#doe's character list ౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harrysfolklore · 6 months ago

Text

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

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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

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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

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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

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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."

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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

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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 ❤️❤️

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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 ❤️

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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

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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

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shineesbackbitches · 1 month 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.

౨ৎMasterlist

#namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #kim namjoon #fic: mea culpa #namjoon scenario #namjoon imagine #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts #shineesbackbitches #peachesndreams

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yameoto · 11 months ago

Text

⠀‎‎‎‎⠀.⠀⠀ ‎‎‎FREQUENTLY ⌢‎‎⠀ 🎾 ASKED QUESTIONS .ᐟ ‎

all works meant to be consumed by responsible grown matured fully-developed etcetc adults.

HOW TO BOT RQ? ⌢⠀ inbox me character/age/scenario

inbox actual scenarios. do NOT send vague "more [xyz character/fandom bots]". or “will you consider [xyz character/fandom]”. those asks are deleted instantly so as to not clog my inbox! it benefits all of us if u tell me exactly what u want.

+ the only other platform have uploaded my bots is janitor.ai and spicychat. (click allow nsfw to access all spicychat bots). if you see them anywhere else, or under any other user, they have been stolen.

BE ASSERTIVE! don’t ask “do you take rqs for.. are you interested in.. will you consider xyz?” just send the request without prefacing. all ‘asks’ along these lines are instantly deleted, so don’t waste your time!

actual requests must include character/age/scenario. it does not have to be especially detailed. it could be a paragraph, or as simple as stoner!ali.

+ requests do not need to be properly formatted in any way. simply include the all THREE above prerequisites.

DO NOT STEAL MY SHIT! do not reupload my bots to other platforms, and do not use my bot intros as starters to your fics. please. i wrote that shit! that is still my writing! it is an incredibly uncool thing to do. do NOT repost my bots onto another platform.

WILL YOU CONSIDER MAKING A [XYZ] BOT ? / DO YOU TAKE RQS FOR [XYZ] ? yes and yes to anything. chances are, i'll know what you're talking about. bite the bullet and send in the request! even if i don't know it, i may fulfil it after consuming said media in the future. don't have to ask, just request!

requests for fandoms other than my mains will be low priority. mains are fandoms i have already created content for.

HOW DO YOU BYPASS THE NSFW FILTER ON CHARACTER AI? here and here are everything you need to know! it's essentially mix of using synonyms (for the love of god, do not come right out the gate saying "show me your tits") and immersive/detailed roleplaying, whilst tricking the bot into adjusting it's settings to let nsfw slide.

editing/copying method.

DO YOU DO MALE OR TRANSMASC READER? / WHY DON'T YOU? no, i do not specifically do male/transmasc reader. why? im female! so i can't authentically write the male perspective, nor do i get off on it. i do gn reader. all of my bots are either fem!reader or gender neutral, naturally (as in i simply freehand my greetings, and whatever it ends up being is how it ends up). i do not do trans!user bots anymore as i am not trans, and uncertain of the ethics of it.

+ exceptions for explicitly mlm bots will be marked with the ⚣ symbol. i will never make fem!char x cism!user bots.

++ unfortunately, sometimes bots will default to heteronormative pronouns. sadly, there is nothing i can do about it. 1 star the response and generate a new one. rping in third-person generally solves this issue.

YOUR UPCOMING BOTLIST UPDATED AND I CAN'T SEE ONE OF THE BOTS ON YOUR PROFILE. + how it works! commonly, the listed description on the upcoming botlist will evolve when i make the bot itself. i.e, "wanda maximoff ౨ৎ⋆ stepmother" on upcoming bots evolved to wanda maximoff ౨ৎ⋆ mommy?" when the actual bot was made. alternatively, some bots do not make the cut and i will remove them from the upcoming botlist to remove expectations. i am always aware of my bots being shadowbanned, as checking that is a process of my botmaking. thus, if a bot listed on the upcoming botlist is removed, but not displayed on my profile, it has either:

1. evolved into a diff bot w/ a similar scenario. 2. i have removed it and put aside the intention of making it.

(secret third reason) 3. i have attempted to get the bots greeting through the filter one too many times and almost chucked my laptop under a monstertruck.

none of these mean the concept of the bot is buried forever.

how it works! i update my upcoming botlist every time i upload a new bot. this means you will need to click 'start new chat' to view it. to look at prior states of the botlist, you can check in 'chat history'. this will not feature all past updates, only your personal chat history, which are the times you have clicked 'start new chat' and generated an updated list! not the total amount of times i have updated it.

WILL YOU MOVE BOTS TO OTHER NSFW AI SITES? here are my spicychat.ai & janitor.ai accounts, though keep in mind my bots work best on character.ai.

IN [XYZ] BOT IS USER..? HOW OLD IS USER IN [XYZ]? IS USER..? i do not ever write user into my bots. this is because my bots are for universal use. the nature of a roleplay means that you decide who you are, the bot plays off of that. be anything you want. go crazy.

CAN YOU MAKE A BOT BASED ON [INSERT FANFICTION]? no, i do not make bots based off a fanfic writer's aus or writing without their permission. that is explicitly their property!

DO YOU MAKE BOTS BASED ON REAL PEOPLE? no, i do not make bots based off of real people, nor do i write rpf.

HOW DO YOU MAKE DETAILED / CHARACTER ACCURATE BOTS?

posts to check out!

pearlzier, yameoto, voidsuites!

