#Shutter Stroll

[greetingsfromdigitalworlds]

Another dream.

(Game: Shutter Stroll)

[svt-luna]

ʚིᵋ ⋆ NANA TOUR ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── episode 1-4.

Nana Tour with SEVENTEEN

synopsis: Episode 1-4! Something happened in their house. The travelers take breaks, but their fun never stops! SEVENTEEN must beat Guide Na in a game to win toiletries!

wc: 17k

i know, i know, i know and i apologize that this took so long. i have been so busy with my other works and busy with drama i never asked for, i completely ignored Nana Tour, so I’m sorry, my lovelies! anyway! this is the last part of episode one! after this will be the fan reaction tweets for all of episode one before moving on to episode two, specifically episode 2-1! hope you guys enjoy this! happy reading, my loves! 🤍

p.s. i also added the first 7 minutes of ep. 2-1 at the end to make this episode longer and to make up for taking forever to post this 🤍

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST

╰ ౨ৎ fan reactions ╰ ౨ৎ nana tour masterlist

[added captions are in brackets] ღ

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

The bus finally slowed to a stop on a quiet street, the gentle hum of the engine fading as the brakes hissed beneath them. The night was cool and the street was bathed in a soft yellow glow from the vintage lampposts. Outside, the narrow cobblestone road curved gently uphill, flanked by charming stucco buildings with wooden shutters and crawling ivy, their windows glowing with the warm light of evening residents.

[They have arrived… kinda]

Inside the bus, the SEVENTEEN members stirred, stretching and groaning softly, their bodies stiff from hours of travel. Just as a few hands reached upwards toward overhead compartments to stretch and others began adjusting their jackets to brace for the walk outside, PD Na’s voice rang through the bus like an announcement at school assembly.

“Seven-minute walk. Group yourselves— two groups of four people and one group of five people.”

A collective groan rose up in good-natured complaint.

“Seven minutes??” Dino whined jokingly from his seat, already slumping as if gravity had doubled.

[Yes.]

“I thought we were there,” Wonwoo muttered, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

But despite the exaggerated sighs and complaints, the energy was still light. They were in Italy. The exhaustion was real, yes, but the buzz of being somewhere new— somewhere this beautiful— kept their spirits alive.

The members slowly made their way out of the bus, stepping into the crisp air one by one.

The first to bounce out, unsurprisingly, were Jeonghan and Luna. They both looked like they had just escaped from captivity, heads immediately lifting to scan their surroundings, legs already moving before anyone could even call roll.

PD Na stepped out next and began counting. Jeonghan, standing beside him, helped in his own way— mostly by pointing.

“Okay… one, two, three, four, five,” PD Na and Jeonghan said almost in unison, gesturing to the first cluster: Jeonghan, Luna, Woozi, Dino, and Seungkwan.

[Grouped together due to the large amount of members]

“First group, go ahead,” PD Na announced, waving his hand like a traffic officer.

The five nodded, and just like that, the front group began making their way up the cobbled street, Jeonghan and Luna instinctively leading with brisk, determined steps.

[And they are off]

Behind them, the second group began assembling: Minghao, Jun, Wonwoo, and Hoshi. They exchanged glances, checking that everyone was ready before following the first group with a more relaxed pace, chatting among themselves.

Lastly, the final group brought up the rear: Mingyu, Dokyeom, Joshua, and Vernon. They trailed behind the camera crew and PD Na, who strolled alongside them while keeping an eye on the groups ahead.

Though they were exhausted— bags under their eyes, hair tousled from the flight, shoulders drooping— they were in Rome. And that fact alone kept everyone wide-eyed, pointing at the quaint balconies, the parked Vespas, and the small cafés still open late into the evening.

Minghao glanced at a hanging plant outside a window and whispered something to Jun that made them both laugh. Hoshi occasionally paused to point out something “cool” about the buildings.

Meanwhile, up ahead, Jeonghan and Luna had started to outpace their own group. Their strides quickened, not quite a run, but unmistakably a power-walk, almost as if there were a race to the Airbnb and they were neck-and-neck in first place.

[It’s every man for themselves]

“Are they speedwalking??” Woozi muttered.

[They are.]

“They’re gonna be tucked in before we even find the house,” Dino said under his breath.

The rest of their group chuckled, keeping a steady pace while watching the two sleep-deprived bunnies dart ahead, side by side.

Back with the last group, Dokyeom— hands shoved in his pockets, hair still ruffled from his bus nap— suddenly chuckled and lifted a finger to point toward the front.

“Those two are really something else,” he said with a laugh, nodding in the direction of Luna and Jeonghan, who were now about ten paces ahead of even their own group.

PD Na followed his gaze and let out a chuckle, amusement crinkling his eyes. The rest of the group followed his line of sight and instantly burst into laughter.

There they were— Luna and Jeonghan— marching like their lives depended on it, their silhouettes framed by the ancient walls around them, looking less like idols on a filming schedule and more like two classmates desperate to get to a sleepover first to claim the best bed.

“It’s like we’re not even here,” PD Na chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You have to excuse them,” Seungkwan piped up from the middle group, throwing an exaggerated glance back over his shoulder as he jogged to keep up. His voice was perfectly theatrical, like a translator explaining cultural context. “They are running on adrenaline at this point.”

[Team bunny is low on battery]

The members burst out laughing again.

Jeonghan and Luna were far ahead of the others now, their silhouettes cutting sleek outlines against the night, moving like a pair of escapees on a mission to conquer the bed first.

Behind them, the sounds of laughter drifted from the groups catching up, chuckles trailing like distant music.

“They think we can’t hear them,” Jeonghan snickered, tilting his head slightly without turning around, his voice low and laced with that signature drawl of mischief. His lips curled into a smug smile, pleased by the obvious attention they were getting from the peanut gallery behind them.

[Loves the attention]

Luna hummed in agreement, her steps slowing just a little, her eyes lazily blinking. Without a word, she reached out, wrapped her arms around Jeonghan’s, and hugged it close to her body. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder, the soft material of his shirt cushioning the side of her face.

[Battery saving mode]

Jeonghan glanced down with an arched brow but didn’t say anything. The smugness faded slightly, replaced with a soft amusement at her dramatics.

“I’m tired,” Luna mumbled, her voice muffled against his arm like a toddler ready to throw herself to the floor in protest.

Jeonghan, without missing a beat, looked straight ahead and deadpanned, “Then sleep here. I’ll tell Seungcheol you lived a good life.”

[Snitch]

Luna scoffed through a tired laugh, hitting his arm with the flat of her hand. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one clinging to me like she’s being dragged out of a funeral,” Jeonghan quipped, not even flinching as she gave him another light smack.

She groaned exaggeratedly and dragged her feet even more for effect, her head still leaning against him like he was the only thing keeping her upright. “Can’t we just teleport? Isn’t that one of the SEVENTEEN perks?”

[Lack of sleep makes you want to have superpowers]

Jeonghan snorted. “You should’ve joined the performance team. I heard Hoshi’s been working on teleportation through dance.”

“That’s too much work,” Luna grumbled.

[Everything is too much work at this point for her]

“Exactly. That’s why you’re stuck walking like a zombie beside me.” He smirked and glanced down at her again. “You look like Cherry after she gets thrown across the bed.”

Luna paused and then let out a cackle. “Excuse me, Cherry always lands with style. She’s a survivor.”

“She’s in the pocket of your jacket right now like a hostage,” Jeonghan said.

[Peekaboo]

“And she’s sleeping better than both of us,” Luna shot back, eyes barely open now. “I should’ve been reborn as a plushie.”

“You kind of are one,” Jeonghan muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he said, smile tugging at his lips as he looked ahead again.

Their pace had slowed to a gentle crawl now, like two elderly citizens taking a midnight stroll through Rome, except one was leaning all her weight on the other, and the other was just smug enough to make it look like he wasn’t tired at all.

From behind, the rest of the members could still see them, even from several meters back. Luna clinging onto Jeonghan like a toddler on a shopping trip, Jeonghan walking like he had the entire street reserved just for himself and the girl glued to his side.

The cobblestone echoed under their feet. Rome whispered around them. And ahead? The promise of warmth, of beds, of pajamas, and maybe— just maybe— some peace.

If they could survive the last few minutes without collapsing from chaos or each other.

The group had finally turned onto the narrow cobblestone street where their Airbnb was supposedly located. The air was colder now, carrying the scent of old stone, faint pasta from nearby restaurants, and a hint of jetlagged misery. Luna’s steps dragged behind Jeonghan’s, her arms still locked tightly around his, eyes nearly closed as if she could nap while walking.

Jeonghan slowed as they reached the edge of the quiet street, eyes scanning the buildings before his gaze locked onto a massive, ancient wooden door across the road. It looked like something out of a medieval RPG— arched, heavy, slightly weathered, and holding the kind of presence that whispered, secrets live inside here.

[Not castle doors… Airbnb doors]

“I guess it’s that one,” Jeonghan said, casually nodding toward the intimidating door.

Luna lifted her head slightly from where it rested on his shoulder, her eyes squinting at the direction he pointed. “Which one?” she asked sleepily, voice gravelly like she was seconds away from snoring.

“That one,” he repeated with a tired nod, gesturing across the street again, like he was pointing at a haunted castle.

“It’s here?” Woozi asked, his voice dry and a little skeptical, as he and the rest of their group caught up from behind.

“Wow, it’s here?” Wonwoo echoed, blinking as they all shuffled forward, bags hanging from their shoulders like battle-worn capes. The entire group stood outside the wooden gate, staring up at it like it might suddenly open on its own and welcome them with a butler and slippers.

Jeonghan, ever the oldest-child energy when it came to things like this, walked ahead and reached out with one hand. Luna stayed right beside him, standing upright for the first time in ten minutes as she eyed the door with suspicion.

He pressed his palm against it and gave it a push.

The door creaked open, slow and dramatic, as if it had been waiting for them for a century. Luna peeked in beside him, the hallway beyond dimly lit and lined with stone steps curling upward.

“Is this the right place?” Dino asked cautiously, his head leaning in from behind Jeonghan’s shoulder.

[Yup]

PD Na, bringing up the rear of the second group, looked at his phone and gave a confirming nod. “This is it. Go ahead.”

With that, like migrating penguins spotting their seasonal nest, the first group started filing in. Jeonghan led the charge, stepping through the old doorframe as if it were a portal into salvation. Luna walked beside him like she was entering a sacred temple.

Stairs. There were stairs. Of course there were stairs.

“Man, I’m tired,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath as he trudged upward, each step sounding heavier than the last.

“Tired,” Luna echoed in a hum, her tone flat like an automatic voice response, her hand gripping the railing like it might dissolve if she let go.

[Stairs will help with that!]

The others followed behind in clusters, their dragging footsteps echoing off the narrow stairwell as more and more SEVENTEEN members filled the tight hallway like clowns piling into a miniature car. Their sleepyheads— all bundled together in a sluggish swarm of idol exhaustion.

And they just. Kept. Coming.

[Takes them years to get inside]

“Oh, they keep on coming,” PD Na muttered under his breath with a soft chuckle, standing at the foot of the stairs as the tail end of the last group—Mingyu, Dokyeom, Joshua, and Vernon— filed in, their bags thudding softly against the walls as they tried not to trip over each other.

The staircase creaked beneath the weight of idol dreams and fatigue, but the energy was lighthearted, funny in that surreal “we’ve-been-awake-for-too-long” kind of way.

And even though they were practically zombies… the laughter and muttering never stopped.

They were finally home— for tonight, at least.

Once all thirteen members had made it inside, the door shutting with a collective thud behind them, the energy shifted instantly. Gone was the medieval castle aesthetic from outside— the heavy wooden door, the worn stone walls, and the echo of centuries past. Inside? It was a complete 180. White walls, soft yellow lighting, light wood furniture, cozy rugs and potted plants tucked in corners— it was clean, minimalist, almost Ikea-esque.

[Wasn’t expecting that]

“Oh?” Jeonghan blinked, eyebrows rising as he stepped further in.

“This is kinda cute,” Seungkwan muttered as he looked around.

The members instantly split off in every direction like kids who’d just been released into recess. Shoes thumped against the floor, travel-weary bags were dragged along, and the tiredness momentarily gave way to exploration.

“This is the two person room— two people is cozy,” Woozi announced, peeking into the first room. He opened the door wide, revealing a simple room with two single beds, white sheets, and a small window that let in the soft glow of a streetlamp.

“Four people room,” Jeonghan said as he opened the next door across the hallway. Inside, two single beds sat side by side with a double decker bed pushed to the corner. The walls were just as plain white, but a few small paintings gave it a tiny bit of character.

“This is a three person room,” Wonwoo said, gesturing to another door while stepping aside so the rest could peek in. The moment he opened it, the boys skillfully weaved between each other, craning their necks like they were examining rare Pokémon cards.

[It’s a full house]

“There are bunk beds! Bunk beds!” Dokyeom called out from the far side of the apartment. His eyes were wide, almost glittering. He might as well have discovered buried treasure.

“That’s cute,” Luna said, stepping into the three-person room with a slow, appreciative nod. Her voice was quiet but pleased. There was a soft sense of nostalgia in her tone.

“This is very nostalgic,” she murmured, walking her fingers along the metallic edge of the top bunk as if mentally placing herself back in their first ever dorm.

[Reminds them of the past]

“Right? They have bunk beds from the past. They have that,” Dokyeom echoed enthusiastically, practically bouncing on his feet. “Oh, I like it so much.”

“Is this the three people room?” Jeonghan asked as he joined Luna by the door, eyes scanning the space.

“Mhm,” Luna hummed in confirmation.

“It’s neat,” Dino said from behind.

“But how do we decide this?” Mingyu asked, turning back toward the rest with furrowed brows, his arms half-crossed as if already bracing for chaos.

“Just like how we always did back in the day,” Jeonghan replied, waving everyone to the dining table with a half-tired, half-playful authority.

And like that, all thirteen members gathered at the center dining table. The table wasn’t big enough for all of them to sit comfortably, but they made it work anyway— knees bumping, elbows knocking, loud voices overlapping.

[This is how 13/14 SEVENTEEN looks when they eat together]

Jeonghan, slipping into his natural oldest-hyung, vice-leader mode with the smoothness of someone who’d done this for over a decade, sat at the middle of the table.

“Okay,” he said, looked around at all of them. “Like we used to do before— pre-debut and rookie days style. We’re deciding rooms old school.”

The members nodded, some smirking knowingly, others already preparing to fight for bunk beds.

“As always,” Jeonghan added, holding up a finger as he looked directly at Luna, “Jiyeonie picks first.”

[The princess picks first]

No one protested. Not a single voice argued, not a single eyebrow twitched. It was an unspoken law among SEVENTEEN— one not written, but honored consistently throughout their years together.

When it came to games, Going SEVENTEEN challenges, variety show chaos, and on-camera nonsense, Luna was fair game. They teased her, joked around, made her guess the lies, cheated, and sabotage answers. But when it came to her actual comfort— her sleeping arrangements, her wellbeing—she always got first pick. No games. No rock-paper-scissors. No age order.

Luna chose first.

It was SEVENTEEN Rule.

Jeonghan turned to her, voice softening just a touch. “Go ahead, Nana-ya. Choose.”

She blinked slowly, half-asleep already. “Thank you,” she muttered, her voice almost a yawn as she stood up with Cherry in her arms.

[Off she goes]

She padded off toward the three-person room she had her eyes on earlier. Inside, she walked straight over to the single bed by the door— slightly apart from the other two single beds that were right next to each other.

Gently, she placed Cherry on the bed.

[Chosen her bed for the their stay tonight]

“I’ll stay here,” she announced, patting the plush on its tiny head as if signing a deed of ownership, before quietly walking back out and returning to the table.

“You done?” Jeonghan asked, glancing at her.

“Yup,” she replied with a sleepy nod.

“You like the one you chose?” he asked again with a small grin.

“Yes, thank you,” she said sincerely, standing off to the side.

Jeonghan gave her a brief nod, then cracked his knuckles like a seasoned game master preparing for battle. He raised his fist.

“Divide and do rock-paper-scissors and the first place will go next followed by the second and onwards,” he announced.

“Okay!” came a collective chorus from the members, energy suddenly rising like they’d just downed three shots of espresso each.

[The battle begins]

The room exploded with movement as the members quickly grouped off into informal clumps, already sizing each other up like Who’s the weak link? Who always does paper first?

“Rock-paper-scissors!”

“Rock-paper-scissors!”

“Rock-paper-scissors!”

The chant bounced off the walls in overlapping waves, as hands flew into the air with every round. Laughter, fake betrayal, and loud accusations echoed through the apartment like a chorus of overgrown kids trying to decide who gets the top bunk first.

From her spot leaning on the wall near the kitchen, Luna simply watched them with an amused expression, arms crossed, and blinking slowly like a panda about to hibernate— comfortably amused, completely unbothered.

[Is used to it]

Once the room order was finally settled through a flurry of dramatic rock-paper-scissors matches and chaotic cheers and groans, the members began shuffling through the Airbnb with renewed energy— despite the fatigue weighing down their limbs. With Luna already having claimed her spot in the three-person room, the rest of the boys moved like curious tourists through the hallways, poking their heads into doorways and inspecting every bed like professional room critics.

[Finally choosing their rooms]

They filtered in and out of the rooms, chatting amongst themselves and silently marking their chosen territory. Some went straight for top bunks like it was muscle memory, others tested mattresses with light bounces like they were considering a hotel suite instead of a nostalgic lodging in the heart of Rome.

Luna’s room ended up shared with Jun and Dino. Her bed was the single one separated by a bit of space from the other two parallel beds— one Jun quickly claimed and the other Dino flopped on without contest.

The two-person room, cozy and minimalist, was quietly taken by Vernon and Minghao, both naturally leaning into the quieter atmosphere as they wordlessly nodded and unpacked… a Vernon’s baseball cap and the one jacket they each wore.

[NANA Tour unpacking style]

The first four-person room became home to the louder quartet of Dokyeom, Mingyu, Hoshi, and Joshua. Predictably chaotic, they practically dove into their beds while comparing who could starfish the widest.

[The loud room]

Meanwhile, the second four-person room— slightly more tucked away and quiet— housed Woozi, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, and Jeonghan. Despite being a powerhouse lineup of loud commentary and variety charisma, the room itself was unusually calm as the four boys settled in with their phones.

[The quiet room]

With no real luggage to unpack, their belongings consisted mostly of jackets hung on bedposts, caps and sunglasses tossed aside, and pouches from the airplane either abandoned or tucked under pillows for safekeeping. There was no immediate rush to unpack or organize; instead, the house began to fill with low, comfortable noise: footsteps padding between rooms, casual conversations drifting through doorways, and the occasional “Hey, I’m stealing your bed for a sec” followed by laughter.

Members wandered between rooms naturally, laying across each other’s beds without hesitation, continuing conversations that had started either on the bus or mid-flight. Jun poked his head into the first four-person room to join their group. Hoshi wandered into Luna’s room to talk to Dino before moving again. It was the usual brand of SEVENTEEN chaos— messy, loud, familiar.

[They are making themselves at home]

Luna found herself walking down the hallway again, arms folded, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she slowly wandered to where Jeonghan’s room was. When she nudged the door open, she was met with a picture of pure stillness: all four boys, the sound of the air conditioning was the only thing heard and then there they were on their phones like monks in quiet meditation.

[No noise whatsoever]

Wonwoo was curled into the top bunk, one leg hanging over the side, phone raised above him. Woozi was sat on the bottom bunk with his head down as he scrolled through his phone. Seungkwan was sprawled across his bed horizontally with both legs hanging off one end. And Jeonghan was propped up lazily against the headboard of his single bed, arms relaxed behind his head as he stared into his phone like he was waiting for the stock market to crash.

“Hannie, can I have my AirPods? I gave it to you earlier,” Luna mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she stepped closer, dragging her feet slightly.

[Bunny broke the silence]

Without looking up, Jeonghan calmly reached into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out the AirPods. He extended his arm, wrist flicking slightly as he handed them over like it was a well-practiced move.

“Stop rubbing your eyes,” he said flatly, a soft sternness in his tone that only Luna ever got from him.

[Bunny scolds bunny]

Luna’s hand froze mid-rub then blinked at the warning and immediately dropped her hand from her face with a small pout, now blinking at him like a scolded kitten. “Okay…”

Jeonghan raised a brow, already shutting his phone off before dropping it on the bed. “You’re going to rub them until they fall off.”

“They won’t fall off,” Luna muttered, her voice small and defensive as she pocketed her AirPods.

“They might,” he shrugged, still watching her. “You rub like you’re trying to erase your entire day.”

“I feel like erasing the day,” she replied, dragging her voice with a sleepy huff.

“You’re dramatic,” Jeonghan deadpanned, settling back onto his bed.

“You like it,” Luna shot back, already half-turned to leave the room.

Jeonghan smirked faintly, his voice following her as moved to walk away, “I must, because I haven’t thrown you out a window yet.”

[Yes. This is how they talk to each other]

Across the room, the others were unfazed, still immersed in their phones. It was a natural rhythm they had— somehow peaceful despite their number.

But just as Luna reached the door, a voice called out from the hallway.

“Wait in the room for five minutes!” one of the producers announced from the corridor, voice echoing slightly as he knocked on their doorframe to get their attention.

[And now they can’t leave]

They all glanced up from their phones just as PD Na poked his head into the room.

[Peekaboo]

“Please wait in the room for five to ten minutes,” he said.

“Yes,” Woozi responded, his voice not even lifting from its half-mutter tone.

“Okay,” Wonwoo added simply.

With that, PD Na disappeared down the hall again, presumably delivering the same message to the rest of the members.

[What is he planning?]

There was a short pause before Woozi chuckled and shook his head, eyes still on his screen. “His eyes are weird. I keep saying this.”

A chorus of low laughter followed.

“They have spun around,” Seungkwan added with a soft wheeze, thumb scrolling through his feed.

“Crazier than to just express it like that,” Woozi muttered again, grinning as he rolled onto his side.

“They were setting something up outside,” Luna muttered, eyes already heavy as she wordlessly walked back and crawled onto Jeonghan’s bed. Without needing to be told, Jeonghan shifted slightly, creating space for her to plop down next to him. She didn’t hesitate to settle against his side like it was instinct, head resting on his shoulder.

[She is ready to tap out]

“They are,” Wonwoo said in agreement, peeking through the door and seeing PD Na and crew members moving things around in the dining area.

[Doing something he is told not to do]

“Sleepy…” Luna trailed off in a barely-there whisper, eyes now fully closed, cheek pressed against Jeonghan’s shirt.

“You should take a nap before we get called back out, noona,” Seungkwan said, still scrolling, tone warm but distracted.

But Luna didn’t reply. She was already half-asleep.

[She has indeed tapped out]

Jeonghan looked down at her fondly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“She’s way ahead of you,” he said, lifting one hand to rest it gently on her head, fingers combing through her hair in slow, absentminded strokes before turning his attention back to his phone like it was just another day in their strange, wonderful circus.

Finally after fifteen minutes of waiting PD Na called for them.

[15 minutes later]

The muffled buzz of movement started faintly— soft thuds of slippers against hardwood floors, the creak of bunk beds shifting, and rustling clothes— as PD Na’s voice carried through the walls from the dining area.

“Okay, members who are ready can come in first!”

The call wasn’t loud, but clear enough to stir the atmosphere. In Jeonghan’s room, the quiet had settled so comfortably that the sudden outside movement felt like a different world. The others stirred.

Wonwoo and Woozi were the first to silently leave the room and head out. Seungkwan was the next to move, standing up with a groan, cracking his back with all the drama of someone who’d just completed a triathlon. He stretched and turned toward Luna’s small frame still curled tightly against Jeonghan, fast asleep, arms loosely tucked near her face, her cheek pillowed against Jeonghan’s shoulder.

He bent forward, hand raised halfway to gently tap her awake— but paused.

[Scared of the bunny]

Jeonghan was already looking at him.

Still sitting comfortably against the headboard, one leg bent, one hand still rhythmically carding through Luna’s hair, Jeonghan stared at Seungkwan with the most you go ahead and try expression on his face. His smirk was small but sharp, almost imperceptible if you weren’t familiar with his arsenal of subtle chaos. His eyes, however, were practically daring Seungkwan to proceed. Go on. Wake her up. See what happens.

Seungkwan held his hand there for another beat, then dropped it with a deep sigh of surrender.

[Should I?]

He pointed directly at Jeonghan, eyes already half-glazed with defeat. “You do it.”

[I shouldn’t.]

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and shuffled out of the room, muttering under his breath about how this would be the last time he tries to help anyone in this group.

[Bye]

Jeonghan chuckled softly, watching him go. Once the footsteps faded down the hall, he looked back down at the girl curled beside him, the tiniest pout now on her lips in her sleep.

He tilted his head, mischief playing just behind his lashes. Then, slowly, with a gentleness only he could muster, he leaned down and whispered right near her ear—

“Cherry’s been staring at me for ten minutes. I think she wants me to give her away.”

[What?]

Luna stirred immediately, brow furrowing. She didn’t open her eyes just yet, but she groaned softly.

“She’s judging me, Nana-ya,” Jeonghan continued, voice still low and full of innocent concern. “I think she’s thinking about pressing charges.”

Still no response. Just a louder groan.

Jeonghan leaned a little closer.

“She told me you snore,” he whispered.

At that, Luna’s arm sluggishly reached out to blindly swat in his direction. It didn’t connect. He chuckled under his breath.

“Mmmn… stop saying lies… Cherry is in my room…” her voice finally emerged, hoarse and soft with sleep.

[She is… Jeonghan is seeing and hearing things…]

“She also said you drooled on me.”

Luna’s eyes barely fluttered open now, narrowing at him with the effort of someone still fighting the gravitational pull of a nap. “I didn’t…”

Jeonghan tilted his head innocently. “I have the emotional trauma to prove it.”

Luna groaned again, rolling halfway onto her back and covering her face with one arm. “You’re so annoying.”

[He is.]

He smiled. “And you’re awake. Mission accomplished.”

Luna peeked at him from under her arm, blinking slowly. “How long was I asleep?”

“Long enough for Seungkwannie to chicken out and make me do this.”

[Yup]

She yawned, sitting up slowly and running a hand through her tangled hair. “Of course he did.”

Jeonghan stood first and reached a hand out to her. “Come on, they’re herding us into the dining room.”

Luna took his hand without hesitation, still sluggish, still blinking sleep away. “I hate you,” she muttered as he pulled her up.

He grinned, patting the top of her head. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

[They love each other]

With that, they stepped out into the hallway, soft laughter trailing after them as they made their way toward the commotion slowly building in the dining room.

The small dining area was now fully lit, crammed tight with crew members, lighting gear, and two cameras squeezed into opposite corners to capture every possible angle of the chaos about to unfold.

Jeonghan and Luna emerged from the hallway, the tail end of the last ones to exit their rooms, and found the rest of SEVENTEEN already filing into the dining chairs squished around the table. The place looked barely enough to hold half of them, and yet somehow, all thirteen of them made it work with the well-practiced choreography of a group that had done this for over a decade.

[Its crowded]

The once-empty wall behind them now featured a glaringly large white banner hanging slightly askew with bold red letters that read: TAX FREE.

“Tax Free?” Luna muttered under her breath, her tone vaguely suspicious as she eyed the banner with her brow furrowed, the syllables slipping out with a trace of her natural accent, muddled from sleep. She rubbed her eyes once more and let her body fall into the seat between Jeonghan and Dokyeom. “We’re playing for necessities aren’t we?”

[Yes, you are.]

The members were still shuffling, elbows brushing, thighs pressed close. Chairs creaked. Shoes scraped the tiles. Jun settled into his seat across from her, squinting at the banner as he adjusted his hoodie. “Anyway, it’s an individual battle starting now, right?”

“Tax free?” Joshua echoed as he read it aloud, voice laced with intrigue.

“Tax free?” Hoshi blinked at it like he was just seeing it for the first time, despite staring directly at it the moment they walked in.

“Tax free means no tax,” Joshua offered helpfully, ever the gentleman with an explanation even when no one asked.

“I guess we are buying accommodation items,” Dokyeom chuckled, eyes darting around as if trying to guess what sort of chaos they were about to be thrown into next.

[Yes, you are pt. 2]

From behind the cameras, one of the producers suddenly raised his voice to be heard over the chatter, “Jeonghan, is everyone here?”

As vice-leader, especially with S.Coups absent, Jeonghan instinctively straightened in his seat and swept his eyes across the group. His gaze moved like a scanner, silently counting heads and noting the familiar faces one by one. Then he gave a single nod towards the crew, casual yet definitive. “Yes.”

[Lets start]

“Okay,” the producer replied before stepping aside, allowing PD Na himself to reappear from the back of the room— dragging behind him a tiny black luggage bag that looked more like a prop than anything useful.

“Cute,” Mingyu commented instantly, watching PD Na shuffle dramatically toward them.

“It’s an item,” Woozi muttered with squinted suspicion.

They all leaned in slightly, interest piqued.

With an exaggerated grunt, PD Na heaved the small luggage bag up onto the dining table. It landed with a solid thud that echoed across the cramped room.

[What’s inside it?]

“Wow,” a few of the members said in unison.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, eyebrows raised.

“What is that?” Luna added, her brows furrowing again as she leaned forward, already plotting mentally whether this was going to be food, clothes, or some sort of trap disguised as a reward.

“Food!” Dokyeom yelled with sudden enthusiasm, hands clapping as if willing it to manifest into snacks.

[Sorry]

PD Na raised both his hands in the air to settle the growing energy. “Okay, everyone. First off, congratulations.”

A few claps erupted on cue.

“We arrived at the dorm in 24 hours.”

[They have been traveling for a whole day]

The room burst into louder applause and celebratory noises. Some tired, some genuine.

“Great work. Really,” Dokyeom nodded with a bright smile, even applauding towards the crew who were crouched behind the lights.

“But since you all came in a hurry, these outfits are the same from 24 hours ago,” PD Na continued, gesturing towards their wrinkled hoodies, jacket, travel-worn and caps.

“Yes, that’s right,” the members groaned, voices overlapping.

“But you have money,” PD Na reminded, lifting a finger. “Pocket money. Which, Dino is in charge of.”

The entire group twisted to look at the youngest member.

“If you ask Dino and he say yes, you can buy it,” PD Na clarified.

“It’s only if I say okay?” Dino blinked, taken aback by the sudden responsibility.

“Only when he says yes?” Luna repeated, chuckling with amusement.

[ONLY]

“But you know you’re a really cool manager, right?” Dokyeom piped in immediately, putting on his most sincere expression as his eyes flicked toward Dino.

“You know it’s cool if you’re not too strict, right?” Dokyeom added, laying it on thick now with exaggerated charm that made the room burst into laughter.

[Sucking up already]

“Okay. I will try,” Dino replied with a laugh, shaking his head at how quickly things were turning against him.

[Dino the cool manager]

“Anyway,” PD Na continued, tapping the mysterious bag, “you can buy things from tomorrow.”

He waited a beat for it to sink in.

“But you need toothpaste, toothbrush and underwear right now. It’s also nice if you have clothes to change into.”

“Yes. That would be nice,” Dokyeom nodded solemnly, echoed by groans and hums of agreement from the others.

“That’s why we are going to open a very generous tax-free shop today,” PD Na announced, hands spread wide like a game show host.

[Key word: Generous]

“Why does it feel like we are at a disadvantage? It felt like we are just going to…” Woozi began suspiciously, trailing off before pointing directly at PD Na. “His eyes are weird. I told you this before.”

[PD Na’s eyes scare Woozi]

The room erupted into laughter again.

“He looks like someone who always sells this,” Dokyeom chuckled, motioning to the suspiciously neat little bag.

“Right?” Luna muttered as she rested her head sideways on Dokyeom’s shoulder, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “He’s too eager to let us play.”

The game hadn’t even started yet, but the members could already feel the subtle chaos brimming beneath PD Na’s “generous” tax-free smile.

The moment PD Na let out a chuckle and announced, “First off, I am going to show you this product,” the members instinctively leaned forward, all eyes locked on the modest-looking luggage bag on the table. As the cameras zoomed in, he unzipped the top flap and reached inside with a dramatic pause like he was unveiling the Holy Grail.

“This one,” PD Na said, pulling out what appeared to be a stack of neatly folded clothes.

[Clothes]

The table shook slightly as he placed the bundle in the center, and immediately, the members swarmed in like seagulls spotting a bag of chips. Hands reached forward from all directions, curious fingers grazing the fabric as their chatter began to rise in volume.

“I will open it,” Mingyu volunteered, already unfolding the first white shirt from the pile.

“Oooh, it’s cute,” Woozi commented beside him, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the design.

[NANA Tour shirts]

“T-shirt name is Woozi,” Mingyu declared, holding it up for everyone to see. Across the chest of the shirt was the familiar Nana Tour design, but now, personalized with Woozi’s name in stylized font— along with a tiny dumbbell icon printed subtly in the corner.

[Personalized t-shirts for each member]

“Wah, it’s pretty,” Luna lifted her head off Dokyeom’s shoulder, momentarily shaking off her sleepiness as she reached for another shirt and unfolded it. Her eyes found Dino’s name on the tag. “I guess these are custom-made.”

Dino leaned closer to check. “They are.”

“These are custom shirts and shorts for each of you,” PD Na explained, gesturing proudly. “If you look at the picture, there are different parts for each member.”

“What part?” Luna asked, her voice still slightly drowsy as her eyes scanned the shirt in her hand.

“There, look— dumbbell,” Dokyeom pointed at Woozi’s again. “Exercise. Woozi who likes working out.”

PD Na, energized by their interest, dove right back into the bag. “Underwear,” he declared.

“There’s kimchi…” he added, pulling out a sealed container with a grin.

“Aigo!” Hoshi suddenly stood from his seat, arms flung wide in excitement, like a contestant on a cooking show who just saw beef rib stew.

[The most excited he’d been]

The rest of the members burst out laughing at his dramatic reaction, already used to Hoshi’s deep, emotional bond with fermented cabbage.

PD Na then reached for two tiny objects nestled at the bottom of the bag. “Are you not going to work out?” he said, holding two small dumbbells up. They clinked slightly in his hands as he raised them.

[It’s cute]

“You need to work out. You need to work out,” Jeonghan parroted his words in a rhythm, chuckling at the tiny weights, his sarcasm landing just right as the members burst into laughter again.

“It’s so cute,” Luna laughed as she leaned in to inspect the dumbbells.

“3kg,” Hoshi observed, still smiling, though his eyes gleamed like he was already planning to do curls between meals.

PD Na continued pulling out items like a magician with an endless hat: “Cup ramyeon, shampoo, guidebook, zipper bag, fans, wet tissue, gochujang, toothbrush, toothpaste, earphones.”

[Guide Na has prepared everything for SEVENTEEN]

Each item was followed by murmurs of approval or gasps of glee, some members reaching out to claim their favorites as if they were contestants in a supermarket sweep.

And then finally, he slowed. His hand hovered above the final item. He turned, a mischievous glint in his eye as he looked squarely at Jeonghan.

“Jeonghan, you really need this. You’re going to cry,” PD Na said, holding his expression like a punchline waiting to hit.

[The vice-leader will cry apparently]

Jeonghan’s eyes lit up in anticipation. He sat straighter, already smiling.

“For all of you, filled with his heart…” PD Na continued with a hint of drama, “S.Coups’ letter.” He pulled out a pristine envelope, the handwriting unmistakable.

