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harrysfolklore · 5 months ago

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secret - cs55

summary: carlos has been keeping his relationship secret for 6 months. the world has no idea that he's dating an a list actress

wc: 5.4k words + social media posts. face claim: emilia clarke

folkie radio: guys... why does it feel illegal to post a carlos fic that's not little bitch?? anyway i hope you like this LEAVE FEEDBACK !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by carlossainz55, zendaya and 2,445,805 others

yourinstagram Spain, you have my heart ❤️

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username1 QUEEN

username2 she’s glowiiiing

arianagrande mother 🤎

username3 imagine being the highest paid actress in hollywood looking like that i wouldn’t take shit from anybody

florencepugh you’re the actual loml

↳ yourinstagram Love you baby flo

username4 single yn is glowing

username5 spain also has my heart but i’ve never been there i’m just obsessed with carlos sainz

username6 carlos sainz in the likes wbk he’s a fan since the first season of game of thrones

anasainzvdec 💓💓

liked by charles_leclerc, yourinstagram and 1,570,487 others

carlossainz55 Short break before heading to Silverstone 🇬🇧

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username1 HOTTEST MAN ALIVE

username2 carlos don’t do this to my ovaries

scuderiaferrari 🌶️🌶️

username3 if he is single who is taking all this boyfriend content

username4 THATS A HUSBAND

blancasainzv 🙌🙌🙌

username5 CARLOS LET ME JUMP ON YOUR BONES

username6 it’s a crime that this man is single looking like this (not really)

landonorris A family man

↳ georgerussell63 😂😂😂

↳ username1 carlando forever

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You stand in front of the mirror, applying the last touches of makeup as sunlight streams through the bedroom window. The reflection shows Carlos lounging on the bed behind you, his dark eyes following your every move. You can't help but smile, feeling the warmth of his gaze.

As you prepare to leave, your mind wanders to the whirlwind romance of the past six months. It all started with a tweet- Carlos expressing his admiration for your character in Game of Thrones. You hadn't known much about Formula 1 then, but his charm and genuine enthusiasm caught your attention.

Fate brought you together at a high-profile fashion event months later. You remember how your heart raced when he approached you, confidently asking for your number. Within days, he'd asked you out on a proper date.

Now, six months later, you're living in a blissful bubble of secrecy. Neither his fellow drivers nor your co-stars have any idea about your relationship. It's a mutual decision - you're both in the spotlight, and this connection feels too important to expose to the world's scrutiny just yet.

You've just returned from a short trip to Spain, where Carlos introduced you to his family. The warmth of their welcome still lingers, making you feel even more connected to him. His parents had embraced you immediately, and you'd spent hours laughing and sharing stories with his sisters. The trip reinforced the feeling that you truly belonged in Carlos' life.

"Do you really have to leave?" Carlos asks, his Spanish accent more pronounced in his sleepy state.

"You know I do, darling. This film isn't going to shoot itself," you turn to face him, taking in his tousled hair and bare chest.

Carlos props himself up on his elbows, a playful smirk on his lips. "But I can think of so many better ways to spend the day."

You walk over to the bed, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips. "Tempting, but I've got to go. We can't all race cars for a living, you know."

His hand catches yours as you start to pull away. "Just five more minutes?" he pleads, pulling you closer.

You allow yourself to be drawn in, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're impossible," you say, but there's no real frustration in your voice.

"Impossible to resist, you mean," Carlos wraps an arm around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.

"That too," you laugh, running your fingers through his hair. "But seriously, I need to leave soon."

He sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the pillows. "Fine, fine. Go be a famous actress. Leave me here all alone."

"Drama queen," you roll your eyes, standing up. "You've got meetings later anyway."

As you gather your things, Carlos watches you with a mix of admiration and affection.

"You know," he says softly, "sometimes I still can't believe this is real. Us, I mean."

"It's real," you assure him, with a small smile, "And it's ours."

"I guess my obsession with Daenerys Targaryen paid off," Carlos grins, sitting up, "Though I have to say, the real you is even better than any character."

"Smooth talker. No wonder I fell for you so quickly," you roll your eyes playfully as you walk over to the bed, cupping his face in your hands. "As tempting as that is, love, we both have responsibilities. But tonight, it's just us."

He leans into your touch, then pulls you down for a deep kiss. When you part, both slightly breathless, he whispers, "I can't wait."

With a final blown kiss, you slip out of the room, your heart full and a smile on your lips. Another day of keeping your relationship under wraps begins, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Your mind is already counting down the hours until you can be in his arms again, safe in your private world built for two.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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ynupdates YN arriving for filming today in London!

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username1 MY BUBBB

username2 why so serious

username3 she has a movie premiering in two months and she’s already filming another talk about an icon

username4 love the fitttt

username5 streets say she’s got a boyfriend now 👀

↳ username1 source: trust me bro

↳ username2 SPILL THE DEETS

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You sink into the plush couch in Carlos' living room, the aroma of your favorite pasta filling the air. This has become your ritual - intimate dinners at home, safe from prying eyes and camera flashes. Sometimes you cook together, but tonight you've ordered in from that little Italian place Carlos adores.

"This is perfect," you sigh contentedly as Carlos settles beside you, two plates balanced in his hands. "I'll take nosy neighbors over paparazzi any day."

"Agreed," Carlos chuckles, handing you your plate, "Though I'm pretty sure my neighbor thinks I've developed an unhealthy obsession with takeout."

"Little do they know you're just obsessed with me," you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Guilty as charged," he grins, pulling you closer.

As you eat, you share stories about your day. Carlos absently traces patterns on your knee, and you find yourself melting into his touch.

"Oh," you say, remembering suddenly. "My team suggested something interesting today."

"What would that be, amor?" Carlos raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

You take a sip of wine before answering. "They think it would be a good idea for me to attend the Silverstone Grand Prix."

For obvious reasons, you haven't been able to join Carlos for a race since your relationship began. The need for secrecy and your busy schedules have kept you from sharing this crucial part of his life.

So when your team suggested you should attend the British Grand Prix at Silverstone to promote your new movie, you felt a surge of excitement. The prospect of finally seeing Carlos in his element, even if you had to pretend not to know each other, made you giddy.

"Really? That's... wow," Carlos said, his eyes twinkling.

"Don't get too excited," you nudge him playfully. "We'll have to pretend we barely know each other, you know."

Carlos groans dramatically, flopping back against the couch. "You mean I can't sweep you off your feet in front of thousands of fans? How will I cope?"

You laugh, setting your plate aside to cuddle closer to him. "I'm sure you'll manage. Just think of it as acting practice for both of us."

He wraps an arm around you, his voice growing softer. "You know, I always imagined the first race you'd attend would be as my girlfriend. With everyone knowing how lucky I am."

"I know, love," your heart swells at his words. "But hey, we'll still be together, even if no one else knows it."

Carlos nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're right. And I am happy you'll be there. Even if I have to pretend I'm not crazy about you."

"Well, there's no pretending now," you look up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Show me just how crazy about me you are."

With a playful growl, Carlos pulls you onto his lap, dinner forgotten as his lips find yours. In moments like these, the secrecy feels worth it - these moments are yours alone, untouched by the outside world.

As you break apart, slightly breathless, Carlos murmurs against your lips, "Maybe we can sneak a moment at Silverstone. A secret rendezvous in the paddock?"

"Now that would make headlines", you laugh, running your fingers through his hair. "'Famous actress and F1 star caught canoodling behind the garages.'"

"Worth it," Carlos grins, pulling you in for another kiss.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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carlossainz55 Beyond excited for Silverstone this weekend. Let’s do this 🙌

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username1 MY MAN

username2 he’s really the hottest man alive

scuderiaferrari We got this 😌

username3 SILVERSTONE MORE LIKE CARLOSTONE

username4 manifesting another silverstone win

username5 my girl yn in the likes she’s so real

landonorris 🥵🥵🥵🥵

↳ username1 these two being single right now just means they get to be menaces

↳ carlossainz55 Weird

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The early morning light filters through the curtains of your bedroom as you help Carlos adjust his red Ferrari hoodie. Your fingers linger on his shoulders, savoring these last private moments before the chaos of race day begins.

"Remember," you tease, smoothing down his collar, "hands to yourself out there, Sainz."

"That might be a challenge, amor," Carlos grins, his eyes sparkling, "Especially with you wearing my number."

You playfully swat his arm, adjusting the Ferrari cap with Carlos' number that sits atop your head. "I mean it. We've managed to keep this under wraps for six months. Let's not blow our cover now."

"Fine, fine," he pulls you close, nuzzling your neck, "But you owe me for this torture."

"Torture, is it?" you laugh, tilting your head to give him better access. "Such a dramatic driver I've fallen for."

"In all honesty," Carlos pulls back, his expression suddenly serious, "I wish I could shout it from the podium today. That I'm the luckiest man in the world because I have you."

"Soon," you promise, cupping his face. "For now, let's enjoy our little secret."

With a final, lingering kiss, Carlos reluctantly steps away. "I'd better go. See you out there, amor."

"Go get 'em, tiger."

Hours later, you arrive at the circuit, your stomach fluttering with nerves. The Ferrari cap with Carlos' number feels like a subtle declaration, a secret sign that only you and Carlos truly understand.

"We'll start with Ferrari," your manager explains. "Given your... interest in the team."

You nod, fighting to keep your expression neutral. If only she knew the real reason for your interest.

As you approach the Ferrari garage, you spot Charles Leclerc first. Carlos had told you stories about his teammate before – his skill on the track, his competitive nature, and his charming personality. Now, seeing him in person, you understand why he's such a fan favorite.

Charles notices you approaching and breaks into a warm smile. He steps forward, extending his hand. "Hello there! I'm Charles Leclerc. Big fan."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," you shake his hand, returning the smile. "I've heard great things about you."

"All good, I hope," he chuckles. "Is this your first time at a Grand Prix?"

"It is! I'm thrilled to be here. The energy is incredible already."

"Oh, just wait until the race starts. There's nothing quite like it." He pauses, then adds, "Have you met my teammate yet? He's around here somewhere..."

As if on cue, you hear a familiar voice behind you. "Did someone mention me?"

Your heart skips a beat as Carlos approaches and it takes every ounce of your acting skills to keep your expression neutral as he extends his hand.

"Carlos Sainz," he introduces himself, a cocky smirk on his lips, "Welcome to our garage."

As you shake his hand, you're hyper-aware of every point of contact. This man knows every inch of you, has held you countless times, yet here you are, pretending to be strangers. It's thrilling and frustrating all at once.

"It's great to meet you both," you manage to say, proud of how steady your voice sounds. "I can't wait to see you race."

"Well I hope we make a good first impression," Carlos said, and the look in his eyes told you that it was taking everything in him to keep his hands away from you.

"Carlos is being modest," Charles chimes in. "He's had some of his best performances here. You might be in for a treat today."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Carlos. "Is that so? Well, now I'm even more excited to watch."

Carlos rubs the back of his neck, a gesture you know is partly genuine modesty and partly an act. "Charles exaggerates. But I'll do my best to put on a good show for you- I mean, for all the fans."

"I'm sure you both will," you say, including Charles in your gaze to avoid suspicion.

A crew member approaches, informing Carlos and Charles that they're needed for a pre-race briefing shortly, and at the same time, a photographer appears asking for a picture. You pose with Charles first and shortly after Carlos stands next to you, his hand almost squeezing your waist sending shivers down your spine.

After the photo, you reluctantly step away. "I should let you get to your briefing. Good luck in the race, gentlemen!"

As you walk away, Charles say to Carlos, "She's gorgeous, isn't she?"

Carlos feels a sudden pang of jealousy, fighting the urge to declare that you're his. Instead, he replies with a smug tone, "She certainly is. But remember, we're here to race, not to admire the guests."

You make your way to the McLaren garage, where you're introduced to Lando Norris, Carlos' best friend. Lando's infectious energy has you laughing within minutes. You can see why he and Carlos get along so well, and you find yourself wishing you could share stories about your boyfriend with his best friend.

As you're about to leave the McLaren garage, your phone buzzes with a text from Carlos.

Against your better judgment, you find yourself making excuses to your team and heading towards Carlos' driver's room. You slip inside, closing the door behind you and praying no one saw you.

Carlos is there in an instant, pulling you into his arms. "Dios mio, do you know how hard it was to keep my hands off you out there?"

"Behave yourself, Sainz," you laugh, melting into his embrace, "We have an image to maintain."

"Oh? And what image is that?" he pulls back, his eyes twinkling, "Because right now, all I can think about is how adorable you look in my cap."

"Flatterer," you tease, running your hands up his chest, admiring how the race suit fits him. "You don't look so bad yourself in this. First time I'm seeing it in person, you know."

Carlos grins, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. "Like what you see?"

"Maybe," you say coyly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "But shouldn't you be focusing on the race?"

"You're killing me, hermosa," he groans dramatically, pulling you back against him, "How am I supposed to focus on driving when all I can think about is you?"

"Well," you suggest, "Maybe you need some motivation. Win the race, and I'll give you a proper celebration later."

"Now that's what I call incentive," he pecked your lips, and suddenly his eyes light up with an idea. He reaches for his phone. "Wait, I need a picture of you in that cap. My good luck charm."

You roll your eyes but pose anyway, tilting the cap at a jaunty angle. Carlos snaps the photo, grinning widely.

"Perfect," he says, showing you the result. "This is going to be my new favorite picture."

You're about to reply when a knock at the door makes you both freeze. "Carlos? Are you in there? Last pre-race briefing in two minutes," comes a voice from outside.

You stifle a giggle as Carlos calls back, "Be right there!"

He turns back to you, stealing one last passionate kiss before reluctantly stepping away. "This isn't over," he promises.

"I should hope not," you tease, straightening his collar. "Now go out there and make me proud."

As Carlos heads for the door, he pauses, looking back at you with a soft smile. "Te amo, YN."

"I love you too. Now go be the champion I know you are."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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f1world THESE TWO 🥹🥹🙌

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username1 AHHH THEY LOOK SO CUTE

username2 i bet carlos’ fanboy ass was shaking

username3 they look so good together hello????

username4 not yn zendaya-ing

username5 HER SMILE

username6 love them so much they should date

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and 3,012,368 others

yourinstagram SILVERSTONE. In another life I was a F1 driver. Yesterday I got to hang out with real ones and their pretty pretty cars. And I did not play it cool 😌

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username1 AHHHH ICON

username2 QUEEN OF THE PADDOCK

username3 she should go to every gp idc

scuderiaferarri You’re welcome anytime 🙌

username4 “got to hang out with real ones” and just posts carlos

username5 WHERE IS MY LANDO X YN PIC

emmacorrin 😍😍😍😍

username6 CARLOSYN YES

charles_leclerc Lovely to meet you 😘

↳ username1 and she didn’t post him help

carlossainz55 An absolute pleasure to chat with you 😉

↳ yourinstagram Likewise !

↳ username2 DATE

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carlossainz55 Triple header done, time to recharge and come back stronger in Hungary! 💪🏻

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username1 CHILIIIIII

username2 of course he was going to post his pic with yn he's such a fanboy

username3 ICONS IN THE THIRD PIC

scuderiaferrari Always the Smooth Operator 🌶️

username4 YN'S FACE IN THE THIRD PIC

username5 i ship carlos and yn

username6 i like the british gp bc actual cool celebrities attend not like the miami gp

yourinstagram Amazing weekend ❤️

↳ username1 HELLOOOOOO

deuxmoi has added to their stories

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

After the excitement of Silverstone, reality had set in quickly. You had to fly to Switzerland for your latest film project, while Carlos was called to Maranello for team duties. The goodbye had been bittersweet.

Now, a week later, you're on set in Switzerland, immersed in the world of your latest film. The day has been long, filled with intense scenes and multiple takes. As you trudge back to your trailer, your mind wanders to your boyfriend, wishing you could share the day's triumphs and frustrations with him, but he was miles away.

You open the trailer door, lost in thought, and nearly jump out of your skin when you see a figure inside. Your heart rate skyrockets, then immediately settles as you recognize the familiar silhouette.

"Carlos?" you whisper, a mix of shock and joy coursing through you. "What are you doing here?"

He turns, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Surprise, baby!"

You rush into his arms, all exhaustion forgotten as he envelops you in a warm embrace. The familiar scent of his cologne wraps around you, and you feel the tension in your body melt away.

But as quickly as the joy comes, worry follows. You pull back slightly, glancing nervously at the door. "Carlos, how did you even get in here what if someone sees you? We can't risk-"

He silences your concerns with a gentle kiss. "Relax, amor. I was careful. No one saw me come in."

Despite your worries, you can't help but lean into him again, savoring the feeling of being in his arms after a week apart.

"I've missed you," you murmur against his chest.

"I've missed you too," he replies, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back, "It's like I'm addicted to you, I can't be apart from you for too long."

You look up at him, taking in the warmth in his brown eyes, the slight stubble on his jaw that you love to trace with your fingers. The realization of how much you've missed him hits you all at once, and you pull him down for a deeper kiss.

When you part, both slightly breathless, you can't help but laugh softly. "This is crazy, you know. What if my co-stars come knocking?"

"Then I'll hide in the closet like a teenager sneaking around. It'll be exciting."

He shrugged and you playfully swat his arm, but you can't deny the thrill of having him here, in your space, surrounded by the world of your work.

"How long can you stay?" you ask, hoping against hope that it's more than just a fleeting visit.

"I have to leave early tomorrow," he says, a hint of regret in his voice, "I know it's not much time together but I really needed to see you, kiss you, just be with you."

"I have to go back to filming now," you say reluctantly. "But I'll be done in a few hours."

Carlos nods understandingly. "Go, cariño. I'll wait here in your trailer. Maybe I'll raid your snack stash," he adds with a playful wink.

You laugh, giving him one last quick kiss before heading out. "Behave yourself, Sainz."

The rest of your filming flies by, your spirits lifted by the knowledge that Carlos is waiting for you. As soon as the director calls wrap, you hurry back to your trailer, your heart racing with anticipation.

Carlos is lounging on your small couch when you return, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you enter, his face breaking into a warm smile. "There's my star."

You collapse into his arms, sighing contentedly. "I still can't believe you're here."

After a few moments of just holding each other, you both decide it's time to head to your hotel. You peek out of the trailer, checking if the coast is clear.

"Okay, I think we're good," you whisper, grabbing Carlos' hand and making a dash for it.

You weave between trailers and equipment, your hearts pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Just as you're about to round the final corner to the parking lot, you spot a crew member heading your way.

"Quick, behind here," Carlos whispers urgently, pulling you behind a large lighting rig.

You both hold your breath as the crew member passes by, mere feet from your hiding spot. Once they're gone, you share a look of relief and almost burst out laughing at the same time. The situation was definitely comic.

As you make your final dash to your car, you hear a surprised voice calling your name from behind you. Turning slightly, you see one of the production assistants, their eyes wide with surprise as they take in the sight of you and Carlos hand-in-hand.

Without stopping, you give a quick wave and a "Goodnight!" before practically diving into your car. Carlos follows suit, and you peel out of the parking lot perhaps a bit faster than necessary. Thank god you're not the race car driver in the relationship.

Once you're on the road, you let out a long breath. "Well, that was close,"

"It's okay, amor," Carlos reaches over to squeeze your hand reassuringly, "Even if they saw us, it doesn't have to mean anything."

"But what if they start asking questions?" you glance at him, unconvinced, "Or worse, what if they tell someone? Deuxmoi is already onto us after Silverstone, what if someone tips them?"

"I still don't understand what Deuxmoi is," Carlos looked at you with confusion, which made you laugh, "But we'll deal with it. Remember, we haven't done anything wrong. We're just two people who care about each other."

You nod, trying to let his words calm you. "I know, I know. It's just... I'm not ready for the world to know yet. To have our relationship picked apart and speculated about."

Carlos brings your hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "I understand. And we'll do everything we can to keep our privacy."

"Okay," you agree, offering him a small smile. "Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down."

"It's because I love you," Carlos says simply, his eyes warm as they meet yours at a stoplight.

The rest of the drive passes in comfortable conversation. By the time you reach the hotel, you're feeling much more relaxed, ready to enjoy your time together.

As you park the car, Carlos turns to you with a mischievous grin. "Now, shall we make another escape to your room, or do you think we can manage to walk in like normal people this time?"

"I think we can risk it. But if anyone asks, you're just my very attractive Swiss tour guide."

"Tour guide, huh?" Carlos waggles his eyebrows. "I can think of a few places I'd like to show you."

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you get out of the car. "Come on, horndog. Let's go before you get us into more trouble."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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gossiphub Guess who got caught sneaking out of a movie set in Switzerland? None other than actress YN and Ferrari driver Carlos Sainz! 📸 These two were seen holding hands and looking super close. Could this be the start of a new power couple? What are your thoughts?

