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You Like Me?

A/n: Dudes, my list of requests are dwindling and I couldn’t be happier. Like I was drowning in them a week ago. I should have another Slash fic out tonight because you guys seem to really like him. And once that is posted I’m gonna try to work on a Duff fic, we’ll see how far I get on that. But anyway, I hope y’all enjoy.

*~~*~~*

Masterlist

Slash x Reader

Summary: Slash is consistent when it comes to flirting with Y/n. Whenever the opportunity arises, he takes it. And every single time she turns him down. That is until she overhears the guitarist pour out his feelings for her, making her feel bad for not returning them. Or so he thinks.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Language, smoking, probably something else

“Did you ever realize screw rhymes with me and you?”

Y/n rolled her eyes at Slash’s stupid pick up line. Honestly, she thought that he would have gotten the hint and given up. She wasn’t interested. At least, she wasn’t going to make it seem like she was.

“Oh, come on Y/n. That was a decent pickup line,” the man shrugged before grabbing his guitar. “If you didn’t like that, maybe I can sing you a song.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I doubt I’ll like that either. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ve gotta go do my job.”

With that, she grabbed a bag of clothes Axl had bought and left the dressing room to take them to the tour bus. Along the way, she couldn’t help but smile at the stupid pick up line. She tried her best to be professional around the boys, she was their personal assistant after all. But that stupid pick up line. God, it made her smile. Y/n did her best to not let Slash get to her, she really did, but somehow he still managed to.

At first, she thought it was one of those stupid middle school crushes, the ones where you only start liking someone after you find out they like you. It was clear that Slash had a thing for her, the boys made sure she knew and the pickup lines further cemented it. So, when Y/n started to feel something for the guitarist, she brushed it off. She believed that she merely liked him for the wrong reason and that the feelings would pass. But then things changed. Suddenly she was more aware of him, always catching him in the crowd, and getting flustered around him. It was horrible to admit, but she was falling for him.

Entering the tour bus, Y/n walked to the back and opened a cabinet, shoving the bags into it before closing it. She walked over to the couch and collapsed onto it. “Why do I feel this way?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that question or if there was even an answer. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to like the man, a part of her did, but the other part knew that it was unprofessional and any relationship with him wouldn’t last. Slash was a nice guy, no doubt about it, but he was still a rockstar. Getting with him would be like a death sentence for her heart if she fell too hard. Temptation lingered around every corner and even if she was to believe he wouldn’t fall for it, the temptations he faced were stronger than the ones she did. 

It would be hard for him to go from sleeping with different women every night to sleeping with one. He didn’t seem like the kind that did that. Relationships were something she’d never seen him in. Sure, a girl lingered around for a few days, maybe a month, but then she’d leave and be replaced by someone else. Y/n didn’t want that to happen to her. She didn’t want to be replaced that easily.

So, she loved him in silence. The feelings would eventually fade. And if they didn’t? Well, she would just have to deal with it because she wasn’t willing to get her heartbroken when she could avoid it.

*~~*~~*

“Why would I do that?” Slash asked, running a hand through his hair. He winced when it got tangled in the curls and tried to get it out without pulling any hair out.

Duff shrugged, taking a drag on his cigarette. “Because you’re stupid and it may work.”

He raised a brow. If nothing he’d tried so far to win her heart had work, how was anything else supposed to do it?

“It will work,” his friend assured him. “Just trust me.”

Izzy laughed, looking at the two through the vanity mirror. “You really want to take advice from him?”

“Hey! I’m a married man, I think I know what I’m talking about,” Duff argued, grabbing a beer off the small table in front of him. 

“And how’s that going for you?”

The silence that followed was a good enough answer but didn’t help Slash one bit. He was in love and not sure what to do about it. Everyone had different answers and ideas on what he could do but none of them worked. Flirting with Y/n did nothing, talking to her more got him nowhere, being around her only made him want her more. Nothing he did helped him and it was frustrating.

“Maybe I-”

Y/n walked into the room with their food, setting it on the vanity. “I thought some food would do you all some good before the show.” She pulled a couple burgers out of a paper bag and threw them at Duff and Slash before handing one to Izzy. “Also, the photoshoot after the show has been canceled.”

Slash smiled at that and unwrapped his burger. “So, does that mean you’re free after the show?”

“Yes, but not for whatever you’re thinking,” she stated and grabbed the bag to go find Steven and Axl.

Izzy laughed once she was out of the room. “You’re never gonna get with her,” he let out between fits of laughter, causing Slash to through an empty can at him.

*~~*~~*

Struggling to carry all the boxes of shoes the boys insisted on taking on tour, Y/n walked through the backstage halls. It was a few hours before showtime, her busiest time of the day. It was the time when everyone was yelling at each to make everything look and feel perfect. The lights had to be hung in the perfect position, bags had to be in excisable places, and the boys had to stay out of trouble. As far as she knew, all three of those things were happening. She was almost entirely sure of it when she came close to Duff’s dressing room and heard faint voices she believed belonged to the boys.

“You need to let it go, dude. She’s clearly not interested,” Duff’s voice came from behind the door. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Y/n stopped next to the door, instantly recognizing the voice. It was Slash. It was wrong to eavesdrop, she knew that, but she couldn’t help herself. 

“I’m sure some chick would be more than willing to take her off your mind.”

Slash sighed in frustration. “No, this isn’t something like that. This is real, Duff. This is serious. I like her! No, scratch that, I fucking love Y/n and no whore is gonna change that!”

Her eyes went wide at the statement. He loved her, he actually loved her. Before she could fully register what she’d heard, someone stood up and walked towards the door. Y/n shifted the boxes and walked away as quickly as she could, not bothering to look back at whoever exited the room. 

She walked into Axl’s room, setting the boxes on the couch. The singer was fiddling with a guitar when she entered, but he’d since put it down, eyeing her with suspicion.

“Are you alright, Y/n?”

Y/n nodded and decided to stack the boxes neatly. 

How could she not be alright? She’d just learned that she’d been a complete bitch for no reason. Obviously, she was alright. Slash, on the other hand, probably wasn’t. He was probably beating himself up over everything. Y/n sighed, shaking her head. She should have at least given him a chance, he deserved that much. But no, she had to jump to the conclusion that all rockstars are the same and all they want is sex. 

Maybe that wasn’t all Slash wanted.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” she asked Axl as she approached the door, fingers crossed that he was all taken care of.

“I don’t think so…” he trailed off, watching her practically sprint out of the room. He would have questioned it, but he’d seen weirder shit during shows.

Y/n walked as quickly as she could without running anyone over. She weaved between sound tech and crew members, trying to find Slash. Popping her head into Duff’s dressing room, she frowned. Neither of the men were in there. With a huff, she continued down the hall, they couldn’t be that far. 

She’d looked for the man for over an hour, giving up when her feet were beginning to ache. And that’s why heels are Satan’s shoes, she thought and tossed them off. Y/n came to an empty hallway, furthest from the stage. Leaning against the wall, she sighed and slid down the wall. Resting her head against the cold bricks, she couldn’t help but be disappointed in herself. In keeping her heart from getting broken, she’d broken someone else’s. How fucking stupid. That just wasn’t fair. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but no matter how many times she told herself, at the end of the day she still had. 

“This is bullshit,” she muttered, playing the hem of her shirt. “Fucking bullshit.”

Y/n closed her eyes in an attempt to relieve some stress when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She didn’t bother to see who it was, why would it matter? Then the footsteps stopped in front of her.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Slash asked.

Her eyes shot open and she was on her feet in an instant. “Yeah, yeah. I’m alright.”

He nodded, not sure whether to believe that or not. “Izzy is looking for you. Lost his hat or something. I don’t know, but he won’t perform without it.”

Y/n bite her lip, nodding along to the information. Was now a good time to talk to him? It seemed like one of the only opportunities she’d get, but was it the right moment?

“He’s, ah, in his dressing room,” Slash gestured down the hall before turning around and walking the other direction. 

Y/n looked down the hall that would lead her to Izzy and back at Slash who was walking further and further away. It was now or never, she thought. Now or never. Taking a deep breath, she turned in the direction of the guitarist. 

“Slash!”

The man turned around just as he was about to place a cigarette in his mouth.

“Wait, wait. Can I talk to you?” she asked, running up to the man.

He shrugged, what could he do to stop her?

Y/n stopped in front of him, taking a deep breath. The man looked down at her, a brow raised.

“Okay, so I know that you probably don’t want to hear this and I probably just gonna ramble on,” she stated, fiddling with her fingers. “Stop me whenever you feel like it. Seriously, there may be no other way to stop the words. But anyway-” She swat at the air with her hand. “-I heard what you and Duff were talking about earlier, and I know I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but I don’t know.” She sighed, “I feel like a bitch. I feel horrible-”

“Why do you feel horrible?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “You have no reason to. Turning me down shouldn’t make you feel like a shit person,” he raised his voice, emphasizing that he was the one in pain.

Y/n raised a hand in an attempt to calm him down. “I know, I know. And yeah, I feel like shit for that and you’re right, I shouldn’t. But I do because I kept turning you down because why would you want to go out with me if it weren’t just for sex? I’m the band’s assistant, I’m not some groupie, willing to throw myself at any of. So, yeah, maybe I thought all you wanted from me was sex,” she admitted. “Stupid of me to think so, but most of you guys act the same. And me liking you was something I thought would, you know, go away. You’d probably move on, like Duff said, find someone to take me off your mind. I-I don’t even know where I’m going with this,” she stated, biting her lip. 

She had a point, somewhere at the beginning she had a point.

“You like me?” the man asked, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

Y/n nodded.

“And you’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself rambling on without a point if I wasn’t,” she laughed.

He nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Alright, well then how about we catch dinner after the show if you’re serious about this.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile. Once she’d started talking, in the back of her mind, she thought that Slash would just ignore her. Hell, she probably hadn’t made any sense seeing as how she couldn’t remembering what she was getting at. “I’d like that.”

“Alright, well you’ll know where to find me.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Well, I gotta go help Izzy, see you later.”

“See ya,” he waved as she walked down the hall. Once she was out of sight a huge grin came over his face. Damn, that felt good, to finally get her to say yes. It felt better than good, it felt fucking amazing! Now, he just had to figure out where they were going to eat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Vhagar has dementia

jorraeliarzus (beloved) │ Chapter 1: Affliction

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2  (In Progress!)

Synopsis: Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own. You struggle.

Hello! Welcome back, all! This instalment is going to be a journey for Reader. A bunch of bad shit has happened in her life. It's about time she begins facing all that, you know? Not all of it will be heavy, but there will be some psychological fuckery and an opportunity to delve into the layers of the relationship I've spent time developing. My intention is to have this function similar to little slut, in that it's a series of one-shots set chronologically. Each will be a self-contained 'highlight' that is set during the six years Daemon is exiled on Dragonstone. This instalment will cover babies, healing, pregnancy, relationship development, funny hijinks, dragons and smut! Always smut.

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of post-partum depressive states, lite smut, lactation and lactation kink.

“Thus was Prince Daemon banished from his brother the King’s city, and with him his niece and newborn heirs. Exile had long favoured the rogue, and this latest decree brought forth a period of quiet on the isle of Dragonstone, the years bringing forth further progeny to strengthen his House’s line. Together with the Princess Rhaenyra, Daemon and his wife presided over the Targaryen stronghold for several years before circumstances would take them once more to King’s Landing.”

- ‘Fire & Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

He is staring again.

You do your best to pay it no mind, though the weight of his eyes upon you is heavy, nonetheless. An onlooker may well assume his focus is on the scene in its entirety—upon the babes propped on pillows before you, their grasping fists skating across dragonscale as they grunt and babble, reptilian rumbles filling the void between sounds—but you know better. Your husband has not been the same since… since that night. You cannot blame him, though it vexes you so.

One of the dragons—the creature with scales of amethyst glittering even in low light—hisses in outrage as Aelys takes hold of his tail, curling around himself with teeth bared as if to warn your daughter of the fate that awaits her. No bite comes. Unbothered, she tries to tug her quarry to her face, and you can only presume the intent is to explore this new surface with gnashing gums.

“Let go, my lovely,” you tell her as your fingers work to free the beast of its skin-and-bone shackles. The babe’s grip is surprisingly firm. “Azorion has done naught to deserve such untoward treatment.”

“Did it not shit in the cradle this morning?” comes Daemon’s idle question from the desk.

When you glance over, you find he has made himself busy once more, appearing for all the world as though he is deep in his papers. You suspect otherwise.

“He is only small,” you say by way of response. Aelys’s face flushes with the threat of tears when her clasp is finally released, so you slip your own digits into hers to placate her. The other dragon, the long-limbed and sun-hued Valnissar, presses its snout against her neck as if to soothe her temper. “He cannot help it.”

Azorion scrabbles back to Rhaenar’s side, huffing indignantly even while burrowing into the boy’s side, leaching his body warmth. Rhaenar’s eyelids begin to droop, the comforting mass of his future mount a steady reassurance, while the steadiness of Valnissar’s even breaths along her flesh ease Aelys into a state of calm.

“If it can eat unaided, it can shit in a place that is not where my children sleep.”

The creature seems to rouse at the mention of his earlier mishap; you pat him reassuringly. “He will learn.”

Daemon grunts, summarily ending the conversation.

This is how most of your interactions proceed as of late: a vague, uninterested query, an overly polite response, a terse conclusion, and two evidently discontented persons not quite certain how to bridge the divide that has risen between them. And there is a divide, you are sure of it—why else does the man who is never without a word to spare suddenly bereft of speech in your presence?

The only thing that eases your mind is the knowledge that, for all his recalcitrance, there is no love lost. His hands still linger—on your back, your waist, thoughtless touches that settle hot and heavy and remind you of his solidness. He smiles still, amused by the sing-song lilt of your voice as you coo down at the twins, laughs when they babble back in mimicry of true dialogue. At night, his arms are encompassing, almost too tight, the clutch of one upon that which they fear to lose most. His body speaks the words his lips cannot, laying bare the desperate frustration—the fear, the anger, the worry—that he has carried since the night you had fallen under the spell of old magic, the night you had woken your children’s mounts from their eggshell prisons and called them forth with fire and blood.

Daemon is not the only one who ruminates upon it. You yourself remember it in pieces, flashes of memory that you cannot make whole. The heat of the hearth. A glow, orange, red, yellow. Stinging upon your hands, and the iron tang of blood upon the air. It is as though it occurred to another being—like you had watched rather than been part of it all. There is little wonder that the sight must have made him so uneasy.

You startle when your uncle abruptly stands, rolling his neck to dispel any latent discomfort from remaining in a static position for so long. He falters, appears to decide on something unknown to all but his own mind, then moves toward the rug where you have arranged your babes and their dragons.

Crouching down beside you, his hand reaches forth to cup the round softness of Rhaenar’s head as he murmurs, “I’ll be back later.”

“Before supper?” you ask just as quietly.

He makes a vague noise of assent, smiling absently when Aelys jams her fist in her mouth and babbles to herself, drooling all the while. Valnissar perks up at the sight of his second-favourite person in the world, chittering excitedly as he makes a concerted attempt at climbing up Daemon’s leg. Daemon hisses, extricating the spindly creature’s claws and placing him on his shoulder. Valnissar flaps his wings and promptly tries to weave his way into your uncle’s hair. Your nostrils flare in amusement.

Daemon does not look at you, but you do not mind; you understand the draw of the twins and their young mounts all too well.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

At that, he turns further into you, his gaze finally lifting to find your face. From the corner of your eye, you see the looming shadow that forms whenever he allows his thoughts to consume him. It casts his features into darkness, the heavy set of his brow wrinkling inward as disquietude metamorphoses him. But the tale enacted through his expression is mitigated by the press of his other hand against the small of your back, achingly tender even in its firmness.

“To the Dragonmont.”

You nod. “Ah.”

He will not tell you yet, but you suspect he is looking for answers. The last great repository of Old Valyria is bound to provide at least some insight, though part of you—a large part—is too afraid to seek them yourself. You worry what you will find if you should search through the ancient texts of your people, what they might say of those with the power to hold fire in their hands without fear of burning. It is not something you have ever heard of. If House Targaryen could claim such a feat, it would not be a secret. What does it mean? You know not.

And so, you make no protest when his thumb strokes against Aelys’s cheek in parting, when he unceremoniously drops her dragon to the floor beside her and ignores the protesting squawks to lean in and kiss your cheek, muttering his goodbyes as he rises to leave. You do not turn around, but you know his routine well enough by now.

A clatter by the bed, and Dark Sister is retrieved—scabbard and all—to be fastened at his waist. A scrape, the chair at the desk being pushed back in. A pause. He takes one final look at you all, wife and children and dragons laid about by the hearth in seeming bliss. You feel his stare as it rests on you and you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, footsteps echoing, then fading, fading. The imprint of his lips and his touch remains, an unsettling reminder of all that has been left unspoken.

You dispel such thoughts with a sigh. As worrying as Daemon’s behaviour has become, it is by no means your first priority now that you are a mother.

Looking down at them, you wonder if you will ever get used to the idea, to the fact that these two little beings grew in your belly until they were ready to come into the world, and now they are here and they are yours. ‘Mother’ means the woman through whom your very existence came to be, the name Aemma spoken in hushed whispers and always carrying with it the trace of unending grief. ‘Mother’ means Alicent, the girl-turned-Queen who birthed your brothers and sweet Helaena, who gave you little Daeron to love in place of all you had once been without. ‘Mother’ means Rhaenyra, your staunchly devoted sister who had in part raised you, who even now rears kind, intelligent sons who are more than deserving of the legacy she will one day leave them. You find it entirely strange that a word representing these women—such forces in your life, for good or otherwise—is a word that applies to you.

Motherhood is strange, foreign in a way you do not feel you can overcome by consulting dusty tomes in companionship with Ser Lysan, the manner in which you have familiarised yourself with all foreign things in summers past. This feeling has crept into the crevices of your mind in barely perceptible pulses, slow and unassuming with every new thing you learn about these wonderful, terrifying beings your body created, with every new feat they achieve as they grow and adapt to their environment. At times, when you are alone, you worry you will be no good at it. How can you possibly fare well at such a monumental task without a mother to guide you? What if you make a mistake?

What if your babes—who you know you love more than anything in the world, more than you ever thought anyone could ever feel in their beating hearts, so strong it is almost sickening—come to know of your inadequacy and loathe you for it?

“What seems to be the issue, Princess?”

Gerardys’s hands are folded together before him, his expression as kind and reassuring as always. You wish you truly were reassured, or the too-hot, roiling sensation of your gut might not be quite so pronounced.

There are many responses you could give. The fact that your husband is ill at ease with you for reasons you cannot risk explaining, lest the entire Realm learn through whispers and tales of Valyrian blood magic and some concealed devilry that ought to be put to the sword. That your doubts about how suitable you are as a mother are rising with every second of every hour that you are left to tend your children, feelings that must be wholly unnatural to a woman or otherwise, would you not have heard of such a thing spoken in your many years among the ladies at court? Or perhaps that the woman whom you would prefer to speak to of this matter is in King’s Landing to fetch fresh supplies at this very moment, leaving you no alternative but to be in the maester’s solar instead.

No. None of the answers to his question that come immediately to mind are appropriate here, and nor are they the true reason for your visit. Thus, you brush them aside and take a deep breath.

“I… I have some—concerns.” At his encouraging nod, you add, “About my… supply. For the babes.”

