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ruewritesoccasionally · 2 days ago

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Running Home | Aaron Pierre

pairings: aaron pierre x black reader

about: Aaron’s hectic work schedule has strained his relationship with YN, pushing their bond to the brink. After a close encounter sparks jealousy, anger, and confusion, Aaron is consumed by guilt. In the midst of it all, they seek solace—but is love enough to repair what’s been broken?

warnings: angst, jealousy, heartbreak, emotional conflict, guilt, relationship strain, self-doubt, miscommunication, intense emotions, confrontation, love and reconciliation. (changing POVs between aaron and reader throughout)

author's note: my original idea for this was nowhere near this long, very little angst and plenty of smut but i couldn't stop typing and i kinda like where the story went. definitely different from my usual stuff but a good different, i hope ?

word count: 5.7k ************************************************************************

She stood in the doorway of their bedroom, staring at the space beside the bed that used to feel warm and alive with him. Now it was cold—empty. The spot where he should’ve been, the place where they used to find comfort in each other, felt like a distant memory. She let out a quiet sigh, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric of the pillow he should have been resting on.

Sure, she was happy that Aaron was finally getting the recognition he deserved. She knew better than anyone how hard he worked, how relentless his dedication was. She had seen it all—the long hours, the sweat, the sacrifices. This wasn’t just any man she loved. This was Aaron. The love of her life. Her childhood sweetheart. Her future husband. The father of her children. And yet, in spite of it all, the life she had once dreamed of with him felt more out of reach than ever before.

He wasn’t completely absent, of course. She would get the occasional FaceTime call when his schedule allowed it, or a text when he found a moment to spare. Sometimes, he’d send her a bouquet to make up for missing an arranged call. But none of that was enough. She needed more than a screen to look at him, more than a few hurried words exchanged between his busy days. She needed him here, with her, in the same space, to feel his presence beside her again.

The silence of their home echoed louder than it ever had before. She missed him more than she cared to admit. She missed the way his laugh filled the room; the way his touch grounded her. The warmth of his skin, the way he held her close as if nothing in the world could pull him away. That was the version of him she craved—the one who wasn't lost in a whirlwind of meetings and press tours, the one who remembered how to make time for them.

And now, as she stood there, facing the emptiness once more, she realized it wasn’t just about the physical absence. It was the emotional distance that hurt more. He was out there, conquering the world, but she was here—alone, waiting for the man she loved to come home.

The power of love was indeed frightening, something Y/N had always known but never fully understood until now. This season of her life had thrown her into new territory, teaching her things she never thought she'd have to confront. She tried to brush it off at first, telling herself it wasn’t that deep—just a phase. But the more she sat with the thought, the more she realized it wasn’t something that could be ignored – the growing tension between them, his absence his busy schedule and her silent yearning. Their life together couldn’t be swept under the carpet, not for long. No matter how much dust they let settle over the cracks, something had to give.

“Something has to give,” she murmured softly to herself, her heart heavy with the weight of those words. She wasn’t sure what it was, or how it would unfold, but she knew one thing for sure: something had to change.

************************************************************************

“No. I refuse to sound like this, I refuse to look like this,” she whispered to herself, standing in front of the mirror, eyes meeting her own reflection with a resolute gaze. “I love my man, and I am proud of his accomplishments, but I will not mope and whine. I am not sad or angry or even bitter. I just miss my man, and that’s not unreasonable. But what is unreasonable, is staying in this house, thinking about it, and expecting it to change in an instant. It’s not who I am, have been, or will be. Self-care starts now.”

Her thoughts rang with clarity, like the first breath of fresh air after being suffocated. She wasn’t going to let herself drown in loneliness. She was going to reclaim her power, and she was going to do it the only way she knew how—by looking after herself.

With renewed purpose, she grabbed her gym bag, deciding that a Pilates session would be the first step toward grounding herself again. The studio was quiet, the soft thrum of music and steady breaths filling the air as she worked through each stretch and movement, pushing her body to feel alive and in control. It wasn’t about competition; it wasn’t about impressing anyone—it was about her.

After the session, she was packing up, gathering her water bottle when she noticed the guy who’d been a few spots down from her. He had just finished setting up his phone and was filming a piece of his workout for his social media page. He looked up at her, gave a friendly smile, and then—seemingly hesitant—approached her.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," he said, offering a warm smile. "I’m filming my workout routine for my TikTok, and I was originally thinking of cropping you out, but you’ve got a good flow going. I wanted to ask if you'd be cool with being in the background for a second. I’ll make sure it’s all about the technique and not about you, promise.”

YN looked at him, intrigued. She wasn’t usually one to be filmed, but his demeanour was easy-going, and the thought of seeing herself in action on video made her smile. "Sure, no problem," she replied, stepping forward as he adjusted his phone. "I’m just finishing up my session, so feel free to catch me stretching if you want."

He grinned, clearly pleased with her willingness. "Appreciate it, thanks. Actually, if you're cool with it, I’d love to film a few post-session stretches of you. Just some stuff that really helps with flexibility, you know?"

YN gave a nod, feeling more at ease now, and moved through a few of her favourite stretches. She’d always been comfortable in her body, and today, with her focus on herself and no pressure, it felt even more liberating. As the camera clicked, the guy gave a few encouraging words. She kept her posture steady, breathing deeply and taking it all in.

Once the last stretch was filmed, the guy stopped the camera and gave her a thumbs-up. "Thanks for the content feature, you were great."

YN smiled, adjusting her water bottle. "No worries, glad I could help."

“Do you mind if I tag you in the video once I post it later? I’ll send it your way when it’s up, and I’ll tag you in the caption.”

She thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Sure, why not?"

After exchanging social media handles, the guy introduced himself as a personal trainer who regularly posted fitness content. He promised to send her the link once he had everything edited and ready to go. "It’s all about sharing good vibes and helping people get better, you know?" he said with a smile before he packed up his things and headed out of the gym.

YN felt an unexpected spark of positivity, and the small interaction, though brief, reminded her that she could still engage with the world, have fun, and be her own person—even without Aaron always being there. She wasn’t sure if that was the motivation she needed, but it was a start.

Next stop: the massage parlour, where the soothing touch of the therapist’s hands seemed to wash away the tension in her muscles, but it also helped release the weight that had been heavy on her heart. She closed her eyes, letting herself drift, imagining that each stroke of oil and pressure point was bringing her closer to the woman she was trying to reclaim—the one who didn’t wait around for things to change, but made changes for herself.

Afterwards, she treated herself to a visit to the nail salon. She didn’t need much—just a simple refresh to feel a little more polished, a little more put together. As she sat in the chair, she gazed at her hands, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the technician worked her magic. The small things were always enough to remind her that she was worthy of taking up space, of indulging in moments that made her feel good.

Finally, she treated herself to a fresh hairdo. The perm rod set was a game changer—her curls bouncy, defined, full of life. It wasn’t just the hair that felt good; it was the boost it gave her spirit. Her face felt lighter, youthful, her eyes brighter. The woman looking back at her from the mirror was a glimpse of the happier, more vibrant version of herself she’d been striving to be. A version who didn’t sit around waiting for Aaron to come home to feel complete.

As she stepped out of the salon, hair freshly done, nails polished, skin glowing, and a sense of calm in her chest, she couldn’t help but smile at the reflection in the glass door of the salon. She wasn’t the same person who had stood in that bedroom, empty and waiting. She was becoming someone new—someone who could hold her own, who didn’t need to feel like she was waiting for Aaron to come home to feel complete.

No, she wasn’t done yet. But this was a start. And for now, it was enough.

************************************************************************

YN arrived back home, the weight of the world lifting from her shoulders with each step. She took a moment to breathe deeply as she walked into her bedroom. Her sanctuary. It was time to settle into her evening.

She wrapped her freshly styled curls in a silk scarf, knowing that she’d need a long, relaxing shower to finish what had already been a restorative day. She laid out her favourite robe, soft and warm, alongside matching lingerie she’d been saving for a moment just like this. A little treat for herself.

Her lotions, body oils, and scented candles were carefully placed on the vanity, ready to immerse her in an atmosphere that screamed tranquillity. With a click, the lights dimmed, casting a gentle glow across the room, and the candles flickered invitingly in the silence. The mood was perfect, set just the way she liked it.

She filled a glass with wine, setting it on the side of the tub, just within reach. This evening was for her—nothing, and she meant nothing, could ruin it. Not tonight.

She connected her phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom, sinking into the soft hum of her favourite playlist. The water was the perfect temperature when she stepped under the spray. She let the heat cascade over her, each drop easing the tension in her body and mind. She stood there for a moment, eyes closed, inhaling the calming scents of her body wash as it enveloped her in comfort.

The shower was short but thorough, just long enough to rinse away the remnants of the day, to cleanse not only her skin but her spirit. She emerged feeling refreshed, wrapped in a plush towel, and ready to complete her routine.

