#she’d demand to look through my phone

[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

Yesterday at the fair I split off from my parents with my brother and we went to look at one of the buildings but then my mom decided to use find my iPhone to locate me and had the audacity to complain that her 26 (almost 27!!!) year old child doesn’t share their location like. Hello.

[yandere-writer-momo]

My take on the neglected spouse trope, but with a little spice. Short and to the point

Yandere Batman Shorts: Adorned In Pearls

Yandere Bruce Wayne x Neglected Wife Fem Reader x Yandere Batboys (platonic)

Tw: obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamic, power imbalance, time rewind, imprisonment (implied), death (beginning), and themes that should not be romanticized

“Put the jewels in the bag!” (Your name) didn’t even flinch when the intruder crudely held up his gun to her while she was in the kitchen. It seems her end was finally near at last. “Did you hear me?! Put your jewels in the bag!”

(Your name) calmly turned off the stove top while the intruder kept his voice raised. She had been working on breakfast for her ungrateful husband and her adopted children since they’d be back from patrol in a few hours. Alfred was in the Batcave which left her up here and vulnerable… not that they’d care.

“Let me turn off the stove so you don’t blow the place up if you shoot.” (Your name) calmly told him. She knew this would be a tragic end… and she looked forward to her suffering to end at last.

(Your name) unclasped the pearls from her neck and placed them in the burlap sack the burglar thrusted toward her with one hand. She then made her way to take off each piece of jewelry that was an empty gift from her husband. Even his mother’s ring he gave her for their opulent wedding.

“Code. Safe. Now.” The burglar demanded as he thrusted the gun in her chest.

“0219.” (Your name) calmly stated despite how terrifying the situation was. “It’s in the third room to the right.”

She could not get another word in before a searing pain filled her chest as a loud gunshot rung throughout the house. She glanced down at her chest or a bullet hole was now through her chest cavity.

The burglar walked off while she sank to the floor in a heap. Her hands went to her phone to make a final call but… she knew no one from this house would answer. (Your name) was always an afterthought, and she believed she would be even in death.

So she dialed 911 and waited for the operator to answer. Her right hand was stained crimson as the viscous blood pooled around her like a grotesque blanket.

Once she heard the operated answer, (your name) cut them off, “There’s been a robber and murder at the Wayne manor.”

(Your name) then hung up and turned her gaze to the ceiling. If there was another life, she would be selfish and live for herself. She wouldn’t rot away like lettuce in the back of a fridge in this manor. No… she would have more respect for herself.

Breathe in… breathe out. She smiled in peace for the first time in years. She was finally free from this lonely nightmare she had been trapped in for nearly two decades. Maybe, she would finally deserve her chance to be loved as much as she loved back.

How was she to know the nightmare only just began?

.

.

.

(Your name) jolted awake, her wine glass nearly slipped from her hand from the sudden movement. A myriad of voices chattered in the opulent restaurant has her eyes glanced around the almost surreal scene.

This was the restaurant she had begged Bruce and the boys to come to for her birthday with her six years ago…

“ Mrs. Wayne, would you like another glass of water?” The familiar waiter came over with a pitiful expression that she had seared into her memory from those years ago. The look almost every waiter gave her at any venue she went to.

“Actually, I’d like to order.” (Your name) smiled. “It’s my birthday… and I want to celebrate it for once.”

The waiter seemed surprised but happily took her order. This was the first time she had ordered rather than wait for hours for a family that wouldn’t come.

(Your name) smiled to herself, her gaze focused on the complementary wine glass that was brought to her by the wait staff. How sad was it that the stranger showed her more love than her own family?

She had a second chance… and she’d be damned if she wasted it.

.

.

.

After she had long left and enjoyed her meal, a dashing family of five hurriedly arrived to the restaurant.

Bruce Wayne looked slightly disheveled, but that didn’t take away from his charming good looks. The billionaire and his adopted sons hurriedly glanced around the restaurant for any sign of his wife and their mother. He knew she would be here… just like she always was that she waited for them.

They had all been given a second chance when they came home and found her small, lifeless body on the kitchen floor after patrol.

Never had they all cried so much as they cradled her cold, bloody form as they desperately tried to revive her. Each of them begged for another chance to love her properly.

Each of them had spent so much time finding the perfect gift to make all the lost time up to her and to finally celebrate her birthday like a family like she always dreamed.

They had always kept their distance to keep her safe from their enemies. Yet they had instead created a giant misunderstanding. One that they all desperately needed to make up for.

“Do you think mother is still here? I hope she didn’t wait too long…” Damian muttered, his green eyes nervously searched for (your name)’s delicate form.

“She always waits for us. She loves us.” Dick reassured the others, yet they all knew it was more of a self reassurance. “She will be so happy…”

The wait staff seemed surprised but they did give the boys some glares.

“Jeez, what’s their problem?” Jason huffed as he put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t see her anywhere… he had gotten her a wonderful gift for once.

“I can look up her location.” Tim chimed in as he pulled out his phone. “She’s around, I’m sure.

It was Bruce who seemed to search the hardest for her. A bouquet of roses were clenched so hard in his fists that his knuckles turned white. He would make this all right again.

(Your name) was alive once more… and he would make sure she never die or be hurt by them again. She’d be protected and cherished like she deserved.

“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Wayne left hours ago.”

The men all instantly deflated. She left? But she would always be here for hours for them… was there a possibility she returned in time too?

They all went back to the manor in haste. They wanted to celebrate her birthday with her… they wanted to celebrate so much with her. They wouldn’t let her be alone ever again.

.

.

.

(Your name) dipped her feet in the hot tub at the manor with a content sigh. Her lungs deeply inhaled the crisp night air with a dreamy sigh. This felt so peaceful. Why had she never celebrated her birthday like this before?

(Your name) didn’t even flinch when she heard the boys come home. Perhaps patrol ended early? It’s been so many years of being ignored that she hardly knew what went on in their lives.

She slipped the robe off and slid her swimsuit clad body into the comfortably hot water. Another sigh spilled through her lips, her muscles relaxed. This felt like heaven.

(Your name) jumped when Bruce suddenly slid the sliding door open with a loud whack. She was quick to cover her cleavage with her hands despite this man being her legal husband.

“ Mr. Wayne? What are you doing here-“ Bruce was quick to close the distance and pull her into a hug. Muscular man shook like a leaf as he held her to him. His heart beats so fast, she swore it was about to burst.

“You’re alive… you’re okay…” (Your name) did a double take at his words. When did he ever care about her well-being?

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” There was no way he came back to the past too, right? Her neglectful husband would never hold her and bury his nose in her hair like this.

Yet here Bruce Wayne, her infamous billionaire Playboy husband , was with his face borrowed into her skin. His nose deeply inhaled her scent like she was his favorite flower. He held her as if she was something precious, something he has never done in their two decades of marriage.

“What are you doing?” She asked, but he only held her tighter.

Bruce pulled back to study her face, is blue eyes were dark like a sea storm. His brows were furrowed in worry.

“Hugging my wife.”

A humorless chuckle bubbled from her chest. So now she was his wife? Since when has he treated her as such.

“Is this a joke?” She asked him despite how serious he looked. “I’m just a decorated house pet-“

Her eyes almost popped out of her head when he planted a searing kiss on her lips. A gasp escaped her as his tongue thrust its way into the cavern of her mouth and tasted every inch of it. His hands greedily grasped at her body.

“Wife… my wife.” Bruce whispered against her lips. “My beautiful wife.”

“Mister Wayne-“

“It’s Bruce.” His voice was authoritative as he cut her formalities off.

“…Bruce.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I want you. I want my wife.” (Your name) squealed when h got into the hot tub with her to hair with her. “It’s your birthday today…”

He… he knew her birthday?

“I didn’t think you ever noticed.” She muttered, but he pressed his forehead to hers.

“All these years, we thought we were keeping you safe by keeping a distance. How foolish I was.” Bruce sighed. “You’re safer in our arms, in my arms.”

(Your name) was speechless when he pulled a gift box from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal an exquisite pearl necklace.

“You deserve to be adorned in pearls and jewels. To be pampered by me.” Bruce didn’t give her the chance to move away as he clasped the necklace around her.

Despite its elegance, (your name) couldn’t help the dread that pulled in her stomach. She could not stop the feeling that this pearl necklace was nothing more than a magnificent collar.

“You look so beautiful in those pearls… they were my mother’s, you know.” Bruce hummed as he picked her up and placed her on the edge of the hot tub.

Bruce stripped her robe back over her form.

“Let’s get changed and go celebrate your birthday properly with the boys. They really want to see their mother.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “and after that, I think you and I can finally make up for all the lost time.”

(Your name) felt a tear roll down her face that Bruce took as a tear of joy. Yet only she knew the truth.

She had believed she would escape and find her own happiness, now she realize she would never escape this gilded cage.

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Shades of Red | Terry Richmond

Pairing: Dark!Toxic!Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

Warnings: dark themes + smut 18+, breaking + entering, jealousy, possessiveness, toxic themes, slight power dynamics, rough sex, choking, light slapping, spitting, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), squirting, breeding kink } everything is consensual but read at your own risk !

Summary: Passion, anger, lust, jealousy—all woven together into one man. Terry is charming, entitled, enticing and dangerous. YN couldn’t have seen his latest move coming….

Word count: 4.7K

a/n: This is my first time writing anything remotely dark and I think I really stepped outside of my little box. I wanted to craft a toxic love letter of sorts and I'd love to hear your thoughts..

Terry Richmond wasn’t the kind of man who stayed anywhere too long. His life was like a shifting tide—here today, gone tomorrow, always pulling away just when you thought you had him figured out. The nomadic way he moved through life suited him. He’d had his fill of staying still, of people poking too closely at the layers of armour he’d carefully crafted. Shelby Springs was just another pit stop, a place he landed when the world got too loud. And it’s where he met YN.

They’d been introduced a couple of years back through a mutual friend who had the bright idea of setting them up. “You two would be perfect for each other,” the friend had said with entirely too much conviction. But what had started as a well-intentioned matchmaking attempt quickly took a detour.

From the jump, Terry and YN decided that dating wasn’t in the cards. He was too restless, too unpredictable. She had her own life, full and vibrant, with no room to babysit someone who disappeared for weeks at a time with no explanation. Still, their chemistry was undeniable, electric in a way neither could ignore. They both wanted something—each other. And so, they reached a compromise: friends with benefits. No strings, no expectations, no hard feelings.

For the most part, it worked. YN respected Terry’s need for space, and he appreciated that she didn’t cling or demand more than he was willing to give. She had her own thing going on—a career she loved, friends who kept her laughing, and a life that was full even without him in it. She’d grown used to his disappearing acts, the way he’d go rogue and vanish for weeks or months at a time. He always came back, though. And when he did, he always found his way to her.

He was good at that—finding her. A text here, a call there, a late-night knock on her door. She’d let him in every time because, for all his flaws, there was something about Terry that drew her in. Maybe it was his charm, that easy confidence that made her roll her eyes even as it made her pulse quicken. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing that mattered when he was near. Whatever it was, she couldn’t quite quit him. And truthfully, she didn’t want to.

But this time felt different.

His text came in the middle of the day while her phone was on silent. She didn’t see it until much later, after the rush of meetings and emails had finally died down.

“Be back in town tomorrow night. Clear your schedule for me.”

The audacity of it made her laugh out loud. Terry had never been one to ask—he told. It was part of his charm and part of what made her want to strangle him sometimes. Still, she wasn’t mad. She got as much out of their arrangement as he did, and she’d been known to hit him up with the same kind of energy when the mood struck. They were equals in that way, unapologetic about what they wanted from each other.

But tonight, she couldn’t clear her schedule for him.

She typed out her response quickly, a small smirk on her lips as she imagined his reaction.

“Can’t tomorrow. Got a date.”

The reply came faster than she expected.

“A date, huh?”

That was it. No teasing, no snide comments, no flirty jabs. Just three little words that carried a weight she couldn’t quite place.

She frowned at the screen, re-reading the message as if the meaning would suddenly reveal itself. It was unlike Terry not to have some kind of comeback, some witty remark designed to get under her skin. The lack of it left her unsettled. But she shrugged it off, chalking it up to him being busy or distracted.

On the other side of the phone, though, Terry wasn’t as calm as he seemed.

Sitting in a dingy motel room on the outskirts of God-knows-where, he stared at her message, his jaw tight. A date. Someone else was taking her out, sitting across from her, making her laugh, looking at her the way he looked at her. And worse, someone else might be touching her, staking a claim to what he’d quietly, possessively come to think of as his.

He took a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself to calm the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. She wasn’t his. Not really. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. But the thought of someone else having her, even for one night, made his chest burn with something he couldn’t quite name.

Terry’s fingers hovered over the screen, itching to say something, to tell her to cancel, to remind her who always had her coming back. But he stopped himself. No, he’d let her have her little date. Let her laugh and flirt and pretend that whoever this guy was could give her what she needed. Because when it was all said and done, she’d come back to him.

And when she did, he’d make damn sure she remembered exactly who she belonged to.

Terry Richmond wasn’t an easy man to forget, and that much was evident as YN stood in her bathroom mirror, smoothing on her lipstick for the finishing touch. Tonight was a rare occasion for her—a date with someone who wasn’t him. She tilted her head slightly, assessing her reflection. The soft waves in her hair framed her face just right, the shimmer on her eyelids caught the light, and the dress she’d chosen fit like a second skin. She looked good. She felt good.

Still, a shadow lingered in the back of her mind, one with piercing eyes and an infuriatingly smug smirk. YN had spent the last two hours convincing herself this date was just what she needed: a change, something uncomplicated. Terry was Terry—a storm she willingly walked into time and time again. But tonight? Tonight was about something different, something quieter.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, and her eyes flicked to the screen. A simple text from her date: “Looking forward to tonight. See you soon!”

She smiled faintly, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. YN tucked the phone into her clutch, grabbed her coat, and headed out. It was time to leave Terry Richmond out of her headspace—for now.

The restaurant was cozy and inviting, the kind of place that struck a balance between intimate and casual. Her date, Mark, had chosen well. He was polite, attentive, and easy on the eyes—a charming blend of confidence and warmth. They’d talked about work, travel, books, and even swapped a couple of funny anecdotes about their childhoods. By all accounts, it should’ve been perfect.

But halfway through Mark’s story about his latest hiking trip, YN caught herself tuning out. Not entirely—she was still nodding at the right moments, laughing softly where appropriate—but her mind drifted, unbidden, to another memory. One of Terry.

She could almost hear his voice, teasing and sharp. “Hiking, huh? Bet he’s one of those guys who carries a selfie stick to the summit just to post about it.” The thought was so vivid, so him, that YN nearly laughed aloud. She caught herself, her smile faltering for a moment before she refocused on Mark.

“So, what about you? Do you hike much?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious.

“Not really,” YN replied smoothly, pushing the thought of Terry aside. “But it sounds like you’ve had some incredible adventures.”

Mark beamed, and the conversation continued. YN did her best to stay present, to enjoy the evening for what it was. By the time dessert came around, she’d almost succeeded in compartmentalizing the storm that was Terry Richmond.

Almost.

The date ended as expected—with polite goodbyes and the suggestion that they should “do this again sometime.” Mark walked her to her car like a gentleman, and she thanked him for the lovely evening. As she slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door, YN let out a small sigh.

It hadn’t been a bad date—not by a long shot. Mark was sweet, thoughtful, and seemed genuinely interested in her. But he wasn’t...well, she refused to finish that thought.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she started the engine, the soft purr of the car filling the quiet night. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. The lipstick was still perfectly intact, the curls still falling in place. By all accounts, the night had been a success. So why did it feel like something was missing?

Across town, Terry sat in his truck, parked a few blocks from YN’s apartment. His phone screen glowed faintly in the darkness as he scanned the messages she hadn’t yet responded to. His jaw tightened. The thought of her out with someone else wasn’t one he could swallow easily, no matter how cool and composed he pretended to be.

Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed the small black bag he’d brought with him. It contained exactly what he needed—what he’d planned for. With practiced ease, Terry slid out of the truck and moved through the shadows. The street was quiet, the kind of stillness that came late at night when most people were already home.

It didn’t take him long to reach her place. The familiarity of it was almost comforting. Almost. He worked quickly, his movements precise and deliberate, the product of years spent learning how to move unseen, unheard. Within moments, he was inside.

The scent of her perfume—light, floral, undeniably her—lingered in the air. Terry inhaled deeply, a dark smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He made his way to the living room, his boots barely making a sound against the hardwood floors.

There, on the coffee table, was the bottle of whiskey she kept for him. He chuckled softly, pouring himself a glass and settling into the armchair in the corner of the room. The dim light from the streetlamp outside cast long shadows across the walls, and Terry sat there, waiting.

She’d be home soon. And when she walked through that door, she’d find out exactly what happened when you tried to leave Terry Richmond behind.

The hum of her car engine faded into the quiet night as YN pulled into her driveway, the evening’s events still replaying in her mind. The date had been pleasant enough—a nice dinner, polite conversation, and a genuine, if not thrilling, connection. But as she turned off the ignition, an inexplicable sense of unease settled over her, clawing its way into her chest. It had been faint earlier, an odd niggling in the back of her mind, but now it was undeniable. Something was off.

Stepping out of the car, she adjusted her coat and approached her front door, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. As her hand reached for the keys in her bag, she froze. The door wasn’t locked. Her pulse quickened, and she stood there for a moment, staring at the slightly ajar entrance.

No. She distinctly remembered locking it before leaving. Didn’t she?

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, her mind racing. Maybe she had been distracted and forgotten in her rush to leave. But no matter how she tried to rationalise it, the unease only deepened. The air around her felt heavy, charged, as though the house itself was holding its breath.

Pushing the door open, she stepped inside cautiously, her senses on high alert. The room was unnervingly quiet, and yet something wasn’t right. There was an energy in the space that hadn’t been there before, a presence she couldn’t see but could feel. She paused in the doorway, her hand still gripping the doorknob as her eyes scanned the dimly lit room.

Then it hit her—the faintest trace of cologne lingering in the air, mingling with the rich, unmistakable scent of whiskey. Her stomach dropped. It couldn’t be. Could it?

Her voice cut through the silence, firm but edged with trepidation. "Terry?"

No answer. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she took a tentative step further into the house. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing like a drum in her ears. "Terrance Richmond," she called again, louder this time, her tone sharper, more demanding. "If this is some kind of joke, I swear—"

Her words faltered as her eyes adjusted to the low light, finally spotting the shadowed figure seated in the corner of the room. The amber glow of a table lamp barely illuminated his silhouette, but she didn’t need to see his face to know. She would recognise his posture anywhere, relaxed yet commanding, his arm draped over the back of her chair as though he owned the place. The glass in his hand caught the light as he raised it to his lips, the sound of ice clinking faintly breaking the silence.

"Terry," she breathed, her voice a mix of anger and disbelief.

He set the glass down with deliberate slowness, leaning forward just enough for the light to catch his features—a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mix of amusement and something darker. "Welcome home, Princess."

“You’re home late,” he said, his voice smooth and low.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through her veins. “How did you even get in?”

He raised the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before answering. “You’re not the only one with a key, Princess.”

“I never gave you—”

“You didn’t have to,” he interrupted, setting the glass down with deliberate precision. “I’m a resourceful man.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, fury and confusion warring inside her. “You can’t just break into my house, Terry. That’s insane.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving hers. “What’s insane is you thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

“Notice what?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“You,” he said simply, his tone unnervingly even. “Trying to replace me. With him.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating and thick. YN stared at him, her mind racing to process what was happening. This wasn’t Terry—at least, not the Terry she thought she knew. The possessiveness in his voice, the casual way he’d invaded her space, it all screamed of something darker, something she wasn’t sure she could handle.

“This isn’t about you,” she said, forcing her voice to steady. “I have a life outside of you, Terry. You don’t get to control that.”

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. “I’m not here to control you, YN. Just to remind you who you belong to.”

Terry’s words lingered in the air, heavy with promise and warning, as he took a slow step closer. The air crackled between them, electric, suffocating and sinister. YN felt her pulse thunder in her ears, the thrum of anticipation coursing through her veins like wildfire. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run, to retreat, to reclaim control of the situation, but her feet refused to move. It wasn’t fear that kept her rooted in place—it was him. The commanding weight of his presence, the way his eyes bore into her with a heat that made her knees tremble.

“Terry,” she began, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to steady it, “I—”

He cut her off with a single step, closing the distance between them until the barest whisper of air separated their bodies. His scent—whiskey, spice, and the faintest trace of cedar—enveloped her senses, dizzying and disarming.

“Don’t,” he growled, tilting his head slightly as if daring her to finish that sentence. “Don’t give me excuses. Don’t feed me lies about him or pretend he’s what you want.” His hand came up, fingers brushing against her jaw, and she flinched—not from fear, but from the raw, undeniable pull between them. “You and I both know that man doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”

Her lips parted, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but he moved faster. His hand slid to the back of her neck, gripping just firm enough to make her gasp. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice a rough rasp against her ear. “Say you thought about me tonight.”

