel suddenly had an aftertaste.
"I still don't know how I feel about any of this,” you said after a sip.
"Okay."
You glanced at him. That was all he said. No explanation. No apology. No attempt to convince you otherwise. Just okay.
“You don’t look for me anymore, right?” he asked. He tried to sound easy, He took your Coke.
"No. I didn't know where to." You took it back.
There was a slight edge to your voice that you hadn't meant. You weren't trying to be accusatory, not now. You had spent months trying to understand him and, most days, you thought you did. But sometimes it was hard not to think about how much of himself existed somewhere you couldn't follow.
"Why did you bring me here?" you asked quietly.
Jisung's cheeks were still stuffed with food. He panic-swallowed. "It makes me happy."
The answer came so quickly it almost caught you off guard. His smile turned sheepish.
"I don't hate being Spider-Man. Not all the time." He glanced out over the city. "I wanted to show you that there's good stuff, too."
You copied his gaze. The skyline. The sunrise. The city slowly waking beneath your feet. Then you looked back at him. The sun had caught in his hair. It was getting too long again. His smile was still crooked when he got nervous.
For all the ways Spider-Man had complicated your life, this was still Jisung.
After a moment, you asked, "Can I come here again?"
The sunrise caught in his eyes, you stared wide at you. "You want to?"
You formed a half-smile. "I think so."
Jisung looked back toward Brooklyn. Then at the roof beneath you. Then at you.
warnings: EXPLICIT!SEXUAL!CONTENT! this one is dark, you’ve been warned! doctor han is a raging pervert, unprotected sex, drugging, coercion, manipulation, noncon, dubcon, munch!jisung (no, seriously), anal sex, oral sex, power imbalance, marking, medical tape (yes, i put that here), probably forgetting something!
a/n: when I tell you I went into a coma writing this in 1.5 hours. i just regained my sanity and i, um, might need to, let’s just say i-i really enjoyed writing this…
thank you @wanna-plan-world-domination for the request <<333
enjoy! -alice 🩶
the sterile lights flickered above you as your eyes squinted in utter discomfort.
you felt like a bug under a microscope on the patient’s chair, waiting for what felt like hours to finally see the doctor.
you were burning up.
for the past two days, you had been hibernating in your bedroom, willing whatever weird illness this was to be cured with 48 hours of nonstop sleep.
nonetheless, that hadn’t worked and your roommate finally dragged you into her car and drove you to the nearest walk-in clinic.
you had tried to protest, saying you were feeling better and would probably be at 100% by tomorrow anyway, so this was just a waste of time and money!
she scoffed, ‘if you have a full recovery by tomorrow, i better see pigs with wings flying above our dorm too,’ and with that, you knew arguing would be futile.
which lead you to now.
the nurse, oddly, asked you to remove all of your clothing and to put on one of those flimsy, wrap-around hospital gowns that barely covered you.
i just have the flu or something, right? is this really necessary?
but alas, you were in too bad of shape to ponder it too deeply, struggling to shimmy out of your sweatpants and reach behind you to finish tying the gown’s strings.
god, your head was spinning.
you were hot, yet cold at the same time. you felt extremely dizzy, hungry, and nauseous all at once. fucking miserable to say the least.
the only slight reprieve you’d been given was the hefty glass of water and acetaminophen the nurse instructed you to take prior to the doctor’s arrival.
that had been about 10ish minutes ago. a few more minutes passed before you started to notice it.
the headache behind your eyes had subsided substantially, your breathing had begun to even out, and the tips of your fingers felt slightlyyyy…. tingly???
huh?
damn, your body had been put through the ringer these past few days. you could only pray that the doctor would know what was wrong with you and give you some drugs or something to cure you.
you could NOT afford to take anymore sick days off of work.
you allowed your eyes to close, relishing in the temporary reprieve the water and pain reliever gave you, and soon you felt your body really relax, so much so that you slumped back against the bed.
a tranquil haze washed through your mind, feeling like you were walking on the clouds, not a care in the world.
you remained in your paradise for a few moments longer, until the sound of a gentle knock made you open your eyes.
‘may i come in, y/n?’ a soothing voice from the other side of the door filled your ears.
‘mhm, yeah,’ your words were not as coherent as you thought they’d be, sounding a little slurred together.
weird.
the door creaked open to reveal… to reveal…
oh fuck me.
is THIS my doctor?
you were frozen in place as the devastatingly attractive man entered your room. he smiled at you as he closed the door quietly behind him, and you took some generous time in taking in the man before you.
his hair was pitch black, long enough that it came down just above his neck. it was slicked back, except a single strand that seemed to have escaped the gel hung over one of his eyes.
his EYES.
oh my god. his eyes were so large and inviting. they were a darkish brown with swirls of caramel mixed in. soft cheeks with a strong jawline, and big pouty lips that were flushed the perfect shade of pink.
mmm, you wanted to suck on them so badly.
small, brown glasses beautifully framed his cheekbones. you let your eyes shamelessly trail down to inspect his body. even through the white doctor’s coat, you could tell he was absolutely rippedddd. looking closely, you could see what appeared to be a tattoo peaking out from his left sleeve.
you were so out of it you had no recollection of squeezing your legs together beneath your gown, feeling a pool of wetness threatening to spill onto the seat.
you felt, drunk? and the hot sexy doctor who just sat in front of you with a warm smile was not doing your health any favors.
‘y/n? can you hear me?’ that sexy, raspy voice of his pulled you from the rabbit hole you were falling into, picturing how big his cock surely was and how salty and yummy his cum would taste filling up your mouth.
clearing your throat, you squirmed a bit in the seat, feeling like you were going to slide off of it with the amount of your arousal that was now coating it.
‘h-hi, yes i’m fine,’ you folded your arms together, meeting his curious gaze as he pulled out your file, pen in hand to take notes.