“Ah.” You are glad he seems to have interpreted your hedging correctly; he clears his throat. “I am a physician,” he reminds you, though his tone is by no means judgemental. For all Daemon’s dislike of him, such gentility is why you believe him to be one of the best practitioners in his field, and certainly preferable to Mellos. “While I—understand the indelicacy of the subject matter, I am afraid you are going to need to elaborate, your Highness.”

“Oh. Of course.” You glance away, discomfited. “I… wish to feed the twins myself. By myself. But I”—you gesture weakly to your chest—“my milk has not come in as much as I had hoped it would… by now…”

Rhaenyra has never had this problem, you think. You cannot help it. It was not so long ago that the merest mention of a babe had been enough to wet the fabrics of her gown, never mind that Joff had had the luxury of choice in his supply. Your sister had in fact bemoaned the stubbornness of her body in refusing to dry up—she never let her sons latch for longer than a moon’s turn after each birth, preferring to, as she said, “keep her tits from turning to suckling udders”, long-teated and all. Jealousy is the sin of the vain and impious, but your beating heart thrums with it even so.

Gerardys frowns. “Forgive me—but I was certain that a wet nurse had been requisitioned for them?”

“Yes. But I would—I would prefer to feed them on my own.”

It is not as though you dislike Freda. While she is certainly loud and bawdy and oft far too inappropriate for company, she cares a great deal for Rhaenar and Aelys. You see it in the readiness of her smiles at them, how she cradles them as if they are the most delicate beings in the universe, the way she praises them so effusively for the most base and vulgar of actions—“I’ve never seen a shit so splendid, your Highness, never did I once! A talented little fellow is our little prince, he is!”—but it is not the same. You are their mother, not she. Freda’s presence is not just expected, but required to ensure both your babes have full bellies. It does little to ease your lack of surety.

Though you can tell that Gerardys is perplexed by your insistence, he stares past you thoughtfully, his eyes squinting in his concentration.

“It is not uncommon,” he says slowly, “for a woman with two nursing babes to produce an insufficient volume to accommodate them both. ‘Tis why wet nurses are so popular!”

“I know. I would just… I want to do it.” You wonder if you sound as exposed as you feel. “I am their mother. I should feed them.”

Your words seem to matter not, for the maester is already muttering to himself and rifling through the cabinet by the door, low tones interspersed with the soft clinking of glass vials being shifted about.

“If you insist, Princess,” he says absently, humming under his breath as he balances on tiptoe to reach his higher shelving. After a moment of silence, a noise of muted triumph. “Ah—here it is.”

What he presses into your hands is not an ampoule of some sort, but a plain pouch of hemp and string. The contents within shift about readily, though it prickles when you squeeze too firmly, like dried herbs.

 “Thistle tea.” Gerardys watches as you inspect his offering. “Steep for half an hour, strain. Consume plain, no milk or honey. One cup a day, no more or less.”

“How long will it take to work?”

“You ought to begin seeing an increase in production within a sennight. If you can encourage the babes to latch more frequently, you’ll have better results.” At your enquiring look, he elaborates. “The more often the breast is drained, the quicker it refills and thus the more milk you will produce.”

You colour at his use of such a word, not entirely accustomed to speaking so plainly of something so long viewed as unseemly with another man. It is scarcely tolerable even with your ladies. “You have my thanks, Maester Gerardys.”

“Of course, Princess. But remember—do not exceed more than a cup a day!”

You take his advice to heart over the next few days, exhorting the serving staff to ensure you are delivered of a cup brewed to the maester’s specifications each morning. It tastes unremarkable, a leafy bitterness so often customary of herbal tinctures and tonics, though you think you might find it more palatable with the addition of such ingredients as the ones expressly forbidden to you. The very worst of the flavour collects at the bottom of the cup, forcing you to steel yourself to stomach the sharp-tasting dregs and cleanse your palate with fresh water. You bear it silently, praying that you will soon see the benefits promised to you.

But, after a sennight passes, there is no change.

At least, you think there is no change. Rhaenar is not one for fuss and fuddle, and the one time Aelys is not so is in the hours following feeding, her belly full and warm and leading to an easy, calm drowse—but after letting them latch for half an hour, neither babe is sufficiently serene to suggest that the tea has done its duty. Rhaenar kicks and grizzles, mouthing vainly at your nipple as though you are concealing some previously stored contents still within your breast, while Aelys progresses to full, drawn-out wails. Freda watches on, wringing her hands as the twins caterwaul. The front of her dress is stained, sympathetic leakage in response to the veracity of their cries.

Perhaps it is this fact that finally breaks you.

All at once, you no longer feel saddened or confused, concerned or unsure. You are angry. Why should she—a woman who had neither carried nor shared blood with them—get to give your boy and your girl the sustenance so essential to them? What does she possess that you do not? Why have the gods forsaken you? If they have built the womanly form to bear and nurse her children, then you ought to be able to carry out your duty as intended. Not Freda. Why are they taunting you with such a poisonous reminder of your own failure?

 “Your Highness—”

“No!” Your rebuke is sharp and swift, punctuated further by what you can only assume is a truly withering glare. “Leave us!”

“But the little pr—”

“I said get out!”

The shrillness of your voice only serves to further upset the babes. They both scream, red-faced and baying, and there is a strange sort of harmony to it that might even sound beautiful were it not so devastating. The noise is such that it sets off the panicked shrieking of Azorion and Valnissar, creating a truly chaotic calamity of sound that makes it terribly hard to think rationally. Or think at all.

You bar the room, refusing to allow Jeyne or Bethany entry. You do not need their aid. It is only morning, your thoughts whirl frenetically. Plenty of time to prove that the wet nurse is not necessary.

All manner of people come to your door as the moments—or maybe minutes, or perhaps hours, you cannot tell—pass, no doubt drawn by the crying and the screeching and your stubborn resistance to letting anyone assist you. Ser Lorent raps on the door, earnest calls of “Your Highness? Is everything well?” readily enough ignored and, when that fails, the kindly queries of the maester beseeching you to let him in “for fear there is something wrong, Princess, please let us help you” also dismissed, or rather more truthfully, not quite heard through the thicket of your growing panic. You do your best to disregard anything outside your chambers, your frantic focus centred wholly on giving Rhaenar and Aelys the care they need from their mother—and their mother alone.

But no matter the hymns you sing or the steadiness of your rocking, no matter how perfect your bouncing walk to soothe them or your murmured exhortations to please, please calm down, they will not be assuaged.

You forget what silence is like. Surely you have never been without the sound of bawling infants? The intensity of it reshapes memory, blocks out any sense of rationality or level-headedness. Your own despair rises the longer the babes sob, their sorrowful scrunched-up faces all but proclaiming aloud that you cannot do this.

Your mind rebels. What was I thinking? They hate me. They hate me. I’ve ruined them. I could not give them milk, and now I cannot even stop their tears. I am a terrible mother. A failure.

Failure.

Failure.

Failure.

The hatchling dragons, emblematic of their future riders’ dispositions as is the norm, only serve to intensify the battle between your spirit and your fear. They feel as Rhaenar and Aelys feel, only they have sharp claws and sharp teeth and the mobility fresh out of the egg to express their feelings in a way the twins cannot. You cannot fend off their snapping jaws and high-pitched snarls and tend to the twins at the same time. The situation quickly becomes untenable, though you have not the presence of mind nor good sense to discern this.

“Daor,” you snap as Valnissar nips at your exposed wrist. No.

At this age, the bite stings only a little, drawing a thin well of blood to the surface of your skin. You push the dragon away, doggedly continuing to try and force Aelys’s mouth to your breast. They feel heavier again, a sure sign that there is milk enough to quell the babes’ despondency. If only they would stop crying.

You sit upright on the bed, the curve of one foot pinning Azorion to the mattress below you. He hisses indignantly but makes no attempt to shift, resigned to being trapped for as long as you deem it necessary. Positioned perfectly against the cushion provided for precisely this purpose are your boy and girl, heads perfectly aligned to take to each breast, reclined so that their tiny bodies extend below each of your arms and your hands are free to cup their heads just right. Exactly how Ūlla taught you. So why—why—are they refusing to latch?

“Please,” you find yourself whimpering, the sound lost beneath the piercing howls. At this point, they have both become as distressed as each other, never looking more identical than they do with the same flushed flesh and misery-streaked cheeks, near to seizing with the force of their sobs. You try to bring their mouths to each nipple again, but all they do is cry and cry and cry, faces turning away. “Please, it’s right here. Mama has your milk right here, please please please…”

Valnissar tries to climb over your arm to sit on Aelys. You shrug the beast off, and he tumbles to the bed in a tangle of wings. He screeches, teeth bared, and you can just tell he is about to strike at you again.

You push him away.

“Leave me be!” you say, louder and steadily more overwhelmed, your attention wavering between creature and child. Pressing the babes to your breasts does nothing to persuade them to take from you, but what else can you do? “Please drink. For me? For Mama?”

More wailing. Their fists clench, their forms shuddering.

Useless. It is useless. I am useless.

“Why won’t you have your milk?” you ask, and you think you are calm and measured but really you are starting to sob yourself, a discordant symphony of despair. “Why won’t you just accept it? Please, please, I promise it’s good enough…”

Still, tears. And the dam breaks.

They hate me. They hate me. They hate me. It is like a metronome pulsing through your veins in time with the wrenching heaves of your chest, your lungs trying and failing to force in air. The babes cry, you cry, the dragons clamour, the room feels too full—of sound, of air, of heat—and you are so terribly close to screaming at everything to shut the fuck up because you cannot do this, you cannot do this, why did you ever think you could do—

The passageway at the opposite end of the chamber bursts open. You hear it, but you cannot see through the film of your own tears.

“What the fuck’s going on here?”

Normally, Daemon’s voice—even panicked as he is currently—is enough to reassure you. But it only makes you weep more. Here is your husband, arrived to see how poor a wife he has chosen, how poor a mama you make. Here is Rhaenar and Aelys’s father, arrived to see how enormous your incompetence is, how completely and utterly you have failed to do even the simplest of things. The shame of it is enough to send you spiralling.

You do not remember what follows very clearly.

Fingers fumbling to lace up the ties loosened on your bodice. Hands laid upon the babes, the span of palm large and rough enough to disturb their vocalisations, to ease them to a slightly duller caterwauling. You clutch them tighter to you, unable to even look up to see the owner of those hands, but you are not strong enough to resist the determined reach of those arms to pluck each infant in turn from you. A part of you is relieved. They are passed off with murmurs, man and woman’s voices exchanging in low tones. You vaguely recognise them through the fog of misery. The person before you stands, another taking their place. The steady touch of someone with skin that carries the scent of medicinal herbs feels your forehead, turns your head from side to side, presses clinically at the fullness of your chest. Then, the mattress rises, the weight dissipating, and you are alone.

It takes several long moments to realise that the noise—the babes and the dragons—has stopped entirely. That they are no longer present, no doubt escorted to safety far, far away from you. It ought to be enough to torment you to madness, the final step in this harrowing reprieve from reason, but your tears have fled too. All that is left is bone deep, heavy exhaustion and a full-bodied dispiritedness that makes you sink into the pillows behind you, slide down enough to turn to your side and ignore whoever is talking, shut your eyes and block everything out.

You let the darkness swallow you whole.

Of course he is here when you awake.

You do not know if you really expected otherwise. He has dragged a chair from the table by the balcony next to the bed, and he ought to appear more comfortable—slouched carelessly as he is, leg slung over the other in the assured manner that all men who are confident in their right to take up such space are—but his expression suggests otherwise. Not angry, no, but certainly serious; a pensiveness that comes from prolonged periods of introspection. His eyes seem far away. In fact, his entire self seems far from where he sits, as though his body has travelled back to the Keep but his mind is still in the Dragonmont.

Where he has been for days and days, you think bitterly. Reading thousand-year-old texts instead of being here.

His hands are clasped and resting under his chin, his elbows on the armrests. He seems tired. You regret the ire of your thoughts. It is not as though he has gone out of his way to avoid you, truly. He is here when you need him.

You do not realise he has become aware of your return to consciousness until you hear your name softly spoken.

“Rūhossa zaldrīzessē mazumbillā ilzi. Pōnta biktomy kisittaksi,” is the first thing he says. The babes and dragons are in the nursery. They were fed by the wet nurse.

The silence, previously unnoticed, registers at the same time as your relief. They are safe. They are far away from you. It is likely for the best, even though your breasts feel uncomfortably full.

Daemon shifts from the seat to the bed, staring down at you with an unnameable emotion in his gaze. His movements are relaxed, almost calculated, as one who is wary of spooking an injured animal. You think that if he had failed to glean some sort of response from whomever followed him into the room earlier, he would not be quite so calm.

For a moment, you are half-convinced he is about to reprimand you—until he strokes your jaw, brushes a stray tendril of hair from your face. Your heart skips a beat. His touch is kind.

After an indeterminate period of silence, the question eventually comes.

“Skorion massitas?” What happened? His tone is low, measured.

You sit up, making room for yourself by wiggling back against the pillows. Really, you are stalling. How does one go about explaining that they had taken leave of their senses?

“Ūī ūndetā, gōntō daor?” you ultimately choose to say. You saw, did you not? It sounds dull and lifeless even to your ears. “Se avy qubykto massinoti biktys ivestretos.” And the wet nurse must have told you of earlier events.

His responding look is unimpressed. Normally, you would expect him to have yelled by this point. Whatever it is that he has been told—whatever it is that you must have looked like here, near to yelling at your own infant children and sobbing with your breasts bared to the room and two small dragons buzzing about like particularly persistent insects—it is enough to stay his temper for the time being. Still, you do not believe his patience will hold for long.

You sigh, shuddering out an unsteady breath.

Even though the spell of hysteria has broken, it takes a moment or two to gather yourself. Daemon grasps your arms, erring on the cusp of too-tight to be solely encouraging, but it grounds you enough to attempt to explain what it is he stumbled upon before.

Your jumbled thoughts stream out unorganised, and you are only really half-aware of what exactly it is you convey through hiccuped breaths and shaking shoulders. Failure. Disgrace. Cannot even feed my own children. Useless. Bit by bit, it comes forth, juddered and broken, and you cannot even tell what language you are speaking in, or if you are dipping in and out of your native tongue and your learned one without a presence of mind to control it. As you speak, Daemon’s face morphs, knitted brows relaxing and mouth easing from its hard line into the gentlest of frowns. And then, you are silent. You wait for the death knell of judgement.

It never comes.

His hands slide lower, capturing your own and lacing fingers with you. He stares down at this joining, turning your wrist over as though he is marvelling at the disparity in size, in smoothness.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It is low, strangely hurt.

Your heart thuds uneasily. This is not how you expected him to react at all. “I—I don’t know.”

He swallows, and again you are unsure if he is holding back anger or if he genuinely has none. The calloused pad of his finger strokes a line down the centre of your palm, eliciting an instinctive shiver from you.

“Gerardys said you went to see him. That you were in low spirits. Irritable. Fixed on this idea of nursing the babes by yourself.” He glances up, his lips twitching like he is reluctant to voice his next words. “He says… sometimes there is an—affliction—of the mind. It happens to new mothers.”

“You think I’m mad?” You try to pull your hand away, but he holds on.

Scoffing lightly, he says, “Maegor was mad, you silly girl. You are young. Frightened. A great deal has happened to you since we wed.”

His jaw tenses, no doubt recollecting those memories. The wedding night. The fight. Laena. Driftmark. Larys. Alicent. Father.

He sighs. “And I… I have not helped.”

Your mouth parts in protest. “I am happy with you,” you say stubbornly. “If you had not protected me—”

“And where have I been since the eve you hatched the twins’ dragons?” He turns from you, resting his elbows on his knees to rake his hands through his hair. “Hiding in the fucking Dragonmont. Like a coward.”

“You aren’t a coward. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

He laughs, short and sharp. It is an ugly sound. “Yes. So brave am I, I ran away and left my young wife alone to care for my children. I’m such a craven”—he lifts his head to look at you once more—“that I found it easier to let this happen instead of admitting how deeply that night unsettled me.”

An understatement, to be sure. You do not think ‘unsettled’ is sufficient enough to capture how either of you feel.

“It isn’t your fault,” you settle on telling him. “I should have just been able to nurse Rhaenar and Aelys without crying like a child—”

“You were overwhelmed. Worried. Thinking that not having enough milk means you’re somehow not fit to be their mother. What utter shit.”

“I cannot even feed them. How am I supposed to raise them?” Your voice is abnormally high and thready. You hear it, though it does not register as abnormal until Daemon’s expression stops you in your tracks. You shake your head, trying to stave off the tremble in your lower lip. “You don’t understand. I want—I need to be—enough for them.”

I don’t remember my mother, you want to say. I only remember ’Nyra and Alicent and Father. None of them were enough. None of them were able to make me feel less alone.

How am I supposed to stop Rhaenar and Aelys from being broken in the same way I was? Who do I turn to? What do I do? How can I protect them when I could not even protect myself?

When Daemon’s touch returns, it is unimaginably delicate, nearly tentative. He cups your cheek, tilts your head so your eyes can meet.

“You are enough,” he says. “How can you think otherwise? To love them is to be enough.”

A part of you wants to heed his words, to allow him to soothe your worries as he is so often able to do. Your thoughts, self-loathing as they are, continue to press against your will and shake the firmness of your resolve. “But—”

“Ah-ah. Remember our vows, sweetling.” His lip quirks, finding fondness in memory. “Did you not promise to obey me in all things?”

You nod tentatively.

He hums. “Obey me now, then. Cast those foolish notions from your mind and listen to your uncle, hm?”

You do not think you can agree so easily as he expects. This is a war in your head that he cannot help you wage through a simple command. But you want to believe that it could be as uncomplicated as he has made it.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll try.”

His answering embrace feels like a port in the midst of a harrowing storm. When the world around you is careening wildly, uncontrolled and unstable, you know that he will bring you back to safe shores. He would fight those waves off himself if he could. You press your nose to his neck, breathe in the familiar smell of him—smokeleatherspice—and, for a time, everything feels just a little less terrifying.

“See? They’re fine,” Daemon says. “A night away has done no harm.”

The babes are well-settled in the nursery, placid and rested and bright-eyed. Rhaenar grips onto your thumb in welcome, while Aelys kicks her legs and squeals when she sees you above her. Though you are glad for it—glad that you had not ruined them in your desperate madness—there is a part of you that wishes they had not clearly been so manageable without you.

You eye the sleeping forms of Azorion and Valnissar, coiled faithfully by the sides of each of your children. The Keeper loiters near the window, watching on.

Freda nods hastily. “They have been fed and bathed, Princess, all ready for sleep. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

She clearly thinks this ought to ease your mind. If anything, it only serves to disappoint you. Not only had you missed out—you despise missing anything they do, any part of their life—but now there is no recourse for the ache in your chest. Even thinking of it is enough to make your nipples itch, your breasts throb. You pray that the front of your gown remains dry.

You turn toward the other occupant in the room. “And the dragons?”

The Keeper is here primarily for Tyraxes and Skyfrost, the respective future mounts of little Joff and Corwyn, given that the nurses brought in to care for the babes are not equipped to raise creatures so dangerous as the ones claimed by your House. Today, though, he is responsible for four of them. If the look upon his face and the sweat glistening on his brow is any indication, doubling his responsibilities has caused a great deal of stress, indeed.

“The elder two have been separated from the hatchlings,” he says, stepping forward jerkily. It is as though his limbs are fastened upon strings controlled by some higher being—a human marionette. The effect is startling. “The younger pair have been… spirited, though they are resting for the time being.”

Daemon snorts, shaking his head. “Of course they have. At least they don’t breathe fucking fire yet.”

