-> 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
warnings: reader has low self worth and a poor self image hidden behind shamelessness, infidelity, cursing, partial nudity, kissing, alcohol, suggestive comments and sexual themes, reader is an unreliable narrator, tba...
-> 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
6.6K
Warnings: minors dni, cursing, physical altercation / violence (fighting), brief mention of blood, toxic relationship dynamics, infidelity, explicit sexual themes, Minji is disgusting and does not pause her *cough* pleasure *cough* to talk to you
Inspired by Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne
series mlist
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Campus security is such a scam.
Sure, you're grateful they exist in theory. It's nice when they help freshmen find their dorms and stop people from getting hit by campus buses and occasionally rescue emotional support animals from trees.
But breaking up a house party fight on a Saturday night?
Come on.
It wasn't even on campus! Technically.
And no, the fact that you may or may not have started said fight has absolutely nothing to do with your current sour attitude toward the man in blue sitting across from you.
For starters, his badge isn't even gold. How are you supposed to trust a man with a silver badge with your life story?
Why is he even asking for your life story?
"I'm not asking for your life story," he says for probably the thousandth time. “I'm just asking you to explain the events of last night, in your own words.”
"See? That's exactly how people trick you into giving them your life story."
He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply. This rookie really doesn’t know when to give up, does he?
Ah yes. The Rookie. A classic stereotype you’ve become far too familiar with during your extensive police crime show obsessions and deep dives into unsolved mystery YouTube channels.
Gotta admit, he looks younger than you expected. Maybe a senior? Maybe fresh out of the academy? He's got one of those frustratingly approachable faces that makes you feel a little guilty for making his job harder…but only a little.
Still, he wears his uniform with undeniable pride – probably trying to strike that delicate balance between professionalism and personability, wanting to connect with others while also maintaining authority and empathy.
So lame.
You’ve already been here overnight. How much longer do they think they’re going to hold you? He should’ve figured out by now that you’re as stubborn as hell and just let you go.
He glances down at his notes, adjusting in his plastic fold-out chair, one hand on his belt.
Officer Seo.
Allegedly.
You still haven’t ruled out the possibility that he printed that name tag himself.
"Miss—"
You hold up a finger.
"Before you continue, I want the record to show that I’ve been very cooperative."
"You’ve refused to answer every question I’ve asked."
"Politely."
He blinks at you, muscles tightening in his jaw. Turns out your powers of deflection work on college frat boys and first responders.
"Here's the deal," he says carefully, in the voice of a man trying very hard not to quit his job on the spot, "if you want to leave, I need a statement."
You fold your arms. "I'm not talking."
"Why?"
"Because last night’s events are rooted in a deeply personal vendetta that I don't think someone like you could possibly understand."
He pauses. "Someone like me?"
"A guy."
He looks down at his notepad, humming thoughtfully before jotting something down. "So, to clarify, you had a personal vendetta against the victim."
“Oooo.” You point at him with a conceding frown and acknowledge softly, “You're pretty good."
For the first time since you've been here, he almost smiles.
Almost.
"Listen," he says, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, his notepad set to the side. "I'm sure you had a reason for doing what you did. I'm not trying to get you in trouble. Just tell me what happened, and then we can get you out of here. Don't you want to go home?”
You consider it, briefly. Then you lean forward too, mirroring his posture and tone.
"You need to tell me something first."
He gestures with both hands for you to go ahead with your request.
"Where's Han Jisung?"
Your heart, the traitor that it is, picks this exact moment to start pounding in your ears. No attempt to slow it down seems to be working, and there's an unquestionable chance he takes notice.
Officer Seo sits back and crosses his arms, considering for a moment. "He got a green status this morning.”
“Okay, and? I asked where he was, not the color of his fucking mood ring.”
"He was released after he gave his statement earlier this morning. Voluntarily, might I add,” he emphasizes with a raised brow. “And then he left.”
"Was he upset?" you ask before you can stop yourself.
"I can't discuss another student's statement."
Which means yes.
Or maybe no.
Or maybe you're projecting.
Or maybe Jisung hates you so much it doesn't even matter now.
“But maybe we could come to a compromise?” Officer Seo smoothly offers. “That is, if you're willing to tell me your side of this story.”
God, you hate authority figures.
Sinking back into your chair, you begin to pick at a loose thread on your sleeve (which doesn't mean anything by the way, and is definitely not a subconscious nervous tick).
But your knee bouncing each time your teeth rip a piece of skin from your lip? Yeah, that…that's nerves for sure.
You don't typically allow yourself to look this messy outwardly because, let's be real, it's not attractive. But you can’t help it when it feels like a million tiny bugs are crawling under your skin, gnawing away at your sanity, and your heart could tear at any moment.
“I had a perfectly reasonable reason for doing what I did." The words come out smaller than you intended, but Officer Seo hears them all the same.
His gaze lingers on you a little longer than before, expression softening at what he sees.
Maybe it’s the way your fingers tremble or the way your voice wavers just slightly when you say Jisung’s name. He doesn't have to be a trained officer to tell you're deeply emotionally affected by whoever this Han Jisung is.
Slowly, he leans forward, the usual sternness in his posture easing into something more empathetic.
"And that reason would be?"
"She hurt him.”
He waits.
"...Jisung," you clarify.
“And how did she do that?”
“I thought you wanted to hear about me?” you deflect.
“You're right. I do,” he responds, voice even. “Let’s talk about your relationship with Han Jisung.”
You shift slightly in your seat, feeling a flush creep up your neck, turning your head away. “My relationship status isn't critical for the investigation.”
“Answer the question.”
“Why? You wanna know if I'm single that badly?” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, trying to sound nonchalant, but it doesn't work as well as usual. “Officer, it isn't professional to flirt with the suspect.”
He stares at you for a long moment, silent.
Then, somehow, against all professional logic and decency, he lets out the tiniest huff of laughter. Just one. Just once. But it's enough to give you a little peek into who he is when he's not wearing his badge.
“Nice try. I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, I've heard that one before.” You sit up a little straighter, taking a deep breath. “But I suppose this is the first time I'm not in the mood to tease a man in uniform.”
Officer Seo waits patiently. “Maybe we can try that again when I get off shift.”
You swallow your reserve as he slowly picks up his pen and pad again, this time approaching you with a perfected balance between professionalism and personability, somehow easily connecting authority and empathy.
Fuck, he is good.
"Start from the beginning."
Two days earlier.
It's a good thing you haven't run out of things about Jisung to learn. Every day there's something new and nerdy and wonderful to discover about him.
Yesterday, you learned he wants to be taken care of and protected, even when he won't admit it out loud.
Today, you discovered he tends to blame himself before anyone else. It has to be a learned behavior. People don't come into the world convinced every bad thing is somehow their fault. Somewhere along the way, someone taught him that when things go wrong, he should be the first person to apologize.
Not that things aren't ever his fault – there's probably plenty of things that are Jisung’s fault, the clumsy sweetheart. But you will not allow him to believe that his relationship falling apart and his heart breaking are two of them.
Luckily, you spent all last night scheming and planning different ways to get revenge for him.
It was quite enjoyable actually. To have Jisung napping peacefully with his little face tucked into your tummy, all the while plotting his girlfriend’s ultimate demise.
That is, until the sun set and curfew passed, and you were still petting Jisung's hair and staring off into space imagining his girlfriend “accidentally” being locked in the cafeteria’s walk-in freezer.
It must have happened some time during the night, when you laid down. And it must have happened some time after that, when you scooted up next to Jisung and tucked his head under your chin. And it must have happened early this morning, when his body wrapped around yours and his hand slipped under the back of your shirt.
Previously, you’d taken note of Jisung's need for physical affection to radically rise when he's particularly sad or lonely. But you hadn't considered that unconscious Jisung is the same way, just without his usual self-consciousness to keep him from doing things like touching your bare back or cuddling his leg between your legs.
Of course, you didn't hate waking up entangled and practically underneath a sleepy, adorable Han Jisung. His weight was a better blanket than you could have ever asked for.
But it was somewhat awkward when he lifted his head from out of your chest and realized that he was clinging to you like a teddy bear.
Leave it to Han Jisung to have an extra toothbrush for “emergencies.” And leave it to you to overthink the idea that you falling asleep next to him and missing curfew is an “emergency.”
Although if this is what it takes for Jisung to offer you his clothes, you're so down for it. Never pictured yourself wearing an overwashed, faded, black, extra large Supreme t-shirt, but there's always a first time for everything.
After what was apparently the first peaceful night’s sleep he'd had in days, Jisung finally spoke his mind freely.
To his credit, he didn't try to avoid it. He didn't insist he was fine or deny anything was wrong – that ship had sailed the moment he cried himself to sleep in your lap.
He was very honest about how he found out Minji was cheating and how he was processing it all. In one word, you would sum up his current emotional state as: fragile.
Which is totally expected and totally understandable!
There's just one teeny tiny frustrating detail–
“You didn't confront her!?”
“No,” he admits quietly. “But I haven't had a chance to talk to her since she ditched me to meet up with J–” he catches himself before the name can slip out, “...jerk face.”
“You’re adorable. Are you going to talk to her?”
He shrugs.
“So, you're avoiding her.”
“More like, she's avoiding me. And I'm not stopping her.”
“You're avoiding each other.”
“If you want to use technical terms,” he mumbles, pushing his hands further into his pockets – maybe if he tries, he can stuff the rest of himself in there too.
“Oh, I'll use technical terms.” You pull out your phone.
"What are you doing?"
You scroll through your contacts with zero grace or hesitation. "I'm going to technically call her, and then I'm going to technically ask her what the fuck she thinks she's technically doing, and then depending on her answer, I'm going to technically either curse her out or commit a felony.”
The call button is hit with the fervor of a thousand burning suns.
“Wait!”
The phone rings once.
Suddenly, he grabs your wrist, eyes wide as if he didn't realize what he was doing until he'd actually done it. You glance up at him, eyes equally as wide. Not moving, phone hovering beside your ear still.
He's standing there looking more distressed than he did when he told you she'd cheated on him.
“Please hang up.”
You end the call before she picks up, showing Jisung the ended call to hopefully calm him down before he stops breathing completely.
"I wasn't actually going to commit a felony, you know. Just the cursing her out part.”
"I know,” he exhales shakily and lets go of your hand. “And I get that you want to help me, but I don't want you to do that."
"Why?" Because from where you're standing, there are approximately zero reasons not to.
“Because, just, she's not worth it.”
“What? No, she needs to know she can't get away with treating people like trading cards. We need to do something about this, Jisung.”
“We don't need to do anything.” He rubs both hands over his face, dragging stress from his eyes to his jaw. “It’s my relationship, and I don't want to do anything about it right now.”
“Why the hell not?”
"Because,” he stutters for a moment before finally spitting the truth out. “She's my first girlfriend."
Oh. Well, that's one reason. Not the one you were expecting, but you listen for Jisung to explain further.
“And my first kiss. And a lot of other firsts. I know she's awful," he says quietly. "I know she hurt me. But when I confront her…then it's actually over. And all that time I spent with her, it means nothing.”
You don't have anything to say. Because suddenly this isn't about cheating anymore.
It's about grief.
The grief of realizing that the person who was supposed to be his first great love story might not have been a love story at all. At best, they were a lesson.
You move toward him, reaching for his hand without thinking. "Sungie.”
He shakes his head. "I know that's stupid–”
"It's not stupid,” you say, gently holding his fingers between your own. "What do you need right now?”
He slowly looks over at you with a knowing pout, pretty brows raised over those sparkling brown sugar boba eyes. With a simple shrug, he doesn't even need to voice what he wants for you to immediately understand.
While the whole situation is a mess, you have to admit, a few nice things have come out of the mess.
For one, this is the first time you've ever seen Jisung genuinely angry at someone. And honestly? It’s kind of really attractive. Watching him get all riled up, voice sharp, eyes intense, skin hot to the touch.