After drying off, she slipped into the robe, took a deep breath, and began massaging the body oils and lotions into her skin, taking her time, not rushing. She was indulging in the sensation of self-love and care, feeling more like herself with every stroke of lotion, every touch of oil. She felt beautiful, confident, and... whole.

Once her skin was silky smooth and glowing, she made her way back to the vanity, where her glass of wine awaited. She picked it up and held it in her hand, the rim nearing her lips when, to her surprise, her phone buzzed on the counter.

She froze. The screen lit up—Aaron’s name flashed across it.

She sighed, feeling the tightness in her chest. It had been hours since they'd spoken. They had barely exchanged a word that day, and the mood in his text messages had been distant, curt even. She pressed the answer button, raising the glass to her lips, but she hadn’t even taken a sip before he spoke, his tone off from the very beginning.

************************************************************************

Aaron had been running around all day, caught up in the madness of his press tour. His mind was racing as he made his way through interviews, photoshoots, and calls, but somewhere deep inside, a gnawing feeling was growing. He hadn’t been present for YN in a while—something he knew, but had convinced himself wasn’t a big deal. It was just the nature of his life now, right? But even as he justified it, that sinking feeling remained.

He was sitting in his hotel room when he finally got a break. He pulled out his phone, scrolling aimlessly through his feed. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner. He hadn’t planned to watch the video at first. But then something caught his eye—the familiar figure in the background. He froze.

His heart skipped a beat when he recognized YN, her hair perfectly styled, the kind of glowing confidence she only had when she took the time for herself. And then he saw it—her lingerie, unmistakable, just as he’d bought for her on their last trip. It was the same set he’d complimented her on, the one he knew she liked, but there it was, on her, in someone else’s video. The man filming—he had his own following. The whole thing felt off, too casual, too intimate.

The more he looked, the more the little pieces began to add up in his head, and the more his anxiety took over. Why had she let herself be filmed like that? Who was this guy? His mind raced, thoughts spiralling into territory he’d never intended to go. He couldn’t help it—he was irate. Jealousy had a hold of him. Before he knew it, he had stepped outside his room, his hands clenched at his sides, breathing in the cool air like it could somehow clear his head.

He could have ignored it. Could have brushed it off. But instead, his fingers trembled as he dialled her number. The tension in his chest only grew, his heart pounding as he waited for her to pick up. Why was he feeling like this? He knew he wasn’t around enough, knew he was neglecting her in more ways than one. But still… this?

The phone rang, and when she picked up, her voice sounded calm, collected, almost too calm. Her indifference made it worse. She hadn’t even said hi yet.

“YN.”

************************************************************************

The way he said her name made something in her stomach churn. His voice held an edge. She took a slow breath, steadying herself. “Hey,” she replied, trying to sound casual, though the unease gnawed at her.

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, his words sharp and demanding.

************************************************************************

His voice was rough, low. He couldn’t hold back. His mind was a mess, thoughts disjointed and irrational, and he just had to ask the question, to get some sort of clarity, even if it meant sounding crazy.

Silence. He waited for her to speak, but it didn’t come. He could hear her breathing softly on the other end of the line, and it only made him more frustrated.

“Who is he?” The words tumbled out without thinking. He didn’t even care if they were right or wrong at that point. His thoughts were running too fast. The guy on the video, the way YN looked, the way her hair was done just for someone else—it all made sense to him, and he needed answers now.

He could feel the silence thickening on her end, the weight of his question hanging between them. And then—finally—he heard her voice again, casual, as if she couldn’t believe he was even asking. His stomach twisted at the indifference in her tone.

************************************************************************

The words hit her like a punch to the chest. She almost dropped the wine glass in her shock. She hadn’t even realized that Aaron had seen the video yet. It had been a simple interaction at the gym, nothing that even remotely warranted his reaction. But there it was—his jealousy building, a storm brewing behind his words.

Her stomach twisted as she tried to calm herself. This was what they were doing? She could feel the fire rising in his voice, but she wasn’t about to entertain the absurdity of it.

"Aaron..." she started, her voice measured, though it was a struggle to keep it even. She took a deep breath. "What are you even talking about?"

He was fuming now, she could tell from the way he inhaled sharply, like he was trying to control something boiling over inside him. He didn’t answer her question directly. Instead, he let out a frustrated breath, clearly struggling with something he couldn’t put into words.

YN clenched the wine glass a little tighter, her jaw tightening. This wasn’t about the video. Not really. It was about the space between them, the distance he’d created. The fact that he hadn’t been there—not the way he should have been.

************************************************************************

He paused, feeling his pulse quicken as his mind spiralled. What did this mean? His thoughts raced—was she out here doing things I didn’t know about? He hated himself for even thinking it. He knew better. He knew she wasn’t like that. But still, his mind couldn’t stop itself. It was the first thing on his mind. The first thing he fixated on, despite how irrational it sounded. I should’ve been there for her.

He could feel the weight of his own neglect, the guilt heavy on his chest. He’d been pulled in so many directions—his career, the press, the endless tour—and he told himself it was for the greater good, that it was all part of the plan to build a life for them. A stable future together. That was his justification. If some time away meant he could offer her the life they’d always dreamed of, then it was a sacrifice he’d have to make. For her.

But now? Now everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

His eyes burned as his anger shifted from a place of resentment to one of self-loathing. It wasn’t even about the guy. Not really. It was everything else—the distance between them, the silence he’d allowed to stretch on, the way he couldn’t seem to bridge the gap. It was the hollow realization that he hadn’t been enough for her, not the way she needed him. And now, all of it—the effort, the time away, the fame he’d worked so hard for—seemed empty.

I hate this, he thought, the frustration building. He hated that he had to let himself be swallowed by it all—he hated that he let it go this far. But the video... the sight of her, looking so perfect, so together, like she didn’t need him to complete the picture anymore... It hit him harder than anything else. The image of her, dolled up, glowing with that confidence that he used to be the one to see in person, to witness up close. He used to be the one who was there to hold her when she came back from self-care days like that, to marvel at how lucky he was to have her. Now, that privilege was fading.

He could already feel the guilt eating at him for even letting the jealousy creep in. To tarnish her name like that, he scolded himself. What kind of man was he becoming? This wasn’t her fault. She had every right to look beautiful, to feel beautiful, to be admired by others. She wasn’t the problem. I am. He could have been the one there for her, could have prioritized her above the endless demands of the industry. He should have been there. But he wasn’t.

She was silent on the other end of the line, and he knew the ball was in her court now. She’s disappointed, he thought. And that was worse than anything else. I’ve let her down. And now I’m going to lose her for good. He hadn’t meant for it to go like this—hadn’t meant to let the space between them stretch to the point where she could look so flawless without him even being there to see it firsthand.

His stomach turned as he waited for her to respond. He wanted her to say something, anything that could make him feel like this wasn’t all falling apart. But as the silence stretched, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it already had. He wanted so badly to be the man she deserved, the one who noticed her beauty every day, who put her first, who wasn’t too lost in his own world to care about hers.

But now, as her voice finally broke the quiet, he was almost afraid of what she might say. He already knew what he deserved to hear. And he wasn’t sure he could take it.

************************************************************************

Aaron’s words hung in the air, thick with irrationality and self-doubt, but YN didn’t flinch. She didn’t rise to it. The tension between them had been brewing for days, weeks even, and this phone call was just a catalyst. She’d had enough of the back-and-forth, the unspoken frustration.

“Aaron,” she said, her tone steady, her voice clear. “This is the first time I have seen your face and spoken to you today, and this is the energy you want to come on with? Really?”

She could feel the anger building within him, could almost hear the defense rising in his throat, but she wasn’t interested in that right now. She was tired—tired of the distance, the silence, the passive aggression. She wasn’t going to sit here and play into his insecurities.

“If you want to talk…” she continued, her words firm but measured, “be a man. Come back to this home and speak to me properly.”

Without waiting for a response, YN ended the call, her finger tapping the screen decisively. The silence returned, and with it, the soft hum of the music in the background. She raised her glass of wine to her lips, the cool glass meeting her fingertips as she took a slow, deliberate sip. The weight of the moment settled over her as she simply… relaxed. She wasn’t going to chase him down. It was above her now.

She would wait.

Let him come to her when he was ready to talk like the man, she knew he could be.

************************************************************************

Aaron’s gaze lingered on the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. YN’s calm but resolute demeanour stirred a conflicting mix of emotions within him. It was a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling in his mind, a reminder of the peace they once shared. Her voice had been steady, unwavering, and despite the tension, it was a reminder of the respect they’d always had for each other. In the heat of it all, he felt a flicker of warmth—because he knew, despite everything, they had never raised their voices at each other. But then came the sting of her final words: “Be a man.”

It struck him hard, a reminder he desperately needed. She was right. He hadn’t been the man she needed. He had failed her, lost in the whirlwind of his own success, and now the reality of it all crashed over him. The guilt was suffocating. He had to fix this. He had to make things right before he lost the one thing that truly mattered.

