#he looks like a piano instructor

[obxsprincess]

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piano instructor!miguel “you’ve been over this a hundred times mami, again” he grumbles, pinching the forming headache fogging his temples. n watching you mess up over and over again as you play every song in the book… messing up every single one. but he didn’t need to be mean about it !!

“m’ cant, it’s hard” you whined, pretty eyes scrunched in frustration as you glare at the notes. and not the massive man sitting right next to you, trying to instruct you… and losing a lot of patience. you huffed, you were in your twenties !! just cause you were too shy in highschool to ever try piano didn’t mean you had to be here. with a man who was no doubt. intimidating. in every sinful way.

”your supposed to be teaching me, arnt you the best” you taunted brattily. you may be shy but it was no question the rich little brat you could be. n that’s probably what got you here, next to to this annoyingly attractive man. miguel. who was looking at you like you just said a joke. it truly was the first time you ever saw him smile, though it was more arrogant than anything

“really wanna test my skills, amor?” you hated when he called you love. hated it. cause why did it make your head twirl, and lashes flutter… in irritation definitely. obviously.

”Soy el mejor profesor, princesa. but I need to teach ya’ a few things in manners first hm?” of course he did. you both knew it when his gruff tone made your thighs clench together. only covered by your lacy pink skirt.

the same skirt that only moments after was scrunched around your pretty waist, your body sprawled over the pianos lid, and his face stuffed between your thighs. oh, you thought he was menacing before. now you couldn’t even wrap your head around it as his tongue taught you lesson and lesson again. you hated admitting it. that he really was the best ‘hands on instructor’.

but he had no problem repeating time and time again that your bratty mouth sounded a whole lot better squealing his name. and he much preferred your delicate fingers gripping his hair than playing those irritatingly impossible notes.

and oh god :(( his fingers were so thick. and long. and cruel curling inside your gummy walls. they did anything but shut your quiet, but quick of a sweet mouth up.

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@xaaaaaaax I’m sososo sorry for putting this off bby <3 made it a bit more brat taming such style cus hehe, he’s the mean instructor after all ;))

𐙚 based off of 𐙚

[pucksandpower]

Gilded Cage

Charles Leclerc x heiress!Reader

Summary: when a girl who craves for freedom meets a boy who knows what it feels like to race at the speed of light

Warnings: overprotective (but loving) father

The first time you tried to escape, you were seven.

“Y/N, let go of the bird!” The nanny’s frantic voice echoed as your small fingers clutched the delicate cage, trying to unlatch it.

“I just want to see it fly!” You cried, tears streaming down your face, looking at the trapped canary. Its golden feathers seemed dulled, its tiny beak opened in a silent plea for freedom.

The cage slipped from your grasp, crashing onto the pristine marble floors. The sound was deafening in the otherwise quiet mansion. Your nanny rushed forward but not before the canary took off, its wings catching the sun, radiating a blinding brightness.

You watched, mesmerized, as the bird soared above, circling once before disappearing into the vast blue sky.

“It’s gone …” your nanny muttered, distraught at the loss of such a valuable creature.

But you, young and innocent, whispered with a smile of pure joy, “It’s free.”

From that day on, you knew one thing for certain: no amount of gold or jewels could substitute for the glitter of freedom.

***

“Again!”

The shout echoes through the cavernous halls of your palatial home. Somewhere outside, the splashing of the water from the elaborate marble fountain merges with the faint humming of gardeners trimming the intricate mazes. The walls, lined with gold-trimmed tapestries and priceless paintings, feel more like prison bars than luxuries.

"Again!"

Your fingers, stiff and aching, try to mimic the piano instructor’s exact movements. Every wrong note feels like a physical blow, another reminder that you are trapped in a world of perfection and expectations.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” you whisper but it came out stronger, more defiant than you intended.

Madame Lucille, your instructor, raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to your resistance. “Your father wishes you to be well-versed in the classics,” she reminds you with a patronizing tone.

A voice, deep and commanding, interrupts the tension, “Let her be, Lucille.”

Your father stands at the doorway, his expensive suit impeccably tailored, matching the stern look on his face.

“But Sir, she—”

“I said, let her be.”

Madame Lucille gives you one last disapproving glare before hurriedly packing her things. Your father watches her go then turnes to you with softer eyes. “I just want the best for you,” he murmurs, walking over to sit beside you on the grand piano bench.

You take a deep breath, “I know, Papa. But I want to breathe, to live. Not just exist inside these walls.”

He sighs, looking tired. “The world out there isn’t a nice one. There are those who would want to harm you, to use you.”

“I would risk it,” you admit quietly, “For a taste of real life. For a moment outside this golden cage.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re my everything. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

The weight of his love and the prison of his protection bears down on you. “One day, whether you like it or not, I’ll have to face the world. And when that day comes, I want to be ready.”

He leans back, looking up at the ornate chandelier. “What if that day was sooner than you thought?”

Confusion marrs your features. “What do you mean?”

He smiles cryptically, “There’s a Formula 1 race across the country next week. I sponsor Ferrari. Thought you might like to come with me, see something different for a change.”

You blink, taking a moment to process. “A ... race?”

He nods, “Yes. It’s not freedom but it’s a start.”

You look into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of understanding. “Okay,” you whisper, “Let’s start there.”

***

“The roar of the engines, the energy of the crowd ... there’s quite nothing like it,” your father begins, his usually stern voice tinted with boyish enthusiasm. You find yourself watching him, intrigued by this rare display of passion.

Sitting across the opulent dining table, which was rarely used to host anyone but the two of you, you play with your food, pushing it around the plate. “Cars going in circles? I don’t see the appeal.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his vintage wine. “Oh, it’s much more than that. The strategy, the risk, the sheer speed ... it’s ballet at 300 kilometers per hour.”

You raise an eyebrow, interest piqued despite yourself. “Ballet? Really?”

He nods with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious now?”

You hesitate. “I mean, maybe a little? But why the sudden interest in taking me? I’ve never even seen you watch a race.”

He leans forward, his gaze intense, searching yours. “I sponsor Ferrari and have an open invite to every race. Now that one will be hosted nearby, I thought maybe it’s time you see a bit more of the world. Not just through the glass windows.”

You blink in surprise. This was unexpected. “A public event? With crowds and other people?”

He nods slowly. “With crowds and other people.”

You weigh the options in your mind, the yearning for freedom battling with the anxiety of exposure. “And you think I’m ready for this?”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours. “I think we’re ready for this. It will be an unforgettable experience, I promise.”

You look into his eyes and realize that this is as much a leap for him as it is for you. Taking a deep breath, you reply, “Alright, Papa. Let’s go watch some ballet.”

***

“The red ... it’s everywhere.” You can’t help but blurt out, momentarily overwhelmed.

Your father chuckles beside you. “Well, it is Ferrari. Red is their signature.”

You gaze down, the red soles of your Louboutins now seem almost camouflaged against the vibrant Ferrari decor. “Feels like I’m stepping into another world.”

“Just stay close,” your father advises, his protective instincts rearing up again.

Promising him with a nod, you’re soon lost in the kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. The hustle of engineers, the chatter of excited fans, the roar of engines being worked on.

Suddenly, a man clad in a racing suit accidentally bumps into you, causing your drink to splatter.

“Mon dieu! I am so sorry!” He exclaims, eyes wide.

You find yourself staring not at the stained dress but into the most expressive eyes you’ve ever seen. “It’s ... it’s okay,” you stutter, taken aback by the unexpected jolt of electricity at the brief contact.

He looks genuinely apologetic. “Let me make it up to you? Another drink, perhaps?”

You laugh, “Only if you promise not to spill it.”

He grins, the smile reaching his eyes. “Deal. I’m Charles, by the way.”

Hesitating for a split second, you reply, “Y/N.”

He raises an eyebrow, “No last name?”

You smirk, “Not today.”

Charles chuckles, intrigued. “Alright, Y/N-with-no-last-name, let’s get you that drink.”

You follow him, weaving through the crowd. Every now and then, someone stops Charles to shake his hand or pat him on the back, throwing in a “Good luck, Charles!” or “Can’t wait to see you on the track!” He greets everyone with a genuine smile and a word of thanks. It’s clear just how loved he is here.

However, you remain a mystery to him. He sneaks curious glances your way, the playful teasing evident in his eyes. “So are you a big Ferrari fan or just here because you look particularly fetching in red?”

You laugh, the sound more carefree than you’ve felt in ages. “Let’s just say I’m here to explore something ... different.”

Charles nods, handing you a fresh glass from the bar. The bubbling champagne mirrors the effervescence you feel inside. “Different can be good,” he muses, taking a sip from his own plastic water bottle. “Sometimes it’s the unexpected moments that change everything.”

The weight of his gaze, the intensity of the moment, makes your heart race. “Tell me, Charles,” you begin, leaning in slightly, “What was the unexpected moment that changed everything for you?”

He looks taken aback, clearly not expecting such a question. He takes a thoughtful pause, “Every time I get behind the wheel. Each race is a new story, an unexpected twist waiting to happen.”

You nod, appreciating his sincerity. “It’s brave, you know. Facing the unexpected at such high speeds.”

He smiles warmly. “It’s not bravery, it’s passion. When you love something deeply, risks become challenges instead of threats.”

Your fingers toy with the stem of your glass, his words resonating with your own yearning for freedom. “I envy that,” you admit softly.

Charles tilts his head, studying you. “Why?”

You search for the right words. “I’ve lived in a world of certainty for so long. Every step planned, every move calculated. It’s ... suffocating.”

Charles reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Then maybe it’s time to take a risk, Y/N-with-no-last-name. Even just a small one.”

You smile, the promise of the unknown beckoning. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time.”

***

“Do you trust me?” Charles’ eyes search yours, intense under the paddock lights.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden question. “We just met.”

He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s not an answer.”

Drawing in a deep breath, you reply, “I might. What are you proposing?”

His gaze drifts momentarily to the track. “After qualifying … how about a drive? Not here,” he adds, seeing your hesitation, “Away from all this. The city at night, the open road. Just two people and the world.”

You tilt your head, contemplating the offer. A spark of excitement ignites within you. “A midnight drive with a stranger? Sounds reckless.”

He chuckles, leaning in closer. The scent of leather and adrenaline wraps around you. “Life’s best moments usually are.”

As his name is called by his press officer, Charles straightens up. “I have to go. But think about it, Y/N-with-no-last-name. The invitation stands.”

Before you can respond, he jots down something on a piece of paper and hands it to you. An address. “Meet me here if you’re in. Midnight.”

You watch him stride confidently towards his garage, the weight of the decision pressing on you. Risk, freedom, the open road — its all you’ve always yearned for.

Hours later, as Charles places his car on pole, you find yourself gripping that piece of paper. The thought of the city lights and the wind through your hair is too alluring to resist.

You whisper to yourself, “Midnight it is.”

***

The ornate curtains rustle as you inch your way onto the balcony of your suite. The sheer drop below sends a thrilling chill down your spine. You’ve never snuck out before but the thought of the night ahead and Charles’ invitation propels you forward. You hitch up your dress, carefully lowering yourself onto the ledge below. The soft grass cushions your landing and you take a moment to steady your racing heart.

“You’re even crazier than I am,” a familiar voice observes from the shadows.

You whirl around, finding Charles leaning against his car, an impressed grin on his face. “I had to make a discreet exit,” you explain, cheeks warming.

He chuckles, pushing away from the car and walking over to you. “Glad you made it. Ready for our adventure?”

You nod, the proximity of him, the thrill of the night, everything heightening your senses. “More than ever.”

The car roars to life as you both settle in. The city lights blur past, the nocturnal beauty of the world unfolding around you. The road beckons, the possibilities endless.

Charles casts a sidelong glance at you, a playful smirk on his lips. “Ever driven with no speed limit?”

You laugh, “Not in my daily commute.”

He grins, “There’s a first time for everything.”

The car accelerates, the wind whipping through your hair, the night alive with potential. The city skyline fades, replaced by an open stretch of road, illuminated only by the car’s headlights and the soft glow of the moon.

Charles’ voice breaks the comfortable silence. “There’s something freeing about the night. The world sleeps, and for a few hours, you can pretend you’re the only ones alive.”

You glance over, sensing the depth of emotion behind his words. “Is this why you race? For that freedom?”

He nods, his profile bathed in moonlight. “And more. Every time I’m behind the wheel, it’s a battle against my doubts, the world, and myself.”

You understand, the weight of your own gilded cage pressing on you. “I’ve been trapped for so long. But tonight, with you, I feel … alive.”

He reaches over, entwining his fingers with yours. “Then let’s live. For tonight, let’s forget the world.”

***

“Why are those men watching us?” Charles’ voice is low, almost a whisper, as he subtly gestures towards two figures in dark suits, positioned at opposite sides of the bar you found yourselves at.

You follow his gaze discreetly, feeling a familiar dread settling in. Security. Your father’s men. “They’re ... they’re just protective, that’s all.”

Charles narrows his eyes, piecing things together. “Protective? Y/N, who are you really?”

A pang of guilt washes over you. You had hoped for more time before this moment, more stolen moments under the veil of anonymity. “It’s complicated,” you admit, hesitating.

He leans forward, his intense eyes searching yours. “Try me.”

You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “My life ... it’s not what it seems. I live in a gilded cage. A cage built by my father’s wealth and influence. A beautiful cage, yes, but a cage nonetheless.”

He processes this, watching as one of the security approaches your table, handing you a phone. “Your father wishes to speak with you,” the man says tersely.

Charles’ gaze sharpens, suspicion evident. “Your father?”

You nod, taking the phone with a sigh. “Hello, Papa.”

“Y/N,” your father’s voice is a mix of relief and sternness, “I’ve been so worried. You just disappeared.”

“I needed some time,” you explain, glancing apologetically at Charles who is watching the exchange closely.

“You should come back now.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” you argue gently, “I need to live my life.”

A heavy silence follows. “Just ... be safe,” he finally murmurs.

Hanging up, you face Charles, the weight of the world pressing on you. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

Charles leans back, his expression unreadable. “So, the mysterious Y/N-with-no-last-name turns out to be the daughter of …?”

You sigh, “A very wealthy and overprotective man.”

He processes this, the playful teasing from before replaced by deep contemplation. “You know, secrets have a way of catching up with us. But,” he adds with a hint of a smile, “I’m interested in who you are, not your family name.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “Then let’s leave the secrets for another day.”

***

The morning sun paints the Ferrari garage in a wash of golden hues, every glinting reflection a dance of radiant red. Charles stands out despite wearing the same color as he eagerly waves you over to show off the helmet in his hands.

“It’s beautiful.” Your fingers trace the lines of the design, the light catching on its glossy finish.

Charles spins the helmet so you can see every detail. “Not just the design. It’s the weight, the feel. When I put this on, I’m stepping into another world. Everything else fades away. Just the track, the car, and me.”

You smile, fascinated by his passion. But as your gaze slides over the helmet, you freeze. There, emblazoned on the side, is the unmistakable logo of Y/L/N Industries. You try to hide your surprise but Charles catches your reaction. “You recognize the logo?”

Swallowing hard, you nod. “It’s … everywhere, isn’t it?”

Charles, not picking up on your unease, grins. “Oh yes. They’re our main sponsors this season. Y/L/N Industries is massive.”

Your heart thuds. Every mention, every hint, makes the looming truth harder to avoid. “They seem ... impressive.”

You avoid his gaze, watching the mechanics prepare the cars for the race. Each Ferrari, shining in the morning sun, proudly displays the same Y/L/N Industries logo. There’s no escaping it.

Noticing your distraction, Charles follows your gaze. “I’ve always found it fascinating. How brands link up with teams. How they can become synonymous with each other over the years. Like what we had with Marlboro and now Y/L/N Industries. It’s ... an alliance.”

You chuckle, trying to deflect. “An expensive alliance.”

He laughs, “Very true. But Y/L/N Industries is more than just a name on our cars. I met the owner once, at a sponsorship event. Very ... protective of his interests.”

You gulp, feeling cornered. “Is that so?”

Charles nods, oblivious to your discomfort. “Yes. Has a daughter too, I’ve heard. But she’s kept away from the limelight. Must be hard, living under such a powerful shadow.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, “You have no idea.”

He looks at you, sensing the weight behind your words. “Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally admit, “My last name ... it’s Y/L/N.”

He stares, processing the revelation. The playful driver you spent the past days with is replaced by someone more cautious, more guarded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look down, fighting back tears. “I wanted to be just Y/N, not a Y/L/N. I wanted freedom, even if just for a few days.”

Charles reaches out, lifting your chin gently. “You're still Y/N to me. But secrets ... they complicate things.”

You nod, regret clear in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles, though it’s not quite as bright as usual. “Let’s focus on today. The race. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

***

You’re startled from your thoughts when the doors to your room burst open, the journal in which you’ve been scribbling memories of your secret meetings with Charles slipping from your fingers.

Your father stands there, a mixture of anger and desperation etching his features. In his hand, he holds a photograph — one of you and Charles lost in conversation in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

“Explain this,” he demands, voice shaking.

You swallow hard, the weight of your secret outings pressing down on you. “Papa, I—”

He cuts you off, waving the photograph. “Weeks, Y/N! Weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting him. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Your voice trembles, “I just want something for myself, something real.”

He looks torn, battling between his desire to protect you and understanding your need for freedom. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you hesitate, taking a deep breath, “I want to be just Y/N for once, not Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I protect you! The world will never see just Y/N. They will always see a Y/L/N and they will always want something from you.”

“You can’t keep doing this!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them, the pent-up frustration, fear, and yearning for freedom all culminating in this very moment.

Your father stands at the opposite end of the lavish living room, the city skyline a muted backdrop behind him. His eyes, usually so authoritative, are wide with surprise and concern. “I am only looking out for you.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “Looking out for me or controlling me?”

He flinches as if you physically struck him. “I want to keep you safe.”

Safe. The word hangs heavily between you, a reminder of the invisible chains binding you. “At what cost, Papa? My happiness? My freedom?”

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “It’s not that simple.”

You pace the room, your emotions spilling over. “Do you even realize? Every choice, every decision has been made for me. Who I meet, where I go, even what I feel. I am suffocating!”

He looks pained. “I never meant to—”

“But you did!” You interject, tears streaming down your face. “Every time you made a choice for me, you took away a piece of my life.”

A heavy silence settles between you two, the unspoken words and regrets creating an impenetrable barrier.

Finally, your father speaks, his voice soft and filled with sorrow. “I lost your mother. I can’t bear the thought of losing you too.”

Your heart aches, understanding and resentment warring within. “I’m not Mama. I need to live, make mistakes, find love. I need to be free.”

He closes his eyes tightly, the weight of your words pressing down on him. “I just ... I love you so much.”

You walk over, taking his hands in yours, feeling the roughness of age and experience. “And I love you. But love isn’t about possession. It’s about understanding, trust, and letting go.”

Tears brim his eyes, the facade of the powerful businessman crumbling. “You will always be my little girl. I would give up every dollar — everything — if it meant keeping you safe. I’m scared that one day I won’t be able to protect you.”

You squeeze his hands. “We have to face our fears. Together.”

***

“He knows. Papa knows about us.” Your voice wavers as you meet in your secret hideaway, a small bakery tucked away from prying eyes.

Charles’ face pales, his fingers gripping the table edge. “How did he react?”

You draw in a shuddering breath, recalling the confrontation. “Not well. He feels... betrayed. I think I got through to him eventually but you never know with him. One second he’s smiling at a business rival and the next he’s snatching away their company in a hostile takeover.”

Charles’ eyes darken with concern. “I don’t want you caught in the crossfire between me and Y/L/N Industries.”

You shake your head, reaching out to touch his hand. “This isn’t about sponsorships or racing. This is about us. He’s just overprotective.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “This complicates things. Your father’s influence runs deep, even in the racing world.”

Tears sting your eyes. “So what? Are you saying we should …?”

“No,” Charles interjects firmly, squeezing your hand. “I’m saying we need to be careful. I won’t let anything harm you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “My father would never hurt me … at least not physically. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”

He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I do have a penchant for driving really fast cars. Comes with a touch of danger.”

You’re not amused. “This is serious. Papa can be ... vindictive.”

Charles looks deep into your eyes. “Then we face this together. Secrets have kept us apart but now, truth will keep us together.”

You lean in, your foreheads touching. “Promise?”

He smiles, capturing your lips in a kiss. “Promise.”

***

A reporter leans forward, her voice crackling with excitement. “Charles, you just secured a stunning victory for Ferrari in a race that almost everyone thought was Red Bull’s to lose. How does it feel to come out on top?”

Charles grins, his eyes alive with a fire that burns brighter than ever. “Honestly, it’s hard to describe. We’ve been pushing ourselves, refining the car, and today, everything just clicked. The team’s effort, the car’s performance, it all paid off.”

The crowd cheers, their elation echoing through the broadcast. The reporter presses on, “You dedicated this win to someone special. Care to tell us who?”

Charles’ gaze softens, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “There’s someone who has shown me a world beyond the track. Someone who made me realize that the freedom I feel whenever I get behind the wheel is even more precious than I always thought. This win is for her.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, the identity of this mysterious someone a topic of speculation. The reporter smiles, clearly eager for more details. “And can you give us a hint? Is she here today?”

Charles chuckles, his dimples popping through. “Let’s just say she’s closer than you might think.”

Later, as the celebrations continue, you find yourself in a secluded corner of the motorhome, away from the clamor of the team and fans. Charles walks over, that same victorious smile on his lips. “Did you hear?”

You nod, heart still racing. “You dedicated the win to me.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. “Of course. You’ve given me one more reason to keep pushing, keep racing. It’s not just about the cars. It’s about the freedom, the moments we steal away from the world.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you kiss him passionately, pouring all your emotions into that single moment. The crowd may not know the truth behind his dedication yet but you do. And that’s all that matters.

***

“Charles seems ... different than the others,” your father begins, his gaze distant as he looks out from the penthouse balcony.

You step closer, the night air cool against your skin. “Different how?”

He sighs, turning to face you, vulnerability evident in his eyes. “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He looks at you how I used to look at your mother.”

You smile, “I never expected you to notice.”

He chuckles softly. “Just because I’m protective doesn’t mean I’m blind. I’ve watched people all my life. It’s how I built everything,” he gestures towards the sprawling city below, the twinkling lights of his corporate empire.

The weight of the moment settles between you, the years of misunderstandings and unspoken words pressing down. “Papa, I know you’re scared. Scared of the world out there, of what it might do. But I can’t be trapped forever.”

His expression softens, pain evident. “I have seen so much, faced so many betrayals. The world is rarely kind.”

You reach out, touching his arm gently. “I understand. But holding on too tight will only push me away.”

He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “It’s just ... hard. Watching you grow, wanting to spread your wings. I wish I could shield you from everything.”

You smile gently. “But then I wouldn’t truly be living. Charles, he’s shown me a world beyond these walls. A world that’s unpredictable, thrilling, and real.”

Your father nods slowly. “I saw that. The way he stood by you, the way he spoke of you. He … he loves you.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, the night’s chill deepening. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Someone who sees me, not my last name, not a walking dollar sign.”

He steps closer, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “I’m trying. It’s not easy, letting go. But I trust you. I just need time.”

You nod, resting your head against his chest. “I know. Just promise me one thing.”

He tilts your chin up, looking into your eyes. “Anything.”

You smile, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “Trust him too. Give Charles a chance.”

He sighs, the walls he built over the years slowly crumbling. “For you, I’ll try.”

***

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” your father says, breaking the tense silence that envelops the extravagant dining room.

Charles, sitting straight-backed and visibly anxious, clears his throat. “Sir, I assure you, my intentions with Y/N are—”

Genuine laughter interrupts him. You glance in shock at your father, who chuckles, “Relax, Charles. I’ve watched you on the track. You face challenges head-on. That’s a quality I admire.”

Charles exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. Y/N means the world to me.”

Your father studies Charles, his gaze thoughtful. “I can see that. And I have seen the change in Y/N since she met you.”

You bite your lip, waiting for what he might say next. “Papa, I—”

He raises a hand, silencing you. “I’ve spent my life building walls around you, trying to protect you from the world. But maybe ... maybe it’s time to let you fly.”

Your heart leaps in your chest. “Papa …”

He smiles at you, warmth shining in his eyes. “You’re my daughter. All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness. If Charles is the one who brings that joy, then I give you both my blessing.”

Tears glisten in your eyes as you stand, moving to embrace your father. “Thank you.”

Charles stands too, extending a hand towards your father. “Thank you, sir. I promise to take cherish and take care of her.”

Your father grasps Charles’ hand for a moment longer than expected, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Charles,” he begins, a twinkle of mischief evident, “just remember … if you ever hurt my daughter, they will never find your body.”

Charles gulps, eyes widening, then realizes the playful tone your father has adopted. He chuckles, nodding, “Duly noted, sir.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Papa, you are impossible.”

Your father grins, the atmosphere significantly lighter. “Just making sure he understands.”

Charles playfully raises his hands in surrender. “Message received loud and clear.”

***

The pitter-patter of little feet echoes through the grand halls, accompanied by peals of laughter. The once silent mansion is now alive with the exuberance of youth. Every corner and every room tells tales of play and joy, of childhood memories being crafted.

“Slow down, my darlings!” You call out in amusement as you chase the energetic duo.

Charles laughs as one of your kids hides behind him, tiny hands clutching his leg. “You can’t hide here forever!” He teases.

From the doorway, your father watches, his eyes glassy. The stoic businessman, the guardian of a vast empire, is rendered soft and vulnerable by the presence of his grandchildren.

“Grandpa!” The children cheer, running to him, their arms outstretched.

He bends down, scooping them into a gentle embrace. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispers, producing a small cage with a golden canary inside from behind his back. Its wings barely beat, eyes darting around to mirror its trapped spirit.

The children’s eyes widen in wonder. “Why is it in a cage, Grandpa?”

Your father looks up, meeting your gaze, the weight of the past reflected in his eyes. “It looked sad at the market, just like someone I once knew. But we’re going to set it free.”

Together, the family moves to the balcony. Your father opens the cage door, and the canary, after a hesitant moment, takes flight, its song a melody of freedom and hope.

As you watch the bird disappear into the horizon, your father breaks the silence. “Sometimes, we cage the things we love, thinking it’s for the best. But true love is about letting go, letting them spread their wings.”

You lean into Charles, his arm wrapping around you, the children nestled between you both. “Thank you, Papa,” you whisper. “For letting us learn the true meaning of freedom.”

Your father smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It took me a while but I finally understand. Love, life, freedom — they’re all interconnected. We just have to find our sky.”

