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daegudrama · 11 days ago

Text

Title: Suck It Part 1

Pairing: Reader/Jung Hoseok

Summary: What starts as lingering glances and offhand touches turns into something neither of you can ignore. You're not supposed to fall for someone on tour, especially not him. But between stolen moments and rising tension, it's only a matter of time before everything changes.

Word Count: 13.1k

Part 2

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The room stills as Hoseok walks in, his confident aura palpable. His easy smile and effortless cool seem to draw the air toward him, like gravity bending to his presence. It’s always fascinating to see the way he commands a room without saying a single word. Your breath catches, despite having rehearsed with him and the rest of the dancers for weeks now. That spark of awe hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it's grown, fueled by the moments he’s given you. The encouraging nods, and the praise he doesn’t usually offer lightly.

Hoseok’s gaze sweeps over the group, and when it lands on you, his grin widens just slightly. “Alright, team. Let’s go hard today. I want the energy up, no holding back,” he says, his voice warm but firm.

The room bursts into motion, everyone eager to match the energy Hoseok expects. The rehearsal is grueling but electric, every step and every movement carrying weight and purpose. You throw yourself into the choreography, pushing your limits, aware of Hoseok’s eyes occasionally flicking in your direction. The senior dancers seem to notice too, their expressions tight, their movements sharper than usual as if they’re trying to outshine you. Good luck.

The tension lingers in the air, but you keep your focus. You’ve worked too hard to let their jealousy rattle you now. Every move, every count, is an opportunity to prove yourself, and to everyone else, why you belong here.

By the time Hoseok claps his hands, signaling the end of the rehearsal, your muscles ache, and sweat clings to your skin. “Good work today, everyone,” he says, his voice carrying genuine approval for once. “Let’s keep building on this energy. Get some rest and stay hydrated. We are just a few weeks out now.”

The team disperses, some dancers chatting in low voices while others grab their bags and file out. You linger to stretch, avoiding the sideways glances from the senior dancers as they leave in a cluster. Their whispers trail behind them, but you block it out, focusing instead on your breathing as you pack your things.

Feeling the need to clear your head, you wander into an empty practice room down the hall. The space is quiet, the mirrors reflecting the stillness. You drop your bag by the wall and start running through a few sections of the choreography on your own. The rhythm grounds you, each movement a reminder of why you’re here.

“Still working?”

The familiar voice makes you freeze mid-step. You turn to see Hoseok leaning in the doorway, his expression soft but unreadable. He steps inside, letting the door close behind him.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here,” you admit, your voice a little shy.

“I could say the same to you,” he replies with a faint smile. “You already gave everything in rehearsal. What’s keeping you here?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lips. “I guess…I just needed a minute to breathe. To clear my head.”

Hoseok crosses the room, his movements unhurried. “I noticed the way some of them were acting today,” he says, cutting straight to the heart of it. “I wanted to check in with you after rehearsal, but I didn’t want to bring it up in front of everyone.”

Your chest tightens, embarrassment and frustration swirling together. The things you overheard earlier reply in your mind, stinging like fresh wounds. You’d walked into the changing room mid-whisper, and though they stopped when they saw you, the smirks and knowing looks said it all. The other dancers' whispers were sharp, accusing you of things so far from the truth they almost felt laughable—if it didn’t hurt so much. They assume you’ve slept with someone, blackmailed staff, or even bribed Hoseok to get the opportunities you’ve earned. None of it is true. You pour everything into this, long nights perfecting choreography, pushing through exhaustion, and showing up with relentless determination. All you want is to be accepted and appreciated. But it doesn’t matter to them. They refuse to see your effort, dismissing it all as underserved favoritism. Now standing in front of Hoseok, the weight of those baseless accusations feels heavier, but the steady warmth in his gaze offers a sliver of relief. Without needing to hear the details, he seems to know exactly what’s on your mind, and the sincerity in his presence alone reminds you why you’ve fought so hard to be here.

“I’m fine. Really,” you say quickly.

Hoseok’s eyes search yours for a moment, as if trying to gauge how much of that “fine” is genuine. His expression softens, and he steps closer, his tone careful but firm. “You don’t have to say that. I know what it’s like being in the spotlight, having people assume the worst just because they don’t know your story or don’t want to see your talent for what it is. It’s not fair, and it’s not right.”

Your throat tightens, the effort to hold back the emotions you’ve been bottling up threatening to break. You nod, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I’ve worked so hard, Hoseok,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady. “Every single thing I’ve gotten, I earned. But no matter how hard I push myself, they don’t see that. They don’t want to see it.”

He exhales softly, a look of understanding crossing his face. “They’re threatened,” he says simply. “By your talent, your energy, and the way you carry yourself. That’s not on you, that’s on them.” His voice drops slightly, more serious now. “But I need you to promise me something: don’t let their insecurities dim your light. You’re here because you deserve to be here. Nothing anyone says can take that away.”

You blink, his words settling over you like a warm blanket. For a moment, the weight on your chest eases, and you feel seen. Not just as a dancer, but as someone who’s been fighting for their place. “Thank you,” you whisper, the sincerity in your tone matching his.

Hoseok smiles gently, his hand twitching like he’s considering reaching out but stops himself. “Don’t thank me for telling the truth,” he says with a wink, his tone lightening. “But if you need to talk, about this, about anything. I’m here. You don’t have to shoulder this alone.”

The warmth in his words stays with you as he steps back, giving you space. He gestures to the empty room with a small grin. “Now, let’s see what you’ve been working on. Show me that fire they’re so jealous of.”

The silence in the practice room becomes a melody of its own as you reset to the opening pose, your heart thundering as you meet Hoseok’s gaze in the mirror. You take a steadying breath and let the music in your head guide you. With each movement, you channel everything—the doubts, the whispers, the quiet anger, and the determination that keeps you moving forward. You’ve rehearsed this choreography countless times, but tonight, it feels different. Hoseok’s presence sharpens your focus, pushing you to dance not just for yourself but for the truth of your abilities.

As you finish, your chest heaving from the exertion, you finally look at him. His arms are crossed, his expression unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes tells you everything. He takes a step forward, clapping once, slow and deliberate. “That,” he says, his voice low but filled with certainty, “is exactly why you’re here. No one can take that away from you.”

You don’t trust yourself to respond, simply nodding as you gather your things. Hoseok doesn’t say anything more, giving you a parting glance that lingers just long enough to leave you wondering.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The next rehearsal is nothing short of brutal. The room pulses with intensity as bodies move in perfect synchrony, sweat painting the floor beneath them. Each beat of the music is met with sharp, deliberate motion as the group drills the choreography again and again, the echo of sneakers and stomps filling the mirrored space. You’re dancing like muscle memory has taken over, fluid, focused, determined, barely noticing the burning in your limbs anymore.

After a full run-through, the choreographer finally calls for a break. Everyone collapses to the floor or grabs their water bottles, panting and grateful. You grab a towel to dab the sweat from your neck, catching your breath when the lead choreographer suddenly steps forwards again.

“Alright, listen up,” he says, his voice slicing through the hum of low conversation. “J-Hope choreographed a new section that will feature three pairs. He’ll be choosing who gets the spotlight tomorrow. Until then, you’ll be working with assigned partners to learn the duet. Learn quickly and show me you want this.”

You sit up straighter as he begins pairing dancers. There’s a flicker of anxiety in your chest, this section is important. It’s not just about technique anymore. It’s about chemistry, presence, making people feel something.

Your name is called alongside Heeseung’s, and relief washes over you. He’s one of the few who doesn’t treat you like an outsider. Maybe it’s because he’s newer to the team too, or maybe it’s because he doesn’t get involved in the drama. Either way, you’ll take it.

The music shifts to something lower, grittier, slower. You both watch as the assistant choreographer demonstrates the duet. It’s bold, sensual, and more intimate than anything you’ve done with this group before. Hands sliding over waists, synchronized steps that pull the dancers close before sending them apart again, dramatic pauses that demand eye contact. It’s not raunchy, it’s electric, and it’s meant to make the audience feel something.

You glance at Heeseung as the demo ends. He just raises his brows with a quiet smirk and says, “Ready?” And just like that, you fall into step.

Heeseung matches your energy beat for beat. His movement is clean, sharp, but when the music calls for it, he melts into the flow like honey. His facial expressions are deadly. Confident, teasing, completely in sync with the mood. Rehearsing with him doesn't feel like work; it’s fun, even a little thrilling. For the first time in days, you’re reminded why you love this.

But not everyone is thriving. You notice Mina and her usual crew struggling to grasp the rhythm and comfort of the pairing. Some of the girls look visibly uncomfortable, hesitating at the close contact or fumbling through transitions. There’s a mean spirited satisfaction in watching the girls who usually whisper about you now floundering under pressure. Maybe it’s petty, but it feels like karma is right on time.

“YN and Heeseung, come to the front.”

You both step forward, brushing past someone who audibly sighs and rolls their eyes behind you. The choreographer ignores it, gesturing for you two to demonstrate.

“Watch them,” he says to the rest of the room. “This is what I’m looking for.”

The music kicks in and you lose yourself in it. You give every step your full attention, every beat your best expression, letting the tension and chemistry between you and Heeseung do the work. When the final pose hits and the music fades, the room is quiet before the choreographer claps once, satisfied, but only with you and Heeseung.

“Again,” he says simply. And so you do it again. And again. Until you stop counting.

By the time rehearsal ends, your shirt is sticking to your back and your thighs ache with the effort of hours spent pushing yourself to the limit. You’re grabbing your things when a familiar voice calls your name.

“Hey!” Yunjin jogs up beside you, practically bouncing. “You killed that duet. Like, seriously—if Hoseok doesn’t pick you tomorrow he’s blind. That section is so good. I love it.”

You try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Yunjin narrows hers. “Okay. What’s up? You’re not freaking out about Mina again, are you?”

“I’m not freaking out,” you say quickly, but the look on her face tells you she doesn’t buy it. You sigh. “I just…we cannot mess up tomorrow. Hoseok is going to be extra critical. We have to be perfect.”

Yunjin giggles. “You sound like you’re about to audition for the Olympics or something.”

“We kind of are. The duet is a big deal.”

A mocking voice chimes in from behind you. “As if he would pick you.”

You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. Mina.

She’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one hip cocked like she owns the hallway. Her perfectly arched eyebrow is raised, her lips curl into a smug little smirk. There’s no denying she’s talented, probably one of the best dancers in the crew, but her jealousy has always poisoned her shine.

You turn to face her slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “You should focus on your own part before worrying about mine.”

Mina’s smile tightens, but she doesn’t reply right away. Her gaze flicks to Yunjin and then back to you, eyes narrowed. “We’ll see who he picks tomorrow.”

She walks off without another word, her ponytail swinging like a warning behind her.

Yunjin scoffs beside you. “She’s just mad you were asked to demonstrate. Again.”

“Still,” you murmur, staring down the hallway. “Tomorrow is going to be a war.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The next day, the rehearsal room buzzes with nervous energy before anyone even steps onto the floor. There’s an edge to every voice, a sense that something important is about to happen. You can feel it in your bones. Today matters.

You’re already stretching in the corner when thet door swings open and Hoseok walks in, sunglasses perched on his nose, a cap pulled low, and that unmistakable aura trailing behind him like static electricity. The room seems to exhale all at once, tension morphing into something else. Anticipation, maybe. Respect. He’s calm but focused, nodding a silent greeting to the choreographer and a few dancers he passes on the way in. Then his eyes sweep the room.

When they land on you, he gives a small smile, barely there, but enough to make your stomach flip for a second before you snap your attention back to your warm up. He’s always been kind, professional, but tough. Hoseok doesn’t hand out praise easily. You have to earn it.

“Alright team,” he says, clapping once, his voice sharper than the last time you heard it. “I’ve seen the footage from yesterday. Some of it was promising. Some of it…needs work.”

A few dancers shift uncomfortably. Mina stiffens beside you.

“We’re going to run all the pair choreo. I want to see full energy, no holding back. Expressions. Intensity. Chemistry. Everything.” He pauses. “At the end of rehearsal, I’ll be choosing three pairs to feature.”

There’s a murmur through the group, some excited, some anxious. Hoseok doesn’t reveal the last part of the plan, but the stakes are already high. The chance to be in a featured pair for a section he choreographed? That’s already enough to make people push past their limits.

You and Heeseung watch from the sidelines as the first duets go up. Some are good, technically clean, and well rehearsed. Others lack a spark. Mina’s routine is sharp, but her partner feels like an afterthought. You can almost see her trying too hard to win instead of just dance.

Finally, your names are called.

You move into position with Heeseung, exchanging one quick glance before the music hits.

And then, it’s all instinct.

You both dive into the choreo like you’ve done this hundreds of times, like you were made to move together. There’s tension, heat, and a boldness to every step. Your hands slide into places like muscle memory, your eyes lock when they need to, and your movements match so seamlessly it barely feels like performance, it feels like connection.

When the final beat hits and you hold the last pose, the silence in the room feels different.

Then Hoseok claps. Just once. Crisp and deliberate.

“That,” Hoseok says, a smile creeping onto his face. “That’s the energy I want.”

You pull back slightly, catching your breath as the music fades. Heeseung subtly bumps your shoulder with his, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

“Take five,” Hoseok says. “Then we’ll run it one last time with the final picks.”

You step off to the side, heart still pounding, when Yunjin beelines for you with wide eyes.

“He clapped,” she hisses, gripping your arm like she might explode. “You know what that means.”

You shrug like it’s no big deal, but you’re still buzzing. Hoseok never claps for the group unless something really hits. The look in his eyes when you're finished…there was something extra there. Something calculating.

Across the room, Mina stares daggers through your reflection, arms crossed so tightly it looks painful. You ignore her.

When the break ends, everyone regathers, tension thick in the air.

Hoseok stands at the front again. “I’ve made my decisions,” he says. “These three pairs will be featured in the sections.”

He starts calling names—Heeseung and your name first.

Your stomach flips. You don’t look at Mina, but you can practically feel the steam coming off her.

Hoseok finishes naming the other two pairs, then adds, “One more thing.”

The room stills.

“There’s another slot. Not a pair.” He pauses just long enough for everyone to start glancing around. “One dancer does the duet with me.”

You blink.

A duet with Hoseok? A sharp, electric silence stretches through the room as he scans the group again, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll decide after one final run through,” he says, stepping back. “So if you’re holding back…now’s your last chance.”

The final run-through feels heavier, like everyone is pushing beyond their limits. The chosen pairs are locked in, but that solo duet spot is still up for grabs.

You give the routine everything. Every movement, every look, every shift of weight is intentional. You know Hoseok is watching—really watching—and there’s no room for mistakes. Heeseung matches your energy, and for a second, you forget about the stakes, about the competition. It’s just you and the music, your body moving like it belongs in this moment.

When the last beat lands, you hold your final pose, breathless, feeling the weight of Hoseok’s stare.

Then, after a long pause, he exhales and nods.

“Alright.” His voice is calm, but the decision is final. “The featured three pairs are set. And for the solo…”

The tension is thick. You swear you hear someone’s breath hitch.

“…YN.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

There’s a ripple of reaction around you, some hushed murmurs, a sharp intake of breath. Mina stiffens, her arms crossing, jaw tight.

Hoseok continues, his voice steady. “It’s a shame to separate such a strong pair, but YN is the best pick for this.” His eyes flicker to Heeseung for a brief moment before returning to you. “You have the control, the expression, and the versatility this role needs.”

You barely register Yunjin’s hand squeezing yours in excitement before Hoseok speaks again.

“Heeseung, you’ll be with Yunjin.”

Yunjin lets out a tiny squeak, trying, and failing, to keep her composure. Heeseung just grins, giving her an encouraging nod.

That’s it. That’s the final lineup.

You and Hoseok in the front. Three pairs behind.

Mina…nowhere.

The realization sinks in across the room, and you don’t miss the way her hands clench into fists at her sides, but she says nothing. Doesn’t make a scene. Just lifts her chin slightly, as if daring anyone to pity her.

Hoseok claps his hands together. “That’s it. Rehearsal’s over. Get some rest and we run full-out tomorrow.”

You exhale, the adrenaline still pulsing through you.

As the dancers begin filtering out, Yunjin throws an arm around your shoulder, practically bouncing. “Are you kidding me? With Hoseok? Front and center? You’re about to be iconic.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe it.”

She grins. “Believe it. And be ready because if he’s dancing with you, he’s expecting perfection.”

You already know that. And for the first time, it doesn’t feel terrifying.

It feels like a challenge you’re ready to take.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The room empties out slowly, dancers murmuring their goodbyes as they head for the exit. You start to follow Yunjin, but before you can take another step, Hoseok’s voice calls out behind you.

“YN, stay for a minute.” Just beyond the doorway you see Yunjin pause. Hoseok notices and addresses her. “Yunjin, I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

You pause, turning back to face him. He stands in the center of the room, rolling his shoulders out, an easy confidence in his stance. Your heart kicks up slightly. You take a slow breath, stepping back onto the dance floor as the last of the others disappear down the hallway. The door swings shut, leaving just the two of you in the massive rehearsal space.

Hoseok tilts his head, studying you for a beat before speaking. “I wanted to run through a few things. It’s important that we’re comfortable with each other before we start full rehearsals with this.”

You nod, shifting your weight slightly. It makes sense. Dance, especially a duet, is about trust.

“I know you can handle yourself,” Hoseok continues. “You’re an amazing dancer. But I also know it can be intimidating dancing with someone like me.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he raises an eyebrow, and you know he’s right.

It’s not that you doubt your skill. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good enough. But Hoseok is Hoseok. Years of experience, endless stage presence, and an almost supernatural ability to make every move feel effortless. It’s impossible not to feel the weight of that.

Still, you refuse to let nerves show. “I’ll be fine,” you say.

He grins. “Good. Then let’s start.”

You move into position. The choreography isn’t foreign anymore, but the difference is immediate—this isn’t Heeseung. He is a few inches shorter than your previous partner and Hoseok moves with a fluidity and confidence that makes every step feel like second nature to him.

But when it comes time to place your hands on him, you hesitate. It’s just for a fraction of a second, but he notices.

Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s okay. Pretend I’m Heeseung.”

You blink.

“It’s the same thing,” he says easily. “Same hands, same pressure. No difference.”

No difference. Right. You swallow, nodding, and this time, when your hands find their place, you commit to it.

Hoseok hums approvingly. “Better. But—” He shifts, taking your wrists in his hands, adjusting them slightly. His grip is warm, firm but not forceful. “More weight here. Less here. Feel the difference?”

You do. He guides you through it, step by step, his touch light but precise. The smallest corrections, pressure, angles, breath control and as you move, something shifts.

The hesitation melts away, replaced by something new. Tension. Not the bad kind. The kind that makes every movement electric, every glance charged. Hoseok notices it too, but he doesn’t acknowledge it outright. He just meets your eyes for a beat longer than necessary before pulling away.

“Good,” he says simply. “That’s enough for now.”

You exhale, feeling something unravel inside you.

For a while, neither of you says anything. You both just sit on the floor, catching your breath. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you say, “I danced from when I was three until I was fifteen. I don’t know how they got the idea I just started a few years ago. Dance was my whole life for most of my life.”

Hoseok turns his head slightly, listening.

“I had to stop because I tore my ACL.” You glance down at your knee, absently tracing a pattern on your leggings. “I recovered pretty fast, but when I tried to come back, my peers had already gotten too far ahead. I felt like I couldn’t compete anymore.”

You don’t look at him, but you can feel him watching you.

“So I quit.” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I didn’t dance at all for years. Until about three years ago.”

Hoseok leans back on his hands. “What changed?”

Your lips curve slightly. “I saw a BTS dance practice.” His eyebrows lift in surprise. “I don’t even remember which one it was,” you admit, shaking your head. “But something about the way you guys moved made me want to move again. I started learning choreography for fun and before I knew it…I was back.”

A beat of silence passes before he speaks again.

“That’s crazy,” he murmurs. Then softer, “In a good way.”

You finally glance at him, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. A flicker of something behind his eyes, like he’s processing more than he’s saying. And then he smiles, slow and knowing.

“Well,” he says, pushing himself to his feet and offering a hand. “Guess that means this dance is a full-circle moment, huh?”

Your chest tightens just a little. You take his hand.

And as he pulls you up, you think—yeah. Maybe it is. Your hand is still warm from his as you gather your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You expect him to head out first, maybe give a casual “see you tomorrow,” but instead, Hoseok lingers near the door, waiting for you.

“You ready?” he asks.

You blink. “Uh…yeah.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

You give him a sideways glance. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I said I would,” he cuts in, gentle but firm. “Told Yunjin I’d get you home safe.”

You’re not sure if he’s doing it out of politeness or something else, but you nod anyway. “Okay.”

The night air is cool when you step outside the building, still warm from rehearsal. Hoseok walks beside you, his hood pulled up again, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He doesn’t say much at first, and neither do you. It’s a comfortable kind of quiet, the kind that settles in when something meaningful just happened.

You expect him to point you toward the train or call a staff car to take you home.

Instead, he falls into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You don’t have to walk me,” you say gently, glancing over.

He shrugs. “I know.”

You pause. “Then why are you?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his gaze forward, but you catch the faintest lift of his lips. “I said I’d make sure you got home safe, didn’t I?”

You smile softly, heart fluttering. “You didn’t have to actually do that. People are gonna talk.”

“They already do,” he says, voice light, teasing. “Might as well make it worth it.”

You laugh, and he grins at the sound.

As you walk, the sharp edges of the professional Hoseok, the perfectionist, the dance leader, the choreographer, start to fade away. Instead, something else emerges. Softer. Warmer. This is the version of him you’ve only seen in clips. The one who makes dumb jokes on Run BTS, laughs with his whole chest, and gets way too into silly games.

“You know,” he says, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets, “you looked like you were gonna pass out the first time I corrected your placement.”

“I was not,” you protest, bumping your shoulder lightly into his. “Okay, maybe a little. You’re kind of a big deal.”

He laughs. “Nah. I’m just a guy who never stops dancing. Kind of annoying, actually.”

You shake your head. “You’re really not.”

There’s a pause, and when you glance over, he’s watching you with that same unreadable look from the studio. It’s not intense or overwhelming, it’s just steady. Thoughtful.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he tells you. “You’re a good dancer and you feel the music. That’s rare.”

Your cheeks warm. “You’re just saying that ‘cause I said you inspired me.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true,” he replies. “You’ve got something.”

You walk a few more paces in silence before his voice comes again, this time quieter. “And hey…I meant the other thing, too.”

You glance at him.

“If something’s ever messing with your head, whatever it is, you can tell me.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. “You don’t have to hold it all in.”

The memory of that conversation in the empty studio flashes through your mind, the way his voice had softened when he told you he knew what it was like, the way he saw straight through you without prying. You swallow the sudden lump in your throat.

“I’ll remember that,” you say quietly.

He nods like that’s enough. You reach your building quicker than you thought. When you stop in front of the gate, you half expect him to wave you off and leave. Instead, Hoseok lingers.

