#Next Generation Ballet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

unconventional-lawnchair · 2 months ago

Note

Hi I love your fics and was hoping you’d like this request:)) I was thinking a fic with James x fem!reader where she’s a slytherin but not in the stereotypical way that James and the marauders typically see them as. She’s not cold hearted or prejudice, rather quite friendly and very artsy. I was thinking an enemies to lovers where James just generalizes her with the slytherin she doesn’t like so he’s not the kindest to her, but maybe she gets paired up for an assignment with Remus so James ends up having to be around her a bit and realizes she doesn’t suck lol. Think he would definitely have to work for her affection after fumbling the ball so hard but im a sucker for a happy ending!

I hope this sounds like something you’d enjoy writing, if not that’s totally ok too❤️

Masterpiece

James Potter x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: (see above) James Potter goes a little too far with a girl everyone happens to like.

AN: I am so sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it <3

CW: not proof read, use of {Y/N}, Jealous and Stupid James, sexual implied ending, Protective salty Remus, self indulgent, cursing, very slight angst, fem reader, not cannon complacent, sexual innuendo,

WC: ~9k

The sky was overcast and the wind was blowing rapidly, causing your sleeves to billow as the very stool you perched on teetered from side to side. You grabbed the seat and tried to steady your perch, holding up your paint brush away from your portrait as the creamy white shade dripped down on your bare legs.

Dressed in casual clothes, your paint stained denim short overalls and a striped shirt that hid evidence of handprint smears from your absentminded messes. Sleeves rolled up to show your speckled skin already decorated with splotches of white and browns, fresh hazy grays that resembled the foggy ground of Hogwarts and its students.

“{Y/N} {L/N}?” A voice so calm and careful called out from behind you. You turned and smiled on instinct, your eyes landing on the tall figure. He was also in more casual clothes, a brown cable knit sweater vest over a simple white button down shirt. He was holding up a piece of paper to his eyes before he put it in his pocket. Smiling so kindly, where the corners of his eyes crinkled and his scarred lip curled up to reveal perfectly uneven teeth.

Ballet white.

“Remus Lupin?” You called out to him and he chuckled, taking a few long steps to stand beside you.

“You were meant to wait for me, you know.” He teased and slipped his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I know, I know. But this was the perfect time for it.” You lifted your hands to gesture to the sky and he looked around to try and find what exactly made this 'perfect.’

“How’d you even manage to get in here?” He quizzed and took a seat on the railing. Looking around at the castle grounds from the top of RavenClaw’s tower, you got the perfect view of the astronomy tower, what you were currently painting.

“There wasn't much convincing involved. Barty Crouch walked me up here.” You smirked and he looked bewildered.

“You know Crouch?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Remus furrowed his brow as he tried to piece together how he hadn't heard of you before. Seeing as he was meant to be escorting you two and from each Hogwarts house for your own personal study, it seemed unlikely he wouldn't of known of you, getting this particular form of special treatment from the headmaster himself.

Remus walked around you and took a peak at what you were painting. The air so familiar, and comforting, both of you had forgotten you had just met.

“What are you painting?”

“Magical paintings.” You hummed and he furrowed his brow further.

“Don't you usually need a subject?”

“Traditionally.” You muttered and gestured for him to sit down. He listened almost instantly, sitting down on the floor next to you, laying his crutch across his lap. After a moment of pause you shrugged and set your paint aside, shifting to sit beside him on the floor, making him chuckle.

“Do you know how they work?”

“Not a clue.” He shifted to sit and face you fully. Both of you crossed your legs, like tots ready to swap unearthing secrets in the school yard.

“Well. What you're thinking of is magical portraits. The art of bringing the life of the subject to the painting.” You declared almost breathless. “But that's amature work.”

He gave a delighted and startled laugh at your bold declaration, but it didn't impede you.

“The true magic is being able to bring life that isn't visible to the naked eye, to visual art forms.” You declared and gestured to your painting. Remus’s eyes flickered up and widened a bit. You gave an excitable bright smile as you both watched the misty fog in your painting shift, the faint stars in the background twinkle against the backdrop, and even the few faint sketches of students within the distant tower moving about.

“Woah.” He whispered and you nodded eagerly.

“Isn't it inspiring?”

“It is.” He agreed instantly before he looked back at you. “But, doesn't it typically take magic from the subject for it to work effectively? How does this work?”

“Well, don't you think Hogwarts is possibly the most magical place in the world?” You argued and he chuckled at how easily you brushed off the question.

Of course, no one truly knew how it worked. Not that the creator of the art method ever documented his findings. The only clear part of it was not everyone had the knack for it. You were lucky, since you were young, to be able to produce the art even before you got your magic.

You turned to Remus, who was watching with rapt attention.

“Do you want to try?” You offered, a mischievous smile taking over your features that looked startlingly familiar to Remus.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Me? Paint?”

“Why not? You might find you have a hidden talent!” You encouraged, handing him a brush and a palette.

Reluctantly, he took the brush, glancing at the canvas as if it were a daunting task. Exaggerative hesitation to defile such a beautiful painting. You grinned, ready to guide him through it. Little did you know that in that moment, you had endeared yourself to Remus in a way not many people were able to.

For the next few hours, well after curfew, you and Remus stayed perched on the RavenClaw tower, as you instructed him on what colors and paints to use. He was doing his best not to ‘ruin it’, which quickly went out the window when, in a moment of playful determination, you covered your hands in black paint and began to stamp your canvas. Convincing him that you truly didn't care what he did to the painting as long as it was fun.

Finally, you both snuck out of the RavenClaw tower as quietly as possible, trying not to wake anyone. Leading to you two in the halls, laughing and joking as he carried your canvas for you.

“So, you're self taught?” He prodded and you nodded.

“Yup! Have been doing this since I was.. four? Likely. My mother showed me.” You hummed and he gave a delighted laugh.

“Really? So you're studying in your free time?”

“Mhm! It's not something that can really be.. taught. So Hogwarts doesn't have classes on it quite yet.” You waved your hand vaguely and he nodded.

“You're telling me this now, after all that time trying? You got my hopes up, {L/N}.”

You giggled and he put his hand over his heart in fake anguish.

“I was this close to changing career paths, you know.”

“Oh, I'm sure you were. I could see the headline now: 'Remus Lupin, Future Auror, Turns Painter After One Magical Evening.'” You laughed, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to Defense Against the Dark Arts, thank you very much. But this-” He gestured to the covered painting with a soft look. “You turned this mess into something amazing. You're truly talented.”

“I know.” You sang and he laughed, nudging you.

“I'm serious, you know.”

“Sirius? I thought you were his boyfriend?”

“Oh Merlin, you're as bad as they are.”

You gave a laugh of your own and shoved him back. “Oh, you Marauders? Please tell me you're joking.”

“No, no, truly. I think you'd get along. Gryffindor tower is next, right?” He prodded as you both entered the hall and stopped just before the dungeons’ entrance.

“Mhm.”

“I'll see you tomorrow then?” He offered and held out his hand. You took it with a firm shake and you both said your goodbyes, hurrying over to the Slytherin common room.

~~~

“She's quite fun, showed me how to match pallets colors.” Remus rambled on to Lily who gave a delighted laugh at how excited he was to show her his new found artistic ability. They were sitting on the couch together, and he was exposing to her why his newest sweater vest was absolutely ruined

“She sounds lovely.” Lily hummed, Sirius smirking from his spot between Remus’s knees, looking up at him. Eyes closed as one of the werewolf’s hands tangled in his loches of hair.

“So lovely you should just marry her.” Sirius teased and Remus glared at him, giving a particularly rough tug at his boyfriend's hair. Sirius giving a chuckle and biting his lip. “I see no punishment here.”

“You-”

“Whose getting hitched?” James piped up from the stairs, jogging over and hopping onto the couch. Making the cushions bounce a bit as he got comfortable. “Evans, how can you let this happen? A Hogwarts marriage that's not our own?”

Lily gave a sigh and rolled her eyes, gathering her things and saying her goodbyes to Remus and Sirius, giving James the cold shoulder with a simple ‘Potter’ as he put his hand over his chest and sunk further into the cushions.

“She says that name like it won't be hers someday.” He sighed fondly before he turned to look at the other two. “Where's Wormy?”

“He's on a date with a Hufflepuff.” Sirius snickered. “Some seventh year dude.”

“Huh.” James muttered and looked at the ceiling. “Didn't think he'd be the type to date older.”

“Yeah well-” Before Sirius could continue, Remus’s head peaked up from the couch when there was a knock on the portrait door.

“That her?” Sirius asked as Remus slugged out of his seat to get around his clingy boyfriend.

“Likely!” He shouted back and James tilted his head like a confused puppy.

“Who?” He quizzed Sirius and he smirked up at James.

“{Y/N} {L/N}, the artist extraordinaire.” Sirius replied with mock seriousness, adjusting his position to climb onto the couch. “Remus has been raving about her all evening.”

“{Y/N} {L/N}? Where have I heard of her before?” James leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “Oh! That paint girl? One who has been doing those weird paint studies around school?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Sirius replied, grinning. “Apparently, she's doing some self study. Remus was practically glowing when he talked about her.”

James’s eyes widened with intrigue. “That’s brilliant! I’ve heard whispers about her- it’s supposed to be absolutely mesmerizing.”

“I wouldn't go that far.” You interjected, stepping through the portrait hole just in time to catch the end of the conversation. You were slightly out of breath, having hurried from the Slytherin dungeons to the Gryffindor tower, your paint-stained overalls still evidence of your artistic endeavors from yesterday. Looking around at the beautiful common room. A very faded almost gray-green scarf around your neck.

Burnt Scarlet and Butterscotch

The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward you. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” You teased with a playful grin, glancing around at the familiar faces of the infamous boys. Sirius was looking you over curiously, with his typical sleazy grin, but James seemed absolutely slack jawed. After a moment of a wait you gave a small laugh, snapping James out of whatever trance he was in. Turning to look at Remus who had his eyes locked on your paints, making you smile.

His eyes flicked up to yours and he grinned back cheekily. “Where should I set up?”

“Over here, near the window.” He gestured over to a small nook. You hurried over and set your things down. Starting of course with a small tarp to set up your painting area without having to worry about ruining the flooring.

You set up two canvas this time and Remus helped you, confused at first before you set another pallet and paint brush down. “Alright, my student. Do you remember what I taught you?” You teased and he laughed, walking over to pick up the paint.

“You didn't have the bring this just for me.”

“Oh I know, how great am I, right?” You teased and sat down. Remus was still getting used to your deflective personality. Shrugging as he sat down and watched as you worked. Doing his best to copy your movements.

Meanwhile, Sirius and James were watching the scene curiously. Sirius couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the attention his boyfriend was giving this new girl, and James was unable to get over the fading color of your scarf. His jaw clenched a bit as he watched Lily walk over to introduce herself, also somehow roped in by your charm and even sitting down with you two to watch you paint.

James leaned back on the couch, arms crossed as he watched the interaction unfold before him. The sight of you, animated and joyful as you explained your artistic process to Remus and Lily, stirred something in him. It wasn't just the way you wielded your paintbrush with such confidence; it was the warmth that radiated from you. You were a Slytherin, so obviously, but you held the room like a Gryffindor. You worked with the precision of a RavenClaw. You were patient and thoughtful with Remus and his questions, like a HufflePuff.

He didn't get it.

“Oi, Prongs, you look like you’ve just swallowed a lemon.” Sirius whispered, nudging James with his elbow. “What’s got you all broody?”

“Nothin.” James replied, too quickly, his eyes still fixed on you. “Just… watching.”

Sirius followed his eyes and slowly smirked to himself. “She's getting under your skin too, huh?”

James glanced at Sirius before his glare locked back on you as you instructed Lily to take your paintbrush and gestured to the canvas he couldn't see. “What's her deal? Why's she so.. smiley?”

The ‘as a Slytherin’ part came unspoken to both of the boys.

“You know, Remus says she knows Crouch.”

“Of course she does.” He muttered, eyes locked on the way you rolled up your sleeve and cuffed them. How you loosened your collar, and leaned down, showing the upper valley to your-

And suddenly the floor was a bit more interesting. He turned to look at Sirius who’s lip twitched as he watched Remus rub his thumb across his cheek and smudge some black paint on himself.

“... Merlin, he's bloody fit, ain't he?” Sirius muttered and James gave a loud exaggerated groan.

“I'm shocked Remus is entertaining her at all.” James finally muttered and sunk deeper into his sheet like a pouty child. Sirius nodded.

James watched with narrowed eyes as you laughed along with Remus and Lily, his annoyance bubbling up to the surface. Without really thinking it through, he pushed himself up from the couch, making his way over to where you were sitting with the paintbrushes and palettes laid out neatly.

He made it look casual, like he was just getting a better view, but as he stepped closer, his foot "accidentally" caught the jar of paint water perched near the edge of the table. It tipped, and time seemed to slow as the murky water splashed all over your leggings that just peaked form under your overalls, staining the fabric a dark, ugly color.

"Oh! Whoops, sorry 'bout that," James said, not quite managing to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. His tone was just on the edge of sincere, but the glint in his eyes gave him away.

You glanced down at the mess, then up at James, and for a moment it seemed like the whole room held its breath. James just waiting for the snake to snap its jaws at him. But instead of getting angry, instead of snapping at him like he expected, you just smiled- a bright, genuine smile that made James's stomach twist uncomfortably.

"No worries, Potter.” You mused, brushing it off as if nothing had happened. "A bit of extra color never hurt anyone."

James blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t expected that. He muttered something that might have been an apology, but the way you smiled at him; completely unbothered- only made his irritation flare up more. He turned sharply on his heel, stalking back to the couch where Sirius was watching with an amused expression.

"Smooth, mate," Sirius drawled, arching an eyebrow.

"Shut it," James muttered, sinking back into his seat, his eyes flicking back to you as you continued painting like nothing had happened.

---

Over the next few days, James found himself increasingly irked by you. No matter what he did, you never seemed fazed. He "accidentally" knocked over your brushes during lunch one day, scattering them across the floor. You just laughed, picking them up without complaint. He charmed your canvas to keep sliding down whenever you set it up, but you only adjusted it each time, humming to yourself as if it were all just part of the process. He even tried to charm the colors in your palette to mix into a murky brown- but you simply shrugged, saying something about it being a "happy little accident" and turned it into a whole new painting.

Each time, you just smiled at him, that infuriatingly calm smile that made James feel like he was the one being childish. It was driving him mad, and Sirius, for one, found the whole thing endlessly entertaining.

One morning, James was sitting in the Great Hall, absently poking at his breakfast, when he heard a determined set of footsteps approaching. He looked up just in time to see you standing over him, hands on your hips, your eyes sharp. If James was a smarter boy, he would of been able to see the faint red rims around your eye sockets and the twitch of your lip.

"Potter.” You huffed, your voice carrying just enough edge to catch the attention of the surrounding students. "Give it back."

James blinked, feigning innocence. "Give what back?"

"Don't play dumb.” You snapped, leaning over the table, your face inches from his. "My paintbrush. The one with the silver handle. I know you took it."

James opened his mouth to deny it, but the look in your eyes made him hesitate. There was something different today- a fire that hadn’t been there before. He was finally getting a reaction from you. He felt his resolve waver, and before he could stop himself, he found his hand reaching into his robes, to pull out the paintbrush in question. Only.. it wasn't there.

James blinked, his smirk faltering as he patted the pocket where he thought he’d stashed your paintbrush. It wasn’t there. A pang of unease settled in his chest as he searched through the other pockets of his robes, the smirk fading completely as he came up empty-handed.

“Are you kidding me?” You straightened, your eyes narrowing. “Potter, don’t play games right now. That brush… it’s important to me.”

There was a crack in your voice, something raw that caught James off guard. The confidence you always carried seemed to waver, your voice betraying a vulnerability that made James's stomach sink with guilt.

“I… I swear it was right here,” James muttered, now frantically checking every inch of his robes, his face growing paler with each empty pocket. The students around them had grown quiet, sensing the sudden seriousness of the situation.

Remus was glaring daggers into his very soul, even Sirius hid his face away in his hand.

You stood there, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your lips pressed together as you fought to maintain composure. You looked away from him, swallowing hard. “Potter, that was my mother’s. She gave it to me before…” You trailed off, your voice breaking slightly before you cleared your throat, trying to regain control.

James’s heart sank. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t thought. All he’d wanted was to rile you up, to see you react. He hadn’t meant for this.

“Alright,” He said quickly, standing up from the table. His voice was more earnest now, the usual cockiness gone. “I’ll help you find it. It must have fallen out somewhere. Let’s go check my dorm.”

You didn’t say anything, just nodded stiffly, blinking rapidly as you turned on your heel and started walking, James trailing after you. The Great Hall was eerily quiet as they left, whispers following in their wake.

“She's too damn nice.” Remus muttered and Sirius sighed. About to say something, before he earned a glare from Remus too.

Lily tutted. “As if you weren't involved in anything he's done to her so far.”

~~~

The walk to the Gryffindor common room felt like it took forever, the silence between the two of you heavy. James kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, the way your jaw was clenched, the way you kept your eyes straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.

When they reached the boys' dormitory, James immediately began tearing through his things, searching every nook and cranny. He pulled open drawers, checked under his bed, even rummaged through the pockets of his other robes. But the paintbrush was nowhere to be found.

He turned to you, his hands dropping to his sides in defeat. “I… I’m so sorry, {Y/N}, I can’t find it. Maybe it fell somewhere else, maybe-”

“Stop,” You cut him off, your voice barely a whisper. Your eyes were glassy, tears welling up as you looked at him. The fight you’d been trying to keep inside seemed to crumble all at once, your shoulders sagging as you sank down onto the edge of his bed. “It’s gone, isn’t it?”

James stared at you, his heart aching at the sight of you like this. He’d never imagined he’d see you cry, and knowing he was the cause of it made him feel worse than he ever thought possible. Suddenly all those weeks of trying to get under your skin seemed more of a success, if this was the result of a truly damaging prank.

“I…” He didn’t know what to say, how to fix this. He knelt down in front of you, his voice gentle. “I’ll find it, I promise. I’ll look everywhere, I’ll…”

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “It’s not just a paintbrush, Potter. It was hers. It was all I had left of her.”

James’s chest tightened, and he reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your knee. “I’m so sorry. I… I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I’ll find it. I swear I will.”

You looked down at his hand, then back at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of pain and exhaustion. “Just… don’t,” You whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Potter.”

And with that, you stood up, wiping at your eyes as you turned and left the dormitory, leaving James there, staring after you, feeling more helpless than he ever had before.

~~~

James had never felt guilt like this. It gnawed at him, making his usual swagger feel empty. Over the next few days, he found himself constantly scanning the corridors, the classrooms, even the common rooms, hoping to catch a glimpse of you but you were always just out of reach. Each time he spotted you, you either turned and walked the other way or simply looked right through him as if he didn't exist.

It wasn't long before the whole school knew what had happened. How James Potter had lost something precious of yours, something irreplaceable. And unlike other times, where his mischief had earned him admiration or laughter, this time he received disapproving glares and whispers behind his back. How he hurt the only Slytherin everyone seemed to adore. Even Remus had given him the cold shoulder for a while, and Lily refused to talk to him outright.

One day, after Transfiguration, James caught sight of you slipping out of the classroom. He hurried to catch up, weaving through the crowd of students, his heart pounding in his chest. When he finally reached you, he touched your arm gently.

“{Y/N}, please, just give me a second.”

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his. There was a guardedness there that hadn’t been before, a wall that you had built between yourself and him. It hurt more than James could put into words.

Even then, you took time to notice; Cinnamon Brown in his eyes.

James Potter was used to rejection, Lily Evans ran him like it was a damned sport, but something about your usually positive beaming face turning to a frown at the sight of him wrecked him.

“What do you want, Potter?” You asked, your voice tired, as if dealing with him was just another chore.

He swallowed, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry. Really. I never meant for things to go this far. I’ve been looking for your brush, I swear it. I… I just want to make it up to you.”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. “There’s nothing you can do, alright? Just leave it, Potter.”

“But-”

“No,” You said firmly. “I don’t want anything to do with you. You’ve done enough. I- I thought you were funny, that you could tell a good joke. Take one too. But this- no. No, just leave me be, Potter.”

James flinched at your words, the finality of them cutting deeper than he expected. He watched as you turned and walked away, the distance between you growing with every step.

~~~

James's heart sank deeper with each day that passed without a sign of the lost paintbrush. He had scoured the castle, enlisted the help of some of his housemates, and even tried asking around discreetly in other houses, but to no avail. It was as if the brush had vanished into thin air, leaving behind a growing rift between him and you.

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, James slumped on a couch, staring blankly at the fire crackling in the hearth. Sirius and Remus were there too, the latter still showing signs of his displeasure over the whole ordeal.

"I messed up, didn't I?" James murmured, not really expecting an answer.

"You did.” Remus deadpanned, not looking up from his book. "And you know it's not just about the brush. It's about how you've been treating her from the start."

Sirius, lounging with his back against the armrest, watched James closely. "You've been a right prat, Prongs- even I gave in after the first prank.” He remarked and avoided Remus’s slight glare. “You didn't just step on her toes, you danced the bloody Tango on them."

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I just wanted to get a rise out of her, see her react. But now... I can't stop thinking about how I made her feel. It's like I'm seeing myself for the first time and it's not a pretty picture."

"Sounds like you've got it bad," Sirius said with a smirk.

Remus closed his book, finally giving James his full attention, not exactly happy with what he was hearing. "It's not just guilt, James. It's empathy. You're finally understanding the impact of your actions on others."

James looked from Sirius to Remus, the realization slowly dawning on him. "It's not like I like her. She's just.. pretty. You know, I hate to see a pretty face so upset.” He scoffed and looked back to Sirius who arched his eyebrow and smirked wider as he realized his remark wasn't as playful as he intended.

“That right?” Sirius pushed and James huffed.

“That’s right.”

“When was the last time you bothered poor Evans?” Sirius challenged and Remus gave a low groan. Great, James just couldn't leave his friends alone.

He watched in a bit of sympathy as the dumb boys jaw slowly went limp and his eyes widened. “Merlin, I think I like her.” He mumbled in absolute dread. “Like really like her. And I've gone and ruined it before it could even start."

"Well, you can't undo what you've done, but you can start making amends," Remus advised, a softer tone replacing his earlier reprimand.

"How? She doesn’t even want to see me," James lamented.

"Give her time and show her you've changed.. And Merlin, don't do this just to win her over." Remus huffed.

James pondered, his gaze drifting toward the flickering fire. "What if she never forgives me?"

"Then you’ll learn a valuable lesson in respect, won't you?" Remus said sternly. "You can't force forgiveness, James. All you can do is prove that you're better than your worst mistake."

“Does Merlin speak straight through you?” James muttered to Remus who swatted him with the book across his lap, before standing.

“I need new friends.” He mumbled as he walked away.

Sirius laughed and James pouted, sinking back into the cushions of the couch. Pondering what would be the next best move when earning your forgiveness. He could live with never being with you, he always found the concept of lost love romantic.

What he couldn't do was live knowing he hurt you without even trying for your forgiveness.

~~~

For the next few weeks, Hogwarts transformed into an entirely different realm for James. Determined to right his wrongs, he threw himself into the role of a repentant suitor with the zeal of a true 70s romantic hero; one who was more often clumsy than charming.

One morning at breakfast, armed with an armful of apology notes penned in his best handwriting (which still looked suspiciously like chicken scratch), James tried to navigate the treacherous waters of your friends’ skepticism and Barty’s disdain. He handed out his notes, his voice tinged with hopeful earnestness that made a few of your friends stifle their giggles. “Could you- um, would you make sure {Y/N} gets these? They’re, well, important.” His cheeks flamed red as he stumbled over his words, but the sincerity in his eyes earned him a few nods. The stuttering and foolish boy even earning a smile from Pandora Rosier who assured him she'd ‘do her best.’

He was getting desperate, at every shred of attention you spared him. During potions class, James attempted to be your knight in shining armor, which, predictably, went about as well as a troll in a ballet shop. When he noticed you struggling to reach a vial of newt eyes on a high shelf, he leapt up, nearly knocking over his own cauldron in his eagerness to assist. “Allow me!”

But his overly enthusiastic grab sent the vial spinning into the air, only to crash down right next to Slughorn’s feet, splattering the hem of his robes with an unsightly goo.

“Sorry, Professor!” James winced, while you suppressed a snicker at the sheer absurdity of his gallantry. Graveling even as he was sentenced to detention.

Now, James knew that if he wanted to be truthful with you it started with his behaviors. Which, started with him being truly himself. So, much to Remus’s annoyance, James turned to grander gestures.

He managed to convince the house elves to let him borrow the kitchens for an evening to bake you a peace offering. Armed with sugar, flour, and an overabundance of misplaced confidence, he set about creating what he envisioned would be a culinary masterpiece. The result was a lopsided cake with icing that read, "Forgive me?" in wobbly letters. Only, half of the cake was callapsed, making it seem much more like a command of “give me”.

He presented it to you during dinner, his hands shaking slightly as he placed it on the table. The entire Great Hall watched in anticipation as you took a bite. The cake was oddly salty, but when your lips twitched into a reluctant smile, James felt a surge of pure elation. Maybe, just maybe, his efforts were thawing your icy regard.

He even tried serenading you one evening in the common room, guitar in hand- a skill he had hastily learned over the past week. His voice cracked more than once, and the guitar was slightly out of tune, but he sang with such heartfelt passion that even the portraits along the walls seemed to listen in. He crooned to you, mangling the melody as he went. You watched, half-amused and half-astonished, as this boy who’d never shown an interest in music before butchered the song with endearing enthusiasm. Everyone in your common room appalled.

Through it all, James's exploits became the talk of Hogwarts. Whispers followed him everywhere- some mocking, others admiring. Some even amused that his attention had switched from Lily Evans, to you after years of pining. But beneath the laughter and the rumors, a thread of respect grew among his peers. Here was James Potter, chasing redemption as doggedly as he’d once chased after mischief.

Late one night, as James sat by the fire reflecting on his recent life choices, Sirius plopped down next to him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Prongs, you’re a bleeding heart wrapped in a jester’s cloak,” Sirius shook his head with a grin.

James laughed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I just need to know she forgives me, Padfoot. That I’ve made things right.”

“Well, mate, at the very least, you’ve given the whole school a good show,” Sirius chuckled. “And who knows? Maybe our little Slytherin is writing her own notes now; ‘How to Tame Your Marauder’ or something more poetic.”

James smiled, gazing into the flickering flames, hopeful and a bit wiser. In his quest to win your forgiveness, he’d stumbled across something unexpected. Something worth it. Not just you, but a desire- no, need- to better himself. Every time he saw you smile, made you laugh, roll your eyes, he wanted to be someone better. Someone who deserved to find themselves feeling the magic of being in love with a girl like {Y/N} {L/N}.

And maybe he'd even find himself worthy of her affection in return.

~~~

It all came to a head one day when he was scouring the school once again for your paintbrush. He had lost track of time in his mindless routine and forgotten about potions class. He was a half hour late, dashing into the classroom in a ruffled mess.

His breathless arrival didn’t go unnoticed, especially by you, who eyed him warily from your spot at the potions bench. Professor Slughorn eyed him with a mixture of irritation and curiosity.

“Mr. Potter, so kind of you to join us,” Slughorn boomed, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, it's almost as if you left to miss my instruction specifically.”

James grimaced but still tried to flash his playful smile that usually meant a clap back or snark. Instead, it was his form of a hesitant apology. “Sorry Professor-”

“I am not going over the instructions for Amortentia a third time today, is anyone willing to assist Mr. Potter?” Slughorn announced form the front of the class. There was a long moment of silence. Even with everyone slowly growing fond of him, no one was willing to drag down such an important project for the foolish boy.

Then, from across the room, your voice cut through the tension. "I can help him, Professor," you said, your voice calm but with an edge that didn’t entirely mask your reluctance. Everyone's heads turned towards you, including a visibly surprised James.

"Very well, {Y/N}. Please ensure Mr. Potter catches up without disrupting the rest of the class," Slughorn replied with a nod, turning back to his notes.

James approached your bench, a mix of gratitude and nervousness evident on his face. As he took the seat next to you, he whispered, "Thank you, I really mean it."

As James settled beside you at the potions bench, his hands fumbled slightly with the equipment. Slughorn, having returned to the front of the class, continued with his lecture, oblivious to the dramatic love story unfolding at the back.

James cleared his throat softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Really, {Y/N}, thanks for helping me out here. I know I've been... well, less than admirable lately."

You didn't look at him immediately, focusing instead on measuring out rose thorns with precision. "Just start by adding these to the cauldron slowly.” You instructed, handing him the thorns. "And stir- don't let it settle."

As he followed your instructions, his movements were careful, mirroring the cautious tone he was taking with you. After a moment, you finally met his gaze. "You've been trying hard, haven't you?" You muttered, not unkindly. Your eyes drifting over his focused expression and having to fight a smile.

James paused, the stirring rod in his hand still. "I have. I want to make things right, not just with you but... well, I've been thinking a lot about things I've done. I'm sorry, truly."

