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cherrybr4t · 3 days ago

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pretty boys bring you to heaven - jeon wonwoo (m)

CONTENT WARNINGS: biker bf!wonwoo, jealous wonwoo (hehe.), SMUT!, unprotected p in v, oral (f rec), praise 😇, marking up (f rec), creampie, slightly possessive wonu, overused trope but! dom!wonwoo, sub fem!reader, kitchen counter sex 😔

WC: 2k

A/N: hello..fulfilling my inner teen wattpad days with a cliche scenario & trope. but. hot jealous biker bf wonwoo. one for me pls. i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this 😔 (slightly inspired by real life events)

enjoy! <3

"sorry miss, excuse me... my friends and i were over there and we thought you were really pretty.. any chance we could get your digits?"

you were already freezing outside the izakaya restuarant, waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up. said boyfriend was about 10 minutes late from the arranged timing.

mustering up the kindest smile you could in that condition, you waved a hand politely, "no thank you, i have a boyfriend." with a curt nod, you shifted about 5 inches to the side.

expecting the guy to take his leave, he offered a cynical chuckle on that scornful face instead.

"come on, it's just your number, hm?" he inched closer, waving his phone in your face.

scoffing, you turned to him, "i'm telling you, i have a boyfriend and he's about to be here any minute now so if i were you, i would walk away,"

"well, i don't see that boyfriend of yours anywhere baby, how 'bout you stop lying—"

"turn around," your eyebrows raised at the familiar deep timbre. you gulped, knowing that you tried to give that poor guy a small warning.

"ah," the guy turned around, took one look over before shaking his head. "didn't peg you for a pretty boy kinda girl babe, oh, and pretty boy rides," he mocked after seeing the sleek black helmet wonwoo was clutching onto.

“yeah? this pretty boy right here s’bout to turn you extra pretty with this helmet right here if you don’t step away from his girlfriend,”

you looked at your boyfriend, sharp eyes daggering through the man, knowing that he meant every word. wonwoo was a rather mellow person, but when things came down to it, you’ve seen first hand how it’s never good to rub him off in the wrong way.

with the exception of yourself, of course. you could do no wrong in your simp of a boyfriend’s eyes.

you felt your insides churn at how he stepped in with such a sinister glare. lips threatening to break into a giddy smile as you were feeling so in love with your boyfriend at the moment, as well as satisfied at how the man is now avoiding his gaze, slowly backing off.

“got it dude, chill out. s’not like i can’t find another one of these bitches out there,”

something in wonwoo snapped and he lunged forward, grabbing onto the man’s shirt with his precious helmet now dropped on the pavement.

“what did you fucking say?”

you decided it was time to step in, not wanting to cause any ruckus — you just wanted the night to be over and done with and to head home, tucked in with your boyfriend.

“alright alright, wonwoo, it’s fine let it go, he’s not worth the trouble,” you tugged onto wonwoo’s shirt, hand reaching up to massage his nape, calming him down.

wonwoo’s muscles relaxed immediately at your touch, before turning over to look at you. taking a few moments before deciding to let go —which was for the better because you knew that guy stood no chance against your hapkido black belt man.

wonwoo pushed him towards the road before grabbing onto your hand, chuckling once he saw that you’ve already picked up the helmet. you shrugged, holding onto him tighter before dragging him towards his bike.

“i’m sorry baby, this wouldn’t have happened if i got here on time.. i swear the traffic lights just weren’t in my favour today,” wonwoo cupped your face gently in his hands, pecking you gently on your lips.

“stop, this isn’t your fault wonwoo.. there’re always gonna be pesky rats out and about, plus i still remember some moves you taught me,” you got into your fight stance, flailing your arms while making exaggerated ‘hah’s.

wonwoo let out a chortle, before patting down your head, “good girl, but… i can tell you’re slightly pissed, you’re calling me wonwoo and not baby,” he wraps his arms around you, lowering his face to rub his obvious pout in your face.

“gosh you’re such a baby, baby.” you kissed his pout to which he gladly welcomed and engulfed you into an open mouth kiss, tightening his grip on you.

“that’s more like it baby, now let’s go home, need to keep my pretty baby out of these dangerous streets,”

wonwoo has you up on the counter back home, between your legs as he kisses you so fervidly while his hands grip onto your waist tightly. you rake your fingers on his nape and across his scalp as you deepen the kiss, tongue entering to find his.

his deep rumble of groans as you run your nails through his scalp has you clenching and you let out a small whimper mid-kiss. he pulls apart and stares at you.

“my pretty baby, so fucking beautiful you got all these men thinking they’ve got a shot,” he groans as he peppers small kisses along your jawline.

“til they find out that you’re mine, hm? not a fucking chance,” he follows through, kissing his way down your neck, stopping at your sweet spot he knows all too well, and starts sucking lightly.

you let out a full fledged moan at this point, head tilting back – unable to control how your boyfriend makes you deranged just by a few kisses.

“wonwoo…” you whine.

“yes baby? needa mark you up all prettily so no one else dares to even make a move hm? all mine mine mine,” he goes down on the same spot, sucking harshly with a few bites before smoothing it over with his tongue. you squeak out in pleasure, loving how his tongue feels so strong yet so good against that bruised spot.

“i'm all yours baby, l-let them all know who i belong to,” you beg, wanting to feel his mouth all over your body, not wanting him to miss any spot.

wonwoo moves on to his next spot, sucking, biting and soothing. you feel so giddy, totally missing his hand creeping towards your core, until you feel him directly palming your cunt aggressively – and you realise just how soaked you are when you feel your panties stick to your cunt.

“fuuck baby, you’re soaking through your fucking pants fuck,” wonwoo pants, inner fire growing stronger seeing how you react to him marking you up. he hastily removes your pants and kicks them aside, licking his lips subtly at the sight of your drenched cunt through your thin panties.

“wo-baby, do something, please,” you grab at nothing desperately on the counter, needing him to do something to release the tension in your core that’s been growing – you feel the need to rub against air.

“yeah? whatever my pretty baby wants,” he starts rubbing on your clothed cunt, before pushing the destroyed fabric aside, fingers soaking in your juices as he plays with your folds.

his other hand grabs onto your jaw forcing you to look at him, “open up,” he whispers before taking his fingers out of your cunt to stuff them into your mouth. you moan at the taste of yourself, eyes fluttering shut.

“so fucking delicious aren’t you,”

he spreads your legs wider before ripping your panties off. getting onto his knees, he positions his face directly in front of your cunt before going in straight and kissing your growing bud.

“fuck fuck fuck,” you scream out as you feel him start to suckle on your swollen bud, before leaving kisses over your folds. he sticks his tongue out, teasing over them before going in through layers of your folds.

“wonwoo!” moaning out your boyfriends name with a cracked voice, you thrust your hips in his face, craving more.

“as always, fucking sweet and fucking delicious, god,” he moans into your cunt, looking like a starved man as he eats and laps at your cunt so ravenously.

he grabs onto your thighs, forcing them to stay apart as he continues diving deeper into your sweet cunt, that tall nose of his hitting the right spot, rubbing against your bundle of nerves at a consistent pace.

“w-wonwoo, i’m gonna cum, gonna cum, wanna cum c-can i,” you cry out, feeling the gates of your dam about to break open any time.

wonwoo looks up you, half-lidded and lustful gaze as he urges you, "cum baby, cum all over my face fuck, need you to,"

few seconds after, you grab onto wonwoo’s hair as you feel the last string break, feeling of numbness engulfing your whole as you feel all the tension pump out of you. pulling his locks as you release your juices, moaning out his name like a mantra as you came, and you feel like you've been to heaven and back.

wonwoo doesn’t stop, and continues drinking in all of you – every last drop of your release. you pushed his head away due to oversensitivity, and wonwoo stands up chuckling.

“you make the prettiest sounds when you cum for me baby, can you do it again for me?” wonwoo coos, and kisses your forehead, slowly removing the remaining articles of clothing between the both of you.

“only if i get to cum around your cock this time,” you shot back lazily, eyes still hazy and drunk on your previous orgasm, yet still greedy for wonwoo’s cock. always greedy for more of him.

“of course baby, gotta feed this pussy more of my cock and my cum to remind who it belongs to, hm?” he turns you around before bending you over the counter. you smirk, heart palpitating at being manhandled to one of your favourite positions.

wonwoo glides his hands down your spine, caressing your cheeks, playing with them before slapping his pink and bulging tip on them.

“perfect ass, perfect tits, perfect everything, my fucking perfect baby, you were made for me and only me,” wonwoo moans out, letting his tip drench in your juices along your folds.

“mm wonwoo, baby, put it in, please,” you wiggle your hips backwards, and after a few more slaps against your cunt, he finally slides his tip in, causing you to gasp and fall forward onto the counter more.

you feel your walls constrict and expand aggressively, trying to suck your boyfriends length in inch by inch desperately.

wonwoo has a hand wrapped around your waist as he slides his full length in, both of you releasing the airiest moan once feeling each other on every nerve ending.

wonwoo starts to find a rhythm, hips thrusting so deep in you feel his tip hitting your cervix so comfortably and so fully every thrust you can’t help but scream out every time his tip nudges against that spot.

“so fucking good, cunt was made for me baby, making me see stars and shit,” wonwoo rasps out, panting as he struggles to formulate a sentence without breaking into moans.

“nngh, it feels so good wonwoo, so big, s-so good,” you were mind-fucked. having his cock in you deduced your brain to having no thoughts but him. crying out for him with no other care in this world.

“my pretty baby, wanna see you cum for me again, need to feel you cum around my cock for me, can–ah fuck–can you do that for me?” with an arm around you playing with your tits, and another arm suddenly reaching towards your exposed and swollen bud, you feel all hairs stand and being the most stimulated you’ve ever been.

“argh! wonwoo.. fuck,” you wail out his name, feeling so close to that eureka moment once again as your boyfriend rubs sloppy yet tight circles around your clit.

“mm baby, its okay, just cum for me hm? come on, cum around your cock, cum for me, cum cum,”

with him voicing his encouragements right behind you, you feel your abdomen reach its tightest point, before you feel the tipping point pour over, letting the waves of ecstasy wash over you, trembling underneath your boyfriend. squeezing the life out of his cock, you hear him groan.

“good girl, fuck, so fucking good, gonna cum for you now baby,”

soon after your release, you feel wonwoo’s body lurch and fall atop yours as his cum fills you up to the brim, and you moan at the warm liquid blanketing your cunt and its walls.

wonwoo steps back to admire his cum dripping out of your swollen cunt for a good minute, before you whine out for him - needing your after-fuck hugs and kisses.

he obliges, but whispers as he nibbles on your ear lobe, "don't think i'm done with you yet baby, you've got a loooong night ahead of you,"

a/n: hit the reblog if you've enjoyed this my loves! thank you so much for reading <3 sending love and kisses to everyone!

#wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo headcanons #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo fics #wonwoo drabbles #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo imagines #seventeen fics #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic

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littlelamy · 1 day ago

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thinking about rafe being more involved with sarahs life after the baby and spending time with them and taking the kid to school or maybe picking the kid up and seeing reader who is a teacher and they flirt or maybe it’s parent teacher conference and rafe tags along with john b bc Sarah can’t make it and him and reader are cute and flirting

the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the classroom windows, painting golden streaks across the desks and scattering soft shadows on the floor. it was quiet now, the hum of kids long gone except for a few stray drawings left forgotten on tables and the faint creak of your chair as you leaned back, scanning through a pile of spelling tests.

the knock on your classroom door startled you, pulling you out of the mundane rhythm of grading. when you looked up, you expected john b, who had mentioned he’d be dropping by for the parent-teacher conference. instead, you saw him. rafe cameron.

rafe leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans, the other gripping the strap of a sleek leather backpack. his usual cocky smirk softened into something more polite, almost uncertain, as his eyes swept the room before landing on you.

“hey,” he said, his voice low and warm, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged here but was trying anyway.

“hi,” you managed, your surprise fading into curiosity. “can i help you?”

“i… uh, i’m here for the conference,” he explained, stepping further into the room. “sarah couldn’t make it, and john b roped me into tagging along.”

you blinked, trying to reconcile the guy who had a reputation for being a little too reckless, a little too intense, with the man standing in front of you. “oh. yeah, of course. take a seat. john b should be here any minute.”

rafe nodded, sliding into one of the kid-sized chairs with an amused grin. “man, these chairs are tiny. no wonder kids are always squirming.”

you laughed, the sound light and unexpected. “yeah, they’re not exactly built for comfort. you’ll survive, though.”

he raised an eyebrow, leaning his elbows on the desk as he looked at you. “is that a challenge?”

before you could respond, the door swung open, and john b burst in, his usual whirlwind energy filling the room. “hey, sorry i’m late,” he said, dropping into a chair beside rafe without missing a beat. “traffic was insane.”

“it’s fine,” you assured him, pulling out the folder with their child’s name neatly printed across the front. “shall we get started?”

the conference itself was straightforward, mostly you going over their daughter’s progress, showing off some of her artwork, and sharing notes about her strengths and areas for growth. but every now and then, you felt rafe’s gaze on you, steady and curious, like he was trying to figure you out.

when the meeting wrapped up, john b stood, stretching. “thanks for taking the time. sarah’ll be thrilled to hear everything’s going so well.”

