saw this pic of hanji so now im abt to freak the fuck out.
“that’s right. fuck yourself onto me, slut.”
“nothing but a filthy baby.”
“so pretty when you fall apart for me.”
all the words jisung says to you as you’re riding him, reverse cowgirl, of course.
his favorite position, no doubt. the way he can see the view of your ass bouncing on his dick. how he has eyes on your every curve from behind. a single reach of his hand on your clit, rubbing it in a fast but sensual speed. how he can slap your ass whenever he wants just because it’s right there in front of his eyes. it’s his dream.
call him filthy, but he loves the sticky feelings of your bodies pressed together. the sweat of you both combining when you’ve finally became the epitome of fatigue, your back against him because you can’t hold yourself up anymore.
“ji… jisung… ngh…”
the way he feels your cunt squeeze around him, it’s like he’s about to explode right there.
“yeah baby, fuck… cum on this cock. let me see. let me see you bounce on me again once you finish… please please please baby…”
if you can’t find yourself the strength to do it, he’ll just do it for you. grabbing at your waist to lift you up, right at the tip, to smash you down full force again. the only sound coming out of your mouth being a moan so lewd it’s almost like a cry for help. the way your mixtures of cum leak out right after… it’s all filthy. just how he likes it.
rivalries between fraternity and sorority leaders always get confronted one way or another… who knew hate sex was served with a side of feelings?
pairing: fraternity leader han jisung x sorority leader reader
tags: enemies to lovers. smut and fluff. non idol/college au. requested! @sunwie hope u enjoy
wc: 1.9k
an: u will have to forgive me if the american college terms are inaccurate, i am australian so this is uncharted territory.. if there’s anything off you dont see them…
you always knew the fraternity boys were trouble. their parties spread across campus like wildfire, laughter spilling into moonlit lawns, empty beer cans rolling underfoot, and that signature bass-thumping playlist echoing from every open window.
at the center of it all stood han jisung.
jisung had this lethal kind of charisma— a cocky grin that set teeth on edge, dark eyes always flickering with some unspoken dare. he wore his frat letters like a crown, strutting across campus with an easy swagger that made every girl glance twice and every rival clench their jaw.
your sorority, ran on a different pulse. elegant, pristine, kind, woven together by charity events and spotless reputations. you took pride in keeping your girls above the mess, practically untouchable. and yet, your house’s feud with jisung’s was an eternal campus legend: prank wars that escalated to petty vandalism, stolen mascots, and once, an entire fountain filled with soap.
he called you uptight behind your back— you pretended it didn’t thrill you to hear.
everything came to a head at the annual charity mixer, held in a communal recreation centre on campus. a fragile truce, the air thick with forced civility. you arrived draped in a sinfully short white satin dress, your sisters flanking you like loyal sentries. heads turned as you stepped through the doors—you had that effect, and you knew it. you revelled in it.
and there he was. han jisung, perched on a folding table, beer in hand, wearing that stupid devil-may-care smirk that involuntarily caused your eye to twitch. his gaze cut through the crowd and locked onto yours like a hook.
“look who decided to grace us with her presence,” he called out, voice low and teasing, eyes glinting under the harsh gym lights.
you rolled your eyes, fighting the heat crawling up your neck. “try not to spill cheap beer on my dress tonight, frat boy.”
his grin widened, sharp and knowing. “no promises, princess.”
all night, you felt it—the push and pull of his attention, each sly glance across the room, each smirk when your eyes met. the tension buzzed beneath your skin, coiling tighter each time he laughed too loud or leaned too close to another girl.
by midnight, you found yourself on the patio, cool night air brushing your heated cheeks. and then han was there, sliding in beside you, his cologne sweet and sharp, the warmth of him licking at your edges.
“tired of playing queen bee?” he murmured, close enough that your shoulders brushed.
“tired of pretending you’re not desperate for my attention?” you snapped back.
he laughed, rich and low, and something in your chest cracked open. his hand ghosted along your waist, fingers curling into the silk of your dress.
“you know,” he drawled, voice softening as he leaned in, “i think you like our games just as much as i do.”
you opened your mouth to retort, but his lips were already on yours— fierce and hungry, no pretense left between you. it felt like setting a match to gasoline, months of tension erupting in an instant.
he pushed you backward until your spine hit the cold brick wall. you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer, tasting beer and mint on his tongue. his fingers fumbled up your thigh, hitching your dress higher, and you cursed into his mouth when he squeezed.
“you want me to stop?” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours.
“don’t you dare,” you hissed, eyes wild.
he groaned, low and guttural, before yanking your panties to the side. the first touch of his fingers had you arching, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. he worked you open with deliberate, teasing strokes—middle and ring finger sliding in and out, thumb circling your clit. a duet of motions abusing your pussy until your head fell back against the brick and you gasped his name like a secret plea.
“look at you,” he panted, kissing down your jaw. “so fucking pretty when you beg. just admit you’re weak for me already.”
electing to not dignify him with a verbal response, you instead answered by pulling his belt open with shaking hands, struggling with his zipper due to your nail extensions until he cursed beneath his breath and helped you. the moment he pressed against you, thick and hot, you almost sobbed with relief.
“ready?” he asked, voice wrecked.
you could only nod, and then he pushed in, inch by torturous inch, filling you so deeply you thought you might shatter. your leg wrapped around his waist, anchoring him as he started to move—slow at first, savouring the way you clenched around him, then faster, harder, chasing that sharp edge neither of you could resist.
your cries tangled with his groans, echoing into the empty night. every thrust blurred the lines between hate and hunger, your rivalry burning away in the heat of his mouth on your neck, his fingers bruising your hips.
when you finally came, it tore through you like a tidal wave, leaving you shaking and clinging to him. he followed with a hoarse moan, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.
afterward, you stayed tangled up against the wall, breaths mingling, the world beyond that small corner feeling impossibly far away.
“this changes nothing,” you whispered, even as your fingers carded through his hair.
he looked up at you with a crooked smile. “sure, princess. whatever you say.”
but one night turned into another. then another.
sometimes it was in the frat house’s basement after a party—music still pulsing faintly above, his hands already greedy on your hips as he slammed the door shut, dragging you into the shadows. other times, it was in your sorority suite when the girls were asleep, muffling your moans into his shoulder as he fucked you nice and deep on your perfectly made bed.
each encounter began with snide remarks, sharp words that curled into heat. his smirk always ignited something reckless in your veins; the way he’d say “you look so good when you’re pretending to hate me” right before he swallowed your gasp in a kiss. your fingers would tangle in his hair, yanking him closer until your teeth clicked against his.
clothes fell away in a frantic mess—dresses bunched around your waist, his shirt tossed across the room, jeans shoved down just enough. his mouth found every weak spot: your throat, your collarbone, the soft curve of your breast, each kiss turning your body into a live wire.