As soon as the name was said, Jeonghan burst into exaggerated wails, hands coming up to furiously rub his eyes like a cartoon character bawling. “WAHHH!” he cried, his voice booming theatrically as he slumped forward on the table, drawing roaring laughter from the rest of the group.

[Seems excessive]

Luna perked up at the name, suddenly wide awake, her eyes zoning in on the envelope like a hawk.

[She realized something]

“We need to win the letter,” she said with fierce determination.

“That’s the one,” she added with a firm nod, causing several heads to turn toward her in confusion.

[The most important letter]

“Why?” PD Na blinked, surprised by her intensity.

“Coupsie told me about a letter before we left,” Luna explained.

[He did]

The room shifted. Even Jeonghan paused mid-fake-sob to glance at her, blinking with curiosity.

“Really?” PD Na asked again, genuinely intrigued.

“Mhm. He told me he wrote a letter and to choose it,” Luna said nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t about to start a civil war over a piece of paper.

[Actually looks like she would choose the letter over everything else]

“I had no idea what he was talking about, but he made it sound so important,” she shrugged.

“Nothing gets past you, huh?” PD Na chuckled, narrowing his eyes at her playfully.

“I’m the favorite, that’s why,” Luna said sweetly, her voice a sing-song as she smiled innocently at PD Na, drawing loud reactions from the group.

[Self-proclaimed favorite of the leader]

“What do we do to get them?” Dokyeom leaned in, already on edge.

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan shook his head, clearly wary.

“Isn’t it the person quiz again?” Jun cautiously asked, his voice lined with mild trauma.

“Please no,” Luna groaned immediately, sinking back into her seat. Jeonghan chuckled at her timing, nudging her side with his elbow in amusement.

[Trauma as its finest]

PD Na raised a hand, commanding attention. “This is a very beneficial game for you,” he said cryptically.

“Beneficial?” Seungkwan repeated, suspiciously.

“Beneficial? Game?” Dokyeom echoed, frowning.

“The category is so easy,” PD Na reassured them. “Human Zero.”

[First recreational game of the trip: Human Zero]

PD Na cleared his throat, already grinning at the mental image of what was to come.

“Okay, listen carefully,” PD Na said, hands behind his back like a teacher about to deliver a pop quiz. “This game is called Human Zero.”

The members blinked at him, processing the name with slight wariness.

“I will say a number,” PD Na began, raising a finger for dramatic emphasis. “And you— all of you— will have to decide whether to stand up or stay seated.”

The members nodded slowly, still unsure of the twist.

“But the goal,” he continued, pausing for effect, “is for the number of people who stand… to be different from the number I called out.”

[SEVENTEEN will have to defend]

There was a moment of silence, then a series of scattered “Ahh”s as the realization sank in.

“So, if I say ‘four’ and four people stand up, that’s a fail,” PD Na clarified, grinning wider now. “If I say ‘two’ and one or three or five people stand up— success.”

“Every time you defend it, you take one product,” he added, pointing toward the pile of desirable dorm essentials beside him.

“So, we just need to not get caught every time, right?” Jeonghan clarified, eyes narrowed like he was already calculating probabilities in his head.

[Already looking for loopholes]

“Don’t get caught,” PD Na confirmed with a firm nod.

“We can’t get caught?” Vernon echoed, squinting suspiciously like the rules had a hidden trick.

“It’s really easy,” Mingyu said confidently, arms folded like he’d already won the game in his mind.

“Is this something we can try again if we fail?” Jeonghan asked, still looking wary, his tone playful but probing.

[Nope]

“There’s only one try,” PD Na replied.

“One try?” Luna and Dokyeom echoed in perfect unison, heads whipping toward PD Na in disbelief.

“Isn’t it easy for us?” Dokyeom asked, eyebrows raised as he looked around at the members, trying to gather confidence.

“This is so easy,” Mingyu said again, waving his hand as if brushing off the challenge.

“It’s probability or luck,” Luna commented, tapping the table with a thoughtful expression.

“We are really at an advantage,” Seungkwan added, confidence practically oozing out of his pores. “We are going to sleep luxuriously if we withstand it five times.”

“We can do this,” Dokyeom said, hyping himself up as he rolled his shoulders.

“But PD is good, too,” Mingyu acknowledged with a knowing nod in PD Na’s direction, causing the older man to chuckle proudly.

[Scary PD]

“No, we can do this…” Luna said, her voice trailing with a slight dramatic edge before continuing, “we have to or else…”

“Or else what?” PD Na asked, clearly amused by her sudden drop in tone.

“Or else I might lose my mind. I need to shower,” Luna deadpanned, face serious but her voice cracking slightly with suppressed laughter.

[She cannot live like this]

The members all burst out in chuckles, nodding in agreement. Some even dramatically sniffed themselves for comedic effect.

“The level is always high,” Woozi muttered, referring to PD Na, shaking his head with a resigned smile.

“We can do it,” Jeonghan nodded solemnly, trying to rally the group.

“We can’t fool around,” Mingyu added with a stern expression, though the corners of his mouth betrayed the urge to smile.

[They are serious when it comes to games]

“Okay, should we go?” PD Na asked, shuffling on the floor where he is seated like a game master starting the first round.

“Stick out your butt a bit and get ready to stand up,” PD Na instructed, his words so sudden and silly that half the group broke into laughter while instinctively scooting to the edge of their seats.

[Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle]

“I’m nervous,” Seungkwan admitted, shifting in place, his knees bouncing.

“Just decide in your heart right away now,” PD Na advised, his tone mock-serious.

“Okay! Professional,” Hoshi declared with his usual flair, straightening his back like he was preparing for Olympic-level squats.

“Is the tail section okay? Did you understand?” PD Na called out toward the end of the long table.

[People in the back]

“Yes, of course,” Wonwoo answered calmly, always the reliable one.

“I’m getting nervous for no reason,” Joshua muttered, letting out a light laugh as he adjusted his posture, tension slowly building.

The stage was set. The trap was ready. And so was the chaos.

[Round 1]

The members sat on the very edge of their seats, backs straight, thighs hovering just above cushion as if they were in a silent game of musical chairs. Nobody moved. The only sound in the room was the distant hum of studio lights and the creak of someone’s leather shoe shifting. Then—

“One, two, three… four!” PD Na suddenly shouted with a mischievous grin.

Instantly, three bodies sprang to their feet— Mingyu, Dino, and Joshua. The rest of the group whipped their heads up at the sight, eyes wide in a silent gasp before the entire room erupted in chaos.

[+1 point]

“Waaaaaaaahhhhhh!” The table collectively gasped in a mix of shock and exhilaration.

“I was going to stand up! I was thinking about standing up!” Seungkwan burst out, dramatically placing a hand on his chest as if he just dodged death.

[That was close]

“Wooooooowwww!” Dokyeom exclaimed at the top of his lungs, voice bouncing off the walls like a stadium announcer.

“Good job!” Luna chuckled from her seat, grinning at the three who managed to unintentionally sync their instincts perfectly.

“That was close,” Dokyeom added, still shaking his head as they all sat back down, the energy still pulsing like electricity through the table.

[Round 2]

“Okay, I’m going,” PD Na said coolly, barely giving them a chance to recover as he stepped forward again, already queuing the second round.

“One, two, three… four!” he called out again, same exact number, but this time, a different set of legs shot up —Vernon, Seungkwan, Dokyeom, and Hoshi.

[4?]

The moment their knees locked and they stood at full height, a wave of horror and disbelief swept across the rest of the team.

“No… wait…” Luna said, her voice quiet but urgent as her eyes darted around the table— until she spotted him.

“Oppa! Good job!” she shouted, pointing.

[+1 point]

[They didn’t see Woozi]

At the same exact moment, every head turned to the far end of the table.

Woozi stood quietly at the edge, almost blending into the background with his small frame, but unmistakably upright— unmoving, like a statue holding up a peace sign.

[Peekaboo]

“WOOZI!” Hoshi and Dokyeom shouted in stereo, their faces breaking into wide, open-mouthed grins as they reached across the table for a triumphant high five.

“I almost thought of a lie just then,” Luna whispered to Jeonghan, her voice low but her shoulders shaking with restrained laughter.

“Me too,” Jeonghan replied, biting back a grin as he chuckled softly, nodding.

[What are we going to do about them?]

They both exchanged a glance— a shared wavelength of panic and mischief— before Luna couldn’t hold it in anymore and broke into a louder laugh. Jeonghan followed, the two of them giggling quietly to themselves while the others celebrated, both amused at how quickly their minds had gone to “What if we fake it?”

[PD Na’s headache personified]

“I was in a dilemma after I got up,” Dokyeom announced dramatically, hands thrown up in amazed relief.

“Okay, we succeeded twice,” Minghao calmly pointed out as the table buzzed again with satisfied nods and excited chatter.

[Round 3]

The energy never had a chance to dip before PD Na struck again. “One, two, three… four!” he called, sticking to the same number a third time.

[Again]

Like dominoes, the entire right side of the table rose— Luna, Dokyeom, Joshua, Seungkwan, Minghao, and Vernon.

[That’s 6!]

[+1]

All eyes immediately started darting. The air was so silent, you could practically hear the wind from their blinking.

The members, still seated, started silently counting, heads swiveling like a slow motion wave as they tracked each standing person.

“…One, two, three, four, five… six!” Dino muttered before the dam broke.

“It’s six! Six! Six! Six!” Dokyeom clarified to PD Na excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was ready to lift off.

[I think it’s six…]

“I wasn’t going to stand,” Luna and Joshua said at the same time.

[They would have lost]

The group turned to look at the two, their timing eerily identical. For a beat, there was silence —and then laughter burst out again.

“Good job!” Jun said encouragingly, nodding at both of them with a relieved smile.

“This line. This line stood up at once,” Joshua explained as they sat back down, gesturing to the entire right wing of the table.

“That’s a relief,” Dokyeom said, slumping back into his seat with a dramatic sigh.

“PD-nim, is four your favorite number?” Luna asked, tilting her head innocently as she looked at PD Na.

[Caught on his tricks]

The room erupted again— laughter spilling over the edges as the members chuckled at her completely genuine question.

“I think that it keeps on going back and forth from four to six people,” PD Na answered with a laugh, clearly amused by how the game was unfolding. “There are no more than six and no less than three.”

“Eyy! Let’s make it interesting and start calling out double digits,” Luna provoked, leaning back comfortably in her seat with a raised brow.

[Starts provoking him]

The guys pointed at her immediately, a chorus of “Ooooooooh!” echoing like a group of middle schoolers hyping up a dare.

“This is also a psychological game,” Jeonghan smirked, voice cool as he leaned slightly toward Luna, clearly ready for war.

“Call out a higher number,” Luna added, still smirking directly at PD Na with a teasing glint in her eyes.

[She likes to dare Guide Na]

“Noona, you’re scary,” Seungkwan said, shaking his head with wide eyes as he leaned slightly away from her in mock fear.

“Our Jiyeonie is a psychology graduate,” Wonwoo informed PD Na casually, glancing sideways at Luna.

[That’s why]

“Really?” PD Na asked, visibly intrigued now as he looked over to her and the rest of his crew leaned forward slightly.

“Yes,” Luna smiled, nodding proudly.

“Jiyeonie is good with probability. She’s lucky like that,” Jeonghan informed them, his tone oddly proud for someone usually so playful.

[Proud]

“She’s a psychic,” Woozi teased, earning snickers from a few members.

“She’s also…” Seungkwan said, trailing off.

“A psycho,” he and Luna said in unison, immediately high-fiving each other as everyone burst into loud laughter.

“She might look like that— all pretty and innocent, but she’s crazy,” Seungkwan added in an exaggerated tone, leaning back and laughing at his own line as Luna giggled harder.

[She has matching crazy eyes with PD Na]

“Okay! I can analyze people too!” PD Na declared with determination, accepting the challenge as the members whooped and clapped around him.

“Or are we going by probability?” Seungkwan asked, lifting an eyebrow and gesturing toward PD Na like he was interrogating a game show contestant.

“It’s vague. So Minghao has no thoughts of standing up,” PD Na began, suddenly scanning the group like a detective on the case.

“Jun has no thoughts of standing up either,” he added, pointing at Jun who blinked back, caught off guard.

“Wonwoo has no thoughts,” PD Na continued, making the others laugh as Wonwoo chuckled shyly and looked away.

“These two…” PD Na pointed at Luna and Jeonghan, sitting side by side like a scheming duo, “…scare me.”

[Bunnies scare PD Na]

[Rightfully so]

The members broke into another fit of laughter, hands slapping the table, some even leaning into each other as they laughed.

The room buzzed with a low hum of laughter and excitement, but before they could fully dive into another round, one of the producers looked toward Hoshi with a mischievous grin.

“Hoshi, what number should we go with next time?” the producer asked, almost teasing.

Hoshi paused, visibly shifting in his seat as he gave the question some serious thought. He squinted a little, brows furrowed, lips pursed, clearly trying to visualize potential combinations in his head. The members leaned closer, anticipating his answer like he was about to solve a math equation that would decide the fate of the nation.

[Serious]

“…Five,” Hoshi finally said, as if he were declaring a lottery number. The members laughed, nodding in agreement.

With that, the atmosphere shifted with renewed energy. Round four was about to begin.

[Round 4]

PD Na straightened up, cleared his throat dramatically, and with a teasing lilt in his voice, he began to count.

“One, two, three… six!”

Chaos exploded the moment the number left his lips. Jeonghan shot up from his seat, followed almost instantly by Dokyeom, Seungkwan, Vernon, Wonwoo, Jun, and Dino— seven in total. The room erupted with gasps and half-shouts as realization hit everyone.

“That’s seven!” Joshua called out with a wide grin.

[+1 point]

“We win again!” Mingyu hollered.

“Good job!” Jun clapped with a proud smile as they all sat back down, visibly impressed with themselves.

“Oh… this is so hard,” PD Na sighed dramatically, half-laughing, half-exasperated as he shook his head.

[Sigh]

“Do you want all of us to stand up?” Mingyu asked, his voice light but filled with mischief.

“Teamwork. We need to show our teamwork,” Dino said seriously, straightening up.

[Plotting]

“We will all stand up,” Mingyu promised PD Na with mock determination.

“Yes, we will,” Luna added, nodding firmly like they were plotting something righteous.

“We will all stand up right now,” Jeonghan added, his voice cool and casual— like a bait laid out with perfect confidence.

“We will all stand up. All thirteen,” Dokyeom echoed with a sly grin.

“I will stand up,” Mingyu declared with a proud hand on his chest.

“I will also stand up,” Woozi chimed in, voice perfectly deadpan.

“Me too,” Luna joined in, a grin pulling at her lips.

“I will also stand up,” Jeonghan added again, more casually this time, like he was really just warming up.

[What are they planning?]

Suddenly, the room exploded into noise.

“I will stand up!”

“Me too!”

“I’m going to stand up!”

“I’m standing, I’m standing!”

[All for one and one for all]

It was a chaotic chorus— everyone talking over each other, voices layered in disarray as the members simultaneously declared their intentions. Their expressions were all over the place: some deadly serious, others grinning like devils, and a few who clearly couldn’t keep a straight face anymore.

PD Na blinked at them, overwhelmed, trying to keep up with what was happening.

[Confused]

“Dino?” PD Na asked, trying to single out the youngest for some clarity.

“We need to stand up. All of us,” Dino replied solemnly, like it was their final mission.

“Hoshi?” PD Na tried again.

“Me too. I will also stand up,” Hoshi said immediately with an overly enthusiastic nod.

“Minghao, are you going to stand up?” PD Na asked, hopeful.

“I am not standing up,” Minghao said bluntly and honestly, without hesitation.

[Honest]

Laughter broke out around the table.

“You’re so cute,” Luna chuckled as she looked at Minghao fondly.

“That was honest,” Mingyu said with a nod of approval.

“So honest,” Dokyeom added, grinning as he pointed.

“I will just be standing up,” Jeonghan said suddenly, and to prove it, he simply stood up, locking eyes with PD Na with a bold, unfazed stare.

[Has the upper hand all of a sudden]

The members went, “Ohhh!” in unison like it was a mic drop.

Luna smirked at him knowingly.

“Then, I will be half standing up,” Dokyeom announced and mimicked sitting on air, awkwardly half-standing, half-squatting with a strained expression. “I can go like this,” he demonstrated further, bobbing up and down as if testing out different levels, and looked at PD Na as if expecting him to judge. “I can decide like that.”

[Lack of sleep makes then react like this]

PD Na burst into laughter, holding his cue cards like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Okay. It might be the last round. It might be the last game. At once. It’s over when you decide,” PD Na said dramatically, like the game show host of an epic finale.

“Okay!” Hoshi responded, voice full of fake resolve.

“People who want to sit can sit, and stand if you want,” PD Na declared, throwing in the towel and surrendering the rules to the chaos.

Round five began.

[Round 5]

“I think three people are going to stand up,” Mingyu muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the group.

Then came the count.

“One, two, three… thirteen!” PD Na shouted boldly.

Immediately, Jeonghan remained standing where he had been the whole time, completely unfazed. Dokyeom, who had been doing his squatting act, finally sat down. Wonwoo and Hoshi suddenly popped up on their feet.

[3!]

That made three.

The room broke into cheers and laughs again.

They won. Again. Another point in the bag.

[+1 point]

“I got it right! I was right!” Mingyu celebrated proudly.

“‘Thirteen!’” Dokyeom teased PD Na with a laugh, mimicking him with wide eyes.

[DK found PD Na amusing]

“You guys have no faith at all! You’re going to go like this?” PD Na exclaimed, laughing helplessly while throwing his hands in the air.

[Got tricked]

“His expression is so funny,” Dokyeom laughed harder, barely breathing as he clutched his stomach.

“There’s no honesty at all,” PD Na said, slumping into his chair. He had completely fallen for their tricks and he knew it.

Luna, still chuckling, reached over and gently grabbed Jeonghan’s arm before hugging it close. Her eyes were visibly drooping now as her cheek found a home on his shoulder, an amused smile on her lips despite clearly fighting off sleep.

[About to nod off again]

“You should have known we weren’t being serious,” Luna said sleepily, voice muffled against Jeonghan’s sleeve.

Jeonghan glanced at her briefly, then addressed PD Na with a sharpness that made everyone laugh again.

“I think we are going to win anyway, so let’s just have us take everything and end this. Let’s hurry and go to sleep,” Jeonghan said at lightning speed, his voice dead serious, his tone devoid of any playfulness.

[Serious]

It made Luna giggle again, her face still nestled in his arm.

“I really don’t think we’re going to lose,” Dokyeom agreed with a dreamy sigh.

“We think it’s a meaningless game when you guys are all tired,” Mingyu added, glancing toward the production team with an almost diplomatic shrug.

“No. We’re not tired at all,” PD Na insisted, quickly trying to recover his pride before continuing, “We can do this all night long.”

[What?]

The members burst into laughter.

“Ah… ah… okay…” Mingyu said in disbelief, chuckling in defeat.

PD Na’s gaze slowly drifted toward Luna again— she was still hugging Jeonghan’s arm like a pillow, eyes half-lidded.

“Right, Luna-ya?” PD Na teased her gently.

The members chuckled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luna deadpanned, not even looking at him, instead burying her face deeper into Jeonghan’s arm like a defiant cat refusing to acknowledge anything.

[Out of sight, out of mind]

“His eyes are definitely turned around,” Seungkwan muttered, looking at PD Na with mock pity.

“They are really no joke,” Woozi added, voice laced with playful concern.

“I’m okay,” PD Na said quickly, trying to sound unbothered— though it was clear by now, he had completely lost control of the game and is trying to get it back.

[SEVENTEEN succeeded in defending 5 items]

[Earned 5/16 prizes]

Round after round, the members of SEVENTEEN showed no signs of letting up. Even after securing five out of the sixteen prizes— already more than generous for a single segment— they were gripped by an absurd, collective determination to sweep everything. Their energy had shifted into something almost mechanical now: focused, chaotic, relentless. They were aiming for a clean sweep.

[And the game continues]

As the game clock ticked forward and the members rallied, it became obvious they were entering a whole new phase— speed round mode.

Round Six was on. No pause, no banter, just action.

[Round 6]

“One, two, three… four!” PD Na counted quickly, barely giving the boys time to breathe.

Jeonghan and Jun stood up with the coordination of synchronized swimmersperfectly timed, effortless. Another point. The room filled with the clatter of applause and soft clapping, some even chuckling at the sheer absurdity of how seamless it had all become.

[+1 point]

“Let’s speed through this,” Luna challenged, her voice soft but edged with that cheeky competitiveness she and Jeonghan always brought out of each other.

Without a single beat of hesitation, PD Na dove right into the next count.

[Round 7]

“One, two, three… five!” he called out.

As if summoned by a secret code, Jeonghan, Luna, and Woozi rose to their feet in perfect unison. The moment their backs straightened, it was already another point. The trio sat back down almost immediately, no celebration needed.

[+1 point]

“Okay! Good,” Dino chimed in, the momentum now completely unstoppable.

No time to waste— Round Eight was already in motion.

[Round 8]

“One, two, three… eleven!” PD Na exclaimed, tossing out a much larger number.

But Hoshi, Dokyeom, and Joshua were already rising from their seats like seasoned veterans. Another point. It was automatic at this point.

[+1 point]

“Okay!” Luna cheered again, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips as her body started betraying her— sleepiness creeping in, eyes half-lidded.

[Excited + Sleepy = Luna]

Before Round Nine began, Mingyu leaned forward and spoke up with a grin, “Let’s just stay seated.”

“Just stay seated,” Dokyeom echoed, his excitement uncontainable.

“We are zero now,” Jeonghan deadpanned to PD Na, as if declaring a tactical reset.

“Zero!” Dokyeom chimed again, grinning from ear to ear.

[Plotting once more]

Luna couldn’t hold back her chuckle. They were lying through their teeth and everyone knew it, but that was part of the fun. They were so obviously up to something.

“Really,” Mingyu added, eyes wide in feigned innocence.

“Really zero?” PD Na raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

“Yes,” the band chorused, entirely unabashed.

Then came Round Nine.

[Round 9]

“One, two, three… six!” PD Na exclaimed once more.

Mingyu, Vernon, and Dokyeom— who, notably, stood up while swaying his hips like he was performing a solo stage— rose from their seats, winning yet another point.

[+1 point]

Laughter exploded from the members as Dokyeom continued dancing. It was less of a stand and more of a performance.

“He doesn’t believe us,” Mingyu said with a mock pout, gesturing to PD Na.

[Trust issues everywhere]

“Weren’t we doing this in trust?” PD Na asked, exasperated, drawing even more laughter from the group.

[Apparently not]

“But isn’t that nine items now?” Jeonghan casually brought up, his voice laced with faux innocence.

“No. This is all separate,” PD Na snapped back quickly, now scrambling to break down the items into even more individual components, clearly trying to make it harder for them.

“Of course it is,” Luna said dryly, her tone matching the absurdity in the room.

“Suddenly? Suddenly like this?” Dokyeom gasped between laughs.

“No, let’s do this until we can. If we don’t have any products, we will make them and give them to you,” PD Na offered, waving his hand as staff members added chargers to the table like a desperate bribe.

[Suddenly have chargers]

“They have it. They have chargers,” Jeonghan noted, eyeing the prize pile suspiciously.

“They have it. Okay, okay,” Dokyeom nodded eagerly, ready to play along.

Round Ten began.

[Round 10]

“I will start. One, two, three… six!” PD Na declared.

Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Dokyeom, and Vernon stood up with zero hesitation. Point. They sat down like clockwork.

[+1 point]

“Okay, we will go right away,” Jeonghan said, not even giving them time to exhale before charging into the next round.

[Round 11]

“One, two, three… three!” PD Na said for Round Eleven.

This time, it was chaos—Jeonghan, Luna, Wonwoo, Woozi, Hoshi, Minghao, and Seungkwan stood up all at once. Seven in total. Another win.

[+1 point]

“We will go right away,” Jeonghan repeated like a robot, voice unwavering, already preparing for Round Twelve.

[Round 12]

“One, two, three… five!” PD Na announced.

Jeonghan, Dokyeom, Joshua, Vernon, Mingyu, Jun, Wonwoo, and Dino— eight members— stood up. Point. It was their twelfth now.

[+1 point]

They didn’t even cheer anymore— it was routine.

PD Na went straight to Round Thirteen.

[Round 13]

“One, two, three… seven!” he called out.

Dino, Wonwoo, Hoshi, Minghao, and Luna rose, precise and fluid like soldiers. Point thirteen. They were getting dangerously close.

[+1 point]

“We will go right away,” Jeonghan prompted again, and everyone obeyed.

[Round 14]

“One, two, three… six!” PD Na announced again.

Jeonghan, Joshua, Dino, Wonwoo, and Vernon popped up. Point fourteen. It was becoming ridiculous.

[+1 point]

“Shouldn’t you just give us the entire bag at this point?” Luna asked, deadpan, her eyes half-closed with exhaustion but her voice laced with sarcasm.

[At this point? Yes.]

The room broke into laughter.

“Oh… why?” PD Na sighed, nearly whining in defeat.

“Wait, it’s fourteen right now?” Jeonghan asked as if he hadn’t been keeping track all along, his poker face firmly in place.

Then, Round Fifteen.

[Round 15]

“One, two, three… five!” PD Na said.

Seungkwan and Woozi stood up like clockwork. Another point.

[+1 point]

“What could you do?~ What could you do?~” Luna teased in a sing-song voice, shaking her head and laughing as she formed a heart with her hands toward PD Na.

[Loves teasing PD Na the absolute most]

“That’s fifteen,” Jeonghan reminded PD Na, his smile devious and eyes twinkling with amusement.

[15/16]

“Okay, fifteen!” Luna repeated, smug.

PD Na stared at the two of them in a state of resigned defeat, scoffing dramatically.

“We will stop here and give them everything,” he declared, hands in the air, drawing a round of thunderous applause, cheers, and laughter from the entire room.

[Gave up]

[He lost everything]

“I cannot with you two!” PD Na pointed an accusatory finger at Luna and Jeonghan, his tone torn between exasperation and laughter.

“I knew it from the airport when you two disappeared…” he muttered, voice trailing into a full-blown rant while Luna and Jeonghan laughed the hardest they had all night —bodies doubled over, eyes squeezed shut.

[The bunnies have given PD Na a hard time]

“I knew you two will cause me trouble,” PD Na sighed as if prophesying doom from the very beginning.

The members were in hysterics, clapping, laughing, hooting, and hollering at the sheer absurdity and genius of it all. PD Na had been outplayed. Again.

Mingyu, stretched out on his seat with his hands intertwined in front of him on the table, looked around at the team, then turned to PD Na with a cheeky grin.

“Then, should we end it now?” he asked, voice playful but low with finality. The members hummed in agreement, some nodding lazily, others blinking in confusion.

Mingyu turned to PD Na, raising a brow and tilting his head slightly as he made the request, “Can you say ‘one’?”

[Ending with a win for PD Na]

PD Na blinked, caught off guard by the oddly specific request. “Okay. If I say ‘one’…” he started cautiously before Mingyu smoothly turned his attention to the next target.

“Minghao, do you want to stand up by yourself and end it?”

“Ending it?” Minghao echoed, a little baffled by the theatrics, but he nodded all the same. He adjusted his posture and gave a small nod of consent, a quiet agreement to be the game’s symbolic finale.

[Cutely agrees]

“Thank you, guys,” PD Na said sincerely, already laughing as he realized they were staging a faux ending win just to feed his dignity. “Only Minghao. We will only have Minghao stand up.”

“Okay!” Luna agreed brightly, lifting her hand with exaggerated enthusiasm.

[They are too excited]

The room stilled. The silence, for once, was heavy with anticipation and barely-contained laughter. PD Na, playing along with the final moment, raised his hand.

“One, two, three… one!” PD Na announced, and in perfect comedic betrayal, not only did Minghao stand— but Jeonghan and Luna popped up beside him like synchronized traitors.

[Bunny rabbits hop… hop…hop]

The room exploded.

“AHAHAHAHAHA!” The members screamed in disbelief, clapping and howling with laughter. Hands smacked the table, people leaned over, Dokyeom even rolled off the side of his chair from laughing too hard. Dino pointed dramatically at Jeonghan and Luna like he’d just caught criminals red-handed.

[Betrayal at its finest]

PD Na chuckled as he stared at the two, speechless. His jaw dropped open in mock betrayal.

[Trust issues]

“Your eyes were already looking at us like…” Mingyu started, turning to face PD Na. He squinted his eyes dramatically, lips pursed, copying the very expression of suspicion PD Na had worn seconds before.

Dokyeom immediately jumped in with an impression of his own, his voice pitched and eyes wide, mimicking PD Na with exaggerated panic. “‘Why is Minghao the only one standing up?’” he mimicked, sending the room into another spiral of laughter.

[They knew]

“Just take all of this,” PD Na said with mock defeat, waving a hand at the mound of prizes.

[SEVENTEEN won]

Still smiling despite the betrayal, he reached down and picked up the final envelope— the one marked with S.Coups’ name. With a sigh, he handed it to Jeonghan. “Let’s look at S.Coups’ letter at least,” he said, voice a touch gentler.

[The letter their leader wrote before they got kidnapped]

Jeonghan took the envelope, brow arching with curiosity as he tore the flap open. Luna immediately scooted closer, peeking over his arm with interest. Her eyes widened.

[What is it?]

“Oh?” Luna said, blinking in realization. “That’s why he was so adamant we get the letter.” She smiled, suddenly touched.

“Why?” Dino asked from the other side of the table, voice curious as the rest of the members close leaned in, trying to get a better look.

“It’s not only a letter,” Luna revealed cryptically.

“Oh!” Dokyeom exclaimed, leaning forward just in time to catch a glint of black from Jeonghan’s hand.

“Wah!” Jeonghan drawled, lips curling upward as he slowly slid the object out from behind the paper.

“It’s not a letter,” Dokyeom gasped, blinking rapidly.

“What?” Hoshi squinted, still too far to make sense of the reactions.

“There’s a card,” Jeonghan said, holding it up triumphantly. Gasps erupted around the room like fireworks.

[S.Coups’ personal card]

“Wow! Awesome!” Dokyeom yelled.

Jeonghan cleared his throat and began to read aloud: “‘Thank you for picking my letter. I feel sorry for you guys going without any preparation. I will be waiting for you well in Korea. You can use this card however you want, okay? Have fun. I love you.’”

“Wah!” Several of the members sighed at once, impressed.

“I miss Cheollie,” Luna pouted, her voice small and genuine, the sudden shift in emotion hitting her like a wave. Her bottom lip jutted out as she stared at the card.

[Sad bunny]

“Wow, that’s so touching,” Wonwoo said softly, as the room broke into soft claps.

“It’s really Coups’ personal card,” Dokyeom said, holding the card reverently between his fingers.

“Personal card?” Woozi asked, peering over his shoulder in amazement.

“It is,” Luna confirmed, nodding at the familiar design. “That’s the one he uses.”

“Wah!” Mingyu echoed, eyes wide.

“Choi Seungcheol did some work,” Woozi said, impressed despite himself.

“Awesome,” Dino added, nodding.

“He said that we can use it whenever we need to,” Jeonghan added with a small smile, handing the card over to Dino.

[Their generous leader]

Without hesitation, Dino took it and tucked it carefully into the small money pouch he’d been given earlier. As the group’s unofficial trip treasurer, he knew the weight of that gesture.

“Manager, you should take care of this too,” Woozi said with a pointed look, his voice teasing but firm.

“He’s awesome… I can buy clothes now,” Luna deadpanned suddenly, earning a wave of laughter from the others.

[Spoiler: she is being serious]

“Me too,” Jeonghan said immediately, looking dead serious.

“Look at these two,” PD Na interjected, pointing directly at the duo. “As if you two didn’t bring your own cards.”

[Oops]

Jeonghan chuckled shamelessly, leaning back into his seat.

Luna quickly turned away, hand flying to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“It was an accident,” the two chorused without missing a beat.

[Sure…]

PD Na and the rest of the members chuckled, shaking their heads.

“Alright! Since it’s late, hurry up and wash up. Change into these clothes and let’s rest well. We are done for the day,” PD Na announced, clapping his hands together like a tired parent declaring bedtime.

[Finally!]

A chorus of “Thank you!” and “Great work!” echoed across the room as PD Na and the production crew began packing up the equipment and quietly filtering out, leaving the members to breathe easy again in the now much quieter dorm.

The prize pile sat triumphantly on the table like a monument to their chaotic victory. And SEVENTEEN, still grinning from ear to ear, began preparing for their long-awaited rest.

Once the last of the staff and camera crew filed out of the dorm with soft goodbyes and a final “Great work, everyone!” from PD Na echoing down the hallway, Seventeen was finally left to their own devices. It was a rare kind of peace— fleeting and chaotic all at once.

[Time to wash up]

Jeonghan, as if clocking back in for his second job as unofficial dorm dad, immediately took it upon himself to organize. A pile of white Nana Tour shirts and matching black shorts sat in a heap beside him. He crouched, peeled one shirt from the pile, squinted at the name printed in bold on the tag, and began his announcements.

“Seungkwan,” he read aloud, holding up the shirt like it was a prize at a raffle.

“Seungkwan here,” Seungkwan said, perking up from where he was, shuffling over to claim it.

Jeonghan continued, eyes scanning the next one. “The8.”

Minghao raised a hand. “Thank you,” he said calmly as he accepted his shirt.

“Vernon,” Jeonghan called next.

“Got it,” Vernon replied as he spotted his own name and snatched the shirt himself with a grin.

“Mingyu,” Luna chimed in, holding the correct shirt out toward him without looking up.

“Thank you,” Mingyu said, bowing his head slightly as he received it.

“This is Jeonghan,” Jeonghan said smugly, pulling his own shirt close to his chest like a proud mom choosing her outfit for a parent-teacher conference.

“Luna,” Jeonghan said next, tossing her shirt gently into her awaiting hands.

“Thank you,” Luna replied, already inspecting the print.

Around them, the rest of the members had started rummaging through the neatly sorted shirts and shorts, grabbing their names and holding them up like souvenirs from a field trip.

[Like they are thrift shopping]

“Mine is a puppy,” Mingyu said with a little giggle, turning the shirt around to show a cartoon puppy printed on his shirt.

“I’m 1004,” Jeonghan followed proudly, “Angel,” he added with a chuckle.

[Satisfied customer]

“Mine is a small drum,” Seungkwan noted, flipping his shirt inside out to double-check.

“Mine is the moon. It’s cute,” Luna said softly, holding hers up to admire it.

“Yours is a tiger,” Jun pointed out to Hoshi with a smile. He held his own shirt up after. “Mine is a cat.”

“What are you?” he asked, turning to Wonwoo beside him, then squinting at the small symbol under Wonwoo’s name. “Computer? Ah! Game boy.”

Wonwoo nodded without expression, as if being likened to a game boy was both accurate and inevitable.

“Guys, each of you take one of these chargers,” Mingyu instructed, holding up a bundle of small phone chargers they had won.

The room turned into a bustling market of shirts, shorts, and charger distribution. Members moved like a busy noodle shop at lunch rush— laughing, nudging each other, calling dibs on lotions and toothpaste.