“This is me,” you say, turning to him.

He nods, taking a step back but not quite leaving. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be brutal.”

You smile. “Looking forward to it.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, then gives a small salute and turns to go. You don’t move until he disappears around the corner.

Inside, the lights are on. Yunjin is waiting, perched on the edge of the couch, a snack bag in her lap and a look of pure, concentrated mischief on her face.

You don’t even get your shoes off before she pounces.

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

You blink, taking a step away from her. “I—”

She stands. “Nope. Don’t even try to play it cool. You stayed late with J-Hope. You walked home with J-Hope. And you’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing,” you mumble, which only makes her laugh harder.

“You so are,” she says, grabbing your arm and dragging you toward the couch. “Spill. Every little detail. Right now.”

And you do. Eventually.

But as you tell her the story, there’s one part you leave out. A moment too small to explain, but impossible to forget:

The way Hoseok looked at you when he said, “You can tell me anything.”

Like he meant it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The studio is quiet now. Most of the dancers have filtered out, the buzz of today’s rehearsal replaced with the faint hum of a speaker left on low volume. You’re sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of you, rolling out your calves with a foam roller. The mirror reflects the tired set of your shoulders, your hair sticking to your neck, and the slightly dazed look in your eyes.

You’re not sure when Hoseok came back in, but you hear the door click shut and the soft shuffle of his steps before he drops onto the floor beside you.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just sits close enough that your arms could brush if you leaned a little to the side. Then he speaks and it’s quiet, but direct.

“You good?”

You glance at him, blinking like you hadn’t expected him to actually sit down.

“Yeah,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired.”

Hoseok doesn’t look convinced. His expression is steady, unreadable like it always is when he’s being careful with his words.

“You danced like you were somewhere else today,” he says, not unkindly. “Still sharp, but…distracted. Off. It wasn’t physical, it was in your head.”

You press your lips together, pretending to focus on the roller beneath your thigh. “It’s nothing serious. Just some…catty stuff.”

He tilts his head. “Catty like ‘someone wore the same shoes as me,’ or catty like ‘people are being assholes behind your back’?”

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. “It doesn’t matter.”

Hoseok shifts his weight, leaning forward a little. His voice softens, but there’s an edge of seriousness under it. “It clearly does matter. If something’s going on that’s affecting how you feel here, I need to know.”

You glance at him. His brows are drawn in concern, not in a nosy way, but in that quiet, careful way of someone who’s watching more closely than he lets on.

You try to smile, but it feels tight. “It’s just some girls being salty. Nothing new.”

“Was it Mina?”

You pause. That alone tells him everything.

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “What did they say?”

You shake your head, grabbing your water bottle and taking a long sip to stall.

“Hey,” Hoseok says, gentler now. “I’m not asking because I want drama. I just don’t like the idea of you being put in a bad spot because of me.”

You blink. “You?”

He meets your gaze, expression open. “I’ve been around long enough to know what people say when they think attention isn’t fair. Especially when it comes from someone like me. I shouldn’t have pulled you aside yesterday without making it clear to the group why. It gave them room to assume things.”

Your chest tightens. “It’s not your fault.”

“But they’re whispering about you, aren’t they?”

You look down. “Yeah,” you admit softly. “They said I must’ve begged for the rehearsal. Or offered something in return. That I don’t deserve the spot.”

There’s a heavy silence. Hoseok doesn't respond right away.

When you glance up, his jaw is tight, eyes unreadable.

“I can talk to them,” he offers.

You shake your head instantly. “No. Please don’t. That would just make it worse. If they think I ran to you, they’ll hate me even more.”

He doesn’t argue, but you can feel the tension in him.

“You shouldn't have to deal with this,” he says finally, quieter than before. “None of this is your fault. You work hard. You earned your spot. And anyone who can’t see that, who chooses not to see it, doesn’t deserve to be taken seriously.”

You nod, barely. He watches you for a moment longer, then shifts slightly, bumping your knee with his.

“You can tell me anything, you know.”

You look over at him.

“I mean it,” he says. “Even if we’re not close or whatever yet. If stuff like this keeps happening, please don’t carry it alone.”

You nod again, this time more sincerely.

“Thanks,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He gives you a small smile, then gets to his feet and holds out a hand.

“C’mon. Show me where you got stuck earlier. Let’s work through it before we call it.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet, and before you can say anything, he’s already stepping back toward the center of the studio gesturing for you to follow.

“Let’s go from the beginning,” he says, sliding his foot across the floor into position. “Just our duet. No pressure…feel it out.”

You nod and move into place, facing him, your heart still a little tight from the conversation, but lighter than before. The music kicks in low from the speaker, just loud enough to hear the rhythm, and you both fall into motion.

You mirror each other for a few counts before stepping into the partnered section, his hands catching yours, the turn, the lift, the slow lean-in that has your breath catching for a reason that has nothing to do with the choreography.

His eyes flick up to meet yours for just a second, the barest glint of mischief in them.

“You sure you’re not mad at me?” he asks mid-spin, voice teasing as you land.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“Your grip is kind of intense,” he jokes, laughing softly.

You scoff and roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush all the same. “Maybe I am mad at you.”

“Damn. I knew it,” he says dramatically, tossing his head back in mock despair before resetting for the next movement. “Guess I’ll go cry in the corner. Alone. With my incredible sense of rhythm.”

You huff a laugh, the tightness in your chest easing just a bit more.

The next run-through goes smoother. Your timing aligns perfectly, and the tension that’s been coiled in your body all morning starts to melt away. Between counts, Hoseok slips into goofy-mode. He’s pulling exaggerated faces during transitions, pretending to wobble like a baby deer when you jump, and fake-swooning when you land a tricky turn.

“You trying to show me up?” he asks between breaths, hands on his hips. “I thought this was a partnership.”

You smirk. “Sounds like someone’s feeling threatened.”

He gasps. “Okay. Wow. I’m being disrespected in my own studio.”

You giggle, covering your mouth. “You started it.”

“Me?” He points to himself with wide eyes. “I’m innocent.”

“You’re literally never innocent.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Yeah, but I’m cute.”

You hesitate just long enough for him to notice, your brain scrambling to process whether that was flirting or just…Hoseok being Hoseok.

He grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing and spins toward the mirror, smoothing back his sweat-damp hair in exaggerated slow-motion. “Okay. Again from the top,” he declares dramatically. “This time with ten percent more flirtation and twenty percent more sass.”

You snort. “Is that the official note?”

“Yes. I’m very professional.”

He catches your eye in the mirror, and you smile without meaning to. He returns it, softer this time, a little more real.

“Seriously,” he says, tone dropping just a bit, “you good now?”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Hoseok just nods, like he expected nothing less, and lifts a hand toward the speaker. “Then let’s dance.”

And this time, when the music starts again, you really let yourself move.

The music flows around you, the rhythm pulling you back into your body as you and Hoseok move together again. Everything sharpens, the way your hands connect, the heat of exertion building under your skin, the way he smiles when you hit the counts just right.

You’re in the final eight, the part where your bodies come close—close enough that your breath catches and you almost forget you’re supposed to keep moving. Hoseok’s palm slides to the small of your back, guiding you through the turn. His voice is low but playful.

“See?” he says. “Told you we’d get it.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lift. “You’re not always right, you know.”

“I am when it comes to this,” he grins. “And also when it comes to—”

The studio door creaks open with a soft click.

You both freeze.

He’s still close. His hand is still on your waist. Your breath still feels just a little too loud in your throat.

Sana stands in the doorway, blinking like she didn’t expect to see anyone. Her brows lift a fraction as she takes in the scene, your closeness, the music, the fact that you’re both very clearly in the middle of something.

“Oh,” she says, smiling a little too wide. “Didn’t realize there was still rehearsal going on.”

You step back immediately, your body going stiff as you reach for your water bottle, suddenly hyper-aware of how this must look.

Hoseok clears his throat, casual but a little clipped. “Private practice,” he says evenly. “We’re running duet sections.”

Sana’s eyes flick between you two. “Right. Of course.” Her tone is perfectly polite, but there’s something just beneath it. You know she’ll twist this. She doesn’t need evidence, just the image.

She lingers a second longer before turning toward the lockers. “Don’t mind me,” she calls over her shoulder. “Just grabbing my sweatshirt.”

You glance at Hoseok, but he’s already looking at you.

“Ignore her,” he says under his breath. “This is our time. Let her talk if she wants.”

But your chest has already tightened again.

You nod, trying to keep the knot in your stomach from growing. “Let’s just finish the run.”

He hesitates, eyes scanning your face, then gives a soft, reassuring smile. “Okay. From the top. Let’s kill it.”

The music starts again, but it’s harder now to ignore the whispers that you know are coming.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The studio is already humming with quiet chatter and the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor when you walk in the next morning. Your duffel hangs heavy on your shoulder, but not as heavy as the pit in your stomach. The last rehearsal before tour. The final run of the full program. It should feel exciting.

Instead, the energy feels…off.

You’re barely a few steps inside when you catch it. Low whispers, the kind that stop just as quickly as they start. You glance toward the mirrors, where Sana and Mina are stretching with two other girls. One of them, Momo, smirks and leans in closer to Mina, who’s pretending to focus on her split stretch.

“Must’ve been a late night,” Mina says under her breath, not looking at you.

Sana hums thoughtfully. “Mm. Guess some people need the extra help.”

The girls snicker, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks. Yunjin, walking just behind you, hears it too. She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “I swear to god,” but you gently tug on her arm before she can say anything louder.

“Not worth it,” you murmur.

Yunjin shoots you a glare, protective and fiery. “They think they’re slick, but they’re just sad.”

You give her a small smile, but the edge of it wavers.

You take your usual spot on the floor to begin warming up, trying to stay focused, but the tension in the room is palpable. Everyone knows this is a big day. The full run-through. All eyes will be on Hoseok’s final decisions who shines, who doesn’t, and who might get more spotlight once the tour kicks off.

Your nerves were already frayed, but now the added scrutiny. The stares, the fake laughter, the whispered theories about why Hoseok chose you for the duet, it makes your stomach churn.

You stretch in silence, headphones in, trying to block them out. You know you earned your place. You know. But it doesn’t stop the noise.

Hoseok walks in fifteen minutes later, ball cap low over his brow and a coffee in hand. The room shifts instantly. Everyone straightens, energy tightening like a wire pulled taut.

His eyes flick across the studio as he greets everyone with a quick, “Morning,” before his gaze lands briefly on you.

It lingers for just a second.

You don’t smile. You don’t react.

You can’t. Not with every pair of eyes watching.

“Alright,” Hoseok claps his hands together. “Let’s run it top to bottom. No stops. Treat it like a real show. Find your focus and give me everything you’ve got.”

People start moving to their places, but the whispers haven’t stopped. If anything, they’ve just gone quieter slinking under the surface like snakes in tall grass.

You swallow hard and exhale through your nose. One more rehearsal. Then the tour begins, and maybe hopefully you’ll finally be too busy proving yourself to hear them at all.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The first few shows in Seoul go off without a hitch. Every cue lands, every formation clicks, and the energy in the KSPO Dome is electric. Hoseok commands the stage like he was born on it, and somehow, being beside him under the lights feels more natural than nerve-wracking. You move in sync, you hit every mark, and the crowd responds with deafening cheers that echo in your chest long after you leave the stage.

But the online reaction? A different story.

Korean fans aren’t exactly thrilled about the close choreography between you and Hoseok. Some accuse the creative team of pushing too hard for attention, as if this wasn’t his idea. Others aren’t shy about voicing their discomfort, dissecting every interaction between the two of you with brutal intensity.You don’t let it get to you, you’ve worked too hard to be shaken by faceless usernames and half baked speculation.

Brooklyn night one is just as electric. The crowd is louder, rowdier, and when you step off stage soaked in sweat, there’s a fire in your blood that you don’t want to put out.

Then comes night two and the day starts to unravel just a few hours before showtime.

You’re in the dressing room, tying your hair back, when the stage manager walks in looking like she’s carrying a live grenade. “Wardrobe issue. One of the interns hung your outfits in the wrong place and they are ruined,” she says, holding up her phone. “Customs seized the backup costumes when they came into the U.S. The shipment paperwork was flagged.”

You blink. “All of them?”

“Everything. Yours, the duets, even the encore outfits.”

Your stomach sinks. “So…what are we supposed to wear?”

She disappears behind a garment rack and pulls out a hanger. It holds a cropped jersey with the tour logo in silver glitter across the chest. On the back, it reads in huge block letters:

HOPE’S GIRL

You stare. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“They were from a scrapped number. We have a full box of them in the truck. They’re clean, they’re pressed, and they fit the aesthetic.”

You eye the jersey. It’s cute. Actually, it’s really cute. But it’s also really cropped, your stomach will be fully on display. And the name on the back? Way too bold.

“Isn’t this a little…” you gesture vaguely at the lettering. “Much?”

“Do you want to fly to Newark and sweet talk the customs agents yourself?” the manager asks, half-joking, half-panicked. “Because call time’s in thirty.”

You don’t have a choice. You change.

The jersey fits like it was made for you. Snug in all the right places, sleeves cuffed just above the elbow, hem hovering above your waist. You check yourself in the mirror, trying to ignore the lettering burning into your back.

When you step out, conversations stall. A few dancers glance over. One of the stylists lets out a low whistle. Then Hoseok turns, mid-discussion with a crew member, and his eyes land on you.

He freezes.

Then, slowly, he grins. Not the polite stage smile. The real one. The one that makes his eyes crinkle and your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with the jersey. You glance down, suddenly hyper-aware of just how much skin you’re showing, and the text stretched across your shoulder blades.

Still, the moment passes. The music starts. The show goes on. But the mood sticks with you. A little unsettled, a little unsure. You look amazing. The crowd will scream. The performance will be flawless.

So why do you feel so weird inside?

The lights dim. The roar of the Barclays Center swells around you like a wave, and the opening VCR flickers to life on the screens above the stage. You’re already in place, heart hammering in your chest, fingers twitching at your sides as you wait for the music to drop.

The crowd is louder tonight, maybe it’s the weekend energy, maybe it’s just New York. Maybe it’s the jersey.

Your jersey.

The one that reads HOPE’S GIRL in massive silver letters across your back.

You try to shake it off. Focus. Breathe. You know the routine inside and out, muscle memory will take over. But as the spotlight hits and the opening beats explode through the arena, you can’t help the flare of heat that climbs your neck when you and Hoseok hit your first mark center stage.

He’s already smirking when he looks at you.

You swear it’s a little cockier than usual.

The crowd loses it when he reaches for you during the duet section. His hand grazes your waist, right where the cropped jersey ends, and you hear the collective shriek ripple through the venue like a current. You don't falter, not even for a beat, but your pulse skitters. You wonder if he notices. (He does.)

The chemistry tonight is different. Tighter. Sharper. Every move is crisp, charged, laced with something just below the surface. Hoseok doesn’t break character once, but there’s something extra in the way he watches you, like he’s feeding off the crowd’s energy, and you're the spark.

At one point, he leans in for a choreographed moment—faces close, breaths shared—and you swear you catch him whispering, “They’re gonna riot.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

Instead, you snap into the next move, heart pounding, mind focused, eyes locked.

When the last beat hits and the lights go black, the arena erupts. It’s deafening. Screams echo through your bones as the two of you jog offstage, breathless and slick with sweat. You’re grinning, high on adrenaline, already tugging your in-ear out when Hoseok turns to you in the wings.

“You crushed that,” he says, still breathless. “That jersey…” He whistles, grinning. “Might have started a war.”

You roll your eyes, breath hitching on a laugh. “Don’t even.”

But he just flashes that infuriating smile again. “Hope’s girl, huh?”

You shove his shoulder, but your cheeks burn, and even as the crew moves around you resetting for the next set, he lingers a second longer, eyes lingering like he’s memorizing you all over again.

The show ends in a blur of lights and music, the crowd's cheers still ringing in your ears as you make your way backstage. Your body aches from the intense performance, sweat dripping down your back as you strip off the jersey, feeling the cool air hit your skin. You’re breathing hard, but there’s a high buzzing through you, an energy that doesn’t quite fade yet.

Yunjin is there in an instant, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Okay, first of all,” she starts, eyes wide, “what was that?! You were literally on fire tonight. You looked so hot, I almost couldn’t concentrate! Like, how does that even happen?”

You laugh, wiping your face with a towel. “It was just the jersey, Yunjin.”

“Just the jersey?” She places a hand over her heart dramatically. “You’re telling me you don’t know what you were doing out there? The way it clung to you, the way you moved, if I were in the crowd, I’d be screaming my head off. Hoseok probably had to be holding himself back from jumping off stage just to catch you.”

You try not to grin, but the thought makes your chest tighten. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am not. Babe, I don’t even know how you stayed so calm. I was practically hyperventilating on the sidelines watching you. You’re like…a goddess.”

Before you can reply, the sound of footsteps clicks through the hallway, and you know who it is before you even turn around.

Mina and Sana.

“Well, well,” Sana says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “look who’s enjoying the spotlight.”

Mina crosses her arms, eyes narrowing at the exposed skin of your stomach. “Must be nice. Wearing a jersey with ‘Hope’s Girl’ on it. Subtle.”

You don’t respond immediately, but you feel the tension creeping up your spine. Yunjin, however, isn’t having it.

“Really? That’s what you’re gonna focus on?” she shoots back, eyes flashing. “I think we all know the story behind the jersey, and it’s not like she went around asking for this attention.”

Sana smirks, a little too pleased with herself. “Sure, it’s just a scraped costume item. But only one of us got assigned that particular one, didn’t we?”

Mina’s gaze sharpens, her tone fake-sweet. “Yeah, just be careful. You might get too comfortable being everyone’s center of attention, those things don’t last long.”

Her words sting, but you keep your face neutral. You want to tell them to mind their business, but you hold back, not wanting to make a scene.

Yunjin steps closer, her voice low and cutting. “You guys are real classy, huh? Try not to be so obvious.”

Mina and Sana share a look before walking off, their footsteps echoing down the hall like a statement.

Yunjin exhales sharply, her fists clenched at her sides. “Seriously. Do they ever stop?”

You shrug, trying to shake it off. “Let them talk. They don’t get to decide what’s true.”

“Yeah, but damn, it’s hard not to hear them when they’re that loud,” Yunjin mutters, her eyes still on the retreating figures.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The next few stops of the U.S. leg flow like muscle memory. Rehearsals, shows, after-show hangouts in hotel rooms or wherever you can find food that late. Everyone slips into their own rhythms. Little cliques form, some loud and chaotic, some quieter and tired. You and Yunjin are the latter, always rooming together, always ending the night whispering half-asleep jokes under hotel comforters, letting the adrenaline of performance burn off slowly.

Hoseok is kind to everyone, but there’s something a little softer in how he treats you. Even when he’s obviously exhausted with dark circles under his eyes and a gravelly voice. He'll still toss you a grin in passing, a warm “good work today,” or a brief shoulder squeeze as he walks by. Nothing intense. Nothing you can’t explain away. But still, it lingers.

Mexico City feels different the moment the plane touches down.

The crowd is electric, louder than anything so far, and the setlist tonight gives the dancers a chance to shine, one particular number puts the girls front and center, a line of you holding onto each other’s hips, all sweat-slick skin and sharp movement, hip thrusts and rhythm pulsing through the floor.

You barely even register it when Mina’s fingers dig into your waist. Not at first.

But then she digs. Sharp nails through the thin fabric of your costume, pressing so hard it feels like they’re carving into you.

You flinch, barely, but your body keeps moving like it’s on autopilot. You smile, you hit every beat, you power through. There’s a camera somewhere. Fans screaming. You don’t miss a step. But when you hit the wings, adrenaline drops all at once, and the pain settles in.

You rush toward the wardrobe first thing, heart thudding in your chest. “Hey, do we—do we have any backup options?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level. “Like...something with more coverage?”

Thankfully, they do now. You swap out the crop top and slip into something looser. The scratches burn, but at least they’re not visible anymore.

You don’t think anyone noticed.

Later, the green room is quiet. Most of the dancers have drifted out, some heading to the hotel, others grabbing food or showering off the performance high. You stay behind to grab a hoodie from the top shelf of the wardrobe racks, reaching up on your toes.

The door creaks open behind you.

“Hey—” Hoseok’s voice cuts off. “Wait.”

You pause mid-reach, glancing over your shoulder.

He’s standing just inside the doorway, brow furrowed, eyes locked on your waist.

You look down.

Your shirt has ridden up just enough to show the angry red scratches along your skin, faint but clearly there. His expression shifts instantly, quiet concern turning sharp.

“What happened?” he asks, stepping closer.

You tug your shirt down quickly. “It’s nothing. Costume just rubbed me the wrong way.”

He gives you a look, one that says he doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Can I see?” he asks gently, his voice low, eyes searching yours.

You hesitate, then nod once, slowly lifting the hem of your shirt just enough to show the marks along your side.

His breath catches. “Jesus,” he mutters, kneeling slightly to get a closer look. “These are from nails.”

You lower your shirt again, already bracing.

“I have to tell management,” he says, voice calm but firm.

“No.” You shake your head. “Hoseok, please. You can’t.”

His jaw clenches. “She drew blood. You don’t do that by accident.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “But if you report her, she’ll know it came from me. She already hates me enough.”

“I don’t care if she hates you. She crossed a line.”

You look down, fists tightening at your sides. “And if she gets reprimanded? Cut? Then every girl on this tour is going to think I’m trying to get people fired just because I’m close to you.”

“You’re not close to me,” he says without thinking, then winces. “I mean—not like that. I just mean, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Exactly,” you say. “So don’t make it worse.”

There’s a long pause. His gaze softens a little, but the tension’s still there, tight in his shoulders.

“I won’t go to management,” he says finally. “But only if you swear to tell me if she touches you again.”

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

He exhales through his nose, clearly still not thrilled, but lets it go, for now. Then, a little softer, “You didn’t even flinch out there. No one would’ve known.”

You offer a small shrug. “Didn’t want to mess up the show.”

Something flashes behind his eyes—pride, maybe. Or something warmer. He doesn’t say it out loud, but you can feel it settle between you.

“Still,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “you shouldn’t have to bleed for a stage.”

Back at the hotel, it’s just past midnight. You and Yunjin are in your room, both freshly showered, your hair still damp as you sit cross-legged on your bed scrolling through messages. She’s across from you, stretched out on her stomach and picking at a protein bar with barely-contained boredom.

“God, we should order fries or something,” she mumbles into her arms. “I know it’s late, but I’m still wired.”

You laugh softly, about to answer then you stretch.

Your shirt lifts just enough to reveal a faint red line on your side.

Yunjin sits up like she’s been electrocuted.

“What the hell is that?” Her voice is sharp, alarmed. She scrambles over the bed toward you, pushing your arm up before you can react. “Wait—is that a scratch? That’s blood.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, trying to pull your shirt down again. “Seriously.”

She isn’t having it. “Don’t lie to me. Who did that?”

You go quiet.

“Who.” Her voice drops into a dangerous whisper.