‘thank you for your patience, y/n. I’m doctor han and will be taking care of you today. now, according to the nurse you’ve been feeling flu-like symptoms for the past two days? nausea, trouble sleeping, headache? all of that sounds right?’ he reached up to push his glasses up his nose. his big, sharp nose that looked like a better seat than the one you were in—
fuck, were you in heat or something? what was wrong with you?
your whole body felt sluggish and tingly, and the only thing your brain seemed to want to concentrate on was climbing your sexy doctor like a tree.
get it together, get it together.
your thighs made a squeaking noise as you once again adjusted your body on the chair. or what was now closer to a slip n slide.
‘uhhh yeah, something like that. just been f-feelin pretty sick ya know? can’t miss anymore work,’ you tried to rub the haziness out of your eyes, though it only seemed to make it worse as the man in front of you looked like he had gotten even closer to you.
oh wait, he actually had.
humming to himself, he placed the ears of his stethoscope in, standing next to you as he brought the other end to your breast, i mean, heart.
‘i’m gonna check your breathing, okay y/n? then we’ll take your temperature to check for a fever,’ you could feel the coolness of the metal seep through the flimsy material as he pressed into the top of your left breast.
just having him this close to you, you felt like you could have a heart attack. he smelled like pinewood, clean air, and the man you wanted in between your legs.
‘breathe in,’ he commanded softly. you obeyed.
‘and out,’ you released the breath you were holding in. looking up, he was already smiling down at you, almost in encouragement. it felt… oddly endearing? it made you want to continue following his directions.
‘again.’
‘again.’
after two more exercises, he seemed satisfied, removing the earpiece and walking over to the cabinet in the corner, rummaging through the drawers.
‘breathing sounds perfectly normal. this is likely just a bad case of the seasonal flu. but, i’m going to check your temperature just to be sure, sound good?’ you had no reason not to nod in response, loving the fact he was taking such good care of you. it made you forget about the very apparent mess you were making of his chair.
turning back to you, he had a, somewhat… large? looking thermometer in his hand. smile still plastered on his handsome face, he reclaimed the seat in front of you.
wait, i thought he was going to check my–
the chair squeaked loudly as he reached down to pull out the footrests that extended in front of you.
uhhhhhhhh???
‘you’re doing so well, y’n. now, can you scooch forward for me? and place your feet on both extenders?’ the situation was so incredibly baffling but you were still feeling hazy and a bit delirious that you wordlessly obeyed, spreading your legs and resting your feet on the metal.
suddenly, your pussy clenched down hard as it realized only a tiny scrap of fabric laid covered your sopping entrance to the man in front of you who was currently, l-lubing up the.. thermometer?
‘good girl, now, just gonna flip this up so i can take your temperature. shouldn’t feel any pain, just a small bit of pressure, hm?’ your brain shortcircuited when he called you a good girl.
did he just? fuck i’m gonna, gonna cum just from that oh my god i–
your thought processing was lagging extremely far behind that you barely registered him flipping up your nightgown and leaning toward your drenched folds.
you knew you were hallucinating because you swore you heard him make a cooing sound before you felt his latex-covered fingers trail down to your puckered hole, spreading your buttcheeks apart further.
‘mmm, guess i didn’t need the lube,’ he muttered so faintly that you almost, almost didn’t catch it.
your whole body was clenched up as he continued to poke and prod at your nether regions.
is-is this how they take your temperature nowadays? you could feel an orgasm slowly begin to simmer in your belly.
this was so wrong, right? he-he shouldn’t be doing this. i should, i should say something i should-
‘you’re doing so well, sweetheart. but m gonna need you to relax a little so i can take your temperature, okay? can you do that?’ you felt him rub soothing circles into the apex of your inner thigh and your brain melted into a puddle of mush.
words were so hard to even conjure in your head that all you could muster was an unintelligible, ‘mfghhh,’ followed by you weakly trying to close your legs, which was easily thwarted by the muscular man residing between them.
he paused, taking in the sight of you.
god, you were so fucking cute.
his cutest patient ever. usually, he’d get the grumpy old folks or the bitchy soccer moms, never a cute little thing such as yourself.
he knew he could’ve taken your temperature under your tongue. he knew he shouldn’t have swapped the advil in the nurses tray for a low dose of hydrocodone.
he knew it was wrong, so wrong. all of it.
but he too, much like yourself, was desperate for some relief, judging by the way your thighs were now coated in your arousal.
his cock practically whined when you finally got to see your tight, pink little cunt. weeping for some cock, his cock.
and that is exactly why he became a doctor in the first place, no? to help his patients feel better.
his self control was dwindling, and at the sound of your whining and moaning he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down until he was eye level with your dripping center, puffing out breaths of hot air which made your cunt clench from the stimulation.
his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, and you were the oasis in the desert that he needed more than anything else in that moment.
‘gotta relax, baby. let me help you, hm? keep your legs where they are,’ with that, he pressed his nose against your clit, squirming his dry tongue to rest between your pussy lips.
he groaned into you, taking a long whiff of your sweet scent as drool escaped his mouth and mixed with your accumulating wetness.
he felt you squirm and whine above him, but he was already too far gone. slowly, he dragged his tongue through your folds, up and down. up and down. up and down, while his nose bumped deliciously against your throbbing button.
slurping and suckling, he wasted not a single drop, even gripping the undersides of your legs and hoisting you high enough your body was suspended so that he could drag his tongue across the expanse of the seat beneath you, cleaning up every last bit of your arousal.
your body felt boneless as soon as your doctor put his mouth on you. your tongue lulled out of your mouth as he devoured you, paralyzing you with pleasure. he was relentless, and all you could do was lay there and take everything he gave you, still optimistic that your doctor was doing all of this to help you feel better.
jisung felt another glob of precum stain the fabric of his jeans, gripping the flesh of your thighs so harshly bruises would surely blossom on your soft skin.
good, his mind swam in the perverseness of you coming down from the drugs he gave you to find the little presents he left for you.
he felt your cunt begin to twitch and spasm beneath his incessant mouth, and he knew you were a goner.
doubling down, he vacuum sealed his lips over your clit and sucked, hard. so hard it made you see the entire galaxy beneath your eyelids as you squirted all over his face and lab coat.
your release was so intense that your body gave out on itself, drifting away as your hips bucked up to chase the last remnants of your high.
jisung nearly creamed himself as he felt you release all over him. sneakily, he reached into his lab coat and retrieved the thermometer, coating it generously in your cum before sliding it into your asshole, beeping as it finally glowed ‘101.2’ on the interface.
poor thing, he thought as he finally unlatched his mouth from your decadent center, reaching down to unzip his jeans and release himself.
your eyes were fluttering as you came in and out of consciousness.
fuck, you looked irresistable like this.
he reached down to tug at himself, already painfully hard as he soaked in the sight of his patient writhing under him.
as gently as he could, he hoisted your legs over his shoulders and coated his cock in your copious juices before he began to tease your back entrance with the head of his cock.