[It’s chaos already]

Without saying a word, Luna stood and grabbed the communal shampoo and conditioner from the prize pile like a practiced mother of seven in a small apartment. Before she could step away, Jeonghan raised his voice like he was announcing a royal decree.

“Jiyeonie is first to wash up, okay?” he said.

A chorus of agreement came from the others, with a few loud “Yes!”es and “Let her go!”s peppered in.

“Don’t worry. I won’t take long. I’m exhausted already,” Luna replied, her voice a little hoarse but still chipper as she padded out of the dining area and toward the bathroom with her arms full.

[She might sleep in the bathroom]

“Take your time!” Dokyeom yelled after her as they continued to look at the Nana Tour merchandise they were given.

And so began the unofficial second variety show: Seventeen vs. One Bathroom.

Despite her usual long-shower tendencies, Luna did her best to hurry. She kept it to twenty minutes— miraculous by her standards— quickly rinsing off the exhaustion of the day. Steam rolled out as she opened the door, dressed now in the crisp white Nana Tour tee with her name printed neatly on the front in a lavender color and the matching black shorts. Her damp hair clung to her cheeks as she towel-dried it, walking barefoot down the hallway with tired but light steps.

By then, the rotation had begun. Some were already changed and fresh, others still lying in wait. Every few minutes, someone would knock on the bathroom door with hopeful curiosity.

[Elsa? Do you wanna build a snowman?]

Just as Luna sat herself on the edge of her bed, her limbs finally surrendering to gravity, a familiar sound suddenly cut through the quiet hum of the dorm— a low mechanical whirring that started soft, then built up with power. Her head snapped toward the hallway. The hair dryer. Her eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting prey. That meant someone had it. And if she waited even two minutes, she’d be forced to dry her hair using a hand towel and the ceiling fan.

[Needs the hair dryer immediately]

She stood immediately, towel still draped around her neck, hair damp and curling at the ends. She followed the noise like a hound on a scent trail, her footsteps padding quickly against the wooden floor. The hum got louder as she passed the living room, past the kitchen, finally stopping just outside Mingyu’s room.

[Aha!]

Mingyu was in front of the mirror with the hotel-provided hair dryer in hand, one side of his hair sticking up like seaweed and the other half perfectly styled. Luna didn’t even wait for him to notice her. She reached out and gently poked his arm, making him flinch just slightly as he turned his head.

“I’m next,” she said plainly, eyes wide and slightly demanding beneath her damp hair.

Mingyu looked at her then he hummed casually, the kind of hum that meant he had understood, and also that he was about to take matters into his own hands.

“Turn around,” he said.

Before she could even process it, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and physically turned her around, towel slipping from her neck to fall softly onto the bed. Luna blinked at the sudden manhandling but said nothing. She just stood there, straight as a ruler, arms at her side, staring at the doorway as he pointed the hair dryer to her scalp and began drying her hair.

[Teamwork makes the dream work]

The warm air blasted down on her neck as Mingyu lifted sections of her hair with his fingers like he’d done this at a salon once. Her hair, still wet at the roots, began lifting and flying around her head like a poodle caught in a wind tunnel.

Right in front of them, by the bathroom across the hall, Wonwoo was loitering near the door with his hands holding onto his stuff. He stood still like a bored teenager, knocking lightly against the wooden door with the back of his knuckles.

[Elsa?]

“Who is it?” Wonwoo asked, voice completely calm as if this was a totally normal situation and not a full-scale dorm-wide bathroom hunger games.

“Me,” someone replied from inside, their voice muffled through the door. Luna’s head tilted slightly. She swore that was Dino. Definitely Dino.

“Who’s me?” Wonwoo asked again, monotone and vaguely tired. “Are you Mingyu?”

[What?]

That did it. Luna burst into giggles, shoulders shaking forward while Mingyu tried to hold her head still to dry the back of it. Her now half-dried hair was flying in all directions, the gust from the dryer blowing it into her mouth, across her cheeks, and even into Mingyu’s face.

“Mingyu is here,” Luna said through a laugh, managing to keep her voice steady as she pointed loosely behind her.

Wonwoo turned his head lazily and spotted him— Mingyu, still holding the hair dryer with one hand while trying to dodge a particularly wild strand of Luna’s hair with the other.

[Peekaboo]

“Ah,” Wonwoo said, eyes narrowing in amusement. He chuckled to himself and gave a small nod, like this was all perfectly logical, then turned and strolled back toward his room without another word.

Luna smiled, then gently stepped away from Mingyu, her hair now puffed and frizzing in places, but mostly dry.

“Dry your hair. I’m fine. It’s mostly dry already. Thank you, Gyu-Gyu,” she said sincerely, turning the hair dryer slightly toward him before giving him a small flying kiss and walking back to her room.

Mingyu just blinked after her, blinking away one last rogue strand of her hair from his cheek, then returned to drying his own head like none of it just happened.

Luna had barely reached her bed when Dokyeom peeked his head in.

[Everyone is everywhere all at once]

“Can I see if there is a comb here?” Dokyeom asked sheepishly, eyes already scanning her bed.

“There’s one inside,” Luna nodded toward the small airplane pouch lying neatly on the blanket. “Take it. Just return it back after.”

[Generous bunny]

“Thank you!” Dokyeom chirped as he walked in, rummaging through her things like a raccoon in a picnic basket.

Just as Luna walked out again, she passed Mingyu in the hallway asking Joshua, “Hyung, do you have the toothpaste?”

Without a word, Luna stopped in front of them, silently pulling out her toothbrush and holding it up in expectation like a soldier in formation.

[Me too!]

Joshua, completely unfazed, dabbed toothpaste on hers, then Mingyu’s.

“Thank you, Joshie,” Luna said sweetly, then popped the brush into her mouth and walked off to brush her teeth like nothing had happened.

The dorm was alive with this quiet chaos. Matching shirts padded through the rooms, hunting down missing items. Someone shouted from the living room about not being able to find their socks. Another tripped on a charger wire. Somewhere in the back, Jun and Seungkwan were arguing about whose turn it was next while Jeonghan calmly dried his hair with his towel with ferocity.

After brushing her teeth and giving a final spit into the sink, Luna wandered out of the hallway and into the dining area. She immediately spotted the lotion bottle sitting like a prized relic on the table— surrounded by what was basically the human version of late-night chaos.

[They are very much still awake]

Wonwoo was there, sat quietly like he’d been queuing politely for hours. Jeonghan, with a towel draped around his neck, was sitting with a small fan in his hand, slowly rotating and fanning his hair like he had all the time in the world. And Hoshi— yes, Hoshi— was sitting at the table brushing his teeth in silence.

“Is the lotion there?” Luna asked, voice low and raspy with sleep, shoulders sagging like a retired puppy.

Wonwoo, in his usual calm, ghost-like fashion, slid the bottle toward her. “Here,” he said softly.

Luna plopped herself in the chair between him and Jeonghan, letting out a small huff as she unscrewed the cap. “Thank you,” she mumbled, squeezing some lotion into her palm before rubbing it up her arms with slow, sluggish motions. Her energy was basically on 2%, blinking red.

[She is on the brink]

Jeonghan glanced over at her, eyeing the strands of damp hair still clinging to the back of her neck. “Your hair is still damp, Nana-ya,” he said, eyebrows pinched with light concern as he reached out to rake his fingers through it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You can’t sleep with wet hair,” he muttered, clicking his tongue as if she had committed a mild crime against herself.

[Scolded]

Without waiting for a response, he picked up the tiny fan he’d been using on himself and redirected it towards Luna’s head. With one hand fanning her hair, the other resumed combing through her hair— carefully, slowly, almost absentmindedly like he was styling a doll.

[Second member who tries and dry her hair]

Luna simply hummed, a soft noise of consent, eyelids drooping halfway. She was too tired to react, too exhausted to resist. She just let him do whatever he wanted, letting the fan blow across her scalp as his hand made light, repetitive movements.

Then came the teasing.

“If you sleep with wet hair,” Jeonghan said suddenly, dropping his voice to a soft-yet-mildly-ominous tone, “it’s going to grow an organism. Like… a fungus. Maybe even a mushroom.”

[What?]

Luna blinked.

“A mushroom?”

Jeonghan nodded seriously, still fanning. “Yeah. Mushroom. Like shiitake. Maybe enoki if you’re lucky… but you’re allergic, angel face.”

Luna squinted at him, then slapped his thigh lightly. “You’re so weird, I swear.“

Jeonghan grinned, victorious. “You’re welcome.”

After a few more minutes of exaggerated care, Jeonghan apparently decided it was time to pack for war— or at least an emergency trip to the convenience store. He started picking up random items from the table and around the kitchen: a gochujang tube bottle, a plastic bag someone left from their prize haul, the fan he was just using, and even a packet of napkins. He stuffed them all inside the reusable black bag they had won earlier during filming.

[What is he doing?]

“Just in case,” he said simply, as if that explained anything before going to his room and keeping the bag.

Meanwhile, Luna was reaching the final stages of battery drain. Her movements were molasses slow, eyes barely open, lotion half rubbed in. The warm buzz of the chaotic dorm life continued around her, but her body had clocked out. She took one deep breath and stood up like a zombie queen rising from her throne.

It was bedtime.

And with bedtime came her little ‘goodnight ritual’.

This was something all of them knew by now— especially they all had shared a dorm with her since their rookie days. Luna had a habit. A tradition, really. Ever since those early nights in their tiny old dorm, she’d never gone to sleep without giving each of them a hug and saying goodnight.

Every. Single. One.

She started her nightly rounds like a general making sure the troops were tucked in.

[A woman on a mission]

As she made her way toward the hallway, she spotted Jun stepping out of his room, rubbing his eyes like he had just time-traveled.

“Goodnight, Junnie,” Luna said, already holding her arms out before he could register anything else.

Jun’s entire expression softened. He stepped forward and gave her a firm, warm hug, the kind that said I got you. His arms wrapped tight around her, and for a second, they just stood there, swaying side to side gently.

“Goodnight,” he murmured before heading back into his room, yawning like a sleepy prince.

Luna then spotted Vernon emerging from one of the hallways, dragging his feet, hair slightly ruffled like he had just come back from an astral projection. Luna blinked.

“Are you just about to wash up?” she asked, walking up to him with that mom-friend tone loaded.

“Mhm. Fell asleep,” Vernon mumbled, barely managing to open his eyes.

“Alright.” Luna nodded, arms automatically opening.

“Goodnight, Solie,” she said.

Vernon gave her a sleepy pat on the back as he returned the hug. “Goodnight,” he replied before trudging into the bathroom like a zombie.

Just then, Minghao rounded the corner, his posture already indicating bedtime mode. He paused when he saw Luna, a smile tugging at his lips.

Without a word, he opened his arms already reading her mind.

[That’s twin telepathy]

Luna’s smile bloomed as she leaped into the hug without hesitation. He hugged her tightly and gently rocking them like they were back in a practice room in 2015 with nowhere to go but up.

“Goodnight, Hao-Hao,” Luna whispered into his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Jiyeonie,” he said before heading into his room, closing the door with a soft click.

Luna kept walking.

Back in the dining area, she saw them— Dino and Wonwoo— still up, bent over two steaming bowls of ramyeon. The two of them looked like they were in the middle of the most serious midnight snacking known to man.

[Drinking and eating]

“Not sleeping yet?” she asked, stepping into the light.

The two of them looked up.

“We’ll sleep after this, noona,” Dino answered.

“Alright. I’m here to say goodnight.” Luna nodded.

She walked to Wonwoo first, who was seated. She leaned down and hugged his head, and he wrapped one arm lazily around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Goodnight, Wonie,” she said gently.

“Goodnight, Jiyeonie,” he replied before going back to slurping his noodles.

When she turned to Dino, she was surprised to see the youngest already standing up, arms wide open like a big baby bird ready to fly.

“Goodnight, noona. Sleep well,” Dino said with a grin.

Luna stepped into the hug, squeezing him tight. “Goodnight, my baby,” she said softly before turning on her heel and heading off to finish her goodnight rounds.

Luna padded softly down the hall, she approached the next roo, the door creaked open gently as she peeked in.

There they were— Joshua, Hoshi, Mingyu, and Dokyeom— all sprawled out on their respective beds like tired, oversized children, each illuminated by the cool glow of their phones. Hoshi was sideways, his foot dangling off the edge like a limp carrot, while Mingyu’s head was barely peeking out from the blanket, scrolling with laser focus. Joshua sat at the top bunk like a perched owl, legs crossed, relaxed as ever, screen brightness turned all the way down like a lowkey dad. Dokyeom had earphones in, head bobbing slightly as he smiled at something on his screen.

“I’m here to say goodnight,” Luna announced, chuckling softly.

Their heads snapped up so fast, it was like they’d just been caught watching anime instead of sleeping. Four sets of eyes darted to her— wide, shining, immediate.

And then it happened. Without hesitation, Hoshi, Dokyeom, and Mingyu all flung their arms open simultaneously. A perfectly timed choreography of yearning and sleep-deprivation-induced affection.

[Ta-da!]

“Ahhh,” Luna laughed, pressing her palm to her cheek. “You guys…”

It hit her then— how long it had been since they all lived together under one roof. The way their arms opened like reflexes told her everything: they missed this. Missed her. Missed them.

She started with the highest point first— Joshua, the ever-collected hyung sitting calmly on the top bunk like a character out of a coming-of-age novel.

“Goodnight, Joshie,” Luna said, giving him a soft smile.

Joshua chuckled, leaning slightly to glance down at her. “Goodnight, Luna.”

With that, he lay back down, folding his arms behind his head like a prince waiting for his dream sequence to begin.

Luna crouched next, slowly descending to Hoshi’s level. He was already beaming at her, cheeks puffed out like a hamster trying not to explode with excitement, arms still wide open and jiggling lightly in anticipation.

“Aigo… goodnight, Shi-Shi,” Luna giggled, her voice fond and light as she let herself fall into his hug.

“Goodnight, our Jiyeonie,” Hoshi replied, squeezing her tight with a giddy hum before letting go with a gentle pat.

Next up was Dokyeom. Before she could even angle her body toward him properly, Dokyeom lunged with zero grace and full force, tackling her into a rib-crushing hug.

“Goodnight!” he basically sang, his voice echoing slightly in the room like a musical number had just begun.

“Yah—!” Luna wheezed, laughing as she patted his head like a parent calming a sugar-high child. “Goodnight, Kyeomie.”

She peeled herself out of his grasp with a chuckle, only to find Mingyu waiting patiently with his arms already open, seated on his bed like a good puppy dog at the vet.

His big doe eyes blinked up at her, soft and full of longing. “Goodnight, Lulu-ya. Sleep well.”

Luna walked into his embrace, only to immediately pat his biceps twice. “Yah, you’re squeezing me too tight, you big log.”

Mingyu laughed and loosened his grip slightly. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Gyu,” Luna said, smiling as she backed away. She gave them all a final glance, standing by the door now.

“Goodnight, my loves,” she said gently, giving a small wave before slipping into the last room.

[Last room]

Inside, she found Seungkwan folding his towel, rearranging his things like an overworked flight attendant. Woozi was laying on the lower bunk, screen hovering inches from his nose, earbuds in but clearly aware of everything. Jeonghan lay lazily on his own bed, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling like he was doing serious business on a stock trading app instead of reading memes.

“Noona? Are you looking for something?” Seungkwan asked curiously, making all three heads turn her way like meerkats.

Luna shook her head with a soft smile. “Just going to say goodnight.”

Seungkwan gasped like a child who had just heard the ice cream truck. “Wah—!” he said, immediately rushing over to open his arms wide.

She stepped into his hug effortlessly, the gesture so natural between them. “Goodnight, our Boo,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, our Bae,” he replied with the same softness, patting her back before pulling away with a smile.

Then came Woozi. She turned to him slowly. He was already eyeing her— suspicious, resigned, already predicting what was about to happen.

His eyes seemed to say No. But Luna was already preparing for launch. With a dramatic leap, she threw herself gently onto him. Woozi let out a small grunt of surrender as she hugged him tightly.

“Goodnight, Z,” she mumbled against him.

“Night,” he replied, patting her back with a firm thud like he was burping a toddler.

Then… she turned. Jeonghan looked up from his phone, smirking slightly. Luna’s eyes narrowed teasingly.

She tilted her head and grinned. “Okay, goodbye,” she said, faking a turn.

Seungkwan laughed from across the room, while Jeonghan raised a brow. “Come here,” he said, the usual faux-bored drawl in his voice doing a poor job hiding the amusement in his eyes.

Luna rolled her eyes playfully and climbed onto his bed, only to plop right on top of his chest like a weighted blanket. His arms instinctively came around her, pulling her in. Unbeknownst to her, Jeonghan was already looking over her shoulder, silently motioning to Seungkwan… then the light switch.

Seungkwan caught the signal, eyes wide, nodding like a secret agent before subtly flicking the lights off. Darkness swallowed the room.

“Goodnight, Hannie,” Luna whispered, voice muffled against his neck.

Jeonghan’s fingers had already slipped under the back of her shirt, grazing and tracing soft lines up and down her spine. His other hand gently combed through her damp hair, calming her like waves lapping against a shore. “Goodnight, my moon,” he whispered in her ear, so quiet, it almost blended into the stillness.

If they were home— in their house— this would be normal. Standard routine. This is how they always ended their nights: tangled limbs, whispered jokes, quiet warmth. But here, surrounded by cameras and creaky bunk beds and roommates, Luna knew she had to fight it. But Jeonghan… he wasn’t helping.

Her eyelids fluttered. “I need to go back to my room or I’ll actually end up sleeping here.”

Jeonghan just hummed, his fingers still trailing soft patterns down her spine, the other gently stroking her hair behind her ear. “Go later,” he whispered, breath warm against her cheek.

“We’ll get caught,” she whispered back.

“We won’t,” he said, soft but sure. “I covered the camera earlier.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” he teased.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Are you scared?”

Luna buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Not of the camera. I’m scared I won’t want to get up.”

He chuckled quietly, chest rumbling under her.

“I missed this,” she whispered.

“Me too,” he replied. “You smell like that citrus body wash again.”

“It’s lemon vanilla.”

“Smells like missing you.”

“Cringe as hell,” Luna giggled sleepily, fingers curling into his shirt.

They lay there a little longer, letting silence stretch between them. The thrill of being in the dark, hidden, surrounded yet unnoticed, added an unspoken mischief neither of them wanted to admit they enjoyed.

And then… Jeonghan lifted his chin slightly.

He kissed her. It was slow. Careful. The kind of kiss you give when time is short and everything unsaid is packed into one press of lips. Her breath hitched. Their noses bumped lightly. His hand pressed softly against her back, drawing her closer. No noise. No urgency. Just the warmth of knowing and the slight tickle of her sigh as it escaped her lips.

They pulled back, and Luna could almost hear the smile in his voice as he whispered, “Go before I keep you here.”

He gave her a light pat on the butt. “Goodnight, Nana-ya.”

She slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Night night, Jeongje,” she yawned.

“I’ll see you in your dreams, okay?” he said.

“Mhm… see you,” she replied, already shuffling toward the door like a half-sedated penguin.

She closed the door quietly behind her and padded back to her room. Still empty. Dino was still out in the dining area, probably finishing his second bowl with Wonwoo. Jun, her other roommate, hadn’t returned from the bathroom yet.

Luna plugged her phone into the wall with her eyes barely open, then climbed into her bed with all the grace of a sloth in molasses. Cherry the bunny was already waiting for her on the pillow.

She hugged it tight and whispered, “Night night, Cherry,” like a promise fulfilled.

She told Seungcheol Cherry would be him for now. So, in a way, she had completed her little ritual.

Their first night in Italy wrapped itself in quiet, sleepy magic. Somewhere in the chaos, in the laughter and sneaky kisses and old routines reawakened, they all found pieces of home.

Tomorrow, their first day in Rome awaited.

But for now… it was night. And they were together.

[To be continued in Clip 2-1]

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[sunflowerry-vol6]

FAMILY FIRST || Harry x Reader

characters count: 11553

summary: paparazzi take pictures of your son, while you try to protect him

masterlist || part 1:

Harry’s POV:

“Then maybe we could just grab takeout,” I say softly, not to wake up our two-year-old son who is safely sleeping on your shoulder, his little fingers gripping your shirt. I keep my hand on the small of your back as we walk. We just got back from Italy, where our son spent most of his life—a decision we made together.

Our house in Italy was practically in the middle of nowhere, which gave us privacy and security. Who wants to deal with paparazzi, stalkers, and thousands of fans while taking care of a newborn? I also recognized that you needed time to heal and rest, away from all the buzz, so that decision was really a no-brainer. When we would go out in Rome or Florence, my fans were surprisingly understanding when I said “no pictures.” There wasn’t even one sneaky photo of Dorian, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I could actually breathe.

Today, we were taking a stroll around London, enjoying the sunny weather. Dorian perhaps had too much fun on the playground. You picked him up when you noticed how he was rubbing his eyes—a sign that he was sleepy. The warmth of your body and the familiar scent of your perfume lulled our little one to sleep pretty fast. He was resting safely in your arms.

“Yeah, I think it’s a good idea. Dorian loves their pasta, so we…” You don’t even get to finish your sentence as we both snap our heads at the sound of a camera shutter going off along with a flash. I can feel your body tense as you cover Dorian���s head with your palm, hiding his face.

“What the fuck did you just do?” I dart to the paparazzo across the street, and you don’t even attempt to stop me. Usually, you would be the one to calm me down, but this time I know we both need those pictures deleted.

“Delete them or I will fuck you up and you’ll have to deal with my whole legal team,” I practically bark at him.

The man lowers his camera slightly, startled but not apologetic. He’s one of the cocky ones, the kind who think a public sidewalk gives him the right to anything. I can feel the rage blooming hot under my skin as I close the distance.

“I said delete them.” My voice is low now, deadly. Controlled in that way I only get when I’m past the point of losing it.

He smirks. “It’s just a photo, mate. You’re in public. You of all people should know that.”

“That’s my son you photographed.” I jab a finger toward his chest. “He’s two. He didn’t sign up for this shit. You take pictures of me, fine. But him? That’s off-limits. Always.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking down to his camera screen. “Could’ve blurred his face later—”

“I don’t care what you could do. Delete it. Now. You don’t fucking understand that one picture of him online—face blurred or not—can put him in danger?”

There’s a shift in his expression, the faintest flicker of discomfort, of realizing maybe this wasn’t worth it. Then, a few taps on his camera. I watch the screen. He deletes not just the photo, but the whole damn set.

“Happy?” he mutters.

“No. But that’s a start.” I step closer, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Next time you even think about pointing a lens at my family, I will make sure you can’t sell a picture to a tabloid ever again.”

He swallows. Good.

I turn away, my pulse still pounding, and jog back across the street.

You’re standing where I left you, arms wrapped protectively around Dorian, your cheek resting on his head. You don’t say anything when I reach you, but your eyes are darker than usual—with fury. The kind of fury that comes from watching someone threaten the peace we fought so hard to build.

“He deleted them,” I say, breath still ragged.

“I’ll have the lawyers put pressure on the outlet he works for. Just in case.” I reach out, brushing a hand down Dorian’s back as he shifts slightly, still asleep.

“He didn’t even stir.”

“He trusts us,” you murmur. “He knows he’s safe.”

And he is. Because we made damn sure of it.

We start walking again, slower now, and my hand finds your side.

“Still up for takeout?” I ask, trying to soften the weight between us.

You glance up at me, a faint smile forming. “Only if we eat it in bed.”

I laugh quietly. “Deal.”

“You ever think about just… vanishing? Not permanently. Just… renting a cabin in Iceland or something,” you say after a long pause.

“Every time someone points a lens at you or him,” I sigh.

“You’ve always been the one to protect us. But I’ve never asked—who protects you?”

“You do. When you make things simple again. When you look at me like I’m not some headline.”

You stop in your tracks. “You’re not. You’re just—ours.”

I reach for your hand, threading our fingers together. “And that’s more than enough.”

“I hate that we have to think like this,” you say finally. “Always ten steps ahead. Always defensive. Even here, in a random corner of London, just walking with our kid.”

I don’t answer right away. You’re not asking for solutions—you’re naming the truth, the life we carved out and the cost that comes with being visible.

“I know,” I say quietly. “And I hate it too. But we knew this wasn’t forever. Italy was… a pause. A beautiful one. But we always said we’d come back when it felt right.”

You nod slowly. “Do you still think it was the right time?”

I look at you—really look. The way your free hand rests over Dorian’s back. The way your jaw is tight, but your shoulders are starting to ease.

“I think the right time doesn’t mean the easy time,” I say. “It means when we’re strong enough to face it again. And we are. You are.”

That earns me a sideways glance and a faint, skeptical smile. “You’re getting very philosophical for someone who was threatening legal apocalypse three minutes ago.”

“I contain multitudes.”

You snort, but your smile softens. I can feel you letting go of the tension, piece by piece.

“I’m glad he slept through this,” you sigh softly, stroking his back gently.

“Me too. He’s too young to understand it.” I brush the curls away from his face. “Are you okay?” My eyes meet yours.

“It’ll take some time for the anger to wear off, but I’m glad he’s safe.”

I wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “I’ll make sure nothing like this happens again.”

We walk in silence for a bit, the tension from the encounter still clinging to us. Finally, I speak again.

“I hate that we can’t just enjoy a simple walk without worrying about a paparazzo. It’s not fair.”

“I’m okay with them sneaking a picture of us, but he’s just a child. He should be able to have a normal childhood.” You lean into me, softly stroking Dorian’s back.

I sigh, feeling the tension in my shoulders melt away a bit as you lean into me. “You’re right. He deserves a normal life, not one where we have to constantly look over our shoulders.”

I look down at Dorian, his little face still peaceful in sleep. “I don’t want him growing up feeling like he’s under constant scrutiny. It’s not right.”

We reach a quiet spot, away from any crowds, and I stop, turning to face you.

“Promise me something?” I cup your face in my hand, looking into your eyes. “Promise me that, no matter what happens, we keep fighting for our family. Promise me that nothing will break us or come between us.”

I lean in closer, my voice softening. “I love you. And I love that little boy more than anything. We won’t let anything shatter this.”

Your expression softens as you lean into my touch. “Baby, I know that none of this is your fault. It’s a part of your job, and it’s something I knew came with you. I would never let them win.”

I exhale, the weight on my shoulders lightening a bit at your understanding.

“I know you get it. But sometimes it feels like I’m not doing enough to protect you and Dorian. Like I’m failing you both.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration and guilt mixing in my words. “It’s just… I hate feeling so powerless.”

“Hey.” You reach to gently stroke my cheek. “I feel safe and protected when you’re around. So does Dorian. Remember, cats don’t sleep with their bellies up if they don’t feel safe.”

I smile weakly at the metaphor. “Always with the animal facts.” I look down at the little one in your arms. “You and Dorian are everything to me. I just… I wish I could shield you from everything.”

“You are, love. You are our shield and our rock.” Your eyes hold nothing but sincerity in them.

“Promise me you’ll never doubt that. No matter what storms come our way.”

“I’m planning to grow old with you and watch him get married, together.” You smile softly.

I chuckle, picturing our future together. The thought warms my heart, though there’s a hint of worry too.

“Sounds like an ideal plan to me. But growing old together requires us to stay sane through all this chaos.”

I place a tender kiss on your forehead, holding you close.

“Together, right?”

“Always.” You smile.

I return your smile, feeling a bit lighter. “Good, because I can’t imagine going through any of this without you.”

We stand there for a moment, just holding each other in quiet solidarity. The city around us keeps buzzing, and the paparazzi incident is still on my mind. But right now, all I care about is you and our little family.

Dorian shifts a little in your arms. “Let’s get that takeout and go home.”

I nod, reluctantly letting go of you. “Yeah, let’s go.”

I take your hand, and we start walking again, this time a little quicker. I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of paparazzi, though it seems like the incident outside the playground has scared them off for now.

“How’s our little sleepyhead doing?” I ask, peeking over to look at Dorian.

“Still sleeping,” you smile softly.

I smile at the sight, my heart swelling with love. “He looks so peaceful.”

We grab pasta for Dorian from one of those fancy Italian restaurants and finally reach the Chinese takeout place—a little hole in the wall that we’ve grown to love. The smell of sizzling kung pao chicken and fried rice fills the air as we step inside.

I order our usual: a couple of beef teriyaki dishes and some crab rangoons. The owner, an old lady named Mrs. Liu, smiles warmly at us.

“Haven’t seen you two in a while.”

“We took a little vacation in Italy to grow this one,” you chuckle softly. “We did miss your cooking.”

Mrs. Liu beams at you. “Italy, eh? Sounds romantic.”

I nod, grinning. “It was. But nothing quite compares to your kung pao chicken.”

She chuckles, handing us our order in a brown paper bag. “You young folks and your lovey-dovey vacations. You’re making me miss my younger years.” She looks at Dorian with admiration in her eyes. “Ah, they grow up so fast. One day you’re changing diapers, and the next they’re off to university.”

I smile softly. “That’s why we try to cherish every moment with him.”

Mrs. Liu smiles. “Smart. I’m sure you two are great parents for a little one.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Liu,” your voice is soft. “We’ll be coming more often.”

“You’re always welcome here, my dear, you know that,” she beams. “And the little one too—he’s too adorable to say no to.”

Our house is dimly lit, takeout spread out on the bed, Dorian nestled safely between both of us, fast asleep, some movie playing in the background.

You’re picking at your food, quiet again—but this time, it’s the good kind of quiet. The kind that feels full.

I glance over. “You still thinking about it? The photo?”

You nod. “Not because of what he saw. But because he didn’t. He just slept through it all. Like he knew we had him.”

“We do,” I say simply.

You look over at me, eyes soft now, almost shimmering. “Can we keep doing this? Building something real, even in the middle of all the chaos?”

I lean over and press a kiss to your lips—slow and certain.

“We already are.”

And outside, the city keeps moving. But here, in this little pocket of stillness, we’re exactly where we need to be.

Current taglist: @pauli-loveslouistomlinson @cherryberrystompers @hontpwk @avensgreenvans @venusnettles @nanaisinmars @sincerely-yours-marsbar

[endereies]

Matt taking photos of you while touring Italy

It was the late hours of the evening, and you tugged Matt along for a small walk across the streets of Milan. You both were exhausted after the day, so a calming stroll seemed fit for you both. His hand found itself wondering into yours, holding your palm tight while you pulled him to niche details he'd have otherwise missed. The city was stunning, architecture unlike any seen in the US. Yet, Matt couldn't stop staring at another piece of beauty.

His eyes wondered to you, a similar outfit to his wrapping your body. A leather jacket rested on your shoulders, leaving room for the black, thick jumper underneath. Jeans resting on your hips, adorned with one of Matt's belts that you 'didn't know was his'.

It was like you fit in perfect, blending into the beauty of the city. With this being one of the only nights you had alone in this city, Matt wanted to appreciate the sights before him.

"Baby?" He caught your attention while you leant on a lamppost, checking a message. One foot splayed in front of the other, your head tilted so that light shone on your hair. You looked towards him, your gaze innocent and curious. When you heard the shutter click you smiled in embarrassment, dropping your hands down from your sight.

"Matt... that's the fourth time you've done that, they cannot look good." He shook his head, smiling instantly. He took a step back when you reached for the camera, giggling. "Nope. You can see them once you've posed for me."

"Posed? You're ridiculous." You tried to hide your smile behind a sigh, but Matt saw right through it. He giggled, stepping backwards with his camera. "Am I? Or is the model losing her mind?"

"Says the one who has literally partnered with Prada." He continued to ignore your statement, looking behind him before stepping back until you aligned perfectly in his camera frame. A pleading look crossed his face, one you knew you couldn't resist. So you didn't.

You looked around the street you were on, trying to find something to do that wasn't an awkward smile. "Uhm, what do you want me to do?" Once he lowered his camera, he looked around with you in sights of any cute scenery.

"There. By the archway..." He hinted at the line of architecture with bushes filling the gaps. You had previously taken your own photos of buildings like these, loving the flawless chiselled work. Lining yourself in the middle of the archway, the bush outlined your frame in a natural border. It was no shock coming from Matt, he was born for the camera and its best angles.

"Now. Stand up straight and face away from me." The gentle tones in his voice were hard to miss, but you were busy obeying instructions that he dished out to you. Your posture was a little tense with your back straight and confusion filled your mind when he had your back now facing the camera. People had to think you were weird to just be staring at the middle of a bush and you were tempted to check. Matt's voice cut through your worry.

"Baby?" It was a dulcet tone to it, alluring to any small child. You responded by turning your head towards him, a questioning look on your face. Your posture relaxed when you heard him speak as your brain forgot about posing briefly. Strands of hair fell past your shoulders with the movement.

As soon as your head was facing towards him, the camera shutter sounded and the light flashed in your eyes. It stunned you and your whole body turned to Matt as you regained yourself. "Did you just take a photo?" A smile crossed your face when he hide his, staring anywhere but you.

"You did that on purpose." Your frame stood next to his, lightly grabbing the camera from his hands to stare at the image he took. "Of course I did, you weren't relaxing..."

Your attention was dragged away from him and back to the camera in your hand. With a small click of a button, the screen displayed the last photo Matt took. It showed you in the front and centre, the curious, innocent look on your face. Your natural smile peeking through your expression. Your back shone towards the camera, poised gracefully like a mannequin. The light of the flash showed your eye colour in the shot, bold against the darker clothing you picked out. It was perfect, Matt definitely knew his way around a camera and it showed.

His gaze joined yours on the camera. Yet rather than admiring the skill of the shot, he stared at his muse. But that ended when you moved the camera up above you two, switch it around towards the pair of you. Matt didn't have enough to process your hand lightly squeezing his cheek and the flash in his eyes.

He was quick to grab the camera from your hands, a frustrated grin on his face. Your giggling could be heard when you finally saw the photo. He looked caught off guard, unlike you, who had positioned themselves perfectly.

"Don't delete that, I love it!" Matt stared at you in a mock glare. "Yeah? Why, that's perfect blackmail material"

"Please you look so cute" A laugh erupted from you when his glare strengthened at the adjective. Yet, he couldn't tear away from the sound of your laughter.

"You're so lucky that I love you.." He saved the image and leant in to kiss you on the cheek - a blush forming on yours. "However, you now owe me another photo."

[whore-ibly-hot]

"A Servant and His King."

Yandere!Fae-King x Fae!servant x. Fem! Reader

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, coercion, fae related hijinks, basically monster fucking, oral (fem receiving), loss of virginity, clit play, p-in-v sex, power dynamics.

(A/N): Part two to a non-smutnfic about Puck, based off of puck from 'Midsummer Nights Dream'. Can be read with or standalone.

Part one (not required to understand)

A brief gust of wind and leaves rattles the shutters of your small cottages window, not sounding out of place when mixed with the usual sounds of the forest. However, the gust turns softer as it gently brushes against the shutters, causing them to open slowly with a creak.

A pair of feet land nimbly upon the wooden dresser across the room from your bed, a shadowy figure squatting down with a grin. The figure hops down, making its way to your bed, where you sleeping form lies blissfully unaware of the intruder.

Groaning, you are soon roused from your slumber by a light pressure on your wrist, and your eyes flutter open. You gasp, seeing the being before you and trying to pull away. "

"W-who are you! Stay awa-" a finger is pressed softly to your lips, the figures face coming into view as the lean forward. Forest green eyes and a set of familiar pearly whites greet you.