“Fucky.”

Your husband’s head whips over to the rug by the table, where Corwyn and Joff happily toddle about on unsteady legs. Corwyn is looking straight towards Daemon, smiling and mashing his gums on what seems to be a wooden knight.

Like most of the children in your family, he appears to have developed a liking for the man. Mealtimes now often involve the boy stumbling to Daemon’s side to pass him whatever object he has deemed necessary to be kept in your uncle’s possession, wide amethyst eyes peering expectantly upward until the doll or block or carved figure is taken from his hands. Daemon will roll his eyes, thank him and pat him on his head of dark curls, the act inciting a squeal and babble before the child waddles back to his evening playtime.

At the abrupt cessation of conversation, Corwyn removes the figure from his mouth and speaks once again. “Fucky.”

“Shit,” Daemon murmurs.  You strike his arm reflexively, but it is too late.

Corwyn laughs as he wanders back to Joff. “Shit. Shit. Shit-it-it-it-it-it…”

“Daemon!” you hiss, torn between irritation and a bizarre sort of amusement.

He shrugs. “Oh well. Nothing can be done now. It could be worse, sweetling. He could have walked in on us fu—”

“Rhaenyra will want your head on a pike for this,” you say hastily, in part to avoid scandalised stares from the attending staff and also to prevent Corwyn from repeating what his cousin has accidentally taught him. No doubt your little nephew will learn it from his half-brother, too.

“Perhaps we’d best depart for the evening, then”—Daemon’s hand is insistent on your elbow, a leading force that beckons you to follow—“lest you lose your husband to your sister’s temper.”

“That would be your own fault,” you say absent-mindedly.

You are unable to tear yourself away from Rhaenar and Aelys just yet. They are calm, yes, but this is not where they sleep, where they belong. You do not know if you can bear the sight of the empty cradle in your chambers or the absence of the sounds they make together with their dragons.

“Must they remain here?” you ask, more a whisper than a genuine plea.

“They are safe here.” Daemon reaches forth to let Aelys grasp his finger, an involuntary action since the babe had fallen into a doze during your visit, no doubt lulled by the sound of your voices. She is the more difficult of the pair to settle; you know Rhaenar will follow easily enough. “You ought to take respite from each other, if only for a night.”

His words are gentle, but the expression on his face reminds you of earlier. Obey me now. Cast those foolish notions from your mind. Listen to your uncle. You hear it as though it has been spoken aloud once again. Even so, the pulsing discomfort in your breasts stays your obedience.

“If I could just—”

 “No. We’re leaving. You need to rest.” It is firmer this time, louder and more decisive. He is not persuading you—he is telling you.

With a sigh of defeat, you lean down and kiss each babe farewell, doing your best to quell the unreasonable instinct to cry at the thought of goodbye. Daemon offers his own departing caresses and steers you determinedly out of the room. The walk is silent, though the heat of his arm against your palm is comforting in its own way.

Your chest begins to truly ache, a sensation beyond simple fullness. The dress you wear feels too tight, too restrictive, and you are forced to concentrate on pushing each breath up and out to avoid friction between skin and fabric. The smallest degree of stimulation is enough to bring your milk forth.

The irony, you think in despair. No milk when the babes need it—and now, when they are full and slumbering, my supply is as bountiful as it ever has been. How cruel, the gods are!

When you are finally back in your chambers, you barely notice Jeyne and Bethany’s attempts at greeting, their offers of assistance, their gentle repositioning and the tugging of the laces at your back. All you are focused on as the gown loosens and spills to the ground is how you will relieve yourself of the weight in your breasts without bringing too much attention to yourself. Daemon is fascinated by the prospect, true, but given the strife you have caused… you know not how any complaint of it would be perceived. Perhaps he would finally be angered by your outburst? Perhaps he would be disappointed that you had been so juvenile that you could not even take control over your own body, decide that you did not need the milk and thus ought to have been able to will it away. You have been lucky thus far. It is not likely that fortune will continue to favour you today.

You resolve to dispose of the excess in the privy. It ought to be relatively simple—your uncle is hardly one to accompany you to such a place. ‘Tis certain that the notion of wasting it, especially when your goal is to increase its yield, is disheartening, but what else can you do?

If only Daemon was less observant.

“You’ve been far too quiet,” he says after your ladies exit, tossing his shirt rather carelessly over the desk and the papers covering it. His eyes trail you assessingly, and for a moment you are worried that he can tell. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You try to avoid glancing down at your chest. It would not do to give anything away. “I just—I need to use the privy.”

“No, you don’t.” He kicks his boots to the side, fingers working at the ties of his breeches. “It’s not shameful enough to explain the look on your face. Try again.”

“I’m not ashamed!” you say hotly, spine straightening in your affront.

It is the wrong move. Your nipples brush against the weave of your shift, the sensitivity amplified near to pain. You wince, shoulders curling inward and cringing away from the clothing you wear. As a warrior trained to spot the smallest of discrepancies, Daemon’s gaze falls down.

And there—he has it. You know he knows.

“Ah.” His nostrils flare, visage contorting slyly. “Uncomfortable, talītsos?”

Your breath hitches. It would be barely perceptible to any other, but not him. His gaze drifts between your line of sight and the curve of your breasts beneath the thin layer that separates your flesh from the cool air of the room, almost as though he cannot resist the temptation to look.

“I—they did not feed,” you say quietly, resisting the desire to squirm uncomfortably at the intensity directed straight toward you. “If I get rid of it before it overflows, I’ll make even more. That’s what Gerardys says. I should—”

“You should take off that shift.” Daemon’s breeches drop to the floor, discarded easily as he kneels upon the mattress and shuffles into his desired position, reclining like a king against the pillows. He bares himself proudly, arrogantly, the rosy flush of his cock not quite pronounced enough for arousal. His hand extends in invitation, mocking little smirk gracing the line of his lips at the hesitation he can so clearly read. “You’ll not be wasting such a bounty on a hole built to shit in.”

You sway, dubiously convinced. “It’s for the babes, though.”

“The babes are sleeping. Your husband is not—and he is ravenous, sweet girl.” A shiver travels up your spine from the gravelled timbre of his voice, the shadowed fire in his stare. His fingers flex in your direction, beckoning. “Come here.”

The pause you take before you heed his directive to tug open the ties at your neck and shrug the shapeless sleepwear off your form is not borne of any insecurity. You are not unhappy with your body. Naturally, there have been changes: wider hips, softer belly, skin etched with silvery webs across your middle, your thighs, the tops of your breasts. Though you cannot see it, you are sure that the opening from which your children were birthed has been altered irrevocably, too. You are proud of these differences. They mark the finality of your girlhood and the beginning of life as a woman. They are reminders of the lives you have brought into the world. And, like the burns that mottle much of your uncle’s upper body, they proclaim to all who see them that you too are a victor of glorious battle, all the more unique in that the war you had waged was one of life, not death.

No. You pause because you know Daemon, know what he is like. His appetites. His perversions. In any other state—at any other time—you would happily indulge his lusts. But not only is your body not ready to accept him, you do not even think you are capable of experiencing desire at present.

Even so, you step forward, bear the manner in which he leers, take his hand, and allow him to do with you as he will. There is comfort in giving yourself up.

He lays you out next to him, propping himself on his side so that he looms over you. The ends of his hair tickle against your cheek, bringing forth an immediate smile. It is matched by his own answering grin as he dips down to kiss you, and this you have missed. What surprises you is that it is not a kiss of need, but one of softness, fragile as the wings of a butterfly. You exchange breaths as you exchange yourselves in the union of lips.

“Let me help you,” he murmurs against you, the words passed forth to collect on the tip of your tongue. “Let me make it better.”

You nod, tipping your chin back as he presses his mouth to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, sensual in his languorousness. It is like he carries no purpose other than to let you feel your own body again through his touch. The imprints of cooling damp left behind ground you, remind you of how it felt when you had first come alive under him, around him. When he reaches his target, you expect a shift in his demeanour—but he continues just as gently to take your right nipple between his lips and suckle as weakly as any infant might.

One, two, three pulls, and the relief is near instant. Daemon makes a low noise as your milk lets down, melting to your contours as his arms clasp you tightly against him. The sound of him taking sustenance from you is one of the few things you can hear in the relative silence of evening, carrying with it a peace of its own.

He is able to tell when to switch before even you, shifting swiftly and easily to your left to repeat the slow, tender drags that ease the discomfort and loosen the tight, full sensation weighing you down. The only attempt he makes at receiving his own satisfaction is to rut lightly against your thigh, aimless and lethargic, a base urge to self-soothe in moments of calm. You close your eyes, cradling his head to your chest and mindlessly dragging the tangles from his hair.

In seconds, minutes, hours—you know not—his movements come to a gradual halt. His cock remains hard against your skin, though he allows himself to deliver one final, lush glide of tongue along the fount from which he had supped before pillowing his head on the emptied swell of your breast. Together, you indulge in the serenity.

Eventually, you are driven to speak, though you are loath to disturb the mood that has befallen the room. “Thank you,” you whisper.

His palms are warm pressed to the dip above your rear, tightening there as his ears register your voice. Otherwise, he does not move.

“I should be thanking you, sweetling,” he says, each word spoken with a gravity that conveys more than just the simplicity of the statement itself.

Vulnerability is difficult for your uncle, and you have learned all the ways in which he reveals the parts of himself too damaged by the world to readily expose. It is second nature to understand what he means to tell you, what he means to thank you for. Your children. Your life here. You. It is gratefulness, protection, apology, love all rolled into one.

You smile.

‘Tis true that nothing has been resolved. You have not succeeded in nursing the babes by yourself. You have not banished the sickening feeling that churns in the pit of your stomach, a constant reminder of the doubts that plague you. You have not spoken properly of the fire and blood of Azorion and Valnissar’s hatching.

But you have begun on the necessary paths to each. Every journey, however great or small, must start somewhere, after all. And—perhaps most importantly—there is not a single malady that cannot be eased, at least for a time, by the strength of Daemon’s devotion to you.

As you crane your neck to proffer a kiss of your own to the top of your husband’s head, you know that whatever future awaits you is one you can face.

I can do this. I can do this. For the first time in days, you believe it.

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other side of the moon - chapter one | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

chapter one: an offer you can refuse

years of solitude has led y/n y/ln down a dark path following her career-ending injury in 2022 but one rookie seems dead set on bringing her back into the fray

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

“have you seen this?”

it’s too early in the day to be subjected to twitter in y/n’s opinion, but her manager - the one she’s always insisted in not needing - insists upon it. sara’s hand shakes as she hands over her phone, the video already playing loudly.

the video is a poorly clipped together compilation of kimi antonelli, for no better word, gushing about her. it’s earnest and even cute, but not cute enough. the formula one paddock was a vulture pit, one y/n had only escaped three years earlier with her life - barely.

“it’s cool. that’s all it is though,” y/n moves towards the door, picking up her coat and refusing to turn back towards sara, “i’ve told you since jenson insisted i hire you, there’s no way in hell i will ever go back to that paddock. and that’s the end of it, please. i’ll do any stupid vitamin ad or female empowerment talk if it makes you happy, but i can’t go back there.”

y/n grabbed her keys and left the apartment, leaving sara in her wake. sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered letter with ‘y/n’ scrawled on the front in awful handwriting. she left it on the kitchen island and left, understanding this was likely to be her last time in this apartment - there's stupid and there's what she was doing right now, there was no way she would still be employed in the morning.

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girlsonthegrid

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 103,478 others

tagged: yourusername

girlsonthegrid: today we look back at the biggest what if for women in formula one - y/n y/ln. the 26-year-old drove for mclaren from 2020 to 2022 before she sustained a career-ending injury at silverstone. y/ln was the first ever female f1 race winner with her emphatic victory at monza in 2021 and the first ever female formula 2 champion with her win in 2019. her career lasted just 30 races and she hasn't been seen in the paddock or around any drivers since the crash. there have been reports that she has been approached about a mentor role but considering how fast her management rejected and shut down sky sports about a commentary role, this is also unlikely. what would you like to see from her if she ever comes out of hiding?

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user1: i mourn for her everyday

user2: the way she paved the way for so many but can't stand to be in the paddock to see what she did for the sport

user3: i really don't blame her

user4: doriane is the mercedes reserve and abbi is alpine's! her work is there even if she isn't and i know i'll always be grateful for that

user5: she's so overrated, if she didn't crash she still would've been out of formula 1 by now

user6: me when i'm the most wrong ever

user7: i can't believe there are still men to this day that think she wasn't great? literal world champions like max, lewis, fernando, seb and jenson have all said that she could've won a championship

user8: i mean no shade to lando but i think y/n would've made it 100x harder for max this season in that mclaren

user9: the way jenson tried to say that in the nicest way possible in las vegas lol

user10: and max agreed with him LOL

user11: the way it wasn't even proper lando shade or oscar shade like twitter painted it to be but like max just praising his bestie

user12: he does not play about her as he should

user13: i mean he's the only one we know y/n still actually talks to

user14: i can't wait for the tell-all biography that exposes half the grid because like how much have you must have fucked up for her to never speak to you again

user15: when twitter likes were public she was caught liking a bunch of tweets bout mick when he got his first points so like she doesn't even have hard feelings to the guy who put her in the barrier sooo

user16: it was proven it was break failure???? mick did nothing wrong that's why she still likes things praising him

user17: that crash really robbed us of the best ever f1 relationship with y/n and lando

user18: you know that's part of the reason that she doesn't speak to lando right?

user19: because she wished it was him not her?

user20: NO! because she hated that whole 'ship'

user21: and lando leaned into it way too much

user22: it made me a bit uncomfortable and i'm not even y/n

user23: AND she said on the beyond the grid podcast that she thought those rumours were really reductive and relegated her to just a love interest of her teammate rather than a race winner

user24: kimi antonelli please bring her back to us

user25: praying she'll listen to the literal child

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italics)

did u give them my fucking address

my lawyer says to always deny everything?

i also actually have no idea what you are talking about…

i just got home and there’s a fucking letter from KIMI ANTONELLI on my kitchen counter

it’s creepy and a mad invasion of privacy

i did NOT give them your address?

i gave them sara’s contact details so they wouldn’t be able to directly get to you and i honestly thought she would be too scared to ask you

she showed me all the clips of him praising me.

it didn’t work.

it’s been three years y/n…

and it still hasn’t been long enough.

all i’m saying is read the letter, as creepy as it might be, he is just an 18 year old entering the lion’s den you could at least reply to him even if you don’t take up the offer

although i read they were going to pay you £10 million a year??? was that real?

unfortunately it is very real.

i didn’t think i was still worth that much

you are worth that and more, just give him a chance. we’ve both met him, he’s a sweet kid.

for now.

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it was cold in her apartment, y/n hadn’t shut the window from when she opened them that morning. in fact she hadn’t moved from the kitchen since she set eyes on the letter. it was bold she’d give him that.

the letter was crumpled as if it had gone through hell to get to her (it probably had) and the handwriting was a serious reminder of just how young kimi is. y/n had wondered if her maternal instincts would ever kick in like all the older women in her life insisted it would. sure she had felt intense feelings of love for her childhood cats and had cared her formula one cars (regina and heather, they were named after mean girls, because that is who they had to be on track) like they were children. but that true maternal feeling had never come to her, until now.

all y/n could think about was kimi. how young he was, how much he was set to lose. not everyone was her, the worst thing wasn’t going to happen to everyone - it just always seemed to happen to her.

her loud phone alarm jolted her out of her daydream, reminding her to take her painkillers. as she poured herself a glass of water, y/n slammed down the glass and ripped open the letter.

dear miss y/n y/ln my name is andrea kimi antonelli and i am going to be driving for mercedes amg f1 team in 2025. we met very briefly after i won all three races at mugello and lifted the italian f4 championship trophy. i know you were there on mclaren PR but for me it changed my life. you have always been my biggest inspiration alongside michael schumacher (i am italian, you must understand). it was always my dream to race alongside you and maybe even be teammates, i’d even betray toto and leave mercedes to make that happen (please don’t tell him i told you that). i know that can never happen now, but it could happen in another way? i know like me you grew up seeing niki lauda supporting and mentoring the mercedes drivers and i was wondering if you would be my mentor - who cares about george anyway. i know you’ve never come back to the paddock and are unlikely to do so for little old me. but if you could just think about it that would be great, if you don’t ask, you’ll never get! i hope this letter wasn’t horribly offensive, i mean it when i say you’re my favourite!!! love, kimi (p.s. i was at monza 2021, so you could even consider me a good luck charm) (p.p.s you won monza 2021 completely on merit but i was there) (p.p.p.s please don’t think i’m an idiot) (p.p.p.p.s i also loved interlagos 2020 that’s a super underrated drive)

with tears in her eyes, y/n placed the letter back on the counter, grabbed the glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. painkillers taken with a wince, she still hadn’t gotten used to the size of the pills even three years into taking them, y/n shuffled under the duvet.

the offer was there and it seemed sincere. her accountant would tell her that the money was worth the mental turmoil, even if she just did it for one season and returned to her little cave in west london.

there was no doubt she felt something for kimi - a kinship, a frienship or a maternal yearning - but was it worth ripping off all the bandages and opening herself back up to all the scrutiny again?

she would sleep on it.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 10,567,388 others

yourusername: much to think about these days. like how the fuck this app works now?

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user1: first post in three years and it’s THIS?

user2: i am not complaining

user3: i am savouring every little piece in case she goes missing for another three years

mclarenf1: the queen has returned

user4: no thanks to you

user5: how about we keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth

user6: socials admin i know it is not you specifically but i really don’t know how you can post up here like you’re completely absolved of your involvement in this. your car had break failure that broke her fucking back - it is a miracle she is even still walking! and you still don’t accept any responsibility for it

user7: i love y/n but like how is it mclaren’s fault? break failure happens all the time?

user8: well it’s in one part the fact that they were using her as a test dummy because it was a new faulty part that mclaren was experimenting with that was on her car and NOT lando’s and the fact that to this day when they feel like it they’ll heap guilt onto mick schumacher

user9: without being disrespectful there were two formula one careers that were ended that day because mclaren have kept to the narrative that it was mick that put her into the barriers eventhough siedel admitted when he left mclaren that it was a faulty break part that caused it.

user10: clock it

user11: yes clock it but maybe on a different post because it’s y/n’s return to the internet and all yall can talk about is the most traumatic event in her life?

kimiantonelli: i also love clairo

user12: what is bro doing?

user13: be quiet he’s our best hope of y/n coming back to the paddock let him cook

user14: name three songs local

kimiantonelli: bags (live), alewife and blouse

user15: this motherfucker might just do it

maxverstappen1: i miss brando :/

yourusername: you know my address

yourusername: use it since you like to give it out so much

maxverstappen1: I DID NOT GIVE THEM YOUR ADDRESS

user16: y/lnstappen friendship is BACK

user17: it was never gone?

user18: but now we get to see it :P

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when she woke the next morning, y/n knew she had to read the letter again before jumping into anything. in her sleep she was plagued with memories of the past, but not the usual ones that haunted her in the dark. there were no flames, no hospitals, no career-ending injuries. no, this time she was transported back to 2020 and her first few races of her formula one career.

march 2020.

the paddock was much bigger in formula one than it had been in formula two with hundreds more people running around, barging through crowds, hitting y/n on the way through and not even stopping to apologise. she had thought briefly that she would be making more noise as the first female racer to take part in a race since forever - y/n even thought that she’d made a bit of a splash during preseason testing, nestled between her teammate lando and alex in the red bull in fifth.

but she was invisible. even with the garish orange path to follow to the mclaren garage, y/n struggled to get through the crowds of people brandishing their paddock passes. her trainer had gone ahead to set up her driver room which left y/n to push through and arrive to briefing ten minutes late.

