he possessed an innate ability to make you laugh, a deep, rumbling chuckle of his own pulling you back to earth whenever sadness became too heavy a weight to bear.

he took pride in pampering you, routinely standing over the stove to cook your absolute favorite meals from scratch, and always surprising you with the little things you loved just to see your eyes light up.

so when your best friend called after what felt like an absolute eternity, you naturally had to fill her in on every single detail of your life. she had only ever met him once, a brief and slightly chaotic introduction right after the two of you had officially started going out together, and she’d been practically begging for a proper update ever since.

the conversation started off normal enough, a flurry of catching up and exchanging casual life updates, but the comfortable rhythm didn't last long before she slyly guided the topic exactly where you knew it would inevitably go.

"so... what about... you know... " your friend said, trailing off suggestively as her voice dropped into a whisper. you could practically imagine her smirking behind the screen.

"what about what ?" you asked, a small smile already tugging at your lips as you settled yourself into the quiet corner of the hallway.

your best friend heaved a sigh, knowing very well that she would have to spell it out for you.

"what about his dick game, babes ? i mean, let's be real — the man literally looked like he'd fuck the living daylight out of you." she giggling slyly.

oh god, this woman —

a fierce, instant blush creeped up your neck as you recalled your first time with changbin. your mind immediately drifted back to that night — the soft glow of the lamp, the quiet hum of the room, and the way his massive, heavily muscled frame had hovered over yours with an almost impossible lightness. he was so soft, treating you as if you were precious, handling you with utmost care, with all the gentleness you deserved.

you remembered his large, calloused hands tracking down your sides with a touch so gentle it made you ache, his deep voice whispering sweet, reverent promises against your skin as he slowly made love to you.

and that's how it had been every single time since. changbin made soft love with you, anchoring you with his affection, and you loved him for it.

"honestly ? it's not like that at all," you laughed softly, leaning your head back against the wall as the warmth in your cheeks deepened. "he’s actually incredibly sweet with me. so gentle and attentive. he treats me like i'm the most precious thing in the world, always taking his sweet time."

"seriously ?" she gasped, a playful, high-pitched laugh filtering through the line. "i mean, that's adorable and you totally deserve it." then she sing songed "but look at the size of him. he looks like the type who would just completely pin you down, lock you in place, and take absolute control, and you're telling me he's just a big softie ?"

your throat suddenly went completely dry.

you had always adored how tenderly he handled you, but her unfiltered words instantly sparked a vivid, flashing image in your mind that you had genuinely never considered before.

changbin... using his actual strength.

changbin... totally dominating the space

changbin... letting go of his tight restraint, and locking you down helplessly under his heavy weight.

a sudden, heavy wave of heat pooled low in your stomach, making your thighs press together instinctively.

"i mean — yeah, he really is a softie," you murmured, your voice dropping a little as your eyes drifted toward the kitchen doorway.

you bit your lower lip, watching his massive silhouette through the frame. "i never really thought about him like that. he’s just always so careful because he loves me. but — hearing you say it, god — that actually sounds... really good."

"right ? trust me, there is no way a guy built like that doesn't know exactly how to take charge," she teased, clearly enjoying the breathless hitch in your reaction.

"anyway, babes, i've gotta run — let's catch up in person soon ! i'll get you those chocolates you love."

"i'll hold you onto that ! " you giggled, "let's meet soon, babes." you spoke, lowering the phone but keeping it pressed tight against your chest as you hung up.

your heart was hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs. you adored his sweetness — it was your favorite thing about him — but now that the image of a dominant, unyielding changbin was planted in your head, it refused to leave.

it was hot, intoxicating, and it made you crave something you hadn't even realized you were missing. you wanted to see that side of him. you wanted to know what it felt like to completely lose control to him.

you slowly walked over to the kitchen threshold, leaning your shoulder against the wooden frame to watch him finish up dinner.

changbin was standing by the stove, his back completely turned to you. he was wearing a simple, fitted black tank top — an absolute crime of a shirt that did nothing to hide the sheer breadth of his shoulders, or the thick heavy taper of his waist.

every time he moved, the dense muscle of his back shifted beautifully under the fabric, his heavy biceps flexing with the slightest movement. he was pure, raw power, built like a brick wall and capable of easily lifting you with a single hand.

but as you stood there taking him in, you noticed the rhythm of his cooking had completely stopped.

his large hands were resting flat on the counter, and those wide shoulders were locked tight. a sharp, undeniable line of tension ran straight down his spine.

the warm, crinkling smile that always softened his fierce silhouette was completely missing. instead, his jaw was set so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek, and his dark eyes were hooded, fixed entirely on yours with a heavy, dangerous intensity you had never seen directed at you before. it made your chest tighten instantly, your breath catching in your throat.

"binnie ?" you asked softly, a sudden flutter of nerves mixing with the deep, heavy ache in your belly. "is everything okay ?"

slowly, deliberately, he turned around.

he didn't say a word. he just reached down and slowly clicked the stove knob off, cutting the low hum of the flame. the sudden silence in the apartment made your pulse spike.

he took one slow, heavy step toward you, then another, his massive frame completely crowding your vision as he shut down the remaining distance between you until he was looming over you.

"who was that on the phone baby ?" his voice dropped an octave, a low, gravelly rumble so deep it vibrated straight against your ribs.

"just... my best friend," you breathed, your spine pressing flush against the doorframe as he stepped directly into your personal space, his heat radiating off him in waves.

"and what exactly is it that sounds so good ?" changbin didn't touch you yet, but his massive shadow completely buried you against the wall.

his gaze dropped to your lips, tracking the way they parted as you gasped, then locked back onto your eyes, fierce and unblinking. "something about me pinning you down ? wanting to see me take control ?"

a fierce rush of blood turned your cheeks completely crimson. he had heard every single word.

"i was just talking to her, i didn't think —"

"you think i don't want to ?" he cut you off, his voice dropping even lower, rough, dominant, and commanding. he finally reached out, his thick, calloused fingers gripping your chin with an absolute authority that forced your head back, making you look directly into his dark gaze.

"i spend every single second with you keeping my hands light because i love you so much. i play nice and hold myself back because you're the most precious thing in the world to me. but if you're standing out there admitting that you want me to take charge..."

his thumb pressed firmly against your lower lip, forcing your mouth open slightly as his eyes darkened completely, stripping away the gentle boyfriend act entirely. "if you're ready to see that side of me, princess, you better be ready for the weight of it."

before you could even draw a breath to reply, changbin’s hands slid down, locking like iron bands right beneath your thighs. with one sharp, effortless pull, he hoisted you completely off the kitchen floor. you gasped, your hands flying to his broad shoulders as your legs instinctively caught around his thick waist.

he slammed your back hard against the hallway wall, his dense chest pressing you so hard into the plaster you could feel the heavy, erratic thud of his heart matching your own.

"changbin—"

"quiet," he muttered, nipping fiercely at your bottom lip, a sharp, possessive bite that had you whining against his mouth. his large fingers dug deep into the flesh of your thighs, anchoring you firmly against his hips so you could feel the rigid proof of how much he wanted you.

"you wanted to see what it's like when i take control. you got it. from right now, you don't get to ask me to slow down, and you don't get a break. you're entirely mine tonight. understand ?"

you could only nod, your fingers clutching blindly at the fabric of his tank top, completely consumed by the heavy, dominant heat radiating off him. a slow, satisfied smirk broke the hard line of his face as he carried you effortlessly down the dark hall toward the bedroom.

changbin placed you on the bed, the mattress bouncing under you as you found him looking at you. his eyes still carried the same love for you, just dipped in a need that had surfaced after hearing those words falling from your lips.

he had heard you whispering under your breath, as if the mere thought had your brain reeling.

"pin m-me down.... t-take absolute control ?"

and hearing you say those words ? it had already altered his brain chemistry.

his pretty pillow princess wanted to be pinned down ? wanted to be dominated ? wanted to be controlled ?

oh, he could absolutely do that for you.

before you could process any movement, your legs are splayed wide open and in between them, sat kneeling your boyfriend.

"you wanted to be controlled ? you'll get what you ask for princess."

as your dress got hiked up, changbin pulled your panties aside and in an instant, two thick fingers filled your pussy. a loud, broken gasp tore from your throat, your back instantly arching off the sheets.

it was so sudden. so thick.

you weren't used to him being this blunt, this heavy, and the sheer fullness of him stretching you open made your mind go completely blank. your hands flew straight to his chest, fingers twisting into his black tank top just to stay grounded.

"changbin, h-ha..." you breathed out, your hips shuddering completely against his knuckles.

"fuck — soaking f'me baby ? didn't know princess wanted to lose control that bad — just lay pretty for me now hm ? i'm gonna take so good care of you."

he didn't even give you time to answer. his other hand came down flat against your stomach, his heavy palm anchoring you down into the mattress. he didn't lean away — he loomed right over you, his broad chest blocking out the entire bedroom, trapping you completely under his massive frame.

then, he started to move.

he pushed his fingers in deep, curling them hard against your sweet spot with a relentless, heavy rhythm. you let out a high whine, your heels digging into the mattress as you tried to move with him, but his grip on your waist tightened, locking you completely in place. he was a literal wall of muscle between your thighs, utterly unbothered by how much you were trembling beneath him.

"look at you," changbin rumbled, his voice dropping into that dark, gravelly register that made your core clench. his eyes were hooded, fixed entirely on your face as he watched your cheeks flush, your lips part, and your eyes flutter shut. "so tight for me. you love this, don't you ?"

"y-yes... bin, please," you whimpered, completely helpless against the friction, the heavy ache inside you building so fast it was making your vision blur.

"i'm not letting you go yet," he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed the sensitive skin of your neck, his fingers driving into you faster, harder, completely overriding your senses. "you wanted absolute control, princess. now just stay still and take it for me."

you clawed onto his thick biceps, completely drunk on the pleasure of this new persona of his. but there was one thing you were still craving. his cock.

"bin — fuck please — nghhh"

changbin curled his fingers deep, his fingertips directly kissing the spongy part in your sopping pussy, cupping it in place making you squirm helplessly against his heavy hand.

"what princess ? you saying something ?"

"mmmpf fuck bin — n-need your cock — p-please baby"

"as you wish princess," he said.

his clothes were quickly forgotten, discarded blindly in the dark room until he stood between your legs again. the thick mushroom tip of his cock slightly nestled between your puffy folds, twitching against your heat.

"you wanted to be pinned, princess ? now take it like a good girl, hm ?"

changbin's hands came down, locking like iron bands around your wrists and pinning them securely above your head, completely trapping you beneath him. before you could even catch your breath, he thrust his cock into you in one full go.

jesus fucking christ.

you were so full, every single nerve of yours screaming his name. the feeling was entirely too overwhelming, a pure, stretching ache that completely shattered your mind. he was buried right up to the hilt, the blunt tip kissing your cervix as you arching your back off the sheets.

"ahhh! f-fuck, bin—ngh-ahhh... yes, right there!" you screamed out, a loud, breathless moan tearing from your throat, your toes curling tight into the mattress.

"fuck, you're so warm," changbin groaned, his voice dropping into a rough, feral rumble as he held your wrists down harder, his massive frame heaving against yours.

the heavy, unyielding weight of him came down fully, burying you beneath his chest as he began to move. there was no hesitation this time, no holding back. changbin held your wrists pinned tight above your head, his thick fingers locking you down effortlessly as he pulled back and drove right back into you, hard and deep.

the bed frame groaned against the wall with the sudden, bruising force of his first real thrust.

he was absolutely railing you into the mattress, a relentless, heavy rhythm that had your hips shaking and your head banging back into the pillows with every single strike. he was pure, dense power, his massive thighs crashing against yours with a loud, wet smack that echoed through the quiet bedroom.

his cock drove into you again.

and again.

and again.

it was a brutal, unyielding pace, stretching you out completely until each of his thick veins was deeply imprinted on your gummy walls. the friction was intense, a white-hot spark traveling straight from your core to your brain.

"oh fuck... mmmh, b-bin —" you broke apart under him, your head tossing wildly on the pillow as you tried to swallow the thick wave of heat rolling over you. "too much, it's — nghh — too good..."

"look at me," changbin growled, a low, demanding rumble against your ear that had your eyes flying open. his face was flushed, his jaw tight, but his gaze was still dripping with that same fierce affection. he leaned down, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to your lips before drawing back to look deep into your eyes. "look at me, princess. you are whose tonight, hm ? tell me."

"y-yours... ah ! fuck, i'm yours !"

"damn right," he groaned, his eyes darkening as he gripped your wrists even tighter, pinning them flush against the headboard while he threw his weight into another brutal, deep thrust that hit your sweet spot perfectly.

you let out a loud, shattered moan, your entire body trembling as he completely took over your senses, driving you straight to heaven.

he was fucking you so well, so incredibly hard, but even in the middle of the rough, bruising pace, his touch carried that undeniable soft-dom care. his chest rubbed against yours, his large body completely enveloping you, protecting you from the very pace he was creating between your legs.

"you're mine, yea ? my pretty princess," changbin whispered roughly, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he nipped at your pulse point, his hips never slowing down for a single second. "i've wanted you like this for so long. take it all for me, baby. just take it."

he didn't give you a single second to recover. his hips kept pounding into yours, a steady, punishing heat that had your inner muscles clamping around him in tight, desperate waves. he kept your arms locked up high, using his absolute physical dominance to set the pace, making sure you felt every single ounce of his massive frame.

he was completely taking control, pinning you down so hard you couldn't move an inch, forcing you to just lay pretty and absorb the sheer size of him. you were right on the edge, your whole body wound up so tight it ached, completely helpless under the weight of his relentless thrusts.

"bin — i'm gonna... f'fuck, i'm crashing," you sobbed out, your fingers clutching blindly at the sheets as your hips tilted up instinctively, begging for that final push.

"cum for me, princess, drench my cock." he commanded, his voice raw and completely frayed.

he picked up the pace, his thick thighs slamming into yours even harder, driving deep and fast into your slick heat. that was the breaking point. your core clenched around him violently as a massive, blinding orgasm tore through you. you screamed his name, your eyes rolling back as your entire body shook with the release, your inner walls squeezing him in tight, rhythmic spasms.

hearing you shatter under him was exactly what pushed him over. changbin let out a deep, guttural growl, his muscles locking tight as he drove inside you one last time, burying himself to the absolute hilt. his head buried into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving violently as he filled you completely, his own release hitting him so hard his whole massive frame trembled against yours.

he stayed there for a long moment, buried deep inside you, his heartbeat hammering a frantic rhythm right against your chest as the aftershocks slowly rippled through both of you.

finally, he let out a long, ragged breath and eased himself down, pulling out of you with a soft grunt and collapsing onto the mattress right beside you. the heavy, intense friction was gone, leaving your body tingling and completely spent as you both tried to catch your breath in the quiet room.

changbin rolled onto his side, tugging you close until your back was flush against his chest. his big arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you into his warmth as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your neck. all that heavy, dominant energy had completely vanished, replaced by the familiar, sweet boyfriend who just wanted to hold you.

he rubbed his hand up and down your side, his touch gentle as he looked down at your dazed face. a lazy, playful smirk tugged at his lips.

"so what next ? you want to be manhandled ?"

well, that does sound nice, doesn't it ?

kysa's note: here with the first bin fic and i became very passionate about this (edited this too many times so i'm just finally putting it out) lemme know what you think about it, xoxo !

klover's club:

@binniebb @joyracha @b4echo @lynnslibrary @zosauce @pineapple-in-a-burgah @starlostjisung @hanjinology @hyunniexmixx @bi-and-panicking @spiidergirlsworld @jiaaabbahng @avchannie @cchapssaltteok @unemployedcarat @hannavkk @selfproclaimedpabo @hyunjinxxs @babythisisourcinema @moch3rii @persassyismysecrettwin @0felixsfreckles0 @mxmx09 @foxiebread @embobema @iownachihuahua @mylovchris @rockstarkkami @pinkyrec @pbynsstuff @gloomydietitian @leeshoeknows @mysticetti @fweakygyatt @rylea08 @mikashisus @matzduo @barbie-girl84 @soldantae @jeekiis @sssoulesss @stryscribbles @minniebitesfr @channlust @hyvnesangel @hanjisdoll @warped-rabbithole @viisstrayy @myen2rude @pineapple-burgah

The War raged between Alexandria and the Sanctuary; attacks, raids and all other manner of chaos became fairly normal. Rick and Negan were always at one another’s throats, even with the miles of distance between them. But they weren’t the only ones; Carl had long been a deputy to his father’s leadership, and Y/n a princess willing to take her father’s throne whenever required.

The two had come face to face many times, usually at the sides of their fathers. They were advisories, of course, but were unwilling to kill one another unless directly needed. Be it from pity, mercy or something else, neither would ever willingly admit.

But Alexandria and The Sanctuary were… suddenly dealing with a new problem.

A new group had begun to settle nearby, encroaching on both already established settlements. They called themselves ‘The NO’ Or ‘New Order’; they were strict, cruel, and brash under the rule of a man simply known as Simon.