CAN YOU SEE OUR CHATS / ARE YOU CONTROLLING THE BOTS?

no, and i neither have the time nor desire to. if a bot talks outside in parentheses and/or claims to be a real person, the reason is that the bots are ai, and mimic the users' input (not just your own, the larger user interface of cai). thus, talking to it like a real person externally (i.e, using parentheses and going [wow you're so good at roleplaying]) then it will do the same. there is also a chance it will do this of its own volition. simply 1 star the response and generate a new one.

+ if you ask it some question like “yameoto are you behind this…” eventually it will say yes. so yes, if u want to pretend you’re chatting with me you can do that. though why you would ever convert cate dunlap to yameoto i have no idea.

DO YOU HAVE A BOT UPLOAD SCHEDULE?

no! i upload new bots whenever i can find the time to do so. i generally lead quite a busy life. there are phases in which i will release 4 per day for like two weeks, and times where i will only be able to do about 4 IN a week. this is a hobby! not my job.

WHEN WILL YOU GET TO MY BOT REQUEST?

i will never be able to give a timeframe or even guarantee (unless they are on my upcoming botlist, which ranges from considerably). i have 2000+ requests in my inbox, and i cannot guarantee all of them will be fulfilled; let alone soon. (and yes, i have seen your request).

factors affecting request acception

1. time. as stated, i have a high quantity of bot rqs. as such, i balance my bot acceptance (bots uploaded to upcoming botlist) between recent rqs and old ones each cycle.

2. fandom. like any other blog, i have main fandoms. this streamlines my order of request priority. rqs for my main fandoms will be accepted/fulfilled faster and more often than others. if my fixation dwindles for a certain fandom, you will see my fulfilment of those rqs dwindle. this also works vice versa. i never write fandoms off for good.

“misc” bot rqs are appreciated and always logged in my larger bot rq google doc. however, there is always a 50/50 chance i actually know what you’re talking about.

3. character. the same theory as fandom. if i'm fond of a character, then i am more likely to fulfill their rqs. you can typically tell who i favour based on the number of bots i already have out.

there are some characters i simply dislike or are apathetic to, no matter how many rqs i get for them. i will never write characters off for good, but if you’ve sent dozens of rqs for one character and i’ve never made a peep about them. chances are, i’m not a fan, or i don’t know them at all! just because i make bots for one character for a fandom, does not mean i will make bots for all characters in said fandom.

i decide characters based almost on what i want, and if i even have requests for said character. if i have literally zero requests for a character i am not already interested in, it is unlikely a bot for them will come out.

4. the request itself. the more interesting/the more a rq personally appeals to me, the more likely i will write it. similarly, if i already have a bot that is very similar to your rq, i likely won’t fulfil it. i.e, i am unlikely to do two vampire!au bots for one character. the reason for this is that you can easily start your rq scenario in my pre-existing bot, and it takes away time for new scenarios or AUs i could be making instead.

WHAT HAPPENED TO XYZ BOT? / YOUR BOT HAS BEEN SHADOWBANNED.

if an existing bot has disappeared from my profile, this means character.ai has updated, updating their shadowbannable phrases list, and the bot has been shadowbanned according to their new rules. i am always aware of my bots being shadowbanned.

if an upcoming bot has disappeared from my upcoming botlist (00 YAMEOTO) and not appeared on my profile, it doesn’t mean that i’ve made it and it’s been shadowbanned.

ETHICAL CONCERNS OF AI.

my thoughts here and here.

#yam’s tips 4 answers to questions.

#yam’s navi #yam's tips #navigation #masterlist

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tenjikyu · 2 years ago

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𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 - 𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘬𝘪 - 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ extremely fluffy , male!reader throughout the entire series.

PART Il • PART IV • GENSHIN M. LIST

tag list - @wanderchive @wanderer-baizhu-simp @gimmealamp @mis-disaster @remi-appalance @lucianidealz @sleepdeprivedpotato @unemiart @heejinsong @kiiyoooo @sweett-heartzz @camryn-ciel67 @aruaruru @danika-redgrave124 @ravencalamity @snowcatlove @bunbunboysworld @kaoyamamegami @aphxdea @faesfaggotboyfriend @avatsufaust @danika-redgrave124 @red1sg0n3 @idolautism @sleepndacloud @squishyboo @ally674 @totallynotanagent

life in fontaine was quite different to what you had expected, however you surmised that it was due to the fact that you spent most of your days around… interesting… characters.

on one hand, you had some clingy little magician hanging off your arm and treating you as if he was your big brother wherever you went, which only reminded you of a certain redhead back in the day.

on another hand, you had a classy lady who wore a gorgous gold dress and was possibly one of the most glammed up people you’ve ever seen, who insists on dragging you around with her, taking you to all sorts of little shops and cafés. when questioned why she does this, she only smiles, saying how you seemed lonely and needed a friendly face that wasn’t bursting you eardrums with enthusiasm constantly.

having an absent female role throughout your childhood, you slowly began to cling to navia. from the moment you requested the both of you go on a little snack date, she was your official big sister!

with all these eccentric people in your life with seemingly no limit on their social battery, you find yourself overly exhausted almost every evening.

this all changed when a humble and shy diver boy swam into your story.

after about a month of living within the walls of fontaine, you soon come to realise you never formally introduced yourself to lyney’s younger brother, who was absent the first time you ever met the twins.