“of course,” you said, offering him a warm smile. “she’s a great kid. makes my job easy.”

john b nodded, then glanced at rafe. “you coming?”

rafe hesitated, his eyes flicking to you. “uh, i’ll catch up. i just have a quick question.”

john b smirked, like he knew exactly what was going on, but didn’t say anything as he left, leaving you and rafe alone.

“so, a quick question?” you prompted, arching an eyebrow.

he grinned, leaning back in his tiny chair. “yeah, just wanted to ask if you’ve always been this good with kids, or if it’s something you picked up over time.”

you tilted your head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “a little of both, i guess. i’ve always liked working with them. they’re honest, you know? no filter. keeps things interesting.”

he nodded, his expression thoughtful. “yeah, i can see that. you’re… you’re really good at it. i mean, i could barely survive babysitting her for an afternoon, and you do this every day.”

you laughed, feeling a warmth creep into your cheeks. “it’s definitely not easy, but it’s worth it.”

there was a pause, the kind that felt like it held something unsaid, and then rafe stood, towering over the kid-sized desk. “anyway, i should let you go. but… maybe i’ll see you around?”

“maybe,” you said, your smile lingering as he made his way to the door.

but before he left, he glanced back, his smirk returning. “or, you know, if you ever need a break from grading papers, i’d be happy to grab a coffee or something. on me.”

you raised an eyebrow, fighting the grin tugging at your lips. “i’ll think about it, cameron.”

he chuckled, giving you a small salute before disappearing into the hallway, leaving you alone in the golden light of the classroom, your heart fluttering in a way you hadn’t expected.

lamy's notes: i wouldn't mind doing more fics about rafe x teacher!reader! i hope you liked it!!

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesbabygirlx

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siriusly-t1red · 1 day ago

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Shadows and Light

Summary: Reader finally confesses to Azriel after secretly pining for years

CW: Fluff

The Velaris night was quiet, the city bathed in the soft glow of the stars. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of jasmine and night-blooming flowers. You found yourself standing on the balcony of the House of Wind, your heart pounding in your chest.

Azriel stood a few feet away from you, his back to the railing, his wings tucked close to his body. His shadowy presence was both comforting and intimidating, a paradox that had always intrigued you. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, were fixed on the horizon, but you knew he was aware of your presence.

"Azriel," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying to steady the tremor in your voice. "There's something I need to tell you."

He turned his head slightly, his gaze flickering to you for a moment before returning to the horizon. "I'm listening," he said, his voice as smooth and deep as ever.

You took a deep breath, the words you had rehearsed countless times tumbling out in a rush. "I—I think I'm in love with you."

The air seemed to still around you, the night's gentle breeze forgotten. Azriel's wings shifted slightly, a sign of his inner turmoil. He didn't respond immediately, and the silence stretched between you like a tightrope.

"I know this is... unexpected," you continued, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "And I understand if you don't feel the same way. I just needed to get it off my chest."

Azriel finally turned to face you fully, his expression unreadable. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words," he said softly, his voice laced with emotion.

You blinked, surprised by his admission. "You... you've waited?"

He nodded, his wings rustling as he took a step closer to you. "Every time I saw you, every time we spoke, I wanted to tell you how I felt. But I was afraid. Afraid of losing you, of making things awkward between us."

Your heart skipped a beat. "You... you feel the same way?"

Azriel's eyes darkened, a shadow passing over them. "More than you know.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm. “Am I dreaming?”

Azriel's wings unfurled, casting a wide shadow over the balcony. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "If you are then so am I ," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You leaned into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest.

And then, he kissed you. It was gentle at first, a tentative exploration of lips and emotions. But as the kiss deepened, it became something more—something raw and powerful. The shadows around you seemed to swirl, as if drawn to the intensity of your connection.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. Azriel's eyes were dark with desire and something more—something that looked a lot like hope.

"I never thought I'd find someone who could see me for who I am," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don’t fear me. Have never shied away from my shadows or scars."

You smiled, your heart full. "I could never fear you."

He leaned in again, enrapturing your lips once more. Your tongues danced along each other, memorizing every crevice of the other's mouth. The longer you kissed, the more desire began to fill within you.

“Shit, now I owe Feyre 100 gold coins,” A voice cursed from behind you, causing you two to jump apart.

Your face flushed as you saw Cassian leaning against the door frame, a smirk plastered across his face. "I knew you two had something going on," he said, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "I just didn't think it would happen so soon."

Azriel's wings rustled, and he shot Cassian a warning glance. "This is hardly the time for your jokes, Cassian," he said, his voice low but not unkind.

Cassian raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not here to ruin the moment. I just wanted to see if my bet with Feyre was going to pay off."

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. "You bet on us?"

Cassian nodded, his smirk widening. "Oh, absolutely. Feyre had a feeling you'd confess your feelings tonight. I thought it would take a bit longer, but hey, I'm not complaining."

Azriel let out a soft sigh, his wings settling back against his body. "You and Feyre have a strange way of showing your support."

Cassian chuckled, pushing off the door frame and stepping onto the balcony. "We like to keep things interesting. Besides, it's not every day we get to see the Shadowmaster fall head over heels."

Azriel's cheeks flushed a deep red, and he glanced at you, his expression softening. "I suppose I have no choice but to admit it now."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm glad you did."

Cassian clapped his hands together, his grin still firmly in place. "Well, I'll leave you two to your... moment. Try not to make me an uncle too soon."

With a final wink, Cassian disappeared back into the house, leaving you and Azriel alone on the balcony.

Azriel turned to you, his eyes searching yours. "I'm sorry about him," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips. "Don't be. He's just being Cassian."

Azriel's expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand in his. "We have minutes before he tells the others."

You squeezed his hand, smiling. "Then let's make the most of this peace before it's gone."

Azriel leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. The shadows around you seemed to dance, as if celebrating the connection between you.

As you kissed, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet, starlit night. The city of Velaris was silent, the night air filled with the scent of jasmine and night-blooming flowers.

And in that moment, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. With Azriel by your side, there was nothing to fear.

The shadows and the light had found their balance.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel #acotar #x reader #fluff #confession

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reidsmanuscript · 2 days ago

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Meet the Minds

Summary: 4 years after that one time in a bar, on how your character Criminal Minds was born, and maybe how something else was also borned. Pairing: mgg x actress!reader Genre: friends to lovers?, fluff, mutual pinning TW: Public Scrutiny/Fame, reader has severally parents issues, plus they are passive aggressive but it's short i swear, brief mention of cheating, mgg takes a minute to appear i know im sorry, long introduction wc: 3.7k! A/N: hopefully someone will understand what I'm aiming for with both of my dear !readers, this is with the solely purpose to treat myself i fear Masterlist!

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Since that one time in a bar it has been 4 years. Your show City Lights has gotten big. And when you say big, it was BIG, and so did you.

You were wrapping up the third season of the show, with a renewed contract for the next season in hand and a few promising movie proposals. In the past four years, you and your friends have become famous. Not A-list famous, but enough that if any of you went out, someone would recognize you, or a few paparazzi might follow your every move.

The four of you had lived in the same apartment in New York ever since filming started on location. HBO wanted your friendship to feel authentic for the cameras, and boy, were you grateful for that… because they had become your true best friends—not just on TV, but in real life.

It was Ashley, Jack and Nathan. Something that always happens when you start a show and it gets views it’s that the whole crew becomes a big family. In the middle of the second season, you finally mustered the courage to ask the showrunner, Jeff Davis, if you could join the writers' table to pitch some ideas for your character. He agreed, and since then, some of the best storylines on the show had come from your contributions.

The thing was, your name brought in big numbers, and it had caught the attention of producers and showrunners alike. Criminal Minds had premiered a year ago, gained some traction, but they wanted to take it to the next level. So Jeff, the same creator of your show, called you and your agent to see if you could join the cast.

There were two problems. First, your schedule was already packed. Moving to L.A. for the shoot wasn’t an option—City Lights had you locked in for the fourth season, and there was a possibility you'd land the lead in a promising film. On top of that, you were still taking college classes from a foreign university at your parents' insistence. So, being a recurring character was out of the question.

Second, when they handed you the script, you hated the character. They wanted you to be the fan favorite, Spencer Reid’s love interest, and while you had no problem with that, the character itself didn’t sit right with you. She was this sweet, innocent woman, one who was a victim from one unsub, and Spencer, an addict, would find redemption through her. He’d get sober and everything would be perfectly happy. You thought it was dull.

For starters, you knew how controversial it would be for her to become his personal recovery center, but you also saw the potential in the character. So, you asked if you could rewrite her into something more dynamic, something with more depth. Given the trust Jeff had in you, he gave you free rein to make the changes.

“How’s it going?” Jack, one of your best friends and a Criminal Minds fan, asked, entering the living room.

“A surprisingly moving amount of absolute nothing,” you said jokingly, staring at the blank space.

“Oh, come on, dude! We’ve watched some of the episodes together! You know the vibe,” he said, sitting down on the couch beside you.

“Well, I know the vibe, I just don’t know how to write it.” you said throwing your hands to the air in a comically exasperated way.

“Well, I know the vibe, I just don’t know how to write it,” you said, dramatically throwing your hands in the air, exasperated.

“Guess who’s gone viral again!” Nathan breezed into the room, flashing you a grin. He played your love interest on City Lights, and the fans went wild for your on-screen chemistry. But the truth was, you two were nothing more than really good friends. There was no romance, just a strong, platonic bond.

“Ugh... please tell me it’s for the right reasons.” You shut your eyes and let your head flop back against the couch.

Nathan tossed you his phone, then leaned casually on the backrest of the couch, Jack scooting closer to get a better look.

“What is it? Another red sauce scandal?” you asked, scrunching your nose at the thought.

Let me tell you something: becoming famous at 17 or 18 leaves you with a digital footprint that you'll wish you could erase by the time you’re 23.

He handed you his phone, showing a new release from Austin, your ex-boyfriend. The song title was painfully obvious—"Still Stuck on You." The lyrics left no room for interpretation, and the message hit you like a ton of bricks. Austin had written another song about you, and this time, he made it clear.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me! This is like the third one this year!” Your mouth hung open in disbelief as Jack, who had burst out laughing, took the phone from your hands and started scrolling through the Twitter comments.

He had been your “boyfriend” four years ago, but only for PR purposes. When you found out he’d cheated, you broke up with him. He begged and cried, and it was pathetic. Since then, Austin had turned your brief relationship into his whole persona. He released songs that were painfully obvious about you, dated women who looked eerily like you, and spent interviews throwing shade, spreading lies, all for attention. The problem? You were skyrocketing, gaining fame in ways he could never have predicted, and he—well, he was still stuck on you.

Your phone started ringing somewhere around the apartment, a FaceTime call vibrating through the cushions. You rummaged through the pillows on the couch, cursing under your breath as you came up empty.

“Seriously, how do you always lose it?” Nathan said, appearing behind you with a smirk. He found your phone wedged between the couch cushions and handed it to you just as you answered the call. As he did, you reached into your back pocket, pulling out a dollar bill and placing it in his open hand.

See, you had a special talent for losing your phone around the house, and your friends turned it into a game. Every time you misplaced it and one of them found it, you owed them a dollar.

“Bitch have you seen it?!” Ashley squealed from your phone, her voice laced with urgency.

“It's like jumpscare! you know it’s coming but it’s always surprisingly disappointing!” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“Somebody said, ‘Are you writing a memoir or just trying to hit the ‘most dramatic ex’ award this year?’” You all chuckled at Jack’s reading.

“Gotta go, some stylist is calling me. Love ya, bye!” Ashley hung up quickly, going back to her photoshoot, leaving you to shake your head and wish her good luck.

Jack kept giggling at the comments, lost in the chaos of Austin’s latest stunt. Meanwhile, you stared blankly at your screen, the cursor blinking mockingly back at you.

Nathan gave you a playful shove. “You know what’s really offensive? The tempo on that track. It’s like he’s trying to be edgy but doesn’t understand how syncopation works.”

“Hmm, well, what else could you expect? Maybe you should make your own song about it, something with a real sense of rhythm,” You said absently, still staring at the screen, the cursor blinking in a never-ending challenge.

“And you should start writing that, maybe throw in a little revenge of your own,” he said, nudging his chin toward the computer screen with a grin. You frowned at him, your gaze drifting back to the cursor as you considered his words.

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You were studying—actually studying—sitting in the mini studio with notes scattered in front of you, calculator by your side, silently frustrated as you tried to make sense of the numbers. Ashley was on the other side of the desk in front of you, pacing and memorizing her lines, back and forth, her voice echoing in the room. Your grip tightened on your pencil, eyes flicking over the work in front of you, when your phone buzzed. Another message.

"We’ve heard about your 'plans,' but it’s hard to take them seriously when you can’t commit. It’s cute to 'explore options,' but at some point, you’ll have to stop playing around and think about your future. Don’t you want to be taken seriously?"