"Shh! No need to fear, only Puck is here." He coos, kissing your wrist once more, pressing the soft flesh to his lips. "Sorry to frighten you, little mortal. I would never mean to upset you, but I couldn't very waltz in through the entrance to your humble abode, especially given your mother's feelings about my kind." He lays his lithe body across yours, head on your chest as he looks at you with glee.

"Why are you here, Puck? It's late, I must rest." You say, though you don't resist the fae boys touching. "Sleep is important for humans."

He scoffs. "I know, but I have something more important than your human need for sleep. My king, Oberon, leader of the seelie court wishes to meet you." He pulls you up by your shoulders, a hand fixing your nightgown which begins to slip from your shoulder.

"T-the king?" You're just a human woman, a peasant. You've never even met a human noble, much less a faery king. "Why? Puck, I'm not, I can't! Now? I'm not dressed properly, I'm a human, I-"

Once again, a finger is placed against your lips. Invading your space as per usual, Pucks forehead is pressed against your forehead, nose to nose. "Shush, little mortal. Please, the king loves me. I am his jester-servant, his beloved Puck! We've shared many a-" he chuckles. "Amourous night together. He knows if your good enough for me, then your good enough to meet him. Don't discredit yourself, you are so much more than some mortal maid I take in the woods for a night of passion." He makes her sit up, and tries to slip her out of the bed. "He'll love you, my sweet. It's only proper I introduce my new beloved friend to my closest companion, ruler, and my king." You allow him to pull you out of your bed, and into his lanky form.

"Mmph, Puck. I can walk." You groan, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He tsks with his tongue, and shakes his head.

"No, no, no. Don't whine, don't go away. Be good. It's a long stroll all the way to the spring we're going to, just relax." He cackles. "You humans are so indecisive. Just a moment ago you were whining, 'Puck, no. It's too late, I'm a human, I need my sleep.', now you won't let me carry your frail, tired self to see the king. Make up your mind."

You roll your eyes, but suppose he has a point, and allow yourself to melt into his warm embrace, shoulders flush against his pecs.

As he slips back through the window and dances through the glen, weaving through trees and brush like a gust of cool night air, he soon arrives upon a clearing. Smooth rock reflect moonlight, as the water resting atop them comes from the babbling freshwater spring that rests at the edge of the rocks. A figure, imposing and much more muscular than Puck's is sat on one of the rocks, admiring the water.

Puck gently sets you down with nimble hands, kissing your ear lightly. This causes you to squeak and push him off.

"Stop it, Puck! I-im about to meet a king and your acting like we're lovers! Like your an enamored schoolboy!" You exclaim, and his hands only wrap around your waist from behind, playing with the cloth there.

"And here I thought we were lovers..." He feigns a sad face and a pout, before jolting forward and taking you with him by the waist. "My king!" He yells.

The imposing figure looks over, causing you to freeze, mind not really in synch with body as Puck drags you forward. The king is truly a thing of beauty, rugged and piercing as if he were carved, not from stone, but from the wood that made up the forest which he called his domain. He wears a fur pelt around his waist, covering his only upper thigh and not leaving much to the imagination. His is decidedly hairy, and though beautiful is as rugged as a human man of the woods is expected to be. He has dark curls of hair not unsimilar to Puck's, but not as long. His eyes are a deep brown.

"Ah, Puck, my fair servant friend. I was almost afraid you had planned to trick me, having not shown yet." The king muses, legs spread casually and a hand resting against his chin.

Puck gasps, hand to his chest as if hurt. "Never, my liege. Well, at least not to you." Puck coos, sitting on the rock and curling up to the man's calve. The king runs his hands through the curls of the fae man, and you are taken aback by the sensuality of their interaction.

The king looks up. "And you, little mortal, must be my Pucks new favorite thing, hmm?" He asks, head tilted. You nod nervously as the man waves you closer. You bow, and he grins. "Good, good. I assume she knows who I am then? I am King Oberon, of this enchanted woods and over all of the seelie court. Though, my servant here told me you knew little to nothing of our people when asked you about us, so I doubt you'd know what the seelie court is."

You shake your head. "No, sir. All I know-" you glance at Puck, who is practically purring at his kings touch. "All I know is what Puck has told me. That you are powerful, and to be respected."

Oberon grins at this. "That is all you need know. Come here, allow a king to gaze upon you." His hands begin to wander, cupping your face. His large fingers prod your plump lips, your cheeks, and tilts your chin downwards to look at him from where he is sat. Then, the hand is on your shoulder, playing with the straps of your upper garment, then at your chest. This sudden touch in such an intimate place causes you to jolt back. Oberon raises a brow.

"I'm sorry, sir. That is, that is just a very intimate place for humans. It's for sensual matters, when between two adults." You try to explain. Puck sighs, leaning his head on Oberons knee while the king chuckles.

"I am aware. It is intimate and sensual for fae too. That is why you were being touched there." He says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Now, you are only more confused.

"Well, intimacy of those matters between humans happens between a-a married couple, and even then, it should not be openly discussed. A woman like myself couldn't, shouldn't ever bee with a stranger like that, not even a suitor before marriage!"

"I have heard humans are... less indulgent in the passions of life than fae. All those awful, boring rules. And yet you kill your leaders and revolt because your miserable? Perhaps. Eing unable to express those urges is why." He laughs, and Puck joins in. He sense your confusion and continues. "Fae do not believing in brief enjoyment and indulgence. We live life to the fullest. Our liquor is stronger yet we drink more, our food is richer, yet we all eat like kings. And most of all, we indulge in the passions of the flesh with each other more than your little mind could take. I think if you had the opportunity, you'd see it was the best way to live." He muses.

To your suprise, he suddenly moves Puck up from his calve to his lap, holding the thin man by the waist as Puck grins wickedly. "You see, me and my servant here are close, emotionally and physically. We have enjoyed many a night of passion, without the watchful eye of my queen, of course." There is some bitterness in Oberon's tone at the mention of his queen.

"You... you indulge in passion with those, of the same gender as you, o-often?" You ask. It is not wrong, you are just so suprised and curious. You are not even supposed to think about a man pleasing a woman, let alone a man and another man. It is such a foreign idea.

"Mhmm. Being a king is hard for his majesty, and Puck... I, am happy to help him with his desires. My king cares for me, and I care for him." Puck says, before gasping and cutting off. You blush, seeing Oberons hand has slipped below Pucks leafy loincloth, hand stroking Puck manhood. He focuses only on the tip for now.

"I am suprised seeing as you are so shocked by how touchy and sensual fae are, seeing as you bedded my dear servant." Oberon says, and you immediately shake your head.

"No! I've never, me and Puck did nothing together. We drank a little, but he took me home." You exclaim, and look st Ouck for answers. He's too busy letting out soft whimpers and moans as Oberon moves his hand the full length of Pucks cock, paying attention to his bulbous tip.

"Is this true, Puck? I find it hard to believe, my servant can't keep his hands to himself. I suppose this makes you seem even more special to me, that my Puck would wish to see you again so desperately, and rave about you to me even if he had not bedded you yet. That begs the question though..." He leans in to Puck's ear. "Why did you lie to your king?"

Puck groans, brows furrowing. "M' sorry, your majesty! I knew you were so busy, and if I told you I had found a mortal capable of giving such incredible pleasure, you'd be more likely to come and see what a treasure I had found." He stammers. The king shakes his head, slowing his movements on Puck's cock.

"You know better than to lie to a king with a temper, Puck."

Puck cries out, bucking his hips and trying to chase that friction against his kings rough hands. "N-no sir! Trust me, I know if she'd just indulge, the mortal would be wonderful! She... she could be our mortal, not just mine! Please sir, I'll be good, she'll be good, don't stop." He begs.

Oberon sighs, still frowning in Pucks direction but intrigued nonetheless. "Alright, mortal girl. I yell you, if you would only let go, indulge just a bit in the pleasures of the fae, you would live a better life overall. And, should you please a king of the woods, perhaps your... what is it your mother does? Herbs? Perhaps they would see a better yield. An enchantment perhaps?" He offers.

You gulp, body hot with both arousal at the sight before you and anxiety. "I couldn't. What would the people in town think, I-I would be outcast!"

"Who would know? Even if someone were to find out, no one would believe a quiet gardeners daughter slept with a wicked spirit." The king teases, tongue poking out from between his lips slightly. He pulls you to him, and you offer no resistance. "For an untouched maiden, I assure you there is no one better to introduce you to a world of pleasure than the king, and his most loyal servant."

As he says this, the moaning Puck latches his lips onto your neck, continuing to moan as he sucks the soft flesh. You gasp.

"Oh, oh, gods." You squeak, the sensitive skin of your nape never having been touched, much less kissed in such a way.

"No gods, here, mortal. No angels or demons, only fae. Only the spirits of nature." He leans into your ear, kissing the shell. "Only your king."

Soon, a rough hand gets your skirt pooled around your knees, kneading the fat of your thigh and preparing to spread your legs and allow the fae king and his srmervant a view of the untouched treasure that lies there. You shiver as the cold air brushes across your stomach, you've never felt so exposed.

"See, highness? I told you, she's the perfect, pretty little mortal. Tease her, please? For me? I want to see her face as she experiences pleasure for the first time." Puck begs.

Oberon raises a brow and the request. "Such demands from a liar who has already been granted mercy, and is still being pleasure bu the hands of a king." He pulls his hand from Ouck's cock, causing tears to well in the edged faes eyes, having been denied his release.

"Majesty-"

"Enough. I will allow you to tease and prep the maiden, so she may except you king. Before you say anything, be grateful I don't only allow you to watch, or send you home." Puck whines, but grins a little inside. He knows the king enjoys his presence to much to remove him from this sensual scene.

Oberons large hands keep your shoulders flat against the warm stones of the spring, while Puck, still hard beneath his tented loincloth, crawls unceremoniously up between your thighs.

"What are you doing, Puck?" You whisper out softly, looking into his dazzling green eyes. He smiles warmly, pressing his cheek to one of your thighs.

"I assure you, maiden, my wicked tongue is not only good for japes and jabs." He coos. You are still confused at what he could mean, until the two thin fingers parting your folds are replaced with a hot, wet muscle. Puck licks a stripe teasingly up your center, savoring the flavour but eyes never leaving your face.

Oberon smiles down as he watches your face contort and wrinkle at the new sensation.

"Puck, y-your majesty, what is- oh, what is he doing?" You ask, trying to form a coherent sentence at the odd feeling of pressure and friction against both your clit and your entrance as Puck explores your folds.

"It's called cunnilingus, maiden. Fae have many ways to pleasure each other, but many enjoys the feel of one's mouth on their most intimate areas." He chuckles as he watches Puck tasting you curiously. "Sometimes, I find filling his mouth is the only way to quiet him." Puck giggles, and the vibrations make your legs quake.

Soon, the muscle invades your entrance, as Puck is now groaning almost as much as you. It's a gentle stretch, but both Ouck and Oberon know it will be necessary for what the king is to do later. Your aroused and needy clit is not forgotten by the fae pleasuring you, as a free hand comes to tweak it gently. The feeling is overwhelming, and soon, that knot inside you snaps, and you feel a high you've never known. It feels as though currents, waves run through your body as your maidenhood spasms around Pucks tongue.

He removes it, but continues to lap at your spent clit, tasting the juices of your climax. Oberon smiles.

"Was he good, maiden? Did you first touch by a man satisfy?" He asks. You can only weakly nod. "Ah, answer, maiden. Your being addressed by a royal."

"It was... it was very good, m-majesty." You gasp out. You look away at the sheer lewdness of the sight and Oberon crashes his lips to Pucks so that he may taste you on his servants lips.

"She was a divine nectar, my liege." Puck groans, pulling away from the kiss and now trading spots with his king. Now Puck lays by your shoulders, playing with your locks and kissing your neck and jawline while Oberon moves into place.

His chisled body places itself atop you, his sheer size dwarfing you and removing the moonlight from your body, casting a large shadow. You gulp.

"I... I've never done-" he chuckles, cutting you off.

"I'm aware, mortal. All that talk of purity led me to that conclusion. But, you won't be that innocent for long. I will be gentle, but it will hurt at first when you accept me into your sweet cunt. It's all part of the process."

You tense a little at the feeling of something hard, much more rigid than Pucks limp tongue, prodding at your entrance and folds.

"M' scared." You admit. This seems to soften the sensual yet cold king, and he sighs. Even Puck gives him a sad, wide eyes look. He leans down.

"Don't worry, mortal. I will be as gentle as any man has been with a woman. My Puck was never one to be nervous, but I have had lovers in the past who were. I will take care of you." He says.

Puck holds your hand and nuzzles his cheek to yours to provide a semblance of comfort. "It's true. The king is a fair and gentle lover when he wants to be. Don't worry, my friend." He assures.

Oberon strokes your thighs to relax soon, and soon the tip enters your weeping slit. You whine, the intrusion burns a little, especially as he adds a few inches every so often. But, he is slow, and talks you through it.

"Shh, it's alright. Your taking me so well, especially since I am endowed with more than some. Such a good mortal girl, it will feel good once you've stretched to accommodate a fae's cock." He coos.

As he begins to gently thrust, the slightly pain gives way to a burning pleasure. You whimper, his thrusts rocking your ads back against the stone of the spring. His large, curved tip is hitting the right spots, cervix getting pounded by the large man of the forest.

"O-oh, shit! Oberon, please- please, m-more! I need all, all of you in me!" You cry, and he chuckles.

"That's your womb speaking. This is your first time, you couldn't possibly accommodate all of me. But I will give you what I think, ugh, what I think you can take." He thursts become rhythmic, rolling in and out of your stretched tunnel, as Puck holds you steady and plays gently with your chest.

Oberon humps against you a few more times, moaning at Pucks encouragement. "She is so close, sire. I can tell, she's all tense and red, come on! Give it to her, let her take you. Please." It's clear Puck is still needy from not having gotten his release earlier. Still, he seems satisfied watching the king fuck his newest treasure.

"Mortal, mortal. You squeeze like a vice, such a warm, needy cunt. You needed this, to feel such pleasure, didn't you? Needed a cock to fill this cunt?" He moans. "It was fate, wasn't it, Puck? Finding this maiden, all alone. It was fate for you to be brought to us." Puck nods as his master continues.

"Your majesty, I'm gonna- its happening again." You cry, and his pace doesn't slow.

"I know, I know. I'm, fuck-" one last thrust sends the king over the edge. He groans, feeling your tunnel convulse around him as his thick white cum fills you. Puck plants quick, overwhelming kisses across your face as you climax, secretly wondering what you would look like if you bore the king's child.

Soon, Oberon pulls out, and you lay there, trembling and on the verge of sleep. Puck leans down and plants a final kiss upon your lips. He smiles.

"Sleep, little mortal. It's okay, you are safe with me and my king. I'll return you to your bed, pretty one." He strokes your hair softly, until your tired eyes close and stay closes. He sighs, and looks at the king. It's clear he could go for a fee more rounds.

"Majesty, our poor mortal needed this so badly, her body was on fire for it. We can't... we can't well let her go back to her little cottage, all alone in the dangerous wood with no one to please her. She's trusting, and she broke all the rules of interacting with fae so quickly, what if a worse one came along and-"

"Puck!" Oberon exclaims, making the imp jolt and go silent. Oberon sighs. "I am not a fool. I know how much this unique mortal has captivated the two of us. You need not convince me to take her back to my palace. As fair as Titania will be concerned, she is a plaything for you, correct? I will not have her cursing this treasure." Oberons muscular arms cradle your slumbering form.

"Majesty, I know of your endurance. Perhaps when we get back to the palace, while our maiden rests, I may please you." Puck asks, eyes wide and innocent.

Oberon scoffs. "All this acting because I didn't allow you to finish, Puck?" Oberon says, seeing through Pucks facade of goodwill and selflessness. Puck pouts.

"Isn't it tempting, though?"

"Perhaps."

[byhuenii]

Mr & Mrs Barnes

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis Two elite assassins. One explosive marriage. They were both assigned to kill each other—then accidentally fell in love. Now, years later, the truth comes out, bullets fly, and their home life turns into a war zone.

Word Count 10.9k

Themes + Warnings Enemies to lovers (to enemies.. to lovers, AGAIN) , Domesticity & Violence , Secrets & Betrayal , Intense violence , Suggestive content , Strong language , Sexual Tenison , 'I Love Yous' through violence , Mature themes , Toxic Relationship Dynamics (initially) , Blood , Weapons & Explosives , Hand to Hand combat

— Mr & Mrs Barnes "‘Til death do us part’ wasn’t supposed to be a mission objective.

M. List | Request (open)

The house on Hemlock Street was pristine.

Too pristine.

The grass never dared to grow out of line. The paint on the shutters hadn’t chipped once in five years. The mailbox was stainless steel, polished daily by some unseen force. It was a neighborhood built for appearances. Safe. Sterile.

The neighborhood was suspiciously perfect. White picket fences, pastel-colored mailboxes, and neighbors who waved like they practiced it in the mirror. Someone’s kid was learning to ride a bike. Someone else was grilling at 10 a.m.

The kind of place where nothing bad ever happened.

Which made it perfect for hiding two of the deadliest people on earth.

The house was cozy, two stories, too many windows. The grass was always freshly cut. The cat always had full bowls. There was always coffee. It was, on the surface, the picture of domestic bliss.

Underneath, it was landmines in every room.

Inside, the kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and deception.

You stood barefoot on the cold tile, staring out the window while pretending to stir your mug. The spoon clinked too softly to distract from the war in your chest.

Behind you, the TV murmured the morning news. A weatherman warned about showers rolling in later this afternoon. You already knew. You had checked the Doppler at 4 a.m. when your nerves wouldn’t let you sleep.

The creak of a chair. A soft thud. A book being closed.

“Coffee smells good today,” Bucky said, voice smooth, casual, like his hands weren’t trained to kill in forty-seven different ways.

You didn’t turn around.

“Used the good beans,” you said instead. “Don’t get used to it.”

You could feel his smile.

He strolled into the kitchen in gray sweatpants and a black shirt, sleeves pushed to the elbows. His metal arm was bare, glinting in the morning sun. His hair was messy from sleep—or maybe a restless night. Either way, he looked effortlessly beautiful.

Which made this harder.

He came up behind you. Pressed a kiss to your cheek. His lips lingered a beat too long, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You didn’t react. You couldn’t. If you did, you’d crack.

He passed you his empty mug.

You filled it, handed it back. His fingers brushed yours.

Too warm.

Too familiar.

You both sat at the breakfast table like any married couple would. Two people who loved each other once. Maybe still did. Maybe never stopped.

Alpine, your white cat, sat on the windowsill watching you both with judgmental, ancient eyes. She blinked slowly. As if she knew.

And maybe she did.

The white cat purred with unbothered approval, like she ran the house. You weren’t convinced she didn’t.

“You make this with the good beans or the emergency ones?” Bucky asked without looking up.

You didn’t smile, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you’re going to annoy me today.”

He huffed a soft laugh, dog-eared the page, and sat up. “Well now I have to annoy you. That’s the law.”

He stood, crossed the kitchen like he’d been doing it for years (because he had), and kissed your cheek in passing. It was warm. Familiar. Safe.

It made your chest ache.

Because routine was how people like you got killed.

You poured a second cup of coffee and handed it to him. His hand brushed yours—calloused, warm, steady.

“You’ve got that look,” he said, leaning against the counter.

“What look?”

“The one that usually ends in someone needing a lawyer.”

You gave him nothing but a long, unreadable blink. He grinned.

“Are you flirting with me?” you asked.

“I’m married,” he said, mock-scandalized. “Happily.”

You let yourself smile then. Just for a second. He still looked at you like you hung the damn stars.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

SIX YEARS AGO

Atlantic City.

Thunder rolled overhead, but the boardwalk glittered.

The first time you saw him, he was leaning against a hot dog cart, soaking wet, grinning like he had no business being that gorgeous. His shirt clung to his chest. A toothpick hung between his lips.

He was watching you. He’d been watching you from across the ring toss game.

Not subtly. Not politely.

You sauntered past him, boots clicking, umbrella untouched.

Sharp jaw. Leather jacket. Glove on one hand. Blue eyes like a storm at sea.

You didn’t know his name yet, but you knew the way he looked at you.

Like a dare.

He followed.

At the shooting game, he stepped beside you just as you raised your plastic rifle. A row of tin ducks spun in circles.

“You any good?” he asked.

“The best,” you said.

“I’m a better shot than you,” you said, cocking the air rifle one-handed.

He smirked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He beat you.

Not by much—but enough to win the oversized teddy bear.

It was hideous. Blue and lopsided. One of its eyes was crooked.

He held it out to you like it was a bouquet of flowers.

You took it. Smiling for real that time.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“James,” he said. “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Try not to fall in love with me,” you warned.

“No promises, doll.”

PRESENT DAY

You sat across from him at the breakfast table, Alpine curled on the third chair like a smug little supervisor.

“You got any showings today?” he asked.

“Two. Midtown and Brooklyn Heights.”

“Sounds romantic.”

You smiled thinly. “They’ll hate each other within a year.”

He chuckled. “You’re such an optimist, sweetheart.”

“What about you?” you asked, voice smooth. “Got a client?”

“Mm. Just checking security systems today. Corporate stuff.”

More lies.

He didn’t even blink when he said it.

Neither did you.

He sipped his coffee. “Take the umbrella. Looks like rain.”

You nodded. “What about you? Anything exciting?”

“Just a few follow-ups. Same old.”

Another lie.

Another smile.

You wondered if he noticed the way your hand tightened around the mug. You wondered if he noticed you’d noticed that he hadn’t worn his wedding ring the past two nights.

You wondered how long it had been fake.

The screen of your second phone buzzed in your pocket.

You excused yourself to the upstairs bathroom. Locked the door. Sat on the edge of the tub.

The encrypted message loaded.

Your fingers trembled.

TARGET: BARNES, JAMES BUCHANAN.

STATUS: ACTIVE ELIMINATION.

TIMESTAMP: 48 HOURS.

METHOD: QUIET. PERSONAL.

Your mouth went dry.

You stared.

You blinked.

You read it again.

You’d killed dozens. You’d buried names and burned identities. But you’d never been asked to kill him.

Your husband.

Your partner.

The man who knew every freckle on your skin, who held you when you had nightmares, who made you pancakes shaped like hearts when you were mad at him.

Your mission.

Your… what? Your heart? Your lie?

You stared into the mirror and didn’t recognize the look in your own eyes.

And now you had to kill him.

Or die first.

You stepped back downstairs. He was washing dishes. Humming something. The cat brushed against his leg.

His phone—his second phone—was gone from the counter now.

You looked at him.

He looked back.

He smiled.

You smiled, too.

“Love you,” he said.

You nodded.

“Love you more.”

The morning light was golden.

The cat purred.

The house was quiet.

You went to change. To arm yourself beneath your clothes. He did the same.

You were both pretending not to know the other was planning to kill you in 48 hours.

Two agents. Two weapons. One shared bed.

The mission clock had already started ticking.

Marriage was complicated like that.

7:03 P.M. — THE DINNER TABLE

You used to love Thursday nights.

Slow jazz playing softly. Roast in the oven. The scent of rosemary drifting between you. Bucky reaching for your hand across the table with his thumb brushing your ring, the one he slipped on your finger under Italian moonlight.

But tonight?

The roast is dry. The knife is missing from the drawer. And he hasn’t looked you in the eye once since sitting down.

The tension between you crackles like an electric wire sparking in water.

“Quiet day?” he asks, voice too smooth.

You nod. “You?”

He hesitates. “Nothing worth remembering.”

Lie.

You force a smile. “Shame. Seems like we’re both having a lot of those lately.”

His jaw flexes. The fork twirls in his fingers, but he’s not eating.

Neither are you.

Your hand inches under the table. To the handle of your chair. To the spot where you’ve taped a hidden blade.

You see it in his eyes, that flicker of guilt he’s too late to hide.

You both know.

You’re each other’s next mark.

The fork clinks against his plate. The silence screams.

The last moment of normality dies in that breath.

The candle flickers.

You drop your fork.

He stands.

In unison—

You both move.

OPERATION: NEUTRALIZE

The air explodes with movement.

The dinner chair crashes behind you as you sprint down the hallway, breathing fast. Your hand slides under the table where you’d hidden a pistol. You flip the kitchen switch—lights off. Shadows become allies.

Bucky ducks behind the couch, pulls a throwing knife from the flower vase. His eyes scan the corners. He’s muttering under his breath:

“Goddamn it, why her…”

You lunge left, knock the chair down behind you, and roll into the hallway. He moves right, flipping the table, plates shattering. A bullet sings past your shoulder.

You don’t think. You react.

You vault over the back of the couch, kick the lamp out of your path, and grab the pistol from the emergency stash under the floorboard.

He’s on your six.

You fire backward—glass explodes, the vase you hated finally shatters.

He ducks behind the kitchen island. “YOU’RE SHOOTING AT ME?!”

“You shot FIRST!”

“That was the WALL!”

“I LIVE HERE TOO, BUCKY!”

FOUR WEEKS EARLIER

The phone call came in during your anniversary dinner.

You were wearing that black dress—the one he said made his brain melt. He had a sparkler candle jammed into your favorite cheesecake.

And then your handler called. Code Black.

You stepped into the hallway.

“Target identified: Codename Winter. Double-agent. Eliminate upon confirmation.”

You’d frozen. You’d laughed. “He’s not a double-agent. He’s my husband.”

Silence.

Then:

“Which is why they sent you.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

And two days later, you intercepted a message on his burner.

"Subject: Widow. Classified intel breach. Authority cleared to terminate."

He got the same order.

7:12 P.M. — PRESENT

You tear down the hallway. A bullet rips past your temple.

Bucky shouts, “You DON’T have to run!”

“You DON’T get to gaslight me while SHOOTING AT ME!”

You crash through the back door, sprint to the car, dive into the driver’s seat. Tires screech. The windshield cracks—

Gunshot.

The bullet tears through the glass an inch from your head.

You slam the brakes.

Outside, Bucky stands in the middle of the road. Gun lowered.

Horrified.

“DOLL!” he shouts. “Baby, my love—I didn’t mean to hit you—!”

You climb out of the sunroof, furious, face wild. “YOU ASSHOLE!”

He flinches. “Please—just LISTEN—!”

You stalk toward him. “You SHOT at my HEAD!”

“I MISSED!”

“ON PURPOSE?!”

His mouth opens. Closes.

You SCREAM.

Then—

You get in the car.

You floor the gas.

You run him over.

The car jerks. Bucky’s body rolls up and over the hood, landing hard on the roof.

Not fatally—but enough to knock him up and over the hood. He groans, flailing, and lands on the roof of the moving car, gripping the sides like a rodeo stuntman.

“DOLL WAIT—!” he groans, fists pounding the metal.

You draw your pistol, aim straight at the roof.

“Call me 'doll' one more time and I SWEAR—!”

BLAM.

BLAM.

You shoot twice through the roof.

He howls, clutching the roof rails. “I’M TRYING TO APOLOGIZE!”

“You TRIED TO KILL ME.”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO! IT WASN’T ON PURPOSE!”

BLAM. He punches the side window, shattering it, glass flying into the wind.

You’re yelling. Swerving. Cursing.

He’s crawling halfway into the passenger seat, panting.

“I didn’t know it was YOU,” he shouts through the cracked glass. “It’s not my fault! This is—!”

You veer hard.

He grabs the steering wheel.

The car jerks violently.

“Get OFF, you metal-armed gaslighting son of a—!”

“Let me explain,” he says. “Please—”

You veer the car off the road.

“What are you doing—?”

You yank the door open, throw yourself out onto the gravel shoulder. Your elbow hits hard. You roll. Dust in your mouth.

Behind you—

The car flies off the cliff.

The car—now missing a driver—goes airborne.

Bucky’s still in it.

It launches off the cliff’s edge in slow motion.

Your heart stutters.

The vehicle flips mid-air. Sparks ignite.

It explodes.

Glass. Metal. A blue fireball.

Bucky.

Gone.

You lie on your back, breathing hard.

Alone.

—

It’s raining. Hard.

Rain falls in sheets. Flashlights sweep through your living room. A private cleanup team in black balaclavas tears apart the place—ripping files, smashing hard drives, vacuuming the house like it’s infected.

Glass crunches under your boots. Ripped furniture. Dismantled picture frames.

You make it to the bedroom.

You lean against the wall in silence, blank. Hollow.

The wedding photo on the mantle cracks under a boot. You look away.

One man is in the bedroom now. He opens drawers, rips out bedsheets, slams down a pillow. The closet’s ransacked.

One of them opens the closet. Another grabs a bag.

The last one reaches for the teddy bear.

The one he won you.

That stupid, fluffy bear with a bowtie and mismatched eyes. From a county fair. From a time before kill orders and betrayal.

“Put it down,” you say. Cold.

The agent looks at you.

“I SAID—put it down.”

“I’ll handle this room.”

The men leave. Wordlessly.

You collapse on the ruined bed, bear in your arms.

Bullet holes in the comforter. Ash in your hair.

You hold the bear tight, like it’s a limb of the past you can’t cut off.

Your eyes drift to the old TV you kept in the bedroom. And then the screen flickers to life.

A static crackle. Then—

A wedding video.

Bucky spinning you under fairy lights. Your laughter. His hand on your waist. His smile—so rare, so soft.

You stare at the screen.

Breath shaking. Jaw clenched.

You can’t look away.

You don’t know if you want to kill him or run to him.

But you do know one thing:

This isn’t over.

—

The industrial-grade door hissed open. Bucky staggered in, soaked from the rain, hair plastered to his forehead, dried blood staining his temple. His metal arm twitched with residual static.

Steve stepped forward instinctively. “Jesus, Buck…”

“I’m fine,” Bucky muttered, but the bruise on his jaw begged to differ. Bucky stumbled inside, his shirt torn and blood soaking through the sleeve of his Henley. His left eye was swollen. His knuckles scraped raw.

Sam was seated at the table, halfway through polishing a pistol. “You look like you got hit by a freight train.”

“Close. A Cadillac.”

He tossed a burnt USB onto the table. His voice was flat, brittle. “She’s the mission. I was hers.”

Steve’s face paled. “You mean—Y/N?”

Bucky nodded once.

Bucky nodded once. “They sent us to kill each other. We walked into it blind.”

Sam blinked. “Your wife?”

“You’re saying they—both your agencies—set you up?”

“They set us against each other. You know what that means?”

Sam straightened, suddenly serious. “Means they want one of you dead. No survivors. No witnesses.”

Bucky sat heavily, the weight of years behind his eyes. “I couldn’t shoot her. Even when she had me in her sights. I couldn’t fucking do it.”

Steve exchanged a quiet look with Sam. Then pulled up a chair. “We’ll figure this out.”

—

The place was already in its final moments. Shredded files, purged drives, shredded identities.

You moved through the burning paper like a ghost, face unreadable.

Natasha stood in the middle of your office, watching you wipe the last computer.

“You look like shit,” she said.

You didn’t even blink. “Thanks.”

Natasha leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you torch file after file. “He showed up here this morning.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t shoot.”

“I know.”

“He was stalling. He was trying to talk.”

You finally looked at her, and your voice cracked. “He was here to kill me.”

Natasha stepped forward. “No. He was here because he didn’t want to.”

You paused. Just for a second. Then shook your head.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You hesitated,” she said softly. “When you had the shot, back on the ridge. You hesitated.”

“I aimed for the engine, not his head,” you muttered.

Natasha didn’t smile. “You think the people who gave that order are gonna care?”

Silence.

Then: “Zip-lines are rigged?”

You nodded. “We move in 60.”

You turned away, fighting the tremble in your chest.

“You hesitated,” Nat added softly. “You never hesitate.”

—

“Sir, I’m sorry, you can’t just walk in here—”

Bucky marched down the hallway, ignoring the terrified assistant behind him, hoodie pulled low, his voice steady.

“Ma’am, he just walked in—!”

“I’m not here to fight,” he said to the surveillance camera. “Just talk.”

You watched from the shadows, lips pressed into a thin line, already moving toward the escape gear.

“I don’t want a war,” Bucky called into the hallway. “I just want you.”

You whispered into the mic. “He’s here.”

“Should we terminate?” someone asked.

“No,” you said. “We go silent.”

Bucky’s voice filled the hallway. “Y/N—doll—I know you’re watching.”

You slipped on the harness.

“Doll, listen—”

You turned to the window, hooked your harness, looked back one last time.

“Fuck, doll!!”

You gave him a tight smirk and leapt.

“ASSHOLE!” your voice echoed through the wind as you vanished across the sky.

Bucky bolted to the window too late.

Sam’s voice crackled in his earpiece: “Well, that went well.”

—

He ripped apart the house with surgical precision. Not in rage—but desperation.

“She left something behind,” he muttered.

Sam held up a baby photo album. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Click. The drawer popped open.

Inside: a drive. Disguised beneath fake birth certificates and a keychain with your initials.

“You’re telling me she had a hidden drive under a drawer labeled ‘baby photos’?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

Bucky dropped it onto the table. “She knew I’d find it.”

“Can you crack it?” Bucky asked.

Sam smirked. “Does Alpine shed on every black sweater you own?”

Steve’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “There’s encrypted files, agency records, asset profiles. This isn’t just your marriage.”

Sam leaned closer. “This is every asset she’s protected… or been ordered to eliminate.”

Bucky’s face hardened. “She’s not just a weapon. They turned her into one.”

“She still hesitated,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky glanced at him.

“She didn’t want to kill you,” Steve added.

Bucky said nothing, jaw clenched, eyes far away.

He paused on one image—Bucky in a café. You watching from a rooftop. A sniper rifle in your hands… but your finger not on the trigger.

The unfinished skyscraper creaked under the weight of its own silence.

You sat in the food van with Natasha and your ops team. Cameras everywhere. Blueprints open on the dash.

“There,” one of your ops whispered. “He's infiltrating. Vest, clipboard. Real subtle.”

Nat crossed her arms. “Does he think we’re stupid?”

You picked up the mic. “James Buchanan Barnes. Get out of the elevator.”

His voice came in low. “Nice to hear my full name again, sweetheart.”

You chewed on your bottom lip “Bucky. Get out.”

His voice crackled back, smug. “You always did like telling me what to do.”

“I will drop it.”

“I know.”

“It’s unstable.”

“So am I.”

Nat’s head dropped. “God. He’s flirting again.”

“I will kill you,” you warned.

“Then why are your hands shaking?”

“You’ve got thirty seconds before I drop it.”

“Come on, sweetheart—”

“It’s leaking coolant. Dual-cable’s fried. If it doesn’t collapse, I will collapse it.”

“Still bossy.”

“You think I’m bluffing?” you hissed.

“You’re not bluffing,” he said softly. “That’s what scares me.”

Silence.

You didn’t answer.

He looked up at the camera, exhaustion and defiance swimming in his expression.

“I love you. Still. Even now.”

Then, he sighed.

“Alright. I’m done. I give up. If you really want me gone… do it.”

You hesitated.

He looked up at the camera. “I love you. I still fucking love you.”

You choked back the ache.

“Goodbye, honey,” you whispered.

Then someone hit the button.

The elevator plummeted.

You screamed.

“WHAT THE FUCK—WHO PRESSED THAT?!”

“You said goodbye—”

“NOT LIKE THAT, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS—!”

You tore out of the van. Sprinting. Boots slamming concrete. Air thick in your lungs.

