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gimmethatagustd · 4 months

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oxygen | jjk

If you get caught, you'll both die. Jungkook wants to be yours anyway.

○ Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x f!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Mafia, established relationship, angst, smut

○ 9 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Mafia)

○ Word Count: 2,053

○ Warnings: Organized crime, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, infidelity (MC's boyfriend is Yoongi *gasp*), MC is actually kind of sick in the head lowkey lmfaooo, marijuana (is it a jai fic if weed isn't at least mentioned?), casual conversation about being murdered, dom!reader, sub!Jungkook, gunplay, consensual sex while under the influence of alcohol, unprotected vaginal sex, orgasm control, hair pulling, rough sex, pain kink

○Notes: I was never here. I repeat, I WAS NEVER HERE.

○ Post Date: February 13, 2024

○ Masterlist |

○ What was Jai listening to? Oxygen - Jackson Wang

“I fucking hate you.”

Jungkook tastes blood as he watches you stumble up the marble stairs, break-ankle stilettos grating into the stone like his molars grate against each other when he chews the inside of his cheek.

It takes three steps before you give up, bending to slip your finger under the thin black strap that hugs each ankle to keep the red bottoms in place. Off-balanced from holding your leather jacket balled up under one arm, you teeter on one foot, and Jungkook has to fight the urge to grab your waist.

Air rushes out of Jungkook’s nostrils, a scoff that mixes with the wind. It’s one of the last days of summer before autumn cuts the nights short and chills the air. If Jungkook could have his way, he would be sitting out on his balcony right now with a fat blunt and his phone on silent.

Instead, he’s dealing with you.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna fucking help me?” you snap, words slurring together when you pout through them.

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek where he’s bitten into the fleshy skin. The metallic flavor mixes oddly with the aftertaste of his half-smoked blunt from earlier.

“Thought you said you hate me,” Jungkook sucks his teeth, tattooed fingers squeezing your bicep to steady you while you unclasp your shoes.

“I do.”

“Hmm.” Jungkook exchanges a grip on your arm for the heels, black and deadly like the Glock clipped to his waist.

Your dress rides up far enough that your asscheeks are exposed when you bend down again, your skimpy black thong doing nothing to cover you. The sheer pair is one Yoongi bought you for Valentine’s Day last year. Yoongi hadn’t batted an eye when he dropped thousands of dollars on a lingerie set that he isn’t even patient enough to appreciate on your body before he rips it off.

Not Jungkook, though. Jungkook is patient.

“Carry me,” you whine, pushing up against Jungkook’s side, nimble fingers wrapping around his wrist and tugging.

Jungkook knows not to look up at the columned overhang, but the many cameras lining the mansion's exterior weigh heavily on him as he helps you up the stairs to the front door.

“I can’t,” Jungkook grits his molars, jaw flexing beneath taunt skin, “And you know that.”

The keypad at the front door unlocks with Jungkook’s thumbprint. Inside, the foyer is dark. It’s nearly four in the morning, and the rest of the guards are either monitoring the cameras or asleep. They’re all lower-level and easily bend to Jungkook’s will, meaning none of them will rat you out for slipping off in the dead of night to go party with your friends despite being under strict orders not to leave the house until Yoongi returns from his business trip.

As second-in-command, Jungkook should be in Japan with Yoongi, handling what will likely be one of the largest arms deals in Bangtan’s history. But Yoongi is paranoid, and paranoid men don’t leave their girlfriends with just anyone. Especially when their girlfriends are trouble.

And you? You’re trouble in a tight little black dress, hips swaying as you walk with new purpose through the foyer, your leather jacket thrown on the floor for Jungkook to pick up as he trails behind you — always trailing, following just a half step behind you, only in front when he puts his life on the line over yours. And he does, has the scars on his body to prove it, scars you like to bite to remind him of everything he’s willing to lose for Yoongi. For you.

There are only three types of rooms in the house that don’t have cameras installed: bedrooms, bathrooms, and arms rooms. You like to have Jungkook fuck you in all of them.

Tonight, it’s one of the basement-level arms rooms, the one Yoongi likes to use for entertainment because there’s a full bar and a conference table typically littered with guns, drugs, and money.

And sometimes, if Yoongi is in a shitty mood, girls.

You don’t care what Yoongi does, though it wouldn’t matter even if you did. As Bangtan’s leader, there’s no room for criticism of the boss — unless someone wants to lose a limb or their life, and Yoongi is known to be trigger-happy.

You learned that from him.

Jungkook lets out a shuddered breath as you drag the muzzle of his gun from the middle of his sternum down his abdomen. The metal is cold, and you move slowly, taking your time over every hill and valley of his muscles, painting goosebumps across his skin until you reach the waistband of his underwear.

The chamber is empty, but it still makes Jungkook’s heart jump in his throat when you press the gun against his clothed cock.

“Yoongi is going to kill us one day,” you whisper, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth to bite back a smile.

Jungkook leans back with his elbows against the table where you’ve sat him at one of the chairs. You’re in your heels again. Jungkook loves it when you stand over him, a powerful force far too often squandered by Yoongi’s overbearing leadership and desire to be the most feared person in the room. It’s one of Yoongi’s greatest mistakes.

You’re gorgeous, stripped down until all you’re wearing is another man’s Valentine’s Day gift, your own body a present Jungkook has the unholy pleasure of opening again and again — but only after you’ve opened him up, gutted him like a fish.

Or blown him open, a bullet bursting like shrapnel to cut him from the inside out. Jungkook would let you do it.

Jungkook stares up at you with innocent eyes that tell nothing of the secret horrors his hands have done, of the horrors he has endured and inflicted upon others. He stares up at you with innocent eyes and his lips wrapped around the muzzle of his gun that you hold with your finger on the trigger.

“Bang, bang,” you giggle as the gun clicks, and Jungkook lets you slide it further into his mouth, the tangy taste too similar to blood and nothing he hasn’t tasted before.

Maybe it’s fear that makes Jungkook crave you. Maybe Jungkook has a death wish. Maybe Jungkook likes the idea of you being his lifeline, the sole decider of whether he lives or dies. All it would take is one tiny confession twisted into a lie, and you could convince Yoongi that Jungkook came onto you and tried to seduce you.

Jungkook knows Yoongi would enjoy making him suffer if he thought Jungkook was treating you unkindly. Yoongi would enjoy violently murdering Jungkook even more if he knew just how good Jungkook treated you.

You don’t pull the gun back until Jungkook gags. Tears collect along his eyelashes, but he blinks them away as you toss his gun onto the table.

“You’d let him kill you.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook’s voice is hoarse from the gun, and it cracks when you sit on the table in front of him and spread your legs. “I would.”

“You’re fucking stupid.”

“So are you.”

Jungkook’s cock throbs as he watches you slip your thong down your legs. You drag his spit-slicked gun along your dripping pussy, parting your folds and getting the muzzle shiny with your arousal. When his eyes flit up to meet yours, you let out a broken moan, tongue slipping out to lick your bottom lip.

“Come here,” you beckon, the curl of your finger tugging Jungkook forward like a red string tied in a noose around his neck. He fits perfectly between your thighs, his clothed cock pressing against your exposed pussy.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook whispers against your lips. His body crowds yours, forcing you to tip your head back to look into his pretty doe eyes.

“Be a good boy and clean this up first,” you say as you hold up the gun in front of Jungkook’s face.

Jungkook doesn’t look away as he licks a stripe up the length of the gun’s muzzle, too turned on by how intensely you watch him lick and suck your juices off it. How eagerly he bends to your will is pathetic, but he doesn’t care.

When you toss his gun away to dig your nails in his hair and tug him into a bruising kiss, Jungkook feels like he can finally breathe.

You taste sweet, like whatever fruity cocktails you’d been drinking with your friends. Jungkook sucks your tongue, and he feels the vibration of your moans go straight to his leaking cock.

“Fuck me,” you moan with nails in his back, “And make it hurt.”

Jungkook helps you off the table to bend you over it. He may prefer sex that is slow and face-to-face, but Yoongi is coming home in a few hours, and sometimes, you like to punish yourself by denying yourself the sweet, sensual care that Jungkook prefers to give you. Sometimes you like it dirty and fast like this, Jungkook fucking into you with your wrists behind your back and your face pressed into the conference table’s cold, sleek surface.

You look forward to the tender bruise you’ll have on the apple of your cheek and against your hips from where Jungkook fucks you hard enough that you slam into the edge of the table. It’s a gamble, wondering if this will be the time Yoongi finally notices.

Sometimes Jungkook wonders if Yoongi already has noticed, and he’s just biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to kill you both.

“Fuck, jagi,” Jungkook moans. The table squeaks and grunts as the force of Jungkook fucking you pushes the table back and forth across the floor.

“Do I feel good, baby?” you gasp, twisting your hands in Jungkook’s so you can wrap your fingers around his wrist, too, to have something to hold onto.

“So good,” Jungkook whimpers, tightening his grip on your wrists. “Can I cum? Please?”

Your skin is probably chafing from how hard you’re being bounced against the table, but all you do is moan and clench around Jungkook’s cock, taunting him.

“Jagi, please,” Jungkook begs, hips faltering slightly. You’re so wet and creamy. There’s something about fucking you in the arms room that always makes you feel and sound better.

“You wanna cum? Baby boy wants to cum?”

“Wanna cum so bad, you feel so, fuck, so, so good.”

Jungkook lets go of your wrists to dig his fingers into your hips and pull you onto his cock with each thrust. You lift off the table slightly so he can wrap one arm around your waist and slip his fingers through your folds, playing with your clit as he fucks you. He knows he needs to make you cum first before you’ll let him.