[timmydraker]

Tim Drakes parents were very traditional and overly proud of the fact that they came from old money.

They boasted about this in many ways for several years, but once their son was born they decided they would use him as a prime example of how they would continue the old ways they learnt.

Tim learnt things like piano and proper dinner etiquette before he was four, and learnt old Latin and French as a means to showcase his wealth and knowledge. They made him learn many things and luckily he enjoyed most of them, especially when it came to STEM and reading.

They also valued the arts and wanted him to learn as much as he could about architecture and literature.

When he showcased some knowledge for waltz and ballroom dancing, they decided he should do dance lessons.

This is where Tim discovered Ballet and fell deeply in love with the artistic and passionate form of dance. He began to study it around the same time he grew an interest in Batman, though he had yet to try get photos of the man.

Tim talked to his instructor and asked the older man about male dancers in Ballet and Mr Volkov was more that happy to help. Tim’s parents weren’t very in tuned with their son by that point and only cared that he was attending classes that were traditional, so they payed no mind to him learning ballet.

The skills he learnt regarding balance and core strength was greatly appreciated when he began to stalk Batman and Robin. He would do his warm up stretches while thinking about what patrol route the two would make that night, considering why Bruce Wayne chose to become The Bat while he counted each step 1, 2, 3, 4 with the music. He wondered to himself why Jason Todd became Robin when Dick Graysons motivations were much more obvious as he practiced and perfected sauté and focused on how his hands were placed, something he often forget was important.

By the time he became Robin he had been allowed to do several permanences, and was practicing for his role as Prince Siegfried in Swan Lake in just a few months.

It was one of his biggest dreams to play as the Prince in such an iconic performance, especially when he got along well with both Odettes dancer and Odile’s.

Bruce and Dick are excited for him, though Dick shows it better, and Tim is overjoyed to know that his parents will be in town when the opening night is. They say they’ll come and are proud of him for being in such a well known play and doing so in the traditional manner that the play was once made in.

Tim does wonderfully and Alfred organises for it to be recorded for them all to watch later.

Tim is greeted by them back stage after it ends and excitedly runs up to Dick to receive a huge hug. Dick is loudly saying how proud he is and that he’s so impressed his brother can do such an amazing dance. It’s the first time they’ve seen him perform and they were enamoured.

But Bruce looks tense.

“Bruce? Did… did you not like-“

Bruce cuts him off with a hug, “Of course I like it. Loved it even. It’s just…”

It’s then that Tim looks around and notices his parents aren’t there. They could have just gone home, but they wouldn’t give up a chance to boast about their money and successful heir.

Unless…

Tim looks down and tries to hold back his tears, “they didn’t show, huh?”

Tim can’t help but break down once Dick moves in to hug him, yet as Mr Volkov and some of his costars who are his friends come up and join them, he feels okay.

It’s not Janet and Jack, but it’s nice. It’s warm and kind and maybe that’s all that matters.

[loveliestlovelygirl]

tangle of strings

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker has been your piano instructor since you were fourteen years old. from the moment you met, you knew he was the one. he never expressed his feelings for you vocally, despite all the time you spent together. but after you turn eighteen and prepare to leave for college, he changes his tune.

w.c: 6.9k

warnings!! {minors dni}, dark content, grooming heavily featured, sexual content occurs after the reader is 18, p in v, fingering, oral, fem!reader, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, "loss" of virginity, jealousy, religious themes

the content you consume is your responsibility ♡

The piano is the only thing Mr. Skywalker told you that he loved.

He was never spotted with a girl or anyone for that matter in a romantic sense. He was always single, which never made sense to anyone in your small town because he is handsome. He’s always been handsome. His yearbook pictures from high school proved it.

When you would go over to his house for piano lessons, he would show you many things from his life, like his award cabinet, filled with every trophy and certificate he’s won from piano competitions or his yearbook photos. Those photos were one of the first things he showed you. It was one of your first memories of just you and him.

Mr. Skywalker takes a big stack of books off the shelf in his library all at once. Using his strength to balance the dusty books on his arms, he brings them to the reading table where you sit. He takes off the top one and opens it up before you.

Eventually, you find his picture. You cover your mouth as you giggle. He had thick glasses making him look like a nerd. But he was cute. So, undeniably cute to you. You wish he could be the same age. You would want to be his friend. You would want to kiss him.

If you were the same age, he could be yours.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he muses, his large body looming behind you as he looks over your head to gaze at the picture. “I used to be the kid everyone picked on. When I’d get home, I would write a song about how I was feeling. Some of those songs inspired the ones I play at my shows.”

When he talks, you gush. His warm voice is safe. He’s the kind of person you could tell all your secrets to.

And you did tell him everything you couldn’t tell your parents. You’d tell him your deepest secrets. Like the boys you crushed on. Or your new feelings of lust towards them that caught you off-guard as a teen. He understood you like no one else in the whole world. He was the first to know about your first kiss when you were sixteen. And he seemed… jealous when you told him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you say. “One moment, we were talking and laughing. And the next thing I know, Drew is pushing me down on the bed to kiss me!” you squeal. “But don’t tell my parents. They’ll think I’m a whore.”

Mr. Skywalker pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I always keep your secrets. Drew is the boy in your history class, correct?”

You nod, amazed that he would remember. The last time you spoke of Drew had been several months ago. But he always pays attention to even the smallest details. That’s how you know he cares.

“I don’t know if he’s good for you,” he mutters, noticeably bitter about something. “Does he really know you? I think… he doesn’t. He’s probably just trying to use you.”

Mr. Skywalker is much older than you. And wiser. So you take his advice to heart. Maybe you shouldn’t see Drew tonight after all.

“How many times have you been kissed?” you ask him, your voice all innocent. Although your motives were anything but pure. While you might have just shared a kiss with Drew, there is one man who is truly the object of your greatest desires. You just haven’t found a way to tell him.

He shakes his head. “You know I’d rather talk about you.” That’s what he says when you pry too deeply into his private life, which only adds to your secret obsession

Anakin has always been the one thing that rivals your obsession with your instrument of choice. And it’s the only secret you kept from him all through high school because you knew he couldn’t possibly feel the same way about you.

Even if the small touches, the secret looks, and long hugs seemed to indicate otherwise. You were too afraid to ask him what it all meant. He never gave that kind of attention to anyone else.

And as an awkward teen, you were furious that you couldn’t express your love to him directly. You kept telling yourself that you would when you’re older. When you turned eighteen, you would confess to him.

Since you couldn’t tell anyone, even him, about this secret, you’d use the piano to share your soul, to put your feelings out into the atmosphere. When you play, no matter where you are, you feel him sitting on the bench beside you, watching over you. 

He taught you everything you know now. He’s the reason you chose to major in Piano Performance in college to the great horror of your parents. But what did they expect? They watched you sacrifice your youth for excellence in your craft. The nights were filled with pools of tears, cries, and screams as you played until you got the part, section, or note just right.

When your fingers rest on the ivory keys, you feel him and nothing else. He’s your muse in every song you write. 

The piece that won you a full scholarship to your dream university, you wrote it while thinking of Anakin. Your beloved piano teacher. Your closest friend. Your secret love.

He’d been in your life for so long, giving you lessons when you first showed an interest in music. How could you not love him?

He went to the same church that your family attended every Sunday. He played piano sometimes during worship service if the music minister was out on vacation or fell ill. Church was how your father met him, and they became good friends. He often came to your Sunday lunches.

Your mom always cooked fried catfish or fried chicken because that’s what your dad wanted. Mr. Skywalker, as you called him back in your high school years, would eat two plates of food. He’d say things like “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in years,” even if he was at your house just last week. You would laugh the loudest at his jokes. As you think about them now, you realize they weren’t funny, but you’re in love with him so it doesn’t matter.

After lunch, your parents would take care of the food and dishes, giving alone time with him. Like a young pup, you’d follow him outside on the back porch where you’d sit side by side on the creaky old swing.

“Do you cook or bake?” he asks you.

You haven’t the slightest idea of why he’d ask such a thing. You still lived with your parents. Your mom does most of the cooking. Your dad grills sometimes. “No. I get scared that I’ll burn myself.”

Suddenly, he reaches over for your left hand, the closest one to him, from your lap and holds it between his great palms. “Cold,” he whispers. He massages your fingers to revive them. “I wouldn’t want you to burn your hands. They’re so perfect… for playing.”

Anakin looks down at what he’s doing to you and his expression sours. At the time, you don’t know why. You wonder if you said or did something he doesn’t like because the mood changes instantly. He drops your hand and pats your thigh.

“You have piano hands, remember?” he reminds you. He smiles at you, and you feel secure again.

That’s exactly the thing that you always tell him. His hands spread out further than a whole octave, while you struggle to hit the two octave notes simultaneously without pulling a muscle. His fingers are long, and his palms are wide. You can’t compete with that.

You wonder what other things he’s good at with hands like those.

For the entirety of your high school existence, you pined and pined after him. He was always on your thoughts every minute of every day. You never grew sick of daydreaming about him. And on occasion that was reflected in your grades though you maintained a high GPA regardless. Every week was just your going through the motions of life mindlessly, only waiting for two short hours out of the week on Friday which was when you took lessons with him.

You lived solely for those two hours in which he gave you piano lessons free of charge. He said it was because you had such potential, but still to this day, you like to think he reciprocated some of your feelings even before he actually made a move on you.

For those two hours, you would sit right up against him on the leather cushion of the piano bench and play for him whatever pieces you were working on or things he assigned you from the previous week. He was never harsh with you even when you weren’t getting something.

You throw your hands on the keys, striking a dissonant chord that makes you both wince. Mr. Skywalker instantly pulls your hands away.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said with concern. “I promise you’ll get this. It just takes time. I know you practice too much as it is.”

“I want to be good! I want to be a star!” With that, you break down instantly and cry. He never minds when you cry in front of him.

“One day, you will be. I believe in you,” he soothes you, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head as if you belong to him. He hugs you. “We can try again when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” you say, leaning against him to hear the echo of his heart. His heartbeat is sensual to you, even at sixteen. You can’t explain it. These stupid hormonal feelings you have for him are so wrong. But when you look up into his passionate eyes, you see the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You have to marry him. You have to.

From the time you were five, you were afraid of thunder and lightning. Terrified by it actually. The fear is still with you today. But it was so much worse in middle school and high school. You started taking lessons from Anakin when you were fourteen years old. And you were still such a child then. You remembered the time it stormed so hard during your lesson that you had to spend the night at his house because it was too dangerous for your mother to come pick you up. But that also meant you couldn’t hide your abnormal fear of a thunderstorm from Anakin.

He had this giant plush rug under the piano. When you asked him about it, he said that it caught the sound. At the tail end of your lesson, the night you had to stay over, lightning struck close to his house and spooked you so much that you shrieked and slipped under the piano, curling up on that soft rug like a scared puppy.

Anakin was such a sweetheart because he followed you there.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing your back, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You cry into your arms, hiding your face. “I know! I know it’s stupid of me. I just—”

“It’s not stupid. We all have different fears.” After he says that, he lies on his back beside you. “But I won’t let the storm hurt you, okay. We can stay here all night.”

And that you did. You cowered under the grand piano in his parlor all night long. That was the first time you ever cuddled with a boy, only he was a man almost twice your age. But that didn’t bother you. And it seemed not to bother him. He let you hold onto him through the night and squeeze him a little harder when you heard thunder. It has been one of your most precious memories of your piano teacher.

You had always known Anakin could be a little jealous. Any time you would mention your school friends the air would get tense, as if he didn’t want you to have anyone else in your life but him. He never said that, but he didn’t have to. There was always rage somewhere beneath the still blueness of his eyes, but his rage was never directed towards you until you told him that Drew wanted you to be his girlfriend.

You were seventeen. And you were so excited to have your first boyfriend even if you weren’t in love with him. At least people might not tease you for still being a virgin because it wouldn’t be so obvious. Anakin never did make fun of you for your innocence. He always said that it’s okay to wait until you’re ready or for the right person.

Immediately after you share the news of your official relationship with Drew, he freezes and closes the lid to the piano keys.

His jaw is tight. His voice is tense. “Maybe... we should be done for today.” He doesn’t even acknowledge what you said, as if he’s afraid to.

But you have no one else to celebrate with. Drew is a secret you keep from them because he’s not involved in church. “Did you hear me?” you press.

He grinds his teeth hard, and you hear bone against bone. Anakin nods. “I did.”

You nudge his arm. “Well?”

“Well what?” he snaps bitterly. He turns slightly to glare at you. “You know how I feel ab—about him.”

You roll your eyes. Anakin is a dramatic guy sometimes. “Drew isn’t that bad. He can be sweet. And he’s going to take me to prom!”

Anakin rises off the piano bench and pats down his black slacks. “So, you don’t care what I think then?” He’s staring down upon you with overwhelming disapproval. The muscles of his arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest.

Palms against the leather cushion, you hold yourself up. You notice yourself trembling when you realize that he’s not teasing you. He’s very upset... with you. Why would he be—does this mean—does he feel something after all?

“Of course, I do, Mr. Skywalker.”

“I told you not to get close with him!” he shouts. You’ve never heard him raise his voice at  you. “He has bad intentions. He’s just a dumb kid. What does he know about loving you?”

You start to sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be... happy for me?”

He scoffs. And it sounds like you disgust him right now. “I don’t want to hear about him ever again. I don’t want to know anything about your little boyfriend. Do. You. Understand?”

Having him speak to you that way made you feel like a little girl. And you hated that feeling more than anything else. You knew that you were innocent, and you hated yourself for it because it made you feel inadequate to love the man you really wanted.

But now you’d do anything to have that innocence again. You didn’t realize at the time how free you once were. Growing up was harder than you thought it would be. It almost broke you.

You were lucky to have someone like Anakin to build you back up again, even if he was the one that tore you down that time.

After he yelled at you, you rushed out of his home as quickly as you could. The silence lasted a day. And then he drove to your house and knocked on your door. He held in his hands a bouquet of white roses and on his lips was the apology you were waiting for. 

Nothing changed between you after that. Until your next birthday came around.

Up to your eighteenth birthday, your interactions were mostly harmless. But when you turned eighteen, an official adult, the tension between you had changed. The energies you both entertained shifted and became... dare you say... sexual to a degree. Anakin seemed to treat you a little differently now that you were fair game.

To celebrate your eighteenth birthday, he was there. In fact, he was the only one you insisted that mother invite. Not Drew or any of your school friends. Just Anakin. And he had to be there because he really was your one true friend. You couldn’t imagine celebrating your birthday without him. He was always a guest at your birthday parties, but he gave you a special gift this year, one so unforgettable that sometimes you hear it clear as day.

Anakin wrote you a piano solo. One that was simple, sweet, and addicting. You told him to play it again and again. After cake and presents, you made him teach you how to play it. You were very proficient now, and often could play things just by hearing them once. But the chords he chose for your song were unique and shouldn’t have meshed so well together. But they did. Just like you and him. Unlikely friends. Star-crossed lovers in your head.

The two of you stayed at the piano all evening, messing around with the song. By the end, you both had figured out how to layer the notes and chords in an even more perfect duet. Playing piano with him was almost the best birthday gift in the world to you. But it was not what you wished for.

You wished for a kiss.

But that would mean you’d have to tell him how you felt. And you were terrified. As an adult, now you could. It was more empowering than you thought it could be.

But you never did find a chance to tell me on your birthday. You were too afraid to ruin your night with a love confession. You know he would do the right thing and reject you, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming for the impossible.

When you walked him outside to his car—you insisted—your secret birthday wish came true. Not in the way you expected. But a kiss did happen. Your piano teacher kissed you on the cheek. Your face burned the whole night through. You couldn’t sleep because you wanted to know what it meant. He had never used his lips to touch any part of you before.

Physical contact had always been an important part of your bond with Anakin since the beginning. There were always the hugs that lasted just a little too long. And he seemed to always find an excuse to hold your hand. But he was your piano teacher, and the hand-to-hand contact always felt necessary and never strange.

But following your very special birthday, you found him staring at you a little longer, a little more deeply, and he seemed to always find an excuse to touch you, not in a sexual way but in a way that led you to believe the attraction wasn’t one sided.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ears, brush the side of your arm, and sit impossibly close to you that you swore you could almost hear his heartbeat. Anakin had never been hesitant to touch you before, but if there were any boundaries before, they were forgotten by him. And you enjoyed it. His new attention made you feel special and wanted. And that was all you ever wanted.

You began to touch him too. And seek physical attention from him. You would nuzzle his arm. Slip your fingers between his. Tap your shoes against his. He’d always notice, and he always hugged you or kissed your cheek in response.

You two were getting closer than ever before. Sometimes... you would barely touch the keys, getting lost in conversation. At this point, Drew and any other boy you were interested in before might as well have been dead. There was only room in your heart for Anakin.

And you had discovered a way to tell him without using your fragile words.

You sit on the bench waiting for him to get off the phone with his mother. She called him shortly after he let you in. About ten minutes later, he comes back.

“Sorry. I was worried she was in trouble,” he says, taking his spot beside you. “Now, where were we last week?”

“We... didn’t really go over anything.”

He bites into his full lower lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “What are you paying me for then?”

You laugh because you’ve never once paid him for his time. You nudge his thigh with yours. “Honestly, I don’t really think there’s much more you could teach me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh really?”

You nod. “Actually, I’ve been writing something for you.”

His jaw lowers, and his mouth hangs open slightly. “How long have you kept this secret?”

“Since my birthday.”

He slips his arm around your back and rests his hand on your hip. “I’m impressed. Show me?”

You gulp heavily. That had been the plan today. It is ready for him. He’d never judge you even if it were bad. But you know that it’s not. You know that he’ll know what this piece means. He knows you too well. He’s too perceptive of everything. You wrote it in his favorite key, C minor.

With your hands a little shaky, your fingers glide softly across the piano and press down powerfully in chords. Through music, you profess your love. Anakin sits beside you and waits for you to finish. When you do, he’s waiting, staring with tears thickening his dark eyelashes. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but you know... he knows how you feel.

You tug on his shirt, drawing him closer. A war of heart and mind reflects on his face. He’s doubting what he wants. His resistance is half-hearted. It isn’t long before he scoops you up in his arms and kisses you. This time his mouth is on your lips, wetting them, and tugging them apart to fill you with his tongue.

Drew was never this good. His mouth was sloppy and tight. Anakin kisses like he’s done this a thousand times before. And he kisses like he wants you. Like he’s wanted you for such a long time, despite how wrong you both know that is.

He holds you down in his lap, and you hug him tightly, carding your fingers through his dreamy hair. You start to feel lightheaded because you haven’t been able to breathe, but you don’t want to stop him. If you stop him, he might think and realize that he doesn’t want you anymore.

But you’re dying. Turning blue. You tap his shoulder. And he stops devouring you. His lips sparkle when he smiles. “Too much for you, baby?”

You sharply inhale, finally catching your breath. You shake your head. You want more. You need it. More isn’t even enough.

You spend the whole lesson entangled with one another until your mother comes to pick you up.

For the next month, that’s all you did. Kiss and kiss and kiss. Breathe and breathe and breathe. And kiss some more. You wondered why he was waiting to take you to his bed. You wanted that with him, but he never asked you to go that far. He seemed afraid. Even when his affection was overflowing in passion as you always knew it would be, it was clear that he was holding himself back. Did he need you to tell him what to do?

Your make out sessions extended beyond just your lesson time. Whenever he would come over to your house, he would go upstairs with you to your bedroom, and you’d end up tangled in the sheets. Though with every item of clothing on. Your parents never suspected anything was happening to their young, virtuous daughter. They trusted him completely. And so did you. You would have done anything he asked of you no matter the risks.

Even at church, he’d find a way to get you alone. In the girl’s bathroom. During the preacher’s sermon.

Anakin lifts you onto the sink and spreads your legs out so that he can fit between them and get close to you. Thumb under your chin, he tilts your face up to his. He grins before going in for a kiss.

Your lavender baby doll dress rides up your thighs as he inches closer. He presses up against the crotch of your panties. The dampness is cold against your tender flesh. His erection only grows as the friction between you builds, your bodies rubbing against each other in a clothed attempt to satisfy yourselves sexually.

And now you’re glad you waited and didn’t mess around with Drew like he wanted when you were together. Because that means Anakin could be your very first.

He freezes up when you try to unbuckle his big belt. Anakin looks at you strangely, almost disturbed by your actions.

You lean to his ear and whisper, “I. Want. It.” You had thought your seductive voice would be enough to cast him off the edge of all hesitation, that he’d bend to your will and give you what you want.

But all you did was kill the fire.

Head shaking, he backs away. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

And you didn’t see him for nearly a month after that. But you don’t regret what you said. You were tired of just endless make out sessions. It seemed so immature, and you knew you were ready for something real.

All of those memories, those beautiful capsules of your favorite times with Anakin, are the reason you find yourself on his doorstep, a quarter till midnight in the pouring rain.

Complete desperation.

You took your moms car without permission just to drive over despite the threat of a storm. And you’re still deathly afraid of them. But you came anyway. Because tomorrow, you’re leaving for college. You might not get another chance to fix things. Death would be better than living another moment without him.

“You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls, Anakin.”

The door is barely cracked open, just enough that you can see his pale face. Dark circles surround his rainy eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, not even making eye contact.

Thunder echoes behind you. The wind blows your hair around. Leaves rustle, filling the silence between you both. It’s going to storm soon. You had been stupid enough to drive to his house just before a storm. But you couldn’t take not knowing what had happened to him and why he was dodging your calls.

The eyes that used to linger a little too long won’t acknowledge you even as you stand in front of him.

“Why are you being like this? This isn’t you!” you nearly scream. You’re so afraid that he’s not only pushing you away but also ejecting you from his life completely, as if the memories you share can be erased. He’s engrained in almost every memory you have.

“It can’t happen. Go away.”

He tries to close the door on you, but you stick the toe of your right shoe in the crack before it shuts.

“Please… please don’t do this.”

Anakin’s eyes are bloodshot as if he’s been crying. “What I want isn’t right. I can’t do it. I don’t know if I could live with myself after.”

Does he really hate me so much? Is that the truth? Perhaps it’s your naivety, but you won’t let him go so easily. You have suffered in silence for nearly a decade, pining after him, waiting for him to reciprocate the depth of your feelings. Your hands shake as you reach out to him. If he would just… hold your hand like he used to, then maybe everything would be alright.

Your fingertips brush against each other. You feel the spark instantly, and it travels down your spine, leaving you wanting to touch him more.

“What about what I want?”

Anakin blinks several times before he speaks. It’s as if he didn’t consider your feelings in this decision. “You’re… not in a position to see things clearly. You’re—”

“Don’t say it!” you exclaim, squeezing your fists. “I’m not a child. I’m all grown up. And you know it. You see it.”

Anakin sighs a long time, his eyes scanning down your body. “Of course, I see it. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Though you can never overpower him, you still try to force the door open. “Just let me in. We can talk. Just let me talk to you.”

Anakin’s frown is firm, and his stillness enforces that he’s not backing down. “I don’t know. If I let you in… if you cry… I’ll want to hold you. Then things might happen. I don’t know if I can control myself around you.”

Hugging yourself, you gaze upwards, into eyes that finally meet yours. His eyes reveal his mourning, his grief, his lust. It’s the latter that sends shivers through your body. The knowing that he wants you is more than you can take.

“I don’t want you to.”

There.

You said it.

You have told him exactly what you want. And if you hadn’t made it painfully obvious before, he knows now that you’re no longer thinking like a little girl.

Following a sigh of defeat, he backs away from the door, and you move in.

All the lights are off in his home. He must have been sitting in the dark like a vampire. The piano lid is open. He never left it open unless he was actively playing.

Anakin strides across the room to seat himself on the piano bench. He taps the spot next to him. “You’re right.... We should talk. Talk. Nothing more.”

Sitting beside him here feels like the most natural thing in the world. Here, you’re not afraid to speak from the heart. He’d never judge you even if he disagrees. But you’re not so sure he disagrees this time.

He wants you too.

“I couldn’t let you go back. I can’t believe you drove in the rain.”

You shrug. “It’s just rain. The storm hasn’t—”

The windows flash like they would in a horror flick, and thunder comes after. With a whimper, you grab onto his arm.

“I can drive you back home once we talk,” he says emotionlessly, gently pulling you off him.

But you double down and grab his arm, tugging him back again. “Don’t push me away.”

He doesn’t do it again. He stills. And sighs. “That’s the last thing that I want to do.”

With your chin resting on his sleeve, you look up at him, wide-eyed. “Just kiss me like you always do. And don’t think about it.” You stretch your arm out and fiddle with the top button of his dress shirt. “I’m not thinking.”

His chest rises and falls with his breaths. He doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his shirt.

When you rise on your knees, you’re at eye level. He’s so much bigger than you even now. He makes you feel so small. Holding onto his arm, you lean close and peck his clean-shaven cheek. He winces as if you pricked him with a needle.

“Angel, I shouldn’t.”

You kiss him again, closer to his lips, almost tasting him. “It’s me. Don’t you want me?”

Finally, he turns and looks in your eyes. Then at your mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. You... understand how this might look. What they might say about—”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you whisper. “What’s one more?”

You finish unbuttoning his shirt for him. Taking care of him feels good. You run your fingertips down his chest and his abdomen. His bare skin. It’s soft and warm. Suddenly, he grabs your wrist.

“Cold hands,” he murmurs. He takes your hands between them. He rubs his hands over your fast to warm them with friction.

“Sorry.”

Still rubbing your hands, he stands and leads you to the back of his grand piano near the flashing window.

Any other time, you would be trembling in fear because of the loud storm, but tonight you’re trembling because of the new feelings bubbling inside you. You’ve never been so aroused before.

“Can I hold you?” he says as pulls you into his embrace.

You can hear his steady heartbeat and feel it pumping right against your sensitive ear. Your piano teacher holds you against him and tangles his talented fingers in your hair. He sniffs your neck before taking a bite. His teeth pinch your flesh, and his tongue soothes you. The pain he leaves in several spots along your neck means that he’s marked you as his.

Your own heart is racing at lightning speed. You can’t think. In his arms, you’re helpless to his whims. You need him to tell you what to do. All you want is to please him.

“I’ll do anything,” you whisper to him so weakly you question if he hears you.

Anakin slowly unzips the back of your dress. “Consider this a teaching moment.” His voice doesn’t sound like it usually does. The undertones are sultry and possessive. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to—” He stops to pull down your dress, and his eyes wander over your pretty body. You wore transparent lace underwear and a matching bralette. He can see everything you hide from the rest of the world.