Your heart punched against your ribs. You couldn’t breathe.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please don’t be dead…”

Twisted steel. Smoke. Shattered concrete.

You hit your knees.

“HE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE IN THERE!”

Natasha’s hand found your back. You shoved it off.

“What the hell did you do?!”

“You said goodbye!”

“YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO PRESS IT—”

Then the camera feed flickered. Another shaft. Another elevator. A man pulling off a helmet, lips twitching in a smirk.

Another elevator shaft.

Movement.

The screen flickered—Bucky, whole, peeling off a hard hat.

“Still got it,” he muttered.

Back in the van, Natasha smiled. “Well… someone’s still stupid in love.”

—

It was stupid to come here.

You told yourself that with every step along the rain-slicked cobblestone street. The mist wasn’t gentle—it was thick, oppressive, clinging to your skin like guilt. The umbrella you carried dangled uselessly by your side. You were soaked to the bone, yet you hardly noticed. Your pulse was too loud.

Your feet led you here before your head caught up.

La Trattoria di Marco.

The little restaurant tucked between a flower shop and a used bookstore. Italian bistro, low lighting, red-checkered tablecloths. Too quaint for a world of lies. But this was the place. The place where Bucky proposed, where your marriage began with candlelight and real promises.

You sat at the same table.

Corner booth. Under the stained-glass window of a faceless saint.

Your fingers twisted Alpine’s engraved name tag on your keychain. The metal bit into your skin. You welcomed it. Pain was easier than remembering.

You weren’t sure what you expected. A memory? A ghost? Closure? But as you stared down at the untouched breadbasket, something in your chest ached.

You told yourself he was dead. You wanted him to be dead. But your heart—the traitor—refused to believe it.

That’s when the waiter approached.

“Wine, ma’am?”

The voice hit your ears like a blade. Low. Familiar.

You froze.

Slowly, you looked up.

Bucky.

Dressed in black, towel slung over his shoulder, hair slicked back. His blue eyes held mischief. Pain. Relief.

You were on your feet in a heartbeat.

“You son of a—”

He caught your wrist before your slap landed. “Easy, sweetheart. Let’s not make a scene.”

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“You asshole. I dropped an elevator on you.”

“Missed the real one by a floor and a half.” He smirked. “Better luck next time.”

“I oughta put a bullet in your damn skull.”

“You already tried that.”

Your hand trembled. You couldn’t hide it fast enough.

“I didn’t come to fight,” he said quietly.

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to see my wife.”

“I’m not your wife.”

He looked at you like that meant nothing. “Funny. You wore the ring until a week ago.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. “How would you—?”

“Camera. In the dresser lamp. Bedroom. You really should sweep better.”

You stared at him.

“You were spying on me?”

“Call it... checking in.”

“Checking in?! After you tried to kill me?”

“You tried to kill me first.”

“Bucky, I swear—”

“Dance with me.”

The words knocked the wind out of you.

You blinked. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

You laughed. “You don’t dance.”

His eyes crinkled. “Apparently I do a lot of things you don’t know about.”

The restaurant’s live trio started playing something slow. Old Sinatra, maybe. The violin hummed beneath your skin.

You hesitated.

But then your feet moved.

He took your hand—warm, calloused. The other slid to your waist. Your breath caught. The last time you danced was your fifth anniversary. He’d held you close that night, swayed to no music in your living room. He’d kissed your forehead and whispered that he couldn’t live without you.

You hadn’t realized how true that was until you pulled the trigger.

“This feels familiar,” he whispered.

“This feels fake.”

His jaw clenched.

You stared up at him. “Everything we built—it’s crumbling.”

“No.” His voice dropped. “Our marriage was real. Maybe the missions were lies. But us? You were my truth. You still are.”

“You felt just enough to track me?”

“I felt enough to hesitate. That’s the only reason you’re still breathing.”

You turned your face away. His hand tightened on your waist. He was warm. Too warm. You didn’t want to feel it.

“Why are you really here?” you whispered.

He leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear. “Because I still love you, and I’d rather die in your arms than kill you with my own hands.”

You inhaled sharply.

And then you slipped the bomb into the lining of his blazer.

Quick. Seamless. You’d practiced a hundred times. Not on him. But still—muscle memory didn’t falter.

He pulled back. Didn’t notice.

You smiled sadly. “Don’t follow me.”

“I always follow you.”

You stepped back.

The bomb beeped once.

His fingers reached into his blazer. Froze.

His face changed.

“Shit—” he hissed. “You—”

“I warned you.”

He yanked the device free. “CLEAR THE RESTAURANT!” he bellowed.

People screamed. Ducked under tables. He sprinted out the front door, jacket flaring.

You followed at a distance. From the shadows.

He hurled the bomb into a nearby mailbox.

BOOM.

Glass rained from the streetlamps. Car alarms wailed.

You ducked, heart thudding.

When you looked up—he was gone.

—

It started with a race

You were behind the wheel of your car, tires screeching, wind howling through the open window. The rain slicked the pavement as your eyes narrowed on the glowing headlights in your rearview mirror. Him.

Rubber screamed against asphalt as your car fishtailed around the corner, Alpine’s crate strapped in the back with the soft clink of her collar the only sound over your ragged breathing. In the rearview mirror—headlights. Close. Too close.

Bucky.

You gritted your teeth, shifted gears.

He wasn’t getting there first.

Not tonight.

The moment you saw your shared home glowing like a beacon at the end of the darkened road, you gripped the wheel tighter. He was catching up, engine snarling like a beast behind you.

You floored it.

And then—you rammed him.

You swerved left, slammed on the gas, and rammed into his car just as the house came into view.

CRASH.

Metal collided. His car spun, back tires jumping the curb, the front scraping into the hedges and dying right there. Bucky hit the brakes, smoke curling from the hood.

Inside the Camaro, he cursed.

“Shit! Doll!”

You peeled into the driveway, screeching to a halt.

He stormed out of the wreckage, slamming the door behind him.

You were already out and running, a blur of soaked clothes and fury. You sprinted to the front door, locking it behind you. All the windows. The basement hatch. The back exit. Locked. Secured.

“Baby, don’t do this,” he yelled. “We can talk—”

The deadbolt clicked.

Your black dress—once elegant—now felt like soaked velvet, heavy and constricting as you moved through the shadows of the house. You kicked off your heels the second you crossed the threshold. You needed grip. Traction. Stability.

Somehow, your body knew before your mind did. Knew he wouldn’t just run. Knew he’d follow you back here. To your home. Your battlefield.

The lock clicked behind you.

You dropped your coat. The hardwood floor groaned beneath your steps as you swept the living room with your pistol drawn.

And somewhere outside—

He wouldn’t find a way in.

Except he always did.

He tried the front door. Locked.

Tried the back patio. Locked.

Basement access? Locked.

“She locked me out of my own goddamn house,” he muttered, equal parts impressed and annoyed.

Bucky circled the house like a predator in the rain, tugging on door handles, eyes scanning for weakness. His boots sloshed in the mud as he made his way to the basement. Locked. Then—

Then he looked up.

Second-story window. Slight crack. Curtain fluttering like a tease.

Crack.

He climbed the side of the house, nimble as ever, gripping the drainpipe until he reached the upstairs window. With a grunt, he elbowed it open and slid inside like a shadow.

His feet hit the hardwood floor silently.

Then his hand opened a wall panel. Inside: one of his pistols, hidden since the first year of marriage.

You were already stalking the hall.

Barefoot. Silent. Glock in hand.

Every creak of the house spoke his name.

He crept down the hallway, opened the drawer in the hallway credenza, retrieving one of the secret handguns stashed behind an old photo of Alpine.

He stalked the hallway, every muscle coiled. Photo in hand—glass frame tilted just enough to catch a reflection.

He saw you.

On the staircase.

Gun drawn.

Too late.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The wall beside his head exploded in a spray of plaster.

"You still alive, baby?" you called, voice honeyed venom.

He didn’t answer—just slid his pistol from his thigh holster and crept forward.

He caught a glimpse of your reflection in the broken glass of the hallway mirror.

That damn black dress.

He swallowed hard.

This was going to hurt.

Bucky smirked. Faked a groan. Dropped the gun. tossing the photo frame down.

“Barely,” he drawled, raising his weapon and returning fire.

Then—bam! He rolled, scooped up the weapon, fired. Missed.

You fired back.

The wall exploded beside him.

You tumbled down the stairs, landing hard but nimble. He dove over the railing after you.

Then chaos erupted.

The house turned into a battlefield.

You were a blur—knocking over chairs, flipping the couch, sliding across the floor and shooting. Bucky ducked behind the dining room table as wood splintered around him.

A vase shattered.

"I liked this vase!" you shouted, shooting at him again.

“It was hideous!” he barked.

“I picked it out!”

“No shit! That explains a lot!”

A bullet skimmed the couch. He flipped the coffee table. You rolled behind the bookshelf, slamming a new clip into your pistol.

You tackled him.

You didn’t wait.

You charged him first.

Your shoulder hit his gut like a battering ram. He grunted, grabbed your waist, and you both slammed through the pantry door, wooden slats snapping around you.

You used the momentum—pushed off the shelves, wrapped your legs around his neck, flipped him to the ground.

He grunted as his back hit the tiles.

You went for his throat.

He blocked.

You punched him across the jaw.

He slammed your shoulder into the fridge.

You both groaned.

You were straddling him, his hands gripping your thighs as you tried to throttle him. His head snapped forward, hitting yours with a sickening crack. You rolled off him, stunned for a breath.

“Still fight like a ballerina,” he coughed.

You spit blood and smiled. “And you still fight like a brick wall.”

He caught you mid-leap, your legs wrapping around his waist. He spun, slammed into a bookshelf. It collapsed in a shower of novels and ceramic cats. Alpine hissed and darted under the bed upstairs.

You hit him across the jaw.

He headbutted you.

You elbowed him in the ribs.

He grunted, “You’re getting stronger.”

You growled. “You’re getting slower.”

He shoved you back, and you both drew your guns—again. Panting. Bloody. Bruised. Eyeing each other across the ruined living room.

Guns raised.

Still. Trembling.

Breaths hitched.

"After everything..." you whispered, voice trembling, "...are you really gonna shoot me?"

His hand didn’t shake. His heart did.

The fight bled into the kitchen.

He lunged again—this time fists only.

No guns. No knives. Just rage.

Your fist crashed into his ribs.

He kneed your thigh.

You slammed him into the kitchen island, the granite countertop denting slightly from the impact.

He grabbed the hanging rack and kicked off the wall, spinning mid-air and slamming into you with his full weight.

You skidded back—heels scraping. Your dress tore at the thigh.

You didn’t care.

“You love this dress,” you gasped, ducking a punch.

“Not when you’re wearing it to kill me.”

“Then you shouldn’t have let me pick the music.”

“What?”

CRASH.

You shoved him into the stereo. Sinatra died mid-note.

“Nice move,” he muttered, wiping blood from his nose. “Didn’t think you still had it in you.”

“Oh, honey,” you growled, cracking your neck, “you have no idea what I still have in me.”

You ducked behind the island, gun raised. Bucky was behind the fridge. His gun clicked empty. He tossed it aside, picked up a steak knife, and flung it at you.

Thud. Into the cabinet beside your head.

It missed. You ducked, pissed.

“You missed! You never miss!”

“I’ve had a long day!” he snapped.

You darted behind the pillar. He yanked open the oven, ripped the gas pipe loose, setting it on the counter.

You popped up and unloaded a round at the stove

You raised your gun.

You shot the pipe.

BOOM.

The gas ignited, the pressure throwing you into the far wall. You slid down with a pained grunt.

He came through the fire again—smoke curling around him like war paint.

His coat was gone. Shirt open. Hair wild. Breathing hard.

No more bullets.

Hand-to-hand.

“You wanna go, sweetheart?” he growled, rolling up his sleeves.

He beckoned.

“Come on, honey.”

His fingers flexed. His voice dipped low, sultry. Taunting.

“Bring it in.” He smirked. “Come to daddy.”

You didn’t hesitate, You grabbed a cast iron skillet and smacked it across his face.

He grunted, stumbled, recovered—grabbed your arm—twisted—flipped you.

You landed on your feet, swept his legs.

He dropped.

You wrapped the curtain cord around his neck, yanked hard, using it to pull him into your knee.

WHAM.

He flew back—into the glass display cabinet.

Glass shattered like snow around him.

You flipped your hair, smirking.

“Who’s your daddy now?” you hissed.

He spit blood. Laughed. “That was hot.”

He blinked. Dazed. “Still me, sweetheart.”

You ran for the gun near the sink. He moved faster. Kicked it across the room.

You both lunged—colliding.

He flipped you. You reversed. He pinned you. You straddled him, fists flying. He blocked, grabbed your wrists, flipped you beneath him. Fists. Elbows. Grunts. Growls. Pure chaos.

You were straddling him—again. But this time, it was breathless. Desperate.

Your fists connected with his chest. His stomach. His jaw.

He grabbed your waist, flipped you beneath him.

Now his hips pressed down. Your bodies flush.

Your breath caught.

He hesitated.

So did you.

Then you both grabbed for each other’s throats.

“I hate you,” you gasped.

“Liar.”

“I should kill you.”

“Then do it.”

It was messy.

Bloody.

Kinetic.

His tie was gone. Your shirt was half-ripped. His lip was bleeding. Your eyes were glassy.

He pinned you to the wall. You punched him in the ribs. He spun you, slammed you against the fridge.

You clawed at his shoulder. He grabbed your face.

You both backed up.

Breathing heavy.

Sweat dripping.

Hair clinging to your skin.

Both guns were there. One beneath the shattered coffee table. One kicked near the sink.

You both dove for them.

You stood, facing each other, guns drawn.

Pointed.

Locked.

Both of you, silent.

Just the sound of the ceiling fan turning over your heavy breath.

He looked at you—really looked. Bloody. Broken. Still in love.

You weren’t much better—blood on your temple, your dress slashed up the side, shoulder dislocated, heart shattered.

And still you aimed.

“After everything…” your voice cracked. “Are you really gonna shoot me?”

He looked at you—bleeding, trembling, still so fucking beautiful.

And he dropped his gun.

Just like that.

“I can’t do it,” he breathed. His eyes tired, soft.

You didn’t lower yours.

“Just… make it fast,” he murmured.

“Don’t you dare say that,” you whispered.

“I don’t care anymore,” he said. “If it’s not you… it’s no one.”

He raised his hands. “You want it? It’s yours.”

You gritted your teeth. Shaking. Heart thudding against your ribs. Tears stung your eyes.

“Put it back up,” you whispered. “Don’t do this.”

His voice was raw. “Do it, doll. End it. You win.”

“No,” you said, voice trembling, “No, you don’t get to make me kill you.”

He took a step closer. Slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal.

“I still love you,” he whispered.

And then, without warning—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw.

Desperate.

It was brutal.

Teeth clashing, blood mingling, mouths fighting like the rest of them hadn’t already.

You dropped the gun.

Your fingers curled in his hair. He pulled you tighter, tighter still—like letting go would kill him faster than any bullet.

His hands grabbed your hips. Your hands cradled his bloody face. He groaned into your mouth like it hurt to want you this bad.

It did.

Your legs wrapped around his hips as he stumbled back into the cabinets.

He kissed you like it was oxygen. Like you were the only real thing left in a collapsing world.

You broke away, gasping. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“I don’t care.”

“I still might kill you.”

“Get in line.”

He kissed you again.

Longer.

Deeper.

You pulled back, panting.

“Why now?” you whispered. “Why this?”

“Because if we’re going to destroy each other,” he said softly, forehead resting against yours, “I want to remember how it felt to love you.”

You leaned in again.

Kissed him.

This time slower.

This time real.

The kitchen still smoked. The lights flickered. The whole house reeked of destruction.

But for one moment—

There was only you and him.

And the silence between gunshots.

His lips were rough—split from your punch, bleeding into your mouth.

You tasted iron, tasted smoke.

But you didn’t stop.

He bit your bottom lip. You pulled his hair. He slammed your back into the counter and you yanked him closer by the open shirt hanging off his shoulders.

Clothes were torn in the scuffle, and now they barely hung on at all.

Your black dress clung to you in soaked strips, one strap snapped, thigh high slit now a slash to your hip. Your bare leg curled around his waist instinctively.

He groaned into your mouth as your hips met his again, needy and hard and undeniably real.

You had both nearly killed each other.

And now?

You were devouring each other.

His hands gripped your thighs with bruising force. You hissed and bit his neck. He laughed, pained and breathless.

“You wanna kill me or fuck me?” he growled into your ear, voice ragged.

You raked your nails down his back. “I haven’t decided.”

“Decide quick, sweetheart,” he grunted, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, grinding into you. “Because I’m running out of patience.”

You rolled your hips defiantly, teeth bared. “Then do something about it.”

And he did.

The kitchen table shattered.

You were on top of it—on top of him—lips crashing again, tongues colliding like a battlefield. One hand in his hair, the other dragging along his chest, over the bruises you’d put there yourself.

He hissed. Then moaned.

His hand slid up your thigh, warm and trembling, gripping the muscle like he needed to anchor himself to you.

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

His lip was split. His eye purpling. His cheek was red from your slap. Blood ran from the cut above his brow.

You were a fucking masterpiece.

And so was he.

“You look like hell,” you whispered, brushing his bloody mouth with your thumb.

“You look like heaven.”

Then he pulled you back down and kissed you again, harder this time—less desperation, more hunger. You melted into it, hips grinding against his like you were still fighting him, like the only language you had was dominance and surrender.

He tasted like sweat and salt and a thousand regrets.

You tasted like rage and lipstick and lightning.

Your hands moved up his chest, under his shirt, nails scraping the muscle beneath. He gasped, bit your shoulder in retaliation. You arched into him, letting out a ragged breath that sounded too close to a sob.

This wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a reckoning.

You flipped him.

Straddling him again on the broken kitchen floor, knees on either side of his hips, your dress hiked to your waist. His hands roamed your back, clawing at the damp fabric, at your bare skin underneath.

You pulled him up by the collar, forcing him nose to nose with you. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

His hands gripped your waist.

“Good,” he breathed, “I don’t want your forgiveness.”

You kissed him again—messy, teeth knocking, blood smearing your cheek. Your lips slipped along his jaw, down to his throat. He was hot and throbbing under you, panting your name like it was a prayer and a curse.

Your hips rolled, and he choked out a groan, burying his face into your neck.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“You make me insane.”

“You always were, sweetheart.”

You shoved him down, kissed him harder.

He laughed into your mouth, gasping, voice strained and low:

“God, I missed you.”

Eventually—eventually—your lips slowed.

The kiss gentled.

The blood stayed.

But your mouths moved slower. Like the adrenaline was wearing off. Like your limbs suddenly felt heavy, broken, real.

You collapsed against him, breath hitching against his throat.

He cradled the back of your head. His fingers traced circles on your spine, even as they shook.

He held you.

Not as a lover. Not as an enemy.

Just as someone who needed you to stay alive long enough to kiss him again.

The silence after war always felt louder than the explosions.

You lay there, your bare back against the cool hardwood, the remnants of your home scattered around you — shattered vases, bullet-ridden walls, furniture upended like a battlefield’s ruins. Your chest rose and fell. Bucky’s did too, inches away. Blood smeared across his jaw. Your thigh stung where he clipped you. His cheek was still red from the pan you’d swung.

But the look in his eyes?

Soft. Tired. Real.

His knuckles grazed yours, tentative.

"You still breathing, doll?" he rasped.

You turned your head to face him. "Barely."

A beat of silence.

“I liked that vase,” you said softly.

He chuckled. “It was hideous.”

Your lip curled, busted but amused. “Still liked it.”

He turned to look at the ceiling, voice barely above a whisper. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

“I had the chance,” you whispered back. “A hundred times.”

His blue eyes flicked to yours. “So did I.”

And there it was.

Not an apology. Not forgiveness.

A mutual surrender.

You reached out, fingers brushing his bloodied collar. “We should’ve talked more.”

“We were busy trying to kill each other.”

Your brow knit. “No… we were busy trying not to.”

He rolled to his side, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “I’m tired of trying.”

“So stop,” you whispered.

You stumbled into what was left of your bedroom. The curtains were half torn, the bed frame cracked, bullet holes sprayed across the walls — and yet, it was the softest place in the world.

Bucky stood in the doorway, watching you carefully.

Your black dress was ripped at the hem, one strap barely hanging on, dried blood streaked down your arm. His white shirt was torn down the middle, chest slick with sweat and grime. His dog tags dangled, still clinking softly when he moved.

You said nothing as you turned your back to him, pulling the rest of your dress down.

Bucky swallowed hard. “You sure?”

You nodded, not looking back. “I just want to feel something that doesn’t hurt.”

He stepped forward slowly, hands skimming your waist, lips brushing your spine. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t angry.

It was real.

The kind of love that claws its way through violence and still begs to be held.

The kind of love that knows you can destroy each other and still chooses not to.

You made love like you fought — breathless, bruised, desperate, honest.

When it was over, the weight of him against your back was the only thing grounding you. Your fingers laced over his. He kissed the nape of your neck like a man praying.

The sun filtered through cracked blinds. Smoke still hung in the air. You were curled in the sheets, tucked against Bucky’s chest.

You watched him sleep.

Your husband. Your enemy. Your only home.

His lips moved slightly in sleep. “...doll…”

You smiled despite yourself, brushing hair from his forehead.

He stirred, eyes blinking open. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you whispered back.

“How long we got?”

You checked the broken clock on the nightstand. “Less than an hour.”

His henley hung loose on your frame, sleeves pushed up to reveal the scratches and bruises decorating your arms. It was warm, comforting—the first thing that felt like home in hours.

When you came back out, Bucky’s blue eyes softened.

“Much better,” he said.

You smirked. “Careful. You might be turning into a regular gentleman.”

He grinned, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Only for you.”

He sighed. “That’s something, at least.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

And you knew — there was no going back.

“Let’s burn it down,” you said. “Everything. The agencies. The lies.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He sat up, pulling on what was left of his pants and his harness. You slipped into your gear, throwing your coat over your now-patched dress. Gun holstered. Knife tucked into your boot.

You stood in the doorway together, backs to the wreckage of your home. Your life.

“You ready, Mrs. Barnes?” he asked.

You kissed him once — quick, firm, real.

“Let’s finish this.”

You didn’t even make it to the car.

Bucky opened the front door—

CRACK—BOOM!

Gunfire exploded from the treeline.

You both dove behind the doorway, guns out.

Bucky cursed. “They’re early. Thought we had till noon.”

“They lied,” you hissed.

He grinned. “Guess we had that in common.”

You peered out, three SUVs unloading armed agents in black. One of them? Your handler. The other? His.

“I see them,” you whispered. “They brought the cavalry.”

“They forgot we’re the damn apocalypse.”

You took his hand.

And you ran straight into hell.

—

The bullets were louder than your heartbeat — almost. Smoke choked the sky, your porch was in flames, and three government black-ops teams were closing in like sharks that smelled blood.

You didn’t make it far before the second wave hit.

Your feet slid on shattered glass as you dodged another round of gunfire, the hem of your ripped black dress snagging on what remained of the hallway arch. The house groaned under pressure, smoke curling through the vents. The walls were bleeding from bullet wounds.

Bucky was back-to-back with you, both of you panting, guns raised.

“Upstairs?” he asked.

You peeked down the hallway — two agents already down, three more flooding in.

“Too late,” you said. “We hold the line here.”

He gave you a crooked grin. “Like old times.”

Your eyes flicked to his busted lip, the blood dripping from his temple, the open shirt that barely clung to him. You cocked your gun. “Except I’m in heels and a HENLEY.”

His eyes darkened. “You always did have flair, sweetheart.”

You grabbed the curtain, yanked it down, and whipped it around the neck of an incoming agent, dragging him forward into your elbow. He crumpled.

Bucky shot another through the knee, then body-slammed him into the broken piano in the foyer.

“I liked that piano!” you shouted.

“I hated that piano!”

You ducked a punch, swung around, used your heel to stab a man in the thigh, and then kicked him down the staircase.

Bucky grunted beside you. “Jesus, remind me to never forget our anniversary again.”

The front door exploded off its hinges. Another squad rushed in.

You were down to your last clip. Bucky had one knife left.

You looked at each other, drenched in sweat, covered in soot and blood, backs pressed against either side of the living room wall.

His chest heaved. “How many?”

You wiped blood off your brow. “Five. Plus one with a rocket launcher.”

He exhaled. “You take the rocket guy.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re giving me the harder target?”

He smirked. “You’re the better shot.”

Your lips twitched. “Damn right.”

Then — in unison — you moved.

Bucky leapt over the coffee table, catching a man mid-strike and slamming him into the TV stand. You ran straight for the guy with the launcher, dove under his shot, rolled behind the couch, then came up and fired one clean shot between his eyes.

“Nice shot!” Bucky called.

“Nice ass!” you fired back.

“Thanks, it’s genetic!”

You grabbed a shattered picture frame, flung the glass into the next man’s eyes, kicked him in the chest, and slammed his head into the floor.

Bucky ducked behind a wall. You followed him, the world still shaking.

He grabbed your face. “We have to go. Now.”

You kissed him hard, short and fast. “Go.”

“The back door!”

“I told you not to use real hardwood in the damn walls!. We’re way too flammable for this!”

You landed hard on the neighbor’s yard, Bucky sprinting beside you

“I told you the Johnsons were spies!” you huffed, dodging a shot.

“They bake a suspiciously good banana bread!” he called back.

“THEY JUST TRIED TO MURDER US, BUCKY.”

He grinned, wild-eyed. “Still better than your lasagna!”

You decked him mid-run. “NOW you wanna die?!”

—

You launched yourself into the car first, passenger seat.

Bucky yanked the driver’s door open — and you both shouted at the same time:

“I’M DRIVING!”

You glared. “You just got shot twice.”

“And you drive like a war crime!”

You slammed your hand on the dash. “Move over!”

“Fine!” he grunted, climbing across the seat as you floored it — tires squealing, rearview mirror cracking from a bullet. “You scratch the paint, I swear to God—”

“BUCKY THERE IS NO PAINT LEFT!”

Behind you, the house exploded in a cinematic mushroom cloud of debris and gas fire. The concussive blast launched the car forward with a boom that rattled your bones.

Bucky turned around to shoot out the back window. “That better have killed the mold in the basement!”

You took a hard left, gun tucked into the steering wheel. “You said you’d clean that six months ago!”

“I was busy being secretly married to a hitwoman!”

You gasped. “You did not just throw that in my face!”

He reloaded. “I’m bleeding out, sweetheart. I’m allowed some pettiness.”

—

The black SUVs weren’t giving up.

One swerved up beside you, goons leaning out with rifles.

Bucky climbed halfway out the window, shirt open, vest half-ripped, bleeding and smirking like a man who lived for this exact brand of chaos.

“Don’t you dare fall off that roof!” you shouted.

He winked. “I fall for you every day, baby.”

“You fall like a damn liability, James!”

Bucky flipped one guy off, shot another square in the shoulder, and kicked the third through the windshield of their own van.

The SUV skidded off the road, flipped, and exploded behind you.

“God, I missed our morning drives,” he said, climbing back in, panting.

You reached over and wiped blood from his lip. “You look awful.”

He grinned. “So do you.”

“Thanks.”

After twenty minutes of evasive maneuvers, two flipped SUVs, a narrowly-avoided helicopter missile, and a lot of blood on the steering wheel, you finally found a back road and swerved into the woods to catch your breath.

Smoke rose behind you.

Bucky looked at you in the front seat, his chest heaving.

“…Okay,” you said, hands on the wheel, “rapid-fire confession round. Go.”

He blinked. “What?”

“We might die. Spill something.”

“…I lied about the cat.”

You squinted. “What cat?”

“I said I found him on the street, but I actually stole him from a Hydra base.”

Your jaw dropped. “You gave me a war criminal cat?!”

He held up a finger. “He was very cute.”

You pointed at him. “You’re a menace.”

His turn. “Your confession.”

You sighed. “I planted a tracker in your vibranium arm the second month we got married.”

He looked betrayed. “That’s where that itch came from?!”

“You kept disappearing without telling me!”

“I was going on missions!”

“I thought you were cheating!”

“I was murdering people!”

You both paused.

Then you nodded. “Okay, fair.”

—

You're both panting in the passenger seats, blood-slicked, bruised, but adrenaline-high. The entire windshield is cracked. Your pulse is wild.

The silence is thick. The kind that buzzes in your teeth.

He looks over at you, his eyes roaming your body — blood streaked over your thighs, your chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I should be asking you,” you replied. “Your face looks like hell.”

He leaned in, voice low. “Still pretty enough to kiss?”

You don’t answer. You grab him by the collar and crash your mouth into his, dragging him over the center console.

It’s violent, hungry, desperate — teeth clashing, tongues tangling, your hand fisting in his hair as his slide under your thigh.

He groans into your mouth. “God, I missed this.”

“I missed you,” you growl, biting his lip.

His hand cups the back of your neck, keeping you there, like if he lets go for a second, you’ll disappear again. Your noses brush. Your breaths mingle. He tastes like ash and blood and every dream you never thought you’d get back.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers against your lips.

You rest your forehead against his. “You never did.”

A grenade clinks nearby.

You both freeze.

Bucky grabs it. “Shit. Shit.”

You yank open the door. “Out!”

The grenade detonates just as you leap from the car — it flips into the air, crashing down in flames.

You land on top of Bucky, bodies tangled, chest to chest, panting. He cradles your head before you hit the ground. You both lie there for a second.

Your breathless laugh bubbles up.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I landed on your knife,” you groan.

“Yeah,” he smirks, “that’s not my knife.”

You smack his shoulder. “You pig.”

“Married a pig, sweetheart.”

You grin. “And I’d do it again.”

Explosions bloomed behind you — the final fiery death of your home, collapsing in a glorious inferno that lit the night sky.

“That’s our cue to run,” you said with a grim smile.

Bucky reached over, slapping your arm. “We’re still alive. That’s what counts.”

You glanced at him, breath catching. “And I guess... still lying to each other.”

He raised a brow. “Like what?”

You laughed despite the tension. “That you never told me about the second bullet.”

His smile was small, sheepish. “Okay, maybe I was hiding a few things.”

“And I never told you how I almost left that night.”

His eyes softened. “Guess we’re full of surprises.”

You looked at Bucky. Bruised, bleeding, exhausted.

Still here.

Still yours.

(You've got mail!) i'm so made i had to cut so much of this out, so basically i don't write any of this on tumblr. I write it on google docs. this fic was basically almost 11k words. And the last HALF the good fluffy part of this fic had to be cut because tumblr wont allow more than 1,000 blocks or whatever it is called. I DONT KNOW HOW YALL DO 15-12K WORDS CAUSE MINE BARELY LETS ME GO PAST 10K. im so sad now, i wanted this be out before my trip since i wont have my laptop to do the colored text. BUT NOW IM MAD AND FRUSTATED. if you want the ending ending lmk </3

Tag List (For Mr. James Buchanan Barnes is open)

@bbsbrina @herejustforbuckybarnes @barnesandbouquets @winchestert101

[bonelyheartsclub]

♡ Nox - Valentine's One-Shot ♡

Written by @/ChrysanStarset

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A fresh breeze brushed against your face and hair as you and Nox stepped into the sprawling city garden. It was two days before Valentine’s day, and the two of you had been ‘preparing’ for this three-day trip. Though preparing might be a stretch. Nox had planned a trip going around places he had been meaning to visit, along with a special event gala he had been wanting to experience. Of course, he asked you to come and you’d agreed. Nox had taken it upon himself to pack some of your things, even buying you a few new outfits for the occasion. In return, he let you choose his wardrobe, and thankfully, he seemed more amused than annoyed by your choices.

The garden was a massive maze of ivy-covered archways, sculpted hedges, and floral blooms in every color imaginable. It felt surreal, like something out of a dream. Maybe it was the atmosphere, or maybe it was the fact that the two of you were dressed just a touch too well for a simple stroll through a garden. You had to admit it was a bit corny but, it was just the way you liked it. 

Nox’s attention lingered on you, even as you became distracted by every turn of the path. Every so often, he stopped to comment on the meaning of certain flowers.

“Tulips,” he said, brushing his fingers over a crimson petal. “Symbolic of perfection and royalty. Sounds fitting, wouldn’t you say?” He smirked, but there was something unreadable in his expression before he looked away momentarily, his eyelights flickered back to you.

“We definitely look the part today,” you curtsied before adding, “your majesty.”

He let out a small chuckle as he gestured towards another flower. “Carnations,” he continued, a bit more thoughtfully. “They represent fascination and distinction. Traits that, for better or worse, tend to draw people together.”

There’s something about the way he said it that made you pause, but before you could press, he moved again, stopping by a patch of roses. He studied them for a moment before plucking one and twirling it between his fingers.

“Roses are, obviously, tied to passion and romance,” he said, almost dismissively. Then, after a beat, he looked at you and offered the flower. “But also appreciation. Or, depending on the color… remembrance.”

You accepted it without thinking. The petals were soft beneath your fingers and the scent was familiar and yet difficult to place.

“…Are you always this sentimental?” You asked, glancing at him.

His smirk returned, but this time it was subtler. “You tell me.”

A comfortable silence settled between you before you shook off the moment with a smile, stepping ahead toward the gazebo and picking up the pace. “Come on. If we stay here any longer, you might start reciting poetry.”

“Spare me the embarrassment,” he muttered.

You sped up with a laugh escaping you, headed toward a gazebo in the distance. “Last one there owes the other a drink.”

“You’re making up rules now?” Of course, without missing a beat, he took the challenge and quickened his pace to catch up.

Inside the gazebo you pulled out your phone, taking some pictures of the scenery as Nox lingered beside you, watching quietly. Eventually, he gently took your phone and faced the camera between you both. He angled the camera, capturing the moment as you lean in closer to his frame. The sun made you both look warm and lively as the phone shutters with a click. Another memory for you to have in your gallery.

…

The following day, you were dressed to the nines along with Nox. He wore a stylized tuxedo with indigo and imperial blue highlights, adorned with little silver dove-shaped cuffs on his sleeves. You had to admit he looked quite dashing, as he put it all together. It made you feel a little worried as you weren’t sure the outfit you’d picked for him was good enough. Nox praised you nevertheless, which made your confidence swell. 

Moments later, you’d both arrived at a small pre-valentines gala. An event that lasted until Valentine's Day, but you and Nox had not planned to spend two nights here. Even so, you both were lucky enough to get entry tickets, so you tried to make the best you could out of it.

The gala hall glimmered under the glow of golden chandeliers, their light reflecting against the marble floors in a dazzling display. The soft hum of music playing in the background set the perfect atmosphere for the evening. You looked around, taking in the sight of elegantly dressed guests engaging in quiet laughter and warm conversations. Everything about the event was polished and refined, from the lavish buffet spread to the intricately arranged floral centerpieces on each table, reminding you slightly of the day before.

Nox, with his composed and regal gait, guided you through the hall with an effortless grace. His eyes stayed on you and no one else. 

“Shall we dance?” He asked, in a somewhat half-playful, half-serious tone- his voice low, but clear enough for you to hear.

You grinned, even though you weren’t much of a dancer; far from a good one for that matter.

“You promise to not step on my toes?” You teased. 

“I believe you might do more stomping than I will,” he retorted, a light scoff escaping him as you could see him fighting the smile trying to escape onto his face. 

