#Wide Window Shutters

[shuttermanuk]

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[sushirrrry]

clean || harry styles x you one-shot.

saw this picture, had to write something immediately — hot off the press, just for you hehe enjoy <3

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You’re brushing your teeth beside him again.

It’s not the first time that you've done that—far from it, but something about this particular night makes the moment feel worthy of being remembered.

Harry’s standing next to you in the tiny bathroom of your rental villa, his skin still golden from the sun and his hair wild with salt and humidity; his curls starting to emerge at the root from the exposure to the heat.

He’s got a toothbrush dangling from his lips, foam threatening to escape the corners of his mouth as he tries not to smile too much at himself in the mirror. You hold your phone up, capturing the scene out of instinct.

Click.

He playfully rolls his eyes when the shutter sound goes off.

“Hope you’re not sending that to anyone. That’s top-tier blackmail, that is.”

You glance at the screen. The photo’s perfect; he's photogenic in a way that you merely can't describe.

His perfectly fitting t-shirt is rumpled from where he threw it on after his shower, damp at the collar, and a little crooked on one side. The linen pants sitting around his hips are low and loose, and there’s something sweetly disheveled about all of it as you prepare for dinner together.

“I’ll sell it to the press,” you say with a shrug, trying to keep a straight face as you rinse your mouth.

He chuckles, swiping at a bit of toothpaste foam with the back of his hand from it, then leaning in just enough to nudge your arm. “Can’t take me anywhere.”

“You’re in your own house.”

“Exactly. Even worse.”

You both laugh, and it’s a warm sound. Familiar, the happiness that is bursting around the small, tiled bathroom. It smells like mint and coconut conditioner and leftover sea breeze, like the beach never really left your skin even though you rinsed it off.

The villa had been a last-minute decision—his idea, of course. He’d shown you the listing one rainy Thursday in London, scrolling through photos of wide windows, string lights, and hammocks that swung over white sand.

“Let’s disappear for a week,” he’d said, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “No work, no stress. Just you, me, and the ocean.”

You’d said yes because saying no to Harry was almost impossible. And now, four days in, your skin is freckled and your hair’s gone a bit wild and you haven’t worn real clothes since Tuesday. Only bikinis and linen shirts that you kept getting mixed with his in your pile of clothes that surrounded your suitcases.

He spits into the sink, grimacing dramatically— he was known for dramatics. "I think I got sand in my molars.”

You laugh, wiping your mouth with a towel. “Is that even possible?”

“Dunno. But everything tastes like sunscreen and fish and chips.”

You lean your hip against the counter, tilting your head as you watch him rinse. His profile’s soft in the low light; you notice that his nose is slightly sun-kissed, jaw shadowed with a bit of stubble from the lack of shaving the last few days.

There’s a tiny patch of peeling skin at the tip of his ear from where he’d missed with the sunscreen, and his forearm is still faintly striped from the crocheted bracelets he’d refused to take off in the water.

He catches you staring and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you murmur, pouting out your lip as you give him eyes that seem to gleam in his presence. “Just… you.”

That earns you a lopsided grin and a little shake of his head. The dimple expresses itself and makes you feel warmer than usual. He steps closer, resting his wet toothbrush on the side of the sink.

“You like me like this, don’t you?” he teases, voice low and teasing and full of cheekiness. “All brown and beachy. Bit feral.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “You’re not feral.”

“I’m practically wild.” He leans in until his forehead brushes yours, his voice nothing more than a whisper now, hands pressed to your waist that practically burn. “You should see what happens when I run out of moisturizer— I'm an animal.”

You snort, but you don’t pull away. You stay pressed forehead to forehead, his breath warm and minty and his hands, a bit damp from rinsing. sliding over your hips in that easy, familiar way that makes your stomach flutter.

“Mm,” he hums, tilting his head slightly. “Got all soft on me these last few days. Used to take you ages to relax.”

“You’re imagining that.” You press your hands to his chest, leaning back a bit in his arms.

Harry shakes his head. "I’m not. First day here you still checked your emails on the beach.”

“Once.” You argue.

“Twice.”

You roll your eyes, "Okay, twice.”

He grins in triumph, then brushes a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Now look at you. Barefoot. Sun-drunk. Smiling in your sleep," Harry cocks his head, "All those cheeky bikini bottoms you're flaunting are really turning you into someone else."

You pull back a little to look at him properly. “That’s ‘cause I have good company.”

Harry’s smile softens at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He sighs, dramatic again, and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Gonna be hard to leave.”

“I know.”

Neither of you say anything for a moment. The quiet isn’t heavy—it’s full, though. The kind of silence that stretches and wraps around you like warm sheets, thick with shared memories of late-night swims, sand between your toes, and early-morning pancakes eaten straight from the pan because neither of you could find a plate in the villa.

“I took a picture,” you say after a while.

“I know. Saw you.”

“Want me to send it to you?”

He perks up. “Only if you caption it with something flattering. Like, ‘my gorgeous man brushing his teeth with the grace of a tanned Grecian god.’”

“More like, ‘Bigfoot sighting.’”

He gasps, mock-hurt as he grasps at his chest. “Cruel. After everything I’ve done for you today—carried your beach tote, bought you three different kinds of ice cream, let you win at Uno—”

“You didn’t let me win.” You fight back, shaking your head.

Harry smirks, “I might’ve— could've played two Draw Fours in a row, but I spared you."

You both grin again, loving the ease of the moment. Then he grabs your phone, taps around, and pulls up the photo. His eyes linger on it longer than you expect.

“You really like it?” you ask, craning your neck to look.

He nods, smiling down at it. "Yeah. Looks like us.”

You step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his back. His skin is still warm from the shower, his muscles relaxed under your hold.

The familiarity of the muscles makes your stomach twist at all the time spent between the sheets this weekend alone .

“You make me feel like this could be easy,” you say quietly, wondering if he can hear you properly.

He twists slightly to glance at you. “What d’you mean?”

“Like all of it. Loving someone, living with someone. You make it feel… calm. I used to think I wasn’t the kind of person who could do that."

You didn't know you could be loved this way, which makes it harder for him to accept your self-doubt. But you start to see how easy it is, and everything becomes... different.

His expression shifts—soft, sincere. “That’s ‘cause no one’s done it right yet. ‘Til me.”

You chuckle, kissing between his shoulder blades. “So humble.”

He turns, arms slipping around you now, pressing you to his chest as he leans against the bathroom counter.

"I’m serious,” he says, kissing your hair. “Don’t care how messy it gets. I want all of it.”

“Even the part where I use your towel without asking and get it all wet?”

He groans, still smiling beneath it. “You do that again and I’ll break up with you on the spot.”

You grin into his shoulder. “That’s fair.”

Another beat of silence. This time, it’s him who breaks it.

“Stay,” he says.

You hum into his chest, knowing you're not moving for a moment.

“I am staying.”

There's a pause before you feel him shake his head.

“No, I mean… after. When we go back. Don’t go to your place. Just come to mine. Bring your stupid frog mug collection and your sexy little bathrobe and take over my bathroom counter with your serums and your tangled necklaces and just… stay.”

Your heart trips a little at his confession, your eyes leaning up to meet his.

“You mean that?” you whisper, a bit confused by the sudden intimacy of the moment.

He pulls back enough to look you in the eye, the cheeky grin faded into something gentler. “I do. I want all the days with you. All the brushing teeth and stealing towels and waking up tangled up and going to sleep to your snoring—”

“I don’t snore.”

“Sure.” He bites his lip.

You kiss him before he can say more, pressing your smile into his mouth. And he kisses you back like he’s already won, like it was always going to be you.

Later, you’ll crawl into bed with your legs still cool from the evening walk on the beach to grab sharks teeth, and his arms pulling you close before you’ve even settled. You’ll fall asleep with the hum of ocean waves in the distance and his breath steady at the back of your neck as you lay tangled in between his tanned limbs and skin.

But for now, you stand in the bathroom, his toothpaste-smeared grin fading into something real, and think: this is it.

This is love. Sun-kissed with hints of mint and ocean breeze.

[karmicmortal]

content warnings perv!jake, slightly younger reader, perving on your friends sister, noncon body pics, recording, somnophilia, male masturbation, facial cumshots, mentions of noncon touching

don’t like it? don’t read it!

notes this drabble was originally posted to istjisung. i am istjisung. if you see my drabbles posted on any account other than istjisung or karmicmortal, or the ao3 accounts of the same name, that is not me.

jake knew he should feel bad. he knew he should feel bad about creeping on one of his friends’ younger sister, but how could he feel bad when you prance around in nothing but an oversized tee or tiny shorts that leave nothing to the imagination? he should be glad that you feel comfortable enough around him to dress comfortably, but he can’t help but sneak glances when you aren’t looking.

however, instead of glances, it’s pictures.

he has perfected the art of taking sneaky pictures of you. when you’re lounging on the sofa, legs bare and inviting, or when you’re bent over in the garden playing with your family’s pet dog, shorts doing nothing to stop the bottoms of your ass cheeks from hanging out.

at first, he would cough to cover up the sound of the camera shutter, and you would turn around and look at him with wide, innocent eyes, asking if he felt sick. he does feel sick—sick in the head. because eventually, taking pictures of you in broad daylight got tiring. they were all the same; low quality, zoomed in photos, and none had your pretty face or tits in them, both of which jake adored and wished he could see more of.

one day, jake snuck into your bedroom during the night as you slept. truly, he was just going to make sure you were asleep before he jerked off in the bathroom, which was close enough to your room that you’d hear if he failed to stay quiet. upon walking in, though, he couldn’t help himself. you were asleep and had tossed and turned, kicking your duvet off of your body, and your pajamas—which looked more like a piece of lingerie—had bunched up at your waist to give jake a full view of your plump ass covered by your panties, and if he looked close enough, he could see the outline of your pussy lips eating the fabric between your legs.

he felt lucky that you were a deep sleeper, otherwise you would’ve woken up when he pulled his phone from his pants pocket to snap a few pictures. he hesitated for a few moments, but against his better judgement, he walks toward you. from this new angle, standing directly above you, jake can see everything. your naked legs, your cute panties, your tits threatening to spill out of your loose top, and your gorgeous face with your lips fixed in a pout.

it was wrong, dirty and disgusting, but he couldn’t stop himself.

with his phone still in his left hand, he presses the button to record a video. the only light in the room was from the moonlight through your window and the hallway light seeping through the crack in the door. he focuses the camera and gets the best angles, getting close ups of all of the areas he’s been aching to see. you startle him when you shift in your sleep, turning over to face your front towards him. luckily, you remained asleep. the movement had jostled you just enough for your breasts to fully spill out, and jake made sure to get a good view of them in his camera.

he fumbles with his pants, pushing them and his underwear down to his thighs. his cock springs out and he immediately takes it into his hand, pumping it slowly. his thick tip was leaking precum and he had the sudden urge to spread it across your lips—an urge he resisted. he couldn’t risk you waking up to his cockhead being on your mouth, as hot as it would be. but he still jerks himself off, making sure to get the right angle to catch when he spills his cum over your lower face and pillow, leaving you to wonder why they’re so sticky when you wake up in the morning.

and maybe, next time, he can touch you, too, if he was sure you’d stay asleep.

[sunlightmurdock]

ain’t afraid of a little thunder | tyler owens

“now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” his gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the middle of your thighs. “just because of a little thunder?”

warnings: minors dni, 18+. smut. unprotected pinv. oral (m+f). no physical descriptions of reader except some hair pulling mentioned.

…

Blinding white light flashes, spilling through and under the gaps in the curtains. The furniture is, at once, illuminated a ghastly white. The room remains still, aside from where you lay in your bed, tangled in sheets and breathing softly. 

What comes next isn’t the rolling kind of thunder that usually spills across these parts, there’s nothing slow or melodic about it. It comes as an almighty clap, shaking the old farmhouse down to its foundations. 

Seemingly spurred on by the sound, the wind joins the symphony by crashing into the window, slamming at the shutters and making the two panels swing wide open.

The storm howls now, spilling through these old walls and waking you with a start. You shoot upright in bed, eyes wide and heart thundering in your ears. Rain splatters on the worn floorboards as you look frantically around your childhood bedroom.

“Shit.” You huff out, hurling yourself out of the creaky, old metal-framed bed you had spent your teenage years in. You stumble towards the whirling wind and wrestle the window shut, snapping the latch shut once again.

You had been jolted so violently from your dreams that you aren’t even sure your eyes are open until you’re staring at streaks of lightning painting the dark sky. With a trembling hand, you reach for the edge of the curtain and pull it back across the window.

Even with your view gone, as you slip back into bed it’s impossible to pretend that the storm isn’t happening. It whips at the house, making the foundations creak and groan. Every few seconds, the sky will streak bright white and will roar with another clap of thunder. 

Eyes squeezed shut and the sheets pulled high isn’t cutting it. The weather rages just beyond these four walls, refusing to be ignored. Your heart thunders along with the bellowing horizon.

You toss onto your left side. Then your right. A frustrated sound slips your lips as you thrash onto your back. It’s like the storm is just getting worse. Closer. 

Each flash of lightning feels brighter. Each clap of thunder feels louder. You tremble under the confines of your comforter, lips pursed. You shoot a quick look toward the little digital alarm clock on your night stand. 1:55. 

Panic flares in your chest. You remember being small in this room, terrified of these same storms. The nights where you would tear out of bed and race down the hall to the safety of your parents’ bed.

You’re a little old for that now, and they chose this week of all to be vacationing at Niagara Falls. 

You pull the blankets tighter around yourself, momentarily blinded by the prospect of being alone in this big, rickety house all by yourself in the path of a storm — you’re miles away from help reaching you.

But you aren’t all alone. 

After a tough few days of field work, you had opened your doors — well, your parents’ doors — to a… colleague, of sorts. If that’s what you could call Tyler. You had a common goal, and he needed a place to stay while the two of you got some work done, that was all. It was easier than sending him to the motel an hour away.

He’s down the hall, probably sleeping like a baby, in the guest room.

You couldn’t possibly wake him. He would hold it over your head for the rest of your life. You would never live it down. Being a meteorologist who can’t sleep through a little—

Storm.

It’s that last, tremendous crash of thunder that sends you flying, once again, out of your childhood bed as it rattles the house. You’re cursing yourself under your breath already as you pad, barefoot down the hallway. 

Past pictures of yourself missing teeth and grinning, sporting pigtails and wearing overalls — all images of yourself that you would rather the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler’ himself hadn’t seen. 

The only thing that stops you is a brief moment in front of the door to the guest room, where you stand debating whether it would be better to knock or to just slip in and hope that he doesn’t even notice you.

You should knock. He could be naked. Shit. 

Swallowing both your pride and the lump of solid anxiety in your throat, you close your eyes and rap your knuckles softly against the door. Maybe he doesn’t hear you over the storm, or maybe he’s just a deep sleeper, but he doesn’t answer.

You should leave him alone.

But you can’t stand the thought of being by yourself through this. What if it’s something big? — You should have checked the radar.

You’re already twisting the doorknob, as slow as you can. It complies silently, the door slipping open without a peep. You would have gotten away with it, if you had thought about the light in the hall.

You get a glimpse of him while he’s still asleep. Sprawled out across the bed, laying on his back on the side closest to the door, his hair mussed and his face turned away from you. Curtains wide open, still. His clothes are thrown on the chair in the corner. The sheets are slung low on his waist. A flash of lightning illuminates the ridges through the golden skin of his abdomen. 

Then, that darned light from the hallway casts across his face and wakes him. He stirs, groaning in soft complaint as he lifts his head from the pillow and blinks angrily in your direction.

He says your name, his voice deep and growly from sleep. His tone vaguely suggests that he’s checking if it’s really you, but you’re too distracted to answer him.

Tyler twists his neck and looks around for a clock, pushing himself up just a little and letting the sheets fall to reveal the waistband of his navy boxers. “What time is it?”

“Late. Sorry,” You mumble out, still standing in his wide-open doorway like an idiot. “You should go back to sleep.”

His brows knit together as he turns his head to look at you again. Grumpy looks good on him. Especially when he’s laying in bed, his hair disheveled and his clothes on the floor. 

He presses the base of his palm into his eye socket, every bit as disgruntled as he looks as he rubs the sleep away with his big hands. 

“You gonna stand there and watch me all night if I do?” 

Your immediate reaction is to put your hackles up and get defensive at the accusation, like that’s not kind of exactly how the situation would appear to him.

“No, I just… I couldn’t sleep.” Your answer isn’t really an answer at all. Tyler reminds you of this by simply raising his eyebrows, as if to say ‘and what might that have to do with me?’. You shrug your shoulders. “I was just coming to see if— if you were up.”

“I am now.” Tyler offers. “What did you want?”

Desperately to go back to sleep. You’re exhausted. These past few days have been some of the hardest of your life — and here you are, unable to sleep, trying to find a bed to sleep in, like a child.

You stand there, debating for a moment if you’re going to come clean. It would be easy enough to just admit your irrational little fear and crawl into bed, and deal with the constant teasing from then on. 

Unfortunately, your body makes the decision for you. Thunder and lightning crash together, shaking the house once again. The rain whipping at the shutters does nothing to conceal the gasp-bordering-shriek that slips your lips as you jump and rush into the room.

Tyler’s eyes widen through the dark. His gaze is quizzical as he studies the abject panic on your face, then looks to his window. Then, he looks slowly back to you. 

His mouth twitches. Excitement flashes across his face with a burst of lightning as a grin twists at his mouth.

“Now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” His gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the tops of your thighs. “Just because of a little thunder?”

“Don’t be a dick about it — I know it’s ridiculous, I just can’t sleep.” You rush out, folding your arms across your chest. As you do so, your shirt bunches and rides up just enough to prove that you are, in fact, not wearing any shorts. He’d been wondering about that.

As he studies your face for the next few moments, you can see that he considers being a dick — and decides against it.

He holds his palms up in surrender, and shrugs his shoulders as he peels back the other side of the covers. Amusement coats his words as he drawls a playful, “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Closing the door to the hallway, the room is plunged into darkness once again. You trudge around to the other side of the bed, begrudging every moment of this ridiculous night. You should have had him sleep in the barn like you had threatened to. But then you really would be all alone in this big old house.

His eyes follow your silhouette around the foot of the bed, as the sky flashes white once more he takes note of the way your cute graphic tee sits a little higher in the back, giving him just the smallest glimpse of where your thighs meet the swell of your ass.

He waits for you to reach the bed and set one knee on before he goes back to trying to rest. He lays down on his back and closes his eyes as the bed shifts slightly with your weight and the covers wriggle around with your movement.

Then, things settle.

The bed goes still, and so do the both of you as you lay side by side in it. It’s not an especially large double, but the two of you both seem to be choosing to ignore the way his warm shoulder is pressed right up against yours.

It’s just his shoulder. His bare shoulder, sure, but it’s not like you could ask him to put some clothes on — you’re the one who came crawling into his bed in your underwear. You’re just grateful that there’s just about enough room for the rest of you to not graze him at all.

You close your eyes, and inhale deeply. This whole house usually smells like lavender and vanilla, but not now. This room smells like spiced oak and pine, and the familiar smell of his cologne lingers on his clothes, his belongings— his bare skin.

His voice cuts through the dark. “So, you’re not like a bedwetter or anything, right? — D’your parents usually like give you a stuffed animal to get through this kind of thing, or—“

You reach out and smack him hard in his stomach. His hard, taught stomach. “Shut it, Owens.”

The bed rattles with his soft laughter.

“I just— I’m blindsided,” He admits, still laughing. He tucks an arm behind his head, meaning your shoulder now sits in the curve of his underarm. “You’re afraid of thunder.”

You throw yourself onto your side, turning swiftly away from him and tugging away his share of covers just out of spite. “No one will ever believe you. I’ll tell them you’re crazy.” 

He grins in the dark.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not gonna tattle on you — you have no idea how much I’m enjoying being the only person who knows that Little Miss ‘Do As I Say’ gets this rattled over a little rain.”

You roll your eyes, then close them. “Goodnight, Tyler.”

The bed shakes again with another bout of his quiet laughter. “Yeah, g’night, honey.”

The pet names are going to be put to an abrupt end first thing tomorrow morning. You’re going to give him hell before he even gets a chance to open his stupid, pretty mouth. Until then, you have to keep yourself from doing anything that might have you exiled back to your own room.

Once again, the room settles. The rain whips at the windows, soaking the soil outside. Thunder rumbles closer again, but the lightning flashes don’t seem quite so bright. 

You focus on the sound of him breathing. Deep, slow inhales. He’s calm as could be, his weight pressing into the mattress and his body heat radiating under the shared covers. Uncomfortable on your right side but not wanting to be facing him, you roll onto your back.

Unconsciously a few moments later, you roll back onto your right side. Maybe then your left side. After that, your back again. Then your front.  

As you sigh and twist, Tyler sucks in a sharp breath from beside you.

“God damn, will you sit still? — You’re gonna spin yourself out of this bed.” It’s not until he’s done complaining that you realize he’s now holding you. His arm is secured tight enough around your middle that you couldn’t roll over again, even if you wanted to. Facing away from him, your eyes stare at the painted wall.

He huffs, closing his eyes and flexing his arm around you as he drags you closer.

“Go to sleep.” He mumbles groggily, his breath tickling at the nape of your neck. 

Well, if you were struggling before, then the sentiment is entirely hopeless now. 

You lie awake, watching the sky crackle and glow with flashes of colour. Tyler lies with you, feeling you flinch at every boom that follows.

He shifts suddenly behind you, feeling you go rigid.

“This thing really has you spooked, doesn’t it?” His fingers sprawl across your covered stomach, his voice coated with a softness you weren’t expecting. You feel him lift his head and peer over your shoulder, trying to get a look at your face.

“No.” You bite back, trying to tug yourself free from his hold and shift closer to the edge of the bed. You’ll be hanging off of the side if you keep this up.

“Here, c’mere,” Tyler murmurs, catching your bicep and turning you back around. Your brows furrow and your face grows stormy, and he can just tell that you’re batting up to argue with him. 

He opens both of his arms and wraps them around you at once, giving you no choice but to squish against his chest. Your eyes squeeze open as he presses his lips to your hairline. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

You stare at the freckle on his neck up close as his fingers stroke at the length of your trembling spine, frozen.

“Listen,” He mumbles against your hair as another clap of thunder tears across the sky. “Two, three, four, five — it’s already getting further away. Was just passing us by.”

“I know that.” You mumble begrudgingly against his chest, hating the way your fingers instinctively splay across his bare ribs.

Quiet falls between the two of you. You get it, he’s just trying to help — and frankly you are being a little ridiculous. He gets it, sometimes there’s no explaining fear. It’s just there.

His fingers stop at the base of your spine, disrupting the soft pattern he had going. Just for a moment, before he skims them all the way to the nape of your neck and curls them around the curve of your shoulder.

Once again, his mouth grazes your temple. Barely a kiss. Maybe even something platonic. He’s just trying to settle you. But then, there doesn’t feel like there’s much platonic about the way you’re wrapped together.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs. You can feel the rumble of his voice in your chest as he gives your nape a soft squeeze. “Breathe with me.”

Tyler takes long, deep breaths. Slow, and steady, but not patronizing. The kind that make you feel a dizzy kind of sleepy. You could fall asleep just like this, wrapped in his arms and copying his breaths, but you won’t let yourself. 

You dip your head forwards just a fraction, and press your lips to his bare shoulder. It’s small, and again barely a kiss, maybe even something platonic. Just like his was. He doesn’t say anything about it, and the quiet continues for a little longer.

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat as he leans in, turning his nose towards your hair. “That’s it.” 

You turn your head too, closing your lips softly around his collarbone. This one’s an inch less polite than the others, just a bit more daring, but still easy to misunderstand.

Opening up your palm, you trail your nails along his side, brushing softly from his ribs to his hips. Then, you stretch your neck and reach higher.

His fingers squeeze at your nape as your lips close against his throat. His free hand comes from its resting place against the sheets to curl around your thigh.

The tip of your nose bumps his chin in passing, he looks down while you look up until your eyes are locked together through the dark.

You would never live this down. Your work is too important to risk it all by— he’s kissing you before you’re done arguing with yourself, and your mind is made up.

His stubble scrubs at your cheek as he presses against you, capturing your mouth with his, kneading at his hold on your thigh. 

Your palm presses into the muscle of his back, firm and pulling him against you. You’re the one who hikes your thigh around his hip. He’s the one who twists the two of you and plants you firmly on your back between the pillows.

And then, you’re looking at each other again.

Lightning flashes across the sky, making his green eyes glow emerald for a moment. They search across your face while his hands take hold of your hips.

He looks at you in a way he never has before, all those days working together, his eyes hungry with lust. The intensity in those pretty, green eyes sends shocks of electricity up your spine.

“Just for tonight, and we never speak of this again.” You breathe, eyes wide as you stare up at him. Tyler’s lips twitch.

“You’re gonna regret those terms.” He promises, letting that cocky grin of his twist across his mouth, raising his brows in challenge. You swallow, narrowing your eyes back at him. “But, sure. Whatever you say.”

Right as you’re starting to think that maybe this isn’t worth its risk, he leans forwards and turns your head to the side, closing his mouth around your pulse point. 

His teeth graze against the spot, just sharp enough of a sting to make you gasp before he’s pressing against you harder, kissing harder, soothing his mark with his tongue. 

The tip of his angled nose bumps the curve of your jaw, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin. You hike your leg higher around his waist, pressing your foot into his thigh. His tongue dips from between his lips, flicking across your jugular before he captures the spot with his mouth.

Your fingers curl around his neck, squeezing at his nape, holding his mouth against your throat. A moan slips your lips as his teeth graze over your skin. He sucks a firm kiss into the spot below your ear.

He hums as your fingers slide up into his hair, rewarding you with another open-mouthed kiss in a spot that makes you squirm. Your eyes close contentedly as his mouth works against the smooth skin there.

When the next crash of thunder shakes the foundations, you almost forget to flinch. 

Tyler twists his head sharply and with a sudden, mutual urgency, you crash together. He pulls you flush against him, sliding his tongue into your mouth and caressing it expertly against yours.

Then, his attention turns to the large, old local team jersey you had worn to bed. It was the first thing you had found in your closet. He doesn’t seem to care, bunching it around your middle and tugging you forwards to lift it over your head.

Lightning strikes as the jersey hits the floor. As his knees sit between your thighs, Tyler studies your body. He has thought about this before, what you might look like under all that office-wear. His imagination doesn’t compare.

He sits back on his knees, cupping his palm over the tent straining against his boxer-briefs. Your gaze flickers downward, eye-lids drooping with want as you watch him palm a hand over his cock.

“Don’t move.” He mumbles, reaching out to settle his other hand against the soft curve of your bare waist. It’s clear that he has a plan in his head, you can practically hear the gears turning as his darkened eyes study your body.

Stroking himself carelessly, he drops his hand to the inside of your thigh and pushes it back just a bit. Then, Tyler groans as he lowers his mouth to your chest. One of his warm, weathered hands comes up to caress your breast while his mouth cares for the other.

He kisses softly over the swell of skin, more gentle than you would have expected someone like him to be. He glances up at you as he purses his lips and blows softly, fanning cool air against your already half-hardened nipple.

Then, that talented tongue dips from his lips again, and traces the colour of your nipple, flicking back and forth across the bud before he finally closes his mouth around it. 

Your head sinks into the pillows as your chest arches eagerly toward his kisses. Moans spill from your lips, and you just know that you’ll be soaked by the time he finally touches you.

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. Amidst his parade of kisses, as he’s approaching your navel, his hand dips between your legs. You almost flinch at the contact, keening into his touch instead. 

His fingertips are featherlight, trailing the seams of your underwear where they sit between your thighs. His thumb presses firmer, experimentally sliding between your folds. 

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance down as he looks up at you. His mouth twists as your excitement spills through the lace against the pad of his thumb.

This is most definitely territory that neither one of you have business venturing into. It’s certainly going to make your next venture a little bit more tense than usual. The irony of it being your common venture that had led you here isn’t lost on either of you either.

Tyler makes it known that he has every intention of bringing his usual cockiness to this encounter, smirking as he presses his mouth to your hipbone, circling his thumb softly over your clit.

Bright, white lightning streaks again outside the window. It bathes the farm you grew up on in sudden, harsh light. The rumble of thunder doesn’t come until Tyler’s sucking a mark into the inside of your thigh— he was right, it is getting further away.

And he’s getting closer.

You gasp sharply as he opens his lips and dives forwards, mouthing at your soaked core through the flimsy constraints of your lace underwear. 

The next streak of lightning catches all of the shadows in the muscles of his back, working and flexing as he peels your underwear down your thighs. He kisses the length of your legs, nipping and biting as he goes, tossing the lace to some far corner of the room as soon as he’s done.

Your fingers shoot into his hair, squeezing firmly as he buries his face between your legs. Eager and animalistic, he sucks and licks, holding your thighs over his strong shoulders. You shudder. He groans as you tug at his sandy roots.

As you have found with everything else he does, Tyler’s ginormous ego seems to be well-founded. He has every bit the right to be so confident. 

Though, you’ll never admit that outside of these four walls.

He doesn’t need you to. The way your body thrashes and arches against his mouth tells him all he needs to know. 

You hum softly like you haven’t been moaning openly into the chilled room, tugging at his short locks once again. He groans into your excitement. At once, ring finger slides into you alongside his middle. He curls them both into you.

The sharp gasp it draws from you goes straight to his cock, eliciting another deep groan from his chest as he grinds himself against the patterned sheets.

All you can do is breathe, heels pressing into the mattress as you chase his mouth. Unhindered whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. Incredible, even.

For the sake of your dignity, you’re grateful to lack the ability to tell him how good this feels. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Tyler takes a break to nip at your thighs and coax you towards the finish line you’re already desperate to cross. He looks up at you from between your legs. Your head is thrown back into the pillows, your muscles tensed and trembling. You’re fucking yourself on his fingers. “Take what you need. You gonna get yourself there?”

Then, he leans down and licks one stripe along your core, making you cry out. “Or you need me to do it for you?”

“God, you’re an asshole,” You rush out, brows furrowing in concentration as you desperately chase that high. He chuckles softly, leaving you hanging as he waits for your answer. “Yes! Alright? — I need you.”

Tyler takes that answer with delight, pinning your thigh back against your middle with sudden strength as his fingers twist into you. You shiver as his mouth takes charge once again.

It doesn’t take him long to blind you with your orgasm, your eyes balled shut so tight that you’re seeing stars. You’re trembling as he’s kissing across your stomach

He licks his lips, still grinning as you drag his glistening mouth back to yours. Meeting you with exactly the same fervor, rolling his hips into yours. You groan at the gentle scratch of his stubble, holding him close.

“Fuck me.” You mumble against his lips, trying to reach between your bodies to push down his boxer-briefs. Your fingertips graze his straining cock, stilling immediately. You glance down, eyes wide as you take note of his size.

“I don’t have a condom.” He mumbles back, kissing you hard before you have enough time to comment on what he’s been packing beneath that stupid, huge buckle this whole time.

“You— You don’t?” You pant, trailing your nails down his back as he sucks at your throat.

“Didn’t think I’d be needing one.” His hands skim up your middle and grab at your tits together, kneading them in his capable hands. He drops his head to suck at the tops of them, his stubbled cheeks scratching at the sensitive skin in the best way.

You almost growl in frustration, thighs trying to clamp together around his hips. You don’t want the night to end here.

“I’m on birth control. If you’re—“

“I’m responsible, we’re good.” Tyler swears, flicking his tongue across your pebbled nipple. “If that’s what you want, baby. You want me bare?”

Your core throbs at his deep voice, so close and so filthy.

“Yes.” You whisper, arching your chest into his mouth as he turns his head to pay equal attention to your other breast. “Fuck, yes.” 

He finally pays himself some attention, sitting back on his knees and dipping his hand into his boxers. Your lips part, watching through lust-hooded eyes as he fists at his cock from between your legs.

“Take them off.” You demand, more urgently than you’ve been before. Tyler’s lips twitch, but you’re not letting him have this one without playing first. “You’re not shy, are you?”

He rolls his shoulders back, giving a slow and certain shake of his head. No, of course he isn’t shy. Why would he be? 

Your mouth goes dry as he pushes the boxers down his thighs and kicks them off of the bed. His cock springs free, standing to attention against the trail of sandy brown hair that trails Tyler’s navel.

It’s impressive, and pink at the tip. Annoyingly as pretty as the rest of him is.

He looks carved from stone, kneeling between your legs with broad shoulders and a chiseled chest. Hair sprawling across his pecs neatly, and just down his sternum. The same kind of pretty light brown as his hair. Angled hipbones. He’s defined all over, with strong thighs to match.

“You have no fuckin’ clue how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” Tyler’s admission catches you by surprise, and the shock of it is just registering in your system as he leans down and covers your body with his. 

His weight leaning against you feels better than you’d like to admit, caging you in. The storm feels far, far away. 

The tip of his cock notches at your entrance and you forget all of the doubts you just had about what he had said.

“So, do it. Please,” You breathe out, turning your face towards his neck, kissing the vein that trails there. “I want it.”

Tyler revels in the desperate sound you make as he drags his cock between your folds, his lip between his teeth as he watches the tip sink into you. He really has been waiting a long time for this.

He had made the effort in the beginning, tested your boundaries and swung by your motel rooms every now and again. Every interaction you’ve had has been strictly professional, and he wasn’t going to keep chasing someone who didn’t want to be chased.

As your walls squeeze him tight and your mouth sucks at the column of his throat— fuck, he wishes he had chased a little harder.

You roll your hips into his eagerly, gasping as he pulls almost all the way out and drives back in. You trail your nails along his shoulders, squeezing your thighs around his hips. Thunder rumbles somewhere far away, deep and low like the sounds of Tyler’s groans.

“You feel like you’re fucking made for me.” He mutters, pressing his fingertips into the supple flesh of your ass as he hugs you as close as he possibly can. Buried in you as deeply as he possibly can be, he stills for a moment and pants hard.

You make an incoherent sound of vague agreement, nipping at the curve of his jaw as you rake your nails along his shoulder. He groans at the feeling, his hips stuttering.

Pulling out slowly one last time, Tyler glances down at where the two of you are joined. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he buries himself into you once again, hard this time. Then, he’s relentless, dragging against your walls as he bottoms out again and again.

The old bed creaks in complaint under the two of you, but it’s the furthest thing from your mind as your moans threaten to muffle the sound all together.

The sky rumbles again, another loud clap of thunder making your eyes snap open. Breathless, your head whips towards the window. You watch the streaks of lightning paint the sky shades of electric blue and white. 

Again, that irrational feeling starts to gnaw at you. 

Tyler’s fingers curl around your chin, turning you back to face him.

“Look at me,” He orders, giving a sharp snap of his hips and revelling in the way it makes your mouth fall open. “I’ve got you. Just keep looking at me.” 

Dumbly, you nod your head. Your fingertips skim the ridges of muscle in his arms. Warm and strong under your touch, his body surrounds yours. His green eyes are focused and unwavering, his hands anchoring your hips to the bed.

There’s no room left for that stupid, irrational feeling. It’s all him. Fucking into you, and staring down at you, weighing you down into the creaky mattress. 

You arch your back, pushing your chest up against his as he fills you up. Tyler’s hand abandons your hip to hook around the back of your shoulders, grabbing a firm fistful of your hair. 

His other hand shoves hard at the back of your thigh, bending it up and out of his way. Your ankle rests against his shoulder, your mind going blank as this new position allows him to angle himself deeper.

“Fuck— Tyler.” You whimper, eyes wide as you look up at him. 

His hand flexes around your roots, tugging hard and making you cry out. You muffle yourself in the crook of his neck, kissing at his salty skin. 

“I’m gonna come.” You breathe out. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs, lips grazing your ear as his thrusts grow deep and fast. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Make yourself come on me.”

You don’t need to be told twice, grabbing onto his shoulder for leverage with one hand as the other dips between your colliding bodies. 

His mouth is hot against your throat as you circle your clit, his deep and desperate groans filling your ears, the smell of his sweat and faint cologne making you want to bury closer to him.

It isn’t long before you’re spilling over that edge. You bite at his throat, moaning at the way he keens desperately into the feeling. Your thighs squeeze around him, trembling through the feeling. Your fingers scramble for purchase against his bicep. 

Tyler grunts hard as your body tenses all over, your walls squeezing him tight. His pace stutters just briefly, then picks up. Your brain feels like mush, your eyes rolling back as he fucks you hard.

His head falls forwards, resting against your collarbone as he cums hard. His fingers flex around both your thigh, and the nape of your next, his voice strained as he groans. His chest heaves with his next few breaths.

You sigh, contented as you turn your face towards his neck and close your eyes. He lingers there for a moment, covering you like a blanket, gently stroking the spots he had grabbed so tightly moments before.

Then, he pulls out of you with a sigh and turns to flop onto his back. You’re surprised as he drags you with him, eyes wide at the prospect of the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler’ being a cuddler of all things.

He turns your head toward him, wasting no time in capturing your mouth with his. “How are you feeling?”

You smile hazily, turning your face towards his bare shoulder for a moment. “Tired.”

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The two of you lie there for a few moments, catching your breath and enjoying the comfortable silence. His fingers trail the length of your spine, swirling soft patterns into your skin.

You almost let yourself fall asleep like that. He makes room for you to get up and watches you walk away as you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

He’s silent, but there’s a smile on his face when you slide back into his bed instead of your own. 