sometimes he took you against the wall, your legs locked around his waist as he pounded into you hard enough to hurt your thigh muscles. other times, he laid you out carefully, tongue tracing lazy circles over your clit until you were sobbing, fingers clawing at the sheets. he loved to tease, to hold you on the brink until you were trembling, breathless, begging him to finish you.
and each time, no matter how rough or how slow, your hands would find his face at the end— cradling his jaw, your thumb brushing across his flushed cheek. his hand would find your stomach, fingertips gently rubbing against warm smooth skin. in those small moments, something unspoken trembled between you, fragile and frightening.
somewhere between the heated hookups and the breathless fights, he started staying longer afterward. he would collapse beside you, sweat-slicked skin sticking together, his arm slung over your waist as if it belonged there. you started tracing the small scars scattered along his shoulders, the faded bruises from roughhousing with his frat brothers, the dimple on his lower back.
in the pale dawn light, he pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheek, the bridge of your nose—as though you were something sacred, not just an enemy to ruin.
he began buying your favourite drink before morning meetings, sliding it onto your desk without a word. you started keeping an extra hoodie of his in your closet, pulling it on when you missed the warmth of his arms. he teased you for it, but you noticed how his eyes softened each time he saw you wearing it.
his touch softened too. the way his fingers traced your sides after, the slow kisses on your stomach, the long, quiet moments where he simply held you. both your walls crumbled without either of you even realising.
by the time midterms rolled around, you had stopped pretending. stopped pretending that your heart did not skip when he texted “come over” at two a.m., or when he kissed your temple before slipping out of your bed. you no longer denied the way his name left your lips in reverent whimpers when he moved inside you— more so now slow, intimate, deliberate, like he wanted to memorise every shiver, every sigh. instead of before— rough and hastily, the sex being only enough to get the job done.
one night, after a particularly heated argument during a joint event, you stormed into his room at the frat house. your words were sharp as knives— accusing him of sabotaging your presentation, yelling about reputation, dignity, and control.
he listened silently, leaning against his door, eyes heavy on you. and then he was crossing the room, grabbing your wrist, spinning you against the wall, flushing his chest to your back.
“you want control?” he growled, voice hoarse. “or do you just want me to take it from you?”
your lips crashed together, teeth scraping, breaths mingling in short, ragged gasps. he took your shirt off, his hands greedy, exploring every inch of you as though he could not bear a single barrier between your skin and his. he fucked you hard and fast, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, your moans echoing off the walls.
somewhere in the haze, your fingers curled into his arm and you pulled him closer. “ji— please—” you choked out, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.
he groaned, thrusts stuttering as his own edge neared. “fuck— say it—”
“need you,” you sobbed. “need you so much.”
your confessions spilled out in half-broken syllables, tangled with curses and his name. when you finally came, it ripped through you like lightning, your body trembling so violently he had to hold you up. he followed with a desperate cry, burying his face against your nape, hips jerking as he spilled inside you.
after, the silence felt charged, heavy. he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in.
“say it again,” he whispered.
you swallowed hard, fingers carding through his damp hair. “i need you,” you repeated, softer now, eyes wide and unguarded.
his lips parted as though he wanted to say something else, but instead he kissed you— slow, searching, almost gentle.
that night, he did not leave. you fell asleep tangled in his arms, your leg thrown over his hip, his fingers tracing lazy circles into your back until you drifted off.
and in the days after, something shifted. he held your hand openly at the next event. he kissed your forehead before meetings, regardless of who was watching. you caught yourself smiling at his texts, waiting for him outside his classes just to see that stupid grin spread across his face.
it started as war. it became an addiction. and then, slowly—so painfully slowly—it transformed into love.
real, terrifying, heart-shaking love.
and maybe, just maybe, this time neither of you wanted to deny it anymore.
tysm for ur kind request + sorry it took like five ever for me to get to it🥀 hopefully i’ve made it up to you
i love your writing !! 🥹 for the jealousy prompts, han and “i don’t blame them of course, but you’re mine”?
★ jisung x makeup artist!reader ┆ word count: 1.1k ┆ part of my closed jealousy drabble game.
ⓘ established/secret relationship, fluff.
There's a certain level of tenacity needed to survive dating an idol.
You've known this since day one, since the unassuming Tuesday afternoon where Jisung had shyly asked you if you wanted to make it official. In the industry, 'official' and 'public' were two completely different promises.
You're not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. You love Jisung. He loves you. That should be enough, right?
At least that's what you try to remind yourself as you steel yourself for another award show. It's the Asia Artist Awards this time, one of the bigger ones that Jisung has always admitted to having mixed feelings about.
For a celebrity, your boyfriend sure did have an aversion to crowds.
He's gotten good at masking it, at least. You watch from the wings as he glides down the red carpet with the rest of the band. Not a thing is out of place. His hair is flawless; his suit is pressed. Most importantly, his makeup is immaculate, although that's to be expected when the one doing your makeup is someone who knows your features well.
Jisung does everything that he has to. He puts on a photo-ready smile. He waves to fans, makes hearts with his hands for the cameras. When the boys step aside for interviews, he does that, too— slides in a wisecrack, nods in all the right places.
It's mesmerizing, seeing him put on a show, and it's a show that everybody eats right up.
"He's popular today," one of your fellow makeup artists notes with amusement.
You follow her gaze. She's right. The screams for Jisung's name are a little louder. The cameras flash brighter when he moves. Even the interviewer seems particularly enamored, laughing loudly at Jisung's quips and resting a casual hand on his shoulder.
The flash of annoyance that you feel is assuaged when Jisung takes an infinitesimal step away, feigning like he's leaning into Minho instead.
"He is," you finally respond in an even tone, even though the word doesn't quite encapsulate it.
Your boyfriend is more than popular. He's a goddamn star. Everybody can see it, and so everyone wants a piece of him.
Once the boys' five minutes of fame are over, they slink off to a secluded area for retouches. The atmosphere and the lights always call for quick touch ups. A little bit of blush there. A brush of powder here.
Immediately, your team descends on them. Each boy has an assigned artist. When you make your way to Jisung, the shift is palpable.
Blink and you'll miss it. Jisung goes from his idol persona to somebody tired, somebody drained from all the interaction, to someone who is looking at the love of his life. His eyes light up. His shoulders ease. The corners of his lips tug upward in a fond, giddy grin, and you can't help the way you smile as well.
"Hey, you," he breathes, years worth of affection packed in a simple greeting.
"Hi," you say back. "Your lip gloss is smudged."
He chuckles, as though he's amused you're going straight to business. There's not much room for you to be the couple that you want to be. Not when you're in a public place, when he's still got an entire show to sit through and a stage to perform.
The two of you have managed to strike a balance, find your happy middle. Jisung toed the line more often than not, but he knew better than to push the envelope when it was your careers on the line.
He stays still as you go to fix his gloss. He physically can't help but tease, though, his mouth moving against the pads of your fingers.