And he tells you, “You’re perfection.”

That makes you want to kiss him so badly. You try to lift yourself to reach his lips, but he’s too tall.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I want you to lay down first.” He guides you under the piano.

You lie down on your back atop the giant rug. Instantly, relaxation takes over as you remember all the times you used to lie here with him, hiding from the storm. Never did you think this would be the place where you’d give yourself to him. This must be meant to be.

He follows you after fully undressing. His body is every inch a man’s.  His size makes you feel so small. He runs the risk of crushing you with his weight.

Lying on his side, he looks down at you, watching his own fingers running under the elastic of your lacy panties. “Take these off and spread your legs.” He whispers kisses to your cheek. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Nodding, you do as you’re told and wiggle out of your underwear. He snatches them from you and crunches them in his hands before throwing them over his shoulder. You proceed with fanning your legs open. The air is frigid as it touches you.

Anakin is looking where no one else has. “I’m so proud of you for waiting. Saving yourself just for me.”

You gasp as he kisses you between your legs. He kisses you there for a long time. It feels strange and wonderful. The feeling building inside you makes you moan and your toes curl. You feel so good your body aches. You hear your own heartbeat. You breathe but can’t find relief. Nothing soothes the need inside you but his mouth, his lips, his tongue. And before long you hit the breaking point, pleasure storming through your body from your place beneath him. Your cries are dampened by the thunderous sounds outside, but he hears you. He stops to look at your face. Making eye contact with him heightens the vulnerability of the situation. The intense way he looks at you burns. He notices every little change in your expression.

Anakin knows he made you feel good, but he still asks, “Did you like that?” He brushes the wild strands of hair away from your face. You know you’re precious to him. He sweetly kisses your forehead. “I like your taste.”

Your cheeks are seared by that comment. You cover your eyes, not wanting to let him see how he’s affecting you. “I did like it.”

“Do you want to do more?” He kisses your lips this time, and you taste yourself. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready!” you lift your head up and cup his cheek. “Don’t make me wait longer. I’m leaving tomorrow.” You bite your lip, knowing how dangerous what you’re about to say is because of who you’re saying it to. “Do you really want some college guy to be the one who gets me first?”

As if trying to reject the image you gave his mind, he closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. “No,” is his short answer. From the way his lips are pressed together, you know he wants to say more, but he’s saving you from his own selfish anger.

“Me either.” You rub his cheek with your thumb. “Anakin,” it feels right to call him by his first name instead of Mr. Skywalker, “I’ve waited for you. I always knew this would happen.”

He chuckles lightly. “I never gave you permission to use my name. Don’t forget—” he grunts as he slides two of his fingers between your slick folds and pushes them inside, “your manners, young one.”

These same fingers were the ones that rested atop yours when you were first learning to play piano. They pointed to the right key when you played the wrong note. They pointed to the sheet music to guide you along for all these years. They held your hands when they were cold.

And now he’s using them to teach you something new. But he’s just as skilled at fingering you as he is with music. You’re like his new instrument. He’s plucking all the right strings in just the right way to make you cry out for him. With your body pliant, he controls when you come. He doesn’t make you wait for it. He uses his thumb too and nudges until you come. It’s wetter than the last. And he instructs you to lick his fingers off when he’s done.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks again. “Don’t hate me for asking.” He hangs his head a little.

What he doesn’t understand is how insatiable he’s caused you to be. There were so many times you thought you might explode from how desperately you wanted him. But now it’s okay if that does happen.

“Keep going. Please,” you beg. You’re not ready to stop. You’ve waited for this moment since you were fourteen years old. If it were up to you, you’d live here forever.

“If that’s what you really want,” Anakin moves from lying at your side to settling himself between your legs.

“It is,” you reassure him. Holding onto his neck, you pull yourself up a bit. “Can you kiss me too?”

He grins before pushing you down, his large hand spread out over your soft stomach, and he chases your lips as you fall. You’re partially distracted by his mouth as his cock slides inside you. You had expected it to be more of a challenge, all things considered. Throughout high school, your friends always complained about how much it hurt their first time. Some girls bled too. And that had scared you, which is one of the reasons you never took Drew up on his many offers of a “good time.” Deep down you knew he wouldn’t treat you right. But Anakin clearly is experienced with having sex. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as you thought he had been all those years.

This being your very first time, it does sting when he fills you completely, his bony hips pressed against yours. You feel the tightness and the stretch. But you enjoy how it feels. You’re so close to passing out just because this is as close as you can get to someone.

Anakin rocks in and out slowly. Maybe he can feel that you’re tired. He’s being gentle with you despite how much he wants to rail your cunt to shreds. You can tell when he’s holding himself back. He has that weary, pained look in his rainy eyes. A part of you wants to tell him that it’s okay. Let go. But you both know that you couldn’t handle the full extent of his lust.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks before sinking his teeth into a bruise along your neck.

Short of breath, you answer, “I said... anything.”

“Okay,” his shaky voice whispers. He buries his face into the curve of your neck and moans your name into your skin. He pulls your hair gently as he finishes, his heat spreading through your core. It’s so much that you feel it leaking out.

After, he holds you there all night long. He doesn’t let you leave. And you wouldn’t want to escape.

The three words he says to you as you leave his house the morning after, you realize that he’s lied to you all the years you’ve known him.

The piano isn’t his only love or his only obsession.

It’s an outlet, and yet a mask for his sin nature which you understand more deeply than any other girl ever will.

He’s kept his real obsession hidden from everyone but you.

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[warnersister]

Stay in your lane

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

Inspired by the song ‘Stay In Your Lane’ by Bronson Diamond and Greta Stanley

Summary: Jake finally realises it’s time to settle down when this mission could become fatal, especially when he sets eyes on the woman he knows is destined to be his future wife - but with his ‘Hangman womaniser’ reputation floating around Top Gun, it won’t be that easy.

Jake had seen you at the bar for a few weekends running now. And each weekend he had drunk enough Dutch courage yet never actually managed to speak to you. He’d first seen you the evening he was first reinstated at Top Gun for the uranium-plant ‘suicide mission’ and with this evening being the penultimate one before Maverick would construct his final flight crew; he’d decided now was a better time than ever. He’d die a happy man knowing he’d at least taken the jump with you.

He was enamoured; whipped the moment he’d first laid eyes on you. The moment all his ‘fuck-boy’ antics and aspirations melted before him and some homeliness grew. He’d always been teased for his charming bed-side manner: before sneaking out the morning after, not forgetting to delete his number from the poor girl’s phone then dashing out the door with another mark to his name and a victorious smirk on his lips.

But recently he’d been sick of the reputation he’d grown to be so proud of, almost embarrassed by his own name and face - he wasn’t blind to the two strands of grey hair that appeared behind his left ear, he wasn’t getting any younger. He didn’t want to be the unmarried sailor who had too much fun as a bachelor in his earlier years and never settled down. Jake didn’t like the idea of dying alone.

Especially not now this mission was looming ever closer.

You’d walked into the bar just before Rooster began serenading the piano, when Hangman was teasing the ‘old timer’, soon to be instructor and throwing him out of the bar for being unable to pay for the tab the aviators and civilians had accumulated for him as a consequence of his phone being on the table top. Jake had turned and winked at you when he’d ordered another beer on Maverick, one for you too for which you just rolled your eyes, unimpressed. Needless the say for once that actually bruised Hangman’s indestructible ego. Normally he wouldn’t have batted an eye when being rejected by a girl at a bar; simply moving onto his next endeavour to take some gullible girl home by the end of the night.

But you didn’t seem like that kind of girl: you seemed like a lady - a woman. And your rejection wounded him more than any bullet or stab any could.

And now you were here for the third weekend running and he was ready to finally try ask you out, especially before he got too drunk too - already racking up his eighth beer and fifth whiskey, even chancing some of the sailor’s rum sitting in the glass cabinet with all the expensive liquor. “Man, just go.” Javy said, elbowing Hangman deep enough to wind him slightly. “What if she rejects me?” Javy laughed. “Jake ‘womaniser’ Seresin is worried about being rejected?” But his chortle died down when he saw the serious conflicting expression on his fellow aviator’s face. Javy thought for a moment before walking over to Rooster and concocting a plan with him. “Hangman won’t talk to lady?” The sunglasses-clad man laughed. “Funny.” Javy shook his head. “No man I’m serious. Look at him.” They both looked across the bar to the man looking helplessly at the newly familiar girl chatting with Penny with a comfortable grin on her face.

“Damn if Hangman doesn’t want her I’ll have her.” Rooster commented, pulling his sunglasses to the end of his nose to look at you properly and whistling lowly. Javy slapped his chest, having a lightbulb moment “I’ve got it. You go and tell him that.” Rooster raised a brow waiting for him to elaborate. “Go over there, tell him you’re gonna go chat her up and watch how fast he moves.” Rooster smirked, loving the fact he was being offered the opportunity to wind up Hangman. “Next rounds on you.” He told Javy, hitting him on the back as he strutted over to the lovesick man by the pool table.

Rooster mirrored his actions from a few moments prior, eyeing you like a tall glass of water after days stranded in the heat-infested desert. He whistled, gaining Hangman’s attention, forcing him to drag his attention away from you. “Who’s the honey at the bar? She is mighty fine.” Rooster commented, biting his lip slightly. “Found my mission for tonight, wish me lucky.” He patted Hangman’s shoulder, who was getting progressively more aggravated by Rooster’s comments - not even noticing how tight his grip was on his beer before it was slammed on the table and he raced past Rooster. “Back off, porn-tash.” He grumbled and the tanned man smirked, his job was done.

Jake marched straight over to you and leant against the bar beside you, ordering another beer off of Penny and requesting she get you another of whatever you were drinking, turning to smirk at you gently. You looked at him, unimpressed but with a small smile on your lips. “Evening darlin’” Jake nodded at you, trying to make his charms work one last time. “Evening.” You replied, thanking Penny for your new drink, and him too. “Thanks for the drink, but I can pay for myself.” You say, not trusting the khaki uniforms regardless of what the face wearing them told you.

“And I don’t doubt that, allow me to apologise for treating the gorgeous lady at the bar.” He says jokingly, taking a seat beside you. “What’s your name darlin’” you laugh slightly and tell him. “And what’s yours?” You retort. “Jake. But my coworkers call me Hangman.” He told you, trying to woo you with his Naval charm. “Hangman? What, did you lose a game? Not enough consonants?” He laughed at you. Normally now he’d made a joke about him being ‘hung’ in more ways than one but he stopped himself, wanting to impress you/ not seduce you.

He continued to attempt make small talk with you throughout the evening, you hardly entertaining his antics. “Look, Hangman” you say straight, after your third drink, compliment of him of course. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if your goal is to get me in your bed by the end of the night, you’ve got another think coming. You have a reputation around this base and I don’t intend on becoming another one of your one-nighters.” You throw back the rest of your drink. “So thank you for the drinks, but this ends here.” You say, about to stand up before a rough yet gentle touch reached out to keep you sat, prompting a frustrating and challenging look in return.

“I’ve been shot and I’ve been stabbed but I’ve never been so madly in love as I am with you.” He said all of a sudden, causing you to sit right back down in your seat; shock overcoming you. “Excuse me?” You say, almost thinking you hadn’t heard this infamous aviator you’d only known for the past two hours admitting his adoration for you. “Look I that my reputation proceeds me, but seeing you for the first time three weeks ago made me realise somethin’, darlin” he licked his lips in nerves, gathering his thoughts: prepared to admit to you. You cocked your head to one side, almost unable to speak “I know we just met, but if I had to bet I´d say you feel the same way too”

“Cause I’ve realised that when I first looked at you, in that gorgeous dress with that bright smile, self-sufficient and head strong I knew I’d have to drop my ridiculous play-boy persona sometime soon. Especially if I wanna settle down with a mighty-fine gal such as yourself.” He admits, looking down nervously and swallowing - adam’s apple bobbing as you question his intentions and think that he may be more gentle than his reputation had told you.

Suddenly The Righteous Brothers’ infamous song amongst Miramar pilots began playing; You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’ and Hangman smirks and an idea develops within his mind. He stands and offers a hand to you “dance with me, please?” You give a small smile, allowing your heart to lead instead of your preemptive mind familiar with his kind and laced your hand in his, standing and smoothing your dress which he found incredible endearing.

He began swaying back and forth, talking so loud you could barely hear the band. As he sung along to the sound, keeping his hands respectively on your hips and eyes never straying away from your own. When the song had finished he necked the rest of his beer, drinkin´so fast you were surprised he could even stand. Even trying to be endearing; making a fool of himself dancing just to hear you laugh, dancin´ like a crab running over the stinkin´ hot sand.

Eventually you both moved to the cracked-open door adjacent to the beach, sitting on the deck as he eyed the hand closest to him, but you were still hesitant - the infamous ‘Hangman’ reputation weighing heavy in your mind. His pinky inching towards your own and you chuckle gently, shaking your head “and I was hopin’-” you cut him off “you were dreamin´ if you thought you were gonna be holdin´ my hand” you inform him.

“Later Hangman!” You both hear and turn to see the rest of the dagger squad making their way out of the bar, Nat winking at you unbeknownst to Jake and you requite her gesture. “Later!” He waves them off. He stands and struts to the bar, taking you with him to jot his details on a napkin “here is my number, call me when you get home” he slides it to you, to which you reverse his action, pushing it back to him “that number ain’t no good to me, ´cus I don’t own a telephone” you shrug, but he knew it was in your jacket pocket.

“Well then,” he scribbles again “here is my address, write to me if you could” he suggests and you shrug “well, I never finished school, my writin´ just ain’t no good” he grits his jaw slightly “the way you carry yourself tells me otherwise, ma’am.” he says and you smirk, leaning closer to whisper in his ear “that’s doctor to you, Jake.” He shivers at the way you say the name he’s been used to hearing since birth. But hearing you say it was so raw: so true. So right.

He raises a brow “Doctor? News to me” “y’never asked.” You say gently. “Final call! Another round or get your asses safely home ladies and gents!” Penny announces in a holler from her position behind the bar, to the final few stragglers at the Hard Deck; including yourself and Jake.

He opens the door for you; winking as you feign flattery and naming him a gentleman, you both thanking Penny for the evening and leaving to your respected vehicles. “Now the bar’s are closin´, and we’re leavin´ at the same time” he comments, entwining your hand with his which you begrudgingly feel absentmindedly closing around his, also. You shake your head and look up to him “So stay in your lane, boy and I’ll stay in mine” you say and his eyes sadden slightly, reaching your car and you lean against it, welcoming him trapping you against the driver’s-side door “Ive been shot and I’ve been stabbed, but I’ve never been so sad knowing I’ll never see you again” he says, pulling your hand up to kiss each knuckle, not allowing himself to disrupt eye-contact; fearing that as quick as you came into his sights, you’d be gone.

You smile, using your free hand to caress his cheek slightly; him leaning into your soft touch. “Don’t be so dramatic, I’m at this bar every damn weekend” you say matter-of-factly, leaning to kiss his cheek before pulling away and climbing into your car. “Goodnight, Hangman.” And you reverse away, a pang in his heart until he felt for his phone in the back pocket of his summer whites, a small strip of paper falling out alongside it. He picks the unknown scribe from the gravel and inspect it - your phone number written in a neat hand and he grins - maybe his bedside manner was improving.

And that mission crept up on the daggers quicker than they’d ever hoped and Hangman found himself antsy in his cockpit, about to take off to go save his instructor and career-long buddy: not that either of them would ever admit their comradeship. He closed his eyes and pictured your tired face that gleamed back at him at the twilight hour he’d last saw you, knowing you were the reason he’d return from this final task - listening to the air traffic control counting down until his take-off.

Before he’d realised, he’d acquired another air-to-air confirmed kill under his belt of a fifth-generation fighter and was headed back to base to celebrate. “Well done aviators, helicopter paramedics Reaper and Sunny are waiting on deck to check you all over.” The voice instructs over comms. “Reaper? Why’d they call ‘em that?” Hangman asks with a chuckle and the voice was dormant for a few seconds. “We usually send her when we think there’s gonna be dead needing reviving.” And soon the callsign wasn’t a joke and they realised the higher-ups were more prepared for this suicide mission than the pilots were.

Hangman climbed out of his aircraft and shook hands with Rooster, all just happy to be safe back on deck after a successful mission. “Lieutenant Seresin!” One of the engineers called “you’ve been instructed to go be checked over by Reaper.” Jake nods and walks through the crowd giving him pats on the back, to the helicopter. “Reaper? I’ve been told to be assessed.” The paramedic pivoted to face him and his facade dropped, as you stood before him in your pilot get-up and medical equipment strung onto your shoulder.

You sighed heavily “thank god you’re okay” you say and he wordlessly approaches you and dips you in a long-awaited kiss “please give me a chance, don’t make me stay in my lane, princess”

“Wouldn’t think of it, cowboy”

[sherwees]

piano lessons

cw: dubcon, more angsty idk, reader and kun are implied to have a LEGAL age gap, riding, maybe a sir kink, kun uses “sweetie” “sweetheart” etc etc on reader, lots of praising coming from kun too.

side note : I think I made kun praise the reader more than they actually fucked so urm.. uhhhhhhhh 👁👁

extra : I remember when my elementary music teacher told me I had long hands and I would be a great piano player.

extra extra : I used the word fucking and eyes too much for my liking.

apart of the nct corny porn plots series!

“how about you play this?”

once you hummed at kun's recommendation, he grabbed the music packet and set it in front of you. intently watching him place his finger on the cnote then drag it to the rest of the notes then stop it right at the dash.

“see this,” he tapped at d in between the a and f. “this is where you get really..” kun tries to express it with his hands but he places his hand on his thick thighs in defeat. “overwhelmed..” he finished with a sigh, he met eyes with you but you really met eyes with a key on the far end.

you simply nodded with a short-lived smile, his eyes narrowed in confusion before he tilted his head and nudged your shoulder. “come on, give me a real answer..” kun kept on nudging it until you grinned, he suspects that you're distant and jittery because of the death of your previous instructor but it's really because of how fucking sexy he was omg you wanted a slice of THAT.

“also, keep your wrists forward..” HE FUCKING GRABBED YOUR WRIST AND AND AND AND AND FUCKING POINTED IT FORWARD but lightly and hesitantly as if he was scared to break you, his hands were coarse but comfortably soft. “don't hunch,–” he mocked your stature right before you realized and straightened it.

“don't worry, you're doing much better than usual..” kun muttered, giving you a coy smile to somehow pay off his passive aggressive comment.

you started to play the familiar tune of the sonata, your mind trying to drift from the lingering touch on your waist. one part of your mind focused on moving away from his intruding hands; your spine angling uncomfortably to the left. the other on your frolicking fingers on the arrays of keys, you felt yourself starting to panic but for which reason?

him or that certain section of notes coming up??

maybe you could take your mind off of it?

think about the ache of your fingers but what about the fingers creeping around & across your waist

man fuck it.

you slammed the keys with a huff before covering your face, “I can't get this if you're rubbing all over me!” you said with an irritated tone, it was more embarrassing that you described it that way.. but you still got your point out visibly based off kun's offended look.

“a real pianist w–”

“WOULDN'T BE DISTURBED BY LITTLE THINGS LIKE THAT, OKAY I GET IT!” you snapped, standing up from the ottoman then slapping your hands to your sides; your fist balling together slowly. kun stared at your stiff figure with a sigh, but his eyes mused at your pouty lips; he yearned to finally kiss them.. but that's a little.. weird, isn't it?

“my apologies, maybe we need a break?” he suggested in a murmur, trying to hide his smile as he tapped a key lightly but the piano never emitted a sound. the tension was palpable and kun was sure that he'll make it boil over but.. to his liking. no matter what he had to do.

you took a breather, were you more overwhelmed about his absolute SEXINESS OMG YOU WANTED TO FUCK OMFGGGGG or about the piano piece? it was–

“now let's try that again, yeah?” his head peaked out of your peripherals, his eyes filled with some sort of mysterious enthusiasm. as if you were in some sort of illusion, you sat back down. “that's more like it..” kun whispered, his shoulder nudged against yours unintentionally. you didn't notice how the side of your knees were touching, your forearms nearly touched with every movement. freaky ass bitch...

once you were calm, you started playing again. his eyes intently watching your concentrated expression; how your eyes squinted at some points, your jaw clenching once you got to that one sixteenth note that bothered you two weeks prior.

“you're doing really well..” kun reassured, his breath was caught in his throat once he felt a tension at the base of his length with every move of your fingers.

man.. that third note kinda hit different this time..

after finishing, you haven't realized that you were sweating until you pulled your hands from the board. goddamn bitch, you were out of breath?!

kun stood up adruptly with a contempt sigh, brushing your sweaty forehead once you looked at him. you felt kun's hand quiver against your hairline before it felt to his waist, the silence was heavy and ominous. you couldn't even bother to make eye contact with him because of the goosebumps that tingled on the side of your neck. he literally wouldn't stop staring; he probably wasn't even blinking oh my fucking god.

after the sequence of silence, he finally said, “you did great today, sweetheart..” he complimented, hoisting you up by your arms into a hug. kun relished in the feeling of your warm skin against his cold own. “m’ so proud of you..” he whispered the praise into your ear, his lips grazed your lobe.

“I think you deserve an award, hmm?” kun seducted you, the familiar warmth and prickle of goosebumps followed up your neck.

“urm, what?!” you accidentally yelled, turning the tension cold. “huh?” kun said before pulling back, his face contorted in confusion as if he didn't do all that and a bag of chips. he quickly composed himself with a deep breath and clearing of his throat once he noticed your expression still remained angered, frustrated and overall fucking CONFUSED? I MEAN LIKE?!!

he totally got lost in the moment, kun needed to realize that he was your instructor and nothing more. not a lover. it hurt that you didn't see him like that and that you'll never understand how bad he wanted to embrace your warmth and revel in the feeling of the succulent plumpness of your lips. but he couldn't and he shouldn't.

“don't fucking act stupid!” your pent-up irritation scorched kun's frangible heart. “I know, I know, I fucking know!” his hand slammed an array of keys before he rubbed his forehead with a sigh. kun's hand perched on his hip before he looked back up at you, his deep brown eyes teary with hurt.

“I've tried so hard to keep us two platonic in some sort but I just can't do it! you're too much..” his forehead lines frowned in distress whilst his index and thumb met the inner corner of his eyes.

“I mean, I really wanna help you but at the same time, I-I just can't help myself.” he concluded with a restraint tone, his hand unintentionally slamming against the keys again but he found leverage on the top of the piano.

kun let out a throaty sigh once your eyebrows finally rested, “l-let's just continue,okay?” his eyes fell to the ground before he sat back down and you only followed; you didn't want to hurt him further.

once your fingers settled on the keys, your eyes managed to zone in on his heavy ass erection.

just look away, not at his jawline.. look away, maybe at his nose?! maybe at the outline of his maybe soft lips.. MAYBE AT THAT ONE MOLE UNDER HIS EYE?!! MAYBE THE MOLE THAT'S PEEKING OUT OF HIS OPEN BUTTON UP SHIRT?!!! MAYBE OR MAYBEEEE—

“okay- I—” you stood up with your hand on your forehead but immediately moved it away once it reminded you of him. nearly regurgitating the smoothie you chugged 12 hours ago that kun COINCIDENTALLY bought you, you managed to keep your stern authority.

but it completely faltered once he stood up too.

your hand surprisingly caught you, using the side of the piano. “just give me another chan–” he paused his soon series of pleads once he noticed that you shook your head, “it's fine, I'm just..” you trailed off, eyeing kun's erection for a second before looking back up at his eyes; they held some sort of.. weird.. erotic.. vibe to it..

“at this point, it's whatever you decide.”

“decide what?”

“if you wanna go home or to continue our lesson.” he said simply. “I'm just going to teach you.. nothing more.” kun suggested with some sort of grudge behind his words.

“I mean.. you're fine–I'm fine.. I mean– fuck, I'm so over this!” you cowered into your quaking palms before kun's hands (which you now noticed were abnormally larger than yours) pulled them away with a reassuring smile, it was like he was taunting you.. along with his dimples that poked inward.

“how about we just finish our lesson?” he sounded like a fucking robot, you hated it.. hated the fact that he was fucking ignoring that he was messing with you in the beginning of this bitchass lesson, the “sweethearts” “sweeties” that you had to deal with, his touches, his smile, his dimples, his lips, his hands,

just fucking everything, you hated him.

it wasn't a hate, you loathed him.

“stop acting like everything's okay! it's not.”

“well fine then!” he snapped, causing you to jolt lightly. “you have driven me insane since the first week I've even taught you.. I always tried to keep my feelings at bay just so I could fulfill your dream or whatever the hell and help you get over the death of your first instructor.. it hurt so bad when I saw you crying after our first day together.. I tried so fucking hard to be there for you.. provide for you and you just don't meet me in the middle, you've never even thought or bothered to even meet me in the middle either. and it's the bare minimum.” kun's tone died down towards the end, veins sprawled up his forearm as his hand clenched and unclenched with every word that seemed to be forced out of his throat, his eyes filled with some sort of animosity and longing at the same time.

“your naïvety makes my heart hurt so bad.. you just don't understand.” kun's voice strained, his arms flailed to his sides in distress, “you're just so irresistible— it feels weird that I even think about you like that but it's just..” he trailed but the rest of his sentence died in his throat, kun's distraught eyes stayed on the piano; his unshed tears bordered at his waterline shining from the warm lamp.

“I just want the best for you, and I believe that the best is with me.” kun came forward, your eyes followed his hand grasping your fingers quite awkwardly. you look up at him, your eyes were lost, confused and honestly baffled like that whole speech just for him to finally get pussy like hello?!

kun suddenly reached for his zipper simultaneously, his ample cock finally being freed from the suffocating confines of his trousers. but your conscience told you that you'll regret this and that something was off and that this was weird and wro— “sweetheart, be good for me alright..” the cool brass of his rings tingled your face once he gripped your jawline, a sardonic smile splayed on his face.

“kun, seriously–” he ignored your concern as he harshly yanked and tore the waistband of your pants to your knees. your heart raced anxiously, but for what? something about him just intimidated you towards borderline fear.

“just tell me what you want.” kun gripped your waist urgently, his fingernails digging into your skin causing you to wince. “come on now, just give in.” he allured you further, his eyes searching yours for any sort of deceit before his hungry lips practically swallowed yours. yes, his lips were actually soft but he gave too much tongue and it made you nearly recoil everytime he would nudge your tonsil.

kun quite literally tackled you to the ottoman, the warmth of his crotch swept through the butterflies in your stomach and straight towards your cewchie. without any effort, he placed your legs around his hips before pushing down his boxers. the heat emanating from his cock along with the weight of his tip on your clit alone was terrifying, “I don't think I could–” you wept, your imploring orbs meeting his deep-set ones.

