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latest work: 'Go for it, SuperHan!' (11.1k)

(Han Jisung is an avid comic enthusiast, and he may or may not be crushing on his local comic shop's morning shift employee.

Han Jisung is also anonymously arguing with someone on Reddit. That someone also happens to be you.

Or,

Your and Han Jisung's story, told through the lens of Superman, his symbol of hope.)

m.list

The weird cafe barista keeps slipping you weird notes every time you come in, and you’re 99.9% sure he’s going to try and kidnap you.

Han Jisung is trying his best to flirt.

(one) (two) (three) (four) (five)

a/n: definitely a short an sweet work, but I think it turned out okay! Definitely got me back into the smau swing!

The weird cafe barista keeps slipping you weird notes every time you come in, and you’re 99.9% sure he’s going to try and kidnap you.

Han Jisung is trying his best to flirt.

(one) (two) (three) (four) (five)

a/n: j hate them they’re LAME!

The weird cafe barista keeps slipping you weird notes every time you come in, and you’re 99.9% sure he’s going to try and kidnap you.

Han Jisung is trying his best to flirt.

(one) (two) (three) (four) (five)

The weird cafe barista keeps slipping you weird notes every time you come in, and you’re 99.9% sure he’s going to try and kidnap you.

Han Jisung is trying his hardest to flirt.

(one) (two) (three) (four) (five)

The weird cafe barista keeps slipping you cryptic notes everytime you come in, and you’re 99.9% sure he’s going to try and kidnap you.

Han Jisung is just trying his hardest to flirt.

(one) (two) (three) (four) (five)

Jisung hates his job, and you hate Jisung. (1k)

a/n: a quick drabble I wrote to thaw my writers block! I <3 meet uglies

inc: mentions of drugs (ONCE and nobody does them!), meet ugly (because I can’t never not write one of these), germs/sickness, cranky Jisung, reader is petty

Jisung would like to have a cool job.

He could envision himself as a bartender of a local bar or popular club. He’d master the art of overly exaggerating his fancy drink mixing and sliding the glasses down the counter at a speed that's justtt right. One flash of his beaming pearly smile and the cash tips would flow into his hands like water through a faucet.

It’s harder to get tips at a CVS. Apparently customer service isn’t as valued at pharmacies. Which is stupid, he thinks. Their health is in his hands. Kind of. Technically he doesn’t work the actual pharmacy section, but he’s a cashier, and that should be enough to warrant some appreciation.

Of course it’s not the most flattering job. Or easiest for that matter, but it’s a good living (for a college student. Sort of), and the customers are usually in and out.

Usually.

Thunk.

He surveys the items set on the counter in front of him. Nyquil, tissues, melatonin (two sleeping agents? wow), and 3 different candy bars. Jisung tries not to judge, but it’s the most entertaining part of his job. And it’s not like he’s saying it out loud, so it doesn’t really matter.

Without missing a beat, he wordlessly scans each item with a dull precision, dropping them each into the white plastic bag to his left.

“Thirty seventy three.” He says, without looking up. Two twenties get slid his way, and he pops open the register, fingers working through the change. “Want the receipt?” His eyes meet the customers for the first time.

You look…pretty rough. A jacket layered over the hoodie that you have pulled over your head and a bright red nose. He pushes down the urge to remind you that it's seventy degrees outside.

You shake your head and he nods.”

“Ok.” he passes the bills back, “9.25 is your change. Have a good day.” 

If he had a tip jar right now, he’d be winking and nudging at it viciously. He’s not above begging. Unfortunately, he doesn’t, so he turns to pretend to mark inventory and see if he can get away with popping an earbud in for the rest of his shift without his manager noticing. He doesn’t slip the first one in before hearing a firm throat clearing from behind him. He turns.

“This isn’t the right change.”

“What?”

“9.27 is my change. You gave me 9.25.”

He stares for a second. “You counted it?”

“Yeah. Can I just get the two pennies and I’ll be out of your hair?”

Jisung blinks, taken aback. “It’s…two pennies.”

You straighten up, hood coming off and shoulder squaring. “Yeah. Two of my pennies. Your math is wrong.”

You show him the receipt he’d just given you. Damnit. He should’ve just tossed it like he usually does. That’s what he gets for trying to be nice for a change. The tap of your pen on the total irks him a bit.

