#han jisung au

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Friends to Lovers : Jisung

Warnings : swearing, food, lying

Synopsis : You've known Jisung almost you're entire life, yet he refuses to let you meet his other friends. Is he embarrassed by you, or is there something else entirely?

@mxnsxngie @maeleelee @cadenonlinelive @weird-bookworm @turtledove824 @lakoya @lookitsjess @yukichan67 @xocandyy @alnex05 @qveenbibi @lghtdarling @palindrome969 @beebee18 @guiltycoco @goddess-of-the-dark @kaiyaba @theminimochi @joyofbebbanburg

[soobnny]

howl and sophie — han jisung x reader ; he realizes he’s in love with you (0.8k words)

advance happy bday hanji!

“Do you guys ever think about how Howl spent his whole life—“

“Is Chan coming back already?” Jeongin questions, unknowingly cutting Jisung off as he impatiently checks the expensive watch wrapped around his wrist.

He’d lost a bet earlier and had promised to get the kids ice cream, and if you were to ask the youngest how long the boy’s been gone, it’s been around 23 minutes and 24 seconds, but he’d never admit to his impatience.

“Howl spent his life looking—“

“Sorry, I’m late.” Chan comes rushing through the door, crouched down to his knees the moment he’s inside with his dominant hand gripping a plastic bag from the convenience store.

He’s still panting when the boys swarm him, the youngest managing to catch the bag and veering off to the direction of the kitchen.

“Hyung!” Jisung calls out the eldest’s attention, and you notice your best friend’s features drop when Chan moves to break the fight in the kitchen as to who has which flavor.

“Hyung, don’t ignore me.”

He’s whining now, arms crossed and body unmoving from the space he’s occupying on the couch. Jisung has his tells when he’s getting sulky, his lips form a pout and his eyebrows furrow just a little—all tells so blatantly obvious on his face at the very moment.

Jisung should know better than to expect his friends to listen to him when there’s free ice cream and a limited stock of flavors up for grabs in the kitchen. They might be good friends most of the time, but they are not below putting their entire attention to making sure they do not have the worst flavor.

He’s still sulking, and you can hear his breathing getting a little louder, but their attention is still glued on the kitchen table.

You place a hand on his arm gently, shifting closer to the pouting boy. You know exactly what he wants to say, but you choose to ask him anyway.

“What is it?”

It’s comedic the way the pout instantly washes away from his features, instead replaced with a giddy smile as he angles his body to look at you properly.

Jisung’s always been cute in the way he could never hide how wide his smile gets.

Howl spent his entire life looking for his Sophie.

“Howl spent his entire life looking for his Sophie. Don’t you think that’s the most romantic thing ever? Especially when he tells her she might as well take a piece of his heart.”

You’ve heard him talk about Howl’s Moving Castle a thousand times now, but you let him ramble anyway. You’d lose nothing but your time, but it’s easily compensated with the way he’s smiling at you.

“Are you talking about that movie again?”

It’s Changbin who butts in the conversation when Jisung takes a deep breath in between his spoken 1000-word essay about Howl and Sophie. The older boy is seated on the bean bag in front of the pair of you, ice cream in hand as he monstrously takes a bite off.

“How he spent his entire life searching for Sophie?”

“(Name), what ice cream flavor do you want?” There’s a call from the kitchen, and Jisung’s starting to pout again.

“Don’t worry, they just don’t understand the movie like you do.” You whisper in his ear, enough to solicit a laugh from the boy.

Then, when you expect him to continue, he grows quiet.

In all honesty, even Han Jisung doesn’t understand why. He thinks about this all the time, and he’s never had a problem talking to you, but now his head is blanking.

It isn’t until you take his hands in yours and encourage him to keep talking that he realizes oh—is this how Howl feels about Sophie?

This is a dilemma.

Jisung’s always known he’s had a crush on you, but the way you’d listened to him with a sweet and gentle smile on your face, with your attention unwavering, he’s suddenly painfully self-conscious about how much more he feels about you and how his hands are probably sweating from the sudden realization.

“Jisung?”

“Hey, I know another topic he never shuts up about.” Seungmin hums, having gone back from the kitchen. “His big fat crush on—“

“Chan was asking you what flavor you wanted, right?” Jisung suddenly interrupts, eyes flickering between you and Seungmin, the kitchen, then back on you.

“Come on, (name). Let’s get some ice cream.” Then, he abruptly gets up from his seat and pulls you to the direction of where there’s only two pieces of ice cream in the plastic bag.

“What was Seungmin say—“

“Here. Take this.” He all but shoves the ice cream in your hands, smiling a little too sheepishly before hurrying to shut Seungmin up.

[imfoive]

Loser Club

Jisung x Reader (fem.) Genre: High School au!/College au!, Best Friend! Jisung, Friends-to-Lovers, Love at First Sight, Romance, Angst, mutual pining Warnings: mentions of cursing, drinking, somewhat proofread WC: 9.7k A/N: I really thought I was gonna scrap this all those weeks ago, but finally the motivation struck and winter season really got me into completing it. I really hope you’ll like it as much as I enjoyed struggling with writing it 🫶 Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

──────────────────────── They say that watching the first snowfall of the year with the person you love, makes your love last forever.

A saying Han Jisung had heard on television the night before.

Just some random line from a drama his mother had been watching as he passed through the hall. Yet, for some reason, the words had lingered on his mind, and now, as he lay on the snow piled ground, they were still there, hovering through his thoughts.

The young boy stared up at the clear sky, watching the delicate snowflakes fall softly around him, his body pressed flush against the white sheets that covered the ground.

Although he wasn’t particularly attached to those words, and it wasn’t even the first snowfall of the year, Jisung found himself beginning to believe in them.

His wide eyes now focused on the girl who peered down at him, her figure bent in curiosity.

The shadow of her form that towered over him, shielded his gaze from the early morning sky, and Jisung could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

   “Are you okay?” Her voice was soft, her breath puffing in the cold air as she spoke.

The slightly stunned boy gulped, slowly sitting up. His fingers crunched through the soft snow that had cushioned his fall.

He had slipped, embarrassingly so.

But he couldn’t tell her that. Instead, he gave a lie. A desperate attempt to sound cooler than “I fell on my ass.”

   “Just taking in the morning sun.” He muttered, and instantly regretted it.

There was a pause. Jisung mentally cursed himself, while the girl blinked at him, processing his words.

Then, to his surprise, she smiled. A bright, toothy grin that made his heart skip a beat.

   “Then, have you had your fill of the morning sun, or do you want to lay back down?” Her gaze drifted to the outline of his body still imprinted in the snow where he had fallen.

The question bewildered him even more, making him laugh, a gloved hand instinctively covering his mouth to stifle the sound. He shook his head.

The girl stuffed her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket, her eyes glancing at the school uniform he wore, peeking out from his haphazardly zipped jacket. The same uniform she had on.

   “Are you a freshman?” She asked, her voice still soft, still sweet.

Jisung found it beautiful.

He mentally chided himself again and cleared his throat.

   “Yes. I’m-I’m Han Jisung.” He stammered, suddenly feeling shy.

Her smile widened.

   “Nice to meet you, Jisung. I’m Y/N.” She took out a gloveless hand from her pocket, pointing toward the direction of their school.

   “Also a freshman.”

Then her hand extended to him, hovering between them for a shake.

   “Let’s be friends.”

Her words made his heart skip another beat. Jisung stared at her awaiting hand before he looked at her and nodded almost eagerly, a little too quick to shake her hand.

Her giggle rang out, and Jisung couldn’t help but stare at her, fascinated. Captivated.

There was another saying that suddenly flashed through his mind.

One he hadn’t believed in. One he hadn’t ever had the chance to experience.

Yet.

But today, he felt it. Right here, right now, on the first day of school.

Love at first sight.

It was an instantaneous friendship, one might say. After the entrance assembly, Jisung found himself in the same class as Y/N. His steps faltered as he entered their homeroom, spotting her already seated by the window. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, and without hesitation, her hand shot up to wave, silently inviting him to sit next to her.

And he did.

It was the start of a friendship that, in time, Jisung would come to regret, slightly. Come to love, mostly.

They had stuck together through their freshman year, and now, as sophomores, they found themselves sitting next to each other again. Staring down at the club forms that needed to be filled out by the end of the day.

Jisung glanced over at Y/N, eyes tracing the contours of her concentrated expression, tucking back a strand of hair. A casual gesture that made his stomach flutter.

She finished scribbling something on her form, then looked up at him.

Caught off guard, he quickly blinked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed him staring.

   “You’re joining too right?” She raised a brow, eyes shooting to his blank form.

The boy next to her narrowed his gaze, glancing at her scribbles, the terrible handwriting he had surprisingly mastered to read over the past year and half.

   “Art?” He tilted his head, confused.

   “You don’t have a single artistic bone in your body.” He chuckled, pencil tapping loudly at the word she had written.

A remark that made her scoff, shoving him with her elbow, his figure swaying in his seat as he stifled a laugh.

   “So I’ll learn, stupid.” She muttered, then reached over to scribble something on his sheet before standing up to hand hers in.

Jisung leaned in to read what she had written and groaned.

Loser Club.

   “Y/N!” He muttered under his breath, watching as she made a taunting face at him, sticking her tongue out.

Immediately erasing the words, he quickly jotted down “Art”, before hurriedly following behind her.

Art Club was exactly how Jisung had pictured it. He watched his best friend struggle to draw even a decent stick figure, groaning in frustration when she couldn’t even manage a straight line with the help of a ruler.

But here was where Jisung discovered his unexpected talent. That without too much effort, he was able to draw precise shapes, straight lines and nearly perfect circles with ease. It stunned him every time, his lips forming a surprised pout as he glanced from his flawless circle to Y/N, who clapped in approval.

So, when their art teacher suggested he might want to consider a career where he could put his skill to use, Jisung quickly searched online and decided, just like that, he wanted to be an architect.

It was an anticlimactic decision, made in an instant, leaving both Y/N and their art teacher blinking at him with dumbfounded expressions.

And like that sophomore year ended.

The break between the new school years seemed to have flown by almost. And now as the best friends started school yet again, some things seemed to have changed.

Y/N had grown even prettier over the summer. And even though he saw her almost every other day during the vacation, except for the last three weeks when he visited his grandmother before school started, Y/N seemed to have blossomed almost overnight.

Her eyes sparkled as she waved at him from the front gates of the school on the first day. That same feeling he’d had the first time they met. The first time she looked down at him in the snow, washed over him again, only this time with much more intensity. It sucker-punched him straight in the chest.

It was during junior year of high school that he realized. Maybe he had unknowingly joined that Loser Club.

Because that’s when he understood. Jisung was crushing on Y/N. His best friend.

The girl who knew everything about him.

The girl who he knew everything about.

And, more painfully, knew that she didn’t like him back.

The best friends were always stuck at the hip. Like glue to paper, like gum to the bottom of a shoe.

Their classmates and teachers were never surprised to see them partner up. Eye rolls followed whenever one mentioned the other, as if they’d ever forget to take their names together. They even applied to the same college.

Then one day, a classmate asked,

   “Are you guys dating?”

Jisung stared at the taller boy, who wore glasses and tilted his head with a curious expression. They were seniors now, and Jisung wondered why this kid had decided to ask after all these years of them being inseparable.

But instead of answering, Jisung fell silent, his mind racing.

Should he tell the truth?

That he planned to confess before college started in the Fall.

That he wanted to be her boyfriend.

But the words wouldn’t come. The boy who asked groaned in frustration.

   “Why aren’t you answering?”

Jisung opened his mouth, but ultimately fell silent.

   “Why would you ask something stupid like that?”

Y/N’s voice cut through the tension, and Jisung flinched.

At the words that was worse than a rejection. Cutting deep.

Shattering the plans he’d built in his head. The imaginary dates, the dream of becoming a corny campus couple.

He thinned his lips into a smile as Y/N approached.

“Yeah. Can’t a guy and girl just be friends?” He tasted bitter with every word that came out of his mouth.

At his lie that slipped a little too easily, his attempts to mask his hurt.

Unbeknownst that Y/N’s fingers were clenched around the side of her skirt. That she had felt a sting from the moment Jisung hesitated in response to the boy’s question.

She had watched him pause, unsure of how to label their relationship, more than friends?

Or just a sibling-like bond, like someone had joked about a year ago? Putting the thought into her head ever since.

And now, it seemed the answer was clear. Just friends.

Just best friends.

And soon, the best friends were walking across the stage at graduation.

Their smiles were wide as they stood side by side, their parents snapping endless pictures after the ceremony.

   “Closer, closer—Jisung, hold the flowers between you two.” Her father instructed.

