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shibaraki · 5 months

Text

STEADY BEGINNINGS ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, developing relationship (eventual friends to lovers), touch starved shouto, physical affection (hand holding + long hugs), good god the yearning, obliviousness, jealousy, fluff + angst, pro hero shouto, reader works at hero agency

wc: 3.8K

series masterlist: 2/5

Shouto was born to be a hero.

It is a sentiment shared by reporters and fans alike. Todoroki Shouto, the pride of Endeavor, the saving grace of his family name. True, his development had been entirely up to chance—no matter the intent or cruel desperation behind his father’s actions, he had to rely on the probability that the next offspring would win the genetic lottery—but low and behold, he did, and to many people that alone was a sign of destiny at work.

Ultimately, he chose to continue the path of being a hero himself, but no higher being put him there. His father did. At the time of his birth Shouto had not been a son, not even a baby. He was a project. A small, shapeless, squirmy thing. Malleable, like any young mind. It’s a miracle he retained any will and individuality.

Sometimes when alone with his thoughts, Shouto would hypothesise on the whys and the hows. The conclusion he always comes to is this: any sort of reality in which Shouto succumbs to his father’s ideals and manipulation would have to be a world in which his mother does not exist.

While his existence was planned, and wanted, he was to be a hero and as such, wasn’t cut from love—that came after. He loved his mother. So much so that when she hurt, he hurt. When she cried, he cried. She taught him what it meant to be gentle, to have hope, to aspire to be his own person. Years spent amongst the country's finest heroes and Shouto still regarded his mother as the bravest woman he knew, strong because she refused to be hardened by her circumstances; soft so that she can’t be broken again.

You are like his mother in that regard. Those same echoes of reassurance that softness isn’t weakness, and it isn’t earned. You’ve been touching him more as of late, as if determined to prove it. Static between brushed fingertips, words expressed by simply pressing your knees together, the weight of your hand on his bicep to garner his attention. The build up is subtle and cumulative and yet each instance strikes him with the magnitude of a thermodynamic explosion.

Nobody bats an eyelid to this shift in physicality, which makes it all the more difficult to determine whether he is reading into things or not. It could be that he’s noticing those small instances only because it’s you, and you are all he can think about lately.

You’ve given him permission to reciprocate. He merely has to ask for more if he wants it. What Shouto hadn’t accounted for is the unbearability of being vulnerable enough to ask. An innocent “can you hug me?” becomes so much more daunting to voice with all that longing crowded up behind it. He can’t help worrying you’ll see right through to the bottom of his desires.

A hand comes into view. Bakugo’s ash-smudged finger and thumb pinch and snap together in front of his face. “Come back to Earth, dumbass. Your thousand yard stare is scarin’ my new assistant”.

Shouto blinks out of his stupor and the blurred vignette surrounding his vision recedes. He glances at the skittish man sitting outside Bakugo’s office currently sending worried glances over his shoulder. “I think he’s more scared that you’re back,” Shouto intones dryly. “Isn’t he the fourth one this year?”

“Not my fault they’re all wimps,” Bakugo huffs. A slap reverberates around the office as he throws down a manila folder onto his desk and drops heavily into his chair. He regards Shouto with suspicion overtop his computer monitor. “Whatever you were just thinkin’ about—stop”.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking about”.

“I know you always manage to make Olympic level leaps in logic,” Bakugo rolls his eyes and tears open the folder. He slides out what Shouto assumes is a debrief and flips it between his fingers. Shouto keeps quiet. He reclines into the couch cushions and returns to reading the incident report on his lap, counting down from ten in the privacy of his mind. Anytime now.

Three, two, one.

“So what is it?” Bakugo asks, trying too hard to sound flippant but landing squarely on irritation. “Spit it out before you give yourself an aneurysm”.

Shouto opens his mouth and closes it again. A wave of hot embarrassment washes over him. He knows Bakugo will do him the kindness of being blunt and honest but it doesn’t make it any less humiliating to admit.

In their younger years Shouto saw something of a kindred spirit in Bakugo. He too did not like touch and aggressively voiced his distaste for it whenever he got the chance—which was often, because divine intervention sought fit to give him the most tactile, handsy friend group possible.

As they got older though, Shouto began to realise that the protests and threats were hollow. Despite being vehemently against affection, Bakugo would allow it anyway, and sometimes even seek it out. The aggression was bravado. Bakugo liked having his friends draped around his shoulders. He liked when Mina kissed his cheek, or Kaminari played with his hair, or Kirishima gathered him into a too-tight hug, or Sero tangled their ankles together on the couch.

Only, for him to comfortably accept it, Bakugo needed to act as though he were doing them a favour by allowing them into his space. And Bakugo’s friends played along without complaint.

From what he’s observed you are also an affectionate person. You are liberal with your warmth and adapt seamlessly to the boundaries of those around you. But you were also visibly uncomfortable whenever people took that affinity for intimacy as an open invitation, and recoiled if they encroached on your own.

Shouto has imagined reaching out only for your body to flinch away from him more times than he can count. It’s a battle staged in his head, ingrown fears. The possibility alone was enough to keep him from reciprocating, set in a state of fawn-like inertia.

“There’s somebody I want to get closer to. A friend,” he begins. Bakugo makes an inquisitive noise, props his cheek against his fist and narrows his eyes as he listens. Shouto retells the story in part, deciding to omit your name, and by the tail-end of it Bakugo’s forehead is deeply creased in dissatisfaction.

“You make all your own problems, Halfie. Y’know that?” he mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and sinking back into his chair. “Fine, you don’t want to make this person uncomfortable, or whatever. If you need a hug so damn badly, why not ask Deku? Not like he’d say no”.

Knowing Bakugo would make his dilemma sound ridiculous is one thing, actually hearing it is another. “How do you know it isn’t about Midoriya,” Shouto returns petulantly.

“It ain’t Izuku or anyone else from your nerd squad,” Bakugo says, dropping his hand to drum on the desk. “I would’ve heard about it”.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t touch people. And that’s fuckin’ fine, yeah? But if you had, I know for a fact any one of them would’ve burst into tears and told everyone in a five mile radius”.

“Oh,” it leaves him a little off-kilter to hear. Shouto leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, setting the report on the dark wood coffee table. The corner of the page is curled, and the spine is creased, and the ink annotation has smudged under his thumb. He details these things as he deliberates, the excuses cloying in his throat and thick like he might cry too.

Bakugo was right—if he craved close contact so badly, why couldn’t he go to Midoriya? He knows he would likely be met with enthusiasm.

“You don't have to tell me who. I don’t care. But you’re overthinking it,” Bakugo grunts at his lack of response, in a way that very much suggests that he cares. “Go ask. If they say ‘no’ it’s tough shit, but the world isn’t gonna end. From what you’ve told me they wouldn’t say ‘no’ anyway. Dumbass”.

Shouto nods and gives up the pretense of reading the paperwork. He feels coltish as he stands and brushes down his front, straightening the creases.

“You’re right”.

“I know”.

“Thank you, Bakugo,” he says. A small smile unfurls across his anxiety-bitten mouth. “You’re a good friend”.

“Shut up,” Bakugo grumbles. It’s a testament to his concern that he hadn’t cursed Shouto there and then. “Now get out of my office. What are you doing here in the first place? You got your own!”

“Yours gets all the sunlight. And it’s always quiet because nobody comes in here,” Shouto ignores the baleful slit of an eye Bakugo turns on him. “I’m going to take my lunch now”.

“Do what you want,” Bakugo dismisses haughtily, and Shouto smiles while thinking, not for the first time, that he’s very lucky to have friends like these.

The fidgety assistant bows as he exits and turns into the sun-drenched hallway. Warmth drapes around Shouto’s shoulders, lingering at his nape while he descends the dark stairwell where the light doesn’t reach. His boots thud against the linoleum, and he counts each footfall to keep his face neutral as his legs carry him toward your department.

Somewhere between one and one hundred and thirteen, a fraction of Shouto’s courage starts to dwindle. He grits his teeth. A hundred steps can’t be enough to dissuade him after decades of denying himself any kind of indulgence.

The further he goes into the support wing the more elaborate the layout becomes. You’re in research and development, assigned a workshop close to the quirk analysts. Heads turn as Shouto rolls through. Heroes didn’t often make personal visits to this area. If he thinks hard enough he could count a grand number of two past visits and neither of them were for you.

His stride falters when he catches sight of your nameplate. It is fixed to the wall outside your door, polished and gleaming proudly. Shouto traces the characters of your name engraved into steel before raising his hand to knock.

Your voice rings out from inside, “Come in!”

A pitched beeping sound comes from overhead. The workshop doors begin to open in a theatrical fashion, receding like curtains to reveal your space. The floor is mapped out with tape. Clear boundaries drawn between the work benches, the fume cupboards, the vault and your personal office, in an attempt at organised chaos. He might have been more interested in poking around for the first time if he had not felt on the edge of intrusion.

You’re tucked behind your curved desk surrounded by numerous monitors that dwarf your frame. Shouto furtively takes in your cute, rumpled appearance. The upper half of your coveralls have been undone to reveal an undervest, sleeves tied tight around and accentuating your waist.

“Take a seat, I’ll be with you in…” the dull tapping of practiced keystrokes comes to a stop as you notice him in the doorway. The professional veneer disappears. “Shouto?” you say, mostly to yourself. Your gaze slides beyond his shoulder, looking for whoever might be accompanying him. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a worried twist in your mouth that he wants to smudge away. A look in your eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugged at his being. Shouto rolls his shoulders, shaking off the tension, and moving deeper into your office. The doors close automatically behind him. “I’m okay,” he assures, taking the seat across from you.

Your expression gentles, and he likes how your gaze follows him. “I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me,” he continues. “But if you’re working I can head back”.

“Lunch?” you repeated. Your eyes darted to the corner of the monitor closest to you and promptly widened. “Oh, shit. When did that happen?”

An upswing of fondness catches him like a blow to the chest. His mouth quirks into a smirk. “How long have you been here?”

“Too long. I got lumped with a new project a few days ago and it’s almost done,” the monitors shut off one by one as you sheepishly press each button. Then you gave him a soft, apologetic look, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. Must’ve missed me if you came all the way down here”.

Dread shriked through him. The low whirring from the equipment scattered around your workspace is suddenly inordinately loud. Was he that obvious?

You, however, fail to notice Shouto’s anxiety and grab him around the wrist as you pivot the desk. “C’mon. Let’s go before the good stuff is gone,” you tell him.

Shouto had absolutely no clue what the ‘good stuff’ entailed—maybe he should’ve bothered to ask. Atleast it would take his mind off your hand. It’s wrapped around his sleeve, right where the fabric ends, loose enough for him to unshackle from if he wants. When he doesn’t protest the contact you stroke your thumb in an arc over the heel of his hand and squeeze.

Shouto falls into step, too caught up to realise you’ve taken him to the cafeteria. He expects you’ll drop his wrist in the presence of your colleagues, yet you adjust your grip and glance back at him with an encouraging tilt of your head.

“I’m starving. I think I’ll get a rice bowl. Smells pretty good today, don’t you think?”

Shouto hummed his agreement. He felt out of his depth, and he didn’t trust his voice. The spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to his throat. The line is mercifully short and before long he has a warm bowl of food held against his front.

“Did you want to sit in here? I can take us to one of the senior staff lounges instead if you want,” you cast a nervous look across the sparse crowd. “I mean, support engineers aren’t really gossiping types but…”

A petty part of him hoped the whispers would escalate. To have your name linked with his, to be known as a person that you cared about—he found that deeply satisfying, for reasons he couldn’t yet put his finger on.

Then again, being alone with you far eclipsed the appeal of flaunting your friendship. “The senior staff lounge sounds best,” he answers after a minute of feigned consideration. You nod, regretfully having dropped his hand, and motion for him to follow once more.

The lounge is a modest room with a kitchenette, a breakfast nook and a few bean bag chairs. It smells faintly like peeled oranges. There are post it notes and blueprints haphazardly stuck to the pinboard, covering an out of date calendar filled out in illegible scrawl. This is no shop awning. There is no rainfall to lend to the ambiance. But you are together in an enclosed space, and that is enough to make his heart beat in anticipation.

You scoot into the breakfast nook. He sits on the same side of the table and tries to subtly spread his knees enough to nudge your thigh. You side-glance in surprise but choose not to mention it. Instead you smile through your first mouthful and ask, “How've things been since I last saw you?”

Achy, like he’s used an atrophied muscle. Lonely, and frustrating beyond words. But he doesn’t say any of that. He digs crescents into his thigh through his pant leg and says, “Boring”.

“Figured that might be the case. I saw the livestream of you fighting Haywire,” you bump your shoulder against his. “The Commission probably dumped a whole load of paperwork on you, huh?”

Shouto wrinkles his nose. He hoped you hadn’t caught that fight. The pursuit of Haywire—an eco terrorist with an electrical quirk—managed to cause an unprecedented amount of damage to the city infrastructure.

“You handled it as best you could. The power grid can be fixed. What’s important is people are alive because of you,” a warm weight covers the fingers restlessly whittling at his pant leg. You pet his hand, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt”.

Guided solely by his impulses, the instant you start to draw back he envelops the top of your hand and sandwiches it between his own. He goes hot and cold all over in quick succession. Boundaries, he reminds himself. But you’re not pulling away. You’re studying him with a knowing gleam in your eye.

Shouto clears his throat. Heat pricks across his skin, concentrated in his cheekbones. “Sorry,” he says. You can ask, a memory echoes. “Is this okay?”

“You don’t have to apologise. I told you it’s fine,” you reply firmly. “I’m happy to remind you if you need to hear it”.

“No, I…” his brow furrows. “I’ve been thinking”.

“That’s not good”.

Shouto snorts and shakes his head, his amusement petering out into a shallow breath. “I want to ask. I’ve wanted to ask like you said I could,” he explains vaguely. “I’m not very good at it, I think”.

You make a soft, understanding sound that immediately sets him at ease. “I guess, after denying yourself something for so long it can be scary to let yourself have it again,” you murmur, a faraway look in your eyes. After a pensive moment the sheen fades and your laughter lines deepen, “I’ll do what I did before, then. If you look like you need a hug I’ll ask you instead”.

“In what way do I ‘look like’ I need a hug?”

“You get this—I don’t know how to explain it,” you gesture vaguely at him. “This blankness about you, but not your normal resting face, I mean you don’t seem all there. I don’t like it. I like it best when you’re happy”.

“Ah,” comes his eloquent response. Shouto drops his gaze to where your hands knot together. Every quark in his body is urging him to get closer, and remain close. “Bakugo thinks I should try to hug Midoriya, too,” he adds, oddly flustered.

“Huh. You talked to Bakugo about—? That’s a surprise. A nice surprise, I mean! Well, Midoriya does give great hugs. It would be good for you to…”

Shouto’s thoughts grow louder and he frowns down at his rice. You’re saying something about physical touch and wellness and friends. Dopamine and serotonin. It barely registers. Two truths are pinging around his skull.

You have hugged Midoriya. Of course you have. You’re friends.

You think he’s great at it.

Why is that so unsettling? Teenagers think like this. Single minded and overly emotional.

He feels the shifting of your knuckles under his palm. “Hey. You’ll need one of these back if you’re going to eat,” you say.

“Right,” he lifts his left hand and picks up his chopsticks to take a pinch of rice from his bowl. He chews until the clamouring in his mind has settled, and you patiently accept his stoic silence without explanation. Shouto hasn’t been this awkward since highschool, and even then he was too wrapped up in his familial problems to be aware of it.

“What’s the project you’ve been working on?” he eventually asks.

You take the change of topic in your stride, leaning closer and lowering your voice to an excited whisper, “I’m not supposed to tell you but—it’s for Deku’s new costume”.

“Midoriya is getting a new costume?” Shouto replies. You playfully shush him and he pouts a little.

“Don’t sulk. He doesn’t know yet either,” you poke a chopstick at the corner of his jutted mouth. “It’s my job to prepare a design portfolio and talk through everything next week. You’ll get a new one too, when you break the top five”.

“If,” he amends.

“You don’t think you’ll move up?”

“Reaching the top was never really a priority for me,” Shouto’s attention splinters, half of his focus on the conversation and the other on the sensation of your skin. He considers overturning his hand to entwine your fingers. “I just want to be the best hero I can be”.

You hum, and as if plucking the desire right from his mind, absentmindedly slip into the gaps between his fingers. Shouto steadies his breathing and takes another mouthful.

The rest of the hour passes, syrupy and slow like molasses. By the final minute Shouto’s palm is sticky and reluctant to part from yours. You usher him out from the breakfast nook first, stacking the empty bowls before directing him back toward the emptied cafeteria.

You slide the bowls along the counter for the kitchen staff to take. Then you wipe your hands down your front as you pivot to face him, thrusting out both arms as he stands frozen.

“Can I hug you?”

Shouto touches his face and you laugh.

“This is because I want one,” you clarify with a warm grin, beckoning him closer.

Shouto inhales steps into the embrace, his arms instinctively wrapping around your back. There are less layers this time—the heat of your body is overwhelming, alongside the gentle rise of goosebumps across your bare shoulders. Your breath fell gently on his collarbone, his head lowering to curl into you. He thinks, were he not born to be a hero, he must surely be born for this.

“Thank you,” you mumble, squeezing his waste a final time as you retreat. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Shouto nods. Your presence moves away like the sun being blocked out and he watches you go, departing words caught in his teeth, an incessant buzz in his fingertips. The walk back to his office is a gauzy yellow haze. Every physiological response in his body told him that he was in a free fall, despite his feet being firmly on the ground.

“Shouto!”

Shouto halts mid-step at the familiar voice. He turns to look at Izuku, at the tentative beginnings of his smile. “Izuku,” he says.

“We missed you at lunch—are you feeling alright?” Izuku asks, slightly bemused. “You look kinda… floaty,” his eyes are dark, softened in the afternoon light as they sweep over Shouto’s figure and his face.

"Izuku," Shouto said before he could convince himself otherwise, “Do you want a hug?”

The innocent question appeared to crash into Izuku with the levity of a bullet train in motion. Tears sprang to his eyes, brighter now. Shouto tenses as he is swept into a solid hug. Izuku smells like fresh air, sweat and sweet-salty broth. He holds Shouto as though trying to keep his seams from bursting; thick arms are secure around his shoulders, and a rough palm rubs broad strokes down his back, smoothing the tension until Shouto is relaxed.

You were right. Izuku does give great hugs. Shouto came away doughy, and fuller, and with the stark realisation that while touching Izuku soothed the ache, it still felt completely different to touching you.

Later, as he leaned his head against the desk surface, he sluggishly contemplated the implications of that.

#bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #mha x reader

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show-your-fangs · 10 months

Note

lil request of some jealous hotch maybe👉🏻👈🏻 i’m kinda picturing moments aaron getting all jealous and taking the matter in his own hands and teaching reader a lesson🫣😫

this is so fucking good, and coincidentally will be chapter 28 of moments 👀 (it involves a toy, a bed, and a few hours)

so instead please enjoy secret relationship hotch becoming jealous of his baby being hit on by some dude at a bar while the team is out, and then proceeding to finger her under the table

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Words: 1.8k

CW: 18+, nsfw, mdni.

Tags/warnings: established secret relationship, jealous!hotch, possessiveness, pet names (baby, good girl), sir kink, groping, teasing, dirty talk, fingering (f receiving), exhibitionist kink, public sex, aaron basically fingers you in a booth in a bar.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Aaron had never been more thankful for the low light of Shaw’s, thankful that the shadows that lingered all around them obscuring his hot, red ears from the agents around him. He wasn’t embarrassed by any means, no, he was livid.

They were all staring and snickering about you, leaning over the bar as you waited for the drinks they’d all made you go get just so that you’d be forced to talk to the cute guy that had been making eyes at you all night.

When you’d told them that you hadn’t noticed, they all scoffed and rolled their eyes, telling you that was the reason you were still single. But none of them knew, they couldn’t have, that the reason why you hadn’t seen him staring was because you only cared about one man’s eyes on you – your boss's.

He was rendered completely useless, unable to do anything about him, unable to leap to his feet, stalk across the bar and make him stop talking to you, before swiftly dragging you to the bathroom and fucking you silly until the only thing you could think about was his cock.

He knew you weren’t doing it maliciously. There wasn’t a single bad bone in your body. It wasn’t your fault that he found you attractive, wasn’t your fault that Emily was determined to get you laid, wasn’t your fault that you were making him so unbelievably jealous that he couldn’t think straight.

He almost let out a sigh of relief when the bartender slid five drinks on the counter in front of you and you skillfully grabbed all of them in your hands before quickly making your way back to their table.

“So?” Emily asked the second you put the drinks down, everyone reaching out to grab their glass and the scoop of your flirting.

You shook your head. “Eh, not for me.”

You slid in next to Aaron, uncharacteristically so, and yet it didn’t seem anyone noticed, still too focused on you to notice how Aaron’s body had relaxed beside you.

“That’s not for you?” Emily shockingly pointed back at the blonde guy at the bar who was now engrossed in conversation with another beautiful woman.

“Nope,” you simply stated, not giving her anything to continue prying. She scoffed then, unbelieving.

“Can we go dance now?” Penelope whined again and Morgan immediately began pushing Emily out of the booth so they could get out.

You took a sip of your drink as you watched them scurry towards the other side of the bar, hand in hand, but not before they dragged Emily and JJ along for the ride. It was just the six of you now, Spencer having left earlier in the night and Rossi not even entertaining the possibility of getting wasted with you on a perfectly fine Friday night.

“Have fun,” you joked, Emily poking her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture. “Get her to relax a little and leave me alone, JJ!”

Aaron took a swing of the cold beer he’d been nursing since you got here an hour ago, trying to play it as cool as he could, disinterest being what would maintain your relationship private, until you were finally alone.

He set the glass back down on the table before his hand came down on your thigh, slapping it slightly, the coldness of his hand mixing with the sting on his action. Your gaze snapped to his, shocked, scared, ashamed, while his remained dark, glossy, enraged.

He was jealous, so unbelievably jealous he couldn’t even hide it. Your breathing picked up, your heart practically rattling against your chest, your mouth going dry with anticipation.

“Just out of curiosity,” he whispered, slowly running his hand up towards your heat. “What is your type?”

You slumped back in your seat, back pressed tightly against the plush cushions of the booth, acutely aware of where you were and the fact that your closest friends were dancing just behind you.

Thankfully you were hidden away, obscured, but there were still a lot of people around, a lot of bodies that could turn to you at any moment.

“I asked you a question, baby,” he snapped, grip tightening unbelievably close to where you needed him.

“You,” you swallowed thickly. “You, sir.”

The pockets of haziness, of blurred lines and dark corners were finally working to his advantage as he draped your left leg over his lap, opening you up under the table to gain easier access.

You couldn’t help but dart your eyes around the room once more, desperate to make sure that no one could see you like this.

“Don’t look at them, look at me,” he commanded and you swiftly obeyed, turning your hazy eyes back on his, the fire burning in them almost mesmerizing, holding you hostage. His hand slid off your leg, swiftly cupping your crotch tightly. “This belongs to me,” he squeezed. “You belong to me,” your eyes were glossy with tears now. “No one gets to touch you, ever, no one gets to flirt with you, no one gets to so much as look at you, do I make myself clear?”

You whimpered pathetically, nodding your head feverishly, and yet it only made him squeeze harder, bordering on painful. Your brows furrowed, confusion at his continued roughness making a single tear fall down your cheek.

“Apparently I wasn’t clear enough,” he spat, his fingers skillfully pulling your panties to the side. His cold fingers were immediately met with wet warmth, your clit practically on fire as he began to tease it, never touching it long enough for you to feel anything other than frustration.

“No, sir, please,” you sobbed, your hand wrapping around his wrist, but instead of trying to force him off you, you tried to get him to touch you where you wanted him.

“No?” he repeated, incredulous. “You’re not mine?”

His movements stilled then and yet you continued to grind yourself against his palm, against his fingers, against him. Whatever shame, whatever fears you had about getting caught, about someone seeing him touch you seemed to have evaporated as the desire to finally come undone took over.

“Such a greedy girl,” he groaned in your ear. “Even when you’ve been bad and I’m trying to punish you, you still have one thing on your mind.”

His other arm wrapped around your waist, his hand tightly gripping your left hip to pin you back down to the seat and keep you there, unable to move yourself where you desperately needed.

It was like a spell lifted then, your face immediately flushing crimson as you were reminded of where you were and just how exposed you truly were, even in the low light. Your head fell into the crook of his neck, face buried into his shirt in shame.

Your shame only spurred him on, his movements picking up once more, his fingers running along the entirety of your slit, collecting your slick, making sure to never touch your entrance or clit.

“Next time a guy comes up to you, what are you going to say?” he asked, bitter, condescending, mean.

You couldn’t breathe much less think about what you wanted to answer, too concerned by trying to act as normal as possible.

He landed a slap against your clit then, perfectly timed with the music around you, the instrument solo drowning out the sharp sound. You moaned, quickly biting into his suit jacket to further muffle the lewd noises spilling out your mouth.

He gave you a second to allow the shock to sharpen your senses, his fingers returning to their previous movements casually as he scanned the room, making sure you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourselves.