YN’s breath hitched. She wanted to deny it, to tell him he was delusional, but the truth burned hotter in her chest than any denial ever could. She had thought about him. His presence lingered in the back of her mind all night, the ghost of his touch, the memory of his voice. It had tainted every polite smile, every harmless laugh, every fleeting touch from a man who wasn’t him.

“I hate you,” she whispered instead, the words trembling with a mixture of fury and something far more dangerous.

Terry’s mouth twisted into a wolfish grin. “Hate me all you want, Princess,” he drawled, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. “But don’t forget who makes you feel alive.”

Before she could respond, his lips crashed against hers, rough and unyielding. It wasn’t a kiss born of tenderness; it was hunger and frustration, a collision of wills that neither of them intended to lose. YN’s hands pushed against his chest, but it only seemed to fuel him further. He growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing her bottom lip before his tongue swept inside, claiming her in a way that made her knees buckle.

Her defiance melted into something impure, needier. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer even as she cursed herself for it. Terry’s hand slid down her back, gripping her waist and yanking her against him with a force that made her gasp into his mouth.

“You’re a piece of work,” she hissed when they finally broke apart, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

“And you love every second of it,” he shot back, his voice dripping with arrogance. His hands didn’t stop moving, sliding under the hem of her top to find bare skin. The heat of his touch burned against her, sending shivers cascading down her spine.

“Terry…” Her voice faltered as his fingers dipped lower, tracing the curve of her hip. She hated how easily he unravelled her, how her body betrayed her with every shiver, every hitch of her breath.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips finding the curve of her neck. He bit down lightly, just enough to make her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. “I told you, I’m not here to control you. But you’re going to remember exactly who you belong to by the time I’m done.”

With one swift motion, he lifted her onto the counter, his hands gripping her thighs with bruising force. YN barely had time to protest before his mouth was on hers again, devouring her in a kiss that left no room for argument. His hands pushed her dress higher, exposing more of her skin to the cool air and his insatiable touch.

She moaned into his mouth as his fingers slid between her thighs, finding her already soaked through. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her lips. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “All night, you were mine. Even when you were with him.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of anger and arousal.

“Make me,” he challenged, his voice dripping with smug defiance.

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down into another kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration and longing into it. But Terry wasn’t content to let her take control for long. His hand slid further up, his fingers pressing against her with a skill that had her crying out despite herself.

“Say it,” he demanded again, his breath hot against her ear as his fingers worked her relentlessly. “Say you’re mine.”

“Terry,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as the tension in her body built to an unbearable crescendo.

“Say it,” he growled, his voice taking on an edge that sent a shiver of both fear and excitement racing through her.

“I—I’m yours,” she choked out, the admission torn from her lips as her body betrayed her completely.

He grinned wickedly, his fingers pushing her over the edge with ruthless precision. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple as she shattered in his arms, her cries echoing through the room.

And he wasn’t done yet.

Terry’s grip on YN’s hips tightened, the pads of his fingers digging into her flesh as he hovered above her. His eyes burned into hers, dark and unrelenting, as if trying to burn every unspoken word into her very soul. He leaned down, his mouth a breath away from hers, his lips brushing against hers as he murmured, “You only ever say my name tonight. Nothing else. No one else.”

Before she could respond, his lips descended on hers with bruising intensity. The kiss was all-consuming, a searing mix of dominance and desperation, his tongue delving into her mouth as though he could taste every word she hadn’t yet spoken. When he pulled back, his gaze swept over her swollen lips, and he smirked like a predator.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he muttered, his voice rough, laced with dark amusement. “Always trying to act tough. Always pretending like you don’t need me. But I’ll fix that.”

Without another word, he moved lower, kissing his way down her neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone and between her breasts. His teeth scraped lightly against her skin, eliciting a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. He paused for a moment, watching her with an almost sadistic level of patience, as if daring her to tell him to stop.

She didn’t. She couldn’t.

His hands roamed lower, pushing her thighs apart with an ease that made her stomach twist with equal parts annoyance and anticipation. She was already dripping wet, the evidence of her arousal glistening in the low light. Terry groaned at the sight, a deep, primal sound that sent a jolt of electricity through her body.

“Look at you,” he said, almost to himself, as he trailed his fingers along her folds. “So fucking perfect. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Before she could muster any sort of response, he lowered his head between her thighs, his tongue swiping a deliberate, teasing stripe through her slickness. Her back arched involuntarily, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. Terry chuckled against her, the vibrations making her toes curl.

“That’s it,” he murmured, before diving in with a newfound ferocity. His tongue worked her clit in relentless circles, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks that had her gripping the sheets for dear life. He didn’t stop there, though. Two of his fingers slipped inside her, curling upward in a way that made her see stars.

“Oh, fuck—Terry,” she choked out, her voice raw with desperation.

He hummed in approval, his name falling from her lips like a melody he wanted to hear on repeat. Her thighs began to tremble, the pressure building so quickly it almost scared her. She tried to pull away, overwhelmed by the intensity, but his hands clamped down on her hips, anchoring her in place.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, his lips never leaving her clit. “You’re not running from this. You’re taking everything I give you.”

The overstimulation had her head spinning, tears welling up in her eyes as her orgasm tore through her. She screamed his name, her body shaking uncontrollably as she soaked his fingers, his mouth, everything. Terry groaned in satisfaction, lapping up every drop like a man possessed.

When her body finally went limp, he sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes gleamed with something feral as he watched her struggle to catch her breath.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “See? You don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

Before she could recover, he was on her again, positioning himself between her legs. He leaned down, spitting directly into her mouth, his gaze daring her to defy him. She swallowed without hesitation, her body responding to his dominance in ways she couldn’t control.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, lining himself up at her entrance. He pushed into her slowly, making her feel every inch of him, until he was buried to the hilt. He stayed there for a moment, letting her adjust, his eyes locked on hers.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and possessive. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. His thrusts were deep and deliberate, each one designed to remind her of exactly who she belonged to. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by her cries and his grunts.

Her mind was a haze of pleasure and pain, the lines between the two blurring as he pushed her closer to the edge once more. When her responses began to falter, her head lolling to the side, he delivered a sharp slap to her cheek—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap her back into focus.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the fog. “I want to see you come undone for me.”

She obeyed, her gaze locking onto his as her second orgasm ripped through her, even more intense than the first.

The final wave of his dominance surged as Terry pressed her deeper into the mattress, his thrusts growing slow but deliberate, each one hitting with a force that left her breathless. Her legs trembled uncontrollably around his waist, every overstimulated nerve in her body aflame, her cries breaking into fragmented whimpers.

His breathing grew heavier, ragged, the telltale signs of his release building. Still, he didn’t rush—he wanted her to feel it all. Every inch of his claim. His hand tightened around her throat as his lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice dropping to a rough, guttural growl that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I’m going to cum deep inside you," he rasped, his words slow and deliberate, carrying the weight of his intent. "And you’re not going to let a single drop out. You need to feel me, baby—every part of me."

Her head flung back, her lips parted in a silent gasp, unable to do anything but nod as her body clung to him, every sensation amplified. She didn’t even have time to prepare as he thrust into her one final time, his release hitting her like a brand, searing and unrelenting.

The warmth of him filled her, explored her body like it belonged there, and Terry didn’t move—he stayed there, buried to the hilt, ensuring she took every ounce of him. His hand slid from her throat to her jaw, tilting her head up to meet his intense gaze. The raw satisfaction in his eyes mirrored the shattering chaos within her.

"Mine," he murmured, the word almost reverent, though it carried the weight of a command.

They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together in the aftermath, their breaths mingling as they came down from the high. Terry brushed a stray curl from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite everything that had just transpired.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said softly, almost tenderly, though the possessiveness in his tone was unmistakable. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

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

[jiminomenon]

model! karina taking care of sick assistant! reader

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 1.6k words

summary: after days of absence, jimin assumes her new assistant, y/n, has quit like all the others—much to her frustration. determined to confront her, jimin shows up at y/n’s apartment unannounced, only to find her bedridden with a high fever. as jimin begrudgingly takes care of her, the two begin to understand each other in ways neither expected, softening the edges of their fiery relationship.

from my series: the devil wears prada

jimin’s day had already been a disaster.

the designer she was supposed to meet canceled at the last minute, her favorite coffee shop got her order wrong, and to top it all off, y/n—her brand-new assistant—hadn’t shown up to work for the past three days.

sitting in her pristine, sunlit penthouse, jimin scrolled furiously through her phone, her jaw tight with irritation. no texts, no calls, no excuses. just radio silence.

“unbelievable,” she muttered, tossing her phone onto the coffee table and crossing her arms. she’d hired y/n on a whim, thinking the sharp-tongued assistant could handle her demands better than the revolving door of incompetents before her. it wasn’t just the job that made people quit—it was her.

she was aware of her reputation: bratty, spoiled, the daughter of some chaebol family who never worked a day in her life until she got bored enough to pursue modeling. but jimin had fought hard to prove she wasn’t just her parents’ money. she worked long hours, pushed herself through grueling shoots, and demanded perfection from everyone around her. if that made her a little harsh, so be it.

still, y/n wasn’t supposed to quit. not like this.

“she said she wasn’t like the others,” jimin mumbled, kicking off her heels and pacing the room. “she looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘i’m not scared of you.’ so what happened? couldn’t even last a week?” she threw her hands up, annoyed at how much this was bothering her.

her other assistants barely lasted a month, but at least they had the courtesy to formally resign. y/n’s silence felt like a betrayal. she’d let herself believe, for once, that she’d found someone who wouldn’t crumble under her demands.

after another ten minutes of stewing in her frustration, jimin grabbed her keys. “fine. if she won’t come to work, i’ll bring work to her.”

jimin found herself standing outside a run-down apartment building that was nothing like the high-rise luxury she was used to. she wrinkled her nose as she climbed the stairs, the paint chipping off the walls and the faint smell of something fried wafting through the halls.

when she reached y/n’s door, she knocked sharply, her patience already worn thin. when no one answered, she knocked again, louder this time.

“y/n, open up!” she called, her voice echoing through the hallway.

finally, the door creaked open, and jimin froze.

y/n stood there, leaning heavily against the frame, her face pale and damp with sweat. her usually sharp, confident demeanor was gone, replaced by someone who looked weak and exhausted. she was wrapped in a blanket, her hair disheveled, and her eyes struggled to focus.

“ms. yu?” y/n croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

jimin blinked, her irritation melting into confusion. “what… what’s wrong with you?”

“i’m sorry,” y/n murmured, clutching the doorframe to steady herself. “i didn’t mean to disappear. i’ve been really sick, and my phone—” she trailed off, coughing weakly into her hand.

“you’re sick?” jimin repeated, her voice softer now.

y/n nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “i wanted to let you know, but… i couldn’t even get out of bed. my phone’s dead, and i—” she broke off, her legs wobbling beneath her.

jimin stepped forward instinctively, steadying her. “hey, hey, sit down before you pass out.”

she guided y/n back into the apartment, closing the door behind her. the space was small but cozy, filled with warm tones and personal touches—books stacked on the coffee table, a knitted throw draped over the couch, and photos pinned to a corkboard on the wall. it was a far cry from jimin’s sleek, minimalist penthouse, but it felt… lived-in.

y/n collapsed onto the couch, her blanket still wrapped tightly around her. jimin crossed her arms, looking down at her. “why didn’t you call someone? a doctor? a friend?”

“didn’t want to bother anyone,” y/n mumbled, her eyes fluttering closed.

jimin let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “you’re ridiculous. so ridiculous. do you know how worried I was? i thought you quit! i thought you were just like everyone else!”

y/n opened one eye, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her condition. “you were worried about me?”

“don’t make this weird,” jimin snapped, though her tone lacked its usual bite. “stay here. i’m getting medicine.”

“you don’t have to—”

“shut up and rest.”

when jimin returned an hour later, her arms were full of shopping bags. she’d gone all out—cold medicine, fever patches, soup, electrolyte drinks, even a plush blanket she’d seen at the store and decided y/n needed.

she moved around the apartment like she owned the place, heating up the soup and pouring a glass of water. y/n watched her from the couch, her face a mix of gratitude and amusement.

“you’re really bad at being mean, you know that?” y/n said weakly.

jimin shot her a glare, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “don’t get used to this. i’m only doing this because i need you healthy and back at work. you’re the first assistant i’ve had who doesn’t cry when i yell at them.”

“aww, you care,” y/n teased, her voice hoarse.

“eat your soup before i pour it on your head,” jimin grumbled, though the corner of her lips twitched upward.

as y/n ate, jimin sat beside her, scrolling through her phone but occasionally glancing over to make sure she was drinking enough water or taking her medicine. the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater and the occasional sound of y/n’s spoon clinking against the bowl.

“thank you,” y/n said softly after a while, her eyes heavy with sleep.

jimin waved her off, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her neck. “just get better, okay? i don’t have time to look for another assistant.”

y/n smiled faintly as she drifted off, her breathing evening out. jimin stayed where she was, watching her for a moment before leaning back against the couch with a sigh.

the silence in the apartment was comforting. jimin sat at the small dining table, absently scrolling through her phone as y/n finally drifted off into a feverish sleep. the earlier chaos—the confrontation, the unexpected discovery that y/n wasn’t the flake jimin had assumed—still echoed in her head.

her thoughts wandered back to their first meeting. jimin had sized y/n up within seconds, assuming she wouldn’t last more than a week. sure, she looked determined enough, but determination didn’t mean much when you were thrown into the chaos of jimin’s world. still, something about the way y/n had spoken—timid at first but sharper as the day progressed—had intrigued her.

and that first confrontation. jimin chuckled softly to herself, remembering the way y/n had stood her ground, staring her down while everyone else cowered. it had been the first time in a long time that someone dared to challenge her, and it had left an impression she wasn’t willing to admit out loud.

she glanced over at y/n now, curled up in her blanket, her features softened in sleep. it was strange, seeing her like this—vulnerable, quiet. the fire that usually lit up her eyes was dimmed by exhaustion, but it hadn’t gone out entirely.

“you’re ridiculous,” jimin muttered under her breath, more to herself than to y/n.

after a moment of hesitation, she stood and began moving around the apartment again, tidying up where she could. she wasn’t used to this—helping someone else. sure, she had assistants, stylists, and an entire team dedicated to making her life easier, but she’d never actually cared about the well-being of any of them.

maybe it was because y/n didn’t treat her like some untouchable star. she called jimin out on her nonsense, pushed back when she went too far, and didn’t seem to care about her status or her wealth. jimin wasn’t used to that.

she paused by the couch, watching as y/n shifted slightly in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. without thinking, jimin reached down and adjusted the blanket, making sure it covered her properly.

“you better get better soon,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’m not doing all this for nothing.”

when morning came, y/n woke to the smell of something warm and delicious. her eyes fluttered open, and she saw jimin standing in the tiny kitchenette, stirring something on the stove.

“are you…making breakfast?” y/n croaked, her voice hoarse.

jimin glanced over her shoulder, her expression as sharp as ever. “what else would it be? i’m not exactly a gourmet chef, but even i can handle instant soup.”

y/n tried to sit up, but jimin was at her side in an instant, gently pushing her back down. “don’t even think about it. you’re staying in bed until you’re better.”

“ms. yu, you don’t have to—”

“shut up,” jimin interrupted, her tone light but firm. “i already told you, i need you back at work. the sooner you recover, the sooner you can start making my life easier again.”

y/n managed a small smile, her heart warming despite her exhaustion. “thanks, ms. yu. really.”

“don’t thank me,” jimin said, setting a bowl of soup on the table beside her. “just don’t make me regret hiring you, okay?”

y/n chuckled weakly. “no promises.”

as jimin settled back into the chair, her arms crossed and her usual haughty demeanor firmly in place, y/n realized something. the train ride to seoul had been the start of a dream, but it wasn’t the city or the job that made it feel real. it was this—finding her place, finding someone like jimin, who made her want to push back, fight harder, and stand her ground.

[scoupsakakitty]

A/N: Since it’s my Birthday today, I thought I’d surprise you guys with something small I wrote for you. I hope you like it! 🌹

A Rose for Every Regret | idol!S.coups x Reader | fluff

It had been a long day at work. Y/N stepped out of the elevator and dragged herself down the hallway, the weight of her bag feeling heavier than usual. Her birthday wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She had hoped for something… better. But birthdays didn’t seem special anymore, especially after the breakup with Seungcheol, or as everyone else knew him, S.Coups.

He was always too busy, too distracted, too caught up in his own world to notice the little things that mattered to her. So, when they ended things six months ago, she swore she wouldn’t let herself get pulled back into that kind of hurt.

Unlocking her apartment door, Y/N paused. Something felt… different.

She stepped inside, immediately greeted by a sight she couldn’t have expected in a thousand years. Roses. Dozens of roses in vases, arranged perfectly on every available surface in her small living room. The air was thick with their sweet, floral scent.

Her eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest.

“What the…” she whispered, dropping her bag to the floor.

There was no note, no explanation. But there didn’t need to be. She knew exactly who had done this.

Reaching for her phone, she typed a quick message, her fingers shaking slightly:

Y/N:

Cheol, what the hell? We’re not even together anymore. And how did you even get into my apartment?

It didn’t take long for his reply to come through.

S.Coups:

You never changed your door code.

Her jaw dropped.

Y/N:

Are you serious? That doesn’t give you the right to break in and do… whatever this is!

S.Coups:

I wanted to make your birthday special.

She stared at the message, feeling a complicated mix of emotions anger, confusion, and a small flicker of something she didn’t want to name.

Rolling her eyes, she tossed her phone onto the couch and tried to focus on cleaning up. But every time she looked at the roses, her chest tightened.————————————————————————————-Hours passed, and the sun dipped below the horizon. She had just settled down with a glass of wine, trying to ignore the flowers staring at her from every corner of the room, when the sound of her door opening made her freeze.

Her head snapped toward the entrance.

“Cheol?!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp.

He stepped inside casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He was dressed in his practice clothes sweatpants, a hoodie, and a baseball cap pulled low over his messy hair. In his hands were several gift bags and a small cake box.

“What are you doing here?!” she demanded, standing up so quickly she nearly knocked over her wine glass.

He smiled sheepishly. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

Her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat at the sight of him. He looked tired, but his eyes held that same warmth she’d fallen in love with years ago.

She folded her arms, trying to steady herself. “You can’t just walk into my apartment like this! Seriously, Cheol, what’s wrong with you?”

He set the bags and cake down on the coffee table and straightened up. “I couldn’t stay away. Not today.”

She let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “Oh, really? You had no problem staying away last year when we were still together. Remember? You were ‘too busy’ to even call me on my birthday.”

His expression faltered, guilt flashing across his face. “I know I messed up, Y/N. I’ve messed up a lot. That’s why I’m here. I needed to see you, to say I’m sorry.”

Her arms stayed crossed, her gaze hard. “And you thought breaking into my apartment was the best way to do that?”

“I didn’t break in,” he argued lightly, scratching the back of his neck. “You really should change your code, though.”

“Cheol!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! But I just… I needed to see you.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Why now? Why today?”

“Because I couldn’t let another birthday go by without making it right,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ve been such an idiot, Y/N. I know that. I was so caught up in work, in everything else, that I forgot what was most important. You.”

She looked away, his words hitting her harder than she wanted to admit. “Cheol, we’ve been over this. It’s too late. We’re not together anymore.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “And it’s my fault. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Every day, every night, I miss you. I miss us.”

Her heart ached, but she kept her face neutral. “That’s not fair, Cheol. You don’t get to just walk back in and say this now.”

“I know it’s not fair,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “But I’m begging you, Y/N. Give me one more chance. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I’ll show you every day how much you mean to me.”

She met his gaze, her defenses crumbling just a little. “You didn’t even have time for me before. Why should I believe you now?”

“I’ll make time,” he promised, stepping even closer. “I’ll prove it to you. Starting now.”

He reached into one of the gift bags and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box. “This is for you.”

Reluctantly, she took the box and opened it. Inside was a delicate bracelet with a tiny rose charm, simple but beautiful.

“It’s not much,” he said, watching her reaction. “But I wanted you to have something that reminded you of how much I love you.”

Her breath caught. “Cheol…”

“I know I hurt you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “And I know it’ll take time to fix things. But please, let me try. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Tears welled up in her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back. She hated how much she still loved him, how much she wanted to believe him.

“You really hurt me, Cheol,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“I know,” he said, stepping closer and gently taking her hand. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

For a long moment, she just looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt or insincerity. But all she saw was love raw, desperate, and unshakable.

Finally, she sighed, a small, watery smile breaking through. “You’re such a pain, you know that?”

His face lit up with hope. “Is that a yes?��

She rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. “It’s a maybe.”

