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moscatosin · 28 days ago

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🖤 jealousy. mattheo riddle 🖤 oneshot. smut. p in v. eating out (female). swearing. jealousy. slytherin!female. mdni. have a glass of scotch - straight. no editing - sorry (3.5k).

Her name is like a hex, slicing through your skull, setting your blood to a temperature high enough to boil that it crawls your skin like fire ants on a rampage.

Astoria motherfucking Greengrass.

You’ve been back at Hogwarts for less than three weeks and she’s already a thorn in your side that you love to hate. Your cheeks burn not with a soft, rosy glow, but wrath red, like you just want to scream a royal ‘fuck you’ to the universe you’re currently trapped within. Getting ready for what should be party of the year – seventh year – your year; the one you’ve looked forward to since the day the sorting hat chose to make your destiny that of a Slytherin you sigh. Breath hot. The night is already fucked. Not only because this party is being hosted by some pureblood Ravenclaw git that you use to have a friends with benefits thing with back in the day, but because she’ll be there. Little Ms fucking Greengrass. Enough said.

Astoria and yourself back in the day – once as thick as thieves. You had the kind of friendship that other girls would have clawed each other’s eyes out for in envy. You wielded the power and influence if gave you like the elder fucking wand until she strutted onto the platform at Kings Cross after the last summer had passed – all coy smirks and new curves that sucked every male gaze into her orbit, including that of your boyfriend. It seemed the holidays had miraculously forged her into some kind of siren blade – sharp, overconfident, a little lethal; and you? Fuck; turns out jealousy is a rather bitter pill you had trouble swallowing down.

You won’t dare admit it out aloud, but there’s something inside, gnawing away at you like rabid kneazle. It all came about because your boyfriend, Mattheo – the loveable idiot; just had to open his mouth and drool out some comments to his mates about Astoria’s ‘assets’ like some first year who’d just discovered firewhiskey. Then during the first dinner of the semester; he and her were announced as head boy and head girl – surely the pairing was some kind of cosmic fucking joke. How? You’re still asking yourself the same question. His dad’s legacy probably? Perhaps the perfect excuse for the headmaster to keep a watchful eye on him? Either way, Mattheo wasn’t exactly the epitome of academic and social excellence and now that they’re practically glued together, you’re left stewing. Whenever you see them together; your heart beats against your ribs so hard it is almost bruising.

Tonight – the eyeliner pencil you’re holding is about to snap, gripped so tightly between your knuckles they whiten like bleach. Jaw clenched; you growl low into the vanity mirror you’re sitting before; the sound rattling behind your teeth. Drawing a thick stroke across your waterline, you smudge the black kohl with your fingertip and coat a deep cherry red stain across your lips. You spritz at your pulse points that strawberry and vanilla perfume your mother swore was the perfect aphrodisiac when you were a wide eyed first year and having believed her then, now – you still do. Mothers know best, don’t they? Hmm.

“You done yet girl?” Pansy’s smirk cuts through the mirrors reflection; her coffee coloured eyes glinting playfully like she can sense your rage and annoyance and she’s all here for it. You’re ready – almost. You’ve managed two shots of pilfered scotch that Pansy stole off a shelf from Slughorn’s office earlier in the week, a too-sweet raspberry mixed cocktail that you can still taste on your tongue and a few mouthfuls of Lorenzo’s dorm made vodka (which Pansy begged for to help you loosen your screws) which has you teetering on the edge of happiness. So yeah – ready; almost.

To your gaze, the vanity mirror displays back absolute perfection as you take a quick once over of your reflection. Your usually unruly hair ironed as flat as a blade; silver sequined dress you chose for the night clinging to you like a second skin. The backless feature just taunting gravity to fuck with you. One last half shot of vodka to set up your night, you hike the dress up your thighs and slip your panties down in one smooth motion before the dress drops back down to hug your hips seamlessly; almost challenging anyone who may look your way to guess what might be missing. Seriously though – who’d know? Hands sliding across your body for a final check, you grab a hold of Pansy’s and slip into glittery heels which click with every step you take like gunfire as you stumble both tipsy and fierce towards the Astronomy Tower.

Are you late? Always. Fashionably? No less. There’s a third year handing out wearable candy at the entrance and you decide upon a candy ring pop that melts in your mouth as you suck on it and walk in. Someone places a drink in your hand without you having to ask. Immediately, you’re pulled into the parties pulse. Strings of intricate tiny golden fairylights dangle from the roofs rafters, casting a glow across the crowd already dancing that is as soft as a lie. The shadows alone that you’re seeing lure you into a trance. The air hums with the scent of smoked pot – thick and hazy, while the choice of music that is playing throbs through the floors and walls, synching perfectly in time with the hammering of your heart. You swig back the drink in a few gulps; a burn of sweet promise for a good night ahead before you mutter to Pansy that you want to dance. Halfway onto making your way towards the dancefloor, an arm you aren’t expecting but probably should, snakes around the back of your waist, hot and possessive.

“Wondering when you’d show up, Princess.”

Mattheo’s comment sounds like liquid sin, dripping warm along the edge of your law as he dips his head to graze his lips across your neck; kissing your pulse point like he fucking owns it. Immediately, your body betrays you for a split second – eyes fluttering shut, a whimper slipping like an echo from your parted lips; cheeks reddening like a fresh bruise. It doesn’t last long though and you’re able to snap back into reality and shove him a step back with a hand to his chest. How fucking dare he practically ghost you for weeks, spending what seems like ‘quality time’ with the head girl rather than his actual girl and then slink back to you like you’re his default setting? Are you both still an item? Sure, like technically, but with Astoria suddenly in the picture as more than just your friend, you’re starting to feel a little like a consolation prize.

“You know me – I turn up when I want to Mattheo”, you bite out, eyes rolling back so hard they might stick. “Party started at eight baby girl – it’s pushing almost eleven”, he whispers into your ear with a voice like a secret before grinning, lazy and infuriating. “---and what? You’ve been pining for me, have you? I bet Astoria’s company has been keeping you real busy.”

It would be easy for you to rage right now; cast confringo without the aid of your wand and burn the fucking tower down, but Mattheo; dressed in all black from head to toe – tie loose like a noose around his neck you could yank and either treat as a leash or choke him with, makes your entire body hum. The silver rings he has slipped on his fingers, glint like promises of trouble which could ever so easily tangle into your hair and pull just right. You’re a half second from giving in; dragging him somewhere dark and dropping to your knees to please him when her giggle cuts through the party. Astoria’s voice; that high pitched popular girl kind of squeal that makes you want to burst your own eardrums to feel pain rather than hear here again. Fuck Astoria and her presence – seriously. Fuck Mattheo for noticing her and fuck his friends for their stupid boyish banter on how ‘fine’ she is. Fuck you, in the simplest sense, for not having enough alcohol in your veins to pluck up the courage to slap some sense into both of them.

Irrespectively, you don’t wait for Mattheo’s smug repertoire of venom to spit out a reply. Seizing Pansy’s wrist again, your drag her through the swarm of bodies clogging up the party onto the dancefloor with your hips swaying to the music and settle into a pocket of space between a Ravenclaw who has hands that wander far too creepily and a Hufflepuff so drunk her eyes are swimming inside her skull. Attention draws to the two of you fast – mhmm, easy. Pansy reaches across to flick your hair over one shoulder, exposing your neck as a temptation. The glow on you now, dancing with the sparkle of your dress screams touch me and the eyes of the crowd stare your way greedily. It isn’t long before drinks appear in your fingertips brimming with an alcoholic hit you at this point, probably don’t even need.

“On three.” You toss your head back as Pansy counts down and let yet another shot slide down your throat like a molten dream. She rests her forehead against your own, slick with sweat as her fingers weave into yours as she pulls you in closer as the music jumps to a song that’s a little slower and more sensual than anything else already played. A giggle rips from you, half drunk – half mad as the room begins to spin like a kaleidoscope dream. You slur out that Pansy is the worst kind of influence you can have and her smile slices into that of a switchblade before vanishing as a hiss leaks from her lips into your ear.

“Riddle’s watching you.”

In time with the music, you both spin, catching Mattheo’s stare through the smoky haze you’ve become lost within. A predators gaze – unblinking, cutting, intimidating. Astoria’s standing beside him; her nails clawing into the shirt which hangs oh so perfectly across his chest, yanking at the fabric like she’s trying to reel him into her own little realm of desire and hell. She whispers something to him as she smiles; lips like poison darts that fail to work. Mattheo’s eyes don’t even bother to waver – obsidian and crucifying as he swallows you whole. The space and bodies between the two of you seems to dissolve into a smear of glitter infused sweat and you don’t think; you don’t even breath. You let go of Pansy with a little reluctance and reach out for the nearest male body you can find. Cormac McLaggen – fucking perfect. Tugging him in close, you let your body sync in with his own as you move to the music and hope that this arrogant Gryffindor might just be the dull instrument you need to hack into Mattheo’s brain to twist until he bleeds jealousy. Or insanity.

“Looking good girl – sequins suit you.” Cormac’s leer is as thick as tar; his grin that of a wolf’s teeth bared. “Do I get to see what you’re hiding underneath?”

You shift in; hands resting on his shoulders as you bring your lips to his ear. They curl like a lit fuse as your tongue ever so teasingly runs across your teeth slow and deliberate before you expose yourself with a single quiet sigh. “Oh – that pretty little head of yours could just imagine, because wearing anything underneath.”

Like a spark on dry tinder; you rise on your toes and plant a kiss on Cormac’s cheek which is as innocent as anything although you feel the party almost tremble with a quake; Mattheo’s fingers clamping around your wrist to pull you off and away before you even noticed his presence beside you. The hiss lingering from his tongue slices through the air like a slither and before you know it his fingers dig up beneath your chin, forcing your head up to face him. His stare locks into yours and you stare into eyes which are like a black void; shimmering with something akin to rage. Lust. You hear Cormac’s voice behind you barking like a chihuahua that Mattheo’s just kicked but everything is drowned out around you as Mattheo’s hands find their way down to your hips.

“What the fuck? What’s gotten into you tonight?”

You smack his chest, but Mattheo yanks you in closer; your breath snagging like clothing caught on a nail. One of his arms coils compulsively around your waist; his free hand sliding from your hip up your body to the nape of your neck as his fingers begin to tangle into your hair just like how you’d earlier dreamed. His aftershave is different – a little muskier that usual, or perhaps it’s just the way it’s blended in with your own perfume and his teeth begin to nip at the crook of your neck leaving a small mark behind that stings like a brand.

“I was hoping it would be your cock – you know, unless you plan on sharing that with Astoria instead...” “You insecure, jealous fucking bitch”, he manages out with a scoff like chuckle. “I am not”, you snap; close to slapping him. “Alright then – show me. Prove it.”

His words hit you like a ticking time bomb. Prove it? How fucking dare he set off the trigger that makes you flip from sweetheart to fucking savage. The crowd around you begins to whisper – their stares picking at the two of you like vultures circling rotten meat, but you couldn’t care less, because you’ve finally got your boyfriend where you’ve wanted him to weeks. Clawing at Mattheo’s belt you pull the both of you closer; fingertips slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to trace across the muscle of his abs you’ve oh so missed before your lips find his for a car crash kind of kiss – slow at first, timid like a recollection of absolute innocence. Soon enough; the kiss turns into a flood; weeks of oppressed hunger desperate for something to eat. You bite his lower lip, rolling it between your teeth and he grows a husky kind of rumble that belongs in the privacy of your dorms, not here on a fucking dancefloor. Your bodies begin to grind together, instinctively – desperate, your curves cursing the time you’ve been starved of his attention, his affection, his obsession and the crowd of students around you both, a howling chorus of yells and whistles edging you on towards some kind of public release.

Your fingers tangle within his curls, yanking him closer until air is a luxury that you no longer need and Mattheo whimpers like he’s just lost whatever battle he planned on playing with you – instead now happily drowning in the waves you’re pulsing through his veins and across his skin. You rip yourself away for just long enough to mutter that you should both probably find a quieter space instead of fucking on a dancefloor and he smirks; a wildfire in his eyes that silently ask if that’s why you stopped.

Mattheo’s hand is still woven into your hair as you hit the Slytherin dungeons. He hisses the password to let you both in like a curse and the stone wall yawns open like a mouth swallowing you whole as you stumble in. The common room is as quiet as a crypt – you don’t bother to stop and admire it how you usually do. Not tonight. You let him drag you to the boys dorms as your hand remains tightly fisted in his belt; the other attempting to unbutton his shirt as you walk, exposing slithers of tanned skin that make your mouth fucking water. His dorm door is barely shut before you manage to slam him against it; the thud echoing like a gavel. Your kisses turn ravenous. His hands are on you – everywhere; your hips, your hair, your neck, the bare skin of your back where the dress dips so low you may as well not be wearing anything and his digging his fingers into your skin like he’s trying to carve his name as ownership into you.

“McLaggen of all fucking pricks. That’s who you use to rile me up?”, Mattheo spits between kisses. “Oh like you can fucking talk Matty. You think I don’t see your little head girl fucking project trying to sink her claws in.” “Shit – didn’t think jealousy would look this fucking good on you.” “It doesn’t”, you remind him with a hiss, “But you’re mine and she deserves to fucking know it.”

Your hands dive beneath his shirt as you force the buttons still done up to pop beneath the way your nails scrape over the ridges of his chest; exposing scars from quidditch, from fights he’s gotten into that you oh so just want to trace and outline with the tip of your tongue. Mattheo shudders; a crack showing in the wall he doesn’t like to let down, but you use the opportunity to your advantage and yank at his tie like it’s the leash around the neck of a wild beast as you guide him backwards towards the beds in the dorm room. His hands find your thighs, sliding up beneath your dress to find nothing but skin and he chokes out a moan, as his lips curl into a wicked grin.

“Nothing underneath huh? Trying to kill me?” “Trying to own you.”

Your reply counters his own, your voice a raw, rust like scrape as you shove Mattheo hard a few steps until his back hits the bed; the frame creaking like it’s begging for mercy. Crawling over him, your knees bracket around his hips, thighs clamping tight as the heat of both of you sears through his jeans. The dress you’re in is an absolute wreck; sequins scattering like fallen stars across the bedsheets and you lean down, getting close, hair spilling like ink as you nip and suck a few hickey’s into the skin above his collarbone, tasting salt and better yet broken defiance. Grinding your hips against his own ever so slow; you make sure each move isn’t pleasure but torture, forcing his jaw to clench and his breathing to hitch.

“You let that little fucking witch touch you..”, you seethe, “I swear to Salazar, Mattheo – if there comes a time where I can’t fucking have you, no one else can either..”

He let’s out a growl; flipping you over so that your back hits the mattress cold and cool, air punched from your lungs. He hovers above you; using his weight to pin you down before his mouth finds your neck – unruly and cruelly using his teeth to graze, bite, suck; marking you in ways that will last for weeks not days.

“You’re fucking insane to think that I want her.”

His hands tear away at your dress; one coming up to cup a breast through the lacy bra you’re wearing as his thumb brushes across a nipple to have you aching and your back arches; a moan slipping free as your body begins to act like a traitor to the rage that you’re still feeling – ever so slowly turning into lust, want and ecstasy. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head; his rings cold against your skin.

“Look, I’m a guy. I’m an idiot. I get that”, he confesses, voice cracking delicately, “But you – it’s always been fucking you.”

Mattheo’s lips hover over your own; not for a kiss, just soft enough to take a breath; sharing a toxic air between the two of you. You still want to hate him. A little more – just temporarily; but hell, your body is screaming for something that rubber or silicone or anything that you own that vibrates could not fucking satisfy. He manages to get his belt undone; zipper down, cock out; spitting into his hand to stroke himself just once before the tip slides in between your swollen moist lips to tease your clit and then slips in, and ugh; it feels like his dick has finally found its home. You throw your head back; bounding and rolling your hips as your lips trickle out more demands.

“Say you’re mine and fucking mean it.” “Fuck – baby – all yours…”

His eyes roll back; you let out a mewl like groan, your nails dig into his shoulders; clawing rivers of red down his arms and just as you begin to lose yourself in what’s happening; he slides out, tossing you half off the side of the bed to pepper kisses along the inside of your thighs; apologising to you in every way he can think of – English, Latin, Parseltongue against your clit that has you seeing more than stars. Your legs shake; body quivering. His face is wet; you’ve come once, twice, thrice as his tongue continues with almost vengeance to try and make you feel good; arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you still – keep you as his, because right now – that’s just it, you and him and hell… Mattheo plans on eating you out until you’ve got nothing else left to give.

thank you to @scribbledlovenotes for the chat about the idea xo

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vantetaes · 5 months ago

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PARENT TEACHER CONFRENCES🫧🥂

TEACHER!NANAMI X MILF BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! hardworking single mom yn is called to meet with nanami, her sons fourth grade teacher to discuss his performance.