‘d-doctor am i-’ you hiccuped, eyes still closed and your arms laying limp at your sides.
slowly, he breached the puckered hole, the tip fully submerged. he hissed under his breath, already feeling his impending release.
biting his lip, he rasped, ‘doin so good baby, gonna take your temperature now, kay? stay nice and relaxed f’me,’ he slid in all the way until he was fully engulfed by your gummy walls.
you whimpered under your breath, too out of it to fully register the ‘thermometer’ in your ass as he began to slide in and out steadily.
he groaned as he began to stretch out your puckered hole, reaching down to rip the flimsy gown from your body until he could watch your full, large breasts bouncing with each one of his desperate thrusts.
fuck, he wanted to keep you. best patient he’s ever had. so compliant, so good.
so fucking good.
peering up at your face, his ravenous eyes followed a line of drool that made its way down the side of your chin.
impulsively, he leaned down, manhandling you so your body folded in half like a pretzel so he could lap it up with his tongue, trailing the wet muscle to your mouth where he forcefully shoved his way inside, suckling at your tongue and exploring your wet cavern.
his balls began to tighten as his pace got quicker, his hips sporadically thrusting into you as he could feel his high approaching.
mouth agape from the assault of pleasure you were enduring, he released a large glob of spit into your mouth before squashing your cheeks together.
mindlessly, you swallowed his offering and with that he completely combusted, painting your gummy walls with never-ending ropes of hot seed.
he leaned back but remained seated inside you, watching your fucked out face in sick fascination as he filled up your ass like an enema.
reaching over to the side cabinet near him, he pulled out a roll of medical tape. quickly, he unsheathed himself from you before leaning down and pressing a strip of the tape firmly over your now filled hole, keeping every last drop inside.
checking himself out in the mirror, he fixed appearance until he once again appeared the ever composed doctor he was before walking over and doing the same for you.
endearingly, he tucked a stray piece of your hair behind your ear, cooing at the blissful look on your sleeping face.
‘feel better, y/n, i’ll be seeing you again very soon.’
begrudgingly, you forced your eyes to open as you took in your bearings. quickly, you realized you were once again in your bed back at the dorm, clad in a big t-shirt and panties.
what- how did i?
the visit to the doctors was an absolute blur. damn, you really underestimated just how sick you really were.
stretching your limbs, you felt a bit of soreness in your… ass? hesitantly, you trailed your hand down only to find that there was a small piece of what felt like tape covering your hole.
what the?
i guess they had to give me my medicine the.. other route? you shivered at the image, your cheeks red with embarrassment at the prospect.
rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you turned your head to see a glass of water and a prescription bottle on your nightstand.
you grabbed the glass and gulped down the entirety of its contents before examining the doctor’s instructions on the side of the bottle:
take two pills every 8 hours following a meal, for the next 3 days as directed. keep bandages in place for as long as possible.
follow up with dr. han scheduled 06/27/2026 at 12:00pm.
-> You don't like Han Jisung's girlfriend. He needs a new one.
nerd!jisung x fem!reader
strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, hurt / comfort, college!au, suggestive
6.3K
Warnings: cursing, toxic relationship dynamics, Minji (yes, she gets a warning bc she's that aggravating), sexual themes, making out/kissing, reader is down bad, Jisung is too but not admitting it yet
Inspired by Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne
series mlist
-------------------------------------------------
It's been a fantastic few weeks since you decided to openly pursue Jisung despite the fact that he's in a committed relationship.
Okay, maybe that's not the best way to explain your plans, but it is the simplest. You're flirting your way right into his heart, with one specific objective in mind:
Convince this man that his value as a human being isn't dependent on how useful he can be to someone else. That he deserves to be appreciated and respected. That his kindness shouldn't be mistaken for weakness or taken advantage of. That being chosen means absolutely nothing if the person choosing you doesn't treat you with care.
And sure, it would be great if he developed a life ruining crush on you somewhere along the way. Two things can be true at once.
Also, since you’re no longer bothering yourself with the obligation to respect his bitch of a girlfriend, you feel free to flirt as hard and as shamelessly as you deem fit.
And boy, oh boy, has it been fun.
Unfortunately for Jisung, your full time flirting is deeply flustering. Fortunately for you, the universe seems quite pleased with your plans to spoil him rotten and even fated the two of you to end up in the same class this semester!
Environmental Consciousness was never going to be at the top of your list, but it's quickly become your favorite. Sitting next to an adorable, studious Jisung for an hour and a half twice a week has proven exceptionally beneficial to your well-being. And your mission.
“What's this?" he asks, carefully lowering himself into his usual seat beside you.
Except this time, there's something unusual waiting on his desk.
You swivel toward him in your chair, unable to hide your grin as he examines the cup with the cautious curiosity of a puppy discovering a new toy.
"Just something I picked up on the way here," you say casually. "I saw it and thought of you."
"A boba tea?"
"Mhm."
He turns the cup in his hands, reading the label. "Milk tea reminds you of me?"
"Almost exclusively.”
Jisung stabs his straw through the top and takes a tentative sip.
His eyes widen.
There it is.
That brief flash of delighted surprise he never quite manages to hide when something makes him happy.
