#Han Jisung AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godslino · 6 months ago

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IN BLOOM | jisung first date series. second chance lovers.

pairing: jisung x fem!reader word count: 13.2k genre: childhood friends au, angst, fluff, songwriter!jisung, florist!reader warnings: swearing, minor character death, grief/loss (nothing to do with any of the members!) summary: it's february. the tulips are in bloom. jisung is back.

a/n: *taps mic* hello?? is this thing on?? oh good. yes. hi. hello! it's been a while, as most of you can tell. thank you all SO MUCH for sticking around. if you've been reading my asks you'll know that march and april were rough months for me personally. shout out to my anons and mutuals who kept my spirits high and made my days brighter. uhhh, this was originally supposed to be a stand alone fic but i figured hey, what the hell, and made it into jisung's first date chapter. it's pretty heavy stuff. lots of feelings, lots of love. i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it! again, thank you so much for waiting for me. i'll be back soon with more updates! all the love <3

also thank you kenzie for being such a light during all of this. i hope all my screaming in your messages was worth it!

“All of these had to be pulled.” Hyunjin huffs, dropping a few crates just past the doorway.

“Again?” you ask, hands on your hips as you stare at yet another wasted supply. “I don’t understand, they sold so well last year.”

Hyunjin gives you a sad smile. “It’ll pick up eventually, don’t worry. I mean the holidays just finished and business usually slows down in the months after anyways.”

He’s being sincere, you know that. But there’s a part of you that also knows it’s a lot more than just the usual ebb and flow of sales. He’s being nice for your sake.

“Maybe we could try coming up with other ideas?” he suggests, because Hyunjin is nothing if not kind. Always willing, always finding a way.

He moves past you to grab a fresh pair of gloves. The ones he’s wearing are dirty, pollen-stained and ripped at the edges.

“You’ve always been really good at basket arrangements. We could try to make some for Valentine's Day. Different sizes, maybe? The big ones will probably do well for online orders since they’re more optimal for things like office deliveries and stuff like that.”

You hum in approval. “True. I mean, I was kind of worried we would have to skip out on deliveries this year since we don’t have the manpower to handle all of that, but I think Jeongin’s been looking to pick up hours around here again. He said something about his program giving them a month of independent study, so he’ll be home for a bit.” you say, scribbling down a reminder in your notebook. “I could ask him to help with driving the truck in his free time?”

Hyunjin lights up– he always does when Jeongin is mentioned.

It’s been a lot quieter ever since he left for college. There were so many tears and so many hugs that were met with countless 'you guys are dramatic's in return. But it’s hard to not feel sad when people leave town; when they decide the borders lined with apple trees and rice fields aren’t enough to stop their dreams from blooming into more than what’s capable of being pursued here.

That, unsurprisingly, is something you know all too well.

“Can’t believe he’s driving.” Hyunjin laments as he wipes his floral scissors with a rag. “I used to spend my days changing his diapers and spoon feeding him redbulls– but now? Driving? My baby is all grown up.” he fake sniffles. “By the way, I’m gonna take my fifteen after I’m done snipping these tulips.”

You snort, bending down to take the crates of wilted flowers to the back for disposal. Hyunjin moves to help but you shake him off.

“Sounds good. Also, don’t let Innie hear you say that. I’m about a thousand percent sure he has the strength needed to throw you into the dumpster with one arm now.”

“My baby would never do that to me!” Hyunjin calls out as you round the corner, bumping open the back door with your hip.

February brings a lot of rain in Jeju. Today is no different; fat drops landing on your head as soon as you stumble out into the alley behind the shop. Footsteps heavy on wet brick, you curse under your breath as you run as fast as you can to the dumpster.

There’s still a few supply boxes from yesterday’s shipment laying around. You meant to bring them in, but you were so exhausted that it slipped your mind while you struggled to make sure everything inside the shop was figured out.

Scrambling, you haul them in one by one, shoes squeaking against the floor as you alternate in and out, soggy cardboard pressed against the front of your apron.

Hyunjin’s on break. A necessary one at that. You can’t bother him, especially not when he’s done enough by taking on more responsibility both as a physical worker and a newly actualized business partner recently. A few stacks of boxes and wet hair seem like a fair trade off for what he’s had to sacrifice in the past year now.

“Idiot,” you mumble, cursing yourself for carelessness. Your slip ups have been more frequent lately, evident in the way you constantly forget things and can’t seem to push away the haziness clouding your mind.

If it weren’t for the timing of it all, you’d blame it on the weather. The gloominess. The overcast skies probably have some sort of hand in your lack of clarity. Shrouded.

But it’s February. And in Jeju— it rains.

By the time you make it back inside, you’re drenched.

“You look like you just got dunked in a pool.”

You frown, ringing your hair out into the trash bin by the door. It’ll definitely take time to dry off, both your hair and your clothes are soaked through.

Hyunjin watches with an amused look, arms crossed as he leans his back against the counter.

“Might as well have. It’s insane out there.” you sigh. “How was your break?”

You look up to find that his face has gone unreadable.

“Yeah, about that…” Hyunjin trails off, voice suddenly smaller than before.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s just–” Hyunjin chews at his bottom lip.

You push past him into the supply room to switch out your apron just as he says, “Do you mind if I leave a little early today?”

You scoff, turning to face him. “Hwang Hyunjin,” you scold, lips twitching when he visibly startles at your tone, “You don’t have to ask me that. We’re partners now, remember? We run this place.”

He shifts on his feet, still unsure.

“Besides,” you huff, tying a knot behind your back, “We were friends way before that, too. You don’t have to be all proper with me. Of course you can leave early. It’s slow today, I can take care of it.”

Hyunjin sighs after contemplating for a second. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, though?”

When he stares at you for a moment too long, you know the real reason for his hesitation. It makes something twist deep in your gut.

Guilt, maybe, amongst other things.

“Of course.” you shrug, doing your best to seem nonchalant.

Hyunjin’s ability to read people is kind of intense, a little scary at times. You happen to be one of his favorite subjects in that regard.

“Have fun. Tell Minah I said hi.”

He pales, sputtering around words as he struggles to say something. It’s cute, his plump lips opening and closing, eyes wild.

“I’m not going to see her! I’m–it’s just a movie! How did you—God, you’re so annoying. I should’ve made you trim the tulips. Hah!”

You giggle. “It’s funny that you think I wouldn’t know, especially with the way you love to actually make yourself look busy whenever she stops by to say hi.”

“I am busy.” he mumbles, looking away. “I just emphasize it a lot more when she’s here.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes, “Let’s go with that.”

He whines a couple more times, trails after you around the shop and laughs when you swat him away with a rolled up newspaper that’s used for wrapping vases.

It’s loud. Easy. Hyunjin is a gentle reminder that normalcy still exists in your day to day, even if it’s hard to find.

When he finally decides to leave, he lingers for a moment, triple checks that you’ll be okay. You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time today, but deep down you’re grateful.

“Love you,” he says, one foot out the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

You shake your head, ignoring him. “Love you too.”

And then he’s gone, a skip in his step as he heads down the sidewalk, leaving you with nothing but freshly-trimmed tulips and the sound of rain.

“Herb snips, shears, tape…” you mumble, scanning the supply shelf.

There’s not much to do in-shop right now. Almost all the arrangements have been tended to by Hyunjin already, his specialty being his keen eye. That’s why he handles the appeal of the shop, leaving you to figure out all the logistics. Learning it all was easier said than done.

In reality, it was never your intention to take over the shop at all.

“When I die,” your grandma would always say, ignoring the way you groaned and begged her to stop bringing it up, “Sell this place. Use the money for something worthwhile. A trip to Greece, maybe?”

“Nana,” you would scold, glaring at her where she stood next to you, trimming a batch of roses.

Wrinkled hands that still held all the skill of youth. Fingers moving at a speed others could only ever dream of having– you included.

Your grandma handled flowers with the same amount of care she did everything else. It’s no wonder that when they grew they would lean in her direction, drawn to her like they would be the sun.

“I’m not selling this place. It’s too special, too important. A vacation only lasts so long, Nana. This is forever.”

She would smile, turn petals over in her hand. Sometimes the marigolds would match the glow in her eyes, a testament to the belief you harbored as a child that she had the ability to sprout blossoms from her fingertips.

“The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.”

You wish you hadn’t been so hard headed. Wish that you would’ve believed her, taken the time to listen, cherished the moment a little bit longer instead of relying on the promise of tomorrow.

I’m sorry for your loss.

Your grandmother was a wonderful woman.

She’ll be with you in your heart, forever.

Oh, what a lie forever is.

The shop stays empty for the rest of the day. There were a few passersby, all of whom simply stopped to scan the arrangements along the windows before giving a polite nod and carrying on their way.

Realistically, the shop has no problem with attracting customers. It’s a sight to behold: mid-floor to ceiling windows with various displays, hanging baskets of winding greenery, countless arrangements that fill the shelves and add a pop of color, and a wide assortment of flowers for each season.

The real issue lies in your inability to sell. Most people regard the place as being good for nothing more than window shopping and the usual photo-op.

Business has slowed since your Grandma passed; since you took over as the sole owner and were suddenly face to face with the task of making decisions in the shop’s best interest– both integrity wise and from a business standpoint.

“I know, I know,” you say around the pen cap between your teeth, “You used to be the brains around here, not me. I’m not creative enough for all of this, you know? No matter how much I try to be.”

You look up from where your notebook lays open, dozens of scribbles for arrangement ideas and planning. The picture on the wall stares at you, unmoving, eyes as bright as marigolds.

“Don’t give me that look.”

She stares. A gaze that holds all the answers while also saying nothing at all.

“Ugh.” you groan, leaning your palms on the desk.

You allow your head to hang forward, defeated, exhaustion flooding your bones.

Just as you’re about to speak again, to complain about yet another thing that probably has her rolling around in her grave, the bell at the front counter dings.

The clock on the desk reads 6:55pm, five minutes until close. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in.

“Be right there!” you call out, rushing to grab your apron from where you’d thrown it on one of the chairs.

In your haste, the box of seed packets you’d been inventorying goes tumbling to the floor.

“Fuck,” you mutter, bending down to pick everything up. One more thing to add to the list today.

Off-kilter. Disoriented. Exhausted.

You sniffle a few times, blinking against the sting behind your eyes as you stand up to put the box back in its place.

One deep breath, a shake of your shoulders. Just enough to chase it all away until later.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily, pushing past the hanging beads that separate the front of the shop from the back. “How can I help you?”

There’s a stranger, his back turned, attention focused on a batch of tulips. Freshly cut. White, blue, purple.

You realize, belatedly, that you’d forgotten to grab your apron in your haste to clean up the seed packets. Another slip up. Nana always prided herself in her apron, wore it like a badge of honor, raised you to do the same.

Just as you spin around to grab it, the stranger says, “It’s okay. I just, um, I wanted to say hi.”

You freeze. There’s a long moment where his voice rings loud in your ears, reverberates against the walls of your brain until it travels through your blood, the feeling like wildfire in your veins until it settles deep in the pit of your stomach.

Slowly, you turn, heart clamoring in your chest, threatening to stop altogether as soon as you come face to face with the one person you never thought you’d see again.

Because there, at the front of the store, is Jisung.

Jisung, with wide eyes and parted lips. Jisung, with hair that still curls at the ends and falls in shags around his face. Jisung, broader, more actualized, now grown into his features but still undeniably soft around the edges. Jisung, with thick framed glasses pushed up his nose and silver hoops dangling from his ears.

A stranger. But undoubtedly Jisung.

“You look…nice.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.

Three words is all it takes. Ice turns to fire. The blood that had drained from your face returns with the blaze of a thousand suns, anger burning your throat.

You reach forward, grab the remote for the neon Open sign and click the power button. Jisung watches in confusion.

“The shop is closed.” you manage on a shaky breath.

Jisung sighs, something heavy. “Listen, I’m—”

“The shop–” you try again, louder, “–is closed.”

Jisung stares. His eyes are still the same velvety brown; big and round and just as you remember.

There was once a time where the sight of Jisung in your Grandma’s shop made your heart sing. A soft tune, the thrum of a thousand harps, a song only for him.

His heart-shaped smile as he helped her hammer some of the shelves onto the wall. The sound of his laughter whenever you’d enter a sneezing fit from accidentally rubbing your face with a gloved hand. His rosy cheeks, burnt from the wind whipping past his face as he ran on foot to make sure you were okay the one time an angry customer smashed a vase on the floor and you called him crying.

But now, seeing him here, a stranger in a body you once knew like the back of your hand— it feels wrong.

“I…” he trails off, registering the way your fists are clenched at your sides.

“Okay,” he resigns, licking his lips. “I, uh– have a good night.”

He gives you one last look, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and then slips out the door. You watch his retreating figure through the glass panel, dark gray skies muting the sound of your rattling heart.

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is back.

And in Jeju– it rains.

There’s an apple tree in the middle of town where Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time.

Off the corner, a few minutes down the road from where your houses stand a mere five hundred feet away from one another.

Your grandparents were farmers. Your grandma started her floral business a few years before you were born, a dream she always had that your grandpa urged her to pursue once he decided to sell the animals to a younger, more capable couple that could take care of them.

Jisung’s parents, new residents on the island, looking to settle down and start a family.

That’s how it happens. Yours and Jisung’s story, two authors of the same book, destined since the start.

Jisung was born on the same night your mother left you at your grandparents’ doorstep. One note, an apology, is all you’ve ever known about her. Your grandma never cared to indulge you. You’re glad in a way. She provided more than enough love to make sure you never felt an absence in her wake.

The townspeople used to say you and Jisung were soulmates. Something about the heavens knowing he would need a friend, hence why you were delivered that night. From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.

Attached at the hip, you and Jisung grew up together. First steps, first birthdays, firsts for everything under the sun.

Jisung was there in the morning to walk with you to school and he was there at night when the two of you tucked into bed, sleepovers a regular occurrence, both of you counting the pale green stick-on stars dotting his ceiling until you fell asleep.

Jisung was always around. He held your hand and walked with you to the nurse’s office the first time you got stung by a bee. He wiped your eyes when the boy you liked told you he only ever saw you as a friend, your first rejection. He sat with you under the stars the night your grandpa died, your face tucked into his neck as you stained the collar of his shirt with tears until you were too tired to cry. In the years that followed, he took care of you and your grandma like the two of you were his own.

Jisung, for lack of a better word, was your first forever.

“You could come with me, you know.”

Under the stars, real ones that time, Jisung had turned to you and offered the world.

The air was cold. The apple tree was bare.

“It’ll be fun. We��ll be together, we’ll experience new things. I can do music and you can study all that history stuff you like to learn about. You know, nerdy things.”

“They’re not nerdy things, Ji. Don’t you know everything we have now is because of what’s happened before us?” you’d asked. “Doesn’t it make you wonder? Learning about the past helps us better understand the present, and ultimately the future.”

Jisung had hummed softly, an agreement. “I don’t care about the future, though.” he’d said. “I care about right now. You, me, this.”

When you turned to look at him, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at you from above as the moon casted a halo around his head.

“I love you,” he whispered, “And I want you to come with me.”

Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the ambition to make it his own.

You, with all your hopes stuffed tight into a suitcase and chained to a boulder, thrown into the ocean. Sinking and sinking until it hit the bottom.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

Images of marigolds flashed behind your eyes when you closed them, a tear rolling down your cheek. Jisung’s mouth was soft when he kissed it away, salt on his lips. Burning.

“But I can’t.” you choked.

Under the apple tree, Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time. He promised that the distance would be no match for him, that he would traverse oceans to find his way back. He promised forever.

It was February. The tulips were in bloom. Jisung left to pursue his dreams with a guitar on his back and your heart in his hands. Your understanding of forever was shot at point blank. The bullet passed clean through you.

And in Jeju– it rained.

“I think you should talk to him.”

The sun is out today. Perfect weather for another field harvest. The distributor had called you early in the morning to ask if you’d be willing to accept a drop off even though it’s the weekend. You’d agreed, calling in your most reliable help for the job.

“And I think you’re not helping.” you huff, snipping the head off another hyacinth.

“Agreed,” Hyunjin parrots from beside you, currently in the middle of putting together an arrangement, “This guy sounds like a total dick.”

Chan sighs from behind the two of you, his knees knocking against the legs of the desk when he swivels back and forth in the chair.

Besides Hyunjin and Jeongin, both of whom moved into town after you’d already graduated, and of course, Jisung– Chan is your oldest friend.

Chan was also a neighbor of yours. Three years older than you and Jisung, he was the one who acted as a role model for the two of you when growing up. Nowadays he helps his parents run the largest orange grove on the island during the day and DJs one of the clubs in the tourism hub at night.

“Jisung’s not a dick, he’s just–”

“An asshole.” you finish, smirking when Hyunjin cackles.

Chan sighs. Again. “Yeah okay, I’ll give you that one.”

“Listen, I know I’ve never met him, but isn’t it weird that he just, like, showed up?” Hyunjin asks, setting down his scissors. You continue trimming the hyacinths, listening halfheartedly.

“I mean, think about it. Dude disappears to pursue music, right? He’s gone for what– three years?”

“Four.” you correct.

“God, even worse.” he grimaces.

“But yeah, okay, four years. And then boom! He just strolls in through the front door without so much as a word during the time he was gone? No letters, no phone calls, not even a damn visit. Nothing! All so he can pop up and go ‘oh, you look nice’? Come on.” he scoffs, crossing his arms.

You wince, caught off guard because you’ve never really heard it phrased as bluntly as Hyunjin put it just then. It’s no surprise that he’s annoyed, having only just heard the full story thirty minutes ago. He’d been shocked, partly because you never told him and also because he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Okay, yes, he was wrong for that. But isn’t part of you even just the least bit curious as to why?”

You pause mid-snip, mulling Chan’s words over in your head.

The most frustrating part about it all is that you are curious. You wish you weren’t, though. Not when you’ve spent the past four years trying to convince yourself that you don’t need to know what Jisung’s been up to, don’t need to know if he’s been okay since he clearly held no concern for you in that regard anyways.

“What?” you ask when you realize that both boys are staring at you.

“Well?” Hyunjin pushes. “Are you?”

You shrug. “No, not really.”

There’s a total of five seconds that pass before Hyunjin is stomping over and hauling Chan up out of his chair, pushing him towards the front door as he protests.

“Out! Out, out, out, we have important business matters to discuss.”

“But we were supposed to get lunch—!”

“We’re taking a rain check!” Hyunjin fights back, shoving him out of the shop before he has a chance to answer. He drops the shade to cover the glass, Chan’s sad figure left alone on the other side.

You gape at him. “What was that for?”

Hyunjin scoffs. “You think you’re convincing? Think again.”

He hops up on to the counter and gestures for you to do the same. When you do, he pulls you closer, grabs your hand in his, and pushes your head down until it’s resting on his shoulder.

“Tell me the truth now,” he says, soft. “I know there’s more to it.”

Hyunjin’s warm to the touch. The heat seeps through the fabric of his shirt, igniting the skin of your cheek until you feel like you’re standing too close to the sun. A star. Hyunjin is a light in your tunnel.

“I am curious,” you start, “About him, I mean. I’ve– I don’t know. It’s been so long. I tried to pretend I didn’t care when I saw him, but the minute I looked into his eyes it was like I was eighteen again. Eighteen and happy and looking at someone that I always thought would be there, you know?”

Hyunjin hums but doesn’t say anything. He squeezes your hand once, a signal to keep going.

“I’m scared, though. Part of me doesn’t want to know.”

Hyunjin takes a deep breath. “What are you scared of?”

Through the gaps in the beads you can see into your office, the picture of your Grandma hanging on the wall. She stares at you, unblinking.

“What if he tells me that it’s true?” you ask, lifting your head to look up at him. “What if he says that I was right, that he didn’t care? That he left and didn’t want to call because it no longer mattered to him? That he loves his life there and only came back to clear his own conscience?”

“Oh honey,” Hyunjin soothes, pulling you into his chest. You hadn’t realized you were crying, that the anger and fear had bubbled over until there were tears falling down your cheeks, wetting the fabric of Hyunjin’s sweater.

He lets you cry for a while. It’s nothing new; Hyunjin has seen you break down countless times. He’s been there through the worst of it, held your hand even in the aftermath. He’s picked you up off the floor more times than you can count, has grounded you when you felt like the world was gonna open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Salt of the earth, returning you to its core.

Once you’ve quieted into nothing more than shallow breaths and a few scattered hiccups, Hyunjin speaks again.

“Can you be honest with me?”

You nod, the hair stuck to your cheek with tears rubbing against his shoulder.

“Do you love him?”

It nearly knocks the wind out of you. This concept, so foreign to you now, shoved to the back of your mind to make room for the things that matter most. Hospital visits, labor cuts, wage increases— none of it left any room for love, let alone the thought of someone else. Especially someone as all-consuming as Jisung.

Slowly, you inhale, breath shaking on the exhale. Hyunjin squeezes your hand to remind you that he’s there.

“I don’t think I ever stopped, Hyune.”

The silence stretches thin. The realization is dizzying. Years of suppressed emotions, of telling yourself and everyone around you that it wasn’t a big deal. The sad eyes of the townspeople whenever they’d see you sitting beneath the apple tree. The gentle touch of your grandma’s hand when she’d find you on the front steps alone, staring at the stars. The soft hum of the radio in the shop, set to a playlist of all the songs he’s written, the only reminder that somewhere out there he was doing well.

The final crack in the dam, its water pushing until it gives way.

“Then you owe it to yourself,” Hyunjin says. “You owe it to your heart to get an answer. Free yourself from this pain, love. Don’t let yourself suffer forever.”

Forever. That word again. No matter how many times you’ve tried to escape it, it always comes back.

“It’s gonna hurt.” he sighs, tightening his grip when you sniffle. “It’s gonna hurt so fucking bad, babe. But you can take it. You’ve got people who love you enough to stand in front of you and soften the blow from time to time. But you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

He hops down from the counter and moves to stand in front of you, right between your legs. Placing both hands on your shoulders, he pushes until you’re sitting with your back straight and lifts your chin.

“You deserve an answer.” he says, with conviction this time. “Okay?”

He lets his thumb swipe beneath your eyes, smiles softly. Unconditional— that’s what he is. Hyunjin burns brighter than any star in your sky, the heat wrapping its arms around you like it’s too scared to let go, to watch you freeze and die out like so many others.

“I don’t deserve you, though.” you say, laughing wetly when he rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he chuckles, pulling you in for a hug, “You deserve everything and more.”

When Jisung comes into the shop two days later, you’re ready for it.

Chan had talked to him. No surprise, really, not when he’s been letting him crash in his spare room ever since he figured out that he was holed up in one of the hotels out in the tourism hub.

If there’s one thing about Chan, it’s that he’d rip the shirt off his back to clothe anyone in need. Housing a friend is nothing, especially when that friend is Jisung.

“I don’t know how much of a consolation this is,” he’d said nervously, watching as you regarded him with an expectant look, “But he’s pretty cut up about you not wanting to see him. Which, I know, is stupid. He is the one who fucked up. But I just– I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this, I guess.”

It’s not a consolation, not really. Knowing that Jisung is struggling is far from anything you want to hear.

Sure, there’s anger present. Anyone would be stupid to not feel the least bit frustrated with what’s happened. Years lost, time stripped away. But you’ve long since come to terms with it, the anger turning to sadness in the meantime.

“Also, he leaves tomorrow.” Chan smiled sadly. “He really wants to talk to you before then.”

Hyunjin left early again today to give the two of you space. Not before making a show of his own though, threatening to incite violence with his arms that are supposedly ‘shredded’ from years of lifting boxes filled with petunias.

The shop is slow again, not many sales nor a lot of foot traffic. Usually when the sun is out there’s more to do; people to see, smiles to give. But there’s nothing, just the chirping of birds and the sound of cars rolling by.

Maybe the world knows that this is what you need. The calm before the storm.

Five minutes until close. You’ve spent most of the day pacing back and forth. Waiting. Anticipating.

Chan had said Jisung planned on stopping by, trying again. You’d told him that was okay, and his eyes lit up. Too much hope, maybe, that something might come of this.

You’re seated in the back office, staring at marigold colored irises when the front door opens. You hear it this time, ears fine tuned, waiting.

Slowly, you stand, make your way to the front. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you pull back the beaded curtain and Jisung’s figure comes into view.

He looks the same as he did the other day: curled hair, thick glasses, parted lips. His sweater, fluffy and striped, hangs off of his shoulders in a way that boxes off his tapered waist, one that you know is hidden beneath all the layers. The sleeves are way too long judging by the way it curls over his fingers.

“Hi.” he breathes out, watching as you step into full view.

You blink. “Hi, Jisung.”

His name feels weird on your tongue. Bitter. It’s been years since you uttered it, forbidding yourself from the luxury out of fear that it would make his absence more real. Talking about him in the past tense always scared you off before you could even get the chance.

“How– How’ve you been?” he chews on the inside of his lip.

You want to scold him, tell him to stop the habit just like you always would in the past. He’d make a joke then, tell you to kiss him so that he had something else to do instead. You would laugh, feign disgust, but in the back of your mind you’d wanted it more than anything.

You’d waited for it, the day you could kiss him without warning and melt into his touch as he kissed you back. Another stupid bet on forever; the belief that you had all the time in the world for things to get to that point.

“I’ve been better.” you say, taking a deep breath. “What about you?”

Good, you think. He’s been good. He looks good. He doesn’t need this place.

“Me too.” he says instead. “I’ve been better.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Silence fills the room, heavy on both your chests. The anticipation feels like it might kill you before anything else does.

“I’m sorry that–”

“Is that all you came here to say?” you cut him off.

“What?” he asks, confused. “No, I– no.”

“What, then? What is it you want to say, Jisung?” your voice is firm. He winces when his name leaves your mouth. “Because, honestly, I’ve waited all this time to hear literally anything from you, and if all that comes out of this is that you’ve ‘been better’ I might actually lose my fucking mind.”

The words tumble out faster than you intend. You can’t help it, not with the way anxiety has been bubbling over in your chest since the moment you woke up this morning. You could barely sleep last night, not when you were playing out every possible scenario in your head, the anticipation of it all making your sheets feel scratchy against your skin and the lumps in your pillow more discernible.

“No, no, of course I wouldn’t do that.” he says quickly. “It's just that I didn’t know where to start. I don’t know how much you’ll allow me to say, what the boundary is here. I didn’t want to just barge in and demand you listen to me. You don’t owe me that. You don’t owe me anything. Not after what I did.”

What I did, his voice rings loud in your ears. He’s aware of it, of the pain he caused.

He takes a step forward, and then another, again and again until he’s right up against the front counter, an arm’s length away.

Your breath catches then, when you see him up close for the first time in four years, see the way he’s grown and changed with your own eyes.

Stubble dotting his chin, laugh lines around his mouth, the dip and curve of the bow above his lips that you always loved. Brown eyes, soil and stardust.

“Tell me what your conditions are,” he says quietly, “And I’ll give you every explanation I have.”

The sincerity on his face is blinding. Your stomach twists at the thought of hearing what he has to say, that same fear brewing in the pit of it. You take a deep breath, feel the phantom ghost of a hand squeezing yours and a crescent moon eye smile.

“I waited four years for you.” you say.

“I know.”

“I trusted that you’d be back. That you would keep in touch during the time you were gone.”

“I–” his voice cracks. “I know.”

“You lied to me.”