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username1 OMFGGGG

username2 AH I KNEW IT

username3 this was expected after silverstone

username4 THE POWER THIS HOLDS

username5 the couple we didn’t know we needed

username6 YALL what if they’ve been actually dating for longer 😭

username7 I NEED MORE OF THIS

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sainznews “YN is someone I admire a lot. Right now, though, I'm fully focused on the season and my performance on the track. I prefer to keep my personal life separate from my professional life.” -Carlos today !

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username1 BROOOO

username2 he said you’re NAWT getting details

username3 bold of the interviewer to ask 😭

username4 i really want them to be a couple but maybe they’re just friends

username5 COME ON SPILL THE DEETS

username6 oh well

username7 his ass was shaking

liked by carlossainz55, blakelively and 2,309,681 others

yourinstagram The train ride home ❣️

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username1 iconic behavior

username2 girl come here address the rumors

gemmachan A beauty 🤍🤍

daisyedgarjones 🥹🥹

username3 i love that both of them are just playing dumb

username4 CARLOS IN THE LIKES

username5 ah shit they’re not going to confirm anything

username6 CARLOSYN IS REAL

username7 potential it couple and they’re playing dumb

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The headlines hit like a tidal wave after your Swiss rendezvous. "A List Actress Spotted with F1 Star Carlos Sainz!" "YN and Carlos Sainz: Secret Romance?" Paparazzi photos of your flooded gossip sites and social media. Fans and media alike dissecting every detail of the grainy images.

You and Carlos spent hours on the phone, figuring out your response. "Maybe we should just confirm it," Carlos suggested one night, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Not yet," you replied, biting your lip. "Let's wait for it to die down a bit. We don't owe them an explanation."

So you played it cool, neither confirming nor denying the rumors. Carlos deflected questions at press conferences with his characteristic charm, while you posted on social media as if nothing had changed. It was stressful, constantly looking over your shoulders, but you managed to keep your relationship under wraps for a little longer.

However, as the world premiere of your movie approached, you made a decision. Curled up on the couch with Carlos during a rare weekend together, you turned to him, tracing patterns on his chest.

"I've been thinking," you started, your heart racing.

Carlos looked at you, his eyes soft. "About what, cariño?"

You took a deep breath. "I want you to come with me to the premiere. As my date. I'm ready for the world to know about us."

Carlos' face lit up with pure joy. He sat up, pulling you onto his lap. "Really? You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure," you nodded, cupping his face, "I love you, Carlos. I'm tired of hiding it."

He peppered your face with kisses, unable to contain his excitement. "I love you too, YN. So much. You have no idea how happy this makes me."

"I think I have some idea," you teased, gesturing to his beaming face.

Carlos pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "No more sneaking around? No more pretending we're just friends?"

"No more," you confirmed.

He kissed you deeply, pouring all his love and excitement into it. When you parted, both slightly breathless, Carlos grinned. "So, do I get to coordinate my tie with your dress?"

"Is that all you're thinking about? Fashion?" you rolled your eyes affectionately.

"No," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "I'm also thinking about how I get to show off the most beautiful, talented woman in the world as my girlfriend."

The night of the premiere arrived quicker than you expected. Carlos looked devastatingly handsome in a sharp black suit, his hair perfectly styled. As you put the finishing touches on your makeup, you caught him watching you in the mirror, his eyes full of adoration.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He shook his head, smiling softly. "Nothing. I just can't believe how lucky I am."

In the limo on the way to the theater, Carlos took your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin. "Nervous?" he asked.

You nodded, letting out a shaky breath. "A little. You?"

"Excited," he replied, bringing your hand to his lips for a soft kiss. As the limo approached the theater, you could already hear the roar of the crowd. Carlos pulled you close, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Remember, no matter what happens out there, it's just you and me. Okay?"

"You and me."

The limo door opened, and suddenly you were blinded by camera flashes. Carlos stepped out first, then turned to offer you his hand. As you emerged, the crowd's volume doubled. Carlos kept his hand on the small of your back, a constant reassuring presence as you made your way down the carpet.

When you reached the photo spot, he pulled you close, his arm wrapping securely around your waist. The crowd went wild, cameras clicking furiously. You could hear reporters shouting questions, but you focused on Carlos, on the warmth of his touch and the love in his eyes.

As you made your way down the carpet, Carlos couldn't seem to keep his hands off you. He'd lean in to in your ear, his hand never leaving your waist. At one point, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, sending the photographers into a frenzy.

You stopped for a few interviews, Carlos by your side the whole time. When asked about your relationship, you simply smiled and said, "We're very happy together." Carlos would beam at you, his pride evident in every glance.

By the time you entered the theater, you were both giddy with excitement and relief. As you took your seats, Carlos leaned over, his lips brushing your ear. "You were amazing out there. I love you so much."

You turned to him, your heart full. "I love you too. Thank you for being here with me."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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gossiphub 🚨🚨CARLOS SAINZ AND YN HAVE ARRIVED TOGETHER AT HER PREMIERE IN LONDON

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username1 OMGGGGG

username2 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY EYES

username3 IT WAS REAL ALL THIS TIME

username4 power couple of the century

username5 they look so cunty omg f1 needed a couple like this

username6 FACE ECONOMY TOGETHER

username7 IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS TIME

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 2,974,644 others

yourinstagram My handsome date 🥰

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username1 AHHHHH

username2 CARLOS I WASNT FAMILIAR WITH YOUR GAME

username3 man he is so HOT

andrewgarfield Can you get me tickets for a Grand Prix?

↳ username1 HEEEEELP

↳ yourinstagram 🙄🙄🙄

↳ carlossainz55 You’re welcome anytime, mate!

username4 yn blessing us with boyfriend carlos content already

username5 this relationship is the best thing that happened to us

landonorris Oh he showers

↳ maxverstappen1 Really impressive

↳ username1 THE GRID IS HERE

↳ carlossainz55 Cabrones

carlossainz55 I love you mi amor ❤️❤️

↳ yourinstagram 🥹

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,937,267 others

carlossainz55 My 👸❤️

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username1 OH LORDDD

username2 SIMP CARLOS

username3 he’s so in love my heart

scuderiaferarri ❤️

anasainzvdec Hermosa!

blancasainzv 🤍🤍🤍

username4 this relationship is a blessing for real

username5 CARLOS POSTING HIS GF???? HIS A LIST ACTRESS GF ?????

username6 i love them sm

username7 how long do you think he waited before turning his insta into a fanpage of her

fernandoalo_oficial 👏👏👏

pierregasly Double dates?

↳ francisca.cgomes PRETTY PLEASE

↳ yourinstagram Absolutely 🥰

yourinstagram I loveeeeeee youuuuu

↳ carlossainz55 ❤️

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Dutch Grand Prix in Zandvoort, the first race after the summer break. You were attending again, but this time, you walked into the paddock hand-in-hand with Carlos. There was no need for secrecy. You were here as his girlfriend, and the world knew it.

Fans call out your names as you make your way through the paddock, and you both wave, Carlos' arm protectively around your waist. The comfort of being able to show your affection openly still feels thrilling.

As you approach the Ferrari garage, you spot Charles chatting with some engineers. He turns and breaks into a wide grin at the sight of you two.

"Well, well, if it isn't the happy couple!" Charles calls out, walking over to greet you.

"Charles, I don't think you've been properly introduced to my girlfriend yet," Carlos laughs, pulling you closer.

You exchange pleasantries, and then Charles shakes his head, chuckling. "You know, I feel terrible now. I literally wanted to ask you out that day at Silverstone because I had no idea you were together!"

You all share a laugh at the irony, and Carlos playfully narrows his eyes at his teammate. "Watch it, Leclerc. She's taken."

"Be nice, darling," you swat Carlos' arm lightly, "Charles is just being honest."

As you watched Carlos chat animatedly with his teammate, you couldn't help but feel a sense of rightness. This was where you belonged, by Carlos' side, sharing in his world.

"Carlos, we need you for a quick strategy briefing," the engineer said, glancing at his watch.

Carlos nodded, then turned to you with an apologetic smile. "Duty calls, amor. I shouldn't be too long."

"No worries," you assured him. "I'll find ways to entertain myself."

He leaned in, kissing you softly. "I'll text you when I'm done," he promised, then followed his engineer out of the room.

With some time to kill, you decided to explore the paddock. It felt liberating to walk around openly, no longer worried about being spotted or sparking rumors. As you passed the McLaren garage, a familiar voice called out to you.

"Well, if it isn't Mrs. Smooth Operator herself!"

You turned to see Lando Norris grinning at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Lando!" you greeted him warmly. "How are you?"

"I'm good, but more importantly, how are you?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Finally free from the chains of secrecy, eh?"

You recalled the night when the headlines about your relationship with Carlos had broken, and Lando had been the first to reach out. That evening, over dinner at your place, you and Carlos had shared the story of your six-month secret romance with him. Lando had been surprisingly supportive, and since then, he'd become a close confidant and ally.

You chatted with him for a bit, he was someone always fun to talk to and you were happy Carlos had someone like him in his life.

Just then, your phone buzzed with a text from Carlos.

"Let me guess," Lando said, a knowing smirk on his face. "Lover boy is calling?"

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. "As a matter of fact, yes. I should probably go."

"Go on then," Lando shooed you away playfully, "Go be disgustingly in love somewhere else."

You laughed, giving him a quick hug before heading towards the Ferrari hub. As you walked, you felt happy to be able to walk openly into his private space without worrying about prying eyes or rumors.

You knocked softly on the door of his driver's room. "Come in," Carlos called out.

As you entered, you found Carlos sitting on the small couch, still in his casual team gear. He looked up, his face breaking into a warm smile as he saw you.

"Hey you," he said, standing up and crossing the room to pull you into an embrace.

"Hey yourself," you replied, melting into his arms. "How are you feeling?"

Carlos pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your waist. "Better now that you're here," he said, his eyes twinkling.

You laughed softly, reaching up to smooth a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Charmer. But really, how are you?"

He took a deep breath, his expression turning more serious. "A little nervous, if I'm honest. The pressure is high here."

"That's natural," you nodded understandingly, your hand coming to rest on his cheek, "But Carlos, you're amazing. You've got this."

"Thank you, cariño," he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly, "Your support means everything to me."

For a moment, you both stood there in comfortable silence, foreheads touching, breathing each other in. There was no rush, no fear of discovery. Just the two of you, sharing a quiet moment before the storm of the race.

"I love that we can do this now," you murmured, breaking the silence. "No sneaking around, no looking over our shoulders."

Carlos smiled, pulling you closer. "Me too. It feels right, doesn't it? Having you here with me, openly by my side."

You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion. "It does. I'm so proud to be with you, Carlos. To support you."

His eyes softened, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. You responded eagerly, pouring all your love and support into the gesture.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," you replied, your fingers tracing patterns on the back of his neck.

A knock on the door interrupted your moment. "Ten minutes, Carlos," came a voice from outside.

"I should go," you said reluctantly, but Carlos held onto your hand.

"Stay with me?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "Just for a few more minutes?"

You nodded, squeezing his hand. "Of course."

You sat together on the small couch, Carlos's arm around you, your head resting on his shoulder. No words were needed; your presence was enough to calm his pre-race nerves.

As the minutes ticked by, you felt Carlos take a deep breath, his body shifting as he prepared mentally for the race ahead.

"Time to go be a superhero," you said softly, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

Carlos smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before standing up. "Wait for me at the finish line?"

"Always."

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yourinstagram Heart eyes for my smooth operator 🥰

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username1 AWEEEE

username2 she’s down bad

arianagrande glowiiiing ✨

username3 couple of the century

username4 i love how they were keeping it lowkey but now they can’t stop posting each other as they should

scuderiaferarri Our paddock queen ❤️

username5 yn don’t get used to the ferrari red you’ll be wearing blue next year

username6 GET MARRIED ALREADY

anasainzvdec 😍

username7 every time the camera showed her she was either panicking or grinning from ear to ear I LOVE HER

carlossainz55 Mi amor 🤍

↳ username1 CARLOSSS

↳ username2 that should be me

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 1,026,388 others

carlossainz55 P10 ➡️ P5! Beyond happy to share the race with my love @/yourinstagram 😘 Special weekend ahead at Monza, can’t wait to race in front of our Tifosi!

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username1 AHHHHHH

username2 BEST COUPLE EVER

username3 YN DID HOT LAPS WITH CARLOS !!!!

↳ username1 BEST VIDEO EVER

↳ username2 I LOVE THEM SO BAD

scuderiaferarri The Tifosi awaits ❤️

anasainzvdec 🙌

username4 VAMOS CARLITOS

username5 yn and carlos sainz dating is the best thing ever

charles_leclerc 👌👌👌

yourinstagram I love you 🥰🥰 I could get used to this

↳ username1 QUEEN NEVER LEAVE THE PADDOCK

↳ username2 we need her at every race

2K notes · View notes

catsukiiee · 9 months ago

Text

# POSITIONS & R&B.

౨ৎ class 1-a & class 1-b boys x masc/fem!reader

[fan favorites only]

wordcount ; 893

paragraphs ; 41

sentences ; 53

songs used ; songs listed by each character.

all of them are their canon ages (24+)

# CLASS 1-A

# TENYA IIDA [ blame by bryson tiller ]

Tenya doesn’t care what position you two start off in, as long as he’s able to get inside you and hear your moans, then he’s sated. Unfortunately, though, our glorious king, Tenya Iida, cannot last long in any position where he can't see your face. That man NEEDS to see your face; he’s absolutely addicted to seeing your every reaction, especially when he goes deep, sound is not enough. He loves having you in the eagle position, don't even try hiding your face in the pillows.

“I wanna see your face, please.”

# DENKI KAMINARI. [ let em' know by bryson tiller ]

Desperate. That’s the only word I have for this motherfucker. Wanna have sex? He’s down. In doggystyle? Even better. Trust he’s losing his mind as soon as he sees you bend over; expect to have your hair pulled and your shoulders marked with bite marks at the end.

“Look at my little masterpieces.”

# EIJIRO KIRISHIMA [ gang over luv by brent faiyaz ]

As gentlemanly as he is, he’s far from a gentleman in the bedroom; in fact, his favorite position is low doggy. Simply because he can push your face into the mattress and go ham. You want to try and crawl away? Nah baby, he’s grabbing BOTH your arms and locking your ass down; you aren’t running until you’re both finished and he’s tired.

“Why are you moving? Cmere baby.”

# RIKIDO SATO [ ballin by partynextdoor ]

Lethal. He’s strong as fuck, so you better expect to have your pussy absolutely obliterated after a couple of deep strokes, but just like Iida, he needs to see your face to cum, and he's not pulling out either. His favorite position to put you in is young stallion.

That's exactly why y'all have five kids.

“A few more won’t hurt, baby.”

# HANTA SERO [ things & such b partynextdoor ]

THIS MOTHERFUCKER RIGHT HERE IS CRAZY.

The moment you mention wanting to have sex, you don’t even need to move to the bedroom, he loves fucking your brains out on the couch anyway, locking one of your legs over his shoulder while his hands hold your other leg down to keep your legs open so he can watch himself going in and out, your hands WILL BE TIED. Sero is obsessed with watching your breasts bounce to, it drives him insane and makes him finish in a matter of minutes, and he’s not stopping even after cumming first.

The messier the better.

“Look at you sucking me in, goddamn.”

# SHOTO TODOROKI [ jaded by drake ]

Probably the calmest man you know outside the bedroom, but when you’re both in the mood? Your back will be hurting. He loves seeing your back arched; if he goes too deep and you ruin the arch, he’s pushing you right back down immediately.

“What did I say? Lower it back down.”

# IZUKU MIDORIYA [ can i by drake ]

A whole power bottom, he loves having you on top of him, guiding your hips while you ride him. When he's feeling a little adventurous, he likes to grab your throat, forcing your eyes to stay on his as he starts to fuck up into you. HE'S A WHINER. The closer he gets, the whinier he gets.

“Can I cum in you? Please let me cum in you. I wanna cum in you so bad, please. Fuck, I'm cumming."

# KATSUKI BAKUGOU [ altitude by monetell fish ]

As soon as the “Wanna have sex” comes out of your mouth, it’s over for you; it doesn’t matter if y’all are in the living room, bathroom, kitchen, or out in PUBLIC. Trust, he’s going to find a way to have your ass folded and panting. He likes folding you into a pretzel just as much as he likes having you on your hands and knees.

Wanna try and move his hands? They’re locked behind your back. Start squirming and crawling away? He’s got a solution for that ass.

“Stop fucking squirming and take it.”

# HITOSHI SHINSO [ first fuck by 6lack ft jhene aiko ]

Gentle touches and hard deep strokes.

He’s far more focused on having his hands explore your body while doing it, might accidentally brainwash you when he asks, “Is this okay?” or “Want me to go harder? I can’t understand you baby.”

He loves positions where he can see your face as well.

# CLASS 1-B

# NEITO MONOMA [ sweat by zayn ]

This bitch cannot accept defeat; all that shit talking about lasting longer only to cum inside you after a couple of pumps, seeing your back glistening and your ass rippling each time his hips snapped against you was enough to send him over after five minutes. Don't worry though, he keeps going until you're finished, and then keeps going... and going just to get the 'last word' in his own way.

“What was that? All I hear are mumbles, tsk tsk, what a shame.”

# TETSUTETSU TETSUTETSU [ feel it by jacquees ]

Oh baby, he LOVES folding your ass as much as he loves your reactions to him going balls deep each time. Pulling your hair, shoving his fingers into your mouth when you got too loud, and pushing your back down into a deeper arch just to hit it deeper when he has you on your hands and knees.

'Overstimulation is key' is his mindset when he's fucking you.

“Yeah baby, keep cumming.”

i think y'all can tell who i listen to a lot and which characters are my favorite by writing this 💀..

I'M SORRY IF THE SONGS DON'T FIT THE CHARACTERS </3 THIS WAS ORIGINALLY GOING TO JUST BE ABOUT SERO BUT THEN I HAD AN IDEA

TEACHERS ARE NEXT!

#tenya iida smut #hanta sero smut #katsuki bakugo smut #denki kaminari smut #neito monoma smut #tetsutetsu tetsutetsu smut #ejirou kirishima smut #rikido sato smut #shoto todoroki smut #izuku midoriya smut #shinsou hitoshi smut #my hero academia smut #x reader smut

811 notes · View notes

chxrryhansen · 1 year ago

Text

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Cevans Series Rec List

thought i’d make a list of all the best cevans (characters) series i have read!! i have lots more to add and will continue to update this list🫶🏻 i will also create a one shot fic rec list in the near future💖💘💞

Preying On You Tonight - @evansbby

“Steve is the cocky, brash and domineering alpha who makes your life at university a living hell every day. You’re the complete opposite - quiet, meek and reserved. You’re convinced Steve hates you, but what happens when he finds out you have a boyfriend? (a/b/o dynamics)”

Wicked Games - @evansbby

Ari is the campus fuckboy and you’re his little plaything. But he’s telling the truth when he says he’s going to make you his girlfriend soon, right?

What A World - @onsunnyside

S.H.I.E.L.D. had a lot of secrets, you just never expected one of them to be an actual person—a blue-eyed giant, wild manbeast at that. [tarzan!Steve Rogers x doctor!reader, nomad!steve, size difference]

Just Because I Won’t Die For You, Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Kill For You - @dbnightingale24

Lloyd Hansen is just another job for you. Your last job. However, when he decides that he wants to take you for a ride and have a good time, well...how’s a girl supposed to say no?

Closer To Heaven And Closer To You - @georgiapeach30513

When your boyfriend, Ransom wants to take a trip back home to the ranch to meet your family, you are unsure. Knowing that a rodeo is in town could only mean your ex, Frank Adler, was most likely riding for eight seconds, still trying to beat his best friend, Steve Rogers. All you wanted was a nice time, not old memories bothering your brain.

Just Like The Caged Bird - @georgiapeach30513

You are a widow who moves back to her husband's hometown after selling your in Georgia home. Moving in above your brother in law's garage. Sharing the space with his friend Bucky Barnes, but your other brother-in-law Andy causes problems, along with your overprotective brothers.

Pretty Petals - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

You go on a self-improvement retreat, but not all is as it seems. (multi-character)

His Koala Bear - @kinanabinks

you and steve have been best friends since you were 5. for the longest time, he has wanted so much more from you. and it's getting harder for him to stop himself from taking it.

Belong Here - @angrythingstarlight

Steve has been looking for his perfect girl and suddenly there you are stuck in this dingy restaurant. You don't belong here, you belong with him.

Finding Home - @navybrat817

Steve finds a home with you. (lumberjack Au)

Their Doll - @kaiparker-avengerssmut

y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

No Better Than Beast’s - @lokislastlove

You’re an animal rights activist who sets out to put an end to animal testing… but it’s a risky mission. (Dark!Steve Rogers)

Doppelgänger - @boxofbonesfic

Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. (Dark!Ransom Drysdale + Dark!Lloyd Hansen)

Million Dollar Man - @chrisevansgoodgirl

your relationship with ransom and his insane family.