You watched him, the sincerity in his eyes striking a chord that made your heart ache. What had you done to the famous James Potter? His efforts over the past few weeks hadn’t gone unnoticed- it was quite entertaining. From the awkwardly presented cake to his out-of-tune serenades, his actions spoke far more than his words ever did. "I've noticed.” You whispered. "It's been hard to miss, really. Hogwarts hasn't been this entertaining in years."

A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I guess I've made a bit of a spectacle of myself."

"Just a bit.” You chuckled, the tension easing between you as the familiar rhythm of your banter found its footing again.

Encouraged by that sweet sound of your laugh and the pretty way your lips curled into a smile he just adored-, James continued, "If there’s any chance I could, you know, maybe start over? I’d understand if not but-"

"You're really laying it on thick with the humility, Potter. It’s a good look on you.” You teased gently, turning back to the potion, which was now bubbling contentedly. "Let's just take it one day at a time. But, yeah, we can start with being friends."

James let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, relief washing over him. "Friends, right. And if you ever want to throw more paint at me, just say when."

"Be careful, I might take you up on that.” You warned with a playful grin.

As the class progressed, you both fell into an easy rhythm, the earlier awkwardness replaced by a budding conversation. James was surprisingly adept once he focused, and you found yourself laughing more genuinely than you had in a while at his self-deprecating jokes and clumsy yet earnest attempts at potion-making.

By the end of the class, not only had you two successfully brewed a passable batch of Amortentia, which thankfully didn't smell like sweat and regret. James had shown you a different side of himself, one that was humbly trying to make amends and move forward. And as you packed up your supplies, sharing a light joke about the day's mishaps, it felt like a fresh start was truly possible.

James took the chance to smile back at Remus and Sirius. Sirius seemed delighted for him, and Remus seemed hesitant. But it was okay, because you hadn't just forgiven him. You were willing to be his friend.

~~~

James slowly realised that being your friend was likely one of the best feelings he's had in a while. He thought everyone you had met were your friends, considering how sweet and lovely you were with everyone.

But he was wrong.

There was a crazy side to you that only a small few saw. He learned it quickly, that you were sweet, kind, understanding- yes.

But you were an absolute gremlin when you wanted to be.

James discovered this one evening when you invited him to join you for a late-night painting session- a tradition you shared with a select few. Remus told him about them, but he never really understood just how amazing it felt to have your full attention like this. He had anticipated a serene evening, maybe learning a bit more about your magical painting techniques. Instead, he found himself in the middle of a chaotic spree of creativity that involved more prank-like antics than actual painting.

How in the bloody hell had he not known you properly?

As James entered the room, he was immediately hit by a flying glob of paint. It splattered across his face, dripping down his cheek. He stood, stunned for a moment, before hearing your laughter from behind an easel.

“Oh Potter, rule one. Never let your guard down.” You taunted and quickly hurried over to your canvas. Able to notice how the bright pink paint clung to his Jet Black hair.

Wiping the paint off with a sleeve, James couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a spark of challenge light up within him. "Oh, it’s on, {Y/N}." He responded, grabbing a palette loaded with vibrant colors.

What ensued was a wild mess of laughter, artistic ‘attacks,’ and impromptu paint duels that left both of you covered in every hue imaginable. Hindsight is 20/20- he shouldn't of worn his school robes. It was during these moments, dodging your playful ambushes and crafting hasty shields out of canvas boards, that James realized how comfortable he felt around you. Your laughter became a soundtrack he looked forward to, and your approving nods at his clumsy attempts at art warmed him more than he expected.

“It's humiliating how good you're getting at this.” You teased from your perch on a stool, James chuckled and playfully flipped you off.

“So much sass. And if I credited this to my teacher?”

“You should, I'm bloody good.” You laughed, wiping your nose before sneezing away some of the wet paint you forgot was on your hand.

That night became a normal accurance, it was like you two never fought. You two would find yourself laying on a tarp full of paint. You were laying on your back with your legs against the wall, and he was sitting with his back against said wall. Both of you looking off into dead space as you both talked about the most random and ridiculous things; from the controversial taste of pasties to the value and control one had over each other's fates.

“You know, everytime I come here, I remember why I've fallen for you.”

His words came out before he could stop himself. His jaw dropped at his own broken honesty, horrified that he had ruined the moment.

After a moment of silence, he looked down to see you smiling at the ceiling.

“Is that so?”

James swallowed thick and clenched his jaw a bit.

“Yeah.”

“That's awfully sweet of you.”

Your words were light, but they carried a weight that settled over James with an unexpected warmth. He watched you, admiring the serene expression on your face, highlighted by the ambient light that filtered through the scattered paint jars around you. He welcomed the twist of his gut like an old friend.

"I mean it, though," James continued, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as he leaned his head back against the wall, his gaze still fixed on you. "You make it easy to be myself, to be better. You've turned what started as a mess into something... pretty great."

“And isn't that just life?” You teased softly. “Sappy, messy, and yet an absolute masterpiece.”

“Is that what you truly believe?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just say what makes sense to me in the moment.”

“You're a pain.” He chuckled and looked down, seeing your smile had grown tenfold. Your nose scrunching up and the corners of your eyes wrinkling.

James couldn't resist the infectious energy of your smile. It pulled a laugh from deep within him, a genuine, carefree sound that filled the room- he was screwed. "You're brilliant, you know that? Absolutely infuriating, but brilliant."

You shifted to sit up, leaning against the wall next to him, paint smears marking both your faces and clothes. "I'll take that as a compliment, Potter. Coming from you, it means quite a lot."

And that was all. James hadn't even registered your soft rejection, just relieved you seemed to accept him regardless. He leaned his head on your shoulder and you flicked off some stray pain from his nose. He smiled, all teeth, before he got up and forced you to your feet. Pulling you into a dance that made you cackle like a proper witch. And that was enough. To see you so bloody happy was enough.

~~~

James learned to share you quickly. With Barty always on your heel or Pandora hovering listlessly at your side.

He even grew accustomed to seeing you draped in the easy camaraderie of Ravenclaws and your fellow Slytherins, your infectious laugh filling the spaces you all occupied together. It was during these times that James learned to appreciate you in a new light- not just as a friend or a fleeting crush, but as a vibrant part of his Hogwarts experience.

It wasn’t always easy, of course. The sting of his previous actions lingered like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts, a reminder of the consequences of his thoughtlessness. Yet, each shared smile and each shared conversation with you wove a new thread of respect and affection into the fabric of his daily life.

As winter deepened and the snow began to blanket Hogwarts, bringing with it the festive buzz of the upcoming holiday season, James found himself more reflective. The common room was often aglow with the warm light of the fire, students gathered around in cozy clusters, and it was here that James found a new sense of belonging. Not just as a Marauder, but as a friend among a wider circle that included you.

One chilly evening, as the wind howled outside and the frost painted delicate patterns on the castle windows, James approached you with a tentative peace offering- a sketchbook. Its cover was a simple, deep blue, but inside, he had taken the time to fill the first page with a clumsy yet earnest attempt at a magical painting. It wasn’t animated like yours, but the colors were vibrant, a silent testament to his efforts to understand your world.

You accepted the sketchbook with a surprised chuckle, flipping through the blank pages before pausing at his painting. “This is for me?” You asked, a softness in your voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah,” James nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically shy. “I thought… well, I thought you could use it to capture the winter. I know it’s not magical like yours, but-”

“It’s perfect, James,” You interrupted, a sincere smile breaking across your face. “Really. Thank you.”

That smile, that simple moment, seemed to close a chapter on the earlier tensions between you two.

“Of course, it's not free.”

“Id expect nothing less.” You teased and he chuckled.

“Quiddich. You never go to the games. All I ask, next week, come and cheer me on?” He offered and you couldn't up but laugh. “Are you asking for a lucky charm, Potter?”