Before he can stop himself, he takes another sip.
"It's strawberry taro!”
"Of course it is,” you reply nonchalantly. “That's your favorite."
He pauses. Then slowly turns toward you, brows furrowed but eyes still sparkling and delicious like the boba in his drink.
"How do you know that?"
"You told me, duh.”
"I did?"
"Yeah.”
"When?"
“Umm, about two – no, three weeks ago, maybe?”
"No way, I would've remembered that."
"Yeah, you were talking about how the boba place near your dorm keeps running out of taro, and you were bummed because you hadn't had any in a long time.”
Jisung blinks, the memory slowly taking shape in his mind. "You remember that?"
"Why wouldn't I?”
Because he just said it in passing, tucked somewhere between complaining about assignments and ranking fictional characters in terms of survivability during a zombie apocalypse. Because he wasn't expecting you to actually listen. Because people don't usually remember little things like favorite drinks or offhand comments, the tiny preferences that make up the shape of a person. Especially not when they belong to him.
He looks at the cup again, turning it in his hand when he notices something strange about the label.
“Wait a second, this isn't from that boba shop.”
“Oh, you're right,” you reply as if also just noticing. “They were still out. So I went to the other one.”
“You mean the one on the other side of campus?”
“Yeah,” you say as if that should be expected. But then your expression changes. “Crap, did I get the wrong one? Their menu is different, so I just picked what looked like–”
“No, it's perfect!” he quickly assures you. “I just…I don't usually go to that one because it's not worth the really long walk and really long lines.”
"You're worth it, Sungie."
You say it so matter of factly. Like it's so obvious.
Like the sky is blue, and water is wet, and Han Jisung is worth going out of your way for just because.
Judging by the expression on his face, this information is completely new to him.
He opens his mouth, hesitates, then lets out a quiet laugh of disbelief instead, as though the idea of someone thinking he's worth the effort has short-circuited his ability to speak.
You tilt your head cutely, hair cascading effortlessly over your shoulder, immediately introducing Jisung to a brand new problem.
Your neck.
Has it always been that pretty? Or is he just imagining things?
"Earth to Jisung, you still here?"
Instead of answering, he gives a single nod and seals his useless lips around the straw.
You watch a few boba pearls race up the clear plastic and disappear into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully, eyes fixed very intensely on absolutely anything that isn't you to mask his fluttering heart.
Unfortunately for him, the growing pink tint across his cheeks is a considerable giveaway.
Unfortunately for you, watching him try and fail not to blush is ridiculously cute.
You rest your jaw in your hand, elbow propped on the desk as you watch him.
And watch him.
And watch him.
So much so that your previously retracted title of “stalker” may need to be revisited.
Eventually, Jisung glances over. The moment his eyes meet yours, he freezes.
"What?”
“Nothing.” Just a soft, enchanted, fond smile. "I like seeing you happy, that's all.”
Jisung bashfully lowers his gaze again, taking another long sip of his drink, sucking as many boba pearls as he can into his cheeks before chewing.
Then he swallows, hard.
Slowly, his eyes lift back to you. The bewilderment on his face is straight comical. Like he just spent the last thirty seconds buffering before his brain finally loaded.
And for a brief, gloriously adorable moment, you watch it unfold across his face in stages: confusion, recognition, disbelief.
"You called me Sungie."
"Oh." You blink innocently. "Is that not your name?"
He narrows his eyes at you, lips pressing into a flat line to show he's not impressed with your antics. (Jokes on him – his dimples show when he does that.)
"You know that's not what I mean."
“No, I'm pretty sure that's your name.”
“No, I'm pretty sure you're just flirting with me again,” he says, voice softening.
You lean in slightly, chin still in your hand as you give him a playful smirk. “You say that as if you don’t enjoy being flirted with.”
“I don't.” he responds, mirroring your body by resting his chin in his hand as well, leaning in just a bit closer.
“Liar.”
“I really don't.”
“Oh wow, that was almost convincing,” you say pretending to be impressed. “But your cute little smile kinda gave it away. Wanna try again?”
He presses his lips together and clears his throat in an attempt to regain composure.
"I don't like your flirting," he insists, voice steadier but still soft as butter.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” you sing-song.
“What are you, a third grader?”
“No,” you shrug, “but the kid who beat you in League last week was.”
Jisung's smile immediately falters. He stammers, trying to come up with a comeback, but before he can, you reach out and poke his nose. His eyes cross to follow your finger, and you pull it back with a playful hiss.
"Ooh, you might need some aloe for that burn, babe," you giggle with a teasing smile.
“Hey, some of those kids are ruthless!” he defends, pushing his glasses up his nose – which only makes you want to boop it again.
"Oh, come on,” you roll your eyes. "He was, like, ten."
"Thirteen!”
"Whatever,” you sit back, arms crossed in a mock show of superiority. “How hard can League be if you're losing to middle schoolers?”
“You wanna go?” Jisung suddenly asks, voice full of that competitive energy you’d expect from a professional athlete.
“You're not serious.”
He leans in that much closer, offering a handshake that looks more like he’s about to set up for an arm-wrestling match.
“I've never been more serious about anything in my entire life.”
You eye his hand cautiously. He’s not usually like this, but you’re not mad. Competitive Jisung? Kinda super hot.
“Alright, nerd.” You shake his hand with an equally confident smirk. “You're on.”
“Have you ever even played League before?” he asks.
“Pfft,” you scoff, shaking your head. “No. But that doesn't matter. I'm still gonna wipe the floor with you.”
“Dream on,” he quips. "But we'll have to schedule your humiliating defeat for tomorrow or Thursday.”
“Why can't I beat your ass today?"
“I've got a date with Minji.”
Your hand slaps over your mouth and you jerk forward. “Sorry, gag reflex.”
Oh, shit. That was too much, wasn’t it?
Aw fuck, come on! Things were going so well! The banter was bantering. You swear you saw a romantic sparkle in his eye at the idea of playing League together. And now you’re going to have to traverse Jisung defending his stupid girlfriend again.