When the sun-rises and pours through the window, it wakes you first. You would complain about the curtains being wide open and the lack of sleep you had managed to get through the night, but it’s hard to when you turn and admire your view.

Tyler is asleep on his back, one arm outstretched toward you. You had been sleeping on top of it. The sheets are strewn messily around his middle and there’s a distinct purple mark at the base of his throat, a reminder of where your mouth had been.

His chest rises and falls steadily, his face calm. His hair is still disheveled, another reminder from last night. He looks even more beautiful in the daylight. 

Then, you remember what you said. Never again. How he had promised you would regret those terms— and you already do, thinking of how you’d like to wake him and repeat last night.

Unprompted, Tyler stirs in his sleep. In doing so, he shifts his hips and announces his morning wood as it stands against the sheets. 

Given that you’re still in the same room, and it’s still technically the same day, this surely doesn’t count as a separate encounter. Your terms could still stand, you reason with yourself as you lean down and kiss his shoulder. 

He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he doesn’t stir at all as you kiss your way down his muscled chest. 

His brows knit together as he starts to come to. He blinks through the abrupt morning light, squinting at the brightness as he remembers where he is. He jolts at the feeling of you mouthing along the length of his cock, eyes going wide.

He takes note, then, of the shape under the covers that sits between his legs. He peels them back slowly, meeting your gaze as you kiss his tip.

“Good morning.” You greet him cheekily. 

Tyler quirks a brow, but smiles. He shifts his hips and tucks a flexing bicep behind his head, settling back down against the pillows.

“It is now.”

[sea-lanterns]

THE PURGE

synopsis: (slasher! AU) a group of purgers break into your home.

featuring: arlecchino, columbina, sandrone, signora

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom characters, mentions of blood, vague descriptions of murder, there is a body, mentions of weapons, home invasion, masked se.x, five.some, org.y, transfem! columbina (she has a di.ck), strap ons, oral (both reader and character receiving), face sitting, fing.ering, slight exhibitio.n, may be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: high rise invasion.

Unloading the last of your groceries from the car, you closed the trunk and began walking towards the front entrance of your house. It was a somewhat chilly, somewhat warm day, March 21st to be exact. While the weather was probably enjoyable to those outside of your country, today was going to be a day of misery to many. From March 21st to March 22nd, The Purge will take place; a twelve hour period in which all crime including murder was going to be legal. 

You weren’t exactly sure why your government decided to mandate such a brutal “holiday” but unfortunately as someone who didn’t participate in the Purge, this made your life a lot harder than usual. You had to take extra precaution throughout the year to not make any enemies in your life, even going as far as to shut yourself off from having any friends or close family. 

‘Just twelve hours…I’ve done it several times before, I can do it again.’ You told yourself, unlocking the door to your house. ‘I’ll have to set up the security system again. Only three hours until the Purge.’ 

“Hey neighbor!” You heard a familiar voice call, causing you to look over at your neighbor who was perched against his fence. “Three hours until the Purge, huh?” 

“Ahaha…yeah.” You were getting nervous. It was never a good idea to bring up the Purge with anyone. 

“Hope you’re prepared. Lots of psychos out there who have access to the most dangerous weapons available. I even saw a woman with a chainsaw last year. Had a leather mask and everything.”

“Yeah…” you smiled, but honestly you just really wanted to get in your house.Your neighbor –although seemingly friendly– always gave you the creeps and you tried your best to be on his good side no matter what. 

“Well…Hope for the best for you during this Purge!” He smiled unnervingly wide, making you shiver and fumble to open your door. “Yep! You too!” You called out quickly, shutting the door behind you as quickly as possible. You locked the door immediately and carried your groceries to the kitchen, where you proceeded to double check every exit of the house.

You went through the yearly ritual. Double checking the doors and barricading them with heavy furniture, locking every single window and drawing the blinds (you would activate the security systems later), as well as making your way down to the basement to make sure all your weaponry was secured. 

…And by weaponry, you really only meant the small handgun you kept in a safe down there. You weren’t a super strong person by any means, so a handgun was probably your best suited weapon when it came to defending yourself. However, the handgun was only used as a last resort, so luckily you’ve never had to use it before on any of the previous Purges. Hopefully this year you won’t have to use it still.

You grabbed the handgun and made sure it was loaded before making your way upstairs. Due to being a member of the upper class, you had managed to reinforce your home with a special security system used for keeping your home safe during the Purge. Though it was only three hours before the Purge started, you weren’t taking any chances and activated it now. 

You watched as every door and window in your house became protected beneath a large metal shutter, turning on your security cameras so you could watch whatever was happening outside from the safety of your home. You nestled into the cozy chair of your desk and mentally prepared yourself for another twelve hours of manslaughter you would have to endure. 

You watched from your phone as the infamous warning for the Purge began to play. The alarm never failed to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end, the long list of rules flying over your screen as you peeked through your security cameras. So far, the only things you could see were a bunch of hooligans setting fire to a trashcan in some random alleyway. Okay, not bad. You expected a few arsonists in your neighborhood anyway…

You grabbed a bag of chips from your snack stash and opened it, continuing to watch as you stuffed your face with food like you were binging your favorite TV show. Though the Purge was a very scary time, it never directly harmed you through all the years you survived…

At least, you thought. 

For the next two hours, you simply watched in the comfort of your own bedroom while people in your neighborhood were being slaughtered left and right. You winced when you watched a poor victim get a machete to the face by some woman in a hockey mask. Oof…that’s unfortunate. You heard another scream from afar as another victim got stabbed repeatedly with a kitchen knife by a woman wearing a ghost mask. Hm…why did they look familiar? You wonder if you’ve seen them before… 

You took a sip from your drink and laid back, before nearly jumping out of your skin upon spotting a group of Purgers on your porch. Despite being masked, you could tell from their figures that they appeared to be women, with four of them in total all staring at you through the security camera. 

‘Oh…shit.’ You felt your heart sink as you waited for them to say something, anything. You hadn’t expected any Purgers to actually bother you tonight, as the most that Purgers would do is knock over your trash cans and maybe graffiti your garage door. 

One of the Purgers —a woman wearing a dove-themed mask— stepped forward and smiled at the camera. She raised a delicate hand, before ringing the doorbell and speaking into the camera. 

“Hellooooo~ Is this (Reader)’s residence?” She sang beautifully, toying with the ends of her hair. You tried to figure out her appearance to see if she was familiar to anyone you knew or talked to, but you don’t recall ever meeting a woman with black hair and bright pink streaks. 

You stayed quiet, hoping that they would just assume you couldn’t hear them and move on. This however, didn’t work as the group of women were persistent.

“Hellooooo~ I know the cutie is in there…” The dove-masked women cooed, ringing your doorbell again before one of the other Purgers got impatient. A taller, blonde woman wearing a moth-themed mask grumbled and raised her weapon, “It’s no use. Let’s just find a weak spot and break in.” 

“Nooo! That’s so barbaric, we must treat a woman gently.” 

“We are quite literally, purging her home.” Another woman chimed in, this time a short woman with beige-colored hair wearing a doll mask. 

“Yes, but I would like her to respond before we break in.” The dove-mask pouts. 

“Enough.” Finally, the fourth woman spoke up, her posture and height intimidating as she stepped to the front. This time it was a woman wearing a harlequin mask, her gaze piercing through the camera. “We know you are listening, (Reader). It isn’t polite to keep your guests waiting.” 

She smirked at the camera, as if edging you to press the call button and respond. You felt as if your blood was being drained from your body, a morbid feeling of death looming over you like a cloud. You had no choice, if you didn’t respond they would just try and break in anyway, so perhaps it would be wise to try and convince them not to? 

You did not think that was plausible, but Purgers were still human. Maybe they will be human just for you… 

“C-Can I help you?” Fuckkkkk you did not mean to sound like a timid fast food worker working at the Drive Thru. You mentally cursed yourself as you watched the other four women smile at your compliance.

“There’s her cute voice!” The dove-mask exclaimed excitedly. “I was worried some other Purgers may have gotten to you already…” 

“Can I help you?” You stated again firmly, wanting them to leave as soon as possible. “If you’re looking to rob my house, I’m afraid I don’t have anything of value.” 

“Oh…sweetheart,” the harlequin-mask chuckled, sliding her hand across the handle of her bloody ax. “You’re in there.” 

Oh great. Yeah why bother spending the Purge robbing stuff that is actually useful to you, when you can murder people instead. Genius. 

“…Okay, I know what you are implying, but I beg of you not to kill me! I promise that after the Purge is over I will compensate for you all somehow. Whether it’d be money or anything else you’d like, I’ll do it!”

“Open those ears of yours, girl. We want you, not your house.” The moth-mask tsked, a bit of annoyance present on the edge of her voice. “We are coming in whether you like it or not. As long as you are inside, we will get in too.” 

“…No need to be so mean, Signora.” You heard the dove-mask huff, folding her arms. “Just hold tight, baby. We’re coming to find you~”

You let out a small, panicked squeak of terror and cut the mic, standing up from your seat and making your way to your drawer to check on the handgun you had stashed away. You couldn’t believe that this was the year you would have to use it, and your adrenaline was pulsing like crazy. 

‘All loaded’ you mentally prepared yourself for the worst, taking deep breaths and walking back to your computer monitors that displayed the cameras. You let out another panicked squeak when you saw that the Purgers had left your front porch, now scattered around your property doing god knows what. 

“Why this year of all years?” You whined, keeping your handgun close to you as you kept looking through the monitors. Okay, okay, they were just circling your house, no biggie. Their weapons appeared to be of class 1 only, so it would be next to impossible for them to break down your security systems. 

Really, though you were on edge, you should be relatively safe so long as the power doesn’t—

Almost as if your fate was being toyed at the hands of a God, your lights suddenly went out and the sound of your metal shutters started coming up. Oh…you were fucked now.

‘…I am dead.’ You wanted to scream, but knew better as it was time for survival. It was every woman for herself, no beating around the bush. Logistically you weren’t sure if you could take out four Purgers on your own, but if you were going to die tonight you were going to die fighting ugly. 

You heard one of your windows shatter and flinched when you heard footsteps now roaming the downstairs of your house. Okay, you got this. You technically have an advantage as you have a firearm and they don’t know where you are, you should play this safe. 

You held your breath and stealthily made your way downstairs, holding the gun. You saw the broken window in your living room, swallowing thickly before looking around to see if there was anyone around. Your eyes suddenly landed on a bloody trail that looked as if a body had been dragged through your house. Did they just kill someone? 

You suddenly heard a thud behind you and whirled around quickly, only to accidentally let out a gasp when you saw the dead body of your neighbor just lying there on your kitchen floor. You managed to hold in a scream, but it was no use when you felt strong arms hold you from behind, a yell escaping your throat as you felt one of the Purgers’ grip on you.

“Mm…not a screamer…quite the silent one, aren’t you?” You heard a rough, raspy voice as the woman behind you grabbed your gun and tore it away with ease. Just how strong was she?! Your breath hitched when you felt the sharp end of a knife press against your throat, her voice humming with pleasure. “I like quiet girls.”

From your peripheral vision you saw that it was the Purger with the harlequin mask, her hair mostly white with a few streaks of black, yet another person you were not familiar with. Footsteps then entered the kitchen from the thick fog of darkness, a giggle leaving another one of the Purgers. 

“You caught her! Heh, I guess you won this one, Arle~!” It was the Purger with the dove-mask, her cute and feminine voice not matching her appearance at all as her white dress was covered in blood. “I want to pet her!” 

“Wash your hands, Columbina.” Another voice came, this time it was the doll-masked Purger who came walking out of the darkness. “I don’t want you getting blood all over her. She’ll stink.” 

“A little blood won’t hurt her, Sandrone.” 

You whimpered when the woman named “Columbina” walked closer to you, her sadistic smile present as she ran her fingers across your cheek. You would flinch away if not for the harlequin mask —you believe she was called Arle?— holding you in place, her muscles tightening around you and preventing you from squirming. 

“Ah…how cute!” Columbina cooed. “I almost feel bad for scaring her, she looks like she’s about to cry.”

“She looks prettier that way.” Came a deeper, more mature voice, as the moth-masked woman —Signora, if you remembered correctly— came into view. You gulped when Signora strutted over to you and took your chin in her hand, admiring you from behind her mask and turning your face to look at all your angles. “Loosen your grip a bit, Arlecchino. The girl looks like she’s about to pass out from blood circulation.” 

Arlecchino let out a titular hum. “And why would I do that? If I let her go, she can run off.” 

“Not with us here. We all can catch her quite easily.” Sandrone said matter-of-factly. 

“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt.” Arlecchino leaned down and whispered gravely into your ear. “I don’t recommend running, little one. All four of us can hunt you down quite easily, and if you ran out into the open during the Purge, well…”

She chuckled and playfully blew on your ear. “Someone else might get to you before us.” 

Your body involuntarily shivered and you felt the back of your ear grow hot. Upon seeing how much of an impact she had on you, Arlecchino smirked and carefully let go of you. 

You should run. In fact, you weren’t sure why you were staying in place surrounded by these murderous women. Every instinct and sense of logic in your brain was telling you to make a run for it, but another part of you knew that it was fruitless to even make it out of your house. 

“You know, you should be thanking us.” Signora said coldly. “Without us here, you probably would’ve been murdered by that neighbor of yours.” 

“Wh-What?”

“Oh! She speaks…” Columbina giggled. “Believe it or not, we found him messing around with some circuit box in your yard. Looks like he was the one who knocked out the power to kill you himself.”

Your eyes landed on the body of your neighbor laying on the floor. His eyes still wide open like he was stuck in time, lips parted like was in the middle of screaming before meeting his bloody demise. “Of course…we took care of him for you! Wouldn’t want our pretty girl to get hurt.”

Columbina smiled and kicked his body away like it was nothing, looking up at you like they had just done a great thing. You kept looking between the Purgers and the dead body of your neighbor, unable to cope with the fact that this would be the first Purge where you might end up like another body bag. 

“…Is this where I get killed now?” You laughed weakly, cold sweat dripping down your face. “I…I’m not sure what else to do at this point, get on my knees and beg for my life?”

“Ooh. I like the kneeling and begging part.” Sandrone comments bluntly. Meanwhile, the other women chuckle at your pathetic display, with Arlecchino pulling you towards her and murmuring in your ear. 

“Oh, we aren’t interested in hurting you. At least not that much.” She suddenly slid her hands up your stomach and towards your breasts, a gasp leaving your lips when she fondled them through your shirt. ”…Soft.” 

“Easy now, Arlecchino. She hasn’t accepted yet.” Signora hums, gently pulling Arle’s eager hands away from your chest. Arlecchino slips out a small growl of dissatisfaction, but pulls away anyway to comply with Signora’s requests. Despite how refined Arlecchino seemed to be, you could tell she was a woman of a lot of restraint, and she had been itching to feel you up despite her calm demeanor. 

“If it wasn’t obvious by Arlecchino’s…desires,” Signora comments, stroking your face, “We want your body, but not in the way that you think.” 

“You’re just so pretty…especially when your bottom lip wobbles in fear,” Columbina whispers. “How could we not want you this way?”

Oh…oh.

Now you know why they haven’t killed you yet. 

“Look at her face, all dumb and bewildered.” Sandrone comments, the faintest of grins appearing on her face as she took in your confused expression. 

“What do you say, let us have some fun with you?” Arlecchino purrs from behind, making you shiver in anticipation and a little bit of curiosity. 

“…I suppose.” You said softly, a little hesitant to agree. 

“Oh my, what a promiscuous thing she is,” Signora comments, a sly smile making its way to her lips. “Wanting to take all four of us at the same time, what a whore.” 

“Easy now, Signora. She can’t help how curious she is.” Columbina smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Arle~ Be a dear and carry the poor lamb upstairs. The dead guy is killing the mood.”

“Of course.” Arlecchino grinned wolfishly and took you in her arms, throwing you over her shoulder like it was nothing while going up the stairs. You could only watch helplessly as the three other women followed after you, smiling at how utterly pathetic you looked while being carried by Arlecchino with one arm. 

…You weren’t sure how you got up to this point. One moment you were almost pissing your pants in fear, and the next you were suddenly thrown into your bed and surrounded by four Purgers. All of them stared down at you with a look of pure joy in their eyes, practically ravishing you on the bed with just their gaze alone. 

Surprisingly, it was Sandrone that made the first move. For as quiet as she was, the woman crawled on top of you and grabbed your face for herself, pulling you into a kiss. 

“Oh my! I didn’t expect Sandrone to be so eager…” Columbina giggled. Meanwhile, in the corner of your eye; you could see Arlecchino unzipping her pants and Signora taking off her gloves. 

You couldn’t watch them for long, however; as Sandrone forcefully pushed you back and shoved her tongue down your mouth, turning the kiss into a more seductive dance of tongues. The doll-masked woman moaned at the taste of you, pulling you in closer to her as she aggressively pushed her hands up your shirt. 

“Mm…what a sloppy kisser. I could tell you’ve never had another woman in your mouth before.” Sandrone pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your tongue with hers. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that for you.” 

“Arle, no need to be so impatient. She’s still on the bed.” You heard Signora gently scold Arlecchino and looked over to see what she was doing. The harlequin woman was gritting her teeth and tugging her trousers off as fast as she could, the base of a harness and what looked to be a crimson-colored strap peeking through the gap of her zipper. 

Oh…they were prepared for this. 

“Hey. Don’t look at her, look at me.” Sandrone sounded annoyed and gripped your face to look at her again, pulling you in for a kiss. 

“Pfft. Sandrone is getting jealous.” You felt the bed space behind you dip, and in the midst of making out with Sandrone, you felt Columbina’s lithe and petite body encircle yours. “Let’s see how good you taste.” 

Columbina’s lips latched onto the back of your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin hard enough to leave a few bruises. The choked whimpers you let out made the dove-mask and doll-mask moan with pleasure, Sandrone pulling you more against herself while Columbina grinded her hips from behind. 

As Sandrone’s hands fondled your breasts under your shirt, you felt something small yet hard growing under Columbina’s dress. It was clear the two women were getting heavily turned on, with how Sandrone was starting to tug off your shirt and Columbina grinding faster against you. 

“Let’s put that sloppy tongue to use.” Sandrone comments bluntly, lowering you down against the bed as she raises her dress to pull off her panties. Columbina takes her position between your legs, pulling your pants off and eagerly wanting to stuff her face in your cunt. “No teeth now. Try to be a good girl.” Sandrone slides her panties off and spreads her legs over your awaiting mouth, using her fingers to give you quite the show of her sweet pussy glistening with juices. The doll-masked woman didn’t wait for another second and took her place at her rightful seat, letting you taste the sweet tang of her cunt smothering your lips. 

Meanwhile, Columbina was eagerly pulling your own panties down with her hands, her tongue —which was freakishly long— swiped at her bottom lip the moment she saw your bare entrance. “Mm…Gotta make sure you’re wet enough to take Arle’s strap.” She whispered, parting your legs gently –though her nails were digging into your thighs– and licking a long stripe across your clit. 

“Nnnh–!” You moaned into Sandrone’s own clit, causing her to buck her hips needily. “Fuck…her tongue feels so good.” 

“I can only imagine,” Columbina coos, smothering her face deeper and darting her hot tongue out quickly. Her hands trailed down to her dress and began lightly jerking herself off while she ate you out, moaning into your thighs as she ravished your insides. You hadn’t expected to be double teamed so easily, but you didn’t mind, eating out Sandrone and tasting her folds more thoroughly while Columbina masturbated to the taste of you. 

“Are you– mmppgh…guys ready?” Sandrone moans out sweetly, riding your face harder as she looks back at Arlecchino and Signora. Both women had stripped out of their festive Purger outfits, with Arlecchino wearing nothing but a thick, girthy strapon and Signora dressed in the prettiest lingerie you had ever seen. “Oh come on Signora, that’s– fuck, overkill for the Purge, isn’t it?” 

“The girl likes it.” Signora tuts, casting you a smirk beneath her mask. “Is she wet enough, Columbina?” 

“Nope!” Columbina pulls her head away from between your thighs, her face smeared in all your juices while your thighs are left a trembling mess. 

“Liar.”

“She needs to be wetter! Let me eat her out more!”

“Columbina.” Arlecchino finally makes her presence known, crawling over to the bed and pulling her hair back, forcefully pulling her away from your cunt. Columbina whined and gave Arlecchino a glare, not quite finished with eating you out yet. “Arle, I said she needed to be wetter.”

You couldn’t believe you had four women in your bed, all fighting for you during the Purge. You would voice your concerns if not for Sandrone still whining and grinding on your face so roughly. Though the woman was a small, seemingly gentle woman, it was obvious she was one of the more desperate ones of the group. 

“Suck on her tits or something. I want her tight cunt swallowing my strap.” Arlecchino growled, possessively stroking your thigh while Columbina huffed. “Fine.” She gave your inner thigh one last bite, causing you to jolt and accidentally make Sandrone come from the sudden movement. 

“Oh– nnngh!” Sandrone’s little legs trembled greatly, her orgasm washing over her as she ground her hips more firmly. The sweet, succulent taste of her cum washed down your throat, making your eyes flutter shut in how good Sandrone tasted. “Was her tongue game that good, Sandrone?” Columbina purred, suddenly taking an interest in your mouth. “Yeah, her movements are amateaur at best, but somehow feel really good?” 

“Heh, good enough for me.” Columbina proceeded to shove Sandrone off and take her place, dangling her small, yet very eager cock in front of your lips. “Let’s get those pretty lips sucking me off, hm?” She smiled and caressed your cheek before slipping her tip inside, watching with satisfaction as you took all of her length so easily. Meanwhile, Arlecchino and Signora were more occupied on your raw pussy, which was twitching with need after being neglected for too long. Signora cooed and pressed a teasing kiss to your clit, lightly blowing on it before rising to focus on your breasts. 

“Poor baby is feeling neglected up here, huh?” She teased, the blonde woman leaning in to lick a long stripe across your tits before latching one nipple in her mouth. She took pleasure in the way your back arched off the bed, the Fair Lady’s tongue swirling around hungrily as her fingers swirled around your clit. “Give me some lube, Arle. I want to finger her for a bit before you start.” 

You heard the sound of growl before Arlecchino reluctantly obliged. “Make it quick, I want to fold her into the mattress myself.” She gave Signora a bottle of lube and you could only moan when you felt the Fair Lady’s cold fingers circle your entrance with a slimy substance coating them. When you moaned however, you choked on Columbina’s cock, causing her to groan and buck her hips. “Goodness her throat is…quite tight.”

Signora chuckled at that and pressed her fingers deeper into your entrance, watching with great pleasure as they sunk in with little to no resistance. “And quite wet. You did a good job of loosening her up, Columbina.” Signora proceeded to finger you to see just how far you could take her. Her fingers –which were very long and thin– stretching you out and brushing up against all your tender spots to see which ones would make you squirm. 

As this was happening, you felt Columbina’s tiny cock start twitching in your mouth, signaling that she was getting close. Unable to keep your moans to yourself, you stifled a small whine and traced the underside of her shaft with your tongue, watching as her face made all sorts of lewd expressions. “Oh f-fu– I’m gonna come…” she whimpered, riding your face faster before shooting a hot load down your throat and throwing her head back. 

“Oh? What a good girl, making two of us orgasm already.” Signora hummed, pulling her fingers out and licking them clean. “I guess it’s time to get to the main event now.” 

Columbina tiredly got off you and went to join Sandrone, who was lying blissfully on the bed and watching how you took the final two women. The taste of sex and cum lingered on the back of your tongue, yet you were now hooked. You gazed at Arlecchino who had been waiting impatiently at the foot of the bed, stroking her fat strap and making sure you saw. 

“Hold her down, Signora.” Arlecchino commanded, watching as you were manhandled to switch positions. No longer were you lying flat on your back, as you were now sat up against Signora with her chest against your back, bare breasts and stomach pressed against your skin and making you shiver. “Such a good girl, letting us manhandle you as we please…” Signora’s deep, husky voice whispered in your ear, her hands making their way down to your thighs and keeping them spread for Arlecchino. “Have fun with her, Arle.” 

Arlecchino didn’t need to be told twice. She crawled on top of you and angled her strap to brush against your entrance. Her eyes narrowed as she saw how needy your pussy was after going through three women, seeing how twitchy and puffy it was. “You three really did a number on her.” She mumbled, brushing the tip of her strap between your folds. When you trembled and let out a gasp at the feeling, both Arle and Signora smirked, with Signora trailing her hands down to pull your folds apart. 

“Do your worst. She wants it.” 

Arlecchino grinned and sandwiched you against Signora, slowly pushing her strap into you and watching as you were speared open on her faux cock. “Fuck– she’s tight still…” She grumbled, enjoying the way your pussy gripped the silicone so roughly. 

“Well you did buy a girthy one.” Sandrone says matter-of-factly. 

“I know, but she seems to enjoy it anyways.” Arlecchino laughed wolfishly and continued to spear you open while your cunt struggled to accommodate her girth. You had never felt so full before when taking a toy, letting out sweet whimpers as the smallest beads of tears formed at your lashes. 

“Oh, don’t cry…” Signora hummed behind you, licking your tears away. “It’ll feel so good soon~”

The harlequin let out a grunt as she pushed her hips further, watching as her strap finally nestled itself comfortably inside you. She could see the slightest bit of arousal pool at the base of her strap, and that only spurred her on more, starting to thrust at a shallow pace. You threw your head back against Signora’s shoulder, feeling her soft lips press kisses on your tear-dotted face. Arlecchino was just so deep, filling your insides on just her girth alone while she thrusted. 

“My…what a peculiar sight.” Arlecchino chuckled, her eyes filled with pure desire as she saw you trembling beneath her. Your legs pathetically squirming yet being held down, clearly overstimulated now that you had to go through the fourth Purger. 

“I haven’t even bottomed out yet.” She smiled wickedly, pinning you in place while she nearly folded you in half. If not for Signora sitting there behind you, you were sure she would have pushed you into a full on mating press into the mattress. “Hold her tighter, I’m going all in.” 

Every woman in the room watched with interest as Arlecchino took a deep breath and slowly inched herself deeper until your cunt hit her harness. With each inch, you felt a loud whine rip through you, the fat tip of Arle’s strap pushing against your walls and forming a slight belly bulge. “Oh my…” Signora’s eyes glazed over with lust, trailing her hand up to rest atop the bulge. “Look how deep you are in her, Arle.” 

“How cuteee!” Columbina cooed. “I wanna give her a belly bulge too!”

“Maybe another time. The poor girl looks as if she’ll pass out after this round.” 

All four women leered at you hungrily before Arlecchino pulled out and slammed back in. They took great pleasure in watching Arle ravage your insides, wet smacks filling the air as your expressions formed into even lewder ones. Signora looked the most ecstatic, her hand gently pushing down on the bulge each time Arle bottomed out and thrusted back into you. 

The extra force of Signora pushing down on your stomach and Arlecchino fucking you like an animal was almost too much to handle. Each punctuated thrust of Arlecchino’s hips made your poor body bounce rather weakly, your legs scrambling to pull away from Signora’s grip and latch around the harlequin’s waist. 

“She’s getting close. I can feel it…” Arlecchino growled, craving to see your cum form a ring around her base. “Come for me…I know you can do it.” 

She held onto your ankle and gave it a small kiss, looking down at you as you writhed around like a worm. The way your leg twitched and the tears trailed down your face was enough to make all the girls swoon over you harder. You were just too cute, they were glad they broke in to get you. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you felt your pussy tense up before cumming all over Arlecchino’s strap. The harlequin groaned at the sight and started thrusting even faster, going feral at the sight of your cum drenching her faux cock and helping you ride out your orgasm. The other woman in the room giggled at the sight of you reduced to a whining, babbling mess, Arlecchino finally pulling out and admiring how soaked you made her strap. 

“Goddamn…” she grunted, dropping your legs to the bed and watching as you collapsed against Signora, too tired to even keep your eyes open. 

“Look at her, barely able to stay awake.” Sandrone comments, gently massaging one of your thighs. “We really did a number on her.” 

“Awww, I really wanted to fuck her too.” Columbina pouts, tracing the hickies and bite marks the women left on your body.

“Maybe when she wakes up. For now, let’s let the poor girl rest.” Signora gently caressed your cheek and gave you a small kiss. “Close your eyes, little one. We will keep you safe throughout the rest of the Purge.” 

Arlecchino crawls up to join you by your side, pulling you against her while all the other women adjust to snuggle around you, essentially turning this into one big cuddle pile. “Rest well,” Arlecchino whispers huskily, your eyes growing heavier as you bask in the embrace of the four Purgers who broke into your home, yet showed you the best way to celebrate the gory holiday.

“Happy Purge.” 

[mrsvante]

Safe & Sound

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, angst, pfp

summery: you waited the last six months for the love of your life to finally come home. and when he finally does with his uniform crisp, with open arms, smile bright—you realize some things can’t be rehearsed. some things break the script entirely. especially the kind of love that arrives shaking, breathless, and swollen with surprise.

warnings: military discharge, birth control failure, unplanned pregnancy, soft angst, lots of crying, oral!f receiving, breast play, fluffy emotional sex, mentions of body insecurity, aftercare,soft domestic jimin 😜, pregnancy cravings, brief depictions of labor & childbirth

word count: 5,819

a message from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: i’ve realized i might have a thing for daddy jimin. there’s just something about soft but fiercely protective jimin that gets me going 🤪. and i KNOW i’m not the only one. so don’t judge me, judge your mother. anyways, hopefully you enjoy! i definitely got a little carried away while writing this 🤭💜✨

The sun raked across Jimin’s cheeks as he smiled for the camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jungkook in front of the training facility gates. Cameras flashed, reporters called his name & cheered from behind barricades.

It was a brief blur of gratitude, bows, and polite words rehearsed more times than he could count.

But none of it felt real.

Not the neatly pressed uniform or the click of camera shutters. Not even the company assigned car idling by the curb, ready to take him away from duty and back to the life he left behind.

The only real thing waiting for him, he knew, was you.

His fingers twitched as he climbed into the van, the smile he offered through the tinted glass fading the second the door shut. He blinked out the window, watching Jungkook’s van pull off first, laughing as it fishtailed slightly before catching traction again.

Typical.

Jimin glanced at the empty seat beside him and frowned, just for a moment.

You were supposed to ride with him. It wasn’t like you to skip something like this, especially after so long apart. His last leave was six months ago. Six months without your voice in his ear at the end of each day, your fingers in his hair, your warmth pressed against his side in bed.

You had said you wanted to surprise him. That you had something special planned.

And okay… you were terrible at keeping secrets. Always a little jittery. Always giving yourself away with the tilt of your smile or the too quick shuffle of your feet.

Still, Jimin’s stomach rolled with unease as the city blurred past the windows.

—

The apartment was dark.

Not dim. Not softly lit.

Dark.

The curtains were all drawn tight. The only light came from the blue glow of the television and the soft amber of an accent lamp in the corner. Even from the entryway, he could feel the chill in the air—sharp, unwelcoming.

He set down his overnight bag, toeing off his shoes with a frown.

“Honey?” he called gently, stepping farther inside.

No answer.

Then he heard the sound of a soft sniffle and the flicker of movement from the living room.

He found you bundled on the couch, a blanket pulled up to your nose. Just your eyes peered over the edge at him, wide and glistening. The sweater you wore hung loose around your shoulders.

You smiled weakly. “Welcome home.”

Jimin’s heart swelled and ached in the same breath.

He moved toward you, arms already outstretched. “Come here, pretty girl. Let me hold you—”

You jerked the blanket tighter.

“Don’t.”

His hands paused midair. “What? Why not?”

“I… I’m not feeling well,” you muttered, voice trembling.

Immediately, Jimin crouched beside the couch, his fingers brushing your forehead. “You’re freezing. Why is the apartment so cold, honey? Have you eaten? Are you sick?”

You flinched at his touch.

His brows drew tight. “Hey. What’s going on?”

The look in your eyes, a tortured mix of fear, guilt, and panic, sent alarm bells ringing down his spine. The hairs on his neck stood up like ice.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Why are you looking at me like that, baby?”

You swallowed thickly, tears already welling, bottom lip trembling.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly. “I’m so sorry, Jimin. I didn’t mean to—fuck—I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

His heart stopped.

“What happened?” he asked, voice cracking. “Why are you apologizing?”

You shook your head, rocking slightly under the blanket. “I don’t want you to be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose—”

“Hey, hey—breathe, baby,” Jimin said gently, kneeling now with both hands on the couch as he tried to see your face. “I’m not mad. I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t promise that!” you cried, eyes wide. “You don’t know what I did!”

He tried to smile, to keep the panic at bay. “Yah,” he said playfully, “Aegi-ah, why are you acting so weird? Just tell me what’s wrong, right now!”

“Don’t yell at me!” you snapped, voice breaking as the tears spilled over.

Jimin’s breath hitched. His expression sobering immediately.

“No—no, aegi-ah, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Shh, don’t cry, please don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry—tell Jimin-ie what’s wrong, yeah? Whatever it is… we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He watched your lip tremble. Watched your hands clutch the edge of the blanket like a lifeline.

Then, with shaking fingers, you began to push it off. Your breathing was ragged as you shrugged out of your sweater. And beneath it, round, unmistakable and impossible to ignore was the soft, swollen curve of your belly.

Jimin stared.

Everything around him slowed to a whisper.

You were crying before you could speak, words tumbling out like stones.

“I didn’t know—I swear—I kept taking the pill and I didn’t miss a day. I—I double checked the window every time, but it still—it still happened. I didn’t want to trap you—I’m not trying to ruin your life, I swear, it’s just—do you know how low the failure rate is? It’s like 0.1%—but that’s still me, because of course it’s me—”

“Stop, baby,” Jimin whispered.

But you didn’t.

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t hiding it to be manipulative, I was scared, and I didn’t want to do this through a letter or video call, and you’ve been so stressed, and I know this isn’t what we planned—”

“Stop,” he said again, firmer this time.

He surged forward and wrapped you in his arms, gently but completely.

You froze.

Jimin buried his face in your neck, arms locking around you like a lifeline, and whispered, “You didn’t ruin anything. You didn’t fuck up. You didn’t trap me.”

You choked back another sob, fists clutching his shirt.

“I’m scared too,” he admitted softly, “but not because of the baby. I’m scared because you’ve been here… alone… carrying this without me.”

You broke.

And Jimin held you tighter.

“You’re not alone anymore, okay? I’m home. And I’m not going anywhere.”

—

You didn’t realize how long you’d been crying until your throat burned and your eyes felt raw.

The couch cushions had shifted beneath the weight of your grief and Jimin’s comfort, and now you were curled sideways into his chest with his arms around you like a shield. He rocked you without rhythm, just enough to soothe, thumb stroking slow circles against your side.

Your body trembled, and he didn’t let go.

“I hate this,” you whimpered against his shoulder, your voice thick and wrecked. “I’m sorry—I can’t stop crying. I’m trying. It’s just—fucking hormones.”

Jimin chuckled softly, lips brushing your hair. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve had to live with Jungkook during a breakup. I know a hormonal crisis when I see one.”

You snorted, wet and weakly, but the sound made him smile.

He kissed the crown of your head, his voice low. “When did you find out?”

You swallowed. “End of the first trimester. I kept… I kept thinking it was a stress thing. Then I started getting sick every morning. And… my smell sensitivity kicked in.”

Jimin hummed. “And the doctor?”

“They said based on the scans, it likely happened about six months ago.”

Jimin blinked.

Then his brows lifted.

“Wait—six months? You mean…”

You nodded, already burying your face again, your entire body overheating with embarrassment. “Yeah. During your last visit. That morning. On the couch.”

Jimin stared down at you, eyes wide.

And then he burst out laughing.

Your head snapped up. “What?”

He doubled over, wheezing through the laughter, eyes tearing up. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?!”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning. “We had this running bet in the barracks. Just something dumb to keep morale up. We were all guessing who was gonna come back home to a surprise baby or a panicked voicemail or a crying girlfriend on base leave.”

You blinked at him.

“And what?” you asked. “You lost the bet?”

“I didn’t bet on myself!” he howled, clutching his stomach. “I bet on Taehyung! Taehyung!”

You groaned, covering your face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. I—”

“No,” he said quickly, firmly, cutting through your apology before it could root. “Stop that, baby. No more of that, okay?”

You sniffed, hands dropping slowly from your eyes.

Jimin cupped your face, brushing away the tear tracks with his thumbs. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You made a human with me. Us. You don’t get to apologize for that.”

You nodded, breath still shaky. “I was just… scared you’d be mad.”

He kissed your forehead. “I’m not mad. I’m overwhelmed, yeah. But not mad. Not even close.”

There was a moment of silence. Just the hum of the apartment and the background sound of the TV playing something long forgotten.

Then Jimin glanced down. “Can I…?” His hand hovered slightly above the curve of your stomach.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He smiled, eyes soft and big as he placed both hands on your belly. Spreading his fingers wide, thumbs brushing gently along the swell. You watched his eyes go glassy, his mouth parting like a breath had just caught behind his heart.

“Hi,” he whispered, leaning down. “I’m Jimin-ie. I’m… your appa. Kind of new to the job, kind of scared. But I already love you, so much.”

He kissed your stomach. Once. Twice. Again.