It didn’t take long for the New Order to become a problem for both Alexandria and The Sanctuary. Surprisingly, both Carl and Y/n pitched the same idea, putting aside differences for the sake of ending this new threat, but both Rick and Negan were far too stubborn to listen to their children demanding to take out their first enemy before trying to handle this new threat.

It had become so bad that both had left their homes and travelled secretly through the woods in the hope of making the deal of co-existence against the New Order without telling their respective parents.

Carl had left Alexandria without a word to Rick; he had briefly told Michonne he was leaving, but didn’t tell her where and swore her to secrecy.

Y/n hadn’t told anyone, having snuck out in the back of an empty supply truck, and left her friend Eliza up in her room to keep Negan from asking questions.

But… their plan hadn’t gone well.

Both Carl and Y/n were captured by Simon’s men and brought to the new Order camp.

They had been searched, all their supplies and weapons taken, their wrists chained behind their backs with thick padlocks, and they’d both been tossed down inside what they called ‘The Pit’. It was a hole dug into the ground, with metal lining the floors and walls, the top open to the sky, with a huge metal grate over it which had, of course, been locked behind them.

Luckily, it was a grey day, without rain, snow or boiling sun. As any of that would have been a death sentence for them.

Carl leaned against one side, grumbling about how they took his hat.

Y/n leaned against the other side, keeping her knees tucked to her chest, since he’d lost her jeans in the scuffle with Simon’s men.

“You look cold,” he began, trying to make conversation,

“I am cold,” she nodded,

“Understandable,” he agreed, “Y/n… they didn’t try-”

“No. They didn’t.” She answered, “I wore an old belt, it snapped, I was… kicking and squirming.”

“They didn’t do anything to you?”

“No.”

“Okay… good. I’d have kicked their asses.”

“I didn’t think you’d care what happened to me,”

“... I might hate your dad, with all the rage that exists inside me,” he began, “but that doesn’t mean I’d let you get hurt. Especially like that.”

“Thank you, I… feel the same.” She smiled softly, “Well… I don’t hate your dad… I actually don’t really know how I feel about him.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I know how my dad feels. But… I don’t really think I’ve formed my own opinion. Kinda… feel that way about a lot of things… and a lot of people.”

“Yeah… I can imagine your dad kinda affects how you feel about a lot of stuff.” he nodded, “I… I am sorry for how I feel about him. I don’t apologise for feeling this way, he’s done horrible things to people I love and threatened worse. But… he is still your dad, and I imagine it's hard to know people wanna kill him. I- It’s important you know that my hatred of him doesn’t extend to you, it hasn’t ever extended to you.”

“Thank you,” She softly smiled, “I don’t hold anything against you, I’m not stupid enough to not see my father for the man he is. I don’t blame you for how you feel.”

“Thanks. I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t convince my dad… what hope would I have had of convincing yours?”

“I don’t know, he likes you more than he admits,” she giggled,

“Really?” He scoffed,

“Yeah… Sometimes I… think he wishes he had a son like you.”

“Why would he do that? When he’s got a daughter like you?”

“Don’t get sugary with me, Carl.”

“Sorry, Y/n.”

“It’s okay,” she nodded, “... He wanted a boy, I think he’s always wanted a boy.”

“I know how you feel, my… my mom made no secret she wanted a little girl. To do her hair, put her in pretty dresses, all that stuff. But she got me… a dirt-eating little fucker who wanted to be exactly like his dad,” he explained, “I think… we always lust for what we haven’t got.”

“Yeah, I think so,” she nodded. “Maybe it’s why… we both agree so much. We both lust for the one thing we never got… to grow up like everyone else.”

He smiled softly and nodded back, “Yeah, we both want things… as normal as possible, so no one else loses their childhood, and has to grow up as we did.”

“Well, Well, Hello Lovebirds!” Simon laughed as he came and stood over the grate, “How’s it going doing down there?”

“Fine.” Carl spat,

“Romeo and Juliet, nice and cosy?”

Both Carl and Y/n scoffed,

“We are not even close to Shakespearean.” Y/n laughed,

“I don’t know, son of one side… daughter of the other… sneaking out into the woods together. Looks pretty adorably Shakespearean to me.” Simon laughed,

“We- we were not sneaking into the woods together!” Carl laughed as he protested,

“No? Then why were you both in the woods?”

“I was going to see her dad!”

“And I was going to see his dad!” Y/n added,

“Humm, convenient that you both happened to leave to do that at the exact perfect time that you’d meet up by the river at the same time?” Simon smugly smirked,

“That’s a coincidence!” They both argued,

“We were not sneaking out to see each other.” Carl sighed, “I… I have a girlfriend,” he lied,

“Yeah? What’s her name?”

“... Uhhhh… Grate-Grace-y Gracie!”

“Did you look at the grate and make that up?”

“... Yes,”

“What would we have even been sneaking out into the woods to do?” Y/n argued,

“You tell me, little lady.” Simon smirked, “You’re the one whose jeans ‘fell off’ with the slightest tug.”

“It was an old belt!” She snapped,

“What do you want anyway?” Carl glared up at him,

“Well, I thought you two should have heard the weather report,” Simon growled, “There are some dark clouds on the horizon. A storm is coming.”

Instantly, Y/n and Carl realised the danger they were in.

“I am sure you two don’t still wanna be down there once the rain starts,” Simon smirked,

“It won’t be that bad.” Carl snapped, trying to stay strong,

“Won’t it? Well, how about we give you just a little taste?” He chuckled before she snapped his fingers to his men,

Within seconds, they brought over two large plastic jugs of water, the kind they’d use in office water coolers back before the walkers. Without a moment to prepare, the jugs were tipped over and allowed to flood down on the grate.

The water splashed when it hit the grate and rained down on Carl and Y/n. The water was cold, not ice cold, but still enough to chill their bodies as they were soaked by it. They had no way to escape the fall of the water, and couldn’t even move their arms up to protect their faces from the dagger-like spiking feeling of the water hitting their skin. The water also had nowhere to go once inside with them, since the walls and floor were lined with welded metal, it formed a sealed container for the water, only slowly seeping through small gaps and into the ground around them, picking up all the dirt that had been gathered on the floor and walls, and began floating around them.

Y/n screamed, putting her head down to try not to choke on water,

“What the fuck! Stop it!” Carl yelled, “Cut it out, you vicious fucker!”

Simon chuckled and made his men take the bottles away. He unlocked the grate and jumped inside while the men pointed their guns directly at Carl and Y/n’s heads. “You've got about two hours until that storm rolls in. If you two are still down here, then… I suppose you’ll both drown. If you want out, you are going to have to amuse me.”

“Amuse you how?” Carl glared,

Simon smirked, “This is the key to both padlocks on your chains,” he said, pulling out a long, thin key on a silver chain. “Once out of the chains, you two can run off as far as you want to.”

Carl went to try and lunge for it, hoping he could grab it with his teeth, but Simon yanked it back.

“Oh no, it’s not gonna be that easy.” He growled as he crouched down and smirked at Y/n, “Hi, Honey,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist,

“Whatever you are planning, no!” Carl spat, “You dare do anything to her!”

“Humm, I wanna make your boyfriend really work for this little key… and I think you have a perfect little hiding place for it,” he growled, his hand sliding down her body,

“Don’t touch her! You touch her, I swear to god I will rip your fucking dick off1” Carl yelled,

But Y/n was frozen, shivering from being soaked by the water. Simon slid his hand down her torso and forced her bare legs apart,

“Get off her!” Carl screamed,

Simon only chuckled as he shoved the key down her panties,

She screamed and tried to squirm away, but his grip kept her still until his hand emerged without the key.

“Good luck, love birds.” Simon laughed,

“You son of a -” Carl began trying to get up and attack him, but Simon kicked him back down to the floor and climbed out, slamming the grate closed above them.

Both sat panting as they heard Simon and his men walk away, silence settling between them.

“Y/n… I… I don’t wanna ask but… where… where is the key?” he asked, barely able to meet her gaze,

“... Inside me,” she whispered, tears in her eyes,

“In-” He choked, “inside… in your… oh god…” He gasped, “And… I… don’t have use of my hands, so… the only way I can get it out is with my…”

“Mouth,” she gulped,

“... Fucking Bastard.” He cursed, “... We do this… and then we never ever speak of it again?”

Walking into the house rick noticed it was quieter than usual. Usually you’d be up and about, cleaning, cooking or doing the laundry. But it was silent

He kicked off his boots and wandered further into the house, taking notice that you did in fact clean up, but you were still nowhere in sight. He walked up the stairs, each step he took a noise was made beneath him from the old wood the house was built on.

As he reached the door to your shared bedroom, he couldn’t wait but come to a halt as he heard a voice coming from the closed bedroom door. Hand covering the door knob he expected nothing less than a dark room, a light breeze coming from The window you left open every night in order to fall asleep faster than listening to the dead-silence that filled the house when Rick wasn't there.

He grunted as sat down on the bed. he ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it in pure exhaustion. he heard moving from behind him which made him cast a look over his shoulder to where you were laid down at.

you had Huffed and puffed in your sleep, hips grinding against the pillow you slept with in-between your legs. he raised his eyebrows, suddenly remembering the voice he heard, which turned out to be none other than you moaning in your sleep.

He slowly got up from the bed and walked over to your side of the bed. he stood over you and waited, and waited, until he heard that sweet song of his name fall from your lips.

"Rick, fuck. baby"

Rick crouched down, his hand reaching out to softly move your hair from your face to see the fucked-out expression you had in your sleep.

"aw, poor baby" he muttered to himself. His pants got uncomfortably tight as he continued to watch you basically fuck yourself in your sleep.

In your dream everything felt real, so fucking real.

He had you, hands pinned above you while he forced your body down to the bed. The entire room was filled from wall-to-wall with the sounds of your moans and the distrusting sound of his wet cock slipping in and out of your abused cunt. Your whole body shook with another incoming orgasm.

"wanna cum, please" you begged again, having been denied to cum since he put you in the position you were in. But again, no matter how much you begged he just simply chuckled and continued on fucking you like you were some sort of toy.

He never said anything to you in your dream. Just simply fucked and fucked you until your whole body ached.

Rick listened and absorbed your movements. The way your face twisted into nothing but pleasure and neediness while your hips shamelessly grinded into the pillow, fuck, he felt his breathing pick up, he needed to wake you up now.

“Sweetheart” he lightly shook your arm. “Sweetheart wake up, now” he saw the confusion in your eyes as you opened them, however he also saw a tear fall from your eyes.

“Rick?” You lifted your hand from your pillow to softly crease his cheek. You couldn’t stop the sob from falling from your lips as you looked right into his blue eyes. “It wasn’t real?”

Your body fucking ached with a strong desire to cum.

“No, sweetheart it wasn’t” he moved the hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. “Want me to make it real”

You nodded your head, body laying flat onto the bed as he climbed ontop of you. He placed both hands on either side of your head as he leaned down to place a gentle but firm kiss to your lips, immediately you moan hands flying to grip onto his grayish hair. He took your moan as opportunity to force his tongue into your mouth.

He opened your legs wider for him to settle in-between. The kiss turned sloppy and nasty in a matter of seconds. He broke the kiss to plant kisses down your cheek to your neck, he left harsh bites that would be insanely hard to cover up but you didn’t care, you loved the pain of his teeth sinking into your neck. A deep groan from behind your throat fell from your lips as he backed his knee into your throbbing cunt

He knew exactly what he was doing by doing that, knew that just the slightest pressure on your cunt was on a high risk of making you come undone.

“Rick, please” you sobbed grabbing a handful of his shirt. “It hurts please” it truly did hurt, everything hurt on your body, you’ve never needed him more than before.

“Aw, baby, where does it hurt" he slowly traced his hand down your body, starting from your neck down to your tits and finally down to your panties, his hand hovered above the white cotton ones you wore. “Does it hurt here?” He messed with the waistband and watched as that small movement made your breath pick up.

You nodded fast, “y-yes, there it hurts” your back arched off the bed as he laid a slap to your covered cunt. You tried to close your legs but he was quicker than you and prided them open.

He pulled your panties down your legs, tossed them somewhere behind his head and Immediately went to work. You moaned loudly as you felt the wetness on his tongue lay directly on your cunt. His tongue moved all sorts of ways that he knew would make you more than Beyond weak. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down your face as you felt his tongue slip in and out of your hole, while his fingers rubbed circles on your bub.

“My god, rick please” one of your hand flew to grip onto his hair while the other grabbed onto your tit, “don’t stop” he continued slurping your wetness from your cunt.

You felt your body began to shake and finally that high you were chasing in your dream came true in reality. Your mouth hung open as you came, a load of silent moans fell out. “Fuck, fuck rick” your breathing was fast as you came back to reality.

Rick lightly slapped at your cheek, “you still with me honey” you nodded, completely dumbfounded. “Aw she can’t speak” he mocked your silence.

He sat up on his knees, “i know a way to make you speak again” he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free. He hovered back over you, “still stupid, uh?” He tapped his tip against your wet and clenching cunt which made you snap back to reality.

“Am not stupid” just saying that made you feel stupid, and the laugh that left his mouth made you feel even worse.

“Of course you’re not stupid-“ you grasped as you felt his cock fill your tight hole, “just stupid enough for my cock that you dream about it” you grabbed onto the bedsheets as he sped up his movements enough that the headboard started banging against the wall.

“Fuck you feel good honey, tell me” he grabbed onto your neck, bringing your face close enough that you could feel his breath on your face, “tell me, you prefer the real me, not the dream me. Because only I can make you feel this way.

A slight jealousy of himself wasn’t something you would expect, but you suppose the real rick was ten times more better than a dream version of himself.

“Of-of course the real is better, fuck rick” he threw your head back down onto the pillow and continued on with his brutal thrust

It wasn’t that it was horrible. You felt safe with everyone so close. You also didn’t have to worry about anything going wrong in the night without your knowledge. It just wasn’t as pleasant as getting to be alone at the end of the day when both your mind and body are tired. How you craved the sound of the steel bars shutting and the feeling of the lumpy pillow against your head.

But all that lies underneath a pile of rubble now. There was no use wishing for another time you’d never get back.

You sigh and roll onto your side. The thunder and rain outside was keeping you up. Your eyes scan the dark room to try and find another open pair, any one of your friends who would be able to suffer along with you. You don’t find any, which is a good thing you suppose, but now you’re left to lay all alone in hopes of sleep calling your name sometime soon.

You were in the corner of the barn with your jacket tucked under your head. That’s the spot you’d taken up as soon as people were picking where to sleep. You liked having walls to your back. It was less space for something to hide or attack from. Some of your friends like Abraham and Daryl lie along the walls like you while others like Carl and Michonne rest near the center, wanting to be close to any potential threat.

Rick sleeps a foot or two from you. He’s on his back, one arm behind his head while the other is draped over his abdomen. You can hear the deep and even rhythm of his breath, and you know that he’s out cold at least for the time being.

After a little while he rolls onto his side like you had, and you think that you’ve found someone to share your struggles with. When you look over at him though, his eyes are still shut, his lips are still parted, and his body is still limp. 

Your lips purse with disappointment, but your eyes soften. He needed the rest. He’d been stretching himself to the limit ever since your group had barely made it out of Terminus alive. You understood why. The group needed somewhere stable to call home. You just wished he wouldn’t put that responsibility entirely on himself.

You always liked Rick. He’d taken you in a couple months after the outbreak when you were scared and alone, shaking and covered in blood on the side of the highway. You’d just seen the final members of your previous group fall victim to the dead. On the verge of giving up and letting a herd claim you too, you saw him dash by. He was looking for a missing little girl. Instead he’d found you.

Even on the farm when everyone was fighting over everything all the time, you admired him like you did now. It was almost weird to think of him now compared to back then. The clean-cut officer friendly you’d met a couple years ago now sported shaggy hair and a beard along with eyes always scanning for danger.

The crush you harbored for him was as strong as ever though. Not one thing about that had changed. Unlike his hair, you hadn't grown out of it in the slightest.

You continue watching him while the wind and rain team up to beat against the wooden slats of the barn walls. Interrupting your study of his features, he grunts. It’s quiet; so much so that you almost miss it amongst the other noise. It seems ordinary enough, but he does it again. And then again as he rolls further to his side so that he’s nearly on his stomach.

“Mmmm…” he sighs, “Fuck.”

Your eyes widen a little at that, but you smile, wondering what was frustrating him in the world of his dreams. His lips smack idly against one another for a moment before he speaks again.

“Just like that, baby. Atta girl,” he murmurs.

And now you’re really interested. 

Your hand flies to your mouth to stifle your reaction. You didn’t know whether to laugh or try to wake him. You knew that waking him up would be the right thing to do… but you didn’t want to just yet. He rolls his hips against the hard ground he’s sleeping on, which you know can’t feel that good. But he does it again. And he looks like a divine being as he does so, everything about him enrapturing you.

Another low groan seeps from his mouth, and a couple incoherent words follow. You bite your lip and look around again to make sure no one else is watching you. You couldn’t help wondering who he was dreaming of. Maybe Lori still crossed his mind every once in a while or possibly he harbored some secret desire for someone in the group. Perhaps it was just a plain old sex dream and he was envisioning some woman he liked before the world changed.