You brace yourself for the usual, sickening “don’t talk about her that way” speech.
But instead, he starts laughing.
Not the polite chuckles or amused huffs you've grown accustomed to. But a genuine, unrestrained laugh that bubbles up from deep within his gut, spilling out without any attempt to hold it back.
Then suddenly he's laughing so hard he can't seem to breathe.
His giggles climb higher and higher until the sound disappears altogether. He doubles over in his seat, one hand clutching his stomach while tiny tears gather at the corners of his eyes.
He doesn't have anything beside him to smack, so he settles for shoving your shoulder instead, nearly knocking himself out of his chair in the process.
When Jisung laughs, he laughs with his whole body. Every inch of him is involved. His shoulders shake. His head drops forward. His arms flail uselessly in a poor attempt to regain control of himself.
You love it. You're in love with it.
Because right now he's completely authentic. Completely uncensored. So unequivocally Jisung.
At first, you thought you'd seen this before.
Back at the diner, he laughed then too. Enough that you went home thinking you'd caught a glimpse of the real Han Jisung hiding beneath all the awkwardness and nervous smiles.
Apparently, you were wrong.
Because that laugh? That was just the trailer. A sneak peek. This is what happens when he completely forgets to be self-conscious.
No overthinking. No second-guessing. No carefully measured responses.
Just pure, unfiltered joy.
God, if he wanted you to fall in love with him any faster, all he had to do was ask.
Honestly, your slapstick gag wasn't even that funny. A little funny, sure maybe. Definitely worthy of a chuckle or maybe even a snort.
But this? This feels like someone who just really needed to laugh.
You wonder if he ever laughs like this around Minji.
Probably not. For some reason, you can't imagine her appreciating this version of him. The loud version. The messy version. The one laughing so hard he’s probably forgotten what he's laughing about.
Her fucking loss. He's beautiful.
After a few moments of gasping for air and wiping tears from under his eyes only to crack up again at the sight of himself, Jisung manages to calm down enough to form words.
“Sorry…” he says, breathless. “That was…I mean, you’re ridiculous sometimes.”
With a hum of agreement, you fold your arms on the desk and rest your cheek on them, peering up at him with a soft smile. “...so cute.”
Jisung watches you for a moment before almost absentmindedly folding his own arms on the desk too, resting his cheek against them so he can be eye-level with you.
"I haven't laughed like that in forever,” he admits with a cough. “Don't tell Minji I laughed at her.”
“Take a drink, giggles.”
Because he’s a good boy and mostly listens to you, he sits up enough to take a sip of his milk tea. Then he lays back down onto the desk, seemingly more than content to just be near you in the quiet, happy mess of this moment.
Jisung’s expression softens into a gentle, warm smile. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer, filled with a tenderness that was once shy, but has grown more confident. Which can only mean one thing…
He's changing.
The flirty attention that used to make him flustered, nervous, and insecure has instead become what makes him feel safe and valued and attractive. It’s like you’re watching him shed layers of self-doubt, revealing a version of himself that’s more assured, more at ease, more willing to laugh.
And it's all happening because he’s beginning to see himself the way you see him – worthy, valuable, and undeniably special. Not because someone else determined he is. But because he intrinsically is.
Of course, that means you’ll have to up your antics and your flirting, pushing just a little beyond what's the typical comfort zone for “friends”, but if it’s helping him believe in himself more, it’s worth every playful challenge.
The corners of his lips curl upward naturally, and you feel a little flutter of happiness settle deep inside your bones. For a brief moment, looking into each others eyes like this, everything feels right.
"...thanks," he mumbles.
"For what?"
"The boba,” he takes a breath, “and for making me laugh.”
Something warm spreads throughout your chest seeing him accept the kind of treatment he should have been receiving from his partner all along.
"Of course.”
"You remember a lot of things about me, huh?”
"Why shouldn't I?" you reply bravely. "It's the bare minimum when you're falling in love with someone.”
“Yeah, I guess….wait, what–!?”
“Shh,” you cut him off, sitting up and pointing to the front of the class, “the professor is starting.”
You look ahead, but you don't miss that Jisung can't seem to keep his eyes from drifting to you the entire class period.
Eventually, you glance sideways. Only to catch him immediately jerking his gaze back to the front every time.
Oh, yeah. Subtle as a gun.
::
There’s something about you that draws Jisung in. Something he can’t quite explain, even though he’s spent countless hours lost in his own head trying to figure you out.
The layers around you are seemingly endless. One moment, you're cute. The next, you're flirting. And then, suddenly, you're walking three miles just to bring him his favorite boba tea because it reminds you of him.
Who does that!? Crazy people, that's who.
You're crazy. In a really attractive way.
Even more, Jisung feels crazy when he's with you – crazy at ease, crazy shy, crazy confident, crazy himself.
When he's with you, he feels like he’s worth more than he probably is. Somehow, you’ve planted this idea in his head that he’s supposed to be praised just for existing. When in reality, that’s not true. There’s the bare minimum, and then there’s whatever kind of treatment you give him.
“Princess treatment.” That's what you called it once. He's your “princess.”
He prefers Sungie. But he’d also be lying if he said he doesn’t find your other term of endearment just as flattering (maybe even more so).
Spending time with you feels effortless, even with his heart hammering in his chest the whole time. Definitely more than he should admit, especially since he's spent more time with you than anyone else these past few months.
Including…in the library when he was supposed to be on a study date with his girlfriend.
God, that scene hasn't left his mind since. He was…fuck, he was so lost in that moment. No wonder he hasn't been able to find his way back to himself yet.
All he can remember clearly are your words swimming inside his head and the shape of your lips when you got close to him…
And when you held his hand? Oh my god, it was like a current of electricity bringing his whole body alive. His skin burned where your fingers intertwined, and he felt jolts of lightning surge through his veins, like every nerve ending was overloaded at once – holy shit, no wonder so many guys chase you.
