iblowjone

[iblowjone]

me for the past week and i'm so fucking maddd

STOP👏TAGGING👏XREADER👏IF👏YOU👏USE👏AN👏OC👏NOBODY👏 FUCKING👏ASKED👏FOR👏THAT👏OKAY???

The wrong thing is not the fact that you write a story with an oc, no, that's not the real problem, really.

IT'S JUST THE FACT THAT YOU USE THE WRONG TAG SO YOU HOPE MORE PEOPLE READ YOUR STORY. BUT BELIEVE ME IT'S JUST FUCKING ANNOYING 'CAUSE WE AREN'T ABLE TO FIND THE RIGHT FICS IF YOU KEEP DOING THIS!!!

There are people who like to read more stories with ocs than reader inserts, so use the fucking right tag go reach that community and stop spamming your stories among ours.

I don't think you get it but, you know, the purpose of fanfics with reader insert is to make the reader imagine her/himself as the mc of the story. The best part of these fics is the fact that EVERYONE can be included in them.

SO WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN THEM BY MAKING THE MC A PERSON THAT LOOKS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE READER AND EVEN HAS A NAME THAT IS NOT THEIRS?

Not to be dramatic but i hate y'all.

And the fact that it's always the same fandoms and we all know who we're talking about...

[iblowjone]

i dont have anything more to say besides:

(im in love with this fic thank you)

volcano | han jisung x fem ! reader

part one - the meeting

LITTLE BIT OF FLUFF & SO MUCH ANGST & SMUT & SINGLE DAD ! JISUNG & FEM ! READER & MORE UNDER THE CUT ! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

jisung knew his anxiety made a lot of his decisions for him. he knew that his devotion to his daughter held him back from caring for himself sometimes. but that was okay. as long as she was happy, he could be happy too. he didn’t need to be in love. his desires changed and shifted when he ran into you, though. suddenly, he wasn’t as okay without you by his side. 

read part two here ! | see more dad stray kids fics here !

like what you've read ? join my permanent taglist OR the dad skz taglist by filling out my taglist form here !

warnings. talk of pregnancy (not reader), jisung's ex walks out on him, jisung's ex is kind of a bitch, jisung loves a little too big, so much angst already, mentions of food / eating, mentions of alcohol / drinking, mentions of anxiety, talk of guilt / parental guilt (jisung feels like he's not doing enough for his daughter), vague mention of reader having a poor past relationship, brief jerking off scene (jisung) followed by guilt, jisung is exceedingly clumsy

word count. 8,235 words

disclaimer. this story is not meant to accurately portray any of the idols found here ! it is simply fiction. other idols (apart from stray kids) featured in this story include: lee heeseung (enhypen), lee chaeryeong (itzy), lia / choi jisu (itzy)

note. pulling out the angst early on ! i am sorry (not really) but i hope you'll enjoy it anyway ‹3 nothing too explicit yet, but we'll get there !! PLEASE PLEASE reblog / comment / send asks & let me know what you think so far ! i would greatly appreciate it ‹3

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Jisung’s life was falling apart. Or, maybe he was overreacting, but it certainly felt like it was falling apart. If it wasn’t bad enough that he was about to fail a course he needed for his major, he of course had to find out that his girlfriend was cheating on him. And as if that wasn’t enough, the universe decided that instead of them parting ways forever, they would be stuck with one another forever, because she was pregnant. With his kid. At least, that’s what she claimed. 

“You’re pregnant?” 

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Yes, you idiot, I’m pregnant. Your pull out game fucking sucks.”

“I—” Jisung blinked, still trying to fully comprehend the situation at hand. “I don’t really think that’s what we should be focusing on.” 

“Is it not? If it weren’t for that, we wouldn’t be in this position.” 

“It’s not entirely my fault! You told me you were on birth control. I asked if I should use a condom and you were so fucking desperate that you said no. So this isn’t only my fault. Don’t skew it to be.” Jisung glared at her, furious that she was trying to claim the pregnancy was entirely his fault. 

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do about this.” 

Jisung sighed and dragged a tired hand over his face. “How do you know it’s my kid? Did you forget you’ve been cheating on me? How are you sure it’s not his?” 

“Don’t you think I thought of that?” She snapped at him. Jisung flinched but didn’t say anything as she continued to speak. “The timeline wouldn’t be right if it was him. It has to be yours.” 

“Okay. Okay, so… do you want to… keep the baby?”

“I don’t know.” She was quiet after that, and Jisung felt his heart softening. When she wasn’t snapping at him, he was reminded of the reasons he had fallen in love with her to begin with. 

He cleared his throat and moved so he was sitting beside her on the couch. “Well, if we decide we want to keep the baby… I will be 100% committed. I’ll help you take care of them. You won’t have to do it alone.” 

That was all it took to convince her to keep the baby. Jisung was, of course, nervous at first, worried he wouldn’t be a good dad, worried they were too young and wouldn’t be able to handle it. Everything changed, though, when his daughter was born. 

He knew she was his the moment she was born. She looked like a carbon copy of him. He watched in awe as his girlfriend held her in her arms. He didn’t even realize he was crying until the nurse handed him a tissue. He thanked her and wiped his eyes, patiently waiting for his turn to hold his newborn daughter. 

His life changed forever the moment he held her for the first time. He had never known love like he felt for her. He didn’t even know it was possible to love someone as much as he loved her. He looked over at his girlfriend who had her eyes closed, exhausted from giving birth. 

When the nurse asked for her name, he looked at his girlfriend. They hadn’t really discussed names ahead of time, always putting it off and saying they’d figure out what she looked like when she was born. His girlfriend was already drifting into a state of unconsciousness, the exhaustion overwhelming her. Jisung looked back at the small baby in his arms and giggled a little to himself as he said her name. 

“Haneul. Han Haneul.”

His own heaven here in his arms.

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“Haneul, you’re going to be late for school if we don’t leave right now!” 

Jisung could hear Haneul frantically scurrying around her room at his words. He sighed a little to himself. Unfortunately, in addition to looking just like him, she was just as forgetful as him sometimes. She came running out of her room a moment later, her backpack hanging haphazardly off of her back. Most mornings were like this, honestly. 

He paused for a moment as she put her shoes on, smiling as he took in her t-shirt, pretty denim skirt, and black leggings. She was more and more beautiful with every passing day. His heart swelled with love and pride. Jisung clicked his tongue as she stood up. “One second, I forgot something for your hair.” 

Jisung disappeared into the bathroom of their apartment and appeared a moment later, a pink bow in hand. He clipped the accessory to his daughter’s ponytail and grinned proudly at his work. Haneul was independent and liked to dress herself and pick out her own outfits, but she still liked for him to do her hair. “You look beautiful, Neul-ah.” 

“Thanks Appa!” She beamed up at him and then grabbed his hand pulling him out of the apartment. “Now let’s go before I’m late!” 

Jisung was lucky that his apartment was only a fifteen minute bus ride from the school his daughter was starting at. He was also lucky that they arrived at the bus stop just as the bus arrived. As they rode the bus to school, Jisung listened to his daughter animatedly talk about how excited she was for school that day.

Jisung was less enthusiastic about her going to school. He knew it meant she was growing up, getting older, changing. He didn’t like the idea of things being different. He didn’t like that his little girl was growing up. He was also scared that in going to school, she’d get curious about her mother and ask questions he didn’t know how to answer. Each day, he expected her to finish class only to ask him why she didn’t have a mom like the other kids. 

He almost didn’t realize they were already at their stop until Haneul tugged on his fingers again. He blinked and shook the thoughts clouding his mind away, holding his daughter’s hand tighter and guiding her off the bus and to her school. Jisung had thought about sending Haneul to the school Felix’s daughter, Hoyeon, attended, but it was further away from his apartment, so he had ultimately decided on the school Haneul currently attended. 

“Be good today, okay? I’ll be back when you’re finished.” 

Haneul nodded and hugged her dad, grinning brightly at him. “I know, Appa! You’re always here when I’m done! I’ll see you after school. Bye!” 

She ran off before he could say anything else, joining her friends. All he could do was watch her disappear into the school building. He always felt an uncomfortable clenching in his chest when she left. 

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Five years earlier…

Jisung had been told on more than one occasion that he loved too big. He knew this, of course, he didn’t need to be told. He knew that his feelings were overwhelming sometimes—that he often felt like he might explode if he didn’t lay himself bare for the people he loved most. His mom told him this was a good thing. She said his tendency towards love and empathy could never be bad. His dad said he was going to get himself hurt because of it. 

His dad was right. 

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Jisung had all but yelled as his girlfriend shoved the last of her things into a suitcase. “You can’t just leave Haneul! She needs a mom!” 

“You’ll figure something out.” She muttered under her breath and stood fully, not looking him in the eye. 

He shook his head. He didn’t understand. “H-how can you just leave her? How can you leave… me?”

“I just can’t do this, Jisung! Do you really think I want to spend the rest of my life with you? Obviously I cheated for a reason.” She finally snapped, glaring over at him. Haneul cried from where she had been sleeping in the makeshift nursery in Jisung’s apartment. “Besides, I can’t be a mom. I’m not ready for it. I don’t want to be. And I’m not going to change my mind or regret it. I need to go.” 

He reached for her arm, but she pulled away, avoiding him. “Wait, please don’t go. We can figure this out together—” 

“I’m not staying, Jisung.” 

“Can’t you at least wait until morning?” His throat was raw as he pleaded with her. “I-It’s the middle of the night and what if she needs you tonight—”

“There’s still milk left over in the fridge and in the freezer, she’ll be fine without me. She always liked you better anyways.”

“That’s not—”

“Goodbye, Jisung.” 

Nothing he said would keep her there with him, so his hand fell back to his side. He watched as she dragged the suitcase behind her. He watched as the door to his apartment closed behind her. He stood in shocked silence as she left and he listened as Haneul cried. He blinked slowly and turned around. Even if his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—didn’t want to take care of Haneul, he would. He loved her too much not to. 

He held Haneul in his arms, rocking her until she drifted back to sleep. When her eyes had closed again and she stopped crying, Jisung laid her down again and let himself cry. Nothing was going the way he had ever imagined it. He didn’t know what to do. 

He cleared his throat quietly and left the room to find his phone. He called his mom. She picked up after two rings, despite the late hour. He tried not to cry as he spoke. “Mom, I… she left. I-I don’t know what to do, but I know I need help. I… I can’t take care of Haneul on my own.” 

His mom came the next day to help him figure out what he needed to do. Thankfully, he had graduated successfully while his girlfriend was pregnant and he’d recently gotten a job at an entertainment company as a producer’s assistant. Hopefully he would work his way up soon so that he was a producer himself. For now, though, the money was just barely enough to pay the rent and take care of himself and Haneul. 

“So, if you budget your money like this,” his mom mused, writing one final number on the budget they had drafted together. “You should still be able to profit a little bit each month. You dad and I can help out some, too.”

“You don’t have to, Mom, really—”

“We want to.” 

He chewed on his bottom lip, anxiously accepting his mother’s offer for help. “I just… I don’t understand how it all happened this way.” 

“She took advantage of your kindness and good heart. She knew you would take care of Haneul, no matter what, so she used that as an opportunity to get out before she was trapped.” His mother sighed and looked up at him, brushing the hair off of his forehead.

“I don’t know how this could have been avoided…”

“Unfortunately, this is something that couldn’t have been avoided. Her walking away, I mean. No matter what, she was going to do it. You’re too good, Jisung. And that’s not a bad thing, it’s just something that… not good people will use against you.” 

Jisung swallowed and nodded. Haneul started crying again. He was quick to stand, but so was his mom. She made him sit again. “I’ll take care of her, Jisung-ah.” 

As his mom left the room to soothe Haneul, Jisung thought about the situation he was in. If only he hadn’t been so stupid. If only he’d worn a condom instead of trusting that the birth control would work. If only he hadn’t gotten into such a toxic relationship to begin with. If only he’d been better maybe she would have stayed. 

Still… he didn’t regret having Haneul. He loved her more than he loved anyone. It didn’t make sense to him—how he could have come to love her so quickly. He did though. He loved her. He would spend the rest of his life protecting her and caring for her and loving her, he knew that much. 

Even if it meant working twice as hard, twice as long, just to provide for her, he would do it. Jisung already knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant Haneul would be happy and feel loved and have a good life. He would go to the ends of the earth for her. 

Jisung took a deep breath and looked at the budget in front of him. He could do it. He had to. For his daughter. 

────────────────────────────

Present… 

“Hey, Chan, would you be able to watch Haneul for a little bit tonight?” Jisung held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he pushed the shopping cart through the grocery store. “I have something I need to do. It would just be for a couple hours. She could play with Yunseo! It would be fun for them—”

“Relax, Ji. I was going to say yes.” Chan laughed as Jisung rambled. 

He sighed in relief and nodded, even though his friend couldn’t see him. “Thanks, Chan, you’re a lifesaver.” 

“You know, you run mystery errands every couple of weeks. When are you going to tell us what you’re actually doing?” Chan’s voice was inquisitive but not pushy. 

“I… If anything ever comes of it, I’ll tell you.” 

“You know we would support you no matter what, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jisung breathed, pulling a box of Haneul’s favorite cereal off the shelf. “I know. But this is just… something I want to keep to myself until it becomes something big.” 

Jisung could almost see the way Chan was probably nodding his head. Chan was always understanding. He was always supportive. “Okay. As long as you know we care about you.” 

“I know. I have to go, hyung, I’m finishing up some grocery shopping before I pick Haneul up from school.”

“Alright.” Chan was smiling. He could hear it. “Just swing by later and drop Haneul off. I’ll take care of her this evening for you.” 

“Thank you, hyung.” 

Chan hummed in acknowledgement and then hung up. Jisung finished his grocery shopping and picked Haneul up from school, excitement for the impending evening building in his chest with each passing hour. 

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If your friends asked you why you didn’t have a boyfriend—why you hadn’t had a boyfriend in years—you always chalked it up to not being interested in any of the guys you’d talked to lately. Or you would tell them you didn’t want a boyfriend. You’d say one night stands and quickies in club bathrooms and one week stints were enough for you. 

But you were lying. You knew it. They did too, but they figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would, so they never pressed too hard. Sometimes you wished they would. Maybe you needed to talk about the real reason. Instead you were always just shoving it further inside you, leaving it to rot and fester and ruin. Waiting for it to bubble up out of you in a messy explosion. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be in a relationship. You didn’t particularly love one night stands and quick weekend flings. But it was hard to ignore the pain of your memories that sprung up every time you so much as thought of getting close to someone again. 

You didn’t think it was fair to let someone in. They would have to deal with unnecessary baggage that came attached to your back, likely in addition to their own struggles. It wasn’t fair to them. It wasn’t fair to you either, to let yourself get close to someone who couldn’t be there for you the way you needed them to be. So, relationships were sort of out of the question. At least, for a while.

“Yn!” Chaeryeong cheered when you answered your phone, finally. “Say you’ll come with us to the club tonight!” 

“It’s… Thursday?” You were confused as to why your friends would want to go clubbing on a random Thursday night. Especially since all of them worked jobs that required them to be awake and not hungover the next morning. 

You could almost feel Chaeryeong roll her eyes through the phone. “Well, yeah, but Lia got a promotion at her job! So we’re celebrating. Don’t worry, grandma, we won’t keep you out long.” 

Maybe a night out was exactly what you needed to take your mind off of the stinging in your fingertips and the yearning in your heart for something you didn’t think you could even have. You sighed a little and nodded. “I’m not worried about me being out too long. You know that wouldn’t affect my job all that much. I’m worried about you three idiots. Just make sure you don’t get drunk otherwise I get free reign to tell you ‘I told you so.’”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she scoffed. “Meet us at the club downtown at like 7:00, okay?” 

“Sure, okay.” 

Chaeryeong made a pleased noise. “Maybe tonight we’ll find you a man, too.” 

You doubted it. You didn’t say anything, just laughed a little and hung up. You looked at your laptop on the counter next to you. It had been left open when you’d fallen into your spiraling thoughts and now it taunted you—cursor blinking menacingly on a blank page. 

You sighed and closed the laptop.

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The nightclub was crowded for a random Thursday evening. It was hot and you were slightly uncomfortable with all the random people pressed against you, but you couldn’t change how packed the small club was, so you gritted your teeth and made your way toward the bar. It didn’t take you long to get there and you saw your friends sitting together, laughing at something someone had said. 

You tapped Chaeryeong on the shoulder and she turned, grinning wide when she saw you. You hugged her, yelling out a quick ‘hello’ over the loud music. Lia hugged you next, followed by Heeseung. He was the only boy in your little friend group, so he was the subject of much teasing from you and your other two friends. 

“Did you know there’s going to be a rapper performing tonight?” Heeseung shouted as he pulled away from the quick hug. “Goes by J.ONE or something like that! He’s apparently really good, but super underground! Jake showed me some of his stuff on SoundCloud and I really liked it!” 

Chaeryeong gave you a look as she added, “I heard he’s really hot too! And young. Maybe you should make a move tonight!” 

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes, “You guys make it sound like I haven’t gotten laid in years. I’m fine. I don’t need dick that badly.” 

“Are you sure? You were just complaining yesterday about how long it’s been since you fucked someone!” Lia giggled, slinging her arm around you. Heeseung snickered but didn’t say anything else on the matter, opting instead to order you a drink. 

“You guys are the worst.” You pouted, accepting the drink from the bartender. 

Heeseung took a long sip from his own drink and pulled out his phone, scrolling through social media silently as you caught up with the girls. Lia told you more about her situationship and Chaeryeong told you about the job she’d recently gotten as a dance instructor at a studio that taught primarily children. You couldn’t hear her well over the music, but you thought she called it 5-STAR. 

The music suddenly faded out and you looked toward the tiny stage near the back of the nightclub. There was a man standing there, a hat pulled low over his eyes and a microphone in his hand. You were curious about him—he must be the rapper Heeseung had mentioned to you. You grabbed Lia’s hand and pulled her with you closer to the stage. Heeseung and Chaeryeong followed the two of you. When you got right in front of the stage, you could see him better. 

His cheeks were full and soft, but his jawline when he turned his head to look off to the side was sharp and defined. His eyes were round and wide. He was cute but somehow, he was so hot too. You could see the in-ear monitor he was wearing and couldn’t help but follow the small cord from his ear, down the back of his neck, into his baggy t-shirt. 

He brought the microphone to his lips. “If you’re a regular here, you probably know who I am, but for all of you who are here for the first time or are newer, I’m a rapper and music producer called J.ONE. I’ll be performing a couple of my original songs for you guys tonight. I hope you’ll enjoy them.” 

He made eye contact with you when the music started and winked at you. You squeezed Chaeryeong’s arm, heart catching in your throat as you watched him. “Fuck, he is hot, Chaer.” 

“Told you,” she smirked at you and then turned to cheer loudly for J.ONE. “Make your move after he’s done, girl. Musicians fuck the best.” 

You felt heat rush through your body at the thought of fucking the man on the stage in front of you. You couldn’t deny how attractive he was, how much of an effect he had on you. His voice was also doing wonders for you. He was so cocky on stage—like he knew he was the best. Heeseung leaned over and shouted in your ear. 

“Jake showed me this song! I think it’s called ‘I GOT IT!’ It’s good, huh?” 

You nodded dazedly, eyes never leaving J.ONE as he moved around the stage. He smirked at you and as he finished the song he crouched right in front of you, tilting his head to the side and reaching out to grab your hand and kiss the back of it. You gasped and as he stood and moved away again to start the next song you held your hand to your chest. 

“Oh, you are going to be so down bad for this man,” Lia laughed, hugging you close to her as you watched the rest of his performance. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but you knew she couldn’t hear you. 

When J.ONE finished all of the songs he’d prepared, he hopped off the stage, disappearing into the crowd. You felt your heart beat faster, nervous that you’d lose him and never see him again. You asked your friends to help you find him, so they looked through the packed club, trying to help you spot him. It was all in vain, though, he was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. 

You left the club that night, disappointed. You had wanted to get to know the mysterious rapper, maybe make out a little, maybe take things a little farther than that. Your friends tried to console you, but you couldn’t deny the heaviness in your chest. There was just something about him that had intrigued you more than anyone had in a long time. 

“Maybe we can go out again this weekend? See if he’ll be there again?” Lia offered, trying to make you feel better. 

You shook your head, sighing to yourself, “I can’t. I really need to write. The book won’t finish itself and I have some deadlines I need to meet coming up.” 

Chaeryeong nodded in understanding. “Okay. Just let us know when you want to go back. We can ask the owner when J.ONE will be performing again. I’m sure he’d be happy to tell us.”

“If I need to have Jake do some internet stalking to find out some more about this guy for you, just let me know.” Heeseung joked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing gently. You were grateful for your friends. 

“Thanks guys. I’m fine though, really. I don’t even know him. I’m really not that upset.” 

That was a lie though, because when you found yourself in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, frustrated beyond belief, you couldn’t help but think that if you’d just been able to meet him you wouldn’t have to get yourself off alone again. 

A small voice in the back of your head whispered that maybe you could finally have a boyfriend if you had talked to him. A louder voice reminded you that you didn’t know him and that no one would ever want to carry your baggage with them. Another voice offhandedly offered up the thought that you only wanted to sleep with him. He looked like he’d wanted to sleep with you too. 

But maybe you were thinking too highly of yourself. Maybe you weren’t even his type. Maybe his flirting had just been part of the show. 

But it couldn’t have been… could it? He seemed so genuine… If only you knew what was going through his head when he saw you. Did he feel the same about you as you did about him? 

He did. But of course, you didn’t know that. 

Still, once Jisung had put his daughter to bed and was sure she was asleep, he laid in his own bed and wrapped a hand around his aching cock. He closed his eyes tightly, your face popping up in his mind. He groaned softly to himself, feeling so stupid for thinking of some girl whose name he didn’t even know while he touched himself. He couldn’t stop, though. 

He came harder than he had in a while. Though, maybe that was just because it had been weeks since he’d actually touched himself. He exhaled softly as he laid there, coming down from his high. He thought of you again. Beautiful. He wondered if you would come back to the nightclub someday when he was performing again. 

He pushed the thought away. He didn’t even know you. He needed to make his too-big feelings disappear.

He heard Haneul call for him from her bedroom. He scrambled up out of bed, cringing as he shoved his softening dick, still sticky with cum, back into his pants so he could take care of his daughter. He quickly wiped the cum from his hand with a tissue and then, he pushed down the guilt that crawled up his throat. 

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” His voice was soft as he knelt beside Haneul’s bed. 

“I can’t sleep. Will you give me another goodnight kiss and sing me a song?” 

His heart softened a little and then it ached. He loved her so much. How could he be so selfish? How could he be thinking of sex and women and getting himself off when she needed him? How could he be thinking of pursuing his own dreams of rapping when she was right here? When all he ever needed was in the room just down the hall from his? 

“Of course, babe.” He kissed her head. Then her cheeks. Then her nose. She giggled as she settled back down into her covers, closing her eyes and waiting for Jisung to sing her to sleep. 

────────────────────────────

You always seemed to work better in coffee shops. There was just something about the atmosphere of a cafe that inspired you. There were so many people with different stories coming in and out, in and out. Of course, the caffeine helped too. 

You sat at a booth by the front window of your favorite coffee shop, halfway finished with your first drink as you stared at your laptop screen. You just couldn’t figure out where to go next in the story. You sighed, burying your face in your hands as you tried to think of what to write. 

Your first book had done well. So well, in fact, that your name was fairly well known these days. The problem with that, however, was that there was more of a deadline for your second book since it was highly anticipated. Sometimes you missed not having strict deadlines for your writing. You didn’t miss all the part-time jobs, though, you could admit that. 

You reached for your drink again, sipping at it as you set your hands on the laptop keys again, trying to write at least something. But nothing was coming. Frustrated, you finished off your drink and stood to order another one. Unfortunately, in your haste, you hadn’t looked before you stood. 

“Shit!” The man yelped as you stood, knocking right into him and successfully spilling his coffee all over the both of you. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, oh my god, I’m so clumsy. Here, let me help you.” 

He rambled worriedly as he reached for napkins on the empty booth next to yours. He dabbed at the coffee that was currently seeping into your top, too nervous to realize he was unintentionally feeling you up. He continued to mutter apologies. “I should’ve watched what I was doing, god, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you giggled, grabbing his hands and stopping his frantic dabbing. He looked up at you and your eyes widened as your jaw dropped. “It’s you. Y-you’re the rapper from that club a few weeks ago!” 

His face flushed and he stood quickly, backing up from you. “Uh, u-um, yeah. You’re—yeah. I-I think I should probably go. Uh, I’m really sorry about the coffee again. H-here’s some money to pay to have the shirt dry cleaned o-or to buy another shirt or a drink. Fuck, sorry.” 

“Wait,” you stopped him, a hand on his arm. “C-could I maybe get your number?” 

“I…” 

“I-I mean, only if you’re okay with that. I didn’t mean to be so forward—I’m usually not. I just really wanted to talk to you at the club, but you disappeared pretty quickly that night.” 

You were nervous as you waited for him to respond. What were the odds that you’d meet him again? And like this. He looked from you to the spilled coffee on the floor and then to the bag he had slung over his shoulder and then back to you. “D-do you really want my number?” 

“Yeah,” you were quick to nod and smile at him. “I really do.” 

“Okay. Okay, well, l-let me write it down for you. Uh, you can text me whenever. I’m not really… big on phone calls, but I don’t mind texting.” He dragged a hand through his dark hair, the soft locks just falling back into place afterwards. 

You grinned even wider at him as he handed you a small slip of notebook paper with his number written on it. “I’ll text you. And, I think you should also tell me your name. As far as I know, your real name is J.ONE.” 

“Oh, right.” He laughed and you admired the way his eyes crinkled. He shook his head and toed at the sticky tile floor. “My name is Han Jisung.” 

“Ah.” Jisung. Even his name was attractive. You swallowed a little as you spoke again. “I’m yn.”

“Nice to meet you, yn,” Jisung grinned at you. You liked his smile. Everything about him was attractive. 

“D-do you maybe want to join me?”

He shook his head, frowning a little. “Sorry, I can’t. I have some work I need to get done and an appointment in a few minutes.”

“Right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s okay!” He was quick to reassure you. “If I didn’t have places to be, I would have loved to join you. Maybe some other time, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you mumbled, watching as he glanced at the watch he was wearing. “Some other time.” 

“Don’t forget to text me, pretty.” He winked at you, turning to leave the coffee shop. He didn’t bother getting a new drink. He would be late if he had to wait for a new one. 

“I-I won’t.” 

Your cheeks burned as you watched him leave. You held your face in your hands when he was out of sight, flustered from your interaction with him. He was even prettier up close. You had to tell your friends. You pulled your phone out to text them. 

you : guess who i ran into at the coffee shop today.

chaer : who??

lia : i bet it was that rapper from a few weeks ago lol

hee hee : oh my god, if it was the rapper she’s probably losing her shit

you : ....... it was the rapper. J.ONE. han jisung

You pocketed your phone again and sat back down in your booth, staring at your computer screen. You couldn’t focus though. Not with thoughts of Jisung flashing in your mind and your coffee soaked shirt sticking to your skin. You swallowed thickly and stood up, gathering your things and leaving the coffee shop. 

You always seemed to work better in coffee shops. But not today. 

────────────────────────────

Jisung was a bit distracted as he rode the bus to pick Haneul up from school. He couldn’t believe he’d seen you again. What were the chances of that? And you wanted his number? He was convinced he was dreaming and would wake up at any moment. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he almost jumped out of his skin. It was a text message. 

you : hey jisung ! this is yn ! just wanted to make sure you have my phone number too :)

He stared at the message for a long time. He probably read it three times before he fully registered that it was, in fact, a real text message from you and he wasn’t dreaming. He blinked slowly as he thought of what to say. He looked up and realized it was his stop. 

He would answer the message after he picked up Haneul. He got off the bus and waited outside the school for his daughter. Jisung thought it was lucky that he had more flexible hours now that he was an actual music producer. He also thought it was lucky that technically his direct boss was one of his best friends. When Chan had offered for him to come work with him as a team at a new company, Jisung couldn’t refuse—it meant more time with his daughter and more money so they could move out of their shitty one bedroom apartment. 

“Appa!” Haneul’s sweet voice pulled him from his thoughts and any burden he felt on his shoulders was lifted when he saw her. Jisung knew things would be okay as long as she was this sweet and happy. As long as he gave her a good life, that was all that mattered. 

Jisung picked her up when she ran into his arms. He grinned at her. “Haneul!” 

“Appa, guess what?” She giggled, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. He felt like he was melting into a puddle in the middle of the sidewalk. “Today, we learned about the water cycle! Like, evaporation is so cool, like, the water—it just, uh, just, like, heats up! And, and then it goes whoosh up into the clouds! Isn’t that so cool, Appa?” 

“That is so cool, Haneul. You’re getting so smart, baby.” 

Haneul continued to tell him about her day and he tried to focus, he really did. But all he could think about was earlier in the coffee shop. You were so pretty and he’d flirted with you so brazenly and… did he make a mistake? It wasn’t too late to ghost you yet… Maybe he… But that wouldn’t be fair to you. He swallowed the guilt lumping in his throat. Was it really so wrong to want something for himself for once?

“Appa…” Haneul’s voice was soft and he looked at her. He hadn’t realized he’d completely tuned her out. 

“Sorry, baby, I’m a little distracted. What did you say?” 

“Well, all the other kids get picked up by their moms and I…” Jisung’s chest felt tight. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t realize this conversation would happen so soon. What could he even say? Haneul looked down. “And they said that, that their moms and dads are really happy. I don’t really, uh, care about not having a mom to pick me up from school, but I want… you to be happy.”

His heart squeezed uncomfortably. “I am happy, Neul-ah. Really, I am. We do just fine, just the two of us, right?” 

“Well, duh, that’s why I don’t care that I don’t have a mom that picks me up, but I’m just saying if it would make you happy, you can find us a mom!” 

“Ah,” he had to resist the urge to laugh. He coughed to cover it up. If only it were that easy. “Ah, it doesn’t exactly work like that, Haneul, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

His phone suddenly felt heavy in his pocket. The text message from you was practically calling out to him in your sweet voice. What would Haneul think of him if he let himself get close to you—let you into their lives? Or was he getting ahead of himself entirely? Haneul said it was okay for him to be happy with someone but she was five, what did she really know?

“Appa,” she spoke again as they got on the next bus together. “It’s really okay if you like someone. My friend, Daesoo, says his parents really like each other and they always have fun at home. His mom and dad take turns picking him up. And, Uncle Felix is getting married soon and Hoyeon and Hana said that he and Hana’s mom are really happy together.”

“Ah, Haneul,” he whispered into her hair. “When did you get so wise? You’re growing up too quickly—can’t you just stay my little girl forever?”

She giggled, leaning into him even more. “I’ve always been wise, Appa, you just didn’t listen to me before.” 

“I didn’t, did I? I’m sorry, baby. But Haneul… I am happy. I’ll always be happy as long as I have you, even if it’s just the two of us forever.” 

“Okay, but… if you find someone you like just like Uncle Felix did, then it’s okay.” 

Jisung didn’t say anything else. They stood in silence for a moment. And then, Jisung pulled his phone out of his pocket to text you back. 

────────────────────────────

You’d been chewing your bottom lip nervously for the past half hour, obsessively checking your phone to see if there was a text message notification. You didn’t know why you were so anxious about Jisung responding. Realistically, you knew he probably wouldn’t answer right away—he’d said he had an appointment, so he must be busy. Still, you were nervous about the message you sent. Had you sent it too soon after you’d met up? Did you sound too eager? 

You groaned and dropped your head onto your kitchen counter and pushed your phone away. Your laptop sat open. You still hadn’t written a single sentence. You were getting nowhere with this book and your first deadline was in a week. And now you were sure you wouldn’t get anywhere because all you could think about was the mysterious rapper who you were currently waiting to hear back from. 

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter and you were embarrassed by how quickly you sat up and reached for it. Your heart beat faster in your chest when you saw the notification. Finally. A text message from Jisung. 

hot rapper guy (jisung) : hey :) it was great to meet you today

hot rapper guy (jisung) : i have another show at the club tomorrow night. would you maybe want to come ? i’ll buy you a drink ;)

Was he being serious? You were sure your jaw had dropped at the second text message. You didn’t care. He was flirting with you… right? What else could the winking emoji mean? And he offered to buy you a drink. But… what if he was just being… nice? 

What were you thinking? People who were just being nice didn’t offer to buy you drinks and send winking emojis. You exhaled a shaky breath and typed back a response. 

you : i’ll be there. what time ?

You cringed as you sent the message. It was so… bland. Boring. Uninteresting. You sounded uninterested. Fuck. What if he thought you didn’t like him? 

hot rapper guy (jisung) : like… 7 ? i’ll be performing at 8, but i’ll have to dip pretty quickly afterwards again, so i was thinking we could mayyyybe get to know each other before that. if you want ! no pressure :) 

Fuck, he definitely felt like you didn’t like him. 

you : i’ll be there at 7 then ! i really want to get to know you. ugh i sound so uninterested over text </3 i promise i do want to, i’m just nervous now that i’m actually texting you !

Oh God, that wasn’t better. Now you just seemed desperate. What were you doing? Why were you acting like you’d never talked to a man a day in your life?

hot rapper guy (jisung) : it’s okay, yn. i’m nervous too.

hot rapper guy (jisung) : anyway, i’ll see you tomorrow ;)

you : yeah, see you tomorrow :) 

You set your phone down and breathed out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Even though you knew how to flirt, you felt a little out of practice. It had been a while since you’d dated anyone or even spent the night with a guy. You’d just been too busy. 

You groaned and dropped your head onto your arms on the counter. You glanced over at your computer, annoyed with the blinking cursor and the empty page. You closed your laptop and sat up, reaching for your phone again. Maybe your friends were free. You needed their advice.

────────────────────────────

“Hyung, could you maybe watch Haneul for a few hours tomorrow evening?” Jisung asked Minho over the phone. He tried to rotate through his friends when he needed someone to watch Haneul so he could go to the club and perform his songs. He didn’t want one person to feel burdened every time. 

Minho didn’t hesitate before he answered. “Sure. I’ll be watching Yunseo for Chan too, so what’s one more kid? Jiyeon will enjoy the company anyway and I think my girl is bringing Haru over too tomorrow, so the kids’ll have fun together. What are you up to this time?”

“Ah,” Jisung sighed, he never knew what to tell his friends. He hated lying to them but he didn’t want to tell them about his rapping gig in the club downtown just yet. “I just have some errands I need to run downtown that I can’t bring Haneul to.”

“What kind of errands, Ji? Like, are you hooking up with someone you found on Tinder or―”

“No! God, hyung, no it’s nothing like that.” Jisung panicked. Did his friends really think he was just dumping his daughter on them so he could get his dick wet? The thought that that was what everyone secretly thought of him made his anxiety spike.

Minho chuckled a little. “Relax, Jisung, I’m teasing you. I know you wouldn’t do that. But, uh, just saying if you did need to leave her with one of us so you could get laid sometimes, none of us would judge you. It’s normal to want sex. So, like, just don’t feel bad if that’s ever something you need to do.”

“N-no, I… Thanks, hyung but that’s not… something I would do. I would feel too guilty to even, like, get hard or anything, probably.”

“Yeah, well,” he could almost see Minho shrugging with that teasing smirk on his face. “Whenever you eventually realize that you want someone. Just let me know.” 

“Ugh, whatever hyung. I’m hanging up. I’ll see you tomorrow when I drop Haneul off. Is 6:00 okay?”

“Sure, sure. See you both tomorrow.”

Jisung sighed again and hung up, dropping his phone onto the counter and looking at the ingredients in front of him. He was going to attempt to make one of his mom’s recipes for dinner, but the more he looked at everything laid out in front of him, the less sure he was that it would even turn out right.

“Haneul,” he called. She came running into the kitchen from where she’d been playing in her room. “How do you feel about ramyeon for dinner?”

She nodded enthusiastically and then ran back to her room. Jisung put the food he had out away in the refrigerator and instead grabbed eggs, chicken, and vegetables. If he was going to make Haneul ramyeon, he wanted to make sure it was at least a little nicer than just the instant ramyeon package itself.

Truthfully, he wasn’t the best cook. He never really had been. He’d been trying to learn how to cook as Haneul grew up (Minho was kind enough to offer some free help), but he just couldn’t seem to pick it up easily. You’d think it would be easy to just follow step by step instructions but somehow he tended to mess even that up.

Jisung found himself wondering if you were good at cooking. He shook the thought out of his head.

────────────────────────────

“I have gathered you all here today,” you started dramatically, hands clasped in front of you as you looked at your three best friends sitting squished together on your tiny couch. “Because I… need help flirting. Suddenly, it’s as if I’ve forgotten how to talk to attractive men. I am meeting with Jisung tomorrow—”

“The rapper?!” Heeseung exclaimed, but you ignored him.

“—And I do not want to make a fool of myself in front of him. So, I would greatly appreciate your assistance in this matter. Thank you.” 

You unclasped your hands and sat down on the floor in front of them, legs crossed. Lia blinked at you slowly. “Wait, I’m still hung up on the part where you said you’re meeting with the rapper tomorrow.”

“I got his number at the cafe today and we texted a bit and he asked me to come watch him perform at the club tomorrow. Which is when I made myself look like a complete idiot. I am not doing that again tomorrow, so please help me.” 

“What did you even text him?” Chaeryeong asked.

You felt your face grow hotter. “Ah, well, I just… sounded kind of dry I think.” 

You showed your friends the text thread between you and Jisung and watched their faces as they read. Heeseung looked indifferent, Lia cringed a little, and Chaeryeong looked like she was trying not to laugh. Your heart dropped at their less than enthused faces. 

“I mean, it’s not that bad. He still seems into you at least. But… we do have to work on the dryness of these messages, yn,” Lia finally spoke, smiling reassuringly at you. 

You groaned, covering your face with your hands, “Ugh, trust me, I know. I don’t know what’s going on with me! It’s not like I’ve never talked to a hot guy before. Why am I fumbling so bad now?” 

“It’s okay, yn,” Chaeryeong rubbed your back soothingly. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung snorted, leaning back on the couch with his hands behind his head. “You can’t have game every time you talk to a hot guy. It just wouldn’t be fair.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, but you knew he was right. You were bound to be a little awkward on occasion. “Whatever. I guess you’re right.” 

“Of course I’m right.” 

“Well, anyway,” Lia interjected. “It’s obvious that Jisung likes you too. So, try not to overthink it too much, you know? Just let conversation come naturally.” 

“Yeah, you don’t have to, like, think ten steps ahead. Just let it flow. Don’t worry about things like, ‘should I use an exclamation point here’ or ‘does this emoji make me seem desperate.’ Just talk to him like you’d talk to anyone you’re trying to get to know for the first time.” Chaeryeong added, smiling gently at you.

It all felt easier said than done. But you knew they were right. You were grossly overthinking the entire situation. You had to remind yourself that if he really wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t even be entertaining you in the first place. So you were already off to a good start. 

You sighed. “Thanks guys. I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I… It’s been a while since I’ve actually liked someone and I guess I just… want to make a good impression.” 

“And that’s totally understandable, yn,” Chaeryeong nodded. “Just… remember to breathe, yeah? The worst that can happen is he says he’s not feeling the connection, which, yeah would suck, but there’s other guys out there who are worth your time and effort if that happens.” 

“Right.” You agreed. You knew it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Jisung rejected you for some reason, but you still really hoped he didn’t. 

Heeseung stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.” 

He didn’t wait for you to answer before he wandered off to your kitchen to rummage through your cabinets and refrigerator. You rolled your eyes at him again but laughed and stood too. You didn’t say it very often, but you were grateful for your friends. As ridiculous as they could be, they always made you feel better. You knew everything would be okay in the end as long as you had each other. You didn’t need anyone else… 

Did you?

────────────────────────────

i hope you all enjoyed 'volcano : part one' and are looking forward to more of my future works. if you enjoyed this and would like to be added to my permanent taglist, please fill out the taglist form here !

© mnwrld 2024

[iblowjone]

currently obsessed with this smau because im a sucker for smau and this one is just ugghwjjdjwjdjwijsjwjdjwjkdkw

r u mine ? | han jisung smau

🖇️ ― synopsis | jisung is hopelessly head over heels for you. you're sort of head over heels for him too. the problem ? you're an idol and so is he. you're resigned to simply admiring him from afar and exchanging shy smiles when you pass each other in the hallways at jyp. until you and jisung are asked to mc at music core together.

🖇️ ― genre | acquaintances to lovers, idol ! fem ! reader x idol ! jisung, smau & some written chapters, eventual smut, fluff, humor / crack

🖇️ ― warnings | sex jokes, eventual smut, mentions of drinking / alcohol, ignore any timestamps

🖇️ ― taglist | closed !

🖇️ ― status | ongoing ! new chapters every tuesday, thursday, and saturday at 4:00 pm GMT-7

🖇️ ― note | so this is actually a revamp of one of the first smaus i ever did wayyyy back when ! i'm pretty excited about it and i hope you guys will enjoy it too.

PROFILES | jinxx / stray kids

more jinxx info : group / leah / yn / haneul / sopa

CHAPTERS |

one | don't let the delulu win two | she will be mine someday !!!!! three | ur a pathetic loser four | we r soulmates five | grandma, ice bath, ugly animals six | ynsung is real seven | code jisung eight | shut up and hop off my dick nine | say sike rn ten | fond eyes eleven | horny rizz twelve | this could be us thirteen | super normal fourteen | he has a micro penis fifteen | sopa u sly dog

[iblowjone]

i read this some days ago and it is still on my mind i cant stop thinking about it think im going insane, i woke up in the morning to go to college and i think about this, where can i get a professo like han jisung? 😔

Reckless Convictions

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem reader

W/c: 31.5K

Warnings: masturbation, perversion, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, dry humping, trespassing, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), mention of cheating

Synopsis: Your senior year of college takes a strange turn when you develop a relationship with your professor.

18+. Mdni!

•

The first time you come across a coda in a piece of music, you are to ignore it. You may only jump to it once you’ve begun from the da segno symbol, and played through until reaching the written indication to return to the coda.

If we've passed the coda once, let this be our sign.

Come back to me.

•

Upon entering your senior year of college, the news is broken that the old lecture hall on the east side of campus is officially on its last leg as a functioning location for classes. You’re made aware of this through an email from the school’s president, detailing the intricate plans to demolish it entirely and build a new gymnasium in its place. And for the most part, the students are happy about this fact, whispering excitedly amongst themselves as they traverse the grand cherry wood flooring and picture all of the new sporting equipment this facility will soon house. They speak of the bright painted walls that will represent the school’s colors like every other new modern replacement for the old-fashioned buildings- cobalt blue and white, resembling that of a dentist’s office on most days. And they make sure to voice their very robust distaste for the spiral staircase that leads to the second floor of the lecture hall, the stairs always announcing the late arrival of students with the deafening creak of wood and a tarnished banister.

Yet as you hoist your bag further up your shoulder and follow a trail of students into the lecture hall for your first day back at classes, you can’t help but feel sorry for the old place, always having loved the courses you took here. A philosophy course one semester, where the ancient feel of the building only made stories of Greek myths more vivid as they graced your imagination. A writing course the semester after that, where your professor could hardly be bothered to properly read your essays, despite the attention to detail you gave to them. And now this course- the only remaining course with afternoon availability, something about the history of classical music.

One glance around the room tells you all you have to know about this course- it's full of students who couldn’t care less about courses pertaining to music, especially not general education ones for mindless credits. You reckon all of the students here would rather have landed art analysis, or even some form of a writing course, yet instead they’ll be stuck learning about Bach and Mozart for the next few months. Of course you’re not bothered by it, being a music major yourself, but it’s painfully evident in the way that they keep their faces glued to their cell phones and blow bubbles of gum as you wait for the arrival of the professor. The rows of chairs are fuller than you’d anticipated, groups of friends chatting amongst themselves, while those sitting alone are busy on their laptops or with headphones blasting muffled music.

You settle on a spot in the middle, away from most of the students already acquainted with each other, and cross your legs as you wait in silence. While the others groan about their courses and inquire about their remaining credits, you take in the sight of the lecture hall- it’s just as massive as you remember it from last semester, the ceiling housing patterned medallions and hanging pendant lamps that give a dim glow to the room. The seats are just as uncomfortable as you remember them, too, folding suede brown chairs that jerk violently if you move a little too much, and at the very bottom is a crescent-shaped desk and a tall podium reserved for the professor. It’s a little old, sure. And it smells like mothballs on most days- but it’s a shame to tear down someplace so historical like this.

Your course is set to start at three, and at almost five minutes past the mark, the students are visibly confused by the absence of a professor. You can hear them murmuring and speculating about canceled courses or retired professors, and it’s then that you realize you’re not even sure who the professor is. So you reach into your bag, pulling out your schedule for the one class you have today, and printed in bold black text to the right of the course name is the professor’s name.

Mr. Han, it reads, and you scan the name over a few times before shoving the paper back into your bag. You conclude he sounds like an older man, probably a little irritable toward students who couldn’t care less about music history. And he’s probably late to most of his classes like he is today, not bothering to be punctual for a group of students who will grow to despise him mere weeks into the semester.

A little past the ten minute mark, some students have begun to pack their belongings, ready to depart from the confines of the lecture hall and go inquire about why there’s no professor assigned to this course, maybe even beg for a switch of classes. And then, as though he can sense they’re making attempts at an escape, a man you can only assume to be the professor shoves past the double doors, a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder, making his way to the desk in rushed motions.

“Sorry, sorry,” he calls out, hoisting his bag over the desk and motioning for students to take their seats again.

“I apologize,” he reiterates, sighing deeply, hands tucked in his pockets as he glances around the room. It’s then that you notice he’s drenched, stringy black strands of his hair falling into his face, droplets of water speckled on the thin wireframe glasses that sit on his sharp nose.

And your second observation- he’s not old. In fact, he’s nothing close to the likes of the average professor- he’s attractive. Not just attractive- he’s alluring, captivating, like a model cut out from the thin pages of an editorial magazine. He’s tall, with a slim frame that contrasts his broad shoulders and sculpted biceps that protrude through the sleeves of his collared button up shirt. The white fabric clings around his broad chest so erotically, patches of dark gray rainwater conveniently providing you a better view, and his shirt is tucked into a tight pair of khaki slacks, hugging his toned thighs and leaving little to the imagination. He’s not even dressed provocatively, you mentally remark to yourself. He just looks like that.

All of this so perfectly complementing his flawlessly sculpted face, an angular jawline that clenches as he speaks, and plump pink lips that pull back to expose a pearly white and perfectly straight set of teeth. His pronounced nose bridge is made more attractive with his geeky pair of glasses, and those eyes- big and brown, framed by thick black eyelashes that flutter as he pulls off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Lots of traffic when it rains,” he says sheepishly, pinching the frame of his glasses with two fingers and setting them so delicately back on his face. “It won’t happen again.”

And then he pulls his hands out of his pockets, leaning against the podium at the front of the room and taking a good look at the array of students.

“Welcome,” he announces, giving a small nod before continuing to speak. “My name is Professor Han. I’ll be your instructor for the duration of this course.”

He pulls back from the podium, shuffling through the leather bag on his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. The first student to the left is handed the stack, instructed to pass them to the back of the crowd as he explains it’s your course syllabus.

“Pretty much everything you need to know is listed here,” he says a little louder, as the room teems with echoing chatter. “I accept late work up to a week after it’s due, with a point subtracted every day it’s late. If you’re going to be later than 15 minutes, please don’t show at all. The stairs are too loud. Food and drinks are permitted, just don’t make a mess. And do whatever you want with phones and laptops, just shut off the sound.”

He paces back and forth as he speaks, his wet shoes squeaking along the tiled flooring as he does. He wears canvas sneakers with his fancy teaching attire, and he pulls them off remarkably well.

“A little bit about me,” he then says, and you perk up at his words, intrigued by just everything about his presence. “Been teaching here for about five years now, since I finished grad school. I love music, and I love music theory, so you’ll hear me talk about it a lot in between historical lectures. I teach three classes in total, all pertaining to music history, and in my free time, you can usually find me doing something related to music. Any questions?”

The class falls silent as his gaze scans the room, his curious eyes falling over the rows of seated figures who in reality, desperately want to ask him questions, but they’re also painfully shy in his presence. He gives a little nod as he takes note of their blank stares- and then his gaze falls momentarily over yours- staring directly into your paralyzed figure, almost as though he’s challenging you to ask him something, anything. But you don’t- you just remain seated, staring back at him, hoping the glowing blush on the tips of your ears doesn’t pick up under the dim lighting of the room.

“Okay,” says Professor Han, clasping his hands together and gesturing to the board behind him now. “Let’s see if I can figure out how to use this projector this time around.”

*

Lucky for you this semester, your schedule is sparse throughout the week, just a total of three classes on varying days. Which means you have ample free time to laze around your dorm when you’re not attending courses. Students make the most of their senior year, scoping out parties and sneaking out late at night to catch a movie or a quick bite- and you would join them, if you had people to join.

It’s not that you failed to make friends in the duration of your college career- in fact, you made solid efforts to befriend most of the people you came across, sometimes even allowing yourself to be dragged to a party and entertain mindless frat boys. But none of them stuck around, and you quickly realized they were much further from the simplicities you actually enjoy about college. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas. Even your dorm room is a preferred spot for you, where you often find joy in curling up under your covers and getting lost in a good book. And although you’ve grown to love being alone, it’s a little jarring some nights, like the following Friday in your first week when almost everybody is out at a party, and the return to your dorm room is pitch quiet as you walk down the carpeted hallways. As you swing your door open, you gasp at the sight of your roommate, who’s not usually occupying her side of the room- not unless she needs something.

“Oh,” says Mina, as she places a stack of folded clothing into a large duffle bag and zips it up. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

You chuckle softly at her remark- of course you’d be here today. And the day after that, and the day after that… you’re always here. It’s Mina who seldom graces you with her presence, usually too busy at her boyfriend’s dorm or out with a group of friends.

“I’m here,” you say sheepishly, assuming your spot on the edge of your bed. Mina says nothing, raising her eyebrows a little and nodding, and you can tell she’s thinking about what a pathetic life you must lead.

You and Mina have never quite gotten along- not for reasons much more complicated than disagreements regarding her cleaning style or her boyfriend coming over unannounced. You’re simply from two separate worlds, and it’ll remain that way for the next few months until you graduate.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” Mina announces unsurprisingly, hoisting the duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Okay,” you say to her finally. “Have fun with Lucas. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She seems to roll her eyes as she makes her way out the door, not so much as a goodbye from her. And when the dorm is all to yourself again, you reach for the book on your shelf, one you’ve gotten halfway through since yesterday’s time spent alone, and curl up under the covers, the sound of gentle rain tapping on the window behind you.

By the time Monday rolls around, you’ve almost forgotten entirely who your course professors are.

It’s always taken you a few months to get situated with their lecture styles, and on occasion, even their names- but this semester in particular feels so unimportant. It’s your final one, after all, and while students talk excitedly about plans for the future and their graduation parties, the only thing you’re looking forward to is the physical degree you’ll get to leave here with.

Mondays are for your intermedia course, led by a professor who dismisses the class early almost every chance he gets. Wednesdays, you have another writing course, and you have to stop yourself from dozing off while students review their essays dissecting music theory during critique sessions. And Thursdays are spent in the old little lecture hall on the east side of campus with Professor Han. You’ve forgotten about him by the time your first official class with him rolls around, and you mentally scold yourself for dressing so casual in his presence when you remember how attractive he is.

When he saunters in, much earlier this time around, the students cease their chatter, and all eyes are on his handsome figure as he makes his way to the podium. He wears fitted slacks again, a knit sweater tucked into the belt that hugs his thin waist, and a collared white button down is visible at the neckline. His jet black hair is styled neatly out of his face to reveal his chiseled features, and his wireframe glasses are absent this time around, emphasizing the big brown eyes that peer back at his students.

“Good afternoon,” he says to the class, and they utter mumbled replies back at him.

“I hope you all had a good weekend,” he then remarks, pulling his laptop out of his bag plugging in a series of wires to set up the projector. The class remains quiet at this, not a single word from any of the students as they sip coffees and navigate their own laptops in hushed motions. Professor Han looks up at the class as his fingers hover over the mouse of his keyboard, his lips pulling into a grin, eyes forming little crescents as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Come on guys,” he says dramatically. “Why are you so silent? You’re killing me.”

It’s the first time the classroom fills with laughter, and Professor Han seems to relax a little as he takes in the sight of smiling faces. He’s not quite sure he’ll ever get used to the silence that falls over college lectures, especially in the awkward first few weeks, when students are too scared to even look him straight in the eyes. And what Professor Han never quite grasps is that the students aren’t afraid of him- they’re intrigued by him, just the way that you are.

The girls wear full faces of makeup to a single 3pm lecture in hopes that he’ll take special notice of them, and the boys almost seem to mirror his dapper choices of clothing, trying their hand at knit crewnecks and slacks with canvas sneakers. Anybody who knows him concludes he’s just about one of the coolest professors around, yet he’s too consumed by his passion for music and theories of composers to take notice of anybody’s fascination for him.

And aside from that fact, he’s a professional at his job, only here for the purpose of lecturing and distributing course materials. He doesn’t make friends with other professors on campus, he doesn’t traverse these buildings when he doesn’t have to be here. And he certainly doesn’t care to know any of his students beyond the space of these four walls.

The projector starts up with a low hum, and a slideshow is promptly shone onto the wall across from you, a painting of some historical figure accompanying the title slide.

“I want to preface this lecture by saying that this particular composer is often deemed one of the greatest of his time, which is true for the Baroque period, and untrue in comparison to some of the other greats.”

There are stifled laughs from around the room as he makes his way to the screen at the top of the wall. As he transitions to a speech about the Baroque period, he reaches up to pull on the little string that dangles from the center, and your eyes can’t help but observe his lean figure as he does. The hem of his sweater is untucked from his slacks momentarily, revealing the small waist he flaunts beneath such a broad chest, and one hand reaches down promptly to cover himself again. It feels so wrong losing your focus from the lecture like this, your mind wandering places you know it shouldn’t be. Yet as he speaks, you can’t help but imagine what the rest of his chest must look like underneath the oversized knit that swallows his sculpted figure. Your eyes graze briefly over his navy slacks, ones that hug him so generously, and down to the stylish canvas sneakers he wears, the same ones he wore last time. They squeak along the tiled floor as he paces, hands gesturing passionately as he recounts the history of Johann Sebastian Bach, who you’ve only just realized this lecture is about.

“Not only was he a composer, but he was an organist, a harpsichordist and a violinist,” he explains, clicking the little remote in his hand and proceeding to the next slide. “He was a prolific part of the Baroque period, and he’s well-known today for some of his most famous instrumental and choral pieces.”

He paces the room confidently as he speaks, head down most of the time as he details accounts of Bach’s life, seemingly having memorized most of it.

“Does anybody happen to know any of his orchestral music? There’s one in particular he’s very famous for.”

The class falls silent again as Professor Han scans the room, pausing from clicking through slides as he awaits an answer. Nobody says anything, and all that fills the air are the sounds of keyboard clicking as they do their best to mindlessly copy his words. Without a second to properly think it over, and before you can even begin to doubt yourself, your hand is shot straight into the air, heart racing as his eyes fall to your seated figure, and then he gestures toward you, a small smile on his face.

“Yes!” he says enthusiastically. “Go ahead.”

“Brandenburg Concertos?” You voice quietly, a slight tremble in your voice as you speak. You’re not sure you’ve ever done adequate research on Bach- let alone any classical composer. But you are familiar with German history, and the Baroque period and the grand titles of symphonic pieces are still ingrained into your memory from years of piano lessons.

“That’s correct,” he replies, an amused breath escaping his lips as he speaks. His gaze lingers on yours for a second- just a brief second, not enough for the students to imply anything.

And Professor Han is admittedly fascinated by you himself, the question always marking the course as his first official question of the semester. One he’s never gotten the right answer to until now. In fact- one he’s never even had a student take a stab at answering until now. He’s well aware that no normal college student is going to have the Brandenburg Concertos in the back of their mind like the rest of the frivolous knowledge that dwells there, but perhaps he’s finally been assigned a student who gives the slightest shit about this course and its materials.

“Sorry- what was your name?” Professor Han then asks, the corner of his lip pulling into a half-smile before he proceeds with his lecture.

Students in front of you crane their necks to get a good look at you, and the peers on either side of you glance at the single sheet of notebook paper on your desk, scribbled with sparse notes in dark blue pen.

“Y/n,” you finally respond, your voice coming out more timid than you’d hoped it to. You feel microscopic with all eyes on you like this, quietly praying he’ll proceed with the lecture so that you can go back to admiring him from afar and in the comfortable silence of your thoughts.

“Y/n,” he repeats, giving a small nod, and then he finally transitions to the next slide.