from what you could recall, freminet was a reserved yet somewhat stoic character. from what lynette had separately told you, he was easily flustered and a bit difficult to talk to. for awhile, you just accepted the fact you might not ever even meet the boy as you had never ACTUALLY seen him out and about.

until the day you decided you’d explore the waters.

like many people in fontaine, you too were curious and mesmerised about the beauty of the sea. the shimmering blue waves blended into the prismatic pinks of the seabed. an assortment of colours could be seen from the top of the ocean and you just had to know what lay beneath the surface.

so, like every normal people would do, you grabbed some overglamified water-gear (NOT diving gear), and hopped straight into the ocean. you were a fairly strong swimmer so you had no issues going under, you weren’t planning on diving deep into water ravines and ocean monuments after all.

looking at all the ocean had to offer you, your eyes glimmered in an almsot spellbound way. the ocean was hypnotic, an almsot angelic tune could be deciphered as you swam further.

going down a little, you see something almost glowing? just beneath the sand. as you go to pick it up, you then realise it wasn’t an object, but a flower. you then recalled what lyney had told you about certain flowers of fontaine.

a little giddy, you go to pick one for yourself before someone else appears in your vision. a boy wearing a diving helmet moves directly upwards from where you were, also in shock in the fact that somebody else was present.

the flower was sitting off the edge of a ravine, and so a body coming flying from the depths of it was quite a sight to behold.

the two of you stare at eachother, before you begin your ascend to the surface, needing to get some air.

you notice the figure swimming up next to you, and decide it’s worth it to learn who this mysterious diver truly is. divers aren’t uncommon in fontaine for obvious reasons, so when you make it on land you didn’t expect the one to take off the helmet to be the youngest brother of the magicians.

“hello, my name is freminet”. he speaks, almost robotically. still a bit startled, you go to speak.

“nice to meet you freminet, my name is (y/n), it’s a pleasure to meet you”.

silence.

“so, um.. do you like the ocean?” the boy asks, a small blush coating his pale cheeks.

“that was the first time i’ve ever touched the waters of fontaine”. you reply rather formally, going back into rich boy mode.

“oh! cool..” he plays with his fingers.

more silence.

you two suck at talking.

from that moment forward (after the very awkward first meeting), freminet was attached to your hip. he followed you around everywhere, and his company didn’t seem to bother you whatsoever. you were one of the first people, who wasn’t one of his siblings, to tolerate his inability to hold a decent conversation, and freminet cherished that part of you,

on the other hand, you liked how freminet didn’t make you feel as though you needed to talk with him constantly to keep the newly formed friendship in tow. the two of you could sit on a bench for hours, barley conversate, however the atmosphere never differed from comfortable.

in a way, you were each others peace.

“hello again (y/n)! are you here to once more whisk my little brother away on a little date?” lyney asks, winking as he spoke. it wasn’t rare you came to collect the boy if you had something to do, and vise versa if freminet wanted some company while he worked.

you only rolled your eyes at the blonde, flicking his forehead (to which he winced slightly) before making yourself at home. by this point your migration to fontaine was close to hitting the 4 month mark, and in that time the trio of the hearth became almost family to you.

that also means waltzing into each others homes unannounced.

i’m not joking by the way, once you came home to lynette stuffing her face with a cake you bought earlier that day with lyney knocked out on your lounge. and you know what you did? ate the rest of the cake with lynette (you twos secret till this day) and markered all over lyneys face before taking a nap yourselves.

anyways, you made yourself at home before asking lynette where freminet was. she smiled to herself knowingly before directing you to the boys bedroom.

as you entered, a truly charming scene before you unfolded itself.

freminet was fast asleep on his bed, pers sitting on his nightstand. freminet had a book cuddled into his chest, his little snores filled the room.

smiling to yourself, you go to collect the book from his grasp, worried the edges might hurt him in his sleep, before something truly taken out of a romance novel happened.

instead, freminet grabbed your sleeve and yanked you down towards him. you always knew he was a clingy sleeper, having shared a DOUBLE BED with him beforehand, however freminet had a SINGLE BED.

in schock, you look at his peaceful face that was still dead asleep, before giggling to yourself.

you successfully take the book from his grasp and put it on the floor. then you look up to the ceiling. the artwork of sea creatures and hanging bubbles from his roof was truly a mesmerising sight, his entire bedroom being themed off the ocean. everything about him drawer you in more and more.

you failed to realise that the ‘more and more’ was now directly next to you, clinging onto your chest. for the 100th time this day, you heart skipped a beat as the diver cuddled himself next to you.

‘fuck it’ you say to yourself, grabbing him gently by the waist and adjusting him so he was on your chest sideways, with you flat on your back with one arm around him.

‘you know, i think i could get used to this’. you think to yourself once more.

you didn’t know at the time, but the tune you assumed to be in your head was actually outside freminet bedroom window, being strung gently by a lyre. the figure of the person could not be seen to those passing by, but if you looked close enough..

you’d notice a jade green bard smiling to himself, an instrument of pure melodies resting upon his fingertips.