As the call ended, the sound of the line cutting through the air seemed to snap him from his thoughts. Without wasting another moment, he stood, packed his things in a blur of urgency, and made the decision: the flight had to be soon. He didn’t bother notifying his team. The consequences could wait. Some things were too important to delay.

He rushed to the airport, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. A tight knot formed in his chest as he boarded the flight. The seatbelt sign blinked on, and the flight attendants' voices were lost in a distant hum, drowned out by the turbulent thoughts racing through his mind. Each jolt of turbulence mirrored the storm within him, challenging the calm that the flight attendant’s voice tried to impose.

When the plane finally landed, he didn’t waste time. A cab took him swiftly towards the woman he needed to reclaim—YN, the woman who still felt like home. And with every mile closer, his resolve strengthened. He would make things right. This time, he wouldn’t wait any longer.

************************************************************************

YN lay back on the bed, the wine in her hand and the soft hum of the music surrounding her. The evening had settled into a calm, peaceful rhythm, and for the first time in a long while, her mind was quiet. She didn't think about the call, didn't dwell on the tension that had bubbled up between them. What would be, would be. The words lingered in her mind, their weight like a steady pulse beneath her calm exterior. She hadn’t given up on him, but she also wasn't going to hold on any longer than what served her. The push and pull had worn her down, and the wheels of their relationship felt close to falling off—but still, her mind remained clear. Acceptance, she thought, was a beautiful thing. There was no need for stress. Whatever came next would find its place.

The quiet of the moment was interrupted by the sound of the door latch clicking. YN’s eyes shot open, a flicker of panic spreading through her chest as she checked the time. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed, how long it had taken for him to get here. She heard her name, his voice breaking through the silence, and the heat rushed to her cheeks. Suddenly, her voice felt trapped, as if the words were lodged in her throat.

He’s here. He’s really here.

Her thoughts raced, but she didn't speak any louder. She simply let out a soft, meek “In here,” trusting he would follow the sound of her voice into the bedroom. For a moment, the house seemed to hold its breath. The space between them stretched, filled with the anticipation of what would come next. There was a rustling sound from the other side of the house—his movement through the quiet halls—before heavy footsteps echoed through the walls. All she could do now was sit still, her heart beating faster with every step that brought him closer. And wait.

************************************************************************

Aaron leans back against the doorframe, the familiar weight of his frustration creeping up his spine as he watches you from across the room. His gaze is possessive, yet patient, as if he's been holding his breath, waiting for you to make the first move. He knows this dance all too well.

There are good and bad ways to do anything. And right now, he's walking the line between them. He’s the kind of man who wants it all, but he also knows better than to take it without giving you space to breathe. You're free, and he knows you need to feel that. But God, the thought of you with someone else—just the idea—sends a sharp sting through him. He refuses to acknowledge the tightening in his chest as he tells himself he’s being unreasonable.

But what if you're drifting? What if, somewhere between his neglect and your silence, you’ve already started to look elsewhere for that attention, that touch?

He clenches his jaw, the thought rattling around in his head like a damn bell. His love for you isn't a request, it's a demand. He’ll give you space, but only so much. He’ll let you go, if that’s what you want, but he’s the type of man who doesn’t back down when he knows what’s right. And you are what's right for him. If you need to test the waters, fine, but there's a line—one he’s drawing now.

“I give myself to you,” he whispers to himself, his voice low and firm. “I expect the same in return. This isn’t a one-way street.”

He feels the heat rise in his chest as the image of you and that guy at the gym flashes in his mind again. His fingers twitch as he thinks of how quickly he could erase that image from his mind. He’s not a jealous man by nature, but when it comes to you, that’s different. You're his. And if you’re going to be with him, then you belong to him—body and soul.

He’s not naïve. He knows you have your own life, your own choices. But his love, his protection—those aren’t things he offers lightly. “If we get this right,” he murmurs to himself, “if we love one another with everything that we have… then we go for it. All in. No turning back.”

He swallows hard, the thought of loving you completely, without reservation, both excites and terrifies him. But he’s done holding back. The next time he sees you, he’s not letting you slip away. Not again.

And then, as he moves toward the door, the words he’d held back all this time—those words he should have said, needed to say—come to him.

“YN…” He stops for a moment, his voice wavering with raw sincerity. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there for you. I’ve been selfish, caught up in everything else, thinking it would be enough for us, but I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there the way you needed me to be. I should have put us first.”

He steps forward, his chest tightening with the weight of his regret. “I’m not proud of the way I’ve treated you, of the way I let you slip away while I chased things that, in the end, don’t matter as much as you do. I never meant to hurt you, YN. I never meant to make you feel like you were alone in this. You’ve always been my everything, and I failed you. I’ve taken you for granted, and I hate myself for it.”

The words hang in the air, raw and unrefined, but they are his truth. His voice breaks as he continues, “I need you to know that I love you, with everything I have. And I’m not running anymore. If you’ll have me, I’ll fight for us—for the love we have, for the life we’ve always wanted. I’ll make it right. But I need you. I need us. Please, don’t give up on me.”

As he finishes, he stands there, feeling vulnerable, exposed—like a man who’s finally showing up, but unsure of whether he’ll be enough. The silence is deafening, but he doesn’t look away. He’s finally ready to fight for what’s his, for what he needs. For you.

************************************************************************

YN’s heart pounds in her chest as each of Aaron’s words slices through the quiet air, each step he takes forward tugging at the frays of the binds around her, forcing them to mend themselves. She feels the familiar magnetic pull, stronger now, deepening as he speaks. It’s as if the very core of her is being reeled back toward him, drawn in by the sincerity in his voice, the vulnerability that he rarely let’s slip. The same heat she felt when she first heard him call her name in the house now swells again, but this time, it’s joined by the sting of tears threatening to spill.

The man before her, the one she thought she’d lost, is the same man she has always needed and wanted. She can feel the weight of every moment that has brought them here, the unspoken words, the silence. She could never say no to him, not when he’s standing here, laying himself bare before her. But still, there’s a hesitation in her heart. She knows that as much as she wants to give in to the pull of his presence, things won’t be okay straight away. Not yet. The damage isn’t irreparable, but it’s still there, lingering between them like a shadow.

Her heart swells with love for him, with forgiveness that’s as much for herself as it is for him. The release of the pain she’s been carrying is almost overwhelming, and she feels a quiet gratitude wash over her, as though a burden has been lifted. There’s so much unsaid, but somehow, in the space between them, everything is understood. She wants him—wants to move forward, wants to heal—but she needs to make him see that it will take time. There’s so much they have to rebuild.

Her words fail her as the weight of her emotions rises. She opens her mouth to speak but finds it hard to put her thoughts into any kind of order. Her eyes, though, say the rest. They speak everything she can’t quite find the words for: I forgive you; I need you, I’m scared but I want this too. The tears in her eyes blur her vision, but in that moment, they become the truest thing she’s ever known.

And then, without thinking, without another moment of hesitation, she runs into his embrace. Her body moves instinctively, driven by the need to be close to him, to feel his arms around her. The smell of his skin, familiar and comforting, envelops her like a shield. She sinks into him, her body cradled by his larger frame, his hands locking around her in an unbreakable, protective clasp. It’s a promise, even without words—a promise that she’s not alone, that they are in this together.

His lips press softly to her forehead, the kiss tender and full of quiet assurances. It’s a kiss that carries with it everything that’s been unsaid, everything they both need. Things aren’t fixed, not yet, but the warmth of his embrace, the steadiness of his touch, tells her that they will be better. It may take time, but they’ll heal. Together.

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comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x reader #aaron pierre x black!reader #ruewrites #mochaxmars writes

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blvenote · 3 days ago

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the universe has granted me good karma thru this update \O/ and #shithitsthefan AHHHJHHHHHHSJFJDJJFKFFJKFKFFKFKF:

• prefacing this reblog/review with the fact that i was actually awake when this dropped and i got the email notification that u tagged me akcnkdnf AND I LITERALLY READ THE ENTIRE CHAPTER IN THE EMAIL 😭💀 like i was sucked in 😭😭 so this is me, coming back day two, cracking my knuckles, lets do this

• even the summary for this chapter hurts my soul "nothing short of perfect" yes sure honey 😭 we'll see abt that

• DAISIES MEANING NEW BEGINNINGS U CAN DO IT JEONGHAN I KNOW U CAN (he, in fact, could not, and neither could yn)

• we r just going full on w the flowers in this beginning huh kdnfkdnfnf tapestry of flowers on mama's skirt okay... seokmin better be handing yn a bundle of purple hyacinths !! but to be a little more serious TT im honestly like kind of giddy w yns mama bc i just know she was getting nervous and concerned for her daughter, and im petty enough to be like SECOND MALE LEAD IS MAKING THE FIRST MOVE WHOOPDIE DO (okay i lied, i was not serious)

• "a carefully crafted arrangment" like the literal arrangment that yn and jeonghan agreed to AND the arrangments of flowers jeonghan brought i— also the little actions/details you've added in truly add to the vibe that this was rehearsed!! the subtle nods and glances, the understanding, the careful steadiness of yns demeanor — truly not how a lady feels when she's abt to be engaged

• look, mama xu is just excited to start doing the wedding planning and festivities, me too !!