Every heartbeat was amplified, in perfect time with yours. And for a moment, all he could focus on was that connection. On how your hand fit so perfectly in his, as if it was made for him.
And when you looked into his eyes, his whole world stopped. Every word you said was genuine and selfless. He's never had someone feel so strongly about how he's being treated, how he's living.
Unsure of how to react to your passion, Jisung finds himself replaying your words in his mind at every moment.
“How am I supposed to respect someone who treats you like that?”
"You say you're lucky. But I think you've got it backwards…she's the one who's lucky to have you.”
“Get ready to have your ass properly flirted with, nerd. I'm gonna show you how you should be treated."
Not only did you leave a lasting impression in the library, but you’ve continued to leave impressions every time he sees you. The boba tea, the cute nicknames, going on errands together, remembering his schedule, making him laugh, sending him random texts just to “check in.”
There has to be a limit, right? Like, some point where you draw the line, when you realize enough is enough. Eventually, you’ll get tired of doing all these things for someone who isn’t offering any benefits in return. And then, perhaps, you’ll slowly back away or just cut him off entirely.
That’s usually what people do in situations like this, isn’t it? But Jisung gets the feeling that you’re different somehow. That’s not the kind of person you are.
But what is he kidding? Someone like you wanting someone like him? It’s a joke, a tease, a bit, a laugh.
Unless…it’s not. And maybe, just maybe, you’re actually falling for someone like him. Which, again, circles him right back to CRAZY.
The war continues on in his head as he walks.
He looks down at Minji’s hand tucked in his, slender fingers intertwined and swinging gently in the air. She's wearing a chunky ring on every other finger, so they don't slot with his perfectly. And her hand is overly relaxed, so much so that if he let go, she would probably slip right out of his grasp.
All of this makes him feel very small. Tiny. Like he’s just a shadow in what’s supposed to be a shared moment. He can’t say he feels nothing, because he does feel gratitude and a small hint of affection.
But it’s not lightning strikes.
He follows the line of her arm up to her face, where she’s currently glued to her phone, talking animatedly to one of her friends about some guy they hooked up with and wanting “every steamy detail.”
He watches her smile at her screen, gasp at juicy reveals, and ask more questions than he's gotten in what feels like forever. Never thought it was possible, but turns out he can be a third wheel on his own date. Or, at least, what he had intended to be a date.
He’d planned to take Minji to the mall because she loves the mall and never once has refused the opportunity. But she said she’d gone yesterday with her friends and didn’t want to go again today.
So, he suggested a casual walk through the park, just some quiet time to enjoy the weather and each other's company.
That plan lasted all of three minutes before her phone rang, and suddenly, he was shoved into second place.
Now, he's here, staring absentmindedly at her hand loosely hung on his hand and the surrounding couples in the park, none of which are on their phones.
“Jisung?”
Her voice breaks him out of his daze, his attention immediately locking back in on her.
“Huh? Yeah?”
She raises an eyebrow, holding her phone a little ways away for a moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head.
“You dropped my hand.”
“Oh,” he answers, lips parting in surprise when he looks down and, sure enough, notices their hands fallen away from each other. “Sorry, umm, it's getting a little sweaty. I didn't want to ruin your rings.”
A lie. Jisung just lied. To his girlfriend. He's not a liar! And yet, he can't bring himself to be honest: that she makes him feel like an annoyance, a bother, an inconvenience. The conflict, although probably needed, seems futile to him.
Minji sighs, annoyed, and turns back to her phone. “I'll call you back in a few.”
“You didn't have to hang up,” he says quietly.
“Yeah, I did,” she insists with another deep sigh – each one pressing a bruise into his chest. “Now, tell me what's wrong.”
“But you really wanted to have that call.”
“You're right, I did. But I hung up for you,” she says sassily, grabbing his hand again. “You're obviously upset. So, talk to me.”
Why is he hesitating? She passed up her phone call to talk to him. He should feel prioritized and valuable. But actually, this feels far worse. Because now he's a nuisance, an irritation she’d rather ignore but can't. A problem she's obligated to deal with instead of a person she gets the chance to love.
“Seriously? You're not going to share?” Minji asks in (what Jisung suspects was intended to be) a cute voice. “Come on, I cut my phone call short for you, and you're not even gonna tell me?”
“Well…” Jisung finally speaks, guilt ridden to tell her something. “You know how I'm taking a coding class this semester?”
“Yeah.”
“I have this project that spans the whole class, and then I submit it as my final grade.”
“Mhm.”
“I have to write the code for my own app using my own original idea.”
“Uh huh.”
“And I'm not sure what to do. I mean, I really like the class so far, and I want to get a good grade, so maybe I shouldn’t aim too high? But there's so many things I could do. Like, should I make the app for fun, or educational, or medical care, or business? I guess, I actually do have a lot of cool ideas now that I say it out loud. I just don't know which one to…”
He glances over and sees Minji has pulled out her phone again, texting.
“...choose,” he finishes softly.
A brief silence settles between them as her thumb swipes over her phone screen, holding down for a second before sending whatever she found to multiple group chats.
Once she notices Jisung has stopped talking, she turns her head back toward him. “Yeah? I'm listening.”
He hesitates for a moment before asking, “What do you think I should make?”
“I don’t know. That’s a tough one,” she hums thoughtfully. “You should make whatever you want. It’s your game, after all.”
“So, you think I should make the app a game?”
“Uh, sure! Yeah, that's what I meant,” she shrugs, eyes already gone back to her phone and whatever saucy reply she just got from the chat. “Umm, what level of the league thingy or whatever is this for again?”
Is it bad he doesn't want to dwell on it any longer? Honestly, Jisung doesn’t really feel like talking at all right now, let alone thinking about deadlines and projects.
So, instead, he does something that always works when he wants to avoid sharing or engaging – a way to deflect that has yet to fail him.
“It's not important. How’s the guy your friend’s seeing?”
And that’s all it takes.