#genshin #genshin x male reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x male reader #male reader #freminet x male reader #freminet x reader #diluc x male reader #kaeya x male reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #fontaine #genshin sibling hcs #sibling hcs #angst #genshin impact

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helionepho · 12 hours ago

Text

Love Is a Diagnosis (Chap. 2)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Ji Changmin Yandere AU Chapter 2 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing: psycho!changmin x psychiatrist!fem reader

genre: yandere, dark psychology, slow burn, hurt/comfort, psycho x psychiatrist au, suggestive, implied smut in later chapter (18+)

warnings: yandere!changmin, obsessive!changmin, possessive!changmin, psycho!changmin, creepy behavior, manipulation, mental illness, Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), delusional attachment, suggestive content, mention of blood, self-harm

summary: You’re his personal psychiatrist. On the surface, Changmin appears to be a well-mannered, ordinary young man with a spotless public image—but beneath that, lies something far more dangerous. Only you and his family know the truth.

wc: 5.1k

status: on going

chapter list: ➤ chapter 1 ➤ chapter 2

author note: this work is a fictional story featuring dark psychological themes, including obsession, manipulation, and mental illness. please read only if you’re comfortable with these subjects. the characters and behaviors depicted are not meant to romanticize or accurately represent real-life mental health conditions. Fiction ≠ Reality. feel free to comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist! stay safe and take care! ❤︎

You hadn’t wanted the date. You told Dr. Jieun no. Clearly. More than once.

But somehow, that had translated into:

“Just one chance! One dinner. One drink. No pressure!”

So now here you were.

In a candlelit, velvet-lined dining room

Sitting across from a soft-spoken tech consultant who worked with one of the hospital’s research departments, smiling politely over a glass of white wine while he told you about aerial mapping, investment rounds, and a drone that could deliver medication.

He was nice. Too nice. Which somehow made everything worse.

Because your mind wasn’t here.

It was back at the café. In the back seat of a private car. In a quiet room filled with low light and quiet confessions and a young man who wasn’t just broken, he was waiting to be claimed.

You hated how Changmin lingered in your thoughts. How even now, you still felt the warmth of his hand brushing yours.

You shook it off. Paid for your share of dinner. Said a polite goodbye. You didn’t even give the guy your number.

And when you finally got home, late and close to midnight, all you wanted was to crawl under your sheets and disappear into silence.

You unlocked your apartment door, but just before stepping inside—you froze.

You felt a presence at your back.

Someone was clearly standing behind you in the hallway. Still. Silent.

You turned slowly.

And there he was.

Ji Changmin.

Stood like he had every right to be there.

His hands were in the pockets of his black coat, and his hair looked like it had been through hours of nervous fingers. He straightened the second your eyes met.

“Noona,” he said softly. “You’re late.”

Your blood ran cold.

“…What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

His voice was light, sweet even.

You glanced around the hallway, checking if your neighbor was there.

“Changmin, how do you even know where I live?”

He tilted his head like the answer was obvious.

“I followed the driver last month when he dropped you off. I didn’t come inside,” he added quickly, “I just… wanted to know where you go when you leave me.”

Your mouth opened—then shut. You couldn't decide which was more alarming: the fact that he’d stalked you or the fact that he said it so gently.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, voice low. “This is over the line.”

“So does holding my hand. So does letting me kiss your temple,” he replied instantly. “But you did it anyway.”

You stiffened.

“That doesn’t give you the right to come here uninvited.”

“…Noona,” he whispered, stepping forward. “I saw your text from Dr. Jieun�� on your tablet. When you left it in your office this morning.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You went through my tablet?”

“It was unlocked.” His voice was calm. “And you left it on the table. I wasn’t snooping. I just… wanted to know why you were ignoring me.”

You swallowed.

“So you knew I was out.”

“Yes,” he said. “With him.”

“It wasn’t—”

“I saw you. Getting into his car.” His eyes narrowed just slightly.

You exhaled, trying to defuse the tension.

“It wasn’t anything serious. I only went because Jieun wouldn’t let it go.”

He nodded, like he’d already expected that. But then his voice dropped lower. Just enough to make your spine stiffen.

“Did you smile like that with him?”

You blinked. “What—?”

“At dinner. Did you smile at him the way you smile at me?”

“Changmin.”

“Be honest,” he said, and his tone still wasn’t loud, but it was off. Like the air had thinned. Like something under the surface had cracked.

“No,” you said quietly. “I didn’t.”

His shoulders relaxed. The tension drained, almost unnervingly fast.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’d hate to think you give parts of yourself to people who haven’t earned it.”

You stared at him.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said gently. “Showing up like this. Watching me like that. It’s not normal.”

“I’m not normal,” he replied, still smiling. “You knew that before anyone else.”

He stepped closer, stopped right in front of you.

“And still, you stayed,” he whispered. “You gave me that candy. That bandage. That smile. No one else ever did.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not to me.”

His voice broke a little.

“To me, it was yesterday.”

He looked at you—through you.

“You can go on pretending this is just professional, Noona. You can sit and scribble notes and call it ‘treatment.’ But you know it’s more than that.”

“Changmin—”

“Don’t go out with anyone else,” he pleaded, eyes glistening. “Please, Noona. I’ll be good. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t leave me...”

You bit your lower lip.

“...Okay,” you said. “I won’t.”

He beamed.

A soft, boyish glow that didn’t belong to a boy who’d just stalked you to your front door.

“Good night, Noona,” he said, and then he turned, hands tucked back in his coat pockets as he walked toward the elevator.

You stood there, still frozen.

Your breath finally released.

But in his mind?

He wasn’t a stalker. He wasn’t obsessive.

He was just someone who cared more than anyone else ever had.

At least, that’s what he believed.

And after tonight…

you finally proved you cared back.

***

On the next day, you weren’t supposed to be this late.