”Not any Lucky charm. Mine.”

~~~

The day of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin arrived with the usual buzz of excitement and rivalry. The stands were packed, a sea of red and green as students cheered boisterously for their respective houses. James, his nerves on edge, had been secretly looking forward to seeing you in the crowd, especially after your promise to wear Gryffindor red. It was a small victory, but for him, it meant the world.

However, as he scanned the crowd from his broom high above, his heart sank a little. There you were, indeed wrapped in a bold, red scarf, but still cheering enthusiastically for Slytherin. The sight was confusing and, if he was honest with himself, a bit disappointing. Throughout the match, James tried to focus on the game, but his eyes inevitably kept drifting back to you. Each cheer for Slytherin felt like a playful taunt, and his competitive spirit took a hit each time.

Despite his best efforts, the game didn't go well for Gryffindor. Slytherin was sharp, coordinated, and relentless. When the Slytherin seeker caught the Snitch, sealing their victory, a wave of green cheers swept the stands. James landed his broom with a tight expression, his disappointment not just in the loss, but in the mixed signals you seemed to be sending.

The teams made their way back to the locker rooms amidst mixed reactions from the crowd. While his team consoled each other and talked about what went wrong, James couldn’t shake off his gloom. He avoided the usual post-game mingling, instead heading straight for the Gryffindor common room, his mood as dark as the clouds above.

As he slumped into an armchair by the fire, the common room mostly empty due to the ongoing celebrations outside, Remus and Sirius walked in. They took one look at him and exchanged a glance.

“Tough game, Prongs,” Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah. And I guess the whole wearing-red thing didn’t mean what I thought it did,” James muttered, not meeting his friends' eyes.

Remus, ever the perceptive one, added softly, “Maybe there’s more to it, James. Did you ask her about it?”

Before James could respond, the portrait hole opened, and you stepped in, still wearing the red scarf, your expression a mix of concern and determination. Seeing you, Sirius and Remus excused themselves with knowing smiles, leaving the two of you alone.

James, as avoidant as ever and riddled with emotions he didn't want to confront, stood sharply and turned towards his dormitory. You gawked at him before furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance, a pout taking over your expression. You hurried after him.

“What's wrong, Jamie?”

Oh Merlin.

“I don't want to talk to you.” James hissed out and shoved his way into his room. You huffed and shoved the door open and walked in, closing the door behind yourself.

“You're not being very fair right now. I'm sorry I couldn't win the game for you but-”

“Do not make this about the win.”

“What is this about then, Jamie? I don't get it!”

“Stop calling me that.” He hissed and turned to face you, making you flinch.

“What's gotten into you?” You pushed cautiously and James scoffed.

“I can't do this! I don't get you!” He strained. “I tell you I've fallen for you and you brushed it off. I ask you to cheer for me and you show up in red, cheering for Slytherin!”

“James, it's my house.” You muttered softly and you saw his shoulders sag.

“Yeah but- I just figured-” He gave a long shaky sigh. Turning around and sitting on the bed, running his hands over his face.

You moved closer, taking a seat next to him on the bed, your own emotions swirling. Even then you were able to take notice. His teeth were strained by his jaw, yet they held the same Ballet White. His robes shimmering with Burnt Scarlet and Butterscotch. His eyes that locked onto yours so vulnerable, giving that perfect Cinnamon Brown. Then the way his hair shagged over his Jet Black lochs. You couldn't look away. Not from all your favorite colors.

“James, I wore red because you asked me to. I thought it was a way to show you that... that I care. But I'm still a Slytherin, and my friends were down there on that field too. I was cheering for them, not against you."

James looked at you, the frustration softening in his eyes as he processed your words. "I know, I know. It's just... everything got mixed up in my head. Seeing you there, in red, but not for Gryffindor. It felt like you were there, but not really with me."

You took his hand gently, squeezing it. "I was there for you, James. Maybe not in the way you expected, but I was there because you matter to me. I cheered for Slytherin, but I wore your favorite color. Can't I support both?"

James let out a small laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders. "When you put it like that, it sounds perfectly reasonable. I just... I guess I let the game get to me more than I should have."

"You're passionate, that's not a bad thing. But sometimes, you might see competition where there's just... affection." You offered him a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood further.

He returned your smile, this time with more warmth. "Affection, huh? So, you admit there’s something?" James teased, trying to shift back to his usual playful demeanor.

"Maybe I do.” You teased back, nudging him lightly. "But don't let it go to your head. We still have a lot to figure out, starting with how to handle house rivalries during Quidditch matches."

James chuckled, his spirits visibly lifted. "We'll figure it out. As long as it means I get to see you in Gryffindor red, maybe I can even cheer for Slytherin once in a while."

"That’s a deal.” You agreed, feeling the gap between you closing as the misunderstanding cleared up.

Just then, the door burst open, and Sirius poked his head in, a mischievous grin on his face. "Are we all forgiven and friendly now? Because there’s a victory party for Slytherin, and I was hoping to steal your girl for a dance, Prongs."

James rolled his eyes, but his smile was genuine. "Only if you promise to bring her back, Padfoot."

You laughed, standing up and offering James a hand up. "Let’s go then. And maybe we can start a new tradition- dancing together, no matter who wins the match."

James took your hand, standing and pulling you into a quick, grateful hug. "Sounds like a perfect plan."

Before he could pull away fully, you stole a quick kiss against his cheek. He gave a startled huff, staring at you with wide eyes. Before he could scamper out any response, or even kiss you back, you pulled away and sent him a wink. Hurrying after a laughing Sirius as he took your arm like a gentleman would.

It took James two to three business days for his system to turn back on. “H-hey, wait!” He shouted after you, stumbling over himself and hitting his foot against the bed. Giving a small curse before he stumbled back after you, not hearing the soft clank of something falling from between his head board and the dresser.

Later that night, you two would find your mother's paintbrush, nestled between his bed posts and pillows.

What were you doing in James Potter’s bed so late?

Experiencing a masterpiece.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #james potter #sirius black #Remus Lupin #james potter x you #james fleamont potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #lily Evans

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misstycloud · 6 months ago

Text

[Yandere.Rich man x ballerina reader]

(I don’t actually know much about ballet so forgive me if things are incorrect!)

—————

Rich. Yandere who was pestered by his friend and his wife to join them at the opera house and enjoy a performance. The couple had asked him numerous times before but he’d always declined. He was a workaholic and didn’t have any other commitments, so there was no need to break his routine. Although he would never admit it to anyone- he barely does to himself- he often find himself imagining a different life; one where he had a wife to welcome him home every evening. Perhaps a few children too. There was no sound besides himself and the staff in his home, it would be so very nice to hear the noise of running feet and happy chatter echo through the empty halls.

Rich. Yandere who is lonely above all else. His family is dead and he has next to no friends- the only one he has is married and devote all his time to keep him company. He knows that he doesn’t have the best track-record of being the kindest person in the world, and he might not be the friendliest or the most out-going, still, doesn’t he deserve some love too?

Rich. Yandere who eventually give into his friends demand and goes with them to the opera. As they took their seats- the expensive and best ones, of course- his friends wife babble on about her favourite dancer. They were regulars there and had seen many performances. He simply sighed and leaned back into his seat, waiting for the show to begin. He could only hope that it’ll be somewhat enjoyable since he doesn’t like wasting his time.

Rich. Yandere who was prepared for it to be a dreadful 3 hours, rubbing his eyes and suffering from lack of blood-flow in his legs. Oh how wrong he was. Instantly his gaze zoomed into you as soon as you stepped forward from behind the curtain. You were so beautiful and you moved your body gracefully to the music. It was magical. While he knew close to nothing about ballet, he knew that the point of it were for the women to look like they’re floating, and it’s exactly what you were doing.

Rich. Yandere who is instantly enamoured with you. As someone who’s never felt love this was all a brand new experience for him. He asked his friend and his wife if they knew who you were, since they frequent the opera so much. And turns out the wife did know who you were; you were her favourite after all. Rich. Yandere was never close with her or particularly liked her even, but he had to give it to her: she has excellent taste in performers.

Rich. Yandere who starts looking up information regarding you. It’s be your name, age, background, family, where you went to school and where you live. Everything. He also begins donating a lot of money to the opera house. In a short amount of time he’s become their nr.1 funder. The managers and owners are ecstatic at the news! They ask why he’s so generous and he simply answers that he loves culture and thinks it’s important it doesn’t disappear. Then, they wonder if there is anything they can do for him return, to which he smiles in response.

“Well, I do suppose there is one dancer I would be delighted to meet in person.”

Rich. Yandere who you feel uncomfortable around. He is so strange. You were just a normal ballerina, a dancer, no better or worse than anyone before your time. That’s why you can’t fathom the interest this wealthy man has taken in you. You two came form completely different worlds! But what can you do when your bosses not-so-gently urge you to see this man alone? You dont have any other skills and can’t apply to another job if you get fired.

Rich. Yandere who is determined to make you fall for him the way he has fallen for you. He’ll take care of you, love you and protect you. You don’t have to worry about a thing. He will do anything for his love.

“Don’t be scared, just keep on dancing, my little dancer.”

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svt-luna · 2 months ago

Note

let me start by saying I absolutely love your creativity and story telling! Your Luna pieces are so refreshing and I look forward to reading them!!

We have seen a jealous Jeonghan, and I was hoping we could see the jealous side of Luna. As much as I love an unbothered queen, I think it would be interesting to see how she would react in a jealousy situation.

𝜗℘ THE BOY IS MINE

❛ 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱, 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘪'𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦— 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦. ❜

timeline: 2023

synopsis: In the city of love, Luna finally snaps and learns just how far she’ll go to protect what’s hers.

warnings: 18+ mdni, mature content, sexual content, smut, cursing, possessive!Luna, angry!Luna, Luna’s self-conflicting thoughts, sexual tension, flirting, subtle innuendos, alcohol consumption, kisses!, pet names, piv sex, unprotected sex (girly pop is on birth control), teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, riding, degradation, edging, Jeonghan the menace, Jeonghan’s desire to be possessed, lowkey toxic, a little bit of a red flag for the both of them, they are both freaky af, pure filth!

thank you so so much for loving my works! also, thank you for requesting this, i absolutely fell in love with this idea— i have also been getting a lot of possessive!Luna and angry!Luna requests so i have mixed all of those ideas here. plus, you guys voted for a smut for this one on my last poll… so here it is! so i hope you lovely humans enjoy it!!

‘freak like me, you wanna good girl that does bad things to you.’ that reminds me of them.

Disclaimer: The following chapter contains explicit sexual content and mature themes. It is intended for adult readers only. If you are under the legal age or find these subjects uncomfortable, it is advised for you to refrain from reading further. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

There was a quiet shadow that hovered over Luna.

It had been there for as long as she could remember— silent, unseen by others, but always present. It wasn’t something she could simply brush away or ignore, no matter how much she tried.

At first, it had confused her, this weight that pressed down on her chest, something that tugged at her insides, tightening like a vine when certain people or situations crossed her path. But over the years, she had learned to understand it, control it, and accept it as a part of her personality.

It wasn’t something to fear— just a quiet burden she had grown used to carrying.

Luna remembers the first time she noticed that quiet shadow.

She was seven years old, back in Kensington, London. Her memories of that time are vivid— her mom, graceful and elegant, the very image of a ballerina, guiding her students with precision and patience. Luna’s mom had once been a professional ballerina, but after an injury ended her dancing career, she became a ballet teacher, molding the next generation of dancers.

She was who Luna aspired to be, her biggest inspiration. Luna loved ballet because of her mom. It was her way of connecting with the person she admired most, the person she wanted to be like— this was before music had stolen her heart before she dreamed of stages and lights and becoming an idol.

One day, during one of their ballet classes, Luna sat at the edge of the dance floor, her small hands gripping the bar as she watched her mom in the middle of the studio. Her mother was focused, and poised, her sharp eyes tracing the movements of each student as they worked through their routine. But that day, her attention was particularly fixed on one new student— Mila.

Mila was good. Even Luna had to admit that. Her lines were sharp, her movements fluid in a way that most of the other girls in the class couldn’t quite replicate.

Luna’s mom corrected her form, praised her posture, and used her as an example for the rest of the class. She wasn’t biased— Luna’s mom would never show favoritism just because Luna was her daughter. She was a professional, and Luna understood that, even at seven.

Luna didn’t expect her mom to treat her differently from the other students, nor did she want her to. She wanted to earn her mother’s praise the same way everyone else did.

And yet, something about that day sat uncomfortably with her. She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t even jealous that Mila was getting all of her mom’s attention.

Luna understood why.

Mila deserved the praise. She was graceful and talented. It made sense that her mom would focus on her. Luna could see that clearly.

But what bothered her was how Mila seemed to cling to her mom, how she wouldn’t leave her side after class ended. She followed her, asking questions, seeking more help with this step or that turn.

It wasn’t the attention itself that made Luna’s heart twist— after all, her mom was the teacher. It was her job to help the students.

Luna understood that, too.

But then, Mila had called her “Mom.”

That was the moment Luna met the shadow.

The quiet shadow that curled inside her, wrapping around her chest like a creeping vine, tightening, making her feel… strange.

She wasn’t mad, not really.

She knew her mom was just doing her job. But hearing Mila call her “Mom” made something inside Luna snap, something she didn’t fully understand yet.

It wasn’t jealousy— it was something different, more deeper.

An anger she hadn’t known existed until that moment.

How dare she? How dare Mila try to claim something that wasn’t hers?

Luna sat there, frozen in place, watching as her mother gently corrected Mila’s posture, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside her daughter.

It was in that quiet moment, with Mila standing so close to her mom, that Luna realized she didn’t want to share.

Not her mother.

Not ever.

Luna remembered how ashamed she had felt for feeling that way.

Even as a child, it hadn’t made sense to her— this sudden, overwhelming wave of anger that had no real direction, no clear target.

It was Mila, but it wasn’t Mila’s fault.

It was her mother, but her mother had done nothing wrong.

The feeling that had curled up in her chest was irrational, something she couldn’t place, and she hadn’t liked it.

Not at all.

Luna hadn’t understood it at the time, but the way it made her skin prickle and her stomach tighten was something she wanted to forget.

She had ignored it, pushing it down deep where she wouldn’t have to face it, wouldn’t have to explain it to herself.

Because how could she? How could she explain a feeling so ugly, so selfish?

She had done nothing about it that day. She had simply sat there, forcing a smile when her mom looked over, her small hands clenched into fists behind her back as she tried to shake off the knot in her throat. And she had told herself it was a one-time thing.

Just a bad day.

She thought she had been tired, maybe hungry, even sick— anything to explain away the strange feelings she couldn’t put words to.

That was it, Luna had thought. She was just having a bad day, and the odd tension in her chest would pass by tomorrow.

But it hadn’t.

Every now and then, when Luna least expected it, that quiet shadow would resurface.

It wasn’t constant— thankfully, it wasn’t something she had to deal with every day. But every once in a while, when someone tried to take or claim something that was hers, the feeling would crawl back into her mind, winding itself around her thoughts like it had all those years ago.

It was subtle and quiet in a way that made it easy to dismiss, but it was there.

Luna could feel it, simmering just beneath the surface.

It could be small things— someone borrowing her Barbie doll without asking or someone stealing her answers in school. Or it could be bigger moments, like when she noticed a friend growing too close to someone she cared about, or when someone new joined a group and immediately seemed to click with people she had known for years.

The feelings were rare, but they came.

And when they did, Luna would find herself reacting in the same way.

She would feel her face flush, red creeping up her neck, and a tightness would settle in her chest. Her gaze would harden, and she’d find herself glaring before she could even stop herself. Her eyes would burn, locking onto the person who had unknowingly triggered that shadow to stir.

But she never did anything about it.

Never once.

Luna was good at brushing it off, pretending it didn’t matter because she knew better. She was logical, rational. She prided herself on being someone who didn’t let her emotions control her. So she never let it show, never let it become something more than a fleeting thought.

Her mind would scream, her heart would pound, but outwardly, she remained composed.

Calm.

Luna never let herself act on it, because she was a good person.

She didn’t lash out, didn’t make a scene, especially not for something so petty. She told herself that it was her problem, not theirs. No one else seemed to notice these things— no one else saw a threat where she did.

It was all in her head, this quiet burden that only she carried.

However, there was only one person in existence who ever seemed to notice this shadow that clung to her, silent and unyielding.

And that was none other than Yoon Jeonghan.

Jeonghan had always been exceptionally good at reading people, an uncanny talent for seeing beyond the surface.

With Luna, though, it was different— he didn’t just read her, he understood her in a way that made her both comforted and unnerved.

He never asked too many questions, never pried, but the way he looked at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking, was something she could never quite shake.

It was during her trainee days at PLEDIS when Luna first realized just how much Jeonghan could see her— really see her.

She was sixteen, and the bright green walls of the infamous training room, known as the ‘Melona Prison,’ loomed around her and the rest of the trainees.

Boys and girls, all in their teens, filled the space, their laughter and chatter bouncing off the mirrored walls. It was another long day of practice, but as usual, they managed to steal moments to goof around, to release the tension building up from endless hours of training.

Jeonghan had been her closest friend back then.

Her best friend.

And she was his.

They were inseparable, the two of them gravitating toward each other with an ease that made everyone else assume they had known each other for years, when in reality, they had only met a few months prior.

Jeonghan had always been Luna’s safe place, the one person who could coax a laugh out of her even when she felt like she was drowning in exhaustion.

But on that particular day, Luna felt something stir inside her, something familiar yet unwanted.

She was sitting against the wall, catching her breath while the others horsed around, when her eyes drifted toward the far corner of the room.

There, Jeonghan stood, his back to her, talking to one of the female trainees— Seoyeon. They were close— closer than Luna liked, though she told herself it didn’t matter.

Jeonghan was charismatic, naturally friendly with everyone, and she had no reason— no right— to feel anything but indifference toward the scene playing out before her.

And yet.

Luna’s gaze sharpened when she saw him lean down, his hand coming up to playfully squeeze Seoyeon’s cheeks. She watched as the girl laughed, a bright, carefree sound that seemed to cut through the room. Jeonghan grinned at her, the way he always did, that smile of his that could disarm anyone in seconds.

Luna felt it again.

That tightening in her chest. The heat rushing to her face. Her hands curled into fists on her lap, her knuckles turning white as she stared at them.

She wasn’t mad.

She wasn’t jealous.

She had no reason to be.

Jeonghan was her best friend, and she knew how he was.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong.

And the trainee— she was just enjoying his attention.

Luna understood.

She understood perfectly well.

But why, then, was she so angry?

Jeonghan’s eyes flicked toward her then, catching her in her quiet storm. His gaze lingered on her for just a second too long before a grin spread across his face.

It didn’t even take him a moment to read her— he had known instantly, like he always did.

Leaving Seoyeon, Jeonghan strolled over to where Luna sat, his expression lazy, amused. He dropped down beside her without a word, his shoulder brushing against hers, and with that same teasing smirk, he reached out and squeezed her cheeks just like he had done to Seoyeon.

“Nana-ya,” he sang in that lilting, sing-song voice of his, his eyes twinkling with that hidden understanding that made Luna’s heart stop for a moment.

That’s when it clicked.

After years of brushing off that quiet shadow, after years of pretending it didn’t exist, Luna finally understood.

She had met this shadow before, but it wasn’t until now— until this exact moment, with Jeonghan sitting next to her, arm slung lazily around her shoulders— that she realized what it was.

Luna wasn’t jealous.

She had never been jealous.

As she sat there, Jeonghan’s presence steady beside her, watching the other trainees continue to fool around, Luna’s mind whirred with realization.

Luna didn’t want to be Seoyeon, just like she hadn’t wanted to be Mila all those years ago. She had no desire to trade places with them, to be in their shoes.

That wasn’t the problem at all.

No, what bothered her— what had always bothered her— was seeing someone else take what was hers. Watching them try to claim something that belonged to her, something she held dear.

It wasn’t envy.

It was never about wanting what someone else had.

It was about protecting what was already hers.

Jeonghan gave her a knowing glance, his arm tightening slightly around her shoulders, and that was all it took.

In that moment, Luna understood.

The shadow she had known since she was a child wasn’t jealousy.

Jealousy was wanting something that wasn’t yours.

Possessiveness, however, was not wanting anyone to take what already belonged to you.

And Luna was possessive.

If jealousy is an ugly green friend, Luna’s friend was possessiveness, a quiet shadow, always hovering close, guarding fiercely and pulling tightly at whatever it holds dear.

Possessiveness.

The word tasted bitter in Luna’s mind, like something dark and twisted that she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried.

She despised it.

Even the sound of it in her thoughts made her skin crawl.

Possess.

It was a word meant for things— objects, items you could hold, keep, or claim as your own.

But not people.

People weren’t possessions.

They weren’t things you could control, own, or dictate.

And yet, she felt it— deeply.

From time to time, that ugly shadow would wrap its fingers around her chest, tightening with every breath until she felt suffocated by it.

It was a feeling she had grown to hate.

Luna didn’t want to possess anyone.

She never wanted to be the kind of person who clung to someone so tightly that it hurt.

People weren’t objects to own. They had their own lives, their own choices, their own freedom. And yet, the shadow— her shadow— didn’t care about that. It didn’t care about logic or reason. It only cared about keeping what was hers close, about holding on so fiercely that no one else could ever take it away.

Luna hated it.

She found it toxic, the way it crept up on her, curling around her like smoke, impossible to escape. There were moments when the feeling would rise up in her chest like a wave, threatening to crash over everything she held dear.

But Luna always fought it. She had to.

She would remind herself that this wasn’t who she wanted to be, that people were not things to be controlled or claimed. Every time that feeling surfaced, she forced herself to ground it, to bury it deep inside where it couldn’t reach anyone else.

It was her burden to bear.

Even now, sitting in that green training room, the feeling flickered in her veins like an old, unwelcome memory.

Luna could feel it watching her, that quiet shadow, as Jeonghan laughed with someone else, as his hand touched someone else.

But she didn’t act on it. She never did. What would be the point?

Jeonghan wasn’t hers, not in the way that word implied. He was her best friend, sure, but she had no claim over him. No right to feel this way. So, she ignored it. She always did. She let the feeling settle somewhere in her chest, a familiar ache she was used to managing.

But deep down, Luna knew she couldn’t control when it would show up. And every time it did, she made sure to ground herself, to force herself not to react. To breathe through it until the feeling passed.

She never wanted to be ruled by it.

Luna glanced at Jeonghan, still sitting beside her, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His warmth was steady and reassuring, but it was also a reminder— a reminder of the one person who could make her feel this way.

Jeonghan had always been the one who stirred something different in her, something she couldn’t quite explain. He was her closest friend, yes, but he was also the person who made her feel like this shadow had more power than it should.

And unbeknownst to sixteen-year-old Luna, at that very moment, the person who would make her feel the weight of this shadow more than anyone else for more years to come was sitting right next to her.

Yoon Jeonghan.

It was him.

It had always been him.

Jeonghan was Jeonghan.

There was something undeniable about him, something that people couldn’t help but notice.

He had the look— handsome in that effortless way that didn’t need to be flaunted. But “handsome” didn’t even cover it.

No, Jeonghan wasn’t just handsome.

He was beautiful.

Strikingly, impossibly beautiful.

His features were delicate but sharp, almost ethereal in a way that made Luna think, God, he’s beautiful every time she looked at him. But that wasn’t what made him special.

Jeonghan’s beauty was simply the surface of something much deeper.

He was naturally easy to be with. Effortless. Comfortable. People gravitated toward him, not just because of how he looked but because of how he made them feel. Jeonghan had a way of making anyone feel seecn like they mattered, like they were worth his time. He was charming, of course, but it was never forced. It was natural, something that seemed to come from him without any effort.

People just liked him, and it was no mystery why.

From their teen years in the cramped, fluorescent-lit practice rooms of PLEDIS to the bright lights of concert stages, from the endless hours of rehearsals to the long nights of sleepless training, Jeonghan had always been Jeonghan.

Their friendship had blossomed during those years, starting as something simple, easy, and natural. And from their trainee days to their debut, to their lives as successful idols, it had been the same.

The bond between them grew and deepened. The long hours spent together, the shared struggles and triumphs, the quiet moments in between it all— it was like they were always meant to find each other.

It had been gradual, a quiet blossoming from friendship into something more. It wasn’t a sudden realization for Luna. It was more like the slow unveiling of something that had been there all along, something neither of them had fully acknowledged until it became impossible to ignore.

And throughout it all, there was that strange feeling, the shadow lurking at the edges of her awareness.

Luna’s possessiveness.

Surprisingly, she realized early on that it didn’t apply to the members of SEVENTEEN, and thank God for that. When it came to them, Luna felt nothing but warmth, affection, and camaraderie. The idea of being possessive over her members felt absurd. They were family, an extension of herself in so many ways. She never minded when they were close with Jeonghan, never minded when they teased or hugged him.

And thankfully, it didn’t apply to the fans either. SEVENTEEN’s fans adored Jeonghan— of course they did. They loved him with a fervor that could only be described as awe-inspiring. And yet, when it came to them, that shadow never reared its head.

Luna felt nothing but gratitude toward them. In a way, they shared Jeonghan, all of them basking in the warmth of his presence, and that was fine.

It never bothered her.

For a long time, Luna thought maybe that strange feeling had disappeared altogether like she had outgrown it— an awkward teenage phase she’d left behind. She thought maybe she had matured, evolved past that irrational emotion, and put it to rest.

Until it showed up again.

And it was always because of Jeonghan.

It always was.

Luna realized, as time went on, that the possessiveness wasn’t something she’d outgrown.

It was just lying in wait, dormant, until the right circumstances stirred it back to life. And those circumstances always revolved around Yoon Jeonghan.

Even before they were officially together, Luna would noticed it.

Little moments that seemed harmless on the surface, but made that old familiar feeling stir within her chest. New staff members, stylists, random people who crossed their paths— everyone seemed to be drawn to Yoon Jeonghan like a magnet.

Luna would watch it happen, time and time again, seeing the way people gravitated toward him, and how they lit up when he flashed that effortless smile.

And each time, that shadow would bloom out of thin air, wrapping its fingers around her tightly.

It would start in her chest, a subtle tightening she tried to ignore. But then, she’d feel her face flush, heat creeping up her neck, and her hands would ball into fists in her lap. Her jaw would clench, and that sharp glare would settle in her eyes. She would sit there, watching, fighting the urge to do anything about it, because what could she do?

It wasn’t like Jeonghan was doing anything wrong.

He was just being Jeonghan.

But every time someone flirted with him— especially when it was right in front of her— that shadow flared, dark and consuming.

And it only got worse once they were officially together.

Once Jeonghan became hers in the way that mattered, the possessiveness grew more potent, more intense.

Luna had always prided herself on being rational, on keeping her emotions in check. But when it came to Jeonghan, there were moments when that possessiveness felt like it might consume her whole.

It wasn’t the members. She was perfectly fine with them. They were family. She trusted them with everything, including Jeonghan. And the fans— she never felt threatened by their love for him. They were a part of their lives, an integral part, and she shared in their adoration of him.

But when it came to other people— people who didn’t know him like she did, people who only saw him as that beautiful, charming idol— Luna could feel that shadow rise up in her like a wave, ready to crash down and smother everything in its path.

The new staff who whispered about him, the random stylist with a too-long gaze, the brief interactions with people who clearly had crushes on him— it all drove her insane.

And Jeonghan… Jeonghan, being the person he was, didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did notice, and he simply didn’t care. He’d smile that lazy, mischievous smile, charm them without even meaning to, and Luna would sit there, her blood simmering beneath the surface.

Luna hated it.

She hated the way it made her feel, the way her emotions spiraled out of control when it came to him.

Because it wasn’t jealousy. No, it was never jealousy. Jealousy was wanting something that wasn’t yours. Luna didn’t want what she didn’t have.

She just didn’t want anyone else to have what was already hers.

When other people gawked at Jeonghan, whispered about him, had crushes on him, and flirted with him—especially when she was right there— Luna felt like she could lose it.

The shadow inside her, that friend she’d grown so familiar with, would flare to life, ready to guard what was hers, to protect it fiercely from anyone who dared come too close.

She wasn’t jealous. She was possessive. And there was a difference.

Jeonghan was hers, and no one else’s.

Luna hated thinking this way.

She despised the possessiveness that clawed at her insides, wrapping around her chest like a vice, making it hard to breathe.

It wasn’t who she wanted to be.

She didn’t want to be the kind of person who felt like she had to hold onto someone so tightly as if they might slip away if she let go for even a second.

People weren’t possessions, least of all Jeonghan. She knew that. She reminded herself of it constantly. He’s not an object. He’s not your property.

But despite her best efforts, that gnawing feeling never truly left.

Every time someone got too close to Jeonghan, every time someone lingered in conversation with him a little too long, every time eyes wandered over his beautiful face and easy smile, Luna felt it stir again. And God, she hated it. She hated that it made her feel this way, irrational and out of control.

And yet, no matter how hard Luna tried to mask it, to suppress it, she could tell— Jeonghan could tell.

Jeonghan always knew.

He could read her like a book, his favorite book, in fact.

Luna could see it in the way his eyes would find hers when she was glaring at whoever had decided to flirt with him.

He never looked surprised or confused. No, Jeonghan knew exactly what she was feeling, and even more, he enjoyed it.

That was the thing about Jeonghan.

He was a mischievous tease to the core, always playing around with people, always stirring up trouble just to see what would happen. He enjoyed the chase, the thrill, the challenge.

And Luna? She was his favorite challenge.

Of course, Jeonghan wasn’t doing it on purpose— not in the way that would hurt her.

He wasn’t cruel— he loves her too much.

He would never actually flirt with someone else to provoke her or make her feel insecure. He wouldn’t do that to her, and Luna knew that deep down. But there was something about the way he reveled in her possessiveness, in the way she reacted to it, that made her blood boil even more.

Whenever that familiar tension rose between them, whenever she was on the verge of snapping, Jeonghan would always, without fail, baby her. He’d get more clingy, more affectionate, more of a tease as if he was purposefully testing her limits. His voice would drop into that soft, teasing tone, laced with a kind of condescending flirtation that only he could pull off.

He’d speak in that sing-song voice he reserved just for her, leaning in close with a playful grin, the words dripping with an infuriating sweetness that made her want to both kiss him and strangle him at the same time.

“Aww, is someone getting a little upset, hm? You know there’s no need for that, pretty girl,” he’d coo, the endearment rolling off his tongue like honey.

Or worse: “What’s the matter? You know you don’t have to worry, baby. No one else could ever take me from you,” he’d say, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against her ear, his tone dipping lower. “Only you, baby.”

And then there was the one that always pushed her the hardest, the one that made her breath catch in her throat every time: “You look so cute when you’re mad, you know that? Like a little kitten, all puffed up. What are you going to do about it, hmm? Just glare at me all day?”

Luna’s glare was sharp, piercing through the teasing words that dripped from Jeonghan’s mouth. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, the familiar flush of frustration mingled with that damned possessiveness.

His words always had a way of igniting something deep within her, something she despised but couldn’t fully control.

Jeonghan, of course, noticed. He always did.

He leaned down, his lips still curled into that maddeningly soft smile, one hand reaching out to cup the back of her neck. His fingers were warm, and the touch, though gentle, sent a shiver down her spine. He held her there, not tightly, but just enough to make her feel trapped in that moment, in his presence.

Jeonghan nudged his nose against hers, brushing their foreheads together as he tilted his head. His voice dropped to that low, teasing tone that he knew got under her skin. “My moon,” he murmured, his breath fanning across her lips, “you know I’d never get taken from you, right?”

His thumb stroked lightly at the base of her neck, his grip softening as if lulling her into a sense of security. “They’d have to drag me away kicking and screaming.” His lips were so close now, almost brushing against hers, his gaze locking onto her eyes, studying the irritation simmering in them, the way her lips twitched like she was fighting back a snarl.

But there was that underlying tone again, that subtle challenge woven into his words, as though he was daring her to act, daring her to stop pretending she could ignore it. He leaned in just a fraction more, his lips ghosting against hers without quite closing the distance.

“No one can compare to you, baby,” His voice lowered even more, a whisper now, intimate, taunting. “You should show them that, hmm?”

The words hung in the air between them, a gauntlet thrown at her feet. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on her neck, not forceful, but just enough to remind her of his presence, of the fact that he was right there, within reach, hers to hold onto if she wanted.

His eyes gleamed with that familiar mischievous spark, the one that always set her on edge. “What’s it going to be, Nana-ya? Are you just going to keep glaring at me?” His voice softened, but the challenge lingered. “Or are you going to show them?”

The way he said it, like a coo, like a teasing dare, made her blood simmer even more. He was pushing her, testing her limits again, and he knew it. He was always so sure of himself, so confident that no matter how hard she tried to keep her composure, he could make her unravel.

There was always that underlying tone in his voice, that unspoken dare woven into his words like he was tempting her— pushing her to do something about it.