Unlike you, he's not the type to do anything about his anger, but you're happy knowing he's appropriately directing his anger and blame away from himself with a little bit of help.
Second, you suppose after last night, he must have decided your friendship has finally graduated to the “hugging” stage.
Oh yes, Jisung is far more likely to hug you now. Sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere. Not that you’re about to object. As far as you’re concerned, physical affection has always been allowed. Encouraged, even.
You stopped counting how many times he's hugged you today, and started taking note of some common occurrences instead.
His lips usually settle against your skin somewhere, whether that's on your shoulder or the curve of your neck or below your ear. His face is almost always nuzzled into your neck, unless for some reason he decides to rest his chin on your shoulder instead.
He likes it best when your arms are around his shoulders, and he can wrap his whole body around your waist. Despite the lack of height difference, he usually tries to pick you up, even just a little bit. Just your heels off the ground is enough to make him feel taller and to make you feel smaller.
And every single time, without fail, the sensation steals the air from your lungs. Because for the first time in your adult life, a guy isn't instinctively reaching for your body.
Jisung is instinctively reaching for you.
Somewhere hidden under all that static, beneath the noise and heartbreak and panic, when his head doesn't know what to think, his body knows where to go when everything else falls apart.
It knows you. It wants you.
All the while, his head is striving to catch up with every aching muscle, every bone, every unconscious part of him that had already reached the same conclusion:
Safe.
It feels…different to be wanted like this.
A good different, for sure. The kind of different that makes you wonder if you've been missing something your entire life.
And that's…kinda scary. Because you could get used to being wanted like this. Easily.
It's just that, if you get used to this, you may never be able to go back to the feeling of being wanted any other way ever again.
And that would mean your life would change. Your perspective would change. Your world would change.
Fuck it, who are you kidding? It already has.
Yeah, you two definitely need to have a conversation about some things, pronto.
But college doesn't care about cheating girlfriends or potential new relationships when there are quizzes to be had and projects to turn in.
“Don’t wanna study,” he whines into your shoulder, body swaying back and forth against yours.
“Do my ears deceive me?” you playfully gasp, pulling away just enough to see his face. “The Han Jisung is complaining about having to study?”
He smiles at you, soft, warm, and shy, smoothing the fabric of his shirt resting on your curves, fingers absentmindedly mapping the lines of your waist hidden beneath the cotton.
And from his soft, adoring smile and gentle touches comes a giggle. One so staringly different from the self-conscious, defeated huffs he's been making lately; it's almost unrecognizable.
“Maybe,” he mutters, eyes bouncing from the ground back up to your gaze. “Do you wanna study with me?”
“I would love to, but I don't want to,” you smile cheesily. “Plus, I've got an errand to run.”
“An errand?” he repeats, hopefully.
“Alone,” you emphasize before he can get his hopes up too much. “It won't take long though. I'll be back before you know it.”
“Fine,” he sighs. “I'll be good while you're gone.” But after his seventh last hug, you're not really convinced.
Apparently, removing his hands from you is a far more complicated task than he expected. His grip loosens, but doesn't immediately leave, fingers lingering at the hem of your shirt, dragging over the fabric just to stretch out those few final seconds just a little longer.
He hadn't realized what the feeling of his clothes on your body would do to him, or how badly he needed you to be in his shirt, or how intensely it would spark a newly surfaced instinct in his bones for you to be…
Nevermind.
That's how Jisung ends up turning in early for the evening to study, and you end up visiting an old friend.
One you haven't visited since the last time Jisung shook up your life.
::
The house is a maze of flickering lights and shadows, air thick with vaping smoke so dense you’d think the place was an audition site for a fog machine commercial.
You've been here before. A long time ago, but thankfully you remember the layout of the place decently well. It's incredible how passing by something as unassuming as a rundown couch in an upstairs hallway can trigger such intense emotions, especially when your heart is hard as stone right now.
The bass is so deep it’s practically vibrating your bones, making it impossible to hear anything beyond the relentless thump thump that feels like it's trying to put a hole through the floor boards.
But it's not just the bass filling the house. It's the people.
Oh my god, there are so many people!? Like, who isn't at this house party right now?
Grinding on the dance floor like there's no waking up tomorrow, all different body types bouncing and jostling in a chaotic, sweaty mess. To your left, someone just fell off the back of the living room couch, laughing too hard to care that they probably just bruised their tailbone. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, someone else is vomiting a half-eaten frozen pizza they were too impatient to warm up properly.
It’s almost laughable how surreal it all feels. How did you used to love this?
Not that long ago, you were that girl in the corner with one guy kissing down her neck while some other dude is using his head to spread her thighs.
The chaos, the noise, the reckless abandon – it all used to be your scene.
Key word: used to.
Now? It’s uncomfortable, for lack of a better word. You’d much rather be sitting criss-cross on Jisung’s chair in his dorm, losing your fifth League match in a row.
But honestly, you don't mind, because every time you lose, he wins. And when he wins, he gives you that goofy, victory smile, and it's like you’re both in on some secret joke.
Except, maybe one time he leans in for a hug a little too fast, and you turn your head at the exact same moment. Lips accidentally collide. For a second, there’s an awkward pause — but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he melts into your kiss, like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Next thing you know, he’s pulling you into his lap. And your hands are in his hair, and his bottom lip is between your teeth, and your hips are–
Okay! We’re just going to save that hot nerd delulu for later.
Speaking of hot nerds, your hot nerd’s girlfriend should be around here somewhere.
Yes, you’re here for Minji behind Jisung's back. But what are you supposed to do!? He's already said he's not about to stand up to her. And there’s no way a cheater like her missed the chance to get handsy, and then blame her own bad decisions on cheap alcohol and frat boys. Anything to avoid the kind of self-crushing guilt and responsibility any sane person would feel after dismissing their significant other.
And no, you're not going to do anything drastic. This house doesn't even have a walk-in freezer. You just want a conversation, that's all.
As you weave your way through the chaos of strangers and students, a familiar face appears in your peripheral.
“Hey, ___.” His voice is a little too smooth and recognizable for comfort. “Long time no see, sexy.”
Okay, yes, he's familiar. But you're having trouble placing him right now.
His pants sit about five inches too low below his underwear band, like most of the guys you used to find attractive for no godly reason. His tattoos are about five years outdated, awkwardly fading, and tasteless – little tribal shapes and fake kanji that probably looked cool in someone’s garage in the early 2000’s.
And then there’s the gold tooth in the front of his mouth. Yeah, the one he paid a small fortune for, probably on some loan he took out just to feel a little more important. It gleams under the dim party lights, an undeniable symbol of trying a little too hard to look “cool” in all the wrong ways.
Reminder, how were you ever attracted to that?
He spots you and lifts the drink in his hand, trying to catch your attention. You give him a tight smile because, unfortunately, he definitely caught you noticing him before you could ignore him.
“Well, look at you,” he drawls. “Didn't expect to find you here,” his eyes flick up and down your body, “wearing that. Never pinged you for the type to roll up to a party in pajamas. But don't worry, baby, you're hot in just about anything. My queen can wear whatever she wants.”
“Uh, hey–” holy shit, you forgot his name. It's fine, it's fine, just be cool and disinterested. He's clearly drunk and probably won't notice. “Not your queen, and I'm not looking for anything tonight, sorry.”
The attempt to move on is there, but he follows closer, his arm slipping around your waist before you can get away, spinning you into him with a flirty grin. You suddenly crash into his chest, hands up to guard, but they do little to keep your body from being held against his.
“Oh no, you're not getting away this time,” he teases, voice dripping with familiarity. “I waited naked on that bed for over an hour. You owe me some fun, baby.”
Oooh, yeah! Now you recognize him. Duh.
You push on his chest, but he's got you in a pretty firm hold, palms drifting lower down your back over the top of your ass.
“Trust me, I’m not your kind of fun anymore.”
“Who says?”
“Me.”
“What's the big deal? You got a boyfriend or something?”
“Something like that.”
“Doesn't bother me,” he mutters, lips dipping to your neck without permission. “Text him. He can join us.”
“Get off, please.”
But instead of listening – like any decent guy would do – he proves himself to be a disgusting douchebag by tracing the curve of your neck with his pierced tongue.
Your entire body instinctively recoils. That same rush you once chased, the thrill you sacrificed so much to indulge in, now feels utterly repulsive. And it leaves a bitter aftertaste that lingers on your skin like a stain you can't erase.
“Ew! I said, get off me, pervert!” you bark, shoving him away with more than enough force, considering he’s totally wasted right now.
He goes flying into the wall, drink spilling across the tile as he crashes to the floor. He looks up at you in surprise, eyes wide with a flicker of horror.
“Shit,” he mutters, glancing around the party while some of his buddies rush over to help him. “Damn, ___, chill out.”
Chill out? Not an option anymore. You’re not the girl you were six months ago. That version of you would have jumped at the chance to be used as some drunken creep’s plaything, somehow convinced that feeling wanted and seen was worth the humiliation.
But everything’s different now.
You watch your past life stumble back into the crowd while something tugs at your heart.
Yeah. You've changed. For the better.
You feel...stronger. More self assured. Somewhere along the way, the parts of yourself that were always searching for validation finally got tired of settling for scraps.
You don't need sleazy guys shouting gross compliments from car windows. You don't need strangers wanting your body to convince yourself you're worth wanting. You don't need the attention of people who never intended to value you in the first place.
Because now, you've learned something you wish you would’ve realized years ago.
Being wanted isn't the same as being valued. And being valued by the wrong people isn't the same as being respected.
For the first time, you understand the difference.
You like having a crush on Jisung, the way it makes you care about someone other than just yourself, the way it forces you to see things from different perspectives, the way it makes you open yourself up to the possibility that change can be a good thing.
Your past crushes never made you feel this way.
Probably because that's all they were — a crush.
Jisung is…more than that. He's the entire reason you're here right now, fighting the smoke and bass and jerks who can't stop staring at your ass as you make your way through the house in search of a certain bitch.
Finally, you find her.
And wouldn't you know it? She's exactly where you thought she would be, in a sense.
No, you didn't expect to find her in the backyard. But wrapped up in someone who isn't Han Jisung?
Yeah. Right where you figured.
She's perched comfortably on some random dude’s lap, laughing like a maniac as she tips a bottle of god knows what into his mouth, encouraging another shot while the people around them cheer.
You slow your steps as you approach, eyes fixed on her and the glow of string lights flickering overhead, washing her face in shadows like this was a horror movie or something.
She throws her head back with another loud, drunken laugh. Carefree. Unbothered. Completely oblivious to the damage she's left behind.
Or maybe she isn't oblivious. Maybe she just doesn't fucking care anymore.
After all, it's a lot easier to play the perfect girlfriend when your actual boyfriend is across campus, buried in a textbook, quietly fighting the tendency to blame himself as the reason his relationship is falling apart.
Your jaw tightens. Breathe. Now is not the time to lose control. As you know, getting into a tiff with Minji while emotionally charged is not the smartest move. She can manipulate a conversation like it's her day job.
“Minji,” you call her out, voice steady but cold as ice.
She looks up, eyes narrowing as she recognizes you. The smile she offers is playful but fake as hell. It doesn’t even reach her eyes.
“Oh hey, ___,” she casually greets you as if friendly. “Finally decide to give up the good girl act and join us again?”
“I'm not here to party.”
“Clearly,” she teases, using her middle finger to gesture to your sweatpants and (Jisung's) Supreme t-shirt.
She leans back into the guy’s chest, casual as ever, legs straddling his thighs as his hand slowly wraps around her waist, and her head tilts back on his shoulder as she takes a long shot from her bottle.
“Mm!” she suddenly perks up again, struggling to swallow. “Oh my god! You called me earlier. What was that all about? Forgot I had your number.”
You step closer, feeling the weight of the moment and the stench of alcohol begin to fog up your mind.
“I’ve been looking for you,” you reply. “Thought I’d see if you’re finally ready to fess up, or if you’re just gonna keep on pretending this is all some big joke.”