Maybe it was the sound of your phone tapping against the wood of the table, or the way your hand instinctively went to your eyes, trying to stop the threatening tears, that tipped Ashley off. She paused, looking up from her lines, eyes narrowing as she caught the shift in your mood, as she made it to your way, reading the message still open on your phone that had already sunk in, the familiar sting.

Ashley didn’t hesitate. She pulled you into a hug, still standing while you were sat, one arm wrapping around your shoulders tightly as she murmured, "Fuck them. Seriously. You don’t need their crap." She squeezed you harder, as if to prove the point. "You're better than any of that. Don’t let their bullshit get to you." Her voice was fierce, a protective edge in every word.

The relationship with your parents was complicated, to say the least. You'd tried to make them proud, but it was never enough. Now, more than ever, you’d rebel when you chose to become an actress. It felt ridiculous—like you were still studying against your will, trying to prove something you didn’t even want to.

"I mean, what the fuck will it take for them to take me seriously? A fucking Oscar? Have some damn patience—I’m working on it," you spat, voice shaky, leaning into Ashley as tears threatened to spill.

She sighed, pulling you in a little tighter. “Fuck them,” she muttered, her voice low but firm. “They don’t get it, and honestly, they probably never will. But you’ve got this. You’re doing something they can’t even begin to understand. Don’t let their bullshit get to you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, at least it wasn’t a call. I swear it’s pathetic how every time I get mad, I just cry.”

Ashley pulled you into a tight hug, her voice soft but firm. “Forget about them for a second, okay? You don’t need to study right now. You’ve been working your ass off. Take a break. You’re allowed to feel pissed off without worrying about your grades for a few minutes.” She pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “You’re doing your best, and that’s all that matters.”

With a last shaky breath and wiping away the tears that had escaped, you nodded. Ashley sighed, her voice soft but firm. “Hey, enough with the studying for now. You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard. Wanna get cute and go out for some coffee?” She gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You deserve a break.”

You chuckled, truly this time, and shook your head. "Maybe later. You finish with your lines, and I’ll… go grab some snacks," she nodded, giving you a smile, picking up the forgotten script.

You were still shaken, even frustrated at how powerless you felt around your parents, and how you reacted to your feelings. You cried, and sometimes words became hard to find. You wished you could scream and destroy everything, just let it all out, like those female rage characters, but for now, you were left in silence.

Which gave you an idea.

　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

That’s how you ended up creating your character—in a fully cathartic, all-nighter frenzy, shaping her with layers of meaning. Like her nickname, “Woody,” a nod to Nathan’s favorite movie, Toy Story—a little inside joke, a quiet way of taking revenge in your own way.

She was everything you weren’t, and at the same time, everything you were.

And then there was her best friend, Austin—played by Jack, of course, since he was a huge fan of the show—who you took every opportunity to be mean to, just for the fun of it.

You’d never admit it, but the line “Austin is not my boyfriend”? Yeah, that had a little extra bite to it. A double meaning, if you will.

　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

The producers loved it. The depth of your character, how dark her storyline was. Because if you really want to keep the audience engaged? Give them two characters who are absolutely perfect for each other—but can’t be together.

And when the idea of adding Jack came up, they agreed immediately. What’s better than one City Lights star joining the show? Two City Lights stars.

But they had asked you to keep the secret from everyone, including the current cast. Who you'll be meeting and revealing your characters to in the table reading

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

Jack and you were currently at ABC’s costume department, standing in front of a mirror while the costume designer and a wardrobe assistant made final adjustments to your outfits.

“Man, I’m boiling in here,” you groaned, peeling off the red shirt as the wardrobe assistant jotted down notes about the fit.

Jack, meanwhile, admired himself in the mirror, dramatically flipping back the leather jacket he was trying on. “Do I look tough? Like, would you trust me with your deepest, darkest secret?” He smirked, striking a pose straight out of an action movie.

The costume designer, pinning a hem on your sleeve, barely glanced up. “You look like an extra in a bad '90s biker film.”

“You look like you're about to challenge a middle schooler to a dance battle,” you added, crossing your arms.

Jack gasped, clutching his chest. “Wow. Zero faith in me.”

“More like zero intimidation factor” You said from the changing room, a few moments later, you stepped out wearing a white shirt and black vest, and flashed Jack a playful grin. “So, do I finally look like the child my parents can brag about?” you joked, adjusting the vest slightly.

The wardrobe assistant shot you a thumbs up, clearly impressed with the fit.

“Are you maxing out someone's card again?” A voice asked behind you.

You turned around to see Matthew grinning. You chuckled, scrambling for a response. “Well… I’m not legally allowed to talk about it,” you said, cringing internally.

Man, you were awkward without alcohol in your veins.

He chuckled, stepping closer to pull you into a brief hug in greeting. You’d already worked together on The Beauty Inside, so the familiarity was there—comfortable, easy, playful even.

“So what are you doing here?” He asked.

“Ummm well..” You turned to Jack with panic in your eyes. Jack, ever the performer, didn’t miss a beat. “We’re actually here to stage a heist. High-stakes, top secret.” He waggled his eyebrows.

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “We’re doing costume fittings.”

Matthew raised a brow, clearly amused. “Costume fittings, huh?” His gaze flickered to the wardrobe racks surrounding you. “For something unannounced?”

You hesitated, your lips pressing into a thin line. “I plead the fifth.”

Jack threw an arm around your shoulders. “She’s under strict secrecy orders, but between us?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “It 's big.”

“Jaaack,” you warned, dragging out the 'a' in a clear sign for him to be careful.

“Well, if you’re in it, I bet it is,” he said, smirking at you.

You chuckled, clearing your throat. “Soo, what are you doing here?”

“Well, this is kinda where I work,” he said with a shrug teasing. Right. This was where the cast of Criminal Minds did their fittings, although the producers had made sure you were not scheduled together to avoid leaks.

You raised an eyebrow, looking around the room. "Here? In the costume department?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying your confusion. "Yep, I mean, what else would I be doing here? Getting my wardrobe ready for my big role?" he added, his tone mock-serious. “What are you supposed to be, by the way? A real estate agent? I bet you’re just one property listing away from a deal of the century,” he said, eyeing your clothes.

You chuckled again. “No, um… I’m actually a very boring banker,” you said, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much. Like get a hold of yourself girlie, he’s just a tall, handsome man, with nice hair and curls and pretty eyes, and gentle. Somebody, hand me a glass of water, or wine, whichever is easier.

The costume designer called your name, already holding more clothes in her hands. "We need to finish these adjustments, sweetheart."

You nodded, trying to shake off the distraction. "Right, I’ll be right there."

Matthew smirked, taking it as his cue to leave. "I guess I'll let you continue. Good luck being a banker," he teased, giving you one last look.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks, Matthew," you said, turning toward the designer as he walked off.

Jack, who had been quietly observing from the corner, chimed in with a grin. "Yeah, because nothing says ‘big role’ like a banker in slacks."

You shot him a playful glare. "Oh shut up, Johnny Bravo," you joked, laughing as he dramatically posed in response.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

The producers stood at the front of the room, their eyes scanning the assembled cast. There was a buzz in the air—everyone was settling in, ready for the read-through to begin. After a quick round of hellos and some introductions, one of the producers, a tall woman with a clipboard, stood up to speak.

“Alright, everyone, before we dive in, we have a very exciting addition to the cast today. You’re about to meet someone who is going to bring a lot of depth and intensity to the world of Criminal Minds.” The showrunner smiled at you, saying your names and introducing the new character you’d be bringing to life.

Jack, sitting beside you, was doing his best to keep his cool, but the way he gripped his script gave him away. His knuckles were turning white from how tightly he held the pages, and you couldn’t help but smirk. Leaning toward him, you whispered, “That’s not bubble wrap.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and he whisper-shouted, “That’s Mandy Patinkin sitting right there. Do you have any idea how my mom would react if she were here?”

You chuckled under your breath, keeping your eyes on the table. Across from you, Matthew sat diagonally, flipping through the script with a furrowed brow. When he glanced up, he shot you a mock-offended look and mouthed, “Liar.”

You choked back a laugh, quickly mouthing “Sorry” with a small shrug just as the producers began reading.

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The reading session had concluded, and you were chatting with Paget about how much you had loved her in Friends. Meanwhile, Jack was across the room, subtly—well, not so subtly—trying to get an autograph from Mandy.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Matthew making his way toward you, but pretended not to notice, keeping your attention on Paget. You had a feeling he was about to make some kind of remark, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of expecting it.

“You should be careful with her, she lied to me and told me she was going to be some boring banker,” he finally said, warning Paget with a smirk,

You turned to him with an unimpressed look. “I’ll take that as I’m good at my job”

Paget raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Oh, so she tricked you? That’s embarrassing, Gubler.”

Matthew placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I was misled! Deceived! Here I was, thinking I had met a perfectly normal, unassuming banker, only to find out she’s infiltrating our world.”

She laughed and patted his shoulder before the showrunner called her, leaving you alone with him.

“Nice shoes, by the way,” he said, looking down at your mismatched Converse—one deep red and the other black, matching your red top.

You chuckled. “Thanks. People keep making fun of me on the internet, saying I must've rushed out of the house.”

He laughed and pulled up his pants, revealing his mismatched socks—one purple with yellow dots and the other blue with bananas. “Well, that’s because they’re boring.”

“Oh God, they’re so cool,” you genuinely liked how bizarre they were.

“Hey, I saw your name on the last page of the credits... Did you write those episodes?” he asked, kind of amazed.

“Well, I um... added some minor stuff, really,” you said, lying a little. “Just to make her more sarcastic and fun… like, I can’t wait to get covered in blood for the shots.”

He laughed just as Jack reappeared, clutching his freshly signed Mandy Patinkin autograph like it was the Holy Grail. “I blacked out for half of that conversation, but I think I played it cool.”

“Yeah, sure, if you say so.” You were about to say something more when a producer called for both of you.

With an apologetic smile, you said goodbye to Matthew, but before you turned around, he called out, “Can I get your number this time, or do I have to wish we get cast together again?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you handed him your number. “I guess I’ll wait for your call.”

“You better pick up. There are some scenes I think will need some rehearsal.” His words made your stomach flip, and a flush crept up your face.

Pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling too much, you retorted, “You better be quick. My schedule is full.” That made him chuckle.

The producer called for you again, and you made your way toward him and Jack, still feeling the warmth of the moment lingering. You once promised yourself to not-date-coworkers. Maybe if those coworkers weren’t so funny and handsome you wouldn’t reconsider your own words.

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If you want to find out more about the CM character click here!

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#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg x you

144 notes · View notes

waynes-multiverse · 7 hours ago

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Am I excited for this? YES! How excited? VERY!!!

Gah, I've been really looking forward to this one! Love me some 40s and The Clock! 😍 (One of the reasons why I can't wait for Vought rising lol 👀)

Love how the first line of this story is an easter egg. You never cease to amaze me, Alex 🤓

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

*furrows brow* The Producers?? 🤔

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate. He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other. Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

Oh yes, we all remember that episode. Of course he would 😂 Poor Sam lol

If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

Uh-huh... Dear Lord he needs help 🙈

Btw, I've been doing my own 40s research for a fic and came across the contraception question. Idk why but condoms and methods of that time freak me tf out. Wondering what your experience with that was (if you came across it) lmao 😂

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end.

Ooof so rough 😮‍💨 PTSD and seeing all the dirty shit that goes on during a war is really brutal 😢 (My grandpa was in WWII and told a lot of stories when he was still alive)

And then they were seperated too and didn't even know what happened to the other. Heartbreaking 😭

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

The sass! Already love her 😂🩵

He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair.

*vibes* 😍 (even though I know MMM is set in 1958 lol)

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

You don't know how fucking weak it makes me that he smokes in this. That vice will be the death of me 🫠🔥

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

Aww yeah, Sam's just doing his job. Not easy having a vagina in 1945 and dealing with dicks... 🙄

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

I get abusive vibes from shitty husband. There's more to it than cheating. Either he's emotionally abusive, physically or threathening to be. She seems like she wants to leave quick and quiet, fearing retaliation 👀

I loved how "damn" counted as cursing 😂 (Darn it!)

He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Yes, thank you!!! I knew Dean's spidey senses would turn on. (And I know that darn rat bastard can't hurt her now as long as soldier!Dean's around 💚)

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

Melted 🫠 (I legit die every time I write "Sergeant Shaw" in TCF, but I married a military guy myself, so makes sense I can't resist a uniform and a rank 😂🥵)

“He claims to be working late virtually every night of the weekdays,” you said, “but he usually comes home stinking of alcohol.” Your eyes dimmed, even with the pretty lights shining in them. “He was in the Army as well. A corporal. He’s had a hard time adjusting to being back home, and I know that… He doesn’t sleep very well. And do you know, he had a hard time finding work for a while too. Luckily, he has his father’s business to fall back on.”

I love the 1940s cadence, by the way! You can tell it's a different time period the way the characters speak, the words they choose, and how they phrase things. So well done, my friend! 👏👏

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said. “Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

Mama's smelling mob activity... 🤌

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.