No, scratch that… Jeonghan wanted her to do something about it.

He was daring her to let that possessiveness out, to stop holding back, to give in to the anger simmering beneath the surface.

And Luna hated how much she wanted to. She hated that part of her wanted to rise to his challenge, to make it clear to everyone that Jeonghan was hers and hers alone.

But she never did.

Instead, she would just glare at him, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits, her fists tightening at her sides as she fought the urge to snap. She’d take a deep breath, then another, and force herself to look away, to move on, to push the emotions back down where they belonged. She refused to give in to it, no matter how much Jeonghan taunted her, no matter how much his teasing made her want to lose control.

She never let it take over.

Jeonghan knew this about her, though. He could see through her every time, peeling back the layers of her composure with a single glance. She thought she was doing a good job of keeping it together, of staying calm, but Jeonghan could always tell what was really going on beneath the surface. He knew exactly what she was feeling, and he knew, too, that she wasn’t going to act on it.

Not yet, at least.

And that amused him.

Unbeknownst to Luna, Jeonghan enjoyed the game just as much as she feared it.

He found her possessiveness endearing, almost charming in a way, because it was so unlike her usual composed self. It was a side of her that only he got to see, a raw vulnerability that she kept hidden from the rest of the world.

And Jeonghan, with his sly smile and ever-calculating mind, wanted her to act on it.

He wanted to see what would happen if she let go if she stopped holding back and let that fiery possessiveness take over. He wasn’t afraid of it; in fact, he reveled in it. He knew how much it frustrated her, how hard she worked to keep it in check, and it thrilled him to push her just enough to see her struggle with it.

Because Jeonghan always got what he wanted in the end.

Always.

And what he wanted was for Luna to stop fighting it.

Jeonghan wanted her to let go, to show him how much she cared, how much she hated seeing other people fawn over him, how much she wanted to claim him in front of everyone.

He knew she could do it, and he was going to get her there.

He always did.

Then, Jeonghan finally got his way.

It finally happened in Paris, of all places.

Jeonghan always knew how to push her buttons, but Luna had never truly snapped before. She always found a way to hold it together, to remind herself that he was his own person, that she couldn’t— shouldn’t— be so possessive.

But Paris, with its old-world charm, its elegant streets and glittering lights, became the stage where everything came undone.

They had flown out for Fashion Week 2023, the pinnacle of their already busy schedules. Jeonghan, being the brand ambassador for Yves Saint Laurent, was the centerpiece of their show, while Luna, as Miu Miu’s ambassador, would be attending their event.

Their schedules aligned but diverged, each pulled into their separate orbits by the fashion world’s demands.

Everything had been normal up until that point.

Well, as normal as it could be for two idols navigating the storm of fame, fashion, and flashing cameras.

The flight to Paris had been peaceful. The two of them sat side by side, hidden behind the anonymity of first-class curtains, though they didn’t really talk much— both too absorbed in resting in preparation for their individual roles in the whirlwind that was Fashion Week. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a sense of routine, of being used to this kind of life.

When they landed, they were whisked away to separate fittings— Jeonghan heading toward the sleek, moody atmosphere of YSL’s atelier, while Luna was surrounded by the playful and elegant charm of Miu Miu.

They had exchanged texts throughout the day— small updates about their schedules, complaints about too-tight shoes, or a particularly exhausting interview, but they hadn’t seen each other much. The demands of Fashion Week were relentless, pulling them in different directions.

The day of Jeonghan’s YSL show came first. Luna didn’t attend— she was in the middle of her own preparations for Miu Miu—but she saw the photos. Jeonghan looked breathtaking, dressed in sleek black, with sharp lines and an effortless cool that sent waves through the fashion world.

The press and fans fawned over him and so did Luna.

Then came her own day— Miu Miu’s show. It was an entirely different vibe from YSL, more playful and eclectic, but Luna shone just as brightly. She reveled in the attention for a moment, feeling the pride that came with representing such a prestigious brand. But the busyness of it all kept them from each other again, just fleeting texts exchanged between interviews and fittings, always running parallel but never quite crossing paths.

Once their obligations were done, they finally had a few days off together. That was when they started playing tourist, doing all the things they rarely got to enjoy because of their packed schedules. Mornings were filled with museum visits— Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, and even the quirky and vibrant Centre Pompidou. They took photos for each other, snapping candid shots for their fans to see later, knowing these moments would end up on SEVENTEEN’s YouTube channel as part of their SEVENTEEN Records series.

Luna still remembered the way Jeonghan would lean into her as they walked through the narrow Parisian streets, his breath tickling her ear as he made quiet jokes, teasing her about how her coat looked too big for her— “You’re being swallowed whole, baby.” She had shoved him lightly, laughing at his antics, but the warmth between them was undeniable.

They were just two people, away from the madness of their lives for a while, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together.

Afternoons were spent shopping in the chic boutiques of Le Marais, where they wandered hand in hand, occasionally separating to browse different sections, only to reconvene with secret smiles and a few more bags to carry.

They tried on clothes, Luna teasing Jeonghan when he lingered too long in front of the mirror, and he returned the favor by commenting on how she had too many shoes already— though that didn’t stop him from buying her another pair.

It had been peaceful— normal, even— and for a moment, Luna thought that maybe she’d outgrown that old possessiveness. That shadow of possessiveness that once lingered at the edge of her thoughts felt distant. It seemed like an awkward phase she had passed, something she could leave behind in her teenage years.

But she should have known better.

Luna had told herself that possessiveness was something she could overcome, that it was just a phase from when their relationship was new and uncertain.

But now, she realized how wrong she had been.

That shadow had never disappeared— it had simply been lying in wait, simmering under the surface, lingering in the quiet moments between them, waiting for just the right moment to break free.

And Jeonghan knew it, he had always known it. He wanted her to let it out, to snap, to show just how much she wanted to claim him, no matter who was watching.

And, of course, it would all happen here, in Paris— the city of romance, the city that demanded passion in all things.

Their dinner was planned at an upscale restaurant tucked away from the bustling streets. They had reserved a private room to avoid the scrutiny of prying eyes, to keep the illusion of their relationship hidden for just a bit longer.

It was rare for them to have such an intimate setting in public, without the watchful presence of managers or bodyguards. Just the two of them, free to be themselves, free to let their guards down.

As they stepped inside, heads turned immediately.

There was no fanfare, no cameras flashing or crowds gathering around, but Luna and Jeonghan commanded attention just by their presence.

Tall and slender, both of them had an air of sophistication mixed with the slightest edge of danger, as if they didn’t quite belong in the same world as everyone else.

Luna’s long, wavy, blonde hair fell loosely behind her, framing her sharp features, and she was dressed entirely in black. A fitted black top tucked neatly into a black mini-skirt, accentuated with a thick black belt, thigh-high black boots that hugged her legs perfectly, and a long black leather coat that gave her an almost ethereal, otherworldly aura. She looked like she had stepped out of a noir film, every detail perfectly curated.

Beside her, Jeonghan was equally striking, his shoulder-length black hair framing his face in soft waves. He wore a black top that clung to his lean frame, black pants that accentuated his long legs, and polished black boots that added an extra touch of elegance. His long, dark coat fell in gentle folds around him, moving with a grace that was almost hypnotic.

As they walked in, the soft murmur of conversation in the restaurant quieted. Eyes followed them, some openly staring, others trying to be more discreet but failing to hide their curiosity.

A few older patrons, French locals enjoying a quiet meal, looked at them with a kind of bewildered fascination, as if trying to place them in some distant memory. They didn’t know exactly who they were, but there was something unmistakably famous about the two of them.

Younger diners, however, recognized them immediately. A few phones came out, subtle but visible, snapping photos and recording videos, capturing this rare glimpse of Luna and Jeonghan together.

But they weren’t worried.

Their fans were used to seeing them together; they knew how close they were, how often they appeared in public side by side, laughing and touching, their bond evident to anyone who watched.

Some fans were convinced they were dating, while others chalked it up to an unbreakable friendship.

The truth, of course, was the former— a truth that Jeonghan and Luna kept carefully guarded, shared only with their family and the members of SEVENTEEN. They knew all too well how the media could twist things, and they preferred to keep their relationship a cherished secret, just for them.

Luna stepped up to the maître d’, her expression neutral, almost cold at first, as she spoke softly. “Bonsoir,” she greeted, her voice calm and polite, her French accent carefully practiced. “We have a reservation under Bae Jiyeon.”

The maître d’ nodded, checking his ledger, clearly aware of the weight these two held, even without their entourage. As he glanced up, Luna allowed a small smile to break through her composed facade, a warmth that contrasted sharply with her intense gaze, and Jeonghan’s hand slipped to her back, a gentle but firm touch as he leaned in, listening.

“Ah, yes, Mademoiselle Bae,” the maître d’ replied, his tone respectful. “Right this way, please.”

Jeonghan gave the man a brief smile, a subtle flash of charm that was both polite and distant, a glimpse of the man he was when the cameras were on him.

The staff and patrons continued to watch as they were led deeper into the restaurant, a quiet murmur of whispers trailing behind them. There was a low hum of intrigue from the older patrons, and the younger ones, who recognized them, clutched their phones tightly, capturing every second.

The maître d’ guided them down a softly lit hallway to a secluded area, hidden behind dark, ornate doors. He opened one with a flourish, gesturing for them to enter. “Your private dining room, just as you requested. I hope you both enjoy your evening.”

Luna offered him a soft nod. “Merci.”

With a final nod from Jeonghan, the maître d’ closed the door behind them, leaving them alone in the dimly lit room. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over the space, reflecting off the fine crystal glasses and polished silverware.

Luna settled into the plush velvet of the round booth, tucking her legs gracefully beneath the table as she took in the quiet ambiance around them. The dim lighting softened every edge, casting a warm, intimate glow over the room.

Jeonghan slid in beside her, his body close enough that she could feel his warmth without even touching. He stretched one arm along the back of the seat behind her, his hand resting on the cushion just inches from her shoulder, his fingers occasionally brushing the fabric of her coat as he settled in. It felt effortless, as if they belonged there, hidden away in their private world.

Luna picked up the leather-bound menu, her fingers running over the embossed gold lettering on the front before she opened it, eyes scanning the options. She was quickly absorbed in the list, flipping through each page with a quiet focus.

Jeonghan, however, didn’t even glance at his own menu. Instead, he leaned in, reading over her shoulder, his chin nearly brushing her temple as he followed her gaze.

“Not even going to look at your own?” she murmured, a playful hint in her voice as she kept her eyes on the page.

Jeonghan tilted his head, the hint of a smile curving his lips. “Why should I? I trust you to pick something good for me,” he replied smoothly, his voice low and lazy, his hand slipping a little lower on the cushion behind her. His thumb brushed against the back of her shoulder, a gentle, absentminded gesture as he spoke.

Luna gave a soft chuckle, shaking her head as she scanned the menu. “You say that now, but if I end up picking something you don’t like, you’ll be the first to complain.”

He leaned a little closer, his breath warm against her cheek. “Hmm, I don’t think I’ll have any complaints if it’s coming from you,” he teased, the words slipping out like silk.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at her lips as she focused back on the menu. “Alright, well… let’s see. For appetizers, there’s escargot, but I know that’s probably not something you’d enjoy.” She paused, glancing up at him with a knowing look.

Jeonghan made a face, feigning horror. “Snails? Really? Are you trying to test my love for you? I mean… I’d try for you.” He let out a soft laugh, his fingers brushing lightly against her hip where his hand rested.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I was just making sure,” Luna replied, a grin slipping through. “Alright, no snails for you, then. How about a charcuterie board? Some cheeses, cured meats… I know you like those.”

Jeonghan nodded, his eyes fixed on her face rather than the menu. “Sounds perfect. See? You know me so well.”

Luna flipped to the next page, detailing the entrees. Jeonghan’s hand moved subtly along the back of her seat, his fingertips tracing small circles against her coat’s fabric, eventually resting on her hip with a gentle, almost possessive hold. It was casual, natural, the way his touch lingered on her, as if he had every right to her space and she welcomed it without question.

She continued reading aloud, her tone calm and thoughtful. “For the main course, they have a classic coq au vin, which is chicken braised with red wine, mushrooms, and garlic. Or there’s a filet mignon with a red wine reduction sauce. I think you’d like that.”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against her hip. “Mmm… I think you’re right. The filet sounds good,” he murmured, his voice almost a purr as he let her continue describing the dishes.

Luna flipped another page, her own shoulder relaxing under his gentle hold. “They also have bouillabaisse, which is a seafood stew. But I’m guessing you’re more in the mood for the filet tonight?” she asked, glancing up at him with a knowing smile.

Jeonghan nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting into a lazy grin. “You always know what I want. Makes it easy for me,” he said, his fingers pressing just a little more firmly against her hip, a subtle reminder of his presence. “I’d be lost without you here to guide me through all this.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, you’d manage just fine. But I’m happy to help.”

His hand stayed on her hip, his touch steady and familiar, as he looked down at her with an expression that was both playful and intent. “And I’m happy to let you,” he murmured, his eyes holding hers for a beat longer, a hint of challenge and warmth flickering in his gaze.

They exchanged an easy smile, the conversation flowing naturally, unhurried, as if this was exactly where they were supposed to be.

The small gestures between them— the gentle brush of his fingers, the quiet way she explained each dish— were all woven with the kind of comfort and intimacy that only came with time and understanding.

Luna didn’t mind his hand on her hip, didn’t mind his arm stretched behind her as if he owned that space around her. It felt right, his touch a steady reminder that he was hers and she was his, even here, in this quiet little corner of Paris where no one else needed to know the truth.

“So, filet mignon for you, then,” she said finally, closing the menu with a satisfied nod.

Jeonghan’s smile deepened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Whatever you say, my pretty moon.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but filled with a warmth that made her heart skip.

As Luna settled back, the two of them sat in their shared silence, content, feeling the weight of their secret world cocooned within these four walls, away from prying eyes. For now, they had each other, the food yet to come, and the unspoken understanding between them— one that didn’t need words, just the simple, easy closeness they shared in these stolen moments.

The quiet murmur of the restaurant was briefly interrupted as the waitress finally entered their secluded corner, her gaze drifting from the notepad in her hand to the couple seated in the booth.

Luna looked up, ready to greet her with a soft, polite smile, but her expression shifted the moment she caught sight of the waitress’s lingering stare— one that didn’t even attempt subtlety as her eyes moved up and down Jeonghan, taking in every detail as though committing him to memory.

Luna’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched the way the waitress’s gaze lingered on him.

She couldn’t blame her.

Jeonghan was striking, painfully so. His hair fell in loose, casual waves framing his face, his shirt collar open just enough to suggest sophistication and ease. His presence had a way of turning heads, and Luna was more than used to it by now— people stopped and stared at him every day. They did the same for her too, and in most cases, she brushed it off, almost amused by it.

But there was something different in the way the waitress was looking at him, something just a bit too bold, too unprofessional.

Jeonghan leaned back in his seat, a small, knowing smile on his face as he eyed Luna, his expression amused as if he could read every thought in her mind.

The cocky bastard was egging her on.

Luna shook her head, trying to dispel the initial irritation that had crept in, telling herself it was nothing. She didn’t need to let her imagination get the better of her.

It was probably nothing, just the standard reaction most people had to seeing someone as breathtaking as him.

She was better than this, Luna reminded herself. She wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions or judge someone so quickly. Her mother had taught her better than that.

She was a good person, a good girl, Luna repeated to herself.

Taking a breath, she straightened her shoulders and looked up at the waitress, offering her a renewed, polite smile. “Hi, we’re ready to order,” she said, her tone calm and measured.

The waitress finally pulled her eyes away from Jeonghan, glancing at Luna, but there was a flicker of something sharp, a hint of annoyance as she met her gaze.

It was subtle, almost too quick to catch, but Luna didn’t miss the way the waitress’s eyes hardened, the friendly mask slipping just enough to reveal something beneath it. Luna’s brows raised slightly in surprise, but she held her tongue, reminding herself to give the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe the waitress was just tired, or maybe she was having a bad day.

Luna forced herself to ignore it, smiling gently as she started to place their order.

“We’ll start with the charcuterie board,” she began, her tone steady as she listed the items they had discussed. “And for the main course, he’ll have the filet mignon, medium rare, with the red wine reduction sauce. And I’ll have the coq au vin.”

The waitress scribbled down the order without much acknowledgment, her expression indifferent as she glanced up, her attention sliding right back to Jeonghan with a warm, overly bright smile. Ignoring Luna entirely, she leaned in just a fraction, her eyes locking onto him with an intensity that made Luna’s jaw tighten.

“And what kind of wine would you like to have with your meal?” the waitress asked, her voice suddenly softer, more intimate. Her attention was so fixed on Jeonghan that it was as if Luna didn’t even exist.

Jeonghan, however, barely looked at her, giving a polite nod as he glanced at Luna, his silent way of deferring the choice to her.

“We’ll have the Bordeaux,” Luna said smoothly, her tone polite but firm, making it clear she was still there, still a part of the conversation. She offered a slight smile, determined to maintain her composure.

The waitress shot her a fleeting look, one that barely hid her disdain, before turning her attention back to Jeonghan. “And do you visit Paris often?” she asked him, her tone a little too friendly, a little too familiar.

Jeonghan blinked, clearly taken aback by the question, and gave her a polite but hesitant nod. “Sometimes… for work,” he replied in his choppy English, clearly trying his best.

Luna felt a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement tug at her as she watched Jeonghan struggle to answer. His attempts at English were always adorable, endearing in a way that only he could pull off, and it was something she had fallen for countless times.

But in this moment, watching the waitress’s smile widen with newfound interest, she felt a pang of irritation. It was as though every word out of his mouth only drew the waitress in deeper, her gaze growing more flirtatious, more determined.

The waitress leaned closer, a coy smile playing on her lips as she asked, “Are you a model? You look like you could be one.” Her voice held a breathy quality now, her eyes never leaving him.

Luna clenched her jaw, willing herself to keep her composure. She told herself to let it go, that the waitress probably didn’t know who they were, and maybe that was a blessing in disguise. But that didn’t make it any less irritating.

Jeonghan, however, remained unfazed, his face cool and relaxed as he replied, “Sometimes… we model.” His English was halting, but his tone was confident, and he let his hand drift to Luna’s thigh, his fingers resting there as he gave her a small, almost mischievous smile.

He was referring to both of them, making it clear that Luna was just as much a part of that world as he was.

The waitress’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of irritation crossing her face before she quickly recovered. “Have I seen you before?” she asked, her tone implying something more, her eyes flicking to Luna with a hint of challenge, as if daring her to respond.

Luna’s irritation spiked, but she forced herself to remain calm. Instead, she simply pulled out her phone, her fingers moving swiftly across the screen as she began typing a message to Seungkwan, her fingers practically flying as she poured out her frustration. She knew Seungkwan would appreciate the gossip, and it was the only thing keeping her from doing something she might regret— like flipping the table.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan turned back to the waitress, his face a picture of casual indifference as he replied in his choppy English, “Probably with her… my girlfriend.” His tone was calm, almost bored, as he gestured to Luna with a slight nod, his hand still resting on her thigh.

Luna’s fingers froze mid-text, her eyes snapping up to side-eye Jeonghan.

A small part of her wanted to gush over how adorable his broken English was, how proud she was of him for managing to get the words out so smoothly. But her possessiveness was clouding everything else, making her focus on how risky it was for him to say that out loud, especially when they were supposed to keep their relationship hidden from the public eye.

Jeonghan, however, seemed completely unbothered, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he met her gaze, his expression filled with a knowing, almost smug amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he clearly didn’t care about the risk.

It was as if he was challenging her, daring her to react and do the same, all while maintaining that calm, cool demeanor.

They were so focused on each other, locked in a silent exchange, that neither of them noticed when the waitress huffed quietly and left the room, her frustration evident in her hurried steps as she disappeared back into the restaurant.

Luna let out a slow breath, feeling her irritation slowly melt away as she glanced down at Jeonghan’s hand still resting possessively on her thigh. Despite everything, a small smile tugged at her lips as she looked back at him, shaking her head in quiet exasperation.

“You know, you didn’t have to say it like that,” she murmured, her voice soft yet teasing, her annoyance already forgotten.

Jeonghan simply shrugged, his smirk deepening as he met her gaze. “She needed to know,” he replied nonchalantly, his voice low and casual, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Luna crossed her arms, frustration evident as she glared up at Jeonghan. “What if she tells, Han?” she hissed under her breath, her voice a blend of worry and annoyance. “We’re gonna get in troub—”

But Jeonghan didn’t let her finish.

Before she could get another word out, he reached out, his slender fingers tilting her chin up with the gentlest touch, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. His gaze was intense, smoldering with a fire that seemed to flicker just for her. Her breath caught, heart stammering in her chest as the corners of his mouth curled into a smirk, equal parts mischievous and reassuring.

The kiss was fervent, searing, filled with a raw passion that took her by surprise.

Jeonghan's lips moved over hers with purpose, a demanding rhythm that left her struggling to keep up. He pressed closer, his hand sliding behind her head, fingers threading through her hair as he held her firmly in place. His other hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone in a surprisingly tender contrast to the urgency of his mouth on hers.

Luna's heart raced, pounding against her chest as she surrendered to the moment, her initial shock melting into a haze of sensation. She tried to match his intensity, but Jeonghan's fervor was relentless, his lips guiding hers in a way that left no room for hesitation. His mouth was warm and soft, but his kiss was anything but gentle-each movement a silent declaration, as if he was staking his claim, proving a point without a single word.

He angled his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his lips parting to invite her in, his tongue brushing teasingly against hers, coaxing her to respond. The warmth of his breath mingled with hers, filling the small space between them with a dizzying sense of intimacy. Every touch, every brush of his lips, felt deliberate, designed to make her melt under his touch.

Luna's hands moved instinctively, grasping at his shoulders to steady herself as his kiss grew more insistent, more consuming.

Her fingers tightened against the fabric of his shirt, holding on as he continued to kiss her with a fervor that bordered on overwhelming. She could feel the strength in his hold, the way his hands held her close, anchoring her to him as though he couldn't bear to let her go.

Her mind spun, her senses flooded with him-the scent of his cologne, the softness of his hair brushing against her forehead, the heat radiating from his body as he pressed closer. The world around them faded, leaving only the taste of him on her lips, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips.

The world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them in this intimate bubble, a silent declaration of their connection.

Just when she thought she'd drown in the intensity of it all, Jeonghan's pace slowed, his lips lingering against hers in a series of softer, slower kisses, as if savoring the moment. His hand moved from her face to her jaw, thumb gently tracing the curve of her cheek, while his fingers splayed possessively along the back of her neck, keeping her close. His lips parted from hers just enough for them to share a breath, his forehead resting against hers as his eyes remained closed, as though he were still savoring the taste of her.

Slowly, he pulled back, his gaze meeting hers with a satisfied, almost smug gleam, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he observed her dazed expression. He didn’t let go of her face, his hands lingering, fingers tracing gentle circles along her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin in a way that sent shivers down her spine.

“People will believe what they want to believe,” he murmured softly, his voice low and soothing, each word wrapping around her like a warm blanket. “Our fans… they already think we’re together, and even if some don’t, it doesn’t change what’s real between us.”

His words were so matter-of-fact, his tone so calm, it eased something within her. His thumb continued to stroke her cheek, his gaze unwavering, steady and reassuring. “Besides,” he added with a little smile, “that waitress? She has no proof. She clearly doesn’t know who we are, and even if she did, it wouldn’t matter.” He leaned back slightly, tilting his head to study her, as if gauging her reaction. “No one can touch us. Not here. Not like this.”

Luna felt her heart rate begin to slow, her body relaxing under the weight of his calm certainty. Her lips parted slightly as she tried to form a response, but Jeonghan was already there, cradling her face as though she were something delicate, precious. His fingers traced along her jaw, then down to her hands, where he lifted her fingers to his lips, pressing gentle kisses to each one. His lips were soft, feather-light as he moved from one finger to the next, then finally to the center of her palm, where he lingered, eyes never leaving hers.

“You’re too good for this world, my angel,” he murmured, voice filled with a gentle affection that left her chest feeling tight.

His words were soft, coaxing her like one would soothe a child, and somehow, despite her normally assertive, strong-willed self, she felt herself softening under his touch, the tension slipping from her shoulders as she let herself be pulled into the warmth of his adoration.

Only Jeonghan could make her feel like this— vulnerable, small, and cherished, all at once.

She pouted, her lips curving downward as she finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “But… what if she spits in my food?”

Jeonghan chuckled, a warm, deep sound that reverberated through her, and for a brief moment, his gaze softened even further, filled with a fondness that seemed to overflow. “Then we’ll switch dishes,” he replied, his tone halfway between serious and playful. “Or,” he continued with a slight smirk, his fingers still caressing her hand, “I’ll get her fired if you want.”

She gasped, swatting at his chest lightly. “Hannie!” she scolded, though her voice held no real anger, just the remnants of her lingering irritation mixed with a playful reprimand. “That’s mean!”

His smirk softened, morphing into a gentle smile as he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, a feather-light touch that was far less urgent than before, filled with a quiet reverence instead. “You’re an angel,” he murmured against her lips, his voice a hushed whisper as he pulled back just enough to look at her. “My pretty angel. Such a good girl.”

His words sent a rush of warmth through her, leaving her speechless, her face heating up at his doting tone. There was something about the way he was looking at her, the softness in his eyes, that made her want to melt, to let go of every worry and just stay here with him, lost in this moment.

As they settled back into their seats, Luna felt an almost tangible shift in the air between them. The kiss had left her dazed, a gentle flush still coloring her cheeks, and Jeonghan’s casual return to their conversation only added to the surreal nature of the moment. She found herself leaning into him, their shoulders brushing, her hand casually resting on his thigh beneath the table.

They spoke in hushed tones, laughter and soft smiles passing between them, as though they were in their own world where time moved a little slower, and the rest of the restaurant faded into the background.

Every once in a while, Jeonghan would reach out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary, making her pulse quicken all over again. She responded by nudging him with her shoulder, pretending to be annoyed, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

When their food finally arrived, it was the same waitress who reappeared, balancing their plates and the wine bottle with a practiced ease. Luna glanced up to thank her, but Jeonghan’s gaze was already fixed on the waitress, his expression carefully unreadable as he watched her approach. As she moved to set the dish in front of Luna, Jeonghan’s voice cut in smoothly, yet with a hint of something sharper beneath his polite tone.

“Here.” He pointed to the space in front of him, gesturing for the waitress to place Luna’s dish there instead.

The waitress hesitated, a slight flicker of confusion crossing her face as she looked between the two of them. But she quickly masked it, her expression returning to the same blank professionalism she’d shown throughout the evening. She set the dish down in front of Jeonghan without a word, her gaze momentarily meeting his.

Jeonghan held her stare, searching for any sign of guilt or discomfort, any indication that she might have tampered with their order out of petty jealousy. But the waitress remained stoic, her demeanor calm and unbothered, which he noted with a slight nod of approval.

“Thank you,” Luna said politely, offering a small smile as the waitress set down her own dish and poured the wine. Jeonghan echoed her thanks with a subtle dip of his head, his attention already shifting back to Luna as the waitress left them in peace.

Once the waitress was out of earshot, Jeonghan reached across the table, nudging Luna’s plate toward her with a grin. “Well, I didn’t see any poison in it,” he murmured, his voice teasing, though the protective glint in his eye made her heart skip a beat. She couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a bit ridiculous for her earlier concerns, yet touched by how quickly he’d picked up on her worries and how naturally he’d moved to reassure her.

They settled into their meal, casually swapping bites from each other’s plates. Jeonghan’s utensils found their way to her dish as often as her own did, a shared rhythm developing between them as they tasted each other’s choices. He’d lift a piece of food to her lips, his gaze warm and attentive, waiting for her reaction with a small smile. She’d make a face if it was something she didn’t particularly like, and he’d chuckle, offering her his glass of wine to wash it down.

“Here, try this one,” Luna said, holding out a forkful of her dish to him. Jeonghan leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers as he accepted the bite, savoring it with a small, appreciative nod. His hand found its way to hers on the table, his thumb idly tracing circles on her skin, grounding her in the intimacy of the moment.

The wine bottle sat between them, and they poured for each other in turns, watching the liquid swirl in their glasses before clinking them together softly. Jeonghan raised his glass, a playful glint in his eye. “To dealing with overly friendly waitstaff and stealing each other’s food,” he toasted, his smirk making her laugh.

“To stealing each other’s food,” she echoed, touching her glass to his, feeling the warmth of the wine spread through her with each sip.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly as they enjoyed their meal, slipping into easy banter and shared glances, as though they’d done this a thousand times before. Each bite, each sip of wine, felt like a part of the dance between them—unhurried, comfortable, intimate. It was as if the restaurant around them had faded away, leaving only the two of them and the soft glow of candlelight illuminating their little corner.

By the time they’d finished eating, their plates nearly empty, they sat back in their seats, both satisfied and content. Jeonghan reached over, his fingers brushing a stray crumb from the corner of her mouth, his touch lingering as his eyes softened.

Luna’s heart fluttered, a smile playing on her lips as she looked up at him, her fingers lacing with his beneath the table. She felt a profound sense of gratitude and joy, as though every part of this night was a precious memory they were crafting together, one that would stay with her long after they’d left this place.

And as they sat there, basking in the quiet intimacy that had settled over them, Luna couldn’t shake the feeling that moments like this— moments that were simple, genuine, and filled with laughter and warmth— were what made everything worth it.

As dinner came to an end, Jeonghan signaled for the check, slipping his card to a new waiter without a second thought. They exchanged quiet smiles as they waited, still reveling in the comfortable intimacy that had blossomed over the evening. When the waiter returned, Jeonghan handled the payment swiftly, and with one last glance around the cozy, dimly-lit restaurant, they made their way out into the crisp night air.

The cab ride back to the hotel was quiet, but in a way that felt perfectly right. Luna rested her head on Jeonghan’s shoulder, her hand intertwined with his in her lap, their fingers loosely laced together. They didn’t need words; the warmth of his hand in hers and the faint thrum of the car engine beneath them were all they needed in that moment. It was as though the rest of the world had faded, leaving only the two of them and the soft hum of the city around them.

Once they reached their hotel, they navigated their way through the lobby, exchanging tired smiles as they waited for the elevator. By the time they reached their room, a gentle, lazy fatigue had settled over them, the kind that made them crave the cozy confines of their space together.

As soon as they were inside, Luna kicked off her shoes, the satisfying clack of her heels hitting the floor filling the room. She shrugged off her coat, letting it fall to the floor in an unceremonious heap, before draping herself across the sofa with a sigh of relief. She stretched out, curling her legs up beneath her as she settled back, pulling out her phone and beginning to scroll lazily.

Jeonghan, meanwhile, slipped out of his own coat, his gaze drifting over to her as he hung it up. His eyes raked over her relaxed form, taking in the way her hair tumbled over her shoulders, her casual posture, the slight pout on her lips as she focused on her phone. He smiled, an affectionate warmth spreading through him as he crossed the room toward her.

Without a word, he settled beside her on the sofa, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her gently into his side. Instinctively, Luna leaned into him, snuggling up without looking away from her phone, her head coming to rest on his chest as she continued scrolling. Jeonghan watched her from above, a soft smile playing at his lips as he took in the way she fit perfectly against him.

They sat in comfortable silence, a quiet intimacy enveloping them. Some couples might have found this unproductive, or even a little boring, but for them, this was everything. This was where they were most at home, in the quiet spaces between words, in the shared stillness that felt like a world of its own. Both of them, introverted and often easily drained, found a sense of peace in simply being together like this, with no need for conversation or grand gestures.

Luna shifted slightly, curling up closer against him, her body fitting perfectly into the crook of his side. Jeonghan held her a bit tighter, his hand slipping up to run through her hair, his fingers combing gently through the soft, blonde strands. He removed a stray strand from her face, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that was second nature by now.

Then, suddenly, Luna gasped, her body jolting slightly as she sat up, startling Jeonghan. His face remained composed, though his eyes widened a touch as he looked at her in surprise.

“What?” he asked, eyebrows raising as he watched her.

“We forgot to eat dessert,” Luna pouted, her expression serious as though this was a matter of utmost importance.

Jeonghan blinked, and then his concerned look melted into one of pure, unfiltered fondness. His lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling as he watched her, a quiet chuckle slipping out.

“Aigo…” he cooed, slipping into his sing-song, babying tone. “What do we do? Hmm?” His voice held a teasing lilt, his gaze resting on her pout as if it were the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