WARNINGS!!! aggressive tones, cursing, penetration, oral {f}, mirror sex, affirmations, sensual, praises, 6.2k

the school hallways are eerily quiet, the usual chaos of children’s laughter, teachers and coaches directing the younger kids to class, and hurried squeaky footsteps replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. you stride through the marble floored corridor, the sharp click of your black heels slicing through the silence.

your grip tightens around the structured leather of your designer handbag as you reach the door labeled with big black lettering MR. KENTO NANAMI.

you knock twice, before using your entire body weight pushing the wooden door open without waiting for an invitation.

nanami looks up from his desk, his expression unreadable behind his gold square-framed glasses. he’s put together, wearing a clean tan suit. the matching jacket lay carelessly over the back of his chair while his white button up pressed shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at forearm muscle, tie loosened just a fraction. the gold chain he wore underneath barely peeking through to catch the beams of sunlight coming through the large windows.

his whole aura screams methodical, disciplined, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes when he meets your gaze. something unreadable.

“ms. l/n, i’m surprised. thank you for making the time.” he greets, standing as a courtesy. his voice is deep, smooth, but there’s an undercurrent of exhaustion beneath the professionalism.

you set your bag down on one of the two brown leather chairs before seating yourself across from him, back straight, chin tilted slightly upward. nanami watched as your blazer tightened around your frame as you fixed your posture. your sheer stockings with lace cuffing your thigh give the man a tease, revealing with the way your mini pencil skirt rose up to crease at your hips. the simple gold jewelry necklace that hung around your neck, being fixed by freshly manicured french tips.

and the one thing he could never forget about you, you smelled like homegrown vanilla and looked like you were moisturized by gods.

“i always make time when it comes to my son, mr. kento. let’s get to the point.” your tone is crisp, practiced, the same one you use when working around the most elite of clients and workers the same. although it never mattered to nanami. outside of those aura you present, he knew you’d crumble.

“it’s about yuji. he’s a bright kid. engaging , compassionate. but i’ve noticed a pattern of distraction in class. his assignments are often rushed, and while he excels in physical activities, he struggles to focus during lessons. i’m concerned he’s not reaching his full potential.” he exhales slowly, measuring his words. his hazel eyes lock onto yours for a moment, trying to gather an expression.

“so what are you saying? that my son is a problem all of a sudden?” your brows knit together, irritation beginning to bubble beneath your skin.

“not at all, in fact i love having him in my class. i’m saying he needs more structure. more consistency.” nanami doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady. he goes to grab a manila folder, with your sons name right on the front.

“you think i don’t provide that? do you know how hard i work to make sure yuji has everything he needs?” you fold your arms, nails tapping against your sleeve, leg beginning to jump. the small sound of your heel connecting with the flooring filling the uncomfortable space.

there’s a flicker of something in his expression—understanding, maybe, but not pity.

“i’m not questioning your dedication as a parent, ms. l/n. i see how much yuji adores you. but children, especially ones as energetic as him, need more than just material stability. they need presence.”

your jaw tightens. presence. as if you haven’t sacrificed enough. as if you haven’t built an empire just so yuji never has to want for anything.

“i’m present-” you say, voice quieter now, but still firm. “i show up. the amount of money i spend on this crappy little private elementary school, i should be the one signing checks.”

nanami slightly adjusts his glasses, tapping his finger along the opening of the folder. instead, his body shifts backwards in his chair, placing the cream folder in front of you. clasping his hands together, a small, tight line smile crosses his face.

“the amount of money you donate to helping your child’s future doesn’t impress me. do with that what you will. i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was attacking you, ms. l/n. just bringing light to the situation.”

sitting forward in your seat, you lean over. your nails drum against the polished wood of his desk, slow, deliberate. his eyes can’t help but to draw down to your exposed cleavage. watching your necklace sway with your movements.

“you assume a lot, mr. kento.” your voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, a sharpness honed from years of speaking over men who thought they could talk over you.

“you see a distracted child and immediately think it’s a lack of structure. you see a working mother and assume it’s a lack of presence. tell me, do you make the same assumptions about fathers?”

“i don’t assume, ms. l/n. i observe. and what i’ve observed is a boy who looks over his shoulder every time he accomplishes something. searching for approval that isn’t always there.” nanami doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk, his expression unwaveringly calm. you could smell the mint wafting off his breath.

“that’s not fair.” heat flares in your chest, something dangerously close to guilt threading through the frustration.

“it’s not about fair.” he says evenly.

“it’s about what’s real. yuji is brilliant, but he’s restless. he’s eager, but inconsistent. i don’t doubt for a second that you love him. but love and attention aren’t the same thing. help him or you’ll run him right into the ground.”

your lips part, ready to retort, but the words catch. because a part of you knows he isn’t wrong. knows that between early-morning meetings and late-night conference calls, between international flights and back-to-back negotiations, there are missed dinners, forgotten bedtime stories, moments you can’t get back. you work so he doesn’t have to struggle. but in doing so, maybe, just maybe, you’ve made him fight for a different kind of survival.

but admitting that feels too much like surrender.

“you’re out of line. i don’t think the dean would enjoy hear about how you spoke to their cash cow.” so you straighten, tilting your chin up just enough to remind him who you are.

“maybe-” nanami exhales slowly, pushing a hand through his blond hair. his voice remains maddeningly level.

“-but if i don’t say it, who will?”

silence stretches between you, thick with something unspoken. outside, the distant sound of a basketball bouncing against pavement echoes through the hallway.

“enough of this. i have to make it home for yuji. i appreciate your concern for my son but from now on, please mind your own business.”

collecting your purse and the folder, you stand up, straightening out your outfit. nanami stands also, watching as you flip your bouncy curls behind one ear, the skirt still high and teasing. nanami watches as your tiny frame shuffles over to the door, a smile sigh leaving his lips.

you grip the door handle, pausing just long enough to steady yourself. the conversation lingers, the weight of it pressing against your spine, taking in a deep breath.

infuriating.

“ms. l/n.” his voice stops you, low and deliberate.

“what now, nanami?” you inhale slowly before turning, arching a brow.

he watches you for a moment, arms crossed, expression unreadable. then, with the same frustrating composure he’s had all evening, “-i was too hostile.”

you blink, caught off guard. “excuse me?”

“i should have approached the conversation differently. more patience, less provocation.” he exhales, adjusting his tie, more out of habit than necessity. then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, “let-let me make it up to you. dinner.”

there’s a pause. sharp, charged.

then you laugh, a short, disbelieving sound.

“is this your way of apologizing?”

“it’s my way of offering a reset.” his lips twitch slightly at the corner, just slightly.

“would your wife be okay with you taking out a parent?”

“no wife. just me and you.”

you study him, searching for any sign of insincerity. but nanami is firm. there’s no arrogance in his offer, no expectation, just a quiet confidence that irritates you almost as much as it intrigues you.

“interesting, well. bold of you to assume i have the time. yknow, with me being an absent mother an all.” you say smoothly, tilting your chin up.

“bold of you to assume i’m not willing to wait, just like today.” he counters with a laugh without missing a beat.

the air between you shifts, charged with something neither of you acknowledge outright.

“send me the details, mr. kento. i’ll think about it.” finally, you smirk, pushing the door open.

you don’t wait for his response as you walk out, heels clicking against the tile, but you don’t need to. because for the first time tonight, you let him have the last word.

nanami: dinner. friday. 8pm. send me your preference, or i’ll choose.

you: you assume i’m free.

nanami: i assume you’ll make time.

you: bold of you.

nanami: so i’ve been told.

you: fine. pick the place.

nanami: i already have. i’ll send the details.

you: don’t disappoint me.

nanami: i wouldn’t dare.

read 6:25pm

soft jazz hums through your bedroom, blending with the quiet rustle of fabric as you smooth your dress down in the mirror. the dark red silk pulling just right at every curve of your legs and waist. here, in the warm glow of the vanity lights, with yuji bouncing on his heels beside you, you allow yourself a moment of softness.

“mom, you look so cool!” he beams up at you, eyes bright, his excitement buzzing through the air like electricity.

“you really think so, baby?” you turn to him with a warm smile, cupping his cheek gently, watching as the boys eyes lit up like a christmas tree from the affection.

“yeah! like a superhero!” he nods enthusiastically.

“you’re too sweet.” you laugh, pressing a kiss to his forehead, immediately wiping off the faint outline of your lip combo.

behind you, mrs. okoye, yujis nanny, watches with a fond smile but says little, just straightening a few things around the room as if to give you this moment.

“but why are you dressed up? where are you going again?” yuji tugs at your hand, using his other to grab his stuffed bear.

“remember the meeting i had with mr. nanami?” you crouch to his level, smoothing a hand over his messy curly hair.

“when you got mad at him?” he scrunches his nose, pulling the stuffed animal closer.

“we had a discussion. and now, we’re having dinner.” you chuckle.

“so you like him now or are you guys just gonna talk about me, mommy?”

you smirk. “we’ll see.”

the doorbell rings. yuji gasps dramatically. “he’s here!”

before you can stop him, he dashes ahead, excitement bubbling over. he bolts around the corner, dropping his toy along the way. you shake your head fondly, grabbing your clutch and the brown bear and making your way to the door. when you open it, you blink, momentarily caught off guard.

nanami stands there, looking effortlessly composed. navy blue slacks, black button up sleeves pushed up just enough to hint at the veins decorating his forearm. the gold necklace fully visible unlike earlier. but what surprises you isn’t how good he looks. it’s the massive bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath in his hand. the red and white flowers somehow glistening in the moons light.

he stares at you in awe. the way the red dress compliments the rich brown of your skin. he admired how well you layered the gold and diamond jewelry, your warm house lighting catching the gleams perfectly. he loved the way the dress held you, how he could see the outline of your already hard nipples against the silk fabric.

“good evening, ms. l/n.” his voice is smooth, steady, but there’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds out the bouquet. “these are for you.”

“you bring flowers to all your parent-teacher meetings, mr. kento?” your eyes flicker from the flowers to him.

“only when i come on too strong.” his lips twitch, just barely, scratching the back of his neck.

before you can respond, yuji tugs at your dress. “mom! look, flowers!”

“i see that, baby.” you smile, accepting them with one hand while ruffling yuji’s hair with the other. then, turning back to nanami, you arch a brow.

“you’re trying very hard to be charming.”

“is it working?”

you tilt your head, considering, before turning toward the nanny.

“mrs. okoye, put these in water for me? and uh- make sure he’s in bed by 9 at the latest. he has a test monday, his brain needs the rest.”

“but mommy!”

“no buts, that’s how i ended up in this dress in the first place.”

mrs. okoye nods, taking them with a small, knowing smile. “of course, dear.”

“mom says you’re not gonna annoy her tonight.” yuji grins up at nanami.

nanami crouches down to hear the boy more, then glances at you, amused. “is that so?”

you smirk, stepping past the threshold. “we’ll see.”

the restaurant is warm and intimate. a few candles provide low lighting casting a golden glow over dark wood and crisp linens. it’s elegant, but not in the way that feels forced or ostentatious. it’s intentional, curated. something made to make you feel something.

nanami is composed, though somehow his tie discarded somewhere between the car ride and now. he looks, relaxed. or at least, as relaxed as a man like him allows himself to be.

“you chose well, i expected something more- predictable, if im being honest.” you say bluntly, running a finger along the rim of your wine glass, the red liquid swishing.

“ah, so you expected a steakhouse.” he lifts a brow, swirling the amber liquid in his own glass.

“no but i expected something safe.” you smirk.

he exhales, the closest thing to a chuckle slipping through his lips. “i don’t play safe.”

you study him for a moment, letting the words settle between you. nanami is measured, meticulous, but never passive.

“oh? you ordered for me?” the waiter arrives, setting down your plates with quiet efficiency. you glance down, amused.

“i made an educated guess.” nanami sets his napkin in his lap.

“i assume you don’t waste time on things like scanning menus when you already know what you want.”

“you assume a lot about me, nanami.” you lean back in your chair, regarding him with interest.

he meets your gaze without hesitation. “i’ve observed things about you since i’ve started teaching yuji.”

the corner of your lips lifts slightly.

“oh yeah? and what else have you observed?” you take another sip.

he cuts into his meal with precision, not breaking eye contact with you.

“that you’re sharp. decisive. used to being in control-” a pause. he places his glass between his lips, taking a quick sip. then, casually “-and that you rarely let yourself slow down ever.”

your grip tightens just slightly around your fork, tongue picking at the inside of your cheek.

“what else?”

“you’re stubborn. too scared to let anyone in. you think too much about what matters right now and not how it’ll affect your son or his growing up-“

“oh! so now you’re a therapist?”

“ha- ms. l/n, i’m not saying this to be rude. i’m just a teacher.” he takes another sip of his drink. “but one who pays attention.” he starts eating, eyes staying on your frame.

you exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “yuji talks too much.”

“he adores you.” nanami actually smiles at that, small, barely there, but real.

“he’s a good kid.” the warmth in your chest is immediate, but you mask it with a slow sip of wine.

“he is.” nanami leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the table. “-and he wants more of you.”

your jaw tenses, and he catches it, because of course he does.

“did you ask me out to berate me? you think i don’t know that?” your voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now. you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyebrows furrowing.

“i think you know. i think you hate that you can’t fix it as easily as everything else in your life.” nanami doesn’t waver.

the honesty of it stings. not because it’s cruel, but because it’s true.

you inhale slowly, setting your glass down. “do you always talk like this over dinner?”

he tilts his head slightly. “would you prefer small talk?”

you hold his gaze, weighing the challenge in it.

then, slowly, a smirk curves your lips. “no.”

he nods once, as if he already knew.

the conversation shifts, flows. work, travel, books that neither of you have had time to finish.

the tension doesn’t leave, but it changes, settling into something less combative, more intimate.

at some point, the plates are cleared. at some point, your wine glasses are refilled for the fifth time. at some point, you realize you’re enjoying this.

and at some point, nanami sets his glass down, watching you with that same measured gaze, and says,

“would you let yourself slow down? just for a little while?”

the question hangs between you, heavier than the air, lighter than the wine.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t have an immediate answer. in all your tipsy, deep talk with the man, you’d actually started to enjoy the way he was looking at you. how protective and smart he was. how much he cared about a child that wasn’t even his own.

the drive to nanami’s place is smooth, the city lights blurring past as the car hums through the quiet night.

nanami’s apartment is quiet, warm in a way that surprises you. large windows take up a vast majority of his walls. pure marble countertops, redwood flooring. ambient lighting coming from his carved baseboards.

“jesus, how much does teaching actually pay?” upon entering, the much taller man wastes no time bending down, hands tracing the outline of your body as he carefully removes your expensive heels, placing them to the side and grabbing a pair of slippers from the adjacent shoe rack. carefully sliding them on you, letting you adjust, he walks you over to the bar stools.

“i’ve been teaching a long time, ms. l/n-“

“shit, maybe i should quit my empire and start. and please. call me yn.”

a record hums low in the background, something slow and rich, filling the silence between you.

he moves with his usual precision, reaching into a fully see through cabinet. pouring two glasses of whiskey without asking, handing you one with a steady hand. his fingers brush yours, just for a second, and it’s enough to make something flicker beneath your skin. you take a sip letting the heat settle in your chest.

“let’s move to the couch.” he walks from behind the island, helping you off the high bar hair and leading you by the small of your back to his sleek black couch.

“such a gentleman, who would’ve thought.” you joke, leaning back against the couch.

“you expected something else?” nanami sits beside you, not too close, but close enough.

“i expected something colder.” you tilt your head slightly, studying him. his lips pressed to the glass yet his eyes are focused on the way your dress creased at your waist.

“i’m not as rigid as you think, im sorry about earlier.” his lips quirk, just barely. finally taking a drawn out sip, he places his glass down on one of the sleek black coasters.

“no?” your gaze lingers on him over the rim of your glass.

he exhales, slow, watching you the way he always does, like he’s considering his next words carefully.

“no.”

you’re curled into the couch now, one leg tucked beneath you, nanami sitting close beside you, his hand resting on your knee, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. the city lights below flicker and shine through the darker space. it felt really natural in a sense.

“so, yuji? are you still in contact with his father or-“

your eyes widen as you place the rim of the glass to your lips, drinking in as much of the liquid as you could. already feeling the affects of the wine from dinner and the two glasses of aged whiskey tenfold. your head drops, your bouncy hair covering the sides of your face.