“I think you could, I believe you could.. be brave for me, alright?” kun coaxed you while yanking your panties down, overstretching the hem a bit. kun groaned at the sight of your slick that glistened in the light, his tip slipped in between your folds; causing a full body shock to rack through him. “so fucking wet for me, hmm?” kun chimed, that same smile that made you nauseous appeared once more.

“you're s’ pretty, you know that?” you moaned when his pointer tugged at your clit playfully, a warm blob of precum slid to your hole. the head of his cock circled your sopping hole before he slid in easily with the aid of your arousal. your back arched at the unbearable stretch, your hands clawed and tore at his back as he tried to not simply cum over the unsteady pulsating of your walls.

“I fucking swear– just– fuck..” kun huffed, his dark brows furrowed in reluctance and concentration. agonizingly slow, he steadied his thrusts to be short; his tip nudging at your cervix. “you feel so fucking good–” kun said breathlessly, you winced once he slid out with an arousing pop before he sat up. “need you to ride me, alright? I don't think I'll control myself..” he shook his head with defeat, his collar bones sheened with sweat.

“sir– I don't–” he lazily smiled with a sigh and Pat to your thigh, “come on now..” he leaned back, his length twitching against his belly button like an invitation. you nodded hesitantly before straddling his lap, looking down at his length; your stomach dropped but once you took a deep breath, you were probably fine.. for now.

“breathe, princess..” he murmured against your jawline, your lips contorting in an attempt to take his wide tip but your hole only fluttered it out. “fuck– seriously I–” you screeched when kun suddenly shoved you down, tears jumping from your eyes in heavy blotches. you couldn't even bother to make eye contact with him, his eyes were hazed over with full lust.

his big hands grasped your hips as he maneuvered you on his cock, breathy gasps leaving him and whimpers leaving yours. “taking me so well, doll..” he praised you before leaving kisses upon your neck, suckling at some point as the taste of salt from sweat and tang of perfume mingled on his tongue.

the pace you set was obnoxiously slow for kun.. he knew that you were holding back or just not putting your all into it.. he scrutinized you again, your plush but yet tense thighs, your shut eyes unleashing bits of tears.

fuck you were going to be the death of him.

with every bounce on his lap, both of your pre-releases smacked around between you two. your inner thighs were uncomfortably sticky and irritated but the pleasure that coursed through your lower region aided a bit. kun's hips suddenly thrust upward, his hips now meeting yours in sync; causing you to squeal into your hand.

“baby, you could go a bit faster.. come on now..” he really only said that because his release was practically around the corner, he was sure that you could tell from his tensing thighs and twitches of his aching length stealthed in your warmth. kun's eyes rolled back to his skull once you clenched around him again, his hips stuttering additionally with a slap to your ass.

“don't do that baby..” kun heaved, looking down at the mess under you then up at you with eastern european gay porn sadness in his eyes. his clammy hands slide to your thighs whilst you rest your hands on the hook of his shoulders, he suddenly reached a relentless pace; the ottoman squeaking ever so lightly under you both.

“m’ gonna cum...” you mustered a murmur, mixed with a sob. there was only a squelching and smacking that resounded throughout the room, your abdomen caved before you yelped and fell lax into kun's arms with a heave.

“with me, okay?–” his doe eyes pleaded with you, his cock shooting rounds of precum that made your clit swirl. “with me, fuck you're so–..” he shut himself up with another peck to your lips. coincidentally, his thumb applied pressure right at your clit; your fingers tapped at his back once the pressure started to sting.

he suddenly released, his cum combining with the leaking trail of all sorts of releases down your thighs. his chest raising up and down in a tired rhythm against your cheek, his cock releasing wave after wave of his essence until it became droplets. kun eventually pulled out of you and pulled you off of him effortlessly, your head banged on the piano keys though.

cursing to himself, he pulled your head onto his chest and wrapped his arms around your waist. you looked up at him and giggled, kun stared in confusion at your hysterical laughter before you suddenly bit the tip of his nose. it was just something you always wanted to do.

kun immediately covered his nose with a hiss and you weirdly tasted chocolate and then there was a crunch.. “uncover your nose..?” you asked, he shook his head aggressively before you simply just pulled his hands away.

you gasped, he was made of white chocolate..? there was also bits of oreos you tasted also.. that's why his cum had a weird consistency..

“you're made of white chocolate, ew..” kun pouted at your comment before biting your shoulder, you were caramel flavoured. biting his ear lobe, kun pushed you away with an honestly cute angry face. kun then bit you and then you bit him and you ended up eating the top half of his head to his eyes and he ate one of your titties and a bit of your shoulder.

both of you had to go into hiding until you were able to go back into society, kun was blind and you were lopsided. you felt bad that he always had to grip the walls to find his way around the house, always having to touch your missing tittie to make sure it was you.

so you decided to push that whole “I'll love you for all of you even the missing parts” standard away and started venturing out everyday throughout the coco woods and choco lakes, you came back with tubs of the cocoa confection just so you could perfectly sculpt your lover's face back.

taglist: @teasteeper @haechansbbg

[11rosebunny]

Hello hello!

I hope you're doing good

First of all I really like your writing ❤️

I would like to make a request, for bofurin + shishitoren with a Musician (pianist) S/O

If it's not too much bother! Thank you ❤️‍🩹

Character with pianist!reader (BOFURIN + SHISHITOREN)

Haruka Sakura

The first time when you told him you liked to play the piano he was more than shocked. He's never come across anyone with a talent like that, so when he sees you play for the first time he thought you were a worldwide genius with the brains of space and time.

Eventually, he ended up finding interest in the way your hands create all sorts of movements, there's a slight feeling of amazement whenever he watches you play.

Sometimes, when he's feeling nice he'll join you to play with you and this is your chance to teach him about the many keys. He looked almost frightened for no reason in particular but he ended up becoming a fast learner and picked up playing a simple song of twinkle twinkle little star.

Hajime Umemiya

When he caught a glimpse of you playing for the first time, he had to double take at your figure sitting on the seat in front of a piano to make sure he was seeing things correctly. He doesn't think of it as he'd never expect someone like you to play something so sophisticated, it's more of how impressed he is that you were able to take on that type of hobby.

He's one of the cheeky people that ask you to play certain songs. It's annoying to you whenever randoms ask you to play random music and expect you to succeed right away even though you've never heard of the melody before, but the way Umemiya asks if you could play is said in a way where he encourages you to try it out.

There are a few moments where he feels like causing trouble and will purposely press one of the lowest keys while you're playing to see if it scares you. It never works and he always complains each time when he realizes he didn't get away with it.

"Awh, I really thought that would've gotten you!"

"Hajime, you've done that like 10 times already..."

Toma Hiragi

The sounds of beautiful music playing in his ears made him think about how he would have never been listening to this genre of music if it weren't for you.

His music taste falls into rock and so the loud boasting guitarist and drummers was his go to music, but when he learned that you enjoyed playing the piano, only then he thought about opening his music taste to other genres.

When it comes to you playing the piano in general, he feels bad about it but he likes to watch you play more than actually listen to whatever you're playing.

If you have practice sessions he likes to pick you up and ask you if you learned anything new today.

Taiga Tsugeura

One of the very few people that is actually surprised you play. Normally speaking, a guy who's hobbies are working out constantly and a girl who's laidback that plays the piano shocks many people at how different your personalities are. You still love him though.

He offers to sit beside you on the bench if you're playing for fun and tries to mimic the way you play. It never works though.

Mitsuki Kiryu

He laughed? Not in a bad way but he laughs when he's caught off guard.

He likes watching you play as well and listen to the music at the same time.

He sometimes uses you as a background music whenever he's chilling on his phone and waits for you to join him when you're done practicing.

Hayato Suo

He's intrigued.

Surprisingly, he doesn't know how to play the piano but he knows how to read the notes.

He likes to help you with reading them although he could never play them in his life. He almost acts like your piano instructor.

He can tell when a note is off and critiques you about it. He still encourages and helps you.

Whenever your playing, he likes to stand right beside you and wait till your finish, he sometimes gives you shoulder massages after you're done too!

Jo Togame

When he found out, he called you Mozart.

He still occasionally calls you that name for the hell of it but he's still genuinely impressed that you play.

He's a bit annoying but he'll try to mess you up by placing his hands on your shoulders while you play. You'll question him what he wants but he stands there silent and starts to sway you from side to side in hopes you mess up.

Other times, he falls asleep when you play in the same room as him. He didn't expect himself to actually knock out when he heard the music you played, so when he woke up to you sitting on the couch beside him on your phone, he asked you what happened.

Tomiyama Choji

Sits there and listens. When he heard that you played the piano, just like Sakura he also thought you were a worldwide genius that could solve the natures of earth.

Obviously he didn't actually think that but he stereotyped you as a smarty pants. You yelled at him for that.

Since then, he's learned to shut up and listen to when you play. It's a bit creepy though, only after you finish the last note he'll walk up to you and say you did amazing.

[heartforbangtan]

The only exception | 1

Series Summary: What are the consequences of having your first kiss with your best friend?

Pairing: Park Jimin X Female Reader 

Genre:  Dancer AU, Friends with Benefits, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Romance, Mutual Pining 

Chapter Count: 1 /? (ongoing) 

Word count: 4k+

Content Warnings: anxiety attacks

Tag list

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You got me sippin' on something I can't compare to nothing I've ever known, I'm hoping That after this fever I'll survive  The Heart Wants What It Wants - Selena Gomez 

Current days 

Seoul, South Korea

“Park, you'll be up in 10 minutes”

Jimin hears from his dance instructor as he sits in his dressing room, waiting to perform. He looks in the mirror – his face looks tired, but he needs to give it his all up there on stage, no matter how tired he is.

Agreeing with the instructor, Jimin checks to see if everything is okay with his clothes. The instructor is still at the dressing room door.

“This is your last performance of this season, please do your best.” Jimin hears the man speaking, but tries not to absorb the meaning of the words.

It was always like this. Constantly being held accountable for perfection, as if he didn't already deliver something good enough every time he performed. Deep down, Jimin knew he had gotten himself into this. It wasn't the instructor's fault or the audience's fault for demanding too much. It was only his fault, for having set his standards so high and for having suffered so much to maintain something that is practically impossible to maintain. He’s tired, but he can't stand the idea of ​​failing at something, of not always giving his best.

Jimin sits in front of a mirror in the dressing room while the man stares at him in the mirror, waiting for confirmation from him after his speech. Jimin nods again, silently, praying that he will leave him alone in these last few minutes before the performance. The instructor pats the boy on the shoulder and gives a small smile before walking out the door.

Jimin takes a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders. He needs to concentrate and not focus on what he just heard, so he can do his work without his thoughts getting in the way.

He twists his neck from side to side to crack it. The pain in his neck and shoulder still bothers him, despite the medicine and compresses.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror's reflection. And his face doesn't look pleasant looking at him from the front like that.

Jimin is lost.

When did things become like this?

When he goes up on stage in his all-black outfit, Jimin forgets about all the problems that exist and everything that is bothering him. He hears the voices calling his name in unison and his skin crawls. A feeling that he can't compare to anything else. The only time he is truly happy is here.

He just focuses on the sound of the piano that starts playing, alerting him to start dancing.

And that's how he's been trying not to think about how he no longer sees meaning and purpose in his life. Trying to fool himself with each passing day, with each pain he feels and with each request for more and more perfection.

You sigh heavily and lean back in your chair, stretching. It's almost lunchtime and you're starving.

Before you could get up from your chair to go to lunch early, your boss hurriedly arrived at your desk. You know the way she's acting, and it only means one thing: a new advertising contract for the company.

You take a deep breath and think that at least there will be a distraction to take you out of this endless wave of regrets.

You’re already smiling when she pulls up a chair and sits closer to your desk. Even though she’s your boss, she’s also become a friend, sharing lunches and friday nights after work. So when she comes in excited about a new project, you can’t help but be excited too.

“This well-known agency hired us to advertise one of their dancers.” your boss says with a smile and continues. “And I think you're perfect for what they're asking for, so I've already given them your contact details. This week they're going to schedule a meeting so we can sort everything out.”

You listen carefully and are happy to know that she trusts your work so much that she assigned you directly, without even talking to you first.

“What is the name of the agency?”

“Hybe! Can you believe it?“ Minah continues talking about how happy she was that the company had been recognized by Hybe, which is such a big agency, but you can no longer hear what she was saying.

Your head spins slightly and you feel like you're losing your balance, even though you're sitting in your chair. You try with all your might to focus your eyes on Minah's as she pours all her happiness into you. And you pray that she doesn't notice how disoriented you are by this information.

It was obvious that Hybe had a lot of dancers and just because you could have been assigned to work with any of them didn't mean it had to be him.

“Here, I'll show you a video of their dancer. He's amazing, you have no idea!” Minah was really excited.

She played around on her phone for a few seconds and then pressed play on a video to show you. And the confirmation you needed came like a bucket of cold water. On the screen was a video of Jimin performing on stage. He looked incredible, as always. You had no doubt about that. The black outfit, his hair that was now blond, his dance moves, everything was in perfect harmony. Jimin looked like an angel dancing.

“His name is Jimin. I'm already in love!”

Hearing his name like that was like a knife had been stabbed through your chest.

Your paths went in different directions. You graduated in advertising and continued working in that field, while Jimin decided to study dance at a college far from where you lived. A lot of things happened between you two…

And now you live in Seoul. The same capital that is home to his company.

You hadn't officially cut ties, but a lot had happened between the two of you. It made you sad, sadder than you'd like to admit. Plus, it hurt more and more to see pictures of him with new friends. To know that he was meeting new people and that maybe you weren't missed as much anymore. And you knew that maybe it wasn't healthy to think that way, but you couldn't stop thinking about it.

You know. Deep down you know. Even though you try not to think about it so much and always change the subject when it comes up.

You know that between the two of you it was never just friendship. You also know that maybe it all started on that damn day you decided to kiss. And you also know that the two of you avoid this subject.

Unfortunately, you're too much of a coward to face it and question it. You never had the courage to ask Jimin if he really liked you, or if he wanted something more. To this day you don't know what all that meant to Jimin.

You give Minah your best fake smile and she seems to buy it, still excited about all the news.

“When will be the meeting with them?”

Minah finally comes out of her cell phone trance to look at you.

“Tomorrow!”

You would have less time than you expected to prepare for your meeting again.

It had been a few months since you had stopped following Jimin's performances and news about his life. It was better this way. If you wanted to finally move on, you couldn't stay stuck in this, following his every step every day.

It was a hellish day at work.

When you woke up in the morning you were absolutely certain that it was all just a nightmare and that you wouldn't have to work with Jimin, of all the people in the world.

But your happiness was short-lived when you saw the message on your cell phone, sent a few hours ago.

Best chef 10:44 PM: Hey, I gave your contact to Jimin, okay?? Try to make friends with him, xoxo 😉.

You tried to keep calm by looking at the other unread message you had on your phone.

Unknown Number 03:11AM: We need to talk.

You didn't even need to open the message to know who that number was from that wasn't saved in your contact list. Your eyes closed tightly and you fell back onto the bed with your face buried in the pillow.

You weren't ready to deal with this now. And maybe you never would be ready. Jimin was a sensitive subject in your life. Never in your entire adolescence did you imagine that there would come a day when you would be separated and avoiding each other. Much less did you imagine that you wouldn't even have his contact saved in your list anymore.

By the time the water from the shower hit your body, you had already accepted the reality that you would have to talk to Jimin. If you were going to have to work together, you might as well start interacting. You didn't want this to ruin all your years of hard work. You valued this job and all the opportunities Minah had given you.

As soon as you entered the office, your eyes were drawn straight to the glass-walled meeting room. There he was. Even from the back and with his different hair, you could recognize him. You felt your legs lose their strength and all the courage and determination you had gathered during the morning were gone in the blink of an eye.

Before anyone could see you and say good morning, you ran to the nearest bathroom and locked yourself in. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your breath was getting short. You couldn't afford to have a panic attack in the middle of your shift. You couldn't.

However, as with any other panic attack, the more you think about it, the more you get into it.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you gripped the edge of the sink to keep yourself upright. Your face was red and tears were already filling your eyes, threatening to fall. You thought you had already gotten over that phase of shaking every time Jimin was possibly near or in the same room as you. Apparently the wound was much deeper than you imagined.

The minutes passed by quickly while you were still frozen in the same position, with cold tears streaming down your face. You saw them running down and falling into the sink, not having the courage to look at your own state in the mirror again. You couldn't recognize yourself in those moments.

Outside the bathroom, you could already hear the office getting busier with the arrival of all the employees. You thanked God for having arrived early today, still having a few extra minutes to compose yourself without being late for work.

You took one last deep breath and searched with trembling hands for the bag that you had just thrown on the toilet when you entered the bathroom. You saw on your cell phone that it had already been 15 minutes since the time you arrived.

After taking a few breaths and wiping away your tears, you left the bathroom still a little shaky. You tried to walk silently to your desk, but your coworker could see the expression on your face.

“Good morni-Jesus! It looks like you saw a ghost.” Hana said laughing through her nose and you forced a giggle. This was not a time for jokes.

“Good morning. I think breakfast didn't suit me well’ You lied, sitting at your desk, dropping your bag and turning on your computer.

You didn't have the audacity to look into the meeting room to see if Jimin was still there. But the way you were feeling, you could almost certainly tell that he was still there. Either way, the meeting wouldn't have ended so quickly for him to have already left.

As soon as the computer turned on, you relaxed a little because you had something to distract yourself with, other than thinking about his imminent presence in the same room as you. However, your peace lasted only a few minutes, because soon Hana was already bringing up the subject you most wanted to avoid in your entire existence.

“Have you seen our new client?” She tilted her head to the side.

“Hm, not yet.“ You tried not to give it much importance, but she continued.

“I only saw him from afar, but wow” she made a dramatic pause and you were forced to look at her face. If the situation wasn't like that you would probably laugh at her expression.”He's gorgeous! And he has a beautiful ass!” Hana said more quietly and laughed, putting her hand over her mouth.

You almost choked on what she said. Your eyes widened for a few seconds. You quickly turned your face to the computer screen and pretended to open some tabs to work. No, seriously, this is not the time to think about that.

“I really didn't see it.”Again you tried to show that you weren't paying much attention to the situation.

“As soon as he leaves that room you have to take a look.” She said and you agreed silently, finally putting an end to this conversation that despite being short, was torturous.

She couldn't even imagine how much you didn't want to have to "take a look" at him, but you will certainly be forced to do so. For work reasons!

It was obvious that everyone already knew he was here. What they didn't know was that you were already assigned to work with him. And even worse, that you had known him for years…

Jimin was an unresolved part of your life that you didn't go around telling everyone as soon as you met them. The person closest to you in that office was your boss, Minah. But even she didn't know about your history with him. After all, what good would it do you to tell her about it? You don't even talk about it with your best friends, only with your psychologist.

Focusing on the tasks that were to be done, you tried to forget the tremor that still roamed your body, making your fingers sweat and your feet get cold from time to time.

You don't know how much time has passed since you sat down to work and entered your own world, but apparently it was enough time for the meeting to get going. You were forced to look in the direction of the meeting room when you heard movement coming from there. From the door of the room you see Minah with half of her body outside calling you. Your whole body freezes. You didn't want to participate in that meeting, but it was inevitable.

A few more colleagues head into the room to participate in this part of the meeting. And you thank God that you don't have to go into that room alone and be the center of everyone's attention.

As soon as you took a step towards the room, your feet felt like they were walking on clouds, and not in a good way. It was like you were going to lose your balance and fall at any moment, the environment getting further away from you with each passing second. You knew you were about to have another panic attack, but you really couldn't afford that to happen now.

When you entered the room, everyone was chatting casually, in what seemed like a short break. Minah was sitting down and directing the chair you should sit next to her at the table.

“Y/n! I just found out that you two already knew each other before. That's amazing. Why didn't you tell me before? “ Minah says in a cheerful tone and it almost makes you want to run away.

He told her about you.

Your stomach churns and the room seems to get smaller around you.

You smile at Minah and greet everyone in the room as you sit down at the circle of tables.

“Yes, we were... friends back in school” you feel the word “friends” weigh heavy on your tongue and hope no one noticed that.

Your eyes lift to look directly at Jimin, who was already analyzing you from across the table. His face shows nothing when he sees you. For a moment, you feel angry and want to yell at him, tell him to react in some way when he sees you, any way. So that it doesn't seem like you're the only one affected by his presence, as if you're the only one who has experienced all these feelings all these years. But you know that you can't demand that of him. If you haven't moved on in all these years, the responsibility is completely yours.

‘That's great. We don't need to start with the formalities then, let's get straight to the point.”

Minah opens a PowerPoint projected on the wall and begins to explain what the company offers and how things work. She also explains how you will fit into it and asks you to give a brief introduction of what your job entails.

You know Jimin isn't looking at you any differently than the others in the room, but you still feel uncomfortable, as if he can see through your skin and into your mind. Despite your nervousness, you manage to maintain your composure and present your work satisfactorily.

The meeting finally ends after a few more minutes of conversation and you couldn't be more relieved. The only thing you wanted at that moment was to escape his presence and gaze.

“I think we'll make a great team.” the agency manager says happily at the end of the meeting.

“I agree.” Minah and the manager shake hands, which are then passed to you.

Somehow, you managed to avoid shaking hands with Jimin in the middle of all the people in the room. You excused yourself and said you had to go to the bathroom and took the opportunity to leave. Everyone still stayed inside the room, chatting casually, without rushing. As soon as you stepped out of the room, your body shivered.

You only managed to take a breath outside the room before someone caught up with you. Your thoughts were so disorganized that you didn't even notice the person following you out of the room.

But there would be no way you wouldn't recognize his presence, even if a thousand years had passed.

“I need to talk to you.” Jimin holds your wrist for a brief moment, lightly, and then lets go. Your face turns to him with a frightened expression.

“Not now, please.“ your expression is of pain. And you are feeling pain. In your chest.

You were alone in the hallway that led to the meeting room. The last thing you wanted was for your coworkers to see you whispering in a hallway. You made to leave, but Jimin continued.

“Why didn't you answer my message?” Jimin asks, getting straight to the point.

You were forced to look at him. You hadn't realized that you hadn't replied to his message. The wave of panic was so big that you didn't even open the message, you just looked at it in the notification bar. Your mind worked quickly to come up with a plausible response.

“ I didn't see.” You say quickly, looking away from him and ready to return to your table once more.

“Wait!“ once again that hand on your wrist, just rubbing the fingers gently, like a touch of silk.

This time your body reacts quickly and you pull your hand away from his touch. You didn't want him to touch you, that was for people who were more intimate. And you weren't close anymore. You could even risk saying that you didn't know each other anymore…

Your reaction didn't go unnoticed by his gaze, breaking it a little more without you knowing.

“ What?” you look at his face, hoping Jimin will quickly say what he needs so you can get back to work.

The silence and tension between you is palpable. If you weren't in the workplace, you would probably explode at this moment.

You can't stand being around him like this.

“Please, give me a chance to talk to you“ Jimin speaks softly, pleadingly.

You're surprised by what he says. You expected him to brush it off again, say it was nothing, and pretend everything was fine.

It seems that some things change with time.

You still analyze him for a few seconds, looking for any form of joke behind his words.

You need to answer it soon because people are starting to leave the room.

“Okay, I will”  you agree, but in reality you want to run away from him.

Or beat him up until he understands that you haven't been truly happy for years, and it's all his fault. But that's for another time.

Jimin nods and finally lets you go, watching your back as you walk around the office.

You return silently to your desk. Everyone is busy with their tasks, as if nothing had happened. And indeed, nothing had happened. Only to you.

You were the only one who was shaken by this situation. The only one who seemed to be hiding in a dark shadow, without the strength to get up.

The rest of the day passes slowly. You don't see Jimin anymore that day and you don't know whether to be grateful or not.

However, you weren't able to get Jimin out of your head even if you wanted to. He was the topic of every conversation with your colleagues, and even with your boss, who wanted to go over some information with you.

When you got home at night, it felt like all your energy had been drained from your body. And your work hadn't even been that tiring. It was all emotional exhaustion.

You feel embarrassed and wonder how you're going to tell your psychologist that no, you're not over him yet. And that maybe you haven't made any progress, even with all the conversations you've had about it.

Practice is very different from theory.

Sitting at the kitchen table with wet hair while eating pre-made pasta made in the microwave, you open Jimin's message.

He hasn't sent anything since. You need to take a sip from the generous glass of wine you poured yourself before you write anything to him.

You 08:35PM: Yes. Let's talk Does Friday at 7pm work for you?

Another sip and a bite of pasta. Jimin sees it and your heart races. How fast!

Another sip of wine. To swallow the pasta.

Jimin 08:36PM: Sure. Where do you want to meet?

Shit. You hadn't thought of that.

It takes you a few seconds to think of somewhere that is close enough that you can escape quickly if something happens.

You 08:38PM: Maybe at the coffee shop down the street from the office? Jimin 08:39PM: Sounds good to me

Something about this phone conversation didn't feel right. Maybe it was the formal tone you were using, or maybe it was the way you no longer knew how to talk to each other.

You replied with another message confirming and left your phone out of sight on the table so you could finish eating your meal.

The food was starting to go down your throat with some difficulty after that conversation. You were already starting to think about all the possibilities of this meeting, how it would go, what exactly you would talk about. This wasn't doing your mind any good.

Maybe you wouldn't sleep tonight.

You twirl the pen between your fingers as you look at the notebook in front of you, searching for the right words to write down what you just heard.

Minah leads the meeting with the marketing team, including you. The discussions involve what each person's role will be now with this new contract with Hybe.

“Y/n, I need you to work directly with Jimin” Minah directs to you.

Your gaze is neutral and not surprised. Somehow you have already accepted this reality and no longer try to fight it. Maybe you were dead inside.

You nod and Minah continues.

“You will do everything according to his preferences. I need you to work together on this.” she emphasizes and you agree.

Internally you are screaming. You know that working with any other client would be like this too, but something about her words and about Jimin makes you angry.

You didn't want to have to take orders from him, or have to work alongside him.

You wonder what kind of sick joke the universe wanted to play on you.

The week goes by faster than you would like. All you wanted was the weekend to rest, but that would also mean getting through the day you and Jimin were going to meet. And you didn't want to meet him.