“Fuck…” he grunts again, “Such a good girl.”

Warmth simmers to life in your belly, and you find your thighs rubbing against one another. Those two words were a weak spot of yours, so of course he'd have to rasp them out like that. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined them falling from his lips but hearing it in reality was so much sweeter.

His arms shift around as he continues trying to find some relief against the dirt. By this point, a bulge has formed at the front of his pants, and the sight is enough to make your mouth water. You know this is wrong, perving on him like this, but you swear to yourself that you're gonna wake him up. Just a few more seconds. Though before you get the chance, he moans again.

Among some expletives and praise, your name floats into the night. The syllables leak out in a hushed manner, but they send a jolt through you regardless. Your eyes widen and the heat in your tummy creeps up through your neck into your cheeks.

"Just a little deeper, dolly," he slurs, "That's it."

This time you're unable to repress the laughter that bubbles in your chest. The sound is soft, but it's enough to rouse him.

His eyes flutter open, his pupils still laden with sleep. It takes him a few seconds to register all that's going on.

"What're you gigglin' about?" he grumbles as he sits up and rubs his face.

But as soon as he moves, he becomes conscious of what was so amusing to you. He feels it rock hard against his thigh and flashes of his dream run through his mind. You can see it on his face, the embarrassment over the fact that he'd been caught having a wet dream. Caught by the very person it starred.

"Sorry," you simper.

He tries to maintain his usual stern temperament, but you see his humility in the flush of his cheeks. He can't look you in the eyes right now. His mind struggles to grasp the words that would make this better.

"Grow up," he mumbles as he starts to roll the other direction, "You've never had one of those? How old are you?"

"Old enough for you to dream about apparently," you say with another little laugh as you go to lay down yourself.

"Shut up," he mutters before closing his eyes again.

A few days went by before either of you addressed it. That was Rick's doing since he pretty much avoided you as best he could after it happened. It made you a little sad, but it was understandable. You probably would've done the same if the roles were reversed.

The group had left the shack from that night in search of more food and water. The bunch of you stagger in factions as you walk along some train tracks through the woods. Maggie, Glenn, and Tara lead at the front while Michonne with Carl carrying Judith linger a little behind them. You're trekking along with Sasha and Rosita before letting yourself fall back so you can be besides Rick.

"Are you mad at me?" you ask.

He glances over at you. "No, I'm not mad at you," he states matter of factly. 

"It seems like you are."

"Why's that?" he asks.

"Cause you've been avoiding me," you say with a coy smile.

"I haven't been avoidin' you," he denies.

"Mhm," you respond, "C'mon, it's not that big of a deal. Things don't have to be weird now."

His eyes remain on you as if trying to analyze your intentions. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything," he says.

"The only thing making me uncomfortable is how awkward you are around me now," you say with a little feigned pout, "Seriously, I don't care. It was just a dream. People can't control dreams. It's not like I caught you jerkin’ off to a picture of me."

"Keep your voice down," he says, eyes flitting ahead to make sure no one had heard the topic of your conversation. He then sighs and runs a hand over his sweaty hair.

"C'mon, Rick," you say. You give his arm a little shove but do make a point to lower your volume. "I'm sorry for laughing at you."

"No you're not," he says and for the first time in days, he cracks a small smile.

Your face reflects his expression like a mirror. "Well... it was funny. But I still didn't mean to make you feel bad. It doesn't bother me or anything. I know dreams don't reflect real life," you reassure him.

He nods and remains quiet for a moment as the two of you continue down the tracks. You were slightly hoping he'd tell you his dream was based in reality. That he did want you while awake just as much as he did while he slept. But that was a wilder dream than the one that had caused all this. 

He finally speaks and looks over at you again. "I appreciate you keeping it to yourself and not making a thing out of it."

"Of course," you beam at him, "I'm a good girl, remember?"

He gives you an unamused stare in response before lightly shoving the back of your head, guiding you back towards the rest of the group. Despite his outward annoyance, you could see the fondness return to his eyes.

It only took you a few weeks to make Rick regret his leniency in regards to your jokes. You still hadn't told anyone directly about his dream which he was grateful for, but people would probably find out soon enough with all your teasing and hinting.

At first, it seemed like you truly wanted to move on from it; leave what you'd witnessed in the past and forever wonder if the dream spawned from a place of true desire or just his brain fucking with him. Things were stressful enough for everyone during that week, especially Rick. The group had nearly succumbed to dehydration one day and struggled to find shelter for the next few.

But then you all had been invited to Alexandria. You and the others had been welcomed with open arms into a slice of the old world. Everything seemed to settle down for the most part. Your people were still on edge, Rick was ready for conflict at any moment, but no longer were you constantly worried about if you'd be able to find food or water.

And with things simmering down, Rick was pretty sure you decided that it'd be ok for you to turn the heat up.

It was after a week or so of being there that the jokes started back up. You'd reference the "good girl" part of it the most, but occasionally you'd mix it up and go for a "just like this, right Rick?"

Each little remark, every time your smug smile rose on your lips, the way you pranced around the community as if you knew a dirty little secret; it all compounded, a new stone being thrown at the glass that housed Rick's resolve.

Tonight he can't sleep. Everyone else in your group is passed out, exhausted from a long day. But he's wide awake. He feels restless. He shifts around on the sofa and sighs, rubbing his eyes.

Since joining Alexandria, everyone had begun easing up about sleeping arrangements. The first week, you all piled into one house and slept around the living room as if it was one of the sheds you'd been bouncing between before. But after some time went by, people began to spread out.

Everyone had basically claimed a house as their own by now, some sharing their's with a few other group members. Rick kept the one everyone had started off in. Carl and Judith slept peacefully in bedrooms of their own upstairs while he took the couch. Even though this place seemed like a paradise, he couldn't bring himself to trust it yet. He couldn't sleep in the master bedroom that was tucked away in the back of the second floor. It was the farthest from the stairs and all the doors. He'd never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn't in the position to protect his children.

Though they weren't the only ones in the house with him now. Peering down the hallway in front of him, he could see you. Despite how much you loved acting tough and teasing, underneath you were still vulnerable, and Rick wasn't blind to how you looked to him for comfort. When you came to him in the evening and asked to stay as everyone was heading off to their own beds, he couldn't say no. You could make all the bratty jokes and innuendos in the world, and he still couldn't stomach the thought of you feeling unsafe.

You were still sleeping on the floor against the wall. As much as you had missed your bed from the prison, you found yourself not ready to transition back to a mattress again when the time came. Rick understood. It felt weird going from the hard ground where you could spring to action in seconds to a comfy bed that cradled your form and kept you drowsy and unaware. At least in your place in the hall, you slept on some chair cushions he offered you so your body wasn't bare against the hardwood.

He watches you, taking in your sleeping form amidst the quiet of the house. A thin blanket covered most of your body, but he could still admire other parts of you from a distance. He could see the precious way your fingers curled around the edge of the fuzzy material draped over you. Your face looked so soft and delicate in its completely relaxed state. Your cute, plush lips were parted ever so slightly.

As his eyes raked over you, he felt something stir within himself. Instead of hearing your gentle breathing, the sounds his mind had created as you moaning in his dream played through his head. He tries to shake them away and think of other things, but you are all his brain wants to think about. If it's not you moaning or writhing in pleasure beneath him, it's how you giggle after telling one of your stupid jokes. It's the way your eyes widen with amusement when he growls "keep it down."

And if it's not that, earlier memories flicker through his internal vision. He can still remember the day he met you like it was last week. You standing there, bloody and shaking. Your eyes wide and darting around. So different from the you he saw today.

He sits up and scratches his jaw, feeling the skin that was now smooth from his recent shave. He still couldn't tear his eyes away from you. You had rolled over now, taking some of the blanket with you. He could see slivers of your legs and the roundness of your ass peeking from below the border of the blanket. Sighing, he leans back into the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He had it bad for you, and he knew it. He just didn't like thinking about that fact or being cognizant of how pathetic he could be for you. Like having a wet dream. He hadn't had one of those in well over a decade before this last time. It was ridiculous.

It wasn't so much that he thought you didn't reciprocate. You were all but a petulant schoolgirl pulling her crush's hair for attention. Rather it was just that you were quite a bit younger than him, and it made him feel like shit. He supposed it didn't matter, being the end of the world and all. Things weren't the same as they used to be. It was a miracle to find anyone you could feel this way about now. But that didn't stop guilt from tying his intestines into knots every time he imagined anything more with you.

You didn't ease that feeling by toying with him so much either. Day in and day out, you practically begged for more out loud every time he came around you. His mind swirls with all the instances of your temptation, and in this moment, he really starts to feel that his guilt is unnecessary. It would probably return in full force tomorrow, but for right now, while he thinks of all the things you put him through, he feels like he deserves a little something for his troubles.

He stands up, and finds himself walking towards the area you sleep at the end of the hall. Any other man left in this world would have staked their claim on you by now. A pretty girl flagrantly throwing herself at the object of her affection. His honor held him back, but it wasn't like this was something so serious, right? Didn't he deserve to let go once in a while?

He crouches down next to you. At first, he only stares, but soon enough his hand follows. It starts on your shoulder, rubbing in a small circle. His palm then slides up and down your side. He can feel your muscles molding to his touch. Your body recognizes your need for him even when unconscious.

He maneuvers himself closer to you, sliding behind you on the cushions so that his chest is against your back. His hand stays on your body, continuing its slow, rhythmic movements. He keeps it over your shirt at first before slipping it beneath, exploring the skin of your midriff.

You let out a little sigh and shift a bit in your sleep. You still don't wake up though. He nestles his face against the back of your neck, taking a breath of your scent. He imagines what would happen if you woke up right now. He's positive you'd be startled, but he'd bet his life you wouldn't push him away.

He'd only ever been this close to you one time before. It was a couple days after the prison fell. Like right now, it was also at night. It wasn't sensual like he was trying to make this moment though. That time you'd had a nightmare. You woke up in tears, shivering in the pitch black of the random house you were shacked up in with him and Carl. It hadn't taken any words. He knew what you needed. He held you close like right now until you'd returned to the safe embrace of sleep. Unlike his wet dream, the two of you had never spoken about that since.

Testing the waters, his fingers dip below the hem of your shorts. They glide over your hip bone, pressing a tender massage into the skin. You like that. He can tell from the way you lean into it. You roll onto your back to be closer to him.

He really goes for it now. His hand slides to the front of you to cup your sex over your panties. He positions his face in the crook of your neck and lays a few soft pecks on your throat. His digits then start to move slowly.

They caress your pussy over the soft fabric shielding it from his raw touch. But even with the thin barrier, he can tell you feel the sparks of pleasure. Your hips wiggle a little bit. Your mind can't discern what exactly the sensation is right now. All you know is that it's starting to disturb your slumber.

You whine, the tender noise garbled and half-hearted.

"Shh-shh, sweet girl," he coos in your ear.

Upon hearing his voice, he sees your eyelids twitch as if they want to open. His middle finger slots itself between your lips and strokes with more precision. He can feel slick starting to soak through the garment. You whimper again. There's still a chance this could go so wrong, but that's part of what has his blood pumping down South to his building erection.

Your thighs part, your subconscious desire shining through. He chuckles against your neck and swirls the pad of his finger over your little bud.

"There you go. Let me in, honey," he praises.

Him speaking again is what finally draws you back into the waking world. Your eyes crack open. You're confused by what's happening; the warmth to your left side, the tingling between your legs, the raspy voice in your ears.

The moment reality clicks in your head is visible to Rick. Your eyes widen, as much as they can while your lashes are still heavy with drowsiness. Your head turns to connect your gaze with him. As he expected, the situation was jarring to you but not in a way that was completely bad. His movements slow, but they don't come to a full stop.

"Rick, what are you-"

He cuts you off by leaning in and putting his lips on yours. It felt different than you'd imagined. You'd become so used to seeing him with a beard that your daydreams always had his kisses feeling scratchy. You didn't update your ideas when he'd shaven clean. There's no scratch at all now. Nothing but his lips on yours.

His heart pounds violently within his ribcage. He pulls back, ready for your final verdict. He feels your thighs squeezing around his wrist.

"What are you doing?" you ask, your voice soft and hazy like you had asked if you were still dreaming.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he responds, "I'm givin' you what you want." 

"Are you sure it's not what you want?" you ask.

Of course you'd still try to tease. Even when he so clearly had the upper hand.

"Oh I'm sure. You're not a mystery, sweetheart," he says quietly. He pauses for a moment but decides to to continue. "It took me having a wet dream for you to figure out you might have a chance, but I've known you've wanted me for a long time now just from how you look at me. Like you have little hearts in your eyes."

You bite your lip, both to suppress the moan bubbling in your esophagus and out of an embarrassment at how dead on he was. His finger works at you faster, sliding around in your arousal as he nips at your earlobe.

"You may as well have written 'fuck me' across your forehead, babydoll. Would've given me the same impression," he whispers.

You whine, and god, he can't get enough of how it feels to be the one teasing. For once, he's doling out the humiliation to you. You're the one with the shame boiling in your tummy and heat melting rational thought away in your brain. Your hips start to rock against his hand.

"Was this what your dream was about?" you whimper.

"No," he answers, smiling at your whiny tone, "That night you caught me I was dreaming about you sucking me off."

The mere suggestion makes your back arch and shaky breath exit your lungs. Once you're settled on the cushions again, Rick resumes filling in the details you hadn't been privy to.

"That's what got me. You were on your knees, looking up at me with those sweet eyes, pretty mouth full of cock. You were moanin', droolin' on it. You just couldn't get enough," he recalls as if talking about a memory, "I bet you love having a dick in your mouth, don't you? Lips like those were made for it."

You mewl again before nodding weakly. "I would've done it for you if you asked."

"I'm sure you would have," he smirks.

He leans in to give you more kisses as his fingers keep playing with your pussy. You keep rolling yourself into the touches. He's guessing you're getting close from the way your pace is picking up. He pulls back for a small break to catch his breath.

"Isn't this so much more fun when you're not being such a smartass?" he teases.

You pout at him as a reply. Your bottom lip wobbles as you struggle to maintain the expression. It was hard pretending to be upset when he was giving you everything you wanted.

"Don't look at me like that," he chuckles, "You're still a sweet girl. You just need the brattiness fucked out of you sometimes."

That wipes the pout away clean. Your lips part as you let out a tiny moan.

"Good girl," he croons.

But despite his praise, only a few moments later, he retracts his hand from your panties. You whine, and your eyes look up at him with a desperate urgency. He couldn't leave you like this. It would be deserved revenge for all your antics. 

"Nuh uh, none of that," he murmurs as his hand goes to push down his sweats instead, "So spoiled, and I haven't even started with you yet."

You quiet down, just relieved he's not leaving. You boost your hips to push your shorts and underwear down. He watches with satisfied eyes at your attempt to match him.

"I want you cummin' on my cock before anything else, sweet thing. Think you can do that for me?"

"Mhm," you hum softly.

Your stomach flutters and your clit throbs when his cock is finally in view. Just seeing it makes your mouth water. It's hard all for you, angry veins spanning down the shaft to the swollen head. You reach for it, but he stops you by grabbing your wrist.

"You don't get to touch it just yet. It's going inside you first. Then if you're good, I might let you play with it later," he says. 

In truth, this was the first bit of action Rick was getting in a while. Under no circumstances would he give you more ammunition for jokes by blowing his load from a handjob and then not getting it back up to fuck you proper.

You kick your bottoms all the way off as he rolls on top of you. He gives himself a few strokes of preparation before swiping his tip through your folds. A groan vibrates in his chest as the feeling of the warm, sticky fluid coating him. He lines himself up and sinks in. His hands move to the back of your knees, pushing your legs up to either side of your abdomen.

"Fuck, baby. You're tight," he grunts as he works himself between your walls.

You nod simply, still adjusting to the feeling of him stretching you out. Your walls flutter around him as if happy to finally have what you'd been craving for what feels like forever. He grunts again and tightens his grip on your legs.

A little bit more, and he's all the way in. He takes a moment to just feel it, your warm, wet, cunt sucking him in, embracing him like it was made to be his.

His forehead drops to press against yours as he begins to move. He thrusts at a moderate pace, but he makes sure to strike deep every time. Both of you are taking care to be somewhat quiet since it was the dead of night, but the sensations are strong with or without the noise.

"This what you been wantin', dolly?'” he breathes as the skin of his pelvis connects with your ass.

"Yeah, been wanting it everyday," you whimper, "I was hoping you'd have another dream."

"Oh yeah?" he asks, chuckling lowly between pants, "And you'd have been ready to help me out if it happened again, right?"

"Yeah. I needed it so bad. You don't understand," you whine. One of your hands rises up and tugs on his brown curls.

That draws a growl from him and makes him fuck into you harder.

"I do understand, pretty girl. Every time you ran that cute little mouth, I wanted to bend you over, spank that sweet cunt raw and then fuck it full," he mumbles.