“woah, im sorry if it’s early-“ shaking your hand, you finish off the drink. placing the glass back down.

“i mean, what really is there to say? he got me pregnant, decided he didn’t want to have a wife or a son. left. pretty simple.”

nanamis eyes crease at the side a little, watching as your expression began to falter.

“i won’t bring it up again, im sorry.”

“it’s not your fault. i knew you’d get curious eventually.”

the rest of the conversation flows easily, the whiskey loosening the edges just enough. you talk about work, about travel, and nanami listens intently, his attention never wavering. at some point, the distance between you shrinks, you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“that’s in a week?” he asks, the coldness of his ring sliding across your now exposed thigh.

“a week? i wish! that’s a day to day schedule.”

“holy shit! i’d rather double the size of my classes.”

your glass is fully empty when he reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray curl from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear.

you pause, breath catching just slightly. “what are you doing, nanami?”

his touch lingers, his thumb ghosting along your jaw. “just checking on you.”

his voice is quiet, deep, pulling you in like a slow tide. you should say something sharp, something to deflect, but you don’t. instead, you hold his gaze, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension coil tighter between you. the pad of his thumb rubs across your face gently.

“you always this bold?” you murmur, tilting your chin up just slightly.

“not usually.”

you find yourself leaning forward, falling into the man’s smell. his blonde hair beginning to loose its shape from the day, falling in front of his face. jokingly, you remove one of the fallen strands, pushing it back up into the style before. he leans forward fully, finally connecting your lips.

it’s slow at first, testing, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck, fingers threading around your skin as he pulls you closer. he tastes like whiskey, warm and smooth, and something unmistakably him.

your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him as he presses against you, his other hand sliding to your waist, guiding you into him. the way he moves is controlled, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. with your back pressed to the arm of the couch, you could feel the hunger radiating off the man.

when you break apart, you’re breathless, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin.

“tell me if this is too much.” he murmurs, his lips grazing your jaw.

you shake your head, a small smirk playing at your lips. “you think i don’t know what i’m doing?”

nanami exhales a quiet chuckle, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time, slower. “you’re a headache.”

“you like that, though.” you hum, trailing your fingers up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

his grip on your waist tightens. “i do.”

then he kisses you again, deeper, hungrier, like he’s done pretending this isn’t exactly where the night was always meant to end.

his other hand finds your waist, pulling you fully against him, his grip firm, unyielding. he kisses like he does everything else. controlled, intentional, like he’s taking his time memorizing the way you taste, the way you move against him.

you sigh against his lips, your hands moving to his shirt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric to find the warmth of his skin. his breath hitches slightly at the cold touch, and the sound sends heat pooling low in your underwear.

“you always this damn patient?” you murmur impatiently against his lips, teasing.

nanami exhales a quiet chuckle, though there’s an edge to it now, something unraveling at the seams.

“not always.”

you smirk, your nails dragging lightly down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“then don’t be.”

his restraint cracks.

nanami moves without hesitation, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, settling you against him. the shift has you gasping softly, and he takes advantage of it, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, lips and teeth and tongue leaving a slow-burning path in their wake.

you tilt your head, giving him more access, helping him out by hiking the skirt of your dress up to your hips, showing off your matching red lace panties. your fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly. he groans against your skin, low and deep, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of your dress, fingertips teasing against bare skin.

“yn-” he breathes, voice rough with restraint, forehead resting against your collarbone. “-tell me you want this.”

you guide his face back up, meeting his gaze, dark and heavy with desire. your fingers brush along his jaw before pulling him back in, your lips barely grazing his as you whisper.

“i do.”

whatever tension was left shatters.

nanami stands effortlessly, lifting you with him as he moves through the apartment, his mouth still on yours, his hands gripping you like he has no intention of letting go.

when he reaches the bedroom, he presses you against the doorframe for just a second, just long enough to look at you—really look at you.

“last chance.” he murmurs, though his hold on you says he already knows the answer.

you smile, slow and knowing, fingers tracing down the buttons of his shirt before slipping one free.

“shut the hell up and fuck me, nanami.”

nanami doesn’t hesitate. the second the words leave your lips, his mouth crashes into yours, all slow-burning control unraveling into something deeper, something more desperate. he carries you effortlessly across the threshold of his bedroom, his grip firm but careful, like he’s savoring the way you feel against him.

the room is dimly lit, the city lights outside casting a soft glow through the windows, but you barely register anything beyond the warmth of his body, the way he moves, the way he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this—like he’s been holding himself back for too long.

he sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, the fluffy black duvet puffy up as you sit. but before he can pull away, you tighten your grip on his shirt, keeping him close.

“uh- don’t act shy now.” you murmur against his lips, fingers making quick work of the remaining buttons.

nanami exhales sharply, his hands settling on your thighs, thumbs pressing slow, deliberate circles into your skin.

“trust me, shy is the last thing i am.” he says, voice low, rough with restraint,

you smile, trailing your hands down his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips. then, in one smooth motion, you push the shirt from his shoulders, letting it slide to the floor. disappear into the floor from the nights darkness.

your gaze sweeps over him, taking in the broad planes of muscle, tattoos littered across his skin. the faint lighting contouring his abs. your fingers trace over, your touch featherlight.

“you stare a lot.” he murmurs, amused.

you hum, tilting your head as you drag your nails lightly down his torso. “i like what i see.”

his breath stutters just slightly, and before you can tease him about it, he leans down, capturing your lips in another deep, lingering kiss. this one is different. slower, heavier, like he’s savoring every second, every sigh, every way your body reacts to him.

you let him, melting into the warmth of his touch, into the way his hands slide up your sides, tracing over fabric as if debating whether to remove it.

“nanami.” you murmur against his lips, impatient now.

he exhales a quiet chuckle, lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your skin.

“hmm?”

“stop teasing.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. then, his hands move. slow, steady, as he starts to undo the zipper of your dress.

“uh uh uh, say please.” he murmurs, lips curving just slightly.

you arch a brow, amused despite the heat pooling low in your core.

“you’re pushing your luck.”

nanami smirks, fingers trailing over newly exposed skin, making you shiver.

“and yet, you haven’t stopped me.” he muses, voice dipping lower. with ease, he slips the dress from around your waist, gently pushing your body back to lay down in the warmth of the comforter.

his lips trace soft kisses down your collarbone, nipping slowly at the skin. you gasp, head falling back into the mattress, enjoying the feeling of warmth coming from the man’s breath. he proceeds down, planting kisses down to your exposed chest, tongue faintly sliding over your swollen buds.

“oh! fuck nanami, i’m gonna hurt you.” propping your body up on your elbows, he pushes you right back.

“fine, since you wanna be so impatient.”

dipping down, he picks you up, tossing carefully you so that your head rest on his massive pillows. crawling up to you, his lips pepper kisses. down your sternum, under your breast, kissing slowly down your torso, planting one first one to your belly button.

“how pretty they are, hm? just for me?” his voice raspy and hiding hunger, you let out a small sigh, fingers grasping onto the man’s blonde locs.

his head dips between your thighs, mouth pressing against your clothed cunt. a slight hum comes from his chest, letting his head fall to one side as his eyes look up at you, drunkenly.

without further hesitation, he pulls your panties to the side, tongue immediately collecting your slick that pooled. this was the most intimate you’ve been in a man since yuji was conceived. and god did it feel good.

his hands hook around your legs, holding you open in a middle split while one hand held the lingerie to the side while the other rubbed slow, agonizing circles into the swollen nub. he uses his tongue to slowly pump in and out of your throbbing hole. in the darkness of the room, all you can see is stars and made up shapes floating around in the void. tears pooling at the corners of your eyes as you feel nanami begin to slowly suck at your clit, plump lips wrapped gently around while the tip of his tongue spells out his name. his middle and ring finger pushing and pulling out of you, the sounds of wetness filling the room.

your mouth open, head thrown back into the pillows, and fingers grasping onto the man’s head for dear life, he ate you like he was starving. like a wild beast. everytime he removed his lips from sucking, using his fingers to curl up inside you, fucking your gummy walls.

“nami- oh! i’m gonna cum!” he knew it. he felt how tight you were getting around his fingers. how you were pulling him in now.

“you’re so beautiful, do it. make a mess on my fingers.”

that was enough to have you throwing your arms around the man’s neck, pulling him into a hug as the coil in your belly burned.

“shit! oh fuck.” he let you hold onto him for a few seconds before he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, watching as you frown from the lack of touch.

instead, climbs off the bed, uses his abs to wipe his hands off. he swiftly undoes his leather belt, unbuckling his slacks and tossing them somewhere else in the room. almost hopping right back onto the bed, he climbs back to your limp frame.

“you okay?” he asks, removing a few strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

“mhm.” you give him a weak thumbs up, letting your hand fall against his chest. he leans over, placing a swift kiss to your lips.

“i know you can give me another one though.”

and maybe that’s how you ended up here. bent over his sink, watching as he fucks you passionately. one hand gently around your throat, holding you up, and the other dug securely into your waist. his strokes are slow, sensual. but the way he was looking at you. his eyes got darker, body seemed to get bigger, and he was fucking you in front of his mirror.

“i knew you could take it, hm? say ‘i’m all yours’.” he watched you in the mirror as your makeup smudged and began to run down your face.

“i’m all yours, nami!” you cry out, feeling full from his length.

“mhm, good job baby. now say ‘im a great mother’.” you shake your head before he stops you, halting his movements and staring at you in the mirror. lips pressed against your ear, eye contact never stopping.

“was i asking you? say it.” you whine, trying to fuck yourself into his length, only to get met with a slap on the ass.

“say. it.”

“i’m a great mother!” he rams back into you, causing you to hunch over the counter. eyes still on the mirror as your breast press against the cold marble. he’s relentless, needy. his hand presses into your back as he fucks into you.

“yes you fucking are baby. let me give you another one.” he didn’t know what he was saying. all he knew was that seeing you, bent over his counter, eyes rolling to the back of your head, drooling. he never wanted to stop. he never was going to. he could feel the climax building, watching and feeling as you came undone under him.

“i’m gonna cum baby, oh fuck!”

it’s a short drive to his school, and before long, you’re stepping out, holding his hand as you walk him to class. yuji doesn’t mind- not yet, at least. he swings your arm between you both, talking about his favorite cartoons and how he’s going to beat his friend at some game they play during recess.

but as you reach the door to his classroom, his chatter slows, his fingers curling around yours a little tighter.

you glance down at him. “what’s up, baby?”

“you’re gonna be okay today, right?” he hesitates, then looks up at you with those big, earnest eyes.

you blink, caught off guard.

“of course. why wouldn’t i be?”

“sometimes you look tired after you drop me off.” he shifts on his feet, playing with his fingers.

your chest tightens.

you crouch down so you’re at his level, cupping his little face in both hands.

“baby, i’m always okay. especially when i get to come home to you, you hear me? you’re my favorite person in this whole world. i’m always okay when im with you.”

he nods, his tiny hands resting over yours.

“promise?” his voice small.

you lean in, kissing his forehead.

“i super promise.”

a throat clears behind you.

you already know who it is before you turn, feeling the weight of his gaze before you even meet his eyes.

nanami stands in the doorway, his usual crisp attire perfectly in place, though there’s a softness in his face when he looks at yuji and a different kind of softness when his eyes flicker to you.

“good morning, yuji.” he greets first, as always.

“morning, mr. nanami!” yuji chirps, then glances back at you.

“mommy’s happy today.”

your lips part slightly, surprised at his boldness, but nanami only nods, as if he already knew.

“good,” he says simply, then meets your gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his glasses. “i like seeing that.”

your breath catches for just a second, but before you can respond, yuji tugs on your hand.

“okay, mama, you can go now. love you!”

you exhale a quiet laugh, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“love you more, baby.”

he runs inside without another glance, leaving you standing in the doorway with nanami, his presence steady beside you.

you glance up at him, tilting your head. “you always this charming first thing in the morning?”

“only with you.” he exhales softly, almost a laugh.

“dangerous habit, mr. kento.” your heart stumbles, but you cover it with a smirk.

nanami hums, hands in his pockets. “so i’ve been told.”

you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you take a step back.

“see you later, nami.”

“looking forward to it.” his lips twitch into a smile.

you turn, heading back down the hall, but you can still feel his gaze on you.

and for once, you don’t mind being watched.

part {2} {3}

719 notes · View notes

luvhcarly · 4 months ago

Text

TELL ME HOW MUCH YOU WANT IT.

You start to fail one of your classes at college and San as your professor notices that. He decides to help you out as a good professor, but it takes another turn…

PAIRINGS: soft dom!San x fem!reader

GENRE: smut, professor x student, college AU

TAGS: smut, unprotected sex (don’t!), fingering, cum swallowing, praising, use of pet name (love), divorce!, cheating, age gap (San is in his 30s and reader is 22.), swearing, lmk it I missed anything

WC: 7K

A/N: here I am with writing a professor x student smut. I feel kind of ashamed but nvm! I don’t know if I love this one or hate it… if you find any mistakes lmk. English is not my first language!!

Your attention was focused on your notes and you nervously tapped your pen on the desk. You were nervous. Nervous that you don't understand it. You always understood everything and you were always the best of the best. Your grades were something that made you happy, successful and you felt at least somehow important. Well, a short circuit came, a short circuit that you didn't know would ever happen. You started to fail Media & Communications. The subject was quite fun, you understood it from the beginning and did well, but as time went on it somehow went downhill.

"Ms. Y/n.” A male voice was heard, which interrupted you out of your thoughts. You looked up from your notes and looked at your professor of Media & Communications. "Stay after class." He ordered and you nodded, you knew what it was about. Mr. Choi was a good professor, he cared about the students and that they understood the subject, which most professors did not do.

When the class ended, you stood up, holding your notes tightly in your hand, but the rest of your things were in your backpack, which was slung over your shoulder. The classroom was emptied and only you and the professor remained there.

"Yes, Professor?" You asked him nervously, he was leaning his body against his desk, he had glasses on his eyes and his hair was slicked back. He was wearing a shirt with a tie and black pants that fit him perfectly.

“You are failing my class.” He remarked how you wouldn't know about it yourself. His gaze shifted to you and your nervous expression. A small sigh escaped your lips and you held the notes even tighter than before.

“I know…” You admitted, he adjusted his glasses a bit and raised an eyebrow at your answer.

"And? What's the problem?" He asked, placing his hands over his chest as he scanned you from top to bottom. Your hair was down, you were wearing a black shirt that hugged your body. Your skirt was short, above the knees, but not too short.

"Well..." You swallowed loudly and looked at him, his shape was casual, but he was patiently waiting for your answer. "I just don't understand the subject." You admitted, biting your bottom lip nervously.

“I figured that out, Y/n.” He bounced away from his desk and walked over to his chair. He sat down and took a pen in his hand. He raised his eyebrows again and waited for what you would say next, but when you remained silent he asked again. "What exactly do you not understand?" He started rummaging through the papers while you shifted nervously from foot to foot. You felt embarrassed that you were dealing with something like this at all. You were always a good student, even excellent.

“Journalism & News Reporting…” You mumbled like you didn't even want him to know. He shifted his eyes from his papers to you and raised one eyebrow. At first you had the feeling that he didn't hear you, but then he started talking again.

"Were you thinking about getting a tutor? Or asking your classmates about it?” A small sigh escaped his lips and you shifted your gaze to the ground.

"I asked a classmate about it but I still don't get it. I just have trouble with finding the researches.” You ruffled your hair nervously and he nodded at your answer. He saw that you were nervous. He knew you. You always sat quietly at the end of the row, right at the front and listened carefully. You were one of those students who excelled in his class. You were an excellent student, you always handed in your materials on time and you always had an A+, sometimes an A, but you never failed. He was quite surprised when he read your test and saw that you wrote nonsense there.

"Do you have time tomorrow?" He broke the silence between you. You redirected your gaze to him and blinked quickly being surprised.

“What?” You asked because you weren't sure if you heard him correctly, but when he repeated the question, you parted your lips.

"Do you have time tomorrow, Ms. Y/n?” With a raised eyebrow, he watched as your lips slightly parted over his words.

“Y-yes I have.”

"Good. Stay after class tomorrow. Bring your materials.” He said and stood up from his chair, leaning his hands on the desk and watched as you nodded and bowed your head in gratitude and respect. Without a word, you turned around and walked out of the classroom. When the door closed behind you, you leaned against it and sighed loudly.