“Next time a guy comes up to me,” you managed through ragged breaths, bravely lifting your head so your gaze could meet his. “I’ll tell him I’m not interested.”

“Next time some guy comes up to you,” he seethed in your ear, low and terrifying. “You’re going to tell them your boyfriend doesn’t like to share,” he emphasized his words by finally sinking his fingers into you, coaxing a whimper from your throat. “And they should probably leave you alone before he comes back.”

He curled his fingers upwards, hooking them against the spot deep inside you that always made you come undone in seconds.

“Yes, sir,” you smiled brightly, the fact that he’d called himself your boyfriend fully processing through your fucked out brain.

“Good girl,” and with that he let loose, his fingers thrashing inside you, not even building up to his big finale by sliding them in and out of you first.

You held his stare, your mouth opening for silent moans, for restrained whimpers, for jagged breathing. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop as the song your teammates had all been dancing too was quickly coming to a close.

Your hands wrapped around his shirt, bunching it up and wrinkling it. That’s how he knew you were close. His thumb returned to your clit, rubbing fast circles over it. Your walls began to clench around him, your hips began to sink themselves farther into his hand.

“Cum, baby,” he whispered into your ear, soft yet commanding.

It all came at you too quickly, the tension in your body snapping sharply and out of nowhere. Wetness dripped out of you and onto his hand as your body shook against his steady frame. His grip around your waist tightened slightly, bringing your body against him to help keep you stable.

He looked back at his subordinates still twirling around to the final chorus of the song, distracted enough for him to chance it. He leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss to your temple, slowly retracting his fingers from you as he reached over to grab a napkin.

Even in the low light, in the darkness, he could see his hand glisten with your slick and a proud smirk enveloped his lips. You were still curled against him as he did his best to clean you up, to get rid of any evidence of what the two of you had just done.

He bunched the napkins up, swiftly pocketing them before he set you back down on the seat, a respectable distance away from him, and wiped your face clean of your runny mascara. Almost as if he’d timed it perfectly, four bodies approached your table.

“Are you okay, sweetness?” Morgan asked you as they returned to the table, definitely noticing your flushed face.

You nodded, not daring to make eye contact as your heart continued to race, the aftershock of your orgasm still rocking through you.

“I think she’s had too much to drink,” Aaron told him, concerned softness lacing his words, like a boss taking care of his employees. “I’m gonna take her home.”

He didn’t even have to prompt you to follow before you were sliding off the booth, your legs barely keeping you up. He followed quickly after you, hooking his arm around your back before you could collapse, leaving your untouched drink on the table in front of them.

idk what it is about these two but they really like going at it in public

tags: @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner, @criminalskies, @xladyxdreamer

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x female reader #show your fangs writes #show your fangs asks #show your fangs hotch blurbs #hotch x reader #hotch x you #jealous!hotch

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gurugirl · 9 months

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A Good Boy | 5. When In Greece

Summary: A family vacation to Greece is meant to be peaceful and relaxing but when Y/n is forced to confront Harry about her feelings everything is turned upside down.

Note: This is stepmon!reader x stepson!harry - both are adults in this story but don't read if you don't like it.

Word Count: 17,236

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, inappropriate & forbidden relationship, age gap, cheating, lying, angst

A Good Boy Masterlist

Y/n stumbled bleary-eyed to her car as she tried to catch her breath. She felt like she was in a cloud of red, full of stinging bees trudging through a telescoped tunnel of hopelessness. She’d never experienced that particular feeling before but she forced her brain to stop its thoughts and found a safe spot to release her tears and sobs into her leather steering wheel which was at the campus café parking lot just a half mile from Harry’s dorm. Not ideal but she was unable to hold her despair in for another moment when she pulled into an open space and shut the engine off.

When she finally hiccupped through her tears and numbness began to take over she dialed Marla.

“Where are you?” Marla knew the call was coming. And being the best friend anyone could ever ask for, anticipated needing to keep her day free for her friend.

“I’m at the campus café,” Y/n gasped and closed her eyes. A ridiculous woman. From the beginning of the affair to the end. A terrible, vile, and evil person. There was no redemption for her.

“Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you–“

“No. I’ll come over. I can–“

“No, you cannot. I will not let you drive while you’re crying and upset. We can get your car later. I don’t want you getting into an accident. Stay put. I’m already on my way.”

And for Harry? The moment he slammed the door shut behind her he fell to the floor on his hands and knees and let his salty tears pool under him onto the stupid cheap rug he bought to make his room look more “homey”. He wanted to rip the rug to shreds but he couldn’t manage to stand up and pull himself together, much less begin to shred woven cotton and polyester into bits out of anger.

He couldn’t begin to make sense of his emotions. The sadness and rage. He wouldn’t be getting over her for a long time. He knew it. He was devastated and the worst part was that she really did like him but she was trying to protect them both from further hurt. He would have learned to deal with it. He would have adapted to the rules. He just needed time. Just a little more time. He was still trying to get used to it.

It was hopeless. He knew all along that it couldn’t last. He just didn’t think it would be over so fast. He’d barely gotten over the thrill of having her for it to all suddenly be ripped away.

He didn’t hate her. Not even close. He was mad, yes, but he could never hate her. Everything that led up to her breaking up with him wasn’t her fault.

He blamed his father.

He blamed the arrangement, which he knew was his dad’s idea. He hated that it was Y/n that Leo wound up picking. She deserved love and affection and she needed it.

He swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat. His hangover was not helping matters. His muscles were stiff as he tried to sit back onto his shins. He was shaking from how he’d tensed his body and from the heartbreak and the tears and the grief.

When his phone chimed with a message his heart leaped and he crawled across the floor to snatch up his phone from his table quickly. But then when he saw it wasn’t Y/n, but rather Tyler letting him know he’d forgotten his wallet, he felt a sharp dejected anguish he knew he was going to have to get used to.

. . .

Y/n was in charge of selecting their ocean villa. It was a detached, private villa with a pool overlooking Agni Bay. They would be staying in Corfuand near where they could book private charters to islands and to surrounding beaches. She had booked some excursions and day trips for them but mostly they’d be lounging by the pool on the huge outdoor terrace.

She learned a few days prior that Harry was joining them and bringing Tyler. Leo had told her. It stung a bit that Harry hadn’t told her himself. But then again, it made sense. After breaking it off with him she hadn’t heard from him at all. She missed the daily texts and nightly calls. Missed his voice.

Two weeks without hearing from him at all had been difficult but she immersed herself in tennis club, booked extra sessions, found a nice murder mystery book series to read, and kept herself busy with the girls.

Marla was supportive and helpful. Cyndee and Gina still didn’t know anything but Cyndee did bring Harry up on their last Friday outing. Y/n wanted to strangle Cyndee for bringing it up at all because she was barely hanging on that evening as it was. But of course, Cyndee didn’t know better. She wasn’t in on the secret. Y/n wanted so badly to text Harry and just send him a quick I miss you message. But that wouldn’t help anything.

Leo went out of town for a couple of days for a conference upstate and so Y/n did her best to keep busy. Booking the vacation trip was actually fun. Cathartic even. She’d had the villa reserved far in advance but tacking on the little details felt really nice. Though she was nervous about the idea of Harry being there with them. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem with him there. Perhaps things could go back to how they had been before everything happened.

She doubted it but hoped. Plus Tyler would be there to distract Harry. She would do her best to enjoy every minute of her vacation.

And as booked and busy as Y/n made herself during the day, the nights were not kind. When she was finally alone in her room in the dark with her thoughts she cried. She’d let her emotions pour out and soak her pillow. She’d cry in the shower and sit under the water for far longer than she should, being that water was such a scarce resource.

The worst part was that Leo had initiated sex the night after she broke up with Harry. It was awful. She told him she wasn’t feeling well so he backed off. But the following night he wanted her in his bed.

So she went to his bed and tried to perform. She tried to focus on the man she was with but it felt like betrayal. It felt bitter and nauseating. She couldn’t stay wet and she couldn’t finish. But of course, Leo did and once that was done she went back to her room and scrubbed her body until her skin was raw and her eyes were red with tears and her sinuses were clogged in that annoying way that you can’t even manage to clear them.

It had never happened to her before. Her feelings for Harry were much deeper than she allowed herself to realize. But on top of her own feelings for him was the worry that he was also hurting the way she was. She didn’t want to hurt him. She didn’t want him to feel this way.

But he did. He felt the same stabbing pain in his chest every time he thought of Y/n. He cried any time he was alone and he composed message after message to her but never sent them. He couldn’t get the lump out of his throat. He couldn’t eat much. He forced himself to have lunch midday with his friends during the week but it was torture pretending he was fine.

Tyler was worried about him. He checked on Harry every evening before quiet time in the dorm.

“Let’s go out this Friday. We’ll invite a bunch of friends. Let loose. No pressure for anything. Just some fun.”

Harry was indifferent. He didn’t care if he went out or stayed in. It was all the same. He was numb anytime he was with people so he knew he wouldn’t enjoy himself and if he stayed in by himself he’d just write a letter to her and cry and also wouldn’t enjoy himself. Nothing mattered.

The only thing that had him moving forward was his anger about the situation. He told his dad he was going to Greece with them, which he immediately regretted but then knew he couldn’t take back because Tyler was going and plans had been made. But part of him looked forward to going and seeing Y/n. Maybe… just maybe she’d change her mind. Maybe she’d want him again if she just saw him. Maybe he could convince her…

And the third week that had gone by since they’d seen each other was another blur for both of them. Harry was just going through the motions. Studying, school, forcing a smile, crying, sleeping… And for Y/n she was barely paying attention to anything that was happening during her busy days, never letting her mind wander too far from her current activity whatever that may have been. But her nights were clear and painful. She allowed herself to think of him and to cry and to feel.

Her girl’s night out was something she usually looked forward to but this time she was dreading it when Marla told her they’d be going to a new place. Leo hadn’t been home all day and Linda finished cleaning the house early and so Y/n was left alone for a big part of the day. It had been a mistake to assume she was going to relax and lay by the pool and read. She couldn’t focus. So instead she let herself think of Harry and wonder about him. The lounge chair she was on was the one that she and Harry had come to after their pool escapade.

Putting her hands on the fabric of the cushion she imagined that day so vividly. Then the girls came over and later that night they’d had sex in his room but Marla had overheard. She winced from the memory.

Everything reminded her of him. So she was feeling more like drinking a bottle of wine and smoking a joint and passing out rather than dancing the night away in a busy bar.

But, just like every other girl’s night out, Marla arrived in the Uber to pull Y/n out of her slump.

She hadn’t even bothered to wear makeup. She did put on a dress but it wasn’t anything that would draw attention. Her flat sandals were more cute than sexy. She hadn’t showered that day.

“Not to be rude, my love, but you do not look like you’re ready for a night out. We’re going to that new spot in Malibu. Remember?”

Y/n nodded, “Yeah. I remember. Maybe I shouldn’t go. I’m okay just to stay home,” she shrugged.

“Absolutely not. You’re coming with us. You need to get out of this big empty mansion and have some fun. Stop thinking about him. Just… come out and enjoy yourself the best you can. It’s better than wallowing here alone.” Marla was right of course.

The club in Malibu was a very popular spot. They’d never been because Malibu was a bit of a hike but they figured a change of scenery could be good (Marla suggested it).

Cyndee had gotten them in at a spot with a VIP table and bottle service. The table was in the middle of all the action. The room was dark with flashing lights and loud music and the ceiling opened up to the night sky. It was actually quite posh.

Lots of young pretty things were dancing and grinding together. The dance floor was packed. Y/n felt out of place. She normally dolled up but tonight, she looked more like an 8th grade math teacher.

“Please smile. You’re making me sad,” Marla whispered into her ear as they took their spot in the circular booth. Cyndee was dancing already and Gina was sitting at the table with a man who she knew from some social club she frequented. He just happened to be there at the club that night.

Gina introduced him, “This is Elias,” he stretched his hand out to shake Marla’s and then Y/n’s.

Elias was attractive and friendly. He was also really funny, which Y/n found refreshing. A good laugh. That’s what she’d needed.

She wasn’t in the mood to dance at all but Marla kept trying to convince her to let loose, “Come on! You’re gonna regret not dancing the night away. I think it’ll do you good!”

“Yeah! Come out and dance! I’ll go up with you too.” Elias smiled down at her and raised a brow.

She shook her head and sighed before slipping out of the booth and ambling to the dance floor.

And both Marla and Elias had been right. It was fun. It made her feel better. She almost forgot about Harry for a solid five-minute stretch.

She hadn’t had much to drink. She knew that the more alcohol she consumed the sadder she’d get and there would be a chance she’d wind up drunk texting Harry. She didn’t want to do anything to mess up any progress of moving on.

Elias was a terrible dancer so he fit right in with the girls. The DJ was playing some interesting music choices, some not so good to dance to but Y/n tried to ignore when the next song came on. In fact, it was so hard to transition from dancing and the beat at the end of the previous song to the next she gave up, “I’m going to grab a drink,” she spoke to Marla.

She needed a breath, despite the fact that the club was packed, getting off the dance floor cleared her mind up a bit.

The setup at the bar was very different from how it was at Murphy’s. It was in the shape of a large circle in the center of the room with neon lights that lit all the colorful bottles underneath.

Leaning her hip to the bar wall she tried to catch the eye of one of the bartenders. People all around were dancing slowly to the beat, couples smushed together enjoying the new pace of the song. The lyrics weren’t clear but Y/n knew it was something that had couples grinding together.

When she finally caught the eye of one of the bartenders she smiled and watched as they made their way toward her. But then suddenly her space was crowded by someone far taller and then she heard his voice, “Having fun?”

She thought she must be dreaming. Must be mistaken. Perhaps she’d had more alcohol than she realized. She rotated herself to look up and saw the light green eyes and soft strawberry lips of the man she’d been missing for nearly three weeks.

“Not really,” she replied honestly.

“What will you have?” The bartender interrupted their moment.

“Just a water for me, please,” Y/n nodded and smiled politely before Harry asked for a tequila. Neat.

Harry kept his eyes on Y/n. He could see she hadn’t worn makeup and hadn’t done anything with her hair at all. It made him feel the tiniest bit better to know she wasn’t trying to look sexy for anyone. Especially since she wasn’t with him.

“Who’s he?” He’d had enough tequila that he didn’t care if he sounded jealous. He was jealous. He didn’t like that she was out and dancing with some guy.

“I just met him tonight. A friend of Gina’s,” she shrugged and took in his appearance. Dark circles and stress lines between his eyes. Unshaven face. She felt like his appearance reflected her own sadness. “How are you doing, Harry?”

He scoffed and peeled his eyes from hers to look across the bar, “Just great.”

She nodded quietly and let her eyes drift off into a corner as she felt the weight of everything on her. The way this wasn’t fair. The way they were both hurt but there was nothing they could do about it.

When the bartender came back with their drinks Harry finally looked back down at her, “So you’re not drinking?” He took a quick sip from his own glass as he kept his eyes pinned to hers.

“I had a couple but I’m not trying to get drunk. It’s not wise probably.”

Harry tilted his head, “And why’s that?”

“Because alcohol kind of exasperates sad emotions. I don’t need to feel any sadder.” She spoke honestly. She didn’t need to tell him that. She could have just kept that to herself but he was being a bit cold with her, a bit standoffish and she didn’t like it. Her hope was that the confession would resonate and he’d lower his walls a bit. She wanted his warmth. Missed it.

He nodded and smirked as he looked over her head and lifted his glass upward gesturing to someone before looking back down at her, “Don’t be sad. You got exactly what you wanted.”

Suddenly he waved over at the bartender to get her attention again and Y/n figured it was best if she left. He was not budging with the attitude and she was beginning to feel her face heat up from frustration and grief, which soon would turn to her nose getting filled and tears breaking from her eyes. So she pushed herself off the bar and began to make her way through the packed floor back to her friends.

But she felt his hand wrap around the back of her arm before she could get too far and she felt the melancholy rise of undeserved hope sneak up her skin and to the back of her neck as she turned, “You did get what you wanted didn’t you? Tell me you got what you wanted.” He spoke into her ear as the song changed to something more up-tempo.

Shaking her head she scanned his face, “No. I didn’t get what I wanted. I got what I deserved.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I didn’t deserve what I wanted, Harry.” She swallowed as he stared down at her, his face close to hers so he could hear.

“What did you want, Y/n?”

“That’s not fair. We can’t talk about this here.” She looked to her peripheral and back to him.

Harry’s eyes roamed her face as the bartender called out to him to pick up the second drink he ordered. He looked over his shoulder and then turned back to her, “I want to talk to you. Where can I find you?”

Y/n turned and jutted her chin toward the round booth her group was at, “Just there at that booth.”

She floated across the floor in a daze toward the table. She almost couldn’t believe it. What kind of luck was this? Los Angeles was massive. Knowing that Harry was at the same bar as she was, in Malibu of all places, seemed impossible. Highly highly unlikely. She settled into the booth opposite Cyndee and Gina and looked around the bar in search of Harry. She wasn’t sure where he’d gone off to or who he was with so she didn’t know where to look.

But after a few minutes, she saw him cut through the crowd toward her and behind him, not following, a young woman, Y/n recognized as Leslie. He was in the club with Leslie. She wondered if he’d perhaps been seeing her. That would be a good thing in regard to their situation. She didn’t like the idea but it would be good for him.

“That’s Harry!” Cyndee spoke loudly across the table, looking from Y/n to Harry as he neared the table.

Everything appeared to her in slow motion as he smiled and greeted the two ladies and then looked at Y/n as he leaned in to speak close, “Will you come with me? So we can talk?”

The hallway toward the bathrooms had tiny square mirrors all over the ceiling, walls, and floor. The music was still evident from the main room of the club but things were quieter once they’d passed the threshold into the hallway.

Y/n leaned into the cool wall behind her and crossed her arms as she looked up at Harry who stood in front of her, “Who’s the guy?”

“I told you, Harry. A friend of Gina’s. First time meeting him tonight.”

He nodded, “Seemed to be getting pretty friendly with him out there.”

“We were just dancing. Plus Marla was with us. Doesn’t matter anyway. What about Leslie? You’re here with her?”

“Here with a bunch of friends. And I asked Leslie to come. Yeah. Doubt you really care.”

His words were cold and very unlike how she’d been used to him behaving around her. But it was probably better this way. She shrugged, “I just want you to be happy. If you like her that’s good.”

Harry sighed, “So you gonna tell me what it is you wanted that you didn’t deserve?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about that. I mean…” she dropped her arms to her sides and bunched the material of her dress nervously, “I think you know. You know how I feel, Harry.”

“See that’s what I’m confused about. The more I think about it the harder it is for me to wrap my mind around it. You said you broke up with me to spare me but I feel like the real reason is because it’s too hard. I think if you really liked me enough you’d have tried harder. You didn’t even give me a chance before you dropped me.”

“No. I saw how much it was affecting you. I can’t stand to hurt you so I needed to do it. Yes, part of it was because it’s hard. The situation was –“

“You hurt me the most by breaking it off,” he put a palm on the wall next to her head as he spoke, “Now I’m just angry. It didn’t make things better. And now what was the fucking point? You said you didn’t even get what you wanted. So why do it? Tell me what you really wanted. I just need to hear you say it, Y/n.”

She blinked her eyes as she looked into Harry’s. She was suddenly glad she hadn’t worn makeup because she was already feeling the beginning of the sting of tears behind her eyes, “You. But you know that.”

His features softened immediately. His berry lips parted as he wet them with his tongue and he brought his other palm up to the wall to narrow the space between them, “If you wanted me, you had me. You have me.”

She shook her head, “I don’t deserve you, though. That’s why this–“

“Fuck off with your bullshit. Like you’re some kind of martyr. You took everything from me. I just wanted to be with you. I wanted to be yours,” he kept his voice low but he spoke with heat and emotion, “I would have learned to be okay with it but you dropped me so fast I didn’t even have time to get used to it,” Harry pushed himself back and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. I have no idea what I’m doing at all. I feel evil. I feel like your feelings are far more important than mine,” she felt the first tear make a warm trail down her cheek and then as she blinked a second and third. “I’m sorry.”

Harry watched as she tried to hold back her emotion but he saw the tears on her face and he felt bad for his outburst but he was still so raw and angry from everything. “Please, don’t…” he softly brushed the back of his hand upward over her cheek to wipe her tears, “don’t cry. You’re gonna make me cry.”

She put her hand over his and closed her eyes, “I don’t want you to cry. You deserve to be happy, Harry.”

He shook his head and reached up to cup the other side of her face with his hand, “You don’t want me to cry? It’s all I’ve been doing. Every night for the past 19 days. I miss you, Y/n.”

She looked up at him, “I miss you too but you know we can’t… you deserve to be with someone you can have a real relationship with.”

Harry stepped in close and rested his forehead against hers, “Don’t want anyone but you.”

The world stopped and the only sound she could hear was her heart pumping in her chest. Having him so close to her was comforting and overwhelming all at the same time. It hurt but it felt good. She was confused. Maybe it had been a mistake to break up with him. Maybe that was the mistake.

“Harry?”

The pair separated quickly when they heard Leslie’s voice. Y/n’s face began to burn with embarrassment. She’d let it go too far. She hadn’t been in her right mind. Harry’s words and his eyes had her spinning and in a daze.

Leslie said something that Y/n couldn’t hear as her ears began to ring and regret blanketed her skin. She should never have allowed it to get that far. To let him touch her and stand so close… she knew better.

She looked between Harry and Leslie when Harry turned to whisper in her ear, “Will you come find me when you leave? I want to see you.”

Leslie’s face told Y/n everything she needed to know. Leslie was curious about what was going on. Suspicious. Leslie clearly liked Harry. And Harry could like Leslie too if it hadn’t been for Y/n.

Looking back at Harry she shook her head, “Harry… this can’t. No. We can’t.”

His hand wrapped around her wrist, “Yes, we can. Please don’t do this. Please, Y/n.”

“Leslie is right there, Harry. Go have fun with your friends. Pretend I’m not here.”

Harry stepped back and let go of her. He shook his head in disappointment, his eyes piercing into hers, “Fine.”

The way Leslie kept her eyes on Y/n until Harry pulled at her arm had Y/n feeling her guilt and shame bloom and swell.

She closed her eyes as Harry led Leslie out of the hallway and back into the main room of the club. It hurt too much to watch. She felt like she was back to day one when she broke up with him. She hoped that he’d begun to move on but he hadn’t. And neither had she.

“So what was that about?” Cyndee asked as Y/n slid back into the booth.

“He just had a question about our family vacation,” Y/n lied. She was glad the club was dark and the lights that illuminated could hide that she’d been crying. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

Harry had effectively ruined her girl’s night out. Of course, it wasn’t totally his fault. He was in the same boat she was. And she tried not to let her eyes rove the features of the people dancing or standing at the periphery to perchance spot him again, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to see him. Just another peek.

But Harry had moved so that she wouldn’t be able to lay her eyes on him, though he knew where she was and he continued to look toward the booth where she was sitting.

“Why do you keep looking over at your stepmom?” Leslie pulled him down so she could speak into his ear. He’d assured her that what she saw was just them talking and that it was loud so they had to stand that close. He said that Y/n had been upset about something. But Leslie wasn’t quite so sure. She’d seen his forehead pressed to hers. Had seen how he was cradling her face in his palms and how tense the moment was.

“Oh, didn’t realize I was. Just worried about her.”

And that was kind of the truth. He was worried about her. But not for reasons he could explain. Not to Leslie.

More alcohol. Shots, beer, martinis, dancing. A full hour had gone by. Y/n was on the dance floor again and trying to let the alcohol cover up her sadness but even in her state she couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. Especially when she’d finally caught sight of him on the dance floor. Especially when he was dancing with Leslie. Kissing Leslie. Hands on Leslie. Hips pressed to hers.

She swallowed down the jealousy the best she could. It was better to have Harry with someone his age. Someone who wasn’t his stepmom.

Marla danced with Y/n and kept asking if she was okay.

“I’m just trying to not think about it,” Y/n spoke into her friend’s ear as she watched Leslie’s hand sneak up the back of Harry’s shirt.

And it wasn’t that Harry wasn’t enjoying Leslie touching him and grinding against him. He thought Leslie was cute. He liked her. And in another world where he hadn’t gotten involved with Y/n, he’d be over the moon about where the night was leading. He’d already invited Leslie back to his dorm room, to which she enthusiastically said yes.

He was going to forget about Y/n the best he could. Do normal 21-year-old college guy shit and have sex with someone after a night out. He could see himself dating Leslie. Enjoying her company. And maybe he’d get over Y/n after enough time.

But it didn’t help that he couldn’t stop stealing glances at her. She was dancing near the other man. Not in a way that should have Harry feeling jealous but he couldn’t help that part. He was jealous. He didn’t think anyone should be near her. If he couldn’t have her then no one else should either.

“I’m right here, Harry,” Leslie put her arms up over his shoulders to pull his attention back to her. He didn’t know what he was doing. He was really trying to enjoy the girl he was dancing with and ignore the one he was not but it was almost impossible. He’d do almost anything to have the girl in his arms be Y/n rather than Leslie. To have Y/n’s hips glued to his, her eyes on him, her warm skin stuck against his…

When he looked at Y/n again and caught her gaze he caved. Maybe it was all the alcohol, or it was his jealousy, or his heart thinking for him rather than his brain but he put his hands over Leslie’s arms and moved her off of him, “I need to um...” he didn’t finish saying what he needed to do. But he knew it was a need. He had to convince Y/n of what he was already sure of himself.