A/N: aaaa finally the first chapter of The Only Exception. I hope you like it as much as I like this story. My idea is to follow the line of: one chapter in the present, another chapter in the past, to explain how everything happened between them. Did that get confusing? I hope not lmao

© heartforbangtan 2024. All rights reserved.

[actuallymoon]

Draco Headcanons pt.1

Draco has a surprising knack for housework. With his parents often preoccupied with their work, Draco found himself alone more often than not. During that time, he gravitated toward the house-elves, observing their every move with quiet fascination. Curiosity led him to occasionally join them in their tasks, and over time, he became quite skilled in them, something he kept well hidden.

As a child, Draco was very creative. His imagination knew no bounds, and he expressed it through painting, drawing, dancing, and even acting. Whenever his parents read him stories, he would illustrate the characters and display his drawings proudly in his room. He often roped the weary house-elves into acting out scenes from his favorite books, even designing costumes for the roles from his parents’ wardrobe.

Draco was also interested in sports from an early age, particularly in flying. Despite his parents’ offers to hire the best instructors, he insisted on teaching himself. For a time, he was also fascinated by gymnastics. Unfortunately, a group of older boys mocked him for pursuing what they deemed a "girly" sport, and his enthusiasm was quickly dampened.

Draco’s biggest challenge was his perfectionism. If he wasn’t immediately successful at something, he would often give up in frustration. This trait was evident when his parents signed him up for piano and violin lessons. Though he had the potential to excel, his initial struggles made him want to quit. It was only through his parents’ persistence that he continued practicing, eventually mastering both instruments.

At Hogwarts, Draco was often told that he resembled his father. However, his family and relatives saw that he was more similar to his mother, in both his appearance and mannerisms. His sharp features, the way he held himself, his dramatics and even his subtle gestures were all echoes of his mother.

Draco had a secret crush on Harry Potter throughout their school years, though he would have rather died than admit it. However, as he watched Harry marry Ginny after the war, his feelings began to fade, and he eventually found love with Astoria Greengrass.

Draco was a dramatic child, prone to grand gestures and emotional outbursts. This trait only intensified as he grew older. Whether it was his sharp wit or his tendency to make a scene, Draco’s dramatic nature was a core part of his identity.

Draco has a deep appreciation for drag shows and the artistry involved. He admires the bold fashion, the exaggerated makeup, and the sheer confidence of drag performers. However, despite his admiration, Draco himself prefers to stick to his formal, traditional style and wouldn’t dare to step out in anything less than his meticulously tailored robes.

While Draco doesn’t label himself as a vegetarian, he has a strong preference for plant-based foods.

Contrary to popular belief, Draco’s favorite color isn’t green but a rich, dark purple.

Despite his best efforts, Draco cannot grow a beard. The most he can manage are a few faint whiskers on his upper lip and a sparse scattering of hairs on his chin and jaw. As a result, he maintains a clean-shaven look.

When Draco became a father, he took on most of the childcare responsibilities, partly because Astoria’s health had declined, but mostly because he simply couldn’t bear to be away from Scorpius. The late-night feedings, diaper changes, and sleepless nights were all cherished moments for him. His love for his son was overwhelming, and he wouldn’t trade those precious, messy moments for anything.

Draco is obsessed with taking pictures of Scorpius. Even the smallest, most mundane moments like Scorpius sucking his thumb seem like picture-worthy events to him. He proudly shows off these photos to anyone who will look, beaming with pride at every picture of his son.

[mrsoftthoughts]

Just Some of my headcanons of the Di Angelo(s) in the 30's

(that honestly are pretty delusional but sometimes i just want to think of them as a happy family before the Washington DC event and the lotus casino ok??)

- Maria is the oldest sister of the 3 daughters of the marchese Stéfano Di angelo and her father little gem as the only daughter of his first "marriage" (*Cof* *cof* daughterofVenusMariadiAngelo *Cof*)

- Hades proposed and married Maria because no fucking way that he let a woman of her status being judged for having a long term relationship without a ring and even less having kids with her out of wedlock ( in fact the ring was what make that Persephone don't like Maria, she couldn't care less if only she stayed as her husband girlfriend, i may explain this in another post some day)

- Hades was there for Bianca and Nico while they grow up, living with them during the spring and summer and being always looking up for them in some way during winter , they really got to be a family, Family vacations around Europe, little and silly baking days, Nico and bianca trying to convince the house personal to helping them to spy their parents dates, that kind of things

-Alecto has been the kids babysitter and bodyguard since they were born, her job is just slay anything that it dares to try attack them, even in hades presence in order to him doesn't get distracted from the family activities

-Stéfano really loves his Son-in-law, for him is the son that he never had, he doesn't know that hades is a god, but he's concius that just like his lover he is something non human and that his grand kids are also especial like his daughter, but he doesn't seem in hades the intention of letting behind Maria like Venus do it to him, and Hades is probably the only man wealthy enough and with enough class to be of his liking for his little princess, so he isn't complaining

-And don't make him talk about his grandchilds, because you're gonna be stuck hearing him talk of them for hours, Bianca and Nico are the first since that maria is the only one of his daughters in age to have kids and he couldn't be more happy when the nurses anounced that Nico was a Boy, he may be a girls father but he really wanted a male from his blood, and sice he didn't get a son he was rejoicing for his grandson he really spoiled those little things

- Nico and bianca were homeschooled and The family end up getting the reputation of being "really hard" towards the personal tutors of Bianca and Nico, actually they just dont tolerate the bullshit of entitled people calling their kids stupid or lazy because they couldn't read right lenguajes that weren't romances or Greek... Needs to say, they fired a lot a people until they find people that really were disposed to teach the kids and not just screaming at them ,Even getting people that weren't from Italy for that because their kids only would have the best and would be treated with the respect that they deserved

- Bianca plays the piano, Nico the violin, I'm not elaborating, just trust me

- in fact their music instructors end up being zagreus and macaria, they were introduced to everyone except Maria and the kids as hades cousins because there isn't a logic and no controversial way to say that the full grown adults over there are his children

-Bianca used to have a Best friend, she lived in Switzerland so they only could see each other every once in a while when one of them was allowed to stay with the other for a time, the last thing that the girl know about bianca is that she moved to the US and then... Well, we know what happened there ( in some place in Switzerland there's and old lady that still concerned about what happened to her friend)

[cupidjyu]

clair de lune

changmin x reader

summary: you and changmin are polar opposites in the dance studio. you're graceful and with a "perfect" image while he goes off on his own way, experimenting with different styles. you hate him and want nothing to do with him. until he chooses you to be his partner in a duet.

genre: dance rivals au, their dance styles are opposites (ballet/hiphop etc), enemies to lovers ish, unknowing pining, self-esteem issues (stop self projecting!), slight hurt/comfort, if you ever watched pride and prejudice (2005) you will recognize scenes, "moonlight" notes: based on the classical song clair de lune, fun fact: i can play the piano! also ik u want me to open requests but gimme like another two weeks to not be exhausted from studies PFF hope you enjoy! word count: 13k (it just keeps growing im sorry)

“Again.”

Wiping off the bead of sweat that traveled agonizingly slow on your forehead, you glanced at the woman—your instructor who was also the bane of your existence–with a furrowed brow. She only stared at you sternly, causing you to sigh with frustration as you turned back to the mirror.

You stretched your arms, trying to make that picture-perfect angle that would satisfy her, and then you pointed your toes, just like you had been told to do since you were young. And then you began to move, your fingers outstretched, your back in a neutral position, and your shoulders–

“Again.”

And this time, you couldn’t constrain the groan that escaped from your lips. You let your muscles relax as you broke out of position to face her with a slightly annoyed frown.

She marked something on her clipboard. Oh, how you hated that clipboard. You once took a glance at it and you had almost cried in bed for the next two days over her incredibly harsh remarks. Constructive criticism, she would say. That… that was just bullying in your opinion.

“Are you giving up?” She practically barked, her voice loud and obnoxious. 

“I’m not–” You rolled your ankle, making sure you didn’t injure it. “I’m just tired. We’ve been practicing for hours.” And then you turned your neck, slightly wincing at the pang of soreness. 

You could’ve sworn her eye twitched as she faked a smile. “For hours because you’re simply not adequate enough to–”

“I am,” You interrupted, your face contorting with exasperation.

She gazed at you with slight surprise. And then she sighed, running a hand through her graying hair. 

“Then why do you keep messing up?” She spoke softly this time, but it was enough to shoot straight through your heart.

“Because I–” You bit your lip, looking down at your pointe shoes. You couldn’t even finish your own sentence because you yourself weren’t sure.

Your instructor stood up, picking up her bag with heavy eyes. “At this rate,” She exhaled lowly. “I might have to give this solo to someone else.”

You widened your eyes and you were immediately rushing to her, hands clasped together. “No, please,” You pleaded. “I– I promise I’ll perfect this. No mistakes. Promise.” You emphasized the last word so clearly that it echoed throughout the room. 

She stared at you with skepticism. 

“Then go,” She uttered. “Start practicing. In two days’ time will be your evaluation and then we’ll decide.”

With a huff of determination, you watched as she opened the door and left. Turning back to the mirror, it was then that you realized just how worn out you looked. Your hair was a mess, the front pieces slightly sticking to your forehead from the “practicing for hours,” which you weren’t exaggerating about at all. Your cheeks were flushed from the constant activity. But despite this, you rolled your ankle once again and began to dance.

Vigorously.

A bit too vigorously.

Every twist and turn started to become more sloppy, more painful. As the song progressed, you found yourself stumbling more and more over your own feet and your lungs began to feel like they would collapse in on itself. 

But you kept going, determined to keep this solo that you’ve worked so hard to get a spot for. 

And it was going well! Amazing actually! Or maybe you were just telling yourself that because soon after your fake words of affirmation came the tripping of your feet and the falling of your whole body against the floor. Your shoulders stiffened as your hands came in contact with the floor and you groaned. 

Luckily, you weren’t exactly hurt anywhere. But you were frustrated. Your friend would always tell you to just take a break but you couldn’t afford that. Instead, you made a move to get up again until your eyes wandered over to where a water bottle had rolled its way over to you. 

Still completely agitated, your hand closed around it and threw it as far away as you could. You watched it skid, all the way down until it hit someone’s shoes. Pointe shoes were nowhere to be seen. Just simple sneakers. And you knew exactly who it was.

“Just when I thought I was being nice,” Changmin hummed, picking the bottle up. “Guess this is mine then.”

His voice was just so… cocky at the moment that you couldn’t help but glare up at him as if to non-verbally tell him to just leave.

The two of you were different. Not just from the pointe shoes and sneakers or from the tight balletwear and the comfortable t-shirt. It was just a lot. While you specialized in the more graceful choreographies and genres like ballet and contemporary, he was the more powerful, sharper one who thrived in hip-hop, popping and the like. And while you spent most of your time perfecting intricate moves, he was frequently finding ways to make his performance more… out there. 

Polar opposites, some people would say.

The only thing that you two had in common was being popular. Not your biggest feat, in your opinion, but it was the truth. In the dance studio, if either of your names were spoken, it was immediately recognized. The both of you were praised, criticized, and talked about on the daily, whether you liked it or not.

Opposites attract, was what other people would say.

But that wasn’t true. At least for the two of you. 

He was just so… arrogant.

“You look worse for wear,” He remarked with an amused smile.

“Thanks for pointing that out,” You snapped, brushing yourself off as you stood up, wincing at the forming bruise on your knee. “What are you doing here?”

“Walking by,” He simply replied.

“You could have just walked by the room then. Not in it.” You took that extra second to look him over. He must have been heading for practice because unlike you, he wasn’t sweaty and didn’t look like a mess. His hair softly fell over his forehead and he had those typical bulky headphones that he always wore to ignore you around his neck.

He smirked. “Just wanted to see how horrible you were doing.”

Fuming, you completely threw away the thought that he looked particularly nice that day. Clenching a fist, all the failed moves in the mirror came rushing back to your vision like waves of the ocean.

“Satisfied? Did you see all the mistakes I made?” You bitterly laughed. It was often just bickering with him. But with your instructor’s voice ringing through your ears obnoxiously, you couldn’t help but snap. With a sigh, you motioned to the door harshly. “Great. So leave.”

You had expected him to retort back. But instead, he just looked at you with an incomprehensible expression. And then his eyes traveled down to the water bottle still in his hand. Out of nowhere, he threw it to you and you scrambled to catch it.

“At least take this,” He replied quietly, no malice behind his tone. 

To say you were confused was an understatement. “Did you put anything in this?”

He laughed. “What? A love potion?”

“No,” You sputtered, toying with the cap of it. “Like a sleeping potion or–”

“And who’s going to take care of you when you’re asleep?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You.” You glared with narrowed eyes. 

“You’re funny,” He sarcastically replied. 

“Are you too much of an asshole to?” A smile tugged on your lips. “Is that why?”

“I’m perfectly capable.” He rolled his eyes. “Just not for you.”

You nodded, fully expecting his answer. And then you jabbed a finger at the door. “Get out then. I need to practice.” Without bidding him goodbye, not even a single wave, you turned around to start the music again.

But then you heard his voice again, calling out to you from across the practice room.

“Moonlight.”

At first, you just thought that he was rambling, saying random things to bother you. But he said it again when you didn’t respond.

“Moonlight,” He said again, a teasing tone suddenly appearing in his voice. With an annoyed exhale, you turned to face him. That was when you came to the revelation that he was addressing you. As moonlight.

“Me?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Yes, you.” He tilted his head slightly. “Good luck with your practice, moonlight.”

Your hand was already raising, threatening to throw the music speaker into his face. “Don’t call me tha–”

“Moonlight,” He repeated. “This song. Clair de lune?”

“What about it?” You eyed him suspiciously.

His gaze searched yours silently for a moment. You’ve always hated it when the two of you locked eyes. It always left you feeling weird inside. Agitated, probably.

“It means moonlight. Which… reminds me of you.”

If you weren’t so exhausted, you would have noticed the way he nervously fumbled for the door and you also would have noticed his small stumble out into the hallway.

–

The lights blared across your vision and the bass of the music pounded from your stomach, all the way down to your ears which only worsened your growing headache. You dreaded this party. But, no matter how many times you complained about it, it happened every single year. Annually, it was a good luck party for those performing at the recital.

You didn’t want to go and you usually never did. But since that solo was meant for the recital, you had forced yourself to dress up and finally open that party invitation with the gold lettering.

You kept to yourself, occasionally waving at fellow dancers and friends. But even while there was a particular amount (read: a lot) of people questioning you about your performance and whether you were dating a famous celebrity (you weren’t), you managed to slip away and grab a drink.

You couldn’t even tell the color of the liquid because of the bright lights flashing about. But hey, at least it tasted good. Weaving through the crowd, you were desperate to find a more secluded place. But that was when you ran into someone.

Him.

Changmin. Of course, you rolled your eyes, he would be here. He had a performance too. Which frankly, you didn’t care about. At all. 

Your eyes skimmed over him for a moment, taking in his party attire. His hair was finally styled up and you were almost jealous over how well the purple lights complimented him.

He looked at you with slight surprise before schooling his expression into something obnoxious. Or teasing. You couldn’t quite tell.

“How’s the solo going?” He spoke with an amused smile. Thankfully, the music had died down. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you had to lean even closer to him just to hear his infuriating insults.

“Amazing,” You immediately replied, maybe too fast and not very convincing. It had gone badly. Fewer mistakes but still much too many. But who were you to tell him that? Not when he would use that as his new monthly taunt. And out of sheer politeness, you smiled disdainfully. “Are you performing?” 

He raised an eyebrow at your obviously faked, higher-pitched voice.

“Drop the formalities.” He shook his head. “But yeah and it’s going to be better than yours. Though, I’m missing a dance partner.”

“A duet?” You tilted your head in confusion.

He nodded, a small, amused smile appearing on his lips. “Why, desperate to sign up?”

“No,” You retorted, scoffing. “Why would I ever want to dance with you?”

He simply shrugged with a smile, which only infuriated you more. With a huff, you stepped forward, furrowing your eyebrows.

“I hope you know that dancing with you is like stepping on a piece of dog sh–” You were interrupted. By your own yelp of all things. It was a common occurrence that when interacting with Changmin, you often forgot your surroundings. It was like this cloud of anger engulfed you constantly.

For example, right now, you completely forgot that you were at a party.

A guy dancing, probably having the time of his life, suddenly bumped into you, causing you to stumble over your own feet. At that point, you sort of just gave up, choosing to accept the embarrassment. But, that was when you felt a hand rush to your side to steady you.

It only briefly brushed against your waist but it sent sparks down your whole spine. Inhaling sharply, you snapped your head to look at Changmin.

“What are you doing?” You hissed.

“What?” He stared at you. “Nothing.”

“You touched me,” You spoke in utter disbelief. The feeling of his fingertips just merely grazing you left you stuttering and you weren’t quite sure why.

“So you don’t fall flat on your face,” He muttered, leaning closer, right up to your ear. Immediately, you were engulfed by his cologne that… much to your demise, smelled really good. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty face.”

You felt your mouth go dry and you harshly pulled away, swallowing thickly. And now, you were incredibly grateful for the bright lights of the party because you couldn’t bear for him to notice your embarrassed expression. Visibly or not, you weren’t sure. Your cheeks felt oddly warm though.

“Well, I hope you–” You cursed yourself for stumbling over your words. “I hope you ruin your… your horrific face.” God, you mentally slapped yourself.

He only grinned. And this time, his hand actually closed around your waist. At first, you thought he was teasing again but you realized that yet again, someone was going to bump into you.

“Don’t lie,” He whispered, quiet enough only for you to hear.

“I’m not.” But your voice wavered.

“Definitely.” His lips pulled up into a teasing smile–one that you couldn’t help but think was attractive–and he walked away.

With a groan, you fixed your clothes and turned around. You let out a low breath, completely overwhelmed by the sight. The crowd was larger than before and the music only increased in volume. And so, holding a hand to your chest–ignoring the weird pounding of your heartbeat from… past events–you navigated through the bout of dancing and laughing people.

At some point, you found yourself in another room, the thumping music only heard through the walls. No matter if you were one of the most popular, successful dancers of the studio, you were still closed off. Like right now, you were pretty sure your instructor would ridicule you for literally hiding behind the curtains, sipping another drink.

Leaning your head back against the wall, you allowed yourself a deep breath as you tried to forget everything. The struggle of your dance routine, the immense and loud party, him and his stupid playful smile. 

But of course, that same him happened to pop up again. But this time, he was with Juyeon. Juyeon was a sweet man and you didn’t mind conversing with him. You had seen the way he danced powerfully yet gracefully at the same time despite his long limbs. His only flaw was that he was friends with… him.

“You still haven’t found a partner?” In the corner of your eye, they walked by, causing you to hide further.

Changmin sighed. “I’m trying.”

“What about Y/n?” Juyeon asked, nudging him with a small smile. “They seem suitable. Beautiful too.”

Your rival paused in his tracks, turning to Juyeon with an unimpressed look.

“Beautiful, but completely intolerable.”

It took all of your willpower not to jump out and throw your glass cup straight into your face. You were about to be flattered, maybe even confront him and tease him for calling you beautiful. But to counter that right after with intolerable?

You hated him.

–

The party was slowly dying down, now reduced to slow music for those couples who kissed in the hallways. You would think they stopped that after high school but apparently they still do so now. You were sure you looked like a mess but you couldn’t care less as you spotted Changmin in the background, leaning against the wall and simply observing the crowd.

Approaching him, you stood next to him. He only regarded you with a glance.

“What about her?” You spoke up, gesturing to a girl. She was talented, most definitely. You’d seen her do all sorts of dances, specializing in the art of tango which you admired.

“Helping me now?” He muttered.

You ignored his question, choosing to stare ahead. With a sigh, he shook his head.

“Her style is completely different from mine. So no.”

“That’s what you look for?” You scrunched up your face. “You know it’s boring when your styles are exactly the same.”

He turned to you and you tried to ignore the fact that when his hair was slightly disheveled and the top few buttons of his shirt undone, he didn’t look half bad. Still, his looks didn’t quite fit his irritating personality.

“Then what should I look for in a dance partner?” He looked at you, bored.

You thought for a moment. And then you let your hand trail down to his sleeve. Grasping the fabric, you pulled him closer.

“Someone who compliments your own dancing,” You whispered. He stared down at you in surprise. This time, his expression wasn’t an act to make you annoyed. His wide eyes, lips parted… were all real as his gaze traveled across your features, gulping nervously. “Even if…” You paused, marveling in the way his cheeks flushed under the party lighting. “They’re completely intolerable.”

He inhaled, about to walk forward. “Y/n–”

But you were already stepping away, creating that distance that you were most familiar with.

–

Often, dance played out in steps. One-two, one-two-three, et cetera, et cetera. The wave of your arms and the placement of your feet moved in these rhythmical steps. Or at least, you tried to get them to move in the right rhythm. It seemed that the only thing that was on time was the fast pace of your breath.

Breathing heavily, you stood up to face your three evaluators. Two of them had a somewhat satisfied look on their face, barely writing anything on their clipboards. But one… her. You grimaced, remembering the sight of her constantly picking up her pen in the middle of your routine, even frowning and shaking her head.

Your hair was messy and probably damp with sweat from the vigorous evaluation but you still stood tall. Up until that one word, that left everything crashing down on you.

“Out.”

Stricken, you turned to face your own instructor. 

“What?” You stuttered.

She stabbed her clipboard with the pen, tip down. “I said, you’re out,�� She spoke in an obnoxiously calm voice. “I already found someone else to take your spot the other day.”

“But I–” You sighed in frustration, stepping forward, ignoring the searing pain of your joints from all the constant practicing that resulted in absolutely nothing. “I tried so hard for this. You taught me this solo, how could you–”

“I’m sorry,” She interrupted firmly. “Next time, Y/n.”

You watched each of them. There was some sense of remorse behind their expression but you could see something else. Something that pertained to… greed, money. You always knew that this dance studio–with its esteem and popularity–always would have those people who bought their way in. Those people who wanted your solo so badly that they obtained it with a simple check from their bank.

But you couldn’t change anything about that. So, with a deep breath–one that was concerningly shaky–you stepped backwards to the door.

“Fine,” You muttered. “It’s fine.”

Before you could even register it yourself, you were running out the door, the sound of it slamming behind you. Again, like those rhythmical steps, you tried to breathe in and out, tried to compose yourself. But, as soon as you turned the corner, away from any watchful eyes, you found yourself sliding down the wall. 

Bringing your knees up to your chest, you buried your face in your arms, allowing a few tears to slip. It was refreshing, really. You were always expected to be the perfect, most graceful dancer of the studio. But sometimes, it was hard to keep that up.

You let yourself relax, sniffling occasionally as you remembered all the hard work that turned into pointless frowns, sighs, and pen-writing. But then the sound of footsteps approached you. Still, you didn’t bother to look up.

“How’s the solo going?” A familiar, dreadful voice. You felt the warmth of a shoulder bump against yours as the person sat down next to you. Even through your muted ears, you could hear the thump of his head as he set it back against the wall.

With an exhausted exhale, you looked up, only to come face-to-face with Changmin. You already knew it was him but just the sight of your rival still brought you a scowl as you looked back down into your lap.

“Is that the only way to start your conversations?” You spoke softly.

He only stared at you wordlessly. You could feel his eyes on you, studying the tears that trailed down your face.

At his lack of response, you groaned. “It went horrible. I lost it. Happy now?” You bitterly smiled, wiping at your cheeks harshly, wincing at the burn of the fabric of your sleeves. When you turned to face him again, you realized that his face had fallen. 

“You… lost it?” He asked quietly.

You forced a roll of your eyes. Though, you knew it was useless to try to pretend that you felt perfectly content with this.

“Yes,” You breathed with frustration. “Yes, I did. So go. Laugh in my face and leave.”

But you didn’t hear a single huff of amusement. It was completely silent. Except for the shifting of clothes–the shifting of him moving closer to you. Now, his whole side was pressed to yours and again, you were reminded of how nice he smelled.

“I won’t laugh,” He whispered.

“Okay then.” You glanced at him briefly. “Fine. What are you doing here then?”

He turned to you slightly and you flinched when you saw his hand lifting up towards your face. You stayed frozen once you realized that he was picking up a thread of fabric stuck in your hair. Probably from your constant rubbing of your tears.

“Small talk,” He eventually replied, his voice surprisingly soft and… gentle.

You snorted, slapping his hand away. “With your rival?”

“Best to learn your enemies,” He humorously responded.

And even with your tears drying on your skin, you laughed. It was quiet, slightly weak from emotions of failure. But you still laughed. Because of Changmin of all people. With a sigh, you patted at the drying tears.

“God, I probably look like a mess.”

“You don’t.”

You turned to him in slight surprise before narrowing your eyes. “How can I trust you?”

“Just do.” He smiled. 

You hummed, shutting your eyes with exhaustion. “Then I’ll take your word for it.”

“It’s quite the opposite actually,” He continued. Perking up, you grinned playfully at him. 

“And what do you mean by that? What’s the opposite of looking like a mess?” 

“Looking…” His voice was barely a whisper now. “Looking pretty.”

Your breath hitched at his words. You didn’t know what you were expecting but you weren’t expecting that. But again, he was your rival. He was probably just teasing you.

“Are you saying I’m a pretty crier?”

He paused. And finally, without any dark rooms or party lighting, you could see the flush on his cheeks. “No comment?”

You laughed softly. But your content expression quickly turned into a small frown. “Shouldn’t you be practicing right now? You have a performance for the recital.”

He never answered your question. Instead, he looked down to where your hands and elbows were bruised from constant practice. Then he faced you with an incomprehensible look in his face.

“But you’re not performing at all?” He asked instead. 

Biting the inside of your cheeks to keep the tears from bursting out of your eyes again, you shook your head. 

He grew quiet again. You always hated how hard it was to decipher Changmin. He often trailed off and wouldn’t say anything, leaving you to decide if he was either going to throw another insult at you or finally leave you alone.

With an annoyed huff, you finally asked him, “What’re you planning?”

“Nothing.” He faked a smile. “I’ll… see you around?”

You stood up, your legs wobbly from the drained feeling after you poured out all of your emotions in the span of a few minutes. “Not for a while,” You sourly remarked. “I’m useless now. See you in two months.”

He tilted his head, his faux smile turning into an amused, almost mischievous one. “See you tomorrow.”

You were never one to question his odd responses. He just got the time wrong. That’s all.

—

You watched numbly as your ballet shoes tumbled to the floor. With a clenched jaw, you reached down to pick it up and shove it into your bag before turning back to your half-empty locker.