You playfully scoffed back at him, your voice pitched as if you were offended. You raise the back of your hand to your head in mock distress, “How dare!”

Nox smirked. “Regardless, I’ll ensure you won't fall, you’re safe with me.”

A warmth crept up to your heart, a comforting realization of the genuine care Nox had for you. You felt blessed that he had allowed himself to feel this comfortable around you; to share his sincerity for you without him putting up a defensive front. 

He confidently guided you to the dance floor, making his first strides. Soon enough, you found yourself flowing with the rhythm, lost in the moment with him. It was comfortable and safe, in a way you couldn’t quite place. There was a steadiness in the way he moved, in the way he kept you from faltering, as if it were second nature. You didn’t know if it was intentional or just him. Regardless, you enjoyed the fresh new experience he had given you. 

“I didn’t take you for much of a dancer”

“Don’t get used to it” He sighed. There was no real sharpness in it, but earned you his signature snarky drawl. “Aww, but you’re so skilled at it. You even managed to avoid my ‘stomping’” You teased. A quiet chuckle escaped him. “I’m really lucky. Next time, I might not be so…fortunate.”

The music began to slow, but the night continued with laughter and indulgent feasting, reminding you of previous events. As the evening was finally winding down, you and Nox stepped out into the cool night air. Nox pulled out his phone and angled it your way. You posed and smiled, not taking it seriously- ruining the elegant vibes you both were showered in. This earned a sigh, and waves of laughter from both of you, but regardless another memory was saved into the gallery.

...

On Valentine’s Day itself, the scent of passion fruit, coffee, and the faintest trace of tea lingered in the air, blending with the crispness of the cool breeze that had settled over the past few days. The warmth of the afternoon sun rested on your skin, a stark but welcome contrast to the chilled air that wove through the open terrace. Nox had just returned, setting down a small plate of neatly arranged mini sandwiches and a fresh cup of tea in front of you. Steam curled from the surface, carrying the familiar, calming aroma into the quiet afternoon. You both were outside the hotel you’d been staying at, resting from traveling anymore and taking the time to enjoy the scenery from where you were. A forest stretched out and across the river that you could see. It was peaceful, compared to the chaotic atmosphere you’re used to back home. Everything felt distant here. As if the rest of the world had momentarily softened its grip. 

Looking in Nox’s direction, you saw him staring out to the horizon as well. You wondered if this is what he wanted all his life.

“You know…” He started, not looking at your direction as he spoke, but lingered on his words before continuing. “Meeting you was a strange surprise. I can’t say I mind, though.” He leaned back into his chair, watching you with a barely readable expression. “It’s something I wouldn’t have found in the underground, or with the others.” 

He paused again, this time with a sympathetic look to him. Something that, once again, was so rare to see from a skeleton like him.

“I don’t say this often, but..” He looked off for a moment before flicking his gaze back to you. 

“I appreciate the comfort you have given me. I hope to do the same for you as well. For accompanying me…I am…grateful. There is no other company I would have preferred.” 

Although his words weren’t much, they made you feel sort of praised, coming from him. 

“You’re welcome, I’m always down to have a fun time with you. You always make our little adventures very memorable even if it’s just sitting around with coffee and tea.” You chuckled to yourself a little, and noticed Nox chuckling with you. “I’ll take that as a high compliment.” He grinned, sipping his hot espresso. 

You both settled into the comfortable silence, the only sounds that accompanied the both of you were the occasional birds and cars. Eventually you both started cleaning up, took one more picture together and proceeded to do your own adventure near the hotel before the time finally came to head back home. Sitting in the front seat of Nox’s car with the windows slightly down, you stared outside watching the trees and buildings blur by. It almost felt like a dream-like haze, with how calm you were. Normally, you would be up to your usual playful antics with Nox, putting on music, and forcing him to karaoke with you, but the trip had tired you out too much to do anything of your usual taunting. You wondered if this was also part of his meticulous planning. 

You didn’t mind. You simply gazed out the window, letting the passing scenery lull you into drowsiness. Just as sleep began to take hold, the faintest sound reached your ears: a soft humming from Nox. At first, you weren’t sure if you were imagining it, but the more you listened, the clearer it became. He was humming. And not just any tune, it was your tune. The one you had raved about to him not too long ago, the one that had been stuck in your head for ages. The urge to tease him stirred in your chest, but for now, you let it be, allowing the gentle melody to carry you to sleep.

A gentle shake woke you as Nox leaned over to your side. It was clearly dark, as the only thing illuminated around you was Nox’s indigo pin prick eyelights focused on you, and the dim glow of the night light. You rubbed your eyes, and stretched a bit as Nox spoke.

“I took the liberty of letting you rest and brought your items inside your home. I hope you don't mind.” His voice was deep and low in a hushed tone.

You wanted to ask him how he got your keys, but you decided to let it go since he did you a favor by bringing your luggage inside.

“Thank you, that's so gentlemanly of you.” you said with a smirk, still groggy.

He rolled his eyelights leaning away from you and closed his door, making his way to your side and opening it.

“Come on. It's time to get out.” He urged you to not stall anymore.

You leaned to the dashboard with a groan, stalling.

Nox let out an exasperated sigh, though there was no real frustration behind it. More like mild amusement laced with a patience that has been growing for you. He simply stood there with his arms crossed, waiting.

“You do realize you can’t just sleep in my car, right?” His voice is edged with wry humor.

You peeked at him from a small gap of your arm. “Mmm…. I don’t know. It's pretty cozy here. Smells like overpriced espresso and sass. Very much you.”

Nox scoffed and shook his head. “Funny. But unless you plan to start paying me rent, cleaning and maintaining my car I suggest you move.”

You groaned again, but finally peeled yourself off the dashboard, stretching with a yawn before stepping out of the car. The cool night air hit your face, refreshing compared to the warmth Nox’s car provided you. The quiet stillness of the street felt strangely intimate. You turned to Nox, his expression is unreadable under the dim glow of the street lights.

He adjusted his coat and gloves before speaking. “You should get some rest. It’s been a long three days. I’m sure you want to spend your weekend relaxing.”

“You’re included.” You nudged him a bit, earning a confused look from him. “I’m sure you also need a break from the meticulous planning for all that.”

“The trip was my break.” He retorted, but then he smirked for a brief moment. “But, perhaps spending more of my ‘break’ with you wouldn’t cause any harm.”

Nox lifted his hand slightly, hesitating for a moment before reaching out. His fingers grazed the edge of your hand, a bit more like the ghost of a gesture than a touch.

“Well then, goodnight.” He cleared his throat, looking away from you. 

You tilted your head, a bit curious and confused by the action, but you just watched and nodded. “Goodnight, Nox. Sleep well, and I’ll text you later then.”

He lingered for a moment, his movement slowed, before heading back to his car. You slowly made your way to your door as you watched Nox park his car in the garage. Finally, you headed inside your home, peering at your luggage neatly placed in front of the entrance to your home. It almost felt like the time went by too fast and so slowly. You decided to look through your photo gallery of all the memories you two took together, to reminisce. As you intently analyzed each photo, there was a certain warmth you really couldn’t describe. Maybe you’d figure it out later.

[selenophyyy]

Above The Rush

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: Romance, fluff, slice of life

Words: 596

Synopsis: Amid the hustle of daily life, two lovers retreat to a quiet rooftop, choosing to pause. As the world rushes below, they savor the peace of each other’s company, neglecting deadlines and distractions. In this fleeting moment, they rediscover the beauty of stillness and shared connection.

Note: Did I just bust a writing block in one sitting!? OMG! On top of that I wrote fluff with no jump scares!? Exams changed me haha. Anyways, give it a read. It turned out pretty funny and cute :]

Your legs dangle down the roof, swinging along the fleeting wind and passing traffic. The road flickers with dots of crimson and yellow, honking back and forth.

Everyone is trying to make it through the fast-paced world, yet you sit on top, pitying the workers racing to their offices with their fingers clasping half-cold coffees. Some are busy cursing at the blocking drivers as some steal glances at their watches, breaking into a sprint to make it on time.

Time that flows endlessly, yet no one has enough to spare any.

Not even you; you're just good at procrastinating and avoiding responsibilities. Music drums in your ears as you choose to pass your morning, observing people rather than hurrying to catch up with the world.

“What's my philosopher thinking now?” Jeonghan presses the cold drink against your cheek. You pull out your earbud as you feel the icy touch of the drink. With him by your side, you grab your coffee.

“The world is too busy,” you thought aloud. Jeonghan hums in agreement.

“We can't freeze time, but we can slack off,” he grins, his fingers sliding in yours. You roll your eyes, quenching your throat with your coffee.

“You will find any excuse to not work,” you point out, squeezing his hand in contrast.

“I just want to spend time with my greatest, the most amazing and exceptional love of my life,” he gushes, exaggerating as always.

“If Seungcheol beats your ass for ditching work, I’m not stopping him,” you warn lightly, shifting your weight against his shoulder.

Jeonghan lets out a bubbly gasp, his face twisting into fabricated hurt. “You're mean, but he loves me more than you.” He sticks out his tongue, making your eyes roll back again.

"Okay, Heather," you snicker. "A lazy one at that," you add, pinching his side, making him squeak. You scoff at his dramatics.

“Look at those buildings, roads, and people. Life is overflowing with stuff and stories,” you mention, donning your philosopher hat once more.

“Yeah, everyone is living their own stories,” Jeonghan hums with a knowing smile.

“Look at that cat, chilling down the street,” you note, pointing at the poised animal taking its morning stroll.

“It’s really in its own world,” Jeonghan chuckles. You hum, shifting your gaze to a shop owner sliding up the shutter, opening his bakery shop for the day.

“Do you think he will turn into a chipmunk with leftovers from yesterday?” You wondered aloud if yesterday's microwaved bread would greet his stomach. Jeonghan snickers at your unhinged behavior.

“Not everyone is a glutton like you,” he teases, earning a smack on his scalp.

“Look at that pregnant mother seeing off her ducklings to school,” you observe, swinging your legs.

“Did you just call her kids ducklings?” Jeonghan erupts into a loud guffaw.

“But watch closely—her sons are literally walking to school in a line, like ducks,” you say, your lips curving down as if to emphasize the comparison.

He chortles, finding your attempt to justify even more hilarious. “Sometimes I want to crack your skull open and see how your mind works,” he quips, casting a charming smile contrasting his bloody words.

You shoot him a side-eye.

“At least it works,” you retort. Jeonghan laughs uproariously, as though it were the most hilarious joke ever.

The couple continues to bicker as the sunrise paints the morning, the clouds fluffing their hearts in the early hours.

The city buzzes with the hustle and bustle of a busy day, and the couple chooses to melt away their time in each other.

Author's Note:

The vision of you shoot him a side-eye:

This was just fl going 'this is deep shit' and Jeonghan being a clown and menace lmaoo.

I love how this drabble gives off this vibe:

i want to write more on this kinda dynamic haha!

Anyways, leave your thoughts and constructive criticism is always appreciated :]

[hamilton-here]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 - 𝒫𝓉.7

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! Here's the next chapter, enjoy. I'm thinking of wrapping up this series in another few chapters to possibly start some other ideas. Lots of love xx

Summary: Reader and Lewis have a day out together and soon return to the group after their private day, met with playful teasing and warmth, deepening their bond as they settle into the found family atmosphere around the table.

Warnings: mild swearing

Taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mits-vi @mimisweetz @nebulastarr @jdasiilva

MASTERLIST

Pt1,Pt2,Pt3,Pt4,Pt5,Pt6,Pt7, Pt8,Pt9

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The morning sun slipped through the sheer curtains of your hotel room, brushing everything in gold.

You hadn’t slept much, not for lack of trying but because your mind kept replaying the night before. The group. The laughter. And Lewis.

His message had come just after midnight.

Hammertime: I meant what I said earlier. I’m glad you came. You free tomorrow? I’d like to show you the best places in Monaco.

You hadn’t hesitated before responding.

User (You): I’d like that.

Now, standing outside the entrance of your hotel you felt that same flutter in your chest as you spotted him.

Lewis leaned against a sleek car, sunglasses on, hands tucked into the pockets of a lightweight jacket. He looked calm, like the city belonged to him. Maybe it did.

“Hey,” you greeted as you approached.

His smile was small but sincere. “Hey. Ready for a different side of Monaco?”

You nodded, and he opened the passenger door for you. “I thought we’d skip the obvious. No yachts. No flashing cameras. Just something quieter.”

The drive was peaceful. Lewis didn’t rush letting the car glide through winding streets that curled around the hills.

The view from higher up was breathtaking with red rooftops spilling into the sea and sunlight dancing off the water like it was trying to impress someone.

Eventually, he parked near a tucked away garden overlooking the coast. Bougainvillaea spilled over the stone walls and benches lined the walkway. It wasn’t touristy. It wasn’t crowded. It was calm.

You walked in step for a while, the silence between you soft rather than awkward.

“You come here often?” you asked, brushing your fingers along a cluster of flowers.

He nodded. “When I need to remember why I love this place. Before the noise starts up again.”

You sat on a low bench beneath a tree, the breeze brushing against your skin. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “Feels like the city’s secret.”

Lewis watched you carefully, his sunglasses now tucked into his shirt collar. “You looked nervous yesterday.”

“I was.”

“And now?”

You exhaled. “Still a little. Though it’s fading.”

Something passed between you in that moment. Not quite defined. Not loud. Just understood.

He leaned back, eyes on the sea. “You surprised me, you know. When we bumped into each other at the airport I didn’t know it was you.”

“I didn’t either,” you admitted. “But I remember the smell of your cologne.”

He laughed softly. “Well, that’s flattering.”

The conversation drifted into lighter things after that.

He told you about his favourite hobbies and you confessed you still didn’t understand half the racing terminology. You talked about animals that you love. He told you about his music playlists.

It felt like unraveling slowly, gently, with no pressure to be anything other than yourselves.

Soon he changed the subject grinning. “Come, let’s continue wandering.”

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

As the two of you strolled through the streets of Monaco it had a different rhythm when it was both of you.

Gone were the crowded tables and booming laughter of the café, replaced by a quieter, more intimate pace.

The sunlight fell in lazy gold ribbons across cobblestone paths, bouncing off polished car hoods and shuttered windows. Lewis walked beside you unrushed, relaxed and softer than you’d ever seen him.

Lewis tucked his hands into his pockets, glancing sideways at you as the two of you strolled toward the Port. “You know,” he said, voice low and thoughtful, “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up today.”

You smiled, looking ahead at the bobbing yachts in the distance. “I wasn’t sure I was either.”

“What changed?”

You hesitated, then glanced at him. “Your message.”

He looked at you, genuinely curious.

“You said you were looking forward to meeting me. And I don’t know it felt honest. Like you weren’t just saying it for the sake of it.”

Lewis nodded slowly, gaze returning to the view. “It was honest.”

The breeze off the water picked up slightly, sweeping a strand of hair across your cheek. Without thinking, he reached over gently tucking it back behind your ear. The brush of his fingers lingered, just for a second longer than necessary and it sent a quiet ripple through your chest.

“I don’t really do this,” you said softly.

“Walk around Monaco with a stranger?”

You huffed a laugh. “Let people in so easily.”

He slowed his steps, coming to a stop near the edge of the Port. The water shimmered below like a moving canvas. “You don’t seem closed off.”

“I’ve had to learn how to seem a lot of things.”

That made him look at you, really look. “Same.”

The admission sat between you like a thread waiting to be pulled. Instead, Lewis gestured toward the edge.

You followed him to a quieter part of the marina, where the path rose up into a small overlook that gave way to a stunning panorama.

Monaco unfurling in every direction, the palace high on the hill, the sea stretching endlessly beyond.

“I’ve always adored just starring into nature and forgetting everything else exists” he said, settling on the low stone wall and motioning for you to join him.

You sat beside him, knees brushing and let the hush of the moment sink in.

“Feels like you don’t get much silence to enjoy it ,” you said.

“Not really. But that’s what made the group chat special. No expectations just guys like us having fun for once in the shadows. It’s more like a place for us to breathe and be normal.”

You glanced at him. “You think we’ll keep this? The group, I mean. After the novelty wears off?”

He smiled faintly. “I think we’ll fight for it.”

You sat in that quiet for a while, listening to the occasional gull overhead, the lap of water below, the distant hum of cars curling around cliffs. And then softly and tentatively Lewis turned to you.

“Would it be alright if we made this a tradition?” he asked.

You tilted your head. “What, Monaco strolls and half revealed secrets?”

A small chuckle escaped him, but his eyes stayed on yours. “Just time. With you.”

That warmth you’d been feeling since the café spread deeper now, anchoring in your chest.

“Yeah,” you said. “I think I’d like that.”

You stood eventually, walking again this time toward the old town where he bought you an espresso and insisted on splitting a croissant that was “life changing, I swear.” You watched him smile through flaky crumbs, his eyes crinkling at the corners and thought maybe he was right.

By the time the sky began to blush with twilight, you’d made your way back toward the coast. He drove one handed the other inches away from your thigh. Neither of you had checked your phones. Time moved differently when it was just you and him.

The car arrived at your hotel entrance, the quiet settled again.

Lewis glanced up at the building, then back at you. “So I guess this is goodnight?”

You nodded, but didn’t move.

He hesitated, thumb grazing the back of your hand. “I’ll message you later?”

You smiled. “I’ll be waiting.” Your replies hand stilling tingling from his touch.

He didn’t kiss you - not yet. But the way his eyes lingered said it was only a matter of time.

And when you stepped out of the car heading inside the building, your heart was still outside walking those Monaco streets beside him.

Before you went to bed that night he sent you a text…

Hammetime: You never have to pretend with me

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You woke slowly, the kind of morning where the sun filtered in through half drawn curtains, warming the duvet and painting gold across the floor.

Monaco outside your window was already stirring with seagulls calling from the harbour, mopeds humming down narrow streets and the gentle hush of the sea against the docks.

But it wasn’t the city that made your stomach flutter.

It was the message still sitting on your phone.

You never have to pretend with me.

You’d read it too many times last night, your heart doing somersaults in the dark. The thought of Lewis not just the name, but the man behind it staring at his phone somewhere else in Monaco, waiting for your reply, had felt surreal.

But real.

You sat up slowly, stretching, hair tousled and skin still warm from dreams. Your fingers reached for the phone instinctively.

[Private Message - Hammertime💬]

Hammertime: Morning. I’m heading out for a run, but I’ll grab us coffee if you’re free later?

You smiled without thinking.

User (You): Yes to the coffee. Only if you let me buy the pastries this time.

Hammertime: Only if you promise to let me pick the view.

You stood and padded over to the small balcony. Monaco sprawled below you, sun drenched and shimmering. Somewhere in that maze of beauty, Lewis was out there running, living and maybe thinking about you too.

Your phone vibrated again.

Hammertime: Meet me at the top of Jardin Exotique in an hour?

You bit your lip, smile tugging wider.

User(You): Deal. Don’t forget the coffee.

You managed to pick up some pastries on the way and headed to the location. The climb up to the garden was slow and not just because of the incline. You paused to take everything in -

And then you saw him.

Waiting on a low stone wall, hair tied back, hoodie damp with sweat, a takeaway tray balanced beside him with two coffees. He looked up at the sound of your steps and his whole face changed.

Like he lit from within.

“Hey,” he said softly, standing.

“Hi,” you said, breathless from more than just the hill.

He handed you a cup without breaking eye contact. “Still hot.”

“I hope it’s not too sweet.”

He grinned. “I remember. One sugar, splash of oat milk.”

You blinked. “You remembered from the café?”

Lewis just smiled and nudged his chin toward a nearby bench. “Come sit. I brought the good view.”

You placed the small pastry bag between the two of you.

The both of you lt the world exist around you. Monaco lay below like a secret and for the first time since arriving, you didn’t feel like an outsider looking in.

“You always go for a run around here?” you asked, taking a sip.

“When I want to feel grounded,” he said before taking a bite of his pastry. “And small. In a good way.”

You nodded. “I think I get that.”

He glanced at you, more serious now. “Yesterday being with you it felt like I was truly happy for the first time in years.”

You turned your coffee slowly in your hands. “Yeah, it did for me as well.”

“I’ve got a million people around me most days,” he admitted. “But yesterday? I didn’t feel watched. I just felt seen.”

You looked over at him. “That’s all anyone really wants, right?”

His smile turned quiet. “You see a lot, don’t you?”

“Only the things that matter.”

Lewis reached out then gently - his fingers brushing over yours on the bench.

“Stay a little longer?” he asked.

You didn’t answer with words.

You just laced your fingers with his, soft and certain, and let the city fall away.

The warmth of Lewis’s hand around yours was steady. Not overwhelming, not rushed just present. It grounded you more than the view, more than the breeze, more than the way the morning light made everything glow with possibility.

“Do you ever think about what your life might’ve looked like if you weren’t this?” you asked after a while, not quite meeting his eyes.

He was quiet for a moment. “All the time.”

You looked over. His gaze was somewhere distant, out over the sea.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’d still be me without the noise. Without the cameras. But then again, racing gave me everything. It’s just - ” He paused, turning toward you. “It’s hard to know what’s real when everything’s always on display.”

You nodded. “That’s why you like the quiet?”

“I like the quiet,” he said softly, “when you’re in it.”

Your heart stumbled, unprepared. He wasn’t saying it to charm you. It wasn’t rehearsed or dressed up. It was just true.

You let the silence stretch again, but this time it was fully comfortable. His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles, back and forth, like he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Like his body already knew the rhythm of being near you.

Eventually, you rested your head on his shoulder, tentative at first until he leaned into you, solid and warm.

“You know,” you murmured, “I was sure this trip would be a disaster.”

Lewis huffed a quiet laugh. “And now?”

“Now I’m not so sure I want to leave.”

You felt him smile into your hair. “Good. Because I was just thinking the same thing.”

You didn’t need anything more than that. Not right now.

Just the garden. The quiet. And the beginning of something that felt realer than anything you could’ve prepared for.

Your phone buzzed where it sat on the bench between you and Lewis, forgotten for the better part of an hour. You sighed and reached for it, still curled against his side.

GridGremlins


MadMax: Oi. Has anyone done a welfare check on you two?


Hulk: Monaco is only so big. Blink twice if Lewis kidnapped you.


Pastry: We made a bet. If Lewis isn't back to the hotel all of us are sharing by lunch, Charles owes me pastries.


SmoothOperator: I, for one support the getaway. But send a pic or we’ll assume you’ve joined a cult.


HoneyBadger: Or eloped.


RussellSprouts: Seconded. Elopement energy.

You couldn’t help but laugh -quiet but not surprised.

Lewis peeked at the screen and grinned. “Should we mess with them?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, send a photo from a jewelry store?”

He smirked. “Or outside city hall.”

You opened the camera, angled it over your shoulder with Lewis tucked in beside you, still half reclined on the bench. He threw a peace sign. You snapped it -light, effortless, unfiltered.

Then sent it.

(User) You: Alive. No cult. Just carbs and sun.

Hammertime: And maybe the best morning in a long time.

There was a beat of silence in the group chat.

Then -

HoneyBadger: Ugh okay I ship it.


SmootherOperator : …you’re glowing. Both of you. It’s disgusting.


Pierrefect : Cute. I’ll allow it.


Baguetteboi : Fine. You win. I’ll buy Oscar the pastries.


Norrified : I KNEW IT.

You tucked the phone away again, cheeks warm.

Lewis looked down at you. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

And this time, it was you who took his hand.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The sun had dipped behind the Monaco skyline, casting the city in the kind of golden haze that made everything look softer - slower, like the day was asking not to end.

You and Lewis parted ways earlier to get dressed for dinner with the group.

He soon picked you up once again from the front of your hotel to walk you to the restaurant. Side by side through the winding streets, the hush of early evening broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the distant hum of passing scooters.

Neither of you said much, but it wasn’t the heavy kind of silence. It was warm. Comfortable. Every so often his shoulder brushed yours and each time, it sent a electric zap through you.

As you approached the little restaurant tucked between stone walls and climbing vines, Lewis slowed. You could already hear them inside - the boys. Loud, unfiltered, absolutely themselves. The sound made your chest flutter with a strange mix of fondness and nerves.

Lewis looked over at you, mouth twitching. “They’re gonna say something.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Want to run?”

You smiled, tugging gently at his hand. “Too late.”

He let out a breath of a laugh and pushed open the door.

The noise swelled instantly.

“There they are!” Pierre's voice rang out, rising above the din like a stage actor who’d spotted a long lost lover. He stood with arms outstretched like he was about to burst into song.

“Look at them!” Lando added, eyes wide with faux amazement. “Nearly a whole day without supervision. A miracle.”

“Was it love?” Max asked, propping his chin on his hand in mock earnestness. “Did you ride scooters down the coast and stare into each other’s souls?”

“Did you get lost in the lavender fields of France?” Charles deadpanned. “That’s only like twenty minutes away.”

George leaned over the table. “Tell us everything. No - tell us nothing. We’ll fill in the blanks.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “You’re all terrible.”

“And nosy,” Carlos chimed in. “Don’t forget nosy.”

“Come on,” Oscar said, patting the empty seat beside him. “Join us, mysterious duo.”

You and Lewis slid into the booth - him on one end and you beside him, close enough that his knee brushed yours beneath the table. No one said anything about that part, but you could feel them noticing.

The table buzzed with life. Bread baskets passed back and forth, plates clinked, drinks were poured generously.

At some point, Nico started recounting a chaotic travel story, complete with dramatic hand gestures and Carlos nearly spit out his drink laughing.

But through it all, there was a rhythm. A beat beneath the banter. Every so often, you caught one of them sneaking a glance your way. Every so often, Lewis shifted like he was attuned to your every breath, your every word.

“So?” Daniel asked between bites of tiramisu. “What’s the verdict? Back for good, or was today just a one time miracle?”

You met his eyes, your answer slow but steady. “I think I needed this more than I realised.”

Lando raised a glass. “To weird group chats, then.”

Oscar raised his. “To making a new friend out of dumb usernames.”

Carlos added, “To whatever this is. Honestly, I’m not sure anymore.”

Charles smirked. “To Lewis, for finally talking.”

That earned a chorus of laughter.

Lewis groaned, shaking his head. “I talk.”

“You brooded for a full week before you said hi in the group chat,” Max shot back.

“And you practically fled the café earlier,” George added, pointing at him with his fork.

“I didn’t flee.”

“You ghosted us like a bad Tinder date,” Daniel said, grinning. “But look at you now.”

Everyone raised their glasses again. You clinked yours gently against Lewis’s, catching his eye as you did. He gave you a look that said, They’re never going to let this down and you gave him one right back that said. Nope, never.

The teasing settled, replaced by stories. Real ones this time.

Charles talked about how being home in Monaco felt like a breath between storms.

Lando described late night drives with no destination.

Max admitted that sometimes, when the pressure built too high he reread old group messages just to laugh again.

Daniel told you that keeping the chat alive was his way of holding onto the good stuff.

You listened. You learned. You saw them for who they really were - boys who had become brothers, bound not just by racing, but by trust.

And through it all, Lewis stayed close.

Quiet, yes, but present. Sometimes his hand found yours beneath the table. Sometimes you leaned just enough to feel his shoulder against yours. Sometimes you said nothing at all and it still felt like everything.

At the end of the night, as the group began to stretch and stand and groan about full stomachs, Max slung his jacket over his shoulder and grinned. “We’re doing this again.”

“Definitely,” Nico agreed.

“Tomorrow?” George offered.

Daniel wiggled his brows. “Or are our lovers here otherwise engaged?”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, hiding your face.

Lewis just laughed.

You said your goodbyes, hugs passed around, cheek kisses from Charles, a forehead bump from Lando. It wasn’t goodbye, it was see you later.

And as you and Lewis stepped out into the warm Monaco night again, the city lights blinked around you like stars fallen to earth.

You were in orbit now, as he took your hand in his walking to your hotel.

[jellofish-plant]

Framed in Forever [◉"]

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Photographer!Reader

Summary: As a photographer, you love capturing the world through your lens especially the rare, unguarded moments of Jason Todd. But when he catches on to your attempts to snap a candid shot of him, he turns the tables with a teasing question: “If I take this picture, does that mean I get to keep you?” What starts as playful banter quickly blurs the lines between a joke and something deeper. Maybe Jason isn't the only one being caught off guard tonight.

[Masterlist]

“If I take this picture, does that mean I get to keep you?”

The streets of Gotham stretch behind Jason, neon signs flickering against the damp pavement, the distant hum of the city blending with the shutter click of your camera. He stands with his back against a brick wall, arms crossed, looking effortlessly cool despite the fact that you’ve been trying to catch him off guard for the past five minutes.

“Jay, just act normal,” you sigh, adjusting the lens.

He grins, tilting his head. “Sweetheart, this is normal.”

You lower the camera just enough to give him a flat look. “No, it’s not. You’re posing.”

Jason scoffs, pushing off the wall and strolling toward you. “I’m literally just standing here.”

“Exactly. You never ‘just stand’ anywhere.”

He stops right in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head to meet his gaze. The city lights flicker in his stormy blue eyes, and for once, he’s not smirking. Just watching. Considering.

And then 

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “If I take this picture, does that mean I get to keep you?”

Your grip on the camera tightens. “What?”

Jason taps the lens lightly, his voice dropping into something softer, more teasing. “You snap a picture, it’s yours forever, right? So if you take a shot of me… do I get to keep you?”

Your heart stumbles, heat creeping up your neck. You try to hide it by lifting the camera again. “That’s not how it works.”

“Hm.” He leans in slightly, just enough to make your pulse quicken. “Pretty sure it does.”

You roll your eyes, trying to focus on the viewfinder instead of the way he’s making your brain short-circuit. “Fine. Hold still.”

Jason barely humors you, tilting his head at the last second, smirk wide, making sure the shot is just off enough to be annoying.

You huff, lowering the camera. “You suck.”

He chuckles, stepping back with a cocky shrug. “Maybe. But you’re still stuck with me.”

And the worst part? You don’t mind at all.

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy 

@not-herexo 

@a-brilliante-mariposa

[loviingpedri]

hidden commitment - pablo gavi

prompt: what would happen if your relationship was exposed?

warnings: cursing, grammar issues, stalking (paparazzi), mentions of insecurities, angst (happy ending, ofc!)

credits to owners for all images

you and gavi have been a secret for 6 months. it felt like peaceful without anyone getting into your personal business. every moment with him became more special.

“should we take a walk?” gavi finally had an off day. he wouldn’t want to spend it anywhere or with anyone except with you.

“of course. favorite place as usual?” replying with his smile, he kissed you on the lips and went off to get ready. matching hoodies and matching sunglasses never seemed to fail.

it was very therapeutic to take morning strolls. nobody can spot you in the dark, and it was rare that anyone was even awake. an opportunity to catch up in life should never be missed.

"you look good." gavi approached behind you, sneaking his arm around your waist.

"i was thinking the same thing about you. we do have quite the taste." taking a quick kiss to his lips, it was time for the adventure to begin.

walking out the door, the cold crisp breeze hit your face instantly. the air felt fresh and clean. holding hands with your beloved, the wind picked up, intensifying gavi's scent.

an intensifying, yet subtle mix of a sweet apple that gives relief after a sunny day. his eyes reflecting a sign of almonds and honey as they were filled with love for you. his eye color reminding you of deep, dark, yet candied honey. the inside of an almond representing his pale, creamy skin. you only noticed the special details of him that nobody else could.

talking about the most random things possibly. cracking random jokes that changed the topics within minutes. becoming nostalgic of old memories that summarized how the past few 6 months were able to happen.

toning out the sound of crickets and birds, excusing the rustling in the bushes as an animal. lost in your own laugher, neither you or gavi could hear the camera shutter. pictures being taken as you were wrapped in gavi's warm embrace, synching heart beats. images spreading online as quick as the way gavi spun you in the middle of the street. the night disappearing and fading away just as your smiles after discovering the pictures were all over social media.

gavi was inflamed. you were confused. you just wanted one peaceful night. maybe even even more. it wasn't ideal to go public so early. none of you had a full conversation on this. it would put too much stress. worse part was, nobody was mentally prepared for this.

the media went crazy when it was posted. articles after articles with the pictures were all over it. different angles, different interactions, it really exposed both of you.

"gavi, what do we do?" an overwhelming sense of panic and anxiety came upon you.

"i don't know, okay? this is just as fucking complicated as it is for me," he held his head with his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed. mumbling spanish curse words under his breath. "shitty paparazzi always has to do something."

you rose from the bed. "we need some space right now. contact your publicist, immediately." grabbing your phone and leaving the room, gavi needed time to process things correctly. he was better doing it in silence, as his anger would get the best of him.

opening the guest bedroom door, the emptiness instantly coming into contact with you. the only background noise is the air condition on the highest setting possible.

sitting in the empty room for a few minutes, your phone began to blow up with notifications. follow requests from instagram and tiktok were taking over your screen. how the fuck did they find you?

suddenly, texts from your best friends were pouring in. sending countless articles about your relationship. you took a deep breath. opening each article with your eyebrows becoming furrowed. lies, upon lies were written. the false information that was feeding the media made you rethink of your decisions of this relationship.

next were tiktok videos being sent. opening the comments, your insecurities consumed every inch of you.

'she bagged gavi? she's not pretty enough for that.'

'look at her in those clothes. gavi shouldn't be with someone that weighed that much.'

'did she get lip fillers? she needs a refund from whoever did them.'

'even if she was a gold digger, she should be buying better clothes than that.'

'there's no way she is a gold digger, that money could've been used to do plastic surgery.'

without realizing it, tears were flowing down your cheeks. you put your hand over your mouth to cover up your sobs. you were hurting inside, but you couldn't stop scrolling through the comments. soon, you heard gavi yelling in anger into his phone. your head was pounding. too many thoughts, emotions, and problems were piling.

your heart beat increasing rapidly. your vulnerabilities crashing like waves in your mind. the hurtful comments struck your skin as thunder. the saltiness of your tears streaming. your heavy breathing to stop your anxiety. you were crumbling into sand.

hearing the bedroom door open, you wiped your tears quickly. gavi walked through the door ready to speak, but stopped in his movements. he could see the redness in your eyes of sadness.

"have you been crying, my love?" he sat next to you on the mattress, slowly reaching his arms out. feeling his warm embrace, something wasn't right.

"we need to talk." both of you said at the same time.

"you should probably go first." you told him in a whisper.

"no, it's okay. you're going through a rough time."

"i know you just got off the phone with your publicist. what's the next step we should take?" he cleared his throat. he looked scared to speak. opening his mouth, a lump formed.

"it's better if we take a break."

silence.

he imagined you being hurt. your pupils told him otherwise. you were thinking the same thing.

"i understand. i think that's best for the both of us." he nodded as he stood up. indicating he was going to pack his stuff, he seemed more hurt than he did. him and his publicist discussed other options if the first one didn't work out. he imagined you fighting for your relationship, but you were seriously going to let it go like that. gathering his belongings, he realized that he didn't know how much to pack. his head was in denial of emotions. he packed up and left without any formal of goodbye.

——————————————

two days had passed after the unfortunate events. gavi had ensured he would have full security around the house to protect you. it was then you realized that it was sunday. meaning you had to go grocery shopping or else you would starve for the week.

changing into a little red top that revealed some skin, pairing with a leather jacket and leather pants. the realization hit you that you needed to cover your face. one person recognizing you could end in you becoming surrounded in a crowd full of questions. taking a red scarf given to you by gavi, you wrapped it around you, making sure to cover the lower part of your face.

meeting up with a security guard at the market, it was like a normal grocery shopping spree. until, you accidentally bumped into someone. this caused your face to be exposed.