• UGH what a pretty passage (´Д⊂ヽ like even tho this is rehearsed/pre-planned, they're still both wielding similar heartbreaks, and out of everything, he's still trying to make the best of it and see her AS YK,, HIS FUTURE WIFE

• sorry had to just yell again: AUTUMN LEAVES U MEAN ITS FALL??? /THE/ FALL??? AND NEXT IS WINTER... and knowing exactly what i know... man.. i hate (love) seasons as symbols

• oh :'))) and another cig moment w the swing but btwn the sibs!!!

• wow a man who isn't oblivious? ig we win these xu minghao, but i think it's at least conaiderate that he's still asking her not only after the fact but even during the moment (we will revisit this idea later 🤡)

• thats real unfair if u dont think yn or jeonghan will never love each other 😭😭 like at some point, YN AND MINGHAO IM TALKING TO BOTH OF U, feelings will develop; whether its platonic love or romantic love, the seeds have been sown. like yn and jeonghan both have common ground and mutual respect, they dont outwardly hate each other for coveting another; they have far more in common than everyone else would like to admit

• OH... the last sequence of the scene i might cry a little 😭😭 minghao urging w that ferocity and he's slightly defensive that she can stay if she wanted and he would always take care of her, but he forgets he cannot take care of her forever; and just the quiet, solemn acceptance that settles btwn them... the siblings will finally be separated... someone save me (U HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAO'S QUIET "so u r to be married?" DOES TO ME 😭😭😭😭 like he's kind of losing his sister rn)

• SETTLING OVER U LIKE A THICK VEIL??? A WEDDING VEIL??? YET ANOTHER RESTRAINT???

�� BUT HES A SCOUNDREL???? AYE AVAST YE LEE SEOKMIN U HAVE NO RIGHT, AS THE LADY SAYS

• jeonghan.... 😭😭😭 "as though he has been waiting patiently his entire life" someone resuscitate me 😭 if i only had this section, i might think he actually loved her goddamn it (a girl can dream.....)

• the pearl ring, i think, fits so perfectly w yns dress too, like pearls go so well w the aesthetic of the sea/ocean. and def called it that hannie had the ring made for lady choi to wear but 😭 yk,,, life happens, love is lost 😭

• LOOK, WE MATCH 😭😭😭😭😭 OH.....

• just connecting details but a turquoise dress like the sea, a pearl fit for a treasure at the bottom of the ocean, the anchor that keeps you from drifting,,, but your heart sinks nonetheless

• lady choi kinda sus like why is that smile slow and deliberate... home girl, back away from my second lead

• oh yn girlfriend 😭😭😭 U CAN JUST SKFNDKNFKF jeonghan wants to let go of the past and wants to remain steady in this present endeavor, but ur encouragement is far more give than u should be allowing in this situation skfndkfn like i get it, really, this is a whole different arrangement, BUT YN STAND UP

• I NEEDED YN TO SAY "i let him leave" RATHER THAN SHE JUST SAW HIM LEAVE LIKE I'D LOOOVE TO SEE SEOKS REACTION TO THAT

• frustration spilling over like the tide *furiously adds this to the list*

• the intensity of this next scene is crazy but i had to do a pause to say WHAT DO U MEAN THE GRAVE ERROR THAT YN HAS MADE??? LEE SEOKMIN SLOW TF DOWN

• omg the literal irony my head is in my hands 😭😭😭 THE UTTER IRONY THAT HE CALLS HER DEAR FRIEND WHEN SHE'S LITERALLY TALKING ABT HIM BEING THE MAN SHE'S IN LOVE WITH !!! i do have to say that i had a lot of satisfaction in his reaction when she admitted that she knew hannie was in love w a married woman LOL and i am such a sucker for super intense arguments/back n forths like this one like OOOOO i love the tension and the heat sm

• living for minghaos entrance, holding my breath

• OKOK BUT minghaos protective gaze like a CHAIN around yns neck, and seokmins stare as both apologetic AND RESTRAINING??? a woman's virtue is in restraint 😭😭😭😭😭

• my thoughts exactly WHAT????? HOW DARE HE HOW DARE THEY I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY, BUT FIRST, we need to revisit a prev comment abt how minghao was checking in w yn and allowing her a say in her own future: WHERE DID ALL THAT GO HUH????? like i understand that circumstances r different, but even i felt betrayed, and its like,, BOY aint nobody gonna know, THIS IS THE ARRANGEMENT; SECOND, the way seokmin says "fine, i'll marry her" not even speaking to her directly and w that ATTITUDE?? okay . we didn't want u anyway . like i felt that emotional clap of thunder like yn did i am BUZZING

• oh, so minghao thinks he's doing u a favor... eugh..... the pros and cons i suppose for a protective brother (i praised him for not being oblivious earlier, but im taking it all back!)

• i feel as empty and lost as yn rn ngl like maaaan i knew this was gonna happen but im still like,,, 😭😭 NOOOOOO 😭😭 yns back to crippling depression 💔

loved the chapter as always!! sorry there's a lot more reactions and less analysis/commentary this time around, it just got really intense and my brain is still processing that jeonghan engagement era didnt even last a CHAPTER (´Д⊂ヽ cant wait for chapter five, love u!!!

The Somerset Affair

Chapter 4: The Duke Who Loved Me

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.0k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, eventual smut, more to be added a/n: ok i know this is long overdue but ENJOYYYYY // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // part 5 is in the works rn!

summary: your engagement to Lord Yoon Jeonghan will be nothing short of perfect. You will make sure of it.

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the my taglist here!

The morning sun filters through the grand windows of the drawing room, casting warm patches of light onto the plush carpets and fine upholstery. The air is filled with the subtle scent of bergamot from your mother’s tea and the quiet rustle of her lace fan as she sits beside you, pleasantly engaged in conversation. Minghao, reclining with a book in one hand, seems content to observe, his eyes flicking up occasionally, assessing with that quiet, perceptive gaze of his.

A servant enters, announcing with a slight bow, “Lord Yoon, for Miss Xu.”

Jeonghan steps in, exuding a refined elegance, his appearance crisp and perfectly polished. In his hands, he carries two bouquets—an artfully arranged bouquet of roses for your mother and a softer bundle of daisies for you.

“Oh, Lord Yoon!” Your mother’s face lights up with delighted surprise as he presents her with the roses. “Such beautiful flowers! You spoil us, my lord,” she coos, taking them with clear admiration.

Jeonghan turns to you next, extending the daisies with a warm, almost conspiratorial smile. “These, Miss Xu, are for you.” His gaze lingers just a moment longer than it should, his eyes holding a silent promise.

You accept them, feeling your pulse quicken despite your best efforts at composure. “Thank you, my lord. They’re lovely,” you reply, your voice steady yet soft.

The light streams through the drawing room, catching on delicate patterns in the wallpaper, illuminating the intricate tapestry of flowers on your mother’s dress. She sits forward, her face lit with excitement, as if this visit from Jeonghan is a personal victory.

Jeonghan’s bouquet fills the room with a faint scent of wildflowers, light and pleasant, yet somehow starkly out of place in this space where every gesture feels rehearsed. The daisies he offered you lie lightly in your lap, their cheerful brightness a contrast to the steady, almost unfeeling exchange that has just unfolded. His eyes meet yours for a brief, knowing second, and there’s a flicker of mutual understanding beneath the surface, an unspoken acknowledgment of what this marriage truly is—a carefully crafted arrangement, one that neither of you expects to fill with romance.

As Jeonghan addresses Minghao, his voice is calm, almost clinical. “Lord Xu Minghao, I come to you today with the hope of asking for your sister’s hand in marriage.” There is no impassioned plea, no pretense of romantic affection—only a polite tone as he lays out his intentions, as though presenting a proposition in a business deal.

Minghao’s gaze sharpens as he turns to you, his eyebrows raised slightly in silent question. He knows you better than anyone; he knows why Jeonghan’s proposal isn’t shocking, why you don’t hesitate. The room is quiet, and your mother leans forward in her seat, her excitement radiating out in delicate bursts like the sweet scent of her tea, oblivious to the subtleties of the exchange.

Clearing his throat, Minghao shifts in his seat and addresses Jeonghan with his usual calm. “Lord Yoon, I know better than to answer for my sister.”

All eyes turn to you, and the room feels suspended, like the world itself has paused to witness your response. “Yes, my lord,” you say, the words escaping your lips in a careful, measured tone. “I shall.” And there it is—final, as much a confirmation of acceptance as a concession.