Luna huffed, still pouting as she glanced back at him, her eyes holding that familiar glint that told him she was about to ask for something. He waited, raising an eyebrow, letting the silence hang between them as if to say, Well?

“You want us to order room service?” Jeonghan asked, already knowing her answer.

Luna nodded, her eyes lighting up with a hopeful gleam as she met his gaze.

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head at her fondly. “Alright.”

Her face lit up, a beaming smile spreading across her lips as she practically bounced off the sofa, following him to the small telephone on the desk in the corner of the room. She reached for the room service menu, flipping through it as Jeonghan hovered beside her, watching her with that same indulgent look.

“What do you want, Nana-ya?” he asked, his voice soft, playful.

“Cake,” Luna replied simply, her eyes still scanning the menu before she glanced up at him. “You?”

“We can share,” Jeonghan said with a grin, his eyes meeting hers as she nodded in agreement.

Satisfied, Luna picked up the phone, dialing the number for room service. As she waited for someone to pick up, she felt Jeonghan’s presence close behind her, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder. Then, without warning, he leaned down, his head nestling into the curve of her neck as he inhaled her familiar scent, the faint aroma of her perfume filling his senses.

“Room service, how can I assist you?” the receptionist’s polite voice crackled through the phone.

“Yes, hello,” Luna began, her tone polite and measured. “We’d like to order a dessert, please. Just a slice of your chocolate cake.” She paused, glancing at Jeonghan to confirm, and he gave a lazy nod against her shoulder, his breath warm on her skin.

As she spoke, Jeonghan’s lips found her neck, placing gentle, feather-light kisses along her skin, his face nestled in the crook where her neck met her shoulder. She could feel the soft brush of his hair against her cheek, the subtle scrape of his teeth as he teased her with a playful nip. She bit back a smile, her cheeks warming as she focused on the conversation with the receptionist.

“Yes, just one slice of the chocolate cake, please,” she continued, trying to keep her voice steady as Jeonghan’s lips trailed lower, his hand wrapping around her waist as he held her close. He let out a soft, almost petulant whine against her skin, the sound vibrating through her neck, as though he was annoyed she wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Uh… yes, that will be all,” Luna finished, a hint of breathlessness creeping into her voice as she ran her fingers through his hair to appease him, scratching lightly at his scalp in a way that made him sigh contentedly against her.

“Very well, it will be delivered shortly. Thank you,” the receptionist replied.

“Thank you,” Luna managed, before hanging up and setting the phone down with a soft exhale.

The dim light of the room cast a warm glow across Jeonghan's face as he and Luna held each other's gaze, a silent but magnetic pull between them. His eyes traced over her face, taking in every detail as if he was committing it to memory-the subtle curve of her lips, the flutter of her lashes, the way her cheeks held a faint flush that only deepened as he looked at her.

And she, in turn, scanned his face with equal intensity, noticing the playful glint in his eyes, the slight tilt of his lips that hinted at his next move.

"So," Jeonghan began in a low, teasing murmur, "you think dessert was really worth interrupting our time alone, hmm?"

Luna smirked, shrugging in that casual, flirtatious way of hers. "A girl has her priorities," she quipped, her voice as cool as her expression, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. "And it's not my fault you dragged me out of the restaurant early."

Jeonghan chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to fill the room and reverberate through her chest. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "Oh, is that right? I'm the one to blame?"

She tilted her head back to maintain eye contact as he advanced, her posture cool and composed, though her heart was racing beneath her calm facade. "If you have something to say, Hannie," she teased, her voice just above a whisper, "you should say it instead of just staring."

He arched a brow, clearly amused. "Maybe I'm saying plenty... without words."

Their banter flowed with ease, layered with unspoken tension, each word a deliberate nudge in a game neither wanted to end. As he took another step, Luna found herself instinctively moving back until her legs bumped against a chair, forcing her to sit.

She watched him intently, eyes wide and breath held as he loomed over her, one hand braced on the back of the chair near her head.

Jeonghan leaned in, his dark hair falling forward, nearly brushing her face. His free hand reached up, fingers ghosting over her cheek as he cupped her face gently, his thumb tracing her skin in slow, tantalizing circles. Luna's breath hitched as she looked up at him, her expression softening, her eyes reflecting an unspoken plea. She wanted him to close the distance, to eliminate the aching space between them.

He dipped his head lower, his face so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers. She closed her eyes, leaning in, lips parted in anticipation as their mouths brushed. But just as their lips met, Jeonghan paused, his smirk growing as he pulled back ever so slightly.

Her eyes flew open, meeting his with a mixture of frustration and longing, but he only grinned, his gaze holding a wicked gleam. "What's the rush, hmm?" he murmured, barely containing his laughter as he watched her reaction.

She let out a small, frustrated whine, her voice soft but audible, as she chased his lips again. But he leaned back just enough to keep her wanting, teasing her with the closeness yet denying her what she craved. He cooed at her, his tone dripping with playful condescension, "Aigo... are you that impatient, baby?"

Luna's lips formed into a pout, her eyes pleading as she whispered, "Please, Han..."

His laughter was soft, warm, a gentle rumble that made her heart skip. "Now, how can I say no to that?" he replied, finally relenting as he closed the gap between them.

Their lips met in a kiss that was anything but gentle-he pressed against her with a fervor that matched the tension that had built between them, his mouth moving over hers with practiced ease. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer. His lips were soft but firm, tasting faintly of the wine they'd shared at dinner, and she could feel the warmth of him seeping into her as their mouths moved together, slow and deep.

His hand stayed on her cheek, fingers brushing back the stray strands of her hair as he tilted her head, deepening the kiss with a controlled intensity that left her breathless. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging lightly, drawing a soft, muffled groan from him as their mouths continued their unhurried exploration.

Just as she was beginning to lose herself entirely in the kiss, her senses drowned in the taste of him, a sudden sound interrupted them-the shrill ring of the doorbell. Jeonghan pulled back, breathing slightly heavier, his lips curving into a smirk as he glanced toward the door.

Luna's eyes flew open, her expression one of dazed frustration as she realized what had happened. She whined again, softer this time, her fingers still clutching his shirt as she leaned forward, trying to capture his lips once more.

But Jeonghan laughed, straightening as he gently extricated himself from her grasp.

"Guess dessert couldn't wait," he teased, reaching down to press a quick, affectionate peck to her pouty lips before pulling away entirely. “Priorities right?”

She huffed, crossing her arms as she sank back into the chair, watching him move toward the door with an exasperated expression. "I regret mentioning dessert," she muttered under her breath.

“Oh I bet you do,” Jeonghan looked back at her, chuckling softly. "Don't pout, Nana-ya. I'll be right back," he cooed, his voice teasing as he shot her a wink.

Jeonghan moved gracefully to the door, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, and pulled it open, revealing a young woman dressed smartly in the hotel’s uniform. Her eyes widened a fraction as she took in his features, her gaze lingering a bit longer than necessary, clearly caught off guard by his ethereal presence. Jeonghan offered her a polite smile, his usual charm dripping effortlessly as he opened the door wider to allow her in.

The staff member seemed momentarily stunned, her steps hesitant as she entered the suite with the cake on a silver platter.

Luna, watching from her seat with narrowed eyes, tilted her head back slightly, caught in a moment of exasperation. She wasn’t sure if she should thank the universe for blessing her with such a gorgeous boyfriend or curse it for how every other woman seemed to be magnetically drawn to him. She sighed, the sound soft but noticeable, and leaned back in her chair, arms folded.

“You can place it there. Thank you,” Luna said, her voice polite yet firm as she gestured to the table in front of her.

The staff member barely glanced in Luna’s direction, seemingly dismissive as she followed her instruction but kept her attention fixed on Jeonghan. She set the cake down with a smile that was far too warm for a mere transaction, and as she straightened, her gaze returned to Jeonghan with a coyness that was impossible to ignore.

Jeonghan, sensing Luna’s mood shifting, subtly leaned back against the cabinet behind him, his eyes sliding over to her as though waiting for her to finally reach her limit. His eyebrow lifted in a silent challenge, a playful gleam dancing in his eyes as he watched her closely, a silent spectator to the tension building in the room.

The staff member, oblivious to the silent exchange between the couple, stepped closer to Jeonghan, her tone lilting with a French accent as she spoke. “You are staying long in Paris?” she asked, her voice filled with a flirtatious curiosity. “It is a beautiful city, no?”

Jeonghan offered her a polite nod, his understanding of English limited at best. He caught only pieces of what she said, but he remained courteous, his eyes shifting momentarily to Luna, who sat perfectly still, her gaze fixed on the woman with a barely concealed edge.

Luna, on the other hand, understood every single word. Every subtle inflection, every soft laugh, every lingering glance— all of it rang clear as day to her. She was used to seeing women fawn over Jeonghan; it was practically part of dating him or simply being friends with him. Luna usually had no issues with it, didn’t blame them for admiring what was hers.

But what grated on her now was the lack of respect— the dismissal in the way these women acted, first the waitress earlier and now this. The feeling of possessiveness simmered within her, a dark and shadowy friend she knew well.

The staff member’s next words, however, set something off within her.

“Is she your sister?” the woman asked, gesturing subtly toward Luna without even glancing her way. Her tone was deceptively innocent as she continued, “If so, I can give you my number, and we can get to know each other more. I bet we’d hit it off.”

The question barely registered in Jeonghan’s mind, his limited English leaving him clueless, but Luna? Luna understood every syllable, and as the words settled, she felt the blood rush in her ears, a wave of red tinting her vision.

Jeonghan, however, seemed to sense the shift in the air. His gaze snapped to hers, and there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes— something dark and almost wicked, as if he was daring her, waiting for her to react.

No, he wanted her to react. He wanted her to claim him, just as he’d claimed her earlier at the restaurant, making it clear that she belonged to him.

The woman’s suggestion was the final straw.

“Oh honey, it would take a miracle for him to like you,” Luna’s voice cut through the room, her tone sharper and deeper than usual, each word laced with a lethal edge.

The woman’s head snapped to Luna, her eyes widening in surprise, clearly not expecting such a reaction. Jeonghan leaned further back against the cabinet, arms crossed and an amused smirk curling his lips as he watched the scene unfold, his ego clearly enjoying the moment. If anything, he looked more intrigued by Luna than ever, his gaze holding a fierce appreciation for the fire in her eyes.

“Actually,” Luna continued, her tone unyielding and dripping with sarcasm, “I’m his girlfriend.” She smiled, the expression so sugary sweet it could have given someone a toothache, but there was no mistaking the bite beneath it. “Thank you for going above and beyond as our hotel staff— your service is no longer needed. I’ll make sure that your management gets my feedback on your… attentiveness.” She paused, letting the word hang in the air before adding, “You can leave now.”

Jeonghan may not have understood the specifics of what she said, but he didn’t need to. Her body language, her voice, and the way the staff’s face twisted in irritation before she huffed and turned on her heel told him everything he needed to know. The woman left the room with her head held high, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving the air heavy and charged with an electric tension.

Jeonghan’s smirk widened as he watched Luna, a low chuckle escaping him as he took in the defiance and possessiveness radiating off her. She sat there, her arms still crossed, her gaze challenging as she held his eyes, waiting for his reaction.

“So,” he drawled, moving from the cabinet to stand in front of her, his eyes glinting with amusement, “you were jealous.”

Luna scoffed, though the slight pink tint on her cheeks betrayed her. “Jealous? Don’t make me laugh, Han. You know me, I am never jealous.” she repeated, lifting her chin. “I was simply reminding her of her place.”

Jeonghan laughed softly, the sound rich and smooth as he leaned down, bringing his face closer to hers. “Oh, is that all it was?” he teased, his voice low and taunting. “Looked a bit like jealousy to me.”

Luna’s eyes narrowed, the spark in her gaze sharp and unyielding. She leaned forward, her voice firm as she shot back, “I am not jealous, Yoon Jeonghan. Not of someone like her, not of anyone like her. Do you really think I’d waste my time and energy on something so… so… trivial?”

Jeonghan’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, his amusement only growing as he watched the fire flare in her eyes. “Of course not,” he replied, dragging out the words with deliberate ease. “I must have it wrong, then.” His tone was mockingly thoughtful as he tilted his head, studying her intently. “It’s not jealousy, hmm?” He paused, then added, “No… it’s just my possessive little bunny finally showing her true colors.”

The nickname made Luna’s retort die on her lips. She inhaled sharply, a flicker of awareness flashing across her face as his words settled, leaving her momentarily speechless. Because as much as she wanted to deny it, she knew he was right. The word “possessive” rang true, and he could see the admission in her eyes before she even had to say it.

Unwilling to concede completely, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a huff, her expression guarded yet defiant. Jeonghan’s eyes softened with an amused glint as he took in her posture, seeing through every layer she tried to hide behind. He lowered himself down, crouching directly in front of her, bringing their faces level. His gaze was warm yet teasing, as if he were savoring this moment of truth between them.

Luna met his eyes, her gaze unwavering, though there was a slight flush in her cheeks. She might have given in this time, but her defiance lingered, a silent reminder that this battle between them was far from over.

Luna narrowed her eyes, though she couldn’t help the corner of her lips tugging upward. “Don’t flatter yourself, Yoon Jeonghan. I was being considerate,” she replied coolly, the fire in her eyes flickering dangerously. “Thought she’d appreciate knowing that she was wasting her time.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the way she held her ground, the tension between them sizzling with every exchange. “Well,” he murmured, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering at her cheek, “considerate or not, I have to say, I like seeing this side of you.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, her voice laced with a challenge. “And which side is that?”

“The side that knows I’m hers,” he replied smoothly, his gaze never leaving hers.

Luna’s breath hitched slightly, but she kept her composure, refusing to let him see just how much his words affected her. Instead, she leaned in closer, her voice barely a whisper as she said, “Then I hope you remember it, too.”

Jeonghan’s smirk softened into something deeper, his eyes warm as he leaned down, his lips just a breath away from hers. “Trust me,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Luna raised an eyebrow at him, her gaze unwavering, an amused spark dancing in her eyes. "Yeah?" she asked, her tone laced with playful skepticism as her arm snaked around his neck, pulling him just a little closer.

Jeonghan held her gaze, unflinching, the corners of his mouth curling in that infuriatingly charming way. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly rose from his crouching position in front of her, her arms still looped around his neck, lifting with him as he stood. Their faces remained mere inches apart, the tension between them crackling like electricity in the air.

"Yeah," he breathed out, his voice low and filled with certainty. He gently guided her to rise with him, his hands steady at her waist, and in one fluid motion, he turned them around. Before she fully registered the shift, Jeonghan had slipped into the chair she'd been sitting in moments earlier, leaving her standing between his legs, his hands still firmly on her waist.

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he tugged her closer, pulling her down onto his lap in one swift motion that caught her completely off guard. She gasped, her voice spilling out in a startled laugh as she found herself straddling him, her knees bracketing his hips as she settled in his lap.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, her heart pounding as she gazed down at him, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck once more. She began to absentmindedly toy with a strand of his long hair, letting it curl around her fingers as a small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan leaned back in the chair with a lazy, contented grin, his fingers pressing into her waist with a possessive hold. He adjusted himself in the seat, pushing his hips deeper into the cushion and sinking further into the chair, all while his gaze never left hers.

"You seem comfortable," she remarked, a teasing edge to her voice, but the way her fingers trailed through his hair betrayed just how much she was enjoying this, too.

Jeonghan's grin only widened, his fingers tracing gentle circles against her waist.

"Comfortable?" he echoed, his eyes glinting up at her. "With you right here? Very comfortable." He gave her waist a light squeeze, leaning back even further, as if daring her to keep her balance as he gently guided her hips to move against his with a teasing smirk, showing him how much her little stunt earlier had affecting him.

"How about you, hmm? Are you comfortable?" Jeonghan asked her.

Luna's breath hitched as she felt the hard length of him straining against his pants, pressing against her through the thin fabric of her skirt that has ridden up. She bit her lip, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she savored the sensation, her hips instinctively rolling against him in response. When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with a hunger that mirrored his own.

"Not quite," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers tightening in his hair. "But I could be."

Jeonghan's smirk faded, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated desire. His grip on her waist tightened, his thumbs tracing circles on her skin, pushing her skirt higher up her thighs. "What do you want, my angel?" he growled, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down her spine.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "I want you to prove to me that your mine, Hannie."

He groaned, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her closer, his hips bucking against her. "Fuck, Jiyeon," he swore, his voice ragged, "you drive me crazy. Is that what you want?"

She smirked, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she rocked against him, her eyes locked onto his. "Uh huh. That's the plan," she purred, her voice laced with a sultry promise.

Jeonghan's hands slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt up until it bunched around her waist, baring her to him. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her, his breath hitching as he watched Luna grind onto him, her blonde hair messy as she leaned back, his fingers tightening around her waist as he helped her grind on him. His cock throbbed, pressing painfully against his zipper, desperate to be freed. He could feel her heat through her panties, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to rip them off and bury himself inside her right then and there.

"Fuck, Luna," he groaned, his voice strained as he watched her, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. "Just like that."

She smirked, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she continued to ride him, her movements growing bolder, more confident. "Your mine right?" she whispered, her voice husky with desire. "Say it, Han. Please, tell me you're mine."

Jeonghan's grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he thrust his hips upward, meeting her grinding movements with his own. "I'm yours, Bae Jiyeon," he growled, his voice ragged with need. "Always fucking yours. I’m yours, every single part of me… don’t ever forget that.”

Luna’s smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with triumph as she reached down between them, her fingers finding the button of his pants. With a quick flick, she popped it open, her knuckles brushing against his straining erection as she lowered the zipper.

Jeonghan hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily at the contact, his eyes never leaving hers. Luna licked her lips, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling both his pants and underwear down, freeing his cock. It sprang forth, hard and ready, and she couldn't help but admire the sight of him, her mouth watering at the thought of having him inside her.

Jeonghan watched her, his chest heaving as he waited for her next move. Luna's eyes flicked up to meet his, a wicked glint in them as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, giving it a slow, firm stroke that made him groan. Jeonghan's grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh as he fought to maintain control.

"Baby," he purred, his voice ragged. "You're killing me."

She smirked, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she continued to stroke him, her thumb swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. "Not yet, baby," she whispered, her voice laced with a sultry promise. "But I will." His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her, his breath hitching as he watched Luna grind onto him, her blonde hair messy as she leaned back, her fingers tightening around his shaft.

His cock throbbed, desperate to be inside her, but he wanted to watch her, to see her lose control.

"Grind on my lap, pretty angel," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "Show me how much you want me."

Luna's eyes flashed with a mix of surprise and excitement, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink. She hesitated for a moment before slowly started moving her hips back and forth faster while Jeonghan leaned back, his hands falling off her waist as he let her do all the work. Luna's eyes fluttered closed, her head tilting back as she focused on the sensation of his hard length rubbing against her clit through her soaked panties. She moaned, her fingers tightening around his cock, stroking him in rhythm with her movements.

Jeonghan watched her, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in the sight of her. Her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, her lips parted, and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. He could feel her heat, her wetness seeping through her panties, coating his length.

The friction was exquisite, driving him wild, but he wanted more. He wanted to feel her bare, to slide into her warmth without any barriers. He reached up, his hands finding the hem of her shirt, and in one swift motion, he pulled it off, revealing her lacy bra underneath. Luna's eyes flew open, her pupils dilated with desire as she looked down at him, her chest heaving.

"Han..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Shh," he hushed her, his fingers trailing up her stomach, between her breasts, until they reached the clasp of her bra.

With a flick of his wrist, it came undone, and her breasts spilled out, her nipples already hard and aching for his touch. Luna gasped, her back arching as he cupped one breast, his thumb circling her nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

"Fuck, Han… Hannie," she moaned, her hips grinding harder against him, seeking friction, needing release. "I need you."

He growled, his eyes locked onto her bouncing tits, his cock throbbing with need. "You want my cock, angel?" he rasped, his voice thick with desire. "Tell me how bad you want it."

Luna whimpered, her hips rolling against him, her pussy aching for him. "I want it so fucking bad, Han," she panted, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you inside me. Now."

Jeonghan's grip on her hip tightened, his other hand moving to her ass, squeezing it roughly as he helped her grind against him. "You want me to fuck you, my pretty girl?" he coos, his voice low and dirty.

"Say it, Jiyeon. Beg for me."

Luna's breath hitched, her eyes flashing with a mix of surprise and excitement. She loved it when he talked to her like that, when he took control and demanded things from her. It made her feel alive, desired, and utterly fucking sexy.

"I want you, oppa," she moaned, her hips rolling against him, her pussy throbbing with need. "I need you to fuck me hard. Please."

“You do?” Jeonghan hummed as his eyes darkened, his grip on her hip and ass tightening as he lifted her slightly, sliding her panties to the side before positioning himself at her entrance.

Luna's breath hitched as she nodded, her eyes locked onto his as she felt the head of his cock press against her, hot and ready. She was soaking wet, her panties drenched, and she could feel her arousal coating his length, making it slick and easy for him to slide in.

"Look at me, Jiyeonie. Let me see that beautiful face," Jeonghan instructed, his voice low and rough. "I want to see your eyes when I fuck you."

She nodded, her gaze never wavering as he slowly pushed into her, inch by inch, filling her completely. Luna's breath hitched, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to his size, her inner walls stretching to accommodate him. Jeonghan groaned, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the feeling of being inside her, her tight heat enveloping him completely.

"Fuck, angel," he moaned, his voice strained as he opened his eyes to look at her. "You feel so fucking good."

She smirked, her hips rolling against him, taking him deeper. "I could say the same to you, Hannie," she purred, her voice laced with satisfaction.

She began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, sensuous dance as she rode him, taking him deeper with each thrust. Jeonghan's fingers dug into her flesh, his grip tight as he helped guide her movements, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Nana-ya," he groaned, his voice ragged as he watched her, his cock throbbing inside her. "You feel so good. All mine."

Luna smirked, her nails raking down his chest, leaving red lines in their wake. "All yours, huh?" she taunted, her voice low and sultry. "Prove it, Han. Fuck me like you mean it."

Jeonghan's eyes flashed with a primal hunger, his grip on her hips tightening as he slammed up into her, making her gasp. "Like this, baby?" he growled, his voice laced with a dark intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“Han– Oh, fuck, baby,” Luna's breath hitched, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she met his thrusts, her hips rolling against him, taking him deeper with each stroke.

“Look at you, getting all flustered… my little bunny can’t handle a bit of the attention now, hmm?” Jeonghan's grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he slammed into her, his cock filling her completely, hitting that sweet spot deep inside her that made her see stars. “That feel good? Yeah? Just like this?”

"Fuck, Jeonghan!" she cried out, her head tilting back, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. "Yes! Just like that!"

Jeonghan chuckled, his teeth sinking into her neck, marking her as he pounded into her, his hips moving with a ferocity that took her breath away.

Luna's fingers clawed at his back, her nails digging into his flesh, leaving red welts in their wake. She could feel the heat building inside her, her orgasm approaching like a freight train, threatening to consume her whole.

"Oppa– Han…," she gasped, her voice ragged, "I'm close."

He lifted his head, his eyes burning into hers, his jaw clenched as he fought for control. "Not yet, baby,” he tutted, his voice low and rough as he stopped making Luna whine. "Not until I say so."

She glared at him, her chest heaving, her body aching for release. "You're being mean, Hannie," she panted, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He smirked, before lifting her as he stood up off the chair, her legs wrapping around his waist as he placed her on the bed. "Am I being mean to you, bunny?" he cooed, his voice laced with amusement, "But you like it when I’m like this."

Luna's eyes flashed with anger, but he could see the desire burning in them, too.

She wanted this, needed this, just as much as he did. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss, his tongue sliding in to tangle with hers. She moaned, her body melting into his, her legs tightening around his waist as she ground against him, seeking friction.

Jeonghan broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck, his teeth nipping at her skin, leaving marks that would remind her of this moment, of him, long after tonight was over. He pushed her back onto the bed, his body following hers down, his hips settling between her thighs.

Luna's breath hitched as she felt the weight of him, the hard length of him pressed against her, throbbing with need. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of desire and defiance, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath.

Jeonghan smirked, his eyes darkening as he took in her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips, and her heaving chest. "You're so fucking beautiful, my love," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

His hands traced patterns on her skin, his fingers skimming over her curves, making her shiver. She could feel his hardness pressing against her, hot and insistent, and it made her ache for him even more.

"Hannie," she whispered, her voice laced with desperation. "Please."

He chuckled, a low, dirty sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Please what, Nana-ya?" he teased, his fingers dipping lower, tracing the edge of her panties. "What do you want me to do to you? “What is it, baby? You want more? Just say the word, and it’s yours.”

Luna's breath hitched, her body arching into his touch, her eyes locked onto his. "Fuck me, baby, please," she pleaded, her voice ragged with need. "Make me come.”

Jeonghan's eyes darkened, his grip on her thigh tightening as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down roughly. He grabbed her thighs, spreading them wide, and positioned himself at her entrance. She was soaking wet, her arousal coating his length, making it slick and easy for him to slide back in.

Jeonghan's eyes locked onto hers as he slowly pushed into her, inch by inch, filling her completely. “You know I’d do anything for you, right? Anything to make my baby happy. God– I’m in fucking love with you.”

He groaned, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the feeling of being inside her, her tight heat enveloping him completely.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you, my sweet girl?” Jeonghan groaned as he continued to thrust into her. She could feel the heat building inside her, her orgasm approaching like a storm on the horizon.

“Han," she gasped, her voice ragged, "I can't... I can't hold on much longer."

Jeonghan moaned, his grip on her hips tightening, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. "Come for me, Jiyeonie," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "Come all over my cock, baby. Show me how much you love it."

Luna's breath hitched, her fingers clawing at his back as she felt the heat inside her coil tighter, ready to snap. "Han," she gasped, her voice ragged, "I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

“I know, I know baby,” He tightened his hold on her, his hips slamming into hers, his cock filling her completely. "Do it, bunny," he grunted, his voice strained. "Come for me.”

And just like that, she shattered, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave, consuming her whole.

“Fuck, Han!” She whined his name, her body convulsing beneath him, her inner walls clamping down around him, milking him for all he was worth. Jeonghan groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed her over the edge, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her with his hot seed.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies entwined, their breaths ragged as they came down from their high. Jeonghan rolled off her, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her close as he spooned her from behind.

Luna's breath was still ragged, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to regain some semblance of composure. She could feel Jeonghan's cock, still semi-hard, nestled against her ass, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

"Fuck," Jeonghan murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice still heavy with desire. "You drive me insane. Only you, baby. Only ever you," Jeonghan told her, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down her spine.

She hummed in agreement, her eyes fluttering closed as she savored the warmth of his body pressed against hers. "Only me," she agreed, her voice soft, intimate, as she turned to face him, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. Her back pressed further into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart matching her own.

"My pretty girl," he muttered against her lips, breaking the kiss to look at her, his gaze dark with desire and affection. "You're insatiable."

A smirk danced across her lips as she pulled away slightly, just enough to settle her head on his chest, draping herself over him with a kind of lazy confidence. "I can't help it," she whispered, her voice taking on a sultry edge. "You bring out the best and worst in me, Hannie."

Jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, wrapping his arms around her, fingers tracing idle patterns along her back. "Well, l'd hate to deprive you of such excellent inspiration," he replied, a playful glint in his eye. "Though if this is the 'worst' in you... I think I might be the luckiest guy alive."

She gave him a playful glare, swatting at his chest. "Don't get too cocky now," she teased, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

"Oh, baby," he cooed, eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. "I think you're the only one allowed to be cocky here." He leaned down, brushing his lips over her forehead with a featherlight touch. "I'm just here to keep up, give you what you need, and maybe make you a little crazy along the way."

Luna let out a soft laugh, rolling her eyes at his words, but she felt her heart swell with the warmth only he could give her. "Maybe?" she challenged, arching an eyebrow.

"Fine," he conceded, smirking. "A lot crazy. But only for me, right?"

She settled back into him, her voice barely a whisper. "Only for you. Only ever you."

Luna hummed in satisfaction, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest as she snuggled closer, her body worn out from the intense lovemaking.

They lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Luna could feel Jeonghan's chest rising and falling rapidly under her, his heart beating rapidly against her ear. She could feel his lips pressed against her forehead, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

Luna savored the way Jeonghan made her feel— a feeling of belonging so profound that it left her utterly captivated. She felt claimed, possessed in the best possible way, like she was both his entire world and something he would fight to keep all to himself. No one had ever made her feel like this before, like she was more than just someone to hold.

Jeonghan made her feel desired, cherished, protected… all at once.

She loved the softness in his touch, the gentleness in his eyes, and the way he could melt her defenses with a single word. But she also loved the way he unleashed something wilder within her, something she hadn’t even known existed until she met him. He made her feel wild and untamed, free to give in to desires that once felt foreign, unrestrained in a way that sent a thrill racing through her.

For the first time in her twenty-six years of existence, Luna found herself thankful for the presence of that lingering shadow she usually kept hidden—possessiveness. It was always there, lurking quietly, rarely stirred.

But Jeonghan, with his effortless charm, his mischievous smile, and that knowing gaze, he brought it to life. And instead of shying away from it, she welcomed it. She embraced it because it meant she didn’t have to hold back when it came to him. She could be unapologetically hers and his all at once, unguarded in her feelings, reveling in the thrill of knowing he was hers to claim just as much as he claimed her.

Just as she was sinking into this feeling, basking in that delicious sense of belonging, a sudden thought shot through her mind, jolting her from the warmth of Jeonghan’s arms.

Luna gasped, sitting up abruptly.

Jeonghan’s eyes widened, his hand immediately coming up to steady her, a flash of worry crossing his face. “What?” he asked, his tone laced with confusion and a hint of alarm.

She pouted, her gaze darting toward the table. “My cake!” she exclaimed, voice tinged with frustration as she moved to get up.

Jeonghan watched her, and after a second of stunned silence, he sighed and chuckled, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “You’ve got to stop scaring me like that,” he muttered, standing up to grab the cake himself before she could.

Luna huffed, crossing her arms and shooting him a playful glare. “The cake, Han!” she complained, her pout only deepening at his apparent lack of urgency.

He held up his hands in surrender, smirking as he reached for the cake on the table. “Alright, alright,” he said, indulging her with a gentle tone, his voice full of doting affection as he brought it over to her. “Here’s your precious cake, my demanding little bunny that I love so much.”

“I love you more,” Luna replied instantly, her focus shifting entirely to the cake now in her hands, a gleam of satisfaction lighting up her face.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk. “Are you talking about the cake or me?” he asked, his tone deadpan but his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Luna’s head snapped up, her gaze narrowing as she glared at him, lips curling into a stubborn pout. She held the cake protectively, as if shielding it from any further teasing.

Jeonghan chuckled, clearly entertained by her reaction. He reached out, gently brushing his fingers against her cheek, his voice dropping to a soft, affectionate coo. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Nana-ya,” he teased, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I know you love me more. But you’re still adorable when you’re pretending otherwise.”

Luna’s pout deepened, but the hint of a smile betrayed her. She rolled her eyes, and despite herself, her lips quirked upward just slightly.

Jeonghan’s chuckle turned into a warm laugh, his gaze filled with that familiar mix of mischief and adoration that only he could pull off. And in that cozy, sweet moment, with Luna clutching her beloved cake and Jeonghan’s laughter filling the room, the night felt perfect— just the two of them, in their own little world.

mdni banner: @cafekitsune

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crsssie · 7 months ago

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cherry red pies, pretty pink skies