“I'm gonna be so honest, I have no idea what you're talking about,” she straight up laughs, which sparks everyone around you to start laughing as well.
“Then let me be very clear. You cheated on Jisung." You lock eyes with her, seething when she openly guides her guy’s hand under her skirt.
“Yeah.” She doesn't even flinch.
The casualness of it throws you off. You're not even sure what to say, let alone do.
She shrugs. “And?”
“And!?”
"What do you want me to say?” she asks with a sigh, legs slightly turning in when his fingers finally land where she was leading them. “Sorry? Everyone cheats all the time. What’s the big deal?”
“The fuck?” You stare at her, unable to process the scene in front of you. “Do you even realize how much damage you’re doing? How much you’re messing with perhaps the one person who actually cares about you?”
“He’ll get over it like everyone else did,” she assures you with a roll of her eyes, a small moan escaping her lips. “And besides, he doesn’t even suspect a thing. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Without thinking it through, you pull out your phone to take a quick pic of her with her legs spread for some other guy’s hand. Turning the phone around, you take a step closer to show her.
“He’ll know now.”
She tilts her head at you, a wicked smirk playing on her lips. “Go ahead. Break his heart. I dare you.”
Shit, she called your bluff. Your fists clench, anger boiling over. “Just let Jisung go. You don't even like him anyway.”
She rolls her eyes, reaching behind her shoulder to grab the guy's hair and pull his lips to her neck. "You don't know anything about our relationship, so stop acting like you can tell me what to do. It's embarrassing.”
"Then explain it to me, why don't you?”
Okay now, she looks genuinely annoyed. Like she's unable to enjoy herself due to your yapping.
Good. Fuck her.
"Fine,” she groans. “He liked me first."
You blink. "What?"
"He liked me first,” she repeats. "Did he tell you that? He asked me out. I felt bad. He was sweating buckets, the poor guy."
“You felt bad,” you echo with a humorous chuckle as the rage continues to build in your chest, except now you can feel it spreading out your fingertips. “Seriously?”
"Yeah.” An arch of her back and another tilt of her head. "He's sweet. Cute. He does my homework for me—”
"He does?"
“--so, I don't want to get rid of him.” She lifts her head and looks straight at you. “Capiche?”
“You really are a bitch.”
Her eyes flash something dark. With a sigh, she removes the guy’s hand and slowly stands, closing the gap between you with a few steps.
Her face, mere inches from yours. Her voice, cold and heartless. “Yeah, I am. But Jisung is mine. And I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with him.”
Have you ever gotten a strange overpowering sensation through your entire body that leads you to make a decision before you even realize you've made it?
It's almost like your brain and body skipped the strategy meeting entirely and went straight to the action part.
Some people call it adrenaline. Others have called it instinct. But whatever it is, it bypasses every reasonable thought and leaves you to deal with immediate consequences instead.
You swear, you blacked out for a solid thirty seconds. The next thing you know, your hand hurts.
Like, really hurts.
As the adrenaline begins to ebb, you instinctively glance down at where your fingers are still curled into a fist. Your knuckles an angry shade of red, already beginning to swell.
Huh. Well, that explains the burning sensation.
Slowly, you lift your gaze.
Minji is sprawled across the grass, clutching her cheek with both hands, a scream of pain tearing out of her. When she finally pulls one hand away, she stares at the smear of blood across her palm.
Her expression goes white, and she nearly faints.
Oh, dear god.
You split her cheek open.
The backyard erupts. People rush toward Minji from every direction, voices piling over one another in panicked confusion. At some point, someone else gets shoved, and then someone else trips and ends up eating a mouthful of dirt.
"What happened?"
"Did she hit her?"
“Get out of my way!”
"Call somebody!”
Surprisingly, only two people charge you. They each grab an arm before you even think to move. But the moment you feel them start to drag you away, you start fighting back.
“Stop shoving!”
"You started it!"
"Shut the fuck up!"
The pair attempt to haul you across the yard as your heels dig into the grass, putting as much distance between you and Minji as possible.
But they're definitely drunk and definitely nervous and definitely not about to risk their faces getting punched. A few swings of your legs and a few strong yanks of your arms, and you slip out of their grip with relative ease.
You charge for Minji again.
Only now, the backyard has become something else entirely.
Bodies crash into one another from every direction, turning the once-open lawn into a maze of elbows, shoulders, and tripping feet.
Someone slams into your side, nearly knocking you over, before disappearing into the crowd. Another person trips over a lawn chair, taking two of their friends down with them. Shouts and curses overlap until they become one continuous roar of noise, the music from inside the house still blaring as though the party hasn't realized it's imploding.
The darkness doesn't help either.
The string lights sway overhead, going out one by one as people knock them down, throwing moving shadows across the yard. Faces flash in and out of view, but none of them are Minji's.
For one dizzying moment, you can't tell who's fighting who anymore. It's all just a blur of chaos and violence and hate.
You shove your way through anyway. "Move!"
A shoulder. Another shoulder. A hand. A head. A foot. Someone curses as you push past, their elbow knocking you down to the ground instead. You land with a harsh thump.
Your pulse pounds so loudly it drowns out almost everything else. With your hands over your head to guard against sneakers and stilettos, you glance forward…
There!
Minji.
She's scrambling across the grass, one hand pressed against her cheek, the other digging into the ground as she tries to crawl her way to freedom.
Not happening.
You army crawl your way after her, quickly closing the distance before she even realizes you're on her.
Your hand catches a fistful of her hair. She yelps as she's pulled back, stumbling to stand with you.
But she doesn't stay defenseless for long.
Her hand shoots up, grabbing your hair just as tightly.
For a split second, the two of you stand frozen, glaring at each other through wild strands of hair, each waiting for the other to make the next move, breaths heavy, clothes stained with grass and the bottom of shoes that trampled over you both.
Then—
A whistle slices clean through the noise. And another answers it.
Bright flashlight beams sweep across the backyard, bouncing wildly over faces and bodies as multiple figures sprint through the gate.
"Campus Security!"
"Break it up!"
A siren wails somewhere beyond the fence, growing louder with every passing second.
Panic spreads faster than the fight ever did.
Around you, students scatter in every direction, ducking their heads beneath the sweeping lights, shoving past one another in a desperate attempt to disappear before anyone can remember they were ever here.
Including Minji. One second she's in front of you. The next she's swallowed by the crowd.
You don't move. Maybe because you can't bring your legs to work. Maybe because the adrenaline has finally burned itself out. Or maybe because, somewhere deep down, you know running isn't going to undo what just happened.
It doesn't take long before a firm hand catches your arm, and another secures your wrists behind your back.
"Easy does it," the officer says, fastening the handcuffs with practiced efficiency. "That hand is going to need some ice."
You barely hear him.
He guides you across the yard toward one of the patrol cars, a steady hand between your shoulder blades before opening the rear door.
With all the reckless, impulsive, objectively questionable things you've done in your life – with all the messed up shit in your past – you've never been arrested. Oddly enough, it's quite exhilarating, you must admit.
Until…your eyes lift briefly one last time, taking in the sea of flashing blue and red lights as they color the yard and the house.
Nothing could have prepared you for the drop in your stomach when you spot him, standing in the grass, perfectly still, huge boba eyes watching as you're placed into the back of a police car.
And just like that, every trace of adrenaline in your body is replaced with terrified anxiety, and all you can manage is a gentle, but devastated whisper…
Popping in to tell you ily and I hope you’re doing well!! Gf!Jisung has lowkey been getting me through my midterms 🥹🥹 Your writing is emotionally fulfilling, cathartic, and inspiring—as always—uwuwu KITHES KITHES KITHES
Seriously. When I said I was gonna kiss you, I meant it. Don't test me, I'm in love with you as it is SO STOP TRYING SO HARD TO MAKE ME FALL FOR YOU IDIOT I ALREADY HAVE 😭😭😭
I will say tho, I'm having the BEST time writing this series. So to know that others are enjoying it and are equally as devastated and emotionally tortured by it, is kinda great 👍
Best of luck of your midterms, babe!! I'm cheering for you!! 😁 And if you don't do as well as you wanted, then fuck them, they shouldn't have made it so hard 👎
-> 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
6.6K
Warnings: minors dni, cursing, physical altercation / violence (fighting), brief mention of blood, toxic relationship dynamics, infidelity, explicit sexual themes, Minji is disgusting and does not pause her *cough* pleasure *cough* to talk to you
Inspired by Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne
series mlist
-------------------------------------------------
Campus security is such a scam.
Sure, you're grateful they exist in theory. It's nice when they help freshmen find their dorms and stop people from getting hit by campus buses and occasionally rescue emotional support animals from trees.
But breaking up a house party fight on a Saturday night?
Come on.
It wasn't even on campus! Technically.
And no, the fact that you may or may not have started said fight has absolutely nothing to do with your current sour attitude toward the man in blue sitting across from you.
For starters, his badge isn't even gold. How are you supposed to trust a man with a silver badge with your life story?
Why is he even asking for your life story?
"I'm not asking for your life story," he says for probably the thousandth time. “I'm just asking you to explain the events of last night, in your own words.”
"See? That's exactly how people trick you into giving them your life story."
He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply. This rookie really doesn’t know when to give up, does he?
Ah yes. The Rookie. A classic stereotype you’ve become far too familiar with during your extensive police crime show obsessions and deep dives into unsolved mystery YouTube channels.
Gotta admit, he looks younger than you expected. Maybe a senior? Maybe fresh out of the academy? He's got one of those frustratingly approachable faces that makes you feel a little guilty for making his job harder…but only a little.
Still, he wears his uniform with undeniable pride – probably trying to strike that delicate balance between professionalism and personability, wanting to connect with others while also maintaining authority and empathy.
So lame.
You’ve already been here overnight. How much longer do they think they’re going to hold you? He should’ve figured out by now that you’re as stubborn as hell and just let you go.
He glances down at his notes, adjusting in his plastic fold-out chair, one hand on his belt.
Officer Seo.
Allegedly.
You still haven’t ruled out the possibility that he printed that name tag himself.
"Miss—"
You hold up a finger.
"Before you continue, I want the record to show that I’ve been very cooperative."
"You’ve refused to answer every question I’ve asked."
"Politely."
He blinks at you, muscles tightening in his jaw. Turns out your powers of deflection work on college frat boys and first responders.
"Here's the deal," he says carefully, in the voice of a man trying very hard not to quit his job on the spot, "if you want to leave, I need a statement."
You fold your arms. "I'm not talking."
"Why?"
"Because last night’s events are rooted in a deeply personal vendetta that I don't think someone like you could possibly understand."
He pauses. "Someone like me?"
"A guy."
He looks down at his notepad, humming thoughtfully before jotting something down. "So, to clarify, you had a personal vendetta against the victim."
“Oooo.” You point at him with a conceding frown and acknowledge softly, “You're pretty good."
For the first time since you've been here, he almost smiles.
Almost.
"Listen," he says, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, his notepad set to the side. "I'm sure you had a reason for doing what you did. I'm not trying to get you in trouble. Just tell me what happened, and then we can get you out of here. Don't you want to go home?”
You consider it, briefly. Then you lean forward too, mirroring his posture and tone.
"You need to tell me something first."
He gestures with both hands for you to go ahead with your request.
"Where's Han Jisung?"
Your heart, the traitor that it is, picks this exact moment to start pounding in your ears. No attempt to slow it down seems to be working, and there's an unquestionable chance he takes notice.
Officer Seo sits back and crosses his arms, considering for a moment. "He got a green status this morning.”
“Okay, and? I asked where he was, not the color of his fucking mood ring.”
"He was released after he gave his statement earlier this morning. Voluntarily, might I add,” he emphasizes with a raised brow. “And then he left.”
"Was he upset?" you ask before you can stop yourself.
"I can't discuss another student's statement."
Which means yes.
Or maybe no.