Jeonghan’s faint smile returns, polite but distant, as if his mind is already on other matters. He is not the lover you dreamed of, and you are not the woman he once allowed himself to yearn for; you both know this, and perhaps that is why it works so well. The arrangement is neat, efficient, each of you choosing the practical over the sentimental, the future over desire.

Your mother, however, cannot contain her delight. “Oh, this is wonderful! A fine match indeed!” she exclaims, her fan fluttering excitedly in her hand. She glows with pride as if this alliance were a personal triumph, her dreams for you fulfilled without understanding the true weight of the moment.

The silence that follows feels heavy, like an agreement quietly sealed, and as you look down at the daisies in your lap, the cheerful white petals suddenly seem out of place in the drawing room, a reminder of a life that might have been. Jeonghan, still standing beside you, inclines his head just slightly. His glance is fleeting, but there’s something in it—a flicker of empathy, perhaps. Just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by the calm, composed mask that both of you have agreed to wear.

Jeonghan turns to you as he prepares to leave, his gaze softening ever so slightly. For a moment, the polite distance in his eyes fades, replaced by a warmth you hadn’t anticipated. He takes your hand, his fingers cool but steady as he lifts it gently to his lips.

“Until next we meet,” he says, his voice low but warm, carrying a sincerity that feels entirely unfeigned. He brushes his lips softly against your knuckles, the gesture tender enough to feel both comforting and bittersweet. As he looks up, a gentle smile graces his face, one that holds neither expectation nor demand—only a quiet understanding, a rare kindness beneath the formalities.

The touch lingers even after he releases your hand, and in the hush that follows, you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, despite the arrangement you’ve agreed upon, Jeonghan will bring a certain gentleness to the role he has taken on.

As he steps back and bids your family farewell, your mother practically glows, her happiness radiating through the room like sunlight through lace. Jeonghan’s parting glance catches yours, a hint of reassurance in his gaze, as if to say he’ll uphold his part of the pact with grace, that this arrangement—though devoid of romance—will be one rooted in quiet respect.

Minghao finds you beneath the old swing, nestled among the twisting garden vines and the soft crunch of autumn leaves. You hardly hear him approach, lost in thought as you watch smoke curl from the cigarette you’d pilfered from his room yet again. Each puff you take burns slightly in your lungs, though the familiar sting feels oddly soothing tonight.

“Nicked another one, have you?” he teases as he sits down at your feet, stretching his legs out lazily on the grass. Without waiting, he holds his hand out, gesturing for you to pass the cigarette. “If this becomes a habit, I’ll have to report you to Mother. Thievery wasn’t exactly on your lesson plan.”

“Oh, hush,” you mutter, flicking a stray leaf toward him in mock annoyance. But the tension in your body gives you away, your shoulders stiff beneath his watchful gaze.

He watches you closely, his gaze quiet and discerning as he brings the cigarette to his lips. The glow of the ember casts a brief, warm light across his face, highlighting the concern in his expression. Minghao inhales, then exhales a plume of smoke that drifts around the both of you in wisps, curling lazily into the air. The scent mingles with the earthy richness of the garden, settling between you like an unspoken question.

For a moment, there’s only the soft creak of the swing and the distant hum of cicadas, the two of you wrapped in a fragile peace.

“You know,” he says at last, breaking the silence. “It isn’t too late to change your mind. Mother may be overjoyed, but I know you. You would only say yes if…” He trails off, letting the implication hang in the still air.

You scoff, but it’s softer than usual. “What are you implying?”

Minghao studies you, his gaze level and piercing, then asks plainly, “Do you love him?”

You pause, watching the glow of the cigarette dim between your fingers. “I… respect him. And he respects me.”

Minghao’s eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s turning your answer over, searching for the truth beneath it. “But you don’t love him,” he says softly. “Not like you love Seokmin.”

Your breath catches, and you quickly look away, the sting of his words more potent than the cigarette’s burn. The thought of Seokmin’s name hanging in the air between you is almost unbearable. “How long have you known?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“I am your brother, Y/N. I’m not blind, no matter how oblivious some of the company I keep may be.”

The corner of his mouth quirks in a wry smile, but his gaze is tender. You find a slight comfort in it, and for a moment, you feel the urge to tell him everything—to let yourself be held by the simple warmth of his understanding. But you hold back, your jaw set in a familiar, resolute line.

“Does he know?” you ask finally.

“No,” Minghao replies after a moment. “At least, I don’t think so.”

The words settle heavily between you, and the silence stretches, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of the cigarette as Minghao takes another slow drag. He hands it back to you, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange, grounding you. The faint tremor in your hands feels all too telling, but you steady yourself, forcing composure.

“You truly want to marry Yoon Jeonghan?” he asks quietly, almost like a plea. “Even though you’ll never love him?”

“Love isn’t in the cards for me,” you reply, each word measured and calm. “Besides, brother, what else would you have me do?”

His brow knits together, and he leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Stay,” he says, voice thick with urgency. “Stay here, with me and Mother.”

You let out a breath, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “Please, brother. You know that would send our dear mama to an early grave. A loveless marriage is better than none at all.” You draw in a deep breath, the smoky tendrils filling your lungs. “What happens when you can no longer provide for me?”

He bristles, his voice fierce. “I’ll always provide for you.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant,” you say, your voice softening as you look at him. His expression shifts, and he nods, understanding passing between you in the quiet.

A heavy silence falls, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the cigarette as you pass it back and forth, each drag punctuating the night air with a faint, bitter tang. The smoke lingers around you, a hazy veil that cloaks the unsaid words, the hidden fears, the ache of dreams surrendered.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice a mere whisper, carrying the weight of resignation. “So you are to be married.”

You nod, your fingers grazing the cigarette one last time before you extinguish it in the grass, grinding the last ember beneath your thumb. “So I am,” you say, a finality settling over the words as you both gaze into the dark, each lost in the flickering embers of what could have been.

The church’s thick stone walls seem to press in, trapping every sound, every movement, as though the weight of centuries hangs in the air. The fragrance of lilies and incense mingles into something heady, almost suffocating, filling your lungs with every breath. From the stained-glass windows, slanted bands of sunlight cut through the space, spilling ruby, sapphire, and amber hues across the dark wood of the pews. You keep your gaze fixed ahead, forcing yourself to breathe slowly, to project nothing but composure.

Then the cardinal’s voice cuts through the silence.

“I publish the banns of marriage between Lord Yoon Jeonghan, and Miss Xu Y/N. They are to be married in three weeks. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. ”

The words land heavy, echoing through the cathedral and settling over you like a thick veil. For a moment, it feels as though the world has been carved in two, time splintering around that proclamation.

Across the aisle, there’s a sharp intake of breath. Seokmin’s entire frame goes rigid, his back snapping straight as if he’s been struck. He turns to look at you, his movement quick and desperate, and his eyes find yours, wide with shock and something far deeper, something close to despair. His mouth opens, but no words come. You feel his gaze drilling into you, intense and searching, as though he’s willing you to look away—to give him anything but the confirmation of what’s just been read aloud.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, and your throat tightens with the urge to cry out, to take it all back. But you force the tremor down, and at that moment, you feel Minghao’s hand slide over yours, his steady, grounding warmth the only thing keeping you from breaking. His grip is strong, his fingers curling over yours in silent reassurance, and you clutch onto him as though he’s a lifeline.

Across the aisle, Jeonghan meets your gaze, a calm confidence emanating from his gaze, like the unwavering stone of the church itself. He offers a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent affirmation of the pact between you—a pact that is anything but romantic, but unbreakable all the same.

When the service ends, and the congregation rises, their whispers a growing swell of murmurs, Jeonghan strides toward you with that same unruffled grace, his every step measured and unhurried. But before he can reach you, Seokmin is there, his hand outstretched, his face a mask of disbelief.

Jeonghan glances at him, his eyes flicking to you, reading your expression before he steps back, giving the two of you a semblance of privacy.

“Are you marrying Yoon Jeonghan?” Seokmin’s voice is low, tight, his face a mix of anger and pleading. The words come out hoarse, as if he’s forcing them past a stone lodged in his throat.

“Yes, Seokmin,” you reply quietly, your voice controlled but aching. “The cardinal just read the banns.”

He stares, and you see him search your face, looking for any trace of the girl he once knew, perhaps hoping for a flash of hesitation that would betray you. Instead, you lift your chin, steeling yourself against the helplessness etched into his features.

“But he’s a scoundrel!” he insists, his voice thick with desperation.

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, though it feels hollow. “You have much audacity to speak of scoundrels before me, my lord.” You pause, letting the words settle. “Lord Yoon is kind to me, and he has always respected me. His attention has never been out of pity, nor at the behest of another.”

A flicker of pain crosses Seokmin’s face, and he drops his gaze, your words striking a chord that silences him. His fingers flex, grasping at air as though there’s something he wishes he could say, something he wishes he could fix, but the moment has already passed. You turn, letting the silence grow between you, feeling the weight of his unspoken words fall away.