He grinned, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’ll take it.”

As his arms wrapped around her, she felt a warmth she hadn’t felt in months. Maybe he really had changed. Maybe this time, things would be different.

————————————————————————————-

And as they sat together, sharing cake and laughter, surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight and the scent of roses, she realized that she was ready to try again.

After all, love was worth the risk. And with Cheol, it felt like coming home.

[miirohs]

all yours, all mine [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader wc: 1.3k cw: again, slight yandere/possesive tendencies, allusion to abuse an: guys i am feeling uninspired lately,,,, needed to pull everything in me for this one. sigh. its 2 in the morning what am i doing with my life i need to sleep not be up to this bs GODDDDDDD strike me down.

Charles knew you weren’t truly his wife.

He himself had shot his bride to be, too loud and too lecherous to realize how she’d met her end, bragging about killing him for his money in his club.

He thought that’d be the last of it, that their family wouldn’t be brave enough to show face again.

Yet, they became audacious, sending him a woman, a woman who was nothing like the bride he had seen. 

Hell, you didn’t even look the same as the other.

There was no way their family didn’t know by now that he was the one who killed their only daughter, yet he could only imagine this was their attempt at faking normalcy because he’d never seen his bride before, right?

He laughed, in all honesty. 

He could’ve played along, see what would’ve happened, and have been done with you by dinner if he wanted to. But part of him wanted you to show your true colors, to be able to kill the venomous woman hiding behind the veil.

That day never came though.

He was too baffled by the sight of you clinging to their sides, eyes down as you could barely keep up in the shoes slightly too big to be yours.

He pretended not to notice. 

At dinner he questioned you, much to your visible discomfort. He could see the glances you gave the other members of your supposed family, meekly responding back as they glared sharply at your head, only smiling when they noticed his stares. It didn’t take long for him to connect two and two.

It was there and then he’d made the awfully irrational decision to go forward with the marriage. He wanted to pull you out of your shell, see who you really were under the supposed mask you had on in front of everyone.

Your marriage was a grand affair, bosses from all around the globe visiting just to see the ceremony. He had refused to give in to their demands for a smaller wedding, going all out just for you.

And true to his word, he treated you with more respect than he’d ever cared to show anyone else. For him, hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks as he tried to pull you out of your shell.

It was a while before he got the first laugh out of you. He felt like he’d won everything when you gave him small smiles. He did everything to get them out of you. Showering you in lavish gifts, surprising you with expensive dates, it made him feel like he was finally doing something right. 

Seeing your full smile was what truly made it worth it, easing the pain of your time with your former family, if he could even call them that. 

He’d made sure to cut all contact with them, and he knew you were contacting them against his wishes, so he took it into his own hands to make sure they couldn’t bother you for a single cent again. He plotted behind your back and as sorry as he felt for lying to you, he paid for his guilt in consuming you with his neediness, wrapping you tightly from your waking moments almost as if you’d disappear forever if you left his field of vision.

You didn’t question it, but you couldn’t lie and say it didn’t startle you a bit.

He hummed as you gently ran your fingers through his hair, pit forming in your stomach as you heard him mutter in Italian on the phone, pen scratching against the paper of his notepad.

You heard the bare sentences of his conversation, too fast for you to understand, but you thought you had a good idea of what he was planning.

“Dovremo metterli a tacere (We'll have to silence them)-”

A couple heartbeats passed as he listened, your heart clenching almost painfully as you held the cuff of his suit jacket between your thumb and index finger. Maybe he had figured it out, maybe he was already plotting ways to dispose of you for tricking him in such a grievous manner. You hadn’t heard from the family in weeks, and it made you anxious.

“Non sono d'accordo? Bene, uccideteli (they won’t agree? fine, kill them).”

For a moment there, you didn’t see your husband, but the Devil of Monte Carlo.

He didn’t say anything, and you couldn’t bring yourself to, letting your hand slip away from his crown.

“Y/n? What happened?” He frowned, hand rubbing against the small of your back.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, words lying on the tip of your tongue as he cocked his head at you.

“It’s nothing.” You moved your hands away from his neck, balling into little fists in your lap.

“It’s not nothing,” He pressed, staring you down firmly despite the gentle tone of his voice. He knew you, almost too well.

“I… i don’t know how to tell you. You’re going to hate me if I do.” Your voice warbled out as he kissed you on the neck, too light and breezy to mean anything serious.

“Try me. You’d be surprised at how well I take things, and I'm not unreasonable.” Another kiss, leading up the column of your neck as you squealed at the feeling of his warm lips on cooled skin.

“Well, uh, i-” He bit down lightly, earning a soft smack from you in the back of the head, “-Char, what are you doing?”

“Trying to cheer you up.” He said, kissing on the spot he’d bit with an incomparable amount of gentleness.

“I just have something to tell you and i-”

“Is it important in any way that actively harms our lives?” He butt in, giving you a curious look.

“No, but-”

“Then I don't care.” He shrugged, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth. You didn’t even know you could’ve gotten that loud, when you finally spit it out.

“I’m not your real wife, Char. I never was.”

He didn’t say anything, humming against the crown of your head as his hand snuck up your back and held you closer to him.

“Char, please.”

“I knew that, this isn’t new news.”

You held on, mouth gaping slightly.

“You… you knew this whole time, and you-”

“I deliberately didn’t tell you.” He scoffed, pulling your chin down to look at him. “I knew you’d run back to that so-called family that I did if I had told you. You barely trusted me, and it was their fault. So that’s why I'm going to make sure all of them take a nice long vacation.”

You couldn’t really feel the abject horror anymore, melting into sheer relief as you finally looked at him once more.

There was something about the way he looked at you, tantalizing and hypnotized almost.

‘But, aren’t you mad about me…?”

“Oh I was, I was furious.”

His lips ghosted over yours, the hint of a smile somewhere there.

“But they ended up giving me something all the more precious, something I couldn't replace. You know what that is, mon amour?”

You didn’t even have to say it, as he kissed you, lips smooth against your slightly chapped ones. The expensive perfume grew stronger, closer and closer to you as the space between you closed.

“I’ve done some unspeakable things.” He panted quietly against your lips, landing another soft kiss on the other corner. “But nothing as unspeakable as killing your so-called “family” this late in the game. Some part of me wishes i had done it earlier to spare you that grief.”

You didn’t respond but he continued nonetheless, hands wrapped around your waist to bring you closer to him .”Remember that you're mine and I'm all yours. I would do anything for you.”

And the worst part is, somewhere deep down, you knew it to be true. He was always yours, and you were always his. He'd made sure of it, and you weren't entirely complaining.

[1lovewony]

Escape the Spotlight (Hanni of Newjeans)

Hanni x Male Reader (Y/N) Word Count: 1841 words Summary: Y/N fucks Hanni after her birthday, oh also this is canon so sum issues about them rn.

The soft hum of the city filtered through the dorm’s open window, carried by the cool evening breeze. Hanni had left it cracked just enough for the noise to feel distant, like a reminder of the world outside, one she was eager to escape from tonight. She leaned against the desk in her small, cozy dorm, her phone loosely grasped in her hand as she reread the last message she sent.

“Hey, come over. I need a distraction.”

Simple, direct, and maybe a little too forward, but she was tired of holding back. Her birthday was supposed to be a time to celebrate, but all it had been was a whirlwind of interviews, scheduled social media posts, and the pressures that came with being under the spotlight as an idol. For once, she wanted to forget about the cameras and scripts and just be herself.

The only person who could assist her in doing that was Y/N.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, but the minutes dragged as she waited. Her heart pounded in her chest, anticipation creeping up her spine. It wasn’t often that she invited someone into her private space like this, but Y/N was different. There was something about him that made her feel... safe. She didn’t need to put up her walls or play a part when he was around.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. His message was brief:

“On my way. Be there soon.”

Hanni exhaled, a little smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She pushed herself away from the desk, pacing a bit to calm her nerves. She had no idea what tonight would lead to, but she knew she wanted it to be far from the reality she lived in every day. No cameras, no judgment, just her and Y/N.

As she moved around the room, she glanced at herself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. Her reflection showed a different side of her—Hanni Pham, the idol, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she was just Hanni, in a simple oversized hoodie and comfortable shorts, her dark hair tied up messily. She was free from the usual layers of makeup and the high-maintenance outfits, and for once, she liked it. It was the real her. She wished more people would see, but they didn’t.

She rubbed her arms absentmindedly, feeling the familiar anxiety settle in. Being an idol wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The expectations, the scrutiny, the never-ending demand to be perfect—it was exhausting. And as much as she loved her fans, sometimes she just needed a break.

Tonight, she hoped Y/N would be that break.

The knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. She moved quickly, her pulse quickening. Pulling the door open, she was met with the sight of Y/N standing there, looking a bit out of breath but with that familiar smile that always made her feel at ease.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice warm and slightly teasing. “Didn’t keep you waiting too long, did I? ”

Hanni shook her head, stepping aside to let him in. “No, you’re just in time.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, there was an awkward pause as they stood there. The tension between them was subtle but palpable. They’d known each other for a while, but tonight felt different. Something was hanging in the air, something unspoken, and neither of them seemed ready to address it—at least not yet.

Y/N took in the room, noticing the faint scent of lavender that lingered, the warm glow of the dim light she’d set up, and the slight mess that hinted at her life outside of the polished image people saw on stage. It was intimate and personal.

“You look... comfortable,” he remarked, his eyes tracing over her figure, not in a way that made her self-conscious but in a way that made her feel seen. Really seen.

She smiled, playing with the hem of her hoodie. “It’s my birthday. I wanted to be comfortable.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you decided to spend it... with me? ”

She shrugged, her voice softening. “I didn’t want to spend it alone.”

That admission hung in the air, and Y/N seemed to understand. Without saying a word, he stepped closer, his presence immediately grounding her. He wasn’t there to judge or to expect anything from her. He was just... there. And that was what she needed most.

They moved to sit on the floor, leaning against the foot of her bed. The conversation flowed easily at first—catching up, joking around, talking about things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But as the minutes passed, Hanni found herself opening up more, telling him about the things she didn’t usually share with others.

“It’s been hard,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “The whole idol thing... it’s not as glamorous as people think.”

Y/N listened intently, his gaze never leaving her face. He nodded, not interrupting, just letting her speak.

“I just... I want to be myself, you know? ”She laughed bitterly. “But sometimes, I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

There was a silence, heavy but not uncomfortable. Y/N reached out, gently taking her hand in his. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a warmth through her that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“You’re Hanni,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “That’s enough.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. It was such a simple statement, but it meant everything to her at that moment. She looked at him, her eyes searching his face, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel the need to put on a mask. She could just be... her.

Without thinking, she leaned forward, her lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. It was soft, almost hesitant, as if she were testing the waters. But when Y/N kissed her back, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, something inside her clicked.

This was what she’d been missing. This connection, this intimacy. The world outside didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was him and the way he made her feel like she was enough, just as she was.

The kiss deepened, growing more urgent as the tension between them finally broke. Hanni’s hands slid up his chest, pulling him closer as their breaths mingled, the room around them fading into the background. All of her worries, her stress, her insecurities—they melted away in his embrace.

As they pulled apart, breathless, Hanni rested her forehead against his, her fingers still tangled in his shirt. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. “For being here.”

Y/N smiled, his hand resting on her waist, grounding her. “Always." Y/N removes his shirt with a quick motion, leaving Hanni with a desired look. Hanni instantly kisses Y/N with more passion, as if she were dehydrated for lust. Both of them moan as their mouths explore each other. After an intense makeover, Hanni grabbed her shorts and tossed them to the side. Y/N then put his hands over her thighs; Hanni’s already wet from the sloppy kisses they had. Y/N rubbed his hands on her pants, making circles on Hanni’s clitoral area. Instinctively Hanni moans under his mouth. “Ugh, yes, make me cum Y/N.Hannah is reaching her limit; she holds on with the kiss and moans louder and louder with every hand movement of Y/N. “I am going to cum, Y/N, I am going to cu... ughh.” She reached her orgasm, slowly fading to Y/N's body as she loses her energy. They looked at each other with a smile. “I want you on me, Y/N.” Without wasting any time, Y/N removed his pants, greeting Hanni with a bulge in his boxers. Hanni’s face was flustered by the view. She was smiling and grinning. “Wow.” leaves from her mouth. Instantly she moves onto his boxers and removes slowly while looking at Y/N eyes. Y/N cock flew from his boxer and hit Hanni’s face. Both laughed, but then Hanni swallowed the rod in her face. “Oh Hanni.”

She bobbed her head up and down, swallowing inch by inch of Y/N cock. She is making slurping sounds, moaning while taking what’s her. She continued the blowjob, occasionally changing the pace. “I am getting close.” When she hears this, she increases the pace like she's racing a deadline. She speeds her bobbing, galloping every inch of Y/N cock, and after a minute Y/N shoots his hot semen in her mouth. She swallows all of his cum, even licking the ones that overflow from her mouth. Hanni then stands over Y/N, removing her hoodie, showing her cute boobs to him, and playing with her nipples—that’s already hard.

Hanni slowly lowers her body to Y/N, aligning her opening to him. She kept eye contact with him, having conversations with their eyes and being playful with it. His cock entered the heavens when Hanni finally let him come in, breaking the silence with a moan from both of them. She adjusted as the tip was entering. It is not their first time, yet she's still tight as ever. Y/N groaned from the feeling of his cock entering Hanni’s pussy. As she lowered her body more, it also adjusted with Y/N's size; after all,  7 inches isn’t that easy to penetrate.

Hanni gives up and lowers her entire body to him, leaving her to lose control of her body and slams to Y/N, but luckily he catches her and at the same time kisses her on the lips, creating another makeup session. She slowly moves her hips and starts her ride. “Oh, god, your cock feels so good on me,” she blurts from her mouth.

Just like the blowjob, she also increases her pace slowly. She truly wants to make it all the time and to experience another world far from her idol image. They parted lips as the pace started getting faster. Hanni then let Y/N do more of the work; he's now the one driving the pace as he fucks her hard, leaving Hanni with moans and pleasure.

“Fuck!! ,” she screamed as she  coughed. Y/N followed with his seed shooting inside her. ‘Oh sh*t, I cummed inside fuck my bad,” he said to her.

Oh yes, cum inside me. I am on pills, you dumbo.” With her approving of him to cum inside of her. Y/N carried Hanni and changed into a dogstyle position and kept fucking her.

This goes throughout the night; time passes, lives change, and a new world is ahead.

Hanni kisses Y/N, “Thanks for coming; I had fun.” “Me, too. I am always here when you need me. Goodnight.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thanks for reading!!

A/N: Hanni smut?, Hanni smut, Hanni smut!, HANNI SMUT!??!!!

[little-jana]

"Innocent Accident"

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!reader

Genre: heated, smutty, 18+, no explicit s*x

Warnings: kissing, touching

Words: 2.2k

Summary: After accidently sending an after fitness selfie to Hotch, month worth of tension breaks.

It all started with one stupid mistake. One accidental slip that I would never live down.

I’d been lounging on my couch after work, still in my yoga leggings and sports bra, scrolling through my phone while waiting for dinner to heat up. My best friend and I had been texting back and forth, and she’d demanded proof that I hadn’t completely abandoned my fitness goals over the holidays.

Reluctantly, I snapped a quick mirror selfie. It was harmless enough—just me standing in the warm light of my apartment, flushed from the workout but still looking decent. I attached it to the text, added a sarcastic caption, and hit send.

Except… I didn’t send it to my best friend.

I sent it to Aaron Hotchner.

My stomach dropped as soon as I realized what I’d done. My finger hovered over the screen as if I could magically pull the message back through sheer force of will. But it was too late.

Aaron Hotchner, my boss, the stoic leader of the BAU, the man who had perfected the art of the unreadable expression, now had a picture of me in workout gear on his phone.

My phone buzzed almost immediately, and my stomach twisted into knots as I opened the message.

Hotch: “I think this may have been sent in error.”

I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or throw my phone into a fire. Instead, I typed back quickly, my fingers trembling: “Oh my god. Hotch, I’m so sorry. That wasn’t meant for you.”

Three dots appeared as he typed, and I held my breath.

Hotch: “No need to apologize. Accidents happen.”

That was it. Short, professional, and completely devoid of emotion. Exactly what I should have expected from him. And yet, something about the message left me uneasy.

The next day at work was unbearable.

Hotch was calm and composed as always, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that his eyes lingered on me a little longer than usual. Every time he walked into the room, my pulse quickened, and I felt like I was walking on a tightrope.

I avoided him as much as possible, diving into my work with single-minded focus. But by midday, I knew I couldn’t keep it up.

“Y/N,” his deep voice called from across the bullpen. “Can I see you in my office for a moment?”

My heart leapt into my throat as I nodded, forcing myself to look calm even though my nerves were screaming.

When I stepped into his office, he closed the door behind me, and I suddenly felt very aware of how small the space was.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

I sat down, folding my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking.

“I just wanted to check in,” he began, his tone gentle. “You’ve seemed… distracted today.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I’m fine. Really.”

He studied me for a moment, his dark eyes piercing. “Are you sure?”

The weight of his attention was almost too much to bear. My cheeks flushed, and I looked away, fumbling for a response. “I guess I’ve just been… embarrassed about the text,” I admitted finally.

“Y/N,” he said softly, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed. It was an innocent mistake.”

His voice was calm, reassuring, but there was something else in his expression—something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“I appreciate that,” I said quietly, still avoiding his eyes. “But it’s hard not to feel… self-conscious.”

There was a pause, and then he spoke, his voice lower now, almost a murmur. “For what it’s worth, you looked… strong. Confident.”

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. Of all the things he could have said, I hadn’t expected that.

His gaze didn’t waver, and I felt a flush creep up my neck as the silence stretched between us.

“Thank you,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said, his tone softening further. “You’re intelligent, capable, and… you’re harder on yourself than you deserve.”

The air between us seemed to shift, growing heavier with each passing moment. I couldn’t look away from him now, my pulse racing as his words sank in.

“Aaron…” I said softly, not even realizing I’d used his first name until it was out of my mouth.

Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. He leaned back slightly, as if trying to put distance between us, but his eyes never left mine.

“You should get back to work,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

I nodded, standing on shaky legs. “Right. Of course.”

As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me.

“Y/N.”

I turned back, my hand still on the door handle.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his expression unreadable now, “you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Over the next few days, the tension between us became impossible to ignore.

Hotch kept his professional demeanor, but I couldn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on me when he thought I wasn’t looking, or how his voice softened just a fraction when he spoke to me. It was subtle, but it was there.

For my part, I was a mess. My thoughts were a jumble every time he entered the room, my pulse racing as I replayed his words over and over in my mind.

By the third day, the tension had reached its breaking point.

It was late. Most of the team had already left, and the bullpen was eerily quiet. I’d stayed behind to finish up some lingering paperwork, hoping the monotony would distract me from the mess of emotions swirling inside me.

But then, as if the universe had decided to toy with me, Hotch appeared. His presence was unmistakable—the sound of his polished shoes on the tile floor, the way the air seemed to shift when he was near.

“Still here?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual, though his eyes told a different story.

I nodded, looking up at him. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on me. Finally, he gestured toward his office. “Can I see you for a moment?”

My heart thudded in my chest as I followed him, my nerves thrumming with an anticipation I couldn’t quite name. He closed the door behind us, the quiet click of the lock making the room feel even smaller.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. But his voice—it wasn’t his usual, measured tone. It was deeper, rougher, laced with something I couldn’t ignore.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he said suddenly, his words cutting through the silence.

I blinked, startled. “Doing what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between us. “Pretending there’s nothing here. Pretending I don’t feel this… pull every time I’m near you.”

My breath caught in my throat, his words leaving me speechless.

“I’ve tried to ignore it,” he continued, his voice softening but no less intense. “For weeks. Months. But it’s only gotten worse.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my ears. “Aaron…”

The sound of his name on my lips seemed to break something in him. In two strides, he closed the distance between us, his hands cupping my face as his lips crashed against mine.

It wasn’t tentative or hesitant—it was hungry, desperate, like he’d been holding back for far too long. My hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his shirt as he pressed me back against the door, his body warm and solid against mine.

The kiss deepened, and I could feel the tension that had been building between us for days—weeks—finally snapping. His hands moved down, gripping my waist as he pulled me closer, his touch firm and possessive.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing heavily, our foreheads resting against each other as we tried to catch our breath.

“This is reckless,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “But I can’t seem to care.”

I smiled, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Then don’t.”

His lips found mine again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands slid up to tangle in my hair, tilting my head back as he deepened the kiss, his control slipping further with every passing second.

“Aaron,” I whispered, the sound of his name sending a shiver through him.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes searching mine. “Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his voice almost pleading. “If this isn’t what you want—”

“It is,” I interrupted, my voice firm despite the breathlessness. “It is.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. He kissed me again, and this time there was no hesitation, no restraint. His hands moved to my hips, lifting me effortlessly onto his desk as he stepped between my legs, his body pressing against mine in a way that left no room for doubt.