“I’m gonna try really hard not to screw this up, okay?” he murmured, speaking to your skin. “I’m gonna be there. Every day. Every appointment. Every craving. Every weird hormonal meltdown.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“I’ll help pick out the name, the crib, and paint the nursery. I’ll do the midnight bottles. The lullabies. All of it, honey.”

He looked up at you then, cheeks flushed, hands still gently cradling your belly.

“I’m all in.”

Your throat tightened, tears welling again—but this time, for a very different reason. You slid your fingers into his hair, tugging him up gently to kiss you.

And he kissed you like the promise he’d just made.Like a man finally home and finally whole.

—

The kiss deepened before either of you really noticed.

What began as a thank you, a you’re home now kiss, softened with relief and tears, slowly gave way to something hotter, heavier. Your fingers curled tighter in his hair. Jimin’s hands slid from your belly to your waist, gripping like he needed to pull you closer.

You shifted forward until your knees straddled his thighs on the couch, and Jimin hissed beneath you, like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

It hit him then, all at once.

You were pregnant.

You were pregnant.

With his baby.

His breath caught as his hands slipped over the gentle curve of your stomach again, slower this time, more intentional.

He got you like this.

He did this.

You were swollen and round and glowing and gorgeous and his, and he hadn’t seen you in half a year, and now—

“Shit,” Jimin breathed, hips twitching beneath you as the blood in his veins surged south. “Baby… fuck. You’re carrying my baby.”

You flushed, squirming a little on his lap.

“And you’re so sexy,” he murmured, mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck. “You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect, but like this—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned again, hard and straining beneath you now, one hand rubbing slow circles over the small of your back as the other gripped your thigh.

“I made this,” he said in disbelief, voice turning hazy. “We made this. And right here, just like this, is how it happened.”

He tilted his head, nuzzling your neck as he pulled you down snug against the outline of his cock.

“Right here on this couch,” he whispered against your skin, grinding up slowly. “We’re in the same position as when I knocked you up.”

You groaned and slapped his chest lightly. “Don’t say it like that. And don’t talk to the baby about sex right before sex!”

Jimin cracked up, his laugh warm and breathless against your shoulder. “Already a bossy momma,” he teased, licking a slow stripe along your throat.

You squirmed again. “Jimin—”

His breath hitched, and he moaned again at the word. “God, momma,” he whispered, hands smoothing up your back, “you don’t even know what that’s doing to me.”

His tone dropped, growing deeper, hungrier, and you felt it. The shift. The heat. The effect that word had on him. The knowledge that you’d created a life.

His hands were trembling now, moving beneath your shirt slowly.

“Can I take this off, honey?” he asked, nodding to the tshirt swallowing you whole. “I wanna see you. Wanna see what’s mine.”

You nodded.

Jimin swallowed, then lifted the shirt carefully. You helped him tug it over your head, and the second it was off, he went still.

You weren’t wearing a bra.

Your breasts were heavier than he remembered, full and flushed and on display for him, your nipples peaked from the chill of the room and the ache of your arousal.

Jimin’s eyes darkened.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

He cupped your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples as you gasped softly.

“Does this feel okay?” he asked, immediately concerned.

You nodded quickly. “Yes—Yeah, it actually feels really good.”

“Yeah?” he said, kissing the top of your chest. “Can I…?”

You nodded again, breath stuttering as his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling slowly, hand splayed against the curve of your back for support. He moaned at the taste of your skin, kissing and suckling with soft hunger, flicking his tongue just right.

You sighed and rolled your hips, your cunt slick and throbbing, grinding right over the thick, hard press of his cock.

Jimin groaned—mouth still on your chest—his hands guiding your hips in a rhythm that made him tremble. Even now, with you straddling his thighs, bare from the waist up and glowing with heat and flushed emotion, Jimin moved like you were the most fragile, exquisite thing he’d ever laid hands on.

He couldn’t stop touching you.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmured. “So warm. So soft. Fuck, I want you, baby. I need you.”

You moaned, rocking your hips with more force.

“You’re sure?” he asked, hands cradling your hips. “You feel okay?”

You nodded, breath catching as you rocked against his lap again. “I’m okay. I want this, Jimin.”

He pressed a kiss to your sternum. “Okay, I’ll be careful with you, promise.”

He tugged his fatigues open, button by button, and shoved them down just far enough to free his cock, his boxer briefs dragged down with them. He hissed softly as the fabric peeled away to reveal him already painfully hard. Flushed tip wet, the whole length throbbing from the weight of wanting you.

But the moment your hips lifted, lining yourself up above him, his breath caught for another reason entirely.

He realized something.

You weren’t wearing anything else.

His eyes flicked up, wide. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

You shook your head, embarrassed and breathless. “Anything clingy is my worst enemy right now. Most of them don’t fit anyway.”

Jimin moaned like you’d just told him the sky was on fire.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

And then slowly, so slowly, he guided you down.

The head of his cock pressed at your entrance, and the second your slick walls wrapped around him, Jimin’s jaw dropped open in a silent gasp.

“Fucking hell—”

You whimpered above him, trembling, your body shuddering from the stretch and pressure. Even with how wet you were—soaked, he realized—your walls gripped him like they’d been missing him as much as the rest of you had.

You sank down inch by inch, both of you panting, your hands braced on his chest, his fingertips digging into your hips like he was anchoring himself to reality.

Once he was fully inside, Jimin couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, honey,” he moaned. “I’m not gonna last. I swear to God, if you move—”

You did.

You rolled your hips slowly, moaning as your oversensitive body responded instantly. Every clench, every drag of his cock along your inner walls making your voice break with pleasure.

“Jimin—oh fuck—it’s so much.”

He nodded frantically, head lolling back against the cushions. “You’re so fucking soft. So wet—Jesus, baby—how are you this tight?”

You whimpered again, thighs trembling.

“I don’t know—everything’s just so sensitive now.”

And he could tell.

The way your hips moved in slow, quivering circles. The way your walls pulsed around him with every breath. The way you clenched hard at the smallest shift of his body.

Jimin gritted his teeth, trying not to thrust up. Trying to let you ride him, slow and safe, even as his cock throbbed like it couldn’t handle another second untouched.

“You’re doing so good,” he rasped, hands sliding up your sides, cupping your heavy breasts again. “Let me take care of these, yeah?”

You nodded, flushed and already falling apart.

He leaned in, suckling your nipples with devotion. His tongue teasing just enough to send a new wave of moans tumbling from your lips. He alternated between your breasts, worshipping your body with kisses, murmurs, and trembling hands.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Full of me. Taking me like you need it.”

Your hips stuttered.

“I do,” you gasped. “I do need it—”

And then it hit.

Your orgasm tore through you without warning, walls fluttering around him, your body tensing up, hands flying to circle his shoulders as you cried out.

Jimin’s eyes flew open. “Holy shit—”

The feeling of your orgasm was too much.

Too tight.

Too wet.

He growled low in his throat, trying—fighting—to hold back, but the way you squeezed him, the way your body milked him for everything he had…

“I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned your name like a prayer and came hard, hips jerking up once, twice, as his cock throbbed deep inside you, his cum spilling into your fluttering heat.

He buried his face in your neck, arms wrapped around you like he’d fall apart without the anchor.

“Fuck,” he panted. “You’re incredible, baby.”

You trembled in his arms, still catching your breath, still half floating.

—

Jimin was still buried deep inside you, your body soft and trembling in his arms, the air thick with sex and affection. But even after coming that hard, he didn’t want to let go.

Didn’t want to pull out.

Didn’t want to be anywhere but right here.

Instead, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and lifted you.

“Jimin—” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re still—!”

“I know,” he whispered, voice thick. “I can’t help it. I want you again.”

He stood, carefully, adjusting your weight against him, keeping your bodies connected as he walked—slow, steady steps down the hallway toward the bedroom. His cock throbbed inside you with each step, and you clung to him, laughing and moaning as the movement pushed you deeper onto him.

“Still so full,” he panted, voice shaking with love and need. “Still so fucking perfect.”

By the time he stepped into the bedroom, both of you were flushed and breathless. He lowered you gently onto the bed, his hands never leaving your body, kissing you softly as he finally slipped out of you.

“Stay right there,” he whispered.

He stood and stripped the rest of the way down—tugging his fatigues off with eager hands, discarding the last of his clothing until he was bare.

Then he looked at you. And froze.

You were lying on your back, hair splayed across the pillow, lips kiss bruised and cheeks flushed. Completely naked and bared to him, and you were glowing, round and full with the life he gave you.

Stretch marks kissed your hips and lower belly, silver and gold under the soft light. You moved to cover them with trembling fingers, shame flickering in your eyes.

“Don’t,” Jimin said, voice low.

“I just… they’re not—pretty,” you whispered. “I didn’t want you to see—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked.

He crawled onto the bed with quiet urgency, kneeling between your legs, his eyes wide with awe. “Are you serious? These?” His fingertips traced the soft curves of your belly and hips. “These are from me. These are from our baby. These are fucking beautiful.”

You blinked up at him, lip trembling, tears threatening again.

Jimin lowered himself, mouth to your belly, kissing every line, every mark, every soft place that had shifted and stretched.

“I love this body,” he murmured between kisses. “I love how it changed. I love how it knows how to carry something so precious. You’re beautiful. You’re amazing.”

He kissed lower—down to your thighs, your hips, then between your legs, licking up your slit as you moaned and arched into his mouth.

“Let me show you,” he whispered.

And then he was sucking your clit.

His tongue worked in soft flicks, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit with perfect pressure as two fingers slid slowly inside you, curling up and stroking until your entire body shook.

“Jimin—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I’ve got you, honey,” he murmured. “Let it happen.”

And then…something definitely happened.

Your back arched. Your thighs clenched around his head. You screamed, sobbing his name as your release gushed from you, soaking his chin and the sheets below.

You trembled in disbelief, gasping for breath.

Jimin sat up slowly, licking his lips, wide eyed and flushed.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’ve never—?”

You shook your head.

He grinned, biting his lip. “Okay. Well. We’re doing that again.”

You laughed breathlessly, still shaking, and he leaned over to kiss you slowly and messily before positioning himself between your thighs.

“Let me in again, baby,” he whispered. “Let me love you again.”

He guided himself to your entrance, pausing only to press a soft kiss to your belly.

Then he slid in.

This time was different. This time he knew your body again. Knew your rhythm. Knew what felt good.

He rocked into you slow, holding himself up on trembling arms, watching every expression flicker across your face. He leaned down to kiss your cheek, your lips, your chin—his hands roaming up to cup your breasts again, rubbing gentle circles over your sensitive nipples as you moaned into his mouth.

“Still okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you gasped. “More than okay.”

He moved a little deeper, a little faster.

Your hands gripped his waist, your legs curling around his hips as he built the rhythm, every stroke sending sparks across your skin.

“I can’t believe I get to do this,” he whispered. “I can’t believe this is mine. You. Our baby. This life.”

You moaned again, hips rolling to meet his.

He picked up the pace. Not quite rough, but deeper now. His pelvis grinding into your clit just right as your body trembled beneath him.

When you came again it was quieter this time, whimpering into his neck as you clung to him, your pussy pulsing around his cock.

Jimin growled against your shoulder, hips stuttering.

“That’s it,” he gasped. “Milk my cock—come on, baby—fuck, you feel so good—”

And then he followed your lead, buried to the hilt, cumming inside you with a soft, broken moan, his whole body shaking as he collapsed into your arms.

After the final tremble passed through your body, Jimin didn’t move for a while.

He stayed there—curled around you, one hand on your thigh, the other gently brushing the curve of your belly, his cheek resting just below your breast, lips parted against your skin.

His cock had softened, his heart hadn’t. It overflowed with feeling.

You both lay wrapped in the quiet for long minutes, breathing together, heat lingering like the final note of a song that neither of you wanted to end.

But then he stirred.

He kissed your sternum and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” before gently sliding from the bed. You whined softly, shivering when the air hit your skin, and he tugged the comforter up around your shoulders before jogging to the bathroom.

When he returned, his hands were full—warm glass of water, a clean washcloth, and a soft towel. He knelt beside the bed, mindfully parting your thighs with delicate fingers, and began to clean you up with careful movements.

You flinched slightly, still sore, oversensitive, and Jimin paused immediately.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I’ll be extra gentle.”

You looked down at him, lips curling faintly. “Jimin, I’m not made of glass.”

He gave you a look—half scandalized, half adoring.

“You’re not made of glass,” he echoed, carefully blotting between your thighs, “but you’re carrying very precious cargo.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“Too late,” he said, setting the cloth aside and crawling back into bed beside you. He wrapped an arm under your shoulders, the other smoothing across your belly like instinct. “It’s my turn, anyway.”

You snuggled closer, forehead pressed to his temple as he pressed soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your lips, each one slower and more tender than the last.

He sighed, brushing his thumb across the slope of your stomach. “Gotta take care of my girls.”

You blinked.

Your head tilted.

“Did I… already tell you the sex?”

Jimin froze.

He looked up slowly.

“…No.”

You raised a brow.

He sat back, blinking in disbelief. “Wait. Wait.”

You laughed, wide eyed. “Jimin—”

“It is a girl?!”

You bit your lip and nodded.

And Jimin collapsed beside you. His face buried in your stomach, arms curled tightly around your waist, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

You ran your fingers through his hair as he cried.

“Oh my God,” he whispered against your skin. “A girl. I have a daughter.”

He lifted his face and kissed your belly. Once. Twice. Over and over.

Then he pressed his cheek against your bump and whispered, “Hi, little cherry blossom.”

You blinked, heart stuttering. “Cherry blossom?”

“That’s what she is,” he said, eyes glassy. “Beautiful, and soft, and new.”

You swallowed thickly, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

He smiled, radiant and trembling. “I already feel like one.”

You nodded, thumb brushing under his eye. “You already are.”

And in the quiet that followed, Jimin curled around you again. His lips pressed to your belly, whispering soft promises to his little girl as you drifted to sleep with his love surrounding you like a fortress of love.

—

The apartment smelled like roasted sesame oil and toasted seaweed the moment Jimin opened the door.

It was almost midnight.

Practice had run late again—dance rehearsals dragging into vocal drills, vocal drills into a spontaneous team meeting about camera blocking and choreography marks.

He was exhausted, his hoodie clinging to his neck with sweat, shoes dragging a little more than usual.

But he still made the detour.

Because it had been two days.

And his baby, his girls, deserved their chicken.

“I’m home,” he called gently, pushing the door shut with his foot as he balanced the steaming container in both hands.

He spotted you immediately.

You were perched at the breakfast bar in one of his oversized tees. Looking achingly soft, stretched over your belly, with your hair swept into a messy bun on top of your head. A pair of chopsticks in your hand, a spoon in the other. A cup of barley water shimmered in the low kitchen lighting.

Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“I knew it,” you said, grinning. “I could smell it down the hall.”

Jimin beamed. “One rotisserie chicken for milady,” he declared, setting it down in front of you with a dramatic flourish.

You laughed, already pulling the container open, the rich, savory aroma spilling into the kitchen like a hug.

“Smells amazing,” you murmured, already picking through the soft, steaming meat.

Jimin leaned over and kissed your temple. “It better. This place has your order memorized now. Chicken stuffed with garlic rice, extra drippings, sesame glaze on the side.”

You hummed happily, mouth already full, as Jimin stood behind you with his hands gently stroking your belly.

“Hi, Blossom,” he whispered into the crown of your head, smiling at the swell of your stomach. “Daddy brought your favorite.”

Your belly shifted slightly, a subtle roll just under his palm.

“Oh—!” Jimin gasped, eyes lighting up. “Was that a ‘thank you’?”

You snorted through your food. “Either that or she’s fighting me for the last thigh.”

He chuckled, thumb tracing slow circles over your bump as he continued speaking to her like she could understand every word.

“She’s been so active lately,” he said softly. “Think she’s excited?”

“She better not get too excited,” you muttered, spooning more rice onto your plate. “She still has a few days on the clock.”

Jimin smiled, stepping back around the bar to pull out the stool beside you. He flopped into it with a quiet groan, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Practice was brutal today,” he said, voice dipping into that familiar, raspy exhaustion. “We were polishing the floor with our sweat by the end of it. Tae almost passed out doing the chorus for the sixth time.”

You reached over, brushing your knuckles along his cheek affectionately. “You’re doing amazing, though.”

He smiled, watching you eat. “Can’t lie. I’m excited about this comeback. It feels… good. Different. Like we’re really starting fresh.”

He rubbed your belly again, tone softening. “It feels like everything’s starting over.”

You nodded, chewing slowly, eyes warm.

And then it hit. A tight, low ache clenched across your belly, enough to pull a small gasp from your lips as your spoon clattered to the plate.

Jimin was up in a second.

“What was that?” he blurted. “Was that it? Are we—? Should I get the bag? Where’s your charger? Do we need to call—?”

“Jimin.”

He stopped, wide eyed, practically vibrating with panic.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your palm to your bump. “It’s just a Braxton Hicks. Not the real thing.”

“But—but how do you know—?”

You gave him a look.

He swallowed, sitting down slowly, still tense as he reached out to feel your belly again.

You grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’ll know when it’s time.”

Jimin nodded slowly, but his gaze stayed fixed to your belly like he was waiting for it to glow or send up smoke signals.

You smirked. “I promise you won’t miss it.”

“I just…” He exhaled, rubbing your stomach gently. “I don’t want to mess anything up. I want to be ready.”

“You are,” you said, voice soft and sure. “You already are.”

He leaned in and kissed you, thumb brushing just beneath your navel.

“Still,” he murmured. “Next contraction, I’m putting on my shoes.”

—

The room was too quiet.

Too full of everything that had just happened and somehow, impossibly, not enough.

Then came the cry.

High. Piercing. Clear as glass.

A wail so loud and sharp it rang off the walls, and for a split second, Jimin forgot to breathe. Then the doctor laughed gently and said, “She’s got your lungs, dad.”

And just like that, his knees gave out.

He barely registered the slick weight of her being placed on your chest. She was red and warm and still covered in the traces of you, tiny arms flailing as she cried out with pure, unfiltered life.

You gasped, overwhelmed, arms trembling as you reached to cradle her. She fit like nothing had ever fit before. Like she belonged right there, a heartbeat echo of your own.

And Jimin…sobbed.

Collapsed against the edge of the bed, his hand covering his mouth, the other pressed against the fragile, damp curve of his daughter’s tiny back.

“Oh my God,” he choked. “Oh my God, honey, you did it—you did it. You’re amazing. You’re incredible.”

You turned your face, damp with sweat and tears, toward him and he kissed your temple again and again, crying into your skin.

“You gave her to me,” he whispered. “You gave me our daughter. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

She whimpered again, tiny voice softening, cries turning to little breathy hiccups as Jimin stroked his fingers down her back with infinite care.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing the damp curls on her tiny head. “Hi, blossom.”

You inhaled shakily, eyes wide as you looked down at her. “Jimin…”

“I know,” he whispered.

His thumb swept across the arch of her tiny back, eyes shining with tears as he leaned in, lips ghosting just over her head.

“Hi, Jihyun,” he whispered, saying it aloud for the first time. “My little cherry blossom. Jihyun-ah. Appa’s here.”

Her whimpers softened again, her breathing growing slower and steadier, the sound of his voice was already something familiar. Like something she’d been waiting to hear on the outside.

Jimin turned to you, blinking fast through tears. “She’s here. She’s really here. You did so well, baby—God, you did so well.”

You smiled through the haze of exhaustion, cheeks wet with tears, your chest still heaving with disbelief and joy. “She’s perfect.”

“Just like her mom,” he whispered, kissing you again on your forehead, your temple, the cheek, anywhere he could reach. “I’m so proud of you.”

The nurse approached then, voice gentle. “We’ll just take her for a moment to clean her up and check her vitals, okay? You’ll have her back soon.”

You nodded reluctantly, and Jimin hovered as they carefully lifted Jihyun from your chest. He pressed one last kiss to her head before she was cradled into the nurse’s arms and carried to the bassinet just across the room.

Both of you watched.

You, eyes wide, mouth parted in wonder.

Jimin, still crying, one hand clutching yours tightly while the other wiped at his soaked cheeks.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“And so loud,” you added, grinning weakly.

“She’s got her father’s vocal cords,” the nurse teased, smiling over her shoulder.

Jimin let out a laugh that crumbled into another sob.

You turned to him, reaching for his cheek. “Jimin, take photos. Videos. We have to send them to the guys—and our parents.”

He nodded, fumbling for his phone with shaking hands.

“I want to remember this forever,” you added, voice soft. “I want her to see how much we loved her from the very beginning.”

Jimin lifted the phone, but before he could snap the photo, he looked at you again.

And it hit him all over again.

The woman he loved, glowing and flushed, tears in your eyes and a proud, tired smile on your lips. His daughter, just feet away, healthy and real and breathing.

His heart couldn’t hold it.

So he whispered, “Thank you,” one more time.

And took the picture—with trembling hands and love overflowing.

masterlist

[verstappenverse]

You Belong With Me / Part 3

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max never believed in soulmates until he met you. The only problem? You’re already dating Lando. Somewhere along the way, between late-night calls, inside jokes, and everything in between, you and Max became best friends. He tells himself it’s enough. That the friendship is worth the ache. But as your connection deepens, Max starts to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you feel it too.

Content Warning: This part contains explicit smut 👀

Author’s Note: This part got so long, I’m not even sure anyone will make it to the end, but honestly I think it might be my favourite thing I’ve written so I really hope you enjoy it. <3

9.3k words / Part 4 / Masterlist

The plane lands just past midnight.

Florence is hushed, blanketed in the kind of quiet that feels older than the city itself, bathed in a soft golden haze as Max steps out into the unfamiliar stillness.

There’s no media frenzy waiting. No team handlers. No blinding lights or post-race adrenaline. Just the low hum of traffic in the distance and a sky full of stars.

He doesn’t waste time. Picks up the rental himself, punches the address you once said in passing into his phone. His hands on the wheel and the dark hills unfolding in front of him.

The drive winds through narrow roads and moonlit hills, past sleeping vineyards and shuttered cafes, the kind of places that don’t make it onto maps. The further he goes, the more the world falls away until it’s just him, the engine, and the memory of your voice.

Eventually the road narrows to gravel, and the headlights sweep across the farmhouse, it’s exactly as you described it. Tucked between olive trees, terracotta roof faded and soft, shutters slightly askew, and as he pulls up, heart in his throat, there’s no sign of you.

No lights. No movement. Just silence.

He cuts the engine and climbs out slowly, heart already tightening in his chest. He walks the path to the front gate, stops with one hand on the wood, and listens for movement, for breath, for anything.

There’s nothing, but you were here. He can feel it in the air, like heat after a fire.

Your shadow is everywhere, in the wild lavender, the ceramic mug sitting abandoned on a low stone wall by the front steps, half-full of rainwater. One of the windows is cracked open, a citronella candle half-burned on the porch. All of it is too familiar, too deliberate to be coincidence.

He sinks onto the bench beneath one of the olive trees, worn wood groaning softly beneath him. The silence wraps around his shoulders, heavy and intimate. Cicadas drone in the distance, and the wind shifts through the branches above, carrying with it something that almost feels like memory.

Max sits still for a long time, elbows on his knees, hands dangling. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t speak. For the first time since that party where he first saw you, since the first look, the first laugh, the first slow fall, he feels like giving up.

Then he hears it.

Footsteps, slow, hesitant, crunching softly over the gravel path behind him.

He doesn’t move at first, afraid he’s imagined it. That his mind, starved and desperate, has conjured something it can’t have, but then a shadow shifts in his periphery, and he turns.

And sees you.

You’re in linen. Your hair is down, sleep-mussed and soft, no makeup, no armour. You stop the moment your eyes meet.

Time slows in that unbearable, impossible way it always does right before everything changes. Neither of you speak. The world shrinks to the space between you, wide enough to hold everything unsaid.

Max stands slowly. His legs feel unsteady, heart hammering in his ribs.

His voice is rough when it finally comes. “Hi.” he says, because it’s all he can manage.

You blink, like you’re not sure he’s real. “What… how did you—?”

“You told me once,” he says, voice shaking. “Where you’d go if you needed to breathe.”

You swallow, throat working and shake your head, like none of this makes sense.

“I thought you’d hate me,” you whisper.

Max steps closer. “I did.”

Your face crumples.

Then he adds, softer, “For about five minutes.”

You let out a breathy laugh that’s halfway to a sob. You’re trying not to fall apart in front of him, and it’s breaking his heart all over again. “Max—”

“Don’t,” he says gently. “Not yet. Just… let me look at you for a minute.”

So you do. You let him take in every part of you, the tired eyes, the sun-kissed skin, the part of your lip you still chew when you’re nervous.

He’s wanted this moment for so long thought about what he’d say, what he’d demand, he wants to ask a thousand questions.

Wants to demand why you left without a word. Why you didn’t call. Why he wasn’t enough to make you stay.

Wants to tell you he waited, that he searched, that he never stopped choosing you even when you couldn’t choose him. But that’s not why he came, and standing here now, with you in front of him and your eyes full of too many things to name, none of that matters. Not yet, because you’re here and you haven’t run.

So instead, he just says. “You look like home.”

Your lips part, trembling, and your eyes shine in the dark not from tears alone, but recognition. From that feeling you never let yourself name and Max knows he’s not too late.

You sit on the low stone wall just beneath the olive tree, above the stars scatter across the sky, sharp, ancient, impossibly far, and beside you Max is quiet, like he’s afraid you might vanish again if he moves too fast.

You speak first, voice rough from silence and distance. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His jaw tightens, but he nods, slow and deliberate. “But you did.”

Your lips press together. You nod too, just once. “I know.”

The quiet that follows isn’t angry, it’s tired. Worn from being stretched too long between what you felt and what you couldn’t admit. You keep your eyes on your hands, fingers twisting in your lap.

Max finally breaks the silence again, his voice low. “Why didn’t you tell me it was over with him?”

“I didn’t know how.” Your voice is small, cracked. “I didn’t leave him for you, at least not entirely. I left because I wasn’t myself anymore, because I’d twisted myself into something I didn’t recognise.”

He’s still watching you, still listening in the way only Max ever has. Fully. Quietly. Without needing to interrupt.

“And the worst part,” you murmur, “is I knew you’d come. I knew that if I told you I needed you, you wouldn’t even hesitate.”

“I would have,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “In a second.”

“I wasn’t ready for that,” you admit. “I wasn’t ready to be loved like that.”

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands dangling. He stares out at the dark, but his voice is steady when he speaks. “And now?”

You don’t answer right away. It takes you a moment to lift your gaze, to meet his eyes through the dark.

“Now I can’t stop thinking about you,” you say, and your voice splinters in the middle. “Every minute of every day. Even when I try. Even when it hurts. Especially then.”

His throat works as he swallows. “You think it didn’t kill me?”

“I know it did. I felt it Max. Every second you did… It tore me apart too.”

You pause, breathing through it. Then you add, “I left because I thought I was saving us from something impossible, but all I did was make it worse and ruin everything.”

“You didn’t ruin it.” He turns to you fully now, knees brushing yours. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

You glance up, startled. “How do you know?”

He takes your hand. “Because you’re still the only person I’d fly across the world to find.”

Tears slip down your cheeks and Max leans in, forehead brushing yours and everything stills. The world shrinks to this, his breath against your cheek, your fingers tangled with his, the way his presence makes everything feel like it might be okay again.

“Don’t run again,” he murmurs, barely audible. “Not from me.”

You shake your head, voice trembling. “I don’t want to.”

He closes his eyes, inhales your breath, your skin, your presence.

Then you whisper, “Come inside.”

You don’t go far once you're inside, just to the edge of the kitchen where the counter meets the low arch of the hallway, and his body still feels like it’s buzzing from being near you.

The air inside the farmhouse is warm, lived-in. There’s a faint scent of lemon soap and woodsmoke, like you’ve been trying to scrub out the ache. A book lies facedown on the arm of the couch. A blanket is half-draped across the floor. Max takes it all in with quiet eyes, like every object tells a story he missed while you were gone.

He doesn't touch you yet.

Just stands there, a few steps away, his hands hanging loose by his sides.

“I can’t believe you really came here,” you say. “I didn’t expect you to find me.”

Max looks at you for a long time. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t stop looking.”

You exhale slowly. The silence that stretches between you now isn’t empty, it’s full. Of missed chances. Of too-late texts and unsent voice notes. Of all the things you almost said and all the times he nearly said them back.

“I thought about this a thousand times,” he says softly, eyes searching yours. “What I’d say. What you’d look like. Whether it’d still feel the same.”

You blink, swallowing hard. “And does it?”

He breathes in, shaky. “It’s worse.”

You flinch, just slightly.

He notices and his voice gentles. “Not bad worse. Just… more real… before I didn’t let myself want it, at least not like this, but now? I don’t know how to breathe without knowing what we are. What we could be.”

You move first, walking toward the small kitchen table and resting your hands on the back of a chair. “I used to sit right there after sunset and convince myself I was doing the right thing.”

He follows you. “Did it feel like the right thing?”

You shake your head, staring down at the worn wood. “No. But I didn’t know how to stop running without ruining something else.”

“You really thought that’d work?” His voice is quiet but edged with disbelief. “That I’d forget?”

“I was trying to protect you,” you say.

He doesn’t respond at first just watches you like he’s trying to read your mind. Finally, he murmurs, “You could’ve called.”

“I typed out a dozen messages,” you sigh. “I just couldn’t hit send,” you whisper and continue, “I missed telling you things. Stupid things, like what I ate for lunch or what episode I was on or who annoyed me that day. I’d still type it out sometimes but I never sent it.”

“I would’ve read every word.���

“I know.”

Max leans on the opposite chair. “You thought you were protecting me?”

You look up, finally meeting his eyes. “I was trying to. I thought if I disappeared, it’d give us space to forget. To let us go.”

He doesn’t blink. “You really thought we could? I could?”

“I’ve spent every day wondering if I made the wrong choice,” you admit. “But this whole time it was always you. I just didn’t know what to do or what to say anymore.”

His voice cracks on the next words. “I thought I’d never see you again and I was trying to be okay with it. I really was but everything, even the good stuff, stopped feeling like anything if you weren’t there.”

“I thought disappearing would make it easier for both of us,” you say. “I thought that if I pulled away, it would fade.”

He shakes his head. “It never faded.”

You stare deep into his eyes, searching. “It didn’t me for either, not even a little bit. If anything I feel it more.”

Max straightens, walks around the table, and stops in front of you. He reaches out, slow and cautious, brushing his fingers down your arm. The touch is gentle. You press your palm against your chest.

“I didn’t come here for answers,” he says. “Or an apology.”

You swallow hard. “Then why did you?”

He leans in, forehead nearly touching yours. “Because I couldn’t spend another second wondering if you still felt it too… if you ever did.”

When you speak, it comes out like a confession. “Of course I did. I never stopped.”

Max closes his eyes for a moment, just breathing with you.

He presses a kiss to your forehead first.

You melt into him, your hands sliding up his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you need the proof that he's here, that you're allowed to have this.

“I missed your voice,” you murmur into his collar. “Missed being your person.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, to search your face like it’s a map back to everything he’s been trying not to lose.

“You still are,” he says quietly. “If you want to be.”

And when you nod not hurried or desperate but sure, that’s when it finally breaks.

He reaches for you, slowly, like he’s still asking for permission. His fingers brush your jaw, then slip behind your neck, his thumb resting just below your ear.

Your voice is steady when you ask, “Max?”

His eyes find yours, glassy and burning. “Yeah?”

“You can kiss me now.”

His whole body shudders like something unclenches deep in his chest. He leans in starved and reverent and yours. His mouth meets yours like it’s something he’s spent months studying from a distance, and when you finally kiss him back full and deep and with everything you’ve been holding in it’s not soft it’s trembling with the ache of what it took to get here.

His lips press to yours like he’s trying to memorise the feeling in case it’s all a dream, like he doesn’t trust it yet, not fully, not until you open for him and wrap your arms around his neck and he hears the sound you make when you finally let yourself have him.

His other hand finds your waist, pulls you closer, and suddenly you’re wrapped around each other like you don’t know how to not be. You make a noise in your throat, not quite a sob, not quite a moan, and Max swallows it like a lifeline.

It’s devastating.

His hands bury in your hair. Yours grip the hem of his shirt like you need it to breathe. The kiss is messy, gasping, months of longing crashing into the space of a single breath. You whimper into his mouth and feel him flinch, like even the sound of your need is too much. He groans into your mouth, the sound low and shattered, and you drink it in like it’s the only language you speak.

He pulls back just enough to whisper, “Tell me this is real.”

You press your forehead to his. “It’s real.”

“I’m scared to lose this again,” he admits.

You shake your head. “You won’t.”

He nods once, eyes closed. His lips find yours again, not just a kiss now, but a claiming. A homecoming. A break in the storm.

Neither of you stops it, because finally, finally, there’s nothing in the way. Everything that comes next the heat, the hands, the aching need is no longer tangled in uncertainty.

It’s a choice.

This is where the rest begins.

The moment you reach the top of the stairs, everything snaps.

His hands are on you in an instant, your jaw, your waist, the slope of your back. He kisses you like he’s starving, like he doesn’t know where to touch first but needs to touch everywhere. You’re both trembling with it, months of stolen glances, near-confessions, and the ache of almost being something.

You gasp into his mouth, fingers fisting in the fabric of his hoodie as his thigh slots between yours, pressing up hard, deep.

“I can’t believe we almost missed this” he growls against your throat, voice raw and low and furious in the best way.

Your nails dig into his shoulders. “I thought I was protecting you.”

He bites your jaw, not hard enough to hurt, but close. “Fuck that.”

Then he’s kissing you again, deeper now, teeth and tongue and need. Messier. Full of everything you’ve both been holding back. His tongue claims your mouth while his hands slide beneath your shirt, fingers trailing up your ribs until they find your underside of your breasts.

He pauses.

Just for a breath.

Like the weight of the moment catches up with him. Then he exhales, low and guttural, and cups you fully.

His palms mold around the soft swell of your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, testing how you react, how quickly you fall apart under his hands.

You gasp, arching into his touch, a breathy moan slipping from your lips.

The sound makes him groan against your mouth, deep and rough, it cuts him wide open.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice breaking. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

He squeezes gently, then again, making sure you’re real. Like he’s scared he’ll forget the shape, the weight, the way your breath hitches when he rolls your nipples between his fingers.

You’re burning now, every nerve on fire, body pressing closer, hips rolling instinctively against the hard line of him.

Max doesn’t stop. Doesn’t falter. His hands stay there, exploring, claiming, learning you.

You’re gasping, clutching at his hoodie like you need to hold onto something or else you’ll drown.

You stumble to the bedroom without breaking contact.

He backs you toward the bed slowly, fingers brushing over bare skin, and it hits you both at the same time.

This is really happening.

He steps back just enough to look at you, eyes wild, chest heaving, shirt half-off already. He pulls it the rest of the way off, then stands there for a beat, staring at you as if you’re the only thing in the world.

“You want this?” he says, voice hoarse, fingers tugging at the waistband of your clothes. “Tell me. Say it.”

“I want all of it.” you breathe. “I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

He strips fast, shirt first, then pants, his cock is hard and aching and he doesn’t bother hiding it. Doesn’t want to. He’s watching you the whole time like he’s daring you to look away.

You don’t.

At the foot of the bed, he pauses.

Only for a second.

Because seeing you like this, breathless, hair messy, chest rising and falling like you’ve already been fucked makes something primal kick in. He pulls your shirt off with a single rough tug, then strips the rest of you like he’s unwrapping something holy and already half-damned.

The second your clothes are off, he’s on you, his mouth on your chest, your stomach, your thighs. He kisses his way down your body like it’s holy ground, fingers sliding through your slick and groaning at the heat of you.

He kisses your neck, your shoulders, the space just beneath your ribs. Your fingers bury in his hair as he lowers himself between your legs, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh, testing what months of longing tastes like.

“Jesus,” he murmurs into your skin. “You’re fucking shaking.”

“I’ve needed you,” you whisper. “This. Max, please.”

That’s the first time he hears it, his name like that. Whispered from your lips, soft and pleading.

It nearly undoes him.

He swears, low and vicious, and kisses your inner thigh again, teeth grazing skin. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

“Show me,” you whisper, and he does.

Tongue flattening against your clit, fingers sliding in, curling just right. Your hips buck, hands flying to his hair, moaning loud, too loud, and it only makes him more brutal. He wants to hear you lose control. Wants it messy. Wants you coming on his face and begging for more. Your hand fists in his hair, pulling, and he groans like it only makes him harder.

But when your thighs start to tremble, he pulls back, eyes dark and blown wide. “I want to be inside you when you come.”

You nod and he doesn’t waste another second.

Lines himself up, one hand anchoring your hip, the other tangling in your hair as he pushes into you all at once.

You cry out, not from pain, but from relief. From the ache that breaks loose in your chest. From the months of silence that collapse into this moment. From the way he fills you, presses into you like he’s trying to bury himself in your bones.

“Fuck,” he gasps, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut. “You feel—Jesus, So fucking tight—”

You wrap your arms around his neck, locking him there, pulling him deeper. “Move… please”

He doesn’t move gently.

He fucks.

Hard.

Deep.

Desperate.

The bed rocks under you, the headboard slamming against the wall in time with every snap of his hips. It’s overwhelming. Raw. The kind of first time you only get once. His pace is relentless, unyielding, every snap of his hips drives you higher, your back arching, mouth falling open in a cry that doesn’t even sound like your own.