Professor Han might not care to be on campus when he doesn’t have to- but that certainly doesn’t mean he’s generous about early dismissal when it comes to his courses. The analog clock above the doorway counts down the seconds before he finally dismisses his students- and even then, he’s not averse to keeping students a few minutes past to wrap up his lectures, either. While it’s a trait most students despise during their classes, not a single student utters a word of dismay when he requests just five minutes more of their time, their eyes still fixated on his pacing figure as he rushes through the remainder of his slides. He has a way of encapsulating a whole room when he speaks of ancient composers, like he’s meant to be up on a podium recounting Bach’s concertos. And the students soak up every last second they get to be in his presence, a sort of melancholia present in the room when they finally file out the door for the afternoon and back to their dorms.

When you find yourself lingering in the classroom a bit longer than the other students, completing the futile task of shifting around papers in your bag, Professor Han seems to take notice, glancing at you over the screen of his laptop and observing the way you shuffle about in the now silent room.

“Brandenburg Concertos, huh?” He calls out to you, and your gaze falls to him, where he’s seated at his desk, the familiar wireframe glasses now sitting upon the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” you respond, a little unsure of how to entertain the conversation without coming off as painfully awkward as you truly are.

Professor Han chuckles a little, and then he glances back to his laptop, typing something as he continues speaking.

“Nobody’s ever gotten that one right. In my five whole years of teaching.”

“Really?” You reply, thoroughly surprised nobody’s heard of the most famous orchestral pieces by one of the most significant composers.

“Nope,” he says plainly, shaking his head to affirm his answer. “Are you secretly a composer or something?”

It’s your turn to chuckle lightly, approaching his desk with your bag slung over your shoulder as you shake your head.

“Just years of piano,” you say to him.

“Piano? Very tricky instrument, it’s good to pick up when you’re still young.”

“I’ve been playing competitively for ten years,” you explain to him, heartbeat quickening a little as he lowers the screen of his laptop to make eye contact again.

“Wow,” he breathes out, thoroughly impressed by the fact. “I might have you teach a lecture or two, then.”

You chuckle in unison with him, shrugging as he pushes his glasses a little further up on his face.

“Convince them to put a piano in here and I’ll think about it,” you say to him. “I need a few course materials.”

“Deal,” he replies, narrowing his eyes a little as his lips pull into a smile, flashing you his perfect set of teeth. He glances around the room momentarily, and just as you think the conversation’s over, he sighs deeply, pushing back his laptop screen once more and continuing to type.

“Pity they’re tearing it down, though. A piano would have been a nice addition.”

It’s your turn to glance around the room, craning your neck up toward the tall medallion ceilings and elegantly crested walls. The room looks even more beautiful at this hour, rows upon rows of vacant brown chairs folded neatly back into their place, beams of afternoon sunlight streaming through the long glass windows on either side of the room.

“It is a shame,” you echo, grazing your fingertips along the smooth wooden finish of his desk. He seems to be lost in thought as he stares at his computer screen for a brief second, eyes glazed over as he remains silent. There’s not a sound in the room as he pauses his typing- no students remain in the hallways, no one taking notes in the stillness of the lecture hall. Just you and your professor, in silent thought about the unfortunate fate of the grand lecture hall.

“Maybe next year I’ll be teaching in a gymnasium,” he says finally, shooting you a sad smile and shrugging.

And then he winks at you- nothing romantic behind the gesture, just a brief blink of his left eye as he lets his gaze fall to yours.

And for the second time in the confines of this grand lecture hall, you pray the dim lighting doesn’t reveal the growing blush across your cheeks.

*

As the weeks pass, Professor Han’s lectures are stuck in your head like the piano melodies you’re so acquainted with. Beethoven Fidelio. Le nozze di Figaro. Adagio Cantabile.

The titles of famous composer pieces circle your mind like they’re suggestions by him, to you. And you like to think they are, when he’s slipping comments into his lectures about which pieces are his favorites, which are the most evocative and which ones he’s listened to the most.

The other students sit absentmindedly as he lectures, hearing the words he utters and writing notes like they’re translating his musical language to one they can comprehend. But they’re not listening to him- you’re certain they’ll never understand it the way that you do.

“Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake was my first piano recital piece,” you’d told him once after class. And the way his face lit up when you did, indulging you in a long list of reasons why he deems Tchaikovsky his favorite composer of the Romantic period.

“Only a genius could have produced 1812 Overture,” he said to you excitedly, throwing his head back in disbelief and slouching back in his swivel desk chair as he collected his thoughts.

“That’s the one he used real artillery as background noise in, right?” You had responded, a bright smile on your face as you spoke the common language only the two of you seemed to understand.

“And church bells!” He had responded excitedly, clasping his hands together as he recalled the booming melody.

And then he had played it for you- despite the two of you already knowing the piece very well. His slender fingers hovering over the keyboard of his laptop, searching for the overture he’s listened to almost daily in the duration of his career as a professor.

As a quiet stillness fell over the lecture hall following the departure of the last few students, the speakers echoed with the booming instrumentals of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture- the entire four minutes of the song. You watched in fascination as Professor Han gestured at his all favorite parts, waving his hand in the air to mirror the harsh eighth and sixteenth notes that span the intricate melody. Excited chuckles escaping his lips as the familiar sound of cannons could be heard in the background, followed by the lull of harmonious church bells.

It was then that he turned the music down a few notches, explaining how he helped teach this piece back when he still worked as a musical director. You recall the fleeting sadness that seemed to overtake him, his smile faltering a little as he seemed to think back to his time there. And when asked why he didn’t teach anymore, he had simply shrugged, failing to give you any sort of explanation for it. He just kept his gaze on his desk for a moment, snapping out of it seconds later, turning the volume up again and waving his hands in composing gestures as the song reached its end.

It was also the first time you recall feeling a little sorry for him, carefully observing the way these talks of music and composers seem to bring out a sort of sadness from within him. The dichotomy of him against the overtures he’s so drawn to- their booming crescendo notes and tempos noted allegro con brio, and yet when the lecture hall is empty and he’s all alone, he carries himself like a somber melody, beaming only with the mention of music and then shrinking like a diminuendo set of notes, dying down until a silence falls over the two of you again.

Some several weeks in, you’re certain the fascination is no longer rooted in lust, but simply a desire to speak this mutual language of music with him, the only time either of you ever really feel heard.

*

If someone were to tell you that you’d ever find interest between the pages of a course-assigned college textbook, you would have taken them for a complete liar. And yet you can’t help but find yourself engrossed in the textbook for this course, the thick red book taking complete precedence over the stack of unfinished books on your nightstand.

Weekends are spent flipping through the pages of quotes by famous composers, stories detailing their fast-paced lives and detailing all of their greatest accolades. You carefully study the music sheets, too, reading between the staff lines the same way you scan the plain text of the chapters. It comes to you easily, translating quarter notes to melodies you hum to yourself, reading key signatures like novel dedications.

And the book ignites a sort of spark in you again, reminding you of the days you still spend in front of the monochrome keys for hours, memorizing pieces and adding in your own annotations along the treble and bass.

So when Mina comes home one afternoon, desperate to borrow your textbook, you’re admittedly vexed by the request, reluctantly reaching into your bag to retrieve it for her.

“I didn’t know you had this course,” you say to her, wiping fingerprints off the matte cover and carefully handing it to her.

“Yeah, it’s the worst,” she says, making no effort to avoid transferring new fingerprints onto the cover as she stuffs it into her bag. “But the professor’s hot.”

And her mention of him is somehow vexing to you- of course she only sees the young, attractive professor he is, and not the sheer brilliance behind his lectures. Of course she doesn’t care to understand his background, his favorite historical pieces or take notice of the way he lightens up at the mention of his old days as a musical director. She’s just like the other students in your class- hearing him, but not really listening.

“Professor Han?” You inquire, knowing very well he’s the only professor who teaches that particular course.

“Yeah,” she says, reaching into her duffle bag and shuffling around for something. “Pretty sure he’s the only reason people still show up to that stupid class. I wonder if he goes for younger girls.”

She chuckles as she pulls out a tube of lipstick, uncapping it and reapplying the dark red tint to her pouty lips.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” she then says to you, tucking the tube of lipstick back into her bag and pivoting to face you. “I can have your book back by Monday.”

“Could you have it back by early morning?” You say to her, voice almost cracking as you plead so desperately. “I really need it back before my quiz.”

You’ve already practically memorized the chapter you’re being quizzed on, but you’re always well-prepared for quizzes and tests in Professor Han’s course, reviewing the textbook a thousand times to earn the highest grade possible. You’d be ashamed to score any less than remarkable on his tests, feeling a need to prove to him that his course is something you take just as seriously as he does.

“I guess,” she says furrowing her brows a little at your desperation. “I’ll try to have my boyfriend drop it off before my class or something.”

“Tell Lucas it’s important,” you relay to her, as she keeps her gaze on yours. “I really need to pass this quiz.”

“I said I’ll try,” she emphasizes, making her way to the dorm with the same pink duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone again, not so much as a wave goodbye as you’re left alone for the weekend.

*

By the time Monday rolls around, Mina is nowhere to be seen. She does this sometimes, spending entire weeks at her boyfriend’s apartment and ditching a long list of her classes.

Except along with the absence of your roommate, comes the absence of your textbook.

Lucas never shows on Monday to return your textbook, and Mina is completely MIA when you try to call or text. So by Thursday, you have no choice but to attempt your quiz without having read the textbook chapter a millionth time.

“Welcome, welcome,” Professor Han calls out as students take their seats. “Put your phones away and get out a pen or a pencil. We’ll start the quiz in a few minutes.”

You occupy the seat at the very front, where you always do now, and wait patiently as he digs around his bag for the stack of quizzes.

“This quiz covers all of chapter 7,” he says, passing along the stack of papers and instructing students to distribute them across the room. “You have 30 minutes from now. If you have questions, please raise your hand and I’ll come to you. Other than that, good luck.”

And the room falls silent as he makes his way back to his desk, the etching sound of pencils scribbling on paper as students begin their quizzes. You swallow nervously, scrawling your name across the top of the paper, and then let your gaze fall to the first question.

Name one the symphonic pieces Ludwig van Beethoven was famous for.

Your lips pull into a knowing smile as you pencil in a response with ease- Symphony No. 5, the same one you discoursed with Professor Han about just last week.

What time period defined Classical antiquity?

Between the 8th century BC and the 5th century AD, you write down quickly, moving on to the next question.

From his desk across from you, Professor Han glances over the screen of his laptop at your slouched figure, observing how you pencil in responses quicker than any of the other students, without even taking a moment to think over the answers. He smiles to himself a little, amused at the clear indication of the only music major in here, a clear liking for this subject the way he has, unlike the students rushing through his course for credits. His eyes fall back onto his laptop screen where he begins to work on an email, and yet before he can continue, you’re sauntering over to his desk with your quiz in hand.

“You’re finished already?” He inquires, lowering the top of his laptop to meet your gaze.

“Yes,” you say simply, sliding him the sheet of paper and giving him a little nod.

He grasps your quiz between his calloused fingers, and just like you assured him, every line is complete with a clear response in pencil.

“I can grade it right now since you’re the only one finished,” he asks, a challenging expression on his face as you stand confidently across him.

“Sure,” you say, gesturing to the paper as he retrieves a red pen from his bag.

You watch with bated breath as he scans the first question with the tip of his uncapped pen, giving a small nod as he then moves on to the next. The second question is the same, Professor Han looking it over and moving on to review the third now. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as he reviews your answers, despite being confident you’ve gotten at least the majority of them correct. Your gaze averts his seated figure as strands of his hair fall into his face, head hanging over your little sheet of paper as he checks and then double checks your responses.

“Yeah,” Professor Han finally says, sitting up straight once more and fidgeting with the red pen he neglected to even make use of. “It’s all right.”

He looks up at you with a curious expression, a kind of twinkle in the big eyes that are magnified by his geeky looking glasses. And his lips quiver with the intention to say something to you, but he can’t quite find the words. He’s simply taken aback by your skill, never having seen somebody share this similar level of knowledge regarding music history as he does. He wishes you would stay and discourse all your favorite pieces with him the way you normally do after his lectures, but the rest of the class remains quietly scribbling down their own answers, probably most of them incorrect like they usually are, and he can’t possibly request your presence for much longer in an unassuming fashion.

“You can leave early,” he whispers so as not to disturb the other test-takers, giving you a small nod as he slides the quiz into his bag.

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s all I had planned for today. Just read chapters 8 and 9 for next class.”

You begin to pivot on your heel, excited to depart from class a little bit earlier today and hopefully catch up on other course work, despite this being your favorite class. But his words make you stop in your place, turning to face him once again and shrugging sheepishly.

“Professor, I…don’t have my textbook,” you say awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater as you speak. “My roommate borrowed it last Friday and I haven’t been able to get a hold of her. If there’s a PDF you know of, or maybe a library rental-”

He doesn’t let you finish before he’s reaching into his bag again, pulling out his own textbook and sliding it across the desk to you.

“Take mine with you,” he says confidently, giving you a thin-lipped smile. “Just remember to bring it back next week.”

“Are you sure?” You question, taking the thick book from his grasp and flipping it over to examine the cover. It looks a little different than yours, a varying colored font on the cover and much yellower, older pages, but it’s the exact same book as the one you’ve familiarized yourself with so well already.

“Positive. I think you’ll enjoy the next two chapters, too. Lots of piano stuff.”

He grins as he finishes, flashing you his signature toothy smile, and you feel your heart flutter at the fact that he’s even remembered you play the piano.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” you reply, tucking the book under your arm and smiling back at him. You hope that nobody behind you suspects why you’ve been standing at his desk for just a little too long, but you’re entranced by his presence in the silence of the room, wishing so badly you could stay and ask him about all of his favorite pieces like you normally do after class is dismissed. But you can’t be sure if they’ve taken notice, and you make your departure, anyway, giving Professor Han a small wave as you finally make your way out of the class and to the hallway.

Inside the lecture hall, Professor Han observes the remainder of the students working on their quizzes, not missing the way they visibly struggle to comprehend some of the questions or make guesses to material they should definitely know by now. And it’s a familiar sight to him, seeing his students disregard the course entirely and drag their feet just enough to pass the course.

You seem to be the only exception, though, thoroughly understanding and even enjoying the course material. And try as he might to brush off the thought of you, he can’t seem to, fascinated by the way you not only hear him, but listen to him, making his role on campus feel a little less futile- something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

His brows are furrowed as he works on his laptop, the room teeming with the scribbling noises of doubtful penciled-in answers by students on their quizzes and the subsequent erasing because they simply don’t know. But you know- you always know. Like the passing moments after class in which you indulge him in a fact about your journey as a music major, and he’ll often gift you with tales from his days as a prestigious symphonic director.

And you always send him off with a benevolent wave, tucking your hair behind your ear and sauntering out so gracefully, your short skirt flowing with your purposeful strides back to your dorm room.

Not that he’s taken notice of you, of course. Not that he sometimes prays you’ll be the last one out the room so that he can try to impress you with a fact about his musical knowledge or earn little anecdotes about your life he pieces together. That would be entirely inappropriate considering he’s a professor and you’re his student- and no fleeting amount of finally feeling listened to could change that fact.

Conversely, is he wrong to admit to himself that he’s fascinated by your musical knowledge? That the silence of the room is more unnerving when you’ve already gone home for the day?

Furthermore, that he doesn’t feel like such a loser when you beam at his stories and press him for more details about his musical career? Of course he can’t admit it to himself, because that would be entirely inappropriate- he’s a professor, and you’re just a student. But as he remains in front of his laptop, his eyes scanning the room at the students who are lost in thought- or lack of, rather, there’s only one empty seat in the front row. A seat typically occupied by your graceful presence, where you do your best to avoid making heavy eye contact, too, tucking strands of hair behind your ear and smiling at all his jokes. And inappropriate as it may be to admit it, he misses you when you’re not around- musical conversations, the sight of your delicate figure seated and paying attention to him and only him. Learning, listening.

*

The library is empty that same weekend, the gentle tap of rain on the window closest to you making for a peaceful ambiance as you settle on the velvet cushions of the vacant sofa. In your possession, a warm cup of coffee, as well as Professor Han’s textbook, held tightly in your grasp as you navigate to the inside cover.

Mr. Han, the inside hard cover reads, written neatly along the bolded black line. You smile to yourself, grazing the tips of your fingers along the black sharpie, imagining how he’d looked when he first penned it in. Probably the same way he does now, his big eyes blinking as he cocked his head in concentration and grasped the pen between his slender fingers.

You wonder briefly how old his book is- it appears much older than yours, the pages thin and worn like it’s something he’s utilized for a good while. Your fingers skim the smooth stack of pages before thumbing to the inside, landing on chapter 8 as he requested for this week’s reading assignment. And you smile as you do, taking careful note of the state of his book pages.

Surrounding the small black text, in disarray and almost indistinguishable in loopy blue penmanship, are his annotations, carefully analyzing the sentences as though he’s studied them a million times.

“Written at just five years old!” One sentence reads, underlining a sentence describing Mozart’s Minuet in G major. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, fascinated at the fact that he annotates with the exact same level of enthusiasm he speaks of these pieces.

Another annotation specifies how Mozart’s music was tuned to 432 hertz, a frequency commonly associated with instilling a sense of peace and calmness within one’s body. And as you continue reading the bolded text of the chapter, his annotations provide a clearer image into the history of the composers, detailing minuscule facts about their lives and their music. They aren’t facts mentioned in the book, but rather ones he seemed to know based off memory alone, and you’re impressed he’s able to retain such a vast collection of information pertaining to the subjects. Some excerpts are simply marked with a “wow!” Or a series of exclamation points, and you find yourself endeared to how much of a clear liking he’s taken to the work of a textbook chapter.

As you skim a paragraph explaining the intricate work of Piano Sonata no. 12, his familiar blue annotation catches your eye again, except this time, it feels as though it transcends the page and speaks to you.

“Listen to this one,” it reads, underlined twice in blue pen. And for a moment, the thought overtakes you that he may be telling you to listen to it.

The sentence looks so intentional, almost begging for you to give into the simple request. The implication of underlining it not once, but twice, knowing he’s the only one reading this book. Except maybe he had intended to lend it to you, so that you might take the suggestion and listen to it like he had when he annotated it.

So without another second wasted on analyzing his intentions, you pull out your phone, popping in your earbuds and selecting Mozart’s Piano Sonata no.12 from a list of classical pieces. The piece is almost 20 minutes long, a fact which you find comfort in, knowing you get to think about Professor Han for the entirety of the 20 minutes you’re listening to his suggestion.

The notes begin short and vibrant, melting into one another with such fluidity and color. You shut your eyes to the flowing melody, letting yourself melt with the harmony and become one with Professor Han’s recommendation. And 30 seconds in, there’s a shift, from the joyful tune to a more rushed one, notes transitioning to staccato touches along the keyboard and picking up in pace. Like a gentle stride to a fast-paced sprint, similar to many of the tunes you lose yourself in completely while performing.

Then back to a gentler tune again, the pace slowing down once more and moving again in gentle strides. And just as you think it’s died down, the tune assumes both tempos- fast and then slow again, from a relaxed stroll to a purposeful sprint, in the direction of resolution and with every intention of taking your emotions for a wild ride in the process.

You scan the text again as you listen, indulging yourself in the complex history of Mozart’s experience writing the soulful piece, one he was presumed to have written in either Munich or whilst visiting Vienna. And you read Professor Han’s annotations in the process, heartbeat quickening as you allow yourself to imagine they’re all for you.

“This part is the best,” he annotates, referring to the melancholy movement that begins at nearly seven minutes in. It’s much slower, assuming a minor key and with little resolution at the end of every measure. Dragged-out half notes make up the majority of the piece which bewitches you, your mind racing with thoughts of Professor Han and his little inscriptions jotted down just for you.

The piece sounds a little like him- robust and enchanting, but with something more behind it all. Perhaps a story that’s dying to get out, a history he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind or even a secret he harbors. You think back to the way he gets when he speaks of his favorite pieces and his favorite composers- undoubtedly full of life and glowing with passion. And yet when questioned about his time directing, he’s quick to pull back again, shifting back into the professional composure he wears everyday, simply there to lecture from his memories alone and assign textbook pages as homework.

You’re not sure you’ve ever met somebody who mirrors your passion for music so well- like the two of you speak a language nobody else seems to comprehend. Even his annotations must look like gibberish to the masses, who probably wouldn’t bother to tune into Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 for the sole purpose of understanding him through it. Your alphabet transcends the English language- perhaps the two of you speak only in treble and bass, utilizing the eight notes available to you on a pin-straight staff and yet producing hundreds of thoughts in the process.

Ones that yearn to know him beyond the confines of a classroom, to understand who he was before all of this, before he was stuck in the old hall to the east of campus and made to preach to students who couldn’t give less of a shit about it all.

But you do- you always do.

And as the third movement begins at the 12-minute mark, the sounds of distressing melodies and ill-paced harmonies flooding your ears, you grasp a red pen in hand, leaning over his textbook and inscribing similar annotations to his.

“I love this one,” you scribble alongside his words, smiling to yourself as you converse on the thin pages of his old textbook. It doesn’t cross your mind once that your annotations will exist on the pages for eternity- in fact, you hope they do. You hope his message is received on the pages as much as they are by every inch of your yearning soul, that the bright red pen you wield contrasts so clearly against his blue marks and provides reciprocation to all of this passion.

“The third movement is my favorite,” you then note, scribbling something about the melody in juxtaposition to the evocative choice of tempo. And your annotations continue, and continue, all through the page, as though the book is yours and not something entirely borrowed.

The final paragraph is concluded by him with a simple sentence- one that critiques the lack of resolution.

“Discoordinate, fading notes,” it reads. “Feels like it’s missing something.”

And a bold decision it is, to make a record of Mozart having possibly forgotten something. But music is only reflective of your own emotions- perhaps it’s not Mozart forgetting something, but rather Professor Han feeling as though something’s missing. To you, the piece ends here- discoordinate fading notes that serve as the resolution. To Professor Han, there’s still something beyond those final few eighth notes, like the song isn’t reaching its full potential.

Beside his comment, one last penned-in annotation, one that you observe for a good while, reading it once, twice, and three times over as he practically offers a suggestion to Mozart himself.

“Coda?” It reads simply.

A coda- somewhat of an epilogue in music. It’s ignored the first time around- not really regarded by the musician until the da segno- to which a musician then plays until the indication to jump to the coda. And the coda serves as a resolution to the entire piece, typically a sonata, concluding with triumphant notes and the complete opposite of fading discoordination like Professor Han is so averse to.

You bring your red pen down to his comment, hovering the ballpoint tip over the paper for a moment, before making your final annotation along his pages.

A circle, with a cross in the center- a coda, a musical epilogue, an offer for resolution.

*

“Here’s your textbook,” Mina says casually when she finally returns that week, tossing it beside you on the bed and averting your gaze.

“Thanks,” you reply, entirely failing to confront her about having returned it a week later than you’d originally requested.

“I shouldn’t have even borrowed it,” she says with a frustrated huff. “I failed his stupid quiz.”

“Chapter 7?” You question, unsurprised by the admission to you.

“Yeah,” she replies, hoisting herself over her duvet and spreading her arms out behind her. “I don’t know a single person who’s passing that useless class.”

She keeps her gaze on the wall for a moment, and then she glances at you briefly, her expression unreadable as she speaks.

“Can’t believe I also have to waste my time at the stupid extra credit thing this week,” she announces, huffing as she concludes her speech.

You continue working on your laptop, not yet meeting her gaze as she rants, her legs dangling carelessly over the edge of the bed.

“What extra credit thing?”

Mina turns to look at you again, furrowing her brows together, almost in disbelief at your words.

“The extra credit thing Professor Han emailed about? There’s an exhibit at the art museum nearby for famous dead composers or something. If you turn in a ticket for proof you attended, you get like, 10 whole points or something.”

You stop typing on your laptop momentarily, glancing over the top of your screen to meet her gaze at last, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“This week?”

“Yeah,” she says, frowning slightly as you turn back to the computer. “You didn’t get the email about it?”

“I guess I didn’t,” you say to her, beginning to look up the event online. “I’ve been so busy.”

In reality, Professor Han’s email missed your inbox because you weren’t invited, consistently boasting an A in his class all semester. The extra credit is only intended for students like Mina, who are well on the route to failing his course without some form of extra credit. But to you, the event won’t serve as extra credit- it’s just an excuse to catch a glimpse of Professor Han again, maybe gain more insight into his favorite pieces and converse with him beyond the four walls of the lecture hall.

The rain is still coming down in sheets by the time your next lecture with Professor Han rolls around, the class much emptier than usual, most students opting to remain in the comfort of their dorm rooms. Professor Han produces a thought-provoking lecture on Mozart this time, conveying many of the works you read about in his textbook. And when his lecture concludes, he leans back against the podium, thanking all students who did attend today, an unspoken race against the clock unfolding as the two of you stall and wait for the rest of the students to clear out.

When the class is finally empty, he beckons for you with two fingers, remaining slouched against the podium and crossing his muscular arms out in front of him.

“I have your book,” you say to him, reaching into the bag slung around your shoulder.

He accepts it from your grasp, glancing at it briefly, before setting it down on his desk and folding his arms again. You want him to open it, to read your annotations and feel heard like the purpose your little scribbles are intended for. But he doesn’t- he just leaves it there, keeping his gaze on yours and remaining silent for a minute.

“What did you think of chapters 8 and 9?” He asks finally.

“Good stuff,” you say, giving him a shy nod. “I was familiar with a lot of it, but definitely still some new pieces I hadn’t heard of. I’ll try to get around to them when I can.”

Professor Han nods, and then you watch as he sprawls his hands out behind him, leaning back against the podium still and crossing his legs at the ankles.

“There’s an exhibit at the museum across the street later tonight,” he says, voice trembling a little as he speaks.

He’s not sure why he’s even bringing it up- maybe because he’s trying to keep the conversation course-related. It’s definitely not because he wants you to be there- a reckless way of thinking indeed.

“I know,” you say to him with a knowing smile. “I was wondering where my invite was for the extra credit.”

A breathy chuckle escapes his toothy grin as he holds his gaze on yours.

“You have a perfect score,” he replies in a low voice. “The extra credit is for people who are failing my class.”

“It can’t also be for art enthusiasts?” You retort, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I want to tour the dead composers gallery, too.”

Professor Han wants to entertain this- so, so badly. He wants to drop the professional act and flirt with you like you’re so clearly doing to him- but he can’t. You’re just a student, and it would be wrong to toy with the imbalance of power he holds over you. Still, there’s no reason you can’t also show to the exhibition, as a student who simply wants to partake in a walkthrough of the subject at hand. He can’t prohibit you from going, after all.

“I can’t give you any more credit,” Professor Han says with another breathy chuckle, cocking his head to look at you a little better. Your eyes sparkle as they stare back at him, a giddy smile plastered on your face and your hair tucked behind your ears between laughter as you meet his gaze again.

“But I can’t stop you from going, either.”

At this, he pivots on his heels, turning around to reach into the leather bag by his laptop. You watch curiously as he pulls out a small piece of paper, handing it to you and saying absolutely nothing.

But one glance at it tells you exactly what it is- a ticket to the exhibition, one that’s already been paid for. You remember Mina telling you she had purchased her ticket already, meaning this one was purchased for you- by Professor Han.

“Really?” You question with wide eyes, examining the ticket and then looking back at him with an excited smile.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Professor Han reiterates. “You asked for extra credit. And you bought that ticket yourself.”

At this, he cocks his head a little, and then he shoots you a wink the same way he did once before. Only this time, your heartbeat quickens at his actions, ones that seem to desperately seek out attention from you and even make attempts at getting closer to you.

“I wanted extra credit,” you repeat to him finally, shooting him a wink, too. “And I bought this ticket myself.”

*

The so-called “dead composer’s gallery” has been an extra credit assignment of Professor Han’s for all five years he’s been teaching. It’s hosted in the art museum right by campus, the same few paintings of composers he lectures about making the rotation every fall to tell stories of their lives and flaunt the work they produced. Students don’t typically care for it, showing up to walk the duration of the gallery in a rush, flashing their ticket to Professor Han and collecting an easy ten points so as not to repeat his class.

He’s aware of the fact that they don’t read a single one of the bronze plaques that detail the names of the composers, or that they audibly insult the paintings, despite Professor Han being within earshot of them in the quiet space that houses the art. But for him, it’s simply a way to avoid teaching the same set of students a second time. One semester of watching them drag their feet is enough, he’s always thought to himself.

Professor Han has walked the exhibit a plethora of times, thus he usually shows in a simple sweater and some jeans, and the students marvel at the sight of him dressed so casually unlike at his lectures. And despite the exhibit being no different than the last few years, he feels compelled to dress up for this visit, admiring his efforts in the mirror as he adjusts the collar of his white button-down and centers his tie.

Of course, deep down, he’ll never admit he’s dressed up for you tonight, his mind racing with the unprofessional thoughts that you might show up just for him. He’s usually a mere spectator at these exhibits, silently assuming a spot in the corner of the room as the students make their rounds and eye him nervously. He emphasizes the notion that asking questions is encouraged, or that the students are free to chat with him about their favorite paintings and apply them to his lectures. Yet they never do- they just pace the marble floors at an expeditious pace and send him off with the wave of their ticket, not a single painting having resonated with them in the process. Some of them even groan, or verbally complain about the task, as though Professor Han’s forced them here tonight, and not the near-failing grade so many of them are stuck with. As though he’s not doing them a favor by offering extra credit for such an easy task, and an enjoyable one at that- or at least to him.

Wet sneakers squeak along the marbled floors as the students make their rushed rounds, many of them accompanying groups of friends as they stifle laughter at the art and then make their departure with the flash of a ticket in Professor Han’s direction. He remains in the corner of the large gallery room, one hand shoved in the pocket of his black slacks, the other grasping a folded pamphlet as he skims the artist names and waits for students to approach, should they require his attention. Yet it’s a futile task, having been at the event for nearly two hours now as the students come and go.

Admittedly, and with all the profound guilt weighing deep in his chest, Professor Han can’t think about anything except for you, desperately scanning the halls and glancing at the doorway for the familiar sight of you sauntering in, a beaming smile on your face and purpose in every stride. The exhibit is near closing by this point, just a handful of students remaining as he glances around the room and watches them rush to finish touring the display.

And embarrassingly enough, he counts down the seconds on the silver wrist watch he wears, hoping maybe you’re just running late by chance.

As the little hands on his watch tick in seconds, and you’re still nowhere to be seen, the thought suddenly overtakes him that this is all so stupid. What is he thinking, waiting around for a student like this- one he teaches, and one he’s tried his best to avoid having non-platonic thoughts about? It's silly. Not to mention- wildly inappropriate.

As Professor Han gathers his canvas bag hoisted over a nearby bench, and sends the last handful of students off with a polite bow, a quick turn of the corner confirms his first theory.

“Hi,” you say to Professor Han, bowing to him and tucking a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Sorry, I was running a bit late. Lots of rain outside.”

Professor Han can’t help but hold your gaze momentarily, enchanted by the sight of you, despite coming to the conclusion that this is wrong. If it’s wrong, he’ll have to sort out the logistics some other time- because you standing in front of him like this, dressed much more elegantly than he’s ever seen you, a smile on your face and already glancing around at the gallery at the works of art- everything about this feels right.

“Hi,” he says back, a nervous exhale escaping his lips as he does. He silently prays you can’t tell that he’s been waiting around for this all evening, longing to see you just once tonight and maybe talk about musical composers the way he’s been dreaming of.

“Vivaldi?” You question, brushing your way past him to the giant painting across from you, depicting the famous composer in a red robe clutching his signature violin. “I’m assuming, by the violin.”

“Yeah,” Professor Han says, turning to face the painting, too. “Kind of a scary dude, isn’t he?”

Professor Han realizes you’re the first student to make a single comment about one of the paintings here- a fact he’s well endeared by, and simultaneously completely unsurprised by.

“Debatable,” you respond. “For his portfolio alone, sure. But if we’re talking looks, I think Brahms might win this one.”

Your eyes shift to the left of Vivaldi’s at the cold stare of Johannes Brahms, a long white beard and a sharp mustache framing his glaring eyes. Professor Han laughs lightly, and then he takes note of the way you cock your head at the bronze plaque, reading a detailed little account of Brahms and scanning the art as you do.

“Brahms wasn’t scary,” he finally says with a shrug of his shoulders. “He was actually really lonely.”

“Yeah?” You question back, observing the way he stares up at the painting.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “There was a long-standing rumor that he had a crush on pianist Clara Schumann- of course she was already married. Some think Clara may have cheated and secretly reciprocated feelings for Brahms, too- but regardless, he died alone.”

The space is quiet between you both, a sort of melancholia falling over you two as you piece together the story in your mind. You can’t help but imagine how lonely it must have been for Brahms, keeping his love for Clara a complete secret in the presence of her spouse. A love so strong and so unmoving that he chose to die alone rather than find a woman that served as replacement for the love he felt for Clara.

Your mind paints images of Brahms and Clara together, his gaze fixed on hers and so helplessly in love while she was wed to another man all along.

“That’s tragic,” you say finally, feeling a pit form in your chest. “What a lonely life it must’ve been.”

Professor Han seems to take note of your change in tone, perking up a little as he chimes in again.

“He still had his music,” he says to you. “And a very successful career.”

And your head cocks again at Brahms’ face across from you, a stoic expression in his eyes and his thin-lipped pout- almost as though he was hiding part of himself from the masses all along.

“But he didn’t have the one thing he wanted,” you finish telling him.

Professor Han says nothing, giving a small bow to the painting with his arms tucked behind his back. He searches for the words to say, ones that might comfort you in this pity you take on him. But he can’t, feeling as though you may be right.

Brahms had music, a successful career composing everything from Wiegenlied to Symphonies 1 and 3, a long list of credits and enough fortune to travel the world when he wasn’t producing excellency. But he never had Clara Schumann- a tragic unrequited love he took with him to the grave. Could the tender touches and kindred soul of a lover ever be replaced by half and eighth notes on a staff? By the wave of a baton in a sea of brass and wooden reeds? Was he happy, simultaneously getting everything he wanted and nothing he dreamed of?

Johannes Brahms never had Clara Schumann. And conversely, perhaps Professor Han will never get close to what he wants, either.

The dead composer’s gallery quickly proves to be a lot more tragic than you’d anticipated. The paintings are beautiful- grand golden crested frames that house detailed depictions of famous composers, wearing powdered wigs and fancy dress robes. And every stride to the next work of art is accompanied by Professor Han’s tragic, detailed account of their love lives.

“Tchaikovsky was gay during a time when it was highly illegal,” Professor Han explains. “He had a long list of gay lovers with whom he’d write romantic letters to, and he came under heavy scrutiny when it was made public- especially since he was already of a low social class.”

“Must’ve been terrifying,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes at the intense stare of his painted portrait. “What did he do?”

Professor Han is quiet for a moment, glancing over at you and parting his lips as though he’s going to say something. But he simply remains silent, staring back up at the painting and swallowing nervously.

It’s only when you glance over at him, raising your eyebrows a little in the direction of his looming figure and almost gesturing for him to continue, that he reluctantly provides an answer to your question.

“He married a student,” Professor Han says quietly.

And he understands very well what the implications are here, producing stories of instructors being romantically involved with their students, when he’s here with a student himself.

Here with you, the very same student he’s been waiting on all evening. The student he’s enjoying telling stories of composers and their romantic involvements to, and the same student he’ll find any excuse to spend more time with once the dead composers gallery is already closed for the night.

“They didn’t last, of course,” Professor Han then continues. “It was impulsive, and they were severely incompatible. Not to mention his heart already belonged to another.”

It’s your turn to get quiet, simply nodding at his words and piecing together tidbits of Tchaikovsky’s tragic romance.

“Professor,” you say to him suddenly, turning to face him with a small smile on your face. “How do you know so much about the romantic histories of famous composers, anyway? Is this part of your lecture style?”

Professor Han chuckles lightly in response, his eyes forming little crescents as his lips pull back into a big grin. He looks much happier here like this, compared to the way he carries himself during his teaching- more laid back, comfortable, even.

“I think you have to understand where they fell short in romance,” he says, maintaining the same warm smile on his face. “It’s where most of the passion, and pain alike, stemmed from in their pieces. The sheer intensity of some of the orchestral or symphonic pieces, they’re…” his voice trails off momentarily, observing a painting of Mozart on the wall in front of the two of you, whose story he hasn’t even indulged you in yet as the museum staff prepare to close for the evening. He tilts his head to one side, pondering his words briefly and giving a little nod before continuing.

“They’re all crafted from yearning in one way or another.”

*

The evening rainfall is torrential outside, the sidewalks almost empty as people seek shelter in the safety of their cars and apartments. Once you’ve both exited the museum, Professor Han remains under the concrete roof that spans the entrance, looking out at the glistening pavement roads that reflect with red and green traffic lighting.

“Are you parked on the street?” He asks hesitantly, his hands shoved in the pocket of his slacks as he awaits your reply.

“I walked here,” you say to him, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “My dorm’s just a few blocks away.”

His eyes widen at the admission, thinking back to where his car is parked, just around the corner in the museum’s designated parking garage. He debates offering you a ride, but he knows it’d be in his best interest to avoid being alone in a car with the one woman he so dangerously can’t stop thinking about.

“Do you need a ride?” He then asks, the words leaving his lips before he can even stop himself. It’s like he’s overtaken by another version of himself- one who can’t cease this little chase you’re indulging him in, too.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you respond, a sheepish smile on your face as you try to veil the fact that you’re elated he’s even offered.

One more chance to make things right- and yet there’s no discernible boundary between what feels right, and what is right.

“It’s not a burden,” he affirms. “It’s not safe to walk home in this rain.”

Your gaze meets his, a sort of triumphant smile pulling on your lips as he cocks his head in the direction of the parking garage. There’s no distinctive plan either of you have in mind, but you’re also drawn to each other, admittedly wanting nothing more than to find little excuses to put off your departure for the evening.

He begins in the direction of the garage without even waiting for verbal confirmation, and yet he doesn’t have to, because you’re already trailing alongside him like it’s been your plan all this time. You maintain a giddy smile on your face as you both brave the rain together beyond the concrete ceiling of the museum entrance, tucking your necks into your shoulders and laughing as the rain drenches your clothes completely, strands of hair falling into your face and dribbling rainwater down your glowing cheeks.

“It’s just past here!” he calls out over the deafening sounds of rainfall, squinting his eyes amidst the drops of water that weigh on his eyelashes and making out the faint outline of his car in the dimly lit parking garage.

You trail behind him as he gestures for you to follow, also catching a glimpse of his parked car in the garage, seemingly the only remaining one at this hour.

Professor Han opens the passenger door for you, stringy pieces of hair falling into his face as he gestures for you to get in. And you do without hesitation, smoothing down your skirt and occupying the sleek black leather seat. When the door is shut, there’s a brief silence that falls over you as he makes his way around to the driver’s side, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror. Your makeup is a little smeared from the rain, wet hair slicked down and your clothes clinging to your figure with dampened spots. But for the first time in a long while, you look happy, finally making use of your time beyond the walls of your dorm room.

Professor Han slides into his seat at last, the door shutting promptly beside him, and he runs his slender fingers through the slick black strands of hair that fall into his face. You watch him curiously, heart racing at the sight of him so close to you, your bodies almost touching if not for the center console that so conveniently separates your yearning bodies. Drops of rainwater find purchase on his bent knees, further dampening his slacks as he wrings out his jet black hair over them. And he chuckles as he does, a little embarrassed he looks so disheveled in your presence.

When he hears you reciprocate with a gentle laugh, he turns to look at you, and it’s then that he realizes how dangerously close he is to you.

From this proximity, he can make out the spheres of rainwater that collect on your blushed cheeks, every last speck of mascara that collects under your eyelashes and flutters as you blink curiously at him. He can distinguish the lipstick you’ve strategically worn just for him, one that almost mirrors the natural pink shade of his pouty lips. He can feel the clear tension that bubbles over the center console as you lean in just a little, not enough to graze his mouth over yours, but certainly enough to feel the sharp breath that escapes his lips as he leans in, too.

And just as your eyes begin to shut, with every intention to kiss him right then and there, the sound of distant rainfall lessening as your rapid heartbeat fills your ears, he pulls back again.

“Sorry,” Professor Han remarks quietly, resting his hands on the steering wheel and shaking his head as though he's physically ridding himself of the urge to kiss you.

Your eyes open again, met with his trembling brown pupils that fixate on the dashboard in front of you both. And then he starts the car without another word, not yet backing out as he sits with his thoughts for a moment.

You desperately want to think he was going to kiss you, too, but you feel painfully stupid for being turned away like this in his car. Maybe it’s not how you’ve been reading into- maybe this is strictly a teacher-student relationship the way it’s supposed to be.

“Do you want to go back to your dorm?” He asks amidst the silence, not meeting your gaze. He’s scared he’ll get the urge to kiss you again, or that you might clock how nervous he is to be here with you.

You’re quiet for a moment, a little angry with things as you ponder the question. He’s not quite telling you to go home- but he isn’t asking you to stay, either. He’s just putting the ball in your court- both a safe, and a risky play at hand.

“No,” you voice finally.

He just nods at your response, clicking his tongue once and waiting for you to say something else. But you don’t- instead, you wait for him to say something else, too.

“Do you want to get out of the rain?” He then asks in a quiet voice, not specifying where that may imply. And although he doesn’t, you nod in agreement, meeting his gaze briefly as he reciprocates with an affirmative nod of his own.

*

Professor Han may have physically refuted the notion that kissing you in his car was anywhere near appropriate- and yet at this hour, the only place he can think to seek shelter from the rain with you is his apartment.

His apartment is nothing special at first glance, just your typical run-of-the-mill unit on the third floor of his building, but at a closer inspection, everything is exactly what you’d expect it to be.

Music sheets scattered along tables and couches, scribbled hastily with notes and annotations, much like his textbook was. A studio piano against the wall of his living room, the leather-seated bench that accompanies it stacked high with music theory books and more sheet music. The walls are decorated with rows of photographs, ones that you wish you could derive answers from, much like the dead composers gallery.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says sheepishly, peeling off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

Your arms are folded behind your back as you traverse the wooden floors as though this place is a museum, too. You relish in the sight of every decorative item, every sheet of music and every placement of his old-looking furniture, like it might give you more insight into exactly who Professor Han is. It’s just like he is- classic, enchanting, captivating.

“What are all these?” You ask him, pointing to a wall with a neat collage of photos.

At a closer inspection, you realize many of them include him, presumably from several years ago. He’s blonde in one of them, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a stylish pair of silver earrings. Another one shows him with midnight blue hair, the cool-toned hue contrasting rather beautifully against his tanned skin. His hair is still black in many of them, but he looks younger, dressed casually with a big smile plastered on his face.

And the most fascinating quality in all of them- he looks important. Like he’s a notable figure among the other subjects, usually standing in front of a podium or a music stand, sometimes with a baton grasped between his hands and raised in motion.

“Are these from your directing days?” You then ask, knowing the answer already.

It feels a little wrong to be seeing the photographs, almost as though they’re not supposed to be visible to just a student of his. They’re a glimpse into another life he’s lived- one you’re too late to be a part of. And more importantly, one he hasn’t seemed to be interested in talking about. You remember the times he’d brush off the mention of directing, change the subject or even just respond with an absent shrug. And yet standing in front of the proof it happened, you can’t help but probe for answers, feeling as though they might provide insight into who exactly he is underneath this pensive mask he wears.

“Those are from my directing days,” he confirms with a sad smile, making his way over to you and staring up at the wall. He examines one in which he’s in the middle of composing, stick held high in the air and a concentrated expression on his chiseled face.

“You look really cool,” you tell him, and he laughs lightly in response.

“Thank you,” he replies politely. “I always felt cool.”

You begin to tell him that he’s still cool, the way he captivates a whole room with lectures about famous composers and music theory he just knows offhandedly now. But you quickly get quiet again, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

When you turn to face him again, you’re well aware of how close he is to you, droplets of rain still gliding down the bridge of his nose and onto the damp collar of his dress shirt. You also notice he’s wearing his glasses again, which remain the only dry part of his attire.

He seems to take notice of the heightened proximity for the second time today, too, making his way over to the couch and sitting on the edge of the velvet green cushions. But his gaze still remains fixed on yours, admiring the way you peer at his space.

“Professor, can I ask you something?” You say to him, approaching him cautiously, yet keeping a comfortable distance from him.

“Anything,” Professor Han replies, swallowing nervously and resting the palms of his hands flat on his knees. His long legs are draped over the edge of the couch, bent at the knees and spread so that he’s comfortably resting against the back of the cushion.

“You didn’t tell me about Mozart,” you say to him, twiddling your fingers in front of you. “What was Mozart’s love life like?”

Professor Han thinks it over momentarily, his eyes darting to the ceiling as he recalls Mozart’s romantic involvements. And it doesn’t take long, because it’s another tale he knows very well already.

“Well he lived with a family during his time in Vienna,” he explains. “They had a daughter named Constanze, who he took a particular liking to.”

You nod at his words, approaching him a little more now and observing the way he tenses a little, yet also noticing he makes zero effort to move away.

“His father didn’t approve,” Professor Han continues, eyeing the gentle sway of your skirt as you near him. “And yet when Mozart moved out, they maintained a relationship in secret.”

“A secret relationship?” You echo, and he nods affirmatively. “And then what happened?”

“Well,” he begins, dropping his hands to his sides as you stand right in front of him now. “Mozart wrote Constanze’s disapproving father a very famous letter. And they later married.”

“A letter?” You question. “Do you recall what was in the letter?”

You eye him from above, your thighs practically grazing his kneecaps as he remains seated in front of you.

And then in a painfully slow movement, all the while reminding yourself not to rush it, your hands find his, intertwining your fingers together and allowing you to pull yourself even closer to him, effectively slotting yourself between his knees. Professor Han’s breath hitches in his throat as you do, his heart racing wildly in his chest, pulsing reminders grazing his conscience that this is wrong. Yet juxtaposed against your delicate touches on his skin, and your curious eyes awaiting a resolution to his story, he can’t help himself.

“The letter?” He asks nervously, and you nod at him.

“Yeah. Do you remember it, by chance?”

Of course he remembers it- he could recite it in his sleep if he wanted to, every last word and emotion ingrained so deep within his soul as though its memorization was some requirement to work in a music-related field. But he hesitates to utter the words, knowing that if he does, they serve as permission for this- all of this, to indulge himself in all his reckless convictions right here with you.

“You don’t have to,” you say to him shyly, loosening your grasp on his fingers.

And you refer to both the utterance of Mozart’s letter, as well as the actions you know are bound to unfold if he does.

“No, I…” he interrupts, a sharp breath leaving his lips as he speaks. “I want to.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, tightening your grasp around his fingers once more, and then you wait for him to begin.

Professor Han takes a deep breath, some form of a prayer or maybe a beg for absolute forgiveness to a higher power racing his mind before he speaks again. And then, with all the weighing guilt in his heart, he begins to voice the letter back to you.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear Constanze,” he begins, finally allowing you to pull yourself onto his lap and steady yourself with two hands on his strong forearms.

“Keep talking,” you say to him, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair out of his face.

“Her whole beauty consists of two little black eyes and a pretty figure,” he continues, swallowing nervously at every tender touch you produce against his skin. His hands rest on the curves of your waist, delicately grazing up and down as you watch him curiously. Your legs bend to straddle him, skirt flowing over his black dress slacks and draping over the fabric of his crotch, where he can feel himself growing unbearably hard for you.

“Mhm,” you say, two hands now grazing the fabric of his silk black tie and loosening the knot at the collar.

“She likes to be neatly and cleanly dressed, but not smartly; and most things that a woman needs, she is able to make for herself.”

At this point, Professor Han’s tie is completely undone, your nimble fingers now undoing the buttons of his shirt and grazing fingertips along the exposed strip of his chest to you.

He pauses momentarily, eyes fluttering briskly as he relishes in the sensation of your skin against his. And then in one swift motion, your hands tug the fabric of his tie toward you, grazing your open mouth over his and pressing a short, chaste kiss to his pink lips.

He waits for more, but you don’t indulge him just yet, pulling away to stare into the swirling galaxies he houses in his big eyes.

And before he can finish reading the letter, you’re speaking again, putting out the same words he completely intended to produce.

“I love her, and she loves me with all her heart,” you say to him, finishing Mozart’s signature letter for him. “Tell me whether I could wish for a better wife.”

Professor Han says nothing, his eyes widened with shock for a moment as you toy with the fabric of his tie. He wasn’t expecting you to know the tale, let alone echo the letter back to him- one he’s had memorized for most of his life.

“Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father,” you voice with a small shrug. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

And Professor Han can’t take it anymore, finally allowing himself to pull you in by the small of your back, desperately gripping his fingers against the fabric of your shirt and locking his lips with yours once again. His kisses are purposeful, and needy, but he’s still gentle with you, guiding you further down the length of his legs until you’re sat right over his crotch. The two of you say nothing in between kisses for a good while, remaining like that and exchanging gasped breaths into each other’s mouths as his hands explore every inch of your still-clothed body. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you and arching your back into his touches. And when his hands graze the length of your skirt, tenderly stroking up the skin on your inner thighs, you chuckle lightly into his mouth, well amused by the actions as though you haven’t wanted it all this time, too.

“Is this okay?” He says nervously, pulling away momentarily to scan your expression.

“It’s more than okay,” you say to him, toying with his tie again. “I’ve wanted to do this so badly.”

Professor Han chuckles lightly, not wanting to admit he’s been thinking about it, too. Maybe externally you’ve already taken note of the way he stares at you as he speaks during lectures, or the way he eyes your short skirts when you assume your seat in his classroom. But you don’t know the nights he spends alone in his apartment, desperately fucking his fist to the thought of you bent over the podium in his lecture hall and filling the space with your erotic moans. Or the way he’s had to divert your gaze in class sometimes, lest he accidentally flaunts a hard-on for the whole class to see, because he knows his mind will run someplace it shouldn’t be.

He’s completely ridden with guilt, his sleep schedule almost nonexistent as he spends hours after he’s already tucked himself into bed, praying the universe won’t punish him for thinking about a student like this.

But he can’t help it- not when you saunter into his classroom so confidently every week, speaking of composers with the same level of admiration he shares, earning the highest grade possible and taking a genuine interest in his life. He’s almost angry at the reality of it, questioning constantly why you hadn't crossed paths before he became a teacher.

“Where were you during my college days?” Professor Han says out loud, a sort of disappointment evident on his face as he speaks. “I wish I’d known you earlier.”

You chuckle in response, one hand tangling in the back of his hair as you rub in gentle massaging motions.

“What’s wrong with right now?” You retort, trailing one finger over his plump lips.

“What’s wrong is that I’m your professor,” he emphasizes, scoffing lightly. “Everything about it is wrong.”

“I’m an adult,” you respond, pulling him in by his collar to work kisses down the column of his neck. “And I want this.”

“Yeah, but…” he begins, the guilt weighing heavily on him all over again.

“You don’t want this?” You then ask, pushing yourself off him briefly and holding eye contact with him. He looks as nervous as he always does when he’s near you, his eyes wide with fear and his timid movements conveying a clear reluctance to reciprocate the affection.

“I do want this,” he mutters sheepishly, knowing it’s also not in his best interest to lie to the woman he’s been leading on for several months now.

“I can leave,” you say to him finally, acknowledging how scared he sounds at the prospect of being here with you. “I won’t tell a single soul. It’ll be like it never happened.”

And Professor Han’s eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading motion, not verbally conveying anything, and yet telling you all that you need to know in the process.

Without saying anything back to him, you reach down to pinch the bridge of his wireframe glasses between your index finger and thumb. His glasses are fogged up, resting almost crookedly on his face when you pull them off, snapping the frame shut between your teeth and setting them on the couch beside you. You can hear Professor Han’s breath hitch in the back of his throat, nervously awaiting your next move and practically shifting total control over to you, who wastes no time reattaching your lips to his and humming into his mouth. He looks completely helpless under you like this, beads of sweat forming on his temples, indistinguishable against the rain droplets that still grace his attire. When you pull away, you examine his chest again briefly- the very same one you couldn’t seem to look away from on your first day of classes. His broad pectorals jut out against the thin white fabric of his button-down shirt, almost completely see-through all drenched in rainwater. And two buttons reveal his sharp clavicles to you, but you’re still just as eager to see the rest of him.

So in slow movements, you graze your hands down lower, snaking off his tie and discarding it alongside him with his glasses. Your nimble fingers work his buttons now, undoing them one by one, pulling open the hem of his shirt so that his chest is visible to you, and when the very last one is undone, you practically tear open both sides of his shirt, allowing the fabric to drape down over the couch and slouch off of his shoulders.

His waist is a sight to marvel at, delicate yet still muscular, made even more erotic in contrast with his broadened shoulders that span much wider than his hips. And your lips quickly find every curve of his chest, pressing a trail of kisses along his clavicles, up to the crook of his neck, down where his nipples protrude and along his shoulders, which tense up beneath your touch.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes in blissful pleasure as your kisses turn a little harsher, pulling his flesh between your teeth and sucking small bruises onto the raised goosebumps that grace every inch of him. You can feel him shift beneath you, trying his best to keep his now swollen cock at a distance from you, as though the act might be less incriminating if you can’t feel his physical yearning for you. And yet it’s enough for you to take notice, scooting closer to him with a smile on your face as you meet his lips once more.

When he feels you squeeze your thighs around his still-clothed cock just once, enough for the friction to emit a bead of precum from under his slacks, his hands find your waist again, tugging lightly at the fabric to signal you to remove it.

“Can I take this off?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes now hooded with lust, lips parted at the sight of your body practically grinding onto his.

You don’t reply, simply crossing two arms over your torso and pulling your shirt off over your head. It’s discarded along with the pile of other things, and then before he has to ask, your bra joins it beside him, too.

Professor Han feels as though he might finish right here at the sight of your breasts on display for him, your hardened nipples protruding generously with arousal and practically begging for his touch. He feels his mouth water with saliva, desperate to take you in his mouth, but somehow even with you straddling him like this, he’s too scared to make a move.

“Professor,” you say to him quietly.

“Hm?” He responds.

You say nothing back to him, blinking innocently down at him and waiting for him to act upon his urges. You know what it is that he wants so badly- and you want it, too. But you want it to feel as mutual as the yearning has, for some confirmation neither of you are manipulating the other into this. His eyes don’t leave your breasts, examining the way your chest rises and falls with every heavy breath as you wait for him. And then he meets your gaze again, a sharp breath escaping his lips as he does.

“Jisung,” he says, now chuckling lightly. His hands snake up your sides, rising higher, and higher, until they’re resting on the mounds of your breasts, not yet making contact with your hardened nipples.

“What?” You hum in response, a small smile on your lips as he watches you carefully.

“That’s my name,” he now says, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss again. As he does, his hands move lower, until his slender fingers are sprawled out over your nipples. He doesn’t stop kissing you, moving his hands in gentle kneading motions over your breasts as his kisses turn more eager.

“You don’t have to call me professor,” he says in between kisses, hands now reaching around to pull you in closer, gripping your ass just as tenderly the way he did your breasts and desperately grazing your smooth flesh against his calloused fingers . “Just call me Jisung.”

As you smile into the kiss, he flips up your skirt, looping one finger into the hem of your panties and toying with it as he adjusts himself below you. He tugs at your panties just an inch, now transitioning his movements to find the buckle of his pants, metal clinking between your bodies as he unfastens it and snakes it out beside him.

You pull your own panties off as he unbuttons his slacks, awkwardly parting from you momentarily to rid himself of the still-drenched fabric. And then all that remains are his boxers, his erection pitching a tent against the constricting fabric as he resumes his kisses.

“Jisung,” you breathe into his mouth, earning a toothy grin from him against your parted lips. “I love it. I love your name.”

“You’re welcome to say it whenever you want,” he says back, running his hands along the small of your back.

“Just me?” You ask teasingly, tangling two hands in his ebony hair.

“Just you,” he emphasizes, grazing his fingers along your inner thighs. “Just like you’re the only one who scores a perfect on everything she does,” he continues, the pads of his fingers attaching to your clit.

“Just like you’re the only student I’d bring back here in the first place.”

Jisung’s fingers begin slow, circular motions on your bundle of nerves, earning a gasp from you as he dips once into your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it around again.

His mouth accumulates with a needy wad of drool, cock growing even harder at the sight of your eyebrows arched for him as you grind into the pads of his fingers and push him even harder against your flesh.

“Do you think about me often?” You ask him between labored breaths, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide with lust and curiosity alike, peering back at you so innocently, with every intention to pleasure you.

“I do,” he affirms, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“What do you think about?” You now ask him, scooting even closer and allowing your chests to make contact as you wrap your arms around him.

“Those short little skirts you wear just for me,” he replies, smiling as he speaks. “They drive me insane.”

“That’s on purpose, you tell him, grazing your nails along the back of his neck. “What else?”

“Your stories of piano,” he then says, surprising you with his response. “It’s so sexy how talented you are.”