You sigh. “It happened during the performance. Mina. She dug her nails in during the line choreo.”

Yunjin is already off the bed.

“Absolutely not.” She’s halfway to the door, hair wild, grabbing her hoodie off the chair. “I’m going to drag her. I’ll knock on her door and rip her fake lashes off one by one—”

“Yunjin!” You scramble up, grabbing her wrist before she reaches the handle. “Please. Don’t.”

“Are you serious right now? She injured you in the middle of a live performance!”

“I know. But if you storm down there, it just gives her what she wants. More drama. More fuel.”

Her jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle twitch. “She wants you humiliated. She’s been whispering garbage since Seoul and now she’s physically hurting you? And you’re the one worried about drama?”

You squeeze her wrist gently. “I’m tired. You’re tired. Just…let it go. For now.”

Yunjin glares at the door like she’s imagining it’s Mina’s face, but finally, finally, she exhales sharply and slumps back against the wall.

“I swear,” she mutters, “if she so much as breathes in your direction wrong again, I’m not stopping at lashes. I’m coming for her extensions too.”

You smile faintly, despite the sting in your side. “Noted.”

She walks back to you and flops down beside you again, grumbling under her breath, “Next tour, we’re getting roommate requests and I’m making sure we’re in a different hotel wing.”

You laugh. “You’d miss me.”

“Shut up and order the fries.”

You reach for your phone. The tension still lingers in the air, but it’s easier now, the weight of it softened by the person next to you who’s always ready to go to war, no matter how small the battlefield.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The fries are gone, Yunjin is out cold, and the hotel room feels too warm, too cramped with everything that happened still buzzing in your head. You need to get out of here.

You slip on a hoodie, grab your keycard, and make your way up to the rooftop lounge. It’s quiet at this hour, just past 2 a.m., and the Mexico City skyline stretches around you, lights glittering in the distance like stars fallen to earth. You sit down on one of the loungers, tucking your knees up to your chest, letting the night air cool your skin and settle your thoughts.

You don’t expect anyone else to come up.

Which is why your heart jumps a little when the rooftop door creaks open.

Hoseok steps out, hoodie pulled low, hair damp like he just showered. He spots you immediately and pauses, his expression unreadable for a second before he walks over.

“I figured I’d find you up here,” he says softly.

You give a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” he nods, settling into the lounger beside yours. “Me neither.”

There’s a brief silence, comfortable, somehow. Then he turns his head to look at you, eyes catching faint light from the city below.

“How’s your side?”

You blink, still surprised that he seems to care. “It’s fine.”

“Can I see?”

You hesitate for half a second, then pull the hoodie up just enough to show the bandage, a thin sliver of red peeking out underneath.

His jaw tenses.

“She really did that during the choreo?” He asks again, like he can’t believe that it was true the first time you had this conversation.

You nod. “It wasn’t that deep. Just enough to be petty.”

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “You didn’t even flinch on stage.”

“Can’t flinch when there’s seventeen thousand people watching.”

He shakes his head. “You’re tougher than most people I know.”

You snort, trying to brush it off. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” he says. “You don’t complain. You just keep working.”

You glance over at him, a little startled by the quiet sincerity in his voice.

“You notice that?”

He looks at you, the edges of his mouth quirking up. “I notice everything.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck. “Smooth.”

“I’m not trying to be smooth,” he says, laughing now. “If I was, I’d say something like you danced so well tonight I almost missed my cue.”

You giggle despite yourself. “That’s terrible.”

“Right? I knew it,” he grins, then leans back against the lounger, staring at the sky. “You know, people ask me the same questions in interviews. Favorite food, dream collaborations, stuff like that. But no one ever asks the weird stuff.”

“Weird stuff like what?”

He hums, making his thinking face where he looks up. “Like the first time I ever forgot choreography on stage. Or the first time I realized I liked dancing more than rapping.”

“You forgot choreo?” you ask, eyes wide.

He groans. “Yes! 2016 we were in Osaka. I completely blanked. I played it off, but I wanted to die. I still think about it sometimes when I’m in the shower.”

You laugh, and it feels easy, light in a way you haven’t felt since this tour started.

“You ever think about quitting?” you ask, quieter now.

“Yeah,” he says. “Twice, but I didn’t. I stayed. And then…people like you came along. Reminded me why I loved this in the first place.”

You’re stunned into silence for a beat, and he just smiles, leaning back again like he didn’t just drop a weight into your chest.

The air shifts, warmer now. More charged.

You stay up there with him until the sky starts to tint pink at the edges, trading quiet stories and silly jokes and tiny truths you’re not sure either of you mean to share, but don’t regret. Not even a little.

You and Hoseok sneak in your naps earlier in the day, quick, quiet moments of rest that leave you both looser and lighter. You haven’t spoken since the night before, but when your eyes meet across the green room as everyone starts getting into costume, there’s something wordless exchanged. A kind of mutual grounding.

When it’s time to run the show, everything clicks into place. Mina’s been shifted out of your proximity in all the formations. She’s still there, but now her energy can’t touch you. You don’t have to brace yourself. You can just dance, and you do.

The crowd is louder than night one. They are wild, alive, feeding you energy from the second you step out. Every cheer feels like it’s vibrating in your bones. Your body moves like it’s never known hesitation, hitting every count with precision and power. Every hair toss, every hip hit, every spin. You’re on fire.

The numbers flow one into the next, and soon enough, you’re side-stage again, waiting for the duet. Everyone else clusters on the other side, but Hoseok finds you right where he did the night before. You’re both smiling this time.

“Better night?” he asks with a little raise of his brows, already knowing the answer.

“The best,” you say, and you mean it.

He steps in close, just like yesterday, but there’s no hesitation now, only warmth. His hands come to your face again, thumbs brushing the tops of your cheeks as he leans in until your foreheads touch.

“You were glowing out there,” he says, voice low and playful. “Like, full-on radiant. Crowd’s obsessed.”

You laugh, heart hammering in your chest. “Pretty sure they’re obsessed with you.”

“Nah,” he grins. “Tonight, they’re yours.”

It sends something giddy fluttering in your stomach. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Let’s go own this. I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you too,” you say, and you’re both smiling like you’re about to get away with something.

The cue hits. The lights flare, and then you're dancing together.

This time, everything is free and full. Hoseok’s energy wraps around you, not protective, not careful, just completely in sync. Hoseok dances with the kind of presence that makes people forget to blink. He still avoids the spot where your cut is healing, but it doesn’t feel like he’s pulling back. It feels like he knows you. Like you’ve built something real in all those hours of rehearsal, tension, and trust.

When the duet ends, the crowd goes wild, and as you hold the final pose beside him, Hoseok glances your way with that same dazzling smile. Only now, there’s something a little different in his eyes. Pride. Mischief. Maybe even a spark of something more.

You feel unstoppable.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The post-show adrenaline lingers like glitter on skin. The performance high, the crowd’s roar, the perfect execution, it’s all still pulsing through your veins as you sit with the other dancers and crew at a lively restaurant tucked into a buzzing neighborhood just beyond the venue. The energy’s infectious. Laughter pours from every table, drinks clink, and someone orders another round before you can blink.

Hoseok shows up a little after the rest of you, wearing a baseball cap and a plain white tee, the kind of casual that still somehow makes heads turn. He slides into the seat beside Yunjin, across from you, and when your eyes meet over the rim of your glass, you can’t help the quiet smile that rises.

He toasts you later with a simple, “To killing it two nights in a row.”

Eventually, most of the dancers rally into a louder crowd, talking bar hopping, clubs, “just one more,” and “we’re in Mexico, come on!” But you, comfortably buzzed and warm from the tequila and laughter, decide to head back. Yunjin stays behind, swept into the tide, and you’re happy for her.

Back at the hotel, you take your time. A long, hot shower. Moisturizer. Your favorite oversized tee and soft shorts. Then you pad barefoot down the hallway with a hotel-bar cocktail in hand and head for the rooftop lounge.

The air is cool but gentle, and the view stretches out like a glittering painting. You settle on a lounger, legs tucked under you, drink cradled in both hands as you sip slowly and let yourself feel everything. The ache in your muscles. The thrum of triumph. How far you’ve come.

And then—

“Thought I might find you up here.”

You look over your shoulder. Hoseok steps out onto the rooftop, holding a drink of his own, something dark and neat in a short glass.

He’s changed, too. Into joggers and a hoodie, hair still a little damp from his own shower. He looks tired, but content. You wave him over.

He settles beside you on the same lounger, close but not crowded, and for a while, you just… talk. About nothing. About everything. About how wild this whole thing is: the tour, dancing, fans screaming your name.

And then a song starts playing through the rooftop speakers. Something upbeat and groovy, with a smooth, bouncing rhythm that makes your shoulders sway almost instinctively.

You glance at him.

“Dance with me.”

He chuckles. “Right now?”

You stand, offer your hand. “It’s tradition now, isn’t it?”

Hoseok hesitates for half a second before taking your hand and rising to his feet. “Alright, tradition.”

The two of you fall into rhythm easily, bare feet sliding over the rooftop tile. It’s loose, playful. No choreography, no mirrors. Just movement. Just you and him. You laugh when he tries a silly body roll and laugh even harder when he copies your spin with exaggerated flair.

One song blends into the next, and somewhere along the way, it shifts. You’re still laughing, still dancing, but the space between you shrinks. His hands linger longer. Your breath comes quicker.

Then he twirls you.

Your back presses gently to his chest, one arm wrapped around your waist. He turns you again, catches your hand in his, and dips you.

Time stops. You’re suspended in the moment, his arm strong around your back, your hand resting on his shoulder, and he looks at your lips.

Then, almost guiltily, his eyes flick away. Up, off to the side.

You look at his lips. Then back up at his eyes and you nod. Just once.

He kisses you.

One hand cradles the small of your back, holding you in place as the other comes to your jaw, tilting your chin up just right. The kiss is warm, slow, exploratory. His lips move like he’s learning the shape of you, like he’s been waiting for this longer than he realized. Your heart is slamming against your chest trying to understand what is going on. The kiss ends gently, like a breath, but the moment it does, Hoseok steps back like he’s just come to his senses.

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” he blurts, voice hushed and panicked. His hand flies up, fingers brushing his mouth like the kiss might still be there. “God, I’m so sorry. That was…totally unprofessional. You’re my dancer. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You blink, still half-drunk on the feeling of his lips against yours, your body still tingling from where he touched you.

“I mean—” he keeps going, running a hand through his hair. “You’re just… you’re so pretty. You’re funny, and smart, and you’ve been killing it every single night and then tonight you looked at me like that and I just—” He breaks off with a frustrated groan. “Shit. I let my feelings get ahead of me. I shouldn’t have—God, I’m sorry.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Your thoughts are moving like molasses. You’re trying to process what just happened, what he’s saying, how this spiraled so fast from soft rooftop magic to this flurry of regret.

“I just don’t want to make things weird for you,” Hoseok says, already backing away, voice rough with self-recrimination. “You’ve worked so hard to be here and this is your moment to prove yourself. I don’t want to mess it up because I can’t control myself—”

“Hoseok—”

But he keeps rambling, barely hearing you. “Seriously, just forget I did that, okay? I’ll keep everything professional from here on out. You don’t need to worry about me, I swear.”

And before you can even figure out how you feel or how to respond, he’s turning to leave.

“Hobi—” You yell desperately. “Wait!”

He freezes. You’ve never called him that before. His favorite nickname hangs between you delicate and real. He turns just slightly, looking over his shoulder, eyes wide and searching. Now it’s your turn to be breathless.

You take a deep breath, gathering whatever courage you have left. The tension is thick, the air crackling between you both. You step closer, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying every ounce of confidence you’re trying to muster.

“If they’re going to whisper about me anyway,” you start, “might as well make it true.”

Before he can react, you reach out, catching his wrist in your hand, turning him back toward you. His eyes flash with a mix of surprise and something deeper, but before he can say anything more, you lean in, kissing him again.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t pull away. He melts into it, his lips soft against yours, his breath steadying as he lets the moment wash over him. You can feel the tension leave his body, how he’s relaxing into you, like he’s been holding it all in for far too long.

You tug on the excess fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, your chest pressing against his. You feel the heat between you, the softness of his body as he leans in further, his hands moving to your back, tracing the curve of your spine. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, the world outside disappearing as the music plays softly in the background.

For a moment, there’s no tour, no pressure, no expectations. Just you and him, and everything feels right. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling in the air between you, Hoseok’s eyes are dark, lips parted as if he’s trying to catch his breath.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice quiet but filled with the same uncertainty he had before.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If they’re gonna talk anyway…might as well give them something to really talk about.”

Hoseok chuckles, low and breathless, before pulling you in for another kiss. This time, it’s full of quiet promises, no words needed. The rest of the world can wait.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The morning after, sunlight creeps in through the curtains, warm and golden across your sheets, but it doesn't soften the twist in your chest. You wake up slower than usual, almost like you’re trying to delay facing reality. There's no knock at your door. No message. No sign that anything happened last night at all.

You see him in the hallway a little later, just outside the elevators. You weren’t expecting it, so your smile catches you off guard before you can stop it. He’s walking with a couple of stylists, laughing at something someone says. His eyes pass over you like you’re a stranger.

Not even a nod. It stings more than you'd like to admit.

Back in your room, Yunjin is packing up her things, humming softly to herself.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with us today?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder. “San Antonio’s got good food and my college friend’s letting a few of us crash at their place.”

You give her a half-hearted smile and shake your head. “I think I’ll stay behind a little. Be a tourist for a day. Last chance and all.”

“Your loss,” she teases lightly, dragging her suitcase toward the door. “Don’t forget sunscreen.”

She doesn’t press further. She doesn’t notice anything is wrong. No one does. You’re still smiling. Still functioning.

Just…quieter.

You spend the day wandering through the city, letting the sun soak into your skin and the colors of Mexico City blur into a kaleidoscope. You try mezcal at a street-side bar, buy a handmade bracelet from a vendor who compliments your earrings, and stand still in front of a cathedral until the bells chime and make your chest ache.

Hoseok stares at his phone like it might answer all the questions for him.

It doesn’t.

It just glows with the time. Too early for this kind of spiral, too late to sleep it off. He rubs a hand over his face and sighs, reaching for the only contact that might give him something useful.

He hits call. It rings three times before Jin answers, voice still thick with sleep.

“Hyung,” Hoseok says before Jin can even get a proper greeting out. “I messed up.”

Jin groans. “Hello to you too. What did you do?”

“I kissed her.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Who—wait. Her her? YN?”

“Yes.” It’s almost as if Hoseok can hear is hyung silenting judging him.

“Well damn,” Jin says, a little more awake now. “That’s…unexpected, and kind of bold. How’d it go?”

“She kissed me back. It wasn’t like—I don’t know. I didn’t plan it. It just happened and now I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“That checks out,” Jin mutters. “You’ve had a crush on her for a while, haven’t you?”

Hoseok winces. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to anyone with eyes.”

He groans again, collapsing back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t think I’d actually do anything about it.”

“And yet here we are.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t even have her number,” Hoseok admits, his voice small. “I thought about asking someone on staff, but that feels…I don’t know. Weird?”

Jin snorts. “Yeah, kind of creepy. Don't do that.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you get her number last night?”

“I was distracted. I didn’t think—there was this moment, and it felt like everything in the world narrowed to just her, and then it was over.”

“Well,” Jin says, “it’s not over if you don’t let it be.”

“I saw her in the hallway this morning. She smiled at me. I didn’t smile back.”

Jin groans. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“I panicked!” Hoseok snaps. “I don’t know what she’s thinking, and I don’t want her to regret it. I’m her boss. I should’ve never—”

“You already did,” Jin cuts in, firm now. “So the whole ‘I shouldn’t have’ ship? It’s sailed, capsized, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.”

“Thanks for the imagery.”

Jin huffs a laugh. “Look, I get that this is complicated. But you’re allowed to feel things, Hobi. You’re allowed to want something good. If you’re serious about her—really serious—then don’t let protocol be the reason you ruin it.”

Hoseok is quiet for a long time. He watches a crack of sunlight stretch across the floor of his hotel room and thinks about how your smile looked under stage lights. He thinks about how he made you feel like you weren’t alone in it.

“…I am serious,” he says quietly.

“Then find a way to show her.”

🧡part 2🧡

#suck it #bts fanfic #jung hoseok #jung hoseok fic #hoseok fic #hoseok smut #jhope fic #jhope smut #jhope x reader #jhope x you #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fic #kpop fic #kpop smut #bts smut

487 notes · View notes

jellybonbons · 9 months ago

Text

KISS CAM!

Kenji Sato x gn!reader

CW: pure fluff, established relationship, possessive kenji, best friend (Mio).

Words: 1.0k

AN: gave a name for reader's bff becus I got sick of writing 'your friend'. comments and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to New Tokyo Dome, home of your Giants! Tonight, the Giants face off against the visiting Swallows in what promises to be an exciting matchup.”

It was your first time experiencing your boyfriend’s game live, a significant change from watching him on screen. Ken had given you two tickets, inviting you to see his baseball game in person and you decided to bring your best friend, Mio.

As you and Mio made your way through the bustling crowd to your seats, the excitement of the game day atmosphere surrounded you. The stadium was a sea of team colours, with fans cheering and the scent of popcorn and hot dogs wafting through the air.

Ken had been clear about keeping your relationship private for now, given that it was still new, and he didn't want to stir up any media attention. You understood his concerns and were content with supporting him discreetly, even from the stands.

You finally found your seats and settled in, the anticipation bubbling inside you. As you took in the scene, the field looked well-maintained under the stadium lights, and the crowd's roar was almost deafening. Your eyes instinctively scanned the field, searching for Ken among his teammates. When you finally spotted him, you couldn’t help but beam with pride.

Ken's tall figure was unmistakable, and as if sensing your gaze, he turned towards you – he had purposely given you tickets close to his dugout so he could see you from there. His eyes met yours, and he gave you a wink that made your heart flutter. The crowd that witnessed the interaction erupted in cheers, mistaking it for a playful gesture to all the fans.

Mio nudged your shoulder playfully. "Did he just wink at you? Oh my god, he totally did!"

You laughed, trying to keep your excitement contained. "Maybe he did," you said, your cheeks warming.

"Dude, if anyone noticed, you're going to be all over the sports news tomorrow," she teased.

"Let's hope they just think he was winking at the crowd," you shook your head, smiling.

"Well, either way, it's pretty amazing. Look at him! He's totally in his element."

As the game commenced, you watched Ken with admiration. The way he effortlessly swung his bat, the precision in his throws, and the commanding presence he had on the field – it was clear he was born for this.

You could hardly contain the pride and joy swelling within you as you saw him in action. Being a part of his world, even if only from the sidelines, felt like a privilege. If only he knew how much you itched to scream, “Yeah! That’s my boyfriend!” proudly with your chest, you might have made your presence even more known.

Occasionally, the stadium's giant screens would light up with the infamous "Kiss Cam," zooming in on couples in the crowd. Each time it happened, the fans would cheer and clap, urging the featured pair to share a kiss.

Some couples laughed and played along, while others blushed and waved shyly at the camera. You and Mio watched the spectacle with amused smiles, sharing knowing glances whenever the camera swung close to your section.

After a few rounds, the stadium's energy shifted as the game went into a brief break. The "Kiss Cam" made its rounds again, eliciting cheers and laughter from the crowd. This time, to your surprise and slight horror, the camera zoomed in on you and the guy sitting beside you. The giant screen displayed your faces for all to see, and the audience erupted in cheers, urging you to kiss the stranger.

Mio sensed your discomfort and immediately tried to defuse the situation. She leaned in closer, putting her arm around you and making exaggerated gestures to draw the attention away from the awkward scenario. However, her efforts came to an abrupt halt as she caught sight of Ken sprinting towards you from across the field.

—

Just as the chants grew louder, Ken, who was about to take a sip of his water in the dugout, glanced at the screen. His eyes widened in shock as he saw you on the Kiss Cam with another man. "Hell nah," he muttered under his breath, dropping his water bottle without a second thought.

With determined speed, he sprinted across the field. The crowd's cheers turned into gasps of surprise as Ken vaulted over the net and made a beeline for your seat. In one swift motion, he pulled you into his arms and pressed his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss. The stadium erupted in a mix of astonished silence and wild applause.

As he broke the kiss, he glanced around at the crowd, a smug grin on his face, clearly enjoying the attention and the statement he had just made. You stood there, stunned and speechless, your heart pounding in your chest.

Huh?!?!

“You alright, babe?” he chuckled softly at your reaction, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Then, his gaze shifted to the guy sitting beside you, his eyes darkening with possessiveness. The guy raised his hands in surrender, nervously shifting in his seat before quickly changing places with the person next to him.

Before you could respond, Ken peeled off his jersey, revealing the snug turtleneck underneath. He draped the jersey over your shoulders, its warmth and his scent enveloping you. "Way to make an entrance, Ken!" Mio, who had been trying to help you deflect the situation, burst into laughter.

Still breathless from the kiss, you managed to find your voice. "I can't believe you just did that," you said, a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration in your tone.

Ken grinned, pulling you close. "I couldn't let anyone else have you, not even for a second," he replied.

The crowd's cheers and the flashing cameras faded into the background as you focused on him. "You're going to make your PR team work overtime with this move," you quipped, a playful edge in your voice as you finally caught your breath.

"Let them work. They should get used to it," he replied confidently.

You chuckled and pulled him into a kiss. The cameras flashed even more intensely, capturing every moment of your embrace. From the sidelines, Mio let out a loud wolf whistle, her laughter ringing out above the noise.

You smiled against Ken’s lips, thinking to yourself, so much for keeping things lowkey.