“i’m so sorry, i got lost and by the time i was going in the right direction the paddock had filled up?”

y/n stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with zak brown. the american wasn’t tall in comparison to the general public but he towered over y/n and the disapproving stare didn’t do much to help.

“just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

zak snipped, waving his hand in y/n’s direction, telling her to take a seat. y/n rushed to the nearest empty seat and looked for her teammate in the room. lando was sat just three seats to her right on a small table. y/n tried to make eye contact with lando but he avoided her gaze like it was burning him, so much for the ‘big brother’ act he had put on at the car launch.

the engineers stood in front of the screen and started their long-winded presentation about the prospects for the season ahead. y/n pulled her note book out and frantically started taking notes, she didn’t know if that was normal for formula one drivers, but knowing as much as possible couldn’t hurt.

y/n copied down the warnings about possible tyre wear in turn three when she heard some soft sniggers, like someone was trying to stifle their laughter. this drew y/n out of her focus on the presentation, looking around the meeting room to locate the perpetrator.

lando caught her eye immediately. he had a light blush across his face and his mouth was covered by his hand. he looked guilty, guiltier than the rest of the room who were listening intently to the engineers. y/n raised her eyebrow in question.

“i’m sorry are we distracting you two?”

zak interrupted the presentation, turning to look at y/n and lando.

“no, sorry sir,” y/n replied turning her chair back to face the screen. “lando?” zak pressed.

“i’m sorry zak but y/n was distracting me with her note-taking,” lando forced out between his boyish giggles. “i’ve never taken notes, i didn’t realise you would be sucking up to the engineers this early on?”

“i’ve always taken notes? is it a problem? i’m sorry if i was distracting you lando.”

“yeah we’ll see how much those notes help you on track, rookie.”

lando spat over the table. it was uncharacteristically mean for the lando she had seen in the mclaren social content and the lando she spoke with at the car launch. y/n felt tears prickle in her eyes but she swallowed them down, she couldn’t cry yet - or at least not in view of all the most important people on the team.

“right. we’ll get back to business then.”

the rest of the meeting went by in a blur for y/n, but despite the outburst from lando, she continued to take her notes, she would be damned if some comments from lando would fuck up her entire race weekend routine. y/n took her time when zak dismissed them from the meeting, not wanting to look unprofessional.

moving towards the door, y/n’s shoulder hit someone else’s. she looked up to make eye contact with lando yet again.

“you better not make a habit of making contact with me, rookie,” lando said, a slight smirk but a harsh look in his eyes.

“are you like okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” lando replied pushing past through the door.

“i don’t know, you’re just a little frosty this morning? did i do something?”

“why would i be thinking about you, seriously? this is my team, know your place and we’ll get on just fine”.

with that lando was gone and y/n was left puzzled. i guess PR really does work wonders, y/n thought before making her own way to her drivers room.

her trainer, luca, wasn’t there when she managed to locate the room but all of her gear was already neatly put away like they had discussed. y/n cracked open an electrolyte drink and opened her notebook to study the meeting points.

there was a loud knock at the door and before y/n could even utter a “come in”, the mystery visitor barged into the room. daniel ricciardo announced his arrival with a packet of tim tams thrown at y/n and a quick “howdy” before he started rifling through her stuff and studying her helmet.

“ah, another cool dude who has a cuddly guy on their helmet,” daniel said, picking up her helmet, pointing at the cartoon version of her childhood cat.

“oh that’s schumi, when we travelled for karting we always brought him up until he died of old age, but i still want him with me whenever i race.” y/n said, nervous that the heartfelt explanation would be deemed uncool by one of the coolest racers she had ever seen.

“oh that’s surprisingly cute, i bet schumi was a big hit in the paddock back in the day.”

“he sure was, he’s how i charmed max into not hating me after i took him out once,” y/n chuckled thinking back to the race where max stormed up to her with angry tears in his eyes until y/n practically threw schumi at him. in just five seconds, max had calmed down and schumi was happily purring in the young dutchman’s lap.

“that sounds like max. but speaking of the other young whippersnappers in the paddock, how is our lando treating you? i bet zak and that can’t keep up with you two…” daniel asked, slumping to the floor, taking one of her drinks from the mini fridge.

“oh. i am getting used to him, we’ll put it that way?”

“he’s not being rude is he?”

“no! well. he insists on calling me rookie and keeps making comments about me crashing into him and made fun of me taking notes in briefing but i’m sure that such the british banter.”

“you’re british?”

“well. um. yeah, you got me there.”

daniel grabbed her hands, forcing y/n to look him in the eyes rather than her very interesting shoes.

“i know lando is like some media darling, but so are you. don’t let him push you around, he may have been in this team a while but you’re just as good as him if not better. you’re here to prove yourself, not to play second fiddle, okay?”

it was the first time someone had actually tried to talk to her properly since getting to the paddock. again, tears climbed to her eyes, but this time she let one creep out. daniel wiped it away.

“we made the mistake of isolating max when he was young and new, we won’t make the same mistake - we can’t have two of you running rampant around here,” y/n let out a wet laugh which daniel returned, “just come to renault if you need anything from me. max will be there for you, you know, and seb, kimi, fernando and all the old men will listen to you. don’t rot in your drivers room or hotel suite and think you’re not wanted here.”

y/n nodded, feeling some butterflies in her stomach. she was actually here - a formula one driver. a seven-time race winner wants her here, world champions want her here. a private-school fuckboy wasn’t going to ruin her first ever race weeekend.

“thank you daniel.”

“i have to dash, but i’m serious, we’re here for you. and i would be honoured to kick that little shit’s ass for you, okay?”

the australian left in just as loud fashion as he came, but in the remaining silence, y/n finally felt some peace. this was her chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

present.

y/n couldn’t let that happen to kimi. the young italian was just so unbelievably earnest in his letter that y/n couldn’t bear the thought of his kindness being taken advantage of. george russell had never been outwardly callous but with his attack on max late last season and his complete radio silence with y/n since her crash made her suspicious.

as she prepared to ask max for kimi’s number, sara (who did actually still have a job) sent her a link.

sara: zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

sara: do you want us to put out a statement or ignore as usual?

y/n clicked on the link, even though she knew it would just annoy her to the point that her phone might become closely acquainted with the thames.

as the formula one world gears up for the 2025 season, zak brown has already stated his confidence for mclaren this season. the papaya team will be coming into the 2025 season as reigning constructors champions and lando norris and oscar piastri will be aiming to add the world drivers championship to that as well.

when zak brown sat down with us earlier this week, the mclaren ceo did not beat around the bush, stating that mclaren have the strongest pairing on the grid. with red bull promoting liam lawson in a test and, mercedes putting unproven kimi antonelli next to george russell and ferrari gambling with charles leclerc and lewis hamilton, brown might just be right.

in their journey to constructors champions, brown recognised that as a team they had straightened out all of their ‘growing pains’. this is exemplified in oscar piastri completing all laps in the 2024 season.

like they usually do, y/n y/ln’s particularly rabid twitter fans will probably detect some ‘shade’ towards the former driver. brown did touch on the prior mclaren drivers during his reign as ceo, saying that the team had some childish recklessness, but now they have a team that all know their place.

y/n y/ln hasn’t spoken about anything formula one related since her retirement, even forgoing the opportunity to congratulate the team that took the chance on her for winning the championship - something brown did not mince his words on off camera. brown lamented about y/ln’s silence, labelling her a brat and ungrateful for not still thanking him for allowing a woman to compete in formula one.

will mclaren make it back-to-back constructors championships? and will they sweep both championships this season?

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she needed that loud-mouthed american’s head on a silver platter. the letter had almost sucked her back into the world of formula one, only for the man who discarded her like a broken toy when his car had malfunctioned and smashed her and her career into a concrete wall to call her an ungrateful brat.

fuck him. fuck mclaren. and fuck that dumbass reporter for giving him the time of day.

y/n didn’t throw her phone from her balcony but pulled up her texts with max.

texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italic)

have you read this absolute hogwash

zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

i 100% get why you wanted to put him in a wall last season

you watched last season?

shut up not the time

did you text me just to call your old tyrannical boss a fraud?

i was going to ask for kimi’s number but now i’m back at square one

noooooooo

i want to be there for him, the way no one was for us.

but this is the bs they write about me when i haven’t been seen or heard from in three years, imagine the shite they come up with when i’m the paddock every weekend

WHEN?

no no no

i’ll give you kimi’s number

contact: kimi antonelli (mercedes)

you decide what you want to do

as much as i would kill to have you around the paddock again… even in the vicinity of george

i want you to do what you are comfortable with

thanks max

i’m not giving you a yes but i’m definitely thinking about it

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fin.

note: omg that's part one??????? i had this idea and have been planning and adding to it for a couple days. no spoilers but there will be multiple love interests, backstabbing and all that lovely stuff - i just love the drama !!! (yes i will finish guilty as sin at some point as well). i hope you enjoy the prose as well - first time writing that way on here lol ?! let me know if you liked it, who you'd like to see her with and what you'd like to see happen!

Jagiya?

(Wonwoo Imagines) A drabble, fluff!

Inspired by the video below and my alarm-Wonwoo's Jagiyaa, during a concert! This is so random, sorry I miss Wonwoo a lot. Thank you for all the love on my recent drabble! I hope you like this, Wonwoorideuls. Fighting! ⋆˚ 𝜗🐈‍⬛𝜚˚⋆

Wonwoo accidentally discloses your relationship during a game on set. Everyone is left in stunned silence before bursting into laughter and teasing him relentlessly. Embarrassed but taking it in pride, Wonwoo’s slip-up leads to some fun moments and a lot of ice cream.

“Park Bo Gum!” Hurriedly, Seungcheol answers.

The group erupts in celebration. This was not new to them– a game where you had to name the picture within three seconds after being presented by the host. What’s new is that more than half of the team are somehow getting worse at this no matter how many times they play. And for some reason, the box of free ice cream makes them act like it's a prize worth a million dollars.

Feeling pressured, Wonwoo’s heart beats rapidly. The tension in the air thickens and the members hold hands in anticipation. If they continue to get the last few right, it’s a win. There’s still a few more cards left to identify and he prays it won’t be enough to reach him. 

Dino got it barely on time. But he still got it, nonetheless. Seungkwan went next and as expected, he got it right. Mingyu stood tall beside him with arms crossed as he answered confidently. The group goes into chaos as the staff reveals that they’re left with the last card– Wonwoo’s card. 

The members circle around him. Jun and Minghao thank the heavens that it didn’t land on them. Dino laughs at this sight. 

Vernon pats Mingyu’s back congratulating him. Jeonghan soothes Wonwoo’s arm as Seungcheol massages his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight. 

DK holds Wonwoo’s collar as he shakes him, “Hyung, jebal. My mouth is watering.” 

“Hyung, you got this.” Seungkwan emerges beside him. “Let’s get it!” Joshua adds.

“Yaa~ Wonwoo let’s gooo!” A tiger roars, hugging an annoyed Woozi. 

The staff motioned them to get ready. Getting dizzy because of the tension (and from DK’s shaking) he closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath. The group clings to Wonwoo, both of his arms being held by the members. He gulps and nods as the staff picks the million dollar picture. 

They take the card, showing it to the group of producers who are nodding and giggling for some reason. His manager peeks a glance and shakes his head. This sends him sweating. Is it someone he doesn’t know? An international artist? Are they going to lose because of him? 

He grits his jaw, nostrils flared, ready to give it his all. He’s going to try, he’ll get it. He just has to focus. His zeroes out, head empty, ears ringing, eyes glued on the card as it’s being passed on. It reaches to the host, it turns. And the card reveals— you? 

Meaning to say your name, he shouts the first thing that comes to mind. 

“JAGIYAAA!!!” 

Silence. Everyone stares at him in disbelief.

The host– who was about to start counting, closes his mouth, aghast. Like everyone in the room, they all stood rigid. Surprised? Confused? Amazed? Astonished? The air conditioning rings louder than their breaths.

But Wonwoo? He’s ecstatic. His arms break free from his members’ hold as he fists the air in victory. His smile is bright and wide as the picture stares back at him– it’s you at a recent award show. He knows, because he was there. He clapped and cheered for you when your name was announced, he shed a tear with you as you gave your speech, he gave you an “I told you so,” at the after party because he knows. He knows you, more than anyone in this room does. 

His hopeful expression falters as the silence stretches on, his mind catching up with the confusion in the room. Seungkwan was the first to speak, through gritted teeth he asked “Jagiya?”. 

Wonwoo’s eyes widened. Pabo! he thinks. “Y/L/N! Y/L/N! Y/L/N! ” He screams your name on repeat, hands clasped as he pleads for consideration. Technically, they haven’t done the count down and he did correct it within three (it was five) seconds. So they didn’t lose, right? 

A bewildered Mingyu pouts. “Hyung, how did I not know! I feel betrayed!” Wonwoo looks at him, head turning–  confused. He didn’t know you? Impossible! You did a challenge together! 

Vernon interrupts in amazement, “Jagiya? Wow, Michyeosseo.” 

Wonwoo’s face flushes bright red as the realization hits him. “Oh.” He hasn’t told them about you yet. Jagiya? He must be out of his mind! On camera too! He covers his face in embarrassment, face burning hotter the more he thinks about you. He he holds his breath, feeling all the butterflies weaken his knees, he dramatically pretends to pass out. 

His reaction sends the room erupting into claps, whistles, and laughter. The teasing is going to be relentless. But at least they know now. The hard part is over. He shuts his eyes, resigning to his fate. Still lying on the floor, he slowly uncovers his face, his cheeks still flushed bright red. 

He looks up at the camera, a sheepish smirk drawn on his face. "We still get the ice cream, right?” He winks. 

They absolutely lost it that day. 

Master List:

Series:

A Drop in the Ocean

Part one :

Part two :

Part three:

Part four:

Part five:

Part six:

Part seven:

Part eight:

Part nine:

Part ten:

The Mazer Runner :

Newt :

Coming soon

ʚིᵋ ⋆ [SVT RECORD] LUNA AND JEONGHAN PARIS VLOG ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── now playing…

[SVT Record] Luna and Jeonghan’s Paris Fashion Week Vlog | Fashionistas Turned Tourists in the City of Lights 🇫🇷✨

synopsis: Experience the charm of Paris with Jeonghan and Luna as they wander through the iconic streets, visit the Louvre, capture moments at the Eiffel Tower, and share heartfelt memories during their Fashion Week adventure.

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ svt youtube

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

The screen flickered to life with a shaky but deliberate motion, the edges of Jeonghan’s hand coming into view as he adjusted the camera. His long, slender fingers hovered momentarily before the lens before pulling back, revealing the spacious interior of a business-class cabin. The muted hum of the plane filled the background, a calm yet constant rhythm beneath the scene.

Jeonghan’s face appeared first, his sharp yet serene features framed by the faint glow of overhead lights. His posture was effortlessly relaxed, leaning back slightly in his plush seat with the casual air of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

His hand grazed the side of the camera, tilting it slightly to capture the seat next to him. There sat Luna, head bowed, her glossy hair falling over her face as she scrolled through her phone with a look of quiet concentration.

“Hello, everyone,” Jeonghan greeted in his low, velvety voice, the sound so smooth it felt like it could lull someone to sleep. He spoke with a lazy sort of charm, as though the words didn’t need any extra flourish to hold their weight.

At the sound of his voice, Luna looked up, her eyebrows lifting in curiosity before recognition softened her expression. She locked her phone and set it aside on the small table between them, leaning forward slightly to match his posture.

“Hi, Carats,” she said warmly, her tone gentle yet playful. She gave a small wave to the camera, her lips curving into a soft smile that lingered as she glanced at Jeonghan before refocusing on the lens.

Jeonghan turned his gaze to her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an almost imperceptible smirk. “Where are we going today?” he asked, tilting his head just enough to make the question feel casual yet directed entirely at her.

“Paris,” Luna answered promptly, her smile widening. She leaned back slightly but kept her hands folded neatly in her lap. “For Fashion Week.”

Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on her for a beat longer, an almost imperceptible flicker of admiration in his gaze. Then he turned back to the camera, his tone steady and deliberate as he explained, “Yes, Jiyeonie and I have a busy schedule in Paris for the next few days.”

He shifted in his seat slightly, resting an elbow on the armrest as he continued, “I will be attending the Saint Laurent show while our Jiyeonie…” His voice trailed off, his eyes sliding back to her as if to cue her to finish the thought.

Luna picked up seamlessly, “I will be attending the Miu Miu show for Fashion Week.” She adjusted her posture, her hands gesturing subtly as she spoke. “Then Hannie and I have been invited for a private viewing for FRED’s new collection.”

Jeonghan nodded along as she spoke, his expression one of quiet attention. When she finished, he tilted his head slightly and asked, “You excited?”

Her head turned toward him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and sincerity. “I am,” she replied, nodding. “I’m also really excited to be in Paris again. I cannot wait to meet you guys.” She directed the last part to the camera, her tone softening with a touch of affection.

Jeonghan, still watching her, turned back to the camera with a faint chuckle. “Our flight is around fourteen hours, so we’ll be resting for most of it,” he explained, his voice calm and measured. “But we’ll see you all soon once we arrive in Paris.”

Luna, catching his cue, leaned slightly closer to the camera, waving once more. “See you soon!” she chimed in, her smile bright and warm. “Stay tuned!”

The screen briefly caught the slight upward curl of Jeonghan’s lips as he leaned forward to turn off the camera, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The video cut to black, the anticipation of their Parisian adventure lingering in the air.

The soft hum of tires on Parisian cobblestones were muted by the car’s interior. Through the window, the glittering cityscape of Paris passed by, the occasional flash of golden streetlights illuminating the backdrop of historic architecture.

Outside, the streets were alive with nighttime vibrancy, though the mood inside the car was calm and intimate.

The camera, now steady as it was being held by their staff, captured Jeonghan and Luna sitting shoulder to shoulder in the backseat.

Jeonghan’s posture was slightly reclined, his head tilted ever so slightly toward her, exuding a relaxed and unbothered air. Next to him, Luna rested her head against his shoulder, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion from the long flight. Her body language was soft and comfortable, her weariness almost palpable as her breathing slowed into a gentle rhythm.

“We’ve arrived in Paris,” Jeonghan announced, his voice low and composed, a perfect blend of casual and velvety. His gaze flicked from the window to the camera, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips as he made the statement.

“It’s probably two or three in the morning in Korea,” he continued, pulling his phone out of his pocket with an effortless motion. The sleek device glinted briefly in the light as he glanced at the time before turning it toward the camera for confirmation. “But it’s dinnertime here, so we’re off to eat dinner.”

Luna, still leaning into him, merely nodded, her head moving slightly against his shoulder. Her silence spoke of her fatigue, but there was a subtle fondness in the way she nestled closer, letting his voice fill the quiet.

Jeonghan’s attention shifted as something caught his eye outside the window. His hand gestured toward a grand, illuminated structure in the distance. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone curious yet calm as he pointed, his long fingers tracing the direction of the landmark.

Luna lifted her head, her eyes following the line of his gaze before settling on the building. “Palais Garnier,” she said softly, her voice carrying the remnants of her exhaustion but laced with a gentle warmth. She straightened slightly, brushing her hair back as she continued, “It’s an opera house. One of the most famous in the world, actually.”