As you stood there, contemplating if you needed to bring home any of this stuff since you weren’t going to be dancing for a while anyway, your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Looking up, there was a woman poking her head in.

“Y/n?” She looked straight at you. 

“Me?” You pointed at yourself in disbelief. For a second, a spark of hope appeared in the depths of your heart. But it quickly flickered away. Maybe she was about to shove it in your face that you weren’t supposed to be here today. Which, you weren’t. But, you just needed to pack up some of your belongings.

“Y/n.” She smiled in strange relief. As if she was searching for you for a while. “You’re needed in the practice room.”

When you only stared at her in utter confusion, she laughed, completely relaxed which only caused to spiral into more perplexion.

“I forgot to mention which one! It’s the one at the end of the right hall.” 

You only raised an eyebrow at her, clutching your bag. Why was she acting so natural? As if telling you that you needed to report to practice when you were told very clearly that you were out as if that was the most normal thing in the world. 

“I don’t… I don’t have anything to perform though?” You stared at her.

She gazed back, looking at you as if you had just confessed the worst murder of all time.

“Yes you do?” She replied. “Come on. You’ll be late.”

Maybe this was all some sick joke. Still incredibly confused, you followed her out onto the hallway, all the way down to an unfamiliar practice room. This whole section was dedicated to something else. Something that wasn’t… ballet or contemporary.

She gestured for you to open the door. Looking at her with a bored expression, you pushed the door open and in just a split second, you were gaping at the person who stood at the doorway.

Oh my god. 

Your hand tightened around the doorknob, threatening to slam the door closed in hopes that this was all a bad dream. But the door refused to budge. 

Changmin. Changmin had placed his foot down to stop it from moving an inch. He tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He looked at you completely seriously. Which you hated. Because you had really hoped this was all a joke.

“What are you doing here?” You still attempted to shut the door. But he still held it open.

But suddenly, another man appeared. You didn’t recognize him but you assumed he was Changmin’s own dance instructor. He had on a bright, enthusiastic smile, much unalike to your own who constantly had a stern, disappointed frown.

“Y/n!” He spoke marvelously. “Splendid choice, ‘min.”

Changmin only glanced at you, slightly sheepishly and with his ears were tinted red. He quickly recovered though which made you wonder why he was shy in the first place.

“Surprise surprise?” He smugly grinned.

You were absolutely speechless, unable to say anything. All you could do was stare—gape at him with a dropped jaw.

“What?” You blurted out.

Changmin almost laughed at your reaction. But still, he led you out to the hallway. Hopefully for some sort of explanation.

“You’re my new dance partner.”

Okay, that wasn’t the explanation that you wanted.

“You’re what?” You practically exclaimed.

“You heard me,” He whispered. His eyes darted to the practice room briefly. “He’ll be teaching you the moves for the first few days and then we’ll practice together,” He explained in a completely calm voice.

What was up with everyone and acting completely natural in such an absurd situation?”

“Are we not going to talk about the fact that you chose me to be your dance partner,” You deadpanned. “We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Then still do,” He sighed. “But trust me on this.” He stepped closer and in the corner of your eye, you could see his hand twitch—almost like he was going to grab yours.

“How many times will you ask me to trust you?” You asked quietly. “That’s not very easy, especially after you’ve practically insulted me all these years.”

“I know, and I’m—“ The apology that threatened to escape his lips was interrupted by the door opening. His instructor poked a head out with an excited smile.

“What’s taking you lovebirds so long?” He wiggled his eyebrows. And now that you looked closely, you could read his ID card that read, “Eric.” He looked oddly young to be an instructor but you didn’t question it, too focused on the fact that you now had to dance with your one and only rival.

Changmin scowled. “Give us a minute won’t you? I’m still older than you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He sighed before disappearing back into the room.

Changmin turned back to you, looking at you with soft eyes that only caused your stomach to twist even more.

“Yesterday,” He breathed. “You looked…”

“Like shit? I know,” You snapped.

“No! You—“ He groaned. “I can’t explain it right now. But Y/n.” Again, his hand twitched to hold yours.

“What?” Your voice was meek. Why were you suddenly so nervous?

“I’m not blind to see that you’re talented. And who was it who told me that I should find someone who complimented my dancing?” He paused and winced sheepishly. “Even if completely intolerable.”

“You think that I compliment your dancing?” You whispered. “But we never danced together before.”

“All the more reason to test it out?” He gave you an unsure smile.

You bit your lip, completely conflicted.

“Changmin… I don’t know.”

He looked at you, his gaze gentle. “If you want to back out, that’s fine. I just—“ His cheeks were flushed again, a pretty pink. Pretty? “I wanted to do something. For you.”

Your eyes searched his, looking for any spark of amusement. But, he still looked back at you earnestly.

“Aren’t we rivals?” You asked again.

“Are we?” He simply replied, never providing you with an actual answer.

“We are,” You breathed out, but the way your voice trembled slightly wasn’t very convincing. 

“Whatever you want,” He whispered. “So what do you say, dear rival?” The way he said the last word wasn’t convincing either. None of this was convincing.

You sighed, defeated and unable to find a reason to say no. Hanging your head low, you noticed the way his hand ghosted over yours. Was it there all that time?

“Fine,” You muttered. “But don’t expect much.”

He hummed teasingly. “I expect a lot from someone as talented as you.”

And much to your horror, you felt yourself blush. Shoving him with an annoyed (embarrassed) scowl, you stepped away, finally noticing just how close he was to you.

“Shut up,” You said. “Let’s keep this completely professional.”

“Whatever you want,” He repeated, smiling softly.

—

You hated to admit it but the duet was fun. It was so unlike what you usually learned. You were used to the perfectly practiced poses, the straightened back, and the straining of all your limbs to get that pristine, elegant image that you were supposed to keep up. But this dance… was more freeing. It had a romantic aspect to it but it was fun and energetic while still telling a story through the choreography. 

A love story of all things.

However, you did notice that it was hard to learn the dance alone. Even if you asked Eric to dance in place as Changmin temporarily, he would refuse, saying it would ruin the “chemistry” between you two.

What chemistry? There was none. You were sure of that. 

But even the voice in your head wavered over that statement.

Now, the time that you dreaded has arrived. The one when you would actually have to practice the choreography with your dance partner.

To say it was awkward was an understatement. It was appallingly difficult.

The two of you wouldn’t stop bickering. It wasn’t really Changmin correcting your dance like you had thought. It was just… bickering.

“What if I stepped on your foot right now?” You grinned.

“Don’t,” He groaned. “It already hurts.”

“But it would be funny.”

“My ankle is twisted,” He replied with a frown, grimacing.

Immediately you were widening your eyes and stepping forward. You didn’t even notice that you were looking him over with worry.

“It is?” And just like he had done before, your hand ghosted over his. “Why didn’t you get it checked? You should be resti—“

Except he only regarded you with a smug smile.

“Is someone worried for me?”

You stared at him, your mouth agape. And then you grumbled, stepping away, only to feel a spark through your wrist where it brushed against his knuckles.

“Your ankle isn’t twisted,” You gritted out.

He grinned wider. “It’s not but I appreciate your worry anyway.”

“I was not worrying,” You muttered, looking away.

He huffed. “And my name isn’t Changmin.”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Get what over with?”

“This… move,” You mumbled, letting your eyes travel down to his hand. What was up with you and his hands? You didn’t know either.

And by this move, you meant the move where the two of you would have to hold hands and he would twirl you and pull you close, and— you hated everything about it.

“Don’t we just—“ He was the one who took the lead, guiding your hand gently to his. But he paused in his tracks once he felt your pinky link with his. And like he was electrocuted, he pulled his hand back.

You held back a smile, finding this awkwardness all too painfully amusing. 

“Do we intertwine the fingers or…” He trailed off.

“Or just hold palms?” You offered, cringing at how warm your face felt at the moment.

“No, we’re supposed to—“ He reached forward, grabbing your hand in an odd way, his fingers hilariously stiff.

“Ah,” You whined. “It feels weird.”

He huffed, his ears red. “Of course it does. We never…”

If Eric was monitoring the two of you right now—which he said he would in an hour or two—he would have bursted out laughing at the sight. The both of you facing each other, hands fumbling with frustrated faces—one would think you were playing a game of rock, paper, scissors.

“What are you doing?” You whispered, staring at the way he just poked one finger into your palm.

“What are you doing?” He whispered back, glaring at the way your fingers closed around his ring finger.

“I can’t—“ You groaned. “I can’t do this with you.”

“You have to. Just—“ And like a leap of faith, he finally reached forward properly and grabbed your hand in his. After all those instances of your hands merely hovering, it felt almost… nice to feel his warm skin properly. His hand was comforting and you watched with wide eyes at the way he so naturally intertwined his fingers with yours.

Your breath was caught in your throat and you observed silently as he brought your connected hands up to his chest, holding it close. He looked up at you, his gaze softening.

“Like this?” He whispered.

“Yes,” You replied, almost breathlessly.

He gave you a small smirk. “Then focus.” 

And without a warning, he brought your hand up and twirled you around. You stumbled slightly but managed to gain your balance as he pulled you in, right up to his chest. Instead of just your hands, it was your whole body against him.

“See?” He smiled down at you, slightly out of breath. “Wasn’t so bad right?”

“Professional,” You breathed out. “It’s because I’m being professional.”

“Mhm,” He eyed you teasingly. His eyes trailed down. “Do professionals still hold hands even after practice is done?”

You gasped quietly, embarrassment flooding through you.

“Oh, I—” You tried to pull your hand out of his grasp but he only tightened further, keeping your hand in his. His hold was gentle and warm, which put a funny feeling in your chest. You narrowed your eyes. “Changmin,” You warned.

“It’s comfortable,” He murmured and before you could protest, he was bringing your hand up to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of it.

Your breath hitched in your throat. “You’re so annoying.” You glared.

He only pressed another kiss as a response, leaving you stuttering.

–

Another thing you hated to admit: you had grown closer to Changmin. Blah blah, you’re still rivals of course. Just maybe… with more smiles and friendly remarks. That’s normal, isn’t it? For enemies?

The dance routine drastically improved. The two of you were comfortable with holding hands now, moving past each other with fleeting touches. It became almost natural. But then again, that was just what happened when you were being professional. Obviously.

But still, nothing could compare to the growth of your relationship with him. You didn’t hate it. It felt nice to have someone who understood you. You learned more about him as a person. You learned that he was always exhausted after dancing and then learned that he often forgot to eat anything after practice. They go hand-in-hand. So it became–much to your disliking–your job to bring him a small snack every day so that he wouldn’t faint. 

He learned more about you as a person too. He learned that you weren’t used to freestyling or experimenting since you were so trained to have a picture-perfect image. When he learned that, it became–much to his… liking–his job to make you laugh and relax whenever you got too caught up in your internal expectations.

He wasn’t so bad after all. 

He was still annoying though. Just like right now.

“Just once,” He pleaded. “Try it.”

“I’m not– used to the choreography being changed. Or anything being changed.” You gave him a nervous look, your fingers fidgeting restlessly. “And you know that.” Your voice quietened as all the memories of people criticizing you came rushing through. 

His gaze softened as he studied your anxious-ridden features. “I do know that. But that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

You looked at him skeptically. “I’m not like you.”

“You’re not,” He agreed. “You’re you. And that’s what I find amazing.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “That’s not–”

He shook his head, taking a step forward. He opened his mouth to speak but you shushed him with a simple glare.

“And don’t you dare ask me to trust you,” You ridiculed. 

He gave you an amused smile. “How’d you predict that?”

“Because you’ve asked me plenty of times,” You deadpanned.

“Ah…” He grinned. “You’re right. And every time I do, you reply that you don’t.”

You grew silent at that. And then you let your eyes trail down, away from his gaze. You noticed that whenever you did so, he never let his own eyes wander. They were always on you. Across the room, the hallway, even when you were sitting right in front of him.

With a deep breath, your cheeks beginning to flush already, you spoke something so quietly that he had to lean in to hear.

“I trust you now though.”

You heard his breath hitch, causing you to look up into his eyes. And were his eyes always so… bright and sparkly?

“You trust me?” He whispered.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“If we weren’t so short on time, I would.” He smiled. He reached down and like it was the most common occurrence, he took your hand in his, leading you to the middle of the room. “Then, if you trust me, won’t you do the thing?”

“What thing?”

“That thing.”

You stared at him, trying to feign innocence so that you could somehow get out of it. But he only looked at you, almost challenging you with his gaze.

Eventually, you groaned in defeat. “Fine,” You grumbled.

The next move, which the two of you had already perfected, was a simple touch on the waist and that was it. But Changmin just had to come up with a new idea. He insisted on a dip. The type of dip that was reserved for people who were actually in love and… had feelings for each other. Which, the two of you definitely didn’t fit in that type of category. Professional dancers was all.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” You spoke over the music. 

He smiled charmingly. “Just enjoy the moment. It will.”

And so, holding your breath, you approached him. His hand automatically came to your waist, just like it had in the original move. But then, he slowly, guided you so that you were leaning backward. Feeling yourself grow warm over his gentle touch that held you steady so that you wouldn’t fall, you allowed yourself to fall. Literally, into his arms. 

After the count was over, he gently brought you back to stand up. And yet another thing that you hated to admit: that new dance move left your heart pounding. And it wasn’t from exhilaration. 

You were breathless as you stared at him in shock. It all came rushing to you. The small details–the softness of his eyes, the hands that held onto your waist tightly but never enough to hurt, the small smile on his lips when he probably noticed that you had blushed.

A quiet “oh” was all you could muster.

He gave you a soft smile. You noticed that was the only thing he regarded you with these days. Occasionally, it would be his usual, teasing, mocking smile. But recently, it’s just been that one that left your hands feeling sweaty.

“And if I said I told you so?” 

“Don’t,” You scowled.

But he only leaned closer. You weren’t even doing the move again yet his hand still found its place on your lower back again. And like you were in a trance, your eyes fluttered as you drew closer to him. You looked straight into his eyes, only for you to realize that he wasn’t returning that same eye contact. Instead, his gaze flickered down to your lips. You sputtered and your hands flew to his chest, trying to create more distance.

“Don’t get too carried away,” You murmured.

“I wasn’t,” He whispered. “It was you who was leaning closer.”

“No,” You breathed. “It was you.”

He watched you fondly. Of course, he would notice the way you stumbled over your words.

“Maybe it was the both of us.”

—

One would think that after the routine was perfected—which it was—the two of you would be off to perform it, get those congratulatory flowers, and be off. But no. There was always that extra step of the stage rehearsal.

It was the one where you had to practice the routine on the actual stage, in front of two people: Changmin’s instructor Eric, and your instructor. You haven’t seen her since she kicked you off, so you couldn’t help your eyes from darting to her ever-growing sneer.

You always despised this part, mostly because it was nerve-wracking. Even though there were only two people in the audience, the spotlights, and the music blaring through the speakers made it all feel real.

It didn’t help that your instructor kept writing things in her clipboard. And it was only when you were in the center. For heaven’s sake, Eric didn’t even own a clipboard.

“You’re shaking,” A deeper voice whispered.

You blinked and turned to where Changmin was standing in front of you. It was no use hiding anything from him. It was almost like he could read you like a book.

You shook your head, pulling him into position. But, it was hard as it was him facing away from the crowd while you… you had to face the audience—more specifically, your instructor.

“I’m just tired,” You whispered as your eyes glanced down. Eric was smiling softly while she picked up her pen, leaving your heart pounding. Changmin turned to look at you briefly and you could feel his gaze, focused on how you fidgeted nervously.

“I tried to tell her that she didn’t need to come to the rehearsal,” He muttered back, his hand coming up to your waist just like the choreography asked. “But she insisted.”

You hummed. “I wonder why.”

“Ignore her,” He replied, guiding your hand up to his shoulder. Just like the choreography asked.

“I can’t,” You whispered, your voice almost pleading. “She’s looking at me.”

Suddenly, you felt his hand close around your waist tightly as he shifted the position. You watched, bewildered once you realized that even though his back was still to the crowd, he was shielding you with his body. Away from prying eyes, away from anyone who would make you nervous, he stood in front of you, his arm protectively around your body.

This was not the choreography. This wasn’t what it asked. Yet it made you feel that smallest bit of solace that you needed all this time.

“Better?” He spoke in a hushed tone, giving you a reassuring smile.

Unable to do or say anything, you only looked at him with flushed cheeks before nodding quietly.

He only continued to follow your features with his soft gaze. He never attempted to make you move, knowing that you were still nervous, your hand on his shoulder tightening in intervals whenever you remembered that you were still being watched. Instead, he just stayed put, watching you and making sure you were okay.

Alarms blared in your ears, telling you that you needed to start dancing or else you would be scolded. But, with Changmin’s hand closed around your waist, you couldn’t help but melt. You were sure that the two instructors were watching–probably extremely confused, but you were more focused on someone else. Changmin–whose body shielded you from the blinding stage lights and whose eyes scanned over you attentively.

“Thank you,” was what you could finally muster up with a soft voice.

He gave you a small tilt of his head, accompanied by a lilt of his lips. 

“Of course,” He replied. “Take your time. Whenever you’re ready.”

You bit your lip, shaking your head with a growing smile. “They’re waiting.”

“So let them wait.”

Your shoulders shook with a silent laugh. You were about to joke about how endearing he looked when protective but you stopped for two reasons. One–you were supposed to be rivals and that wouldn’t be a very rival-y thing to say. Two–Eric spoke up, his loud voice echoing through the concert hall.

“Alright,” He yelled, his voice laced with a teasing tone. “Lovebirds, let’s take five!”

Clearing your throat, your cheeks flaming, you pulled away from his hold. You didn’t notice Changmin staring after you longingly.

–

The five-minute break came and went a bit too quickly for your liking. Luckily, Eric had somehow convinced your instructor to take a lunch break. As you were fixing up the laces of your shoes, he approached you with a kind smile.

“She’s all done and taken care of,” The younger man joked, brushing off his shoulder comically. You smiled in relief. And then he sat down next to you. “Listen. On the agenda, I’m supposed to evaluate each of you individually, to make sure everything’s down and ready. So, during her lunch break, let’s get that done. Yeah?”

You nodded and stood up, approaching the stage. Oh, but you hated how steep the stairs were. Trying not to stumble, you took the first step. You were about to take the second when you felt another presence behind you. You hated how you could recognize him immediately.

You felt Changmin’s hand, gently take yours as he helped you up the stairs. When finally up on the stage, you turned around to tease him about being such a gentleman. But, his back was already turned, walking away.

But when you narrowed your eyes and looked closely, you could see his hand flex. Almost like he was embarrassed and… nervous after helping you up on the stage.

You caught yourself smiling, your heart blooming into something new. Except, you weren’t quite sure if it actually was new.

But Eric’s voice caught you off guard, shaking you out of your little trance.

“What’s so amusing?” He grinned.

You shook your head, biting back a shy smile. “Nothing.”

–

“How’s it feel? Your stylist looked you over, even giving you jazz hands to help you cheer up. Dress rehearsal–literally meant that you had to wear your performance outfit even when the audience was practically empty. 

You scrunched your face up in discomfort, looking at yourself in the mirror. You had to admit, it was a pretty look. It incorporated various little details of what you were most familiar with, ballet. It was a graceful, flowy outfit but there was something different about it. There were other… parts to it. Spontaneous colors and pieces stuck out, representing your dance partner.

And of course, there was romance in it. Roses specifically, delicately sewn into the fabric. And there was a bright red one, tucked behind your ear.

“It’s beautiful,” You whispered. But just at that moment, you twitched awkwardly. “A little itchy.”

Your stylist laughed, pulling at a loose seam. “It’s just one night.”

You froze, your shoulders raising. “Yeah,” You breathed. “One night.” And it would all be over. This impetuous thing. After that one night, you would be forced to go back to keeping up that image that you hated and loved at the same time. You would return to the same routine of scolding because you didn’t do well enough and the scorn looks because you couldn’t lift your leg high enough. 

And Changmin.

He would be over too. He would go his own way, dancing with experimentation and freedom. You wouldn’t see him except on your breaks which only resulted in petty arguments and glares. What would happen to those kind smiles that you would share occasionally and the fleeting touches even when you weren’t practicing the choreography? Would it all disappear?

“Is everything okay?” The stylist asked. 

You blinked and straightened up. “Great,” You said as you forced a smile. With a deep breath, you headed to the door, ready to greet Changmin who must also be dressed in his own outfit. 

As you walked onto the stage, you froze once again when you saw him standing in front of you, a sheepish smile on his lips. 

“Hi,” You whispered, looking him over. Oh, you hated it. You hated everything–how he looked charming with his hair so meticulously styled, how the flowy, white shirt hugged his shoulders and waist so perfectly, how his eyes naturally sparkled, even when the stage lights were off.

“Hey, you.” He grinned. And you hated how his gaze traveled over you slowly, taking in the sight. Suddenly, you felt the urge to wrap your arms over yourself.

You gave him a small laugh, stepping forward. There was no one else in the concert hall right now. Eric and the director of the recital must be running late. And yes, somehow, Changmin managed to keep your instructor from coming back in the meantime. It was just the two of you, standing in the middle of the stage, unlit but bright enough to emphasize both of your shy smiles.

You hated him. 

But… his smile and his soft gaze. It was all too hard to resist.

Clearing your throat, you played with the hem of your clothes. “What do you…” You trailed off, fighting the urge to stumble over your words nervously. “What do you think?” You looked at him expectantly. He only stared at you wordlessly, which only furthered your anxiousness. Forcing a roll of your eyes, trying to act natural, you shifted on your feet and avoided his watchful gaze. “And don’t say I look bad because I’m sure that–”

“You look pretty.”

You inhaled sharply, whipping your head to look at him again. His smile looked almost fond and he never seemed to take his eyes off you. Instead, he only leaned closer, bending his head forward to observe the rose tucked behind your ear.

“Very pretty,” He whispered. You could only stay there, completely rigid as you felt his hand come up to the side of your face to adjust that same rose, his touch light and gentle. 

“Oh,” You finally breathed out. “Thank you.” You cursed at yourself for lowering your voice from embarrassment. It only made him lean closer to hear you.

And it seemed that Eric had burst through the doors, only to witness the two of you stupidly smiling at each other.

–

Just like you had expected, Eric and the director watched your routine. Over and over, you had to perform it so that they would catch any mistakes. By the fifth time, the two of you were practically gasping for air.

“One more time?” Eric suggested, looking at you with pity once he noticed you almost fall over from exhaustion if it wasn’t for Changmin who steadied you with a simple touch on your waist.

But then, the director stepped forward. “Actually,” She spoke up. “I think that we just have to get the ending right.”

You glanced at Changmin, only for him to do the same. Just like your brief glances, the position at the very end of the performance was always awkward. The two of you could never quite get it down.

Since the dance was more on the… romantic side, you were expected to face each other, hands intertwined and held close to your chests. And Eric had especially emphasized staring very deeply into your eyes, much to your dismay. Oh and to stand very close–so close that you were practically kissing.

But, you always refused. Changmin as well. You would take a step back and he would hold your hand a bit further away from his chest, creating an odd-looking distance.

So that was what you did. Which, didn’t seem to satisfy the director at all.

“That’s all you can do?” She questioned, leaning forward in her chair. “Put more into it!”

You bit your lip nervously, taking a half-step closer.

“More!” She exclaimed, causing Eric to laugh evilly.

Changmin glared at them playfully before yanking you forward, right up against his chest. You sputtered, looking at him in surprise. He gave you a small, soft smile, though there was still a hint of teasing behind his eyes.

The director stayed silent and for a moment, you thought that she was satisfied enough. But then, she slammed her hand down. “More! You can do better than that!”

Your palms were practically sweating from how long you were holding hands and your face also felt incredibly hot from how close his lips were to yours. But still, with a sigh, you shuffled ever so closer, until the front of your shoes were touching. Changmin simply watched you with gentle eyes.

“Mor–”

Eric groaned, and you could see him standing up in protest in his peripheral view. He threw his hand out to the stage. “Is this not close enough?”

The director snickered. “Oh, definitely. I just wanted to see how close they willingly would get.”

Immediately, the two of you were blushing. But still, Changmin didn’t make a move to step backward and away from you. And so, you gulped, choosing to avoid his gaze.

“On second thought,” Eric called out. “You’re kind of off-center… if you guys could move to the right a bit?”

After this, you would be done. You would perform the routine on the recital night and this would all be over. Except, you weren’t too sure if you wanted it to be over. You were still deciding on that. When you looked up into Changmin’s eyes, you found that invisible weight–the one that leaned to you wanting this to last forever–to become heavier and heavier.

Ignoring your rushing thoughts, you shuffled to the right, your hands still grasping his. He shuffled along with you, taking mini-steps backward until you reached the tape on the floor that signaled the center.

You stared at Changmin, eyes sparkling as he did the same. And then, you found yourself laughing. Laughing for what? You weren’t sure, but you felt like you were brimming with joy. The awkward shuffling to get to the center, the warm hands intertwined with yours, the surprised yet oddly fond look on his face when you giggled–you couldn’t help but just… feel a certain emotion. You weren’t sure what. Was it relaxation or something else?

He looked at you, his own smile growing on his lips. And then he joined in on you with the laughing, leaning closer to hide his face in your neck.

And yes, you were still in that same ending position. Except, it wasn’t awkward anymore.

“I envy you,” The director sighed, dramatically falling back into her chair. “You have such heart-pounding, romantic chemistry!’

The both of you froze and turned to her in panic.

“Oh, no–” You rushed to say, only to be cut off by Changmin who was also panicking.

“We’re not like–”

Eric only raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “You cannot be that blind,” He deadpanned. “Just look in front of you.”

When you looked back into Changmin’s eyes, you not only saw it–the eyes that you dreamed about more often and the lips that you sometimes wondered how they tasted–but you could feel the now familiar pounding in your heart. You wondered if he felt the same.

–

On the night before the performance, you found yourself sitting on a bench outside of the dance studio. The crickets were chirping, keeping you from being completely alone with your thoughts. You tried to count the stars or the cars that passed by, but it was of no use, as all you could think of were the endless possibilities of the recital going completely wrong.

But your ears picked up the sound of someone’s footsteps, slightly kicking at the concrete. And then he sat next to you. Changmin. It was always him. And for some reason, you found his warmth almost comforting–something that melted away the rigid clasp around your nerves.

“Okay?” He asked, his tone quiet to match the atmosphere of the calm night that differed from your tight chest.

“Yeah,” You whispered, turning to him. He wasn’t looking. Maybe he was trying to count the stars too. “Just…” You sighed, embarrassed. “Nervous.”