Your eyes screw shut at the image he puts in your head. Your arms wrap around his neck and keep him close as can be. His hips rut into you with passion you'd never felt from anyone else before.

"That's all I wanted," you whine, clamping down around his length.

"You're gonna get it right now," he says and pounds against your hips harder.

They had morning after pills here. He'd seen a few packs in the infirmary. Cumming inside you one time would be fine. That's what his lust-driven mind told him anyways. He'd make sure to get some condoms before next time, because there would be a next time.

You wrap your legs around him and squeeze. He lets out a moan himself and slides his head over to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

"Fuck, baby. You ready?" he asks.

You nod eagerly as you approach the edge yourself. You slide one hand down to your clit, giving it a few strokes to make sure you could get there with him.

His nails dig into the flesh of your hips when he cums. His jaw clenches, and he grits his teeth, using everything in him to stay quiet. And you cum seconds later. The way you pulse around him milks him dry. He spurts rope after rope of pent up release into your wanting cunt.

You tremble and whimper beneath him, your eyes unable to decide if they wanna roll back or close tight. He gently rocks his hips against you the whole time until you're both sated. Once both of your bodies are ready to give out, he pulls out of you. He drops back onto his side like he had been before and puts himself back together.

You reach down and pull your clothes back into place. He wasn't sure what was gonna happen next until you turned to look at him. Once he has a look at your expression, he can see the part of you that loves to rile him up and tease is gone right now. The vulnerable one that lurks beneath the surface has the reins right now. 

You curl up to his chest. You wanna cuddle and kiss as you come down, and he gives you that. He gives it to you until you drift off to sleep again. He's not far behind you. You'd tired him out enough that he felt he could pass out too.

He scoops you up and brings you back to the couch with him, imagining this would look better than the both of you crumpled up on the floor together in a pile of disheveled blankets. Having you tucked to his side like this was all he needed right now. He'd done more than let go tonight. He was letting you in.

his fingers lingered at the back of your head for a second, adjusting the knot with a quiet hum. "There," he murmured, "Perfect." Then he was guiding you backward, his hands firm on your shoulders until your spine met the pillows.

Chan's weight dipped the mattress beside you, his knee brushing your thigh as he shifted to reach for something off camera. he clicked a button open, the quiet buzz of a vibrator turning on sent an immediate shiver down your spine — you knew that sound too well already.

The vibrator lingered just above your clit, the thin fabric of your panties doing nothing to dull the heat of it, the tease of it. Chan let it hover there, the vibrations dialed low, just enough to make your hips twitch up toward it instinctively. "Uh uh," he chided, his thumb pressing into the softness of your hip to hold you still. "You don’t get to rush this."

he traced lazy circles, the pressure maddeningly light, it had your thighs tensing, your breath coming quicker. You could already feel the dampness between your legs, the way your body was reacting even before he’d really started.

Then, without warning, he increased the speed. The buzz deepened, rougher now, and your back arched off the bed as the vibrations shot straight through you. "hnngh—" you gasped, your fingers twisting against the cuffs.

"That’s more like it," he mused, angling the toy a little lower, letting it grind against you in slow strokes. The fabric was soaked through now, and you could feel yourself getting closer with every pass — your muscles tightening, your pulse thudding in your ears.

Just as your hips started rocking up into it, Chan pulled it away. The sudden absence of it was almost painful, your body jerking forward trying to chase it, a whine tearing from your throat before you could stop it. "Oh, come on," you panted, shaking your head against the pillows.

"Oh, don’t give me that," he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "You think I didn’t see you edging yourself on the couch earlier? Trying to get a head start?" His fingers tapped once against your inner thigh, "No cheating, sweetheart. You’re gonna earn it." The vibrator clicked off entirely, and you groaned, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

"You’re so mean," the words barely left your lips before the vibrator clicked back on — higher this time, a sharper buzz that sent an instant jolt through you, your entire body jerking like you’d been shocked. "Fuck—!" The sound punched out of you, and Chan laughed, the toy already circling mercilessly against your clit through the soaked fabric.

"You were saying?" he mused, his free hand splaying across your stomach to hold you down as your hips bucked uncontrollably. The vibrations were relentless, buzzing straight through your nerves, lighting you up from the inside out.

Every muscle tensed, your thighs trembling, your fingers clawing uselessly at the cuffs — it was too much and not enough all at once, the pleasure cresting so fast it left you gasping.

he kept the pressure just shy of unbearable, the toy grinding against you with the kind of precision that made your toes curl into the sheets. "There we go," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction as your hips twitched helplessly under his hand. "Listen to you —getting so loud for me already."

And you were. Every gasp, every whine, every broken half word spilling from your lips was magnified by the blindfold, by the cuffs, by the sheer need coiling low in your stomach.

You could hear yourself — desperate, shameless — and it only made the heat pool deeper between your thighs. "you sound pretty like this," he mused, angling the toy just enough to make your back arch off the bed. "Bet the chat’s losing their minds over it."

lixonfire: losing mind AND my pants

probablyflickingmybean: stole my moms credit card for this and now I think Im bi

squirtlord: wait put me in the middle

The pleasure was building again, you could feel it — the tension coiling tighter, your muscles trembling, your pulse pounding everywhere the vibrator touched. You were so close, so fucking close—

Then it was gone.

The toy lifted away, a wounded noise tearing from your throat "no—!", the buzz fading just as your body jerked forward, "Chan— please —" you choked out, your voice cracking on the word.

"Please what?" he teased, dragging the vibrator in one slow, torturous line down your inner thigh, "Use your words, sweetheart."

slave4u: the things I'd let this man do to me set women back generations.

changtitties: MAKE HER BEG MORE

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, your hips twitching uselessly toward the sensation. "Please— i wanna cum," you managed, the words barely more than a whisper.

Chan let the vibrator hover just above your skin, "Hmm? Didn’t catch that," he mused, his voice dripping with false innocence.

The toy traced a slow, teasing circle in the air, close enough that you could feel the heat of it radiating against your damp skin. "You’re gonna have to speak up, sweetheart. The mic’s not that good."

Your hips jerked uselessly toward the sensation, your breath hitching as the vibrations teased the edge of your clit . "Please," you gasped, louder this time, the word cracking under the weight of how badly you needed it. "Please, Chan— let me cum." The plea tumbled out ragged, your voice breaking halfway through, Chan made a soft, approving noise in the back of his throat.

"There it is," he purred, rewarding you by shoving your soaked panties aside and pressing the vibrator directly on you all at once, the full force of it grinding against you without warning.

You cried out, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure slammed into you so sudden that your vision blurred at the edges. Chan’s free hand pinned your hip to the mattress, his grip firm as he held you in place, the toy working mercilessly against you. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Knew you could beg pretty."

The praise lit you up as much as the vibrator did, warmth flooding your chest even as your thighs trembled under the relentless stimulation. "don't stop — don't stop please!" You were so close already, your muscles tightening, your breath coming in short, frantic gasps. it wouldn’t take much more, just a little longer, just—

And then the pressure shifted, the toy angling just right, and your entire body locked up as pleasure crashed over you in a dizzying wave. "chan—!" Your voice shattered around his name, your back bowing off the bed as you came, the vibrations wringing every last drop of pleasure from you until you were limp and shaking beneath him.

But he didn’t stop.

The vibrator kept going, the buzz dialed up even higher now, and your hips jerked wildly as oversensitivity clawed at your nerves. "Wait— fuck," you sobbed, your thighs trying to clamp together instinctively, but free hand kept them spread.

"Too much— ah —please," The words spilled out in a tangled mess, your body torn between pushing into the sensation and writhing away from it, your breath coming in ragged, punched out gasps.

“Aw, baby,” he cooed, the vibrator never letting up its ruthless rhythm against your oversensitive clit. “Thought you didn’t want me to stop?” His fingers dug into the plush of your thighs, holding you steady as your body jerked, every nerve alight with too much, too much—

more noises punched out of you in a shattered moan as the toy angled harder, the vibrations ratcheting up another notch just to hear you break.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, his hand skating up your stomach to splay over your ribs, his palm warm through the damp fabric of your shirt. “You can take one more.” The vibrator flicked higher, the buzz sharpening to a near painful edge, and your back arched off the bed as pleasure coiled tight in your gut again— too soon, too soon, but your body was already responding.

“yes yes, fuck— I can take it” you gasped, your hips rolling up despite yourself, chasing the dizzying high even as oversensitivity burned under your skin.

“Knew you had it in you.” His fingers flexed against your ribs, his grip bruising as he pinned you down, the vibrator working you relentlessly toward the edge again.

Then you came for the second time, hard, Your thighs trembled violently against his knee, the cuffs digging into your wrists as you twisted helplessly into the sheets.

The blindfold was damp now, clinging to your temples with sweat— or tears, or maybe both, the fabric sticking uncomfortably as you gasped for air. Chan didn’t let up, the vibrator still humming mercilessly against your oversensitive clit until you sobbed, your hips jerking in aborted little spasms. "Enough—please, enough—"

he finally lifted the toy away. The sudden absence of sensation left you shuddering, your body limp and twitching.

His fingers brushed the damp hair off your face, his touch almost tender as he thumbed away the moisture at the edge of the blindfold and gave you a sweet kiss at your forehead.

He shifted, the mattress dipping as he leaned over you to address the chat. "Alright, you animals, that’s our show for tonight," he announced, his tone shifting back into that performative, cocky lilt. "This pretty girl’s done — can’t have her passing out on me." The camera caught the way his grin softened when he glanced down at you, his fingers idly tracing the line of your jaw. "Say goodbye, sweetheart."

You mumbled something incoherent into the pillows, your voice wrecked, and Chan laughed, turning back to the screen. "Yeah, yeah, she’s real articulate right now."

hentaib00bs: bye mommy and daddy

zendaddy123: NO DON'T GO PLS

c00chieslayer: it's all over the screen

seungmininthepornsight: invite me next time

maknae0ntopofyou: ^^^ what he said

his thumb hovered over the end stream button. "Next time, maybe we’ll see if she can make it to four. Night, degenerates."

a/n: okay okay last one before I convince myself I hate it, based of this and this

taglist:@yourqueenlady @kloversung @hycnsung @seagulljk @eyyyylucieeee @zosauce @minniebitesfr @jazz7gnab @stormynight-240 @ariaaleelynn @pedropacals0l0s @caalcyon @hyunjinswife4ever @11racha @starlostjisung @straykitten88 @mandmilovehim @hanjinology @breakmeonce @carrotcakeesblog @supernaturalsunny @gwinamlvr @parkairis18 @g0obz @tumvlrgirlsblog @atetheluck @shortcake-whoops @mylovchris @avchannie @emeraldgem22 @pinkyrec @yourtypicalnerd @skzhyunjinwifey @stryscribbles @jektaev @cb9711 @lostinmymind-daydreaming @b4echo @viisstrayy @binniebb @angellixmar @gnablana @non3ofurbusiness @kitty-bleh @klarkapascal @toxixcherry @allthingsavengery

“Han, stop!” you squealed as he dug his fingers into your sides under the duvet.

“Never!” he proclaimed, rolling on top of you to get a better angle. “Not until you say it!”

“Okay, okay! You’re way better at producing than Changbin!”

You gasped for breath as his fingers stopped, a smile plastered to your face as you gazed up at him, his messy hair framing his face. You still had to pinch yourself sometimes to believe that this was real. That the past few months had really happened.

He raised an eyebrow at you, smirking, and you flushed as he trailed off, knowing what he wanted.

“You’re way better at producing than Changbin… baby.”

Your flush deepened even further as his smirk softened and he leaned down to place a tender kiss on your lips, mumbling a soft “thought so”.

You huffed out a breath as he let his body weight drop on you, wrapping his arms around your waist as your own came up to wrap around his shoulders, one sneaking up to play with the hair at the base of his neck. You loved starting your days like this, in the quiet of your room with Han’s warmth warming you through, because you knew you wouldn’t be able to get this close to him again until you could be sure that no one would see.

Even though you’d been dating for a few months, neither of you had brought up the possibility of becoming official publicly. You knew that Han had a tour coming up with the rest of Stray Kids, and he knew that you were busy focusing on building your own career as a solo artist. He’d carried on helping you produce your songs, and both of you had written a song about your previous relationship with Wooyoung called Toxic Til The End. You both agreed that it was a song that didn’t necessarily need to be shared; it was just a form of therapy for you to get your feelings out in a song.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Han shuffling around, burying his nose into your neck. You smiled softly and soothed your fingers up and down his spine, feeling him shiver slightly from your light touch. You knew you had to get up soon – management had called a last-minute meeting – but you wanted to soak up as much of the morning as you could.

You allowed yourself five more minutes before you tapped him lightly on the back, mumbling, “Jisung, I have to get ready now. I need to meet with management in an hour.”

You felt as much as heard the groan against your neck. “No,” he whined. “’m comfy here.”

You chuckled and kissed the side of his face. “I know, but I can’t miss this meeting. I can’t annoy management this early in my career.”

Han sighed and pushed up onto his elbows, showing you his pout. “Logic isn’t fair this early in the morning.”

“Maybe not, but it’s the only way I’ll leave this bed.”

You flushed again as he smiled at you suggestively, leaning in to leave a lingering kiss on your mouth. You pulled away as he tried to deepen it and giggled as you heard him groan, again. You pushed back the covers, stretching, before you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Han was still lying in your bed, but you could feel his eyes on you.

You nearly trip over your own feet walking to the bathroom, still hazy from the peace and warmth of Jisung’s body tangled with yours moments before. The apartment is quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside and the rustle of sheets behind you as Han shifts in the bed.

You push your way into the bathroom, yawning as you flick the light on, but your eyes widen when you catch sight of your neck.

“Oh my God.”

Dark marks bloom across your neck and collarbone, impossible to miss against your skin. One particularly obvious love bite sits right beneath your jaw, and you clap a hand over it in horror.

“No, no, no—”

You spin around and rush back into the bedroom, one hand still pressed to your neck while you dig frantically through discarded clothes for a hoodie, a scarf, anything. From the bed, Han watches you with sleepy amusement, propped up on one elbow, hair messy and lips still swollen from his inability to stop kissing you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice still rough from lack of sleep.

“You attacked me,” you accuse, horrified. “I can’t go outside looking like this!”

He blinks at you slowly before snorting out a laugh. “Attacked you?”

“Yes, attacked me! People are going to ask questions!”

You finally find a jumper and clutch it to your chest like salvation. Han’s smile softens as he watches your panic spiral.

“And what,” he says carefully, “would be so bad about people asking questions?”

You freeze, and the room suddenly feels very still. Han sits up properly now, the blanket slipping down his waist to reveal his tattoos as he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking far more nervous than amused.

“I mean…” He glances away for half a second before meeting your eyes again. “We’ve been hiding for so long.” His voice is quieter now. “I’m tired of pretending you’re not mine.”

Your heart stutters painfully in your chest. “Ji…”

“I want people to know,” he admits. “Not in some huge dramatic way. But… officially.” He smiles shyly. “If you want that too.”

The panic draining through your system is replaced by something warm and dizzying. You stare at him for a moment, trying to process the fact that the thing you’d secretly wanted for months is sitting right in front of you.

“You mean it?” you whisper.

“Of course I mean it.”

He reaches for your hand, thumb brushing across your knuckles. “I hate having to act normal around you in public,” he murmurs. “I hate not being able to hold your hand when I want to. And honestly? I kinda like everyone knowing I’m the one who did that to your neck.”

You let out a startled laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But you like me.”

Unfortunately, he says it with that smug little grin that makes your stomach flip every time.

Your expression softens. “I do,” you admit quietly, head cocked to the side as you take everything in.

Han’s face changes instantly at that — all fondness and relief and affection so overwhelming you can barely stand looking at him.

“So…” he says carefully, squeezing your hand, “should we tell management?”

You bite your lip, unable to stop smiling now.

“I have my meeting this morning,” you say. “I can mention it then.”

His eyes light up so brightly that it steals the breath from your lungs. “Seriously?”

You nod once, and before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you back onto the bed with a laugh, wrapping both arms around you tightly as he buries his face back into your neck — thankfully, the unmarked side.

“You have no idea how happy you just made me,” he mumbles against your skin.

You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair. For the first time ever, hiding doesn’t feel necessary anymore.

The excitement you carried from your conversation with Han dies the second you walk out of the meeting room.

The words still echo in your head so loudly you can barely hear anything else.

“To be desirable, you have to be available.”

You walk down the hallway numbly, fingers curled tightly around your phone. The fluorescent lights overhead feel too bright, and the building suddenly feels cold and unfamiliar, despite the fact that you’ve spent years here.

Your contract clearly states that there will be no relationships for the next 3 years.

Three years.

You knew the clause existed when you signed. Everyone did. But back then, relationships felt hypothetical — something distant and avoidable. Not this. Not Han. Not someone who had somehow slipped into every quiet space in your life until loving him felt as natural as breathing.

You’d tried to argue. You’d pointed out that fans weren’t stupid, that idols dated all the time, that your private life shouldn’t matter more than your music, but management hadn’t budged. They’d surprised you with a tour announcement that was apparently too important to jeopardise. The company was investing too much into your debut, and they were sending you as a support act for Stray Kids’ world tour. They wanted attention on the music, on the performances, on the image they were selling.