“Really?” You ask him, chuckling lightly as he kisses you once again. He nods affirmatively, dipping two fingers into your entrance with ease, just past your glistening folds, but not yet moving them inside of you.

And then he grows quiet for a moment, meeting your gaze with a serious expression, before he begins to pump his fingers slowly in and out of you as he speaks again.

“I touched myself to your book annotations,” he tells you, this time a smile absent from his chiseled face.

“My book annotations,” you repeat, and he cocks his head to look at you.

“All for me,” he continues, filling the ache between your legs with the gentle thrust of his fingers. “Were you trying to get my attention?”

“Depends,” you reply, clutching his shoulders and moving down the length of his fingers a little further.

“On what?”

“On whether yours were for me,” you say to him finally, clenching down around his digits.

He moves his thumb to stimulate your clit as he fucks you, earning a breathy moan as you struggle to speak now.

“Tell me what it was like,” you say to him breathlessly. “Describe it to me.”

“It was earlier today- just before the gallery,” he explains, cocking his head as your lips part in pleasure. “I never annotate in red. I knew instantly that it was you. Your handwriting- your words,” he continues. “I wasn’t expecting it- I’d hoped maybe you penned in a phone number or something.”

You chuckle lightly as he speaks, taking note of the way his fingers pick up the pace inside of you.

“You would’ve loved that, huh?” You retort. And his fingers now move inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion as he resumes his actions.

“I would’ve loved that,” he groans. “Too bad all I had was your handwriting, and the thought of you in that skirt you wore today. And ten minutes alone with my right hand, praying you’d actually show up tonight.”

Jisung can’t cease his perverted confessions once they begin escaping his wet lips. In complete contrast to his reluctance earlier, his fingers now thrusting in and out of your sopping pussy with such force, spilling every little detail about how much he’s thought about you these past few months.

“God, I love your body,” he breathes against you, craning his neck to take your breast in his mouth. His mouth latches around your erect nipple, tongue swirling in circular motions as he hums helplessly. And you let out a fervent moan at the sensation, not missing the way his fingers prod into your squelching entrance, your thighs trembling as you near your finish.

“Jisung,” you gasp, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging him gently off of you. A string of drool connects his wet lips to your flesh as he meets your gaze, labored breaths grazing your skin, desperate to taste you again.

“What is it?” He coos back.

“I want to finish with you,” you say helplessly. And your hand reaches down between the two of you onto his still-clothed crotch, taking his girth between your hand and giving a light squeeze. He’s wet, as though he’s already finished once for you, and he whimpers powerlessly at the contact.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure at the sensation. “Fuck, touch it again, will you?”

You chuckle lightly in response, looping a finger into the hem of his boxers and tugging down.

“I can do a lot more than just touch you,” you tell him, allowing his fingers to depart from your entrance as you position yourself over him. He watches too as you tug his boxers over his crotch, his eyebrows arching in preemptive arousal as he feels the cool air graze his exposed flesh. And when his cock is finally free, growing erotically against the concave of his abdomen, you can’t help but gasp, completely in awe at the sight.

He’s much bigger than you’d anticipated, a thick girth lined with pink protruding veins and a generous length, his cock almost red at the tip and leaking with precum.

“Fuck,” Jisung says for a third time, feeling another bead drip down his length at the prospect of you watching.

“Is it okay if-”

Jisung doesn’t let you finish your sentence before he’s nodding eagerly, practically begging you to ride him. And you waste no time indulging him in the request, positioning your entrance over him and steadying yourself with two hands on his broad shoulders. He says nothing as he waits, his nails digging into the small of your back as he shuts his eyes, reveling in the sensation of your body so close to his. And then before he can meet your gaze again, you’re sliding down the slick of his length with complete ease, almost bottoming out fully as he opens his eyes again and whimpers loudly.

He’s already pulsating rhythmically inside of you, the tip of his cock kissing your walls as you move even lower, precum mixing with your wetness and producing a light sloshing sound as you begin to move up and down.

His eyes watch your pussy swallow him for a few motions, doing his best to stave off his orgasm as you pant at the sensation. You can feel him all the way in your stomach, filling you up so fully and deeply, labored breaths leaving your lips as his whimpers fill the room. And then you capture him in a wet kiss again, just barely grazing your lips over his as his voice rises in pitch.

“Shit, I can’t,” he whines, gripping your skin a little tighter. “I’m gonna cum so fast.”

“It’s okay,” you emphasize, clenching around his girth and smiling against him. “We have all night.”

The words make him twitch once inside of you, the thought of fucking you a second time making him dizzy with anticipation. Any fleeting thought that this might be a bad idea is completely dissipated from his mind, replaced with unwavering pleasure and his longing to fill you up the way he’s imagined for the better part of the semester now.

“Can I cum inside of you?” He groans, using two hands to move you down his length a little deeper, your clit grinding softly against his abdomen as he bottoms out inside of you. “Jesus, you feel so good.”

You nod in response to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he continues to help you, one finger stimulating your clit again as beads of sweat trickle down his forehead.

For a while, no one says anything, the only sounds present between the two of you being the gentle slosh of your juices around his girth and the helpless panting that bridges the gap between your bodies. Your moans and his whimpers are a lot like the discoordinate piano pieces he analyzes so deeply, fading in and out of pace and searching relentlessly for resolution.

And as you crescendo toward your release, you can’t help but take note of how right it feels to be here with him, consuming each other the way you pour yourself into your music, as he does his work. He had asked you earlier where you’d been all his college life- but you know you’re supposed to be together like this now, regardless of his relationship to you. Had he been ten, twenty years your senior, you wouldn’t care- it’s your souls that keep you intertwined like this, the way he sees you for your passions and your interests, beyond just the traditional sense of a student and a teacher. He’s so much more than that- he’s so much more than just a professor.

As Jisung reaches back to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you feel yourself clench once around his pulsing girth, and then you let go entirely around him, grasping his broad chest as you breathe out his name like a prayer in the duration of your release.

“Jisung,” you moan against him, allowing his first name rather than his professional title to linger between your two listless bodies.

“Y/n,” he groans back, shutting his eyes briefly and arching up his eyebrows. And then as you tremble in exhaustion around him, legs aching from working yourself to your finish, he reaches his finish, too, shooting generous ropes of cum up inside of you and wrapping two arms around you to pull you closer to him.

He remains like that through his finish, his head finding purchase in the valley of your breasts, resting against the chest that rises and falls with deep breaths as his release dribbles down out of you.

And neither of you make any haste movements to get cleaned up just yet, allowing yourselves to remain pressed up against each other, hands tenderly caressing flesh and limbs tangled together.

In the midst of massaging his soft ebony locks, the pads of his fingers clinging tenaciously to your body, you can feel the presence of tears graze your chest, soft sniffles emitting from his flushed face against you. He weeps for you- for his guilt, for yearning, for the confirmation that he’s not better than his filthy conscience after all. And contrastly, because he knows he has all night to do it again, and again, and again.

*

By the morning, your bodies are sore and bruised, sunbeams absent through the giant glass windows of Jisung’s apartment as it continues to rain outside. There’s a chill in the air as thick clouds of fog caress the windows, and not even the layered duvet of Jisung’s bed is enough to warm your still-nude body.

You blink in a state of confusion around you, not realizing where you are momentarily. It’s not until you eye the stacks of music books, loose sheet music and picture frames that you recall last night’s events.

How many times had he fucked you- four, maybe five times? You can’t remember; you do remember he was good at it, switching back and forth between having his way with you, and then submitting to you again, letting you take the reins and ride him until you physically couldn’t anymore. As you sit up in bed, you catch a glimpse of him beside you, his bruised chest visible under the white duvet that drapes lazily over him and covers only his lower half.

He’s still asleep, lips parted innocently and his hair tousled around his chiseled face. He’s also in need of a shave, flaunting a generous patch of stubble on his chin. And you’re not sure he’s ever looked so tantalizing to you before.

When he hears you stirring about, his eyes flutter open, meeting your tired gaze and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He begins to say something, but then he gets quiet again, sighing deeply and shutting his eyes once more. You observe as his lips pull back into a sheepish grin, his straight teeth exposed as he chuckles lightly.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” He says with a groan. And you simply shrug in response, lying back down beside him, resting one hand on your pillow as he turns over to face you.

It’s a little more real at this proximity, the fact that you’re in bed alongside your professor. But the point still stands- it doesn’t feel awkward, nor do you regret any part of what unfolded yesterday. It’s like something that was bound to happen- if not last night, it would’ve been a week from now, maybe two weeks- definitely not three considering how long you’ve been thinking about him.

Jisung swallows from across you, his hand tucked under his pillow, too, and he watches as you reach out to trace the mole he flaunts on his cheek. It’s not one you’ve had the pleasure of noticing until now- it’s really not one that can be noticed from the vast distance between a lecture chair and a podium. But beside him in his bed, you take notice of everything- the mole in his cheek, the flutter of his long lashes, the sheer guilt he still wears on his face.

“Come on,” Jisung says from beside you, cocking his head in the direction of his bedroom door. “I’ll make you coffee.”

“The blue hair was a bold choice,” you say to Jisung, gripping a warm mug of coffee in hand as you sit cross-legged on his wooden flooring.

You’re in nothing but one of his t-shirts, your hair still messy from last night’s events and lipstick staining the edge of the white mug he’s provided you with. He’s a little more put together this morning, despite canceling today’s classes, a white woolen cardigan enveloping his figure and gray sweatpants hung loosely around his toned legs.

“I dyed my hair a lot back then,” he says from his spot on the couch, staring up at the photograph you admire.

And for some reason, the utterance of “back then” makes you laugh, the way he speaks as though he’s twenty years older than he is. He’s really just six years beyond you, a gap that most would overlook had he not been a professor. And sure, he already boasts a master’s degree and years of experience, but it’s not as though you’re not on the same path yourself.

“Why did you stop?” You ask, turning to meet his tired gaze.

He sighs momentarily, bringing the mug up to his lips for a sip, and then he shrugs at you.

“It’s not professional,” he says plainly. “I had to look the part.”

You smile at him, shaking your head before responding.

“Not the hair,” you emphasize. “Directing. Why’d you stop directing?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked the question so boldly, despite pondering it for all the time you’ve known him. And his composure turns uncomfortable again, as though the question implies much more than it lets on.

“You don’t have to answer,” you say to him after a brief silence, feeling guilty for having overstepped. But Jisung shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows before speaking again.

“It was eating me alive,” he explains, his gaze falling to a distant stack of books as he thinks back to his days as a director. “I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep- I wanted to be the best. I just wasn’t a very good person.”

You nod at his words- it’s a phenomenon you know very well already, being a music major yourself. The soul-crushing weight of turning everything into a competition, of bypassing your peers and losing loved ones along the way. You’re pretty sure your lack of friends in college can be largely attributed to the same thing.

“Well I think you’re a good person,” you say finally, but his gaze still doesn’t find yours. You can tell there’s more he wants to say- but he remains there, staring into the distance, pondering a lifetime of regret he’ll continue to take with him if he doesn’t at least try to address the hurt.

“I wasn’t,” is all he can say, earning another head shake from you.

“You can’t blame yourself for wanting to be good, Jisung. I’m sure you feel the same thing working as a professor. Besides, that doesn’t mean you can’t-”

“I was a lousy husband,” Jisung finally blurts out, and your eyes snap to his gaze again, finally making contact with his trembling eyes.

“Husband?” You echo, and he swallows nervously.

“I married so young,” Jisung tells you now, folding his legs on the couch in front of him. “I thought it was the right move, fresh out of college with a girl I’d been dating for four years. I had everything- a job, a wife, a sense of stability.”

You’re taken aback by the admission, never once having taken Jisung to be a formerly-married man. He is young, and aside from the sexual tension that’s risen between the two of you, he shows no interest in pursuing another partner.

“The divorce cost me everything,” Jisung says, his eyes glazing over again as he recounts the story. “I was responsible for somebody walking away from what they believed was a lifetime of stability. And she knew it, too, that I was lousy. She told me- her parents told me. I just wanted to be the best at my work. And it cost me everything. So I quit. And I opted for something that wouldn’t drive me crazy anymore.”

Jisung’s heart races wildly in his chest as he speaks, and then he’s hit with the realization that he’s venting to a student of his- one who shouldn’t be occupying his apartment in the first place. One he slept with several times last night- one who he feels oddly safe confiding in. But a student, nonetheless.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Jisung finally says, furrowing his brows again. “I’m sorry- maybe you should go.”

You remain quiet, still sat on the floor, not even halfway finished with the cup of coffee he’s brewed. And he feels bad again, knowing it’s not fair to be taking his frustration out on you.

“Do you want me to leave?” You ask in a meek voice. Jisung chews the inside of his lip, meeting your gaze with a sorrowful expression. At first he shrugs, like he might indeed want you out of this space he calls home. But then he shakes his head sheepishly, shrinking back into the couch cushions and sighing heavily.

You’re not entirely sure what to say to him, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but longing to keep him company. He just seems lonely, you can’t help but think to yourself. He’s so ridden with loneliness, and guilt and yearning for more.

“Jisung,” you say to him, setting your mug aside and folding your hands in your lap.

He meets your gaze again, a sort of heavy, exhausted expression on his face.

“Do you really think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 is missing something?” You then ask him, referring to the annotations from his textbook.

He keeps his gaze set on yours, fascinated you’ve remembered his penned-in opinions on the aforementioned works from class. And then he nods lightly, humming a little in response to you.

“There’s no resolution,” Jisung huffs. “It just fades into nothingness.”

You nod back at him, sitting back on the palms of your hands and cocking your head slightly.

“That's a resolution to some listeners,” you say to him. “Maybe you just desire something beyond those last notes.”

His gaze flickers over your knowing expression, pondering the way you speak of the familiar tune.

“Maybe you ought to seek what a resolution is to you.”

*

“I think Professor Han is fucking somebody,” Mina says to you one day as she gets ready in front of the full-length mirror across from her bed.

“Why do you say that?” You retort with a small chuckle, your interest piqued at her words.

“Haven’t you noticed he cancels class a lot?” She replies, wiping a mascara smudge off from below her left eye. “He runs late all the time now, he just shows up in a t-shirt when he does lecture. And he just seems happier, overall. That’s every indication that he’s getting some action.”

You thumb the pages of your textbook- or rather, Professor Han’s textbook, red pen grasped between your fingers as you finish up an annotation.

An annotation you pen in just for him- responses to his music suggestions, comments about his analyses and flirting between the lines of music notes. The textbook is exchanged back and forth between the two of you, conversing secretly between the thin pages of music theory, producing poetry from a language only the two of you speak- by each other, and for each other.

Sometimes you imagine it the way Mozart and Constanze’s relationship unfolded- secret, but robust, full of passion and yearning for one another.

And when you tell Jisung about it later that week, he practically doubles over in laughter, eyes forming little crescents as the melodious tune of his “ha ha’s” fills the space between the two of you.

“I guess I never realized how presumptuous you students can be,” he says, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t seem worried in the slightest- at least not with this cautious system the two of you have developed to maintain the secrecy. You don’t linger in his classroom when lectures conclude, careful not to make it too obvious that you’re waiting around for him. Instead, you meet him at his apartment, just a few blocks away from campus and void of people who might piece together the reality of the situation, like Mina. It’s convenient that she doesn’t seem to suspect anything regarding why you’re always absent from your shared dorm now, considering she’s always at her boyfriend’s place, anyway. And although Jisung makes a mental promise to himself to stop canceling his evening classes so frequently, he can’t help it.

He’s just as drawn to you as you are to him, finding solace in the way he can finally confide in somebody after so long. Jisung thinks back to the way he handled the divorce so privately, quietly putting in his two weeks notice as a musical director and opting for a career path which didn’t take so much of his time and sanity.

He recalls the majority of his friends and family acknowledging what a lousy husband he’d been, and the feeling of knowing he’d made a colossal mistake agreeing to marry so young when he could hardly grasp what he even wanted further down the line. But to you, he’s just a work in progress- you’re still enchanted by the way his mistakes are rooted in sheer passion for his work. The way he lights up when he speaks of his old days as a director, the alluring poetry he produces for you between the pages of a course-assigned textbook. He’s so much more than his mistakes- he’s so much more than the evident loneliness, and guilt, and yearning he harbors.

And although the physical aspect is but a minuscule factor of the relationship, it’s still undeniably sweeping, as though it’s another language the two of you share in secrecy. Jisung had admitted once that he hadn’t even been with another woman following the divorce- a fact which you now know to be true, the way he fucks with such desperation, as though he’s going to lose you to the same careless mistakes as before. But he also understands that you’re different, and that you don’t apprehend him for any of his former mistakes.

He indulges you in tales of his days directing, one arm slung lazily around your waist as he holds you close and plays old films of the symphonic band in action. And it’s more captivating to watch him get lost in his work, the way his eyes glaze over as he watches himself on screen, the thin black baton waving around in rushed motions as the band plays. He wears elegant suits lined with brass buttons and expensive cufflinks, and the expression on his face when the on-screen symphony turns to him for direction- hundreds of eyes eagerly awaiting his next move, as though he controls them. Pairs of eyes who actually give a shit about the field of work- not just make an appearance for a grade. He grins ear to ear when you pry for more answers, and especially when you conflate the pieces to that of your own, mentally recalling your own piano sheet music. And when you deluge him in compliments, reminding him that he’s remarkable for all that he’s done, and he’s still remarkable- as a professor, and even following his divorce, he can’t help but grow hard at the affection, reveling in the robust support and the love he’s not sure he’s ever felt before you.

He’ll often make love to you right there on the sofa, symphonic pieces still playing faintly on the tv in the background, and he’ll do it again and again to convey the reminder that he’s grateful, and that no one has ever heard him the way that you do.

*

One month into the arrangement, Jisung texts you in a sheer panic, requesting you meet him in the east lecture hall. It’s extremely uncharacteristic of him to make efforts to meet in the one place you could get caught, but still you adhere to his request, throwing on a sweater and rushing out of your vacant dorm to the east side of campus.

The campus buildings are almost haunting at this hour, no more than two, maybe three students in sight under the dim glow of the lamps that line the concrete pathways. The building names are also completely indistinguishable at this hour amidst the sheer darkness, and the only sounds that can be heard are the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional roll of a skateboard. When you arrive at the grand hall, you quickly realize it’s no longer accessible, closed off by rows of fencer wire and shut off entirely from the rest of the school.

“It’s finally done for,” a voice says from beside you, and you know it to be Jisung’s before even turning to face him.

“Already? I thought construction was supposed to begin next semester, though.”

Jisung shakes his head, hands stuffed in his pockets as he exhales deeply.

“I got the email today,” he says in a frustrated tone. “Just some short thing about not delaying the project. They’re moving me to the tiny little hall around the corner.”

You take a moment to think over the hall he speaks of- it might as well be a mobile classroom with how small it is in size, just one narrow hallway that branches off into a line of 3 other rooms. The desks are reminiscent of those from your high school days, and you can’t remember the heating ever having worked during your time passing through, the hall constantly freezing when it rains.

“I didn’t even get a proper send-off,” he reiterates, his gaze not moving from the bright orange temporary fencing. “I would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it one last time.”

You think for a moment, taking a brief moment to glance around you at the eerily empty campus, and then you turn back to Jisung with a small shrug.

“Don’t you still have your keys?”

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “But…”

Jisung doesn’t finish his sentence, instead pondering the suggestion as he keeps his gaze on the fencing. He knows it would be reckless, practically breaking into the old lecture hall like this to give it one last look, but he’s also overtaken with frustration and a longing for closure.

“I do have my old keys,” he says suddenly, glancing around the vacant buildings nearby, at the faint silhouettes of shadowy trees and dim streetlamps. You watch curiously as he runs a hand along the tip of the neon orange fence, pushing down to locate where it gives in a little. And just at the very end of it, it does, pulling down much further and lowering just enough so that it’s adequate to climb over. Jisung hoists himself over the fencing, his muscular arms steadying himself as he lifts one leg over the fence, followed by the other, and then grounds himself in the muddy grass on the other side. It's the first time you take notice that he’s in a simple pair of blue jeans, brushing mud off his toned thighs and then meeting your gaze again.

“Come on,” he says to you, nearing the fence again and holding a hand out, beckoning you to follow his lead. You don’t think twice before you’re mirroring his actions, hoisting your frame over the plastic fencing and planting two feet in the mud, Jisung helping you regain your balance with his calloused hands finding purchase on your waist and then interlocking his fingers with yours.

“I hope they haven’t changed the locks yet,” he says, leading you to the familiar grand entrance of the lecture hall. His keys are fished out of the pockets of his jeans, jingling softly as he twists his gold key into the lock, and then with an affirmative thud of the door being pushed open, he smiles to himself, beckoning for you to follow him inside.

The lecture hall is even more eerie than the campus is at this hour, not a single light illuminating the dark wooden floors that span the tower. The moonlit glow through the windows flashes with the gentle wave of trees that almost grazes against the glass panes, and you can’t quite distinguish where the gargantuan ceilings even end in this darkness. Jisung makes his way to the spiral staircase to the right of the room, craning his neck up to get a good view of the room, and then he beckons you again with the wave of his hand.

“They haven’t touched the stairs yet,” he says, beginning up the stairs with one hand cascading along the wooden banister. You follow behind him, the only sound echoing around the hall being the familiar loud creak of the stairs as you make your ascent. And for the first time, it’s a sound you realize you’re going to miss very dearly, never having realized it was something you took for granted all this time. The way these stairs obnoxiously announce your arrival when you’re late to class with a coffee in hand, or how the wooden steps boom in volume when students rush down them in hordes toward their next class. Although you’ll have graduated and moved on by then, the knowledge that everything is going to be different remains a jarring fact.

At the top of the stairs, it’s comforting to see that nothing looks different just yet, the podium still intact and rows of chairs folded neatly in their places. Jisung doesn’t make any move to turn on the lights, careful not to reveal that anyone’s broken into the old building, and he makes his way to the podium, staring out at the sea of vacant chairs that sit untouched amidst the darkness.

“I loved this room,” he says after a moment of silence, his voice laced with regret.

You span the perimeter behind the podium, grazing your hands along the old walls, recalling how many times you’d stared at them beyond Jisung’s pacing figure as he spoke of composers and musical theory.

When you make your way to the podium alongside him, mirroring the way he stares out at the empty seats, he glances at you briefly out of his peripheral vision. Jisung wonders if you can tell that the demolition of this room is so painfully metaphorical for him, like one final indication that he deserves no better than the confines of a dingy little room far away from this one. As though every time he feels he’s that much closer to redeeming himself following a nasty divorce, he’s shut out again, misplaced, suddenly right back to where he was five years ago. Misguided, lost, full of regret and a permanent yearning for resolution- one that never seems to come.

In fact, he’s pretty sure you’re the closest he’s ever gotten to one, when you’re assuring him that there is a life beyond the mistakes he made in his early 20s- that the curse of pondering his place here doesn’t have to define him entirely. And that there’s always still time- to love, to better himself, and to revisit the passion which once drove him mad.

It doesn’t mean it’s going to repeat itself, you had told him once. You could do it differently.

“I don’t think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 needed a coda,” you say to him, breaking the deafening silence between you two in the vast empty space of the room.

Jisung finally turns to look at you, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he replies.

“Why’s that?”

“It doesn’t need to repeat the entire first part,” you explain to him. “That part is emphasized enough. I think the listener should appreciate that it just ends where it ends.”

Jisung thinks over your words for a moment, not entirely sure why you’ve brought up the piece way back from chapter 8 of his lectures. And yet he nods in response, his breath hitching in the back of his throat a little when you turn to face him, too.

“I like that it’s a little unclear,” you finally say to him.

And this time he doesn’t respond- not with words at least, opting to pull you in for a gentle kiss, his hands working their way down the small of your back. His lips feel somber against yours, like he seeks to inhibit his sadness with the tender touch of your lips against his, pushing you back against the wooden podium and spinning you around to work kisses down your neck.

There are no words spoken between the two of you, just the vibration of small moans echoing from your lips as he sucks a hickey into your flesh, even though he knows he shouldn’t mark you. And yet he does, a physical reminder that you belong to him, and hopefully one to convey the notion that you’re the closest thing he’s ever gotten to resolution.

Jisung’s hands work your blouse open, his jeans pressing into you from behind, already rock-hard for you as his hands tug off your shirt. And he giggles against your flesh when you gasp at the cold air that grazes your skin.

“Jisung,” you say to him, your hands gripping the wood of the podium. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

It’s he who brushes off the lewd act, consoling you with the unzip of his jeans, his bulge pressing into your thigh as he continues to work kisses down your neck.

“We won’t get caught, baby,” he says as his fingers rub circles over your clothed core under the thin fabric of your skirt. “I promise.”

And then it’s you tugging your own panties down, allowing him full access to your wet cunt as the palm of his hand works you in rhythmic back and forth motions. He doesn’t even need to touch you- not when you’re already dripping for him. And yet he remains like that for several minutes, breathing heavily into the shell of your ear as your moans echo around the dark lecture hall, his cock only growing harder against you with every touch.

It’s undoubtedly arousing for him to look out at the classroom he’s lectured in for so many years, one he usually associates with nervous test-takers and monotonous speeches- and to watch the very same space be filled with your gasps of pleasure. His eyes scan over the very seat you occupy every week, recalling the times he’s fantasized about exactly this- touching you the way he knows you deserve to be touched and making you his in the forbidden confines of a classroom. Without so much as a word, his boxers are pulled down too, positioning you in front of him and allowing his fingers to wrap around the base of his leaky cock. He strokes himself just once, eyes shutting at the sensation of his tip brushing against your warm flesh. And then he prods into your entrance, tapping ever so gently as his other hand intertwines with yours.

You take him with complete ease, the way you always do when he’s fucking you this sweetly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as indication to speed up his movements. But he doesn’t- he just maintains a steady pace inside of you, his hips smacking lightly against yours as he resumes wet kisses along your shoulder.

A million thoughts graze his mind as he fucks you- like the fading notes of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, and how evidently his annotations referencing a coda have resonated with you. Or the tales of Mozart and Constanze’s secret love, of Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann and a lifetime of unrequited romance that never quite got its closure. Jisung thinks about the nights you two spend in his apartment, watching reruns of him directing symphonies, or mornings when he cancels class because all he can do is lie entangled with you and bask in the love you two share in the privacy of his home.

His mind also goes back to the divorce, a constant pain he carries with him, remembering all the ways he let other people down in efforts to focus on his career and his love of music. Nights he stayed out far too long annotating sheets of music, knowing very well that his wife was waiting up for him. Anniversaries he forgot, birthdays he failed to prioritize because music always came first. And consequently, begging his ex-wife to stay, knowing very well she had already made up her mind- that he was a lousy person, far too consumed by his career and incapable of loving the way she had.

Jisung’s movements pick up in pace as he thinks about the future of this old building- soon demolished into a pile of dust, the old walls crumbling despite the years of history pent up inside of it. Tests failed and lectures given, days he spent funneling that same passion into something entirely new, because directing was never the same once he understood what a neglectful husband he’d been. The walls to be painted blinding shades of cobalt blue and white, like a fucking dentist’s office, and not an inch of the building to suggest it had ever housed an appreciation for music, simply replaced by a basketball court and cold metal bleachers.

He also thinks about you, and how you made the semester far more tolerable, your beaming smile and your curiosity about not only music, but him, serving as a beacon of hope that perhaps this wasn’t all in vain. And your comforting words helping him understand that perhaps this isn’t what he wants after all, that this chapter of life may very well crumble along with this old building. Maybe this is the end, like resilient music notes approaching the finale of a symphonic piece- and he can either allow the fading discoordination to mark the finish- or take to the da segno, and start again.

Maybe a coda is sooner than he thinks- maybe resolution is closer than he thinks.

You’re well aware of Jisung’s now rapid movements inside of you, gasping at the sheer size of his swollen cock grazing your walls, your hand tightly gripping his and your mind wandering to where his currently lies.

But you can’t verbalize the curiosity- not when he’s interrupting you to tilt your face to his, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your mouth and breathing desire back into you.

His fingers prod themselves into your mouth as he fucks you, murmuring little pleas to let him watch you taste yourself, his cock inserting in tandem with his fingers as he matches their pace. Your moans are stifled as your tongue swirls his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let the pleasure overtake you.

And then he slides his fingers out for a moment, watching strings of saliva drip so erotically down your parted lips as you continue to take his cock obediently.

“I love you,” he says like it’s an epiphany. But it’s not- he reckons he’s known it for a long time now, almost scared at the intensity of his emotions for you. He’s not quite sure he loved his wife like this, and he’s not sure he knew he was even capable of loving again. In fact, Jisung only knows that he truly loved one thing in his lifetime- music. Music, and now you.

“How could I ever ask for a better woman?” He breathes against your skin, goosebumps rising as his words echo Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father and echo in the vast, empty room.

Your reciprocation is muffled with the re-insertion of his fingers in your mouth as he reaches his finish inside of you, painting your walls with his release, holding you close and stimulating your clit again as he coaxes an orgasm out of you, too. And the finish is nowhere near fading, nor discoordinate, as the echoes of your moans reverberate off the walls and fill the emptiness with your passionate yearning for one another.

Da segno

Returning to the dorms to find Mina in her bed for once is a shock to you- especially considering she’s been speaking of a camping trip with her boyfriend for several weeks now.

At first you check your phone, briefly, thinking maybe you’ve gotten the date wrong. But you haven’t- it’s a Friday evening, the same evening you know she should be on route to her planned trip with Lucas.

She’s propped up in bed, carefully examining something when you make your way past her, eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought.

“Hey Mina,” you say to her cautiously, pulling your sweater up a little higher up on your neck.

She doesn’t reply, eyebrows still furrowed as she keeps her head down. And then she chuckles lightly, still not looking up at you.

“I feel like you’re out more than I am these days,” she says to you, and you can’t quite make out whether she’s being condescending or cordial with you.

“Yeah,” you reply nervously, sitting on the edge of your bed across from her and crossing your arms. “Just been trying to take more walks.”

Mina purses her lips, nodding, and then she exhales sharply before she speaks again.

“Lucas broke up with me,” she explains. But she doesn’t sound sad, or even angry- she simply relays the news with a straight face, not even glancing up to catch your shocked expression.

“He did?” You blurt out, feeling an overwhelming sense of sympathy for her- of course you don’t really care for Mina, but you also know how frequently she’s out with him, how highly she speaks of him and how in love she’s been with him for all the years they’ve been together.

“Yeah,” she reaffirms, sighing as she speaks. “He’d been cheating for several months. I’m over it now- I just thought I might get a head-start on this week's notes.”

You nod at her again, still aware she seems to be repressing something, far too casual for your liking and almost ready to lash out at any given second.

“That’s good,” you tell her, crossing your legs on the bed. “I’m really sorry. Let me know if you need anything-”

“I did find this week’s chapter to be particularly interesting,” she interrupts, slouching further back against the wall by her bed.

It’s your turn to furrow your brows, a little confused by her behavior, especially considering she hardly ever reads assigned textbook chapters.

“Listen to this,” Mina says, and then her lips pull into a wicked grin as she begins down the page, her voice laced with rancor.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear y/n,” she begins, and your heart all but stops in your chest.

It’s then that you notice the textbook in her grasp, the familiar old font and the yellowing of the pages- Professor Han’s textbook, the same one riddled with erotic poetry between the lines of music theory.

“Mina, please-” you begin, voice cracking, a futile task as she raises her voice and continues speaking.

“Her whole beauty consists of two sparkling eyes and a delicate figure,” she reads. “She likes to watch me direct symphonies, and she knows music theory like the back of her hand.”

Your heart races in your chest, mind swirling with fearful thoughts as she voices the familiar love letter back to you. Professor Han’s most recent addition to the textbook, derived from Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father, and a written account of Jisung’s affection for you. A letter you’ve read over and over since he produced it, and the same one you so carelessly left lying open on your dorm bed in a rush to go see him at the lecture hall.

“She likes to hear the stories of famous composers and their romances, and she lets me make love to her as though she belongs to me,” Mina reads, her voice growing even louder as you now approach her. Your hands reach desperately for the book, which she holds away from your reach as she now stands up on her bed, her feet digging into the mattress as she steadies herself with one hand on the wall.

“Please, stop,” you beg, to no avail, as she then concludes the letter.

“Most things that a student neglects, she excels in. I love her and she loves me with all her being- tell me whether I could ask for a better woman.”

The room falls painfully quiet as she finishes, thumbing through the pages with a soft rustling sound.

“That’s just one,” she says, maintaining the same wicked expression on her face. “The book is full of them.”

And then she shuts the book, examining the cover, meeting your gaze as she assumes her position back down on the mattress and crosses her legs.

“This is the professor’s textbook, right? That’s why it looks a little different. I had wondered, when I first snatched it from your stuff.”

You stay quiet, your gaze falling to the floor as tears brim your eyes. You want to fight back, but in reality, the book serves as admission itself- there’s no denying it’s a letter from him, to you. It’s incriminating by his loopy cursive handwriting, the book she’s seen him wield so many times in the classroom during lectures and the way he speaks of making love to you.

“You’re fucking Professor Han?” She finally says aloud, and the words sting, although you’ve been expecting them.

“It’s not like that-”

“That’s why you’re doing so well in his class? While the rest of us bust our asses studying for his stupid quizzes? What do you even do, suck him off when nobody’s looking? How big is he?”

“Stop!” You exclaim, the tears now cascading down your flushed cheeks and gathering on your trembling chin.

Mina says nothing as she wears the same stupid smirk on her face, and then she tosses the book to you, which you grasp in your shaky hands. You hold it close to you, wishing so badly you could undo whatever it is she’s seen in the book, but you know that it’s far too late- the book is no longer a sacred little thing between you and Jisung.

“What do you want?” You say to her quietly, sniffling as you tuck the book under your duvet.

“What do I want?” She echoes.

“Yes,” you huff frustratedly. “Anything. Just please don’t tell the dean about this- or anyone, for that matter. I promise to do whatever it is that you ask, especially since-”

Your rambling comes to a sudden halt when Mina begins laughing, her hands clutching her stomach as she does, almost doubling over on the bed and kicking her feet with enthusiasm.

“Do you think I’m gonna blackmail you, or something?” She questions between laughter, meeting your gaze with tears in her eyes as she continues giggling between words.

“I always knew you were weird,” she remarks. “Not like, ‘fuck a professor’ weird. But it is weird that you think I’m gonna blackmail you.”

You don’t say anything to Mina, sitting on your bed again and sprawling one hand out to rest atop the book, which remains hidden under the duvet.

“You mean… you… won’t tell?”

“I’m impressed,” Mina replies, now lying on her side and propping her head up in her hand. “He is the hottest professor on campus. But no, I’m not going to tell anyone. Contrary to your belief, I really don’t care to ruin either of your lives. I have more important things to worry about.”

You sigh a heavy breath, relieved that Mina’s taken the high road and chosen to ignore the situation altogether. But you can’t cease the heavy weight it bears within you, one that fears not for your future, but for Professor Han’s. You know the majority wouldn’t believe it, the tale that this was a mutual thing between the two of you, that he’s just a pained divorcee, and you’re a lonely college student. To the masses, it would look like complete manipulation, Professor Han requiring a sexual relationship from you for an A in his course, and keeping the discrete flirting alive within the pages of his textbook. It’s more irresponsible on his end than it is yours- and although you both know it’s wrong, it still feels different. It still feels as though it’s rooted in yearning.

“I still need a textbook,” Mina says, breaking the silence between you two. “Like, for this week’s chapters.”

“Oh, right,” you say to her quietly, reaching inside your school bag for the correct book. You toss it to her without another word, observing the way she flips to the page she was on, and resumes reading as though nothing happened.

But her voice still replays in your head, reading aloud the sacred letter Professor Han produced for you within his textbook, one that never should have graced anybody else’s eyesight except your own.

And the tears resume as you watch her, a heavy guilt present as the words play in your mind again, and again, and again.

*

Jisung’s apartment doesn’t feel the way it normally does later that week- not when you’re first sauntering in with meek steps, being flooded by a barrage of questions about why you’ve skipped class for two weeks. And especially not when you finally recount the incident to Jisung, tears flooding your eyes and cascading down the deep gray bags that hammock under your lashes. The nights have been sleepless for all fourteen days, tossing and turning on your mattress about whether Mina is actually going to keep her promise about not telling. And she appears to, failing to acknowledge it whenever she’s in your presence, visibly still coping with the aftermath of her breakup. She simply comes and goes in casual strides, sometimes still borrowing your textbook from you and returning it far later than you care for, but it really doesn’t matter by this point. You’ve stopped reading the textbook entirely, coming to terms with the fact that you’ll have to rely on your own knowledge to pass any of the assignments distributed. And Jisung knows something is wrong when he finally does see you after two weeks, dressed loosely in a pair of sweatpants, your face flushed with tears and averting his gaze.

“You’re going to be so mad at me,” you emphasize to him, shielding the tears that fall from your trembling eyes with one hand, as he crouches on the floor in front of you and gives your hand a little squeeze.

And he’s adamant that nothing could make him hate you- that whatever it is you’re facing can be worked through, and that he’s going to stand by you regardless. Yet when you recount the incident to him, explaining the way Mina had read through his written confessions of sleeping with you and expressing his love for you, Jisung falls completely silent- a reaction which is somehow more scary to you than vexed words.

“Are you sure she knows it’s mine?” He asks, pulling away to stand in front of you. He feels much taller when he’s towering over you like this, pacing frantically along the wooden floorboards and chewing on the inside of his lip nervously.

“I’m sure,” you reply quietly. “She must’ve been reading it the entire time I was out. It has your name in it and everything.”

Jisung is quiet again, thinking over your words, and then he places his hands on his hips as he speaks again.

“Did she say anything else?” He inquires.

“She said that she wouldn’t tell anybody. As far as I know, she hasn’t. I just feel-”

“I’m never going to get it now,” he then says, running his hands through his hair nervously and glancing around the room.

“Get what?”

“Jesus,” he says, almost chuckling in disbelief. “I spent all this time interviewing, and if this gets out it could ruin everything.”

“Interviewing?” You echo meekly.

“Just when I thought I had it all again. I was so close to being back. Getting out of this shitty job and making a name for myself again.”

Jisung assumes a spot in one of the chairs across from you, burying his head in his hands and remaining silent. You want to ask him to clarify what he means by interviewing, but you’re also scared of him when he’s like this, knowing he’s reverting back to the version of himself who puts music above everything.

“You couldn’t just make something up?” Jisung then asks, scoffing lightly as he finally meets your gaze.

“What?”

“You couldn’t just fucking lie? Why on earth would you admit to it?”

“Lie?” You repeat to him with a shaky voice. “What did you want me to say?”

“Say I wasn’t interested in you,” Jisung retorts. “Say you were writing the letters to yourself. You’re putting my entire career at risk because you couldn’t be bothered to put my book away?”

You’re taken aback momentarily by Jisung’s words, hardly making sense of them at first. There’s no way he could be blaming you for this- not when he’s just as guilty as you are. In fact, Professor Han may be more guilty, acting upon his urges when he knows the power imbalance he wields over you- you’re just a student of his, nowhere near the status he upholds at this school. But as he continues prodding you for questions about why you hadn’t just lied, or made a bullshit excuse, or something, the message is conveyed loud and clear. He’s blaming you entirely for being found out.

“This is about directing,” you say when the realization hits you, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of it.

“Of course it’s about directing,” he retorts, throwing his hands in the air and scoffing loudly. “I worked my ass off interviewing for one of the most prestigious roles a few hours out of here, I got an offer just yesterday, and now this is going to ruin everything. When they hear about the little fling I had, and they assume I coerced you into it, when you know damn well you led me on. And it’s going to be my divorce all over again.”

A silence falls over the room as you take in his words. You suddenly feel microscopic in his presence as the betrayal sets in, and for the first time since the arrangement, the discomfort of this being a student-teacher relationship washes over you.

“It’s not going to get out,” you say to him softly. “Mina hasn’t told anybody, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Jisung gives a small nod at your words, and then he slides his hands into the pocket of his jeans.

“I hate that you don’t realize when you’re doing the same thing all over again,” you then say to him, averting his stern gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are we even doing this?” You continue, scoffing lightly. “Is this some sick way of reenacting the same mistakes you did before, and hoping for a different outcome? Now your directing days are just within reach again, and you’re doing the same thing, making your shortcoming’s everybody else’s fault except your own. I think you’re more afraid of not being able to relive your glory days than of losing anybody you love.”

“That’s not what this is, and you know that,” Jisung retorts. “You know how I feel about you.”

“Just admit that I’m a distraction because you miss your old life,” you continue, a little calmer now. “It’s the first time your career felt like it once did when you were directing, and in love, and I’m just some good fuck who takes genuine interest in your stories.”

“That’s not what I’m-”

“Do you ever imagine I’m her?” You ask him, meeting his concerned gaze. “When you’re fucking me in your bedroom? Do you ever imagine I’m your ex-wife waiting up for you the way she used to? Pretend you’re still a director and that you finally have everything you want?”

“That’s enough,” Jisung voices, and you shake your head at him.

“You might have been infatuated over some fleeting moment, seeing the face of your ex-wife whenever you looked at me. But I really, truly loved you. And she was right- you are a lousy person. You just can’t seem to understand when your interests take precedence over your emotions.”

Jisung is silent as his lip quivers in response, experiencing all over again what he did on the night his ex-wife left him. He’d always feared it would come back to haunt him- but not like this. Not through repeating the same mistakes all over again- just as he thought he finally found closure.

Like a musical piece with triumphant notes approaching an end, suddenly directing him right back to the symbol forcing repetition. It’s dizzying, and it’s painful, and he’s sure that a conclusion is far from his reach now.

Without another word, you pivot on your heel, gathering your bag and making your way toward his front door again.

“Y/n, please wait,” Jisung calls out, but he can’t find the words to clear his name of your accusations. Instead he remains quiet when you turn to face him, his shoulders sagging in a defeated manner as you shrug in his direction.

“I really think you ought to find what resolution means to you,” you say to him finally. “Repetition isn’t always it.”

*

The dingy old hallway within the radius of the old east lecture hall is indeed just as undesirable as you remembered it- it’s freezing cold when it rains outside, the students struggle to traverse the narrow hall as they brush against each other in passing and the classroom is nowhere near as enchanting as the grand room of the old hall. Made much worse are the stripes of cobalt blue and a blinding shade of white, which line every wall in the building, almost distracting as lectures are conveyed from the front of the room. The students maintain their same positioning as the lecture is given, typing on their laptops, the clicking sounds of keyboards much louder now at this close proximity of all the chairs to each other. And you don’t write down a single thing, staring at the stripes of blue and white on the walls, following their trail from one side of the room until they reach the hinges of the door, and then repeating the process over and over again.

Professor Han’s departure comes as a surprise to many, the students murmuring amongst themselves as they theorize what could cause such a sudden leave. He fought with the dean and quit. He has a terminal illness. He’s sleeping with a student.

Of course some of them come close to the truth, but they’ll never know for sure- not unless they’re one of the two people on campus who do know.

Mina makes an attempt to ask you about it at first, fiddling awkwardly with the pages of your textbook as she inquires about the status of your relationship. She proceeds to ask if you’d known he was leaving, but not before tears are streaming down your face, your words coming out between hiccupped sobs. And all that she’s able to coax out of you is the verbal confirmation that yes, you knew he was leaving, and no, nobody else found out about the arrangement.

Professor Han’s replacement is a shameful excuse for a lecturer, an older man who only knows as much as the textbook explains, and nothing beyond the printed text. He goes so far as to actively discourage questions, expressing his distaste for “wasting time”, yet the students are well aware it’s because he simply doesn’t have the answers they seek. Your classmates don’t care of course, their grades cushioned by the generous 20 points, instead of 10, which Professor Han opted to distribute for the dead composer’s gallery walkthrough as one final parting gift. And aside from one last email thanking the class for their participation in the duration of the few months he taught it, Professor Han promptly makes his departure from your life, too. Not so much as a thank you, an apology or even a love letter the way you know he once would have written, had he not been so consumed by a yearning for his old life. Just like his ex-wife, you’re shut out by him, made to feel as though reciprocated affection is somehow a selfish request. And maybe it is when it comes to Professor Han- maybe he’s truly just incapable of loving without the limitations of his work. Like the famous composers you learn of, he’s a genius in so many ways- just not in romance. And certainly not in learning from his mistakes.

On occasion, you write to him again, tearing out pages from old chapters in your textbook and scribbling along the vacant margins.

“The old lecture hall’s finally been torn down- all that remains are gray dust and pieces of the old stair banister. They’ve already built up part of the new gymnasium. If I look out the new classroom window, I can see them sampling paint swatches- all shades of blue and white, of course. The students miss you- the boys still dress like you, and the girls don’t even look up from their laptops when your replacement speaks. There’s nothing to look at, of course- not when you’re absent.

We finally reached Constanze’s short chapter in the textbook- chapter 14. Did you know she remarried after Mozart? There was no animosity between the two until his death- she spoke so highly of him until the end. We credit Constanze for many of his posthumous works. Ones that never would have seen the light of day without the respect she paid to him.

I think highly of you, too- I know you don’t know it, but I think back to your old videos, when you’d wave around that black baton of yours and lead symphonies. I understand the fear you harbored in letting all of that go.

You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. I wish you hadn’t told me that you were falling in love, and I hope you’re doing terrible-”

Your red pen is set down promptly as you allow yourself to catch your breath, ceasing this unproductive flow of consciousness you spill onto the pages of your textbook. Many nights end this way, your thoughts poured out and then repressed once more, no method of delivering them to him, regardless. And although you want to reconnect with him, you have no way of actually doing so, even his apartment now vacant as he assumes his new role as a director a few hours out of town. It’s a jarring fact, coming to terms with the notion that you’re likely never going to see him again. But you know it’s his way of resolution- repeating the same process as before, hoping for a different outcome.

*

“You’re starting the tempo change too slow,” Jisung says with a heavy sigh, setting his baton down on the music stand and waving his hand. “Pick up from measure three, on your own this time. I’ll be back in five.”

The room fills with the discoordinate overlap of instruments practicing, woodwinds rotating their reeds and brass players emptying spit valves. Jisung makes his way past the double doors, shielding his eyes from the almost blinding rays of sunlight that glare down over the music hall at this hour. And then he leans against the same brick wall he always does when he’s this mentally exhausted, shutting his eyes momentarily and exhaling.

He’s directing again, conducting symphonic pieces he’s only ever dreamed of. His hair is two shades lighter than it was when he was teaching, his closet is filled to the brim with elegant blazers and he’s compiled a generous collection of gold and silver cufflinks the way he once used to. But something feels different- and it’s felt that way for months now.

Sometimes Jisung can’t recall if symphonies were always this arduous to lead. He’s almost certain he’s verbally noted the painfully slow tempo change to them about a trillion times, and yet every time the metronome is turned on, guiding them with the obnoxious repetitive click at 80 beats per minute, they’re too slow.

Slow enough for his mind to wander elsewhere- like whether they’ll ever have the chance to rehearse the final few bars of this piece. Or questioning if they actually respect him here, as a director, and not just as a replacement for a metronome when he’s not yelling at them.

And occasionally, as much as he hates to admit it, the thoughts involve you. His pride’s too far gone to admit he ruined things, and his ego would never let him find you and convey some form of an apology- especially not after begging someone to stay once long ago, to no avail. But his mind wanders to the image of you in the audience, observing him keenly with the same beaming smile on your face and a genuine interest in whatever it is he’s doing- whether it be conducting grand symphonies, lecturing facts he’s memorized like the back of his hand or even just recounting old tales alongside you.

In the pocket of his blazer lies the same pathetic scrap of paper he just can’t seem to let go of- and as he glances at the inching second hand on his wristwatch, he pulls it out again, carefully undoing it from its folded state and scanning the contents. Page 256 from his textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with his scribbled annotations, and yours, so perfectly complementing all of his remarks.

“Coda?” He had written along the margins- a little addition that stuck with you all that time. Every time you were tangled in his embrace, listening to stories of his days as a director, Jisung pressing little kisses to your forehead, you’d inquire about his need for a musical epilogue. One that you didn’t believe was necessary within the piece, feeling as though the repetition equated redundancy in this case. “I think the listener should just appreciate that it ends where it ends,” you’d told him once, a statement he disagreed with at the time, but one he finds himself thinking over a lot these days.

Perhaps you were so certain about the finale of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 because you could appreciate every other measure of the piece. The triumphant swell of the crescendos that mark the introduction, the changes within tempo and the distinctly separate movements that complement each other with such force. Measures that Jisung seemed to neglect, always searching for something beyond the eight notes that make up the piece in its entirety. But maybe you were right all along, that sometimes a listener should simply appreciate where a piece ends- that there doesn’t need to be any form of repetition, or even the need for a coda. Maybe those fading, discoordinate notes are enough- maybe that’s a coda in itself.

The double doors swing open as Jisung takes careful note of the symbol you also tagged at the bottom of the page, an oval with a cross through the center, a coda- an offer for resolution.

“Jisung?” Somebody asks, and he glances up to catch the gaze of who he remembers to be a third chair woodwind player.

“We practiced measure three again,” he says cautiously. “Could you… have a listen one more time?”

Jisung sighs, tucking the folded piece of paper back into his blazer and glancing beyond the student through the double doors. The music hall is dark inside, despite it being the middle of the day, the navy blue carpeting and the tinted windows completely obscuring the beauty of the world beyond the four walls. And then he looks the other direction, at the clear blue skies and the bustling roads, where the people don’t look back the way he’s done for so long.

“Sir?” The student asks again, twiddling his fingers together in front of his collared shirt.

“Not now. I’m leaving early today,” Jisung says, buttoning his blazer closed and giving the student a small nod. “Practice measure three until it’s perfected for next time.”

And then he begins toward his car, taking purposeful strides with a plan he hasn’t even conjured up yet, only knowing he has to keep looking forward if he wants any sort of resolution to all of this.

“And for god’s sake,” Jisung then calls out suddenly, stopping in his tracks to convey the message clearly.

“Get the tempo right, next time, will you? I’m tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.”

Coda

The evening of some important date in December is marked by the particularly frosty air, your dorm window fogged up with a sheet of ice and the halls much too cold to traverse without generous layers of clothing.

The remaining students here walk up and down the length of the hallways with cardboard boxes balanced in their arms, talking excitedly amongst themselves about plans for graduation parties and post-college life. And you can’t seem to part with the comfortable atmosphere of your dorm bed, neglecting your own stack of boxes as Mina makes her way in and out of the shared dorm room you’ve gotten so accustomed to.

“Are you using that box?” She asks, loudly sealing one with packing tape and setting it on top of another.

“No,” you say plainly. “It’s all yours.”

She takes careful notice of the way you remain draped over the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as you think back to the last of your college days. A formal graduation in a week, which you’ve already opted out of. A series of parties even Mina tried to drag you to, every invitation promptly declined. And a prestigious internship in the city waiting for you come springtime, where you’ll be right back to appreciating the intricacies of music theory and piano.

Everything should feel as though it’s falling into place- and yet it doesn’t. It feels different- and it’s felt different for months now.

In a perfect world, you reckon you’d be elated to make your departure from these dorms, and anticipate the new life that awaits you after these four years of dedication. But you can’t help but feel as though something is missing from all of this- something well beyond your reach.

You think back to Brahms and Clara Schumann a lot these days, and the passionate, yet unrequited love that he took to the grave with him. He never got close to what he wanted- he had music, and a career so successful he was deemed one of the best composers who ever lived. And yet much of his life’s work was still rooted in unadulterated yearning, because he never had Clara Schumann. You want so badly to place your own musical accomplishments over your yearning, and yet you can’t. Not when the yearning had quickly transitioned to unrequited love the same way it did for Brahms, and it’s been that way since Jisung left.

You also think of Mozart and Constanze, and how he fought for everything to be with her, despite the hardships they faced. And you want to scream at Jisung when you recall Mozart’s letter to her father, one that’s now been tainted by his poetic words to you along the margins of his course textbook.

“Y/n, you’re never going to finish packing today at this rate,” Mina remarks, occupying a spot next to you on the bed. “Do you need help or something?”

“I’m good,” you say to her, meeting her gaze as she looms over you.

She remains quiet for a moment, examining your expression, and then she folds her hands in her lap politely.

“You know,” she begins. “You’re the smartest musician I’ve ever met. It’s a little weird how much you know sometimes.”

“Thanks,” you retort with a small chuckle.

“And I don’t think messing around with anybody got you where you are today. You did that yourself.”

You meet her gaze finally, not speaking as she shrugs softly. You’re a little surprised at the kind tone she assumes, wondering briefly if there’s some sort of catch to her words.

“Just… give yourself what you deserve,” she finishes. “Whether that means going back, or looking forward. But don’t settle for less than you really want. I did, for so long. And I’ll be the first to tell you it’s not worth it.”

You swallow as you nod at her words, knowing who she refers to without the utterance of a name. And then you furrow your brows as you press her for one more thing.

“Mina,” you say to her. “Why didn’t you tell anybody? What did you get out of keeping my dirty secret?”

She chuckles softly, throwing her head back and shrugging before speaking again.

“Those annotations,” she begins. “They’re not just some dirty little secret. That’s… a sort of thing I’ve never seen at that proximity. They way you speak to each other, it’s like some language the rest of us would never understand. At first, I thought I was skimming too far ahead in the textbook or something. Of course, maybe it also had something to do with the 10 extra points he gave us before leaving.”

You laugh lightly at the same time she does, and then her expression grows serious again as she picks at a loose thread on the duvet.

“It just kinda sounded like you two were in love,” she finishes. “I wouldn’t get in the way of that.”

You hold her gaze for a moment as she stands up again, brushing off her jeans and hoisting another box into her arms.

“Anyways,” she continues. “I’m out of here. Good luck in the city, and-”

“Mina,” you interrupt her, sitting up to look at her properly.

She blinks a few times, surprised you’re sitting up in bed for the first time today, and holds your gaze over the sealed top of her cardboard box.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough.”

Mina smiles, her pink glossed lips pulling into a kind grin, and there’s no remaining tension between the two of you for possibly the first time since you’ve lived together.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, accompanied by a gentle nod. “Oh- and you might want to check out the new part of the gymnasium they finished constructing today. I think they followed your advice and finally put a piano in there.”

And then she’s off again, shooting you a small wink before she saunters out of your dorm, this time for good.

*

The chill of the December air is unforgiving at the early hours of the morning like this, the campus nearly empty as students depart from the place they’ve called home for four years, their college years packed up into cardboard boxes and sealed away at last.

You still have a lot of packing to finish yourself, a new chapter in the city awaiting you while you traverse the concrete village one last time. And although these halls have housed some of your most stressful memories, staying up late studying for exams and rushing to make it to class on time, you’re going to miss every part of it. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas.

And of course, the grant east lecture hall- one you’ve already missed for the better part of the semester following its demolition. As you round the corner, you can make out the new gymnasium that’s already partially erected in its place. It’s another blinding shade of white, like the rest of the buildings are, closed off to the public and still lined with the same bright orange temporary plastic fencing as before. At where is supposed to become the entrance at some point in time, a rectangular cutout in the concrete slab of a wall, nothing but a thin plastic tarp prohibiting entry. And though you know that you really shouldn’t, you can’t help yourself, hoisting your legs over the orange fencing to the other side, your feet planting into the grass lining with a gentle thud.

There’s nobody around at this hour to watch you sneak into the new gymnasium- and realistically, what form of punishment can they even issue, anyway? Expel you?

The tarp sways with the gentle caress of a December breeze, like an invitation to come wander the new space which once housed years of history, now structured for basketball games and college rallies alike. And with one last look around, only to ensure nobody’s watching you partake in the prohibited act, you sneak your way past the orange fencing, kicking the tarp aside to gain entry, and then taping it back into place behind you.

It looks like a gymnasium- and it smells like a gymnasium. Gone are the overpowering scent of mothballs that once graced the music hall’s staircase, replaced instead by the woody notes of sawdust and fresh paint. The walls are white, true to the rest of the school’s buildings, and along the walls which are finished, the signature cobalt blue stripe. At this proximity, it’s almost humorous to bask in the putrid colors you’re grateful you’ll never have to stare at again.

As you take in your surroundings, you remember Mina’s words from earlier, recalling a new piano they placed here, and you scan the room from left to right- only there’s nothing. No piano- not even a dingy keyboard like the one in the old practice room. Why would a piano be here, anyway? In a gymnasium meant for sports and jock gatherings? Could it be Mina’s way of sending you off with one final bout of animosity?

You’re doubtful- that isn’t Mina. You know her way of comforting you earlier was rooted in the good intentions she’s always had. Which still begs the question- why did she send you here?

As you begin toward the other side of the gymnasium, a gentle rustle from the tarp startles you, the blue masking tape being lifted piece by piece and moved aside for another person to gain entry.