“Don’t be.” He smiled as he turned to face you. “You’re amazing.”

“I’m…” You tilted your head and furrowed your eyebrows.

“What?” He widened his eyes cutely. “You don’t think so? Though,” He laughed briefly. “Better than me? Probably no–”

“No,” You blurted out, catching him off guard. “I’m just–” You exhaled with frustration and confusion. “Why are you so nice to me? I thought we were…” You trailed off then, choosing to turn back to the twinkling stars. Yet they only reminded you of his eyes.

“Rivals? We still are,” He joked. 

You could only give him a weak laugh in response. He looked at you cautiously before turning his gaze down to his lap where his fingers were fidgeting nervously.

“But as for caring for you…” He spoke quietly. “Take a wild guess.”

You looked at him, trying to decipher his strange behavior. But, all you could get from your observations was that his cheeks and ears were oddly red. 

“Because…” You thought for a moment. “If you weren’t you would be kicked off the team?”

He gave you a small smile but shook his head. 

“Because you’re in a particularly good mood?”

“No,” He breathed out.

And you knew that there was one more reason. But you were terrified to say it. You didn’t know why but it was just… frightening. But, when he only gazed at you expectantly, you knew that you were being forced to say it.

“Because you…” Your voice quietened, but you knew that Changmin could see the way your mouth formed the word ‘like.’ Slowly, your voice grew in volume to finish the question. “...me?”

And what was even more terrifying was that he nodded wordlessly. Or was it thrilling? You couldn’t tell. But all you knew was that your heart was beating fast again. And it was all for a different reason.

“Changmin,” You whispered, too shocked to form a cohesive sentence. “I–”

“I do,” He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for an answer. “It’s because I like you.”

And it hit you like the spot lights did to your eyes. He would always smile at you softly, distract you whenever you were nervous, and his touches were always gentle. You thought it was just part of his demeanor but now, things were different now. He never regarded others with that affectionate smile and soft gaze. It was only when his eyes would land on you, that his expression would change into something strangely affectionate.

“I don’t know what to say,” You shakily replied, watching as he stood up from the bench. He gave you a small smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” He mumbled, about to turn away but your hands grasped onto his sleeve. 

“Wait,” You rushed to say. He turned to you, his eyes filled with hope and disappointment, all at the same time. “Changmin.”

“Hm?” 

“After this night… will we go back to the way we were?” You looked up at him. And instead of pulling his wrist out of your grasp, he reached forward, enclosing your hand in his. Your eyes flitted down to his action, breath held.

“Do you mean when I would think of you every day?” He raised an eyebrow.

You playfully slapped him. Or, at least tried to, until he tightened his hold on your hand, keeping you still.

“Don’t lie.” You rolled your eyes.

He shook his head before gently guiding you to stand up with him. You followed and then you gasped quietly when you felt a rose being tucked behind your ear, just like your stylist had done for your outfit–for your performance tomorrow.

“I’m not lying,” He whispered. “I never was.”

You swallowed thickly. “Even when you said that I remind you of… the moonlight?”

He hummed before adjusting the rose slightly so that it sat perfectly in your hair. And that was when you realized the rose was blue, rather than the classic red. You watched him curiously until he gave you a soft smile. 

He tapped the rose gently, his fingertip brushing against your ear. 

“You’re just like the moonlight.”

–

You breathed in deeply, closing your eyes until you heard the curtains rise and the shuffle of the audience, expectantly waiting for your performance. It only took you a few hours before to find out that your duet with Changmin was the most anticipated one. In fact, it was on the front page of the pamphlet and displayed brightly on one of those LED screens outside of the concert hall.

When you blinked your eyes open, you were met with millions–at least it felt like it–of faces staring back at you. Immediately, you felt the need to freeze up and forget everything that you’ve worked so hard for. But once you felt that familiar squeeze on your waist from the man who stood next to you, everything came rushing back to you.

Soon enough, the music started and like it was automatic, your head snapped up to face him. The beginning move, the one that you practiced the most unintentionally, was easy to spot the differences over the time. When you first started practicing together, he wouldn’t even look you in the eye out of arrogance.  Now, even though he still wouldn’t, you could see that it was for a different reason. He was too embarrassed to.

As you moved to the rhythm, fleeting touches on his shoulder and down his chest before breaking apart, you realized that so much has changed. The hesitant grasp on your waist was firm now–protective. 

He wasn’t always too embarrassed to look you in the eye. Sometimes, when he would pull you into his chest, he would stare so deeply that the stage lights that already felt hot, began to feel much alike to the sun. 

Sometimes, you would hear the occasional baby crying in the crowd or the applause when Changmin would do that dip that you were so adamant on not doing, only for it to be one of your favorite parts to do, but other than that, all that resonated through your ears was the beating of your heart. Partly from exhilaration and partly for someone else. Him.

You hated him, but oh, you liked him so much. 

And when the ending came and he would pull you close while intertwining his fingers with yours, you allowed yourself to fall. Maybe not physically because that wouldn’t end well on the tall stage, but in some other way. A way that signaled to him to pull you so close and for him to lean down so that his lips hovered right over yours.

The music had already ended and the audience was clapping and whistling. Yet to you, it went silent. All you could hear was Changmin’s breathing against your lips and all you could see were his soft, loving eyes.

Slowly, you felt his hand let go of yours and for a second you thought that you might have gone too far. But then, you felt that same hand tighten around your waist, yanking you close enough that his bottom lip brushed against yours, sending shivers down your spine.

There were no words spoken but the two of you immediately got the message to close your eyes and… fall once again. You leaned forward, about to press your lips to his in which he hummed softly. But then, the curtain fell with a loud thump and you broke apart. Before you could say or do anything, you were being rushed out by the staff, with only a glimpse of the longing in his face.

Your hand came up to where the rose tucked in your hair and you pulled it out. You observed the red petals, twirling the stem of it until it broke apart in your hand. You liked the blue version better.

–

Your fingers lingered over your own lips, wondering what it would feel like if you had just leaned that tiny bit closer–wondered if he would kiss back. His warm breath that fanned over and his soft, soft gaze as his eyes wandered down came rushing back until your stomach was fluttering with butterflies all over again. 

“Y/n?” One of the staff poked her head in. “The curtain call’s in five.”

“Oh, right.” You abruptly stood up, smoothing down your outfit. Your hair was down now, rid of any clips and pins. The rose was long gone. 

She ushered you to the door. “You and your partner have a separate spotlight. Since… you know,” She laughed shyly. “Everyone just loved your performance.”

You froze. “They did?”

She looked at you like you were crazy before leading you down the hallway leading to the stage. “It’s all the crowd’s been talking about! The chemistry, the romance, the love… it was all so clear. How did you do it so naturally?”

Your breath hitched, unsure yourself. “I… I guess because it was real.”

She hummed, eyeing you teasingly before gesturing to the stage. You took in a deep breath, and walked to the center of the stage. It was dark–the curtains down with only the sound of the murmuring crowd. When you looked up, you could see Changmin approaching you, a warm smile on his lips.

As he stood next to you, his hand grasped yours and he nudged you with his shoulder.

“Nervous?” He joked.

You smiled shyly. “I am actually.”

“And why’s that?” He glanced at you with bright, sparkling eyes, even without the stage lights shining on the two of you.

“Because I’m with you. You make me nervous,” You whispered. His eyes widened slightly and his hand tightened on yours.

You could hear the countdown for the curtains to pull up, but you ignored it once Changmin had leaned closer.

“Listen,” He watched you cautiously. “What we did back there… did you mea–”

“Yes,” You rushed to say. 

Before he could respond, the curtains were rising up and again, the stage lights blared in your vision. Now, you could hear the loud cheers of the audience and you were filled with that exhilarating, heart-beating feeling all over again. When you turned to Changmin, you realized that he was staring back, a dazed look in his eyes.

With a squeeze of his hand, the two of you bowed, smiling brightly. You were about to let go of his hand to wave at the crowd when suddenly, you felt him tug on your hand, hard enough that you were pulled right against his chest.

He steadied you with a hand on your waist. And in the corner of your eye, you felt something being tucked behind your ear. You couldn’t see it but you knew exactly what it was. A blue rose.

He leaned in, just like before with his lips right in front of yours. You held back a smile as you looked up into his soft eyes.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, quiet enough so that only you could hear.

“Yes.” You spoke your loudest, over the growing cheers and applause from the crowd. “This is perfect.”

He smiled before pulling you in and pressing his lips against yours. For the third time that evening, you felt butterflies in your stomach as your eyes fluttered closed. You allowed yourself to finally and completely fall into the moment—into him, into his arms, and into his love as his grip on you tightened ever so slightly so that he could move his lips comfortably against yours. 

When you pulled away, eventually interrupted by the staff gesturing to you hurriedly when you peeked an eye open, you looked up at him before bursting out into a shy smile. The cheers were even louder now, which only caused Changmin to blush a pretty pink.

–

After being led off the stage and changed out of your outfits, the two of you met at the hallway that led to the exit–away from the spotlights. It was just you now, holding his hand, swinging it shyly as you occasionally stole glances at him. 

But just before you reached the door, he was turning you around and kissing you up against a wall. You allowed him to, feeling your heart beat erratically. But then again, that was a common thing now when with him.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for the longest time,” He muttered, breaking apart with flushed cheeks.

You smiled. “How long?”

“Ever since you gave me that playful smile when you called me a piece of shit that one time.” He grinned.

You burst out laughing. “That was so long ago,” You joked. “There’s no way you– you’re serious?” Now you were gaping at him.

He nodded shyly before hiding his face in your neck. “I loved your smile. I thought you were so beautiful when I first laid eyes on you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t say I felt the same,” You muttered. “I actually despised you.”

He chuckled, pulling away to press another kiss to your lips. “Do you despise me now?”

You blushed. “No, I don–” You were cut off by another kiss and his adorable laugh. You grumbled, slapping him shyly. “I take it back. I still despise you.”

“And I’m in love with you,” He replied, playing with the rose tucked in your hair, a fond smile worn on his lips.

—

“What is this?” You giggled, approaching where he was sitting on the floor of the balcony, completely ignoring the chairs that were perfectly placed there for sitting.

You didn’t take into account that giving your boyfriend the code to your apartment door would lead to him breaking into it without permission. One time, you came home, completely exhausted from practice and he popped out of a corner to scare you for the fun of it. It ended in a lot of screams and slapping. But still, he apologized and took care of you for the rest of the evening.

The two of you did go your separate ways…in terms of dance of course. You went back to ballet and high expectations. But at least you had someone to listen to you—someone who always told you that you were doing amazing whether that be through whispered words or kisses and hugs.

He, on the other hand, continued to experiment through various dance styles. One of the recent ones that he learned was the art of tango, ironically enough. And yes, he often pressured you to practice with him. You hated to admit it, but whenever he “serenaded you with his body” (as wrong as it sounded, that’s literally what he said when he danced with you), you couldn’t help but flush slightly, especially when he would kiss you before twirling you.

All of your friends, Eric especially, were delighted to find out you were dating. According to them, you’ve been in love with him this whole time and vice versa. You couldn’t deny it.

Everyday, you fell more and more in love with him. Apart from his constant teasing, he was the sweetest boyfriend one could find. He supported you in all of your endeavors, pressing kisses all over your face while whispering “I’m so proud of you.” Even when you insisted that it was corny, you secretly loved it.

And just now, you walked in on him setting up a picnic on your own balcony. Candles were lit and it seemed that he even cooked for you.

He gave you an adorably warm smile.

“To celebrate your special solo performance coming up, I present to you a coupon for a free date with me.” He grinned, gesturing for you to sit down.

You laughed bashfully, kneeling down in front of him. Like usual, he greeted you with a kiss.

“Are you saying I have to pay for every other date?”

“My love is priceless.”

“Fine,” You huffed playfully. “Let’s break up.”

He gasped. “You would never.”

“You know I wouldn’t.” You scrunched your nose. He smiled in response, watching you silently. You began to grow shy, looking away to stare out at the city view. It was the evening, the street lights and the unfortunate view of small windows lit with overtime office workers twinkling. 

But you felt a gentle hand cupping the side of your face, guiding you to look back at him. Then, he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he gazed at you affectionately.

“My beautiful,” He whispered, tilting his head.

Your heart thumped but you still found yourself frowning grumpily.

“Don’t call me that.”

His eyes widened slightly as he pouted. “Why not?”

“Last time you called me beautiful you said I was intolerable right after,” You grumbled.

He whined, slapping his hands over your cheeks to squish them playfully which in turn, caused you to yelp.

“You know I didn’t mean it,” He breathed. “How was I supposed to tell Juyeon that I had the biggest crush on you?”

You laughed loudly, smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt. The candles flickered before they blew out, leaving it dark enough that the only source of light was the moon.

“Then what would you like me to call you?” He asked. He glanced up at the night sky before smiling back down at you. “Moonlight?”

“Mmm…” You thought for a moment. And then you smiled shyly. “You can only call me moonlight when you feel the happiest and… the most in love.”

It took him a moment to register your words but then his eyes lit up. He scooted forward so that his lips lingered right over your forehead. And then he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your skin.

“Moonlight,” He whispered.

“Oh,” You stuttered. He didn’t respond, instead, moving to press another kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Moonlight,” He muttered again, louder this time as his hand trailed down to caress your jaw.

You shut your eyes, suddenly overcome by the need to hide your face. But still, you felt his lips now hover over yours. He tilted your chin up, pulling you into the softest kiss you’ve ever experienced.

“My moonlight.”

You flushed pink, looking at him with wide eyes. “You—“

“I do feel the happiest and the most in love.” He smiled. “Right now.”

Immediately you were melting into his touch before gaining enough strength to lurch forward, throw your hands around his neck, and kiss him as much as you could. 

“Me too,” You giggled.

Even though you were expected to keep up that model image, you secretly enjoyed the beauty of letting that go for someone who saw you for who you were. He saw you without the practiced poses and faked smiles, instead choosing to love your random quirks and imperfect features.

He smiled, wrapping his arms around you.

“You are my Clair de lune.”

[bluevelvetjoel]

Dance With You Tonight - Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Authors Note: Idk who will all read this but hello, I'm Maddie! And welcome to my first written fic ever!! Pls do not judge if this is badly written😭 I would like to thank @punkshort for giving me the confidence for getting this actually written and beta-ing and this and giving me feedback. Much love and enjoy reading! xoxo

Series masterlist next chapter

Synopsis: You were training and studying to become a professional ballet dancer, until fate had other plans. Leaving you crushed and headed into a new career path. Becoming a dance teacher, a way of keeping dance in your life. Still in the process of healing, you meet Joel Miller. A single dad working as a contractor, trying to make his little girl happy by signing her up for dance lessons. Guarded when you first meet him, he teaches you to love a way you haven't before. 

Chapter warnings: Some swearing but that's it for now. Lightly edited. No Y/N

Chapter 1 - Beautiful Stranger (wordcount: 1.5k)

 Dancing was your passion, you had been doing it your entire life. It was clear from the start when your mom took you to see your first professional ballet performance. The costumes, the subtle movements and the rhythm of the music. Setting a goal from when you were just a kid, dreaming you would make it as a ballerina. It was easy to say that dance was your calling, being said from dance instructors. And even being accepted into The Boston Ballet. You had a bright future of dance ahead, you could picture it then. Being on a stage, the bright lights focused on only you. Where you danced for a full audience in a theater. 

Unfortunately right out of graduating,  those dreams came crashing to a halt. It was all because of the accident. It kept you from your training, and not being able to keep up with your dance peers.

You felt there was no direction your life was going anymore, when you had moved back home to Texas to heal, where there was nothing to keep you busy. Then, Miss Beatrice’s dance works came into motion. You were given an opportunity to teach childrens beginners ballet. Your parents urged you to do something productive like this. Thinking you might as well keep some part of dancing in your life, you accepted. 

You were playing the light piano music from your phone, and faced the bright eyed little kids. First practice of the season always seemed to go smoothly. Some were not as excited to be there as others, but nonetheless, you began instruction. Introducing them to the basics, the 5 basic positions. And had them walk across the room doing different movements with their arms.

Then you hear the metal door suddenly open, looking away from your students, you see a broad frame with a duffel bag shoved in his left hand and rushing his daughter to sit on the chair to slip her ballet shoes on. 

“Um pardon the interruption…” he said sincerely. You stop your teaching to smile and walk out of the studio and into the waiting room. 

“That's alright…we aren’t even ten minutes in.” you waved him off, and eyes wandered to the curly haired girl rushing in the waiting room. 

‘Keep on practicing the positions girls..” you say as you walk out the door to greet the dad. You look over to the girl and smile. “You must be Sarah.” You say she nods enthusiastically and beams. “I’m Joel, Sarah’s dad” he introduced himself, holding his hand out for you to take it. His hands were calloused but felt comforting, different from your delicate hand. You could almost feel your breath hitch. “Sorry for bein’ late for the first practice… I was behind at work and was in rush gettin’ home to pick her up.” he said with a sincere face. You examine his features, dark brown eyes that look like they've seen a lot. And lines that were deepening on his forehead.

You introduce yourself and continue to reassure him.  “Again it is no problem at all, just as long as you don't make it a habit.” you tease lightly. He chuckles and runs his hand through his hair. He looks around to see the other parents of the dancers getting agitated, which you notice and realize you need to continue class. “Well Joel, if you aren't busy you are welcome to sit on the bench and watch.” you smile and fold your two hands together. He did just that and took a breath, placing his hands on his knees. “C’mon Sarah, let’s head in.” she skips behind you and you shut the door behind. You gave a warm smile and had her stand at the bar with the others. 

Class then resumes and you catch Sarah up. Joel watches your softness teaching, and your gentle movements as you demonstrated to the peaceful music. Standing on your tiptoes and raising your arms, Joel notices the happiness in your eyes right away. It's as if you entered a completely different reality. He appreciates watching you helping Sarah when she was struggling. Urging her to take a deep breath when she got frustrated. 

Time passed and class ended, the kids rushing out to their parents and babbling. You walk behind them and walk to the desk in the studio office, grabbing papers and handing them to Joel. You were giving him the rundown of fundraising for the studio, and telling him that you needed Sarah's clothing size for therecital costume. You smiled as you saw him struggling to keep a note of all the important things, but he wanted to know and stay involved as much as possible for his kid. He smirked and held the papers up. “You got it.” He then found Sarah, and you waved as they walked out the door with the other families. 

After the studio was cleared for the evening, you collected your bag and water bottle. Then you walked out of the building. 

Unlocking your apartment door you took a deep breath. Not even wanting to think about dinner, you plopped yourself on your couch. Then dialed the nearby Chinese place a few blocks from your place on your phone. Deciding to order takeout, seems like the easiest choice, you think to yourself. 

While waiting for your food you got up and prepared a side salad for yourself in your tiny kitchen. Then rested your elbow on the counter and scrolled through your missed calls. A few being from your mom, shit. You then decide to call her tomorrow, it has already been a long day. Along with wanting to start choreographing the recital dance, even though it would be months away, you still wanted to feel on top of things.

A few hours then passed, and the discarded chinese boxes were still on your coffee table. You had your laptop laying on your chest as you focused. Then looking at the time you groan, placing your laptop at the edge of the couch. You then sit up and stretch, and get ready for bed.

You are now snuggled into the soft duvet and your head resting on your pillow. Your mind wandering in your pool of thoughts as you try to sleep. You cannot help but keep thinking of Joel. Something about him made you want to learn more.  

A few days pass and you are currently in between classes, so you took a break in your office. Typing away on your computer, replying to emails sent by parents, and filling out papers for Miss Beatrice, who owns the studio. 

Completely focused on your work, there was a light knock on your door. Startled out of your trance, you looked up. It was Joel, who had a nervous smile as he held his hand up to wave. 

“Hope m’ not interruptin’ anything?” he says cautiously. You shake your head, close your laptop and tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. “Not at all, Mr. Miller. Come on in.” you give a warm smile and gesture for him to sit down at the seat across from your desk. He does so and sits himself down and clears his throat. “None of that, please…Mr. Miller is my father.” he teases. You smile and begin talking again, “Alright then, Joel. What can I help you with?” you smile.  

He shifts in his seat and rubs the back of his neck. You could tell something was bothering him. “Sarah has been talkin’ about starting dance lessons for a while now, and I’m excited I was able to get her here.” You nod, and Joel continues talking. “The problem is that I had no idea how much this would cost..” he slightly chuckles. 

“Joel, we are very flexible with our parents. We even offer all sorts of different sorts of payment plans.” you explain. He slowly nods and gives a sigh of relief. “And I will do everything I can to help you guys...Sarah is a really bright student. I would hate to see her leave.” you say sincerely. 

“Thank you very much.” he says. “Really means a lot..what you say ‘bout Sarah.” he says proudly. There's a beat of silence between Joel and you. Next thing you know you’re looking in your desk drawer for a sticky note. Scribbling down your number on the piece of paper and slide it across to him. He takes it and examines it. “What’s this?” he drawls. 

“It’s my phone number, in case you have any more questions for me.” you smile. He nods with a smile. “I really wish I could help you more today, but I have another class that starts in a few minutes.” you say. Joel then stands up and puts the piece of paper in his back jean pocket. He then follows you out of the office, and you open the door. Noticing him gently placing his hand on the small of your back. 

After you both say final goodbyes, you take a deep breath. Watching him exit the building you turn around. It's okay, It's okay, you give all the parents your phone number. You think to yourself. Your mind was churning. You enter the studio and begin warming up and greet the students as they walk in.

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones - V

Genre: Angst/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. ​​

shoutout to my darling @abruisedmuse for keeping me sane while writing. ily!

Tagging: @vanserrass | @climb-the-mountian | @positivewitch | @helion-ism | @sarions | @readthelastpaage | @zenkindoflove | @animezinglife | @eastofatlanta | @carolynmezzosoprano | @carnythian | @runningwiththeoceans | @secret-third-thing | @readychilledwine | @clockwork-ashes | @goldenmagnolias | @mali22 | @maidr-00 | @electromagnetic-waves | @thedarkinmansfield | @theeternalstruggle | @devilsfoodcake22 | @the-midnightwriter | @moonfawnx | @spinachtz | @elizab3th-grace | @ladystarrynight | @highlady-fireheart | @krem-does-stuff | @that-golden-lyre | @lovedbyth3sun | @illyrianshadowhunter | @foxybananaaaz | @weesablackbeak | @ladywhilemia | @moobell55 | @alohaangels | @bibliophiliaxvignette | @easchies | @this-is-rochelle | @thelovelymadone |

Find it all here.

“So, tell me wife,” Eris began. “Other than piano and the urge to stab, what else are you interested in?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Is this your question for a question?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Eris had taken one look at her expression this morning as they stepped out in the hall and knew the tour could wait until later. After a very quiet departure where they slipped out unnoticed by all, they were finally out in a quiet field, letting their horses leisurely stroll side by side as they explored alone. 

They had ridden in silence for the first few moments and if Eris had to sit quietly for another moment without asking her something he would lose his mind. 

Iris’s lips went into a thin line as her eyes drank in the sight of the open field around her. There wasn’t a single soul around them. It was a sense of peace she hadn’t expected to be feeling the morning after her wedding. 

“I think…” she began and glanced at him, “If given the chance, I would’ve liked to properly study the art of healing.” 

Eris hummed in thought, his eyes on her for a moment then back at the road ahead. “A healer?” he asked. “That seems like a noble choice. Why would your father be opposed to it?”

Iris grimaced. “My father...didn’t like the idea of me knowing too many useful things,” she replied, gently running a hand through her horse’s mane. “If I became useful, I wouldn’t need him. If I didn’t need him, I could defy him. And if I could defy him? Well then...I’d be a much bigger problem.”

“You seem to have done that anyway. It doesn’t seem to have stopped you from getting away with quite a lot,” he said quietly. 

Iris shook her head and glanced at him. “I was...very limited in what I could do. Kept on a very tight leash. I can socialize but only when he allows it with the specific people he wants. I could have hobbies but only if he deemed them appropriate and he had the power to take them away whatever he wanted, at any point in time.” she said and her voice lowered to a mumble. “It was his favorite thing to do, and everything came at a price.”

She frowned and Eris tilted his head, saying nothing as he watched her, hoping she would continue. It surprised him that he wanted to know more. He needed to know more.

After a few moments of silence, Iris seemed to remember she had more to say.

“Everything I really cared about doing, or rather everything I tried to do, had to be done in secret. I never learned how to properly defend myself because I had to sneak to do it. The same applies to healing. I had to be very careful how I approached my instructors with questions. If I seemed too eager or began excelling too quickly, it would be taken away. The piano was allowed because he used it as a selling point.” she said with a snort. “I was his so-called poor sickly daughter who couldn’t be out and about for too long and whose only joy was her little piano. I annoyed him enough that he let some things slide but after a while, he got sick of it and... what’s another bruise?”

The nonchalance shrug made Eris’s jaw clench and he shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Too similar. They were much too similar. 

“Did you try healing yourself?”

Iris looked away, towards the open field once more. “I did. But it had to be gradual. If I did it too quickly, he would notice.” she replied. “I liked it best when he didn’t notice me.”

Eris watched her silently for a moment, watched the longing in her eyes at the open field and space. A bitterness clawed its way into his chest. He knew all too well how trapped a person can feel.

“You can ride out if you’d like,” he said, forcing his tone to be as gentle as possible. “The edge of the border takes you to the sea, about an hour’s ride.”

“And leave you all alone, little lord?” she said with a scoff. “Wouldn’t want you to start crying.”

Eris smirked. “Aw, wife. Just say you can’t bear a moment without me by your side. I understand, I’m very dashing.”

Without looking at him, Iris flipped him off. “I won’t run off, you know.”

“I know," he confirmed. "So, if you’d like to ride, go for it. It’s just us here.”

She glanced at him and then again looked around. “Is that why you didn’t take me on a tour inside first?”

“One look at your face told me you’d rather not stay inside for too long. I figured seeing the land was a good start,” he replied, his fingers tightening on the reins briefly. “Was I wrong?”

Iris didn’t want to acknowledge it but gods, he was right. The idea of taking a tour where people were going to stare at her and wonder how she was still standing after a night with their stupid lordling made her want to vomit. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t exactly look forward to being gawked at when we return.”

The corner of Eris’s mouth lifted. “They won’t,” he said. “The bride and groom have the blessing to avoid other human interactions for a week at least. It’s why you won’t see any of our housekeeping and I’m relieved of my duties this week. They’ll leave us alone for now to enjoy each other’s company.”