   “Y/N, your hair—fix that part. Okay, perfect” His mother gestured with a smile as she raised the camera.

Y/N grinned brightly, but Jisung’s gaze faltered on her, on the beautiful expression that made his heart tighten.

He knew he couldn’t confess today. He couldn’t tell her how much he liked her, how he wanted to be her boyfriend, to be hers.

Instead, he smiled widely, his arm slipping behind them to make a peace sign over her head as their parents snapped the photo.

High school was over, but the Loser Club seemingly persisted.

────────────────────────

   “Are you going to join any clubs?”

Y/N stared down at the flyer that one of these campus clubs’ members handed to her.

   “Taekwondo.” She read aloud, eyes scanning over the jumble of words before she looked over to Jisung.

The quiet man reached for the flyer, taking it away before she read too much into it and decided Taekwondo was something she wanted to do. He could already see her getting hurt attempting a high-kick or something.

The first semester of college had started earlier that week, and already, they were thrown into so much chaos. From the piling workload they’d already received to the extracurricular activities and clubs that seemed to be shoved down their throats, everything felt slightly overwhelming.

   “I barely have time to breathe.” He muttered with a sigh, his head shooting around all the club tents set up on this sunny afternoon.

There was a club for everyone, interests that drew them in. But truth be told, Jisung didn’t seem to find one that caught his attention. Attracted him to whatever they offered.

Especially after Y/N had begrudgingly accepted the fact that she wasn’t good at art, albeit four years too late, he didn’t feel the need to join anything else.

His eyes settled on his best friend. The girl titled her head as she took in his words, making a face in response.

Han Jisung was already in a club.

His own club, one that existed only in his mind. A club dedicated entirely to her.

A place where he could freely think of her, love her, and pine for her.

The Loser Club. The one she had unknowingly created all those years ago when she scribbled it on his form.

The Loser Club, where he was now the only member. The biggest loser, all by himself. And yet, he didn’t particularly hate it.

Around them, club representatives were calling out to freshmen, trying to recruit them into whatever they had to offer for the next four years. Their wide smiles and booming voices filled the air as Jisung and Y/N walked through the bustling scene.

   “You say that as if I have all the free time in the world.” Y/N scoffed at the words he had uttered, turning to glare at him.

Then she pointed a finger accusingly.

   “Are you trying to say being a communications major isn’t hard?”

Her dramatic leap to conclusions made him stumble in his step, before he broke into a breathy chuckle. His eyes landed on her slight pout, which only made her look even cuter. Without thinking, his hand reached out to tousle her hair, fingers combing through it just to mess it up a little.

   “It’s the hardest major out there.” He teased.

   “Even harder than Architecture—no, harder than pre-med.”

Before he could enjoy his sarcastic remark, the whacks she gave him, one for his words and another for messing up her hair, made him shout a loud “oof!” He quickly darted ahead to avoid another hit.

The two of them kept running, chasing each other.

Neither of them joined a club their freshman year.

────────────────────────

Jisung had started packing his things, the last of the students walking out of the lecture room after his professor.

He had been sitting next to his friend Lee Minho, an older guy who changed his major to architecture last semester. He had ended up befriending Jisung, who was one of the “brightest students” according to some of their professors, taking the older man under his guidance.

Though he was a good guy, he was quite smug. A attractive man who got stares from girls whenever they walked across campus together. Making Jisung wonder why he had changed his major from finance, he would have fit in so well there.

   “So your friend…” Minho’s voice had broken the silence.

Jisung froze, his fingers halting at the zipper of his backpack for a split second, before he shuts it close. Turning to face Minho.

   “What friend?”

Of course he knows who this man was referring to.

His only friend.

The one the two guys met this afternoon on their way to this class. She had stolen his bottle of juice as she and her roommate who had been with her, introduced themselves to Minho, the older man breaking into sheepish smiles as they exchanged greetings, his eyes lingering over Y/N.

His best friend.

The only one outside of this department that waltzed in and knocked on the door of the architectural studio almost every day. Bothering him at his workstation, while he attempted to get things done.

Of course he pretended to be irritated when she distracted him, of course he really wasn’t.

Just like he was pretending now. Staring at Minho with the most confused expression he could put on.

Minho hesitated for a moment, watching Jisung blink back at him

   “C’mon man. Your pretty friend. Y/N.”

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat, his heart suddenly pounding against his ribs. He prayed that Minho was simply asking about her health or something innocent like that.

But of course, that wasn’t it.

   “Is she single?”

The question settled between them as Jisung processed it, his eyes blinking a few times, staring at Minho’s awaiting gaze.

He wanted to shove this man out of his chair.

He wanted to tell him that Y/N wasn’t single. She was, but not for him.

She would never be single, no matter who asked.

He wanted to swat away any potential suitors as swiftly as he could, as many times as he needed.

Y/N was pretty. A fact he had known since he was a freshman in high school. A painstaking fact that made him simmer in jealousy and bitterness whenever she got the attention of other wandering eyes.

And now his friend. This handsome hunk, this jackass that she had commented was cute before they parted ways earlier that afternoon, was asking about the same pretty Y/N.

His best friend, who was single. Had been single ever since he’d known her.

A fact he couldn’t lie about, even if he wanted to. Because he didn’t want her to miss out on the experiences of youth she claimed to want as they spoke about college that one evening, back in their senior year of high school.

His heart was not letting him lie, just because he was a loser who could never confess.

Instead of shoving Minho out of his seat, Jisung stood. Looking down at the guy who stared up at him slightly stunned, slightly confused.

   “She…she is...” He finally voiced out.

He watched as the seated man’s lips thinned into a grin, before he’s cheesing with a smile. One of the widest ones Jisung had seen. And suddenly he regretted it, clutching at his backpack as tightly as he could to calm himself down.

   “Good to know. Thanks!” Minho stood as well, grabbing his things before turning to the shorter man.

   “She’s visiting the studio later right?” He faltered at the door, turning to find a still Jisung rooted to his spot.

   “I don’t know.”

It was a lie.

She was going to visit later. Because Jisung would be at his workstation, and she absolutely loved wracking his brain, hushed mutters and grabby fingers touching all his materials as he attempted to work.

Even if he wasn’t particularly paying any attention to her. She still showed up. Pulling up a chair to oversee whatever he worked on as if she understood what he was doing.

He’d pretend like she was in the way. Often putting her to use by making her cut and score the board materials he was going to use in his 3D model.

And on days when he was really concentrated, really busy, she would pull out her own work, opening her textbook at the little corner of the table Jisung always left empty for her to scatter her things.

Minho let out a “hmmm” before he clicked his tongue.

   “I guess we’ll see in the evening. See you then.” He waved, his figure disappearing out the door of the lecture hall.

The rest of Jisung’s day had seemed to have gone in a blur. His mind slightly dazed, slightly distracted.

Then he received a text from her.

His pretty friend.

The one who was single. The one he was in love with. Too much of a coward to cross that almost forbidden line.

It was a casual text, asking him if he planned to “drown in his miseries after classes to work on his next project.”

It was her way of saying she would stop by. That she was probably going to bring him something quick to eat before he drifted into his frustrations.

Jisung found himself typing.

   Too busy. Don’t come please.

Then he waited, his legs slightly bouncing up and down as he stared at the screen.

He had never told her not to show up. Never used proper punctuation in their messages, something he looked back at with dread.

But to his surprise, she responded with an emoji. A thumbs up. Followed by properly punctuated messages. Mirroring his.

   Okay loser. Don’t overdo it.

It should have made him feel less anxious. That he had avoided her running into Minho later. But he felt shitty. For pulling such a stunt when he had basically told Minho to pursue her.

Sure he didn’t really tell that handsome friend of his to “go for it”, but he didn’t stop him either.

He didn’t put an end to whatever interests sparked in the older man’s eyes. He should have.

But Jisung was a coward.

And now he was stewing in guilt, in irritation. In his own pitiful situation.

   “—Hello, earth to loser!” Y/N exclaimed, fingers taking out the headphones that were in Jisung’s ears.

The seated boy looked up from his workstation, at his best friend who leaned against the edge of his desk, towering over his form.

Startled eyes taking in her sudden presence here.

Surprised that she was here. Even after she said she wouldn’t come.

   “How much longer?” She groaned, eyes glossing over his sketch pad, at the poor eraser that was much shorter than she saw the day before, its savings scattered to a designated corner.

The seated man’s eyes darted around the studio. At the empty workstations he swore he saw a few others working at, Minho working at. Only to find them empty. Then his brows furrowed as he glanced out the large glass windows.

The sun had set long, and he realized that he had been holed up here longer than usual. Until he was the last one left behind.

He had told her not to come today, and surprisingly she listened.

For the most part. Because she was here now, looking at him with her head tilted.

   “Sheesh, you really were busy huh?” Her eyes were back on his sketches, on the model he had started working on, trying to make heads or tails of it.

   “What is taking so long?” She muttered at the sight of it all, making her feel dumber by the moment as she stood straight.

   “I’ve texted you a hundred times.”

Her quiet best friend glanced at his phone.

   “…Ah, I muted notifications. Sorry about that.”

Y/N sensed something was off. Her eyes squinted as his explanation came a little too easily. At his wary gaze that kept looking towards the studio doors.

   “Let’s get something to eat, you’re clearly hungry.” She chalked it up to just that, sure he wouldn’t have even told her what seemed to bother him even if she pressed.

Maybe she would pull it out of him over food. Y/N doesn’t wait for his response, already grabbing his phone, his headphones and then stuffing them in his bag.

Jisung mirrored. Grabbing the things he needed before tidying his equipment. Leaving his model for the next day. The computer screen he had opened with the blueprint was powered off quickly.

The corridor outside the studio was mostly empty now, with only one or two students lingering in the lounge, absorbed in their laptops. Jisung grabbed his bag from Y/N, pulling the straps over his shoulders. Before he could ask what she wanted to eat, a voice calling his name made him freeze.

His hands stalled on his backpack straps, too afraid to turn around and face Minho.

The older man, one of the students who had been sitting in the lounge, looked surprised to see Y/N.

   “Hi, Y/N. Good to see you again.” Minho smiled, an awkward hand brushing the back of his neck before his gaze shifted to the suddenly tense Jisung.

   “Oh, hi.” Y/N’s voice was sweet and polite, the words pleasant, but they pricked at Jisung’s nerves.

Words that shouldn’t have had that effect, yet still did. Especially knowing that Minho was looking at her the same way he did.

Jisung watched as a smile spread across Y/N’s lips, her eyes fixed on the older man.

   “Are you leaving for the day?” Minho asked, though his gaze seemed to linger a little too long on Y/N.

Jisung struggled to find words, instead opting to nod as he cleared his throat, hoping it would make him speak.

   “We’re grabbing something to eat.” Y/N cut in, her eyes shifting from Jisung to Minho.

   “You should join us if you haven’t eaten yet.”

The invitation was polite, but Jisung could hear the overt sweetness in her tone. The kind that came from habit, a well-worn courtesy. He knew it well.

But still, it stung.

   “Ah! Could I? I haven’t eaten yet.” Minho’s grin widened, and he exchanged a knowing look with Jisung, who shot a sharp glance back.

Minho had devoured a burger only an hour ago in the studio, a sight Jisung had witnessed from his desk.

Y/N’s hand gently gripped his forearm, pulling him from his thoughts. But Jisung couldn’t tear his eyes away from Minho’s gaze. There was something pleading in it.

Unspoken words in the way he looked at her.

The kind of look guys gave their friends when they wanted alone time with a girl.

And Minho’s gaze screamed just that. He wanted time alone with her.

Jisung swallowed hard, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

   “Oh. I forgot. I can’t go.” He lied, the words coming out too quickly, and Y/N frowned, confused.

Minho raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a subtle smile as Jisung played his part.

   “What do you mean, can’t go?”

   “I have to submit something. I—You two have fun.” Jisung forced a smile, the first one she’d seen from him all evening, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

   “Suddenly?” She pressed, her grip tightening on his arm.

Jisung opened his mouth, perhaps to offer another excuse, but Minho cut in smoothly, his brows raised in mock surprise.

   “You didn’t submit Professor Kim’s physics assignment yet?”

Another lie. A good one, though. One that would clear the way for Minho to take Y/N to dinner.

Get her number. Share stories. Laugh.

Maybe things would go so well that Minho would walk her back to the dorms. Maybe they’d do it again. And again. Until Minho asked her out, until they’re walking around campus holding hands, grins plastered on their faces.

The scenarios piled up in Jisung’s mind, overwhelming him. His hands tightened on his backpack straps, trying to ground himself.