As you make your way to the back of the church, Jeonghan stands waiting, his posture relaxed, as though he has been waiting patiently his entire life. He offers you his arm, the small smile on his lips almost kind, and you accept, feeling his warmth against you as you step together into the sunlight outside.

The murmurs rise from the crowd that’s gathered, their gazes a mixture of awe and curiosity as they watch the newest couple of the season descend the church steps. The sun casts a golden glow over the stone path, illuminating the two of you as you walk together, each step echoing in the stillness. Just as you reach the final stair, Jeonghan glances over at you, his eyes softening as he reaches into his pocket.

Without a word, he holds out a handkerchief, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he passes it to you.

“You’re crying,” he says softly, his voice gentle, his eyes searching yours with something that might almost be tenderness.

The dampness at the corners of your eyes betrays you. You take the handkerchief, feeling the cool linen against your fingertips as you bring it to your face, dabbing away the tears that have slipped past your defenses. A small, appreciative nod is all you manage, and Jeonghan’s hand remains extended, waiting patiently for you to accept the support he offers in silence.

You take his arm once more, and together you walk toward the waiting carriages, leaving behind the whispers, the stares, and the man you love, your steps a steady beat against the uncertainties that lie ahead.

The air is electric with anticipation, and you can feel the weight of every gaze in the room before you even step into the lavish ballroom. The future Viscountess of Hastings, they will say, the supposedly hopeless spinster who somehow captured the heart of one of Mayfair’s most eligible bachelors. Perhaps that's why your mother is a whirlwind of excitement, her chatter endless as she flits around the room, adjusting the last few details of your appearance while your lady's maid fusses with your hair and gown.

Your dress tonight is a ravishing turquoise, its fabric flowing like water around you, hugging your figure before cascading into a graceful skirt that swirls with every step. The neckline is artfully crafted, a delicate off-the-shoulder design that highlights your collarbones and frames your face, drawing attention to the soft curve of your neck. The fabric shimmers in the candlelight, the color reflecting hues of the deep sea, rich and vibrant, evoking the image of sunlit waves. A hint of silver thread weaves through the gown, catching the light as you move, creating an illusion of movement, as though the ocean itself were swirling around you. Your mother’s excited chatter fills the air, but you find yourself lost in your own thoughts, momentarily detached from the flurry of activity.

You catch a glimpse of the ring Jeonghan slid onto your finger during the carriage ride home, its beauty undeniable as it glistens under the soft glow of the lamps in your room. The polished rose gold band curves gently, embracing a single, lustrous pearl at its center. The pearl shines with a soft luminescence, hints of ivory and blush swirling within, exuding a quiet elegance as if it held whispers of its own secrets. It’s exquisite and understated, a piece that commands attention without being ostentatious. Jeonghan had presented it to you with little flourish, his fingers pushing the ring onto your finger as you stared out the window, deep in thought.

“Jeonghan,” you gasped, the words slipping from your lips as the reality of its beauty settled in. “It’s beautiful.”

His lips quirked at that, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth before something deeper flickered in his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, fingers pulling at his too-tight cravat, a hint of discomfort crossing his features. “I had it made some years ago.”

“For—”

“Yes,” he cut you off gently, his tone firm yet soft. “For Lady Choi.”

The weight of those words hung between you, thick and heavy, silencing the room as he gazed out the window, his expression closing off. You chose not to pry, twisting the ring around your finger, feeling the coolness of the pearl against your skin as your thoughts drifted to the man you had left behind in the chapel.

“Oh, darling,” your mother’s voice pierces through the haze of your reverie, snapping you back to the present. “You look beautiful. A true viscountess.”

You hummed in agreement, your eyes drawn to your reflection in the mirror. Your ladies' maids had truly outdone themselves. The intricate braids of your hair were artfully woven together, sparkling gems and pearls interspersed throughout, echoing the beauty of your ring. The delicate tendrils framing your face were styled to perfection, soft curls cascading down your shoulders like a waterfall of silk. In the soft glow of the lamp light, your complexion looked radiant, enhanced by the glow of the pearls nestled in your hair. You twist the pearl again, adjusting it until it feels right, then straighten your back, donning the façade of a viscountess—a true leader of society.

Jeonghan is a good man, you remind yourself, forcing a smile as you repeat the mantra. He shall be a good friend.

As the carriage rolls to a halt at the FitzWilliam estate, the sounds of the ball waft through the air, laughter and music melding into a sweet symphony that invites you into its depths. You step out, and Jeonghan is already waiting, his demeanor calm and collected as he extends an arm for you to grasp.

The main hall is alive with opulence, chandeliers casting golden light that dances off polished marble floors. The scent of rich perfumes and expensive colognes mingle in the air, thick with the promise of high society and whispered secrets. Impeccably dressed couples twirl across the dance floor, their laughter echoing like a soft refrain, while clusters of guests gather, engaged in hushed conversations punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

You take a deep breath, feeling a pang in your chest as you remember the last time you stood in this very room, the night Seokmin broke your heart. The echo of his laughter, the way he moved so effortlessly through the crowd—memories flood back, bittersweet and sharp, threatening to steal your composure.

Sensing your unease, Jeonghan nudges you gently, his presence a steadying force. “Look,” he murmurs, gesturing to his cravat, which matches the deep turquoise of your dress perfectly. “We match.”

That’s enough to elicit a light laugh from you, a sound that feels foreign and welcome at once. Jeonghan’s grin broadens, and the warmth of his gaze brings you a measure of comfort as you allow yourself to relax in his arms.

Your hopes for an uneventful night are dashed almost immediately when Seokmin catches your eye. The moment his gaze lands on you, something flickers across his face—an emotion you can’t quite place, his brows furrowing slightly before he glances down at your arm linked with Jeonghan's. His eyes trail from the vibrant turquoise of your dress, down to your arm in Jeonghan’s, and finally to the gleaming pearl ring on your finger. Then, without warning, he turns away, his shoulders tightening and a slight movement that lodges itself in your throat like a stone, heavy and uncomfortable.

Your mother, oblivious to the tension, all but shoves you and Jeonghan toward the dance floor as the next waltz begins, her voice bright with excitement as she declares, “The next bride and groom of the ton must have their moment to shine!” Jeonghan chuckles at her enthusiasm, a warm, carefree sound that dances in the air, as he gently tugs you into the throng of swirling gowns and polished shoes. The orchestra strikes up a lively quadrille, and you quickly lose yourself in the rhythm, the world narrowing down to the two of you, grinning up at Jeonghan every time you find yourselves partnered again.

In your breathless excitement, you barely notice the whispers of the ton, a familiar backdrop to your existence as they observe your every misstep with keen interest. But Seokmin’s gaze remains like a hot brand against your skin, intense and unyielding, making it hard to breathe. You feel the weight of his eyes like an anchor, and it draws your attention back to him against your will.

“Do not look at him,” Jeonghan murmurs, his voice low and steady as he twirls you beneath his arm, his grip firm yet gentle. His eyes search yours for a moment, grounding you, before he adds, “Look only at me, Y/N.”

You nod, your heart racing, and it's easy to follow his command, to lose yourself in the warmth of his smile and the way his eyes light up with every turn. Jeonghan moves gracefully, the two of you swirling together, his laughter mingling with the music. But just as quickly, his cool facade slips—he trips slightly on your flowing dress, and for a brief moment, his expression falters. His eyes dart toward the edge of the dance floor, tension radiating from his frame. When you follow his line of sight, your heart sinks.

The ever-enigmatic Lady Choi has graced the ball with her presence, and her gaze is locked on your fiancé, unwavering and knowing. When she catches Jeonghan staring, a slow, deliberate smile spreads across her lips, and she subtly nods her head toward the door. Jeonghan falters again, his brow creasing with worry as he shifts his weight, uncertain.

“You should go,” you urge gently, your voice barely above a whisper, and you lean in closer to him, the warmth of his body reassuring yet electric. He looks down at you, surprise etched across his features, his grip on your hand tightening involuntarily.

“No, I… I shouldn’t—I shan’t—” he stutters, attempting to regain his composure as he starts the next sequence of steps with an uncharacteristic bravado, but the confidence doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Jeonghan,” you murmur, your grip on his hand tightening as you lean in closer, your heart aching for him. “Go.”

“In the middle of a dance? What will the ton say about the viscount who leaves his new fiancée? What will become of you?” His concern is genuine, but it only adds to the pressure building within you, and you can see his throat bob as he swallows hard.

“It is nothing I have not handled before, my lord,” you tease lightly, a playful smile curving your lips as you step back and curtsy with a playful flourish. Jeonghan bows in return, though you can see the conflict in his eyes, and in that moment, you watch him leave you alone on the dance floor, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

Your mother gasps from the edge of the dance floor, her shock palpable, and you can feel the heat rise to your cheeks at the attention. Minghao quickly attempts to soothe her, sharing a knowing glance with you that promises support as you excuse yourself for a refreshment.