Construction workers, you think to yourself. It’s going to be awkward getting out of this one. And as you approach the cutout in the concrete wall again, ready to conjure up some form of an explanation, another person does make entry, crouching so as not to bump his head, as he stumbles inside and regains his balance.

His hair is two shades lighter than the last time you saw him. He still wears the same dorky wireframe glasses as before. And he looks elegant, in a white button down and black blazer, the same canvas sneakers he used to love double-knotted at the laces and complementing his black slim-fitting slacks.

“What are you doing here?” Is all you can say to him as he approaches, his hands shoved in his pockets and a leather bag slung over his shoulder.

“Mina practically chased me when I was leaving,” he says, gesturing to the empty space around you both. “Said I had to come see some new piano they put in here.”

He glances around the room, eyebrows furrowed in a confused manner, and then he turns to face you.

“Where is it?”

“There is no piano,” you say to him, crossing your arms frustratedly. “She told me the same thing.”

Jisung begins to say something, and then he stops, giving a small nod as he averts your cold stare.

His thumb toys with a loose thread inside the pocket of his slacks, and then he meets your gaze again, strands of brown hair falling into the shy expression he wears on his face.

“Graduated, huh? How’s it feel?”

“Fine,” you reply in a reluctant tone. “I leave today.”

“Where are you headed?” Jisung asks, swallowing nervously.

“Landed an internship in the city,” you tell him. “It’s close by. Just some piano thing.”

Jisung’s lips pull into a grin, chuckling lightly as he nods in response. “I always knew you’d land something good.”

You remain quiet, looking around the gymnasium once again, and then you turn to him with some hesitation.

“What are you doing here?”

Jisung sighs deeply, looking around the gymnasium, too, before speaking.

“I had an interview. Quit my directing gig.”

His words take you aback momentarily, a million questions racing through your mind about why he’s no longer directing and why he’d be interviewing here of all places.

“You interviewed here?”

“Wasn’t so much of an interview as it was a conversation,” he retorts. “They even had my old badge. I really need to get that updated considering my hair’s not technically black anymore-”

“Why would you interview here?” You emphasize to him again. “You hated it here. I thought you wanted some fancy directing thing.”

Jisung is quiet again, digging the heel of his canvas sneaker into the thick layer of sawdust that lines the floor. He knows that his ego is far too big, and he’s still consumed with an overwhelming amount of selfish pride. But he also knows that he’s not going to find any form of resolution without breaking this vicious cycle of repeating his mistakes, especially when a resolution is finally within reach.

“Look, I fucked up, okay?” Jisung finally says, taking you by complete surprise.

“The minute I started there again, I knew that wasn’t my calling anymore. Maybe it was back when I was still young, and all starry-eyed for the stupid baton and the fancy suits.”

He turns to face you at this point, taking a step toward you and almost physically demanding you reciprocate the eye contact.

“But you were right- that chapter of my life is finished now. And yeah, maybe the students don’t pay attention when I stand up there and lecture. And sure, I’m just going to be some lousy assistant college band director out here. But finding you- and the way you’d listen to me, and the way you never judged me for my shortcomings, even though I was a shitty husband once, and a shitty professor and an even shittier boyfriend to you- you made me realize it was finally time to let go.”

Jisung can’t seem to cease his emotional speech once he begins, frantically gesturing as he continues speaking. He feels like a different person entirely in this vulnerable form- like the Jisung you knew when he was first breaking his walls down around you. And the Jisung you know when he isn’t putting his dreams of a past life before the people he loves.

“… and then I couldn’t stop thinking about Brahms and Clara, and how he died without ever having told her how he felt. Or Tchaikovsky who had to hide who he loved- and then Mozart! God, that stupid letter- she remarried, you know that? Did you ever get to that chapter? Of course you did, before I could tell you, at least.”

Jisung paces the floor in rushed motions as he speaks, his wet sneakers squeaking obnoxiously along the gym floor as the words escape his lips. You don’t try to speak for a little while, carefully soaking in what you assume to be an apology. And then he stops in his tracks, eyebrows arching into a pleading expression as he towers over you.

“Music isn’t the same without you,” he finishes. “None of this is.”

You lock your gaze with Jisung’s, his big brown eyes almost trembling as he awaits a reply. And simultaneously, you do your best not to let your guard down too quickly.

“Is this how it unfolded back then, too?” You ask calmly. “When you begged somebody to stay after the first time you made this mistake?”

Jisung’s lips part to say something, but then he’s quiet again, waiting for you to continue, praying for something better than this.

“I think you’re a genius,” you continue. “I think you’re remarkable, and talented, and loving you comes so easily. But you make it hard when you do the same thing to everybody you’ve ever loved.”

“You’re the first woman I’ve ever loved,” Jisung blurts promptly, and a deafening silence falls over the room. He hesitates to continue at this point, fearing as though he’s going to scare you off, but he’s also never verbalized it to you despite thinking about it every waking second of the day, and he’s determined not to form new mistakes he could risk repeating.

“I let it happen back then because music was the only thing I loved,” he explains. “It was a shitty thing, and for so long I struggled to move on because I was still lost in the only thing I ever loved. And then you came along; I don’t need to direct when I have you. I’ll be a teacher- hell, I’ll be a fucking janitor if that’s what you want. You were my sign to move on from repeating the same fucking thing all over again- you are my end.”

Jisung breathes heavily as he finishes, gauging the shocked expression in your trembling eyes. He waits for you to say something, and then without averting your gaze, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to you.

You unfold it slowly, already knowing it by the familiar yellowing color and small printed font- page 256 of his course-assigned textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with all your annotations alongside his. Only his are no longer visible- they’re crossed out, completely scribbled over in black pen, concealing his call for any form of repetition within the piece. All that remains at the bottom of the page, in the same red pen you first marked in, is a single oval with a cross through it- a coda.

Your gaze meets his after examining the page briefly, surprised he’s kept it after all this time. And then he sags his shoulders a little, gesturing to the page still in your grasp.

“I passed my sign once,” he says sheepishly. “Just please come back to me.”

Jisung doesn’t wait for you to respond this time, instead cupping your cheeks gently with his hands and pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which you don’t hesitate to reciprocate, letting your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him even closer to you. His lips work against yours eagerly, but still tenderly, breathing all of his desire back into you and confirming the notion that this is all he’s ever really yearned for.

He smiles into the kiss against you, grazing his thumbs up to wipe stray tears that cascade along your cheeks, and then with one more chaste kiss to your lips, he pulls away once more, chuckling lightly.

“Can we just start over?” He asks you innocently. “No repetition, no secrecy. Just start anew.”

You chuckle lightly at his proposal, nodding in his embrace, and then he pulls away entirely to hold a hand out to you.

“Han Jisung,” he says. “I’m an assistant director for the college band.”

“Y/n,” you respond with a smile, shaking his hand firmly.

“So lovely to meet you- can I interest you in a tour of the gymnasium I work in?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, beginning down the length of the vast space and gesturing to the walls beside you.

“This is where I yell at students to fix their tempos,” Jisung explains, giving your shoulder a little squeeze as you chuckle in response to him.

“And this is where I tell stories about famous composers and their love lives. Tell me, y/n- do you know the tale of Mozart and Constanze?” He then asks with a smile.

“I can’t say I do,” you play along, earning an exaggerated gasp from him.

“Well then I’d love to tell you all about it. How do you feel about art galleries? There’s one not far from here…”

And Jisung’s hand drops to yours, intertwining your fingers together as he lets himself start anew, alongside who he now knows to have been a sign for him this entire time- a coda, an epilogue, an offer for resolution.

[iblowjone]

im gonna say it:

𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞-𝐚-𝐡𝐨𝐞! - spiderman!han jisung x fem!reader

wc: 11.1k

cw: han jisung is spiderman, a brief attack of an alien in school, both characters are 18+ (legal) but are intended to be in high school, friends to lovers, jisung calling mc baby at any given moment

synopsis: you’re obsessed with spiderman, but after a certain event takes place, you become convinced your best friend and spiderman are the same person.

a/n: after a long wait… HEHE smut warnings under the cut and as usual 18+ MDNI!!!!!!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: brief mention of masturbation (both), oral (fem!rec), slightly switchy both parties, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, loss of virginity (both), cumswapping, relatively tame given that its me

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re intrigued.

Interested seemed like too little of a word to use for how you feel whenever you see the latest news report. In a world full of superhuman serums and bulletproof skin, he is still intriguing. Maths homework could be ignored, as far as you’re concerned - and that’s bold for you, because you love maths. You wonder if he likes maths, too.

Every night at 6pm sharp, you settle in front of the television and wait for the news. Spiderman, the hero in question, is always up to something. He loves shooting his webs across the tallest skyscrapers in the city, dangling from them precariously without a care before he lets out a loud, earth-shattering giggle and beats the newest bad-guy that your world has attracted. You always wince at the reports, wondering just how he healed from the injuries he must sustain. It had to be down to the spider venom, you supposed.

“He’s dangerous,” Your dad huffs. He’s lounging on his normal armchair, peeling leather be damned, munching on a bag of crisps. You grimace at his crisp covered digits motioning towards the television. You love your dad, really, and your mum - you just always differed in opinions when it came to Spiderman. He was so fucking cool, and you seriously feel like a child saying that all of the time, despite your best friend Jisung telling you that we all have our interests. “I mean, he’s putting normal civilians in danger. Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman my ass.”

“Honey,” Your mother admonishes, digging through her own bag of crisps. You briefly consider why you haven’t been offered one. They look tasty, when your father isn’t rubbing luminous orange dust onto his previously crisp white shirt. “You know she doesn’t like it when you say bad things about him. He- what was the word again, baby?”

“He intrigues me,” You mumble, pretending to erase equations from your homework. Your cheeks blaze crimson when your mother hums in agreement, nodding triumphantly to your father. You wish you could be as sassy as her sometimes. You’re more timid, hiding behind oversized hoodies and Jisung. He is a lot more confident than you, more loud and exuberant - you suppose that’s why he had adopted you as his all those years ago.

Your mother had been best friends with Jisung’s aunt, Sohee. She’s just like Jisung, zipping around the place at an insane pace to offer you snacks and drinks at every second. When you and Jisung had first met in preschool, you’d been drawing patterns in the mud with your grubby little fingers, hiding from the bullies. He’d criticised your drawing. He helped you fix it, though, chubby cheeks puffing out with a grin when it was good enough for his taste. Looking back now, that behaviour was so Jisung, but your mother had been delighted to find out that you’d already met her best friend’s son.

It had been easy becoming friends with him after that. Every day, he’d drag you by your wrist and take you to the yard, insisting on doing your co-operative drawings together. The teachers had a fit everyday on the state of you two by the end of your break, but your mothers had loved it, taking a million and one pictures a second. He stuck up for you both to the teachers, and then he stuck up for you to the bullies and it was like you’d known each other since birth. Inseparable at the hip, you’d been glued together throughout preschool, primary school and now high school - it doesn’t look like you’re getting rid of him anytime soon, either. You’d applied for the same colleges.

You don’t particularly want to be rid of him anyway. He’s alright, really, and you had a bit of a girly, high school crush on him. You would rather jump off of a building like Spiderman sans the webs if anyone found out.

Another thing Jisung is good for is listening to your rants. He waits for your call every night after the news had been on, and you clamber on your bed obediently after the report finishes to press on his contact.

“Jisung!” You squeal. There’s a lot of feedback on his end, and you hear a low ‘shit, fuck, oops, oh God’, until there’s a loud thud and he giggles, chiming through your tinny phone speakers. “... Ji? Are you okay?”

“Yep, sorry, baby,” He sounds out of breath, but you smile when he speaks anyway. Whenever he calls you baby, his designated nickname for you, it makes your heart flutter and you have to grimace to ignore it. His face pops into the little square designated to him, his cheeks blushing pink and round eyes wide. His hair is slightly damp, from what you’re not sure - but he looks cute. “I just got home. I was- I was running some errands for my aunt.”

“God, she’s got you running like crazy lately,” You mumble, still jotting down numbers on your homework. It’s taken you hours, but you always get distracted on nights like this. “Did you see it?”

Jisung hums, and then you hear him groan. He’s stretching, slightly toned honey-skinned arms appearing above his head in the plain oversized t-shirt he’s wearing. You try not to stare. “Did I see what?”

“The- the news, Sungie,” You feel shy mentioning it so outright. It is a weird interest, a weird thing to be obsessed with - Jisung often reassures you that it really isn’t, and his anime obsession was a lot worse. It was. You sigh, clearing your throat. “Spiderman. He was- he was super cool tonight.”

“Ooh, was he?” Jisung teases, chuckling when you groan in protest. “I’m only playing with you, baby. I saw it. He was super cool, wasn’t he?”

“Ha-ha, super cool, ‘cause he’s a superhero. You’re funny.”

“That’s why you keep me around,” Jisung chirps. “Hey, have you done the maths homework? I haven’t had time, because of the errands, y’know.”

“Hmm, yeah, I’m almost finished,” You aren’t. You’re far from it, really, but he doesn’t have to know that. “I can let you copy it tomorrow morning, before class.”

“No, that’s alright, baby. We can just cross-check our answers tomorrow,” His voice sounds tired, but you don’t comment. It’s better not to question Jisung when he’s like this.

His aunt has him doing a lot these days. You haven’t wanted to ask about it because you know it must be tough for her to look after Jisung since his parents passed, especially when Jisung is always going at full speed and is probably seconds away from giving his aunt a heart attack. He was always clumsy as a child, too, snapping his glasses in half and having a few broken bones to tell long stories about. He always means well, but sometimes you wish that he had something else to get his energy out of his system rather than stressing his aunt out.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Jisung, surely you know who Spiderman is, like, underneath the mask,” Seungmin quips through a mouthful of dry, government regulated school food. “You spent all that time with Bang Chan in the internship.”

Seungmin is a lanky boy that just came along one day and decided to be yours and Jisung’s friend. With him, he brought a younger, smiley guy named Jeongin, and Jeongin brought Felix. Felix is just Felix - nothing else can describe him. Before long, you’d found yourself in a de facto group of misfits that you weren’t even sure you could call friends. Apart from Jisung, of course.

Jisung simply raises an eyebrow in response to Seungmin. “I mean, sure. I met Mr Bang a few times, but I never met Spiderman. Not out of his suit, anyway.”

You gasp. Jeongin startles from the nap he was taking on the cafeteria table, raising his head to look at you angrily. Felix pushes his head back down from the hood on his jumper and Jeongin immediately falls back to sleep. “You met him in his suit?”

“Well, yeah,” Jisung shrugs. When he turns to look at you, your mouth is agape, feeling slightly betrayed. Jisung shoves another spoonful of cheese - was it really cheese? - pasta into his mouth, and then he’s sighing. “It’s not a big deal, baby. If I really met him, the real him, you’d be the first to know. I promise.”

“You still got that fat crush on Spiderman?” Felix chirps. You meet his amused gaze with your own steely glare, pouting over your packed lunch.

“It’s not a crush-”

“It’s an interest,” Jisung clarifies for you, and you smile. He’s always jumping to your defence like that. You bite into an apple, savouring the crisp, fruity taste on your tongue, and then the bell rings. Sighing, you watch as the boys around you get up - including Jeongin, fox like eyes bleary from sleep - and swing their bags on their shoulders.

“I’ll see you later,” You murmur to Jisung, who throws his arm around your waist in a quick hug. “Enjoy English.”

Right. You and Jisung didn’t have the same classes. He has English now, and you have chemistry, which is probably your least favourite of all classes. You just weren’t a fan of the whole blowing shit up scenario, unlike Jeongin was, and the boy trundles behind you towards your chemistry class.

The class is boring. The teacher drones on and on about some experiment you couldn’t care less about, and you pretend to care. You’re taking notes, sure, ever the diligent student - but you can’t get anything other than Spiderman out of your mind. Jisung met him, and didn’t tell you, and who even is this guy? You’d love to know. You’d love to just see him, even once, just to be able to tell the story.

A massive crash stops the teacher’s speech. He turns to the door, confused, and the students do the same. You do too, furrowed eyebrows staring at the door. Another crash causes people to begin to rise, and the teacher starts ushering everyone out of the class to the closest exit route. You’re frozen in confusion and fear, pencil halted in your fingers, even as another noise makes the teacher run out behind the class.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you’re still sitting in your seat, eyes wide and heart racing. Then, you spring up to follow the rest of your cohort, sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as you run to the door. Swinging it open, you stick your head out the door and look around, trying to see if the coast is clear. With a planet full of interdimensional attacks, you can’t be sure, and looking left leads you to see a scaly, large animal type of thing. You squeak, startled, and immediately retreat into the class before it notices you. What the fuck do you do? What are you meant to do?

The whole room begins to shake, and you have a feeling the creature’s getting closer. Beakers are thrown to the floor from the vibration ringing throughout the room, glass shattering loudly, and you feel like you’re about to scream, or cry, or run, and you can’t run.

Doing the only thing you can think of, you cower to the floor, hiding underneath a table donned in smashed beakers. You’re curled up in a ball, watching students standing outside murmuring and discussing their own safety, and then the shaking stops.

The door swings open. Everything outside the classroom is too intimidating, items being thrown everywhere, and you can’t even bring your legs to move with how badly they’re shaking. Who’s just walked in? You pray for Jisung. You pray for someone who’s going to help you hide, someone who’s going to keep you safe, and then-

A masked face pops underneath the table. He’s lithe, slender, but the tight red and dark blue suit highlights the hint of abs and sculpted biceps on his body. Holy fucking shit. Your eyes widen. Spiderman is in your school.

“Are you okay?” His voice is deep, but it sounds almost like someone putting on a deeper voice to hide their identity. You nod hesitantly, and then he’s extending a gloved hand towards you, pulling you out from underneath the table. You’re unable to speak. Once you’re standing in front of him, you notice he’s around a head or so taller than you, but definitely not as tall as you thought he’d be. He sighs, chest heaving with panic. You suppose it must be pretty tough work fighting aliens from outer space. “I’ve webbed him up for now, but it won’t hold much longer. Go- please, go and run. Please, anywhere, just- go and hide, or run.”

“I-I-”

“Promise me, b- um, you. I can’t let you get hurt.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- Yes, I promise, I’m going to- I’ll go, thank you, thank you-”

“Wait, no!” He shouts, rubbing his temples - or at least, you’d imagine he was but he’s just rubbing the mask in frustration. You watch as he bounds over to the window, kicking it open, and the students outside turn to the classroom in awe. You’re rooted in place, as if vines are circling your ankles and securing you to the floor, mouth agape. You wait for him to give you further directions, and you gasp when he runs back over to you, picking you up and carrying you over to the window. You feel light as a feather, and all you can think is how he’s even carrying this amount of strength in that small body. “Too risky. Outside.”

“O-Outside?” You stammer, cheeks bright red, and he nods. He leans to place you out of the window, delicately placing you on your feet, and then he speeds off, shouting a quick “see you later!”.

You blink. You can hear the noises of walls breaking and windows shattering as Spiderman fights, and Felix runs up to you from the crowd outside and slings an arm over your shoulder. You’re still staring inside the classroom as if you can see through walls and watch the fight. What did see you later mean?

What’s the likelihood, honestly? You knew he was the friendly neighbourhood guy, and all that, but why not Bang Chan, in his sleek nanotech suit? This was a big fight. You find yourself getting worried, biting your nails in concern for the man you don’t even know. You have to remind yourself of that. He saved you because you’re any other citizen, not for any other specialty - you don’t know this guy.

“C’mon, over here,” Felix ushers you over, tone soft. When you’re with him, Seungmin and Jeongin, he sighs, rubbing your back. “Crazy, right? At least you can say you met Spiderman now.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Jisung is safe, thank god. You kind of feel guilty for not worrying about him at the moment, but he’d text you shortly after, saying he’d left just before it all kicked off because he felt a little under the weather. He wanted to make sure you were okay, though, so he texted you as soon as he could. You’d never admit the blush that rose to your cheeks when you read it.

It’s quiet in your room. Your parents had sprinted to you as soon as you’d come through the door, having seen the situation on the news, and you’d reassured them that Spiderman had saved you. It definitely changed your dad’s perspective of him, and now you lie on your bed feeling more than relieved.

Your fingers tap on your tummy in thought, though. He was making his voice deeper, that much you could tell, but why? How was he there so quickly? There’s no fucking way he was a student. Still, that body in the tight suit… you’d definitely been looking. You’re a woman, of course you were going to look. He had a figure enviable to every man. Broad shoulders, abs just slightly visible, strong legs that carried you over to the window…

In your dreamlike fantasy, you’re considering something you previously never would’ve thought of. What if Jisung was underneath that suit? Now, that would be perfect. Both of your crushes being one being, Jisung pulling that suit up his lithe thighs and letting it settle over his broad pecs.

Before you know it, your hand is dipping under the hem of your pyjama pants, unable to feel guilty for thinking about your best friend in this way. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time, with many of your nights spent whimpering into your pillow and coming apart on your own fingers wishing they were his. He had such nice hands… What if it was him who had grabbed you from underneath that table? Your hand trails down to find your folds, slick and ready for whatever you had in store, but you focus on your clit, swollen and aching between your bottom lips. Would he finger you in the gloves if you asked, let you ride his abs in the suit until completion? Would he kiss you upside down, hanging from the-

A tap on your window makes you jump. The room is dark, save for your bedside lamp, and you turn rapidly to see a faceless figure just about popping in from the corner. You yank your hand out of your bottoms, squeaking, and then you squint to try and see the figure closer.

Holy shit. Spiderman is at your bedroom window.

Your cotton tank top is revealing, so you turn immediately to reach for your dressing gown and tie it around your figure. You pad over to the window in your socks, still wide-eyed and completely baffled, and then you turn the handle to allow him access. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” You blurt, toes curling against your floor. Spiderman swings inside instead of responding, walking around your room like he’s been there a million times before. “No, seriously, what the fuck?”

He turns to you, shrugging. “I said I’d see you later, didn’t I?”

You blanch. He did say that, yes, but that still doesn’t explain the million questions you have right now. “Well, yeah, but- how do you know where I live?”

“I- uh, found it in the school office,” He hops up onto your bed, sitting cross legged. His mask hides his face, but he hums in pleasure at the feeling of the bedsheets on him. “After the fight, I went in there. Glad you’re okay, by the way.”

He’s still making his voice deeper, and you blink, nodding in response. “I’m great. Can I- can I ask why you’re here?”

He shrugs again, fiddling with a loose thread on your duvet. “No reason. Got bored. I was swinging around and remembered I saw your address on the computer.”

“Right,” You shake your head, still baffled. Instead of questioning him further, you jump onto the bed in front of him and copy his position, cross legged. “Don’t you have, like, recovering to do? I heard you got beat pretty bad.”

“Nah, no way,” He scoffs, rolling his neck. You suppress a smile. Cocky. “Spider venom, y’know? It repairs everything super quick.”

You were right. You can’t suppress a smile at his response, clicking your fingers at his masked face. “I fucking knew it! I guessed it was the venom.”

He stops fiddling with the duvet, turning to you and tilting his head in question. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Hey, are you the one that’s friends with that kid?”

You narrow your eyes. Jisung’s a liar. If Spiderman knows who he is, that means they’ve met more than once, and Jisung lied. You reach for your phone, ready to bitch him out via text, but Spiderman knocks your phone out of your hand. You turn to him, confused.

“Talk to me,” He whines. “I told you I was bored!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, damn. Yes, I’m friends with Jisung. Why?”

“No reason,” He wiggles forward on your bed, grabbing your hand. You’re confused, but then he launches you into an intense thumb war, one that you were never going to win. Everytime you go to move your thumb in response to his, he’s got you pinned, and before he speaks again you’re five rounds down. “He’s pretty cool, right?”

“Who?” You ask, still focusing on the thumb war.

“Jisung,” He clarifies, clearing his throat. Making his voice that deep must be taking its toll on his vocal chords. “He’s kinda cool. Super smart, I thought.”

“He definitely is,” You laugh when he pins your thumb down again, swatting at his wrist to get him off of you. “He’s smarter than me.”

“And, uh,” He clears his throat again, leaning back on your bed. Leaning back like that, you have a full view of his body in his suit, and you have to stare at the posters on your wall to avoid looking at him. He puts his hands behind his head, the full picture of relaxation, and you wished he’d stop throwing you this random curveball behaviour. “Is that all you think of him? Just smart?”

You blush, finally reverting your eyes to him. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean… Do you have a crush on him, or?”

“Who wants to know?” You bristle, playing with your hands in your lap. You look down at your chipped nail polish, awkwardly shifting on the bed in your pyjamas. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“No one knows who I am,” He responds easily. “I want to know. Tell me. Do you have a crush on him?”

“I’m not telling you that-”

“I’m bored!” He whines again, sitting up. You let him grab your hand again, pulling your pinky finger into a promise. You swear you see the mask smile. “Tell me!”

“Okay, damn,” You sigh, exasperated. Was he on molly or something? Are you dreaming? “I guess so. I guess I always have, yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d ever like me like that.”

He coos at that, taking your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting. “Why not?”

“He’s- well, I don’t think I’m good enough for someone like him,” You admit, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s awkward. He’s my best friend. It would ruin things, and I guess I’ve never let myself think about it like that.”

“You should,” He hums. You blink, staring at him. What the hell is he on about? “I just mean you should. Maybe he likes you too, y’know? I like my best friend. I’d love to know if she likes me back.”

“You do?” You wiggle closer, eager to know more. “You like your best friend? What’s she like?”

“Well,” He strokes your hand again before pulling away, leaning his chin on his hand. “She’s super pretty. Smart, too. I’ve known her since like, forev- for a few years, I think, in total.”

“It’s kind of the same with me and Jisung,” You sigh again, pouting. “I’ve known him for my whole life, basically. I’m just scared it’ll ruin things, but I think about him a lot when I’m on my own.”

He snickers. “Really? Like when you’re doing what you were doing when I got here?”

You swat at his shoulder, blushing bright red. “Shut up, oh my god! I thought you- shut up. Just don’t.”

“Maybe he thinks about you then too, I don’t know,” He shrugs nonchalantly, and then he’s getting up and pacing around. You watch him fiddle with a few photo frames on your desk, humming at ones of you and Jisung when you were younger and even fiddling with a few of your academic medals and prizes. “I won’t tell him, by the way.”

“You see him often?” You ask, voice soft. “He said-”

“Nah, I’ve only seen him once or twice,” He stretches his arms above his head, still staring at your desk full of trinkets. “He doesn’t know who I am.”

“Can I know?”

He turns to you. “Know what?”

“I want to know who you are,” Your voice is confident, but you feel anything but, teeth chewing your bottom lip nervously. “You saved me, and now you’re in my bedroom. I feel that I deserve to know.”

He sighs loudly this time, walking towards the window. “When we get to know eachother better, maybe.”

“Wait, hang on,” You watch him sling a foot out of the window, exasperated. He can’t leave! “Where are you going? I thought you said you were bored-”

“Things to do, baby,” He replies quickly. You blink. That ‘baby’ sounds awfully familiar, and you stand up quickly to walk towards the window, but he’s already webbing away. “Bye!”

You stand there, shocked and confused. He’s swinging from building to building away from you, and you’re just standing there like an idiot. You were interrupted before you could even start touching yourself, forced into a thumb war and coerced into admitting your deepest, darkest secret, and then he just… leaves? Just like that?

Your life is proving to be a little more interesting than you thought, but your dreams were filled with familiar round cheeks beneath a red and blue mask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Baby, is there a reason why your eyes are burning holes into the side of my head?”

You’re convinced your best friend is Spiderman. There, sitting beside you with his glasses sliding down his nose and comfortable in a grey hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms on, it’s hard to believe. But you’re not stupid.

First of all, since he started that internship with Mr Bang, he’s been weird about letting you inside his room. This is the same person that you had many sleepovers with growing up, and as recently as a few months ago you’d been cuddling in bed together watching Howl’s Moving Castle. He has something to hide, but you’d been let down when you’d arrived at his house earlier and shouldered past him to find literally nothing of suspicion inside his room, other than an anime girl mouse pad with the boobs to rest your wrist on. You knew that existed though, ever since his birthday last year when Felix had gifted it to him, so what gives?

Secondly, Sohee is more stressed out than ever. You’d caught sight of her flitting around the kitchen when you arrived for your homework friend-date, scrubs on and ready to head to the hospital but still panicking about something. Jisung said multiple times that he’d been helping her out more and that’s why he’s been so busy lately. She shouldn’t still be panicking.

Thirdly, Spiderman wouldn’t make his voice deeper to you unless you knew him. He wouldn’t need to, or you wouldn’t recognise his voice - unless it’s a habit he’s picked up, perhaps. That doesn’t change that the way he called you baby last night sounded a little bit too familiar, too comfortable. It came out of his mouth like second nature.

Still, it makes no sense. Surely Jisung would have told you? You’re his best friend, he said so, so he’d tell you. Or would he? Maybe Felix knows. You’re also hoping deep down that it isn’t true, because if it is, you told your crush last night that you liked him.

You can’t even be mad at Jisung for it. He’s still staring at you, and you’re staring blankly back while shoving snacks into your mouth. There’s crumbs all over your homework.

“Jisung,” You begin, and he hums in response. “Would you tell me your deepest, most serious secret if I worked it out?”

He chokes on his energy drink, spluttering neon blue liquid all over his bed. You want to giggle, to make fun of him, but you’re sure you’ve gotten somewhere here. He wipes his mouth, clears his throat, and turns back to you. His hands are shaky where they clutch his textbook, and his eyes are almost blurry through the glasses. “I tell you everything anyway.”

“I don’t think you do,” You respond, quick as a beat. He blinks, lips parting. “Not by that reaction, Jisung. I think you’re hiding something from me.”

He scratches his nose with the end of his pen, looking down at the textbook again. You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Okay,” You hum. He sighs, scribbling something on the paper. It’s so quiet in the room that you can hear his pen scribbling, but you’re speaking again before you can even think. “Did I tell you Spiderman came to my room last night?”

He gulps audibly. “Nope.”

“Yeah, it was kinda weird,” You take a sip from your energy drink, still staring at him vacantly. Jisung’s eyes flit up to you, and then back down to the textbook. Oh, he knows. He knows that you know. He knows that you know that he knows. “He saved me in school, when that alien thing was there, and then he came to my room and asked me about you.”

“He, uh- really? Did he?”

“Mhm,” Your gaze is steely. “Jisung, I know you’re Spiderman.”

Jisung bursts out laughing. It would be believable, but you’ve known him since you were four years old and it’s a fake laugh. He’s cackling, loud as brass, and he lets out a little “ooh” afterwards as if he can’t believe you. “Baby, that’s the craziest theory you’ve ever come up with.”

“Is it?” You question, head tilting to the side. Then, in the smartest moment you’ve ever had, you pick up Jisung’s energy drink from the floor. He’s still looking at you, a fake smile on his lips, and you take a sip from it casually. Sharing drinks isn’t new for you. You glug back the artificial blue raspberry flavour, and then keeping eye contact with him, you let go.

Before the can is able to fall and spill the rest of its contents over your own textbook, and inevitably Jisung’s One Piece bed sheets, he reaches out and grabs it, hand wrapping around the can, quick as a flash. It all happens in about a second, and you gasp. Jisung gasps. His hand tightens around the can and it crinkles, an impossible show of strength, and then he’s blinking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

“I knew it.”

He puts the can safely on the bedside table, and then he’s slamming his textbook shut. You watch in confusion as he paces back and forth on his bedroom floor, running his hands through his hair over and over.

“Okay!” He points at you, victorious. “That was a reflex. I knew you were going to do that, I’m smart, duh! I knew you were going to drop the can to prove something, and-”

“Jisung,” You say, voice soft. He stops pacing, sock clad feet rooted on the carpet to stare at you. You’re going to get him. You’re going to get him good. “Do you not want me to know? Is that what this is?”

He immediately falls to the floor, head resting on your knee as he looks up at you. You can’t even feel sorry for him, because your plan is working perfectly. His eyes are round and vulnerable, and then he clenches them shut in distress. You think he’s probably a second away from crying. “Baby, it’s not that. I wanted to protect you. It would be dangerous if the bad guys knew who you were, knew that you knew, and I know I shouldn’t have come to your room, that was wrong of me, and-”

You giggle. Jisung furrows his eyebrows, eyes opening. “I knew I was right.” He gasps, pointing at you again.

“Judas! You’re a judas!” He’s shocked, leaning back on his haunches and staring at you. “I can’t- I can’t believe you, that was so-”

“Sneaky? Good? Smart?” You list, leaning back on his twin bed. He stands up, hands on his hips. You’re ready for him to bitch you out, but you don’t care - you knew that you had to know, had to have it confirmed. He taps his foot, and then you see a smile break out on his lips.

“Okay, yeah, that was pretty good,” He hums, returning to the bed. You let him shut your own textbook and sprawl across you, head in your lap. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve told you.”

You sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “That’s okay, Ji. It’s fine. I’m just a little embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why?” Jisung asks, his eyes fluttering shut from the feeling of your nails on his scalp. You want to scoff. Embarrassed for two major reasons - one, because you’ve been gushing about how cool Spiderman is for weeks, maybe even months, and two because you told Spiderman last night that you liked Jisung. Spiderman and Jisung are the same person. Sure, it makes things easier. You no longer have a crush on two people, only one, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jisung knows and is yet to say anything.

“I’ve been talking to you about Spiderman for weeks,” You blush, pushing his hair off of his forehead. He whines, thrashing his feet and shaking his head like a dog to hide his forehead again. He’s so dramatic. You like him so bad. “And- and you- it was you, then. You came to my room last night.”

“Yeah, that was risky,” He responds, exasperated. “I just had to, baby. I don’t know, you always seemed so interested in Spiderman and not me. I needed to know if you saw me like you saw him.”

You pause your movements on his head, blinking at the wall in front of you. When you turn back to him, he’s blushing, teeth gnawing his bottom lip. His eyes are conveniently staring at the window, away from you.

“Jisung,” You start, hesitant. “What do you mean?”

He sits up sharply. “Wanna go on the roof?”

“T-The roof? Jisung, how are we gonna- oh. Oh.”

Jisung jumps up from the bed, toeing his sliders onto his feet and pushing the window open. It gives you deja vu - that same figure was pushing the window open just like this to place you safely outside in school yesterday, and then he was coming through your window to see you late at night. It’s hard to believe that they’re the same person, the man you admired so much and your best friend who’s standing by the window expectantly waiting for you to join him.

You hesitantly stand up, brushing off imaginary crumbs from your joggers and looking at Jisung. He smiles, a soft, reassuring smile, and then he’s scooping you up from the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist. It’s slender, the plush flesh of your thighs almost obscuring it, and you squeak in surprise at being in the air.

“I- Jisung?!”

“You have to hold on tight,” He says. His face is inches away from yours, plush lips looking more than appealing and his glasses making him look so endearing. “I need my hands for this, so hold onto my shoulders.”

You nod, face blushing crimson at the realisation of just how close you are. Would he have you like this if he fucked you? Legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders, his face so close to yours as he pants and whines and moans-

You squeak again when he slides out of the window, and then you see him in action. His hands stick to the outside of the apartment building, feet kicking up against the concrete wall. Your heart is racing so badly it feels as though it could burst out of your chest, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the height or because you’re tightly pressed against Jisung.

When he swings you both over the side ledge on the roof, you notice the sun’s set already. Time always goes by quickly with Jisung, but the stars are already out, and the air is crisp and biting against your limbs despite the layers. Once he’s safely stood on the roof, he places his hands underneath your thighs and detaches you from his firm body, placing you on your feet.

You’re disorientated, shocked at the sheer height of the building and at the way Jisung seems to be swinging you around like it’s nothing, but he’s simply staring at you. A wide smile stretches from ear to ear, and he blinks when you don’t say anything. “It’s cool, right?”

“Y-Yeah, super cool,” You admit, chest heaving. “Really high up, but cool. Jisung, why are we on the roof?”

He’s wrangling you, hands on your arms and pushing you to the floor. It feels firm, but with what you now know about him, you know he’s holding back. He plops down next to you, eyes wide and expectant.

“I wanted to do it properly,” He begins. He pauses for a moment, licks his lips, pushes his glasses up his nose, and then he’s speaking again. “I like you, so that’s why I asked. Is it romantic up here? It feels romantic, but I’m not too sure-“

He stands up and begins pacing around the roof before you realise he’s even moved. You raise an eyebrow. “Jisung?”

“I wanted to do this right, y’know?” He pauses, hands on his hips. He looks comical, trying to assert dominance over you like that in those Hello Kitty pyjama trousers. “I- I wanted to swing by and like, grab you, or something? But then you worked it out, and now I’m just standing here with you on a roof…”

He continues mumbling like a mad scientist, eyes focused on a spot next to your head. You stand up, making your way towards him, and he still refuses to look at you. He likes you back. He likes you back, and he’s still your best friend - he’s still Jisung, but he’s also Spiderman, and you’re okay with that. You don’t have to like two people. You only like one, and it’s your goofy best friend.

“Is this even romantic? You know, we could just forget about it and-“

You press your lips to his. He doesn’t make any form of surprised noise, only cupping your cheeks with his hands and pulling you close to him. His glasses bump against your face, his lips pouty against yours and plush and maybe a bit too wet for a first kiss, but you’d always figured he’d take it too far. That’s what you like about him. Jisung never does anything by halves.

It’s brief, too brief for your liking, but then he’s pulling away with a satisfied grin on his face. You blink. Wait.

“Wait, your stupid- your stupid spidey things. Did you know I was going to kiss you?” You pout, and he giggles. “No, seriously! Could you like- I don’t know, feel it coming?”

“Not until you were like, a few inches from my face,” Jisung admits, and his teeth gleam in the brilliance of the evening. “I had a feeling you might.”

You sigh. “So why didn’t you stop talking?”

“Dunno,” He shrugs. “I couldn’t stop once I started.”

The statement is so true to Jisung, so in character for your best friend that you can do nothing but accept it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s easy to fall into a different routine with Jisung.

He never asked you to be his girlfriend. You’re pretty sure you’re fine with that, though - things have had a natural manner of progressing, and now your best friend slash boyfriend slash superhero turns up at your window every night after he’s been on his neighbourhood patrol. Sometimes he’s a little bruised, and sometimes he’s just looking for consolation kisses.

It’s a normal night for you when it happens. Jisung’s halfway out of your bedroom window on his way to perform perfect justice, pulling his mask down over his annoyingly beautiful face. You’re standing a few feet away grinning like an idiot.

“I’ll see you later, my baby,” You can see his grin through the mask. The eyes on his mask form beautiful crescent moons with his happiness. He falters, legs swinging on your windowsill. “Wait. I am coming back here, yeah?”

“Of course,” You giggle. He sends you two fingers in a mock salute, and you watch him begin his journey up the wall to your roof. A beat passes and you’re still standing there, smiling, hands on your hips, and then the masked head of your best friend pops back down into your window, upside down, tilting to the side in confusion. You blink, confused. “What is it, Sungie?”

“Well, where’s my goodbye kiss? Damn,” He huffs, and you roll your eyes playfully. You make your way to the window, sock-clad feet padding on your carpet, and you pull his mask down to his eyes with two fingers. It miraculously stays on his head, and his lips form a teasing grin.

Despite him being upside down, you place a chaste kiss to his lips, and you watch in amusement as he swings away afterwards. You can still hear him giggling with glee from a few buildings away.

It’s a few hours later when he comes back. You’re flicking through a book for English, scrawling notes and highlighting words on sticky notes. It’s started to rain, and the city lights only look brighter in the dusk with the pattering of water on your window. You left it open, of course, for your superhero, but the cold air bites at your arms even through the fluffy blanket you’ve got wrapped around yourself.

Just as you’re beginning to contemplate closing it, a louder, more prominent tap hits the glass. When you turn to the window, Jisung is slouched against your windowsill, chest heaving beneath red lycra and forehead pressed against the glass. He’s got his mask between his teeth, and his hair is dishevelled, floppy brown locks obscuring his eyes. You can still catch sight of the bruising on his cheekbones and you gasp, rushing towards the window.

You drop your blanket in shock, but you swing the window open, pulling Jisung inside with one hand. He stumbles through, disoriented and confused, and you lead him to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Got hurt,” He explains, huffing out a breath. The mask drops from his teeth unceremoniously, with a wet plop to your carpeted floor, but you don’t care. You rush to sit next to him, fingers gripping his chin to pull him to face you. His eyes are round, sincere, and he gives you a soft smile. “It’ll heal before long, baby, don’t panic.”

“I am panicking,” You say, resolute, because you really are. Bruising is scattered across his cheekbones, fading into green on the plush of his cheeks and his lip looks like it had been burst, but is already healing. “Will it- will it take long? Do you need me to get the first aid kit, or-“

“Baby,” He shakes his head, grabbing your hands. You watch with parted lips as he leans forward, both of you cross legged on the end of your bed. It reminds you of when Spiderman first visited you, when you weren’t quite sure of his identity. Jisung presses his forehead against yours, and you let him look into your eyes. It’s like he’s demanding everything that’s ever gone through your head to be vocalised. You’d tell him if he asked. “I’m really okay. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m fine. Most of it is on my ribs from falling, to be honest.”

“Your ribs?!” You shriek. “Show me. Let me see, I need to help you-“

You’re already trying to wrangle Jisung out of his suit, and he giggles, clearly thinking this is all just some game. He holds his arms up pliantly, though, and you don’t have the thought processing ability within you to realise that Jisung’s suit is an all-in-one and you’re currently stripping him down to his boxers.

The suit is wet too when you drop it to the floor, and before long you’re blinking at your best friend in his plain black boxers and he’s grinning at you as if this is any other day. There’s no bruising on his ribs. You’re staring at his abs, regardless, so you’re not sure you would’ve even noticed.

“You look fine.”

“I told you it heals quickly, baby,” He grins. You blink when he wriggles on your bed, laying on his back and stretching his arms above his head again, this time to get comfortable. His legs stretch out too, and you avoid looking anywhere below his waist.

His body is a spectacle. You can’t stop looking. Broad shoulders taper off into an extremely defined chest and a tight, thin waist adorned with prominent abdominal muscles, before reaching a v-line that leads into his boxers. You’re wide eyed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run your fingers down his honey toned skin.

“Why-“ You cough, clearing your throat. Jisung raises an eyebrow. He’s grinning from ear to ear, teeth gleaming. “Why did you let me strip you if you’re literally fine?”

The bruising on his cheek is already fading. He shrugs nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge with the movement and you think you might choke on your own spit. “You seemed pretty determined, so I just allowed it. You wanted to see me naked, I assumed, so-“

“Jisung!” You wail, slapping his shoulder. He groans in pain, catching your hand, and he grits his teeth with a hiss.

“My shoulder! Fuck, that hurt, ouch, baby! What was that for?!”

You gasp. He clutches his shoulder, letting out little pants of hurt sounding noises. You let your head fall to his chest, engulfing him with a hug. “Jisung, I’m so sorry-“

“Hehe,” He giggles. When you look at him, he’s sticking his tongue out, completely fine. You groan, annoyed you fell for it, and then he’s grabbing your forearms and pulling you upwards on top of him.

Your breasts press against his chest like this, due to your lack of bra in your sleep shirt, and his eyes widen when he feels it. Instead of letting you go, his hands move to your back, encompassing you in his strong hold.

You gasp, wiggling in his grip, and he licks his lips. His eyes go to your lips, and then back up to your eyes, as if he’s hesitant.

“I-“ He begins, faltering. “Are you my girlfriend?”

You scoff out a laugh. “I don’t know, am I?”

“I hope so,” Jisung admits, his facial expression vulnerable. His eyes dart to something behind you, as if he’s not sure, almost shy. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him shy. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but I want you to be, if you want to be.”

“I want to be,” You nod. He nods in response, and you watch his eyes flicker to your lips again. It’s silent for a moment, and then he leans in, pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is more charged than usual. Before now, you’re used to chaste, fleeting kisses from your superhero, but now he lets his tongue tease against the seam of your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and his eyelashes brush against your skin where he does the same. You let your lips part, and Jisung’s quick to grip your back harder, tongue darting inside your mouth with impatience.

You’ve made out with someone before. You’d never had sex with someone before, but you had made out with someone. It was only once at a party when you were a little bit younger but it had felt like a good idea at the time. You’re sure Jisung’s lost his virginity though, but when he whimpers against your lips and his hips squirm a little you’re not too sure.

You pull away from the kiss, lips a little wet, and Jisung’s mouth goes to your neck. You allow him to suck a mark into the expanse of skin just underneath your jaw, his fingers grabbing impatiently at your back. “Sungie, are you a virgin?”

Jisung pulls away, licking his lips. You feel something hard pressing against your thigh where you lay on top of him. You’re thanking every entity ever that your parents are out for a work dinner. “Yeah, I am. I would have told you if I wasn’t,” He confirms, a little breathless. His hips wiggle again. “Is that- is that okay, baby?”

“Yeah, of course,” You smile, comforting. You peck his lips again and he grins back at you. “I am too.”

“I know,” He responds, quick as a flash. You blush. That’s embarrassing. “No, I just mean- you also would’ve told me, y’know?”

“That’s true,” You shrug. You’re feeling a little overconfident, and you move in his hold, having felt it gone a little lax with your kissing. You let your thighs spread over his hips, his hard shaft pressing against your core through your pyjama bottoms and his boxers. You still feel it, though, and it makes your pussy gush a little. “Is- is this okay?”

He’s blushing. His lips part, and he nods, perhaps too eagerly because he clutches his neck afterwards like he’s got whiplash. “Baby, you’re- I have a pretty girl in my lap. This is so okay. Like, so okay, I might have a heart attack and die, probably.”

You shift, and he winces. “Sorry,” You say. It’s a fake apology. You want to swallow his cock down your throat until he cries, and you don’t even know how to. You’d try your best though. “If I lost my virginity, I’d want it to be with you.”

“Damn,” Jisung whistles, eyebrows raised. “Let me hit?”

You giggle, tilting your head to the side. “I’ll let you hit right now, Jisung.”

Jisung shoots upwards into a seated position. His eyes are wide. “Right now?”

“Right now,” You confirm. You go from straddling his lap to laying on your back on your bed in a flash, and Jisung looms over you, all tight, toned muscles and broad shoulders.

“I’ll make it so good, baby, I promise,” He says, and then he’s kissing you again. It’s even messier this time, lips pressing against yours over and over and his tongue adding a collection of spit to the mix. You let your thighs fall apart, his hips quick to fill the space and press his cock against you. His hands go to your waist as he kisses you, sucking and biting on your lips until you’re whining with it, but he doesn’t let up. He’s desperate, messy, and it’s only making your pussy drool even more.

The rain hits the window still, cooling off a little but still providing a calming effect to your room when combined with the orange-pink of your lamp. He inches his palms up your shirt, the softness of his hands surprising you, and then he’s pulling away from your mouth to yank the fabric over your head.

You’re left in just your pyjama bottoms, lips kiss bitten and nipples pebbled against the cool air of your bedroom. You never had shut your window, after all.

“Oh,” Jisung says, exasperated. You finally open your eyes to see him staring at your tits, and you think he might be drooling. “Oh, yeah, my baby. They are so fucking good.”

You almost laugh, but you’re cut off by your own strangled moan when his pouty lips engulf your right nipple. He sucks on it, hard, and when your back arches he lets it slip out of his mouth with a wet popping noise. It’s only a brief moment of reprieve before he’s letting his teeth skim along the bud, and you keen, fingers moving upwards from his shoulders to grip onto the pillow behind your head.

“Oh, that’s so- Sungie, baby, that feels good,” You whine, and he hums against your breast. When he moves to the other one, he tweaks your wet nipple between two fingers. It’s experimental, but the whole thing is, and you buck your hips up impatiently.

His hands move to your ass, scooping underneath you and making you grind slightly against him. The movement makes him moan, your nipple leaving his mouth. A string of drool attaches to his lips and his tongue lolls out lazily, and before you can process it, he’s grinding his cock into your clothed centre.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” He whines, eyes clenching shut. You whimper in response, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Baby- baby, baby. Baby, I’ve thought about this so much, I- fuck, you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

His words are so crude that they make you keen, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought about it too. I- I touched myself thinking about it, Sungie, did you?”

He gasps sharply, and there’s a fumbling between your legs. He rocks backwards on his haunches, and you see him gripping his cock impatiently underneath his boxers, fingers wrapped tight around the base.

“I will literally cum if I imagine that,” He huffs, breathless. “But yes. I did, many times, and- and- baby, can I see your pussy?”

It’s so bold that you can’t say no. You never would have dreamed of saying no anyway, and you nod, wiggling your bottoms down your legs. You never wear a bra or panties underneath your pyjamas, and your pussy is revealed to him in all its drooly glory, folds sticking together with your arousal.

Jisung’s jaw goes slack. You watch him jerk his cock, eyes fixated on your wet hole, and you shift impatiently.

“I showed you mine, Sungie,” You huff. “Show me yours.”

He nods, eyes still glued to your pussy. Your clit is swollen with arousal, some wetness stuck onto it, and you reach down to trace your fingertips over it absentmindedly while he pushes his boxers down. His cock slaps up against the bottom of his tummy, cockhead leaking beneath his foreskin, precum slicking the smattering of hair at his base. His balls look heavy, shaft swollen and fat between lithe thighs, and you can’t help but go a little googly eyed at the thought of him stretching you out.

He grabs it, pumps his cock a few times while you rub your fingers over your clit. “Is- is it okay, baby?” He gasps, cock leaking steadily in his fist.

“You’re so sexy, Sungie, ‘s so big. I- oh,” You whine, spreading your arousal over your folds. You prop your feet up, letting your legs fall wide, and the movement must expose your soppy hole to Jisung because his eyes widen even further. “I want you inside of me so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, I just- shit, Jisung, what are you-“

You’re cut off by him diving between your legs. His cock is forgotten, his hands looping around your ass again to spread you wide, and his tongue presses against your core. He moans at the taste, and you whimper out loud, head rolling against your pillow. It’s messy and you can tell he’s inexperienced, but when he sucks your clit between his lips you can’t find it in you to care.

“Oh, oh- baby, baby! You’re good at that, so good at that, baby,” You babble, trying your best not to grind up into his mouth. His mouth is just as wet as your pussy, his lips drooling all over you. You’re cut short when he flattens his tongue against your core, moaning out loud, and his hands move your ass just a bit. “I- you- Sungie-?”

“Grind on my face, baby, c’mon,” He murmurs, muffled by your folds, and you oblige. Your hand goes to his hair, yanking on the dark brown strands, and you hold him in place while you grind your pussy senseless on his tongue. Your boy is good with his mouth, you realise - he’s pliant, letting you make yourself cum on his tongue and lips, and after only a few grinds you’re sure you’re going to fall apart for him.

“Ah! Ah, oh, baby, your mouth is- Sungie, Sungie,” You whine, feet kicking on the bed. Your legs go flat, but as the pleasure builds up in your core, your thighs tighten around his ears. He likes this, moaning loud to the point the vibrations make you jolt. It’s all so wet, your pussy dripping with arousal and his saliva, dripping down to your asshole. It has you wondering if Jisung would eat your ass further down the line, and your eyes flicker to his - would he let you eat his? He probably would, with how submissive he’s being.

His hips buck downwards on the bed and he keens into your pussy, and you realise he’s humping your mattress. He’s so desperate for you that he just can’t help himself, and you moan, loud and unabashed. The sight has you hurtling towards your orgasm.

“I’m gonna fucking cum, baby,” You warn, and he finally lets up, pulling back to suck on your clit. His hand moves over to the top of your pussy, pulling your mound backwards, and the exposure of your clit directly to his lips is your downfall. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth, and you can hear yourself talking and moaning but you’re not sure what you’re saying, only able to feel your hole gushing into Jisung’s mouth over and over.

Jisung licks over your clit a few times comfortingly, and then he’s on top of you again, face looming over yours. His right hand holds him up steadily and the other stays downwards, hooked on your thigh to keep you open.

“You taste delicious, baby,” He grins, mouth wet. When he presses his lips to yours he’s desperate, tongue darting into your mouth to let you taste your own cum. You let your hands fall to his chest, fingernails digging into the muscles. The filthiness of it all has you wriggling around impatiently again, and Jisung’s cockhead slips against your clit, making you whine into his mouth. He pulls away, gasping for air with the sensation, and you kiss the beauty spot on his cheek for good measure. “Baby. M-my baby, shit, can- can I fuck you now? Have you got a condom, I- shit, I need to fuck you?”

He’s breathless, giggling at his own desperation, and you nod eagerly. You’re on the pill, and realistically you’d want nothing more than him to creampie you, but you have a shred of logic still left in your brain. “No condom. I- I don’t have any, can you pull out? I know it’s not-“

“Don’t care,” He huffs, legs moving to prop himself up more securely. His knees dig into your bed, and he pulls your thigh further apart, letting his eyes fall down to your pussy. His face is more than pornographic when he sees the visual of his cockhead sliding through your folds, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. He lets his eyes flutter shut, a small profanity leaving his mouth. “You’re sure I can fuck you raw? I- please, p-please, baby. I need to be inside.”

“Jisung,” You whine. He lets his tip bump against your clit again, and you grow too desperate, reaching down yourself to grab his cock. The feeling makes him whimper, his fingers ripping into the pillow beside your head with his superhuman strength, but you’re too out of it to care. You position his cock by your hole, soppy and wet with your own cum, and he can’t hold himself back - he pushes in, all of it at once, a long, anguished noise leaving his mouth. “Oh. Oh- Oh, Jisung, that’s-“

“Is it okay? Are you okay?” Jisung asks, breathless. “Does it hurt? I- baby, baby-“

He’s still completely stationary, but he can’t stop talking, chest heaving and flushed pink. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt. You’re wet enough that he glided in so easy, stretching your pussy in the most pleasurable, delicious way. You didn’t think it would ever feel this good, but you’re sure it’s because it’s Jisung.

“God, is it- does it feel good?” He questions you, and you nod eagerly, hands moving to rest on his biceps. He repositions you both so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, his arms holding himself up over you, and the movement has him sliding deeper, making you whimper. “Can I-“

“Fucking hell, Jisung, can you just move?” You huff, annoyed, and he giggles. He shakes his head fondly, and then he’s thrusting into you, slow but steady.

“Oh, that’s good,” He slurs, eyes rolling back into his head. “That pussy’s good. Jesus, you’re- you’re tight on my cock, baby, like a fuckin’ vice.”

“Your cock is so good,” You whine, trying to fuck yourself back on him. Your pussy is so wet that every thrust makes an audible noise, ringing throughout your room. If anyone walked past now they’d hear the debauchery, and you’re not sure you’d even care. “Fuck, Jisung- Jisung, you’re big. Please, please, more, I need more!”

“Okay, okay,” He moans, and then his hips speed up. His balls slap against your asshole with every thrust, his cock pistoning into you at a pace that has you wailing. The headboard slams against the wall. “Oh, fuckin’- baby, this puusssy.”

“It feels so good. Your cock is stretching me out so good, baby-“

“Fuck, wait,” He whines, pulling out sharply. When you look down between his legs his cock is painfully hard, and his pubic hair is drenched with you. The sight makes you even more eager to get him back inside of you, but Jisung grabs the base of his cock tightly, his chest heaving. “I- I’ll cum if you talk like that. Fuck, this is so embarrassing!”

“I want you to cum,” You insist, leaning up on your elbows. Your pussy is still leaking steadily onto your bedsheets, and you make grabby hands at your boy to try and get him back inside of you. “You made me cum so good in your mouth, Sungie, c’mon. Make yourself cum with my pussy.”

“Oh my God,” He moans, eyes half lidded, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re dirty. My fucking dream, holy shit.”

He leans over you once more, pushing his cock inside of you. It slides back in easily with another wet noise, and you moan, smiling with delight. “Mm, fuck this pussy, baby, c’mon.”

“I- fuck, okay,” He keens, nodding. His teeth bite into his lower lip almost painfully, and you kiss his neck while he starts to fuck into you again. With a quick reposition you let your thighs fall apart and further back, and his cock starts to hit your g-spot incessantly. He pulls away from you, head lolling into your neck. His breaths fan over your skin, hot and heavy. “You’re so wet, why are you- how are you so wet, baby? This pussy, fucking- I’m gonna cum. I’m so close, I’m so close, please-“

The shred of logic has left your brain. His cock feels so good, thick and pressing inside of you. You have to let him do it. “Baby. Baby, do y’wanna- I’m on the pill, baby,” You say, breathless. His pace stops, hips halting, and he makes a confused noise. “Cum inside. Creampie this hole, Sungie, I know you want to.”

“Oh my fucking- baby? My baby, can I?” He wails, head pulling up to look at you. You catch sight of tears brewing in his eyes, glassy and unshed. “Baby, please, I’m gonna cum, please, where-? Baby?”