Dividers by: @anitalenia

#✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚#ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #ken sato fluff #kenji sato fluff #ken sato fanfic #kenji sato fanfic #ultraman rising fanfic

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harrysfolklore · 10 months ago

Note

Could you do an insta blurb with Anna Paul as a face claim? <33

never give up - ln4

my first lando blurb !! i was really excited to write for him so let me know your thoughts about this or send requests !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

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yourinstagram starting the job of my dreams tomorrow 😭😭😭😭 see you soon bahrain 🏁

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username1 omg congratulations ma friend !! ��︎ by author

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username3 PLEASE FEED US WITH GOOD CONTENT

↳ yourinstagram your wish is my command 🫡🫡🫡

maxverstappen1 Please don’t make us do any kind of dance… ♥︎ by author

↳ maxfan1 HES ALREADY COMPLAINING HELP

↳ yourinstagram you don’t make that decision sir

username3 i believe in the f1 fan to working to f1 pipeline now

oscarpiastri Hello new best friend ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram HI BESTIEEEEE

↳ oscarfan1 counting on the oscar content

landonorris Welcome abroad 🥰 ♥︎ by author

↳ landofan1 whats with that emoji landoeeee

↳ yourinstagram i’m readyyyy

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lando.jpg touchdown in bahrain. @yourinstagram forced me to try matcha (awful experience)

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landofan1 HE REMEMBERED THIS ACCOUT WE CHEER

oscarpiastri You’re a matcha girl at heart

↳ yourinstagram you’re so right my dearest pastry

↳ oscarfan1 LOVE THEM

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landofan3 yn in the last picture she’s so cuuuute

username1 lando posting a picture of yn 👀 i bet they’re dating

↳ landofan1 you must be new here lando posts literally everyone

maxverstappen1 I spot a Redbull jacket, thank you for picking favorites already @yourinstagram

↳ yourinstagram don’t flatter yourself okay. and tell checo i need both of you for rapid fire questions asap

↳ charles_leclerc I’m getting her ferrari red stuff soon

↳ lando.jpg she’s papaya heart, sorry losers

↳ username2 HEEELP😭

username3 looks like all the drivers get along with yn it’s so fun to see

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↳ yourinstagram if by that you mean you need to know which one of your memes is going viral rn, check your messages

↳ username4 PLEASEEEEE 😭

username5 this comment section feels like a gc with all of them and i love it

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yourinstagram tifosi for jeddah. let’s gooo @/charles_leclerc, @/olliebearman ❤️ and sending big hugs to mr smooth operator @/carlossainz55, hope you recover sooooonnn

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username1 SLAYYYY

charlesfan1 YAAS YN IS ON OUR SIDEEE

username2 such a cool jacket omg ♥︎ by author

scuderiaferrari We’re all Tifosi at heart 🙌

↳ yourinstagram love you ferrari admin

landofan1 i know lando won’t be happy

olliebearman Love you 🫶🫶🫶 ♥︎ by author

↳ username1 AWEEEE OLLIE

iamrebeccad 😍 ♥︎ by author

alexandrasaintmleux Ferrari girls >>> 🥰 ♥︎ by author

↳ charlesfan1 i love the ferrari wags sm

landofan2 lando complaining in 3..2..1

landonorris It’s always tifosi or gives you wings but never papaya

↳ oscarpiastri Ouch

↳ yourinstagram top cry babies of the grid: the mclaren boys

↳ landofan1 😭😭😭😭😭

↳ danielricciardo Can you blame them? They’re like 7 ♥︎ by author, georgerussell63, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55

↳ landonorris Can’t hear the haters

maxverstappen1 And who got double podium?

↳ yourinstagram you’re so annoying omg

↳ maxfan1 HEEEELP

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f1gossip Lando Norris enjoys Australia with mystery woman ahead of the Grand Prix this weekend

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landofan1 HEEELP

landofan2 my brother in christ that’s yn

username1 mystery woman 😂😂 @/yourinstagram

landofan3 iconic duo

landofan4 i’m going to say what everyone is thinking: i ship them

↳ landofan1 HEEEELP

username2 we need the teaaaaaaa

yourinstagram i wonder who could that be ♥︎ landonorris

↳ username1 so mysterious

yourinstagram why does this look like i’m showing you receipts of something shady that you did @landonorris

↳ landonorris You look so done with my lies lol

↳ landofan2 WHAT ARE YALL DOING HERE

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yourinstagram AND THAT'S A WIN FOR THE SMOOTH OPERATOR AFTER THE OPERATION ‼️ congratulations carlitosss, don't let the papaya fool you, i was rooting for you

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username1 LETS GOOO

username2 this is such a cool picture ♥︎ by author

mclaren Our papaya heart just broke 💔

↳ yourinstagram NOOOOO

scuderiaferrari FORZA FERRARI ❤️

↳ yourinstagram YAAAS

username3 she really has the coolest job in the world

landofan1 lando finally made her wear papaya 😭 ♥︎ by author

landonorris I was in the podium too, you know?

↳ charles_leclerc Me too

↳ yourinstagram did you win?

↳ landofan2 CLOCK THEM

iamrebeccad 😍😍😍 ♥︎ by author

lilyzneimer Beautyyy

↳ yourinstagram PICTURE CREDITS TO BABY LILY !!

carlossainz55 The smooth operation 💪 ♥︎ by author

↳ landonorris I'm getting my apendix removed

↳ yourinstagram DO NOT

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landonorris australia was nice :)

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landofan1 BABYYYYY

landofan2 LANDOOOO THE LAST PIC

username1 yn what are you doing here

carlossainz55 Why don't you post a picture of my win?

↳ landofan1 😭😭😭

↳ yourinstagram bc i'm prettier ♥︎ by author

oscarpiastri Australia: the best country in the world

↳ yourinstagram you're australia's treasure 👐

landofan3 POSTING YN??? ON MAIN??

↳ landofan1 bestiesss

↳ landofan2 i had to double check this was actually his main

username2 he's in love with yn

georgerussell33 crushcrushcrush

↳ username1 he's so strange

yourinstagram i like being each other's personal photographers

↳ landofan1 SOOOO YN TOOK LANDO'S PICS

↳ landofan3 they're in love

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landonorris i didn't get that podium but i did get you some spam

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landofan1 BOYFRIEND MATERIAL

username1 when will lando nowins ends

landofan2 YN AGAIN?????

mclaren 🧡

danielricciardo Is this a YN fan account? ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram IT SO IS RIGHT

↳ landonorris Can't hear the haters

username2 it's so obvious that those two are in a relationship

↳ landofan1 don't be weird they're friends and yn kinda works for them

↳ landofan2 to be fair yn doesn't really work for the drivers, she works for the f1 pr team

carlossainz55 👀

↳ landofan1 WHAT DO YOU KNOW

yourinstagram thank you for the night walk and the pic buddyyyy ♥︎ by author

↳ landofan1 NOT BUDDY HELP

↳ username1 even i felt hurt by that friendzone

↳ landofan2 lando was found crying

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yourinstagram one moth living the dream life while having the dream job 🥺 let’s go shangai 🇨🇳

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username1 im so jealous rn

username2 teach me your ways

lewishamilton 🖤 ♥︎ by author

maxfan1 REDBULL JACKET SLAY

landofan1 lando crying over the redbull gear soon

username3 traveling the world befriending the drivers and getting free merch this is really THE DREAM ♥︎ by author

lilyzneimer 💙 the bestttt!

↳ yourinstagram i literally lysm baby lily

↳ oscarpiastri Stop stealing my girlfriend from me thank you

↳ yourinstagram the mclaren boys being cry babies, exhibit B

alex_albon Why am I missing from the third pic?

↳ georgerussell63 We we’re gossiping about you ♥︎ by author, oscarpiastri, landonorris, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1

↳ yourinstagram exactly

username4 how does it feel to live my dream

maxverstappen1 Great great jacket

↳ landonorris i’m burning it

↳ landofan1 HEEEELP 😭

landonorris Best season so far 🫶🫶🫶 ♥︎ by author

↳ landofan2 LANDOOOOOO????

↳ landofan3 he’s down bad awe

liked by landonorris, yourinstagram and 159,635 others

mclaren A very special guest joins the papaya garage today 🧡 #MiamiGP

tagged: yourinstagram

view all 7,937 comments

landofan1 AHHHHH

username1 WAG vibes

landofan2 since when does lando have access to the mclaren acc

username2 she looks amazing

lilyzneimer 🫶🫶🫶

↳ mclaren Our other fave 🙌

↳ landofan2 mclaren hyping their wags up so trueeeee

redbullracing Give her back

↳ username1 the girls are fighting

↳ mclaren Never

landonorris 😍😍😍😍 ♥︎ by yourinstagram

↳ landofan1 CONTROL IT

↳ landofan2 JUST KISS HER YOU FOOL

yourinstagram GO PAPAYA BOYS 🧡🧡

↳ landonorris boy*

↳ oscarpiastri Cry cry cry

↳ landofan3 IM YELLING 😭😭😭

liked by yourinstagram, danielricciardo and 3,122,342 others

landonorris WWE FUCKING DID IT. P1 🏆

view all 49,687 comments

landofan1 IM STILL SOBBING WTF

landofan2 HE DID IT LITTLE LANDO NORRIS DID ITTTT

oscarpiastri Well done man 👏👏👏 ♥︎ by author

alex_albon Congrats!!! 💪👏 ♥︎ by author

mclaren PROUD 🧡🧡🧡

username1 this man is going to party like an animal tonight

landofan3 whoever or whatever put a fire on his ass to win THANK YOU

maxverstappen1 You had a great motivation to win. Congrats 👏 ♥︎ by author

↳ username2 HUUUUUH

lewishamilton WELL DONE ♥︎ by author

yourinstagram IM STILL CRYING 😭😭😭

↳ maxverstappen1 Because now you’ll have to go out with him? THIS COMMENT IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE

↳ landofan1 MAX WTF WE ALL SAW THAT

yourinstagram CONGRATULATIONS LAN 🧡🧡🧡 ♥︎ by author

↳ landofan2 when the camera focused on her after lando crossed the line 😩😩 my delusional ass is living

↳ username1 these two will be a thing before the season ends

↳ landonorris My good luck charm ❤️

↳ landofan3 LANDO DONT DO THIS TO ME

liked by landofan1, landofan2 and 16,936 others

f1gossip Lando Norris get cozy with mysterious woman after Miami GP win

view all 209 comments

landofan1 OMFGGGG

landofan2 CAUGHT IN 4K

username1 who is thissssss

landofan3 IF THIS IS NOT YN I DONT WANT IT

username2 wbk he’s always wildinggggg

landofan4 guys i think this is yn???? she posted stories celebrating with lando

↳ landofan1 omg i don’t want to be delusional

↳ landofan2 AND REMEMBER MAX DELETED COMMENT ????

landofan5 can somebody from the grid spill the beans about his

↳ landofan1 george where are you ?????

liked by yourinstagram, pierregasly and 1,390,180 others

landonorris I’ll remember this forever. Thank you everyone ❤️

view all 10,252 comments

landofan1 AHHHH

landofan2 THE SECOND PIC HELLO????

mclaren We always believed in you 🧡

landofan3 THATS LITERALLY YN IN THE SECOND PIC

oscarpiastri I bet this was your favorite weekend ever ♥︎ by author

↳ landofan1 WHAT DO YOU KNOW

georgerussell63 You finally convinced her?

↳ landonorris And did

↳ landofan2 WTF LET ME IN???? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

landofan4 LANYN IS REAL 😭😭😭😭

username1 yn is no better than me i would also fall for lando norris

landofan5 SEE YN WAS THE GIRL WITH HIM IN MIAMI

lewishamilton Did I miss something?

↳ georgerussell63 If you only checked your phone

↳ username2 HEEEELP

landofan6 SO THIS IS SO YN 😭 i really hope they’re together

maxverstappen1 Two things you had been waiting for: the win and the girl ♥︎ by author

↳ maxfan1 MAX HAS NO FILTER I CANT

↳ landofan1 SO THEY’RE TOGETHER

↳ landonorris 🥰

yourinstagram 🧡 ♥︎ by author

↳ username1 THATS ALL??? GIRL ADRESS THE RUMORS

↳ landofan1 GIVE US SOMETHING

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yourinstagram imola, monaco, montreal 🤍

view all 503 comments

username1 forever jealous of your life

landofan1 A LOT OF LANDO HERE OMGGG

username2 the second pic, is she dating anyone? 👀

↳ landofan2 lando so true

georgerussell63 You're welcome for the Hello Kitty face mask ♥︎ by author

↳ username1 OF COURSE george would have hello kitty face masks

↳ yourinstagram thank u georgie

landofan3 this is basically a lando appreciation post ♥︎ by author

username3 i sense a soft launch

landofan4 landoyn is sooooo alive

mclaren Our favorite 🧡

lilyzneimer 🤩 ♥︎ by author

oscarpiastri Thank you for the tiktok tips?

↳ yourinstagram you think those were for free? you owe me dinner

maxverstappen1 Why there is no Redbull on this collage?

↳ yourinstagram you and checo have been pissing me off lately

↳ maxfan1 HEEEEELP

scuderiaferrari Some red in sight ❤️

↳ yourinstagram as it should

landonorris so pretty 😍 ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram you talking about yourself?

↳ landonorris nope 😍

↳ landofan1 STOOOOOOOP THIS

liked by daniel3.jpg, yourinstagram and 348,922 others

lando.jpg happy :)

view all 5,039 comments

landofan1 AHHHHHH

landofan2 I JUMPED FROM MY SPOT

username1 wbk they're together

oscaspiastri Cuties

oscarpiastri Lily wrote the previous comment, not me

↳ oscarfan1 HEEEEELP

↳ yourisntagram this is why she's my favorite

landofan3 THIS REALLY CONFIRMS THEY'RE TOGETHER

username3 what if they're not together and everyone is just clowning 😭😭

carlossainz55 I've been replaced

↳ landofan1 HEEEELP

↳ landofan2 CARLANDO FOREVER

yourinstagram 🧡 ♥︎ by author

↳ username1 stop it with the orange hearts SAY SOMETHING

liked by landonorris, olliebearman and 103,827 others

yourinstagram paps hard launched us before i could do it, but here’s our official instagram debut i guess 🧡

view all 2,099 comments

username1 AHHH FINALLY

username2 you've come a long way girl, from fan to working for f1 to dating a driver ♥︎ by author

landofan1 I KNEW ITTT I KNEW ITT

georgerussell63 We had been plotting this since you first met, btw ♥︎ by landonorris, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1

↳ yourinstagram nosy bitches !!

↳ username1 HEEEEELP 😭

mclaren OUR PRAYERS HAD BEEN ANSWERED 🤩🤩🧡

↳ landofan2 the mclaren admin is soooo me

↳ yourinstagram stop mclaren admin im blushing

username3 slayest couple of the paddock already

oscarpiastri What happened to "my job comes first"?

↳ landonorris Mate do you want her to break up with me or something

↳ landofan1 😭😭😭😭

lilyzneimer Papaya girls stick together 💕 ♥︎ by author

↳ username1 queens of mclaren

↳ alexandrasaintmleux :(((

↳ yourinstagram i literally lysm alex

landonorris my girl my girl my girl my girl ❤️ ♥︎ by author

↳ maxverstappen1 We get it

↳ landonorris you're jealous bc she'll never wear redbull anymore

↳ yourinstagram 🥴🥴

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,092,388 others

landonorris Never back down never what? Never give up

view all 15,390 comments

landofan1 YELLING

landofan2 I CANTTTT

username1 i want what they have

olliebearman ❤️

mclaren Our parents 🧡

↳ landofan1 its me im actually the mclaren admin

danielricciardo YN blink twice if you need help

↳ georgerussell63 She just did I'm next to her

↳ landonorris Can't hear the haters

↳ landofan2 😭😭😭

username2 i need yn's manifestation methods

landofan4 THE HAND PLACEMENTS ???? LANDO' SMILE ?????

maxverstappen1 Poor girl

↳ maxfan1 LEAVE HIM ALONEEE

carlossainz55 My biggest condolences @/yourinstagram

↳ landofan1 they grid has one mission today and that is to attack lando

yourinstagram 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍 ♥︎ by author

yourinstagtam leave my baby alone assholes @/danielricciardo @/georgerussell63 @/maxverstappen1 @/carlossainz55

↳ carlossainz55 Don't baby him even more

↳ georgerussell63 cAnT hEar ThE hAtErS

↳ landonorris my girl my girl 😍

2K notes · View notes

extinctlesspains · 4 months ago

Note

can you do a myung gi x fem reader where he finds out that the reader is in the games and he starts to protect her from the games and from other players

A/n: AHAHAHHA A REQUEST FOR MY MAN FINALLY 😫

𝐺𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑛 [𝐿. 𝑀𝑦𝑢𝑛𝑔-𝐺𝑖]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʟᴇᴇ ᴍʏᴜɴɢ-ɢɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ғʟᴜғғ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴍʏɪɴɢ-ɢɪ's sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ ɪɴsᴛɪɴᴄᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴇsᴛᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ᴅɪsᴄᴏᴠᴇʀs sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ— ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ 424. ᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ, ʜᴇ ғɪɢʜᴛs ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴅᴅs, ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ғʀᴏᴍ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀs ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴅᴏ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡɪɴ.

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟ sǫᴜɪᴅ ɢᴀᴍᴇ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The harsh fluorescent lights of the dormitory hummed overhead as you clutched your numbered jacket close. Anxiety churned in your stomach. Around you, alliances were being forged, whispers of mistrust and strategies filling the air.

That’s when you saw him—Myung-gi, Player 333. You recognized him instantly. Back in the real world, he was known for his sharp demeanor and unyielding resolve. That and how he scammed many people. But here, he looked just as tense as everyone else, sitting on the edge of his bunk with his arms crossed.

Your eyes met briefly, and recognition flickered across his face. He blinked once, twice, before his expression hardened. Myung-gi stood abruptly, weaving through the crowd toward you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low but laced with disbelief.

You flinched at his tone, gripping your jacket tighter. “I—I could ask you the same thing,” you stammered, avoiding his intense gaze.

His jaw tightened. “This isn’t a place for someone like you.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly have a choice,” you snapped, though your voice shook. “None of us did.”

Myung-gi sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn't like how his crush was in this game with him. “Stick with me,” he said finally, his tone softening. “Don’t trust anyone else.”

The moment the giant doll began singing, the room erupted into chaos. Players dashed forward, only to freeze mid-stride when the doll’s head swiveled around. Shots rang out, and screams filled the air.

You stood frozen at the starting line, fear paralyzing your limbs. Myung-gi, halfway across the field, turned back and spotted you.

“Move!” he barked, his voice cutting through the noise.

Your legs wobbled as you took a tentative step forward. The doll’s head swiveled, and you stopped just in time, your heart hammering in your chest.

When the doll turned away again, Myung-gi maneuvered closer to you, his movements calculated. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice steady. “Focus on me, not the others. Take small steps.”

You nodded shakily, following his lead. With each movement, he stayed by your side, shielding you from the chaos. When a player nearby collapsed, he reached out, gripping your arm firmly. “Don’t look. Keep going.”

When the timer finally buzzed, signaling the end of the game, you collapsed onto the ground, trembling. Myung-gi crouched beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You’re safe,” he murmured. “For now.”

The racecourse was a nightmare of mini games, designed to exploit every weakness. Players hands scrambled as they played gong-gi, ddajki, and the flying stone.

You struggled to play spinning top, your hands slipping on the rough material. “I can’t do it,” you muttered, panic rising.

“Yes, you can,” Myung-gi said from your side. “Just breathe.”

You hesitated, but his stern glare left no room for argument. You matched your breathing to his , relaxing and putting yourself at ease.

“See? Not so hard,” he said, his tone gruff but not unkind.

Later, when you reached the jegi section, another player deliberately knocked you to the side to get Myung-gi moving, you cupped your stomach as you felt the player punch it. Myung-gi stepped in immediately, his glare icy. “Try that again, and you’ll regret it,” he growled.

The other player backed off, grumbling, and Myung-gi turned to you. “Don’t let them push you around,” he said. “But if they do, I’ll handle it.” he played his part and crossed the finish line, pulling you by his side.

It was only a small breather before you were put back in another game.

“Four!” the speaker announced, the robotic voice echoing across the room.

Panic set in as players began shoving and scrambling toward doors with numbered signs. You were swept into the crowd, losing sight of Myung-gi.

“Y/N!” his voice rang out, cutting through the chaos.

You turned just in time to see him pushing through the mob, his eyes locked on you. He grabbed your arm, pulling you close. “You’re with me,” he said firmly.

When two other players tried to join your group, Myung-gi stepped in front of you, his stance protective. “Sure, get in,” he said smoothly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Once inside the safety of the numbered room, you slumped against the wall, your heart racing. “You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.

“Yes, I did,” he replied, his voice low. “You’re not surviving this alone. Not on my watch.”

Back in the dormitory, you sat on the edge of a bunk, picking at the stale bread ration. Myung-gi approached, handing you his water bottle.

“Drink,” he ordered.

You frowned but accepted it. “Why are you helping me?” you asked softly. “You barely know me, we only have the history of being classmates.”

He didn’t answer immediately, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Finally, he said, “Because if you don’t make it out of here, what’s the point?”

You blinked, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. “Myung-gi…”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t get sappy on me. Just… stay close, alright? Don’t trust anyone else. They’ll stab you in the back the first chance they get.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks. For everything.”

He scoffed, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

#squid game #squid games #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #squid games x reader #lee myung gi #lee myung gi x reader #player 333 #player 333 x reader #myun-gi x reader

665 notes · View notes

moonlightwritingf1 · 4 months ago

Text

Until you noticed me | OP81

🎀 summary ━━━━━━━ At a rooftop party, Y/N and Oscar’s friendship takes a turn when Oscar’s protective instincts reveal his deeper feelings.

🎀 pairing ━━━━━━━ Oscar Piastri x she!reader

🎀 word count ━━━━━━━ 2.8k

Y/N had always admired Oscar Piastri from a distance. They met through mutual friends less than a year ago, and since then, their paths seemed to cross more often than either of them anticipated. Whether it was casual hangouts, race weekends, or the odd late-night group chat, their friendship had grown naturally, albeit with an undertone of something neither dared to acknowledge.

Oscar was calm and collected—a sharp contrast to her more adventurous, carefree personality. While she saw him as her ever-reliable friend, Oscar saw her as so much more. He’d never admit it outright, but he found himself constantly drawn to her, whether it was to keep her safe or simply to bask in her radiant energy.

That night, they were at a rooftop party in London, celebrating the end of the racing season. The evening was cool but pleasant, and Y/N was mingling effortlessly, as she always did. Oscar, meanwhile, kept to the edges of the crowd, watching her with a quiet intensity.

She looked stunning, her laughter carrying over the music and conversation. But what caught Oscar’s attention wasn’t just how beautiful she looked—it was the way she seemed completely unaware of how many eyes followed her around the room. It was something he admired and found infuriating all at once.

He didn’t notice the man until he was already standing too close to Y/N. At first, Oscar told himself to stay out of it. She could handle herself; she always did. But then the guy leaned in, his body language too pushy, and Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly.

Oscar didn’t think. He just acted.

He crossed the room quickly, his presence quiet but commanding. “Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “been looking for you.”

She turned, relief flashing across her face. “Oscar!”

Without hesitation, he slipped his arm around her waist, his hand resting protectively against her side. “Mind if I steal her for a moment?” he asked the man, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t actually asking.

The man hesitated, his confidence wavering under Oscar’s steady gaze. “Sure, mate. No problem.”

As the guy walked away, Y/N looked up at Oscar, her lips curving into a small smile. “What’s this? My knight in shining armor?”

“Just making sure you’re okay,” he said, his hand lingering on her waist a second longer before he forced himself to let go.

She rolled her eyes playfully, though her heart fluttered at the intensity in his gaze. “I was fine, you know.”

“Maybe,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes serious. “But I wasn’t going to risk it.”

The party carried on, but Y/N found herself gravitating toward Oscar more than usual. They ended up sitting together on a quieter section of the rooftop, away from the music and crowd.

“You’re always looking out for me,” she said, sipping her drink and glancing at him over the rim of her glass.

“Someone has to,” he replied with a small smirk.

“I’m not that reckless,” she protested.

“Y/N,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “you climbed onto a railing at the last party just to ‘see the view better.’”