Seokmin finds you at the drink table, his expression taut and focused, as though he’s been waiting for you. “He left you,” he states, his voice low but firm, eyebrows drawing together in disapproval.

“Good evening to you as well, Lord Lee. Quite hot, isn’t it?” You reply, your tone light as you feign nonchalance, but your heart races beneath his scrutinizing gaze.

“Y/N, he left you. His fiancée,” he presses, the weight of his words heavy in the air, and he leans closer, the intensity of his focus making it hard to hold his gaze.

“Yes, Seokmin, I do have fully functioning sight. I saw him leave.” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you straighten, the defiance rising within you.

“And what was so important that he had to abandon you in your first night out as a couple?” His voice sharpens, laced with an urgency that makes your heart clench.

“I do not need you to defend my honor, my lord. Nor do I need to explain my fiancé to you.” Your eyes flash, and you can feel the heat of your anger boiling beneath the surface.

With a huff, he turns away, frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw, leaving you alone at the table. You sip your lemonade, trying to ignore the murmurs that swirl around you, the familiar buzz of speculation and gossip that seems to cling to your skin like a second layer. Just then, Minghao finds you, his expression serious yet concerned.

“Walk with me,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument, and you can see the protective glint in his eye.

As you begin to move through the crowd, he squeezes your hand reassuringly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Are you alright?” he asks, concern lacing his voice as he studies your face.

“Quite, brother,” you assure him, though your heart feels heavy.

“Seokmin is quite upset. I would have been as well, had I not known what is happening between you and Lord Yoon.” His gaze softens slightly, but it’s clear he’s trying to gauge your emotions.

“Thank you for your understanding,” you reply, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“Was she here? The woman he loves?” Minghao’s question is gentle but probing, his concern evident as he meets your eyes.

“Yes,” you whisper softly, the admission tasting bitter on your tongue, and you can feel a weight settling in your chest.

“I see.” He nods slowly, processing the gravity of your words. “Are you truly alright with this?” His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of uncertainty beneath it.

“Yes,” you affirm, though your voice shakes slightly, a part of you longing for reassurance.

“Then I shan’t bother you about it any longer. I must tend to Mother—if you need me, we shall be at the edges of the dance floor.”

“Brother?” You call after him as he turns away, the crowd shifting around you. “Thank you.”

His only response is a gentle smile before the crowd swallows him whole. The ballroom thrums with the sound of laughter and music, a whirl of colors and movements that feel distant and dreamlike. Your heart is heavy, and each beat echoes louder than the chatter around you. As you stand alone, the weight of unspoken words presses down on your shoulders like a cloak, and your thoughts swirl like the skirts of the dancers gliding across the floor.

Suddenly, Seokmin strides toward you, his figure slicing through the crowd with a sense of urgency. The moment his eyes lock onto yours, a spark ignites—a mix of anger and something deeper. You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his brow furrows as he approaches, and you brace yourself for confrontation.

“Come with me,” he demands, his voice low but unmistakably firm, carrying an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the heat radiating from him, a force you can’t ignore.

“Seokmin, please, I truly cannot fight with you any longer on this subject—” you start, your voice trembling slightly, but he interrupts, his frustration spilling over like a tide.

“I said come with me!” He grabs your wrist, his grip tight and insistent, forcing you to follow him through the thrumming crowd. The sound of your footsteps reverberates off the marble floors, each echo punctuating the space between you and the safety of the ballroom. The laughter and music fade, replaced by the heavy thrum of your heart and the frantic rustle of your gown.

“Seokmin, you’re hurting me!” you protest, panic creeping into your voice. You feel the pressure of his fingers, warmth mingling with the discomfort. As he glances back at you, anger flickers in his eyes before it softens, just for a moment, revealing a vulnerability that pulls at your heart.

He loosens his grip, but the air between you crackles with tension, a silent battle of wills that feels palpable. “Where are we going?” you ask, concern bleeding into your tone. “My mama will worry, and Minghao, and Jeonghan—”

“Damn Jeonghan!” he snaps, his voice rising, shattering the fragile silence around you. The heat of his words lingers in the air, mixing with the coolness of the corridor.

“Seokmin!” Your cheeks flush with indignation, a mixture of anger and hurt blooming in your chest.

“I told you,” he hisses, urgency fueling his movements as he pulls you further into the shadows of the hallway. The flickering candlelight casts ghostly shadows that dance along the walls, an eerie backdrop to your escalating emotions. “I told you he’s a scoundrel. And you wouldn’t listen—”

“Enough! I will not have you sully his good name. What in God’s name are you trying to accomplish?” you fire back, desperation tinging your words. The air feels thick, heavy with unresolved feelings that twist like vines around your heart.

“Will you listen?” He halts abruptly, spinning to face you, his expression a tempest of frustration. The tension radiates between you, and you can see the muscles in his jaw clench as he gestures toward a small window that overlooks the private gardens. “This is the man you wish to marry?”

He pushes the window open, and moonlight spills into the dim room, illuminating his features with a ghostly glow. Outside, you see Jeonghan, silhouetted against the soft glow of the moon, entangled in a passionate embrace with Lady Choi. A sickening twist of emotion churns in your stomach, a cocktail of heartbreak and unexpected relief; at least one of you gets a taste of the one they love.

“He is a SCOUNDREL,” Seokmin roars, his voice rising with indignation, the words dripping with disdain as he steps closer, his presence a whirlwind of intensity. “I shall duel him for your honor. I must tell Minghao of the grave error you have made—”

“Seokmin—” you start, your voice rising with urgency, but he interrupts again, the fervor in his tone igniting a fire within you.

“We must duel tonight, before the sun rises—”

“SEOKMIN! I knew.” The words escape you, a rush of truth that bursts forth like a dam breaking, raw and unfiltered.

“You—you knew?” His eyes widen, disbelief crashing over him like a wave, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The silence that follows is suffocating, filled only with the quickened rhythm of your breaths and the pounding of your heart. The weight of your confession hangs heavy in the air, thick as smoke.

“Yes.”

His expression contorts, shifting from shock to outrage, and you can feel the air crackling with tension. “You knew he was sinning with a married lady, no less, and you still agreed to marry him? My God, Y/N, I knew you wished to marry, but I didn’t know you would abandon all sense for that!” His hands are balled into fists at his sides, frustration radiating from him like heat from a flame.

Your chest constricts, the familiar ache of longing and sorrow spiraling within you. “Oh, you dolt, it was an arrangement! I knew he loved another, just as he knew I loved another!” You can feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, the weight of your heartache spilling over into your voice, echoing off the cold walls.

A heavy silence envelops you both, every breath echoing with unspoken truths. The air feels charged, electric, as the reality of your situation sinks in.

“You love…someone?” he asks, the vulnerability in his voice slicing through the tension like a knife.

“I must go, my mama—” You attempt to break free, but he grasps your wrist again, his fingers warm yet insistent, the touch igniting a spark of something more profound within you. You can't meet his gaze, the shame of your feelings swirling with fear and longing.

“Y/N.” His voice is a soft plea, low and raw, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. The way he says your name sends a shiver through you, and for a moment, you feel as though you are on the brink of something monumental.

“Please, Seokmin.” Your voice trembles, a mixture of desperation and desire, the air thick with unspoken confessions.

“Who? I shall make him pay for everything he has done to you, my dear friend—how dare he—”

“Oh for God’s sake, it’s you!” The words tumble out before you can stop them, the truth bursting forth like a firework exploding in the night sky.

You attempt to retreat, to escape the intensity of the moment, but his grip is unyielding, a tether binding you to him. With a swift motion, he yanks you back, and before you can even process what’s happening, his lips crash onto yours, fierce and unrelenting. You can taste the warmth of his breath, the desperation in his touch, and it wraps around you like a cocoon. For that brief, intoxicating moment, everything else fades away—the hurt, the confusion, the chaotic world outside—leaving only the two of you.

You melt into him, the kiss a torrent of everything unspoken: the longing, the frustration, the fear of what lies ahead. It’s passionate and fierce, as if the very fabric of your souls is interwoven in that moment, a confession without words. His hands cup your face, grounding you as the world blurs around you, leaving just the warmth of his body and the desperate connection that binds you both.

He groans, muttering a curse under his breath, and it ignites something deep in the pit of your stomach. You know this is a terrible position – if anyone were to see you, your reputation, your future, your engagement would be ruined – but when his lips find your pulse point in your throat, all you can do is arch your back with a low keen.

His teeth graze your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, desperate for purchase in this whirlwind of sensation. The rational part of your mind screams at you to stop, to push him away, but your body betrays you, leaning into his touch with a hunger you've never known before.

"Seokmin," you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips. He responds with a low growl, pressing you against the wall, his body flush against yours. The heat between you is palpable, electric, threatening to consume you both.