word count: 1.5k || pt2 of sparkling green eyes, dazzling green lines

summary: Damian's sweet baby has her first ballet recital

"Dami, can you—"

"Don't worry." He hums, showing you the pamphlet he had picked up earlier.

You never thought you'd be worried over ballet lessons. His sweet daughter was having her first recital, and he had cancelled a whole day's worth of plans in order to make sure that everything would go smoothly. You found it cute, though you were no less worried than he was. You could just never quite know what would go wrong in Gotham. The possibilities were endless... even with private security around the vicinity of the theatre.

You wonder if it's possible to be even more anxious than Damian.

"We'll be safe." He hums, hand reaching for yours as he runs his thumb over your knuckles, and you exhale.

"We'll be fine." You mumble. "We'll be fine."

"And if not then I get to shoot at Drake once."

"WHAT."

Damian doesn't elaborate more on it, but when you catch a blur of orange in the dark, you get the general idea.

Well, at the very least, you feel a little more at peace knowing that someone is taking care of security. You wonder if Tim's out on the roof only to hack the cameras, though.

"Is he?"

"No." Damian shakes his head, showing security the ticket. "Not this time."

You wonder just how worried Damian is over this entire situation, then.

"Are you worried that she'll mess up on stage at all?" You follow him to the center seats in the middle row, sitting down as he helps you down first.

"She's our blood. She's perfect even if she somehow does mess up. In that case, it would be improv, which we both know is something only the most talented can dream of doing."

You hold back at laugh at Damian's words.

"Besides. We've both seen her practicing. She'll be alright." His hand covers yours, tapping gently at your fingers.

"I think she'll be fine." Cass hums as she slides next to the two of you, small bouquet in her arms, Bruce following shortly after.

"She's going to do the best out of all her peers." Damian rolls his eyes.

You can only laugh.

In a way, Damian isn't wrong. Out of all those in her age group on stage, only your daughter somehow manages to remember the routine from start to finish, and when it's the end, you can barely contain your excitement to greet her. Damian follows after you with the flowers he had put in the trunk, small bouquet of congratulatory flowers in his arms as you pick up your precious baby girl and spin her around.

"You were great, baby." You grin, bouncing her in your arms.

"Thank you, mama." She mumbles. "Hi daddy."

"Hi, princess." Damian imitates a light curtsey, offering her the flowers. "Well done on your performance."

"Thank you, baba." She mumbles, cheeks flushed as she takes the flowers from her dad. "I didn't mess up."

"I know." He hums, holding her hand. "We're proud of you."

Your moment is interrupted when she spots Cass, eyes lighting up as she reaches from your arms for her. You hand her over with a gentle roll of your eyes, and Damian watches as she babbles nonsensical things that Cass entertains, flowers handed to her as she continues, thanking her in the same breath, going back to speaking.

"She takes after me for all that talking." You grin, patting Damian's hand as he rests it on your elbow.

"She's much more formal than her peers." Damian scrunches his nose. "Perhaps due to my influence."

"It isn't a bad thing." You wave as you watch Tim and Jason walk in. "You guys missed the whole thing."

"Oh, no we didn't" Tim shakes the camera in his hand, popping out the SD card and tossing it to Damian. "All on video with photos."

"Much appreciated." Damian nods.

You wonder if Damian's family adores your little girl a little too much. She greets the rest of her uncles with a grin, excitement that only a child can experience making her little body shake with excitement. At one point, Dick calls to let you all know that dinner was ready at the mansion, and you offer to take your little girl from Cass.

"I wanna stay with aunt Cass." She pouts.

"What if she's tired?"

"Baba will carry you." Damian opens his arms for her, and she leaves Cass' embrace reluctantly. "Good girl."

"Sorry about that." You laugh. "She was excited that you watched her perform."

"Thank you for inviting me." Cass hums. "She'll be great."

"I'm sure it's because she saw that photo of you doing ballet that one time while visiting Bruce. She's been enamored with the idea ever since."

Cass only hums, glancing to the side as she waves at your daughter — who's still looking at her.

"I'll take her off your hands tonight after dinner." Cass laughs. "I'll bring her back tomorrow."

"Well, it is her summer vacation." You sigh. "Baby, you wanna stay with Aunt Cass for the night?"

"Can I?" She blinks up at you expectantly, and you look up to Damian.

"Do you want to?"

"It would be nice..."

"Then yes." He hums. "Don't trouble her too much, alright?"

She nods, grinning at Cass as she smiles back.

You have dinner with the rest of the family, their soulmates all present, handing your daughter small gifts of celebration as she thanks everyone with a polite nod. She reminds you very much of Damian, and from what Talia had told you when he was a baby, your daughter seems to be the exact image. At the very least, you hope that she'll grow up without the trauma that Damian had to experience because of his blood. He does a great job at keeping her separate from his life in the streets of Gotham.

You wave goodbye to the family as your daughter gives you both a small kiss goodbye, promising she'll be good for Cass for the night. You have a feeling that means she's going to stay up past her bedtime practicing ballet with Cass again, but as long as she doesn't stay up too late, she'll be fine.

"How late do you think she'll be up until?" You mumble to Damian as he holds your door open for you.

"I'd argue anywhere around 11 to midnight." He nods as he closes the door for you.

"I hope she has fun, then." You chuckle, watching as the manor's doors close once more.

"We'll have our fair share of fun."

"Ugh, I can't wait to get a glass at home."

"Would you like to look through what just arrived? Drake dropped it off before patrol to me."

"You know, for someone who claims to just tolerate him, you sure do rely on him for a lot." You turn your head to glance at him, and he sighs.

"Siblings."

You found that Damian was highly sentimental after marriage. From the wedding invites to the clothes he wore first when he met you, he knows every moment and minor detail of you. In your room, other than the shelves of mangas he collected as a teen, he also keeps photobooks of the two of you through each year, and all six failed engagement ring attempts are framed on the wall in the living room. You are lucky, you think. Your hopelessness had paid off... or rubbed off. You hadn't known it was possible to be so enamored with someone. Maybe his brothers rubbed off on him.

"Do you want a snack with the wine?" Damian hands you a glass, lips curled upwards gently as you grin at the package.

"I'll be fine. You kept it in the delivery box?"

"You like opening boxes." He hums, settling next to you on the couch as you open the box to find a booklet.

"Oh, from our wedding?"

"These were the behind-the-scenes that Drake got." He hums. "I did not enjoy that he got to see you first on the day of the wedding, but he did give this to us... even if it is years late."

You smile, patting Damian's shoulder gently as you flip through it with him, humming as you point at certain photos, watching as Damian texts Tim to send him the digitals later. You raise brows at certain people, and he tells you each one's name, lips quirking up in amusement when you roll your eyes at some of your friends. You wonder if the development would have happened had you not taken the risk and asked him to be your plus one to the wedding so long ago.

You yawn at one point, and Damian's hand rubs circles on your back.

"Bedtime, habibti?"

You yawn more in response, nodding slowly as you cover your mouth. "Bedtime. Are you going to frame any photos from it?"

"Most likely the one in the back. We should get a family portrait sometime as well."

"Yeah?" You start getting up, pausing mid-way to yawn. Instead, Damian picks you up with ease, waiting for you to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Thank you, Dami."

"Anytime. Rest well, habibti."

"Mm... you too, beloved."

#i need dc to age him up but STOP making him batman i am not putting that as a banner but bro looks tiny. he IS the baby i fear #☾.fics #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #I just think cass would be a great aunt (i miss her)#also ik he hates Tim or like tolerates him but I'm a thorough believer that they r literally brothers (begrudgingly)#ok that came out wrong like in the way that they can always rely on each other but would rather die than admit it #dc #reader insert

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gildedoak · 11 months ago

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More Overlord!Husk AU

@celestialalpacaron - I'm not sure if you fully understand the scope of the ART MONSTER you have unleashed with this idea.

But just got some practice with quick sketches using reference photos - mostly of Frank Sinatra. (Included those too for comparison.) I think my favorite is the waltz one, because I am a SUCKER for ballroom dance. ❤️ And ballet. And jazz. And dance in general. You get such WILD and beautiful poses.

Description below the cut!

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: a collection of ink sketches of Husk and Angel in the Overlord!Husk AU. One sketch is an overhead view of Husk and Angel waltzing, as they rest their heads on each others' shoulder. One is of Husk kissing Angel on the temple. One is of Husk scowling while holding Fat Nuggets, who's wearing a tiny top hat. The last is of Angel and Husk sitting together, wearing more casual clothes, with Husk comforting Angel as he leans into him, and has one wing curled over him.

The next four are close-ups of each sketch. The next four are the reference photos used.

END DESCRIPTION]

#my art #sketches #traditional art #photo references for the win #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel angel dust #huskerdust #angelhusk #husk x angel dust #hazbin hotel fat nuggets #overlord!husk #overlord husk au #sometimes you just gotta churn out sketches really fast and don't care about making mistakes

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

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Floyd Leech: Cinderella Step

GOOD GOD, FLOYD 😭 Put your grippers AWAY, I don’t wanna see those… (flashbacks to the horror of Dorm Uniform Jade groovy)

P.S. You should listen to Cinderella Step by Daoko :)) I enjoy it a lot, and it’s also the song that I named this ficlet after. I feel like that first full line (“Though you are the worst, I can’t help but love you”) is very evocative of the NRC boys 😂

Rise and Shine!

It was easy to tell which side of the room was Floyd's. It always looked like a hurricane had run through, scattering clothes all over every avaliable surface. Snack crumbs are sprinkled like a generous garnish on his desk and shelf. His belongings—interesting odds and ends he had collected over the weeks—were similarly strewn haphazardly, wherever there was free space to be occupied.

There was only one thing that the storm seemed to have missed.

His shoes.

A glossy black--patent leather. Large yet sleek, tapering into pointed toes. It was the same pair he wore every day with his school uniform, yet there was not so much as a scratch or a speck of dirt on them.

Pristine.

The one thing he takes good care of, you thought. Must be magic.

Other shoes sat in neat rows on a rack. Boots, sneakers, sandals, in shapes and colors you've never even imagined. The variety astounded you.

Floyd bounded about the room collecting his things. He hopped around on one leg, slipping on a sock, then alternated to the other leg. Next he slung his blazer, still slightly wrinkled from having been crumpled and tossed over a chair last night, on over his prim grey-lilac vest. His striped tie was forgotten, left forlorn on his bed as he yoinked the patent leather shoes and slipped them on.

“‘K, I’m ready," Floyd announced cheerily. "Let’s get going, koebi-chan~"

You stared at his messy room. "You're not going to tidy up a little before heading out?"

He blinked. "Hmm? Why would I? Stuff's gonna shift around anyway, so there's no point in doing that."

Floyd strolled out, hands casually tucked in his pockets. You followed after him, falling in time with his footsteps. Today, they were long and languid, like waves lazily combing the beach.

You knew what that meant; good mood, best to not disturb it.

"... Right." You offered a small, reassuring smile. “Hey, I noticed that you have a lot of shoes—and you take such good care of them.”

“Yeah. Cuz we don’t really have’m where I come from. Gotta make the most of my human experience and all.”

"You don't exactly dress in a shirt and pants under the sea either," you pointed out with a shrug.

“Shoes are special.” He said it with surprisingly conviction, an uncharacteristic seriousness set in his eyes. "You kinda need them to do the things humans do every day, least without getting nagged at. Jumping, dancing, strolling down the street."

“All this talk about footwear… You sound like Cinderella.”

“Ehh… Do I give you those vibes?” There was a crackle entangled with his words.

“You’re the kind of guy that would sneak out if Azul told you to stay put.” You paused, then added, “just to prove a point.”

He gave a razor-sharp grin in response. “Touché.”

Floyd glanced down at his feet. His eyes barely lingered there for half a second before they flicked to yours. “Glass slippers sound cool though.”

“Glass slippers? Really? You’re not scared they’d break…? I thought you’d be into more durable shoes. Something easy to move around in.”

“I’d try’m on at least once, as long as it’s not lame lookin’. I’ll try anything at least once. Glass slippers, a puss’s boots, ballet flats from twelve dancing princesses, shoes made by elves…”

“Even cursed shoes?” you asked. “Professor Trein was telling us about them the other day. Put them on, and you’re cursed to dance forever and ever—or at least until you collapse from exhaustion.”

Floyd made a face. “Nah. Dancing’s fun, but not if you do it all the time. I’d get sick of it.”

"There’s more than one way of dancing.”

“Duh. I know that. But it’ll still get pretty boring after a while.”

“I don’t think so.” You shook your head, your feet coming to a stop. “Dancing’s a lot like having a conversation, except your mouth doesn’t ever need to move. You just let your body do the talking.”

Your legs criss-crossed in a quick jig. "This is being excited." Standing on your toes, you carefully elevated yourself. "This is whispering." Putting all your weight into your feet, you stomped. "And this is shouting!"

Floyd watched your demonstration in silence. Gold, right. Olive, left. Together, mysterious and mirthful.

“Sounds fun,” he piped up at last. “I want in on this."

Before you had the chance to respond, Floyd's had had already latched onto yours. The other wrapped around your waist, tugging you against his chest. You lurched against him, and the sound of his raspy laughter filling your eardrums.

“You wanna dance? Let’s dance. Then you tell me what my dancing says to you.”

“W-Wait, Floyd…!”

He didn’t.

Floyd strung you along and down the street, swinging you erratically in his arms. With his long limbs swaying, he moved as naturally as a fish amid coral. For a creature of the sea, he had such grace on land that you could never tell his true origins.

He was the wind, a water current, a wayward traveler. Constantly changing and never truly contained.

Your panic and surprise easily melted into light-hearted laughter. And your feet, too, began to weave freely, as if wading on the shoreline, drawing indiscriminate shapes in the sand.

Realization struck you when you looked at him again. Your heart went thump-thump-thump, in a frantic little dance of its own.

What he’s trying to convey is…

Floyd met your gaze, sparks flying. His fingers interlocked with yours, he leaned in and grinned. Cheeks ruddy, eyes shining with exhibition.

“We don’t need words. Just our dancin’ shoes and each other!”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Floyd Leech #twst x reader #Floyd Leech x reader #jp spoilers #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #Reader #self insert #something no one asked for #Floyd birthday takeover

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lovelyballetandmore · 2 years ago

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David Consuegra | Next Generation Ballet | Photo by Michelle Revels

#david consuegra #next generation ballet #ballet slippers #balletphotography

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strazcenter · 28 days ago

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Jarod’s Journey Has Taken Him From NGB to ABT

Next Generation Ballet®’s annual production of Nutcracker always adds an extra sparkle to the holidays. This year’s presentation will shine even brighter when, for the first time, an NGB alum from a major American ballet company returns to perform in Nutcracker. Jarod Curley, a soloist with American Ballet Theatre, spent “the two most intense years of training I had in my time as a student”…

#arts #ballet #Broadway #christmas shows #dance #holiday #music #Next Generation Ballet #Nutcracker #Patel Conservatory #performing arts #straz center #straz center for the performing arts #Tampa #theater

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inkedtae · 1 month ago

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xii. rotten angelcake ⇾ kth. [M]

⎡She’s as sweet as angelcake; he likes her honeyed rotten⎤

chapter twelve : in the wings⤑ ❝ late to the theatre, you're caught in taehyung’s grip. pleasure and power collide and you find yourself in an interesting position. ❞

⇽ prev. | masterlist | next ⇾

⌁ pairing; ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; s2l, ceo au, sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, 18+

⌁ word count; 9.3k

⌁ warnings; dom!taehyung, daddy!taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, virgin!reader, daddy kink, praise kink, corruption kink, bdsm themes, dirty talk, exhibitionism, use of sex toy, overstimulation, a bit of cum play, pussy spanking, teasing, begging

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

» prefer ao3? keep reading here

ও huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for the amazing new banner and a very special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for beta-reading this in such short notice! i really appreciate it !

You’re late.

And, despite the teasing texts from Taehyung, you swear it’s not your fault.

Whether it be her general dislike towards you or your impromptu day off last week, Marina has been bitchier than usual. She has found new ways to torture you, trading her normal tactics of endless to-do lists for assigning useless work instead. Yesterday, she ordered you to fill out countless forms, only to remember that they were out of circulation once the task was completed. She then forced you to shred them while she “supervised” with a gloating smirk.

This morning she had you running around the building looking for a certain data specialist for an important meeting. She had promised attendance to the interns. After hours of questions and several flights of stairs, you found out he had quit a month ago. You missed the meeting and needed to stay after work to digitise the minutes and send copies to the department managers.

Frustrated and exhausted, Taehyung’s suggestion returns in quiet echoes. It’s not as though you’re above quitting. It’s been your goal since your first day. This job was only meant to be temporary anyway. But, if you quit now, with less than three months of experience at a highly recognised company, all your work would be insignificant. More than that, all the crap you’ve endured thus far will be for nothing. Three months is not nearly enough credible experience to transfer to other jobs. You might be able to spin it in your favour during an interview, but you doubt your resume will even be selected.

Pushing the thought away, you secure your hair back in a low, loose bun with another pin, then reach for the hairspray. You’ve gone back and forth too much for someone in a rush. But it’s your first time going to the opera or ballet (you’re not really sure what Taehyung had said and don’t have the time to scroll through messages to confirm). You just want to make a good impression on his colleagues.

That is the only reason he invited you, you remind yourself. This is not a date.

Swarovski diamonds sparkle on your deep-necked dress. You tug at the short hem near your mid-thighs and adjust the edges of the plunging bust. You thought the lace would make you itchy, but find it is lined with soft silk. Elegant and creme-white, it would resemble a wedding dress if it was longer, you can’t help noticing.

Rolling your eyes at the thought, you grab the matching earrings Taehyung had bought you– a pair of silver wings at the base with a dangling tassel of diamonds. He has impeccable taste. You almost wish he could style and dress you daily, like his personal doll.

A shiver runs down your spine. Your legs press together.

Deep breath in— your chest fills, eyes shut— deep breath out.

“You must be Taehyung!”

You hear Mrs Chu exclaim, eyes snapping open. What the fuck is he doing up here? You told him you’d be down soon, not even a second ag—

Shit.

Mrs Chu has been trying to meet Taehyung for weeks. Luckily, you’ve always been able to come up with some sort of excuse, usually revolving around a lack of time. She’d often try to corner you in the morning, just as you’re on the way out, asking countless questions about Taehyung’s schedule. In a rush, you tell her he’s just really busy this week and bolt out the door.

Grabbing your phone, your fingers tremble as you unlock it. A glance at your last message shows it was really sent about twenty minutes ago. You find he initially replied with acknowledgment, sending you a black heart. Later, perhaps growing concerned from your delay, he warned that he would be coming up if you’re not down in the next sixty seconds.

You shut your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. With a huff, you grab your clutch, tossing in your lip gloss, keys, phone and wallet, and rush out into the hall.

Taehyung stands in a full black suit, only a silver tie shining between the lap of his coat. He towers over a five-foot-six Mrs Chu. His hair is slicked back, a sliver-cuffed earring pinned to his lobe. He offers her a smile, a gentle nod.

He says something. The deep tone of his voice masks the words from a distance.

She’s practically giggling, though. Her face is a shade pinker and she has to force herself to look away.

Is this what you look like? Is this what everyone sees? He towers, you cower, bashful and dazed, inching closer towards him. He calls, you fall, helpless and desperate, playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Is this why no one believes you’re just friends?

Taehyung, eyes lazy yet intrigued, lips easy yet curved, draws Mrs Chu’s attention back.

“I see why ____ is so smitten,” she teases.

Your eyes widen. Heat rushes to your cheeks, hands suddenly clammy.

“Mrs Chu,” you call before she can go on any further.

You feel Taehyung’s eyes on you but can’t bring yourself to meet them. You keep your attention on Mrs Chu, making your way towards her.

Slipping between her and Taehyung, you pointedly glance at the couch. “Isn’t Wheel of Fortune on soon?” You ask through gritted teeth.

Mrs Chu rolls her eyes. She leans in towards you, peering up over the rim of her glasses, and mutters, “Subtle.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from groaning and you swear you hear Taehyung stifle a laugh behind you.

She then looks towards him, and smiles. “It was nice meeting you, Taehyung.” She then feigns surprise and adds, “I just remembered Wheel of Fortune will be on soon.”

“How is that any less subtle?” you whisper.

Mrs Chu opens her mouth to most likely scold you when your breath hitches. You stumble back as her eyes fall to your waist.

Taehyung wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you back against him. He’s steady and warm, but you fight against the urge to lean into his touch. As comforting as it is, especially after a hellish day at work, you cannot let your feelings for him get the better of you or risk Mrs Chu making this bigger than it is.

“I would love to continue this subtle conversation,” Taehyung says, “but we really should be going.”

You can hear the smirk in his words, feel the muted laughter deep in his chest. You even feel the deep timbre of his voice resonating into your spine. You stiffen, refusing to let the soulful lure soothe your anxieties.

Mrs Chu is at a loss for words. You’ve never seen her so surprised. She’d experienced life to its fullest. A wild college girl in my day, she always says. An honour roll student, valedictorian, three scholarships, co-captain of the cheer team, married her college sweetheart— divorced him a year later for the love of her life.

And here she stands, perfectly still, before you. She gawks over her glasses, jaw slack, brows raised, bouncing her attention between you and Taehyung as if you had just announced him to be the father of your child.

You shift your weight, hand moving over Taehyung’s to gently brush it off.

You hear the shifting fabric of his pocket as he shoves it in before clearing his throat, “Let’s grab your shoes, Angel,” he whispers, lips hovering near the top of your head.

Mrs Chu blinks at the nickname. She looks at you, like she’s waiting for an explanation, maybe even a correction.

You’re not sure what to say. ‘We’re just friends’ seems like a lie now— you hate the fact that it’s all you will probably ever be. And you doubt you’ll be able to utter that last word without choking on it.

Instead, you let out a breathy chuckle. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

Before either one of them can reply, you hurry down the hall and back into your room. As you search your closet for your heels, you wonder if you also have enough time to shut the door and scream under the covers.

“Your room is not as pink as I imagined it.”

Clutching the shoebox against your chest, you turn to find Taehyung standing in your doorway. He nearly fills the entire frame with his impressive height and broad shoulders. The black of his suit contrasts starkly against the cream walls, making the trim along the ceiling and the base of the deep maple hardwood floors seem almost fragile beneath his inquisitive gaze.

He’s right, though– there isn’t nearly as much pink in your room as you’d like. The space is tiny, barely accommodating your twin bed, a small vanity, and the rack of dresses Taehyung gifted you a couple of months ago. As he steps inside, you press your back against the closet door. The room suddenly feels suffocating as he surveys the small space, gazing with quiet interest, lingering on every detail.

Your bed, lent to you by Mrs Chu, is pushed against the wall beneath your window. Its frame, a regal black metal with subtle gold accents, feels almost too grand for the tiny room. You’ve indulged in pink silk sheets and a fluffy white comforter. It was an impulse buy after the first surge of funds Taehyung transferred nearly seven months ago. At the foot of the bed, a cluster of plushies sit neatly. You don’t sleep with all of them, but their presence is comforting.

A couple of books, lip balm, and hand cream sit on top of your oak night table, right beside your bed. Neatly stacked to the right are several more books. It’s not your entire collection, just your favourites. You often reach for them when you need to unwind or seek some comfort. The rest of your library remains boxed under your bed due to the limited space.

Above the bed hangs a gallery of impressionist paintings, each piece a relic of Mrs. Chu’s undergrad days. The vibrant scenes of grassy meadows, serene portraits, and abstract landscapes fill the wall with a patchwork of moods and colours. The adjacent walls are functional: one holds your closet, while the other features a large window nearly spanning its width. Framed by white cotton curtains and fairy lights, the window allows soft daylight to bathe the room.

Taehyung’s eyes settle on the vanity on the other side of the room. He tilts his head at the array of perfumes, bows, and makeup brushes that sit in organised chaos. His fingers graze the dangling chains of your necklaces before his attention settles on one of your smaller plushies. A smile plays on his lips at the collection of remaining stuffed animals you have littered around your room. He picks up a tiny Totoro plushie, turning it over in his hand, his expression soft with amusement.

“Cute,” he hums before putting it back.

You catch a soft look in his eye and cannot fight the heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks. “You don’t like it when I touch the things around your office,” you point out, stepping towards him as he picks up a perfume bottle.

He lets you take it from his hand and return it to its rightful place, suppressing an amused smirk. “When has that ever stopped you?”

You bite your lip to suppress your own guilty smile.

Then, he steps closer. A crisp herbal blend, where floral notes of white tea are grounded by earthy impressions of sage infiltrate your next inhale. Hints of cedarwood and amber, with citrusy touches of begoment, are laced in with his usual musk– no doubt the doing of his cologne. You swallow thickly, resisting the urge to press your thighs together. He smells so delicious, so clean and rugged and Taehyung.

You tilt your head back to properly meet his intriguing, half-lidded gaze. At the sight of your pout, Taehyung nods towards your bed. His lack of words reminds you of the fact that you left him waiting for twenty minutes downstairs. Following his silent order without your usual air of defiance, you take a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter before opening the shoebox to take out your sliver, strappy ribbon heels.

Taehyung kneels. He wraps a hand around your ankle and pulls your foot up to his face. His lips are soft. They press firmly on the knot of your ankle. Then, he sets it down on his knee.

You feel your face heat, flesh pricking with goosebumps. You try your best not to shiver, but fail as he takes the shoe from your hands and begins to slip your foot through. He’s careful with the straps, delicately looping the ribbon around your calf.

His silence usually alludes to something sinister. He’s always so calm before a punishment. The anticipation is often exhilarating. Wondering what he might do, what he might say makes you want to misbehave. How relentless will he be before finally giving into you? How harsh of a punishment will this act yield? These questions excite you but watching him be so deliberate in deafening silence almost makes your toes curl.

However, being this late, you doubt he will execute any physical punishment. Genuine anger may be the reason behind his lack of communication. He does have a habit of issuing a lack of attention as a punishment over texts.

Taehyung grabs your other foot and kisses your ankle again.

“I had to work late,” you try to explain.

He slips on the other shoe.

“The time just got away from me.”

He wraps the ribbon around your leg. His fingers are soft, brushing against your smooth skin.

He doesn’t even grunt an acknowledgement. You wonder if an explanation is doing more harm than good.

His nails are short, but you feel them gently scratch at you as he ties a bow under the back of your knee.

You pull your lip between your teeth, thighs trembling as you continue to resist the urge to press them together.

There it is— a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip.

Before you can utter another apology, Taehyung spreads your legs. The heady scent of your neediness fills the air as your wet, white thong is exposed. His grip on your knees tightens at the smell, the action aggressive enough to trigger a quiet moan. His lips, however, are soft, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh.

Another gasp cinches at the base of your throat. You want to ask him what he’s doing. You want to remind him that you’re late, that Mrs Chu is on the other side of the slightly ajar door and can easily walk in on you. She might even be able to hear you right now, struggling to keep your breaths even. But you can’t find the words to stop him, or perhaps— you don’t want to.

You grasp on the edge of the bed. Your eyes flutter shut. You lean back, hips rolling up, up, up towards his chin.

His breath fans over the apex of your thighs. He breathes in deep, nose nuzzling against the damp fabric of your thong.

You bite your lips to hold back a moan.

Friends don’t do this, a little voice in your head whispers.

Friends don’t smother their perfect faces against your wetness. Friends don’t quietly moan and attempt to get you off to the mere vibrations of their voice. Friends don’t coax you into grinding against their firm noses.

But, perhaps, best friends do.

“No more cute sounds for me tonight?”

You peek down at him. He’s pulled himself away from your hips, licking the taste of you off his lips. A mischievous twinkle dances in his gaze.

You glance at the door, about to remind him that you’re not alone.

The smack of his hand against your clothed crotch cuts you off instead.

You’re only just able to catch your yelp, or so you think as a breathy whine breaks through. Eyes wide, you cannot believe he just spanked your pussy. And now he’s rubbing the pad of his thumb firmly against your bundle of nerves.

Your eyes dart to the door. You hear the catchy tune of the game show, the distant voice of the host but cannot make out any footsteps.

Taehyung does not seem to care. All playful indications in his features disappear. His attention burns through you, boiling your blood with needy passion. Your hips buck against the measly bouts of slow pleasure.

And all he does is stare.

Your toes curl, jaw tightens. How can he be so calm right now? Your wetness glistens on his chin, his breath smells of you, his hand is drenched with your neediness and he still kneels between your legs like it’s the only place he wants to be found. He presses harder against you, coaxing another whine.

It’s starting to infuriate you. Does he even care about you, risking your relationship with Mrs Chu so casually? Is this all for his own sick satisfaction? He gets you to trust him, to let him in, only to humiliate you in front of your surrogate grandmother?

God, he’s insufferable.

“We’re late,” you begin, parting your lips to continue when he cups your chin with his other hand.

You melt to his touch all too quickly, allowing him to pull down your head and maintain eye contact.

“And who’s fault is that?” He asks, reaching into his pocket.

“I told you that I had to work a bit later than usual,” you reply, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “My job is important to me.”

“My promises are important to me.”

You raise a brow. “To who?”

That cocky smirk is not lost on you. Taehyung loves a good game— a good show. He likes watching you squirm under his sexual scrutiny and burn with jealousy.

It is the realisation of finding yourself in this position all over again— legs spread, Taehyung in between, and your pride shrivelled up in the corner, you are exactly where you swore you would never be agai—

“Ah!” you whine, eyes wide.

Taehyung continues to push the little toy into you.

“Shh,” he soothes.

You swallow thickly, clenching around the cool silicon. “What is that?” You whisper, voice fragmented and faint.

His gaze softens, thumb brushing against your clit. You resist the urge to buckle your hips up.

“A vibrator. It’s pink, shaped like a heart,” he explains as a smile graces his lips. “It was meant to be a gift for later, but,” he quirks his head to the side, ceasing his ministrations and fixing your panties. “It will work just as well for a punishment.”

You roll your eyes, moving to close your legs. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you it wasn’t my fault.”

“I stood out there for twenty minutes.”

“You have a jacket, don’t you?”

Taehyung stands. He chews on the inside of his cheeks, hands slipping into his pockets.

You press your legs together.

“We fighting today?”

You bite on the inner corner of your lip, attempting to suppress a smile. The quirk of your brow is hard to mask, however. One of the first things Taehyung admitted he was drawn to was your swift wit. He likes to hear you bark only for him to bite. He finds it amusing and pitiful and absolutely thrilling.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you mumble. Your voice is small but you stand with confidence, leaning your head back to maintain his gaze.

He’s so close now, you can taste the rich scent of his cologne. He nods once, lips brushing against your chin.

“We’ll discuss this in the car,” he whispers against your skin. The deep bartone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. You find it hard to keep your hands to yourself. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you inch forward on your toes to press your chest to his.

A fight is never really a fight, more like a challenge of endurance. How far do you dare to disobey him? How long can he last before doing something about it? But in this moment, all alone in your little room with his hot breath fanning against your lips, you don’t feel the urge to push his buttons anymore.

Taehyung does not remove his hands from his pockets. He stays still, expression stoic. If you couldn’t feel the fast beat of his heart or the hardness of his length, you would think he doesn’t want you touching him.

A pout tugs on your lips at the lack of attention. Softening your voice in hopes that he will at least grab your waist, you ask, “Are you really ma–”

“Don’t,” he hisses, voice husky and low. “Don’t you dare make me repeat myself.”

You whimper. It’s pathetic and strained, but you cannot stop the sound from slipping out, let alone your lips from quivering. You miss him so much, need him so bad. Your heart aches with want, and for a second you cannot understand why things have to be so complicated. You love him and want him to be yours, in every sense of the word. You want to introduce him to Mrs Chu as your boyfriend, not just some guy you happen to be friends with and he just happens to buy you whatever you want. You want to hold his hand, call him sweet terms of endearment and flaunt your relationship in front of your stupid, bitchy boss. You want his attention, his time, and most of all– his lips on yours.

But then the rational part of your brain makes a reappearance and reminds you that this yearning is one-sided, and acting on it would mean risking the little bits of attention you’re getting right now.

So you swallow thickly, slide your hands off his broad shoulders and down his strong chest, then back to your side. You grab your purse and the white fur coat Taehyung bought you from the bed, and lead the way out.

“We’re going,” you call to Mrs Chu as you unlock the door.

She waves you off.

“Have a good night, Mrs Chu,” Taehyung then says.

She sits up in her seat on the couch and turns to give him her best smile. “Only if you do too, Taehyung,” she teases. A girlish giggle tumbles out of her as he flashes her an easy smile. You suppress the roll of your eyes as you head out.

Taehyung does not rest his hand on the small of your back as you make your way down the stairs. You sneak glances at him, finding he remains composed, hands still in his pockets, and completely ignoring you. When you step outside into the cold November night, he finally spares you a look over his shoulder. You stop mid-step expecting to find his usual car instead of a limousine. You remember being in one on your first night out together but that was because the event insisted on sending them out for all their high-funding donors. However, you don’t remember Taehyung mentioning that this is a charity event.

Noticing your hesitation, he slips a hand behind your back and gently leads you towards the car. The driver opens the door for you and Taehyung helps you in. He does not lean in to buckle your seat belt for you, instead circling the back of the car to get in from the other side.

The limousine is a void of black leather and silence. You miss Sinatra’s soft voice trickling through the speakers and green glow of Taehyung’s custom made car. Most of all, you miss the way EDEN would greet you, flashing pink when speaking to you only.

You slouch in your seat.

If you had known he’d be this upset, you would have told him you wouldn’t be able to make it before putting all this effort into looking presentable in front of his colleagues. Maybe if you had been honest about not being ready on time, he would have at least been more understanding. You know he hates coming late, having read about how he often arrives an hour before his meetings when you were researching him prior to your first meeting at the art gallery.