He doesn’t want to admit that he usually just rounds totals to the nearest quarter so he doesn’t have to count. Yes, he’s aware he sounds like a horrible worker, but he doesn't really like the job anyways. And besides, he usually rounds up. You just got the short end of the stick today.

The only thing he can resort to is gaslighting. His pride is way too strong to admit he’d half assed his job.

“Your math is wrong.”

“No it’s not. Look at the receipt. Change: 9.27.”

“Well. It’s a misprint.”

You squint at him for a second, sniffing hard and planting both hands on the counter. “Get my two cents. I’m sick. Just give me this.”

He knows he shouldn’t, but he's feeling threatened and he can't blame his primal instincts for kicking in, so he crosses his arms and turns up his nose. “Nah. Maybe if you sniff around on the ground outside you’ll find a penny or two. Maybe three if you really work for it.” It’s a low blow and he knows it (nevermind that the only thing you’ll find on the ground outside of CVS are old cigarette stubs and dirty heroine needles). 

You freeze, and he can see the cogs working in your head as your eyes dart from the receipt, to him, and back to the receipt again. And then, you do the unthinkable.

It feels like Jisungs watching in slow motion as you lean even closer and he mirrors it, refusing to back down. You pull in a deep breath, eyes closed and all and then sneeze. 

Right in his face.

“EW!” He jumps back, frantically wiping his face with the stupid flimsy red vest he’s forced to wear. He prays that if he heaves hard enough, he can rid all the germs threatening to send their disgusting little troops into his system. “God! What is wrong with you?”

“I’ll do it again. Can I have my change now please?”

Jisung fails to hear the steps behind him in his state. “No! You cheap fucking psycho! Get out!”

 You gasp harshly, almost…fakely.

“JISUNG.”

He mirrors your freeze from a minute ago, chills running down his spine and forearms. It takes him a second to process what he’d just said.

When he was saying he didn’t want this job, he was….joking!

-

When he stumbles out of the door, you’re leaned up against a pole outside of the doors with the CVS bag in hand. His face heats up before he can think.

“Fired. You got me fired.”

You just shrug, pursing your lips together as you sniffle. “I have bad allergies.”

He deflates, all anger leaving and replacing itself with inklings of hopelessness as he accepts his reality. He slides down, back against the wall on the CVS sidewalk. It’s a depressing sight, really. He drops his head into his palm, rubbing harsh and slow

“Do you know how hard it is for me to get a job these days?” Your eyebrows furrow, tilting your head. 

“Why? Are you like… a criminal or something?”

“What? No- I just…I’m not very customer service-able, I guess.” He contemplates.

“So we’ve seen.” You drop down to his level, bag resting on the ground. “Just be a dishwasher or something. They don’t interact with anyone.” 

“Right. Because I want to wash dishes all day for a living. Fun!”

You scoff, reaching into your bag. “Don’t knock it till you try it. Dishwashing gives you less opportunities to cuss the customer out.” He whips his head around.

“You sneezed on me!” 

“You shorted my change. I’d say we’re both at fault here.” You break off half of the KitKat from the purchase you’d made earlier and offer it to him. He takes it (begrudgingly).

“Whatever. Deserved.”

“I could say the same.”

You sit together in silence for a minute, gnawing on the chocolate and watching cars pass by on the highway. He dusts off his hands when he finishes, turning to look at you. 

“You’re getting me a new job.”

With a heavy sigh, you turn to face the highway again. 

“Fine.”

track four, 'designated drivers'

wc: 2.5k / (next) (masterlist)

If you were put in purgatory, your own personal line between heaven and hell would be having  to host a frat party on campus.

You didn't have a problem with attending them. They could usually be pretty entertaining, but hosting was a whole different story. Which is why Jake Sim is the bravest person you know.

The couch you’re leaning against is peeling relentlessly. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but the blue (at least you think that was the original color?) sofa is the best you’re gonna get here. Chatters echo throughout the house and the low hum of music plays in the back. 

To your left, a few guys from your creative writing class are playing beer pong. Frat guys were weirdly drawn to the element of creating and journalism, which is what lands you and Minho so many invites to events like these. Which you then extend to your other friends and pyramid scheme it. The other invited boy in question is likely outside nursing a beer and talking to his dance friends (even if he refuses to call them that). Predictable.

You hear the call of your name. “We need a third!” 