He’s gripping your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish again, rough and possessive, thumbs digging into the soft skin just above your hips. Pressing his forehead to yours, sweat dripping onto your collarbone, breath hot and harsh.

“You think I didn’t feel it every time you looked at me and said nothing?” he pants. “You think I didn’t know you wanted this too?”

“I know,” you whimper. “I know, Max—”

He cuts you off with his mouth, his tongue sweeping in to claim and consume and steal whatever apology you were about to offer. His mouth finds your collarbone, then your throat. He sucks a bruise there. Then another.

His hand slips between you, thumb finding your clit with practiced pressure. You jolt, legs locking tighter around his waist, body arching into him, pleading for release. His hand tangles in your hair, the other gripping your jaw, forcing you to stay close, to take it.

You cry out, eyes fluttering open, and he groans low in his throat like the sound alone could make him come.

He’s close. You both are.

You feel it in the way he shudders, in the desperate thrust of his hips, in the way his lips find your ear.

“Come with me,” he groans. “Don’t leave me alone in this again.”

Your hands claw at his back, fingertips dragging over the tense muscles there. “I’m right here,” you gasp. “I’m not going anywhere—fuck—Max—”

The orgasm rips through you like a breaking wave, sharp and shaking, your whole body arched under him.

He follows a second later with a sound that’s not even a word, just a low, broken groan as he spills inside you, his entire body trembling from the force of it.

He stays inside you, chest pressed to yours, hearts pounding in tandem. His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw like he’s still trying to prove this is real.

You turn your face and kiss his palm. Your fingers find his nape, stroking gently.

His mouth presses to your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, softer now, quieter.

“Mine,” he whispers, not even realising he said it out loud.

You pull him tighter against you.

“Yours,” you whisper back.

You lie there after, tangled and wrecked and silent. His forehead rests against yours. His hand finds yours beneath the sheet across his chest.

This time, you don’t let go.

The next morning the first thing Max registers is warmth.

Not the sun, though that’s there too, soft, and spilling golden light across the sheets, but you.

Tangled in the sheets beside him, your cheek pressed against his chest, your breath slow and even. One leg draped over his thigh, the tips of your fingers still resting against his ribs like you’d fallen asleep with your hand on his heart.

The second thing he feels is weight.

Not yours. That, he loves. No, it’s the weight in his chest.

Thick. Quiet. Wrong.

It creeps in before he can even open his eyes fully, a gnawing panic already curling in his stomach.

It crashes over him all at once, the way he touched you, the sound of your voice under him, the desperate force, the unforgiving rhythm of his body crashing into yours. The way he’d let months of silence and need and heartbreak pour out of him in one furious rush of skin and teeth and thrusts that had nothing soft left in them.

It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t what you deserved.

It was too much. Too fast. All teeth and ache and months of grief and silence shoved into one bed.

You’d said yes. You’d wanted him. You’d pulled him into you like you were just as starved, but still…

His heart stutters under your palm.

He should’ve been slow, should’ve worshipped you. Let it be a memory wrapped in gentleness. Let it mean something more than the way his hips slammed into yours like he was trying to erase the distance with force.

Instead, it had been raw. Messy. Borderline unhinged. Like losing you had broken something in him and getting you back shattered the rest.

Max closes his eyes and exhales slowly through his nose.

I didn’t savour it.

He should’ve.

He should’ve taken his time. Should’ve memorised every inch of your skin, every breathless laugh, every moment that should’ve been sacred after the year you spent apart.

Instead, he’d let all the pain, all the jealousy, all the love he didn’t know where to put turn him into something too rough. Too greedy. Too afraid.

He shifts, careful not to wake you, and stares up at the ceiling. His arm aches from holding you all night but he doesn’t move it. Not yet, because now that he has you, he’s terrified again.

Terrified this was it. That you’ll look at him in the daylight and realise last night was a mistake.

You finally had her. And you didn’t make it count.

You stir a few minutes later. He feels it before he sees it, the flutter of your lashes against his skin, your leg shifting, the lazy graze of your fingers against his side. Then your voice, sleep-warm and gravelly.

“Max?”

He tenses before he speaks. “Yeah.”

You blink up at him, lids still heavy. “You okay?”

He hesitates, he doesn’t understand how you always know when he’s drowning in his own head.

He sits up slowly, dragging a hand down his face. The sheet slips down his torso, cool air brushing against his skin, but he barely feels it.

“I think I fucked it up,” he mutters.

You push up on one elbow. “What?”

“Last night,” he says, still not looking at you. “That was supposed to be... I don’t know. Different. Better.”

“Better how?” you laugh like the thought is ludicrous.

Max runs a hand through his hair. “Gentler. Slower. I wanted to show you how much I care, not—” he shakes his head, eyes dark with guilt, “—not fuck you like I hadn’t touched a woman in years.”

You pause. “Max—”

“It was selfish,” he keeps going. “I didn’t think. I just—God, I was so desperate for you. I’ve spent a year waking up wishing I could hold you, and when I finally got to, I didn’t stop long enough to actually feel it.” His eyes are dark with guilt, almost afraid. “It was too much. Too fast. And I—I knew better. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t slow down. You were finally there, and I just... lost it.”

You sit up beside him, the sheet wrapped around your chest, watching the way his shoulders tense like he’s bracing for something.

“Max, look at me.”

He does. Slowly.

“I wanted that,” you whisper. “I wanted you. All that need and anger and love. All of it.”

“I didn’t give you what you deserved.”

“You gave me what we both needed,” you say, scooting closer, touching his cheek. “That wasn’t about being gentle. That was about finally letting it break. That was release. That was everything we never said finally said with hands and mouths and skin.”

He swallows hard. “I’m scared you’ll wake up tomorrow, or the next day, or next week and regret it.”

You shake your head, eyes glistening. “I won’t. And I don’t. Max—” you take his hand, lace your fingers through his, “—we were wound so tight for so long, there was no way that first time could’ve been slow. It was always going to explode.”

He lets out a quiet, shaky breath.

“And now,” you whisper, leaning in to press a kiss to his chest, “we have all the time in the world to make up for it. I’m not going anywhere. I swear. We can go slow next time. And the time after that. And the time after that. And every morning we don’t have to say goodbye.”

His throat works. He leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I don’t want to get it wrong,” he murmurs. “I just wanted to prove I was worth all of this,” he says.

You kiss him. Soft. Solid. Final.

“You were,” you whisper against his lips. “You are. Max, you always were.”

He shakes his head slightly, still not fully convinced. “I was so scared I’d finally have you and still find a way to mess it up. That I’d touch you wrong. That it’d be too much. That you’d see something in me and change your mind.”

“Hey,” you murmur, fingers slipping into his hair. “I wasn’t thinking about any of that. I didn’t care how soft or slow it was. I just—” your voice falters, then steadies, “—I just needed to feel you. I needed to know you were real. That I hadn’t made all of it up.”

Max’s brow furrows, emotion flooding every line of his face.

“And last night?” you continue. “It was desperate. It was loud. It was ours. Every second of it. I wanted to crawl out of my skin from missing you and I didn’t know how to say it until you were on top of me.”

He lets out a broken laugh.

“I wasn’t waiting for perfect,” you say. “I was waiting for you. Whatever form that came in.”

His eyes shine. “But I didn’t slow down. I didn’t stop to check. What if—?”

“You didn’t,” you interrupt softly. “You didn’t scare me. I wanted it just as badly. You didn’t ruin anything. You made me feel again.”

Max nods, finally letting himself believe it, just a little. He leans back against the pillows finally, the fight slowly leaving his body. He still looks stunned, still looks like he’s bracing for impact, but his grip on you softens, hands curling at your waist like he might never let go.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” you add, threading your fingers through his. “You don’t have to earn me. You already have me. Even when I left. Even when I lied to myself. You were it, Max. You are it.”

Then you push him back gently against the pillows, curl into his side again. Max closes his eyes again, because you’re still here, and he doesn’t have to chase anymore.

The next few days feel like something out of a dream.

Not just a fantasy, a full-bodied, aching dream Max hasn’t let himself believe in for over a year. One where you're real and close and his, where no one’s calling him to meetings or pulling him toward a plane. Just the two of you tucked into a crooked old farmhouse, the hills blooming soft around you like something out of a painting.

He wakes slow with you in his arms every morning, your body warm and loose against him, face buried in his chest like you’re trying to disappear inside him. He doesn’t move until you do. Sometimes he pretends to still be asleep, just to feel you shift, stretch, brush your lips against his shoulder.

The days are lazy and sunlit. He pads barefoot into the kitchen to find you already making coffee, hair mussed, one sleeve falling off your shoulder. He stands behind you at the stove, arms wrapped around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder like he could live in that exact position forever.

You grin, hand him a chipped mug, and steal a bite of his toast even though you’ve got your own. He complains of course, but not really. He likes it, the easiness, the domesticity, the you in his space.

He watches you read on the couch in the afternoons, your legs draped over his lap like it’s always been yours to claim. Your fingers trace idle shapes into his skin, hearts, constellations, maybe a memory you're too shy to say aloud.

He presses kisses to your ankle, your knee, your thigh, not for sex, not always, but just because he can, because you’re here and letting him, and it makes his chest ache with something too big to name.

Sometimes you walk the olive groves together. He hates the bugs, but he loves how you roll your eyes and swat at him with a branch like he’s being dramatic. You trip once on a root and curse in three different languages, and he laughs so hard he almost falls too. You call him a menace. He calls you the best decision he’s ever made.

You make fun of his Australian accent. He pretends to be offended, then kisses you senseless until you're laughing into his mouth.

He holds you constantly. On the couch, in bed, and in the garden he holds you like your body is made of sunlight and he’s starved for warmth. He finds new excuses to touch you every ten minutes, a hand on your hip, a kiss to your shoulder, his head on your stomach while you trace lines through his hair. He watches you brush your teeth and thinks this is what it’s supposed to feel like. Like peace.

He makes love to you like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. Sometimes it’s frantic, all gasps and nails and tangled limbs, like you’re both trying to climb inside each other. Sometimes it’s quiet his forehead pressed to yours, your breath shared like a secret, the rhythm of your bodies more prayer than pleasure.

Sometimes, you just lie there. Skin on skin. No words. Just your fingers interlaced across his chest as the light shifts slowly across the ceiling beams, and you both pretend, for just a second longer, that time isn’t moving. That the flight won’t come. That the ache hasn’t already started building in your chests, but he feels it too, the clock ticking.

Max doesn’t speak about leaving, not once, but he sees it in the way your smile dims a little when the sun starts to set. Feels it in how tightly you grip his hand when you think he’s not paying attention.

Still, you don’t talk about when he has to leave and Max clings to every single second like it’s oxygen, because soon, the world will start spinning again.

But not yet.

The night before he leaves, it rains.

Not a storm, not thunder or lightning, soft, unrelenting drizzle that taps against the farmhouse windows. It feels like the sky is trying to hold the moment in place, as if it knows something is ending soon and wants to slow it down.

You’re in bed wrapped in sheets that still smell like him, the room dim and quiet but not still, because Max is tracing soft lines down your back, and your fingers are moving just as slowly across his chest.

You’re curled into his side, face pressed into his neck, your legs tangled, because they always search for each other in sleep, and Max can’t stop watching you.

Neither of you says the word goodbye.

You don’t need to.

It’s there in the way you stay up too late, mouths pressed together under the covers, kissing slow and deep, with too much tenderness for something so temporary. It’s the kind of kissing that doesn’t lead anywhere or doesn’t need to. It’s not about heat or hunger tonight.

Max pushes your hair back from your face like it’s ritual, his thumb brushes your cheekbone, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

“You’ll forget what I look like,” you whisper, trying to keep it light.

He shakes his head instantly. “Never.”

He kisses you like he’s running out of time, and when he pulls your sweater over your head he stares at you like you’re something he can’t believe is real.

His hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing your bottom lip. You press your forehead to his and let him lie back, pull you into his lap, guide you down over him without rushing, without speaking. You move together like the rain outside, quiet, steady, and aching.

No one cries. But it feels like crying.

Max murmurs into your hair, “I hate that I have to go.”

You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Then don’t say it.”

The sun creeps in too early. It floods the sheets with gold. Warms your bare shoulders and neither of you moves, because it’s almost time.

You walk him to the car.

It’s early, low clouds veiling the hills, the air still thick with the scent of rain and lavender. The gravel crunches beneath your bare feet. Your arms are crossed tight over your chest like you're trying to keep yourself from falling apart. Your eyes won’t meet his, not for long.

His suitcase is already in the trunk. The door to the rental car is open. The moment is already ending.

Max runs a hand down your back before cupping your jaw with a gentleness that threatens to wreck him.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, but it takes you a second. Your throat works like the words hurt on the way out. “Not yet.”

He closes his eyes. Feels the ache settle behind his ribs, but he nods too because he gets it. You’re not hiding anymore, but you’re still healing and this time you're staying still for it.

He understands now, maybe better than ever, why you can't go back right away. Why you need a little more time in the quiet. In the light. In the safety of this place. He doesn’t love it, but he respects it.

You just need a little more time. Not from him, that’s not what this is. It’s the world you’re not ready for yet. The noise. The scrutiny. The way the paddock watches everything too closely and the media twists every breath into a headline. The whispers, the cameras, the weight of expectation.

Max knows it intimately and he knows what it would take from you to step back into that fire. He’d carry you through it if he could, but he won’t rush you.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathing hard. You stay close for a few more moments, foreheads resting together, neither one of you moving.

“I’ll be thinking about you,” he says, his voice thick now. “Every day.”

Your fingers trace the edge of his hoodie, tug once at the hem like you’re still not ready either. “Every second,” you murmur.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, long and steady. “Always.”

Then he lets go. He climbs into the car and shuts the door before he can change his mind. He doesn’t look back right away, doesn’t trust himself to, but when he does, you’re still standing there. In the mist. On the gravel

And somehow it hurts more than he expected, but it’s not the same kind of hurt he’s been carrying all year.

It’s not regret. It’s not heartbreak.

It’s hope.

It’s the knowledge that he gets to miss you now and be missed in return, and that when you’re ready…

You’ll come find him.

When Max steps into the paddock three days later, people notice.

Not because he’s louder, or sharper, or walking with that caged intensity that usually clings to him before a race.

It’s the opposite.

He’s lighter. Less tightly wound. Like something inside him has finally stopped screaming. There’s an ease to the way he moves, shoulders relaxed, jaw unclenched, eyes softer beneath his cap. Laughs, really laughs when someone makes a joke about the weather.

Even Christian does a double take during the morning briefing, brows lifting as Max scrolls through data on his iPad.

“You’re in a good mood,” he says slowly, suspicious. “Should we be worried?”

Max just shrugs, hiding his smile behind the rim of his coffee cup. “Guess I finally got some sleep.”

GP snorts. Max doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. His smirk says enough.

It isn’t long before the rest of the world starts noticing too. Photos surface of Max walking through the paddock, head down, but with a warmth at the corner of his eyes and a a curve to his mouth that’s too personal.

@f1girliex: okay but why is Max acting like he’s in love?? 👀💘

@chaoticpitwall: Max is glowing and I’m scared. what does he know that we don’t???

@softformaxy: did Max discover meditation or something?? why is he so zen.

@f1gossip_xox: Max Verstappen hasn’t stopped smiling since Thursday and I’m emotionally unwell about it

He sees it all. He doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t deny it, but he doesn’t confirm it either because he doesn’t have to, but he knows.

And so does Lando.

They pass each other in the paddock. Lando glances at him, like he knows something’s changed. He can feel it in the air.

Max doesn’t speak to him yet, he just nods, not smug, but not apologetic.

Lando doesn’t look angry, he just nods back, but the tension hasn’t lifted. Max can feel it anytime Lando’s nearby. The way conversations hush when they pass each other. The glances. The weight.

And later, after quali, it snaps.

Max is coming down the stairs from media duties, jaw tight, mind already on strategy for the next day and he’s barely registering the voices around him as he rounds the corner.

Lando is standing just outside the Red Bull garage, not scrolling on his phone, not chatting with a mechanic. Just standing there, arms crossed, gaze locked on Max.

Max halts, just a few steps away. His eyes flick quickly to the left, then back. The corridor is quiet.

There’s a pause. Long. Sharp.

Then Lando says, voice low and unreadable, “You look pleased.”

Max’s eyes narrow. “You want something?”

Lando shrugs, pushing off the wall a little but not closing the distance. “Just wondering how long you plan to keep it quiet.”

Max’s pulse skips, but doesn’t answer.

Lando leans against the wall, arms still folded. “You didn’t tell anyone. But I guess you didn’t have to.”

Max still doesn’t respond.

“You’re different,” Lando continues. “The media can smell it, so can I.”

Max stays still, just watches him, waiting for the real reason he’s here.

Lando lets out a slow breath and straightens.

“You think I don’t know it’s her?”

The words land hard.

Max’s jaw tightens. “That’s not your business,” he says carefully.

Lando scoffs, bitter. “It used to be.”

Max stares at him. For a moment, they’re just two people who’ve shared too much and said too little. There’s history in the silence. Jealousy. Regret.

Quieter now, Lando says, “If she did this to me… what makes you so sure she’ll stay with you?”

He doesn’t say it cruelly. There’s no venom in it, just a splinter of something painful that Max wasn’t expecting.

Still, it hits.

Max blinks, once. Slow. Then he straightens his spine and says, “She didn’t leave you for me.”

“She left because she couldn’t keep pretending,” Max continues, jaw tight. “And if you ever really loved her, you’d understand why she made that choice."

Lando’s expression twists.

“And what, you think you’re the answer, you're the right choice?”

Max holds his gaze. “I don’t think she needed an answer. I think she just needed space to figure out who she was when no one else was trying to define it for her.”

Then Lando speaks again, quiet but sharp. “You think that space will still exist when the world finds out?”

There’s a beat of silence, taut, bitter, years of friendship and rivalry suspended on a thread neither of them wants to cut.

Then Lando turns, shoulders tense, and walks away without looking back. Max stays rooted to the spot.

The next day he knows he should be thinking about tyre compounds or fuel loads, but all he can think about is you.

The look on your face when you said “You made me feel again...”

The memory knocks the air out of him all over again.

He exhales, slow and controlled, but it doesn’t do much to ease the thudding in his chest. His hands are still clenched at his sides when he walks off the morning interview platform. His answers had been quick. Polished. Automatic. But his mind hasn’t been in the room for a single second.

He walks straight to his driver’s room quiet, guarded by a single staff member who nods him through without a word.

He pushes open the door.

And stops cold.

You’re sitting on the edge of the small leather couch.

Red Bull hat pulled low, hands curled nervously in your lap, eyes flicking up the moment the door clicks shut behind him.

Max’s breath catches.

Just you. Waiting for him.

Suddenly, nothing else matters.

He crosses the room in three steps. Drops everything he’s holding, his water bottle, his jacket, maybe a whole year’s worth of tension.

You don’t speak. You just reach for him.

Max wraps his arms around your waist, buries his face in your neck and exhales. Your hands move through his hair, gentle and familiar, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, soft, so soft, he murmurs, “You came.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” you whisper. “Not after that.”

He pulls back just enough to look up at you. “You’re sure?”

You nod, eyes glassy. “Not about everything. Not about the media or our friends or how we’ll make this work. But I’m sure about you.”.

You slide back onto the couch and settle into his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders, forehead to his. It’s quiet in the driver room, just the hum of an overhead light and the muffled footsteps of the world moving on without you.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your lips brushing his cheek.

He nods, jaw tight. “Me too.”

Finally, he kisses you. With both hands framing your face, like he’s anchoring himself there. You melt into it, all warmth and relief.

When you pull back, breathless and close, he presses one more kiss to the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then whispers, “Let’s just stay here a little longer.”

You nod against his chest. “As long as we need.”

They don’t call it hiding.

Not out loud. Not to each other. Never in those words.

But that’s what it is.

A soft little secret carved out of the chaos. A world only they get to live in, tucked between race weekends and red-eye flights, between press briefings and podium champagne.

It’s the way your contact is saved under a completely unrelated emoji just in case. It’s the way he leaves the hotel door unlocked always.

It’s slipping into hospitality just after lights-out. Tiptoeing down the motorhome hallway, your face half-covered with his hoodie as you duck past cameras and night staff. It’s whispered hellos and slow kisses under the hum of fluorescent lights.

It’s risky.

It’s ridiculous.

And it’s the happiest Max has been in a year.

Because for the first time in forever, there’s something that feels real. Untouched. Sacred.

When he wins in Imola the media calls it masterful. Clinical. A champion’s drive.

He doesn't hear a word of it, because the only thing he’s looking for is that one darkened corner of the garage where you’re half-hidden behind a stack of tool crates, wearing a Red Bull cap that isn’t officially yours. Eyes wide. Hands clasped tight. Smiling so hard it looks like it hurts.

It does hurt. It hits him in the ribs.

Because that smile? It’s for him.

All Max wants to do is grab your face in both hands and kiss you so hard the entire fucking world falls away, but he doesn’t. Not here.

He just meets your eyes and smiles back.

A private celebration.

Just for you.

Just for now.

That night he finds you waiting in his hotel room before he even gets his shoes off.

You just reach for him arms looped around his neck, body pressed close and your mouth is on his before he can close the door behind him. His jacket is still half-on, the zipper caught on your knuckles as he tries to shrug it off, but your kiss swallows everything else, his breath, his thoughts, the ache of the week behind him.

It’s all teeth and heat and celebration. All the adrenaline he hasn’t burned off yet, the pride he doesn’t know how to voice, the longing he’s been carrying in his chest since the second you slipped out of the paddock.

You meet him with the same fire. With your fingers tugging at his collar and your legs winding around his waist like you’ve been counting down the hours. Your mouth moves with his in a way that says I love you without ever needing the words.

For a few hours, the rest of the world disappears.

He lets you ride him on the balcony, under the hush of a velvet sky, slow and deep while the city hums below. He tips his head back against the glass door, hands gripping your hips, heart stuttering every time you grind down with purpose.

You smile against his jaw, warm and wicked. “You smell like champagne.”

He huffs a breathless laugh, cupping your face. “You look like trouble.”

He loves you so much it makes his hands shake.

The next few weeks slip by in pieces. He flies to you during off-days, two nights in Amsterdam, three in Florence, a stolen sunrise in a town neither of you can pronounce. You meet him in secret cities, always in the quiet between chaos. Sometimes in hotels, sometimes in apartments borrowed from friends, always behind closed doors.

You sleep in his shirts, stretch across his bed like you own it. You steal his hats. Riffle through his travel bag just to tease him about how many chocolate bars he carries.

You laugh with your whole chest when you’re tipsy on overpriced room service wine, and Max swears he’d give up most things in his life just to hear that sound again.

You trace the lines of his body in the dark, fingers slow over scars, lips pressed to old bruises and whisper, “This one’s my favourite.”

But the longer it lasts, the louder the silence becomes.

The media doesn’t know, not really, but they suspect.

He still wins. Still fights. Still storms into team meetings with strategy notes and fire in his gut, but there’s a calm to him now. A quiet steadiness no one can quite place.

Socials light up with speculation threads and edits and blurry photos of him in random cities. The way he disappears between races. The little half-smiles he tries to hide when he thinks no one’s looking.

Then one post goes viral:

@maxietaxi I really think Max Verstappen is soft-launching someone and I NEED TO KNOW WHO???

He shows it to you one night in bed, screen dimmed, laughter tucked between your bodies as you lie tangled in the sheets. You laugh, too, but when the sound fades, Max catches the flicker in your eyes. That split-second shadow.

He knows that look.

And it hits him all at once—

This bubble you’ve built, this little hidden life wrapped in late-night kisses and private hotel balconies won’t hold forever.

Not when it’s you the world will come for.

It’s Monaco.

A rare day off. The kind that feels like a gift.

You walk through the old part of the city, hood up, sunglasses on, hands brushing but not quite touching. He takes you to a little café tucked away on a side street, the one where he used to sit alone before he ever knew what it felt like to have someone like you waiting for him back home.

It’s risky being out in the open like this, even in Monaco with no paparazzi, but this café is tucked away on a quiet side street, the kind only locals know.

You sit across from him, your knees brushing beneath the table, fingers playing with the edge of his napkin. He watches you in the golden afternoon light, your laugh, the arch of your brow as you tease him, the way you press your tongue against your teeth when you’re trying not to smile.

He kisses you once, quick and soft, and Max lets himself believe the world doesn’t exist outside this moment.

Two days later, the world knows.

It starts with a blurry photo posted by an anonymous gossip account that specialises in just this kind of damage. The caption is low-effort but precise enough to strike a nerve:

@f1gossipfiles Max Verstappen spotted kissing a familiar woman in Monaco on Sunday afternoon — sources say it’s not just casual. 👀👀

So much for the café being safe, there’s always someone with a camera, always someone ready to spoil the one thing he was trying his best to keep untouched.

The picture is grainy, taken from across the street behind a cracked window, but even blurred, it’s you. Your hair, your hand wrapped around his wrist, your smile as he leans in. Unmistakable.

It’s not just a whisper. It’s a roar.

By the time Max flies in for morning media in Barcelona, the story is everywhere.

Twitter. Instagram. Youtube. TikTok. Reddit. Dutch tabloids. F1 fan forums.

By noon, your name is trending globally. The edits are brutal. The comments worse.

He sees them flood in:

@maxluvr33 that’s definitely her. check the video from lando’s birthday last year SAME BRACELET. 💀💀💀

@padcockwatch1 not to be that guy but didn’t she used to date Lando?????? messy if true

@wifey4lando i KNEW she gave “upgrades to the fastest car” energy 😒

@gridgossip44 she’s mid and gives nothing lol. why do they always fall for the ones with zero substance 😭

@max334ever max looks way too happy for this to be fake… god i hope she’s not just another fame leech 🥲 protect him pls

@wheelfangirl63 nah there’s no way she pulled both Lando and Max 💀 someone’s gotta be running PR fanfic on us

@mclarenmama so she dates Lando, disappears, and suddenly reappears with Max? this some calculated social climbing if I’ve ever seen it lol 😬

@paddockspytea lando’s ex? really? that’s who max is risking his peace for? the bar is in hell apparently 🤮

@f1xdrama someone said she’s been sneaking into red bull hospitality in his hoodie and i cannot BREATHE this is crazy

Max’s phone won’t stop buzzing. Neither will the team’s.

His manager wants clarification. His PR team demands a strategy call. The Red Bull comms group chat has exploded.

Christian doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at him and exhales like he already knows. Like he’s known for a while.

He scrolls once more through the post, through your smile, forever frozen on some stranger’s screen and his stomach turns, because he knows what’s coming next.

You’re no longer a person to them you’re a headline. The press will paint you as opportunistic, or calculated, or disloyal. They’ll call you a snake. A gold digger. They’ll accuse you of sleeping your way up the grid. Of ruining Lando. Of using Max.

They won’t see you.

Not the way he sees you.

And all Max can think, over and over, as the internet unravels and the fire spreads is:

This is exactly what you were afraid of.

Taglist - @armystay89 @lewishamiltonismybf @yara011 @rikersmunky @oddends @putherup @princessria127 @how-am-i-serpose-to-know @danielricroll @gahrcons @a-library-ofmy-own @hott1es @halleywrites @ymrereads @cmleitora @osclerc @lyapark @inmynotes63 @whistlef0rthechoir @2handsslan @f1allymgp @treatallwithkindness

[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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[em1i2a3]

Nothing Matters

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Fem!Reader!

Summary: In preparation for Bucky’s wedding, Bob decides to attend dance lessons so he doesn’t have to embarrass himself during the reception.

Warnings: Fluff! Acquaintances to Friends to lovers (basically) We love a good trope y’all, and my brain just couldn’t let go of this idea, so I needed to do it!

Author’s Note: I absolutely love cheesy tropes, and I needed to do this for my own brain to be satisfied because this idea had been rolling around in my head for a week straight! Hope y’all enjoy!!

Word Count: 12,626

The sky was the colour of a fading bruise–lavender pressed into the soft yellowing hues of an early evening.

It was late August, and the air had finally started to cool. The stifling weight of summer heat had faded, twisting and turning into something gentler and more comfortable. Crickets murmured from cracks in the sidewalk, and somewhere down the block, wind chimes clinked lazily against a fire escape railing. The streetlight hadn’t flickered on yet, but they were due to come on soon.

Bob was standing in front of a dance studio, sweating through the back of his long sleeved shirt like the building was going to swallow him whole.

The studio sat tucked between a laundromat and a shuttered bookstore, it was unassuming except for the handwritten chalkboard that was leaning against the brick wall just beneath the glowing windows:

“Beginner Ballroom! No partner? No problem!”

No rhythm, either, Bob thought miserably.

Through the wide front pane, he could see warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. Inside, strangers were already forming into pairs–awkward pairs, confident pairs, mismatched pairs that were still somehow moving better than he ever would. There were mirrors lining the far wall, doubling every motion, and every hesitation. A speaker in the corner played something old and jazzy, the music was soft and smooth like someone pouring honey over a vinyl crackle.

Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clutching the strap of his backpack. His palms were clammy, and his stomach felt like someone had reached in and tied his intestines up into knots.

“You could throw yourself down a flight of stairs, I’m sure you’ll heal up quickly…Or you could just vanish until the wedding’s over.” The Void murmured.

The suggestion was tempting.

Bob’s eyes flicked toward the pavement, to the way the light from the studio spilled across the sidewalk like a trap laid in honey. It glowed gold against the soles of his sneakers, making it impossible to pretend he wasn’t here. That he hadn’t shown up. That he hadn’t committed to this already by simply thinking about it too long.

Vanishing would be so simple. He was good at disappearing, he had done it before and he could do it again.

But all he could think about was Bucky’s face when he brought up this idea at the Tower a few weeks ago, just two months away from the wedding. It wasn’t even a formal request. Just something tossed between bites of takeout and laughter, like it wasn’t already making Bob crawl out of his body.

”Leila and I are doing something a little different for the first dance,” He said, tipping back in his chair and stretching out his shoulder, “We talked and agreed that we didn’t really want to be in the spotlight…We kind of just want it to feel shared. Comfortable. So we figured that the bridesmaids and groomsmen will be on the dance floor together as well! It’ll soften the focus a little bit, and spread the attention so we don’t get overwhelmed.” Bob remembered how the others reacted. Yelena and Ava had no problem with the idea, they said the more dancing the better, Walker made a quip about it giving off vibes like it was a high school prom which earned him an elbow to the gut, and Alexei said it sounded theatrical but fitting.

Everyone had taken it so well, but Bob had just froze in his spot.

He had tried to laugh it off, tried to blend in to the joy. But something in him had locked up the moment he imagined it: the eyes, the closeness, the pressure of a hand on his shoulder. A stranger’s breath near his face, the music moving through his body like it belonged there, even though it didn’t.

Not for him at least.

Bob had the grace of a malfunctioning vending machine, and the coordination of someone who had blinders on twenty-four seven.

And yet–Bucky had looked at him like it wasn’t even a question. Like of course Bob would be part of it. Like it wasn’t absolutely insane to trust him with someone as soft and human as slow dancing…Like he belonged in the frame of that image Bucky and Leila had created for themselves.

He let out a reluctant sigh, giving into the idea that he had no other choice but to face the music–literally and metaphorically. He didn’t want to add to the stress by vanishing, so he might as well bite the bullet and try to dance.

But just as he reached for the door to the studio–

“Oof–!”

A blur of movement came flying down the sidewalk. He caught a flash of warm skin, wind-tossed hair, and the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps slapping the concert just a heartbeat before you slammed directly into his side.

You shoulder bounced off his with a solid thud, and Bob stumbled back a step, wide-eyes, hands instinctively reaching out to steady both of you. Your paper coffee cup jostled violently between your palms, but–miraculously–it didn’t spill.

”Oh my god–I’m so sorry!” You gasped , immediately pulling back to look him over, “Shit, are you–? Did I spill anything on you? I didn’t even see you, I was trying to make it on time–are you okay?” Bob blinked down at you, frozen, mouth open but saying absolutely nothing.

You didn’t notice the way he was looking at you because you were already fussing over him, your brows knit together with a frantic worry as your eyes darted over his dark grey shirt, checking for any coffee stains. You began to dig through your bag like you could undo the entire collision if you just found the right napkin.Your lips were parted in a breathy, flustered rush, as you pushed your wallet, keys, and a folded shopping list out of the way, before finally pulling out a slightly crumpled but unused tissue.

”If I got anything on you, I swear, I will buy you a new shirt or dry clean the thing myself,” You claimed nervously, holding the tissue up like a peace offering as you leaned in to inspect his top again.

Bob stood completely still. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to.

You were so close now. Close enough that he could see the light sheen of sweat clinging to your collarbones, where your neckline dipped into soft linen. You smelled like heat and summer–clean shampoo, a trace of vanilla body mist, and the warmth of coffee clinging to your skin. Something about it hit him harder than he expected. Like sunlight filtered through cotton curtains.

Your outfit was simple, but the kind of simple that made his throat tighten. A cream-colored wrap skirt that fluttered around your legs, cinched loosely at the waist, with a thin slit climbing your thigh just high enough to reveal a sliver of skin when you ran. A rust-orange tank top, soft and ribbed, clung lightly to the line of your torso. You wore a worn denim jacket over it–probably thrown on last-minute to fight the evening breeze–and your shoes were a pair of canvas flats that had clearly been through some things. One of them was slightly scuffed at the toe.

You were warm and alive and still half laughing under your breath.

Bob’s eyes–unfortunately for his nervous system–drifted down for just a second too long. The edge of your skirt had ridden up in all the commotion, exposing more of your thigh than probably intended, and the moment he noticed, his entire body locked.

He turned red–deep red–so fast it was like someone had flipped a switch behind his ears. His gaze darted away as he cleared his throat, a strangled noise barely making it out of his chest.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” You muttered, realizing a second too late. “I’m an absolute mess today, I’m sorry…Uh–“ You tugged your skirt down with one quick, frustrated motion, letting out an embarrassed laugh as you straightened up again. “Well. At least I didn’t get any stains on you.”

Bob blinked down at himself, then back up at you, giving a small, awkward huff of a laugh. “Y-Yeah…L-Lucky you.” That made you smile–soft and sheepish. It was the kind of smile that pulled the tension off your face and made Bob’s lungs work again, if only barely.

“Are you here for the Beginner's Ballroom too? Or am I so late I’ve crossed into…I don’t know, Triple Tango Thursdays?” Bob’s face grew hotter at your little line of questioning, but then a short laugh bubbled out of him before he could stop it.

”N-No…You’re not l-late. Ballroom i-is starting soon, I think.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

”So…Why’re you out here then? Shouldn’t you be in there picking out your ideal stranger to step on?” He swallowed thickly, his hand returning to the strap of his backpack.

”W-Was just looking i-in.” You nodded like that made perfect sense, eyes flicking to the glowing windows before returning to him.

“I see, you’re scoping out the place. I like your thinking…” Then, you offered out your free hand–still faintly warm from clutching your coffee, “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Bob hesitated for a second, looking at the way you waited for him to reach out, as if you could tell he was nervous. He brought his hand to yours, engulfing it in the clamminess of his palm. You didn’t cringe or flinch, you just gave it a shake like it didn’t matter.

”I’m B-Bob,” He said softly, “I-It’s nice t-to meet you.” You gave him a kind smile..

”Likewise.” You replied, squeezing his hand gently before stepping back and pushing a few sweaty pieces of hair from your face, quickly glancing toward the glowing studio windows.

“We should go in before we actually miss the lesson,” You added with a nervous smile, shifting your coffee to your other hand. “I mean…I did run three blocks and risked third-degree embarrassment just to get here, so.” Bob gave a quick nod.

“Y-Yeah, y-you’re r-right.” He turned to the door with a flicker of hesitation, then stepped forward and reached for the handle. The old glass door creaked open on slightly rusted hinges, and he held it wide for you, eyes flickering shyly toward the ground.

“Thanks,” You murmured as you passed him, gusting another wave of vanilla body mist across Bob’s senses.

The moment you stepped inside, the world shifted.

The air was warm and fragrant–polished wood floors mingling with the faint sweetness of citrus cleaning spray and the rich, earthy musk of old building materials. There was the soft scent of sweat–not unpleasant, just human–and a hint of lavender coming from a reed diffuser sitting on the front desk.

The atmosphere buzzed with soft conversation and laughter. Shoes squeaked gently against the floor. Jazz hummed from a speaker near the mirrors, rich and syrupy, the kind of music that made you want to move without thinking too hard about why. Pairs were scattered across the room–some already holding each other in awkward positions, others simply standing in front of one another, trying not to look down at their own feet.

A few looked practiced. Most did not.

In the far corner, a stack of bags had already begun to form–a messy pile of duffels, jackets, and water bottles.

Before either of you could do much else, a woman with short silver-streaked hair and an ankle-length black skirt swept over. She looked exactly how you’d expect a ballroom instructor to look: confident, composed, and entirely unbothered by lateness.

“There’s always a few strays,” She said with a wry smile. “Thankfully, we waited.” You gave her a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, had a little incident outside.” Bob’s hand immediately went to the back of his neck to scratch at the damp skin.

”First time?” The instructor asked, glancing between the both of you.

“Not mine.” You replied.