"You would know a thing or two about smudging my gloss," he mumbles, his voice low enough for just the two of you to hear.
You shoot him a glare. He throws you an exaggerated wink.
This is the Jisung that you knew, the Jisung behind the scenes. Cheerful despite his exhaustion. Awkward in his flirtation but never any less sincere.
You rummage through your kit for concealer. It's not unusual for the artists to be well-acquainted with the boys, and so small talk was typically accepted. Your voice is perfectly casual and conversational as you comment, "You're getting good reception today."
He doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah, well, maybe it's 'cause I have a good makeup artist."
Your lips twitch like you're holding back a smile. Jisung looks like he already won an award for the night at the mere sight of it.
"Just 'good'?" you tease, working on reapplying concealer under his eyes.
"Mmm," he hums. "Meant to say 'the best'."
Even though you give him an eye roll in response, the two of you know that you revel in his affirmation. It's why he's so generous in doling it out.
Jisung sounds like he's treading gently as he question, "You okay, though?"
You return his question with a distracted one of your own. "Why wouldn't I be?" you ask, still focused on smoothing out some of the blemishes around his nose.
There's a moment where Jisung contemplates whether he should go on. You can tell by the way his teeth briefly sink into his lower lip, the way his eyebrows furrow for a moment. His next words are calculated, careful.
"The 'good reception' thing," he says slowly. "Is that about all the— uh, fans?"
The question is vague, but you've known Jisung for long enough to know what he's implying. A part of you melts at how ready your boyfriend is to give you assurance, even if both of you are on the clock.
"I don't blame them, of course." Your own words are matter-of-fact as you step back to survey your handiwork. Voice still pitched for just the two of you, you go on, "But you're mine."
Jisung looks like you've struck him between the eyes. It draws a laugh out of you. You're never outwardly possessive, not the type to kick up a fuss over his thousands of adoring fans or fellow idols, and so it's a bit of a rare treat.
"I'm—" he starts so sputter. "You're—"
"Jisung-ah!"
Chan's distant call barely snaps Jisung out of his flustered state. You have to give your boyfriend a light shove, just to encourage him to get moving.
"Later," you say. A promise.
He doesn't respond immediately. It seems like his brain has stopped working, and when it boots up, he manages a panicked squeak of, "Later!"
Jisung stumbles off, nearly tripping on his own laces. You put your hand to your mouth to hold back your giggles.
He will have to go face everyone else with his cool and collected persona. He will have to go be HAN of Stray Kids, will have to rap and joke and perform.
But there is also a Jisung that you love, a Jisung that's yours, and it's enough. It's more than enough.
Word Count: 36
Summary: but it was the person sitting across from him on the couch who truly unsettled him. You.
Pairing: Han X Reader
Taglist: @sh0dor1
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The rain outside matched the storm inside Han’s chest, drumming against the windows of his small apartment. The dim light from the lamp cast long shadows across the walls, but it was the person sitting across from him on the couch who truly unsettled him.
You.
You had always been able to see right through him, past the jokes and easy smiles, past the hoodies he tugged over his hands when the world felt too sharp. It unnerved him how effortlessly you peeled away the layers he had spent years crafting.
Tonight was no different.
“You’re always hiding,” you murmured, voice soft but firm. “Behind your words. Your music. Even your clothes.”
Han swallowed hard, fingers gripping the sleeves of his hoodie. “I’m not hiding,” he countered, but the words felt weak, even to himself.
You tilted your head, gaze unwavering. “Then take it off.”
His heart stuttered. “W-what?”
“The hoodie.” You nodded toward the fabric bunched in his grip. “And everything else you use to keep me out.”
Han hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. The weight of your request wasn’t lost on him. It wasn’t about the hoodie. It wasn’t even about the layers of fabric. It was about the walls—the ones he had built so high he sometimes feared even he couldn’t climb them.
His fingers twitched. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, unspoken fears.
“Why?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Because I want to know you,” you said simply. “The real you. Not just the pieces you let the world see.”
The storm outside raged on, but in that moment, the real battle was inside him. Slowly, tentatively, he reached for the hem of his hoodie, heart pounding as he pulled it over his head. It felt like shedding armor, like stepping into a space where he had no defenses left.
You didn’t say anything. You just looked at him—really looked. And for the first time in a long time, Han let himself be seen.
Han has never written a song about his love for you, and he probably never will.
He already wrote songs about how magnificent you are, like how golden hour was literally made for you and how he'd die and kill for your smile. He wrote songs about how he adores your touch and how beautiful your eyes look when you gaze at him. Yeah, he wrote about you. But never about how you make him feel.
Because how is he supposed to do that? How can he just say words and expect it to be of any worth? He truly believes no word, no matter the language, could ever compare to what he feels. He wouldn't even call it love, that just doesn't seem enough. It's something even more grandiose.
Han refuses to write a song about his love for you, simply because nothing he would possibly write could do it justice. Whatever he feels for you is way bigger than just words.
Masterlist | fundraiser for palestine | you'll probably like: you are a songwriter
warnings: angst with a good ending. reader is gender neutral. reader has an avoidant attachment style and is really stressed and miserable about it. mention of previous failed relationships. Brief description of depressive episode. Mentions of not eatin, talking or getting out of bed.
A/N- This was inspired by this lovely ask. Sorry it took me literal ages to write this. I really hope you'll like this. Reblogs and comments as always are highly aprpeciated^^
word count: 2.1 k
My masterlist
if you like my work you can buy me coffee❤️
You’ve done it, you finally managed and did it. You fucked everything up.
Again.
But let’s be real, it was a matter of time, right? Before you would slip up and mess everything up. It was just a matter of time before Han would realize that he could do way better than you. It was a matter of time before he would realize you were not worth all the hassle and headache and that he would be better alone than with a person such as yourself.
You knew that.
You knew from the start that things wouldn’t last between you two. You knew right from the damn start that it wasn’t even worth to have any types of expectations because things would fall apart eventually. You knew from the start that you weren’t relationship type of person.
So why?
Why did it hurt so much to know that you lost him? To know that he hated you. To know that you brought him so much pain.
Why were you so stupid? Why did you even decide it was worth to try? Why were you lying to yourself? People don’t change. Why would you? How long did you actually think you would be able to suppress who you really were? - A selfish person who would never be able to fully love someone and give them the love they deserved. You were destined to be alone. Who were you fooling? Or were you that desperate to prove to yourself that you could be loved?
Selfish people like you didn’t deserve people like him.
God you were so pathetic sitting here all alone, all Theatrically dramatic, wanting attention like a sad kid. Still clinging to the hope that Han would still reach out for you.
All these years and you still couldn’t face the truth.
All these years of the same shit over and over again. - You would start dating someone thinking that maybe if they were the one you wouldn’t push them away the second things got real. But every god damn time it ended the same way. You would push them away one way or the other, unable to help yourself, and they would leave without looking back. No one fought for you. Not even once.