Jisung tips his head back then. Swallows down a lump in his throat. Blinks rapidly at the ceiling, veins of ivy crawling along the expanse of it.

“I know.”

“So you owe me everything. I deserve that. I deserve answers.”

When he brings his head down to look at you, it’s unreadable. A mix of emotions that you aren’t familiar enough with anymore to decipher. Fear, guilt, sorrow. Hope, too. Maybe.

You stare at him head on, fully letting your eyes meet for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He holds your gaze, unwavering. Determined. The sight makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” he says after a beat of silence. “Okay. I can do that.”

Despite the ever-growing mountain of things to address, you decide that the first thing you want to hear from Jisung is about his time in Seoul.

You’re only human, after all.

Best friends from the start– you can’t stop yourself from wondering what life has been like for him. Jisung’s always been good at storytelling, animated in his features and gestures to the point that you’d be rolling around and clutching your stomach from laughter. It’s one of the things you missed the most, just talking and being present in one another’s lives.

The two of you end up at one of the diners down the road. The owners, an elderly couple, coo as soon as they catch sight of you.

“My flower girl,” the old lady, Mrs. Kim, greets.

“Mrs. Kim,” you beam, moving in for a hug. When you pull away, Jisung is behind you, hands clasped behind his back and feet together like he has his tail between his legs.

“Halmeoni,” you say, gesturing at him, “Do you remember Jisungie?”

His eyes go wide at the nickname, and you try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, avoiding his gaze and instead watching as Mrs. Kim blinks in surprise.

“Oh! Oh my goodness, our Jisungie? Honey! Honey, look, Jisung is here! Oh you crazy boy,” she scolds, rushing forward to hit his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. “Where have you been? It’s been ages!”

Jisung lets out an oof! as her body slams into him, all of his anxiousness dissolving into laughter as he hugs her back.

“Hi Mrs. Kim, how have you been?”

“Me?” she asks, pulling him away to hold at arm’s length, “Nevermind about me! I’m old! How have you been?”

Good, you think again, a mimic of earlier. Jisungs eyes flit over to yours for the smallest of moments before he answers.

“Better,” he says. “I’m doing better.”

Once both Mr. and Mrs. Kim are done doting over the both of you, they seat you by the window.

The island is always beautiful on sunny days: trees swaying, golden rays painting the rooftops in hues of pink and orange, the indigo shimmer of the ocean off in the distance.

“So,” you say, catching Jisung’s attention, “Tell me about Seoul.”

He hums. “It’s busy. Stinks. Lots of people.”

“Dream come true, yeah?” you joke, taking a sip of your water.

Jisung chuckles. “You could say that, I guess.”

“I mean, it was yours.”

“It was.” he sighs, looking down at the table. “I don’t know. It’s nice. I met good people, made even better connections. I live in this one bedroom studio apartment just outside of Itaewon, so I’m close to where all the foreigners hang out. I’ve learned a lot, gained a lot of inspiration for my music.”

You follow along, staring at him intently. His mouth, still heart-shaped, twitches when he catches you in the act.

You clear your throat, glancing away. “Yeah, I’ve– uh, I’ve heard some of your songs.”

He raises his eyebrows, almost like he hadn’t expected you to say that. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I hear them on the radio sometimes.” A lie. “It usually takes me a second to realize that it’s you.” Another lie. “But they’re good, you’re doing well.”

Pink dusts the tops of Jisung’s cheeks as he turns back to the window, clearing his throat.

He looks younger like this, like he’s still the same boy who would sit across from you all those years ago. Cherry-stained lips and a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.

He talks a bit more about his music, about how he’s with a good company that gives him creative freedom and enough support to pursue more if he desires.

His eyes light up when he tells you about his studio, a small room on the fifth floor of a building in the middle of the city where he does all of his writing. It’s equipped with an entire soundboard, full of instruments that he says he’s been able to get signed by artists that come in and out. Most notably, his guitar, the same one he left with.

Slowly, like a flower blossoming, petals opening one by one, you feel yourself falling back into step with him.

Everything is so familiar: the curve of his smile, the tilt in his voice when he gets excited, the rumble of laughter when he recounts an embarrassing run-in with an A-list celebrity in the company’s cafeteria. He shares stories that fill your heart as the two of you fill your stomachs.

But with the ease comes something more, something you recognize as longing. You hadn’t realized how much you longed to be there through this part of his life, how you wished you’d been the one to answer a video call as he showed off his apartment the first day he moved in, his company badge when it was newly issued, every moment of happiness that you’d been absent for just as much as he was absent for yours.

He seems to share the same sentiment then, when he sets down his fork and stares at his empty plate.

“You run the shop now,” he says, “How’s that been?”

You purse your lips, nodding your head slowly. You knew this conversation would happen, that it was coming.

“It’s good, I guess. Been almost a year now since, uh, it was left to me.” you shrug. “I’m not alone though, Hyunjin is a big help. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Jisung noticeably bristles. Eyebrows pulled together, staring more intently at a crumb on his plate. It looks like there’s a lot he wants to say, like he can’t find the words to say them.

So, naturally, you do it for him.

“I assume Chan told you so I wouldn’t have to, by the way.”

He looks up then, as if he wasn’t expecting you to address the very obvious elephant in the room.

“He did, yes.” Jisung says after a while. His voice is quiet, gentle, like he’s walking on eggshells. “I– I didn’t know how to bring it up. I assume you’ve heard it all already but– I really, really am sorry to hear about Nana.”

The way her name sounds coming out of his mouth turns your mind to static.

Suddenly you’re in the hospital again, monitors beeping, hands as soft as petals cradled in your own and wishing that you could bury your face in a familiar neck as you cried and watched the marigolds wilt.

“I don’t need an apology for that.” you croak, blinking back tears. Jisung is somewhere in your periphery, your vision blurry around the edges.

“It wasn’t sad. Her life, I mean. It was full. Of love. Of light. She left this place happy. That’s what she told me, at least.”

You take a deep breath. “So don’t be sorry about it.”

Jisung sniffles, and the sound shoots straight through your chest.

“I know. I just– I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been. I had no idea that–”

“Nobody did, Jisung. Don’t punish yourself for that.”

He sees it then, when you finally meet his eyes, the acceptance. You’ve come to terms with things a long time ago, have fought tooth and nail to come out on the other side of all the guilt and resentment and grief alive. Scathed, but alive nonetheless.

“You’re right.” he sighs, wiping at his eyes quickly. “She’d probably yell at me for saying that.”

You laugh, suddenly, the noise startling him. Jisung looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I think she has a lot more to yell at you for than being sorry that she died.”

The bluntness punches a chuckle out of him, and you giggle at the thought.

Your grandmother was always such an outspoken person. She always said what was on her mind, speaking it loud. There’s no doubt that if she was here she’d be berating Jisung, smacking him upside the head before pulling him into a hug and cooking his favorite meal. Tough love, but still, love.

“She would’ve loved to be able to see you.” you say once your laughter dies out, the air a bit lighter between the two of you. “She always wondered if you’d grow your hair out without her around to nag you about keeping it short.”

He reaches up to run a hand through his curls, the strands falling around his face in a way that has your heart stammering in your chest.

“Well, clearly I don’t know how to listen.”

“No, you don’t.”

Jisung smiles softly. “Maybe I’ll cut it now. You know, since I’m here. And because I know she’d want me to.”

You watch him carefully, searching his eyes. For what, you don’t know. All that’s in them are stars.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re here.”

By the time the two of you leave the diner, stomachs full and enough bags of extra side dishes hanging off of your arms to last you at least two weeks, courtesy of Mrs. Kim, the sun is almost fully set.

The ocean is calm, the evening breeze just barely brushing the surface of the tide. Jisung walks in step with you down the street, one side of his face cast in a glow from the sun’s fading rays.

“Do you think you’d maybe want to stop by the arcade that Old Man Park runs? Just for a little?”

You snort. “Why? So I can embarrass you?”

“Hey!” he puts a hand on his chest, offended. “I’ll have you know that I let you win all those times.”

“How do you let someone win after spending hours practicing while I worked at the shop?”

“I was being nice!”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t believe me?” he grins. You try not to look, afraid of how bad your blood pressure might spike from the sight.

“I’ll have you know that I’m one of the best Kart Rider players in the PC Bang scene back in Seoul.”

“Jisung,” you scold, “That’s a computer game. These are coin-ops. There’s way more skill needed.”

“No there isn’t!”

He knocks his shoulder against yours, tucking his chin to his chest to hide his smile when you try to fight back.

It’s easy. Nice. There’s a soft melody echoing in the dust-covered chambers of your heart. You still know all the chords.

Old Man Park’s arcade is a few doors down from the shop. You stop there to drop off the food, spare a glance in the mirror hanging in your office to fix your hair.

Your grandma’s picture stares at you from the other wall, eyes bright.

“Love you,” you say, kissing the skin of your fingertips and pressing it gently against the frame.

Jisung is toeing at a few rocks on the sidewalk when you walk back out. He doesn’t see you, too busy with his eyes casted down at the concrete, hands shoved into his pockets.

It’s still hard to believe that he’s here. Flesh and bone. For a long time it felt like he was nothing but a distant dream, someone who only existed in the memories that you kept locked deep within your heart, the key somewhere on the streets of Seoul.

“Ready?” you ask.

He looks up, his glasses moving when his cheeks round into a smile.

Something passes across his face– a myriad of emotions in just a fraction of a second. Hesitantly, he holds out his hand. Long, delicate fingers.

You stare at it, swallowing roughly around the butterfly wings flapping inside your throat.

The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.

Forever isn’t promised. But even then, there are things you know for sure:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is here. Living, breathing, in the flesh.

So you take his hand, watch as relief floods his features, and let yourself feel.

The wind in your hair, the calluses on Jisung’s palms, and the warmth radiating out of the smile that threatens to split his face into two.

And with that certainty, the two of you start walking. A silent agreement to focus on the now.

You. Him. This.

“God, I can’t believe everything is only one coin.”

You laugh, watching as the multi-colored lights cast a glow on Jisung’s face.

“Stop acting like you don’t remember this place.”

“I don’t!” he argues, smiling. “We stopped coming here, what, in middle school? Once Chan hyung started driving? We would always ask him to take us to the other one out in the big town!”

Chan’s first car was an old Camry with leather seats and enough room for the three of you to pile into after school. Used, but still with enough juice to satisfy three young kids who felt like they were on top of the world.

You used to sit in the back, the wind whipping your hair every which way while yours and Jisung’s hands lay side by side in the middle seat, pinkies brushing but neither of you willing to take it further.

“Oh, shit!” Jisung gasps, letting go of your hand as he runs up to the space invaders machine.

“Here we go,” you sigh, following after him. He’s like a kid in a candy store, face filled with innocent wonder and joy.

“Aren’t there, like, I don’t know– things better than this in Seoul?” you ask as he shoves a coin into the game.

Jisung turns to look at you with a devilish grin. “Obviously,” he says, “But I can’t beat anyone’s high score over there. Here though? Ha! This place is ancient. I can finally be at the top of the leaderboard in something.”

“We’ll see about that.” you mumble, the noise of the game booting up drowning you out.

Jisung sticks his tongue out when he focuses really hard on things. It’s cute, the way the end of it sits between his lips, spit-slick and parted just a little bit.

He’s glowing, probably because of the lights, hues of red and green and blue flashing across his face. But then again, Jisung has always shined brighter than anything.

The game beeps to signal that he has one life left. He grunts a few times, his fingers tapping the buttons madly as his other hand handles the joystick in a frenzy of movements.

When it ends, he groans, throws his hands up in defeat..

You shake your own head knowingly, watching his eyes bug out of their sockets as soon as the leaderboard appears on the screen, the 8-bit letters blinking at him.

“You’re joking.” he laughs in disbelief, turning to stare at you. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

There, on the screen, is your name. The highest score. Jeongin and Hyunjin’s names sit just below you, respectively.

“What was that again about finally being able to be at the top?” you mock him, smirking.

“Since when did you get good at this?”

You shrug. “Had to find something to do in my free time.”

“No,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Nuh-uh. No way. This is not happening. I will beat you.” he holds out his hand for another coin, to which you roll your eyes and place one in his palm.

“You might as well give up now. We’ll be here all night.”

“In your dreams.” he scoffs, assuming his position as another round loads onto the screen.

Jisung has always been competitive. It’s one of his more hidden characteristics.

It persists still, you realize, as you watch him burn through the styrofoam cup of coins that Old Man Park had given the two of you. Free of charge for old time’s sake.

Fort-five minutes. All he’s managed to do is bump Hyunjin down to fourth.

“Ugh!” he groans, kicking the machine lightly with his foot.

“Look at you throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” he pouts. You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay fine. I’m throwing a tantrum.”

“Thought so.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks. “This is, like, our first date. And I’m sucking. Hard.”

“Our–” you stop, eyes wide. Jisung mimics you, almost like he didn’t mean to say what he did.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. But the world doesn’t end. Time keeps moving. Jisung is still here.

“I didn’t–”

“I like the sound of that.” you say quickly. “Of this being our first date, I mean.’

He smiles. Slow and sweet like molasses. Blinding.

“And the fact that you suck.”

The moment is shattered, his resulting whine echoing throughout the arcade.

“Come on you big baby,” you laugh, grabbing his hand. “I know a game you can beat me at.”

He lets himself be pulled, pretending that he’s upset, but you can see the smile tugging at his lips when you lace your fingers together.

The feeling is still new, this ease you have with him. The wounds you sported all those years are still healing, some more fresh than others. But with each laugh that comes out of Jisung’s mouth and shared glance, every note that your heart sings, you can feel them beginning to fade. A balm to soothe the burn.

The Pac-Man game is situated in the back corner of the arcade, right next to the jukebox. It used to be your favorite, because Jisung would always use his own coins to play songs for you while you tried to score higher than twenty-five thousand points.

When you get there, he frowns. “The only game you think I can beat you at is Pac-Man?”

“I don’t think,” you say, grabbing a coin before shoving the cup into his chest. “I know.”

The game boots up instantly, and you smile softly to yourself when Jisung moves wordlessly behind you, slips a coin into the jukebox.

“Play something good, Jisungie.”

He freezes. Out of the corner of your eye you watch him stare at you for a long moment. And then he smiles. Stardust.

“You got it.”

In a matter of seconds, Lovers In A Dangerous Time by Bruce Cockburn rings throughout the arcade, the speakers on the ceiling fighting past the static.

An old song. The same one your grandparents would dance to in the mornings, eggs on the stove and love in the air.

Your grandma used to say it was written for them, because when they fell in love the war was at its peak and she didn’t know if he’d ever come home.

After he passed, she still played it, except those times it was Jisung who twirled her around and painted a smile on her face as you watched from the same spot you grew up in. Always there.

Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.

When the game starts, you try your best. It’s hard. You’ve always been terrible at anything involving quick decisions. Focusing on everything at once isn’t easy for you, that much is still true.

“Shit.” you mumble, the top right corner of the screen reading ten thousand points as the ghosts run into you.

Jisung lets out a low whistle. “Harsh.”

“You wanna go back to space invaders and waste the last of our money?” you raise an eyebrow.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.” he says, holding the cup out for you to take another coin.

You try a couple more times, failing each and every one. You can tell that Jisung is growing more and more amused with every attempt, and the smugness radiating off of him is starting to rub you the wrong way.

“If you’re so good,” you say after a particularly sad attempt, turning to glare at him. Jisung has his lips pulled tight to stop himself from laughing. “Then why don’t you try?”

He chuckles then. “I’d rather help you, if you’ll let me.”

“How are you supposed to do that? We only have one coin left.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything. He puts the cup down, the last coin held between his fingers. You watch as he slips it into the machine, move to get out of his way once he’s done, but he stops you by grabbing your hand and spinning you back around, his fingers placed over yours on the joystick.

With your back flush against his front, caged in by his arms on either side, Jisung takes a deep breath.

“This okay?” he asks right next to your ear, the curls on the side of his head brushing your cheek when he leans down to get a better look at the screen.

Warm. He’s so warm. The material of his sweater only worsens the heat, and the faint scent of vanilla makes your head swim.

It’s more than okay. Great, even. It’s Jisung. Everything and more.

“Yeah,” you say, letting him control your hands as he flicks the joystick. “It’s okay.”

The hair against your cheek moves when he smiles. “Good.” he says, and then hits the start button.

The game begins but you’re barely processing what’s happening, too aware of the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

A firm chest, different from what’s observable on the outside, what with the fluffiness of his sweater and soft features. His arms too, encasing you, the bulge and flex of his biceps every time he moves.

It’s all so intoxicating, so much so that you don’t even realize you’ve beaten the highest score in the system by the time he loses his last life.

“What?” you blink. “What the hell?!”

You laugh, spinning to face Jisung who’s grinning from ear to ear. In your excitement, you jump, flinging your arms around his neck. He’s surprised, but catches you nonetheless, circling his arms around your waist.

“Holy shit how’d you do that!” you squeal while he swings you around, feet off the ground.

“Magic, I guess.” he chuckles.

The closeness of his voice brings you crashing back down, suddenly aware of what position you’re both in. You pull back quickly, clear your throat, and watch as his face falls from the loss of contact.

It’s been a long time since you hugged Jisung. The thought transports you to that day four years ago, standing under the apple tree, the future uncertain. Forever promised.

Things are different now.

“Sorry,” he backtracks. “I didn’t– um, I wasn’t trying to–”

You cut him off by throwing yourself at him for a second time. Intentional. Breathless. Tired of running and acting like it’s not the thing you want most in the entire world.

Jisung doesn’t react until he feels your face against the skin of his neck. On instinct, he hugs tight, hands around your waist, breathing in the smell of your hair.

“Hi.” you whisper against him.

One word. Simple. However the weight of it sends a chill down his spine. It feels like home.

He tightens his hold. A silent understanding. The two of you never had much of a need for words anyways.

“Hi.” he whispers back.

The apple tree is much bigger now.

Long, thick branches, a wide trunk, a slight tilt in its shape.

It’s bare. The season is long gone. But it’s okay, because it means that the view of the stars isn’t blocked when you and Jisung lay beneath it.

It’s the same but it isn’t. There’s gaps– periods of time where the two of you grew separately. There are moments and memories tucked away that neither of you know about, whole lives to discover.

But even so, it feels right. His arm wrapped around you, your head on his chest. The stars and the moon. You and Jisung.

It’s nice. Perfect, even. But there’s a conversation that needs to be had. One that can’t be put off any longer.

“Ji.”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Jisung shifts beneath you, tightening his hold. The grass is damp. Neither of you care, too caught up in each other to stress about whether or not it’ll stain.

“Of course.”

“Am I ever gonna see you again?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

“You said that last time.”

“I know.”

“So what makes this different?” you ask, sitting up. He watches you carefully, eyes trained on every movement like he’s scared you’ll get up and run away.

When he realizes you’re waiting for an answer, he sits up too, pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs.

He doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly reaches into his pocket. Silently, he hands whatever he grabbed to you. A guitar pick.

It’s white, a marbled design. Golden flecks infused into the lines. There, on the front, is a singular marigold. When you flip it over, you’re met with a tulip.

“Do you remember that one time, when you called me crying at midnight because Nana told you that she didn’t know if she’d be able to afford school in the city?”

You nod silently, still turning the guitar pick over in your hand.

It was one of those nights where the rain was relentless. Monsoon season always tagged on to the tail end of the school year, bringing with it a more intense gloominess than usual.

You’d been angry. Stressed. Irritated that other kids at school were making plans to go to the mainland for college and you were stuck helping your grandmother trim foliage and wrap vases in newspaper.

“You told me that you couldn’t do it anymore.” Jisung whispered, staring up at the sky. “That you were tired of being here. That you needed to get out.”

You remember. Jisung had walked through the rain to show up at your window. Had climbed in with muddy shoes and sat on the floor of your room with you until the downpour stopped and your tears dried.

“And I said that I would make it happen, that I would invent a way to live amongst the stars so you could be as far from here as possible.”

“So what?” you ask, looking at him. “Did you finally do it, then? Is that why you came back?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“No, Jisung, I’m gonna fucking be like that.” you scoff, rising to your feet.

There’s a fire in your veins, stoked until the embers are burning hot against your throat. Too good to be true. You should’ve known that there was no explanation left for him to give.

Jisung scrambles to his feet. “It wasn’t like I wanted to–”

“Oh like hell you did.” you say, turning to face him. “Four years, Jisung. I waited four years and you just– you come back and decide to tell me about some make-believe bullshit to save yourself and feel less guilty about the fact that you left.”

“It wasn’t make-believe to me,” he argues. “It was real. Everything I said was real. I left and I tried for years to make something of myself so I could come back here and get you.”

“Oh so it’s my fault? I made you leave, is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“So then say something else!” you yell. The stars rumble, threatening to fall out of the sky. “Say something else, then, Jisung. Why didn’t you call? Huh?”

“Because I–” he stops, licks his lips. “God. Fuck. I couldn’t face you if I had nothing to show for myself, okay? It wasn’t fair to you for me to leave you behind just so I could fail.”

“Ha!” you laugh, running a hand through your hair in disbelief. “So you decided to go radio silent instead? Decided to not only leave me alone but let me suffer and wonder about where you were because that’s so much better than telling me that you were struggling, right? Great choice, Jisung. Really.”

He blinks a few times, watching as you pace back and forth in the grass.

Anger bubbles deep in your gut. This whole time, he knew. It was a conscious decision. Jisung deliberately didn’t contact you because he chose not to.

“Did you ever even love me?”

The words tumble out before you can stop them. Jisung’s entire body goes rigid, his face falling and eyes hardening within a fraction of a second.

“Watch what you say.” he says, his voice low in his chest.

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just be honest.”

“I’m trying.” he pleads. His eyes are glossy. Big and round behind his glasses. Illuminated by the moon.

“I fucked up, okay? I prioritized myself and the way I felt over you and fucked everything up. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard. And I’m sorry it took me so long but I wanted– no– I needed to make sure that I had everything figured out before I came back. I promised I would.”

“No, Jisung, you promised me that–”

“I’m not talking about you.” he says then, taking a deep breath. “You weren’t the only one I made promises to back then.”

Before you have a chance to speak, Jisung says, “I promised her. I told her I’d get you out of here. That I’d give you a life that you deserved, because she knew she couldn’t.”

You drop to your knees when the first sob hits, the force of it racking your body so hard you feel like you’re drowning. Jisung catches you on the fall, holds you up, lets you bury your face into his neck like he had so many times before.

“She told me you believed in forever. She wanted me to give that to you. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Jisung lets you cry. He holds you through the storm, your wails as loud as thunder and tears as heavy as rain. Four years in the making; the sky and the earth colliding until the dirt and layers of sediment give way to the molten core that’s been hiding beneath the surface all along.

Pain. Grief. All of it pent up and leading to this moment.

“You should’ve told me.” you cry, beating a fist into Jisung’s chest. “You idiot. You fucking idiot. You should’ve told me.”

Jisung pulls you in closer, takes each hit as long as it means that it’ll soften the blow on your heart. He whispers apologies in your ear, runs a hand through your hair.

When it quiets again, the worst of the storm gone, he shifts so that your head is in his lap, his legs crossed and tucked beneath him. A few stray tears wet the fabric of his jeans, your eyes focused on the field of flowers across the street.

“I won’t ask you to come with me.” he says after a long while, when your breathing has evened out. “I know that things are different. You have a life here that you’ve made for yourself, responsibilities to bear as well.”

He pauses to push a few strands of hair out of your face. His fingers are gentle against the skin of your cheek.

“But I promise it’ll be different. I spent too long away from you, was too selfish for my own good. I won’t disappear again. I’ll call every day. I’ll visit. You’ll get every part of me that I kept away from you all this time, and I’ll get every part of you in return.”

Your heart thrums. The thought of having what you’ve wanted for so long. Of having Jisung.

“And when you’re ready, when you feel like you can’t do it anymore, there’ll be a place for you.”

His voice is firm. Confident. More sure than he’s ever sounded before in his life.

When you turn to face him, he’s already staring back. Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the offer to make it yours.

Under the apple tree, Jisung leans down and kisses you for the first time. Twenty four years in the making, soft and slow, his lips a perfect fit against yours. A starboy and his flower girl. His glow is so bright it makes blossoms sprout from her fingertips.

Soft curls tickle your eyelids when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. You reach up to run a hand through them, smiling softly when he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I love you.” you say first this time.

He reaches out a hand, closes it over your fist that’s still clutching the guitar pick. A marigold and a tulip, both working together to make a perfect harmony.

“I love you, too.” Jisung whispers back. “Forever.”

Jisung stops by the shop early to say goodbye.

There’s less tears this time, less of a reason to be sad. But still, when he wraps his arms around you, vanilla filling your nose and curls against your face, you feel your composure crumble.

“Every day.” he says, repeating the same thing he did all night. “I promise. Morning and night. Also at lunch. Oh, and on your days off. Matter of fact, you can call when you’re on the toilet too.”

The last part earns him an elbow to the ribs, his laughter bubbling up and out of his throat as he tries to dodge any and all subsequent attacks.

He kisses you stupid before he goes, Chan rolling his eyes from his car out front. You flip him off blindly, Jisung’s lips still attached to yours, earning a loud honk in response.

When he leaves, the shop is quiet, the only sound being the buzzing of your phone as Jisung blows it up with text messages the second the car pulls away.

You’re too busy replying, giggling to yourself when a slew of cute emoticons start appearing one by one, that you nearly fall over out of your chair when Hyunjin bursts through the door.

“Jesus Christ Hyune, did you have to–”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, breathless.

“Uh,” you blink, glancing round. “Working?”

“Is Jisung not on a damn plane right now?”

“I mean he’s on his way to the airport. Chan is–”

“Chan hyung told me that Jisung wanted you to go with him.” Hyunjin says, brow furrowed.

You sigh. “He didn’t want me to go with him. Well, okay, he did. But I told him I can’t just pick up and leave. He knows that. Nana left this place to me and–”

“You are so stupid.” Hyunjin sighs.

“Excuse me?” you ask. You stand up, crossing your arms as you walk closer to the counter.

“Come on. We have to go.”

“Go where, Hyunjin? I’m not leaving to–”

He cuts you off, places an envelope on the wooden surface. “And I am not letting you stay here and pretend that this is what you want.”

“What is that?”

“A plane ticket.” he says, pushing it towards you. “To Seoul.”

Your mouth opens and closes, lost for words. Hyunjin is already moving around the counter, pushing past you with an expression the most serious you’ve ever seen on him.

“Hyunjin I– I can’t– where did you even…?”

“Chan hyung has a friend.” he mumbles as he begins pulling stuff out of the office. Your planning notebook, your apron, the picture of your grandma off the wall. All of it thrown into a small box he managed to snag from somewhere off to the side.

“His name is Seungmin or something. Met him out in the tourist hub. Dude’s super rich with tons of miles and apparently owed Chan for a drunken night where he needed to be escorted to his hotel. So thanks to him, you’re leaving.” he explains as he grabs the box with both hands and starts walking towards the door.

“Wait.” you stop him, watching as he turns to regard you with a look that says his patience is running thin.

“I told you I can’t leave, Hyunjin. This place is where I need to be.”

He huffs, places the box on the ground in front of him. His hair falls in waves around his face, a shimmery dark brown beneath the rays of the sun poking into the room.

“Can you be honest with me?” he asks.

You nod, slowly.

“Do you love him?”

Hyunjin watches you with careful eyes. Reads you like a book, something he’s always been good at. You don’t doubt that it’s written on your face. Star-kissed cheeks and eyes as bright as marigolds.

“So much that it hurts, Hyune.”

Hyunjin smiles, eyes watery. “Then you deserve to go. You deserve your chance to be free. Don’t worry about this place, I’ll take care of it.”

The familiar sting of tears sits behind your eyes. Your heart swells full of love for this friend, this light, this beacon of unconditional love in the shape of your best friend.

“I don’t have clothes.” you manage to say around the lump in your throat.

Hyunjin shakes his head, tears spilling down the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll send them to you.”

“There’s a lot to do around here for just one person. What if you need me?”

“I’ll manage.”

You round the corner quickly, throwing yourself into his chest. He catches you with ease, wraps his arms around your body as the both of you cry into each other.

“I’ll miss you.” you say weakly.

Hyunjin’s throat bobs against the top of your head. “I’ll always be here in our little corner of the world.”

The two of you stay like that for a while. Hyunjin’s warmth seeps into your skin, lights you ablaze. By the time he pulls away, his hands on your shoulders, you feel like you’re floating. Unreal.

“I don’t have a way to get there.” you say quickly, glancing at the clock.

Jisung’s plane leaves soon. The airport, the only one on the island, is a thirty minute drive. You’re at a disadvantage the more time you spend not moving.

“Don’t worry,” Hyunjin chuckles. “I’ve got that taken care of.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he means when you’re cut off by the sound of honking from outside. Confused, you run to the door, your jaw dropping as soon as you realize who’s waiting for you.

“Hurry up people we don’t have all day!” Jeongin calls, his upper body hanging out of the window. He’s parked outside in a beat-up truck, arms waving wildly when he spots you.

“Innie!” you scream, pushing through the door to run at him. He jumps out of the truck just in time for you to barrel into his chest, laughter loud in your ears as he spins you around.

“You’re here! Oh my god I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.” you say in disbelief once he puts you down.

He looks older, more sophisticated. His hair is rusted and falls past his ears, the ends just barely touching his shoulders.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “I figured I’d show up earlier. You know, see you before you leave, catch up with my parents, help Hyunjin break into your house. The usual.”

“Help Hyunjin break into my what–” you say, but you stop when your eyes fall on the small suitcase in the backseat. Your own bag, the one that’s been sitting in your closet untouched for years now.

“For the last time,” Hyunjin says from behind you, carrying the box in his arms. “It’s not breaking and entering if I have a key. Which, by the way, I told you would come in handy one day.”

He sets the box down next to the luggage and dusts his hands on his pants. When he turns to face you, he’s smiling, eyes disappearing into crescent moons.

With tears threatening to spill once again, you stare at the both of them, your heart bursting at the seams. “I love you guys.”

Jeongin grimaces, opts for getting back in the driver’s seat as you laugh. Hyunjin rolls his eyes and ushers you inside of the truck.

“Yeah, yeah. Save it.” he says. “Right now, you have a plane to catch.”

The airport is crowded.

There are tons of people everywhere, some saying hello and some saying goodbye. Hyunjin explained the gate system to you before you left him and Jeongin on the curb, and you keep glancing down at your ticket to make sure none of the information has changed in the past thirty seconds since you last looked.

Thankfully, your gate isn’t far. With twenty minutes to go until boarding, you can feel the sweat building up beneath the hand that’s curled around your suitcase handle.

It’s scary thinking about the fact that this is it. That you’re finally leaving.

It’s bittersweet, too. There’s an excitement in the pit of your stomach as well as a feeling of dread in your chest, both of them meeting in the middle somewhere.

You let your eyes scan the crowd, searching for wavy hair and thick-rimmed glasses. However, the first thing you see is the familiar neck of a guitar, strapped right on to a back that you would know and recognize anywhere without warning.

Jisung is seated near the gate, his eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a pout as he glares down at his phone. You realize that he’s probably wondering why you won’t answer, why all of his emoticons are going ignored.

Quietly, you come up behind him, reach into your pocket, and say, “Excuse me? I think you dropped this.”

Jisung startles, his eyes falling on to the guitar pick being held out in your hand. Slowly, he lets his gaze follow upwards, wide-eyed and shocked.

“What– what are you doing here?” he asks.

You place the pick in his hand. “I'm on my way to Seoul. There’s a guy there that I’ve been trying to find for a while.” you say.

Jisung catches on quickly. “Oh, really?” he asks, moving over so you can sit beside him. “This guy must be pretty great if you’re leaving for the mainland.”

The rain starts hitting the tarmac outside right as you sit down. “Hm, yeah. He is. He really likes the stars. He says that he found a way for me to live in them, too.”

He laughs, the sound making your stomach flip. “Sounds like you’re excited.”

You nod. “I am. He promised me that we’d do a lot together, experience new things. Apparently he’s gonna write songs and I’m gonna be a nerd.”

Jisung snorts and reaches across to link his hand with yours.

“He’s really lucky.” he says, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips.

You smile into it. “So am I.” you whisper into his mouth, your heart stuffed to the brim with flower petals.

And when Jisung smiles back, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek and give you another kiss with the force of a thousand suns, you feel the key you’d been searching for finally click into place.

Salt of the earth. Soil and stardust. A boy who glows so bright that his girl sprouts blossoms from her fingertips.

Forever isn’t promised. But then again, with Jisung by your side, there are things you know for certain:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. In Jeju– it rains.

And no matter what, despite all odds, you and Jisung will always find your way back to each other in the place where marigolds grow.

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3rachasdomesticbanana · 8 months ago

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Just Friends | Han Jisung

Synopsis: Unrequited love is a bitch. Especially when it's between you and your best friend. Even more so when both of you think it's one sided. So what could possibly happen between you and him during a night of partying? Nothing right? You're just friends after all.

Pairings: au Han Jisung x Female Reader

Content Warning: Underage alcohol and drug use (marijuana only), Heavy smut, Friends to lovers, Public unprotected sex and light fluff at the end.

Author's note: I do not advise any anyone under the legal age to take part in the actions that take place in this work of fiction. Both parties are consenting adults over the age of 18. Please be responsible.

Part II

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

"Y/N, you made it! Sweet!” Your best guy friend Jisung bounces up to you when you walk into the party.

His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are slightly glassy. Looks like he got a head start on partying but he makes sure to help you catch up. Pushing a plastic red cup into your hand the liquid sloshes over the top a little and you're hit with a strong whiff of vodka. Shaking your head with a smile, you eye your best friend since middle school. His silly grin makes your heart flutter and wakes up the butterflies that laid dormant in your stomach. Why did I have to fall for him? You think to yourself but quickly shove the thought away. Tonight you're going to have fun. Being a good girl all the time has gotten boring. Besides it's your last year in highschool, better live it up.

“Dude, of course I came. No way in hell was I going to miss watching you make an ass out of yourself.” You say jokingly and force a large gulp of your drink down.

Fuck, it was strong but all the better to get you quickly to the level Jisung was on. He wasn't just tipsy either, a lit rolled joint rested in-between two of his long fingers. The embers softly glowed in the darkened basement of the house the party was held. Some girl you barely knew but her parents were cool. Staying upstairs and even supplying the drinks. As long as no one was driving, the way they saw it, it was better we were safely doing it here rather than out on the streets.

“Oh come on y/n when do I ever make a fool of myself?” Jisung asks, spreading his arms wide and a bit of his drink splashes onto his arm.

Covering your mouth and laughing behind your hand at your high and drunk friend, who you were madly in love with, you pointed your cup in his direction as to prove your point. “I rest my case.”

Stealing the joint from his fingers you put it up to your lips and inhale deeply. His eyes watch the way your lips cover the end of it, the way they tighten around it to inhale the smoke that heats your tongue and throat. He's transfixed, it seems, completely forgetting what you two were talking about. Instead, thoughts of your lips sucking his cock just like that flashes in his mind. His fuzzy mind wanders, imagining scenarios of you down on your knees in front of him while he's giving every drop of him.

When you lean your head back, eyes towards the purple and orange Halloween lights strung up on the ceiling and exhale the smoke, Jisung's eyes find their way to your neck. His gaze travels to your collarbone and down to the black v-neck T-shirt you wore with skeleton hands over where your breast lay nestled away underneath. Lingering eyes notice the way your chest rises and falls with each breath and how delectable your cleavage looks in that shirt. He can't help his thoughts. You've been the cause of all his wet dreams.

Of course you don't notice a thing. In your mind you think he doesn't notice your body, you think he doesn't see the way your tight jeans hug curves. Why would he? You think, taking another puff and another. I'm probably just one of the bros to him.

“Woah, woah, woah. Bro take it easy.” Jisung says chuckling and taking the joint back from you.

His words only confirm your thoughts. Yeah, we're just bros… just friends. You roll your eyes and with an already cloudy brain you chug your drink. It burns going down but the feeling is better than the feeling of unrequited love.

“I need another drink. Where'd you get this?” You wonder with eyes scanning the party.

Bodies pressed close together as they dance. Practically fucking in the middle of the room to the loud music that plays with its heavy bass. But you don't see the drinks. Looking back at your friend he's just staring at you with his lips parted. Raising an eyebrow you silently question his weird behavior only for him to smirk at you before continuing to smoke.

“Follow me lovely.” He says, using the age old nickname he gave you years ago.

Every time he calls you that you swear your panties become instantly drenched and with your head swimming in alcohol and weed, the fantasies of you and him run rampant in that cloudy heavy head of yours. He leads you between the throngs of your classmates who are equally fucked up as you are or more to the kitchen. It becomes hotter the further you move into the basement yet entering the kitchen the breeze through the open window feels great on your already heated skin. Various bottles of alcohol are lined up on the counter in the middle and next to the fridge there's different types of sodas and juice. Reaching a hand out you go straight to the watermelon vodka, smirking when your hand wraps around the glass. Jisung loves watermelon. Watermelon flavored anything really. You often wonder if you were to kiss him would he taste like watermelon? Sweet and juicy like the red flesh of the fruit.

Knocking back a couple of more drinks and even getting a fresh joint all to yourself, courtesy of Felix, a friend of yours and Jisungs, you feel… free. Both light and heavy at the same time. Every beat and every bass of whatever song that plays you swear you can feel. Really feel it in your bones. The feeling is heavenly. Leaning back on your elbows against the counter of the kitchen's island, you listen to Jisung and Hyunjin -another friend- talk about the new Call of Duty game that dropped last week.

“Did you see the tits on that hot redhead in the campaign?” Hyunjin says dramatically, covering his face with both hands and dragging them down.

You just laugh and flick some of the ash off the end of your joint into an abandoned cup of water. Watching it sink to the bottom of the cup you bring your own up to your mouth and drink deeply.

“Oh fuck yeah I saw those babies. Although those tits don't come close to y/n’s.” You hear Jisung say and you almost spit out your drink. Wide eyed and coughing up a lung you look at the two boys as they throw their heads back laughing.

“Shit, you should've seen your face. I thought you were going to pass out for a second there y/n.” Jisung laughs, patting you on your back.

“Well excuse me. I didn't expect my tits to come up in a conversation.”

He chuckles again and his hands begin to rub your back in small circles. His fingers sprawled out wide and you're hyper aware of the heat emitting from his palm as well as his body that's pressed up close to the side of you. Hyunjin isn't paying attention to either of you by now. His phone is his top priority as his fingers fly over the screen texting someone.

“I can't help it if you got nice tits lovely.” Jisung whispers in your ear causing you to shiver.

He takes your joint and holds it out for you to take a drag. Swallowing hard and wetting your lips you lean forward, eyes on him and cover the end with your lips. He watches you inhale deep and when you turn to blow the smoke out he takes a hit as well.

“Dance with me?” he asks you abruptly, taking your hand in his. Dropping the joint into Hyunjin's hand on the way out of the kitchen he guides you to the middle of the makeshift dance floor.

What the fuck? I know I'm pretty shitfaced but am I hallucinating now?

That thought repeats in your head the entire time Jisung dances with you. You're convinced that you imagined the entire conversation in your intoxicated state and start to move your body to the music. Eyes closed, hips swaying left and right, head slowly bobbing to the beat of Chase Atlantic's Slow Down. You're singing along with the sensual and suggestive lyrics when you feel a pair of hot hands on your skin just below the hem of your shirt. Eyes fly open in surprise but when you turn to look at the person who's now pulling you into them your pulse quickens. Jisung's lips are close to your own and you can smell the watermelon vodka you and him drank all night. Fingers pressing into your hips he encourages you to keep dancing, willing you to grind your ass against him.

Too faded in your mind to feel any ounce of nervousness you'd have on a normal day you go all out. Hips swirling in a circular motion you continue to dance pushing your ass against him. He moves with you matching your movements, bodies rolling together. The hardness in his black jeans is unmistakable and it only makes you want him even more than you ever have. For seven years you harbored your secret crush on him and for 3 of those years you lusted after him. Nights in your bedroom alone you'd moan into your pillow crying his name over and over imagining his fingers rubbing your velvety walls instead of your own. The very fingers that tease and caress your skin as they make their way to your belly.

Needing to see his face, because part of you still believes that you're passed out somewhere dreaming, you look back at him and the sight breaks something in you. Maybe it's the walls you kept up in order to not get hurt, maybe it's your sanity, you don't don't really know. All you know is that you need him. You need to feel the stiffness that's clothed and pressed on your ass inside of you.

Jisung's eyes land on your lips before he slowly brings them back up to look at you. Fuck it, you do what you've dreamt about doing and kiss him. It's blissful and for a moment it's sweet. His lips taste exactly like you thought. Watermelon. It's only when the hand that rests on your stomach travels south that the kiss intensifies. It becomes messy, hot and hurried. He cups your sex over your jeans and you moan on his mouth.

As if he wasn't already hard, you feel his cock stiffen more and he groans softly on your lips. The sound carries its way inside of you down to your feet. The bodies around you fade away, leaving just the two of you in a intimate, private bubble. Holding onto you tightly he pushes himself hard into as if he could penetrate you through all the layers of clothing that currently keep you two from actually fucking right there in front of half the senior class. This teasing, it's an excruciating sort of sensation.

“Fuck me Jisung.” You beg, “Fuck me hard.”

“Shit.” He growls.

He doesn't hesitate, doesn't even let go of the hold he has on your waist when he pulls you into the kitchen and out the glass door into the backyard. There's not a lot of people out here but they're just a blur to you while you get dragged into the dimly lit garage through a door on the side of the house. Only thing illuminating the space is a large bug zapper. The soft neon purple light bounces off the two cars and random objects, casting strange shadows on the walls. You're jerked forward into Jisung's arms and his lips are on yours again. His hands palm your ass while his tongue dances with yours.

“Mm baby, fuck why do your lips taste so good?”

His words, dripping with lust, fall from his mouth. You don't get a chance to come up with some witty or stupid reply because he's spinning you around and bending you over the hood of a black mustang. The hood is cool to the touch from the late October night air but your body is scorching. Fumbling, drunk fingers clumsily undo the button on your jeans, making quick work on the zipper next. Doesn't take long for his pants and yours to be a pool of denim around the pair of your ankles.

His hand comes crashing down over your ass smacking it once making you gasp in shock. He moans appreciatively, licking his lower lip watching your skin turn pink. One hand palming where the strike connected he uses his other hand to guide the leaking tip of his cock to your opening.

“Damn you're so wet.” He shuddered, rubbing himself in-between your folds.

“J- just for you, Ji.” You purr.

“Yeah baby? You get this wet for me all the time?”

You nod your head in response. Speech becomes increasingly difficult the more he teases your cunt and rubbing himself over your clit. When he rams into you suddenly the sound that leaves you is so foreign to you that you aren't even sure it came from you. This strangle whimpering cry seems to only make Jisung crazier. He's driving into with so much force that the car rocks underneath you. He's so thick and the feeling of him stretching you wide, has you feeling higher than any strain of weed you've had.

“F- fuck y/n... Why do you feel so good?” He hisses, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside of you.

You can't speak. All you can do is moan and whimper incoherently, watching your breath fog the shiny black surface of the car. His balls slap against your clit each time his length disappears inside of you. He isn't quiet either, he doesn't shy away from moaning your name praising you or telling how good you feel on his dick. Your name is repeated like a mantra.

“Jisung, fuck!” You manage to cry out clawing at the smooth surface below you.

“That's my girl. Keep talking lovely. I wanna hear you. Wanna hear your sexy voice.” Rolling his hip he slams into at such an angle your legs begin to shake.

“Don't- don't stop, shit. I'm so close Sungie. Fuck, your cock feels so good inside of me mmm.” Your words push him closer to the edge and his fingers dig painfully into your hips.

Doesn't matter though, chasing the climax that's building quickly inside of you is what matters. Feeling Jisung's cock slide in and out of you creating this beautiful slippery sound when your bodies connect…. you don't know how you'll ever get enough of this. With a shuddering breath you squeeze your eyes shut so tight that you start seeing specks of white lights flashing behind your lids. Your skin prickles and your walls clench down around him pulling a strained groan from him as your orgasm crashes through you. Burying your face in the crook of your arm you attempt to muffle your anguish moans. Jisung pumps into you at a frenzied pace groaning and grunting and cumming with you at the same time.

“Ah, y/n, y/n! Shit, fuck, baby!

Your pussy pulsates milking his cock for every drop of cum that he gives you, filling you up to the point that some starts to drip down your inner thigh. Your legs feel like jelly and the sound of your shared heavy breathing and panting seems to somehow sync with the rhythm of the muffled music playing from inside the house. Groaning he slides out of and you shiver feeling the cold hit your ass.

“I've wanted to do that for a long time.” Jisung admits softly after your clothes are back in place.

The sudden confession makes you feel suddenly shy as if he wasn't just rearranging your guts one minute ago. With gentle hands he cups your face and places a sweet and tender kiss to your lips. When he pulls back from you his eyes blaze with unspoken words that you feel in your chest. With the high from the weed gone and the buzz slowly wearing off it becomes clear that this wasn't a one time thing. The love you thought was one sided wasn't and he wanted to be clear about that, even if he couldn't put it into words right now.

“Come back to my place? I don't want the night to end yet.” His hands find their way to yours intertwining your fingers together. “My parents aren't home.” He adds with a cocky smirk.

A giggle bubbles up from you and you roll your eyes playfully. “Can't get enough can you Ji?” You tease, finding it easy to still have the best friend vibes between you.

“Lovely, the way you felt on my dick, I don't think I'll ever get enough.” He confesses and picks you up, tossing you over his shoulder carrying out of the garage into the Halloween night air.

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arcanesea · 11 months ago

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early bird | han jisung x reader | 517 w.

Han was never the early bird type of person. That is until he walked in on you sleeping peacefully, one autumn morning.

The night before, you had invited everyone for a barbeque night. You have taken your final exam of the semester, and even if the results are yet to be announced, what matters the most is that you passed. That alone deserves a celebration party. You also welcome whoever wants to crash the night. But everyone ended up playing games until 3 in the morning when one by one, they fell asleep in the space of your apartments.

You were the last one standing, tidying up the room a bit before you passed out on the couch. You were too tired to move to your own room, despite it being unoccupied.

Han wakes up a little after 7 with a congested nose. The combination of autumn air and the air conditioner is fatal, especially when he accidentally falls asleep on the floor of the guest room with nothing but the stolen bed cover under him.

He walks out of the room to see the aftermath of last night's party, feeling a headache just by seeing the state of your apartment. He walks past the mess to boil some water. The basic remedy for a congested nose. The pot was starting to boil when he turned and leaned on the kitchen counter. His eyes caught your figure, all curled up on the couch. He smiles to himself. Thinking about how cute you look, with your nose scrunched, just like a little kid during one of those sleepovers.

You stir in your sleep, dragging Han back to reality.

On another occasion, Han came in early to the studio, wanting to finish one of his songs. Chan informed him the night before that you might be around early too, since you're working on a project.

However, he didn't expect to walk in on you sleeping on the couch of the recording room. This time you're wearing a much more warm attire, sweatpants, and a black hoodie. You even have a fabric draped on you as a makeshift blanket.

He doesn't have it in him to wake you up, so you asked the staff if he could borrow another recording room. He watches you sleep as he waits for the staff to prepare another room. Wondering what kind of dream are you having.

Fast forward many coincidences later where he gets to see you in your most peaceful state, only to realize that it's not normal to watch your friend as they sleeps and feel your heart ache with such longing.

"Hi," you spoke softly as you slowly awaken. "You're staring again."

"Good morning, love," he said, pressing a kiss on your forehead, smiling. "How's your sleep?"

"Better now that you're here," you answer. Your smile blooms quicker than your eyes fully open.

Han was never the early bird type of person, but even if he wakes up 5 minutes earlier than you, it's enough for him to get all the energy he needs for the rest of the day.

a/n. written while being sleep-deprived:')

#stray kids au #stray kids imagines #stray kids fic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #skz au #skz imagines #skz fic #skz scenarios #skz drabbles #skz fluff #skz x reader #han jisung fic #han jisung au #han jisung imagines #han jisung x reader #han jisung fluff

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littleraesparkle · 5 months ago

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　　★　 ♰　my rockstar boyfriend !!

Divider cr to the owner!!!

Follow up and reblog for clear skin:3

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itsasilentreader · 2 months ago

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─ .✦ 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐅𝐅!𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 📲

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: bff!jisung x reader

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: humor/crack

𝙎𝙎: 12

𝙏𝙒/𝘾𝙒: some curse words, mentioning of losing a grandparent, jisung has a lot of air in his head and is not using his brain 99% of the time

𝘼/𝙉: I got this idea because my bf sends me the most random shit he sees sometimes. So this is inspired by him and random dumb texts I found on pinterest.

⋮ 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

Ⓒ︎ 𝗶𝘁𝘀𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦��𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝗗𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵.

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hwajin · 4 months ago

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✞ 「 .✶۪ .° ✞ : 𝐇 𝐈 — 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐄 !! : a series

☆ — chapter three; Touch Me, I'm Sick :

✞ 「 .✶۪ : see series masterlist and general warnings here

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter word count: 16.3k

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter warnings: lots of angst, smut (nothing crazy, protected sex and making out, etc.), cheating!!!

author's note: losing motivation for this AS WE SPEAK but this is my fav chapter i've written so far!!!! i hope you enjoy <333

It was the middle of August, but Han felt almost cold when he awoke – his blanket had fallen to the floor throughout the night, leaving him with a lack of protection and a vulnerability so sudden he shivered, despite the warm morning. It could have been the tiredness, causing his bones to feel like icicles – he hadn’t slept well at night. He had barely slept at all, if he was brutally honest. He had come home the previous evening, ashamed and torn apart, in two, to a house dark and quiet. Initially, he had wondered if you’d come home at all after storming out of rehearsals, or if you were staying over at a friend’s house – he wouldn’t have been able to blame you. But then he had caught a glimpse of your keys in the little bowl by the kitchen counter, bought by you at a flea market for less than it had been worth, and your old, dirty shoes carelessly discarded on the way to your room – closed, shut off from him. He hadn’t dared to knock, hadn’t even come close to the door. Instead, he had locked himself in his own room, had left the lights off. He had sat on his bed, soft cushions beneath him granting comfort he hadn’t believed to deserve – and he had felt a tear running down his cheek, then another. He hadn’t dared sob, had cried silently. He had been missing something, last night, something crucial, and he had felt it in every fibre of his body. The house too dark, too quiet. Your absence, your silence – it had been nagging on him, still was, the next morning. Your coldness, albeit an understood one, and the pain his own foolishness had caused had been horrible company for him, two guests he hadn’t welcomed yet couldn’t seem to get rid of. So he had sat with them, had entertained them – had let them entertain him.

Han hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his words during practice ever since he had uttered them – all of them. Everything he had said the previous day had been painful, directed to hurt you, stemming from a place of hate, or jealousy, or pure and immature confusion. Like a kid, saying something it doesn’t mean, merely because it doesn’t have any other words yet, because it doesn’t understand. Han didn’t feel too different from that – a kid, naïve, dumb. Lacking knowledge, about everything, it seemed. About himself, about friendship, emotion. About love, perhaps; he felt as though he knew nothing. And in his inanity, he had hurt you. You and himself, both – because both of you bled the same, both of you suffered if one of you did.

He had thought about it the entire night. What if it was irreversible? What if he had screwed up for good, with no chance of reparation? What if that was it – what if the two of you would never be the same anymore? He had remembered, last night, your sudden beauty – or his sudden realization of it. It still estranged him, the next morning. And it angered him, too – he had greater problems to think about, why was your face, detailed and pretty in the way it looked, a constant, reoccurring memory? He’d had all the hours in the night to understand and make sense of it, and still it hadn’t been enough – he was as clueless about it as he had been the previous day, in the studio. You had been beautiful – you were beautiful. Nothing strange, per se; of course you were. He had always known, really, if he thought about it. You had always been pretty, and while he couldn’t deny it, he couldn’t remember ever caring for it; not truly. You were pretty, had always been – but there had been something potent, something charged when he had noticed it yesterday, in particular. When he had looked at you, and had felt as though your beauty had had the ability to knock him over; and you hadn’t looked much different than usually, in the first place. A tad more dressed up, maybe – but Han, over the hours of the night, had started to doubt that it had been your exterior which had caught him so very off guard, altogether. Ironic, he was aware, and maybe he was wrong. Maybe the very and only reason for his enlightenment was the fact that you had been, simply, dressed up – or maybe it had been your eyes, the air all around you, an aura you carried. An aura he had only then noticed, something about you suddenly so palpable he hadn’t been sure what to do with it, had been scared of it. Maybe that was the reason he had been so mean – because he hadn’t known what else to do with himself.

Had Han only noticed now, though? This apparent aura, this beauty? What if he had felt this way before, just never had had a reason to act on it – then again, what was it exactly he was feeling? It couldn’t be a crush – he’s had crushes before, and he’d argue they felt different to whatever it was that made his heart expand to measures so uncomfortable in his chest he feared to pop on the inside, like a balloon blown up too eagerly.

What was it then, if not a crush – if not love? He didn’t quite feel like the people they made films about and wrote songs for. He didn’t feel butterflies in the pit of his stomach; it was something purer, something scarier. A feeling deep and tremendous – like hot embers, daring to turn into fire if ignited, with no water in proximity to extinguish it. That’s what he felt when he thought about you – danger waiting to come, hiding yet but deadly if lured out of its’ den.

Han realized that you were gone when he started to get ready. On his way to the bathroom, he noticed your missing shoes which he hadn’t picked up last night, had left them laying where they did. Your keys were gone, too – he wasn’t used to quiet mornings, and the missing piece within him gaped open anew. He ate his breakfast beaten, miserable, left it unfinished. He dressed carelessly, tried to tidy his mess of hair – his roots were grown out black, he needed a touch up, he was starting to look ridiculous. Questioning if he should simply dye his hair black altogether, to save himself – and you, his designated hair stylist – the time and effort he left the house, a little too late for his first period, but in time for the first rehearsal. To say he dreaded it wasn’t only an understatement; it bordered on absurdity.

When Han stood before the studio door, he didn’t open it for what felt an eternity. Cigarette in hand, he pulled on it again and again, inhaling the husky smoke to calm his nerves before facing you. For a second, he hurt, sharply – the very thought alone that speaking to you, looking you in the eye would be burdensome was like a dagger through him, and he shook off the feeling momentarily. Then a greater pain shot through his veins – the very reason he dreaded seeing you was himself. Han was long past the point of trying to blame you for any jealousy or frustration he was feeling; he could be as little a fan of Chris as he was, he hadn’t had the right to talk to you the way he had yesterday. There was no shifting the blame, no perspectives; he alone was at fault for the icy atmosphere which he felt from outside the studio. You were iced up, cold, and he didn’t have to see you to know it, to feel it through the soundproof walls.

Han pulled on his cigarette one last time, letting the smoke infiltrate his lungs long and deep, sharply making its’ way through his blood, before he threw it on the ground to grind it under his heel. He took another, clean breath; and opened the heavy door to the college studio. The soft sound of your guitar welcomed him, though it didn’t relax him this time around, not the way it normally did. His body tensed up, and he faltered in his movements before he found his step again. You must have heard the click of the door and his heavy boots against the carpeted floor, the jingles of the pins and chains on his bag when he entered, because you looked up even before he said a word – and your eyes instantly lost his again, before he even had the chance to greet you. And though your eyes lasted on his ones only for a second, he saw the pain in them. Short-lived, before your exterior seemed to emanate anger. Your ears painted red, your body visibly tensed, and an uncomfortable silence fell upon the room. Han couldn’t blame you for the discomfort he felt, and shivered in his place.

“Hi.”

His attempt was miserable, his voice more so – flimsy and thin, raspy from the smoke he’s had. He fell into a coughing fit right after; the embarrassment drowned his face in red, the fact you didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t look his direction let alone return his shy greeting made him want to dig his own grave and lie in it. It would be a longer hour than he had anticipated.

Thankfully, the room emitted in noise in no time, after Han had disposed his bag and busied himself with tuning his guitar, on his spot behind you. He could tell that you were purposefully avoiding his figure behind you – your body was turned to face away from him completely, mic-stand more to the left than it usually was, and your gaze fixed upon the strings of your instrument. Focused, determined to let Han shiver until you’ve warmed up to him again. If you ever would, that is.

The others came in, though there was something palpably lacking about the usual mood they brought to the place. Changbin and Jeongin were noisy, though the looks they shared upon seeing your back facing Han and neither of your reaction to their arrival spoke more than their conversation, and the mutual decision of skipping the pre-rehearsal smoke to get the hour over with spoke for itself. The coldness danced on their skin, covering them in ice and freezing showers, in vast contradict of the temperatures outside. It wasn’t in the law of physics for Jeongin to cover in geese flesh when he caught a glimpse of the way Han was staring holes into the back of your head, with an expression so miserable even the youngest felt bad for his friend. The distance between the two of you was as little the law of any sciences as the freezing feeling in the warmest month of summer – it went beyond logic that the two of you weren’t talking, weren’t even facing each other, went beyond all sense of the human mind that the other three felt true discomfort only looking at you two.

And the one-hour long rehearsal couldn’t have felt any longer, and couldn’t have been over any faster. No one spoke much unless it was necessary, talking music and songwriting, talking chords and harmonies above all else – strictly professional, as though your band of five was only that, a profession, lacking personal friendships within. Everyone felt the tension bubble on their skin, heavier on your bodies than the suffocating heat outside the studio, yet no one sacrificed themselves to mention it, to initiate a conversation to dissipate it all. Not because no one wanted to, but because no one was brave enough – and you scoffed when the rest of the band, left for you and Han, scurried to leave the two of you alone by the end of practice, packing their belongings so fast one might think their live depended on it. Even Lino felt the need to flee the scene as quick as possible; though less because he couldn’t take the uneasiness, more so because he hoped leaving you two in solitude would animate you to fix whatever seemed to be broken. Or attempt to, at the very least.

“Great friends.”, you mumbled under your breath, feeling betrayed none of them had had the balls enough to even talk to you, or Han, or to each other for that matter. You couldn’t blame them though, either – hell, you likely felt the most uncomfortable, so you understood why no one had uttered a single word throughout the hour before leaving silently.

You felt Han’s presence behind you as you undid your mic and unplugged your guitar. It felt unfamiliar, dreadful to not be talking to him, to not turn around and tell him about class and which parts of the new song you should be working on and about, admittedly, nothing all together. It was strange that you didn’t urge to visit the vending machine by the weeping willow, that you weren’t much craving a Coke; it was stranger, even, that you could barely recall the last time you had spent time with Han by said vending machine. It had been ages; or, longer than you normally went without the ritualic habit. The absence of it, of time spent together and words exchanged, shot a sudden pain through you – you almost wanted to forget the pain you had felt initially, yesterday after Han’s outburst, and pretend like nothing had happened at all. You almost wanted to forgive him without having heard an apology.

You turned around, guitar in hand, facing Han. He looked miserable. He looked like he regretted the entirety of yesterday – it made you feel better, if only little. There was no hint of remaining malice in his eyes, no contentiousness. You were glad of it. You had barely slept last night, had lain with tear-stained cheeks against your wettened pillow. You’d had enough time to think – and though your anger, your pain hadn’t dissipated magically, they had made place for tiredness. It had been too long since you’ve last felt truly careless in Han’s presence, the way you used to. It had been too long the two of you held grudges – you missed him. He had surely hurt you, though it hadn’t been the first time, nor were you an angel yourself. You would prefer an apology – though you would, after the anger dissolved only a little further, forgive him without one. Because it was easier than losing him altogether, over words, over a fight. That seemed foolish to you, and you cherished him too much for such immaturity.

“Hey…”, Han’s voice interrupted your train of thought, and you looked at him. His eyes were glassy, almost on the verge of tears but not quite. The bags under his eyes were deep, dark – he hadn’t slept much better either, you figured. He nibbled on his silver lip ring, visibly nervous, looking for words to say, or how to say them. He could barely look you in the eyes, and upon noticing that another sudden pain shot through you.

“You have lessons now? With… Chris?”

The name rolled over his lips only reluctantly – you wondered, quickly, if maybe there were remnants of malice in him, wondered how exactly the question was intended. He didn’t look like he meant to attack, but your brows furrowed, and your head cocked to the side, only a little. Han read you, suspected his question might reignite danger, and his eyes shot open, face writing worry.

“Uh, I don’t mean it like that. Like, in an asshole way. I’m really curious, I’m…”, his voice shaking, and his gaze was fixed on the dusty carpet beneath his shoes. The weight of his guitar pulled him down, made him heavy – he yet hadn’t put it away, feeling frozen in his place. “I’m really sorry, for yesterday. I was an ass.”

You barely heard him. He mumbled, embarrassment and a wave of shame overcoming him, but you heard him, nonetheless. And your heart beat against your rib cage in excitement, in relief. He apologized. He felt remorse, regret, and had been ready to make the first step, to hopefully repair what was temporarily broken.

“Yeah, you were.”

Your voice was weaker than you had expected. You stood face to face with your friend, waiting for him to look at you. You felt remnants of your own shame and anger still bubbling in the pit of your stomach, though you chose to ignore it. You chose to make space for Han instead, and it filled you with everything that was positive.

He looked at you, and you gave him a smile. A little sad, maybe, but kinder than Han had expected it – and he smiled back. Relief filled his eyes, too. Relief and hope; everything could be again as it once was. It wasn’t irreversible; your bond went deeper than that.

Finally, Han felt like he could move again. He threw the flimsy band over his head, relieving himself off the weight of his instrument. You made your way over to the sofa, where your discarded belongings lay. It took you a while to find your words – you would answer his question honestly, though not without nervousness. The subject had led to fights previously, after all – you didn’t want to lose everything the moment you’ve won it back.

“Uh, yeah… I am meeting Chris now.” The words came quiet, almost creeping. They seeped into the room and stayed there, a puddle of gasoline, and you were the lighters. You didn’t say any more, packed your stuff and threw your bag over your shoulder, looked at Han. His eyes didn’t find yours, though – he pretended to be busy, though you sensed that he was fleeing from your gaze purposefully. That he was dancing around the puddle of gasoline, careful not to cause fire.

“Ah… that’s nice. I hope you, uh, have fun with him today.”

He looked at you, eventually, smiling a tortured smile, packing his things without awaiting an answer. Not that you had one – you were glad your admission about the teacher hadn’t caused another outburst, but the unexplainable misery in Han’s eyes was almost harder to bare. The misery, and his decision to remain silent about it. You watched your friend throw his chained-up bag over his shoulder, watched him fish for the half-empty pack of cigarettes in his pocket, take out one. He put it between his lips, gave you another smile; you weren’t sure he meant it.

“I’ll see you later, then.”

☆.☆.☆

When Han opened the door to your shared apartment, he was overwhelmed by the scent of food, onions and meat, the sound of sizzling oil in a pan. There was faint music playing in the kitchen, and utensils clinking together to create a cacophony of one busying themselves with lunch. Han disposed his shoes in the hallway, lost his bag along the way, and was met with Lino, apron on and a mess around him, humming to the song he had put on. Han wasn’t surprised, per se – Lino was officially living on campus, having moved here specifically for Uni, but in reality he was living wherever he just wanted. He was in possession of the keys to both your and Han’s, and Changbin’s and Jeongin’s shared apartments, and since both weren’t necessarily meant for two people only and could fit more, it wasn’t a rarity that Lino was living for weeks at a time in either of your places. There were phases, though, where neither you or Han, nor the other two knew his current place of accommodation – if he settled on campus or slept over at one-night stands none of you were sure, nor had had the privilege of knowing, even after asking.

When the older heard shuffling behind him he turned around, facing Han and giving him a quick, welcoming smile.

“Set the table, I’m almost done.”

It wasn’t five minutes later when the two sat across from each other by the kitchen table, steaming dish before them and a hungry roaring in their stomachs. Han thanked Lino before digging in, stuffing his mouth – there was something lingering in his eyes that spoke of melancholy, something incredibly sad. Something Lino could read, and had been long aware of.

“So,”, the older started, taking a bite from the food he’s prepared, inspecting his friend. He watched him find his eyes, expectantly questioning.

“You’re in love with Y/N.”

Not a question, a statement – and the younger fell into a fit of coughing, a piece of rice stuck in his throat causing his face to run red, a hand on his chest to calm himself. He succeeded only after a minute or two; Lino had only watched him all the while, eating away at his own portion, the very calmness in person. Han cleared his throat, once, two times, collecting enough composure to lock eyes with his friend again. Somehow, it was far harder telling a lie than he’d expected it to be.

“I’m… I’m not.”

He didn’t even convince himself with the three words, and he knew Lino was too smart to believe him. Yet he didn’t reconcile his confession, dumbly waited for an answer, hoped that, if he lied well enough, truth would be changed, and Lino would believe it.

Lino looked at him, an expression so unreadable it sent a shiver down Han’s back. The younger’s cutlery laid next to his plate on the table, few pieces of rice marring the furniture though Han didn’t care about the mess while his whole body was ready to defend himself, or to deny any accusation thrown towards him. Yet Lino only looked at him, poked away in his food – he either knew more than Han could hope, or he was in the midst of figuring him out. Han, in the damning silence, almost spilled his guts, then and there, animated only by Lino’s knowing eyes, his unwavering gaze; if the older hadn’t started speaking, after all.

“You know, you don’t have to lie. I’ve suspected it for a while. But I’m about a hundred percent sure since the whole… situation yesterday.”

There is no embarrassment when Han finds the other’s eyes, no shame in his silent confession. There is anguish, hurt. Spent liberation. As though he had waited for someone to get behind his sinful secret, as though the exhaustion of carrying it around had been weighing on his shoulders. As though only through speaking out the words they became true, to Lino as much as to himself – he might have known it was love before, though had never dared to accept it. Only now that the word was out, materialized and palpable, was it real.

You both had been seven years old, you and Han. You had only moved into his neighbourhood a week ago, and he had been curious about the new girl next door – though cowardly. He had only ever inspected you, questioning eyes lurking over when you were playing in your garden, or riding your bike around the streets in front of your house. He had never said a word though. He had been a shy kid, not quiet but timid around new people – and then you had come up to him. One summer day, he had sat on the sidewalk in front of his house, colouring the asphalt absentmindedly with chalk his parents had bought him that day. Most of his friends had left with their families for vacation, though his had stayed at home; and so had yours.

He had heard you before he had seen you. Your bell-like laughter had broken through the pleasant silence Han had found himself in, and the sound intensified in volume when the front door to your house had been opened. He had heard your mom call after you, something about being careful, though you hadn’t been listening anymore. Han had watched you get your bike – it hadn’t been pink, blue instead, a bike for boys; for some reason he had remembered that fact. Maybe because you had been the only girl he’d known not riding a pink bike, or maybe back then, already, every little detail about you had been fascinating, worthy to keep in his memories forever.

Han had neglected the yellow butterfly he had been painting onto the pavement, had watched you ride up and down the neighbourhood – until your eyes had fallen upon him. He had felt caught, and had looked away quickly; but you had stood before him in a matter of seconds, sure and confident.

“What’s your name?”

You had always been direct, and back then it had irritated him, almost. He had looked up at you, still sitting on the border of the sidewalk, your figure shielding him from the sun. Your dress had been a bright red with scarlet hearts all over, and it had blinded him.

“Uh… Jisung.”

“I’m Y/N.”

You had held out a greeting hand – something you had picked up from your parents, the way adults greeted each other, and Han had been irritated by that, too. But he had shook your little hand, surprised at your firm hold – and ever since then the both of you had been inseparable. One summer had turned into a second and to a third, had turned into a lifetime – what had started only because your respective friends had been gone over the break had developed into a friendship dearer than anything, for the both of you.

It had been that same summer, when both of you were seven, that Han had fallen in love with you, for the very first time. Back then he hadn’t been sure about his feelings, hadn’t been sure what it was that had been brewing in the pit of his stomach, what it was that had been making him nervous whenever he had thought of you.

The sun had been daring to set, though neither you nor Han had wanted to go home yet. You had been on your blue bike for boys, he had been on his own one. You had raced each other – he had never won back then, though it had always hurt his pride enough to never give up on taking home first place. The finishing post had been a big tree a little down your block, and you had been a little before him – your hair in a loosened ponytail and blowing in the air behind you, your dress – the same, bright red one with the scarlet hearts, your favourite one back then – flowing in the wind hectically, your shoes almost losing home on your feet with every fast kick of the pedal you did. Maybe Han had fallen because he had been watching you – no matter the reason, though, he had found himself on the ground faster than he had been able to realize, than he had been able to even understand his situation. And the shock had made him cry. Not loudly, but thick tears had been running down his chubby cheeks as he sat beside his bike, kneecap red and bloody, hands dirty, hair dishevelled.

It had taken you a while to notice Han hadn’t been behind you anymore – it had taken you to reach the big tree and yell out that you won, when you had realized there had been no one to celebrate with you. You had snickered and teased Han about it when you had caught up with him again, though worry had been written all over your face when you had noticed the tears down his face. And though Han had been embarrassed, to cry in front of you, or to cry in general, or about the very fact that he had fallen from a bike at the age of seven, you hadn’t given him a chance to be ashamed for too long.

“Does it hurt?”

You had sat down next to him, had inspected the wound like a doctor. Serious and careful. Han had sniffed miserably, and nodded.

You had given him a smile, and had showed him your own knee. Very sure, very confident. You were determined to make him feel better. There had been a faint wound on your skin, almost a scar.

“Look, when yours is healed, we’re going to have the same one. It won’t hurt for much longer.”

You had hugged him, and his little heart had beaten faster in his little chest.

“Whenever I get hurt my mom gives me chocolate.”

Han had looked at you, not understanding the connotation. You had laughed at his questioning face, getting up, motioning him to follow you.

“If I tell her you got hurt you will get chocolate too, dummy.”

Lino had listened, had long finished the food on his plate. There was compassion in his eyes, pain for his friend. Han had been in love with you forever, and you weren’t in the slightest aware of it – or maybe you were, only didn’t want to quite accept the reality of it. Either way, both men understood, sitting across from each other, the sun burning into the apartment and lacing them in faint sheens of sweat, the scent of food still in the air, that you couldn’t be blamed for Han’s cracking heart, nor for the chilly atmosphere between you and your best friend. No one, quite frankly, could be blamed. Han’s heart had found home somewhere it shouldn’t have had, yours belonged nowhere. Maybe if it did, your crush on Chris would be easier to bare. Maybe if you loved another, Han could accept that you couldn’t love him – but there wasn’t another, and your heart yet wasn’t set on him. It hurt. The pain was stinging, the realization, sudden albeit expected, even more so. If Han could choose, he would stop loving you – even if Chris hadn’t been in the picture, his passionate heart would cause for problems that would risk your friendship. If he could choose, he’d choose not to love you – but he couldn’t, and his heart, heavy and weak and hurting, was beating for you.

Blissfully unaware of Han’s feelings, you felt yourself being pushed against the solid wood of Chris’s desk, the man’s hands firm on your hips. Your lips clashed against his anew and anew, and you found yourself floating at the feeling – to have him lick your bottom lip before he nibbled on it, to feel his wet tongue and his spit on your mouth, his quiet gasps which you swallowed whole; it felt a mere dream, and you basked in it.

You weren’t sure how it happened. You had entered the classroom, a little late and Chris had been waiting for you. He had looked impatient, and it had made you giddy. You had started the lesson – and then his lips had been on yours. Or yours had been on his; you recalled having initiated, but your memory could as well be fooling you. Though besides his growing erection against your thigh and his sweaty neck beneath your palms there were no thoughts playing in your mind, in general. You were focused on Chris fully – recalling when you had first seen him, when current reality had only been a fools’ fantasy. You smirked against his lips, and he felt it – his grip on your body tightened, his fingers dug further into your skin. You wondered if there’d be any marks of his touch the next day; you hoped so.

You smirked against Chris’s lips, your ass pressed against his table, his hot palms on your burning hips – he was a good kisser. A little too desperate, maybe, searching for your mouth with his eyes closed and sighing softly, as though kissing you was salvation itself. You didn’t mind it; you liked it. You liked feeling him wanting you, you liked his grip on your body, the way he pressed his own against you. Flush, chest to chest, so close it surprised you for a moment, even – was he searching for something in you? Was his marriage making him so unhappy that his only hope was a student who had crushed on him since her teenage years? You felt compassionate for a moment, leaned into his body, into the kiss which felt so potent with fervour that you, too, sighed into his mouth, let him eat up your sounds, eat them up with a hunger which had fermented for eternities.

And then all compassion was gone again – every further thought vanished again, when Chris groaned against you, pressed you a little further into the table, almost drawing pain. You leaned against it, back arching into him – and his hands snuck around your figure, to pick you up by your ass and seat you on the table behind you. It didn’t require him much strength, and you had practically been sitting on the furniture already, though the ease with which he had handled you knocked out any coherence of you. And it had all happened without the kiss breaking – his puffy lips still moved against your wet ones, both red and bloodshot, bitten and bruised up. You wondered, while you sat there with his body pressed against yours, if his wife would notice that – his lips, the bruises on them.

Your legs were spread open, and Chris possessed the ability now to move even closer to you. He found home between your thighs, and his erection – almost fully hard now, and the feeling mouth-watering – pressed against your core. The man emitted another groan, rolled his hips into yours, against your sex, the pressure so delicious you moaned out quietly – and suddenly it was all gone. His touch on your body, the heat on your skin he had caused, the wetness of his lips – all gone. There was no friction against your arousal anymore, and you almost let out a sound of protest when you saw Chris’s face. Blown out in lust and flushed, red by the cheeks and his neck, but worried, almost scared – regretful. He blinked excessively, as though assessing the last five minutes – and he breathed out in defeat, eyes losing yours and a hand of his found his hair, messed it up more than it was a mess already. You stayed sitting on the table, expecting – you knew what was coming, and you hoped you only imagined it. You hoped that in reality he was still kissing you, that in reality he wasn’t married and could give into you fully, that in reality there was no reason of parting ways after he’s realized his mistake.

“Fuck…”, his voice was hoarse, raspy in his throat. Your eyes fell onto where his pants had tightened over his middle – it looked uncomfortable, and he didn’t feel bad for having kissed you; he felt bad for having liked it. For having given into it, into you, and for having found pleasure in it.

He looked at you again, guilt written all over him. Brows furrowed, body tense.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I can’t…”

He couldn’t say any more. His voice fiddled out, at a loss for words, or unable to convey them. He had apologized to you, hadn’t damned you – to you it felt the same. He packed his stuff, suddenly – you still sat on the table, but he pretended as though you didn’t exist. He didn’t even give you a last look before he threw his bag over his shoulder, and left the classroom with a weak “I have to go.” – leaving you to sit on his table by yourself, heated up and suddenly forgotten, egged on and eventually neglected, and you couldn’t decide which felt more uncomfortable; the pool of unresolved wetness between your legs, or the feeling of quiet emptiness which slowly set in the depths of your heart.

☆.☆.☆

You had sunk into the deep cushions of the brown leather sofa, the material making you sweat more than you normally would, an empty can of Coke on the table in front of you. You had been nipping on Han’s root beer from time to time, so he had snatched it away from you and had placed it behind the armrest of the sofa he was leaning on, next to you. You both had consoles in your hands, a tiny Mario and a just revived Luigi jumping up and down on the tinier TV screen. The familiar video game music filled the air, the sounds of acquired items and Han’s protesting at another murder on his character making the studio feel homely, comfortable. You had missed this. You had missed spending time with Han, careless and genuine time. It had been far too long, and you basked in the heat and stuffiness of the room.

“You can’t just fucking throw me off the cliff?! That was my last life you asshole!”

You laughed while Han complained with a voice so whiny it only made you laugh harder, and he threw his console onto the space on the sofa in between you, defeated and angry. You would have felt bad for him, if your gameplay hadn’t been mere revenge – Han had been ruthless on you only ten minutes earlier, and it was time to get back at him.

“If you hadn’t fucked me over before we could’ve been a team now.”, you said with a shrug, purposefully avoiding the coins in the game to prevent Luigi to revive again, and Han complained about it, loudly, letting you know just how unfair you were.

He scoffed, just the pissed friend, reaching for his root beer and taking a good sip from it. He watched you skilfully mastering the level, passing the middle flag. He snickered whenever you let Mario almost die, ready to make fun of you, only for you to save yourself and make him fall silent in his seat again, pouty and mumbling protests.

He eyed you, from the side where he was sitting. You had come back from a private lesson, as you had said, when Han had already lounged in the studio. You hadn’t looked too cheerful, and Han hadn’t asked – he had almost wanted to hear how you had failed, how Chris had maybe rejected you, or similar such things. He had almost been spiteful, though he hadn’t dared, after all – not when the both of you only seemed to find each other again, when being around you wasn’t as painful anymore as it had been for the past week. When you, too, looked careless around him, as though truly enjoying yourself. And why shouldn’t you – Han had stopped being an ass, because he had finally figured out his feelings. It turned out if was far easier dealing with them if they were only understood.

You looked peaceful now, though there was something in your demeanour which Han couldn’t quite pinpoint. You seemed almost giddy, unable to really sit still. Constantly moving in your seat, leaning back or leaning forth, sighing frequently. Something must have happened when you had met Chris, and though Han wasn’t too keen on finding out, he felt as though needing to ask, after all.

“So…”, his voice quite secure, and he hoped he’d find the right words, the right tone to start a totally and truly laid-back conversation about a man you very badly wanted to fuck, and who he was so deeply jealous of. No risk in that, was it?

You eyed him quickly out of your peripheral, not distracting too much from your game – you were at 87 coins now, so you were careful not to collect anymore just to not give Han the chance to finish the level with you.

“How was it today? With… Chris.” The name always sounded strange out of Han’s mouth, like something that wasn’t supposed to be spoken aloud. You eyed him again, and Mario almost died on the screen – the sound of the console clicking turned more aggressive, more persistent, and Han hoped he hadn’t fucked up the peacefulness, now that you had restored it.

You let him wait with your answer. You stayed silent, seemed to be thinking about your words, or maybe about what to tell him exactly, in the first place. You finished the level, waited for the screen to go black before the overview appeared again.

“Eh, it was whatever.”, was all you said, then. The break you had taken to answer a simple question had been far too long for an answer so vast, and Han wondered if there’d be something more. He looked at you, the sound of Luigi reviving the only sound filling the room. You weren’t looking at him, focused on the screen, walking your characters over to the next level.

You were still wet. You sat in the cushions of the brown leather sofa, and you were wet, soaking your flimsy underwear – you had worn a pretty pair in case Chris had taken it further, and now it felt like a waste, and utterly stupid, on top of that. The pressure between your legs hadn’t subsided ever since Chris had ignited it there, and it was bothering you, deeply. You were frustrated. And not only due to the situation prior – you had been tethering on sexual frustration for the past year or so, you thought. Or for longer; it surely felt like a lifetime. It has, in fact, been ages since you’ve last experienced an orgasm that hasn’t been induced by your own eager fingers or a vibrating toy you acquired for far more money than you could really afford. And it, too, has been ages since you had been as worked up as you had been an hour back, engulfed entirely in Chris. In the fantasy of him, the same one you had been brewing on ever since he had made his sudden appearance a week ago.

Really, he had been unfair, had left you hot and bothered – your body was still aching for touch. For another body pressing up against your own. His, Chris’s, preferably. You recalled his callused hands – from working out, maybe – on your body, on your hips, pushing your top up until his skin teased your own. Until you were starting to get bare for him. He had wanted more, and he had wanted it fast – maybe to lose himself in it, maybe to not overthink it. But he had, eventually, and the result was a wet you, embarrassed as you sat next to your friend and watched his character die on the screen for the umpteenth time. As you thought about it, about the warmth between your legs, the way your jeans rubbed against your clit only subtly but far more than enough to remind you of your undying need, that any man would do to still your hunger. For a quick second, the thought shot through your head that maybe that was the only and single reason you were so keen on Chris – simply because he was a man you could fuck. The fact you had borne a crush for him and the fact you found him deadly attractive were maybe only bonus points, barely worth mentioning. You weren’t convinced by that thought yourself – you wouldn’t have gone the lengths you did in pursuing him, but then again, you had always been ambitious, set on the things you wanted.

You peeked at Han by your side – the bleach in his hair was dirty and long grown out, though he hadn’t yet asked you to dye it for him again. He played with his lip ring, concentrated, focused on the little TV screen – would he be down to fuck you? The thought had nestled in your head faster than you could react to it, and it surprised you how little you were turned off by the idea. Maybe you were ovulating – you didn’t have another reasonable explanation as to why the thought of fucking your best friend of years suddenly seemed like the best idea you had ever had.

You peeked at him again, silent in your secret thoughts, contemplating. He was complaining about his console, how the batteries must be running low because there was no way in hell his game was suddenly so bad. You knew that he acquired the sex drive of a teenage boy. You also knew that he didn’t scare away from casualties; and if anything, he was as sexually frustrated as you were. You couldn’t remember the last time he had brought someone over to your place, or had spent a night out without you being aware of his location. Maybe you should give it a try. Proposing wouldn’t hurt after all, would it?

You looked back at the TV screen. You played absentmindedly, tuning off the sounds of Han’s whining, startled at yourself. You weren’t scared of proposing casual sex. You weren’t even nervous – you ought to be far giddier about this. Deals like such made history in destroying friendships, at the very best complicating them – so why weren’t you nervous at all? Were you so sure he would agree? Or had the dread of the past years clouded your common sense so much that you couldn’t care, even if you wanted to?

“We should fuck.”

The words had left you faster than you had expected them to, and calmer, too. As though you had proposed to eat dinner together later – as though there wasn’t anything absurd about the three words whatsoever.

Han burst out in a fit of coughs, Luigi dying on the screen and the familiar jingle following sounded in your ears – a far more dramatic reaction than necessary, surely. It wasn’t like you had announced news of life and death. Simply casual sex – it wasn’t that absurd. That’s what you told yourself as you looked at him. Not expectantly. Almost as if you didn’t care at all.

“What??” He looked at you from the side, eyes big, unbelieving, mouth agape – he resembled a frightened animal.

“You heard me. We should fuck.”

In that moment, you should have regretted your words. When you look back at these three words you’ve uttered on a casual hot, summer day, they sound entirely wrong, and in retrospect, you shouldn’t have uttered them at all – you should have dealt with your frustration yourself, without dragging your best friend into it. You should have stayed quiet, or should have laughed it off as joke. Should have disregarded it, the moment you’d seen Han’s face, the expression laying in it – hopeful, frightened if maybe he heard wrong. Hopeful that he hadn’t; too hopeful for a best friend.

Though in this moment, as you looked him in the eyes, as you sat across from him with your console in hand and building up sweat in your neck, you didn’t. You didn’t retract your words, you didn’t even regret them. You let them sit and marinate in the room between you, and gave Han time to think them over – to hopefully answer them.

He looked at you, mouth open, then closed, then open again. He looked like a fish, wishful to speak though unable to. And he seemed to be unable to even several moments later. You almost urged to speak again, only to kill the heaving silence between you – and then his voice filled the room again.

“You mean like… now?”

It took you a couple seconds to grasp his question, and another five to start laughing, bell-like and loud. Han flinched in his seat at the unforeseen sound leaving your throat. He blushed, turned a crimson red. He felt uneasy, shy, nervous – anticipating. He had never dared to wish for you to speak those words, let alone mean them, and one could call him pathetic at the way his pants tightened around his middle at the sheer indication. At mere three words dripping like honey from your lips. Maybe he’d be better off to decline your offer – he wouldn’t last a second with your hands on him and end up embarrassing himself.

“No, you dumbass.”, you said after you collected yourself, still a giggle in your throat, and Han turned redder.

“Like, in general. Whenever we both feel like it.”

You eyed him from the side, and Han reached for his root beer clumsily, just to be doing something. Just to not look you in the eyes – they suddenly seemed too deep, too dangerous. The can was almost empty, though he pretended to take a bigger sip than he did.

He knew he’d say yes. And he knew that you knew as well – after all, it wasn’t a question you had asked him, it was a statement. You hadn’t asked if he wanted to fuck – you had simply said that you should. And Han wasn’t so sure about that. He knew he’d say yes, but he wasn’t convinced that fucking was anything the both of you should be doing. Not only had he been left in the dark about your motives with the preposition, he also wasn’t stupid; blinded, yes, but he knew exactly how friendships which got physical developed, and it was never a good outcome. And not only that – you had just found each other again, just came back to the way your friendship used to be, though far more sensitive, and changed after all. Han wasn’t so sure the both of you should be fucking, just after he’d realized the love he bore for you – and yet it was the very thing that made him say; “Uh, yeah. I guess… I guess we should.” Because in that moment, it was his only chance. In that moment you didn’t propose love, you proposed sex – and if that’s what it took to get closer to you, in any way possible, he couldn’t say no, despite knowing the depravity of it.

Han put his empty root beer onto the table in front of him, next to your Coke. He felt your gaze on him, but he didn’t dare look at you – he took hold of his console again, watched you select the next level in your game. Casualty; the very thing you had proposed, so the very thing Han needed to master to not cause suspicion. Suspicion of his very not so causal heart which was daring to jump out his chest, suspicion of the profuse sweat which had started to build on his palms, causing the console to slip in his hands – suspicion of the very apparent, pathetic boner in his pants at the mere thought of the two of you getting physical. He was a lost cause.

You gave him a quick look, huffed out amusement through your nose. It was funny, how flustered he was. You clicked on the next level, waited for the game to start.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid, but like…”, the level started, and the two characters rushed to finish it; you were looking for the right words. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen you bring anyone home in ages, I haven’t been laid in ages, either. And us two being physical is way easier than me fucking…”, you thought about it a second, and visibly cringed at the thought, “I can’t even imagine fucking Innie casually.”, you said, and Han chuckled at that. You were relieved to hear the sound; he warmed up again. “Or the other two, for that matter.”, you continued. Han peeked at you, shortly, to read your expression – you were calm. You weren’t distraught by the possible negative consequences of a friends-with-benefits-arrangement at all; was it because you believed your friendship to be stronger than to break over sex? Or was it because you were aware, even if subconsciously, of Han’s crush on you, and knew he’d let you hurt him, knew he’d never decline, knew he’d always come back if it ended badly?

“So that’s that.”

The other members arrived just as Han and you were finishing up the last level – he had seemed incredibly distracted, though you couldn’t blame him. He seemed, nevertheless, still incredibly distracted when everyone had set up their instruments and stood ready to practice. He forgot his count in, he played the wrong notes, he messed up the rhythm. Han was too good in his craft to disregard his mistakes to simple tiredness, and no one believed him when he said so – friendly bickering followed, only for Han to shut everyone up, and continue rehearsing the set of songs.

He knew none of them were stupid. He also knew all of them had eyes in their skulls – though none of these factors could quite make him stop staring at you from his spot just behind you. The words you had said whirred as thoughts in his head. ‘We should fuck.’ ‘Us two being physical is way easier.’ ‘We. Should. Fuck.’ You wanted to fuck him. Han was aware it wasn’t much more to you than just that, casual sex, but you wanted to fuck him. Han was aware – or, he thought to be – that Mr. Bahng – Chris – wasn’t as easy a prey as you had hoped he would be, and only due to his unavailability you had chosen Han; chosen for the ease of your personal frustration, for your own search for fun, for something new, for pure risk. What Han didn’t know – would you drop him the moment Chris bit on? Would you forget about wanting to fuck your best friend if the man you had originally hunted for would finally give in? Would Han have even been in the picture altogether, if Chris hadn’t been?

Doubts upon doubts, and rightful ones, too – and yet Han couldn’t help but feel anticipation coursing his veins. His blood pumped faster in his body when he looked at you, when he let his eyes travel up and down your body, from the skin of your strong, bare shoulders, down to your exposed ankles, peeking through beneath the flared pants and the open leather plateaus you so adored. Your toenails were painted a dark red – it was a mystery to him why his heart started beating faster at that, at the view of your red toenails.

And he was embarrassed of it. Embarrassed that he couldn’t stop staring at the way your shirt hugged your waist so tight he could see the straps of your bra, embarrassed that he was the opposite from being casual about the entire affair – an affair which hasn’t even started. An affair which, as of now, was only an idea, mere words. An affair which embodied casualty – and Han was so very embarrassed that he was the furthest from it. Embarrassed that his face ran hot when he inspected the way your fingers worked on your guitar, with ease, thoughtlessly, your nails a matching red, how his pants tightened further the more he replayed your voice in his head – ‘We should fuck. We should fuck. We should –’

“Yo, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

Changbin’s voice tore Han out of his thoughts, and as everyone stopped playing their instruments, the studio erupted in high-pitched feedback. Everyone’s head turned to the guitarist, eyeing him questioningly – he fled your eyes, deep and mischievous, and looked at Changbin instead.

“What… what do you mean, nothing- nothing’s wrong.”

Han wasn’t stupid. He knew that he was far too distracted, that none of his concentration went into the current rehearsal. He understood Changbin’s furrowing brows and startled expression at his words, at his pretending to be dumb – how, after all, was he supposed to explain that the reason his fingers weren’t confident on the guitar today was because you, standing only two meters away from him, proposed to fuck him, the girl he found out to love only hours ago?

“’Nothing’s wrong’? Don’t bullshit me, why are you playing so bad today?”, Changbin replied, and Han cleared his throat at the words, hoping to hide the pang at his pride. “We have to prepare for the gig, so get your shit together.”, Changbin ended, agitated, though not angry, not really. And the older man was right – you had something to prepare for, and your routine was far from clean; if you wanted to make it anywhere as musicians outside your shabby college studio, Han couldn’t allow himself to be as distracted as he was. And not by you, on top of that – not only his best friend, but his band mate. Two reasons alone he should decline your offer to get physical; though he’d never dare.

“I’m not sure what the problem is exactly…”, Jeongin’s voice travelled the room, and heads turned his direction. The youngest sported an amused grin, and nodded towards Han – the man started blushing without knowing the reason he had caught attention, though he sensed it couldn’t be anything in his favour. “…but I can imagine it has something to do with the massive boner in his pants.”

Han couldn’t react fast enough before a round of snickering and teasing filled the room. Comments from Changbin and Jeongin filling his ears, quiet scoffs of amusement from Lino somewhere behind him – and worst of all, your knowing eyes. He couldn’t escape them any longer, nor did he want to; right now, they revealed themselves to be the safest haven in this room, against snarky comments and dirty smirks. Though your eyes, the expression in them, seductiveness or mocking he wasn’t sure, wasn’t any easier to handle. If anything, they made his heart beat faster in his chest, made his blood pump quicker – which wasn’t at all to his advantage this very moment.

Han shifted his guitar, making it cover the area everyone suddenly chose to focus on, making it cover his crotch with a face so crimson you giggled in your place. His brows furrowed, his movements grew clumsy – it was endearing to see him embarrassed, more endearing, even, watching him trying to cover it up.

“I don’t… stop looking at my dick, you fucking weirdos.”, he mumbled, making the rest erupt in more laughter than before. Han’s eyes caught onto yours again; you were laughing, too, and for a reason he couldn’t make up, Han wasn’t hurt by your amusement; he only grew hotter, shakier, giddier than before. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, in fact – he wanted to see your face while his misery made you giggle, while your gaze wandered him up and down, secretly knowing. Changbin’s and Jeongin’s stupid comments met his ears dull and soundless, he filtered them off before they met him; and then you winked at him. Secretly, only at him, without a word. You turned back to your instrument again, left him dumbfounded and staring; if he lost himself any more in you, he would have started drooling.

“C’mon boys, let’s continue practicing.”, you announced, making the rest quiet down in their snickering. Did you want to save Han from his embarrassment? He couldn’t tell; you weren’t granting him as much as a look now, turning your head to Jeongin instead. The man had a dirty grin on his face, his long, delicate fingers grazing the electric piano. Han remembered your words again, from before, while you were looking at the man – ‘I can’t even imagine fucking Jeongin casually.’. He was attractive, always in dark attire and with piercing eyes, tall and carrying himself with an ease few people had. He was confident, he was bringing girls home more nights than he wasn’t – fucking him would be easier, Han thought. He was easier, in the sense of causality. He didn’t have years and years of friendship with you to look back upon. He was noisy, yes, and loud, but Han doubted you’d mind that; and yet, you hadn’t chosen Jeongin. You had chosen him.

“You said it yourself, we have something to prepare for. So let’s fucking prepare for it.”

☆.☆.☆

“Min, are you coming with us today?”

The five of you started to wrap up the session, discarding your instruments wherever they belonged, sipping on some water for your throats, putting cigarettes between your lips to light outside. The drummer got up from his seat behind his still echoing drums, and shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t looking at you, packing his stuff hurriedly – you knew that some days he went to extra-curricular evening classes to up his average, and judging by the speed with which he found himself by the door to the studio, leather bag thrown leisurely over his shoulder and a lighter by the cigarette between his teeth, he was on his way there.

“Nah, probably not. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left with a nod into the group, everyone seeing him off with a mumbled goodbye or a tired grunt – Han wondered if there was more to it. If Lino knew more than he let on, when it came to you and himself. That Lino knew more than even he knew – that Lino’s absence tonight was out of courtesy. Han fished for his lighter in his pocket, playing with the cigarette in his mouth, waiting for you by the door. He looked you up, then he looked you down, watching you joke around with the other two, slapping Changbin across his chest when the man retorted something smug, before you threw your old rucksack over your shoulder – he was probably overthinking it. All of it, he thought. Lino couldn’t possibly know about the proposition you had made Han an hour back, his absence wasn’t credited to courtesy, simply to his usual whiffs of randomness. Nor could the others know; their jokes hadn’t been unusual, nor did they bear any clue about Han’s feelings for you. It was all in his head. That, and the nervousness he carried in his limbs while looking at you. You couldn’t possibly seem more relaxed while he was eyeing you, watching as you gave him a smile, as casual and kind as always, walking up towards him. It seemed, almost, as if you’ve forgotten about your previous plan, as if you’ve never actually asked Han the question altogether. He ought to calm down – it didn’t have to be as serious as he made it out to be; it surely wasn’t for you. Though, at that very thought, his smile faded only a little bit, and the heart in his chest felt only a little heavier.

“Let’s go.” Your voice was soft as you spoke to Han, louder when you bid goodbye to the other two before you opened the heavy door and made your way into the soaring heat outside. When Han lit his cigarette, you fished for a piece of gum and started chewing on it mindlessly. The white sun burned down on your skin, making the sheet of sweat on your bare chest shimmer, only slightly, like droplets of salty ocean water on soft sand. Your dyed hair heated at your neck, so you put it into a lazy ponytail – Han couldn’t be calm about you. Not when every fibre of his body, every muscle burned hotter than the August sun within him, at everything you did. He couldn’t stop looking at you, couldn’t stop looking at your lips as you chewed on the piece of gum, couldn’t stop looking at your closed eyes as you admired the warm rays on your face, couldn’t stop looking, even, at your shoulders which carried your old rucksack. The straps had left red marks, not likely painful, but the red marred your skin nevertheless; Han would give anything to plant his lips there. He would start there, by the red of your skin, by the marks of your rucksack, and would travel up, towards your neck, which, too, carried only a faint mark of your guitar strap. He would kiss it, mark it, bite down behind the small of your-

“You wanna get a drink? I need a Coke… it’s so hot.”

Casualty. Han was far from it, and you were the personification of it. He doubted you were thinking of him at all, let alone in the way he was thinking of you – you were so very casual, in fact, that Han believed, for a second, to have dreamed the conversation on the sofa altogether, to have imagined it. That, if he told you about it, or if he made any advances, you would simply laugh at him. But he couldn’t have imagined it – because then he had to have imagined your wink during rehearsals as well, and your knowing laughter, your mischievous giggling. It had been very much real; Han had simply been thinking with his dick, ever since you had mentioned you and him and fucking in one sentence.

You didn’t await an answer from him. You made your way to the vending machine under the weeping willow – it felt like ages since you’ve last sat there, drinking and talking, about nothing and everything altogether. You had both missed it, and when you saw the dirty, old machine, when you stepped under the shadow of the big, crying tree, when you watched your best friend buy his beloved root beer a soft smile formed on your lips. Time with Han seemed to have become rare, lately; this felt like old times. When you threw in lose coins and selected a Coke, taking out the freezing drink and relishing in the taste of it against your thirsting tongue, the last two weeks of fighting and emotions and distance and confusion disappeared; it was you and Han on the bench under the tree, favourite drinks in hand, and laughing.

“You’re literally disgusting.” Han’s remark to the fact you kept your minty gum under your tongue as you sipped on your Coke, and you laughed at his frowning face.

“I’m not gonna waste a piece of gum to drink, dumbass.”, you retorted, and he scoffed in response. You watched him – something has changed, though, after all. He did, you thought. Something in Han had been fundamentally different ever since you had very first mentioned Chris. He seemed more absent, sipping on his root beer and watching a stray cat purring beneath his feet. He took out his phone, snapped a picture of it; likely sending it Lino, teasing that he should have come with you two after all. You were fond of him, deeply so, knew him deeply, too – it was natural for you to feel uneasiness in his change of demeanour. And somehow, you felt even more uneasy at the realization that he tried to overplay said change. That he tried desperately to act like he always did, but the pretending never is as natural as habits. Han’s trying instead of talking and figuring it out is unlike either of you, and it nagged on you, whenever you looked at him. You ought to find out what it was that changed him, that made him refuse of confessing it to you – you feared you already knew.

He looked at you, then, and blushed; he seemed like he got caught, doing something he wasn’t supposed to. His eyes immediately lost yours again, and his attention was back on the cat which had been begging for it. Your eyes saddened, fell into themselves. You shouldn’t have ever proposed your idea on the sofa – you should have managed to work out your frustration, sexual or not, yourself. You didn’t regret it, not particularly, but you simply shouldn’t have. For his sake, as much as for your friendships’. You never promised anyone to be an angel, and frankly, you doubted to be a very good person altogether – but the selfishness you burdened Han with surprised even yourself, more so that you didn’t have the guts to dissolve it. You weren’t any better than him, in that matter, then; choosing silence instead of talking it out, instead of resolving matters that desperately needed it.

“Do we have beer at home?”

Breaking the silence because you couldn’t possibly take it, and Han looked at you. There was gratefulness in his eyes, you thought – gratefulness that you brought up such an easy subject, that you chose to talk of mundanity. He shook his head, took a long drag of his cigarette before finishing his root beer with a big gulp, throwing his head back and exhaling loudly.

“No, I think we finished it all last time. Should we go buy some?”

You looked at him as he continued smoking, putting the empty can of his drink into his worn-out bag to deposit it later for a couple cents. He squatted down, pinching the shrinking bud between his lips, and played with the clingy feline still snaking around his feet. He giggled softly, only for himself – you wished nothing would ever change at all. You wished, too, that you’d mature into a better person, at some point.

You stood in front of the shelves of booze, searching for your go-to beer, or something that at least wasn’t disgusting for its’ price. Han still stood outside; “You’re not wasting your gum, and I’m not wasting my cigarettes; they’re expensive.”, was his argument when you rolled your eyes at the tiny bud between his fingers, having argued that he could long discard it. You had scoffed at him, and had entered the store by yourself; “You keep destroying your lungs then, I won’t wait for you; I’m passively smoking way too much anyways with your smoking all around me.” You had waved your hands in front of your face to accentuate your disgust at the cloud of smoke Han engulfed you in, and disappeared into the badly lit store, half empty, with a tired-looking cashier behind the counter.

Han hadn’t lied to you when he said he wasn’t wasting his cigarettes, but it had only been a half-truth – he needed to compose himself. You were driving him crazy. Unknowingly, and surely not purposefully, but every word you spoke, every move you made set off a fire in his veins. He hadn’t felt this way about you before, even when he had realized, painfully, the feelings he bore for you – because before today, you weren’t a possibility. Before today the very thought of having you, in any form other than he already had, was laughable. The mere idea of touching you, letting his lips meet your body, your skin, your own lips had been amusing at least, embarrassing at best. So now that you were palpable, now that those ideas were, he couldn’t stop thinking them. He couldn’t stop imagining your hands on his body when you took hold of your bag to throw it around your shoulder, couldn’t stop imagining your fingers against his skin when they typed away at your phone, to send someone a quick, mindless message. When he looked at your mouth, talking or chewing on your long tasteless gum, the picture of it around his cock would not leave his mind – he wasn’t even sure if you had planned to fuck him tonight, but he didn’t care as long as it happened, eventually. He was long beyond the point of caring, too, about his laughable pitifulness.

When he made his way into the store, he met you by the shelves of chips and snacks. When you saw him, you gave him a mindless smile, and he returned it. He was glad you were so very calm – despite his pathetic anticipation Han had missed feeling careless in your presence, almost like before. And your relaxation calmed him, too; if you were to tease him, if you were to mention the conversation on the sofa in the studio – he might have to spill his feelings for you the very moment.

“You want something specific? I’ll take sweet-onion anddd…”, you scanned the bright bags of chips, deciding on hot-chilli quickly, “…these. Anything else?” You showed Han the haul in your hands, two six-packs of beer, two bags of chips, struggling to hold it all. He took one pack of the beverages you held, and another bag of sweet-onion chips. “Should be enough.”

You left the store with full hands of groceries, emptier wallets, and one additional cigarette pack in Han’s jean pocket.

“I swear you knew you didn’t bring your wallet – you were the one who asked if we should buy some beer!!”, you cried out, accusing your best friend. You had stood at the check-out already, beer and chips and one pack of expensive cigarettes laying on the register, when Han had announced that he hadn’t brought his wallet.

“And I swear I didn’t know!!” Not quite a comeback when you walked further towards your apartment, already having reached your neighbourhood, and squinting your eyes at the blinding sundown.

“Sure you didn’t. You only want me for my money.”, you tsked while shaking your head playfully, and Han laughed at that – you barely made more than him in your respective part-time jobs.

“I do, actually.” Then, after a while, when you didn’t retort anything, only continued making your way further down the quiet street, droplets of sweat sticking to the skin of your neck, “I’ll pay you back the money for my cigarettes.”

You turned your head to look back at him. There it was again, that changed look. Playful one moment, making you believe that you were the same old again, before the change settled behind his eyes. A pang to your heart, because his eyes looked sad that way, and his face spoke more than his words did; you just weren’t sure if you understood him.

“I sure hope so. And I want the money for half of the rest, too.”

One hour later, you were tipsy and full on the sofa in your shared apartment. You were giggling, too, about what you were unsure. Though you knew that you were content. Han seemed relaxed, helped by the three beers he had drank over the past sixty minutes, and was telling you joke after joke, making you laugh. He loved making you laugh; it had been a while he last had, and you had missed it, dearly. For a moment, sitting here with him, you believed that the past two weeks truly had dissipated into nothingness – you had been ought to forget the fights and the pettiness, and you enjoyed his company now, which felt like old times.

“Should we watch something? I kinda wanna watch something.”, Han half-slurred, and you giggled as he reached for the TV remote. The static of the screen blinded you for a moment before your eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, and by then the man had already opened his Netflix account, scrolling through collections of movies. You felt the heat of his body next to your own, his leg touching yours. You watched his fingers as he clicked away on the remote, his face, then, enlightened by bright hues. The way his eyes shone with them.

It had been five minutes, movie names thrown out into the air, but none of which caught either of your attention. Another five minutes, and you weren’t even paying attention to the TV anymore; you wondered if you were attracted to him. A part of you had to be, maybe – for you had asked to sleep with him after all. And though you couldn’t deny his attractiveness, a subtle one, a natural one which not a lot of people you knew carried, you couldn’t say you ever noticed it. Your preposition had merely been a practical one, not one based on mutual attractiveness; you thought, at least.

Yet despite, your eyes wandered around his body, unbeknownst to him. Would he shy away from your gaze, if he only saw it? If he turned his head your way? Now that you saw him in a light which you’ve never thought about before, you noticed more of him. His hands, which still were holding the remote and his can of warm-turned beer, were pretty, almost delicate. Callused, too, at the fingertips – much like your own. The clinking sound of his teeth biting at his silver piercing sounded in your ears, even though the trailers he played on the TV were far louder; you only heard the repetitive sound of tooth on metal, and converted your eyes to his lips. His tongue darted out, from time to time, mindlessly, quickly before it was gone again. You wanted to kiss him, suddenly.

You tore yourself out of your thoughts, and your eyes caught the light of the TV. You breathed out, more heavily than Han had expected you to.

“You don’t wanna watch anything?”

He looked at you, eyes big, and bright, mouth slightly agape and brows furrowed a little to show question, and you looked at his lips. You caught him blushing when your eyes suddenly weren’t on his own anymore, when they travelled down his mouth, and he licked his lips then, sealed them. You thought about Chris, the angering frustration he’s left you with. You looked Han in the eyes again; and you smiled a little, smugly.

“You know…”, your voice was quiet, and low, and slurred. Han visibly swallowed when he looked at you; you caught his gaze flicking to your lips quickly, before he blushed even deeper. “We could just do… this instead.” You leaned in slowly, so slow that you gave him enough time to back away, to turn his face and flee your lips; but he didn’t. Han sat in his place, awaiting, big-eyed and blinking so hard you almost chuckled. You further closed the distance between you, inch by inch, before finally, your lips met.

It was a slow kiss, a leisure one. You were testing out the waters, letting your tongue brush across Han’s lower lip, across his piercing for only half a second before your lips closed his in again, softly. He was kissing you back, though the man was as though paralyzed otherwise; not moving in his seat, dumbfounded – he loved you. If he didn’t know it before, he surely did now, as your lips danced along his, so very calm, so very collected, unapologetically. You kissed him slowly, and softly, and deeply. Your hand lay on his shoulders, came up to caress at his cheek. You were delicate, you moaned out quietly when Han opened his mouth for you, let you take him in; and he couldn’t even touch you, could only sit, a stone of himself. He had you, close and warm and perfect, next to him, and he only needed to reach out, but couldn’t. He couldn’t as much as move his limbs, having lost all control over his own body; he was utterly hopeless.

You pulled away. Your head cocked to the side, and you looked at him with a smile grazing at the corner of your mouth. He could only look at you, in the dim light, in the static of the TV. The beads of sweat on your neck, the scent of beer when you breathed against him, the smell of your worn perfume – it was everything and it was nothing, losing himself in every detail which was you.

“Do you not like it?” Your voice was a whisper; you didn’t need to talk any louder, for the distance between your bodies wasn’t even worth mentioning. Han blinked, two times, three, four more, and finally registered your question.

“No, I do…”, he finally breathed out, as quietly as you, though far more desperate, “I really fucking do.”

You giggled, too cute for the given situation, he thought, but he didn’t mind it. You got hold of the can of beer still in his hands, the TV remote; Han had long forgotten that his hands had been occupied, in the first place. The dark, tangy beer met the old table with a quiet thump, and Han didn’t even see where the remote landed; you had thrown it somewhere beside them, both careless about it, both eager for each other.

“That’s good.”

You sat up, and with one swift motion, you found yourself on top of him. Han looked you up, from beneath his lashes; he hadn’t expected that, and the drowsiness in his veins almost made him curse out. Your legs were caging in his, and you hovered over him with a smile – he wasn’t sure if it was more than that, if what he saw wasn’t a smile but a smirk, more teasing and mischievous than kind, but he couldn’t tell in this lighting. He didn’t truly care, either. Because the next moment your lips were on his again, and you kissed him deeper this time around, faster. Surer of yourself, and Han welcomed it. He felt paralyzed, still, more so than before – a big part of him thought he had to imagine things, that the beer made him dream so very vividly that he had troubles differentiating it from reality – and for several moments, he simply let you kiss him. You didn’t seem to mind it; you were experimenting, cupping his face in your hands and making out with him, fast, yet unhurriedly.

He moved, then, finally. His hands fought against the disbelief and the numbing bliss coursing his body, and he lay them by the side of your thighs, wandering up to your waist in the process. It was the first time he was feeling you like this. Was he a fool, to never having noticed you before? To never having noticed your appeal, your body? He was noticing it now, exploring it, slowly, excessively; he needed to savour every passing second, every inch of you in risk this to be his only chance. He didn’t know how much longer you’d want to keep this affair, how much until you were satisfied, or until you managed to get Mr. Bahng where you wanted him. Han couldn’t let a single detail about tonight get past him; he would be able to remember the feeling of your body and your skin beneath his hands long after you’d grow tired of him.

And that’s how he touched you, too; firm, suddenly, awakened and driven by a newly found passion, a plan. He groped at your hips, felt your clothed flesh beneath his hands. He was fascinated at how it didn’t feel at all strange; the more he touched you, the more right it felt. He kissed you back more feverishly now, too. He opened his mouth and invited you in, pushed his tongue against your own, moaning quietly, a little shyly, against your lips. He felt you smile at that, and if he lost himself any further his hips would have bucked into yours at the feeling.

You pulled away. Suddenly, leaving him hungry and searching for your lips with his own. You giggled at the view of him not ready to let you go, of him trying to lean in to you, eyes yet closed and needy, in hopes of finding you again. When he didn’t, when he was left with only emptiness, his eyes opened, and he looked at you. It was silent desperation in his gaze; he wouldn’t stoop low enough to beg for you yet, keeping some of his pride after all, but he was silently pleading you on, to keep going, to give you more, to please, please not stop.

It was different seeing him like this. A puddle in your hands, so very needy. It was different, and it was sweet. You enjoyed it, more than you thought you would. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was pent up frustration; or maybe it was simply him, so infatuated by you, so seemingly enamoured. You knew he hadn’t fucked anyone in a while – he must have missed it as much as you, and reading it on his face, the relief and the quiet shame and the pleasure, was far more exciting than you had hoped it to be.

You leaned in again, and Han closed his eyes, puckered his lips. He was ready, entirely; but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a kiss. You stopped inches before him, and gave him a smile when he looked up at you again, frustrated, teetering on annoyance. Your hand disappeared to his hips; the man jumped in surprise, and a breath hitched in his throat; cute. He tensed up, until he realized it wasn’t his sex – hard and leaking by now, though he wouldn’t want to admit to it – you were aiming for, but the pockets of his jeans. He blinked at you, watched you hold his gaze in a manner unwavering; he wondered if you liked this as much as he did. If it came natural to you also, the kissing, and the touching, and the teasing. Or if you felt a hint of amusement, still, a little funny because this wasn’t anything either of you had ever truly thought of, let alone planned until a couple hours ago; he wouldn’t blame you, either way.

Your fingers snuck into the depths of his pockets, finally fishing out what you were looking for – Han never left the house without a condom on him, despite the little use he found for them. He didn’t know why you knew; but something about it turned him on beyond comprehension. Something about your smile when you looked at him now, when you sat back a little. Something about the way your teeth flashed when your smile widened, something about the way you waved the condom in front of him, when his face screamed question marks and the absence of any coherence.

You giggled, let one of your hands slowly wander down his body. You started at his chest, travelled to the expanse of his stomach over his old, washed-out shirt, teased at his abdomen. The touches were feather light, but they ignited burning fires on the sensitivity of his skin.

“We’re gonna need that, no?”, you asked, rhetorically, but he nodded anyways.

“Can already feel how hard you are… and we’ve only kissed.”, you mumbled against his lips, before you connected them with your own. You didn’t give him much time to react; but when he processed your words and hot embarrassment flooded his body he whined out, brows furrowed and holding onto you, fingers digging into the fabric of your low-rise jeans. He could feel the skin of your waist beneath his fingertips; it was warm and slightly sweaty, and it drove him insane.

Your hands explored a little more of him, moved further south, until you hovered over his core. You only hovered, you didn’t yet touch. You let Han get impatient, let him whine out again – you hadn’t expected him to sound so pretty, so eager. It almost wasn’t in your control, the way you egged him on only to elicit more of those sounds from the depths of his throat. You let him whimper into your mouth, let him buck his hips in search of your touch; only softly, almost embarrassed, and only then you palmed him over the restrains of his jeans. It must have been painful; he was straining against the rough material, so hard you wondered just how long it had been since he’d last had his dick touched. Though you couldn’t really blame him, not if the wetness between your legs started staining not only your underwear but your jeans also, not when the heat in your core was barely possible to hold out. You needed this as bad as he did, after all.

You fiddled with the belt of Han’s jeans, his button, then, when you succeeded. You undid the zipper, lastly – by then his breath came in staggered huffs and sighs, and he pulled you closer, entirely lost. He kissed you harder, too, when you palmed his cock over his underwear; it was marred with precum already, and you smiled against his lips. Lips which never ceased to urge for more, to glue against yours.

Finally, and he almost started begging for it, you took him out fully. You broke the kiss, and you both watched as you palmed his cock, at the base first before you moved your hand against it, up to the tip, then down again. Slowly, taking your time. It wasn’t the first time you saw him naked, wasn’t the first time, even, you touched his sex – you had been kids once and curious, though back then, awkwardness had marred the memory. Now, the feeling was different; and not for the first time tonight, you were surprised just how different. You grew wetter at the sounds of his pleasure, and how very red, how very angry his leaking tip was when your thumb circled over it. Han rolled his hips into your fist softly, more confident now, or maybe simply needier, but softly nonetheless. After moments of touching he made moves to open the buttons on your jeans as well, and you let him. You raised your hips slowly to help him slide them off you, and it took you a little to discard them fully; the alcohol in your system made you clumsy and dizzy, and you both giggled when you almost tripped over your pants before you were back to straddling him. Han noticed the light scar on your knee – he had the same one. He also noticed the self-made tattoo by your ankle; a music note. You hadn’t been eighteen yet, and you had known a guy with a tattoo gun back then. Against his warnings of never, ever touching it you did, once, had almost caught an infection, too. The tattoo was long faded out now, looking rough and shaky; but it was still there, and Han noticed it now as he looked you up and down, as took all of you in.

Yet he hesitated to touch you, now that your jeans didn’t cover your skin anymore. He was almost glad you had decided to leave your panties on – his eyes were already lost on your figure, trying to take you all in and losing himself in it. Your tank top still was on, too; it wasn’t a sight he didn’t know, necessarily. You were both comfortable in your bodies and around each other, and days at the beach weren’t a rarity with you two, either. But right now was different. Right now, your bare thighs were caging in his own, and he could only focus on how the softness of them spilled over your underwear. He didn’t know if he had ever noticed it before; he surely would from now on, and it was bound to destroy him.

His hands slowly found your hips again. It was a steady place, secure, sturdy; he liked how they felt beneath his palm, your hips. But he wanted to touch you, more intimate, closer; simply more. He didn’t know if he was brave enough. He was frozen in his place, frozen by your hips, only moving his lips against yours. But you were urging for it, he thought. Your hips were moving slowly, rolling over his own; he wasn’t sure if you were getting any friction, if you moved for moving’s sake, or if you wanted him exactly where his own fingers tingled to be.

Though he didn’t need to decide, after all; your right hand took hold of his left, and you guided him to your wetness. A loud whine escaped him – your underwear was soaked, and you were hot. A heat so scorching it ought to burn Han alive, yet he didn’t retract his hand, only dove into you further. He pulled your panties to the side, scooped up your wetness, testing the waters. You moaned, you bit his lower lip, you kissed him harder; and he kept going. He teased at your clit, enjoyed how your hips rolled against his hand, how you lost yourself in pleasure now, too. He was dizzy himself; you never eased off his sex, kept touching upon him, kept teasing his tip. You grinded against each other, both needy, both intoxicated, both your hearts speaking different languages this very moment, yet yearning for the same purpose.

You pulled away with a deep sigh, and your teeth ripped open the package of the condom you had held in your hand up until now. Han sat wide-eyed, speechless; he hoped he wouldn’t cum the very moment you eased onto him. He wasn’t strong-willed as it was, and hopeless around you altogether. He would embarrass himself, surely.

You rolled the rubber over his erection, kissed him again before you adjusted yourself above him. And he had been right; when he felt your wetness, your heat engulf him slowly, when he watched your face blow out in pleasure, mouth agape and eyes widening before they shut close, before your head lulled back, he was closer to release than it was comfortable to admit. Fuck. He needed to recompose himself if he wanted this moment to last any longer than only a couple seconds. Not only didn’t he want to ever leave this, ever leave you, your touch, the feeling of your body underneath his hands; he would also be unable to face you without shame if he happened to bust already. Which wouldn’t be an easy task; you were together every day, and he wanted to still be able to look you in the eyes, without feeling embarrassed to the core. So, Han lulled his head back, closed his eyes shut, to not look at your contorted face – it was far prettier than he had imagined.

He felt you. Because he didn’t dare look at you all his senses were locked in on the feeling of your dripping pussy around him, your velvety walls taking all of him in, again and again. You kept a rhythm which was driving the man further to numbing pleasure, and your sounds echoing in his ears were heavenly – god, how much he loved the way you sounded. It wasn’t the first time he heard you this way – the walls in your shared apartment were rather thin – but it was the first time the sounds were meant for him, the first time he didn’t mind it, the first time he didn’t cover his ears with noise-cancelling headphones, not so much out of annoyance, but out of the embarrassment of his hardening erection. He had always thought it wasn’t your sounds in particular which got him so very hard whenever you had brought someone over to spend the night with, that it had always been the mere and mundane act of sex within close proximity; he had always had the libido of a teenage boy, after all.

Though now, listening to your throaty, whiny moans, your small sighs of pleasure; it had been you. Had always been, long before he had realized it himself.

“Gonna cum.” Your voice was breathy, stuck in your throat, and Han shot his eyes open at your words. He moaned out, too, when his eyes met yours – you had never looked more beautiful. With a hand of yours down your core, hectic fingers toying with your clit and the other clinging onto his shoulder he couldn’t help but buck his hips up into you, whining out curses and your name, furrowing his brows. It got you off the edge; his high-pitched whimpers, the way your name sounded when it rolled off his lips. He had never sounded like this, so breathy, so whiny, so pleading. It was adorable, it was enough to tip you off, and you came against him loud and hard, mouth hung open and head lulling into your neck. And it was entirely enough for Han to follow, momentarily; his hips fucked into yours, and his hands dug into your flesh before he filled the condom with a drawn-out whimper, continuing to grind his hips into yours, riding out his orgasm, chasing the end of it, the endlessness of it.

You sat next to him, panties wet and sticky, chests heaving, watching him slide off the condom to tie it up. You couldn’t read him. He didn’t look the way you’d have expected him to post sex; his thoughts were occupied by something, and he fled your eyes, it seemed. When he got up to throw the used rubber in the kitchen trash distress glazed his eyes, and a feeling of worry set in your chest. Had it been wrong, after all? Maybe you had misread him, took him for someone who would enjoy casualties. He had seemed to have enjoyed it, though. And he had agreed; were you so bad in reading your best friend? Did you know him so little?

When Han sat back down on the sofa he looked at nothing in particular, before his head turned to you. He smiled a bit, fucked out and pupils blown out; maybe he was fine. You clung onto a hopeless straw.

“So, is the only reason you fucked me because you can’t have Mr. Bahng.” The name sounded sarcastic out of his mouth, and the question amused; was he joking around? It sounded like it, but his eyes looked serious, hopeful. Why was he bringing up Chris, all of a sudden? Not even you had been thinking about the teacher too much throughout tonight; so why was he?

Your brows furrowed slightly, and you hoped he didn’t notice; you chuckled then, throwing your head back against the backrest of the sofa, feigning relaxation.

“No, actually I’ve always been suuuper attracted to you.”, you looked at him, and his eyes sunk. You noticed, but you giggled, and put on your best pout, “I was just so scared to tell you before.” You chuckled, and you couldn’t stand yourself. Han’s face visibly saddened, sunk into itself, before he forced himself to huff out in fake amusement. He seemed nervous, fiddled with his hands, pretended to sweep something off his pants which wasn’t there. And when he got up with a quiet “Gonna go to sleep, then.”, you were disgusted by yourself. You sat on the sofa for a little while longer, booze making your head pulsate, making you more anxious than maybe necessary. Your panties were dry by now, and your thighs aching; did you enjoy hurting the people around you, only so they wouldn’t hurt you first? Or were you doing it, just for the pleasure of it? You cleaned up the empty cans of beer and the snacks before you went to wash the guilt off your body; when the shower started running Han still wasn’t asleep, and you couldn’t hear his quiet sniffling in the room next to your own.

taglist: @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads-archived @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @binniesbang @astraystayyh @chrizzztopherbang @qtieskz @rylea08 @miss-fallon @sikebishes @h0n3yj4y @lashaemorow @tsunderelino

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jinxhallows · 9 months ago

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𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 .

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☾ -- ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛs

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ᴍʏ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ -- @sikebishes @hamburgers101 @felix-housewife @agnes-king @exfolitae @brojustfknkillm3 @skzswife @just-randomm-stuff @thunderous-wolf @3rachasninja @katsukis1wife @hanjingin @mylilliposts

☾ -- ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ? ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ | ᴡᴄ: 8.6ᴋ

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A dense smoky fog blankets the ground as you navigate through it, obscuring everything but the silhouette of barren trees in the distance. Their branches reach out like grasping fingers, lending an air of malevolence to the journey. It feels as though every element of the landscape is vying for a piece of your soul.

The vampires, purportedly devoid of soul, remain unaffected by the eerie atmosphere. Jisung, however, betrays his unease by idly rubbing his amulet between his fingers. Though he maintains his stoic facade, a flicker of apprehension glimmers in his eyes as he catches your gaze. His smile is unfamiliar, lacking its usual warmth—it's akin to the polite nod given to a stranger who holds open a door.

This isn't the Jisung you're accustomed to.

Time is running short for Jisung. He's almost resigned to his fate, harboring a faint hope for a swift, painless end once this journey concludes. The prospect of returning home to face the slow decay of his essence over the remaining years weighs on him.

Thoughts of his long-lost fiancée flit through his mind. He's yet to encounter her in his frequent visits to the afterlife, but perhaps he'll spend his eternity seeking her out instead of perpetually evading death.

A tender glance at your stomach reveals his excitement at the thought of becoming an uncle. Even though he likely won't be around to see it happen, he finds comfort in knowing that your child will carry his legacy through their magical bloodline. Someday, they'll cross paths again.

The dark aura emanating from the coyote demon casts a shadow over the group. The silence is difficult to tolerate in its absolute stillness. Wasn't this supposed to be the most dangerous part of the journey? Only a day ago, you were under siege by demons, yet now, on the brink of the final stretch, there's nothing. Certainly, if there were something in the distance, any one of the supernatural creatures on your sides would be able to detect it.

Hyunjin listens to the crunch of twigs under his feet, lost in his thoughts. He ponders his mother's cryptic words, wondering if tonight will mark the loss of one of his brothers. Maybe even you. Hyunjin had grown incredibly fond of you, and you had earned his loyalty by rescuing him.

Hyunjin even entertains the idea that it should be him instead. Many uncertainties plague his mind. Returning to the mortal world has been a jarring experience, and true peace eludes him. Hyunjin wonders if he'll ever find any sort of peace, or if this perpetual unrest is his eternal atonement for past sins.

"Hold on, you see that?" Chan's voice breaks through Hyunjin's runaway train of thought, directing everyone's attention to a sudden clearing that appears before you, seemingly out of nowhere. The forest, dense and forbidding just moments ago, now yields to an expansive open space. The nearby sounds of water reach your ears, and squinting reveals the clearing's boundary—a cliff shrouded in thick fog. The archway formed by the bending trees at the cliff's edge invites them to peer beyond, where the natural sky seems to disappear. The impending sunrise has vanished from view, leaving behind a darkness that blankets the forest in a timeless haze.

"This must be it, I can feel it." Santiago declares, drawing a deep breath as he surveys their surroundings, his senses on high alert despite his formidable power. He didn't clue anyone else in on it, but he had a strange feeling that they were being followed the last hour of travel. When nobody else made note of it, he attributed it to the twisted curse of this place and let it go.

Is this Abysmora? Or does it lie beyond this mysterious veil of smoke?

You wrap your arms around yourself tightly, a surge of nausea unsettling your stomach.

"What did you say?" Chan's concerned voice breaks through your thoughts as he turns to check on you, his expression puzzled by a sound he thought he heard.

"I didn't say anything," you reply, feeling perplexed. Had your thoughts accidentally slipped out aloud?

"Weird. I could've sworn I heard something," Chan mutters, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Maybe your mind's playing tricks on you," Jisung suggests, joining the conversation. "I didn't hear anything either."

Chan is still skeptical, approaching you with a frown. He squats down to press his ear against your stomach, and you allow the gesture, gently resting your hand on his head, the weight of the moment heavy amidst the strangeness of the situation. Standing up, he scans the group, finding no confirmation of his earlier perception.

"Nobody else heard it?" he asks, met with shaking heads all around, including yours.

"In Abysmora, believe only half of what you see and nothing you hear," Santiago advises, breaking the tension. "I don't wanna tempt Fate; she can be cynical. We have to pay the Coyote demon before we cross over." You avoid eye contact as Santiago looks at you again, instead averting your eyes to the coyote demon close to the water. Somehow, your anger has shed it's skin to reveal your fragile hurt. You wonder why you aren't worthy of the truth from him, even now, after all you had accomplished.

The sight of your mysterious guide at the cliff's edge draws your attention like a moth to a flame. It hovers there, a few inches above the ground, an enigmatic presence, its form shrouded in shadow. Despite its lack of eyes, it seems to peer intently at the ground below, as if deciphering some hidden message written in the earth itself. The air around it crackles with an otherworldly energy, adding to its mystique as it stands sentinel at the edge of the abyss.

"I'm sorry, pay him? With what?" Jisung's voice rings with alarm.

"What do you think, my friend?" Santiago responds, unsheathing his knife. "Our life force." With determined steps, he approaches the coyote demon, and the rest of the group follows suit. It remains unfazed, its attention fixed firmly on the ground. You cling tighter to Chan, who slows to let you grip his arm.

With a wave of its bony hand over the water's edge, a makeshift raft emerges from the foamy stream. It appears flimsy, like a discarded piece of construction material, hardly capable of supporting its own weight, let alone the rush of the rapids with you all atop it. Yet, it remains steady, held aloft by the coyote demon's power. Santiago steps forward first, slicing his palm and allowing blood to spill onto the demon's outstretched hand. Every drop is absorbed without a trace, prompting Felix to follow suit, eyeing the demon warily before adding his own sacrifice. Jisung, surprisingly, steps up next, his usually cautious demeanor overshadowed by the gravity of the situation.

Hyunjin's turn comes next, and as you and Chan approach, a sense of dread begins to well up within you. The fear seems to seep from the ground itself, creeping up your legs and constricting your throat.

Chan, hearing something again, looks down at you, his expression troubled. It's a sound he can't quite place, like a whisper in his mind, indecipherable yet unsettling. He blames it on Abysmora's influence, steeling himself against its effects as he watches Hyunjin make his offering.

As you and Chan present your own blood sacrifices, the sting of the cut fades, replaced by a tingling sensation that signifies rapid healing. Chan pulls you close, whispering words of reassurance as he guides you onto the raft. "I think she's helping you," he murmurs, speaking of the unborn child you two share and her mysterious powers. You wish those powers could alleviate the nausea that still lingers, but as if in response to your wish, the sickness vanishes without a trace.

Jisung's voice trembles with a mix of anxiety and bravado as he settles onto the raft. "How sure are we that we’re gonna survive this waterfall drop?" he asks, his words filled with a nervous energy.

Santiago's response cuts through the tension. "You're asking the wrong questions," he declares cryptically. “I’m still in a mortal body that has never been to Abysmora, about to go over a waterfall, what questions am I supposed to be asking right now?”

Perched on the edge of uncertainty, you suppress a chuckle at Jisung's retort, stealing a glance at Felix, who struggles to conceal his amusement behind clenched lips.

“The toll is paid.”

With a final decree from the coyote demon, the atmosphere shifts. The ethereal guide dissolves into obsidian mist, and in an instant, the raft is swept into the rushing current.

Chan's arms encircle you protectively as you bury your head in his chest. His embrace offers a semblance of security, though beneath the surface, fear lies in wait in his veins. It's not the fear of death that grips him, but the fear of loss—of you, of his brothers, Jisung; of the life he's only just begun to consider worth living.

Chan yearns to utter words of comfort, to quell the storm raging within you.

Casting a sidelong glance toward Hyunjin, he extends a tentative gesture of affection, seeking to bridge the chasm between them. Though initially stiff under the weight of fraternal embrace, Hyunjin gradually yields to Chan's touch.

Across the raft, Felix's gaze meets Chan's in a quiet exchange. But before their unspoken bond can solidify, in an instant, the world tilts on its axis as the raft hurtles over the precipice, plunging into the yawning abyss below.

For a heart-stopping moment, gravity claims dominion, and the sensation of free fall grips you all. The wind whips around you, snatching at your clothes, your hair, as you all hurtle downward into the void.

But just as suddenly as it began, the vertiginous descent comes to a halt. The world around you seems to freeze, time itself holding its breath as the raft settles into the stillness of Abysmora's dark embrace. "Fucking Hell—" Felix's expletive pierces the air, jolting you from your reverie.

"Jisung, little witch, are you—" He begins to ask, worrying for the mortal passengers.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. You?" Jisung's voice wavers with the remnants of adrenaline.

"I'm... still here," you manage, your voice a fragile whisper amidst the chaos that surrounds you.

Chan's senses begin getting assaulted by a familiar itch—a primal instinct clawing at the edges of his consciousness.

Surely, he’s not going to turn? Not now? Not like this?

The same inexplicable murmur tugs at Chan's senses once more, this time drawing his attention squarely to your stomach. An involuntary pang of tenderness wells up within him, a protective instinct he struggles to suppress. And for that second, perhaps two, he doesn't feel his monster trying to come up for air. With a will of its own, his gaze flits away, his jaw clenching with the effort to regain control.

‘Abysmora is playing tricks on my mind,’ Chan reminds himself sternly, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of uncertainty. He grapples with the realization that, in this strange realm, he may not be able to shield you and his daughter as he wishes.

But the memory of Amelia, her sacrifice, cuts through the haze of his thoughts like a knife to the heart. He can still feel her absence, a haunting guilt for the price paid for their survival. Chan's arms wrap tightly around himself, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket in a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the present, to get out of his own head, to banish the ghosts of the past that threaten to consume him.

The raft creeps languidly through the dense, murky waters, now a deep, suffocating shade of purple that seems to swallow light rather than reflect it. The waters are calm, yet their opacity hints at untold depths and secrets submerged beneath. Small islets punctuate the expanse like broken teeth, each hosting clusters of weathered gravestones that stand as silent keepers of forgotten lives. Some stones are cloaked in a dense mantle of moss, their inscriptions eroded by time, while others lean precariously, half-engulfed by the encroaching, swamp-like embrace of the water.

The air itself seems to congeal around you, infected with a sense of despair and decay.

As the raft drifts aimlessly, a disturbing ambiance pervades, heightened by the mist that clings to every surface, weaving through the air like the breath of the isle itself. This mist carries with it an odor so foul, a blend of rotting flesh, sulfur and damp, decayed wood, that it assaults the senses, a physical manifestation of the corruption that seeps from the very soil of this place.

“Oh God, I- I don’t feel good–” Jisung body convulses slightly as he heaves over the side of the raft, expelling a noxious, black substance—a memory of his earlier possession. The sight is disturbingly out of place against the backdrop of unnatural stillness that surrounds you. He coughs violently, a raw, hacking sound that seems too loud in the oppressive silence, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand, his expression one of revulsion and deep unease.

He speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, but it's clear the very air of Abysmora is anathema to him, a venom to his senses. “I can’t…I don’t think I can be here very long.” "I don’t think any of us can…” Felix's voice carries his concern, tasting the bitterness of the venom in his mouth, something he hasn't felt in a long time. Swallowing becomes a chore as the acrid taste spreads, worsening his already noticeable thirst. He keeps his discomfort to himself, knowing his brothers need him now more than ever. Despite the absence of the Full Moon tonight, Abysmora's sky holds no celestial bodies, just an endless void stretching upward into an unseen realm.

“Where’s Santiago?” The question of Santiago's whereabouts lingers, as you survey the desolate landscape. Memories of the heated argument with him resurface his words cutting deep. Could he have abandoned the group at the gate, his duty fulfilled by merely delivering you to Abysmora? The worry eats at you, the fear that your past conflicts might have jeopardized the journey for everyone, with no guide to navigate the treacherous unknown ahead.

None of you have any experience in Abysmora, a daunting realization. It's a frightening thought, to be on an even playing field with some of the strongest creatures you’ve come to know, and all the while carrying your first child. In truth, Hyunjin has rejected the idea of forming an alliance with Santiago for some time, ever since he inadvertently overheard the conversation back at Lysandra's. Despite the pressing need to focus on capturing Santiago after the Blood Bloom, time constraints forced the brothers to prioritize other tasks. However, with Santiago's sudden disappearance, urgency seeps into their thoughts, amplifying their concerns. Finally, the raft nudges against the mainland with a soft, almost imperceptible thud, coming to rest at the edge of a larger isle. Here, the tombs are more imposing, grander in their decay, arranged in a deliberate circle that borders the perimeter.

These larger mausoleums and monuments loom like giants, their shadows casting long, dark fingers across the ground as if to welcome—or warn—any who dare to trespass. It feels even heavier here, if possible, threaded with a history of sorrow and darkness that permeates the very ground upon which you’re about to stand.

"No time to figure it out," Chan declares, rising to his feet, his actions prompting the others to follow suit. Stepping onto the mainland, he extends a hand to assist you ashore. Meanwhile, Hyunjin swiftly rips off and repurposes the hood of his jacket into a makeshift mask, covering Jisung's nose and mouth for protection. “There you are!” Santiago turns the corner of a mausoleum and lays eyes on you. He seems out of breath, worked up as he shakes his head, catching up with everyone.

And yet, despite his outward appearance of concern, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match his urgency—a subtle shift in demeanor that leaves you feeling uneasy in his presence. You hadn’t felt this just moments earlier getting on the raft with him.

“How did we get separated?” Santiago asks.

You are the first to answer, unaware of the suspicions of everyone else and just relieved to see another familiar face again. Though, that nagging doubt gnaws at your mind, whispering of the questions surrounding his sudden reappearance.

You wonder if Abysmora is playing mind tricks on you too?

“No idea, but we’re all here, Jisung’s getting sick, we’ve gotta get the Blood Bloom and get out of here.” You look around, “But where is it?” "In there." Santiago's gesture directs your attention to a towering statue of a knight, its sword thrust upward toward the darkened sky. "It's always inside the tomb of the One, the very first of our kind." Santiago approaches the statue, touching it with reverence, in a way that strikes you as odd, because it’s as if he hasn’t seen it before, and Santiago said he had taken prior trips to Abysmora, albeit via other routes.

He must know what the tomb of the “One” looks like? Right?

Muttering under his breath in an unfamiliar tongue, Santiago circles the statue, his intent clear as he seeks a means of entry.

Felix, ever perceptive, senses a subtle shift in Santiago's aura. Vampires as ancient as he can detect things far beyond micro expressions in mortal faces, no matter what’s wearing the skin. It’s how they can tell when something isn’t exactly human, or when mortals lie. Yet, this time, something feels different. Is Santiago under some form of influence? What drives him to lead them into the depths of this tomb? He hears the spells the archdemon chants but doesn’t recognize the tongue.

"Where did you land?" Felix's inquiry interrupts Santiago's prayer, prompting him to refocus his attention. As you join in the search, kneeling amidst the moist earth, the ground squirms with repulsive creatures disturbed from their slumber by your intrusion.

"Land?" Santiago straightens up, his confusion evident. "I just woke up behind that grave," he gestures toward a nearby tomb. "I have no idea what happened." His explanation is abruptly interrupted by Jisung's retching, the soul of this environment taking its toll on him once more. As Jisung lifts his makeshift mask to expel another bout of black, putrid vomit onto the soil, Santiago's attention remains fixated on unlocking the tomb's secrets.

Hyunjin, growing impatient, voices his concern, stepping back to avoid the splatter onto his shoes with a lifted brow. "Can't you do something about him? We can't exactly conjure."

"It's my bloodline—" Jisung's words are punctuated by another fit of dry heaving. "I can't—my body—"

You spring into action, rushing to Jisung's side with mounting worry. His suffering raises questions about the influence of this place, and you fear for the well-being of his soul.

"Jisung, tell me what to do," you plead, desperation clear in your voice as he struggles for breath. But Jisung, consumed by his own distress, cannot offer guidance. With trembling hands, you place your palm against his stomach, channeling an unfamiliar power in a desperate attempt to alleviate his suffering. As your energy flows into his body, Jisung convulses one last time before finding his breath returning in ragged gasps.

Santiago stays oblivious to the commotion around him, his concentration fixed on the statue, lost in prayer with closed eyes. Meanwhile, Hyunjin's attention wavers as he catches the scent of blood emanating from your ear, a telltale sign of overuse of your conjure. His sudden cough startles you, drawing curious glances from his brothers as he hurriedly wipes his nose, trying to conceal his reaction. The scent reaches Felix next, prompting you to check yourself, and your fingers come away stained with blood. Panic sets in as you hastily wipe your neck with your hoodie sleeve, inadvertently spreading the stain further into the fabric.

You’ve made it so much worse, and you don’t even know it. "This can't be what I think it is," Chan says as he uncovers something amidst the infested soil. He holds up a fragment that appears to be from a golden beret, the gold melted over one of the encased jewels, evidence of a failed attempt at destruction. "Do you see this or am I imagining things?" Felix's heart races as he snatches the fragment from his brother's hand, his senses heightened to every sound, every scent around him. "This is it, this is... I have no doubt," he declares, his voice tight with apprehension. He turns to Hyunjin, whose eyes are fixed on the cursed fragment a few feet away. But instead of their usual crystal blue, they shimmer with a bright amber hue, a telltale sign of a loss of control. Hyunjin shuts his eyes tightly, fighting against the onslaught of disturbing images flooding his mind. He feels the creeping sensation of tiny toothed imps devouring his flesh in the depths of Purgatory, a sensation he fights against with every fiber of his being. Is it the curse or is it just him?

Passing the fragment to Chan, Felix approaches Hyunjin; and he gently shakes his younger brother from his trance, their eyes meet, and Felix is struck by the vulnerability in those familiar baby blues, a contrast to the centuries of resilience he's come to expect.

"Brother, what’s—how do you feel?" Felix's voice is soft, a rare tenderness breaking through his usual stoicism. He sees the innocence in Hyunjin once more, a vulnerable human amidst the vast expanse of their immortal existence.

“Afraid, brother,” Hyunjin confesses, his voice laced with raw emotion. He blinks back the bitterness in his eyes, unable to maintain the eye contact with Felix. “I can’t go through this again. I–I can’t, I’ll die, Felix. I’ll die first.” Felix's voice cuts through the chaos, gentle yet firm, as he addresses his brother. "Hey now," he begins, his words carrying a sense of his own certainty, a vow to himself amidst the uncertainty surrounding them.

"I’ll die before you go through that again."

Hyunjin meets Felix's gaze, feeling a rush of emotions within him. Even that has become foreign after being gone for so long; feeling emotions he'd forgotten the weight of. In that moment of silent connection, he senses the weight of their bond, built over countless centuries of shared trials and unspoken understanding. Despite the shadows of their tumultuous past looming over them, Hyunjin finds safety in the unwavering intensity of Felix's gaze, a silent promise of protection and support. This rediscovered depth in their relationship speaks volumes, highlighting the profound significance they both place on each other's well-being.

━━━━━━━━ The tension in the room is filled with anger and resentment as Chan confronts his younger brother, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Hyunjin's defiance matches his elder sibling's intensity, his eyes ablaze with righteous fury.

"Are you mad, brother?! You're in bloodlust!" Chan's words cut through the air like a whip, each syllable dripping with disbelief and frustration. He can't comprehend Hyunjin's actions, can't fathom the depths of his rage.

"Now you've killed her son?! Amelia's brother?!" Chan's accusation hangs in the air, a damning indictment of Hyunjin's actions.

"Did her mother not take our parents from us first?!" Hyunjin's retort is sharp, laced with bitterness and grief. To him, his actions are justified, a reckoning for the injustices inflicted upon their family.

But Chan's anger simmers, threatening to boil over as he struggles to contain his emotions. With a roar of frustration, he hurls a nearby chair against the wall, the sound of splintering wood punctuating the heated exchange.

"Those were my parents too," Chan's voice is raw with emotion, his eyes flashing with a mix of pain and fury. "Do you not think me furious as well? Do you doubt that I too, want to drink from their hearts and watch them fall to my feet?!"

Hyunjin stands his ground, undeterred by his brother's outburst. He remains unshaken, fueled by a burning desire for justice.

"Yes, Christophe, I do!" Hyunjin's words are a challenge, a testament to his unwavering conviction. "I doubt you want to do anything more than run with your tail between your legs, defending a traitorous witch, the very daughter of the woman who murdered our parents!"

Meanwhile, on the other side of the closed door, Amelia stands frozen, her hand hovering over the doorknob. A cool hand touches her shoulder, and she turns to find Felix by her side. His silent guidance urges her to stay back, to let the brothers work through their grievances without interference.

As they move a few steps away from the door, Amelia embraces him, softly crying into the fabric of his blouse. Felix's thoughts churn with concern. The arguments between his brothers have become more frequent, fueled by Hyunjin's growing impatience and resentment. His thirst for vengeance risks engulfing him, driving them to move twice in the last four months alone.

Felix knows Hyunjin cannot be contained, his actions driven by a primal need for retribution. Yet, despite his own fury towards Amelia's family, he understands the futility of their situation. They are newborn vampires--outnumbered, outmatched, and outsmarted without a plan.

But what troubles Felix the most is Chan's hesitance, his reluctance to act. And as they stand in silence, away from the fight unfolding on the other side of the door, Felix can't shake the feeling that something is amiss, something he can't quite put his finger on…

━━━━━━━━

"Santiago," Chan's voice cuts through the tension, his gaze fixed on the archdemon who is still engrossed in his task. With each passing moment, Santiago's words grow more rapid, fueled by a sense of passion that borders on obsession. Chan moves closer, reaching out to get Santiago's attention. "Santiago, hey–"

The statue begins to shift, its movement accompanied by the harsh scraping of rock and the unsettling rumble of the earth beneath their feet. Hissing echoes around you as the creatures in the soil turn aggressive, some leaping into the air with fangs bared. Hyunjin reacts swiftly, his movements a blur as he dispatches several of the creatures with deadly precision.

"Protect this at all costs," Chan's command is clear and direct as he locks eyes with you, a brief flash of amber in his gaze before he blinks it away. He presses the beret fragment into your hand, urging you to keep it safe.

“Come on, hurry!” Santiago hurries down the stairs into the tomb. You tuck the fragment into your bra and the rest of you have no time to think, and you follow behind, risking the chance that being in the tomb of the very first demon in creation would be safer than being on Abysmora's grounds, exposed.

If there was anything lurking in this strange place, they certainly know they have unwelcome visitors now. Jisung's condition noticeably improves as the darkness envelops them, the sickness that had plagued him fading into the blackness. Yet, amidst the near pitch-black surroundings, a distant blue glow emanates from a room at the far end of the underground tunnel. Backed by a surge of adrenaline, you act swiftly, your fingers darting like arrows to ignite the sconces along the walls. Each flame catches, casting a blue hue that bathes the chamber in its glow. As the dim blue glow from the sconces barely penetrates the darkness, Jisung finds himself momentarily awed by your ingenuity. But any sense of accomplishment is swiftly overshadowed by the atmosphere closing in around you. The tomb of the first demon ever to exist feels suffocating, each breath tainted by the heavy, musty scent of centuries past. With each inhale, Jisung's heart flutters nervously. In an attempt to summon his conjure to navigate the path ahead, Jisung encounters an unexpected resistance, as though an invisible force is constricting his abilities. A dryness creeps into his mouth, he can’t be powerless yet?! How is this possible?! You were able to light the way without hesitation.

"Now what?" You whisper, your voice barely audible over the silence. Turning to seek guidance from Santiago, you find him vanished once more.

"What the–"

"Little witch, we can’t trust him," Felix's voice cuts through the darkness, his hand pulling you closer to the rough stone wall for protection.

"But he said–"

"It doesn’t matter what he’s said," Felix's tone is firm, his words tinged with urgency. "We can’t trust him."

With no other options available, Hyunjin strides ahead, his figure disappearing into the hallway, with Jisung following closely behind. There is no turning back now, no room for hesitation. You’ve come too far to retreat, your only choice is to press onward. The confines of the tomb seem to be closing in on Chan, the primal instincts of his wolf beginning to overwhelm him. Sensing the impending shift, he knows he must act quickly, not willing to risk losing control in such close quarters, especially with you nearby.

With a determined step backward, Chan starts to unzip his hoodie, preparing for the inevitable transformation. His voice carries a note of urgency as he speaks to Felix, his brother, and you. "Felix, you and little witch go on ahead with the others. I’ll catch up with you soon."

Felix puts his arm around your shoulders and obeys his elder brother’s command.

As Chan's metamorphosis reverberates through the ancient confines of the tomb, each sinewy shift heralds the awakening of primordial forces. A chill snakes down your spine at the power unleashed, but with Felix's presence guiding you onward, there's little room for fear, only purpose.

Stepping into the chamber's heart, you feel a lack of control, like you've stepped into public in the nude. This feeling sticks to you as if you're an insect on fly paper, the discomfort follows you. Your gaze is drawn to the raised platform, where a mummified figure cradles a flower in its desiccated grasp. Against the backdrop of darkness, the bloom's vibrant hues stand in defiance, its petals swirling in an ethereal dance. On the opposite end, Jisung stands watchful, his focus unwavering as he hovers over the coffin. Bathed in the soft azure glow of the chandelier above, the scene unfolds like a tableau of strange beauty, casting shadows that dance across the chamber's walls.

Your breath catches as you draw near, the allure of the flower irresistible. Its petals, delicate yet sinuous, seem to pulse with a life of their own, their crimson hue a vivid sign of its unearthly vitality. And at the heart, a pool of crimson gleams with luminescence, a symbol of the bloom's power.

"This is it," you murmur, your voice a mere whisper amidst the hallowed silence of the tomb. "The Blood Bloom."

Jisung's brows furrow in disbelief, his head shaking in denial. “The legend I remember said it grows in the soil of Abysmora…” Despite his hesitance, he leans forward, sensing the same energy that grips you both.

As a sudden stillness envelops the chamber, Jisung's instincts flare, a warning pulsing through his veins. With a sense of alarm, he whirls around, calling out for his missing companions. "Felix? Hyunjin?" His voice echoes off the stone walls, met only by silence.

Your palms grow clammy, fear prickling at the nape of your neck. "What's happening? What's wrong?" you stammer. "Oh look, you found it!" Santiago's voice cuts through the tension, his arrival heralded by a sense of impending doom. Panic floods your veins as you instinctively back away, only to be ensnared by a vice-like grip from behind. Your breath catches in your throat, your thoughts racing to the safety of your unborn child, as fear tightens its grip on your heart.

"H-Hyunjin..." The name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper, finally realizing the scent. Your body tenses, every nerve on edge as you struggle to keep your composure.

Before Jisung can react, Felix is upon him, his strength overwhelming as he wrestles the younger man into submission. You look to Santiago, the sight before you twisting your stomach into knots. His head lolls to the side with a sickening crack, a grotesque contortion of flesh and bone. As his eyes roll back into his skull, his skin begins to slough off like molten wax, revealing a smaller, naked figure beneath.

This new form is like something out of a nightmare, its skin slick with a viscous substance that oozes and drips. The creature's features are twisted and deformed, elongated limbs and sharp, angular joints giving it a disturbed appearance. Its eyes, once human, now gleam with a endless black, reflecting the depths of its sinister nature.

As the demon's gaze fixes upon you, a shiver runs down your spine, fear gripping you with icy fingers. As Jisung struggles against Felix's overpowering grip, his frustration mounts with each futile attempt to break free. Heat radiates from his palms, a manifestation of his inner turmoil, but it's as if an invisible barrier stifles his efforts, rendering his conjure useless.

“The audacity only a Han would have, trying to use your conjure here, now don’t you know better? Then again, you want to die, don’t you?” The demon's voice drips with malice, taunting Jisung with cruel words.

Jisung refuses to dignify the demon's words with a response, his jaw clenched tight in defiance. Beneath his poker face, a sort of fear dances in his eyes. The demon's insight and access into his psyche unnerves him, exposing vulnerabilities he'd rather keep hidden.

“I have a name, you know.” The demon's grin widens, revealing a mouth lined with jagged, razor-sharp teeth. “Do you want to know it?”

“Oliver,” you breathe, the name escaping your lips like a curse, triggering a flood of memories from your night terrors that you'd rather forget. "She's smart, isn't she?" Oliver's voice drips with malicious intent, each word laced with venomous glee. The knowledge that you know his name seems to egg on his perverse joy, a sickening trophy of the power he holds over you, a feeling he rarely gets to feel in his own existence. In the dimly lit chamber, his grin casts twisted shadows across the walls.

As your gaze darts nervously around the room, searching for any sign of escape, the sound of sloshing footsteps draws your attention to another presence lurking in the shadows. With a sickening lurch of your stomach, you realize that you're not alone, the presence of another demon sending a wave of fear over you.

The unnamed demon drags a large and furry form into the chamber, its tortured cries echoing off the walls as it's callously thrown against the unforgiving stone. Your heart sinks in your chest at the sight.

"NO!" Your voice rings out in a desperate plea, the words torn from your throat in a frantic rush. "Hyunjin, let go of me! Stop! This isn't you! That's your brother! Felix! Felix, it's me! Y/N! You're stronger than this! All of you are!" But your cries fall on deaf ears, drowned out by the cruel laughter of the demons that surround you.

"Chan—Chan, please," you plead, your voice barely a whisper amidst the chaos unfolding around you. Exhausted and defeated, you sink to the ground, your body wracked with sobs as despair threatens to eat you alive and spit you back out with no remorse. "Y/N, stop," Jisung's voice cuts through the noise, his tone firm as he locks eyes with you from across the room. His gaze speaks volumes, silently urging you to quell your desperate pleas. In this moment of peril, communication is reduced to silent exchanges, a shared understanding passing between you both.

With a deep breath, you stifle your cries, recognizing the urgency of the situation. Any hope of escape hinges on maintaining composure, lest you risk losing control of your conjure before it can be wielded as a weapon against your captors.

Exhausted and defeated, you offer no resistance as Hyunjin releases his grip, allowing your body to crumple to the ground. His derisive laughter rings in your ears. Meanwhile, Oliver's attention drifts to the Blood Bloom, his excitement obvious as he revels in the discovery. “They really found it, the Blood Bloom!” His voice echoes through the chamber, a frenzied tirade of anticipation as he fixates on the object of his obsession. But his excitement is short-lived, abruptly cut off by a sudden surge of malice directed at the lesser demon.

"What are you waiting for?! Bring the Mistress!" Oliver commands, his impatience boiling over as he demands action. With a hurried nod, the lesser demon scurries away, his footsteps fading into the distance as he disappears into the darkness.

Lying on the dirt-covered brick floor, you succumb to silent tears, the weight of anguish pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. With jittery hands, you crawl forward, the distance between you and the wolf reduced to mere inches. As you nestle your face into the coarse fur of the muzzle, a gentle warmth caresses you, soothing the raw edges of your fractured spirit.

Suddenly, in the darkness, amidst the faint scent of earths and decay, you feel it—a tender brush against your nose, followed by two more delicate licks. Slowly, you open your eyes, greeted by the shimmering gold orbs of the wolf before you. It's a curious sight, this peculiar hue, but within those luminous windows to his soul, you find an unexpected solace—a glimmer of Chan's inherent spirit shining through. You continue to feign distress, your sobs a desperate symphony masking the turmoil within. Each movement is calculated, every tremor carefully choreographed to draw attention away from your clandestine actions. Your fingers venture into the wolf's mouth, inching closer to the razor-sharp teeth that threaten to sever skin from bone.

As your wrist hovers over the waiting fangs, fear coils in the pit of your stomach, a visceral reminder of the perilous dance you've chosen to partake in. But you steel yourself against the rising tide of panic, a vow echoing in the recesses of your mind. You'll fight tooth and nail, even if it means staring death in the face, for you know that within the pits of Hell lies the flickering ember of hope.

With a nod of assent, Chan's lip twitches in acknowledgment, a fleeting moment of connection. As he closes his jaws with painstaking care, the taste of blood blooms in his mouth, on his tongue, along his gums. Through gritted teeth, you endure the searing pain. Jisung's mind races as he formulates a plan to wrest control from the clutches of Oliver. With each passing second, the grip of the demon's influence tightens around the minds of Felix and Hyunjin, reducing them to mere marionettes in this macabre play.

"Felix," Jisung breathes, barely audible in the hushed chamber, "Can you hear me?"

The vice-like hold tightens, and Felix's response echoes through the silence.

"Loud and clear, mate," he replies, the words filled with a predatory glee that reminds Jisung of exactly how different they really are from one another when it comes down to being factory reset to pure instinct.

‘Shit’. A curse punctuates Jisung's thoughts; reaching them in this state seems impossible. Oliver's conjure has rewritten their essence, transforming them into instruments of darkness. To break this unholy connection, the source needs to be severed, and at this moment, Oliver stands as the puppeteer, feeble or not.

As Chan discreetly drinks from you in his wolf form, Jisung's mind churns with frustration, the invisible chains of restraint still boggling him. 'If he has me restrained, there must be a physical block somewhere' he muses, a spark of realization flickering to life amidst the darkness. 'So how is he doing it? Where is it?'

A sweeping glance around the chamber reveals the answer, hidden in plain sight. The talismans, hanging down from the ropes strung along the ceiling, catch Jisung's attention. They're no ordinary charms; they bear the unmistakable markings of Korean origin, Bujeok, but warped and twisted into a perversion of their intended purpose.

These were crafted with him in mind, designed to stifle his magic and render him powerless.

'Bingo' He knows what he must do to break free from Oliver's grip, to reclaim control and turn the tide of this deadly game. Jisung's words slice through the air with a cunning edge as he probes for weaknesses in Oliver's facade. "Possessing the minds of vampires is light work, what’d you do, a blood bind of some sort?" he questions, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Oliver's response is swift, a mixture of amusement and hubris. "Well, aren’t you an arrogant little witch?" he retorts, unknowingly stepping right into Jisung's trap. "Demons do more than blood bind to have others do our bidding."

A smirk plays at the corners of Jisung's lips as he goads Oliver further. "I guess you haven’t figured out how to get a Han to do your bidding though, so you had to use these guys," he gestures disdainfully toward the vampire restraining him. "I mean, I get it though, you don’t look capable of doing it yourself."

You listen with bated breath, the cool touch of the earth grounding you while Chan's watchful eyes mirror your own tenacity.

With calculated steps, Oliver descends from the platform, each movement purposeful and deliberate. A glint of steel catches the dim light as he approaches Jisung. As the blade he wields grazes Jisung's cheek, a thin rivulet of blood appears, tracing a crimson path down his face. Oliver steps back, grinning while Felix looms ominously behind Jisung.

In a mocking tone, Oliver scoffs, "Miss Edith couldn't care less about the likes of you."

Despite the threat at his neck, Jisung remains steadfast, his gaze averted from Felix's predatory presence. "You're a bad liar," he counters, a beacon of defiance in the face of imminent danger.

Oliver's smirk fades into a scowl. "I'll have your best friend drain you dry until you're nothing but a lifeless husk."

Jisung's laughter rings out, carrying a hint of madness. “Yeah, but then you’ll have a mighty angry vampire that can conjure on your hands, and how will you handle that? Oh fuck, you can’t--”

“You’ll just piss off your Mistress, and I get the feeling that’s a habit of yours—what was your name again?” The demon's rage is evident, his fists clenched at his sides as he discards the knife, the sound of its impact echoing through the chamber as it hits the ground. His bluff has been called; a demon under another's command lacks the authority to make unilateral decisions, especially ones as significant as ending the lives of captives. Captives that they’ve taken the time to carefully ward against.

For reasons unknown, they need him alive, at least for the time being.

"You'll regret this," Oliver seethes, his departure swift as he hurries to investigate the delay in the other demon's return, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the chamber. Hyunjin stands frozen, his gaze vacant, like a puppet abandoned by its puppeteer. Felix, unmoving, maintains his vice-like hold around Jisung, his thoughts seemingly distant despite his physical grasp.

With resolve sparking in your weary eyes, you snatch up the knife, ready to act.

"Little witch, hurry," Jisung urges, his voice barely above a whisper, directing your attention to the talismans hanging from the ceiling. "Cut them down—they're sapping our power." You swiftly ascend the stone platforms, a strength from an unknown place guiding your every move as you slice through the ropes with the knife. With each talisman that falls, dissipating into wisps of blue smoke, a surge of hope fills the air. Chan, his wolf form a blur, disappears into the darkness, tracking the demons' elusive trail. Your focus wavers momentarily, but Jisung's urgent plea snaps you back to the task at hand.

"No time, keep going!" he insists, spurring you onward. With steady hands, you continue your circuit around the room, severing the final ropes. Jisung, eyes closed in concentration, channels his purifying energy, causing Felix to recoil and collapse, overcome by the searing sensation of his blood boiling under his skin. As Jisung kneels beside the fallen vampire, a grimly determined spirit, unflinching and serious, settles over him.

Frustration tinges his voice as he assesses the situation. “Fuck, they’re in deep.”

You wave your hand in front of Hyunjin’s face but he doesn’t even blink. “What can we do?”

"Nothing, yet. We've gotta kill that bastard first." Jisung replies, scanning the room for any signs of their next move. Striding over to the mummified corpse, he delivers a swift kick to the wooden coffin, and you wince, splintering it open. With practiced efficiency, he breaks off a jagged piece of wood, handing it to you before keeping one for himself.

“But if we have to protect ourselves,” He gestures to the two vampires, “This is the only chance we’ve got.”

You gaze at the stake in your hand, horror coursing through you at the thought of wielding it against those who have become your kin, your protectors.

"Listen," Jisung's voice breaks through your turmoil, his tone resolute as he senses your hesitation. “If their souls get away from us again, I can’t help to get ‘em back. Death is a mercy, but it’s our last resort.”

You agree, though as you look at your friends, lost and locked inside of themselves, you wonder if you’ll follow through with such a promise if the moment were to ever present itself. Retreating toward the coffin, your gaze fixates on the flower delicately held within its grasp. Without much thought, or perhaps with thought you aren't conscious of, you extend your hand, fingers brushing against the petals, taking it into your grasp. Half-expecting the tomb to quake and crumble around you, like a scene ripped from the pages of a thrilling adventure, you're startled when the chamber remains still.

"In my dream they wanted to stop us from getting this, I don't know why," you assert, locking eyes with Jisung, an unquenchable fire burning bright within you as you secure the flower in your pocket. "The odds are now in our favor."

You dart down the corridor, Jisung hot on your heels, fueled by your sudden fearlessness. As the cavern splits into two diverging paths, you and Jisung find yourselves back to back, each scanning for a sign of which route to take.

Jisung's senses, honed by experience, detect a pulsating energy emanating from the right tunnel. He purposefully directs you away from it, "Go Left!" he calls out to you, his voice echoing down the corridor like a solemn decree. Without a moment's hesitation, you veer down the opposite path, placing your trust in his keen intuition as he forges ahead toward the heart of the mysterious power. In the glow of his flickering flames, Jisung continues on, his back pressed against the unyielding stone walls, each step plunging him deeper, and he can feel himself descending, guided by the flames in his palm, taxing his magick as a necessary means of sight... You creep, as light as you can on your feet down the hall, and though you don’t sense much, you feel like you’re moving towards something, someone important. A thought crosses you, and you recognize the feeling from before, when you could sense Chan's presence. You're just not sure how the honing mechanism works in your body. You come to a stop, straining your ears in the silence to hear anything. How could a place so evil be so silent? Maybe that was a part of its sinister nature, you’re in a constant state of paranoia, questioning everything you encounter.

That’s when you hear it. A cacophony reaches your ears—a wet, slurping noise interspersed with sharp cracks and snaps. Despite the unease creeping over you, you find yourself moving forward anyway, your feet carrying you around the corner even as your instincts scream at you to flee.

As you round the bend, the sounds abruptly cease, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. With shaky hands, you summon a burst of flame, its flickering light casting shadows across the room. You shield your eyes from the sudden brightness, snapping your fingers again to maintain control over the fire with an extended palm, its glow offering a glimpse of the scene before you.

With a sigh of relief, you realize it is Chan, still in his wolf form, perched atop the body beneath him, methodically tearing away its limbs. Despite the gruesome scene before you, you don't recoil in horror. Instead, a strange understanding dawns upon you—a glimpse into Chan's cryptic intentions. He's systematically dismembering the body. Catapulted into action, you scour the area until your eyes land on a discarded plank embedded with rusted nails. You don't carry natural nightvision like he does. With a snap of your fingers, flames dance along its surface, casting a flickering glow that barely illuminates the chamber. You hope, to be able to talk about how much you've improved with Jisung once you're all out of this mess. To thank him for everything's he's done for you to get this far with your conjure. Armed with a knife of strangely high quality, the one Oliver had dropped earlier, you set to work, slicing through the demon's flesh with surprising ease. It’s as if its appendages were made of gelatinous cartilage rather than solid muscle.

With a final, resolute stroke, you lock gazes with Chan, something primitive passing between you two. Taking a deep breath, you shift your focus to the grisly sight before you: the half-mauled neck upon which Chan still labors. You issue a directive, "The leg," you command, indicating the limb lying closest to you. You direct Chan to the leg on your side, trading places to continue the task. You hack away at the remaining flesh of the neck until the head is brutally separated from its body. As the final blow lands, the detached leg collapses to the ground with a sickening thud as the wolf by your side finishes alongside you.

Chan nudges your wrist, smearing your hoodie sleeve with the dark ichor of the fallen demon. Bewildered, you meet his gaze. "What's wrong?"

The massive black wolf pads over to the plank, its end nears the final embers of its burn. With a sagacious air, he settles down, resting his head upon his paws. You nod in silent comprehension, scrambling to your feet and surveying the room for flammable materials. Hastily, you gather anything combustible, stacking them in the center of the chamber—a rickety wooden stool, dusty tomes whose contents held no value, and any other debris within reach.

Chan prowls around the scattered body parts, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest, and you begin to deduce the demon isn’t gone yet. "Let's go," you command, stepping backward as Chan joins you at the entrance. With a steady focus, you close your eyes, channeling the power within you. In an explosion of heat and light, flames engulf the chamber, forming a barrier that forces you to retreat, the intensity making you stumble and fall to the ground. Though the flames lick at your skin, they do not scorch, leaving you breathless as you gaze at your hands. How did you just do that?! A sharp itch on your forearm draws your attention, prompting you to hastily roll up your sleeve. To your astonishment, you find a series of canine tooth marks left by Chan's earlier bite, unhealed, the crescent pattern etched into your flesh. Frustration bubbles within you as you scratch at the irritated skin, rising to your feet just as the flames begin to dwindle.

"Fuck, Chan, what is this?" you demand, only to find Jisung's figure illuminated by the dying embers, his eyes glinting an unnatural complete black in the dim light. He grins wickedly as he snatches your wrist tightly, looking down at the bite. “I don’t know, looks pretty bad though.” Before you can react, he painfully twists your wrist, and darkness consumes you, consciousness slipping away as you collapse into oblivion.

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soobnny · 4 months ago

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dating him | han jisung

❝ you found my heart broken and you helped me make it whole again ❞

i think you’re a second love type situation for han jisung

the one where he thought he’d never recover from his first heartbreak

but then here u come

i think han’s the type of person to feel everything

if he’s in love, he’s in LOVE

and if he’s hurt, it would just be overwhelming pain

so imagine how he was when he got his first heartbreak

he’d lose a little bit of his spark

maybe keep to himself even more than he used to

u come to his life in the form of a friend first

and han has unknowingly planted a seed that’s grown and grown and grown

with every interaction

with every laugh you’ve brought back

with every moment he was coming out of his shell again

until it’s fully bloomed into a love that’s very very real and very very present

han jisung would also love so beautifully

he knows what it’s like to be hurt, and he doesn’t ever want u to feel that same pain

he rly makes efforts

he is FULL of efforts

and he makes u laugh ☹️☹️☹️☹️

he communicates

and when the boys finally meet u, they’re very grateful but also

????!!!! why do u they know ur favorite color

and ur go-to order at the cafe

and the hoodie u like to steal from jisung the most

well turns out, han loves talking about u to his friends

they just know everything about u before even meeting u

he’d get rly shy about it but never embarrassed

he’d tell the whole world about u if he could

what else can i tell u

han jisung is just someone where nothing sounds crazy to him

so i think all ur dates with him would be so fun and adventurous lowk

amusement parks !!!!!

ice skating and roller blading

both of u would fall on ur ass

but you’d also laugh so much and somehow that makes up for everything

you’d be holding hands and skating with each other and looking at each other with lovesick smiles

I FEEL SICK!!!!!!!!

he’s always trying to impress u too

he tries to imitate figure skaters

kids don’t try this at home

ofc he fails miserably

obvious blushes when you’d tell him he was cute for trying

or when you’d praise him

anyways when i said he’s always trying to impress u i mean ALWAYS

he treats the relationship like he’s still pining after you

being the standard fr

he never lets go of the love

sometimes he’d still get shy to ask u out

somehow he doesn’t believe u actually said yes to him

he thinks he’s the luckiest boy

anyways, aside from adventurous dates, he equally values his inside time and quieter dates

he’s thankful u understand his shifts in his energy

on days u stay inside, you’d probably watch horror movies

look…. he suggests it….

it looked cool in his head to be all protective

you’d hold onto his arm when the jumpscares come

but

womp womp

he ends up being more afraid than u

and now HE’S holding ur arm

yeah it looked way cooler in his head

you’d play silly little board games together

or maybe charades

he’s so easily amused by sexual innuendos

he’s just a man guys

anyways

there are two things he loves to steal from u the most

aside from ur kisses

and it’s (1) ur perfume and (2) ur lip balm

u’d catch him putting on ur perfume just bc he wants to be surrounded by ur scent

it’s very comforting

one time, he was sick and the boys were taking care of him

and when u finally had time to take over and care for ur bf

u just …. smell ur perfume

“did you put on my perfume?”

“i missed you ☹️☹️☹️☹️”

DOWN BADDDDD

he’s so pouty and so cute

let’s suffocate him with the pillow

KIDDINGGGGGG KIDDING

and then ur lip balm

sometimes he steals the actual thing

sometimes he kisses you so he can have it on his lips too

han jisung is also the type to avail every possible couple coupon

and he’s always begging the cashiers to let u prove u’re a couple

it’s so he has an excuse to kiss you

months into dating him also means a thousand love letters

he loves writing u love letters

and u know sooner that he also writes songs

on ur anniversary, he reveals a song he’s written for you

and when he proposes, he tells u about every single one he’d ever written about you and for you

wish that were me 😂😂😂😂😂

TAKE CARE OF HIM

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

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imagine-a-life-like-this · 2 years ago

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Reader reacts to boyfriend!Jisung's thirst traps

Warnings : suggestive, swearing

A/N : This is part 2 to the reacting to Stray Kids thirst traps! I already made one for Seungmin and Minho's is coming soon! Let me know if you want to see the others 🫶💕

part 1

⚠️Minors do not interact with this post ⚠️

#stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids au #stray kids smau #stray kids fake texts #stray kids #skz imagine #skz x reader #skz au #skz smau #skz fake texts #skz #han jisung imagine #han jisung x reader #han jisung au #han jisung smau #han jisung fake texts #han jisung

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jeonjungkookenthusiast1997 · 1 year ago

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First Loves and Second Glances

Han Jisung is madly in love with his childhood best friend/roommate and has absolutely no way of telling her so he does what he thinks is best and pulls away from her. The pair end up having a movie night where all is revealed, changing the dynamics of their relationship forever.

This is my own work not a reblog, please do not repost or translate! This work of fiction is 18+ so minors DNI.

Content Warnings - childhood friends au, college au, roommates au, friends to lovers au, nipple play, vaginal fingering, pet names, cursing, oral sex (male receiving), body worship, very very light angst, porn with feelings

Word Count: 5,360 (I am seriously incapable of writing short fics, I'm so sorry 😂🙈)

Navigation

Y/L/N Y/N and Han Jisung have been roommates for what seems like forever and friends for even longer, first meeting when they were both wide eyed and chubby 5 years olds looking for a friend on the playground. They had stayed at each other's sides through every up and down life thrown their way, for every big life event and now they were living together while attending the same college. Y/N was studying War and World History while Han was of course studying Audio Production and Engineering, it had seemed like the obvious choice for them to live together while venturing out into the unknown.

The atmosphere is calm and quiet as they sit across from each other, Y/N reading an interesting book about Dokkaebi while Han stares blankly at the ceiling. Y/N looks up from her book to see Han with his arms outstretched and his body slumped over almost fully on the floor as he screeches loudly before locking eyes with the girl across from him "I'm bored!" He whines impatiently as his arms flop around making Y/N giggle under her breath "do something productive then Ji" she explains like it's the most obvious thing in the world which makes the boy pout and whine "but do what Y/NNN" she rolls her eyes at his antics before suggesting "why don't we watch that marvel movie you like? the Spiderman one? we could make popcorn and get some fluffy blankets to snuggle up with? chilled night in" she finishes smiling at him.

Han's chocolate coloured eyes light up at the mention of the movie as he nods eagerly "yeah, that sounds like a plan!" He grabs her hand and starts to pull her along "let's go!" she shakes her head slightly while smiling and allows her friend to pull her from where she had been sat on the plush sofa "I'm coming Ji, you can set up Disney Plus and I'll grab the popcorn" Han finally let go of her hand and skips over to the TV stand, his excitement evident in his movements. He grabs the remote and begins to search for the movie on the streaming service, meanwhile Y/N makes her way to the kitchen to prepare the popcorn.

Y/N smiles as she thinks about how cute Jisung is when he's in moods like this but shakes her head of the thoughts and grabs the bag putting it into the microwave then dumping the contents into a large bowl and sitting back down on the sofa, Han finally finds the movie pausing it as the movie starts to play to let them get comfortable. He hums along to the familiar theme song, his excitement growing. Once everything was set up, he turns to Y/N with a bright smile "alright, it's ready I'll grab the blankets" she smiles back and nods patiently waiting for him to return.

Once he's back he throws the blankets onto her head with a laugh before plopping himself down next to her "you're such a child Ji" she laughs as she shoves the blankets back at him before draping them over the pair and smoothing them down, Han giggles like a schoolgirl and rolled his eyes playfully. He acknowledges in his own mind that she was just teasing him; he snuggles closer to her under the blanket, his warmth enveloping them both "you love it when I act like this" he laughs as she pushes his side playfully "do I?" she giggles pressing the popcorn bowl into his arms before she presses play on the device and settles herself into his side.

Han takes the popcorn bowl gratefully starting to munch on the popcorn, he rests his chin on her head with his eyes fixed on the screen. As the movie starts he let out a content sigh and snuggled deeper into the plush blankets, as he gets comfy Jisung's left hand moves down to rest on her hip effectively pulling her closer to his frame as his gaze is focused on the movie. Y/N feels him pulling her into him and her face heats up a little, they usually cuddle all the time but things have felt different lately Jisung's been acting a little standoffish and having him do close was causing an unknown feeling to inch across her chest.

She snuggles closer to her friend's chest and without looking at him breaks the silence "I've missed this, getting to chill out with my best friend watching movies y'know you haven't been around much lately" she can't help the pout that adorns her glossy lips, his heart skips a beat when he feels her hand on his chest.

He didn't want to admit it, but he had been pulling away from her a bit lately and the guilt he's been feeling is squeezing his chest as he sighs "I know and I'm sorry" he tears his gaze from the screen to look down at her "we'll do this more often, I've missed it too" she hums at his words and pushes his chest slightly giggling "we had better! You've been with Changbin and Chan a lot lately, I've been feeling kinda... left out" she admits as she pouts again and rests her head on his chest as she mumbles "been missing my best friend" Han's heart clenches tightly when she mentions Changbin and Chan.

He knew he'd been spending more time with them but he had to pull away from her for his own sanity. Being around the girl he harboured such a big crush on was hurting him, everytime she smiled at him or giggled at his antics it sent a harpoon straight to his heart and he couldn't be the friend she deserved unless he took a break from being planted firmly at her side. Even now with her small hand curled into his shirt and her head against his chest it was making his heart fill with love and affection "I know I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you I promise" she sighs softly at his words "I know you will Ji" she mumbled into his chest, her fingers tightening their hold on his shirt "I've missed just being with you like this" she admitted quietly, her cheek still resting against him and a small pink blush dusting her cheeks.

She clears her throat slightly before she asks "how are the guys? they've been keeping you so busy but you never talk about what you get up to?" She tries to smile as she pushes down the slight sting of jealousy setting root in her chest, Han feels her fingers tighten their grip and can't help but smile softly. She never was very good at hiding her feelings from him, he knew she was probably feeling a little jealous and of course left out as she had said and it stung at his chest that he had caused those feelings "they're fine" he shrugs "there's not a lot to tell honestly, we usually just hang out at the gym" she frowns at his words but decides to leave it if he doesn't want to talk about it "are you staying here tonight? it's been a while since my roommate stayed in his own bed" she squints her eyes in a mildly accusatory manner as she waggles her finger at him.

Han chuckled softly at her playful manner and grabs her finger tugging her fully into his body as they both laugh "yeah I am, after the movie I'll be heading to bed I think" as his words trail off he yawns and lifts his arms over his head making his shirt lift revealing some of his toned skin, her eyes flick down as she sees the material lift and gulps as his toned abs are flashed momentarily. She quickly averts her eyes so as to not be caught ogling her friend's bare skin as she tries to move the inappropriate thoughts out of her mind "aww poor baby had a long day huh Ji" she stifles a laugh as she teases him.

Han couldn't help but laugh at her reaction throwing his head back and whining "I'm fine, just a little tired" he shrugs his shoulders and looks down at her face which is now not attached to his body, making him want to pout and pull her back to him but he refrains "so how have you been lately since as you so eloquently put it I've been a little MIA?" she nods and shrugs "been okay, just gone to lectures and came home" she laughs softly as she shakes her head "it gets boring here with you not around so you need to come home more often okay?" She intertwines her fingers and gives him her best puppy dog eyes.

Han couldn't help how his heart beat a little faster looking at her cute face smiling at her puppy dog eyes as he covered his eyes dramatically "oh god no! not the eyes" he cries as she laughs at him "I'll try my best to come home more often" he pulls her back to him and nuzzles her cheek with his nose, the pair had always been physically affectionate with each other so having him not be around had left her feeling down and mopey.

Y/N playfully attempts to push his face away though she secretly enjoys and has missed his touches "good because otherwise I'd have to put my foot up your ass and drag you back here" she turns her attention back to the movie trying to concentrate a little.

Han couldn't help but chuckle at her playfulness, glad she had seemingly forgiven him, his heart still racing a little from her body being near his own "oh you wound me! You'd really kick my ass?" he teases with his body still pressed against hers "I most definitely would if you deserved it" she smirks at his shocked face "it would make me a little sad though to hurt your adorable face" she uses her hands to gently grip his jaw as she pushes his cheeks together, squeezing the soft skin under his fingers.

He looks down at her a little dazed as a blush creeps up his neck from her teasing, his heart skipping a beat as he looks into her eyes "you're so mean to me sometimes" he whines trying to hide racing heartbeat, his arms move to grip her wrists and his eyes can't help but watch her pretty face. Her thumbs smooth over his face as she stops playing his cute cheeks "I know and somehow you still love me" she giggles as she moves her hands away.

He bites his lip as he looks at her and nods replying before he can think about what he's saying "yeah, I really do love you" his eyes slowly sink down to her lips. Her eyes widen slightly at his words and she feels like can barely breathe as she realises her best friend is looking at her lips like he's about to kiss her "you what?" she whispers barely audible.

Han's eyes widen once he realises what he had said out loud but it was too late the truth was there, he loved her, and all he could do now to fix the situation was to try to brush it off "I mean, I love you, as a friend you know... yeah that what I meant..." he stutters as he looks away completely embarrassed and feeling a sting enter his heart as he took her reaction as a rejection. Y/N frowns as she looks at his dejected face, he's starting to move away from her as she realises so she needs to act quickly "wait Ji" she grabs his arms and pulls him back towards her but he just looks down and fiddles with the blankets "please look at me Jisung" but Han couldn't look at her, his lip was starting to wobble as tears started to brim against his eyelashes and he simply shakes his head not trusting his words.

She feels desperation claw at her chest as she scrambles to fix the situation "Jisung please just look at me, we need to talk about this" she pleads with him "do you really..." she can't finish her sentence as anxiety runs along her arms to her heart, the words she wants to speak stick to her throat and tongue. He closes his eyes tightly before he nods still not looking at her and sighs "yeah I really do" he takes a deep breath before he opens his eyes and looks at her "I really do love you, with all of my heart" he barely gives her a moment to digest the information before he's stuttering over his words "I always have but I don't expect... it doesn't have to change... I know you probably don't feel the sa-" his words are cut off as Y/N grips the back of his neck and plants a small chaste kiss against his lips "stop rambling Ji" she smiles as she kisses him again as gently as a feather brushing against his skin while she waits for him to calm down enough for them to talk.

Han couldn't believe it. He was stunned for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, his lips finding hers in a much more passionate kiss this time around. He groans into the kiss, his heart racing as he feels her body pressed against his. She giggles at his forwardness when just a moment ago he was so shy, she pulls away from his tight hold on her body just slightly so she can look at his face "I love you too Ji" she smiles before giving him a soft kiss on his lips then plants a kiss on the tip of his nose.

Han's heart skips a beat at her words, his eyes widening in surprise before he pulls her back into a hug, his face buried in her neck. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before he speaks again "you do? fuck... please don't play with me Y/N" he whimpers as he holds her tight "please be really real with me right now" she frowns as she places her hands on his cheeks to holds him steady so he can look into her eyes as she speaks "I love you Ji, I'm so in love with you" she breathes out as she smiles "I love you so much and I have since the day you fell over that hot dog cart trying to get food for us…"she pauses as he smiles at the memory "you make me smile on my darkest days and you've had my back for so long now I... I can't imagine my life without you" Han's eyes widen in disbelief as he stares into her eyes.

Taking in every word she says. He feels like he's floating on air, his heart soaring with happiness. He's so lost for words all he can do is pull her onto his lap into his arms as a tears of happiness runs down his cheeks "oh Ji" she whispers as she uses her thumb to swipe away the stray tears "why are you crying" she frowns slightly, her brow creasing "I'm just so happy Y/N" he says, his voice cracking slightly as he wipes away more tears as they drop to his cheeks "I love you so much" he whispers, his lips brushing against hers softly before pressing into a more passionate kiss "always have, always will" he mumbles against her lips.

She nods and smiles at his words before she returns his kisses, greedily enjoying the feeling of his lips finally on her own wanting to take her time to live in this moment she has waited so long for. She wraps her arms around his neck as she pulls herself impossibly closer to his body, the movie long forgotten and the popcorn set to the side of the sofa. Han's heart races as he feels her pull him closer, his hands finding their way to her waist before sliding up to her back, pulling her body flush against his. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing her lips gently before slipping inside her mouth in a passionate embrace.

Y/N whimpers slightly, feeling his hands move over her body before she pulls away breathlessly, she rests her forehead against his own "how come you never told me" Han's breathing is heavy as he looks into her eyes, his heart racing. "I... I didn't want to ruin our friendship," he admits his voice barely above a whisper. "I wasn't sure you would even like me back" he mumbles as he sighs "you're so important to me sweetheart, I couldn't bear the thought that you'd reject me and it'd all be so awkward that we couldn't be friends anymore" she blushes a soft pink at the sudden term of endearment "I'd never be able to just walk away from you Ji no matter what happened between us, it'll always be us two against the world" she smiles as she rubs her nose against his own.

His heart swells at her words, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he nods "us against the world sweetheart," he whispers before giggling sweetly, his fingers tracing her jawline gently "god I love you so much" he bites his lip as he moves to place soft kisses against her cheek and jaw, her eyes flutter shut as she enjoys his soft touches "I love you too Han Jisung" she whispers as to not disturb the atmosphere that has settled over them she threads her fingers through his hair as she holds him close, still sat in his lap.

Han's heart skips a beat at her words, his fingers tightening around her waist as he leans into her touch "you have no idea how long I've waited for you to say that," he whispers, his lips brushing against her earlobe "and now that you have, I'm never letting you go again" his teeth graze over her earlobe as he nibbles on the skin gently.

A whine catches in her throat as he teases her "you'd better not, I know where you live" she smiles gently as she subconsciously shifts in his lap causing his grip on her body to tighten. Han chuckles softly, his hands moving to cup her face gently "you're stuck with me now," he murmurs before leaning in to capture her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. He lets out a groan as she continues to wiggle in his lip "I'm trying real hard to be good here sweetheart" he moves his hand down to grip her hips tightly "but if you keep moving I'll have no choice but to stop holding back" he looks into her eyes with a mischievous glint shining in his own irises.

Her eyes widen slightly as she realises what she's been doing and is now able to feel the start of his excitement poke against her inner thigh from where she's sat on his lap. She gives another experimental and this time purposeful roll of her clothed crotch against his own causing him to groan again "maybe I don't want you to be hold back anymore Ji" she breathes out as she bites her lip, Han's head tips back against the plush material of their sofa as he rocks his hips up against her body at her teasing movements "fuck" he groans unashamed, his heart races as he feels her moving against him his hands gripping her hips tighter "then I guess I'll have to show you what happens when I'm not holding back" he smirks as he attaches his lips to her neck.

Y/N bites back a moan at the feeling of his clothed member rocking against her core "I've always wondered what you'd feel like" she gasps as he sucks and nibbles against her neck "when your fucking me" she rolls her hips harder grinding down against his body making wetness start to form against her panties making the material stick to her lower lips. Han's breath hitches as he feels her moving against him, his heart racing with anticipation "you're so fucking sexy," he murmurs against her skin, his hands gripping her hips tighter, he pulls back slightly to admire the marks he's left along the column of her neck "never realised my sweet girl was so dirty" he smirks as he moves a hand from her hip under her shirt feeling the skin of her tummy as his hand travels up and stops at her lacey bra.

Y/N's body shudders under his touch "only for you Ji'' she whimpers as she lifts her shirt up and over her head to expose her half naked upper body she reaches down to tug at the hem of Jisung's shirt "off please" he hums a little as he pretends to think "only because you asked so nicely" he smirks as he pulls his shirt over his head watching as she explores his chest with her hands "like what you see baby? 'cause I do '' he admires her black lace bra for a moment before he reaches behind her back to unclip it, letting it fall to the floor exposing her nipples to the cold air of the room.

She nods her head quickly "didn't realise you'd gotten to big" she murmurs as she lets her fingers wander down his chest "all that time with Changbin and Chan worked out for the best I guess" she smirks before she gasps, her back arching slightly as Han suddenly takes one of her nipples into his mouth. Han smirks as he hears her gasp "sorry couldn't wait any longer" his tongue licks over the hardening bud and he can't help the groan that escapes his mouth as he feels her arching into his touch.

He releases her nipple with a pop and smirks "you'll have to thank them when I finally let you out of my bed" he smirks before moving to the other nipple giving it the same attention. She lets out soft moans as he teases her nipples into small peaks, sparks of pleasure slipping down her body straight to her core as it starts to become unbearably wet "Ji... baby I need you" she moans again as she grinds her crotch against his now fully hard covered length.

Han groans low in his throat as he feels her wetness start to seep through her pants "oh yeah? where do you need me sweetheart" Y/N whimpers and grinds down on him against but Han tuts at her "use your words baby or we'll stay like this" she groans frustrated and grabs his wrist putting his hand down her pants "look what you've done to me Ji" she sighs as she feels his fingers start to explore her body.

He chuckles as he feels her warmth and readiness for him. He slowly starts to tease her entrance with his fingers, moaning softly as he feels her wetness coat his fingers "you're so fucking wet and tight baby, this all for me?" she nods her head and closes her eyes as she feels his fingers teasing at her walls as he pushes two fingers straight into her waiting entrance, a moan floods past her throat as he pleases her "all for you baby, only you" Han growls as he feels her walls start to clench around his fingers.

He starts to thrust his fingers in and out of her tight heat, moaning her name as he takes her "that's it baby, take my fingers. Show me how much you want me" she nods her head quickly "want you so bad Ji, please I need it" she whines as she rocks against his thick fingers "need your cock now" the brunette underneath her groans as he feels her tight heat squeezing his fingers. He pulls his fingers out of her slowly, leaving her aching for more "not yet sweetheart, trying to prep you" he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks her essence off with a moan at her taste.

Y/N shakes her head "I'm good, I can take it I'm so fucking wet please baby. Please Ji" she begs as she moves away to stand tugging her pants and panties down and throwing them off to the side before she climbs back onto his lap, Han shakes his head while laughing "fuck... you have no idea what hearing you beg for my cock is doing to me" he groans as he taps her thighs "up" she lifts up off his lap enough for him to shimmy his pants and boxers down letting his hot thick length spring up as a bead of precum beads down the head.

Once his pants are down Y/N finds purchase back on his thighs as her eyes watch the pre cum leaking from his slit, without much thought she bends down and swirls her tongue over the head of his cock before moving down to follow the streams of his pre, she licks it all up dutifully as he gasps feeling her warm tongue over his sensitive length. She lets out a soft moan as she finally tastes him, his eyes roll back into his head as he feels her warm tongue swirling around his head.

He grips the sides of the sofa as he chokes out a moan "F-fuck sweetheart, wasn't expecting you to suddenly start licking my dick like that" she smiles as innocently as she can, batting her eyelashes at him "sorry Ji I couldn't help myself, had to taste you" she gives him one last look and a wink before she gets back to work swirling her tongue over his slit continuously, licking up all the fluid releasing from his body "fuck you taste good and so pretty too" she switches from gently licking to suckling on his dick using her tongue to lick at the veins that run on the underside of his cock.

Han's hands grip the sofa tightly as he feels her warm mouth engulfing his cock head. He groans deeply, his hips bucking up involuntarily "fuck... Y/N" he pants out her name between moans "you're killing me, if you keep sucking me in like that I won't last" his thighs start to shake against her dainty hands. She gives him one last hard suck before she releases him with a 'pop' and a satisfied smile on her face, she crawls back up to him and hovers just above his spit covered cock "wanna ride you now, 'kay Ji? need to ride you" his breathing is ragged as he watches her crawl back up to him, the sight alone making his dick throb with need.

He nods eagerly, his eyes locked on hers "y-yes sweetheart, I want you to ride me" he stutters out his hands reaching down to grab her hips "shit please, ride me" she nods eagerly giving him one last look to make sure it's what they both want before she sinks down onto him, slowly taking him to the hilt as he stretches her walls so deliciously that she has to close her eyes at the stinging pleasure, she takes a moment to enjoying having his cock spearing her wet pussy.

Han's eyes roll back in his head as he feels her tightness engulfing him so beautifully he chokes out a groan "fuck wait - shit sweetheart you feel SO fucking good... I need a moment or I'll cum right now- shit" he breathes heavily as she giggles watching his struggle. After a few moments he nods and moves his hands to grip her hips tightly. Taking his nod as her sign to move she slowly starts to rock her hips in shallow thrusts, the movement causing both of them to moan in unison "ohh Ji~ you feel soo good inside me, fill me up so perfectly" she babbles as she starts rocking up and down faster.

Han's grips on her hips turns bruising as he holds her tight enjoying the feeling of her bouncing on his cock "always wondered what you'd look like... fuck- taking my cock" he groans as he moves a hand from her hip to her breast teasing the nipple in his fingers "god it's so much better than I imagined" he huffs out a short laugh at the thought before it twists into a moan as she moves faster.

She whimpers at his words as her thighs start to shake and feel the burn of the position she's been in for a while now but she can't slow her rhythm not when Jisung's cock is hitting her g-spot so perfectly that it's making her thoughts turn to white noise "used to think of your thick fingers working me open to take your cock when I would touch myself" she moans as her hips stutter slightly after a particularly deep downwards thrust "f-fuck~" she bites her lip hard. Her confession shocks him slightly before the lewdness of it spikes across his chest and makes his dick throb "y-you'll have to show me one day... how you play with your pretty little pussy" he grunts as he feels her pace falter, seeing she's getting tired he takes matters into his own hands.

Jisung moves his hands down to her thighs spreading them open as he thrusts up into her setting a rough pace that has her mewling against him, all she can do is nod furiously as her moans grow in volume "there Ji~ right there don't fucking stop!~" she whines loudly as her head lolls back and her thighs tremble. Her grip on his shoulders falters as he thrusts faster to meet her request.

Han's groans as she tightens around his length "play with your clit baby while I fuck you" his thrusts get faster as sweat beads across his forehead and chest, Y/N bites her lip as she sucks on her fingers before reaching down and rubbing fast circles against her swollen nub, every thrust and swipe of her finger gets her closer to her peak "J-Ji I- shit! fuck!" she gasps her chest heaving as her orgasm starts to hit.

Han bites his lip as her pussy clamps down tight on his cock as one last deep thrust sends her over the edge, her body shaking wildly as she moans his name cumming hard "shit! shit! Baby I'm C-Cumming! gonna fill you up with my cum" Jisung bites his lip as he gives a few last deep thrusts before he cums. Hot ropes of thick white cum paint her walls as their highs crest together, Y/N chest heaves as she starts to come down from the intense high.

Han's grip on her body loosens as she falls onto his chest, his throbbing cock still buried deep in her walls ``that was... intense" she smiles as she rests her head on his bare chest, Han chuckles as he kisses her forehead "glad you enjoyed it sweetheart" once his cock finally softens he lifts her body slightly and pulls himself out of her before returning her body back to his own. Y/N gives him a bright smile before resting her head back on his chest "we should probably talk about this" she grips his side tightly "us" Han nods in agreement "in the morning, for now let's just enjoy the moment and go to bed" he kisses her forehead then her cheek before lifting her into his arms and carrying her to his room.

She sighs contentedly as he slips her into his bed before climbing in behind her and pulling her close, he kisses her neck one last time before whispering "I love you Y/N" her heart skips a beat as she feels his warm breath against her neck "I love you too Ji" she smiles before letting sleep take her tired body.

Banner by: @cafekitsune 💙

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