After the class next day, you stayed, just like he told you to. You nervously sat in place and waited until the class was empty. "Good luck." Your friend told you as she packed her things and with those words she left, leaving you sitting there alone.

When all of a sudden they all left, the class fell silent and a slight chill ran down your spine. While he was just sitting on his chair and leafing through his papers. With your hands on your thighs, you nervously wondered if you should say anything at all or wait until he transferred his attention to you. It took a while until he stopped flipping through the papers. But when he finished, he slowly got up from the chair and walked over to your desk.

"So, show me where are you stuck at?" He didn't usually tutor. Well, never. This was the first time he tutored one of his students. It was forbidden in their code, but he broke it and was willing to help even if you didn't ask for it. He didn't even know why he did it, but it was probably because he felt sorry for you. He saw how you struggle with it and try to understand it, but somehow you couldn't bear it. San noticed you, but rather in the form that every professor do to every student who is doing well.

“Well, the assignment that you gave us. I found some interesting topic but I am struggling with finding the right resources how you taught us.” You took your computer from your bag and turned it on. While you were waiting for the computer, which for some reason was turning on even more slowly than usual, he asked:

"What topic?" He asked with a raised eyebrow and put his hands in the pockets of his pants. This time he didn't have glasses on his eyes, which usually fit him nicely. He was wearing a white shirt again, which was a little unbuttoned, but not too much. His hair was slicked back as usual.

"The future of work." You admitted and watched as he sighed at your answer.

"Good idea, but too difficult to make a research." You opened your mouth as if you wanted to protest him, but you didn't know how. He was right, that's why you're sitting here.

"Um, what about Human trafficking awareness?" He thought for a short moment and when he thought of an interesting topic, he proposed it to you. You tilted your head to the side and nodded at his suggestion.

"That could be good too."

“Good.” He replied and sighed. You redirected your gaze to the computer that was already on and cleared your throat a little. Then you opened the material and bit your lip, while he took out his phone from his pocket and started texting. He had a disgusted expression on his forms and for a few seconds he was as if frozen. You didn't pay much attention to it, but you still tried wrote things in the material that you still knew how to do. But then the bad always came. Writing about what it is and how it works went well for you, but when it came to research, you had a block.

San put his phone in his pocket when he noticed that you stopped writing. Your look was confused, he could see it on you. The problem is that you really don't understand it, not that you chose the wrong topic. He slowly walked up to you from behind and leaned down to get a good look at your computer. His face was inches away from yours, you could smell his perfume as soon as he bent down. He ran his eyes over the screen and carefully read what you wrote.

"If you want to have a good research you need to gather your information from blogs." He informed you as he kept reading your notes.

“Yeah, I know that but those blogs are hard to find.” You admitted and swallowed loudly. When he finally pulled away, you were relieved. You let out a huge sigh that you didn't even know you were holding back.

"Hm..." His eyes narrowed and he began to think. "Are you using keywords?" He asked you with a raised eyebrow, while you turned your head to look at him at least out of the corner of your eye.

"No…?"

"You need to use keywords or you won't be able to find anything good and interesting." He answered you right away, you parted your lips as if you wanted to say something, but then you immediately closed them and just nodded your head at his sentence.

As time went by, an hour passed since you were sitting here with him. You collected information and it was more than you thought you would collect. San cleared his throat and looked at his watch on his wrist.

"We will work on it tomorrow." He let out a sigh and you lifted your gaze from the screen to look at him. He had a tired look on his face, which you noticed only now. You felt bad that he had to stay here because of you.

"I think I understand it now." You gave him a sweet smile and turned off the computer. San looked at you in surprise but then nodded at your statement. You packed your things in your backpack and got up from your chair.

"Thank you." You started talking, and he looked up from the ground and paid attention to you. "Thank you for your help, sir." You bowed your head as a sign of the respect you show him.

"No worries." He put his hands in his pants pockets again and watched as you smiled sweetly at him. Your smile was sincere and it warmed his heart at that moment, but then he put the thought behind him. You nodded at his words and directed your steps away from the classroom. You looked at him for the last time as you left and then closed the door.

Weeks have passed since the professor tutored you and helped you. But there was one problem, you didn't know what to do again. You felt embarrassed that you would go to him with that, but you still went to see him after class.

"Professor?" He looked up from his papers and took off his glasses. "Yes?" He was actually quite surprised to see you standing in front of his desk.

"I feel dumb that I am asking about this again, but I am at the end of the research and I have a problem how to end it. I know that it's not your duty to help me and I also know that I shouldn't ask this-"

"Come to my office after your classes. Right down the hall.” Your eyes widened when he immediately cut you off. Your friend who was standing near you looked at you with a surprised expression.

“Okay.” You nodded and then started walking towards your friend and you walked out of the classroom together. San watched you run out of the classroom, your hair blowing in the air and how you laughed at something your friend said. He started paying a lot of attention to you, and he didn't like it. He was interrupted from his observation by the ringing of the phone. When he saw who was calling, he rolled his eyes and picked up the phone.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Your wife refuses to sign the papers no matter what." It echoed from the other side of the phone, at which he sighed and rubbed his face. He leaned his body more against the chair and thought.

"Tell her that I agree." He blurted out.

"What? Are you insane? There is a big chance that you will win it.”

"Tell her that I agree and that she can keep that damn apartment." He said again and more clearly. He was so done with that shit, he was tired.

“San-“

“I have a class. Do what I said…” With those words, he ended the conversation and let out an annoyed sigh. Finally he can get rid of that woman.

"Going to Mr. Choi office? Y/n you don't seem like you-"

"What the hell?! No! It's not like that." You punched her on the shoulder with a furrowed brow, but she only let out a laugh.

"Come on, don't tell me that you never had thought about him like that." She swallowed loudly and shook her head at her cocky thinking.

"Well, I didn't." You stopped in your tracks and raised your eyebrows. "Did you?" You asked and she just laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

"You are unbelievable!" You laughed at your friend and caught up with her. When you stopped by her locker, you leaned back and waited for her to take her things.

"I think you should fuck him." She blurted out and looked at you.

"What?" Your eyes widened and you stared at her in confusion. "I have a boyfriend, did you forget?" She rolled her eyes at your answer and sighed.

“Oh, you mean that asshole who cheated?” You were taken aback by her reminder. You swallowed loudly and shook your head. Whenever you thought that you are over it, someone slapped it in your face. Every damn time.

"It was a year ago... and he changed." You muttered as if you weren't sure if he had really changed. He's been acting strange lately, he's been more withdrawn from you and you haven't spent as much time together as before.

“People like him never change, y/n.” She commented while you nervously looked at the ground and thought. "I think you should do the same." She closed the locker and looked at you.

“Well. I am not like that. Besides he is our professor. He is like 8 years older than me.” Your friend shrugged her shoulders at your sentence. "But he is hot." When she saw how you opened your mouth and was about to say something, she immediately stopped you. "-and don't deny it!" She pointed a warning finger at you and you laughed at her behavior. Of course, he was hot. But that was it, or?

When your classes were over, you went to his office as he told you. You nervously held the laptop in your hand, and when you suddenly appeared in front of his door, you became even more nervous. Your friend's words stuck in your head and you couldn't suppress them. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. Slowly, you raised your hand and knocked on the door. When his voice was heard "come in." you opened the door and stepped inside.

His body was completely leaning on the chair, his hair was messy, which you had never seen before, and he had a weird expression on the shapes. He look nervous, angry? He pointed to the place opposite him for you to sit down. And so you did. You sat across from him and nervously played with hem of your skirt. Why did he look so good? Nope. Don't think about it. You repeated in your head.

"Show me." He blurted out, breaking you out of your thoughts.

"What?" You looked up at him and blinked quickly your eyes as if you didn't understand what he meant

“The research.” He cleared his throat and leaned closer. Your parted her lips and shook your head, turned on the laptop and opened the research folder. Then your turned the laptop towards him and he began to scan it with his eyes. You watched how his chest rose gently when he breathed and how his adam’s apple always rose a little when he swallowed. It was hard to take your eyes off him. He noticed your look very well, felt it. But for some reason he liked it... You cleared your throat a little and then you realized that you were staring at him for too long.

Just then the phone rang, he shifted his gaze to the phone and sighed. He turned the mobile downwards and once again looked at the computer screen.

"If it's something important you can take it." You told him and he looked at you and then looked back at the screen. The cell phone started ringing again and he rolled his eyes and turned it off. His brow furrowed and he looked even more angry than before.

“I think we should discuss it tomorrow.” You started to get up from your chair and he raised an eyebrow. "Sit. Down." You swallowed at his voice, which was rougher than usual, and sat down to the chair. After a while, he started typing into your laptop what made you confused.

"I didn't-" When you wanted to say something, he turned the laptop towards you again.

"Done." He said and got up from his chair, as you swallowed loudly.

"Sir- I just wanted to discuss it not you to write it for me..." you got up from the chair and he just looked at you and leaned his body against his desk.

"You're welcome." That's the only thing he let out and he continued to watch you as your nervously cleared your throat and looked at him with an uncomprehending look.

"I feel bad-"

"There is nothing to feel bad about. I wrote if for you. You didn't ask for it so." He sighed and waited for your answer.

“I-… well thank you, sir.” The way you said 'sir' triggered something in him. He bit the inner corner of his mouth and nodded his head.

“Sorry to ask- but you seem tired. Are you feeling okay?” You said and he started paying attention to you even more. You didn't want him to take it as an insult, but you were interested. You've never seen him so freaked out. It was quite strange for you.

"It's nothing." He let out a fake smile. He was surprised that you noticed something about him and he was quite happy. It warmed his heart a little. You didn't want to pressure him, so you nodded and packed the laptop into your backpack. "Thank you again." You thanked again, but when you were about to leave, he stopped you.

"Wait-" You turned around and raised your eyebrows. He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes for a moment as if was thinking. He didn't want to bother you with his problems. Hell, you were his student, so why did he want to tell you everything that was on his mind. What bothered him.

"I-..." for the first time in your life, you saw him as if he was lost. As if he couldn't find the right words to say. "I just divorced recently and I don't know it's just been a hard time for me lately." His words surprised you that he confided something like that to you. You devoted your attention only to him and his nervous expression.

"I am sorry to hear that."

"I am not, it's just she has been pissing me off lately. She is refusing to sign the papers.” He throwed his hands in the air and you raised an eyebrow at his angry reaction.

"Why?”

“I don’t know. But she makes me sick.” He confessed and broke eye contact with you. He felt embarrassed that he was telling you this, but inside his heart he was relieved. He felt much better when he told you and got it out.

"What happened between you two, if I may ask?" You were curious and you could never suppress it. Even if sometimes your curiosity was too much, he didn't seem to mind that you were asking.

"I found out that she has been cheating on me." Your eyes widened when he said what happened. You cleared your throat and nodded.

"Well, she is a bitch. I know how you feel. Betrayed? Not enough?” When the word bitch escaped from your mouth he chuckled. But then, when you started to name how he feels, his smile slipped out of shape.

"How do you know?"

"Well, my boyfriend cheated on me a year ago so I kind of know how you feel. But when she is your or I- I mean 'was' your wife then you must feel a lot of worse." Your words were true, but something made him angry when he said that your boyfriend cheated on you. Why? You were kind, smart and attractive...

"Are you still with him?" You were taken aback by his question. But you let out a sigh and nodded your head.

“Why?” He asked being curious, why would you stay with someone who cheated on you? San saw it as a betrayal, when he learned that his wife had cheated on him. That's why he threw the divorce papers in front of her the very next day.

"I don't know..." You really didn't know why you were still with him and why you forgave him. You felt love for him, but it faded over time, but when he came begging to the door with flowers in hand, it warmed your heart.

Although it was probably because you didn't want to feel alone. "I didn't want to feel lonely I guess." The atmosphere between you was quite awkward and serious. San sighed at your words and pursed his lips.

He undrestand, you're young and you didn't want to be alone. Loneliness is the worst, he always said.

He thought for so long before submitting the divorce papers. He wanted to communicate it, but also he didn't feel like it. He didn't want to forgive her even in his worst dream. It was disgusting what she did, and the love for her immediately disappeared, no matter what it was.

Well, he thought about the fact that he would be alone. He was alone as always. Although he didn't want to feel that way, he didn't want to live with someone who lies.

“You know people like that never change?” He asked and his words were sharp, as if he wanted to change your thinking about how it really is.

"I know." You nodded at his words and sighed. You knew that everyone who tells you that is right. They don't change. Never. Even so, you believed that he was different, that he wouldn't do it again. San didn't answer your words, as if he didn't know what to say. There was an awkward silence between you, but then he broke it.

"Did you ever think about doing the same to him?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. His thoughts started going where they shouldn't, again. Ever since he tutored you for the first time, he started thinking about you differently than before. His eyes always fell on you even during class, in the corridor. He watched how you always wore only skirts to school, once you wore a skirt that was too short and it almost stuck out your whole ass. And you were wearing the same skirt now. He didn't want to think of you like that. But he couldn't control himself. That day he spent the whole time with the pain in his pants.

San knew that it was wrong and that you were too young for him, to hell with the fact that you were his student, but the way you looked at him, which you probably didn't even realize, made him want to fuck you even more.

“No….” Your lips parted as if you wanted to say something more. He pushed his body off his desk and moved closer to you. “Do you think about it now?” He watched your surprised expression, he didn't even know what he was doing. Well, he longed for you. He watched as you set your lips into a thin line and then bit down on them, as if you weren’t so sure what he meant.

"What do you mean?" You asked him to know what he was running into right now. He moved closer to you and leaned down so that he was dangerously close to your lips. “What do you think that I mean, y/n?” He raised his eyebrows as if he was curious about what exactly you were thinking about right now. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers touched your cheek and you stopped breathing for a moment. What he did was wrong, and you knew it yourself. But you couldn't tear yourself away. Something was holding you in place.

"Would you like to do the same to him? Do you want him to feel like a shit, which he deserves?” You swallowed loudly at his words and watched as he looked at your lips. He wanted to kiss you so badly, but he was waiting for your answer.

"Yes." You mumbled like you weren't sure if you really wanted it. "You don't sound so sure." He tilted his head to the side, watching your nervous expression. “Yes, I do.” You blurted out more clearly and he chuckled. Without further warning, he pressed his lips to yours. He put one hand on your waist and other one on your cheek, gently caressing it with his fingers. The kiss was soft at first, but then he deepened it and began to kiss you more dominantly. His grip on your waist was tight and he pulled you even closer. When you felt his hard cock through his pants you let out a little sigh and he took it as a good chance to enter his tongue into your mouth. The kiss was hungry, something you never experienced before.

"We shouldn't." Your hand touched his chest but you didn't pull away. "I know, but fuck I can't help it." He tried to breathe it out, kissing your lips was his new obsession. He wanted to kiss you everywhere, but when you said you two shouldn't, he looked at you with a desperate look. "Tell me to stop and I will." He blurted out, keeping eye contact with you.

"I don't want you to stop." You admitted and swallowed loudly, his pupils widening at your answer. He moved the other hand that was on your cheek to your waist and started to navigate it to his desk. When your ass leaned against it, he immediately lifted you up a little so that you were sitting on it. He pressed his lips to yours again and slowly began to leave wet kisses everywhere. He slid one hand slowly under your short skirt and his touch sent chills down your spine. His touch was hot, and powerful, something you wanted to feel all the time. He pulled away his hand from your thigh and he touched your shirt and he took it of from you, leaving you in your bra.

For a short moment he looked at you with an amazement, then he pressed his lips to your neck and his hands started to roam all over your body. His fingers traced the lace edge of your bra, his touch gentle yet insistent. He unhooked the clasp slowly, his eyes locked onto yours now, watching for any sign that you might pull back. The bra fell away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He took a shuddering breath. “Fuck, so beautiful.” He complimented you as he took a step back, admiring you. You blushed at him, of course your boyfriend complimented you, but when San said it, it was different. You felt more… confident and appreciated. With one swift move you pulled him back by his black tie which he smirked at. Slowly with your fingers you started to unbutton his shirt as he watched you getting more and more eager for him.

When he saw how you are struggling with the buttons, he moved your hand away and did it by himself. “Are you that nervous that you can’t even unbutton it, love?” San looked at you with raised eyebrow and with a grin. God he was so hot. You knew that you shouldn’t do it. Fuck, he was your professor. But handsome professor…

“Maybe.” You swallowed when he pulled his t-shirt off, revealing his toned abs. He tossed it somewhere and slowly with your fingers you started to caress his abs. Your movements were slow, controlled and you observed him. “If you won’t stop touching me like that I won’t be able to control myself.” He grabbed you by your chin to make you look at him. His eyes were narrowed and there was a hunger in them, possession. “Yeah? Maybe I don’t want you to control yourself.” You leaned closer to his ear and whispered into it, your hot breath tickling his ear. He smirked at you again and he kissed your neck again, his hand slowly making his move to your breasts.