”Y-Yeah it’s mine.” Bob admitted, keeping his eyes down on the floor.

”Perfect,” The instructor said brightly, “One newbie, and one novice. Let’s pair you two together.” You laughed under your breath,

”I’m definitely not a novice. I’ve only been to two classes. But…I guess you could say I’ve got a tiny bit of a one-up.” Bob’s eyes darted over to you–like you were leading him off the edge–and you smirked. The instructor motioned toward the open space near the center of the floor.

“Drop your stuff and take your place. We’ll be starting with basic closed position and lead-follow exercises.”

You both made your way toward the corner, where the bags were stacked. You knelt, slipping your tote bag down and gently placing your coffee beside it. Bob unclipped his backpack, setting it near yours. You shrugged off your denim jacket, draping it over your bag with practiced ease.

The moment your jacket slipped from your shoulders, Bob’s eyes darted–instinctively, like something pulled him forward by a thread.

He saw your bare arms first. Smooth skin, still faintly dewy from your run. And then–just as you turned to face him again–he caught the small tattoo inked into the back of your upper arm. Clean, black, minimal:

777.

Angel numbers that represented luck.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed loudly. You didn’t seem to notice the way he stared, you just turned toward him and offered a grin, stretching out your limbs.

”Alright Bob. Hope you brought shoes that you don’t really care about…Cause I think I might step on your toes.” The corners of his mouth twitched up, forming the softest hint of a smile.

”I-It’s okay,” He mumbled, barely above the music, “I-I don’t mind.”

You stepped onto the dance floor together.

The room felt warmer under the overhead bulbs, though that might’ve just been Bob’s proximity–or yours. Jazz was still spilling softly from the speaker system, a slow, crackling track that made it easier to move without thinking. Other pairs had started finding their spots in the open space, shuffling awkwardly through their first attempts at closed position.

You and Bob stood facing each other, hands hovering between you like the invisible pull of a magnet waiting to snap.

Being this close again gave you the first real chance to look at him.

His face was angular in a quiet, unsure kind of way–sharp cheekbones softened by the slope of his jaw, a mouth that looked like it didn’t quite know how to rest. His lips were parted slightly, as if he was mid-thought. He had a light shadow along his jawline, like he’d shaved that morning but the day had caught up with him. His hair was slightly mussed, the soft brown waves curling a little at the ends from sweat and the summer air.

And then there were his eyes. Blue. The kind that looked startled even when he wasn’t. Wide-set and endlessly expressive, like the sky right before a storm–light, restless, always caught somewhere between fight and flight. They flicked over your face and then dropped again, as though you were too much to look at all at once.

A heartbeat later, the instructor returned.

“Closer,” She instructed casually, placing one hand on your back and the other on Bob’s shoulder to gently nudge you together. “Lead with your left, follower’s right here–yes, good. Elbows up, hands soft. You’re not wringing laundry, you’re trying to float.” You bit back a smile as you felt Bob’s hand lightly touch your back. His palm hovered there for a second before he settled it–a barely-there pressure against the side of your ribs that radiated throughout your whole body.

He was boiling hot, almost like he was running a fever, but he didn’t look ill, his palen skin had a little bit of colour to it, and he definitely wasn’t sweating buckets, so you concluded that maybe he was just nervous. Your brows lifted a bit in an amused type of way, moving a bit towards the heat.

”You feeling okay? You’re kind of burning through my tank top.” Bob’s ears turned red instantly.

”S-Sorry.” He stammered, voice tight, “Always h-hot. It’s just t-the norm.” You tilted your head with a soft, teasing smile.

”Summers must be torture for you.” He gave a quick, sheepish nod, a puff of breath catching in his throat as he looked anywhere but at your face.

”Y-Yeah, an absolute n-nightmare.” Your smile only grew at his comment, the moment turning strangely tender despite the clumsy positioning and your shoes already brushing his.

It wasn’t perfect but the music played, and your hands stayed in place. You could feel something steady beginning to build between the both of you–not just rhythm, but trust.

He pressed his palm firmer against the damp lower curve of your tank top, which made your spine straighten a little and your heart thud once beneath your ribs, as if you went on high alert. Your skin was already tacky with sweat from the sprint and the heat of the studio, but if Bob noticed, he didn’t flinch away. If anything, his fingers flexed lightly–just once–before he began to move them absentmindedly across the ribbed fabric. Not in a pattern at first. Just a slow, tentative drag of touch, like he was soothing a thought out of his own head. But then…The rhythm of the song caught in his fingers. A lazy, honey-thick sway in time with the jazz crackling from the speakers.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just let him do it. Let him get lost for a moment. And when your feet stumbled a little too close to his, and his breath caught slightly in response, your hand tightened just faintly where it rested against his shoulder.

“So…” You started softly, your voice light in the space between you, “Why are you taking ballroom?” Bob looked down at you as you shifted together through another halting step. His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a sheepish, crooked smile.

”F-Friend’s wedding is coming u-up soon.” He admitted, the words awkward but earnest. Your mouth twitched, glancing down briefly at your feet, then back up at him with a sigh escaping through your nose.

”Ah. I guess we’re in the same boat.” Your heel skimmed his toe, and the two of you adjusted at the same time, bumping gently before returning to the natural pull of the music,

“My cousin’s getting married,” You explained, “She told me to take lessons because she didn’t want me embarrassing myself at the reception. Said she didn’t want her big day to end with me flailing around on the dance floor.” That made Bob huff out a laugh this time–short and slightly stunned–like it had slipped out before he could catch it.

“I-I took it u-upon myself to join,” He admitted, his voice lower now, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before falling to your shoulder, “I-I don’t think my friend had the h-heart to tell me I sucked at d-dancing.” You snorted, laughing in surprise.

”That’s kind of sweet he spared your feelings…Painful, but sweet.” He gave a shrug, his thumb brushing another distracted line across your back as you shifted closer again, feet adjusting to each other. You could smell mint, maybe a bit of basil on him, like he had walked through a field of herbs. It was earthy, and sweet, and it surrounded you, mixing with your own scent.

“M-Maybe I just…Wanted to surprise h-him. Prove I could d-do it.” You looked up at him, seeing the way his jaw tensed as he tried to concentrate on his steps, and the way his lips moved like they were shaping words he wasn’t voicing. His fingers couldn’t seem to stop moving even while he stared at the way your feet moved. You tilted your head slightly, letting your hand trail down his arm to rest a little more firmly at his bicep, adjusting your posture a bit.

”Well,” You started gently, “You’re doing much better than me, so that’s a pretty good start.” He let out a little laugh and shook his head at you, continuing to move as well as he could to the music.

———————

The lesson ended with a slow fade of music and scattered claps from around the room. Some pairs lingered, still swaying to a rhythm that didn’t exist anymore. Others parted quickly, ducking toward their bags and bottles like they’d just finished a gym class.

You and Bob stood in place for a second longer, both a little flushed, still slightly closer than necessary. When you stepped back, your arms suddenly felt colder, the heat of his body leaving yours in one quick breath.

Bob rubbed the back of his neck again, fingers damp with nervous sweat as the both of you moved towards your bags in the corner. You bent to scoop up your tote and your now half-empty coffee cup. It had gone lukewarm and watery, the ice mostly melted. You took one last sip and let out a small, disappointed sigh.

“Guess that’s a wrap on tonight’s toe-mangling,” You joked lightly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Bob smiled faintly and picked up his backpack, looping one strap over his arm.

“So…” You started, turning a bit as you walked toward the exit together, “What are you getting up to now? Post-ballroom debrief?” Bob shrugged, glancing over at you as the two of you reached the door.

“P-Probably g-go back home and w-watch a movie or s-something…” He replied, looking down at you with a bit of confusion echoing behind his eyes, “W-Why do you ask?” You slowed a bit on the sidewalk, the warm August air hugging your skin to replace the warmth you lost on the dancefloor when Bob and you parted.

“Well…If you’re not doing anything, I work at a coffee shop just a few blocks down. We can sit and chat for a bit, if you want. I also get free drinks and stuff so…It’ll be on me.” You said, smoothing a hand over the strap of your bag. The offer hung in the air for a second–and the ball was in his court now. Bob looked a little caught off guard by your proposal as he wasn’t even expecting to make a new friend today, but he pushed down the nerves that brewed in his throat.

”I-I could go for a c-cold drink or s-something…” Your smile brightened.

”Great!” You slipped your jacked over your arm, “C’mon, I’ll take you there.”

You walked side by side down the sidewalk, the rhythm of the evening more relaxed now. Your footsteps fell into easy cadence with each other as you passed rows of restaurants winding down for the night. The lavender in the sky had deepened to a bruised navy, and a few streetlights had finally flickered on above your heads.

”So,” You said, glancing over at him, “Do you normally watch movies in your spare time?” He smirked at the question, as he kicked a rock down the walkway, pushing his windblown hair away from his cheeks.

“I-I have some roommates t-that keep me busy, so I usually p-put a movie on to just relax, o-or for background n-noise to drown out the l-louder noises around me…” You tilted your head a bit.

”Ah, so you’ve got roommates hm? How many?” Bob hesitated just a moment too long, and you immediately noticed.

It wasn’t that the question was strange–asking about roommates was easy, normal, it was the kind of thing you asked someone you were trying to get to know. But the way Bob’s shoulders tightened, and the way his thumb scratched lightly at the side seam of his pants, told you this wasn’t just idle small talk for him. Still, he saw you waiting. Expecting something. And for whatever reason, he didn’t want to lie. Not entirely.

“F-Five,” He said finally, voice quiet, gaze fixed just ahead on the sidewalk, “I-Including a cat. But…It’s g-going to be four soon, and the cat is going to be gone soon…One of them is t-the one getting married, and he’s t-the person who brought the cat.” Your brows lifted, surprised at the number.

”Five?” You laughed lightly, “That’s more than I expected. Must be a big place to fit all of you, huh?” Bob let out a small breath that sounded like it might’ve been the beginning of a laugh–but didn’t quite get there.

“Y-Yeah,” He said, “It’s manageable with a-all of us pitching in t-though.” He glanced down at the gravel near the edge of the sidewalk, his foot nudging a small stone into the gutter. A lie. Not because he wanted to deceive you, but because telling the truth–that rent wasn’t a problem when his name was on a government payroll for being a living weapon–felt impossibly heavy for a casual walk to a coffee shop.

You didn’t press any further. And Bob felt the weight ease just slightly as the conversation drifted back into a safer territory.

It wasn’t long before you rounded the corner and approached a familiar storefront tucked between a florist and a tiny secondhand bookstore. The brick exterior was warm with the glow of fairy lights strung in a lazy swoop over the front awning. A small chalkboard sign was propped near the door, the lettering in swirling script that read:

The Daily Grind

Bob smiled at the name.

You stepped up onto the little stoop and were already halfway to the door when Bob moved ahead, reaching it first and holding it open for you like it was second nature now.

“Thanks,” You murmured, your cheeks heating up as you passed him again, just close enough for your shoulder to brush lightly against his chest.

Inside, the café was unexpectedly lively for a weeknight. The soft clink of ceramic mugs and low conversation filled the air. A rich aroma of espresso, brown sugar, and steamed milk wrapped around you the second the door swung shut. There was a faint trace of something floral too–maybe a lavender syrup or one of the loose-leaf teas steeping behind the counter.

Golden light glowed from mismatched pendant lamps overhead, casting gentle pools of warmth over each table. The walls were exposed brick in some spots, wood paneled in others, with chalkboard menus behind the counter and framed black-and-white photos from local artists spaced evenly between shelves of plants. There was a small stage tucked into one corner where an acoustic guitar rested against a mic stand, long since abandoned for the night.

Despite the hour–nearly 8:30–the place was comfortably full.

A couple sat curled up in the far window seat, sharing a laptop and a blanket. A group of college students clustered around a high-top with open notebooks and empty latte glasses. Two older men played chess near the back, barely speaking. And a solo woman in headphones was scribbling something in a thick journal, lost to the world except for the rhythmic tap of her pen.

It wasn’t loud. Just…Alive. Like a low hum of thought and warmth cascaded through the space.

Bob lingered just inside the threshold for a moment, taking it in with a kind of quiet awe. You turned back toward him, smiling softly as you said, “Pick a seat–anywhere. I’ll make us something.”

He blinked, then gave a small, grateful nod. “A-Any favorites?”

You tilted your head. “Do you trust me?”

He hesitated. Then–softly: “S-Sure.”

“Perfect.” You flashed him a grin and disappeared behind the counter, leaving Bob to find a seat–still smelling of roasted espresso, a little sweat, and you.

The window seat he settled on was a half-moon booth tucked just far enough from the counter to feel private. It curved around a small, round table, its surface worn smooth from years of coffee rings and notebook pages. A row of old brick made up the wall beside it, sun-warmed even at this hour, while the window next to it stretched nearly floor to ceiling–paned in black iron, like something out of a train station. The view looked out onto the sleepy street, where the occasional headlight cut past, slicing through the navy dusk.

Bob set his backpack on the low windowsill, where ivy in a mismatched ceramic pot hung lazily toward the floor. The bag slumped under its own weight with a soft thud. He eased himself into the booth seat, the cracked leather cool beneath his thighs through the fabric of his pants. For a moment, he just…Sat. Shoulders still a little tight, fingers twisting faintly at the edge of the table. His eyes traced the dim reflections in the window–people moving behind him, little streaks of amber light, your silhouette at the counter, as you turned to talk to one of your coworkers, sharing a bit of a laugh with them.

When you returned, your steps light across the wood floor, Bob straightened slightly, palms flat on either side of the table. You carried two drinks–your own in one hand, a paper cup topped with a thick, creamy cloud of cold foam. The other was clearly for him, and…Looked more like something from a sci-fi prop department than a café.

A glass full of swirling colour–bright blue bleeding into a soft, almost fiery orange. It shimmered faintly in the light as you set it in front of him.

Bob blinked at it, brows knitting as he tilted his head.

“…W-What is it?”

You gave a shrug and a cheeky smile.

“One of our new summer tea fusions. Blood orange and butterfly pea flower. I added a touch of lavender syrup to calm your nerves.” He raised his eyebrows, then glanced down at the drink again, swearing that he saw something glisten in it. You sat down in front of him, eyes shimmering with something warm, “Not that I mind you being nervous around me or anything.” You added.

Bob flushed–his whole face going soft pink, then red at the ears, his mouth parting as if to speak and then shutting again when no sound came. You stifled a small grin behind your sip of coffee.

Tentatively, he lifted the glass, fingers cool against the condensation on the outside. He paused just before taking a drink, letting the scent rise with the ice–a delicate swirl of citrus and something lightly floral. The orange was sharp and bright, but the lavender crept in softer, smoothing the sharp edges.

Then he took a sip.

The first taste was unexpected. The blood orange hit fast and tart, almost effervescent on his tongue–then mellowed into something more complex. The butterfly pea flower gave it an earthy, almost grassy base, grounding the citrus, while the lavender syrup lingered at the back of his mouth like the end of a slow exhale. Cold, but not numbing. Sweet, but not cloying. And under it all, something fizzy, faintly mineral, like it was sparkling even though it wasn’t.

His eyes widened a little. “T-Tastes like…Like citrus inside a flower shop.” You let out a soft laugh, taking a sip from your own drink again.

”Good citrus or rotting citrus?” You asked.

”G-Good, I-I mean…I l-like it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to cool down the skin with the cold temperature that seeped into his palm from his glass. Then his gaze dropped slightly. The truth itched just beneath his skin, and maybe the drink really had loosened something, because he added, softer this time:

“I-I’m generally a nervous p-person by the w-way. B-But the s-stuttering isn’t r-really from that.” You set your drink down on the table, leaning a bit forward on your elbows.

”Really?” He nodded, resting one hand against the side of his glass, swirling the ice gently so that it clinked against the inside.

“Y-Yeah…It’s not r-really something that can be c-controlled at this point. M-My doctor’s working on finding some h-help for me.” Another lie–but with threads of truth. He wasn’t going to come out and start talking about being an ex-meth addict, but the shell of what he said was enough to stitch something real between you.

You hummed quietly, processing, your eyes not leaving his.

“Interesting…Is it a neurological thing?”

He nodded again, not quite looking at you this time.

“G-Guess you could say that.”

The clinking of the ice filled the pause. Then your fingers curled around your coffee again and you took another sip. Steam curled toward your face.

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. Just…Settled, like the two of you were syncing up somehow, sharing the same brainwave.

Bob adjusted slightly in his seat, one arm draped over the curve of the booth now, and then–almost hesitantly–he broke the silence again.

“S-So you work at a coffee shop…” he began, “W-What else do you get up to? A-Apart from ballroom l-lessons…”You pushed your hair off of your cheeks, before sitting up a little bit.

”Well…I’m a part-time student at the moment…Went back to college this summer, just to pick up some credits.” You said it casually, but there was something behind it–something like hope and weariness wrapped in the same ribbon. “Trying to work toward a degree. Something that’ll help me get out of this place.”

Bob tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady and quiet. He didn’t ask what you were studying. He didn’t ask why you wanted to leave.

He just said–gently:

“G-Guess I’m glad I ran into you before you do.”

And then, as if it startled even him, his eyes widened a little and he looked away quickly, sipping from his drink again like he hadn’t just said the most honest thing of the night.

You smiled down into your coffee, and for a second, neither of you said anything else. The hum of the café continued around you–soft and unbothered, like the whole world had made room for this moment.

By the end of the night, Bob and you had spoken for hours, just getting to know each other. He walked you back to your apartment building, and you exchanged numbers, confirming that you would see each other next Tuesday for ballroom lessons before separating for the night, leaving both of your hearts skipping beats in excitement.

————————

Two weeks later, the sky was a different shade of blue. Cooler now—lighter around the edges, the kind that hinted at September quietly stretching its arms somewhere just over the horizon. It was the kind of afternoon that felt both too short and too slow, and inside the sharp, sterile chill of the suit shop, the world narrowed to the sound of shifting fabric, measured footfalls, and the occasional muttered curse from someone getting their inseam taken.

Bob stood stiffly in front of a full-length mirror, with one arm stuck out to the side while the tailor adjusted the seams of a crisp white dress shirt. The fabric clung lightly to his back and shoulders, still pinned at the cuffs and slightly rumpled along the side seams where it hadn’t yet been pressed.

His neck was bent, face half-obscured by the soft, sweat-damp waves of hair that had fallen forward over his brow. He was staring at his phone–his thumb moving with surprising ease for someone so often flustered, his lips curved in a faint, private smile that was practically a foreign object on his face. The tailor, a wiry man with rolled sleeves and a measuring tape slung around his neck like a scarf, gave a pointed little sniff before speaking.

“Head up, please, sir.”

Bob startled slightly, blinking back into the moment like he’d surfaced too quickly. “S-Sorry,” he murmured, tucking his phone sheepishly into the pocket of his jeans and lifting his chin.

Across the room, Walker was sprawled into one of the velvet-lined benches like he was trying to merge with it, both arms stretched wide along the back. He raised a brow at the exchange, then twisted toward Bucky, who was adjusting the cuffs of his own white dress shirt in front of a standing mirror.

“You seeing this?” Walker said, nodding toward Bob. “A few weeks ago we had to argue with him just to get him to answer a call. Now we can’t even pry the damn phone out of his hands.”

Bucky glanced up, eyes flicking toward Bob’s reflection. His expression shifted slowly into something caught between amusement and suspicion. “He’s been like that all week,” he said, letting his tone ride the line between dry and teasing. “Texting under the table during meetings. Saw him smiling at his phone yesterday. Like…Full-on smiling. I thought I was hallucinating.” Sam, seated in the corner with his feet up on a low ottoman, snorted into his lap as he polished the side of his dress shoe.

“Bet you five bucks it’s not a work contact…He wouldn’t type that fast if it was.” Bob’s ears were already pink. The colour bloomed up his throat like someone had tilted him toward the sun, and he ducked his head again, tugging lightly at the collar as the tailor worked a pin into the side seam.

“I-It’s n-not a big deal,” Bob muttered. “J-Just someone I met.”

“Oh-ho,” Walker interrupted, leaning forward “Someone you met? When was this? Did we miss the memo or something?” Alexei, who’d been quietly squinting at his own reflection as he tried to decide whether to button the top collar or leave it open, gave a low chuckle.

“He’s blushing like schoolboy,” He said in his thick accent. “Must be serious.” Bob opened his mouth to protest—but the tailor tapped his arm, and he shut it again with a resigned little sigh.

“It’s really n-not–” he tried, but Bucky cut him off with a knowing smirk.

”Is this the girl you met at those ballroom lessons you’ve been going to?” He asked, folding his arms loosely as he leaned back against the edge of the mirror, “Because you’re always in a rush to be on time now…And that’s very unusual for you.” At that, the room stirred with energy. Sam looked up, brows high. Walker turned fully in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head. Even Alexei paused, one hand on his belt buckle.

“Oh my…You guys met at ballroom lessons?” Walker said, letting out a fit of laughter. Bob froze like he’d been caught in a tractor beam. His whole body tensed–shoulders drawn tight beneath the half-pinned shirt, jaw working in silence.

“…W-We’ve been…Talking,” He said finally, the words barely above a whisper.

“Talking,” Bucky repeated, his smirk edging toward fondness now. “Is that what they’re calling four-hour coffee chats and texting marathons these days?” Sam raised a hand up to try to stop the conversation.

”Wait, wait–how did this even start? Did you walk in there and trip over your shoes or something and she just swooned?” Bob, cornered and mortified, gave a helpless little sound at the back of his throat. He fiddled with a loose thread on the shirt cuff.

“I-It was…more like she ran into m-me.” Walker groaned.

”God…Two clumsy people together? Sounds like a match made in heaven.” He mocked.

“She spilled coffee on him,” Bucky added, still half-laughing.

“She didn’t spill it,” Bob corrected instinctively, then winced when they all turned toward him with shit-eating grins. “I-It jostled. A little.”

“So how serious is this?” Sam asked, letting his tone soften slightly. “You just texting, or…?”

Bob blinked. His eyes drifted back to the mirror–not to his reflection, but to the faint ghost of your last message still glowing on his lock screen. You had sent a picture of your view from the library you had been studying in, something casual, a little snippet of your day that you wanted to share with him–a half-drunk coffee on one side and a mess of notes and an open textbook scattered around the other. He had sent a picture of himself in his dress shirt, cringing awkwardly and said:

“Shirt fitting, hopefully I don’t get poked with needles.”

Your reply came fast and immediate.

“Hopefully if you do it doesn’t mess up your posture for ballroom lessons.”

That made him smirk.

You had gotten closer over the past two weeks, it was so easy especially with the rhythm you fell into. You made him feel comfortable, and even with the awkward moments ballroom lessons brought to the both of you, it was the thing that tethered you together and allowed that closeness to develop naturally. Bob was always excited to see you, and you had the exact same sentiment–you looked forward to the nights where you would sit at The Daily Grind and talk till all hours of the night, without expectations of one another. Neither of you could really describe what you had brewing between the both of you, but it was a closeness that Bob had not felt in a while–one that he burned for and craved long before you.

But now, standing in the middle of the suit shop, the words floated in the back of Bob’s head like sunlight through gauze. He cleared his throat.

”W-We’re just good f-friends, that’s all…” He muttered, trying to keep his voice even. There was a beat of silence. Like a collective inhale.

Then Bucky let out a short, knowing scoff. “Sure…” He said, as dry as sandpaper. “That’s what I said about Leila. Now look where I am.” He motioned vaguely to his reflection in the mirror, shirt half-buttoned and a pin in his collar. “Getting married at the ripe old age of one hundred and ten.”

That earned a ripple of laughter from around the room. Bob, however, turned a darker shade of red, the colour blooming like wildfire across his face.

“I-It’s not l-like that.”

“Why don’t you bring her to the compound then?” Walker said, folding his arms and leaning forward slightly, eyes glittering with challenge. “We’ll be the judge of that.”

Bob froze. Just a second. Barely perceptible unless you knew him. But his posture stiffened like someone had dropped a weight into the base of his spine.

The others noticed.

Sam exchanged a sharp look with Walker–then flicked his gaze toward Bucky, who had gone quiet.

“…She does know about you being part of The New Avengers, right?” Sam asked carefully, his voice softer now, less teasing. Bob’s expression twisted up like someone had turned him inside out, and exposed all his nerves to the sterile air of the shop.

”N-Not exactly…” There was a pause. A longer one this time. Walker let out a low groan, rubbing the back of his neck.

”So let me get this straight…” He started, “She knows nothing about your situations? Even with the whole…Killer Void and Sun God combo pack?” Bob shrugged–awkwardly, because the tailor was in the middle of pinning his sleeve, and the motion nearly knocked the man off balance.

“I-I have them b-both under control,” He mumbled, “A-And besides, it’s n-not like they’re going to appear o-out of nowhere. I usually f-feel when they need…Some…Air.”

Bucky pushed off the mirror and walked over, his voice low but direct. “Bob,” He said, eyes steady, “That only works until it doesn’t.”

“I-I know,” Bob whispered. “I-I’m careful. I swear.” The tailor, bless him, pretended not to hear any of this. He tugged the back seam taut, muttering something about shoulders and posture, but everyone in the room had tuned him out now.

Sam leaned back against the ottoman again, looking at Bob with something gentler in his face than before. “You like her.”

Bob didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“You like her,” Sam repeated, this time with a little smile. “That’s why you haven’t told her.”

“…Y-Yeah.”

Bucky folded his arms again, but there was less teasing now. “You think she’s gonna look at you differently if she knows?”

Another nod. Slower this time.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Alexei, still standing in front of his mirror, said simply, “You should tell anyway. Before she sees without your words to explain.”

Bob swallowed thickly. The tailor twisted him around to check the hem, and he didn’t resist. But his voice was low when he said:

“I-I know.”

The silence after that wasn’t tense. Just full. Like something unspoken had finally stretched out its legs.

—————————

The café was quieter tonight. Golden hour had melted into twilight, and the usual hum of voices had dipped into something softer–just murmurs at the tables, the occasional clink of a spoon against ceramic. The sky outside was a deep, navy blue–no longer bruised, but soothed–and the string lights in the window cast a warm halo across your hair as you sat across from Bob, legs tucked under the booth, fingers curled around your coffee.

He was drinking the same thing he’d had the first time. You’d remembered–of course you had. He didn’t even need to ask.

Bob stirred his drink slowly, the colours long since faded into a dusky purple swirl. The lavender scent still lingered faintly, mixing with the sharper citrus that rose each time he took a sip.

His jacket was folded beside him. His hair was a little damp at the roots, a sheen of sweat still cooling at his temples from the final round of clumsy turns and near toe-steppings. He looked less wrecked by nerves now–more comfortable than the beginning of the ballroom lesson extravaganza–but there was still something taut around his shoulders, something unsaid bracing his spine. You watched him with a small smile.

“So…” You started, voice warm, curling into the space between you, “Now that we don’t have ballroom lessons together, what are we going to do? Join another class?” Bob huffed out a soft laugh, lifting the glass to his lips.

“I-I don’t think I-I can afford e-embarrassing myself e-even more than how I’m going to at the w-wedding on Saturday.” You smiled, but something in your expression flickered–just for a second. Your gaze dipped to your coffee for a moment.

”Darn,” You murmured, a soft, fake pout appearing on your lips, “Wish I could be there, but I’ve got my own embarrassing moment to display on Saturday too, hope all those lessons paid off cause if not I’m writing a bad review.” You joked, taking a sip of your coffee before adding,“Least we’ll be able to tell each other how it went though.” Bob nodded, setting his drink down with a soft clink.

“T-This is true…” He murmured. “H-Hope nobody h-has video evidence…M-Might have to break some phones.”

That made you laugh–low and warm. “The Cloud will always win, Bob.” He smiled at that, really smiled, but it faded a little too quickly.

Because this was it. The last ballroom night. The last excuse.

And you were sitting right there–still glowing under café lights, still looking at him like he was worth knowing–and he still hadn’t told you the truth.

His fingers tapped lightly on the condensation of his glass. Then stopped.

“C-Can I ask you something?” He said, quieter now.

You looked up, your gaze curious and soft. “Of course.”

He stared at the swirl of ice in his drink.

“If…If someone was k-keeping something from you…But it w-wasn’t because they wanted to lie. It was b-because they didn’t know how to s-say it right. W-Would…Would you be mad?”

You blinked at him.

“Depends on what it is,” You said carefully, the weight behind your words heavier now. “But…If it came from a good place–if they were scared, or trying to protect something important–I think I’d understand. At least I’d want to.”

Bob’s throat worked in a silent swallow. His hand curled tighter around the glass.

You leaned in a little, trying to meet his eyes.

“Bob…Is there something you want to tell me?”

He hesitated. Eyes darted to the window, to the ivy curling along the sill, to anywhere that wasn’t your face. The words clawed up his throat. Pressed into his ribs. But they still didn’t come.

“…I–” He started, then stopped abruptly.

“I-It’s just been…really n-nice. G-Getting to know you.” He finally whispered.

You watched him for a long moment.

Then you smiled, soft and understanding–even if you didn’t know what he wasn’t saying.

“It’s been really nice getting to know you too, Bob.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

But it lingered, unspoken. Like the beat of a song neither of you had quite learned to dance to.

—————————

The venue was buzzing.

People rushed like water down a narrowing drain–cufflinks being fastened, jackets thrown on backs of chairs, bouquets carried up and down the hall with the urgency of live grenades. Someone yelled about a missing pair of heels. Sam was still trying to figure out how to pin his boutonniere. Walker was texting Yelena between mouthfuls of protein bar crumbs.

Bob hadn’t eaten.

His stomach had curled in on itself hours ago, and the collar of his dress shirt tugged against his throat. His hands were shaking slightly as he buttoned up–slow and careful, even as the rest of the suite bustled with chaos. Alexei had already poured himself a drink from the bar cart, murmuring something about it being medicinal. Bucky had his sleeves rolled and was half-tied into his suspenders, texting Leila back updates with military precision.

The ceremony was at 3:00.

And it was 2:37.

Bob stood in front of the mirror, fingers fumbling slightly with the knot of his dusty pink tie.

The colour looked softer than he expected–like rosewater steeped in sunlight–but it still felt foreign against the collar of his crisp white shirt. He tugged it gently, trying to center the knot without strangling himself. Bob’s eyes flicked to the mirror, watching everyone move behind him in a haze. Their voices rose and fell like static–buzzing, anxious, distant.

He exhaled slowly.

Then, just as he lifted his hand to adjust the collar one last time–

The door creaked open.

You stepped in, breath caught halfway in your throat, a tablet clutched to your chest.

“Bob?”

He turned sharply, eyes wide, mouth parted like you’d hit him with a flashbang. His hands stilled completely on the knot of his tie.

The room froze.

Bob wasn’t sure what he noticed first–the way your voice wrapped around his name like a question and an accusation–or the way you looked standing there in the hallway light like it had all been scripted by some wildly dramatic god of fate.

You looked…Stunning.

Your dusty pink bridesmaid dress was floor-length and impossibly flattering, hugging the curves of your waist before flaring into a soft, weightless sweep of chiffon that moved with every tiny breath. The fabric shimmered faintly in the light, not metallic, but with a dewy glow–like rose petals in the golden hour. The bodice was ruched, gathered slightly off the shoulder, dipping into a gentle sweetheart neckline that framed your collarbones and hinted at the soft curve of your chest. The dress had a thigh-high slit that revealed a glimpse of leg with every step, the fabric parting just enough to show off your nude heels and the soft shine of your skin beneath.

Your hair was pushed out of your face, and a fine gold chain with a single opal pendant rested at the hollow of your throat. You looked radiant and out of place in the groomsmen suite–like you’d walked through the wrong door and into the last person you ever expected to see. Bob stared like someone had just unplugged his brain.

“…Y/N?” He managed to say, voice cracking with disbelief.

You blinked, then your mouth parted into a wide, incredulous smile as you gave a stunned laugh.

“This–This is the wedding you were going to this whole time?!”

Bob’s ears turned scarlet. His tie hung half-knotted around his collar. And now every head in the room had snapped toward the doorway.

Walker raised a single eyebrow. Alexei took a long, slow sip from his skull glass. Sam leaned forward like he was watching a soap opera. Bucky didn’t even blink, he just said:

“Well…This is probably one of the weirdest coincidences I’ve ever witnessed.”

You took a half step inside the room, still clutching the tablet, your brows pulled together in amused disbelief. Bob’s lips parted, but the sound that came out wasn’t even a word–just a wheeze of disbelief.

“W-What are you d-doing h-here?” He finally managed, voice cracking.

You stared at him like the answer was obvious. “Leila’s my cousin.” You looked around the room slowly, eyes drifting from Sam to Walker to Alexei, then back to Bucky standing casually against the mirror with one brow arched like this was the highlight of his day.

Then your gaze landed on Bob again.

You raised your eyebrows, gestured loosely toward the group with your tablet still clutched to your chest, and said with mock curiosity,

“So this is what you’ve been hiding?”

Bob’s jaw dropped slightly, like his brain had blue-screened. “I–I…N-No, I mean–yes? I-I mean, I wasn’t hiding–I j-just hadn’t said anything–yet, I was going to, I swear–”

“Mmhm.” You tilted your head, biting back a smile as you crossed one arm over your waist and leaned a bit into your hip, amused, “Seems like a pretty big thing to hide, Bob.” Bob’s brows furrowed, his shoulders tightening beneath the unfinished knot of his tie. His throat worked around a lump, and when he spoke, it came out quiet. Raw.

“W-Why aren’t y-you mad?”

That made you pause.

You blinked at him, brows lifting slightly like you hadn’t even considered that as an option. And then, slowly, your lips curved–not in a smirk, not teasing this time. Just…Warm. Amused in a way that softened you all over.

”Well…I mean…Because I kind of figured this was what you were hiding, I just couldn’t fully prove it…Until now at least.” His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first—just the faintest flicker of breath, like he was still trying to reboot his brain. His fingers twitched near the undone knot of his tie.

“…W-What?” He finally said, so quietly it almost got lost in the chaos behind him.

You took another step into the room. The hallway light spilled around your figure like a spotlight, catching the shimmer of your dress and the soft flush along your cheekbones. You didn’t look smug, or accusatory, or even particularly triumphant. Just a little bashful.

Like you were telling a secret you didn’t plan on having to say out loud.

“I mean…” You glanced over your shoulder–once, quickly–then turned back to him with a faint, sheepish shrug. “Your eyes glowed once when we were out for coffee.”

The air in the room seemed to still. Or maybe that was just Bob holding his breath.

You kept talking, your voice gentle, as if trying not to spook him.

“It was barely anything. Just…this little flicker. I thought it was a trick of the light. Or my brain playing games with me.” You tilted your head slightly. “But then it happened again. At one of the ballroom lessons. You were laughing at something stupid I said, and it just–” You mimed a small spark with your fingers, “–Did it again.”

Bob looked like someone had physically unplugged his spine. His knees actually wobbled. Walker looked delighted. Bucky just stayed quiet, watching, his jaw flexed like he was trying not to step in unless it was absolutely necessary.

You gave a small, lopsided smile.

“I didn’t say anything because…Well, I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would. And I didn’t want to make it weird. Or embarrass you.” You shifted your weight, eyes flicking down for a second. “And now here you are,” You added softly, “In the middle of a wedding party I’m literally a bridesmaid for.” You gestured loosely around the groomsmen suite, as if this was the final piece of evidence in your long, slow build toward acceptance. “So…Yeah.”

Bob stared at you with such nervousness that it looked like he was going to burst, like he didn’t know what reality was going to hit you.

“Y-You’re…N-Not freaked out?”

You shook your head, slow and sure.

“Not really. I mean…” You looked him over, tie still undone, collar askew, ears pink with panic. “You’re still you, are you not?” Bob’s chest rose and fell like he was bracing for a hit that hadn’t landed yet.

“Y-Yeah,” He said finally, voice tight, shaky. “O-Of course I am. I’m still me. B-But…” His fingers fumbled against the loose fabric of his tie, like he couldn’t figure out where to look. “B-But I lied.”

Your head tilted just slightly.

Then–without missing a beat–you rolled your eyes.

“Bob,” you said, exasperated in the softest way possible. “You were delaying the truth more than anything.” Your mouth twitched into a warm half-smile. “But once again, the statement still stands. You’re still you. And I’m not mad.”

For a second, the room didn’t move.

Bob didn’t blink. His eyes were locked on yours like you’d just said something sacred. Like you’d handed him a version of himself he didn’t think anyone would ever see—and you hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t stepped back. You hadn’t run.

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

But something in his face shifted. Something deep. Like the air had finally made its way back into his lungs.

And then–your phone buzzed.

You glanced down and let out a soft, muffled laugh.

“Okay. I think that’s Leila. We’re about five minutes out from ceremony panic level four.” You looked up again and gestured loosely around the room. “Everyone good in here?”

She was asking the room. Not just Bob.

All four of them nodded.

Walker gave a mock salute. Sam lifted two fingers in a lazy peace sign. Alexei raised his glass in silence, like a Viking king offering a toast. And Bucky–smiling just faintly–gave a single, steady nod.

“Perfect,” You said, giving Bob a pointed look as you backed toward the door. “I’ll pass on the message.”

Your eyes lingered on him–just for a breath longer than they needed to.

“See you guys out there,” you added, then flicked your fingers in a soft wave. “And we’ll catch up at the reception.”