Harry trudged through the sweaty bodies with his eyes on her and she watched him approach. His eyes were dark and his face set with a menacingly chilly expression.

He stood in front of her and pulled her in by her waist and she gasped, “What are you–“

“Dancing with my stepmom.” Harry began to sway and Y/n grasped onto his sturdy biceps, “Harry we can’t. Someone will see–“

“I don’t fucking care, Y/n,” He leaned in and spoke lowly into her ear, “Just listen. I want you. I don’t care if I’m just the side piece or whatever shit you want to call it. I fucking don’t care. Let it be messy. We’ll be together when my dad’s not around. I can give you what he can’t. Don’t punish yourself because you don’t think you deserve that. You do. We both do.”

She darted her eyes to Marla who was next to Harry before turning her head to respond to her stepson, “It doesn’t matter what we want. We can’t have that, Harry.”

His grip on her waist tightened, “We can and you know it. Unless you tell me you don’t want me. Tell me right now that you hated being with me and that you don’t miss me and I’ll leave you alone. Tell me all those things you told me about how you felt were just lies and I’ll never bother you again.”

She couldn’t help the way her body trembled as he spoke and the breath she let out bloomed over his neck. He knew she couldn’t deny it. He knew she wouldn’t take back what she said. And that was enough for him to feel like it wasn’t over.

“Harry…” she breathed his name as his thumbs dug into the material of her dress at her waist.

Suddenly it felt as if there was no one in the club except for them. She could feel his cheek against her temple, the whiskery bits scratching her skin. Their bodies moved together slowly as the next song came on.

When she felt his mouth move as he spoke she had been unable to stop the way her chest rose and fell deeply, pants leaving her mouth.

“You can’t because you need me just as much as I need you, Y/n. Fuck everyone else. I don’t care. Fuck my dad. Come home with me.”

And despite the pair forgetting about everyone around them, all their friends watched on as Y/n and Harry danced close, Harry's lips moving next to her ear, Y/n’s breaths deepening, her hands on his arms, his on her waist.

“Y/n,” Marla tapped her arm, and the sudden shock of being brought out of Harry’s spell was clear on her face when she looked from Harry to Marla. “We should get going. Okay?”

And that was it. He’d lost her again. She shook her head at Harry as she slipped out of his arms and pulled herself away from him and out of the club.

. . .

She had been thankful that Marla had come when she did. She was just about to give in. Just about to let the alcohol and Harry’s convincing words do all the thinking for her. She wanted to go with him. Wanted to just forget about it all. She wanted him. She could admit that. And part of her did need him. That was what was so hard. Because, yes, the sex was fun and she really loved it with Harry. But it had gone beyond sex. Their connection was deeper than just sex.

Waking up the next morning in her bed with Marla asleep next to her she felt crushed. Felt suffocated. She didn’t know how she was going to handle going on a vacation with him. Seeing him every day. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to stay away from him. Strong enough to keep denying herself or him.

She was in too deep and she knew that. She knew her feelings weren’t just physical. She knew it wasn’t just a phase. She knew that, to her, Harry was more than just a man she’d gotten involved with that she had begun to have some kind of attachment to.

It was more than that. And she knew it. But she just wasn’t ready to admit it to herself yet. Not aloud. Nor in her mind would she connect her thoughts and her feelings and recognize that one unmistakable emotion.

When they got back to Y/n’s house after that disaster of a girl’s night, Marla had given her a stern talking to. The truth. The reality.

“That was dumb, Y/n. Everyone watched you and Harry practically make out on the dance floor.”

“We didn’t kiss, Marla.”

“I know, but that was… very intimate. You might as well have had his tongue down your throat. He was talking with his lips on your ear and holding your body against his. It was obvious that it wasn’t just a friendly chat. And that girl he was with? Well, she saw it too and you should have seen the look on her face. Poor thing.”

Y/n knew that was what she deserved to hear. It was the truth and she had a moment of weakness. But Harry made her weak.

“I know. I’m just having a hard time not… I’m fucking so confused. I hate this.”

“You’ll feel better in the morning. Want me to stay the night? I’ll keep your phone away so you’re not drunk dialing him or something.”

And so that’s what happened. Marla was trying to help. She was a good friend. Y/n was thankful. But she also hated that she wasn’t waking up in Harry’s bed. Hated that she didn’t give in and that they couldn’t just be together. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get over him.

Harry’s stunt with Y/n had been the nail in the coffin with Leslie. She was planning on going back to his place. But after seeing the way he was behaving with Y/n, twice in one night was all she needed to see to know that there was something going on.

So he woke up in his bed alone thinking about Y/n. Thinking about how she didn’t deny the way she felt. But she still left him standing there like an idiot. He’d gone out on a limb and fucked up the sure thing he had with Leslie that night and wound up not getting any at all. His hope had soared and then crashed once again as he saw her look over her shoulder before stepping deeper into the crowd of people and out of sight.

. . .

The private villa Y/n selected was five bedrooms. Looking online at the photos of the property she hummed to herself as she imagined being dragged into Harry’s room and fucked against the door. He’d be angry with her for making them wait so long. He’d growl into her ear quietly about how she was his and how she needed him as he held his palm over her mouth to keep her quiet.

She swallowed and tried to push those dirty thoughts away. Leo was in his office as she was in her room imagining doing filthy things to his son. She couldn’t help it. Even though they hadn’t spoken since that night at the club she knew that they’d be seeing one another again soon. And that the private villa was spacious and there would be plenty of opportunity for them to have privacy.

For better or worse she couldn’t stop thinking about it and hoping they’d get the chance. She knew she shouldn’t think that way. But it was hard to stop those thoughts from taking over. Because she knew how he felt about her. She figured he’d try and convince her again and if it was just the two of them in a room with the door locked she wouldn’t say no. She wouldn’t be able to.

. . .

The airline lounge was quiet. There weren’t that many people to be seen at 5 am. Y/n sipped a latte and tried to distract herself by looking at her phone but she knew that Harry would show up soon with Tyler. She’d been unable to get much sleep the night before. Which was a shame because the flight with a layover was nearly a full day of travel.

They had a layover in Dublin and from there they’d fly into Corfu where they had ground transportation waiting to take them to their private villa on the ocean. She couldn’t wait to get to their destination.

“Harry texted. They just got through security,” Leo spoke suddenly.

Y/n nodded and looked back down at her phone, trying to act less affected than she was.

When Tyler and Harry arrived at the lounge they sat in a different area closer to the breakfast bar. Harry wore a baseball cap that covered his brown curls and he had his eyes closed until it was time to board their flight.

Y/n was glad that Harry and Tyler were not sitting near her and Leo on either flight. Traveling for nearly an entire day was already stressful enough. She didn’t need the extra tension of seeing Harry the entire time. She’d be getting enough of that in Greece.

. . .

The villa was even more gorgeous in person. The terrace was massive with lovely little lights attached to the outdoor canopies and was set on a hill that overlooked the ocean bay. The pool was huge and the property was totally private, surrounded by olive trees and plenty of land for them to explore if they chose. The interior of the villa was rustic but chic. The stone walls and floors with arched doorways and high ceilings with wooden beams were stunning. Every bedroom in the place had a view of the bay. It was literally quite breathtaking.

Leo and Y/n’s room was massive with a large window and terrace and hammocks swaying in the wind. Plants gave them some privacy but Y/n shuddered when she thought about that. She didn’t know how this vacation would go down. If Leo would want sex. He probably would. He was already relaxed and in quite high spirits she could tell.

Y/n was already in a cute bikini by the time Harry and Tyler had come outside to enjoy the terrace and pool and the view. She had her eyes closed, lying flat on her back on one of the lounge chairs.

But Harry wasn’t going to give her anything. He was going to act like he couldn’t care less about her presence or her body or what they’d gone through. If she could act so nonchalant about it so could he.

When Y/n heard the guys jump into the pool she sat up and glanced at Harry’s strong chest before turning her gaze away to watch the gorgeous view of the sea. It was difficult, though, to not let her eyes drag over his pecs and to his tattoos. His arms and his shoulders.

He looked happy. He was laughing with Tyler and seemed relaxed. And that was a good thing. Yes, it was better that he was happy rather than upset about the way things had ended.

Leo jumped into the pool with Harry and Tyler suddenly, the three of them laughing and enjoying the first official day of their vacation.

And Harry could tell that ignoring her was already working. He didn’t look at her but he could feel her eyes on him. He could tell she was trying not to look but failing.

“Thinking about going out tomorrow night. There’s a really nice bar in town. You’d be okay with that if just me and Tyler went?” Harry spoke to Leo but loud enough for Y/n to hear.

Y/n looked down into her lap and tried not to frown. Tried not to let her emotions take over her face. She didn’t know if this was payback or if Harry was actually trying to just move on. Or… perhaps it was just a ploy to make her needy of his usual attention.

“Of course! The driver can take you wherever you need to go and bring you back too. I expected that you and Tyler would want to go out and meet some girls or something.” Leo laughed.

Y/n pouted before blinking her eyes shut and trying to ignore the conversation. She didn’t want to even think about Harry meeting anyone. But what a selfish thing to consider. Her fantasies of Harry begging her to be with him or dragging her to his room slowly began to fade with the reality of the situation. She needed to let it go.

Bedtime came early. Everyone was exhausted from the long trip. Harry had still barely spared her a glance, though he did politely offer her the bottle of wine to refill her glass. But that was it. It was quite the blow to her ego. She figured that was what she deserved, though.

Tyler knocked at Harry’s cracked open door before stepping into his room, “You doing all that on purpose?” He gestured toward the door behind him.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s smirk gave away that he knew just what Tyler was talking about.

His friend cocked his head at Harry and rolled his eyes as he walked deeper into the room and sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, “What do you think I mean?”

Harry shrugged, “Just want to have some fun while I’m here on vacation. Trying not to think about Y/n or anything.”

“Dude you’re so full of shit. You had the chance to do that when we went out to the club but instead, you scared Leslie off for good trying to get with your stepmom in front of everyone.”

Harry shook his head, “Today’s a new day. She doesn’t want me so I’m just gonna have some fun.”

. . .

Y/n woke up before anyone else and made coffee. The place was beautiful. She couldn’t get over how bright and paradisiac the place was.

But even with how lovely the villa was… she tried not to pay much mind to the little voice in her head that told her Harry was doing it on purpose. That he was trying to make her jealous. Make her miss him. Make her eat her words about him finding someone his age to be with.

She’d gotten lucky that Leo was so tired the night before. He did kiss her goodnight, though. She rarely got that from him. But she knew he’d want something. He was in way too good of a mood the night before. She could tell he was going to want a roll in the sack soon.

She thought that with Harry and Tyler out that evening it would be a good time. It would be much easier to go along with it if Harry wasn’t nearby. She could pretend to be into it. Maybe he’d go down on her and she could pretend–“

“Up so early.” His raspy, deep morning voice was maybe her favorite sound. Ever. Her cheeks immediately warmed up at his voice coming from behind her, cutting her off from her thoughts.

She turned and watched as he walked around the large stone table to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah. I got to sleep right away and slept hard. Woke up and felt like I’d had enough rest.” She sipped her coffee as she watched Harry turn around with a mug, take three long-legged strides toward the table and sit down right next to her.

Without looking away from her he took a drink from his cup and Y/n continued to speak to fill in the awkward silence, “So, anyway. And you’re up early. Did you get enough rest?”

Harry smiled thoughtfully as he placed his mug down, “Sure. Slept pretty well. Fell asleep pretty quickly.”

He didn’t miss it when she mentioned that she got to sleep right away. To him, that meant that nothing happened between her and his dad the night before. Which of course he felt relieved by. He tried not to wonder when the last time they slept together was.

Y/n nodded, “Good. I think it’s so peaceful here too. Maybe that’s why we slept so well.” Her smile was genuine and her eyes told Harry she was taking all of him in. Soaking up his presence. Want. Longing.

Good.

“Well, I mean I’ve slept better before. Can think of a couple of times in particular. Ya know?” Harry raised his brows knowingly and licked his lips.

She softly nodded her head and the smallest smile broke out on her lips, “Yeah.” Memories of just how well they could sleep after the kind of intense sex they always seemed to have filled her thoughts.

Neither of them budged from their spot as they kept their eyes agaze on the other.

It was quiet and soft. She could stare into his eyes all day if she were allowed. She wanted to reach across the space to him and pull his shirt collar to bring him down for a kiss but she wouldn’t He wished she would.

Their moment was interrupted when they heard footsteps, quickly both taking their mugs in hand and sipping the hot liquid.

“Morning, early risers,” Leo yawned and stretched his arms overhead.

Tyler didn’t wake up until nearly noon. Y/n stayed most of the morning in a hammock by the pool reading while Harry sauntered around in only athletic shorts, baring his chest and abs. She was glad to have a book to read to distract her from the expanse of his skin littered with inky sketchings. The last thing she needed was to have Leo see her ogling his son.

After Harry and Tyler had left the big villa felt odd. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been used to being in such a large dwelling. Leonardo’s home was nearly as big. It was that the sudden weight of what she knew was coming felt paralyzing. She wasn’t going to be able to get out of this one she knew. Sure she could just say she didn’t want to have sex but that’s what she’d been doing far too frequently lately.

And just like she knew would happen, Leo was pulling her into his chest and trying to talk dirty to her. Two months ago it would have been welcomed.

“They’re gone for the night. What do you say we have a little fun?”

Y/n plastered a fake smile on her lips and drew her hands up over his shoulders, “What did you have in mind?”

“Haven’t felt you in a while. Missed you.” Leo pushed his mouth over hers and she closed her eyes and tried to shift her thoughts from the moment. Tried imagining she was doing anything else. Playing tennis with her trainer Margaret, swimming in the pool, shopping for new shoes…

But by the time they’d gotten into their bed, it was getting difficult to imagine that anything else was happening. So she switched tactics. It was Harry kissing her neck and pulling her clothes down and exposing her breaths. It was Harry whispering to her how pretty she was and what he wanted to do to her.

When he’d slid her panties off and he was bare between her legs she pushed herself up by her elbows and looked at his cock and gulped hard, but not out of lust or want. This wasn’t Harry and it was obvious. It was hard to trick herself that she was kissing Harry and touching his naked body when it wasn’t him. She didn’t want Leo. Not anymore. Not at all.

She blinked her eyes at him and grinned as she placed her palm over his dick before he could put on a condom, “Let me suck you off. Haven’t done that in a long time. And then you can come on my tits or something.” She figured a blow job didn’t feel as dirty as sex. Though choking on a cock was not fun when she wasn’t into it, it felt better than having sex with him, though.

And it wasn’t fun. Leo was well endowed and she had to work for him to come. He kept trying to pull her off so he could fuck her but she insisted that she wanted to get him off with her mouth.

She half regretted the route she’d taken. It probably would have been much faster if she’d just let him fuck her. He would have nutted in under ten minutes and she could fake an orgasm easily and that would be that. But instead, it took nearly double that for him to begin shaking with his release bursting down her throat before she pulled off of him and stroked him over her tits and tummy.

It was also no surprise to her that he didn’t even try to offer her anything once he was done. Which she was thankful for. This was one of those times she was relieved that he was a selfish lover.

. . .

Y/n startled awake when she heard Harry and Tyler stumble toward their rooms, with attempts to keep their voices down but failing quite miserably. It was just after 1 am. But when she heard the giggle of a female voice she sat up and strained her ears to listen closer.

Had they brought girls back with them?

She heard stomping and laughing then shushing before one door closed and then seconds later another. She considered going to stand outside of Harry’s door and pressing her ear to the wood to listen. But that was insane. He deserved privacy if he did bring a girl back. And that would be a good thing if he had (this seemed to be her mantra lately). A good thing for him to have some fun. With someone that wasn’t Y/n. That’s what she told herself anyway. In reality, it made her want to vomit.

She laid her head back onto the pillow and sighed. She closed her eyes and tried to let her mind think of anything but what might be happening in Harry’s room. She didn’t want to think about him joking around with another girl in that flirty confident way he does, taking her dress off, kissing the exposed parts of her skin as he lowered the fabric down over her hips. She couldn’t let herself imagine him with his soft raspberry lips doing things to some other girl that he’d done to her. And certainly, she refused to picture him having sex and coming on her tummy when they realized they forgot the condom because they were too caught up and horny.

She hated it. Hated the idea of any of that. Hated being jealous. Hated that she wasn’t being snuck into his room to do all of those things with him.

But the silence was a gift. She could hear nothing from their room and so she eventually convinced herself that she’d only imagined hearing a female’s voice, that there hadn’t been girls with them. And that thought was the only thing that helped her ease back into sleep.

. . .

When she finally woke up the following morning she had a feeling of dread and sadness in her tummy. Leo was already up as his side of the bed was empty.

She didn’t want to get up and walk into the kitchen and find two pretty girls sitting with coffee while Tyler sat next to one and Harry the other. Then it would be real. Because she had convinced herself that she’d only imagined hearing things the night before. But she knew what she heard. The distinct voice of a female, maybe two. She hoped she was wrong.

Freshening up her sleepy appearance first she put her messy hair into a ponytail and splashed her face with water. Her pajamas were cute. Little silky shorts and a tank top. It was her regular sleepwear. She had no idea what she was about to encounter but at least if she was going to see the young woman that got a taste of Harry the night before she could look somewhat cute.

But then she heard Leo’s voice. The window in the bathroom faced the balcony of their bedroom. She hadn’t seen him out on the balcony when she went into the bathroom so he must have been standing at the far corner away from where he could be spotted.

“I miss you, honey. I know…” his voice was quiet and soft. He never spoke to Y/n that way. He seemed so gentle with her. Sounded so malleable. So tender.

He chuckled breathily and spoke, “12 more days, Parker. Wish it was you here with me…”

She looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head. What had she gotten herself into? The man she was married to was clearly in love or falling in love with another woman. Y/n wasn’t upset that Leo was finding love with someone else. Y/n didn’t love Leo. But everything felt so fleeting suddenly. So finite. Things weren’t always as they seemed and now she was hyper-aware that the kind of agreement she had might be coming to an end.

She took a deep breath as she walked out of the bathroom, not needing to hear anything else from Leo to understand what was happening, and braced herself for what she might encounter in the kitchen.

But what she found when she got there was not quite what she’d imagined. There was indeed a young woman. Harry was seated at the table with his head drooped down and a mug of coffee in his hands while on the opposite side was Tyler sitting next to a sleepy girl. It was clear that the girl was with Tyler. Though, that didn’t mean there wasn’t another girl somewhere. Perhaps even still lying in Harry’s bed.

Harry appeared to be painfully hungover.

“Morning,” Y/n spoke as she eyed Tyler and the girl.

Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on Y/n.

Tyler cleared his throat, “This is Alex. We’re just waiting on the car to get here so she can go home.”

“So soon? You can stay for breakfast if you like,” Y/n smiled at the girl as she poured coffee for herself.

“Oh that is so kind of you but I have to be at work soon.”

Y/n glanced at Harry who couldn’t even force a smile onto his face. She wanted to ask if there was another girl in the house somewhere but based on Harry’s appearance she thought she knew the answer to that question.

Once Alex left Y/n tasked herself with making a big breakfast for everyone. Cooking made her happy and she figured if the guys were both hungover they’d want something to eat to soak up all the alcohol from the previous night. And also just the knowledge that Harry hadn’t brought a girl home, made everything in her own tummy settle and she was feeling quite peckish as well.

Y/n learned that Harry had gotten on a table and danced the macarena after housing some girl's martini. The girl was apparently into Harry but then he’d gotten quite trashed and that’s when Tyler suggested they head home. With Alex in tow of course.

“Shut up, dude,” Harry grumbled his words.

“Totally blew your shot with her man! And the funniest part of it was that she was so pissed that you drank her drink in one go. Like you just yanked it from her hand, gulped the whole thing down, and then climbed on the table and–“

Harry punched Tyler’s shoulder, “Shut. Up.”

After breakfast, Harry lay by the pool fully clothed. In fact, Y/n was quite sure he was wearing the same clothes as he had been the night before.

Y/n hated that this news made her happy. Hated that she felt smug that he’d gotten too drunk to bring a girl home. Hated that that idea improved her mood at all. But it did.

She was cleaning up the dishes and putting the leftovers away when Leo walked into the kitchen and clapped his hands together, “Today is a beach day. The boys can nurse their hangovers by the sea.”

Most of the morning had been wasted at the villa with Harry trying to recover and get his shit together before they could finally head to the bay.

The water was deep blue and the sky above was bright and clear. The beach had chairs with sun umbrellas all along the shore. They found a few chairs together and draped towels over them.

Harry seemed to be feeling better. Especially when two girls came up to greet him. It was clear they both were interested in Harry. Tyler was an attractive guy too, but Harry was… well he was Harry.

The girls were from Italy and spoke English perfectly. They were pretty with pretty hair, pretty skin, pretty lips, and pretty accents.

Watching Harry flirt sucked. She didn’t know any other way to feel about it. She tried to pretend she didn’t notice. But it was impossible being that they were only a few chairs away. She could hear everything too. The girls were giggling and Harry was being cheeky and cute, trying to say something to them in Italian and they ate it up, correcting his words and making him repeat but it seemed to only endear them to him even more.

Harry wore a pair of short green swim trunks that did little to hide his tight ass and strong thighs. Tattoos on full show, lean and well-muscled torso flaunted. Harry knew he was attractive. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the girls introduced themselves to Harry and Tyler.

Y/n let her sun hat slip over her eyes as she laid back and tried to focus on the sound of the waves in the ocean and not the flirtatious laughter coming from Harry’s direction.

“Will you rub sunscreen on my back, Y/n? Feel like I didn’t get enough toward the shoulders,” Leo put his hand on Y/n’s arm to get her attention.

She scooted in behind Leo on his beach chair to reapply sunscreen to his back but with the angle she was at she had a better view of the boys.

Harry was draped casually on his chair. His smile drew deep dimples into his cheeks and the tiger tattoo on his thigh was being traced by the girl sitting next to him on his chair. They were no longer laughing but speaking quietly to one another.

She watched as the young woman pointed to his butterfly tattoo and Harry took her hand and urged her to put the pad of her finger along the lines of the ink.

Harry could tell Y/n was watching. He did feel a little bad. Just a little, though. Because he wasn’t interested in the pretty Italian girl with her hands on his skin, which was a bit rude of him. And he was reveling in the fact that Y/n might be getting jealous. Also rude of him.

But when he did finally allow his sight to take his stepmom in he noticed that his dad was rubbing lotion on her back and shoulders. He watched fingers graze along the side of her boobs and noted how his dad was grinning and whispering into Y/n’s ear.

Y/n was holding her hair to the side so it didn’t get sunscreen all over it and her other arm was out in front, palm flat on the chair between her legs so she was slightly bent at the waist. Her cleavage nearly spilled out of her yellow bikini top.

He didn’t like the way Leo was touching her or how Y/n was grinning at whatever was being said.

Harry took the girl's wrist and pulled her hand higher, now pressing her palm over the sparrow on his right pec.

“You work out a lot,” the girl spoke as she looked at Harry with her big brown eyes. She wanted more he could tell.

Harry turned his attention back to the girl fully and shook his head, “Just a few times a week. You obviously work out too.”

Y/n could pull the girl’s hair out. Her hands were on his pecs, feeling the firm muscle that Y/n enjoyed kissing and touching herself. But the worst was the way Harry was looking at the girl. His eyes dragged down her body as he spoke quietly to her. And when he pinched her thigh and she laughed loudly, hopping up from the chair, Harry followed after her and they ran playfully toward the water.

“Want a drink? I was thinking about bringing back some wine or something. There’s a shop just over there.” Leo spoke as Y/n stood up and moved back into her own chair.

“Yeah. Maybe some wine would be good.”

. . .

Leo had had a bit too much to drink. And Y/n hated, hated to think it, but it meant he’d pass out and would be unlikely to try anything with her. She could avoid sex with him. At least that evening.

It also meant, much to her devious delight, that Harry and Tyler had to bid adieu to the lovely young ladies, but not before getting some contact information so they could meet up later. Y/n needed their help to get Leo back to the villa in one piece.

Tyler was already setting up plans for that night to see Gia by the time they helped Leo to bed.

“Dude they’re both gonna be there tonight. Gia and Bambi.”

Yeah. The girl that Harry had been flirting with was named Bambi. Of course, that was her name. She was adorable with long legs and big brown eyes. She could pass for a Bambi.

“I don’t know, man. We just went out last night. I got so wasted and sick. Not sure I’m into it.”

“Really? Bambi was all over you. She wants to see you. You don’t have to drink, H. You know that right?” Tyler laughed.

Y/n was not purposely listening. She just happened to be in the kitchen wiping the countertops as the guys were in the sunroom connected to the kitchen. The fact that she could hear was totally a coincidence. Totally.

“Nah. You go. It’s fine.”

There was a pause for a beat and Y/n strained to hear if they were speaking. Whispering perhaps?

When Tyler responded his voice was much quieter so Y/n wiped her way toward the stone island in the center and perked her ears.