Y/N’s hand slipped away from his arm, her gaze flicking between him and Minho before she nodded, accepting their lies.

   “Are you sure you can’t spare even ten minutes to eat something?” His best friend’s voice softened, her eyes waiting for Jisung’s response, hoping he’d join them.

That he wouldn’t leave her alone with Minho.

But Jisung didn’t respond in the way she wanted. He shook his head, a silent “no.”

Y/N hesitated, then turned and walked ahead. Minho flashed Jisung a wide grin, raising a hand in a subtle thumbs-up before following her. Jisung stood frozen, clutching his backpack, rooted to the spot.

And that’s how it started.

The lies. The strained smiles. The excuses that always left her alone with Lee Minho.

The distance.

Her best friend had begun to pull away, convincing himself she needed to focus on a love life.

A love life she had confessed to wanting every time they drank a little too much, a little too openly, her desires spilling out, vulnerable and raw.

He remembered every word, it seemed. Yet he couldn’t see that everything she had wanted, all of it, was with him.

The feelings. The desires.

The love life she had dreamed of.

She wanted it with her best friend. The same one who was now distancing himself from her.

It was so obvious.

Han Jisung may have been a smartass, a genius, but when it came to lying to his best friend, he was shit at it. He couldn’t even fool her. Especially not now, when every word felt like another betrayal.

And every time she found herself alone with Lee Minho, that painful sting in her chest grew sharper. The two of them would sit together, laughing over dinner, or coincidentally bump into each other on their way to class, while Jisung gave every excuse under the sun to avoid them.

   “That fucker.” Y/N’s roommate muttered, watching as Y/N wiped away another tear.

   “Don’t call him that, Yura.” Y/N sniffled, her voice weak, though she still managed to shoot the girl next to her a defensive glare.

Yura, her roommate since freshman year, had figured out everything about Y/N’s feelings for Jisung long before Y/N had fully admitted them to her, herself. In fact, she had mistaken Jisung for her boyfriend during the first week after moving into the dorms. The way Y/N and Jisung interacted was so comfortable, so effortlessly entangled, that it seemed impossible they weren’t a couple. Their constant bickering, their casual closeness.

All spoke of something deeper.

So, when she eventually found out they weren’t together, she stared at them in shock, awkwardly clearing her throat as she pretended she hadn’t made such a blunder.

   “How can he be so blind?” Yura’s voice was incredulous, shaking her head.

Each time she thought about it, it only made less sense.

Yura didn’t know Jisung the way Y/N did, but even she could see it. The way they looked at each other, the things they said, the way they felt. But Y/N wouldn’t believe any of it, not unless Jisung himself said it out loud.

Maybe she too was a fool. A coward afraid to cross a line.

   “How can someone be so good at studies, but so bad at picking up context clues?” Yura muttered, handing Y/N another tissue that she accepted it numbly, wiping her eyes.

Yura paused, thinking for a moment, and then a mischievous smile curled at the corners of her lips.

   “Let’s try something.”

Y/N blinked at her, unsure of what was coming next, suddenly slightly worried.

────────────────────────

Han Jisung stared at Yura, who had cornered him in the library. The shorter girl had her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him with a look that was hard to miss.

He wasn’t particularly close to Y/N’s roommate. He’d only seen her at both her and his best friend’s suite. Or at events that both of the roommates attended together, the ones Y/N dragged him along to.

But one thing was clear, Yura and Y/N were close. And sometimes it felt like this roommate of hers was gunning for the title of her “best friend,” although Jisung was sure she could never overtake him.

Lately however, it felt as if she could easily take that title.

With the way Jisung had been acting, distant, avoiding. Made him wonder if he could even call himself Y/N’s best friend anymore.

   “I’m hosting a party.” Yura said, breaking the silence as she reached into her bag, pulling out a makeshift invitation that looked hastily thrown together.

   “I thought you were a marketing major?” Jisung couldn’t help but judge as he took the crumpled invitation from her.

   “I’m in marketing, not design.” Yura groaned, crossing her arms again, returning to her defensive stance.

Jisung wasn’t that clueless. He knew his behavior had caught this aggressive roommate’s attention. Thus, her behavior here made sense. At least she wasn’t completely hostile.

   “Don’t even think about saying you can’t come. I swear, I’ll fight you if you do, Jisung.” Her words were sharp, preempting any excuses he might throw her way.

Jisung inhaled deeply, forcing himself to stay calm.

   “What are you celebrating?” He asked, glancing at the invitation, which only had a date, time, and location.

Some snowflakes and clipart balloons dotted the page.

Truly a horrendous design.

   “Winter.” Yura said with a grin, her arms still crossed.

   “Winter?” Jisung repeated, clearly confused.

What was so special about this cold, miserable weather? Besides the snowflakes that caught your eyes ever one in a while maybe, nothing else about it was tolerable.

Yura nodded enthusiastically.

   “Yep. Winter. A reminder that the semester is finally coming to an end. Always worth celebrating.”

Jisung snorted, unable to suppress a laugh at her ridiculous reasoning.

   “Right. Winter. The end of classes, the start of finals.” He countered, words that earn him another sharp glare from Yura.

   “And that’s exactly why we’re having a party before we all drown in our miseries—God, Jisung, just be there. I have more invitations to hand out.” She groaned again, as if talking to him was the biggest inconvenience.

With a resigned sigh, Jisung finally gave in. He agreed to attend this “celebration of winter”. A party he was pretty sure he didn’t care about.

But he knew Y/N would be there. She’d always be there, supporting her friends. Something he was clearly not doing well.

What he didn’t expect, though, was to see Lee Minho.

Jisung blinked, his gaze snapping to the older man standing next to Y/N as they entered the private room reserved for Yura’s get-together.

He had arrived early, and seeing them walk in together, side by side, hit him harder than he’d expected.

Minho immediately approached him, going in for a greeting handshake, his eyes flicking between the best friends in a clueless, almost innocent way.

   “What are you doing here?” The words slipped from the younger man’s lips before he could stop them.

Minho’s smile widened.

   “Y/N invited me.” He chuckled.

But before he could add anything else, the door to the private room opened again.

Yura and three other friends entered, all familiar faces Jisung had recognized from previous gatherings. The room instantly filled with chatter as Yura shot a glance between the three of them, leaning toward Y/N, her eyes lingering on Minho’s handsome face. The one she’d only gotten a quick glimpse of when they’d bumped into the two architecture students on campus those weeks ago.

Conversations flowed casually. Somehow, Jisung ended up at the far end of the table, separated from Y/N. His best friend had tried to sit next to him, but Minho had already pulled out the chair beside him, and Y/N had politely slid into it.

Jisung felt a bitter twinge rise in his chest. He took a sip of water, trying to wash it away, but the taste lingered.

Small talk filled the space around him as more people trickled in. The food started arriving, and the room grew hotter with bodies and chatter. Jisung found himself retreating into the leather of his seat, trying to block out the noise.

His eyes, however, betrayed him. They kept darting back to Y/N and Minho. The two of them were talking and laughing, looking like they belonged together.

Jisung gulped, watching as Minho casually slipped off his cardigan and draped it over Y/N’s shoulders. The gesture was small but somehow enough to spark a flare of anger inside him.

He opted to take a sip of his beer this time, trying to numb the growing frustration. But his eyes still lingered on them, drawn to the sight of his best friend, now so at ease with the guy who was clearly interested in her.

And Jisung hated it.

He took another sip of beer, trying to keep the storm inside him under control.

The evening stretched on, the so-called celebration of Winter, a concept Yura had romanticized, seemed to elude Y/N’s best friend, who suddenly seemed to despise everything about the party. Jisung’s gaze flicked to the cardigan that still hung over Y/N’s shoulders, the fabric draping gracefully over her figure.

She hadn’t even spared him a single glance.

His head dropped, eyes fixed on the tall glass of beer in front of him, pitying himself.

Wasn’t this what he had wanted?

For Y/N to find someone who wasn’t afraid to show how much he wanted to be with her?

For her to have lunch with him, go to dinner, or even just bump into him on campus so he could walk her to class?

A love life. The kind she’d always dreamed of.

Jisung’s thoughts shifted, twisting into a painful knot as he recalled his own desires. The ones he had shoved deep into some corner of his chest after she had practically made it clear she didn’t see him as anything more than a friend.

The plans he had, to tell her how he felt. The confession he had rehearsed over and over in his mind, wanting to say how much he longed for her. The fantasy of becoming the cringey campus couple everyone talked about.

Jisung inhaled sharply, the weight of his own thoughts suffocating him. His eyes glazed over the empty mugs of beer he had unknowingly downed while drowning in his pathetic self-loathing.

He couldn’t stay any longer.

Slowly, he slipped out of the room, his footsteps almost silent as he retreated from the crowd, from Y/N, from everything.

   “Well, it seems to be working.” Minho muttered, his gaze sweeping over Jisung at the other end of the table, his younger friend, who appeared lost in his own world.

Y/N glanced between her dazed best friend, a tinge of hurt crossing her expression, before turning back to Minho, who grinned at her.

Han Jisung’s best friend had come clean to him.

About how much she pined for the clueless architect major. The one who was the brightest of their department but terrible at reading her feelings, all the hints she had given him.

Y/N had drawn a line the moment Minho asked if she was okay with him pursuing her.

Sure, it stung a bit, being rejected so easily, so quickly, by a pretty girl.

But it made sense. For Y/N to be in love with Jisung, her best friend, who clearly felt the same but was too afraid to admit it.

And once Minho realized it, he was shocked by how he had missed it. He scolded himself for foolishly asking the man who was in love with her to help set him up.

He felt terrible. So when her roommate had somehow gotten ahold of his number, and had texted him, deviously laying out a ruse to make one of them admit their feelings, he was all in.

   “Project Jealousy”, Yura called it, a name that still made him chuckle. Yet, he knew he played the biggest part.

Throughout the evening, Minho had been doing everything he could to get Jisung’s attention. Gestures, subtle touches, lingering glances. Anything to get a reaction.

He did feel a twinge of guilt. On top of it all, keeping even Y/N in the dark felt wrong.

And after he draped his cardigan over her, she frowned at him, leaning in to tell him she had already made it clear she wasn’t interested in going out with him.

So, he came clean. He watched as Y/N’s eyes grew wide, darting from him to Yura, who suddenly refused to meet her gaze.

   “Don’t worry. He likes you, that I can confidently say.” Minho whispered to her in assurance.

The sight of Jisung drowning in his misery suddenly became a little amusing, and Minho made it his mission to get them together tonight.

He’d lock them in a room together if all else failed.

And when Y/N’s eyes followed Jisung as he slipped out of the room, the door closing softly behind him, she turned to find Minho’s surprised gaze, blinking at the now-closed door. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that.

Panic surged through Y/N. Her eyes scanned the empty beer glasses Jisung had left behind, the sight of which only fueled her frustration and anger.

   “Go.” Minho urged gently, grabbing the cardigan she had forgotten about, which had already been slipping off her shoulders.

Jisung watched the snowflakes fluttering through the air. His gaze raking over the dark sight above him.

It was the first snowfall of the year. Yet here he stood, alone.

His eyes followed the flecks of ice drifting down from the night sky, disappearing into nothingness as it touched the ground, the fabric of his jacket, his hot skin.

His breath was visible in the cold air, fading almost instantly with every sigh he let out. He still felt flush out here in the cold, the evening winter breeze slightly biting, even if the flurries weren’t as severe.

He knew he overdid it, had more than he usually would before deciding he was done drinking. But he couldn't help it. Not when, all evening, he watched Minho leaning into Y/N, the older man’s lips parted in toothy grins as he whispered something into her ear, causing her to look back with an wide-eyed expression.

Jisung could tell she had gasped at whatever nonsense Minho had said. But that shock quickly turned to amusement, and she covered her mouth, stifling a laugh behind her fingers.

It was nonsense, he was sure of it.

And even though he was across the table, surrounded by the loud chatter of others, the clattering of utensils ringing in his ears, Jisung’s eyes kept finding their way back to her and Minho.

He took a sip of his beer. Another. One more. By the time he realized his head was spinning and his chest felt tight, he knew he had exceeded his limit.

He cursed under his breath.

And now, standing outside the restaurant, beneath the cold streetlights, he let the cool air settle over him, trying to calm the dizziness and the thumping of his erratic heartbeat. He sighed, trying to wash away the bitterness that lingered on his tongue.

From the beer, from the sight he had watched all evening.

He dropped his head back, leaning against the lamppost, shoving his hands deep into his sweater pockets. His eyes focused on the snow gathering on the ground, watching the snow pile, his eyes glued to his sneakers.