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart - @spacesnail3000

Bucky and Steve had always been meant to keep her safe and happy. As far as anyone else was concerned, that was their sole reason for being alive. Unfortunately, the things that kept her safe were not always the things that kept her happy. Lately, she was making it pretty damn hard for them to compromise.

Let It Snow - @spacesnail3000

She was his Omega, and Steve had a plan. She would love him. He knew she would.

Sweet Renegade - @cevansbrat0007

A new arrival in town leads to an unexpected complication in the form of a sexy as sin Bounty Hunter named Ari Levinson.

Evergreen, Evermore - @babyjakes

loving husbands jake and ari had always believed they were all each other could ever want or need. but one unusual summer, when their world is turned upside-down by an uncanny girl from down the street, they find that having someone to love, nurture, and care for together is the missing piece that finally completes their perfect family and lives.

A Huckleberry Is Nothing Without His Hummingbird - @dbnightingale24

Lloyd and Y/N have been amicably(ish) divorced for four years. However, when earth shattering trauma come their way, will they lean into what they truly want, or will the flames from past traumas still burn too bright?

Civil war- Brooklyn - @saiyanprincessswanie

Ten years ago the Readers world was turned upside down when her father was killed by Hydras Brock Rumlow. She believes the loves of her life Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes were also killed while trying to avenge her fathers death. Reader is now working for the FBI on a task force that is meant to take down Hydra. She volunteers to go undercover to take down Hydra. In doing so she not only puts herself in the cross hairs with Rumlow but she gets to meet the mystery men causing Hydra issues. Who are the Captain and Winter Soldier? What lengths will you go through to uncover the truth and seek revenge?

The Boston Brute - @time-for-a-lullaby

When you graduated from Northeastern University, you had your sights set on the West Coast. And then you were offered a position with the Boston Bruins Athletic Training Department. And then you met Chris. A 6′3″, ruggedly handsome hockey player dead set on making your life a living hell by pushing every button and getting on every nerve. Despite your obvious disdain for each other and the ‘No Fraternization’ clause in your employee contract, you’re drawn together in a passionate, fiery love affair that seems to burn everything in its wake.

Planet Evans Universe - @astranva

In which Chris was a nervous mess when he met his A+ list celebrity crush, highest-paid, and the most iconic actress, you, at Vanity Fair’s 2014 after party. (Following the life of overprotective!dad!Chris x wife!actress!reader!)

Don’t Speak - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (Dark!Andy Barber)

Cat and Mouse - @queen-of-the-avengers

You’re called the Vixen because you were HYDRA’s favorite creation. You’re very hard to catch, and once you are, it’s even harder to keep you.

Let’s Ride - @starryevermore

You’re a single mom and have just moved into a new town. You have no interest in looking for love, but the funny thing about love is, it waits for no one. (Biker!Ari Levinson)

Out Of The Darkness - @sunshinexsin

Sienna Jons has lived in Boston for three years now after graduating and is running her own salon in the city. With a small group of friends sticking by her side, she's content with her life. Enter Chris Evans, a known and feared mob boss in Boston’s underground crime world. Coming out of a long relationship ended in a bitter divorce, Chris isn’t looking for anything serious until Sienna crosses his path. Trying to win her over proves difficult for the man who seemingly has it all and Sienna is not willing to be with someone who causes such destruction in his own hometown. Sienna soon finds herself entangled in the crazy, violent world of the mob and struggles to find a way to either live with the hardened man Chris has always been or get away from him before her own life spirals out of control.

Murder He Wrote - @wiypt-writes

You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween. (Dark!Ransom Drysdale)

Poison Paradise - @the-iceni-bitch

Robert Pronge was sure he could settle for a fake domestic life as long as he could go on killing. Little did he know that you could give him everything he needed.

A Bun In The Oven - @witchywithwhiskey

the leaves are changing—green fading into golden yellow, burnt orange and radiant red—and the days are getting shorter and colder as autumn settles in. it's the perfect time of year for baked goods, fall foliage, book stores, and to curl up next to (and get under) our favorite man with a plan, steve rogers

Wilford’s Demands - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Wilford places you in Curtis’ care so he can impregnate you.

In The Balance - @goodgirlofglory

One unsuspecting evening, the stranger Steve Rogers appears bloodied and in need of aid at your doorstep. You immediately catch his eye, and he forces himself upon you within the hour. Several months of repeated visits from him results in your pregnancy, and the night you find out, Steve intereceps you on your way to an abortion clinic and kidnaps you to his mansion. Will you carry the child to term? Will you buckle under the pressure of capitivity? Will you escape the grasp Steve has on you, or will you submit to it and your own, conflicted desires?

Drowning Siren - @rogerswifesblog

The Avengers found an old abandoned HYDRA base, that had been cleared after HYDRAs existence had been exposed. At least they thought it was cleared. It was the biggest experimental lab they had ever seen, the closest base to the ocean, full with creatures-dead creatures. Some of them laid still on tables, stripped with metal cuffs, open and already rotting. It was an awful smell. But then they heard something beautiful. A melody, a beautiful voice singing unbelievably gentle sounds. Walking into the building full with ocean creatures, they had no idea their life was about to change.

Vampire Kings Religion - @marvelcriminalhoe

In a world where fantasy beings roam every corner, the humans are on the bottom. Looked at as weak and disgraceful. The vampires are the opposite. They rule the land, and all of the creatures that take part of it. the current ruler, King Steven, has ruled for more than 150 years, alone. After many nights, and long talks with his most trusted hands, he comes to the long awaited decision that he will finally, take a wife. All female creatures, are to be evaluated, so he can find his perfect match. Of course, no one expects for him to choose a human. Especially not one from the church. Especially not the daughter, of the leader, of the church. The same church that detests the mythical creatures, wishing for nothing more than for them to perish in fire. How could this union possibly end well?

Ride And Prejudice - @pagesoflauren

A take on Pride & Prejudice, certain circumstances in your life have led you to take refuge and work in a farm village, particularly on the ranch owned by Steve Rogers. He doesn’t take kindly to you, having bad perceptions about city folk. Your only reaction to that is the one you deem acceptable: get annoyed at every little thing he does whilst doing your best to annoy him and still keep your job.

Love On The Brain - @howardpotts

You’re just a student, living her normal daily life in New York. One night changes everything, without you even knowing. Steve Rogers slowly introduces you to his world full of money, drugs and voilence. But are you able to handle what he has to offer? (MobBoss!Steve Rogers)

Flamingo King - @onsunnyside

The sun is brutal this summer, especially in Flamingo Trailer Park, the land of big hearts and cheap tricks, you’ve been here for years unlike your “new” neighbour, Ari. He’s older, bigger, and intimidating, the local rockstar, and you, well, aren’t you just the sweetest girl in the whole damn city?

Make It A December To Remember - @imyourbratzdoll

AGE AND SIZE DIFFERENCE IS ADDED TO ALL! SANTA AND THE GRINCH ARE LARGER THAN THE READER! THE ELVES ARE THE SIZE OF HER PALM! (a chris evans xmas universe)

This Love Is Bad - @wildestdreamsblog

You were just trying to escape your past, and Ari was trying to chase his future.

Nowhere To Run - @sagechanoafterdark

On the last day that Steve spent in your small town before heading off to basic training for the army, he made sure it was one you wouldn’t ever forget. Years later when he appears in your town he seems like a changed man in more ways than one, but you’re ready to show him that you’ve never forgotten that day. (Dark!Steve Rogers+ Bucky Barnes)

Nice To Be Kneaded - @rogersideup

Almost every news station in the country was covering the chase for the missing superheroes post-raft-escape following the Civil War. Steve Rogers face had been plastered on the cover of every news paper, fliers stapled to street lamps, posted on bulletin boards in what felt like every coffee shop in the country. It had been just a few long months shy of a year, just long enough to grow out his hair and beard to make himself as unrecognizable as he could manage. Though he was still the poster boy of disorder within the states, he found himself in the scanty town of Greenwood in the house right next to yours.

Forever And Ever More - @syntheticavenger

Ransom Drysdale may be Boston’s most eligible Alpha who has his eyes set on you. With his inheritance hanging in the balance, he won’t take no for an answer, whether you like him or not.

Hackers Heart - @bakugousaysdie

steve rogers has always been america’s golden boy, leading earth’s mightiest heroes and serving his country. you have always been bad with boundaries, a little too curious, and an absolute disruption. you are an absolute menace,so it’s only right you fell in love with the most adored man in the country.

Arranged - @time-for-a-lullaby

Living in this life, you’ve never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you’re dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life of abuse while being kept under lock and key, you’re pleasantly surprised when Chris is nothing like you expected. He’s the most feared man on the East Coast, only brought to his knees by one thing and one thing only. You.

#chxrrys fic recs #chxrrys masterlist #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #steve rogers #ransom drysdale #lloyd hansen #andy barber #ari levinson #chris evans fic recs #steve rogers fic recs

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jellofish-plant · 6 months ago

Text

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ MasterList ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

WELCOME TO: jellofish-plant's MasterList

hi everyone!

I'm alli and this is my list of my previous and continuing works as of right now.

Guidelines & Rules

Red Hood

Shadows and Smoke || x female reader

one two three four five six

Jason Todd headcanons

A Night In (Jason Todd x reader fluff)

home with you (Jason Todd x reader fluff)

Caught in the Crossfire

Crime Alley's Sweetheart

A Different Kind of Love

Through The Years

The Broken Pieces

Love Languages

Raindrops & Red Hood

Kitchen Chaos

Sleeping In

Headcanons: First Meeting – Red Hood Saves You

Headcanons: First Meeting. Pt 2 – A Familiar stranger

Valentine’s Day with Jason Todd

Jason Todd Valentine's Day Headcanons

Proof of Existence

Leather & Warmth

Focus on You

Rest In Red

Framed in Forever [◉"]

Hold Me First

Sleep-Talk Confessions

Not Letting Go

I thought you were dead...

Just...don't leave me, okay?

You should hate me

"Till the End of the Line"

Honeymoon in Gotham - Part 2 of "Till the End of the Line",

Fragments of Us

Stitches and Secrets

Red Truth

Burnt Pancakes and Leather Jackets

Table for One

Third Wheel or Vigilant Chaperone?

Trouble Loves Company

Crash Course in Care

A 101 Step Guide to Win His Heart

Partners in Crime (and Mildly Annoying Batman)

Sleep is Safer With You || headcanons

Sleep is Safer With You || FanFic

Quiet Mornings

Dinner For two

Steam & Softness

The First time

Lazy Mornings

Under the Weather

Stay With Me

Another Day of Sunsets

Bat Family

Bat Family platonic & relationship Headcanons (Brue Wayne, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, & Selina Kyle)

Bat Family platonic & relationship headcanons

Silent Watcher (Batman x reader)

Through the Years With You (Nightwing x reader)

DC Characters

Justice League headcanons super man, wonder women, Batman, Green Lantern, The Flash

Rex Splode (Invincible)

Explosive Moments

Explosive Dynamics [Part 1] [Part 2]

#jellofish-plant #masterlist #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfic #batman #batfam #batfamily

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iamgonnagetyouback · 3 months ago

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──౨ৎ THAT'S THAT ME ESPRESSO CAFE ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCLOSED

hi loves! so lately i’ve been seriously lacking motivation, and instead of doing something normal about it, i decided to open a café on tumblr. it just felt right. sometimes the only cure for creative burnout is pretending your blog has a drink menu and you're the overworked barista with a god complex.

so! welcome to the very original 'that's that me espresso café' — a fun little celebration just because i needed something light and lovely to get back into the swing of things. come hang out, send in an order, let’s romanticize my procastination together ‹𝟹

🥧 love crust pie

crumbs of affection — served fresh from the oven and sprinkled with love. send in a character, and i’ll hand you the one (1) love language they use to say “i love you” without ever saying it. no refunds. side effects may include giggling, delusion, and sudden yearning. you've been warned

☕ black coffee confessions

cry-at-the-counter combo — tell me what emotional disaster you’re currently going through (yes, overshare), and i’ll tell you exactly how your fave would fix it. includes a complimentary forehead kiss if needed. comes with a napkin for your tears

🍪 impulsive cookie

build-a-bite edition — choose a prompt, a genre, and a character (mention who you want as the talker and listener), and i’ll whip up a bite-sized drabble straight from the impulsive oven of my brain. no guarantee it’s structurally sound, but it’ll be sweet, slightly unhinged, and emotionally filling. may contain feelings. proceed with caution (and sprinkles)

🥐 croissant of possibility

order up! — send me a trope or an au (or both, if you’re bold), and i’ll craft you a mini fic. served fresh with a side of delusion

RULES

♡︎. please send each order in a separate ask

♡︎. don’t spam the counter (aka my inbox)

♡︎. keep it small text like this — ( abc )

♡︎. this lil café is just for motivation, so not every order will be answered

♡︎. please don’t send AUs or tropes that belong to another writer’s original concept — we respect the recipes of other cafés

♡︎. characters are mentioned in my request guidelines

PROMPT LISTS

♡︎. angst by @novelbear

♡︎. angst by @keyotosprompts

♡︎. fluff by @/keyotosprompts

♡︎. jealousy by @/keyotosprompts

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTHANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING!!

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

#ৎ୭ ivy's celebrations ♡⸝⸝#♡⃛ that's that me espresso cafe ౨ৎ.ᐟ #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #harry potter x reader #poly!marauders x reader #wolfstar x reader #theodore nott x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #lorenzo berkshire x reader #tom riddle x reader #fred weasley x reader #jess mariano x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #spencer reid x reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader

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reidmoony-toast · 3 months ago

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We Hug Now. ౨ৎ

"The world ended when it happened to me"

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Spencer finally returns from prison, but he isn't the man he used to be

content: no use of y/n, angst (some) comfort cw: sad themes, metaphors of violence an: This is out way later than I thought it would be so I'm very sorry 😭 Anyways this is for the gorgeous @thegloryofliterature ilysm and I hope you enjoy lovely <3

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You paced the room anxiously, jittery hands pressed to your racing heart. The apartment hadn't changed one bit since Spencer had last been inside—you had the irrational fear that if you did, you would lose those little parts of him forever. The pile of books on his night stand stayed precarious as ever, a layer of dust covering his copy of War and Peace in its original Russian—one of his favourites.

His favourite mug sat ready on the counter, as if he would walk in at any moment and pour himself a cup. It would have too much sugar, and you’d tease him for it, before he’d lean across the cool stone and kiss you softly, sickly sweetness coating his lips.

A purple scarf hung on the coat rack by the door, faded with use. It was his favourite. Is his favourite. It was a gift from his mother almost half a decade ago, and he’d cherished it ever since. The stitching on one end had come apart, and you’d sewn it back together. The new thread wasn't the perfect colour match, but Spencer hadn’t minded one bit. He said it added character, and always reminded him of you each time he wore it. You couldn't help but notice the purple scarf adorning his outfits more after that.

You glanced at your phone again for the hundredth time, and found the same text from Penelope, sitting, opened and unresponded, on your screen.

He’s coming home. Today.

Not much else needed to be said. Those few words gave everything you needed to know—except when he would arrive. Thus, you had been wearing a patch into the rug beneath the coffee table with your excessive pacing ever since you received Pen’s text.

When would he be here? You were almost sick with worry. You peered at the text again, then abruptly threw your phone onto the plush couch. It was no use reading it once again. It wouldn't help.

These last few months had been absolute torture. Knowing Spencer was in such a horrible place, getting hurt, and there was nothing you could do about it? It had to be one of the worst feelings in the world. Like you were being stabbed repeatedly with a serrated knife, and every time it was pulled out so slowly, you could feel each and every agonising groove.

Worst of all, Spencer had left you off his visitor’s list. That little fact cut the deepest. Spencer Reid, the man you loved most in the world, the one you had bared your soul to for the past three years, actively didn't want to see you. It was like one big inside joke you had been left out of.

No matter how beyond relieved you were that he was finally out of that hell hole, the pit in your stomach that got increasingly worse each time you thought about that little fact didn't abate, even now.

What were you going to say to him? After all these months without so much as a phone call shared between the two of you. All the information you received came second-hand from his team, and you didn't even get to correspond by letter.

Why had he done it, why? You had lain awake at night contemplating that question for weeks on end.

You understood Spencer, more than you understood yourself, even, but what you couldn't understand was why Spencer felt like he couldn't show all of himself to you, even the most horrible parts. Especially those parts.

With almost divine timing, the door handle turned slowly, and your head whipped to the door. You froze in place, staring with wide eyes as the door clicks, opening cautiously. There was no need for a key, you had unlocked it hours ago, anticipating this very moment.

The door opened fully, and Spencer eased himself into the entryway. You couldn’t breathe. His form was hunched, hair falling limply into his eyes, and you could spy facial hair covering his jaw in a dark shadow.

His gaze shot up, and the door slipped from his grasp, banging loudly into its frame. You both jumped slightly at the noise, but your eyes never left each other. You sucked in a sharp breath. He looked empty. Like every joy and light that once filled him so profoundly was completely extinguished. Snuffed out.

His eyes were gaunt, dark circles of unrest swept under his lower lash. Those eyes—once doe-eyed and hopeful—were haunted. Exhausted. Utterly wrecked and full of anguish.

You both stood there, unblinking and unmoving for what felt like an eternity. The harsh silence is broken with harsher words. “Why, Spencer.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a statement. It resembled more that of a plea. For what, you didn’t know.

He said nothing.

“Why didn’t you let me see you? Why did you shut me out? Do you really think I’m that shallow?” A silent tear tracked it way down your cheek, pooling on your jaw before dropping onto the rug beneath your feet. You weren't even aware of crying in the first place. “Why.”

He just stared.

“Spencer.” Your voice cracked, and your limbs unlocked enough to take a small step forward. He just shook his head slowly, swallowing harshly as he regarded you with his broken eyes, and a lone tear traced its way down the contours of his face, perfectly mirroring your own. It caught in his five o'clock shadow and disappeared, leaving only a shining track of sorrow down his cheek.

Your lip trembled and your eyes softened at the scene before you, and you forgot any prior grievances—you forgot everything, even your name, as you focused your whole being on the broken and bruised man before you.

“Oh, my love, what did they do to you?” The words came out as an almost imperceptible whisper, cracked and crazed, like a window pane just before it shatters into a million lethal shards that bite into your hands and feet—stinging and deep.

It all happened so quickly after that. Spencer's face crumpled completely, a wracking sob crawling out through his throat. He stumbled forward at breakneck speed, straight towards you, like a compass pointing to its true north.

You didn’t remember how, but you were moving too—less fast, but no less determined, and you both ate up the distance, until there was no other option than to fall right into each other.

That was exactly what happened, and he barrelled into you so hard that all the air in your lungs was forced out against your will. Momentum sent you both crashing towards the kitchen, and Spencer cushioned your fall with one arm wrapped tightly around your middle, the other flying out to catch himself on the countertop before he crushed you with his large frame.

A shattering sound punctured through your bubble of consciousness, but you paid it no mind. Everything else in the world was inconsequential compared to the man sobbing violently into your neck, arms holding onto you for dear life.

Your own limbs came up to rest—one around his shoulders, the other threading through the dull curls at the base of his neck. You rubbed soothing circles on his back, whispering incoherent comforts into his ear. He continued to shudder, choking on his tears and tightening his grip to an almost crushing embrace.

Your heart ached for him, deep and painful. You hurt for everything he has suffered. You hurt for what he had to do to survive, for what was done to him. You hurt for the utter loneliness he must have felt with no comforts and no freedom, and all for a crime he didn't commit. You hurt for the relapse that was forced upon him, and for the reason he went to Mexico in the first place.

Spencer poured out every feeling of guilt and inadequacy, of shame and disgust. Every moment he felt scared, and every moment he felt anger so powerful, it made him afraid of his own mind.

But mostly, it was the feeling of helplessness that held him captive. You knew that feeling well, had become close acquaintances with it in the past months—though nothing to the extent of his, you were sure.

He clung to you like you were a lighthouse in a storm, and you let him. Told him to let it all out—every haunting and twisted minute of the past three months.

The longer you stood there, the more you understood why he pushed you away, even as it ripped the stitches open on that wound once again. He never let others see his pain, and to be so vulnerable and so raw, stripped of your self-identity like that, was a scary thing for him to allow others to see.

While it hurt, you knew Spencer, knew his vice. Knew that he thought he was doing the best by the both of you, not stopping to consider that maybe you wanted to be there for the bad. Wanted, because you wanted inside his soul, because you wanted—needed—to be his shining light home; for your souls were intertwined, and he would have to try a lot harder to push you away.

You stayed steady now, for if you broke, you wouldn't be the rock he needed. No, you had to stand strong. For Spencer.

Your neck was sticky with hot tears, and you sent a look at the floor to your left—by pure chance—and a flash of porcelain shine caught your eyes. Then, in stillness, you realised what it was.