The next few minutes were a blur of heat and urgency, of whispered names and stolen breaths. I’d never seen him like this—so undone, so raw—and it only made me want him more.

When we finally pulled apart, our lips swollen and our breathing ragged, he rested his forehead against mine, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“This changes everything,” he murmured, echoing his earlier words.

“Good,” I whispered back, my fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. “Because I don’t want to go back to pretending.”

He kissed me again, softer this time but no less fervent, his hands cradling my face like I was something precious. And in that moment, I knew—this wasn’t just a breaking point. It was a beginning.

[world-of-aus]

Hot Shot

Pairing: NHL!Photographer!Reader x Hockey Player!Bucky

Warnings: Bucky being a heartthrob.

A/N: I've been reading one to many hockey romances and well here we are scratching an itch. I know I would like to eventually come out with a bigger story for these two but for now this is just the start a taste if you will. I'd like to leave this open to suggestion of what y'all would like to see or know about these two if anything.. Hope you enjoy the first taste.

You barely had a chance to unlock your screen to reply to her message before her caller ID

was taking up your screen, a recent photo of her and Steve that she had made as her contact picture pulling a smile onto your lips.

“Tasha.” you answer.

“Y/n, listen I know you were just planning on watching the game from the comfort of your living room but I mean talk about an upgrade! From a television screen to being at the actual game on the floor behind the safety of the glass getting some wicked shots, and no one captures action shots like you do - I promise I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” she tacks on her voice pleading.

You chuckle, you know had the circumstances been different she’d be one of the first ones at the arena, she hadn’t missed one of Steve’s games yet, not since you had been signed on. “Natasha relax, you know you don’t have to pull out the stops on me, I'll go - do you want me to send you the photos?”

The redhead turned blonde breathes a heavy sigh of relief, “oh god thank you! and if you don’t mind, but take your time, I’m sure a certain bruin's player is going to be demanding your attention after the game especially if they bag a win.” she teases seemingly mentioning the man in your DM’s.

Your cheeks warm, the unread notification from the player she speaks of appearing in your mind, “please Tasha,” you deflect, “it’s the game of the season he’ll have plenty of attention with all the puck bunnies sporting his name on their jersey throwing themselves at him for an inkling of his attention.” you murmur picking at an invisible speck of lint on your sweater as you stand from the couch, intent on getting your things packed to head out.

“And yet he only seems to want yours,” she sings, “you should totally wear the jersey I got you for your birthday.”

You roll your eyes smile pulling at your lips, “is your flight really delayed, do I have to text Steve?”

Your friend laughs, “unfortunately it is and hey thank you again for this, I owe you, love you, oh and send me a picture of Steve, one of you and Bucky too!”

You shake your head as your friend rushes out her farewell your screen now gone black as you look down at it “looks like pjs are out of the question for tonight” you murmur continuing on through your apartment to grab your things Bucky’s text still sitting in your messages unanswered.

He’d have his answer soon enough.

🏒🖤

The cool of the arena’s backstage floor seeps through your jeans, your tripod sitting off to the side, your camera nestled in your hands as you wait for the first few players of the bruins to make their arrival.

Your camera goes up; the first of the team to come through the backdoors is the Bruins coach Fury, he spots you smile on his face his hand coming up in a greeting as you get your first arrival shot of the day. Slowly players begin to trickle in, most of them spot you posing for you as they stride by, others walk by with a simple wave their heads already in the game.

Speaking of head in the game center Steve Rogers makes his way in, his suit pressed, duffle thrown over his shoulder as he owns the floor. “Looking good Rogers, say you wouldn’t have Natasha tucked away in that duffle by chance?” you tease grinning behind your camera. You laugh at the grin that breaks his lips, a shake of his head as he directs his gaze at you, “can assure you Natasha wouldn’t be packed in my bag, she’d be hanging on my arm.” You coo at the bearded blonde, “you think you can say that again I didn’t have my phone out.”

The two of you laugh as you capture a few more shots, “Come on Rogers leave some love for the rest of us, you already have your face glued on billboards!”

Left defenseman Sam Wilson is striding in next million dollar smile painted on his lips like the suit he wears on his skin. “But no one has their face printed on as many shirts like you do Wilson, now give me something new to look out for will ya, want to make sure these etsy sellers get only the best!” Wilson eats your words up, feeding the fans through your film. He comes closer kneeling to your level to pull you in for a hug, “it’s good to see you hot shot, thought you weren’t coming out tonight with how Barnes was moping.”

Your heart beats like a wild drum in your chest, “Tasha’s flight got delayed, cashed in her IOU, so here I am and surely your version of Barnes moping is different from mine.”

“Oh man you should of seen him, had to smack the phone out of his hands with how often he was checking it, you’re gonna join us tonight after the win right?”

“You Bruins are so sure about that win,” you laugh.

“That’s because it’s in the bag, hot shot.” It takes everything in you not to snap your eyes to the broad shoulder right defenseman sauntering into the building. “Here comes your boy.” Sam chuckles patting your shoulder as you find said man with your camera lens. You wanted to eat him up like he was eating at your film.

Like Sam Bucky strolls till he’s standing above you, grin pulling at his pink lips as he offers you his hand. You set your camera down gently against your chest before taking his offer, warmth seeping though you at your hand wrapped in his. “Thought you weren’t gonna show.” He murmurs watching you.

“Well as enticing as staying in my pjs on my couch with a glass of wine watching the game tonight sounded IOUs are a serious thing to cash in.” you say struggling to keep his gaze, you were certain you’d turn into a puddle of goo soon.

“More enticing then upgrading your lock screen?”

You let out a groan reaching out to smack his chest, but his hand captures yours instead keeping it there a teasing smile playing at his lips. “You’re never going to let that go are you?” you question recalling the night at the bar that he discovered himself as your lock screen. To be fair it was one of your favorite shots you had captured at the beginning of the seasons. It didn’t hurt that he was your favorite Bruin player to follow on and off the ice.

“Never, though I’m hoping by the end of the night ill see a photo of me after the win.” He chuckles thumb running over your hand.

“You’d have to secure a win first Barnes.”

Your breath catches in your chest as he closes the distance between the two of you, “I’ve already won though.”

Your reply is caught on your tongue, Fury voice breaking through the haze, “Barnes you’ll have time to catch up with y/n later get your ass in the lockers now!”

Bucky let’s your hand falling, chuckle brewing in his chest as he steps back, “hope you’re not watching Wilson or Rogers to closely tonight hotshot because this wins for you, and I’m going to be the one bringing it home.”

You watch him walk away, his gaze lingering on you till he disappears through the locker room.

And God how you hoped he would.

[darnell-la]

how about dark-stepdad!logan and human!female-reader? Like logan just marry her mom so that he can easily get all nasty and pervy with her daughter👀

note: our most active author's birthday was yesterday, so we’ve been pretty busy. we apologize for the gap in our posting but trust me, we have a lot of posts coming. stay tuned!

———

“It’s my big day today, sweet pee,” Logan walked into y/n’s room without knocking. “Hmm?” Y/n asked as she covered herself up and placed her phone to the side.

“I said, it’s my big day today,” Logan repeated himself as he closed and locked her room door. “Room’s coming along. You like it here, princess?” He asked as he made his way over to the young lady.

“Yeah, but I’ll be moving out soon into my dorm. Did you know that mom-“ y/n went to say before Logan cut her off. “About that, sweetheart. Been meaning to talk to you,”

Logan sat down on y/n’s bed, facing her as she covered herself. She was in her laced gown since she had just woken up. She wraps her robe around her whenever she needs to leave the room.

“I can’t lie, but I’ve been a little sad lately,” Logan said, hand rubbing her cover as she grew confused. “Why?” She asked, hoping the wedding he and her mom had just had yesterday, wasn’t a mistake.

“I feel like it’s shitty of your old man, but I’ve just been thinking about me and your mom. Not just since last night, but even before,” the man said, making y/n look down. She liked Mister Howlett and didn’t want him to leave like the rest.

“I’ve just been distracted. Been distracted for years with your mother, but I’ve yet to act on it,” he said. “What’s been distracting you? Maybe my mom or I could help you,” Logan chuckled low as she softly shook his head.

“Oh, you can help me, bub,” Logan’s hand slowly traveled up her thigh, through her covers. “Just had to secure everything before I made a move,” the man said as he tugged on her covers.

“I-I’m not dressed appropriately,” y/n said. “Hey, we’re all family here, right? I don’t think it’ll be a big deal if your stepdad sees his girl,” y/n’s hands loosened, thinking to herself that it should be fine.

“There ya go. Been thinkin’ about you all night, you know? As soon as that ring was placed on my finger, I knew I had you,”

Y/n was confused about what her stepfather was saying as his hand rubbed her bare thigh. “You’ve grown up, bub. Dressed all pretty and rich. You like daddy's money?” He asked her, catching her off guard because she’d never called him dad.

“Y-Yes,” she stuttered as his hand came up to her face, allowing a finger to rub down her lip. “Yes, what, princess?” He asked. “Y-Yes, daddy,” she said, knowing that was what he wanted to hear.

“Good girl,” Logan sat up and climbed under the covers, pulling her body to lay fully so how could hover over his stepdaughter.

“M-Mister Howlett, what are you doing?” Y/n asked, hands on her chest since she had no idea where to put them. She was confused and shocked by his words and touches.

“Ssh, ssh, now. Don’t wanna wake your mom,” Logan said as his finger hooked around her panties. “Mister Howlett! I-I can’t do that,” y/n took one hand to grab his wrist, but he stopped her by pinning it next to her head.

“Nah uh! You lay still,” the man demanded as he continued pulling her panties down her legs until they were off. “Pretty little panties. Always wanted to go underwater shopping with you,” the man said as he took them to his nose.

Logan sniffed hard, taking in every last drop she had let soak into the laces overnight.

“Sweet,” Logan spoke before placing them in his sweatpants pocket. “Mister Howlett, please. I-I can’t do this to my mother,” y/n said, eyes already glossy from the size over her. He was intimidating.

“It’s okay, princess. She won’t know. I promise she won’t,” Logan said as he reached into his sweats to pull out his cock. When he did, y/n felt her heart skin.

She’s had sex before. Multiple times, but Logan was huge, and her mother’s husband. He was her stepdad.

“It’s okay, don’t run,” Logan gripped y/n’s waist to pull her back into him. “Just relax, and it’ll go smoothly. Needa trains you for future days,” Logan said. He wanted to do this more often.

“N-No, Mister Howlett! I-I can’t do this,” y/n went to roll off of the bed, but the man wrapped a hand around her neck, choking slightly so she wouldn’t be able to get out of his hold.

“You’re gonna lay right here and take it. You’re too grown to be worried about your mommy,” Logan pouted at the end as he moved in between her legs. “Logan stop!” Y/n yelled at the man, which surprised him.

The man disconnected his hand from her neck and slapped it over her mouth, preventing any other stupid action from coming from her.

“Gonna have you punish you for that,” Logan harshly pushed at y/n’s entrance, fighting his way through her until her walls fully covered him.

The young lady cried in his hand, feeling an instant pressure grow in her stomach. His size was forcing an orgasm to rip from her system.

“Squeezing me so fucking tight, bub,” Logan said with a rough tone, snapping him instantly to feel her cunt coat his cock. She was a leaking mess.

“L-Logan!” Y/n tried clawing at the man’s chest, but that didn’t phase him. “Fuck, baby- You keep doin’ that, and ima get angry,”

Y/n continued as the pleasure built throughout her body. She couldn’t help the moans that escaped.

For a second, she thought about stopping and letting him take over her body. She felt too good to keep her act up, but she didn’t want to be too easy. She was embarrassed by how good her stepfather made her feel.

So y/n fought harder. Scratching the man aggressively and surprisingly pulling blood. “Fuuuuck!” The man groaned loudly as he gripped y/n’s mouth.

Y/n wanted to keep scratching and make the man stop, but she froze once she saw something she’d never seen before. The man’s wounds healed right in front of her face. It’s like she never scratched him.

“Didn’t want you to find out his way, baby,” Logan spoke after a long pause of silence. The man leaned down, getting closer to her face as he thrusted in her slowly.

“I’m one of those mutants from back then, but that shouldn’t be a problem. All that means is that I can take care of you. I’m the only one that can, sweetheart,”

Logan buried his face into the young girl's neck as she tilted her head back, allowing him to suck. “Gonna treat my little girl so good,” Logan mumbled as y/n slightly wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close to her body.

Y/n couldn’t think about her mother anymore. Not while Logan was all inches deep in her, twitching and ready to cum. She stayed his good girl for the morning and whenever else he needed her to be.

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Snowstorm Argument | LN4

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N and Lando go to a cabin to reconnect, but his constant phone use for work frustrates her. After a tense argument, Y/N feels ignored. After a heartfelt conversation, Lando promises to make her a priority, and they start to heal their relationship.

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ word count ━━━━━━━ 1.4k

The hum of the car engine was steady, almost hypnotic, as the tires crunched over the snowy road. Outside, the world looked like a winter postcard: endless stretches of trees blanketed in white, their branches drooping under the weight of fresh snow. The narrow road twisted through the forest, the dim light of the overcast sky casting long shadows that danced across the windshield.

Inside the car, the atmosphere was anything but serene.

Y/N sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed out the window. The seat heater hummed beneath her, but it did little to thaw the chill that had settled between her and Lando. She’d been looking forward to this trip for weeks, clinging to the hope that a weekend away in a remote cabin might offer the reconnection they desperately needed.

But the constant buzz of his phone had started the moment they left the city and hadn’t stopped since.

“Are you serious, Lando?” she finally muttered, her voice tight.

He glanced at her briefly, his phone in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. “What?” he asked, his tone more distracted than defensive.

“Your phone,” she said, gesturing toward the glowing screen. “You’ve been on it the entire drive.”

“It’s work,” he replied, as if that excused everything.

“It’s always work,” she snapped, unable to hide her frustration.

He sighed, his thumb still scrolling through an email. “You know how it is, Y/N. Things don’t just stop because I decide to take a weekend off. This is just... part of my life. You knew that when we got together.”

Her stomach twisted at his words. “I knew it would be demanding,” she said, her voice low but trembling. “But I didn’t think it would mean I’d have to compete with your phone every second of the day.”

“I’m not asking you to compete,” he said, his tone tinged with impatience.

“Then stop making me feel like I have to,” she shot back.

The sharpness in her voice caught him off guard, and for a moment, he glanced over at her, really looking at her. The tension in her posture, the way her jaw was set, the hurt flickering in her eyes. But instead of addressing it, he sighed again and turned his focus back to the road.

The cabin came into view as the snow began to fall harder, large flakes swirling in the wind and obscuring the outlines of the small, wooden structure nestled among the pines. Y/N felt a flicker of relief at the sight of it, hoping the warmth inside would somehow thaw the icy distance between them.

Lando parked the car and turned off the engine, finally setting his phone down in the cupholder. “We’re here,” he announced, his voice lighter, as if the tension from the drive could be erased with those two words.

Y/N didn’t reply. She grabbed her bag from the back seat and stepped out into the cold, the wind biting at her cheeks as she trudged toward the cabin door.

“Y/N?” Lando called after her, his confusion evident.

She ignored him, focusing instead on unlocking the door and stepping inside. The warmth of the cabin wrapped around her instantly, the faint smell of pine and woodsmoke filling the air. She dropped her bag near the door and turned to find him standing just inside, brushing snow off his jacket.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his brows furrowed.

“What’s going on?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. “Are you seriously asking me that, Lando?”

“Yeah, I am,” he replied, his frustration beginning to show. “You’ve been in a mood the whole drive, and now you’re storming off. What did I do?”

Her laugh was sharp and humorless. “What did you do? You spent the entire drive glued to your phone, barely even acknowledging that I was sitting next to you.”

“I was working,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“This was supposed to be about us,” she said, her voice trembling. “About getting away from everything. Reconnecting. But you couldn’t even make it two hours without checking your phone.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” he argued, throwing his hands up. “You don’t get it, Y/N. If I don’t stay on top of things, everything falls apart. It’s not like I enjoy being glued to my phone, but this is my life. It’s my job.”

“And what about me, Lando?” she shot back, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What about our life? Our relationship? Where do I fit into all of this?”

“You fit,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You do.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m always playing second to everything else?” she asked, her voice cracking. “To your career, your team, your fans... even your phone.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Her accusation struck a chord he wasn’t ready to confront, and for a moment, the only sound in the cabin was the howling wind outside.

“I thought you understood,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought I did too,” she replied, wiping away a tear. “But I’m starting to wonder if you do.”

The argument simmered into an uneasy silence. Y/N turned away, her chest tight as she busied herself unpacking groceries in the small kitchen. Each item she placed on the counter felt like a distraction, a futile attempt to hold herself together.

Lando stood by the fireplace, staring at the unlit logs as if they held the answers to everything. He ran a hand through his curls, his frustration and guilt warring inside him.

Outside, the snowstorm raged on, the wind battering against the windows and piling snow high against the cabin walls.

Hours later, Y/N sat on the couch, her knees tucked under a blanket as she stared into the fire. The flames danced and flickered, their warmth soothing her body but doing little to calm her mind. Lando sat in the armchair across from her, his phone abandoned on the kitchen counter.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

She looked at him, startled by the vulnerability in his tone. His elbows rested on his knees, his head bowed slightly as if he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” he continued, his voice low. “But I don’t know how to be what you need. I feel like I’m failing you.”

Her chest ached at the raw honesty in his words. She shifted on the couch, her voice soft when she finally spoke. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers, Lando. I just need to feel like I matter. Like we matter.”

“You do,” he said, lifting his head to look at her. His blue-green eyes were earnest, filled with a desperation she hadn’t seen before. “You matter more than anything. I just... I don’t always know how to show it.”

She hesitated, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. But all she saw was a man who was trying, even if he didn’t always get it right.

“I’m not asking for perfection,” she said finally. “I’m asking for effort. For presence. For you to show me that I’m not just an afterthought in your life.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening as he processed her words. “You’re not an afterthought. You’re... you’re everything, Y/N. And I know I don’t always act like it, but I’m going to do better. I swear.”

She studied him for a long moment, her heart aching with a mix of love and frustration. “I want to believe you, Lando. I really do. But it’s hard when—”

“I’ll prove it to you,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “Not just this weekend. Not just with words. I’ll show you that you come first. That we come first.”

The intensity in his gaze made her throat tighten. She wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that things could change.

“Okay,” she said softly, the word trembling on her lips.

He moved to sit beside her on the couch, his hand reaching for hers. When their fingers intertwined, the warmth of his touch sent a shiver through her.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “More than anything. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe that.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and for the first time all day, the tension in her chest began to ease.

“I love you too,” she whispered, leaning into him.

The fire crackled softly as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Outside, the snowstorm continued to rage, but inside the cabin, the warmth between them finally began to grow.

[stove-top96]

Water Colour Eyes

Chapter 01

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Featuring: platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne (no Jason in this chapter)

2.3k words

Im very new to tumblr and was recently inspired by @acid-ixx to try writing my own story, please go easy on me but any and all advice will be greatly appreciated. (Im still trying to figure out how this app works but I know the basics). The only knowledge I have of working in a restaurant is bistro huddy.

Rubbing your temples you could just feel the headache forming. It was going to be one of those shifts, the kind that drags on and on. Standing behind the hostess stand shuffling through the reservation book scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Flipping through the pages only pausing once you spot his name “Bruce Wayne”. That name became a fixture in the book, always booking at 6:30 and specifically requesting you as his server. Within the past 2 months he’s definitely become your regular, and although he is technically your only regular, he just has a certain quality that sets him apart from your co-workers regulars. Sure he’s a pleasure to have as a customer, always punctual, kind, and very generous with the tips. There’s just something you can’t quite place your finger on, he tends to get a little personal. He started calling you by your first name, and always asked you about your life. But you’ve always chalked it up to him being a ditzy guy who’s never been told no. Even if he carries himself with a certain air, alluding that he knows much more than he lets on. it seems like no one else questions it, so why should you? Regardless, his tips were good enough to let him call you by your name and ask you about your personal life.

La Vie Royale was always busy on Fridays. Swarming with creeps who always stared too long, and buzzing with heiresses who always had something to complain about. For being Gothams richest they almost never tipped well, and when they did it was some lonely wealthy old weirdo on a date with their sugar baby. Co-workers weren’t much help either, specifically the superiors always criticizing and critiquing never bothering to hide the contempt in their voices when speaking. The Kitchen was like another world, one you weren’t welcome in. The other servers stayed in their lane, and always kept to each other. That’s what it’s like for every newbie who somehow snatches Gothams richest billionaire for a regular. The only saving grace was the hostesses who, like you, were at the bottom of the La Vie Royale food chain.