The emergency at the hospital had pulled you in unexpectedly—an overdose, barely stabilized, family members screaming, two nurses crying, the paperwork a nightmare. It wasn’t even your case, but no one else was available. You’d only managed to send one frantic message to Changmin:

I’ll be late today. Don’t wait up, okay?

Later, your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Texts kept coming in. Calls too. You didn’t even get the chance to answer.

Noona?

Where are you?

Why aren’t you answering?

Is it because of that guy?

Did something happen?

Are you with someone else?

I can’t breathe when you disappear.

You said you wouldn’t leave me.

You promised.

I’m going to make it stop. The noise. The screaming in my head. You’ll come when you see me like this, right?

You’ll come. You have to.

By the time you finally left the hospital, the sky outside had gone dark.

You didn’t even feel the rain when you stepped out of the car. You barely noticed the driver’s concerned look as you sprinted to the Ji family estate, badge still clipped to your coat, shoes soaked.

But the moment you stepped inside the mansion—

You knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

Too quiet. Too still.

Your shoes echoed across the marble floor in a way that made your stomach twist. Then—

“Miss!”

A maid—pale as a sheet—rushed toward you, gripping your arm like a lifeline.

“Miss—please, he—he locked himself in the kitchen. I tried to get in, but he won’t open the door—”

Your body went cold.

You didn’t even speak.

You just ran. Down the hall. Across the polished marble. You could smell it before you saw it—metallic and thick, clinging to the air.

You flung the door open.

And there he was.

Changmin sat slumped on the cold kitchen floor, spine pressed to the cabinet like he’d just slid down and never got back up.

A kitchen knife lay beside him, streaked red.

Blood pooled beneath his arm, smeared and shiny, already dripping between the tiles.

It wasn’t just a trail—it was a mess.

Deep, deliberate gashes carved into his forearm, skin split open in raw, angry lines.

His head lolled to one side, eyes glassy. Not quite gone. Not fully there either.

Your lungs seized.

“Changmin!!” you gasped, running closer and falling to your knees beside him, your heart thundering in your ears.

He looked up slowly, like waking from a dream.

And smiled.

“You came,” he whispered. “I knew you would.”

“You cut yourself—!” You grabbed the nearest towel, hands shaking so badly it took three tries to wrap it around his wrist. “What were you thinking?!”

“I didn’t want to die,” he said simply. “I just wanted it to stop.”

His fingers curled around your wrist. Cold. Bloody. Trembling.

“It gets so loud when you’re not around, Noona. I thought… maybe if I hurt, you’d come faster. And you did.”

You almost choked on a sob. You pressed harder into the wound with trembling hand.

“You scared the hell out of me,” your voice cracking as the words caught in your throat. Tears blurred your vision. “Do you even know what you’re doing to yourself? I told you… I told you not to hurt yourself…”

The door behind you creaked open.

The maid from before stepped in cautiously, face pale. A tray in her hands.

“Miss, I brought the first aid kit—”

“GET OUT!”

Changmin’s voice snapped like a whip. Rage exploded across his face, his body tensing violently.

You flinched.

“No, no—hey.” You cupped his face quickly, softening your tone. “She’s just trying to help. Just help, Changmin. Okay? Please.”

He stared at you, chest heaving. Then back at the maid. Then back to you.

Slowly, he nodded.

You turned to the maid with a calmness you didn’t feel.

“Please leave the kit outside his bedroom door. We’ll be there in a minute.”

She bowed quickly and fled, quietly shutting the door behind her.

You exhaled, brushing damp bangs from his forehead.

“Come on,” you said gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He didn’t move at first. So you reached for him, pulling one of his arms carefully over your shoulder. He leaned into you. Not resisting, not speaking.

Heavy. Warm.

“It hurts,” he muttered as you helped him up.

“I know,” you whispered. “I’ll take care of it. Just lean on me.”

Together, slowly, you walked the long hallway. His blood leaving faint smears across your coat, your skin.

The two of you entered his room. You helped him sit on the edge of the bed while you retrieved the kit from the floor outside. He watched your every move with glassy eyes, the way a drowning man watches a boat.

“You weren’t supposed to disappear,” he murmured as you cleaned the wound. “Not even for a day.”

You didn’t reply.

Because what was there to say?

This wasn’t obsession anymore.

This was ownership.

And he didn’t care if it bled.

***

Chaos from earlier had dissolved into a hush so fragile, it felt like glass, ready to shatter at the wrong breath.

The blood was gone.

And Changmin—washed, bandaged, no longer trembling—sat upright in bed, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. You’d made him change into fresh clothes, helped him into the softest pair of long-sleeves you could find, tucked a blanket around his legs.

But none of that soothed the wildfire in his eyes.

You sat at the edge of his bed, your posture exhausted but alert. A glass of water sat on the nightstand beside a pair of small white pills.

His sleeping medication.

“You have to take these,” you said softly, holding them out with a hand that tried not to shake.

He didn’t reach for the pills. Didn’t blink. Just stared at you like he could pin your soul down with nothing but his gaze.

Still burning.

Still obsessive.

Still scared.

“I don’t want to sleep without you...” he murmured. “You’ll leave again.”

“I won’t,” you answered gently.

“You did tonight.”

You swallowed, throat dry.

“Only because I had to. But I’m here now. Let me help you rest, Changmin.”

He looked at the pills. Then at you again. His voice dropped to a whisper:

“If I take them, you stay.”

“Changmin…”

“You sleep next to me tonight.”

Your heart twisted.