He touched your breast which made you gasp and you squeeze your eyes at the feeling. He chuckled against your neck as he felt how you stopped breathing for a second. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on one of your breasts, his eyes never leaving yours. His tongue gently flicked out, circling your nipple before taking it fully into his mouth. He sucked gently, his other hand cupping and massaging your other breast. You let out a moan when his tongue touched your nipple, immediately a chill ran down your spine.

“Please-“ The throbbing feeling between your legs was getting more and more uncomfortable and painful. He pulled away from your nipple and looked at you with a cocky grin. “Please what, love?” You were out of breath, your chest rising up in an incredible way. “I need you, please.” You were eager, like never before. You needed him. And you could feel that he needed you too. Again, he captured your lips as he pulled your skirt down, revealing your clothed core. One hand was gripping tightly your waist, while other one touched with his index finger your clothed pussy. He could feel how wet you were and that drove him crazy even more. With a smirk he pulled your panties down, exposing your wet core.

“This wet for me? Fuck-“ He chuckled and you kissed him again, to make him shut up. His words were confident like he knew what to do. It was different than previous sex you had. This one was more heated, more touchy. And you liked that. Slowly with his thumb he started circling your clit with a skillful touch. He watched as you broke apart at his touch. His teasing was painful but in a different way, pain that you enjoyed.

San pushed two fingers inside you, his thumb continuing to circle your clit. He began to pump his fingers in and out, finding your sweet spot with each stroke. “Do you enjoy your professor’s fingers inside you, love?” Only a moan escaped from your mouth, he felt how your walls hugged his fingers perfectly when he hit that sweet spot which made you gasp every time.

“Tell me how much you enjoy it.” He lifted your chin again to make an eye contact with you. Your cheeks were flushed red and you had a begging look in your eyes, that look that made him harder than before.

“I- fuck, I need more.” That’s the only thing that escaped your mouth, he let out a chuckle and put a third finger in you, stretching you even more. You gasped when he speeded up the pace, making you a moan mess. He felt that you were close when your walls tightened around his fingers more, he continued to rub your clit with his thumb. His other hand reached up to squeeze your breast, pinching your nipple between his fingers. He leaned down to capture your mouth with his, swallowing your moans as he brought you closer to the edge.

He groaned deeply as he felt your climax, your walls clenching tightly around his fingers. He kissed you fiercely, drinking in your cries of pleasure. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, never breaking eye contact. You watched how he licked his fingers covered with your cum. His hands moved on your thighs, spreading them wider as he stood up between them. His belt hit the floor with a clatter and he pushed his boxers down, his hard length springing free. He stroked himself once, then positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes intense.

He teased you for a moment, the head of his cock sliding up and down your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Then, with a sudden thrust, he entered you fully, his thickness stretching you deliciously.

“Fuck, so-“ he moaned as he entered you. “So tight.” San smirked as he watched your mouth fall open in a perfect 'O' of pleasure, your gasp music to his ears. Slowly, he began to move, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back in, setting a deep, intense rhythm. His hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. He kept thrusting deeply, hitting that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back. He watched hungrily as you made those beautiful sounds, his face contorted with pleasure and concentration. He could feel you getting tighter around him.

"Turn over, love.” He slowly pulled his cock out as he ordered you to turn around. He stepped back a little to give you a room to turn around. With a confused look on your face, you turned around slowly. He leaned his chest against you from behind, his hard cock touching your bare ass. “Fuck, so beautiful when you obey like this.” San leaned closer to you, whispering into your ear words that made you like crazy. “Good girl, just for me.” He was something else, no doubt that your classmates date older man. They are different, more manly.

He put his large hands on your waist possessively, gripping it tightly. He kicked your legs wider, then without second thought he slammed back into you from behind, filling you to the brim again. He started pounding into you, which made you bent over a little and put your hands on the desk, gaining some stability. His hot breath was against your neck as you squeezed your eyes at his deep thrusts, his cock hitting every right spot.

“San~” He groaned deeply as he heard you calling him 'San' for the first time, the familiarity sending shivers down his spine. He pressed his chest against your back even more as he continued to thrust into you. “Say it again. Say my name.” With a moan he said as he started to kiss your neck, biting it.

“San-“ You moaned his name again, as he kept pounding into you, his hands roaming over your stomach and up to your breasts. When all of a sudden your phone started to ring, he quickly reached for your phone and chuckled when he saw the phone caller ‘Boyfriend’. But he didn’t stop, instead he wrapped his arms around your waist more and pulled you even closer.

“Answer it. On speaker.” His voice was low, something inside him snapped when he saw the name on display. “What?” You asked out of breath as he kept pounding into you, his balls slapping against your ass each time.

“Answer him, love. Let’s see if you can keep quiet.” When he accepted the incoming call, he put it on speaker and put it before your mouth.

“Y-yes?” You answered as you swallowed loudly, trying to stay silent. He continued his relentless thrusts, his breath hot against your ear as he watched you answer the phone. Your boyfriend's voice floated out, concerned. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything- everything’s fine.” After your answer you put your hand over your mouth, his thrusts became slower, more deliberate, each movement designed to make you moan, to make you struggle keeping you quiet. He noticed when you put your hand over your mouth to stay silent, trying to be the good girlfriend – and it made him want to fuck you harder.

"Are you sure?"

“I am fine!” You replied with a raised voice as San smirked at your reaction, feeling a thrill at the slight raise in your voice. He knew he's making you struggle to maintain the lie, making you struggle to keep quiet while he used you. "When are you coming home?” He asked you, keeping the conversation going.

“In- in an hour.” You swallowed loudly as San bit your neck, leaving a wet kisses behind. His thrust were deep, deep enough to make you roll your eyes every time.

“Okay, love you.”

“Yeah, love-love you too.” As soon as you hanged up the phone, San bit down lightly on your shoulder instead of your neck this time, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Love you," he mocked softly, his hips resuming their powerful rhythm. “You must love him so much when you let your professor fuck you in his- in his own office.” He struggled with his words as he felt your walls tighten around his cock. “I- fuck…” You struggled with your words, being unable to say something duo to his deep thrusts and how he is gripping your hip tightly. He chuckled darkly, amused by your inability to form coherent words. Each powerful thrust pushed your thoughts away, filling your mind with nothing but the sensation of him inside you. “What was that? Having trouble concentrating?” He squeezed your hip more painfully, forcing you to arch your back more.

“I- I can’t…” You managed to get out as you opened your mouth again but then closed it. He laughed huskily, relishing your desperate moans and how your body squeezed around him involuntarily. “Can't what? Can't think straight when I fuck you like this?” His voice dangerously in your ear as he thrusted particularly deep, making your knees tremble.

“Y-yes, fuck. Too much.” His lips curved into a smug smile against your neck, knowing exactly the effect he's having on you "Then tell me to stop..." He deliberately grinded against you again, his hands trailing down your sides "Say the word, I'll stop right now..."

“No, don’t! Don’t fucking stop.” You moaned as he squeezed your ass making you gasp. San chuckled, a dark and satisfied sound that rumbles through his chest. He leaned in as his hips continued to move, grinding against you with each word. "That's what I thought." He took a deep breath as he moaned in your ear, making a chill ran down your spine.

“Your boyfriend doesn’t fuck you like I do, right love?” With a low and possessive voice he whispered into your ear as he could feel your walls tighten around his dick even more. You only shook your head but he wasn’t satisfied with it enough.

“Ah, come on, use your pretty mouth like you always do in my class when I ask something.” You swallowed when he remained you again that he is your professor. He didn’t sound like he was referring to that but somehow it did.

“No he doesn’t- he doesn’t.” You moaned as he let out a small laugh, being satisfied with your answer. Fuck you were so fucking beautiful, he wanted to be in your pussy everyday, touch you everyday…

“I’m close, fuck.” He buried his face in your neck from behind and exhaled deeply. “I know, love. Just- just hold on for me okay?” He let out as he kept thrusting more and more chasing his high. He could feel how close you were. He kissed your neck slowly and moaned as he tried to keep control.

“Let it out.” He whispered into your ear, making you gasp, he felt you trembling beneath him. Your legs were shaking as you let it all out, he thrusted into you for the last time as he came. He put his body on you, still being inside you as you both tried to catch your breath. Your chest was rising up in an incredible speed. Fuck that was the best fuck you ever had.

He cleared his throat as he pulled out of you, making you empty all of sudden. With a slow movement you moved back and turned around. San looked at you with a grin on his face, your mascara was smudged, your hair messy and your cheeks flashed red. “So beautiful.” He leaned for a kiss and you let him kiss you again and again. He cupped your cheek and then pulled away, he grabbed his pants and put it on as he watched you put your clothes on. God, you were so beautiful. He knew that it was wrong, hell it was awful what he did. But he felt wonderful, you made him feel something he never did before. And you felt the same towards him.

A few weeks passed since the wonderful fuck you had, that you can’t stop thinking about. At the end of the class which you didn’t pay much attention to, because your whole eyes were stuck on him, his voice interrupted you.

“Ms. Y/n, meet me after your classes.”

next part

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 6 months ago

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one thing I do love about my tumblrinas is that a lot of you guys have as much fun with my gender presentation as I do. I do notice and appreciate when y'all change up the pronouns you use for me and I think it's a hoot how I get called Ms/Mr/Mx batman in roughly equal measure. genuinely excellent work gang keep it up

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moonchildstyles · 13 hours ago

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the swan

y/n is the new prima for the season, but the real tragedy unfolded in the rumors surrounding the company's patron, harry.

wordcount: 12.4k+

—————

The sunlight streaming in behind Ms. Ariel glanced off of glossy strands of the slick chignon tied on the back of her head; natural backlight, as if she were still on stage, dancing under the spotlight. Even if directing and choreographing, spending more time reviewing than doing any dancing herself, had softened the tight lines of her muscles and relieved the callouses on her body, she still had all of the hallmarks of a dancer. Even her posture alone—straight spine, jutting chin, barred shoulders—gave away the prima position she held for years in the Turkish State Opera.

The usual serene smile she held on her face now had a giddy purse to her lips. She was holding something back, (Y/N)'s nerves stacking as she realized as much.

It wasn't in a ballerina to be restless with fidgety hands and shuffling feet, but she felt the urge rise. In her year with Ms. Ariel and the company, there was very, very few times dancers were brought into her office with a closed door.

"Thank you for staying back a little bit today," Ms. Ariel started, bringing her folded hands to rest on top of the glossy cherry desk. "I know you have some work you need to get to at home, so I'll be quick."

She paused, theatrics growing in the silence.

"You are going to be our Odette in the spring production."

(Y/N)'s breath fell short.

Not even a month ago had the spring production been announced to be Swan Lake. Auditions had been so long and tedious—especially for the leads. Truthfully, she had only thrown her name in the ring just for the opportunity to try, there was no real expectation that she was going to beat out the more established dancers she was up against.

But, here she was. Odette in the company's spring production of Swan Lake.

"I—" she breathed, shifting in her seat as if her posture was anything but perfect, "I didn't think announcements were being made until tomorrow."

Ms. Ariel shrugged. "Yes, the rest of the cast will be officially notified tomorrow along with the call sheet, but I wanted to talk with you myself beforehand."

"Wow," she murmured to herself, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Ms. Ariel smiled, "I'm sure you understand the kind of work that goes into being Odette—and Odile, to that fact. It is a daunting task, but I want you to know that I have seen you working and excelling in the short time you've been with us. You've been a gift given to our company and I want to see what you can do with the role."

A warmth bloomed behind her eyes. "Thank you. I will take care of her, I promise."

"I know you will. Please, if you need guidance, don't hesitate to reach out. Everyone is a resource here."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say. "Thank you," she muttered, though it felt far from enough for the kind words shared from her mentor. "Really—this is... a dream."

Ms. Ariel nodded, her smile spreading into a true grin. She stood from behind her desk, reaching a manicured hand out. "Celebrate tonight; the hard work will begin next week."

Grateful for the amount of grace drilled into her body, (Y/N) scrambled to match the motion. She took Ms. Ariel's hand in a light shake. "Of course. Thank you."

A huff of laughter fell from Ms. Ariel. "You're welcome, (Y/N)."

Hiking her bag up her shoulder, (Y/N) make quick strides towards the door of the office. In the hallway, Siobhan was where (Y/N) had left her waiting. She pocketed her phone, perking up once (Y/N) clicked the door shut behind her.

Whatever Siobhan found on her friend's face was enough to have her jaw dropping, eyes down turning into concern. "What happened?"

Realizing the sheen coating her eyes, (Y/N) fluttered her eyes in a blink to wipe away the moisture. She kept her voice low as she said, "I got the part."

Siobhan's expression went from concerned to confused in a breath, brows furrowing as the news processed.

"Wait. For the production?"

(Y/N) nodded.

"For Odette?"

(Y/N) nodded once more.

It was with that silent response that Siobhan let out a giddy squeal. She brought her fists to her chest with her feet quietly marching against the floor, a beaming grin on her lips.

"You're joking! Are you serious right now?!"

"Shhh, be quiet," (Y/N) laughed, reaching for Siobhan's wrist to start leading her away from Ms. Ariel's door. Once she brought them far enough away from the door and the studio hosting the after school ballet lessons, (Y/N) allowed herself to let out a laugh—the sound almost delirious.

"I got the part—Odette."

She joined in on a quiet celebration with Siobhan then, right in the entryway of the studio. (Y/N) could only imagine what a sight they were, hair falling out of their buns from the previous lesson, leg warmers scrunched at their ankles, Siobhan's backpack bouncing against her back and (Y/N)'s tote bag dropped to her elbow.

"I'm so happy for you," Siobhan shared, pulling her friend into a warming hug. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," (Y/N) whispered back, hugging her back just as tight before pulling away just enough to face her. "Really—I wouldn't have even come to this city without you, so thank you."

Siobhan waved off her gratitude with a small smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm just happy you're here, too."

"Well," (Y/N) started, leading Siobhan out into the city with their flats padding gently against the pavement, "Ms. Ariel said we should celebrate tonight while we can. Everything starts next week."

"Tonight?"

A small smile bloomed on (Y/N)'s features. "Are you busy or something?"

She knew good and well the plan for the evening was for the both of them to pick up takeaway on the way home before rotting away in bed.

"I can clear my plans," Siobhan laughed.

(Y/N) felt herself just short of skipping along the concrete. She hadn't realized just how much something like this role could mean to her.

She had been a professional ballerina for five years now, settling here only a year or so prior, though she had never been a principal before. She was content doing those side roles and learning ensemble dances, as long as she was on stage. There were so many more established and experienced dancers in the industry, but here she was. The spring's prima. Odette and Odile.

Maybe it was the fact that the sun no longer set at four in the afternoon, or the pending plans with her friend, but (Y/N) had never felt lighter.

She was a swan, now. The swan.

—————

(Y/N)'s skin felt flushed as she wiggled on her bar seat. It was hard to stay still at the moment, so different from the dancer's poise that was drilled into her. The atmosphere of the upscale, too-expensive bar was perfect—the exact kind of place she pictured herself grabbing a lavender scented drink when she first moved to the city. The girls—other dancers from the company she'd grown close enough to—had joined her and Siobhan for the night, leaving the table filled with bubbly chatter and restless feet.

"Do you know what ending Ms. Ariel wants to go with?" Sasha, one of the others, asked. The red of her second Negroni was beginning to stain the center of her lips to match the flush on her pale cheeks.

(Y/N) shrugged, the straw of her own drink tucked between her lips. "We only really talked about my part—I don't think we talked for more than, like, ten minutes. I do hope it's one of the good endings, though, like the original one or something."

"Yeah, I think I would cry if we had to watch you die or something," Siobhan said, an exaggerated frown on her lips as (Y/N) laughed.

"I don't know if I could make that jump off the cliff, anyway."

"I'm sure we'll find out soon with everything starting next week," Lydia, the fourth of their little girls' night group, suggested. She paused to take a long drink of her margarita before training her gaze to flick between Siobhan and Sasha. "Do you think Harry’s going to be a part of the production?"

A furrow pinched (Y/N)'s brow. That name brought up a twinge of familiarity, though the context eluded her.

Siobhan's eyes widened, spitting her straw out from between her lips. "Oh my god, probably! It's the spring show that he's always all over, right?"

Sasha and Lydia both nodded conspiratorially while (Y/N) looked on bemused.