Spencer’s mug. The one you laid out every morning. It rested there on the kitchen tile, broken. Smashed. In Spencer's flail to catch the both of you, he must have knocked it to the ground.

You stared. And stared.

And finally, after trying so hard to be the strong one, the calm one, the understanding and soothing one, the damn burst, and a tidal wave washed away the foundations of your resolve.

You cried. Loudly. Painfully. The sobs wracked your whole body, down to your cold feet on the freezing tile. You could feel those shards of glass now.

The pain you felt, so visceral and puncturing, was no longer a metaphor—the glass cut into your feet, legs, arms, stomach and chest, as your eviscerated body sluggishly poured hot and sticky blood onto the kitchen floor in perfect tandem with your cracking heart.

You registered Spencer whispering something over and over again into the smooth skin of your neck, now wet with tears. Your next sob was choked as you realised the words. “I’m sorry.” Over and over, again and again.

You listened to those two soul-crushing words as you stared, unblinking, at the mug on the floor. It was broken beyond repair, and it could never be fixed, not fully. No matter how intricately you glued it back into one piece, it would never be the same ever again.

The cracks would still be there, even if they weren't visible. It would never gain back its strength again, and it would easily chip, easily shatter once more.

As you held the man you love in your arms, letting him sag against you, use you as a lifeline, you realised the unfathomable truth. No matter what, nothing would ever be the same again.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ───────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @navs-bhat <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

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vxsellie · 8 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚. GHOSTS OF SACRILEGE !

synopsis. fbi agent!ellie williams x nun!reader ; it's truly no shock that the entirety of west virginia is emerged by trepidation, considering hundreds of residents have gone missing within the past three months. as a form of consolation for those fearful, an esteemed fbi agent is sent to investigate. what she finds, however, is more than she could ever have expected.

notes. this piece is part of the mythologica challenge! i tried my absolute hardest to do the theme justice bc of how good it is. also pls note that every town mentioned is real & i did a decent amount of research on each one, but that doesn't at all mean that it's entirely accurate. i've been to some of the places, but not all also ! this is my first time ever writing detailed smut so i literally know none of the correct words to use or how to describe what's happening & it might turn out being literal dog shit,, if that's the case i apologize!

warnings. religious horror, an attempt at writing smut, angst, plot twists, horrible world building, major character death x2, possessive / obsessive romance, descriptive gore, blood, satanic rituals, human sacrifice, blood, oral (r! receiving), brief mentions of abuse & assault, murder as a metaphor, past animal death, long exposition i'm sorry, and - last but most important - the sweet release of desecrating salvation.

wc. 9.5k+

𝓝aught but unease filled the tiny town of bluefeild as yet another missing person is found to be reported in the newspaper. the sun begins to peer over the horizon, long shadows cast against the sidewalk that newsboys toss the papers from. they ride their bikes down the concrete with a fervor that should be rare. but it’s been rather common in bluefeild as of late. every since december. ever since the incidents first began.

nobody in town can be seen outside without a frantic expression and a fast pace. fear fuels their every step as they scurry outside to retrieve the news before burrowing back into the safety of their homes, hungry eyes skimming the article in search of who’s gone missing this time.

ellie hadn't expected much when traveling here. a small town of worrisome locals, a serial kidnapper hiding in plain sight. y'know, the usual for cases like these.

but something about this case stands out to her. there's a certain weight in her chest as each day passes without answers. in the beginning, she'd asked around town, hoping to find some common denominator among everyone's weariness. but there's nothing. the residents are closed off, thick boots and even thicker country drawls quick to kick the agent off their rotting porch at first glance. she's been here for a while now, not a single clue made evident. no loose ends, no muddy footprints, no witnesses. it's like these people just disappear into thin air.

ellie sits in her idled car, eyes scanning today's newspaper for slips of information. she can't help the way her interest piques, slowly going mad with lack of elucidation. she runs a hand through her hair, shoulders weighed with fatigue and dwindling hope.

see, over two-hundred people have gone missing in the past three months ⎯ which is a big deal in and of itself, but even more so considering bluefeild's population is well under five thousand.

her windows fog as rain patters gently against the steel of her vehicle, the whether cold and dreary in comparison to her car's heated temperature. she supposes it fits the mood, though, doesn't it?

after twenty minutes of analyzing each and every word given, ellie groans and stuffs the newspaper into her glove box, slamming it shut. evidently, the paper provided nothing of use to her. it has a picture of the man missing, his name inscribed under the image, and a few words of grief are quoted to have been said by the families. but that's it.

as of this morning, jason casey has been added to the long list of missing persons. and not a soul could say why nor how.

ellie pulls her phone from her coat pocket, clicking on her bosses contact before wedging it between her ear and shoulder. she listens to it ring as she puts her car into gear, pulling out of the parking space she'd been occupying. it's not like anyone here would dare to use their cars anyhow. most shops and businesses have been temporarily closed, owners fearing the possibility of suffering the same fate as those prior.

"ellie?" joel's voice comes through the tiny speakers, papers rustling in the background of the call as he speaks. "what're you callin' me for? i thought you were on the bluefeild case."

"there's nothin' to go off of." she tells him. one hand is rested on the wheel whilst the other holds her phone.

"you're our best investigator, williams, i'm sure you'll find somethin'." he says offhandedly, continuing to shuffle through whatever papers are of more interest to him than his alleged best employee.

she rolls her eyes at his dismissive tone. "hundreds are missing, joel. without a trace or a sign left behind. they're likely dead, if i were to guess. i don't— what the hell good does that do?"

"find the bodies." he says easily. "their corpses might point to their killer."

"no shit." ellie scoffs. "the issue isn't what to do next, it's how the fuck i'm supposed to do it. this has been goin' on for months and no bodies have turned up. where am i even supposed to look? like i said, there ain't a damn thing left behind."

she coasts down the streets of bluefeild, using this time to feel the layout of it and examine what she's working with. she's been here for a while now, but the town remains a mystery to her. and, from what she's seen, it's a bit of a mystery to everyone else as well.

she notices that many of the homes are old and shabby, paint flaking and wood rotting. in the yards, however, almost every resident has some form of a religious symbol. a cross, a statue of mary, a flag for something biblical. anything to show their faith.

to each their own, i guess. she thinks to herself with a shrug before turning her attention elsewhere.

the streets are empty, as expected. a few street lights are on, the yellow illumination flicking with worn age. even on the two-lane roads, there's not a car in sight. she narrows her eyes at this, a shiver tracing up her spine at the disturbing vastness.

"well," joel says, "search the papers some more."

"i've done that a thousand fuckin' times." ellie groans, eyes still scanning her surroundings with intent of committing it all to memory. just in case. "there's nothin' there. it's just all information on the missing people, half-assed sympathy for the victim's family, and a picture of 'em."

joel sighs, the sound of tapping resonating through the phone. ellie recognizes the sound, having worked for joel long enough to know that he always taps a pencil against his desk when he's thinking. it's a good sign, she thinks. it means he's at least giving her predicament some thought.

she's been in bluefeild for eight days now, spending her time interrogating random residents for informations; spending her nights rereading the stupid fucking newspapers. naught good has been of ramification.

the repetition of it all is driving her insane, especially considering none of her efforts have yet to pay off in any sort of way. she'd hoped that when the next person showed up missing, something would present itself. a clue would rear its ugly head at her and she'd grab it by the throat with fervor. but no. jason casey went missing and all heads remain hidden. so, after an hour of battling with her pride, she decided to make the call to joel and admit her being stuck.

"okay." he says, shuffling a bit as he finally gives ellie his full attention. "okay, pull over for a second, i'm gonna need you to do somethin' for me."

she instantly obliges, pulling off to the nearest backroad. gravel crunches under her tires as she drives along the thin path wedged between two decrepit buildings. the alley is small and a bit sketchy, but that's exactly what she needs. ellie puts her car in park, windows translucent in their heavily fogged blanket.

"how many newspapers do you have on you?" joel asks when he hears her car go into idle.

"um," she reaches over and opens her glove box, watching as yellowed papers fall from the newly opened door. they flutter to the floor and atop the passenger's seat. she hums, amused at the sight of her obsession making a tangible image in her head. "a lot."

"okay, good. perfect." joel mutters, the clacking of a keyboard sounding through the tiny speaker. "the first person who went missing was carl andrews. he was thirty-seven. his wife claims he was supposed to have been walking home from work but never showed up for dinner."

ellie scrambles through her messy stack of newspapers, searching for carl's report. she finally finds it, the paper dated to have been written near the beginning of december. she straightens out the wrinkles, examining his picture.

"looks like your average middle age man." ellie mutters, taking in his scruffy beard and wrinkled skin. "he was a carpenter. had two kids, both boys."

"yes, i have the paper pulled up on my computer." joel says. "but it doesn't show his address or nothin'. this shitty website only has half of the damn document."

ellie skims through the words, searching for the street or neighborhood he'd lived in. when she turns up empty-handed she groans, now well familiar with the feeling of disappointment regarding this case. "nope. no home address." she says with an evidently annoyed tone.

"what about his workplace?" joel asks. "if he'd been walkin' home, his work must be close enough for him to do so."

"oh shit," she mutters. she'd studied his article for hours — studied all of them — and she hadn't even thought to look there. her hands clutch the paper as she searches with a hungered gaze. her eyes widen at the address listed on the paper. "yes it's on fifth street."

more typing is heard through the phone, "says here that,, there's a neighborhood right by there. a few blocks down from the carpenters' building. must've been where he lived."

"perfect." ellie grins, adrenaline rushing through her.

oh, she feels on top of the world right now.

"okay, now i want you to look for addresses in all the other papers." joel says, flipping a switch in his tone — off to being ellie's friend and on to being her boss. a familiar change, but an unpleasant one nonetheless. "check 'n see if there's a link between where they'd been last spotted."

"okay."

ellie sets carl's paper aside and grabs another random one. she reads the heading briefly, recognizing it to be the article on bryan turner who'd gone missing in the middle of january. he'd allegedly been walking his dog and never returned to his apartment, according to his elderly female neighbor.

the address is actually listed this time. not his exact apartment number, but the building. ellie can't help the smile that tugs at her mouth again as she grabs a random notepad and scribbles both addresses onto the paper, reminding herself to compare their proximity when she gets back to her hotel later tonight.

"you're a goddan genius, joel." ellie mutters as she sets bryan's paper atop carl's and grabs another. sam cortez. late december.

"thanks, kid." joel chuckles into the phone. ellie has it set aside, call set to speaker as she flips through papers and continues to write down addresses into her notes. her movements are frantic and hurried, adrenaline refusing to wind down from its newly heightened state. joel speaks again, regaining her attention. "uh, sorry t' tell you this but i've gotta go. it's almost midnight and i've been at the building since ten o'clock this mornin'."

"yeah yeah, whatever." ellie replies off-handedly. "thanks for your help, old man. i think i can take it from here now, though. go get your beauty rest."

"promise to call me in the mornin'?" he asks. "i wanna hear what y' find."

"yes, i promise." she laughs. "i'll call you as soon as i wake up."

"okay good. don't overwork yourself either, you need to⎯"

"goodbye, joel!" she says, grabbing her phone and hanging up on him before she has to listen to him reprimand her for lack of rest. he's one to talk, too, seeing as he'd just admitted to having been at the building all damn day.

she sighs, deciding to put a pin in her address search and get back to her hotel to finish working in the comfort of a bed.

she sets her papers into two neat piles in the passenger's seat ⎯ one for those she'd already gone through and one for those she hasn't yet gotten to. then, she puts her key into the ignition and pulls out of the little road.

as she drives down the street, she examines her surroundings once again. still as impoverished as before.

she passes a small farm house, eyes drawn to the old lady sitting on the porch. she's rocking back and forth rather ominously, making direct eye contact with ellie through the windshield. slowly, the woman nods her head toward where a large cross is staked into the soil of her front yard. ellie looks away, a sudden uneasiness washing over her as she presses harder on the gas.

she reaches her hotel a few minutes later, stuffing her papers under each arm before entering the building and heading toward the elevator. by the time she reaches her room, she practically rips her heavy leather jacket off, the yellow 'fbi' label bright and bold against the black material as she tosses it onto her bed. she sits cross-legged in the center of her room, laying out all the newspapers in front of her.

she continues to sort through them all, eyebrows furrowing as she comes to realize that all the victims are men.

she hurriedly flips through the documents, certain she must he wrong. but she's not. they're all male. ellie writes this down on her notepad, handwriting rushed and nigh unintelligible. despite the sloppiness, she circles it, sure it'll prove to be of importance later on.

by the time ellie finishes going through what feels like hundreds of papers, she decides that's enough for her to be able to find a pattern if there is one. the digital clock atop the nightstand reads 2am, flashing bright red numbers at her. she ignores it, too high off the thrill of finally finding something in this priorly monotonous case.

she pulls her laptop from her bag and flips it open atop her crossed legs, quick to pull up a map and type in the coordinates of each address. they appear random at first, completely fucking unrelated to one another. a pang of dread hits ellie in the chest, worried this will have all been for naught.

but then she zooms out.

each dot for each address glows blue. when zoomed out, it forms something. ellie squints, tilting her head at the incoherent image she struggles to make out. seeing as many of the papers weren't analyzed, the picture is only half-complete.

but then it clicks. a pentacle. and at the very center of the shape, a church.

ellie's mind goes back to the old woman on the porch. the way she'd nodded to her cross. the way almost every family in bluefeild is outwardly religious. she can't believe she hadn't seen it sooner.

this isn't just some case where she can stare at newspapers and hope something pops up. it's an intricately weaved web of murders.

her chest heaves as her eyes dart across the screen, unable to believe it. she finds herself tapping her men against the floor, drumming it just as joel does. she curses herself, tossing the pen across the room as her mind reels. it lands in front of the door, ballpoint pointed toward the exit. ellie takes this as a sign from the universe. despite not having ever been a religious person, she can't help the pang of hope in her chest.

deciding to indulge the pen's sign, ellie writes the church's address into her notepad, shuts her laptop, pulls her jacket back on, then heads for the door. she steps over the pen on her way out.

𝓢he stares up at the church, checking to make sure she's absolutely certain she's in the right place. when she's proven to be correct, she stuffs her notepad into her pocket and walks toward the building.

ellie doubts anybody is inside due to the time, but she wants to search the place regardless.

the church is old, creaky wooden exterior painted in uneven shades of white. the roof is brown and dilapidated with wear. atop it, a large cross is seen standing tall, its tip pointed up at the starry sky. ellie wades through the overgrown grass, her breath coming out in white clouds. it's fucking freezing out here.

when she reaches the building, ellie cups her hands around her eyes before peeking through the windows. the glass is dusty and cracked in some places. she can't seem to see through it, transparency made opaque from lack of maintenance.

she leans back and wipes a hand across the dust, forming a wide arc to peer through. inside, the church looks brand new. wooden pews line the space, a long aisle between each formed column. the floor is white tile, cleaned to be spotless. she tilts her head, struggling to look toward the pulpit. it appears to be⎯

"what're you doing?"

ellie jumps, her head slamming against the top of the window frame. she ignores the ache and whips around to face the owner of the voice. a nun.

you stand behind her with a raised brow, your entire body covered by black and white robes. ellie blinks, something about you making her stomach lurch. she's instantly put on edge, shameless in the way she examines your features.

your brow is knit in distaste for the trespassing girl. your eyes are sharp and steady as you pin your gaze onto hers. your hands are clasped behind your back, formal and almost robotic. or at least, that's how ellie sees you.

ellie reaches under her jacket and pulls out her badge. "fbi."

"there's no fbi in bluefeild." you point out, voice steady and melodic. ellie's lips part at the sound but she shows no other form of sway. you eye her badge, ellie williams. noted to be a top agent in her line of work. your eyes narrow. "where exactly are you from?"

"richmond." she responds, eyes never leaving yours as she places her badge back into the interior pocket in her leather jacket.

you tilt your head, inquiring. "virginia?"

"yes." she confirms.

you hum, noting the four hour drive she's sure to have taken in order to get here. you looks out across the grass, seeing her car still running as it's parked on the side of the road, yellow headlights acting as a beacon against the dark night.

"it's late, miss williams." you tell her, turning back to her to find that ellie's eyes have yet to leave your face.

she analyzes each expression you make, contorting every detail to memory ⎯ from the way your eyes flick across her features to the way your shoulders shift slightly after having been standing in one position for so long. she memorizes you, allowing your very being to sink into her mind. for the case, of course. you're a suspect, after all. she needs to learn you and feel you out in order to get a proper read on whether you're innocent in all this. that's why she stares at you. that's why her pupils are blown and her lips are parted again. totally.

"do you want to come inside?" you offer, raising a brow at her strange, yet obvious sense of interest in you. "it's freezing out here and i happen to have just brewed some tea."

her eyes dart to the shabby church behind her. judging by the exterior of the building, imagining the place having ac and working electricity is shocking. but judging by what she'd seen of the inside, she's tempted to take you up on your offer. for the case.

"only if y' agree to answer some questions of mine." she says, deciding to set the terms and conditions early on.

your eyes narrow, "what type of questions?"

"the type i need in order to solve the case i'm workin' on." she replies, reminding herself of the large amount of missing men and boys who've disappeared in these past three months.

"mm," you hum.

you look her up and down, taking in the sight of her. it's rare to see any form of law enforcement out here. you'd lived in bluefeild all your life and never seen a cop or fbi agent outside of the television. her leather coat hangs heavy from her set shoulders. her chin is held high despite the way goosebumps trail across her skin due to the chill of the air. she's wearing baggy black pants and heavy combat boots. interesting.

"sure." you shrug. "i've nothing to hide."

"we'll see 'bout that."

her eyes rake over to where he car remains running. she leaves it, using it as a sign to you that she plans to make this quick. you understand the gesture and heed it with care, nodding as you shift around her and walk toward the entrance of the church. the large wooden doors are already unlocked as you push them open.

ellie draws her eyes across the foyer, noting the long hallway. to the left is a doorway leading to the sanctuary and chancel that she'd seen through the windows. to the right is a large door with a shiny golden handle, locked. the hall is lined with more doors, some locked whilst others are free to peer into.

you move about the space as though you'd lived here all your life. ellie supposes that might be true, actually.

you sweep down the hall before turning one of the corners down a branched passageway. ellie follows behind you, the hall illuminated by only a dim yellow light. on either side of the hall, more and more doors branch out to the side. ellie pays no mind to the building's layout anymore. instead, she finds herself more interesting in watching your habit billow behind you, your shoes clicking with each step against the tile.

eventually, you're both now in a kitchen area. ellie hasn't a clue when you'd gotten here, far too distracted by you to care much for the journey you'd taken her on.

the floor is tiled to mirror the sanctuary, counters made of marble. you flick a switch and the lights flutter on, a low hum sounding from the ceiling as the kitchen is illuminated by a yellow glow. on the counter, two cups of tea sit premade. you grab them, one in each hand.

with an amused expression, you pass one to ellie. she takes it, eyes the glass in her hand for a long moment. in the end, she decides against trusting it.

"uh," she clears her throat as she places the mug on the counter behind her, turning to you with an uneasy weariness. "you knew you'd have a guest?"

"hm?" you hum, tilting your head at her with an innocent curiosity.

"y' made two glasses." ellie points out. you continue to look at her, feigning confusion that urges her to continue her explanation. "it's just— well, i haven't seen anyone else here besides you."

"i hadn't priorly known of your arrival, if that's what you're suggesting." you inform her before taking a long sip from your mug, peering at her over the rim with an alluring twinkle to your eye. you lower it, keeping the glass poised between your hands as you lick your lips and continue. "i simply knew i wouldn't be drinking alone."

"what's that supposed to mean?" ellie inquires, those fbi instincts of hers lacing through her tone. her eyes glint with piqued interest, watching you with a steady sharpness. it weighs on your chest, heavy but enthralling.

"what i mean is," you place your mug on the counter with a light clink. "in this church, you're never alone. not really."

she raises a brow, back straightening. "someone else is here?"

"something." you correct, a smirk tugging at your lips. "a deity, spirit, ghost, demon. take your pick, miss williams. it hasn't a title just yet."

ellie has surely formed her doubts about whether or not you're mentally insane. she can't help but indulges you nonetheless. if she intends on puzzling out the mystery of the missing people, she can't outwardly state that you're crazy. so instead, she says, "are these,, things good? or are they evil?"

"mm," you shift, taking another long sip of tea. you ponder on her question while drinking, your mind deciding on exactly how much you wish to tell this governmental investigator. once your mind is made up, you place you mug back down and flash her an amused smile. "its morality varies. as i said, it doesn't much like the feel of being confined by the barbed wire of titles. plus, there's more than one. and none are a repeat of the other, each separated by individuality."

ellie bites back a scoff, trying her hardest not to just grab you by the shoulders and shake you senseless. she wants direct answers, not riddles. she hasn't the time to figure out what you're trying to get at.