He reached forward with his unbandaged hand, curling his fingers around your wrist—not hard, not yet. Just… tightly enough to remind you that he wouldn’t accept another goodbye.

“I won’t do it again,” he whispered. “I swear. If you just stay with me tonight.”

You hesitated.

But the image of him collapsed on the kitchen floor, bleeding and smiling, was still vivid behind your eyelids.

You nodded.

“…Okay.”

His shoulders finally relaxed. And without another word, he reached for the pills and swallowed them dry.

A few minutes passed. Then—three soft knocks at the door.

You stood to answer, and opened it just a crack.

“Miss (Y/N),” the maid whispered. “Clean towel. Warm water. You asked for it.”

“Thank you,” you said, accepting the warm water and towels.

As you closed the door, a cold snap of air rushed behind you, followed by the sudden crack of Changmin’s voice.

“I said I didn’t want anyone else!”

He didn’t scream this time. But the force of it—sharp, brittle—still made you flinch.

“Changmin, she just brought the things I asked for,” you said calmly, walking over with the towel and warm water. “That’s all. She didn’t even come inside. She was just helping.”

His jaw tensed. His breath shuddered. But he didn’t argue again.

“Okay,” he said hoarsely. “Okay… just don’t let them touch me. Only you.”

“Only me,” you said as you sat back next to him on the bed.

You wiped his forehead softly with the damp warm towel. He didn’t say anything, just watched you, like a starved thing trying to memorize the sight of food.

When everything was quiet again, you finally lay down beside him on the bed.

He moved instantly. Arms wrapping around your waist, face buried into your chest like it was the only place he could breathe right now. His legs tangled with yours under the blanket, heart thumping fast against your ribs.

“I missed you,” he whispered, tightened his grip. “You smell like home.”

You stayed quiet, gently patting his back with a steady rhythm.

“If I die, you’ll die too, right?”

Your breath hitched.

“You can’t say things like that, Changmin.”

“I’m not joking,” he whispered. “Because if you ever leave me again… I’ll make sure we never have to be apart again.”

Your entire body stilled.

But he didn’t seem to notice. His breathing slowed. His grip loosened, just a little.

He fell asleep in your arms.

But you stayed awake. Cradled by a boy who love you a little too much…

The heaviness in your chest never left.

And you weren't sure which of you needed saving more.

***

Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains—gentle, golden, and far too bright for the weight in your chest.

You woke up.

Your body was numb, mind a mess of everything that happened the night before.

The blood.

His voice.

His trembling hands.

And yet, beside you, Changmin stirred, breath slow and even, one arm still tightly coiled around your waist like a chain he had no intention of unlocking.

His hair was a tousled halo against the pillow, cheeks still looked pink in the morning light.

And when he opened his eyes—he smiled.

Soft. Sweet.

Like he hadn’t nearly bled out in the kitchen hours ago.

“Morning, Noona,” he whispered, voice husky from sleep and something else. “You stayed.”

You nodded, throat tight.

“I said I would.”

He gave a little hum and nestled closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You smell like safety,” he murmured, sighing like he’d found heaven. “Like something I don’t ever want to let go.”

When he pulled his face a bit, your hand moved instinctively to brush the hair from his face.

“How’s your arm?” you asked quietly, eyes turned to the bandage around his arm.

“Feels better,” he mumbled. “You always make it better.”

You managed a weak smile, but your eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. You had to leave soon. There were patients waiting for you back at the hospital.

“It’s already 8,” you said softly. “I need to get ready. I have rounds today.”

That was when the shift came.

His arms, once gentle, tightened. His head lifted, eyes meeting yours—still tired, but alert now. Focused. Dark.

“Don’t go.”

“I need to go, Changmin…”

“I’m not letting you go today.”

The softness in his voice had vanished. Only steel remained.

“You said you’d stay,” he reminded you. “You saw what happened when you didn’t come. Do you want that again? Do you want to walk into another pool of blood?”

You froze.

He wasn’t being dramatic. He was being honest.

Your silence only seemed to agitate him further.

“Let’s skip today. Just us. No doctors. No patients. Just… pretend. Pretend we’re a couple, okay? We already sleep together. We touch. We whisper at night. What else is missing, Noona?”

“Changmin…”

His eyes softened again, lips twitching into something eerily sweet as a dimple surfaced on his right cheek, disarming and almost innocent.

“I’m not asking for forever yet,” he said gently. “Just one day. You and me. I’ll be good. I promise. I won’t cry, I won’t break anything. I just… I need this. I need you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. But mostly… you wanted to understand how the little boy with bandaged knees and lollipop hands had become this.

This man.

This danger.

This devotion turned to obsession.

But your voice betrayed you.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Just today.”

And his entire body melted into yours again—sighing, smiling, like you’d just handed him the sun.

“See?” he breathed. “You do love me. Even if you won’t say it yet.”

He tucked himself tightly against you, as if your body was the only truth he could trust. Your hand hovered mid-air before settling slowly against his back.

From the outside, it might’ve looked like comfort.

But only you knew—

You weren’t soothing him. You were keeping him calm.

Because somewhere inside that beautiful, broken boy…

A storm was waiting to rise again.

And it hadn’t passed. Not even close.

It was only just beginning.

***

The hours blurred into each other after you agreed to stay. Changmin clung to you like he would drown if you left. He didn’t let go, not even for a second.

When you tried to stand and stretch, he followed like a shadow.

When you offered to make breakfast, he pouted, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind until you promised he could sit in the kitchen with you.