That last part was aimed at Bob. He knew it. Felt it like a tether in his chest.

You were gone a second later, vanishing down the hallway in a flutter of soft pink chiffon and grace-under-pressure poise. Bob stood motionless, still gripping the tail end of his tie, staring at the empty space you’d left behind.

The door eased shut.

A long beat passed.

Then Bucky let out the longest, most exhausted sigh known to man. “I didn’t know she was Leila’s cousin.”

There was a brief silence.

And then–chaotic, overlapping laughter.

——————————

The reception hall was a dream.

Golden light spilled from a chandelier that looked like it had been built to catch stardust–hundreds of delicate glass petals suspended in layered rings above the ballroom, glittering with every slow sway of air. The space was massive, wrapped in soft white drapery that billowed slightly with the hush of the HVAC, and warm-toned fairy lights threaded through the ceiling beams like fireflies caught mid-flight. Tables shimmered with crystal glassware and pressed linen napkins folded into neat fans, each centerpiece a floating bouquet of orchids and wild peonies suspended in water-filled vases, anchored with stones that gleamed like polished moonlight.

The dance floor stretched wide across the center of the room, polished to a mirror-finish sheen. At the far end, a live band was tuning up behind a gold-trimmed riser, their instruments already humming low with promise. Servers in black ties glided between guests with silver trays of flutes and hors d’oeuvres. The air smelled like citrus peel and champagne, like hydrangea petals and spice cake. Somewhere behind the partitioned side doors, the wedding party was being organized for the grand entrance.

And yet, Bob could only see you.

You were standing just inside the reception hall, your dress catching the low amber light in a way that made it look almost luminescent–like rosewater had been poured over candlelight and stitched into fabric. You had taken off your heels for a moment, holding them delicately by the straps in one hand as you rubbed the ball of your foot against the plush carpet. Your hair was looser now, a few strands falling into your face, and your tablet had finally been abandoned to a pile of bridesmaid clutch bags near the cake table.

When you turned and caught Bob staring, you smiled. That smile–easy, radiant, real–hit him harder than it should’ve.

He crossed the room toward you like he was moving underwater, slow and tentative, still stunned that you were here. That you knew. That you didn’t hate him.

“W-Want to grab a drink before everything starts?” He asked, nodding toward the open bar just beyond the floral archway.

You grinned, slipping your shoes back on and falling into step beside him. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The bar was draped in white chiffon and tucked behind a waist-high row of flower boxes. The bartender barely looked up as the two of you stepped forward–just gestured at the menu and asked, “What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a Sprite,” You said, glancing over at Bob.

”S-Same for me p-please.” You gave him a sideways glance, your lips curving slightly.

“Matching already. Look at us.” He flushed a little, accepting the glass the bartender handed him and taking a grateful sip before clearing his throat.

“I-I’m sorry again,” He said quietly, voice dropping beneath the swell of jazz starting to drift in from the band. “F-For not telling you about…all of this. I-I wasn’t trying to lie, I just… I was scared.”

You tilted your head toward him, your gaze soft.

“Bob…” You gave a quiet laugh, not mocking, just warm. “It’s alright. Really.”

He looked at you like he didn’t quite believe that.

You nudged his arm with your elbow. “You’re gonna make it up to me anyways.”

His brow ticked upward. “H-How?”

You sipped your Sprite, grinning as you looked out toward the polished expanse of the dance floor now being lit by rows of soft amber spotlights.

“Well…By dancing with me, of course. When Bucky and Leila have their first dance.” Bob blinked, feeling his heart fluttering in his chest like it had just heard its own name called.

“R-Really?” He asked, the question so tentative, so full of almost childish hope that it made your smile grow.

“We only did…what? Four weeks of classes?” You teased, “It would be a disgrace if we didn’t dance together.”

Bob huffed a soft laugh, cheeks blooming pink again. “Y-Yeah, I guess… It w-would.”

You turned toward him fully then, holding out your glass slightly in mock cheers.

“To not disappointing our instructors.”

Bob tapped the rim of his glass against yours. “T-To not tripping on your dress.”

You raised a brow. “You’re assuming I’m not going to step on your toes again.”

His laugh this time was real–soft and flushed, his hand brushing just barely against yours as you started walking back toward your table together. The laughter faded into a gentle hum beneath the music now blooming fuller from the far side of the room. The band had started playing something warm and dreamy–low piano chords underlaid with the sweep of a slow, golden-toned saxophone. The kind of song that didn’t just ask you to dance, it pulled you in.

At the front of the hall, Bucky was offering Leila his hand.

She took it with a radiant smile, her dress shimmering like liquid pearl beneath the lights, and the two of them stepped onto the dance floor with a quiet sort of ease that made everything else fall away. Their bodies moved instinctively toward each other–her hand settling on his shoulder, his palm resting carefully at her waist–and together, they swayed into the first few steps of the night.

The moment they did, something shifted.

The bridal party followed suit, couples pairing off without direction, like it had already been whispered into the room. The groomsmen turned toward their bridesmaid counterparts, smiles exchanged, laughter rising in gentle pockets. Shoes brushed against the floor. Champagne flutes were set down. The music held steady–soft, syrupy, rich-and the dance floor filled with motion.

Bob glanced toward you, uncertain.

You just smiled, tucking your half-empty Sprite onto the nearest table and offering your hand again, palm open and waiting.

He didn’t hesitate this time.

The moment his fingers closed around yours, something inside both of you relaxed–like you’d been holding your breath through the whole evening and only now remembered how to exhale.

You stepped onto the side of the dance floor together–out of the way of the other pairs–the sound of the band curling like silk around your shoulders.

Bob’s hands came to rest gently at your waist. His touch was light at first–tentative, like he was afraid to press too hard–but when your hands settled on his shoulders in response, steady and warm, he let out a soft breath. His fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your dress, pulling you just the tiniest bit closer. Your body moved into his like a puzzle piece slipping into place.

And suddenly, it was easy.

You were swaying. Not perfectly, not with the practiced elegance of ballroom instructors or fairy-tale waltzes, but something slower. Softer. A rhythm built just between the two of you, stitched together by trust and effort and four weeks of quietly falling for the way Bob Reynolds smiled when he forgot to be afraid of himself.

The music pulsed gently around you, and you let your eyes flick up to meet his.

“…Maybe we really didn’t have to take ballroom lessons if it was going to be like this,” you said, your voice quiet, almost teasing, but full of warmth.

Bob leaned in instinctively, the distance between you shortening by inches, his head tipping slightly toward your voice so he could catch it over the music.

The motion brought him close enough for you to smell the clean heat of his cologne–something dark and warm and faintly herbal, like pine and clove blended with skin and breath and the sharpness of new fabric. It hit you with startling intimacy.

You drew in a slow inhale, letting it wrap around your ribs.

Bob’s suit was slightly open now, the jacket unbuttoned at the front as the movement of the dance loosened him.

He looked incredible like this.

The white dress shirt hugged his frame perfectly now, smooth and fitted across his chest, the crisp fabric just beginning to wrinkle where your hands pressed into it. The shoulders of the jacket were sculpted with surprising precision, giving structure to the softer slope of his frame. You could see the tie now, knotted with quiet effort and just a touch crooked, resting against the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Every now and then, the suit shifted enough to reveal a sliver of his waist–the shirt tucked in clean, the fabric of his trousers tailored just enough to give the illusion of ease.

Your fingers flexed slightly against his shoulders, pressing into the thick weave of his jacket.

You’d expected it to feel stiff. Formal. But it was warm now–softened by movement and the heat of his skin beneath. It smelled like him, too. Like effort and starch and faint cologne. Like heat built from restraint.

Bob didn’t seem to notice you were cataloging every square inch of him.

His eyes were on you–gentle, a little shy, but impossibly blue beneath the amber lights. He looked at you like he was still trying to believe you were real.

He smiled faintly and leaned in a little more.

“I-I’m g-glad we did, though,” He murmured. “T-Take lessons, I mean.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, still swaying with him, the movement natural now.

“Y-Yeah,” He replied, “I-I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

That made your breath catch–just slightly.

He blinked, startled by his own honesty again, and you laughed under your breath, shaking your head fondly.

”You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” Bob’s palm shifted slightly at your waist, his thumb brushing a slow arc across the fabric–whether intentional or not, it sent a little ripple through you, subtle as a breath.

And then he leaned forward.

Not suddenly, not all at once. Just…Closer. Slow and tentative, like he was testing the gravity between you. His breath fanned across your cheek, warm and soft, and then–forehead to forehead—he rested against you gently.

The rest of the world blurred. The music, the clink of glasses, the soft rustle of gowns and the distant voices of guests. It all faded into static.

All that was left was the solid, careful press of him, the hush between your bodies, and his voice–quiet enough that only you could hear it.

“I-I d-don’t think it’s s-surprising,” he murmured, his words trembling like a held breath. “I-I thought it was p-pretty obvious how m-much I really a-appreciate what we h-have.”

Your lips curved into a slow, amused smile. You didn’t move at first–just let the words hang there between your bodies like fogged glass. Then, deliberately, you leaned back just an inch–enough to make him chase you ever so slightly.

It worked. He followed your movement instinctively, his hands tightening faintly where they rested on your dress. But you caught his gaze.

And held it.

His eyes–God, those eyes. Still impossibly blue. Caught between the amber haze of the chandeliers and the faint twinkle of fairy lights, they looked almost unreal. Like they were lit from within. The kind of blue that went soft at the edges, like twilight melting into riverlight–bright and vulnerable and so, so open. You could see every flicker of emotion in them.

You tilted your head, voice low and coaxing, deliberately teasing as your lashes dipped. “And what do we have, Bob?”

Your gaze flicked down to his lips—just for a second. Enough to make his breath catch. Then you looked back up, watching as his throat bobbed in a hard swallow.

He blinked rapidly, like you’d short-circuited the last five minutes of rehearsed restraint.

“I–I think…” He started, then faltered.

You watched the gears grind behind his eyes. Something about your tone–your heat, your nearness–had shorted the usual stutter filter. But he tried again, his voice raw and a little hoarse as he stumbled through it:

“I-I think…W-What we have is…” He exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as he met your gaze again. “Is the k-kind of thing that…Makes me w-want to stop d-dancing just so I c-can kiss you instead.”

That landed like a blow.

You flushed–visibly, instantly. The words weren’t smooth. They tripped out of him like they didn’t know if they were allowed to exist. But they landed, all the same. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the buzz in your fingertips where they clung to his jacket.

Your grip on his lapel tightened slightly.

“…Is that so?” You said softly, one corner of your mouth lifting in a crooked, breathless smirk.

His answering smile was smaller–but so much more earnest. Pink bloomed across his cheekbones and down his neck, but he didn’t look away this time. Didn’t hide from it.

“Y-Yeah,” He whispered, “I-It’s r-really hard n-not to.” Your smile deepened, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t tease him, or draw it out.

You just leaned in a fraction more–enough for your nose to brush the side of his, for the breath between you to go impossibly still–and murmured so quietly that only he could hear it:

“You don’t have to hold yourself back on my account…You can kiss me.”

For half a second, Bob didn’t move.

Then he did.

It was like a tide rising–slow, unstoppable, trembling with weight. His hands slid up the sides of your waist with the gentlest pressure, fingers curling into the folds of your dress like he needed something solid to hold on to. His breath hitched once, and then he kissed you.

Soft. Like a secret. Like he’d been dreaming about this moment for weeks and still didn’t believe it was real.

His lips brushed yours so delicately at first, like he was afraid to push too hard, like he was giving you every second to change your mind. But you didn’t. You leaned in fully, pressing into the kiss with a quiet sigh that sent warmth cascading through both of you.

Bob melted.

His mouth parted just slightly, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that made your knees feel weak. His hands stayed at your waist, unmoving except for the slow tremble of his thumbs against your sides. His lips were soft, warm, a little unsure at the edges–but so reverent, so grateful. Like he was kissing something holy. Like this moment was something he’d never let himself ask for but couldn’t stop himself from needing.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your palm rise to rest gently against the side of his neck. He shivered under your touch, but didn’t pull back. His hand tightened at your hip just faintly, grounding himself in the curve of you as he kissed you a little deeper–still sweet, still slow, but fuller now. Like the moment had bloomed fully open, and he was letting himself feel all of it.

When you finally pulled away, it was with a soft breath. You didn’t go far. Your foreheads brushed, and you stayed there for a moment–close enough to feel his heart hammering through the space between you.

Bob’s eyes blinked open, dazed and wide, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“…I-I wasn’t planning to do that in front of everyone,” He whispered, flushed and breathless. “But…Y-You made it really hard not to.”

You laughed–bright and warm, your nose brushing his as you tilted your head slightly and whispered back:

“Good. That was kind of the goal.”

Bob let out a low, quiet laugh of his own, forehead still pressed to yours. His hand slid up to rest lightly against your back, grounding both of you in the moment.

Around you, the reception continued–dancing, laughter, champagne flutes clinking–but none of it touched the quiet bubble the two of you had just made for yourselves.

Bob leaned in again, not quite kissing you this time, but hovering so close that his words were like heat against your cheek.

“…W-We should keep practicing,” He murmured, voice low and shy and fond, “J-Just in case we ever have to dance at…You know…Another wedding.”

Your brows lifted slightly in amused curiosity.

“Oh yeah?” you said, cocking your head. “Yours or mine?”

Bob froze.

Then–completely pink in the face–he let out a choked, breathless laugh, one hand dragging down his face in mortified delight.

“W-Way too soon,” he managed.

“Sure,” you replied, leaning into his chest with a grin, “But not never.”

He looked at you like you’d handed him the stars. And maybe you had.

Because as the music rose around you, Bob Reynolds tightened his hold on your waist–and started dancing again. Not because he was told to.

But because this time, he wanted to.

[leriexoxo]

Across The Window

Felix x Reader (enemies to lovers)

Tags: Explicit sexual content (18+), Voyeurism, Mutual masturbation elements, Semi-public indecency (curtain window stuff), Accidental penetration, Power play / light degradation (verbal), Strong language, Dom-ish Felix, Light dubcon vibes from tension but fully consensual, unprotected sex, breeding.

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: You’ve hated Lee Felix since the day he moved in across the courtyard from you—loud music, cocky smirks, and a window that just so happens to face directly into yours. The loathing has been mutual. Until one night—one very late night—you wake up to get a glass of water and find his window open for once. And Felix is in bed. Laptop open. Hand around his cock.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Felix Lee lived directly across from you.

Not down the hall. Not upstairs or next door. Across the narrow alley that separated your apartment building from his, fourth floor to fourth floor, window to window.

You didn’t know him when you moved in.

But you learned fast.

The first time you noticed him, it was because he noticed you first—a sharp glance through the glass, eyebrows raised, like your very existence was offensive. Like you were the one invading his space, even though it was your first night and you were just trying to figure out the light switches.

After that, it became a thing.

You’d catch him watching whenever your lights were on and your curtains weren’t fully shut. Not creepy watching—just… lingering. Judgy. Disapproving. And when you caught him doing it, he didn’t look away.

He smirked.

Like he wanted you to know.

You flipped him off that night. He responded by slamming his curtains closed.

From there, it escalated.

Petty window wars.

Matching scowls.

Drawn blinds. Slammed shutters.

Occasional glimpses that left you just curious enough to keep checking—only to pretend you weren’t.

You didn’t speak. You’d never actually met. But the hatred was mutual and unspoken, hanging heavy between the glass like fog.

It didn’t help that he was attractive in the worst possible way.

Blonde hair, always messy. Pierced lip. He dressed like a delinquent and moved like he knew he was hot, and god, it made you hate him more.

Felix Lee was your most consistent irritation.

Until 3:07 a.m.

When you got up to get water.

And saw something you definitely weren’t supposed to see.

You hadn’t even fully woken up when you padded barefoot into the kitchen, hoodie sliding off one shoulder and eyes still crusty from sleep. The apartment was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of your fridge light as you grabbed the glass you kept on the counter. A sip, a sigh. Your body was already turning back toward your bedroom when something… off caught your eye.

Light. Across the alley.

His light.

You froze mid-step.

Felix never kept his curtains open at night. That was one of your only mutual rules in this silent, window-fueled cold war. If one of you was home, the curtains were shut. It was petty, unspoken truce. Or maybe a game.

But tonight?

His window was glowing.

Wide open, lit up like a stage.

Your heart jumped before your eyes even found him—because part of you knew something was off. Something wrong or strange or—

Holy shit.

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

There he was.

Felix.

On his bed.

Pillows messy. Legs spread. Shirtless.

One hand splayed lazily over his chest, rising and falling with every breath. The other was wrapped around his cock, slow and steady and completely unbothered by the fact that his window was wide open and you could see everything.

The laptop beside him glowed faint blue, casting porn shadows across his wall—but your eyes weren’t on the screen.

They were on him.

His head tipped back, lips parted, hair falling into his eyes. His chest arched as his grip tightened, jaw clenching like he was chasing the edge of something deep. His thighs flexed beneath the dim light, muscles tense with the kind of effort you’d only ever imagined before.

You should’ve looked away.

You tried.

But your body didn’t listen.

Not when he looked that good.

Not when you could hear his muffled groans through the paper-thin gap in your window.

You’d seen Felix angry. You’d seen him smirking, annoyed, smug, wet from the rain, shirtless once or twice from a distance on a laundry day.

But this?

This was different.

Raw. Beautiful. Unfiltered.

And then—

As if summoned by your stare—

His eyes opened.

Right to you.

And he froze.

Your heart launched itself into your throat, panic flaring as you realized you were standing at your window, fully visible, hoodie half-falling, staring directly at him like some thirsty creep. But before you could move—

Felix’s gaze dropped.

To your lips.

Then lower.

And then… He didn’t stop.

Didn’t close the laptop.

Didn’t cover up.

Didn’t even blink.

He just kept going.

Eyes on you.

Like he wanted you to watch.

You should’ve looked away.

Any normal person would’ve.

But you weren’t normal around Felix.

He made you reckless. Stupid. Curious in ways you weren’t proud of.

And now?

He was watching you watch him.

The air felt thick between the glass, like it carried something hotter than heat, heavier than tension. Your hoodie slipped further down your shoulder, but you didn’t move to fix it. Your lips parted. Felix’s eyes tracked it—subtle, slow—and his hand never stopped moving.

If anything… it got bolder.

Longer strokes. Tighter grip. His head tilted just a little, lips curling into something dark, daring.

Like he was saying: Go ahead. Look. You want this, don’t you?

You didn’t even breathe.

You stood there, transfixed, thighs clenching as you watched the tension build in his body. Every muscle flexed. His jaw locked. And when his hips jerked and his lips parted on a soft, filthy moan—so quiet you barely heard it—you knew.

He was coming.

And you watched it happen.

Hot. Shameless. His gaze never once leaving yours.

It wasn’t until his hand finally slowed, resting limply over his stomach, that you moved.

Your fingers twitched. Your breath trembled.

And then—with the kind of delayed panic that hits after the damage is done—you grabbed your curtain and pulled it shut, heart in your throat.

This time, you didn’t stand there.

You ran to your bed, threw the blanket over your face, and cursed the way your body ached.

Because Felix had just cum for you.

And you liked it.

—

You didn’t sleep much.

Your bed had never felt smaller. Your skin had never felt hotter. And the worst part?

You couldn’t stop seeing it.

The way his chest moved when he came. The twitch of his fingers. That look on his face—half smug, half lost, all heat.

And those fucking eyes.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

So no, sleep wasn’t an option. Not when Felix Lee had jerked off with the window wide open and turned your brain to static.

By the time morning rolled around, you were feral. Restless. On edge.

And you knew exactly how to get it out.

You grabbed a thick sheet of white poster board from your closet—a leftover from your “I Hate Everyone” art phase—and a black Sharpie that bled like hell.

In huge block letters, you wrote:

“Are you INSANE or just a NARCISSIST?!”

Underlined it twice.

Taped it to your window.

And waited.

It took a few hours.

But eventually—after a few dramatic passes back and forth through your apartment—you saw it.

A fresh sheet of paper.

Handwritten. Slanted. Arrogant.

“If you have a problem, say it to my face.”

Your jaw dropped.

He did NOT just—

You stormed to the window for a closer look, just in time to see him walk into frame. Felix. Hoodie half-zipped, hair still wet from a shower, jaw tense like he was barely keeping a smile down.

He saw you reading the note.

Saw your reaction.

And smirked.

Then—without a word—he shut his curtain.

You stood there, stunned.

Heart thundering. Face hot. Hands clenched at your sides.

Your phone buzzed, but you ignored it. Your brain was already racing. That wasn’t just an invitation—that was a challenge.

And you’d never backed down from Felix Lee.

Maybe it was time to go to Building B.

It started with pacing.

One lap across your room. Then another. Then four more, fast enough that your socks started slipping on the floor.

You couldn’t let that little red sign go.

“If you have a problem, say it to my face.”

Who the hell did he think he was?

Felix Lee, the pretty little punk across the alley, with his smug smirks and his reckless ego and his dick in his hand like he owned the world. You hated him. You hated him.

And that hatred was currently pulsing between your thighs like an electric fence.

You grabbed your hoodie.

You didn’t even think about it.

Your brain was a thunderstorm of curses as you stomped down the stairwell and out of your building, hoodie flapping behind you like a battle flag. The spring air hit your face, as you crossed the narrow alley between your buildings and reached the entrance to his.

“Don’t chicken out,” you muttered to yourself.

Your legs carried you up the steps before your brain could catch up. Floor one. Floor two. Floor three. You weren’t going to yell. You weren’t going to scream. You were going to knock on his door and tell him, calmly and clearly, that he was the worst thing to ever happen to your life and you wished you’d never moved into this stupid building across from his stupid face—

You stopped in front of 4B.

Hand raised. Knuckles inches from the wood.

Your heart pounded.

Your brain screamed, what are you doing??

And then the door opened.

You hadn’t even knocked.

And there he was.

Felix.

Shirtless. Again.

Towel slung over his shoulder.

Hair still damp, curls clinging to his forehead.

His eyes raked over you once, slowly—down your body, then back up—and a lazy, dangerous smile pulled at his lips like he’d been waiting for this.

“Well,” Felix drawled, arms folding over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe, towel still hanging off one shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

Your mouth opened—then shut—because goddamn it, he was even hotter up close.

He smelled like citrus and clean sweat, fresh from a shower, his chest still glistening in places like he hadn’t bothered to dry off properly. And that towel? It barely covered the waistband of his low-slung sweatpants.

You forced your eyes back to his face. Mistake. The cocky smirk there could ignite wars.

“You think this is funny?” you snapped.

Felix tilted his head. “A little.”

“You left your window open on purpose.”

“You looked.”

You took a step forward. “You were jerking off at three in the morning with the lights on like you were filming a damn OnlyFans—what the hell did you expect me to do?!”

His smirk widened. “Close your eyes? Maybe say thank you?”

You made a strangled sound of fury, hands clenching into fists. “You’re such a narcissistic, arrogant—”

“Cute when you’re angry,” he cut in, voice lower now, rougher.

Your pulse stuttered. He stepped aside just a little—door wide enough to let you in, body still blocking half the frame.

You hesitated.

He saw it.

“What, scared?” he said, voice dipping into something darker. “Big words from the girl who couldn’t look away last night.”

Your breath hitched.

Something in you snapped.

You shoved past him into his apartment.

Felix blinked, just once, before he shut the door behind you. Soft click. Thick silence.

The room smelled like him. Looked like him—messy, lived-in, warm. His laptop sat closed on the bed, probably hiding whatever filthy tab he’d left open.

He turned to face you, arms crossed again, eyes raking down your body with zero shame.

“Alright,” he said, casually, like you hadn’t just stormed into his home ready to rip his head off. “You’re here. Say what you need to say.”

You spun on him, heartbeat banging in your ears. “You don’t get to act like this is normal.”

“Never said it was normal.”

“Then why are you—why are you smiling at me right now?”

“Because you’re standing in my apartment,” he said, taking a step closer, “in that little hoodie that barely covers your ass, cheeks red, voice shaking… and you’re fucking hot when you’re mad.”

Your lips parted. Words didn’t come.

He stepped closer again.

“You didn’t look away last night,” he said softly.

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you hated him.

But maybe you hated how right he was even more.

The air between you crackled.

Felix was close enough now that you could feel the heat rolling off his bare skin. Every inch of him radiated this lazy, infuriating arrogance—like he knew exactly how far he could push before you snapped.

And he was aiming for the edge.

“I’m just saying,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing, “you didn’t seem so bothered last night. You could’ve looked away. Closed the curtains. But you didn’t.”

You folded your arms, fingers digging into your sleeves, willing your voice to stay steady.

“That doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.”

His eyes glittered. “Didn’t say you did. But you watched.”

You scoffed. “I was shocked.”

Felix took another step closer—his body barely an arm’s length from yours now. “You were curious.”

“I was horrified.”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “Your thighs were probably clenched.”

Your breath caught.

“You’re imagining things,” you said, but your voice cracked just slightly.

He heard it.

He leaned in—not touching, not quite—close enough for his breath to ghost against your cheek.

“I think you liked it,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I think you liked seeing what you do to me. Even if you pretend to hate me.”

You could feel your pulse thudding in your throat. Your body screamed to react. Push him. Kiss him. Slap him. Something.

Instead, you straightened up. Turned your head. Met his gaze—unflinching, fire meeting fire.

And then you said it.

“You want me to watch again?”

“Fine.”

“Then show me.”

His smirk vanished like a light switch flipped.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then his lips parted, and for the first time since this little game began—Felix Lee looked stunned.

“Yeah,” you said softly, lifting your chin. “Didn’t think so.”

You turned on your heel, heading for the door with your blood screaming in your veins, adrenaline sizzling like lightning in your fingertips.

But before your hand touched the doorknob, you heard it—

The quiet sound of breath.

And then:

“Don’t move.”

The words curled in the air behind you—low, sharp, bitten off like they’d escaped his mouth before he could cage them.

You froze.

Not because he said it.

But because part of you wanted to listen.

And that pissed you off more than anything.

So you didn’t move… but you didn’t stay still out of obedience.

You stayed still because you were calling his bluff.

You placed your hand on the doorknob. Deliberately.

“You gonna show me or not?” you said, voice calm, cool, razor-blade smooth. “Or is all that cocky attitude just for the window?”

Silence.

No footsteps. No breath.

Then, the faintest rustle. Like he shifted. Like you’d just kicked the legs out from under his control.

“I mean,” you continued, twisting the knob slightly, “I could always go home. Maybe next time I’ll have popcorn ready.”

Still nothing.

And then—

“I said don’t move.”

You turned your head just slightly, still not facing him. “Then make me.”

Another heartbeat of silence.

And suddenly he was there.

You felt it before you saw it—the shift of air, the heat of his body, the way your skin prickled like the storm had finally rolled in.

He didn’t touch you. Not yet.

But his voice was right behind your ear when he said, “You really wanna play this game?”

You smiled.

“You started it.”

You turned.

Slowly.

Like you had all the time in the world, like your heartbeat wasn’t a goddamn war drum in your chest.

And there he was.

Felix, standing barely a breath away, eyes dark as sin, mouth parted like he couldn’t quite believe you were still here, still pushing, still daring him.

Your gaze dragged down his chest—tan skin, droplets of water still clinging to his collarbone. The towel over his shoulder had shifted, forgotten. The waistband of his sweatpants teased a V-line so sharp it looked like it could cut glass.

You looked up into his eyes.

“I’m waiting,” you said.

His jaw flexed.

Then a hand—his hand—lifted, slow and deliberate, settling gently on your waist. Not possessive. Not rough. But confident. Heavy with intent.

You didn’t flinch.

You held his gaze and raised your chin. Challenging him.

“What do you want to see?” he asked, voice barely a whisper now. Not cocky. Not smug. Just low. Hungry.

Your fingers gripped the edge of your hoodie, knuckles white. You could feel the heat of his hand through the fabric, feel the storm inside him rising to meet yours.

You let your lips part.

And then, softly—

Deadly.

Like a secret meant for sin.

“Everything.”

His hand rested on your waist—firm, unmoving, fingers splayed wide like he wanted to mark you.

You held his stare.

Said it again, breath softer this time. “Everything.”

And for a second, Felix didn’t move.

Then his hand slid away, slow, like he was peeling himself off you before he did something reckless.

He stepped back.

And smiled.

Not the cocky, smug kind from earlier.

This one was darker.

Tighter.

Like he’d just made a decision that would ruin you.

“Alright,” he said, voice dipped in something molten. “You want a show?”

You didn’t answer.

He tilted his head. “Then make me hard.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“If you want to see it—” he moved back toward the bed, sitting down, legs spread just enough to make your stomach flutter— “earn it. Get me hard. Then I’ll show you everything.”

You stared at him.

It was a bluff. You knew it was a bluff. He didn’t think you’d follow through—probably expected you to roll your eyes and storm off.

But that’s where he fucked up.

Because now it wasn’t about teasing. It wasn’t even about winning.

It was about breaking him.

You stepped forward slowly, watching his brows tick up in surprise. He didn’t move—just watched, waiting, lips twitching like he still thought he had the upper hand.

And then—

You dropped to your knees.

Right there, between his legs.

Without touching him.

Felix’s eyes widened. “What are you—”

“Shh,” you said, voice calm. “I’m thinking.”

He didn’t breathe.

You leaned in, slow, deliberate, so close your mouth hovered just inches above the outline in his pants—but never made contact.

Then you whispered, “Close your eyes.”

He blinked, throat bobbing. “Why?”

You smiled. “So you don’t cheat.”

For some reason, he did it.

And that’s when you leaned in even closer—lips ghosting over the waistband of his sweats. Still no touch. Just your breath. Your presence.

You whispered.

“You think I need to touch you to make you fall apart?”

His whole body twitched.

And when you pulled back just slightly to look up at him, his eyes cracked open and dropped to your face—and the noise he made?

Not a sound you’d ever forget.

Low. Raw. Desperate.

His cock was hard.

Already.

You stood up like nothing happened.

“Looks like you owe me a show,” you said, brushing imaginary dust off your hoodie.

Felix stared at you like you were made of fire and bad decisions. Like you’d just rewritten the rules of your war.

And he was fucked.

Felix didn’t speak at first.

Still seated. Still rock hard. But now—eyes blown wide, pulse ticking in his throat, jaw tight like he was hanging onto the last frayed thread of his control.

You’d gotten to him. You knew you had.

You took a step back, slow. Smug. “Looks like you’ve got something to show me, Lee.”

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs. The tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled—he looked like a wolf about to pounce.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his lips curled into something low and sharp. “Sit down.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You earned a show, right?” His gaze flicked to the chair by his desk. “Then sit. You want to watch, you watch properly.”

Your throat went dry.

But you moved, slow, and dropped into the chair—legs crossed, arms folded like you weren’t falling apart inside.

He stood.

And when he tugged the towel off his shoulder and let it fall, there was a second—just one—where you swore he was nervous.

But it passed.

His fingers slid under the waistband of his sweats, slow, taunting, and he dragged them low enough for you to see the start of the promise underneath—

Then you moved.

Not to stop him. Not even to leave.

Just slightly. Shifting in your seat.

But Felix’s eyes snapped to the motion, and something changed.

The tease dropped.

The room crackled.

And in the next second, he was in front of you.

His hands gripped the armrests of your chair, boxing you in, and his face was so close you could see the way his pupils swallowed his irises whole.

“You think you can pull that stunt,” he growled, voice low and tight, “and walk away like nothing happened?”

You opened your mouth. You weren’t trying to leave though.

But you didn’t get a chance to speak.

Because he leaned in, nose brushing yours, lips barely touching.

“I don’t strip for free, sweetheart,” he whispered, and then—

He grabbed you.

In one sharp, fluid movement, he lifted you out of the chair and tossed you onto his bed. Not rough—but fast enough that your breath left in a sharp little gasp.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, half-shocked, half-high.

Felix stood at the edge of the bed, panting, sweatpants dangerously low now.

“You want everything?” he asked.

And you—voice barely there, already trembling—said:

“Yes.”

The air felt thicker on his bed.

Heavy with sweat, tension, and the taste of something forbidden brewing between your thighs.

You sat up slightly, breath shallow, heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Felix hadn’t touched you again—not yet—but the heat of him standing at the edge of the bed was a presence all its own.

His eyes locked on yours.

Then he lowered his sweats.

And fuck.

He was already so hard. Thick, flushed, the kind of cock that made your mouth go dry and your mind short-circuit. Your thighs clenched without permission.

Felix let out a breathless laugh. “You look surprised,” he said, wrapping a hand around himself. “You did this.”

You swallowed.

He started slow. Long strokes, fingers curling just enough, the tip wet and leaking as he dragged his hand up and down. He kept his eyes on you the whole time.

“You wanted a show?” he murmured. “Then watch.”

And you did.

Because how could you not?

He stood there—shoulders flexing, hips rolling with each stroke like he was fucking his own fist, his abs tightening every time his hand reached the base. The sounds—soft wet slicks, the hitched breath in his throat, the whispered curse when his thumb brushed the tip—it was too much.

Your hand gripped the sheets.

Your chest rose and fell, and when you bit your lip to keep a sound in, he saw it.

His jaw twitched.

“You like that?” he asked, voice hoarse. “You like watching me stroke my cock thinking about how good your mouth would feel on it?”

You whimpered.

He groaned—louder this time. “Fuck. Say something.”

You couldn’t.

You were frozen. Staring. Melting.

And that’s when it snapped.

He lunged.

One second, you were sitting up, the next, he was crawling onto the bed, towering over you, cock still in his hand as he shoved his knee between your legs and hovered over your body.

His lips ghosted your jaw, hot and trembling. “You wanna touch?”

Your voice cracked. “Y-Yes.”

“Then do it.”

You reached between you.

And when your hand wrapped around his cock—hot, heavy, real—Felix hissed through his teeth like the contact shattered him.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed.

You started stroking. Not shy. Not hesitant. You gave it back to him just like you watched—slow, firm, precise.

He dropped his forehead to yours, lips barely grazing. “Just like that, baby.”

Then he grabbed your hand—keeping it there—and rolled his hips into your fist.

The moan he let out?

Filthy.

He pulled back, looked down at you, face flushed, chest heaving.

“You wanna see everything?” he asked.

You nodded, mouth parted, dizzy with want.

Felix smirked.

“Then don’t stop.”

Your hand stroked him slow and steady.

Confident now. Addicted to the way his breath caught in his throat, the way his thighs tensed under your touch. He was trembling—Felix, trembling—with his head tipped back, mouth parted, eyes squeezed shut like he couldn’t fucking believe how good it felt.

“You’re gonna come like this?” you asked, voice low, taunting. “Just from my hand?”

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips twitching into your grip. “You’re such a—”

He didn’t finish.

Couldn’t.

You gave him a twist on the downstroke, thumb teasing the head just right, and that was it—his whole body jerked like he’d been shocked.

“Fucking hell–”

He looked down at you, wrecked and wild, and that was the moment he snapped.

He yanked your wrist away and tossed your hand to the side, eyes blazing.

“No,” he growled.

And before you could breathe, he flipped you.

Fast. One hand on your hip, the other braced beside your head, and suddenly your back hit the mattress and his body was everywhere.

He was on you.

Over you.

Breathing hard, flushed and leaking and furious.

“You think you get to do that,” he muttered, grinding down against your thigh, dragging his cock along the soft skin there, teasing you with it now, “drive me insane—then sit there all proud and fucking smug?”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Was I smug?”

His hand slid under your top, up your ribs, finding the curve of your breast and squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

“Smug as fuck.”

You smirked—couldn’t help it.

But it vanished when he leaned in, nose brushing your cheek, lips grazing your ear.

“You wanna make me come?” he whispered, grinding harder, slower, “Then lie there and let me fuck your thighs until I do.”

You gasped.

And Felix? Felix smiled.

Dark. Dangerous.

“My turn.”

“Felix—wait—”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Weak. Breathless. A protest in theory only, because you didn’t actually stop him when his fingers hooked into your waistband and dragged your shorts down—slow, torturous.

He paused, just for a second, eyes dark and unreadable as they flicked down between your thighs.

And then he saw.

Your soaked thong.

A dark patch clinging to your center.

His breath hitched.

“You’re already wet?” he asked, like he wasn’t expecting it—like it genuinely short-circuited something in his brain.

You swallowed. “You’re the one who started—”

“Don’t care.”

He yanked the shorts off completely, tossed them aside, and pushed you down again with a hand firm on your thigh. Then he settled between your legs, rough palms gripping just above your knees and spreading you.

Your breath caught.

And when he lined himself up—not with your entrance, but with the plush, slick space between your thighs—you whimpered.

“Wanna feel it,” he muttered. “Wanna feel you like this first.”

And then he pushed in.

Slow. Deliberate. Letting his cock slide between your thighs, trapped tight with your soaked panties still clinging to your cunt. His cockhead brushed the slick heat of your folds, dragging over your clit just enough to make your back arch.

You weren’t supposed to get off like this.

But the friction—his grip, his deep voice, the sheer heat of it all—your body betrayed you.

“Felix—fuck—” your hands gripped his arms, trying to ground yourself as the pleasure built, relentless and filthy.

“You like this?” he asked, thrusting harder, faster, his cock slick now from you. “Fucking hell—you’re dripping—”

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

You came. Without warning.

Legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry, thighs squeezing tight around him as your cum slicked the space between you. Felix cursed—loud, desperate—his rhythm breaking.