"holy shit, you're y/n!" you gave the person a quick smile before rushing into another aisle. word must have gone around fast. you were circled with a crowd of people. some having cameras ready. the scarf was long gone from your face.

"y/n! is it true you're dating pablo gavi?" smiling was the only answer you could give them. smiling was another way of apologizing by running them over with the cart.

cameras continued to shutter and the flash nearly blinding you. "who is this man right here? is he your boyfriend? are you cheating on gavi?" you tried to hide your facial expression, but that was one of the dumbest questions you've ever heard.

apologizing to the cashier for the commotion, you grabbed your things and left. driving around multiple circles due to cars following you. you nearly fell to the floor after the experience.

"need some help with the bags?" you jumped in fear. getting a closer look to the couch, of course pablo gavi was sitting there.

"holy shit. you nearly gave me a heart attack." passing the bags towards him, he shared his gummy smile.

"you should really change the locks." putting the cereal away, you looked at him confused.

"how come?"

"it was that easy for me to enter."

"gavi, you had the key. we're on a break. besides, why are you here?" putting the last thing in the fridge, you poured yourself a glass of water. looking into his honey eyes as he sat down across the kitchen island.

"i wanted to apologize for putting you into this mess. i'm sure we can get through it though. it would be better to do it together, not really alone."

"are you asking to get back together?" you hid your smile behind your cup, taking another sip.

"yeah, i guess you could say that. we could go out for dinner tonight."

"can't believe the famous gavi is asking me out." he winked at you.

there was no more hiding. love was meant to be expressed. you couldn't escape the paparazzi, but it was no secret that you were happy. pictures of you holding hands at a restaurant really sealed that the world can mind their own business.

[formulafanfics13]

Another day, Another Trauma - Toto Wolff 🔥

Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

The paddock was always loudest on Saturdays. Fans pressing against the gates. Tyres being wheeled in like sacred relics. Espresso machines hissing behind every hospitality door. Camera shutters. The flutter of sponsor flags in the spring wind.

But as she walked in ,black sunglasses, fitted white dress, her hand tucked loosely in Toto’s as they strolled side-by-side through the chaos — the sound seemed to sharpen.

Not louder. Just… directed. All of it pointed at them. All of it seeing her, really seeing her, for the first time not just as Kimi Antonelli’s older sister, not just as that girl in the Mercedes garage, but as the woman walking beside the man in charge.

Toto, of course, didn’t flinch. Didn’t glance once at the cameras. Didn’t smile for anyone except her. He led her through the paddock like it was his living room, team radio still crackling faintly from his comms band, phone in one hand, VIP access badge swinging from his belt loop. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t bother with greetings.

He only stopped once, when she paused to greet one of the engineers from Ferrari, someone she’d worked with years ago while shooting in Maranello.

Toto had waited. Watched. Then, once the smalltalk was done, wrapped a single hand around her waist and resumed walking like he hadn’t just claimed her in full daylight, in front of her ex-colleagues, in front of everyone.

He didn’t take her to the guest suite. Or hospitality. Or the pitlane fence. He took her straight to his station in the garage.

Slid a chair beside his own. Placed a fresh set of headphones on the desk. Said nothing.

But when she looked up at him, cocking one brow, he just leaned in and murmured: “You’re staying with me again today.”

And that was it.

Meanwhile, across the paddock, chaos was blooming. Kimi was already mid-media block, standing beside George in front of a Mercedes sponsor wall, both boys in fresh race suits, answering questions on FP3 strategy and tyre compounds and the psychological pressure of first-time qualifying.

George, to his credit, was in full PR-mode. Smiling. Engaging. Hitting his talking points like he was gunning for an employee of the month certificate.

Kimi… less so. The kid had barely slept. His jaw was tight. His hands kept adjusting the cuffs of his suit. And every time a journalist even hinted at the word quali, his answers got sharper.

But then came that question. “Before we let you go, one last one, it’s been a pretty exciting first weekend for the Antonelli family, right? Your sister’s been spotted in the garage with Toto Wolff more than once. There’s been a lot of speculation -”

George actually laughed.

Kimi did not. “She’s my sister,” he said flatly, “not my problem.”

“Oh come on,” the Sky Sports guy grinned. “No thoughts on your boss dating your sister?”

“I have lots of thoughts,” Kimi replied coolly. “Most of them not safe for broadcast.”

George clapped a hand over his own mouth. Kimi didn’t blink. “She’s a grown woman. She can do what she wants,” he added with a hint of sharpness. “I’m just here to drive the car.”

George leaned in like a dickhead. “Do you think she’s distracted Toto?”

Kimi shot him a death glare so pure it could have cracked carbon fibre. “George.”

“I’m just saying-!”

“She’s not the one who spun yesterday.”

George turned to the camera. “I love working with Kimi.”

Back in the garage, she watched the media feed on a muted monitor. Saw the question come in. Saw Kimi’s face freeze. Saw the way George immediately got that glint in his eye. She pulled her sunglasses down her nose, narrowed her gaze, and muttered, “They’re lucky I’m not out there.”

Toto didn’t turn. But he did smirk. “You know you’re causing chaos,” he said, toggling something on the screen.

She shrugged. “I’m sitting here doing nothing.”

“You’re sitting here,” he said lowly, “with me. That’s enough.”

She leaned closer. “Are you distracted?”

He finally turned. Met her gaze. And said, “Dangerously.”

FP3 passed in a blur. George led the timesheets.

Kimi placed solidly midfield, still learning, still improving, the car clean, the team satisfied.

She didn’t leave Toto’s side once. Every now and then someone glanced at her. Cameras hovered. But Toto didn’t flinch. Didn’t move away. His hand brushed her thigh under the desk twice. She didn’t stop him.

And when FP3 ended? He reached across the desk, lifted her headset off for her, and said, softly: “Come with me.” Like he always meant to. Like she always would.

She didn’t question it. She never did when he looked like that, chin high, sunglasses on, headset off and tucked under one arm like he’d just conducted a ballet and now wanted to stroll through the applause. The air was already thick with Quali tension, but Toto moved through it like he was immune.

And when they rounded the curve toward the media pen? She spotted George and Kimi immediately. Both boys were just stepping off the branded Sky Sports platform, pulling their race suit collars down. George was already halfway through his post-interview snack, a green juice and a protein bar, which he held like a toddler mid-tantrum. Kimi was glaring at the floor like it had personally offended him.

She lit up. “Oh, perfect timing.”

Toto smirked faintly beside her but said nothing, just watched her step forward, heels clicking lightly against the asphalt, sunglasses still perched on her nose like armour.

“KIMI,” she called sweetly.

He turned. Too late. She was already wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t,” he muttered, squirming.

“Too late,” she grinned, hugging him like the world’s most annoying older sister, tight, chaotic, all weight and no warning.

He tried to wriggle out of it. Failed. George watched like it was Netflix. 

“Oh my god, you were so good in that interview,” she said dramatically, kissing his cheek as he physically recoiled. “First question about me fucking your boss? You handled it like a seasoned professional.”

George howled. Kimi groaned. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m proud.”

“I’m traumatised.”

“Oh please,” she snorted, stepping back but still ruffling his hair. “You loved it.”

“I hated it.”

“Admit it,” she said, lowering her sunglasses with a grin. “You love being the little brother of the woman who’s blowing your boss.”

George choked. Toto looked away briefly, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “this was a mistake.”

Kimi turned fully to face her, deadpan. “I’m not mad about it,” he said slowly. “I never was mad about it.”

She blinked. “Oh?”

“I’m serious.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m disturbed,” Kimi clarified. “Because he’s older than our parents.”

George spat green juice onto the tarmac. Toto, to his credit, didn’t blink.

She, however, gasped. “He is not-”

“He is closer in age to Papa than to me, and that’s all I’m saying.”

Toto finally spoke. Calm. Controlled. But deeply amused. “I’m closer in IQ to your sister than you, and that’s all I’m saying.”

Kimi blinked. George screamed. She high-fived Toto.

The cameras, of course, caught all of it. Unintentionally. They weren’t supposed to be filming at that moment, the segment had wrapped, the crew were packing up. But one Sky cameraman kept rolling, caught the entire exchange, and uploaded it to the Sky Sports internal system under the tag Antonelli_Wolff_SiblingSmackdown_FINAL.mp4.

It wouldn’t air. Yet. But word travelled. By the time they made it back to the garage, half the engineers were smiling at her like she’d just dropped a race-winning strategy. One of them even whispered, “Respect,” as she passed.

She didn’t reply. Just looked at Toto. He looked at her. And in his eyes, she could already see it: the hunger, the chaos, the quiet admission that he didn’t regret a single second of letting her into this world. Even if Kimi did.

It started like every qualifying did. Three segments. One shot. Chaos disguised as structure. Q1 was all nerves.

Kimi nearly binned it in Turn 6, corrected just in time, came back with a time that scraped him into P14. She flinched. Toto didn’t. His hand tightened on her shoulder instead, grounding.

Q2 was cleaner. Kimi placed P10.

George flew into P2. Q3 was breathless.

She could barely sit still by then, the soft plastic of her headphones biting into her cheek, the air in the garage thick with tension. The engineers around her barely blinked. Bono had his mic hot at all times. Marcus was already calculating tyre temps and whispering options under his breath. Toto stood behind her chair the entire time, one hand on her shoulder, one at his chin.

Kimi pulled out his best lap with thirty seconds to go. P9.

She exhaled so hard she nearly sobbed.

George slotted into P3.

The garage exploded. And Toto? He leaned down. Kissed the top of her head, slow and deliberate, and said, “He did it.”

She blinked fast, biting her lip. “He really did.”

The next part was a blur. Engineers clapping backs. Mechanics yelling stats. George bursting in with his helmet half-off and a grin like he’d won the fucking championship. Kimi walked in after him, flushed, exhausted, twitchy with adrenaline, and the moment he saw her, he froze. Then, barely a moment later, he grinned. Small. Real. “P9,” he said.

“P9,” she echoed, pulling him into a hug before he could pretend he didn’t want it.

“I didn’t crash.”

“I noticed.”

He pulled back. “That last sector was for you.”

She ruffled his hair again. “Stop being sweet or I’ll cry.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“Too late.”

Toto gave them space. Only for a moment. But when the chaos faded, when the debriefs started and the cameras began to circle, that’s when he returned to her side.

Wordlessly. Hand at the small of her back. Guiding her out of the garage. They barely made it to the pitlane before a familiar voice called out. “Toto! Over here-”

Natalie Pinkham. All perfect cheekbones and tailored jumpsuit and the kind of warmth that made you feel like you’d known her since childhood. She was flanked by Karun Chandhok, mic already up, Sky Sports camera team practically bouncing with glee.

Toto didn’t blink. He turned toward them. Adjusted his shirt collar. Nodded once. But what he didn’t do? He didn’t let go of her. He kept his arm around her waist, standing tall, eyes steady, posture relaxed — and as Natalie’s team stepped in with cameras and light reflectors and all the humming tension of a live broadcast, he just… kept her there.

Right next to him. Right in frame.

“Big smiles in the Mercedes camp today,” Natalie began, her voice sunshine and strategy. “George Russell, second row. And Kimi Antonelli, in his very first ever F1 qualifying, making it to Q3 and landing P9. We’re here with Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff to talk us through it.”

Toto gave a practiced nod. “Yes, very proud of the team. Both drivers executed well under pressure. George delivered, as expected. Kimi showed remarkable composure for someone so young.”

“You didn’t look surprised,” Karun said with a grin.

“I never am,” Toto replied, glancing briefly down at her before looking back to the mic.

“And speaking of surprises…” Natalie turned, eyes twinkling. “It’s lovely to see you here,” she said, addressing her now. “We’ve seen you around the garage before, but this is the first time we’ve caught you mid-quali. You must be so proud of your little brother.”

She blinked. Smiled. Heart thudding.

“I’m incredibly proud,” she said, stepping half a pace forward, letting her hand rest lightly on Toto’s arm. “He’s worked for this since he was basically in nappies. Seeing him put it in Q3? Watching him hold that pressure? It’s surreal.”

“Did you cry?” Karun asked, teasing.

She laughed. “Almost. But I didn’t want to smudge my eyeliner. He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Natalie smiled so warmly she almost cried then. “Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say the Antonelli family just gained a whole new chapter of F1 legacy. Thank you both.”

Toto nodded. She smiled.

And when the cameras cut and Natalie leaned in, mic off, sunglasses perched up, she whispered, “He really does adore you.”

And all she could do was smile wider.

*

The room was dim, but not silent. Laptop fans hummed. Data screens glowed with sector times and brake temps and delta overlays. George was huddled over his telemetry with Marcus, hands moving as he pointed out patterns in the long run sim, brows furrowed with full focus. Kimi was slightly more slumped, one arm thrown across the back of his chair, eyes scanning a corner display where Bono was breaking down tyre degradation curves from FP3.

She was beside him. Legs crossed, slightly bored, chewing the edge of a pen cap she’d found on the table. Her hair was up. Her shoes were off. She wasn’t technically supposed to be there, but no one had told her to leave. She’d kissed her brother’s cheek after dinner and flopped beside him like she belonged there. Bono hadn’t blinked. The other engineers didn’t care.

Kimi kept pretending to be annoyed. But he hadn’t told her to move. She was scribbling something on a spare notepad, nothing relevant, just shapes, when the door clicked open behind them.

And he walked in. Toto. Fresh from post-Quali media. Still in black slacks and that tailored dress shirt with sleeves rolled sharp and a slight rumple in his collar that gave him away — not tired, not dishevelled, just done pretending for the day.

He scanned the room once, nodded to Marcus and Bono, then let his gaze settle on her. She smiled. He walked over like he’d done it a hundred times before. Said, “Hi,” in that low voice, soft and close.

And then just sat down beside her. No warning. No preamble. Just a hand on her hip and a low, “Come here,” as he pulled her gently, lazily, into his lap like it was nothing.

Like they weren’t in the fucking data room. Like Kimi wasn’t right there. She gasped. Laughed.

Kimi groaned, slumping deeper in his seat, hands thrown up in dramatic protest. “Noooo-”

Bono burst out laughing. George didn’t even look up, just called out from the other table, “If he starts kissing her, I’m unplugging the telemetry.”

Toto chuckled, one arm wrapped comfortably around her waist, hand splayed across her thigh. He looked like a man who owned the room, not because he was team principal, but because she was in his lap and he didn’t give a single fuck who saw it.

“I came to say I’m proud of you,” he said casually, eyes on Kimi now.

Kimi blinked. “Oh,” he said.

Toto nodded. “You held your nerve. You didn’t panic after Q1. You listened to Bono. You kept the car clean.”

Kimi shifted in his seat. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“I’m not worried for tomorrow,” Toto added. “You’re going to do well.”

Kimi scratched the back of his neck. Then let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I have a serious question.”

Toto raised a brow. “Alright.”

Everyone turned. Bono leaned forward slightly. George peeked over his laptop. Even Marcus looked up.

Kimi narrowed his eyes like he was in court. “If you two get married-”

Toto’s brows actually lifted.

“-will she technically become my boss in any way? Because listen,” Kimi continued, gesturing between them. “I can deal with you two doing… whatever this is.”

She opened her mouth. “Excuse you-”

“No no no,” he cut her off, waving a hand. “I’ve come to peace with it. You’re… weirdly happy. He’s not a total demon. It’s gross but fine.”

Bono choked on his water.

“But,” Kimi pressed, “if she marries you and then tries to tell me what to do in a professional capacity, like, officially, I will riot.”

George had fully abandoned the data. He was howling. Marcus was openly smirking. Toto, though? He didn’t laugh. Didn’t deny. Just looked Kimi dead in the eye and said, completely calm, “She already tells you what to do.”

Kimi blinked.

“Yeah,” she said sweetly, curling closer to Toto’s chest. “And you listen, baby brother.”

“Suffering,” Kimi muttered.

“You love us,” she beamed.

“I tolerate you.”

“You adore me.”

“You were dropped as a child.”

“You’re going to miss me when I honeymoon in Italy.”

“OH MY GOD.”

Toto kissed her temple. Bono wiped tears from his eyes. And George leaned back in his chair and muttered, “This is my favourite team debrief ever.”

The laughter was just starting to fade. Toto’s fingers were resting lazily on her bare thigh, drawing slow circles without thinking. Her legs were still draped over one side of his lap, one arm hooked around his neck, the other fiddling with a leftover telemetry pen. His chest was warm beneath her shoulder blade. His mouth brushed her temple every now and then, subtle, grounding, like he forgot anyone else was still in the room.

Kimi was trying not to combust. His screen had gone black. His data sheet was abandoned. He’d taken to muttering “suffering is temporary, but trauma is forever” under his breath while Bono pretended to work and absolutely failed to hide his grin.

George was still smirking. A little too quiet. A little too entertained. And then, “So, Kimi…”

Kimi looked up. “No.”

George grinned. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

Kimi narrowed his eyes. “It’s never good when you start like that.”

George leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He nodded toward Toto’s lap, toward her body curled into him, the way Toto’s hand sat high on her thigh now, the way she was humming under her breath while ignoring everything.

“You ever think,” George said, dragging the moment out, “how it might feel to be an uncle?”

The room went dead silent. Bono’s water bottle slipped out of his hand and hit the floor. Kimi choked so hard on air he actually grabbed his own chest. Marcus blinked, turned, left the room. She stopped humming. Toto didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look up. He just kissed her neck, soft and slow, one single press of lips to skin like yes, like of course, like and what of it.

She smirked. Kimi blanched. “I will actually die,” he said flatly, staring at George with horror. “I will fucking drop dead if you ever suggest that again.”

George was wheezing.

“Oh my god,” Kimi muttered. “I just came to do a data review. I didn’t come here to hear about my sister’s womb.”

“Not yet,” George said under his breath.

Bono leaned into the table, face in his hands. “This is going to be the greatest season of my life.”

“I hate all of you,” Kimi announced.

“Too late,” she said brightly. “You’re already stuck with us.”

“No. No. No.”

“Christmas is going to be so fun,” George added.

“Shut up.”

“Matching pyjamas, Kimi.”

“SHUT UP.”

Toto still hadn’t said a word. Still hadn’t so much as blinked. Just stroked her thigh like it was a reflex, like it helped him focus, like he’d already made the decision a long time ago and wasn’t even slightly bothered that it was on the table now.

She leaned into his ear. Whispered, “Should we fuck with him?”

His mouth twitched. “Yes.”

She turned to the room. Cleared her throat.

“I just want everyone to know,” she said sweetly, “that if and when I ever get pregnant-”

“NOOOOOOOOOO,” Kimi screamed into his own elbow.

“-It will not be wearing a Mercedes onesie. That’s tacky. However, I will be designing custom race suits for the entire family.” 

George was sobbing. Bono was crying real tears.

And Toto finally, finally spoke. “One of them,” he said calmly, “will say Team Principal in Training.”

Kimi stood up and left the room.

[theonottsbxtch]

SUMMER OF LOVE | CS55

an: i can’t remember how this idea came to me but me and rhi ( @iimplicitt ) were losing our minds at this concept eheheh

wc: 4,2k

"Have I ever told you about the summer I fell in love?"

Her voice was soft, her words carrying the weight of a memory so vivid, it might have been yesterday. Her grandchildren, sprawled on the living room floor with curious, wide eyes, shook their heads.

"Nonna had a romance?" one of them teased, the youngest, her freckles scrunched with disbelief.

She smiled, the kind of smile that knew things, and reached for the delicate chain around her neck. Dangling from it was a small, sea-glass pendant, its edges smoothed by the tides of time.

"It was on the Amalfi Coast," she began, her voice faraway now, as though the waves themselves had come to pull her back. "I was young, too young to know better. And his name was Carlos."

The room seemed to fall silent, except for the soft clink of rain against the window.

"Was he handsome?" one of the older grandchildren asked, leaning in.

She chuckled, low and warm. "Handsome doesn’t quite cover it. He was... larger than life. Carlos had this way about him—like the sun rose just to warm his skin, like every room he entered belonged to him." She paused, her gaze slipping past them, beyond the room. "But that was the summer I learned something important. The things that seem too perfect are usually hiding something."

For a moment, no one said anything. Then she leaned back in her chair, and the spell broke, just enough to let her voice return. "But it was still the most beautiful summer of my life. Let me tell you how it began..."

The summer of straight out of university unfurled like a dream. She had just turned twenty-one, brimming with the kind of naive hope that made her believe anything was possible. She and her best friend, Emilia, had spent months scraping together every spare coin, renting a modest villa just outside Positano. The place was small, with paint flaking from its whitewashed walls and shutters that groaned in the evening wind, but the terrace was draped in bougainvillea, and the view—a vast, shimmering stretch of the Tyrrhenian Sea—was worth every sacrifice.

That was where she first saw him.

The morning had been spent on the beach, lying on striped towels under the relentless Italian sun. By early afternoon, their shoulders were warm and pink, their hair damp with sea salt, and they’d wandered into a small harbor café for spritzes and shade.

She wore a yellow sundress Emilia had insisted she pack. “It’s perfect for you,” Emilia had said that morning, tying the straps just right. The dress clung to her lightly tanned skin, and for the first time in a while, she felt... beautiful.

And then he walked in.

He wasn’t just handsome—he was magnetic. He had the kind of presence that made strangers turn their heads, as if sensing something larger than life in their midst. Carlos wore an unbuttoned white linen shirt and tan trousers that looked effortless, but the real allure was in the way he carried himself. As though the summer sun and the breeze off the water were his alone.

“Who is that?” Emilia whispered, wide-eyed.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her heart was thudding in her chest, her eyes fixed on him as he strolled to the counter.

Carlos ordered a coffee in fluent, easy Italian, exchanged a few words with the waiter, and smiled—a slow, devastating smile that seemed to brighten the whole café. He didn’t look at her until he turned to leave, but when he did, their eyes met briefly. Just a glance, quick and electric.

That evening, the village square came alive with music and laughter. String lights twinkled above the cobblestones, and the air smelled of grilled seafood and wine. She spun under the lights, her sandals kicking up dust as Emilia urged her to dance. The world felt infinite, golden, and free.

She didn’t notice Carlos at first. But then, in the middle of a spin, she felt a hand catch hers.

She turned, and there he was.

“Carlos,” he said simply, as if introducing himself was the most natural thing in the world.

“May have to wait for that,” she replied, her voice quieter than she intended.

He smiled again, and in that moment, it felt like nothing could go wrong. She couldn’t have known what lay ahead, couldn’t have guessed that something so dazzling could carry the weight of a secret. All she knew was that, for the first time in her life, she felt utterly alive.

Carlos didn’t let go of her hand right away. Instead, he led her toward the edge of the square, where the noise of the festa softened into a hum and the scent of lemons hung heavy in the night air.

“Are you visiting Positano?” he asked, his what seemed to be a Spanish accent lacing his words, smooth and melodic.

She nodded, trying to steady her voice. “Yes. Just for the summer.”

His dark eyes lingered on her, studying her as if committing every detail to memory. “Then I’m lucky to have met you. Summers go by so quickly.”

She smiled, feeling both shy and bold under his gaze. “What about you? Do you live here?”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head, his curls catching the light. “I’m only passing through. A few weeks, maybe less. Work, mostly.”

She tilted her head. “Work? On the Amalfi Coast?”

Carlos laughed, a low, rich sound that made her pulse quicken. “Not a bad place for it, is it? I’m… well, it’s complicated. But let’s not talk about work.”

“Alright,” she said, her smile widening. “What should we talk about, then?”

Carlos stepped closer, his voice soft. “Tell me about you. Why did you come to Positano?”

She hesitated, not sure what he wanted to hear. The truth felt almost too simple. “It’s beautiful here,” she said after a moment. “And I wanted—no, I needed—to feel something different. To get away, to see more of the world before...”

“Before what?”

She laughed nervously. “Before real life starts, I suppose.”

Carlos nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “I understand that. Sometimes it feels like we only have a little time to be free, doesn’t it?”

The words settled between them, heavier than the moment called for, but she didn’t mind. She felt as if he saw right through her—past the yellow sundress, past the carefree dances under string lights, straight into the part of her that had always craved something more.

He offered her his hand again. “Dance with me.”

She hesitated, glancing back at the crowd in the square. “There’s no music here.”

Carlos smiled. “Do we need it?”

Before she could answer, he spun her gently into his arms. The world seemed to narrow around them, until it was only the sound of her breath and the quiet rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. He moved with an ease that matched the confidence in his smile, leading her as if they’d done this a hundred times before.

She laughed, the sound light and unguarded, and for the first time in a long while, she stopped thinking. She stopped wondering what came next, or what was expected, and let herself fall into the moment.

For the rest of the night, Carlos stayed by her side. They wandered through the winding streets of the village, talking about nothing and everything, until the festa died down and the moon hung high over the cliffs.

At her villa, just as the horizon began to blush with the first hints of dawn, he paused at the gate.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said, his voice low.

She hesitated. She wanted to say yes, but the intensity of his gaze unnerved her, as though she were stepping into something she didn’t fully understand. Still, she found herself nodding.

“Tomorrow?”

Carlos smiled, and for a moment, he looked almost relieved. “Tomorrow,” he said. Then, with one last lingering glance, he turned and disappeared into the pale light of morning.

She stood there for a long time, the stone of the villa cool beneath her palms, wondering how it was possible to meet someone who made the rest of the world feel small.

Over the next week, Carlos became a constant presence in her  life. He seemed to know exactly where to find her, whether she was perched on the terrace with a book or wandering through the narrow streets of Positano. Every day, he’d appear with that same easy confidence, carrying two gelatos, or a bundle of lemons he’d picked from a nearby grove, or a suggestion for some new adventure.

They swam in hidden coves where the water was impossibly blue. They hiked to quiet hilltops, where the sea stretched endlessly beneath them. They danced again in the village square when another festa lit up the night, and Carlos spun her so wildly that she laughed until her ribs ached.

Emilia noticed, of course. She watched with a smirk as Carlos whisked her away each day, teasing her endlessly when they returned.

“I like this for you,” Emilia said one night as they lounged on the villa’s terrace. A bottle of wine sat between them, the remains of dinner scattered on their plates. “You deserve a little romance.”

She smiled, swirling her glass. “It’s more than a little, isn’t it?”

Emilia raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her cheeks warming. “It feels… big. Like I’m living in someone else’s story.”

Emilia grinned. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

As the week went on, she found herself looking forward to Carlos’ visits more and more. She didn’t just enjoy his company—she craved it. The way he made her laugh, the way he seemed to really see her, the way his stories always hinted at some grander, more mysterious life just beyond her reach.

And then, on the last evening of the week, as they stood on the terrace overlooking the sea, Carlos said something that caught her completely off guard.

“Stay,” he said simply.

She turned to him, startled. “Stay?”

“For another week,” he clarified, leaning against the railing. “Don’t leave tomorrow. Stay here, in my villa. Let me show you more. One more week—it’s nothing.”

Her heart fluttered at the way he said it, so casually, as if the world would bend to make it happen.

“I can’t just… stay,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Why not?” Carlos smiled, leaning closer. “Your life will still be waiting for you when you leave. But this—” he gestured to the view, to the stars scattered over the sea—“this won’t wait.”

When Carlos finally left that night, she found herself pacing the villa, unsure what to do. She turned to Emilia, who was stretched out on the couch, flipping through a guidebook.

“So,” Emilia said, not even looking up, “what did he want?”

She hesitated. “He asked me to stay.”

Emilia sat up, her eyes lighting up. “And what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” She chewed her lip, pacing again. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I like him—”

“You like him?” Emilia interrupted with a laugh. “Chica, you’re practically glowing every time he walks into a room. Let’s not downplay it.”

She sank onto the couch beside her, covering her face with her hands. “I think I’m catching feelings for him,” she admitted, her voice muffled.

Emilia’s grin softened into something kinder. “Good,” she said. “You should. Isn’t that the whole point of a summer like this?”

She peeked through her fingers. “But what if it’s a bad idea?”

Emilia shrugged, pouring the last of the wine into her glass. “Then it’s a bad idea you’ll never forget. But if you don’t stay, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve happened.”

She stayed quiet for a long moment, staring out at the night. The stars felt closer here, the world smaller and brighter. She could already imagine what one more week with Carlos might feel like—the laughter, the late nights, the way her chest tightened every time he looked at her.

Emilia nudged her. “So? What are you going to do?”

She smiled softly, her decision already forming.

“I’m going to stay.”

Her extra week in Positano felt like stepping into another world, one that existed just for the two of them. With each passing day, Carlos became more ingrained in her life—guiding her to places tourists never found, introducing her to the quiet beauty of sunrises on the cliffs and the music of waves crashing against hidden coves.

They spent hours talking, laughing, and sharing pieces of themselves. He told her about his childhood, how he’d grown up by the sea but had spent most of his adult life in cities that never seemed to sleep. She told him about her love of art, her dreams of finding a life that felt as vibrant as the colors on her canvas.

The days blurred into golden afternoons and soft evenings, and each moment with Carlos felt lighter than air.

But it was the night before her second departure when everything changed.

They were sitting on the terrace of the villa, the stars bright and close overhead. The wine they’d been sipping was nearly gone, and the air was thick with the scent of salt and bougainvillea. Carlos had been quiet, uncharacteristically so, leaning back in his chair as if lost in thought.

She reached over, brushing her fingers against his hand. “What are you thinking about?” she asked softly.

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Nothing worth troubling you with.”

She laughed, light and soft. “You think too much.”

“And you don’t think enough,” he countered with a faint smile, his eyes meeting hers.

She hesitated, her heart beating faster. She felt as though the night were holding its breath, the world tilting slightly. The words came before she could stop them.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

For a moment, the only sound was the distant crash of the waves below.

Carlos didn’t move, didn’t speak. His eyes darkened, his expression tightening just enough for her to notice.

Panic shot through her chest. She pulled her hand back quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to— I don’t know why I—”

“Amore, stop,” he interrupted gently, but she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered, rising from her chair. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I? I knew this wasn’t—”

“Amore,” he said again, more firmly this time, standing and catching her wrist. “Don’t. You haven’t ruined anything.”

She turned to him then, her eyes glistening, searching his face for something—anything—that would make her feel less foolish. But what she saw only confused her more.

“Then why do you look like that?” she whispered.

Carlos closed his eyes for a moment, his grip on her wrist loosening. When he opened them again, there was something pained in his expression, something she couldn’t place.

“I didn’t want this to happen,” he said softly.

Her stomach sank. “Didn’t want what to happen?”

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Amore, I—” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “I wasn’t honest with you. From the beginning.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“I have someone waiting for me,” he said finally, his voice heavy. “Back in Monaco. A fiancée.”

The word hung in the air, sharp and cutting. She froze, her mind racing, trying to make sense of what he’d just said.

“A… fiancée?” she repeated, her voice hollow.

“Yes.” He looked at her, his expression pleading now. “I never meant to hurt you, amore. I didn’t expect to meet someone like you.”

She stepped back, shaking her head. “So what was this, then? A game? A way to pass the time before you went back to her?”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Carlos said quickly, his voice breaking. “It was real. Every moment with you was real.”

She stared at him, her heart splitting in two. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re going back to her.”

Carlos didn’t answer right away. His silence was all the confirmation she needed.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She turned away, gripping the edge of the terrace railing as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “You should leave,” she said finally, her voice trembling.

“Amore—”

“Stop calling me that!” she shouted, cutting him off. “You have a fiancée?” she repeated, her voice trembling with both disbelief and fury.

“Yes,” Carlos said quietly, his shoulders slumping. “But it’s not… it’s complicated.”

Her laugh was sharp and bitter. “What could possibly be complicated about being engaged and then spending two weeks seducing someone else?”

He took a step closer, his hands open, pleading. “She made me marry her.”

She froze, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

Carlos looked at her, desperation etched in his features. “She made me. Or she’d leave me.”

Her mouth fell open, and for a moment, she couldn’t find the words. When they finally came, they were laced with disbelief. “Made you? What do you mean, made you? Are you some kind of dog, Carlos?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, ashamed. “It’s… it’s more complicated than you think. In my line of work. There are a type of people I should be seen with. If I didn’t agree—”

“Then she’d leave you,” she finished coldly. “And you couldn’t stand that, could you?”

Carlos’s eyes darted back to her. “It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like,” she snapped, her voice breaking.

“I don’t love her,” he said quickly, his voice rising. “I love you.”

Her heart wavered for a moment, but her anger flared again, overpowering the fragile flicker of hope. “Then why don’t you break up with her? I don’t understand.”

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “That’s the problem.”

Her laugh was sharp, cutting through the night. “The problem? Carlos, what does that even mean? Do you love her or not?”

“No!” he said, stepping closer. “I told you, I don’t love her. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving with the weight of his words. She wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that the past week hadn’t been a lie. But something inside her cracked, a voice of reason cutting through the chaos.

“And who’s to say you won’t find another young thing in another sunny place and do the same thing to me?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Carlos recoiled as if she’d slapped him, his face falling. “Amore… it’s not like that. I swear, it’s not.”

“Isn’t it?” she shot back, her eyes narrowing. “You’re standing here, telling me you love me, but you’re also telling me you’re tied to someone else. What am I supposed to do with that, Carlos? What kind of future could we even have?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. For the first time, Carlos seemed uncertain, his usual confidence faltering.

She shook her head, stepping back toward the railing. “You don’t even know what you want, do you? You want me, but you won’t let go of her. You want both, and that’s not love, Carlos. That’s selfish.”

“Amore,” he said softly, reaching for her, but she pulled away.

“No,” she said, her voice firm. “I think you should leave. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

For a long moment, he stood there, as if trying to find the right words to stop her from slipping away. But there was nothing he could say, and he knew it.

Without another word, he turned and walked into the darkness, leaving her alone on the terrace, her tears finally falling as she gripped the cool stone railing.

She’d come to Positano searching for freedom, for something bigger than the life she’d left behind. But now, she felt more trapped than ever, chained to a memory she’d never quite escape.

“And so,” she continued, her voice soft, tinged with a wistful smile, “I left Positano. I packed my things, kissed the sea goodbye, and never looked back.”

The youngest leaned forward, her dark curls bouncing. “But what happened, Nonna?”

She tilted her head, her gaze distant, as though she were looking out at the cliffs of Positano again, the sea shimmering beneath her memory.

“He loved another woman,” she said simply, her voice steady despite the weight of the words.

“And what happened to her?” asked the eldest, his voice filled with curiosity.

She smiled faintly, leaning back in her chair. “He fell out of love.” She let the silence linger for a moment before adding, “And I didn’t wait for him. Instead, I met your abuelo.”

The children exchanged glances, the story lingering between them. Finally, the youngest spoke again, her voice cautious. “Nonna, did you ever… stay in touch with him?”

Her smile faltered, just slightly. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood, smoothing her skirt with her hands. “Wait here,” she said, her voice quieter now.

She crossed the room, her steps deliberate, and opened the door to her bedroom. The grandchildren exchanged curious looks but didn’t follow, their gazes tracking her as she disappeared into the wardrobe.

Moments later, she returned, a small wooden box in her hands. The edges were worn with age, but it was polished and cared for, as though it had been opened and closed countless times. She placed it gently on the coffee table and sat back down, her hands folded in her lap.