She laughed, nudging his arm. “Okay, fair. But you didn’t have to pull me down like I was going to fall to my death.”

“Didn’t I, though?” he teased, but his smile softened. “You’re important to me, Y/N. I’d rather be overprotective than regret not stepping in.”

Her laughter faded, and she studied him for a moment. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, but she quickly brushed it off. “Well, I guess I’m lucky to have you, huh?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes locking with hers. “Lucky.”

For a moment, the air between them shifted, the buzz of the party fading into the background. Y/N felt her pulse quicken under his gaze, but she quickly looked away, laughing nervously.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, half-joking.

“Like what?” he asked, though his voice was lower now.

“Like... I don’t know. Like that.”

Oscar tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe you’re just imagining things.“

“Maybe,” she muttered, though her cheeks burned.

When the party ended, Oscar offered to drive her home, and she accepted without hesitation. The car ride was quiet at first, the city lights casting shadows across their faces as they drove.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly, breaking the silence.

“Anytime,” he replied, glancing at her briefly before turning back to the road.

She hesitated, then added, “You know, you didn’t have to step in earlier. But... I’m glad you did.”

He smirked, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. “You said that already. What’s really on your mind?”

She bit her lip, debating whether to say what she was thinking. Finally, she turned to him. “You care about me a lot, don’t you?”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression neutral. “Is that a trick question?”

“No, I’m serious,” she said, her voice softer now.

He sighed, pulling over to the side of the road. The car idled as he turned to face her. “Yeah, I do. Probably more than I should.”

Her breath hitched at his confession, her eyes searching his. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re my friend. And I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand. “Oscar...”

He shook his head, a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips. “It’s fine, Y/N. I’ve gotten pretty good at pretending.”

But before he could pull away, she leaned across the console, her lips pressing softly against his. It was tentative at first, but when he responded, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, it deepened into something more.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” she whispered, a small smile on her lips.

Oscar chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Good. Because I don’t think I can.”

The drive resumed, but everything felt different now. The unspoken tension between them was finally gone, replaced by something much stronger. Neither of them knew what the future held, but for now, they were exactly where they wanted to be: with each other.

The air in the car was charged now, thick with emotions neither of them had fully voiced until this moment. Oscar’s hand rested on the gear shift, but his focus was entirely on Y/N, her lips slightly swollen from their kiss, her eyes wide as she looked at him.

He cleared his throat, his voice low and steady. “Are you sure about this? About me?”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Question yourself,” she said softly, reaching over to rest her hand on his forearm. “Oscar, you’re one of the best people I know. You don’t have to doubt how I feel about you.”

He blinked, her words hitting him like a jolt. “It’s just... I’ve thought about this so many times,” he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “But I always convinced myself it was impossible. That I’d ruin everything if I said how I felt.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” she said firmly, her fingers squeezing his arm. “If anything, I’m the one who’s been blind to what’s right in front of me.”

Oscar let out a small, shaky laugh, his hand moving to cover hers. “So... where does that leave us?”

She smiled, leaning back slightly, but her gaze remained locked on his. “That depends. Are you planning to keep pretending this didn’t happen, or are you ready to actually do something about it?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk, his confidence growing. “You’re really not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Why should I?” she teased, though her tone was warm.

When they arrived at her apartment, neither of them made a move to get out of the car right away. The street was quiet, the only sounds coming from the faint hum of the engine and the occasional distant car passing by.

Oscar turned to her, his expression serious but tender. “Can I come up? Just to talk, I mean,” he added quickly, though the intensity in his gaze suggested there was more to his request.

Y/N smiled softly. “You don’t have to overthink it, Oscar. Come on.”

Inside her apartment, the atmosphere shifted again. The cozy warmth of her living room contrasted with the tension still lingering between them. Y/N kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag onto the couch, turning to find Oscar standing near the doorway, his hands in his pockets, looking almost shy.

“You can sit, you know,” she said, her voice light.

He smiled, stepping further inside and sitting on the couch, his eyes following her as she moved around the room. She grabbed two glasses of water from the kitchen and handed him one, sitting beside him on the couch.

For a moment, they just sat there, the silence filled with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Oscar set his glass down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I meant what I said earlier. About how much you mean to me.”

“I know,” she said softly, her hand reaching out to rest on his shoulder. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to see it. To see you.”

He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers. “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t know.”

“But I should have,” she said, her voice tinged with regret. “You’ve been there for me through everything, Oscar. And now that I think about it, you’ve always been more than just a friend to me. I was just too scared to admit it, even to myself.”

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek gently. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opened them, he was still watching her, his gaze filled with a mix of love and desire that made her heart race.

“Oscar,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone.

“Kiss me again,” she said, her voice steady now.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Leaning in, his lips captured hers in a kiss that was deeper and more passionate than the one in the car. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer as her fingers tangled in his hair.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted, his voice husky.

“Me too,” she confessed, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the back of his neck.

Oscar chuckled softly, his hands tightening slightly on her waist. “So, what now?”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling. “I think we take it one step at a time. But I’m not letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Good,” he said, his tone serious. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The night stretched on, the two of them talking, laughing, and sharing moments that had been building for months. As they curled up together on the couch, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, both of them knowing they’d found something worth holding onto.

The soft glow of the living room lamps cast warm shadows on their faces as Oscar and Y/N stayed wrapped in each other's presence. The tension from earlier had dissolved into something more intimate—a quiet understanding that they were finally on the same page.

Y/N’s head rested against Oscar’s shoulder, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest as they lay sprawled across the couch. The television played in the background, but neither of them paid it much attention.

“You know,” Y/N started, her voice playful but soft, “I always wondered why you’d get so worked up every time I did something remotely reckless. I just thought you were overly cautious.”

Oscar smirked, his fingers brushing through her hair. “You think climbing rooftops and arguing with strangers is remotely reckless?”

She laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest. “Okay, maybe a little more than remotely. But now it all makes sense. You’ve been secretly in love with me this whole time.”

His smirk turned into a sheepish grin. “It wasn’t exactly a secret, Y/N.”

She tilted her head to look at him, her brows furrowing in mock disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone knew,” he admitted, his voice tinged with amusement. “Lando teased me about it constantly. Even your friends dropped hints.“

Her eyes widened in shock. “Wait—what? My friends knew?”

Oscar chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on her waist. “Apparently, I’m not as subtle as I thought.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god, I’m the clueless one in this scenario, aren’t I?”

“You said it, not me,” Oscar teased, gently pulling her hands away from her face. “But I didn’t mind. I figured you’d notice eventually.”

She sighed, her cheeks still warm from embarrassment. “Well, you’re a lot more patient than I would’ve been.”

Oscar’s expression softened, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. “You were worth the wait, though.”

Her breath hitched at the sincerity in his voice, her heart swelling as she looked into his eyes. She leaned up to kiss him again, this one slower and more deliberate, her hands cradling his face.

As the kiss deepened, Oscar’s hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer until she was straddling him. The shift in position sent a shiver down her spine, the closeness between them sparking something electric.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and filled with desire.

“Maybe I like the heat,” she whispered back, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

Oscar groaned softly, his grip on her tightening. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” she quipped, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

His hands slid up her back, his touch firm but careful. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Why don’t you show me?” she challenged, her tone bold but breathless.

Oscar’s eyes darkened, his restraint teetering as he captured her lips again, this time with more urgency. His hands roamed, exploring the curve of her hips and the small of her back. She melted into him, her own hands tangling in his hair as their kisses grew more heated.

Somehow, they found themselves in her bedroom, their breaths ragged as they tumbled onto the bed. Oscar hovered over her, his gaze searching hers for any hesitation.

“Tell me to stop if this is too much,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

She cupped his face, her eyes locking with his. “I don’t want you to stop. I’ve wanted this for so long, Oscar.”

That was all the reassurance he needed. He kissed her deeply, his hands exploring her body with a mix of passion and reverence. Every touch, every kiss, was unhurried, as if he was savoring every second of this moment they’d both been waiting for.

Y/N arched into him, her fingers trailing over the muscles of his back. “You’re driving me crazy,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion and desire.

“Good,” he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips as he kissed down the column of her neck.

The night unfolded with a tenderness that spoke of more than just physical connection. It was about the months of unspoken feelings, the silent yearning that had built up between them. Every touch, every word, was a culmination of everything they’d held back for so long.

Later, as they lay tangled together under the covers, Y/N rested her head on Oscar’s chest, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his skin.

“You know this changes everything, right?” she murmured.

Oscar tightened his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It doesn’t have to change anything we don’t want it to. Except now, I get to kiss you whenever I want.”

She smiled, tilting her head to look up at him. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, leaning down to steal another kiss.

Y/N sighed contentedly, snuggling closer to him. “I can live with that.”

Oscar chuckled, his voice warm and full of affection. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”

As the night stretched into early morning, the two of them drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, they’d face them together. For the first time, everything felt exactly as it should.

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jinwoosungs · 4 months ago

Text

01/06/25; 06:03pm

sylus x fem.reader | non.mc

obligatory tags: @voidsylus | @milkandstarlight

warnings: unedited; semi-public s-x.

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

the boutique located in the n109 zone that sylus had taken you to was surrounded by dozens of high class women; those who were born with a silver spoon in their hands. now, being an average woman, you didn’t get to experience the luxuries of such a life until much later (the moment you fell in love with sylus as he swore to give you not only his heart, but anything and everything you desired as well.)

which was why you were here to begin with. even as you browsed the cute trinkets and jewelry from the store, you could feel the clerk’s eyes glaring daggers into you. not only were you receiving dark looks, but all the other employees were actively ignoring you, choosing instead to sink their claws into your lover as their saccharine voice asked if he needed any help.

“no, i’m fine, but my girlfriend could use some assistance.”

you momentarily bask in their crestfallen expression, watching as they tossed aside their curled hair before marching over to you. you had not even spoken a single word when the catty employee leans in to harshly whisper in your ear, “sorry, but i believe these cute jewels are just way too expensive for the likes of you. after all, having you wear our brand would be such a disgrace.”

as swiftly as she came, she stomps away from you, her laughter echoing throughout the store as she went to gossip with her coworkers over what had just transpired. manicured nails point at you, as their hushed whispers openly mocked you as they spoke about how unfit you were to be with mr. sylus.

grateful that sylus was entirely focused on the contents of his phone, you decided to get a tiny bit of revenge by hatching an almost diabolical plan. instead of looking at the various rings and necklaces, you cling onto sylus’s arms and point toward the direction of the section that housed all of the lingeries.

“walk me over there?” you point a finger over at where the various lingeries were on display, watching as sylus’s eyebrows go up in amusement.

“my, i wanted to take you here in order to help treat yourself. i didn’t think that i would receive a treat as well, little dove.”

you tried to appear as innocuous as possible, jutting your lips out into a pretty pout as you pulled sylus along. “but of course, i’m always willing to spoil you, sy.”

with sylus practically following you around (like a lost puppy), you have him talk to the lady manning the fitting rooms, asking him to get a key for one of the rooms as you made your selection alone. giving you a chaste kiss, he obeys your command and leaves you to your own devices-

which was exactly what you wanted to happen.

your eyes scan the various lingeries, searching for the perfect one that would set sylus off-

and within mere minutes, you found one.

the material of the flimsy piece left little to the imagination, and you could just picture the way your perky nipples would strain against such pretty lace while wrapping the most intimate part of you in ribbons-

this is the one.

folding the lingerie, you head towards the fitting rooms, seeing sylus waiting for you as he handed you the key. blowing him a kiss, you sweetly ask him to wait for you before locking yourself into the single room. taking a moment to admire such a spacious area, you muse to yourself at how this place felt like a totally different world before getting to work. putting your purse aside, you hurriedly shimmy out of your clothes, making sure you were bare before sliding on the lingerie, feeling the silk fabric fit your form to perfection. admiring yourself in the mirror, you put on a fresh coat of lip gloss while fixing your hair-

ready for sylus to make his move.

you open the door, standing seductively against it while whispering sylus’s name. he looks away from his phone, meeting your sultry gaze as his eyes widened with shock. crimson irises were felt raking down your form, making you giggle.

“like what you see, sy?”

yet the onychinus leader doesn’t answer you, choosing instead to march into your fitting room while slamming the door shut. “do i like what i see? kitten, you are absolutely divine.” you feel the way his powerful hands wrap around your waist before picking you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist as you felt the way his clothed erection strained against you-

making you break out into a grin when you realized you had him; hook, line, and sinker.

he presses his hot lips press against the base of your throat when he pins you against the wall, ready to slide off your lingerie when you stopped him. “no… i want to keep this pretty lace on, just for you, sy.”

a low growl escapes from sylus, and you felt him lower his large hand between your legs before moving the ribbons that cover your center off to the side. with a gasp, you felt his large finger slowly drive itself into your wet heat before making a pumping motion. “you’re driving me crazy, love.”

hiding his face within the curve of your neck, sylus continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, drawing out breathy moans that seemed to echo throughout the boutique. with your arms wrapped around his neck, you gently grind your cunt against his fingertips while whispering in his ear, “do i feel good, wrapped around your fingers like this?”

a broken groan was heard coming from sylus when he removed his now soaked fingers out of your core, licking them clean briefly before adjusting his hold on you. he presses your chest against the walls now, making you gasp when you heard the shifting of fabric coming from behind you.

even when you weren’t able to see him, you could feel him- the sensation of hot velvet pressing against your soaked cunt before slowly sheathing itself inside of you. your gasps quickly morph into moans when sylus began to pound his cock into you, literally fucking you into the wall.

“i’m so fucking obsessed with you.” his hot whispers were all you could hear, feeling sylus press lingering kisses against your damp skin. you felt each new angle of his cock slamming back into you, causing a new wave of pleasure to hit you each time as your walls eagerly take in every inch he had to offer.

somehow, you were able to find your voice, begging him to turn you around. “l-let me look at you, sy… i want to see you as i fall apart for you.”

a low hiss was heard as sylus bites down against the lobe of your ear, heeding your command when he hurriedly pulls out of you. the sudden loss of him causes you to sob in response, with sylus gripping at your waist before allowing your back to meet the wall once more. settling himself between your thighs, sylus doesn’t waste another second when he completely impales his cock back into you.

your legs wrapped themselves around his waist, coaxing your lover to go even deeper as you felt your breasts bounce with his every movement. not even caring that you were not alone while in the midst of this expensive boutique, you allow your moans and his grunts to echo throughout the space, your back arching when you felt the way your walls sweetly wrapped around sylus’s cock before milking him for all he was worth.

spurts of his seed were felt escaping your walls as they stained at the lace and ribbons of the lingerie, with sylus letting out a content grunt. his hips sloppily thrust into you, making sure he was completely emptied before resting his weight against your shoulder. by now, you were both panting, feeling the sweat run down your respective forms as sylus pressed a lingering kiss against your shoulder.

keeping your hips still, sylus gently pulls out of you, and you moan when you felt the evidence of your respective release further stain the lingerie. sylus takes a step back, admiring how he had completely wrecked you and the flimsy fabric with an appreciative hum. as he adjusts himself (placing his softened cock back into the confines of his boxers), you watch as he zips up his pants before gathering your crumpled clothes from the ground.

not even allowing you to remove the utterly ruined lingerie, sylus helps you put on your clothes while pocketing your panties. once your blouse was on, you watch as sylus shoves your bra into the confines of your purse, hands automatically going around your waist as he presses a lingering kiss on your temple.

“keep that purchase on you; i’ll pay for it as we walk out- i’m far from being done with you, kitten.”

unlocking the door to the fitting room, sylus grabs the key and his wallet, coming face to face with a now blushing woman that had a wide eyed gaze. he tosses a few bills at her as payment for your latest purchase all while giving your backside a firm smack!

as you both walk out of the boutique, you basked in everyone’s shocked expression (red face and all!) while showing them your own, victorious smile-

having the leader of onychinus as your lover meant that you would always have free reign to do whatever you wished to do (since everyone feared him and would never wish to go against him), and even if you weren’t born with the world given to you on a silver platter-

sylus was all too willing to fix that and make it a reality for you.

end notes: so i had a n a u g h t y daydream earlier and decided to make it a r e a l i t y… (⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sylus x reader #sylus smut #sylus x y/n #sylus qin x reader #sylus qin smut #sylus x you #sylus fluff #lads smut #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace

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chiacanwritesometimes · 3 months ago

Text

shopping headcanons!

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨🛒୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 765

authors note: light hearted hc’s since ive been writing a lot of hurt/comfort. next fic is gonna be a little painful, so im giving a fluff offering before that! this one was really fun to write :) no warnings!! this was inspired by my recent shopping trip lolol, enjoy!

===========

shopping with bucky wasn’t easy. the few times you convinced him to go with you, he stayed a little grumpy throughout the trip. he mostly went to keep you safe, to watch you while you were in the zone. the times he didn’t go, he constantly checked your location, similar to a worried mother. when you came home, he would pepper kisses around you, exhaling in relief that you came home safely.

when shopping for groceries, he spent most of the time scoffing at the prices. almost as if on command, he would say, “back in my day, milk was a quarter”, or something of that nature. that always made you giggle and roll your eyes, so he was glad that his annoyance with inflation made you smile. he would try to buy 10 pounds of beef behind your back, but when you caught him, you both negotiated a reasonable amount to keep.

he would often visit the fruit section, and see if plums were in season. if plums weren’t there, his second option were mangoes, and if those weren’t there he would get oranges. despite how much he complained about going to the store, he enjoyed seeing you concentrated on the products, and making a calculated choice. he also enjoyed seeing other people, wondering why they were there. he would assign them backstories, for example: a nervous teenage boy in the flower section was about to go on his first date, an older woman with a warm appearance was buying ingredients to make brownies for her grandchildren, etc. it brought him some feeling of comfort, as if he was just another civilian with no other care. that, of course, wasn’t the case, but he liked to imagine it anyway.

when shopping for gifts, he would always suggest a candle, because that was the first thing you gifted him. he liked watching the little flame flicker, and was mesmerized by the comforting smell. he would ask you to buy a candle for him every time you went out the store, with an excuse that he ran out of his last one. he kept a secret collection underneath the bed, thinking you didn’t know. of course you knew, but you went along anyway, to please him. he was always excited to see what new smell you brought him this time, and kept certain smells in specific places. fruity for the bathroom, spice for the living room, citrus for the kitchen, eucalyptus and fresh linen for the laundry room. he had a whole system, and would change candles out for holidays. you enjoyed seeing him passionate about something, plus it made your house always smell good, so you never complained.

when shopping for household items, he suggested to buy in bulk, so as to make fewer trips overall. you agreed, but you both had different ideas as to what “in bulk” was. for you, it was buying a reasonable amount of toilet paper to last six months. for him, it was buying enough to last five years. you managed to compromise and land for 18 months, but you were always embarrassed checking out, because the cashier always had an amused look when seeing the amount of toiler paper in your shopping cart.

when checking out, you always paid in joint. he would pay half, and as would you, unless there were special circumstances. after paying his half, he would excuse himself, saying he needed to go to the bathroom or something. he then would run to the flower section of the store, grab a bouquet that you were eyeing, and pay through self checkout. by the time he finished paying, so did you, and he met up with you, bouquet in hand. despite how many times you told him not to spend money on those sorts of things, you always had the biggest smile on your face, so he never listened to you.

when unloading the shopping bags into the car, he would hand you a few bags, and escort you to the passenger seat. he didn’t want you doing a lot of work, plus he liked being the one to organize what goes where.

after arriving to your home, you would take a few bags and unlock the front door, returning to grab more bags. you’d always see him with all of the bags in his metal hand, and the other hand closing the trunk. he would smile sheepishly and hand you two bags from the bunch.

shopping with bucky wasn’t easy, but it certainly was entertaining.

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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 2 months ago

Text

exhibitionism

part II

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: If someone had told you a few nights ago that you'd be in the penthouse of some fancy high-rise—with a man that looked like salvation and sin had a baby, talking about him paying your rent—you'd have laughed in their face... but here you are. Guess the price of a drink isn't so much after all.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 6,170

A/N: Fr, I disgust and fascinate myself. Sometimes I feel like I should either be sectioned or studied, and there is no in between. I am so excited to get the next few instalments of this out... this one is kinda like, me trying to manifest. Wish I could just get picked up at some bar by a rich, pretty man who fucks like he's gonna kill me—but then I'd have to actually leave my house, so it's a no from me. Sigh. Anyways... the same usual bullshit, please let me know what you thought, I hope you enjoyed, and if you read part one and this one??? Thank you so much from me, my vile brain, my rotten heart, and my unsalvageable soul. <3 This is part two. You know the drill: if the warnings listed above aren't evident yet, they will be. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

You were buzzing.

Coke and whiskey in your bloodstream, Ben in your mouth.

Your dress was bunched high around your waist, tight and crumpled from how fast he’d hauled you into his lap. His shirt was ripped open, top buttons gone, fabric hanging loose against his chest, but he didn’t give a fuck.

Didn’t give a single fuck about anything but the way you moved against him.

Because you were squirming.

His grip on you—firm, commanding, possessive as hell—only made it worse.

One hand tight around your throat, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The other? Knotted into the fabric at the small of your back, using your own dress as a fucking handle, keeping you grinding down onto his lap.

And fuck.

You could feel him.

Hard and heavy beneath you, his dress pants doing nothing to hide it, nothing to stop it from pressing right against your core.

Each pass of your panty-clad cunt over his cock had you panting into his mouth.

And Ben fucking loved it.

"Goddamn, look at you," he rasped, breaking the kiss just long enough to smirk, smug and filthy, licking back into your mouth like he was staking a claim. "Grindin’ on me like you need it."

His grip flexed, a rough squeeze at your waist, shifting you down harder.

"You got a hot little body, sweetheart."

A pause. A smirk. A slow roll of his hips up into you.

"Bet I could throw you over my fuckin’ shoulder."

The words sent a pulse of heat straight through you.

His hands were everywhere, sliding slow over your waist, over your ribs, mapping you out like he was taking his time figuring out where he wanted you most.

Then—low, thoughtful, teasing, like he was talking more to himself than to you—

"Wonder how many places on you I could do a line off."

Your breath hitched.

Ben leaned back slightly, eyes dragging over you, appraising. Then, the tip of his finger—a slow, lazy drag over your collarbone.

"Right here’d be nice."

His grip shifted, moving you higher in his lap, adjusting you like you weighed nothing.

"Bet your ribs would do real fuckin’ nice, too."

Then—rough, slow, hot—his hand slipped beneath your dress, palming your tits, kneading once, twice, fingers curling just enough to make you shudder.

A pause. A smirk. A squeeze.

"Shit. Definitely these."

Your breath left you in a stuttering exhale, body already pliant beneath his hands, already drowning in the high, in him.

And Ben just grinned, because he wasn’t even close to done.

His hands were a map, and you were territory he had every intention of conquering.

A rough palm dragged slow, deliberate, up your ribs, fingers spreading wide over your sides like he could measure you by touch alone. Like he was memorising you. And maybe he was. Maybe he wanted to know every dip, every ridge, every place that made you whimper when he pressed down just right.

