Okay so idk, if Rumi is a possessive type, but i just got the idea...so?
Enjoy i guess.
Possessive, much?
Maybe just a little.
Ever since you started dating Rumi, your world had subtly shifted.
Over time, you'd grown close to her friends—Zoey and Mira—who felt like sisters, bursting with energy, warmth, and a luminous spirit that drew you in.
Zoey’s laughter was contagious, bubbling over with joy, while Mira’s gentle smile could brighten even the dullest days, radiating kindness like soft sunlight.
They were all part of Huntrix, the dazzling K-pop band that shimmered with charisma and electric energy, captivating audiences wherever they performed.
Rumi, the confident and magnetic leader, naturally commanded the spotlight, her presence impossible to ignore.
Yet, behind her fierce gaze, a flicker of possessiveness sometimes flickered—especially when other women dared to approach you.
You were laid-back and approachable—calm, handsome, and effortlessly charming.
Your tall frame and easy smile made you someone women couldn’t help but notice, their eyes lingering a little longer than they should.
But despite the attention, your heart was entirely Rumi’s.
No matter where you were—whether out on the town or backstage—you could feel her presence.
She was always nearby, her arm slipping around your waist or her hand resting softly on your back, a silent reminder to anyone watching:
You belonged to her.
Her eyes would narrow just slightly whenever another woman drew near, a quiet possessiveness flickering like a hidden ember.
An unspoken jealousy ignited within her gaze, a gentle fire that she tried to conceal but couldn’t fully hide.
Yet her love was fierce, her devotion unwavering—an unbreakable bond that tethered her to you.
Today, Rumi, Zoey, and Mira were on stage, their voices soaring as the crowd erupted in cheers. You sat in the front row, VIP passes clutched in your hand.
The show was electric, everything flowing smoothly—until a woman in the VIP section started to flirt with you.
You gently tried to steer her away, politely but firmly asking her to back off.
But she wasn’t listening.
Suddenly, Rumi’s sharp eyes caught sight of the interaction.
Her expression hardened, and without hesitation, she grabbed the microphone, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
“Hey!” she called out, commanding attention.
Her gaze locked onto the woman.
“Get your hands off my man!”
The crowd hushed for a moment, tension thick in the air as Rumi’s words hung there—fiery, protective, and unwavering.