New Rules | Don't let him in.
Table of Contents: Teaser (Prologue); Don't pick up the phone; Don't let him in
Pairing: f*ck boi!Jisung x f!Reader; Jisung x Minho
Genre: choose your own adventure; drabble/vignette series; angst and smut; f*ck buddies; college/post grad
Summary: Jisung has had you wrapped around his finger for the last half-decade. You know good and well that it's time to move on…but you can never seem to follow your own rules long enough to shake him.
*Based on the lyrics of "New Rules" by Dua Lipa
Content warnings: 18+ (minors, dni) Explicit smut; toxic relationship; characters commit sexual acts after having partaken in controlled substances (themes continued from previous chapter); Minho touches reader intimately without asking for consent (not against her will, but still, no check-in); masturbation; flashbacks/backstory; lust and resentment; possessive Minho; cum on a character from a previous sexual encounter; super brief spanking; cursing; name calling: slut - sexual, derogatory(?); subby Jisung; kissing/making out; oral sex (f. receiving); face-sitting; female orgasm; lots of conflicting and negative feelings; drunkenness and vomiting; are we in some unhealthy territory here, folks.
Word Count: ~1700
Author's Note: Well, things are getting darker and messier. 🖤 I want to ask that any readers please review the content warnings before partaking! Thank you for everyone who's voted so far!! I absolutely love that you all chose to involve Minho in this, because the dynamic brewing here is something else. Remember to vote in the pole at the bottom of the fic if you'd like to help decide where these characters go from here! 😊
As always, if no one has told you today, please know that you're loved, and worthy of love! 🧜♀️💜
You'll have to kick him out again.
Three dragging raps against the door of your hotel room pull your head from the pillow and the rest of your body follows lethargically, weighed down by champagne and dejection. You bumble into a pair of sweat pants and sag against the door momentarily before pushing up on your tiptoes to press an eye to the peephole.
Mother fucking asshole.
“What do you want, Jisung?” you bark venomously, not reaching for the lock.
His brow furrows and he steps back, stumbling. Clearly, he’s made equal use of the open bar.
“Howdya know it was me?” he slurs, eyes wide in slow-witted confusion.
“I can see you through the peephole, moron,” you sneer.
His lips tug down into a pout, the kind that makes him look like a sad, injured puppy. You know them all, the manipulatively emotive masks of expression. It’s been a while though, and you can’t be sure this particularly somber scowl isn’t genuine. No, you know. It doesn’t matter if the offense he’s taken is real, the things he’ll say once he crosses the threshold won’t be. And you can’t fucking do it again. Not tonight.