Not on a relationship.

You stop outside the studio door and take a steadying breath before pushing it open. Music spills out instantly, along with laughter, and Han looks up immediately. The second he sees you, his entire face lights up.

“There you are!” Han practically bounces out of his chair, abandoning the headphones around his neck. “Did they tell you?”

You try to smile.

“About the tour?”

“Yes!” He grabs your hands immediately, excitement radiating off him. “We’re together for the whole thing. A whole year.” His eyes shine. “Can you believe that?”

Despite everything, your chest aches fondly at how happy he looks.

“A whole year,” you echo softly.

Han notices it then — the strain in your voice, the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

His expression falters, releasing your hands in favour of wrapping his arms around your waist. “What happened?”

The room quiets around you. The others pick up on the mood quickly enough to awkwardly busy themselves elsewhere, giving you space without saying a word.

You swallow hard, staring over his shoulder. “They said no.”

Han stills. “What?”

“They don’t want us going public.” Your voice comes out smaller than you intended, wobbly. “They said it’ll distract from the tour. From the music.” You laugh bitterly under your breath. “And apparently I need to seem ‘available.’”

The excitement drains from his face so fast it hurts to watch. “They can’t seriously—”

“They reminded me about the contract.”

Han goes silent at that, and his jaw tightens. For a moment, he looks genuinely angry, the kind of anger he rarely lets himself show. His fingers squeeze yours instinctively before he looks away, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Three years,” he mutters.

You nod once.

The reality of it settles heavily between you. More sneaking around, careful touches when nobody’s looking. Pretending. Again.

Your throat tightens as you force yourself to say the words you know he needs to hear. “It’s okay.”

Han immediately looks back at you. “It’s not okay.”

“But it can be.” You step closer, further into his embrace, and you feel his arms tighten around you reflexively. “We still get the tour. We still get each other.”

His expression crumples slightly at that.

“I wanted to hold your hand in public,” he admits quietly. “I wanted to stop pretending.”

The honesty in his voice nearly breaks you. You reach up and smooth his hair back gently, tucking it behind his ear. It was getting long now… I need to hide the scissors, you thought distractedly.

“We will one day.”

Han leans into your touch instinctively, eyes closing for half a second.

“When?” he asks softly.

You don’t have an answer, so instead, you wrap your own arms around him tightly, trying to pour all of your frustration and care into the hug. You feel him doing the same, and the studio around you fades away completely.

“A year together,” you murmur against his shoulder, trying desperately to sound hopeful. “That’s still good, right?”

Han lets out a quiet laugh that sounds dangerously close to sad.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah. It’s good.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you properly again, determination slowly replacing the disappointment in his eyes. “We’ll make it work.”

You nod immediately. “We will.”

Because even if the world isn’t allowed to know yet, the truth remains the same.

He’s yours, and you’re his.

And you would wait however long you needed to.

Getting ready for the event should have been fun and, honestly, part of it is.

This is your first major industry event as a solo artist. Your stylists fuss around you excitedly, management keeps reminding you how important networking is, and every few minutes, someone says something about how proud they are of how far you’ve come. But every time you look at the empty space beside you, your chest aches a little.

Because you should be arriving with Han.

Instead, you’re travelling separately, pretending there’s nothing between you except professional respect for the producer who has been working with you for months. Your phone buzzes just as your car pulls up outside the venue.

Ji 🐿️: where are you?

You: just got here, coming in now

Ji 🐿️: i’ll find you

Ji 🐿️: don’t look too pretty before i get there jagi

You can’t help smiling at the screen.

Then the car door opens, and reality crashes back in.

The event hall is enormous. Lights flash constantly from every direction as reporters crowd the entrance, shouting names over one another. Idols stand clustered beneath company banners while managers hover nearby like anxious shadows. Everywhere you look, there’s movement, designer clothes, cameras, and recognisable faces. It’s overwhelming, and you’ve never felt more out of place.

You bow politely through introductions you barely process before escaping deeper into the hall with a drink in hand, hoping to gather yourself and maybe spot Han. You linger near the edge of the room, trying not to look as lost as you feel while your eyes scan the crowd. No Han. No Stray Kids, either. You exhale slowly and take a sip of your drink as your eyes continue to wander, then you make eye contact with someone across the room and freeze, dread pooling in your stomach.

Oh no.

Wooyoung.

You haven’t seen him since the breakup. Months of carefully avoiding interviews, schedules, mutual industry events — and now here he is, walking directly toward you with that familiar confident smile that used to charm you once upon a time.

Now it just irritates you.

“Well,” Wooyoung says smoothly as he stops beside you, “there’s the superstar.”

You force a polite smile, conscious of the people around you. “Hi.”

“You look good.”

“Thanks.”

The conversation should end there, but instead, he lingers - too close. Too familiar.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, voice softening slightly. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

You almost laugh at the understatement. “I’ve been busy.”

“I noticed.” His eyes flick over you knowingly. “Solo career suits you.”

Something about the way he says it makes you uncomfortable immediately. You shift slightly away from him and glance around the room again, looking for a way out of the conversation. You finally find Han across the hall, and your heart drops as you notice that his eyes are already locked onto you. Or, more specifically, onto Wooyoung standing far too close to you.

Even from this distance, you can see the fury written across his face.

Beside him, Lee Know has a hand wrapped firmly around his arm, clearly muttering something meant to stop him from storming across the room. Your heart lurches, and you subtly widen your eyes at Han, trying desperately to communicate: Don’t. Not here. Not now. Not in front of cameras.

Han’s jaw tightens visibly. You turn your back slightly toward him, hoping Wooyoung won’t notice the exchange. Unfortunately for you, he’d decided that now is the time to finally pay attention to everything again.

“You’re nervous,” Wooyoung says quietly.

“I’m not.”

“Mhm.”

You frown harder. “What do you want?”

His expression shifts then — less charming, more smug.

“I heard rumours,” he says casually. “About you and Han.”

Your blood runs cold. “They’re rumours.”

Wooyoung hums like he doesn’t believe you for a second.

“Funny,” he says, stepping closer again. “You never looked at me the way you look at him.”

Before you can answer, another voice cuts in sharply.

“Maybe because she actually likes me.”

Your stomach flips, and your eyes dart sideways. Han. He’s standing beside you now, expression controlled but visibly strained underneath it. Up close, you can tell he’s trying very hard not to lose his temper.

Wooyoung straightens immediately, then smirks. “Well, if it isn’t the problem.”

Han laughs once without humour. “Pretty sure you’re the one bothering her.”

You step between them slightly before this becomes a headline. “Can we not do this here?”

Wooyoung ignores you completely.

“You know,” he says to Han, “she used to talk about me constantly.”

Han’s expression darkens.

“And now she doesn’t,” he replies flatly.

Wooyoung scoffs softly. “You really think this is permanent? Idols break up all the time.”

Your patience snaps.

“Wooyoung.” Both men look at you, and you carry on regardless, struggling to keep your composure. “I am never getting back together with you,” you say firmly. “Ever.”

The arrogance on Wooyoung’s face falters slightly, but you continue before he can interrupt.

“I’m happy now. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.” Your voice softens instinctively as you glance toward Han. “And I love being with him.”

You smile softly at your boyfriend, and Han looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky. The anger melts from his face completely, replaced by something so unbearably soft your chest aches. You’re snapped from your moment by an unknown voice.

“Can we get a picture?”

All three of you turn to see a reporter hurrying over excitedly.

“Just one photo! The fans would love it.”

Absolutely not. You open your mouth to refuse, but somehow you end up shuffled between Wooyoung and Han before you can escape. Cameras flash instantly. You try not to look horrified. Han remains perfectly composed beside you, though you can feel tension radiating off him. Wooyoung, annoyingly, smiles like this is entertaining.

The picture is taken quickly, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” the reporter chirps before disappearing again.

Wooyoung steps away first, but before leaving, he glances at you one last time.

“I don’t give up easily,” he says lightly, before walking off into the crowd.

You stare after him in disbelief, and Han immediately turns toward you.

“Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice instantly softens your irritation.

“I’m fine,” you assure him quietly. “Are you?”

He exhales slowly. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

You laugh despite yourself. Han smiles faintly before glancing around the room cautiously. Cameras still flash everywhere.

“I should probably go before someone notices I’ve been standing here too long.”

Your heart sinks a little, but you nod. Before leaving, his fingers brush subtly against yours — hidden by the folds of your outfit where nobody can see. A secret touch, a reassurance, just for the two of you.

Then he’s gone.

But for the rest of the evening, you notice little things. Chan appears nearby whenever reporters crowd you too aggressively. Changbin casually intercepts people trying to pull you into uncomfortable conversations. Minho is watching the room like a security guard.

And Han is always somewhere in your line of sight, hovering close enough to protect you, even if nobody else notices why.

And honestly? You love him a little more for it.

You’re getting really sick and tired of last-minute meetings, especially when the meeting feels less like damage control and more like punishment.

You sit silently at the long conference table while management talks at you rather than to you, every word tightening the knot in your stomach further.

“You were too obvious.”

“Han almost caused a scene.”

“You need to be more careful.”

You grip your hands together beneath the table hard enough for your nails to hurt. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

One of the executives sighs impatiently. “The issue isn’t whether you did something wrong. The issue is perception.”

Perception. Image. Marketability. Words that, at one point, felt incredibly important to you now leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“The media response to the event has been overwhelming,” another manager continues. “Too many people are speculating about you and Han.”

You almost laugh. “Well, maybe if you let us just confirm the relationship—”

“No.”

The answer comes immediately, their tone firm, final. Your jaw clenches as you try to resist the urge to argue with them.

“We need attention redirected,” they continue. “And conveniently, the event already created another angle.”

Your stomach drops before they even say his name. “No.”

“You haven’t heard the plan yet.”

“I don’t need to.”

But they continue anyway. “Wooyoung is willing to cooperate.”

Cooperate.

Like this is business. Like you’re his business.

“You’ll be seen together casually over the next few weeks,” management explains. “Coffee shops. Restaurants. Shared exits after schedules. Nothing confirmed, nothing denied.”

You stare at them in horror as you realise what they’re implying.

“You… want me to fake-date my ex-boyfriend?”

“No,” one corrects smoothly. “We want people talking about possibilities besides Han.”

You push your chair back slightly in disbelief, wanting to create space between their words and yourself. “This is insane.”

“It’s strategic.”

“It’s cruel.”

The room goes quiet for a moment before the head executive says, “It’s necessary.”

You hate how powerless you feel.

“You don’t understand,” you say quietly. “Han already hates this.”

“Then he’ll need to learn professionalism.”

The anger that flashes through you is immediate and sharp.

“He is professional.”

“Then this shouldn’t be a problem.”

You want to scream. Instead, you sit there in silence because you already know how this ends. You already know that the decision is made, and you have no choice but to accept for the sake of your contract and your career. For your future.

They all feel like they are balanced carefully above your head, like something fragile enough to shatter at the slightest mistake.

And for Han and your future together… you’d survive anything. Even this.

Later that night, your apartment feels unbearably quiet. Half-packed suitcases sit open across your bedroom floor while clothes spill from drawers and skincare products clutter every available surface.

The tour starts tomorrow, and normally, you’d be excited. Instead, dread curls heavily in your stomach. Behind you, Han lies across your bed, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone, one leg dangling off the edge.

“You’re overpacking,” he says lightly without looking up.

“I am not.”

“You packed three hoodies yesterday.”

“They’re different hoodies.”

Han snorts softly, and the sound makes your chest ache because for a few minutes, everything feels normal. Safe. And you’re about to ruin it.

You stop folding your clothes, take a deep breath and call to him, “Jisung.”

He glances up immediately. Something in your face makes him sit up slightly, eyebrows drawing together in concern. “What’s wrong?”

You suddenly can’t look at him. Management’s words replay in your head over and over until you feel sick.

“They want me to do damage control.”

Han frowns. “What does that mean?”

Your throat tightens. “They think people are talking too much about us after the event.”

His expression hardens instantly. “So?”

You force yourself to continue. “They want me to be seen with someone else.”

He stares at you as he tries to figure out what you mean. You can see the moment the penny drops and understanding dawns slowly across his face.

“No.”

You nod once miserably, shoulders hunching in on yourself.

“No,” he repeats, sharper now.

“They think it’ll distract people.”

“With who?”

You hesitate too long, and Han knows immediately who you’ve been set up with. You can see the anger on his face as he stares at you.

“You’re joking.”

“I tried to argue—”

“Wooyoung?” He actually laughs, but there’s nothing amused about it. “They want you photographed with your ex-boyfriend?”

“It won’t be official—”

“That’s even worse.”

You watch hurt replace anger in real time, and you find yourself struggling to make eye contact. You hated hurting him, couldn’t stand the guilt that was beginning to take over.

You panic as Jisung stands abruptly from the bed.

“So what? I’m just supposed to watch headlines about you and another guy for months?”

“It’s fake.”

“I know it’s fake!” he snaps.

The room falls silent instantly afterwards, and Han closes his eyes briefly, visibly trying to calm himself down. You’ve rarely seen him this upset. Even when you hurt him months ago, he hadn’t looked this angry.

“I can’t do this tonight,” he mutters finally.

Your chest tightens painfully as he grabs his hoodie from the chair. You try to stop him.

“Ji—”

“I just need air.”

He heads for the front door before you can stop him, and fear surges through you immediately. You rush after him barefoot, catching his wrist just as he reaches for the handle.

“Please don’t leave angry.”

He stills, and you can see the conflict written all over his face.

“I hate this too,” you whisper desperately. “I hate every part of it.”

He finally turns toward you, and he looks so hurt. Your eyes are already burning, but the pain on his face brings very real tears to your eyes.

“You think I want this?” Your voice cracks slightly. “You think I want to stand beside him pretending everything’s fine when all I want is to be with you?”

Han’s expression softens instantly at that, and you grip his hand tighter, begging him with your eyes to change his mind, to stay.

“I’m trying,” you say quietly. “I’m trying to protect everything.”

His shoulders sag slightly, and he looks down at your joined hands. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, but then Han steps closer again, and you feel a rush of hope.

“I know,” he murmurs.

You exhale shakily. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise for something they’re forcing you into.”

“But you’re hurt.”

“Yeah.” He gives a small, humourless laugh. “I am.”

Honesty always sounds gentler coming from him; it was something you’d always loved about him. He lifts a hand to your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye carefully.

“I’ll learn to deal with it,” he says quietly. “I have to, right?”

The words break your heart a little, but you have no choice but to nod weakly. He smiles softly, but it’s full of sadness. He leans down and kisses you softly, and your breath stutters. The kiss isn’t desperate or heated. It’s sad.

His forehead rests against yours afterwards. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he whispers, forcing himself to step away before either of you can change your minds.

The door closes softly behind him, and suddenly the apartment feels enormous. It’s too quiet, too empty without Jisung’s laughter filling the space. You slide slowly down against the wall until you’re sitting on the floor beside your front door, staring at the door he just walked through.

The tour hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already terrified of what all this might do to the two of you.

The dorm is quiet when Han gets back.

Most of the lights are off except for the kitchen, where Minho sits eating ice cream straight from the tub while scrolling through his phone like it’s two in the afternoon instead of nearly midnight.

He glances up as Han walks in, then pauses when he sees the look on his face.

“You look terrible.”

Han drops onto the chair opposite him with a groan, dragging both hands down his face. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Normally, the bluntness would earn a laugh. Tonight, Han just sits there staring blankly at the table.

Minho watches him quietly for a moment before setting the ice cream down. “What happened?”

Han exhales sharply through his nose. “They want her to do photo ops with Wooyoung.”

Minho’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Ah.”

“Ah?” Han repeats incredulously. “That’s your reaction?”

“I’m trying not to overreact before you finish explaining.”

Han slumps further into the chair before he tells him everything - the management meeting, the fake rumours, the “damage control.” How upset you looked while explaining it.

And, eventually, the thing that was actually eating him alive underneath all the anger.

“What if this changes things?” Han asks quietly.

Minho stays silent as he looks at him. Han stares down at the table, jaw tight, avoiding his probing gaze as he continues.

“What if people start shipping them again? What if management pushes it further? What if she gets tired of hiding and decides this is too difficult?”

The words spill out faster now, all the insecurities he’d tried so hard to swallow clawing their way free.

“I know she says she loves being with me, but this industry ruins things. You know it does.”

Minho studies him carefully for a long moment before he sighs softly and leans back in his chair. “Han-ah.”

Han looks up tiredly as Minho continues. “You know what this industry is like.”

“I know.”

“You knew before you dated her.”

Han’s expression twists slightly. “I know that, too.”

Minho nods once. “So trust her.”

Simple.

Direct.

Han laughs weakly. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not easy,” Minho says plainly. “It’s awful.” He takes another bite of ice cream. “But she’s no doubt miserable about it, too.”

Han goes quiet, and Minho waits a second before continuing, but more gently this time.

“Everyone can see how much she likes you.”