"how many?" she asks. "like. are there lots of them or are they few and far between?"

your brow knits as you take a step closer. at your growing proximity, her breath hitches. you are more than just a nun, you're the embodiment of her obsession. all the care and time she'd poured into this case; you personify it.

you're a religious figure in and of yourself. something worthy of worship and praise. if you were to seen by the world as ellie sees you, historians would be studying you for eons to come. paintings and playwrights would be made in your honor, temples and statues forged in hopes that you'd bat the sculptor even a moment of your attention.

but, alas, that's not how the world works. instead, you're made to be a random nun who lives holed away in a ragged church in the middle of nowhere. perhaps the universe had been wise to hide you from the world, for fear of what your divinity would cause. a repeat of troy, no doubt. wars fought for your hand. lives lost for the pulpy beating heart caged behind your ribs.

"as many as i'd like." you tell her, face now mere inches away from her own.

your body is covered entirely by your habit, black fabrics hanging from your shoulders and arms as to keep your entire being shielded from sight. your hair is cast back and under your veil.

despite the coverage, ellie's enamor is unmoved. it's not your body or your hair that she's drawn to. it's the slope of your nose, the plush of your lips, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the color of your eyes. it's everything that makes you stand out like a brightly shining star in comparison to the dull darkness that is this church.

and stars like you ought to be admired.

"as many as—" she squeezes her eyes shut, knowing her only chance at regaining control of her head is to not face you. her mind is muddled by thoughts of you. she can't think straight. when she reopens her eyes, she could've sworn you've moved closer. "what're you sayin'? i don't—"

"don't understand?" you finish for her, tone pitched in regalement. your head tilts to the side, your noses brushing. "few people do."

"just tell me what y' mean." she utters, voice a whispered breath across your face in the form of a plea. "tell me without the riddles. tell me without trying to evade the truth. tell me with honesty. if you're straight forward with me, i'm sure i'll understand."

you sigh through your nose, leaning away from her. she follows you like a fish on a hook. you take a step back and she takes one forward. noticing, you hold a hand up to halt her movements and she instantly ceases, blinking at you with parted lips.

your head is downcast, palm against her chest. "you'd hate me."

"hate you?" she questions.

despite only just having met you, ellie is quite certain she'd never come to hate you. your very being is as much a wonder to her as life itself. you're a celestial beauty she cannot bear to tear her eyes from. hate is foreign when you're the context in which it's spoken.

"yes." you confirm, expression contorting into one of feigned guilt. and, had ellie not been in such blind awe of you, she'd have likely seen through your facade of deception. "i've made mistakes; plenty. i could never expect you to hear me speak of them and look past their malice."

"but i would." she whispers, taking a step nearer. she places a hand on your wrist, lowering your palm that had priorly been raised between the two of you. she looks down at where she touches you, albeit through the cloth of your gown. "i'd look past it. i'd see you as i do now regardless of what you'd done."

you shake your head, "you cannot mean that."

"i do." she brings your hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against the hills of your knuckles. she looks up at you through her lashes, her mouth remaining close to your skin as she whispers, "i do mean it."

you feel guilt settle deep within your chest, burrowing between your ribs and in the very tissue of your heart. an immoral darkness encompasses the organ ellie so desperately desires to obtain.

you'd lured people into your entrapment many times before. but something about ellie makes you feel bad for doing what you know you need to.

but it's too late now.

she's your last victim. the final sacrifice needed in order to finish what you'd started back in december. after taking her life, all will be well. all will be well. all will be well. well, well, well, well. you repeat this over and over in your mind as ellie kneels before you. she looks up at you as though you're an alter made for this. for worship.

your breath catches in your throat as you watch her sink to the tiled flooring, hands brought up to rest at your hips. her fingers fist the fabric of your habit as she speaks once more, "allow me to prove how much i mean it?"

your head is swimming, unsure on what to do. logically, you know you should stop this before it gets too far. you've already lured her in close enough to do what's needed. but, for some reason, there's a thick knot forming in your chest. as it grows, you come to realize it's not a knot at all. it's a fist. it's ellie's fist.

her eyes bore into your own, her hands remain gripping your hips. somehow, though, you feel as though they're managing to trace their way through you. they line your bones and caress your tendons before inevitably finding their way to your heart. she holds it in the palm of her figurative hands as her physical ones begin to hike up your habit, slowly pulling the cloak up from the floor.

still, despite the discernible desire in her eyes, she does nothing but wait for your response of consent.

it's inexorable, the way you give in. the slight nod of your head had been predestined from the moment you spotted her at that window; and it will continue to prove relevant until your respective faits are sealed.

to ellie, it felt as though you'd taken hours to reply despite it only having been a minute or less. but the moment you nod, she's moving eagerly. she's grabbing your hips and hoisting you up onto the counter whilst simultaneously struggling to pull up the skirts of your clothes. she's trying to do so many things at once that it's dizzying. for both parties.

you aid her, shifting atop the marble as you pull the habit up to reveal what lies beneath it.

ellie feels the world fall from beneath her knelt locale as she stares. a pair of black lace panties adorn you, the upper half of your body remaining covered by the bunched cloth of your habit. the time she takes to memorize you feels agonizing as you sit there, itching to feel her body on yours.

once she's confident that the image has been successfully engraved into her mind, she leans forward. your legs are already parted when her mouth makes contact with your clothed vulva. the wetness that soaks the material soon made into a mixture of your arousal and ellie's opened mouth.

her tongue traces light circles into your clit, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your grip on your habit begins to loosen. you toss your head back in pleasure, the sound of ellie's slurping and licking mixing with the mechanical hum of the lights.

"ohmygod," she says against you, the vibrations of her voice making your breath pick up its pace. "you're so fucking perfect."

one of your hands comes down to tangle in the auburn of her hair, tufts weaving between your shaky fingers. you tug on it, pulling a grunt form the back of ellie's throat as her scalp stings. despite her noise of pain, this only manages to make ellie more vehement in her actions.

she grabs the hem of your panties with her teeth, yanking them to the side. her eyes are shut as she licks a long strip through your wet muscle. you can’t help the way you stare down at her, watching as she puts her absolute all into making you feel good. and, as it turns out, she’s quite skilled at doing so.

ellie's mind is fogged over, mimicking the way her car's windows had been earlier. she supposes there’s no true difference there, however. the interior of her car had been warm in comparison to the cool outside air. swap the temperatures and there’s naught that varies. the warmth that you provide makes ellie feel cold in contrast, which ends in a fogged mind.

the taste of you is enough to make her lose whatever sanity remains intact. all that adrenaline that had flowed through her earlier is being poured into you.

after all, stars should be worshipped right? they should be admired from below, gawked up at. they should be mapped and studied by only the wisest of mankind. they should be doted on with a possessive sense of adoration, one only fit for something so celestial and untouchable as a star.

and that's what you are. to ellie, at least. you're a brightly shining nebula — a feathery cloud of vibrancy, visible only in the darkest of nights. only in the coldest of weathers. only in most decrepit of churches. only here, only now.

only when fate is carved in this exact way. had one thing been altered, none of this would have taken place. it was providence that brought you together. you weren't written in the stars or tethered your entire lives. in fact, the chance of your paths crossing was rather low. but, honestly, that only makes your acquaintance more deeply rooted in kismet. makes it more special.

"fuck," you pant, chest heaving as you squeeze your eyes shut. your head thuds against the cabinet as you tighten your grip on ellie's hair. she groans, fingers pressing deeply into the skin of your hips, hard enough to leave a bruise. your thighs tighten around her head, a coil of heat sitting heavily in the pit of your stomach. "ellie, i'm—"

she tilts her head up slightly, nose pressing into the bead of your clit. she watches through lidded eyes as you come undone onto her face.

she savors it, committing every little detail to memory. a habit this has become, watching you. your brows knit, your legs shake slightly, you breath hitches. and ellie retains all to it.

she made you see stars. made you look into a mirror and see yourself.

that feeling of blissful release is what she feels every time she's fortunate enough to gaze upon you. and now you've experienced it. and she cannot feel more accomplished than she does right now.

"this," you pant, tugging on her hair to bring her face up to your own. she does as you direct her, standing from the floor to press your foreheads together. "was a terrible idea."

"yeah?" she breathes out. "and why's that?"

you run your hands up and down her back, fingertips tracing the stitching of her leather jacket. you can feel the outlined letters of her 'fbi' label. that familiar twinge of guilt encircles you.

she's a good person — a woman who's to spend the rest of her life helping random people she doesn't know. and yet, here she is. made unfortunate enough to have succeeded in her endeavor.

she stares at you like you're a god, something heavenly. something seraphic. something worthy of her.

"i'm not a good person." you whisper, leaning away from her proximity. predictably, she follows, leaning closer with a desperation only fit for one in love.

the guilt of what you must do is eating you alive. it claws at your chest, snapping your ribs like twigs as it wedges between them to burrow deep within you. it's agonizing yet completely unavoidable.

and in a sickeningly poetic outturn, a random butcher knife is sat neatly atop the marble counter only a foot away from where you sit. just as ellie meets your eyes, the blade happens to catch the light and reflect yellow luminescence. a grotesque reminder of what you're unable to run from.

"nobody is innately good. and, as a nun, y' should know that better than anyone." ellie huffs out a laugh, eyes not daring to stray from you. "in other words, i don't care."

"but you should." you insist, voice teetering on the edge of plea.

"and yet, i don't." ellie counters, just as passionate in her solemnity. you suck in a breath, eyes glossing over. she looks at you with a fondness that feels foreign. she cups your cheeks between her palms, repeating, "i don't."

"i've done horrible things." you say.

"you're a nun." she points out with a light chuckle rumbling her chest. "how horrible could these things have been?"

part of you wants to open up to her, tell her everything that's been weighing on you for these past three months. but each time you get close to a confession, something inanimately symbolic taunts you. whether that be the butcher knife, the hum of electricity, the gun holster at her hip, the residual lust in your chest, or the bright yellow lettering on her jacket.

that gun is meant for you just as that butcher knife is meant for ellie. she'd been wise to bring a weapon, a clear sign that she'd intended on finding someone culpable enough to suspect. and you'd been wise to set the blade atop the counter on the off chance that you'd meet your final victim tonight.

you feel sick to your stomach.

"oh shit," ellie curses as she takes notice to the way you're visibly crumbling in front of her. "i— uh, i didn't mean to be, like, insensitive or anythin'. i'll still listen to you. and i promise to not hate you. promise to never hate you."

"ellie, stop." you sigh. "you can't promise something like that. you don't even know what i—"

"then tell me." she insists, your face still in her cupped hands. you look at her through blurred vision, naught but sincerity behind her pale green irises. "if y' tell me what it is that y' did, we can both carry the burden."

you're instantly shaking your head.

"you don't have to do this alone." ellie says. "plus, isn't a weight split a lighter load than one full?"

as you stare into her eyes, you can't stop yourself from what comes next. you're unable to keep your mouth shut when she's looking at you like that. you decide to tell her, opening your ribs and bearing your heart as though she hadn't already taken it from you. you truly feel more bare in this moment than you did when she'd literally been eating you out.

ellie put her entire trust into you when letting down her guard and abandoning the case she'd obsessed over for weeks. she dropped it like it were nothing, focusing entirely on you in its stead. the least you could do is be honest, right? plus, she's not leaving here anyway. you'd locked the door the moment you two entered the kitchen when she'd been too distracted by your beauty to notice. the trap is already set and she's sitting inside of it without a care. all you need to do now is pull the strings.

but first comes honesty.

for ellie, you'd peel off your clothes. you'd peel off your skin. you'd peel off your flesh. then, when you're naught but bones, you'd give yourself to her. you'd give your entire being to her. not because you think you're worthy of her possession, but because this is all you have. the only thing you're able to offer her as a symbol of your devotion, it's yourself.

though, while you're unable to strip yourself clean off your bones, you feel as though rendering yourself vulnerable and fragile is the next best thing you can offer. for her, you are willing to do the priorly unthinkable.

"you're here in search of the missing men, are you not?" you ask, beginning with baby steps. "in search of who's behind their absences?"

ellie straightens, "i am."

"well." you gesture down at yourself. at your crooked veil that shows stray hairs peeking from underneath; at your hiked up habit, just barely falling to cover your underwear; at your knees that rest on either side of ellie's waist; at your vulnerable state that you're offering up to her. at your bones. "you've found me."

ellie's heart stutters in her chest. not because of what you'd revealed to her, but because you trusted her enough to do so. she no longer cares an ounce for the missing people of bluefeild. all she wants is you. she may be a fool to be this way, but she's in far too deep to mind.

she gives you a weak smile, "i don't care."

"what?" you croak. you stare at her incredulously. there's no way she doesn't care. there's no fucking way. "yes you do."

"i don't."

you blink, looking her up and down. there must be something you're missing — her reaching for her gun, her taking a step backward, her eyes darting toward the knife. but she does none of that. she simply remains stood between your legs, keeps her hands on you, and stares directly into your eyes as you confess your gravest of sins.

"but—" you shake your head, stammering. "but i killed all those people. they're dead. all of them. over two hundred men are buried behind the church."

"i don't care." she repeats, noticing the way your voice raises with trepidation. she traces her hands down your arms, stopping only when they reach your own. she tangles your fingers together, feeling the way your body relaxes slightly to the feel of her touch.

"i killed them because i was paid to." you tell her, your mind reeling as you're unable to grasp her lack of care. you talk in a frantic quickness, rushing to get the truth out for fear that ellie will change her mind in the time it takes for you to speak. "their wives, neighbors, daughters. they— they'd come to me in the confession booths and tell me of the men's abuse o-or assault or misdeeds. and i'd kill them for them. i don't—"

ellie's face remains soft. "you did a good thing, then."

"you can't be serious." you huff, eyes watering with the sheer confusion building within you. "i don't understand how you can still look at me like that. i took their lives. these people, i— they had dreams, they had aspirations and goals and families and—"

"listen," ellie whispers, her hands squeezing yours. "they were horrible people that hurt women. they were abusers and rapists and i don't care what y' did to them or how. all i care about is whether or not y' feel better."

"what?" you ask, voice nigh a breath. "what do you mean feel better?"

"to have gotten that off your chest." she digresses.

you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. the adrenaline of the confession slowly dwindles and you're no longer spiraling. you stare at ellie, centering on her face as the world comes back into focus.

you count your senses one by one. the smell of tea, the sound of humming lights, the feel of a hard counter beneath you, the taste of a bitter truth, the sight of ellie's fond expression. your breathing levels out, slowly but surely. and ellie stares at you the entire time. memorizing you.

"yeah." you whisper. "yeah, i do."

"then that's all that matters."

a supernova; to watch a star combust and explode, a colossally significant occurrence that only the most fortunate are able to witness. ellie considers herself to be substantially fortunate. not only because of what she'd just seen, but because of who it was that did it.

to her, this is even better than a natural supernova. rather than watching a random gassy ball of light die, its you. someone she adores and treasures. and you didn't die. instead, you opens yourself willingly to her. you broke down your walls and bore yourself to her. for ellie, that is far more important than some star's death.

"but—" you say, bringing her attention back to your face. your brows are knitted, clearly struggling to get the words out. she watches you with an easy patience, pupils blown as she submits this to her memory alongside all other files in her brain saved under your name. "but there's more."

"let's hear it." she replies, raising a brow.

you suck in a deep breath, lowering your head as to not face ellie before speaking. "i didn't just start killing whatever men that these women were asking of me. it started smaller. i killed animals, put them in a circle of salt, drew and pentagram, the whole ordeal."

"you sacrificed them?" she asks, tone remaining laced with gentility.

"yes." you nod. "i felt my baptism wasn't enough. god never answered me anyway, he never aided me when i needed it most. he watched my suffering and did nothing. so, i resorted to a new deity of worship." you lift your gaze to meet ellie's. "satanism."

"i'm sorry, i don't—" she blinks a few times, confused. "i don't understand."

"as a child, i relied on god to do everything. my life was nothing without him in it to keep me going. but as i grew, i realized it was unrequited. he cared nothing for me, watching with regale as i sobbed and begged for his help." you explain. "so, as a teenager, i switched over to satanism — worship of someone who actually cared enough to save me."

ellie says nothing, staying silent as you confide in her. she continues to hold your hands, softly cradling them on either side of where you sit.

"but then he wished for payment." you continue. "sacrificial lives as a form of repent for all those years i'd spent as a baptist. i obliged, of course. i killed bunnies and deer, doing research to understand how exactly to offer the stolen lives to him. but as of late, he's wanted more."

"humans." ellie guesses.

"yeah." you confirm. "but i couldn't bring myself to kill random innocent people. so i became a nun and listened in on the confession booths. then, i'd ask the confessors if they wished for me to intervene. they'd concur, paying me to take the lives of their abusers." you recall the fear in the women's voices, the shakiness to their hands as they slipped money through the cracks of the door. "they never saw my face, only heard my voice. and, seeing as i live in the church, none of the recognized me. i soon became a symbol of hope for women and one of fear for men."

ellie's mind strays back to all the religious symbols staked in the yards. "that explains their heavy faith. they think you're some type of prophet."

"yeah, but there's more." you say. "i've researched many, many books to make sure i get this ritual right. and, as it turns out, my 250th victim has to be a martyr. someone who doesn't believe in anything. doing this seals the ritual, ending it."

"good luck finding someone here who meets that criteria." she chuckles.

"exactly." you say carefully. "everyone in bluefield is heavily religious. unless that someone has come from out of town."

"me."

"i wish it wasn't." you rush to explain. "i wish there was some other way i could do this. but it has to be today. i need to do it before another woman comes in asking for my help or the numbers will get thrown off. and if i decline her, i'll lose the faith of all the women in bluefeild."

"okay," ellie shrugs. "do it."

"...what?"

"i don't care." ellie says, the sentence becoming something of a catchphrase for her.

the world stops. again. it screeches to a halt and you almost slam forward at the speed of which it crashed down. you stare at ellie with wide eyes, made shocked by her for a second time. someone so hauntingly perfect cannot truly offer herself up to you like this. she can't seriously be holding out her hand, asking for death to take it.

but what you don't know is that ellie would deem it a gift to die by your hand. it'd be better than dying as a withered elder attached to a beeping machine, or as an agent amid a case who only got to see you in her dreams.

but, this way, she'd be with you always. her love for you would be immortalized; she would be tied down to the very threads that make up the the fabrications of your soul. oh a gift that would be.

"do it." she repeats.

"what?, i don't—" she silences you by leaning forward, pressing her lips against yours.

ellie had kissed you out of impulse, knowing no other way to silence that thundering uncertainty that rumbles your brain. but the moment she does it, she's positive she'll never be able to pull away.

your lips are a cathedral of which she cannot help but melt into, your body a temple she's knelt before and wouldn't hesitate to do again. she kisses you with devout piety, her body molding into yours with each touch that lingers on your skin. somehow, this measly kiss is far more intimate than all else before it.

a silent tear slips from your closed eye as you subtly reach your hand over to where you know the butcher knife lies in wait. ellie surely feels your movement, there's no way she doesn't. but she makes no move to stop kissing you, her lips moving with a vehement neediness.

you loathe the way your fingers find the hilt of the knife. even more so, you despise the way you wrap your hand around it and bring it toward ellie.

she knows. she knows what you're about to do.

and she allows it.

love isn't easy for ellie, never had been. but with you, everything falls into place as though it'd been predestined to do so her entire life. as she feels your body shift toward the knife, nothing runs through her mind aside from your name. on repeat, the singular word replays over and over. she wraps your name around her skull, weaving the letters between her thoughts and molding the syllables against her brain. she was born to love you. and so long as she was able to do so, she'd be okay.

just as the tip of the blade brushes her jacket, you pull away from the kiss and stare at her. the knife remains at her back, resting against leather but not daring to press any harder. ellie's pupils are blown, her lips wet from your own saliva.

"i can't." you utter. "i can't do this to you."

she sighs, "i already told you it's fine, angel. just— as long as i have you near me, i'm content with my decision."

"no." you shake your head. "no i know. it's—" knowing ellie wouldn't understand your explanation, you decide to show her what you mean. with your free hand, you place your palm against her gun holster. "whatever you go through, i want to be there with you."

her eyes widen at your words. she jolts away from you, appearing as though she'd been burned. she sets her jaw, turning her hip away from your reach. "no."

"ellie, please." you implore, tone beseeching. "i can't live on knowing i'd done this to you."

"it's unavoidable." she reminds you. "y' made a deal with the fuckin' devil, or, well— i'm honestly not too sure on the details, but— y' can't not follow through. i understand, okay? finish the damn ritual and live your life."

"i don't want to." you plead with her. "not without you."

she shakes her head, eyes glossing over. despite the evident distaste, her refusal is weak. she stands only a foot away from you, seeming as though she's physically incapable of moving any farther.

"ellie," you say, whispering her name like a prayer. she can't help but look up at you through watery eyes. "ellie, please."

"i don't want you to die." she says, voice nigh a whimper.