“It’s because of Y/n. Isn’t it? I know you’re still hung up on her but you gotta move on.”

“Tyler, I just don’t feel like going.”

“You’re not gonna be mad if I do then?”

Smiling to herself she moved away from the island and tossed the rag into the sink. Harry wasn’t going out to meet up with Bambi. She shouldn’t have been pleased with that but she was.

Tyler left after the sun had already gone down. Y/n hadn’t heard a single peep from Leo when she settled onto the terrace with a book and the yellow bikini she’d been wearing at the beach. Even at night, the weather in Corfu was warm.

Harry had been in the kitchen for a bit on his phone and then he disappeared for a while. She wished that things could be easy between them. Go back to how they were before.

But when he strutted out to the terrace and walked in front of her before splashing into the pool she was a little surprised that he’d come out with her at all. She thought perhaps he’d keep his distance. But of course, she knew better. She knew he wouldn’t.

And like they had been doing, mostly effectively since arriving in Greece, they ignored one another. Harry swam laps and Y/n read her mystery book and the stars twinkled down on their little paradise by the beach.

Y/n connected her cellphone to the speaker and put on music she had in her saved favorites. A random mix really.

Harry watched her walk across the stones to the outdoor mini fridge and pull out a bottle of beer before turning to Harry with a brow raised, “Want a beer?”

He nodded as he pulled himself out of the water and began to walk toward her. Droplets trickled down his skin and dripped from his trunks that were hung low on his hips.

She did well not to stare at his wet body as she handed him the cold bottle.

“Surprised you didn’t go out with Tyler. Seemed like you would have enjoyed seeing that girl tonight.” Y/n spoke as she sat down on the chair next to her book.

She immediately regretted asking. It made her look desperate, jealous. But perhaps she was.

Harry took the lounge next to hers and put his feet up as he took a swig from the bottle.

“Yeah. I would have enjoyed seeing her. She was really nice.”

“So why didn’t you? This is your vacation, Harry. You should enjoy it.”

Harry leaned his head back into the chair and turned to look at Y/n, “I am enjoying it. Maybe another night I’ll go out. Last night was too much for me.”

They sat silently for a bit as Y/n picked her book back up and tried to concentrate on the words on the page but her mind was racing.

When the next song came on, it had changed the mood entirely. A slow song and the lyrics were maybe somewhat ironic given their circumstance.

Harry stood from his chair and stretched his arms overhead before taking down the last of his beer.

“You done with yours?” He gestured toward her bottle.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks, Harry.” She was about to pick up the bottle to hand to him but he reached across her and picked it up. Their faces coming within just inches. He’d done it on purpose. But she didn’t say anything as he straightened himself and took the bottles to the trash.

She looked back down at her book but the lyrics of the song and Harry’s fit body were far more interesting to her.

“You’re staring,” Harry spoke with a smile.

Y/n scoffed and rolled her eyes, “No. No, I’m not.” But she didn’t remove her eyes from his frame as she grinned.

Harry kept his gaze set on hers as he adjusted his swim trunks, plucking at the fabric near his crotch where the lining was irritating his skin. He’d done that on purpose too. A reminder to her of what she was missing out on.

She tried not to imagine him without the shorts. She knew what he looked like underneath.

Blinking her eyes she looked down at her lap and took a breath.

“So, Tyler’s having fun. He brought that girl back yesterday and now he’s out with another tonight. Quite the ladies' man,” Y/n tried changing the subject or at least the trajectory of where her mind was beginning to wander.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry shrugged as he plopped back down onto the chair and stretched his arms behind his head. “Kind of funny…” Harry chuckled, not finishing his thought.

Y/n turned to look at him, “What’s funny?”

Harry’s bright eyes binged on her exposed skin, “Cause I should be out with him. Bambi was cute. Coulda had fun. Yet here I am.”

Nodding she turned to face him, putting her feet onto the stone below the chair, “You should have gone. It would have been good. You can still go you know.” “Would it be? Is that what you want?” Harry mimicked her stance, turning himself and putting his feet onto the stone, their knees facing one another.

“What I want? What do you mean?”

Harry’s pink lips opened and then closed as he considered his words, “Want me to go out and have fun with someone else? Someone who’s not you?”

Y/n shook her head and looked away from his deep gaze. Of course, she didn’t want that. What she wanted wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right.

She stood up so she could pace. To put some distance between her and Harry because even though he was a couple of feet from her it was too close. But she didn’t get far when she felt his hand on her hip and he was standing over her, “That’s what you want?”

It wasn’t fair. Her feelings weren’t fair. The way he felt for her wasn’t fair. Nothing about their situation was fair.

She looked up at him and the slow riff of the new song made their proximity feel even more intense. It just wasn’t fair.

“Stop, Harry. You already know the answer.”

When his other hand landed on her hip and pulled her in so she couldn’t back away from him he nodded his head, “I do know the answer. That’s why I’m here. With you. Because we want the same thing. Don’t we?”

She dropped her eyes toward his chest, just about where his heart would be. The heart she longed to keep for herself. The most tender heart she’d ever known.

She nodded her answer but did not look up at him. Because it wasn’t fair. Her answer wasn’t fair. His feelings weren’t fair.

“See? You’re just torturing yourself, Y/n. Torturing me. I need you in a way I’ve never needed anything, and I know it’s the same for you. Please look at me.”

Harry didn’t know he could be so relentless about something. He was generally very easygoing and didn’t bother to push anyone in the way he did with Y/n. But it was different. Because he knew they had something special. Something rare.

Slowly she gave in and looked up at him again, bringing her hands up to his chest, palms flat. He looked down at her hands and then back up to her eyes, “Can you feel my heart?”

She nodded as Harry took one of his hands and pressed it over the back of hers to hold her palm in place. The unmistakable frenzied thudding of his muscular organ below vibrated against her skin, “It doesn’t do that with anyone else. Not like this.”

She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to let her feelings overwhelm her like they had been since she broke it off. Wanted to keep strong. Didn’t want to give in. Didn’t want to not give in.

“I know you feel the same way. Why are you doing this?”

She let out a shaky breath and blinked her eyes, “Because we can’t.”

“Y/n… I’m…” he shook his head and took a deep breath, “I need you to be honest. Because I can’t keep doing this to myself. I’m going crazy. Tell me you don’t want me.”

“That’s not fair.” Her words were a whisper.

“If you can’t tell me you don’t want me I’m never gonna be able to move on from you, Y/n.”

Harry brought his hands up to her face, not allowing her the chance to look away from him.

“I can’t.”

“Y/n… there’s not a single part of me that doesn’t want every single part of you. It’s only going to get worse. Tell me now you don’t want me. Before I kiss you.” His nose was pressed into her cheekbone as he closed his eyes. He could tell her breath was deepening. Her fingers softly stroked the skin and hair of his chest.

“Harry… please… don’t…” she couldn’t ever tell him she didn’t want him. She should tell him so that they could put an end to all of it. Tell him she never wanted him. Tell him it never meant anything to her. But how could she when that was the furthest thing from the truth? Her heart couldn’t let her speak those things aloud to him. Couldn’t utter those lies.

“Say it and I’ll stop. Say it, Y/n. Put me out of misery. Let me move on if you don’t want me. Say it and I’ll leave you alone for good.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Harry’s lips found the edge of Y/n’s mouth and his muttered words sent a shock through her soul, “Y/n, I love you.”

She gasped and pushed at him, her eyes wide as she shook her head, “No you don’t. Don’t say that!”

Pulling herself from his hold she turned and quickly walked back inside to get away. She needed to break down and cry and scream into a pillow and stomp her feet… anything to stop her veins from overflowing with him. Anything from stopping herself from responding to him in kind.

“Y/n!” Harry walked after her and followed her into the stairwell as she ascended as quickly as her legs would carry her. But Harry’s legs were longer and he was not letting her get away.

“Don’t run away from me, please!”

She pushed her way into a spare room and tried shoving the door closed but Harry’s strong body blocked the door as he forced his way in and closed it behind himself. The dark room was illuminated by the moon and the twinkle lights strung up over the terrace.

“Harry stop. You don’t mean it. You’re… you’re confused… it’s–“

His hands found her waist in the dark and he pulled her into his arms. He pressed his face into her hair, lips close to her ear, “I’m not confused. I’m in love with you.”

She had given in to her tears already. It was too much. Having his arms around her and his skin against hers, his voice, his words. I love you.

She melted into his arms and pressed her wet cheek against his chest as she cried.

Harry was gentle. His hands caressed her back as he allowed her to cry in his arms. He knew he was being bold by telling her how he really felt but he needed her to know. He wanted her to admit her feelings to him. She couldn’t say she didn’t want him because she did want him and he was sure she felt the exact same way for him that he did for her.

“Please, Y/n. If you can’t tell me you don’t want me I’m never gonna stop. I don’t care about the consequences. I don’t care if we get caught or if we keep it a secret forever. I just… I love you. I need you.”

Harry’s shorts were mostly dry by that point. Y/n felt the fabric against her hips as he tightened around her the slightest, his warm breath over her ear, “I love you.”

What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to just push him away and ignore it all? It was already impossible, but now with his confession, she couldn’t do anything but let her heart crack open wide and allow him in. His warmth and kind heart smothered her resolve. Drowned it until it was gone.

“Goddamnit, Harry.” She spoke with her mouth smashed over his skin.

He put his hands on her face and turned her head up to look at him in the shadowy room, “I’m gonna kiss you. Tell me right now if you don’t want me to but I can’t go one more minute without it,” he whispered his words as he dipped down slowly.

Her silence was his answer and when his lips smoothed over hers their moans of acceptance meshed together with mouths moving in synch.

She had missed his kiss. His breath. His tongue.

When he felt her fingers glide into his curls he thought he might pass out. He didn’t know if this was only for the night or if it meant forever, or maybe just something in between. But it was clear she was his in that moment.

She could feel him under his shorts, thickening up quickly. And that flipped a switch in her right away. She’d been denying him of everything. He might have flirted with some girls during their break but he hadn’t been with anyone. He was hers. Every part of him belonged to her and how could she ever refuse him again? To deprive him of what he wanted, needed felt abusive. She never wanted to hurt him.

“I’m sorry, Harry…” she spoke against his lips as she pushed him toward the bed. Her legs were about to give out from the adrenaline rushing through her veins. She needed to be in his lap or lying next to him so they could be closer. She needed him closer. “I was wrong to break up with you.”

Harry gasped at her words and when he felt her pushing him toward the mattress he stepped back and pulled her with him, their lips never parting.

He hoisted her up over his body as he sat on the bed and slid himself into the center and up to the headboard keeping her with him as he went.

Y/n settled her thighs over his and kept her mouth on his, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you, Harry. I’m so sorry…”

His hands were shaky as he hugged her tight. He hoped this meant for good. He hoped she wouldn’t regret this again. He had never regretted it.

“You mean it?” Harry kissed her softly before parting from the kiss and putting his hands on her hips.

Y/n nodded and scratched his scalp gently, “I mean it. I’m not done with you. I could never be. I was wrong when I thought it would be better to be apart.”

“Promise me? You’re not gonna leave me again?”

Leaning forward she nudged her nose into his and brought her hands down to cup his face, “I promise you. Never again. It was stupid. I need you, Harry.”

The whine that left his throat when she rocked her hips down over him had blood rushing to her limbs and she pulled at him to move his back away from the headboard before pushing him flat to lie down, “You need me too, don’t you, baby? Need me to take care of you?” She rolled her hips over his bulge and he nodded and breathed out the word yes.

“Poor thing. I’ve been so bad to you. I’m gonna spend so much time making it up to you. I promise, Harry.”

“Please, Y/n.”

“Missed you, Harry. Missed this…” she pecked his lips and then kissed her way down his jaw, neck, his pecs, and sternum. Her mouth left small wet spots as she moved and whispered over his skin, “I’m sorry for all of it, baby.”

Harry arched his back when she licked her tongue along the ridges of his abs and he whimpered, “I need you. I need you now.”

She smiled and looked up at him. They both had tears in their eyes but things had shifted quickly. Instead of uncertainty and grief their hearts were reacting with love and devotion. Y/n would show him her devotion the best she could.

She put her palms on his pecs and sat up to look him over, “So pretty. So perfect for me, Harry. I was dumb to think I could suppress my feelings for you.”

Harry brought his hands up to her low back and smoothed his palms downward over her bottom. Her little bikini was flimsy and so it was easy for Harry’s thumbs to slip under the fabric so he could keep hold of her.

She needed the moment to take him in. There was just enough light to see his face and torso, to see his lips parted and his chest rising and falling.

“You know that I’m yours too, right? You’re the only one who has my heart, Harry.”

Harry let out a quivering breath as he squeezed her bottom and in a strained voice spoke barely above a whisper, “Say it again.”

Settling herself over his hips and leaning down to put her lips close to his ear and her palm over his heart she spoke, “I’m yours. I love you, Harry.”

The moment she whispered those words into his ears, Harry felt like his heart would give out, like his nervous system was going to shut down… his ears became muffled as blood rushed to his head and his heart pumped viciously in his chest. His breath caught in his throat and he began to melt and sink down into the mattress and through the floor into the cement foundation of the room below and then into the earth. But as long as he had her in his arms he was alive and in love. He was safe with her heart and her words.

She felt his grip tighten on her bottom but he said nothing as the moment had him spinning and sinking and soaring.

She kissed his soft lips and he suddenly jolted back into his body with a moan as he opened his mouth wide against hers. It was as if her lips were a defibrillator to his heart.

He bent his knees slightly and bucked up toward her, keeping his hands on her to hold her down. He wasn’t going to let her go.

She rocked her hips over him slowly as they kissed and licked wetly.

Harry’s dick was in an uncomfortable position in his trunks and the lining was scraping the skin as Y/n pressed her crotch over him. And as if she’d somehow read his mind, she pushed against his hands that were holding her bum and reached between them to push his shorts down and free his length from its confines.

When he sighed she cooed at him, “Feels better like that, doesn’t it? You’re too big to be smushed in there like that.”

Harry wanted to just thrust into her and fuck her from his spot on the mattress, holding her down and make her take him. He was desperate to feel her but he knew she was in charge. She was going to make it worth the wait. But he was shaky and leaking, “Y/n, please…” He didn’t even know exactly what he was asking for but he wanted anything.

“Yes, Harry. I know… Tell me what you need, baby. I just want to make you happy. Want you to feel so good.”

Harry pulled at the fabric of her bikini bottom and the hint was loud enough that she understood just what he wanted.

“Want these off? Yeah?” She kissed his mouth and gently brushed the crotch of her bikini bottoms over his cock.

Harry nodded and groaned, “Yes. Off…”

Y/n pushed herself up but Harry’s big hands wouldn’t let go of her bottom so she put her palms over the top of his hands and pried them off, “Need to let me go so I can get these off for you, baby. Will you let go?”

Harry whined but he did as she said.

Y/n got to her knees between his legs and first removed her top and then slowly slid her bottoms down her legs as Harry sat up and pushed his trunks the rest of the way off his body, but the moment she was completely bare he pulled her back into his chest, not wanting to have any space in between their bodies for a moment longer.

She giggled at the abrupt force of him pulling at her but then her mouth was covered by his, rendering her silent as he slowly moved his lips, savoring her taste and her skin on his.

The feel of her body draped over him, her hips and her bottom under his palms, her thighs spreading for him to have access to anything he wanted… Euphoria.

He reached down further, letting his digits glide down her bottom to the back of her thighs and then in toward her pussy that was pressed to his shaft. He let the pads of his fingers feel her soft skin over his hard erection, the tiny swivel of her hips to keep them connected was seductive.

She felt his fingers reaching behind her gently stroking her crease so she moved herself the slightest to feel the tip of his finger dip inside. The motion caused their lips to part and Harry let out a low moan.

Putting her hands on his chest she pushed herself up and sat over his finger making it reach deeper inside, “I want another Harry,” she panted as she rolled her hips onto his hand.

Harry groaned as he pulled his finger out and then thrust two inside of her. She was doing most of the work. He hardly had to move his fingers or hand at all with the way she was writhing over him.

“Missed your hands and your fingers so much, Harry.”

“I missed you, Y/n.”

She continued rocking into his hand, wetting his palm and making his fingers sticky with herself. Her clit was pressed to Harry’s frenulum giving him that decadent sensation of her pussy gliding over him gently that he missed so much.

Y/n reached around and pulled at his hand to bring his fingers out of her and she lifted his wrist toward his mouth, pushing his fingers onto his tongue, “That’s yours, baby.”

Harry closed his eyes at the taste as he felt her move down his body before wrapping her hand around his shaft.

She licked his tip and kissed the thick vein on the underside. Harry gasped and groaned and pushed himself up to reach for her, pulling her face upward so she would look at him, “Please, Y/n. I need to be inside of you so bad.”

Y/n grinned, grasping his wrist as she turned her face to kiss his palm, “Need to feel my pussy around you?”

Harry nodded as she climbed back over his body and smoothed her soaked cunt over his length, “Anything you want, baby.”

When she angled her hips over him and pushed down over his thick crown Harry let out a loud and guttural moan. Too loud.

And while Leo was probably still passed out, Y/n didn’t need to have this moment interrupted by anyone. She continued to sink over him as she put her palm over his mouth, “Shhh… this is just for you and me. Okay? Be a good boy and keep quiet so I can fuck you without anyone else hearing.”

It was nirvana to be connected with him again. To feel his thick tip being pushed inside her body, splitting her down the center in smooth strokes, nudging and gliding into her g-spot with each roll of her hips. And even with Y/n’s palm covering his mouth the sound of what was going on in the room was quite blatant. She was filthy wet over his cock, slick and sticky as she fucked herself down on him, pushing him into her guts. The bed started off with the smallest rattle from the metal frame and turned into a repetitive clunking thud on the floors as she rocked her hips over his harder. Even with their silence, the atmosphere in the room was sex and elation. They were finally together again and their bodies were celebrating the joy their hearts felt.

She was already chasing her own orgasm after only a handful of minutes of having him inside of her but she wanted to drag it out. Make it last. They had all night. And she didn’t care if Leo did wake and wonder where she was. Let him find them. Let him hear the squeak of the mattress and the wet sound of her pussy being fucked by his son. She was Harry’s. Only Harry’s.

Pulling her hand from his mouth she leaned over him, pressing her soft tits to his chest, and kissed him slowly as she fucked him. They were breathing in through their noses sharply to fill their lungs so they didn’t have to part their mouths.

Harry’s hands found her round bum again, squeezing and pressing her down while her hands wound through his curls.

Harry was leaking quite desperately and doing everything he could to hold back from filling her with his warm come. He wanted to feel her around him for as long as possible, “M’gonna come, hold on…” his breathy words were pinched as he spoke quickly.

Y/n paused and sat up, bringing his hands from her bottom to her tits, urging him to squeeze them, “S’okay, baby. It’s okay to come.”

Harry’s chest heaved as he shook his head and pressed his thumbs over her nipples, “Want it to last. Need to be here with you forever.”

Licking her lips and keening at the way he pinched her left nipple she nodded, “Me too. Want to feel like this with you forever. We’ll take our time and go slow. But if you come it’s okay. There’s so much time for us. I know you needed me,” she ran her fingers over his pecks and up to his neck gently as she felt him throb inside of her. He had been dangerously close to coming.

“Tell me again, Y/n. Want to make sure it was real.”

Letting her fingers travel up to his chin and to the side of his face she whispered his new favorite phrase to him, “I love you, Harry.”

He whimpered and she felt his cock twitch. That had nearly been his end again. Just her words and the moment they were in was almost too much for him.

“Fuck. Nearly came right then, Y/n.” He panted and tried to calm his cock as he closed his eyes with a big smile on his face.

“You deserve to come, baby. You’ve been so good.”

She began to slowly rock over him again, her clit pasted over his pelvis with the head of his thick cock pushed into her tummy, dragging against her cervix. He filled her up so perfectly, made her wobble and ache from the fullness his sizable cock gave her.

Her pussylips gripped him lavishly, slipping up and down and stimulating him from base to tip, coating him in her cream and wetting his lap. His fingers sunk into her soft skin with a pinch as she inched down and up in steady motions.

“Do you hear that?” She sheathed him with her cunt and lifted gently so the sound of their bodies connecting and slipping together could be heard, “It’s because I belong to you, Harry. No one gets me so wet and so achy.”

Harry choked out a quiet moan and listened to the noise of his cock being fucked by her wet pussy. He could barely respond with any coherent words except to whisper her name and whine when she seated herself fully onto him and clenched.

“And I can tell you’re mine too baby. You’re cock gets so hard for me. Can’t help it can you? Need my love and my attention. All of my affection. My cunt. We need each other, Harry.”

Quiet gasps and moist bodies meeting and parting slowly began to get louder, faster.

Y/n was going to come and she didn’t know if she could stop it from happening this time. She wanted to go all night but she was going to explode if she didn’t come.

“Baby… look at me…” she spoke quietly as Harry opened his eyes to take her in. Soft tits jiggling and, her mouth parted, “I’m gonna come. I want you to come with me. Okay?”

He nodded, “Fuck yes. Come on me, Y/n…” Harry gritted his teeth when he felt her begin to fuck down over him harder.

Harry bent his knees and began to plunge himself into her, meeting her thrusts with harsh smacks and splatting noises.

She could no longer hold in her ecstasy or her cries of bliss.

“I love you, Harry! Fuck! I’m coming!”

Harry coughed out a loud groan and gasped as her walls clamped and spasmed over him. His balls thudded into her, knocking her upward when he felt the relief of his come pouring out of his cock and spurting into her cunt.

As they writhed and came together they heard a thud from in the hallway.

They both heard the noise but they were in the throes of their orgasms, whining and moaning together in bliss with pounding hearts as they kept their eyes on one another.

It didn’t matter to either of them who it was or what the noise was. They’d deal with that when they were ready. At that moment they were alone in a room together, bodies interlinked, adjoined, shaking, panting, bursting. Nothing else mattered. No one else could come between them.

Collapsing onto his chest she ran her nails over his scalp and felt his hair between her fingers as she kissed his neck and sighed. Harry was still trembling with the smallest smile on his pink lips, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with Y/n moving up and down with his breaths.

“I love you so much, Harry.”

He turned to his face to push his nose against hers, “I love you so fucking much it hurts. I still can’t believe this is real. Is it?” His arm moved around her waist as he held her tight.

“Yeah. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Leo but you and I will think of something. I don’t want you and your father to have a bad falling out.”

Harry kissed her soft lips and grinned, “You’re gonna leave him?”

“Yeah. I don’t want anyone but you. And it’ll make things easier for him and Parker anyway,” she chuckled quietly. It was true. She was convinced that Leo was not just fucking the girl, he was very much into her, if not in love. Based on what she’d overheard of their conversation she was confident that leaving him wouldn’t be difficult. It was the reason she was leaving him that would make things complicated.

Harry nuzzled his face into Y/n’s cheek and kissed her jaw, “I can’t believe you want to be with me. It feels like a dream.”

“It does.”

When they heard another thud and the sound of someone moving around down the hall they looked at one another, “Think it’s your dad?”

Harry shrugged and shook his head, “Maybe Tyler? He could be back by now. Don’t know.”

Y/n put her cheek over Harry’s chest and wrapped her arms around him as they both laid back down, “I don’t want to go out there. Not tonight. I just want to be here with you. Just you and me. We can think about what we want to do in the morning.”

Harry smiled and rubbed her naked back with his warm palm, “I don’t care if he knows tonight or tomorrow. I’ll wait until the time is right if you want. Maybe telling him while we’re on vacation is a bad idea.”

Y/n nodded and closed her eyes. She didn’t care anymore either. Now that she had him back again she wasn’t going to be letting go. Sure things would probably be difficult. She’d need to actually put her degree to use and get a job. She’d have to give up all the luxuries that being married to Leo afforded her. And she’d need to face the possibility that Harry would have a falling out with his father and that people wouldn’t be so kind toward her given the situation.

But she couldn’t imagine it not being worth it. Harry was worth all of it. There was no way she’d deny herself of him any longer. He was suffering and so was she. And why keep lying? She was in love. She was in deep. Harry had gotten ahold of her heart early on. There was nothing to be done but to yield to it.

Much to Harry’s chagrin, Y/n urged him to get up so they could clean up. They were sticky and gooey all over. It was absolutely necessary.

But of course, cleaning up was made slightly more difficult with a playful Harry. And of course, he was playful. He’d just learned that Y/n loved him just as much as he loved her. He realized that they had been on the same page the whole time. That she had missed him and how bad it hurt her. They were feeling the same things but now? She realized what he’d known all along. That they would be better together. No matter what.

Harry’s low, quiet baritone rang in Y/n’s ear as she giggled, “And how about this?” He dragged the rag over her clit as she pushed at his arm but he wasn’t budging.

“Harry! You’re just supposed to clean it,” she whisper-shouted as he watched where he was dragging the damp rag through her messy labia.

“I like it dirty, though, Y/n,” he laughed his words quietly as Y/n grasped the cloth and yanked it from him.

“You’re something else,” she grinned at him as she wiped herself up.

Harry had her perched on the bathroom counter and he was stood between her legs when they heard a knock at the bedroom door.