Han’s eyes flicker slightly at that, hallway light catching the sheen in his eyes.

“She looks at you like you hung the moon,” Minho says casually. “Honestly, it’s embarrassing sometimes.”

That finally earns the smallest snort of laughter from Han, and Minho points his spoon at him immediately, latching on to his better mood.

“I’m serious. She barely looked at Wooyoung last night unless she absolutely had to. But you?” He shakes his head. “You walk into a room, and suddenly she forgets how to act normally.”

Warmth stirs painfully in Han’s chest because underneath all his doubt, he knows it’s true. You do look at him differently… Like loving him is instinctive.

Minho softens slightly, seeing the tension ease from his face. “She told you there’s nothing to worry about, didn’t she?”

Han nods slowly.

“Then believe her.”

Silence settles between them for a moment.

Han leans back in the chair and stares at the ceiling, rubbing his face. “I hate that she has to go through this.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I can’t fix it.”

Minho hums quietly. “That part never really changes.”

Han closes his eyes briefly, thinking about what was coming. Tomorrow the tour starts. It would be months of hiding, of rumours, of pretending. But underneath it all is still you. You were still the girl who chased him to the door because she couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving upset. You were still the girl who said she was happy with him without hesitation.

You were still his.

Minho nudges the tub of ice cream toward him, holding his spoon out. “You’ll survive.”

Han looks at him flatly. “Your comforting skills are incredible, hyung.”

“I know.”

Despite himself, Han smiles faintly.

On the other side of town, you barely sleep. Every time your eyes close, your mind replays the look on Han’s face when he left your apartment. He was hurt but trying not to show it, trying to be understanding anyway.

By four in the morning, you give up on sleep entirely.

Your phone sits beside you on the bed the entire night, painfully silent. You don’t message him. Part of you wants to desperately — wants reassurance, wants him to tell you everything’s okay, wants to hear him call you baby in that sleepy voice that always melts the tension right out of you. But fear wins. Because what if he doesn’t answer? Or worse…  What if he does, and it’s different?

By the time you’re in the car heading toward the airport, your stomach is twisted into knots so tight you feel nauseous. Tour is supposed to be exciting. Instead, all you can think is he’s going to break up with me. You hate yourself a little for thinking it, but anxiety doesn’t care about logic.

The airport is already chaotic when you arrive. Staff rush around organising luggage while security attempts to control the crowds gathered outside. Reporters swarm the main entrance, waiting for Stray Kids to arrive.

Your manager quickly ushers you toward the quieter back entrance.

“The boys are handling press out front,” they explain. “You’ll board separately.”

You nod numbly. Honestly, you’re relieved. You’re not sure you could survive pretending everything’s normal in front of Han right now.

You turn the corner and stop dead in your tracks. Wooyoung is leaning casually against the wall, waiting for you. Your heart sinks as soon as you make eye contact.

“Morning,” he says easily, a grin on his face.

Right. The photo ops. Just what you need.

Your manager brightens immediately at the sight of him. You, on the other hand, want to disappear. Instead, you force a tight smile and stand beside Wooyoung while cameras magically appear from seemingly nowhere. Questions get thrown at both of you while flashes explode in your face. You barely hear any of it. You just smile politely, nod occasionally. Pretend. Wooyoung plays the role naturally, leaning slightly closer once or twice for the cameras. You feel worse than you did in the car.

By the time you finally reach security, your chest feels tight with anxiety. It just gets worse when you look up and see Jisung. He’s standing further ahead with the rest of the members, cap pulled low over his eyes, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, watching.

Your breath catches, and for one horrible second, you think he looks angry again. But when your eyes meet, he smiles. It’s small but soft. Reassuring.

He turns away as if nothing happened, but relief hits you so suddenly that your knees nearly give out.

He doesn’t hate you. He’s still here.

You spend the next ten minutes trying to steady your breathing as you follow the staff through the private boarding area. Exhaustion finally crashes over you all at once now that the panic is easing. You just want your seat, your headphones, and to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

You’re halfway down the corridor toward the plane when suddenly a hand grabs your wrist. You gasp in alarm as you’re quickly tugged sideways into the disabled bathroom nearby. The door clicks shut, and you spin around in panic before immediately sagging in relief.

“Jisung—”

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you tightly into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately into your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Your entire body melts against him in relief. “You scared me,” you whisper shakily. You both know you’re not just talking about now.

“I know.” His arms tighten around you. “I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

The endearment nearly makes you cry from sheer relief. He pulls back just enough to look at you properly and immediately frowns.

“You look exhausted.”

You laugh weakly. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Guilt flashes across his face instantly. “Because of me?”

You don’t answer fast enough, and he closes his eyes briefly, as if the confirmation physically pains him.

“I never wanted to be the reason you lost sleep,” he says quietly.

Your chest aches. “You weren’t,” you lie softly.

Jisung gives you a look that says he knows better.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The airport noise outside feels distant compared to the tiny space you’re crammed into together.

He exhales slowly. “I was angry,” he admits. “Not at you. I swear.” His fingers tighten slightly against your waist. “I just hated seeing you dragged into all this because of me.”

“It’s not because of you.”

“It feels like it.”

You shake your head immediately. “I understand why you were upset.”

Han looks uncertain, and you smile sadly.

“If the situation were reversed and they wanted you photographed with an ex-girlfriend?” You huff softly. “I’d lose my mind.”

That finally pulls a small laugh from him. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

His forehead drops gently against yours.

“I trust you,” he murmurs. “I just… need time to stop wanting to fight everyone.”

You laugh quietly despite yourself. “I noticed.”

Han groans softly. “Minho told me I was being dramatic.”

“He was right.”

“Wow. Betrayed by my own girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. The word settles warmly between you.

Your eyes soften immediately.

“I missed you,” you whisper suddenly, feeling embarrassed that it hadn’t even been 24 hours since you last saw him. You didn’t know how to explain that you missed the possible future without Jisung that your brain had fooled you into believing wouldn’t have been in your life.

Han’s expression melts completely. The exhaustion leaves his face all at once, replaced by something unbearably tender.

“I missed you, too.”

Then he kisses you.

Quick at first.

Gentle.

Like reassurance more than anything else.

But when your fingers clutch the front of his hoodie desperately, he kisses you again properly, warm and lingering and full of everything neither of you can say publicly.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless.

“We should go before people notice,” you whisper reluctantly.

Han sighs dramatically.

“You’re always ruining my plans.”

“You dragged me into an airport bathroom.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?”

You laugh for real this time.

God, you missed him.

Han brushes one last thumb beneath your eye gently before opening the door carefully.

“Come on,” he murmurs softly. “Let’s go start our tour.”

Tour becomes the strangest contradiction of your life.

You’ve never been happier… And you’ve never been more exhausted by pretending.

Still, the moment you step onto the stage for your first performance as a soloist, everything else disappears. The crowd is deafening. Lights blind you the second the music starts, adrenaline surging so hard through your veins you almost forget to breathe. Thousands of people sing your lyrics back at you, your name echoing through the arena in a way that makes your chest ache with emotion.  For those few minutes, you aren’t somebody’s girlfriend. You aren’t a scandal risk or a contract. You’re just you. And when you finish the final song to roaring applause, you nearly cry backstage from the overwhelming relief and joy of it all.

The first person you look for is Jisung. He catches you before you even properly make it behind the curtain, grabbing your face with both hands.

“You were incredible.”

His eyes are shining so brightly that you almost melt on the spot.

“I messed up the second verse.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“I did!”

“Nobody noticed because they were too busy falling in love with you.”

You snort out a laugh, cheeks burning, and he beams at you like he personally put the stars in the sky.

Later that night, after schedules finally finish and staff disappear to their own rooms, you unlock your hotel door expecting nothing more than a shower and sleep. Instead, your room is covered with candles. There’s soft music playing from a portable speaker set up in the corner, and rose petals are scattered across the white duvet.

You freeze in the doorway, confused, until you see him. Jisung stands near the table, looking suddenly nervous despite all the effort clearly put into this.

“Surprise?”

Your mouth falls open. “Ji…”

The look on your face makes him smile instantly.

A full dinner is laid out across the small hotel table — room service desserts, expensive wine neither of you particularly likes but thought looked romantic, and a tiny handwritten note propped beside your plate.

You stare at it all in disbelief and ask, “You did all this?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly take you out publicly,” he says sheepishly. “So I improvised.”

Your chest hurts from how much you love him. You cross the room quickly and throw your arms around his neck without another thought. Han laughs softly as he catches you, holding you close.

“Was it too much?” he asks into your hair.

“No,” you whisper immediately. “It’s perfect.”

And honestly? It is, because even hidden away in a hotel room halfway through tour preparations, he still finds ways to love you loudly.

The next few weeks settle into something dangerously domestic.

You wake up tangled together almost every morning, warm hotel sheets twisted around your legs while sunlight creeps through the curtains. Han always tries to leave before the others wake up… He’s terrible at it.

One morning, you’re still half asleep when you watch him stumble around the room trying to find his hoodie with his hair sticking up in every direction.

“You look ridiculous,” you mumble into the pillow.

“I look stealthy.”

“You walked into the wardrobe five seconds ago.”

Han glares at you weakly before leaning down to kiss your forehead anyway. “Go back to sleep.”

You giggle quietly as he sneaks out into the hallway, looking thoroughly dishevelled and deeply suspicious. Somehow, nobody catches him. Or maybe the others just choose not to say anything. Unfortunately, though, outside those hotel rooms, reality still waits.

The “sightings” with Wooyoung continue exactly as management planned.

The park is first.

You wear your hair down specifically to hide the wireless earphones tucked carefully beneath it, one AirPod playing music quietly so you don’t actually have to talk to him. Paparazzi conveniently “spot” the two of you walking side by side beneath the trees near the hotel.

From the pictures, it probably looks peaceful. Romantic, even. In reality, you spend most of it staring ahead, pretending not to notice the cameras, while Wooyoung occasionally attempts conversation, which you barely respond to.

The second sighting at the coffee shop is worse.

By then, articles are already circulating online. Could there be something between them? Fans are constantly speculating after recent appearances. You want to scream every time you see them.

The café itself is tiny and crowded with photographers waiting outside the windows. You sit across from Wooyoung with a smile plastered painfully onto your face while barely saying more than three words the entire time.

“You really hate this, huh?” Wooyoung asks eventually, stirring his drink lazily.

You don’t even bother denying it.

“I told you already,” you say quietly. “I’m happily with someone.”

His expression dims slightly, though not enough. “Still him?”

You look up immediately. “Yes,” you answer firmly. “Still him.”

And despite everything — the cameras outside, the rumours online, the constant pressure weighing on your shoulders — your heart feels lighter saying it because every night still ends the same way.

Back in secret hotel rooms, in Han’s arms, with sleepy kisses in the dark and whispered words that nobody else gets to hear.

And for now, that’s enough.

The sighting that ruins it all is the one you least expected.

You were a month into tour, and exhaustion started creeping into everything.

The performances were the easy part. You loved being on stage. You loved the crowds, the adrenaline, and the feeling of slowly becoming more confident every single night. Supporting Stray Kids has become strangely natural too — backstage chaos, rehearsals, shared meals at ridiculous hours of the night.

It’s the pretending that’s exhausting. All the hiding, the constant calculations, the carefully timed entrances and exits from hotel rooms. The way your hand instinctively reaches for Han’s, only for you to stop yourself at the last second if someone’s nearby. And most of all… Wooyoung.

The fake sightings just keep happening. Management becomes relentless once the initial rumours start gaining traction online. Every few days, there’s another “accidental” encounter planned at a restaurant or on a walk. Sometimes it’s a shared ride or a conveniently photographed conversation outside venues.

You cancel as many as you can. You genuinely do. You use rehearsals as excuses. Vocal strain. Fittings. Meetings. Jet lag. Anything you can think of. But sometimes management refuses to budge, and apparently tonight is one of those nights.

“I’m just saying,” Jisung says from where he’s pacing your hotel room, frustration bleeding into every word, “it feels like you could push back harder.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “I have been pushing back harder.”

“Then why does it keep happening?”

“Because they don’t care what I want!”

The room falls silent for half a second, and he stops pacing. You instantly regret snapping, but the exhaustion sitting heavy in your chest makes it hard to soften yourself quickly enough.

“I know,” he says, quieter now. “I know they don’t.”

But he still looks upset. Still tense. Hurt.

Part of you understands. Every time another article comes out pairing your name with Wooyoung’s, you feel sick too. But another part of you is just tired - so unbelievably tired.

“I’m doing everything I can,” you say finally, rubbing at your face. “I’m trying to keep management happy enough not to ruin my career, I’m trying to survive my first tour, and I’m trying to keep our relationship together while nobody’s allowed to know it exists.”

His expression shifts immediately, and guilt flickers across his face.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“No, but that’s what it sounds like.” Your voice cracks slightly despite yourself. “Like I’m failing some test because I can’t magically make them stop.”

“You’re not failing.”

“Then stop acting like I’m choosing this!”

Jisung goes quiet, and the hurt on his face makes your anger falter instantly, but before either of you can fix it, there’s a knock on the door.  Both of you freeze, and your stomach sinks immediately. The staff member assigned to ensure you make it on time is right on time. Another knock follows when you don’t answer, and a voice carries through the door.

“We need to leave in five minutes,” a staff member calls through the door.

The atmosphere in the room changes instantly. It’s back to reality, and back to pretending. Jisung looks devastated by it.

“Seriously?” he mutters bitterly.

You close your eyes briefly, feeling the faint pain of a headache building from your stress.

“I have to go.”

“I know, but—” He steps toward you immediately. “Can we not leave it like this?”

The frustration in his voice hurts more now because you know it isn’t anger anymore. It’s worry. You grab your bag silently, avoiding his eyes because if you look at him for too long, you might cry.

There’s another impatient knock, and you feel your patience fraying as the staff member speaks up again.

“Miss? The car’s waiting.”

Han runs a hand through his hair roughly. “Just tell them to wait two minutes.”

“They won’t.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do!” The words come out sharper than intended, patience finally wrung out. You inhale shakily before softening slightly. “I can’t keep giving them reasons to watch me more closely.”

Han falls silent, and you finally force yourself to look at him properly. His eyes are full of concern now instead of frustration.

“Baby…”

The worry in his voice nearly undoes you.

“I’ll see you later,” you whisper quietly.

Jisung still looks unsettled. Like he hates the idea of you walking out that door while things feel unresolved between you.

“I don’t want you leaving upset,” he admits softly.

Your chest aches painfully. “I’m not upset at you.”

That’s the truth. You’re upset at the situation and at management. At the constant pressure squeezing tighter and tighter around both of you.

He steps closer like he wants to kiss you goodbye properly, but another sharp knock interrupts again. “We really need to go now.”

You both flinch apart instinctively.

The moment’s gone.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and head toward the door reluctantly. Jisung catches your wrist just before you open it.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he says quietly.

Your eyes burn unexpectedly before you open the door. Staff immediately begin ushering you down the hallway before either of you can say anything else. You glance back once, and Han’s still standing in the middle of your hotel room, watching you leave, looking like there are a hundred things he still wants to say.

And somehow that image stays with you all the way to the car, waiting to take you to another fake date with someone you stopped loving a long time ago.

By the time you arrive at the restaurant, your head is pounding, and you barely remember the drive there. All you can think about is Jisung standing in the middle of your hotel room, looking worried, while you walk away from him.

You hate leaving things unresolved, especially with him.

The restaurant is loud and packed with people, with warm, low-hanging golden lights, overcrowded tables, and conversations blurring into an overwhelming din. It’s easily the busiest place management has arranged for you and Wooyoung to be seen together so far, but it doesn’t surprise you. More people means more cameras, which means more opportunities for rumours.

You spot Wooyoung already seated near the windows — strategically visible, naturally. He smiles when he sees you approaching, but it fades slightly once you sit down.

“You look miserable.”

You give a dry scoff in response instead of answering.

Wooyoung studies you for a second. “You’re quieter than usual tonight.”

You stare blankly at the menu despite already knowing you won’t be hungry enough to eat much. “Maybe because I don’t want to be here.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

You look up sharply, and Wooyoung leans back in his chair slightly. “You used to talk a lot, you know.”

You roll your eyes immediately. “And?”

“I’m serious.”

“Wooyoung, please.”

He goes quiet for a moment before sighing softly. “You look stressed lately.”

Something in you finally snaps. You’re not sure why exactly. Maybe because you’re exhausted, or because you already miss Jisung. Maybe because you’re tired of everyone expecting things from you constantly.

You put the menu down harder than intended.

“Because I am stressed,” you say sharply. “I’m exhausted all the time, I barely sleep, management controls every second of my life, my relationship has to stay hidden while they parade me around with my ex-boyfriend, and if I breathe wrong, there’ll probably be an article about it tomorrow.”

Wooyoung blinks in surprise, but you aren’t finished yet.

“And I’m trying so hard to keep everything together while everyone around me acts like I’m some kind of product instead of a person.”

The words spill out faster now.

“I’m tired of cameras. I’m tired of fake smiling. I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with any of this.”