Then he saw the shadow. A figure approaching, standing just inches from him. His eyes settled on the familiar sight of the same matching sneakers on their feet just inches from his.

His eyes lifted to meet hers, staring back at Y/N who looked at him, her expression laced with a slight concern, a slight of something else.

Han Jisung didn’t think anyone would have noticed his absence. Especially not Y/N, his best friend who seemed to be busy entertaining Lee Minho. But here she was now, the only one who had followed behind him it seemed.

Or maybe she had come out with Minho, and seeing him here standing by himself like a sore loser, she came over.

Jisung’s head turned to look for the mentioned man, for the familiar sight of his cardigan that had once slung over Y/N.

   “What’re you doing out here?” Her voice was soft but tinged with concern, her teeth chattering slightly against the chill settling around them.

Maybe she should’ve kept on the thing. Minho’s cardigan.

A thought that made Jisung furrow his brows with irritation.

   “It’s cold.” He muttered instead, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing.

She tilted her head, awaiting for him to continue speaking.

He sighed, his head lolling back against the lamppost as he watched her, taking in the sight of her arms crossed tightly against her chest, a poor attempt to keep warm. The silence stretched on for a few seconds before Y/N sighed, breaking the silence.

   “You’re drunk aren’t you?”

Her hand naturally extended, palms resting against his face, fingers gently brushing against his skin to feel the warmth. The red flush of alcohol that seemed to color him.

Jisung hated it.

These touches.

The ones she so casually gave out, as if they meant nothing.

And suddenly he pictured her doing the same to Lee Minho.

The bitterness in his mouth seemed to grow stronger.

He jerked his head away from her touch, pushing her hand away slowly.

   “I’m not drunk.” His tone was a little sharper than intended.

Y/N blinked, slightly stunned by his reaction, something out of character for Han Jisung.

   “Head back inside. It’s cold.” His voice was quieter now, though it still carried a slight edge. The snow was falling faster, the air growing heavier.

Y/N crossed her arms again, but before she could retort with something sharp, Jisung spoke again, his gaze drifting toward the restaurant.

   “Minho is probably waiting for you.”

The words landed heavily between them.

And just like that, Y/N understood.

That the whole evening he was sulking in his corner, was because she was sitting next to Lee Minho.

That she was keeping him company as his seatmate, and her best friend didn’t seem to like it.

That Jisung was downing drinks, three pints from what she counted, because he was…jealous.

Just like Yura and Minho had wanted him to feel.

But Y/N wanted to tell him off.

Get angry at him for acting like this when he was the one that pushed her to Lee Minho’s side.

She wanted to berate him, wag a finger and ask why he was upset when he’s been playing wingman for weeks.

But she doesn’t say any of that.

Instead she sighed out loud once again. Her heart beating rapidly at the confirmation of his conflictions, at the feelings he still refused to admit.

Without another word, Y/N turned on her heels, her figure receding into the distance as she walked back inside.

Jisung stared at the footprints her sneakers left behind, on the concrete that already had a sheet of snow laying over. His lips part to let out a laugh. A pathetic sound under the light of the street lamp.

A few more minutes passed. And before Jisung decided he had enough fresh air, feeling rather cold now, before he made the choice to leave alone, his gaze once again faltered at her figure that approached.

This time staring wide at her approaching figure.

He didn’t think she would be back.

Didn’t think that she would be in her coat, throwing his padded jacket over him, already zipping it up.

   “Pain in the ass.” She muttered as she did so.

Then her narrowed gaze settled on him. His stunned expression relaxed as he processed the situation.

As he realized that she wasn’t going back inside, that she didn’t intend to linger behind.

That she didn’t care about Lee Minho or whatever nonsense he blabbered.

   “Let’s go.”

Her hand naturally reached down to find his, taking his wrist in her grip before tugging him along. The snow had piled up, slick and slippery beneath their sneakers, but she kept pulling him along, her hand now firmly wrapped around his as she led the way.

Jisung didn’t question where they were going. He wasn’t even sure if he cared. His eyes were fixed on the back of her figure as he followed, lost in the steady rhythm of her steps. The world around him seemed muted, the snow falling heavily now, but his focus remained on her.

It wasn’t until they reached the slope back to campus that Jisung finally returned from his thoughts.

Rather, he stumbled back to reality, slipping on the fresh snow that had piled up a good inch or so.

Before he could regain his balance, he tumbled into her, and the two of them crashed to the ground with loud groans and grunts as they hit the cold earth. The snow-covered grass offered little cushion, and their bodies slid together in an awkward heap.

As the initial shock wore off, Y/N groaned, sitting up slowly, her gaze falling on Jisung, still lying beside her. His eyes fluttered open, staring at the sky, cheeks flushed and the tip of his nose bright red from the cold. The snow continued to fall around them, some of it melting against his skin, leaving damp spots on his face and jacket.

He didn’t move. He just stared at the sky, the night dark and quiet around them, the chill stinging his cheeks.

And finally, finally Jisung had mustered up some courage.

   “I don’t want you to date him.”

The thoughts left his mouth in a low murmur, quiet but heavy. Thoughts that had clouded his mind ever since Minho had asked about her.

Ever since he lied, pretended that it didn’t bother him everytime he pushed her toward some other guy.

Finally spoken into words.

His confession made her stare down at him with wide eyes, darting between his gaze that remained on the white specks floating in the air. Too scared to face the kind of expression she made.

   “Why…” Her response was equally as quiet, a kind of whisper he hadn’t heard from her before.

The tense man opened his mouth, then fell silent.

How would he explain it?

The turmoil, the feelings.

The fact that he had been in love with her since the moment he saw her.

How could he jeopardize what they had now? A beautiful friendship that he never wanted to lose, never could imagine living without.

He wanted to tell her, he wanted to scream it out into the night.

But he was a coward.

Like he had been back then.

Like he was going to be now. His mouth closed, deciding to remain quiet.

He could hear her inhale sharply. A low mutter of something, a curse perhaps, before she glared down at him. A hot gaze he could feel burning into him.

   “Because you were jealous.”

The words came out, firm and certain. A statement, rather than a question.

Ones that make his eyes shoot to her, finally getting a proper look at her expression. At the irritated furrow of her brows, an unreadable glint in her gaze as she peered down at him, speaking nothing but the truth.

She ran her fingers through her hair, which was now wet from the melted snow, the icy strands slicking back against her scalp. Her face was still flushed from the cold, her eyes narrowed at him with something sharp, but there was a hint of something softer there too.

   “Are you sober?” Y/N’s voice cut through the silence.

Jisung blinked at her, bewildered by the question, his eyes wide as he stared up at her. Then, his lips tugged into that confused pout she had always hated, a sight that made her heart clench because of how adorable she found it.

He didn’t trust his voice, so instead he nodded.

   “Good.”

It took Jisung a moment to fully register what was happening.

The soft press of her lips against his was searing hot. A sharp contrast to the coldness around them, damp with the snow that had melted against his skin.

His eyes widened in shock, his mind reeling as he fully realized that she was kissing him.

Her lips felt soft and plush, moving gently against his.

And just like the snowflakes that dotted their skin, Jisung felt himself melt instantly. Into the kiss. Into her cold fingers that cradled his jaw, guiding him closer, pressing herself into him, deepening the kiss.

Driving him crazy.

Jisung wished it could be a moment that would last forever. But, alas, she pulled away. The tip of her nose was redder than before, from being pressed against his, and her breath came out in heavier puffs, fogging up the chilly air between them.

He swallowed hard, staring at her, frozen in place. He was afraid to move, afraid to sit up, afraid to kiss her properly. Most of all, he was terrified that she might slap a hand over her mouth, her face contorting into disgust, her eyes wide with regret.

Afraid she was going to tell him she hadn’t meant to kiss him at all.

   “You don’t want me to be with him. You want me to be with you.”

Her words cut through the chaos in his mind, shattering the doubts that had clouded his thoughts.

His gaze flickered between her eyes, trying to piece together what she was saying. It was a painfully true statement, and he wondered when she had figured it out.

When she had caught on.

To his lingering gazes, his almost forbidden thoughts.

Maybe he didn’t hide his jealousy as well as he thought.

   “Tell me. That you want me to be with you. That you want me too. I-I need to hear it, Jisung. Out loud.”

Y/N sat upright, her eyes boring into his, gleaming with a sudden anxiety that made his breath hitch.

She was asking for a sincere confession.

Something to ground her. To give her a validation, long overdue. To not have to guess whether his touches were just friendly or charged with something else.

If his intent gazes that she often caught him staring with, meant more than he claimed.

That he was hers.

And seeing that flicker of anxiety in her gaze, that fear of uncertainty, had Jisung scrambling to sit up.

The snow that had settled over his body scattered like dust. His hands moved instinctively, reaching for hers, fingers trembling as he took them in his.

   “I-I want you—I want you to be with me. I was jealous.” The words spilled from him, loud and raw, falling from his lips without hesitation.

Something desperate that he couldn’t hide.

His tone, tinged with eagerness.

It sounded like the first time she had asked him to be her friend. How he had eagerly nodded, his hand shaking hers instantly.

A response that she couldn’t help but break into a grin at. Both his confession and his suddenly awkward form, sitting on his knees soothing that prick that had been lingering in her heart, made this moment sweeter.

His hands, warming hers.

   “Good.” The word came out in a whispered repeat.

Her hands slipped from his, reaching for the material of his jacket. She tugged him toward her, pulling him into a kiss. A real kiss.

A proper kiss.

The kind that Jisung returned with equal fervor, his hands trailing over her face before sliding to the warmth of her neck, pulling her in closer. His cold fingers made her shiver, excitement buzzing in her veins as she parted her lips, desperate to deepen their entanglement.

And she did, their mouths working together in a way that made minds reel. Until, after what felt like forever, yet still not long enough, Jisung pulled away.

His breath came out in ragged gasps, his hands still cradling her neck, fingers entangled in her hair. He had been sitting up on his knees, his jeans wet, and cold. Yet all he felt was his skin burning, the feel of her against him, driving him crazy.

Jisung dropped his head in attempts to calm himself, closed eyes processing the whirlwind of emotions, taking deep, steadying breaths before looking back at her.

Her face was flushed, lips swollen from their kiss, wide eyes staring back at his equally flushed expression. Her lips still wet from their kiss. Her gaze awaited.

He gulped, his mouth parting as he finally grounded himself.

   “Yo-you can’t take it back.” He stammered almost, his serious gaze boring into her soul, searching for certainty.

   “You’re mine.” His tone softened to a whisper, a quiet confession that had been building inside him for far too long, finally free after being locked away in that tiny corner of his heart.

Her brows relax, gentle eyes trailing over his expression before she smiled.

   “I’ve always been yours, loser.” Y/N murmured, her voice teasing yet full of warmth, before leaning in to kiss him again.

Something she decided was the most amazing feeling in the world, something she realized she could not get enough of.

The Loser Club had been a two-member group from the start.

────────────────────────

The first days of school had always been intimidating. Especially the first day of high school.

A new school. A new environment. New faces.

For Y/N, the nerves hit harder. She had moved to this town the summer after middle school, knowing absolutely no one. She hadn’t gone to school here before, and the unknowns felt heavy on her chest.

She stood on the sidewalk, staring at the winter sky. The sun had peeked through the early morning haze, casting a pale light across the world, but the air was still bitterly cold.

Y/N shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets, trying to keep the chill from her fingers. The snow had piled up overnight, crunching under her shoes as she walked. She kicked at it absently as she neared the school, her heart pounding in her chest.

The streets were empty, quiet. The early morning stillness before everyone else began to rush to class. She glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar route, wondering how many times she would walk it in the next few years.

Then, her steps faltered. Her gaze locked onto a figure ahead.

A boy had slipped on the icy ground, his arms flailing as he tried to regain balance before falling backward.

The thud of his body hitting the soft snow was loud in the stillness of the morning. A sound that made Y/N’s gasp, her hand instinctively reaching out, as if she could somehow help from a distance.

But as she continued to watch, her confusion deepened.

The boy didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get up. He just lay there, staring up at the sky as if he had all the time in the world. He didn’t even attempt to move, just blinking slowly, watching the snowflakes drifting down from above.

Y/N’s gaze followed his, lifting her eyes to the delicate white specks falling through the sky. It was a beautiful, calming moment, one that suddenly eased the tightness in her chest in a way she hadn’t expected.

The boy remained where he was, eyes still fixed on the sky, unbothered by the cold or the snow around him.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she walked closer. The snow crunched under her feet as she approached, her figure casting a shadow over him.

She tilted her head, studying him.

He was cute, she thought.

Suddenly, the boy blinked, his eyes widening as he looked up at her, startled. His mouth parted in surprise.