And then it happened.

He slid forward.

Too fast. Too deep.

And right into you. Slipped right into your cunt.

He stilled.

You both froze.

The sound that left him—low, raw, like a fucking growl—was followed by a whisper of your name, choked and sinful.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to—”

But neither of you moved.

Because he was inside you now. Bare. Thick. Hot.

Your pussy clenched around him involuntarily.

His jaw clenched.

“I’ll pull out,” he managed, voice shaking. “Just—”

“Don’t.”

Your voice was wrecked.

Ruined.

Fucked.

His eyes snapped to yours.

You reached up, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled him closer.

“I don’t want you to.”

And with that, he started fucking you.

Desperate, slick, buried to the hilt and already seconds from breaking. The sound of skin slapping skin, the way you whimpered every time his hips snapped forward, how wet it was from your orgasm—

He didn’t last long.

With a guttural moan and a full-body shudder, Felix came inside you, deep, heavy, his cock twitching as he spilled everything into you, no barriers, no filter.

When he finally collapsed beside you, panting, flushed, and fucked-out, neither of you spoke.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Just the sound of your breaths, and the weight of everything you just became.

For a full minute, neither of you moved.

The room was drenched in silence. Sticky, humid, fucked-out silence. You were both staring at the ceiling like you’d just been struck by lightning. Not touching. Not speaking. Just… processing.

Felix’s chest rose and fell beside you, still rapid.

Your pulse was in your throat.

Your thighs were wet. Your panties were ruined. You could still feel him—his cum, the ghost of that final, frantic thrust. It should’ve been horrifying. You weren’t even sure what the hell you were now.

Then he breathed.

“…Sooo.”

You blinked.

He turned his head, slowly, and smirked like he just won a championship game.

“Still mad at me?”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You came in me.”

“Correction.” He propped himself up on one elbow, totally shameless. “Slipped inside of you.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“Because you made it that wet,” he added, gesturing vaguely to your thighs like he was proving a point.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, smile smug. “If anyone’s fault it was, it’s yours.”

You grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.

He took the hit, laughing through it, already reaching to pull you back.

Felix’s laughter slowly died, and for a moment, there was nothing but the soft hum of the room settling, the air thick with the aftermath. He was lying back, eyes half-lidded, his chest still rising and falling quickly, but there was something different in the way he looked at you now. Like the animosity that usually swirled between you both had… loosened a little.

You rolled onto your side, your eyes narrowing as you stared at him. “So,” you said, teasing but with that edge of sarcasm you couldn’t shake, “I guess we’re like enemies with benefits now?”

Felix smirked, a lazy, smug expression creeping onto his face as he met your gaze. “Seems like it, yeah.”

You let out a slow, contemplative breath, staring at him with that familiar mix of annoyance and… something else you couldn’t quite define. “You’re still really annoying,” you muttered, but your voice wasn’t as harsh as it would’ve been before. Something about the situation had shifted.

Felix’s grin widened, and without missing a beat, he leaned closer to you. His breath was warm on your skin as he whispered, “Same to you.”

But there was no sting in the words. Instead, there was a softness to his tone, a kind of understanding you hadn’t expected.

And before you could stop yourself, you spoke again, the words slipping out with no filter. “You’re a really good lay, though.”

Felix chuckled under his breath, leaning in just enough for his lips to hover over yours, his smirk never leaving. “I know,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

For a second, neither of you moved, the tension lingering like an electric charge in the air between you.

And then, you did it.

You pulled him in, just enough to make his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding. It was different from the last time—messier, more heated. The kiss was filled with a strange mix of passion and frustration, the kind of frustration that came from a desire you didn’t want to admit was there.

Felix groaned low against your mouth, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him kiss you deeper, the taste of him filling your senses, your body responding before you could even catch your breath.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, he gave you that smug, knowing look again. “Still mad at me?”

You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smirk tugging at your mouth. “Oh, I’m definitely still mad at you.”

Felix raised an eyebrow, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

You sighed dramatically, trying to hold onto some semblance of your old annoyance. But deep down, something had shifted. You weren’t even sure what it was anymore. “I swear, Felix,” you muttered, half irritated, half… something else entirely. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Felix’s laugh was soft but self-assured. “Doesn’t mean we’re enemies either.”

You huffed, turning over to face the other direction, your back to him, but there was a warmth in your chest that you couldn’t ignore.

Felix’s voice broke through the silence once again, teasing, but this time there was a softness to it. “So, what’s next? You gonna keep staring at me from across the windows, or we got more sessions planned?”

You rolled your eyes again, but the playful smile on your lips gave you away. “Maybe,” you said, leaning back slightly so you could look at him over your shoulder. “But don’t think you’re winning me over anytime soon.”

Felix raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Sure,” he said, like he was more than happy to play this game. “You just wait until the next time I slip in again.”

And just like that, everything felt… right. Or, at least, it made sense.

Enemies with benefits.

Maybe it didn’t have to be more complicated than that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Felix has really been wrecking me lately so here’s the nastiness my horny brain conjured up 😍 youre welcome!

Also guys I’d really appreciate it if you left more notes on my fics for encouragement, i love writing and i love it when people enjoy it so please leave a like for me and REBLOGG

[rorynni]

I love Akito and Toya’s difference in attitude to their partner’s phobia because it’s so funny.

Like Toya let Akito hide behind him when a dog starting running up to them. As soon as he clocked that Akito was scared of dogs he put himself between Akito and the dog and tried to draw the dog’s attention to himself and away from Akito.

Meanwhile Akito is sitting there on the plane with his window shutter wide open just enjoying the view because Toya’s fear of heights is NOT his problem and if he’s scared then he should just not look lmao.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader x Sirius Black

Series Summary: You've been best friends with the Marauders since your first year, and you've loved James just as long, however when James begins dating his long-time crush, Lily Evans, suddenly your entire world crumbles. And as usual, Sirius's timing is horrible.

Warnings: everyone is 17/18, their in their seventh year, friends to lovers, love triangle, unrequited love, misunderstanding trope, dubious consent kissing (kinda?), James is oblivious, James x Lily, Snape is a weirdo, reader is going through the motions in this chapter and acts like a normal teenager girl lol

1 / 2 / 3 / 4

September

There's something bittersweet about the way autumn looks in the evenings. The humid air smells like a mixture of vanilla and cinnamon and it reminds you of him. Too many things remind you of him lately: like books that smell like worn out parchment, or the sound of the branches snapping on window shutters in a warm, welcoming, childhood bedroom—

This summer was the first summer you had spent away from them. It hadn't been the same and no matter how much you could pretend you haven't, you have missed all of them terribly.

This meant that the very moment Sirius Black's arms crushed you in a hug, you burst into laughter and squeezed your arms around him. You grin, your smile hurting your cheeks as the sounds of chatter from the train platform melts into the background.

"Hi, Pads," you say and Sirius mirrors your grin as he pulls away, still holding your waist.

You've heard rumors of Sirius Black's infamous charm, almost all the girls in your year say so, but being his best friend you had never experienced it yourself—Sirius had been too busy throwing mud in your hair for you to care about his looks. 

However, watching him now, at seventeen and taller; his normally pale skin slightly tanned from the summer sun at Potter's vacation home in Cornwall, with his dark hair falling around his shoulders in faint waves, you suddenly see what the student body could have meant and it sends heat through your cheeks. 

You feel someone else's presence behind you and you turn around. Remus Lupin is holding both his trunk and Peter Pettigrew's as the latter ties his shoes clumsily. Remus has also changed over the summer, he almost towers over you now, but your eyebrows furrow when you see some new scars across his cheeks. He's never told you why he has them and the others have warned you not to ask. Still, they worry you.

Instead of mentioning them, you point to his ankles and whisper, "Remy, you've outgrown your pants. Do you need new ones? I can ask—" 

Remus helps Peter up and chuckles. He ignores the comment and smiles, nudging Peter over. "We missed you," Peter says, interrupting your worry as he hugs you with a wide smile. Unlike Sirius and Remus, he hasn't changed much and you're happy for the familiarity. One summer couldn't have changed that much. You hug him, pulling Remus in by his sleeve to have him join, still smiling. 

"I missed you both more." 

The train honks and you all wince, laughing as you cover your ears. You look around and just as you open your mouth to ask, you're snatched from Remus and Peter. The scents of vanilla, cinnamon, and oak fill your nostrils as a warm cheek skims yours, muscular arms circling around you. 

James Potter presses feathery light kisses on your cheek and then tousles your hair in a way that has always driven you crazy. "Merlin I missed you, bug," he exclaims, his voice so quiet only you were supposed to hear him. Once he finally releases you from his clutches, you look at him, and he smiles. It's not James's usual smile. It's your smile, the one he has reserved only for you. 

You duck under his arms quickly and escape his hand, groaning as you comb your fingers through the mess he's made of your hair. You send him an annoyed, and reluctantly amused, look as Sirius, Remus, and Peter laugh in the background. 

James's smile turns into his boyish smirk as he laughs. You look at him closely, your eyes squinting as you take him in. His hair looks slightly longer and he looks much more in shape than when you'd last seen him. Perhaps things can drastically change over the summer.  

"What have you been doing over the summer?" you ask, your gaze locked on his arms. He's holding his robe over his shoulder casually, which is causing his forearm to flex and Merlin's name it looks practically sinful—

James bursts out laughing. Your cheeks now burn hotter and it only becomes worse when Sirius puts his hand on your shoulder, "You like 'em? Prongs worked hard for those babies over the summer," he remarks and wiggles his brows in James's direction as his best friend obnoxiously flexes. He looks ridiculous.  

"Oh, fuck you," you say and push Sirius's arm off you. You look at James again and shake your head, biting your cheek. You don't want to encourage him but he does look good. So good your mind wanders.

Suddenly, James's attention moves from you as he calls out a name, one name, one normal, unoriginal, name but the moment the name leaves his mouth, you feel ill and you hold your breath. "Lily!" 

Lily Evans, beautiful and kind Lily Evans. You don't hate her. How could you hate someone so sweet? And still, whenever you hear Lily's name something inside you crumbles into dust and you don't know why. It's like your chest suddenly becomes too small for your heart. Slowly, you turn as James drops everything and pushes by you and some other students simply walking by to meet the red-head. 

"Lily-Flower," he exclaims dramatically, swooping in low and wrapping his arms around the smaller girl's waist, hoisting her up into his arms. You half-assume James will lean in to kiss her— he's always looked like he wants to kiss her, Lily has just never given him permission. 

However, this time their lips connect and the air in your lungs feels like it's been jerked from your chest. Remus moves closer to you, his hand skimming your arm to steady you. You look up at him, your eyes wide. You don't even need to ask. 

"It happened this Summer. Prongs won her over." Remus explains in a whisper, "It all happened so quickly he must not have had time to send you an owl."

Remus making up excuses for James isn't new. He'd tell them in class, during dinner, in the courtyard, during Quidditch matches, anywhere, but he'd never told them to you. James has never been dishonest with you, or hidden something from you. Not you. Up until now, when it must have slipped his mind to tell his best friend something as important as a new girlfriend.

"Oh," is all you can say. 

"James! Not here! Your friends—" Lily squeaks with embarrassment, pulling away and hiding in James's chest like a love-sick school girl. Lily seems to be more relaxed and easily embarrassed. It's weird. 

"No one minds, right, guys?" James asks, looking over at you all. Sirius shrugs, clearly unimpressed and Remus and Peter shake their heads. James's eyes meet yours, looking at you expectantly and you feel cornered. All you can do is strain a reassuring smile with your stomach sinks.  

James returns his attention to Lily, fussing over her as she blushes and clearly enjoys the attention. Your other friends must sense the mood shift because Remus loops his arm in yours, Peter coming to your opposite side, and Sirius isn't far behind as he mutters a spell and your trunks, having them float behind you all. "C'mon, I'm starving," Remus jokes, lightening the mood. 

"I hope they have pudding," Peter thinks aloud, causing a snort from Sirius behind you. 

"They always do, Wormtail," he teases, his tone light, "you just eat it all up for everyone else—" 

"Oi, you shut up, you're already a pain in my arse," Remus snaps at Sirius, who barks another laugh, and for a while, the pain in your stomach from seeing James with Lily becomes a distant memory. 

* * *

Dinner passes fast and you didn't eat with them. You usually don't. You're not a Gryffindor and you have your own friends, friends that you also haven't seen all summer. Jane Hughes, one of your roommates, keeps pestering you about James—to which you only brush her off. There is nothing to say, especially since he's dating Lily.

Your mind wanders as you walk to your Common Room. You don't even hear someone approach behind you until it's too late. "Ow," you suddenly hiss as someone yanks your hair from behind. 

Your cheeks burn with anger as you turn and see—Severus Snape. He's smiling, which leaves your palms sweaty and makes your stomach twist. Perhaps it's the way he hates you, or the strange thing that's always existed between him and Lily Evans, or perhaps it's how even breathing next to him sends James into a fit.

"Snape," you say, soothing your scalp as you move away from him a little. 

"Y/l/n," the boy drones back. You frown. He looks even angrier this year. 

"What is your problem? You can't just pull someone's hair. What are you, a first year? It's childish," you snap, crossing your arms.

Severus looks unamused by the scolding. "You talk too damn much. I have a proposition. I want to date you," he says like he's rehearsed it a thousand times in the mirror. You feel ill.

Your eyes round in shock. You move back again until your shoulders hit the wall. "Excuse me? You want to what?"

"Date you," he repeats, his voice still emotionless. It's becoming awkward. He steps closer and panic rises in your chest. Damn it, you should have just walked back with the others. 

"No."

"No?"

"Yes. No. I don't want to go out with you, Severus."

"Potter would be furious," he says it casually but his gaze flicks over you like you're something to be won. You frown. You don't understand what that has to do with anything. "Don't you want him to be furious? Dating you would make him crazy, Y/l/n, he thinks your his—"

His words are cruel, and it's pathetic. Your gaze hardens as you stand your ground. You're not some pawn he can use to mess with James. "I said no."

"You heard the lady," a voice says behind you—and then James is there, grabbing Severus by the collar. "Why don't you mind your business, Snivellus?" he asks, his tone harsh, as he brushes imaginary dust off Snape's collar as he grins. "You're clearly not wanted here. What a surprise."

Severus shakes his head but his fists are clenched. For a second, you think he'll swing.

He never does. Instead, he shoves James away and the latter lets him. James crosses his arms as Severus mutters a curse behind his breath, "Consider my offer, Y/l/n," is all he says as he turns away.

You watch him slink away, your expression disgusted. You relax once he's gone.

"Bloody creep," James mutters. He turns to you, also relaxed. "You okay?"

You nod, smiling a little. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in the Common Room already? I saw you and the boys leave the Great Hall hours ago."

"I was concerned, and as Head Boy it's my duty to investigate any concerns I have," he says with a nonchalant shrug. "I suppose I have a sixth sense when it comes to you." He smiles.

"We're not in the same house, you knob. And maybe you're just a stalker and I should be worried."

James only laughs, he's unfazed by your words, and simply holds out his arm. "Can I walk you, m'lady?" You smile and take his arm, happy for normalcy. 

The walk toward the Ravenclaw common room is silent in the beginning. You want to ask so many questions about Lily, but you don't want to sound jealous. Still, James is your best friend. He is your best friend no matter what and you shouldn't walk on eggshells around him because of his girlfriend. Knowing Lily, she wouldn't want that anyways. 

"So, you and Lily, huh?"

His eyes light up. Your stomach sinks.

"It happened this summer. She came over when you couldn't, I invited her," James pauses, sounding a little sheepish but he continues, his tone becoming lighter as he tells you, "and well, she kissed me one evening. Just happened."

"She kissed you?" You look genuinely surprised.

"I know! I mean, I never thought the day would come." James is beaming and you should be happy, but you aren't. "Who would've imagined she would make the first move? I mean, technically I made all the moves, but—"

You tune him out.

Left, right, left, right.

You focus on the rhythm of your steps instead of the ache creeping up your chest.

"You okay, bug?" James's voice pulls you from your thoughts and you realize you've made it to the Ravenclaw Common Room. James is looking at you with those puppy dog eyes and you strain a smile. 

"Yeah, I'm really happy for you, Jamie."

The smile hurts.

James smiles back, leaning in and kissing your cheek lightly. Like he always does. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Oh. Okay. Sure." 

James pretends not to notice your fake smile or that you had completely tuned out his rambling. Pretends, because deep down, he knows. He knows what it really is and he won't allow himself to admit it. "Goodnight," he says simply.

* * *

October

"You look awful," Sirius says, eyeing the half-hidden state of your face as you groan against your desk. It's been weeks of no sleep and endless exposure to James's lovesick nonsense. The start of this year has been absolutely  horrible. You turn away from Sirius, who is supposed to be your Potions partner but you haven't been listening. Hair shields the dark circles beneath your eyes.

"I'll hex you, you arse," you mutter.

Sirius ignores you and turns you towards him. When he sees your eyes, how blood-shot they are, he panics. "Bloody hell, did someone—"

You snap up, your head pounding. It isn't Sirius's fault but he's there and you've had enough. "Don't touch me,” you snap, yanking away.

Sirius blinks, confused by your explosion. You stand and shove your books into your book-bag. The entire class has grown silent but you're much too upset to stop now. Your emotions are everywhere. "Can't you shut up for one bloody second? Ever?!" you snap, the words hurtful, and storm out.

Sirius doesn't let it go. He follows you out into the hallway, his voice sharp behind you, "Y/n?!"

You spin around and find him standing close. He's so close your noses almost touch and his cheeks are flushed. His grey eyes are sharp as he grips your shoulders and pushes you against the wall. You gasp. "How dare you speak to me like that?"

You laugh bitterly. "Oh Merlin, Sirius. Grow up."

You try moving away from him but his grip holds you firm. You're so overwhelmed now that your eyes squeeze shut, hiding the tears that threaten to spill.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks.

You open your eyes. He looks different now. He looks genuinely upset that you look so hurt and sad. Sirius's hand touches your cheek and suddenly the world stops. His hand is warm against your skin and your heart skips and you don't know why. Suddenly, you can't look away. Sirius looks at your lips and you look at his.

And then he kisses you.

His lips move with certainty, brushing against yours as his hand tightens around your cheek. This shouldn't make you feel better but somehow it does. You kiss him back and your body leans in without permission. You hear a sound behind you and instantly, you snap your head away and look behind Sirius. No one is there. Thankfully. 

Sirius tilts your chin towards him, smiling a little. You laugh, but it's shaky. You laugh until you almost cry. "What was that?" you ask, your voice small. 

Sirius shrugs. "I wanted to kiss you."

Your stomach flips. "This can't happen again, Sirius," you croak, your throat dry.

His smile fades and he drops his hand from your face. He moves away a little. "Why not? I fancy you, Y/n."

Your breath catches. What? Since when? You feel sick. How did this happen? How could you have allowed this to happen? This year is already a mess and now you've kissed one of your best friends while being madly in love with another?

No.   

"Un-fancy me, then."

"I don't think that is how feelings work."

You stare at him. Sirius has never liked girls like you, Merlin's beard you've never even heard him mention a crush! You shake your head. "I'm sorry I let you kiss me. I shouldn't have. But, Sirius, you and I, it's never gonna happen."

Sirius looks gutted.

'I'm so sorry," you whisper, only feeling more horrible than you had been.

Sirius exhales. "It's alright. I get it." He looks into your eyes, his knuckles skim your cheek, smiling a little. "And just so you know, this doesn't change how I feel, hm? And if you ever change your mind, I'll still be here. Waiting," he says and pauses. "This doesn't have to change anything," he whispers.

You don't want him to wait for you, it's unfair. But knowing Sirius, nothing will change his mind right now. You exhale. You really want to believe him that nothing will change. You do. But he’s wrong. Things have already changed. You feel like you're swimming in muddy, uncertain water, and you're not sure how much longer you can stay afloat.

"Yeah," you whisper, your voice shaky. "Okay."

To be continued…. NEXT PART

[imfromsixam]

Addons for The Sims 4 For Rent

Here's another list of add-ons Windenbro has put out, and I couldn't say no. Honestly, I like doing this kind of thing to get out of my routine, and I learn new things about CC that way.

Hope you like this!

List of items, almost everything requieres For Rent EP:

Window with closed shutter tall (3 sizes)

Wall-Mounted mailbox "Industrial Cluster Mailbox"

Wall-Mounted mailbox "Rural Cluster Mailbox"

Wall-Mounted mailbox "Lonely Cluster Mailbox"

Smaller Wall-Mounted AC

StrangerVille Old Industrial AC Debug

StrangerVille Decorative AC (Requieres StrangerVille GP)

White Lily Vanity Table (now with mirror functionality)

Tranquil Bathroom Cabinet (now with mirror functionality)

From window to arch "Stained Glass Tomarani Shutters - Open Wide" (2 sizes)

Separated clutter - Plant (BGC)

Separated clutter - Plates (BGC)

FREE DOWNLOAD HERE

[jkwrites-m]

Photo Strips

Part 1 - Mall Rats

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: In a quiet summer mall, Jungkook and Y/N share playful touches, laughter, and capture their growing closeness in a nostalgic photo booth.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, kissing, cursing, fingering, public sex (there’s a curtain?😭), unprotected sex, riding

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ next

═══════

The mall wasn’t empty, not exactly- but it might as well have been. Just a scattering of people meandered through the vast, echoing halls, their conversations low, their footsteps softened by distance.

A couple of moms pushed strollers past shuttered shops. Somewhere behind us, a teenage boy kicked at a vending machine. But here in this wide corridor near the fountain, it felt like we had the world to ourselves.

It was a sweltering summer day, and the blast of cold air inside the mall had felt like walking into heaven. My shirt still clung faintly to my back from the heat outside, but my skin had started to cool, goosebumps rising under the faint hum of the AC.

Jungkook walked beside me, close enough that our hands kept brushing. Every accidental graze made my nerves tingle.

He turned his head slightly, his dark hair falling just above his brows, and leaned closer. “You’re so cute when you blush,” he whispered.

His breath tickled the curve of my ear, and the heat that had just begun to leave my body surged right back to my cheeks. I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress the ridiculous smile that threatened to take over my face.

“You say things like that on purpose,” I muttered, looking straight ahead to avoid his smirk.

“Obviously,” he said, not even pretending to deny it.

His hand found its way around my waist. He didn’t pull me in immediately, he just let it rest there, like he was asking for permission with a gesture. I let myself lean into him. I could feel the warmth of his palm through the thin cotton of my shirt.

Even here, surrounded by the soft noise of strangers and the dim, flickering lights of stores half-alive with summer clearance signs, he made everything feel louder, more vivid.

“Let me guess,” I said, glancing at a dusty rack of phone cases in the window of a kiosk. “You used to flirt with girls every summer like this, didn’t you?”

He gasped with mock offense. “What kind of reputation do I have in your head?”

“An accurate one.”

He laughed, his voice low and rich, and tugged me closer by the waist. “For the record, no. I never used to come here. Not like this.”

“Like what?”

He tilted his head, playful. “With you.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips betrayed me with a grin. Jungkook had this way of pulling reactions out of me, like he already knew the punchline before I even heard the joke. Everything felt effortless with him but also intense, charged, like the air just before a storm.

“Do you ever wonder,” he said, “if places like this are going to disappear someday?”

I looked around. The mall was showing its age. Chipped tiles, flickering signage, a music store with cardboard cutouts from bands that hadn’t been relevant in years. A little girl squealed somewhere in the distance. An elderly couple passed us, holding hands.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

“Places like this… they feel stuck in time,” he said. “Like they’re waiting for the world to catch up.”

“Or for people to come back.”

He nodded, then reached over to a rack of oversized sunglasses outside a kiosk and held a ridiculous pink pair up to his face. “What do you think? Fashion icon?”

I nearly doubled over laughing. “You look like a flamingo.”

“A hot flamingo,” he corrected, trying to pose, then pretending to pout when I shook my head. He dropped the glasses back onto the rack and looked at me, still smiling. “You make today better.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You just… do.”

That caught me off guard. He wasn’t teasing this time. His voice was softer, the edges of his grin rounded into something almost shy.

For a second, I didn’t know what to say.

So instead, I reached for his hand.

We walked past the food court- still open, but only a handful of tables occupied. The scent of cinnamon rolls and fried rice drifted through the air. A group of teenagers sat at a corner table, laughing over milkshakes. One of them glanced our way. Jungkook pulled me a little closer.

“Where to next?” I asked.

“Wherever you want.”

We walked past storefronts- one selling nothing but plushies and pop culture merch, another advertising a “Going Out of Business!” sale with giant neon signs that looked like they’d been up for months.

I paused outside a music store. There was a record spinning in the window, no sound coming from it, just turning slowly like time hadn’t noticed the world outside.

“Do you think we’ll look back at today and remember it clearly?” I asked him suddenly.

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I think I’ll remember how your hand felt in mine.”

I didn’t say anything. I just squeezed his fingers tighter.

We passed a kid crying because his balloon had floated up to the ceiling. His dad tried to console him while also silently cursing gravity. I glanced over at Jungkook. He was already watching the scene with a fond smile.

“You’re staring,” I whispered.

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About?”

“You.”

“Again?”

“Always.”

God, he was too good at this.

I stopped in my tracks suddenly, making him pause and look back at me with a question in his eyes.

There it was.

Tucked beside the old arcade- a dusty, beat-up photo booth. The kind that still had a tattered curtain and a small bench. The outside was plastered with outdated samples of goofy couples making faces. Some were sun-faded. One had a dog in a hat.

“Jungkook, look! We have to do this. It’ll be fun.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “A photo booth? Really? You’re twenty years old, not twelve.”

“Come on, please?” I pouted, batting my eyelashes. “It’ll be a memory. Something to look back on.”

He sighed dramatically, but I could see the amusement in his eyes. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

I fed the machine a few crumpled bills, and the screen lit up, counting down to the first shot. Jungkook stepped in and placed me on his lap, his arm wrapping tightly around my waist.

The first photo captured us smiling, his cheek pressed against mine, his hand resting just above my hip. It was sweet, innocent but Jungkook wasn’t one for innocence.

As the camera flashed again, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and rough.

His hand slid down, his fingers grazing my thighs, sending a shiver down my spine. I bit my lip, trying to keep my composure, but the next flash caught me with my eyes closed, a soft moan escaping my lips.

The booth was small, the space between us nonexistent. Jungkook’s body pressed against mine, his scent filling my senses. His fingers moved lower, slipping beneath the hem of my skirt. I gasped, my hands clutching at his shirt.

“Jungkook, someone could walk by,” I whispered, though my voice trembled with desire.

“Let them,” he growled, his lips finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder.

His kisses were hungry, his teeth grazing my skin as he pushed the lace aside, slipping his fingers inside me. I was already wet, my body responding to his touch like it always did. The camera flashed again, capturing my head thrown back, my eyes closed in pleasure.

“Ride me,” he commanded, his voice hoarse. “I want pictures of this.”

My heart pounded in my chest, the thrill of the situation overwhelming. I hesitated for a moment, glancing at the curtain of the booth, but Jungkook’s eyes were dark with desire, and I couldn’t resist.

I stood up, moving to straddle his lap. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me as I lowered myself onto him. The camera flashed again, and I felt him thrust upward, filling me completely.

The booth felt even smaller now, the walls closing in as our bodies moved in sync. Jungkook’s fingers dug into my hips, his breath hot against my neck.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice vibrating through me. I moved with him, the rhythm slow and deliberate, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through my body.

The camera continued to flash, capturing every moment. My hair falling over his shoulders, his hands gripping my hips, the way our bodies moved together. I could feel him swelling inside me, his breaths coming in short gasps.

“I’m close,” he warned, his voice tight.

“Me too,” I whispered, my voice shaky.

He thrust harder, his fingers tightening on my hips. “Cum with me, baby,” he urged, his lips brushing against my shoulder.

I cried out, my body trembling as my orgasm washed over me. Jungkook followed, his grip on me fierce as he filled me, his moans echoing in the small space.

The camera flashed one last time, capturing the moment perfectly- our bodies tangled, our faces flushed with pleasure.

When it was over, Jungkook pulled out, I shivered at the sensation, my head resting on his shoulder.

The photo strips began to print, sliding out of the machine one by one. Jungkook grabbed them, flipping through the images with a grin.

“This was a great idea,” he said, his voice laced with satisfaction. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

I laughed, my heart still racing as I smoothed down my clothes. “I can’t believe we just did that. In the middle of the mall.”

“Believe it,” he said, pulling me close for one last kiss. “And don’t worry, no one saw a thing.”

But as we stepped out of the booth, the photos clutched in his hand, I couldn’t shake the thrill of what we’d just done. The mall was still quiet, but I felt alive, my skin buzzing with the memory of his touch. I glanced at Jungkook, his smirk telling me he felt the same.

We walked away, the photos tucked safely in his pocket, a secret only we shared. I still can’t believe we were that brazen, but I don’t regret it. It was exhilarating, a moment frozen in time. Twenty pictures that told a story only we could fully understand.

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♡ next

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

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Posted: 05/25/2025

[tddyhyck]

in the next room [ nct dream ]

pairings ⇢ dreamies x afab!reader

warnings ⇢ exhibitionism, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, cum eating, hot tub sex, car sex, clothes sex, balcony sex, face fucking, fingering, squirting, grinding, belt as a restraint, bathroom sex, spanking, spitting, dom/sub undertones, use of (whore, slut, baby, good girl)

masterlist

the sink is cold when you grip it, holding yourself up as he slides into your abused hole swollen and puffy from the day's adventures. you weren’t sure if it was hormones or if jeno was more enticing than normal. you just couldn’t help yourself. “so wet for me already?” he whispered against your neck before he started moving behind you. one hand gripping your hip the other tightening on your jaw every time your head started to droop. lifting you to look at him through the mirror. his eyes darted between your reflection and where his cock was buried inside of you. “fuck” you mewled as he hit your sweet spot, but quickly shut your mouth remembering your friends in the next room. “shh unless you want them to hear how good i fuck you” he mumbled against your burning skin. the thought of your friends hearing him fuck you like a whore made you clench around him. he smirked at you through the mirror. you looked a mess, eyes hazy and lidded, mouth hanging open. you lifted a hand from the sink to dip between your legs circling your clit with a silent moan. “hey is everything okay?” someone called from the other side of the door. you whimpered, the knot in your belly tightening as your eyes went wide, staring at him knowing you can’t respond. “yeah just a bit under the weather.” jeno replied, still thrusting into you harshly. you could hear feet pattering away. “you think they heard your sloppy wet cunt?” that sent you over the edge shuttering in his hold head lolling back against his shoulder. he continued to use you for his own release “perfect fucking pussy” he moans into your neck as he cums. you feel his release as he emptied himself into you for the fourth time today. you whimper when he pulls out, and again when he shoves two fingers inside as a poor attempt to keep his cum from spilling out between your legs. it doesn’t help much and he pulls them out tugging your messy panties over your cunt to catch anything else. you turn around grabbing his wrist before slurping his fingers into your mouth lewdly licking your mixed cum off of his digits, before fixing your hair in the mirror and joining your friends again.

the car was muggy like a hot summer day but it was the middle of january, and snow covered the ground outside. but inside the car was filled with groans and moans and hot breaths on necks. you left open mouthed kisses down his collar bones as you sunk down onto his cock. he groaned into the car the music playing was too loud you wanted to hear him, hear the way he whimpered as you traced a hand under his shirt and over his nipples. “fuck” he groaned slamming his hand against the fogged window leaving a hand print on the glass. his hand slid down before gripping your ass again kneading the plush skin. he tugged you up and down before you leaned back offering space so he could see the way his cock filled you up. the new angle made you whine his cock brushing your sweet spot before pressing against your cervix. gravity achieving a new depth leaving you gripping his shirt. knuckles white as he fucked his hips up to meet yours. “shit shit” he pulled you to him as a car parked next to yours. he paused but you didn’t. you continued to grind against him swiveling your hips as you heard doors slam. his eyes rolled back as the person walked away. your cunt tightening around him as you circle your hips. “fuck what if they saw” he groaned face turning pink. “isn’t that the fun of it mark?” you smirked. lifting your hips to bounce over him again his head fell back “you’re crazy” he moaned. his hand gripping your waist slipped between you thumbing against your clit as you whimpered. the fast swirls heating up your insides as mark rearranged them. thrusting up into you with an irregular rhythm “you’re gonna make me cum” he whimpered. “that’s the point” you giggled. “shut up” he groaned. and you shut up when he sped up. skin slapping as he fucked into you, thumb and pointer finger pinching your swollen clit making your moan. mouth hanging open as you came and he quickly followed you, filling the condom. curses slipping from his lips as your cunt milked him. leaning down you kissed his neck sloppily. “fuck baby” he groaned when you lifted off of him. you rolled into the passenger seat legs spread swollen pussy on display. you brushed your fingers over yourself spreading your lips slick dripping still. “you’re filthy” he shook his head staring between your legs licking his lips.

his skin felt hot as you let your hand dance on his shoulder. fingers dragging water droplets around his skin. you let your hand go lower before fully submerging as you tapped against his skin. he stared up at you curiously a smirk dancing on his lips when you traced fingers down his chest and to his stomach. a light hand pressing over his swim trunks feeling a familiar hardness beneath the material. you smiled down at him gripping his member “you really want it?” renjun asked. you nodded tugging at the elastic “need you.” “you want everyone to look out of their rooms and see you getting fucked?” he questioned. you moaned in response letting go of his shorts to rub over your hardening clit. “little whore” he mumbled and it only made you go faster. you felt his hands gripping your ass kneading the plump skin. he grinded against you as you used your other hand to tug his shorts down. pulling his cock out your thumb sliding over the head making him sigh. he lifted you up while you tug your bottoms to the side quickly pressing the head against your hole. sighing with him as you sink down letting him fill you up. you groaned into his neck as he lifts you up and down on his cock. you planted your feet on the bench he sat on moving faster up and down. the jets pulsed around you covering the movement beneath the water; small splashes hitting the tile with every bounce. “can never have enough can you?” renjun groaned and his words made you whimper. you grabbed at his shoulders before your hands found the tile behind him, slippery and wet as you gripped it. “needy slut. you don’t care if they see you, you just want cock.” you shook your head bouncing harder on him moaning wantonly as his cock rubbed your sweet spot. “don’t care, want you” you whined. his fingers pressed against your clit smooth circles building your orgasm. “we should just come out here during the day let everyone watch you.” you moaned loudly as you came spasming around his cock. your bounces slowing but he still fucked into you as you shuttered over him. he kept his fingers circling your overly sensitive clit as he came biting your skin with a groan.

you kept your mouth tight, biting inside your lip to keep it shut. his fingers weren’t helping, sliding in slick between your legs. the movie flashed in front of you, your face lighting up with the screen. you glanced around the room full of your friends all focusing on the film, but you don’t even know the main characters name. jaemin’s hand had been down your shorts the entire time. you had lifted your hand to your mouth biting down into your palm to keep from moaning. every time he swirled his fingers over your swollen nub; thumb and pointer finger pinching down making your hips jolt. you could feel him smirking behind you as he dragged a finger down circling your hole. taping his finger, teasing the entrance and you could hear the wetness. it left you mortified slamming your face down against the couch. “don’t like the movie?” he asked, lips pressing against your ear. you shook your head feeling slick dribble out of you and down your thigh. you lifted your head up whimpering when he started moving his hand once more “gonna open you up. stretch your cunt so i can fuck you” he whispered. you wanted to whine, and cry, and kick your feet like a child, but your mind went blank when he finally pushed two fingers into you. your mouth formed an o shape as he plunged in, curling his digits into you. your legs shook around his hand making him frustrated. he pulled his fingers from you moving to wrap his arm around you. slithering between your legs not wasting time to fill you back up. you sobbed when he used his thumb on your clit working you closer to release. “you need to be quiet. do you want our friends to know you’re a whore?” your eyes shot open glancing around the room to see if their eyes were on you, but no one noticed you, or your legs spread open under the blanket, or heard the squelch of your wetness. “bet you want them to know” you whined into your hand. the knot in your stomach tightened your release imminent with each flick of his wrist. his other hand reaches to clamp down over your mouth as you cum shaking in his hold. he coos at you quietly continuing to milk your orgasm while you come down. limp in his arms he pulls out of you before lifting you to stand weakly. “y/n’s not feeling great we’re gonna go lay down,” jaemin announces before dragging you down the hall with a grin and sticky fingers.

his hands shook slightly as he tried to brush your hair from your face. you were too focused on grinding against him, panties sticky and wet on his sweats leaving a damp stain. his headset was still on mic moved from his mouth, but you could still hear his friends talking through the headphones. your hands brush from his shoulders to tug his sweatpants lower and peak at his hardening cock. trailing a finger over the head teasing his slit as you watch a bead of precum pump out. he sighs leaning back against his chair “baby” jisung murmurs. gripping your hips to slow you down. “can you see how bad i need you” you whine. fingers pressing to your damp panties covering your sticky cunt. “don’t want them to hear you” he says nodding his head to the mic. “just let me ride you i’ll be good” you murmur trying to move your hips again. “you have to be quiet” he whispers. one hand releasing from your hips to touch the damp material for himself holding back a groan. when you grind against his fingers you smile contentedly moving your hips against his hardening cock. the friction of the damp fabric and heat of his cock was enough for you, but jisung wanted more. he lifted your hips before tugging his pants lower letting you settle back down on his uncovered cock. he hissed when you humped against him staring down at your panties dragging against his pulsing member. “so good” you whined, gripping his shoulders to stay upright. he held your hips with one hand helping you drag against him. his other hand snaked between you tugging your panties to the side. your glistening clit peaking out sliding wetly as your slick dripped onto him coating his cock with each movement. his head rested against his chair, lips between his teeth blush painting his cheeks. you loved him like this and it was all because of you. your tummy tightened when you felt his cock twitch against you. “wanna cum” you mumbled. he took that as a challenge, gripping you tighter moving your hips over him swiftly. he angled his hips to offer more pressure to you, and it had you sobbing. your head lolling to his shoulder hips shuttering as you came with a whimper. you silently hoped the mic above you picked it up. he kept you moving against him as he stuttered praises in your ear before releasing on your pussy thick white ropes. you kissed his cheek leaning back looking at your soiled panties.

warm lips pressed against your shoulder blade, tongue sliding over your skin. you whined when teeth nibbled slightly. you reached behind yourself gripping his member making him hiss on your skin. pushing your hips back rubbing the tip between your legs over your cunt. “fuck me” you mumbled. he bit down on your shoulder as he pushed into you filling you up in an instant. “fuck” he groaned into your skin pulling your hips back to meet his own. you gripped the cool railing looking over the balcony at the busy city. thoughts racing around the idea of someone glancing up and seeing your dripping cunt being pounded. it had you clenching around him. “shit baby.” you fucked yourself back harder skin slapping rhythmically. you wear moaning unabashedly with every brush of his cock against your sweet spot. “gonna have the neighbors filing a noise complaint” haechan mumbled into your neck. you smirked as his hand slithered over your chest to grip your breast thumbing your nipple. “i’ll just blame you” your voice was rough and breathy. knees jiggly and weak legs shaking as he filled you over and over. his hand that was on your hip moved to press against your lower back making you arch beautifully. his eyes focused on the curve of your spine down to your ass and where he was buried inside of you. he brought his hand slapping against your ass making you moan loudly. you heard haechan chuckle behind you “you’re literally dripping” he smirked. he leaned back as he stared at the ground beneath you. your slick puddled on the floor beneath you. glancing down before bringing your hands between your legs collecting the sticky wetness on your fingers. swirling your hand over your cunt with a whine from both of you. your fingers splitting to a v shape around his cock. “such a messy cunt just begging for someone to watch you.” you whimpered clenching around him belly hot and full of fire. “you’d like it right? maybe i’ll invite someone over so they can see you whore out.” you moaned at his words as his thrusts were getting sloppy. both of you close to the edge, his cock fucking into you erratically nudging your sweet spot. your legs were shaking as you came, crying out as liquid spilled out of you. he kept fucking you until he came. cum dripping out of you to join the mess you had made on the tile.

you’d spent the whole day trying to rile him up and it seemed like he wasn’t having any of it. in a way it pissed you off but in another way it made you more determined. you hoped that flirting with someone at this club would make him show you who you belonged to. but he didn’t seem to care about you giggling at some lame jokes this guy was making. glancing across the bar at him, but he sat running a finger on his glass. you huffed walking back to your private table in the corner tugging the curtain closed behind you. you wanted to sulk but you didn’t have time. before you could sit down he was closing the curtain behind himself staring at you as he sat his glass down. “you’ve been a little brat all day.” you pouted lifting an eyebrow at him. “i was going to give in when we got home but your little flirting game changed my mind.” he walked towards you, backing you up until your knees hit the couch making you sit abruptly. staring up at him his fingers grazed your chin gripping your jaw to squish your cheeks until your mouth opened. watching him intently as he brought his face to yours before spitting into your open mouth. he kept it open watching the saliva slide down your throat before releasing your chin. “you’re going to be good for me now aren’t you?” chenle asked. you nodded quickly watching as his hands unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather out of the loops before squatting down in front of you. he held out his hand and you placed your hands in his palm; he massaged them before looping the belt snuggly around your wrists. “good girl,” he mumbled kissing your forehead. he stood back up unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down slightly. watching you as he took his cock out. it made your mouth water as your eyes followed his fist as it pumped over his member. he gripped your hair in one hand tapping the tip against your cheek with the other. your lips were already open and waiting as he slapped his cock against your face. he didn’t pause, plunging it down your throat your eyes immediately pooled. you pulled yourself to the edge of the seat to follow your head as he fucked into your warm mouth. he groaned and fingers tangling in your hair “such a whore.” he smirked down at you loving the way you gagged around him with each tug on your hair. “want me to go get that guy? let him see how good you are with your dirty mouth?” you whined vibrating around him making him moan. “you think this flimsy little curtain will keep everyone from knowing what a slutty brat you are?” he fucked into you harshly you felt your cheeks dampen as your legs pressed together. your cunt pulsed with need every word, every thrust into you made you want him more. “getting wet just thinking about it?” chenle asked, pulling out of your mouth with a squelch. spit dripped down your chin and onto your dress as you caught your breath. you kept your eyes on his, full of admiration. “let me see?” he pressed your shoulders back and you spread your legs showing your barely covered cunt. he tugged your panties down leaving them gripped in one hand as his other pumped his cock. you knew he was close and you hoped he would let you have it before he let go. he came closer pressing the tip into you as he groaned, and you whined feeling hot white shoot into you. you wiggled your hips for something for anything but he didn’t give it, pulling out of you he reached for you panties shoving the material in your messy cunt and you moaned up at him. he stood over you tucking himself back into his pants. he leaned down releasing your wrists and putting his belt back on. “keep it in until we’re home you understand?” you nod dumbly as he stands you up walking you out.