You drop your head back, neck going limp with a groan. “I’m too drunk to play.” He scoffs.

“Liar. You haven’t touched a drink all night.” The half intoxicated group giggles around the table. You bite back a grin. 

“Sooo drunk.” The pad of your pointer finger brushes against a red solo cup full of what you hope is beer sitting on the coffee table. They laugh it off and turn back, recruiting another poor partygoer.

They were pretty right. You weren’t drunk, but you were busy. One of the biggest reasons you went here was yes, to kick off a little stress by placing bets on cup pong and taking embarrassing blackmail pictures of your friends, but mainly to write. You work best under pressure and in chaotic areas, and this basement is lively enough to think but not too chaotic that you can’t hear your own thoughts. WIth everyone drunk or distracted, it’s just you and your notes app against the world. 

You scan your surroundings. Would it be cliche to make your characters go to a party? You could always play it up a bit. Pretend it’s a huge crazy one where everyones blackout drunk and one of the characters saves the other from a pushy drunk dude, but that doesn’t seem like a very useful plotpoint in a retelling of the story of Cupid and Psyche. 

The blinking bar on the screen of your empty note stares at you. This story is really challenging you. Maybe you can find another party to think at. 

A loud thud and squeak of the couch draws your attention quickly. That and the newly added weight on your lap. You look down at the limbs. Grey sweatpants and white socks.

“Can I help you?” You look over to the boy who has now claimed your couch and decided to use you as an extra cushion. His face is buried into the pillow on the opposite side, so you can’t make out his face. He groans. Definitely drunk.

You nudge his calves. “Hey.” No movement. You hope he hasn’t passed out. Moving some guy off of your lap and into a safe spot isn’t your idea of a good night. “This couch is claimed already.” You poke harder.

To your surprise, he pokes his head up. 

“You can’t claim a couch!” He recoils in offense, flipping his body over with his back against the cushions.

“Well I did.” You scoff. “First come first serve.” He makes a face. It’s hard to take this guy seriously when he’s so wasted. You bet he'll regret it in the morning.

“I have just as much of a right to this couch as you do.” he crosses his arms (and legs, just to piss you off). You try to shove them off again.

“It already looks bad enough without some drunk guy vomiting all over it.”

He lets out an overly dramatic offended gasp, sitting up and clutching his heart.

“I am not drunk.” 

You nod, still trying to move his ankles. He plants them down hard and you give up, dropping your arms on top of them. “Right.”

He folds in, leaning closer. “I’m really not. Smell me.” 

You recoil. “I’m not gonna do that.” 

“No I promise! Look! Z, Y, X, uhm….W.” He looks at the roof. You crack a grin. “No I am! That's hard to do even sober, c'mon."

Nodding, you pat his calf lightly. “I believe you.” you assure. He lights up, shoulders relaxing. “But you’re still not allowed on the couch.” 

His face scrunches up as he drops back down to the other side, resting his head down on the pillow again. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Fine.” You shrug, taking out your phone and opening the notes app again. Trying to act as unbothered as you can, you slowly start typing.

Don’t write party scene. Not as cool in books as it is irl. Party people are kind of weird.

“You’re not even being productive on the couch. You could do that on the ground too. Or at a desk or something.” 

You up from the note. The couch guy is sitting with his hands folded over his chest like a corpse, just watching you. You click the phone off and place it on your lap between his ankles. “I am being productive. You’re the one just sitting there.”

He nods. “Exactly. Couch activity. You’re just scrolling away. It’s sad.”

“I’m writing, actually.” The correction feels somewhat sweeter knowing he’s not drunk. You are curious about him though. If he’s not intoxicated, why does he act so….extroverted?

He perks up at your words. “Like a story?” you shrug.

“Kind of. Just the bones of it. Outlines and stuff.” He smiles, nodding.

“I write too. Songs and stuff. We write bones too.”

You stare at him. “You’re sure you’re not drunk?” He flashes you the back of his hand. A big DD is written on the skin. He’s the elected designated driver?

“We write it so we don’t forget.”

“You can’t remember you’re the DD?” Your eyebrows raise. “How short of an attention span do you have?” His face drops, looking down at the marking. 

“Just protocol….” You hum, nodding and biting down the smile growing on your lips.

“What’s the story about?” He sits up and folds his legs under him (finally), but you don’t usher him away.