Truth be told at some point you did give up.
But there was Han. He appeared in your life and brought joy and laughter with himself. You did try to stay away. You didn’t want to taint him with your ways. You didn’t want for him to lose his spark. You really did try to shield him for you, to warn him that you were broken and there was no fixing you. But he persisted. He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge after all. And one of the following days you found yourself saying yes when he asked you to go out with him yet another time.
Dating him was the greatest experience of your life. Every day with him was like an exciting adventure. He was always so full of surpises. You never knew what to expect with him. As the days passed you actually found yourself yearning for him, waiting for every your meetind, waiting for every little plan you made, even simple ones like ice cream dates of snack runs in the sotre at 3 am when both of you couldn’t sleep. He became an inseparable part of your life in such a small period of time.
But you were you.
And you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t ruin everything good that was happening in your life.
You broke up with him.
Why?
Maybe because you actually realized that things between you were becoming more than real. Maybe because you realized that he was the first actual person you could imagine a future with. Maybe because you realized that you actually loved him. And maybe because he fucking said that he loved you.
Love – something that you yearned for all your life yet something that terrified you the most.
Because loving someone meant giving them the weapon that would hurt you the most with. Loving someone meant being vulnerable and open only for it to be used against you.
Maybe this was why you were always the first one to leave once things were getting to look serious. Maybe it was something like a defense mechanism. You would hurt them way before they would be able to hurt you. You would leave before they would be able to realize that they had the power to hurt you.
So why did it hurt so damn much? You left before you fucked each other over right? Why did your soul feel like it was tearing in half? Why did you want for Han to reach over for you and still take you back, like a selfish asshole? You were the one to end this. How could you be so hypocritical? What the fuck was up with you? Who would be able to love somone as flawed, someone as broken as you?
Sighing you turned over in your bed which somewhat felt way more stiff and colder than it actually was. You didn’t even have faintest idea what time it was. Only it was dark. You had never felt so disconnected from the reality. Honestly it was so weird, deep inside you felt soul crushing sorrow yet on the outside you were so dull, emotionless and numb to the outside world.
You have never felt so empty.
You couldn’t even remember when was the last time you ate or drank something. You couldn’t even remember when was the last time you stood up from the bed.
What was even the point?
You looked at your phone lit up from yet another call from him. He gave you some space at first but he must have been fed up from waiting. He had been calling for a while now.
It was for the better. He would realize that sooner or later. He would thank you for it later.
The ringing didn’t stop and soon enough it was followed by banging on the door.
You heard him call your name so raw, so desperately and you could physically feel something inside you die.
“I know you can hear me. Please open the door. We need to talk.” He sounded so tired. “I promise I’m not here to make things harder but please hear me out and let me say what I have to say.”
“come in.” you manage to croak out, your voice weak and strained after not even making a sound for few days.
You were walking towards the door before you could even realize what was happening.
Here he stood with his oversized hoodie on, his hands shoved into his pockets...He looked tired and confused but what surprised you the most was that he doesn’t look angry. No not at all.
Han quietly walked into your house. You now noticed the small bag he had with him. He placed it on your coffee table. “I’ve brought you some snacks. I know that they’re your favorite.” He sounded almost defeated.
This was ridiculous did he expect you to munch on the snacks as he talked to you? You felt so bad you hadn’t been able to eat for days! You didn’t even know how you were standing on your two feet right now.
Sighing and sat on the opposite side of him. The distance had never felt this big between you. You also notice that he notices it too. You notice how hurt he looks for a second. And you know you’re the cause of that! You put that distance there and it kills you.
The anticipation is killing you. You can feel yourself shaking but you cannot tell if it’s your nerves or how cold the apartment is. You're only in your underwear and oversized t-shirt after all. You didn’t even have the energy to change.
This was wrong. You shouldn’t have opened the damn door. What were you thinking? You would only hurt him more and that’s the last thing you wanted to do. Looking at him was slowly killing you. Your bright sunshine was looking so sad and sorrowfull all because of you!
Han looked into your eyes for a second. “I meant it, you know. When I said I love you.” Your chest constricted so hard it was impossible to breathe. Han averted your gaze. “You didn’t say anything... You just… left.”
And maybe this was the part where you should have broken down and apologised. The part where you would say how sorry you were and you actually loved him back, but you were absolutely terrified. The part where you would admit the truth.
Only if that were the case.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m not the person you should love. You knew that!” Your voice sounded so cold so detached it actually terrified you. Why were you being so cold to him? After he went his way and came to you?! After he sought you out? Isn't this what you wanted? What was wrong with you?
A silence.
Finally gathering courage, you looked at him. He didn’t look taken aback or sad or angry. Actually, you had never seen him look so calm. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know it wasn’t a mistake.”
Another clench.
No, no, no, this was bad. This was really bad. You couldn’t let him get to you! This was wrong. You knew it was wrong!
As if sensing your resolve start to break Han decided to push back more. He stood up from the couch and gently started to approach you. Your mind screamed for you to go, to run to not get him get close to you but your body had another idea. For once in your life, you stayed in once place. You felt torn. You didn’t know what to do anymore.
Han kneeled in front of you.
“You don’t have to promise me anything. Not forever, not even tomorrow. Just… don’t run away this time.”
Your breath hitched. This was bad. You could already feel yourself start to break.
“You don’t even have to say anything. Just hold my hand and I’ll know the answer.” Han held in his hand for you. “I know you’re scared, believe me I’m also terrified! You don’t have to promise me forever just don’t run away from me!” His voice cracks in the end.
He always said he’d be there, even if you were scared but you didn’t believe him. No one lived up to promises like this. But now, he’s was still reaching out. Still asking you to take his hand. After you tried and tried to push him away...
You didn’t realize when you started to cry. But once you did you couldn’t stop anymore.
“I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you.” -You sobbed out. “I left because I did. And that scared the hell out of me.”
His eyes soften. And he holds in his hand for you but this time it feels like a reassurance, like hope. He doesn’t say a word. Just holds it out — steady, patient.
Like he’s done all along.
You still hesitate… then slowly you see yourself reaching for him. Your hand trembling but still reaching for him.
You hold his hand. Of course you do. Even if your mind keeps screaming no, even if your mind keept screaming at you that this is a horrible idea, your body craves him. Your body knows that you need him like you needed the air to breathe. It knows that he is your missing piece. You only feel complete with him. Of course it knows.
And you just sit there not saying anything. He has you in his hold as you hold each other’s hands. Your back against his chest, steady reassuring. You didn’t even fully reconcile yet, but it feels like words aren’t needed anyways. For now at least.
And for the first time in forever you feel hope that maybe you have a better future ahead of you.
“Can I stay?” You hear Han ask after a while. His voice quiet, pleading.
“Just for a little while.”
“Yeah.” he sighs agains your shoulder, you can feel him smiling. “Just… hold my hand.”
And you do.