Jeonghan listened intently, his gaze steady on her profile as she spoke. The way her voice softened when she explained something she found fascinating didn’t escape him. He turned back toward the window, his eyes lingering on the passing cityscape.

“Maybe it’s because it’s my first time in Paris,” he began thoughtfully, his tone dropping to something quieter, more introspective, “but I don’t want to look at my phone in the car. I just want to look outside, even from the airport to the hotel.”

“Paris is pretty, isn’t it?” Luna asked, her voice breaking the brief silence. She finally lifted her head fully from his shoulder, turning her gaze to him with a small smile.

Jeonghan hummed in agreement, the sound low and warm. He tilted his head slightly toward her, his expression unreadable but intent. “This isn’t your first time, right?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of curiosity.

“It’s my second time in Paris,” Luna replied with a nod. She adjusted her seat slightly, angling her body more toward him as she spoke. “I took my parents here the first time a couple of years ago. It was a gift to them for their wedding anniversary. It was only supposed to be the two of them, but they wanted me there with them.”

Jeonghan’s gaze remained fixed on her as she spoke, his expression softening. His eyes traced her features as if committing every detail to memory, the dim light casting a subtle glow over her face. “Pretty,” he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper.

Luna blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Right?” she said with a small laugh, assuming he meant the city. She gestured toward the window, her tone picking up slightly as she continued, “Europe has its own vibe. I love it.”

“They also said the rain stopped right before we arrived,” Jeonghan added, his gaze flicking briefly out the window before returning to her. “So I was glad.”

“Our luck is insane,” Luna replied, her smile widening slightly as she turned to the camera. The expression was met with a grin from Jeonghan, his amusement evident in the way his lips curved lazily upward.

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his grin turning mischievous. “Or,” he began, his tone teasing but smooth, “it stopped because you’ve arrived.”

Luna’s brows furrowed, her expression twisting into playful disbelief as she let out an exaggerated sigh. “Aigo-ya,” she said, shaking her head as if to shake off his cheesiness.

Jeonghan laughed softly at her reaction, the sound rich and unhurried. He turned his attention back to the camera, his smirk still firmly in place. “Anyway,” he drawled, his tone carrying a hint of amusement, “Jiyeonie and I are off to eat dinner.”

The declaration brought a giggle from Luna, her laughter soft yet unrestrained as she glanced at him with a look of both affection and exasperation.

The screen faded back in, transitioning smoothly to the warm, inviting interior of a quaint Parisian restaurant. Soft amber lighting cast a gentle glow over the wooden tables and plush seating, creating an atmosphere of understated elegance.

In the frame, Jeonghan and Luna sat side by side in a corner booth, their shoulders brushing subtly as they leaned into each other’s space. The camera was positioned at a slight angle in front of them, capturing their interaction with the intimacy of a candid snapshot. Behind the camera, their staff sat quietly, allowing the two to take center stage in the frame.

Jeonghan’s posture was effortlessly relaxed, his elbow resting casually on the table as he perused the menu in front of him. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration, his long fingers lightly tapping the edge of the menu as if deliberating his choice.

Luna, on the other hand, held her menu with both hands, her posture a touch more upright. Her eyes scanned the options, but every now and then, her gaze flicked sideways to Jeonghan, as though silently asking his opinion without needing to voice it.

Their unspoken communication was almost magnetic, the subtle glances and fleeting smiles creating an atmosphere charged with an understated chemistry. When Jeonghan finally made a decision, he leaned slightly toward her, his hand gesturing to a particular item on her menu as he shared his thoughts. Luna’s lips quirked into a small smile, and she nodded, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer before she returned her attention to the menu.

Once their orders were placed, they settled into an easy rhythm of conversation with each other and their staff. Jeonghan turned his body slightly toward Luna as they spoke, his gestures fluid and expressive, punctuated by the occasional lazy smile that seemed to come naturally to him. Luna listened attentively, her eyes warm and focused on him, occasionally chiming in with soft laughter or a thoughtful comment.

The camera captured the quiet intimacy of the scene— the way Jeonghan’s fingers brushed briefly against the edge of Luna’s sleeve as he reached for his glass of water, the way Luna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she listened to him speak.

When their food arrived, the mood shifted into one of shared enjoyment. Jeonghan picked up his utensils with an effortless grace, his movements unhurried as he began to eat. Luna followed suit, her gestures delicate and precise. Every now and then, they exchanged subtle looks— Jeonghan raising an eyebrow in amusement as Luna tried something new, or Luna smiling softly when Jeonghan offered her a bite of his dish.

The staff behind the camera remained a quiet presence, occasionally capturing candid moments of the couple sharing an inside joke or exchanging a look that lingered just a second too long. The chemistry between them was palpable, not through grand gestures or dramatic displays but in the quiet, understated moments of connection— the way Jeonghan’s gaze softened when he looked at her, or the way Luna leaned ever so slightly closer to him as they spoke.

The scene faded once more, signaling the transition to the next part of their journey in Paris, but the warmth of their interaction lingered, a testament to the quiet yet undeniable bond between them.

Seamlessly, the crisp morning light of Paris filtering through the streets was seen. Jeonghan and Luna walked side by side, their pace leisurely, the camera capturing their relaxed expressions and occasional glances at one another.

The city was still waking up, its charm accentuated by the quiet ambiance and the faint sounds of footsteps echoing against cobblestones.

Luna, dressed warmly in a chic coat and scarf, glanced at the camera held by one of their staff. Her soft smile lit up her face as she greeted the viewers. “Good morning,” she said, her British accent gentle, her voice still slightly hushed as though not wanting to disturb the peace of the moment.

Jeonghan turned his head at the sound of her voice, his lips curving into a lazy smile as he chimed in. “It’s 8:45 a.m. right now,” he began, his voice low and calm. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone to check the time. “I fell asleep around 1 a.m. last night and woke up at 4 a.m. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I waited for the sun to rise. But because it’s winter, the sun wouldn’t rise. That’s why I’m out here at 8:45 a.m…” He paused, glancing at Luna with a knowing smirk. “Jiyeonie slept like a baby. I had to drag her here with me.”

Luna chuckled softly, nodding to the camera in agreement. “I was so tired from the flight that my body didn’t have time to be jet-lagged. After dinner, I was knocked out,” she admitted, her tone light.

Jeonghan hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze momentarily dropping to their feet as they walked. “We’re not really sure where we’ll go, but I wanted to take a walk with our Jiyeonie, so we’re out here,” he said, his words casual but filled with a subtle affection that didn’t go unnoticed.

As they continued walking, Jeonghan reached out, gently taking Luna’s hand in his. He intertwined their fingers effortlessly, swinging their joined hands back and forth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Luna glanced at him, a faint blush dusting her cheeks, but she said nothing, instead letting a soft smile curve her lips as she adjusted her stride to match his.

Turning her attention back to the camera, Luna said, “We’ll just take a stroll here in beautiful Paris, enjoying the morning with no clear destination or plan in mind… but that’s the fun part, isn’t it?”

Jeonghan glanced at her, his lips tugging into a crooked smile as he nodded. “You’re right, as always,” he replied, his tone teasing yet sincere.

Luna’s gaze wandered to the scenery around them, her eyes lighting up as she admired the beauty of the city. “Paris is beautiful despite the cold,” she mused softly, her voice carrying a sense of wonder.

Jeonghan chuckled, pulling his coat tighter around himself. “We didn’t know Paris would be this cold. That’s why I only brought these two jackets, so I’m wearing both of them right now,” he said, his words drawing a light laugh from Luna.

“I didn’t expect it to be this cold either,” Luna admitted before glancing up at him with a playful smile. “It’s okay. We’ll shop later, Hannie.”

Jeonghan smirked down at her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re just finding excuses to shop,” he teased, his tone dry but affectionate.

Luna turned to him, her eyes narrowing in mock annoyance as she gave him a playful glare. With an exaggerated motion, she turned her head to the side, lifting her chin in mock defiance. “‘The cold never bothered me anyway~’” she sang lightly, the lyrics flowing from her lips with a playful lilt.

Jeonghan burst into laughter at her dramatic response, his shoulders shaking as he watched her. “Anyway,” he said after a beat, turning his attention back to the camera. “We’re going toward a square—Place Vendôme.”

“Place Vendôme,” Luna repeated, nodding as she walked. Her voice was thoughtful as she added, “Guys, it’s a mission. Say ‘Place Vendôme’ five times quickly…”

Jeonghan’s lips curved into a mischievous grin as he accepted the challenge. “‘Place Vendôme, Place Vendôme, Place Vendôme…’” His words stumbled slightly on the fourth repetition, and he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “It’s so hard.”

Luna raised an eyebrow at him, a playful glint in her eye as she attempted the same. “‘Place Vendôme, Place Vendôme, Place Vendôme, Place Vendôme, Place Vendôme,’” she said flawlessly, her tone filled with triumph as she turned to Jeonghan and stuck her tongue out at him.

Jeonghan scrunched his nose at her, his smirk widening as he shook his head in mock disbelief. “You just had to be perfect at everything, huh?” he said, his voice laced with both amusement and fondness.

Luna nodded, her expression playful as she tilted her head to the side like a child basking in praise. Jeonghan couldn’t help but chuckle at her antics, the sound light and warm as it filled the crisp morning air.

Jeonghan slowed his steps, gesturing slightly with his free hand as he spoke to the camera. “We’re walking right now, and we can see the Eiffel Tower,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with a subtle excitement. His other hand, still loosely clasped with Luna’s, lifted as he pointed toward the iconic structure in the distance. Even through the faint morning fog, the outline of the tower was visible, its iron latticework standing tall against the muted skyline.

“It’s still so cool even from afar,” Luna gasped, her eyes lighting up as she followed his gaze. Without a second thought, she slipped her hand out of Jeonghan’s and looped her arm through the crook of his elbow, resting against him as if it were second nature. Jeonghan let her, glancing down at the subtle shift before smiling.

“It’s my first time seeing it,” he said, tilting his head toward her slightly as though sharing a secret. His voice dropped a note, laced with genuine awe. “It’s hidden in the fog, so it looks super cool.” He turned back to the camera, motioning with his hand again. “Look over here. Do you see it?” He pointed to the faint silhouette in the distance. “The Eiffel Tower is so pretty hidden in the fog.”

“It’s even prettier at night because it lights up,” Luna said softly, her voice carrying an almost dreamy quality. Her gaze lingered on the faint outline of the tower before shifting to Jeonghan.

Jeonghan hummed in agreement, his lips quirking into a thoughtful smile as they continued walking. After a moment, he spoke again, glancing at the camera. “Right now, we’re at Concorde?” he said, the sentence ending as though it were a question to himself. He chuckled lightly before adding, “Reminds me of the Concorde Airliner.”

Luna turned her head slightly toward him, her brows lifting in curiosity as she listened to his train of thought.

“A long time ago, if you look at Blue Marble, they had the Concorde Airliner,” Jeonghan explained, a nostalgic grin spreading across his face. “You could take a variety of planes.” He gestured vaguely, as though tracing the memory in the air. “What square was this again?” he asked, his voice casual as he glanced at Luna.

“‘The Place de la Concorde’,” Luna answered with an amused smile tugging at her lips. There was a knowing glint in her eyes, a subtle amusement at the way Jeonghan was recounting random bits of trivia.

“That’s right. It’s the same Concorde,” Jeonghan said, nodding firmly as if he’d pieced together some great mystery.

Luna smirked, tilting her head up to look at him. “Continue, my tour guide. What else is there?” she teased, her voice light but dripping with playful sarcasm.

Jeonghan’s eyes twinkled at her words, and he played along gladly, straightening his posture slightly as though stepping into the role. He gestured toward the next landmark, pointing with a flourish. “Yes, ma’am. Do you see that tower over there?”

“Yes, yes,” Luna said, nodding earnestly as she mirrored his enthusiasm.

“It’s called an Obelisk,” Jeonghan said with a slight smirk, his tone taking on a mock-professorial air. “They say they brought that from Egypt. How did they manage to do that?”

Luna tilted her head, her brows furrowing slightly as though considering his question. “I’m also curious how they managed to do that,” she said after a beat, her tone laced with mock seriousness. But her composure broke as she dissolved into laughter, the sound bright and melodic as she leaned slightly against him. “You’re my tour guide, no? You’re supposed to know.”

Jeonghan looked down at her, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. His gaze lingered for a moment, his dark eyes glinting with teasing amusement. “Ah, but you see,” he began, his voice dropping to a smooth, playful drawl, “I’m a modern tour guide. I specialize in vibes, not facts.”

“Vibes.” Luna’s laughter bubbled up again, her nose scrunching slightly as she giggled. “Aigo-ya,” she muttered, shaking her head as though exasperated but unable to hide her grin.

Jeonghan chuckled, his smile softening as he looked at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re lucky the vibes are good then,” she quipped, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

As they continued their stroll, Luna lightly tapped Jeonghan’s arm where hers was linked, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. “Continue, my tour guide. I want more good vibes,” she said, her voice playful and inviting.

Jeonghan tilted his head, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Good vibes? You’ve come to the right place,” he replied coolly, indulging her with a slight bow of his head as though he were a true guide. “As we are walking, we can now see a bridge. We’re going to the Seine, and here is the Pont Alexandre III. That’s what it is,” he explained, gesturing casually around them. “All the names here sound so cool.”

“Really cool,” Luna echoed, her eyes sweeping the scene before them. Then her gaze caught something, and she let out a small gasp of excitement. She slipped her arm out of Jeonghan’s in one quick motion and bolted ahead, her movements light and full of energy as she dug into her bag.

Jeonghan trailed behind her with a slow, steady pace, his arms already stretching forward in expectation.

By the time Luna reached the railing overlooking the Seine, she had already pulled out her digital camera. Without needing to ask, she turned and handed it to Jeonghan, who accepted it with a lazy grin that was both amused and knowing. “Take a photo of me, Hannie,” she said, her tone half-command, half-request.

“Alright. Stand there,” Jeonghan said, motioning to a spot near the railing. His voice was calm and collected, but there was an undercurrent of indulgence, as if he found her excitement contagious.

Luna stood in place, her pose casual as she leaned lightly against the railing.

Jeonghan immediately began moving around her, the camera clicking steadily. He crouched down, stood back up, shifted to the left, then to the right, his every movement deliberate. Despite the brisk air and growing wind, he took his time, adjusting his angles with a focus that bordered on meticulous. “Turn your head a little to the left,” he directed, his tone soft but firm. Luna complied, her movements fluid, her expression natural.

“Perfect,” he said under his breath, clicking again before straightening up. “You’re making my job way too easy.”

Luna laughed lightly, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Am I?”

“You are,” Jeonghan confirmed, his lips curving into a small smile. “Now, look out at the river— don’t look at me. Just look out, Nana-ya.”

Luna turned her attention back to the Seine, resting her elbows on the railing as she gazed out. The wind picked up, tousling her hair and sending strands flying across her face. Jeonghan paused mid-click, lowering the camera slightly as he stepped closer. “Come here,” he said simply, his tone casual but laced with a quiet authority that left no room for argument.

Luna blinked at him but didn’t hesitate, stepping toward him with a curious tilt of her head. Jeonghan reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her face as he tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ear. His touch was slow and deliberate, his gaze focused as he arranged her hair neatly, smoothing it down with a practiced ease.

“He’s not only my tour guide, he’s also my photographer and my stylist,” Luna quipped, turning toward the camera their staff was holding. Her tone was light and teasing, but her smile was warm, her eyes soft as they flicked back to Jeonghan.

Jeonghan let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he stepped back. “Alright, let’s finish this.” He lifted the camera again, resuming his careful efforts to capture her in the perfect light.

Once they were done, there was a wordless exchange of roles. Jeonghan handed the camera back to Luna, and without needing to be asked, he moved into place by the railing, standing with an easy confidence as he waited for her to direct him.

“Your turn, Hannie,” Luna said, her voice lilting with amusement as she brought the camera to her eye.

Jeonghan leaned one arm casually against the railing, his posture relaxed yet effortlessly striking. “How’s this?” he asked, his lips curving into a smirk as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Not bad,” Luna replied, her tone teasing as she adjusted the focus. “But tilt your head a bit.”

Jeonghan did as she asked, his movements deliberate but unhurried. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” Luna said, clicking the shutter. She mirrored his earlier efforts, moving side to side, crouching down, and even stepping back to get a wider shot. The wind blew again, ruffling Jeonghan’s hair, but he didn’t flinch, letting her take control.

“You’re a natural,” Luna commented as she continued snapping photos. “But I expected nothing less.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “You’re doing a pretty good job yourself, director Jiyeonie.”

She grinned, lowering the camera for a moment to meet his gaze. “Well, someone has to keep you in check.”

Jeonghan chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Good luck with that,” he murmured, leaning back against the railing as she raised the camera again.

As Jeonghan’s impromptu photoshoot came to an end, he casually handed the camera back to Luna. He moved toward her, his steps measured, but before they could leave, Luna grabbed his arm and turned to the staff trailing behind them with cameras still rolling.

“Wait,” she said, her voice carrying a bright note of enthusiasm. “Can you please take a photo of us?” Without waiting for an answer, she handed her camera to one of the staff members and grabbed Jeonghan’s wrist, tugging him back toward the spot near the railing.

Jeonghan let himself be dragged, his steps unhurried, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “You’re really taking this tourist role seriously,” he teased as they reached their spot.

“Just stand here,” Luna instructed, positioning herself in front of him with ease.

Jeonghan leaned one arm on the railing behind her, his posture relaxed but instinctively protective, the crook of his elbow almost wrapping around her. Luna stood close, her bright smile lighting up her face as she posed effortlessly, the Seine and the bridge creating the perfect backdrop.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, gave a lazy half-smile to the camera, the kind that was barely there but still somehow charming. As the staff member counted down, he glanced down at Luna, his smirk softening into something more tender. She didn’t notice at first, still beaming at the lens, but his gaze lingered on her for the rest of the shot, unbothered by the camera capturing the moment.

Once the staff handed the camera back, Luna excitedly flipped through the photos, Jeonghan leaning in beside her to look. His shoulder brushed hers, and they huddled closer as the images appeared on the small screen. “Not bad,” Jeonghan murmured, his tone thoughtful. “We look good together.”

Luna grinned, not looking up as she continued scrolling. “We do.”

Jeonghan turned to one of the rolling cameras and said, as if sharing an inside thought, “I keep thinking of ‘Spirited Away’.”

“Hm?” Luna hummed distractedly, still absorbed in the photos.

Jeonghan’s lips curved into a sly smirk as he added teasingly, “They said this is the Seine. I wonder how ‘sen’sible it is.”

At that, Luna froze mid-scroll and slowly looked up at him. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and exasperation, her deadpan stare speaking volumes. “Really?” she asked, her voice flat, before immediately looking back down at the camera, pretending she hadn’t heard it.

Jeonghan couldn’t hold back his laughter, low and amused. He glanced at the filming staff, then back at the camera, winking playfully. “She loves my jokes,” he said with mock confidence, his voice dripping with mischief. He leaned slightly closer to Luna, his tone dropping into something quieter but still teasing. “You’re just mad because you didn’t think of it first.”

Luna snorted softly but didn’t look up, still scrolling through the pictures with exaggerated focus. “No,” she replied without missing a beat. “I’m mad because you keep finding new ways to embarrass me in public.”

Jeonghan’s grin widened as he tilted his head to catch her gaze. “Embarrass you? You’re the one hanging onto me as we walk here and putting me to work. How are you embarrassed?”