And God—he pressed just right.

Calloused fingertips brushed the underside of your breast, teasing, testing, like he was deciding whether he wanted to be soft or cruel. A moment stretched between you, held taut, suspended in the space where anticipation turns to ache.

Then—

A squeeze. Firm. Commanding. No hesitation.

Your breath hitched, body jolting like you’d been shocked, like every nerve ending had just woken up all at once.

Ben grinned.

“There it is,” he murmured, voice low, rough with satisfaction. “Knew you’d be sensitive.”

His thumbs dragged slow circles over your stiffening nipples, teasing them through the fabric, revelling in how your body reacted to him, how easy it was to pull you apart.

“You like that, huh?” He teased, voice thick, edged in amusement, but his hands were anything but playful.

They were greedy.

Sliding beneath the fabric, tugging it down, baring you to the open air. And fuck—the moment your chest was bare, he exhaled sharp through his nose, like the sight alone did something to him, like it got to him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Shit, sweetheart.” A slow, appreciative drag of his thumb over your bare nipple, teasing, testing. “You got perfect tits.”

You shivered beneath him, squirming in his lap, hips dragging over the thick ridge of his cock. His jaw clenched at the friction, breath hissing out through his teeth.

And then—slow, indulgent—

He dipped his head.

You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on you, open, wet, tongue dragging hot over your nipple. His teeth followed, a sharp, deliberate graze that sent a lightning bolt straight between your legs.

Your moan broke apart in his hair, fingers tangling in the thick waves, nails digging in like you needed something to hold onto, something to ground you while he devoured you.

And Ben—

Ben fucking loved it.

He groaned low in his throat, biting down just to feel the way you jerked against him. He pulled away with a wet pop, smirking as he sat back to admire his work.

“You should see yourself,” he muttered, gaze heavy-lidded, voice molten. “S’fuckin’ obscene.”

His hands flexed on your waist, like he was grounding himself, like he needed something to keep him tethered to control.

Then, his gaze flicked up, slow and knowing.

“Bet they can see you,” he murmured, voice dipping low, dangerous.

Your stomach clenched.

The windows. The massive, floor-to-ceiling windows.

Ben shifted beneath you, dragging you forward just a little, tilting your body just enough toward the glass.

“Yeah,” he rasped, voice thick with amusement. “That’s a fuckin’ view.”

Heat roared up your spine, an electric thrill that burned hot and fast.

“Ben—”

His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat. He grinned.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he crooned, voice all whiskey-smoke and sin. “Give ‘em a show.”

Your dress was bunched around your waist now, little more than a crumpled band of fabric cinched tight around your middle, the only thing stopping you from being entirely exposed. Not that it mattered—Ben’s hands were already everywhere, pawing, gripping, rubbing, mapping you out like he owned you.

And fuck—maybe he did.

Because you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but react as he dragged his teeth over the curve of your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you gasp. His hands flexed at your waist, fingers digging into soft flesh like he could mould you into something that fit against him just right.

And then he laughed—low, rough, filthy—the sound rumbling through his chest where it pressed to yours.

“Yeah,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin, voice thick with amusement, thick with certainty. “Yeah, think I am gonna pin you to that fuckin' window.”

Your stomach clenched.

“Think you’ll look real fuckin’ pretty,” he continued, almost to himself, like he was picturing it already. “Facedown, hands pressed to the glass, legs shakin’ while I split you in two.”

A sharp pulse of heat slammed through you, left you breathless, trembling against him.

And then—

A thought.

A horrible, crashing realisation that sent ice cutting through the heat.

You only met this man hours ago.

Hours.

You had told him, told him, that you weren’t the kind of girl to go home with a stranger, to let yourself fall into something like this—

And yet, here you were.

Ben stilled against you.

And then—slow, deliberate, knowing—

His hand came up, fingers curling around your jaw, thumb pressing soft against your cheek. A firm, grounding touch.

His gaze flicked over your face, sharp, assessing, before he smirked.

“You wanna do another bump?” He murmured, voice almost gentle beneath the rasp, like he was offering you an out. “We can just do more blow, sweetheart. Ain’t tryin’ to break your pretty little brain.”

The words knocked something loose inside you, sent a rush of something devastating straight through your ribs.

Because he wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t making this decision for you.

He wanted this. That much was clear. But he was also giving you the choice.

And God—that almost made it worse. Because now? Now, you wanted both.

A whimper slipped past your lips before you could stop it, and Ben grinned. His fingers trailed slow, teasing, over the front of your panties. A featherlight touch, barely there. Not enough.

You jerked against him with a gasp, body betraying you, every muscle locking tight.

Ben chuckled. “Better fuckin’ answer me, though, sweetheart,” he drawled, teasing the fabric again, rubbing just right, just enough to make your thighs twitch. “Or I’m gonna take your silence as an answer.”

Your lips parted, the words stuck somewhere between your brain and your tongue. “It’s just—” You swallowed, voice unsteady. “It’s moving very fast, and I’m a little—”

Ben barked a sharp, amused laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he snorted. “My coke’ll do that to ya.”

And then—before you could say another word—

He bit at your shoulder, dragging his teeth over your skin, pulling a breathless little whimper from your throat before he reached up and tugged the straps of your dress back over your arms.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he muttered, smoothing the fabric into place, voice dipping into something lower, steadier, controlled. “You’re gonna have some more to drink, and if you feel like pickin’ this up later, we will.”

His hands flexed against your hips before slipping away entirely.

“But right now?” His gaze flicked up, locking onto yours, something smug and knowing behind the dark green. “I wanna know why a pretty girl like you is all on her own in New York, hangin’ out with rich little valley-girls who don’t got half the braincells you clearly do.”

A pause. A smirk. A slow lean back against the couch, like he had all the time in the world to sit here and unravel you one conversation at a time.

“So c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, nodding toward the glass. “Drink up. Talk to me.”

Ben didn’t let you move.

He kept you right there, nestled in his lap, dress still bunched around your waist, your bare skin pressed against the warmth of his chest. He was solid beneath you, unshakable, the heat of his body sinking into yours like an anchor, like he wasn’t letting you slip out of his grasp just yet.

Not until he got what he wanted.

With a lazy reach, he snagged your drink off the side table, passing it to you without a word. Then—slow, easy—he leaned forward, fingers brushing the small of your back as he stretched for his own glass on the coffee table. The ice clinked when he lifted it, settling back against the couch with a slow sip, swallowing deep while his eyes stayed locked on you.

Expectant.

Waiting.

You curled your fingers around your glass, rolling it between your palms for a moment before finally exhaling through your nose.

“There’s really not much to tell,” you murmured, lifting the whiskey to your lips, letting the sharp burn settle on your tongue before swallowing. “I wanted to go to college. My parents didn’t want me to.” A small shrug. “They gave me a choice—them, or school.”

Your lips twisted. A humourless little smirk.

“I chose myself.”

Ben hummed, something dark and approving curling beneath the sound, something satisfied.

“Luckily, I had some savings,” you continued, fingers tapping against the glass, eyes flicking somewhere over his shoulder, like you weren’t sure you wanted to see his reaction. “And I got into NYU—lit and language courses. Managed to find a little apartment in the city, scraped by.”

Ben watched you closely, drinking slow, letting you speak at your own pace.

“I met a lot of the girls by accident,” you admitted, a small laugh slipping out. “Only one of them was in lit and language, and she dropped out the second she realised it wasn’t all easy poetry and love sonnets. She struggled with the classics.” A small, wry shake of your head. “Most of them are talking about dropping out, and honestly? I’m surprised they’ve stuck with it this long.”

Ben’s lips twitched like he was amused.

“They obviously don’t actually want to study,” you mused, swirling the whiskey in your glass, watching the amber catch in the dim glow of the penthouse lights. “I love them, don’t get me wrong—they’re good friends. But they don’t have a clue what the real world is like.”

That made Ben laugh.

He squeezed your hip, fingers flexing, kneading you like he was rewarding you for that answer, for that little glimpse into how your mind worked.

“And what do you think the real world is?” He asked, amusement laced beneath the rasp.

You took another slow sip, savouring the burn before meeting his gaze.

“The real world isn’t sweet,” you murmured, voice dipping low, steady. “It’s not easy. It’s not some fucking apple-pie life.” Your nails tapped against the glass, a slow, idle rhythm. “It’s hard work. It’s grit. It’s having the fucking backbone to put yourself ahead of everyone else—even if it means being alone.”

Ben didn’t answer right away.

He just nodded, like he was really listening, like he was taking in every word, turning it over in his mind, rolling it around to see how it fit.

Then, his head tilted slightly, something thoughtful tugging at his brow.

“So you’re cut off from your parents, then?” He asked, voice quieter, weightier. “They ever try to get back in touch?”

A pause. A slow inhale through your nose.

“No,” you admitted simply, setting your drink aside. “I’m on my own because I chose it.” Your lips curled, something bitter, something faintly wry. “And they’re too bitter to accept that.”

Ben studied you for a long moment, his hand smoothing absent circles over your bare thigh.

Then, he nodded once—accepting.

“Good,” he murmured, like the answer satisfied him, like it made sense to him, like he could understand you now.

And then—slow, deliberate—he leaned back, finishing the last of his drink, ice clinking against the sides of the glass as he swallowed deep.

“Y’know,” he mused, smirking now, shifting slightly beneath you, letting you feel the solid weight of him still pressed between your legs. “I was plannin’ on fuckin’ you stupid tonight…”

A slow grin. A squeeze at your hip.

“But I gotta say—this is just as fun.”

Your smile lingered as Ben reached lazily for the table, fingers deft as he pulled his pack of cigarettes free. He tapped one out, then another, pressing the first between your teeth, the second between his own. The silver flick of his lighter cut through the dim light, and he leaned in, lighting yours first, then his, a slow, practiced inhale.

Smoke curled between you, hazy and slow, as his hands drifted back to your bare thighs, rubbing idly, his touch warm, absentminded—like he was meant to be touching you, like it was second nature.

You took a drag, held it, then exhaled as the question formed on your tongue.

“Why’d you pick me up tonight?”

Ben scoffed, a sharp, amused sound, shaking his head like it was a stupid question.

“‘Cause I saw you,” he muttered simply. “And somethin’ in my brain just… went off.”

You arched a brow, waiting, smoking.

He exhaled slow, watching the smoke billow toward the ceiling. “Wasn’t even lookin’ tonight,” he admitted, flicking his ashes into a crystal tray. “But then I saw you, and I knew.”

A pause. A thoughtful shift of his thumb over your inner thigh.

“I been lookin’ for somethin’ for a long time,” he murmured. “Every time I think I found it, turns out I ain’t.”

You watched him through the haze, waiting for him to elaborate.

He did.

“I want a girl with brains,” he said, voice smooth, slow. “But one that needs someone to take care of her.”

Your lips parted slightly, cigarette perched between them as you exhaled.

Ben smirked, watching your reaction as his fingers flexed against your thigh.

“Someone to look after,” he mused. “To pay for. To pamper. To spoil.”

His eyes dragged over the bare skin of your legs and stomach, the bunched-up fabric of your dress still wrapped around your waist, like he was already picturing it. Already imagining it.

“Someone I can take out,” he added, voice dipping lower. “Show off.”

A slow drag of his cigarette, another exhale.

“And the fact that you ain’t got a dad in the picture?” A sharp grin. “Sure as shit makes me think you need that, too.”

Your inhale was too sharp—you choked slightly, the smoke catching in your throat as you stared at him.

“Excuse me?” You coughed, voice incredulous.

Ben just laughed, unbothered, amused.

“I want a cute little trophy,” he said, shrugging, like it wasn’t a hard concept to grasp. “Someone to spoil.”

You squinted at him, suspicious. Accusing. “That sounds too good to be true.”

Ben barked another laugh, shaking his head.

You exhaled smoke through your nose, studying him. “What the hell do you even get out of that?”

His grin turned slow, sharp. Hungry.

“Gets me hot and bothered knowin’ someone relies on me for that shit.” His voice was easy, unashamed, a low hum of ownership beneath the words. “Makes me feel powerful.”

Your brows lifted. “I wouldn’t be comfortable accepting money.”

Ben clicked his tongue, shaking his head, fingers tightening slightly on your thigh.

“You’d be earnin' your fuckin’ money’s worth, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dipping into something darker, something heavier. His fingers traced slow, teasing circles against your bare skin. “I got some pretty specific tastes.”

Your breath hitched.

Ben smirked.

“Figure we should talk logistics,” he murmured, voice all silk and sin, exhaling a slow drag of smoke. “Before you start tellin’ me what you would and wouldn’t be comfortable with.”

You took another slow drag, the cigarette perched between your fingers, the smoke curling soft between you. “So,” you exhaled, tilting your head, eyes narrowing slightly. “What exactly are the logistics?”

Ben smirked like he’d been waiting for that question. Like he knew it was coming.

“Considerin’ it, sweetheart?”

You hesitated.

Because—fuck.

You barely had enough for rent this month. You’d been stretching meals, scraping by, barely keeping your head above water.

And this man. This stupidly gorgeous man—was offering you a lifeline.

A beautiful lifeline. A dangerous lifeline. One that looked like it belonged carved into stone, worshipped in some forgotten temple, decadent and divine, but somehow? Somehow, it was being handed directly to you.

You took another drag, exhaled slow, shrugged. “I’m thinking.”

Ben grinned, teeth flashing white in the dim light.

“Good,” he said, fingers flexing on your thighs. “I’ll pay your rent.”

Your stomach dropped. “What—”

“But,” he continued smoothly, like he hadn’t just casually shattered your entire world, “you gotta be here on weekends. Non-negotiable.”

You blinked. Stared. “You’re—serious?”

Ben lifted a brow, clearly amused by your disbelief. “Course I’m fuckin' serious.”

Your mouth opened, closed, opened again. Rent. Paid. Like it was nothing. Like it was spare change.

Ben chuckled at your expression, rubbing slow, warm circles over your inner thighs. “Hell,” he mused. “I can find you somethin’ a little nicer if you want. Maybe somewhere with a little balcony 'stead of a fire escape.”

Your breath hitched.

Because earlier, you’d told him you liked sitting on your fire escape in the rain, reading, listening to the city hum beneath you.

And he’d remembered.

Your fingers tightened around your cigarette. “I—I—” You choked slightly, shaking your head. “I couldn’t possibly accept that.”

Ben waved a hand, unbothered. “I’ll get you whatever clothes, shoes, bags, toys you want.”

Your brain short-circuited at that last word. Ben smirked.

“But,” he continued, “you gotta give me options at the start of the day.” A slow drag of his cigarette, eyes flicking over you, watching the way your breath stuttered. “I’ll be pickin’ what you wear.”

You let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head. “Jesus.”

He grinned, leaning back, satisfied. “You’ll have to come with me to events, too,” he added, like it was nothing. “Gala shit, whatever bullshit of the month I gotta do.” He exhaled smoke through his nose. “And I’ll be pickin’ your dresses, how you’re styled. All of it.”

You narrowed your eyes, squinting accusingly. “So you just want a doll, then?”

Ben grinned. Stubbed his cigarette out. Leaned forward, and nipped at your throat.

You gasped.

His hands were hot, heavy on your waist, fingers flexing like he could feel the way your pulse jumped.

“Exactly,” he murmured against your skin.

A slow lick up your throat.

“A doll to dress however I want.”

A sharp, teasing bite to your jaw.

“A doll to take out on my arm,” he murmured, voice thick with possession, “and make everyone jealous.”

A slow drag of his teeth over the curve of your chin.

“A doll to fuck however I want.”

And then—a harsh, wet suck to your bottom lip.

You twitched against him, hips reacting before your brain could catch up, a sharp little grind forward like your body already knew what it wanted.

Ben felt it. And grinned.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice dropping, hands flexing hard at your hips. “I think this’ll work just fine.”

A whine slipped past your lips, breathless and needy, as Ben sucked slow, wet bruises into the column of your throat, claiming you in real time. His teeth scraped against your pulse point, biting just enough to make your breath hitch, to make your thighs tremble against the heavy spread of his own.

“What’s the catch?” You murmured, laughing softly, your voice breaking slightly as his fingers dug into your thighs, hard enough to bruise, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Ben chuckled against your skin, teeth flashing before he bit down again—just because he could.

You inhaled sharply, tried to breathe through it, then muttered, “You’re not, like, exclusively into—” A pause, another quick inhale as his lips traced dangerously close to your jaw. “Butt stuff or something, are you?”

Ben’s laugh was a rasp, deep and rough, breaking against your skin as he rutted up into you, slow and deliberate, letting you feel how heavy and hard he still was beneath you.

He pulled back just enough to cock an eyebrow, amusement sharp in his darkened gaze.

“Not exclusively,” he murmured. Then, with a rough, deliberate squeeze to your ass, voice dipping into something filthy—

“But with an ass like yours?” He exhaled sharp through his nose, shaking his head slightly, almost disbelieving. “Jesus, sweetheart. Maybe I could be.”

A breathless laugh spilled from your lips, something light, heady, reckless, as you reached over to stub your cigarette out in the ashtray, right where he had stubbed his before.

Then—

You turned back to him, fingers threading through the thick waves of his hair, tugging him out of your neck just enough to force his gaze to yours.

And then, quiet, serious—

“You’re really serious about this?”

Ben’s gaze flicked down between you, grinned, then ground up into you again—

Slow. Deep. Deliberate.

Your lips parted, barely biting back a whimper, heat pooling between your thighs, an electric shiver snapping down your spine.

“That serious enough for you?” He rasped, voice thick with arrogance, with smug possession.

Your breath came shaky, uneven, and he grinned, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

“But,” he murmured, fingers skimming over your waist, “you gotta take care of me too, sweetheart.”

A pause. A slow drag of his hands up your sides, down your thighs.

“You gotta be here weekends,” he continued, voice easy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to spell this out for you. “Feed me. Cook for me.” His fingers flexed at your waist, grip tightening slightly. “Clean my clothes. Iron ‘em. Tidy up.”

Your breath stilled, your pulse skittering beneath your skin.

A good little housewife.

Your lips parted, but you didn’t speak—you just leaned in, pressing your mouth to his, soft at first, questioning, testing the weight of what he was offering.

Ben groaned low in his throat, hands tightening, pulling you flush against him. Between heated, messy kisses, he murmured.

“And you gotta be free-use.”

Your eyes widened, body tensing for half a second.

Ben chuckled against your lips, dragging his teeth over your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth.

“I’m gonna be fuckin’ you constantly if you agree to this,” he muttered, voice deep, low, filthy, sending another violent shiver racing down your spine.

A whimper caught in your throat, and you kissed him harder, giving in, sinking deeper into him.

Ben groaned, deep and approving, before his fingers trailed slow, teasing, down. A slow, lazy stroke over the front of your panties.

The second he felt it how soaked they were, sticky, slippery, ruined with your arousal—

A deep, throaty groan ripped from his chest, hips jerking sharply beneath you.

“Jesus fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, breath heavy, eyes dark. His fingers pressed in, slow, taunting, like he was savouring it. “You like that idea, huh?”

His grip tightened at your waist, his touch dangerous.

“Good,” he murmured, lips brushing yours, smirking. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

Ben’s smirk was dangerous.

“So,” he murmured, voice smooth as smoke, thick as honey, as he dragged his hands slow up your thighs, back to your waist. “You want a little preview?”

Your breath hitched.

A preview. Like you hadn’t already been teetering on the edge for what felt like hours. Like you weren’t already dripping onto his expensive dress pants.

Ben dragged you against his hips again, grinding slow and deep, letting you feel him, feel how thick and aching he was beneath you.

You whimpered, fisted your fingers in his hair, yanking his mouth to yours, desperate, hungry. Ben growled, lips crushing against yours, the sharp scrape of teeth, the hot slide of tongue, a filthy, unrestrained kiss.

He smirked against your lips. “That’s a yes.”

His grip tightened at your waist, and suddenly, you were on your feet, standing between his spread legs while his gaze never left yours. His fingers hooked into the back of your panties, knuckles brushing the curve of your ass as he dragged them down—

Slow. Excruciating.

When they pooled at your ankles, he finally let his eyes drop, taking in the sight of you—bare, soaked, completely exposed.

A deep, rough growl tore from his chest. “Get the fuck back here.”

You obeyed instantly, sinking back onto him, pressing tight against his chest, your breath ragged, your body shaking.

Ben wasted no time—

His mouth was everywhere. Dragging hot, open kisses down your throat, sucking, biting, licking, his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin beneath your jaw.

And then his hand. A slow slide over your inner thigh, up, up, up. His thumb swiped over your clit at the same time two fingers plunged deep inside you, curling immediately.

Your moan was loud, wrecked, head tipping back instinctively as heat snapped through your core, leaving you breathless.

Ben grinned against your throat, savoured the sound, pressed his teeth into your pulse point just to feel you jerk against him.

“Jesus fuck, sweetheart,” he murmured, mocking, smug, dragging his tongue up your neck. “You’re so—shit.”

His fingers worked you open, pressing, coaxing, owning.

“Look at you,” he crooned, filthy, adoring, watching you squirm against him, helpless. “So fuckin’ needy.”

He kissed along your jaw, slow, wet, his free hand gripping tight at your hip, keeping you right there.

“You like that, huh?”

A curl of his fingers. A rough stroke. A slow circle of his thumb over your clit.

You whined, head dropping forward, breath stuttering against his cheek.

Ben groaned low in his throat, voice pure gravel, pure sin. His fingers kept working, his mouth still on you, and you were already so close, stupidly close, fucking ruined in his lap.

You reached shaking hands down his chest, fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate, needing to feel him, needing him inside you.

Ben hissed at the touch.

Then—

“That’s my girl.”

Your hands still fumbled with his belt, fingers desperate, shaking, but Ben was already helping you, one hand lifting his hips, the other working your cunt open, his fingers still deep inside you, still coaxing, still fucking owning you.

The moment you freed him, his cock slapped against his stomach, thick and aching, flushed deep, angry red, already leaking.

You whimpered, breath ragged, and Ben groaned, deep and wrecked, before his free hand snapped up to your throat.

Firm. Not tight. Not choking. Just holding. Keeping you right where he wanted you.

You gasped at the loss of his kiss, at the distance, at the way he held you away from his mouth, away from where you wanted to be. You pouted, lips parted, eyes wide, pleading.

Ben laughed. Right in your face.

“You’re comin' before I fuck you.”

Your stomach dropped. Your thighs twitched.

His fingers squeezed the sides of your throat, not blocking air, just fucking with you, messing with the blood flow, sending heat flooding through your body, rushing straight to your cunt.

His fingers inside you curled—

Again. And again. And again.

Hitting that gummy, wreck-you part inside you with devastating accuracy, with purpose, control, intention.

Your entire body seized, shook, pleasure snapping through you like a live wire, dragging you under, tearing you apart in his lap. Ben groaned, feeling you grip his fingers, feeling your aftershocks tremble through you.