“It’s a romance. “

You brace for the holier-than-thou scoff that you usually receive after revealing that tidbit of information, but it never comes. His is widen slightly and he nods. “My friend writes romance.”

You mirror his position, folding your legs under you and scooting closer. “What kind?”

He purses his lips for a second, thinking. “I’m not really sure. I’ve only read the first chapter. It’s good though! I can’t write stories but I can make a mean song.” He nods to himself assuringly. You tilt your head, interested.

“You write songs?”

“Yeah. Bet you’ve never met a real lyricist, have you?”

A pang of nostalgia hits your chest. He sounds just like your online writing buddy/employer. Lyricists really are so full of themselves.

“Oh I have. Too many, actually.” You sigh, shaking your head in amusement. He scoffs offendedly. He seems to do that a lot.

“I promise I’m good. Just listen!” He pulls out his phone and a pair of wired earbuds that he’s magically acquired in his pocket. Him having them on the ready makes you wonder if he does this to everyone. His fingers tap quickly, as if you’ll run off at any second. “Let me find it..”

You finally get the chance to examine him up close. He’s actually pretty cute (though most musically inclined people are. The thought makes you shiver. You’d know that all too well.)

He’s got a black sweater on, resting one hand on his knee as he scrolls. He seems slightly familiar. Maybe he’s a common attendee of these parties. The bubbly and dramatic demeanor is hard to miss, but in a way it’s…charming. There’s been worse people. 

You’d like to think he’s only like this to you, even though you’ve just met. As a writer, it’s kind of important to stay in your own bubble of delusion. 

“Okay!” he reaches over, dropping the earbud in the palm of your open hand. You have to get closer to him when you put it in, matching the one in his ear. He takes your nod as the approval to press play. 

The melody is catchier than you’d expected. Assuming it’s his voice, the tone doesn’t really match the face. His rapping isn’t aggressive, but instills an unspoken confidence that you hadn’t expected. He was right. He’s really good. 

You nod along, looking at the lyrics as they pass by on the screen. Taking a small leap of faith, you tap it to see the artist's name. He doesn’t stop you. In fact, he beats you to it right as the song ends.

“J.one. That’s my stagename.”

You scroll through the lyrics again. “It’s actually really good. I stand corrected.” 

It’s definitely not the first time he’s received musical praise, but his eyes still glimmer and the validation and a self satisfied smile grows on his face. He’s getting more charming by the minute, and you can’t say you don’t like it. You’ve never been that good at stuff like this though, so it comes out before you can catch it.

“Do you pick up all the girls like this?” You don’t have to look at him to feel the way his form freezes. Instant regret floods your body, but you let him stammer away anyways.

“I wasn’t…thats not what I was like...uh, trying to do..” You tilt your head slightly, so as to not let the earbud fall out. You’re hoping if you don’t say anything, he’ll keep going, and he does. “I mean unless that's what you were thinking? Or wanted, I mean?”

You bite your cheek, trying to compress the laugh that so desperately wants to creep out. He sees the smile on your face and takes it as a sign. 

“Um. Yeah.” 

Taking the phone from his hands, you skip to the next song, not playing it yet, “Play another?”

He straightens up, a small burst of confidence flowing into him. “Would that woo you into giving me your number?” You think for a second, exaggeratedly tapping your chin.

“Hmm. Maybe. If it’s good enough.” 

He grins and chooses a different song from the discography, pulling it up and playing it. Each song gets better than the next, and you sit there for almost an hour just discussing his music and each other.

You learn that his name is Jisung (which makes you laugh. There’s an embarrassingly large amount of Jisungs on campus, and you make sure to tell him that. His eyeroll tells you he’s already aware). He’s a music composition major (shocker). You learn that he knows Hyunjin loosely. You’ll have to inquire about him with your friend one day.

Between songs, your phone buzzes with a message from Felix.

Where r u im so tireeddddd

You chuckle under your breath slightly. Jisung looks over your shoulder, reading the messages along with you. You type back.

Get I.N under control and text me then 

I'll meet you guys in the living room in 15

“Do you have to leave?” His words vibrate your shoulder, chin resting heavily against your nape. Your hand pulls back to lightly smack his head. He sticks his tongue out at you.

“You’re not the only designated driver tonight.”

His head drops and he groans. “I’m gonna be so bored.” 