“Inside of me, Sungie,” You wrap your legs around him, pulling him inside of you, deep. You know he could get out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, hips starting to pick up inside of you again. It’s fast, desperate and he keens, nodding. “You gonna fill me up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Y-yeah, yes, oh- I’m gonna fill you up,” Jisung’s words are slurred, quiet, and you let him fuck into you over and over. With a sharp noise, his hips slow once more, and you feel a rush of additional wetness inside of you. It’s warm, and you run your fingers through his hair while he fucks his cum inside of you. “Fuck. Baby, you’re so good to me, so good. Lettin’ me breed your cunt, and- and- oh. I’m still-“

He’s still cumming. It floods out of his cock and into your pussy steadily, and you giggle, feeling sated. Your delighted state of mind only lasts a second, because he pulls out sharply and wiggles down on the bed, attaching his mouth to your cunt. He’s eating his own cum out of you.

“Oh! Oh, Jisung, you’re- you’re dirty, Sungie, ah-“ You whine, fingers moving to his hair again. He licks you over and over until you’re wailing with it, your own tears brimming in your eyes from the overstimulation. Your hole feels stretched, a feeling you’re sure you could get used to, and you shake through a second orgasm.

Jisung’s quick to lean over you again, and then his thumb moves to your chin. He opens your mouth firmly, spitting your combined release into your mouth, and you moan, letting him press his tongue between your lips afterwards.

It’s messy and you let him kiss you for a bit, slow, languid, passionate kisses that have your core almost throbbing for more, if you weren’t so satisfied. Jisung’s soft cock presses against your tummy, wet with your combined arousal, and then he flops down next to you with a huff.

“God, I could go again,” He admits, hand running through his sweat mussed hair. When you turn to him, he’s grinning from ear to ear, and you giggle. He looks at you with a satisfied expression. “You’re the best. That was literally like, the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Even more than when I win some fight against an alien, or something.”

“Alien?” You ask, and then you remember. “Oh, yeah. Kinda forgot about that.”

“You forgot about me saving your life?!” He shrieks, thrashing around on the bed in a tantrum. “Seriously, if I wasn’t in love with you I would- ah. Oh.”

You blanch, blinking at him. It’s easy to ignore that you’re both naked when he’s just dropped a bombshell on you like that, and you let out a giggle. “That was sweet. I’m in love with you too, for the record.”

You’re attacked in a flurry of kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re sure Han Jisung intrigues you just as much as his superhero alterego does, so it’s easy to accept.

[iblowjone]

RED LIGHTS — [18+!]

AN INTERACTIVE CHRISTMAS SERIES

💻 Forget about every other reality TV show that’s part of your guilty pleasure watchlist. This Christmas time, there’s only one you will ever need to know about and get absolutely obsessed with. Red Lights—the perfect combination of your favourite concepts all in a cosy setting for winter. However, the contestants aren’t aware what they are signing up for and how they are already connected to each other before the start of it. [announced here on 27/05/23]

❗️[READ CAREFULLY] You, Y/N, are part of this year’s season, starring as the main character, surrounded by eight very different men that you have all met before. But it’ll need some time and decision making to find out who they are and to get closer to them. In order to decide how the story unfolds and what happens in following episodes, select an option for the poll after reading a chapter. Similar to a christmas calendar, a new episode will be added each day from 1st December until the big finale on 25th December 2023!

🛷 CONTENT INFO: skz ot8 x afab reader [not at the same time], reality/dating show AU, tropes will be revealed throughout the story, smut/fluff/angst, lots of discussion about the moral perspective of dating shows, it’s an alternative concept that tries to be less problematic/toxic, they are flawed characters and you should keep that in mind, content warning under the cut

📕 WORD COUNT: ?/?

CHAPTERS:

[1] — NOT SHY | more to be added…

🥀 CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption, explicit sexual content, mention of breakup, unrequited love and jealousy [more might be added throughout the writing and publishing process]

❤️‍🔥 AUTHOR’S NOTE: lmk if you want to be added to the taglist because you plan to leave meaningful comments after reading! have a nice and cosy christmas time in case you celebrate it :)

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

[iblowjone]

you need to get ready for an event but ofc the dress won’t zip at the back so you go find hannie turning your back to him wordlessly so he can zip you up. he doesn’t get the memo he’s really rather distracted by you so he just zips it down and pushes it off your shoulders and before you can be all ??? about it he’s sucking on your neck and playing with your tits -💛

jisung finds you in your bedroom, hands behind your back struggling to pull the zipper of your dress all the way up.

“almost ready, babe?” he asks.

“almost,” you assent.

he gives you a once over, humming in approval.

“you look so pretty,” he compliments from where he’s standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

you want to thank him but you’re too busy grunting in frustration. you’ve worn this dress a million times before, you know it fits, but the zipper always gets stuck around the bust area— the area that’s hardest to reach with your own hands.

you’re ready to give up so you turn your back jisung for help.

he gets the signal, or at least you think he does, until you feel the zipper moving the opposite direction of the way you wanted it.

he kisses the back of your neck as he pulls the sleeves off of your shoulders

“wait, ji… fuck,”

your protests quickly fade as jisung’s teeth sink into your skin, nipping lightly at your shoulder blade.

he kisses his way down your spine, following the fabric down your body until it pools at your feet and he’s on his knees. he taps your hips for you to step out of the dress so you do, turning to face him once again.

“smell so pretty too,” he murmurs to himself.

your eyes flit to the clock on your nightstand. you really should be going, but your boyfriend seems intent of making you late. you doubt he’s even thinking about the event now as he’s unbuttoning his nice shirt as to not get any of your arousal on it, doubt he’s worried about where you’re supposed to be in an hour as he lifts your knee over his shoulder…

he moans your name into your cunt as he gets the taste of you on his lips and tongue. he drinks you in, coaxing whines and whimpers from you like his life depends on it.

as good as he is with his mouth, you know cumming on his tongue will only make you needier and you don’t have a lot of time to do much of anything.

“please, ji, need you inside,” you beg, tugging at his hair and likely ruining the way he’d styled it.

he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, undoing his belt with the other. he eyes the vanity, and you think he’s about to tell you to bend over it so he can make you watch him fuck you in the mirror, but something catches his eye in the reflection and he whips around to look at the clock.

“shit, we’re gonna be late.”

he scrambles for the shirt he’d dropped and wrestles it back on, tossing you your dress as he buttons it with one hand.

you blink at him, crestfallen. “but-”

“i’m sorry, baby, i got carried away. we have to go.”

you’re still frozen, looking at your boyfriend with disbelief. was he really going to make you go out like this? all worked up with no release?it feels like a cruel prank.

you’re so wet you know you’ll ruin any pair of underwear you put on, but if you don’t wear any, you’ll certainly stain your dress which would be much more embarrassing and cause several… issues.

“i’ll make it up to you, i promise,” jisung assures you. he sounds genuinely apologetic but you’re not in a very forgiving mood, shying away when he tries to kiss you on the cheek. he pouts. “baby…”

“forget about it, let’s go,” you huff.

this time jisung actually zips the dress up for you, trying to do some damage control by sweet talking in your ear.

“i’ll fuck you as hard and as long as you want when we get back,” he promises. “okay?”

“mhm.”

you walk out of the room as soon as he connects the metal clasp at the top of the dress, hearing him mutter something about how he’s fucked as he trails behind you.

[iblowjone]

boypussy!hyunjin

-contains mature themes

the boy beneath you squirmed, as you teased him. pushing just the tip of your dick inside him. hyunjin was panting, breathing heavy. his face buried into the pillow at this point. back arched and exposing his most sensitive parts to you. You were worried he wouldn't be able to breath. His cunt clenching around you, trying to suck you in. However you had patience.  Never had you imagined doing this.

It all started when...

"uh i need to tell you something" hyunjin had walked inside after finishing practice. his lips were white and his whole demeanor had changed. almost like he was filled with fear and shock.

he sat down next to you on the couch. you switched off whatever you were watching on the tv to give him your full attention.

"I-I...something h-happened i don't k-know but i don't have a d-dic-" he quickly corrected himself.

"male genetilia" he whispered. You had no clue what he was talking about. Nevertheless you stroked his back, letting him place his head on your lap.

The last thing you remembered saying to him was 'i wish u had a pussy for a few days, i could do the things you do to me for a change'

you gasped.

"Did i make this happen?!" you yelled, making hyunjin jump with a start. he looked confused.

"You'll be back to normal in a couple of days, don't worry darling"

.

a day had passed, and hyunjin seemed to be struggling. you decided to tease him. he sat quietly in his room, scrolling through his phone. you walked in, jumping on him. he giggled when you kissed his neck. slowly making your way up to his lips.

"you're so wet aren't you? i should fuck you till you make a mess of yourself." you mumbled in his ear and smiled when his breath hitched. you slipped your hand under his cute versace tee, to lightly rub his tits.

"stopppp"

his mouth dropped open when you pressed your thigh between his legs. he tried closing his legs.

"ahh but-"

"but what?" you questioned. hyunjin shyly looked at you.

"i have my strap on, baby don't worry. we'll go slow"

you kissed him, and he kissed back desperately. tongue messily moving around. in the mean time you had managed to get his pretty checkered pajama pants off.

"here" he whined, grinding against your thigh. his wetness soaking his underwear. moving the fabric to the side  your carefully traced his folds. he looked cute, eyes wide, and oversized shirt hanging off his shoulder.

"you're dripping baby" you continued to tease him until he caught your hand. you pushed a finger in slowly. his breathing going slow. you added another. knuckle deep in him.

and thats how you ended up in this state.

.

"m' close, hah.." he cried out, thighs shaking and you pulled out for the 5th time in the past hour. the reaction you got was worth it. he groaned into the pillow, shoulders beginning to shake.

A clear indication that he had finally had it. You had finally broke down that wall of his.

"w-why ? i was so g-good" he muttered, voice cracking. tears flowed down his face, mixing with the sweat and drool on his chin.

you were just giving him back what he would do to you. you, of course took it better. it was quite a sight to see your boyfriend sobbing, begging You to rail Him.

"i know baby i know" you soothed him and he preened at the attention you gave him.

"i'll let you cum this time, hm?" you reassured, running your hand down his back.

You spread his puffy lips with your index and middle finger, biting your lip at how much slick was leaking out.

"such a pretty pussy. makes me wanna knock you up. fuck my babies into you. rail you till you're a mess"

he shook his head...or atleast tried to. hyunjin really was loving every moment of it. You slammed back in, now wasting no time.

hyunjin mewled, jerking forward with each thrust. Loud 'ah ah ahs' leaving him. 

Chest to back. you could see his face. struggling to maintain eye contact with you. his eyelids fluttering and his tears distorting his view.

"ah n-no no stop too m-much too muchhh" he wriggled around as your began to play with his clit. eyes rolling back. tongue lawling out.

At one particular hard thrust, he went cross eyed, mouth in an 'o' shape. the sound he let out was beyond pornagraphic. the heat in your abdomen exploding. you could feel the warmth seeping all over your dick. He shivered, his eyes swollen and gaze spaced out.

"aw did my baby cum"

.

pulling him against your side, he sobbed into your neck. thighs pressed together. his cum staining the inside of his soft thighs.

"did so well for me" you praised, leaning over to grab a hairtie from the table beside.

"i-i did?"

"of course you did. made such pretty sounds for me" you tied his hair into a small ponytail. kissing away his tears. he melted into you.

"you're my pretty girl, aren't you?" you weren't expecting him to respond. you tucked a few strands behind his ear. god, was he such a beautiful sight. lips coated in spit.

"i'm your p-pretty girl"

[iblowjone]

i just had a whole ass dream envolving me and jisung covered in blood making out and know i have to manifest a fic just like my dream because the plot was IMMACULATE 😖

[iblowjone]

i just wanted a han jisung smau, can someone recommend me one? ☹️

[iblowjone]

hust wanted to read a han jisung smau D:

[iblowjone]

It's a bad idea, right? (02)

*ೃ༄ pairing: han jisung x fem!reader.

*ೃ༄ genre: college!au, brother's best friend & 3racha Jisung (yes he is his own genre lol), y/n is Minho's slightly younger sister, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, drama, my attempt at humor.

*ೃ༄ word count: 10k.

*ೃ༄ summary: The Lee siblings' rule was simple: don’t flirt, kiss, sleep, or even dare to think about dating the other sibling’s friends. Pretty straightforward stuff, right? No matter how ridiculous that rule sounds now, both of you respected it religiously for years, being one of the main reasons your relationship remained as strong as it did for so long. But, what happens when your brother decides to break it on a random Friday night, at a frat party, with one of your closest friends? You decide to take revenge, of course. And what better way to do it than with the help of his precious best friend, Han Jisung, whom you’ve been crushing on since forever?

*ೃ༄ warnings: cursing, suggestive themes, jealousy, sexual tension, mentions of drinking and smoking.

♡. part 01 .♡

♡. a/n: hii <3 i really struggled with this part since I wanted it to end in a completely different way but tbh, I think this new ending is better. yn and jisung are really, really into each other (horny) in this part so enjoy! <3 do let me know your thoughts about this chapter!! <3 i love reading them (the first part of this chapter is from jisung's pov).

Their little private party continued well into the night, with drinks pouring and smoke making everyone a little hazy and disconnected from the world. It was an intoxicating feeling, one Jisung enjoyed to the fullest at the end of every gig and every night if he could.

Still, things were a bit different now. Usually, he would have people all over him, touching and whispering the dirtiest of things in his ear until he’d finally snap and take them to his dressing room. When away, he preferred to use his hotel room for such activities but while in town, the dressing room was his best choice since his house has always been off-limits. He wasn’t like Chan or Changbin, Jisung valued his privacy and the precious memories he’s made over the years in said house. Call him sentimental, but the only people who have ever stepped foot in his childhood bedroom were his best friend, his first girlfriend and the other two members of 3racha. That’s it.

Was it a bit weird to be so protective over something so silly and insignificant? Maybe. Did Jisung care? Not really.

Even so, he’s only ever allowed a handful of people in his personal bubble, as well as his bedroom, his safe space if you will. That’s why all the hookups were strictly happening somewhere far, far away from that bubble. Maybe he was afraid of intimacy, to let someone else see him bare in more ways than one and that’s why he’s locked his heart away and threw the key somewhere so out of reach for everyone.

Or maybe, he just had commitment issues. That’s what Minho always says anyway.

One thing was certain though – no random stranger would ever step foot in his house, no matter how high, intoxicated or horny he was. Jisung was a man with well-established boundaries and nothing will change that.

That’s why he was no stranger to going home alone. It was, however, out of the ordinary for him to end the night without getting his dick wet. It’s not like he lacked options: there were many, an overwhelming amount. He just wasn’t feeling it, no energy left in him to text any of them back, to deal with any more people than he’s already had to tonight.

His social battery ran out too quickly and now all he wanted to do was go home and sleep for two days straight, turning his phone off and disappearing from everyone’s lives for a while. His friends and manager will understand, surely.

A deep voice interrupted his inner turmoil as he dwelled on the matter, oscillating between calling over one of his booty calls from the bar for a quick fuck or just going straight home and locking himself away. Guess that had to be put on hold for the time being.

“Han Jisung.”

Looking up, he can’t help but smirk at the person he finds standing in front of him. “Yongbok. You keep surprising me tonight. Do you miss me, is that it?”

Felix rolls his eyes in response, already regretting his choice to approach him, which amuses Jisung greatly. Standing up, he ignores the buzzing phone in his hand and crosses his arms, giving the other man his whole attention for the time being.

The silence stretches on as Felix’s face contorts unpleasantly and it’s clear that he’d rather be doing anything else than speak to him right now. It must have taken everything in him to come over and start this conversation and without you by his side, it looks like Yongbok has already reached his limit.

Speaking of, where have you disappeared to? And most importantly, why was your loyal puppy bothering him instead of being with you?

Growing tired, Jisung tries his best to mask the exasperation in his voice. “What do you want, Yongbok? Do you need help finding your way home to your owner or what?”

The glare he receives in response is hilarious to his tipsy self, the alcohol in his system making him miss all the obvious social cues. Not like he cared in the first place, this was Yongbok in front of him after all.

“Help? From you?” Yongbok laughs, throwing his head back. “Not in a million years.”

Jisung is the one who rolls his eyes now, finally throwing the annoying device that hasn’t stopped buzzing on the chair behind him. “Then? I don’t want to spend the rest of my night with you, so spit it out already.”

Any traces of the smile previously on his features vanish instantly as big, brown eyes look straight into his. “I’m here to give you a warning.”

Amused, Jisung raises an eyebrow, leaning back on the chair nonchalantly. If Yongbok was expecting him to shiver in his boots, he’d have to try harder than that.

Stepping closer, Felix’s voice gets lower. “If you hurt her, Han Jisung, I swear I will return that pain tenfold.”

That piques his interest and he uncrosses his arms, straightening his posture. He’s a few inches taller than the man before him but Jisung learned a long time ago to not underestimate him. Felix might’ve been petite but behind the bright and smiley exterior was a very skilled fighter, one that wasn’t afraid to step in and defend his loved ones.

Jisung wasn’t stupid – he knew that even with the boxing lessons Minho made him take as some sort of bonding activity, he was no match for Felix in a physical fight.

But what Felix seems to have forgotten is that Jisung has an advantage. Or several.

“Don’t worry about that.” Suddenly much more sober than before, he lets the ghost of a smirk appear on his tense features, one that Felix doesn’t fail to notice.

“After all, I’m not the one who made her cry, am I?”

As expected, his words hit a bit too close to home and Felix’s tough exterior visibly crumbles as he takes a step back, like he was in pain himself. Like he was the one left sobbing for days on end by his best friend, abandoned like an old toy that inevitably got replaced by another, shiny and new. Like you were the one that hurt him and not the other way around; like he was the victim in the whole situation.

The nerve of him to act like he was the one Jisung held in his arms as his shirt got drenched, fragile heart breaking in his hands with every pained whimper that escaped your mouth. The audacity had Jisung’s anger rising without a clear reason, not really understanding his reaction. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the memory of your tear-stained face looking up at him, so broken and sad in the passenger seat of his car on a random Monday back in high school, when he picked you up in Minho’s place.

It was most likely both that fuelled his unexplainable anger and kept him talking, completely ignoring the look on Felix’s face just like he ignored you back then.

“Nor did I lead her on for months on end like a fucking asshole, right?”

Felix visibly flinches at the words, certainly relieving those same memories Jisung was thinking about just moments ago. Even though he couldn’t and he never will because he wasn’t there. Felix wasn’t there to comfort you when you needed him the most, Jisung was.

And he remembers it like it was yesterday.

So whatever pain Felix might be feeling now could never compare to the one you felt back then, struggling to breathe through the sobs that even his soothing touch and whispered words of comfort couldn’t diminish.

Without giving him any other chance to speak, he continues carelessly, landing the finishing blow.

“Now that we’re both on the same page, Yongbok,” he exhales through gritted teeth, taking a step closer towards him just like Felix has done before when he expected him to back down. “Get the fuck out of my face.”

He blinks, schooling his face into a neutral expression that doesn’t prevent Jisung from seeing right through him as he hoped. On the contrary, his clenched jaw tells him everything he needs to know.

Yongbok is fuming, barely holding himself together. But, he’s also aware of his faults so he backs off, not blowing up in Jisung’s face like he wants. For such a nice guy, loved by many, Felix had a pretty short fuse.

Guess that’s why he’s such a great actor, charming everyone he meets with just a few pretty words he never means.

Anyways, crisis averted for now. Somewhat.

“What’s going on here?” Chan’s voice interrupts their glaring match but the tension remains as palpable as before, even as they both take a step back from each other. Even tipsy, they’re both still sober enough to remember that fighting in front of Chan won’t end well for either of them.

“Nothing.” Felix finally speaks, voice hoarse and deeper than before, the storm behind his eyes not visible to Chan. “I was just leaving, Y/n is waiting for me.”

Chan nods slowly, trying to understand what happened as Felix walks past him without as much of a glance in his direction.

Jisung’s eyes follow his retreating form for a moment before he reaches for his discarded phone and his mouth opens on its own accord, not being able to stop himself. “Make sure you don’t make her cry on the way home, Yongbok.”

Both of Felix’s middle fingers shoot up in the air as he continues to walk away, not bothering to give any other answer to the obvious taunt. Jisung only smirks, satisfied he managed to get under his skin for a second time that night.

When he finally disappears and they remain alone in their little space in the VIP section, Chan turns to him with curiosity written all over his face.

“What was that?”

He shrugs, already captivated by his phone. “I’m just looking out for Minho’s little sister.”

Chan doesn’t buy it, Jisung can tell without even looking at him. But he doesn’t react, fingers moving across the screen as he types, cancelling multiple plans he made while sober and in a more social mood.

“Jisung.” Chan sighs, not even expecting an answer as he runs a hand through his dark curls. “Don’t start playing with fire if you aren’t ready to get burnt.”

That makes him tear his gaze from the device, a cocky smile slowly morphing onto his features. “Oh, but I’m ready.”

Then, he shows his screen to Christopher who can’t help but also smirk when he recognizes the people in the picture before him. It was you and Jisung after all, sharing a supposed kiss that was already gaining thousands of likes despite being posted just minutes ago. With the lighting and the angle, his fans wouldn’t be able to recognize you but the people that mattered certainly would.

Like Minho, if he paid close attention, which he didn’t most of the time. But to be honest, that’s what he was hoping for. Minho scrolling past his feed without a second glance and giving him more time to enjoy this silly ploy with you. The alcohol in his system along with the adrenaline pumping through his veins from the little confrontation that just took place completely erased all of his nerves and previous protests regarding your plan, leaving him giddy with excitement.

Minho might not notice but there was no doubt in his mind that Yongbok would, despite having him blocked on all socials. This will reach him one way or another and Jisung couldn’t wait to see his blood boil as he turned green with envy, jealous of the way he got to touch and feel you while he was stuck on the sidelines, watching it all.

“I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” And for once, Chris actually agrees with him.

Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

—----

The weekend finds you on the couch, scrolling idly through your phone while a random show plays in the background and one of the cats sleeps soundly on your stomach, deeming you comfy enough for a bed. It’s quiet and peaceful, with the sun barely peeking through the closed curtains and you almost doze off as your scrolling slowly stops. Your breathing evens out and sleep is right there, on the tip of your eyelashes, coming to take you to dreamland until the most annoying voice in existence startles both you and the feline and your phone slips through your fingers and falls to the ground. The cat jumps off and runs away instantly, seeking comfort with his other two siblings while you remain there, groaning into a pillow.

“Come here! I made breakfast.” Your brother yells from the kitchen and this is the first time in your life that you start to consider murder as the only option left to solve all of your problems.

Rolling your eyes, you complain under your breath as you drag your feet to the kitchen, forgetting all about your phone and the sweet dream that was about to take you under. When he sees you, Minho’s whole face lights up from where he’s sitting at the table, not expecting you to actually join him.

Well, too bad you won’t.

“Thanks.” Is all you say before grabbing your plate and making your way back to the living room, Minho’s face falling in the process.

It’s been exactly one week since that incident at the party, when Minho, letting his dick take over, broke one of your promises. One week since you’ve spoken more than three sentences to him.

Truth be told, you were starting to miss him but every time you tried to make things right, to push it all aside for the sake of your relationship, your anger got the better of you and it all went back to square one. It was childish and you could feel Minho’s annoyance rising because of your behaviour but, you just couldn’t stop yourself, especially when you remembered all the years you’ve spent following that rule just for his sake. Just so he won’t be upset or uncomfortable having to pick between his sister and one of his friends.

You’ve put his happiness above yours for so long and in the end, he couldn’t have cared less. You were miserable for nothing. That’s where all of the anger came from, among other things (Han Jisung).

Minho lets out a loud sigh but other than that, remains seated and gives you the space you need. Your brother wasn’t a bad guy, far from it, but he really messed up and now he had to bear the consequences of his actions.

As you make yourself comfortable on the couch again, Dori comes back and jumps onto your lap, purring, almost like he wants to take away your anger himself which warms your heart. This is why your brother’s furballs were your favourite thing about him.

Ten minutes later, when you’re done eating, Minho comes to get your plate and goes back to wash it without a word. Every time you two argue and it ends up being his fault, your brother has the same pattern when it comes to apologizing. If words don’t work, he switches to acts of service and if those don’t work either, he starts spending money on the most random stuff you might have said you liked 5 years ago. His brain worked in mysterious ways.

Thankfully, the doorbell rings and breaks the awkward atmosphere.

Picking Dori up, you make your way towards the door and almost gasp when you realize who’s on the other side.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” His voice is low, like he just rolled out of bed and came here first thing and the sound alone awakens the dormant butterflies that always go crazy when he’s near. “Can I come in?”

You nod, trying to catch your breath as you step to the side and Dori jumps from your arms to rub himself against Jisung’s legs in greeting. The boy smiles, the most genuine you’ve ever seen him and crouches down to pet the little feline, his favourite out of the three. And nobody could blame him when the bond they shared was absolutely adorable.

Suddenly, you’re very conscious of your appearance and your hands shoot up to at least fix your hair as his back is to you, patting down and cursing under your breath at the ugly pyjamas you chose to wear last night.

Of course, Han Jisung has to show up looking all perfect at 10 a.m. while you still look like a literal zombie. Just your luck, really.

You haven’t seen him since his gig a few days ago but you’ve kept in touch, and he certainly didn’t mention anything about suddenly coming to your house on a Saturday morning. So, that means he’s here to see your stupid brother. Great. You can never win, can you?

“Oh?” Minho’s voice reaches both of you simultaneously as he comes strolling into the hallway with the other two cats in toe, hands still wet. “Why are you here?”

From the way he speaks, you would never guess these two have been best friends since middle school.

“Good morning to you too, baby.” Jisung smirks as he looks up, still petting Dori who’s now on his back, showing his belly, and your heart can’t help but flutter at the nickname even though he didn’t address you. There was something almost enthralling about the way this word rolled down his tongue, just like fresh honey. Addicting even, making you want to be the only one with the privilege of hearing it. Want to be his baby. Wait, what –

“Can’t I come and visit my best friend once in a while?” He continues, smirk slowly morphing into a smile yet the playfulness doesn’t leave his voice. “I’ve missed you.”

Minho rolls his eyes, drying his hands on the dark blue apron he wore. Your dad’s apron. “I saw you two days ago.”

“And that was two days too long!”

“Do you guys need a moment?”

They both turn to look at you at the same time like they just remembered you were hearing this too. Jisung gives you an apologetic smile and stands up, pushing the hair back from his eyes. “Another time. You’re the one I came to see today, sweetheart.”

Minho’s eyes narrow as he looks between the two of you, completely oblivious to the excitement that is quickly taking over you. And just like that, for the first time that morning, Han Jisung manages to make you smile with a single sentence.

But before you can open your mouth, your brother butts in and the world comes crashing down again. “See her? What for? I didn’t know you guys were that close.”

The glare you send his way would make any normal person feel uncomfortable but as we’ve already established, you and your brother were far from normal. He’s grown immune to your antics a long time ago as nothing you can do or say phases him anymore.

Or so, he thinks.

Before you can open your mouth and bite back, you feel a strong arm wrap around your shoulders and pull you close, the smell of his cologne invading all of your senses and making you a little unstable on your feet.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about our relationship, right, sweetie?”

Then it all clicks in your head, making sense. Jisung isn’t here to see Minho – he’s here to annoy him! He’s here for you! Thank God his arm was already holding you upright because you were sure your legs might’ve betrayed you at the realization.

Your features relax and soften as you look up at him, batting your eyelashes in what you hope is a seductive way. He looks down instinctively and winks, smirk widening when you reach out and gently trace his jaw with one finger, pleased you caught on to his act.

“You don’t have to tell him all of our secrets now, Ji.” You purr and he responds by leaning into your touch, playing it up as much as he can since he’s aware Minho could see right through your act if he tried.

Thankfully, your brother is still stuck on the way Jisung enunciated that one word, relationship, like he was hinting at something deeper going on, something he wasn’t aware of. He’s deep in thought, you can tell by the way his eyebrows furrow, visibly displeased at the new revelation and that makes you so giddy you have to stop yourself from giggling by hiding your face in Jisung’s shoulder.

He knows what you’re doing and responds accordingly, pulling you flush against him and that’s when Minho snaps out of it, both eyebrows shooting up in brief surprise. Quickly discarding his apron, your brother turns to walk back into the apartment and that’s when you two share a conspiratorial grin.

However, Minho isn’t one to back down easily. “Fine, give me ten minutes then the three of us can go and do something fun together.”

Wait, what? You weren’t expecting that, and Jisung can tell by the look of horror that crosses your face as you pull away, panicking.

“The three of us?” Jisung questions, not shaken at all. “It’s Saturday, Min. You have dance practice with Yongbok and Hyunjin, remember?”

Minho stops in his tracks, pausing for a moment as he seems to remember his schedule and groans loudly, annoyed at the whole situation. Your face lights up and Jisung squeezes your shoulder reassuringly with a smile.

Bless his weird attachment to your brother and his elephant memory.

Turning around, all three cats scramble to him and you understand why the moment your eyes meet his, cold with no hint of amusement left in them. Minho might’ve been immune to your childish acts but in your case, even a narrow gaze from him made you stand straighter, slightly terrified. In those instances, you were left feeling like the bullies that dared bother you as a child, the ones he took care of one by one – frozen in fear.

That makes your brother sound like some sort of child gangster but truth be told, Minho is scary now and was even scarier back then. Or that’s what your undeveloped mind was fooled into believing back then, since his anger was never directed towards you, ever.

Seeing their brother beat a middle schooler with a stick would do that to any child.

One thing that’s never changed since then, however, was the fact that no matter how scary Minho appeared on the outside, you were never truly afraid of him. Because you knew, even from a young age, that he would never hurt you. On the contrary, he’s always been a little too protective of you, coddling and spoiling you rotten.

Still, that didn’t mean Minho didn’t know how to make you question and regret all of your life decisions with a single look. He’s mastered the warning gaze from your parents at a young age and the feelings it awakened in you never changed. Discomfort with a side of good old shame.

“Hm, lucky you, right?”

You don’t respond, looking away as your whole face warms at the hidden implication. Stupid brother with his stupid mouth and his stupid mind games.

Jisung’s arm around your shoulders comforts you silently and Minho notices, eyes flying straight to the unusual display of affection.

“Have fun,” and suddenly, he smiles innocently like nothing even happened, “but if you’re not home by the time I return from practice you’re sleeping outside with the dog.”

If you had any doubts Minho couldn’t tell what you were doing, they all went out the window in a split second.

You frown, not falling for his evil ploys. “We don’t have a dog.”

“No, but Jisung does.” Jisung snorts next to you and your glare finds a new target as you elbow his side, Minho’s smile widening. “I’m sure Bbama will love to have a sleepover with you.”

He then turns around to continue on his merry way, humming as the cats follow him like he’s their leader or something, the one that carries all the answers they’ve been looking for. Traitors, furry little traitors, all of them.

But then, as you glare at his retreating back, it hits you.

You were supposed to have the upper hand! He’s going to be the one sleeping outside with the dog, not you!

And so, you’re on his trail in a second, the cats all running away from the scene. “How dare you speak to me like this?! You little bitch, come back here! “

That morning, Han Jisung is once again subjected to one of your arguments, against his will as always. The only good thing is that after all these years, he’s gotten so used to them that when you and Minho come into the living room still bickering, he’s fast asleep on the couch with all of the cats on him.

By the time you’re done getting ready for the day and leave the house with Jisung, your mood is already ruined. All thanks to Minho, a normal occurrence lately.

Getting out of his car with a huff, Jisung follows before quickly locking it and catching up with you. His arm finds solace around your shoulders again and without meaning to, you slow down to accommodate him.

“Where are we going?” you ask, looking straight ahead as you continue leading him like you know exactly where. A girl’s wrath is capable of amazing things.

He smiles, amusement with a very obvious hint of fondness clear in his voice. “You started walking away without me despite not even knowing where we are?”

You shrug, already becoming used to the weight of his arm around you. It’s pleasant and warm, lulling the butterflies to sleep as you begin relaxing in his presence. You’d never thought this would happen, not after being so nervous and excited around him for so many years because of your bottled-up feelings.

A welcomed development if you said so yourself. Finally, you managed to calm the fuck down and act normal in front of the guy you liked.

Wonder how long that will last.

“This way.” He gently steers you both in the right direction and your destination becomes clear.

“The arcade?” There’s a hint of excitement in your voice and Jisung’s face lights up, elated to finally see you happy. “I haven’t been here in years! I love this place!”

He’s beaming, grinning from ear to ear as he looks down at you. “Yeah? Me too! Your brother and I used to come here all the time back in high school.”

You know this. After all, that’s the reason you used to drag Felix here after school almost every day, just to get a glimpse of the cool senior your brother spent most of his time with. But with time, this became one of your and Felix’s favourite places thanks to the memories you made together and you often looked back fondly on those times. Skipping class has never been as fun since.

Even though you still skip class together now, in college, you aren’t as attached to the hip as you were back then because of your clashing schedules so, it’s not the same.

Excited to go in and play some games, you almost miss Changbin at the entrance.

“Look who decided to finally show up!” His loud voice disturbs your pink and peaceful bubble full of memories of high schooler Felix and you can’t help but sigh, already missing your daydreams.

“What took you so long?” He continues, all his annoyance directed at Jisung. It’s all an act because Changbin could never be upset at him, especially since when your eyes meet, he smiles. He’s surrounded by seven other people you don’t recognize, who wave and greet you politely once your gaze moves to them.

Guess Chan was busy.

A small part of you feels a bit disappointed by their presence. Even though you were aware this wouldn’t be a date per se, you were still looking forward to spending some quality time with him alone, wanting to peel back all of the layers and see who exactly was hiding behind the many masks he liked to show off. Maybe another time.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jisung runs a hand through his silky hair, not sorry at all, “Minho was being difficult.”

“You mean, a pain in the ass like always.” You mutter bitterly.

That gets a loud laugh out of Changbin, and the others follow suit, just not as flamboyant. Do all the members of 3racha run their own little cults on the side? Surely Chris wouldn’t…right? Right?!

He grins and changes the subject, though you sense there’s more he’d like to add to your comment. “We’re all here so let’s have some fun, yeah?”

Everyone cheers and you can’t help but giggle, joining them before making your way inside.

Where you expected loud chatter and laughter was only the music from the speakers playing in the background, accompanied by the bright neon lights from all the game machines. The place was empty, creepily so, and you gravitated towards Jisung for support, hiding behind him in what you hoped was a subtle enough way.

Changbin and the others run wild, like children, the moment they step in, not finding anything wrong with the deserted place. Noticing your presence, Jisung turns around with a laugh, gently grasping both of your hands.

“Sorry, pretty, I should’ve mentioned it sooner.” He says, drawing comforting patterns on your knuckles. “Changbin and I rented out the whole place for the day, that’s why it looks like something straight out of a horror movie.”

Oh, right. They were rich and famous or whatever.

You nod, visibly relaxing with the help of his comforting touch and go on ahead to discuss your plan for the day.

In the end, you settle on a pretty simple one.

Take a few pictures of each other, think of some clever captions and post them, hoping everyone (your brother) believes you’re currently on the best date of your life. Who else’s date would rent out a whole arcade for them to spend time together in peace, getting to be as lovey-dovey as they want? No ones.

Too bad Jisung wasn’t actually your date either. You were mourning that thought every day.

Once satisfied with all the posts, Jisung gets pulled away by some of the others, people you’ve learnt are part of their crew, laughing loudly as they cheer him on at a game of basketball. You’re left alone at a table somewhere a bit further away from all the fun, making yourself busy with the drink and snacks he bought to make this whole date even more believable.

Naturally, your thoughts fly to your high school days and all the time you used to spend in this very same arcade back then. Jisung has already revealed the reason he picked this place but a part of you fooled itself into believing he did it for you too, that he knew what it meant to you.

But this was Han Jisung after all, so he probably didn’t. It’s not like you could blame him either – in some aspects, you were as much of a stranger to him as he was to you since you’ve never had the chance to get to know each other on a deeper level.

Isn’t it strange? How you can know a person for most of your life but also know next to nothing about them?

“Having fun?”

Changbin’s presence snaps you out of it as he takes Jisung’s previous seat across from you, smiling brightly. “I sure hope so, Jisung did all of this for you, after all.”

“What?”

Your eyes widen comically, not believing Changbin’s words at all which causes him to laugh in response, picking up his friend’s discarded drink.

“Didn’t he tell you?” He’s still smiling, messing with one of his bracelets that came undone. “Damn, he has no game at all, huh? No wonder he’s been single since high school.”

Your whole world is spinning and you can’t help feeling like you’re being pranked right now. Jisung couldn’t have done this for you! You’re his best friend’s annoying little sister, why would he even want to do something for you?

Though, now that you think about it, he gave in easily after your argument, agreeing to help you get back at Minho with minimal complaints. But why? Does he see it as some sort of duty to protect you and make sure you’re happy all the time like he once did when you were teenagers? Is he looking out for you, wanting to keep an eye out in case you do something stupid?

Wait, what if somehow, this whole thing has been orchestrated by Minho and you’ve fallen into his trap, playing his game? No way! Has your stupid brother been behind this all of this time? Is Jisung just a pawn, moving according to his orders?

Oh my god, what if –

“Y/n?” Changbin moves some hair out of your eyes gently, looking at you with slight concern. “You good?”

You shake your head, chasing away all of the irrational thoughts before nodding at his question. Sure, if being annoying was a competition, both Jisung and Minho would somehow share first place, winning every time. But, neither of these menaces would do something like this right? Play with your head and feelings in the most cruel way imaginable.

There was no way; that’s what you chose to believe to stop your brain from going into overdrive. Felix would beat their asses, after all, defending your honour until the end. Yeah, that sounds better.

“Why would Jisung go through all this trouble for me?” You finally ask, and Changbin lets out a relieved sigh at the sound of your voice. Were you really that out of it that he started worrying? Cute.

“Why not?” He plops a fry in his mouth before extending his arm and asking you to fix his bracelet, tired of struggling. “You’re his best friend’s sister. He likes making you smile.”

Your jaw drops, and so does the bracelet, the sound deafening to your overwhelmed mind. Jisung…likes seeing you smile. Since when?!

Across from you, Changbin frowns. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

Your brows furrow, and he can read the confusion on your tense features. “I just don’t…understand.”

“It’s simple, Y/n. Seeing you happy, makes him happy. Why do you think he teases and flirts with you all the time? Your laugh makes him act like an excited puppy, living to please his owner.”

You’re not buying it. “He acts like that with everyone, even with Minho!”

“Well, he isn’t renting out arcades for everyone, now, is he?” The smile returns to his lips once you finish fixing the bracelet, eyes crinkling at the corners. “And especially not for Minho.”

“He said you rented it together!”

Now, Changbin is the confused one, blinking at you for a moment before standing up abruptly. “Han Jisung!“

“No, don’t!” You stand up as well, setting a hand on his toned bicep, panicking. “Please don’t call him back here.”

Seeing the look on your face, he nods, most likely understanding that all of this new information is currently overwhelming. What he doesn’t understand, however, is why did Jisung lie? But that’s something he’d have to ask him later when you aren’t here.

“Do you want to come play with me? There’s this one game I can never win, no matter what strategy I choose to go with.”

And that’s how Changbin manages to calm you down once again, making you forget all about your previous conversation. Not that you weren’t curious about Jisung’s motives, it’s just that your feelings got the better of you and suddenly, your heart was beating a bit too fast and your delusions almost took over. And you couldn’t have that, not when you were finally spending time with the guy that’s been off limits for years.

Okay, maybe spending time is a bit of an exaggeration since he pretty much abandoned you, but hey, at least your followers were jealous, right? A win is a win.

At some point, Changbin is also dragged away and you’re left alone trying to kill all the zombies and save the world, a task that proves to be a bit more difficult than you remembered. If only Felix was here with you, then every pixelated person would be safe and sound and you’d get to bask in all of his glory.

Thankfully, you’re not alone for long.

After a while, two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind startling you momentarily until the familiar and comforting scent reaches your nose and you relax, relieved.

“Hi, baby.” The embrace along with his soothing, low voice make you feel like you’re floating on a fluffy cloud, very tranquil. You’ve wondered how he’d feel wrapped around you dressed like this, comfy in his white hoodie and pants, since this morning when he appeared at your front door. You have to admit - for once, reality was better than the daydream.

“What are you playing?” He continues, resting his chin on your shoulder to look at the screen in front.

You shake your head, trying to ignore the shiver that runs down your spine as his breath keeps hitting your cheek. “Nothing, because I’m losing. Felix was always better than me at this game.”

He hums lightly, looking at the toy gun in your hands. Without a word, his arms detangle from around your waist to move upwards, warm hands falling over yours gently. Your head turns slightly to the side to look at him and that’s when you realize how close he is, actually stealing your breath away. The proximity isn’t intoxicating as usual but instead, warm and fuzzy, so intimate it has you falling for him all over again.

You can’t help but wonder if he feels it too, how natural it is to hold each other like this. His breathing is steady and not ragged like it was that night before his performance, calm and content as he maintains eye contact. His pupils aren’t blown, and the emotion behind them is one you can’t recognize. An emotion usually well-known to you but completely foreign in his eyes.

“I’m sure together we can change that.”

There’s no hint of tobacco or weed in his breath and that, for some strange reason, makes you very happy. Maybe because he finally resembles the person you fell for so long ago, or maybe the person you made him out to be in your head. Who was Han Jisung, after all? You really didn’t know anymore, but you’d like to find out again.

Either way, the swarm of butterflies in your stomach go berserk as his hold on you tightens and he raises the gun, eyes flickering between you and the screen.

“Shall we?” He doesn’t need to ask you twice.

Breaking the embrace for just a moment to put in another coin, you return in his arms again once the game starts and as promised, he helps you. It’s a silly zombie game but you’re both having the time of your lives, laughing away as he does all the work and shoots everything in sight. It’s fun, freeing, and you wish this moment would never end as his genuine laugh makes your heart grow inch by inch with every minute that passes.

You’re having so much fun together that time flies in a blink of an eye and suddenly, you’ve played like five rounds of the same game.

When the ‘victory’ screen appears, Jisung puts the toy down and steps back, only to pull you in another hug as you turn around, happiness written across both of your faces.

Letting go, your back is to the machine as he runs his hands through honey-blonde hair, still smiling brightly.

“I bet even Yongbok would be jealous of this score.”

You laugh, nodding, your happiness so contagious it has him chuckling as well. “You guys should play together sometimes. You’d make an unstoppable team.”

His smile drops instantly as he rolls his eyes, all in good fun, and you can’t help but reach out to pinch his full cheeks which makes him pout cutely. The sight pulls at your heartstrings and causes your pulse to pick up, not letting go of his cheek. He looks adorable like this, from his bare face to his comfy outfit, without the furrow between his eyebrows that seems to be a constant in his life.

His lips look very plush, and your mind flies far away with thoughts about melting against them in a much-needed kiss. You wonder what it’d feel like, what he’d taste like all sober and relaxed like this, and you’re once again reminded of that night a few days ago when you almost found out.

“No thanks,” he shakes his head, still pouting and your hand falls on his shoulder, “I’d rather spend my free time with you, sweetheart.”

Warmth rushes to your cheeks but you do your best to ignore it, briefly avoiding his gaze. “I bet you tell that to all the girls.”

That’s when he steps closer, almost pinning you to the machine as his arms circle your waist again, chest to chest. He licks his lips and your eyes zone in on them, all wet and oh so inviting, shamelessly staring. Jisung notices and leans forward, for once not smirking or acting all smug, putting a strand of hair behind your ear and taking the opportunity to cup your cheek after, bringing your face even closer to his.

“Maybe,” He admits, not missing a beat and you’re the one rolling your eyes now, “but this is the first time I mean it.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest and in fear of him hearing, you make to pull away but are surprised when he doesn’t let you, instead squishing your cheeks together with both of his hands. In the absence of his rings, they’re warm and soft, just like he is being right now.

“Very smooth, Ji.” You finally come up with a reply, voice quieter than before and speech slightly unclear. “Careful though, I might actually believe you.”

But he understands you, of course. “Maybe you should.”

His doe eyes drop to your mouth for a moment, lingering there as he lets go of one side of your face to trace your bottom lip with his thumb. Pulling it down lightly, he then moves to the top one, pushing against it like one would on a pillow to test its quality. Without even thinking about it, they pucker and you kiss his fingertip and that’s the moment his eyes darken completely, the stars in them disappearing instantly.

Inhaling sharply, he continues with a bit of difficulty. “You know I’m no liar.” Then his hands drop before he moves to cradle the back of your head tenderly, bumping your nose with his.

A nervous chuckle bubbles out of you, suddenly feeling breathless. “Yes, you are.”

Jisung laughs, the sound so low and devoid of any amusement that it sends a shiver down your spine, your own hands planting themselves on his chest as your brain decides between pushing him away and pulling him closer, finally closing this annoying distance.

“Yes, I am.” He admits a little too easily and suddenly, your conversation with Changbin comes rushing back.

You want to ask him about it, the curiosity eating away at your every thought until you’re a blabbering mess. But, you can’t. The words seem to remain stuck in your throat every time you want to bring it up, making you incapable of doing so.

So, you stop fighting it and like every normal person caught in the moment, let yourself melt in his embrace.

Time stops and your eyes flutter shut, arms moving up his body to wrap around his neck and pull him flush against you. Everything and everyone vanishes and it’s just you, him and the purple and pink neon lights that still managed to somehow blind you even in darkness.

His lips finally touch yours but for some reason, he doesn’t start kissing you and your eyes snap open in disappointment just to find him already staring back.

“If Minho were to see us like this…” he trails off when you frown, one of your hands going to fist the material of his hoodie to coax him forward. “We’d never hear the end of it.”

You whine, doing everything in your power to remain sane as the hand at the back of your neck tangles into your hair and pulls you back slightly, still keeping your lips connected but heads farther apart.

“Are you seriously thinking about Minho as we’re about to kiss?” you ask against his lips, voice regaining its strength. “What the fuck, Ji?”

He chuckles darkly, his hold on your hair tightening in a very pleasant way. “I’m just reminding you about the consequences, sweetheart. Games are fun until they aren’t.”

“Fuck the consequences.” You plead and the desperation in your voice makes him push you further into the cold machine. “Forget about Minho and kiss me, please.”

Releasing his hoodie, your nails find his nape and you feel him shiver at the contact, lips parting without a sound once you move to scratch at the shorter hair there. It’s clear as day he wants this as much as you do; why does he continue to torture you both?

“Please, Jisung.”

That seems to be the right thing to say because he groans, frustrated and lets his head fall in the crock of your neck, latching onto the smooth skin.

“Fuck, baby.” He says after planting a few, soft kisses there. “Every time we end up like this, our first kiss replays in my head over and over again until I’m dizzy. Do you remember? You’ve always said my name so prettily, baby, it drives me fucking insane.”

How could you ever forget? Nobody has ever kissed you like that ever since. It was the main reason you became so enamoured with him back in high school, after all, the reason –

“Wow, get a room, you two.”

Both of your heads snap in the direction of the voice, glaring at the intruder that just ruined the long-awaited moment. As Changbin’s face comes into view once Jisung steps away reluctantly, you almost let out a scream, frustrated out of your mind. And horny. Frustrated and horny and pissed out of your mind.

Changbin just lost his place as your favourite 3racha member. He’s now in the cockblocker category with Minho.

“Bin, respectfully, what the fuck?” For once, Jisung voices his frustration as he fixes his hoodie and dishevelled hair, snapping at his friend.

Putting his hands up, Changbin takes a step back. “Hey, you didn’t give me any heads up about wanting to fuck Minho’s little sister today!”

Both you and Jisung look away in opposite directions, not being able to meet Changbin’s accusing gaze. You’re surprised to see him just as embarrassed as you are since he’s always exuding an infuriating amount of confidence that has almost every person he meets falling to his feet.

This side of Jisung was a new one. Yet another thing you didn’t know about him.

Well, at least it was cute.

Not having any sort of filter whatsoever, Changbin continues despite your discomfort. “You usually let me know about those things in advance!”

That’s when you turn to look at him, trying your best to not show the fact that your heart just dropped all the way to your stomach, the new information making you sick. Not new, since you knew he slept around, just…uncomfortable. This is one of those things you are aware of but can’t hear out loud, don’t want to as a means to keep your heart intact and pain to a minimum.

One of those things both Minho and Felix have warned you about, which you ignored each time.

When Jisung doesn’t meet your eyes, you shake your head and hurry to leave the uncomfortable situation, keeping your head down and emotions in check.

“Yeah, uh, I didn’t sign up for this conversation so I’ll just leave you alone.”

So, you leave, not stopping once even as Changbin starts calling your name and yells about some pictures, going to the bathroom to pull yourself together. Hopefully, some cold water will do the trick, cooling your heated skin and thumping heart, maybe even stop this uncomfortable feeling in your gut.

You should have never fallen for Han Jisung, not so hard at least.

Quite the revelation to have at 4 in the afternoon, if you say so yourself. 

The outing ends without any other major events and after that, you and Jisung steer clear of each other for a while. The texts stop and since you’re in different departments and majors, you don’t see him around campus either. The aftermath of what happened at the arcade, in front of the stupid zombie game is hitting you a bit harder than usual as all of your dreams end up being about him, his fluffy clothes and plush lips that you were once again deprived of. But then you also remember his hand in your hair, pulling at the strands and his bruising hold on your hip and suddenly, those dreams are anything but innocent.

You’re dizzy and out of it for a few days every time you remember that moment, but after a while, you finally return to normal (somewhat). The feeling of his hands on you still lingers, but mostly when you’re alone at night and scrolling through all the pictures you, him or Changbin have taken that day.

He looks happy in them, and if you didn’t know it was all an act, you’d actually believe he was just a normal guy enamoured with his sweetheart. You both look happy, playing the part a little too well and that’s what keeps messing with your head. No, not the staged photos when you were all camera-ready but the ones Changbin took when neither of you was aware of his presence.

Before interrupting, he had the bright idea to take out his phone and capture several moments between you, claiming you both looked too cosy and comfortable to miss out on it. And you were, it was obvious even from behind. Holding and caressing each other in the most natural way, like you were long-time lovers and not just two people who will never be together.

Neither of you ended up posting those, nor did you mention them on the way home, the drive being painfully silent. You did, however, make one of these pictures your home screen, your favourite one out of the bunch. In it, Jisung was hugging you from behind, not yet preoccupied with the game, giving you his undivided attention and affection.

It was cute, yet every time you unlocked your phone and stared at it, another part of your heart shrivelled up and died quietly, leaving behind this unexplainable feeling of emptiness. But as much as it hurt, knowing Jisung will never be yours even with Miho’s promise out of the way, you could not delete those pictures.

Maybe you were a masochist, all these years pinning after him leaving you a little messed up.

Or maybe you’ve finally lost your mind after living with your stupid brother for so long.

Yeah, that sounds better. It’s all Minho’s fault. All of your life problems are Minho’s fault, he’s the worst.

Almost another week passes before you hear from Han Jisung again. But, surprise, surprise, he doesn’t come and talk to you in person.

“Hey, guys!” Changbin plops down between you and Felix one day at lunch, surprising everyone with his presence. “What’s new?”

Jeongin looks at him, startled out of his mind. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Seungmin nods. “Yeah, you don’t even go here.”

You and Felix also share a look full of suspicion behind his back, silently asking each other the same thing. His sudden appearance gets a few gasps and causes a small commotion at the tables nearby but as always, Changbin doesn’t pay them any attention. A man on a mission never gets distracted.

“Boo, you whores!” He shoots them a look full of fake annoyance, but all it does is cause laughter at your little table. Satisfied, he grins and turns to you. “I’m having a party this weekend and I was wondering if you’re free?”

A party at Changbin’s place usually means a whole lot of trouble. There’s alcohol, weed, dancers, small celebrities and pretty much everything you could ever imagine. It’s like one of those 2000s’ MTV house parties you used to watch on TV as a child. His ‘humble abode’ becomes a full-on music festival which automatically makes it a 3racha party. And if it’s a 3racha party, that means Jisung will be there. And if Jisung is there, your heart will burst.

So, yeah, maybe you’ll pass this one, even if you’re aching to see him again.

“You too, Yongbok.”

“I’d rather eat glass, thanks.”

Changbin laughs, slapping his back playfully, clearly not taking Felix’s words seriously. But you know better, so you frown, flicking his nose to show his rude behaviour wasn’t appreciated in the slightest.

With a sigh, you respond. “I don’t really feel like partying, Bin.”

“Minho will be there.” He says nonchalantly, stealing one of Felix’s fries and getting another glare from the man.

“We’ll be there!”

Satisfied, he sends a wink your way before standing up and bidding goodbye, not lingering in the cafeteria for longer than necessary. Did he come all this way here just to invite you to a party he could’ve texted about? What was he planning?

Taking another sip of his strawberry milk, Seungmin meets your gaze head-on. “Since when do you speak for all of us?”

Felix nods, also turning to look at you from his seat at your side.

“What? I single handedly ended your miserable weekends. The least you can do is be nice about it!”

They both roll their eyes at the same time, before Seungmin stands up, grumbling under his breath about his plan to take over the world, most likely. He instead settles for getting another piece of pie, for now.

As expected, Jeongin is on your side. “Come on, a party at a rich guy’s house won’t kill you.” He tells Felix, whose mood soured significantly since Changbin showed up.

Grumpy Felix shows up only two times a year when certain people have the audacity to start sprouting nonsense in his presence. That’s it. So, seeing him so blue about the whole thing really isn’t sitting right with you.

Bumping his shoulder with yours, he doesn’t even bother to look up from his food this time.

Confused, you ask. “Lix, why do you keep acting like this? Are you going through puberty again?”

That gets a laugh out of Jeongin whose platinum blonde hair bounces along with his joy. Felix doesn’t share the same sentiment and for a brief moment, your heart squeezes painfully in your chest at his lack of reaction.

“Can I live?” He raises an eyebrow, purposely making his voice even deeper than it naturally is to get you to back off, all in good fun, of course.

You grin and bat your eyelashes at him, getting all up in his face. “Nope.”

And without any sort of warning, your nimble fingers find his sides and you change tactics, wanting to make him laugh at all costs. It works in an instant and the sound of Felix’s much higher laugh brings a smile to both yours and Jeongin’s faces as you tickle him, taking him by complete surprise.

But as expected, his retaliation doesn’t take long to come and in a blink of an eye, the roles are reversed and suddenly, you’re the one struggling to breathe as he begins tickling you mercilessly. He overpowers you easily, and you almost fall out of your chair with laughter but his quick reflexes catch you quickly, holding you up by the waist with one arm while continuing his attack with the other.

One thing about Felix is that he’ll always catch you, no matter how dangerous the fall. Always.

You’re finally saved when Seungmin returns with his pie, accompanied by none other than Hyunjin.

“Hello, friends I haven’t seen since this morning.” He greets everyone, taking a seat beside Jeongin, on his left while Seungmin takes his usual seat on his right. “What’s new?”

“Changbin invited us to a party and Lix doesn’t want to come with me.” You huff once you regain your composure, your sides starting to hurt from all the laughing. Even at the mention of his name, Felix doesn’t budge and acts unbothered, like you aren’t actually talking but his arm remains around your middle, holding you warmly.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen and he gasps dramatically, a little over the top. “No way! Lix said no to you? The world must be ending.”

Seungmin and Felix roll their eyes, the former busy with his dessert while the latter tries to hide his growing smile, secretly enjoying your antics. Of course, he is, Felix can never keep a straight face around you.

Nodding, you lean forward in your seat to be closer to Hyunjin. “Right?!” Then, with a fake sniffle, you continue. “He doesn’t love me anymore.”

Jeongin laughs and shakes his head when Hyunjin nods vigorously, agreeing with your lies. That’s when Felix frowns and hugs you closer, leaning his head against yours as his way of debunking your nonsense.

“Not true.” He mumbles under his breath before hiding his face in your hair. You can’t help but smile at the gesture, taking hold of the hand that’s on his thigh under the table, hoping that after this ridiculous show, you’re putting on he will finally agree to the party. You physically can't be away from him for that long, he has to come with you and the others.

Stealing some of Jeongin’s food, Hyunjin adds. “You know I normally wouldn’t entertain that though but, in this case, I think you might be right, Y/n.”

“Will you two shut up?” Felix groans, lifting his head and glaring at the both of you. “Fine, I’ll go to the stupid party.” Looking straight at you, he then adds. “Happy?”

You cheer and throw your arms around his neck to squeeze him in an embrace, missing the smug smirk that forms on Hyunjin’s plump lips and the warning look Felix sends his way. They communicate with their eyes alone until you pull away and start going on about the party, suddenly excited since all of your friends are coming.

In your haste, you don’t even notice the way Felix scoots a bit farther away from you, thoughts elsewhere.

Then, that same night you get a text that turns your whole world upside down, making the party an event that you must attend at all costs.