Luna finally glanced up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “This is teamwork, Hannie. And you signed up for this when you joined me.”

Jeonghan chuckled, leaning a little closer so only she could hear. “Teamwork, huh? Then why do I feel like I’m doing all the heavy lifting?”

Luna gave him a sideways glance, her lips twitching as though she were fighting back a smile. “Maybe because you like being in the spotlight,” she countered coolly, her voice tinged with humor.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, his expression effortlessly smug. “Can you blame me? It’s hard not to shine when you’re standing next to me.”

Luna groaned, shaking her head as she turned her attention back to the photos. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but there was no hiding the fondness in her tone.

“And you’re still here,” Jeonghan quipped smoothly, his grin never faltering as he watched her.

“I am,” Luna nodded as they continued walking along the Seine.

Jeonghan spotted the Eiffel Tower once more, a little closer than before, standing tall and proud despite the fog softening its outline. He gestured toward it with his free hand, his tone casual but still holding that subtle wonder that the structure always seemed to invoke.

“Look at that, it’s the Eiffel Tower,” he said, his voice calm yet slightly playful.

Luna followed his gaze and immediately lit up. “We need to get a picture with it.”

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “Hmm. We should.” His lips twitched upward, the ghost of a smile. Then, as if unable to resist, he added with a slight chuckle, “This is the sensible Seine river.”

Luna turned toward the camera following them and raised her eyebrows with mock exasperation. “He had to repeat it,” she said, deadpan, but the glint of amusement in her eyes was unmistakable.

Jeonghan laughed softly, clearly pleased with himself, before turning back to her. “We need to take a picture here too,” he announced, suddenly decisive.

Before Luna could say anything, Jeonghan grabbed her digital camera right out of her hand and handed it to one of the staff members filming them. He then linked his hand with hers and gently pulled her toward the side of the river, finding the perfect spot with a better view of the Eiffel Tower.

“Stand here,” he said, his tone casual yet firm, guiding her into position like it was second nature.

They posed naturally, their hands still intertwined as they stood side by side, the river and the iconic tower behind them. Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his free arm lifting to rest on the railing behind her, his stance protective without being overt. Their linked hands remained between them, a subtle but intimate detail as they both smiled toward the camera.

After a few clicks, Jeonghan adjusted their position, wrapping his arm fully around her shoulders while still keeping their hands intertwined. Luna tilted her head slightly to look up at him, her smile softening in that moment, but Jeonghan’s gaze stayed fixed on the camera, his expression effortlessly relaxed yet somehow magnetic.

Once the photo was taken, the staff handed the camera back to Luna, and the two huddled together again to look at the photos. Jeonghan leaned in close, his cheek almost brushing hers as they scrolled through the images.

“Not bad,” Jeonghan murmured, his tone pleased.

Luna giggled. “Not bad at all.”

With that, they turned back toward the path and started making their way back to their hotel. The wind picked up slightly, and Luna instinctively clasped Jeonghan’s hand with both of hers, trying to warm it up.

Jeonghan chuckled at her small gesture before playfully wrapping an arm around her waist from behind, pulling her closer. In one smooth motion, he slipped both of their hands into her coat pockets, trapping her in his embrace as they walked in sync.

The movement made Luna laugh, the sound light and melodic. “I love the cold,” she said, smiling up at him.

“I’ll never understand why,” Jeonghan replied, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh.

“It’s because ‘the cold never bothered me anyway~,’” Luna sang teasingly, turning her head to look up at him mid-verse.

Jeonghan was already smirking down at her, clearly amused. “Elsa?” he called her, his tone playfully mocking.

“‘Do you wanna build a snowman?’” Luna continued with a grin, making Jeonghan laugh softly.

Still holding her close, Jeonghan turned back to address the camera that was filming them. “Fortunately, Hoshi will be here on the 18th to see the fashion show, so luckily I’ve requested a padded jacket from our manager. If I endure it a bit more…” He trailed off, visibly cold but unwilling to break the moment.

“You should say, ‘Fortunately, Jiyeonie and I are going shopping soon…’” Luna interrupted, her tone sweet but clearly hinting at her own agenda.

Jeonghan chuckled, indulging her. “We’ll also shop. I promise.”

“I know we will,” Luna said smugly, confidence shining through her teasing tone.

Jeonghan laughed, his breath visible in the cold air. “My mouth is frozen… It’s hard to talk,” he muttered, rubbing his lips together.

Hearing that, Luna turned her head slightly, her eyes glinting with mischief as she discreetly puckered her lips, as if implying something without saying it outright.

Jeonghan caught the gesture immediately, a low chuckle escaping him as he tightened his grip around her waist and gently lifted her off the ground, turning her away from the camera in one fluid motion. “Let’s go,” he said firmly, his voice warm with amusement.

“Let’s go!” Luna giggled, her laughter echoing softly as they continued their playful walk back toward the hotel.

In their hotel room, the camera focused on Jeonghan sitting elegantly in front of a sleek vanity. The soft glow of warm lighting illuminated his features as his stylist meticulously worked on his hair, combing through the strands with precision.

Jeonghan’s makeup artist stood to the side, dabbing at his cheekbones and blending foundation seamlessly into his skin. His reflection in the mirror was sharp yet calm, the epitome of effortless charm as he sat still, letting the professionals do their work.

In the background, Luna could be seen sprawled comfortably on her belly across Jeonghan’s bed, her legs lazily bent at the knees as she swung them slightly in the air. She was completely engrossed in her phone, her thumbs tapping away occasionally as she scrolled, her hair tumbling loosely around her face. She was in her own world, her posture relaxed and unbothered, a stark contrast to the quiet busyness surrounding Jeonghan.

Jeonghan glanced at the camera in front of him, his expression shifting into a soft smile as he addressed it. “So, right now, I’m getting ready for the Yves Saint Laurent show tonight,” he began, his voice smooth and calm, the kind that naturally pulled people in. He gestured briefly to his stylist with his hand, careful not to disrupt the makeup brush hovering near his jawline. “They’re fixing my hair and makeup to make sure I look decent enough for the event,” he joked lightly, his tone infused with a teasing self-awareness.

He tilted his head slightly as the stylist adjusted his hair, his gaze darting to the mirror and back to the camera. “It’s a busy night for me— after the show, I’ll probably have a few other things to wrap up. But our Jiyeonie…” He trailed off, his smile widening as he nodded toward the background.

The camera panned slightly to capture Luna, still lying on the bed, entirely absorbed in her phone. Jeonghan’s smile turned affectionate as he called out, “Nana-ya~” in a soft, sing-song voice.

Luna looked up at the sound of his voice, blinking in slight confusion before realizing the camera was on her. A small smile tugged at her lips as she raised her hand to wave lazily at it. “Hi,” she said, her voice light and casual, before returning to her phone with the same nonchalant ease.

Jeonghan chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before turning back to the camera. “She’s a bit tired from this morning,” he explained. “We went for a walk along the Seine pretty early, and then we went shopping for a while after.”

He paused, his eyes flicking to Luna briefly before continuing. “But… we didn’t end up getting anything because none of the stores had what she wanted.” He lowered his voice slightly, adding conspiratorially to the camera, “So now she’s a little bummed about it.”

At this, Luna raised her head slightly, as though she’d heard him, but she didn’t respond, only going back to her phone with a faint pout on her lips. Jeonghan watched her for a moment before speaking again, his tone gentle but teasing.

“It’s okay,” he said, directing his words toward her now. “I promise we’ll shop again soon. We’ll find exactly what you’re looking for.”

Luna glanced up at him from her phone, her lips quirking into a small smile. “You always say that,” she replied, her voice playful but with a hint of accusation.

“And I always deliver,” Jeonghan countered smoothly, raising an eyebrow at her through the mirror.

Luna’s smile grew, and she shook her head slightly, her attention already drifting back to her phone. Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned back to the camera, his lips curling into a soft, knowing smile as he said, “See? She knows.”

The stylist, now satisfied with his hair, stepped back to let Jeonghan adjust slightly in his seat. He leaned back, resting his elbow on the vanity and his chin on his hand as he looked straight at the camera, his expression a mix of charm and ease. “Alright,” he said, his tone signaling the conversation was about to shift. “That’s the update for now. Stay tuned.”

The car slowed to a stop under the soft glow of the streetlights outside the venue, where the energy was electric. The night sky was a deep navy, peppered with faint stars, but it was the sea of flashing lights and the ecstatic energy of the crowd that illuminated the scene. Fans clustered behind sturdy barricades, their voices merging into a harmonious chorus of cheers and screams as soon as Jeonghan stepped out of the sleek black car.

He emerged with effortless grace, dressed in a tailored black ensemble that spoke volumes of elegance and sophistication. The structured lines of his blazer contrasted with the soft silk of his shirt beneath, which caught the light with every movement. His trousers were impeccably fitted, and his polished black shoes reflected the shimmering glow of the venue’s lights. His shoulder-length black hair fell naturally, framing his sharp features, with just enough tousle to give off an air of casual sophistication.

The instant Jeonghan appeared, the crowd erupted. Fans waved lightsticks, posters, and their phones in the air, calling his name with uncontainable excitement. The fervor was palpable, their admiration echoing across the cold evening.

Jeonghan turned toward them immediately, his face lighting up with an easy smile that seemed to cast warmth over the freezing night. His long fingers lifted in a poised wave, acknowledging the crowd’s enthusiasm as they pushed closer to the barricades, desperate to catch every glimpse of him.

Camera flashes exploded like a storm of stars, painting the night in bursts of silver and white. Photographers lined the walkway, jostling for the perfect shot, their lenses focused entirely on him. Jeonghan moved fluidly, effortlessly aware of the eyes on him without seeming burdened by it. He paused for the cameras, adjusting his stance subtly to give them the angles they craved.

He tilted his head slightly, his black hair catching the light, and let his hands fall naturally to his sides before shifting one into his pocket with practiced ease. The slight smirk on his lips— barely there, but enough to send fans into a frenzy— made the moment feel magnetic. His gaze darted over the crowd briefly, a silent acknowledgement that made every individual feel seen.

Jeonghan took his time, pivoting slightly as he moved along the red carpet, giving different angles to the flashing cameras. His every step was measured, purposeful, the very picture of composure amidst the chaos. The murmurs of admiration from the press were barely audible over the cacophony of fans calling out his name, but they were there, buzzing in tandem with the atmosphere.

As he approached the main entrance, Jeonghan paused again, this time turning toward the barricades to give the fans one last wave. His expression softened slightly, the corners of his lips curving upward in genuine appreciation for the crowd’s presence. His fingers fluttered in a delicate yet deliberate gesture before he resumed his walk, the tails of his blazer swaying lightly behind him with each step.

The venue itself loomed in the background, its grandeur amplified by dramatic lighting that highlighted the ornate architecture. The sleek, modern red carpet pathway leading into the event was framed by towering displays of the Yves Saint Laurent logo, an embodiment of timeless luxury.

Jeonghan reached the entrance but glanced back one final time, a fleeting look over his shoulder that sent another ripple of excitement through the crowd. Even with his back turned, his presence was commanding, the sharp lines of his outfit and the deliberate way he carried himself exuding quiet power and elegance.

And just like that, with one final wave and a subtle nod to the cameras, Jeonghan disappeared into the venue, leaving the crowd buzzing with energy and the press scrambling to capture the lingering magic he left behind.

Luna was seated in front of the vanity, the soft morning light filtering through the windows, painting the room in a warm, cozy glow.

She leaned forward, adjusting the camera with deft hands, dressed in an oversized beige hoodie that was unmistakably Jeonghan’s— its long sleeves engulfed her arms. Her hair was still a little disheveled, evidence of having only recently woken up, and her face was bare, fresh from sleep.

“Here we go…” she muttered quietly, her voice groggy yet steady as she pressed the record button. She leaned back into her chair, crossing her legs comfortably. Her team was already bustling around her, a stylist gently brushing through her hair while another began unpacking the makeup she would wear for the event.

“Today’s the day of the Miu Miu fashion show,” Luna said to the camera, her voice a little livelier now. “I’m getting ready… getting my hair and makeup done right now.” She wiggled slightly in her seat, folding her arms over her lap as she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “The mood of the day is not like the original lovely Miu Miu mood. It’s going to be chic. I’m going to be Chic Luna today,” she joked, chuckling softly.

As she finished speaking, Jeonghan strolled into the frame, his steps unhurried, his presence effortlessly laid-back. He was dressed casually in black sweats, a stark contrast to the sharp ensemble he had worn the night before. In his hands was a bowl of sliced fruit, and he was chewing leisurely, clearly at ease.

“You’re always chic,” Jeonghan said smugly, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against the edge of the vanity.

Luna glanced up from the mirror, lifting her brow at him in a mix of skepticism and amusement. “Always?” she echoed, her tone light but laced with mock disbelief. Her lips twitched as if fighting a smile. “Even in this?” She gestured lazily to the hoodie swallowing her frame.

Jeonghan shrugged, unbothered. “Especially in that,” he replied, his voice warm, yet casual, like he was stating an obvious fact. His smirk remained intact, the ease of his confidence radiating as he leaned closer.

Luna looked up at him, her expression skeptical but amused, and gave him a pointed look. Jeonghan held her gaze, his own steady, challenging her silently as if daring her to disagree. “Alright,” she finally said, her voice laced with playful resignation, earning a satisfied chuckle from him.

Jeonghan chuckled softly, his posture relaxed, entirely at home in the moment. Luna, despite herself, allowed her smile to grow as her attention drifted back to the mirror.

Her gaze, however, didn’t stay there long. It flickered down, catching sight of the strawberries nestled in the bowl Jeonghan was holding. The rich sheen of chocolate coating one caught the light, and for a moment, her eyes lingered.

The pause was brief, but Jeonghan noticed it instantly. His perceptive nature caught every nuance of her expression— the subtle shift of her gaze, the way her lips pressed together in subtle temptation.

Without a word, Jeonghan plucked one of the strawberries from the bowl, the motion unhurried, deliberate. He held it up, his fingers poised with a practiced elegance, his other hand positioned just beneath the strawberry to catch any potential drip of chocolate. His movements were seamless, fluid, as if feeding her was the most natural thing in the world.

Luna blinked, her eyes darting to the strawberry, then back up to him. She didn’t need to say anything. The unspoken understanding passed between them effortlessly, a testament to the familiarity they shared. Leaning forward slightly, she took a bite, the sweetness of the fruit and the richness of the chocolate blending perfectly. A soft hum of satisfaction escaped her lips as she leaned back into her chair.

Jeonghan’s eyes never left her, his gaze steady and unreadable. Then, with the same ease, he lifted his thumb and gently brushed it across the corner of her lips, where a tiny smudge of chocolate had lingered. The touch was brief, almost casual, but deliberate. He brought his thumb to his own lips, licking away the chocolate with a calm, self-assured air that made Luna’s cheeks flush faintly.

“Better,” he said simply, his tone as smooth as the silk draped over their bed nearby.

Luna rolled her eyes, though the gesture was half-hearted at best. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, though there was no bite to her words.

“And you love it,” Jeonghan countered, his smirk making a triumphant return.

“Debatable,” she shot back, though her lips curved into a faint smile that betrayed her playful tone.

Jeonghan shifted slightly, leaning a little closer, his bowl of fruit still in hand. “Debatable? After I fed you my strawberry?” he echoed, his voice dropping ever so slightly, his tone now teasing but threaded with the kind of easy intimacy they always shared.

Luna glanced at him through her lashes, her expression coy. “Extremely debatable,” she replied, her voice light, but her gaze steady as it met his.

For a moment, the air between them stilled, charged with the quiet tension of two people completely attuned to each other. Jeonghan’s smirk softened into something warmer, but no less confident. Without breaking eye contact, he picked another strawberry from the bowl, holding it out to her.

Luna tilted her head, considering him briefly before leaning forward and taking it again. This time, she made a deliberate point of savoring the bite, her eyes sparkling mischievously as she leaned back with a satisfied hum. “Thanks,” she said sweetly, her tone dripping with mock innocence.

Jeonghan shook his head slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Always pushing it, aren’t you?” he remarked, his voice fond.

“Always,” Luna quipped back effortlessly, her grin widening as she glanced at the camera, as if to say, See what I deal with?

Jeonghan lingered beside her as the team continued their work, his presence a comfortable constant.

Luna turned her attention back to the camera, gesturing subtly to indicate she was addressing her audience again. “So, what’s up for today?” she began, her voice light and conversational. “The Miu Miu fashion show is this afternoon. And Hannie—” she turned slightly to glance at him, “—needs to get ready soon because right after the show, we have another schedule together. A private viewing for FRED.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at her, already sensing where this was going. Luna smirked subtly before adding in a casual tone, “And then, before dinner… we’re going shopping.” She finished her sentence slowly, almost sneakily, and then tilted her head to look up at Jeonghan, gauging his reaction.

He was already looking down at her with a lazy, amused expression, one eyebrow raised as if to say, Really?

Luna blinked up at him with her large, doe-like eyes, feigning innocence as she bit back a smile. Jeonghan saw right through it, of course, but that didn’t stop him from indulging her. “Alright,” he said slowly, dragging out the word with a teasing edge, “but only if you do something for me first.”

Luna pouted, hesitating as she searched his face for clues. “What kind of something?” she asked cautiously, her lips forming a slight pout.

Jeonghan smirked, his amusement evident, but he didn’t answer right away, letting the suspense build. Finally, he leaned in slightly, his tone playful as he murmured, “Surprise me.”

Luna sighed dramatically, clearly reluctant, but her desire to win him over outweighed her hesitation. She leaned forward slightly, her cheeks puffing out in a small display of determination before she pulled out her phone and showed him the Lego set he desperately been wanting and bought it online.

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened, his gaze softening as he found her endearing.

“Alright, alright. Thank you, Nana-ya,” he said at last, his tone lazy but approving, and he gave a slow nod of assent.

“Yay!” Luna cheered softly, turning back to the camera with a triumphant smile. Her expression was one of pure satisfaction, but she wasn’t done yet. Tilting her head up toward Jeonghan once more, she opened her mouth expectantly, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly before indulging her once more, feeding her another strawberry. Luna took it with a pleased hum before glancing back at the camera. She winked, her smile widening as she seemed fully aware of the power she held over him.

Jeonghan shook his head again, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, affectionate smile as he muttered under his breath, “Always gets her way.”

The afternoon air in Paris was crisp, the winter sun muted behind a pale gray sky, casting a soft glow over the bustling scene outside the venue of the Miu Miu fashion show. Crowds had gathered behind barricades, their energy palpable as they waved banners and phones in the air, the hum of excited chatter punctuated by occasional squeals of recognition as celebrity guests arrived one by one.

When Luna’s car pulled up to the event, a ripple of excitement swept through the crowd. Her arrival was heralded by an enthusiastic wave of cheers, fans holding up signs with her name, their phones trained on the sleek black vehicle. The door opened slowly, and Luna emerged with an effortless elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

She stepped out gracefully, her heeled boots clicking softly against the pavement as she straightened to her full height.

She was dressed in a chic ensemble— a structured black coat cinched perfectly at the waist, accentuating her silhouette, paired with a crystal-embellished Miu Miu skirt that shimmered subtly in the daylight. Her makeup was bold but refined, with a smoky eye and a deep nude lip that complimented the modern yet timeless aesthetic of her outfit. Her hair, styled in sleek waves, cascaded over her shoulders, completing the look with understated glamour.