"Just like that, you're doing so well," you pant, pussy clenching and pulsing around Jungkook's cock so hotly that he knows you're going to cum soon.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long. Jungkook has you so worked up that you cum once he pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers while you writhe and squirm on his cock, whimpering his name.

“Come on, baby,” you moan, “Cum for me, now.”

Tilting your head up, you let Jungkook kiss you. He squeezes his eyes shut as he cums inside you, mouth hanging open and completely useless to kiss, so you press light kisses along his sweaty throat instead.

“Thank you,” Jungkook whispers once his body has calmed down, gently easing out of you. His hands shake as he collapses into the chair and pulls you into his lap.

You kiss him properly this time, sliding your hands through his sweaty hair. He’s pussy-drunk, fucked dumb, nothing but static in his head as your lips glide with his. He could stay like this, pliant like clay in your hands, let you mold him into whatever you want him to be. Let you make or break him. Jungkook doesn’t care.

“Tell me you love me,” you demand, nails sharp against Jungkook’s scalp.

“Jagi,” Jungkook whimpers when you pull his hair, “I love you so much. I love you more than anything.”

“More than yourself?”

“More than myself.”

You hum into the next kiss, and Jungkook feels his body melt.

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #100 drabble challenge #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #oxygen

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forlix · 8 months

Text

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative

warnings・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack, alcohol is consumed, lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication, complex people feeling complex emotions, smut warnings under the cut

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

smut warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you��re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you��d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

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hannieehaee · 7 months

Text

18 + / mdi

content: idol!hoshi x idol!reader, fluff, pining, smut, afab reader, penetrative sex, oral (both f and m receiving), face riding, sub!hoshi etc.

wc: 3k

a/n: this is is a continuation to this!!

masterlist

you'd known hoshi ever since seventeen's debut. you'd been there. well, maybe not there but you had had the opportunity to mc along with some other idol friend of yours during one of seventeen's first comeback shows. you had only debuted a couple years back, making you their senior but also their equal, being the same age as some members of the group.

like with most other groups, you hadnt had much of an opportunity to speak to them, considering how fast paced these shows tended to be. but you remembered them well, sharing with your own members how talented you thought the rookies had been despite this being their very first year in the game. unfortunately, not much interaction between you happened for a while after that first encounter.

as the years passed, your own group grew. with the boom of kpop in the west you found yourselves at a global level, along with many of your fellow kpop groups. you still remembered the excitement you felt upon debuting, feeling like you were reliving the experience as you entered the hybe building for the first time.

like many groups after the year of 2020, your group's label had been acquired by hybe ent., arguably one of the biggest entertainment companies in korea at the moment. the concept of joining a new company with many of the idols you'd learned to call friends over the years elated you, enjoying the change of environment and the opportunity to meet other people who shared a career and a passion with you. this was also how you came to meet hoshi once more.

through the years, it wasnt hard for you to tell that the man well known as hoshi had a bit of a thing for you. not only was he not very discreet about it whenever you crossed paths, but he had also even mentioned you by name once at a variety show, listing you as his bias in your group and even as his celebrity crush. it seemed to be a slip of the tongue, but unfortunately for hoshi it had been caught on camera and eventually aired.

you should've known upon your first meeting, really. the boy had blushed profusely when you'd directed yourself at him, bowing politely. you had assumed he was just shy, but you'd come to learn that the boy was anything but timid.

for the next two years or so, you'd found yourself bumping into him frequently around the building. what you had first believed to be accidents proved to be calculated meetings orchestrated by the man. nothing would ever happen. he'd sheepishly interact with you, always making you coo at his uncharacteristically shy disposition towards you. you came to love bumping into the man, being fully aware of the effect you had on him. your group mates would giggle behind his back, calling him whipped. even his own group mates would give you intel on how astronomically down bad he was for you, begging you to put him out of his misery. so you did.

this had been one of your first times approaching him first. he'd usually hang around outside your practice room after hours in order to catch you and take the elevator with you on his way out. he'd never say much, but his giddiness would radiate out of him at your mere proximity. other instances would be when hoshi would approach you for group promotions, insisting you to let him teach you the choreo to his group's latest song for a quick tiktok challenge. at this point any public group interaction between your two groups was always you and hoshi, with the occasional inclusion of another member. hoshi also had the tendency to walk by your practice room at the usual time you took your breaks in order to say a quick hello to you. it was all very endearing, really. it didnt take too long for him to wear you down, his cuteness making your resolve break. so today you decided to seek him out for yourself.

you marched into his practice room in the middle of the day, walking straight towards him. he stopped his movements and stared at you blankly, almost as if in a trance. a few other members were there, but you didnt pay them much mind, having all your focus on hoshi. you came up with a quick excuse. some reason to get him alone after hours. you'd decided you wanted him. the thought of someone as handsome and nice as soonyoung having held a candle for you for so many years did things to you. embarrassing things. so you asked him for help. made up a story about how you wanted to do a dance cover of spider for your fans, thinking that it was such an intricate choreo that you could not do justice unless the original dancer gave you pointers. hoshi, in typical hoshi fashion, excitedly accepted without a second thought, agreeing immediately when you told him you'd let him ride home with you after work today in order to keep things under wraps.

the ride was mostly quiet, sans occasional comments thrown back and forth. hoshi would occasionally make a little comment about how happy he was you'd chosen spider, about how much he's always admired you as an idol. you were incredibly touched, knowing the boy to be among the most dedicated idols in the game. you paid your compliments back, rendering him a blushing mess. he was killing you. you felt kind of bad for wanting to jump him. but his crush had been making you crazy for weeks. you'd known he wanted you. any short time you'd spend together while he guided you through those short tiktok challenges you'd catch him looking at you in ways that made your body heat up. all those elevator rides in which he'd keep his eyes at bay if you had any bit of skin exposed. those times he'd been caught on camera at award shows, watching you on stage with a moony look in his eyes. he wanted you, you were sure. and you wanted him just as bad.

you hadnt really thought this through. you knew how to get him alone, but you had not planned much past that. in your head, you had wanted to jump him immediately upon arriving into your home. except he seemed so excited to share his passion with you, you could not stop him when he insisted you take him to the practice room located in your home. so now you were here. drenched in sweat and still going over the first verse of spider for the fourth time now. although you loved dancing, and you loved watching hoshi in his element, you needed some type of plan to get to him. you knew hoshi was beginning to feel affected by both the physical exertion and your out of breath state, but you knew he would never make the first move. he was too sweet and respectful, on top of the fact that only two of his braincells worked when he was around you.

"soonyoung ... can you help me with this? i cant get it right ..." okay maybe this was a cheap attempt, but it would at least get him in close proximity to you.

"uh, i .. yeah. let me see," good. he was now approaching you, standing behind you as you both faced the mirror, looking at you through the mirror in order to examine your posture.

"oh, yeah. your leg needs to be a little higher, and uh, your arms are positioned a bit wrong. can i ..?", he extended his hands out as if to help you, but retracted them a bit before asking for permission.

"yeah, soonie. go for it," you threw him a sweet smile through the mirror.

he gulped, but still placed his hands on your arms, attempting to lower them, except thats as far as he would go. you'd trapped him.

you quickly got a hold of his arms, lowering them a bit, bringing them down enough to hover closely over your frame.

"what .. what are you doing?", the boy gulped, although still leaving his body pliant to allow you to move his arms as you pleased.

you turned around while also keeping his arms at a close proximity, now facing him.

"soonie ... i think there's something else you could help me with .. yeah?", you used your best sultry voice, now walking yourself backwards to press your back against the mirrored wall, dragging him with you by the hand. the end result was soonyoung unknowingly hovering over you, arms leaning against the wall on both sides of your head.

"you ... what's happening?", he chuckled nervously, breath becoming heavier as he tried to ignore the eyes you were giving him.

"soonie, please ... you said you'd help me, didnt you? need your help so bad ... need you so bad," at this point you were being too obvious, maybe even a little mean. you had leaned up to whisper against his ear, loving the shudder he had given you in return.

"y-yes. ill help you, ill ... ill do anything. please ..."

"yeah?", you now whispered against his lips, nodding to yourself as if to confirm.

he nodded back, whispering a whiny 'yes' as your breaths began to meld together, mouths now one inch away from one another. soonyoung looked fucked out already, eyebrows furrowed and eyes lidded.

you finally closed the gap, making sure to moan against his lips in order to get a reaction out of him, which was almost instant. soonyoung immediately whined against your lips, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you against him as close as humanly possible.

you kissed like this for a while, allowing the kiss to evolve into a mess of tongues and languid sounds filling up the room, spider still playing faintly on a loop in the background.

soonyoung finally pulled away, fully out of breath, "fuck. ive wanted you forever. liked you since i was a trainee, you have no idea ... jesus you're so pretty. what do you want? ill give you anything. ill take anything, just. please ..." he rambled as you moved to kiss and suck at his neck, moving up to lightly lick and nibble at his ear while you responded to him in a whisper.

"anything, soonie?"

"y-yes."

"fuck my mouth? hmm, soonie?"

he physically shuddered at this, eyes rolling back as if you already had him in your mouth, knees visibly buckling.

"please, yes yes. fuck."

you tortured him a bit more, licking and kissing at the most sensitive spots of his neck and ears while sneaking your hand into his sweats, caressing his dick at an agonizingly slow pace. you kept at it for a few minutes, feeding off of his whines and mewls of pleasure. you grew frustrated quickly, however, wanting nothing more than to feel the weight of his cock against your tongue. you got on your knees, quickly unfastening his sweats and working his cock out of his boxers. you began by kitten licking his tip, eventually moving onto licking at the protruding veins. soonyoung's breaths of pleasure were quickly breaking your resolve, making your desire to ruin the pretty boy take over you.