Siobhan turned her attention to (Y/N). "Did she say anything about him during your meeting?"

(Y/N) shook her head. "We didn't talk about anyone, though."

Sasha made a face, looking to both Lydia and Siobhan with raised brows. "Do you think he finally let it go?"

"Maybe," Lydia shrugged, pursing her lips around her small straw. "Doubt it, though."

Leaning over the table, (Y/N) flicked her confused gaze across each of the ballerinas at the table. "What are you guys talking about?"

Siobhan looked at her with her brows knitted. "Did you never meet him?"

"I don't think so?"

"I guess you started in the middle of the spring season, so you probably never actually met him," Siobhan mused, taking one more sip of her drink until her straw bubbled against the ice on the bottom. Her skin was especially flushed, eyes a bit glassy when she turned to face (Y/N) with a story on her mind. "He's a... patron, I guess. For the company. He donates year round but is usually really hands off. Until the spring production."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded. Hearing some details, she remembered hearing chatters about a patron of the company. In those overheard conversations, there was never anything specific she could glean, only small chitters and jokes she didn't understand. "Why only the spring shows?"

There was a short silence between the three, eyes flicking to one another as if waiting to see who would be the one to share the next lines of the story. (Y/N) only waited, straw tucked between her lips though she only bit at the tube instead of taking down any more of her drink.

"Um," Lydia started, tipping her head as if rolling her next words around her brain, "I mean, no one really knows for sure, but there's... rumors. Most of the company who was around when everything was happening have left, so no one's really completely sure anymore."

"Okay," (Y/N) said, drawing out the word with furrowed brows. They were starting to scare her, honestly. "Rumors about what?"

"Okay," Siobhan piped up suddenly, taking in a deep breath, "I joined right after she left, so I never actually knew her, but people talked a lot. From what I know, he—Harry—used to be engaged to one of the dancers at the company after they met during one of the shows. Like, he was always a minor patron, but when they started dating, he was just always around and everything. But, something happened, and they broke up, like, months before they were supposed to get married. No one really knows why for sure, but I remember hearing from some of the girls back then, that it was pretty bad."

"Things got intense, apparently," Lydia interjected, eyes wide as they met (Y/N)’s, "Like, really intense."

(Y/N) blinked. "Like... Did someone get hurt?" she pressed, dancing around the implication of her question.

Siobhan shrugged, her mouth making an uncertain line. "I don't know, honestly. From what I remember hearing, she left him. Some of the girls said that he was, like, crazy or something—like, there was something really big that happened. I don't think she even dances anymore, from what I've heard. And she was really talented if you ever look her up."

"Oh, wow," (Y/N) murmured, biting at her bottom lip, "But no one knows what the big thing was that made them break up?"

"Not as far as I know," Siobhan shook her head, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder, "I remember one of the girls just saying that she had been super erratic before they officially broke up. She did not want to be around him, like she made a scene every time he came to pick her up from rehearsal and things. Like she was worried, or scared, or something, I guess. And, then she just left. One day she told everyone they had broken up and then, like, a week after, she was gone. No one even knew where she went until almost a month later. And, I don't know if this is real or just something people started saying when everything came out with the break up, but there were people who said he was really scary during the whole thing—to be careful around him, really."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say as the story seemingly came to a close. This was far from the kind of insight she thought she would gain tonight.

"So... he only does the spring show now?"

"As far as I've been here, yeah. I think because he donates so much this time of year, he ends up being more involved."

"Um," (Y/N) started, shifting in her spot with her eyes dropping to the salted rim of her friend's glass. "Does he... Does he have a say in casting?"

"Oh no!" It was Sasha that spoke up this time, saying her first words since listening like a captivated audience to the same story. "He's not involved like that—Ms. Ariel makes all of those choices. He just gets a little more say in what show is put on, I know that for sure. Otherwise, I think he just does more with the business side of everything—it's like he's a producer almost."

"Oh, okay," (Y/N) murmured, nodding her head as she took a small sip from her drink, "Do you guys think I need to be... worried?"

Siobhan let out a loud laugh. "God, no! It's all just rumors. You probably won't even see him that much, honestly."

(Y/N) got a quiet "Oh" out before the topic was drifting away with Sasha's help, something about her girlfriend's family being brought up instead. (Y/N) listened on as closely as she could, though she was far from being involved. Much of her mind was still stuck on these so-called "rumors" about this season's producer.

While the idea that the implications of the rumors could be true was something that worried her, she had to trust that Ms. Ariel wouldn't have someone involved with the show that could be a threat to the dancers.

Even though a very skeptical part of her found it hard to believe that rumors so intense, funneled through a group as close knit as one of ballerina's, didn't hold at least a grain of truth.

—————

(Y/N) huffed as her tote slipped down her shoulder again. Even the ribbed texture of her knitted cardigan couldn't keep it from slipping down to her elbow. Hiking it up once more, she pushed the front door to the studio open, a gust of warm air blowing the early morning chill off of her form.

Her wrap skirt fluttered around her hips as she closed the door behind her, ensuring she heard the click of the door shutting before she started deeper into the studio. Production rehearsals didn't officially commence for another few days, but she wanted to stop by one more time before then to get her own time in before everything would be committed to being a swan princess. The next months of her life were going to be consumed by the same handful of dances, the same moves, the same techniques—she needed a chance to do something as herself before then, doubting any other opportunities would arise between now and the rest of the production.

Trailing down the halls, she got a peek into each of the different rooms through the large windows spanning the corridor. Some parents were waiting before the windows, watching as the children's lessons were conducted. Their own spring production—a rendition of Margot Robbie’s Barbie—was set to take the stage in less than two weeks, leaving the costume room in varying shades of pink with glitter and stars all over the place. The amount of times (Y/N) had seen these dances through the windows, heard these songs through the walls, she figured she could join the stage at any time without incident.

Meandering down to the very last open room, (Y/N) signed herself in. The room was much smaller than the others for the lessons, with only a small window available for viewing. The floor was a warm hardwood, reflected back in the mirror lining the wall opposite the door. A golden barre bisected the mirror, gleaming in the light. Her footsteps echoed in the quiet room as she crossed towards the sound system tucked in the corner.

She took her time setting up all of her things, glancing up at the mirror. The reflection used to scare her when she was a child. It used to be so nerve wracking seeing each of her movements, especially when she couldn't be sure if she was doing it right until she saw the rest of her class at that same moment. (She was a child with anxiety as she later learned in her adult life—big surprise). Though it took time, she learned to appreciate having that mirror on her when she danced.

There was something exciting about seeing the lines made by her body. The kind of lines she had only seen in films or on stages. It was those movements and shapes that had inspired her to become a ballerina instead of just dreaming of dancing. The mirror let her see herself as the ballerina in those dreams.

Just as she began shedding her cardigan and sitting down to get her pointe shoes on, she realized there was something missing. She had her phone connected to the sound system, an instrumental song queued up, and her bag with extra hair ties, a couple of snacks for later, and her water bottle—

That's what she was missing. No water bottle.

Throwing her head back with a heavy sigh, (Y/N) rolled her eyes at herself. Of course she left it in her car.

At least she hadn't been able to lace up her pointes yet. Pulling on her regular shoes, (Y/N) resigned herself to trek all the way back to her car one more time. She could take it as a warm up, maybe, instead of a time waster.

She left her cardigan on the floor as she started back through the studio. The same parents and instructors she had just passed were just where she left them, some barely even glancing up as she brushed shoulders while scooting past.

As soon as she retrieved her water bottle from the cup holder of her car, she immediately doubled back. Without her cardigan, everything was much colder outside than she remembered. At least she still had her leg warmers and skirt on.

Speeding up to a jogging pace, (Y/N) just began pulling open the door when the weight of the pull drastically changed. Someone on the other side was pushing, she gathered, just a hair too late. The strength she had put into opening the heavy door was now overpowered, throwing her off balance as she stumbled back. A gasp left her mouth as her arms fluttered out beside her, eyes flicking behind her shoulder.

In the same moment, a strong hand sharply took her arm. The grip steadied her back on her feet before her skirt and thighs could be marred by a fall on the pavement. Once flat on her feet—and feeling much less graceful than any ballerina should—(Y/N) looked up at the owner of the saving hand.

A man she didn't recognize as a fellow dancer, a parent she had passed in the hallway, or a production member for the upcoming show stood before her. A warm brown suit was tailored to his form, tie knotted tight around his neck in a matching hue. The warmth traveled up to the dappled chocolate shades on his hair, everything pushed out of his face though the curling texture could still be seen framing his temples. All of the brown framing him left the green of his eyes to pop against his creamy skin, varying shades flecking his irises. A handful of freckles were spread across the bridge of his nose, faint even under the lowering golden sun. Shadows were cast across his face, emphasizing the straight lines of his features.

Regaining her breath, she felt her skin warm as his hand slipped off from her arm. "Sorry, I didn't—I wasn't paying attention. Thanks for... stopping me."

A slight smile touched the man's raspberry lips. Faint dimples thumbed into his cheeks for a fleeting moment. (Y/N) swore, if even for a second, his eyes glazed over the planes of her face.

"No worries," he assured, voice accented and warm as he took steps to hedge around her, "Jus' be careful."

"Right," (Y/N) breathed out with a laugh.

She took lingering steps back towards the building. Only for one second did she allow herself to look over her shoulder, following his retreating form towards a sparkling car in the lot.

His shoulders...

Blinking herself back to real life, (Y/N) reminded herself there was a whole rehearsal room waiting for her.

—————

(Y/N) curled up in her seat, extensively grateful to have been able to stop home before coming to the evening's meeting. If she had been forced to sit through this in her jeans, she worried she would have lost her mind.

"I know we do these later so everyone has a chance to make it after work and all, but I really don't want to be here past nine," Siobhan muttered at her side, voice joining the quiet chitter that was filling the theater.

(Y/N) hummed in agreement. As nice as it was to see the theater again—especially now that she was able to picture herself twirling in the spotlight right in the center—she would much rather have attended through video. At least this gave her an excuse to pick up dinner on her way home instead of cooking anything.

Ms. Ariel is heard before she is seen, the click of her shoes echoing across the stage. In a line, she was followed by her assisting choreographers, the orchestra conductor, alongside the musical and production directors. She didn't hesitate as she took center stage over the directors, hands clasped at her middle with a beaming smile on her lips.

"Thank you all for coming tonight—I know it's late so we'll make this quick for everyone," Ms. Ariel started, sweeping her gaze across the rows of filled seats. "We'll all be working very closely together these next months, so I want to make sure we are all on the same page going forward."

The theater fell silent save for Ms. Ariel at center stage as she listed off her cohorts for the production, the timeline coming after. The show's opening weekend would come at the end of April, celebrating the peak of spring. Rehearsals, both individual for the principals and ensembles, would be starting on Monday; the schedule should already be in everyone's inbox.

(Y/N) listened intently, feeling the pressure of being this season's lead. She didn't want to miss a single word. This spring was going to be her moment—her chance at hopefully making a real name for herself in this city. Opportunities like this didn't come to many dancers, especially not after she moved companies mid-way through her career. If she were to be lucky enough, she wouldn't even need to hold a day job, ballerina becoming her sole title.

The anticipation built a fire in her chest, the kind that urged her to get started right now. She didn't need to sleep, she needed to get into a rehearsal space and practice her thirty-two fouettés. She wanted to try on her tutus and practice slicking her hair back. Tchaikovsky was about to be her top artist for the next few months.

"I would also like to introduce this season's patron. We don't usually do this, but our spring patron has a special role. I realize a few of you have already met him, but for everyone who has not,"—she looked to stage right just as heavy steps began to descend upon the stage—"this is Harry Styles. He will be very present through this season, and has already helped a lot, so if you have any questions, you can always ask him as well."

(Y/N) blinked as she took in the man now standing at Ms. Ariel's side. Clad in a navy blue suit, matching tie wrapped around his neck, was the man that had kept her from stumbling back onto her rear just the other day. The man with the green eyes and the warm brown hair, the one with the sprinkled freckles on his nose. His shoulders were just as broad as she remembered.

His eyes swept over the rows of dancers; (Y/N) swore he snagged on her for an extra second. A small smile touched her lips. "Hello," he quietly muttered at Ms. Ariel's side, his voice graveled from disuse.

He was quiet then as Ms. Ariel continued speaking, clarifying his role and the role of the others on stage. He had his hand clasped behind him, entirely reserved as if he didn't realize he was as tall and broad as he was.

This was not at all the kind of man she pictured when the girls had talked about Scary Harry. he was so reserved, so put together. He almost seemed shy with the way he kept twisting and untwisting his fingers at his back, the view only given when he swiveled enough for her to see his back.

She had pictured leering eyes, gnarled hands that had grabbed and pushed and reached over the heads of others. While she couldn't say that this man wasn't intimidating, it just wasn't in the way she had thought. He was almost too pretty to look at, she thought; long lashes, flushed cheeks, freckled nose. The lines of his face had softened in her memory, leaving her to be struck again by the straight set of his nose and cut of his jaw.

While looks could be deceiving, she hoped she wasn't wrong about the soft set of his eyes.

"Was there anything anyone wanted to add before we adjourned for the night?" Ms. Ariel asked, taking a step back as she looked at her colleagues. A pause of silence sounded among the stage.

"Um," Harry finally piped up, cheeks gaining a flush (Y/N) couldn't be sure was there just moments before, "I wanted to say thank you to Ms. Ariel and the rest of the directing team for allowing me to be a part of another production. I realize I haven't had a chance to meet many of you,"—he looked at the dancers now, eyes dancing to each face—"but I look forward to working with each of you. I can't wait to see how this show comes together."

He ended with a thin smile on his face, lips pressed together with a nod of his head. Ms. Ariel led the team in a round of applause before calling for the end of the meeting. As the dancers around (Y/N) stood to collect their things, she lingered for just a moment. Eyes on the stage, she saw as Harry watched the flood of dancers, almost looking just as relieved as everyone else set free from this meeting. Even from here, she could see that color that had painted his cheeks draining back to the peaches and cream of his regular complexion.

"Are you coming or did your legs fall asleep?" Siobhan asked beside her, stretching with her arms above her head.

"Oh yeah," (Y/N) sighed, falling back to herself as she took her eyes from Harry. "Sorry, I think I'm more tired than I thought."

"Same," Siobhan laughed, "I'm already exhausted from the rehearsal schedule and it hasn't even started."

"Exactly," (Y/N) agreed with a small smile, collecting her things before starting to follow the rest of the company out of the theater.

Even when she heard the low rumble of Harry's voice meld with the rest of the executive team, she made a point to keep her eyes forward. Siobhan didn't need to notice this sparking curiosity just yet.

—————

(Y/N) idly twirled as the Swan Theme played through her rehearsal space, mesh skirt flaring out around her hips. She could imagine the scene playing out like a film in her head: the first moment she is introduced as Odette, as she hides from Prince Siegfried aiming a crossbow in her direction. Though they were far out from donning costumes, she couldn't help but to imagine herself in that traditional pristine white, feathered tutu with a gleaming bodice.

Ms. Ariel entered the studio, fanning her hands out. "Sorry, sorry—Rima wanted help with the ensemble blocking. Did you see the video I left up on the iPad?"

(Y/N) smiled, "It’s alright. I did watch it, yeah. Is that the version we're going with?"

"A little," Ms. Ariel shrugged, lips pursed, "I wanted to do a prologue like that, but I wanted to see if you had any thoughts on doing the epilogue instead."

The solid toes of her pointe shoes tapped across the floor as she blocked herself out through the swelling music. "Is there a way we can do both?" (Y/N) asked, a bit sheepish at her request. More stage time meant more money, more production, more time.

Ms. Ariel paused, head tilted as she scrolled through on the tablet. "A prerecorded epilogue? We could project it into the curtain right before."

"That might be fun," (Y/N) offered, unable to help herself as she twirled along to the music. The crescendos and dips had her pirouetting and sweeping through the room. The sound of her pointe shoes tapping against the hardwood was especially satisfying alongside Tchaikovsky. "We could make the transformation to the swan look extra special if we can edit it right."

The choreographer brightened at the thought. "And for Rothbart."

(Y/N) smiled at the light in Ms. Ariel's tone. She doubted there was any more convincing needed.

The sound of Ms. Ariel's mind working practically joined the soundtrack, all of the gears and cogs spinning like a sewing machine as the production began to thread together. While (Y/N) was sure this first rehearsal between them was supposed to help her get into the character of Odette, and the counterpart of Odile, she wasn't going to interrupt Ms. Ariel after getting her say in for the progression of the story.