Her brows furrowed slightly in amusement.

   “Are you okay?”

Jisung’s eyes grew even wider, and for a brief, breathless moment, something shifted between them.

A flutter. An inexplicable pull.

That feeling. The one that surged in their chests at the same time it seemed.

Love at first sight. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ end.

[godslino]

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.

chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin · · · ♡ series masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡

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.

[tags: @skzstarnet @snowyquokka @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @drhsthl @strwbrrychannie @shays-library @giuliadesu @iknowyouknowminho @linocz @pynchkilledme @jisunglyricist @itsgghowitsgg @alician87 @skzms @meloncremesoda @ilychee08 @allaboutsan @legally-lixs @stayceebs97 @candyquokka @chans1aptop @liknws @realrintaro @beeracha @vxllxnsworld @feelikecinderella @caitxx1 @lilac13 @sebastianswhore13 @classiclitandmemes @hyunverse @linosazuna @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @bubbly-moon @cookiesandcreammy ]

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

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.

[itsasilentreader]

─ .✦ 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 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝗗𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵.

[arcanesea]

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:')

[littleraesparkle]

　　★　 ♰　my rockstar boyfriend !!

Divider cr to the owner!!!

Follow up and reblog for clear skin:3

[thegreenlynx]

I Bite, Pretty Boy

Description: In a world that does not believe in the supernatural, You are part of a group of good vampires who work to protect humans. However, when one human delves too far into things better left untouched, can you protect him from his own obsession?

Pairing: Supernatural Obsessed Nerd Han Jisung x Vampire Fem!Reader

Genre: Fantasy/Fluff/Angst

Content Warnings: Fem Reader (y/n used), violence, murder, blood, drinking blood(obviously), elements of stalking, themes of assault, death, hacking into government databases as a hobby, what may constitute as fetishizing supernatural beings/vampires, Han is kind of a freaky weirdo in this? but we love him anyway, morally ambiguous character(s), more to be added…

Status: Ongoing…

A/N: This series is related to this poll I did.

Master List

Chapter 1: Nerdy Obsessions

Chapter 2: Blood Thirsty?

Chapter 3: Blood-Sucking Hero

Chapter 4: Lucky Man 🔜

Chapter 5: Mystery Girl? 🔜

Chapter 6: Vampiric Duties 🔜

Chapter 7: Back to Normal 🔜

~ Reply to be in the I Bite, Pretty Boy taglist ~

[peachiejeongin]

Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice! | Han Jisung

Synopsis: 30 years ago, you agreed to marry some sort of demonic, yet incredibly handsome creature in order to save the spiritual family whom haunted your attic; when the former was banished back to the afterlife, you figured you would never see him again. little did you know, an unlikely yet realistic relationship between the two of you would spark as he became the key in a journey to save your daughter...

Pairing: Beetlejuice!Han X fem!reader (reader resembles Lydia Deetz from 'Beetlejuice')

Genre: Dark Comedy AU, Fluff Towards the End

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: MAJOR BEETLEJUICE 2 SPOILERS AHEAD (The plot is edited at some points), Swearing, Mentions of Death, some gore depictions, mentions of a poor mother-daughter dynamic at some points, coerced marriage (sort of?), I turned Beetlejuice into a loverboy, NOT proofread

Notice: Hello, my loves! I have recently watched 'Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!' and it gave me the inspiration for this fan fiction! Obviously, multiple aspects of the original plot have been changed to fit the description of this story, such as the year the original tale takes place changing by a few years, additional dialogue, and a complete revamp of the dynamic between "Beetlejuice" (Han) and "Lydia" (Y/N), which I do apologize for. I would also like to put forth this statement: I do NOT own the rights to 'Beetlejuice,' nor any of its characters! I only hold the copyright to the scenes I create! Without further ado, enjoy the story! :)

"I can't believe I'm doing this," you whisper with pure dread and anxiety coating your voice as you stood in the attic of your old home. The model of your town constructed by the married couple that had lived there prior seemed to tremble along with your hands. 'I have to. It's my only choice,' you mouthed to nobody in particular; truly, you were correct. If you had another option, you would resort to it rather than being in the stance you were currently.

However, your daughter's life was at stake, and this was the only way you knew how to save her.

You thought Astrid was going on a normal date; she had just met a boy not even a couple of blocks away from your old family home. His name was Jeongin, and he seemed like a typical neighborhood boy when you dropped your daughter off; he was sweet, shy, and homebody-ish. You had only just learned the truth because of your close friend; she came over to prep your family home for marketing following your father's death and unknowingly revealed the boy's true intentions.

The address in which you had dropped Astrid off, 125 Jefferson Street to be specific, had infamously become known as the "Murder House." The young son who had resided in the home two and a half decades prior had slaughtered his parents in cold blood and evaded police for hours on end in the treehouse constructed in his backyard. When the cops had finally caught up to him, he slipped in attempts to escape, falling on the hard ground several feet below and snapping his neck almost instantly. The young boy's name?

Jeongin. The same Jeongin in which your daughter was currently, "on a date," with.

He was, conclusively, a ghost, only being visible to you due to your spiritual mediation abilities. It all made sense now; why the street-goers and tricker-treaters had glanced at you and Astrid strangely when Astrid was dropped off, why Jeongin refused to let you come inside, and why he took a sudden keen interest in Astrid after only knowing her for three days.

Trouble was brewing.

Yet, Jeongin had failed to recollect that you had possessed your spiritual abilities for decades, which had initially allowed you to visualize the being you were attempting to summon. You remembered 1994's events all too well, from the moment you had discovered the ghostly couple in your attic, to meeting the demon that called himself, 'Beetlejuice,' although his real name was Han, who would proceed to give your family hell for the next several days, to the coercion he placed upon you to marry him if he helped you save the couple from an exorcism.

After the latter event had come to a halt after a situation involving a sandworm swallowing Han whole, you believed you were rid of the demonic soul; however, Han had been making himself more and more present in your life lately. You saw him everywhere, whether it was on the set of your reality ghost hunting show, outside of your house, even lurking around your father's gravesite. You did not want to summon him and tried to search the inner macamations of your mind for a way to help your daughter that did not involve him.

Yet, there was a part of you deep inside that knew Han would be the only reasonable solution to the problem at hand; hell, you could even go as far as to say the same part of you wanted Han to come back. Sure, he was batshit crazy, for lack of a better term, but you could not deny that he was the best looking demon you had ever laid your eyes upon. Perhaps it was that same part of you that felt bummed that the marriage between the two of you never truly consemated, and maybe it now thought that this could be the second chance for the both of you.

You pushed those thoughts aside, quickly refocusing on rescuing Astrid, the more important issue at stake. You took another deep breath, closing your eyes tightly before muttering three words that would once again change the course of your life.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"

On cue, the replica of the small down began to crack straight down the middle; buildings and model objects fell in the split, never to be seen again. The star of the show slowly rose from the ground, illuminated by shades of turquoise and lime-green lighting. He looked exactly the same as he did thirty years ago, with longer, shaggy green hair that framed his pale white skin; his eyes were encircled by pure blackness, and what looked like patches of moss were ever so present on the sides of his sharp jawline. He still wore the black and white pinstriped suit that was loose around his thin waist. He naturally looked abnormal, creepy even; of course he did, he was dead! Yet, you thought he still looked abnormally handsome, even after all of these years. Your eyes widened in awe as he threw up his hands in a jazz-like motion.

"The Juice is loose!" Han screamed in excitement. He vanished from sight, only to reappear behind you and put his hands on your shoulders, slightly startling you.

"Hi, Doll," he smiled, his pale squirrel cheeks ever so prominent. "How ya been? It's been a long time. You haven't called, so what's up with-" you cut off Han's ramble by shoving a book titled, 'Handbook for the Recently Deceased,' in his face; you had recently acquired it from the "Murder House" during your futile first attempt at saving Astrid.

"I need you to tell me what this means!" you frantically commanded as Han snatched the book from your hands. He pulled a small magnifying glass from seemingly out of nowhere as he analyzed the line you were inherently motioning to with your pointer finger.

"Let's take a look, shall we?" he inquired, leaning closer to the book in order to read the section. He skimmed over the line before widening his eyes and grimacing. "To make a long story short, your daughter is screwed." Your eyes widened as he spoke, mouth slightly agaping in sorrow. "Yeah, looks like she decided to trade lives with the boy. He gets to come back, while she's stuck on the other side permanently. One-way ticket on the Soul Train." Han ended the explanation by tugging his arm downwards, as if he were pulling on a train whistle. You shook your head at him in disbelief.

"Soul train?" you repeated in a murmur.

"That's right," Han instantly responded. "Last stop: The Great Beyond!" 'The Great Beyond,' he was referring to essentially translated to eternity, that being either Heaven or Hell. Han looked at you before continuing to ramble. "Y'know, she really should have been our daughter. I would have been a great father if you had taken me up on my offer and-" You sighed in frustration.

"Han, that doesn't matter right now!" you snapped. "What does matter is the fact that Astrid can't get on that train!" You lunged forward, grasping the front of Han's shirt in a desperate attempt to plead for his help. "You've gotta get me in there so I can get her out!" Han gripped onto your wrists, slowly lowering them as he spoke.

"Well, I can get you in, but it's going to take a quid pro quo." You rolled your eyes at his response.

"Of course there is," you groaned. "What do you want?"

"Well," he began by scratching the nape of his neck. "I've got this ex-wife, and she's kind of a whack-job. First of all, we are THROUGH," he emphasized as if you would outrage at the fact of him having an unmentioned spouse; you did not feel anger, though. After all, the two of you were not ever married nor officially even together, yet you did feel a bit confused at the fact of Han previously being committed. "She's kind of clingy, and if I could just keep her away from me somehow-"

"You want me to marry you, I presume?" you moved your hands in a 'get-on-with-it' motion as Han tilted his head to the right a bit whilst raising his eyebrows.

"I thought you would never ask!" A smile swiftly plastered onto his face as he shuffled his feet like a child. "Finally realizing how things were supposed to be, aye?" he teased, managing to reignite the same fire in your heart from thirty years ago.

"Whatever," you dismissed his apparent flirting, trying your best to conceal a prying smile. "How do I know you're going to keep your word? That you aren't using me for your own gain?"

"Sweetheart," Han dragged out the word, sounding sarcastically offended. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"You aren't a person, you're a demon."

"Fair point," Han commented. "I swear on my dead mother's soul," he promised, moving his hands in a Catholic cross symbol. Suddenly, he burst into flames, which made you contemplate if it was a binding of his word or a sign that he was a flat out liar. Nevertheless, you agreed to his conditions, with part of it being out of concern for your daughter and the other part stemming from repressed feelings resurfacing.

"Okay, fine! I will marry you if you help save my daughter!" you felt a hint of fear, but also a sense of relief finally being able to solidify the marriage that failed to become so many years ago. Han smirked, unrolling a marriage contract that he had materialized, similar to how he had done the magnifying glass.

"I'm going to need that in writing." Han made a grab at your hand. "Give me that," he sing-song demanded as he pricked your pointer finger on an unusually sharp quill pen. You screeched in protest as he used the pen to forge your signature onto the contract, throwing it down as swiftly as he made it appear. He exhaled and cusped your cheeks, pouting adorably. "I am going to make you so happy!"

"Jesus!" you exclaimed, clutching onto your throbbing, injured finger. "What's the plan on getting in?" Han smirked, eyeing the wall behind you. You looked behind you, seeing where Han had now appeared drawing a chalk outline of an explosive on the grey brick wall; you still felt his hands caressing your cheeks, however, yet as soon as you turned back around, Han had vanished, his only form now being that of the one sketching the outline. You whipped your head back around and made your way over to Han's current position. You looked at him in everfound confusion, contrasting to dopey grin he had upon his face.

"Well, you can't exactly go in through the front door!" Han responded to your perplexation; he did not alot time for a response, instead lighting a spawned match and placing it near the chalked fuse. It lit instantaneously, as if it were a real explosive. As the spark neared the wall, you instinctively clutched to Han's forearm, eliciting a sly smirk from the taller. The wall detonated in a flash, allowing you to walk through to the other side.

Quite literally.

The first thing you were met with was a shroud of shrinkers gasping, eyeing you both with uncertainty.

"You never saw us," Han commanded the shrinkers, the demand sounding more like a factual statement. "¿Comprende?" You figured the reason for the command had something to do with the, "whackjob," ex-wife Han had mentioned. A short tap on Han's shoulder turned him around at the speed of light. "Bob!" He addressed the shrinker, who was notably disguised as Han himself. "You and the boys stand guard. Nobody gets through." Bob nodded as Han snapped his fingers, causing an entrance on the other side of the room to open up.