But this passive aggressive treatment is too much. You miss him doting on you, groping your thighs and pulling you against his side. You’ve already apologised, even if you instantly attempted to bait him into an argument seconds later. He likes that you’re bratty, having told you so multiple times. So when is he going to swallow his pride already and–

“Ah,” you quietly squeal as the heart-shaped vibrator buzzes to life. The vibrations are slow, humming quietly against your clenching walls.

Taehyung slides closer to you, the widespread of his legs knocking against your trembling knees. You instantly press yourself against him, not about to resist his strong scent and warmth. His forehead brushes against yours before he roughly grips onto your chin, forcing you to meet his angry gaze.

“When will you fucking behave?” he hisses.

Your toes curl. Heat pools at the apex of your thighs. You let out a shaky breath, rounding your eyes.

He tightens his grip, puckering your glossed lips. “I try to be patient with you,” he continues, voice dropping an octave. “I try to teach you and play with you, but you keep getting this crazy idea that you’re in charge.”

“M-May I please explain,” you ask through a whimper.

A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest and tumbles over your hot face. He moans softly before grazing your soft cheek with his teeth, teasing a bite. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you, besides ‘yes, daddy.’ Am I clear?”

“Yes, daddy.”

A satisfied growl resonates from the depths of his chest and into yours, further dampening your little white thong. He uses his free hand to lift and rest your thigh over his lap. The new position, legs spread for him, allows the vibrations to buzz freely within you. While you try to bite your lip, constricted from his harsh hold on your chin, a loud moan still slips out.

“What was the first rule I sent you?”

You fight back a smile at the memory of that conversation. After running out of his office, overwhelmed by the sudden realisation of your feelings, he texted to check in on you. You went back and forth for a bit before he revisited the topic of discipline, or rather– what to expect from each other.

[angelcake] : interesting. so i get a say in this too?

[V] : Of course.

[V] : This goes both ways.

“No talking back,” you finally answer, pulling yourself out of your memories.

Taehyung smirks against your skin. Warm and soft, his lips then gently press against your flaming cheek. “That’s right, princess,” he mutters.

Princess.

A strained whine tears through your throat at the new term of endearment. He hasn’t called you much besides Angel. Sometimes he might pepper in a darling or sweetheart, but he has only uttered that word once before, last week when you stormed into his office in a huff. You didn’t know how badly you needed to hear it again, in that deep baritone voice of his, until now. Your hips roll up in response, desperate for more of his attention. Still, the vibrations remain at the current slow pace and pattern.

Taehyung rubs your bare thigh as it rests over his strong leg. His hand inches closer and closer to your needy core, softly brushing against your sensitive skin. You can’t help shivering, or your little moans. No matter how much you bite your lip, ruining your lip gloss, or hold your breath, those desperate sounds still escape. It’s as if your body is determined to let him know how much you need him.

He’s taking his time, grazing the pads of his fingers over your soft inner thighs. You fight against the instinct to press your legs together at the tantalising sensation. You want to beg him to just touch you, to just cup your crotch and kneed your clit with the heel of his palm as the vibrator continues to buzz within you. But he specifically narrowed your responses to two words and hasn’t asked you any other questions that would elicit an alternative answer. If you try to reason with him again, it will only anger him even more. And, while you love to see him riled up, you don’t think you can survive another sexual encounter with Kim Taehyung and be denied yet another orgasm.

So you keep your painful desires to yourself, letting out shaky, whiny breaths instead. It’s better this way, you try to tell yourself. I won’t seem too eager.

Your body betrays you, hips lifting up to finally meet his fingers. You expect a comment about how the fabric of your thong is clinging to your folds as he pushes his fingers against them. You expect him to administer feather-light touches, continuing to torment you with his slow pace.

Instead, you receive a harsh slap over your folds. The sound echoes in the car, rivaling the volume of your surprised moan. You move to throw your head back, but his grip on your chin is still tight, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

He smacks your wetness over and over again. Each one is just as hard, just as harsh. You can feel the heat radiate from his hand with every hit, legs trembling from the consistent bursts of simulation. The intensity of the vibrator within heightens a notch more and you cannot help the roll of your eyes.

“Look at me,” Taehyung whispers.

As you try to make eye contact with him again, you catch the gaze of the driver. Face red and eyes wide, he watches you through his rearview mirror. He holds your gaze, surprised at first but his shame soon falters. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s pleased.

“D-Daddy,” you mutter, voice strained and shrill.

Taehyung follows your concerned gaze. His features harden. “Don’t look at her,” he orders. His voice is full of assertion and dominance. The driver instantly obeys, still Taehyung adds, “Eyes forward. Drive.”

His expression softens when he turns back to you, the grip on your chin loosening. Voice low and husky, he asks, “Are you alright?”

The sincerity in his tender gaze makes you tremble. “Yes, daddy,” you whisper, suppressing a smile at the way he bites his lip.

Taehyung nods, finally letting go of your chin. Instead, his hand slides behind you and around your waist, pulling you closer against him. He dips his face to the crook of your neck and his lips caress your soft skin. With a sharp inhale of your scent, his other hand finds its rightful place between your legs. He cups your throbbing core, smirking at the way you arch your back into his side.

“You’re always so responsive to me,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on the lobe.

The rich baritone of his voice makes you squirm all the more. Your folds sting from the harsh smacks, clit aching for more stimulation. You want to tell him to soothe the ache, to rub you until your eyes cross and you’ve forgotten your name. But you know he’s only showing you a semblance of mercy now because you took his punishment without sassing him.

However, you find that you don’t need to say much. You wonder if perhaps your body is rather responsive in a way only Taehyung can decipher as he seems to know exactly what you need. Shifting enough to press his forehead against yours, he takes one look in your eyes and smirks. Before you can even think about questioning what that soft, amused look even means, his hand starts to move. The stimulation is agonisingly slow and soft but it’s something.

You do your best to stay still, to simply receive his generosity, but your hips have a mind of their own. It starts with a simple shift, then a squirm and before you know it, you’re grinding against his hand. One hand gripping on the edge of the seat, the other on the lap of his coat, you greedily gyrate against his long fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. He sounds so raspy and just as breathless as you. “Have I told you that tonight?”

You shake your head, cheek flaming. “No, daddy,” you shakily reply.

He kisses your cheeks, smirking at the heated skin, then trails his lips along your jawline. He lingers, as if committing the soft curves of your features to memory. When his lips finally reach your ear and his fingers are completely drenched in your wetness, he says, “You look absolutely delicious.”

His voice resonates deep in your bones, rattling the discs of your spine and prinkling your skin with goosebumps. Your eyes roll back, hips eagerly grinding into his fingers as a disgustingly pathetic moan tears through your throat. You sound so weak and frail and like you’ve lost all sense of yourself.

And yet, as Taehyung holds you tight and nuzzles his nose into the side of your face, muttering sweet praises, you have never felt more safe and secure in your life. You’ve merely had dreams of feeling this protected, but always believed that you were never the type of girl that deserved that kind of attention.

But here Taehyung is, rendering you into a complete mess, and you feel as though you’ve finally found comfort and security.

“M-May I please cum?”

The words tumble from your lips in a hasty breath. You feel Taehyung smirk against your flushed skin.

“Are you sure you want to?” You can hear the teasing edge in his voice and it makes resisting your orgasm harder. “You’ll have to sit in your sticky panties all night, Angel,” he warns, yet his ministrations are relentless, “I know how much you hate that.”

Yes, the sensation is uncomfortable and unsettling once the fog of lust has lifted and you’ve registered the reality of what you have just done. When you’re seconds away from one of the best orgasms of your life, however, you don’t care what you soil or who witnesses it. You just need to release it, and now.

“Please, Daddy,” you whimper, body tense. Your voice is a shell of what it once was, all meek and desperate. “Please, please, let me cum. I promise to behave the rest of the night.”

Taehyung groans quietly, the gentle vibrations rumbling from his chest to yours. “You know I’m going to hold you to that, right?” He teases.

Toes curling, bones stiffening, you hastily nod. A strained sob tumbles from your glossed lips, face furrowed in tormented pleasure.

He chuckles at your broken whines. The vibrator nuzzled within, buzzing at a moderate level of intensity this whole time, suddenly jolts a notch faster. Even his fingers press firmer and harsher between your sensitive folds.

You hold back. Squeezing your eyes shut, holding your breath, you do whatever you can to hold your orgasm back. His second rule is to always ask to cum. He told you that you’ve broken it several times and promised that he will not be lenient if you do it again. You would have hesitated to disobey him even if he wasn’t already annoyed with how late and sassy you’ve been tonight.

Perhaps he notices your stiffness, or has finally decided to stop toying with you, but Taehyung mutters his approval with a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your ear.

A waterfall of relief and satisfaction washes over you. Lips curled in a faint smile, you throw your head back and release a sharp whine as you gush around the vibrator. Your body roars with pleasure, hips rolling quicker and quicker against his touch, desperate to ride over this ethereal feeling to the last burst of arousal.

You must have been chanting his name because suddenly Taehyung’s voice trickles into your light-headed mind, low and deep, with reassurances.

“I’m right here, Angel,” he sweetly mutters. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You moan even louder, neediness evident in your ragged voice. Your throat feels sore from the strain of both suppressing and releasing broken whines, but you can’t care less. All you can think about is Taehyung.

Offering another round of delicate kisses, he teasingly asks, “You’ve been such a good little thing for me, haven’t you?”

You know he is not expecting an answer, but you nod anyway.

He pulls back, bringing his hand up to lick his arousal-slick fingers, holding your lust-blown gaze through half-lidded eyes. His deep-chested groan vibrates against your chest. Whimpering, you clench tight around the still buzzing toy.

A thought suddenly pops into your head and, for a second, you think you should ask before you act on it. The urge takes over you, though. Leaning a mere inch forward, you latch your lips around his pinky, sucking on the remnants of your orgasm with him.

He smiles– his sweet, velvety laughter echoes in the absence of your loud, recklessly needy moans around the limousine. You cannot help the flush of your cheek at the sound, suppressing a guilty smile yourself. You are not keen on tasting yourself but, with his hand being the only thing separating your lips, this might be the closest you get to kissing him. And, besides, you like how his strong fingers feel on your tongue. You like how he always pushes against it, as if silently ordering it to yield to his touch.

You slouch back into the seat, body trembling, as you suck on his fingers like a pacifier. Your gaze meets Taehyung’s at the realisation and the darkening gleam in his eyes makes you wonder if perhaps he was thinking the same thing.

You’re not sure how this always happens– how easily his presence can render you helpless and fragile. Is it simply his dominating demeanour, or a sixth sense that seems to be attuned to your body’s desires? Does he know you really well or are you just an open-book? You want to ask, want to know what it is about him that makes you feel utterly vulnerable, yet completely safe.

Removing his fingers from your mouths, Taehyung decreases the intensity of the heart-shaped vibrator back down to its lowest setting. You release your grip on the edge of the leather seat and his coat, full chest heaving in your glittering dress. He pulls you closer, his lips millimetres away from the corner of yours.

“Do you see what happens when you behave? You took your punishment like a good girl and I rewarded you, didn’t I?” He asks. His tone is condescending but still calm and firm.

Biting back another moan, since you have humiliated yourself enough in front of the driver, you nod. “Yes, daddy,” you whisper, still trying to catch your breath.

“All you have to do is trust me.”

“I do.”

The words escape before you can even register them, carrying too much conviction and urgency. You swallow thickly, wishing desperately to take them back.

Taehyung’s brows furrow, ever so slightly.

You narrow your eyes. Did… did he just flinch?

Before you can really analyse the gesture, the car stops. You glance at the driver to find he’s keeping his eyes forward, but his expression is filled with a mix of regret and terror. The sudden sound of clicking cameras redirects your attention to the car door on your side of the limousine.

In a few simple movements, Taehyung readjusts both your positions so that you are sitting properly beside him. He fixes your dress and the framing pieces of hair around your face. He then presses a soft kiss to your cheek before meeting your gaze with deliberate care and tenderness. “It’s going to be a bit loud, just like when we went to that gallery. Do you remember that?” When you nod, he continues, “I want you to stand close to me and just keep your head down, okay, Angel?”

His once assertive voice is replaced with a soft yet protective edge. He holds your gaze even after you nod again, and doesn’t tell the driver he’s ready until you verbally confirm that you understand.

When he moves to step out of the car, you call him back. “The vibrator,” you whisper, still feeling its faint buzz against your tight walls.

Taehyung smirks, his gaze flickering down to your lap before meeting yours again. A mischievous glint dances in his eyes as he replies, “I know.”

Your breath hitches as he exits the car. Does he actually expect you to navigate through the zoo of reporters with an active vibrator sitting deep inside you? The ongoing stimulation, while weak, paired with the stickiness of your thong is overstimulating enough. To expect you to ignore it all while avoiding cameras is cruel and a part of you thinks it might be part of your punishment.

Nonetheless, you accept his outstretched hand when your door opens and gracefully step out of the car. The next thirty seconds are a series of flashing lights, invasive questions and lots of shouting demands. The late November night air is cold, but the nosy reporters, shoving cameras and microphones in your face are colder. They care very little for personal space as they push between the security personnel for a mere glimpse of a better shot.

You pull your fur coat closer to your body. Taehyung keeps a protective hand on your lower back, guiding you to the front door as you keep your head down.

“What’s your name?!”

“How did you meet?!”

“Who are you wearing?!”

You ignore their questions, nuzzling closer to Taehyung. You can feel the heat of the theatre now, about to cross over the threshold when a particular question draws your attention back.

“How long have you been working for the Geraldson Group?!”

Brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, you whip your head back. How the fuck did they know you work there? Have they been following you? You want to scan the crowd for a familiar face, however the scene before you is chaotic and much too loud. The sudden attention causes a roaring wave of excitement. Immediately, flashing lights blur your vision. You’re mostly shielded by the thick fur of your coat, but the fast blinking still disorients you.

Taehyung tightens his grip on your waist and pulls you inside with him.

The doors close. The thunderous voices of the reporters muffles and soft, classical music fills the grand space before you.

You blink until your eyes adjust, one side of your coat falling from your shoulders as you lean into Taehyung’s strong frame for support. He helps you out of it without another word. Before you know it, you’re being led through a theatre of Renaissance design.

Plush red carpets span the entire lobby, their vibrant hue complementing the warm, amber glow of the majestic marble walls. Each wall is adorned with rectangular pillars that stretch skyward, meeting the concaved ceiling in graceful, curving arches. Symmetrical patterns climb the face of every pillar, leading your eyes to a high, vaulted ceiling brimming with ornate details. However, the classical, Renaissance design truly shines through in the intricate porcelain trimmings, their delicate craftsmanship adding an air of timeless elegance to the space. And in the centre of it all is a lavish chandelier with a beautifully carved medallion. Like a blooming flower, it skirts around the glowing crystal with triangular carvings.

You let out a breathless gasp at the sight. Your attention trails down to the numerous attendees of tonight’s event, all dressed in formal suits and dresses. They are conversing or making their way to their seats, climbing up the grandiose staircase before you.

Taehyung returns his hand to the small of your back. You look up at him, expecting his previous cold demeanour to surface. However, to your surprise, he meets your gaze with exceptional warmth. He even offers a small smile as he leads you to the staircase.

Relief washes over you at the sight. You thought he might be upset at the fact that you technically disobeyed his orders when you turned back to the cameras at the last second. However, his borderline cheer-y mood seems to be genuine.

Wanting to keep that joyful spirit alive, you mutter, “I didn’t mean to look back. It’s just–”

“I know,” Taehyung reassures. His hand rubs soft circles on your back with every step up the stairs. “I heard the question.”

You raise your brows, lips slightly parted. “How do they know?”

Taehyung’s once playful eyes soften into something more sincere and… remorseful? “Someone’s been feeding them information.”

“Who?”

“Take a guess, princess.”

Any indication of guessing flew out the window the moment he called you that pet name. You swallow thickly, clenching around the humming toy. Why must he make this so easy? Pretending to be his, even believing it, is so fucking easy when he touches you so tenderly, adjusts his steps to match your slow ones because he knows you’re wearing heels, and calls you intimate terms of endearment all too causally. Suddenly, you want to tell him, you want to forget all the consequences and just let the words take over you– I think I’m in love with you.

But the moment you part your lips, fear shackles your voice. You can barely breathe as you look up at him. His side profile is stunning. Strong jawline, sweet lips, soft nose and captivating eyes with long lashes, he is flawless.

“I don’t know,” you finally reply, voice quiet and shaky.

Taehyung sighs. “I suspect it’s your boss, but I haven’t been able to prove it just yet,” he confesses. “I’ve been mostly trying to keep your name out of the press and buy out any possible pictures of you.”

The rage you instantly feel for Marina falters as Taehyung continues to outline in detail how he has tracked down every digital and physical copy of your photo and erased it from existence. He reassures you that no one will know who you are or where you live.

“And,” he adds as you finally reach the landing, “No one was supposed to find out where you work but I think she got that out herself.”

“Why can’t she just leave me alone?” You mutter under your breath.

Is sex with Taehyung really that good or is she just insane? At some point, she must see how psychotic all this is– if she indeed is the one leaking personal information about you.

Taehyung still hears your exasperated words, tightening his grip on your waist. “Look, I know we talked about it before and I really do want you to feel free to choose to do whatever you like,” he starts, leading you down an extravagantly designed hall, “but, Angel, please reconsider quitting. None of this is worth it.”

“Do you seriously think I don’t know that, Tae,” you reply with just as much annoyance laced in your voice. “Of course, it’s not worth it, but it also won’t be worth anything if I leave now and I’m certain she knows that. And I’m not about to run away from someone that pathetic and desperate.”

Taehyung raises a brow at your words.

You bite your lip, instantly filled with regret and yet you don’t take any of it back. You know you’re right. You know she’s acting crazy. And, you’ll be damned if a psycho like her is going to control your life.

“You know,” Taehyung whispers, “You’re kinda hot when you’re pissed.”

You fight off a smile. “That’s really funny,” you tease, as he stops you in front of a red curtain. “I could say the same thing about you.”

One of the ushers pulls back the curtain and Taehyung nods at you to enter before him. You step through to find the entire auditorium below. The lobby pales in comparison to this grand space. The ceiling is also domed but instead of being adored with a beautiful medallion, it reflects a renaissance-style painting of Heaven. Pale blue skies, rich white clouds, gods and goddesses dressed in cotton sheets and wraps, looking solemn and holy.

You gape at the sky, letting out a small gasp. “This place is so beautiful,” you whisper to Taehyung as he guides you to your seats– the front row of the balcony.

“It’s my favourite theatre,” he replies, sitting down beside you. He rests his hand on your bare thigh and continues, “I knew you’d like it.”

You pause.

You thought that this was some sort of business event. Taehyung specifically told you that he would like you to attend five events with him. There was the art gallery, a night you will never forget. Then you went to the stables, where he dry humped you senseless and no doubt destroyed any evidence the polo players may have had of it. And there was that one on the boat but really you can’t remember what charity that was for. All you remember of that night was Taehyung’s mouth all over your nipples and being delicately taken care of.

This night at the theatre was supposed to be the fourth. You’re wearing the fourth dress he bought you specifically for these business events, after you expressed your insecurity of not being able to afford anything fitting enough to be his plus-one.

However, the show looks like it’s seconds from starting and no one else is entering the balcony. You take another look around and confirm that it’s just you and Taehyung up here, with that heart-shaped vibrator still buzzing and your chest still pounding.

“What charity is this for again?” You ask, keeping your voice tempered.

Taehyung casts you a sidelong glance before answering, “This is not for charity.”

You wait in hopes that he will continue.

He doesn’t.

Is this a date? A misunderstanding? Were you not supposed to wear this dress? But Taehyung made a comment about it in the car. If he didn’t want you wearing it tonight, he would have told you so before you even left your apartment. You wonder if he didn’t because you were late, or maybe he just didn’t notice yet.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Angel?”

His deep, velvety voice draws you out of your confused thoughts. You cross your legs, instantly regretting the action as it puts more pressure against the soft vibrations within. You suppress a moan.

Taehyung then leans in close, pressing his lips to your ear to whisper, “Are you horny, princess?”

Heat pools at your core. You can’t stop yourself from squirming in your seat. Shooting him a pout, you hold back a snarky comment and instead ask, “Is this a company event?”

The assertion in his dominance softens. Licking his lips, Taehyung shakes his head. “No, it’s not,” he replies, “A friend I made in the military is performing tonight. He sent me two tickets and I thought I might as well bring a friend.”

You should have stayed curious. His words suffocate your heart and you find yourself grateful for not confessing your feelings for him earlier.

Thought he’d bring a friend, you wonder as your jaw sets. So not only is this not a date, but I’m also a fucking afterthought?

Did he also think to just put you in this dress and call this one of your obligated events? Does he just want to get this over with?

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he orders.

You suppress a glare, schooling your features. “Nothing,” you mumble.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Sharply inhaling, you have to swallow thickly to keep from sarcastically snorting at his hypocrisy. You’re not allowed to lie but it seems like he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

“Why am I here, Taehyung,” you find yourself asking. There’s an edge in your voice that cannot seem to stay hidden. “This isn’t work related, you made a huge deal about being late and this vibrator is only making things worse, so just tell me what I’m doing here.”

Taehyung sits up in his seat. He turns away from the stage, even as the lights dim, to fully face you. The curtains pull back, revealing the stage and a single individual in the centre, who might very well be his friend, but he continues to keep his undivided attention on you.

Voice low and deep, he poses questions of his own. “What has been going on with you lately? One second you’re fine and the next you’re talking to me like I’ve hurt you,” he whispers, earnest brown eyes boring into yours. “I’ve been following your rules. I text you every morning and night, I’m not, nor have I ever paid you for sexual favours and I haven’t seen anyone else in almost a year. I don’t skip meals anymore, I tell you if you might interact with one of my exes, I shared my location with you, even when I knew you were just joking and being a little fucking brat.”

You bite your lip, averting your gaze to your lap in shame. He really has been on his best behaviour. Even on his busiest days, he sends you the messages you asked for and takes the time to give you detailed rundowns of his entire day.

Gently cupping your chin, he nudges you to face him again. “Tell me what’s going on,” he repeats. “Tell me how to fix it.”

I wish you’d love me, you want to say. I wish you’d love me the same way I love you. And you’re starting to realise that perhaps you’re becoming resentful that he doesn’t or that you’re just too much of a coward to really succumb to such vulnerability.

“You’re missing the performance,” you mutter, hoping to skirt the conversation for another time.

“I’ve already repeated myself once. Don’t make me do it again, Angel,” he warns, yet his voice remains heavy with heartfelt emotion and sincerity.

Perhaps you cannot tell the whole truth, but you might be able to get away with telling him a part of it. “I feel like an afterthought right now,” you whisper. “I feel like you asked me to come because I was just there and not because you actually want me here.”

Taehyung wraps an arm around your shoulders. He pulls you close into his side and leans down ever so slightly to press his lips to your ear. “An afterthought,” he questions in a breathy whisper that makes your clit ache. “You’re the only thought. You’re here because this is where you belong, Angel. Don’t forget that.”

You grip onto his thigh, body trembling. His words loop in your head, over and over as he pulls back enough to give you a gentle kiss on your forehead. Biting your lip, you do your best not to moan, knowing it will surely echo in a grand room designed for optimal sound.

“Now, how about we have some fun?”

Before you can reply, the vibrator surges to a pace that’s three times faster. You bury your face into his neck, not caring if the gesture will ruin your makeup or his suit, to muffle your needy moans. Tightening the cross of your legs, clenching around the toy, you do your best to repress your growing desire. If you let out a whine that is even slightly at speaking volume, you’re convinced the entire auditorium will hear it.

“Please,” you manage to murmur.

Taehyung quietly chuckles, his lips brushing against your ear. “You know better than to beg, Angel. Be good, and maybe I’ll reward you after the show.”

And with that, he settles back into his seat, leaving you trembling on the edge of composure, the hum of the vibrator your only company as the performance begins.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #v smut #v x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #taecember 2024

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

Text

You Are A Gentleman, Baby

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Summary: Y/N and Drew aren't raising the next generation's asshole.

Masterlist

Y/N watches TV on the couch. Rafe is playing with Asher on the floor in front of the ottoman. She starts to feel a little thirsty so leans forward to get her glass of water. Rafe whispers something in their son’s ear and Ash comes running over to Y/N. His three-year-old hands wrap around her water glass and he walks over to his mom. “Here you go, Mommy,” he says, kissing her cheek before going back to his father. She takes a sip of water, “Thank you, Baby.”

———

The little family is getting ready for the day. Rafe helps her put on her jacket and removes her hair from between her skin and the jacket. She sits down to put her shoes on, but before she can pick her ballet flats up, Asher is rushing toward her with them. He helps her put them on. “Aww, thank you for helping me, Baby,” she thanks. She brings him onto her lap to give him a kiss. She lets him put his own shoes on and cheers when he can do it without any help. Rafe opens the front door, motioning his family out of the door.

———

She comes back home to find Rafe and Asher cuddling on the couch, watching TV. She gives them both a kiss and settles on the couch beside Asher. Rafe looks over at his wife and can see the tension in her shoulder. She must have had a hard day at work. He walks behind the couch and starts massaging her shoulders. Asher notices his dad’s movement and goes to the floor. His tiny hands take her foot, digging his fingers into the aching skin. After a few minutes, her shoulders slouch in relaxation and she falls asleep.

———

Y/N has been under the weather for two days now. She has finally been able to move from the bed and rest on the couch. Rafe and Asher have been keeping their distance from her, per her request, so she doesn’t get them sick. The boys have been making arts and crafts in the playroom when Asher wants to get himself a snack. He runs to the kitchen and sees his mommy taking a nap on the sofa. Her arms shake in a shiver. The blanket has fallen off of her body and Asher walks over to it. He struggles a little bit to pick it up but eventually gets it on top of her. He spreads it out, so she is fully covered and kisses her forehead like he has seen his father do.

———

Y/N and Asher are in the store, buying groceries when her son asks her a question that catches her off-guard. “Am I a gentleman, Mommy?” he stumbles through the words. Her eyebrows raise, “Why are you asking, Baby? Where did you learn that word?” “Daddy. He says if I want to be a good big boy, I have to be a gentleman to you and all women. I need to tweat them with wespect and cawe.” His rs turn into ws, but Y/N still gets the message. Pride blooms in her chest. Her husband is so thoughtful and helps her raise such an amazing little boy. Asher looks at her in anticipation, so she picks him up and brings him against her hip. “You are a gentleman, Baby,” she kisses him on the cheek, letting him nuzzle into her neck. It’s like she gave birth to a mini Rafe.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @victory-in-the-llama

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burntheedges · 3 months ago

Text

Pas de Deux Chapter 1

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.9k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

fic summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

a/n: here we go! Chapter 1 starts sometime in late fall, November-ish. See my notes on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions), a bit of angst

Chapter 1

“‘In a surprise move that shook the dance world, the Concordia Ballet Company announced yesterday that they have parted ways with principal dancer Din Djarin.’”

You could hear the sudden gasps through the open door of the large studio as you walked towards it. You recognized Clara’s voice as she read the news aloud, you assumed from her phone.

“‘Djarin, 27, who trained at the rigorous Concordia Ballet School from a young age, has been with CBC for 10 years and is in the prime of his career. He was promoted from soloist to principal two years ago, as is the norm at CBC, where they do not promote dancers younger than 25 to principal. His performances have been highlights on the CBC schedule over the last two seasons, earning many rave reviews.’”

You turned the corner to enter the studio and found most of the company class crowded around Clara as she looked down at her phone.

“‘The CBC press release did not indicate the reason for the split, which only makes this mid-season decision more disconcerting for fans and donors alike.’”

The group around Clara murmured and shifted their weight. You had just read the article on the bus and knew what was coming next. You slid down to sit against the wall by the door, watching.

“‘This decision comes amidst the company’s preparation for spring and for the last show on their fall schedule, Don Quixote, with no explanation as to how their roster of principals and other dancers may be adjusted to compensate for this enormous loss. Djarin is well known for his powerful physique, technical mastery, and classically perfect performances.’” Clara paused, and then continued, “then it talks about some of his work, we know all of that already, blah blah blah, ok whoa!” She gasped. “Ok. Listen to this – ‘Djarin has not been available for comment, but was seen boarding a flight to Nevarro two days ago before the announcement was made public!'”

You started to put on your shoes for barre and watched as everyone else in the room started to completely freak out.

“Here?!” Owen exclaimed, hand thrown over his mouth. “Is he coming here here?” He gestured around the studio as he asked.

Clara shrugged. “It doesn’t say, look, that’s the end of the article.”

Sophie had started rising up and down on the balls of her feet by one of the barres and you weren’t sure if she was aware she was doing it. Her tone was excited as she asked, “would he come here? Why? We’re, like, not his style.”

The room broke down into several noisy conversations at that point, and you felt your friend Adrian slip down the wall to sit next to you. “So, what do you think?” he asked, nudging your shoulder.

You shrugged. “No idea. I can’t see any reason he’d even want to come here. CBC is so…” You trailed off, but he knew what you meant.

“Yeah. Traditional. Rigid. Not like us at all.” Adrian waved his hand towards the mismatched group of dancers in front of you and you both smiled. The Nevarro Ballet Theater was different from the Concordia Ballet Company in many ways, and the diversity of dancers in the company was one of the things that set NBT apart the most.

You nodded. “Right. If his flight destination even means anything.”

“If it does, what would that mean for us?” Adrian looked around the room. “We already have a full roster of soloists and principals.” He bit his lip. He looked nervous, and he wasn’t the only one — you noticed Sasha, Lu, Carlos, and Isaac were huddled around the bar, clearly worried. All principals, you assumed they were nervous about losing out on parts. For Adrian, you knew it was because he had just made soloist at the start of the season. A new superstar coming in might shake things up too much.

You nudged his shoulder with your own. “I was thinking about that when I read it on the bus. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I heard what Karga said, about how good you are.”

He nodded, but didn’t look reassured. “At least you don’t have anything to worry about, Ms. Soon-To-Be-Principal.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved down the anxiety lurking in your stomach. You’d made soloist a couple of years ago, and then first soloist this season. There were some people (including Adrian) who seemed to think you’d be promoted soon, as early as the end of the current season. But there were at least a few critics who disagreed, and for months you’d been having trouble putting the words of one in particular out of your mind. You could quote it from memory:

“While her lyricism and skill are undeniable, one wonders if she has the artistry or stage presence to carry a narrative. She more than deserves the promotion to first soloist, but is this her ceiling?”

You wished you’d never read the article, but it had seemed to be the usual season preview and you hadn’t been expecting the targeted commentary. You’d spent the last few months trying not to think about it too much, or you knew you would get all in your head about it.

“Shut up.” You nudged him again and he laughed.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the door opening next to you. It wasn’t your teacher who walked in, though, and once you saw who it was you both leapt to your feet.

Greef Karga, director of the Nevarro Ballet Theater, looked happy, but then he usually did.

“Good morning, dancers!’ His voice was deep and loud and you all scrambled into a semi-circle facing him at the door, where your ballet instructor, Alexa, followed him in. You chorused a “good morning” in response.

“I’m sure you’ve all seen the news,” Karga continued, with a knowing smile on his face. “And you must be wondering why I’m here!” You glanced in the mirror and noted that everyone did indeed look both curious and a little wary. “Well, I am very pleased to confirm that Din Djarin will be joining us for the rest of the season here at NBT.”

There was some general murmuring and shock in response, but he was not deterred.

“I know we’re in the middle of the season, with many roles already planned. Din and I have agreed to try not to disrupt that too much this year. We’ll be adding some things to the anniversary gala and the mixed programs.” That made sense — the latter were showcases of the work of different composers and choreographers and could be more easily rearranged to include a new dancer. “We won’t be making any changes to Midsummer, Swan Lake, or Cinderella, which I know we’re already planning for and rehearsing.” You felt Adrian take a deep, relieved breath beside you. He was supposed to be Puck this year for the first time and it sounded like that wasn’t going to change.

“Din will start joining your classes and the rehearsals for the gala and other programs over the course of the next two weeks. Please introduce yourself and welcome him — we are very excited to have him join us.”

You all nodded, of course, even though you knew a lot of your fellow dancers would be wary of the newcomer.

“Well!” Karga clapped his hands together and smiled. “I’ll let you get started. Continue with your rehearsals as normal unless you hear otherwise. Have a wonderful day, everyone!”

Alexa moved towards the stereo system in the corner as Karga swept out of the room, and you turned to look at Adrian.

“Well,” he said, turning towards his usual place at the barre. “This should be interesting.”

You nodded as Alexa turned on the music and you took your usual spot next to him at the barre. It definitely would be.

…

After all that excitement, you didn’t even see Djarin for a few days. He didn’t join the morning company classes right away, but you couldn’t really blame him — moving suddenly across the country wasn’t easy. It didn’t stop you from glancing around every room as you entered, trying to catch sight of your elusive new company member.