Glancing at the clock reading 5:47, plenty of time to mentally prepare for dealing with Albertine while you serve the playboy billionaire. Albertine was possibly the worst manager for the night, she’d always get so on edge when she’d find out he was dining here for the evening. Glancing over and you can see her talking to one of the other servers, eyes locked on you. God, you could just feel that headache getting worse, and after a long day of classes you pray he’d be a no show for once. Wishful thinking though, the best you can hope for is getting through this shift without a lecture. Rather than contemplating how dreadful this shift will be at the hostess stand, you might as well look busy and get a head start on your side work.

Once the minute hand hit 30 like clock work, Bruce Wayne walked in. Smiling at the familiar face of the regular, this time he wasn’t alone. Three young men walked in right after. Raising an eyebrow, they were clearly in the same party. Why didn’t his assistant say he’d have guests when they booked him the reservation? Looking more closely at the boys it’s clear they also have that odd quality in common with Mr Wayne. One looked barely out of high school, and had been scrolling on his phone with a smirk on his face. The youngest, likely in middle school, had an aura that demanded a respect unfit for his age. The oldest, probably in his mid twenties, seemed to have a natural charm to him. You had always known Wayne had his fair share of children, he talked about them often although you could never put a name to a face.

“Wow Mr Wayne, you finally brought some guests with you today” you tease as you greet the group and check them in for their reservation. you hear a chuckle and glance up to see Bruce’s smile, it’s warm and reaches his eyes. “Well I figured it was about time I took my kids out with me”. Giving a polite nod and smiling as he introduces his kids. “I see, your table will ready in a few minutes, we didn’t expect you to bring any guests tonight” Mr Wayne huffs eyeing the oldest “I apologize it was a last minute change in plans, Dick was visiting and insisted on going out” The oldest Dick chimes in “you’ll still be able to fit us in right?” His voice is calm, like he knows the answer and just wants you to hear you talk. “ I’m sure we can, I’ll just have to go clear the table” eyes glued to the reservation book, moving some other reservations around to accommodate the new change. Something a restaurant as refined as La Vie Royale would never do, although Albertine and every other superior insisted that Mr Wayne be accommodated in any way possible. He brought good press, and according to a rumour amongst the staff he even considered buying it a while back. Giving the group a polite nod as you rush off, to clear the other tables. Missing the brief dejected look on the oldest boy's face.

Albertine noticing the Wayne family standing alone makes a beeline towards them. “Have you been helped yet?” She asks in a voice the family could only describe as sickly sweet. “Yes our server is just clearing the table” Tim’s voice monotone, not even bothering to glance up from his phone. Albertine pauses, eyes widening for a split second then back to the false smile “I see” she says as if contemplating something before walking away, sending a sharp glare in your direction as she does. The interaction not going unnoticed by the Wayne’s. “you will be at fault if they get reprimanded” Damian pipes up glaring at Tim. Staring down at the younger Wayne, “she’ll find something to get mad at tonight no matter what” he argues back, knoe he doesn’t have the best excuse. A small feeling of guilt starts to bubble in his chest. Tim realized his slip up too late. It's likely you’ll get yelled at for keeping such “prestigious guests waiting” once they’ve finished with their meal. Glancing at Dick’s and Bruce’s faces, it’s clear they’re planning ways to ease the consequences you’ll likely face later tonight. Tim glances back down to Damian only to find his glare still present.

“Thank you for your patience” your voice pulls them out of their trance, calming down the rising tension. It reminds them of why they came tonight, to see you. Oblivious to their true intentions you smile, grabbing the menus “follow me”. As you lead them to their table Bruce and Tim make note of how many others are sitting in your section for the night, some of them they recognize from galas others are unimportant. however your section is completely full. Finally reaching their table, it isn’t Bruce’s normal table much to his disdain; he doesn't have the vantage point to subtly watch over you. Although one thing he can see from his seat is that horrid woman glaring at you, waiting for the chance to take you away from them only just to scold you. After dropping off the menus and giving a rundown of the night's specials, you leave telling them you’ll be back in a few minutes for their orders. As you walk away Bruce notices your manager snapping with her hands and glaring at you with that permanent scowl on her face. She motions for you to follow her to the back.

After witnessing that interaction the boys are only left to imagine what she’s yelling at you about. Most of the family members are able to hide their contempt after seeing your manager's rude behaviour, the witch’s actions will likely dictate the mood for the rest of the night. Dick is the only one visibly upset, Blüdhaven has been so chaotic recently getting to see you tonight had been the only thing that kept him from falling apart. Now because that wicked witch of the waste is on some power trip, whatever lecture she’s giving you right now will weigh on you the whole night, leaving you to be even more reserved than you already are. How is he supposed to be a good brother to you if you don't let him in?,The rest of the family comes to a similar conclusion. It's clear that this job environment is an unhealthy one, they would rather you work somewhere else, or better yet not at all. The only reason they’ve allowed you to work here for so long is because it’s the most practical way to grow closer to you. Once they’re further along with the plan, you won’t ever have to step foot in this place again.

“Sorry about the wait” your voice soft, eyes not meeting theirs, face carrying a faint frustration. their prediction clearly came to fruition, much to the family’s displeasure. “What can I get y’all to drink” you smile, attempting to remain composed as you take their orders. A quality of yours the family admired, although they often wished you’d take your mask off and allow yourself to be vulnerable around them. But for now they’re your guests, not your family. Writing down their order smiling the same forced smile “perfect I’ll be right back with those” once again walking away. “Why can’t that women understand they’re not meant to handle that much pressure, it’s absurd how she expects them to perform optimally now” Damian voices his opinion, his expression unreadable to most but it’s evident to the family he’s unbelievably angry at just how much you let that women affect you. “Why can’t you just fire her, it would make our baby bird's life much easier” Dick who is also in aggrence, his protectiveness evident in his voice. Dick’s question goes unanswered. Truthfully even if some of the family tries to dénie it, the reason they kept all these horrible coworkers around you was selfish. They wanted to push you to your limits, before they swooped in to save you.

3 minutes is the standard time for a table to wait for drinks. However with the Waynes your managers instilled into the whole staff that they never wait for a table, 1 minute 50 seconds is their standard for drinks and 25 minutes for food. With Albertine breathing down your neck, having 4 other tables to attend too, and a pounding headache. there’s not much keeping you from breaking down. The only thing you want right now is your bed, but that won’t happen for at least another 4 hours depending on when you're cut. At least Roa clocks in at 7:00, which is in roughly 10 minutes. Finishing off the drinks with Bruce’s red wine, you push down your stress and prepare to head over. “Here you go” you place everyone’s respective drinks in front of them. “Is everyone ready to order” hand instivily reaching for your notebook, but remembering what Albertine told you in the back “if you want to look somewhat professional at least memorize their orders, no notepad” you stop yourself, and pray they don’t order anything too complicated. “I’ll have the 8oz steak, medium rare” Burce’s order wouldn’t be a problem, he always got the same thing. “Can I get the Coq au vin” the oldest boy orders, who you’re pretty sure is dick. Tim goes next “I’ll get the boeuf bourguignon”, he has a satisfied smirk, probably because he has the best pronunciation so far. “may I have the ratatouille” The youngest orders, clearly annoyed by his brother’s antics. “Perfect I’ll go ring those in”, mumbling their orders to yourself as you ring them in, thankful they didn’t ask for any accommodations or changes you should be able to remember them just fine.

“They won’t make a mistake will they?” Dick asks, stressed at the fact they didn’t grab their notebook. “They shouldn’t, although if you ordered what you originally wanted they definitely would have” Bruce’s answer’s straight to the point. Although there’s a subtle praise in his wording, appreciating how they eased your workload. “It’s despicable just how much they're overworking them here” Damian's scowl seems to be permanent as he watches you attend to other tables, he knows it’s your job but they’re the Waynes they should be the only table you attend to tonight. That good for nothing manager who cares far too much about their opinion can’t even get that one thing right. “You got that right, and with how the night’s going I bet they’ll only check on us two times, three if we’re lucky” Tim’s voice piss’s Damian off even more, even if it is in agreement. “You don’t actually mean that” Dick pipes in,his voice radiating a sense of distress. “Of course I do, look at them. barely keeping it together” Tim points out. It’s true the tension in your shoulders is evident and your mask is already slipping, the worst part there’s almost nothing they can do besides tip you. Although even that doesn’t feel like enough. The server’s here tip out not only to the hostesses and busboys but also to the back, additionally you all have to pool your tips and split them evenly amongst the staff. This fact does nothing but motivate the Waynes to get you out of here as soon as possible.

23 minutes tick by, as the Wayne family watches you talk to other customers, complete your side work, and narrowly avoid another scolding from that damn manager. It bothers them that Tim was right, accepting that tonight is just an evening of observing you rather than growing slightly closer. It's moments like these that makes Bruce wish his name wasn’t as influential as it is. Thankfully you approach them once again with their meals. Although, the stress on your face is more prominent than earlier, the smile is even more forced, with the way you carry yourself you’re clearly being pushed to the limits. “Here you all go” even your voice sounds so much more tired, compared to when you were greeting them. At least you got their order right, not that any of them would say anything if you didn’t. “Anything else I can grab you?” You ask, so considerate they really should be the ones taking care of you, but all in due time. “I believe we’ll be alright” Bruce replies, not wanting you to strain yourself even more.

Only approaching them once as they ate, only to ask them if everything was to their liking. They knew it was protocol to ask each table that question, but they still wished you’d approach them, and initiate a conversation about anything but the food. As they ate in silence it’s clear tonight they didn’t make as much progress as they’d like. Maybe Bruce should have kept these outings to himself for a little longer. Or perhaps they should go on a day Jacques is the manager, he tends to be somewhat more lenient. Whatever the case may be this evening has been bittersweet for the entire family, and they’ll plan accordingly for next week to make up for the lost progress. Because that’s what family does for each other, they go above and beyond.

Next

[neferaskingdom]

♡ It's Always Been You | CS55

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary : After a painful breakup, Y/N receives an unexpected drunk phone call from Carlos following the Mexican Grand Prix, igniting a whirlwind of emotions as he grapples with his feelings for her.

CARLOS SAINZ MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Y/N sat curled up on her couch, the lights of the Mexican Grand Prix flickering across the screen. The roar of engines echoed in her living room, mingling with her racing thoughts. It was torturous yet exhilarating—watching Carlos race was like watching her heart dance on a tightrope. She had tried to turn away from the screen, to distance herself from the man who once filled her life with laughter and love, but she couldn’t.

“Come on, Carlos!” she shouted at the TV, hands gripping the edges of the couch as she leaned forward. Every time he swerved past another competitor, adrenaline surged through her veins, both pride and heartache battling within her. She couldn’t help but cheer for him, her heart swelling at the sight of him in that red Ferrari. But just as quickly as that pride built, it crumbled at the sight of Rachel, his new girlfriend, who flashed her bright smile at the camera, waving like she belonged there beside him.

Y/N’s stomach twisted painfully. It felt like a punch to the gut. How could he have moved on so easily? It was as if the relationship they’d shared had never existed at all. The memories of laughter, stolen kisses, and lazy Sunday mornings flooded her mind, leaving her gasping for air.

“Why am I doing this to myself?” she muttered, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. It was like she was torturing herself, choosing to witness his success while knowing she was no longer a part of it. She had promised herself she wouldn’t watch, but the draw of his presence on the track was impossible to resist.

As the race progressed, her heart leaped when Carlos took the lead. “Yes! That’s my boy!” she exclaimed, but then the camera panned to Rachel again, who hugged him tightly after he crossed the finish line. Y/N’s heart shattered at that moment, watching him with her was like a physical blow. She let out a choked sob, pressing her hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t be watching this, why do I keep doing this to myself?” she whispered, the weight of her emotions crashing down on her.

The voices of the commentators faded into background noise, just as the memories of her life before had. It felt like ages since she’d found comfort in those moments, the excitement of races shared with Carlos, his laughter mingling with the roar of engines.

But that was a lifetime ago—before the breakup that had shattered everything.

Carlos had told her he needed to focus on his career, that the demands of racing were too much to handle alongside a relationship. They had fought that night, voices raised, tears shed, but in the end, he had made his choice. She remembered the way his eyes had looked, resolute yet filled with regret as he walked out the door, leaving her standing there, heartbroken and lost.

In the weeks that followed, Y/N had found herself spiraling. She tried to move on, to fill the void he left behind, but nothing seemed to work. The world around her felt muted, the colors faded. She buried herself in work, diving into projects that usually excited her, but her heart wasn’t in it. Every time her phone buzzed with updates from social media, she found herself torturing herself further by clicking on Carlos’s posts.

His face smiled back at her in photographs, celebrating podiums with his new girlfriend, Rachel, who looked radiant and perfect beside him. They were at glamorous events, her arm draped over his shoulder. Each picture was a reminder of what she had lost, of the love that had once seemed unbreakable.

Y/N spent hours scrolling, heart racing with jealousy and pain, every interaction between Carlos and Rachel a fresh wound. How could he move on so quickly? She felt betrayed and heartbroken, trapped in a cycle of longing and sorrow. She couldn’t understand how he could go from loving her to appearing so happy with someone else, and every time she saw him smiling, it felt like a slap in the face.

Sometimes, they’d cross paths at mutual friends' gatherings, and each awkward interaction was like walking on glass. Carlos would greet her with that same charming smile, and for a fleeting moment, it would feel like nothing had changed, only for the reality to crash back down when she saw Rachel’s hand on his arm, the easy affection they shared.

Y/N’s friends tried to cheer her up, encouraging her to go out and meet new people, but all she could think about was Carlos. She could still hear the echoes of his laughter, the way he would wrap his arms around her, pulling her close when the world felt overwhelming. She missed him deeply, but the hurt ran too deep to just reach out.

She went to bed after finishing an entire bottle of wine all by herself. She was curled up in her blanket trying not to cry again when her phone buzzed to life. The contact name lit up the screen: Carlos. Her heart raced—fear, excitement, and a flicker of hope all rolled into one. She hesitated for a moment, remembering the last time they had spoken, the hurt that had echoed in his voice, and the way he had chosen his career over them. But she couldn’t resist; she answered, her breath hitching as she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Y/N! Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s you!” His voice was loud and slurred, a mixture of laughter and something heavier beneath the surface. She could hear loud music blasting in the background.

“Carlos?” she asked, concern washing over her. “Are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little too much,” he chuckled, but it was clear he didn’t care. “I just won, you know! Like, first place! In Mexico! This is insane!”

She couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, but the happiness quickly faded as she remembered Rachel. “That’s great, Carlos. I’m happy for you.”

“Did you watch me? You should be here! I wanted to celebrate with you, mi amor!” He slurred the term of endearment making her heart ache.

“I… I saw it on TV,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “But you have Rachel to celebrate with.”

“Ugh, don’t even get me started on her!” he groaned, the sound punctuated by a loud cheer from the crowd around him. “She’s just a PR stunt. I don’t care about her, Y/N! You know that!”

The admission made her heart race, but doubt crept in. “Then why are you with her?”

“Because I thought I could move on,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower, laced with regret. “But every time I see her, all I think about is you. You’re the one I want to celebrate with, the only one I ever wanted.”

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully, caught between hope and heartache. “You broke up with me, Carlos. You said it was for your career, that you needed to focus on racing.”

“I thought I could do it, but I was wrong!” he insisted, the desperation rising in his tone. “You’re everything to me, Y/N! I miss you so much it hurts! I can’t get you out of my mind!”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she fought against the emotions threatening to spill over. “You can’t just call me and say all this after everything. You don’t get to tell me you miss me when you’re with someone else!”

“Please, just listen!” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m a mess without you. I thought this would help, but it’s only made it worse. I wish you were here, celebrating with me. You’re the only one who gets me!”

“Carlos…” she began, her heart racing at the implications of his words, but she struggled to find her voice. “You’re drunk, and I can’t trust what you’re saying right now. You need to be honest with yourself first.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” he exclaimed, a mix of anger and desperation spilling into his tone. “You think I want to share this moment with her? No! I want to share it with you! Every trophy, every victory, it all means nothing without you by my side!”

His words stirred something deep within her, a longing that felt like a wound reopening. “But you chose your career over me, Carlos! You said it was for your future, and now you’re telling me you want me back?”

“Because I thought I could handle it, but I can’t!” he confessed, voice breaking. “I want to fight for us! I never wanted to lose you. You were my everything, Y/N! I can’t live without you!”

A sob escaped her lips, her heart heavy with the weight of his confession. “You broke my heart, Carlos. I don’t know if I can survive you breaking it again. I love you, it's ruining my life!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” he cried, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought I could handle it, but I’m lost without you! You’re the only one I’ve ever loved, the only one I will ever love!”

The sincerity in his voice shattered her defenses, leaving her vulnerable and aching for the connection they once shared. “You have Rachel, though. You need to make a choice. I can’t be your second option.”

“She’s nothing compared to you!” he exclaimed, desperation lacing his words. “I promise, once this triple header is over, I’ll end things with her. I’ll make it right! I’ll come back for you, I swear!”

His words felt like a lifeline thrown into the storm of her heart, but uncertainty still loomed like a shadow. “What if this is just the alcohol talking? What if you wake up tomorrow and forget all this?”

“I won’t forget!” he insisted fiercely. “I want you to be the person I see first thing in the morning and last thing at night, I want to go back to cuddling on the couch with you and making you pancakes in the morning. I want to fight for you, for us! I can’t imagine my life without you, Y/N. You’re my heart, mi vida.”

The tenderness in his voice made her heart swell and ache at the same time. “You don’t know how much it hurts to hear you say that after everything,” she whispered, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I know it’s complicated, but please don’t give up on me,” he said softly. “I need you to hold on, just a little longer. I’ll come back for you, and I’ll make things right. You’re my home, Y/N, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.”

As the call ended, Y/N sat in the silence of her apartment, heart racing with conflicting emotions. The conversation had been a whirlwind of pain, and uncertainty, leaving her breathless. She didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other. She wrapped her arms around herself, imagining Carlos holding her close, the warmth of his embrace filling the empty spaces in her heart. As the night wore on, she clung to the possibility of being held in his arms again, even as the shadows of doubt lingered. In the depths of her heart, she knew one thing: she loved him fiercely, and despite the pain, she would wait for him to come back, hoping they could mend the pieces of their shattered love.

[svt-luna]

PLS PLS PLS WRITE THE DANCE PRACTICE AFTERMATH I AM IN MY KNEES BEGGING 🙇🏻‍♀️

ʚིᵋ ⋆ MY ALCOHOL DIARY 2.0 ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── the aftermath.

sound_of_coups: 이게뭐야? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ @/lunabae @/youngji_02 (Translation: What is this? hahahahahaha)

synopsis: The dance practice aftermath after Luna’s appearance at Lee Youngji’s My Alcohol Diary.

due to popular demand, here is My Alcohol Diary 2.0 — The Aftermath. i highly recommend reading that first before reading this one!! this will be a short one, short but comedic!! happy reading, my loves 🤍

╰ ౨ৎ my alcohol diary

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ more interviews

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

Luna was gonna regret this tomorrow, she already knew that.

She could barely keep still the second she was guided into the van by her managers after her interview with Youngji.

The seatbelt clicked, but her body vibrated with the kind of energy one would expect from a child hyped on too much sugar.

She felt unstoppable as if she could run the entire way back to the HYBE building without even breaking a sweat.

Luna’s legs jittered, her fingers drummed on her lap, and her head buzzed with warmth. She’d had so much fun with Youngji; the adrenaline from their conversation and the alcohol still surged through her.

She couldn’t stop giggling.

The van started to move, but her thoughts were already racing ahead to practice.

I’m late… I should call Hannie!

Reaching for her phone with slightly unsteady hands, Luna quickly found Jeonghan’s contact, hitting the call button.

He picked up almost instantly as if he had been waiting for her.

“Nana-ya,” came his familiar voice, soft and calm, a smile in his tone. He knew exactly what state she’d be in. “You called just like I told you to.”

“Han!” Luna exclaimed, a little too loudly. Her giddiness was undeniable. “We’re practicing, right? Have you guys started already? Oh no, am I late? Are you practicing hard? Are you having fun without me?”

She threw the questions at him rapid-fire, her voice high and playful, so far from her usual composed demeanor that it made Jeonghan chuckle softly.

“Yes, we’ve started,” he answered, his voice warm and patient. “You are a little late but that’s okay. We are practicing hard. And no, we’re not having fun without you. We’re waiting for you, actually.”

Luna pouted, even though he couldn’t see her, and her voice dropped to a childish whine. “I wanna see…”

Jeonghan, ever indulgent, didn’t even hesitate. “Alright, hold on.”

A few moments later, the familiar ding of FaceTime echoed through her phone, and Luna eagerly answered.

The screen filled with Jeonghan’s face, leaning back casually on one of the sofas in the practice room. His soft, doting smile was the first thing she noticed. Behind him, faint voices of the other members could be heard, but Jeonghan’s attention was solely on her.