"Let's go, Honey," he growled to you as he grabbed your hand and led you to the opening. The pet name sent sparks through your body, but you persisted onwards instead of acknowledging it. Before you knew it, you were venturing down twisted hallways, nearly falling down illusive corridors, and making one too many wrong turns at times.

Yet, you never let go of Han's hand during the entire journey.

It was not long before the afterlife police, as you decided to refer to them, had discovered that a living being had illegally crossed into the afterlife, prompting an automated voice to blare, " Warning: 6-9-9 Violation," multiple times over. Furthermore, you had lost count on how many times you and Han had to maneuver your way into tight corridors or plainly defy the laws pf physics to conceal yourselves. That is exactly how you ended up, quite literally, on the ceiling. You only dropped down once the crowd of cops had made their rounds, calling, "All clear!"

"We're like Bonnie and Clyde, you and I," Han remarked as he dusted off his suit and retook hold of your hand. "Without the bullet holes, of course." You nodded your head in agitation, feeling a bit irritated at the circumstance; after all, you still wanted your daughter back.

"Do you even know where we're going?" you motioned to the hallway in front of you, allowing for Han to take the lead once more.

"You go right down this hallway, take three rights, through the ninth door, and right to the Soul Train!" Han once again made the whistle-pulling movement before letting go of your hand; the only thing was he was going in the opposite direction of what he had just described.

"And where are you going?!" you interrobanged, crossing your arms towards the demon.

"I have to go to the little boy's room first," he replied casually, making your face scrunch up in grotesque. He could detect your nervousness, so he clasped a hand onto your shoulder. "We'll get Astrid back, don't worry. I promise on Bob's soul." This time, Han did not catch on fire, allowing you to conclude that the earlier circumstance had indeed been a lie. Yet, the honesty he now possessed ignited a passionate fire within your heart; you sensed the care he felt for Astrid, and it was just as strong as the amount in which you possessed.

You nodded in response, moving your hand to hold the one currently placed on your shoulder. You heard footsteps coming down the hallway, so you quickly scurried off in opposite directions assuming that it was the cops.

Little did you know how wrong you were...

---

Neon lights illuminated the air as you cascaded down a flight of stairs. There were multiple souls near the train tracks, dancing a never-ending choreographing, acting as if they were alive once more. Yet, past all of those energetic souls, you spotted a glum, frightened girl being hoisted to the Soul Train against her better judgement.

"ASTRID!" you screamed out, your callings drowned by the lively music that was blasting. You watched against your will as your daughter was thrown into the train, instantly becoming swallowed into a crowd of party-goers now making their respective ventures onto the locomotive. You rushed down the steps as fast as your legs would let you and pushed through the crowd of dancers filling the train.

"Astrid!" you called once again, only this time she heard your desperate cries and made her way towards you. You gripped onto her hand firmly and pulled her off of the Soul Train just in time as the doors closed and the train made its departure for The Great Beyond. You engulfed Astrid in a tight bear hug, holding onto her for dear life; the sweet moment was short-lived, however, as the afterlife police began to surround the area, slowly enclosing on you and Astrid.

You looked around, hoping to find some sort of escape as Astrid trembled in your arms. You pointed to a door with a red neon sign above it reading, "Emergency Exit." You and Astrid made your way to the door, Astrid holding up the skirt of her Halloween costume so that it would not slow her down.

"By the way," she began breathlessly. "I saw dad!" Your face lit up in delight; the scenario revolving around your ex-husband's departure to the afterlife had been shrouded in mystery. Years ago, he had went on an expedition in the Amazon River; several days afterwards, they could not find his body. You had tried to reach out to him several times, but you were never able to, and you never knew the reason as to why. Hearing that Astrid had seen him put all of your worries to rest.

However, you barely had time to react to her statement as you pushed the door open. Instead of your feet making their next steps out of the afterlife, they began freefalling and landed in a pile of sand. You looked around at your surroundings, and you found yourself in a desert-esque wasteland. The only objects in sight besides sand granules were weirdly shaped rock carvings.

"Where are we?" Astrid worriedly asked as she looked frantically at the sight.

"I don't know!" you replied with just as much worry, if not more. Suddenly, Astrid tapped your shoulder and pointed towards a nearby planet.

"Look! That's Saturn! So we must be on one of its moons!" she shook her head in disbelief. "I swear, the afterlife is so random!" You were not able to formulate a response before the sand arounds you began to shift; a puff of tan dust appeared suddenly, and you and Astrid found yourselves faced with a black and white striped monstronsity arising from the depths of the wasteland. It had beady red eyes that were glaring hungrily at you both.

"Sandworm!" you instantly remembered the creature, both from your multiple paranormal books and from the events that transpired so long ago. You grabbed Astrid's hand and ran at the speed of light across the deserted wasteland. The sandworm was about to catch up to you both when you heard a familiar voice:

"Take my hand!" Mirroring the statement, a hand dropped down and swiftly pulled Astrid up onto a ledge. The sandworm had began to rear its second ugly head as the hand reached back down to grab you; the mystery being pulled you up onto the surface as well, shutting the door harshly behind you three before the sandworm had a chance to strike. It was here in which you finally came into contact with the face that belonged to the limb:

Astrid's father.

He looked much different than you remembered, naturally. His skin was a seafoam green shade, most likely resulting from the waterlogging of his body. He had sores all over his body, exposing parts of his muscle from the forehead down. Finally, the most humorous feature, he had tiny blue pirhannas nibling on every sector of his body.

The three of you spoke for a long time over respective cups of coffee. He had complimented Astrid's Halloween costume; she was dressed as Marie Curie after she had been poisoned by radiation. Furthermore, he commented how he was always watching over you guys, although neither of you were able to visualize him. He ended the conversation with a hug before the automated voice sounded another warning about the 6-9-9 violation.

"We've got to get back to Winter River," you stated as your body lurched up, ready to take action.

"We can't leave until Astrid gets her life back," your widower replied, standing up from his chair. "Follow me." The three of you sped for quite sometime until you had reached the ticket booth. Here, you saw Jeongin, smirking deviously in your direction with a voucher in hand, no doubt a passport to venture back into the living world.

"Don't stamp that passport!" Astrid's father yelled out in desperation, but the operator at the ticket window had already done the unthinkable.

"You're too late," Jeongin smugly commented as he waited for his passport to be returned. Jeongin was right; time had ran out.

Or so you thought.

"I think it was Doestoevsky who said," a moderate voice began as the "operator" slid Jeongin back his passport. Jeongin's sly grin slowly faded as he read the stamp marking:

Shit Out of Luck.

The operator lifted his head up to reveal a pale, squirrel like face with messy green hair entracing the sides.

"Later, fucker!" Han's hand gripped onto a lever beside him as Jeongin glanced up at him with worry. Before he could protest, Han's hand had yanked the lever down, opening up a trap-door into a fiery inferno. Jeongin fell down into eternal torture, never to cause harm to anyone again.

"You don't mess with the daughter of the love of my afterlife!" Han screamed into the entrance to Hell. You only caught a glimpse of his words, but they still fluttered your heart, nevertheless.

Before you knew it, Han was standing right beside you, Astrid, and Astrid's father.

"I've got it from here, big guy," Han winked at Astrid's father, causing him to mumble a quick, 'I love you,' to Astrid before speeding off.

"This way, follow me!" Han led the two of you back down the same twisting corridors you had traveled earlier in the venture until you reached a room with dark blue walls and a ladder in the dead center. "This is as far as I go for now," he commented, a look of regret replacing the one of smugness that was usually present

"Mom, is this-"

"Beetlejuice? The one and only, Honey!" Han interupted Astrid's inquiry, holding out a ghostly hand to shake. "But you can call me Han. Or dad if you'd prefer." You waved your hand across your neck in a, 'stop-talking,' motion, causing Han to clear his throat. "Well, carry on then!" He held steadily onto the ladder, helping Astrid climb up with you prepared to follow.

"I'll see you soon, Wifey," Han remarked as his hands snaked around your waist. You quickly embraced his hug, not caring how twisted it may have seemed. You held his words close to your heart as you let go, clutching onto the ladder as you exited the afterlife.

---

You climbed, and climbed, and climbed until your arms were sick of doing so. Eventually, you reached an opening which led to the Winter River Cemetary.

You were home at last.

Astrid turned around to face you, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Thank you for saving my life," her voice trembled as she expressed her gratitude. "I'm so sorry I never belived that you saw ghosts and...I don't know, I'm just sorry for all of it!"

There were only two situations you can say you ever felt your heart truly beat. The first was when you met Han for the first time; the second was this exact moment.

You and Astrid's relationship was subpar, at best. Ever since her father's passing, she had refused to interact with you, especially where the paranormal was concerned. Until tonight, Astrid thought the entire concept of spirits, witches, demons, and all things supernatural was a load of hullabaloo. She never wanted to claim you as her mother.

Until tonight that was, when you had earned her trust back.

You inched forward in preparation to give a response; however, your train of thought derailed when you heard someone calling your name repeatedly, insisting upon the fact that you were, 'late,' for something. You glanced over Astrid's shoulder and noticed that it was the town pastor calling your name. That is when it hit you:

"Oh my gosh, my wedding!" you yelled as you rushed towards the church building, Astrid trailing your feet close behind.

"Wait, mom, after everything that's happened tonight, you know you don't have to do this, right?" Astrid asked earnestly. Your mind flashed back to the events of tonight; the pet names Han had called you, how tightly he had held your hand, how he referred to you as, "the love of his afterlife." You knew by all means those were not the events Astrid was talking about by a long shot; however, they sunk the truth into her words.

"I know, but if I don't do it now, I'm never going to do it!"

"Are you really sure about this?" Astrid could sense the unsincerity in your tone. You let out an aggravated sigh.

You were not actually sure, that was the truth. I mean, who truly is sure about marrying a man they have been committed to for less than a year, let alone a man who proposed on the same day as your father's funeral?!

You answered, hesitance prominent in your voice, yet giving a response in attempts to convince both your daughter and yourself that this marriage was a good thing: "Hyun loves me, and that's got to be enough!"

Ah yes, Hyun. Short for Hyunjin. The tragic fiancé you had met at a widow's resort. He had told you his sob story of a tale, how his fiancé had perished in a skiing accident, and as you would have put it, the two of you just clicked.

You agreed to the marriage on his accord rather than your own, truly; you felt pressured by the crowd of people watching his proposal at your father's funeral and by his desperate pleas. You knew this was not what was in the tarot cards for you, yet you tried to claim that it was.

You had finally reached the entrance of the church when you ran into the aforementioned fellow. He lazily embraced you, your arms suddenly becoming doubtful to wrap around him in return.

"I thought you got cold feet," Hyunjin confessed as he removed his arms from around you.

"No, blame me," Astrid piped up. "She just saved me from my date from hell."

"Who are all of these people?" you failed to acknowledge either statement, instead taking notice of all the unfamilarity present within the crowd of attendees.

"Just a couple of influencers; nobody under five million followers, and I think we have a Netflix executive in there," Hyunjin smiled as he said this, but you could only groan in frustration.

You see, along with being your husband to be, Hyunjin was also your manager. He partnered alongside you for every media project you participated in, most specifically your new hit show, "Ghost House." Hyunjin loved the attention.

You did not. Hence, your disapproval of the wedding guests.

Your anxious thinking once again halted, this time as a result of Astrid snapping her fingers repeatedly.

"Are we doing this or what?" she asked impatiently.

"Right, yes, of course," Hyunjin agreed before eyeing you up and down. "Where is your dress?" You waved your hands slightly in dismissal.

"All that matters is that I am here now, so let's just skip straight to the vows," you did not make eye contact for a second as you spoke to him.

"Wait, where's Delia?" Astrid quieried about your step-mother. A flash of light and a rumble of thunder caused everyone to turn their attention to the front of the church pew.

"Yo!" a voice boomed across the audience, and you glanced forward to see the one and only. "She's right here," he responded to Astrid's question, pointed to the red-haired lady standing beside him.

One thing about Han: he was excellent at keeping his promises.

"She was helping me calm down before the wedding," Han continued. "I was feeling a little jittery." He chuckled arduously before pushing Delia aside.

"You!" Hyunjin thundered as he sped across the aisle. "You're that thing from my dream!" He was referring to an earlier occurance in which he had muttered the legendary three-word encantation and found himself in a dreamlike state encountering Han.

"Well, I'm really more nightmare material, but thanks!" You stifled a chuckle at Han's comeback.

"Whats up, Be-" Astrid attempted to call Han's real name; however, her voice was quickly stifled, accompanied by a tsking from Han.

"Part of the deal is you can never ever say my name, ever!" Han explained the reasoning behind the sudden silencing as Astrid rubbed her throat; Han held up the handbook for the dead from earlier.

"What deal?" Astrid asked in return.

"The deal she," Han pointed at you, "made to save you," he moved his pointer finger to Astrid. "That's why I said you can call me dad earlier."

"Y/n." Delia stated your name bluntly. "You agreed to marry him?!" Saying Delia was outraged was a complete understatement. She looked at you with horror present in your eyes, terrified as to how the next events would unfold. You began to stumble over your words.

"Well, uh. You see I did, but I was, um," you felt desperate prying at your words. Han looked at you with intrigued intent; both he and you knew the real reason why you had chosen to marry him, yet he also knew you were trying to find a way to hide your true intentions. The glares he was sending your way did not aid your cause; they were sultry, yet agitating, as if they were encouraging you to tell how you fell in love with a demon and that was why you were so quick to agree to a marriage in order to save your daughter.

"Y/n, what is really going on here?" Hyunjin interrogated, his annoyed gaze boring into yours. Your stare instead found Han's, your eyes pleading for his help.

"Wow!" Han exclaimed as he threw the handbook onto the altar. "Talk about awkward!" He had suddenly appeared behind Hyunjin, an arm slung around his shoulders and causing the crowd to gasp. "You haven't made much progress since our last session, so I'm going to go ahead and recommend some drug therapy." Han was once again referring to the "dream" Hyunjin had prior in the day. He pulled out a filled syringe labeled, 'truth serum,' and injected the liquid straight into Hyunjin's neck.

"Don't be afraid to share when you're ready!" he told Hyunjin with a cheeky grin on his face. Hyunjin's body betrayed him in this moment, shifting towards you with blown out eyes and quivering lips, as if he was trying to hold back from saying something. Han had appeared behind you now, the same smug arm snug around your shoulders.

"Let's see what your, "lover," truly thinks, shall we?" Han whispered against your neck. You and Astrid's expressions were contorted into confusion.

"I always thought your whole act was bullshit," Hyunjin suddenly confessed, causing your eyebrows to heighten and your lips to mouth, 'what?' "I never believed in ghosts, spirits, or any of it."

"What?" you inquired, extremely taken aback by his truthfull confession. "All this time? Why the hell did you want to get married then?"

"Money!" Hyunjin outbursted. "I knew I could make more money as your husband than as your manager!" He tried to cusp a hand over his mouth to keep the truth from overflowing but failed tremendously; meanwhile, your mouth was agape at the words he was spilling. "And I never had a dead fiancé. I just went to that survivor's retreat to try and pick up a girl," he winced at his last confession. You could feel nothing in your heart but anger and disgust; Han, on the other hand felt immense pleasure in seeing your realization of what an absolute scumbag your ex soon-to-be-wed was.

"How about a little physical therapy?" Han gently grasped your fist and lifted it up, taking the action straight out of your mind. Before a rational thought could cross your mind, you had knocked Hyunjin clean in the nose, the force of the impact catapulting him backwards. Han clapped forcefully and joyously at the incident, and you did something that shocked yourself; you smiled. For once in your life, you had stood up for yourself, and you took pride in that. In the midst of your self-glory, Han began to address the crowd.

"We'd like to thank you all for coming, but right now, we'd like a little privacy." He snapped his fingers, and the crowd subconsciously turned their phones around so the camera faced them. Their faces began to morph into grotesque shapes as they were pulled into their cellular cameras. In a flash, every unfamiliar face in the audience had vanished, leaving only you, Han, Astrid, Delia, Hyunjin, and the church's pastor. The latter of the six attempted to make his escape through the back entrance; however, his efforts were for nothing as Han was two steps in front of him, standing square in the middle of the doorframe.

"Where ya going, Padre?" Han asked rhetorically; he snapped his fingers once more, and the pastor appeared at the front of the altar, his Bible in hand. Han subsequently poofed on the left side in front of the pastor, reaching out a hand for you to join him on the right. An undead symphony began to play a surprisingly harmonious melody as the two of you linked arms. You looked up at him, slightly hesitant at the suddenness of the events at hand. The remaining few in the crowd began to sing along to the melody that was playing, notably doing so under hypnosis. Han took your hand in his and brought you closer to him, beginning to slow dance with you under the radiant light of the church's chandelier.

You would have been lying if you said there was not a part of you that did not like this experience. Sure, Han was a demon who had done questionable things and was downright psychotic at certain points. Yet, you could not stop thinking about what he had done and subsequently said earlier: "You don't mess with the daughter of the love of my afterlife!"

It made you realize: he truly cared about you. Unlike most demons, he had some semblance of a heart, even if he had a funny way of showing it. Not only this, but he cared about your daughter like she was his own, and that won your heart straight away.

The lights dimmed as you leaned into his embrace, beginning to slow-dance. He smiled as he looked down at you, wrapping a loose arm around your waist to hold you there and planting a small kiss on the top of your forehead.

"I knew you knew who you belonged with." Before you could respond, you were floating; you had found that ghosts tended to do that when they demonstrated affection. Although the experience was supernatural, you did not want it any other way. You stared deep into Han's eyes and he reciprocated. You contemplated leaning in for a kiss, knowing what that would mean for Han but the mere thought of it being more exhilerating than nerve-wracking.

That is why it was such a pain whenever the afterlife police crashed the wedding. They broke in through the windows, fell from the chandeliers, and some even came out of the spot where the symphony was playing. The music came to a halt, and the low lights came back up.

"Mr. Juice!" the lead of the afterlife police named Wolf Jackson boomed. "You have violated code 6-9-9!" Wolf did not get to finish, as Han took out a megaphone and shouted the word, 'Freeze,' causing the guards to do just that. You had hoped that was the last of the night's problems.

You found out that you were sorely mistaken.

The church doors flew open, and there stood a ghostly young woman; her skin was somehow paler than Han's. Her hair, eyes, nails, clothing, and shoes were all as black as ebony, and staples adorned what seemed to be a never-ending scar cascading down her body.

"BEETLEJUICE!" she thundered across the church pews, slowly making her way towards the demon. Han looked absolutely astounded in negativity.

"Sweetheart!" He grimaced as he spoke the pet name. "You look amazing!" From these four words alone, you came to the conclusion that this was Delores, Han's ex-wife that he had mentioned in passing. All of a sudden, Delores moved her hand in a swift motion, flinging you away from Han as she drew closer to him. He sputtered out multiple things about going through a lot of changes, how it was not her but him, and something about a mid-afterlife crisis.

"Your soul belongs to me, my love. For eternity," she did not take into account anything Han had said, only focused on sucking the remainder of his living soul out of him.

"You don't wanna spend your eternity with me!" Han retaliated nervously. "I'm not the one for you. You need a soulmate. Somebody who really sees you. For instance," he stepped out of the way, revealing an unfrozen Hyunjin. He snapped his fingers, changing the tuxedo top Hyunjin was wearing into a T-shirt stating, "I <3 Delores." This captivated her attention, more with confusion than arousal albeit.

You, on the other hand, were still splayed on the ground where Delores had played human ping pong with you. You glanced over to your right and saw Astrid drawing a symbol on the ground with Delia's lipstick. She knocked on it three times; you were not sure what it was until her knocks caused it to open like a trapdoor. It was a gateway to the same deserted area you and Astrid had been in earlier. Coming to a swift realization, the three of you moved out of the trapdoor's vicinity just in time to narrowly miss the large sandworm that erupted through the opening.

After an entanglement of Han leading the sandworm on where to go with a red cloth like a matador, the sandworm had swallowed both Delores and Hyunjin whole. Funnily enough, the pastor used this time to make his legitimate escape while Han was concerned with commanding the sandworm.

You sighed out of relief. 'This is the end of it,' you truly believed. Astrid and Deliah helped you up as you glanced at Han, mouthing a 'thank you' to him.

"No problem, my love," he replied, sadness slightly tinging his voice. "See you on the other side."

And as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.

---

"I want to thank all of you ghosties out there for your support over all of these years." Thunder clapped as you spoke solumly into the camera. "This is my last show. I have spent so much time talking to the dead. It's time I start living and make memories with the people I love, rather than be haunted by them later." The tape stopped rolling automatically, and you let out a sigh of relief. You stood up from your filming chair, which was truly just the recliner in your attic, and walked over to the replica of Winter River. It was still split in half from a certain visitor; however, you felt there was no need in repairing it as you sat on your knees, especially not with what you were about to do.

You had been thinking a lot lately. You knew what your heart longed to do, and it was time to put that motion into effect. As such, you closed your eyes, took in a deep breath, and muttered the same name three times.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice."

Han did not make much of a scene as he appeared this time; he had been watching over you the last few days, and knew the intensity of a typical arrival would be too much.

"Well, well, well," he remarked slowly. You opened your eyes and saw the ghost directly in front of you, sitting in a similar position to your own. The sight of him made you smile with pure joy, and he could not help but return it. "I'm glad to see the second marriage has made you finally pick up the phone," he teased you and you let out a small giggle.

"I've been thinking," you muttered. "And as I think, my mind keeps wondering back to one particular moment when we were together last. You really pulled through for me and Astrid," you spoke kindly, truthfully, your heart picking up the pace with every word you spoke towards him. "I know you told the ex-wife that she needed a soulmate. Someone who understands her." You reached out to grab Han's cold, pale hand. "I know you weren't talking to me, but," you took a brief pause to contemplate your next words. "I think that's what you are to me."

Your words caused Han's mouth to go agape, his eyes wide in astonishment. "Are you saying..."

Instead of saying anything, you showed him. You cupped his snow-white chipmunk cheeks and brought his face to your own, capturing him in a daring kiss. It was full of passion, romanticism, and overall, love.

Everything you would expect a demon not to possess.

You only pulled away from the kiss when you heard the sound of Han's heart beating. You softly opened your eyes where an incredulous image awaited you:

Han's skin had darkened into a light, peachy color. The dark black rings around his eyes had vanquished, and the shaggy green hair he once possessed had now morphed into healthy brown locks. His eyes, for once, looked as if they contained life.

Because they did.

You knew kissing Han in addition to signing that marriage contract would bring him back to life; however, you had decided that was the life you wanted. Countless times, he had shown how he would pull through for you, how he would best his demon status and do anything you asked.

You were confident he was your purpose.

"Woah," Han glanced down at himself, astounded by the sight of himself alive once more. "You brought me back to life." He could not express his thoughts in mere words; therefore, he did so by engulfing you in the tightest hug known to mankind. Against his chest, you mumbled a sentence that made his beating heart pound:

"Han, you brought me back to life."

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Enemies To Lovers : Jisung

Warnings : swearing, being sick, bickering, food, mention of slapping someone

@mxnsxngie @maeleelee @cadenonlinelive @weird-bookworm @turtledove824 @lakoya @lookitsjess @yukichan67 @xocandyy @alnex05 @qveenbibi @lghtdarling @palinedrome969 @beebee18 @guiltycoco @goddess-of-the-dark

pink means I couldn't tag you 🥺

[soobnny]

dating him | han jisung

❝ you found my heart broken and you helped me make it whole again ❞

chan | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | HAN | felix | seungmin | jeongin

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

so

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

[jeonjungkookenthusiast1997]

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 💙

[wontune]

oioii, você poderia fazer wallpapers do han jisung? (Stray kids)

� han jisung. ( stray kids ) lockscreen !

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

Welcome Home | Han Jisung

•Synopsis: While out on a leisurely hike you find yourself drawn away from the path to a beautiful field smack dab in the middle of the forest. It's incredible beautiful is something out of a fairytale and you soon find out why when you're ripped away from where you stood.

•Pairings: fairy Han Jisung x Female Reader

•Content Includes: au fairy realm, fluff, smut, mentions of past lives and soulmates, magic, unprotected sex

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

You're out hiking on a warm spring day, feeling the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. The woods around you whisper with life as birds chirp their cheerful songs and small animals skitter away excitedly. As you wander deeper into the forest, you stumble upon a clearing that takes your breath away. The field is a kaleidoscope of colors, with vibrant purple, teal, and blue flowers swaying gently in the breeze. You can't resist the urge to explore further, and before you know it, you're standing in the middle of the field. What you don't realize is that you're surrounded by a ring of white mushrooms with shimmering pearlescent specks until it's too late. You've heard the tales of fairy rings, how you should never disturb them since they're said to be the home of The Fae, but you've never truly believed in the folklore. That is until a sudden gust of wind, not from the trees, but from within the ring of mushrooms, envelops you.