A camera flashes outside the window suddenly, and Wooyoung reacts instantly, reaching across the table to grab your hand.

“There,” he murmurs quietly. “That’s why.”

Your stomach twists unpleasantly, but you immediately force a smile toward the window before smoothly pulling your hand back from his. The second the cameras lower, your expression drops flat again.

Wooyoung watches you carefully before he surprises you.

“I’m sorry.”

You blink at him. “For what?”

“For… everything, I guess.” He looks strangely sincere for once. “I wasn’t good to you when we were together.”

You stare at him for a second before rolling your eyes again. “Okay.”

His mouth opens slightly. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that you forgive me?”

You almost laugh. “Wooyoung, I genuinely do not care anymore.”

And surprisingly, it’s true. Whatever heartbreak once existed there feels distant now. Faded. Unimportant compared to what you have with Jisung.

You just feel tired.

“I just want to finish this dinner,” you say quietly.

After that, the conversation dies almost completely. You eat mechanically while Wooyoung occasionally attempts small talk, which you barely engage with. Outside the windows, photographers continue lurking like vultures.

By the end of the meal, exhaustion weighs so heavily on you that you feel hollow. You just want Jisung. You want his arms around you, and you want to crawl into bed beside him and apologise properly and pretend none of this exists for a few hours. The thought alone keeps you moving as the dinner finally ends.

Outside the restaurant, cameras immediately begin flashing again.

You force yourself through one final polite goodbye. “Goodnight, Wooyoung.”

You turn to leave, but his hand suddenly catches your arm. Before you can react properly, Wooyoung pulls you toward him and kisses the corner of your mouth.

Flashes explode around you instantly, and your entire body freezes in shock. But not for long. You shove him away hard enough that he stumbles slightly.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Wooyoung looks entirely too calm.

“Relax,” he says lightly, glancing toward the cameras. “I’m sticking to the plan.”

Your stomach turns violently. “That was not the plan.”

He shrugs. “People will eat it up.”

You stare at him in complete disbelief. For one horrible second, all you can think about is Jisung seeing the pictures. Seeing that.

Your chest tightens painfully.

“You don’t get to touch me like that,” you snap quietly.

Something flickers across Wooyoung’s face then — annoyance, maybe guilt — but you don’t stay long enough to figure it out. You turn immediately and walk away as fast as you can, ignoring the shouting reporters behind you.

Your skin feels wrong.

Your mouth feels wrong.

And all you want is to get back to Han before the internet does.

The entire drive back to the hotel feels like drowning in anxiety.

Your phone won’t stop vibrating from constant notifications, messages, articles, and tags. The second that photo hit the internet, it spread everywhere. Fans caught it from different angles. Paparazzi posted blurry close-ups within minutes. Headlines were already appearing before you’d even left the restaurant district.

IDOLS CONFIRM ROMANCE RUMOURS AFTER SHARING INTIMATE MOMENT.

You feel sick every time you glimpse the image under the headline. It looks real. The different camera angles create an illusion of attachment, of love. Your nausea increases as you scan the article and see your own worst nightmare brought to life – people believe there’s something very real between you and Wooyoung.

By the time the car pulls up outside the hotel, panic has fully settled into your chest.

Han.

You need to explain to Han before he spirals, before he believes it.

You practically run through the lobby and into the elevator, heart hammering painfully the entire way up. Your hands shake so badly, fumbling for your room card, that you nearly drop it twice.

The door swings open, and your stomach drops when you notice that your room is empty. Han said he’d wait for you and promised that he’d be here.

“Jisung?”

Nothing. The room is silent except for the hum of the air conditioning. Your panic surges harder as you realise you might not have got here in time, and you’re already rushing back into the hallway before the door fully closes behind you.

You pound on Han’s hotel door desperately, dying to find him.

“Jisung?”

There’s no answer, and you knock again harder.

“Han, please—”

You place your ear to the door when you hear muffled voices, but you realise that it’s not coming from his room, but the room next door. Lee Know’s room.

You hurry over immediately and knock hard enough that your knuckles hurt. The voices inside stop, and you call through the door.

“Minho,” you call shakily. “Please— can I talk to Han?”

There’s a long pause, and you’re about to knock again when the door opens slightly. Minho stands there looking tired and hesitant. Your heart sinks further.

“Please,” you whisper immediately. “I need to explain.”

Minho glances back over his shoulder, deciding on how to answer, when another figure appears behind him.

Han.

Your breath catches painfully at the lack of emotion on his face. You expected anger and sadness, but his eyes looked empty, his expression defeated.

“Jisung—”

“I always worried you’d go back to him.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. “What? No—”

“It’s not even just tonight.” His voice is quiet, exhausted. “I tried not to think about it every time management sent you out together.”

You’re already shaking your head before he finishes his sentence. “Han, it wasn’t my choice—”

“I know.”

But he says it in a way that sounds like it doesn’t matter anymore.

You stare at him desperately, begging him to believe you. “It’s not what it looked like.”

Han gives a tiny, sad smile that nearly breaks you in half.

“That’s the problem,” he says softly. “It looked exactly like what I was scared of.”

Your eyes fill instantly. “No, listen to me— he kissed me, I pushed him away immediately—”

“But he still kissed you.”

The hurt in his voice cracks straight through your chest. He looks exhausted – not physically, but completely emotionally exhausted.

“I kept trying to ignore it,” he admits quietly. “The photos. The articles. How natural you looked together.”

“Natural?” you repeat incredulously. “Han, I barely spoke to him!”

“But nobody else knows that.”

You step closer desperately. “It was staged.”

“I know it was staged,” he says again.

Somehow, hearing that hurts worse, because he does know. He knows you… And he’s still giving up.

Han’s eyes finally meet yours fully, and your stomach twists violently at the emptiness there.

“I just think…” He swallows hard. “Maybe this was always going to be too difficult.”

“No.” The answer leaves you instantly. You know you must look terrified, and you can't help but plead with him. “No, don’t say that.”

Han’s expression crumples slightly at the panic in your voice, but he keeps going anyway.

“We can’t even argue properly without being dragged apart for publicity schedules.” His laugh is hollow and quiet. “We hide constantly. We barely get to be real together outside hotel rooms.”

“We can fix it.”

“I don’t think we can.”

Tears spill down your face immediately. “Jisung, please.”

He looks at you for one long, awful second, and you can see it. You can see how much he loves you. You think it must be that which makes this unbearable.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, voice cracking slightly, “for the last few months.”

Your heart stops.

“No.”

“But I think it’s better if we stop now before this hurts worse.”

You actually stare at him in disbelief. You feel like your brain physically cannot process the words. You can’t believe that this morning you were waking up, wrapped in his arms, and hours later he was breaking up with you.

Han takes one slow step backwards, then another.

“Jisung, please —”

He turns away and walks back into Minho’s room. You immediately try to follow, panicked beyond reason now, but Minho steps into the doorway and blocks your path gently but firmly.

“Minho, move.”

“You need to give him space.”

“No, I need to talk to him!”

Your voice breaks completely.

Inside the room, you can hear movement, but Jisung doesn’t come back, doesn’t say another word. The silence is devastating.

“Please,” you beg Minho desperately. “Please let me in. I love him, Minho! I promise.”

Minho’s face softens slightly as you gasp for breath, the pain in your chest unbearable.

“I know.”

“Then tell him!”

“He’s hurt.”

“So am I!”

“I know,” Minho says quietly. “But right now he needs space to think.”

You shake your head immediately, tears falling harder now. “There’s nothing to think about. He’s what I want.”

The conviction in your voice makes Minho’s expression flicker sadly. But he still doesn’t move aside.

“You both need time,” he says gently. “You’re exhausted. Emotional. Everything’s been building for weeks.”

You wipe angrily at your tears. “I don’t want time. I want to fix this.”

Minho sighs softly.

“I’m tired,” he admits. “And right now my priority is looking after him.”

The words hurt more than they should because suddenly you’re outside the room. Alone.

Minho’s hand tightens slightly on the door. “We’ll see you tomorrow for soundcheck.”

You stare at him helplessly as the door closes quietly in front of you.

That night, you don’t sleep. Not even for a minute.

You lie in your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, as the world outside slowly shifts from darkness to pale morning light. Every time you close your eyes, you see Han walking away from you again.

Thank you for the last few months.

The words replay so relentlessly in your head, you think you might actually lose your mind.

At some point, your phone buzzes repeatedly on the bedside table. First, it’s your tour staff, then it’s management. Eventually, you even get one message from Chan asking if you’re okay after missing breakfast. You don’t answer anyone, you just silence your phone and roll over to stare at the wall.

By the time soundcheck rolls around, you still haven’t moved from the bed. You physically can’t make yourself. The idea of seeing Han and pretending to function normally feels impossible. So, you stay there curled beneath the duvet in yesterday’s clothes while the hotel room remains dark around you.

Eventually, management starts panicking – there are more calls. More knocks. Messages begging for you to answer because you have the concert later. You finally drag yourself up barely an hour before it starts because you know you can’t miss the performance entirely.

Your reflection in the mirror startles you. You look awful. Your eyes are swollen from spending all day and night crying, and your skin is pale. You look like somebody hollowed you out from the inside.

The arena backstage feels painfully familiar when you arrive. Usually, you love the energy before a show — the rush of staff running around, the sound checks, the excited nerves humming through everyone. Tonight it just feels cold.

You see Stray Kids almost immediately, and your chest caves in.

Han is standing with the others while a stylist fixes his in-ear monitors. For one horrible second, instinct makes your body lean towards him automatically. Towards your comfort and your home. Then you remember that you can’t do that anymore.

Han looks up, and your eyes meet briefly. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he looks away first. The motion is small, but it devastates you anyway. There was no smile, no secret glance, no mouthed good luck like always. Nothing.

You have never felt lonelier in your life.

The rest of the members notice you, too, but the atmosphere is now painfully awkward. Changbin gives you a hesitant nod, and Felix looks openly concerned. Minho’s expression softens slightly when he sees how exhausted you look, but he doesn’t approach either. None of them know what to do, and you can't blame them because, honestly, neither do you.

You decide to keep your distance, burying your face in your phone and avoiding everyone, because you know this is hard for them, too. They’re his family before they’re your friends.

Your performance that night is… fine. Technically. You hit the notes, and you remember the choreography. The crowd still cheers and sings along to your songs, but you feel disconnected from your own body the entire time, like you’re watching somebody else perform through thick glass.

And afterwards, backstage is worse. Because Han always found you afterwards, even if only briefly. You’d gotten used to hearing his voice in your ear the second you stepped offstage.

You were amazing.

I’m so proud of you.

Tonight there’s nothing. Han walks past you once while talking quietly with Chan and doesn’t even glance your way. You almost stop breathing.

That’s when it truly sinks in.

This is really happening. You’ve really broken up.

The next two weeks become survival rather than living.

You stop laughing, you stop eating properly. Sleep becomes something distant and unreliable. Some nights you cry silently into hotel pillows until sunrise. Other nights, you just lie awake, numb and empty, while tour buses and aeroplanes blur together endlessly.

You and Han become strangers in public spaces. He’s professional and polite when needed. Distant like none of those nights tangled together in hotel sheets ever happened.

The members try in their own ways. Felix starts lingering nearby more often, and Chan checks in quietly a few times. Minho watches you with increasing concern every time you show up looking thinner and more exhausted than before.

But nobody mentions Han.

And Han never approaches you.

By the time the final Korea show approaches, you’re barely holding yourself together. Standing on stage feels harder every night. Breathing feels harder every night. Being near Han and not being able to talk to him, to touch him, feels like torture.

You make a decision, realising you can’t possibly carry on this way and still keep your sanity. So, you request a meeting with management the day of the final concert.

“I can’t continue the international leg of the tour.”

The room goes silent immediately. “What?”

You keep your expression blank because if you let yourself feel anything right now, you’ll fall apart.

“I’m exhausted,” you say quietly. “I’m not coping well physically.”

“That’s not an option.”

“I’m telling you now because I physically cannot do this for months more.”

They argue immediately. They mention contracts, schedules, money, and commitments. You sit through all of it feeling strangely detached. Eventually, you lower your gaze and say the one thing you know they’ll take seriously.

“If I collapse publicly, that’ll be worse for everyone, won’t it?”

Management exchange tense looks, the tension palpable.

You continue softly. “I need to rest. I need to go home.”

In truth, you need to escape from the tour and the heartbreak. From seeing Han every day while pretending you aren’t falling apart.

Eventually, begrudgingly, they agree to frame it as illness and exhaustion after the Korea leg finishes. They label it a temporary hiatus. A recovery period.

You nod numbly through the rest of the meeting, then leave before anyone can change their minds. You don’t tell the boys, and you don’t plan to, partly because you don’t think they’d care anymore. And partly because if Han asked you to stay without the relationship, you know you would.

You just might not survive it.

Later that day, backstage is loud. Staff rush past, carrying headsets and equipment, while stage managers shout out timings amid the arena's chaos. Usually, the noise helps settle your nerves before performances. Tonight, it barely registers.

Your final performance.

The thought feels strangely hollow, much unlike the heavy suitcases loaded into the taxi waiting to take you to the airport. You’d decided it would be best to have a clean break. There was no point hanging around for anything anymore.

You sit silently in the makeup chair with your mic resting loosely in your hands, staring blankly at nothing while stylists do last-minute touch-ups around you. You don’t even know if Han is avoiding looking at you anymore or if you’ve simply stopped trying to catch his eye.

“Hey.”

You blink slowly and look up. Chan stands nearby, expression careful.

“You okay?”

The question almost makes you laugh, but you just nod weakly instead. Chan doesn’t buy it for a second, and he glances around before pulling up a chair beside you quietly.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Your stomach twists immediately. Chan rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, eyeing the floor.

“The photos,” he says carefully. “With Wooyoung.”

There it is. You lower your eyes to your microphone, thumb soothing the cool metal.

“I’m confused,” Chan admits softly. “Because I remember how badly he treated you.”

Your throat tightens painfully. Chan had seen some of it firsthand when you and Wooyoung dated. Not all of it, but enough to understand what a horrible place you were in with him.

You swallow hard. “It wasn’t real.”

Chan goes very still. You still don’t look at him as you continue quietly, voice numb from repeating this truth over and over in your own head.

“Management wanted publicity away from Han. They arranged the sightings.” Your fingers tighten around the mic. “The kiss wasn’t planned. He just did it.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear his tone darken. “And Han knows that?”

“I tried telling him.”

The words come out hollow.

You turn slightly, and you can see Chan watching you carefully from the corner of your eye. Really watching. You know that he can see the exhaustion and the weight loss. The emptiness sitting behind your eyes.

Realisation slowly dawns across his face.

“Oh,” he says softly.

You laugh once weakly. “Yeah.”

A staff member suddenly calls your name from across backstage. “Five minutes!”

You slowly stand, smoothing your outfit. Chan rises too, but before he can speak again, you finally look at him and give him a small, tired smile.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He frowns slightly. “For what?”

“For letting me join the Korean leg of the tour.” Your voice softens further. “You’ve all been really kind to me.”

Confusion flashes across Chan’s face immediately. “What do you mean Korean leg?”

You just smile again. It’s small, sad. “Thank you for everything, Chris.”

You walk away before he can stop you, and behind you, Chan stands frozen in place.

The crowd screams the second you step onto the stage. Thousands of lights shimmer across the arena like stars while music pounds through the speakers loud enough to shake the floor beneath your feet. Normally the sound energises you, but tonight you feel strangely detached from your own body.

You move through the choreography automatically, smiling when you’re supposed to smile, singing when you’re supposed to sing. A performance built from muscle memory. Then midway through the set—

You see him.

Wooyoung.

Near the barricade.

Watching you.

And suddenly, all the hurt and exhaustion curdling inside you twists sharply into anger. You’re not angry at Han or yourself. You’re angry at him - at the person who kissed you without permission, knowing exactly what it would do.

Your heartbeat pounds loudly in your ears as you make a split-second decision. Before you can second-guess yourself, you turn sharply toward the live band stationed near the side of the stage.

“Toxic Till The End,” you say suddenly into your mic. The band members blink in surprise, but you need to do this. You need to tell him, to tell the world.

“Now.”

Your manager looks horrified from the side stage, but you ignore them completely. The crowd erupts excitedly as the musicians scramble to adjust. You step toward the front of the stage slowly, breathing hard.

“This song…” Your voice echoes through the arena. “Wasn’t originally meant to be performed yet.”

The crowd quiets slightly, listening. You don’t know if it’s the look on your face or the anger in your voice, but you carry on regardless, glancing once toward Wooyoung. You feel a thrill when his expression shifts uncertainly.

“It’s about a recent relationship,” you continue softly. “A toxic one.”

The arena falls completely silent now, and you can practically feel management panicking backstage. You don’t care anymore.

“I wrote it with somebody who means the world to me,” you admit quietly. “And despite everything… I’m thankful for every second I got to spend with them.”

Your chest aches violently from the truth behind your words, and you close your eyes briefly, composing yourself before continuing.

“Tonight feels like the right time to finally share it.”