Instead, (Y/N) twirled and jumped, playing along with the music filtering through the space. From her periphery, she could see some of the ensemble dancers coasting past the peekaboo window into the studio. Some of the girls stopped, lingering in front of the window as they watched the impromptu moves (Y/N) performed. She smiled when she caught their gazes, offering a small wave as she twirled through the room.

"(Y/N), come look at this," Ms. Ariel called over the orchestra, gesturing her over to the sound system.

Giving one last beaming smile to her fellow dancers, (Y/N) whirled around to make her way across the room. She picked up her water bottle on the way.

With the way the media cart stood and Ms. Ariel had positioned herself, the mirror before them showed off everything at (Y/N)'s back. Including the large open window for spectators.

Though she gave her attention to the examples Ms. Ariel was going over for the prologue, deciding just how extensive they wanted to get with the prerecording, it was hard to ignore the flutter of movement showcased in the mirror. She glanced up to find some of the girls—Sasha and Lydia included—flitting past during their own break from ensemble work. A small smile touched (Y/N)'s lips as she made eye contact with the group that will be making up her wedge of swans.

That curl stilled when she spotted the quiet figure standing behind the shifting crowd, arms crossed with lips in a thin line.

Harry Styles was there. Watching her rehearse for who knows how long.

There was a definitive space between the window and where he stood against the other side of the hallway. The rest of the dancers made their way through the gap, minding his personal space specifically. (Y/N) wondered how many of them had also just heard the plethora of rumors about their spring patron.

(Y/N) met the intensity of his gaze for no longer than a split second before she flicked away, her skin growing warm. Her brain glitched, throwing the last few words from Ms. Ariel right out of her head.

She had heard him say that he was going to be more involved. Siobhan had even warned her that he typically was seen much more through the studio during the spring. And yet, (Y/N) hadn't been expecting to see him. Not on her first day as the swan.

Especially not looking at her the way he was. Furrowed brows and green gaze intense enough to make her blood simmer under her skin.

"I think we could do something with that, right?"

(Y/N) blinked. "Yeah, definitely. It looks fun."

She spared one more glance to the mirror only to find that corner no longer occupied. A familiar back was now retreating down the hall.

—————

"That was good, (Y/N). You did good. How do you feel?"

Out of breath, she nodded her head, "Good—Really good." Despite the sweat beading down the back of her neck and the sore muscles in her stomach, she held a beaming smile on her face.

This week had been all about strength training in between rehearsing the numbers, working up her core in preparation for the thirty-two fouettés for Odile. They were far from done in that department, but everyday (Y/N) grew more and more steady. After this weekend, she would begin rehearsing with Kingston as Prince Siegfried, and start working with the ensemble of swans.

Ms. Ariel matched her smile, her own skin shining with a sheen of sweat from working alongside (Y/N). "You'll sleep hard tonight, that's for sure," she laughed, settling her hands on her arms, "Rest up this weekend, but keep up with your stretching. If you need anything just text me."

"I will," (Y/N) heaved, catching her breath, "Thank you."

With a squeeze of her arms, Ms. Ariel bid her a goodnight before leaving for her office for the remainder of the evening. (Y/N) took her time collecting her things, chugging down the final dredges of her water before reaching for her phone. It didn't take long before she was scrolling through a food delivery app, eager to pick out her dinner for the night. She deserved something greasy and salty after the workout this practice was.

The spectator's window was empty tonight, the ensemble heard next door as they practiced their own numbers. (Y/N) was growing so used to the audience, that it felt weird to not have any watching eyes tracking her moves.

Though there was still a specific pair of eyes that still threw her off balance whenever she caught sight of them.

Harry hadn't bumped into her again or shared any more words past a good morning or good night depending on when they happened to pass in the hallway. Their interactions now lived mainly on opposite sides of the glass, (Y/N) dancing and breaking in her pointe shoes with Harry watching the moves like a television judge.

Though it didn't appear he even stopped by her studio this evening.

Exiting the space with her tote on her shoulder, (Y/N) double checked the pick up time for her dinner. Another twenty minutes of waiting before the three minute drive she'd make to the restaurant.

Now it was her turn to be a spectator, she thought. Taking a seat on the love seat offered before the glass, she was going to watch the swans dance.

The ensemble tonight consisted of Siobhan, Lydia, Sasha, and two other dancers. Their backs were to her as they faced the mirror. Through the pane, (Y/N) could hear the Dance of the Cygnets playing, the baseline becoming the thumps of the pointe shoes hitting the ground.

As hard as she knew she was working, she couldn't imagine being tasked with this number. The techniques were famously hard to get down. But here the girls were, more in sync than she would imagine a group of dancers who had only been practicing together for a week.

From her view, she could see the small smile on her as she watched the move.

She could also see the shadow of another person edging into the space next to her.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar broad form, clad in a traditional black suit, watching the dancers with her. (Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth.

Was she supposed to say hi? It wasn't much of a secret that Harry wasn't particularly talkative when it came to interacting with the dancers. The only person he was regularly conversing with tended to be Ms. Ariel or the rest of the department heads. For the ballerinas, he reserved subdued smiles and quiet greetings.

It felt... rude, though. To not say anything to him. They were all dancing on his dime this season, anyway.

Besides, (Y/N) had to wonder if his reserved persona came from the fact that there was a rumor mill churning out stories in his name. She doubted anyone had come to him personally with any of these stories, but it was hard to believe that in the last few years of production that he hadn't heard something.

Before she could think too hard about it, she tipped her head towards him, face angled upwards to where he was standing at the other end of the loveseat. His brows were set in that signature furrow, intense gaze just short of burning a hole through the glass.

"What do you think?" she asked quietly, just audible over the orchestral music and thumping pointe shoes.

From where she sat, she could see the way his hands, hidden under his folded arms, curled into fists, his lashes fluttering as he blinked. His throat bobbed as he turned to match her gaze, the pinch in his brows smoothing out.

"Um," he started, flitting his gaze to the window for a lingering moment, "They're really good already. Everyone's doing really well. Very talented."

A warm smile molded (Y/N)'s features. That was a high honor coming from him, someone who had to have seen countless ballets by this point in his life.

"It's crazy how they can only get better from here," (Y/N) said, an airy laugh threaded through the words.

"It is," he answered simply, a barely there twitch touching the corner of his mouth.

A silence settled between them, the music inside the studio starting up again as the ladies reblocked themselves to start the number over. Glancing at the time, (Y/N) was two minutes past when she should have left to pick up her dinner.

Standing up from where she had made her home on the loveseat, she hiked her bag up her shoulder before turning to face Harry.

"Thank you for everything you're doing for this production, by the way. I don't think I really understand what a patron is able to do, but I'm sure it's hard work," (Y/N) laughed at her attempt at a joke. Hopefully, he thought it was funny and not that she was some kind of silly ballerina with ribbons for brains.

When he finally turned to look at her, that initial twitch of his lips she'd seen before hard turned into a slight curl. A ghost of a dimple touched his cheek.

"Of course. It's worth it."

(Y/N) matched his smile with her own beaming one. "I'll see you around, Harry. Have a nice night."

The last she saw of him was the small nod he gave in her direction, with his hands hidden under his folded arms flexing into fists.

"You as well, (Y/N)."

—————

(Y/N) rolled her neck as she turned the page on the lengthy manuscript in her hands. This author definitely loved a long, descriptive, adverb heavy sentences.

As grateful as she was to be a real life ballerina—the prima for the season, even—as a little girl, (Y/N) didn't picture her life consisting of playing in tutus and pointe shoes in the evening with a day job. But, the money for her apartment has to come from somewhere until she could be a real principal dancer for more than a passing production.

All she needed to do was get through this chapter, make her suggested edits, and then she'll let herself take a break.

Harshly blinking, (Y/N) directed her attention solely on the typed pages in her hands.

His palms flexed around nothing, tattoos dancing over the golden skin, leading her eye to the hem of his sleeve. Rebekah eyed him as he hesitated, tongue thick in the back of his throat. The Adam's apple adorning the front of his throat bobbed like the apple of eden, forbidden for anything more than her eyes.

Archer was never this nervous, she realized. Never tongue tied, never hesitant. his entire life—career, bedroom persona, spot as the captain of his hatchet-throwing league—was built on him being certain of every move.

This couldn't be good, she decided. Not when he looked at her with his glittering eyes, long lashes, the corners pinching just enough to show creases that weren't typically there. He was going to tell her something she wasn't ready to hear. Something she didn't want to hear from his rosy lips.

"Bek, I... I can't keep doing this," he choked out, his voice a rumbly mix of gravel and gemstones, "We have to stop."

Rebekah blinked, tipping her head with pouty mouth agape. "What do you mean?"

Those hands flexed once more, hardening into immoveable fists.

"Because I love you," he stumbled out, "I love you, and I wasn't ever supposed to.I love you too much to keep doing this when I know you don't feel the same. Not when you—

(Y/N) blinked back to real life then, startled by the film playing out in conjunction with the written words in front of her.

This man, the character Archer, had evolved into a version of Harry. The long lashes and pinched corners turned into golden flecks dancing through green irises and a furrowed brow. That golden skin went creamy with freckles on the bridge of his nose. The tattoo on his skin was now an inked cross between his pointer and thumb. (Y/N) recalled the timber of his voice and lilt of his accent when it came to the dialogue.

That wasn't right. There was no reason to be thinking of Harry Styles—the patron of her ballet company—at the moment. Not when she was reading a manuscript about a couple engaged in a BDSM arrangement that went too far in the feelings department.

(With the main male character also being a hatchet throwing captain? That was a detail (Y/N) couldn't remember hearing, but she hoped she marked that as needing a revision).

Her break was going to have to start now, she decided. Having a two minute conversation with him almost a week ago was not supposed to linger in her mind like this.

(Y/N) folded the manuscript closed, determined to take that vision with it.

—————

"You're alright locking up?"

Ms. Ariel looked at (Y/N) with her handbag in the crook of her elbow, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Though she tried to be discreet about it, (Y/N) still caught the nervous glance she shot at the clock above the window. 8:34pm.

"Yes, I'll be fine," (Y/N) insisted. For the third time. "I'll be right behind you, anyway. Don't worry."

"Okay, okay," Ms. Ariel finally relented, shooting off a text as she edged out of the door. "If you need anything, just call and I'll turn around."

(Y/N) nodded her head, knowing that no matter what she isn't going to call Ms. Ariel for anything. Not after she had already arranged a rehearsal time to work around (Y/N)'s editing deadline.

(She had a hard time getting back into the headspace to finish that manuscript. Every time she opened it up, Harry's face somehow made its way onto the male love interest's body. Very confusing).

Just as (Y/N) began collecting her things, silence filling the darkened building, a set of pounding footsteps clicked through the space once more. She jumped at the sound, her spine stiffening to go ramrod straight with her eyes on the door.

Was there another late lesson going on? Another group rehearsing that she's missed?

Ms. Ariel popped her head in once more, phone pressed to her ear. "I gave you a key, right? Or did I give it to Harry?"

Her brow pinched to a furrow at her choreographer's question. "I have a key," she offered, hoping her unasked question received an answer anyway.

She watched as Ms. Ariel deflated in relief. "Okay, great. I'll see you Monday—Keep stretching! If you want extra time, just call me!"

This time, (Y/N) waited until she heard Ms. Ariel's footsteps retreat through the building, bookended by the resounding click of the front door closing. Then she felt clear to pack up and clean up the space. Trading out her shoes, she held onto her discarded pointes by the ribbons. The shoes dangled at her side as she cruised through the building, glancing through the window of each rehearsal space to ensure all lights were off with doors pulled shut.

Making it to the front door, she pulled out the key passed on by Ms. Ariel. According to the directions given, the door needed to be locked up before she stepped outside; when (Y/N) asked why she couldn't lock everything from the outside as normal, Ms. Ariel just gave a flapped hand and a promise of "it's a long story!".

Sticking the weathered key into the lock, she twisted her wrist only for the lock itself to halt the motion. Her brows knitted together, eyes on her hand as she attempted once more to break whatever blocked the twist.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there attempting to push through the block. She pulled out the key and reslotted it, attempted to brute force her way against the block, twisted the knob along with the key. At some point she even took a breath and checked her phone, pretending as if she didn't desperately need this key to do its job. She couldn't call Ms. Ariel, not when she was already almost late to her stepdaughter's graduation dinner.

But, she also can't just leave the studio unlocked.

Her palm grew slick with panic sweat. Okay, if she doesn't get it in the next three tries, she has no choice but to call Ms. Ariel. She will grovel and beg for forgiveness later, but the door needed to be locked now.

"Is it sticking, again?"

At the sound of another voice, (Y/N) almost jumped out of her skin. Whirling around, hand to her throat, she saw Harry standing just beside her. His clothing was much the same as usual, though he was missing the tie and the first buttons of his shirt were let loose. He looked to her with raised brows, apology on his lips.

"Oh my god, you scared me."

"Sorry," he breathed, a bit sheepish in the way he dropped his gaze to her hand, "I thought y'heard me. Sorry."

With her heart rate settling, (Y/N) calmed enough to give a small smile at the sound of the apologies just flooding from Harry. How those rumors could hold up against everything that she saw in front of her, she couldn't understand.

Her imagination did not compare to the real thing, that was for sure.

"It's okay," she offered, "I didn't know anyone else was here."

Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah. Ariel gave me some plans for set pieces to look over and approve before Monday, so 'm jus' finishing that up. I didn't know y'practiced this late?"

"Sometimes," (Y/N) chirped, "It depends on my work schedule. But I don't think I'll ever leave before Ms. Ariel ever again—especially since I apparently broke the lock."

Harry let out an airy laugh at her words. "'S tricky," he murmured, "It sticks all the time. I don't know why Ariel wants everything to be locked from the inside when it barely works."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, taking the key out of the lock with suddenly tired limbs. Now, without panic fueling her, she felt particularly fatigued. "Okay."

"Sorry I didn't catch y'earlier."

"It's okay," she shook her head, "You're still working?"

Harry nodded, matching her gaze tentatively. "I can lock up if y'want."

"That would be really nice, I think," she said on a breathy peel of laughter, "Do you need the key?"

"I've got one," he said, a slight curl to his lips. There was that ghost of a dimple denting his cheek, gone before she had a real chance to admire it.

"Cool, thank you," she responded lamely, feeling a bit silly now that she realized just how much that panic had caused her to stress sweat. She didn't particularly feel like a pretty ballerina when this heady sheen of sweat and sticky underarms. "I'll see you next week?"

"At some point, I'm sure," Harry smiled, this time showing two barely there dips in his cheeks. "Get home safe, (Y/N)."

Edging out the door, a small smile bloomed over her lips. "You too, Harry."

With that, (Y/N) was out the door before she had any more material to replace characters with in her manuscripts.

Though, as she pulled away, she couldn't help the look into the rearview mirror. Right at the glass door of the studio, where she swore she could see Harry turning back into the building.

He waited for her.

—————

(Y/N) twisted in the mirror, pristine white tutu fluffing around her hips. Feathers were carefully laid along much of the bodice and layered over the very top of the tutu. The thin straps of her top were pinned with down feathers, more being pinned across the back to give the look of feathered wings sprouting between her shoulder blades. On the top layer of the tutu the collection of feathers thinned until they were nothing but small puffs over the tulle. Throughout, there were crystals beaded on the costume, gilding the feathers and looking like dew drops as they rained down to set along the fluffy layers of her tutu. Everything was made costume to her measurements, acting like a second skin as she moved and stretched. On a hanger behind her was the black version of the same outfit, reserved for her numbers as Odile.

"(Y/N), that is so pretty!" Siobhan's excited squeal broke over the noise in the studio. She, also clad in her swan's costume, bounced up to where (Y/N) was standing on an apple box while the head of the costume department did her own analysis of the outfit. "Do you love it?"

"I do," (Y/N) smiled, shooting a look to the costumer through the mirror. "It's perfect."

Lea, the costume head, reciprocated her smile in quiet thanks, though her critical eye continued looking over the tutu. With only a month until opening weekend, any last minute changes to these outfits were going to have to happen as quickly as possible.

The other principals—Prince Siegfried and Rothbart—were being sized alongside her, though their own garments weren’t quite as elaborate as her own. Other dancers—swans—were fluttered through the space, followed by others in the costume department to mark alterations. There was a level of chaos filling the room, but there was something special seeing all of the flickering crystals. The rainbows of light danced over the walls, trails of glitter falling in the wake of the rotating swans, the specks now forever a part of the flooring.

Even without everyone cast in their makeup, their hair pasted and gelled to perfection, there was still a magic to this cast. This was the Swan Lake.