Such a Dean statement lol

I do hope he won't feel so hopeless for long ☺️

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.” Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.” You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Aww, they could've almost met. I love these little coincidences when people meet each other. It's fate 😍💕

“Because the fact of the matter is, Sergeant, words don’t move me anymore.” You picked up your gaze from the ground, and you met his. “Flattery is just a pretty way of lying, and I’ve grown to really, truly hate lying.”

I feel so bad for her. I hope Sam (and Dean) can help her soon and she can find happiness again 😢❤️‍🩹

“Hmm. No real loss there then.” Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.”

The fucking nerve of that man... 🤬

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.”

I'm too busy plotting a gruesome murder in my head to properly get into how much I despise that guy 😂🙈

This was such an amazing start to this series! The storyline is so intriguing and the world-building is, well... simply otherworldly. You really took me on a journey to the 1940s here. Speechless, honestly 🩵

I so can't wait to see what else you have in store with this, but I think there will be lots of yelling from me lol 😅

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: My day tomorrow is going to be a bit packed, so I decided to release this a bit early for you guys! So here we go! The first chapter of yet another new series, my first ever 1940s AU. 🥰 I hope you have fun on this one, because I sure did. Again, very much inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. 💜

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Cry Me a River” by Ella Fitzgerald

Word Count: 3.9K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, PTSD, historical tidbits

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

Dean idly read the pamphlet stacked with others on his brother’s desk, which advertised his new and successful enterprise.

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

What do you know? His brother had his own office, his own business, and his name on a pamphlet.

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate.

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other.

Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

“So this is what you do, huh?” Dean remarked, crossing his arms.

Without his jacket, his suspenders were on display over his shoulders. His red pinstripe tie was still in place, but his white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Meanwhile, his brother preferred to keep himself more presentable with his sleeves down to his wrists. Jacket on.

Dean glanced around the office, nodding at the line of bookshelves behind Sam, framing him as the bookish academic he’d always been. There was limited seating in here though, just a spare chair in front of the desk, and another to the right of it. Dean stood on the opposite side.

“If you’re bored, all you have to do is say so,” Sam said. “Which is strange, considering we’re smack dab in the middle of a city that never sleeps.”

He was right, Dean could concede. His little brother had given him a veritable list of things to do in New York City: visit the park, go to the zoo, see a picture show, visit a nightclub, or sample a host of restaurants that Sam knew Dean would probably enjoy.

He’d seen a lot of this place in the week that he’d been here visiting Sam, but a good deal of it he’d either spent alone, or with any willing young lady Dean came across, thanks to the demands of this office. If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

“You don’t get tired of it?” Dean asked, gesturing to the out there beyond them. “The, uh…the lights, the noise, all the people?”

Sam picked his head up from his paperwork to consider the question. “No, I like it. Keeps my mind busy, and…I guess it makes me feel alive, you know?”

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

Sam wasn’t fooled though. He thought he could tell what was running through his brother’s head, watching him fidget, and turn his head a bit sharply when a bus honked loudly outside the office’s glass doors as it thundered past.

It had only been two months since the end of the war. Two months since he and Dean met back in their family home in Lawrence, Kansas after three years fighting on two different fronts, in two different countries.

Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

Now, Sam saw the signs. Dean seemed a bit jumpy, overstimulated, but willing to be here to spend a little more time with Sam before he went back home. Guilt prickled in Sam’s gut.

“I’ve got some work here to finish up, but afterwards let’s go to dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe see a show?”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smile. “You’re burning both ends of the candle. You know that, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a knock on one of the glass doors—at the entrance to the small building. Their heads turned, and through the open door of his office, they spotted you standing there in the evening light. You wore a wide-brimmed hat on your head and a scarf underneath, wrapped over your hair and under your chin to shield your face. You knocked again with a hand covered by a leather glove, more persistently.

Cocking his head in confusion, Sam stood from his desk and left the room to let you in. Dean hung back and sat on the corner of the desk to wait. He withdrew a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket as he did so, but he heard you talking with his brother by the door.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed, miss,” Sam informed you.

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

“…Well, I suppose you’ve got me there.”

“So can I come in? I need to speak to a lawyer.”

“You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, sir.” Your tone was firm, and it more than implied that you wouldn’t be moved. Sam paused then, perhaps to take a steeling breath.

“All right. Come with me, please.”

You later followed behind him through the hallway and into the office. With a lit cigarette between his fingers, his arms crossed, Dean took note of you. He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair. His brows subtly raised. He’d met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn’t seen a lady like you in quite some time.

Should’ve shaved this morning. The thought was accompanied by the way he swiped a subtle hand over his prickly chin.

You gave him a cursory glance in turn, and offered a polite, “Hello.”

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

“Hey there. Dean Winchester,” he said. He offered a smile with no small amount of charm. “Pleased to meet you…”

You dutifully gave him your first name only. He found that a little strange, but you soon slipped your hand out of his and focused on the nameplate on the desk, followed by Sam himself.

“So you’re brothers,” you realized. “Do you work together?”

Dean scoffed. “Nope, I’m just here to distract him.”

Sam tossed him a sidelong glance. There was a subtle edge of bitter truth in there somewhere, and you didn’t seem to miss it. You looked between the two men, a hint wary.

“Well, as I said, I’m here to speak to the solicitor,” you said.

“That would be me,” Sam nodded. He went to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for you to do the same in front of him. You obliged him, smoothing your hands down your skirt once you were seated. “How can I help you?”

You met his eyes with a directness that surprised him a little.

“I want to divorce my husband,” you said.

To say it shocked the room would be an understatement. Behind you, Dean gave his brother a pair of raised brows. Sam didn’t allow himself to react too much in order to remain professional, but he still tilted his head, blinking, before he focused on you again.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

“Why do you want a divorce, Mrs. Milligan?”

Here, your gaze fell to the folded hands in your lap.

“I have reason to believe he’s been unfaithful,” you quietly replied.

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. His sympathy was genuine, because he could see the way you’d hesitated to say the words, like they embarrassed you, shamed you, and saddened you all at once.

“But I have to ask,” he added, “do you have proof?”

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

You sighed. “What kind of proof?”

“Pictures. Letters. A witness. Something of legal standing that we can use as leverage and as grounds to grant you a divorce, whether he wants it or not,” Sam said.

You let out another heavy breath through your nose. “No, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Then what makes you so sure he’s steppin’ out?” Dean chimed in. By now he was leaning against the wall, off to the side where he could smoke with the window cracked open. It let in the sounds of cars and distant honking, people traversing the sidewalks.

You turned in your seat to give him a tight look. “If you must know, there’ve been…signs. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I’m sure.”

You met Dean’s gaze, and then Sam’s firmly.

“So will you help me?” you asked him. Sam nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look into your husband and try to find some evidence of his…extracurricular affairs.”

Your lips pursed. “And how long will it take?”

Since you were being so direct, Sam levelled you with honesty.

“It may take time,” he said. “Realistically, we’re looking at months, even after I find what we need… It would be easier to legally separate.”

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

“Mr. Winchester,” you began. “I don’t want to just be separated. I don’t want to live in our apartment, let alone share his bed or wear his last name.”

Despite your best efforts, your voice began to shake. Tears welled up and stung in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than his signature on the damn papers,” you said. “The case is that I can no longer tolerate that man in my sight, much less in my life. Will you help me? Or should I look for another lawyer who will actually do his job.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. For his part, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he heard a woman curse. Despite your outburst, the tears clinging to your lashes stirred both men.

“I understand, Mrs. Milligan,” Sam said. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

He began to look for his handkerchief, but you retrieved one of your own from your purse and quickly dabbed at your eyes, sniffling. You were embarrassed.

“What about your fee?” you said, withdrawing your checkbook. “I, um…I have a little money stashed away. I’ve always worked, you see.”

Sam nodded and went over what his rate would be going forward. Once the two of you came to an agreement, you signed the first check right then and there, even though he felt bad for even taking it from you.

You were still sniffling, and twice you dabbed under your eyes to make sure your face was dry. When you handed over the check, your hands shook, just a little. Sam wouldn’t tell you that he discounted his usual rate.

Again, he mentioned that he would need some time first to investigate your husband and begin collecting evidence for your case. He asked you for any documents you could safely bring him of your finances, for example. You agreed to do an investigation of your own.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned. He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Dean put out the bud of his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the windowsill. He pushed off the wall to approach where you and Sam were getting to your feet. You gave Dean a nod of acknowledgement.

“I will,” you agreed. “Thank you both. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time, but I’ll be heading home now.”

“Did you take a bus or a taxi?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I walked,” you replied, and you checked your watch as you gathered up your purse. You headed for the coatrack, but Dean got there first, helping you into your beige wool coat. It went nicely with the burgundy you had on, namely on your painted lips.

“Thank you,” you said to him, but you still didn’t smile. You were a hint demurer now. It seemed with Sam’s promised help, the fire had dimmed behind your eyes and your tongue.

“How about I give you an escort, make sure you get home okay?” Dean found himself offering. “It’s getting pretty late on a Friday.”

Sam shot him a knowing look, but Dean ignored him, instead focusing on your face.

You hesitated. “It’s a bit far though. Out of your way, I’m sure.”

“All the more reason that you shouldn’t go it alone at this time of night,” he argued.

You considered his offer, and him, with a quick perusal. You seemed to be judging for yourself if he was trustworthy. Dean kept his posture straight, yet relaxed. Maybe he’d liked what he saw the moment he took you in, but after hearing your situation, he felt for you. It really was just an honest offer to walk you home.

“Where did you serve?” you asked. “The Army, the Navy, or the Air Forces?”

The question took him off guard for a beat, but he answered you.

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

You looked at him a little more shrewdly, then you relaxed.

“I might’ve guessed,” you said. “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go then.”

You buttoned up your coat and turned to leave the office. Dean shot his little brother a raise of his brows and a what do ya know? kind of smile. He grabbed his dark brown jacket and hat and followed you out.

Sam’s smile was more reserved, with a shake of his head. He closed the door behind you and Dean and locked it. He still had some work he wanted to finish before tomorrow, and Dean’s little show of chivalry would give him time to do it.

Dean had his hands in his coat pockets as he walked with you down the long city sidewalk. Night had drawn into the November sky, but with all these lights, he couldn’t see many stars. It was also cold as all hell. The frigid wind slapped at him every time they turned the corner of a building, snapping right into his bones.

Still, he supposed there was a kind of attractiveness to the city at night. The stores and their signs were all lit up gold and other neon colors. Couples and families walked together, all done up nice for wherever dinner reservation or movie they were trying to get to. It begged the question of what your husband was doing right now if he didn’t notice his wife out at this time of night.

“Where’s your husband tonight, if I might ask?” said Dean.

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

Dean tried not to show how much your words resonated with him. He didn’t think it a good thing to have common ground with your husband, if he was the kind of man you said he was.

“Yeah? What’s his business?” he asked.

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said.

“Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

“You’d presume right.”

Dean nodded. “I get it. I inherited the family home back in Lawrence. I just need to figure out what’s next.”

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

“Oh, the Midwest,” you inclined your head. “What’s it like there?”

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

You almost laughed at that. At least it earned him your first smile of the night.

“Do you have an idea of what you’ll do for work?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “Not just yet. Didn’t plan that far, you know?”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.

You turned to him then, and you saw it behind his eyes. The two of you walked in silence for a little while as the neighborhood blocks began to shift and change, becoming somewhat quieter, more residential. Dean put himself between you and the sidewalk when a taxi zoomed by too close to the curb, resting a hand on the small of your back for protection.

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far.

But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman.

Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.”

Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.”

You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Dean let out a short, if humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, that’s where I was. At that time, at least,” he said. You gave him a similar look; respect, and perhaps finding a kindred spirit.

“I did what I could do before, during, and afterwards,” you said. “I think that’s all we can do now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean,” he said. “If you like.”

A second smile almost tugged at your lips. You nodded in agreement.

“Dean,” you said.

In another ten minutes, he was walking you up to your porch at your apartment building. You travelled up the four small steps, while Dean stopped at the second one. For the first time, you had the vantage point above him as you turned on your heel to face him. You were about to thank him when he shook his head, scoffing.

“This guy must be dumb, deaf, and blind, sweetheart,” he said.

Your face warmed in a blush, and you gave a rueful smile when you realized what he meant. He was looking up at you like someone who couldn’t understand your plight. You knew the feeling.

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” you said.

His brows furrowed. “Do what?”

“Try to make me feel better,” you said, scuffing the toe of your sensible heels against the brick platform. Dean crossed his arms.

“Why not?” he asked.

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. He had to stop himself before he proved your point with a smart word on your pretty smile. Although, it wouldn’t have been a lie. He tipped his hat up. “Goodnight then, Mrs. Milligan.”

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.”

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.”

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement.

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

He gave you a charming grin and a more casual soldier’s salute. Then he stuck his hands back in his pockets, turned on his heel, and began to walk back the way he came. You couldn’t help but watch him go for a second or two. His legs were slightly bowed under his slacks, you noticed.

With a blush, you shook your head to rid yourself of those silly thoughts. You closed the door.