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↳ You'll be there for him until the day he forgets you, his biggest and most dedicated fan. Only he'll never forget you. He just needs to tell you.
↳ Han Jisung x female reader
↳ Best friends to lovers romance trope. Established relationship, rockstar Jisung, essentially pwp, angst and tension, references to imposter syndrome and generalised anxiety, a deliciously smutty end.
! Explicit content, adult themes, 4.2k, suitable for 18+ readers only !
The strikes across your calendar had all counted down to this.
A single night that would not only shape your best friend’s future, but that would validate the years of hard work he had dedicated to the pursuit of his music. You knew well of those, for you were there for all of them. The tears and the frustration, the euphoria in between; Jisung had poured so much of himself that was both emotional and physical into what he loved, and now, it was to come to a glorious head.
The hype around this concert had been your sole source of energy since Jisung excitedly informed you of it.
“I’ve struck fucking gold, baby!” he’d exclaimed, too giddy to catch his breath. “We’re playing Liberty!”
To tackle the biggest music venue in the city where the famed of the industry had played was no small achievement; a genuine concert hall, so far removed from the dive bars and pubs he was used to and that you were so accustomed to watching him in. Long hours you’d spent talking of his ‘big break’— when it would happen (because the likelihood was surely no question), what it would look like. Indeed, it was fair to say you wished for nothing more than your best friend to taste the rich delight of success and happiness. It was only what he deserved. Him, so giving and dedicated. Him, so stuck to you for so long. Him; so endearingly oblivious.
The nature of your friendship was such that, when you thought about it, you suppose you stood no chance of not falling in love. You were so close to him as to fail to picture life without him, and it had been that way since high school. Jisung was everything you looked for in a man, and whether the standards came before him or not, you had struggled to much compromise on them with others, and you’d tried more than once. He was so beautiful as to break your heart in the right light, so kind as to remind you what it meant to be a good person. So sweet and without a truly cruel bone in his body. So wildly unable to balance his moods, the peaks of his joy and depths of his despair as interchangeable as the weather. Though the time spent with him was done so with no ulterior motive, for you had made your peace with unrequited infatuation long ago, there was an inherent romance to the dark hours you spent with him, locked in his garage and much later, his studio, listening contently to the tracks he shared first and foremost with you, for your ears and opinion meant more to him than those of his own manager. Much privileged were you to be in such a position, and the joy of exclusivity threatened more than once to tip the scales of your self-control. To be allowed to see into the soul of the man before any other person alive; to witness his arms curl about his guitar and his lips part in sweet song and his eyes flash with all spectrums of emotion was one of the greatest delights of life. The strongest, if you were to admit it.
And you so see; you never stood a chance.
*
Maybe it was overkill to listen to his music as you got ready for the concert.
Maybe it made you feel like he was here with you, singing as he often did in your company, and not miles away in the green room of a concert hall preparing for the biggest night of his life. A part of you resented that you weren’t able to be with him; it didn’t feel quite right to be a bystander, no more involved than any other person that would see him tonight, but it seemed there was no accounting for friends when the professionals stepped in. You would support him all the same.
A final glance spared at yourself in the mirror brought satisfaction; you’d done your best with what little fancy wardrobe you possessed, settling on a black dress that Jisung had once complimented. A choker added to the look, and in a bid to complete it, you searched through your dressing table drawers for the birthday gift Jisung had bought you this year— a tube of high-end crimson lipstick. You’d thought it an odd gift at the time, never much being one for makeup or any such extravagance, but he’d insisted on the colour being his favourite, and made a wish to see it on you.
“It’ll bring out your eyes,” he’d said. “If you don’t like it, just toss it.”
He had been right, you supposed. It certainly did something to accentuate your pout, adding a flare of the dramatic to your otherwise perfectly plain appearance. And if Jisung liked it...
As you contemplated taking it with you, the shrill honk of a taxi’s horn sounded from outside. Grabbing all you needed in a rush, you made for the vehicle, relieved to find it warm inside against the chill of the autumn night.
Moments into the drive, your phone rang.
“What’s up?”
“Hey, you.”
Your smile was most immediate— he was wired, and rightly so.
“You on your way?” he asked.
“Just got in the cab. I won’t be long.”
“Cool. Come to the back entrance when you get here. There’s hell of a queue out front.”
“I can queue with the rest of the muggles, Ji,” you laughed.
“No way, man. It’s too cold out. I bet you’re wearing next to nothing.”
You glanced down at your bare legs.
“Right?” he pressed.
“I can handle a bit of wind. See you soon.”
“Yo, don’t you—”
It wasn’t your fault his penchant for overprotection warmed the basest parts of you, and it was with that justification that you nursed your glow of smug content. Not that it would last long, for it eventually always gave way to bleak reality, where you questioned the boundaries of friendship and wondered if he simply went out of his way to ensure everyone in his life was well fed and well cared for. On occasion the things he did felt to step beyond platonic realms—wrapping you in his hoodie when the cold became you, dragging you into hugs that lasted a second too long, kissing your temple or forehead with surely no more thought than he gave which socks to put on in the morning. All of this brought about more confusion, another bout of repression and a need to calm the heart, such as you now experienced, for you’d run away with yourself yet again.
You took a slow, deep breath. This was Jisung’s night, and you’d support him as you always did. As you did best.
As his friend.
*
When eventually the taxi arrived at Liberty, you had real trouble comprehending what it was you saw. A winding queue of people clustered tightly that stretched the length of the venue and down the street like a great, colourful snake.
Jisung hadn’t been joking, you supposed. He must be climbing the walls with excitement; seeing the thousands of people that streamed your music in person take up a great space must bring about a far superior hit of dopamine.
With jacket wound tightly around yourself, you made for the back of the queue, the walk so long that you cursed yourself for not thinking to leave a little earlier, though that would have required forethought that you simply did not possess. Standing in line, you shifted from sole to sole as the ache began to permeate your feet, the line shuffling along with all the haste of a snail in danger.
The sudden grip on your wrist that yanked you out of place would have had you shrieking if not for the speed of it. Jisung, ever stealthy, dragged you through a fire exit that he had opened part way, slamming it shut behind him before detection spoiled it all. He released you quickly, irritation about his features.
“Didn’t I tell you to go around the back?” he huffed.
“Didn’t I tell you I could queue with everyone else?”
His brown eyes softened and narrowed, a smirk of amusement playing on his lips. His gaze fell over you slowly, then swiftly back up, where it lingered on your mouth. Perhaps you imagined the blush that coloured his cheeks— he was in stage makeup, after all. Glitter around his eyes and smoked-out black liner made it difficult to know for sure. The red flannel he wore over black tank top and tight leather trousers, complete with gold around his neck and in his ears, also made it difficult to do much more than stare like a dumbfounded fool.
“You should get a good spot,” he said, voice hoarse. “We’re on soon.”
“I’ll be right in front,” you smiled.
He nodded, swallowing hard, the confidence you knew him capable of just shy of surfacing.