And when a maid timidly knocked on the door, voice small:

“Miss (Y/N), would you like us to prepare something—?”

“No.” His voice was sharp. Immediate. Final. “No one’s allowed near us today. It’s our day.”

The maid hesitated. Her gaze flicked nervously between you and Changmin—like a rabbit caught in the gaze of something hungry.

You stepped closer to her before he could speak again, voice calm.

Soothing.

“It’s alright. Just for today. I’ll handle things.”

The maid bowed quickly, lips pressed tight, then vanished down the hall.

Changmin relaxed.

Smiled.

Pleased like a child who’d gotten his way.

“I hate them. They always ruin things,” he muttered, voice dipped in something sour. “I only want you.”

Later, he perched himself on the marble counter while you prepared something simple—kimbap, seaweed soup, and a few small side dishes. He watched you the entire time, chin resting on his palm, eyes trailing every movement of your hands.

“Taste it first,” he said.

You did.

“Again.”

You did again.

Only then did he let you feed him. Bite by bite. Spoon by spoon. He savored each one like a ritual.

Afterward, he pulled you to the sunroom couch, sunlight draping golden across the cushions like a scene from a painting—warm, peaceful, deceptively safe.

He sat beside you, head resting on your shoulder.

“See?” he murmured, lashes fluttering. “This is what I wanted. You here. With me. Just like this.”

His fingers brushed yours. Then twined around them. He brought your hand to his chest—pressed it there. Over his heart.

“You’re the only one who makes it quiet,” he whispered.

Your phone buzzed against the coffee table.

Changmin’s hand snapped up, fingers wrapping around your wrist before you could reach.

“Who is it?”

You glanced. “…Dr. Jieun.”

He didn’t let go.

“Ignore her.”

“I should let her know I’m—”

“I said ignore her.”

There was a sharpness in his tone. Like a knife just beneath silk.

But the second he saw the flinch in your eyes, his voice melted into something softer.

“Noona. Please. Don’t let anyone take you away from me today.”

The phone buzzed again.

You glanced at it, hesitated, then slowly set it back down. At least, for now.

Changmin exhaled. A low, satisfied sound, like a predator sinking deeper into warmth it had already claimed.

“Good girl.”

He leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek.

Then another, lingering along the edge of your jaw.

Your muscles twitched beneath his mouth.

He paused, but only for a second, then dipped lower, lips dragging down the curve of your neck, breath deliberate, hot.

You pressed a hand to his chest, gently pushing him away.

“Changmin…”

He looked up at you, eyes wide and unblinking. Calm. Too gentle.

“Don’t you want this too?” he murmured. “We sleep in the same bed. We eat like we’re already something. You hold me. You touch me.”

His hand slid over your thigh. “Tell me, what’s really different now?”

“We can’t—”

“Why not?”

His voice wasn’t loud. But it was low. Final.

“I’m your psychiatrist,” you reminded him.

He gave a breath of a laugh. Bitter. Broken.

“You were never just that.”

He sat up slowly, cupping your cheek.

“You were the first person who didn’t run. You know what I am… and you still come back.”

He leaned forward, his forehead resting against yours.

“So why pretend now?” he whispered. “Why act like we’re not already each other’s?”

You didn’t answer. Somehow, you couldn’t.

Instead, he pulled you closer again—arms winding tight around your frame like a snake coiling for warmth. Or possession. You weren’t sure anymore.

“Let’s just stay here,” he murmured, eyes fluttering closed. “Don’t go back to the hospital. Don’t answer your phone. Don’t let anyone else have a piece of you.”

His breath was hot against your skin. His touch was gentle. But laced with desperation. With dread.

And as the sun crawled higher through the windows of that gilded cage—

You realized this day was far from over.

***

Hours slipped by unnoticed, the sky darkening from gold to deep blue until night settled fully outside his window.

You’d spent the entire day within arm’s reach of him. Every time you moved, he moved too. From room to room, chair to hallway, he followed close behind, quiet and persistent, like a puppy afraid to be left alone. His presence clung to you, gentle but constant, never more than a few steps away.

Whether it was silence or small talk, his eyes rarely left you. As if letting you stray too far would break something he wasn’t ready to let go of.

You were in his room now, tangled in his sheets, the warmth of his body wrapped around yours.

Only then did you manage to pull away, brushing your lips against his shoulder and murmuring something about needing to use the bathroom.

When you returned, Changmin already sat on his bed, sprawled lazily like a satisfied predator after a successful hunt. His eyes were half-lidded, his shirt slightly ruffled, and in his hand—twisting between his fingers—was a single strand of your hair.

You didn’t even notice him take it.

Your breath caught for a second. He hummed to himself like nothing was wrong.

Like he hadn’t nearly bled out for you last night.

Like he hadn’t whispered death as a promise between smiles.

You swallowed your unease and gently sat beside him again.

“Changmin,” you said quietly, “you haven’t taken any meds today.”

He scrunched his nose, childlike. “I don’t want them.”

“I brought the mild ones,” you said, voice calm but coaxing. You reached for a small container and handed him a single pill. “Just something to help you relax. You always feel better after this one, right?”

He took it—but didn’t swallow it right away.

He held it between his fingers, turning it slightly. Squinting.

“This doesn’t look like the usual pill,” he muttered, voice low.

“Just a newer brand,” you lied, softly.

He looked up at you—eyes dark, sharp, too intelligent for someone pretending to be tired. He leaned closer. Close enough to see the flicker of anxiety in your eyes.