"we'll be together, ellie," you tell her, hopping down from the counter to approach her. the blade remains in your hand, long forgotten to the both of you as the sight of the other is far more appealing. "if we do this, we can be together for all of eternity. they'll find our fossils in a million years, bones entwined. they won't even know who's who."

she chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "god, how stupid would that be?"

you laugh with her, "so stupid."

you're both crying now, tears streaming down your faces as you stare at one another. slowly, ellie pulls the gun from her holster. she's unsure on how this will go down, but she's willing to try. for you.

to be loved is a horrific thing, you've found. it's to be swallowed whole by something so disgustingly beautiful that you're incapable of turning away.

ellie takes a step closer, the distance between the two of you closing. her left hand holds the gun, her right hand coming up to wrap an arm behind your neck. she pulls your toward her, pressing another kiss to your mouth.

your tears mingle, forming a salty sea on your touching cheeks. you sob against her, chest heaving as you pull her closer with one hand, the other holding the knife. she tastes of sacrilege, salvation, and sacrifice. the ghosts that will haunt this decrepit church until the end of time. together.

whatever string that pulled the two of you toward each other will be knotted, tying two lost souls in search of the other.

"ellie," you whisper between wet kisses, lifting the knife to rest at the nape of her neck, "it's time."

she lets out a sob, a convulsive gasp tearing from her throat. "okay,"

you count down, the two of you agreeing to do it at the same time. you'll drive the blade into her neck whilst she pulls the trigger. your bodies will fall in unison, clinging to one another.

when you reach one, you sink the blade into her with a sickening squelsh. she chokes, dropping the pistol to the floor. it lands with a loud clank moments before her body falls with a thud. your eyes widen, heart ceasing. blood pools onto the white tiles and only one thought runs through your mind: she didn't pull the trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger.

she

didn't

pull

the

trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't—

you fall to your knees beside her, hands coming to cradle her bloodied face. you pull her head into your lap, rocking back and forth as crimson soaks into the black fabric of your habit. you clutch her tightly against you, pressing hard on her slit neck, willing the blood to go back inside.

death doesn't take her hand. instead, he grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her for the untimely demise she'd agreed to. the heart she'd taken from you rattles. the death rattle. you choke out a sob at the sound, everything aching.

you lean forward, pressing a kiss to her cold, dead lips. she doesn't kiss you back. you pull away, panting hard as your chest heaves and your eyes burn.

then, in the corner of your eye, you see the metal of ellie's pistol. you crawl across the kitchen toward the weapon, realizing she hadn't even cocked it. god, how had you been so stupid? you do it for her, loading the bullets into the chamber.

with the gun now in your possession, you crawl back over to ellie.

you position yourself atop her, entwining your legs and placing your head on her chest. it doesn't rise nor fall, no beating heard from beneath her ribs. you sob, placing the gun's barrel to the soft part of your chin.

then, without another thought, you pull the trigger. you pull it because ellie was unable. because ellie couldn't bear to do it for you. a part of you resents her for this, but another part can't feel anything for her aside from utmost love.

and there lie two bodies. lifeless.

ellie found what she'd been searching for all her life: something worthy of her devotion. something she can pour her all into. that had been why she became an fbi agent in the first place — in search something to worship whole heartedly. simultaneously, you'd found what you'd been searching for as well: peace.

in the end, however, it had all been for naught.

the ritual didn't work.

it needed someone faithless, someone who didn't care for religion, for god. but that wasn't ellie. not anymore, at least. because, after having met you, she'd finally found something worth her revere.

you were her religion.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist. @luvsturniolo @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @elliessweetheart @kasqnxx @xlovla

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 additional note. i want this to be said here because i know this piece is super fucking heavy. ellie and the reader's relationship is so fucking toxic. anyone who reads this, i hope you realize how absolutely horrific their love story truly is. there's a shit ton of symbolism weaved within this story that i didn't outwardly state (though most of it i blatantly explained). if u have any questions regarding this piece, i'd love to talk about it bc i put a lot of time into making it.

but, again, their relationship is TOXICCCCCCCCCC!!!!!! it's not meant to be idolized or romanticized in any way. if you didn't notice, i barely used the word 'love' and never made either of them say 'i love you'. that was for a reason!!!! because what they share isn't love. it's unhealthy obsession & i need that to be outwardly said before i post this

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jhutchlover1234 · 6 months ago

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𐔌 . jhutchlover1234's ever-evolving bot list ! ౨ৎ

call of duty .ᐟ

ghost / hybrid au, herding dog ghost — c.ai ghost / high school au, cast-out ghost — c.ai ghost / hybrid au, seeing-eye dog ghost — c.ai ; j.ai ghost / blue collar ghost, established relationship — c.ai ; j.ai NEW ! ghost / divorced ghost and user — c.ai ; j.ai NEW ! john price / trophy wife user — c.ai john price / babytrapping, dark price — c.ai ; j.ai könig / minotaur könig, sacrifice user — 🔒 könig / heatwave, established relationship — c.ai

movie characters .ᐟ

mike schmidt / lipstick trend, established relationship — c.ai harry warden / husband harry (still murderous) — c.ai harry warden / abduction roleplay, established relationship — j.ai raymond smith / established relationship — c.ai

misc .ᐟ

jeff sadecki / trans daughter user — c.ai barry sloane / streamily, married barry and user — c.ai

[ updated 18.12.2024 / divider credit ]

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shineesbackbitches · 17 days ago

Text

Mea Culpa

౨ৎ summary: “Are you drinking brownie batter?” The scrunch of Namjoon’s nose indicated his judgment. His eyes flickered from your face to the batter-filled champagne glass nestled between your fingers and back to your face.

“Care for a glass?” You offered airily. You had to be drunk or at least tipsy.

Aghast, Namjoon remained rooted to his spot just past the threshold.

“The oven breaks, and you decide to drink the batter?”

౨ৎ pairing: Namjoon x Reader

౨ৎ genre: romance, contract marriage, angst, slowburn, fluff, oneshot series, mea culpa universe, peachesndreams

౨ৎ word count: 12k

౨ৎ warnings: attempted murder, actual murder, organized crime, like, a healthy amount of minor character death (healthy for you, not for them), one minorly graphic depiction of death, Reader has never taken anything seriously a day in her life, Namjoon has always taken everything seriously his entire life, mention of car accident, Namjoon falls so hard it's embarrassing

౨ৎ author note: Congrats to Namjoon for completing his military GE! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

“I’m letting you know that I’m billing for this conversation.” Namjoon’s frosted gaze settled on the uninvited guest perched on a previously unoccupied leather chair. The nature of his job already threatened to light the remaining threads of his fuse— constantly being around some of the world’s worst does that to a person.

On a good day, Namjoon detested people waltzing into his personal space— his sanctuary— his office. Growing up in a family as cut-throat as his, there was never a place for him to exist without the persistent prickle at the back of his neck alerting him to someone else’s presence. His office was the only place that was his. So a stranger breezing into his space— no appointment, in the middle of the work day— and planting themselves on his furniture like everything on god’s green earth belonged to them made his blood absolutely simmer.

“Do I look like I’m asking for legal advice?” Your eyes crinkled, the corners of your mouth curving into something that could have been mirthful had it not been for the blood steadily leaking down your cheek.

Namjoon wasn’t fond of messes. He preferred to handle them efficiently or to simply pass them along to whoever was at the top of his shit list, which right now just so happened to be—

“Then I’m afraid you have the wrong Kim spawn.” He flashed a respectful smile, dimples punctuating it with an endearing boyish charm. “Seokjin is—” —A lot of things, really. A bit theatric, conniving, extremely effective yet unorthodox in his methods, fucking crazy sometimes, but so was everyone in this line of business. Namjoon’s sure the two of you would get along like a house on fire.

A tinkling giggle cut him off. Well-manicured fingertips lifted to conceal your lips.

“I’m not looking for Seokjin, darling.” The blood oozed down your cheek, the carnelian liquid level with the tip of your nose.

One of Namjoon’s large hands combed back the strands of dark hair that fell into his eyes, a gesture that might have seemed relaxed were it not for the subtle dip in his brow, betraying his displeasure at his thwarted attempt to exile you from his office. The sleeves of his white button-up were rolled up, exposing his forearms and the sturdiness of his physique— and also the tension winding through the lithe muscle.

“I’m here to make a deal.” The long, thin earrings that dangled from your lobes caught the sunlight seeping in through the large window behind him, inlaid gems sparkling with a clarity that signaled wealth. You were irrefutably gorgeous, Namjoon would admit. But you were the kind of gorgeous that brought trouble.

Even so, he was intrigued. Sue him. Namjoon’s forearms rested against his dark wood desk; he propped up an elbow to cushion his chin with his palm. His steely gaze had intimidated many before you, but you seemed blissfully unaffected by his disquieting aura. Perhaps you were too familiar with that tactic. He quirked his eyebrow up, wordlessly encouraging you to continue.

“Marriage—” You chirped, your lips curled in a million-dollar smile, and your hands meeting in a satisfied clap.

“Declined.” He deadpanned, sensing you were rapidly burning through that aforementioned fuse. Instinctively, he knew you weren’t the type of person accustomed to hearing the word ‘no’. He anticipated the hissy fit you were undoubtedly about to throw in his territory, inspecting your face for the first hint of your mood souring.

It never came.

“Would you like to hear the benefits before you turn down the offer, silly goose?” The amused curve of your lips never faltered. Did you already anticipate his refusal? Or maybe you were more level-headed than he gave you credit for. Either way— wrong Kim spawn.

“I don’t understand why you aren’t pitching this to Seokjin.” His thumb brushed against his plush bottom lip in contemplation. “Why me?” There had to be something you were hiding. Seokjin was the sole legitimate son who would inherit the business, not him. If it was power you were after, then the heir to the throne was your best bet. You weren’t telling him somethi—

“You’re my dream man.” You simpered, your head angling playfully to one side and coaxing the trail of blood to follow. “You have a lovely family, a hunger for money, and zero interest in attaining power in this industry.” You ticked off, punctuating it with a faux bashful flutter of your lashes.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. Ah, so that’s why you had no interest in Seokjin— you’d have to yield your capital to him. You needed an ally, not a merger.

“You want to marry me because of a potential power alliance, I’m greedy, and you would be able to keep your position.” He translated, an utterly unimpressed tilt to his brow.

“And because you’re cute.” You tacked on, deeply entertained by both his irritation and being the root of it.

His mind, constantly in overdrive— has been since he was old enough to understand he had to be useful to survive in his family— froze. You could see the error message flashing through his brain in the way his brows knitted together and his eyes widened just a fraction before narrowing yet again in suspicion.

“Let’s hear these benefits.”

You perked up at that, inching your seat closer to his desk and leaning your elbows on it. Sitting this close, he could faintly smell the expensive perfume you wore, warm and spiced, and the coppery scent of blood.

“One,” You listed off on a finger, “you get the immense privilege of marrying me.”

Dear God help him.

You continued, unbothered by his lack of acknowledgment of the first benefit. “Two, you get my protection.” Namjoon raised a palm to interject. “I already have protection.”

He clocked an unexpected shift in your eyes at that, something darker than the blithe air you feigned. It wasn’t sinister— it was almost commiserative: empathetic in a way that simmered uncomfortably under his skin.

“And that’s why you hole yourself up in this office.” The words came out slower, less theatrical than the rest of what you said. “You can only live here while under Seokjin’s protection.”

It pissed him off, the way you read him. Namjoon felt it would only be fair to raise an equally uncomfortable truth about you in return. An eye for an eye.

“And what excellent protection you have to offer,” His gaze darted pointedly to the fresh wound on your cheek. By this point, the blood had trickled to the corner of your mouth, now approaching the drop to your jaw. His eyebrows raised in challenge, riding the high of scoring a point against you in what was ostensibly a conversation he had allowed solely out of courtesy in prelude of a perfunctory dismissal, but had steadily turned into an actual negotiation. When had you managed that? “Inside job, huh?”

He was well aware of the absolute cluster fuck that came from multiple kids of varying degrees of legitimacy all vying to inherit the family business. Hell, he had experienced it himself despite having no interest in the position. As far as he was concerned, it had nothing to do with him. At no point had he ever imagined he would be the child to take over— he wasn’t even a legitimate heir. You, on the other hand, were the only known legitimate heir in your family. Clearly, that hadn’t deterred other people from attempting to remove you from the picture.

“My half-brother isn’t very inclined to let me inherit the family business.” You agreed easily, startling Namjoon yet again with your acknowledgment of a weakness. “He’s been sending me surprises non-stop lately. It’s very bratty of him.”

While it was rich hearing you call someone a brat, Namjoon understood what every waking moment felt like for you. Having to assume malicious intent behind everything around you and only having yourself to rely on was no way to live. Namjoon would know. Plus, your brother had to have balls of steel to order a hit in broad daylight— or he just wanted you dead that desperately.

“And the third benefit?” He inquired carefully, and immediately you popped right back into persuasion mode, that same masking grin plastered on your lips.

“As lovely and safe as your office is, you need more space.”

Namjoon wasn’t following what you were insinuating. Were you trying to convince him to give you his hand in marriage by bribing him with a bigger office?

Evidently, You could read his bewilderment because you leaned closer to him— giant desk separating the two of you be damned— and purred, “I can make the whole world yours.” Your eyes twinkled at the declaration and the gravity of your attention pulled Namjoon into your orbit.

So it was the promise of getting to exist outside his boundaries, outside his office. There wasn’t any bad blood between him and his brothers, but Namjoon knew he wasn't as high a priority as Seokjin on the list of protected assets. Combining your families’ resources would benefit both of you: Namjoon would be able to breathe out in the world and you would secure your position, all under the protective shield of the security only available to legitimate heirs. Tying the knot with you would elevate him to a status essentially on par with you and Seokjin at the very top of the pyramid. There would be no other opportunity like this for him.

Namjoon had to give it to you: you did drive a hard bargain. He accepted your offer to your satisfaction.

He braced his palms against his desk, rising out of his cushy leather chair to tower at his full height. You peered up at him, trying to determine his next move (any other day it would have been kicking you the hell out of his office), as he rounded the desk in four long strides and came to a stop in front of you.

Swiftly, he bent over you. The veins in his arm tensed, the lean muscle supporting his weight against the arm of the chair you occupied. His eyes fixated on the lower half of your face, his expression neutral. Your own eyes fluttered down his face, drinking in the cutely rounded tip of his nose, full lips, and tempting peek of his collarbones through the neck of his shirt. Only the sounds of the faint breathing existed between the two of you for a prolonged beat. Namjoon’s free hand lifted and the smooth, silky texture of a handkerchief pressed into your cheek just before the blood dribbling on the edge of your jaw could drip into the expensive fabric of your clothes. You blinked.

Got you.

A self-satisfied smirk to crooked a corner of his mouth up in celebration of his victory. It was short-lived.

Because you were an absolute menace.

Your own hand captured the one cradling your face, trapping it there. Your eyes fluttered closed as you nuzzled into his palm, angling your head so your lips could plant a kiss into it. He could feel the pressure and the warmth of your lips seep through the silk fabric, his pulse hammering rapidly in his wrists. Then, you readjusted to remain nestled in his hand, casting a coy gaze up at him through half-lidded eyes and slightly pouted lips.

“So,” You murmured. “You’re the attentive type?”

Namjoon fled his office in record time, abandoning his handkerchief without a second thought.

Namjoon quickly learned a few things about you in the following weeks. The first: you had a habit of making people's dreams come true.

For example, the wedding planner you hired was the best in her field. She brought visions to life and managed to keep everything within budget— she was nothing short of a miracle worker. She had arrived earlier than the meeting time, more than ready to spend the next eight hours pouring over every detail of the wedding, only to be greeted by Namjoon immersed in his work on his desktop and you fashionably late.

Your absence made the air in his office uncomfortable for both parties awaiting your arrival. Namjoon could feel the rapid click of the woman’s heel vibrating up and down against the wooden floor pulse behind his brow bone. He was sure she wasn’t faring much better with the obnoxious clack of his keyboard filling the silence instead of small talk.

Eventually, you entered his office, gliding just as confidently as you had the first time, to Namjoon’s seated form. You glided to an unexpectedly close halt. He was already less than tickled that you were yet again occupying his office, and now you were crossing another boundary by invading his personal space. You were done up in an expensive cream-colored miniskirt and a soft grey sweater. A large cream coat draped from your shoulders, and pearl accessories dangled from your ears, neck, and wrist. Namjoon noted that you somehow smelled richer today, the warmth of your scent somewhat creamier than he remembered, but the metallic note still lingered. Efficiently, you curled a slender finger under Namjoon’s tie, loosening it with a flick of your wrist, and swiping the stolen item to press to your forehead that Namjoon hadn’t seen was bleeding until now.

Your brother was one persistent son of a bitch.

“You’re here! Fantastic!” As quickly as you’d coasted to him, you sailed away over to the wide-eyed wedding planner, and then— “Do your thing, girl.”— dropped a black card into her hands.

The elation that lit up that woman’s face could never be replicated. She practically skipped out of the office, vowing to plan the most gorgeous wedding to ever exist.

And no one was more enthusiastic about the wedding than his brothers. Namjoon sat through celebratory meals and drinks filled with Seokjin’s squeaky laughter and Taehyung’s well-meaning jokes at his expense.

“I always knew you’d be the first of us to get married, Joon.” Seokjin gasped, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes. His face was flushed red— whether from joy, laughter, or alcohol, Namjoon couldn’t tell. It could honestly have been all three.

“And she’s a total catch.” Seokjin raised his glass in his direction, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Namjoon figured Seokjin was referring to the massive influx of resources you brought to the table, but then Seokjin rattled on about every time he’d crossed paths with you. Which was a lot.

Namjoon leaned back to give himself room to stare across the table at debatably the most unhinged person he’d ever met; although, he might possibly rank just behind you. His initial assessment was correct. You and Seokjin did, in fact, get along like a house on fire. His older brother sang your praises like you’d hung the stars in the night sky, and countered Namjoon’s indignant huffs with a rapid-fire, long-winded lecture that began with an outburst of “Yah!” and ended with his arm flung out in a frenzy and “She’ll have you wrapped around her finger in a mon— No! Three weeks!”

It was safe to say that Seokjin was elated for you to join the family. Even Taehyung was buzzing from the development, although Namjoon wasn’t sure how the two of you knew each other. All Taehyung would say when questioned was, “You had to be there,” and flash a boxy smile that promised there was a whole hell of a lot more to the story than he would ever divulge. Probably for legal reasons.

Either way, his brothers were over the moon to have you.

Another characteristic he picked up on was your efficiency. Namjoon blinked and you already had the contract drafted, the documentation completed, and the living situation sorted out.

Based on your personality, he had expected your tastes to be more… extravagant. The house itself was modest— quaint, even, in comparison to what he’d envisioned. Your interior decor tastes leaned more toward functional and comfortable than anything else. However, one glance at the appliances and the value of the place skyrocketed. You didn’t skimp on furnishing the place by any stretch of the imagination.

“Your shoes go there. There’s a pair of house slippers in there for you.” You opened the shoe cabinet situated immediately to the side of the entrance hall. It wasn’t an offer. Your own fluffy slippers concealed your feet, accented with gems that were either ironic or authentic. Namjoon wouldn’t put it past you to slap real diamonds on your loungewear.

He was correct not to.

His feet now sandwiched in his own pair of fuzzy house slippers, Namjoon ventured into the house, discovering that you had an affinity for plants, which meant you gravitated toward natural lighting and a lot of it. The entire space resembled a greenhouse with impressive glass windows sprawling in every room. Gorgeous oak floors extended from the entrance to the living room where an oversized round sofa dotted with a dozen pillows and a folded throw blanket sat centered before a floor-to-ceiling arched window. The walls were lined with shelves, crammed with books and plants that reached for whatever they could latch onto. A few hanging plants dangled in the space behind the plush sofa above the potted ones housed on the sill, thriving in the direct line of sunlight deposited into the room. Mounted on the wall was a decently sized TV, but Namjoon couldn’t imagine you using it much.

To the side of the living room was a well-equipped kitchen with quartz countertops and more windows that transitioned into a single-pitch skylight to accommodate the herbs growing along the top shelf. The massive stainless steel French door refrigerator was overkill for two people and looked to match the rest of the appliances. The island functioned as a bar to sit at on one side. Namjoon admittedly perked up at the double sink— fuck kitchens with single sinks. He observed your back as you led him out of the kitchen and deeper into the house to your separate offices. Did you even cook to justify having a kitchen as luxurious as this?

You merely presented the door to your office to him before guiding him to his own. As expected, you’d furnished it according to his tastes, still granting him the option to switch anything out as he pleased.