“Hi,” he said softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her.

Luna giggled, giddy. “Hi.” She paused for a second, her eyes roaming his face on the screen. “You’re so handsome.”

Jeonghan’s lazy grin grew wider, his voice dropping into that soft, sing-song tone he reserved just for her. “And you’re cute. Are you on your way here?”

“Yeah,” Luna sighed happily, leaning back into her seat, her eyes glued to his face. “But, Hannie, guess what! I saw the cutest dog outside just now! It was so fluffy! I wanted to take it with me.”

Jeonghan chuckled again, the sound low and affectionate. “You always want to take dogs with you.”

“I do! I can’t help it.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I find another one, I might just bring it to the practice room.”

Jeonghan shook his head, his voice filled with fond amusement. “Maybe not today, hmm? Just come here in one piece.”

Luna giggled, her eyes lighting up when the van passed a billboard featuring SEVENTEEN. “Oh! Hannie! I see you! You’re on a billboard, looking all pretty and cool.”

He tilted his head playfully. “Am I? You know that’s just how I look when I’m thinking of you.”

She felt her face warm at the compliment, a shy blush creeping up her cheeks. “Stop it,” she muttered, but her grin was wide, her heart fluttering despite the alcohol fuzzing her mind.

Jeonghan, of course, didn’t stop. His voice stayed soft and teasing, a gentle hum in her ears. “Are you embarrassed? I can see your cheeks turning pink, Nana-ya.”

Her eyes flickered back to him on the screen, and despite herself, she laughed, covering her face with her hand. “I’m not! You’re just saying that to make me flustered.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he cooed, his gaze soft and admiring as he watched her. “You’re cute when you’re drunk, you know that?”

Luna bit her lip, feeling a rush of affection and giddiness. “You say that like I’m not cute when I’m sober,” she teased back, her smile softening into something more tender as their playful banter continued.

Jeonghan’s voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper, meant just for her. “You’re always cute.”

Blushing harder, Luna glanced away from the screen briefly, her heart doing somersaults. She didn’t even care that her managers were in the front seat, listening in— they were used to this kind of exchange between the two of them by now.

It was nothing new, just Jeonghan being his sweet, doting self.

“I’ll be there soon,” she said, trying to rein in her giggles. “Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

Jeonghan chuckled, his voice softening into a melodic hum. “I always miss you. See you soon, okay? Stay safe on your way.”

As Luna’s van continued to roll through the city, her heart was light, the buzz of alcohol making everything feel a little brighter, a little softer. And Jeonghan’s compliments in her head only made it all the sweeter.

Once they finally pulled up to the HYBE building, the reality of returning to practice in her current state made her giggle.

Luna wasn’t stumbling, not at all— she was far too energetic for that— but her managers still held her firmly, each with one hand clasped on her arms.

It wasn’t to support her; no, it was to contain the buzz of excitement that threatened to make her bolt through the building. She felt like she could run straight into the practice room, but she behaved, her steps quick but steady as her managers guided her toward the elevator.

She giggled again, shaking her head as if trying to clear the happy haze she was floating in. “I’m fine, really!” she insisted brightly to her managers, her voice echoing in the empty halls. But she kept walking, letting them hold on to her. She wouldn’t be reckless, not when she was so close to seeing her members again.

When they reached the elevator, her fingers danced across her phone, even though she wasn’t really texting anyone— just scrolling through the apps.

The metallic doors opened, and the three of them stepped inside, the managers still lightly gripping her arms as if any second she might try to run off. Luna rocked back on her heels, eyes sparkling as the familiar ding signaled their arrival on the practice floor. Her managers exchanged a glance as they led her out.

The second the doors opened, the hum of conversation from the practice room filled her ears. The sound of SEVENTEEN’s chatter was warm, and comforting, like stepping into a familiar, noisy home.

Luna’s grin widened, and she barely noticed when one of her managers softly called, “Delivery,” as they gently guided her into the room.

Inside, the members were scattered around the room. Some were seated on the ground, leaning against the sofa, while others stood in loose groups.

The moment they saw her, a ripple of recognition passed through the group. Her half-closed, droopy eyes, paired with the enormous smile on her face, were enough of a giveaway.

Luna didn’t even have to speak for them to know what had happened.

“Aigoo,” Seungkwan groaned with a chuckle, looking at her fondly. “She’s drunk.”

Hoshi, as always, was the first to react, popping up from his seat. He clapped enthusiastically, pointing at her with a dramatic gesture. “Good job! She’s back! Look at her! She’s so cute!”

Luna blinked slowly at the outpouring of attention, still smiling but now a little more bashful. She waved weakly, not moving from where her managers had let her go. “Hello,” she greeted them in perfect English, her accent bright and innocent.

The cheerfulness in her voice made them laugh, and a chorus of amused responses followed.

Mingyu and Dokyeom immediately joined in, chuckling as they cooed over her. “Aigoo, Lulu-ya, you’re so cute!” Mingyu teased, his tall figure looming over the others as he leaned in, his voice dripping with affection.

Dino, sitting cross-legged on the floor, clapped his hands together, grinning. “Noona did you have fun?” he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Joshua, Jun, Wonwoo, Woozi, Minghao, and Vernon stood in the background, their expressions neutral but clearly amused as they watched her. Joshua shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling up. Jun looked like he was holding back a laugh, while Woozi raised a brow, bemused.

Seungcheol, always the responsible leader, stood off to the side, watching the scene with a mixture of amusement and concern. His arms were crossed, his expression torn between being entertained and exasperated. “Should I be worried?” he asked no one in particular, his tone dry.

Jeonghan, however, hadn’t moved from his spot on the sofa. He was leaning back lazily, his eyes half-lidded with a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He watched with quiet satisfaction as Luna was brought closer, her wide smile and droopy eyes making him chuckle under his breath.

Hoshi leaned in, mock-solemn as he nodded towards Seungkwan. “I think she had a good time,” he remarked, his tone light as he clapped again, proud of his assessment as if he was having deja vu.

“Did you drink water?” Dokyeom asked, his brow furrowed with concern, even as he struggled to contain his laughter.

Luna blinked, looking around at all the familiar faces. The warmth of their voices, and the playful teasing, made her feel at home. “I did,” she nodded earnestly, though there was a slight wobble in her voice. Her hand shot out in a grand gesture toward the room, her eyes landing on each member one by one. “And you guys! You guys are all so… so… amazing!”

Jeonghan chuckled, the sound soft and low as he sat up a little straighter. “Nana-ya,” he called out to her, his voice smooth, the teasing lilt unmistakable. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down, huh?”

Luna blinked at him, her smile widening at the sight of him lounging back, looking completely at ease. “Okay!” she chirped, taking a few steps toward him before stopping to grin at everyone again.

The laughter and overlapping chatter followed her, the sound of a warm hug as they all tried to get her attention at once.

“Did you have fun?” Hoshi repeated, more insistently this time, beaming at her.

“Are you feeling okay?” Minghao asked, his voice quiet but laced with amusement.

“Sit down first,” Seungcheol finally interrupted, stepping forward to guide her towards the sofa.

Luna blinked up at him, her grin still bright, her energy bubbling over. “I’m okay, really,” she insisted again, though her steps were slightly wobbly as she finally reached the sofa, letting herself sink down next to Jeonghan.

“Hello!” she greeted once more, waving her hand in a little flourish before her head rested against the back of the sofa, a content sigh escaping her lips.

The members exchanged glances, their amused expressions softening into affection as they continued to watch her, the room filled with their overlapping voices of concern and playful teasing.

As the rest of the members began to disperse, some returning to their casual conversations, others stretching or preparing for practice, Luna and Jeonghan remained on the couch, enveloped in their own little world.

Jeonghan’s lazy smile softened as he looked at Luna, whose head had found a comfortable spot on his shoulder. She hummed softly, her voice muffled but content, as her fingers toyed with the hem of her top. Her cheek pressed against him, the warmth of his presence grounding her amidst the happy, drunken haze she floated in.

With a soft chuckle, Jeonghan reached up, his long fingers brushing away a few stray hairs that clung to her face. “You look like a mess,” he teased gently, his voice low and affectionate as he smoothed her hair down with slow, careful strokes. He tilted his head slightly, eyes tracing the soft lines of her face as he continued, “How much did you drink, huh?”

Luna giggled, her droopy eyes glancing up at him through half-closed lids. “I… don’t remember… not much… I think,” she mumbled, though her slurred words betrayed the truth. “I’m okay.”

Jeonghan smirked, clearly unconvinced, but his teasing remained light. “Right,” he replied, drawing out the word with playful skepticism. His fingers grazed the top of her head again, patting it softly as if to soothe her. “You’re definitely okay. Just the picture of sobriety.”

Luna pouted slightly but nuzzled her face closer into his shoulder, her body relaxing further against him. “I am,” she insisted, though the effort to sound serious only made her sound more adorable. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment before she added, “I missed you guys…”

Jeonghan’s smirk softened into something warmer, more tender. “We missed you too, Nana-ya,” he murmured, continuing to absentmindedly play with her hair. His voice dropped even lower, his tone filled with quiet affection as he leaned a little closer, “You should rest after this, though. Don’t push yourself too much okay?”

Before Luna could respond, Seungcheol’s firm voice cut through the conversation. He approached them, his expression still a mixture of concern and exasperation. “Jiyeon-ah, you should sit out for practice today,” he said, crossing his arms as he looked down at her.

At that, Luna lifted her head from Jeonghan’s shoulder, her eyes widening in dismay. She blinked up at Seungcheol with her heart in her eyes, lips forming a soft pout as she protested, “But I’m okay! I can practice…” Her voice had taken on a pleading tone, almost like a child trying to convince a parent to let her stay up past bedtime.

Jeonghan couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at her reaction. “Coups,” he drawled, tilting his head towards Seungcheol with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Come on, if she says she can do it, she can do it. She’s a pro.” His arm tightened around Luna, still gently playing with her hair as if to show solidarity.

Seungcheol shot Jeonghan an exasperated look, clearly unimpressed. “Don’t encourage her, Jeonghan,” he scolded lightly, his brows furrowing. But when he looked back at Luna, his expression softened despite himself.

Jeonghan’s smirk only grew wider as he leaned back against the sofa, his arm still around Luna. He nodded towards Seungcheol as if to say, Go ahead, try to argue with her. She’s not going to give up. Especially not drunk Luna…

Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at Luna, who was now looking at him with even bigger, more pleading eyes. “Luna,” he began gently, crouching down to her level. “You need to rest. You could hurt yourself if you try to practice like this.”

But Luna wasn’t ready to give up. She stood up— wobbly but determined— and made her way over to Seungcheol, wrapping her arms around his side as she pressed her cheek against his arm. Her brows furrowed, and her pout deepened as she looked up at him. “Do you not love me anymore?” she asked, her voice small and almost heartbroken.

That was the final straw for Jeonghan, who burst out laughing, throwing his head back as he watched the scene unfold. The room echoed with his amusement, drawing the attention of the other members again.

Seungcheol, for his part, softened immediately, his stern expression melting as he looked down at her. “Of course I love you,” he sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I love you too much, which is exactly why I don’t want you to practice right now.”

Before Luna could reply, a loud voice from across the room interrupted them. “Let her dance!” Hoshi called out, raising his hand like a student making a bold suggestion in class. His grin was wide and mischievous, clearly entertained by the whole situation.

Several of the members burst out laughing at the memory, knowing exactly what Hoshi was referring to— his own infamous post-Youngji interview dance practice a few months ago, where he, too, had returned drunk, overly enthusiastic, and hard-headed.

Seungcheol groaned, shooting Hoshi a look. “You, out of all people, should not be giving Jiyeonie advice right now,” he retorted, his tone sharp but laced with amusement. “That’s two out of fourteen of us who have shown up drunk to practice.”

The room broke into laughter again, some members shaking their heads while others clapped Hoshi on the back in solidarity.

Luna, however, remained focused on Seungcheol, her eyes wide and earnest as she tightened her hug around his side. “I’m fine,” she repeated with determination, her voice slightly muffled against his arm. “Youngji made sure I was okay… She said she was scared of Hannie and you… mostly you.”

Seungcheol raised a brow at that, glancing over at Jeonghan, who simply hummed in agreement, his arm still loosely draped around the back of the sofa. Luna’s words brought a fresh wave of laughter from the members, their overlapping voices filling the room as they teased and bantered amongst themselves.

Luna’s arms stayed looped around Seungcheol’s side, her face still nestled into his arm, as she continued to pout slightly, holding onto him as if he were her last lifeline. Her brow furrowed deeper when one of her managers quietly entered the room, holding out a set of loose clothes— perfect for practice as opposed to the outfit Luna had worn for her interview with Youngji.

“Luna,” her manager called softly, trying not to interrupt the moment too abruptly. “Let’s get you changed into these. You’ll be more comfortable for practice.”

Luna blinked up, her eyes flickering between Seungcheol and the clothes her manager held. Her pout deepened, and she dramatically sighed, tightening her grip on Seungcheol. “What’s the point in changing?” she mumbled, half under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Cheollie doesn’t love me anymore, and he won’t even let me practice…”

The room erupted into laughter, the sound bouncing off the studio walls as the members chuckled at her exaggerated dramatics.

Jeonghan’s eyes were trained on her, his amusement clear in the soft, lazy smile playing on his lips. He didn’t say anything, but the way his gaze lingered on her, watching her every move, showed just how entertained he was.

Seungcheol threw his head back in disbelief, exasperation, and fondness battling in his expression as he let out a long sigh. “I—” he began, but his words were cut off by more laughter from the others, clearly finding Luna’s antics too endearing and hilarious to stop.

Her manager, who had clearly dealt with Luna’s stubbornness before, just smiled gently and approached her again. “You still need to change, Luna, regardless of what Seungcheol says,” they insisted softly but firmly, holding out the clothes to her.

Luna tilted her head up at Seungcheol again, mustering every ounce of puppy-dog eyes she could, her lips parting in a hopeful pout as if this was her final attempt at breaking his resolve.

Seungcheol, sensing the trap, quickly averted his eyes, refusing to look at her, clearly trying to maintain his stance. But the soft, playful sigh that escaped Luna’s lips made him falter.

“He really doesn’t love me anymore,” she said loudly to herself, her voice full of exaggerated melancholy as she turned her head away, her hold on him loosening slightly.

Her words were followed by a pointed silence from the room, only broken by Jeonghan’s quiet, low laughter from where he sat, watching in pure amusement.

Seungcheol groaned, shoulders sagging in defeat. He glanced down at her, finally giving in, the resistance in his expression melting away. “Alright, alright,” he caved, his voice softer now, filled with the affection he couldn’t hide. “You can practice… but if you start feeling tired or sick, you stop immediately. No arguing, okay?”

Luna’s eyes lit up instantly, a gleeful squeal escaping her lips. “Thank you, Cheollie!” she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she hugged him even tighter, burying her face into his chest. In one swift motion, she leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his cheek before letting go, practically bouncing on her feet with renewed energy.

Seungcheol chuckled, rubbing his cheek where she’d kissed him, a slightly flustered look crossing his features. He didn’t have much time to react before Luna dashed off toward her manager to grab the practice clothes.

“Be careful!” Seungcheol’s voice echoed in the room.

“Stop running!” Jeonghan called out right after, his voice lilting with amusement as both men watched her disappear toward the bathroom to change.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Jeonghan turned toward Seungcheol, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other in his usual laid-back posture, eyes gleaming mischievously. “Folded,” was all he said, the single word dripping with teasing satisfaction as if he was proud of his girlfriend for getting her way.

Seungcheol sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose before turning to glare half-heartedly at Jeonghan. With a playful scowl, he grabbed his cap and tossed it lightly at him. “Shut up,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed the fact that he wasn’t really upset.

Jeonghan chuckled lazily, catching the cap mid-air with ease before placing it back on his lap. “You know I’m right,” he said, still smirking as he leaned further back, clearly enjoying himself.

Seungcheol just shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him as he resigned himself to the fact that when it came to Luna— especially drunk Luna— no one could resist her.

Luna emerged from the bathroom, her usual polished interview look swapped for something far more relaxed: a loose red basketball jersey paired with white joggers that bunched slightly at her ankles. Her hair, now loosely behind her bounced as she made her way back into the practice room, looking noticeably more comfortable.

The slight sway in her steps hinted that the alcohol was still very much in her system, but her eyes were sharp with determination, ready to dive into practice.

The music started, filling the room with the bass-heavy beat of their latest choreography. Immediately, Luna fell into formation, her movements precise, sharp, and perfectly timed with the rest of the group. Her body moved effortlessly through the routine, hitting each step with an intensity and focus that surprised even the members watching her.

It was as if she wasn’t even drunk, her dance sharp and fluid, almost second nature to her.

“Wow,” Joshua muttered under his breath, glancing at Jeonghan who was leaning casually against the mirrored wall. “She’s still killing it.”

Jeonghan smirked, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her. “That’s Jiyeonie for you,” he said, pride evident in his voice. Despite her condition, she was a professional through and through.

Typically, Luna was one of the quieter members of the group during practice or in general. She would keep her head down, laser-focused on perfecting her moves.

She only spoke when necessary, giving or receiving feedback, and often took her breaks in silence, either hydrating or resting beside Jeonghan on the sidelines. Together, they would sit in a comfortable quiet, the kind of wordless communication they’d developed over years of being together.

But today was different.

Though Luna still moved with that same focus during the routine, the clear sign that she wasn’t completely sober became apparent during their breaks.

Instead of quietly retreating to Jeonghan’s side, she would giggle every now and then— small bursts of laughter that felt like sunshine breaking through clouds, surprising the others as much as it endeared them.

During the small moments when the music stopped, she became clingy, her usual quiet demeanor replaced with a playful, affectionate energy.

At one point, she draped her arms over Vernon’s shoulders from behind as he took a sip of water. He barely flinched, as if this was normal, simply adjusting so she could rest her chin comfortably on his shoulder. “You good?” he asked, his voice gentle, not wanting to push her.

“Mhm,” Luna hummed, her face close to his cheek. “Just resting.”

A few minutes later, when the group started stretching for the next set, Luna slid down next to Dino, her fingers quickly lacing through his hand without a word. He looked down at their interlocked fingers, his lips twitching into a small smile, but didn’t comment on it, allowing her to hold his hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

When it was Hoshi’s turn to stand and clarify a particularly tricky part of the choreography, Luna bounded up and jumped on his back with a giggle. “Piggyback?” she asked, her voice playful. He let out an exaggerated sigh, but smiled nonetheless, supporting her weight with ease as he carried her across the room.

“Alright, alright, off you go,” Hoshi said after a minute, gently setting her back down. He gave her an affectionate pat on the head as she settled back onto the floor, her laughter filling the room.

The break stretched on longer than expected as the members settled into their own rhythms, some lying down on the couches, others chatting, and a few playing random music over the speakers.

It started slow— light background music while they all took a breather—but as the tempo picked up, Luna, who had been lounging comfortably in a chair moments before, suddenly got up.

A familiar song filled the room, and without hesitation, she grabbed the sparkly pink mic from a nearby stand. Her voice, light and playful, danced through the notes as she sang along. She wasn’t performing, not in the way she normally would on stage, but there was a relaxed confidence in the way she moved. Her body swayed to the rhythm, hips shifting with the beat, her feet barely leaving the ground as she danced in place.

From the couch, Jeonghan watched her with an unmistakable fondness, his head tilted to the side, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest. Beside him, Seungcheol had his phone out, already filming her from a low angle, capturing Luna’s spontaneous moment of joy.

“Look at this. What is happening?,” Seungcheol muttered, eyes still trained on his phone screen as he continued recording. “Youngji-ssi, what is this? She’s like an animal in the wild.” His voice was deadpan, the tone as serious as if he were narrating a wildlife documentary. He zoomed in slightly, the camera catching Luna mid-twirl as she continued to sing into the mic. “She’s unaware of the predators, blissfully ignorant of her surroundings. Perhaps she’s intoxicated from her previous meal.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly beside him, leaning back against the couch as if settling in for a show. “You’re gonna get us all killed, you know that, right?” he murmured, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Luna, still twirling and dancing along, caught something in her peripheral vision— Seungcheol’s phone, pointed directly at her.

A mischievous smile spread across her lips as she turned to fully face the camera, suddenly amping up her movements, adding an exaggerated shimmy and a playful spin to Seungcheol’s video. She pointed the mic toward the camera like a pop star acknowledging her audience, winking as she finished the verse she was singing.

The room filled with laughter, Seungcheol shaking his head as he lowered his phone slightly. “And here we have the moment the subject becomes aware of the camera,” he continued, still keeping up the faux-safari narration. “This behavior is rare and should be documented carefully.”

Jeonghan could barely contain his laughter now, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as he watched Seungcheol dramatically stop the recording. “I’m so posting this,” Seungcheol announced, his face as neutral as ever, but the corner of his lips twitching in amusement.