“Is this a custom I have never heard of?”

“It is when you’re the son of a high lord,” he replied, and Iris snorted but her curiosity was piqued. 

“So, we will have our own housekeeping staff then?”

“Of course. I personally went through the process of vetting them.”

She nodded and stole a glance at him to find him watching her as curiously as she watched him. “You also have your own guard, right?”

“Yes. I pick them myself. I need to know I can trust them.”

Trust. Such an important thing between him and his men. It would be an important thing between the two of them as well. If Eris would allow it to grow. If Iris would accept it.

Glancing ahead, fingers still tight on the reins, she asked, “And what do your duties include?”

“Helping my father run this court,” he said, his eyes drifting to the fields around them. “I have handled all the trades and business with our farming lands since the unfortunate incident with Jesminda. I also meet with and handle any citizen concerns as well as oversee the security measures around our border. Sometimes I’ll help train new soldiers. A few things here and there.”

Iris blinked rapidly. “A few?” she snorted. “If you do all this, what does your father do?”

Eris scoffed, his expression souring slightly. “Sit on his throne and drink wine.”

Iris’s eyebrows rose but she bit her lip, holding back a snicker. “What about your brothers?”

“Fucking their way through the city and spending my money,” he replied with a snort and this time, Iris didn’t hold back her small smile.

“It almost seems like you’re the only responsible one here, dearest husband.” 

“I am, dearest wife. You lucked out.”

Iris rolled her eyes but then paused, hands gently brushing the mane of her horse again, her eyes locked on him. “It also seems like you don’t like your family members much,” she asked carefully.

Eris knew the question she was asking and though they were in a wide field all alone, not a soul to listen to their conversation as he had intended, he hesitated. She didn’t need to know the depth of his disgust with how his family lived just yet. 

“I cannot live a day without them,” he said dully. “They bring me happiness every day.”

“Even your father?” she asked, her lips twitching. 

“Especially my father. He is the spark of joy in my heart.” Eris added in the driest of tones and Iris chuckled, bringing a small smile to his face.

“You’re an excellent liar,” she said with a shake of her head. “I thought you said it was just us. And that our question for a question would remain honest?”

Eris eyed her carefully. He wasn’t a foolish male, he knew when he could trust people and when he couldn’t. And yet.

“My relationship with my family is complicated,” he answered slowly. “I am sure you’ll understand more as you get to know them.” 

She hummed in thought then scrunched up her nose. “Do I have to get to know anyone besides your mother?”

“I’d personally prefer not but there’s no escaping my father,” he said with a sigh. “My brothers...can be ignored until otherwise noted.” 

Iris pursed her lips. She had even more questions now but clearly, his family was a touchy subject. Which was fair; just the mere mention of her father made her blood boil and she openly hated him.

“Now that I know you’re a very busy male, husband,” she began. “What exactly am I supposed to do with my time if I’ll never see you once this week is up?”

“Sitting in our bedroom looking delicious and happily waiting for me,” he replied immediately and smirked at the glare she shot him.

“Seriously, Eris.” she huffed. “What am I supposed to do? I — I don’t want to be sitting around uselessly.” 

“How did you spend your time before?” he asked, and Iris scowled.

“Doing anything I could get my hands on,” she said, and Eris watched as her eyes cataloged every detail around them, avoiding his gaze. “I read a lot of books. Painted. Sketched. Sculpted with clay. I even played with pottery...The results were terrible as I do not have an artist's hand and mostly made a mess.”

Eris fought the chuckle rising in him. 

“I dabbled in writing, which was also terrible. I even tried my hand at gardening but it…did not go well. Our gardener hated me.” she added with a snort. “I baked, I cooked, I even learned embroidery —which was a terrible waste of time as all I did was stab myself repeatedly.” 

“Ah, so that’s where your stabbing fetish comes from.” 

“I even tried weaving with an actual loom.” she continued, ignoring him completely and Eris watched her rant with barely hidden mirth. “All of this ended with me bothering the house staff as much as possible because I was so bored.”

“Sounds like you’re an absolute menace. I’m thrilled,” he said his lips twitching and Iris rolled her eyes, flipping him off with both hands.

“What about you then? I’m sure you’ve been an angel. What are you interested in?”

“Murder.” he deadpanned.

“Right up my alley then.”

He finally gave in to his amusement and laughed softly. “It sounds like you kept yourself very busy.”

“Uselessly busy.” she snapped and frowned at him. “I don’t want that to continue. I don’t want to be useless.” 

Eris pulled on the reins of his horse gently to halt it, gesturing for her to do the same. Iris’s frown deepened but she stopped as well, turning her horse to face his.

“What would you like to do?” he asked.

And it was the shift in his tone that had Iris sitting up. She thought quietly for a moment and Eris watched her mind working. 

She opened her mouth a moment later, but he held up a finger with a small smile.

“I’ve already factored in training for the two of us, time for you to practice your music skills, and time for the two of us outside of the house considering I can’t really show you everything I want to in a week,” he said, and Iris blinked. 

“You already thought of all that? When?”

“I am to be a high lord, my mind has to work very quickly,” he said with a smug smile. “What else would you like?”

Iris blinked once more. He...was being strangely thoughtful. It made her nervous. She narrowed her eyes at him.  

He quirked a brow, waiting. 

“To be with you when you’re hearing people’s concerns.” she blurted out. “I want you to teach me the court rules. I want to study healing again and take up the practice.”

She wanted so much. All she could think about was how much she wanted to do things and be present and have a say, but would he let her? What would he ask in return? Would he —

“More time together then?” he asked with a smirk. “You better pace yourself wife, I think my charm is starting to win you over.” 

Iris tried not to squirm as he watched her, but it didn’t stop the slight blush that bloomed on her cheeks. “I don’t exactly have anyone else to hang out with. You’re as good as it’ll get,” she mumbled, and Eris scoffed.

“I’m so flattered you’re this excited to spend time with me,” he said, and he hated that it bothered him. “Don’t you have friends you can visit? Or visit you? You can have those, you know. No one will stop them from visiting you.”

He watched her expression fall for a split second before her face neutralized again and she fretted with her braid instead. “I — I don’t have friends,” she said quietly. “Friends notice things.”

Silence fell between them and without saying a word to one another, their horses began moving again. Eris stole glances at her, feeling the embarrassment radiating off her and his mouth went into a thin line. As if she had anything to be embarrassed about. She had no idea how similar they were.

He pursed his lips then softly said, “Aside from Lucien and Elain...neither do I. And that’s been a long process. A very long process...I still don’t trust anyone and it’s hard to make friends when you don’t know who will stab you in the back.” 

Her shoulders relaxed as Iris let out a breath, her face still a little flushed. She stole another glance at him. 

“You can’t build any kind of relationship without trust,” she said, and the weight of the statement sat between them.

A heartbeat passed as Eris considered her across from him, a partner now shackled to him.

“No. You can���t.” was all he could think to say.

And Iris wondered just how much she could trust him and just how much he could trust her. It seemed like he had so much more to lose than she did. Then again…

She looked at him once more as they rode on. “So.”

Eris gave her an amused look. “So.”

“Are you and your brother closer now than before?”

Eris nodded slowly then smirked. “He won’t admit it but I’m his best friend.”

“That seems like a lie.”

“It is not. I’m his favorite person,” he said with a snort. “But I like Elain more than him anyway. She’s nicer to me.”

It was Iris’s turn to snort. “I’m sure he loves that.”

“He’s very jealous of Elain and I’s relationship.” 

Iris rolled her eyes. “You sound like a child,” she said, and Eris sniggered. “She’s nice then — Elain?”

“Are you worried about my relationship with your sister-in-law?” Eris teased. “Don’t worry, wife. I will always put you first.”

Iris’s expression flattened. “Just like you to make a question not about you, about you.” 

Eris chuckled. “Yes, Elain is very nice,” he answered. “She’s a character. I think the two of you will get along just fine.”

“And you’d want that?” she asked curiously. “For us to get along?”

“Of course,” Eris replied and Iris noted the sincerity in his expression. “Aside from my mother, they’re the only family I care about. They’re the only ones who matter.”

"Your other brothers aren't high on the list, huh?" she asked and Eris pursed his lips.

"It's...complicated," he answered with a diplomatic smile.

Iris’s eyebrows rose at his statement but she sat quietly, digesting it. He didn’t seem too ready for her to engage with his family in this court but was open to her having a relationship with the ones who didn’t live here…which was interesting.

She could have a friend in Elain at least, if Eris liked her so much. And — and a friend in Lucien too. His other brothers...Iris would have to see about that. She snuck a glance at her husband and found him watching her curiously. 

She could also find a friend in him as well, she supposed. 

“Are my other requests reasonable?” she asked quietly, and Eris gave her a small smile, feeling that faint sense of approval from him again.

“I think our court would benefit from a healer on a throne,” he said quietly. “It would be good for you to be involved. I will make it all work smoothly into my schedule.”

Iris gave him an amused look, biting back a smile at his statement. “Organized, are you?”

His grip tightened on the reins before he loosened his grip again. “I like things to be in a certain order so I will make sure it all works well and is accounted for with our combined schedules.”

Iris watched him curiously. He liked control then. Which was...not surprising. It made so much sense. Iris saw all his inappropriate comments in a whole new light now. 

She let a moment of silence pass between them before finally saying, “Wow.”

“Hm?”

“You really let me ask for things with no requests for kisses in return? Or for me to sit in your lap? Or do any of the other filthy things I know you’re constantly thinking of?” she said with a scoff and Eris grinned. “Dare I say in a matter of hours, growth?”

“Oh no, I’m saving it for later,” he said with a lazy smile then slowly gave her a thoughtful look. “Though I have never taken someone astride a horse before. Do you think Axel will mind if we ride each other while riding him?”

Iris shook her head, sighing. “Spoke so soon,” she mumbled, and Eris chuckled. Ignoring how his chuckle seemed to dance across her skin, Iris asked, “Where are we exactly? Near the Spring Court?”

“No, that’s more south. We are in the east forest, towards the Mortal realm with the sea between us,” he replied and moved his horse closer to hers. 

Iris pursed her lips for a moment and gave him an almost pleading look, but Eris only jerked his chin again. “Go on.” he only said.

And she hesitated for a breath until Eris blinked, and then she was off, riding in the wind. 

He knew he wasn’t doing her any favors and shouldn’t feel too proud of himself for it, but the wide smile on her face as she rode ahead brought a small one to his own. Eris followed her at a slower pace, letting her ride ahead, to give her some time to herself while he watched her. 

One night and it had changed...something for him. It had been a night and day of marriage and suddenly, with every conversation they had…he had started caring. Which would be problematic. His father alone would make it a big problem and he desperately needed Iris to be aware of that. 

But as he neared her slowly and she turned to him with that wide grin on her face, Eris felt his wretched heart skip a beat and any concern of his father quickly slipped his mind. 

“The view is wonderful.” she quickly gushed. “And the fresh air! And the sound of the waves!”

His brows slowly went up as an amused smile came onto his face. “You’ve never been near the sea, I’m assuming?”

“No,” she said, and her smile dimmed slightly. “But — but we can go, right? Will you take me? Can we go now?”

And the hopeful expression on her face made his heart clench. He couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t afford to care about another person for his father to use against him. But the way she was looking at him…

“Not today but we can plan another visit,” he promised, and the wide smile returned on her face. “I’d rather have the area secured first and bring a hound or two of mine with us for extra measures. We don’t venture out this way often and I’d rather be prepared.”

Iris immediately sat up straighter on her horse. “Those famous hounds of yours?”

He gave her an amused smirk. “Famous, are they?”

“You know they are! They’re rare as it is and rumor has it you have twelve of them,” she said, almost accusingly and Eris truly had to fight back a smile. “Is it true?”

Eris blinked at her with what he hoped seemed like an innocent enough expression but couldn’t stop the chuckle when she gave him a pointed look.

“Well?”

“I do. They’re my prized possessions.”

“They are not possessions!” she immediately said with a scoff. “They are companions, and you should view them as such.”

His level of amusement was rising by the moment. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this entertained. 

“Are you a fan of animals then?” he asked dryly. 

“Yes. I’ve always wanted a pet of my own,” she said then pointed at him threateningly. “You will take me to meet them. I would like to pet them all.”

“They are lethally trained smokehounds bred to fight and protect,” he said with a snort. “Not some house pets you can cuddle.”

“I’ll bet you anything they’ll let me cuddle them.” she challenged.

Eris wondered what her reaction would be if she found out how much he actually cuddled with his hounds. Some days they were the only things anchoring him. 

He flashed her a smirk instead and teasingly said, “You’ll bet me anything?”

Iris immediately narrowed her eyes and pointed one deadly finger at him again. “One more word and I’ll kick you right off your horse.”

He snickered then shook his head. “Regardless of your betting, it takes them a while to warm up to strangers.”

“We shall see,” she said, with her nose in the air. “I still want to meet them. Will you let me?”

Another request in a matter of minutes. Either she was getting too comfortable, too bold, or she really didn’t take him seriously. He wasn’t sure which of those options should bother him. 

But then again, wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to be comfortable with him...for him to show her kindness?

“We shall see,” he repeated back to her, and her lips formed into a slight pout that seemed to have the sole purpose of testing whatever will he had to live. 

“I object to that unclear decision.”

“Well, you’ll just have to deal with it, wife.”

She huffed, tugging the reins slightly so the horses turned to face the direction of home. “What are the plans for the rest of the day?”

“I thought I would give you the grand tour and then we can have lunch. We can decide what to do in the evening together.”

Iris nodded slowly and bit her lip before carefully asking her question. “Will your mother be having dinner at the house?”

Eris tilted his head slightly. “Likely. She usually has her own meetings with court ladies,” he said. “Why?”

“I know you said I can join her for breakfast but...I was wondering if she was free, we can have dinner with her?” Iris asked softly, a light blush creeping on her cheeks. “I want to thank her for her kindness with the clothing and we can spend some time with her. If that’s alright?”

Eris blinked and tried to stop the small smile on his lips. “Of course. I can ask her when we get back.”

“Alright,” Iris said with a small smile and the two observed each other then, quietly. 

The open space around them. The sounds of nature. Not quite knowing what to make of one another yet drawn to know more.

Feeling self-conscious as her husband stared intensely at her, Iris straightened on her horse.

“I’ll race you back to the stables?” she challenged, a playful glint in her eyes and Eris gave her a smirk.

“Think you’ll beat me?” 

“If I win, you have to take me to the hounds immediately,” she demanded, and he chuckled.

“And if I win, little gazelle?” he asked and before he could say one of the many filthy things he loved to scandalize her with, Iris held a hand up.

“If you win, maybe you’ll get that kiss you’ve been craving from me.”

Eris quirked a brow. “There you go again with that maybe of yours.”

“Maybe is as good as it’s going to get.

Eris eyed her, giving her a small smirk. “Alright then, wife,” he said. “I’ll take my chances.” 

With an obnoxious wink and no other warning, he sprinted off leaving a very outraged Iris scrambling behind him.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hi hi! If reqs are still open can I request ❛ you look good like this. ❜❛ i’m going to ruin you. ❜❛ show me how much you missed me. ❜ with D.M.? Thank you!

This is a short one as I'm getting writer's block f

Rated T | Warnings: None

“You look good like this.” The praise slips easily out of his mouth like wine pouring into a glass, “I’m going to ruin you.” His eyes lock on your form as you try to practice playing the piano. You are still learning but you messed up several times since he started teasing you.

“Stop it.”

“I do not believe you want me to stop,” His hands on top of yours as he leans down to place your hands on your lap, “If you permit me,” You shiver as he whispers in your ear, “I can show you how much I missed you.” He hates being apart from you and the second he returns he hates more so how you are busy now upon his return. “Shall I take you over this piano and compose a new song?”

“Ah, please.” His tongue licking the shell of your ear, “We have to--”

He pulls away when your instructor enters the room after speaking with your father, “Good afternoon, Sir Mélodis! I did not know you returned from your trip.”

You go back to playing the notes you are supposed to practice and trying to calm yourself down.

[vivievienne]

The artist who painted my gray heart red — Akitoya

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In which Akito is a street artist and Toya is a simple pianist who just by case went to an event and changed his life.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Akitoya, save me, akitoya.

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Might be ooc, fluff, includes anhane, An as a cafe owner, trigger word — Toya's dad, Toya's perspective.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1569.

Is there was something more worthless than composing?

You play the same melody until you got the right notes and it finally starts sounding good, but even after all effort you pull in it, you still feel empty.

Toya Aoyagi feels empty.

He sits by the piano, looking at the paper before him.

No, it doesn't sound right. I need to change it.

And again he started playing the same cadence, but changing one note.

No, it still doesn't feel right.

He hits the keys with his fingers.

They hurt him. He spent a lot of time at playing this melody, and he still doesn't find out what he should do to make it better. 

He was clueless.

He stood up from the bench and took the paper with him.

He puts it in the drawer.

He wasn't satisfied with his work. His father... No, don't even think about him, he thought to himself.

Maybe a walk wouldn't be that bad, huh?

The thought of the coffee in the near cafe was somehow tempting.

But he didn't know one thing then...

That a ginger boy will change his life with this sassy smirk which somehow manages to soften when he was around.

***

Toya leaved his house and walked through the Vivid Street. It was a safe place for street artists and performers, and as well a place where was the best cafe, in his opinion, operated by An Shirashi.

But seeing a graffiti artist was something new to him.

After all, this wasn't any place where you can freely paint, in fact, it was a vandalism. So, it was quite unexpected to see a ginger with spray in his hand, when the Sun wasn't even setting.

Toya doesn't know how to describe the feeling he currently has.

It was something that he hasn't experienced before. He wanted to be the one, who was painting on the wall. Not the one, who stares at this boy. He knew it was illegal, but... why he wanted that? Why he wanted to be him?

"Hey, are you hearing me!?"

Toya heard a nervous voice and he quickly understood that he was staring for too long, so that person noticed.

"Uhm... Yes, sorry for that" he quickly replied with a calm tone, trying to hide his confusion. He looked at the boy before him. He noticed that he has some paint on his clothing and he wore... like three hoodies? It wasn't this cold, in fact, it was quite warm...

"Why are you staring like this?"

"Like what?"

They looked to each other eyes with confusion.

Toya never saw more beautiful eyes than these.

"Like this" the mysterious boy replied with slightly anger in his voice.

"Oh, apologise for that" Toya wasn't sure what he should do now. Maybe he should walk away like nothing happened...

"Do you like this?" The boy asked, pointing out the wall.

Toya wasn't sure what to say about the graffiti. He was looking at him after all... He gave it a simple glance and nodded. "Yes, it's quite interesting"

"Nice."

Oh no... it became awkward...

"You must do it for long time... right?" He tried to save the conversation. This mysterious boy... He felt an urge to keep the conversation.

"Graffiti is easy when you have a proper instructor. I bet you could do it as well. But for me? A few years to master this, I would say"

Wait...

"What do you mean by the first part...?"

"I mean that even someone, who doesn't have an experience in arts, would definitely do a graffiti after some lessons" the ginger seems to be on the edge of rolling his eyes at Toya's misunderstanding.

"Oh, right..." he nodded.

"Anyway, I'm gonna get back to work. Have a nice day or something. I don't know" The ginger says almost carelessly. He turned back to the wall, while Toya was standing like he was about to go blank.

"Oh... Right... Have a nice time working... or something"

He wanted to ask him how he could be this carefree when he literally almost had a heart attack! Just how... God, how good he ended it before he could. It would be more awkward. He immediately goes to An's cafe. The only thing Toya needed now, was a good coffee.

***

"Shirashi..." Toya tried to start the conversation. An looked really stressed today. She usually stayed a bit longer at his table to talk with him, but today... Something definitely happened... "Shirashi", he repeated a bit louder.

"Oh, Toya, right... How can I help you?" she finally answered with smile on her face.

"You seem to be struggling with something" he started slowly. "And I was thinking..."

"Oh, you know", she interrupted. "We will be hosting an event at the cafe soon and I have a lot work to do. There's a lot to do, but it's so little time to do it."

"An event?"

"Oh, right!" An quickly goes to the counter and took a small paper. "Here. Look" she handed it to Toya.

The title says: "Vivid Rad Street Night".

Toya was more and more intrigued.

"You can go to it, y'know?" An smiled. "I bet you'd love that. After all, you're an artist too! You would clearly enjoy the performances. I swear, you won't regret. I also will participate in it with Kohane as a singers! Please Toya, come!!" Shirashi's eyes were shining bright as the stars in her hair. She was really excited to be the host in this.

"I'll think about that, Shirashi" Toya nodded and watched as she left him after a short goodbye, because 'she has a lot on her shoulders and she needs to deal with it as fast as she can'.

He holds in hand the small poster. As he was reading through this, he knew that he should attend this event. Something tells him to. He cannot say what exactly it is, but he believed An that he won't regret coming there.

Also, doesn't it better than staying at home and looking at the wholeheartedly hated piano?

***

And that's why Toya is in the cafe watching how the hosts are beginning the show.

But why that ginger graffiti artist is here too...?

He noticed that his name is Akito Shinonome.

And that he is not just an artist but also a singer.

He was beautiful, when he was singing.

I wish I could be as happy as him when I compose.

"You staring at me, again." Toya was clearly confused when he heard this known voice behind him. "I almost thought that you are interested in me" he snorted.

"Right... I just think you talented, that's all" Toya replied, trying to remain his composure. Still, the last part got him thinking... Is he was interested in him? No, it cannot be that simple. First sight love doesn't exist, and he wasn't interested in boys... But he couldn't remember at all when he was interested in girls either....

"Maybe a little introduction wouldn't hurt, huh?" the ginger asked. "I'm Akito Shinonome. You?"

"I'm Toya... Toya Aoyagi." Akito was as straightforward as he remembered him. How this boy could be this opened?

"I guess you're not a street artist, yet, you still went here" Toya saw the slightly roll of Shinonome's eyes. Is he doesn't really know about any ethical standards?

"I haven't had anything to do... And Shirashi told me that she's hosting an event here..."

"Wait, you know Shirashi?" Toya got interrupted by Akito's quick question.

"Yes, he does. After all I know every musician who lives on Vivid Street" An came with a smile. Behind her Toya saw Kohane, her singing and romantic partner, who was known for her shyness, but also for her adoration towards strange, in Toya's opinion, things. "Hi, Toya! I knew you would come here!"

"Hey, Aoyagi" Azusawa smiled softly and waved at him.

"Oh, Shirashi, Azusawa. You soon should get on the stage, right?" Toya asked.

"We were about to going to backstage, but I saw that you talk with Akito and couldn't help, but come to you to see are you guys getting along" An said with a proud smile. "But as I can see, you get to know each other pretty well, so we won't bother anymore. See ya on the stage!" She said and pulled Kohane towards the backstage with her, leaving Akito and Toya by his own.

"She won't ever change" Akito sighed and rolled his eyes. "But she mentioned that you are a musician, right?"

"Oh, that..." Toya rubbed his back of his neck at this question. He hated to say that he was a pianist and composer. Just like his dad... "I'm a pianist..."

"A pianist, huh? You seem to be a bunch of surprises, don't you?" he snorted and smirked. "Well, that's good to know you're into music. Maybe a singer as well?"

Toya was slightly confused at this question. What this ginger was going to say?

"Actually... I don't even tried" he replied calmly.

"Wanna try then?"

Toya felt that he was hit with a truck.

He asked him about trying?

He doesn't say he have to... He asked him to try.

Try.

"I'll look for a partner" Akito explained. "Singing by your own it's not a big fun. So, would like to try, at least? You have an experience in music, so I suppose that you could fit as one."

He asked him... He asked...

"Of course... I would"

"An, what are you doing?" Kohane asked her, when they went to backstage.

"Can't you see that I am trying to get Akito a boyfriend?"

"I can but... Isn't he is able to do it by his own?"

"Treat is as a little help to love."

"And what if they won't fall for each other?"

"Can't you see how Toya looks at him? He definitely fell in love with him, even if he didn't realise it yet."

"But what about Akito?"

"Fell later, fell harder. Remember this, Kohane."

[crybaby-bkg]

as you sit in the empty practice room, you mutter to yourself as your fingers fly over the keys of the piano. you hum the rhythm of the piece your instructor has so kindly gifted you, clicking your tongue to keep up with the melody. on the outside, you're sure you look insane, all hunched over, eyes damn near touching the sheet music, fingers flying madly over the keys.

and then - you fuck up. on the same part you always fuck up on. groaning in frustration, you rest your hands on the keys, the piano emitting a funny sound, body deflating. you perk up though when you hear a chuckle to the left of you.

"It's not that hard once you break it down," a singsongy voice carries over to you, your back straightening as your head whips over to find the culprit that snuck up on you.

lo and behold, its gojo satoru - the music departments gifted prodigal student that is miles ahead of everyone. and just your luck, his focus is the piano (alongside the harp, violin, snare drum, and a multitude of other instruments you don't care to list anymore).

"Yeah, cause nothing's ever hard for you." you sneer at him, eyes squinted in his direction. gojo feigns a pained expression, hand over his heart as his bottom lip pouts. insufferable, you think to yourself, this man is.

"You don't think I put in the work like the rest of you guys?" gojo bemoans, back straightening as he makes his way over to you. you try to take up the whole bench, but he only moves you over with his hip and a faint, "scooch."

"Why would you? You are the gifted one." your voice is airy, holds a level of sarcasm that barely conceals the truth of your words. gojo only smiles lightly, head tilted back as he rests his hands over the keys. doesn't even warm up, doesn't even look at the music before he starts playing the section of the piece you have the most difficulty with.

and gods, do you want to be mad at him, for intruding on your solo practice time, for coming in so late, for showing you how it's done. but its hard to, when his body sways with the melody, when his pink lips barely part. his fingers fly so effortlessly against the keys, long and thin and pale, and you can see the faint scratch on the back of one of them that you gave him when he wouldn't stop putting his arm around your shoulders.

you want to hate him so bad. but its hard to, when he brings your hand up to play with his, when he knocks his shoulder against your own, when he hums the harmony, when he smiles at you.

"Is this helping you understand that section?" Gojo quietly asks you, mouth turned to your hair, but his body continues playing the piece like its second nature. you try to keep up, pouting a little, face warming when his hand grabs your own to direct you to what key to hit next.

"No, you fuckin' show off." you mutter back, to which gojo only laughs heartily at you. but still, you two play together for what feels like hours. and finally - finally - do you master that section. not because of his help though, you'd never admit it. but gojo puffs his chest proudly the day you perform it in front of everybody, and look to him for reassurance.