The bathroom they were in was connected to the bedroom and they’d kept the door open.

“Did you lock the bedroom door?”

Harry shook his head. Neither moved an inch when they heard the second knock.

“No matter what, are you with me?” Harry held onto the bottoms of her thighs to keep her in place.

“Yes, Harry. I’m with you, baby.” She nodded as they heard the bedroom door open.

Both Y/n and Harry were naked and only half wiped up after having sex. Staring at one another they listened as the footsteps drew closer to them.

And the scene was just as anyone could imagine. A pair of lovers pressed together, watching the door as the intruder cast eyes on the infidelity. A bare woman sat on a countertop with her thighs held up by a man in between her legs.

Harry held up a protective arm to shield her from the eyes that peered in.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tyler laughed his words as he stepped forward enough that Harry and Y/n could see who it was.

Harry let out a breath and Y/n covered her face in embarrassment.

“Get the fuck out of here, dude!” Harry spoke quietly.

“I just came in here because Leo is awake and I’m pretty sure he heard you. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Y/n and Harry looked back at one another silently. Tyler said that he was pretty sure Leo had heard. But they wouldn’t know for sure until they faced him.

“Fuck.” Harry whispered, “I was hoping we could push this off until after vacation. What do we do?”

Y/n didn’t really know the answer. Ideally, they would have confronted Leo about this later on. Definitely not at the beginning of a two-week family vacation in Greece.

“We don’t know if he even heard anything. We can go out there now and get it out of the way. Or feel it out. See if he heard,” Y/n put her hands up to his chest.

Harry nodded and took a deep breath, “What if we just lock that door and get in bed together and wait until the morning?”

“We can do that too if you want. Maybe he has no idea and we can control when we tell him.”

The lovers smiled at one another in agreement before both leaning in to kiss. No matter what they were both on the same page now. There was no turning back.

“But if not. If he did hear we’ll figure it out. He doesn’t deserve you anyway, Y/n.”

Smiling up at him she realized that she was crazy but she was in love. And if anyone did deserve her it was Harry. The one who loved her. The one who was gentle with her. The one she loved.

“Yeah. We’ll figure it out together.”

This is the final part of this short series! Thank you for being here and reading!

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justalonelybitch · 1 year

Text

Possessions of The Heart

Yunjin x F!Reader (Ft. Karina)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, Jealously, Possessiveness

Word Count: 3.7k

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Possession: to retain ownership and control over someone or something. A possession is something precious that one holds dear, nurturing and caring for it. To protect it from the loathsome dangers of this infected world. Keeping it to oneself, for it is not to be shared, but to be sheltered from the tainted touch of careless humans. Something to be cherished by only one, for others cannot truly appreciate the magnitude of its beauty. Admiring it for every fault, as beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Learning to love every unique feature and treasure it for as long as one can possess it. Understanding all its unusual quirks, knowing what it takes to maintain its pure innocence. Preserving its integrity and most importantly, not letting it fall into the poisoned hands of one's deceitful foes.

To Huh Yunjin, you were a possession.

She valued you above all else, treating you with the utmost attentiveness. You were her most prized possession and she cherished you with all her heart. There was nothing more important to Yunjin than you, she didn’t have a clue in the slightest as to why, but what she did know was that when she was with you, nothing else seemed to matter. She admired your every quality, good or bad, there was no difference to her. Your flaws were perfection in her eyes, features that merely further enhanced her attraction to you. Whether you held her heart in the palm of your hand was never a question, but a reality Yunjin faced with open arms. She feared nothing when it came to loving you, for it was a leap of faith she’d take any day. You were worth the risk, everything about you made her more willing to hand over the keys to the fortress she’d kept guarded most her life.

Only one problem remained. A possession you may be, but Huh Yunjin’s you were not.

“Unnie?” Your soft whisper broke her from those poisoned racing thoughts, gaze flickering from the ceiling to you. Her chocolate brown orbs met yours in the darkness, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. Yunjin’s arms moved with a mind of their own as they snaked around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Waiting patiently for you to speak, a giggle slipped past her lips as you snuggled into the crook of her neck with a shy whine. You felt her fingertips begin to trace calming nonsensical patterns along the bare skin of your back where your shirt had ridden up. “How do you know if you like someone?” You mumbled, warm breath tickling the skin of her neck. Yunjin’s hands came to an abrupt halt as the words rolled off your tongue, grip on your waist tightening as she felt her breath catch in her throat.

“You like someone?” She uttered, her body was rigid, chest tightening as she anxiously awaited your answer. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking,” you grumbled, raising your head to glance up at her expectantly. Yunjin breathed out a heavy sigh, swallowing the bitter taste that clung to her tongue with a harsh gulp. “How do you feel around them?” She asked, brushing the hair out of your face with a gentle smile. “Excited.” You muttered, a grin unconsciously breaking out on your face. “Do you feel butterflies around them?” She questioned, voice strained as she stared down at you, painfully aware that the blush spreading across your cheeks wasn’t for her. “Nope,” you shook your head, brows furrowing in mild confusion. “I think I feel safe around them. They always make me feel calm, even just looking at them.” You spoke with a stupidly wide grin that made Yunjin’s heart ache in her chest.

“What else?” She asked, desperately trying to mask her growing disappointment. “They always look out for me and go out of their way to make sure I’m doing okay. It always makes my heart beat faster,” you admitted, unaware of the way Yunjin’s forehead creased as she frowned deeply. “And when they smile..” You paused, a grin spreading across your face at the mere thought. “It’s like the whole world lights up,” you mumbled dreamily. “I think you like them, Y/n,” Yunjin said, a bittersweet smile adorning her lips. “Oh.” Was all you managed to murmur, gnawing on the inside of your cheek as your eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happier,” she questioned, confusion spreading across her features.

“They don’t like me back anyway,” you huffed, dropping your head to her chest with a sigh. “They would be stupid not to,” Yunjin grits out, hand unconsciously travelling up to comb through your hair. “They’d be lucky to have you,” she declared, smiling as you whined in embarrassment. The older girl couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of jealousy that overcame her at the thought of you liking someone else. She didn’t ever want to let you go, she liked the way things were. Yunjin had never had a problem with just being friends in the past, but now that you liked someone, things were entirely different. You were never hers to claim, but there was always an unspoken agreement amongst those who knew you both, you were property of Huh Yunjin.

You spent so much time together, joined at the hip and rarely found without her hands all over you. Hell, you even shared a bed every night, even when you had your own perfectly usable one. Your excuse was the nightmares, which you’d claimed never affected you in Yunjin’s secure hold. The older girl didn’t bother to question it, too overjoyed to have you crawl into her bed each night. You were always too caught up in each other to notice anyone else, so liking someone wasn’t something Yunjin was expecting. She didn’t dare think about the possibilities that could come of it, knowing she would only spiral further, which could result in her doing something rash she’d regret. Yunjin knew it was selfish, but she wanted to keep you to herself.

She couldn’t just let her most prized possession go without a fight.

~~ The atmosphere in the waiting room was unusually tense, all the members unusually silent as they eyed each other uneasily. Yunjin’s piercing gaze was trained on her lap where your hands lay intertwined, a possessive growl threatening to bubble from her lips every time someone so much as approached you. Your head rested lazily on her shoulder, eyes fluttered shut as you slept peacefully, Yunjin’s arm draped lazily around your waist as you curled into her side. She had clung to your side all day, sending anyone who dared to advance closer a deadly glare. You hadn’t complained, seemingly enjoying all the extra attention, but your members had suffered as a result. They were sentenced to an awkward standstill in fear of her wrath, knowing anyone who accidentally woke you would be in grave danger.

Yunjin’s ears perked up at the sound of a faint sound on the door, her lips twisting into a scowl as you began to stir. Eunchae jumped up from her seat, bounding towards the door with a cheery smile, praying that someone would save her from this madness. “Karina sunbaenim,” the youngest greeted their guest with a puzzled grin, brows furrowing in mild confusion. The leader of Aespa shifted her weight from one leg to another, hands clasped behind her back as she sent Eunchae a tight lipped smile, followed by a brief bow. “Uh, is Y/nnie here?” Karina questioned, glancing over Eunchae’s shoulder in search of you. The members' eyes naturally drifted to Yunjin, each sporting a more concerned look than the last as her forehead creased in a deep frown.

Yunjin’s grip on you tightened significantly, fingertips unconsciously digging into your hip as she poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue. The action had your eyes fluttering opened, a whine leaving your parted lips as you yawned sleepily, shifting in her hold. “There’s someone here for you Y/n unnie,” Eunchae called from the door. You blinked owlishly, glancing to the door where Jimin stood with a sheepish smile. Confusion was painted across your members' faces as your features lit up at the sight of Karina, each of them bewildered as they watched you jump up with an excited smile. As you began to stride towards Jimin, a gentle yet firm tug on the back of your shirt kept you from moving further. Perplexed, you whipped around to face Yunjin, brows furrowed and her lips jutted out in a pout as she stared up at you.

“I’ll be back soon,” you promised with an assuring smile, reaching out to give her hand a gentle squeeze before slipping out of her grasp. Yunjin sighed in defeat as you skipped towards the door, watching as you beamed at the leader, a melodious laugh escaping your lips as she whispered something in your ear. The main vocalist found the corners of her mouth tugging upwards as careless chuckles bubbled from your pretty pink lips that she longed to kiss. Her features softened at the sight of your reddening cheeks, a shy smile gracing your face. She admired your every feature from afar with a fond smile, one that was replaced by a scowl the second she was reminded of Jimin’s presence by your side. Yunjin wasn’t the cause of your flushed cheeks or timid smile, her hands balled into fists at the thought.

Yunjin blinked in confusion as the door abruptly clicked shut, but it wasn’t quick enough for her to miss the way Jimin’s arm slung around your shoulder. She felt an unsettling feeling blooming in chest as it tightened uncomfortably, eyes narrowed at the closed door, willing it to open. “Yunjin-ah,” Chaewon muttered in concern, taking a seat beside her and giving the blonde a consoling pat on shoulder. Yunjin didn’t budge, not bothering to spare her leader a glance as she imagined all the things you and Jimin could possibly be doing behind the stupid door that kept her from admiring your beautiful face. She was vaguely aware of the way her nails dug into the skin of her palms, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when her mind was flooded with images of Jimin all over you.

Yunjin wasn’t even aware that she was holding her breath until you slipped back into the room, heaving a sigh of relief as you padded towards her. A breathless chuckle escaped her lips as you leaped into her arms, happily sitting on her lap upon noticing Chaewon had taken up your previous seat. “What did she want?” Yunjin grit out with a faux smile, struggling to suppress her evident displeasure. “Just to congratulate us,” you smiled, waving around the flowers Jimin had gifted you with a bright grin. The blonde clenched her jaw at the sight of your favourite flowers presented in a neatly arranged bouquet, rolling her eyes in irritation. “Wow, she must know you well, unnie. I didn’t even know you two were friends,” Eunchae muttered in disbelief upon closer inspection of the flowers.

“We ran into each other awhile ago and she asked for my number.” You explained with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of your neck. Yunjin’s arms snaked around your waist, pulling you into her body with an indignant huff. You looked down to her in confusion before shrugging uninterestedly and leaning into her compelling touch. She grinned triumphantly as you dropped the flowers on the couch to cling to her instead. “Unnie, I’m gonna go out tonight,” you informed Chaewon, earning a raised brow from the leader. “Jimin unnie asked me to dinner,” you explained, hiding your face in Yunjin’s chest upon hearing a chorus of cheers from your members. “Is it a date?” Sakura asked warily, eyes swirling with uncertainty. “No, I don’t think so at least,” you muttered unconvincingly, waving your hands frantically in refusal, but the blush that spread across your cheeks told Yunjin a different story.

She despised Yoo Jimin for having the courage to do what she couldn’t.

Yunjin sat tiredly on the couch, impatiently tapping her foot on the floor as she awaited your presence. It had been hours since she’d watched you get all dressed up for the ‘friendly dinner’, as you’d called it, but you were still yet to return. A part of her wasn’t sure she wanted you to, it would mean this was real. You were on a date with Yoo Jimin, a successful idol that Yunjin was almost certain you had a crush on. No matter how much you denied it, the smile that spread across your face along with a blush whenever Jimin was mentioned made her think otherwise. Yunjin was too careless, she had foolishly hoped that you, along with everyone else, had seen your bizarre relations as more than just platonic. You were slipping through her fingers and into the arms of someone else far too fast for her liking.

She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, eyes dropping to the floor as a disappointed sigh escaped her lips. Her thoughts raced at a dangerously fast pace, each worse than the last as she anxiously gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Distracted by her painful realisations, Yunjin failed to notice the front door clicking open, gentle footfall on the creaky wooden floorboards falling deaf in her ears. “Yunjin unnie!” You cheered loudly, tipsily stumbling towards her hunched figure. Rising from the couch with furrowed brows, the older girl barely managed to catch you as you toppled into her. “You’re drunk,” the blonde stated observantly, noticing your flushed cheeks and the way you giggled unprompted. “I’m not,” you shook your head in protest, earning an unimpressed stare from Yunjin.

“Stay here,” Yunjin ordered, placing you down on the couch with a sigh. She darted towards the kitchen, filling up a glass of cold water before rushing back to you. “Drink this,” she commanded, a pout adorning your lips, but you slipped away obediently when she glared down at you. Clumsily handing her the empty glass, you let your head fall back against the cushions, struggling to keep your eyes opened. “Stay with me,” you pleaded, blindly reaching for her hand and missing by miles. This time she didn’t reach out to help you. “Please,” you hiccuped, sleepily curling into a ball. “Not tonight,” she whispered with a bittersweet smile adoring her lips, earning a drawn out whine from you. “Why?” You grumbled, forehead creased in a deep frown as your eyes fluttered shut. “Because I can’t be what you want me to be anymore,” she uttered upon hearing soft snores escaping your parted lips.

Yunjin didn’t want to be just a friend, she craved more, she wanted your heart.

You eyed Yunjin from afar, bottom lips sucked between your teeth as you stared longingly after her. Gone was the girl who once clung to your side any chance she could get, replaced by one who refused to stay beside you for more than a minute. She was a shell of her former self, no more bright smiles and stupid jokes, only cold stares and rushed conversations. You longed to approach her with your entire being, but the walls that guarded her seemed impenetrable for someone she refused to engage with. A strange feeling of discomfort began to overwhelm you as the eyes that were once trained on all permanently now refused to spare your a glance. The one who once protected you from the harsh glares of the distasteful bunch was now the one sending them your way.

You couldn’t understand how someone could change everything about themselves in the span of a night. Perplexed by her abnormal behaviour, you anxiously picked at the skin of your fingers, mind clouded with nothing but thoughts of Yunjin. Without the older girl to lull you to sleep in her comforting hold as she sang you her latest composition, you were lost. Met with countless sleepless nights as a result of her avoidance, you found yourself seeking out the comfort she’d once given you elsewhere. Yunjin was no longer there to listen to your troubles, for she was now the cause. You wanted nothing more than to know what her reason was for avoiding you, why she insisted on staying away.

Yunjin was pushing you further into the arms of Yoo Jimin.

A faint knock on Yunjin’s door had her yelling a muffled ‘come in,’ as she stared down at her notebook in frustration. Finger caught between her teeth, she tried desperately to form the right words for her song. Truth be told, she was lost without you as a muse, stuck in a state of self loathing. She hated herself for the decisions she’d made, every bone in her body willing her to take it all back. But she couldn’t, not when she’d justified her actions. It was her that was holding you back from happiness, it was the conclusion she’d come to that night. Scaring away any potential suitors was no longer an option, not if it cost your happiness. If Yoo Jimin was who you wanted, she would let you go. But she wasn’t strong enough to stick around and watch you fall in love with someone else, she couldn’t bring herself to do it for you, no matter how hard she tried.

“Unnie,” your gentle voice was like music to her ears, heart fluttering as she snapped her head up in surprise. She stared blankly at you, mouth agape you stood in her doorway, features glowing in the natural light. No matter how many times she set her gaze upon you, her stomach never failed to swarm with butterflies. Admiring your angelic features never got old, she would do it all day without fail, but she couldn’t, not anymore. Clearing her throat, Yunjin averted her gaze awkwardly, lips parting to speak. “What are you doing here?” Was all she managed to utter, sounding far harsher than she’d anticipated. “Why are you avoiding me?” You responded with question, refusing to back down under her cold gaze.

“I’m not,” she denied easily, tongue poking the inside of her cheek. “You’re gonna lie to me too?” You questioned incredulously, stepping closer to Yunjin who now rose to her feet. She huffed indignantly at the accusation, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “I don’t get what the big deal is,” she muttered, your brows sewn together in confusion. “Aren’t you hurting like I am?” You asked, a pained gaze meeting her eyes that swirled with unease. Yunjin tilted her head in puzzlement, forehead creasing in a frown. “I feel like I’m going insane all because I haven't spoken to you in days,” you admitted, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “Why does it matter? Can’t you just talk to Karina sunbaenim instead.” Yunjin muttered stubbornly, mind clouded by jealousy.

“Is that what you want?” You asked, gazing up to the older girl in disbelief. “It’s what you want,” Yunjin insisted, lips pursed. “Why do you get to be the one to decide that?” You grit out, stepping dangerously closer to the blonde, faces lingering mere inches apart. “I never said that was what I wanted,” you protested her claim, glaring at Yunjin with narrowed eyes. “Then what do you want?” She in exasperation, eyes dancing with irritation. “I want you! Not Jimin unnie, you idiot!” You yelled in frustration, blood running cold upon realising the words that you’d foolishly allowed to slip past your lips. “What?” Yunjin whispered in disbelief, voice lowering an octave. “It’s nothing, just forget I said anything,” you mumbled in embarrassment, taking a reluctant step backwards.

Your eyes widened as Yunjin’s hands darted out to grasp your hips, abruptly pulling you flush against her. “Say it again,” she ordered, a distant look in her eyes as they briefly flickered to your lips. Mouth parting in shock, you stared up at her, blinking owlishly. “Say it,” she growled, fingers digging into your hips as she tugged you impossibly closer. “I want you,” you whispered, cheeks flushed pink. As if you’d flipped a switch, Yunjin suddenly surged forwards, lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. Your body stiffened in her hold, muscles tense as you stood deathly still. When you didn’t kiss back quick enough for her liking, the older moved her lips against yours, tongue darting out to swipe across your lips. Sighing into the kiss as your eyes finally fluttered shut, Yunjin nudged her nose against yours with a chuckle.

“You want me,” she uttered with a pleased smile upon leaning back to catch her breath. “I don’t know why you ever thought otherwise,” you mumbled breathlessly in disbelief, forehead pressed to hers. “I’ve only ever wanted you,” you confessed, chest rising and falling steadily. “No one else?” Yunjin questioned, wanting to rid herself of all those baseless insecurities. “No one else,” you assured, reaching up to cup her cheeks, caressing them with the pads of your thumbs. “Not even Jimin unnie,” you mumbled, a possessive growl leaving her lips at the mention of Aespa’s leader, grip on your hips tightening. You grinned fondly, leaning up to peck her mouth. She chased your lips with an eager grin, eyes crinkling into crescents at the sound of your melodious laughter.

“These are mine,” she muttered with a possessive growl, hand travelling up to swipe her thumb over your glossy lips. You smiled bashfully, a blush dusting your cheeks. “You’re cute when you blush,” Yunjin muttered, admiring your features with an appreciative smile. She would never stop loving you until the day she died, not when you’d so graciously handed over the keys to your heart. Now that you were hers, she vowed to never let you go. “You know, I always thought we were kinda already a couple,” you mumbled thoughtfully into the darkness, now wrapped in her arms as you lay sleepily in bed. Yunjin hummed lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head. “I thought so too, then you told me you liked someone..” she trailed off, the words leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. “It was you, idiot.” You mumbled, shaking your head in amusement as she groaned in annoyance, arms tugging your impossibly closer.

Huh Yunjin learnt that you were just as much her possession as she was yours.

this was messy, all over the place and super bad...

edit: i lied this is the shit right here

#le sserafim x reader #le sserafim imagines #yunjin x reader #yunjin imagines #lesserafim x reader #lesserafim imagines #le sserafim #lesserafim #le sserafim yunjin #lesserafim yunjin #aespa #aespa imagines #aespa x reader #aespa karina #karina x reader #karina imagines

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raineandsky · 3 months

Note

i love your work! would you be willing to write something about a hero and villain who absolutely hate each other, and they get captured by an even bigger threat because hero messes up. Villain is pissed at hero, but he starts to notice that everytime their captor lashes out, hero takes the fall. because he feels guilty he got villain in this mess. Begrudging caretaker villain and self sacrificing hero is my favorite trope LOL.

thanks!!

anon your MIND youre a GENIUS :D this was so fun, thank you for the request!

The hero is thrown to the floor in something of a mangled heap.

The sound makes the villain jump. He didn’t even hear the door open. The supervillain levels him with a simmering glare before turning on her heel and slamming the door behind her.

For one horrible moment, the villain thinks the hero’s dead. He gives the mess on the floor a careful kick, and the groan he gets in response sends a flutter of relief into his chest that he hates immediately.

“Thought she might’ve actually got you this time,” the villain comments with forced indifference.

He hates that he’s glad the hero’s still here. Hates it. He despises the little do-gooder. He’d honestly thought the supervillain was cold enough to leave him a reminder of what’s coming for him.

The hero pushes himself up on unsteady, trembling arms. “It’s only a matter of time,” he says quietly. His voice is no more than a rasp by now.

The villain’s heart sinks unexpectedly at that.

The villain says something stupid—talks back, tells the supervillain exactly what he thinks—and she glares and sets her jaw and looks straight past him and to the hero. And the hero leaps to his feet to spit something much worse at her and she always goes for him.

“She knows what I’m doing,” the hero continues after a moment. “I don’t think I can distract her for much longer. I– I’m sorry.”

The last dribble of indifference the villain was clinging to evaporates. Emotions clash. Confusion, anger, defenselessness. Fear; for who? He doesn’t know.

“[Hero],” the villain says a little more intensely than he intended. “What do you mean you’re distracting her?”

The hero tries to give him a smile, but it’s tired and lopsided and not at all genuine. “It’s my apology for getting us both here.”

Something in the villain’s mind clicks into place. He’s always the one leaping up to bite at the supervillain. The hero only gets involved when she’s about to snap. He always times it so when she’s going to take it out of someone, he’ll be at the forefront of the charge.

The villain takes a short step back, like the curse of selflessness will rub off on them if they stand too close. “[Hero],” he says again. “What’re you– Are you insane?”

The hero tries to shrug. It looks more like a twitch. “Probably, at this point.”

The villain changes his mind and steps forward again, kneeling down in front of him. The hero practically lols his head to watch him. The villain hates the dead look of it, and he hates that he hates it.

They’re enemies. Their last fight never suggested otherwise. The hero had backed the villain into a corner. He’d gotten in close to throw his finishing punch just as the corner revealed its very sharp teeth.

“This is new,” the supervillain had said when she’d come across them arguing in her trap. “It’s not often I get two in one go.”

It’s the hero’s fault, of course it is. If he hadn't pushed the villain straight into the supervillain’s little cage this never would’ve happened.

But the hero wouldn’t be taking the fall either. The villain’s heart clenches uncomfortably.

The hero watches with a slight frown as the villain carefully shreds his own shirt and dunks it into the hopefully cleanish bucket of water in the corner. “What’re you doing?” he asks from behind a pained cough.

“You’re a lot less useful if you’re dead,” the villain says flatly.

He gently tilts the hero’s head towards the dingy light overhead; bruises are blossoming like unsightly flowers all down the side of his face. The villain scowls, swallows his pride, and gets to work.

The hero flinches under his touch more than once. The villain hisses a short, “sit still,” definitely more than a few times.The hero eventually relaxes in his hold—the cloth is probably cool against the inevitable heat of the pain.

There’s an unbothered silence for a few kind minutes. The villain concentrates on the blemishes on the hero’s face, and the hero simply closes his eyes and soaks in the relief.

The villain abandons the scrap in a pile on the floor after a while, and the disgustingly wet plop! of its landing prompts the hero to open his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he says almost immediately. “God, I was trying to help but now you’re having to do something for me—”

“Shut up, [Hero],” the villain snaps. “This is nothing to what you’ve done.”

The hero blinks at him for a moment. Sniffles. Dips his gaze to the floor. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You heroes are so caught up in your weird little morals.” The villain gets to his feet with a sigh. His knees ache after all that. “I don’t care. Just–” The words falter for a moment. God, he’s going to sound like he cares. “Just don’t die.”

The hero glances up at him sombrely. Selflessness doesn’t look good on him. The villain can feel his face scrunching up at the thought.

“If it fixes what I’ve done, I will.”

The hero’s never in this cell. The villain’s never left it. The hero returns with bruises and blood and exhaustion. The villain is no worse off than if he wasn’t here at all.

His worst enemy is doing all this, to protect him?

The villain carefully lines up the words in his mind, prays his tone comes off as slimy selfishness, and says, “It wouldn’t fix anything.”

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #request #YESSSSSSS i LOVE begrudging caretakers YESSSSSSS #thank you once again for trusting me with your idea i always love a request

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simphellscape · 6 months

Text

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 12TH, 2020- 5:24PM // SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2020 - 2:38AM // next | tw: alcohol, horny bird pt. 2

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2020 - 2:38AM

“Cheater!” Kei exclaims, scattering several UNO cards across the floor, “You’re -hic- cheating.”

He pouts dramatically, throwing himself against the living room carpet. This childish display has you cackling. Perhaps he’s a bit too drunk, but it doesn’t matter because so are you.

“Can we play a different game, please?” he pleads, slurring.

“It’s not my fault that I’m a god, Kei!”

“If I wasn’t drunk, you’d be a goner.”

“You said five minutes ago that you aren’t even drunk!”

“I’m not!”

“Liar!”

“Different game!” he bellows, still throwing a tantrum.

You reach over and flick the back of his head. Even though you’re hammered, you still manage to land it squarely in the center. His head flies off the floor to face you, honey eyes narrowed.

“You’re dead, (Y/L/N).”

One of his feathers darts toward you, aiming directly for your exposed ribs. You know this game far too well, and while you could easily avoid his attack, you secretly enjoy this kind of attention. In a way, it’s like he’s touching you. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

You leap to your feet and begin sprinting in the direction of your bedroom, but the feather is simply too fast. Before you can even make it through the door, it’s teasing the sensitive area, causing you to convulse with defeat. You, unfortunately, are being tickled within an inch of your life.

“K-Kei!” you shout, breathless and laughing, “Stop it!”

“No, you flicked me!”

You crash into the wall and slide to the floor, feather never leaving your side.

“I’m gonna pee!”

“You shoulda thought of that before you flicked me, then!”

“I -- fuck -- I’m sorry!”

“What? Can’t hear you. Speak up!”

“I’M SORRY!”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, a fake threatening tone to his voice.

With that, the feather zips back into the fold of his wings, bumping into a lamp on the way. You stay slumped against the wall, attempting to catch your breath. Meanwhile, Kei has raised himself to a relaxed sitting position on the living room floor.

“Now, a different game, please,” he smiles.

“Fine, crybaby.”

“Watch it, or I’ll tickle you again!”

“Nooo!” you whine, returning to your spot on the living room carpet with a graceless thump.

“I have an idea!” Kei gasps.

“Shoot.”

“How about, um, Truth or Dare, but, like, with alcohol! Like you take a shot if you don’t wanna do your truth… or your dare… or whatever.”

“I didn’t realize we were sixteen years old.”

He calls a feather to hover dangerously close to your ribcage once again.

“Jesus, alright! Just put that shit away.”

He smirks with satisfaction as the torture device returns to its crimson plume.

“I’ll go first!”

“Hold on, let me get the vodka,” you grumble, hoisting yourself up.

As you hobble to the kitchen, Kei begins the game anyway.

“Truth or dare?”

“Let’s do truth,” you decide after a moment, returning with the bottle of vodka.

“You’re no fun,” he pouts, considering his options, “Hmm…. oh! Okay, so, you’ve got good aim.”

“Yeah. Truth or dare?”

“I WASN’T DONE YET!”

“I’m teasing, Kei! Someone’s touchy.”

“Leave me alone,” he growls, “I wanted to know what your quirk really is. Because I don’t think that’s all.”

“Yeah, that’s not all. All of my senses -- you know, sight, hearing, whatever -- are better than a normal person’s. Not all of them are the same amount of better though! My sight is the best, and then touch, then -hic- hearing, smell, and taste. It kinda sucked at first, but I worked really hard to make it worth something, ya know? I even got an ultimate move out of it!”

Kei’s mouth is hanging open in real, but overexaggerated shock.

“Really? Show me!”

“It’s not really something I can show you…”

“Oh. Well, can you, like, tell me about it then?”

At this, Kei scooches closer towards you, eyes widening even further.

“I just, um, focus more, and it makes my senses almost perfect. Like they’re great on their own, but with more focus it gets to the point where, like, I can tell what people are gonna do before they’re finished doing it. It’s like -- ‘oh, I can hear their pinky toe moving in their shoe, they’re probably gonna take a step’. It gives me a migraine when I’m done though.”

Kei nods and begins the long, arduous process of standing up.

“Okay, so I’m gonna get up and then I’m gonna do something totally unexpected. You gotta say what I’m gonna do.”

“I just told you it makes my head hurt, birdbrain!”

“But I wanna seeeeee!”

“You can see it later! I don’t think I can do it right now, anyway. I’m drunk.”

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest.

You learned from your last time drinking together that when Kei drinks, he often wants to play some sort of game. And when he’s drunk and playing a game, one of two things can happen. One, he gets extremely competitive. This is what happened last time, when he flipped your game of LIFE off of your coffee table. Or, two, he becomes a big, mopey baby, which is what’s happening right now. You know it’s all in jest, and while it’s slightly annoying, it’s mostly endearing. You can’t wait to remind him about this tomorrow. If you’re even able to remember, that is.

“Truth or dare?”

“I’m gonna pick dare, because I’m not a loser,” he mocks.

“Oh, now I’m gonna pick something terrible.”

You scan the room, drunkenly scrambling to find something hellish for him to do as revenge. You just did a deep clean of the whole apartment, so there’s nothing really gross around here that you can think of. You’re fresh out of mushrooms, otherwise you’d make him eat one. You know he would have hated that. You could make him wear one of your bras on his head, but that would require him to see it. Too embarrassing for you. Suddenly, a lightbulb pops in your head.

“Let me touch your wings.”

There are two reasons for this diabolical idea. Kei talks all the time about how he loathes when fans touch his feathers without his consent. But also, selfishly, you just really want to know what they feel like. You’ve felt individual feathers before, and they’re incredibly soft. Feeling multiple all at once sounds heavenly.

“No. Absolutely not!”

“Now you’re no fun!”

“They’re sensitive!”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“No, that’s wooorse!”

“How the fuck is that worse?”

In addition to the flush of Kei’s intoxicated cheeks, a new pinkess spreads across them.

“Either let me touch your wings for a few seconds or take a shot,” you urge him.

He locks hazy eyes with you, and you can see the gears turning in his head. Simultaneously, the gears are turning in your own. You can’t really gather how it would be worse for you to be gentle with them. Holding back on the pressure couldn’t possibly hurt him. In fact, that seems like it would be more pleasurable for him.

Your brain stops in its tracks.

Pleasurable.

Before you can stop yourself, you share your revelation.

“You don’t want me to touch them because you’ll like it too much!”

“No, I--”

“Don’t lie, Kei!”

“I don’t--”

“No, you do know!”

“FINE, TOUCH THEM!” he concedes, throwing his arms in the air.

You grin widely, feeling victorious, as he turns to the side. You use this opportunity to scooch closer to him, preparing to caress the plumes.

You could go about this one of two ways, you figure. You could make this as easy as possible for him. A quick stroke across a small section. Or, you could make this extremely difficult for him, running your fingers between the expanse of the whole wing. Something about the intimacy of the interaction, the inhibiting effect of the alcohol, and your burning desire to touch his wings, to touch him, make you pick the latter.

You wiggle beside his extended leg, facing the wing directly. Before you touch him, something possesses you to lean towards him and whisper in his ear.

“Remember, this game was your idea.”

All in the same motion, you draw your head back and carefully dive your fingers into his wings. As you run them along the surface, you suck in a breath. You expected them to be soft, but you’re taken aback. It has exceeded your expectations by a lot. Your fingertips tingle at the way each feather teases them. The fine barbs feel smooth underneath your touch. A strange sensation zips its way up your arm like it’s a live wire. You move at a sloth’s pace, wanting to savor this feeling for as long as possible, mesmerized. You’re only halfway across when Kei’s hand closes around your wrist, forcefully yanking it away.

His previously hazy eyes are now dark, met firmly with the wall directly across from him. His breathing is labored, shoulders heaving with each inhale and exhale. The previously pink flush in his cheeks is now beet red. Warmth spreads in your midsection, intoxicated by both the restraint he has you in and the downright primal look on his face.

“That’s enough,” he asserts, sternly.

You flounder, looking deep within you for some sort of snarky reply. There’s nothing left in your head; it seems that this interaction has wiped them all away. You feel redness creep up your neck and into your face. Your heart is beating out of your chest. You’re sure that Kei can hear it loud and clear. You swallow hard, and attempt to find your voice.

“Come on, that was nothing,” you offer, weakly.

Your gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips. They’re parted slightly to allow for his panting breaths. The image of him closing the distance between you, crashing them against yours, flashes across your brain. Working against them in expert fashion. Just like you’ve wanted for so long. You can practically feel the pressure of them, sucking on your bottom lip and lightly nipping. To satiate the need you suddenly feel, you take your bottom lip between your teeth, returning your gaze to the predator before you.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Keigo’s palm burns around your wrist. It’s taking everything in him to refrain from pinning you down on the floor and reenacting the images flashing in his head. Your heartbeat is drumlike, rapid, and even more inebriating than the copious amounts of liquor he’s had tonight. Your erratic breaths cause your chest to brush lightly against his forearm, the additional contact driving him further into insanity. After years of training, he knows that this is the ultimate test of his will. He’s losing.

A part of him consistently suggests that loving you isn’t a venture that’s destined to fail. The rest of him usually overshadows that, spouting endless excuses for his actions. Well, rather, inaction. Right now, he’s forgotten every reason he’d previously given himself. No matter how badly he wants to, how desperately he needs to, he can’t bring himself to look at you. If your expression is anywhere near what he’s imagining it to be, he won’t be able to stop himself. In his soul, he knows that if he acts right now, he will be completely unable to show anything resembling mercy. The already looming threat of going completely feral will swallow him whole, and he will fuck you into oblivion.

It’s appealing, the thought of releasing hold on his inhibitions. The only thing stopping him now is the thing that stops him from doing a lot of things these days.

He must, above anything and everything else, keep people safe. And you just happen to be at the very top of the list of people in the world.

This is as instinctual as breathing for him. A knee jerk reaction to outside stimuli. His outside might be extremely stimulated right now, but the core of his very existence will not allow this to continue. Not like this. If he’s ever presented with the opportunity to sleep with you, it has to be centered around you. It has to be considerate. It has to be gentle. The current state of things doesn’t equate to that at all. Of course he cares about you, about your safety. He also cares about being a decent human being, a decent pro-hero, even in the face of quickly reducing into an animal.

Finally, in the raging battle of Keigo versus avian instinct, Keigo emerges victorious.

In one swift motion, he releases his grip on your wrist and raises himself off the ground. Semi-rational thought slowly starts to flow back into his head. He knows that whatever the hell all that was effectively ruined the banter for the night. The way he reacted to your touch scared himself, and he can’t even begin to imagine how terrified you must feel. Moments like these reacquainted him with the fact that his quirk, combined with all of the meddling the Commission did to him, essentially made him a monster. He goes to great lengths to hide that from the rest of the world, but now he’s revealed the most ugly part of himself to the only person in the entire place that matters. You, his entire life, now know that even the most human of hawks are predators, too.

He stumbles to your balcony. In his altered mind, he believes that leaving would be the ultimate courtesy to you right now. It doesn’t matter that he’s plastered. It doesn’t matter that you’re already following him, begging him to stay. No one, especially you, deserves to spend another moment with such an unholy creature as Keigo Takami.

Without so much as a backward glance, he surges off of the balcony and into the night sky. His aim is to fly across the city, across the country, across the world. But, his double vision doesn’t grant him much aid in the darkness. Before he can make it even fifty feet from your apartment building, he clips the one across from you with his massive wing. In any normal circumstance, he would be able to recover from this without much issue. But he’s shitfaced. So, instead, he careens into the street below at remarkable speeds. With a yelp, he lands on the gravel and slides, scraping his entire left side. For a moment, his deafening, panic induced thoughts are quiet. It happens to be just long enough to hear you from your apartment four stories above.

“KEI!”

A pro-hero such as him should be able to take an injury like this like it’s nothing. In fact, he’s done it countless times before. Something about the drunkenness and the complete descent into self-loathing keeps him glued to the pavement. He knows you’re coming. He knows he’s going to have to face you. He knows that you’re probably worried out of your goddamn mind. He knows it’s all his fault.

For the first time in recent memory, Keigo feels entirely lost. Though he’s tried so hard, he knows now that you’ve found him out. In his perfect world, he hoped that you took his lack of affection and general emotional standoffishness as a sort of defense mechanism. In essence, that’s what it was, but he never wanted you to find out any of the myriad of things he was defending himself from -- defending you from. Now, there’s no way in hell you could view it as anything else. He wants you. Badly. And now, you know.

He hoists himself up into a sitting position with difficulty, both hands finding their way to his hair. The panic is starting to give way to crushing defeat. He’s already running through ideas on how to cope with the loss of your presence in his life. After the imminent rejection he’s about to face, he’ll have to cut off contact with you for his own sanity, at least for a little while. Maybe he can contact Kana and see if there’s any way she can assign another pro-hero to your case. Just as he’s running through candidates to recommend, he hears your sandals crunching against the gravel.

“Hey!” you call out.

Keigo inhales deeply and raises his head.

“Oh, thank fuck,” you breathe as you approach him.

You stumble slightly as you finally reach him, hands reaching out. You crouch beside him and begin to inspect his form, picking pieces of the ground off of it.

“(Y/N)...” Keigo sighs.

You shift your focus from cleaning him up to his face. As soon as you see the look of despair on it, your own face drops.

“What? Kei, what’s wrong?”

Is it possible that you aren’t as thrown off by this interaction as he is? Did this even phase you at all?

“Um.. you were there five minutes ago too, right? You witnessed the shit that I just pulled?” he asks, softly.

“Yeah, you jumped out of a fucking window! Of course I witnessed that, you idiot!”

Of course you didn’t care about the fact that he almost acted on his innermost desires in the most animalistic way possible. As always, you just wanted him to be okay. He should have suspected as much.

But, after tonight, he’s not sure if he’s physically able to keep the act up much longer.

“I meant before that.”

Redness creeps across your cheeks as you nod in recognition.

“Yeah, uh, I did witness that,” you whisper.

“And,” Keigo gulps, “did that… uh… scare you? At all?”

You laugh nervously. A flighty and musical sound. Keigo’s heart drums faster.

“No. I wasn’t scared. I was…” you trail off.

You suddenly groan and throw your hands over your face.

“God, Kei, don’t make me say this,” you cry.

His mind races. What could possibly be worse than making you scared by that? He can’t immediately think of anything, but whatever it is must be awful. He definitely won’t be seeing you ever again after this, but he needs to know. He has to prevent this from happening ever again. Not that it ever will, because he doubts that he’ll ever let his guard down like this from now on.

“You’re gonna have to. I’m not following,” he mutters.

You whine, and retract your hands. Your eyes are glued to his chest, as if that’s as close as you can get them to his eyes at the moment.

“I -- it kind of… turned me on.”

Keigo feels as if someone dumped a gallon of cold water over his head. In fact, if someone managed to do that right now, he would probably be less shocked. He can feel his mouth drying out from the amount of time he’s spent with it hanging open.

“See! I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” you groan, shifting to raise yourself up.

Without thinking, he wraps his hand around your wrist again, pulling you towards him. You fall to your knees, face inches away from his own. He searches you one final time for any sign of regret, but all he finds is a desperate, pleading expression. He somehow finds it in him to speak.

“Can I?”

You nod softly and he does what he’s been wanting to do for months.

The first thing he notices when his lips finally meet yours is the taste of strawberry vodka. The second thing, hitting him immediately after, is an explosion in his chest. It’s a million sensations at once -- flowers blooming, fireworks popping, the sun rising. Keigo has done a lot of things in his short life, but not one of them has even come close to the pleasure of kissing you.

What was a tentative, slow pace quickly evolves into something needy, something frantic. His hands shift from the soft grip around your wrist to tangle themselves in your hair, pushing you closer to him. Even though you’re practically on top of him now, you’re not close enough, and he doesn’t think you ever will be. His tongue swipes against your lips, begging for entrance. You happily oblige, and he delves deep into you. As your teeth crash together, Keigo begins struggling for breath. He doesn’t want it, maybe he doesn’t even need it. Now, he feels as though you’re the only thing he needs to survive. Just as he accepts that as fact, you break away to rest your forehead on his. You’re panting, giggling softly between breaths. As he collects his thoughts, his mouth moves before any of the rest of him can.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he whispers.

“You should have done it sooner,” you retort, still out of breath.

He’s beginning to regain control of his body now, so he pulls away from you just far enough to plant a soft kiss against your nose. Even though he would love to continue to feel the most unique and gratifying thing he’s ever felt, he recognizes that now is not the time nor the place. But, if he has anything to say about it, there will be plenty more opportunities, scattered across the rest of time. He pauses as that thought, at how a simple kiss has fixed the position he’d been saving for you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You, his first friend, his last love. He finds your hand and squeezes it.

“It’s getting pretty late. You should probably get to bed,” he suggests.

“You could stay with me, if you wanted. I wouldn’t want you to get arrested for drunk flying,” you chuckle.

The smile that sprouts on Keigo’s face is strong enough to break his cheekbones. It’s a miracle that they stay intact.

“You’re absolutely right. Always looking out for me, aren’t you?”

He lifts himself up and pulls you with him. As the two of you walk back to your apartment, your pinky fingers are linked together. It’s a small, almost lazy connection, but neither of you seem to be able to entertain the thought of letting go.

(a/n): fuckin finally amirite

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b4tasquad · 10 months

Text

DISTRACTION: AJ SHABEEL

Authors note: i just had to I’m sorry😭 also wrote this at night in one sitting, if there are typos/ grammatical errors, I’m really sorry.

Warnings: most of it is smut ( 18+) minors dni

…

Aj’s days were always a new adventure. There was always something new to do regarding work, and there was never a dull task he was completing. To many, a man in his mid-twenties working such an uncertain job was crazy. There was always judgement for his way of life, but the man was genuinely never bothered by it.

He was content, and that was all that mattered. Coming home that day, a grin on his face at the video he knew was going to be well liked, he felt as if there was nothing that could knock him off his high horse.

The second Aj’s eyes had landed on you though, he knew something had happened. From the way you looked so unenthusiastic to the furrow between your eyebrows. You were burdened by something, and God forbid your boyfriend let it brother you.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

At the arrival of your boyfriend, you pout slightly, just wishing to be in his arms. As if reading your mind, Aj’s arms open and welcome you into his embrace. Eagerly you get off the couch and leap into his awaiting arms, every single worry fading away as his cologne overtakes your senses.

There are nothing you can use to express the feeling of being in his arms other than coming home. He carries a sense of protection with him that you’ve became so used to.

After finally feeling like you could speak without breaking down in tear, you pull away from his chest. “My boss screamed at me.” Aj nods, hands coming to cup your cheek as he makes sure to let you know he’s listening. “Told me I was being unprofessional for something that wasn’t even my fault!”

“What a bitch.”

You’d usually scold your boyfriend for his lack of respect, but right now you couldn’t find it in you to do so. She had humiliated you in such a public standard, leaving you to actually look unprofessional. It was no lie that you let many walk over you, it was a bad habit. But even this was something you refused to accept.

“I’m not mad.” You sigh, leading him to your shared room. He takes a seat on the bed, pulling you to sit sideways on his lap. “I just feel stupid. She made me feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” He kisses your cheek affectionately. “You’re the smartest person I know, baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

At his words, a little feeling of hopefulness fills your deflated mood. “You really mean that?”

“Course’ I do.” Aj speaks with such certainty, it makes your legs shake. Under the faint lighting the two of you have in the room, his features light up, illuminating his beauty perfectly. He was beautiful inside out, and you loved it.

You lean his head an inch back before capturing his soft lips in the slowest, most meaningful kiss. What had been a show of gratitude turned more heated as Aj placed his palms on each side of your hips and placed you on his lap properly. Your arms find a secure spot around hi shoulders, hands inching him closer by a push at the back of his head.

The two of you work in sync, your bodies moving in one to full-fill your desires. It doesn’t matter how many months you’ve dated, or the amount of times you had already been in this position; Aj explored your body like he’d never seen it before. Every caress with the intent of getting to know your body inside out.

Even with your love for this steady and secure pace, you needed a relief right know. The incident at work was still running through your mind, and all you wanted was to: forget forget forget.

At your shift in the make out, Aj gazes up at you, and there’s nothing that can prepare him for the next words you utter. “Fuck me dumb.”

He stiffens, body failing him as thousands of thoughts speed through his troubled mind. Aj’s sat still, eyes on the wall behind you in shock. You take his silence as your cue to continue. Rocking your body slightly forward, and leaning into his hear you kiss the skin. “Please Aj, make me forget.”

While the man might not listen anywhere else, here he’s obedient and instantly flips you over. You lay with your back pressed up against the soft mattress, while Aj’s diving into your body, kissing, licking and sucking like it was his only goal in life.

His mouth works wonders, and his touch haven’t even moved down from your upper body before you start to let out sinful noises. It seems to fuel his eagerness, because in seconds, he’s pulling down your sleep attire, finger hooking around your underwear.

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” His question is one he knows the answer to. The only reason he’s ‘asking’ is so you verbally tell him how much you need him. At your breathy mumbles, Aj teasingly kisses your clothed core. “I guess not.”

The speed in wich you’ve pulled him back from leaving you unattended is actually abnormal, and even Aj has to chuckle a little at how impatient you’re being. “Please.”

The please is all Aj needs to hear, because the second it leaves your lips, he’s nose in between your legs, lips and tongue working in unison to take you there.

His perfect laps and sucking are affecting you in ways nothing else can, and by the time he licks a clean swipe up your slit, you can already feel the temperature rising to unbearable heat.

You’re thankful for Aj’s beautiful hair, because with his long curls you’re able to guide him, pulling in the direction you needed him the most. Like a starved man, he eats you out, eyes blown open wide and breath hot against your core.

“Aj.”

The moans you’re letting out makes him struggle to continue, the dent in his pants becoming too hard to bear. “Come on.” He encourages, not for a second stopping his action of licking you dry. “You’re almost there.”

And there’s no lie in that, because the second the words leave his mouth your legs starts to quiver around his head, head leaning back and eyes shutting. Your high washes over you, providing you a feel of euphoria as your boyfriend works you through it.

You’re not completely recovered when he pulls away, lips crashing against yours in a dizzying meeting. It takes you great strength to move your lips against his, but his hand against your jaw makes it easier and you kiss him back just as roughly.

Faintly, you can make out Aj unzipping his pants, letting his hard bulge become visible. Even in your hazy state, you know exactly where this is going.

“I don’t know if I can, Aj.”

At your words he just nods, as if he’s certain. Leaning over you he trails kisses across your face. “You’ll try though?” He asks, obviously expecting a certain answer. “My good girl. You’ll take it, right?”

Your answer comes out in broken moans and half nods. That’s all your boyfriend needs because without warning he smoothly glides in, your drenched core welcoming him like always.

A painful whimper leaves your open mouth at the impact, and Aj kisses your neck repeatedly. “You’re doing great, baby.” You focus on his words, finding it was much easier than centering upon the pain. “I’m gonna move, okay?”

When given the signal, Aj freely moves, his experienced strokes pleasuring you in a way you found hard to understand. With every snap of his hips, sound from his mouth, and movement of his fingers around your throat, you find yourself falling more and more into the sexual satisfaction.

Your dispute with your boss was long forgotten as Aj’s name was the only thing on your mind. Someone could ask you something as simple as your birthday and you’re sure the answer would be too far away to get it.

Getting lost in the feeling of him filling you up, you close your eyes. “Eyes on me.” Aj reminds you.

The last strokes before your orgasm were a blur because the pleasure becoming too much is the only thing you can focused on. “I’m-“

“I know.” Your boyfriend kisses your lips. “Go ahead, baby.”

His words made the awfully tight knot in the lower part of your stomach snap, leaving you a loud mess. Aj talks you through it while riding out your orgasm. Coming undone for the second time feels even more amazing than the first time because you’re so out of it. You have no idea where Aj finishes or when he gets up to go to the bathroom, but when he comes back with a damp wash cloth in his hands there’s no question.

He was the best distraction ever.

…

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#Aj shabeel #beta squad #✭b4tasquad speaks #youtube #Aj shabeel x you #Aj shabeel x reader #smut

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blossom-hwa · 2 years

Text

if you’ll have me (i) | c.yj

here’s (finally) the first part of the monster yeonjun fic I wrote in august, right in time for his birthday! happy birthday to the terrible wonderful human being who has given me the worst brainrot I've experienced in a while (second only to the rot brought on by one kang taehyun), and I hope you all enjoy this <3

Pairing: Yeonjun x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, regency era!au, nobility!au

Warnings: mentions of past death, mentions of period-typical misogyny

Word Count: 11.3k

Yeonjun Choi, Duke of Hastings, is in want of a wife. Boxed in from all directions by the overbearing mamas of the ton, he begins his arduous search this season for not fortune, not love, but merely the perfect woman to succeed his mother's place. None of the daughters of high society manage to catch his eye, however, or fit his overwhelming list of standards—at least until he meets Miss Y/N L/N, the queen's diamond of the season, newly arrived in town from abroad and said to be one of the most accomplished women to grace the ton in a generation.

You, the eldest daughter and only child of the L/N family, just want stability. With your father dead and the estate passed to a cousin, leaving only your dowry and a small pittance from the inheritance left intact, you begin your search for a husband with money enough to keep you and your mother afloat. It seems like a miracle when, after being crowned the queen's diamond, the Duke of Hastings himself asks for your hand—but as you learn of his complete indifference to the concept of love, you begin to doubt yourself. Perhaps money is not enough to keep your hand—maybe you desired a true love match more than you thought.

Trapped in a marriage of convenience that everyone believes is a love story, you and Yeonjun find yourselves forced to reevaluate what you want out of this match. Between balls and promenades, dances and poetry, you begin to view each other beyond the pithy conversations allowed in the courting stages, learning to see one another not just as business partners, but perhaps friends as well. And as you begin to reconcile your needs and wants, your goals and desires, maybe, just maybe—

The ton's belief that you are a love match can find some truth, too.

Part 1 >> Part 2

TXT Masterlist

The minute Yeonjun enters the club, he makes a beeline for the corner where Soobin is sitting, two small glasses set on the table in front of him. He flops into a chair and downs one of them immediately. “I am so sick of debutante season.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “The season hasn't even started,” he points out.

“Exactly,” Yeonjun groans. “If it's this bad even before they've been presented to the queen, how much worse will it get when all the balls and courtships start?”

“It's kind of your fault,” Soobin says, picking up the other glass. “Maybe you shouldn't have announced your intention to find a wife so early on.”

“I didn't mention it,” Yeonjun hisses. “That rat bastard Wooyoung let it out before I was ready to say it publicly—”

“That's on you for letting Wooyoung hear you,” Soobin interjects calmly. And Yeonjun can't even argue with that—he loves Wooyoung, loves his friend dearly, but Wooyoung's loose tongue is arguably his worst trait—so all he does is slump back into his chair and raise a finger for another drink. “You're supposed to be comforting me,” he sulks. “Some best friend you are.”

“Well, I've made my opinions about your ways of getting a wife very clear, and you've elected to ignore every single one of them.” Soobin smiles. “Some best friend you are.”

“What's wrong with a list?” Yeonjun frowns, crossing his arms. “Every man—no, every person—has to have ideas about who their future partner might be, I've just written it out.”

“It's not the list that's the problem. Though I'm pretty sure not a lot of people would actually write a list, either.” Soobin finishes the rest of his drink just as Yeonjun's second one comes. “It's your requirements for the people on that list that is the issue.”

“What's wrong with my requirements?”

“They're so demanding.” Soobin places his empty glass down with a loud clack. “How many people, men and women of all ages included, do you think are actually fluent in all those languages you require? All those instruments? All that dancing? Impeccable decorum too, and on top of that, to have a proper, pretty visage of some sort—”

“That's not even a requirement,” Yeonjun argues. “My main goal is to try and find someone with a sound and clever mind to help me run the estate since my mother wants to retire to the country—”

“And that's well and fine, Yeonjun.” Soobin sighs. “My point is, your requirements are so stringent as to alienate every lady in this society from the prospect of marrying you.”

“Soobin, I hate to sound egotistic—” Soobin snorts, which Yeonjun staunchly ignores— “but they're literally leaping for my hand.”

“And you've turned away every single one who has dared to approach, as well as every single one you've invited for one of your little... interviews.” Soobin's nose scrunches, and it's not the nice nose scrunch. It's the annoyed one. Maybe even disgusted. “That's not how you get to know your life partner.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes. “I'm not looking for love,” he snaps. “I'm looking for someone who will do her job as duchess. That's what I need right now, not love.”

“You won't be able to live well with someone you hate, regardless of how good she is at managing estate affairs.”

“I know. That's why a pleasant demeanor is also something I'm looking for.” Yeonjun snorts. “It's also why I won't be considering Mary Kim at all, no matter how much money her family might have.”

They both have to laugh at that. Mary Kim is a menace upon the ton's society—accomplished, perhaps, but completely unbearable in conversation. Yeonjun remembers saying before that he would rather cut off his hand than brave more than one dance with her. It wasn't a joke then, and it still isn't now.

“I just wish I was married already.” Yeonjun sips at his second drink, relishing the slight burn as it slides down his throat. “It would appease everyone—my mother wouldn't be hounding me anymore, Beomgyu would stop teasing me, and all the ton's mamas would stop trying to throw their daughters at me, too.”

“It's not that hard to get married,” Soobin replies. His eyes turn faraway, a little lovesick smile playing on his lips.

Yeonjun fixes his best friend with a deadpan glare. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance with a good, sweet, capable girl you've known since birth, Soobin.”

Soobin blushes, which Yeonjun counts as a win, but he doesn't relent. “You could really just loosen your list of requirements,” he says. “You're a duke, not a god.”

“I never claimed to be a god, nor do I think I want to be one.” He wrinkles his nose. “All those people who want to find the secret to immortality are idiots. Who wants to stay on earth forever?”

“I forgot how philosophical you get when you're tipsy,” Soobin mutters.

“I'm not tipsy,” Yeonjun protests. “I’ve only had two, and I hold my alcohol better than you. Anyway, it's not like my requirements are completely unreasonable. My mother could do all of this, and it's why my father decided to court her.”

“Oh, so it wasn't because of the fact that they fell in love, and your father would have no one else but her regardless of whether or not she was fluent in Latin and Greek?”

Yeonjun scowls. “Look, the point is, these skills gave my mother the ability to both be a competent duchess and be seen as one, as well. My future wife will have to maintain her image, and having these skills will only aid her in that endeavor.”

Soobin sighs. “You're not going to let up, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, you might have one stroke of luck left.” Soobin smiles. “I hear that the L/Ns are coming back into town. And that the eldest daughter of the family might be one of the most accomplished women to grace the ton in a generation.”

“The L/Ns?” Yeonjun frowns. “Why did they leave town, again?”

“The late lord died suddenly without a male heir, and in the wake of his death, the rest of the family went abroad.” Soobin accepts a refill of his small glass. “Some more gossipy people will say that it was because he spent too lavishly and left the family in a dire financial situation, but I don't think that's true.”

“Then what happened?” Yeonjun asks.

“My mother knew them somewhat well, I think. She said that around the time he died, his mother, who lived abroad, fell ill, so the family moved to take care of her.”

“Who took over the estate?”

“Some distant cousin. I don't think you've met him, and I don't know him very well either—he spends most of his time in the country and seems to keep to himself even when he is in town.” Soobin purses his lips. “I don't think he's necessarily hostile to the late lord's family, but they aren't close.”

“So will they be staying at the estate for the season, then?” Yeonjun presses. “And why are they coming back?”

“The late lord's mother died,” Soobin says. “There was no reason for them to remain abroad, so they should be returning just in time for the season. And I don't know for sure, Yeonjun, considering I'm not exactly privy to all of their plans, but I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t be staying at the estate. Not when there isn’t any obvious hostility towards the lord.”

Yeonjun cocks his head. Sips his drink. “I haven't met the daughter yet, have I?”

“Not closely, I don't think.” Soobin shrugs. “We were both at boarding school during the time she would have been growing up in town. I only know this much because my mother was close with them and has been in some contact with them since they decided to return.”

Yeonjun downs the rest of his glass. “And you say she has the ability to meet all of my oh-so-stringent requirements?”

“If what I've heard is correct, then I think she's the one who will ever come the closest.”

“Well.” Yeonjun smiles, standing up. “I think I've found my next target. I've got to go, but do inform me if you hear anything else about her, will you?”

“You haven't even asked for her name,” Soobin snorts.

“Well?” Yeonjun crosses his arms. “Then what is it?”

“Y/N.” Soobin's eyes glint. “Her name is Y/N L/N.”

. . . . .

Someday, when you die, you are going to scour heaven and hell to find the person who invented these ridiculous traditions for poor debutantes such as you and kill them again. In the afterlife. Just because they deserve it.

Which is not to say everything is wrong with the tradition. You don't mind the white dress, nor the tasteful jewelry Sakura helped clasp around your neck and wrists. The gloves aren't too bad—you've gotten used to how slippery they feel when you try to grasp things—and the shoes are manageable.

But the feathers.

The feathers.

As you step out of the carriage, all you can think of beyond not tripping over your feet right then and there is keeping your balance enough that the ridiculous headdress topped with a plume of long, white feathers doesn't fall. Once on the ground, you raise a hand to try and steady it—

“Don't touch it,” your mother hisses, batting your hand away. “It looks fine.”

You groan. “It doesn't feel right, Mother.”

“It never feels right.” She gives you a sympathetic glance. “But I promise you, dear, it looks fine. Trust me.”

“All right, Mother.” You sigh, resisting the urge to touch the feathers again.

“Good girl.” She smiles taking your arm. “Come now—let’s go see you off.”

All around you, girls in varying shades of white and gold and all those ridiculous feathered headdresses have begun heading into the palace. You follow the crowd, trying not to get swept up in it—your mother plays an important role in this, expertly chivvying the two of you between the families clamoring to reach the hall—all the while trying to catch a glimpse of the palace finery that seems to float past your eyes too fast for you to process anything.

“Now remember, Y/N,” your mother whispers when you finally reach the room where you will wait to walk. “Remember—stand tall, step proudly, keep your balance—”

“I know, Mother,” you hiss, clenching your fingers so they don't go up to try and rearrange the headdress that you're absolutely certain is starting to fall. “Are the feathers still in place?”

“Yes they are, darling,” she replies patiently.

A twinge of shame ripples through your chest—she's trying her best, you know, trying her best to help you in every way she knows how, and you just keep fretting about the stupid feathers on top of your stupid head.

Well, if the feathers weren't part of this tradition, they wouldn't be a problem, the nastier part of you sniffs.

“You look wonderful.” Your mother clasps her hands together, and—oh, dear, you can see tears welling up in her eyes and now you feel like you're going to cry too. “No, dearest, don't cry,” she says, visibly holding back her own tears as she pulls a handkerchief seemingly out of nowhere and dabs at her eyes, then at yours. “Don't ruin your makeup for this big day, yes?”

“I won't.” You laugh, choking back your own tears. “I won't, Mother.”

“You look wonderful,” she repeats, lowering the handkerchief. “Not even the diamond of my season looked quite as well as you. You’ve grown to be so beautiful and capable—your father would be so proud to see you here, now.”

“Mother, please.” You laugh again but it comes out a little wet, with the lump in your throat and the tears beginning to brim anew in your eyes. “You're really going to make me cry, now.”

“We can't have that.” She dabs at your eyes again before looking over your shoulder. “Oh, my—they're about to start!”

Sure enough, not a minute after your mother speaks does the footman at the entrance clear his throat. The crowd of debutantes and mothers and siblings falls quiet, the silence broken only by a periodic shuffle or whisper.

You try hard not to think about the feathers that feel like they're about to slip off the top of your head.

“Mary Kim”, comes the first announcement, “presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Lady Kim.”

You swallow hard.

And so it begins.

. . .

The room has nearly emptied halfway of debutantes, and still you have not been called.

You take back everything you thought about your outfit earlier. The feathers are still atrocious and you want to rip the headdress off right here and now, debut be damned, but your hands have grown sweaty under the gloves, the light makeup Sakura helped you apply feels like it's suffocating your face, and the dress that you absolutely cannot fidget with no matter what has started to dig into your skin. You take a deep breath, standing up straight in the hopes that the fabric will stop itching if you try to touch as little of it as possible—

“We're next,” your mother hisses into your ear.

You nearly choke. “What—”

The crowd of debutantes parts for your path as your mother forcefully guides you to the front. You stare at the doors that will open in seconds, praying, praying, praying you don't trip on the hem of your skirts or on some pebble on the floor or, heaven forbid, the air itself—

“Y/N L/N,” intones the footman, “presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Lady L/N.”

Your mother takes your arm, and as the doors begin to open, you force yourself to breathe.

Your body moves automatically, hours of practice showing their worth in your memory. Posture straight, head level, chin tipped up just enough to suggest pride, but not so much as to indicate haughtiness. Your feet step sedately, one after another, small, light steps to accommodate the dress, and the hand not taken by your mother lies against your side, uncurling from the fist it was in before. Your gloves still feel like they're about to slip off your fingers from sweat and the headdress still feels like it's going to fall off your head, but you continue forward even after your mother stops, one step, then two. Then you halt.

And begin to curtsy.

Balance, your mother's voice rings in your head. Grace will follow. First and foremost, keep your balance.

And you do.

You lower your head into the curtsy, eyes fluttering shut for one moment as you try to calm your breath. Behind you, your mother remains bowed and you take that as your cue to do the same, praying your legs don't begin aching so much that you fall.

For one moment, two, three, you simply stand there, breathing, counting the breaths, the moments until the queen will dismiss you. She has done nothing else yet, you're sure—according to your mother, you would've heard the gasp and perhaps applause if she'd crowned her diamond, and it doesn't seem as though anything untoward such as a lady fainting in her dress has happened either. You haven't tripped, you haven't fallen, and you can hear no giggles or whispers that indicate anything about your dress or feathers being in some sort of disarray, there’s no reason to think you won’t be dismissed without fanfare just as the other ladies have been so far, which is all you need in the moment, just a proper dismissal without embarrassment—

Footsteps sound on the long carpet, coming from the front. Where the queen was sitting as you walked down the hall.

A greater hush falls over the already quiet crowd. You don't dare to lift your eyes at all to see what you are beginning to suspect might be the case.

The footsteps come closer. Closer. You squeeze your eyes shut and open them again, just in time to see a dazzling pair of shoes and the hem of an opulent skirt enter your vision—

A finger touches your chin. Lifts it. Begins to pull you up.

And you meet eyes with the queen herself, staring at you with a benevolent smile on her lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. The eyes of everyone in the room must be on you, you're sure, but your mind is swimming and everything feels like a blur and the queen is in front of you, the queen is really in front of you, smiling at you like you might just be her diamond of the season.

Her finger falls away, but the smile stays. Your heart pounds against your chest, so loud you're sure she must be able to hear it as her mouth opens and she says—

"Flawless, my dear."

Whispers and gasps fill the room, punctuated by a squeal or two—you don't dare look towards crowd to see who it was—and it doesn't matter because you couldn't, anyway, not when the queen has taken your face between her two gloved hands and is now pressing a soft, dry kiss to the top of your forehead.

She rises. Turns. Walks back to her seat at the far end of the hall. Dimly, you remember that that must be your cue to rise as well and you do, taking the two steps backward to reach your mother, head still lowered. Next to you, she rises, and you lift your chin to see every eye in the hall still fixated upon you.

“Did that—” you breathe, forcing your lips not to move— “Mother, did that truly just happen?”

“Keep smiling, dearest,” she whispers, expertly taking your arm once more. One glance to the side shows you a brilliant smile upon her face, joyful yet not gloating, wide yet still gentle, but you can feel her trembling against you even as she steadily turns you around. Putting on a mask, you remember, forcing yourself to breathe once, twice—you need to do that too. Keep smiling, keep smiling, keep smiling. Because everyone's eyes are on you, now.

Y/N L/N, the season's diamond.

. . . . .

In another universe, Yeonjun thinks he could actually enjoy balls as a sort of fun event. There's good food, if not very filling, there's alcohol and lemonade, and usually he can find a few people with whom he is friendly and to whom he can speak. And even if there aren't, as his mother will say, he was blessed with a friendly exterior and an extroverted personality. Beomgyu once said he could make friends with a tree if he charmed it the right way.

Of course, coming out of Beomgyu's mouth, it sounded more like an insult than a compliment, but Yeonjun has long since learned not to give in to his cousin's backhanded mockery.

Put this way, balls could be pleasant. Fun, even. Yeonjun doesn't even mind dancing at all the way some of his peers do—in fact, with the right person, it can even be relaxing. But the problem is, balls are not simply social get-togethers with people his age.

They're marriage contracts. Or at least attempts at them.

The second Yeonjun steps into the Kims' grand home, immediately the lady of the house assaults him with her painted smiles and sickly voice. “Your Grace!” she simpers, taking him by the arm. “I've heard you have chosen to be active this season, is this true?”

Inwardly, Yeonjun spits all the curses he can at an imaginary Wooyoung dancing around in his head. Outwardly, he smiles back. “Your sources are indeed credible, my lady,” he says, laughing as he gently tugs his arm away. “What you have said is true.”

“Oh!” The feigned surprise on Lady Kim's face will always make his stomach churn no matter how many times he sees it. “Well, in that case, I must introduce you to my daughter, Mary—she just debuted this season, I'm sure—”

“Your Grace!” Another mother appears—Mrs. Jung, Yeonjun remembers just as she parks herself firmly by his side, cutting Lady Kim off. He has exactly one second to wonder whether it is a blessing to be torn away from Lady Kim and a potential conversation with Mary or a curse to be thrown into another determined mama's path before Mrs. Jung thrusts her poor daughter in front of him. “My daughter, you'll know, she just debuted this season—she's a wonderful dancer, anyone would be lucky to have her hand—”

A split second glance around the large entrance hall tells him no one he knows is nearby enough to save him from the madness. Already other mothers have spotted him, are snatching their daughters' wrists to come and bombard him with heavy hints at a dance and a possible marriage, so he quickly signs Mrs. Jung's daughter's dance card—he doesn't even know her name, she wasn't on his shortlist of possible future spouses and between all the hubbub he didn't hear Mrs. Jung introduce her if she even did—and then disappears into the crowd with a beatific smile in her direction, only breathing a sigh of relief when he reaches the open ballroom.

“Yeonjun!” Wooyoung comes bounding up to him in seconds, one glass of something in each hand. He hands one to Yeonjun. “How are you faring so far?”

“Not well, and no thanks to you,” Yeonjun hisses, taking a hefty gulp of the drink. There are more beady-eyed mamas and daughters glancing his way here, some who followed him from the entryway and others who have just noticed him. “Why did you have to open your big mouth about me seeking a wife?”

“Well, it seemed like something the ton should know.” Wooyoung shrugs, shameless as ever. “You're now the most eligible bachelor in the room, don't you feel popular?”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, ready to snap back something sharp that Wooyoung will take in stride and laugh off, eventually making Yeonjun laugh too, but then his eyes are drawn to a crowd of people in another corner of the ballroom, almost exactly mirroring the scene on his side. Only there, it's a horde of men dressed dashingly in their black and white instead of women in their vivid colors, crowding around someone who can only be—

“The season's diamond,” Wooyoung chirps, following Yeonjun's gaze. “Miss L/N.”

Yeonjun blinks. “You know her?”

“Not well, of course.” Mischief glints in Wooyoung's eyes, and Yeonjun can already sense he's in for a bout of relentless teasing. “Are you interested?”

“Of course I am.” He sniffs. “Who wouldn't be interested in the season's diamond? Especially after she's been away for several years?”

“Well, if you are, I would go and try to corner a dance right now.” Wooyoung jerks his head toward the crowd of men. “Before I am forced to leave—hey, don't give me that look, I can't stay with you forever—and the other mamas manage to ambush. Or, heaven forbid—” He leans in close. “Her dance card is full by the time you find the courage to approach.”

Internally, Yeonjun groans. This is why he hates balls—it's always a chase of some sort, him chasing a wife or everyone else trying to chase a husband—but he has to do it. His mother has done her job as dowager after his father's death, and she deserves her retirement. It's his turn to step up and take charge of the estate.

And he'll need a duchess at his side for that.

Quickly he downs the rest of his drink, placing it on an empty tray nearby. “Wish me luck,” he mutters to Wooyoung before heading straight into the throng.

. . . . .

Before this night, your mother grilled you on what to expect as an accomplished debutante, as well as what to expect as a diamond of the first water (for that is what they're calling you, apparently, those who saw you walk down the hall toward the queen).

It still did not prepare you for this.

The second you step into the ballroom, having successfully dodged the worst of Lady Kim's simpering compliments that felt more like backhanded insults than anything else, too many eyes turn towards you. You can feel them raking over your entire body, studying your makeup, your jewelry, every stitch of your clothing, and even though the attention makes you want to shrivel up and curl into a ball, you have to keep smiling.

Remember, dearest, every eye is now on you. Your mother's words ring through your mind once more.

You stand on a pedestal now, after having gained the queen's approval. It is an honor to have been chosen, but that just means there is only a greater distance to fall.

Your fingers itch for a pen and paper, preferably your favorite pencil and worn leather notebook. There's poetry here in the irony of your situation, but between the flurry of teas and fittings and brief outings between your debut and this first ball, you have had no chance to let your thoughts out onto paper for several days. Just little bits of writing here and there, on scraps of parchment and scribbled onto your hands...

But you can't focus on that tonight, not on the words whisking into poetry and prose in your mind. You swallow. Your goal is to find a husband, to secure financial stability for your family no matter what it takes.

And from what you've gathered over the short course of your lifespan, most men don't exactly appreciate poetry from the women they seek to marry.

So you lift your head, taking care not to gawk in any direction (because for all you think the Kim family is a menace to society, they do have good taste in decoration), and paste your practiced sweet smile to your lips. Like any good debutante should.

Like any diamond of the first water should.

Your mother stays with you, thank the heavens, as the men begin to approach. She did not exaggerate, you think dizzily as one request after another comes for a dance on your card—they are clamoring for your hand despite not having seen you anywhere in society for several years. It doesn't matter to them that you've been abroad, taking care of your ill grandmother. It doesn't matter to them that beyond your dowry you don't have that much money to speak of, most of it having gone towards her care. All that matters are rumors—rumors of your intelligence, rumors of your beauty—and the fact that the queen has named you her diamond.

There's poetry there too, scathing and elegant and itching to flow from your fingers, but you will just have to hold it back for tonight.

You do your best to look through the suitors, politely making conversation with those you allow to catch your eye, carefully passing your gaze over those you do not know or those you have heard will not treat you well. Your dance card fills rapidly even before the orchestra’s preludes are over and you've had too many offers of lemonade to count, and you're about to look at your mother—who's been patiently guiding you through the crowd, thank goodness—for some sort of excuse to clear your mind before the dancing starts, but just as you turn your head, a pair of eyes catches yours.

Your mother's grip tightens on your arm. You don't even need her frantic whisper to understand just who has come to seek a dance.

Yeonjun Choi. Duke of Hastings. The most eligible bachelor in this room, in status and in wealth.

Newly seeking a wife this season.

He comes forth, moving through the crowd with surprising ease. The other suitors seem to part for him, though you can see a few throwing him annoyed glances. He's handsome, ridiculously handsome—tall, with lush dark hair and captivating eyes. Your heart skips a beat.

No poetry there. Just a cliche, and an overused one at that.

But so very accurate in this moment.

“Miss L/N.” The duke stops in front of you, a brilliant smile on his face. “I don't believe we've met.”

“Your Grace.” You dip into the curtsy that has now become second nature to you and your legs. “I don't believe we have. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Modest, I see.” The smile grows wider. “I have heard tales of your beauty and wit, Miss L/N. I see your beauty has not been exaggerated—” you have to try hard not to topple over right then and there— “and had hoped to experience the pleasure of your conversation for myself, if it so delights you.” He dips his head in acquiescence. “That is, assuming your dance card isn't already full.”

Oh, he's good. Knows exactly how to flatter just enough that it seems genuine, but not so much that it becomes overkill. Your knees feel slightly weak—if it weren't for your mother holding you up, you think you might have fallen in between his compliments and smooth words, and if he had, you're pretty sure the duke would have caught you in some suave, gentlemanly way—and that is absolutely not something you should be imagining because your face already feels too hot just from his stare and you have words that you need to say.

“You are too kind, Your Grace.” You bow your head in acknowledgement of the praise, thankful for the practiced smile that never falls from your lips. “I believe I still have a few dances left on my card, if you should wish to take one. Perhaps the quadrille?”

“That sounds perfect,” he agrees readily, lifting the card around your wrist and quickly signing his name. When he drops the card, you go to pull your hand away but he catches it before you can, grip gentle but unrelenting as you look up in surprise.

Your entire body seems to freeze as he gazes into your eyes, that gentle smile still present on his lips.

“Your dance card is quite full, Miss L/N,” he says, still not letting go. “Take care not to tire or injure yourself by the end of the night.”

You nod slowly, not trusting your voice to speak at all. If you did, you might squeak, or something equally embarrassing.

His smile widen. “Until our dance then, my lady,” he says.

And presses a kiss to your fingertips.

. . . . .

Straightening his cravat, Yeonjun looks in the mirror one last time before meeting his mother in the estate's entryway. “Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm.

“Not so fast.” She pushes the arm away, levels a scrutinizing eye over every piece of his outfit, from his styled hair to the tips of his shoes. “Acceptable,” she finally says, though Yeonjun can see the pleased glint in her eye.

“Only acceptable?” he teases back, pouting his lips heavily. “Am I not the most handsome son a woman could ask for?”

“Of course you are.” The mock crotchety look on her face melts away, replaced with fondness that makes Yeonjun's heart ache as she reaches up to touch his cheek. “I'm so proud of you, my son. Look at you—you've grown up so well, and now you're on your way to finding a wife, too.” She sniffs, bringing out the handkerchief she always carries in her sleeve. “Your father would be so proud to see you now.”

“I hope so, Mother.” Yeonjun smiles, holding out his arm once more. “Shall we go now? We should take care not to be late.”

The carriage ride to the park takes place mostly in silence, his mother quietly speaking with her attendant on one side while Yeonjun stares out the window on his. Streets flash by and he takes note as they approach the park where the two of you are to promenade today.