You heard from the others that he’d dropped by a couple of rehearsals, and they’d overheard him talking about plans for the mixed programs with some of the choreographers and other staff, including Talia and Jee. You wondered if he’d ever met Kuiil, the current guest choreographer in residence, who traveled and usually worked with different companies every few years. You somehow doubted it — Kuiil’s style was much too contemporary for CBC.

You’d been in rehearsals for Nutcracker and Midsummer all week, though, so you weren’t really surprised that you hadn’t run into him yet.

Finally, on Friday morning, you arrived early for class to find a group of your fellow company members huddled by the mirror and staring awkwardly across the room. You followed their gaze and found Din Djarin, in the flesh, warming up at the barre. For a moment you couldn’t reconcile the sight of him in your familiar space. He was tall and imposing, and dressed all in black — black ballet shoes, black tights, black sweats that cut off below his knees, and a tight black long sleeve shirt that showcased the breadth of his shoulders and just how strong he was. His curly brown hair was tousled. His signature mustache, somewhat uncommon in ballet, was in place, though you knew he often shaved for performances — there had been articles about his daring breach of the Concordia status quo when he didn’t. At least at NBT he’d be allowed to keep it, you thought. His face was blank, completely expressionless as he stretched.

You knew he had to know the rest of the group was watching him, and when you glanced back and found them still huddled you sighed. You felt someone step into the room behind you and turned to find Adrian taking in the standoff.

He shook his head. “Great start.” His tone was dry, and you laughed under your breath.

“Should we say hello?” You sat to put on your ballet shoes and Adrian sank down beside you.

“Who, us?” Adrian raised an eyebrow at you. “Do I look brave to you?”

You laughed again, and were about to suggest going together for moral support when Alexa walked in. She took in the situation and sighed, shaking her head as she crossed the room to where Djarin was still warming up alone.

“Look! Alexa took care of it.” Adrian nudged you and smiled. “No need for us to take one for the team after all.”

The two of you watched as she spoke with him, though you couldn’t hear what they were saying. He nodded at her, and she smiled before walking towards the stereo.

“Alright, let’s get started!” She called out without looking to see if anyone listened, but you all did. You realized as you took your normal spot that you were diagonal from Djarin across the space between two of the barres in the middle of the floor. You’d be able to see him whenever you were working your left side, and somewhat in the mirror on your right. You resolved not to stare.

You only sort of succeeded.

The problem, you quickly realized, was that his movements were beautiful. Even while doing simple pliés or tendus you could see the power in his body, the strength in his muscles, the rigor of his training. Every movement was precise, clean, and perfectly placed. The elegant line of his arm and the curve of his hip drew your gaze like a magnet, over and over again. His effortless coordination and control were mesmerizing. You watched the slow extension of his leg into grand battement until you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away.

Well, you thought, he certainly lives up to all of the hype about technique. CBC had a reputation and he more than exceeded it.

It made you painfully aware of the limits of your own abilities. You knew you were good – you’d made it this far, of course, and now you were first soloist, despite having what was seen as a late start in ballet (at age 7). And despite what the critics said, you were considered to be one of the better technicians at NBT. But you were no match for his level of skill, for the rigorous training you’d heard about at CBC. That much was obvious just from looking at him.

You tried to clear your mind as the class continued, knowing your worries would start to show in your movements if you let them. It was hard to do that when so much strength and technical perfection stood only five feet away from you, demonstrating the ideal version of every move and transition that you attempted.

As you finished at the barre and quickly put on your pointe shoes to work in the center of the room, you finally put it out of your mind. There was no use in comparison, you’d learned that a long time ago. In the end, the only dancer you could compete with was yourself. And NBT was not a company that encouraged that kind of competition among dancers anyway.

You found your feet going across the floor, letting yourself sink into it as you moved through some jumps and short combinations. You tried to feel nothing but the pull in your muscles and pattern of your breath. By the end of the class you felt a little steadier, a little more centered.

Alexa dismissed the class, and you started to gather your things. As you slipped off your pointe shoes, you felt someone brush past you, heading for the door — Djarin didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold into the hall. You realized as he did that he hadn’t spoken a single word for the entire class. You wondered if he was unhappy to be here, after all.

By the time you stepped into the hallway, he was nowhere to be seen.

Adrian fell into step next to you as you walked towards the larger rehearsal studios at the other end of the building. He hooked your arms together and looked around quickly to see if anyone was nearby. He leaned in to whisper, “did you see that? He was amazing!”

You nodded. “I know. I didn’t think anyone could live up to all that hype, but he does.”

Adrian shook his head, looking dismayed. “I know they said some roles wouldn’t change but, ugh. I wouldn’t blame them.”

“Hey,” you elbowed him lightly. “Don’t. You’re going to be amazing as Puck. And you know that role plays to your strengths. I don’t see him taking that one from you. It’s not really his style.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Ok, let’s hurry, I need to tape my knee before Nutcracker.” You winced in sympathy, knowing how much he’d be jumping in practice for both the Russian dance and the jack-in-the-box roles. But his words jogged your memory.

“Shit.” You froze in the hallway. “I left my tape in the studio. Go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

He nodded, but you were already turning as you said it, waving him on.

You heard him jog off towards the rehearsal rooms behind you as you walked quickly back the way you’d come, turning past the bathrooms and the administrative offices. It didn’t take long and your tape was right where you’d left it.

Tape in hand, you turned around again and started walking back down the long hall.

As you approached the offices, though, the sound of Karga’s raised voice stopped you in your tracks, just around the corner from his office door.

“We talked about this, Din. It's part of this company’s identity. You want to break away from them? You need to make a statement.” You heard the slapping sound of one hand against another and imagined Karga hitting his hand with his fist for emphasis.

“No, Greef, listen. I don’t—“ You startled. It was the first time you’d heard Djarin’s voice and it was much deeper and more pleasant than you would have imagined.

Karga interrupted him. “No, you listen. Din, you can do this. I know you can. And it will show them everything they’re missing, everything they let slip through their fingers. They are so stuck in their ways, they have no idea what you can really do. What you’re capable of. Let me help you get there.”

You heard Djarin sigh. “This will go badly and I’m going to blame you.”

Karga chuckled. You tried to picture Djarin looking amused, too, and failed. All you could conjure was the expressionless mask he’d kept in place for all of class that morning. Karga continued, “I’ll take it happily. This is going to be great, don’t you worry! We’ll ease you into it. Now, let’s go share the news.”

You heard them start to move around in the office and startled into motion. As you turned the corner, the door to Karga’s office swung open in front of you and Din Djarin stepped out of it. He was moving quickly, shoulders hunched, brow furrowed. He barely glanced in your direction, but when he did, you took a surprised step back at the fierceness of his glare. It was the most emotion you’d seen from him so far, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant. He didn’t stop, though, and quickly turned away from you to move down the hall towards rehearsal. You blinked, frozen mid-step, unable to shake the look he’d just given you. What was that about?

...

| next

a/n: sooo what do you think? ballet terms in this chapter:

see the masterlist for principal, soloist, class vs. rehearsal, season

plié - a bending of the needs (you've probably seen dancers standing at the barre and bending their knees -- that's a plié)

tendu - tight or stretched out - stretching one leg out long, often in brushes along the floor

grand battement - the leg is raised from the hip into the air and brought down again, both knees straight (with apparent ease)

barre - the rail that ballet dancers use in class (don't lean on it!). usually you'd wear normal ballet shoes at the barre and switch into pointe shoes (toe shoes) to do exercises in the center or go across the floor

and if you'd like a visual aid, one of the dancers I'm mentally modeling Din after is Carlos Acosta, who you can see in this compilation (~6:49) doing a variation from Don Quixote.

tag list coming in a reblog!

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #ballet au #ballet din #nbt fic #pas de deux fic #x reader

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cityof2morrow · 6 months ago

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CO2 Skills: Custom Skill Tokens

Published: 7-17-2024 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY I use mods to make more diverse sims in terms of personality traits, body types, and lifetime wants. They’ve made my sims more complex and interesting to play overall. Still, the skill-building system feels limited alongside these mods. Being a decent pianist shouldn’t automatically make it easier to paint, spy, DJ, garden, become a career slacker, work as an architect, and play every other instrument in-game. Being clean certainly benefits barbers and pet owners, but shouldn’t they also be good at cutting hair and animal care? By default, sims can develop at least 40 skills - 4 toddler skills, 7 basic skills, 4 hidden skills, 6 life skills (AL/FT), and 11 talent badges (OFB). This custom skills pack builds directly on the existing skill-hobby system in Sims 2 in the following ways:

60+ new skills taken from other games in the simsverse (Sims 3, Sims 4, console titles, etc.)

100+ new skills related to university majors, career tracks, and popular mods from the simsverse

New skills are linked to certain objects, interactions, and career levels

All TS2 content creators are welcome to link these skills to your creations if they choose BUT this is meant to be non-intrusive. These will be linked to some of my custom careers, majors, and objects.

DETAILS Basegame Compatible – but skill-related objects and mods may require expansions. * These are skill TOKENS ONLY - custom objects, mods, majors and career tracks which use these skills will be published on this site under the #co2skills, #co2careers, and/or #co2edu tags. Modders, feel free to implement these and if you do – please share!

GENERAL INFO

Skills are invisible tokens activated by certain interactions in-game.

Sims can’t develop the same skill twice and they can’t sell or gift them to others.

Skills do not appear in inventories or the UI.

Some repetitive and animal-specific skills were excluded.

An index of all skills and their GUIDS is included with this download. If you have custom skills to add to the list, please ask/message me.

A “SKILL TREE” FOR SIMS 2 Where do these custom skills fit in gameplay? Imagine a system with three levels of expertise… LEVEL 1 = basegame skills (body, charisma, cleaning, cooking, creativity, logic, and mechanical). ^^This level already exists in the basegame and everything starts here. You need 2 or more basic skill points before you can advance. LEVEL 2 = some custom skills, life skills (AL/FT), talent badges (OFB), supernatural/magic (AL) ^^This level exists if you play with expansions. I’ve added a few new skills here related to existing supernatural and woohoo gameplay. LEVEL 3 and up = remaining custom skills and university major skills

^^The bulk of new skills come into play here and help make sims’ hobbies, careers, and lifestyle choices make more sense.

Unlock level 3 skills by earning 2-3 points in a level 1 or level 2 skill, a talent badge, and/or attending university.

Use the skill trees below for reference. Skills are grouped by their basegame skill/hobby affiliation, but some (ballet for example) may appear in multiple categories.

You do NOT need to earn all skills/badges at one level to unlock the next. The point of this project is that your sims can finally specialize in activities and professions related to their true personality.

BODY Body skill is already linked to tai chi and the restocking badge, but the skill is named differently across games (athleticism, fitness, health/sanity, etc.). Unlock new ways to develop a sim’s physical and mental strength.

CHARISMA Charisma links to the sales badge while range of hobby-related interests fall under film and literature. Branch off and concentrate on related skill areas.

CLEANING The cleaning skill is linked to three badges (cosmetology, gardening, and fishing) and enthusiasm for animals and the environment. Specialize in ways which better reflect their lifestyle.

COOKING Venture into new worlds of taste and make magic in the kitchen! This may be especially useful for those who want more challenging gameplay in terms of food-related careers, businesses, and custom food mods.

CREATIVITY & DANCE By default, creativity makes earning badges in flower arranging, pottery, and sewing easier. It also relates to the hidden drafting/dance skills.

…because a sim who hates art should be able to become a master pianist without magically becoming a master painter too.

LOGIC & UNIVERSITY Logic contributes to the register/cashiering badge and the hidden study/homework skill. Now, sims can pursue new schools of knowledge. Certain majors will now require students to learn theory and technical skills in their areas of study.

MECHANICAL Mechanical sims can more easily earn a robotics badge and now, they can also unlock a host of new mechanical/tech-related pursuits.

SUPERNATURAL Sims with supernatural abilities can enhance their craft by building a range of new skills.

OTHER Some of the new skills require TWO (2) or more types of basic skill points. Herbalism, for example, requires both cooking and gardening skill.

DOWNLOAD (choose one) SKILL TOKENS from SFS | from MEGA TEMPORARILY PAUSED- Update Coming January 2025.

* These are skill TOKENS ONLY - custom objects, mods, majors and career tracks which use these skills will be published on this site under the #co2skills, #co2careers, and/or #co2edu tags. Modders, feel free to implement these and if you do – please share! CREDITS Thanks: Echo, Ch4rmful, Gummi, ChocolateCitySim, Sufficeittosay, WHoward, Jelly Meduza and the rest of the Sims 2 modding community. Sources: Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Magic Skill (Echo, 2006), Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik).

#ts2downloads #ts2cc #sims2cc #co2skills #co2careers #co2edu

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eternalbuckley · 9 days ago

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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ WISTERIA VINES. (an aemond targaryen series)

— chapter one: Your Romeo. Your Juliet.

SUMMARY: You and Aemond find out that you got the roles of Romeo and Juliet but didn't know yet about the other one. You only found out that Aemond will be Romeo through a phone call with Helaena. And Aemond got the news about you from his older brother. How do you both react to these news?

word count: 4,415

genre: just some tiny angst i think? | no specified reader, queer!reader, bipoc!reader and plus-size!reader friendly

warnings/tropes: modern au, Y/N and they/them pronouns are used a few times, english is not my first language, slightly proofread and edited — if I forgot something, please let me know!

a/n: i'm more than excited to finally share the first chapter of this series. i've been working on this whole project for a while now and i really hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as i enjoy creating it! this will be my last fanfic this year, so i hope you'll have a great start into the new year or had a great start (whenever you're reading this) <3 reblogs, feedback and comments are highly appreciated and welcomed! ♡

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. i don’t give you my permission to use my writing for any ai related things, don’t do it. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know!

dividers by saradika-graphics

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ navigation | wisteria vines masterlist | main hotg masterlist | series taglist

You nibbled nervously on your nails while you sat on your couch in front of your opened laptop, rocking with your leg as you waited for an e-mail from the production team that produces the ballet show of Romeo and Juliet of the upcoming ballet season. Ever since you’ve first seen a performance of this production, you wanted to be a part of the ballet as well, especially in the role of Juliet. You’ve always dreamed of it and worked hard for your dream.

You’ve already worked with the choreographer before and would love to be able to work with her again. You’ve worked with her on two different productions before; the Nutcracker and Sleeping Beauty. You loved working with her and were fascinated by how she was able to put her visions into reality.

You first got into ballet shortly after you turned five and started having ballet classes. It didn’t fill you with joy in your early stage of being a ballet dancer, you sort of disliked it, but you grew to love the art of this dance over the years. One of the main reasons for falling in love with ballet was a performance you saw with your family in a theatre when you were almost seven years old. You were fascinated by the dancers, the costumes and the whole representation of the stage. It was magical for you and since then, you were determined to get better each day, hoping you’d be as good as the dancers you saw on stage. Eventually, you were allowed to use pointe shoes for the first time when you were thirteen years old – causing you to be the happiest person.

Officially, you have been a professional ballet dancer for a few years now. When you were seventeen, you had the opportunity to be able to dance in a bigger role in a Nutcracker production, which changed you into a better person and was a big step for your ballet career. It was one of your favourite times you’ve ever had, thanks to different people who were involved in the whole process.

“Come on…” You whispered to yourself and refreshed your e-mail inbox for the hundredth time today, hoping there would be an e-mail for the production. You wished there would be a positive message – a message which would tell you that you were a part of the production in the next ballet season. You’d be happy enough to be a part of the production in general, but your main aim was to get cast as Juliet. But after all, you would be happy either way.

You stood up with a sigh and walked into your kitchen to get yourself a glass of water. While you poured the water into your glass, you got a notification on your phone – an e-mail.

‘Casting Results for Romeo and Juliet’

You widened your eyes and immediately sat down your glass on the counter to sprint to your laptop and refresh your inbox to read the e-mail. Your pulse increased and your palms started sweating as your nerves almost exploded. You deeply breathed in, opened the e-mail and read the first lines.

“Hello Y/N,

we are more than happy to tell you that you have been selected as our Juliet for the Romeo and Juliet ballet of the following season. Congratulations!

The complete casting list will be released in the following days. The date for the first rehearsal will be sent to you with the official casting announcement – please make sure you’re prepared for everything!

Until then, relax as much as you can. We’re sure everything will be more than perfect this season! We’re very excited for it.

See you at the first rehearsal,

your production team :)”

You reread the lines multiple times, you couldn’t entirely believe it yet that your dream has just come true. “OH MY GOD!” You happily screamed out loud, jumping on the spot multiple times – you were more than happy. A few tears slipped out of your eyes while you unlocked your phone to call your best friend – Helaena Targaryen. Your hands shook a bit from feeling overwhelmed by the news.

You met her through ballet classes you took together when you were nine and ten years old, and you became best friends very quickly, grew up together and were inseparable. You were thankful to have her at your side. You were there for each other whenever you needed each other and built each other up whenever the other one wasn’t doing well. Especially when Helaena had a knee injury when she was eighteen and sadly had to give up on ballet. She wasn’t doing well mentally and lost her love for it. For a while, she tried to avoid it at every cost after her injury. Even you. You never blamed her for acting the way she did, you understood her. You would probably act the same way if you had to stop the thing you loved because of an injury.

It wasn’t an easy time for Helaena, but over time, she found other interests, and slowly got happier again when she discovered her interest in fashion and designing. It filled her with joy to create her own clothes and bring her ideas to life – it was Helaena’s passion. Being able to design clothes in the way she wanted brought her self-confidence back and gave her a voice. While you thrived in the world of ballet, she thrived in the world of fashion. You support each other in every step and success you’re able to make. Over the years, she had designed your costumes for different performances you were a part of. Seeing you in her creations whenever you danced on stage made her proud. Both of you moved in together shortly after your nineteenth birthday and had been living together for six years by now.

Your phone rang a few times until Helaena eventually appeared on your display. She wasn’t home because she was currently in Winterfell for a design job.

She smiled at you and leaned against the bed headboard in her hotel room. “Hi babe, what’s–“ Helaena began to speak but immediately sat up and gasped as soon as she saw your happy expression, “Did you get a part?!”

You nodded quickly while you walked over to the couch in your living room and sat down cross-legged. “YES! I will be a next Juliet,” you grinned proudly and excitedly while you put your phone against the plant pot that stood on the coffee table.

She clapped, “Oh my god, yes!! Congratulations, babe, you deserve it so so much,” she matched your excitement but then became a bit more serious for a moment, “Wait… Do you already know who your Romeo will be?”

You shook your head, “Not yet, the e-mail said that the complete casting list will be announced soon. I don’t know when, but I hope soon, and I hope it will be someone who’s…” You noticed her serious expression and how she nervously bit down on her lip, “Wait… What do you know?” You furrowed your eyebrows – you were confused.

“Nothing…” She cleared her throat to hide the nervous tone in her voice, but you knew she was lying because she wasn’t looking at you anymore.

“Helaena,” you said warningly, “Tell me what you know?”

She sighed and nodded her head. “Aemond just called me before you did,” she began, and your face faltered for a moment – you knew what this meant, “He will be your Romeo.”

“Oh… Uhh,” you cleared your throat in surprise, “That’s fine. Really. I’m sure it will be fine, I mean… He’s a wonderful dancer, and I adore his passion, but…”

“You’re afraid it will be weird between you? Considering that you’re not together anymore?” She interrupted you without a second thought. Her face showed sympathy as she asked you a question you tried to ignore for yourself.

Your shoulders were slightly slumped, and you nervously bit down on your lower lip. “Yeah,” you nodded slowly and shrugged. “But we’re professionals, and I’m sure we’ll be able to work through it in the next months. I doubt there will be any problems; we ended on good terms. In some way. We agreed to stay friends, remember?” You inhaled and put a few hair strands behind your ears.

“Babe,” she tilted her head, “You two can’t really be in the same room with each other. Every time you stare at each other like two lovesick puppies that obviously still love each other. When was it the last time you actually saw each other?”

You were aware that you and Aemond were extremely professional and wouldn’t let personal feelings ruin any experiences for your careers. But even if you agreed to stay friends and that you wouldn’t let any personal feelings between you, you had to stop dancing with him entirely. The weird tension between you was too heavy after your breakup. You and Aemond used to be dance partners, even before you got into a relationship. You only hoped it would end well.

“I don’t know. It probably has been a few months by now.” With an apprehensive sigh, you leaned against the backrest of your couch and placed a cushion on your lap to play with the fabric. “And besides, the moments you mentioned probably happened shortly after we broke up. I’m sure he and I moved on and can be professional. You know how important our careers are for us.”

Helaena hummed teasingly and nodded her head, “Of course, of course…. I’ll pretend I believe it now.” She chuckled as you rolled your eyes and huffed. If she were here, you’d have thrown the cushion at her. “Whatever! This only means that I’ll finally be able to design another dress for you,” she smiled and clapped excitedly. You chuckled and smiled at her through the screen, her excitement made you happier.

You talked for a few more minutes with her before she had to end the call because she got called by one of her clients. You sighed after the call ended. This was not what you had planned. This was not what you thought would happen. You weren’t exactly sure how to feel about it that you’d be dancing together with Aemond, especially in such a story as Romeo and Juliet. If you were honest, it didn’t bother you that you’d have to dance with him, but you were nervous. More than nervous that something might not work out in the way it should be.

You weren’t lying when you told Helaena that you and Aemond decided to stay friends, but she wasn’t lying either. You barely saw each other or were able to stay in the same room for long without staring at each other when the other one wasn’t looking. There were still feelings between you. Feelings that both of you tried to ignore and deny, even if it was obvious that they were still there. Especially to Helaena – she knew what you and Aemond still felt for each other. She deeply hoped that you would get closer again someday and maybe be honest with yourselves and each other.

You met Aemond and the rest of Helaena’s family when you were having a sleepover at her place for the first time when you were ten – it was like a little celebration of your friendship. During the first years of your friendship with Helaena, you barely talked with Aemond or any of her brothers, you barely knew them, only the things Helaena had told you about back then. The interests were too different, even if Aemond was into ballet and a ballet dancer as well. You couldn’t really find a way to connect with him.

Surprisingly, you had talked with Aegon more than with Aemond, despite the slight age gap. Aegon was like an older brother to you and treated you like a second sister – even if he technically had two already. He was happy to see that Helaena had someone who shared her interests and didn’t judge her for the way she was. You had met the other half of their family only a handful of times so far. Even if everyone tried to be polite with each other as much as they could, you were able to notice the tension between everyone – some had more and some had less tension, but it was there.

But over the years and the older you were, you grew closer to Aemond and became friends. You found interest in each other and realised that both of you had sides inside you that neither of you were aware of. You had been spending more time with him after Helaena had her injury and wasn’t able to dance anymore. Whenever you weren’t with her, you spent your time in the studio with her younger brother. You started to like him more after you got to know each other better. You trusted him, he trusted you. Both of you motivated each other for your dancing and after some time, you tried to dance together, and it was like you were made for each other. Dancing with him always seemed more than easy and the chemistry between you made it even more magical. You supplemented each other, which resulted in both of you being able to dance in a Nutcracker production together when you two were seventeen. It was the start of the best time of your lives.

Both of you were able to turn your hobby into your career and danced together in many productions, even the teams behind every production were mesmerised by the chemistry between you. Many times, you were asked by other dancers if you two were in a relationship – which you had to deny every time. Although, you had a crush on each other, but you never told each other, even if everyone around you seemed to notice the underlying feelings between you.

Especially Helaena noticed it, then and even now, and she loved teasing you about it. Even Daeron and Aegon seemed to notice something after some time. They cracked jokes about it many times before, about how well you’d fit together. Both of them didn’t even notice the glares Aemond gave them or how his and your cheeks heated up. Nevertheless, it took some more time until Aemond got the courage to officially ask you out on a date when you were rehearsing for a production. You didn’t realise in the first place that he was asking you out but once you did, you agreed happily.

You were the one who was able to bring out a happier and more cheerful side of Aemond, one he mostly only shared and barely let out due to different things that had happened in his life. Especially since he was ten years old and got into an incident with his younger nephew and lost his left eye to it. Since then, he has been wearing a prosthetic eye, which brought him his own difficulties from time to time. There had been days when the pain would be unbearable for him, and nothing could help him to ease the pain. Before he had been with you, he wanted to get through this alone and show everyone that he was strong enough, but he slowly let you comfort him and be there for him, the more he trusted you. But even then, there had been days when he pushed you away and wanted to be alone.

In your presence, he was mostly able to forget about his burdens and worries and could feel peaceful because of you. Especially whenever you danced together, he was much calmer and able to forget about his problems during these moments. He may have gotten rude comments about him being a ballet dancer from different people throughout the years, but he paid them no attention. Ballet saved his life in a way only you could understand.

Luckily, your relationship didn’t end because anything negative happened between you. It was rather a decision the two of you had made together almost a year ago, so both of you could focus more on your careers as ballet dancers without any distractions. You had been quite busy with your schedules and barely saw each other that much anymore, given that you and Aemond had to work on different performances and were busy with your training, classes or rehearsals all day. At the time, it was the better decision to part ways and stay friends.

Even if that worked in some way, neither of you wasn’t truly able to move on. Even if you had agreed to stay friends and act normally, it wasn’t easy to see each other afterwards. You kind of grew apart even more and only saw each other rarely. Before and during your relationship, Aemond used to visit you and Helaena a lot, but after your breakup, he rarely stepped into your and Helaena’s apartment. Only if he knew that you weren’t there.

It hurt Helaena to see her younger brother and her best friend growing apart like that, she felt kind of helpless. She didn’t want to get between you, but she understood your decision and tried to be there for each of you as much as she could. Even if it could be difficult for her sometimes – she tried her best, and so did you and Aemond.

After a while of thinking about old memories, you cleared your throat and got up from the couch to distract yourself. You didn’t want to spend the rest of your day thinking about your ex-boyfriend and what you experienced together. You wanted to focus more on being happy that you were finally going to have the opportunity of your life – you were a next Juliet in the ballet world.

You walked into your kitchen and took a sip from the glass you poured yourself before you received the email with the news of the casting. Your phone lit up with a message from Aegon – he congratulated you on getting the part in the production. You smiled and shook your head, Helaena must have texted or called him after her call with her client. You quickly opened the message and replied to him before you started to cook yourself dinner.

Meanwhile, Aemond cut some vegetables for his dinner and was on the phone with Aegon. He just told him that he got the part of Romeo and was more than excited to start the rehearsals – but Aemond didn’t know yet that you were going to be his Juliet. He hoped that the other dancers he’d work with would be as professional as he was.

“How was the first concert, by the way?” Aemond asked his older brother and got a pan out of his kitchen counter – fully unaware that Aegon was texting you.

Aemond furrowed his eyebrows when Aegon remained silent, “Brother?” He placed the pan on the stove and continued to cut the vegetables.

“Hmm? Yeah?” Aegon cleared his throat on the other side of the phone, “Sorry, what did you say?” He changed the position of his body while lying on the couch of his hotel room, a quiet groan leaving his lips as he tried to find a comfortable position.

“Your first concert… How was it?” Aemond repeated his question with a short sigh and added the vegetables to his pan and turned on the stove. But he didn’t get a reply again, which caused him to snap slightly, “Aegon, are you even listening, or what are you so busy with?” Aemond hated it when his brother wasn’t listening or was only half-listening.

“I’m just–“ Aegon paused and thought about his next words for a moment before he continued, “I’m wondering… How does it feel for you to know that you’ll dance with Y/N again?” He furrowed his eyebrows in contemplation.

Aemond stopped his movements, and the grip on his knife tightened with Aegon’s question. “I have no idea what you mean?” He hoped that he just misunderstood Aegon, that it was just some mistake, but how could it be a mistake? Aegon used your name, he must mean you, it could only be you. The words echoed in his mind as he gulped with the consideration that Aegon was telling the truth – that he’d have to dance with you again after everything that happened.

Aegon chuckled nervously. ‘Didn’t he already know that he’d have to dance with Y/N?’ He asked himself and cleared his throat. “I uhh…,” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he couldn’t save himself anymore, “Helaena called me before you did and told me that Y/N got the part of Juliet. And you’ll be Romeo. So… They’re your Juliet. I thought… You already knew.”

Aemond stared at his cutting board, did he hear his brother correctly? You were going to be Juliet? No, he must have misheard something, right? This newfound information caused him to stay quiet for a few moments. He wasn’t sure what to do with that information. On one side, he was happy that he got the part of Romeo, but it meant to dance with you. He felt conflicted about it, he knew that dancing with you always felt magical and easy, but he wasn’t sure how it would be after everything that had happened. Even if it has been a year since the end of your relationship, he didn’t know what to expect. He should’ve expected that this could happen, but he didn’t.

“I certainly didn’t know that at all. I only got the news of my part…. They’ll announce the complete list of dancers soon, but I didn’t know about Y/N.”

“Sorry, I–“

Aemond cut him off and shook his head, even if Aegon wouldn’t see it. “Do you know if they know that we will... You know,” he cleared his throat, he felt somewhat tense, “Dance together?”

“I don’t know, perhaps?” Aegon replied, quite unsure of his answer, “If you already have told our sister about it, then I’m quite sure that Y/N knows too by now.”

Aemond hummed and pursed his lips. Should he text you and congratulate you on getting the part for Juliet, or should he wait until you see each other for rehearsal? But what if you didn’t know yet that he would be your Romeo and that you’d find out because of him? It could be strange. After all, he knew what the whole Romeo and Juliet ballet meant to you, so it wouldn’t be weird to congratulate you for getting the role you always wanted, right? But he wasn’t sure if he should reach out to you after all.

“We’ll talk later. I’ll prepare my dinner now. I’m sure that you… Must prepare for your show tonight. Bye,” he quickly ended the call and let out a desperate sigh. This wasn’t how he thought he’d spend his next months.

You haven’t seen each other in months, how would things be between you two? He was excited about the production if he was thinking about his career, but he was nervous about his personal feelings.

Later that evening, you found yourself sitting on the couch of your living room, one of your favourite blankets wrapped around your body while a movie was playing on the TV in the background. You shivered a bit, even if the room was warmed up by the fireplace. But you weren’t sure if you shivered because you were cold or because you were feeling nervous. You stared at the screen of your phone, eyeing the chat with Aemond – you were considering if you should text him or not. After all, you were about to spend your next months together, almost every day until the last performance at least. It wouldn’t hurt to text him quickly, right? But did he even know about you being his Juliet?

Your thumb hovered over the chat with him, your nerves causing your hands to sweat a bit, and your pulse beat strongly in your ears. It was just a simple text; it shouldn’t be anything you should worry about. But your pulse was still beating strongly, your mind flooded with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Little did you know that Aemond was in the same situation as you while he was lying in his bed. His blanket covered half of his body while only the small lamp on his nightstand brought some light into his bedroom. One arm was placed under his head while he held his phone in his other hand. His thumb hovered over your chat as well. He desperately wanted to text you and let you know how happy he was for you that you were going to be Juliet. He was happy for you, but the thought of dancing with you caused his nerves to hit him deep inside. Aemond rarely felt nervous, but if it involved you? Completely different. You made him feel things no one else could, even after your breakup and not having seen each other in a while. The thought of you increased his pulse immediately.

After some more thinking, both of you tossed your phones away, letting out a long and exasperated sigh. Both of you covered your faces with your hands while your shoulders relaxed. This wouldn’t be easy. If you couldn’t even text each other a simple ‘Congrats’, how should things go when you would dance together? How were you supposed to spend your days together in such intimate moments? You’d have to be close – very close with each other and trust the other one. You were sure you could trust each other, but you were afraid of what else might happen.

And that’s when it hit both of you all of a sudden – he immediately sat up, his shoulders tensed while yours did as well as you both realised what it meant to be dancing as Romeo and Juliet.

You’d probably have to kiss each other.

On stage.

In front of so many people who would watch the performances.

It would most probably be a part of the choreography, and neither of you could change it, even if you could – neither of you wanted it to be changed, either. It is such a delicate moment between the characters and displays the feelings between them – it would be foolish to erase that moment. The next months surely would be interesting.

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