“You’re gonna regret that tomorrow,” Jeonghan said, still smiling, his eyes flicking between Seungcheol and Luna, who was now dancing in place with even more enthusiasm.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Seungcheol replied, his fingers already moving across his phone screen as he opened Instagram and uploaded the video to his story, captioning it:

이게뭐야? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ @/lunabae @/youngji_02

(Translation: What is this? hahahahahaha)

Within seconds, the notification popped up for their fans, and it wouldn’t be long before the comments and reactions flooded in.

Luna, blissfully unaware of her sudden social media fame, continued to sing into her sparkly mic, completely in her element.

Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan watched her, now sharing a silent understanding as they waited for the inevitable storm of fan reactions that would surely follow.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Jeonghan teased quietly, his gaze still locked on Luna as she danced across the room. Seungcheol smirked but didn’t reply.

Both of them knew, though— that tomorrow, Luna is gonna be pissed over that video.

Throughout it the rest of the day, the members made sure to keep an eye on her.

Whenever they paused, someone— usually Jeonghan— would hand her a bottle of water, making sure she stayed hydrated.

He teased her relentlessly, his voice filled with fondness, but there was an underlying care in every action he made toward her. Despite his laid-back demeanor, he never missed a beat in checking on her, sliding water into her hands and watching closely for any sign of exhaustion.

“Drink,” Jeonghan said, pushing the bottle toward her after one particularly intense set.

Luna pouted but took it, gulping down the water obediently. Jeonghan patted her head lightly, smoothing down some of the stray hairs that had stuck on her face during the dance. “Good job,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the music.

Her eyes sparkled up at him, and for a moment, it was just the two of them in their own little bubble.

But then, as soon as the break ended, Luna was up again, this time clinging onto Mingyu’s arm as they walked back to the center of the room. Mingyu playfully pouted, but let her hang onto him as they prepared for the next run-through.

She was their Luna, after all, and no one could resist her, especially not like this.

Every now and then, Jeonghan would check in, calling out small reminders to her, making sure she didn’t push herself too hard despite how well she was performing. But even he had to admit, as he exchanged a glance with Seungcheol across the room, there was something about a tipsy Luna that brought out the softest side of everyone around her.

Luna was rarely the one to seek out affection, at least not openly. She was independent, strong, and often kept to herself especially during practice sessions, relying on her own grit to push through the fatigue.

The only exception, of course, was Jeonghan.

With him, Luna would let down her guard, and let herself be cared for in those quiet moments, but it was a side of her few others saw.

But tonight, that wall was down, and not just with Jeonghan.

The usual reserved Luna had melted into this softer, more open version of herself, allowing the other members to fuss over her, to baby her in a way that she never let them do.

It was rare, and that rarity seemed to pull a tender response from everyone in the room. There was something so disarming about seeing her like this— giggling, playfully clinging to the others, seeking out their affection without reservation.

Jeonghan watched from the sidelines, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he observed her moving between the members, hanging onto Seungkwan, then Dokyeom, then Woozi.

They each handled her in their own way— some with teasing, some with gentle pats or words of reassurance— but all of them were softened by her presence, their protectiveness surfacing in small, quiet gestures.

Luna’s independent streak was something they all admired— her resilience, her focus, and the way she never asked for help unless it was absolutely necessary.

But seeing her like this, in such a vulnerable and open state, brought out something in them all. It was as if they felt the need to protect her even more, to make sure she was okay, not just as a teammate, but as a sister, a friend.

As the practice continued, the members would sneak glances her way, checking on her without making it too obvious. They made sure she had water, and that she wasn’t pushing herself too hard, even though she was moving through the choreography flawlessly, almost as if she wasn’t tipsy at all.

But in between the intense sets, during those moments of rest, they took turns being there for her, offering small comforts she normally wouldn’t accept.

At one point, Dino, the youngest of the group, found himself with Luna’s arms wrapped around his waist as she rested her head on his shoulder. He looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Noona, are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle.

Luna nodded, humming in response, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “Mhm… just a little tired.”

Dino patted her hand, his smile growing. “You’re doing great. But don’t push too hard, okay?”

She nodded again, and the group continued with their practice, but the energy in the room had shifted. There was a warmth, a quiet protectiveness that filled the space as they worked. Despite the teasing, the laughter, and the playful banter, they were all attuned to her, making sure she was okay, even if she wouldn’t admit that she needed them.

And Jeonghan, standing off to the side, couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Luna, his Luna, was letting them in.

Even if it was just for tonight, it was a moment they all cherished, a rare glimpse of the girl who, for so long, had carried herself with such strength, now letting herself be cared for by the people who loved her most.

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

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[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Part 1 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: A young mute woman is drawn into the world of a powerful CEO through an unexpected proposition that could change her life and her family’s future forever.

Notes: I've been obsessed with When the Phone Rings lately, and it has been inspiring a little.

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

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Y/N’s heart pounded as the elevator doors glided open to the executive floor of Uchinaga Couture. A soft chime signaled her arrival, and she stepped out hesitantly, her worn flats making barely a sound against the pristine marble floors. The space around her was intimidatingly sleek, high ceilings, gold-accented furniture, and white walls so spotless they practically glowed under the recessed lighting. Every inch of the space radiated power and exclusivity.

The air was cool and quiet, the only sounds were the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant clicking of keyboards from the rows of assistants stationed in glass-walled offices. It was the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it demanded perfection from anyone who dared to linger too long.

Y/N clutched her bag tightly against her chest, trying to steady her breathing. Her mind raced, replaying the cryptic message she’d received from Giselle Uchinaga’s assistant earlier that morning.

“Miss Uchinaga would like to see you in her office. Immediately.”

Why would Giselle Uchinaga, the CEO of one of the world’s most renowned fashion houses, a woman so influential she rarely made public appearances, want to meet with her? Y/N wasn’t even an intern yet.

Her fingers instinctively reached for her phone in her bag. She’d been rehearsing a polite introduction during the entire elevator ride, but now, standing here surrounded by the grandeur of Uchinaga Couture’s upper echelon, her words felt hollow. Would she even be able to speak at all in the presence of someone like Giselle?

The receptionist sitting behind a minimalist gold and glass desk barely glanced up from her screen. “Miss Uchinaga is waiting for you,” she said, her tone clipped and professional, as though this sort of summoning happened every day.

Y/N nodded. She smoothed the front of her blouse, realizing with dismay that it was slightly wrinkled from her hurried commute.

The receptionist gestured toward a pair of imposing glass doors at the far end of the hallway. They stood like gates to another world, one Y/N wasn’t sure she was ready to enter.

She hesitated, but the receptionist’s pointed look left no room for second guessing. Forcing her feet to move, Y/N approached the doors, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The office beyond the doors was even more magnificent than the hallway. Vast and bathed in natural light, it was dominated by floor to ceiling windows that offered an uninterrupted view of the city skyline. The desk at the center of the room was a masterpiece of sleek mahogany, polished to a mirror finish. Behind it sat Giselle Uchinaga herself.

Y/N had seen Giselle in magazines and online, always poised, with an untouchable elegance that made her seem more like a mythical figure than a real person. In person, that aura of control was even more pronounced.

Giselle didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence. She sat with her back straight, her silky black hair falling like a curtain over one shoulder as she studied the glowing screen of her tablet. A fountain pen rested delicately between her fingers, tapping soundlessly against the desk. Her tailored navy suit accentuated her sharp features, and even seated, her posture exuded authority.

“Miss Y/N,” Giselle said finally, without looking up. Her voice was smooth and controlled, with a faint edge of disinterest. “Have a seat.”

Y/N obeyed quickly, lowering herself onto the leather chair in front of the desk. It was so soft and luxurious she worried for a moment that she might sink into it entirely. She folded her hands in her lap, trying not to fidget as she waited.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes. Giselle remained focused on her tablet, her fingers scrolling through unseen files with practiced precision.

Y/N used the opportunity to glance around the room. The walls were lined with black shelves holding a curated collection of awards, framed magazine covers, and bound portfolios. Every object seemed to scream success, as if Giselle’s achievements had been distilled into physical form.

When Giselle finally looked up, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The CEO’s almond-shaped eyes were sharp and assessing, like she was dissecting Y/N with a single glance.

For a moment, Y/N felt like an open book under that gaze, every secret and insecurity laid bare. The weight of it was suffocating, but she forced herself to meet Giselle’s eyes, refusing to shrink under the scrutiny.

“I assume you’re wondering why I called you here,” Giselle said, leaning back in her chair. Her tone was calm but carried the faintest hint of impatience.

Y/N nodded quickly.

Giselle’s perfectly manicured hand gestured toward a sleek black folder resting on the desk, though she didn’t open it yet. “I’ve reviewed your file, Miss Y/N. You have an impressive work ethic. Resourceful. Determined. Someone who doesn’t back down when faced with challenges.”

Y/N blinked, unsure whether Giselle was complimenting her or simply stating facts. Her file? She’d almost forgotten she’d even applied for a position as an assistant in the accounting department months ago, an opportunity that had seemed impossible even then.

“I have an opportunity for you,” Giselle said, her voice deliberate, as though testing Y/N’s reaction. “But before I explain further, I need to know one thing. How far are you willing to go to help your family?”

The question hit like a thunderclap. Y/N’s lips parted instinctively, but no sound followed. Her breath caught in her chest, her pulse roaring in her ears as her thoughts spiraled.

Why was Giselle asking something so personal? How much did she know about Y/N’s situation?

Giselle’s gaze didn’t waver, her expression unrelenting. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly as they curled into her lap. She wanted to ask what Giselle meant, to demand clarification, but the words never came. They never could. Instead, she lifted her head, her eyes locking onto Giselle’s with a quiet intensity.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she inhaled slowly, trying to project steadiness. Her gaze was resolute, though her chest tightened with fear, she refused to look away. If Giselle wanted to test her resolve, she would show it, even if only through the unwavering determination in her expression.

For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Giselle’s eyes, curiosity, perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of approval, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Giselle didn’t wait for a response. She leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing the edges of the black folder on her desk.

“Your father left you and your family in an unfortunate position,” she said, her tone clinical, devoid of any trace of empathy. “The debts he accrued are substantial, and your current situation offers little opportunity to escape them. Correct?”

Y/N flinched at the bluntness, her chest tightening as though someone had reached in and exposed every hidden part of her life. She hesitated, her fingers twitching toward the phone in her lap. Finally, she picked it up, her movements deliberate, and began typing.

“Yes.”

She held up the screen for Giselle to see. The stark simplicity of the word felt both shameful and raw.

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the phone, her expression remaining unreadable. She gave the faintest nod of acknowledgment before continuing.

“I’m offering you a way out,” Giselle said, folding her hands neatly on the desk. “But it requires your cooperation and your discretion.”

Y/N blinked, her curiosity piqued despite the knot of unease tightening in her stomach. She typed quickly, her fingers trembling slightly.

“What kind of cooperation?”

The corner of Giselle’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “I need a fiancée.”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening. For a moment, she was sure she’d misread the words that had just left Giselle’s mouth. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, uncertain what to say. Finally, she typed.

“A fiancée?”

“Yes,” Giselle said, her tone as even and detached as if she were discussing a routine business transaction. She leaned back in her chair, exuding an air of unshakable confidence. “My reputation has... complications. Certain people perceive me as cold, unapproachable. The board at Lueur, with whom I am negotiating a highly lucrative partnership, values the appearance of stability and warmth in their collaborators. I need to project that image.”

Y/N stared at her, stunned. Her fingers moved instinctively, typing out the only question that made sense.

“Why me?”

“You,” Giselle said, her sharp gaze locking onto Y/N’s, “are the perfect candidate. Young, vibrant, and unknown to the media.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she read Giselle’s words. Her mind raced, struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. She typed slowly this time, her hands shaking.

“I don’t understand. I’m just an applicant. Why would you choose me?”

Giselle’s lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she appeared to weigh her response, then answered with calm certainty. “I’ve done my research. Your background is compelling, your work history suggests you’re resourceful and adaptable and most importantly, you’re desperate.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her chest tightening at the final word. She lowered her phone slightly, breaking eye contact for the first time.

“You have no other options, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, her voice firm but not unkind. “This arrangement would benefit both of us. You’ll help me secure the partnership with Lueur, and in return, I will pay you enough to clear your family’s debts entirely and provide a stable future for yourself and your family.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Humiliation, anger, and a flicker of reluctant hope. She stared at her phone, her vision blurring slightly. With trembling fingers, she typed.

“And if I say no?”

Giselle’s expression didn’t waver. “Then you walk out of this office, and we go our separate ways. But consider this carefully, opportunities like this are rare, and for someone in your position, it could mean the difference between struggling for decades or starting over.”

Y/N stared at the words on her screen, her heart pounding. Giselle’s words weren’t a threat, they were a calculated statement of fact.

This wasn’t a choice. Not really.

Giselle leaned back in her chair, her sharp gaze never leaving Y/N, and slid the black folder across the desk with a single, precise motion. The faint sound of the leather cover gliding against the polished wood echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers hovering over the edge of the folder. Slowly, she reached out and pulled it closer, her heart pounding as she flipped it open.

Inside, the contract was laid out in meticulous detail. The dense paragraphs of legal jargon were daunting, and Y/N’s eyes flitted over the page, struggling to focus. Certain phrases stood out like beacons, each one hitting her like a punch to the chest.

“Exclusive agreement.”“Media appearances required.”“Strict confidentiality.”

Her throat tightened as the magnitude of the arrangement settled over her like a heavy fog. This wasn’t just a deal, it was a meticulously crafted performance, with no room for mistakes.

“This isn’t a charity, Miss Y/N,” Giselle’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Her tone was firm, but there was a hint of expectation, as if she were testing how Y/N would respond.

Y/N glanced up, her fingers still clutching the edges of the folder. Her mind swirled with questions, fears, and doubts, but she forced herself to focus. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone and typed quickly before turning the screen toward Giselle.

“What exactly do you expect from me?”

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the screen, and a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curved her lips. “Professionalism,” she said. “You will follow my instructions, attend events as required, and present yourself as a devoted partner. In public, we will be inseparable. In private, however, we will remain strictly separate.”

Y/N’s fingers flew across the screen again, her anxiety spilling into her typed words.

“And if I mess up?”

The question hung in the air, and Y/N watched as Giselle’s expression hardened slightly. The CEO leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her fingers steepled in front of her.

“Then the deal is off,” Giselle said, her voice cold and unwavering. “And you’re on your own.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the bluntness of the ultimatum. She tightened her grip on her phone, her chest tightening as the enormity of the situation loomed over her. She quickly typed another message, her hands trembling slightly as she showed the screen to Giselle.

“You mean... everything ends? No payment?”

Giselle nodded once, her expression unchanging. “Exactly. This is a transaction, Miss Y/N, not a handout. If you fail to meet the expectations outlined in that contract, there will be no second chances.”

The weight of those words settled over Y/N like a lead blanket, heavy and suffocating. Her eyes dropped to the folder again, scanning the tightly packed lines of text that seemed to stretch endlessly.

She hesitated before typing another question, her fingers pressing against the screen more forcefully now.

“What happens if someone finds out this is fake?”

Giselle’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time, her calm exterior seemed to harden further. “They won’t,” she said simply, the steel in her voice leaving no room for doubt. “As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, no one will suspect a thing. I’ve accounted for every possible variable. Any leaks or suspicions will only arise from carelessness, yours, specifically.”

The words sent a chill through Y/N, but she refused to look away. Her fingers hovered over her phone as she considered her next move. Every logical part of her told her to walk away, that this was far too risky, far too overwhelming. But the memory of her family’s desperate situation, the crushing weight of her father’s debts, made her stay rooted in place.

She swallowed hard, then typed a final message.

“What happens if I succeed?”

Giselle’s expression softened, just slightly. “If you succeed, your debts are gone. You’ll have enough money to start over, far away from whatever struggles brought you here. And,” she added, her tone shifting to something almost imperceptibly lighter, “you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you helped secure one of the most important deals in this company’s history.”

Y/N read and reread the words on her screen, her chest tightening. The stakes were high, terrifyingly so, but so was the reward. She could picture her family, free from the weight of her father’s mistakes, finally able to move forward.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N stared down at the open folder before her. The dense, unyielding text seemed to blur as the enormity of what she was about to do settled over her. Her hand hovered over the pen resting neatly beside the folder, trembling with hesitation.

Her thoughts raced. Signing this contract would bind her to a life she couldn’t fully comprehend, a world she wasn’t prepared for. But walking away wasn’t an option, not with her family depending on her.

Y/N picked up her phone and typed a message, her fingers moving slower than usual as doubt gnawed at her resolve. She turned the screen toward Giselle, who watched her with patient intensity.

“What if I change my mind later?”

Giselle’s sharp eyes flicked to the screen. For a moment, her expression softened, not with kindness, but with something close to understanding. “Then I suggest you don’t sign,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. “Once you commit, there’s no room for second guessing.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the answer hitting her like a stone. Giselle’s unyielding certainty was both intimidating and strangely reassuring. This was a woman who never faltered, who didn’t allow for failure.

Her hand tightened around the pen. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she steadied herself. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered the pen to the page and began to sign her name.

Each stroke of ink felt heavier than the last, like an invisible weight pressing against her hand. Her name, once complete, seemed foreign and final. This was it, the moment that changed everything.

When she finished, Y/N set the pen down carefully, the faint click of metal against wood echoing louder than it should have. She slid the folder back across the desk, taking one copy of the contract for herself and tucking it neatly into her bag, her eyes darting up to meet Giselle’s.

Giselle picked it up without a word, her fingers flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency. Her sharp gaze scanned the document, ensuring every detail was in place. Finally, she closed the folder and set it aside.

“Welcome to your new life, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, extending her hand.

Y/N hesitated, staring at the outstretched hand. She’d expected this moment to feel more... transactional, but now that it was here, the reality of what she’d agreed to seemed overwhelming. Slowly, she reached out, her hand meeting Giselle’s.

Giselle’s grip was firm, her palm cool and steady. There was no warmth, no reassurance, just the unspoken promise of professionalism.

Releasing her hand, Giselle leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. As Y/N stood, clutching her phone tightly, Giselle’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door.

“Remember,” she said, her tone low but resolute, “this is business. Nothing more.”

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, then nodded.

The glass doors closed behind her with a soft click, sealing her into a world she wasn’t sure she could navigate. The quiet hum of the floor seemed louder now, the weight of her decision pressing down on her chest.

As she stepped into the elevator, her reflection stared back at her in the polished steel walls, unsure, but resolute.

This was her choice. There was no turning back now.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and after the short walk Y/N stepped out into the bustling street. The late afternoon sunlight stretched across the buildings, painting the city in hues of amber and gold. Pedestrians moved around her in a blur, business people rushing to catch cabs, couples strolling hand in hand, and tourists snapping pictures of the skyline.

But Y/N barely noticed any of it. Her thoughts weighed her down, each step feeling heavier than the last as she weaved through the crowd.

The weight of the signed contract in her bag felt almost tangible, like an anchor tethered to her future. Her grip tightened around the leather strap of her bag, so firm that her knuckles turned white. She had done it. She had agreed to step into a world she barely understood, tethering herself to a woman who felt as untouchable as the city’s towering skyscrapers.

Giselle’s words echoed in her mind, cool and precise, as if they had been carved into stone.

"Welcome to your new life."

Her new life. Was it really hers?

She felt a pang of uncertainty, the same pang that had risen in her chest as she’d signed her name on the dotted line. It hadn’t felt like liberation, it had felt like a pact with something she couldn’t quite define.

Y/N slowed her pace as she passed the entrance to a quiet park, the bustling noise of the city receding like a distant hum. The shade of a row of oak trees stretched across the grass, offering a temporary reprieve from the chaos of the world outside.

Her feet carried her to an empty bench near a fountain, its soft trickling water providing a soothing contrast to the relentless rhythm of her thoughts. She sank down slowly, her shoulders sagging under the invisible weight she carried. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness settling in her chest.

Y/N pulled her phone from her bag and stared at the blank screen. Her fingers hovered over the device, poised to type something into the notes app, but no words came. She didn’t know what to say, to herself, to the universe, to anyone.

The screen dimmed, and Y/N let the phone drop into her lap with a soft thud. She leaned back against the bench, her head tilting toward the sky. The golden light filtered through the leaves above, dappling her face with shadows and warmth, but it couldn’t reach the chill that gripped her heart.

Her breathing slowed, and with the stillness came the memories, unbidden and relentless, rising to the surface like ghosts she could no longer keep buried.

She was ten years old the last time she heard her father’s voice. It was a warm evening, much like this one, when she’d sat cross legged on the thick carpet of his study, her fingers trailing absently over the edges of a well worn storybook. The smell of his cologne, cedarwood and something faintly spicy, lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of the leather bound books that lined the shelves.