[off-limits j.one]: see you this weekend, sweetheart

♡. taglist: @liknws @scarletbedlam @xhazmania @skzpvol @slut4colinbridgerton @sealovesbts @stickycrusadecollective @byullielle @princelingperfect @realrintaro @ilychee08 @mysweethannie @jetblackbelle @hanjisunginc @whitney190 @emyladia @hanschimpmunk @briqnne @seungminsapuppy @telehan @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lvrgrl-xo @imnotgoodatnature @adestayskz @imsiriuslyreal @dprkbyn @hyunsungbased @dandycharmer @thepeopleintheback @fashominnie @ch4nniebang @possumy @emikisses @skzhoes @drhsthl @baribaaari @highlydestiny @starsandrqindrops @queerpumpkinnn @lilmarkieepooh

[iblowjone]

im currently screaming crying and throwing up and im also giggling and kicking my feets like a teenage girl omg lwjdkwkdjwks IM SOOO 😩😩😩😩😩

It's a bad idea, right? (01)

*ೃ༄ pairing: han jisung x fem!reader.

*ೃ༄ genre: college!au, brother's best friend & 3racha Jisung (yes he is his own genre lol), y/n is Minho's slightly younger sister, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, drama, my attempt at humor.

*ೃ༄ word count: 11k.

*ೃ༄ summary: The Lee siblings' rule was simple: don’t flirt, kiss, sleep, or even dare to think about dating the other sibling’s friends. Pretty straightforward stuff, right? No matter how ridiculous that rule sounds now, both of you respected it religiously for years, being one of the main reasons your relationship remained as strong as it did for so long. But, what happens when your brother decides to break it on a random Friday night, at a frat party, with one of your closest friends? You decide to take revenge, of course. And what better way to do it than with the help of his precious best friend, Han Jisung, whom you’ve been crushing on since forever?

*ೃ༄ warnings: cursing, suggestive themes, jealousy, sexual tension, drinking and smoking (weed and tobacco), a lot of unresolved issues (mostly on y/n's part).

♡. a/n: i've waited all week to post this omg ghdfj. this first part is a bit long so make sure to get comfy before reading! <3 there's a lot happening but tbh, it's only scratching the surface of what i actually have planned for this fic. i really hope you enjoy it nonetheless! please let me know what you think!! <3

If there was one thing everyone and their mothers knew about you was how much you adored your older brother, Minho. Reliable, patient and overall, one of the coolest people on Earth – these were the words pre-teen Y/n used to describe her brother in the first-ever essay she wrote in middle school. Sure, that didn’t grant her an impressive grade back then, but Minho liked it so much that he carried it around in his wallet for a few months afterwards. Just like he used to carry one of the embarrassing drawings you did of him in kindergarten, eyes lighting up every chance he got to proudly show it off to someone, despite your whining and groaning. To be honest, Minho was more like an embarrassing dad than your actual father and his actions proved that every day.

But, going down memory lane, you wouldn’t change him for the world.

Sure, your brother wasn’t much older than you, just by two years, but he has always taken his role as the older sibling very seriously. Beating up your bullies, chasing away annoying ex-boyfriends and making fun of an ugly haircut you cried yourself to sleep over were just a few of the many things Minho has done for you over the years. If there was one thing he constantly did, is always have your back no matter what. And you couldn’t be more thankful for getting a brother like him, even if he annoyed the fuck out of you sometimes.

But unfortunately, this isn’t a story of sibling love and devotion.

“Minho, what the fuck are you doing?!”

When your voice reaches his ears, he pulls away from the girl, visibly annoyed at being interrupted as she chases after his lips, wanting more, not yet noticing you. She, being one of your closest friends, that was currently sucking face with your brother. Your stupid brother who wasn’t allowed to cross the line of friendship with any of your friends, ever, but still did it anyway. And by the look on his face, he wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

Wiping at his lips shamelessly, Minho’s eyes meet yours as calm and nonchalant as always. “Y/n, what if I was naked? Do you not think before barging into random rooms at parties?”

Hearing your name, the girl finally looks up and her face flushes in embarrassment. Quickly grabbing her discarded shirt, she doesn’t bother putting it back on and instead runs off without looking at either of you. Well, at least someone has some shame left.

The door slams behind her and the loud music from downstairs is finally muffled enough for you to be able to hear your thoughts. As expected, Minho doesn’t even move from his place on the bed, nor does he look after the girl whose mouth was devouring his mere minutes ago. His careless nature doesn’t get your admiration this time but your quickly rising anger.

“Do you not think before shoving your tongue down someone’s throat?” you bite back, crossing your arms as a frown settles on your face.

He shrugs, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I sure do. Just not with my brain if you know what I –“

“Minho, that was my friend!”

That shuts him up instantly, but not before letting out a big sigh and falling back on the many pillows scattered around. Seungmin owes you big time for stopping this guy from having sex on his very bed.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” You’re fuming by this point, annoyed at your stupid brother and his stupid face. Walking towards him, you then grab a pillow and start hitting him with it without caring where it lands.

He’s taken aback by your outburst so you manage to hit him in the face a couple of times before he raises his arms to block your attacks. “How was I supposed to know that?! You’re friends with half the campus, Y/n! I had no idea!”

“Liar!”

You see, normal siblings wouldn’t get into a fight over something like this. However, you and Minho were just…crazy at times, plain and simple. But your strangeness isn’t the reason for your argument, for once.

When you were younger, back in your first year of high school, Minho came up with this brilliant ‘rule’ that’s been in place until now. You pinky promised each other (since he insisted) that you would never date or hook up with the other’s friends to avoid making things awkward and uncomfortable when the relationship came to an end. Plain and simple – that was the Lee siblings' rule. Something you’ve struggled so much to follow over the years just for your stupid brother to break in less than 30 minutes of arriving at a party just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

But what’s making you see red right now is the feelings you’ve had to bottle up all of those years, all the sleepless nights teenage Y/n spent crying and daydreaming of an impossible future with the guy Minho didn’t allow her to get to know on a deeper level. All to satisfy his own selfish wishes. It wasn’t fair and it’s never been, so he deserves your wrath.

“Okay, okay,” Having had enough, he catches the pillow and throws it to the side before grabbing your wrists in case you wanted to go for one of the other five on the bed, “okay! I’m sorry! Can we just pretend nothing happened and go downstairs and have fun, please?”

You scoff, letting out a small laugh in disbelief. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Pretend nothing happened and be all sunshine and rainbows like you didn’t just break one of our biggest promises!”

Yeah, the silly Lee siblings’ rule was a big deal, but not as big as some of your other promises. Like the one you made when you were ten years old and he twelve, after a big fight that ended in you both ignoring each other for days. As you cried in his arms, you promised to never let anything get between you – to always work everything out and not let it damage your relationship.

Yeah, looks like that won’t happen anytime soon.

You see his eyes soften as he lets go of your wrists, scooting towards the end of the bed. “I’m sorry, Y/n. You know I didn’t mean it.”

Shaking your head, you turn your back to him and start walking off, giving up. “Whatever. I’ve had enough of you for tonight.”

And that’s the last time you spoke to your brother.

Okay, to be fair, it’s been like two days since that party but still. You’ve been doing a good job of ignoring him so far, you bet even he was proud of your perseverance.

At least you can count on your brother to always be proud of you because right now, your best friend certainly wasn’t.

“You want to do what?!”

Felix’s voice resonates throughout the empty apartment, the volume prompting you to make yourself even smaller on his couch. Standing up, the look he gives you is full of disbelief with a slice of good old disappointment and that almost crushes you on the spot. Good thing Felix’s outbursts are never that serious.

“Hear me out.” You try to defuse the situation with a pleading look, resorting to the puppy eyes.

He shakes his head with a sigh, exhaling deeply as he moves to sit on the coffee table in front of you, resting his elbows on his knees and bringing his hands together.

“I’ve been hearing you out since you got here, but go on. What other nonsense do you have to say?”

You frown but he doesn’t react at all, ignoring your antics. “Nonsense? You don’t even know what I want to say!”

“You want to use Han Jisung to get back at your brother.”

For a moment, neither of you says anything else, opting to just stare at the other until one inevitably gives in and this random staring contest ends. The silence stretches on but it’s not uncomfortable, it never is with Felix. It is, however, unusual. So out of the blue that you don’t mind being the loser for once.

“Why do you say his name like that?” You finally let out, raising an eyebrow.

“Like what?” He tilts his head to the side cutely and your heart flutters.

“Like it’s an insult. Like it makes you physically sick.”

“Oh, because it does.”

Your eyes widen.

“Felix!”

“Y/n.”

You shake your head, not believing your ears. To be fair, Felix has never been Jisung’s biggest fan, for reasons you’re well aware of, but he’s also never been so open about his dislike towards him before. It didn’t feel right. Your best friend, sunshine embodied, liked everyone. Okay, maybe not everyone, but every single one of your friends at least. Him disliking Jisung, the guy you grew up with and also have been crushing on since forever felt like a punch in the face.

You frown, not being able to control your facial expressions as you look up into his eyes. “Don’t be like this, Lix.”

With another sigh, Felix leans back on his hands and closes his eyes, defeated. “What do you want to do?”

There’s no stopping the smile that gradually makes its way on your face, nor the sparkle in your eye. “Play pretend, of course. I’ll trick Minho into thinking we’re dating by being super obnoxious when he’s around.”

He opens one eye. “That’s all?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yep! It’s a great plan, right? Minho will totally lose his goddamn mind when he sees his best friend with me!”

However, Felix doesn’t seem convinced. “Is this why you’re doing this? Because of Minho?”

“Uh, duh! Have you not been listening to my rant for the past 45 minutes?”

“Yeah?” He checks again, sitting up straight and opening his eyes. “Or are you doing this because of your crush on Jisung? Because you feel like you can finally act on those ‘forbidden’ feelings?”

Your face feels warmer but you don’t respond – don’t confirm nor deny his hypothesis. As always, he’s able to read you like the back of his hand even when you, yourself, aren’t sure of the reasons for your actions. Minho made you angry; you feel betrayed. But is this all that’s prompting your behavior?

Until you’re able to finally admit some things to yourself, you won’t know.

But Felix doesn’t need to know that either. Admitting he might be right will cause his head to get abnormally big and explode all over his plush new carpet and Hyunjin will kill you. That you were sure of. Contrary to popular belief, a pretty boy’s wrath wasn’t pretty at all.

“Let me have my fun, Felix, please.” You plead, jutting out your bottom lip in a hopefully cute and heart-melting pout.

Shaking his head, Felix stands up and starts walking towards the kitchen. “You’ll do it even if I agree or not, so knock yourself out.”

There’s no time for celebrating before he suddenly turns to face you again, no hint of amusement or lightheartedness on his freckled face.

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when Han Jisung inevitably breaks your heart and you’re left struggling to put it back together.”

Delightful. Such a positive presence in your life this best friend of yours.

Letting the words marinate in your head overnight, you spend the rest of the day with Felix, watching romcoms and seeing who can keep it together and not burst into tears the longest. You, unsurprisingly, win.

The very next day is when your plan is finally put into action.

You were sure now, there was no better way of getting back at your brother than this. Employing the help of his childhood best friend, who’s been off-limits and out of reach for the majority of your life was bound to ruffle some of his feathers. Han Jisung, the man you’ve fantasized about calling your own for as long as you can remember. Minho was going to lose his mind while hopefully, his best friend was going to make you lose yours in a very, very enjoyable way – it was a win-win situation, really.

And despite Felix’s warnings, you were excited. Playing with fire has always sounded so fun, you couldn’t wait to see what all the fuss was about.

So, sticking to the plan, you texted said best friend and in less than an hour, had Felix drop you off at the little home studio his group, 3racha, called their own. Little was an understatement since this studio was at Changbin’s house and the guy was loaded, living in a mansion that still intimidated you with its size alone. Luckily, you’ve been here before, at one of his parties, with Minho so you saved yourself the embarrassment of getting lost on the way.

3racha was a three-man rap group consisting of Christopher, Changbin and Jisung, hence the name. In the beginning, back in high school, nobody seemed to take them too seriously but now, they were booked and busy almost every night performing at different clubs throughout the city. Seeing their popularity first-hand had been mind-blowing, leaving you a bit starstruck until the end of their set but it was also eye-opening. The girls in the audience made sure of that.

It showed you another side of Jisung, one you didn’t get to see growing up – one that was the complete opposite of his usual, laid-back, almost shy self. You would be lying if you said it didn’t intrigue you, or turn you on, but it also had the same effect on the people that came to see them perform every night.

The difference between you and them was that when he got off the stage, they got to act on those urges, while you didn’t. They ended the day in his bed while you went home and punched your pillow with tears in your eyes until you fell asleep. It was pathetic but it will all end today.

Knocking on the big double doors, you were greeted by who you believed was a maid. After stating your business, a two-minute conversation in which you didn’t stutter once, she moved to let you in before helping you get downstairs, to the basement. Playing with fire was one thing – but possibly getting murdered in a basement was something you really didn’t want to experience. God, who the fuck hangs out in a basement?

Your question was answered the moment you stepped in and the smell of smoke and weed enveloped all of your senses, causing you to cough and your eyes to water. Oh my god, what did you get yourself into?

Honestly speaking, you were expecting this. They were kids with money, after all, running around in a business that was dark and fucked up, where you either were corrupted or, did the corrupting. You were aware of this, of the way Jisung lived his life but you tended to forget about this side of his when he was constantly being a menace at your house, screaming and playing video games with Minho.

This was the Jisung you liked, after all. The cute guy next door who always made you laugh and occasionally drove you to school back in high school, making all of your friends jealous. Was that side of him all an act? Or was it this one?

Three heads look up as the door opens, and Jisung is the first one to greet you, but not before he takes another drag of a strange-looking joint.

“Hello, sweetheart. Missed me already?” He smirks as he exhales the smoke and you can’t help but roll your eyes, hoping that your body language doesn’t betray the way your heart flutters at the nickname. To him, you were never just ‘Y/n’. Since high school, it was always sweetheart, doll, or as of recently, baby, never Y/n. He’s given you so many nicknames over the years that at some point, you began to think he’s actually just forgotten your name and was too embarrassed to admit it. You wouldn’t put this past Han Jisung. You wouldn’t put anything past him, he was too unpredictable.

“Hi, Y/n. What brings you to my humble abode?” Changbin greets you with a smile, ruffling your hair as you walk past him to get to Jisung sitting in front of a big desk, laptop in his lap. You smile back, giving him a quick hug before high-fiving Chris once you're close enough, making sure to avoid the cigar in his hand.

Changbin’s humble abode was, as expected, not humble at all. The basement was huge, with multiple rooms from what you could tell at first glance, with their studio alone being the size of both yours and Minho’s rooms combined. Fancy equipment, mics, laptops and instruments were scattered everywhere, with cans of energy drinks, crumpled paper and notebooks. It was a mess, but in a comforting way, if it made sense. It looked lived in and not like a pigsty, despite the numerous ashtrays, cigs and weed in the back. You might've liked this room if it weren’t for the smell.

Once you get closer, Jisung puts aside his laptop and joint and opens his arms. “Come here, sweetness.”

You hesitate for a moment, looking between Chan and Changbin who barely notice your exchange before complying and hugging him, making sure to not linger in his strong arms. Then, you settle on the big, brown couch by the wall, opposite him.

“So, what’s burning? Your texts were very vague.” He continues, putting out his cig.

You get straight to the point, making yourself comfortable. “I need help with something.”

“And you want Ji to be your knight in shining armor?” Changbin snorts, shaking his head while Chan only chuckles and continues typing on the laptop before him. “I thought you were smarter than that, Y/n.”

Jisung turns to face him in his chair, throwing the opened notebook on his desk at his standing figure a few feet apart. As expected, Changbin catches it without much trouble and begins scolding him in a loud voice.

Looking up from his place at one of the three desks, Chan ignores their antics and gives you his undivided attention. “What happened?”

In another universe, you would totally have a crush on Christopher. He’s sweet, kind and overall, the perfect gentleman in your eyes and everyone else’s really. Unfortunately, in this universe, you’re stuck crushing on the biggest red flag in the room, Han Jisung. Life really wasn’t fair.

Trying to contain your anger at the mere memory of your brother, you answer simply. “Minho.”

That gets Jisung’s attention again, head wiping around in your direction. “Your brother? Did you guys fight again?”

You shake your head. “Of course. But that’s not the main problem here.”

“Then?”

All the members of 3racha are now intrigued, waiting for you to speak and fill them in, patiently. With a sigh and little to no hesitation, you look Jisung in the eyes, suddenly serious, which causes him to raise an eyebrow and scoot closer to you in his chair.

“Do you remember that rule Minho and I set in place back when I started high school?”

He’s quiet, deep in thought for a moment before it comes to him and he snaps his fingers like he just made the biggest discovery for humankind. “That dumb rule which forbade either of you to hook up with the other’s friends?”

You nod, and you can see Chan and Changbin being completely lost in the background. Makes sense since they weren’t around back then, nor were they ever that close to Minho to know about something so stupid that’s cockblocked you for as long as you could remember.

It feels kind of ironic coming to Jisung of all people to complain about what Minho did when he’s the reason behind the ‘rule’ in the first place. To prevent you from acting on your feelings back when Minho found out about your crush on his best friend, he came up with this rule that basically stated that neither of you was allowed to flirt, kiss, date or fuck any of the other’s friends. As a hormonal teenage girl, you were devastated but then as time went on, that godforsaken rule helped you in more ways than you’d like to admit. It cleared out all of the fake people in your life who only befriended you for a chance at your brother’s heart while for him, it eliminated the possibility of conflict in his friend group. All’s well that ends well.

Until it wasn’t. Until today.

“What about it, sweetheart?” The velvety voice you’ve come to love calls out to you gently, dark eyes softening when he notices the frown on your face.

“Wait a second.” Changbin chimes in, walking closer to you two. “What the fuck kind of rule is that?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, not appreciating the fact that your conversation was interrupted. “Shut up and let Y/n speak, ass.”

They start to bicker like little kids, all in good fun, but your mood only gets worse. Noticing, Chan clears his throat and speaks louder, to drown them out. “Did Minho break the rule?”

Again, a complete gentleman.

The two get quiet instantly and Changbin gasps, surprised, in his dramatic manner. Jisung’s attention is yours again and he stands, coming to sit next to you on the couch in case you need comforting. He’s known you for half your life, after all, it’s like second nature to him.

Letting out a big sigh, you nod once again. “Yes, he did. I caught him making out with one of my close friends, of all people! Can you believe this?! Who does he even think he is?”

The questions are all addressed to Jisung whose eyes widen gradually when he notices your anger, immediately shaking his head. Looks like he also didn’t see this coming, nor did Minho tell him anything. Perfect. That makes him easier to win over.

You continue. “To be honest, it’s not even about the fact that he kissed her! What pisses me off is the hypocrisy, the nerve!”

“For years all he did was blabber on and on about how his friends are off limits, that I shouldn’t even think about getting closer to any of them!”

They all nod at your every word, so in sync it makes them look like three little bobblehead dolls. Kind of creepy but strangely cute at the same time.

Changbin is the first one to snap out of it and speak, this new information having him too invested to take a seat. “So does that mean…” he trails off in the middle of his sentence, a big smirk stretching across his features, “you’ve had a crush on one of us?”

You feel your face getting warmer under their piercing stares and suddenly, Jisung’s proximity feels suffocating. The centimetres between your bodies feel nonexistent as you realize how easy it is to just reach out and hold his hand, hug him or do all of those things you’re always daydreaming about. Minho broke the rule that caused you to hold back and bottle up all of your feelings, how long until you finally snap and let it all out to the surface?

Then, like he just had the same epiphany as you, Jisung closes the distance between your bodies and slings an arm around your shoulders casually, your skin burning pleasantly at the touch.

“Hey, hey, let’s not make the girl uncomfortable now.” He sends a glare Changbin’s way before quickly turning back to you, leaning closer to your face and lowering his voice. “But it’s me, right, baby? You’ve had a cute, innocent teenage crush on me?”

Oh, if only he knew how much that crush developed over the years. It flourished and bloomed into something you still wonder how you managed to keep at bay for so long. And your fantasies were far from innocent.

Trying to calm your pounding heart, you do your best to ignore him and act as normal as possible but he still catches the way you swallow thickly. That causes him to smirk and back off, satisfied his teasing got a reaction out of you. “You guys realize Minho has other friends too, right?”

You see Chan lighting up another cigarette as Changbin scoffs, crossing his arms. “So, what, you’re telling me you’ve had a crush on one of his boring little dancer friends?”

You shrug, Jisung’s arm heavy around you. “Why not? Hyunjin is hot as hell.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, exhaling the smoke in his lungs. “Hyunjin has a girlfriend.”

“Exactly!” you respond a bit too quickly, surprising them all. “And if it weren’t for Minho’s big ass mouth that could have been me! ME!”

Complete silence follows your statement for a solid minute before Jisung snorts, which prompts Changbin to burst out laughing and Chan to giggle cutely. Great, now they’re all laughing at you. You have half a mind to hide your face in Jisung’s chest when he pulls away and stands up, leaving you completely flabbergasted.

Once his laughter dies down, Changbin, now sitting next to you, tries again. “What about Felix?”

You can’t help but frown, confused, before turning to him. “What about him? Felix is my best friend.”

“Exactly.”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, almost making you gag as images of you and Felix doing anything other than innocent, platonic things invade your mind. What the fuck is Changbin getting at here? Does he want to see you get sick all over his expensive equipment? Because you will, but he won’t be pleased.

Most likely taking pity on you, Jisung chimes in. “Leave her alone, Bin. If they were to have feelings for each other, they would have been a couple already.”

Chan nods, but that’s when you realize he is already back in his own world, headphones firmly in place while he types away, absorbed in his work. Fortunately, Changbin gives up easily and ruffles your hair before standing up, putting an end to the uncomfortable conversation.

Your eyes fly to Jisung once again just in time to see him put on his jacket, sending a wink your way when your gazes meet.

“Come on, let’s get some fresh air, sweetheart.”

Well, he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You leave Chan and Changbin to their work and follow Jisung up the stairs until you get to a small balcony in a hallway, all white stone, tall pillars and marble that make you feel like a hopeless princess trapped in a big, haunted castle. Haunted but breathtaking castle, with a view of the modern driveway in which you recognize Jisung’s sleek car.

Once outside, he takes a deep breath of the fresh air before pulling out another cig and lighting it almost instantly.

“So,” he says once he takes a drag, exhaling the smoke out in the open without sparing you a glance, “what do you want to do?”

You weren’t one for smoking but Jisung made it look so beautiful and enticing. The way his lips puckered around the stick, how he exhaled deeply through his nose when talking to you while the sun rays caressed his smooth skin, longer hair staying perfectly in place despite the wind. He was beautiful. He’s always been beautiful but now it felt like you were truly seeing him for the first time. Seeing all of him, with the good and bad.

His gaze moves to yours as he leans on the railing, ever so patient and you clear your throat, trying to act like you weren’t just caught up in another daydream.

“Help me get back at Minho.”

Both of his bleached eyebrows raise in surprise, clearly not expecting the turn this conversation took. It’s silly, and childish – plotting against your brother at this age but if there is one person that would never judge you, Han Jisung is the first that comes to mind. You feel comfortable around him, like you can be yourself without holding back despite the crush that’s been torturing you for years. You don’t know what spell he’s got you under but frankly, you don’t really care right now.

“How?” He’s curious and a bit amused as the corners of his mouth turn upwards slightly around the cigarette.

Suddenly, you realize you haven’t thought so far ahead. Sure, you know exactly what you want to do but how are you going to tell him about it without making sure he wasn’t going to laugh in your face? Birds of a feather flock together and him and Minho were best friends – Jisung was going to tease the fuck out of you if you fumbled it now.

Shallowing down your nerves, you mumble under your breath.

Confused, he gets closer. “What?”

Your voice gets a tiny bit louder, but still not enough for him to make out the words.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart.”

With a huff, you hope he can’t make out how embarrassed you are or how your voice shakes. “By pretending we’re hooking up in front of him.”

Jisung blinks, absentmindedly throwing his smoke out the balcony before a laugh bubbles out of him, one so clear and childlike it pulls at your heartstrings hard.

“Wait, so that’s your big master plan? Fooling Minho into thinking we’re fucking?”

You shrug, putting some hair behind your ear as you turn to look at the view. “Pretty much, yeah. You’re his best friend. Seeing me latch my claws into you is bound to upset him in some way or another.”

“That’s hot.” He breathes out, lightly biting down on his bottom lip as he stares at your side profile. “Forget Minho, you can latch your claws into me anytime you want, beautiful.”

This time, you’re the one who can’t help but laugh and he joins in seconds later, turning your whole body towards him. “Shut up, Ji. So, are you going to help me, or not?”

Rubbing his chin, he pretends to think about it while his smile fades gradually. “That depends, pretty. What’s in it for me? I can’t be expected to put my ass on the line without getting anything in return, now, can I?”

You frown. “What do you want?”

He comes closer but still respects your personal bubble. “I hope you know your brother will beat my ass when he sees us together.”

“You can take him.”

He laughs, throwing his head back like a child. “Believe me, we train together. I know what he’s capable of. Minho will break my neck for putting a hand on his baby sister.”

You roll your eyes, properly annoyed by now. “Whatever. Just answer the question.”

“I’ll think about it. Come to my gig tonight and we’ll talk more then, yeah, doll?” Jisung smiles so prettily, it’s almost enough to convince you of giving him everything he’d ever ask for.

“Is this your way of getting me to come just so you can show off, Ji?”

He winks, finally stepping back. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. You’ll have to come and see for yourself, baby.”

And who are you to refuse an invitation from J.one himself?

-----

Tonight’s show comes quicker than you would have liked but you still manage to pull yourself together just enough to hopefully blow Han Jisung’s mind when he sees you. Enough to have him up on stage, so mesmerized that he forgets all of his lyrics and tumbles down the steps to get to you faster, to never let you go. So enthralled –

“Earth to Y/n?”

Felix waves his hand in front of your face and manages to pull you away from your delusions, slight concern written on his features. “You good?”

“Oh, Lix, I’m great!” You try to conceal your excitement but as expected, it doesn’t work since everyone could see you buzzing from a mile away. Especially Felix that was sitting right next to you in the driver’s seat. “Are you ready?”

“No.” You roll your eyes at his predictable answer, brushing away his grumpiness as you both take off your seatbelts at the same time. “But let’s go. The faster we go in, the faster we get out.”

“You know this isn’t how it works, right?” He’s silent, giving you both time to get out of the car.  “The show won’t start any sooner than scheduled just because you demand it.”

He’s the one who rolls his eyes now, mumbling something under his breath before walking ahead without even looking back at you.

“Lix! Wait for me!”

Felix, for all the years you’ve known him, has never been so against doing something in his life. Sure, you understand his dislike towards Jisung and his group but since he was accompanying you tonight, you thought he would be a bit happier. You had no idea what beef they might have, these two, but maybe you can finally clear the air tonight.

He slows down as he hears you approach, holding out his hand which you grasp gladly. “Come on, Seungmin and Jeongin are inside already.”

Not like you could spot them anyway since the moment you stepped into the club, you realized how packed it actually was. You knew 3racha was getting big, but not this big. The chatter was as loud as the music, bodies pressed together in hopes of getting more room and the heat was unbearable. The venue was big but most of the people were still hanging around the entrance, blocking your access to the stage and at the same time, Jisung. The flashing lights were already making your eyes feel tired, so you let Felix lead you through the mass of partygoers, walking in like he owned the place straight to the table Seungmin and your other friends rented for the night. What would you do without him?

Perish, most likely.

“Hey, you made it!” Jeongin is the first to welcome you, pushing past your other friends to hug you both. “I was afraid you wouldn’t find us among the craziness.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t have but Felix is a walking navigation system.” You both laugh and Felix, despite rolling his eyes, chuckles too.

“Who knew your boyfriend was this popular?” Seungmin joins in the chatter, high-fiving Felix and thinking he could get away with only patting your back in greeting. Ignoring his comment, for the time being, you don’t let him move away without throwing your arms around his neck and bringing him into a hug, which makes him groan in fake annoyance.

Jeongin and Seungmin have been by your side for as long as you can remember. Along with Felix, you were lucky enough to have two other amazing best friends who had your back no matter what, sticking with you through thick and thin. However, unlike Felix, they were actually on board with you developing a relationship with Jisung, with Seungmin encouraging it every chance he got. But Seungmin wasn’t such a reliable source of support in the matter since he basically lived to annoy your brother, his misery being his joy. They were like cats and dogs, doing everything and anything to make the other’s life hard in some way or another. It was entertaining, you weren’t going to lie, but it also made it harder for you to tell if he actually supported the idea wholeheartedly or did it just to piss Minho off. The world may never know.

“Come, sit with me.” Jeongin grabs your hand and drags you to sit next to him in the booth. Felix takes a seat opposite you and after greeting everyone else, Jeongin leans down to whisper in your ear. “Jisung came by earlier, looking for you.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen, pulling back to look at his face to make sure he isn’t playing you.

He laughs at your disbelief before pulling you back down to make himself heard over the loud music. “Yeah. He was a bit disappointed when we told him you weren’t here yet, probably thought you were a no-show.”

Your heart drops for a moment, suddenly feeling bad you didn’t get here sooner. Was he that eager to see you? But that makes no sense. Did he think you were going to bring Minho? Yeah, that’s probably it.

Oblivious to your inner turmoil, Jeongin continues. “He bought us these drinks, too. Though I’m sure they’re more for you than anyone else, to be honest.”

You begin scanning the table that was already overflowing with shots and bottles of liquor, champagne and even water. Jisung spent all this money on you? You?! That can’t be right…

Looking up, your eyes search Felix’s but for once, he’s too busy laughing at something Seungmin and your other friends are telling him to notice your distress. Turning back to Jeongin, you ask.

“Have you seen him since?”

He nods and points somewhere over your booth. “He’s right there by the stage.”

You try to spot him from your seat, standing up to get a better look before you hear Changbin’s loud and infectious laugh, which helps you see them instantly. With a quick promise of your return, you exit the booth and follow the sound of his voice to the stage, pushing and elbowing people out of your way without a care in the world. You were a woman on a mission and nothing and nobody was going to stop you from getting what you want tonight. You’ve been patient enough already, you deserve this.

Finally reaching the stage, you get a good look at the members of 3racha, all three surrounded by fans and other people eager for a chance at their attention. Chan and Changbin were on opposite sides of the stage, chatting away while Jisung was right in the middle. When your eyes fall on him, however, you can’t help but frown as you get closer, ignoring all the glares sent your way as some people begin muttering under their breath.

As expected, Jisung wasn’t alone nor did he have any time to get lonely. All around him, there were girls and boys, fluttering their eyelashes, playing with their hair and stepping on each other’s toes just to have him spare them a second glance. Jisung was beautiful, we’ve already established that, but that same beauty suddenly reminded you of the reason you didn’t attend their performances that often.

At the end of every gig, Jisung liked to take a lucky fan or two back to his dressing room, hotel, or wherever they were staying at the moment. This was a known fact since all three of the boys did it, but still, it didn’t make you any less uncomfortable. But as much as you hated it, you couldn’t help but wonder, if the circumstances of your relationship were different, would he also pick you? Would he find you attractive enough to take you back to his place and have his way with you?

“Y/n, you made it!

Changbin’s voice helps you return to the moment at hand, his loud voice causing everyone around them to turn and stare at you curiously. That also includes Jisung, whose eyes light up as you finally reach him.

Changbin comes to your side for a brief hug before he’s pulled away by some girls while Chan shoots you a warm smile and lazy wave from afar, too caught up in his conversation to come over.

Jisung doesn’t move, and that helps you notice the arm he has wrapped around a girl, presumably a groupie if the hungry look she gives him is anything to go by. Oh great, he’s already taken his pick for tonight. You were going to be sick.

When your eyes move back to meet his, you find him already staring at you and your heart stops as you quickly realize he noticed your staring. He smirks, all smug and way too sexy in his stupid black and white string shirt, with his hair done up nicely. It’s been a few hours since you’ve last seen each other but Jisung looked like another person, the slightly smudged eyeliner and faint color on his lips making him look like a proper celebrity.

“I thought you backed out, pretty.” He finally speaks, leaning back against the stage. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

You ignore all the stares from the people around him and cross your arms, speaking louder over the music. “And why would I back out?”

Jisung shrugs. “Yongbok is a bad influence on you.”

The irony of the situation almost has you bursting out in laughter, the all too familiar words making you experience déjà vu. Felix has said the same thing about Jisung numerous times, so hearing him say them back was hilarious to you. These two had much more in common than they liked to admit.

Shaking your head, you uncross your arms. “We should talk.”

He nods and the little crowd of groupies parts before him, the sight creepier and more unsettling than it should be. Was Jisung running a little cult on the side you were unaware of? Because if so, you were ready to run back to Felix and admit he was right in a heartbeat.

Jisung doesn’t seem phased as he leans down to whisper something to the girl in his arms, something funny apparently since she giggles and meekly slaps his chest in response. You don’t try to hide the exasperated look on your face even as he gets closer and grabs your hand to drag you away, and that causes his smile to turn into a cheeky smirk. He’s enjoying this – of course, he is.

You walk past Changbin, who’s still talking with the girls from before as Jisung leads you by the hand somewhere to his right, to a more secluded area. His hand in yours is soft and slightly cold, the big, silver rings adorning his fingers causing a pleasant shiver to run down your spine. You’re stuck staring at the back of his head for a few minutes and that’s when you finally notice a dark undercut he certainly wasn’t sporting that afternoon. The sight makes you weak in the knees, and you have to control the sudden urge to run your nails over the freshly cut hair. Oh, he went all out for this performance.

How did he know the undercut was your favorite?

Opening a door that clearly states ‘dressing room #1’, he lets you enter first before following and closing it behind him, finally silencing the loud chatter and music from outside. There, you lose the comfort of his hand as he plops down on the rugged-down, brown couch that’s pushed against the far wall with a sigh.

“Have a seat, sweetie.” He breathes out, reaching up to run his hands through his hair before he seems to remember it's all pretty and decides against it.

You do, but on the chair that’s in front of the lit-up vanity, turning it around to face him. The room is tiny, filled with makeup and some of Jisung’s more casual clothes, his guitar and pack of cigs and the smell of his cologne that floats around everywhere. It’s a bit intimidating, being alone with him in such a constricting place but you have to admit that’s part of the thrill of finally playing with the fire he ignites in you.

There’s no beating around the bush now. “So, Ji. Are you going to help me?”

“Wait, you were serious?” He blinks, sitting up straight. “Sweetheart, I had you wait until tonight to have this conversation again because I thought you would come to your senses.”

Your eyes widen, a bit offended by his last comment. “What? Why would you even think that I’m joking?!”

There’s a pause before he responds, voice quieter. “I didn’t really believe you would come to me of all people for help.”

The vulnerability hidden behind that statement has you opening and closing your mouth like a fish out of water, completely taken aback. He sounds so fragile and insecure, a sight so out of the ordinary for you who’s always only seen his confident and laidback side.

It makes you want to hug him, reassure and hold him in your arms. So, finally free from the burden of Minho’s promise, you actually do.

Standing up, you close the small distance between you both and sit down next to him on the couch before tentatively wrapping your arms around his neck. When he doesn’t protest or pull away, you bring him closer.

“And why wouldn’t I?” you whisper and you feel him relax in your embrace, wrapping one of his own arms around your middle. “I trust you a lot, Ji.”

“You do?”

“Of course,” his hold on you tightens and the butterflies in your stomach start to choke you up, needing the release, “I’ve known you for half my life, after all. You’re my go-to troublemaker.”

Finally, he laughs, pulling away slightly to look at your face. “God, you’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you, baby.” You wink and he breaks the embrace for good, visibly cringing but still laughing.

His laugh had always been one of your favorite sounds, instantly bringing a smile to your face no matter the circumstances. Wanting to hear it a bit more, you continue, crossing your arms with a pout.

“This is how you sound every time you talk to me! Now you know how it feels.”

He raises an eyebrow as his smile fades and he suddenly comes closer in a swift motion, the couch dipping lightly when he invades your personal space. “Sorry, baby.” His voice is low and the proximity causes your heart rate to pick up significantly. “Let me make it up to you.”

You can’t speak, breathe, or think for several moments as he remains there, giving you this smouldering look you’ve seen him only use on stage. You’re left standing there looking at him, mouth agape as your brain screams at you to pull yourself together, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect he has on you. His eyes scan your face, almost like he is memorizing your features but at the same time, not lingering on anything for too long or giving you a glimpse into his intricate mind.

Has time stopped, why isn’t he pulling away?!

“See, it’s not as bad as you made it out to be.” He winks and pulls away, acting like he didn’t just take your breath away straight from your lungs. “You like it.”

“I do not!” You protest, mind still fuzzy and he chuckles, putting more distance between you.

There’s a moment of brief silence as Jisung checks his phone and you begin to think you might actually not be crazy. There is something between you two and he most certainly felt it right now.

Something wanting to snap and be free.

“Okay, so how do we do this thing?” Gently throwing his phone to the side, he shifts on the couch to face you, still as relaxed as ever. “How do we fool your brother?”

“I have an idea.” You mumble, suddenly nervous. Not actually sudden at all since you’ve been nervous since you stepped into this room with him. Jisung nods and reaches for a smoke, waiting for you to continue as he lights it up.

“For starters, I think a few posts on social media could plant the idea of something going on in his head.”

Nodding, he exhales the smoke and you instinctively lean back. “So, you want to…take some pictures together? That’s all?”

The way he says it, with amusement in his voice, makes your face warm up in embarrassment but for an entirely different reason than before. You feel stupid. For all your anger a few hours prior, he thinks your plan is the most vanilla thing in the world.

And he hates vanilla. Just your luck, really.

Mustering all the courage available at your disposal, you try to appear as confident as ever as you decide to go with the other version of your plan. The one Felix hated the most.

“Sure, simple enough, right?” you nod and with no warning, make your way closer to him on the couch, your knees touching. If he’s surprised, Jisung doesn’t show it and keeps the same level look in his sparkling eyes as he turns his head to the side to not blow the smoke right in your face.

“Now,” taking your phone out, you come even closer, leaning towards him until your faces are mere inches apart. “Kiss me.”

For the first time in your life, you can see Han Jisung’s brain short-circuit, hand freezing mid-way to his lips while the cigarette continues to burn, ash falling onto his ripped black jeans. He blinks and stares in disbelief, dumbfounded while you just smile, not being able to hide your delight at his reaction. Taking someone by complete surprise and closing their mouth in the process has never been more fun.

Innocence is what you try to portray with your growing smile and head tilted to the side. “Jisung? Are you okay?”

He seems to snap out of it at the call of his name, clearing his throat before putting out his cig. When he turns back to you, his eyes are darker and you can’t help but gasp as he gets a hold of your shoulders with his big hands, increasing the distance between you so he can breathe.

“Y/n.” You almost recoil as your name leaves his plush lips, eyes widening in shock. He hasn’t used your name in ages so now you feel like you’re about to get the scolding of your life, like you committed the worst crime known to man. It doesn’t feel right at all, and your heart hurts a little as he ignores the shock on your face and carries on.

“Don’t play with me like that.” His voice is low, icy even and that baffles you even more than his words. “I’m all up for games but this isn’t one I’m willing to play.”

A moment passes with you staring into each other’s eyes before you scoff loudly, shaking off his hands and standing up altogether. “Why can’t you ever take me seriously?”

His eyes don’t leave yours. “Because you’ve been sprouting nonsense since I saw you this afternoon! I get you’re throwing a tantrum but how ridiculous can you be, Y/n?”

There’s no way Jisung is being serious right now. You can’t believe your ears. After the little speech you gave him, he has the audacity to speak to you like this?

“Throwing a tantrum?” Your voice raises in volume, getting angry. “I’m not a fucking child, Jisung!”

“Yet you keep acting like one, Y/n.”

Oh, that’s rich coming from him of all people.

“Fuck you.” There’s no hesitation as you spit out the words, glaring at him like you would at your brother. Great, he was reminding you of him now. So much for the happily ever after you envisioned by his side – even when he isn’t present, Minho still manages to fuck up your love life somehow.

He lets out a short laugh, not genuine in the slightest. “See. Childish.”

Your anger simmers and almost bubbles to the surface but you force it back down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of actually acting like a spoiled child. It’s all coming back to you now, the reason you and Jisung didn’t actually spend time together. Since becoming a part of Chan’s group, he turned into a pain in the ass, an arrogant asshole that thought he was so high and mighty when in reality, he was just horrible. Horrible with his friends, with his fans and with everyone that wasn’t part of his little fame bubble. Sometimes you wondered why Minho was still his friend, as bad as that sounds. He was nothing like the best friend he grew up with, the ray of sunshine that used to brighten his gloomy days

The Jisung you fell for years ago was a ghost now, a sweet memory you carried dearly in your heart and kept safe like a precious souvenir. It was bittersweet, remembering how he used to be but despite that, your feelings didn’t budge. You still cared for him, deeply, and seeing him at your house occasionally, playing with Minho brought back the hope that you abandoned a long time ago in regards to him ever returning to normal.

Of course, that never lasts. It never does.

Defeated, you shake your head and make for the door, not even sparing him a second glance. “Whatever, forget about it. I was stupid to believe you would actually help me.”

These words are meant to hurt him, but why are you the one in pain?

“I’ll just go and ask Chan instead.” You don’t even know why you’re still explaining yourself to him and that makes you angry again. Without another word, you open the door but before you can take another step, a big hand appears and closes it abruptly.

The sound startles you, just like his sudden presence behind you and there’s no stopping the way your breath hitches in your throat. However, you don’t turn around, still hurt because of his words. He doesn’t seem to care and leans forward, his chest flush against your back while his hot breath hits your cheek. The contact causes you to shiver and goosebumps appear on your arms, knuckles turning white on the doorknob.

Jisung notices, because, of course, he does. However, he doesn’t tease you as expected. Seems like he isn’t in the mood for it either, not anymore.

“Fine, you want me to take you seriously?” His velvety voice hits your ear, quieter than you’ve ever heard it before and your heart skips a beat. His dominant hand remains on the door, trapping you between it and his body but the other doesn’t join, still giving you a way out. The position you’re now in is close, intimate and without meaning to, you cave and turn around to look at him. This allows him to come forward, no longer pressing against you but just a breath away from your lips, tempting you to take action, to close the almost non-existent space left and melt into him.

“Kiss me yourself.”

Surprise flashes across your features, not sure if you’ve heard him right or not. But Jisung doesn’t budge and continues to stare into your eyes deeply, defiantly even, the shimmering glitter that adorns them not softening his intense gaze at all. It feels like you can’t breathe properly as his words slowly sink in but your arms still move to reach for him like a lifeline, the need to feel him beneath your fingers greater than the one for air. When your palms settle on his broad chest, he inhales sharply, resting his forehead against yours as your noses collide gently.

You’re sharing the same breath now but the tension only grows, almost flickering in the air. Suffocating but still so delicious.

Neither of you seems to be in a hurry as one of your hands moves upwards on his chest until it reaches his jaw, cupping it gingerly while the other fists his shirt. You can’t bring him any closer without doing the inevitable but you can still prolong this, thumb reaching out to trace his bottom lip to which he responds by grabbing your hips and connecting your lower halves. You both exhale through your mouths at the contact, the desperation quickly building up and eating away at your sanity.

There’s no doubt in your mind that he feels the same, now. Carnally, at least.

Still taking it slow, you realize he loves making you lose your mind as much as you love it when you teasingly kiss the corner of his mouth and he pushes into you, pinning your body against the door. A whimper escapes your mouth and he smirks faintly, pupils blown wide.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers so close to your lips that your hand drops to grab his chin roughly, keeping his head in place while his smirk only grows. “Cat got your tongue?”

The world outside this little room has disappeared completely and now you only see, hear and feel him. Nothing else matters. That’s why you feel like you might go completely crazy if you spend even another second not kissing him, finally indulging in something you’ve wanted for so long.

The smug smirk on his face drops as the hand on his chest moves up to wrap around his neck, his hold on you bruising when he sees the way your lips part and eyes flutter shut. Finally, you were going to do it. You were going to kiss Han Jisung and make a mess of his pretty hair and stage makeup, have him moan and curse lowly into your mouth just like you’ve always fantasized about.

But your luck never lasts that long.

Your lips barely get the chance to touch briefly when suddenly, you feel yourself falling backwards as the door opens, a loud yelp escaping your mouth. Fortunately, Jisung snaps out of it quicker and pulls you back towards him, strong arm wrapped around your waist securely. Your own arms drop to his middle as you bury your head in his chest, embarrassed when you recognize the voice that’s come to interrupt your fairytale. It feels like those moments when you’re rudely awakened by your alarm in the morning while you’re busy dreaming about marrying your celebrity crush.

Both instances are just as frustrating and heartbreaking.

“Oh, sorry guys.” Chan laughs awkwardly before clearing his throat. “But uh, the show’s about to start so, um… Jisung, if you will – “

You feel his chest move as he exhales, clearly annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

That’s all Chan needs to walk away, a bit too eager to escape the uncomfortable situation. When you dare look up again, Jisung is already looking down at you, putting some hair behind your ear gently. He’s doing a much better job at masking his frustration at being interrupted than you currently are.

His voice is still quiet as he speaks, but now for a different reason. “After the show, take everyone and come to the VIP section. I’ll wait for you there.”

You nod and he forces a smile, the new emotion in his eyes a bit too complicated to make out when your head is still spinning all over the place. Giving your shoulder a friendly squeeze, Jisung then detaches from you and moves to walk away first, finally dawning on him the importance of the show and how he cannot just keep lingering here.

Before he’s completely out of earshot, you speak up. “Jisung!”

He turns briefly, now in a hurry.

“Break a leg out there!” You smile.

And he finally returns it, genuinely. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

When he disappears, you remain there for a moment longer to pull yourself together, making sure you look presentable enough to not raise any suspicion. Looking in the vanity’s lit-up mirror, your fingers find your lips and the slightly smeared lipstick, tracing them lightly while remembering the way his own lips felt. They were so close, yet still so far as they seemed to have slipped right through these very fingers, harshly pulled away from you in the worst way.

Will you ever get a chance like that again?

But more importantly, will you actually take it?

Shaking your head, you quickly fix your lipstick before leaving and closing the door on everything that’s transpired with Jisung in the last 20 minutes. If you want to remain sane, you have to forget it all, for now.

Reaching your friends isn’t as challenging as before and when you make it to your seat, with Jeongin already excited about the gossip you brought back, the lights turn off. Everyone gasps and cheers as the booming music signaling the performance starts, and you let out a small sigh, relieved you won’t have to get into it right away.

From where you’re all sitting, you can see smoke enveloping the stage and it all goes quiet again for a moment before a spotlight turns on and the members of 3racha appear, one by one, to the beat of their favorite song. The crowd grows wild, and you aren’t an exception, your whole table cheering as loud as everyone else as the whole vibe of the venue changes.

Emotions are running high for everyone as their performance stars, adrenaline and excitement running through your veins from the first song to the last. Everyone is dancing and singing along, with some knowing the lyrics by heart and it feels like the room is spinning with their energy and stomping around. Grabbing Felix, who seems way happier than before thanks to the alcohol, you also stand up to dance and scream along to the music and your happiness only multiplies when you see him doing the same.

3racha’s stage presence is no joke, neither is their talent as Changbin gets the whole venue to chant their names at some point, leaving the crowd begging for an encore they can’t help but deliver. Throughout the whole performance, no matter if he’s rapping or jumping around, Jisung’s eyes seem to find you one way or another and every time, he winks or smirks at your excitement. He’s visibly pleased and unknown to you, that fuels him up better than any crowd could and prompts him to give the performance of a lifetime.

By the end, you’re left buzzing and more awake than ever, throwing your arms around Felix and thanking him for accompanying you tonight.

After, a waiter comes over to your booth and escorts your whole group to the VIP section of the club, where tonight’s stars are. You really weren’t expecting Jisung to send someone or even remember what he said, too busy having fun with his fanclub to be bothered.

The VIP area is a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of the club, with AC and fewer people. It’s fancy and luxurious and among the other patrons, you spot the guys instantly.

Their place consists of a bunch of sofas and three coffee tables in the middle, all filled with alcohol and the weed they love so much. There are other people among them when you arrive and besides their manager and choreographer, you don’t recognize anyone else. The choreographer is Minho’s teacher, after all, the one who taught him everything he knows.

“Well, this is fancy.” Seungmin hums, impressed.

Chan smiles behind his cigar, glass of whiskey in hand. “Only the best for our friends.” He winks and Seungmin looks away, rolling his eyes, but you swear there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.

“You guys were amazing! I think this was your best performance yet!” Jeongin joins in, all smiles, eyes turning into two crescent moons, the sight so adorable you can’t help but reach over and squeeze one of his cheeks, not being able to stop yourself. He groans and swats your hand away but unfortunately for him, Felix is on his other side, so he doesn’t catch any breaks before his cheeks get squished together again. You laugh as he succumbs to his faith, knowing first-hand how strong Felix is and how difficult it would be to fight him off.

Changbin, who’s the only one surrounded by groupies, boys and girls, exclaims a bit too loudly. “Aw, Innie! Thank you!”

Everyone laughs at his high-pitched voice, besides Jeongin who just cringes and moves to take a shot once he escapes Felix’s claws. Alcohol makes Changbin’s true personality shine through in a hilarious way each time – there’s never a dull moment with him around.

Across from the chaos, Jisung, who’s been silently sipping his drink so far, locks eyes with you before beckoning you closer without a word. You’ve calmed down since whatever the fuck happened in his dressing room so you have no problem standing up and walking over to him, also a bit curious about his missing cult. Were they waiting for him in a basement somewhere with the ritual on hold?

“Before you say anything, just know that Minho doesn’t allow me to join shady cults.”

He blinks up at you, confused out of his mind and the look on his face makes you laugh. Jisung smiles at the sound, but the gesture doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry.” You shake your head, stopping in front of him. “What’s up?”

It’s surprising how normal you can actually act around him after he’s managed to turn your whole world upside down with a mere sentence. After the intense moment you’ve shared before when you thought your heart was going to explode into teeny tiny pieces right on his shirt. The stupid shirt that’s hugging his waist perfectly, sleeves a bit too long over his hands.

The part of you that resents what he’s become is also dormant now, to your surprise. You haven’t been this angry at him in years, your last argument ending with you both ignoring each other for months.

Maybe you’re both tired of fighting.

“Come here.” He throws his drink back before setting the glass down and grabbing his phone.

Without meaning to, you do and when you’re within arms’ reach, Jisung gently pulls you down by the hand until your faces are mere inches away. Your eyes widen, and you panic, but before you can jerk away, he closes the distance and places a gentle smooch on your cheek that lingers for a moment too long. Not that you mind.

But, the unexpected gesture still leaves you frozen in your spot even after he lets go, gaze slowly moving to meet his for an explanation.

The smirk he sports is shameless as he signals you to take a seat on the arm of the comfy, fluffy white chair he’s currently lounging in. For a moment, you think about taking a seat in his lap, wanting to get the upper hand and fluster him back but, you quickly come to your senses and decide otherwise.

“What was that for?” You get straight to the point, staring him down. A thin layer of sweat now adorns his sunkissed skin and his styled, blonde hair has become nothing short of a mess. An attractive mess nonetheless, since you swear, he looks even better than before. You didn’t think that was even possible but there he was, proving you wrong once again.

Instead of using his words, Jisung just shows you his phone. Curious, you lean down to find a picture of two faceless people sharing a kiss – wait a second…it’s you! It’s a picture of the kiss you just shared.

But wait. He’s only just kissed your cheek…

Oh, he was good.

“Think this will be enough to trick Minho for tonight?” He smiles faintly, more reserved than he’s ever been with you and that kind of throws you off. Although, you can understand why he’s acting the way he is, considering what just happened.

“You,” A pause, taking hold of his phone, “made it look like we’re kissing for real.”

He grins. “I’m pretty great, right?”

Your eyes glide over to look at him, shoulders slumping slightly. “But why? I thought you didn’t want to help me.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” He wastes no time in explaining, looking straight into your eyes. Even in the poorly lit room, you can see his gaze soften, features relaxing as a mischievous smile makes its way onto his lips.

There he was, the Jisung you fell in love with. The menace Minho forbid you from ever pursuing.

“Let’s do this, sweetheart. Let’s get back at your selfish brother.”

Game on.

♡. taglist: @liknws @scarletbedlam @xhazmania @skzpvol @slut4colinbridgerton @sealovesbts @stickycrusadecollective @byullielle @princelingperfect @realrintaro @ilychee08 @mysweethannie @jetblackbelle @hanjisunginc @whitney190 @emyladia @hanschimpmunk @lilmarkieepooh

couldn't tag: @briqnne @seungminsapuppy @telehan

[iblowjone]

OMGGGGGGGGG BAND!SKZ IM LITERALLY IN A JISUNG ROCKSTAR GRIND AND THIS IS GOING TO MAKE ME SO HAPPY IM EXCITED ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

THE WRAITHS : ON TOUR!

pairing › han jisung x fem! reader. genre › social media. they’re in a band. also they’re ghosts. julie and the phantoms inspired! warnings › kys and kms jokes, insults for funsies, maybe bad humor, sorry! death, grief. yn’s faceclaim is ning yizhuo of aespa. featuring › chan, changbin, jisung of stray kids. ollie of boysplanet. karina and winter of aespa. wooyoung of ateez.

to break and rebuild is hard — most of the time, you’ll need help picking up the pieces. liu yn has had a journey, that’s for sure: she can confirm that three boys showing up in her garage claiming to be dead but talented is no normal occurrence.

she can also confirm, though, that despite trying to hit chan with a guitar ( and having it go right through him )… that exact occurrence changed her life.

now, the wraiths are on tour, and their band name is dumb, and han jisung is way too out of her league for her to have this big of a crush on him. ( ollie, her little brother, thinks he’s way too cool, and way too handsome, and way too dead to date her ).

STOPS ⛽️ THE BAND. | MANAGEMENT.

O. seoul, night one : one, two, three.

O. seoul, night two : one, two, three.

MORE COMING SOON !

NOTE 📝 : okay… i know i said i’d write the changbin smau but i got this idea and i could not let it go. i feel like there’s a lot of backstory as to how the wraiths formed that might need a prequel or a lot of background exploring during the au but ! i think it will be fun. give this lots of love ( reblogs and feedback and and and ) please! and i hope writing for jisung ( my one true love in stray kids ) is so fun. i hope u guys think this is fun.

taglist. @outoftowns @jaeheekangslover @borahae-reads @loverlixie @janelliesworld @jeongchaos @roulette010 @ilikecatsanddoritos @stickycrusadecollective @tfshouldidohere @queen-klarissa @adestayskz @thisrandombitch @al3x4uu @chlodavids @s4m1r4qxp @inniwrld @luna585 @dearalice @lynlyndoll @phtogravi @hoeinthehouse @clumsy-writing-rdb @sanriiolino @veryjeongintxtkid @leemidnightmoon @mitproblem

if you want to be added to the taglist, fill THIS form 👻

bold cannot be tagged, please check your settings!

© flori / lovestai. please do not copy, translate, repost or claim my work as ur own.

[iblowjone]

NOOOOOOOO ITS ALL MY BIAS WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME AGAIN????? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

CASE 143 MASTERLIST [18+!]

🔬 SYNOPSIS: You’re the best detective out there without a doubt. But what happens when an anonymous source threatens to reveal all your little secrets including the affair with your boss, the drama considering your ex boyfriend and the huge crush you have on your partner and best friend?

🔖 CONTENT INFO: chan x afab reader, hyunjin x afab reader, jisung x afab reader; angst/smut/fluff; detectives/crime au, they are all detectives, chief inspector chan, ex boyfriend hyunjin, best friend and detective partner jisung, reader has adhd, they are all flawed characters; possible hints to brooklyn 99; officially announced here on 19/07/23 (but also before that); warnings under the cut

📋 WORD COUNT: ?/?

CHAPTERS

[I] — STAN

more to be added once more evidence was found…

📸 CONTENT WARNING: anonymous threats and hate messages, implied stalking, blackmailing, mention of criminal activities, topics of unrequited love and cheating, mental health topics such as adhd, smut will be specified for each chapter, more to be added throughout the writing process

🤍AUTHOR’S NOTE: let me know in case you want to be added to the taglist!

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

[iblowjone]

did you ever read something and felt the urge to just take your heart out of your body? so yeah basically thats what im feeling right now. im obsessed with rockstar jisung and i just wanted to TAKE MY HEART OUT and give to you after this fic omgggjwkdkwkjdj

style, 1989 ─── musician from next door.

masterlist. playlist. preview.

✰ pairing — musician!jisung x f. reader (with she and her as pronouns)

✰ genre — nsfw (18+), he fell first she fell harder (kinda??) semi-fake dating trope

✰ warnings — profanity, explicit sexual content, dom!jisung, creampie, cunniglus, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), petnames, lots of making-out, consumptions of alcohol, clubbing, please let me know if i missed something, not proofread.