That night, Michael came home late, as usual—this time at two in the morning. He reeked of alcohol, also per usual, but this time when he rolled over towards you in bed to say goodnight, you stiffened. He also smelled like a woman’s perfume. Expensive stuff.

This was one of those signs you hadn’t wanted to tell Sam Winchester. Frankly, it was crude and embarrassing.

“Sorry it’s so late, darling. Got held up,” he said, kissing your shoulder through your nightgown. His fingers played with the ends of your hair while you laid facing away from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You were fighting every instinct you had inside you that wanted to recoil from his touch and bolt out of the bed. When just a few months ago, his touch was all you craved, almost desperately so.

“Where were you?” you asked. Somehow, you kept your voice steady and calm. “You weren’t at the office all this time.”

“Had a couple of drinks with the guys after,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. The night got away from us, but, uh…I’ll be home on time for dinner tomorrow.”

With your back turned to him, you were able to roll your eyes.

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly.

“Hmm. No real loss there then.”

Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.”

Michael paused, but then, he grasped your shoulder, slowly turned you around in the bed until you were facing him. His face was sterner.

“Excuse me?”

You remained quiet. Your gaze travelled downwards, avoiding his.

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.”

He turned his back on you, laying on his side. You did the same while trying to stem your tears.

When did this become your life?

AN: Oof, sorry for all that angst at the end there, but I hope you liked the first chapter! Did you enjoy soldier!Dean and soldier/lawyer!Sam? Do you want to find a dark alley for Michael yet? 😅

And are you ready for what's coming up next? 😘

Next Time:

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.”

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

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multific · 22 hours ago

Text

A Love Tested by War

Duke Leto Atreides x Wife!Reader

Summary: A plot against House Atreides is uncovered, and all signs point to you. Despite the growing love between you and Leto, suspicion clouds his judgment until you are taken.

The silence between you had become unbearable.

Leto stood before you, hands clasped behind his back, his golden-brown eyes darkened with something unreadable.

Suspicion.

It had been there for days now.

“I need you to tell me the truth.” His voice was steady, but you knew him well enough to hear what he was trying hard to find. “Are you working against me?”

“You think I would betray you? I would never.”

“The evidence says otherwise.”

You flinched.

He wasn’t raising his voice, wasn’t hurling accusations, and somehow that hurt worse. You had grown used to his quiet nature and his measured words, but this?

This was distance.

This was a wall between you, stronger than stone and colder than the deserts of Arrakis at night.

“I have never done anything but stand by your side,” you said, stepping closer. “I have never been anything but loyal.”

Leto inhaled sharply as if forcing himself not to reach for you, not to soften. “And yet, the messages intercepted, the movements tracked and everything leads to you.”

You shook your head. “Someone is framing me.”

“Then who?” he asked. “Who else has access to the information that was leaked?”

You didn’t have an answer. And that was the problem.

His silence spoke louder than words.

For the first time since your marriage, an arranged, political marriage, but slowly growing into something more, you realized that Leto Atreides did not trust you. And maybe he never had.

Without another word, he turned and left.

And that was the last time you saw him before they took you.

You weren’t sure how long you had been in this dark prison.

The traitors who had orchestrated the plot against House AtreidesVVhad come for you in the night, dragging you from the safety of the palace.

It had been too easy.

Because Leto had not been watching.

Because he had let his guard down around you.

You had screamed for him, even as they bound your wrists, even as they struck you when you refused to kneel.

But Leto had not come. Nor did anyone else.

---

The sound of boots rushing down the corridor, followed by the sound of a blade slicing through flesh.

The door to your cell burst open, the light finally coming in, and there he stood.

Leto.

His bloody knife clenched in his fist.

His eyes locked onto you. And everything stopped.

For a moment, you thought he might say nothing.

That he might simply turn away again, as he had before.

But then he was moving, dropping to one knee beside you, cutting through the bindings at your wrists with a sharp flick of his blade.

His hands cupped your face, tilting it toward the light.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was rough, hoarse. He swallowed hard. "I was so terribly wrong."

Tears burned at the back of your throat. “You left me.”

his regret visible in the way his shoulders tensed. “I know. And it will haunt me until my last breath. But I’m here now.”

“You thought I was a traitor,” you whispered. "I was so scared. I tried to call for you."

His jaw clenched. “I left you. And I will never forgive myself for it.”

For the first time since you met him, Leto Atreides looked at you not as a Duke, not as a husband bound by duty, but as a man.

A man who had almost lost the only thing he couldn’t bear to lose.

His wife.

“I will never doubt you again,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke. “I swear it.”

And when he carried you out of that place, his arms strong around you, you believed him.

Because this time, he did not let you go.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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cherryxbooo · 3 days ago

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Love is never easy

Summary: Meeting a certain footballer wasn’t on your bingo card, but falling in love with him was even more unimaginable.

Reader x Pablo Gavi

Genre: fluff/angst

They say love should be simple.

That when you find the right person, it’s effortless, like a perfect pass that lands gently at your feet, as if it was always meant for you.

A connection so natural, so fluid, that you don’t even have to think.

But what happens when love feels like a game you’re always one step behind in?

When you’re constantly chasing, reaching, hoping, only to feel the ball slip just beyond your grasp?

I met Pablo Gavi in the most unexpected way, by quite literally crashing into him outside the stadium on a stormy evening.

The rain had been relentless, the kind that soaks through your clothes in seconds and turns the world into a blur of grey.

I hadn’t even been at Camp Nou for football.

My best friend’s brother worked security there, and I had come to meet her, completely unaware that fate had other plans.

One moment, I was battling my umbrella against the wind, the next, I was colliding into someone with enough force to make me stumble back.

My breath hitched as I looked up, my heart pounding, not just from the impact, but from the realization of who I had just crashed into.

Pablo Gavi.

His brow furrowed as he rubbed his arm where I had hit him, a soft curse slipping from his lips.

"Joder…" His voice was slightly irritated, rough around the edges, but the second his eyes met mine, something in them shifted.

His frustration faded, replaced by something else, curiosity, maybe. Amusement.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer now.

I could barely find my words. "Y-yeah, I think so. Sorry about that."

He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head.

"You put up more of a fight than most defenders I face."

I didn’t expect him to remember me after that.

But he did.

The next time I visited my friend, I felt a pair of eyes on me before I even saw him.

And when I finally turned, there he was, leaning casually against a railing, arms crossed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"Still fighting with the wind?" he teased.

That time, I laughed.

The time after that, we talked.

And before I even realized what was happening, he had become a part of my life.

It felt easy. Too easy.

Like a dream you don’t dare wake up from.

But love, love is never easy.

They say the best love stories begin with friendship.

That the strongest bonds are the ones built slowly, quietly, in the spaces between laughter and late-night conversations.

That was us.

For months, Gavi and I existed in a space that wasn’t quite friendship but wasn’t something more either.

A delicate balance of playful teasing and unspoken feelings, of being each other’s first call at the end of a long day, yet pretending we didn’t notice the way our voices softened when we spoke to one another.

It started with late-night phone calls.

"Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?" I’d ask when my phone buzzed at nearly 2 a.m., his name lighting up my screen.

"Can’t sleep," he’d mumble, voice groggy but warm, like he had already been dozing off.

"Tell me something."

"Like what?"

"Anything."

So I would. I’d tell him about my day, about a funny thing my professor said, about how my best friend had tried (and failed) to set me up with someone.

I’d hear him scoff at that, muttering something under his breath that I could never quite catch.

Sometimes, it was the other way around.

"Tough game?" I’d ask when he called me after a match, his voice quieter than usual.

"Yeah," he’d sigh. "I just... I don’t know. I should’ve done better."

I’d listen as he talked, let him get it all out, the frustration, the pressure, the weight of expectations that never seemed to ease.

And when he was finished, when there was nothing left but silence, I’d whisper, "You’re too hard on yourself, you know that?"

His response was always the same, a quiet exhale, a soft "Only you say that."

I never knew what to do with the way my heart reacted to those words.

Then there were the little things.

The way he always seemed to know when I was having a bad day, sending me a simple "You okay?" that somehow made everything feel lighter.

The way he showed up at my university when he had a rare afternoon off, waiting for me outside my lecture hall with a coffee in hand.

"You didn’t have to do this," I’d tell him, but he’d just shrug, like it was nothing.

"You always forget to eat when you’re stressed," he’d say, handing me a sandwich like he had memorized my habits better than I had.

We never talked about whatever this was.

Never acknowledged the way his hand always seemed to find the small of my back when we walked through a crowd.

Or how we lingered just a little too long whenever we said goodbye.

It was easier this way.

Easier to pretend we were just friends.

Even when everything we did felt like something more.

Even when I already knew, I was falling.

And then, without realizing it, I had already fallen.

I fell for the way he looked at me, like I was something rare, something worth holding onto.

I fell for the way his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on my palm whenever we sat in silence, as if memorizing the shape of me.

I fell for the way he always pulled me closer in a crowded room, his grip firm, protective, like he was afraid I’d slip away.

I fell, hard and fast, like I never had before.

But love, love is never just about falling.

It’s about what happens after.

And somewhere along the way, something changed.

It didn’t happen overnight.

There was no sudden, dramatic shift.

It was slow, subtle, the kind of change you don’t notice at first, like the days getting shorter, the cold creeping in before you even realize summer is gone.

It started with the little things.

The way his replies to my texts, once almost instant, started coming slower.

At first, I brushed it off he was busy, caught up in training, exhausted from travel.

But then, the messages themselves became shorter. A simple "Yeah." or "We’ll see." replacing the playful, teasing paragraphs he used to send me.

The voice notes that once made me smile, his laughter, the way he always seemed to have a story to tell, became fewer and fewer, until one day, they just stopped.

The late-night calls faded too.

"Are you awake?" I would text, staring at my phone, waiting for those three little dots to appear.

Sometimes they did. Sometimes they didn’t.

When they did, it was always the same answer.

"Tired. Talk tomorrow?"

But tomorrow came, and we didn’t talk.

At first, I told myself it was fine.

I told myself I was overthinking it. That he was just busier than usual, that he was under pressure.

I made excuses for him, ones he never even had to say out loud.

"He’s training harder." "He needs space." "Nothing’s wrong."

But deep down, I knew.

I knew when he started canceling plans.

It wasn’t dramatic.

No last-minute apologies, no elaborate excuses. Just a quiet shift.

A "Can we reschedule?" here, a "Next time, yeah?" there.

Plans that were once effortless, ones he used to fight for, rearrange his schedule for, suddenly became too difficult to make.

I knew when he stopped showing up unannounced at my university.

When I stopped catching him watching me from across the room.

When his touch, once so natural, so certain, became hesitant, like he was holding himself back.

The first time I felt it, really felt it, was at a party.

It was crowded, loud, the kind of scene he usually hated but endured because I was there.

I saw him across the room, talking to someone, a teammate, a friend, I wasn’t sure.

He was laughing, the kind of carefree laugh I hadn’t heard from him in weeks. And then, for just a second, his eyes met mine.

A beat of silence.

And then, he looked away.

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the sinking feeling in my chest. Maybe he hadn’t seen me.

Maybe I was imagining things.

But later that night, when I reached for his hand the way I always did, he didn’t pull me closer.

He let go.

And that was when I knew.

The boy who once fought for every second with me was now letting moments slip away.

The boy who once looked at me like I was his safe place now seemed distant, distracted, like he was carrying something he couldn’t share.

And then, one night, everything came crashing down.

It wasn’t one thing, it was everything.

A missed call that turned into three. A message left on read. An excuse that felt too rehearsed, too empty.

And finally, the truth, the thing I had been too afraid to admit to myself.

I wasn’t losing him.

I had already lost him.

Meanwhile,

The ball bounced off his foot awkwardly, rolling too far ahead.

Gavi cursed under his breath, sprinting to recover it, but his timing was off again.

The pass he attempted was sloppy, the kind of mistake he never made, and when he looked up, he caught the coach watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Focus, Gavi!" the coach called out.

"Sí, míster," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Something was off with him today, had been for days, if he was being honest.

He felt it in the way his movements were just a fraction too slow, in the way his mind wasn’t fully locked into the game.

Football was supposed to be his escape, the one thing that cleared his head. But lately, it wasn’t working.

And the reason?

Y/n.

He had been trying not to think about her.

Trying to push away the ache that settled in his chest whenever he saw her name on his phone screen and didn’t answer.

Whenever he caught himself reaching for his phone, only to stop himself. Avoidance was supposed to make this easier.

It wasn’t.

He didn’t notice Fermin watching him until his friend nudged him, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Alright, qué pasa contigo?" Fermin asked, keeping his voice low as they walked off the pitch for a water break.

"Nothing," Gavi answered too quickly, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Fermin snorted. "Yeah, sure. That’s why you’ve been playing like absolute shit today?"

"Fuck off," Gavi muttered, but there was no real bite behind his words.

Fermin wasn’t having it. "Seriously, bro. What’s going on? You’re not yourself."

For a second, Gavi considered brushing him off again.

But something about the way Fermin was looking at him, genuinely concerned, made him sigh in defeat.