“Oh my god, he’s a piece of work,” Minji immediately replies, voice filled with character and emotion Jisung was never going to get any other way. “I swear, this is the craziest shit she’s pulled in a minute. I told her not to let him buy her drinks. I told her! And now, she’s got this guy on the hook for her, which is hilarious because he’s so not her type. But she's already bagged him like three times! I’m dying laughing at her, like, she’s actually insane for this—”
She keeps talking, but Jisung tunes her out pretty easily once she gets going. Her rant will probably last for another fifteen minutes or so, the cycle repeating as he asks another question about Minji, her friend, or some guy, and she launches into another story.
It's not that Jisung tries to avoid talking about himself, but it's hard to talk about himself when his partner smiles more at her friend’s spicy text messages than she ever has at him. He doesn't want to see her bored or annoyed. And she looks happiest when talking about herself and her friends.
So, what starts as a walk in the park quickly turns into a one-sided monologue about her friend's sex life, making Jisung feel more invisible than ever.
But she’s happy – that’s all that matters. So, the date is a success.
Right?
Yeah. As long as she's happy. No matter how much he sacrifices or how much he holds back, his greatest wish is for her to find joy, peace, and contentment in their relationship. That's what a boyfriend is supposed to provide. Even if it means putting his own feelings aside every time.
Carrying that quiet sense of obligation when he's with Minji is just part of the deal. It's what he signed up for. He feels compelled to give her the better parts of himself – his kindness, his attentiveness, his gentle patience – because that’s what a boyfriend should do. Even when those efforts go unnoticed or unappreciated, it’s still his duty to treat her well, regardless of how she responds.
Deep down, Jisung knows that love isn’t about keeping score or expecting gratitude, but…sometimes the fact that he’s constantly giving more than he’s receiving is hard to brush under the rug.
But he has to push those feelings aside. His responsibility is to be better – more caring, more patient, more loving. Because that’s what it means to truly care for someone.
Even if she doesn't care about—
She does care about me…right?
::
When they reach his dorm, Jisung hesitates in front of the door, his mind still racing. He gently swings her hand now that it's not holding her phone, a silent gesture filled with all his unspoken thoughts.
Maybe he shouldn't be waiting so long to take the initiative based on the way Minji checks the time and sighs. But for the first time since they started dating, he's pausing, carefully weighing his feelings before asking…
“Do you want to come in for a bit?”
A question Minji has heard at the end of every date he's taken her on, though he's usually more enthusiastic than this.
Perhaps it's because, for the first time since they started dating, he's not expecting much from her.
It’s not like she’s given any indication that she’s going to say yes or that she even wants to. Minji doesn’t crave Jisung the way he craves her, and he’s come to accept that. (Although it hurts more than he cares to admit.)
He’s exhausted himself trying to understand her, trying to piece together what she wants or what she’s really thinking. Every effort feels like banging his head against a wall. Maybe this is just who she is – indifferent, detached, always a step ahead, always leaving him to wonder if he’s enough.
Minji smiles softly and slides her arms around his shoulders, leaning in close so he can feel her breasts against his body.
“I guess we haven’t cuddled or made out in a while, huh?” she hums softly, her pitying eyes drifting to his lips.
He nods silently, feeling his cheeks warm when she moves in a little closer to brush their noses.
“Does my baby need some attention?”
He nods again, leaning into her a little more, instinctively chasing that closeness.
For someone who openly lives for intimacy and knows that physical touch is one of his love languages, it’s rare for Minji to offer this kind of attention without a catch.
So, when moments like this happen, Jisung can’t help but feel a little bit of excitement. Despite being an inexperienced nerd, he’s still a guy – one who yearns to make his partner feel all kinds of things. Fantasies, fairytales, desires hiding in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind.
And he knows Minji would be down if she would take two minutes to listen. If he could only figure out why she always stops halfway.
The theories about why she hasn’t slept with him after almost six months of dating haven’t changed since the last time he spiraled. He’s gone over every possibility, every excuse, every reason so many times he has a semi-permanent headache.
Maybe it's his room? Maybe it's too messy? Maybe it's too cold? Maybe it's cursed?
Maybe it's his bed? Maybe it's too firm? Maybe it's too small? Maybe it doesn't smell right?
Minji can be rather particular.
Maybe it's him? Maybe he's too quiet? Maybe he's too thin? Maybe he's too dorky? Maybe he's not good enough?
As they step inside and his dorm door swings shut behind them, it becomes painfully obvious that this isn’t about his room or his bed.
Before he can even process what’s happening, she’s on him. Minji’s hands bunch the fabric of his shirt, guiding him backward with a confident, relentless energy, shoving him onto the bed with a force that leaves no room for hesitation.
He stumbles, his body hitting the mattress with a grunt as she falls on top of him.
Her kiss is nothing short of masterful. Lips confident and commanding, capable of turning even the most stoic of men into beggars. Her touch is precise, her presence overwhelming, and her skills unmatched. There's no question as to how she's able to command men the way that she does.
It's hopeless. Jisung feels himself get drawn in within seconds, the weight of her body settled over his waist, the press of her hands on his chest as they drag down to the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath without permission.
Jisung has never considered himself to have the most tempting body, but he often wishes that Minji would be inexplicably and irresistibly drawn to him. And in this fleeting instant, he allows himself to believe that she actually is.
With her hips not-so-gently rocking against him and her nails dragging down his chest, Jisung feels his world start to melt away and fall out of his mind. His eyes roll back into his head, and all the sensation on his skin amplifies at the feeling of her lips on his neck.
This. This is what he's been craving.
Although it may be embarrassing to admit out loud, in his heart, Jisung knows he's a hopeless romantic. He wants nothing more than to share any and every kind of intimacy with his person. To feel them in and around every part of him – emotionally and physically – and to make them feel just as encompassed by him.
How often Jisung's pictured his first time is borderline delusional. Always with a girlfriend who’s kind, experienced, and able to guide him all the way through. The kind of girlfriend that could snap her fingers and have anyone she wants, but she chooses him anyway. The kind who's gentle but dangerous, sensual but eager, rough but caring.
The longer Jisung lays underneath Minji’s touch, eyes shut and body heated, he can't keep convincing himself that it'll be like that with her.
Minji’s not the type to guide. She's not the type to slow down or appreciate every inch of him. And she's not the type to care if he does any of that crap for her.
Then comes a dangerous thought. His hands are on her waist, his hips matching her rhythm, but behind his eyelids, another face appears.
Not hers.
“Fuck—” he mutters, his voice cracking.
He tries to curse the image away, but you remain, like a stain in his mind he can't erase.
Each time her lips brush against his skin, he feels you.
Every time her hips grind against him, he feels you.
Every time her hands glide across his abdomen and beneath his waistline, he feels you.
You. You. You.
Fuck! You're all he can think about.
Minji lifts her head just enough to meet his gaze, a teasing yet proud smile curling on her swollen lips.
“You sound pretty,” she says softly, then shifts to sit upright on his lap, letting her weight settle right where he needs her most, yet offering no relief. “I'm going to go freshen up, okay? Don’t move.”
Damn, the agony of her dragging herself away is like peeling a sticker off paint. Jisung stays reaching for her, not wanting or even caring if she freshens up. They're already in it, why leave now?
Then again, maybe it's a good thing he takes a moment to clear his head. Or at least, clear his mind of anyone else.
Where did the thought of you even come from!? Of all the times to think about you, now is perhaps the most inconvenient and inappropriate. He can't have sex with Minji while thinking about you! And yet, no matter how hard he tries, every time he closes his eyes, he doesn't see his girlfriend…he sees you.
Is he insane!? He's about to finally, finally have sex with the girl he's been bending over backwards to date. And his mind and heart aren't even in it! Sure, his dick is getting happy, but the rest of him feels…out of place.
It’s as if her lips and hands are moving with familiarity, but not the warmth or urgency he believes is supposed to be present when you're about to make love to someone.
When she touches him, he doesn't feel like she's touching deep inside his bones. He doesn't feel like she's reaching into his soul, let alone past the first layer of skin. Everything she does and says and kisses is on the surface. Nothing deeper.
As if she doesn't even really…want him at all.
The sudden sound of a phone vibrating against his side startles him to sit up. When he reaches over, he finds Minji’s phone lost in the comforter. It must have fallen out of her pocket when she climbed on top of him.
He doesn't mean to, honest, he doesn't. Jisung isn't the type to snoop, and he's definitely not the type to invade someone else's conversation. But he gets a glimpse of the screen when it turns on automatically, and the texts just keep coming in.
[Jae] hey
[Jae] u busy?
[Jae] got 25 min before my class
[Jae] usual spot?
[Jae] come on baby i miss u
[Jae] dont tell me ur with that nerd again
[Jae] ditch him already
[Jae] need u so bad baby
[Jae] my hands just not the same
[Jae] need ur mouth
[Jae] fuck baby answer me
[Jae] im dying over here
[Jae] dont make me beg
[Jae] …again
Can he even admit it? That a part of him figured as much.
Without opening the texts, Jisung tucks the phone back into his blankets where he found it. Laying still as if nothing had happened.
No. He can't bring himself to say it out loud. Minji isn’t about to, so maybe some foolish part of his heart doesn’t want to accept it either. If she never comes clean, then maybe he can keep pretending it’s not happening too, keep pretending everything’s fine?
Minutes pass in silence.
Then, Minji steps out of the bathroom, hair tousled and face shimmering. She climbs back on top of him, her body pressing soft and warm against his. Without so much as a word or smile, her lips find his again, slow and deliberate, trying to ignite that familiar spark.
But he can't feel anything now. Not even you.
“Minji?” Jisung mutters against her lips, not waiting for a natural pause or for her to pull away.
“Yes, baby?”
“While you were in the bathroom…umm, something--"
A deep rumble of vibration suddenly echoes from somewhere inside his blankets, making them both freeze in surprise. Minji’s fingers fumble instinctively through the comforter as she searches for it. When she finally finds the phone and looks at the screen, her eyes widen, and she gasps softly, her breath catching in her throat.
“Oh no!”
“What’s wrong?” he asks with a hard swallow.
“My sister was in an accident. My mom needs me to call her,” she says hurriedly, placing a hand on his chest and trailing her finger along his septum. “I’m so sorry, baby, can we take a rain check?”
This isn’t a breakup. So why does it feel like he’s about to let her walk out of his heart instead of his dorm room?
“Of course. Go call your mom. Text me so I know you're okay?”
“Mhm!” She quickly kisses his cheek and says she’ll text him later. But as he watches her skip away, he can’t shake the feeling that she’s much too giddy for someone who just got bad news.
He sits up in his bed in silence. Alone.
So. This is what it feels like to be played. Cheated on. Used. Discarded.
It's a lot more fragile than he anticipated.
His heart feels heavy, but deep down, he probably always kind of knew the truth. He’s just background noise in her life, someone she keeps around for when she’s bored or lonely.
In the subconscious parts of his mind and heart, he prepared for this. But he’d prepared himself for something far worse than this quiet, lingering, persistent ache.
Isn’t heartbreak supposed to cause a storm? To shatter his every reality and tear him apart at every seam?
But no. His heart is breaking so slowly. Softly. Slipping through tiny cracks in ways he never anticipated, letting water seep in little by little. Just enough to cause panic, but not enough to drown him.
He stares at the door she left through, feeling hollow, betrayed, and barraged with questions.
How long has he been just a pawn in her game? How long has he been nothing more than someone she uses when it suits her? How long has he been blindly devoted while she ran around treating his loyalty like shit? Was any of it ever real? Was she ever into him at all?
He closes his eyes, trying to breathe, trying to process. But all he can feel is a gnawing emptiness inside his chest getting bigger, bigger. And he doesn't know how to stop it.
There's no pretending or denying any longer. He’s just another player in her sick game. And no matter how much of himself he gives, he’ll never be more than that to her.