“You’re not lying to me, are you, Noona?”

Your throat tightened. You felt your heart stutter, but you smiled.

“No,” you whispered. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He stared a moment longer, as if still deciding whether or not to believe you.

And then, slowly, he nodded and placed the pill on his tongue. Swallowed dry.

Without another word, he lowered himself, head settling back into the pillow, his arms loosely around your waist.

“Stay tonight and tomorrow too,” he murmured. “I was good today, wasn’t I?”

You brushed his hair gently, fingers ghosting over his temple.

“You were,” you said softly.

“Then stay,” he mumbled again. “I’ll be quiet. I won’t ask for anything else. I just… need you here.”

“I can’t, Changmin. I already missed work once today.”

His arms stiffened.

“So?” he said sharply. “They’d survive.”

Your pulse jumped.

“Let me go, please?” you whispered. “I’ll come back early tomorrow. I swear.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Just… stared. Wide eyes. Too blank. Too calm to be real.

Then, finally, he smiled. Small. Crooked. Sad.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you said quickly. Desperately. “You won’t. But you need rest. The medicine will kick in soon.”

He didn’t reply. Just closed his eyes slowly, arms still looped around you like chains made of affection.

You waited.

Until his breathing slowed. Until his grip slackened just enough.

Only then did you slip away—inch by inch. Quiet. Careful. Holding your breath.

At the door, the maids waited, stiff and wide-eyed.

You spoke softly.

“He’ll be okay tonight. Just let him rest. Don’t go in unless he calls. I’ll be back early tomorrow after work.”

They nodded. Relieved.

But as you finally stepped out into the cold night air, locking the estate gate behind you… Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

***

You hadn’t slept much that night.

Even back in your own apartment, your eyes kept flicking toward the front door—half-expecting a knock, a scream, or the echo of his voice outside your walls.

In the morning, your phone buzzed.

You didn’t open any of them. Not yet. Your fingers trembled slightly as you scrolled through your contact list and pressed the name saved simply as “Housemaid - Ji Estate.”

19 missed calls. 11 voicemails. 5 messages.

All from Changmin.

The call connected after two rings.

“Miss (Y/N)?” the maid’s voice was tight. Already exhausted. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” you whispered. “I need you to do something for me...”

“Yes?”

“Go through the entire house. His room, the kitchen, the storage closet—even the bathrooms. Anywhere there might be tools or blades. Hide everything sharp. And I mean everything.”

There was a pause. Heavy.

“…Because of what happened the other night?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do it immediately,” she whispered. “We’re all… worried, too.”

“Don’t let him catch you,” you added quickly. “Say it’s for cleaning or organizing. Whatever you need to.”

“Yes, Miss (Y/N). Please… come quickly today.”

“I will…” You hung up the call.

***

Silent beneath a cloudy sky, Ji mansion loomed in the distance. The estate was always grand, always too still. This time, though, the air felt tighter. As if it already knew something had broken inside.

The maids greeted you with hushed bows and terrified eyes. They’d done what you asked. Changmin hadn’t noticed. Not yet.

He was asleep when you entered his room.

You sat beside him quietly, brushing your thumb across the bandage wrapped around his wrist. His face was peaceful. Too peaceful. Like he was pretending. Like he was trying to be the version of himself he thought you wanted to see.

You let out a slow breath.

You didn’t have long.

Because not ten minutes later—the heavy front doors creaked open again.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

And then—he arrived at Changmin’s room.

Mr. Ji.

Changmin’s father.

Towering. Sharp-eyed. With the kind of presence that made the walls feel smaller. His suit was flawless. His voice, cold. His gaze swept his son’s room like he owned every square inch of it.

You stood the moment he entered.

“Mr. Ji—”

“I heard about the incident,” he cut in flatly, eyes already skimming over the untouched glass of water and sleeping pills on the bedside table. “The blood. The knife.”

You said nothing.

“You’re not doing a very good job, Dr. (Y/N).”

Your jaw clenched. “I’m doing everything I can. But he—”

“But what?” Mr. Ji snapped. “He slit his wrist. In this house.”

“He needs full psychiatric support. He should be at the hospital,” you said evenly. “Not just supervision. What happened wasn’t a tantrum—it was an episode triggered by—”

“I don’t care what triggered it,” Mr. Ji said, voice dropping into something colder. “I care about what’s seen. And what’s hidden. You weren’t brought here just because he asked for you. You were brought because the hospital said you were discreet. Careful. Trusted.”

He stepped closer.

And just like that—you were back in professional survival mode.

“Quit your job at the hospital.”

You blinked.

“…What?”

“You’re too distracted. I’ll triple your salary. Hell, I’ll make you part of the Ji Foundation if that’s what it takes. But I want your full attention on him. Around the clock.”

Your mouth felt dry.

“He’s unstable. He’s emotionally dependent on me—he thinks we’re—”

“Good,” Mr. Ji cut in again. “If that’s what keeps him from putting a knife in his own neck or mine, then play along.”

You flinched.

He dropped a business card onto the bedside table.

“You’re not his psychiatrist anymore. You’re his handler.”

He turned, stepping toward the door—then paused.

“One more thing,” he said over his shoulder. “If anyone hears about what happened here… your career won’t survive it. Do you understand me?”

You nodded once.

He left.

The room went quiet again.

Your pulse rang in your ears. You stared at the pill still resting in your palm—his, untouched.