Backtracking toward the entrance of the house, you started up the stairwell to the right of the front door. He followed behind you until you entered a bedroom and turned to face him with a “ta-da” gesture. The large bed had already been made, a plethora of pillows stacked at the head, and an extra blanket laid across the foot. The lavish comforter appeared to be thick and airy, capable of holding heat but not overbearingly heavy. Beneath the bed was a decently sized fluffy accent rug— the kind that Namjoon knew your feet would sink into. Nightstands and shelving were placed on both sides of the bed, charging cables already set up on what he could immediately determine was his side. Your nightstand and shelves were already occupied by several of your belongings. Namjoon eyed the resin-encased bouquet of vibrant yellow daffodils displayed on your nightstand before scanning the rest of the room.

Unsurprisingly, the main occupants of the room were more plants, most of them situated to line the glass wall letting in more sunlight. Upon closer inspection, Namjoon saw that the wall included two glass French doors that led to a balcony. You were mid-explanation of the walk-in closet when he interrupted.

“There’s no guest bedroom?” He demanded, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his slacks. His gaze darkened considerably as he stared down his nose at you. The suit jacket did little to conceal his broad build, but Namjoon knew that his imposing physique did nothing to intimidate you.

Your eyes darted heavenward before fixing him with an aloof smile that said he was being silly. “I don’t do guests.” He could determine that from the limited seating in the living room; although, he’d give you that the round couch could easily fit four people. “Besides,” You breezed on, completely ignoring his exasperation. “The bathroom is absolutely to die for.”

You turned on your heel, floating into the bathroom that— holy shit— would have inducted you into the HGTV hall of fucking fame. The floor had been swapped out for pristine tile while the counter had been constructed out of the oak wood instead. A large mirror was mounted on the wall, stretching behind two sinks. Separate vanities sat on either side of the sinks. Further into the bathroom, divided by a glass door, was a shower with shelving and a steamer built in. Your fluffy bathrobe was already suspended from one of the hooks, a second robe that appeared to be for lounging around the house perched next to it. The other hooks were left unoccupied. The star of the bathroom was the tub which had to have been custom-made. It was nested into the shower space, with an oak ledge encasing it. It was large, but not so big as to be uncomfortable to recline in or risk completely submerging yourself. More plants dotted the bathroom, all fed by the skylight windows above.

Namjoon didn’t need to look at your face to know that you wore that smug grin that knew you’d bested him.

Fuck you and your impeccable interior design sense.

What Namjoon had anticipated the least (other than just how much of the furniture had been custom-made) was that you didn’t allow anyone inside the house. No one came in to clean or cook or anything— hell, you didn’t even order delivery. As much as you had called him out for his attachment to his office, you had the same fixation with the house. It was your place to exist and the precautions you took to ensure it remained yours were admirable in his eyes.

That you welcomed him to live in your sanctuary tugged uncomfortably at something in his chest.

That still didn’t make it any less excruciating to be around you.

Namjoon arrived home late into the evening, trading his work shoes for the comfier house slippers at the door. It was early into the first week of living together and your work schedules saw you barely interacting, which was fine by Namjoon’s standards. Alas, your timing finally coincided for the both of you to be home and awake simultaneously— the absence of your lavish house slippers from the shoe cabinet being the giveaway.

With a weary sigh, Namjoon shuffled up the stairs and into the bedroom. He slid out of his suit jacket, the absence of its weight an immense relief. Just before he crossed the threshold to the closet, the refreshing breeze let in through the flung-open balcony doors literally gave him his second wind. Namjoon diverted his steps toward the balcony where he could make out your silhouette through the off-white curtains flowing languidly into the room. The fabric lightly whapped him in the face, and he batted it away before leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

Silently, Namjoon peered at your back. You were folded up on a floor pillow, your lounge robe fluttering dramatically in the breeze, cradling a glass filled with the smallest amount of wine— was there a small amount to begin with or did you already drink a lot?

You knew he was there. You hadn’t turned to face him, but like him, you could always detect another presence. Abruptly, you glanced over your shoulder to flash a giddy grin, “Welcome home, Darling.” There was a flushed glow to your cheeks and your hair floated freely. Momentarily, you appeared genuinely lighthearted, like you were winding down at the end of a work day. “How was your day?”

“It was fine.” He murmured. He didn’t know why he continued, maybe to be polite. “Yours?”

A light snort filled the night air. “Brother dearest sent me another gift.” You swirled the remaining wine in your glass, expression blank. “I worked from home. Will be until he stops being a pain in my ass.”

Okay, so perhaps you’d had more to drink than he first thought, going by your atypically crass language. He quirked an eyebrow reflexively. If Namjoon were to specify what it was about you that disturbed him so deeply, it would be your petulant refusal to let your brother take over your family’s business. He was the eldest child, illegitimate or not, but you were too arrogant about your status as the sole legitimate offspring to relinquish the title. Your brother had survived longer and you blatantly disrespected that fact, writing him off. And Namjoon knew that had the roles been reversed— had Seokjin been born illegitimate instead of him— he would have acknowledged Seokjin as the heir. Because that was the right thing to do.

With this thought in mind, he snarked, “You know, instead of going to all this trouble, you could— and I know this is crazy— you know, let him have the fucking position.”

“That’s not crazy at all.” You hummed, your attention directed before you at nothing in particular. And for a split second, Namjoon thought the two of you had finally seen eye to eye. Then, you downed the rest of the contents of your class with a grace that hinted that you’d done it many times before and shot back, “It’s fucking batshit.”

Namjoon’s blood boiled. He’d kept it somewhat controlled from the moment you waltzed into his office, but he found it impossible to fight the escalating simmer that accompanied every interaction with you. This conversation validated everything he thought about you: that you were a conceited, stuck-up brat. His jaw tensed, lips pursing sourly. The fabric of his suit jacket wrinkled as he clenched his fist around it. He stalked forward to glare down at you and fully see your face, but the lack of light shaded most of the details of your expression.

“Why?” Namjoon bit out. “Because he’s illegitimate?” Go ahead, confirm what he already knew.

“No, darling,” You replied in that tone that danced the line between condescending and empathetic, mostly dependent on the interpreter. You lifted your now empty glass, peering through the glossy stain your bottom lip had stamped onto the rim. “Because he’s a shit businessman.”

Namjoon blinked. Once, twice, scanning your body language for any indication that you were bullshitting him. His shoulders released some of their tension, relaxing to a more natural position, and his eyes flicked toward your face, calculating.

“I, however, happen to be a blessing to the industry.”

Namjoon didn’t doubt it based on Seokjin’s never-ending compliments, but he could detect the slightest hint of overcompensation. Perhaps it had been there the entire time, but he hadn’t been interested in seeing you in a very human light.

Self-reflection could be a bit of a bitch and, apparently, so could he. While your situations had been similar, he hadn’t lived your life and you hadn’t lived his. Namjoon had survived thus far by assuming the worst in others and that, given the opportunity, they would betray him without hesitation. Habits were hard to kick; he’d immediately assumed you were no different. But you had gambled for the life you wanted— the one you were entitled to— and you’d given him an opportunity to do the same. Opening your safe space to him took courage, and you’d been more than hospitable. Namjoon would go so far as to say that you were actually considerate during the whole process. He’d agreed to this too. The bitter aftertaste of remorse lingered on his tongue; he needn’t have taken his frustration about the messy politics of inheritance and how they’d snatched away the life he had wanted out on you. It wasn’t just him they’d screwed over.

Namjoon cleared his throat, ducking his head to stare at his cushiony house slippers. You didn’t seem to have a preference for whether he stayed or left you to your own devices, basking in the gentle night air like you didn’t have a company to run, a bounty on your head, or a wedding in less than a month. He decided on the latter, mostly because he needed the time to process. Namjoon retreated into the resort-like bathroom to shower and swallow the fact that while he had learned much about you, he hadn’t actually understood a single part of you.

When he reemerged nearly a half hour later, he was still pleasantly light-headed from the steam, swathed in a worn, loose-fitting sweatshirt and sweatpants. Ruffling his still-damp fringe, Namjoon hesitantly glanced at the balcony, only for the doors to be latched closed and your form absent. A quick scan of the bed confirmed you weren’t in the room either. It was already late, and he’d been planning on heading to bed and sleeping off the uneasy air between the two of you (really, he knew only he felt antsy— he wasn’t sure you felt anything other than neutral about him). One of his hands grazed the back of his neck as he weighed his options.

Namjoon heaved a sigh before padding downstairs in search of you. Were you in your office? You did say you worked from home today, so he doubted you’d be spending any more time there this late. The round couch was unoccupied, so he continued into the kitchen.

There, the rich aroma of chocolate warmed his senses. You’d foregone the bar stools to perch on the counter instead, the excess silk material of your robe rippling down over the edge of the marble, your legs tucked neatly beneath you. The entire scene was overly dramatic for midnight baking if you asked Namjoon.

“What’s the point of installing a $4,000 oven that can’t handle preheating to 350 degrees?” You hummed, licking a glob of brownie batter that dotted the side of your wrist. Your eyes fluttered shut, savoring the sweet mixture. Namjoon averted his eyes, instead focusing on the mostly-full glass mixing bowl abandoned beside you.

“Are you drinking brownie batter?” The scrunch of Namjoon’s nose indicated his judgment. His eyes flickered from your face to the batter-filled champagne glass nestled between your fingers and back to your face.

“Care for a glass?” You offered airily. You had to be drunk or at least tipsy.

Aghast, Namjoon remained rooted to his spot just past the threshold.

“The oven breaks, and you decide to drink the batter?” He revoked every sentiment he’d previously held about trying to understand you. It would never happen. This headassery was proof enough of that. In fact, cancel the whole marriage.

”When in Rome, Darling. When in Rome.” You must have been one of those people who felt sexy when they drank wine; everything you said and did was delivered in a more sultry tone than your usual mischievous flirting. The stem of a second champagne glass pinched between your manicured fingers, you lured him closer with the promise of decadent, drinkable, fudge-y salmonella poisoning.

Reluctantly, he took the bait and shuffled closer. Only the accent lights had been turned on in the room, casting a warm glow. Plucking the glass from you with the intent of joining you on the counter, Namjoon mimicked your I-always-get-what-I-want smile sardonically, but it plummeted off his face as quickly as it appeared. He hadn’t been able to see you in decent lighting up until now, so he’d missed the splattering of scrapes along the left side of your face and hand. They were superficial from what he could tell, but they were also fresh. None of them seemed as deep as the gash you had on your cheek in his office.

“What the hell?” Namjoon’s honeyed complexion was still dewy from the shower and now flushed from uninvited hostility. His brows crinkled under his freshly washed fringe.

You shooed away his concern with a flick of your wrist and explained, “My half-brother totaled my car like a jackass.”

Something bitter stirred in the pit of his stomach at this information.

You, on the other hand, appeared unbothered, huddled in your kitchen late into the night a little buzzed, content with raw brownie batter and a busted oven.

His tongue prodded the inside of his cheek in contemplation. Namjoon figured your life’s motto had to be “c’est le vie” with how quickly you tended to accept major inconveniences.

“Are you passing on dessert?”

He braced a large palm onto the edge of the countertop to slip up beside you. Namjoon left a respectful couple of inches between you, but you could still feel his body heat seep through your thin clothing. “You’re not really getting what you wanted out of this arrangement, huh?” He asked, his head tilted down to inspect the contents of his glass.

You hummed in question, your legs gently swaying back and forth.

“The whole point was to protect you from your brother, yeah?” He clarified.

“Yes,” You agreed, “but this is to be expected.” You finally directed your attention to him, your head angled to the side and resting against the cabinet. The blank and vaguely concerned expression he fixed you with prompted you to continue. “I’m royally fucking him over for good by marrying you.” You had a million-dollar smile; it was youthful and dazzling in a way that demanded attention. Right now, it still had that radiant jubilance, but there was an underlying air of menace that chilled Namjoon’s spine. “Once we’re married, the business will never be his. Even if he gets rid of me, you’ll be my successor.” Your eyes gleamed at him, warm and affectionate, capturing Namjoon with your magnetism yet again.

So that was your plan. Survive the next couple of weeks camping out inside until you had destroyed any chance your brother had at the throne by marrying him. After you, the lineage would transfer over to the Kims. Your brother might succeed in disposing of you and him, but Seokjin? Not a fucking chance. Namjoon understood your strategy, but something still itched at the back of his mind: why not just kill him yourself? Was it too morally reprehensible for you to kill your own brother? Was that a line you refused to cross? This particular piece didn’t fit with the rest of your puzzle, no matter how he tried to turn it over in his mind.

But you had chosen him as a matching piece, and he wouldn’t deny taking pride in being exactly what someone wanted for what might have been the first and only time. You accepted his position, his preferences, and his attitude. Maybe you understood him and that was why you had marched into his office with every intention to finally drag him out, snarky remarks and all.

“You and I,” Namjoon paused, pressing his lips together into a firm line and slightly nodding his head a few times.

Your eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting for him to find the end of his sentence.

“… Are fucking nothing alike,” He finally concluded.

Your delighted giggle ricocheted in his chest. As he took in your scrunched nose and flushed cheeks, Namjoon couldn’t fight the low chuckle rumbling in response.

Delicately, you raised your glass to clink it with his. “Cheers to that, darling.”

It was too late for the two of you to be fooling around in the kitchen by then. The dishes were placed in the sink to soak and Namjoon stood before you, waiting for you to head up to bed with him. You remained firmly planted, relaxed against the cabinet behind you, evidently not inspired to stand any time soon. Namjoon decided to speed up the process.

He stepped closer, tenderly resting his large, warm hands on your knees to part them far enough to wedge himself between them. His hands trailed to hook behind the backs of your legs, leaving a pleasantly fuzzy sensation behind, and gently tugged you forward to close the distance between you. From this close, you could breathe in the fresh scent of his shampoo and something slightly muskier. Namjoon thought the heat in your cheeks glowed the slightest bit more intensely as you slowly leaned closer. You weren’t meeting his eyes, instead fixating on his pretty, pouty lips that parted lightly in anticipation. His heart thudded in his ears and his palms— he wondered if you could feel his blood pulsing under the flesh of his hands as they pressed into your soft skin. You finally reached your destination, melting into his broad chest, your arms fluidly looping at the back of his neck and your chin resting in the crook of his shoulder. Namjoon twitched involuntarily when you absentmindedly combed your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, your long nails gently scratching with just the right amount of pressure to send a rush of tingles down his spine.

“You drank too much.” He floundered to conceal the fact that you managed to fluster him yet again. Your legs crossed behind his hips and he readjusted his hands to support your ass and back before smoothly lifting you off the counter in one quick motion.

“No, I didn’t,” You refuted, twisting your face to disprove his accusation. The clarity in your eyes was unmistakable and had not at all been present during the earlier conversation. Instead, the mischievous grin he typically associated with you reappeared. “Just wanted you to carry me.”

As always, you were in the business of getting what you wanted and he was about to be a lifelong customer of your bullshit.

Your playful admission hadn’t exasperated him like he had expected though— instead, Namjoon was alarmingly endeared.

“Can’t have that anymore.” He didn’t wait long enough for you to process what was absolutely a threat before his movements became sporadic. Namjoon twisted side to side, leaning precariously on one leg and then bouncing on the other on the journey through the hall leading to the bottom of the stairs.

You coiled around him tighter, squeezing him in case he accidentally dropped you. His more juvenile side was a refreshing change from the high-class lawyer that’d had sucked the life and personality out of him. The exaggerated ‘woah’s he cried out throughout his performance and experiencing the strength of his broad form firsthand further attached you to him in both the literal and metaphorical sense.

But enough was enough. With as much faux petulance you could muster in your current state of disorientation, you licked at a spot below his ear before sucking an open-mouthed kiss into your area of attack.

Namjoon froze immediately following a sharp intake of breath. The lightheadedness he felt in the shower rushed back, sending him to space, and he willed his knees not to buckle lest the both of you topple to the hardwood floor.

Satisfied with your work, your lips drew back from his neck and your eyes fluttered back open. “Behave, darling.”

Namjoon didn’t miss the coyness in your tone.

“I’m still sore from this morning.”

What.

From the car accident. From your brother’s poor attempt at killing you. By paying some asshole to ram into the side of your car. And totaling it like a jackass.

You observed his blank expression in amusement as you watched his brain work in overdrive to fill in the blanks. Namjoon’s recovery time was a lot quicker this time around. It would be a shame for him to grow accustomed to your shenanigans too quickly.

He bounced you slightly into a more comfortable and secure position and shot you a grin that brightened his face with a youthful glow. The dimples that framed it were far more charming than they had any right being in this situation, and he drawled out a half-sarcastic, “Anything for you, Sweets.”

It was at the base of the steps leading up to the bedroom, the heels of your feet digging into the bone right above his ass, the creamy scent of chocolate still wafting from the kitchen, and the tip of your nose lightly pressing into the skin that connected his neck and shoulder where Namjoon supposed that he had known. Namjoon had known from the beginning that he had built his home out of Jenga blocks; only they weren’t uniform and instead had chunks missing and sides that protruded at odd angles that ruined the already precarious structural integrity. He knew that it would collapse at any moment, existing in a state constantly on the brink of destruction, and Namjoon hated messes. But you had decided to hold it up, changing nothing about the foundation or the wonky planks, just allowing it to exist as it was with the slightest bit of support around the perimeter. Namjoon knew that when he existed between the warmth, the safety, and the empathy of your hands, he breathed and he flourished.

But make no mistake, Namjoon would have to be dead nine times over before he would ever admit that you’d had him three days into living together.

Both of you continued with the odd kitchen-sink-cookie-esque relationship that blended friends, fiancés, and questionably flirty roommates. Truly a recipe for disaster, yet you’d somehow nailed the ratio, and the resulting product was delectable.

Some nights were spent sprawled together on the oversized round sofa, pillows strewn about haphazardly, yet you still chose to use Namjoon as a cushion. Either you curled up beside him, resting your head on one of his thick, suspiciously athletic thighs, or you took up residence entirely in his lap, reclining into his sturdy chest (”We’re literally on a couch, Sweets. Why am I being used as furniture?” “You’re the comfiest, darling.”). Namjoon called bullshit on that. You had impeccable taste in furniture, much to his detriment— he gambled falling asleep on the sofa every night. But he didn’t really mind the arrangement and took advantage of the opportunity to twirl the ends of your hair around his fingers into little ringlets and brush his grounding hand against the bare skin of your shoulder.

Existing together like this was comfortable.

Once Namjoon set out to know you rather than know about you, he discovered that he was actually quite fond of you— outlandish diamond-studded house slippers and all. You were dangerously intelligent, a strategist to your core, and way funnier than he had initially been willing to give you credit for— it had been far to risky for his pride.

Eventually, when your eyelids remained shut for longer than fifteen seconds at every blink and the angle of the book resting in your hands tilted severely enough that Namjoon knew you weren’t reading it anymore, he’d take the initiative to transport the both of you to bed. Once you were draped under the comforter and curled up on your side, your cheek pressed into the silk pillowcase, Namjoon slipped into the other side of the bed.

It was an odd, unspoken boundary in your relationship. For all the time spent invading each other’s personal space, flirtatious advances and innuendos and all, neither of you touched the other in bed. Like, at all. Not even an accidental, “Whoops, I rolled over and didn’t realize you were that close!” or an, “Uh oh, I woke up and cuddled you in my sleep without realizing! Haha, my bad!” Namjoon couldn’t tell if you were establishing the boundary for personal reasons or if it was out of respect for him, an unspoken promise that for all you relentlessly teased him, you would never overstep his limits.

The thing was— by this point you had showered together. Well, not together— you were unwinding in the bath when he waltzed in to take a shower and discovered a little late that the steam wasn’t residual from your shower. But you hadn’t reacted other than a soft greeting so Namjoon had carried on. The steam, for the most part, concealed everything, but neither of you seemed to fixate on the other.

And how exactly did one bring this up tactfully? Hey, I know we’re like, fiancés and all for the benefit of our respective businesses in the organized crime industry, but do you want to actually acknowledge each other’s presence in bed? That actually didn’t sound all that bad, but you’d still reply with a coy flutter of your lashes and breathe out a smartass, yet still somehow sultry, insinuation.

To avoid the entire situation, Namjoon would ask you about something else— anything else— before you could drift off for the night. Most nights, you’d mumble an answer he’d have to crane his neck closer to you to comprehend. They weren’t always coherent, and they didn’t always answer his question, but he’d take what he could get, even if it was a predominantly drowsy musing that lacked any relevance whatsoever.

Tonight, he chose to inquire about the flowers that always seemed to glow on your nightstand. Namjoon had known immediately that you were a plant person; your home was a dead giveaway. He appreciated it, finding the various houseplants soothing companions. You took care of them religiously, rotating them so each side received enough sun exposure and checking the dampness of the soil every morning. But these were the only flowers that were eternally preserved in an intricate resin sphere, arranged to form a crescent shape. Were they the first flowers you grew? Maybe they were your favorite? A gift? They had to be significant for you to keep them where you slept every night.

“The what?” Your eyes blinked open, a certain lucidness to them that was uncommon this late into the evening.