“Hey.” You took his slim, warm hand. “You’ll smash this. It’s all yours.”
He forced a smile. “Yeah. I know.”
“It’s your big break. Just like we always talked about.”
“Right.”
“Clutch it with both hands and suffocate the shit out of it. Got it?”
He huffed a gentle laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
A soft squeeze of your hand willed your heart to misbehave, as did the sweep of his thumb over your knuckles. Hardly a touch, and yet you afforded so much meaning to it. So much attention.
“I’ll, uh, see you after the show?” You slipped your hand away.
Jisung nodded. “Yeah. After the show.”
A beat of silence settled, uncharacteristic of the both of you to be so awkward, and yet you couldn’t alight the tension to anything else. His stage nerves, your uncertainty, the magnitude of what was to come. All of it set the air to shimmer.
“I’ll go and get that good spot then,” you said, and with a few steps, began away from him.
“Hey,” he called.
You turned back.
“You look great. Just, you know, so you know.”
He hurried off down the corridor before another word could be said, leaving you to wander the wreckage of your dignity. You touched your painted lips gently.
*
How you’d dreamt of seeing him like this.
Presented before a few thousand people that chanted his name in adoring unison, bathed in strobe light and stage smoke, propelled into his fourth song of the night by applause and whistles and the eager eyes of all who watched him. The stage may well have been built for him, so comfortable was he in voice and demeanour; just for him.
You stood as close to the stage as reasonable limits would allow, none ashamed of the elbows and well-placed crushing of toes it had taken you to get there. To compromise even an inch of your line of sight was out of the question— you had to see him. You had to see this.
The flannel long abandoned, Jisung strummed his sleek, red guitar with the accompaniment of the band behind him, his black tank doing little to conceal the honey tone of his skin that, under the spotlights, appeared as though iridescent. With one arm raised he played to the hype of the crowd, the other flexing under the weight of his beloved instrument. Engorged veins decorated his tensed throat as he sang with all he possessed, his dark hair sodden with sweat that trickled in rivulets to the hollows of his throat and down his temples, from his chin. Only when his voice abated did you realise the screams of the crowd you stood in, and so vehemently did it feel like just reward for all the tears and endless worries the man had bled out before this night, it was enough to bring you to emotion. He deserved this. There was none more deserving. This would be the start of a long, wonderful journey for him.
What then, would that mean for you? Selfish to even consider it on a night such as this, but being only human you were hardly able to prevent such thoughts surfacing. You had always known that talent like his would not go undiscovered for long, but had not given much consideration to the aftermath. Around you stood thousands of adoring fans, every one of them vying for a scrap of attention that would evermore vindicate their affection for him and make of them lifelong followers. Devotion like theirs would propel him to stardom quicker than any of your well-intended words ever could; would it be that he’d reach such lofty heights as to remain out of your grasp? Would he soon forget the girl that, in her small and quiet way—indeed, the only way she knew how—devoted herself to him when nobody else knew of how brightly he smiled or how angelically he sang? To brand the feeling that tightened your chest ‘insignificance’ felt too dramatic, but you could not well dispute that for as long as he stood up there, and you down here, you constituted just another face in the crowd.
Just another hopeless fool that loved him.
*
Outside the venue, where the chill of the night had turned to biting cold, you waited on the stone steps and watched the great masses of people leave with spirits so high they would surely reach heaven.
The pit in your stomach had not so much abated, and if anything now brought upon you a wave of nausea that spiked hot irritation— how could you be so miserable on the most special night of Jisung’s life? He looked to you as a pillar of support, and yet here you were, wallowing in lanes of bleak possibility and lamenting that which you had not even lost, for you never had it to begin with.
A vibration from your jacket pulled you from the thoughts, and you quickly moved to answer it, plugging your free ear to relieve yourself of the noise.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“Outside. Needed some air.”
“Come to the fire exit, I’ll let you back in.”
Supposing compliance would be less testing than arguing with him, you trudged about the venue to the door he had dragged you through prior, surprised to see him already there, delight lighting his face.
“Quick, come in!”
He swiftly closed the door after you slipped inside, yet before you were allowed to congratulate or praise him as his performance so deserved, you were caught in an embrace. Held to his chest tightly, he curled around you with no effort, the strong and steady thump of his heart based beneath your ear, for he wore nothing but the black tank he had performed in. Everything about him radiated adrenal heat, so fierce as to warm you through.
“Ji?”
“Just let me have this,” he muttered. “Just a minute.”
Able to say nothing against that, though still fearful of what being in his arms would later mean for you, you acquiesced.
“I’m so fucking happy,” he said.
You smiled, hand curling around his bicep. “You did amazing. I’ve never seen you so in your element. It was incredible.”
He squeezed you gently. “Thank you for coming.”
“Come on. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
Moments longer you stood in silence, his arms locked about you as though they might never let go. Despite yourself and reasoning that he simply wanted to rejoice in the glow of his triumph, you could not help but silently yearn for the embrace to last forever. Who knew when the next might come?
When eventually it did break, Jisung did so with a sigh. At arm's length he examined you, his large eyes still rimmed with black searching for something you couldn’t be certain of. His gaze, once more and with intent, dropped to your lips. Heat flushed your nape and cheeks, self-consciousness becoming you.
“W— What?” you stammered.
“You’re wearing the lipstick.”
You nodded. “Well. Yeah. Special occasion and all.”
Whether your attempt at nonchalance bore success or not, you couldn’t well determine, for Jisung’s stare did not relent.
“It suits you,” he whispered, and in the next breath reached to sweep the pad of his thumb across the full swell of your bottom lip. Lit from within with a resurgence of desire and want, your knees near threatened to give out. Jisung blinked as though back in the room, his cheeks rosing over.
“I... uh...”
Unable to find the words, he sighed once more. He held your wrists and stepped close, the resigned apology in his eyes warping to a determination you most usually associated with his pursuit of music.
“Fuck it.”
With a gentle pull he brought you towards him, meeting your step with that of his own and in the motion, he caught your lips. If the rush of emotion that seized you with shock did not force you to keep your eyes open, you might have believed it a dream, for it did not simply end with a brushing of lips. He wound an arm around your waist, backed you up with guiding steps until flush with the corridor wall. Engulfed with his heat that seemed with the proximity only to exacerbate, you were helpless but to curl a grip into his shirt, to surrender to the careful kisses he alighted on your crimson lips. A gasp escaped you as he held your neck with both hands, gentle thumbs under your chin kept your head tilted such that he could taste you at all angles with slow, measured nudges. When too swollen with desire to contain your want to have him firmer, you grasped at him desperately; he broke the kiss with a lazy grin.
“That was just about the scariest thing I’ve ever done,” he mumbled.
“You just performed in front of thousands of people for the first time.”
“Yeah. I did.” Another soft kiss and he whispered to your lips, “Come to the green room with me?”