His desk, usually an organized chaos of papers and trinkets, was unusually cluttered that night. Contracts, ledgers, and letters spilled across the dark oak surface, the symbols of a crumbling empire he had worked so tirelessly to build.

Her father had always been her hero. His laughter had a way of filling every corner of the house, and his warmth made even the darkest days feel like they carried a glimmer of hope. But that night, something was different.

His usual smile was absent, replaced by a furrowed brow and a tightness in his jaw that Y/N didn’t fully understand but instinctively feared. His movements were hurried, his hands shaking slightly as he shuffled through the papers in front of him.

“Papa?” she had asked softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

He stilled for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath before he turned to her. His eyes, so often kind and full of life were clouded with something she couldn’t name. He crossed the room in three quick strides and knelt in front of her, his large hands gently gripping her small shoulders.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “I need you to listen carefully, okay?”

The seriousness in his tone made her heart race. She nodded, her gaze locked on his face.

“No matter what happens, no matter what you see, you have to stay quiet. Do you understand? Don’t make a sound.”

His words wrapped around her like a cage, cold and unyielding. She opened her mouth to ask why, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no time for questions, no room for explanations. He pulled her to her feet and led her to the far wall of the study, where a towering bookshelf stood filled with thick tomes and small mementos.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he pressed his hand against the side of the shelf, triggering a soft click. The bookshelf shifted slightly, revealing a narrow doorway. Beyond it was a small, dark room she had never known existed.

Her father knelt again, placing both hands on her shoulders this time. “Stay here, sweetheart,” he whispered. His voice wavered, just for a moment, before he steadied it. “Don’t come out until I tell you. And remember, no sound.”

The fear in his eyes mirrored the growing terror in her chest. She wanted to cling to him, to beg him to stay with her, but he gently pushed her into the hidden space before she could.

“Be brave, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he closed the door, sealing her in darkness.

Y/N pressed her hands against the cool walls of the hidden room, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would give her away. Through a thin crack in the door, she could see her father return to his desk, his movements quick and tense. He sat down, his back straight as if bracing himself for something.

Minutes later, the front door burst open with a thunderous crash.

Y/N flinched, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Harsh voices filled the air, angry and unfamiliar. Men in dark suits stormed into the study, their faces obscured by the dim light.

She watched as her father rose to meet them, his posture firm despite the chaos that followed. The men surrounded him, their movements calculated and menacing.

“You know why we’re here,” one of them said, his voice cold and cutting.

Her father’s voice was calm but resolute, though Y/N couldn’t make out every word. She caught fragments “not fair,” “family,” “too far” but the argument was heated, the tension in the room palpable.

One of the men slammed his hand against the desk, making Y/N jump. Her father stood his ground, his expression unreadable.

The man’s voice rose, sharp and angry. “You should have kept your mouth shut.”

There was a flash of movement, something metallic glinting in the dim light.

Then came the deafening crack of a gunshot.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat as her father’s body crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to stop. The dark pool spreading beneath him was all she could see, staining the polished wood of the study.

Her heart felt like it would burst as she clamped her hands over her mouth, her small frame trembling violently. Tears streamed down her face, hot and endless, but she didn’t dare make a sound. Her father’s warning echoed in her mind like a mantra. Don’t make a sound. Don’t make a sound.

The men stood over his lifeless body for a moment before one of them spat something cruel under his breath. Then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone, their heavy footsteps retreating into silence.

When the house finally fell quiet, Y/N stayed frozen in the hidden room, too terrified to move. It felt like hours before she found the courage to push the door open.

The study was eerily still, the papers on her father’s desk fluttering softly in the breeze from an open window. She stumbled toward his body, her legs shaking so badly she nearly fell.

“Papa?” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her small hands reached out to him, shaking as they pressed against his arm. “Papa, wake up.”

But he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. The warmth she had always associated with him was gone, replaced by a cold, lifeless shell.

The weight of her grief was unbearable, suffocating her as she knelt beside him, sobbing silently. At that moment, something inside her broke.

From that day on, Y/N never spoke again.

The official story was that her father had taken his own life after his company went bankrupt. The newspapers were ruthless, painting him as a failure who had crumbled under the weight of his mistakes. The debts, they said, had been too much for him to bear.

The truth, however, was far darker. Y/N had tried to tell someone, anyone. In the days that followed the horrific night in the study, she had opened her mouth countless times, desperate to describe the men who had invaded their home, to explain how they had taken her father’s life.

But every time, the words got stuck.

Her throat would tighten painfully, and the memory of her father’s lifeless body would crash over her like a wave, pulling her under. The gunshot, the men’s cold voices, the dark pool of blood, it all came back too vividly, paralyzing her. No matter how much she wanted to scream the truth, her voice refused to cooperate.

At first, her mother didn’t seem to notice. She was too consumed by her own grief and the weight of what had been left behind. Lawyers had come and gone, each one bearing bad news. The company her father had built was gone, swallowed up by his debts, leaving nothing but bills they couldn’t pay and creditors demanding what was owed.

Y/N had tried to help, using the scraps of courage she had left to write down the truth in shaky handwriting. But when she’d handed the paper to her mother, her hands trembling, her mother had barely glanced at it.

“Not now, Y/N,” her mother had said softly, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She’d set the note aside and never brought it up again.

Y/N had crumpled the paper in her hands, the rejection stinging more than she expected.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N stopped trying to speak altogether. What was the point? Every attempt ended the same way, with her throat closing up, her heart pounding, and tears burning her eyes. The trauma sat in her chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

At school, teachers and classmates would ask her questions, their faces twisting with confusion when she wouldn’t respond.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” “Why won’t you talk?”

The questions only made it worse. She wanted to answer, wanted to explain, but her voice was gone. Instead, she would shake her head and look away, her cheeks burning with shame.

Her teachers contacted her mother, concerned about her silence. But her mother, overwhelmed with grief and the mounting debt, had little energy to address the issue. “She’s going through a lot right now,” her mother had said. “She’ll speak when she’s ready.”

But Y/N wasn’t sure she ever would.

Their once beautiful home, with its sprawling garden and cozy rooms, was sold within months of her father’s death. The furniture went next, piece by piece, until their lives were stripped down to the bare essentials.

They moved into a cramped apartment in a part of town Y/N had never visited before. The walls were thin, the pipes rattled when the water ran, and the single window in the living room overlooked an alleyway filled with dumpsters. It was a far cry from the life they’d known, but her mother said it was all they could afford.

Y/N had watched as the stress wore her mother down, the vibrant woman reduced to a shadow of herself. Lines of worry etched themselves into her face, and her shoulders seemed permanently hunched from the weight she carried.

Y/N hated seeing her mother like that. Hated the hopelessness that seemed to hang over their tiny apartment like a storm cloud.

It was then, at the age of ten, that Y/N made a promise to herself. She would do whatever it took to help her family.

For months, Y/N relied on gestures and written notes to communicate. She would scribble messages on scraps of paper or point to things when she needed something. It was clumsy and frustrating, and more often than not, people misunderstood her.

One day, during a particularly frustrating moment at school, her teacher handed her a flyer.

“Have you thought about learning sign language?” the teacher had asked gently, her voice free of judgment.

Y/N had stared at the flyer for a long moment before taking it. She wasn’t sure if it would work, but it was worth a try.

The next weekend, her mother took her to her first sign language class at a community center downtown. Y/N felt out of place at first, surrounded by people of all ages, each with their own reasons for learning. But as the instructor demonstrated simple signs and encouraged them to practice, something shifted.

First time in months, Y/N felt like she had a voice again.

She practiced obsessively, her fingers fumbling at first but growing more confident with time. She learned to sign her name, simple phrases, and eventually, full sentences. The fluid motions of her hands became second nature, and with every new sign she mastered, she felt a little piece of herself returning.

Sign language became her lifeline, a way to express herself without the fear that had stolen her voice. It wasn’t perfect, many people didn’t understand it, and she still relied on her phone or written notes in those cases, but it was hers.

As she grew older, Y/N poured herself into her studies. She took on part time jobs after school, working long hours at diners, grocery stores, and anywhere else that would hire her. Every penny she earned went toward the family’s expenses or into a savings jar she kept hidden under her bed.

But no matter how hard she worked, the debt loomed over them, a constant reminder of her father’s death and the men who had taken everything from them.

Y/N refused to let it break her. She had resolved, then and there, that she would claw her way out of the darkness, no matter what it took. For her mother, for her siblings, and for herself.

She just needed an opportunity.

Y/N stared down at her phone, the sleek black screen reflecting her tired eyes and the faint streaks of sunlight filtering through the trees. Her thumb brushed against the edge of the device, but she didn’t unlock it yet. For a moment, the world around her blurred, the muted chatter of children playing in the park, the distant hum of traffic, the rustling of leaves in the soft breeze. None of it registered.

Her thoughts were louder than any of it.

She had signed the contract.

The realization settled over her. She had sealed her fate, tethering herself to a woman whose world was as cold as the steel skyscrapers that loomed over the city. She had done it not for herself, but for them, for her family.

Her mother’s face floated to the forefront of her mind, etched with exhaustion from years of carrying a burden she was never meant to bear alone. Y/N remembered the way her mother used to smile, bright and unrestrained, a beacon of warmth in their home. But over the years, that smile had become rare, a faint shadow of what it once was. Y/N wanted to bring it back.

Then there were her younger siblings, still so full of life, so full of hope. She thought of her sister sketching dresses at the kitchen table with crayons, dreaming of becoming a designer. She thought of her brother, meticulously building castles out of old shoeboxes, telling anyone who would listen that one day he’d be an architect.

They deserved to dream.

Sliding her thumb across the screen, Y/N opened her notes app and stared at the blank space. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for a fraction of a second before she began to type.

“I’ll make this work.”

She stared at the sentence, her lips pressing into a thin line. The words weren’t just a promise, they were a lifeline, a tether to something stronger than her fear or doubt. They were a reminder of why she couldn’t fail.

Y/N’s chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath. Her fingers brushed across the screen again, and for a fleeting moment, she thought about typing something more. Something about the uncertainty she felt, or the weight of the decision she had made.

But no. This was enough.

Sliding the phone back into her bag, Y/N stood. Her legs felt unsteady at first, like a newborn fawn’s, but she squared her shoulders and steadied herself. She couldn’t afford to falter now.

She cast one last glance at the park around her. A couple laughed as they walked hand in hand, their carefree joy like a far off memory. A boy chased after a kite, his delighted shouts rising above the rustle of the breeze. For a moment, she let herself imagine a life where she didn’t have to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders.

But that wasn’t her reality.

Giselle’s world was cold and unyielding, a place where people were assets and trust was a rare commodity. Y/N knew that stepping into that world meant losing pieces of herself, her warmth, her softness, maybe even her hope.

But it was also her chance to escape the shadow of her past.

For her family, she would endure anything.

With that thought anchoring her, she turned on her heel and walked away, the echoes of her determination carrying her forward.

[ambers-archive]

got love struck ❤︎ ࿐ ۫ .˚ ✧ ˚　

in which spencer wants your anniversary to be perfect, but everyday is perfect with you. word count: 2.1k cw: purple scarf cameo, idiots in love, fluff, happy ending, established relationship. (english isn't my first language, minimal proofread!) pt1 what if all i need is you (can be read as standalone)

Spencer closed the tab on his computer, a frustrated scowl forming on his lips. For days, he’d been scouring the internet, spending sleepless nights hunched over his desk, searching for the perfect anniversary gift for you. It was your first year together, and everything had to be perfect.

But nothing felt right. Every idea he considered was quickly dismissed. He shut his eyes, trying to quiet his overthinking mind.

You two met at his favorite coffee place, he noticed you right away when he realized you stole his seat. 

You had yourself perched against the chair nuzzled against the rest of the wall. 

And after a week of ogling you across the room he finally got enough courage to start a conversation over a book you were reading. Then with shaky fingers and some mumbling he finally had the courage to ask you out, suggesting a tour of the city since you just moved.

Spencer knew his demanding work schedule wasn’t easy on you. You were so patient, understanding, and kind—perhaps too kind, he often thought. Canceled dinner dates, postponed trips, missed laughs, and missed love were all too common. Yet despite it all, you always met him with a reassuring smile.

“I know you’re busy saving lives,” You had told him once, as the two of you cuddled in bed after the third missed date in a row. He hadn’t had anything better to offer than a string of apologies, and he feared one day it wouldn't be enough.

“Hey pretty boy, what’s got you so upset?” Morgan asked, his voice pulling Spencer out of his thoughts.

Spencer took a moment to collect himself before turning to Morgan. “I’m trying to figure out a good anniversary gift for her.”

In a room full of profilers he didn’t think they’d be so keen on his social cues, but of course they noticed him constantly fidgeting and sneaking quick glances at his phone. 

Emily was the first to find out about you.

The teasing lasted months.

Penelope was rushing toward his desk with her tea in one hand and Morgan’s coffee in the other.

“You have to go all out!” Garcia exclaimed, barely containing her excitement. “Chocolates, flowers—oh, please tell me you’ve got the whole day planned!”

“Calm down, baby girl,” Morgan laughed, taking his coffee. “I’m sure our genius over here has something in mind.”

Spencer sighed. “I want to make it special since it’s our first anniversary, but I just don’t know what she’d like.”

“Well, what are her love languages?” Penelope asked, ready to unleash her vast knowledge of relationships.

“I think it’s quality time,” Spencer replied, a small smile playing on his lips as he thought about you. “She’s always engaged in our conversations, making strong eye contact, putting her phone away, asking questions. She also lingers after dates.”

He paused, recalling the moments you’d linger on your doorstep after he drove you home, the way you’d breathe him in after a kiss, your forehead resting against his. “She never seems in a rush to leave, like she values every moment we spend together.”

Morgan grinned, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look. “There you go, pretty boy. Think about what she loves, what makes her happy. That’s the key.”

Spencer nodded picked up his phone, scrolling through the list he’d made of all your favorite things.

He stopped on a picture of you smiling back at him from the screen, a photo he’d taken during one of your many picnics. Your hair had been flowing in the wind, your eyes crinkled with your smile as you explained the meaning behind one of your favorite songs. It was the same photo that graced both his phone and laptop backgrounds.

“She loves almost every kind of art,” he whispered, his heart swelling with affection. “Renaissance literature, realism paintings, classic books. And she’s really outdoorsy too.”  He whispered, his heart expanding, pumping. thump, thump- laced with love.

He thought about the countless picnic dates, the times you’d coaxed him out of bed for a run or a hike. His mind wandered to what you might be doing right now—your second class of the day had likely started, and he imagined you taking notes, doodling in the margins.

Penelope and Morgan exchanged amused glances, their lips quivering with smiles as they listened to Spencer’s lovesick ramblings.

“Looks like Reid’s got it bad,” Morgan whispered to Garcia, who stifled a giggle behind her hand.

“He really does,” she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer hadn’t seen you in two weeks, four days, twenty-three minutes, and fourteen seconds—far too long. He didn’t want to waste another moment as he approached your door, your favorite flowers in hand. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait another second, as you opened the door before he could even knock.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. Every day, he found himself falling for you more and more. You gave him a shy smile, stepping out to wrap your arms around his taller frame. He hugged you back immediately, burying his head in the crook of your neck. When you finally pulled apart, he took a proper look at you, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sunlight. In that moment, and in every other, you were the epitome of beauty—a vision that left him utterly mesmerized.

“These are for you,” Spencer said softly, offering you the peonies. He realized they paled in comparison to you, but nonetheless, he held them out.

“You never forget them, Spence,” you said, your voice equally soft. Spencer chuckled, half-offended that you’d think he ever could—eidetic memory or not.

“I’m glad you like them,” he replied, taking your hand as he led you to his car, opening the door for you. “I have the whole day planned.”

“Yeah?” Your head rises of its own accord against the car seat. 

"I really want it to be perfect." 

It’s already perfect because how much better can it get you thought? You're in his car, your favorite songs playing in the background and his hand never leaves your side. 

“It already is.” You say grazing your thumb over his knuckles. 

You finally reach the place away from everyone else. “There’s a trail nearby and a perfect place for a picnic.” Spencer whispers, slipping his hand into yours again. 

It fits so perfectly.

You smile, squeezing his hand “Lead the way.” 

In a field of daisies Spencer pulls out a blanket, carefully placing his gifts as he pats the spot next to him. You nestle against his taller frame, he smells like sandalwood, coffee, and home. 

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him, he smiles down at you playing with your hair absentmindedly. 

“You. Always you.” You get the familiar, but nevertheless oh-so welcome kick in your stomach every time he smiles at you. 

“What about you?” He asks in return, and you shrug, not able to convey all your emotions. 

“I'm thinking that I want my gifts.” You say slightly pouting.

With a shy smile, Spencer untangled himself from you and reached for the presents. He handed you a beautifully wrapped package and a small painting, both wrapped with care.

“I hope you like them,” he said, his voice tinged with nervousness.

Your eyes lit up as you unwrapped the gifts, revealing a limited edition of Sylvia Plath’s work—a book you’d mentioned offhandedly that you’d been searching for. Your gaze met his, overflowing with emotions you hadn’t known were possible. You always believed in love, but this? This was beyond anything you’d imagined. It made all the heartbreaks of the past worth it because they led you to him.

You abandoned the gifts, flinging yourself into his arms. He laughed, catching you as you both tumbled onto the grass. Spencer buried his face in the crook of your neck, holding you close.

“They’re perfect,” you whispered. “Thank you so much.”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed. “I’m glad you like them,” he replied, still holding you.

“How did you even find it?” you asked, marveling at the book.

“Brittney Johnson—remember the missing persons case we solved? Her dad’s a book collector. He was really grateful and said if we ever needed a favor, he’d be happy to help.”

You smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. You’d spent so long building walls around yourself, convincing yourself you didn’t need a relationship. But with Spencer, those walls crumbled before you even had a chance to put them up.

“I also wrote you a card, my handwriting isn't the best, but I know you like words of affirmation” Spencer said, reaching into his bag. But before he could present it, dark clouds gathered overhead, and raindrops began to fall, dampening the ground.

“Seriously?” Spencer groaned, quickly sheltering you with his jacket. The chocolate and sandwiches were ruined, along with your clothes. The two of you hurried to the car, making sure the gifts were safe, and finally found shelter inside.

“I’m sorry our picnic was ruined, angel,” Spencer said, helping you fix your hair.

“It��s not ruined, Spence. We can have a night in, order some Chinese, and finish a new episode?” you suggested, trying to cheer him up.

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, though he couldn’t hide his disappointment as he started the car.

𐙚 ✱ ❤︎ ࿐ ۫ .

Back at your apartment, the two of you hurried inside, drenched from the rain. You kicked off your shoes and quickly disappeared into your bedroom, returning with dry clothes for both of you. You handed Spencer his sweater, the one you’d “borrowed” long ago, and couldn’t help but smile as he accepted it.

“Hey, I was looking for this,” he said, pulling on the warm sweater.

“Sorry I stole it,” You replied, not the least bit apologetic.

He shook his head, following you to the kitchen, where you were setting up takeout containers on the counter. The sweater smells like you and he thinks he should let you keep it. It smells like cherries, winter warmth and like the love of his life.

“I love that you did. I feel closer to you whenever I wear it.”

You blushed, grateful he couldn’t see your flushed cheeks as you turned to grab plates. Spencer wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“This isn’t how I planned our anniversary,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I wanted everything to be perfect.”

You turned in his arms, cupping his cheek as you gazed into his warm eyes. “Spence, it was perfect. It’s not about the flowers or the gifts or the picnic. It’s about being with you.”

Before Spencer could respond, you gently stepped out of his embrace, suddenly remembering you still had his gift to give.

“I have a surprise for you,” you said with a smile, rummaging through the gift bag. You walked back to him, holding up a beautifully knitted purple scarf.

“My mom’s been teaching me how to knit, and this is the first thing I made. It’s for you. I know you get colds easily, and keeping your neck and chest warm can help reduce the shock of inhaling cold, dry air, which irritates your respiratory tract. I even stitched my name on the end, so a part of me is always with you.”

Spencer’s face lit up as he accepted the scarf, immediately noticing how it carried your familiar scent.

“This is so thoughtful,” he said, his eyes soft with appreciation. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been this concerned about my colds. Although, just so you know, wearing a scarf alone won’t prevent you from catching a cold. Colds are caused by viruses, usually spread through respiratory droplets or by touching contaminated surfaces.”

You smiled at his rambling, finding comfort in the way his mind worked—it was like a love language all its own. Chuckling softly, you wrapped the scarf around his neck, adjusting it just right.

“It’s the thought that counts, angel,” he said sincerely, his voice filled with warmth. “It’s already my favorite scarf.” He then brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to them.

It's in the quiet, messy, beautifully imperfect moments like this, spencer thinks: where love is felt in every heartbeat, every glance, and every shared breath.

thank you so much for reading <33