"It’s about Y/n."

Fermin’s eyebrows raised slightly in recognition.

"The girl you’ve gotten close with?"

Gavi nodded, running a hand over his face.

"I thought you two were good. What happened?"

Gavi let out a breath, shaking his head. "Nothing happened… that’s the problem."

Fermin frowned. "Okay, you lost me."

Gavi hesitated before finally admitting, "I fell for her." The words felt heavy, like they had been weighing on his chest for too long.

"And I don’t know what to do with that."

Fermin stared at him for a beat before laughing under his breath.

"Pablo, you’re acting like that’s the worst thing in the world."

"You don’t get it." Gavi exhaled sharply.

"I never had someone like her before. She’s… different. She actually knows me, not just the football part of me, but me. And if I tell her how I feel and it ruins everything, I lose that. I lose her."

Fermin tilted his head, considering his words.

"So what? You decided the best solution was to avoid her?"

Gavi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I thought maybe if I put some distance between us, it would go away."

Fermin blinked at him. "Go away?"

"Yeah—"

"Are you dumb?" Fermin cut him off, looking genuinely baffled.

"Like, actually, physically dumb?"

Gavi scowled. "Qué?"

"You’re trying to avoid losing her, but you are losing her. Right now. Because you’re pushing her away." Fermin threw his hands up.

"Bro, you’re literally doing the one thing you don’t want to happen."

Gavi clenched his jaw, looking away.

He knew Fermin was right, but hearing it out loud made his stomach twist.

"Just talk to her," Fermin said, his tone softer now.

"Be honest. If she doesn’t feel the same, then yeah, it’ll suck, but at least you’ll know. At least you won’t lose her like this."

Gavi sighed, staring down at the grass beneath his feet.

"And if she does feel the same?" he asked quietly.

Fermin smirked, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Then you stop being a dumbass and finally do something about it."

Gavi rolled his eyes, shoving his hand off. "You’re annoying, you know that?"

"And you’re dramatic," Fermin shot back.

"Seriously, this is some novela-level shit."

Gavi groaned, tossing his water bottle at him. "Shut up, tío."

Fermin just laughed, dodging it easily.

"Nah, but for real, you owe me when you and Y/n get together. I'm talking VIP tickets, front row seats."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Gavi grumbled, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips now.

For the first time in weeks, he felt like he knew what he had to do.

He had to stop running.

And he had to tell you.

Pablo had called.

Twice.

And then he had texted. "Can we talk?"

But I didn’t answer.

I told myself it was because I was still mad.

That I wasn’t ready to hear whatever excuse he had for pushing me away like I meant nothing.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

I was scared.

Scared that if I let him back in, he’d hurt me again.

That I’d start hoping, start falling again, only to end up in the same place, alone, confused, wondering where it all went wrong.

"You’re overthinking this."

I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts.

My best friend sat across from me, legs tucked under her as she scrolled through her phone like she hadn’t just said something completely outrageous.

"I am not overthinking," I defended, arms crossed.

She gave me a pointed look. "Oh really? So what do you call ignoring him for days instead of hearing him out?"

"I call it self-respect."

"Mhm, sure," she said, unimpressed.

"Or maybe… just maybe, you’re terrified of whatever he has to say because it might actually make sense."

I groaned, flopping back against the couch. "Why are you on his side?"

"I’m not on his side," she argued.

"I’m on the side of common sense, which neither of you seem to have. Look, men are dumb, babe. They don’t know how to act. They get feelings and then short-circuit like malfunctioning robots."

That made me laugh.

"So what, you think he just malfunctioned?" I teased.

"Obviously," she said dramatically.

"Poor guy probably thought ignoring you would fix his feelings. Meanwhile, here you are, going through all five stages of grief in your pajamas."

I smacked her arm, but I was laughing now, the weight in my chest feeling just a little lighter.

"I hate you," I muttered.

"No, you don’t," she sang, standing up and stretching.

"Alright, I gotta go. Just… think about calling him, okay? At least to yell at him properly. You deserve that much."

I rolled my eyes but nodded.

"That’s my girl," she said before grabbing her bag and heading out.

The apartment was quiet now. Too quiet.

I sat on the couch, staring at my phone, thumb hovering over Pablo’s contact.

Should I call him?

My best friend’s words played in my head. "You deserve that much."

She wasn’t wrong. I did deserve an explanation.

But was I ready to hear it?

To let him back in when I wasn’t even sure I had fully healed from the way he had pushed me out?

I sighed, rubbing my temples. Maybe I’d sleep on it.

Maybe tomorrow—

Knock, knock.

I frowned.

Was my best friend back? Did she forget something?

I stood up, walking over to the door. "Did you leave your—"

My breath caught in my throat.

It wasn’t her.

It was him.

Pablo stood there, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his hair slightly messy like he had run his fingers through it too many times.

His eyes met mine, and for a second, neither of us spoke.

"Can we talk?" he asked, voice quiet.

I should’ve slammed the door in his face.

Or at least made him wait longer, the way he had made me wait for an explanation.

But I didn’t.

I stepped aside, letting him in.

Pablo sat down on the couch, his knee bouncing slightly like he wasn’t sure how to start.

"I know you’re mad at me," he finally said.

I crossed my arms. "No shit."

He sighed. "I deserve that."

"Yeah, you do."

Silence.

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I messed up, Y/N. I know that. And I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t care, because I do. More than I should, probably."

My heart clenched, but I kept my expression neutral.

"Then why did you push me away?"

Pablo hesitated, like he was still debating whether to be fully honest.

Then, he exhaled sharply. "Because I fell for you."

I blinked. "What?"

"I fell for you," he repeated, looking at me now.

"And I freaked out. I thought if I ignored it, if I put space between us, maybe I wouldn’t ruin everything."

I stared at him, waiting for the logic to kick in.

It didn’t.

"So let me get this straight." I leaned forward.

"You caught feelings… and your solution was to avoid me?"

"Yes?"

"Pablo, that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

"Okay, Fermin already told me that, no need to gang up on me," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

"No, because—" I let out a frustrated groan.

"Do you even realize how badly that hurt? You were my best friend, Pablo. And then you just… disappeared."

His eyes softened, guilt flashing across his face.

"I know. And I hate that I hurt you. But, Y/n, I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve never had someone like you before. Someone who actually sees me. Not just the footballer, but me."

My heart skipped a beat.

"And I didn’t want to lose that," he continued, voice quieter now.

"I thought if I told you how I felt, I’d ruin what we had. But then, avoiding you just made me lose you anyway."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Yeah, it did."

Silence again.

Then, softer this time, he asked, "Can I fix it?"

I exhaled slowly. "You really are an idiot, you know that?"

He cracked a small smile. "Yeah, I’m getting that a lot lately."

I didn’t even realize I was smiling too.

The tension in the room slowly shifted, the weight in my chest lifting ever so slightly.

"So what now?" I asked.

Pablo hesitated before saying, "I don’t want to just be your friend anymore, Y/n. I want more. But if you don’t feel the same, I swear I’ll—"

I cut him off by grabbing his hand.

"You’re an idiot," I repeated. "But you’re my idiot."

His breath hitched. "So…?"

"So, you better not run away again."

His grin was instant, and before I could say anything else, he pulled me into a tight hug, burying his face in my shoulder.

"I won’t," he promised. "Not again."

I let myself melt into his embrace, my heart finally at peace.

We broke the hug, but his gaze never left mine.

Before I knew it, I felt his hand on my cheek, gently pulling me in for a passionate kiss.

Damn. It really was worth the wait.

Eventually, we both pull away to catch our breaths.

"So, does this mean we’re together now?" Pablo asked, grinning.

"I don’t know," I teased. "Are you gonna ignore me and be stupid again?"

"No!"

"Then I guess so."

He smirked. "You could’ve just said you wanted to be my girlfriend, princesa."

"And give you the satisfaction? Never."

He groaned, flopping onto the couch dramatically.

"Great. I’m dating a menace."

I threw a pillow at him. "And I’m dating an idiot. Perfect match."

He caught the pillow, tossing it aside before grabbing my hand again, this time intertwining our fingers.

"Yeah," he murmured, looking at me with that familiar, warm gaze.

"Perfect match."

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

The end

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w1w2 · 2 days ago

Text

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 6 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: A chance encounter with Jeno threatens to stir the past Giselle’s worked hard to bury, while Y/N’s quiet presence offers an unexpected sense of grounding. The city becomes a backdrop for secrets, confrontations, and a connection neither of them can fully define.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The air in the grand ballroom felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the glittering elegance of the gala. Giselle’s sharp gaze swept the crowd, but her thoughts remained anchored to Jeno’s sudden appearance. She hadn’t expected him, hadn’t even considered the possibility. And yet, there he was, weaving effortlessly through the throng of high-profile guests, his smirk lingering in her mind like a splinter she couldn’t shake.

Y/N stayed close, her quiet presence a grounding force. The earlier tension in Giselle’s shoulders hadn’t eased since Jeno’s brief, pointed words. His knowing tone and mocking glances weren’t new, but tonight they carried an added weight, one that Giselle hadn’t prepared for.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Y/N typed on her phone, holding it discreetly so only Giselle could see.

Giselle’s jaw tightened as she read the words, her pulse quickening. “I’m fine,” she said quietly, though the cool detachment in her voice felt as much a shield for herself as it did for Y/N.

But Y/N didn’t press. Instead, she stayed close, offering a steady presence that Giselle found herself leaning into, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

The evening carried on, each moment stretching longer than the last. Giselle played her role seamlessly, introducing Y/N to key figures, her words smooth and measured as always. Yet, her gaze darted toward the edges of the room too often, scanning for Jeno’s familiar silhouette.

And then, near the gala’s close, she saw him again.

Jeno lingered near the edge of the ballroom, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, fixed directly on her. The smirk was back, curling at the edges of his lips as if he were daring her to approach.

Giselle’s chest tightened. She couldn’t avoid this. Not here, not now.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured to Y/N, her voice low but steady.

Y/N’s brows furrowed, her concern evident as she reached for her phone. But Giselle was already moving, her heels clicking softly against the marble as she made her way toward Jeno.

“What do you want?” she asked as soon as she was close enough, her voice cutting through the low hum of the crowd.

Jeno tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Just a little chat. Nothing dramatic.”

“This isn’t the place,” Giselle said, her tone clipped.

“Then let’s find somewhere that is,” he countered smoothly, gesturing toward a nearby door that led to one of the venue’s private lounges.

Giselle hesitated, her instincts screaming to avoid this, but she knew Jeno wouldn’t relent. She glanced briefly over her shoulder, catching sight of Y/N watching her from across the room. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Giselle exhaled before turning back to Jeno.

“Fine,” she said, her voice sharp as she brushed past him, leading the way to the lounge.

The room they entered was a private lounge, dimly lit and far removed from the gala’s bustling energy. A single, low-hanging light cast a warm glow over the sleek furniture, its modern design stark against the tension that filled the space. The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the distant hum of music and laughter from the gala outside, leaving only the heavy silence between them.

Jeno moved first, his steps deliberate as he paced the room. His polished shoes tapped softly against the marble floor, a rhythm that seemed designed to unsettle. “Quite the event,” he remarked, his tone casual but dripping with sarcasm.

Giselle stayed near the door, her posture rigid as she crossed her arms. Her gaze was cold and unwavering, but her eyes held a flicker of something deeper, something only Jeno would recognize. “Get to the point,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Jeno chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned casually against the edge of a sleek glass table. He folded his arms, his relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to Giselle’s coiled tension. “You’ve done well for yourself,” he began, his voice taking on a mockingly admiring tone. “Uchinaga Couture, the partnerships, the perfect fiancée. You’ve got the world convinced.”

Giselle’s lips pressed into a thin line. The compliment, if it could be called that, didn’t reach her. “Is there a reason you’re here,” she asked, her tone icy, “or are you just looking to waste my time?”

Jeno’s smirk faded, his expression sharpening like a blade unsheathed. His eyes bore into hers, the casual mask slipping to reveal something harder. “You know why I’m here.”

He stepped closer, closing the space between them just enough to make her feel the weight of his presence. His voice dropped, the words laced with venom. “You can bury the past all you want, but it doesn’t just disappear, Aeri.”

Her name on his lips was a weapon, wielded with precision and intent. Giselle’s composure faltered for a fraction of a second, her fingers twitching at her sides, before she squared her shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Jeno said, his laugh hollow and devoid of humor. “You’re just like him, you know. Our father.”

Giselle’s hands curled into tight fists at her sides. Her nails dug into her palms, grounding her against the rising tide of anger and pain his words brought. “Don’t,” she warned, her voice low and dangerous.

Jeno tilted his head, his smirk returning with a sharper edge. “Why not? Afraid she’ll hear?” He gestured lazily toward the door, his casualness mocking. “What would your little fiancée think if she knew the truth? Or is that the whole point? Hide behind her, let her soften your edges, distract everyone from the fact that you’re just as ruthless as he was.”

The jab hit its mark, and Giselle’s jaw tightened. Her mind raced, the memories she had fought so hard to bury threatening to resurface. She kept her gaze locked on Jeno, refusing to let him see the crack in her armor.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she bit out, her voice steady but strained.