"b-baby ... please, fuck," he begged for you to finally envelop him in your mouth, throwing his head back against the mirror and fidgeting at the pleasure of your mere licking was giving him.

you finally took pity on him, beginning to bob your head as deep as you could, causing his whines to increase in volume.

"o-oh, fuck. your mouth ... shit, so pretty. thank you. thank you ... thought ab- ah! about this every night ..."

"yeah? tell me what you thought about, baby," you unglued your mouth from his length for a few seconds to catch your breath and to incite him, getting off at his want for you.

"y-you. everything about you. so fucking pretty ... the way you move, fuck. your body and- shit! you're so sweet ..."

"im sweet, soonie? yeah? want me to show you how sweet?", you mumbled against him, taking a quick break to lick and suck at his tip, making him lightheaded.

"i ... you, shit, baby. gonna cum. where? please ..."

"my mouth? wanna fill my mouth soonie? wanna taste how sweet you are.."

with that, he came with a shout, yelling out your name as he unknowingly pressed your head closer to his cervix, grinding slightly against your mouth as he rode his high.

you stood up before he could catch his breath, pulling his head towards yours and sticking your tongue in his mouth, making him moan at the mixture of your taste with that of his cum. his hands finally became a little braver, feeling you up as you devoured each other.

you pulled away first, speaking against his mouth once more, "let me take you to my room?", to which he responded with an overexcited nod, allowing you to drag him by the hand.

upon arriving to your room, you didnt last much on your feet, immediately jumping him and dragging him over to your bed, pushing him onto it as you straddled him.

"baby ... want you so fucking bad. can i have you?", you kept asking him questions, instigating him to tell you how badly be wanted you.

"yes! fuck. you can do whatever you want. ill give you anything you want, please. wanna feel you so bad ..."

his words were feeding your ego in ways nothing else ever had.

you got up for a second, creating distance between you to give him a little show as you undressed yourself.

"you're so beautiful, fuck. always thought about this. you're gorgeous. can i touch you? please?", the endless praise wouldnt stop leaving his lips, rendering you weaker the more he spoke.

you sat on him once more, guiding his arms to your tits, showing him how you wanted to be touched. he moaned immediately at the feeling of your breast against his palms, eyes hooded as he made eye contact with your breasts.

"wanna kiss them, soonie? kiss them for me, baby. please?"

he nodded excitedly at this, lowing his mouth and softly licking and pecking at your breasts. he soon grew overexcited and began to increase the intensity of his touches, his arms now squeezing at your hips and ass while he moaned wantonly against your breasts.

"sit on my face, baby. please. wanna taste you. bet it tastes so sweet," he begged against your tit.

it didnt take much convincing for you to wiggle your way to his mouth, pressing your pussy against his face as he moaned at the pressure.

he was animalistic with the way he ate you out, as if he'd waited for this moment his whole life he had. at some point you began to grind against his tongue desperately, him guiding your movements with his strong arms. his moans and groans were what led you to find your end, digging your fingers in his hair and screaming out his name as you arched your back.

you gave him no time to catch his breath or recover, as you repositioned yourself in order to, once again, make out with him. he moaned at the way you licked and sucked at his tongue, tasting your essence in his tongue.

"soonie, need you to fuck me. will you do that for me? been wanting you so bad."

"me? you wanted me? yes. i'll- yes. please."

he was the cutest thing, making you want to ruin him for anyone else. but that would come later. right now you needed to be impaled by his dick. the one which had already bruised the back of your throat. having felt the length of his cock drag up and down your throat had you salivating at how well he'd fill you up. lacking any more patience, you quickly reached for a condom from your bedside table and slipped it in before taking your rightful seat on his cock.

you both let out shuddered breaths at the pleasure, you moaning at how much he stretched you out, and he at how snuggly your pussy wrapped around him.

this was one of hoshi's dreams come true. he had waited to make a move one day, never knowing you'd finally look his way and quite literally jump him, but he wasnt complaining. knowing how bad he wanted you had worn you down over time, making you want the sweet and pretty boy just as bad.

you'd found him adorable before, but now you knew better. the way he bounced you up and down his cock, filling your neck and chest with love bites as he growled against you, muttering how 'fucking tight' you were, and how 'he'd never let go of this pussy now that he had it.' the stark contrast between a pussy drunk soonyoung and the one currently fucking you made you dizzy. you knew it wouldnt be long til your orgasm took over.

"need you to cum. please? need to feel this pussy tighten around me. can you cum, baby? for me?", he'd moaned against your mouth, having begun to lick at it once he was satisfied with all the love bites he'd left on your chest.

you didn't need much convincing. none at all for that matter, as you quickly felt your orgasm attack you from all angles. you pressed your face against his neck and cried out his name, scratching his back as you felt the most powerful orgasm of your life take over you.

hoshi followed soon after, moaning your name as he threw his head back at the pleasure, whispering a mantra of 'thank you thank you thank you thank you' at the unimaginable pleasure.

you two leaned limply against each other for a few seconds, too overexerted to even think. hoshi spoke up first.

"do you- do you still need help with the choreo?"

a/n: not proofread </3

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen #svt fanfic #svt #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #soonyoung smut #soonyoung fanfic #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung scenarios #hoshi smut #hoshi x reader #hoshi oneshot #hoshi scenarios

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botanicalsword · 5 months

Text

Solar Returns Chart • relationship observations over past years

Sun in 6H - I had a highly disciplined lifestyle, strictly following a challenging diet and workout schedule. I was completely committed to their health and fitness goals and followed a meticulously crafted plan with dedication. I have set a fitness goal for myself, aiming to improve my physique and strength through training. I am determined to reach this goal, and I am willing to explore and employ various methods to achieve it. It was executed with unwavering discipline and intensity.

>> Other Solar Returns placement ⇦⇦

Venus in 7H - I feel incredibly grateful to have found myself in a new community where I have had the opportunity to meet new friends. The connections I have formed with these individuals are important to me, we primarily gather within a larger group setting and the level of compatibility and harmony we share greatly depends on the synastry between us.

8th House ruler in 2H -I had a strong desire to earn money and have been actively involved in running my own business.

Moon conjunct MC - Towards the end of the year, I had a sudden realization that I could put my talents to good use by embarking on some charity-focused projects. It struck me that instead of solely focusing on making money, I could leverage my skills and resources to make a positive impact on the community.

Venus conjunct Juno in 7H - I think I have encountered a person who has the potential to be both a romantic partner and a close friend. In our synastry, it indicates a harmonious connection between us. But there are challenges related to being vulnerability and publicity of our relationship, likely because of the influence of the 8th house and Lilith synastry.

>> explicit: Solar Returns • placement about love ♡̆̈♥♡̆̈♥

Moon square Juno - Marriage can make me question what it means to me and how it might affect my life's purpose. I was worrying that getting married may limit my freedom and hinder personal goals.

6H and 7H ruler in 9H - I enrolled in a course that not only provided me with valuable knowledge but also allowed me to form connections with like-minded individuals who shared similar interests and a desire for personal growth. Through this course, I had the opportunity to expand my community and make friends who were also passionate about acquiring greater knowledge. I also had the chance to travel to a new place that provided an enhanced learning experience, taking my pursuit of knowledge to the next level.

11H ruler in 6H - I have noticed that my friend's presence has had a big impact on our community - we shared 6H synastry. Thanks to our strong 6H synastry, he introduced me to this group of people, and though without him, we actually are not close-knit. He played a key role in bringing us together and creating a sense of camaraderie among us.

Chart ruler is Venus - This year, my main focus is on developing my personal value and refining my aesthetic taste. I am open to making changes in my style and appearance that may differ from what I've done in the past. I believe it's important to align my style choices with the image I want to present to the world. It’s also the possibility of starting a new relationship with a new romantic partner.

Chart ruler in 7H - this places a strong emphasis on building meaningful 1-on-1 relationships and fostering genuine friendships. Despite experiencing betrayal in the past, which has left me carrying a certain level of distrust towards others, I deeply cherish the connections I have made with each of them. This past betrayal has taught me the value of appreciating the genuine relationships in my life. I’m also recognizing the importance of opening myself up to new connections and allowing myself to appreciate the authenticity and sincerity of those who have proven themselves trustworthy.

Vertex in 9H - I feel a strong connection to nature and spirituality, and I have a desire to learn more about philosophical truths. It helps me think and understand myself better.

Uranus in 7H - I'm having trouble building the kind of relationship I want with the person I'm interested in. It's more than just a sexual or friendly relationship, but it doesn’t seem to head in the right direction.

8H & 12H ruler in 7H - I developed feelings for my friend, but I couldn't confide in anyone about it because I lacked trust in anyone with whom I could share this deep affection.

Moon conjunct Neptune / 8H ruler Neptune in 8H - I ended up in this totally forbidden relationship, and I had no clue about all the messed-up stuff going on. It was a crazy mix of getting physical, constant lying, tangled finances, other people meddling, a secret love affair.

Neptune in 5H - I'm trying to determine whether my feelings are genuine love or if they stem from an obsession, and I'm contemplating whether these emotions might be a delusion. (I’m Neptune dominance in Natal Chart) It seems that I am more captivated by the concept of love itself rather than the specific person I have feelings for. Even when we are apart, I don't experience a strong sense of longing or missing them. My focus seems to be more on the idea and idealization of love rather than the individual involved.