His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You're dizzy with desire, drunk on his touch, on the intoxicating scent of his cologne mingling with the musk of his skin. You know you should stop this, end it before it ruins you.

But you can't bring yourself to end it. Not when his touch feels like salvation, like coming home after years of wandering lost.

"We shouldn't," you manage to whisper between kisses, your words contradicting the wayyour fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

Seokmin pauses, his breath hot against your neck. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice husky and strained.

Before you can even fathom an answer, the sound of footsteps down the corridor sends your mind into a panic. You shove him off, urgently trying to right your dress.

Seokmin stumbles back, his eyes wild and still clouded with the raw emotion of your kiss. His gaze locks onto yours, both of you caught between passion and the creeping dread of what you’ve just done. The footsteps draw nearer, each one a reminder of how close you are to ruin.

The door swings open, and Minghao strides in, his eyes narrowing the instant he takes in the sight of you both—flushed cheeks, disheveled attire, the undeniable aura of something forbidden and unspoken hanging heavy in the air.

“What is the meaning of this?” Minghao’s voice is a blade, slicing through the room with cold fury.

Seokmin straightens, trying to regain his composure, but the guilt is written all over his face. You feel your heart slam against your ribcage, panic curling like smoke in your chest. But Minghao’s gaze stays sharp, unforgiving as he looks between the two of you.

“Seokmin,” he starts, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve dishonored my sister—this is unforgivable. You must either make amends or answer me on the dueling ground at dawn.”

You cast a desperate look toward Seokmin, but his face is tense, unreadable, his own turmoil barely held at bay. He takes a deep breath, then steps forward, addressing Minghao with a steady resolve you didn’t know he possessed.

“Minghao,” Seokmin says, his voice low, respectful. “Please understand. I would never wish harm or shame upon your sister. I care for her deeply—more than I can put into words.”

The air in the room thickens, dense and electric, as if even the walls are holding their breath, waiting for the decision that will shape your fate. Minghao’s stance is rigid, his eyes flashing with anger and something else—concern, maybe fear. It sends a cold wave through you, underscoring the gravity of what he’s demanding. The faint scent of candle wax mingles with the night air creeping through the open window, casting a ghostly glow across the floor.

Your heart races, each beat echoing like a drum in the silence. Your skin still hums with the memory of Seokmin’s touch, the heat of his kiss lingering on your lips like a forbidden brand. You swallow hard, the taste of that moment bittersweet, and glance toward Seokmin. His face is caught between shock and something else—determination, maybe defiance. He’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, and his gaze flits between you and Minghao as if assessing the weight of his next words.

“Then prove it,” Minghao says, voice low and slicing through the haze that surrounds you, “or I’ll demand satisfaction for my sister’s honor.”

The word honor hangs heavy in the air, and a slow burn of anger coils in your chest. Your fingers curl into your palms, nails pressing into the skin, grounding you against the urge to scream. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You never wanted to be caught like this, not in a moment of vulnerability twisted by the presence of an audience. Minghao’s protective stare feels like a chain around your neck, while Seokmin’s gaze—a mixture of apology and restraint—only intensifies the confusion swirling inside you.

“Brother,” you say, forcing your voice steady, though your heart feels as if it’s beating in your throat, “this is unnecessary. I am engaged to another. You know this. To demand a marriage over one moment is—”

Minghao cuts you off, shaking his head. “We both know that arrangement is nothing more than an exchange of power, not a bond of love. But this?” His eyes narrow as he looks at Seokmin, his expression hardening. “This is no mere arrangement. I won’t allow this… this recklessness to tarnish your future. Not if I can prevent it.”

His words twist around your heart, anger simmering as he speaks as though you’re not even here, as if you’re some fragile creature incapable of understanding the consequences of your own actions. You tighten your hands into fists, the fire in your chest blazing hotter, burning through your lingering shame and leaving only fury in its wake.

“Brother, this is my choice,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended. You refuse to let him dictate your fate, no matter how well-intentioned he may be. “I won’t be forced into anything, not by you, and not by—”

“Fine,” Seokmin interrupts, his voice low, but the intensity behind it makes your breath hitch. His gaze shifts to Minghao, defiant yet respectful, a calm resolve settling over him that you’ve never seen before. “I’ll marry her.”

The words strike like a thunderclap, sudden and irrevocable, and the room feels smaller, suffocating in the aftermath. You gape at him, heart pounding, pulse roaring in your ears as the weight of what he’s said crashes over you.

“You’ll… what?” Your voice is little more than a whisper, confusion and anger tangling together, leaving you breathless. It’s as if the ground beneath you has tilted, your life, your future, shifting without your consent, controlled by the decisions of two men who seem to think they know what’s best for you.

Seokmin meets your gaze, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes betrays the mask of resolve he wears. But then his expression steels, his jaw set as if he’s made peace with something.

“Fine,” he repeats, his tone unwavering. “I’ll do what’s necessary.”

The finality of his words ignites a fury in you, fierce and hot. How dare they decide your fate like this, without so much as a thought for your own desires, your own choices? Your fists clench, knuckles white as you stare between them, your breaths coming short, uneven.

Minghao nods approvingly, his gaze flicking back to you, as if expecting gratitude, as if this was what you wanted all along. But you feel trapped, as though walls are closing in, boxing you into a life decided for you, a future crafted by others’ expectations.

“Is that it, then?” you ask, the bitterness in your voice surprising even you. “You two decide, and that’s that? No thought for what I might want?”

Seokmin’s gaze wavers, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. But he doesn’t answer, and neither does Minghao. The silence stretches, heavy and charged, and you realize with a sharp pang that neither of them truly understands—that perhaps they never will.

The weight of their silence drives you to turn on your heel, striding down the corridor in a rush to escape. You don’t care about decorum anymore. All you want is space, a moment to process the shock, the hurt, the sheer indignity of having your future decided without so much as a word from you.

But the sound of hurried footsteps behind you keeps pace. You don’t need to look back to know who’s following.

“Wait!” Seokmin’s voice is laced with desperation, and you feel the words tug at you despite yourself. “Please, Y/N—just… please, stay. Let’s talk this out.”

You quicken your steps, but his voice drags you back, its gentle earnestness slicing through your anger like a double-edged blade. You stop, shoulders tensing as you draw in a shaky breath, trying to steel yourself against him. But when you turn around, his expression—pleading, open, raw—almost undoes you.

“Talk about what, Seokmin?” you say, voice barely concealing the tremble. “There’s nothing left to discuss. Decisions have already been made, haven’t they?”

“Not like this,” he says, his voice soft, an ache threading through his words. His hand reaches out toward you, hesitating in the space between you both. “Not without you. I’m sorry. I should have… I should have thought—”

“No,” Minghao interrupts, stepping up beside Seokmin, his jaw set and his gaze unyielding. His hand wraps firmly around your elbow, his voice edged with protective steel. “It’s done for tonight. She’s had enough. We’re going home.”

Minghao’s grip is gentle yet firm, and before you can protest, he begins to lead you down the dimly lit corridor, each step echoing louder than the last. You glance back, catching the hurt etched into Seokmin’s face, his hand outstretched as though still reaching for you. But he doesn’t follow; he stays rooted in place, watching you disappear.

The carriage ride back is filled with silence so thick you could cut it. Minghao says nothing, and you’re grateful. You can barely keep your thoughts in line, let alone handle a conversation. You close your eyes, leaning back, but the image of Seokmin’s pleading face and the desperate, furious embrace you shared lingers like an imprint on your skin.

When you arrive home, you stumble up the stairs, trying to erase the chaos of the evening, but it follows you like a ghost. You catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, and the sight stops you cold. Your hair is in complete disarray, a few strands falling loose from your intricately pinned style, and your face is flushed, cheeks streaked with faint traces of dried tears. Your chest rises and falls, still heaving from the intensity of everything that has happened.

You barely recognize yourself. The wildness in your eyes, the raw emotion painted on your face—it’s as if the person staring back at you is a stranger, a part of you that you’d never thought you’d see.

Hours pass, but sleep evades you, each tick of the clock an insistent reminder of the turmoil simmering inside. Every time you close your eyes, you’re back in that dim room, tasting the fire of his kiss, feeling the weight of Minghao’s words, and wondering if you’ll ever be free from the choices that were made for you tonight.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits @moondustmemories @shinwonderful @ivehypnosis @gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld

@archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange

@uriguyeok @nenojaems @carefully325 @meowmeowminnie @ts19009 @flickhurstyles

@spookyeomgoose @princelingperfect @tinkerbell460 @xueisaaa17

@deekaykaykay @ottersmind @sungbeam @blvenote @kyeomsworld

#something i just thought of but didnt add to the text^#but like... love how all the carefully arranged and pre-planned things get OBLITERATED by wild unchecked passion......#truly just a massive L for both halves of the arrangement 😭 jeonghan and yn both failed and fell #lee seokmin x reader #seventeen fic recs

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