“Don’t I?” Jeno took another step forward, his tone low and cutting. “Do you really think this façade can hold forever? The perfect CEO. The perfect relationship. The perfect life. All built on the same lies he taught us.”

“Enough,” Giselle snapped, her voice rising just enough to echo faintly in the enclosed space. She took a step back, her back brushing against the wall as if seeking a physical barrier against his words.

Jeno’s eyes narrowed, his smirk fading into something colder. “You owe me, Aeri,” he said quietly, the words landing like a heavy weight between them. “Don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten.”

The sound of the door creaking open broke the tense silence like a crack of thunder. Both siblings turned sharply, their gazes locking onto the figure standing in the doorway.

It was Y/N.

Her eyes moved between them, her expression cautious yet steady. There was no fear, only quiet determination. She stepped into the room with purpose, letting the door close softly behind her, the faint click punctuating the moment.

Giselle’s posture immediately stiffened, her control snapping back into place like a shield. Her sharp gaze flicked to Jeno, a silent warning in her eyes before she turned to Y/N. “Y/N, this isn’t—”

But Y/N raised a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. Her movements were calm and deliberate as she signed, “I was looking for you. Is everything okay?”

The fluidity of her gestures contrasted with the tension that hung in the air, her presence like a steadying force in the storm.

Jeno’s smirk widened as he watched the exchange, a gleam of mockery dancing in his eyes. “Oh, this is adorable,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “She doesn’t even know, does she? You’ve got her playing the perfect little role, completely in the dark.”

Giselle’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing into icy slits. Her voice, cold and sharp, cut through the room like a knife. “Leave her out of this, Jeno.”

But Jeno wasn’t done. He turned his attention fully to Y/N, taking a step closer. The room seemed to shrink as his presence loomed larger, his sharp gaze assessing her with unnerving precision. “Does she even know what she’s protecting?” he asked, his tone soft but menacing. “Or is she just another pawn in your perfect little game?”

Y/N didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. Instead, she took a deliberate step closer to Giselle, her movements controlled and purposeful. Her hand brushed lightly against Giselle’s arm, a subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes. Her steady gaze locked onto Jeno’s, unyielding in its quiet defiance.

The contrast between them was striking. Jeno, all sharp edges and calculated malice, Y/N, a calm and unmovable force.

Giselle’s voice came again, low but brimming with restrained power. “She’s stronger than you think,” she said, her tone unwavering.

Jeno tilted his head slightly, studying them both as if calculating the odds of his next move. His smirk faded, replaced by a look that was harder to read, something more calculating, more dangerous.

“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a soft, almost amused tone. “Well, I won’t spoil the fun tonight.” He straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve as he adjusted his jacket.

But before leaving, he turned back to Giselle, his expression hardening. “Remember, Aeri,” he said, his voice carrying a weight that lingered in the air long after the words were spoken. “The truth has a funny way of surfacing. You can’t outrun it forever. And I’ll be there to remind you of that.”

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing in the now-quiet room.

Giselle exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just enough to reveal how tightly wound she’d been. Her gaze lingered on the door for a moment before turning to Y/N, who was watching her intently.

Y/N reached for her phone, typing quickly before holding up the screen. “Are you okay?”

Giselle’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hesitated, the weight of the evening pressing heavily on her, before finally nodding. “I’m fine,” she said, though the words felt hollow even to her.

Y/N’s hand brushed her arm again, firmer this time, a silent reassurance that grounded Giselle more than she cared to admit.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The room felt suspended in time, the echoes of Jeno’s words lingering like a ghost.

Finally, Giselle straightened, her shoulders squared as she reclaimed her composure. Her voice, calm but quieter than usual, broke the silence. “Let’s leave. There’s no need to stay any longer.”

Y/N nodded without hesitation, her expression a steady blend of understanding and resolve. She gestured toward the door, signing, “I’m ready when you are.”

Giselle offered a faint nod before leading the way out of the private lounge. As they passed through the grand ballroom, the energy of the gala seemed distant, the glittering crowd and soft music muted in Giselle’s mind. Y/N stayed close, her calm presence a counterweight to the tension that lingered in Giselle’s chest.

The private car was waiting for them at the entrance, the driver opening the door as they approached. Giselle slid in first, Y/N following close behind, her movements quiet and purposeful. The car door shut with a soft click, sealing them in the quiet sanctuary of the vehicle.

The hum of the engine was the only sound as the car pulled away, the glittering lights of Milan passing in a blur outside the window.

Back at the suite, the atmosphere was subdued but carried an almost fragile tenderness. The golden glow of the city lights filtered through the expansive windows, casting soft patterns on the marble floors and lending the space an almost dreamlike quality.

Y/N entered first, her movements slow and deliberate as she slipped off her heels by the door. The simple act of discarding them felt symbolic, a quiet shedding of the night’s tension. Barefoot now, she padded toward the couch, the plush fabric sinking beneath her as she settled in. She leaned back, her posture relaxed yet still attentive, her gaze instinctively following Giselle.

Giselle stood by the small bar, her silhouette illuminated by the dim lighting of the suite. The faint clink of crystal as she poured herself a glass of wine punctuated the otherwise quiet room. She gripped the glass in one hand, her other resting lightly on the counter as she stared at the deep red liquid swirling within.

Her back was to Y/N, but there was a subtle vulnerability in the way she held herself, her normally poised frame carrying an almost imperceptible weight. Finally, after what felt like a long moment, Giselle turned, the glass still in her hand. Her expression was softer than Y/N was used to. Guarded, yes, but not as impenetrable as usual.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” Giselle said, her voice quieter, almost contemplative. There was no trace of condescension, only a sincere acknowledgment of Y/N’s steadfastness throughout the night.

Y/N’s brows lifted slightly in surprise, her lips curving into a gentle, reassuring smile. She reached for her phone, her fingers moving quickly before she held the screen up.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m here for you.”

The simplicity of the words struck Giselle like a well-placed note in a song, unexpected and resonant. A ripple of warmth spread through her chest, but it was accompanied by something else, something heavier. She wasn’t used to this. Steady, unwavering support without ulterior motives, without demands.

“I don’t deserve it,” Giselle murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to escape before she could stop them, a quiet admission meant more for herself than for Y/N.

She turned her gaze toward the window, her polished façade faltering as she looked out at the glittering cityscape. The twinkling lights seemed almost mocking, a reflection of the life she had so carefully constructed, one where vulnerability had no place.

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought as she watched Giselle. There was no pity in her expression, only understanding. Slowly, she leaned forward, her movements gentle as she rested a hand lightly on Giselle’s arm.

The touch brought Giselle’s attention back to her. When their eyes met, Y/N lifted her hands, signing with slow, deliberate care. “Everyone deserves someone who cares.”

The words hit Giselle harder than she expected. Her sharp features softened, her eyes searching Y/N’s face as though trying to understand how someone could offer such unconditional kindness. It was foreign, unfamiliar terrain for her, and yet, there was a strange comfort in it.

For a moment, the space between them felt charged with something unspoken. Then, without overthinking, Y/N leaned in, wrapping her arms around Giselle in a hug that was brief but undeniably sincere.

Giselle froze for a fraction of a second, her breath catching as she processed the unexpected gesture. The warmth of Y/N’s embrace, the way it held no pretense, no expectation, wrapped around her like a balm against the lingering chill of the night.

When Y/N pulled back, she gave Giselle a small, almost shy smile before reaching for her phone again. Her fingers moved quickly, and then she held up the screen.

“You can rely on me. It’s okay to let someone in.”

The words settled heavily in Giselle’s chest, but not in a burdensome way. They carried a kind of weight that made her feel grounded, tethered to something real. She exhaled quietly, her lips curving into a faint smile, not the calculated expression she often wore in public, but something softer, something genuine.

“I’ll try,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt like a promise, not just to Y/N but to herself.

The tension in the room began to lift, replaced by a quiet understanding that lingered between them like the soft glow of the city lights outside.

Giselle leaned back against the couch, her gaze drifting back to Y/N. “I moved our flight back,” she said after a moment, her tone casual but carrying an undertone of thoughtfulness.

Y/N blinked, her curiosity evident as she reached for her phone. “Why?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Giselle’s lips. “You deserve to enjoy Milan,” she said simply. “Tomorrow, we’ll see the city properly.”

The words caught Y/N off guard, her wide eyes reflecting her surprise. Then, slowly, her expression shifted into one of pure delight, her smile lighting up the room. She typed quickly, her excitement evident in the speed of her movements.

“I’d love that.”

Giselle’s smirk softened into something closer to a smile, and she nodded slightly. The room felt lighter now, the weight of the evening’s events dissipating into the promise of the next day.

As the weight of the evening finally settled, Y/N made her way toward the bathroom. A moment later, the faint sound of water running soon filled the quiet suite. Giselle turned back toward the view, her sharp eyes scanning the glowing city skyline as her thoughts drifted.

The vulnerability of the evening replayed in her mind, the tension with Jeno, the way Y/N had stepped into the room with quiet strength, grounding her without a word. It wasn’t just gratitude she felt toward Y/N. It was something deeper, something unfamiliar and yet increasingly unavoidable.

By the time Y/N emerged from the bathroom, her hair slightly damp and her oversized sleep shirt softening her silhouette, Giselle had poured herself a glass of water. She glanced up, catching the sight of Y/N towel-drying her hair as she crossed the room.

“Your turn,” Y/N typed on her phone, holding it up with a small, relaxed smile.

Giselle gave a faint nod, setting the glass down and moving past her toward the bathroom. As she stepped inside and turned on the shower, the warm spray did little to wash away the lingering thoughts of the night. Instead, it seemed to heighten her awareness of how much had shifted between her and Y/N.

By the time she returned to the bedroom, Y/N was already in bed, her legs curled under the covers as she fiddled with her phone. The sight of her, so at ease, filled Giselle with a warmth that she couldn’t ignore.

She slipped into her side of the bed, the expanse of the mattress offering plenty of space between them, though the shared intimacy of the moment made the room feel smaller.

“Goodnight,” Y/N signed softly, her hands moving deliberately as her eyes lingered on Giselle.

Giselle nodded, her voice quieter than usual. “Goodnight.”

They lay in silence, the soft rustle of the sheets and the distant hum of the city outside the only sounds. Giselle stared at the ceiling, her thoughts refusing to quiet.

She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of Y/N’s peaceful expression as she drifted into sleep. Something about the sight made Giselle’s chest tighten, the emotions unfamiliar but impossible to ignore.

Y/N wasn’t just her anchor tonight, she was becoming something more.

And as Giselle finally closed her eyes, she realized she wasn’t as unsettled by that thought as she once might have been.

Milan greeted them with a crisp morning sun that warmed the stone streets and set the city’s grand architecture aglow. The Duomo di Milano stood as their first stop, a towering masterpiece of Gothic beauty, its spires and intricate carvings reaching toward the sky.

Y/N followed Giselle through the bustling square, her eyes wide as they swept over the cathedral’s ornate façade. Her pace slowed as she took in the marble statues, their lifelike expressions frozen in time. Giselle noticed and paused, turning back with a calm yet curious look.

“You like it,” Giselle said simply.

Y/N nodded, her hands moving instinctively to sign her response. But then, she stopped midway, glancing at Giselle. Remembering that Giselle didn’t fully understand sign language yet, Y/N offered a bright, shy smile instead.

“This way,” Giselle said, gesturing toward the entrance with a tilt of her head.

Inside, the Duomo was breathtaking. Stained glass windows cast vibrant colors onto the cool stone floors, while sunlight streamed through, illuminating the high vaulted ceilings. Y/N was struck silent by the sheer scale of it all. Giselle walked ahead, but Y/N lingered behind, taking her time to absorb every detail.

When they climbed the narrow staircase to the rooftop, the view left Y/N utterly captivated. The city of Milan stretched out before them, its rooftops and spires glowing under the midday sun. She moved to the edge, her hands resting lightly on the railing as her gaze swept over the panorama.

Giselle stepped beside her, silent for a moment. She followed Y/N’s gaze before finally speaking. “It’s a city of contrasts,” she said softly, her voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Old and new, chaos and elegance. There’s something to admire in that.”

Y/N glanced at her, surprised by the quiet thoughtfulness in Giselle’s tone. Slowly, she lifted her hands and gestured toward the statues that adorned the rooftop, signing, “Art everywhere.”

Though Giselle seemed to pick up on Y/N’s sentiment. Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Yes, everywhere,” she agreed.

For a fleeting moment, there was no contract between them, no roles to play. Just two women standing on the edge of a masterpiece, each finding something they hadn’t expected to discover.

Their next destination was the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, its grand glass dome and ornate mosaics radiating timeless elegance. Y/N’s eyes sparkled as they entered, the vastness of the space overwhelming in its beauty. The polished marble floors, the intricate arches, and the soft golden light filtering through the domed ceiling made her feel as though she’d stepped into a dream.