And then—

Before you could even ride it out. Before you could breathe. Before you could beg, he lined up and slammed into you from underneath.

Fucking buried himself in one brutal thrust.

Your gasp broke apart into a choked, wrecked moan, body spasming, still twitching from your orgasm, from the aftershocks, from the fucking stretch of him, from the way he split you open in one sharp stroke.

Ben groaned, deep and filthy, head tipping back against the couch, grip tight at your throat, still holding you away from his mouth, still keeping you where he wanted you.

“That’s a good fuckin' pussy,” he rasped, voice thick, heavy, wrecked.

A flex of his fingers around your neck. A sharp roll of his hips.

“Good girl.”

Your eyes rolled back, mouth open, hiccuping against the force of his thrusts, against the brutal, relentless pace he set beneath you, slamming into you, dragging you down onto him, using his grip on your throat to keep you right there.

Your moans turned into high, breathless whimpers, gasps, little hitched cries, and Ben laughed, low and mean, teeth flashing in the dim light.

“Shit. Look at you,” he rasped, dragging you forward, crushing his mouth against yours, swallowing your whines, your pathetic little noises, smirking against your lips. “Needy. Desperate.”

A sharp thrust, a deep grind, and you shattered, crying into his mouth, body wracked, trembling, the pleasure too much, too thick, too hot.

Ben just grinned, lips brushing yours, taunting.

“You’re gonna say yes.”

His pace didn’t slow. Didn’t falter. His cock dragged against everything, hitting so deep it was ruinous.

“You’re gonna be my little fuckin' doll.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, a blur of pleasure and pain, all-consuming, all-encompassing. You nodded against his mouth, whimpering, mindless, wrecked, owned.

Ben groaned, deep and fucking satisfied, sinking his teeth into your jaw, licking, biting, savouring.

“Yeah,” he muttered your name, voice dark, hoarse, so fucking smug. “That’s what I fuckin' thought.”

Ben didn’t slow. Didn’t let up. Didn’t give you a second to breathe, to think, to process. Just slammed into you, relentless, hips snapping up, driving his cock so deep, so brutal, that every sharp stroke sent another wrecked, hiccuping moan tumbling from your lips.

And he was loving it.

“Jesus fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, his voice pure filth, mean, mocking, laced with something so cruelly affectionate it made your stomach twist. “You’re just fuckin’—takin' it, huh?”

A sharp thrust. A grind. A deep, dragging stroke that had you wailing into his mouth.

Ben laughed, right against your lips, mocking, mean, so fucking smug.

“Shit, maybe you don’t even get to make the decision now,” he muttered, smirking when you whined, when your body jerked, your pussy clamping down around him. “You think I’m lettin’ you go after this?”

Your whimper was loud, desperate, needy, and Ben fucking loved it.

He grinned, teeth flashing, hips still pounding into you, cock dragging over everything, ruining you, wrecking you, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“You like that, huh?” He rasped, dragging his teeth over your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “Like the idea of bein’ kept?”

You whined again, thighs trembling, body twitching, so fucking close again.

Ben growled, hands snapping into your hair, fingers fisting at the nape of your neck, yanking your head back so he could look at you.

“Look at me.”

You obeyed immediately, eyes wide, glazed, ruined.

Ben’s grin widened, sharpened, before he patted your cheek—slow, patronising, possessive.

Then—

A smirk. A growl.

“You’re mine.”

Your body spasmed, another broken whimper ripping from your throat.

Ben felt it. And fucked you harder. His free hand slid between your bodies, thumb pressing down hard against your clit, circling, pressing, owning.

“Give me another one,” he demanded, voice low, commanding, dark with possession. "Come on, give me a-fuckin'-nother one, you dumb, little fuck."

Your body jerked, thighs twitching, cunt clenching down around him, and Ben groaned, sharp and wrecked, feeling you start to fall apart again.

“That’s it,” he crooned, mocking, sweet, the contrast so cruel it made tears prick at your eyes. “That’s my good fuckin’ girl, good little holes.”

Your breath stuttered, your mind blank, your body no longer yours.

Ben was ruining you. And ruining you for all other men. Because this was it. You were his. And you didn’t even need to say it. You both knew. He snarled into your neck, slamming into you, pace brutal, mean, relentless, pounding it home like he was forcing his claim into your body.

Your moans had long since melted into wrecked, broken noises, gasping, hiccupping, helpless little sounds, your body no longer your own, just something he was using, something he was taking apart, piece by piece.

And Ben? Ben was so fucking mean about it.

“Christ, listen to you,” he mocked, voice wrecked, gravel-thick, thick with filth, thick with praise disguised as degradation. “You really are just takin' it. Fuckin’ bred to take it.”

Your whimper was pathetic, and Ben grinned, laughing, low and cruel, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back, making sure you had no choice but to look at him, no choice but to see just how wrecked he was, just how much he was enjoying this.

“Not even thinkin’ anymore, huh?” He mocked, tilting his head, grinning when your eyes started to flutter, when your body trembled, when you swayed against him. “Look at you, goin’ all dumb on me, little fuckin' pussy.”

Your vision blurred, black creeping in at the edges, pleasure suffocating, overwhelming, too much, too much, too much—

A sharp slap to your cheek.

Your eyes flew open, a gasp breaking from your lips, and Ben laughed, feral, wild, fucking mean.

“Don’t you fuckin’ pass out on me now,” he growled, grip tightening on your throat, fucking into you harder, punishing, ruining. “You take it.”

You sobbed, body shaking, helpless, but Ben just grinned, groaned, felt you clenching down around him, felt you breaking apart in his lap.

And then—

His thrusts turned shallow, sharp, fast, urgent.

His fingers dug in, grip bruising, owning you, keeping you, claiming you.

A rough groan. A sharp snap of his hips. And Ben buried himself deep, cock pulsing, thick, hot, filling you up, owning you from the inside out.

You whined, legs trembling, and Ben just laughed, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses up your jaw, nipping at your cheek.

Then a pause. A smirk. A quiet, mocking chuckle.

“You on birth control?”

Your head shook against his shoulder, weak, unable to speak.

Ben grinned. Laughed.

“Guess I’ll pay for a Plan B in the mornin',” he murmured, voice thick, taunting, low and dangerous, dragging his teeth over your cheekbone, biting, savouring, possessing. “Not that it really fuckin’ matters.”

Another kiss, another nip, another mocking stroke down your spine.

“You made your choice yet, sweetheart?”

A shuddering breath. A wrecked, ruined nod. Your voice barely there.

“Yes.”

Ben exhaled, deep and satisfied, lifting you effortlessly, keeping you pressed to him, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Good fuckin’ job,” he murmured, voice dark, low, pleased, as he carried you through the penthouse. “‘Cause I wasn’t lettin’ you go either way.”

Ben held you in the shower, arms tight, body steady, keeping you upright while the hot water rushed over you both.

Your limbs were useless, muscles wrecked, body limp against his. Every shift, every movement, had you sliding against his chest, slipping through his hands, too exhausted to even try and support yourself.

Ben just laughed, low and cruel, mocking but fond.

“Useless little thing,” he muttered, amused, one hand braced against your hip, keeping you steady, the other dragging between your legs, spreading you open, fingers grazing where he was still leaking out of you.

Your breath hitched, a pathetic whimper escaping your lips as his thumb pressed in, smearing his cum deep, playing with it, watching it drip, watching you shudder beneath him.

“Poor thing,” he crooned, voice thick with mock sympathy, fingers dragging slow, cruel strokes against your wrecked cunt.

You tried to move away, tried to breathe, but Ben just held you there, trapped, grinning against your cheek as he kept playing with you.

Then a slow, firm press against your clit. A teasing circle. A sharp, mean flick.

Your entire body seized, pleasure crashing into you, so overwhelming, so brutal, that you sobbed against his shoulder, wrecked, shaking, broken apart again.

Ben just hummed, pleased, dragging his fingers away, leaving you twitching, gasping, your entire body trembling.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, shaking his head, mocking, adoring, as he lifted you up, turned the water off, carried you from the shower, still laughing to himself as you hiccupped against his skin.

He dried you off, hands rough, quick, then carried you to his bedroom, laying you both down, pulling you onto him, keeping you pressed against his chest.

His hands were slow now, absentminded, soothing, dragging lazy strokes down your spine, over your hips, fingers tracing over your wrecked, ruined body, feeling the aftermath of what he did to you.

“Takin' you out tomorrow,” he murmured, voice gravel-thick, thick with satisfaction, possession, something darker.

Your eyes fluttered, already halfway to sleep.

“Wanna see the shithole you live in.”

Your lips parted. A weak protest, a pathetic attempt at arguing. But you were too tired, too gone, too fucking wrecked. You just nodded, body soft, pliable, sinking deeper into him.

Ben grinned, fingers flexing against your waist, dragging you tighter against him.

“Good girl,” he muttered, pressing a slow, claiming kiss to your temple. “Get some rest.”

A squeeze at your hip. A slow, mocking drag of his fingers over your spent, oversensitive cunt.

“Givin’ you a rough wake up call in the morning.”

Your breath hitched, body tensing, but before you could even process it, before you could react, sleep took you under.

@mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @itshellfire @nevercameraready @suckitands33 @kayleighwinchester @imtheworst123 <3

#pfiahc writes #my writing #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #soldier boy au #soldier boy fic #the boys smut #the boys au #the boys fanfiction #the boys fanfic #soldier boy x female reader #the boys x female reader #the boys x reader #the boys x you

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loveesiren · 1 month ago

Text

YUCK!

Kwon Jiyong x Reader | Infinity Crew Masterlist

a/n: hi babies! Thank you all for being patient while I wasn't feeling well. I wrote this up last week and just got back to editing it today and I thought I'd post it while I work on the next part of Cross My Heart! Idk how much a love this but hopefully you guys enjoy! Part of the Infinity Crew series.

synopsis: In which Y/n and Jiyong first meet and she is scared of her feelings for him. Inspired by the song Yuck by Charli XCX.

warnings: alcohol, language, Y/n being a little angsty, Jiyong being fluffy, brief mention of grandmothers death

wc: 3.8k+

Your eyelids felt heavy as they fluttered open, sunlight piercing through the half-closed blinds, painting streaks of gold across the rumpled sheets. A dull, pounding ache bloomed behind your temples, making you wince as you let out a groan. The stale scent of alcohol and sweat clung to the air, remnants of last night’s chaos.

It took a moment for your vision to adjust, for your mind to piece together the fragmented blur of the night before. Your room looked like a crime scene—discarded clothes draped over furniture, empty shot glasses and half-drunk bottles littering the floor. A purse, whose owner you weren’t even sure of, had spilled its contents across your dresser.

Beside you, Jaki stirred, her messy hair sticking out at odd angles as she let out a sleepy grunt. On the floor, Bella was sprawled out on a pile of blankets, still snoring, her arm draped over a crushed bag of chips. Somewhere beyond the wreckage, retching sounds echoed from behind your bathroom door. Mari.

Jaki rubbed her eyes, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

You reached for your phone, fingers fumbling over the nightstand. Miraculously, it was on the charger. At least drunk you had been responsible enough to remember that.

“10:30,” you croaked before groaning again, the reality of morning-after regret sinking in.

Jaki sighed, pushing herself upright. “God, what did we do last night?” She dragged herself out of bed, stepping over empty cans and rogue heels before nudging Bella with her foot. “Wake up.”

Bella grunted in protest, hugging the chip bag closer.

Still half-asleep, you tapped at your phone, squinting at the bright screen. As you scrolled through the mess of notifications, one stood out—an unfamiliar number. Your thumb hovered before clicking it open.

Hey! I had a lot of fun last night. Hope you all made it home in one piece! - Jiyong

Your brows furrowed. Jiyong? A flicker of recognition tugged at your memory, but nothing solid formed. “Hey, do you guys remember a Jiyong from last night?”

Bella’s groggy voice perked up immediately. “How do you not? You had your tongue down his throat the entire night.”

A jolt of recollection shot through you like static. Sudden, disjointed flashes of neon lights, pulsing music, and warm hands on your waist hit you all at once. The shots of tequila. The VIP section. The group of boys whose presence commanded attention. And him.

Brightly colored hair. A dangerous smile. The taste of liquor on his lips as you lost yourself in him.

“Shit.”

Mari, looking half-dead as she stumbled out of the bathroom, flopped onto the floor beside Bella. “What’s wrong?” she mumbled, pulling a blanket over herself.

“You don’t remember?” Bella smirked. “He was hot.”

“And really nice!” Mari added.

You blinked. “He was?”

Your luck with men had always been questionable at best. Back home, you had a tendency to fall for the ones who didn’t give a damn about you. Moving to Korea had been different—men here were blunt, sometimes brutally so, which at least cut through the bullshit. You had stopped looking for anything real a long time ago, opting instead for fun, no strings attached. And it had been working for you.

“Yeah!” Mari stretched with a yawn. “Honestly, they all were. They bought us drinks, let us sit at their table, and even made sure we got home safe. Kind of rare these days.” Her head tilted. “Did he text you?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”

Jaki, suddenly much more awake, clapped her hands together. “Text him back!”

You sighed, biting your lip. So what if you made out with a hot guy last night? That didn’t mean anything would come of it.

“He’s in a baaanddd,” Bella teased, dragging out the words.

You rolled your eyes. “A band?” You knew the type.

“Oh yeah!” Mari snapped her fingers, trying to recall. “Bang something…”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest as you shook your head. Still, curiosity got the better of you, and you tapped out a response.

Hey! Thanks for the drinks and making sure we got home safe. It was fun!

A second later, your phone vibrated again.

You busy tonight? We have a show at the Jamsil. It’s our last show of the tour.

Your heart stuttered. The Jamsil? That place was massive. Stadium-level massive. In fact, it was a stadium. The kind of venue that only serious artists played.

You sat up straighter. “Guys…”

“What?” they all asked in unison.

“I think he wants us to go to their concert tonight.”

Bella groaned, rubbing her temples. “Ugh, I need a hangover cure first. But what bar are they playing at?”

“Not a bar…” You swallowed.

Jaki, raising a brow, asked, “Then where?”

You licked your lips, staring at the message as if it might change. “Jamsil Stadium.”

Silence. Then—

“Wait, what?!” Mari bolted upright. “Are they like…opening for someone?”

Your friends quickly scrambled for their phones to look up who would be playing at the stadium that night.

“Big Bang?” Mari questioned, glancing at the others. None of you had heard of them.

Your thumbs hesitated over the keyboard before typing out a new message.

Oh haha, what was the name of your band again?

His response came almost instantly.

Lol, BIGBANG

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The teasing was relentless.

Over the next week, your best friends took every opportunity to poke fun at the way you grinned at your phone, the way your fingers hovered over the screen a second longer than necessary, the way your cheeks flushed every time Jiyong’s name lit up your notifications.

It didn’t help that the memories of that night lingered in your mind like an intoxicating haze—BIGBANG’s concert, the electricity in the air, the way the entire stadium pulsed with their music. You and your friends had been given VIP treatment, watching from backstage before being pulled to the afterparty like you belonged there.

And Jiyong…

Jiyong had barely let you out of his sight.

His hand had found your hip early in the night and never strayed far, his grip possessive but never suffocating, a quiet declaration to everyone in the room. His voice had been a constant in your ear, warm and teasing, sending shivers down your spine every time he leaned in close. The buzz in your veins hadn’t just been from alcohol this time—it had been him.

You had been sober enough to feel every nerve in your body react to his touch, every stolen glance sending a thrill through your chest. And despite the slight nerves that danced in your stomach, you hadn’t pulled away. Because you liked it. You liked the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, the way he tilted your chin toward him with a lazy smirk, like he had every right to.

And then there were the texts.

Jiyong wasn’t like the men you were used to—he didn’t play games, didn’t make you wait, didn’t let hours or days pass before acknowledging you.

With him, there was no guessing, no second-guessing.

You weren’t sure if you liked it.

Or maybe… that was just the wall you had spent years building, screaming at you to run.

And yet, here you were, sitting at brunch with your best friends, stomach twisting as your phone buzzed for the tenth time that morning.

“Is that him again?” Jaki teased, sipping her mimosa with a knowing smirk.

“Oh my god, he’s obsessed with you,” Mari grinned, leaning in with wide eyes.

Bella, ever the devil’s advocate, leaned back in her chair with a smirk. “Ignore him. Make him work for it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “You guys are unbearable.”

But even as you protested, you lifted your phone, heart skipping when you saw his message.

May I take you out tonight?

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, your teeth sank into your bottom lip.

“Oh my god, she’s in looooove,” Mari sang, drawing out the words dramatically.

You scoffed, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. Quickly, you schooled your expression, flipping your phone facedown on the table. “No, I’m not.”

Jaki, unimpressed, rolled her eyes. “Don’t let these idiots scare you out of something good.” She reached across the table, squeezing your hand.

“We weren’t trying to be mean!” Mari pouted, leaning in closer. “I think you should keep talking to him!”

“I was being mean,” Bella admitted, giggling—only to yelp as Jaki kicked her under the table. “Ow! Bitch!”

You sighed, shaking your head at their antics, but the truth sat heavy on your chest. “It’s not that serious.”

Jaki snorted. “Please. He was all over you at the afterparty. He texts you nonstop. Y/n, stop being a coward and go out with the man.”

Before you could protest, the sound of your doorbell interrupted.

Your brows knit together. No one was supposed to be coming over, and you and the girls had barely rolled out of bed for brunch.

Grabbing your phone, you opened your Ring app—and blinked.

There was no one there.

Just a bouquet of flowers sitting at your doorstep.

“What the hell…” you muttered, rising to your feet.

Mari, ever the nosy one, was already on your heels as you opened the door. The moment she spotted the flowers, she let out a shriek.

“Oh my god!!!”

Before you could even react, she snatched up the bouquet and bolted back inside.

“Look what Jiyong sent her!!!” she screeched, parading the flowers like a trophy.

“Mari, stop!” you groaned, chasing after her. “You don’t even know if they’re from him!”

Jaki was already on her feet, fingers sifting through the bouquet in search of a card. The moment she found it, her eyes gleamed with triumph.

Clearing her throat dramatically, she read aloud:

'Y/n, I wanted to thank you for coming to our final show. You made the night beautiful. You’re beautiful. xx, Jiyong.'

The room exploded.

Your friends screamed in unison while you dropped to the floor, face buried in your hands, utterly mortified.

“Oh my god, he LOVES you!” Mari gasped, bouncing on her heels.

“This is like a K-drama,” Bella wheezed.

Jaki clutched her chest. “I’m so happy for you.”

This was so weird.

Finally, when the chaos died down and your heartbeat returned to a semi-normal pace, you picked up your phone.

Your fingers hesitated before typing.

Why’d you send flowers? The girls are getting the wrong impression.

Like clockwork, he responded within seconds.

Wrong impression? I like you. That’s the impression I’m trying to make.

You stared at the screen, pulse hammering in your throat.

You wanted to fight it—wanted to roll your eyes, wanted to tell him to fuck off before he got too close, before you started to hope.

But the flutter in your stomach betrayed you.

And for once, you let it.

What time should I be ready?

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Dates with Jiyong became addicting in the worst possible way.

He was too much.

Too chivalrous. Too affectionate. Too willing to hold doors open, place a protective hand on the small of your back, press soft kisses to your forehead before pulling you in for something deeper, something dizzying.

Too fucking Kwon Jiyong.

It was infuriating.

He knew exactly what he was doing, the way he’d brush his fingers across your skin like he'd known you for a lifetime, the way his thumb would skim your bottom lip before capturing your mouth with his. It made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t used to.

You weren’t supposed to like it this much. And yet, every time your phone lit up with his name, a warmth spread through your chest before you even had time to think.

You weren’t an idiot—you knew what this meant.

Actual feelings.

Yuck.

You sat on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, as the thought actually liking him played in loops inside your head. You hadn’t had real feelings for anyone in years. And yet, Kwon fucking Jiyong had waltzed into your life and made your heart flutter like some tragic romance cliché.

You refused to text your friends about it. You already knew what they’d say.

"Go for it!"

"He’s so into you!"

"Just let yourself be happy!"

No. Absolutely not.

So, instead, you did what you did best.

You drank.

It wasn’t self-destructive if you were just trying to clear your mind, right?

You set your phone on the charger, ignoring the missed texts from Jiyong, and padded into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of soju.

Shot after shot, you turned the music louder, drowning out the overthinking, the gnawing doubt, the lingering heat of Jiyong’s touch. You lost yourself in the beat, dancing around the empty house, laughing into the dimly lit living room.

And then—

It hit.

A wave of something dark, something hollow, something that made the room spin in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.

Your laughter faded as you looked around, eyes scanning the walls, the furniture, the memories embedded in this house.

This was where you spent your childhood summers—where you and your cousins wrestled in the living room, where your grandmother sat by the window, humming old lullabies in Korean, always watching, always loving.

She had been your everything.

She had adored you, called you her “Shining Star.” When she passed, she left this house to you, trusting you with it, believing in you.

But tonight? You didn’t feel like a star.

You felt like a fraud. A drunk, struggling, social media star with no real direction, no solid ground beneath your feet.

Tears pricked at your eyes before you even realized it. You blinked them away, shaking your head. No. Not tonight.

You needed something real. Something solid.

Your hands fumbled for your phone, eyes blurring as you found Jiyong’s number and pressed the call button before you could second-guess it.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Jagi!" he cooed, his voice warm, affectionate.

You swallowed, forcing a smile into your tone. “Hey, Jiiii…”

There was a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m great! Never better!”

He exhaled, a soft chuckle trailing through the receiver. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be calling me. I’m a lame old man, remember?”

You chewed your lip, thinking back to your last date—the one where he had tried to open up, where you had deflected every question, every attempt at something real.

Your chest ached.

Maybe… maybe he wasn’t so bad. Maybe liking him wasn't such a bad thing.

“Well… maybe you’re kinda cool?” you teased, voice slurring slightly.

You could almost hear his smirk.

Then, softly—“Ji… are you real?”

There was a pause, like he was trying to decipher the weight behind your words.

“Yeah, I’m real, baby,” he murmured, voice softer now. Waiting. Hoping, that you needed him.

Your head spun, emotions colliding with the alcohol in your system. “If you’re real… prove it.”

Silence.

Then, his voice came through the phone, calm, certain.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

The call ended before you could protest. You let out a breathless chuckle, throwing yourself onto the couch as the liquor coursed through your veins. The room tilted, the world blurring around the edges.

Then—

A sharp knock at the door.

You inhaled deeply, pushing yourself upright, swaying slightly as you found your footing. For a second, you hesitated—wondering if maybe you were hallucinating this entire thing.

But when you swung open the door, there he was.

Jiyong.

Bright hair catching the moonlight, dark eyes scanning you with equal parts amusement and concern.

“Ji!” you cooed, stumbling forward, arms flinging around him. Your cheek pressed against his chest, his warmth sinking into your skin, grounding you.

“You’re really real…” you sighed.

His arms wrapped around you, steady and strong. “Yeah, I’m real, Jagi.”

His voice was soft, patient. “How much have you had to drink?”

You hummed against him, pressing your nose into the fabric of his hoodie. “Mmm, dunno…”

He sighed, but you could feel his smile. He picked you up effortlessly, carrying you inside like you weighed nothing, setting you down gently on the couch.

“I’ll order some food, yeah?”

You blinked up at him, lips curling into a slow smirk. “I can be your food…” you muttered, attempting to be seductive. In reality, you probably just looked like a fish gasping for air.

Jiyong snorted, shaking his head as he helped you sit upright. “Jagi, as much as I’d love that… you’re drunk.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s get some food in you, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

He said it so easily, like he was sure he’d still be here. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.

Your chest tightened. You weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to being wanted without conditions.

It made you panic. It made you angry.

“Am I ugly or something?!” you snapped, frustration bubbling up inside you.

Jiyong stilled, studying you with something dangerously close to adoration.

Then, with a knowing sigh, he ran a hand through his hair.

Falling in love with you was going to be a problem.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Waking up in Jiyong’s arms wasn’t something you had planned, nor was it something you ever thought would feel this right.

His warmth surrounded you, his steady breaths fanning against the back of your neck, his arm draped effortlessly over your waist like he had every right to be there.

And God, it felt good.

Too good.

Your heartbeat picked up as reality settled in. How had this happened? Oh, right. You called him. You practically begged him to come over. You clung to him all night, let him be your anchor in the whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t control. You let yourself feel safe.

And now? Now that it was morning, now that the haze of alcohol had lifted, it terrified you.

Jiyong shifted slightly, pressing himself closer, his grip tightening like he could sense the storm brewing inside you.

“I can feel you staring at me, Jagi.” His voice was husky, teasing, laced with that lazy morning rasp that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

His eyes remained closed, but his lips curled into a knowing smile.

You tensed.

"What are you doing here?" you asked abruptly, jerking out of bed like you’d been caught in something you shouldn’t have been.

Jiyong's eyes finally fluttered open, watching you with quiet amusement as you stumbled to your feet, your breath unsteady.

“What am I doing here?” he echoed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “You called me, Y/n.”

His tone was calm, patient—too patient. Like he was already used to you pulling away, like he was waiting for it.

Your mind replayed every hazy memory from last night. The drunk dialing. The way you asked him to come over instead of your best friends. The way you curled into him as if he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

And now you were running.

Panic gripped your chest.

“You’re acting like a sick puppy,” you snapped, voice sharp, laced with something almost desperate. “Following me around all the time!”

It was a low blow, and you knew it the moment the words left your lips. But Jiyong didn’t flinch.

Instead, a quiet sigh left him, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered in his gaze.

And then, he smirked. Like he had already expected this. Like he had already figured you out.

He pushed himself out of bed, the sheets slipping from his toned torso as he stood, stretching slightly before making his way toward you. His sweatpants sat low on his waist, and despite your panic, you stole a glance.

God, he was so unfairly hot.

But it wasn’t just that. It was him.

It was the way he carried himself, the way he knew exactly when to push and when to pull back, the way he had a goddamn patience for you that no one else had ever had.

He stopped a breath away from you, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Tell me you never want to see me again.”

Your stomach twisted.

“W-What?”

His dark eyes burned into yours.

“Tell me you never want to see me again, and I’ll fuck off. I’ll never contact you again.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut. You swallowed thickly, but nothing came out. He wasn’t playing games. He was serious.

Your lips parted, but your voice failed you. Because the truth was, you didn’t want him to go.

You had spent so long building walls, running from anything that felt real, convincing yourself that love wasn’t for you.

And yet, here he was. Kwon Jiyong. Standing in front of you, offering you something real.

And you couldn’t tell him to leave.

His jaw tensed slightly, like he was bracing himself for rejection. But then, with quiet resolve, he added—

"But I like you, Y/n. A lot.”

Your breath hitched.

His voice was steady, unwavering. “If you give me a chance, I want to show you just how much.”

Your heart stopped.

For a split second, you almost ran.

You almost threw up another wall, another excuse, another reason why he should stay far away from you.

But instead—

Your hands reached for his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him into you, lips crashing together in a fiery, desperate kiss.

He didn’t hesitate.

Jiyong’s hands immediately found your waist, gripping you tight, pulling you flush against him. You gasped against his lips, your body molding into his as heat surged through your veins.

And fuck, he felt good.

Every touch, every movement, every hungry press of his lips sent a spark through you.

His hands slid lower, fingers digging into your hips as you felt him—all of him—against your stomach, his arousal evident through his sweats.

A shiver ran down your spine, your head spinning for a completely different reason now.

"I'm sober now. Is that enough consent for you?" you breathed, words tumbling from your lips between heated kisses.

Jiyong pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged.

"As long as you stop pushing me away..." he panted, his lips trailing down your jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin.

Your pulse thundered, your fingers gripping onto his arms like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Deal.”

A deep, satisfied hum rumbled from his chest.

Then—he grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you back toward the bed.

You could feel the raw need in his grip, in the way his lips never left your skin, in the way his hands held you like you were something precious.

And as he laid you down, hovering over you, eyes dark with hunger and something dangerously close to devotion—

You knew.

This boy would be worth it.

Tags: @fr3akyyg1rll @heuningpie @sapph1r3x @moondooll @tranquilty @noharaaa @mariaxman @dear-satan @infinetlyforgotten @staryscorner @blu-brrys @come-as-you-are-111 @nicklet94 @vamplivivi @3mma-lovely @hanadulsetaad @sayugarper @forevervibezzzz1 @shieraseastarrs @mooonologyy @skzdreamz @stillpervert @seunghyunwifey @juliskopf @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama @kai-277 @rotten-toenails @i-might-be-vanny @zzhengyu @petersasteria @manuzicaveyr @maskedcrawford @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefoundhallnotbefound @babygirlewis @multifanxtvshows @readin0nsense @anonymip @lilysdoll @uuchii @pinkpunkdynamite @lariem-blog2 @sherxoo @honeyblossom112-2 @succulentpk @topluvr @bvbgirl21 @1950schick @gdgirl21 @hotbutbothered @ixon-kxnnedy @c1delight @fleabagspurplewife @pepsicolapussi @sherrayyyyy @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @korevictrix @slut4namgyu @paintingcanvass @ricecake9999 @wcnderlnds @ldydeath

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serahadmoni · 4 months ago

Text

A Case for Bodhi Durran

Criminally underused and oft-sidelined, Bodhi Durran deserves…more. More attention. More consideration. More love. While plenty of fanon exists surrounding his character - including presuppositions of what his life was like before the apostasy, what his dreams for the future were before the Rider’s Quadrant - for this commentary I will try to focus primarily on the text and evidentiary proof of his virtues. So, let's talk about how Bodhi Durran...

Is Loyal

“When you have a hundred and seven scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran,” Bodhi snarls

I feel like all the Marked Ones who populate Xaden's inner circle have loyalty written indelibly on their hearts - loyalty to not only Tyrrendor, but specifically to Xaden. They understand the sacrifice he made then and the sacrifices he continues to make for them. Even when being loyal to Xaden means hauling dead bodies out of his not-girlfriend’s room at two in the morning. Or making clandestine smuggling runs . Or continuing to manage the operation in Xaden’s absence when the Navarrian leadership has begun to catch wise. Or when you take pains to ensure he’s left to his grief on the anniversary of his father’s death. Even when they sometimes butt heads over specifics, Bodhi ultimately defers to Xaden, because he…

Is Dutiful

[Xaden] dips his chin toward our wing, and two riders—Garrick and Bodhi—break formation, then climb the steps to stand behind Xaden, their hands at their sides. “As it was a matter of life and death, I personally executed six of the would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran.

Again, all the Marked Ones display this quality in spades. Even if they don’t always agree with the methods Xaden uses, they will forever carry out their duty, his orders. Liam represents the ultimate expression of this quality, but the way Bodhi protects Violet in Xaden’s absence, even going so far as to risk his own reputation and command by constantly moving flight maneuvers to protect her is an undeniable expression of his sense of duty.

“You saved every single one of us here, cousin,” Bodhi says. “And we’re thankful. Now, I’d like to do what we’ve trained for, and if it means I don’t go home, then I guess my soul will be commended to Malek. I wouldn’t mind seeing my mother anyway.”

This speaks for itself. Both in the language of duty and loyalty, which only serves to accentuate the fact Bodhi…

Is Supportive

“You’re our best fighter,” a second-year near Xaden counters with a quick grin.

Though he and Garrick (and Violet) share in this responsibility to some extent, I still think in a lot of ways Bodhi is Xaden’s ultimate hype man. Mostly because he understands Xaden so deeply and as such is well aware how much Xaden needs it sometimes. He’s present for Xaden in difficulty. Willing to advocate for him, stand up for him even against the other Marked Ones as he does after Resson.

Bodhi grins, flashing a smile that looks exactly like my aunt’s used to. “Good to see you up and about, Sorrengail.” Then he smacks me on the shoulder as he walks off, looking back over his shoulder. “I’ll fetch the backup plan. Good luck.”

But it’s not just Xaden he supports…

When the Assembly wants nothing more than to toss Violet in a cell, he lends his voice to the arguments for her loyalty, her integrity:

She fought at our side at Resson.” Bodhi tenses as his voice rises as well.

AND

In another, quieter moment, which speaks not only to his naturally supportive nature but also how well he can read others needs:

“It’s a lost magic,” Bodhi says softly, appearing at my side. He rubs his thumb over his newly mended, scarless palm. “Maybe there’s a reason this stone never worked. It might be broken.”

He can tell how thoroughly the failed attempt at raising the wards shatters Violet’s self-confidence and even though he doesn’t know her as well as Xaden, he understands she needs reassurance, offering it freely. He also supports Violet in her burnout and when she’s crazed after hearing Xaden was injured.

Bodhi Durran is a man who desperately wants everyone to be okay. Actively. Daily. Trying to not only keep everyone alive, but sane and grounded, because Bodhi…

Is Brilliant

The distraction Bodhi engineered in the flight field bought us time to meet without teachers noticing, but not much, especially considering that Devera, Kaori, Carr, and Emetterio are among those on campus still.

Personally, I would love to know what he threw together with zero notice that managed to keep the instructors busy long enough for Dain to call the quadrant to formation and Xaden (coughVioletcough) to issue his invitation. My guess, there were explosives of some sort involved.

Also, when they are climbing the Cliffs of Dralor with the fliers and the wyvern attack, he puts together what it means that the wyvern felt the pulse of the Aretian hatching grounds being reactivated before pretty much anyone else. He understands the wyvern will have relayed to their masters that the fliers and Aretian riders joined forces and the implications of such a report.

“I… uh… think we’re going to have to make some modifications on that harness,” Bodhi remarks as Andarna struggles to maintain her balance. “That’s going to take a few hours.”

Without drifting into the land of fanon, it’s hard to elaborate on this point except to highlight that Bodhi has the skills and know-how to modify an elaborately designed one-of-a-kind dragon harness. Were I to drift into fanon, I would shout from the rooftops that he’s the engineer of the group - the one that made sure Violet’s daggers would work for her, who consulted with Xaden on the prototype and modifications to Violet’s saddle, who also helped design and proof Andarna’s harness. Where Xaden may be the ideas-man in these areas, Bodhi executes. He’s the one who fixes their pocket watches when they won’t keep time or helps troubleshoot why the damn trigger on that crossbow sticks when any of the Marked Ones can’t figure it out for themselves. Ultimately, Bodhi wants to help in a tangible way because he...

Is Protective

In this, I feel it’s best to just let Bodhi speak for himself.

When Varrish confronts Violet on the flight field before her first trip to Samara.

“You may leave, Cadet Durran,” Varrish says. Bodhi moves closer to my side, and the male lieutenant takes a step closer as well, the mage lights catching the signet patch—fire wielding—on his uniform. “As Cadet Sorrengail’s section leader, I am the next in her chain of command. And as Article Four, Section Two of the Codex states, her discipline falls to her chain of command before being brought to cadre. I would be negligent in my duty were I to leave her in potential possession of… whatever it is you’re looking for.”

When Varrish pushes Violet to near burnout.

Bodhi’s warm brown face appears in front of mine. “Fuck.” He tugs the edges of the blanket closed around me. “This is because of Andarna?” “Yes.” Bodhi’s eyes widen. … “I’ll handle it,” Bodhi promises, capturing my gaze. “This won’t happen to you again.”

When Dain Aetos calls Violet to the mat because he’s pissed off that she won’t talk to him.

“You shouldn’t do this!” Bodhi shouts as he runs at us, skidding to a stop next to me. Imogen isn’t far behind. Ah, she’d run to find the closest person to Xaden possible. Makes sense. “She’s in a fucking sling, Aetos.” “Last time I checked, you’re a section leader.” Dain narrows his eyes on Bodhi. “And your cousin isn’t her wingleader anymore. I am.” The muscles in Bodhi’s neck bulge. “Xaden’s going to fucking kill him,” he whispers.

There are plenty of other instances where he protects others. Notably, when he steps in front of Carr to counter his signet as they are leaving Basgiath. And I’m certain there are hundreds of instances we don’t see since we are in Violet’s POV through the series. None of which detracts from the fact that Bodhi…

Is Principled

At the beginning of Fourth Wing, upon returning from a standard weapons run, he pushes Xaden and Garrick both, insisting:

“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking to Xaden, his voice low…

And then again at the end of the book, when the cadets are faced with a decision to fight alongside the fliers to save the Pormoish civilians or flee for Eltuval, he’s the first to insist they help. Even coming into conflict with Xaden’s more measured approach to the impossible dilemma Col. Aetos has enforced upon them.

“How many people live in Resson?” Bodhi asks. “More than three hundred,” Imogen answers as another boom cracks through the valley. “That’s the post they do the yearly trades at.” “Then let’s get down there.” Bodhi turns and Xaden steps back, blocking his path with an outstretched hand. “You’re kidding me, right?” “We have no idea what we’re walking into.” Xaden’s tone reminds me of that first day after Parapet. He’s in full command mode. “So we should just stand here while civilians die?” Bodhi questions, and I tense. We all do, watching Xaden.

As much as I love Xaden, and I do. I believe equipping the drifts with weapons is a means to an end for him. They are the thin, brown and feathered line between the venin and Tyrrendor. He wants to continue helping them, but I don’t believe - other than from an abstract “we don’t condemn innocents to death” perspective - he’s overly concerned with the preservation of individual Poromish lives. Bodhi, for better or worse, appears to be invested in the preservation of life in general. A grounded, guiding principle that thankfully he values because Bodhi…

Is Powerful

He sighs. “Yeah. Second time someone tried to jump me in the bathing chamber this week.” My eyes widen as my heart hammers in my chest. “Are you okay?” He has the gall to grin. “I completely eviscerated some asshole out of Second Wing while naked and only got a bruise. I’m fine.”

I mean, besides the litany of weapons certification patches Violet observes early in Fourth Wing, Bodhi is just as skilled in unarmed hand-to-hand. While he’s never described as “on-par” with Xaden (since Xaden spars with Garrick almost exclusively unless he’s trying to make a point), Bodhi clearly knows how to handle himself. In the buff. With no weapons. And accruing no serious injuries.

Which doesn’t even touch his signet…

“What have you done?” Carr shouts, running for us, his wispy hair flying in all directions as he lifts his hands. “You’ll end us all, over who? People you’ve never met? I won’t allow it!” “Bodhi!” Xaden orders as Carr reaches Third Wing. Fire erupts from Carr’s hands, streaming toward the dais, and my stomach drops. Time seems to slow as Bodhi steps forward and twists his hand like he’s turning a dial. The fire dies, extinguishing like it was never there and leaving Carr staring at his hands. “You taught us well, Professor,” Bodhi says, holding his hand in place. “Maybe a little too well.” Damn. “He can counter signets,” Xaden tells me. Well, that’s fucking terrifying.

And though people have questioned Brennan's assessment:

“By our best calculations,” Brennan says, rubbing his hands together to keep warm, “the six most powerful riders currently in Aretia are Xaden, Felix, Suri, Bodhi, Violet, and me.”

When you consider the potential of his signet…

Yes, he extinguishes Carr’s flames without blinking. But he can also smother Xaden’s shadows. Dispel Violet’s lightning. Destroy Mira’s wards. Keep Brennan from mending. He could have calmed Lilith’s storms. And while it seems like largely a defensive signet, there are offensive elements to it as well. Such as - and I’m not saying this would happen - he could remain completely invisible to Melgren, even without the benefit of three other Marked Ones. If such a thing were in the cards, he would be able to easily assassinate Melgren, undetected.

And that’s if we don’t consider what, if any, mind signets he can counter. Can he reverse Imogen’s memory wipe? Or merely prevent her from performing one? Can he fool a truthsayer by offering them nothing to read? Based on the text, it appears Xaden is unable to read his intentions. Which would imply he’s impervious to not only inntinsics, but memory readers and erasers, truthsayers, etc.

Considering we don’t know precisely how his signet works, it’s difficult to say for certain where the boundaries lie. Is it only as Xaden says, “He can counter signets?” Or is he interrupting the channel between dragon and rider entirely? Which would have far more wide-reaching implications since he could theoretically also break the channel between gryphons and their fliers as well as venin and the earth.

Just like we really don’t have all the information about Violet’s “pure power” signet, we don’t have nearly enough hard information about Bodhi’s to say for certain where the potential expression of it may end.

Despite his physical and magical prowess, though, Bodhi…

Is Pragmatic

“I liked it better when we just delivered the weapons,” Bodhi mutters.

As principled, honorable, loyal, and dutiful as he is…same. He wants to help, but it’s hard. And dangerous. And running weapons is easier. I don’t blame him at all.

His pragmatism is reflected in the text a hundred different ways, but it’s also simply stated by both him and Violet.

“And I thought you were the most reasonable of the group.” I sigh. “Look, if I can help, then maybe we can prevent what I’m assuming are… supply runs.” Talking in code is ridiculous, but anyone could be listening. “Give me a job.” “Oh, I am the most reasonable in the group.” He flashes a grin, leaning back on his heels. “I also don’t have a death wish. Survive second year and strengthen your shields, Sorrengail. That’s your job.”

He is a man who gets things done. Which is not to say he’s not in touch with his emotions. But he understands the balance between necessity and diplomacy. Not that he’s a staid, stoic mission only guy either, because Bodhi…

Is Quick-Witted

“Hey, I hate to interrupt what’s obviously a moment,” Bodhi whispers loudly from my left. “But that was the last bell, so that’s our cue to get this nightmare started.”

AND

Bodhi wrinkles his nose. “What?” “You smell like dragon ass.” “Fuck off.” I chance a whiff and can’t argue. “I’m using your room.” “I would consider it a personal favor.” I extend my middle finger and head toward his room.

Much as I appreciate and adore Bodhi’s quick wit, I could also write volumes about how his dry, sarcastic sense of humor operates as a defense mechanism. A lens through which he can deal with the intensity of his circumstances and the impact of these weighty decisions they are all making.

Like Xaden himself says, Bodhi always lightens the mood. To help himself deal? Yes. But (like Ridoc) also because he can tell everyone desperately needs it, a virtue that serves him well because he…

Is A Leader

”Shouldn’t you all be in Battle Brief?” Bodhi asks, his voice booming as he comes up behind us. One look sends the other squads scurrying for the door.

Though a lot of space on the page has been given to Xaden, Rhiannon, and Violet’s obvious leadership qualities, Bodhi sprang from the same genetic line as Xaden. While the expression of the Riorson magnetism may be tempered by his natural demeanor, he possesses the same it-factor as Fen. Were I to lay bets, I expect his mother was similarly charismatic and it was expressed in her much the way it is in Bodhi.

“…Flame Section has the unique honor of being completely intact.” Brennan looks down at Bodhi. “Durran, you brought every single cadet. I guess that would make you the Iron Section.”

He inspired such loyalty from his section, they all defected. For so many reasons, including those already expressed above, I believe Bodhi to be a servant leader. Servant leadership rests on three pillars: compassion, character, and competence. All of which Bodhi has in spades. He would not run a section the way Garrick did. Or the way Xaden ran his wing. Not that there was anything wrong with either of those philosophies necessarily. But he would pull with his squads, encourage them, equip them, support them, and push them gently to be their best. He would need to make certain they’re ready to face what he did in Resson, but he would do it with a deft, deliberate, more delicate hand than I think Xaden is willing or able to extend, because Bodhi Durran…

Is A Caretaker

So much of what has already been outlined above also represents an expression of this quality. From him helping Garrick protect Xaden’s solitude on the anniversary of Fen’s death. To him stepping between Aaric and Xaden when they start throwing barbs about Alic (which is also pragmatism, because hey, there’s a job to do). To him waiting with Xaden in the hall while Violet cleans up after Resson. He takes care of people both physically:

“Whoa!” Bodhi throws up one hand, the other clutching his rucksack. “I don’t want you to freeze to death on the flight there.” He yanks his flight jacket out of his pack and hands it to me.

Bodhi helps Aaric out of his [disguise], careful with his blistered hands. … “That’s a rebound burn,” Bodhi says. “It will clear up overnight if treated.”

”And tell Bodhi to track down whatever antidote she and the rest of her squad need.”

And emotionally, which leads me to the fact Bodhi…

Is Emotionally Attuned

An hour later, I’m bathed and impatient as I wait outside my room in a fresh set of leathers with Bodhi, who’s doing his best to lighten my mood just like he always does.

Bodhi reads people. Easily. He understands what Xaden’s saying without it being said . After Resson, he knows what Xaden needs from them - not questions, not reason, just action. He knows that Violet and Imogen need to run. And even when he can’t contradict Xaden’s orders, I believe he sympathizes with Violet’s driving need to do something to help, because it’s a drive he shares. Later, he knows not to carry Violet back to the quadrant after her burnout. And he’s the one that follows her into the courtyard to offer his jacket because he can see the panic plain as day. Just as he can see her disappointment when the wards fail. He can feel Xaden’s rage and terror as Violet lays comatose and poisoned (not that Xaden is overly subtle about it).

On top of all of that, Bodhi…

Is Beautiful

He’s handsome, with tawny brown skin crowned by a cloud of black curls and a litany of patches on what I can see of his uniform under his cloak. His features are close enough to Xaden’s that they might be related. Cousins, maybe?

…Bodhi has the same bronzed skin and strong brow line, but his features aren’t as angular as Xaden’s, and his eyes are a lighter shade of brown. He looks like a softer, more approachable version of his older cousin...

Even Violet, who only has eyes for Xaden, recognizes how attractive he is. Yet, as fair and fine the wrapping, I would heartily declare his character fairer still.

While this is by no means an exhaustive list of his virtues - he's also humble, adaptable, a peacemaker, a good listener, infinitely capable, empathetic, and hyperaware of how he should conduct himself in a given situation - I think the case for Bodhi Durran has been made.

(originally compiled for the Onyx Storm countdown days at the RQ Discord)

#the empyrean #fourth wing #empyrean meta #bodhi durran #fourth wing spoilers #iron flame spoilers

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