The moment she appeared, camera flashes erupted like a cascade of stars, illuminating her figure as she turned toward the crowd with a radiant, confident smile. Her gaze scanned the faces of her fans, and she lifted a hand to wave at them, her gesture warm and genuine, eliciting another round of enthusiastic screams. “Luna!” they called out, their voices blending into a symphony of admiration.

Luna took a moment to pose for the cameras, her movements fluid and poised. She turned slightly, offering the photographers a three-quarter view that showcased the intricate detailing on her coat. Her hands rested lightly at her sides as she shifted her weight, tilting her head just enough to cast a sultry glance over her shoulder before turning forward again, her expression softening into a radiant smile.

The rhythm of camera clicks seemed to intensify as she struck the perfect balance between composure and approachability.

She stepped closer to the barricades, waving again to the fans who were calling her name. Some reached out eagerly, holding out pens and posters in the hope of an autograph. While her team guided her along, Luna paused briefly to acknowledge a few of them, her smile never wavering.

A fan shouted, “You’re so beautiful!” and Luna, catching the compliment, turned her head slightly, her smile widening as she gave a small, playful bow in gratitude.

Turning back toward the venue, Luna moved with unhurried grace, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she ascended the steps leading inside. Before entering, she turned one last time to face the crowd, giving a final wave that felt both regal and personal.

The cheering rose to a crescendo, the air buzzing with excitement as she disappeared into the venue, leaving an indelible impression on everyone outside.

The sun dipped low over the Paris skyline, painting the city in hues of amber and gold as Jeonghan and Luna stepped out of their car for their final event of the day. Both were dressed to perfection, exuding a quiet elegance that turned heads.

Luna wore a fitted, off-shoulder black dress adorned with subtle glittering embellishments that caught the light, paired with sleek stilettos that elongated her figure. Jeonghan, ever the embodiment of sophistication, was in a sharp double-breasted navy suit, his hair swept back to reveal his striking features.

Together, they radiated a magnetic charm.

“Finally, we are here to have a private viewing at FRED,” Luna said with a soft smile as she turned on the camera to document the moment for her vlog.

“Yes, let’s go and check out FRED’s new collection with me and of course, our Jiyeonie,” Jeonghan added, his tone teasing yet smooth, as he stood by her side.

Inside, the luxury boutique was impeccably designed, its minimalist elegance allowing the jewels on display to truly shine.

The pair was greeted warmly by the CEO and high-ranking figures of the brand, who had gathered for the private viewing. Handshakes and polite bows were exchanged, their warmth making the atmosphere relaxed yet intimate. The CEO gestured for them to follow, and Luna and Jeonghan were led into a private room where the newest collection awaited

The moment they stepped inside, Luna’s eyes widened, sparkling like the diamonds before her. The centerpiece of the room was an elegantly arranged display of jewelry— necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and rings, each more dazzling than the last. Luna’s gaze flitted from one piece to another, her expression a mixture of awe and childlike delight. She moved closer, leaning over slightly to get a better look at a particularly stunning set.

“Wait, hold on,” she gasped, her voice tinged with wonder as her eyes landed on a heart-shaped diamond necklace accompanied by matching earrings, a bracelet that cleverly doubled as a hidden watch, and a delicate ring. “This might be my favorite one.” Her tone was light, yet the sincerity in her words was undeniable

Her reaction drew soft laughter from the FRED team, charmed by her genuine enthusiasm. Jeonghan, standing just behind her, leaned in to get a closer look himself, his presence close but not overbearing.

“It’s so gorgeous,” Luna said, her voice quieter now as she glanced up at him. “I really want this.”

Jeonghan’s lips curled into an amused smile. “Do you?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he watched her.

The CEO, amused by their exchange, stepped forward. “Would you like to try them on?”

Luna looked up, surprised but clearly delighted. “Can I?”

“For you? Yes, of course,” the CEO replied warmly, prompting Luna to laugh softly, her cheeks faintly tinged with color.

She was seated on a plush velvet couch, where a professional with gloved hands began carefully removing the pieces from their display. The heart-shaped diamond necklace was the first to be draped around her neck.

The cool metal made her flinch slightly, and she laughed softly. “It’s cold,” she remarked, shivering just a little as a member of her staff stood behind her, holding her hair up.

Next came the earrings, followed by the bracelet-watch, each piece accentuating her elegance. When it was time for the ring, Luna unknowingly lifted her left hand for the jeweler to slip it on.

The woman assisting her paused, a playful smile on her lips. “No, not for that finger yet,” she joked, her voice light, but the implication clear.

Luna laughed, her cheeks heating up as she glanced at Jeonghan, who was busy taking photos of her on his phone. She didn’t miss the way his lips quirked upward in amusement after hearing their translator translate to him, his gaze flickering briefly to her left hand before returning to her face.

“Beautiful,” Jeonghan murmured after a beat, his voice just loud enough for her to hear.

“Right?” Luna replied, meeting his eyes with a smile before turning her attention back to the team. “It’s amazing. I might not control myself and get this entire collection,” she added, her tone lighthearted, drawing laughter from the room.

The private viewing continued with both Luna and Jeonghan trying on various pieces. Jeonghan, though quieter, had his moments of playful commentary, especially when Luna’s excitement over a particular piece was palpable.

By the end of the session, the couple had impulsively decided on matching necklaces, the simplicity of the design contrasting beautifully with its luxurious quality.

As they finalized their selections, Luna turned to Jeonghan, her expression soft but teasing. “I think we’re going to need an extra suitcase for all the shopping we’re about to do,” she joked, earning a chuckle from him.

“We’ll make it work,” he replied, his tone reassuring, though the glint in his eye suggested he’d enjoy watching her figure it out.

The Parisian streets were alive with a soft glow from the streetlights, illuminating the cobblestones as Luna and Jeonghan strolled side by side. Both had changed into more casual yet effortlessly chic outfits for their evening out after the private viewing.

Luna wore an oversized black trench coat draped over her shoulders, paired with high-waisted jeans and a fitted black turtleneck. Jeonghan was equally fashionable, dressed in a tailored black coat over a red top and jeans, his hair slightly tousled from the breeze. The two of them walked arm-in-arm, their bodyguard trailing a few steps behind, holding several shopping bags from their previous stops.

The staff holding the camera out for the vlog, filming the two gave them a signal before Luna started speaking. “So, we just finished our private viewing at FRED,” she began, her tone light and conversational. “And now, as promised, we’re shopping.” She turned towards Jeonghan with a teasing smile. “Because someone said I could.”

Jeonghan raised a brow at her but smiled, leaning into the frame. “Someone had to say yes,” he teased. “Otherwise, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Luna gasped dramatically, glaring at him playfully. “Excuse me? I’m being very responsible about this. I’m not just buying for myself.”

“Right,” Jeonghan drawled, the smirk on his lips unmistakable. “Totally responsible. That’s why there are at least three bags already.”

Luna pouted, flipping her hair as if to dismiss him. “For your information, I bought something for my parents. And I’m planning to get stuff for the members too. So technically, I’m just being very thoughtful.”

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re always thoughtful. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a little problem when it comes to shopping.”

Luna rolled her eyes but laughed, linking her arm more tightly with his as they entered another boutique. The warm lighting inside reflected off the polished displays, showcasing rows of high-end clothing, shoes, and accessories.

As they stepped inside, Luna immediately gravitated towards a rack of brightly colored blazers. She picked up a soft lavender one, holding it up to herself in the mirror. “What do you think?” she asked, glancing at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan leaned against a nearby column, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. “You already know my answer. You look amazing in everything.”

“That’s not helpful,” Luna muttered, shaking her head as she handed the blazer to a sales assistant and moved on to a pair of sleek leather boots. She slipped one on, turning her foot to admire the fit. “Should I get these in black or brown?” she called out.

“Both,” Jeonghan answered without hesitation, earning a pointed look from her.

“Han,” she said, exasperated but amused.

He shrugged, walking over to her. “I’m just saying. You’ll end up using both eventually.”

Luna huffed but grinned, moving to another section while Jeonghan trailed behind her, turning to the camera filming them. “Alright, everyone,” he said in a mock-serious tone, directing the camera to point at Luna as she sifted through rows of handbags. “This is what it’s like shopping with our Jiyeonie. She’s currently pretending she’s deciding between two colors, but we all know she’s going to get both.”

Luna glanced back at him, feigning annoyance. “Don’t expose me.”

“I’m just being honest,” he replied, the mischief in his voice evident.

The sales assistants couldn’t help but smile at their banter as Luna turned her attention to the men’s section. She picked up a soft cream-colored shirt, holding it up against Jeonghan’s chest. “How about this one?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Jeonghan examined it briefly. “It’s nice.”

Luna narrowed her eyes. “Just nice?”

“I’ll wear whatever you pick,” he said simply, his gaze meeting hers with an amused softness. “There are perks to shopping with you, after all.”

Luna laughed, catching the meaning behind his words. “Perks like me buying things for you too?”

He smiled, not denying it. “You said it, not me.”

They continued their shopping spree, Luna occasionally asking for Jeonghan’s opinion while he mostly observed, teasing her or quietly marveling at how excited she got over each item. By the end of their visit, their bodyguard was carrying even more bags, and Luna turned back to the camera with a triumphant smile.

“This was productive,” she declared, her tone light and happy.

Jeonghan glanced at the growing pile of bags and then back at her. “Productive for your wardrobe, maybe.”

Luna just grinned, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked back out into the cool Paris night.

The cozy restaurant was warm and softly lit, a pleasant contrast to the crisp Parisian night outside. Luna and Jeonghan sat close to each other at a small table by the window, sharing quiet giggles as they leaned over a digital camera that Jeonghan held. The bright display illuminated their faces, highlighting the easy smiles and fondness between them. Jeonghan’s elbow rested casually on the table, while Luna leaned slightly into his side, her hand occasionally brushing his as they scrolled through the photos.

To Luna’s other side, Hoshi was perched with a fork in hand, digging into a decadent slice of dessert. “We’re eating dessert right now,” he announced to the camera in front of them, his tone cheerful and slightly muffled by his mouthful of cake. “I arrived in Paris today and met Jeonghan and Jiyeonie.”

His words were accompanied by a bright grin, and Luna and Jeonghan both chuckled softly at his energy, momentarily distracted from their camera.

Jeonghan finally looked up, turning to address the vlogging camera set up by their staff. “This is a camera I bought because it’s cute,” he explained, holding it up for the audience to see before shifting it toward Hoshi. “I’ll take pictures of Hoshi and gift you the pictures a year later,” he teased, his voice light and amused.

Hoshi laughed loudly, leaning into the frame with a playful pose. “Go ahead. I’m ready,” he said, dramatically angling his face as if preparing for a magazine shoot.

“Enjoy the food,” Jeonghan remarked dryly, snapping a quick picture of Hoshi while Luna chuckled at the interaction.

“I want the flash to work,” Jeonghan muttered, fidgeting with the buttons on the camera.

Luna leaned closer, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck to steady herself as she adjusted the settings with her other hand. “It’s this,” she murmured, turning on the flash with a soft click. Her fingers brushed lightly against his as she handed the camera back to him.

“So cute,” Jeonghan murmured, lifting the camera again. “Hoshi’s so cute.” The flash went off, capturing a bright snapshot of Hoshi mid-bite.

“Did you take it?” Hoshi asked, leaning over slightly.

“Yeah, so cute.” Jeonghan nodded, his expression pleased as he checked the screen. “It came out well.”

“You’re so cute, Soonie,” Luna chimed in, taking another delicate bite of her own dessert. Her tone was warm, laced with affection as she smiled at Hoshi.

“The flash needs to work for a good picture,” Jeonghan said, his focus still on the camera. He tilted the screen to show Hoshi the photo. “How is it?”

“That’s good,” Hoshi replied enthusiastically, leaning in to examine it more closely.

“It’s good, right? Isn’t it cute?” Jeonghan asked, turning to Luna and holding the camera up for her to see.

“This is Hoshi,” Jeonghan said, showing the image to the vlog camera. “Then next is Hoshi with the flash. So cute,” he remarked with a teasing grin.

Luna, momentarily engrossed in her cake, didn’t notice as Jeonghan turned the camera toward her. The flash went off, and she immediately paused mid-bite, her eyes darting up in surprise before she instinctively struck a quick, playful pose.

Jeonghan chuckled, taking another shot. “Caught you,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Ya, give me a warning next time,” Luna scolded lightly, though her tone was filled with amusement. She adjusted her hair and posed again, making Jeonghan laugh as he snapped another photo.

“Alright, one more, Nana-ya,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. He was fully immersed in capturing her, the fondness in his gaze evident as he clicked the button once more.

“Let me try now,” Hoshi interrupted, reaching for the camera. “I’ll take one of you two.”

Jeonghan handed over the device, and Luna shifted in her seat, wrapping her arms loosely around Jeonghan’s neck as she leaned her head atop his. Jeonghan responded by slipping an arm around her waist, holding her close. They held the pose for a few seconds, the camera flashing twice as Hoshi captured the moment.

“Okay, now flip it and join us,” Luna instructed, gesturing for Hoshi to come closer. He grinned and set up the camera on the table, flipping the screen to face them before settling in beside her.

The three of them posed together, Luna in the middle with Jeonghan and Hoshi leaning in on either side. The camera captured their bright smiles and easy camaraderie, freezing the moment in time.

Afterward, Hoshi handed the camera back to Jeonghan, who immediately scrolled through the photos. The three of them leaned closer, their heads nearly touching as they admired the pictures.

Jeonghan held up the camera for the vlog. “Anyways, it’s a camera I bought because it’s so cute,” he repeated, tucking it back into his coat pocket with care. “As soon as Hoshi arrived, we met to eat dinner. So we just had a snail dish, and now we’re eating dessert. We forgot to record, so we’re now recording during dessert,” he explained.

“He was too excited with the camera, he forgot the vlog,” Luna teased, her tone light and playful as she turned to him with a knowing grin.

Jeonghan raised a brow at her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Says the one who got completely distracted earlier shopping for everyone and their pets.”

Luna gasped, feigning indignation. “That was for our members too!”

“And yet, I saw the most bags in your name,” Jeonghan quipped, his deadpan delivery earning a burst of laughter from Hoshi.

Their teasing continued, filled with warmth and laughter, as they savored the last bites of their dessert, the bustling energy of Paris providing the perfect backdrop to their lighthearted evening.

The three of them strolled through the glowing streets of Paris, the cobblestones reflecting the soft yellow light from the ornate streetlamps above. Luna was nestled between Jeonghan and Hoshi, her arms comfortably linked with theirs as they walked in sync.

The evening air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers and the occasional waft of something delicious from nearby cafes. Their staff walked in front of them, capturing the moment on camera as the trio laughed and chatted, their voices blending into the quiet hum of the city.

“We’ve finished eating, and since the Eiffel Tower is just around the corner…” Jeonghan began, speaking directly to the camera with his signature calm, slightly amused tone.

“This street is so pretty,” Hoshi interrupted, his eyes darting around to take in the charm of the Parisian architecture as they crossed a quiet intersection.

“Right?” Jeonghan agreed, glancing at him with a small smile. “This is the place Jiyeonie and I said was pretty when we were in the car.”

“Oh, really?” Hoshi asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Yeah,” Jeonghan replied.

“It’s even prettier at night,” Luna chimed in, her voice soft yet full of wonder as she glanced around. The lights made her features glow, her excitement bubbling just under the surface.

They continued walking at a leisurely pace, the sounds of their footsteps blending with the faint chatter of people in the distance. Jeonghan glanced toward the camera again, adding, “We’ve walked about ten minutes to see the Eiffel Tower. Jiyeonie told us that it sparkles every hour on the hour.”

“It does,” Luna confirmed, her eyes lighting up. “I really want to see it because I didn’t get to last time when I was here.”

Jeonghan nodded, a touch of excitement breaking through his typically calm demeanor. “We have a minute left, but right now it’s hidden because of the buildings,” he said, pulling out his phone to check the time. His lock screen, a close-up photo of his and Luna’s eyes with their heads tilted together, caught the light briefly.

Luna caught sight of it and gave Jeonghan’s arm a gentle tap with her free hand. Her gaze flicked up to his, and she raised a brow with a knowing look.

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, quickly pocketing his phone again. “What?” he teased, though the faint blush on his cheeks was unmistakable.

“We need to get there quickly,” Luna said, shaking her head at him but smiling nonetheless. “It’s almost time.”

“I wanted to see it sparkling,” Jeonghan added, his voice tinged with anticipation. “It’s fifty-nine minutes right now.”

“We need to see it when it changes,” Hoshi said, his steps quickening to match their urgency.

“Right. Exactly when it changes,” Luna agreed, her voice lilting with excitement.

“How long does it sparkle?” Hoshi asked, glancing between them as they visibly started to hurry, their pace picking up.

“I don’t know,” Luna admitted, her tone slightly breathless as they turned a corner.

“Forty seconds?” Jeonghan guessed, throwing out a random number.

“Forty seconds?” Hoshi repeated in mock disbelief, his wide eyes making Jeonghan laugh.

“I don’t know!” Jeonghan replied, shrugging with a grin. “Won’t it stop after ten p.m.?”

“I think it would be longer, no?” Luna said, her voice hopeful as she picked up the pace, her heels clicking against the pavement.

The trio moved with a newfound urgency, their laughter and quick exchanges punctuating the quiet streets as they hurried toward their goal.

Jeonghan pointed ahead as they continued walking briskly through the dimly lit streets, the Eiffel Tower’s glow visible just above the rooftops. “I think that’s a rooftop terrace,” he said, gesturing toward a cluster of faint red lights glowing in the distance. “See those red lights? That would be a perfect spot to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle.”

Hoshi, catching sight of it too, took off suddenly, jogging ahead in his excitement. “Wait for us!” Luna called after him before letting out a worried gasp. “Shi-shi! Be careful!” Her voice rose slightly, eyes narrowing at the wet patches glinting on the pavement.

Jeonghan chuckled at her motherly tone, his hand slipping down to catch hers. Without hesitation, he linked their fingers together and gently tugged her forward. “Come on, let’s go see the tower sparkle!” he urged, his grin both playful and encouraging.

Luna narrowed her eyes at him but let herself be pulled forward, picking up her pace carefully. “If I fall flat on my face, I’m dragging you with me, Yoon Jeonghan,” she warned, her voice filled with mock seriousness.

“Deal,” he said with a teasing lilt, glancing over his shoulder at her. “But I won’t let you fall. You trust me, don’t you?”

She huffed but couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at her lips. “You’re lucky I do,” she muttered, carefully jogging alongside him.

As they neared the clearing, their pace slowed. Hoshi, still ahead of them, stopped abruptly, his figure silhouetted by the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. The structure loomed grandly above them, its lights shimmering like scattered stars against the night sky.

“Look at this,” Jeonghan murmured, his tone soft with awe. He squeezed Luna’s hand lightly, as if grounding himself in the moment. “It’s so big.”

Luna tilted her head back to take it all in, her breath hitching slightly. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with wonder.

Hoshi turned around, his face lit up with excitement. “Wanna snap some pics?” he asked, already pulling out his camera.

“You brought your camera?” Jeonghan asked, a mix of surprise and approval in his tone.

“Yeah, of course,” Hoshi replied, fiddling with the settings as he approached them.

Jeonghan fixed his coat slightly, adjusting the lapels of his shirt before striking a casual yet effortlessly cool pose. “Alright, get my good side,” he said with a smirk, standing a few steps in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Hoshi snapped a couple of pictures, then motioned for Luna. “Your turn, Jiyeonie,” he said.