The Galleria buzzed with life, from tourists snapping photos to the subtle hum of chatter among the high-end shops. Giselle led the way, walking with the kind of effortless confidence that made heads turn. Y/N followed a step behind, feeling small yet quietly thrilled to be in such a breathtaking place.

As they passed a boutique featuring handmade jewelry, Y/N’s steps faltered. A display of delicate bracelets caught her attention. One, in particular, stood out, a thin silver band adorned with a single, shimmering gem. She lingered by the window, her fingers lightly brushing the glass as she admired the piece.

Giselle, noticing her pause, stopped and turned. She followed Y/N’s gaze to the display and then stepped into the store without hesitation. Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm, and she quickly waved her hands in a flurry, trying to signal that it wasn’t necessary.

Giselle ignored her protests, speaking briefly with the clerk before returning to Y/N with a small black bag in hand. She extended it toward her, her expression unreadable.

“For you,” Giselle said simply.

Y/N shook her head, her hands flying up to sign “No, no, it’s too much,” but Giselle merely raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a gift,” Giselle said, her tone firm but not unkind. “Consider it... a token of today.”

Reluctantly, Y/N took the bag, her cheeks warming. She glanced inside to see the bracelet nestled in black velvet, the tiny gem catching the light like a star. Her fingers tightened around the bag as she glanced up at Giselle, signing a soft “thank you.”

Giselle’s lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, but something close. “You’re welcome,” she said.

They continued through the Galleria, Y/N occasionally glancing down at the bag in her hands. It wasn’t just the gift itself that left her feeling overwhelmed, but the gesture behind it. Giselle, despite her stoic demeanor, had noticed her interest. That thought lingered in Y/N’s mind as they moved on, leaving the glittering arches of the Galleria behind.

The afternoon sun cast long, golden rays across the open lawns and shaded paths of Parco Sempione. The quiet elegance of the park felt like a gentle reprieve from the grandeur of their earlier stops. Children laughed as they chased each other near the fountain, and couples strolled hand in hand under the trees.

Y/N’s pace slowed as she admired the serene beauty around her. The cool breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and for a moment, she felt like she could breathe again, free from the weight of their arrangement and the expectations that came with it.

Near the fountain, a small crowd had gathered around a street performer. He was seated on a stool, strumming a worn guitar and singing an Italian love song. His voice was rich and warm, his presence magnetic. A chalkboard propped up near his feet read, “Requests welcome. Don’t be shy!”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, drawn to the music. She edged closer, her hands clasped together as she watched the performer play, the melody stirring something deep inside her.

Giselle stood beside her, her expression impassive as she scanned the crowd. She didn’t seem particularly interested in the performer until, suddenly, his attention shifted to her.

“Signorina,” he called out with a theatrical flourish, his Italian accent lilting. “You must sing with me! A duet!”

Y/N turned to Giselle, her eyes wide with delight. She couldn’t stop herself from laughing silently, her hands fluttering to signal her amusement.

Giselle raised a brow, her cool demeanor unshaken. “I don’t sing,” she said curtly, her voice firm enough to deter most people.

But the performer wasn’t most people. He stood, his guitar dangling from a strap across his shoulder, and held out his hand toward her with a playful bow. “A woman like you, with that air of mystery? I bet you sing beautifully.”

The crowd clapped and cheered, egging her on, while Y/N’s eyes lit up with hope. She clasped her hands together, her expression an open plea.

For a moment, Giselle looked torn between maintaining her composure and giving in to the growing excitement around her. Her sharp gaze flicked to Y/N, who was practically bouncing on her heels with anticipation.

With a soft sigh of resignation, Giselle stepped forward. “Just one verse,” she said coolly, eyeing the performer.

The crowd erupted in applause as the guitarist struck up the opening chords of a familiar Italian classic. Giselle took a moment to compose herself, her expression calm and collected.

Then she sang.

Her voice was soft at first, low and controlled, but as the melody carried her forward, it grew stronger. It wasn’t perfect, but there was a richness to her tone, an unexpected warmth that drew the crowd closer. Y/N stood frozen, her hands pressed to her chest as she listened.

By the time Giselle finished the verse, the performer joined in for the chorus, their voices blending together in a surprisingly harmonious duet. The crowd clapped and swayed along, their enthusiasm infectious.

When the song ended, Giselle gave a polite nod to the performer before stepping back into the crowd. She turned to Y/N, her expression carefully neutral, though a faint blush dusted her cheeks.

Y/N beamed at her, her hands moving quickly as she typed on her phone, “Beautiful. Amazing. I didn’t know you could sing!”

“I don’t,” Giselle replied flatly, though her lips twitched as if fighting back a smile. “That was a one-time thing.”

Y/N shook her head, still grinning. The playfulness of the moment lingered between them, softening the edges of Giselle’s usual aloofness.

As they left the park, Y/N glanced at Giselle, her heart lighter than it had been all day. The memory of Giselle’s unexpected performance stayed with her, a reminder that there was more to the enigmatic CEO than met the eye.

The restaurant Giselle had chosen was perched atop one of Milan’s finest hotels, offering a breathtaking view of the city as the sun dipped below the horizon. The floor to ceiling windows framed the skyline, where the last traces of daylight melted into the soft glow of twilight.

Their table, tucked into a quiet corner by the window, was illuminated by the warm flicker of candlelight. Y/N sat across from Giselle, her fingers fidgeting with the napkin in her lap as she tried to relax in the lavish setting.

The waiter appeared, presenting their menus with a flourish. Everything about the place, from the gilded accents on the walls to the hushed murmurs of the other diners, exuded luxury. Y/N’s eyes darted across the menu, the foreign names of dishes making her feel slightly out of her depth.

Noticing Y/N’s hesitation, Giselle spoke up. “Would you like me to recommend something?”

Y/N nodded quickly, grateful for the guidance.

Giselle glanced at the menu, then looked up at the waiter. “The ossobuco for her,” she said smoothly, her Italian flawless. “And the saffron risotto for me.”

The waiter nodded, jotting down the order before retreating, leaving them in a silence that felt heavier than the softly lit atmosphere. Y/N folded her hands in her lap, her gaze flitting between the window and Giselle, who sat with her usual composed air.

“Relax,” Giselle said, her tone softer than Y/N had expected. “This isn’t a boardroom meeting.”

Y/N looked at her, startled, then nodded, offering a small, apologetic smile. She signed “sorry” without realizing it, her hands moving instinctively.

Giselle tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in thought. “You sign that often,” she observed. “Why do you apologize so much?”

Y/N froze, her cheeks warming under Giselle’s gaze. She shrugged, unsure how to explain it.

The corner of Giselle’s mouth quirked up slightly. “There’s no need to apologize,” she said. “Not to me.”

The words lingered between them, leaving Y/N momentarily speechless.

When their food arrived, the dishes were a work of art, each plate meticulously arranged. The ossobuco sat atop a bed of creamy polenta, the aroma rich and inviting. Y/N hesitated at first, but as soon as she took her first bite, her face lit up with surprise.

Giselle watched her reaction with quiet amusement. “Good?”

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, her hands moving to sign, “Delicious.”

A faint smile graced Giselle’s lips as she returned to her own meal. For a while, they ate in companionable silence, the soft clinking of silverware the only sound between them.

As the evening wore on, Giselle leaned back in her chair, her glass of red wine catching the candlelight. Her gaze rested on Y/N, who was staring out the window, her expression dreamy as she admired the glittering city below.

“You’ve had a long day,” Giselle said, her voice gentle.

Y/N turned to her, nodding. She signed, “But it was worth it,” then hesitated before adding, “Thank you for today.”

Giselle studied her for a moment, as if weighing her next words. “You don’t need to thank me,” she said finally. “I... wanted you to enjoy it.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the admission. Her lips parted slightly, but no words or signs came to her.

“Tomorrow,” Giselle continued, her tone shifting back to its usual professional calm, “we’ll return to Seoul. But for tonight...” She glanced out the window, the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Let’s just enjoy the view.”

Y/N nodded, her chest warm with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. She turned her attention back to the skyline, the glow of the city below reflecting in her eyes.

The elevator ride back to their suite was quiet, save for the faint hum of the machinery and the occasional ding as they passed each floor. Y/N cradled the small black bag with the bracelet, her fingers tracing the soft velvet absently. It had been a long day, but unlike the ones before, this one didn’t feel as exhausting.

When they stepped inside their hotel suite, the soft glow of the city lights filtered through the massive windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors. Giselle walked toward the window, hands in her pockets, her gaze fixed on the view. Y/N, meanwhile, kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs, sinking onto the edge of the bed with a quiet sigh.

"You handled yourself well today," Giselle said at last, her reflection visible against the glass.

Y/N glanced at her, surprised by the unexpected compliment. She pulled out her phone, typing quickly before holding it up.

"That almost sounded like praise."

Giselle turned her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully before typing again.

"I think I will."

Giselle let out a small huff, shaking her head as she made her way toward the nightstand. She pulled off her watch, setting it down with practiced ease before glancing at Y/N. "Did you enjoy today?"

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. She typed again, her fingers pausing for a moment before she hit send.

"More than I expected to."

Giselle arched an eyebrow, leaning against the dresser. "I thought you might."

Y/N glanced down at the bracelet still resting in the bag beside her. She hesitated before pulling it out and slipping it onto her wrist, the cool metal a contrast to the warmth spreading through her chest. She held up her phone again.

"Do you always do things like this? Notice the small things?"

Giselle’s expression flickered, something unreadable passing through her sharp eyes before she turned her attention to the bracelet. “Not often,” she admitted after a moment. “But I notice when it matters.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came. Something about the way Giselle said it made her heart stutter, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Instead, she simply lifted her wrist slightly, letting the bracelet catch the light before offering Giselle a small, appreciative smile.

Giselle didn’t say anything else. Instead, she moved toward the bed, slipping off her blazer and draping it neatly over the chair. The sight was still surreal, Giselle, the ever-poised CEO, sharing a bed with her. It was strange, intimate in a way neither of them acknowledged out loud.

Y/N slipped under the covers first, adjusting the pillows before reaching for her phone again. Giselle sat on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning the cuff of her sleeve before turning to face Y/N.

“You can sleep, you know,” Giselle murmured, watching as Y/N’s fingers danced over the screen.

Y/N tapped a final message before tilting the phone toward her.

"I know. But I think today was the first time we actually felt like... people."

Giselle read the message, her eyes lingering on the words longer than necessary. Then, with a quiet exhale, she reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” she said softly.

Y/N smiled into the dark, tucking her phone under her pillow before signing one last word, small enough that she wasn’t sure if Giselle saw it.

“Goodnight.”

Morning arrived quietly, the first rays of sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the hotel room. Y/N stirred beneath the covers, blinking sleepily as she adjusted to the gentle warmth of daylight.

Beside her, Giselle was already awake, sitting up against the headboard with her phone in hand. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes focused on whatever email or message she was reviewing. Even first thing in the morning, she looked composed, as if she hadn’t spent the night sharing a bed with someone else.

Y/N stretched slightly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before reaching for her own phone. She typed out a message and nudged Giselle’s arm, holding the screen toward her.

"Do you ever stop working?"

Giselle glanced at the message before arching a brow. “I haven’t been working yesterday, have I?”

Y/N blinked in surprise before shaking her head with a small smile. She quickly typed back.

"No, you haven't. Impressive."

Y/N huffed a silent laugh, shaking her head. Giselle finally set her phone aside, running a hand through her hair before looking at Y/N properly. “The car will pick us up in an hour,” she said. “We’ll head straight to the airport.”

Y/N nodded, sliding out of bed and heading toward the bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the bracelet still snug around her wrist. It was a small thing, but it felt significant.

By the time they were both packed and ready to leave, their usual dynamic had slipped back into place. Giselle, ever efficient, made a few calls while Y/N double-checked their belongings. There was no lingering sentimentality about their time in Milan, no discussion about the unexpected softness of the previous day.

As the sleek black car pulled up to the hotel entrance, Y/N slid into the seat while Giselle took her usual spot beside her. The ride to the airport was quiet, the city passing by in a blur of warm morning hues.

Halfway through the drive, Y/N pulled out her phone again. She hesitated for a moment before typing something simple, yet honest.

"Thank you. For Milan."

She turned the screen toward Giselle, who read it without looking surprised. A beat of silence stretched between them before Giselle exhaled softly, almost too quiet to notice.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

It wasn’t a grand moment, nor was it heavy with meaning, but something about it felt important.

The flight back to Seoul was smooth, but long. Giselle worked for most of it, reviewing documents and responding to messages. Y/N, meanwhile, let herself relax, scrolling through photos from their time in Milan, snapshots of the Duomo, the sunset over the city, even a blurry picture of Giselle mid-eye roll after Y/N had caught her off guard with a candid shot.

As she looked through them, a thought settled in Y/N’s mind, one she wasn’t quite ready to put into words.

Milan had been different. And so had Giselle. She wasn’t sure what it meant yet, but she knew one thing for certain.

This arrangement wasn’t as simple as it had seemed when she first signed that contract.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #giselle uchinaga x reader #giselle x fem reader #giselle x reader #aeri uchinaga x reader #aespa giselle x reader #a contract of silence

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