✰ word count — 13.3k

✰ songs that were used for inspiration — style by taylor swift, meddle about by chase altantic, moonlight by dhruv, r u mine? by arctic monkeys, don't say by han jisung (unreleased), mixtape: time out by stray kids

✰ notes — this was supposed to be posted for han’s birthday last year but unfortunately i got busy with uni. BUT HERE IT IS AND please open these tiktok links here and here (this hit me with a huge inspiration to continue to write the fic). REBLOGGING AND LEAVING A FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED.

✰ tags — @lix-ables , @lilacjeongin , @alyszaen , @djeniryuu , @ppiri-bahng , @notastraykid , @skzfelixlove , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @ohish , @comet-falls , @mrswolfiechan , @rachabreathing , @iadorethemskz , @minluvly , @dreamingsmile , @flirtyskzbutterfly , @tangylemonade , @gwynsapphire , @annispamz , @surefornext , @seungincore , @skz1-4-3 , @zoe8stay , @seungly

NSFW CONTENTS UNDER THE CUT. mdni.

The strum of his electric guitar echoed across the room as he played the instrumentals of the song he was performing with the band. A smirk was perfectly painted on his lips as his fingers were adorned with rings played with the strings.  Purple, red, blue, orange, and yellow lights illuminated the stage as the white smoke crawled on the floor to collide with the band. His voice reverberated through the crowded room with his lips moved as if he was making out with the microphone. Screams and shouts, his name is famous—Han Jisung of Mist. 

Many people have been eyeing him ever since his band was introduced to the public and the 5-STAR Restoclub tried to hire them. Unfortunately, Jisung refused but the offer as guests didn’t make him say No. Many of the customers come for food and entertainment but mainly for him after they heard that he’s performing. Jisung doesn’t want to understand the hype for his looks but that’s how everyone thinks of him, a fucking dom-like energy, heavenly vocals, and visuals. The sounds of his guitar made the screams go wilder as it reached a blank chorus, only the instrumental. Hyunjin caught the beat when Jisung pushed his guitar behind his back, took the mic away from the stand, and walked to the extended stage to sing the second verse. His left arm reached out to the crowd, pointing to whoever it is as he let every lyric out of his mouth. The aggressiveness of his voice, from a growl to his average pitch. Jisung knows how to perform well. 

You lost consciousness that night and all you can remember is how fucked up your situation was. Jisung saw you, of course, he was amused. But that didn’t matter to you as you were embarrassed by the fact that you had to drag Seungmin to your misery that night. From crying to drunk calling Hanbin after your break up to Jisung finally having his eyes on you and making out. It happened unexpectedly and he didn’t even help you out. Your best friend stood there frozen, unable to speak, but amused. He was about to spill everything to your mom, but you suddenly passed out. 

The memory lingers as a smirk plastered on his face. It was a wild Saturday night anyway. 

“We kissed?” You asked Seungmin who was sitting on your bed after he noticed you were already up. 

“Yep,” The boy said, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

“And I called Hanbin to take me back?” You asked again, nervous about every response he gave. 

“Uh huh,” Seungmin answered again. 

“That sounds bullshit to me, Seungmin,” You retorted. 

“Nah, it was real. Saw it with my own eyes,” Seungmin said, rolling his eyes. 

“Motherfuー why didn’t you stop me?!” You exclaimed as Seungmin confirmed the regret and disgust on your face. 

“Your misfortune is my happiness, Y/n,” He laughed. “But yeah, I was enjoying your misery,” You hit him with a pillow, full of rage but, all you heard from him was giggles while dodging every hit he takes. Seungmin knows you won’t ever get mad at him for silly reasons, but last night was different. You knew it was your fault for acting stupid in front of him, and now you have kissed Jisung, the most popular member of Mist, and not just solely in Mist, but throughout Seoul. You buried your face in the soft pillow you used to hit Seungmin and screamed your heart out, feeling all the embarrassment. 

You knew you were more worried than facing Jisung than your ex. But Jisung doesn’t give a shit about it. The feeling lingers and the memory is still vivid. One making-out session made an impact on him. 

They say everything stops moving when you finally have an eye-contact with someone who is destined to be with you. People freeze, time stops, the coffee poured into a mug halts as the conversations pause, and you see sparkles and flowers surrounding them. 

It is bullshit. 

That’s how Jisung believes it. 

People these days rely on books and tv shows to define what love is like or how you’d meet the one who is meant for you. There’s nothing like that in the real world. Not everyone living on earth is lucky to find true love一even a musician who writes songs and sings about love.

Everyone gets the chance to love and be loved, a foreshadowing that is expected to come across. Jisung may do like someone, but as for experience, being in a relationship is like finding a needle in a haystack. Hookups don’t work, a one-night stand is not on the list, and blind dates make no difference. He wanted it genuine like how that one famous singer sings to her exes and describes how relationships can be. 

Love is like a game with countless levels一first you have to find that person, meet that person, fall for that person, and earn their mutual perspective in return. It’s easy to fall just like the leaves in autumn but it takes time to bloom like the flowers in spring after winter. But in the blink of an eye, he may find someone who could make his world stop spinning for a while. 

Sunday night, and he still thinks about you. His delicate fingers played with the mixer causing the loud music to echo through his black headphones. The slow banging of his head synchronizing to the beat got him preoccupied. Jisung didn’t know how late it was at night as his free hand wrote the words from his mind that formed into lyrics. The tip of his pen dances on the blank paper at a fast writing pace. His handwriting was barely readable. A busy week drove him insane, and a project in mind even if he has done it before didn’t immensely help him through.

But the thought of you is still bothering him. 

A deep sigh escaped from his lips, disappointment draws the room at the end of the music. He wasn’t satisfied, the lyrics were too cringe. This is bullshit, he thought as he crumpled the paper with his messy writing, tossing it into the bin next to his keyboard. He leaned at the backrest of his chair, as it swiveled backward, hands on his face as he groaned in frustration while staring at the ceiling trying to invoke an idea一something that would wake up his soul to work, but, nothing. It was a significant requirement from the university, the sole reason why he stayed up all night in the studio he rented for another year. It was supposed to be a single song-making project for the finals. Compliance was supposed to be a fun thing to do for the sake of passing the course but it wasn’t always enthusiastic. 

He wanted it to be special. 

But his dilemma stopped when he realized how late it was. 

“Shit,” He hissed under his breath and decided to take a look at the clock. His phone’s screen lit up with 3 digits in the center, 11:48 pm. “Fuck it’s almost 12,” 

His headphones slid around his neck, taking everything to shove in the bag. He had to drag himself back to his working desk for double-checking before he left. Lights turned off, wires unplugged, Jisung closed the door behind him making sure it was locked, and later he was welcomed by the quiet and solemn highway, with few cars coming and going, streetlights stayed still with no people taking strolls, and stars illuminated the sky as his footsteps led him to the apartment which is only a block away from the studio. He saunters trying to think of something, but then again, nothing. His brain didn’t want to work, his body was fried, and it is always like that. 

Jisung reached his apartment, and even riding the elevator to the 8th floor felt exhausting as well. He tossed his bag on the couch and went to the windows. White curtains were opened as he saw the view down the building. The moon shines so brightly, enough to give reflection to his glass windows and the other lights from the neighborhood. It was aesthetically pleasing to the eyes that he always enjoys at night. His fingers ran over his bangs, stroking them back to his head as he made his way toward the balcony. A long sigh escaped his lips, a weekend shouldn’t be wasted on a boring list of things. 

He knew you are working until dawn again. The lights were off from the room next to him and it has been so quiet during nighttime. Jisung couldn’t blame you but it feels lonely not to have you next door when he’s home. 

His phone suddenly lights up for a text message he received from a friend, a club invitation. It is a Sunday night anyway. A smirk formed on his lips from top to bottom一Jisung made a beeline toward his bedroom and changed clothes. An invitation from a friend to drink shouldn’t be ignored just like that, and being drunk on a weekend is like a necessary afterparty of a long-ass night. He left his apartment again, the club is far away from home. 

The timing is great. He wanted to see you again. 

It was all black, yellow, and white lights, time on the box, and cold air. The smooth rolling of tires on the asphalt and music from the radio made the stillness of his car a bit dramatic. The blinding lights welcomed him, a variety of colors dancing with the people around. Loud music and the scent of cigarettes and vape mixed with intoxicating alcohol, he was amused. It wasn’t his first time visiting a place like this, thanks to Hyunjin who is a party animal, he gets dragged every time, and also because of the gig with the band. He didn’t even care about the time and maybe going home at 5 in the morning would still feel like evening. 

Songs with intense structures were played suddenly as he stood a few steps away from the entrance. His bandmates, slash, best pals, Hyunjin, and Minho were behind him, sipping their drinks or screaming at the top of their lungs with the others. Jisung’s eyes immediately looked to the counter to taste interesting drinks. He smiled at his two friends before walking himself through the wild crowd and managed to keep his eardrums safe from the loudspeakers below the stage. 

A sigh of relief escaped his lips and was later formed into a smile of triumph but what can he say about his thoughts about love when his time suddenly stopped and everything had gone in slow motion the moment he saw you from the counter, smiling at Chan? Someone could serve him his words on a platter and Jisung would have it as his breakfast. His heart suddenly started beating faster than the normal pace. Was it love at first sight? No, he had seen you before around campus, many times and you kissed. It was different from last night. A miserable damsel in distress to the bright sunshine in front of him. 

Jisung stopped in his tracks and his heart went insane when you finally had eye contact with him after diverting your gaze from your dear co-worker. People passed by, and the sounds suddenly died down between you and him, he was looking at you as you stared back. He stood there, frozen. Jisung is very familiar but never became a friend and you were no stranger to him either. He likes you for a while now. But even if he does, he is not sure how to express it, not even in the songs he wrote. 

From his perspective, he knew he is in love. Yet it falls differently on your end, you were embarrassed. You spent the whole afternoon thinking about what happened last night. If it wasn’t for Seungmin reminding you about it, you already had gone feral. And you did. It was a stupid act of disgust that would haunt you for the rest of your life. What your problem is, how to face him and apologize for being such an embarrassing nitwit with a broken heart? Fuck that asshole, it’s already been three fucking months! Thanks to your dumbass ex-boyfriend, for cheating on you. His number is currently plastered on the recent calls you had. The phone number you always memorized that you can type without looking at the keypads. 

But you can’t do anything now, he’s here. 

A smile formed on his face and a hint of redness surfaced on your cheeks一your smile faded and remembered what Seungmin told you the morning after what happened. 

“So you work here,” He said, leaning against the flat surface. Exchanging conversations wasn’t your thing before, but one should take the first step in everything. 

“Yeah,” You smirked, trying to be cool despite what happened. “What can I get you?

“One martini please,” 

“This one’s in the house,” You smiled, hoping he wouldn’t bring up your make-out session. 

“Really?” He beamed. “Thanks Y/n,” 

“You know my name?” You asked, handing him the small glass. 

“Of course,” He nodded. “You’re in my music class and we’re just living right next to each other’s door. I’m Jisung by the way,” He added, handing out his hand for a shake. 

“I know,” You said, taking his hand. It would be a lie that his heart melted the moment he was able to touch your hand一there was a spark to him. “Nice meeting you, I guess, we don’t interact,” You added.

“Well, I guess we need to socialize more,” He smiled. “But I have to check on the guys first, I’ll be back in a sec,” He added and immediately dashed through the crowd leaving you dumbfounded. You just prevented embarrassing yourself for the second time! It was hard to keep it to yourself. 

“Way to go,” You said as you saw Chan smirking at you, making his way to receive orders. 

“Damn,” Jisung sighs. 

“What’s up with you?” Minho asked, noticing his friend’s dilemma. Hyunjin was quick enough to involve himself in the gossip and scooted closer to the couch. 

“Did you embarrass yourself?” Hyunjin asked. 

“No!” Jisung retorted. “That girl from the bar一” 

“We know,” Minho said, rolling his eyes. “You made out with her last night,” 

“You wanted to hook up now?” Hyunjin teased, drinking his lime juice when Jisung smacked his head, causing him to blow the drink off of his mouth. “What the fuck?!” 

“A crush, maybe?” Minho smirked. 

“Dude, what am I? A high school teenager?” Jisung scoffed, denying the giddiness. 

“Ask her out! Fuck you,” Hyunjin retorted, wiping his lips. 

“Too scared,” Jisung said, rolling his eyes. 

“How about a bet?” Minho said, wiggling his brows with a sly smirk plastered on his face. 

“Sounds dangerous,” Hyunjin butted in. 

“Pssh,” Minho hissed. “Come on man, it’s your chance to hook up.” 

“Shut up, Lee,” Hyunjin hissed as Minho glared at him. 

“I’m still contemplating,” Jisung sighed. 

“Dude, you kissed her,” Minho pointed out as Jisung looked at him. “Go.” 

Jisung took a deep breath while looking into Minho’s eyes. Hyunjin went to mind his drink as he heard the younger one sigh in response. It only took one push to build his confidence. 

“Fine,” He said, placing the drink on the table and disappearing into the crowd. Meanwhile, you sat on a stool high chair watching everyone have the time of their lives. The counter was already busy as you and Chan were taking turns. Jisung came back in a blink of an eye as he took the seat across from you as you made his drink. “Y/n,” 

Here he is again. You thought. 

“Hey,” You smiled, leaning on the counter.

“I shouldn’t be going around asking this but, do you want to go out with me?” He said, smirking at the idea which made you scoff in response.

“No,” You told him. “And that one martini is 12,000 won,” You said, rolling your eyes, leaving his drink served in front of his face before moving away. Jisung clicked his tongue and looked at Hyunjin and Minho who were watching you leave. Way to go wasting a free drink, Jisung! 

“She’s not into you,” Minho chuckled, approaching his dear friend and wrapping his arm around Jisung’s neck. 

“Try harder dude,” Hyunjin said, taking the drink away from Jisung’s hand before taking a sip. 

“She’ll say yes eventually,” Jisung said, looking at you serving a table a few meters away. You caught him staring again and rolled your eyes in response. 

“Just make sure she will,” Minho winked. 

“She will. And Hyunjin, that’s my drink,” Jisung hissed at the tall boy when he realized his Martini was stolen.

“What? I’ll pay for it,” Hyunjin defended.

“Y/n! Can you take out the trash please?” The senior barista said, earning their attention, Hyunjin nudged Jisung as Minho kept watching your move. After going back to serving a few customers their drinks, you headed back to the staff’s room to execute the request. Jisung immediately got the message and went straight to the back door, surprising you the moment you threw the trash into the bins. 

“Hey,” He said. 

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested,” You said, trying to get back inside. 

“Y/n, just hear me once, okay? I like you,” He said, blocking your way in. A sigh escaped your lips, crossing your arms on your chest while watching him. 

“What?” You asked. 

“I’m sure you heard me,” He said. “I’m asking you out,” 

“Jisung, I,” You sighed. “Look, a single sip from a Martini won’t make you drunk enough to come up to me and just confess right away. And I can’t go out with you especially when I don’t have feelings for you,” You said, making him frown. 

“But we kissed,” He pursued, which made you so red. 

“That doesn’t count,” You defended. “It was a mistake and I was so drunk,” 

“I don’t care about that Y/n,” He said. “Just give me a month,” He added as you stared at him for a few seconds. 

“No,” You retorted, pushing him out of the way and going back to the bar. Jisung sighed harshly and ruffled his hair, it’s going to be a long way to make you say yes. 

He followed you back inside and grabbed a drink, joining Hyunjin and Minho at their table, already tipsy. Jisung sat down, crossing his legs and an arm extended on the backrest of their couch. The drink is filled with ice, but the stare you gave him was burning with disgust. He could only shrug and give you a sly smile because you know he will never let you go that easy. Minho and Hyunjin exchanged looks一the older boy suddenly shoved tissues in Hyunjin’s mouth out of nowhere. It was so random that Jisung failed to notice. 

Your rounds kept going, with endless orders and requests, the music was too loud and out of your taste. If it wasn’t for your uncle’s request to make you work in such a place, you wouldn’t be staying up all night during the weekends. But you can’t deny that the pay is good enough to spend on your needs and wants, especially when he gives you special treatment because you are indeed his niece. You want to make him proud for taking you in, and you tried to stay out of trouble each night of your shift, but sometimes, something happens eventually. Like the boy who can’t stop watching you. 

Han Jisung. 

You’ve known him since freshman year but you rarely talk because of his different circle of friends. He might be a colleague but never a friend一one of the best students in the music department, one that you tend to avoid. You shared a few classes with him before, and now that you’re one of the seniors now—you’re stuck with him for having the same majors. Ignoring him will be the best, but that’s what you thought. He’s not the type to give up on you easily. 

Hours passed by, and Hyunjin and Minho passed out on the couch while everyone left, Jisung tried to be as sane and formal as possible—although he laid a few bottles empty on the table. Chan nudged at your shoulder, pouting his lips towards the godforsaken people at table number eight. He sighed in disappointment as he wiped the glasses he washed a few minutes ago. You craned your neck to check, only to find out Jisung was already drowsy and useless like the other two. Too much of a single drink, eh? You shake your head and go back to Chan. 

 “You need to drive them home,” You told him. 

“I know,” He sighed. “Are you coming?” 

“Yeah,” You replied. “I need to get that idiot home,” You added, pointing at Jisung.

“Right, I’ll finish these up then we’ll go,” Chan giggled. “Those punks are useless right now,” Giving Chan a small smile, you finished cleaning the table and went to the staff’s room to change, leaving the old boy to figure out what to do with his friends. Poor Chan had to assist Minho first while you took care of Hyunjin, heading to Jisung’s car. They were piled up on the backseat and saved the best for the owner. He was still conscious when you and Chan dragged him away. Gibberish lyrics came out of his mouth, singing a familiar song—loud and out of tune. He smells exactly what he consumed. 

“Stupid,” Chan laughed. 

Morning arrived and you heard a knock on your door after passing out on the couch the moment you were done with everyone. You didn’t even notice Chan leaving at 6 am as you were both exhausted一the guys were heavy for 2 people to assist and a loud one to deal with. You never felt so tired ever since you started your job, maybe it was the first time you saw the club so packed and a lot of customers wanted to be served first. It felt like you’d been flying from left to right. 

Dragging yourself up at 10 am is already tiring. You are already considering quitting having the lack of sleep on the weekends, even the school does the same to you—nothing spares such a busy person. Grabbing the doorknob, you inspected the person through the small hole in your door. It was Jisung who looked like he was just woken up. A sigh escaped your lips and opened it. Fixing yourself didn’t matter anymore, anyway. You stared at him for a while, disheveled hair, crumpled clothes, bloodshot eyes, and wearing socks without shoes—this boy is a mess. 

“Good morning?” You greeted him as he started fidgeting his fingers. 

“Ah, yes good morning,” He said, still having that alcohol scent. 

“What do you want?” You asked with a stern look, asking him to hurry. 

“I wanted to say thank you to you and Chan hyung,” He said. “This is about what happened a few hours ago, I still have a headache right now but, I need to see you first,” He smiled. 

 “Okay?” You said. 

“Yeah,” He answered, rubbing his nape. “Y/n, I’m sorry about last night, but, I also wanted to say that I’m persistent when it comes to the things that I like.” He said. “And by that, what I mean is, I won’t give up until you say yes,” 

“Jisung, you heard me last night and my answer is No,” You said. “There are a lot of people out there, think about it, okay? And take a rest,” You smiled. 

“Y/n, I like you! I swear.” He said.

“Have a nice day, Han.” You responded and closed the door in his face, leaving the poor boy dumbfounded. 

Jisung sighed and started to space out, his body is not even healed yet from too much consumption of alcohol. He started at nothing for a while before he could get back to reality and scratched his head, moving back to his apartment. His two attempts to get you to say yes, failed. But just like what you observed about him, he is not the type to give up on something he wants so easily. And things will turn into something more interesting than ‘just talking’. 

The night fell, and another shift will come to occur. School is not the only one fucking you up. Chan welcomed you with a big smile on his face. The club usually opens at 8 pm on the weekdays but starting on Friday nights to Sunday go to by 9 instead. He was busy setting up the chairs and mopping the floor while you checked on the menu. Other employees started to gather as well and the bouncers prepared for the opening. Scenarios of the club are always the same, the customers may be different people each night, yet it is always the loud music and screams of people. Swearing, drinking, kissing, and laughing, they go all over the place. People are becoming wilder every minute—it doesn’t surprise you anymore. 

But surprisingly, Jisung showed up in the same place where you got him a drink. 

“You’re still up for another hangover?” You asked, leaning against the counter. “What can I get you?” 

Jisung just chuckled and shook his head, “I’m not drinking tonight,” 

“Are you sure? What are you doing here then?” 

“I’ll wait for you until your shift is done,” He said, making you look confused. “I’ll be less trouble tonight Y/n, I promise, just let me stay here,” 

“You’re up to something, are you?” You said. 

“If your answer is still No, I’m not going to stop just like that,” He smirked. 

“Suit yourself, Han,” You scoffed and went to make a drink. Jisung just smiled at the end, maybe this bet will make him get closer to you after all. He watched the area filled with the intoxicating scent of alcohol and cigarettes—he wasn’t amused, nor his type. But the fact that you are working here, staying is worth it. He was immersed in everything even with the blinding lights and the singer up on stage, it was an interesting love song to sing in a club. “Sparkling Cucumber Mint Lemonade,” 

“I didn’t order anything,” Jisung said, snapping back in your direction. 

“It’s on me this time, I won’t charge you like last night,” You smiled, hugging the tray. “Don’t worry it’s not alcoholic,” 

“Thanks,” He said, taking a good sip of a free drink. “This is good,” 

“I know right? Enjoy your stay, I need to get to work,” You said. “Are you sure you will wait for me?” 

“Yeah, my band is on break and there’s no work for me to be done so don’t mind me,” He smiled, taking another sip of it. 

“Okay,” 

The night flew by, customers slowly faded through the door leaving all their energy at the place, Jisung fell asleep on the counter as Chan kept an eye on him. You just got out of the staff’s room after changing clothes and are now being left with a sleeping Han Jisung. Chan smiled at you, motioning to take care of him while he closed the club—Jisung had already passed out and you were anxious to wake him up. 

“Just try to shake him gently,” Chan said, and so you did. 

“Han?” You called. 

“Hmm?” He hummed in response, sitting up as he rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?” 

“4 am,” You answered as he sighed heavily. 

“Do you want me to drive you home? It’s so late,” Jisung said, looking at you. “Let me take you and Chan hyung,” 

“No, no, don’t worry about me, I have my motorbike outside,” Chan said. “Just take Y/n home, I’ll leave in a bit,” 

“Okay, be careful on your way, yeah?” You told him. 

“Yep, and you too,” 

Jisung walked out of the club first as you followed him, hands shoved into his pockets while you tightened your grip on the straps of your bag. You can’t deny saying it is kind of sweet to have him waiting for you all night but the thought of pursuing you for a bit doesn’t sit right with you. It’s rare to have someone waiting for you for hours, Chan is an exception for he is a good friend of yours—but nothing like Jisung. You feel bad about it. 

He opened the door for you to enter and you bowed lightly with a small Thank you before getting in. You watched him close the door and jogged his way around the car to settle on the driver’s seat, driving away in silence. 

“Care to tell me what’s this all about?” You asked him. 

“As I said I’m not giving up that easily until I get you to say Yes,” He said, eyes focused on the road. 

“I know,” You scoffed and had the atmosphere go quiet for a while. You were still in deep thought about what happened between you and Jisung the other night and never had the chance to apologize properly for it. Seungmin already gave the details for he had witnessed everything. 

And that’s when you remembered,

The music was loud and Seungmin just sat there at your table, watching you get wasted. Mist wasn’t the one singing on the stage that night. Hyunjin and Minho went home, Chan went to help at the counter and Jeongin rested beside Seungmin. Felix and Changbin weren't there. You were chugging the Bacardi at a fast pace while enjoying the music, shouting the lyrics of the band’s cover of Day 1. Jisung decided to get a drink at the counter and planned to stand by for a few minutes before going home but Chan gossiped about Seungmin’s presence with you. He had to disregard Seungmin and Jeongin, talking on the couch as his attention was directed to you, he was amused. 

Acknowledging that his glass was already empty and he placed it back on the top of the marbled counter as his feet dragged him to you. Hyunjin didn’t mind the crowd of people getting in his way, the loud music was banging his ears and the flash of lights was a pain. 

“You’ll always be my day one~ Day zero when I was no one~” 

You got dizzy after a few glasses of that horrid drink and mindlessly took your phone out from your bag and typed Hanbin’s number. A group of numbers that you will always remember even if you get drunk. Your phone pressed your ear, waiting for him to pick up, Seungmin was already alerted to your actions but he wasn’t aware of who it was. Jeongin suddenly fell asleep after the exhaustion from partying and shared a few words with the older boy but still ended up passing out. Seungmin raised a brow as he sat steadily on his seat, halting himself from drinking another glass. 

“Hello?” Asked the one on the phone. You could barely hear it and decided to put it on loudspeaker. 

“Ya, are you crazy?” You exclaimed. “How dare you cheat on me with that cheapass ugly bitch?” Seungmin sat there frozen. “Am I not enough? Am I not enough to give you everyー”

“Y/n stop that!” Seungmin said. 

“Shut up, asshole,” You said, unconscious of the words coming out of your mouth. “Take me back!” You cried. Hanbin fell in silence as he listened to your sobs in between the loud music. 

“Y/n! I swear,” Seungmin said standing up from his seat as he placed his glass on the table loud enough for Hanbin to pass the phone to his new one. 

“Why did you cheat on me? We can work things out, Hanbin!” You said, not paying attention to your best friend who is now fucking frustrated. Jisung suddenly snatched your phone away, making you so mad, and yelled at him. He looked at the caller ID and smirked, passing it to Seungmin. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Piss off!” You heard Seungmin answer the phone. 

“Give it back!” You exclaimed as Jisung grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him. 

“Stop it, Y/n, you’re drunk,” He said. 

“Who the fuck are you?! Let me go!” You yelled at him but instead of calming you down, his lips suddenly landed on yours. 

Seungmin almost dropped your phone after he ended the call when he saw how smooth Jisung was. It made you stop babbling nonsense and finally melted into the kiss. He tasted the shitty drink inside your mouth but it didn’t stop him. His arm wrapped around your waist with your hands around his neck. Maybe you deserve it after the heartbreak though. You couldn’t identify what kind of drink painted his lips so sweetly as it collided with yours. His lips were soft as he kisses you gently. Seungmin’s jaw dropped and only a click away to inform your mother who’s living in the countryside. It wasn’t a chaste kiss but rather wild when you felt his tongue enter your mouth. You licked his tongue slowly sucking it before molding your lips with his, then suddenly, everything disappeared from that moment. It wasn’t the first time you ever kissed someone but Jisung’s lips felt different. 

Your knees felt weak when he pulled you closer and deepened the kiss. His hand reached for your cheek, with a hint of nibbling at biting your lips. He may have gone excessively when he heard you whine under him which made him more eager. It wasn’t part of the plan to kiss you just to stop you from begging Hanbin and saying nonsense but it is the best way, for him, at least. The kiss got so overwhelming that Jisung felt your hands coming off his neck and suddenly passed out. Good thing you were inside his arms that he caught you right away. Seungmin almost died from shock but he didn’t help you either way. A smirk formed on Jisung’s lips as he carried you in bridal style. 

“You should go,” He said. 

“We will. Take care of Jeongin, he’s knocked out,” Seungmin answered. “Give me Y/n,” 

He kissed you. Yes, he is persistent and faithful when it comes to the things he likes. He already gave proof of that. A sigh escaped from your lips and at the same time, you felt the redness of your cheeks. It was so hot that you started to fan yourself with your hand. You didn’t know why it suddenly felt better after suffering from that stupid breakup. It’s been three months now and you were so stupid to do such a thing. 

And because of thinking too much, you didn’t even realize that you and Jisung were already in the parking lot of your apartment building. 

“Y/n, we’re here—,”

“Damn, it was you?” You asked in disbelief. “You kissed me!” 

“I did, so what?” Jisung laughed. “You want another one?” It was good if you are being honest with yourself.

“No!” You exclaimed as Jisung ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Fine,” He scoffed. “But you’re going to give in if I do it either way,” 

“You’re so full of yourself, Han,” You retorted. 

“It’s me we’re talking about,” He said, cutting you off. “I’m not going to apologize for that. And I think you’re more worried about me than your ex huh?” He smirked. 

“It was embarrassing and he was a douchebag, I care about my reputation more. And I’m sorry for acting stupid,” You sighed as you heard him laugh. “What’s funny?” 

“Nothing, I am not expecting an apology from you Y/n, I thought you can do more than that,” He said. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, confused. 

“I already told you a few times that I like you and I admit I was disappointed that you had to fall and hit your head,” He scoffed. “Do I have to repeat it myself? I like you, and that fucking kiss wasn’t enough for me,”

“I think you’re speaking bullshit right now,” You said but before you could say anything further, you felt his lips crash onto yours. He said he’ll be less trouble tonight, but why are you wrapping your arms around his neck to respond to his kiss? Jisung is amazing but at the same time a jerk who kisses a person without permission. But on second thought, maybe you deserve to experience that once or maybe more than once. 

His lips collided with yours, and both your eyes were closed, tasting the mint gum you had earlier and the hint of the Sparkling Cucumber Mint Lemonade you gave him. You felt his hand wrapped around your waist to pull you closer to him as his other hand rested on your nape. The kiss was softer this time, as your heart started to go crazy and suddenly made you feel weak in the knees. His lips were warm and soft as ever as he kissed you gently. You could feel his tongue pressed between your parted lips giving that soft ticklish licks but you had to snap out of it. 

You pushed Jisung back to his seat as he licked his lips in annoyance, as to why. He ran his fingers through his hair and avoided your gaze as you stared at nowhere, unable to speak. You didn’t even say good night and left his car, leaving Jisung frustrated. 

“Goddammit,” He hissed. 

Jisung didn’t show up the next night but you find yourself, hoping for him to appear in front of you. It has been two days of pursuing you but it feels empty without him around. Chan noticed the energy you have but didn’t bother to spill it when you are busy with work. The night flew by in a blink of an eye either, a lot of customers were satisfied and made you distracted all night. You admit it was tiring that there were no energy boosters for you, Jisung isn’t even around. And you know exactly the reason why. 

He kissed you, again. 

You hate the fact that even if your reason was because of that break-up you had with Hanbin three months ago, you can’t blame the situation for being this stupid again. Jisung is persistent, you know that but opening up again made you hesitant. You’ve got nothing to offer in exchange for his feelings for you and Seungmin is nowhere to be found when you need advice. Meanwhile, you found yourself sitting across the counter instead of serving tables, other waiters were up for it, except you who just wanted to rest and listen to that dreadful love song the singer was singing. Chan also took a break from handling the cashier and sat beside you, enduring the exhaustion of work on the weekends. 

“We might need a new singer,” He said. “I heard he’s quitting tonight. Do you know someone?” 

“I don’t,” You answered.

“Sort of, but you’re a music major right? Maybe one of your classmates wanted a job or something, it’s just for the weekends anyway,” Chan shrugged. 

“I’ll try to get someone that suits this type of vibe,” You reassured. “But don’t expect that someone will show up in a week, did you tell Uncle?” 

“Yeah, he knows,” Chan said. 

“Then I’ll start looking then,” You chuckled at him and went back to watching the singer’s last performance on the club’s stage. 

And just like the other nights, Tuesday night passed by quickly and Wednesday morning came. The bright sunlight didn’t allow you to sleep on such a lovely morning—having not enough rest made you feel like a zombie during the whole day. Your classes will resume in the afternoon and you barely have time to rest. A sigh escaped your lips as you wore your shoes, indicating the moment of leaving your apartment. Jisung’s room was unusually quiet, with no instruments playing in the background nor hearing him singing his self-composed songs.

You never cared about it anyway. 

Shrugging at the thought of it, you head to a cafe to have brunch with Seungmin. The boy was too focused on his laptop the moment you arrived and didn’t even notice your presence. Taking your usual order, you went back to his table and sat down across from him. His eyes were tired, his soul was exhausted, a coffee on his side and a half-eaten sandwich with it. He is a representation of the usual college student you see on campus during their hell week. But that also represents you. 

“Good morning Y/n,” He said, still not taking his eyes from his laptop. 

“Good morning, Seungmin,” You smiled. “Mind if I eat?” 

“Not at all,” He replied. “I still need to finish my food as well,” He chuckled. 

“How long have you been waiting?” You asked, munching on your favorite sandwich. 

“Oh, I got here an hour early, I thought writing an essay in a café would help me finish it in no time,” He said, taking a sip of his iced americano. Seungmin drinks it like water. “Are you done with the homework?” 

“Do you have to ask me that when I’m in my miserable state right now?” You asked. 

“Well, I’m just really attentive so that you won’t miss anything.” He said. “Besides, we’re graduating this year,” 

“I know,” You scoffed. 

“How are things with you?” He asked, finally having his full attention to you. 

“You know I was in distress these past few days because of what happened between me and Jisung,” You started. “And now he’s asking me out,” You added, looking at your coffee. 

“I’m not surprised, he did mention he likes you,” He said so bluntly, making you look at him. 

“So you knew?” You asked, making Seungmin shrug his shoulders. 

“You’re probably the last person to know, Y/n,” He smirked. “Me and the rest of our friend group know. But I understand that you’re not really up for it since you and Jisung are not close enough to share intimate secrets with,” He chuckled. 

“I hate you,” You scolded him. 

“You don’t,” Seungmin replied, sipping his coffee. 

“Damn,” You sighed in response as he watched you with a blunt expression written on his face. 

“Anything else you want to tell me? Concerns?” He asked, munching his sandwich as you took a deep breath, making a sarcastic smile at him. 

“Well, aside from Jisung, I have to ask you something,” You said. 

“Spill,” He said, still munching that sandwich. 

“Do you, perhaps, want to work at my Uncle’s club? The local singer resigned last night and we need a replacement to perform this weekend,” You said, making Seungmin stop eating.

“You want me?” He asked, closing his laptop while pointing at himself. “Y/n, I don’t think the vibe suits me, I’m more of a ballad type of person, you know?” He chuckled. 

“But you’re a very good singer,” You whined. 

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can,” He said politely. “Why don’t you ask Jisung, he loves trying different genres, I heard he’s into rock now.” Only a sigh escaped your lips as you took a bite of your food. “It’ll be a good advantage since he has a band, you know Mist right?”

“Yeah,” You said, pouting your lips. “But it’s kind of awkward between us right now,” You said. 

“Because he likes you?” He asked as you gave him a nod. “Why don’t you give him a chance?” 

“Let me think about it first,” You sighed. 

Thinking about it led to a few hours later until you found yourself spacing out in a lecture. A hand supported your chin as your elbow rested on your desk—words from your professor just come in and out through your ears, nothing interesting to focus on. You shouldn’t be worrying too much when you have Chan who can fill up the position of the club’s singer. That man can make everyone swoon over him by singing one single line. But he is not up for it when you already asked a few times. 

You didn’t notice the time passing by, it was only your professor who discussed things all over again. Things that you already know from the first year to your senior year. Seungmin took notes beside you and the rest were either spacing out or listening. But this class would end up making everyone whine about some project the professor just announced. Seungmin coughed in between distracting you from your train of thought. You hated working in pairs yet it was necessary to grab someone to lessen the burden. Seungmin disappeared from his seat and went to Jeongin. Your best friend ditched you, just like that. 

“Nice, you don’t want to work with me?” You asked him when he just laughed in response, but you just rolled your eyes.

“I already planned to have Jeongin work with me,” He said. “You can ask Felix,” A sigh escaped your lips while rolling your eyes. The class ended a few minutes ago and only a few classmates of yours were left inside the classroom. You turned to Felix who was reading his notes before standing up and grabbing the opportunity to approach him. 

“Hey, Felix, do you have a partner?” You asked as he smiled at you, rubbing his nape. 

“Yeah, Changbin hyung was the first one to ask,” He said. “I’m sorry Y/n,” He added with that cute sheepish smile of his. 

“It’s alright, there must be someone free,” You smiled at him. 

 “Ah, yes, Jisung doesn’t have a partner yet,” He said, making your smile drop, giving him a nod. 

“Thanks,” You said and turned away seeing Jisung craning his neck, giving you his creepy smile (in a playful way) while wiggling his brows.  “I guess you’re the option left?” 

“That hurts,” He chuckled, standing up from his seat. “At least I get you to say yes on this one,” 

“As if I had a choice,” You retorted. “When are we going to do this damn project?” 

“Tonight, you know where my studio is right?” He asked as you nodded in response. “Good, I’ll meet you there at 7, sounds good to you?” 

“Not a problem, Han,” You smiled. 

“Great,” He smiled back. 

Why is he acting as if nothing happened?

7 pm and you found yourself in the hallway of a building where Jisung’s studio was located. You looked at your phone’s screen to confirm the right address and saw the same number on a door. A few knocks were heard as Jisung put his mixtape on pause before jogging towards the entrance, unlocking it, and seeing you. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting something?” You asked. 

“Not at all, come in,” He said, opening the door wider as he stepped aside. 

His studio is big enough for 5 people to fit in which probably explains why the rent is expensive. It was painted in black and white, different instruments were being displayed, and some were misplaced. Bass guitars and ordinary guitars, a mixer, and a synthesizer, a shelf of albums and stationeries being stacked on his desk, it was kind of messy. But he chose a good location where there’s a large window that you could see the whole city from. The room just needs a bit of cleaning. 

“It’s kind of messy, I’m sorry,” He chuckled sheepishly. “You can sit on the couch first, I still need to polish something,” 

“Sure,” You smiled. 

“Did you have dinner?” He asked, taking his seat in front of his computer. 

“Not yet, I just got out of the library before coming here,” You shrugged. 

“Okay, we’ll just finish half of the project tonight and we’ll get dinner,” He paused. “If that’s okay with you?” 

“Yeah, go ahead with your work, I can wait,” You said, taking a seat on the couch as he sighed in relief. Jisung went to work after that, leaving you looking around his studio. It was spacious as his mess was scattered around that you accidentally sat down on one of his cd players. There were earphones connected to it that made you sneak up to listen. You took a glance at him and saw his back facing you—taking the opportunity of it, you plugged the earphones on and played a song, not knowing it was all his. 

The first song was rock, you heard Seungmin’s voice in the first part and was followed by his other friends. A summer-like vibe but in a rock genre. The lyrics were also good, even the rhythms and beat were fun to listen to. Notes were pretty high to sing but they ended things clear and clean. So much for having good singers in a group of friends. You wonder how Jisung made this beautiful art. Even the next song is ethereal, a love song solo of his, he can be cheesy at times. You started vibing with it as he was pretty occupied with his work. And that makes you wonder if Jisung can sing for the club this weekend. 

You stopped listening and turned off the music without making the second song halfway finished and fell into deep thoughts. His voice is too good to ignore and his talent is superior. It’s rare to have someone listen to his songs unless it’s one of his guy friends. But you wanted his songs so bad, they were too good. 

“Y/n, I’m done, shall we start?” Jisung asked as he spun his swivel chair around. 

“Jisung,” You called. 

“Yeah?” He asked back. 

“Do you want to sing in the club? I mean, we don’t have a performer anymore so, if you want—”

“I don’t usually work with clubs unless I can perform as a guest,” He said cutting you off. “But if 5-STAR insists on hiring Mist, you should offer me something in return,” He smirked. 

“Fine,” You scoffed. “Let’s go out,” 

Jisung was caught off guard that he almost fell from his seat. It was a bold move of you but he likes it. You noticed how he tried to keep his cool but at the same time, you were nervous about the words that might come out as a response. 

“How much are they going to pay Mist?” He asked with his chin resting at the back of his palm. You knew the deal was on. 

“Pretty decent depends on how good—” 

“We’re good, babe,” He smirked. “And I am way better than the word, good,”

Another weekend came and Jisung locked himself inside his room as you waited for him outside. Leaning beside the door frame, you were getting impatient with his wardrobe dilemma for his first night. Your Uncle has been told about him by Chan, the boy got too excited and nervous at the same time. Performing in front of people tonight was not the first time, but since there was money at the end of it, he didn’t want to disappoint. You, on the other hand, had to comfort his nervous ass for he has been picking up something decent to wear. 

“Han, are you almost done? You only have to perform 3 songs, that’s it,” You whined outside. 

“One moment, I’m still undecided about the top,” He said, making you sigh in frustration. You were getting late. “Should I go with a T-shirt or a tank top?” 

“Tank tops would look great,” You said, sighing at the time. 

“Thanks, be right there in a sec,” Seconds turned into minutes until he came out after almost half an hour. You gave up waiting for him by the door and went to lie on the couch. “I’m done! What do you think?” You heard him say as you sat down and examined his look. 

Slicked back brown hair, a black tank top, skinny jeans, and a pair of boot shoes, everything in black. You gulped at the sight of him. He’s never been so handsome in your eyes, his fashion sense is superior to the fact that he looks like a rockstar tonight, only a bass guitar is something that he’s missing. He noticed your dumbfounded expression—one thing that boosted his confidence to perform. A smirk formed on his lips as he snapped his fingers in front of your face to bring you back to reality. 

“I’m too handsome, yes I know, no need to tell me,” He said fixing his hair and winked. 

“You wish,” You scoffed. 

“Oh come on, I’m hot, and you know it, right?” He teased as you exited his apartment. “Hey hey! Wait up!” Jisung laughed, grabbing his jacket. You can't help but laugh at his cuteness when he was catching up. Chan prepared the stage for Jisung the moment you arrived, the latter followed you to the staff’s room to rehearse for a short while. You noticed how nervous he was that you had to hold his hand to ease him down. Jisung smiled at you as he intertwined his fingers with yours. His hands were cold and shaky—one that made you worry and patted his back. 

“You will do good, alright?” You said as he nodded desperately. 

“Can you give me a hug before I go?” He asked until a pair of arms wrapped around his neck and pulled you closer. “Thank you,” 

He walked up to the stage introducing himself and how he got the job as a replacement. It made you embarrassed when he dedicated the song to you and everyone was cheering for your so-called relationship. Chan laughed, he looked so happy that Jisung was finally up there and enjoying the night while you stood beside him, mouth open wide. You knew Jisung sings well and you saw him sing in front of the class a few times, but not this type of vibe, not with instruments and background music. Seungmin and the rest of his friends witnessed how badass he is when it comes to music, but none of those shows met your eyes. 

He started to pull off the stage by singing Meddle About by Chase Atlantic. His lips moved as if he were making out with the microphone, and his fingers played with the strings as his voice resounded throughout the crowded room. Minho and Hyunjin supported him with the music and started banging the night. He was holding the mic with both of his hands as he sang his heart out. The veins on his neck become visible as he sings. It made him more natural and attractive. He jammed with the instrumentals in between the chorus and mouthed the adlib while he stared in your direction. His fingers strummed the electric guitar and a hint of crimson red showed up on your cheeks as you felt the heat coming with it. The loud beating of your heart and the adrenaline rush made you feel dizzy. You never saw this side of Jisung before, though you weren’t that close for the past few years, he is one fucking ace. And Chan is very proud now and then. 

The audience was too focused on the handsome young man performing on stage. The second song was his song, the one you heard on his cd player (Mixtape: Time Out), a rock summer vibe—a fresh song that comes with rap and drums; his vocals are too good to handle both singing and rapping. Everyone was cheering for him, the audience was jumping as they vibe with the song. He was also good at hyping them up and pointing to anyone who matches his energy. Yet his eyes would seek yours, it was something he is happy and thankful about. His heart never felt so giddy and fortunate when you are the reason why he is enjoying his time at the moment. 

Jisung kept running and walking around the small stage, sweat dripping from his forehead that made his brown locks soaked. His slicked-back hair becomes messy but he is still gorgeous. Chan noticed how you looked at him and nudged your arm, motioning his lips as if he was teasing you. Even Felix and Changbin were there, dancing like a married couple in front of the stage. And it lasted until his third and last song for the night. You listened closely and watched him as he sat down to sing a soothing melody after the hardcore ones. The sudden change of genre made you feel like falling in love. You love music all your life and you meet a lot of people who share the same interests as you but not like Jisung who took everything in one night. His friends and even Chan love to do the same as him but you see him differently. 

It is the way how calm he was—the spotlight was on him that made his visuals more appealing. The sweat ran down from his forehead to his ripped arms when he took off his jacket, his eyes filled with sincerity, and his voice blended with song. You couldn’t understand why your heart is acting up like you are about to fall for him. And it will get worse in the next few weeks as you expected. A small smile formed on your face when he ended the song and locked eyes with you. Jisung was satisfied as you fell into worry on the other hand. Who knows what will happen if he finds out that you fell in love in just one night with three songs? 

The night flew by and Jisung was given tips and compliments. He earned good money on his first night and he never stopped talking about it even when he was driving you both home. You congratulated him for being amazing on stage and he was really happy with it. Jisung never forgot to say thank you and made a breakthrough because of you. He never thought that this deal would lead to something beautiful for him. 

“Do you want to have a drink?” He asked as you walked side by side towards his apartment. 

“It’s 4 am, you need to rest,” You insisted as he let out a soft chuckle. 

“It’s Saturday morning though? What could go wrong?” He asked. 

“Fine, I’ll tolerate it,” You smiled at him as you offered your hand. Jisung immediately took it and pulled you inside his apartment. It was a signal but Jisung doesn’t want to do anything unless you want something. 

He got busy grabbing two glasses and a bottle of champagne that Hyunjin bought him the other week. You were waiting for him on the couch, wandering your eyes around. It’s not like it was your first time to be inside Jisung’s apartment, but it never fails to amaze you. His instruments were displayed neatly but on the other side of the room is a complete mess. He wasn’t expecting any guests anyway. But the fact that he wanted to celebrate this night with you after their very first performance as part of 5-STAR, Jisung is up for it. Both Hyunjin and Minho refused to stay up late because of the exhaustion, leaving you and Jisung together, in his very own place.

“I hope you like champagne?” He asked, placing them on the coffee table. 

“Of course,” You answered. 

“To us?” He said, raising his glass. 

“To you and Mist,” You smiled, raising your glass as well before making cheers with him.

“Since when did you learn how to play?” You asked, eyes still darted on him while you drink.

“Since I was 12, I guess?” He chuckled, holding his glass as he sat down beside you. “My dad taught me.” 

“No wonder why you were so good,” You said. “Minho and Hyunjin too,” 

“Thanks,” He said with a soft chuckle. “The guys are also natural at playing it,” 

“And you know what I think about you?” You said which made him hooked in the conversation while drinking. “I think you are so hot and beautiful while performing,” 

“You’re falling for me already?” Jisung smirked as you looked into his eyes. 

“Maybe,” You said. “And I’m sane right now,” Still not breaking eye contact. 

“And can I do something about it?” He asked, placing his glass on the table. 

“No,” You said. “Maybe?” 

“Stop with the Maybes, Y/n,” He giggled. “What do you want?” He asked.

“You.” 

You felt his lips on yours for the third time now. The taste of champagne lingers as you respond. Arms around his neck as he pulled you closer to him. As he deepened the kiss, he placed a hand on your nape and carefully stroked the side of your cheek. He could taste the champagne through the hint of your cherry-flavored lip gloss as your lips curved against one another. You could feel his grin between kisses, you began playing with his hair which caused him to bite your upper lip and sucked it before he could kiss you deeply again. 

Nobody had ever made you feel this way. Even if you remembered how your ex kissed you, it’s nothing compared to how Jisung does it. Heavy breaths were shared but none of you dared to stop. The sound of kisses, his soft lips, and your eagerness of it wanted more. He lifted you to make you sit on his lap and it surprised you for a moment but couldn’t mind it at all. You were lost and it made his heart pound. His tongue brushed across yours as you stopped and met his gaze after feeling his hand caressing your thigh. Cheeks began to flush. 

“What?” He asked. 

“I’m sane,” You said. 

“Darling, it’s just you and me,” He replied. “What’s stopping you?” He asked, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Nothing,” You said. “It’s just,” 

Jisung didn’t even wait for you to finish and just started to kiss you again. Hands on your cheeks as you leaned closer to hug him, continuing the kiss. It was soft and gentle, there was a spark in between. The lights flicker as the bubbles of the ignore champagne glasses evaporated to the surface. Jisung knew he likes you so much but going back to the question, what was stopping you? The question was vague but it will hit his ego if you answered that. You admit you were a bit hesitant to open up a new relationship after the heartbreak, but this is Jisung now. 

His back settled on the backrest of his couch as you leaned forward as his hands ran down rubbing his hands gently against your curves, squeezing them. A hint message that he likes it and you couldn’t agree more. The sounds of your smacking lips made Jisung hum in response. Your fingers played with his brown locks as you smiled in between the kiss. 

“Should we make it real?” He asked giving you a peck on the lips. 

“Do they know?” You asked. 

“Not yet,” He chuckled. “We can tell them later,”

“Okay,” You said quietly as your lips met again. His kisses have gotten more intense. He held your back to lay you on the soft couch as he hovered above you, taking off his tank top. The excitement rose when you saw how built his body was then he proceeded to have his lips meddle with yours. Fast heartbeats, eyes were shut to completely enjoy the moment, as the sounds of your lips smacking against one another in response to the tension—the kiss was heating up. 

Jisung felt your hands undoing his belt, the clanking of the hard material aroused when it hit the marble floor. He, then, starts undressing you leaving only your underwear. 

“You’re not shy are you?” He said. 

“It wasn’t the first time I made out with you,” You smirked meeting his lips again. Jisung put his thumb in between your lips as you kiss them gently, feeling his kisses on your neck. You hummed in response to his touch, you had to look the other way to provide him more access. You felt his teeth bite your soft skin and started nipping, intoxicated by the smell of your long-lasting perfume. “Hmmm,” You moaned. 

His kisses made their way down to your chest, in the valley of your covered tits as it goes down to your stomach which made you feel butterflies. 

“You’re so pretty,” He said. “But that’s not the only reason why I like you. May I?” 

You knew you want it too and didn’t even hesitate to permit him to take them off and go ahead. It was driving you crazy when you felt his lips kissing your thigh with his eyes staring at your wetness, he cooed at how pretty his view was that his tongue reached the opening making you mewl in return. 

“We were just kissing Y/n,” He smirked, spreading your legs wider so he could bury his face in your dripping cunt, devouring it with his mouth. 

“Fuck!” You hissed under your breath. Jisung’s hands tightened their grip on your thighs, squeezing them every time he hears you moan as your breath gets heavier by the time his tongue played with it. You grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers together while feeling how good his mouth was. “It’s hot,”

But he didn’t stop there. You taste good, he loves it. He had his two fingers inside you as he slipped his tongue along with it. His fingers began to move quickly, receiving a delightful yet sinful sound from you. And as your lips gaped, you started humping on his fingers. That was it, your body was hot and started to move on its own. 

“Stay still, angel,” He said upon having his fingers get on a fast pace just to hear more of those sinful sounds coming out of your mouth. He didn’t stop, he doesn’t want to. Your hand reached his brown locks, dragging him up close to your pussy to feel more of it. But Jisung stopped so suddenly that it made you whine in return. 

“Why did you stop?” You asked. 

Jisung didn’t say anything, the next you knew you were being pulled to sit on his lap and grind on his clothed erection. His lips met yours again, but your hands were busy pulling down his pants, along with his black boxers. You gasped the moment he let himself buried inside you, slowly and gently just to start the night. He captured your lips again, not wanting to break the kiss as his hands were on your waist, hugging you closer while you were humping him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and went faster making him moan in between your kisses. His fingers reached for the hook of your bra, took it away, and tossed it somewhere in the living room. You didn’t stop there as you keep on riding his cock. It felt so good. 

“Faster baby,” He breathed, massaging your breasts and pinching your sensitive buds. Playing and pinching them made it even worse, eyes rolled back as you held his shoulders tightly. It sent shivers down your spine as you continued humping him. You could feel how hard he is inside you. The only sounds you could hear were your heavy breaths and Jisung’s moans underneath. He liked the idea of you riding him and his sounds were loud and clear when you started to go up and down as fast as you could. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” He hissed, biting and nipping your tits while massaging and squeezing the other one. 

“Baby,” You gasped, as his other free hand started caressing your body while you pull him closer to your chest. It made you arch your back as a response, and by this, he was given more access to have his mouth sucking your hard nipples. It was hot, his tongue won’t stop playing with it. Your head falls back, grinding him as his cock goes beyond his limits. 

“Fuck,” He cursed again as he went to your untouched boob. 

“Han,” You breathed. “I’m coming,” 

“Just let it out baby,” He said, thrusting his cock even faster. You bit your lower lip in response and come while Jisung was still going at his fast pace. He felt how hot it was, and before he could even come, he laid you down on the couch and pulled away making his cream spread across your stomach. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You said in between your breath. 

“Do you want to wash up?” He asked again, fixing your hair. 

“A little later,” You smiled. “Hug me,” 

“Of course, love,” He said as he gave you a peck on the lips before pressing his body over you. A pair of arms wrapped around your back with your head on his chest as you hugged him tightly. This night has been exciting and tiring, and all he needs is to cuddle with you to end it. “Rest,” He added, kissing the side of your head. 

It was unexpected, but being with him is all good now and the remaining problem now is how are you going to announce that you’re already official?

Exactly a week passed by, and Jisung would never leave the floor without you. He would be on your couch when you’re in a hurry to get to school or work. It was decided that he’d only perform with Mist every weekend so he could get some free time with you after class. Chan immediately got the idea that you two are finally going out but at the same time, Jisung didn’t spill the beans yet to his other friends. 

“So you two are dating now?” Seungmin asked as you make your way to your workplace. 

“Yeah,” You smiled widely. 

“Let me guess, you two had sex?” Seungmin asked again, looking at you in disbelief as you rolled your eyes. “Well, well, well, aren’t you the one who cried over their ex two weeks ago?” 

“Shut up Seungmin, you know how I feel about Jisung now,” You defended. 

“Yeah, yeah, if it weren’t for that project we had, you wouldn’t be this close,” Seungmin answered, hands being shoved inside his pockets. 

“Also, let me thank you for rejecting me as your partner,” You smirked. 

“You’re welcome?” Seungmin chuckled. “Where’s Han? I thought we were going together?” 

“He went to work early,” You sighed. “I don’t know, he sent me a text saying not to wait for him or something,” 

Jisung went to the club earlier than usual the next Saturday night. He said he wanted to make his performance different compared to these past few nights. When you arrived an hour after him, the stage was already set up with Hyunjin and Minho. And that’s when the surprise started. 

White smoke crept over the floor to welcome the band as purple, red, blue, orange, and yellow lights filled the stage. The lead singer took a position in front of the crowd and began singing his heart out. He was getting all the hype he deserves as Hyunjin and Minho went hard on playing their designated instruments while Jisung stood out well. He was wearing his gray blazer, tight black pants, and a white polo shirt inside with a black tie. His hair was curled as these brown locks fell on his cheeks. His hand took the microphone from the stand and continued to sing the song you’d never heard before. 

Your heart started to beat faster like crazy. Blood rushed down your cheeks making it feel hot, the crowd made the room louder and the air conditioner you thought was not working well when in fact they are. It was just so hot that you couldn’t understand how you felt inside. And it only got worse when he took off his blazer, dropping it on the floor as he blurted out his self-composed lyrics while rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. He stopped for a few seconds only to pick up his electric guitar and started strumming it to the core. The instrumentals were crazy enough to make you feel dizzy and weak. As if he didn’t make you feel the same when you two had sex in his apartment. 

But this is it, Han Jisung just crashed his way in. 

“Hey! Hey! Hey!”

He was smirking all over the way, the feeling of cockiness took over his system as he had his tongue out just for the sake of rising confidence. It made you feel weak in the knees. He was looking at you and winked. 

“Someone’s going get laid tonight,” Chan laughed. 

“Oh, you bet,” Seungmin answered, giving the older one a high five. 

“Shut up you two,” You hissed as you continued watching. Jisung stood behind his mic stand and sang the lyrics of his unreleased song. It was heartful, especially when he hit the high note at the end earning claps and screams from everyone. 

“Felt like a concert,” Chan said. 

“I told you he’s good,” Seungmin added. 

You went backstage after his performance, he was preoccupied with saying his thanks to everyone, the same goes for Minho and Hyunjin who are covered in sweat for giving their all. The three of them did well, but there’s Jisung who stood out the most to you and after that, all three of them went down. 

“That was so good!” You exclaimed. 

“Thanks Y/n, thank you for hiring us,” Minho said. 

“It was nothing,” You giggled. “You totally rocked it,” 

“I’m shy now,” Hyunjin laughed. 

“Own it guys, you were so good,” You said and that’s when you saw Jisung who just got down. “Hannie!” You squealed and went over to him for a hug. “I’m so proud of you!” 

“Since when did they get so close?” Hyunjin asked. 

“They’re going out,” Seungmin butted in. 

“What?” Minho said. 

“It’s not a surprise anymore so, accept the truth,” Chan added. 

“Did you like it?” Jisung asked. 

“Of course! Was that the song you were working on in your studio?” 