Or maybe you're projecting.
Or maybe Jisung hates you so much it doesn't even matter now.
“But maybe we could come to a compromise?” Officer Seo smoothly offers. “That is, if you're willing to tell me your side of this story.”
God, you hate authority figures.
Sinking back into your chair, you begin to pick at a loose thread on your sleeve (which doesn't mean anything by the way, and is definitely not a subconscious nervous tick).
But your knee bouncing each time your teeth rip a piece of skin from your lip? Yeah, that…that's nerves for sure.
You don't typically allow yourself to look this messy outwardly because, let's be real, it's not attractive. But you can’t help it when it feels like a million tiny bugs are crawling under your skin, gnawing away at your sanity, and your heart could tear at any moment.
“I had a perfectly reasonable reason for doing what I did." The words come out smaller than you intended, but Officer Seo hears them all the same.
His gaze lingers on you a little longer than before, expression softening at what he sees.
Maybe it’s the way your fingers tremble or the way your voice wavers just slightly when you say Jisung’s name. He doesn't have to be a trained officer to tell you're deeply emotionally affected by whoever this Han Jisung is.
Slowly, he leans forward, the usual sternness in his posture easing into something more empathetic.
"And that reason would be?"
"She hurt him.”
He waits.
"...Jisung," you clarify.
“And how did she do that?”
“I thought you wanted to hear about me?” you deflect.
“You're right. I do,” he responds, voice even. “Let’s talk about your relationship with Han Jisung.”
You shift slightly in your seat, feeling a flush creep up your neck, turning your head away. “My relationship status isn't critical for the investigation.”
“Answer the question.”
“Why? You wanna know if I'm single that badly?” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, trying to sound nonchalant, but it doesn't work as well as usual. “Officer, it isn't professional to flirt with the suspect.”
He stares at you for a long moment, silent.
Then, somehow, against all professional logic and decency, he lets out the tiniest huff of laughter. Just one. Just once. But it's enough to give you a little peek into who he is when he's not wearing his badge.
“Nice try. I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, I've heard that one before.” You sit up a little straighter, taking a deep breath. “But I suppose this is the first time I'm not in the mood to tease a man in uniform.”
Officer Seo waits patiently. “Maybe we can try that again when I get off shift.”
You swallow your reserve as he slowly picks up his pen and pad again, this time approaching you with a perfected balance between professionalism and personability, somehow easily connecting authority and empathy.
Fuck, he is good.
"Start from the beginning."
Two days earlier.
It's a good thing you haven't run out of things about Jisung to learn. Every day there's something new and nerdy and wonderful to discover about him.
Yesterday, you learned he wants to be taken care of and protected, even when he won't admit it out loud.
Today, you discovered he tends to blame himself before anyone else. It has to be a learned behavior. People don't come into the world convinced every bad thing is somehow their fault. Somewhere along the way, someone taught him that when things go wrong, he should be the first person to apologize.
Not that things aren't ever his fault – there's probably plenty of things that are Jisung’s fault, the clumsy sweetheart. But you will not allow him to believe that his relationship falling apart and his heart breaking are two of them.
Luckily, you spent all last night scheming and planning different ways to get revenge for him.
It was quite enjoyable actually. To have Jisung napping peacefully with his little face tucked into your tummy, all the while plotting his girlfriend’s ultimate demise.
That is, until the sun set and curfew passed, and you were still petting Jisung's hair and staring off into space imagining his girlfriend “accidentally” being locked in the cafeteria’s walk-in freezer.
It must have happened some time during the night, when you laid down. And it must have happened some time after that, when you scooted up next to Jisung and tucked his head under your chin. And it must have happened early this morning, when his body wrapped around yours and his hand slipped under the back of your shirt.
Previously, you’d taken note of Jisung's need for physical affection to radically rise when he's particularly sad or lonely. But you hadn't considered that unconscious Jisung is the same way, just without his usual self-consciousness to keep him from doing things like touching your bare back or cuddling his leg between your legs.
Of course, you didn't hate waking up entangled and practically underneath a sleepy, adorable Han Jisung. His weight was a better blanket than you could have ever asked for.
But it was somewhat awkward when he lifted his head from out of your chest and realized that he was clinging to you like a teddy bear.
Leave it to Han Jisung to have an extra toothbrush for “emergencies.” And leave it to you to overthink the idea that you falling asleep next to him and missing curfew is an “emergency.”
Although if this is what it takes for Jisung to offer you his clothes, you're so down for it. Never pictured yourself wearing an overwashed, faded, black, extra large Supreme t-shirt, but there's always a first time for everything.
After what was apparently the first peaceful night’s sleep he'd had in days, Jisung finally spoke his mind freely.
To his credit, he didn't try to avoid it. He didn't insist he was fine or deny anything was wrong – that ship had sailed the moment he cried himself to sleep in your lap.
He was very honest about how he found out Minji was cheating and how he was processing it all. In one word, you would sum up his current emotional state as: fragile.
Which is totally expected and totally understandable!
There's just one teeny tiny frustrating detail–
“You didn't confront her!?”
“No,” he admits quietly. “But I haven't had a chance to talk to her since she ditched me to meet up with J–” he catches himself before the name can slip out, “...jerk face.”
“You’re adorable. Are you going to talk to her?”
He shrugs.
“So, you're avoiding her.”
“More like, she's avoiding me. And I'm not stopping her.”
“You're avoiding each other.”
“If you want to use technical terms,” he mumbles, pushing his hands further into his pockets – maybe if he tries, he can stuff the rest of himself in there too.
“Oh, I'll use technical terms.” You pull out your phone.
"What are you doing?"
You scroll through your contacts with zero grace or hesitation. "I'm going to technically call her, and then I'm going to technically ask her what the fuck she thinks she's technically doing, and then depending on her answer, I'm going to technically either curse her out or commit a felony.”
The call button is hit with the fervor of a thousand burning suns.
“Wait!”
The phone rings once.
Suddenly, he grabs your wrist, eyes wide as if he didn't realize what he was doing until he'd actually done it. You glance up at him, eyes equally as wide. Not moving, phone hovering beside your ear still.
He's standing there looking more distressed than he did when he told you she'd cheated on him.
“Please hang up.”
You end the call before she picks up, showing Jisung the ended call to hopefully calm him down before he stops breathing completely.
"I wasn't actually going to commit a felony, you know. Just the cursing her out part.”
"I know,” he exhales shakily and lets go of your hand. “And I get that you want to help me, but I don't want you to do that."
"Why?" Because from where you're standing, there are approximately zero reasons not to.
“Because, just, she's not worth it.”
“What? No, she needs to know she can't get away with treating people like trading cards. We need to do something about this, Jisung.”
“We don't need to do anything.” He rubs both hands over his face, dragging stress from his eyes to his jaw. “It’s my relationship, and I don't want to do anything about it right now.”
“Why the hell not?”
"Because,” he stutters for a moment before finally spitting the truth out. “She's my first girlfriend."
Oh. Well, that's one reason. Not the one you were expecting, but you listen for Jisung to explain further.
“And my first kiss. And a lot of other firsts. I know she's awful," he says quietly. "I know she hurt me. But when I confront her…then it's actually over. And all that time I spent with her, it means nothing.”
You don't have anything to say. Because suddenly this isn't about cheating anymore.
It's about grief.
The grief of realizing that the person who was supposed to be his first great love story might not have been a love story at all. At best, they were a lesson.
You move toward him, reaching for his hand without thinking. "Sungie.”
He shakes his head. "I know that's stupid–”
"It's not stupid,” you say, gently holding his fingers between your own. "What do you need right now?”
He slowly looks over at you with a knowing pout, pretty brows raised over those sparkling brown sugar boba eyes. With a simple shrug, he doesn't even need to voice what he wants for you to immediately understand.
While the whole situation is a mess, you have to admit, a few nice things have come out of the mess.
For one, this is the first time you've ever seen Jisung genuinely angry at someone. And honestly? It’s kind of really attractive. Watching him get all riled up, voice sharp, eyes intense, skin hot to the touch.
Unlike you, he's not the type to do anything about his anger, but you're happy knowing he's appropriately directing his anger and blame away from himself with a little bit of help.
Second, you suppose after last night, he must have decided your friendship has finally graduated to the “hugging” stage.
Oh yes, Jisung is far more likely to hug you now. Sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere. Not that you’re about to object. As far as you’re concerned, physical affection has always been allowed. Encouraged, even.
You stopped counting how many times he's hugged you today, and started taking note of some common occurrences instead.
His lips usually settle against your skin somewhere, whether that's on your shoulder or the curve of your neck or below your ear. His face is almost always nuzzled into your neck, unless for some reason he decides to rest his chin on your shoulder instead.
He likes it best when your arms are around his shoulders, and he can wrap his whole body around your waist. Despite the lack of height difference, he usually tries to pick you up, even just a little bit. Just your heels off the ground is enough to make him feel taller and to make you feel smaller.
And every single time, without fail, the sensation steals the air from your lungs. Because for the first time in your adult life, a guy isn't instinctively reaching for your body.
Jisung is instinctively reaching for you.
Somewhere hidden under all that static, beneath the noise and heartbreak and panic, when his head doesn't know what to think, his body knows where to go when everything else falls apart.
It knows you. It wants you.
All the while, his head is striving to catch up with every aching muscle, every bone, every unconscious part of him that had already reached the same conclusion:
Safe.
It feels…different to be wanted like this.
A good different, for sure. The kind of different that makes you wonder if you've been missing something your entire life.
And that's…kinda scary. Because you could get used to being wanted like this. Easily.
It's just that, if you get used to this, you may never be able to go back to the feeling of being wanted any other way ever again.
And that would mean your life would change. Your perspective would change. Your world would change.
Fuck it, who are you kidding? It already has.
Yeah, you two definitely need to have a conversation about some things, pronto.
But college doesn't care about cheating girlfriends or potential new relationships when there are quizzes to be had and projects to turn in.
“Don’t wanna study,” he whines into your shoulder, body swaying back and forth against yours.
“Do my ears deceive me?” you playfully gasp, pulling away just enough to see his face. “The Han Jisung is complaining about having to study?”
He smiles at you, soft, warm, and shy, smoothing the fabric of his shirt resting on your curves, fingers absentmindedly mapping the lines of your waist hidden beneath the cotton.
And from his soft, adoring smile and gentle touches comes a giggle. One so staringly different from the self-conscious, defeated huffs he's been making lately; it's almost unrecognizable.
“Maybe,” he mutters, eyes bouncing from the ground back up to your gaze. “Do you wanna study with me?”
“I would love to, but I don't want to,” you smile cheesily. “Plus, I've got an errand to run.”
“An errand?” he repeats, hopefully.
“Alone,” you emphasize before he can get his hopes up too much. “It won't take long though. I'll be back before you know it.”
“Fine,” he sighs. “I'll be good while you're gone.” But after his seventh last hug, you're not really convinced.
Apparently, removing his hands from you is a far more complicated task than he expected. His grip loosens, but doesn't immediately leave, fingers lingering at the hem of your shirt, dragging over the fabric just to stretch out those few final seconds just a little longer.
He hadn't realized what the feeling of his clothes on your body would do to him, or how badly he needed you to be in his shirt, or how intensely it would spark a newly surfaced instinct in his bones for you to be…
Nevermind.
That's how Jisung ends up turning in early for the evening to study, and you end up visiting an old friend.
One you haven't visited since the last time Jisung shook up your life.
::
The house is a maze of flickering lights and shadows, air thick with vaping smoke so dense you’d think the place was an audition site for a fog machine commercial.
You've been here before. A long time ago, but thankfully you remember the layout of the place decently well. It's incredible how passing by something as unassuming as a rundown couch in an upstairs hallway can trigger such intense emotions, especially when your heart is hard as stone right now.
The bass is so deep it’s practically vibrating your bones, making it impossible to hear anything beyond the relentless thump thump that feels like it's trying to put a hole through the floor boards.