Venus conjunct Uranus - As the year comes to a close, I am bursting with new and artistic ideas. I am ready to take daring risks to explore and bring these ideas to fruition. I'm excited to step outside my comfort zone and see where these ventures lead me. >> Astrology Transits of New changes ☆★☆

❥❥❥ More: >> Solar Returns • Sun placement • Part I >> Solar Returns • Sun placement • Part II

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diana-rose-25 · 7 months

Text

— Let's Dance

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

Style Inspiration

pairing/s: BEBE! Bada Lee x Jam Republic! Reader x Wolf'Lo! Chocol

warnings: None so far, an unrealistic description of being an exchange foreign student, might confuse some words in ballet (as most of them are only through research and not based on experience).

description: A professional ballet dancer in Street Woman Fighter Season 2? (Y/N) Bae, a 23-year-old ballet and dance prodigy enters the fighting arena alongside the infamously known crew, Jam Republic. Making the team's aura far more intimidating despite being clad in soft pink and white clothing, adorned with astonished faces and friendly smiles. As the young woman entered the arena with curious eyes and small smile, the other teams couldn't help but awe at her beauty and elegant aura, unknowingly capturing the eyes of two charismatic dancers.

word count: 9.3k

status: unedited

now listening to:

"Monika, our fight judge. What will be your criteria today?" Kang Daniel, the host, asked Monika once the commotion has died down.

"Honestly, some of the dance leaders here have been a dance contest judge for a long time. So, I dare say, I'll be cruelly objective and consider only what I see here. I won't consider my seniors' achievements in the past but only by result."

Shownu followed up next. “Based on what I’ve learned in my music career, and my sincere love for this show, I’ll evaluate your dance honestly.”

“Everybody in here is a professional. I don’t need to tell you that, and it’s going to be whoever’s day it is today. I have much respect for all of you guys. I’ll do my best to be a perfect judge for you today.” Mike Song concluded.

(Y/N) nodded and clapped in appreciation. The fact that the judges said their objectives loudly and unapologetically made her breathe a sigh of relief. Especially since her senior and former teacher, Baby Sleek, is a participant of this competition. In her mind, and mostly the minds of the others, Baby Sleek is untouchable on the dance floor.

Her heart dropped at the thought of battling one-on-one with her former teacher. She is confident in her skills and talent on the dance floor, but facing off against Baby Sleek – she’ll be lucky if she even gets one vote from the judges. Everything she learned about freestyle dancing and hip hop stems from her.

The final person to be introduced was none other than DJ SOM before the rules of the challenge were explained. Each dancer will be given 40 seconds to dance. When it’s over, the judges will hold up their cards to decide the winner. But if two or more judges ask for a rematch, the two dancers will dance at the same time to determine the winner. According to the results, the crew will get a chip to put it on the crew board and count the wins and losses.

“No Respect, Battle with the Weakest Dancer. We’ll begin Round One!” The room burst into cheers once again when Kang Daniel announced the official start of the battle.

(Y/N) held up her interlinked hands with Ling and Emma as she cheered and stomped her feet in excitement. “Let’s go!”

“Oh my gosh, it’s starting!” Ling exclaimed, turning from side to side to warm up her body.

“I’m so nervous right now,” Emma admitted and leaned against (Y/N). The older girl giggled at her team mate and wrapped her arm around her. Running her hand up and down against the younger one’s arm to soothe her nerves.

“I know! Me too, but this is all so exciting!”

“Easy for you to say,” Ling nudged her. “You’re the most experienced freestyle battler in here other than Emma.”

“That doesn’t make it any less nerve-wrecking, Ling.” She nudged the girl back and squeezed her hand. They turned their attention back to the MC as he’s about to announce who will open the first dance battle of the season. “Who do you think it’s going to be?”

(Y/N) shrugged, “I don’t know. Hopefully they start out the season with a bang.”

“The first dancer for the first battle is…”

Jam Republic leaned in their seats in anticipation, holding their breath for as long as Kang Daniel trailed off. Hearts throbbing against their chest.

“From 1MILLION, Redy.” The 1MILLION crew immediately stands up from their seat to cheer their fellow member on. A tall girl clad in white cap, white long-sleeved clothing, and dark jeans stands up and makes her way down the seats.

From what (Y/N) could recall from the evaluation, Redy started dancing at 16 years old with a unique style. To her surprise, Redy was older than her by 2 years despite looking so young.

“I wonder who her No Respect Dancer is,” (Y/N) thought as she leaned back in her seat. “Do you think it’s one of us?”

“Doubt it,” answered Emma. “she might pick someone whose style is completely different from her. Or pick someone she has a bad blood with, it’s not uncommon.”

(Y/N) hummed in agreement, feeling her body relax. What Emma said earlier was true, it isn’t uncommon when it comes to dance offs. Some people tend to choose their opponents based on their past. Personally, she finds the means distasteful and unprofessional; but, it can’t be helped. She, herself, had experienced to being picked for the same reason when she was on competitions.

“If she picks someone she has beef with, do you think she’ll give us a good fight or not?” Emma shook her head in response.

“Probably not, it’s usually not a good idea to pick someone from the past. Emotions and tensions could rise and get in the way of a good freestyle.”

“That’s true,” (Y/N) nodded as she watches Redy walk in front to the center of the arena with a microphone between her hands.

As Redy started to speak, she walked towards the space of Wolf’Lo, surprising them and (Y/N). “Oh my gosh is she picking one of them?” The girl held her hand up to her mouth in shock when the girl clad in white continued to walk towards the orange team.

“The No Respect Dancer, I choose…” Redy trailed off once again and (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile at her braveness if she ever picks one of the dancer from Wolf’Lo.

She then turned to the other way, making (Y/N) puff out her cheeks in disappointment. As heavy as the tension is right now, one member of Wolf’Lo couldn’t help but grin at her adorable (from what she noticed so far) mannerisms.

Jam Republic watches as Redy takes a u turn and walks to the other side of the arena as she announces who her No Respect Dancer is, “it’s Bada of BEBE.”

The arena erupted in cheers. (Y/N) shoots up from her seat with a squeal and watches as Bada nods her head and stands up, flipping the bottled water in her hand as she did so.

“That was so cool,” she whispered with a quiet, girlish giggle. Ling and Emma laughed at their team member and joined her as she stands up, wanting to see the commotion clearly.

“Bada isn’t even dancing yet,” Ling teased to which (Y/N) just hushed her.

“She’s the famous, trendy choreographer right?” The ballet dancer nodded to Emma’s question.

“Her strongest link is making choreographies. Most popular K-pop dances was made by her. Since she’s more known for her choreographed works, I’m excited to see her freestyle.”

The two dancers began pacing around in the dance floor. There was a noticeable heavy tension in the air as they both prepare for the fight. Everyone is talking about their past, making the atmosphere heavier than it already was.

“Redy of 1MILLION, you chose Bada of BEBE as your No Respect Dancer.” Kang Daniel started.

“I don’t respect you, that’s it.” Redy stated bluntly. Bada placed a hand to her ear as she talks, mockingly insinuating that she’s listening closely to what she says. The room erupted in cheers, even judge Mike has his jaw on the floor.

“Not Redy, Soo Bin!” Bada exclaimed, using Redy’s real name. “You’re still an eight-grader to me.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened at the drama that was unfolding right in front of her, wishing she has something she can chew or sip on as she watches their back and forth. A shocked laugh escaped her mouth when Bada called her an eight-grader.

“Wait, what did she say?” Ling questions when her ear piece stops working momentarily, unable to catch the insult Bada threw at her opponent. Her expression turned to shock immediately after (Y/N) translated it to her. “Oh, damn. She’s a gangster right?”

“Yeah,” Latrice said, “I like her energy.”

Jam Republic laughs as Redy mimicked a baby by placing her thumb to between her lips. (Y/N) claps her hands in excitement as Kang Daniel announces the first attack to be made by Redy followed by Bada.

“Let’s go!” She shouts, bouncing on her toes.

“The two dancers’ battle begins now. You guys ready?!” (Y/N) claps even harder when she heard the infamous line. “Fight!”

Music filled the arena and the lights dimmed, the 40 second timer appeared on the huge screen and all dancers are hyped to watch the fight. The first beats of the music started and Redy started grooving into the music, her members cheering her on from behind her.

(Y/N) watched with keen eyes as Redy danced. The older girl was flexible, that’s for sure, and she is hitting the beats. Redy’s style was certainly unique. However, in her opinion, it lacks in any form of wow factor.

She still cheered and clapped her hands afterwards and the music switched, signalling Bada’s turn. Her voice increased in volume when Bada spins and comes up to Redy’s face, standing tall to enunciate their height difference without the use of words.

“I hate it when people use their height!” She giggled when she heard Chocol whined.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Oh my gosh, she’s so tall!” Ling and (Y/N) exclaimed at the same time. The latter girl hides her face in her hand, parting her fingers so she can still see the battle as she feels them become hot. Their eyes momentarily meets for a second and she swore the corners of Bada’s lips curved up for a second.

The eye contact didn’t last long when Bada suddenly swats the air on the top of Redy’s head. (Y/N)’s eyes stayed glued to Bada’s dancing, mesmerized at the clean and sharp moves she does. She couldn’t help but cheer at the way Bada hits each beat of the music and the way she grooves. Bada’s time comes to an end as she spits the piece of paper in her mouth. The room erupted in cheers and claps and at the end of the battle.

“What the heck,” Ling said in astonishment as they sit back down.

“That was so good,” (Y/N) said. “A great battle to start off the season.”

Everyone returned to their respective seats as Redy, Bada, and Kang Daniel stands at the center for the announcement of the results. When the cards flipped, 3 blue cards appeared at the judge’s hands.

Team BEBE cheered as they secured their first win, and Bada certainly secured a title for herself as one of the most talented and skilled individuals of the show. The dancers returned to their seats as the judges tells their thoughts about the battle.

“I was impressed by both of you,” Shownu started, “Redy of 1MILLION shocked me. But, I reckon that Bada’s move suited the song more and she was more relaxed.”

“I’ll be honest to help you improve, you’re still and eighth-grader even from my point of view.” Emma, Ling, and (Y/N)’s mouth parted in shock at Monika’s comment, feeling bad for the 1MILLION dancer. “But, Bada is certainly out of this league.”

“Damn,” was (Y/N)’s only comment – watching as BEBE place their first chip on the win score board and Bada attach the chip on the lose side of 1MILLION’s board.

⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊ⁠ᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠⁾⁠⁾

A short break was conducted after the first battle between Bada and Redy. Jam Republic sat around in a circle as they debriefed about the event earlier. As they talked however, (Y/N) couldn’t help but point out the several eyes that is currently looking in their direction. More specifically:

“You got a lot of eyes on you Kirsten,” she whispered towards her leader. “Not just the dancers, but the judges as well.”

“Really?” Kirsten smiles before she looks around. Sure enough, there were several dancers looking at her direction, even Monika and Shownu.

The rest of the team giggled when Kirsten smiled giddily at them, feeling a burst in her confidence.

“I think they’re looking forward to see you dance,” Latrice tapped her shoulders. They returned to their original positions when Kang Daniel came back to the center.

“The next dancer to participate in the one-on-one battle is,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “Jam Republic’s Kirsten!”

The room once again erupted in cheers and claps as the most anticipated dancer of the season smiles and makes her way towards the middle.

“Hello,” the leader greeted with a chuckle. “No Respect Dancer that I would like to defeat…”

As she trailed off, the dancers’ eyes shift from side-to-side in anticipation with a touch of agitation and intimidation. They could feel Kirsten’s intimidation aura, and most of them are terrified at the thought of going one-on-one with her.

“Waackxxxy.” She said, gesturing to the said dancer who grinned from her seat.

The teams and even Monika acclaims in delight as they are about to witness a great battle between two, strong dancers.

From the evaluation, Waackxxxy is a phenomenal dancer with powerful moves and an unmatched energy. Kirsten immediately picked her as her No Respect Dancer to push herself. Jam Republic and Mannequeen members stands behind their respective dancer who will compete on one-on-one.

“When I watched the video, you were world-class and I would love to take you on. Let’s Battle.” Waackxxxy nodded her head in appreciation. The other dancers and Monika praised Kirsten for her admirable action to take on a strong battler.

“Thank you so much for liking my video and class, but, I’ll show you my dance. Okay, let’s go.” (Y/N) clasped her hands in front of her and rests her chin on top of it, hyped for the battle between her leader and the well-known international dancer, Waackxxxy.

“Let’s go Kirsten!” She cheered.

“The world-class choreographer and the world-class waacking dancer. The battle of the two dancer begins now. You guys ready? Fight!”

The DJ starts the music and Waackxxxy of Mannequeen goes first. From the get-go, everyone could see the charisma and the reason why Waackxxxy is considered as a world-class battler. Her body control and energy is so insane that Jam Republic couldn’t help but also hype her up.

Waackxxxy ended her time with a strong side-eye on Kirsten’s direction. When the switch was announced, (Y/N) started jumping up and down as she cheered loudly for her leader.

“Come on, Kirsten! Bring it!” Latrice yelled.

The screams increased when Kirsten and Waackxxxy circled each other, following the beat of the music.

“That was fu- insane!” Ling and Latrice laughed hysterically when a curse word almost escaped (Y/N)’s mouth.

Jam Republic continued to cheer their leader on as the battle went on. (Y/N) was so hyped that she slipped and lost her footing momentarily. Luckily, someone immediately stabilizes her before she could fall.

(Y/N) looks up to thank the person who caught her, only to blush brightly as her eyes met Bada’s shadow-covered eyes and a concerned face.

“Are you okay?” Bada asked, still holding onto her elbow.

She hummed and flashed her a grin. “Mhm, thank you!”

They stared at each other for a few moments with a small smile and blush dusting their faces without saying a word. It’s as if it was just the two of them in the room together as the noises seem to quiet down, fading into the background.

(Y/N) snapped out of it when Kang Daniel announced the end of the battle, immediately turn to find Kirsten walking towards their side. She thanks Bada one last time before rushing to her leader’s side to congratulate her for the amazing battle.

Bada remained standing there, running her hand on the back of her nape to will her pounding heart to calm down. A grin makes it way to her face as she returns to her seat, not noticing Lusher who saw the whole interaction and is hiding a smile behind her hand. Making a mental note to tease her leader about it later.

The judges showed their cards. Monika and Mike holds both cards for Jam Republic and Mannequeen, signalling a rematch between both dancers.

The rematch starts and both dancers still held their ground as they showed two variation of dance style. It ended up with another rematch when Monika showed 2 cards, much to the surprise of everyone.

“I can only choose one?” She asked exasperatedly, clearly in distress to choose between the two when Kang Daniel nodded and held up one finger. “That’s insane. I can’t do that!”

“Whoever you pick will be the winner. The victory lies in your hands.”

(Y/N) feels her heart pound against her chest, holding her clasped hands against her and prayed for Jam Republic’s first win. “Please, please, please, please.” She muttered underneath her breath.

“Here I go,” Monika concluded. The count down started until finally, she held up a pink card.

Kirsten cemented Jam Republic’s first win.

Jam Republic cheered while Mannequeen slumped their shoulder in dejection.

“Great job, Kirsten!” (Y/N) cheered as she gave Kirsten a side hug and a grin.

“That was insane!”

“Good job!” They praised their leader.

Across the room, Waackxxxy is visibly enraged and disappointed with the results of the battle.

“In this last round, both dancers were at the same level.” Mike Song stated. “But Kirsten grabbed my attention a little more.”

“That was such a great battle. It was so energizing. The reason I chose Kirsten at the end, was that she made the song come alive a bit more and I weighed that more importantly. Rather than being too serious, I had no choice but to give it to the person expressing the song. That’s why I hope you understand my decision. Although it was a very difficult one.” Monika concluded.

(Y/N) clapped enthusiastically as Kirsten place a winning chip on their score board. That happiness didn’t last long however, when Kang Daniel announced the next opponent. Another member of Mannequeen, Yoonji.

From the dancer’s expression, the anger was obvious from the way stomped down the seats and towards the middle.

“I’m so scared,” Ling said and Emma agreed.

“She seems crazy.” The younger one replied, feeling on edge because of Yoonji’s attitude.

(Y/N) sits stiffly on her seat, eyes narrowed and feels goosebumps crawl up her arms and neck. “She looks like she’s plotting revenge,” she stated lowly.

They watch as Yoonji paced around back and forth in agitation.

“I’m very angry right now,” she confessed, still pacing around. “Mannequeen has come here as the crew known to be the strongest in battles. I think it’s time we showed that.”

(Y/N) smirked at her insinuation, finding it a tad difficult to believe since Baby Sleek and her crew is also a part of this competition.

“I’ve said this already, but who’s the one chewing up and spitting out battles lately?” Yoonji said, making a beeline towards 1MILLION and standing in front of Lia Kim.

“This battle. I can show you later.” (Y/N) let out a sharp laugh when Yoonji left Lia Kim alone as soon as she got there. She’s certainly entertaining.

“Kirsten, come out girl,” Yoonji suddenly stated quite forcefully as she gestured Kirsten to come out. The woman mentioned gave a small smile to Yoonji as she stands up and place her jacket on her sear.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but tilt her head to the side and bit her bottom lip in annoyance, feeling rather protective of her leader.

“I’m going to take revenge for my sister. Come out, girl!”

(Y/N) huffed as she immediately followed her leader and stand 2 feet directly behind her, eyes narrowed and focused on Yoonji. The other members of Jam Republic soon followed with nervous smiles on their faces, but the latter members face was devoid of any emotion.

“I’m going to show you who is the hottest girl in South Korea!” Yoonji exclaimed as her crew cheered her on. “You know, girl? I’m going to show you.”

When (Y/N) saw Yoonji walk towards Kirsten and got near her face, a small smile graced her lips – devoid of any humour, as she too walked towards Kirsten, standing directly behind her and held her elbow. She stands tall in front of Yoonji and looks down at her, taking inspiration from Bada Lee and uses her height for advantage, to which Team BEBE squealed.

The other crew also howled in astonishment as she did so.

“Bada-unnie you influenced her already?!” Tatter exclaimed as she shakes her leader’s arm back and forth.

“What is it with tall people and comparing heights?! I’m so jealous right now!” Bada laughs as her members whined. She leaned forward in her seat with her hands clasped together, feeling oddly satisfied with the way (Y/N) seemed to copy her move.

While Kirsten nodded gracefully at her opponent, (Y/N) snickers when Yoonji’s gaze flickered upon her for a moment before going back to the other side where her crew is.

(Y/N) slightly pulled Kirsten back and leans down to whisper in her ear, “you okay?”

Kirsten, not the slightest bit intimidated, just nodded at her with a grin. “Word, she says ass fat.” The taller girl laughed at her leader when she stuck her tongue out.

“(Y/N) is so scary now!”

“She’s giving off protective older sibling vibes oh my gosh!” Mina Myoung exclaimed, watching as (Y/N) now jokes along with the other members. “Look at how she switches! She’s back to being all smiley now!”

“What were you teaching her Baby Sleek?!” Haechi asked after witnessing it. The older girl said nothing but gave her a shrugged shoulder and a proud smile.

Chocol said nothing but continues to watch with a small smirk, loving the feisty and protective attitude of the taller girl of the pink team. Hoping that after the show, she’ll come running to Baby Sleek so she can have an excuse to finally introduce herself.

Or maybe, she’ll have the chance to introduce herself on the dance floor. Maybe flirt a little as well.

“I’m going to show you who is the queen!” Mannequeen cheered as Yoonji yelled before mocking the moves of Kirsten earlier by swaying her hips from side-to-side. The yellow-team crew member gives her a side-eye, looking up at her up and down in a condescending manner.

Kirsten, unbothered, just smiled at her opponent. The same can’t be said towards her ballet dancer member who was seething in annoyance.

“I’m excited,” Kirsten started. “Let’s see. We’re here in Korea now, so, let’s see.”

The members of the crew once again stood behind their respective member competing. Yoonji and Kirsten paced around as they prepare themselves.

“We have Yoonji from Mannequeen going first.” Kang Daniel announced. Yoonji immediately went to the front and strike up a pose. “Jam Republic’s Kirsten will go in second.”

(Y/N) sat beside Latrice and Ling as the host began, “the next battle between these two dancers, are you guys ready?! Let’s go! Fight!”

Yoonji moves her body as the first beat of the music starts, starting off strong and fierce. (Y/N) bites her lip out of irritation when she mockingly hits Kirsten with her elbow, to the point where she almost believed it hits her leader when Kirsten played along.

The Mannequeen dancer ended her dance strong when she made her way towards where the judges are, much to the delight of everyone.

“She’s a great dancer, but I think she got a tad bit overemotional,” (Y/N) whispered towards Latrice as she claps after her performance. The latter girl nods in agreement before standing up in excitement when the host announces the switch, meaning, its Kirsten’s turn to perform.

(Y/N) bounces on her toes with a huge grin on her face as she watches her leader dance. Even more so when she dances around Yoonji’s figure without touching her, showing the immense amount of body control she has. Jam Republic watched with a face of impress and admiration, shouting in delight when Kirsten snaps her hips.

“That was insane!” She exclaimed once the battle ended. It wasn’t long before the judges showed the cards of the winning result of the battle.

And three yellow cards were faced.

Mannequeen cheers loudly for the victory while Jam Republic claps their hand. Sure, the battle didn’t end up in their favour, but it is understandable since Yoonji conveyed a lot through her dance.

Once the emotion of frustration simmered down, Yoonji shakes Kirsten’s hand with a smile and pulls her for a hug. Thanking her for the battle and saying I love you to her.

On their way to their seats, (Y/N) wrapped her arm around Kirsten’s shoulder and congratulated her, saying the same to Yoonji when they passed her by. Although the battle was intense and heated, there was no point in starting unwanted rivalry outside of the dance floor.

⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊ⁠ᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠⁾⁠⁾

Another break was conducted after a few battles from Jam Republic and other teams. Emma, Latrice, Audrey, and Ling had already participated in their own respective battles. Ling battled against Cera which takes her by surprise, both of them had chosen her as their No Respect Dancer to push themselves. (Y/N) is the only Jam Republic member who have yet to battle anyone.

“(Y/N) has yet to dance, right?” A member from Deep N’ Dap says, looking at the direction of the Jam Republic who was talking animatedly with her team.

“Mhm, I’m really excited to see her dance though.” Another member responded.

However, the long wait is about to be over.

“The next challenger of the battle, Cera of Mannequeen.”

Howls and cheers rang through the arena, everyone had witnessed the intense and captivating performance of Cera earlier when she battled Ling. The member of Mannequeen adorned in her iconic green dress made her way towards the center with a smirk on her face, her members cheers as they follow closely behind her.

A mic was handed to her, the crowd became silent, and she walks around.

“The No Respect Dancer I chose to battle…” she trails off, making her way towards 1MILLION.

“From 1MILLION?” Mini questioned as she watches Cera stop right in front of the white team. The members looked up at her with their hearts on their throat, terrified of the idea that one of them has to face off against her.

“My No Respect Dancer…” she trails off again, but this time, she walks towards the next team. “Is Jam Republic’s (Y/N). Come on.”

Everyone’s lost their minds as Cera called out the Jam Republic dancer.

“Yehey!” Audrey cheered – shooting up from her seat with a bounce on her step.

“Wah! This is like the battle of the Prima Ballerina’s!” Harimu yelled from her stand.

(Y/N)’s cheeks puffed as it’s filled with water, Cera called her in the middle of her taking a sip, but she didn’t complain. It’s just hard for her to grin with all the water in her cheeks. Though, everyone can still see the joy in her eyes.

She gulped down everything and stands up with a clap, grinning from ear-to-ear as she bows in greeting to Cera, holding her hands against her chest. They make their way to the center of the arena with their team following closely behind them. The two dancers stand in between Kang Daniel, standing tall with microphones handed to each of them. She bows one more time towards Cera before standing tall with a smile on her face, excited to battle one of the strongest battlers in the show.

Her opponent clad in green dress bows along with her before standing up straight and switched her face into battle mode – a stoic face with an arched brow, as if wanting to end her. (Which, not gonna lie, (Y/N) 100% will let her).

“Cera of Mannequeen,” Kang Daniel began, “why did you pick (Y/N) as your No Respect Dancer?”

“It’s not that I don’t respect (Y/N) as a dancer,” Cera started, holding the mic to her lips with one hand. “Quite the opposite actually, but, it’s time to show the people who the best ballerina battler is.”

The whole arena cheers and awes at what Cera said whilst (Y/N) just giggled and nodded her head. If there was one thing she always takes pride in, it’s her dancing skills and techniques in ballet.

“Cera-unnie, first of all, thank you for choosing me as your No Respect Dancer.” She bows down again, “however, if I am to prove anything to everyone here today – is that ballet is my style, and I am one of the best out there.”

Amidst the loud roars of the others dancers in the background, Ling, Kirsten, and Audrey’s cheers seems to be the loudest among them.

Cera smirked at the determination of her opponent keeping eye contact with her, and (Y/N) didn’t back down.

The two dancers briefly walked back to the side where their crew members are at for a warm-up, and (Y/N) takes this opportunity to remove her sneakers to change into the dance shoes.

“Is she changing her shoes for this battle?” Monika questioned – perplexed and intrigued. Mike Song just grins widely as he leaned forward, excited at the intense battle that is about to happen.

“Wah, she’s changing her shoes,” Bada commented, looking at the Jam Republic dancer who is currently leaning to one of her members while adjusting her shoes. “She’s putting her best foot forward for this battle.”

Tatter and Lusher agreed, keeping their eyes trained on the ballet dancer, eager to watch her dance.

“You got this girl,” Latrice said. Offering her arm for (Y/N) to stabilize herself as she changes her shoes. “Show her and everyone what you’re made of.”

“Thank you,” (Y/N) replied. Jumping in her place to feel the shoes beneath her feet.

“Kill everyone who doubted you with your dance.” Jam Republic laughed at the seriousness in Audrey’s voice, taken aback by her.

The lights dimmed once the two dancers made their way towards the center, Kang Daniel exchanged glances with the two women in the middle of the dance floor with a smile on his face.

“The battle between two ballerina dancers will begin now. You guys ready?!” Kang Daniel announced. Cera and (Y/N) eyed each other up and down, one with a stoic, daring look, standing tall and elegantly, while the other is currently sporting a small smile on her lips as she cracks her head from side-to-side.

“Let’s go (Y/N)!”

“Show them what you’ve got!”

“Kill this battle (Y/N)!”

The other Jam Republic members cheers can be heard from all over the room before the battle can even begin.

“Fight!”

The music started playing as soon as Kang Daniel said the word. Cera starts her iconic slow walk while keeping her eye-contact with (Y/N). It’s quite intimidating, but (Y/N) held her ground, admiring the determination in Cera’s eyes.

Cera started moving her arms at each beat of the music, before adding her own twists and turns before she does her iconic leg move. (Y/N)’s face scrunched up in disgust, indicating a sick and impressive move done by her opponent as she hits every beat of the music.

The Mannequeen dancer comes close to you, pointing at you with a single finger and pointing it up and down your figure. (Y/N) bit her lower lip as she arched her brow and titled her head. Leaning her head down a bit to stare at Cera with lidded yet seductive eyes.

The whole crowd went crazy with her looks.

She can’t deny the charisma and confidence of Cera in this battle, the latter really is showing years of experience in battling and the undeniable musicality she seemingly naturally possess.

As Cera’s time comes to an end, you used a sign language taught to you by Baby Sleek and signalled her to hurry up – much to the surprise of the other members of Wolf’Lo.

“She knows how to use it?!” Yeni asks in surprise, bringing her hands up to her head. Baby Sleek is the only one looking focused at the battle, eager for you to showcase your dance while the others had their jaws dropped.

Kang Daniel counts the last 3 seconds of Cera’s time, the woman comes close to your face and circled you whilst flipping your hair – just like what she did to Ling, before walking back confidently to the side of her team.

“3, 2, 1, switch! (Y/N) of Jam Republic!”

The members of Jam Republic screamed once the opening of Partition by Beyonce starts playing. (Y/N) smirks, stepping slowly forward towards the middle, mimicking a seductive wave after she flips her hair once the “hey, Ms. Carter” starts playing.

Everyone went wild once the beat drops – along with (Y/N) as she suddenly drops down to her knees and starts to doing some sensual floor works. The judges and competitors alike went ballistic at her opening moves, and it was just beginning.

(Y/N) kept her eyes on Cera the whole time, still with that lidded gaze. She slowly stands up, spinning fast with the beat in an insanely clean and controlled manner. She then did some popping and locking, showcasing her prowess in other styles of dancing other than ballet much to the delight of the judges and her team mates. She hits every beat of the song while sometimes taking the lyrics into account of her movements – showing a great control of her body and unparallel musicality.

“This is so crazy!” Monika yells as she keeps her eyes trained at (Y/N).

Chocol couldn’t look at anywhere else once (Y/N) started dancing. She has her arms crossed against her chest as she watches intensely with a impressed smirk plastered on her face. She walks down the steps to have a better view of the dancer dancing before her.

She finds it impressive at how she uses various techniques and moves of ballet and other styles to incorporate it in her moves. It looks complicated, but she makes it look so seemless and effortless.

Bada, on the other side of the arena, finds it hard to contain her emotions as she watches the Jam Republic dancer. She’s constantly shouting, impressed by the moves executed by the young dancer. She holds onto her cap as her jaw drops once (Y/N) did an aerial.

She claps and screams along with the rest of her team as she continues to watch her with a starstruck gaze and jaw dropped. Lusher takes one glance at Bada before she bursts out laughing.

“Oh my gosh your totally whipped Bada-unnie!” She laughs, slapping Bada’s arm as she threw her head back.

Bada immediately flushed red and attempted to cover it with a cough, but it still wasn’t enough to tear away her gaze from the performing dancer of the pink team.

While (Y/N) remained oblivious to the pairs of eyes staring at her, she focused on ending her battle with a bang. As Kang Daniel signals the last 5 seconds of her time, she makes her way towards Cera – mimicking the way she circled around her earlier, but with her own seductive walk. She stopped in front of her, bending down to her eye level whilst blowing a kiss with a wink, wiggling her fingers in a goodbye motion before walking back to her team with a smile and playing with her hair as she shakes her head from side-to-side.

(Y/N)’s members hyped her up as she walks towards them. She laughs as Audrey and Ling jokingly bows down to her like a royalty, making the others follow soon after. She covers her laughs underneath her hands to also hide the redness that’s painting her cheeks.

Everyone went ballistic. Screaming their heads off at the intense yet entertainingly fun battle between the ballerina’s of Mannequeen and Jam Republic.

She then turns back around to face Cera who has a smile on her face, bowing down at her in gratitude for the battle. She continued bowing to everyone who was still in shock by the battle – her heart swelled with pride once she sees Monika standing up with a shocked smile on her lips as well as Mike Song and Shownu who were clapping.

“Good girl, (Y/N)!” Baby Sleek yells, clapping her hands. The mentioned girl heard it and snaps her head towards her, holding her hands to her chest before bowing deeply. She can feel tears well up in her eyes but she shakes her head to avoid them from falling down.

Her former teacher praised her loudly and openly. The highest compliment she could ever receive from this competition.

“That was intense!” Lusher exclaimed, sitting back down in her seat once the commotion started dying down.

“They really showed their battling skills. Their confidence is through the roof!” Mini exclaimed. “Honestly, whoever wins this deserves it.”

(Y/N) and Cera makes their way back to the center of the dance floor. Breathing heavily after the intense battle they shared.

“Fight judges,” Kang Daniel starts, “cards open.”

(Y/N) could hear her heart ponding against her chest and in her ears as she fiddles with her fingers. All the judges visibly look like they’re having a hard time deciding on their choices. She reminds herself that whatever the outcome of the battle is, she gave it her best. Yet, she still wants to secure a win for her team.

And then, the cards are flipped.

And everyone cheered.

Monika holds two cards – pink and yellow.

While Shownu and Mike Songs holds a single, pink card.

(Y/N) almost drops to the ground because of relief.

Cera and Mannequeen sighs in defeat and in dismay while the Jam Republic members – specifically Audrey, Ling, and Kirsten, cheers loudly.

(Y/N) makes her way towards Cera and offers her hand, “you are amazing! I love your dance! You are simply amazing out there and thank you for the wonderful battle. It was an honour to compete with you. I hope we can be good friends in the future because you are simply just amazing!”

Cera coos at the adorable ramble of her opponent and pulls her to a hug. “Thank you, thank you too for that battle. I love you, you’re amazing too out there! We must definitely meet up sometime after this.”

(Y/N) grins and pats her back before they separate. “We should do this more often!” Cera laughs before she and her team makes their way towards their seats.

“Way to go (Y/N)!” Kirsten exclaims as she holds onto her arm.

“You really killed it out there!”

“Thank you guys, that was so great. I really want to be close friends with Cera now.” Ling giggles at her comment.

The rest of her team continues to praise her with compliments and congratulations on their way back to their seats. As (Y/N) makes eye contact with her former teacher, she flashes her a grin and a thumbs up. Baby Sleek returns her gestures with a wink and a nod.

Kirsten adds a win chip to their board while (Y/N) makes her way towards Mannequeen to place a lose chip on their board, bowing down at the members and thanking them for a wonderful fight.

“I can’t even be mad at her,” Yoonji starts, “she’s too polite for me to be mad at us loosing.”

“The whole team is,” Redlic agrees.

“Judge Mike Song, why did you choose (Y/N) as the winner?” Kang Daniel asks once everyone settled down to their seats.

“First of all, the two dancers are very powerful and seasoned in battles – they showed it to us! It was one of the very entertaining and very fun battles this day that’s for sure, and for that, I want to thank the two of you.”

(Y/N) and Cera bows their head in gratitude with huge smiles on their faces and everyone claps. Kirsten and Latrice pats their team mate of her shoulders with a grin on their faces.

“Choosing between the two of you is almost torture!” Mike Song jokingly sighs with a shake of his head, causing everyone to laugh at his dramatic tone. “However, the reason I chose (Y/N) at the end is because of the versatility she showcased us. The body control, the movements, the flow of each step was like water! It was so fluid and she did it with such grace and confidence. So, (Y/N), I hope to see more of you in this competition, because you really killed it out there.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but stand and bow deeply towards Mike Song and thanked him. The rest of the crews claps and awes at the high praise the member of Jam Republic received from one of the respectable judges.

“That’s one of the highest praise someone got from the judges today,” Mina Myoung commented. “Looks like Kirsten is not the only force of nature in Jam Republic.”

“Their team just got a lot more intimidating.” Nob commented, looking at Jam Republic.

“I entered this show so sure of my preference and sexuality, but tell me why Bada and (Y/N) are making me question it?” Deep N Dap members laughs at the unexpected comment Downy made.

⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊ⁠ᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠⁾⁠⁾

It wasn’t long before Mike Song’s request for more battles came true.

“The next challenger of the battle,” Kang Daniel began, pausing once again for the dramatic effects. “Is Chocol from Wolf’Lo.”

“Oh right! Let’s go!” Haechi cheers, shaking Chocol by her shoulders as the older dancer makes her way down the seats. Per usual, her crew follows close behind her.

“I wonder who she chose,” Emma comments after taking a sip from her water, “her team is kinda scary.”

(Y/N) and Ling hums in agreement, watching the crew in front of them in silent. Silently terrified at the thought of battling against one of them. Though (Y/N) is confident in her skills and unafraid to show them, Wolf’Lo is just on another level.

Chocol takes the microphone that’s handed to her, licking her lips as she starts to walk around.

“The No Respect Dancer I choose,” she began, making her way towards Lady Bounce who tenses up from their seats.

She gave a slight smirk to Nob and Biggy who visibly gulps down the saliva stuck down their throats. Chocol enjoyed teasing them, making them think that she’s choosing one of them, but then, she skipped backwards without looking back before suavely turning around and jogs lightly towards the pink team. “Is Jam Republic’s (Y/N)”

“My god my heart,” Nob says. Holding onto her chest as she breathes out a sigh of relief and leans backwards.

(Y/N) smiles, standing up from her seat from the top and sets down the Jam Republic banner in her hand. Before she can take a single step down, she saw a hand in front of her. When she looks at who the hand belongs to, it leads down to Chocol, waiting for her at the bottom with her arm outstretched.

“Oh, okay,” Kirsten said teasingly as she and Latrice moved to the side to make way for (Y/N).

“Special treatment, I see you.” Latrice added.

Everyone awes at the action, more so when (Y/N) places her hand on Chocol’s with a smile before descending down the seats.

“It’s like a prince charming guiding a princess,” Redy said, leaning forward with her hands on the bottom of her chin. “I’m so jealous right now.”

“What in the story book cliché is this?” Yoonji stomps her feet jokingly, “why didn’t I get that kind of treatment?”

“Yah, you threatened her leader earlier to a dance battle with a scary façade and you expect the others not to be afraid of you?” Buckey jokingly replies which made everyone burst out laughing and Yoonji to pout.

“Tsk.” Bada clicked her tongue as she watches Chocol guide (Y/N) to the dance floor with their hands still intertwined with narrowed eyes. “Honestly, this is a serious competition. Why is she being nice to her opponent?”

Lusher hears what her leader grumbled underneath her breath, causing her to giggled and comfortingly pat her back. “Don’t worry unnie, no need to be jealous.”

Bada snaps her head towards her sub-leader with a glare and a slight pout. “Who said anything about jealousy?”

Lusher holds her hands up with wide eyes and downturned smile. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just teasing you.”

Bada clicks her tongue once again in annoyance before looking back to the front with her arms crossed against her chest. Lusher and Tatter made eye-contact from each sides of Bada with knowing looks and teasing smiles. The other members of Team BEBE heard the conversation laughs silently, watching as their leader sulks down on her seat.

“Chocol, why did you choose (Y/N) as your weakest dancer?” Kang Daniel asked.

With their height difference, Chocol had to tilt her head up ever so slightly to make eye-contact with her opponent. She adjusted her cap with one hand as the other holds the mic to her lips.

“Originally, I chose her because I want to see what that pretty face can bring. But from the battle earlier, we all saw it. So now, I want to see if she can bring that fire come to life again, but this time, more closely and upfront.”

“Is she flirting with her or what?” Debby whispered to Harimu with a slight giggle.

(Y/N) nods and rolls her tongue against her cheek, bowing her head down slightly. She tosses her hair back before answering with her now famous lidded-eye look, “if it’s fire you want, then I’ll gladly burn the stage in here, baby.”

Everyone screams once they heard (Y/N) talk in that low-flirty way as combat against Chocol’s remarks in full English:

“Why was that so hot?!”

“I don’t speak and understand English very well but damn!”

“See! I told you she’s making me question everything!”

“I understand you perfectly well now, Downy!”

(Y/N) laughs as she hears the comments, giving the mic to her Kirsten who is now looking at her with a teasing face.

“You better burn the stage baby,” she mimics. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at her before teasing pinching her arm. Kirsten laughs as she dodges her hand.

(Y/N) faces her opponents team, the team of Baby Sleek. It would be a lie if she says she isn’t downright petrified right now. This is the crew with the most skilled freestyle battlers – but she was trained by the best of them. This is her chance to solidify and prove herself once again to one of the most respected teachers she had.

Chocol bounces on her feet, preparing for the battle. (Y/N) has her hands stretching above her head as far as she can as she glances at her opponent who teasingly winks at her. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the playful nature of Chocol.

Bada grumbled even more at the exchange. She doesn’t even know why she’s feeling this ugly feeling in her chest. Hell, she didn’t even have a conversation with the dancer yet, or even introduce herself! That doesn’t mean she won’t find away later, maybe she’s just bitter that someone got to befriend her before her. Yeah, maybe that’s it. She just wants to forge a friendship with the dancer first, you know, just cause.

“The battle between Wolf’Lo’s street dancer and the ballerina of Jam Republic will begin now. You guys ready?!”

Cheers erupted from both teams and the rest of the teams, curious to see the outcome of the battle between two very different styles of dance between the two dancers.

“Fight!”

Music filled the loud speakers of the room. Chocol nods her head to the beat to get into the groove as her team mates cheers her on. When the beat drops, she comes close to (Y/N)’s space and sways her body to the music.

It was a bold start, (Y/N) admits, and the way Chocol moves is nothing short of hypnotic. Her body moves so fluidly yet with power as she hits every beat of the song. She definitely knows how to control body on command, if there is one thing she can describe her dance overall, it’s classic hip-hop. Effective yet timeless when it comes to battle.

(Y/N) smirks as Chocol comes close to her face, mimicking the flying kiss she did to Cera earlier. Wanting to continue this banter, she “catches” the kiss mid-air and pretends to keep it in her pocket.

She lets out an impress shout at Chocol’s body articulation. She began hyping her up, moving her body along with the beat while staying still in her position. Chocol’s performance is nothing short of impressive, but her competitive side is coming out, and now she wants to do better.

As Chocol’s timer comes to an end, she once again closes in on (Y/N)’s space, this time, ending her dance by mockingly pointing at her figure up and down and another flying kiss which caused another uproar from the side of Deep N Dap

“That should be me!” Someone shouts.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, switch! Jam Republic’s (Y/N)!”

A familiar laugh echoes through the room, before the beginning lyrics of Gangsta by Kehlani plays. (Y/N) lets out a wide smirk and tilts her head to the side.

My turn.

Audrey began screaming her head off once the familiar music fills the air. She danced with (Y/N) before during her time of travelling the world to learn new styles of dance, and if there is one thing Audrey knows for certain, (Y/N) dances very well to dark themes.

“You got this (Y/N)! Eat. This. Up!”

With that, the Jam Republic dancer ran her hands across her body to get into the feel of the music – which isn’t that hard. She began walking forward slowly, just like what Cera did, but with a tad bit more of sensuality.

When the beat starts going down, her expression and articulation changes to every beat, mimicking the craziness Harley Quinn did in the movie in which the song was made of. Everyone can see where she’s going with the dance and is excited yet again. Bada and Chocol keeps their gazes focused solely on her.

In this dance, (Y/N) focuses more on interpreting the lyrics of the song yet still hitting the necessary beat from time to time, just taking on a more contemporary approach. In contrast to Chocol’s hip-hop, she chose a genre she excels in.

Chocol smirks as she goes down towards the floor once again, expecting another floor work from her. She did, but a lot shorter and takes everyone by surprise once again.

(Y/N) did a middle spilt before crouching down, but she didn’t get up. Instead, she takes a hold of her left foot, before initiating a single hand cartwheel – still holding onto the foot, down to a split and stands up without the use of her hands.

Screams can be heard once again, thoroughly impressed by the never-ending amount of techniques and tricks the Jam Republic dancer seem to possess. Jam Republic members sported a disgusted looks as they cheer their fellow member on, some jumping on their places purely from the amount of adrenaline they are getting just by watching (Y/N) dance.

They are not the only one’s though. Bada, with her cool and mysterious look she once sported, almost disappears by how much she is now yelling. Watching (Y/N) dance only increases her determination and will to befriend her and possibly collab with her and her team in the future. Bada watches with awe as (Y/N) stays true to her word: she really is setting the stage on fire.

(Y/N) can hear her time coming to an end, she laid down on her stomach with her legs up in the air as she drags her finger to her lips, smirking seductively at Chocol. The said girl only tilted her cap and bites her bottom lip in acknowledgement.

(Y/N) held onto that pose for a few seconds, taking in the cheers and the screams of the other dancers before grinning brightly and standing up.

“How can she possess that duality?! One moment she’s all smiles and elegant looking the next moment its as if she’s seducing me!” Downy exclaimed as she watches (Y/N) makes her way to her team with a bright smile.

“She’s like a wolf in sheep’s clothing!” Mini said, clapping her hands after patting and congratulating Chocol on the battle.

“You were on fire baby!” Emma cheers, patting the heaving girl on the shoulders.

“Harley Quinn definitely possessed you for a moment there!” Ling exclaims.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) smiles at her members before turning around to face the judges on the middle.

Chocol is one of the oldest and seasoned battlers they have, and Wolf’Lo doesn’t have a lose chip to their board yet, so, (Y/N) is prepared and had already accepted her fate that she lost this battle.

“Fight judges,” Kang Daniel announces, “card open.”

It was a surprise that the judges seem to have their pick already and confidently, however, the result of the battle left everyone even more surprised.

Three pink cards.

(Y/N)’s hands flew to her mouth in shock, and this time, she actually fell to the floor in shock. Jam Republic immediately went to her side and cheered her on while Wolf’Lo nods their head in defeat but claps nonetheless. She makes her way towards Chocol to shake her hand, but before she can do that, Chocol takes her hand up to place a kiss on her knuckles, causing her to grin and flush bright red.

Everyone who saw the interaction began teasing and cooing at the couple, some because of jealousy, others because of the *kilig. Well, most of them. A particular leader of the blue team scoffed loudly before chuging down the contents of her bottle before crushing the bottle with one hand. As she grumbles in her seat, her members are secretly watching her in amusement, never expecting their leader to act this way.

“Thank you for the amazing fight, Chocol.” (Y/N) began, taking her hand back with a smile still painted on her lips.

Chocol shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly with a smirk, stuffing her hands on her pockets. “Don’t worry about it, darling. I had fun.”

“Yah, what do you mean darling?!” Baby Sleek scolded playfully as she slaps the back of Chocol’s head and drags her back by her arm, causing the younger woman to pout.

“Stop flirting with her and get back to our seats! “Darling,” your face.” Jam Republic just laughs at the dynamic of the orange team.

The rest of the crews are still in shock that the first and only person so far to break the winning streak of Wolf’Lo is the ballerina of the pink team.

“Wow, (Y/N) really is amazing.” Rena of Tsubakill said, still in awe of the Jam Republic member who is now currently walking back to their seats.

“She only had two battles so far and she’s already proving herself as one of the strongest dancers here.” Akanen replied.

“Fight judge Monika, why did you pick (Y/N) as the winner of the battle?” Kang Daniel asked.

“I’m going to keep it short and frank, (Y/N) did not only dance, she told a story.” Monika says while looking at the dancer. “She told a story while embodying a well-known character of the movie which is insane because it’s as if you really are her for a second. You brought colour to the dance – no, you brought fire to the dance.”

Jam Republic claps at Monika’s comment.

“(Y/N),” she adds, “you took me by surprise. You really are one of a kind.”

(Y/N) swears she could sob at the high regard. She stands up and bows deeply towards Monika like she did too Mike Song. She then stands up

“It’s like a main character moment,” Biggy said, watching as Kirsten place a win chip to their board. “Are we the side characters?” Lady Bounce laughed at her.

As (Y/N) places the first and only lose chip on the board of Wolf’Lo, Baby Sleek reaches up her hand and pats her head.

“Well done, (Y/N),” she says. “You really have gone far now. I’m proud of you.”

*kilig - causing or characterized by a feeling of exhilaration or elation.

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