You hold the back of his head. “Maybe you can get some sleep on this super comfy couch then?” Another groan. He pulls away and comes up to your side instead.

“Well?”

“Well what?” you ask, fully knowing what he’s implying. He brings his hand together in a dramatic plea, eyes wide.

“Were my songs good enough? Can I get your number?”

You grab your phone from the stained side table and type in the password, readying to pull up the contacts. 

“Jisung getting the digits! I see you tiger!” A drunken voice calls from in front of you both. You perk up in unison.

The second he sees you look up, the smile on his face fades immediately, seemingly sobering up immediately. He stands in the middle of the room, one hand fallen down at his side, the other lightly gripping a half empty bottle of beer. The gritty, disgusting type of beer that only your ex used to drink.

Because it was your ex. Jisung's friend was Changbin, and he’d just witnessed his friend trying to get your number.

You freeze up immediately, staring down the guy you hadn’t seen in person in a year and a half. He keeps a neutral expression. Jisung notices the sudden tension and tries to laugh it off.

“Sorry… my friends are a little…” 

The lack of response from you both quiets him. He curls in on himself slightly, eyes darting between the two of you, still locked in your staredown.

“Hi (Name).” Changbin is the first one to break the silence. You click the phone off and nod at him. 

“Changbin. Long time no see.” The confused look on Jisung's face grows by the second. Changbin nods stiffly, attention turning to Jisung. 

“The guys are ready when you are.” He looks up to the roof, biting his cheek. “We’ll be upstairs. I’ll let you, uh, finish up.” he says halfheartedly before disappearing back up the stairs.

You can’t say you're surprised. Everyone on campus knows everyone somehow. Especially music majors. Unfortunately, Changbin wasn’t really the first thing on your mind when you met Jisung a few hours ago.

You stand and tuck the phone in your pocket, gathering your jacket and keys. “I should go too. Friends are waiting.” 

Jisung stares up at you in awe from the couch, shell shocked by the 180 the mood has taken. His jaw is slightly ajar, but he gathers himself quickly. “Okay…um, do you want me to walk you out?” 

“I’ll be fine. Thanks though.” He nods, slowly, looking down at his lap.

“Ok. See you later then..?”

You avoid eye contact, turning to the door. “Maybe.”

You don’t see him bite his lip, or ignore the messages from Chan pinging his phone, or the way he clutches the abandoned wire earbud in his palm. 

Changbin is waiting near the top of the stairs, evidently expecting to see Jisung instead of you. Your grip tightens on the sweater as you offer a small close lipped smile.

Felix waves you over from the opposite corner. Hyunjin is nursing a sleepy Jeongin on his shoulder against the wall, attempting to wake the boy from his sleep to get a sip of water. It’s not working.

You swallow hard and head over, flashing the boys your keys.

You have a feeling you won’t be seeing Han Jisung again.

a/n: but how will this effect hanquokkas legacy???

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST

track three, ‘crunk party’

(next) (masterlist)

a/n: the reason this chapter is so short is because the next will be written and a bit longer! I’ve had to take a small break because I’ve been busy with theatre (did not play out like ‘waiting in the wings’ did. Very sad) BUT IVE OUTLINED THIS WHOLE SERIES AND IM SOO READY

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST

a/n: he’s so lame I hate him

track two; ‘two minds are greater than one’

(next) (masterlist)

a/n: and now we start😋

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST

track one; (‘fanfiction….dot com..’)

(next) (masterlist)

a/n: I have such a cutesy idea written up for this one guys just wait…

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST!

Jisung’s bandmates (and Minho)

(name)s roommates

(a han jisung smau)

Down on your luck and in need of a beta reader, you send your first draft to the wrong number. Imagine your surprise when they respond with some lyrics of their own.

or

Han Jisung definitely doesn’t fall in love with people he’s never met. Especially when he finds out they’re his best friend slash bandmate Changbins ex.

definitely not.

(Name)’s roommates

Jisung’s bandmates

TRACKLIST

track one: ‘fanfiction…dot com…’

track two: ‘two minds are greater than one’

track three: ‘crunk party’

track four: ‘designated drivers’

track five:

track six:

track seven:

(more tracks tbd!)

a/n: I love Han Jisung and I need him to be the last thing I see when I die guys.

SO EXCITED FOR THIS!!!