“What’s in there?” asked the middle child, her voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitated for a moment before opening the lid. Inside were dozens of letters, all neatly tied with faded ribbons. The envelopes were yellowed with time, but the handwriting on each one was unmistakably bold, slanted, and familiar.

The eldest leaned closer, picking up one of the letters. On the front, her name was written in Carlos’ elegant script. When he turned it over, he froze.

“Abuela,” he said, his eyes wide, “es el piloto de Ferrari?”

Her lips pressed into a thin smile, her eyes softening with a mix of emotions. She reached over and took the letter from him, her fingers lingering on the edges of the paper.

“To me,” she said softly, “he was just Carlos.”

The room fell silent, the letters resting on the table like echoes of a life she hadn’t shared before. Her grandchildren didn’t speak, sensing that this part of the story didn’t need more words. She glanced at the letters one last time before carefully closing the lid of the box.

“So what you’re saying is… our abuelo could have been Carlos Sainz?” The only boy said.

His sister gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks, while the youngest giggled, nudging her brother.

Her stern look didn’t last long before her lips curved into a small smile. “Mira,” she said, leaning forward slightly, her tone serious but warm, “if your heart tells you something, believe it.”

The grandchildren quieted, their attention snapping back to her.

She gestured to the box on the table. “There was a time when my heart told me to stay. To hold on to a dream. But it also told me to walk away, even when it hurt.” Her voice softened, her gaze drifting again to a place only she could see. “And because I listened, I found your abuelo. I found a love that was steady and strong, one that didn’t ask me to sacrifice myself.”

The children were quiet, absorbing her words.

The eldest broke the silence, her voice small but curious. “But… do you think you made the right choice, Nonna?”

She smiled gently. “I know I did,” she said. “Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have the three of you sitting here, making a mess of my living room.”

The children laughed, the heaviness of the moment lifting just a little.

The boy grinned again, though his voice was softer this time. “Still, it’s kind of crazy. We could’ve been the grandchildren of a Ferrari legend.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Ay, chico. Legends don’t make families. Your abuelo gave me something far greater than any title or fame ever could.”

She reached out, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his hair. Then she looked at each of them in turn, her voice steady but full of warmth. “Remember this, mi amor. Listen to your heart. But make sure it leads you somewhere worth staying.”

For a moment, the grandchildren were silent, watching their grandmother as though seeing her for the first time. Then the eldest crawled onto the armrest of her chair, curling against her side.

“Te quiero, Nonna,” she murmured.

She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Sofia’s face. “I love you too, mi cielo.”

As the sun began to set outside, casting the room in a golden glow, the box of letters sat on the table, unopened but not forgotten. A quiet reminder of a life lived boldly, with a heart that never stopped listening.

the end.

[bernalswifeyy]

Behind the lockscreen

summary: Marc Bernal's and reader's relationship hangs by a thread from an innocent lockscreen leak..

pairing: Marc Bernal x reader

warnings: secret relationship

a/n: i need him

It was supposed to be a quick stroll—nothing fancy, just you, oversized sunglasses, a cappuccino, and the warm Barcelona sun kissing your skin. The kind of simple outing you’d longed for ever since your modeling career had exploded in the last six months.

But simplicity didn’t exist when you were famous.

You barely heard the camera shutters. Just a murmur—like bees humming in the distance—before you caught sight of the paparazzi standing across the street. You didn’t flinch, didn’t run. You smiled softly, the way you’d been trained to. But what you didn’t realize was that as you adjusted your phone in your hand, the screen had lit up.

And on it?

The lock screen wallpaper: a candid Polaroid of you and Marc Bernal, curled up in his childhood bedroom, both in hoodies, laughing at something on his laptop. The photo had been taken late one night during the off-season, the flash catching the curve of your smile and the sleep-mussed strands of Marc’s hair.

It was soft. Private. Real.

And now?

It was in every tabloid.

---

The next day, you sat in the plush chair of a sleek, modern studio, the lights hot on your skin. You wore a designer two-piece, your lips glossed to perfection, though your nerves flickered like static underneath your poised exterior.Your interviewer, a woman known for her charming but relentless style, crossed one leg over the other, glancing at the cue card. Then she looked up and smiled knowingly.

“So, Y/N... you’ve been killing it on runways and magazine covers lately. But let’s talk about the real headline today.” She tilted her head. “That absolutely adorable lock screen that’s been making rounds since yesterday.”

You let out a soft laugh, low and controlled. “Ah, yeah. I saw that.”

“Mhm. So… do tell. Is that your boyfriend? He looked suspiciously like someone who wears Barça colors on the weekends.”

Your heart thumped against your ribcage. You leaned forward slightly, playing coy.

“Look,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think everyone’s entitled to some private moments—even people in the public eye. That picture was from a really chill day with someone who means a lot to me.”

“Someone like... Marc Bernal?”

You smiled, measured. “Someone like that,” you repeated, carefully. “We’re both young, and we’re figuring out life in the spotlight. I think it’s important to keep certain things sacred. You know?”

She arched an eyebrow. “So you’re not denying it.”

You gave her a wink. “I’m not confirming it either.”

The audience chuckled. The interviewer leaned back, half-satisfied.

But inside, your heart ached with the weight of keeping it all hidden — the late-night FaceTime calls after away games, the secret rendezvous in tucked-away cafés, the feel of his hand squeezing yours under the table during private dinners. The quiet, unfiltered love you shared when the cameras weren’t watching.

After the interview, your phone buzzed with a text from Marc.

El amor de mi vida💕: You handled that like a pro. Proud of you, hermosa. Also... you’re my lockscreen too. Just saying

You smiled at the message, your fingers typing a reply.

You: Let’s hope no one catches yours, or we’re done for😭

El amor de mi vida 💕: I wouldn’t mind if they did.

You: I would. You’re mine, not theirs.

El amor de mi vida💕: Always yours. No matter what. Te quiero, bebé

You leaned back in the car, phone pressed to your chest, and whispered his name under your breath. Fame was a spotlight—but love? Love was the glow behind it. And that glow, at least for now, belonged only to the two of you.

translation:

• el amor de mi vida - the love of my life

• bebé - baby

• hermosa - beautiful

a/n (again): let me know if y'all want a part two because i have it written already!!

taglist: @universefcb (lmk if you wanna be in it!!)

[angryschnauzer]

Click - A Twisters Oneshot

Summary; As a storm photographer you know all the chasers, so when you run into two old familiar faces - where you have history with both - it proves to be a stormy night.

Fandoms: Twisters Movie, Glen Powell, Anthony Ramos.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Female Reader x Javier (Javi) - MFM threesome.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut, Alcohol, Drug Use (Weed/Pot), Fingering, Oral Sex (Female recieving), Oral Sex (Blowjob), unprotected Vaginal Sex, Spitroast, Double Penetration, Double Vaginal Penetration, Spanking, Hair pulling, choking/air play, spitting in mouth, creampie, no discussion of consent, implied consent, impared judgment. Please don't do this in real life unless able to give consent.

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, and you'll get an alert when i post new stories. Masterlist is available through my pinned post.

Authors notes; This is my first time writing for almost 18 months after severe writers block, and a whole load of truly horrible shit that has gone on in real life for me. Seeing Twisters has reinvigorated my passion for writing and it feels good to be able to be creative again.

Glen Powell Masterlist

Click

The bar was loud and smokey, country music in the background that could be heard between gaps in conversation or the crack of pool balls being split as another new game started. The air was filled with a heady mix of liquor and petrichor, rain imminent from what had been a frustratingly humid day.

Storm chasing was fun. The rush of adrenaline when the radar picked up those telltale colours on the satellite, but for the past 72 hours there’d been a whole lot of nothing on screen. Blue skies were pretty and all, but much like the atmosphere outside, there was a tension in the air that was only growing thicker by the minute. As a photographer you weren’t affiliated with any particular team of chasers, but with your skill renowned in the industry you could pretty much tag along with anyone you liked.

The sound of a scuffle across the bar drew your attention, the shrill ring of beer bottles knocking to the floor, the tell tale sign that tempers were fraying in the turgid atmosphere. Rolling your eyes and sighing you grabbed your beer and decided to stroll outside, not wanting to get caught up in an impending bar fight.

The air outside was a little cooler, a breeze having picked up, the scent of rain hanging thick in the atmosphere. Wandering the wide wrap-around porch of the bar you saw a familiar sight, smiling at the silhouette of an old friend, dark curls atop his head moving as he spoke with passion to another familiar face.

It was Tyler that spotted you first, nudging Javi who turned before a grin spread across his face;

“Well look who it is, our very own Click”

Laughing at your old nickname; one given where you’d had the habit of favouring traditional film cameras rather than digital, the sound of manual lens shutters is one that earned you the affectionate title.

You approached the pair, grinning as Javi swept you into a firm hug, one hand cradling the back of your head with the other arm tightly wrapped around your back as he lifted and span you, before setting you down on your feet again;

“It's been too long” he said with a grin before pressing a brief kiss to your cheek.

You’d spent almost a month with Javi a year or so back when he’d still been in the corporate side of Chasing, getting paid well where you’d been able to get some amazing images Storm Par could use on their marketing material and website.

The sound of a brief cough as someone cleared their throat behind you had you turning and meeting a wide smile;

“Tyler”

“Was wondering if you remembered me”

He pulled you into a hug, before pressing a gentle kiss to your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine.

“It's hard to forget someone who still hasn’t paid their invoice”

A flush of embarrassment tinted his cheeks as he pulled back, bashfully raking his hand through his hair;

“Shit”

“Hey hey” Javi cut in; “This dude owes you money?” he asked you.

“You know that awesome header image he’s got on the youtube channel? One of mine” you looked at Tyler who very much seemed like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole at that very moment; “All Chasers get the same terms; credit or payment. Its not credited, so he got sent an invoice and it’s still not paid”

Tyler reached out for your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles;

“I absolutely promise I’ll get it paid. And we’ll credit you too, we get so many comments from that image alone”

At that moment there was a ruckus as a small crowd of people came up the stairs from the street, calling out and greeting Tyler and Javi. It soon became clear it was the rest of their team. Most made a beeline for Tyler, to which you and Javi stepped aside and started to talk;

“So remind me again how you ended up going from Corporate Insurance Chaser to Hillbilly Youtube Chaser?”

He laughed, his eyes sparkling;

“You remember Kate? She kinda managed to convince everyone to be in it for the science, rather than the money or the glory”

“Well i never would of had you and Tyler Owens teaming up on my betting card for sure”

Javi laughed;

“Tyler’s awesome. He knows his stuff. And he’s loud enough to be in front of the camera to keep the audience entertained enough to let the rest of us actually do the science part. We work great as a team.”

Looking around you realised the team were a few people short;

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Up in Kansas City doing a presentation for the Mayor and Senators, hoping to get cooperation with some early warning systems we want to help provide the data for”

Nodding you sipped your beer as the pair of you settled into familiar conversation, the rest of Tyler’s crew welcoming you and soon the minutes passed into hours. Beers were replenished and Whiskey shots started to appear, before the tell tale scent of pot floated on the air. Sweet and cloying, you could tell it was leaf rather than resin, realising the joint was being passed around Tyler and Javi’s crew before someone slipped it into Javi’s hand. He grinned as he took a deep toke of the joint, holding it in before slowly exhaling, holding it out to you before you shook your head;

“I’ve got a better idea” you smirked; “Take another toke”.

A smile tugged at the corner of Javi’s mouth as he inhaled deeply from the joint again, the embers on the end glowing a deep amber red. He nodded and you quickly stood close, cupping your hands around his mouth as you pressed your own mouth to your hands and inhaled as he exhaled.

The buzz immediately hit you as the weed hit your oxygen starved brain, swaying on your feet before Javi wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close;

“Steady… let it flow through you, it’ll be strong”

Grinning and giggling softly you swayed on your feet, safe in Javi’s arms before finally regaining your balance.

“Ok, my turn now” Javi handed you the joint and you inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with smoke before nodding. He quickly stepped forwards, cupping his hands around your mouth and repeating what you had done, only this time he was close enough that you could feel his open lips against yours. Staring into those intense hazel eyes you could sense a hint of mischief, before he stepped back as he held in his breath. Finally exhaling he too swayed on his feet and you reached out to steady him, both now giggling.

“What are you two up to?” An amused voice asked.

Turning just as Tyler slipped the joint from your fingers, he inhaled deeply as he looked between you and Javi.

“Hotboxing” you replied with a grin.

Tyler wrinkled his brow before exhaling the smoke, moving his lips to form three perfect smoke rings before blowing the rest straight up through the middle of them;

“Hotboxing? I thought that was when you dropped a silent fart in a packed elevator?”

“Not where we’re from. Its when you inhale someones toke as they exhale, the lack of oxygen means the weed hit is more intense”

Tyler grinned;

“Okay, don’t believe that but i’m game”

He handed you the joint back and you inhaled again, before doing what he’d seen you and Javi do with your hands as he cupped your mouth and you exhaled. His eyes went wide as he held it, before stumbling a step backwards. He let the smoke out in a shaky exhale, his hands moving to your hips to steady himself. Overcompensating he then swayed forwards, pushing against you and into Javi, the railing of the porch catching him as you were sandwiched between the two men.

The three of you were in fits of giggles, the pot going to your brains before you finally managed to steady yourselves.

“Jesus christ on a bike” Tyler exclaimed; “That was intense”

“I can’t believe you’ve never done that before Dude” Javi laughed, turning to take a fresh round of beers from Boone, his goggles sat atop his head.

Boone signed like an old mother hen, before taking the joint from your hand that you had all but forgotten was still there;

“Ok i’ll have that back, thank you”

Giggling into your beers, you sipped on the drink, comfortable and content between two old friends.

It wasn’t long before the simmering tempers inside the bar bubbled over and spilled out onto the porch, the bar owner yelling that he’s shutting for the night and all the ‘damn Chasers’ could ‘fuck off home’.

Knowing when your welcome had run out the three of you drained your beers before stepping off the porch and down to the sidewalk.

“C’mon, we got a bottle of whiskey back at the motel” Javi wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you walked side by side.

“I’ll think you’ll find that's my whiskey, '' Tyler commented.

“Sharing is caring Tyler” you retorted back, met by his megawatt grin;

“Oh i don’t mind sharing”

At that moment you felt the first few droplets of warm summer rain to hit your skin, looking up as the clouds above finally relinquished their heavy load;

“What motel you guys at?”

“The Rodeo Econo Lodge, it's a couple’a blocks down”

“Sounds glamorous” you commented.

“Been staying there since my rodeo days” Tyler explained; “It’s clean, cheap, and the beds are comfortable”

“And they had enough vacancies so we didn’t have to squeeze four to a room” Javi added.

“Hang on, are you two roomies?”

Tyler nodded;

“Apparently we both ‘snore’”, which he waved his fingers in the air to emphasise quotation marks; “So the rest of the crew unanimously decided we had to bunk together from now on”

“Thus the whiskey” Javi added; “It helps me sleep through Tyler’s talking in his sleep”

“Says the guy that whines like a Golden Retriever in his”

You were by now laughing your ass off whilst getting soaked to the skin in the rain, chilled and relaxed before your mind caught up with half a thought you’d had a few moments ago;

“So you used to ride in the Rodeo?”

“Uh-huh, before college”

“Were you any good?”

Tyler smirked;

“Taught me some good life skills and how to ride hard when you got someone bucking beneath you”

By now you had reached the motel, Javi leading the way up the external staircase as you followed with Tyler bringing up the rear;

“Is that so?”

You felt the playful spank to your rump just as you reached the top of the staircase, quickly followed by Tyler wrapping his arms around you and his mouth against your ear;

“Play your cards right Click and you betcha”

Javi hadn’t been paying much attention, instead having to concentrate on keeping his hand steady enough to get the key in the door of their room, calling out in triumph as it swung open and he stepped into the dark room. As you and Tyler followed into the darkness you could hear Javi muttering about trying to find the lamp, but in that moment you had been spun around and Tyler's lips had found yours.

The kiss was hot and sloppy, his hands on your rib cage pushing your soaked shirt up your torso. His tongue pushed into your mouth and you tasted beer and whiskey in his embrace.

“What the fuck guys?”

You hadn’t noticed Javi had found the lightswitch, but he had obviously not been expecting to see Tyler getting to do what he’d wanted to do for a while. Before the situation could go south you pulled away from Tyler and closed the distance between Javi and yourself, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck to entwine your fingers in the soft curls at his nape, and you pulled him into a long awaited embrace.

You felt him tense, before softening into the kiss, his fingers gripping your hips as he pressed your bodies together and you could feel his need growing from the hardness pressing against your abdomen. When you finally broke the kiss to gasp for air, you smirked at him;

“I thought you said you two worked great as a team?”

You heard two quiet ‘oh’s , before a warmth pressed against your back as Tyler joined the pair of you.

“Fucking hell Click, you’ve no idea how hot that sounds”

Javi pulled you back in for another fierce kiss, this time his hands roaming the front of your body, pulling your shirt up and grunting his appreciation when he found your breasts to be free of a bra. Palming them in his warm hands his thumbs rubbed over your pebbled nipples, sending a wave of arousal straight to your core. At the same time Tyler’s hands found your hips, his long fingers pressing into your flesh as his soft lips found that sweet spot on the side of your neck just below your ear. He pressed his hips to your ass, rutting against you and you could feel his arousal insistently pressing against you.

As Javi’s lips left yours to press a trail of open mouthed kisses down your neck, he pulled away to give himself room to bend down and take one of your breasts into his mouth, that skilled tongue teasing your nipple before moving to the other. Tyler took the chance to cup your jaw and turn your head, kissing you with a clash of tongue and teeth.

Whilst Tyler had you occupied you hadn’t realised Javi had gotten to his knees in front of you until you felt his nimble fingers opening your jeans and tugging them down your thighs. Looking down you saw his eyes darken beneath his lashes before he pressed a kiss to your mound through your panties. As you held his gaze you felt Tyler rest his chin on your shoulder as his arms wrapped around your body. One hand cupped your breast as the other he held up and swirled two fingers in the air - the Chaser sign for tornado - to which you watched as Javi’s grin widened and he nodded as he did the same. But this time you knew those finger swirls meant something else.

You held your breath as Javi wrapped his fingers around the elastic of your underwear, pulling the soaked scrap of fabric down your thighs before he pressed his mouth to your slit. His tongue pressed through your folds before he found your clit, his fingers stroking your juices around the tight entrance between your thighs. He finally slid two fingers into your tight channel, the pleasure coursing through you as you rested your head back against Tylers wide shoulder.

Reaching your arms behind you, your palms welcoming the warmth of Tyler’s denim clad thighs beneath your hands, stretching a little further until you were able to cup him through the soft well worn denim. You wanted to feel more, more of their hands, their lips, their dicks, but felt restricted by your bunched clothing;

“I need to be naked” you gasped out, causing both men to pause their ministrations. They worked quickly together, Javi pulling your boots off before tugging your jeans and panties off in one, as Tyler yanked your shirt over your head.

Standing naked before these two men you started to paw at their clothing, pushing shirts off of shoulders and tugging white t-shirts from their pants. If ever there was a time where you wanted four arms it was that moment, desperate to feel their skin against your own. Whilst Tyler got caught up unbuttoning his shirt you made quick work of the button and zipper of Javi's pants, sliding your hand beneath the fabric of his underwear to wrap your fingers around his thick shaft. He gasped at your firm touch, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck before pulling you into a fierce kiss.

When you pulled away you glanced at Tyler who had pulled his boots off and was naked to the waist, his sculpted torso that of a marble statue. The metal clink of his belt buckle prompted you to move to him, unzipping him and sliding your hand inside the denim and beneath the dark jersey of his boxer shorts. Long and patterned with ridged veins, he was as hard as a rock in your palm, a soft whimper escaping his lips as you pumped his uncut dick.

He let his jeans and underwear fall to his ankles, cupping the back of your neck as you bent at the waist to take him into your mouth. Wrapping one fist around his girth you steadied yourself placing your other hand on his firm thigh, lowering your mouth to his tip to taste the bead of precum that pooled there. Pressing a chaste kiss to the smooth crown you opened your jaw to take him into your mouth, unaware your pussy was about to be stuffed. The firm push as Javi speared your hot channel pushed you forwards, forcing Tyler’s dick into your throat.

“Mmmmfffmfmmff!”

“A little warning next time huh Javi?” Tyler commented as he pulled back to allow air to actually reach your lungs; “but good god woman, your throat is a thing of wonder… no gag reflex”

You heard the sound of a high five but were too lust drunk to worry about it, too busy flying on a wave of pleasure as you were spit roasted between two hard cocks.

Tyler reached beneath you to cup your tits, grasping them as he moved his hips to fuck your mouth, a mixture of spit and precum running down your chin. At the same time Javi reached around your hip and searched out your clit, rubbing firm circles with two fingers against the sensitive nub whilst he fucked his thick cock into your dripping pussy.

Your orgasm caught you by surprise, your body shaking as you moaned around a mouthful of flesh. Your knees were close to giving out when Javi pulled out and brought you upright, his arms wrapped around your torso;

“Steady Click, don’t need you racing ahead off the radar for this” he kissed your neck whilst you reached out for Tyler. Stepping out of his jeans he closed the gap between you before sliding his hand between your legs, pushing two fingers into your soaked pussy;

“Such a lovely pussy, can’t wait to see it dripping with our cum. Gonna fill you to the brim. Do you want that?” his mouth brushed against yours as he spoke, but you could do little but pant like a bitch in heat.

You nodded, your mouth hanging open.

“Bed, now” Javi instructed, nodding for Tyler to lay down. You whined at the loss of Tyler’s fingers filling you but instead were treated to his tight ass as he crossed the room before laying on the bed.

“Come’ere Darlin. Climb on, i’ll teach you how to ride a bucking bronco”

Javi gave you a little push, almost the encouragement you needed to leave his arms. Climbing onto the bed you straddled Tyler’s thighs before crawling up his body. As you bent down to kiss him you heard the crack of the seal on a bottle of liquor, turning your head and seeing Javi drink straight from the bottle as he approached the bed.

As Javi climbed onto the bed, Tyler lifted your hips with one hand, steadying his cock with the other as he lined himself up before letting you sink down a couple of inches onto him. Javi straddled Tyler’s legs behind you, wrapping his arms around you before lifting the bottle to your lips. As you dipped your head back to drink from the bottle you felt his hand firmly on your shoulder, pushing you down to take Tyler to the hilt.

The whiskey hit the back of your throat and the rush was intense, the feeling of being filled by Tyler almost overloading your senses as he bucked like a steer beneath you. Javi breathed hot in your ear, his body pressed to your back. He took a large slug of whiskey before you pulled the bottle from his hand, taking another mouthful before leaning forwards. Tyler anticipated what you were doing;

“Yeah baby, spit it in my mouth” before opening wide to allow you to let the warm whiskey drip from your tongue to his. As soon as he swallowed you leant forwards and kissed him, sloppy with tongues and teeth, and you felt his cock slip out of you, landing wet and sticky on his abdomen. You weren’t empty for more than five seconds before you felt Javi push into you from behind, his palm coming down on your ass with a loud smack.

Riding you hard you were pressed between the two men, Javi filling you from behind as Tyler lay beneath you, his dripping shaft rubbing against your pussy as you were pushed back and forth. After what seemed to be an endless few minutes your arms were pulled behind your back as Javi held your wrists at the base of your spine. His lips on your earlobe;

“Get ready for the real rodeo”

With your attention on Javi you had lost sight of Tyler before you felt him angle his cock towards your already stuffed hole, as Javi seemingly lowered the pair of you until Tyler managed to slide in alongside him in your now overstuffed cunt.

“Such a good girl”

“Taking us so well”

Their praises merged into one as your eyelids fluttered shut, rocking your hips gently as your body grew accustomed to being double stuffed. As your arousal flowed from you your movements increased to the point both men were able to alternate thrusts, making sure there was never a moment when you weren’t full of cock. They filled and defiled your body until you were flying on an arousal high. Javi’s grip on your wrists faltered, your hands slipping free. As Javi pushed you down and Tyler fucked up into you, you curled one hand over your shoulder as Javi bit at your neck, curling your fingers through his dark curls. Glancing down at Tyler his normally pale green irises dark with arousal. He stretched his neck and you watched as the muscles shifted, his adams apple bobbed up and down. You rested your palm on his chest and he immediately wrapped his fingers around your wrist, nodding as he pulled your hand to his throat.

Realising that both your boys liked a little pain, you tugged on Javi’s hair as your fingers closed softly against Tyler’s throat, dual groans filling the room as they both thrust harder into you, pushing you ever closer to your release. Tyler grabbed your hips and started to pull you down harder onto him, Javi cupping your tits firmly as he fucked you harder from behind.

You were the first to cum, screaming out your release as if you were howling to the moon, Javi and Tyler following just seconds behind filling you with two thick loads of their creamy seed.

Releasing both men from your grasp you softly rested on Tyler’s chest as Javi pressed gentle kisses to your shoulders, before the latter pulled out. You felt a flood of cum seep from your stretched hole, soaking down to Tyler’s balls and onto the bed.

Some time later you were clean and showered, the three of you having squeezed into the tub and washed the sweat, whiskey, and cum from your bodies, before Tyler had discovered the bottle of whiskey discarded on his bed now half empty where the cap hadn’t been replaced. He had started to protest until you had slipped your hand into his and led him to the other bed - where Javi was already beneath the covers - and had silently confirmed you wanted to be close to both of them for the night.

Facing Javi whilst being the little spoon to Tylers big spoon, you sleepily said goodnight and muttered about finding your ride for the next storm.

“You should ride with us” Javi stated softly.

Letting out a quiet laugh you shook your head;

“You two combined? You drive like madmen, i’m scared of riding with you!”

Tyler pressed his lips to your ear;

“Well you know what I say…”

“If you fear it, ride it” they said in unison.

“And you’ve already ridden us both, so you’ve got nothing to fear” Tyler finished.

Letting a sigh you grinned and nodded, letting sleep take you as you were flanked by two crazy tornado wranglers.

[byhuenii]

Mr & Mrs Barnes - Preview

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Themes + Warnings Violence Blood Profanity.

(You've got mail!) IF you want to be tagged in this oneshot, it will probably be pretty long BUT DO let me know so i can tag you! there will be more warnings but as for right now this is really what i have for the preview!! this has been coking up in my docs for about 2 weeks!!!!!!!!!!! very very excited!

—

The house on Hemlock Street was pristine.

Too pristine.

The grass never dared to grow out of line. The paint on the shutters hadn’t chipped once in five years. The mailbox was stainless steel, polished daily by some unseen force. It was a neighborhood built for appearances. Safe. Sterile.

The neighborhood was suspiciously perfect. White picket fences, pastel-colored mailboxes, and neighbors who waved like they practiced it in the mirror. Someone’s kid was learning to ride a bike. Someone else was grilling at 10 a.m.

The kind of place where nothing bad ever happened.

Which made it perfect for hiding two of the deadliest people on earth.

The house was cozy, two stories, too many windows. The grass was always freshly cut. The cat always had full bowls. There was always coffee. It was, on the surface, the picture of domestic bliss.

Underneath, it was landmines in every room.

Inside, the kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and deception.

You stood barefoot on the cold tile, staring out the window while pretending to stir your mug. The spoon clinked too softly to distract from the war in your chest.

Behind you, the TV murmured the morning news. A weatherman warned about showers rolling in later this afternoon. You already knew. You had checked the Doppler at 4 a.m. when your nerves wouldn’t let you sleep.

The creak of a chair. A soft thud. A book being closed.

“Coffee smells good today,” Bucky said, voice smooth, casual, like his hands weren’t trained to kill in forty-seven different ways.

You didn’t turn around.

“Used the good beans,” you said instead. “Don’t get used to it.”

You could feel his smile.

He strolled into the kitchen in gray sweatpants and a black shirt, sleeves pushed to the elbows. His metal arm was bare, glinting in the morning sun. His hair was messy from sleep—or maybe a restless night. Either way, he looked effortlessly beautiful.

Which made this harder.

He came up behind you. Pressed a kiss to your cheek. His lips lingered a beat too long, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You didn’t react. You couldn’t. If you did, you’d crack.

He passed you his empty mug.

You filled it, handed it back. His fingers brushed yours.

Too warm.

Too familiar.

You both sat at the breakfast table like any married couple would. Two people who loved each other once. Maybe still did. Maybe never stopped.

Alpine, your white cat, sat on the windowsill watching you both with judgmental, ancient eyes. She blinked slowly. As if she knew.

And maybe she did.

The white cat purred with unbothered approval, like she ran the house. You weren’t convinced she didn’t.

“You make this with the good beans or the emergency ones?” Bucky asked without looking up.

You didn’t smile, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you’re going to annoy me today.”

He huffed a soft laugh, dog-eared the page, and sat up. “Well now I have to annoy you. That’s the law.”

He stood, crossed the kitchen like he’d been doing it for years (because he had), and kissed your cheek in passing. It was warm. Familiar. Safe.

It made your chest ache.

Because routine was how people like you got killed.

You poured a second cup of coffee and handed it to him. His hand brushed yours—calloused, warm, steady.

“You’ve got that look,” he said, leaning against the counter.

“What look?”

“The one that usually ends in someone needing a lawyer.”

You gave him nothing but a long, unreadable blink. He grinned.

“Are you flirting with me?” you asked.

“I’m married,” he said, mock-scandalized. “Happily.”

You let yourself smile then. Just for a second. He still looked at you like you hung the damn stars.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

SIX YEARS AGO

Atlantic City.

Thunder rolled overhead, but the boardwalk glittered.

The first time you saw him, he was leaning against a hot dog cart, soaking wet, grinning like he had no business being that gorgeous. His shirt clung to his chest. A toothpick hung between his lips.

He was watching you. He’d been watching you from across the ring toss game.

Not subtly. Not politely.

You sauntered past him, boots clicking, umbrella untouched.

Sharp jaw. Leather jacket. Glove on one hand. Blue eyes like a storm at sea.

You didn’t know his name yet, but you knew the way he looked at you.

Like a dare.

He followed.

At the shooting game, he stepped beside you just as you raised your plastic rifle. A row of tin ducks spun in circles.

“You any good?” he asked.

“The best,” you said.

“I’m a better shot than you,” you said, cocking the air rifle one-handed.

He smirked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He beat you.

Not by much—but enough to win the oversized teddy bear.

It was hideous. Blue and lopsided. One of its eyes was crooked.

He held it out to you like it was a bouquet of flowers.

You took it. Smiling for real that time.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“James,” he said. “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Try not to fall in love with me,” you warned.

“No promises, doll.”

PRESENT DAY

You sat across from him at the breakfast table, Alpine curled on the third chair like a smug little supervisor.

“You got any showings today?” he asked.

“Two. Midtown and Brooklyn Heights.”

“Sounds romantic.”

You smiled thinly. “They’ll hate each other within a year.”

He chuckled. “You’re such an optimist, sweetheart.”

“What about you?” you asked, voice smooth. “Got a client?”

“Mm. Just checking security systems today. Corporate stuff.”

More lies.

He didn’t even blink when he said it.

Neither did you.

He sipped his coffee. “Take the umbrella. Looks like rain.”

You nodded. “What about you? Anything exciting?”

“Just a few follow-ups. Same old.”

Another lie.

Another smile.

You wondered if he noticed the way your hand tightened around the mug. You wondered if he noticed you’d noticed that he hadn’t worn his wedding ring the past two nights.

You wondered how long it had been fake.

The screen of your second phone buzzed in your pocket.

You excused yourself to the upstairs bathroom. Locked the door. Sat on the edge of the tub.

The encrypted message loaded.

Your fingers trembled.

TARGET: BARNES, JAMES BUCHANAN.

STATUS: ACTIVE ELIMINATION.

TIMESTAMP: 48 HOURS.

METHOD: QUIET. PERSONAL.

Your mouth went dry.

You stared.

You blinked.

You read it again.

You’d killed dozens. You’d buried names and burned identities. But you’d never been asked to kill him.

Your husband.

Your partner.

The man who knew every freckle on your skin, who held you when you had nightmares, who made you pancakes shaped like hearts when you were mad at him.

Your mission.

Your… what? Your heart? Your lie?

You stared into the mirror and didn’t recognize the look in your own eyes.

And now you had to kill him.

Or die first.

You stepped back downstairs. He was washing dishes. Humming something. The cat brushed against his leg.

His phone—his second phone—was gone from the counter now.

You looked at him.

He looked back.

He smiled.

You smiled, too.

“Love you,” he said.

You nodded.

“Love you more.”

The morning light was golden.

The cat purred.

The house was quiet.

You went to change. To arm yourself beneath your clothes. He did the same.

You were both pretending not to know the other was planning to kill you in 48 hours.

Two agents. Two weapons. One shared bed.

The mission clock had already started ticking.

Marriage was complicated like that.

7:03 P.M. — THE DINNER TABLE

You used to love Thursday nights.

Slow jazz playing softly. Roast in the oven. The scent of rosemary drifting between you. Bucky reaching for your hand across the table with his thumb brushing your ring, the one he slipped on your finger under Italian moonlight.

But tonight?

The roast is dry. The knife is missing from the drawer. And he hasn’t looked you in the eye once since sitting down.

The tension between you crackles like an electric wire sparking in water.

“Quiet day?” he asks, voice too smooth.

You nod. “You?”

He hesitates. “Nothing worth remembering.”

Lie.

You force a smile. “Shame. Seems like we’re both having a lot of those lately.”

His jaw flexes. The fork twirls in his fingers, but he’s not eating.

Neither are you.

Your hand inches under the table. To the handle of your chair. To the spot where you’ve taped a hidden blade.

You see it in his eyes, that flicker of guilt he’s too late to hide.

You both know.

You’re each other’s next mark.

The fork clinks against his plate. The silence screams.

The last moment of normality dies in that breath.

The candle flickers.

You drop your fork.

He stands.

In unison— You both move.

OPERATION: NEUTRALIZE

The air explodes with movement.

The dinner chair crashes behind you as you sprint down the hallway, breathing fast. Your hand slides under the table where you’d hidden a pistol. You flip the kitchen switch—lights off. Shadows become allies.

Bucky ducks behind the couch, pulls a throwing knife from the flower vase. His eyes scan the corners. He’s muttering under his breath:

“Goddamn it, why her…”

You lunge left, knock the chair down behind you, and roll into the hallway. He moves right, flipping the table, plates shattering. A bullet sings past your shoulder.

You don’t think. You react.

You vault over the back of the couch, kick the lamp out of your path, and grab the pistol from the emergency stash under the floorboard.

He’s on your six.

You fire backward—glass explodes, the vase you hated finally shatters.

He ducks behind the kitchen island. “YOU’RE SHOOTING AT ME?!”

“You shot FIRST!”

“That was the WALL!”

“I LIVE HERE TOO, BUCKY!”

FOUR WEEKS EARLIER

The phone call came in during your anniversary dinner.

You were wearing that black dress—the one he said made his brain melt. He had a sparkler candle jammed into your favorite cheesecake.

And then your handler called. Code Black.

You stepped into the hallway.

“Target identified: Codename Winter. Double-agent. Eliminate upon confirmation.”

You’d frozen. You’d laughed. “He’s not a double-agent. He’s my husband.”

Silence.

Then:

“Which is why they sent you.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

And two days later, you intercepted a message on his burner.

"Subject: Widow. Classified intel breach. Authority cleared to terminate."

He got the same order.