With a tentative nod, he led you on jellylike legs down the hallway and through another, approaching a door that he peeked around and, seemingly satisfied, pulled you into. No smaller than a particularly large closet, the room was furnished with a single dressing table framed by lit vanity lights and a mirror, with a two-seater sofa pushed up to the wall. The only light came from said vanity mirror, the white bulbs glowing softly enough that Jisung’s shadow cast over the door as he flicked the lock and stepped towards you.
“This isn’t just a concert high,” he said, voice laced with a rasp. “I need you to know that.”
You swallowed, pulse rabbiting with anticipation. “What is it, then?”
“It’s giving up. I’m giving up.”
He wound his arms around you, took you into them again.
“I’m done fighting how I feel about you,” he said. “You’re the only constant I’ve ever had. The only thing that makes me want to sing and write music. You’re my muse— my everything.”
“Jisung...”
“You kissed me back,” he whispered. “I know I’m not crazy about us.”
You nodded, quite unable to catch your breath. “You’re not.” You held his cheek. “You’re not, Jisung.”
Contrary to your first kiss, the passion in the second was tenfold. A release of all that you’d kept so far from the surface of everything; a volcano spilling over to scald all who stood in its way. In his fervour he walked you back to the dressing table, and quite suddenly, spun you in his arms to face it.
“Watch me,” he instructed, and with eyes so dark as to make your core throb, began to alight on your throat open-mouthed affection that made you shiver and tremble. His hands slid around you, over your stomach where they held a moment, then to your thighs, where he hitched the material of your dress with painful slowness.
When underwear was revealed, Jisung seemed as though to lose what remained of his fragile tether of restraint, groaning against your neck and lifting your leg, guiding your foot to prop the dressing table, thus revealing all of you in the mirror, much to Jisung’s pleasure.
“God, baby—” He stared unabashedly, and with gentle fingers, slipped your underwear aside. “Show me what you’ve been craving from me all these years.”
Too drowned in his heat to be much embarrassed, though mortification most certainly did something to propel your compliance, it was with a shaky breath that you brought your own uncertain hand to where you ached. Jisung’s eyes burned, anticipation shimmering the air.
“Touch yourself,” he whispered. “Perform for me, baby.”
With a groan you slid your wanting fingers through your wetness, unable to look away from the intensity of the man that watched you as illicit entertainment. Soft, slow stimulation over your throbbing clit eased you into delight, each spark of pleasure felt by the man at your back.
“More,” he instructed, and in so doing wrapped a gentle hand about your throat, no pressure offered but the weight of his touch that, in itself, rendered you lightheaded. You quickened the pace of your touching, fearful that you would not be long for orgasm at this rate. So it was that you reached the very peak of it, trembling seconds away from falling into euphoria, when he tore your hand away from your touching and closed his mouth around your slick digits, tongue hot and wet.
“Need to feel you,” he groaned when his oral worship was done, and turned you in his embrace. He lifted you to the surface of the dressing table and pushed your dress up to where it would not pose a nuisance, all the while allowing you the frantic task of unzipping his trousers, and frantic it was, for only when you freed his throbbing length and held him in palm did the reality of all you’d done sink in— This was happening. It was real. Jisung wanted you, and would allow you not even a second of breath now that he had you, for his lips were on yours and his hands were spreading you and his thickness was breaching you with slick ease and slowness and—
“Fuck, fuck—” he sighed, taking your hand and curling it into the mop of his dark hair where he encouraged your grip. “Hold on.”
His instruction not without reason, Jisung’s first thrusts were experimental; a consideration of your state in respect of the train he was promptly to run on you. So drunk on the heat of you, his pace was that of carnality, the slamming of desire wrecking the legs of the dressing table and the paintwork of the wall behind it, for the thump of furniture matched that of his rhythm. Each delicious plunge brought you to near tears, the pleasure such that you were unable to breathe or think or hear anything over the pounding of your heart. Lit by the white glow of bulbs, his flawless complexion burned with deep heat, his efforts and exertion seen in the tense draw of his body— you tore his tank from his head, keen to feel him under your hands, the soft planes of his middle and curved firmness of his chest.
“J— Jisung, I—”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Fuck, I can’t—”
He kissed your complaint away, and consistent with his thrusts, held through the violent onslaught of your toe-curling, earth-shattering, blinding orgasm. So snug and wet around him, what strength he had in reserve appeared to fade, his curses and the burying of his head in your neck preceding his tremors of release, his hips stilling and his cock leaking, throbbing inside you. You held him, kissed his temple, revelled in the afterglow.
“Holy shit,” he panted when the violence had passed. “Fuck, that was intense—”
As inclined to agree as you were, you found you could not say much of anything. Doubt had begun to gather as content subsided, and in his fucked-out state, Jisung would have been forgiven for failing to notice your dip of mood.
Still; this was Jisung.
“I meant it all,” he said, still catching his breath. “Everything.”
“Everything?”
He grinned lazily, kissed you softly. “You’re my muse, baby. Always have been. Kind of thought you already knew that.”
“I’m not that presumptuous, Ji.”
“You should be. You’re the best person I know. It might be selfish of me to ask this, but...”
“But what?”
“I want you by my side, through whatever comes next.” He took your clammy hands, put them on his chest. “Yours is the only face I ever want to see in the crowd. You’re the only groupie I want.”
You scoffed a laugh though forming tears, slapping him gently. “Fuck off. I’m not your groupie.”
“You know you want to be, though.”
“Shut up.”
“Never.” He chuckled, and as the moment passed, once more drew his thumb over your bottom lip, stained with the residue of faded crimson. “Loved that lipstick,” he sighed.
You hummed. “That lipstick loved you.”
“Oh yeah?”
You nodded. “Yeah. So do I, actually.”
A smile as bright as the spotlights that famed him alighted his face. He was so beautiful as to break your heart. So kind as to make you a good person. So sweet and so wildly unable to regulate his moods. So utterly perfect in most every way that mattered.
Plot: While you and Han take a trip down a "haunted" road at a festival, Han takes the opportunity to comfort you, and maybe make a move in the process.
Pairing: Han Jising x Gn!Reader
Prompt Request: "Are you scared?" "No." "Then why are you holding onto me so tightly?"
A/n: Just a quick oneshot in between the longer fics, hope you like it!
Words: 1.7k
When you decided to go on this so called "Haunt Walk" you weren't expecting it to be on a long desolate road in the middle of no where.
You were given a place to start, and a place to end, you had to walk there, and were given no tips, no clues, just a flashlight and an encouraging thumbs-up from Felix and Chris as you made your way down the road.
They were smart for not coming on the walk, and instead staying at the bonfire festival with the others. It was just you, Han, Hyunjin, I.N and Changbin who decided to come along.
You and Han were a little ways back, as the other three started a little before you. You could hear their voices and see their lights ahead of you, and you were glad of it. Thinking they might be scared by whatever might be lurking on the road before you and Han, leaving you two to just be in the background.