Some part of him is relieved that you agreed to his invitation. Though Wooyoung was right—he was the most eligible bachelor through and through that night at the ball—it was hard not to feel the sting of competition as he watched you dancing throughout the night, seemingly never tiring even once as you stepped gracefully across the ballroom in the arms of so many men. Just by watching, he could tell you were an incredible dancer, and when it came his turn to spin you in the quadrille, his opinion of you only increased tenfold.

Yeonjun knows he's a good dancer. He enjoys it, really, in a way not many of his friends do—it's fun to whirl about the ballroom in these practiced movements—calming, even, when he doesn't have to worry about beady-eyed mamas trying to hunt him down every second. But you—you floated about the ballroom as though you were made of air, your dress rippling in the light as though it was made of water. Not once did you stumble, which Yeonjun could have forgiven once or twice given that you'd never danced together before, and not once did you falter in the conversation he kept up even though you'd been dancing for at least an hour already.

The praise heaped upon your dancing and demeanor were not exaggerated, not in the slightest. So he wasn't exactly surprised when he arrived at your estate the next day and found a clamoring of suitors lined up outside of the calling room, flowers in hand and sweet words on their lips. When it was his turn to meet you, all the blooms scattered about the room made something strangely akin to jealousy twitch in his chest.

But it was a good opportunity to observe you after having accepted so many calls. You were as fresh-faced as ever as you greeted him, took the flowers from his hands and gave him appropriate thanks before settling them carefully in a vase before you. Several servants were arranging flowers in other areas of the room, but you took his personally, and there were no other bouquets he could see that had been given the same treatment as his.

“Blue is my favorite color,” you had told him as you bade him sit. “Did you know this?”

No, he didn't. He'd admitted as much. “A stroke of luck,” he'd smiled, and the morning call went on much as he'd planned.

Perhaps he will truly be lucky in this, he thinks as the carriage pulls up to the park. Perhaps you truly will be the epitome of a duchess that his mother was, the perfect woman to stand by his side as his partner in marriage as he oversees the estate his father left him. Because just from your first two meetings, Yeonjun has already formed quite a good opinion of you that many of the other ladies this season haven't managed to reach despite him having known them, or at least known of them, for several years. You are polite, you are reserved, you dance well, you speak well, and most importantly, you know how to act. Though, to be fair, he's basing this last conjecture on the fact that you didn't react to him kissing your hand—physically, at least—after he'd asked you for a dance.

Which was a blow to his ego. Somewhat. Yeonjun does take pride in his ability to fluster people—not even just women, but sometimes his friends as well—but it's a good thing, in this case. It means that no matter what you feel on the inside, you are not easily swayed on the outside. You can hide your feelings, an essential skill for a member of the ton—especially for one of the duchy.

All this is assuming, of course, that she felt anything at all when you kissed her hand, an annoying voice that sounds a lot like Beomgyu reminds him in the back of his head.

Yeonjun shoves the Beomgyu-esque voice away. That's a thought he doesn't really want to consider.

He helps his mother down from the carriage when they arrive and begins scanning the park for you and your mother. To his luck, you're standing not far away, and he gladly leads his mother up to the two of you. “Miss L/N!” he calls, letting his usual smile fall quickly over his lips. “I hope we have not kept you waiting.”

“No, you're right on time, Your Graces.” You smile, bobbing a shallow curtsy. “We merely thought it prudent to arrive a few minutes early, as we didn't want to make you wait.”

“Allow me to make introductions,” Yeonjun says. “This is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Hastings. Mother, this is Miss L/N and her esteemed mother, the Right Honorable Lady L/N.”

“Your Grace.” Both you and your mother dip into deeper curtsies, easy and graceful. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine. I see my son's praise of your manners has not been exaggerated in the slightest.” His mother smiles, walking up to yours. “Come, Lady L/N. Let's let the young ones go ahead—I don't think I'll quite be able to keep up with them on these old bones.”

“Mother,” Yeonjun protests. “Your bones are hardly old.”

“You don't know what you're saying,” she sniffs, winking at your mother. At her side you're stifling a laugh, and despite himself, Yeonjun can't help but feel a fond smile widening his lips. “Go on, you two.”

Taking his cue, Yeonjun offers you his arm, making sure to direct that fond smile at you. “Shall we?”

. . . . .

A week later, you stand in the same park, again waiting for the duke to join you on a promenade. He's not late, you're just early, but as your mother waits anxiously by your side, you take the few moments of silence to think.

The duke—he's never been anything but kind or pleasant in any of your meetings. He's a far cry from many of the more obnoxious suitors you've had to endure in the calling room, those whose advances you've declined while still trying to be as gracious as possible. And he is far and beyond the best option you have at the moment, and probably the best option you're ever going to get. He's a duke, for heaven's sake—the only way you could go higher than him would be if you married a prince, and you're not even sure you’d ever want to go that far. Living in the palace sounds like a dream, but there are already so many rules you need to follow as a mere member of the ton—life as royalty would be even more restricting.

But while there's nothing obviously off-putting about the duke, you can't help but want to pause a little, reevaluate this situation without him nearby to put your thoughts into a spin. He's handsome, he's kind, he's clearly intelligent, and you're sure that he will respect you even in marriage. Sakura has told you of some rumors of him being a rake, but those mostly seem to have died down around the time his father died, when he would have been assuming the role of a duke. Which means he has a sense of responsibility. But even then, it's just...

Some part of you, even though you know it's kind of ridiculous, still hoped for a love match. One like your parents had, the relationship you saw when your father was still alive. While you've often listened to your mind over your heart, your heart still has a voice, and it wants to love and be loved in return.

Perhaps the duke might give you love. You don't know. But it doesn't seem like a priority for him at all, based on your conversations at the now three balls where you've danced with him, as well as the one promenade you've been on so far. While your words flowed well and there was never a moment of truly uncomfortable silence, it didn't seem like he was interested in getting to know you. It was more like he wanted to... interview you for a job, or something.

Which is fair, you suppose. Being a duchess is a job, that much is clear. But you still hadn't expected to spend an hour detailing every piece of your studies, your knowledge of current languages and the classics, the tutors you had for music and dance and mathematics.

Love shouldn't be a priority for you. It isn't, not according to the list of requirements you have for a husband sitting in your brain. Money comes first, followed closely by a pleasant demeanor that you could live with, even if you could not eventually come to love. Yeonjun fits both. If he were to propose marriage, you are sure would respond affirmatively.

But some part of you would still scream to say no.

“Miss L/N!”

Yeonjun comes walking jauntily up, that unflappable smile still on his face. Time to stop thinking.

You force yourself out of your thoughts, dipping into a little curtsy as he comes to a stop in front of you. Your mothers immediately draw towards each other—they've become great friends as far as you can see, which is one good thing that has come out of this—and so you take Yeonjun's proffered arm with a smile and allow him to lead you onto the pathway.

He asks you the usual questions—how are you, how is your mother, nothing untoward has happened since we last met, has it? You respond in kind, mouth moving automatically through the pleasantries, and then a short silence falls.

It's hard not to fall back into your previous thoughts, with the duke right on your arm. Everything about your recent meetings suggests he will propose by the end of the season, and you should be glad for it. This was what you wanted, was it not? Financial stability, and a husband who would be kind, at the very least.

Maybe you didn't expect how clinical this would all feel. Or maybe you underestimated how much you really wanted a love match.

“You seem preoccupied, my lady.” Yeonjun looks over, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Is something the matter, Miss L/N?”

You press your lips together. You've honed the art of conversation for years, but right now, you're not sure if you should broach the subject of your feelings. It might not be the best idea—you don't want to turn Yeonjun away, not at all—but he seems like a straightforward person, generally. His little interview-conversation during your last walk only affirms that.

“During our last promenade,” you say quietly, nodding at a few girls who pass by. “I will be honest. It sounded more like a job interview, Your Grace—or at least what I imagine a job interview would be like. Not quite the conversation one would have on a simple walk.”

Yeonjun looks at you long and hard. For one nerve-wracking moment, he says nothing.

“Was it displeasing to you?” he finally asks. “If so, I apologize.”

“Not at all.” The dismissal falls easily from your lips, easily enough that you can almost believe it wasn't a full lie. “I suppose I was simply not expecting to be quizzed on my knowledge of Latin and Greek for an hour.”

The duke reddens slightly at that. “Surely I did not only speak of the classics for so long.”

“You didn't, Your Grace. I exaggerate.” You laugh a little. “I only wondered what exactly you were looking for in me during that time.”

“Would you like the truthful answer?” the duke asks, suddenly serious.

You blink. “If I were to say no, what answer would you give?”

He smiles a little. “Something flowery, perhaps. Something that would avoid the question and leave both of us unsatisfied. But you wouldn't want that, I think.”

“You're right.” He is. “I wouldn't want that.”

“Then I will be honest with you.” Yeonjun sighs. “I am a duke, and whomever I marry will be duchess. It is not a title to be taken lightly—we would be responsible not just for the estate, but also for the people of whom we are charged to take care. It is not the same as, perhaps, being the lord and lady of a manor. There are greater responsibilities.”

“I see.”

“There are two important things to being one of the duchy,” Yeonjun continues. “One is to be a good duchess—being able to run the household as well as assist me in any affairs that might need another hand, which in all honesty are many. The other is to be perceived as a good duchess. And that is where most of my questions come in hand.”

“I... see.” You slowly nod your head.

“My mother was one of the most accomplished women of her generation.” The two of you glance back at the duchess, who's still talking animatedly with your mother. “She knew all the languages that you do, could play the pianoforte well and even the violin, somewhat. Beyond the fact that my father loved her, she was also well suited to taking care of the estate, and she partnered with him well. She was seen as a duchess who was capable, and she proved it as well.”

Yeonjun turns back to you. “Miss L/N, forgive me for being frank—I have heard of your family situation. Correct me if any of this is wrong, but I believe that beyond your dowry, there is not much money left to take care of all of you without relying on others.”

You swallow. It was blunt, but he isn't wrong.

“But I am not looking for money. Heavens, my family has enough of that.” He laughs a little. “I am looking for someone who can be that partner for me, and based on our meetings so far, I think you are the only one of the eligible ladies this year—possibly in several years—to be able to handle all of this.”

Your head is starting to spin a little. Everything he's said so far makes sense, and you understand where he's coming from, but it's starting to sound—it's starting to sound like he's proposing to you right now—

“I will be honest in that I am not looking for love. If that is an expectation of yours, I will not be offended if you choose to seek someone else.” He pauses on the pathway, fixing you with his gaze. “But you are, I believe, a partner with whom I could be satisfied in navigating the rest of my life.”

He said so much. You took in everything that he said. But for some reason, the only words that continue to bounce around in your head are I am not looking for love.

Which is—ridiculous. You aren't looking for love either—at least, you shouldn't be. Your first priority is to secure financial stability for your family. Anything beyond that would be a plus. But you can't deny the slight sinking of your heart, the way you can feel all of your childish, sappy little daydreams sinking to the bottom of your skull...

You take a deep breath, force a lightness to remain in your tone. “Your Grace, this is beginning to sound like a marriage proposal.”

The duke's gaze doesn't waver. “If you'd like it to be, then it is.”

You're still holding his arm. It's all you can do to keep from clenching his elbow with a vice grip because you really think you might fall. You've gotten a marriage proposal—from a duke—in a matter of days—

“Allow me to be honest as well, Your Grace.” You swallow hard. “I am not looking for love either. My primary interest is securing a source of financial stability for my family, now that we no longer own our estate. It is not to look for love.” It's not a lie, you tell yourself even as the words burn slightly on your tongue. At least not completely. “However, while our values do seem to align, and I am extremely flattered by your proposal, I will ask that you wait a little longer for me to give you an answer. We have only known each other for the best part of three weeks. I would simply like some time to get to know you more.”

“That is a fair request.” Yeonjun inclines his head. “Don't worry—we do not have to treat today's conversation as a proposal at all, Miss L/N. If it so pleases you, I will ask again in a few weeks' time. Until then, please only think of our words today as a suggestion or an explanation of my thoughts, not as anything concrete. Your answer when I ask again will be the only one I consider.”

It's a better reply than you expected. He doesn't seem offended at all by your hesitance, and he was honest. There isn't much more you could want, not from a man such as he.

Part of you knows that if he'd demanded an answer right now, you would have said yes. That same part of you knows that your answer isn't likely to change even with a few weeks—this is the best offer you will receive, from a man who is both respectful and handsome and doesn't care about your relative wealth status compared to his. But it's fast, you think, too fast—you can't sign your life away after only knowing him for less than three weeks.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the twinge in your chest whenever you remember he has no intention of marrying you for love.

“You are very kind, Your Grace.” You smile at him. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course, Miss L/N.” He smiles back, oblivious to the thoughts still spinning around your mind. “Shall we continue our walk, then?”

. . . . . When Yeonjun wakes up, there's a sense of urgency in his chest that doesn't match the lazy light beginning to filter through the curtains against his window, a slight nervousness that doesn't quite make sense. His eyes blink blearily, searching for the clock—it's only eight. He hasn't missed anything important. His first engagement won't even be for three more hours, he can close his eyes and sleep for a little longer—

Engagement.

His eyes snap wide open.

Today is the day he's going to propose to you.

Heart hammering, he sits up in bed, shaking loose strands of hair out of his eyes. Quickly he dresses, all the while trying to think of everything he'll need for tonight and coming up with absolutely nothing except for the ring, which is snug in the pocket of his pants. He pulls it out, holds it up to the light.

Polished gold, a set of pearls laid into the metal surrounding a single small diamond. It has been in his family for generations—his mother had worn it until a few years ago, when she had decided that Yeonjun needed the reminder that he was to choose a wife soon. He stares at it, watches it shine in the early morning light, before sliding it safely back into his pocket. Nothing will happen to it, he tries to reassure himself. Absolutely nothing.

And nothing does happen to it throughout the day, thankfully, not during his meeting with the solicitor, not while he flips through finance sheets at his desk, not while he dresses once more for the dinner your mother has invited him to tonight. He'd spoken with her a few days ago, called on her in private while he knew you would be busy at the modiste, and asked for her permission to formally propose. She was the one who'd suggested the dinner as a way for him to ask the question to you in a somewhat private setting.

There should be no problem. All through the carriage ride to your estate, Yeonjun tries to calm his beating heart as his mother gazes at him amusedly from the other side. “Stop looking at me like that,” he finally says. “Mother.”

“I can't stop looking at my only son right now,” she scolds. “Not when he looks so handsome and ready to propose to his future duchess.”

Future duchess. Yeonjun takes a breath. Yes, you're to be his future wife and his duchess. The thought is surprisingly nerve-wracking.

It shouldn't be, though. He's had his mind set on you since that first conversation with Soobin at the club, since he met you at the first ball of the season. He's done everything this season with you in mind—he should be used to the idea of standing by you as your husband, you as his wife. Him as your duke, and you as his duchess.

His heart begins to calm. Yes, there's no reason to be nervous. The only reason you put off the question when he first suggested it was because you felt it was too early, and that's understandable, given it had only been three weeks and Yeonjun hadn't even meant to propose, really—it had just sounded like it, and you, ever perceptive, had picked up on it. It's been four weeks now since then, and he's danced with you at seven more balls, promenaded with you five more times, and you've already dined once at his estate with some of his extended family. He's asked your mother for permission. Everything will fall into place.

“Do you think she'll like the way I look?” he asks, winking obnoxiously at his mother.

She laughs. “There is no way she could refuse you. Why, if she isn't already in love, she'll have fallen for you by the end of tonight.”

The smile freezes on Yeonjun's face. Love, yes. The very thing he hasn't been focusing on at all when it comes to you.

You'd agreed with that. He'd suspected you would, given your tenuous finances—not dire, not yet, but still not stable. Besides, love is rare. You are practical. You know that. Most marriages are of convenience. You didn't express any sort of hurt or abandon when he'd given you his honest thoughts.

But his mother... maybe she wants him to be in love.

“Yeonjun?” She leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is everything all right?”

He blinks. “Of course,” he replies. And just then, the carriage rattles to a stop in front of an estate that has by now grown familiar, giving him the perfect excuse to avoid any other questions she might ask. As soon as he can, Yeonjun hops down from the carriage and holds out a hand for his mother to take. “Let's go, Mother.”

. . .

The dinner goes well. Your mother placed him next to you, and the two of you speak amicably through the evening as your mothers chatter at the end of the table. With every word that comes out of your mouth, every little laugh and witty jab, Yeonjun only grows even more sure that you are the one who should share the duchy with him.

When the dessert has finished and the last plate cleared away, your mother coughs subtly at the end of the table. Yeonjun takes the hint as they all rise from the table, turning toward her with his sweetest smile. “Lady L/N, I was wondering if you would allow me to solicit a private audience with your daughter. Just for a few moments.”

Her eyes sparkle. Yeonjun really wouldn't mind having her as a mother in law—she's dutiful, patient, and truly loves you in a way that is rare in this society today. “Of course, Your Grace,” she says, inclining her head. “Come, Your Grace—we will have some entertainment for ourselves in the sitting room. Please, the two of you, do join us when you are ready.”

Everyone else filters from the room, leaving it empty save for you and Yeonjun. Even the servants have gone from their silent posts around the table.

You look at Yeonjun quietly. Not a word passes from your lips, though there is a question in your eyes. Actually, perhaps not really a question—there's no way you don't know what is to happen in a moment. It's an invitation in your gaze instead, an expectation of what will come.

Yeonjun takes a deep breath. “A few weeks ago, I suppose I... unintentionally proposed to you on our second promenade.” He smiles and so do you, your eyes crinkling at his choice of words. He internally pats himself on the back for it. “You asked me for time, and I have given it. I suppose what I would say now is much of what I said then—I am looking for a duchess, a wife who can stand by my side as a partner in this marriage, who will help me in my affairs with ensuring the people of my land are treated well.”

You nod. “I understand, Your Grace.”

“It has been over a month since we met, nearly two.” Yeonjun swallows. “In that time, I have truly determined you are one of the most gracious, capable women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I believe you will be the most able partner I could have in my journey of dukedom.” He pulls out the ring, letting the gems sparkle in the candlelight as he holds it out to you. “Will you do me the honor of being that partner, of becoming my wife and the Duchess of Hastings?”

For a long, long moment, you don't respond. Yeonjun counts the moments, counts the breaths—one, two, three, four—his heart beginning to thud the longer you go without speaking.

Finally, your gaze lifts from the ring to his eyes. “I have one stipulation in this proposal, Your Grace,” you say. “My mother—she believes... she believes we are in love.”

Yeonjun tilts his head. “I see.”

“She wants a love match for me. Always has, just like her and my father.” You heave a small sigh. “I am impartial, Your Grace. Love matches such as my mother's are rare, and I am more interested in securing the practicalities of my marriage. As we discussed before, I do not expect love from any relationship we have, but I will ask that... we pretend. In front of her.” You swallow visibly. “I don't want to deceive her, but I would rather do that than upset her.”

Yeonjun pauses. Thinks. Your mother won't live on your estate—nor will she be over often enough for acting to become a full time ordeal. You have a small home in the country, you have said, one your distant cousin has said you are allowed to live in, and while it is not far from his lands, it is not close, either. This stipulation shouldn't be an issue.

“I understand,” he says, smiling easily. “I will agree to this... act. Truth be told,” he continues, “I think my mother would like it if I were in a love match, too. Perhaps it will not just be your mother that we should act around.”

You nod once, slowly. Your throat bobs. For a moment it looks as though you have something else to say, but your expression clears so quickly that Yeonjun is sure he imagined it.

“So will you do me the honor, Miss L/N?” he asks again, taking your hand. The gold of the ring sparkles against the silk of your gloves, shimmering and pristine. “Of being my partner for life?”

You take a breath. Yeonjun watches your chest rise and fall once, twice.

“Yes, Your Grace.” You nod, and relief cracks deep and full in Yeonjun's chest, warmth rippling through his body as you smile. “I will.”

. . . . .

It hits you, exactly what you’re about to do to your future, when it's already too late.

The morning has been going—by all accounts of the situation—fine. You woke up early. Washed. Stared at your notebook that you haven't written in for two weeks, not since poetry stopped flowing from your fingertips in elegant lines and became stilted, choked, singular words instead. Tore your eyes from the leather cover and the pencil still lodged between its pages—it's easier not to question everything when you can't write about it—and left the room for a bite of breakfast before being whisked back to your room to dress.

Everything is—fine. It's fine. Everything is perfectly fine. Sakura helps you put on your wedding attire, settles the dress against your body, the gloves on your fingers, the jewelry around your wrists and neck. Light makeup dusts your face, reminiscent of what you wore to the first ball, and an elegant little flower crown adorns the top of your head. In the mirror, you look beautiful.

Or you would, if not for the fear you can see rooted deep in your eyes.

Your mother exclaims when you enter the room, hands gripping your arms as she looks you up and down. The servants stare in wide-eyed awe as you walk down to the entryway. You try hard to hide that fear from yourself and everyone else, settling into the carriage with only a wide smile on your face, and you force yourself to wear that smile the entire way to the venue as though pretending pure happiness will make it true.

You're whisked away immediately to freshen up once more. Sakura touches up the makeup, straightens the flower crown on your brow. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror for fear of anyone—most of all yourself—seeing the truth in your eyes. Someone hands you a bouquet of flowers that compliments your gown and you thank them as best you can without losing your mind completely. Time passes, somehow, and then someone has dragged you behind the doors at the entrance of the hall where you wait for your cue.

It starts. Music begins to play. You stand behind the closed doors, fighting for breath. Yeonjun will already be at the altar, you know, his family and friends on his side of the pews. Next to you, your mother counts down the seconds, dabbing tears from her eyes when she thinks you aren't looking until she gets to one and the doors begin to swing open.

One foot in front of the other. The muscle memory that you drilled into yourself for your debut—was that just three months ago? Really only three? It feels like it's been years and at the same time it feels like it's been days—returns, and your chin lifts slightly (just enough to suggest pride, but not so much as to indicate haughtiness) as your eyes settle on the man you are to marry at the end of the hall.

The man you are to marry.

Your foot falters. You almost trip. Your mother tightens her grip on your arm and you can see her glance at you worriedly but you force yourself not to look, to keep stepping forward—it wasn't much. It didn't show. It doesn't matter, it doesn't mean anything—

Yeonjun gazes back at you from the altar, that sweet, charming smile on his face. He looks like the epitome of the perfect husband—handsome, gentle, loving.

Loving.

If only.

Your mother lets go of your arm. You both curtsy to the dowager duchess on her side, who smiles widely, and then she steps back to take her seat, leaving you to make the rest of the journey alone.

One step, two steps. The short distance up to the altar feels like it takes an eternity but once you're there, you wish it had taken longer. Heaving a silent, shaky breath, you turn to face Yeonjun.

The smile is still on your face.

Someone begins to read something, onerous and steady and sounding like utterly nothing as it passes through your head. Your fingers are sweaty and your gloves aren’t absorbent—you can feel the silk sliding against your palms as you try to readjust your grip on the bouquet, all the while staring into Yeonjun's eyes. His smile never falters.

Neither, you hope, does yours.

There's a pause in the reading. Someone appears with rings. You take one and Yeonjun takes the other. The words continue, pounding through your head, and try as you might, you can't understand a single one even though you can speak four languages—

“Do you, His Grace Yeonjun Choi, promise to take Y/N L/N to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?”

Your heart stops. That part you can understand.

“I do.” Yeonjun's voice rings loud and clear, not a note of uncertainty in his tones. The two words echo in your ears long after he has slipped the ring onto your finger, even as the priest turns to you next.

“Do you, Miss L/N L/N, promise to take Yeonjun Choi to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?”

Every eye in the room turns to you. It's like you're in the queen's hall again, about to step backward and ask your mother if that really just happened, if the queen really just named you her diamond, but where that happiness filled your heart in that moment, you can't name what you feel now.

Or maybe you just don't want to name it, for fear that you know what it is.

And that's when you realize.

You don't want this at all.

You don't want to marry Yeonjun. You don't want to tie yourself down to someone who can't promise to love you. You don't want to be married to someone who can't even promise to care for you in the way your father did your mother, the way your mother cared for your father—you don't want it, you don't want it, you don't want any of it at all—

But you promised. Even now you wear the ancestral engagement ring on your finger, pearls and diamonds that glint in the sunlight through the windows. You are engaged. You promised yourself to Yeonjun. You told him you wanted it, that you agreed with his opinions, that you wouldn't expect anything more of him when it came to your partnership.

You blink once, twice. Picture your mother and Sakura sitting in the pews. The two of them want this for you. The two of them need this from you.

And you know you would give your life for them, light yourself on fire for them, burn to ashes for them. It's why you studied for so many years, burnt the midnight oil hours after everyone had gone to bed to make yourself the best debutante who would ever grace society—it was for them. Always for them.

Slowly, even as it gets harder and harder to breathe, you swallow. Stand up straighter. Glance down at the flowers between your sweaty hands, then back up at the man to whom you're about to sign your life away.

Your voice rings out, clear and sweet, the way a diamond of the first water should speak. It doesn't tremble once. Doesn't falter at all.

“I do.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 hug for mc. she’s kinda going through it)

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