Panic sets in and when you go to step out of the ring, the wind grows stronger, pulling everything around you into a whirlwind. Your hair is flying everywhere, and your backpack gets ripped from your shoulders, disappearing up into the tunnel of air. The circle around you starts to glow with a soft white light, until it's blinding, forcing you to shut your eyes. When the wind finally stops, you cautiously open your eyes only to find yourself at the edge of a magnificent forest, beside a towering waterfall that glistens in the sunlight. It's like something out of a fantasy. Everything around you seems to glow with a soft, celestial light. You can't help but marvel at the breathtaking scenery that surrounds you, wondering just where the hell you are and how you'll get back home.

Tentatively, you poke your foot out of the fairy ring and a sense of relief fills you when nothing happens. The world around you is breathtaking, filled with vibrant colors and ethereal beauty. When you step completely out of the ring, your eyes catch sight of a man emerging from the waterfall. It parts effortlessly for him, like a curtain being drawn aside, leaving him completely dry. His brown hair, slightly past his ears, frames his face in soft loose curls, blowing in the breeze. His chest and abs subtly glisten with the same shimmer as the mushrooms down to his slender waist, blending seamlessly under the waistband of his loose white pants that flow like water as he walks towards you.

You feel a gentle tug in your chest, urging you to move closer to him. It's like your feet have a mind of their own, pulling you towards the mysterious figure. Your whole body relaxes, and your mind clears as if all your worries have vanished into thin air. When he stops in front of you, you notice the delicate points of his ears peeking out from beneath the waves of his hair. And when he speaks, his voice is like a melody, soothing and captivating.

"Hello y/n, I'm Jisung," he says with a smile that lights up the entire forest. "I've been waiting for you. I knew the moment you stepped into that field that you’d finally find your way back to me this time.”

You're taken aback by his beauty and the sense of familiarity, as if you actually know him. He certainly knows who you are though but that doesn't seem to freak you out. Jisung reaches out to you placing a gentle touch on your cheek and you let him. His touch makes you shiver and it sends waves of electricity through your body down to your core, feeling a rush of pleasure that leaves you spellbound. You manage to find your voice, though it sounds a lot softer than you mean to.

"Do I know you?" you ask, "Have you cast some kind of spell on me?” He gives a shake of his head with a small smile and quiet chuckle making your heart stutter inside your chest.

“No spells sweetie, just the bond between soulmates," he reassures you.

You want to interrupt him, call him crazy, but is he the crazy one or are you? Everything around you seems like a scene from a dream. You half expect to jolt awake back in bed at any moment now. Or could you be lying unconscious somewhere after hitting your head on a low hanging branch in the forest? Maybe you got stung by something and an allergic reaction triggered this bizarre hallucination. But if any of that were true, then why does his touch feel so vividly real?

“Y/n, in every life before this one, you've been my love. In each of those lives, you're always drawn to lush green fields but for a long time you've never made it back to me. Until now.” His smile is warm as he gently takes your hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles over your knuckles. “Oh my baby, I've missed you throughout these long centuries. It's been hell having part of my heart missing but you're here with me now and I finally feel complete.”

As his words sink in, he inches closer to you, and you feel oddly calm. Just as his lips are about to touch yours, you hesitate and draw back a bit. His deep, warm eyes meet yours, and a playful pout forms on his lips, tugging at your heartstrings.

"I'm sorry," you murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I don't remember any of this. If all of this is real, I have no memory of any of it." You apologize, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I understand, beautiful. It's a bit unreal, isn't it? You probably don't even remember this place was once an absolute favorite of yours." Jisung tells you, his voice full of affection.

You look around, taking in everything but feel nothing other than the initial wonder at its beauty when you first opened your eyes. You would remember a place that looks this celestial. Jisung nods slowly in understanding as if he can read your mind, looking at you like you are truly his whole world. He looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes on and you find that ridiculous considering where you both stand.

"If we kiss, some of your memories will come back. Not all unfortunately, but hopefully the ones that will remind you of me and what we mean to each other." he explains.

He sounds so sincere, it's hard not to trust him. He tells you that it'll just be a featherlight peck and nothing more. There's no harm in a simple kiss right? He's cute, so if he's lying maybe this could be some sort of meet cute like in a movie an you two would laugh about it years later. You inhale deeply and nod giving him the okay to kiss you.

Closing your eyes, you sense Jisung getting closer until you feel his face just inches away from yours. He smells amazing, like fresh flowers, coffee, and sunshine. When he kisses you it's gentle, his lips barely touching yours. You start to feel light-headed, and clear images start to form behind your lids, like watching a movie.

You catch Jisung's eyes, his grin stretching wide as he gently lifts your hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss to the back. With a graceful spin, he twirls you around and your laughter rings out. Behind you, a shimmering light dances, casting hues of iridescence. As the spinning slows, the same radiant colors swirl behind him, framing his form with beautiful radiance. His wings, delicate and transparent like glass, reflect the mesmerizing glow of the fairy realm behind him. The fairy realm, your home, unfolds slowly with sparkling streams winding through lush forests and delicate flowers bloom. Each breath of the wind feels charged with magic. He whispers your name, his voice tender and promises, "Always in this life and the life after, I will love you, I will find you my baby." His words fill the air, swirling around you like fireflies."

You gasp, eyes fluttering open, and see Jisung's warm eyes on you. It feels like you've been lost in a dream for ages, but his voice brings you back to the now. Around you everything feels different somehow. The air is alive with a soft hum of magic that you didn't notice until now and the colorful flowers seem brighter as they blow in a breeze that smells like vanilla and fresh rain.

"Do you see now, y/n?" he asks gently.

Blinking away the remnants of the vision, you nod, feeling your heart swell like a balloon full of helium threatening to float out of your chest, "I see." You whisper, feeling the overwhelming love he has for you and the love you had for him in your past life. You apologize for forgetting, but he reassures you, pulling you into his arms.

“It's understandable, baby. Just… let me hold you.”

You melt into his warm embrace and it feels like home. It's an overwhelming and strange feeling. Finding out that not only do fairies actually exist but that you yourself were one and in love with one in every past life you've had. You feel coolness wrap around you along with the heat of his arms. He's got you wrapped up in his wings and they feel like silk. Just as smooth and fluid. The coolness keeps the heat that suddenly creeps over your entire body at bay. Your body feels tingly all over like all of your limbs have fallen asleep. Every inch of you feels like a single touch will send you tumbling into ecstasy. You're suddenly aroused, more than you've ever been in your life and it's because of the closeness of your body to Jisung's. You want him so bad it feels unbearable, like you'll go insane. You know he can feel your heartbeat.

“Tell me baby.” Jisung whispers holding you tighter, feeling his cock stir under his loose pants.

“I need you Jisung.” You whisper shyly and you feel his body shake when he chuckles.

“I know, my love. I remember the way your heart would flutter faster than your wings ever could when you were needy for my cock.” He murmurs, his hand caressing your back through the simple white fabric of your shirt, reminiscing about the days when your wings matched his.

"Help me remember, please?" you plead, meeting his gaze with eager eyes.

“I thought you'd never ask my love.” He replies before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. A surge of electricity shoots through you, forcing a throaty moan from you as you press against him, feeling the growing hardness in his pants stiffen even more.

He guides you deeper into the shadows of the forest, shedding your clothes as you go. Whenever you stumble over feet, his wings swoop in to steady you, making sure your feet stay planted on the ground. Laying you down onto the plush grass, he kisses you with a fervor that speaks volumes of how much he's missed you, missed your touch. His lips roam from yours to trace the curve of your jaw, down to the hollow of your throat and over the soft mounds of your breasts. Every inch of your skin is worshiped with a devotion that makes you feel hotter than the sun. Each kiss floods your mind with memories, fleeting but the feelings linger, strengthening the bond between you. With every caress, Jisung feels more familiar, and your desire for him intensifies, driving you to crave the feel of your fairy soulmate’s cock.

"Sungie?" You gasp as he lines himself up with your entrance.

He pauses, stunned by a nickname he hasn't heard in centuries, with a surge of affection flooding his heart. It only makes him want you more and without any further hesitation, he plunges into you with a powerful thrust. He buries himself deep inside you in a one single, intense motion and your cries echo throughout the forest, seemingly rustling the leaves overhead.

“Fuck, baby. It's been too long. Far, far too long without you. Forgive me if this is too quick but I can't hold back. Not after hearing my name on your lips like that.” With a swift motion, he pulls out and plunges back in, deep and fast, into your pussy.

“Quick or slow it does not matter when it's you my heart.” You whisper, your voice hitching with each moan.

“There she is. Mm! There's my beautiful fae. Your pussy feels exactly the way I remembered y/n. So wet, so soft.” He grunts, pushing into you deeper and your body arches into the lush grass beneath you. "You are pure fucking magic."

He lets out a soft curse, his movements quickening. The rush of memories flooding back to you turns him on, and he's desperate for more. He needs you to remember more, remember everything. Sunlight filters through his wings, casting rainbows across the enchanting landscape, like light through a crystal. The colors playfully dance on tree trunks, leaves, and flowers, enhancing the beauty around you. The symphony of your bodies coming together, accompanied by your soft moans and the gentle rush of the waterfall, is sweet music to your ears. With your walls snug around his cock Jisung can feel his orgasm quickly building. Countless centuries apart and he's going to blow too quick. He can't have that, not this quick any way. In an attempt to ease the sensation he feels growing in his balls, he wraps you in his wings and arms, rolling both of you over so that now you're on top, straddling him.

“Ride me baby. Just like that. Oh yeah, you remember don't you?“ He says through gritted teeth, moaning when you start to roll your hips grinding your pussy on him.

As you ride him, his cock feels like it's made entirely of magic itself, gliding in and out of you, making you feel weightless, like you're flying. It's like with every movement of your hips you're filled with a sense of purpose you've never known with anyone else. Jisung's breath hitches, his hungry eyes on your breast. Hypnotizing him with each bounce. You wield your own kind of magic casting a spell over Jisung, bringing him closer and closer to his peak. You don't even feel tired, you feel like you could ride him until the sun sets or longer. You can sense his pleasure building, his breath growing ragged as you grind your pussy on him faster. It's intoxicating, the way he responds to you, the way he loses himself in the moment. He won't be able to hold back much longer. His hands roam your body, tracing every curve as if he's rediscovering you all over again.

"You've missed this, haven't you?" you tease, feeling the heat inside of you bubbling.

He lets out a low growl, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to hold back, savoring the moment. "More than you can imagine," he murmurs, his voice husky with need.

He has missed this, the beautiful sight of you bouncing on his dick and the way he fits perfectly inside you. Because you were made for him and he was made for you.

With a playful smirk, you lean in closer, feeling the magic and heat radiating between your bodies. "Then let's make up for lost time, baby." you whisper, your lips brushing against his pointed ear, without even realizing that yours are becoming just as sharp. You nibble his ear lobe and his hips instinctively buck up into you with a hiss as he sucks in air through his teeth.

“Y/n, fuck, M’ gonna fill you. Gonna cum so hard. Baby! Shit, I'm cumming baby. Ah!” He grunts, thrusting up into you, his hips coming up off the ground.

You feel his seed hot inside you and your own orgasm is right there beginning to unravel. Suddenly, a cool sensation caresses your back, offering relief to your overheated skin. The skin starts to tingle and the sensation intensifies each time you come crashing down onto Jisung's cock. The feeling, it heightens your pleasure until you're cumming hard, moaning his name loud and speaking a language you had no idea you even knew. He grunts when your walls clench around him sucking him deeper into you. A burst of wind shoots out from behind you, cutting through the forest, making you shiver. You sense them before you see them—your wings. They unfold, spreading wide beside you, gently flapping like a lazy butterfly as Jisung's cock throbs inside you.

“Beautiful just like I remembered.” He says softly staring at you, sitting up and leaning in to kiss you. He gently presses his wings against yours, creating a sensation that you can only describe as blissful. You've never felt so much love in your heart until now.

"I missed you, Jisung," you whisper against his lips, your breath mingling with his. "I tried so hard to find you, but with each passing life, the memories slipped away until I remembered nothing.”

He shakes his head and rests his forehead against yours, "All that matters is that you're here now," he replies, his tone soft and reassuring. "I always knew you'd come back to me.”

He kisses you and lays you back down on the grass, smiling as you instinctively fold your wings and gently pulls out of you. You both lie tangled in each other's arms under the leafy green canopy of the towering trees, feeling a sense of peace washing over you now that you finally remember everything.

With a gentle touch, Jisung raises your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss to your knuckles. His voice, soft against your skin, as he breathes,

"Welcome home, love.”

[hwajin]

✞ 「 .✶۪ .° ✞ : 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