“Those flowers,” Namjoon clarified, gesturing to your nightstand. “Were they from someone special?”

You twisted to face the direction he indicated and huffed out a mirthful snicker before relaxing back to your original position. He hadn’t realized in the moment, but he had anticipated your answer with bated breath that ached in his chest.

“My half-brother gifted them to me when I turned eight.” You explained, an oddly reminiscent curve to your lips. “It was his first attempt at killing me.”

Namjoon’s head swam in a pool of unanswered questions. None of what you said made any sense, but you were far too awake for this to be a half-lucid rambling. But should he press the subject further? To anyone else, it would probably be a sensitive topic, but he had to understand why on earth you made the decision to preserve an attempt at murder and go as far as sleep next to it every night.

As usual, you could read his persistently blank expressions and find the request for context written in the darker parts of his eyes. You twisted to fully face him, mumbling out the following statement like you were sharing a deep secret and you trusted that he would conceal it— Namjoon would, he knew. He’d hide your vulnerable sides like they were his own.

“I’m deathly allergic to daffodils.”

Namjoon tried to imagine what you looked like as an eight year old, receiving a gift from your older brother on your birthday. Had your eyes twinkled in joy? Had your smile been exactly like your million-dollar one now, or had there been gaps where your baby teeth had fallen out? Had you thrown your arms around your brother gleefully in appreciation, ignorant to his sinister motives and the grime splotched onto his ugly words as he wished you a happy birthday? Namjoon couldn’t remember exactly how old he had been when he’d figured out trust was always a mistake. Had you already been aware at eight years old? Had that been your moment of discovery?

“Why’d you keep them?” His eyes remained unyielding on your expression, observing any minuscule details that betrayed discomfort about the topic. He couldn’t bear to look at the daffodils looming on your nightstand. He wanted to destroy the display, smash it to pieces on the concrete driveway, crumble the flowers to dust, whatever he had to do to eradicate them from existence, but he had to know why you chose to keep them.

“I’d never received flowers before,” You reasoned with a carefree shrug of your shoulders. “And they’re pretty.”

Namjoon hated your reasoning. He thought they were hideous, tainting the safe space you created and gleaming eerily where you slept. He held more affection for the busted $4,000 oven sitting in the kitchen than that pathetic attempt at an arrangement.

Nevertheless, he nodded in acceptance and decided to give the wedding planner a call in the morning. He’d show you what a gorgeous flower arrangement looked like.

Namjoon so far, as fiancé and friend, had miraculously managed to avoid being on the receiving end of your rather malicious promises (”I don’t make threats, darling, only promises,”). An honest to god accomplishment, considering you’d cohabitated for three weeks with his admittedly smoking fuse and your ‘my way’ personality.

He liked to think that he understood you well by now. At least, well enough to design your wedding bouquet. You hadn’t contacted the wedding planner with any specific requests for the ceremony, so Namjoon figured you wouldn’t be opposed to him getting involved for this.

The planner had melted when he explained his intention, gushing and flushing at such a romantic gesture. With directions to decide what flowers he wanted to include and a basic vision for the placement, they scheduled a meeting closer to the wedding. Namjoon found himself researching flowers and their meanings during his work hours over the next two weeks, deep-diving into professional florists’ websites for hours at a time. He selected a few flowers that conveyed what he wanted you to know, and then spiraled into another research hole about the meaning associated with the colors. That part, while time-consuming, wasn’t difficult. What gave him trouble was the actual arranging of the flowers-stem lengths, positioning, and sizes; the visuals didn’t conceptualize easily for him. As the wedding and the meeting date loomed closer, Namjoon had vetoed all of his own drafts but one.

The wedding planner glanced at the arrangement plan he designed and her mouth clamped closed. She had been all bubbly anticipation for ‘their big day’ and eager to begin operation bouquet seconds prior. The abrupt switch in her mood settled uncomfortably on his shoulders and coiled around his lungs.

Namjoon rubbed at the back of his neck. “No good?”

The woman fixed him with a determined stare, giddiness gone. “The flowers you chose are gorgeous.” She pulled up a fresh document on her tablet and twirled the pencil around her fingers. “I’m just going to make some adjustments to the arrangement.”

A miracle-worker indeed. Within four minutes, she’d situated the white hydrangeas, blushing orchids, lilac snapdragons, and pink roses into a glamorous bouquet. A single lily of the valley sprouted slightly off center, drawing attention but not seeming out of place. Despite the flowers being the same as before, the new design appeared more cohesive, more coherent even. Namjoon hoped that it would convey his message clearly.

“She’s going to adore this, Mr. Kim.” The planner assured him with an encouraging grin.

He really hoped you would. There were two ways Namjoon could see this panning out. Either you would graciously accept the bouquet with a coy twinkle in your eyes and sultry comment about how he was such a “dedicated lover” or you’d smite him with that thoroughly unimpressed expression, brush the flowers off, and draw a thick line between you by giving notice that he’d overstepped.

Namjoon was about to find out.

He was a grown-ass adult and had experienced more stressful situations than this— legitimate life or death ones— but he swore his hands had never produced more sweat than in this moment. Only thick wooden doors painted a bright shade of white separated you. Traditionally, the groom wasn’t supposed to enter the bridal suite, but exactly what about this whole arrangement had been traditional? You wouldn’t care.

So why could he not will his dress shoes to unstick from the marble floor and for his fist to unclench around the lovely, fragrant bouquet? He needed to handle them delicately or he’d crush the stems, so why couldn’t he feel his grip? Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut, heaving in a deep breath until his suit jacket strained from the pressure of his expanded lungs and slowly exhaled. He repeated the process, waiting until his nerves began functioning again in his fingertips.

Namjoon wrapped a hand around the gold door handle, grounding himself in the chill of the metal in his palm. The door wrenched open, sliding out of his grip before he was ready, an attendant slipping out from the other side. She held the door open, flashing him a meaningful grin, and gestured for him to enter with a nod of her head. His movements were jerky, knees locking at all the wrong moments as he passed the threshold. Then, his eyes landed on your form and instantly his lungs were vacant and inoperable.

You turned to face him, white dress swishing with the movement, and Namjoon couldn’t think of any word other than dazzling. Your hair remained as flawless as ever, styled, glossy, and looking as soft as Namjoon knew it to be. The pristine dress had a sweetheart neckline that draped gracefully off your shoulders, leaving a tantalizing strip of skin below your collarbones exposed. He allowed his eyes to trail lower, swallowing thickly at the excess fabric that was swept up to trail at one of your hips, creating a tasteful slit and exposing your leg elongated by a pair of sparkly heels. The simple jewelry dangling from your earlobes and around your neck glinted in the natural light provided by the large windows, accentuating but not upstaging. Nothing glittered more than your eyes as your glossed lips curled into an amused smile at his obviously flustered state.

It was a balance of elegance and drama and divinity— enamoring and you. Just as he had first assessed, you were irrefutably the kind of gorgeous that brought trouble.

“God,” He struggled to breathe out, brows furrowing with the effort. “Sweets.”

Namjoon could easily have been convinced in this moment that you were a goddess walking amongst men for the sheer entertainment of it all; he had never been religious, knew better than to believe in a god fabricated to make people feel better about the harsh realities of the world, manipulate the gullible, and take advantage of the powerless. But you were real, brilliant, merciless, and you didn’t make promises you wouldn’t keep— he could easily be convinced to kneel before you.

And he did.

He approached you in long strides, his dark eyes holding your watchful gaze, because he had been drawn into your orbit just as he had during your first appearance in his office. Once he was close enough to brush his large hand against your dewy skin— though he wouldn’t dare— Namjoon dropped to one knee before you. Your lashes fluttered as you observed him from above, and Namjoon swore your blink restored his ability to breathe again.

His dark hair had been styled to part in a spiral, and he peered up at you through his wispy fringe resting at his eye level. Namjoon always maintained a meticulous appearance, suits pressed to perfection and hair styled up out of his clean-shaven face. Today, he was just as infallible as ever, his intimidating aura toned down ever-so-slightly with the softer styling of his hair. It accentuated the youthful, honeyed glow of his skin and the pronounced apples of his cheeks— they flushed a charming shade of red. His large hands extended out in the space between the two of you, the gorgeous bouquet rustling softly due to the steady vibrations of his hands. Namjoon’s plush lips trembled, parting to shakily exhale and reclaim his scattered nerves. “You promised me the world,” He began, “I’ll show you the most beautiful parts of it.”

He swore.

It couldn’t have been more than two beats of his heart between his vows and the shift in your expression, but Namjoon had been on trial and was waiting for his final verdict during those two beats. When it finally appeared, the gleam of your eyes and the arc of your lips said everything he already knew a couple weeks ago when he carried you up the stairs the night of your kitchen shenanigans— oh, how hard the mighty had fallen.

Slender fingers brushed against his hands, steadying them and applying light pressure to coax him back up to his feet. Your hands cradled his, holding the bouquet as you leaned forward to catch the light fragrance. Namjoon was rewarded with your contented smile— possibly the most genuine smile of yours he had ever seen— and your appraisal, “Well, you’re certainly off to a good start.”

There were absolutely worse places to discover that he felt unbridled, devout affection for you— the venue hours before your wedding was actually pretty optimal the more Namjoon thought about it. He found the strength to release one hand from the bouquet, reaching to brush some loose strands of hair out of your face. His eyes held nothing but reverence, and your gravitational force pulled him in closer until he hovered inches away from your face. Namjoon hadn’t been conscious of his hands as he did, but one carefully cradled the back of your head and the other found its place tenderly resting against your lower back. Was the excessive heat there from him or you? He couldn’t tell. Either way, it didn’t matter. Namjoon’s gaze flickered to your eyes again, searching for any indication that he had read the energy wrong and needed to back off (although he knew you would have made it very clear very quickly if he had).

The acceptance and endearment he found rattled his core in a way he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t a terrible feeling. It was comfortable, warm, and intimate. Anyone else, and it would have had Namjoon retreating out of the bridal suite, out of the venue, out of the arrangement entirely. But Namjoon trusted your affection, and he hadn’t trusted anything in a long time. All that established, Namjoon thought it would only be fitting to finally kiss you during the ceremony to swear his end of the deal in addition to his devotion. With a smile bracketed by charming dimples, he slightly pulled back and muttered, “Not here.”

Not for the first time and certainly not the last, you caught Namjoon off guard. “Why not?” You blinked, a challenging glint in your eyes.

Slender, manicured fingers curled into the collar of his suit, and you hauled him back to you with one hand still occupied with the bouquet. He didn’t quite stumble, but your tug managed to draw him closer than before, and his large palm pressed more firmly into your back to maintain his balance.

“It’s just you, me, and the thirty armed guards posted outside, darling.” You whispered, fluttering your lashes with the coy expression that indicated you were teasing, and Namjoon fought the urge to roll his eyes.

His hands trailed to rest on your hips, the pads of his thumbs rubbing soothing circles, and he dropped his forehead to gently press against yours.

“Soon, Sweets.”

“Objections?” The officiator asked, although the stoniness of his eyes demanded that the audience stay silent.

Your brother got straight to the point.

At the first sound of a shot echoing throughout the venue, you leaped right into him, launching your entire bodyweight directly into his ribcage as if you hadn’t already knocked the air out of his lungs today. Namjoon fell back with no resistance, arms caging around you as he twisted his back to somewhat cover you from the spray of glass shards. Your head was cushioned from the tile by his unfortunately— in this situation— solid bicep. An uncomfortable landing for both parties, but far from the worst outcome. Namjoon’s imposing form concealed you from your attacker, his leg practically thrown over yours in his attempt to act as your shield. By the time he blinked the disorientation away to scan your state, you’d already drawn your weapon from— he wasn’t really sure where.

“Excuse me, darling.” You sought to heave him off of you with your knee, but his cooperation ended there. With an arm still securing you to him, Namjoon slid the both of you behind an overturned wooden table decorated with an intricate lace skirt.

You inspected his face, eyes quickly flicking down to his now rumpled suit and back up to the loose strands of hair that escaped its slicked back style. No injuries, you determined. Your eyebrows raised in question, searching his dark eyes and finding an absence of panic and instead unconcealed concern.

A silent conversation passed in the prolonged seconds where you huddled behind the table. This was part of your plan. You were ready to expand your safe space, but you weren’t going to force him to come with you. It was, of course, an option. But it was his choice to make and you’d respect it either way. You expected the same courtesy from him. This was the opportunity for you to honor your end of the deal and give him the world you’d promised to the both of you.

Namjoon needed to let you go.

A large, warm hand tenderly pressed into your cheek— a plea. Your own hand covered his, steadying the tremors and securing its position. Eyes closed, you planted a kiss into the palm of his hand where his blood raced through his veins and pulsed to meet your lips. Then, you nestled the side of your cheek against his hand, and your eyes fluttered open to gaze into his with unchecked confidence— a promise.

And then you were gone, and Namjoon was alone behind the upended table.

Namjoon knew now that at some point, he had left his office. He cracked the door open slightly, grip tight enough on the door handle for it to creak in protest, and he had hesitated, lower body numb and floating separately from him. The other side could very well be his demise. He had spent his life retreating behind anything that could barricade him from whoever was hunting him down, whether it be for personal vendettas or in retaliation against his brothers. But his hideout was too stuffy by now, too cramped, almost shrinking around him by the minute. Namjoon needed to leave his office now.

Cautiously, Namjoon swung the heavy wooden door open. You waited patiently in the hallway, head held high, haughty and dignified in a way that simultaneously entertained and aggravated him. With a flirtatious wink and a million-dollar smile that promised to raise both heaven and hell and everything you damn-well pleased, you turned and glided down the hall.

You left the decision to him.

Namjoon followed you out of his office, past the threshold, through the hallway, and out from behind the table into the front line of the final showdown of a battle that spanned decades. You hadn’t had someone on your side when you were eight and struggling to breathe, the obnoxious yellow daffodils and your brother as witnesses to your near demise. Up until Namjoon moved into your home, you had existed in solitude, and Namjoon wanted to be your companion now.

It wasn’t difficult to find you.

“Quit being such a pest.” You rolled your eyes at your half-brother like he’d pulled some juvenile prank that moderately inconvenienced you rather than attempting to end your life. The two of you opposed each other closer to the back of the venue, the only thing between you a few feet. Your form was impeccable, as expected, but the situation looked entirely wrong— your mild irritation, the wreckage of glass and other decorations scattered about the venue, the shattered pieces of shards collected in your otherwise pristine white gown, and the steel gun clenched in your palm glinting in promise. At a second inspection, Namjoon noted with reluctant amusement that your gun twinkled because it was yet another item you had custom made. Diamonds were delicately inlaid in the metal. Unquestionably real, again, as expected.

At the end of the barrel, your brother glowered at you, a malicious sneer curling his lip. His chest heaved from the severity of his seething and his insistence that you’d ‘ruined everything for him.’ Despite the chaos being of his design, he appeared more scuffed up than you or Namjoon. Several cuts littered his face, knuckles busted and bleeding, a scrap missing from the shoulder of his silk button down. He looked feral while you were the picture of indifference.

But the scene was still wrong.

The combined effort of your forces and Seokjin’s had already subdued the few remaining stragglers aligned with your brother. As the engagement drew closer, most people were literate enough to read the flashing neon sign that to betray you was to betray the Kim family as well. The illiterate had swiftly been taken care of. Your brother’s attack had been sloppy at best and downright suicidal at worst: an absolute dismissal of both Seokjin’s authority and yours. It was no longer an issue between half-siblings. This was more than enough grounds for war.

It wasn’t enough to kill your half-brother— you were going to massacre him.

Namjoon hated messes.

He approached you in long strides, shrugging out of his suit jacket and shaking out any stray pieces of decor along the way. Namjoon’s imposing form loomed next to you, glaring down his nose at your brother with a degree of animosity you hadn’t been exposed to before. Meticulously, he slipped his jacket over the front of your dress, securing the thick fabric over your shoulders. The crisp, clean scent of his cologne settled with the extra layer.

All the while, your brother snarled half-baked insults at you, pathetic and ineffective attempts at grandstanding to undermine your qualifications while you held him at gunpoint. Even more unimpressive were the two firearms discarded near your feet— you’d effortlessly disarmed him in front of an audience at your own wedding. Enough was enough, Namjoon decided. He stalked over to your brother, swiftly lodging his knee into his gut and cutting him off mid-whine.

You were correct in your assessment of Namjoon having suspiciously athletic legs, because your brother crumbled onto all fours like a dead spider. Namjoon wordlessly shifted to the side, as your brother heaved to catch his breath, still gasping out juvenile insults.

“Fucking,” A particularly wet pant. “Bitch-” A choked cough as Namjoon’s jaw clenched in disdain.

Abruptly, he snatched the pest by the hair at the base of his neck like a dog, yanking him up to his knees. Your brother’s eyes screwed closed at the excruciating pressure on his skull, hissing and unable to squirm under Namjoon’s relentless grip as he loomed over him.

“Don’t you think you’re going too easy on him?” Your bottom lip lightly pouted, and the weight in your gaze told Namjoon you were not asking despite your airy tone. Immediately, Namjoon twisted the fist tangled in your brother’s hair as far as possible and then some, his bicep straining against the sleeve of his shirt. Multiple chunks of his scalp gave way at the force. He was reduced to tears, wheezing out sobs as Namjoon flicked his wrist a few times on his way back to your side to discard the loose strands of hair.

“It’s not fair,” He whimpered.

You slightly tilted your head as you sighed in faux sympathy, and Namjoon readjusted his suit jacket over your shoulder.

“Sounds like a skill issue.”

You fired. Your brother collapsed, the angle uncomfortable, still. The venue was silent, guests and guards alike observing the aftermath like a picture. Your wedding dress was unstained, your empire was solidified, and Namjoon still needed to kiss you.

“Fix it.” You demanded with a close-lipped smile, that light, airy tone suggesting a playfulness that wasn’t actually there. Immediately, your guards sprung to fulfill your orders, clearing the debris and floral remnants. From his viewpoint near the banquet table, Seokjin addressed his men with a stare and voice as cold as the Arctic.

“You heard her.” He turned back to the deserts, gingerly plucking up a cupcake.

People bustled around you, righting tables, reassembling centerpieces, and disposing of the uninvited guests.

Namjoon carefully slipped his jacket off of you and draped it across his forearm, undisturbed by the faint speckles of blood fading into the dark material. He had a spare anyway. The wedding planner really had been worth every penny.

You leaned into him, angling your head to meet his eyes and finding them already on you, warm and lighter than you remember. “Brief intermission to touch up and then reconvene?” He suggested, dipping his head closer to you, a teasing smile quirking one corner of his mouth up.

“My thoughts exactly.” Your nose faintly brushed his, and his limbs went fuzzy yet again. He felt the heat of your palm press into his chest and he let his eyes close. Then, you lightly pushed him away, twirling on your heel, and wiggling your fingers over your shoulder as you glided back in the direction of the bridal suite.

“Soon, darling.” You taunted playfully, and Namjoon could only roll his eyes with a huff that even he would admit was mostly theatrics.

Namjoon hadn’t realized until you that vengeance really could be sweet.

When you returned to your place at the altar a half hour later, hair and makeup refreshed, Namjoon was already waiting for you with a new suit jacket and your reassembled bouquet in hand. It hadn’t taken much damage when you’d dropped it to shove Namjoon to the floor. He handed it to you with a slight smile, which you returned with a grin of your own, and you both turned to face forward.

The officiant stood with an exhausted droop of his eyes, though unshaken by the previous event. He cleared his throat and skipped past the objections this time, evidently unwilling to risk another setback to the schedule. “Yeah,” He drawled, eyes flicking to his watch and crossing a foot over the other to lean against the podium. “This is all just a formality, so let’s skip to the ‘I do’s’ and just pronounce the two of you married.”

Absolutely no arguments there. You had essentially already exchanged your vows privately anyway— you when you’d first met in his office, and Namjoon hours before in the bridal suite. The ceremony proceeded efficiently without interruption, both you and Namjoon easily consenting.

“Fantastic.” The officiant straightened up and flipped his script shut. “By the power vested in me by me, I pronounce you married. You may kiss.”

You turned to face each other, your soft gaze fixed Namjoon’s face. He smiled, eyes glimmering. He was different— his air, and even his expression: slight crinkles around his eyes and less teeth than usual. This smile wasn’t sarcastic, cutting, or performative. It was genuine. Namjoon stepped into your orbit once more, hands already reaching to hold you, and you draped your arms around his neck, bouquet still held in one hand. Your free hand held the back of his neck, his skin warming under your touch. His own palms delicately pressed against your back, sturdy and grounding. Namjoon watched, completely taken, as your gaze dropped to his lips before you coyly fluttered your lashes at him one last time before he leaned in and let his eyes fall closed. You met him halfway.

Your lips touched, and Namjoon swore that even with his eyes shut, he could see the world you promised to make his.

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