“Yeah,” He laughed. “Definitely,” 

“It was really good,” You smiled. “And I like your outfit today, your hair, wow, they’re very rockstar material,” 

Later that moment you found yourself kissing him inside the dressing room as his hand went for the lock to make sure no one comes in. You felt his hand caressing your cheek not breaking the kiss before hitting your back on the wall. As soon as he pressed you against the wall, his lips became impatient. Your hands rushed to remove his jacket and started to loosen his tie while your lips stayed together throughout the passionate kiss. 

“You’re quite eager are you?” He smirked in between, biting your lower lip before sucking it. His hand reached your ass, squeezing it making you giggle in return, and kissed him again. Jisung lifted your shirt revealing your black-laced bra, his kisses went down again from your neck to the valley of your breast, squeezing your boobs enough to make you moan. You watch him go down, dragging your shorts down along with your matching underwear. He got on his knees as he rested your leg on his shoulders, licking and sucking your wetness. You leaned closer against the wall as Jisung started eating you out. It wasn’t part of the plan, he gave his all tonight so he deserves it. 

“Baby, fuck!” You hum in response as your mouth gaps and the burning sensation you felt when his tongue is pressed hard on your dripping cunt, licking and teasing it. You started grinding on his mouth making him smack your ass hard earning a sinful sound. Biting your lip, you can’t hold your sounds in, you know the people around love to eavesdrop when something like this happens. 

Jisung loved how you taste, but eating your pussy doesn’t satisfy him that easily. He asked you to bend over the vanity table and watched every expression you make in the mirror when his cock slipped inside you as he started to fucked you from behind. His hand made a makeshift ponytail with your hair, thrusting his hips at a fast pace. Your hands held the table tightly, feeling every inch of his dick coming in and out of your hole. Sounds of screams and cries echoed throughout the room and you know how much it turned him on. 

“You’re taking me so well, babe,” He said, leaning forward to kiss your neck as his hands cupped your boobs and squeezed them. He never stopped fucking you from that position. The feeling was immaculate. His lips met yours, devouring them as if he was hungry—his pace never went down and kept its speed. You moaned in his lips as he pinched your nipples making you reach your limits. You weren’t used to sex, and you know Jisung understands. But this time, you wanted it to last. The same goes for him and it is the second time after all. 

He lifted your leg on the table and went harder. It made you break the sloppy make-out you shared. The feeling feels like there’s a fire in your body that burns every time Jisung touches you like this. It made you go insane when he slapped your ass. 

“Ah! Fuck you,” You whined. 

“Well, I am,” He smirked, biting your neck, nipping your skin, and leaving some marks. 

“Han,” You gasped, mouth open as your legs started to quiver. “I’m coming,” 

“Not yet baby,” You heard him say. 

“Fuck, I can’t,” You whined. 

“Where’s the fun if I’ll let you?” He smirked, biting your lip. “You’re hot, baby,” He added, hugging you from behind, but that doesn’t stop you from being out of breath and quivering. You turned around and met his lips, kissing him again. It was gentle this time, arms wrapped around his neck as he made you sit on the table. Your fingers played with his curly brown locks which made him smile in between your kisses. 

He pushed himself inside you again and started his pace faster than usual. It was extreme, the tension between you two was hard to identify. No matter how hard he goes, it always feels good when his lips are on yours. You could feel every inch of him as he fucked you harder and faster. Nothing compares to this feeling when you were still with your dumb ex-boyfriend. Han Jisung is definitely wholesome. 

Everyone is right about him, he’s dominant and it makes your body burn. 

“You want to come?” He asked as you nodded desperately. “Say please,” 

“Please?” You breathed in between your shared kiss. 

“I’m almost there baby,” He groaned, burying his face on your neck in the same position. He felt your fingers dug up his skin, making traces of red lines that made him swear, stopping at the time when you couldn’t hold it anymore and came. “My dick is covered with your cum, babe,” He said, kissing your cheek and pulled away before he could come inside you. 

“I hate you,” You said, smacking his chest playfully. 

“That hurts my feelings,” He laughed. “Are you okay?” He asked, caressing your cheek. 

“I’m fine,” You answered, giving him a peck on his lips. “You did well tonight. Shall we go home and take some rest?” You smiled, hugging him closer. 

“Do I get cuddles?” He asked, giving you his puppy eyes. 

“Of course baby, you deserve it,” You replied, giving him another kiss. “I love you, Han,” 

“That’s the most precious thing I’ve ever heard tonight,” He said. “You know that I love you too, Y/n,” He smiled. 

“I know,” You smiled.

“Let’s go home now,” 

So this is what falling in love feels like, the one he thought that he needs to pass countless levels just to reach the top has come to an end. Jisung found you now, and it will change his perspective for quite a while. 

Then there’s you, opening up again. It wasn’t easy at first, the long drive could end in burning flames or paradise and you were sure, it was paradise. 

“Good night, Y/n,” 

REBLOGGING AND LEAVING A FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED.

[iblowjone]

came here to say AGAIN that i love your work and all of your jisungs 🥺🥺🥺🥺

ALIEN — [18+!]

“Remember… you’re my girlfriend,” he whispers into your ear.

It lets shivers run down your spine.

God, how you wished he said that in a real context to you.

👽 SYNOPSIS: Spawned at the age of thirteen—on his mission as a spy on planet earth—Jisung is made to build a bond with a human, quickly developing a tie of friendship and trust. On his 25th birthday, he is supposed to bring said creature to his home. But there’s a problem—by now, he has fallen hopelessly in love with you and there’s only one way to escape the awful mission: you need to return those hopeless feelings.

💭 CONTENT INFO: jisung x afab reader, alien/demon jisung, human reader, childhood friends to lovers, fake dating au, angst/smut/fluff, dark romance, mutual pining (they are dumb idiots), demisexual reader, there’s only one bed, perv jisung but reader isn’t any better lmao, based on the meme of jisung “spawning” as a teenager and a dream about an alien abduction I had in 2020, also a huge thank you @ lotus for inspiring + encouraging me to continue working on this story so make sure to check out her fic otherwordly, warnings and smut tags under the cut

🫧 WORD COUNT: 10.9K

🛸 CONTENT WARNING: (heavier topics since it’s dark romance, also contains spoilers) kidnapping, alien abduction to experiment on humans, demon powers, mention of death threats, pervy behaviour (panty stealing)

⛓️ SMUT: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, mind reading (consensual), slight bondage, praise kink, marking, slight spit play, creampie, name calling (baby, angel, good girl, love, slut, whore)

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nswf content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

Three hours

“Sometimes I feel as if I don’t belong in this world.”

Jisung’s hand comes to a halt, stopping the motion on your head for a second. Your hair feels so soft colliding with his skin.

“Do you know that feeling, Sungie?”

He chuckles. Out of embarrassment. Nervousness. You name it.

“What do you mean?”

You get up from your position—your head in his lap—now, taking the seat next to him on the sofa instead.

“You know… like an alien almost.”

He believes his heart suddenly stops. 

“No,” Jisung exhales, “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

Suddenly, you scoot a little closer again and by now your best friend believes you will actually be able to listen to his pounding heart, basically pumping through his sweater. He looks adorable like this. It was a great idea to hide all the scissors in your shared apartment and Jisung is simply both too lazy and too introverted to make an appointment at a hairdresser which works quite well for your advantages.

But not for his.

Especially, when you once again look at him like this before bringing your hand to his head, disheveling the strands. His hair is even softer than that innocent look on his face—which is surprising for two reasons.

First, Jisung practically killed his hair by an endless cycle of bleaching and dyeing it black and bleaching it again in a way too short span of time, sending any hairstylist into cardiac arrest. But it’s still beautiful and not as fried as you would have expected it to be.

Second—and this is the part that you are unaware of—Jisung is anything but innocent. Quite frankly, he’s basically the polar opposite of that term.

Not by choice, though.

He’s a victim of his own destiny after all.

“You’re a nerd, a fucking weirdo like me, Sung. You can’t tell me you’ve never felt like an outsider,” you tell him with a smirk, nudging his shoulder in the process.

But he doesn’t really react the way he usually does.

Something seems to be off today. Strangely off. 

“You said alien, not outsider,” he says, keeping his gaze on the show that is playing on the bright screen in front of him.

You catch the remote in your hand, turning off the TV.

That’s when Jisung looks at you. But mostly because he’s pissed off that you’re switching his focus on the conversation now.

He doesn’t want to talk to you about this. Not now.

Any other day would have been fine but he gets even more nauseous thinking about the consequences of the clock reaching midnight will have.

“I meant the same,” you continue. You take a sip from your lemonade, before placing the bright pink strawberry beverage back on the table in front of you. “Don’t put too much thought into what words I choose to describe similar things.”

You can see Jisung rolling his eyes. His arms are crossed in front of his chest—his very much muscular chest that he’s hiding under the thick sweater. The fact he’s been hitting the gym regularly again these past weeks makes you almost start drooling at the thought right here. 

Yeah. That’s the other issue.

You don't only find your roommate and best friend absolutely attractive but also have a massive crush on him.

Something tells you that he feels the same. You suppose, at least, judging from the way he looks at you when he believes you don't notice. 

Or the fact he always buys that strawberry-kiwi flavoured lemonade for you from the convenience store right across the street.

Or how he always makes sure you drink enough water besides that, eat your meals, get enough sleep—including cuddles with him whenever another one of those awful nightmares is haunting you.

Jisung makes dinner—aka instant ramen—for you whenever you’re too exhausted after work.

He encourages you to make appointments at doctor’s offices that are long overdue.

He holds your hand when you cry, he holds your hand when you laugh.

Jisung picks up dandelions he sees on his way home, knowing they are your favourite flowers.

I don’t care that they are considered to be weeds. They can grow anywhere, no matter the surroundings. They don’t give a shit and I love that, you’d always explain. And the way they shapeshift, not caring what others think.

Your best friend takes care of the apartment whenever you’re too tired—although he’s the most chaotic person you know.

He does the laundry, even separating the colours—yeah, unbelievable, considering he’s a man!

Speaking of laundry.

That’s where another, darker hint of him possibly having a crush on you comes into play.

You believe it started a few years ago, some time during college, but it has happened more frequently the past few months.

It’s not a big deal, you know that washing machines sometimes swallow socks and other smaller, thinner stuff.

But it can’t be a coincidence that a lot of your panties go missing, can it? Or that they take a lot longer to be washed than other pieces of clothing, right?

Especially those tighter, prettier ones. The ones that are reserved for special occasions that, well, don’t really happen but they still make you feel absolutely attractive wearing them from time to time.

Just a couple of days ago—while doing the laundry this time—you went into Jisung’s room to grab his dirty clothes from his hamper and found three or four of your worn panties hidden between his sweaters and jeans.

In addition to that, some of them were possibly a bit different than how you remembered them to look like when you discarded them—now decorated in… well… his cum.

If it was anyone else, you’d be disgusted and it perhaps sounds problematic to an outside person but since you trust him so much, you don’t care.

You feel embarrassed to admit it but for some reason you feel flustered and may have, possibly, thought about him coating your used underwear in his juices while you were inches deep in your cunt with your own fingers.

Maybe. Just maybe.

However, that’s why you want him to make the first move. You want to know that he’s serious about it before you confess anything and either those accusations are wrong or he’s just generally… weird. Pervy. Whatever.

Or doesn’t want anything serious. Which is very reasonable.

But you’re not up for casual sex, never have been. You don’t judge people craving intimacy without a special bond but after trying it some time in college, you decided you live better with meaningful encounters.

Well. Those encounters have been non-existent for some years. To be specific—since you realised how much in love you are with your weirdo roommate.

“Can we just go on with the movie?”

Right. You’re still here with him.

God it’s fucking embarrassing that those little thoughts have your heart running a marathon and you intuitively pressing your thighs together.

But Jisung doesn’t notice.

“Yeah, you are weird. Weirder than me,” you reply.

Jisung doesn’t say anything but you’re not waiting for a reaction. He’s probably stressed from all the work. His new job has been sucking all the light and life out of his soul, almost turning him into a career demon.

Since you feel bad about that, you decide to grab the remote, continuing the movie.

You can practically feel the anxiety that is shooting out of his body, filling the whole living room in a tense atmosphere.

You’ve probably gone too far. Fuck.

“Sungie?”

He sighs, since he’s not really in the mood for any more questions from you today. He just wants to get this over with. “Yeah?”

You hear the annoyance, the constant stress that is crawling under his skin and how it’s reflected in his quiet voice. So, you make sure to be extra sensitive.

“I’m glad you���re here with me. I’m sorry if my words hurt you. I just wanted to tell you how comfortable and safe I feel around you since you never judge me for being… different.”

Fuck.

This just makes him feel even more horrible.

You probably won’t think that way anymore once the clock strikes midnight.

“I’m… I’m very glad to have you, too, Y/N.”

His heart aches.

He’s definitely the worst living being in this whole universe.

Thirty minutes

You’ve fallen into a deep slumber but Jisung doesn’t care. It’s quite the opposite. There’s nothing better on this planet than having you snuggled up in his lap, your quiet and peaceful little breaths filling the room.

You trust him with your whole heart. Whatever it is—you’ll always feel comfortable around him. He’s your anchor when the floods are dragging you away from the shore right into the deep ocean.

What a shame he will destroy everything in less than half an hour.

All those years.

Those years of trust. 

Of familiarity.

Of friendship.

Of something that could have become love, perhaps.

Jisung doesn’t need to worry anymore if you return his silly little feelings. Not if he’s the one to demolish that tight bond in the next hour.

He hears a vibrating sound coming from next to his seat on the couch. His eyes switch to his second phone, screen lightening up in the dark living room.

[Boss 23:32]: The ropes and chains and all you need are in the box we sent you. Any more questions?

He could burst out into tears at the spot. But Jisung will have enough opportunities to cry out his heart later.

He hates this.

He hates everything and everyone.

This whole universe is a shitshow for throwing him into a destiny like this.

Although he’s asked his evil boss a thousand times, Jisung won’t give up. He loves you too much for this. There has to be some type of escape.

So, he types, trying again.

[Jisung 23:34]: Can’t I just ask her to come with me?

He sees the three little dots appear and his heart might as well just rip his chest open.

Another message pops up, making his head all dizzy.

[Boss 23:34]: No. That is too risky. It has to be kidnapping just to make sure she really tags along.

Fuck.

There’s no way around this horrifying situation.

Twenty five minutes.

Twenty four minutes and fifty nine seconds.

Twenty four minutes and fifty eight seconds.

You suddenly stir around in your sleep, as you adjust your position to lay on your back and still very much on Jisung’s lap.

Your beautiful eyes open a little, just as much as they manage to do in this sleepy state and enough for you to see your best friend above you.

“Sung?”

God. His heart is built up again just to break into a tiny thousand splinters another time.

He will lose you.

If it’s not for you turning against him—which would be more than understandable—he will at least lose you to those evil bosses that have made gruesome plans with you as the main character.

And Jisung happens to be the deliverer.

“Y-You’re still awake?” you ask in your sleepy state.

Your best friend places a strand of your hair behind your ear, softly grazing over your cheek—one last time.

“Yeah, baby,” Jisung softly hums, “you fell asleep. It’s almost midnight. ‘M gonna bring you to bed, okay?”

You blink a few times, propping yourself up.

“Hm? W-What about your birthday, Sungie?”

Even in a situation like this, Jisung is all you care and think about.

“My birthday will be twenty four hours long, we’ll have enough time after sleeping,” he assures you, before he picks you up.

You fall asleep in his arms, as he carries you bridal style to your room. Luckily, you’re already in your—unfortunately very skimpy—pyjamas, so Jisung only has to tuck you under the covers and lay your little plush quokka next to you. His name is Peter. Jisung gave it to you as a present on your birthday last year.

He watches you another minute, saying goodbye to the peaceful atmosphere before it’ll vanish away.

Although you’re already deep in your slumber, you still witness your best friend placing the sweetest kiss on your cheek, before he leaves your room.

Three minutes

The door creaks open again a little later and Jisung curses himself for the noise.

Unfortunately, you notice the little sound, as you wake up and change in a seating position in your bed.

“Sung? Is it your birthday yet?” you ask, when you make out his silhouette in the distance.

“No, no,” he says, as he approaches you. You can tell by the increasing volume in his soft voice.

So soft.

So opposite to what he’s about to you.

Jisung is carrying all the supplies behind him.

In a box there’s enough chains, ropes and tapes to keep you quiet.

But he can’t do it to you.

At least not like that.

He can’t physically harm you when he already isn’t able to avert the mental hurt.

“Why are you here then? Can’t sleep? We can cuddle,” you offer.

Jisung is about to get nauseous. Fuck. This is the worst day ever.

But he can’t do anything against it. He can only try to ease the situation a little.

Well, but how do you make a kidnapping attempt comfortable for the victim?

“Don’t worry about me, baby,” Jisung says, when he reaches the edge of your bed. “Go back to sleep, yeah?”

You fall down on your back again.

“Alright… good night.”

Jisung feels bad for thinking that the position you're in enlightens two thoughts he shouldn’t have.

First, you look absolutely alluring like this. Your shorts have ridden up a bit, putting your thighs on full display for him. It’s a beautiful picture—one that lets his mind wander to the idea of having you under him, watching you drool in anticipation as you beg Jisung to kiss you, to touch you, to fuck you.

Second, you’re making it a little too easy for him to fulfill his awful mission. It’ll be anything but complicated to tie your wrists and feet together, shut your mouth with some tape to throw you over his shoulder.

There’s just one small issue.

Jisung will not be able to do this while you notice anything.

He can’t do that to you. He can’t traumatise you even more.

In all of his twelve years on this planet, Jisung has never used his demon powers against people that he loves.

Well, there’s a first for everything.

👽

You wake up on the backseat of a car. The windows are darkened, making it impossible to get even a glimpse of your surroundings. 

It’s insane how fast your heart is beating and how much trouble you have getting oxygen into your lungs—mostly caused by the utmost panic that is washing over you and the restraints around your hands, arms and legs aren’t making it any easier.

You figure out that the kidnapper forgot one important thing—he didn’t cover your mouth.

However, it still takes you at least five minutes, as you listen to the sound of the engine and a song on repeat with the title Driving Nowhere thundering from the speakers, to regain power over your voice.

“Sorry– uhm– w-who are you… why am I h-here?”

He doesn’t want to talk back. But the tears are stinging in his eyes when he hears the fear in your broken words.

How could he have done this to you?

He is your best friend. The person you’re the closest with, that means the most to him. He would literally kill for you.

And now he’s hurting you instead?

Well, it’s not as if he’s ever had the choice.

That was his destiny from the beginning.

Who would have thought he would first befriend his victim and then hopelessly fall in love with them?

Jisung is the worst demon to ever exist.

But he’s never wanted this life anyway.

Maybe he can somehow justify kidnapping you once he explains that the only other alternative would have been that both your lives end here. To be fair—that isn’t really an option.

“Y/N…” he decides to call out your name. He can’t lie to you. He’s been crying about this since the car ride, that’s supposed to bring you to the portal, started an hour ago.

When the sound of his voice enters your ears, your breath hitches.

What on earth is going on?

Does this have something to do with his birthday?

It could be. But why are you restricted by ropes and chains then?

“Sungie?” your voice is so small, almost inaudible, but he still catches that sweet but terrified melody.

“I’m… sorry…”

You break out into laughter then. More like a scoff. You don’t know what to say or do.

Maybe it’s a dream. You’ve been having a bunch of weird ones these past weeks.

But something tells you it’s not. Something tells you this is reality.

“So you’re… kidnapping me?” you decide to just ask him.

“I… am. Yeah.”

He’s not even denying it?

Is this one of those little fantasies he has?

Jisung doesn’t know about it but some time ago you accidentally scrolled through his browser history when you were borrowing his computer for a work project, finding a collection of ebooks, mangas and animes all including darker genres.

There was also some adult content revolving around helplessness, hypnosis and bondage as well. It wasn’t anything too alarming, all in a consensual context but putting two and two together it’s absolutely weird now.

And, yes. You watched those videos. Of course, only for scientific purposes. Although, you may have discovered some unknown kinks of yours in the process.

However, there’s a difference between having a fantasy about something and actually doing it.

“Jesus Christ, I told you to stop consuming those weird books and shows about demons and God knows what. It seriously fucks with your brain.”

Jisung thinks his body paralyses. It’s a miracle that he can still keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel.

You’re sure there’s an explanation behind this.

You trust your best friend too much to believe he’s been leading you on for the past twelve years to then grab you and bring you somewhere unknown. It’s obvious that he hides some secret identity—maybe he’s a spy or working for secret services and can’t tell you more and therefore has to kidnap you to bring you along to his next mission.

Jisung has been behaving suspiciously his whole life, you’ve always thought it’s funny. Especially since he seems to not grasp that you’re aware of it.

Of course, it’s fucking toxic nonetheless. It doesn’t matter if his intentions are pure, he’s scared you for life.

So, the only logical consequence is to tease him as well.

With your own weapons.

“Besides that,” you start again, “if you wanted to fuck me, you could have just told me.”

The car comes to a halt when he suddenly hits the breaks. Jisung can be glad no one is driving behind you around that hour since he would have otherwise caused an accident.

“W-What?” he asks.

“Just kidding,” you say. “I’ll go back to sleep, wake me up once we’re at our destination.”

Jisung gulps. So loud that you must have heard it.

Maybe that’s why you open your eyes again, before you start speaking, “Also, before I forget it…”

He looks at your reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Huh?”

You click your tongue.

“Happy birthday, you weirdo.”

👽 

It’s a miracle but you actually manage to fall asleep again.

Well, you did. But before you were able to wake up, Jisung used his demon powers again to make sure it stays this way.

That’s how he manages to guide you through the portal unscathed and he’s so fucking glad about it, he’s close to tears again.

You’re only waking up a little while later, sitting on a bench next to none other than your best friend who's holding you in his arms. The restraints around your wrists and ankles are gone but you can still sense the tight feeling around them, no matter how careful Jisung was with you.

“Where am I?” you blurt out, hastily turning your head around, taking in your surroundings.

“Safe with me, I-I promise,” Jisung says.

The air tastes weird around here. You’re sure you’re inside a building but oxygen seems pure, as if you’re inhaling molecules at the beach—one that is far from any type of civilization. All natural.

People seem to be generally smaller here, Jisung being amongst the tallest.

Weird. You really can’t figure out which country you’re in.

You have a distant memory of the car ride earlier but what happened after that is wiped out. You suppose that Jisung brought you here, possibly by plane.

Earth seems to turn around faster, making you dizzy. Maybe you’re closer to the equator which would explain the intense speed.

But that shouldn’t be that much of a difference, right?

It’s almost as if you can feel the rotation of the massive rock that gravity glues you to spinning around.

Speaking of gravity—from time to time it’s almost as if a force is pulling you to the ground. Not strong enough for you to actually land on the floor, but you still feel it.

It’s all so… weird.

You seriously don’t know how else to word it.

But Jisung is here with you.

As ridiculous as it sounds, you feel safe with Jisung. Here in his arms. His warm breath tingles your skin whenever he pulls you closer.

You noticed the tears in his eyes minutes ago and maybe they are enough to tell you he didn’t want this oddinary situation either.

“I believe you,” you tell him.

His head snaps towards your face, as he stares at you in disbelief.

“Really?”

Well, even if you wouldn’t—it’s not like you have a choice anyway. You’re completely relying on him.

“I do. So, could you please explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

He gulps, then he nods and a few more tears spill from his beautiful dark brown eyes. God. They’ve always amazed and almost hypnotised you to some extent.

“Y-Yeah,” he hesitantly begins, “it’s gonna sound dumb and weird but please bear with me.”

When you nod, Jisung gains enough confidence to start explaining.

“We’re not on planet Earth but on an earth-like planet called ITEM 180325—yes, the name is dumb, humans chose that years ago—that is also part of our solar system.”

He watches your confused expression. You’re caught in a bad movie, you’re sure. But the first thing that comes to your mind is something else.

“Wait– isn’t our solar system made of Venus, Mars, Saturn and others?”

Jisung nods, “Yeah. ITEM 180325 is just a dwarf planet, even further away than Pluto and for some reason, humans on earth haven’t realised yet that there's oxygen and water and such here. There’s the theory that… we originated from earth, that ITEM collided with it or split apart from it years ago. I-It’s the planet where I am actually from.”

Your mouth falls agape. “What?!”

Jisung is not… human?

Your best friend chuckles, “I know, it sounds absolutely ridiculous. But it’s the truth. It explains why the habitants here look human-like, just smaller which is caused by the gravity that’s a lot more intense here.”

“And I’ve always thought you’re just not tall,” you say.

“Oh, I am tall here,” Jisung says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, earning a small nudge from you.

“Anyway, tell me more, Ji.”

He looks around, making sure no one listens to what you say. After all, the inhabitans of ITEM have mastered their skills in almost every language that is spoken on earth.

If you thought humans were great scientists and astronomers, you haven’t met ITEM’s people before. They’re much more advanced in anything technological, basically a thousand levels and years ahead.

That also explains what follows next.

He nods, “I’ve been a spy on planet earth since I was thirteen and, well, this will sound pretty bad but my main mission was to bring you here on my 25th birthday.”

You look at him with big eyes and Jisung takes one last deep breath, before he announces the worst part of this all.

“Please know that I didn’t h-have any choice to make. They threatened to k-kill both of us if I didn’t o-obey–“

“I believe you,” you cut him off.

But he instantly wents on with his rambling.

“They recruit humans h-here for… experiments. I don’t know exactly what they do but rumours say that it’s pretty bizarre and crucial. T-That’s why we’re here but– I already have a plan B how we will escape so please don’t–“

“Okay. I trust you,” you reassure him.

That’s when your words register.

You… trust him?

Seriously?

Never ever in this world he would have expected you to not detest him after what he did to you.

“Wow… I thought you would hate me after this.”

You understand him. You’ve always been an empath and you get that there was no other possibility than this.

And besides that…

He’s still Jisung.

Your Jisung.

Your best friend. Your other half. The person you trust the most in this world.

“I could never hate you.”

It’s the most inconvenient situation but you can’t control it. Your gaze flickers down to Jisung lips. God, those beautiful lips. How often you dreamt about laying your own on them…

And he notices you staring at him, as the thinnest layer of pink appears on his squishy cheeks.

But you can’t kiss him. Not here. Not now.

You still have so many questions and when the ideas start running around, doing parkour in your head, you just start speaking.

“Ji, is that… why you don’t have any… family?”

He instantly knows what you’re referring to.

Right. His alien identity.

You both still have to get used to the secret being revealed now.

“Yeah. I have relatives here but they… abandoned me. That’s why the government assigned me this horrible mission. I indeed spawned at the age of thirteen on Earth.”

You think back to how you two first met.

Eighth grade, a warm morning in early September. His tanned skin was glittering so beautifully in the autumn sun.

Jisung told you right from the start that he’s been living in an orphanage but he never seemed sad about it. It all makes sense now.

You can’t miss something that you’re not aware of.

Besides that, the love and trust he got from you and your relatives has always been enough to feed his heart.

His smile proves that he must be thinking about the same fond memories right now, you can tell—almost as if you’re communicating without any words.

“Han Jisung, Y/LN Y/N.”

A voice suddenly erupts from right beside you. It comes from a man wearing a name tag that says The President’s right hand man.

“Your appointment with the president is next.”

The man disappears again, leaving your best friend and you alone in the corridor, still sitting close together on the bench.

That’s when you see Jisung’s mood has suddenly shifted. It did a one hundred and eighty degree turn.

Fear. All over his face. You can practically feel it with your own heart.

He realises now that this might be over soon.

Fuck.

He hates himself now for never making a move on you.

Jisung could have spend hours, days, months and years kissing and loving you if he hadn’t been such a fucking coward.

“Okay, calm down, Sungie,” he hears you speak.

But he just looks at you.

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down? How the fuck are you not stressed?!”

You grab both his arms, holding him, trying to ease his mind as much as possible.

“Because I trust you. I trust us. There must be something to stop that evil mission,” you say.

That’s when a lightbulb appears over his head, rushing away the dark clouds that had been above him just prior.

“There… there is… but I can’t expect that from you,” he says with a shy voice.

Yeah. As if you’d care.

You’d do anything to save the both of you. 

You would literally kill for Jisung.

“God, stop playing around. Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” you say all nonchalantly.

He takes a deep breath, as he catches a glimpse of the palms of his hands that are lying in his lap.

“They w-will be… less likely to do experiments on you if… if you’re my g-girlfriend.”

That’s it?

You were expecting some stuff including a billion won, your first born and a fucking unicorn.

“Alright. Let’s do this, then,” you tell him.

“Really?”

Don’t get your hopes up too high, Jisung.

“Sure, bro. If that’s what it takes for me to survive, I’ll play the best girlfriend you've ever had.”

Bro.

Yeah, he should in fact not get his hopes up too high.

In the meantime, you curse yourself for calling him that.

Bro.

Well, you don’t want him to believe you have a crush on him.

Which is dumb because you, in fact, have a crush on him.

But Jisung doesn’t. You’re sure.

He’s just the kindest person and always watching out for you because you’re friends.

This doesn’t explain the laundry-incident but that’s neither the right place nor time to debate this very much arousing disaster in your head right now.

There’s another thing that needs to be discussed beforehand.

“How do we get back?”

“Hm?”

“You know, back home,” you say.

The lightbulb turns on again.

“Oh I… there’s this guy I have to find at the ceremony tonight… he’s like a spy from earth, originally from ITEM as well but turned his back against them. He has been in a situation like this and will help us. His name is Minho. We met before.”

His words fully convince you that Jisung didn’t want this at all.

This time you hear the door next to you swing open, revealing the man from earlier.

You reach for your best friend, no, fake boyfriend’s hand, squeezing it a little.

It’s gonna be okay.

You’re gonna get out of here alive and well.

The man with the name tag is suddenly next to you again and coughs, drawing your attention to him.

“Sorry to announce this but the appointment will be postponed to tomorrow morning. The president invites you to the welcome party for all the humans tonight, though.”

Oh.

You don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing and judging from Jisung’s look on his face he doesn’t know how to categorise this either.

“Here is the key card for your room. Since you seem to be a couple, we assigned you a shared room.”

👽

The dress in a teal shade doesn’t only hug your body quite perfectly but also matches the tie that Jisung is wearing. It makes sense—the president must have chosen that for the both of you.

You’re already entering the party venue, when your mind is still occupied with the view of the hotel room they have given you.

Absolutely luxurious—to an amount that it looks nothing but pretentious—with a huge king size bed in the middle. Ornaments of pure gold, shimmering diamonds and real silk are embellishing the interior.

It’s not like Jisung and you haven’t slept in one bed before, you’ve been best friends for twelve years—going on camping trips during the summer months every year—and with your current nightmares occurring spontaneous cuddle sessions have been happening more frequently. 

However, this whole fake dating thing and the possibility of never seeing him again as of tomorrow, if the bosses decide to keep you for their psychopathic little experiments, it makes you wonder if this is the last possibility you get to finally do what you’ve been dreaming of for the past years.

You don’t even care anymore, you won’t let the chance slip again.

Not when you don’t know what follows tomorrow.

Or if tomorrow follows at all.

“Are you okay, baby?”

Jisung has called you by this name since some night in college when the nightmares started.

What you don’t know is that it was simultaneously when your best friend fell even harder for you. He’s always had a crush on you but his feelings hit harder on a random friday, when he picked you up from a party. You drank way too much after seeing your toxic ex at the frat house and just got emotional.

On autopilot, you dialed your best friend’s number and he immediately went there and brought you home to your shared apartment. He made sure you got sober again, made food for you and helped you get ready for bed—even brushing your teeth when you fell asleep in the middle of the process—and stayed by your side until the morning.

The first nightmare was probably caused by mixing beer, vodka and tequila together throughout the night. But the next ones followed for different reasons.

Those are the side effects of his demon powers.

Making someone he loves suffer in order to pull them closer to him. To make them cling to him.

So that he can take care of you.

It’s absolutely fucked up. But that’s how things are when you’re from ITEM.

“I’m okay, no worries,” you tell him.

You wonder if time stood still for a minute when your thoughts were running around again.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Your head snaps towards Jisung. God. You really have to calm down.

But how?

You’re fighting for your life, basically, and pretend to be Jisung’s significant other.

Being his lover is all you’ve ever dreamt of. After all, during nights of procrastination in college—which should have been spent with studying—it wasn’t unusual for you to create a sim of Jisung and one of you and make them marry each other, living their happily ever after.

Luckily, Jisung never caught you. That would have been the embarrassment of the century.

“Yeah… but water is fine,” you say.

“Of course.”

Jisung decides to copy your choice, as he tells you to wait. He walks towards the bar, asking for two glasses of iced cold water to keep you both awake.

Just when he’s about to grab the objects and head back towards you, someone stops him.

“Han Jisung?”

Strong arms instantly fill his vision. The guy isn’t much smaller than him, definitely one of the taller ones on this planet.

But how does he know his name?

“Yeah… that’s me. And you are?”

The buff man takes a sip from his bright pink glittering drink, the scents of pitaya entering Jisung’s nostrils. The liquid evaporates shimmering dust, drawing his attention to it.

Something like this would never happen on earth.

Maybe Jisung should have gotten a fancy beverage like this as well, but he needs to stay sober.

“I’m Changbin, nice to meet you.”

The name lets the lightbulb appear above Jisung’s head again.

This is good. Very good.

“Do you know if Minho is here?”

Changbin nods, “Oh, yeah. I saw him dancing with his spouse earlier. He should be somewhere around.”

“Thank you.”

Jisung takes the glasses in his hand, before he walks back to you and gives you one of them.

He doesn’t know what overtakes him—maybe the desperation, the hopelessness or his true love for you—but he gets dangerously close to you in a public setting.

All of a sudden, Jisung grabs your hand and for a second you get startled because of it.

“Remember… you’re my girlfriend,” he whispers into your ear.

It lets shivers run down your spine.

God, how you wished he said that in a real context to you.

You dearly hope your little lies will be successful enough to bring you back to earth and escape that shitshow. This whole setting is worth more than all your worst nightmares combined.

That’s when it clicks.

You’ve never cared about any label between the both of you.

Of course, you want to do things with Jisung that friends usually don’t do.

You’ve imagined him being the man next to you at the altar.

But you’ve always been okay with how everything has always been. It’s because you love Jisung so much that it doesn’t matter to you, what you two are.

You just want him close.

You just want him to be with you.

You just want him.

Maybe that’s true love after all.

Jisung’s been staring at you for a solid minute now, still holding your hand and pulling you closer. But complaining is the last thing you want to do.

It overcomes him right again.

All of a sudden, you feel a soft kiss on your cheek. It lasts a little longer than you would have expected.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, angel. I promise.”

Angel.

That’s unusual.

Jisung called you by this name only a few times.

The first one was when you fell off your bike when you two were fourteen. He rushed to you and even though he didn’t know anything about giving first aid, he still managed to make you feel better. Just him being there let the pain vanish away.

The second time was when your first boyfriend broke up with you in highschool, leaving you for the girl he told you not to worry about. When you called, Jisung was basically already at your house, bringing you a bag full of ice cream, candies and tissues without saying anything.

The third time was in college when you didn’t pass an exam you’ve been studying for for months but the professor didn’t like you. He assured you with the kindest and sweetest words, including this little pet name.

“Han Jisung, glad to have you here.”

The movie of nostalgic memories that is playing in front of your inner eyes suddenly comes to a halt.

You see your best friend taking a bow and you copy his movements.

“Mr Park. Thank you for the invitation.”

The man has a name tag on his suit jacket, saying The President’s right hand man. It’s the one from earlier.

“Oh, please, call me Jinyoung,” he says, shaking Jisung’s hands.

Jisung bows once more. Jinyoung gives you a warm smile, making you wonder how this person could possibly be involved in any of the deviant experiments.

“Your girlfriend is an asset to our whole planet. I can really imagine the two of you living happily ever after here,” he says, still keeping his gaze on you.

You thank him, feeling heat rise up to your head.

Then, Jinyoung comes a little closer to Jisung, aligning his mouth with your friend’s ear, making it impossible for you to catch his next words.

“What a shame your little fake relationship wasn’t convincing enough.”

You see Jisung freeze—his whole face and body paralyses.

“Baby?” he calls you.

“Hm?”

“Here,” he says, giving you the keycard, “why don’t you go to the hotel room, I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”

You simply nod, too confused to ask any questions. So, you just follow suit, leaving Jisung alone.

In the meantime, he gathers up all his strength and focus to do what he has to do—find the guy he is looking for.

Lee Minho.

He has a faded memory of what he looks like. They met some years ago at a meeting on earth.

Five minutes pass. Another ten minutes follow.

Jisung is giving up.

Although Changbin told him Minho will be here, he doubts it at this point. Maybe, he just didn’t want Jisung to feel any more hopeless.

“Why are you drinking water, when there’s plenty of fancy beverages to try here?”

The voice startles him. It sounds familiar.

Jisung turns his head around, staring right into the eyes of the man he’s been searching for.

“Is it you… Minho?”

“Yeah– Jisung?” he asks when he notices his old friend.

“Chan… told me to search for you,” Jisung explains.

That’s when it fully clicks. Minho realises what their older, shared friend told him.

They’ve all been in similar situations before. Minho brought his assigned human here roughly two years ago, on his 25th birthday. He fell in love with them as well, the same Netflix drama-like disaster Jisung is caught in now.

They weren’t dating either, Minho had the same stupid idea to just pretend, soon realising it’s not enough to fight against everything evil.

So, Minho is his last chance. He’s the only one who can tell him how to survive. After all, he saved his person and himself two years ago, too.

“Park said we… w-weren’t convincing. Does this m-mean the worst?”

Jisung’s palms are sweaty, his knees are getting weaker and weaker with every second.

“Well… there’s still time. I will explain the rules to you. But in order to get back to earth, you have to follow them exactly how I tell you. No chickening out,” Minho warns him.

It’s all or nothing.

“Sure. Whatever it is, I– we will do it,” Jisung says.

“You both have to work on it.”

Jisung nods, rubbing with his hands over the sides of his pants because his palms are still so sweaty. God. He’s so fucking nervous. Not about what Minho will tell him but about the whole situation and growing possibility of not being able to save you.

“So, what is it, Minho?”

The older one gets a little closer, making sure no one hears them.

“Your love wasn’t convincing enough… We had a few couples here pretending to be in a relationship or get married even. I did the same back then. But the evil force can’t be overpowered if it’s not real.”

Jisung nods, trying to catch all the words despite the deafening sound of his heart beating at the speed of light.

“This means,” Minho continues, “you should work on that, make it as authentic as possible and if you meet that expectation, the portal will open on its own. You still have a chance—at the very last when you’re at the meeting with the president tomorrow. But the sooner, the safer.”

He pulls Minho into a hug, clinging onto his friend.

“Thank you so much.”

The other man chuckles, “Not for that. See you on earth.”

👽

“So, it wasn’t enough,” you sum up Jisung’s five minute long hysterical monologue.

He came back with tears in his eyes, falling to his knees and begging you for forgiveness that he brought you into this. You shushed him up again, telling him to not be such a drama queen and that whatever’s going on can be solved.

Then, he poured his heart out, telling you about Jinyoung’s words and how he met Minho afterwards.

You have to do more than this. You have to be real.

“We weren’t authentic,” you repeat his words.

I am the most authentic, Y/N, because I am in love with you, Jisung thinks but he doesn’t say it out loud.

“Maybe… maybe not enough,” he adds.

Well. That still sounds very manageable.

You can act the best if it’s not acting, after all.

Showing Jisung affection isn’t the hardest thing in this world. Sure, you haven’t done it before, haven’t made a serious move so far because of your stupid crush on him but now it’s live or die and you can at least blame it on that.

A win-win situation.

Not really. But you keep telling yourself exactly that.

“We can work on that,” you say.

“H-How?” he shyly asks.

“We… could kiss. For instance,” you suggest, slowly nodding your head.

Jisung’s eyes are practically falling out.

“N-Now?”

If not now, when? Does he want to wait until tomorrow?

You doubt it’s a good idea to randomly start a make out session when meeting the president for the first time just to be escorted to the experiment building.

“Why not? You said the portal might open on its own when we’re convincing enough. We have no time to lose,” you remind him.

Jisung nods and just when he’s about to take a step towards you, he decides to take off his suit jacket as well as the tie.

He pulls at the teal fabric, loosening it before he throws it right on the chair a few meters away.

Oh, God.

You’re doomed.

With long strides he approaches you, before he grabs your face with both his hands.

“Are you sure you want this?”

It’s the only chance he’s got.

It’s the only chance you’ve got.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

For a second Jisung believes this isn’t about pretending anymore.

Especially, when he finally presses his lips against yours and you instantly give in, practically melt and then drown in his hold. Your hands copy his motions, as you pull him closer. He instead places his own on your hips, pulling you closer.

You can’t get enough. He hasn’t even done much yet but you’re already under his spell.

Jisung’s tongue grazes over your lips next, asking for entrance which you eagerly allow him. Your own starts dancing with his, swirling around at the same pace and rhythm of your heartbeats. 

He can’t hold back—his lips are leaving their place, very much against your preference, but he makes up for it when he attaches them to your jaw instead. The most beautiful patterns wander down your neck, before they decide to stay there for a little longer, drawing the prettiest flowers all over again, almost like a tattoo that’ll remind you of who you’ve belonged to all along.

When Jisung pulls back for a second, his eyes finding yours, you could swear they darkened by a thousand shades, almost looking—unreal, magical, demonic.

“Still not enough, huh?” he teases, like the menace he is.

His hand is keeping your head in place, index finger lifting up your chin so that you’re forced to look at him.

“Hm, we could try more, Sungie,” you playfully reply, clicking your tongue.

“More?” he asks, pretending he doesn’t know what you’re referring to.

After all, your request should be the most intimate form two souls can engage with, right?

Jisung hasn’t forgotten about the fact that you’re only sleeping with people you have a strong, romantic connection with. But he’s too shy to ask what this means and also doesn’t want to ruin the mood.

And well, in your case this shouldn’t be a hindrance anyway.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about burying your cock inside me before,” you provoke him.

“H-How–“

There’s a reason Jisung hasn’t made a move on you before. It’s, well, let’s say connected to his identity of not being human.

At least he blames it on that and not the fact he’s an absolute coward.

“I caught you stealing my underwear, you creep.”

Well and that. Yeah. That was also something holding him back.

His guilty conscience.

But when he can’t be with you, he thought the idea of you would live up to it.

Spoiler: It didn't. Jisung got desperate over time and the fact he has all those deep and dark desires, a million times stronger caused by his hidden strength, didn’t make thinking logically any easier.

It did start innocently. At first, they were just thoughts. Then, you accidentally left one of your panties in his laundry basket when giving him his fresh clothes.

And well from there… it all went downhill. He tried to be as discreet about it as possible.

He always made sure to throw your panties into his own hamper after… using them for what they’re not intended to be used for.

Spoiler: He failed.

“Y/N– I’m sorry I–“

Your hand wanders up to his face now. He deserves a little teasing.

Was it wrong doing this? Absolutely.

Did it just turn you on even more? Maybe.

So, you brush over his cheeks with your fingers, as a pout appears on your face.

Jisung is terrified. He feels bad about it and you can definitely tell.

“You’re a bit of a pervert but it’s a good thing that I’m the same when it comes to you,” you whisper.

That’s when his eyes darken even further, almost making him look like a creature from another world.

Well…

“You like the idea, hm?”

Oh, fuck.

You underestimated this.

“You’re craving my hands all over you? Want me to touch you, to take care of you, angel?”

He kisses you again. A billion times more passionate than before, if that’s even possible. You give in, allow him to guide you through the movements, before you pull away.

“I want you,” you tell him and that’s all he needs to hear.

Jisung lets go for a second to switch off the big light and turn on the little lamps above the headboard instead, shrouding the room in a dim colour of red. How convenient this hotel is.

You chuckle, when he comes closer again, already busy continuing the little artwork on your neck again. 

You lose track of time and space, of everything that the universe has ever come up with. Nothing matters when you’re with Jisung, he’s all you’ve ever needed and if you’re to die tomorrow, you lived the best life you could’ve ever had.

“You’re beautiful,” he says between kisses, but all you can do is whimper, as your head falls back, letting him take the lead.

“Baby?”

He disconnects his lips for a second from your skin, before he lifts up his gaze, wanting to be on eye level with you.

“Y-Yeah?”

Jisung takes a deep breath. He still has to warn you about something before you take this any further. God, he seriously prays you won’t freak out.

“Once we start… you may have noticed how my eyes turn darker… I won’t be… won’t be able to stop… there are these powers that will t-take over me and they will affect you too and–“

“I want this. I’ve wanted this for years,” you reassure him.

Whatever it is, you’re fine with it. You’re not surprised he might differ a little from humans, he’s not from earth after all.

Meanwhile, Jisung is busy trying to not scream out loud.

You’ve wanted this for years? For fucking years?

“Are you for real?”

“Yeah. I thought you’d catch the hint sooner,” you let him know.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He tilts his head a little, bringing his hand to your face to place a strand of hair behind your ear.

A move he did so many times before but for some reason your heart skips two beats in a row this time instead of just one.

“I wanted you to make the first move… with all your pervy behaviour I wanted to make sure you’re doing this because of me and not some general thing–“

“No. Just you. It has been you all along,” he admits.

“Then… what are you still waiting for, Han Jisung?” 

That’s when his eyes darken to the fullest, filling your whole vision. He looks like… something mystical. Like the opposite of an angel and you wonder if that’s the reason he chose that name for you.

“Ruin me, demon boy,” you half-jokingly say.

But since it’s Han Jisung we’re talking about, of course this only turns him on even more.

He instantly goes in for a kiss and now the feeling overtakes you completely, you feel your souls connecting—a sensation you can’t describe with any word of any language you’ve ever learnt.

It’s like he’s your gravity and you’re floating in space, getting closer to him until you become one.

Jisung’s hands are by now all over you and you wonder how long it’ll take him to basically rip that short teal dress apart, until… well… the dress leaves your body on its own.

It wasn’t Jisung who took it off you, he was way too busy pulling his own button up shirt over his head.

Which means…

“You can take off– with your mind?!” you ask, standing there in your underwear only.

Jisung admires your body for a second and when he realises you’re wearing his favourite pair of panties of yours, he fears he might just cum on the spot. God, how many times he sneaked into your room to grab that specific piece of fabric.

“Hm, I can do a lot more than that,” he tells you.

“For instance?”

“Well, just in general fuck your brains out.”

The words leave his lips all casually and you might as well swoon right here, right now.

But Jisung is faster, already picking you up—bridal style—to place you on the huge bed. The mattress shifts under your weight and moves a little more when he follows.

He gets rid of his pants next, leaving him only in his boxers. You can already see the outline of his hardening cock, straining against the fabric of his underwear. Your friend turned lover positions his upper body between your legs, parting your thighs with no effort, before his lips make the most beautiful sequel of that artwork on your neck.

And that’s when your mind goes blank.

You don’t know if Jisung helped you out of your bra, if it was his demon power or you yourself but a minute later you find yourself almost completely naked in his hold.

Jisung’s fingers are grazing over the thin material of your panties. They’re practically transparent—arousal dripping through them—which is the reason they are his favourite. He imagined you wearing these and wondered if he could catch a glimpse of your pretty pussy whenever you walked up the stairs in front of him while wearing a dress.

He could. A few times when your skirts were short enough.

But nothing comes close to having you a few inches away from him, sprawled out on the bed, begging for more.

However, Jisung takes his time. Painfully slowly, he finally slips down your underwear but keeps it not too far away for later purposes.

As if he’s controlling your mind—but you’re in fact just more than eager—you part your legs even further, granting him better access. Jisung dives right in, after spreading your pussy lips apart. His tongue collides with your clit and for a second you believe you’re in heaven.

Collecting a little bit of saliva—although you’re more than wet enough for him—he spits on your sensitive nub, just to go right back to making out with it. You’re already arching your back, gripping the sheets and begging for more.

Your head gets thrown back and whimper after whimper leaves your mouth. Just when Jisung lets out a moan himself, drowning in your delicious scents, your gaze snaps back.

He looks so alluring. Almost like an angel, a God—it’s unbelievable he is supposed to be a demon or whatever he calls himself.

“Oh, thank you baby,” Jisung coos.

“I… I didn’t say anything, did I?”

You’re confused.

You did only think that, right?

Not that you’re denying anything but you don’t remember speaking even a syllable these past minutes. All that’s made it out of your mouth have been moans so far.

“Well… not out loud,” Jisung smirks. “I can still hear you.”

“You can read my mind,” you say. “You can read my mind?!”

He chuckles now.

“Demon powers, sorry. Should I turn it off?”

“No it’s…” something I touched myself to before, you want to say but cut off your words.

“Yeah, angel? It’s what?”

Angel.

Of course.

Han Jisung, you’re a fucking tease.

The brattiest demons of them all.

“I like it… yeah,” you admit.

“Me, too.”

Then you see his tie move on its own, basically levitating towards the bed. Right from the chair where it was just mere seconds ago.

Absolutely normal, sure.

The fabric is hovering over your head now, before it comes dangerously close to your wrists.

That’s when Jisung—despite seeing that absolutely eager look on your face—gets hit with second guesses.

“Are you okay with that? Or is it weird because–“

“No, I like that, too,” you confess.

“You like that?”

The smirk that appears over his face is letting heat rush towards your face.

“Maybe a little more than just liking.”

“Hm, I can tell,” he teases you.

“How? I didn’t think that.”

“Oh, solely by the way you’re squeezing your thighs together. I would have noticed that as well if I was a human.”

His tongue brushes over his teeth, one corner of his mouth rises up a little.

“You little–“

“Nah, you’re gonna be a good girl now, yeah?”

Oh, fuck.

“What if I’m not?”

The fabric floats closer to you, slowly wrapping around your wrists until your arms get thrown over your head. The tie turns into a knot, gluing you to the metallic headboard.

“Well, that would be a pity because only good girls are allowed to cum,” he warns.

That’s how you find yourself—all obediently—right back where you were a few minutes ago. Moaning, screaming, underneath him.

Jisung flicks his tongue over your clit, all whilst two of his fingers are dangerously close to your entrance, circling around it.

The tight piece of clothing around your hands stings a little, but you have to admit that you enjoy it even more because of the sensation. Despite that, you can’t think of anything right now anyway. Not when Jisung is finally pushing his two digits it, immediately feeling you clench around him.

He wonders what it will feel like to bury his cock inside you.

You’re wondering the same, or something similar, that’s why you call out his name.

“Sungie?”

“Hm?”

Jisung looks up from between your thighs, lips and chin covered in your arousal and feels you clench around his fingers when you notice. So, he starts moving them, still listening to your words.

“What did you think about when you… stole my panties?”

He chuckles, “Exactly this, to be honest. Have you squirming underneath me. Begging me for more. Absolutely helpless and eager.”

The thrusting motions continue, he scissors you open a little, before he adds a third finger. You let out another moan, nearly not catching what he says next.

“But I also thought about… how I would make love to you.”

There’s no possibility to respond or even think about his words when he shuts you up by curling those digits in an angle that makes him reach that certain spot inside you. When Jisung feels the effect he has on you, he brings his tongue right back on your clit, drawing circles around it.

“Sung– I–“

He nods, way too busy with his tongue, attacking your swollen bud even further. The thrusting movements pick up their pace and a few seconds later, you come undone, screaming his name for dear life, gripping the headboard.

Ecstasy takes over your whole body, possessing your complete mind and soul. Jisung helps you ride out your high, decreasing his speed when he feels you get even more sensitive from his touch. He pulls out of you and you watch him lick his fingers clean, wiping away your remaining liquids on his face.

“Jisung…”

He’d thought you’d be a little exhausted from that mindblowing orgasm, but it seems as if his powers are already taking over you again.

“Yeah, baby?”

You pull him closer, another passionate kiss follows as you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Need you…”

He chuckles once again, “What do you need, angel?”

You grunt. “Your cock inside me– please–“

So, he loosens the tie around your wrist and just manhandles you around in a ninety degree turn, flips you onto your stomach with little to no strength needed.

You see his underwear land on the chair across the bed and that’s when you notice something else right beside it. There must be a reason why Jisung opted for this position—he can watch your pretty face in the mirror while railing you into oblivion from behind.

“You ready, love?”

Love.

Jisung’s stroking his length, as you’re on all fours for him, giving access to your aching heat.

“It’s been some time… since I…” you tell him.

That’s when he slows down a little, softly brushing over your entrance with the tip of his cock.

“I’ll be gentle, yeah?”

Almost unbelievable, considering those words leave the mouth of a demon.

You hastily nod, before he pushes a few centimetres in. Your walls tighten around him in an instant, welcoming him in. His size is definitely above average but you’re not surprised. After all, you’ve watched him wear those grey sweatpants with definitely no boxers underneath before.

You’re not any better than him when it comes to watching and dreaming unholy thoughts about roommates.

“Sung– you’re so big–“ you let out.

“Shh, you can take it, baby.”

You nod and that’s when he finally bottoms you out. He starts moving with a painfully slow pace but you thank him for that, as he stretches you out carefully.

“Look in the mirror,” he orders. “I want you to watch how I fuck you, I want you to see what a slut you are for me.”

Oh, God. You’re already close again. That’s what his words do to you.

His cock is stroking your walls delightfully, as you follow his demand. Your nails are digging into the sheets, holding onto the fabric for dear life while Jisung fucks you senseless.

“You look so pretty, angel. Letting me do all the work while you’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”

“Hm…” you hum in agreement.

“Don’t need to think about anything, baby. Just let me take care of you, yeah? I know exactly what’s good for you.”

And so, you do.

Jisung picks up his pace, finding that spot inside you again when he changes his angle and adjusts your position a little. Two of fingers wander between your legs, as they start to rub your clit again like his tongue did earlier.

Mindless babble leaves your lips, your brain has shut off a long time ago.

Nothing matters anymore when he’s fucking you this good.

“Baby?” he suddenly calls out for you.

You want to reply but only a moan makes it past your lips, so you eagerly nod instead.

Jisung chuckles, “I’m going to make you cum all over my cock as if it’s the only thing you were made to do.”

It seems as if he can in fact control your mind—or you’re just dangerously close to your second climax because he’s taking such good care of you.

“Need to– close–“ you cry out.

Skin is slapping against skin. Squelching sounds are filling the room. Moans definitely make it past these four walls.

“No, baby, not until you beg for it like the good whore you are,” he tells you.

“Sungie, please, please, please–“

“You can do more than that, sweetheart,” Jisung adds, knowing he’s just as close as you are.

“Please– I need to cum– can I– please?”

“Okay, okay, angel, I’ve got you, yeah?”

Your vision gets filled with stars, as the feeling takes over you, sensation spreading through your veins. It triggers Jisung to reach his high as well and after you begged him for it, he paints your walls white, shooting his thick spurts of cum into your cunt.

Everything after that is a total blur. Jisung takes care of your fragile body, cleans you with a towel before he puts you into the bathrobe he finds hanging on the wall. He tells you to use the bathroom, before he helps you sit on the bed.

You’re definitely gonna be sore tomorrow.

Once you come to your senses again, you see the brightest smile on Jisung’s face.

However, he said that that Minho guy told him the portal will open on its own when you’re authentic enough.

But there's still no portal.

How is getting your brains fucked out not authentic enough?

Well, considering the odds aren’t in your favour and your life will change forever tomorrow, become a disaster you’re caught in without Jisung, the person you love the most, you might as well just tell him the whole truth, right?

You don’t care if he doesn’t love you back.

But he’s been so honest to you about his hidden identity, felt so comfortable to share it—so you should reveal your secret too, right?

There’s never been an actual reason to not be your true self around him.

It’s okay to be different as long as we can be different together with the people we adore the most.

So, without any useless introduction, you just tell him.

“I am in love with you, Han Jisung.”

His eyes widen. Then his mouth falls agape.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Say that again.”

You smirk, “I am in love with you, you weirdo.”

He startles you a little when his lips collide with yours, sealing them in the most heartwarming kiss you’ve ever received.

Then he pulls away.

“I am in love with you too, Y/L/N Y/L.”

A shining light blinds your vision, enlightens the whole room.

There’s a portal next to you. Just appearing there out of nowhere.

You chuckle. It makes sense now.

You’ve never had to prove your love to anyone else.

True love only has to be proven to the person that’s receiving it. Over and over again.

By caring for each other.

By looking out for each other.

By being there for each other in the darkest times.

By trusting each other no matter what.

But most importantly—by showing with words what we feel.

Because when we speak things out loud, that’s when they turn into reality.

🤍 AUTHOR'S NOTE: thank you so much for reading! I was pretty terrified to upload this since it's a little darker and I have never posted something alien au lmao but it was so much fun writing. I'm very happy I continued this story despite my insecurities. I hope, you enjoyed it too. If that's the case I'd be very grateful for any kind comments and reblogs you leave. Always rember that these are the number one motivation for us authors and likes mean nothing on tumblr considering its algorithm. Thank you for considering it and have a nice day :)

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