Luna fixed her hair for a moment, smoothing down her coat before stepping into frame. She glanced at Jeonghan for reassurance, and he gave her a small nod, mouthing, “You look great.” She smiled softly, then turned her attention back to the camera as Hoshi captured a few shots.

“It comes out like this,” Hoshi said, stepping closer to show them the photos on his camera screen.

Jeonghan leaned in to look, his brows furrowing slightly. “Oh, yeah. The lighting isn’t right at all,” he commented, his tone mildly critical.

“Press this,” Luna said, reaching out to click a button on the camera. She adjusted a few settings with practiced ease, her expression focused. “There. That should help.”

“I’m so bad with cameras,” Jeonghan admitted with a small chuckle, watching her work.

“Me too,” Hoshi said, nodding in agreement.

Luna handed the camera back to Hoshi and turned toward Jeonghan, who was already reaching for her hand. He tugged her closer gently, his other arm resting lightly on her waist. “Come on,” he said softly, glancing down at her with a slight tilt of his head. “Let’s take one together.”

She smiled at him, the moment briefly charged with a quiet intimacy before they turned their attention back to the camera. Hoshi snapped a photo of them, the Eiffel Tower sparkling brightly behind them, casting a magical glow over the scene.

As the photos were taken, Jeonghan glanced at the glittering tower and murmured, almost to himself, “To think that I’d see Paris and the Eiffel Tower in my lifetime.”

Luna glanced up at him, her expression softening. “And now you’ve seen it,” she said, her voice quiet but filled with meaning.

Jeonghan looked down at her, his lips curving into a small, tender smile. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “And it’s better than I ever imagined.”

Jeonghan and Luna strolled side by side through the cobblestone pathway leading to the iconic Louvre Museum. The brisk morning air carried with it the soft murmurs of tourists and the occasional flutter of pigeons that darted past them.

“We’re here at the Louvre Museum,” Jeonghan announced cheerfully, turning slightly to the camera following them, his free hand gesturing toward the museum’s grand facade. His voice held the lively warmth of someone fully immersed in the experience.

“Ta-da!” both he and Luna chimed in unison, their voices overlapping perfectly. They turned to look at each other, momentarily surprised by their synchronicity, and broke into soft chuckles.

“I was so curious about how the Louvre Museum would be,” Jeonghan continued as they approached closer to the museum. “I only ever saw it in textbooks.”

Luna tilted her head in agreement. “It does feel surreal seeing it in person, doesn’t it?”

“After taking a picture with this pyramid,” Jeonghan added, pointing toward the famed glass pyramid ahead, “Jiyeonie and I will go explore the museum.”

The grand pyramid sparkled in the crisp daylight, and tourists were already gathering around it, their cameras clicking incessantly. Jeonghan’s gaze shifted to a flock of pigeons pecking at crumbs scattered nearby. He smiled slyly and nudged Luna with his elbow, his tone teasing as he pointed toward them.

“This place totally feels like Europe. The buildings and the pigeons,” he said. “You think of Europe when you think of pigeons.”

Luna halted mid-step, narrowing her eyes at him. She side-eyed him with a playful exasperation that made his grin widen.

“Really?” she asked dryly, her voice laced with mock disbelief.

Jeonghan laughed, the sound rich and unbothered. “I’m serious! Don’t they give it away? Very European vibes.”

“Right,” Luna muttered with a shake of her head, though her lips twitched, threatening to betray her amusement.

As they reached the photo spot, Jeonghan looked around at the setup— an elevated stand positioned strategically to allow visitors to align themselves perfectly with the pyramid’s tip. “Is this the photo spot?” he asked, his finger pointing toward the stand.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Luna confirmed with a hum, eyeing the growing line of tourists.

“I want to take a picture here too,” Jeonghan said eagerly, rubbing his hands together in excitement. But his enthusiasm quickly faltered as he shivered against the brisk wind. “So cold!” he exclaimed with a slight pout.

Luna, who had been busy candidly snapping photos of him from a slight distance, immediately looked up at his complaint. Her expression softened as she tucked her camera under her arm and waddled toward him in her oversized coat. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Jeonghan’s arms came up naturally, enveloping her as he smiled over her head.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, his voice low with contentment as they swayed lightly from side to side.

“There are seagulls here too?” Jeonghan suddenly said, peering over her shoulder at the sky.

Luna pulled back slightly, her brows arching. “Does it make you think of Europe too?” she teased, recalling his earlier comment about the pigeons.

“Yes,” Jeonghan replied smoothly, his eyes dancing with humor. “But there’s no ocean here. Is it because of the Seine?” His tone was curious, but the sly glint in his eye betrayed him. He leaned closer and said, with deliberate emphasis, “The sensible Seine.”

Luna groaned, letting out a dry laugh as she bumped her hip against his. “The really sensible Seine,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“We went there last time, right?” Jeonghan prompted, his lips quirking upward.

“We did, Hannie,” Luna coaxed, her tone indulging him.

“In the morning, when it was cold,” he added, his gaze softening as he recalled the memory. “It was like 8 am or 8:30 am.”

“Right,” Luna said, nodding as she adjusted the scarf around her neck. “You dragged me out of bed to walk with you.”

Jeonghan’s brows lifted, his grin playful. “Dragged you? I simply encouraged you to embrace the Parisian morning, Nana-ya.”

“You literally pulled the blankets off me,” Luna countered, her tone a perfect blend of exasperation and fondness.

Jeonghan chuckled, his gaze flicking down to her face as they continued walking. “And you didn’t complain when we found that bakery with the croissants.”

She huffed, unable to argue. “That bakery saved your life.”

They paused as the line to the photo platform moved forward. Jeonghan observed the other tourists, noting how they posed creatively to align their fingers or hands with the pyramid’s tip. “Oh, everyone’s doing that,” he said, pointing toward one group as they struck exaggerated poses.

Finally, it was their turn. “Okay, let’s do it,” Jeonghan said, stepping toward the platform.

Luna smiled as she nudged him forward gently. “You go first,” she said, already pulling out her digital camera to capture the moment.

Jeonghan hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Tell me if it’s weird. Where do I do it?” he asked, stepping onto the platform and striking an awkward pose.

Luna laughed softly, adjusting the camera. “That’s good. Do that,” she encouraged, snapping a couple of photos.

After a few moments, Jeonghan hopped down and handed her the camera. “Your turn,” he said, reaching out to hold her hand as he helped her onto the platform. His grip was steady, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Luna glanced back at him as she stood in position. “What should I do?” she asked.

“Just look natural,” Jeonghan said, his voice teasing as he raised the camera. “Which shouldn’t be hard for you.”

She rolled her eyes but followed his direction, posing gracefully as he snapped the photos. When she hopped down, Jeonghan studied the pictures on the screen, his smile softening.

“Let’s do it together,” he said, turning to her.

Luna glanced at the platform, then at him. “I don’t think it’s allowed,” she muttered. “And even if it is, I don’t think we’ll fit.”

“It’s fine,” Jeonghan coaxed, tugging lightly on her arm. His tone shifted into something softer, almost childlike. “Come on, just one. For me?”

“You want us to get kicked out is what you’re saying,” Luna deadpanned, though the corners of her mouth twitched.

Jeonghan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Who’s going to kick us out? I’ll tell them it’s for love. No one argues with love.”

Luna groaned, pressing her palm to her forehead. “You’re impossible. What are you even talking about?”

“Yet here you are, standing next to me,” he quipped, his grin widening.

She sighed dramatically but finally relented. “Fine,” she said, holding up a finger. “But not on the platform. We’ll take it in front of the pyramid.”

Jeonghan’s eyes lit up, and he gave her a quick, triumphant nod. “Deal.”

Luna handed the camera to one of their staff members, her fingers lingering for a brief moment as she explained the settings with quiet precision. Jeonghan stood a few steps behind her, adjusting his jacket with a casual air but watching her with a subtle smile.

Once everything was set, Luna turned back to him, brushing her hair back from her face as the wind played with the loose strands. They moved instinctively closer, standing side by side before Jeonghan shifted, sliding an arm around her waist with easy familiarity. The two of them stood in perfect harmony, the glass pyramid of the Louvre sparkling behind them, its geometric lines catching the soft winter sunlight.

Luna rested one hand lightly on his chest, glancing up at him with a faint smirk as if challenging his pose, while Jeonghan tilted his head toward her, his expression effortlessly cool yet warm with a hint of teasing affection. Their chemistry was palpable, the slight turn of their bodies toward each other radiating an intimacy that the camera effortlessly captured.

Jeonghan and Luna stepped out of the grand entrance of the Louvre, the sound of their footsteps softened by the uneven cobblestone pathway. Jeonghan pulled his jacket a little tighter against the crisp winter air and tilted his head toward the camera that trailed them.

“We saw the Mona Lisa and took a lot of pictures,” Jeonghan said, his tone light, almost proud, though his eyes betrayed the fatigue of walking through the museum for hours.

“Too many pictures,” Luna chimed in, emphasized with an amused shake of her head, her lips curving into a teasing smile. She glanced at him, and their eyes met briefly, his widening in mock innocence as if silently asking, Was it my fault?

“There were so many incredible pieces,” Jeonghan continued, looking back at the camera. “I’m usually not that interested in museums or art museums, but here—” he paused, gesturing vaguely with his free hand toward the Louvre behind them, “there were a lot of pieces that were just so amazing I went, ‘Wow, this is cool.’ It was actually fun.” His expression softened, his genuine surprise at enjoying the experience adding a boyish charm to his demeanor.

Luna nodded along, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat as she kept pace beside him. “Museums are very fun places for me to go to. I find different types of art interesting, and being in the Louvre and seeing the iconic pieces we only see in pictures made me appreciate it even more.” She spoke calmly, her words deliberate, as if reflecting on the experience in real-time.

Jeonghan cast her a sidelong glance, a hint of admiration flickering in his eyes as he listened to her. “You sounded like a professional just now,” he teased, nudging her shoulder lightly with his own.

“Maybe I should host an art documentary next,” Luna shot back smoothly, her tone playful but with a touch of sincerity.

Jeonghan chuckled, his breath visible in the chilly air. “I’d watch it. As long as it’s you narrating.”

Luna rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed faintly, whether from the cold or his words was hard to tell. “And you’d be fast asleep five minutes in.”

“Hey, I’d watch the whole thing,” Jeonghan replied, feigning offense. His teasing grin gave him away, though, and Luna laughed, shaking her head.

As they neared the street corner, they both turned to wave at the camera, their figures silhouetted against the backdrop of the historic museum. Jeonghan raised a hand, his fingers splaying in an exaggerated gesture of farewell. “Bye, everyone!”

“See you in the next spot,” Luna added with a smile, her voice soft but cheerful as she glanced at Jeonghan one last time before they continued walking away, side by side, their footsteps fading into the Parisian buzz.

Jeonghan held the baguette carefully in one hand as he and Luna climbed the sloping streets of Montmartre. The iconic neighborhood, bathed in the warm hues of late afternoon sunlight, felt alive with its cobblestone streets and quaint Parisian charm.

Jeonghan adjusted the beige hoodie— now his for the day— under his black blazer, his free hand tucked casually into his pocket as he walked beside Luna. She looked effortlessly chic in her beige long coat over a black turtleneck and matching pants, the two of them unintentionally coordinated but perfectly in sync.

“Here we are at Montmartre,” Jeonghan said, glancing at the camera being carried by their staff just ahead of them. “When DK went to Europe, he left a comment on my social media saying he wanted a Paris baguette, so…” He lifted the baguette slightly, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. “I got this baguette for DK.”

Luna laughed softly, shaking her head as she glanced over at him. “Are you seriously planning to take that back to Korea?” she asked, her tone amused but affectionate.

Jeonghan nodded solemnly, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Of course. I’ll hand it to him myself. It’s my mission now.”

“That baguette’s going to be as hard as a rock by the time we get there,” Luna teased, her laughter light and melodious as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Jeonghan replied smoothly, tapping the baguette against his palm for effect. “DK will appreciate it.”

Luna tilted her head, a skeptical smile on her lips. “Uh-huh. I’ll believe it when he actually eats it.”

Jeonghan laughed, his shoulders shaking as they continued walking. “We’ve come here for Fashion Week,” he said, addressing the camera again, “and now we have to head to the airport.”

“It’s been such a whirlwind trip,” Luna added, glancing at him. “Feels like we just got here.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement. “We just saw Montmartre, and we have an hour left. So I said I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower during the day one last time. That’s where we’re headed now.”

Luna turned, pointing at the faint silhouette of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. “There’s the Eiffel Tower,” she said, her voice tinged with a quiet excitement.

Jeonghan followed her gaze, a faint sigh escaping him. “It’s sad, but it’s time to leave Paris. It was so fun here.”

“I know,” Luna agreed softly. “I wish we could’ve explored more and stayed longer. There are still so many places I want to visit in France.”

Jeonghan’s curiosity piqued, and he looked at her. “Where do you want to go?”

“Cannes, the Palace of Versailles… Disneyland!” she listed off, her eyes lighting up at the last destination.

Jeonghan smiled warmly at her enthusiasm. “Disneyland, huh? We’ll go there next time. I promise we’ll visit all those places soon.”

“You mean it?” Luna asked, her voice soft, a hopeful smile tugging at her lips.

Jeonghan met her gaze, his voice gentle but firm. “Of course. Anything for you.” He muttered but his words carried a quiet sincerity, the kind that made Luna’s heart skip a beat.

By the time they reached the base of the Eiffel Tower, the sun had started to dip lower, casting a golden glow over the iconic structure. They stopped in front of it, turning to face the camera together. Jeonghan raised his hand in a wave, his expression a mix of contentment and reluctance. “Everyone, we’re saying goodbye to Paris,” he said, his voice carrying a soft finality.

“Goodbye for now, Paris,” Luna added, her wave graceful, her smile tinged with bittersweetness.

“We’ll visit again, Paris!” Jeonghan said, his tone brighter now, as if reassuring both the viewers and themselves.

“Bye!” they said together, their voices harmonizing as they waved one last time. With the Eiffel Tower standing tall behind them, the scene faded, their silhouettes glowing in the Parisian sunset. The vlog ended, leaving behind a feeling of warmth and nostalgia.

comments…

@/lunababybae • 1 year ago ╰ THE LINGERING STARES BETWEEN THEM!!?! HELLO?!! you simply cannot convince me that they are “only best friends” like they say 🥱

@/rinarieee • 1 year ago ╰ JeongNa being lovey dovey in the city of love…

@/gyusshadow • 1 year ago ╰The flirting, the pda, the outfits, the face cards, Jeongna… 10/10! Would recommend!

@/moonbae17 • 1 year ago ╰ Luna: “I took my parents here the first time a couple of years ago. It was a gift to them for their wedding anniversary. It was only supposed to be the two of them, but they wanted me there with them.” Jeonghan: “Pretty.” TF?! I SIMPLY CANNOT WITH THEM ANYMORE!!!!!?₱/₱2!₱/‘

@/saythename • 1 year ago ╰ THEM SHAMELESSLY HOLDING HANDS AT 5:44

@/mad-lineeee • 1 year ago ╰ JEONGHAN FUCKING STARING AT LUNA AS THEY TOOK PHOTOS 6:15 HE IS IN LOVE 🤭💖

@/mrsbaebae • 1 year ago ╰ never thought I would need a vlog of JeongNa’s date yet here we are

@/alyy1625 • 1 year ago ╰ THE FLIRTING?!? GOOD LORD 😮‍💨

@/jeongnanana • 1 year ago ╰ shopaholic Jiyeonie strikes again! honesty, she is a mood 😂

@/gyuuuuudaily• 1 year ago ╰ GOD I JUST LOVE HER BRITISH ACCENT SO MUCH 😫 ITS LIKE BUTTER.

@/sallluuuteee17 • 1 year ago ╰ 6:55 Jeonghan: “My mouth is frozen… It’s hard to talk,” Luna: *puckers her fucking lips* WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM, HONESTLY WHAT?!/₱/₱&/7 WHAT DO THEY WANT WITH ME?!&27/₱!&@2&’sisjiajska

@/lulu-nana17• 1 year ago ╰ it’s either they are sharing a hotel room… or I am crazy…

@/sebongrighthere • 1 year ago ╰ HANNIE FEEDING JIYEONIE THEN WIPING HER LIPS BEFORE PROCEEDING TO LICK HIS THUMB 🥵

@/missbitchhhh • 1 year ago ╰ “Always gets her way.” AS IF YOU WEREN’T GONNA AGREE ON THE GET GO, YOON JEONGHAN?!!

@/shadowmyshadow• 1 year ago ╰ HANDS DOWN THE BEST FASHION WEEK LOOKS FROM JEONGNA 💞😌

@/angel7266 • 1 year ago ╰ 8:30 JEONGHAN SMIRKING WHEN THE WOMAN JOKINGLY TOLD LUNA “Not on that finger yet.” WHEN SHE WAS ABOUT TO PLACE THE RING ON HER LEFT!! RING!!! FINGER!!!!

@/hannnieeeee7251 • 1 year ago ╰ the FRED CEO and other associates lowkey gushing at Luna and giving her heart eyes while her watermark was busy taking pictures of her on HIS phone 🤪

@/user763816262 • 1 year ago ╰ Han commentating while Jiyeonie was shopping 😂

@/ashonashonash_ • 1 year ago ╰ 9:33 “This is what it’s like shopping with our Jiyeonie. She’s currently pretending she’s deciding between two colors, but we all know she’s going to get both.” YOON JEONGHAN THE MENACE 😂😂😂

@/jijijiyeonienie • 1 year ago ╰ Jeonghan referring to Jiyeon as OUR Jiyeonie 🥹

@/kpopfan17 • 1 year ago ╰ 9:45 IPad kid Hoshi with his filthy rich parents ☺️

@/belleeeee_ • 1 year ago ╰ Luna calling Hoshi “Shi-shi” GOODBYE 🥹 she was scolding her and everything… JeongNa parents!!!

@/diamondlifeu • 10 months ago ╰ JIYEONIE WADDLING OVER TO HUG HANNIE WHEN HE WAS COLD 🥹

@/gyuminggooo • 10 months ago ╰ “Who’s going to kick us out? I’ll tell them it’s for love. No one argues with love.” WTF YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOON JEONGHAN?!!/₱!/&/₱7/!/8/

@/dailynanana • 9 months ago ╰ “Anyhing for you.” TAKE ME TO DISNEYLAND TOO JEONGHAN?!!!

@/chuuuuchhuu17 • 9 months ago ╰ I AM LIVING FOR THIS VLOG!

@/lalunanova • 7 months ago ╰ Let’s be honest. JeongNa vlogs are the best 🤭

@/17-carat • 5 months ago ╰ 10:55 they look at each other as if they are really in love 🥹 guys! the JeongNa theories might be true!!!

@/myg145 • 1 month ago ╰ IT WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF US, IM AFRAID!! THEY WERE SO OBVIOUSLY DATING AND NEVER HID ANYTHING… THEY WERE HIDING THEIR RELATIONSHIP IN PLAIN SIGHT 🥹❤️‍🩹

@/bjy_lover • 1 week ago ╰ rewatching this again now knowing that these two have been dating for five years and are engaged for months now. my JeongNa heart is so full 🩷🥹

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: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡ - lunaఌ

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❨ football masterlist ❩

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝐅𝟏 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒

𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍

𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈

𝐓𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐅

𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐈 𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐃𝐀

𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒

Me: I’m not going to get attached to ANYONE cause it’s GoT.

Also me: *gets overly attached to Luke*

Me during the finale: