#plug!jisung

the only times he would charge you were days when he would knock on your door, already rolling your joint for you, when another man opens up instead. he is immediately on guard, eyes squinted at the newcomer, slowing his fingers that were mid-roll.

“who are you?”

“my name’s chris…who are you?” a thick accent clung to his words, jisung scowled.

“jisung!” you would call from behind the australian, smile beaming as you pushed your way past, “this is chris, he’s helping me on an assignment.”

“hmm…” he paused, taking in the view his poor, poor eyes were subjected to, “i’m charging full price, and he’s paying.”

“jisung!” you mimicked your earlier exclamation, this time in shock, grabbing for your bag, “i’ll pay, hang on.”

“nuh-uh, it’s free for you, not for him,” you couldn’t help but laugh at him.

seriously. after that, he would text you frequently;

jisung🍃: drops are at my house now. no australians allowed.

y/n: perfect, i’ll bring my friend jeongin

jisung🍃: okay new amendment, no boys allowed

y/n: you’re a boy?

jisung🍃: i fail to see your point. mine at 7pm tonight, i’ll throw in extra if you stay for a while

y/n: deal.

you expected his place to smell of weed, to be the typical, cartoonish example of a drug dealers house, but it was surprisingly clean. it was nerdy, like he’d somehow collected a poster or figure from every manga he’d ever read ever, and it was actually kind of cool.

jisung loved smoking with you, especially smoking with you at his place, where he can keep you safe and give you the best highs possible.

long nights laid on his bed, checkered sheets ruffled beneath the pair of you as you talked, and talked, and laughed and sung. he showed you all his favourite anime’s, insisting you watch them stoned to ‘really see the beauty of them’.

texts you screenshots of manga’s he’s reading online, captioning them;

jisung🍃: next time you come over i’m showing u this

he was painfully, unequivocally down bad for you. when you would leave late at night, after hours of giggling with him over silly youtube compilations, he would take long tokes of your favourite strain and lay on the sheets, dizzy with the scent you left behind, picturing you laying with him.

his high delusions bled into his sober thoughts, and he begun texting you just to check in, to see how you’re doing, dropping by your place just to say hi.

one particular night, you were laying just a little too close, smoking the same joint as him and jisung could taste your lip balm on the roach. he savoured every inhale, letting his lips rest for a while, imagining what would happen if he just made a move. within the hour, you were on top of him, hips flush against hips, straddling him as he swam in the cherry flavour he’d been craving.

“does this mean i never have to pay again?”

“i’ll buy you a house if you asked, just shut up and kiss me again.”

your phone buzzes twice , the name “jisung” flashing across the screen. you stare at it for a second before answering , voice low. “you outside?”

“always” , he says. you can hear his grin even through the line. “come down before your neighbors start watching.”

you tug on a sweatshirt and some pj pants before heading down the stairwell. jisung is leaning against his car at the curb , hoodie up , cigarette dangling unlit from his fingers. he’s the type of plug that doesn’t look like a plug — soft brown eyes , a lazy smile , a voice that’s more friend than dealer. but when you walk up , he straightens , flicks the cigarette into his pocket , and holds out a brown paper bag.

“the usual” , he says. “and i threw in some of the new stuff. consider it a sample.”

you take the bag and your fingers brush his. his eyes flick up to yours for a second , dark lashes low. “thanks” , you mumble.

he shrugs. “no biggie.” but then he tilts his head. “you look stressed.”

you roll your eyes. “college is killing me. you , on the other hand , look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“i did.” his grin is sudden , sharp. “you want me to roll one for you now?”

you hesitate. “here?”

“why not? backseat’s clean.”

you glance at the car. it’s dark tinted windows , low hum of bass from inside. your heart stutters for reasons that have nothing to do with what’s in the bag.

jisung reads it instantly. he opens the back door , holds it there for you. “i won’t bite” , he says softly. “unless you ask.”

you slide in , your knees brushing as he climbs in after you. he spreads the papers and the buds out on his lap with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times. the smell hits you , sharp and familiar.

“this one’s called moonlight” , he murmurs , fingers working deftly. “hits slow. like a hug.”

you watch his hands , the way his tongue peeks out to seal the paper. your throat is dry.

“what?” he asks without looking up.

“nothing” , you say quickly. “just…you’re good at that.”

his eyes flick up , catch yours. “i’m good at a lot of things.”

the moment stretches , quiet except for your breathing. he hands you the joint , his fingers brushing yours deliberately this time. “spark it” , he says , voice low.

you do. the smoke curls between you , blue in the streetlight. he leans back , one arm draped behind you on the seat , watching you take the first drag.

“see?” he murmurs. “like a hug.”

you exhale slowly , heat curling in your chest that has nothing to do with the smoke. jisung’s smile tilts , knowing , but he doesn’t move closer. not yet. he just lets the night settle around you , the bass from his car a low thrum under your ribs , a promise waiting to be cashed.

the joint burns slow between you , filling the car with haze and quiet laughter. jisung tells you some ridiculous story about his friend almost getting caught hiding weed in a cereal box , and you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts. you forget for a moment that you only came down to meet your plug. he feels less like a dealer and more like… him.

by the time the last ember dies out , your eyes are glassy and your cheeks ache from smiling. jisung leans back , stretching his arms until his hoodie rides up , showing a sliver of pale skin. “so” , he says , “do i get invited up? or am i banned from your holy apartment kingdom?”

you snort. “you’ve never asked before.”

“that’s ’cause i like the chase.” his grin is lazy , but his eyes are sharp. “and you always run back upstairs the second i hand you the bag.”

you roll your eyes , shove his shoulder lightly. “fine. but only to the stairwell. my roommates are nosy.”

“stairwell’s romantic” , he teases. “all that concrete ambiance.”

you both tumble out of the car and into the night air , your body lighter , your chest buzzing from both the smoke and him. the climb up to the third floor feels longer than usual , every step echoing. jisung’s right behind you , humming under his breath , and you can feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

you stop at the landing , leaning against the cool railing. “see? nothing romantic about this” , you mutter.

but when you turn , he’s closer than you thought. his hoodie’s slipped down , hair falling into his eyes , mouth parted like he’s about to say something and then forgets.

you laugh nervously. “what? do i have ash on my face?”

jisung shakes his head slowly. “nah. just…you look different right now” , his voice is softer , lower , like the bass that had rattled through his car earlier. “not like a customer.”

“i’m not just a customer” , you blurt , before you can stop yourself.

his mouth twitches like he’s holding back a smile. “good. then i can do this.”

and then he leans in. it’s hesitant at first , the kind of kiss that feels like a question — his lips brushing yours gently , waiting. you answer without thinking , pushing forward , your hand curling into the front of his hoodie.

he tastes like smoke and mint , like warmth that spreads from your mouth down your spine. the stairwell is cold concrete and peeling paint , but none of it matters. he presses you back against the wall , not rough , just close , his breath catching as he kisses you deeper.

when you finally pull away , both of you are smiling , flushed and dizzy. jisung leans his forehead against yours , chuckling low.

“told you stairwells are romantic.”

you laugh , breathless , fingers still clutching his hoodie. “shut up.”

he grins , eyes bright even in the dim light. “nah. not when you kiss me like that.”

doliveiraa ౨ৎ ― est. june '24 © do not copy or repost my content on other platforms.