But it's not just the bass filling the house. It's the people.
Oh my god, there are so many people!? Like, who isn't at this house party right now?
Grinding on the dance floor like there's no waking up tomorrow, all different body types bouncing and jostling in a chaotic, sweaty mess. To your left, someone just fell off the back of the living room couch, laughing too hard to care that they probably just bruised their tailbone. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, someone else is vomiting a half-eaten frozen pizza they were too impatient to warm up properly.
It’s almost laughable how surreal it all feels. How did you used to love this?
Not that long ago, you were that girl in the corner with one guy kissing down her neck while some other dude is using his head to spread her thighs.
The chaos, the noise, the reckless abandon – it all used to be your scene.
Key word: used to.
Now? It’s uncomfortable, for lack of a better word. You’d much rather be sitting criss-cross on Jisung’s chair in his dorm, losing your fifth League match in a row.
But honestly, you don't mind, because every time you lose, he wins. And when he wins, he gives you that goofy, victory smile, and it's like you’re both in on some secret joke.
Except, maybe one time he leans in for a hug a little too fast, and you turn your head at the exact same moment. Lips accidentally collide. For a second, there’s an awkward pause — but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he melts into your kiss, like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Next thing you know, he’s pulling you into his lap. And your hands are in his hair, and his bottom lip is between your teeth, and your hips are–
Okay! We’re just going to save that hot nerd delulu for later.
Speaking of hot nerds, your hot nerd’s girlfriend should be around here somewhere.
Yes, you’re here for Minji behind Jisung's back. But what are you supposed to do!? He's already said he's not about to stand up to her. And there’s no way a cheater like her missed the chance to get handsy, and then blame her own bad decisions on cheap alcohol and frat boys. Anything to avoid the kind of self-crushing guilt and responsibility any sane person would feel after dismissing their significant other.
And no, you're not going to do anything drastic. This house doesn't even have a walk-in freezer. You just want a conversation, that's all.
As you weave your way through the chaos of strangers and students, a familiar face appears in your peripheral.
“Hey, ___.” His voice is a little too smooth and recognizable for comfort. “Long time no see, sexy.”
Okay, yes, he's familiar. But you're having trouble placing him right now.
His pants sit about five inches too low below his underwear band, like most of the guys you used to find attractive for no godly reason. His tattoos are about five years outdated, awkwardly fading, and tasteless – little tribal shapes and fake kanji that probably looked cool in someone’s garage in the early 2000’s.
And then there’s the gold tooth in the front of his mouth. Yeah, the one he paid a small fortune for, probably on some loan he took out just to feel a little more important. It gleams under the dim party lights, an undeniable symbol of trying a little too hard to look “cool” in all the wrong ways.
Reminder, how were you ever attracted to that?
He spots you and lifts the drink in his hand, trying to catch your attention. You give him a tight smile because, unfortunately, he definitely caught you noticing him before you could ignore him.
“Well, look at you,” he drawls. “Didn't expect to find you here,” his eyes flick up and down your body, “wearing that. Never pinged you for the type to roll up to a party in pajamas. But don't worry, baby, you're hot in just about anything. My queen can wear whatever she wants.”
“Uh, hey–” holy shit, you forgot his name. It's fine, it's fine, just be cool and disinterested. He's clearly drunk and probably won't notice. “Not your queen, and I'm not looking for anything tonight, sorry.”
The attempt to move on is there, but he follows closer, his arm slipping around your waist before you can get away, spinning you into him with a flirty grin. You suddenly crash into his chest, hands up to guard, but they do little to keep your body from being held against his.
“Oh no, you're not getting away this time,” he teases, voice dripping with familiarity. “I waited naked on that bed for over an hour. You owe me some fun, baby.”
Oooh, yeah! Now you recognize him. Duh.
You push on his chest, but he's got you in a pretty firm hold, palms drifting lower down your back over the top of your ass.
“Trust me, I’m not your kind of fun anymore.”
“Who says?”
“Me.”
“What's the big deal? You got a boyfriend or something?”
“Something like that.”
“Doesn't bother me,” he mutters, lips dipping to your neck without permission. “Text him. He can join us.”
“Get off, please.”
But instead of listening – like any decent guy would do – he proves himself to be a disgusting douchebag by tracing the curve of your neck with his pierced tongue.
Your entire body instinctively recoils. That same rush you once chased, the thrill you sacrificed so much to indulge in, now feels utterly repulsive. And it leaves a bitter aftertaste that lingers on your skin like a stain you can't erase.
“Ew! I said, get off me, pervert!” you bark, shoving him away with more than enough force, considering he’s totally wasted right now.
He goes flying into the wall, drink spilling across the tile as he crashes to the floor. He looks up at you in surprise, eyes wide with a flicker of horror.
“Shit,” he mutters, glancing around the party while some of his buddies rush over to help him. “Damn, ___, chill out.”
Chill out? Not an option anymore. You’re not the girl you were six months ago. That version of you would have jumped at the chance to be used as some drunken creep’s plaything, somehow convinced that feeling wanted and seen was worth the humiliation.
But everything’s different now.
You watch your past life stumble back into the crowd while something tugs at your heart.
Yeah. You've changed. For the better.
You feel...stronger. More self assured. Somewhere along the way, the parts of yourself that were always searching for validation finally got tired of settling for scraps.
You don't need sleazy guys shouting gross compliments from car windows. You don't need strangers wanting your body to convince yourself you're worth wanting. You don't need the attention of people who never intended to value you in the first place.
Because now, you've learned something you wish you would’ve realized years ago.
Being wanted isn't the same as being valued. And being valued by the wrong people isn't the same as being respected.
For the first time, you understand the difference.
You like having a crush on Jisung, the way it makes you care about someone other than just yourself, the way it forces you to see things from different perspectives, the way it makes you open yourself up to the possibility that change can be a good thing.
Your past crushes never made you feel this way.
Probably because that's all they were — a crush.
Jisung is…more than that. He's the entire reason you're here right now, fighting the smoke and bass and jerks who can't stop staring at your ass as you make your way through the house in search of a certain bitch.
Finally, you find her.
And wouldn't you know it? She's exactly where you thought she would be, in a sense.
No, you didn't expect to find her in the backyard. But wrapped up in someone who isn't Han Jisung?
Yeah. Right where you figured.
She's perched comfortably on some random dude’s lap, laughing like a maniac as she tips a bottle of god knows what into his mouth, encouraging another shot while the people around them cheer.
You slow your steps as you approach, eyes fixed on her and the glow of string lights flickering overhead, washing her face in shadows like this was a horror movie or something.
She throws her head back with another loud, drunken laugh. Carefree. Unbothered. Completely oblivious to the damage she's left behind.
Or maybe she isn't oblivious. Maybe she just doesn't fucking care anymore.
After all, it's a lot easier to play the perfect girlfriend when your actual boyfriend is across campus, buried in a textbook, quietly fighting the tendency to blame himself as the reason his relationship is falling apart.
Your jaw tightens. Breathe. Now is not the time to lose control. As you know, getting into a tiff with Minji while emotionally charged is not the smartest move. She can manipulate a conversation like it's her day job.
“Minji,” you call her out, voice steady but cold as ice.
She looks up, eyes narrowing as she recognizes you. The smile she offers is playful but fake as hell. It doesn’t even reach her eyes.
“Oh hey, ___,” she casually greets you as if friendly. “Finally decide to give up the good girl act and join us again?”
“I'm not here to party.”
“Clearly,” she teases, using her middle finger to gesture to your sweatpants and (Jisung's) Supreme t-shirt.
She leans back into the guy’s chest, casual as ever, legs straddling his thighs as his hand slowly wraps around her waist, and her head tilts back on his shoulder as she takes a long shot from her bottle.
“Mm!” she suddenly perks up again, struggling to swallow. “Oh my god! You called me earlier. What was that all about? Forgot I had your number.”
You step closer, feeling the weight of the moment and the stench of alcohol begin to fog up your mind.
“I’ve been looking for you,” you reply. “Thought I’d see if you’re finally ready to fess up, or if you’re just gonna keep on pretending this is all some big joke.”
“I'm gonna be so honest, I have no idea what you're talking about,” she straight up laughs, which sparks everyone around you to start laughing as well.
“Then let me be very clear. You cheated on Jisung." You lock eyes with her, seething when she openly guides her guy’s hand under her skirt.
“Yeah.” She doesn't even flinch.
The casualness of it throws you off. You're not even sure what to say, let alone do.
She shrugs. “And?”
“And!?”
"What do you want me to say?” she asks with a sigh, legs slightly turning in when his fingers finally land where she was leading them. “Sorry? Everyone cheats all the time. What’s the big deal?”
“The fuck?” You stare at her, unable to process the scene in front of you. “Do you even realize how much damage you’re doing? How much you’re messing with perhaps the one person who actually cares about you?”
“He’ll get over it like everyone else did,” she assures you with a roll of her eyes, a small moan escaping her lips. “And besides, he doesn’t even suspect a thing. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Without thinking it through, you pull out your phone to take a quick pic of her with her legs spread for some other guy’s hand. Turning the phone around, you take a step closer to show her.
“He’ll know now.”
She tilts her head at you, a wicked smirk playing on her lips. “Go ahead. Break his heart. I dare you.”
Shit, she called your bluff. Your fists clench, anger boiling over. “Just let Jisung go. You don't even like him anyway.”
She rolls her eyes, reaching behind her shoulder to grab the guy's hair and pull his lips to her neck. "You don't know anything about our relationship, so stop acting like you can tell me what to do. It's embarrassing.”
"Then explain it to me, why don't you?”
Okay now, she looks genuinely annoyed. Like she's unable to enjoy herself due to your yapping.
Good. Fuck her.
"Fine,” she groans. “He liked me first."
You blink. "What?"
"He liked me first,” she repeats. "Did he tell you that? He asked me out. I felt bad. He was sweating buckets, the poor guy."
“You felt bad,” you echo with a humorous chuckle as the rage continues to build in your chest, except now you can feel it spreading out your fingertips. “Seriously?”
"Yeah.” An arch of her back and another tilt of her head. "He's sweet. Cute. He does my homework for me—”
"He does?"
“--so, I don't want to get rid of him.” She lifts her head and looks straight at you. “Capiche?”
“You really are a bitch.”
Her eyes flash something dark. With a sigh, she removes the guy’s hand and slowly stands, closing the gap between you with a few steps.
Her face, mere inches from yours. Her voice, cold and heartless. “Yeah, I am. But Jisung is mine. And I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with him.”
Have you ever gotten a strange overpowering sensation through your entire body that leads you to make a decision before you even realize you've made it?
It's almost like your brain and body skipped the strategy meeting entirely and went straight to the action part.
Some people call it adrenaline. Others have called it instinct. But whatever it is, it bypasses every reasonable thought and leaves you to deal with immediate consequences instead.
You swear, you blacked out for a solid thirty seconds. The next thing you know, your hand hurts.
Like, really hurts.
As the adrenaline begins to ebb, you instinctively glance down at where your fingers are still curled into a fist. Your knuckles an angry shade of red, already beginning to swell.
Huh. Well, that explains the burning sensation.
Slowly, you lift your gaze.
Minji is sprawled across the grass, clutching her cheek with both hands, a scream of pain tearing out of her. When she finally pulls one hand away, she stares at the smear of blood across her palm.
Her expression goes white, and she nearly faints.
Oh, dear god.
You split her cheek open.
The backyard erupts. People rush toward Minji from every direction, voices piling over one another in panicked confusion. At some point, someone else gets shoved, and then someone else trips and ends up eating a mouthful of dirt.
"What happened?"
"Did she hit her?"
“Get out of my way!”
"Call somebody!”
Surprisingly, only two people charge you. They each grab an arm before you even think to move. But the moment you feel them start to drag you away, you start fighting back.
“Stop shoving!”
"You started it!"
"Shut the fuck up!"
The pair attempt to haul you across the yard as your heels dig into the grass, putting as much distance between you and Minji as possible.
But they're definitely drunk and definitely nervous and definitely not about to risk their faces getting punched. A few swings of your legs and a few strong yanks of your arms, and you slip out of their grip with relative ease.
You charge for Minji again.
Only now, the backyard has become something else entirely.
Bodies crash into one another from every direction, turning the once-open lawn into a maze of elbows, shoulders, and tripping feet.
Someone slams into your side, nearly knocking you over, before disappearing into the crowd. Another person trips over a lawn chair, taking two of their friends down with them. Shouts and curses overlap until they become one continuous roar of noise, the music from inside the house still blaring as though the party hasn't realized it's imploding.
The darkness doesn't help either.
The string lights sway overhead, going out one by one as people knock them down, throwing moving shadows across the yard. Faces flash in and out of view, but none of them are Minji's.
For one dizzying moment, you can't tell who's fighting who anymore. It's all just a blur of chaos and violence and hate.
You shove your way through anyway. "Move!"
A shoulder. Another shoulder. A hand. A head. A foot. Someone curses as you push past, their elbow knocking you down to the ground instead. You land with a harsh thump.
Your pulse pounds so loudly it drowns out almost everything else. With your hands over your head to guard against sneakers and stilettos, you glance forward…
There!
Minji.
She's scrambling across the grass, one hand pressed against her cheek, the other digging into the ground as she tries to crawl her way to freedom.
Not happening.
You army crawl your way after her, quickly closing the distance before she even realizes you're on her.
Your hand catches a fistful of her hair. She yelps as she's pulled back, stumbling to stand with you.
But she doesn't stay defenseless for long.
Her hand shoots up, grabbing your hair just as tightly.
For a split second, the two of you stand frozen, glaring at each other through wild strands of hair, each waiting for the other to make the next move, breaths heavy, clothes stained with grass and the bottom of shoes that trampled over you both.
Then—
A whistle slices clean through the noise. And another answers it.
Bright flashlight beams sweep across the backyard, bouncing wildly over faces and bodies as multiple figures sprint through the gate.
"Campus Security!"
"Break it up!"
A siren wails somewhere beyond the fence, growing louder with every passing second.
Panic spreads faster than the fight ever did.
Around you, students scatter in every direction, ducking their heads beneath the sweeping lights, shoving past one another in a desperate attempt to disappear before anyone can remember they were ever here.
Including Minji. One second she's in front of you. The next she's swallowed by the crowd.
You don't move. Maybe because you can't bring your legs to work. Maybe because the adrenaline has finally burned itself out. Or maybe because, somewhere deep down, you know running isn't going to undo what just happened.
It doesn't take long before a firm hand catches your arm, and another secures your wrists behind your back.
"Easy does it," the officer says, fastening the handcuffs with practiced efficiency. "That hand is going to need some ice."
You barely hear him.
He guides you across the yard toward one of the patrol cars, a steady hand between your shoulder blades before opening the rear door.
With all the reckless, impulsive, objectively questionable things you've done in your life – with all the messed up shit in your past – you've never been arrested. Oddly enough, it's quite exhilarating, you must admit.
Until…your eyes lift briefly one last time, taking in the sea of flashing blue and red lights as they color the yard and the house.
Nothing could have prepared you for the drop in your stomach when you spot him, standing in the grass, perfectly still, huge boba eyes watching as you're placed into the back of a police car.
And just like that, every trace of adrenaline in your body is replaced with terrified anxiety, and all you can manage is a gentle, but devastated whisper…
THIS SERIES IS SO GOOD. WTH. i have never experienced so many butterflies reading a fic before andwow. this is perfection. let’s ignore the sound of my heart breaking at the cliffhanger in the chapter tho…
maybe if college gave me a nerd bf like jisung, I’d actually be interested
Literally, I did so much in college and spent so much money, it OWES me a nerdy boyfriend like Jisung tbh lmaoo
Thanks for reading and loving this series, I'm having a lot of fun writing it, so it gives me a lot of motivation and happiness to know people are enjoying it just as much 😊
-> 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
6.6K
Warnings: minors dni, cursing, physical altercation / violence (fighting), brief mention of blood, toxic relationship dynamics, infidelity, explicit sexual themes, Minji is disgusting and does not pause her *cough* pleasure *cough* to talk to you
Inspired by Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne
series mlist
-------------------------------------------------
Campus security is such a scam.
Sure, you're grateful they exist in theory. It's nice when they help freshmen find their dorms and stop people from getting hit by campus buses and occasionally rescue emotional support animals from trees.
But breaking up a house party fight on a Saturday night?
Come on.
It wasn't even on campus! Technically.
And no, the fact that you may or may not have started said fight has absolutely nothing to do with your current sour attitude toward the man in blue sitting across from you.
For starters, his badge isn't even gold. How are you supposed to trust a man with a silver badge with your life story?
Why is he even asking for your life story?
"I'm not asking for your life story," he says for probably the thousandth time. “I'm just asking you to explain the events of last night, in your own words.”
"See? That's exactly how people trick you into giving them your life story."
He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply. This rookie really doesn’t know when to give up, does he?
Ah yes. The Rookie. A classic stereotype you’ve become far too familiar with during your extensive police crime show obsessions and deep dives into unsolved mystery YouTube channels.
Gotta admit, he looks younger than you expected. Maybe a senior? Maybe fresh out of the academy? He's got one of those frustratingly approachable faces that makes you feel a little guilty for making his job harder…but only a little.
Still, he wears his uniform with undeniable pride – probably trying to strike that delicate balance between professionalism and personability, wanting to connect with others while also maintaining authority and empathy.
So lame.
You’ve already been here overnight. How much longer do they think they’re going to hold you? He should’ve figured out by now that you’re as stubborn as hell and just let you go.
He glances down at his notes, adjusting in his plastic fold-out chair, one hand on his belt.
Officer Seo.
Allegedly.
You still haven’t ruled out the possibility that he printed that name tag himself.
"Miss—"
You hold up a finger.
"Before you continue, I want the record to show that I’ve been very cooperative."
"You’ve refused to answer every question I’ve asked."
"Politely."
He blinks at you, muscles tightening in his jaw. Turns out your powers of deflection work on college frat boys and first responders.
"Here's the deal," he says carefully, in the voice of a man trying very hard not to quit his job on the spot, "if you want to leave, I need a statement."
You fold your arms. "I'm not talking."
"Why?"
"Because last night’s events are rooted in a deeply personal vendetta that I don't think someone like you could possibly understand."
He pauses. "Someone like me?"
"A guy."
He looks down at his notepad, humming thoughtfully before jotting something down. "So, to clarify, you had a personal vendetta against the victim."
“Oooo.” You point at him with a conceding frown and acknowledge softly, “You're pretty good."
For the first time since you've been here, he almost smiles.
Almost.
"Listen," he says, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, his notepad set to the side. "I'm sure you had a reason for doing what you did. I'm not trying to get you in trouble. Just tell me what happened, and then we can get you out of here. Don't you want to go home?”
You consider it, briefly. Then you lean forward too, mirroring his posture and tone.
"You need to tell me something first."
He gestures with both hands for you to go ahead with your request.
"Where's Han Jisung?"
Your heart, the traitor that it is, picks this exact moment to start pounding in your ears. No attempt to slow it down seems to be working, and there's an unquestionable chance he takes notice.
Officer Seo sits back and crosses his arms, considering for a moment. "He got a green status this morning.”
“Okay, and? I asked where he was, not the color of his fucking mood ring.”
"He was released after he gave his statement earlier this morning. Voluntarily, might I add,” he emphasizes with a raised brow. “And then he left.”
"Was he upset?" you ask before you can stop yourself.
"I can't discuss another student's statement."
Which means yes.
Or maybe no.
Or maybe you're projecting.
Or maybe Jisung hates you so much it doesn't even matter now.
“But maybe we could come to a compromise?” Officer Seo smoothly offers. “That is, if you're willing to tell me your side of this story.”
God, you hate authority figures.
Sinking back into your chair, you begin to pick at a loose thread on your sleeve (which doesn't mean anything by the way, and is definitely not a subconscious nervous tick).
But your knee bouncing each time your teeth rip a piece of skin from your lip? Yeah, that…that's nerves for sure.
You don't typically allow yourself to look this messy outwardly because, let's be real, it's not attractive. But you can’t help it when it feels like a million tiny bugs are crawling under your skin, gnawing away at your sanity, and your heart could tear at any moment.
“I had a perfectly reasonable reason for doing what I did." The words come out smaller than you intended, but Officer Seo hears them all the same.
His gaze lingers on you a little longer than before, expression softening at what he sees.
Maybe it’s the way your fingers tremble or the way your voice wavers just slightly when you say Jisung’s name. He doesn't have to be a trained officer to tell you're deeply emotionally affected by whoever this Han Jisung is.
Slowly, he leans forward, the usual sternness in his posture easing into something more empathetic.
"And that reason would be?"
"She hurt him.”
He waits.
"...Jisung," you clarify.
“And how did she do that?”
“I thought you wanted to hear about me?” you deflect.
“You're right. I do,” he responds, voice even. “Let’s talk about your relationship with Han Jisung.”
You shift slightly in your seat, feeling a flush creep up your neck, turning your head away. “My relationship status isn't critical for the investigation.”
“Answer the question.”
“Why? You wanna know if I'm single that badly?” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, trying to sound nonchalant, but it doesn't work as well as usual. “Officer, it isn't professional to flirt with the suspect.”
He stares at you for a long moment, silent.
Then, somehow, against all professional logic and decency, he lets out the tiniest huff of laughter. Just one. Just once. But it's enough to give you a little peek into who he is when he's not wearing his badge.
“Nice try. I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, I've heard that one before.” You sit up a little straighter, taking a deep breath. “But I suppose this is the first time I'm not in the mood to tease a man in uniform.”
Officer Seo waits patiently. “Maybe we can try that again when I get off shift.”
You swallow your reserve as he slowly picks up his pen and pad again, this time approaching you with a perfected balance between professionalism and personability, somehow easily connecting authority and empathy.
Fuck, he is good.
"Start from the beginning."
Two days earlier.
It's a good thing you haven't run out of things about Jisung to learn. Every day there's something new and nerdy and wonderful to discover about him.
Yesterday, you learned he wants to be taken care of and protected, even when he won't admit it out loud.
Today, you discovered he tends to blame himself before anyone else. It has to be a learned behavior. People don't come into the world convinced every bad thing is somehow their fault. Somewhere along the way, someone taught him that when things go wrong, he should be the first person to apologize.
Not that things aren't ever his fault – there's probably plenty of things that are Jisung’s fault, the clumsy sweetheart. But you will not allow him to believe that his relationship falling apart and his heart breaking are two of them.
Luckily, you spent all last night scheming and planning different ways to get revenge for him.
It was quite enjoyable actually. To have Jisung napping peacefully with his little face tucked into your tummy, all the while plotting his girlfriend’s ultimate demise.
That is, until the sun set and curfew passed, and you were still petting Jisung's hair and staring off into space imagining his girlfriend “accidentally” being locked in the cafeteria’s walk-in freezer.
It must have happened some time during the night, when you laid down. And it must have happened some time after that, when you scooted up next to Jisung and tucked his head under your chin. And it must have happened early this morning, when his body wrapped around yours and his hand slipped under the back of your shirt.
Previously, you’d taken note of Jisung's need for physical affection to radically rise when he's particularly sad or lonely. But you hadn't considered that unconscious Jisung is the same way, just without his usual self-consciousness to keep him from doing things like touching your bare back or cuddling his leg between your legs.
Of course, you didn't hate waking up entangled and practically underneath a sleepy, adorable Han Jisung. His weight was a better blanket than you could have ever asked for.
But it was somewhat awkward when he lifted his head from out of your chest and realized that he was clinging to you like a teddy bear.
Leave it to Han Jisung to have an extra toothbrush for “emergencies.” And leave it to you to overthink the idea that you falling asleep next to him and missing curfew is an “emergency.”
Although if this is what it takes for Jisung to offer you his clothes, you're so down for it. Never pictured yourself wearing an overwashed, faded, black, extra large Supreme t-shirt, but there's always a first time for everything.
After what was apparently the first peaceful night’s sleep he'd had in days, Jisung finally spoke his mind freely.
To his credit, he didn't try to avoid it. He didn't insist he was fine or deny anything was wrong – that ship had sailed the moment he cried himself to sleep in your lap.
He was very honest about how he found out Minji was cheating and how he was processing it all. In one word, you would sum up his current emotional state as: fragile.
Which is totally expected and totally understandable!
There's just one teeny tiny frustrating detail–
“You didn't confront her!?”
“No,” he admits quietly. “But I haven't had a chance to talk to her since she ditched me to meet up with J–” he catches himself before the name can slip out, “...jerk face.”
“You’re adorable. Are you going to talk to her?”
He shrugs.
“So, you're avoiding her.”
“More like, she's avoiding me. And I'm not stopping her.”
“You're avoiding each other.”
“If you want to use technical terms,” he mumbles, pushing his hands further into his pockets – maybe if he tries, he can stuff the rest of himself in there too.
“Oh, I'll use technical terms.” You pull out your phone.
"What are you doing?"
You scroll through your contacts with zero grace or hesitation. "I'm going to technically call her, and then I'm going to technically ask her what the fuck she thinks she's technically doing, and then depending on her answer, I'm going to technically either curse her out or commit a felony.”
The call button is hit with the fervor of a thousand burning suns.
“Wait!”
The phone rings once.
Suddenly, he grabs your wrist, eyes wide as if he didn't realize what he was doing until he'd actually done it. You glance up at him, eyes equally as wide. Not moving, phone hovering beside your ear still.
He's standing there looking more distressed than he did when he told you she'd cheated on him.
“Please hang up.”
You end the call before she picks up, showing Jisung the ended call to hopefully calm him down before he stops breathing completely.
"I wasn't actually going to commit a felony, you know. Just the cursing her out part.”
"I know,” he exhales shakily and lets go of your hand. “And I get that you want to help me, but I don't want you to do that."
"Why?" Because from where you're standing, there are approximately zero reasons not to.
“Because, just, she's not worth it.”
“What? No, she needs to know she can't get away with treating people like trading cards. We need to do something about this, Jisung.”
“We don't need to do anything.” He rubs both hands over his face, dragging stress from his eyes to his jaw. “It’s my relationship, and I don't want to do anything about it right now.”
“Why the hell not?”
"Because,” he stutters for a moment before finally spitting the truth out. “She's my first girlfriend."
Oh. Well, that's one reason. Not the one you were expecting, but you listen for Jisung to explain further.
“And my first kiss. And a lot of other firsts. I know she's awful," he says quietly. "I know she hurt me. But when I confront her…then it's actually over. And all that time I spent with her, it means nothing.”
You don't have anything to say. Because suddenly this isn't about cheating anymore.
It's about grief.
The grief of realizing that the person who was supposed to be his first great love story might not have been a love story at all. At best, they were a lesson.
You move toward him, reaching for his hand without thinking. "Sungie.”
He shakes his head. "I know that's stupid–”
"It's not stupid,” you say, gently holding his fingers between your own. "What do you need right now?”
He slowly looks over at you with a knowing pout, pretty brows raised over those sparkling brown sugar boba eyes. With a simple shrug, he doesn't even need to voice what he wants for you to immediately understand.
While the whole situation is a mess, you have to admit, a few nice things have come out of the mess.
For one, this is the first time you've ever seen Jisung genuinely angry at someone. And honestly? It’s kind of really attractive. Watching him get all riled up, voice sharp, eyes intense, skin hot to the touch.
Unlike you, he's not the type to do anything about his anger, but you're happy knowing he's appropriately directing his anger and blame away from himself with a little bit of help.
Second, you suppose after last night, he must have decided your friendship has finally graduated to the “hugging” stage.
Oh yes, Jisung is far more likely to hug you now. Sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere. Not that you’re about to object. As far as you’re concerned, physical affection has always been allowed. Encouraged, even.
You stopped counting how many times he's hugged you today, and started taking note of some common occurrences instead.
His lips usually settle against your skin somewhere, whether that's on your shoulder or the curve of your neck or below your ear. His face is almost always nuzzled into your neck, unless for some reason he decides to rest his chin on your shoulder instead.
He likes it best when your arms are around his shoulders, and he can wrap his whole body around your waist. Despite the lack of height difference, he usually tries to pick you up, even just a little bit. Just your heels off the ground is enough to make him feel taller and to make you feel smaller.
And every single time, without fail, the sensation steals the air from your lungs. Because for the first time in your adult life, a guy isn't instinctively reaching for your body.
Jisung is instinctively reaching for you.
Somewhere hidden under all that static, beneath the noise and heartbreak and panic, when his head doesn't know what to think, his body knows where to go when everything else falls apart.
It knows you. It wants you.
All the while, his head is striving to catch up with every aching muscle, every bone, every unconscious part of him that had already reached the same conclusion:
Safe.
It feels…different to be wanted like this.
A good different, for sure. The kind of different that makes you wonder if you've been missing something your entire life.
And that's…kinda scary. Because you could get used to being wanted like this. Easily.
It's just that, if you get used to this, you may never be able to go back to the feeling of being wanted any other way ever again.
And that would mean your life would change. Your perspective would change. Your world would change.
Fuck it, who are you kidding? It already has.
Yeah, you two definitely need to have a conversation about some things, pronto.
But college doesn't care about cheating girlfriends or potential new relationships when there are quizzes to be had and projects to turn in.
“Don’t wanna study,” he whines into your shoulder, body swaying back and forth against yours.
“Do my ears deceive me?” you playfully gasp, pulling away just enough to see his face. “The Han Jisung is complaining about having to study?”
He smiles at you, soft, warm, and shy, smoothing the fabric of his shirt resting on your curves, fingers absentmindedly mapping the lines of your waist hidden beneath the cotton.
And from his soft, adoring smile and gentle touches comes a giggle. One so staringly different from the self-conscious, defeated huffs he's been making lately; it's almost unrecognizable.
“Maybe,” he mutters, eyes bouncing from the ground back up to your gaze. “Do you wanna study with me?”
“I would love to, but I don't want to,” you smile cheesily. “Plus, I've got an errand to run.”
“An errand?” he repeats, hopefully.
“Alone,” you emphasize before he can get his hopes up too much. “It won't take long though. I'll be back before you know it.”
“Fine,” he sighs. “I'll be good while you're gone.” But after his seventh last hug, you're not really convinced.
Apparently, removing his hands from you is a far more complicated task than he expected. His grip loosens, but doesn't immediately leave, fingers lingering at the hem of your shirt, dragging over the fabric just to stretch out those few final seconds just a little longer.
He hadn't realized what the feeling of his clothes on your body would do to him, or how badly he needed you to be in his shirt, or how intensely it would spark a newly surfaced instinct in his bones for you to be…
Nevermind.
That's how Jisung ends up turning in early for the evening to study, and you end up visiting an old friend.
One you haven't visited since the last time Jisung shook up your life.
::
The house is a maze of flickering lights and shadows, air thick with vaping smoke so dense you’d think the place was an audition site for a fog machine commercial.
You've been here before. A long time ago, but thankfully you remember the layout of the place decently well. It's incredible how passing by something as unassuming as a rundown couch in an upstairs hallway can trigger such intense emotions, especially when your heart is hard as stone right now.
The bass is so deep it’s practically vibrating your bones, making it impossible to hear anything beyond the relentless thump thump that feels like it's trying to put a hole through the floor boards.
But it's not just the bass filling the house. It's the people.
Oh my god, there are so many people!? Like, who isn't at this house party right now?
Grinding on the dance floor like there's no waking up tomorrow, all different body types bouncing and jostling in a chaotic, sweaty mess. To your left, someone just fell off the back of the living room couch, laughing too hard to care that they probably just bruised their tailbone. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, someone else is vomiting a half-eaten frozen pizza they were too impatient to warm up properly.
It’s almost laughable how surreal it all feels. How did you used to love this?
Not that long ago, you were that girl in the corner with one guy kissing down her neck while some other dude is using his head to spread her thighs.
The chaos, the noise, the reckless abandon – it all used to be your scene.
Key word: used to.
Now? It’s uncomfortable, for lack of a better word. You’d much rather be sitting criss-cross on Jisung’s chair in his dorm, losing your fifth League match in a row.
But honestly, you don't mind, because every time you lose, he wins. And when he wins, he gives you that goofy, victory smile, and it's like you’re both in on some secret joke.
Except, maybe one time he leans in for a hug a little too fast, and you turn your head at the exact same moment. Lips accidentally collide. For a second, there’s an awkward pause — but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he melts into your kiss, like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Next thing you know, he’s pulling you into his lap. And your hands are in his hair, and his bottom lip is between your teeth, and your hips are–
Okay! We’re just going to save that hot nerd delulu for later.
Speaking of hot nerds, your hot nerd’s girlfriend should be around here somewhere.
Yes, you’re here for Minji behind Jisung's back. But what are you supposed to do!? He's already said he's not about to stand up to her. And there’s no way a cheater like her missed the chance to get handsy, and then blame her own bad decisions on cheap alcohol and frat boys. Anything to avoid the kind of self-crushing guilt and responsibility any sane person would feel after dismissing their significant other.
And no, you're not going to do anything drastic. This house doesn't even have a walk-in freezer. You just want a conversation, that's all.
As you weave your way through the chaos of strangers and students, a familiar face appears in your peripheral.
“Hey, ___.” His voice is a little too smooth and recognizable for comfort. “Long time no see, sexy.”
Okay, yes, he's familiar. But you're having trouble placing him right now.
His pants sit about five inches too low below his underwear band, like most of the guys you used to find attractive for no godly reason. His tattoos are about five years outdated, awkwardly fading, and tasteless – little tribal shapes and fake kanji that probably looked cool in someone’s garage in the early 2000’s.
And then there’s the gold tooth in the front of his mouth. Yeah, the one he paid a small fortune for, probably on some loan he took out just to feel a little more important. It gleams under the dim party lights, an undeniable symbol of trying a little too hard to look “cool” in all the wrong ways.
Reminder, how were you ever attracted to that?
He spots you and lifts the drink in his hand, trying to catch your attention. You give him a tight smile because, unfortunately, he definitely caught you noticing him before you could ignore him.
“Well, look at you,” he drawls. “Didn't expect to find you here,” his eyes flick up and down your body, “wearing that. Never pinged you for the type to roll up to a party in pajamas. But don't worry, baby, you're hot in just about anything. My queen can wear whatever she wants.”
“Uh, hey–” holy shit, you forgot his name. It's fine, it's fine, just be cool and disinterested. He's clearly drunk and probably won't notice. “Not your queen, and I'm not looking for anything tonight, sorry.”
The attempt to move on is there, but he follows closer, his arm slipping around your waist before you can get away, spinning you into him with a flirty grin. You suddenly crash into his chest, hands up to guard, but they do little to keep your body from being held against his.
“Oh no, you're not getting away this time,” he teases, voice dripping with familiarity. “I waited naked on that bed for over an hour. You owe me some fun, baby.”
Oooh, yeah! Now you recognize him. Duh.
You push on his chest, but he's got you in a pretty firm hold, palms drifting lower down your back over the top of your ass.
“Trust me, I’m not your kind of fun anymore.”
“Who says?”
“Me.”
“What's the big deal? You got a boyfriend or something?”
“Something like that.”
“Doesn't bother me,” he mutters, lips dipping to your neck without permission. “Text him. He can join us.”
“Get off, please.”
But instead of listening – like any decent guy would do – he proves himself to be a disgusting douchebag by tracing the curve of your neck with his pierced tongue.
Your entire body instinctively recoils. That same rush you once chased, the thrill you sacrificed so much to indulge in, now feels utterly repulsive. And it leaves a bitter aftertaste that lingers on your skin like a stain you can't erase.
“Ew! I said, get off me, pervert!” you bark, shoving him away with more than enough force, considering he’s totally wasted right now.
He goes flying into the wall, drink spilling across the tile as he crashes to the floor. He looks up at you in surprise, eyes wide with a flicker of horror.
“Shit,” he mutters, glancing around the party while some of his buddies rush over to help him. “Damn, ___, chill out.”
Chill out? Not an option anymore. You’re not the girl you were six months ago. That version of you would have jumped at the chance to be used as some drunken creep’s plaything, somehow convinced that feeling wanted and seen was worth the humiliation.
But everything’s different now.
You watch your past life stumble back into the crowd while something tugs at your heart.
Yeah. You've changed. For the better.
You feel...stronger. More self assured. Somewhere along the way, the parts of yourself that were always searching for validation finally got tired of settling for scraps.
You don't need sleazy guys shouting gross compliments from car windows. You don't need strangers wanting your body to convince yourself you're worth wanting. You don't need the attention of people who never intended to value you in the first place.
Because now, you've learned something you wish you would’ve realized years ago.
Being wanted isn't the same as being valued. And being valued by the wrong people isn't the same as being respected.
For the first time, you understand the difference.
You like having a crush on Jisung, the way it makes you care about someone other than just yourself, the way it forces you to see things from different perspectives, the way it makes you open yourself up to the possibility that change can be a good thing.
Your past crushes never made you feel this way.
Probably because that's all they were — a crush.
Jisung is…more than that. He's the entire reason you're here right now, fighting the smoke and bass and jerks who can't stop staring at your ass as you make your way through the house in search of a certain bitch.
Finally, you find her.
And wouldn't you know it? She's exactly where you thought she would be, in a sense.
No, you didn't expect to find her in the backyard. But wrapped up in someone who isn't Han Jisung?
Yeah. Right where you figured.
She's perched comfortably on some random dude’s lap, laughing like a maniac as she tips a bottle of god knows what into his mouth, encouraging another shot while the people around them cheer.
You slow your steps as you approach, eyes fixed on her and the glow of string lights flickering overhead, washing her face in shadows like this was a horror movie or something.
She throws her head back with another loud, drunken laugh. Carefree. Unbothered. Completely oblivious to the damage she's left behind.
Or maybe she isn't oblivious. Maybe she just doesn't fucking care anymore.
After all, it's a lot easier to play the perfect girlfriend when your actual boyfriend is across campus, buried in a textbook, quietly fighting the tendency to blame himself as the reason his relationship is falling apart.
Your jaw tightens. Breathe. Now is not the time to lose control. As you know, getting into a tiff with Minji while emotionally charged is not the smartest move. She can manipulate a conversation like it's her day job.
“Minji,” you call her out, voice steady but cold as ice.
She looks up, eyes narrowing as she recognizes you. The smile she offers is playful but fake as hell. It doesn’t even reach her eyes.
“Oh hey, ___,” she casually greets you as if friendly. “Finally decide to give up the good girl act and join us again?”
“I'm not here to party.”
“Clearly,” she teases, using her middle finger to gesture to your sweatpants and (Jisung's) Supreme t-shirt.
She leans back into the guy’s chest, casual as ever, legs straddling his thighs as his hand slowly wraps around her waist, and her head tilts back on his shoulder as she takes a long shot from her bottle.
“Mm!” she suddenly perks up again, struggling to swallow. “Oh my god! You called me earlier. What was that all about? Forgot I had your number.”
You step closer, feeling the weight of the moment and the stench of alcohol begin to fog up your mind.
“I’ve been looking for you,” you reply. “Thought I’d see if you’re finally ready to fess up, or if you’re just gonna keep on pretending this is all some big joke.”
“I'm gonna be so honest, I have no idea what you're talking about,” she straight up laughs, which sparks everyone around you to start laughing as well.
“Then let me be very clear. You cheated on Jisung." You lock eyes with her, seething when she openly guides her guy’s hand under her skirt.
“Yeah.” She doesn't even flinch.
The casualness of it throws you off. You're not even sure what to say, let alone do.
She shrugs. “And?”
“And!?”
"What do you want me to say?” she asks with a sigh, legs slightly turning in when his fingers finally land where she was leading them. “Sorry? Everyone cheats all the time. What’s the big deal?”
“The fuck?” You stare at her, unable to process the scene in front of you. “Do you even realize how much damage you’re doing? How much you’re messing with perhaps the one person who actually cares about you?”
“He’ll get over it like everyone else did,” she assures you with a roll of her eyes, a small moan escaping her lips. “And besides, he doesn’t even suspect a thing. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Without thinking it through, you pull out your phone to take a quick pic of her with her legs spread for some other guy’s hand. Turning the phone around, you take a step closer to show her.
“He’ll know now.”
She tilts her head at you, a wicked smirk playing on her lips. “Go ahead. Break his heart. I dare you.”
Shit, she called your bluff. Your fists clench, anger boiling over. “Just let Jisung go. You don't even like him anyway.”
She rolls her eyes, reaching behind her shoulder to grab the guy's hair and pull his lips to her neck. "You don't know anything about our relationship, so stop acting like you can tell me what to do. It's embarrassing.”
"Then explain it to me, why don't you?”
Okay now, she looks genuinely annoyed. Like she's unable to enjoy herself due to your yapping.
Good. Fuck her.
"Fine,” she groans. “He liked me first."
You blink. "What?"
"He liked me first,” she repeats. "Did he tell you that? He asked me out. I felt bad. He was sweating buckets, the poor guy."
“You felt bad,” you echo with a humorous chuckle as the rage continues to build in your chest, except now you can feel it spreading out your fingertips. “Seriously?”
"Yeah.” An arch of her back and another tilt of her head. "He's sweet. Cute. He does my homework for me—”
"He does?"
“--so, I don't want to get rid of him.” She lifts her head and looks straight at you. “Capiche?”
“You really are a bitch.”
Her eyes flash something dark. With a sigh, she removes the guy’s hand and slowly stands, closing the gap between you with a few steps.
Her face, mere inches from yours. Her voice, cold and heartless. “Yeah, I am. But Jisung is mine. And I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with him.”
Have you ever gotten a strange overpowering sensation through your entire body that leads you to make a decision before you even realize you've made it?
It's almost like your brain and body skipped the strategy meeting entirely and went straight to the action part.
Some people call it adrenaline. Others have called it instinct. But whatever it is, it bypasses every reasonable thought and leaves you to deal with immediate consequences instead.
You swear, you blacked out for a solid thirty seconds. The next thing you know, your hand hurts.
Like, really hurts.
As the adrenaline begins to ebb, you instinctively glance down at where your fingers are still curled into a fist. Your knuckles an angry shade of red, already beginning to swell.
Huh. Well, that explains the burning sensation.
Slowly, you lift your gaze.
Minji is sprawled across the grass, clutching her cheek with both hands, a scream of pain tearing out of her. When she finally pulls one hand away, she stares at the smear of blood across her palm.
Her expression goes white, and she nearly faints.
Oh, dear god.
You split her cheek open.
The backyard erupts. People rush toward Minji from every direction, voices piling over one another in panicked confusion. At some point, someone else gets shoved, and then someone else trips and ends up eating a mouthful of dirt.
"What happened?"
"Did she hit her?"
“Get out of my way!”
"Call somebody!”
Surprisingly, only two people charge you. They each grab an arm before you even think to move. But the moment you feel them start to drag you away, you start fighting back.
“Stop shoving!”
"You started it!"
"Shut the fuck up!"
The pair attempt to haul you across the yard as your heels dig into the grass, putting as much distance between you and Minji as possible.
But they're definitely drunk and definitely nervous and definitely not about to risk their faces getting punched. A few swings of your legs and a few strong yanks of your arms, and you slip out of their grip with relative ease.
You charge for Minji again.
Only now, the backyard has become something else entirely.
Bodies crash into one another from every direction, turning the once-open lawn into a maze of elbows, shoulders, and tripping feet.
Someone slams into your side, nearly knocking you over, before disappearing into the crowd. Another person trips over a lawn chair, taking two of their friends down with them. Shouts and curses overlap until they become one continuous roar of noise, the music from inside the house still blaring as though the party hasn't realized it's imploding.
The darkness doesn't help either.
The string lights sway overhead, going out one by one as people knock them down, throwing moving shadows across the yard. Faces flash in and out of view, but none of them are Minji's.
For one dizzying moment, you can't tell who's fighting who anymore. It's all just a blur of chaos and violence and hate.
You shove your way through anyway. "Move!"
A shoulder. Another shoulder. A hand. A head. A foot. Someone curses as you push past, their elbow knocking you down to the ground instead. You land with a harsh thump.
Your pulse pounds so loudly it drowns out almost everything else. With your hands over your head to guard against sneakers and stilettos, you glance forward…
There!
Minji.
She's scrambling across the grass, one hand pressed against her cheek, the other digging into the ground as she tries to crawl her way to freedom.
Not happening.
You army crawl your way after her, quickly closing the distance before she even realizes you're on her.
Your hand catches a fistful of her hair. She yelps as she's pulled back, stumbling to stand with you.
But she doesn't stay defenseless for long.
Her hand shoots up, grabbing your hair just as tightly.
For a split second, the two of you stand frozen, glaring at each other through wild strands of hair, each waiting for the other to make the next move, breaths heavy, clothes stained with grass and the bottom of shoes that trampled over you both.
Then—
A whistle slices clean through the noise. And another answers it.
Bright flashlight beams sweep across the backyard, bouncing wildly over faces and bodies as multiple figures sprint through the gate.
"Campus Security!"
"Break it up!"
A siren wails somewhere beyond the fence, growing louder with every passing second.
Panic spreads faster than the fight ever did.
Around you, students scatter in every direction, ducking their heads beneath the sweeping lights, shoving past one another in a desperate attempt to disappear before anyone can remember they were ever here.
Including Minji. One second she's in front of you. The next she's swallowed by the crowd.
You don't move. Maybe because you can't bring your legs to work. Maybe because the adrenaline has finally burned itself out. Or maybe because, somewhere deep down, you know running isn't going to undo what just happened.
It doesn't take long before a firm hand catches your arm, and another secures your wrists behind your back.
"Easy does it," the officer says, fastening the handcuffs with practiced efficiency. "That hand is going to need some ice."
You barely hear him.
He guides you across the yard toward one of the patrol cars, a steady hand between your shoulder blades before opening the rear door.
With all the reckless, impulsive, objectively questionable things you've done in your life – with all the messed up shit in your past – you've never been arrested. Oddly enough, it's quite exhilarating, you must admit.
Until…your eyes lift briefly one last time, taking in the sea of flashing blue and red lights as they color the yard and the house.
Nothing could have prepared you for the drop in your stomach when you spot him, standing in the grass, perfectly still, huge boba eyes watching as you're placed into the back of a police car.
And just like that, every trace of adrenaline in your body is replaced with terrified anxiety, and all you can manage is a gentle, but devastated whisper…
I had the most beautiful and sweet thing based on the scenario based on the song based on the seungmin imagine mc being shy and still to the realtinships and seungmin is a menace but calm manner but still shy the skz members and their girlfriends are teasing them what do you think about this as members girlfriend are still in the amusement park and snowy mc and seungmin are still walking in hand hand still shy and new and he pulls her closer as she still shy and says seungmin what are you doing someone might see.
Aww this is really cute 🥺
Very kdrama coded. I can definitely see Seungmin being a tease to mc who's very shy, pulling her closer in front of the guys just to see her blush more. He's that type of boyfriend who likes to get his partner flustered. BUT! Dont underestimate him. He likes being teased just as much as he like teasing 🤭