She was Odette.

"Ready to try on Odile?"

(Y/N) blinked back to her own body, meeting Lea's eyes in the mirror. "Sure, yeah!"

"I can grab it!" Siobhan bubbled, trundling away towards the rack holding the Swan Princess collection of costumes.

Beginning to untie the back of her bodice with the help of Lea, (Y/N)'s eyes followed Siobhan's journey to the rack. The black crystals caught her eye, the light glancing off of the facets like starlight. She admired the points of light dotted along the walls.

Her breath caught when she looked through the window.

Through the glass was Ms. Ariel, huddled with another. Her eyes skimmed across the whole space, while the others' were trained in one spot: right on (Y/N).

Harry gave her a lingering look. His gaze touched on the details of her costume, following the flow of the feathers and the dripping crystals. He wasn't aware he had been caught, that much was clear.

Especially when his lingering eyes finally worked their way back up to her face. Even though the glass, (Y/N) could see the flush that painted his cheeks, his eyes quickly flitting away.

A small smile curled (Y/N)'s lips, her own skin warming just as Siobhan returned with the black swan regalia.

"What?" Siobhan prodded, huddling closer to her friend in conspiracy. "Did I miss something?"

(Y/N) was quick to shake her head, "No—just watching the swans run around. I think Lea's team is going to lose their minds."

At that, Siobhan and Lea both blurt out in laughter.

Through the mirror, (Y/N) could see Ms. Ariel and Harry departing from the viewing window. Her smile fell the smallest bit.

—————

"Has anyone said where the dinner next week is booked?"

A shiver ran down (Y/N)'s spine as she gulped down the shot that Kingston—her counterpart as Prince Siegfried—had already muscled through. She couldn't even process his question for another three seconds, eyes shut closed as she attempted to look tougher than she actually was when it came to shots. They were supposed to be grabbing drinks and snacks for the entire table of other dancers—post rehearsal bonding—before Kingston had egged her into taking a shot with him while they waited on the chips and guac.

"No," she finally coughed out. "I haven't heard anything. I don't think anyone's actually decided yet."

"Well, we only have, like, less than a week before opening night, and I won't go on without a family dinner the night before." Kingston looked at her with a raised brow in defiance.

"As if we'd put on the show without you," (Y/N) smiled, bumping her hip against her friend's.

"I don't know," he drawled, tipping his head in her direction. Kingston looked at her through his lashes, his dreads falling over his shoulder as he leaned in conspiratorially towards her. "I think you'd replace me if you could."

(Y/N) blanched at the accusation. That wasn't the kind of thing she thought he had in mind when he leaned into her like they were sharing an inside joke.

"Why would you say that? I would never replace you!"

Kingston let out a boisterous laugh. He threw his head back, unperturbed by (Y/N)'s blatant shock.

"You didn't think I would notice?" he pressed, huddling close to her once more. "You know I always know what's going on around the company."

When (Y/N) only looked at him with her furrowed brows, nothing leaving her lips, he let out another laugh. This one coming out airy and a bit more private.

The volume of his voice dropped to match as he inclined his head in her direction. "How's Harry?"

Her knee-jerk reaction came in the dropping of her jaw and a mumbled Um. This question shouldn't elicit any kind of reaction from her, that was something she knew. If he was asking her seriously, how Harry was, she wouldn't even have an answer. They've exchanged maybe twenty words, at most.

Yet, there was still a warmth simmering under her skin. She felt like she'd been caught.

"What do you mean?" she finally settled on. Hopefully, the least conspicuous of responses.

Kingston was not at all fooled. "You think he came to watch Kaleb be fitted into the monster costume? Especially when there was the Swan right there? The same one that always looks all giggly every time he's around?"

(Y/N) dropped her eyes to the bar top. How long could a bowl of guacamole take?

"It's okay, you know," Kingston relented, bumping (Y/N)'s hip. "I'm just playing around. He's cute—I don't blame you."

Maybe it was the shot working its magic in her system, maybe it was the fact that no one else had seemed to share this kind of fascination with him. But, (Y/N) nodded, rolling her lips between her teeth.

"Really cute."

"See, I knew it," Kingston declared, looking triumphant before casting his eyes down the bar. "You know, though, right?"

She paused. "About the... rumors, or?"

"Mhm," he hummed, "Or am I going to have to be the one to burst your bubble?"

(Y/N) felt her bubble burst anyway then. She thought Kingston was on the same page as her. He hadn't been around the company much longer than she had, neither of them being present when the whole ordeal had gone down. He was supposed to be as naively open as she was.

"No. I know."

"Good," he said, looking at her with a serious set in his gaze, "The only reason I bring it up is because I want you to be careful. I know you can take care of yourself, but if any of what people have said is true, that's a situation none of us need to get into. If it does go further than the studio, just let someone know—just in case."

"I—Wait—" (Y/N) floundered, unsure of what front to attack first. "It's—No, it's not like that. We've barely ever talked, there's nothing to go further with."

Kingston lifted his hands as if in surrender, only missing the white flag. "I had to say it, just in case."

(Y/N) shook her head. "It's not like that at all," she swallowed, "And... I don't think any of that stuff is true anyway. What people have said. Ms. Ariel wouldn't let him work with us if she thought he was... bad."

He gave her a half shrug. "You never know, babe. Just be safe and aware, that's all."

Before much more could be offered in her defense, the bartender returned with a tray of chips and guacamole, fresh from the tiny kitchen in the back.

"I'm so sorry about that wait!" she chattered, "We're training back there. Thank you for being so patient!"

Kingston offered assurances that there was nothing to be sorry for before collecting all of their drinks and snacks upon the newly gifted tray. (Y/N) kept her mouth shut, helping to carry all of the drinks and everything else they ordered.

"It's okay, (Y/N)," Kingston murmured, a kind smile on his face, "Let me know if you ever need anything, that's all I'm saying. Your secret is safe with me."

(Y/N) gave a small smile in response. She understood where Kingston was coming from; if one of her friends told her they were interested in someone who had even a whiff of a possibility of being harmful to an ex in the past, she would be staking out the house at all times. Just because she didn't believe Harry fell into that category didn’t mean no one else could worry about her.

And it wasn't like she was interested in him anyway. Not when she'd barely spoken to him.

—————

(Y/N), arms extended at her sides, thighs tight as she held her legs in straight pointed lines, soared above the stage. Kingston, dressed as Prince Siegfried, lifted her over the boards in time with the swelling music. She hoped the light caught her tears just right, letting them sparkle just like the crystals on her costume.

Odette and Siegfried were in the afterlife, free from the wrath of Rothbart and the swan curse. The goal was to be as ethereally blissful as she could achieve, overjoyed with the eternity that stretched before her with the love of her life. The one who sacrificed himself to be with her, no matter that the sacrifice was his life.

If she would be able to achieve these same tears, the same clutching fingers that clung to Kingston, the recentering of her gravity as she revolved around him—all while she performed as the prima she had been named, perfect in technique and timing—(Y/N) wasn't sure. Especially when a theater full of eyes would be trained right on her.

She supposed that was what practice was for, anyway. Now was the time to find herself in these moments, in the halves of the swan, so she wouldn't have a problem giving the performance of a lifetime when it came to opening night.

Besides, if her feet and legs hurt then as much as they did now, she doubted it would be very hard to summon tears to her eyes.

(No one had warned her the fouettes were going to make her toes go numb, especially being performed over and over again every week. Any pedicures were going to have to wait until they wrapped, it appeared).

The song came to an end, the finale upon her as Kingston lowered her to the ground, twirling her into him. Pressing his forehead to hers, they shared a moment in the dreamscape that would be projected over them during the show. Her eyes fluttered closed as they caught their breaths together, skin slick with sweat.

As soon as the music flourished to a feathery end, (Y/N) pulled him in for a real hug.

"We did it!" she bubbled, jumping up and down on the flat of her pointe shoes. Their first full run of the show was complete, costumes and all.

"I think I'm going to fall over," Kingston laughed, holding her just as hard. Though it wasn't his first time as a principal, he still glowed like never before. Perfect evidence as to why he was cast as the Prince Charming of Odette's story.

"Let's go sit before Ms. Ariel makes us go again," (Y/N) laughed, still greatly out of breath.

Though she took Kingston's hand, ready to lead him to the edge of the stage to take a breather, where he could easily access his inhaler should he not regain his breath, they both stilled, awaiting their proper dismissal. Out in the aisle of the theater, standing a few rows from the front was Ms. Ariel and the director of the production.

And Harry.

They had all watched the tail end of the run, staying silent. Looking out to the trio of faces, (Y/N) couldn't help but to snag on Harry's.

Gone was the pinched brow, the crossed arms, the intense eyes. The lines of his face were left to soften in the shadows of the theater. His eyes gleamed in the low light as he gazed up at her. If she didn't know any better, she would have liked to think of his gaze as admiring with the way he looked at her.

Like she was something to revere, complete with overheated skin, a sheen of sweat, and trembling limbs.

It was Ms. Ariel's voice that threw her back into the rest of the world.

"That was beautiful, you two. Almost perfect," she smiled, this time taking on Harry's previously critical stance with crossed arms and squinted eyes. "There's a couple of blocking changes we need to make, and I want you two to rehearse as much as you can together for the next week, even if I'm not there. But, you have it. I believe it."

That was the biggest relief (Y/N) could have been given. She could perfect her technique, she could learn the steps and refine her shapes, but if no one believed the story she was selling, it would all become a moot point.

"Thank you," she murmured, Kingston doing the same with his hand held in hers.

"Take a break, okay? I'll call you when I'm ready to block."

They didn't need to be told twice before both Kingston and (Y/N) were rushing from the stage, Kingston being dragged behind the swan.

Before exiting into the backstage and disappearing from the front of the theater, (Y/N) stole a glance in the direction she knew she shouldn't.

Nonetheless, she felt a heat bubble behind her cheeks when she met a pair of green, gleaming eyes.

Kingston had to tear her away, leading them backstage.

—————

Adjusting her leg warmers, (Y/N) curled into her theater seat, eyes fixed on the stage.

Just days from now, she was going to be up there, these seats filled to the brim with spectators. Opening night was officially sold out as of yesterday morning.

Tonight was the tech run of the show. This was (Y/N)'s first look at the set up of the show, complete with set pieces and the proper lighting. The orchestra had already had their own run earlier in the evening, though (Y/N) could still peek at the pit before the stage filled with seats and sheet music. For now, a track was faintly playing through the speakers of the theater to make up for the lack of band, letting the notes be the cue for the lighting and the different effects set forth from the tech booth.

The director, Ms. Ariel, and majority of the production team was present for the run. (Y/N) was the only person sitting in one of the plush red theater seats, having come here right after leaving the studio.

Tomorrow was the final rehearsal, set with the entire cast and ensemble , even the understudies and alternates. After that, a day of rest would be given, including a night out for a family dinner amongst the cast before they would be swinging for the fences, multiple shows every week for the next eight weeks.

Tonight was her last moment of peace here in the theater, she thought. Before she would be slotted in as Odette every night, feeling the weight of the story and the pressure of the technique until each movement came as easy as breathing.

The spotlight glided over the stage, following an invisible dancer. The production lead shouted corrections from the wings, ensuring everything would be perfectly in line with the stage directions Ms. Ariel gave at the beginning of the night.

For a moment, just seeing the spotlight, something in (Y/N) shimmered, warming her chest.

In days, it would be her shining under the light. The beads on her costume would cast rainbows over the audience. She was going to be clad in feathers, moving just like one over the stage. She would be captivating the theater as she told a story she'd held so close to her heart since she was a girl. Seeing that spotlight, she was only reminded of the gravity of what she had signed up for.

(Y/N) was a ballerina. A prima for the first time in her life. She was Odette and Odile, two of the most famous characters in ballet history.

This was her dream.

Absorbed in the phantom show going on in front of her, (Y/N) didn't notice she was no longer alone until the static prick of the air shifting her took her attention. At the end of the aisle, she saw Harry.

He stood with the grays of his suit blending into the shadows of the theater, his hands folded behind him. He looked taken aback when she spotted him, his mouth opened like a guppy, the barely there light pointing out the quiet flush on his cheeks. She couldn't help the small smile that molded her features at his expression.

"Harry?" she asked, voice just over the sound of Tchaikovsky

"I—Sorry," he said, dropping his gaze to land on one of the seats surrounding her, "Do y'mind if I sit with you?"

"Of course not," she beamed, making room for him as she removed her jacket and tote bag off the seat next to her.

Harry side steps his way into the aisle, taking the plush seat at her side. He carried a warmth with him as he sunk into the spot, wafting around her. She felt his presence like a static at her side, taking up weighty space. The stagnant scent of the theater now replaced with something warm and charred, flicks of something sweet threaded through. He definitely smelled much better than she did after dating through the entire morning.

Moments passed as they both looked ahead, watching as the show came together. Projections danced around the stage, showing a wintery blue sky while snowflakes fell in puffs down to the boards. Somewhere off stage, a gentle breeze blew through to sweep the flakes askew, the effect meant to coincide with the swans that would decorate the stage in two days' time.

"It's so pretty," (Y/N) murmured, "seeing everything come together like this."

From the corner of her eye, she spotted a small smile touching Harry's lips. "'S amazing," he said, voice melodic and low like the baseline of the music.

Tipping her head, she chanced a small look in his fraction. "Does it ever get old? Seeing this all the time?"

A look passed over his features, fleeting and quick, as if he were surprised that she was acknowledging that there was ever a production before this. Like he couldn't believe she was broaching any form of the past.

She could imagine he was much more used to others tiptoeing around him. Especially when it came to this place.

Recovered, he shook his head, eyes still forward on the stage. "Never. Some shows aren't always my favorite," he smiled, "but 's never takes away from this."

"Yeah?" she perked up, forgoing her sight of the stage to give her attention to him with her chin propped up on her folded knee, "What is your favorite?"

Harry cocked his head, turning to look at her with pursed lips. "I've always liked The Rite of Spring and La Sylphide, or anything that fits the springtime." He paused, hesitating some as their eyes met. "This year's is really growing on me, though."

A bright smile bloomed on (Y/N)'s face. Though she was more than sure that it was nothing else but the light shining from the stage, the faux snowflakes reflected in his eyes, but she swore there was a twinkle in his irises. Something almost glowing as he gazed at her.

"Swan Lake is my favorite," she shared, unconsciously moving closer to him within the plush of her seat, "You've probably never seen it but there was this, like, animated kind of movie I watched when I was younger that was a version of Swan Lake and it's been my favorite ever since. It's become a lot more special to me now, though."

(Y/N) blinked, her lashes fluttering as she realized just how close she now was to Harry. Through the interaction, she had slightly shuffled until her legs were flush to the armrest, Harry's body turned straight towards her with his eyes fixed on the planes of her face.

Something pricking like static passed in the air between them.

From here, she was able to see the way his lashes tangled at the corners of his eyes. His freckles had warmed around the center of his face, the sun adding more color to the spots. The raspberry color of his lips were deepened in the shadows of the theater, berry rich.

"You're... You're an incredible dancer. I hope you know that." His voice wavered, unsure as the words slipped out.

"Thank you," she smiled, partially aware of the scene change on stage with the music lifting and the light filling through the theater. Off stage, Ms. Ariel's voice could be heard with the muffled director's. None of it was enough to steal her attention away from Harry. "I don't really understand what a patron does yet, but it seems like you do a lot for everyone—Ms. Ariel especially. Thank you for being kind and... wanting to be a part of all of this."

Harry dropped his head, breaking the intensity. "Um," he sounded, something low in the drawl of his voice, "of course. Thank you."

Mouth open, ready to ask what happened, (Y/N) was cut off by the sound of Ms. Ariel's booming voice.

"(Y/N), are you still here? Can you come up here for a second?"

That prickling static was severed at the sound of her voice. She snapped away from Harry, feeling caught red-handed. Harry watched with attentive eyes.

"Yeah, I'm here," she shouted back, giving him an apologetic smile as she rose from her spot, "Sorry. It was nice talking with you, Harry."

"'S alright. Thank you, (Y/N)."

He stayed there as she collected her things and went towards the stage. The warmth that had radiated from his presence was left behind, a flash of goosebumps erupting over her skin.

The only bit of warmth that lingered fell on her back, right where she hoped he was watching her.

—————

the swan is a central figure in the classic ballet, swan lake

ahhhhhhh thank you sm for reading! its been a long time since ive posted anything so im super excited to get something out there! so sorry for any mistakes ! I would love to hear everyone's thoughts or predictions so feel free to send them in!

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