The music starts, and the first notes ring out low and haunting through the arena.

When you begin singing, every lyric is aimed directly at Wooyoung. Every word is about manipulation and heartbreak and exhaustion sharpened by months of buried anger. You hold eye contact with him relentlessly, and you watch the confidence slowly leave his face.

Good.

For the first time in weeks, you feel honest on stage again. Real.

The emotion cracks through your voice painfully during the second chorus, and you’re confused when the crowd starts screaming.  You glance sideways and freeze, mic falling from your lips. Han is walking onto the stage, mic in hand. He approaches slowly, eyes locked entirely on you as he sings the words you’ve lost.

The arena absolutely loses its mind.

You forget where you are, forget everything except him. For the first time in weeks, Han is looking at you, and you don’t know what to do. He reaches you just before your next line and gently lifts your microphone back toward your mouth with one hand. The gesture is so soft it nearly breaks you.

“Sing,” he murmurs quietly.

Your eyes immediately fill with tears, but you do. The tears finally fall when Han starts singing with you, standing close, focused just on you. It’s not officially part of the performance, not rehearsed. He’s just there beside you, voice blending perfectly with yours while the crowd screams around you. You stare at him in complete shock the entire time. Han doesn’t look away once, not during the bridge or the final chorus. Not even when your voice shakes.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, the rest of the world disappears completely. You don’t notice Wooyoung storming out of the arena, and you don’t notice the managers panicking backstage. You barely even hear the crowd anymore.

Because Han is looking at you like he’s finally seeing you again. Not the version of you from that picture, not the version of you that broke his heart.

For the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe.

When the final note fades into deafening screams, you barely hear any of it. Your chest is heaving from the emotion of the performance, tears still clinging to your lashes as you stare at Han in complete disbelief.

He’s here.

He came onto the stage for you.

For one suspended moment, neither of you moves. The crowd is losing their minds around you, thousands of phones raised into the air, capturing every second, but suddenly, none of it matters. Because Han is looking at you the same way he used to in hotel rooms at three in the morning.

Like you’re his everything.

And the second you realise that, the words come pouring out before you can stop them.

“I tried to tell you,” you say breathlessly.

Han blinks slightly, startled by the sudden rush of words.

“The sightings weren’t real, I swear to God they weren’t real,” you continue desperately. “I hated every single one and I tried so hard to stop them but management kept pushing and I thought if I just got through tour it would calm down and—”

“Hey—”

“And the kiss wasn’t planned,” you say quickly over him, tears slipping free now. “I pushed him away immediately, Ji, I would never- could never- do that to you.”

The arena has gone strangely quiet. Fans are desperately trying to hear you, and staff are panicking. You don’t care anymore.

“I love you,” you whisper brokenly. “I have always loved you.”

Han’s expression crumples slightly. “I know.”

You stare at him helplessly.

“I couldn’t stand you looking at me like that anymore,” you admit shakily. “Like I broke something between us.”

Han takes a small step closer instinctively, but his expression changes suddenly.

“Wait.”

You sniff weakly. “What?”

His eyebrows pull together. “What did Chan mean when he said this was your last show?”

Your stomach drops instantly.

Oh.

Chan told him.

You look away immediately, and Han’s voice softens. “What do you mean by the last show?”

Your eyes burn harder. “I can’t do it anymore.”

The honesty spills out painfully now that it’s started.

“I can’t stand being around you every day and pretending like I’m okay.” Your voice shakes violently. “I can’t keep hiding and watching everything fall apart and acting like I’m fine with it.”

Han looks horrified. “You were leaving?”

You nod weakly. “After tonight. My bags are already in the taxi.”

“Without telling me?”

“I thought you hated me.”

The words hit him like a slap, and his face twists instantly. “I never hated you.”

“But you left me.”

“I was hurt!” he says desperately. “I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t.” Your voice cracks completely. “You never did.”

You stare at each other as you’re encompassed by a raw, painful silence. The crowd barely exists anymore. You wipe at your tears roughly and force yourself to keep going before you lose the courage.

“I’ll leave you alone after this,” you whisper shakily. “I know that’s probably what you want now, and I shouldn’t have even done this—”

Han kisses you – hard, suddenly - one hand grabbing your waist while the other cups your face as he pulls you into him like he physically cannot get close enough fast enough.

The arena explodes. Screaming erupts so loudly you feel the stage vibrate beneath your feet, but you can’t even process it.

Because Han is kissing you in front of everyone. In front of cameras, managers, and fans.

The entire world.

And he kisses you like he’s been dying to do it for weeks.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, and your eyes are impossibly wide.

“Jisung!” you whisper in panic. “What are you doing?”

Immediately, your head snaps toward the backstage area, where managers look seconds away from cardiac arrest. “You’re going to get in so much trouble.”

Han just looks at you for a second before smiling. It’s soft and fond and completely unbothered.

“Baby,” he says gently, brushing his thumb beneath your tear-stained cheek, “I’m Han Jisung.”

You blink at him in confusion, and he grins slightly wider.

“What are they gonna do?” His eyes flick briefly toward the horrified staff backstage before returning to you. “Fire me?”

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, half hysterical and half disbelieving. Han immediately melts at the sound, leaning down to rest his forehead against your own.

“There she is,” he murmurs softly.

Your chest aches so violently with love for him that you think it might kill you.

The crowd is still screaming around you as Han continues to rest his forehead against yours, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, right there in the middle of the stage.

There’s no more hiding. No more pretending.

Just him.

There would be consequences after tonight — furious managers, broken contracts, headlines, backlash, endless meetings, perhaps even penalties neither of you could fully predict yet. By morning, the entire industry would know. The secret you had both protected so desperately was gone now, laid bare beneath arena lights and thousands of screaming voices.

But as Han held you in his arms in your hotel room later that night, thumb brushing reassuringly across your knuckles while the world erupted online, none of it felt frightening anymore.

For months, you had lived in fear of losing your career, opportunities, and reputation. Yet lying beside him now, finally loved out loud, you realised there was something far worse than consequences: living without him. And as Han looked at you with that same soft, unwavering love that had found you on building rooftops and airport bathrooms and across crowded arenas, you knew with absolute certainty that whatever came next, you would survive it together.

As long as you had him, you felt like you could face anything.

a/n: ARE WE HAPPY? WHAT DO WE THINK? AS GOOD AS PART ONE OR PURE SHIT? lmk in the comments xo

I appreciate any and all interactions with my work xo

Taglist: @hanniesbubuwife @skrach84 @felixstarz @starrynightviper @mrsleeknowsaurus @2minracha

jeongin is well aware of how his members, and most of the world see him. a soft, sweet, cute and reserved persona that he can’t seem to ever escape. it’s a true rarity for him to willingly hold his hands out to another person, preferring to keep to himself. he’s grown accustomed to the touches and flicks, pats on the back and hair ruffles from the boys he knows and loves, but even then, he could still call himself a bit iffy with that sort of contact, pushing it away when he feels like it.

but with you? handsy.

jeongin is actually a greedy, possessive, handsy man. everything he supposedly is “against” goes straight out of the window, a seal he cracked open himself when he met you. yes, he loves to cuddle, to kiss and hold hands witj you in moments, which are in private for the most part. but he also has made you keenly aware that his hands love to claim what’s his.

he starts it off cutely innocent. small brushes against your spine, a smoothly undetectable grip behind your neck that lasts only a second. get him somewhere he feels comfortable, and he’s the definition of hands on.

tonight, it’s only a smallish party. him and the other seven, you, and some close friends in the industry to celebrate yet another win in their largely ever growing career. some music bumps in the background, and your dress sparkles underneath the low lights whenever your shimmery perfume catches them. a half empty martini glass sits to your left, extra olives completely gone, and to your right sits a very happy han jisung with something disgustingly fruity in his cup. where’d he get the good stuff?

and behind you is jeongin. your dressed up, sober boyfriend who’s silently laughing at how you considered a martini to be a snack instead of a drink.

“baby, you could’ve just ordered something. they have food.” he says with a soft touch to your side, grazing a finger over the folds of fabric by your hip.

“a martini is food, maknae... olives. duh.”

han jumps in the conversation with a jumbled “olives are nasty”, but you’re too busy focusing on jeongin to spit a witty response back.

because jeongin won’t stop touching you.

he’s muttering soft conversation, with some words exchanged between him and his supposed hyung, who acts younger when drunkened, and his actual older members who gather in the vicinity at empty stools and seats. most wouldn’t even take a second glance at jeongins mannerisms. but you do.

he gets experimental with his fingertips, one just barely slipping under the fabric he was just touching, retreating shortly afterward only to get bolder with every second. his hand glides up, then back, then down until he lands a soft pat to the plush of your bottom.

“no, hyung. i’m driving her home, so i’m not drinking.” he says. you hear someone, maybe minho, say something about having good responsibility. little does he know jeongin is nowhere near responsible with the lewd mind he carries, and with the way he’s practically groping you in front of his friends.

now he’s rubbing his hands up and down your arms, soft and slow with the sweetest kiss to the side of your neck, but you can feel the devilish intent hidden in his lips.

you’re getting hot and bothered now. you’re past the point of it being just the alcohol, that reasoning considered hysterical by this time. your face is turning flushed and rosy, and you use your manicured hands to cover it as much as possible. jisung would never let you hear the end of it.

“i like this dress on you..” is a honeyed compliment that slips from jeongins mouth next, his touch softening with that same hold he’s had on your hips.

“i think the bartender does too.”

and as quick to come to a revelation as you usually are, you finally see why jeongin has had his grasp on you the entire night. the way the rest of this party will go is already mapped out right in front of you.

jeongin can be handsy for some reasons. because he wants to have you close, because he missed you, because he’s feeling soft and needy. or, because he’s jealous.

“baby, let’s go home, okay?” jeongin feigns an innocent voice in case the rest of the boys hear him, but he leans down for only you to listen next.

“im the one who knows how that dress looks when it’s off, anyway.”

⸝⸝⸝

which now leads you to here, in your shared apartment, with jeongin pressed so closely against you that you can feel his rapid heartbeat against your own.

he’s all over you, all inside you, with every bit of skin you have being touched, caressed, and exposed eagerly as he pulls your dress off like he promised back at the party.

“why’re you so soft— huh? tell me baby..” he asks, feeling you up with graspy palms that don’t ever stop.

you can’t answer because he’s fucking the voice right out of you.

slow, deep thrusts that have unspoken words of possession and power behind them, your hands bound by your head in one of his.

“i—i don’t kno—jeong…” is all you can muster. you can feel him deep, feel his ragged breathing against your ear, and feel his hands touching you in places that really are only meant to be private.

“speak up, pretty. i can’t hear you o-over that whining.” but you can definitely hear him. he’s losing himself, clear as day, and you’re not far behind.

jeongin moves so his palms cup the back of your knees, pushing slightly down into a press that has you seeing stars on your dark ceiling. “fuck ! jeong—in!”

“you’re mine, aren’t you baby? cum on me so i know it.”

and fuck, you could forget about his hands when he has a mouth like that and a stroke so deep.

you finish soon after with a taught coil that snaps all over him, grasping at the sheets in an attempt to bring yourself back to earth. he follows behind, sounding with a low grumbly whine and hot stickiness that fills you up and drips out of the sides.

“so pretty… feel so good… i love you… so good…” he’s mumbling to himself, coming down to lay on you without his full weight that could crush, breathing hot onto your cheek where he plants a kiss not long afterward.

yes, he knows where to touch to get you going, what to grab when he has you. but he also knows where to hold you when you’re finished.

cleaning you up softly, taking a bubble filled bath, and keeping you close with a little thank you when you’re back in bed. all the while, his hands haven’t left you once, lingering on your skin with his fingertips that draw patterns to soften his previous actions.

“you must really love me. you’re like… a tic.” you joke quietly, smiling to yourself in the dark thinking he can’t see you.

jeongin laughs a breath through his nose that tickles the back of your neck.

“i guess im just handsy.”

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thank you so much for reading! sending you a kiss, quick, catch it . . . ᥫ᭡

just thinking his name makes a quiet smile tug at the corners of your lips. he’s your entire world, the anchor that keeps you steady when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

the automated voice chimes over the speaker, announcing the next station. it’s one stop earlier than your usual exchange, but you push yourself up from the hard plastic seat anyway, adjusting the strap of your heavy bag on your shoulder.

you decided to leave the office thirty minutes early today. you missed him too much to stay a second longer than required.

stepping off the train, you navigate the crowded platform and head up the stairs into the chilly evening air. there’s a small, family-run flower shop just a block away from this station. you pass it all the time, but you’ve never actually stopped in.

tonight is different.

jisung is always doing things like this for you. your shared apartment is constantly decorated with little bursts of color—bouquets of baby’s breath, yellow tulips, or deep red roses that he brings home for absolutely no reason at all. he leaves them in jars on the kitchen counter, or by your laptop when he knows you have a long night of studying ahead.

he spoils you with random trinkets, too. a silly keychain he saw at a convenience store that reminded him of a joke you made, a specific brand of throat lozenges when you had a slight cough, a soft hoodie he deliberately left on your chair because he knew you’d be cold.

he is so good to you.

you push open the door to the florist, the heavy scent of damp earth and fresh blooms wrapping around you instantly. you spend a few minutes looking through the buckets before settling on a simple, beautiful arrangement of white carnations and eucalyptus.

they look pretty, comforting. you pay the elderly woman behind the counter, clutching the paper-wrapped stems tightly against your chest as you walk back out onto the street.

the walk to your apartment building is short, but your mind fills the space with jisung.

you think about the rainy afternoon three months ago when the two of you got stuck under a broken awning, shivering and laughing until your stomachs hurt while jisung tried to use his jacket to shield your hair.

you think about the quiet mornings where he’d wake up before you, his eyes still small and groggy, pulling you back into his chest by your waist and mumbling that the world could wait another ten minutes.

you couldn't imagine being with anyone else. you don't want to. he’s the person you want to grow old with, the one you want to sit on a porch with when your hair turns grey, talking about nothing at all.

for the longest time, that old fear had kept you guarded. you used to hold back a little bit, keeping a piece of your heart hidden away just in case the other person decided to leave. you never wanted to be the one left holding all the love while the other walked away empty-handed.

but with jisung, that fear just melted away over time. he made it so easy to trust him. he was always there, always reassuring, always looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in a crowded room. in your mind, you were perfect for each other.

he healed the parts of you that you didn't even know were broken.

you pull your keys from your pocket as you step into the elevator, your heart doing a little happy flutter. you can picture his face so clearly. you’ll walk in, he’ll be surprised because you’re early, and he’ll probably give you that wide, crooked smile of his before wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck.

the elevator dings. you step out into the quiet hallway and walk down to your door.

you slide the key into the lock, turning it with a soft click. you push the door open gently, trying to be quiet just in case he’s in the middle of a recording or something. the entryway is dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside the living room window.

"hanji?" you call out softly, kicking off your sneakers.

there’s no response. the apartment is heavy with a strange, thick silence.

"jisung, i'm home early," you say a little louder, setting your bag down on the couch. you keep a firm grip on the flowers, a small smile playing on your lips.

you walk down the short hallway toward the bedroom. the door is cracked open just a bit, a warm sliver of light spilling out onto the dark wooden floorboards. you assume he’s working on new music with his headphones in, completely tuned out to the rest of the world.

he gets like that sometimes, and you don't mind it at all. if anything, you love it. he's passionate.

you reach out, placing your palm against the painted wood of the bedroom door, and push it open completely.

"hey, look what i—"

the words die in your throat. your smile completely disappears.

everything goes blank. your whole world just falls apart in one second. maybe even less.

the lamp on the nightstand is casting a dim, golden glow over the bed. the duvet is tangled, pushed down to the foot of the mattress. and there, right in the center of the space you’ve slept in every night for the past year, is jisung.

but he isn't alone.

there is a woman with her back to you, her dark hair spilled across his chest. his arm is wrapped securely around her bare waist, pulling her close. the familiar scent of his laundry detergent and woody cologne hits your nose, but it’s mixed with something else now—a heavy, unfamiliar perfume that makes you want to choke.

jisung’s eyes snap open at the sound of the door clearing the carpet. for a fraction of a second, his expression is blank, confused by the sudden intrusion. then, his gaze lands on you.

you see the exact moment the color drains from his face. you see the panic flare in his dark eyes, the sudden, frantic realization of what he’s been caught doing. he jerks backward, his arm dropping from the woman’s waist as if she’s burned him, his mouth opening to form your name.

but you can't hear him. there's a loud, high-pitched ringing in your ears that drowns out the sound of the woman shifting, drowns out the sound of jisung scrambling to sit up, drowns out everything.

your fingers lose all their strength.

the paper-wrapped bouquet of white carnations slips from your numb hands. it hits the floorboards with a dull, heavy thud, a few loose petals scattering across the dark wood.

you don't cry. you don't yell. you don't ask him who she is or why he did it. you just stand there in the doorway, freezing cold, looking at the bed where your life was just ruined.

it hits you all at once, heavy and completely empty. all too permanent.

your biggest fear is loving someone more than they love you.