As the light of the festival got further and further away and the music was almost unheard, you started to get nervous. You heard Hyunjin yelp at something and your heart jolted.
"It was a bug!" Changbin yelled with amused laughter, making you and Han laugh as well.
"So dramatic." Han commented softly and you smiled along.
Your eyes shot to the left as you thought you saw movement in the darkness. There was no sound and Han didn't seem to notice, so you let yourself believe it was just your eyes adjusting to the surrounding darkness, causing you to see things that weren't really there.
But when you heard a rustling in the nearby bushes, you hesitated, as did Han. Absentmindedly, you stepped closer to Han for comfort.
He didn't notice at first, but when you heard running in the darkness nearby, you stepped even closer to him with a soft gasp. He could sense your fear easily, and though he was startled by the noise as well, he was more amused by your reaction.
He had never seen you in this kind of setting before, he had to admit, it was cute.
The three who had been ahead of you, somehow got far enough ahead you could no longer hear them talking. Occasionally you heard a scream, and saw flashing lights, but they were far from you.
"It's a shame Lee Know decided not to come, he'd probably scare whoever that was."
You let out a soft chuckle, your heart still racing nervously, but Han's voice as he spoke nonchalantly helped calm you. He continued to chat, making you laugh, and when something made a noise or scared you, he made a joke or laughed, making you less afraid.
You hadn't yet realized he was doing it on purpose to help you. As cute as he thought you were being, he didn't actually enjoy seeing you afraid. Especially when your eyes clenched in fear like you thought you were about to get hurt.
Hearing a scream as someone clad in torn up clothes ran from the darkness and across the road, you yelled out in fear as you grabbed Han's arm, pressing your face into his shoulder out of fear.
Han smiled at he looked down at you, his hand cupping the back of your head.
"Are you scared?" He asked, unable to resist some light teasing.
You opened your eyes and shook your head as you looked up at him, lying. "No."
He grinned as he leaned his head a bit closer and spoke softly, a teasing tone evident in his voice. "Then why are you holding onto me so tightly?"
Paying more attention to yourself, you realized not only were you very close to him, but you were practically clinging onto him. You felt your cheeks heat up as you let go of him and stepped away, an embarrassed smile crossing your face, "Sorry."
Han let out a soft laugh before reaching over and grabbing your arm, and wrapping them back around his like you had before. "I didn't say you had to let go."
Your cheeks were now burning for another reason as you seemed caught in Han's eyes. You two always had a somewhat flirty relationship, but it never went anywhere. And in moments like this, you wondered if it would.
These thoughts vanished from your mind as you hear someone running up behind you. You and Han both turned in alarm at the quickly approaching figure.
You gripped Han's arms as you let out a fearful yell as you and Han ran to the opposite side of the road. The figure ran past screaming unintelligible words before it disappeared into the darkness.
Managing to take a breath, you let out a nervous chuckle and Han did the same, admitting that he had gotten scared too.
"It's okay, just remember it's an actor, you're not actually gonna get hurt."
You nodded as you took in a deep breath. "I realized, I really don't like being scared." Another nervous chuckle escaped you as you felt a bit embarrassed about Han seeing you like this.
But he smiled sweetly down at you, "Then it's good you have me here right?"
Your heart fluttered at his words and the fond smile he had for you. You were sure your fear amused him, but he wasn't showing it apart from some light teasing, and you appreciated it.
Hearing distant screams you looked into the darkness and let out a soft laugh, "He caught up to them."
Han laughed as he started to lead you down the road again. He began pulling his arm away from you and he thought he might be tired of you clinging onto him. You were going to step away to give him space, but instead, he slipped his hand into yours, holding it.
You felt shy now, as you looked from your hands to his face. He smiled softly at you as he gently squeezed your hand.
More scares came and went, people standing on the side of the road whispering or yelling at you. The occasional runner, or loud noise in the darkness or something dropping from the trees. Your heart was racing the whole time as you jumped and yelped nearly every time.
Han continued to make jokes out of it, and continued to hold your hand and keep you close.
You let out an exhausted groan after a zombie crawled out from the nearby field, causing you to bolt away before he could grab you. "How much longer."
Han lifted your joined hands as he pointed ahead of you, "I think I see some lights up ahead."
Trying to focus your eyes you blinked a few times, seeing what appeared to be a distant bright light. "Are you sure that's not just the others?"
He hummed, "Nope."
You let out a soft chuckle as you nudged his shoulder with your head. He smiled before clearing his throat. "You know, in between the scares and creepy actors, this almost feels like a date."
Your breath caught for a second as you looked over at him. "A date?"
He nodded without looking over at you, "Doesn't it, at least a little?"
Biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling like an idiot, you hummed. "I suppose in some ways it does. Though I think I would prefer something a little less...dark and terrifying."
He chuckled and nodded, "Fair enough. What's an example?"
You eyed him, "You want an example?"
He nodded with a hum, "Yeah."
"Maybe an arcade date, a picnic, going to the aquarium, stuff like that."
He nodded silently, thinking to himself. "Those sound nice."
You nodded as silence hung between you for a moment before he cleared his throat again. "Would you, maybe wanna do one of those things...with me."
Your heart flipped in your chest, "You mean... go on a date?"
He nodded quickly, "Yeah, a date." He finally looked down at you, and you could see the nervousness in his gaze.
Before you could answer, a group of people crawling rapidly on the ground towards you caused you both to yell out in surprise before sprinting forward to get away.
When you made it to safety, the two of you paused as you locked eyes before letting out breathy laughs.
"I almost forgot where we were" You admitted and Han laughed a bit more.
"Me too." He let out a loud sigh as he swung your still joined hands around.
"Look!" He pointed forward, and through some trees you could see the end of the haunted walk. You felt relief flow through you, before you looked back at Han.
"Yes, by the way."
He looked back at you with a raised brow and you smiled, "I would like to go on a date with you."
Han seemed stunned for a second before a bright grin spread across his face. He let out a relieved laugh as he looked down at your hands.
He pulled you closer as he smiled at you, "Good. It's about time we went on a date don't you think?"
You laughed, realizing he must have been just as aware about the two of you dancing around your feelings by flirting.
You nodded, "Yeah it is."
He looked forward towards the exit as it slowly grew closer. He tugged on your hand and began moving forward a bit faster, "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."
You grinned as you followed him, both of you deciding to jog the rest of the way to get it over with. Your jog turned into a run though, when you heard someone running at you from the darkness. Your yells of alarm mixed with laughter as Han cursed in surprise.
Hyunjin, Changbin and I.N were waiting for you at the end of the walk, exhaustion written on their faces. When they saw the two of you running from the darkness, hand in hand and laughing, they shared knowing looks. It seemed like the two of you finally did something about your restrained feelings.
Who would have thought all it would take was a walk in the middle of the night down a dark haunted road.
xx End xx
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