© tddyhyck

[colouredbyd]

i think your house is haunted (and i think you should come live with me)

sirius black x reader ✰ 6.8k

synopsis: "sweet tea in the summer, cross my heart, won't tell no other. and though i can't recall your face, i still got love for you"

— or in which you return to the town you left at eight, where the haunted house still stands two doors down and the boy from your childhood waits. together, you wander where trees were planets, swings were ships, and love was only ever pretend. but somewhere between saturn and moon, pretend begins to feel like something real.

cw: childhood friends to strangers to lovers, childhood trauma, implied child neglect and abuse, grief and loss, first love, virgin!reader, first kiss, heavy nostalgia, bittersweet memories, soft angst, mentions of found family, childhood flashbacks, vulnerable dialogue, muggle modern au.

masterlist

It has been twelve years since you last stood on this street, though the road has barely changed.

The sun drips slow gold onto the front lawn, pooling over manicured hedges and pale white shutters, casting long shadows from the wrought iron fence that still curls around the perimeter like it’s guarding something precious. 

You step out of the car, the heat clinging to your skin, your arms full of cardboard boxes, the scent of soil already slipping into your senses.

Your father moves ahead of you with purpose, two heavy boxes stacked in his arms, his voice calling out over his shoulder. “Just put your things in your room, sweetheart. Same one as always.”

As if it hasn’t been over a decade. As if this is just another summer, and not the beginning of something you don’t yet have words for.

Your mother lingers by the garden gate, already kneeling, hands disappearing into the tall grass that has grown untamed since the last time she stood here. “We’ll bring it back,” she murmurs, more to the soil than to you. “It’ll be just like before.”

You don’t answer. You’re too busy letting the house look at you. It’s still beautiful — smaller than you remembered, painted in shades of bone-white with wide bay windows and a garden that once bloomed so fiercely it made the neighbors whisper. 

There are five houses on this street, each spaced with intentional elegance, each trimmed with green like something from a magazine. Your parents' house is the brightest among them, sun-warmed and quietly proud.

But two houses down, the contrast strikes you like a breath caught in your throat.

That house, black, sharp-roofed, and peeling at the edges, seems to exist in a different season altogether. 

The shutters are closed. The curtains drawn. The grass is overgrown, brittle and yellowed in places, as if even the earth there has learned not to hope. You pause on the steps with the last box in your hands, your eyes narrowing slightly. There’s something in the silence of that house, something that stirs at the edge of your memory like a ripple over still water.

“Mom?” you call softly, setting the box down by the door and stepping back out onto the porch. “That house down there. The one that looks abandoned. Who lives there?”

She doesn’t look up from where she’s trimming the hedges, but her voice carries easily. “That’s the House of Black.”

You turn to glance at it again, the name sending something peculiar through your chest.

“The House of Black?” you repeat, the name strange on your tongue.

She finally rises, brushing the soil gently from her knees, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t you remember? You used to be really close with the boy who lived there. He went to school with you for a while — mischievous one. Sirius, wasn’t it? You two were inseparable once, like the best of friends, always getting into trouble together.”

Sirius.

The name hits you in a place that still remembers freckles and laughter and hands that held yours too tightly during storms. You don’t say anything. You only nod and carry the last box into the house.

Inside, everything is like it was left waiting — the polished floors, the tall ceilings, the quiet scent of cedar that lingers in the corners of the rooms. Your old bedroom feels like it’s been frozen in time. 

The window still faces the same view of the road, the pale blue wallpaper is faded only slightly, and the bookshelf still holds a few forgotten toys and a dusty snow globe with a miniature swing inside. You run your hand along the desk where you once drew pictures of monsters and fairies.

“I’m going for a walk,” you call out toward the hallway as you lace your shoes by the door. “I just want to see it all again.”

“Don’t be too long,” your mother replies gently. “Lunch’s in an hour!”

You step out into the early evening light, and it feels like the past reaches out to wrap around your shoulders. The road stretches ahead, framed by the five houses you once knew by heart. 

Beyond the end of the street, past a rusted fence and a line of old maples, the lake comes into view.

It’s just as you remembered, wide and glimmering, wrapped in trees. A place where the sky always felt closer, where time used to loosen its grip. 

You follow the familiar path, gravel crunching softly under your steps, your fingers brushing along tall wild grass as you go. Just beyond the lake lies the woods — dense, green, and slow with memory. You pass the tree you once named Saturn. And there it is.

The swing.

Still hanging from its old branch, its rope faded but strong. The wooden seat is chipped now, moss curling at the edges, but it’s there. And behind it, just visible through the trees, is the house you once believed was haunted.

Your mind drifts back to when you were seven, to afternoons spent beneath this very tree, where everything seemed larger than life.

-

The tree was huge, the biggest one near the lake, its bark rough and speckled with moss, tied with rope so thick it scratched your hands when you touched it. Your father had tied the knot last summer. 

It was summer, and everything smelled warm. You wore your favorite dress, the one with the little blue flowers on it. Your mum had ironed it that morning. Now it was crumpled and slightly muddy at the hem, but you didn’t care. 

You sat on the swing, legs swinging back and forth, hair flying in your face, and behind you was a boy with messy dark hair and a stick in his hand.

You didn’t really remember how he looked. His face was all fuzzy now, like trying to see through a rainy window. But you remembered his voice. You remembered how he pushed the swing just right, not too hard, not too soft. You remembered how he laughed when you laughed.

“Higher,” you giggled, gripping the ropes.

“I can’t,” he said, pretending to grunt as he pushed. “You’ll fall off and the crocodiles’ll eat you!”

“There aren’t any crocodiles in the lake,” you said, kicking your legs.

“Yes there are. There’s millions, big ones, and they love princesses.” He waved his stick in the air. “But don’t worry, I’ll save you. I’m the pirate and this swing’s our boat.”

You rolled your eyes, even though you were smiling. “That’s wrong! It’s supposed to be a prince saving a princess from pirates. Not a pirate saving a princess from other pirates.”

“I don’t wanna be a prince,” he said quickly, with a frown in his voice. 

“Princes are boring. They just wear fancy clothes and sit on horses and don’t do anything. Pirates are cool, they have swords and ships and treasure and... parrots.”

You twisted around to look at him, trying to see his face, but the sun was behind him. “But pirates are the bad guys.”

“I’m a nice pirate,” he insisted. “A good one. You’re the princess and I’m the pirate and we’re sailing away to India.”

“Why India?” you laughed.

“Because that’s where treasure is. That’s where everything is!” He puffed out his chest. “My uncle has a book about it. The colors there are shiny. I saw them.”

You didn’t know much about India except for the map in the globe in your father’s office. You used to spin it until it made you dizzy.

Nearby, your plushies were sitting in a circle on a picnic blanket. Your rabbit was there, and your bear, and the small dog with one ear bent the wrong way. 

They were all watching the game, very seriously. The rabbit was the captain, and the bear was the lookout.

“This boat needs snacks,” you said suddenly, hopping off the swing and letting your bare feet touch the grass. “I’m gonna get apples.”

But instead of apples, you ran toward the tree next to the big one. It was smaller, but you had always liked it. You could climb it easily, especially if you stepped on the knot in the trunk. Sirius called out from behind you.

“You can’t do that. You’re a princess! You’re supposed to stay on the boat.”

“I’m a different kind of princess,” you shouted as you started climbing. “One who can do what she wants.”

He ran up to the bottom of the tree and stared up at you. “My mum says girls have to sit nice and boys have to be strong and loud. So you can’t climb, only I can climb.”

“That’s dumb,” you called down, wrapping your hands around a branch. “If girls want to climb trees, they can. Maybe your mum just doesn’t know how.”

He looked like he was thinking very hard about that. You swung your leg over a branch and perched there like a bird.

“See?” you said proudly. “Now I’m taller than you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the pirate. Pirates are supposed to be the tallest.”

You just stuck your tongue out and stood up, wobbling slightly on the branch before jumping down. You landed with a loud splat in the mud and your dress got dirty all over the back. You stared at it for a second, then laughed and wiped your hands on it too.

“Now I’m a pirate princess,” you declared. “See?”

He stared at the mud, at your feet, and then started laughing too. “Fine,” he said. “You’re a pirate princess. But I’m still the captain.”

“No, the rabbit is the captain.”

“That’s not fair. He doesn’t even have a sword.”

“You can be the cook.”

“I’m not being the cook!”

“Then you can be the pirate who sings songs and ties the ropes and swabs the deck and steers the ship and—”

“I get it,” he said quickly. “I’ll be everything.”

You nodded. “Okay. You be everything, but I get to name the trees.”

“This one’s Saturn,” you said proudly, pointing at the tall one.

“Sat-ren?” Sirius wrinkled his nose. “What’s that even mean?”

You shrugged, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “I dunno. It just sounds really fancy. I heard my mum say Moon and Saturn in the kitchen once, and I think they go together. Like best friends.”

He looked at the trees for a minute, then nodded slowly. “So I can be Saturn, and you can be Moon.”

You looked at him funny. “No, silly. Those are Saturn and Moon. The trees, not us.”

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Well… I still wanna be best friends like Saturn and Moon.”

You thought about it for a second, then smiled really big. “Okay! You can be a star, and I’ll be the sun. Stars and suns are best friends too.”

He perked up like you’d just given him the best idea ever. “Ooh, I like that. But only if I get to be a really cool star.”

You thought for a second, squinting at him in the sunlight. Then you pointed at his shirt. “You’re wearing grey, like the stars.”

He looked down at himself.

“And I’m wearing yellow,” you said, twirling a little so your dress spun out. “So I’m the sun.”

 “So I’m a star?” he said, grinning.

You nodded fast. “Yep. A star star. Like, up-in-the-sky star.”

He grinned so big you could see the gap in his front teeth. 

“And I’m the sun. So we stay close forever. Like... right next to each other forever and ever!” you said seriously.

Sirius held out his pinky. “Pinky promise?”

You hooked yours with his and gave it a squeeze. “Pinky promise.”

You looked up at the trees, then at him. The sun was behind him again, so his face was still blurry, still hidden.

“Let’s sail between them,” he said, lifting his stick-sword and pointing to the space between the trunks. “If we go through Saturn and Moon, that means we’re halfway to India.”

“What if the crocodiles come?”

“I’ll fight them,” he promised. 

You picked up your rabbit and handed him to Sirius. “Here,” you said, very seriously. “He’s the captain. You have to listen to him.”

He held the rabbit like it was real, tucked it under one arm, and nodded. “Aye aye, Captain!”

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt.

-

The memory fades slowly, like sunlight sliding off the swing ropes, like warm air settling back into stillness. 

You blink and find yourself in the present again, your footsteps soft on the curve of the road, the sky above tinged with the early hues of evening. The wind still carries stories you thought you’d forgotten.

You walk past the same five houses that made up your world once. Yours still looks bright, white and gentle, with its garden waiting to bloom. But as you move down the road, it’s the one two doors away that pulls your attention again.

The House of Black.

It sits in the shadows, even though there’s still sun in the sky. The roof is sharp, the shutters closed, the grass left to dry and curl in patches. 

You slow your steps, drawn to it without meaning to be, and the closer you get, the heavier it feels. You stare at the second floor, the crooked windows, the empty porch, and something tugs at you again — soft at first, then clearer.

Another memory.

It comes back not like a wave, but like the sound of your own laughter echoing somewhere far away.

-

You were seven, and the tea party was very, very important.

You’d set it up just right — your favorite pink blanket on the grass, your plushies all sitting in their places. 

Rabbit was in charge, because she was the queen, obviously. Bear was her royal guard. The cat was lying sideways with her paw in the sugar bowl, but you let it slide. Mrs. T kept tipping over, but turtles were slow, so that made sense.

You had your sparkly headband on and your mum’s old scarf tied around your shoulders like a cape. 

“Rabbit says you’re slurping too loud,” you told him, pouring pretend tea into his empty cup.

He looked at Rabbit like he was thinking about starting a fight. “Well Bear says Rabbit’s being bossy again.”

“She’s not! She’s the queen, and queens make the rules.”

He frowned and slurped even louder on purpose. “Bear’s gonna steal the sugar bowl and run away to the forest.”

You giggled, loud and sudden, until your headband nearly slipped off. “No running away! This is a peaceful tea kingdom.”

Sirius grinned a little but then went quiet. He looked down at the plate in front of him, picking at the crumbs with one finger.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “What time do you hide in your closet?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“When the monsters come out. Do you hide before bedtime or after?”

You tilted your head. “I don’t hide. There’s no monsters in my house.”

He looked surprised. “Not even at night?”

You shook your head. “Nope. My house is boring.”

Sirius didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes distant and serious. Then he nodded slowly. “Well… mine has lots of monsters.”

You leaned closer, elbows resting on your knees, voice soft with curiosity. “Where?”

“In the walls, I think,” he whispered. “And under the stairs. They bang on stuff, and it makes Mum and Dad really mad. Then they yell, alot.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just blinked at him, letting the silence hang between you.

“Sometimes they break things,” he added quietly. “That’s when I hide Reggie.”

“Who’s Reggie?”

“My little brother. He’s a baby, kinda. I put him in the closet at eight o’clock. That’s when the monsters get the loudest.”

You felt a strange flutter in your chest—not quite fear, but the ache you get when you read a sad story by mistake and it stays with you all day.

“Well,” you said carefully, “I think your house is haunted too.”

Sirius looked at you, surprised but not dismissive.

“Your dad’s always mad,” you confessed softly, “and your mum is… whatever she is. It’s always making you sad.”

He nodded slowly, like he’d been waiting to hear that.

“The ghosts,” he said quietly, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a dark blue mark blooming across his skin, “they give me these when I’m asleep. They hurt Reggie too.”

You reached out a hand before thinking, voice steady and sure. “You can move to my house. We don’t have ghosts or monsters.”

But Sirius shook his head stubbornly. “I won’t leave Reggie with the ghosts!”

You reached for the last biscuit on the plate — the one with the most sugar — and handed it to him. “It’s okay. You can live in my house, and you can bring your brother!”

He blinked at you.

“Just for now,” you added. “Until your house gets... un-hauntedly ghosted.”

He stared at you for a second, then let out a weird little laugh. “That’s not a real word!”

“It is now.”

He smiled sadly. “My house is never gonna be un-hauntedly ghosted.”

“Then stay in mine forever,” you said. “We have pillows, and a closet with fairy lights, and no monsters at all.”

Sirius didn’t answer. He just took the biscuit and held it with both hands, like it was something special. 

Then he looked at Rabbit, nodded very seriously, and said, “Thanks, Your Majesty.”

-

The road is quieter in the afternoon, lined with the soft hum of cicadas and the hush of sun-filtered trees. You’re walking back from the lake, shoes brushing against gravel, hair tied up to keep the heat off your neck. 

You pass the Black house without meaning to slow, but something makes you look.

The shutters are open.

For the first time since you came back, the windows aren’t closed and the porch doesn’t look like it’s holding its breath. There’s light on in the front hallway, warm and real, spilling out behind the glass.

You pause.

A second later, the door creaks open, and someone steps out.

He’s tall, effortlessly commanding the space around him. Broad-shouldered, his silhouette strong and sure beneath a pair of dark, well-worn jeans and a leather jacket that’s softened with age, the collar casually turned up, giving him an air of quiet rebellion.

His hair is long and black, cascading past his chin in soft, unruly waves that catch the fading light. The edges of his sharp jawline catch the glow too, tracing a perfect line that hints at something both dangerous and magnetic.

He moves with a lazy grace, the slow stretch of his arm as he pulls out a cigarette, then leans against the railing with a casual ease that somehow feels deliberate, as if every small gesture is part of a silent rhythm only he knows.

He doesn’t see you.

You watch him for a moment longer than you intend, caught between fascination and something unspoken. Then, almost reluctantly, you turn away.

Four days pass.

You fall into something soft and predictable. Mornings are for walking, afternoons are for errands, evenings are for sitting with books you don’t finish. You pick wildflowers near the lake. You refill the bird feeder. 

And then, on the fourth day, it happens.

You’re coming back from the bakery with a paper bag of warm rolls tucked under your arm. It’s nearly noon. The sun is high, and you’re walking up the drive, keys in hand, when you see him.

He’s standing on your porch.

That same man. The one from the Black house.

But this time, he isn’t leaning back in silence. Instead, he’s engaged in conversation with your parents, his hands moving expressively as he speaks. His voice is low and warm, carrying a quiet confidence. A genuine smile plays on his lips, and in response, your parents return the gesture—soft, easy smiles that light up their faces.

As you step closer, your father turns toward you, a warm smile breaking across his face. “Oh, Y/N, there you are!”

Your mother’s eyes light up as she beams, “Look who it is.”

The man turns, slowly, and for a heartbeat, the world seems to tilt off its axis.

You find yourself staring, breath caught in your throat, because it’s not just any someone standing there. It’s him.

“Hi,” he says, and there’s a lilt in his voice that is familiar, even after all this time. “It’s been a while.”

“Sirius,” your mother says softly, like she’s offering the name to you gently. “You remember Sirius, don’t you?”

Your mouth opens. You almost say no. Because that can’t be Sirius.

Not the boy with scraped knees and biscuit crumbs on his lip. Not the boy who once called himself a pirate and promised to fight monsters with a stick-sword and a crooked grin.

Because this man—this Sirius—is the hottest man you have ever seen.

“Hey,” he says, quiet, almost cautious. “It’s been a while.”

Sirius takes a step forward, but your mother is already ushering herself and your father back toward the door, her hands clasped together.

“We thought you two might want to catch up,” she says, and the front door closes behind her with a soft click.

You and Sirius are left on the porch, facing each other in the late sun.

His voice breaks the silence first. “Want to go for a walk?”

You nod.

You do not trust yourself to speak yet.

You walk side by side in the softened light of late afternoon, your sandals brushing through the tall grass that edges the road, his boots pressing into the earth like he’s done this a hundred times before. 

He keeps a careful distance and you’re grateful for it. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, just full. Like there is too much to say and neither of you know which part should come first.

“So,” he says eventually, glancing at you, his voice low and smooth. “You really don’t remember me?”

You look at him quickly, a little startled. “Of course I do. I mean, not everything. Just… pieces.”

“What kind of pieces?”

You hesitate. “The swing by the lake. Tea parties. You had a stick and called it your sword, and I made you wear flower crowns.”

He laughs, soft and warm. “Sounds about right. You were very bossy, if I remember correctly.”

“I was not!”

“You absolutely were. You told me Rabbit was the queen of the world and I had to bow to her or be banished.”

You smile in spite of yourself, looking down at the path ahead. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“I didn’t,” he says, more gently now. “It was the only place things didn’t feel awful.”

You glance sideways at him. His face is unreadable.

“I went to school here,” he says after a moment, his voice low and thoughtful. 

“Just outside town in this old, creaky building. It felt like a castle sometimes, big and cold, with the worst heating you can imagine. The uniforms were awful too, stiff collars and scratchy ties.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Sounds like something someone made up.”

He grins, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “I know, right? It sounds almost too strange to be real. But it was real enough for me. That’s where I met my closest friends, James, Remus, and Peter.”

You nod, sensing the weight behind his words. “That must have meant a lot.”

You don’t say anything to that, but your gaze softens. Then you ask softly, “Do you still live here?”

He shakes his head, a small, almost wistful smile touching his lips. “I moved out when I was sixteen,” he continues, his tone lighter now, as if saying it aloud eases the weight a little. “Into James’s house. His parents took me in, and I never really came back here after that. Not unless I had to.”

You nod slowly, understanding settling between you. “Because of the monsters.”

He gives you a strange look — startled, almost — but you don’t flinch from it.

“We were just kids,” you say quietly. “But I still remember the way you said it—how there were monsters in your house. I didn’t understand what that meant back then. I just thought maybe you had ghosts. But I guess… it wasn’t ghosts.”

Sirius exhales through his nose, a sound almost like a laugh. “Yeah, though monsters is quite fitting if you ask me.”

He looks at you then, curiosity softening his gaze. “Why did you leave, Y/N?”

You walk in silence for a moment, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the distant rustling of leaves.

“I left the summer I turned eight,” you finally say. “My dad got sick, it was sudden. We needed to be somewhere with better hospitals. So we packed everything and moved to the city. I barely had time to say goodbye to my dolls, let alone the people.”

He nods slowly, his eyes drifting toward the curve of the road, his voice quiet but full of something that’s sat in his chest for years. “I used to wonder what happened to you. One day, you were just gone, like you’d disappeared overnight.”

You exhale, the weight of time curling in your throat. “I didn’t mean to vanish,” you say softly. 

“It all happened so fast. My dad got sick, and we had to move almost immediately. I barely had time to say goodbye to my dolls, let alone the people. But I thought about this place all the time. I never really let it go.”

He looks at you again, his expression unreadable, the silence stretching between you like something delicate. “And now you’re back.”

You nod. “Just for the summer, maybe longer, I haven’t decided yet. The city’s loud and always moving, always demanding something from you. I used to think I liked that—liked the pace and the noise—but lately, it just feels like I’m always behind, always exhausted, and somehow still alone. It stopped feeling like somewhere I could stay.”

He tilts his head, considering that, the way he used to when you were both small and everything was simpler. “And here?”

“It’s still quiet,” you say, your voice softer now. “Still slow in all the right ways. And I think… I need that.”

Sirius smiles, and it’s a different smile than you remember—older, a little heavier, but still touched with something golden and familiar. It lingers on his face as if it belongs there, as if it never really left.

“I always liked your house,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder. “It always felt warm. That soft white paint, the porch full of flowers. Your garden smelled like strawberries, and your mum used to leave lemonade out even when it rained.”

“She still does,” you say, your lips curling with affection. “She says someone might come by and need it, even if they don’t know they do.”

He lets out a breath, not quite a laugh, but close. “Your mum loved me. I don’t think I ever understood how much until I got older.”

“She did,” you say gently. “She always said you were too thin, and too quiet for a boy who was supposed to be causing trouble. I think she wanted to keep you.”

“I loved her too,” Sirius says, and this time his smile is real and soft and full of something almost childlike. 

“She gave the best hugs. Like, actually the best. And her food—don’t even get me started. I still remember that stew she made with the star-shaped carrots. I thought it was magic.”

“She called it that. Kitchen magic. Said if you were going to feed kids, you should do it with a little love and a little fun.”

He nods, thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll come steal a glass of that lemonade. For old time’s sake.”

“You’re welcome to it,” you reply, smiling. “But only if you bow to Queen Rabbit first!”

Sirius laughs, the sound low and warm in the air between you. “Naturally. I wouldn’t dream of disrespecting the crown.”

You both laugh again, and the sound is light enough to lift something heavy from your chest. You walk further until you can see the lake glinting through the trees, and for a while, neither of you speaks. The silence feels more like company than distance.

Then, without warning, you speak.

“You had a brother.”

He goes still beside you. The change is immediate, the lightness in his shoulders fades, the lines in his brow sharpen, and his hands curl slightly in the pockets of his jacket.

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “I did.”

You tread carefully. “Is he… not here?”

There’s a long pause.

“No,” Sirius says at last. “He didn’t move out. He—” He stops, and when he speaks again, it’s with practiced calm. “He drowned a few years ago in an accident.”

Your breath catches. “Oh. Sirius… I’m so sorry.”

He nods once, but doesn’t look at you. His eyes are on the lake, on the rippling water and the light it throws onto the trees.

“I didn’t really talk about him much,” he says. “Even then. Reggie was… soft. Too soft. I tried to protect him, but I couldn’t always be there. And in the end I wasn’t.”

You don’t know what to say. No apology seems large enough to meet that kind of loss.

So instead, you reach over, very gently, and your fingers graze his. It is not a grand gesture. It is not anything loud. But his hand doesn’t move away.

You stay like that a moment longer, just watching the light on the lake, remembering what it used to be like before you knew the names of the things that broke your hearts.

When the lake comes into view, you pull ahead a little, feet kicking up dust as you start toward it. Your eyes brighten.

“God,” you say suddenly, spinning halfway back to look at him. “It’s so much smaller than I remember.”

Sirius lifts a brow. “What, the lake?”

“Yeah. When I was little, it felt endless. I thought it touched other countries.”

“Maybe it does,” he says. “Maybe there’s a secret portal in the middle.”

You scoff. “Please. If there was, we’d have found it by now. We practically lived here.”

“I mostly remember being bossed around here,” he replies, grinning. “You made me fight invisible monsters and serve tea to a rabbit.”

“Rabbit was royalty,” you say. “You were her loyal knight.”

“I was her prisoner.”

“You had fun.”

“Maybe I did.”

You smile and step closer to the water, watching how it catches the late sun. Then you nod toward the trees flanking either side of the lake.

“Those still have names.”

Sirius follows your gaze. “Saturn and Moon?”

You nod.

“Come on,” he calls, glancing back. “We’re climbing the tree.”

“No, we’re not,” you say flatly.

He stops. “What do you mean no?”

“I haven’t climbed anything in years. I’ll probably fall and break something!”

“You used to say girls could climb better than boys.”

“I was seven.”

“You still said it.”

You cross your arms. “So what? You want me to prove it?”

He smirks. “I want to see if you’ve still got it.”

You stare at him, then at the tree.

“Fine. But if I fall, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” he says. “But I’ll catch you anyway.”

You shake your head, biting back a laugh. You approach the tree and begin climbing, awkward at first, but your muscles remember. You settle onto a thick branch, legs dangling, and breathe out slowly.

Sirius stays below, hands in his jacket pockets, looking up at you with that lazy, amused expression.

“Well?” you ask. “Do I look ridiculous?”

“Not even a little,” he says. “You look like a princess-pirate.”

You rest your arms on your knees, watching him. “You’re still full of lines, huh?”

“I mean it.”

You look away for a second, caught off guard.

“So,” you say, shifting the conversation. “What have you been up to, pirate boy?”

He rolls his eyes. “God. You haven’t changed.”

You jump down from the tree before you let that line settle too deeply, but your foot slips slightly as you land, and he steps forward instinctively, hands at your waist, steadying you.

“Careful.”

“I’m fine,” you say, voice a little breathless.

You meet his eyes for a second. Long enough to feel the warmth press into your ribs. Then you step back, brushing dirt from your skirt.

“You should come in,” you say, voice easy but hopeful.

He blinks, as if he didn’t quite hear you right. “What?”

“For dinner,” you clarify, tucking your hands into your pockets. “My mum would be thrilled to see you. And if she made that lemon chicken I think she made, you’d be out of your mind to say no.”

Sirius studies you for a beat longer than necessary, eyes searching your face like he’s still not sure if this is real. “Are you sure?”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I mean, unless you’re busy doing pirate business.”

He smirks. “Only if Queen Rabbit summoned me personally.”

“Well,” you say, nudging your shoulder against his, “until then.”

“Until then,” he echoes, a little softer this time.

And together, you begin walking toward the white house at the end of the street, the porch light glowing gently in the dusk like it never stopped waiting for someone to come home.

Your mother greeted him at the door like he was an old neighbor rather than a boy you hadn’t seen in over a decade. 

She ushered him in with a warmth that felt startling and inevitable all at once, like she had expected this day to come, and now that it had, she wouldn’t waste a second treating him like family.

“God, Sirius,” she said, beaming as she waved him inside. “Look at you. Last time I saw you, you were eight and covered in mud.”

Sirius grinned, stepping in and shrugging off his jacket. “Honestly, not much has changed. Still a magnet for dirt, just slightly taller.”

Your father stood from the dining table as you led him in, wiping his hands on a napkin and eyeing Sirius curiously — like any father might be with a ghost from their daughter’s past suddenly walking into their whitewashed home.

“It’s good to meet you again, Mr. and Mrs. L/N,” Sirius said, extending his hand first to your father, then your mother. “It’s been a while.”

Your father nodded, still measuring him. “You’re the boy from the end of the road, the Black house, Sirius, right?”

Sirius’s smile shifted just slightly, softened at the edges. “That’s the one. Though I don’t stay there much anymore.”

“You’re back for the summer?” your mother asked, already returning to the kitchen to pull out another plate.

“Sort of. Passing through, I guess,” Sirius said, lowering himself into the chair beside you. “I live in London now. Did a music degree at uni, took a while to figure things out. I do freelance audio production now—sound design, recording sessions, mixing. A bit of everything. It’s good work.”

Your mother placed a new glass in front of him, nodding as if trying to absorb a fuller picture of the boy he’d become. “How wonderful. I always thought you were more artistic than the others.”

Sirius smiled. “That’s a kind way of saying I was a little strange.”

“Well,” your father said, cracking a half-smile, “we like strange in this house. As long as you’re not picky about the food.”

“Never,” Sirius said easily. “I’ve missed real food, honestly. Can’t beat a home-cooked meal.”

Your mother flushed with pleasure and began serving more onto his plate than he could possibly eat, but Sirius took it all without protest.

The conversation flowed gently around the table—your father asking about the studio he worked with, your mother pressing for details about his friends in the city. 

Sirius answered every question with a quiet sort of charm, never too slick, never too rehearsed.

You watched him speak like you were trying to piece him together: the boy he had been and the man he had become, sitting there with his fingers curled around a glass of water like it was something holy.

And when you laughed at something he said about a recording session gone wrong—a sound tech accidentally looping cow moos under a serious ballad—he looked at you the way someone might look at sunlight falling through blinds.

Like he hadn’t expected to find it here, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved it.

Dinner melted into tea, then tea into comfortable silence, and when the sky outside turned navy and the breeze came soft through the windows, he stood to leave, promising to stop by again soon.

And he did.

He came by the next day with two iced coffees and a half-melted croissant in a paper bag. 

The day after that, he knocked again. Said he needed help finding his old bike in the garage, but you both knew it was just a reason to see you. He stayed for hours, poking around the shelves, pointing out things that hadn’t moved in twelve years.

Soon, it became routine.

Sometimes, he came by late in the afternoon when the house was quiet, and you’d sit in your room with the window open, your legs crossed on the bed, his on the floor beside it, playing old songs through his phone and arguing about which ones had aged the worst. 

Other times, he’d turn up in the morning with a toolbox, claiming he was helping your dad fix the car, though most of the time they just ended up leaning over the engine, talking about music and whatever Sirius called “life’s current madness.”

He showed you around town again—drove you past old buildings that had been turned into cafes, new murals stretched across crumbling walls. He knew every hidden path, every shortcut, and most of the baristas by name. 

You met his best friends: James, who had the kind of warmth that made you instantly want to sit beside him, and Remus, who looked at Sirius like he knew exactly who he was and chose to be friends with anyway.

The three of them were chaotic in their own way, constantly ribbing each other, constantly orbiting around Sirius like he was the center of something—like he always had been.

And soon, you began to feel like someone who had roots here again. Like the girl who used to wear yellow dresses and climb trees and believe that lakes had no end was still inside you, just quieter. You let her speak again, slowly, gently, whenever Sirius looked at you like you mattered.

And he did look at you like that.

Often.

Sometimes too long.

Sometimes not long enough.

You didn’t ask him what he saw when he looked at you like that, and he didn’t say, but something was building.

You felt it every time his shoulder brushed yours, every time he sat too close on the edge of your bed, every time he handed you a cup of coffee and didn’t let go right away. You felt it in the way he said your name, carefully, like it was something worth handling gently.

The summer was unfolding. And you were beginning to unfold with it.

And now, the sun had gone soft again, dipping into late afternoon like it didn’t want to burn too brightly. You and Sirius walked slowly along the path toward the lake, your shoes crunching over dried grass and sun-baked dirt. 

In your hands, half-melted popsicles dripped lazily down the wooden sticks.

His was electric blue. Yours, lemon yellow.

He stuck his tongue out suddenly, mischievously, the color startling against his teeth. “I look like I ate a Smurf.”

You laughed, nearly choking on a piece of ice. “You look disgusting.”

He grinned. “Let me see yours.”

You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, too. “Sunshine girl.”

Sirius snorted. “You always were.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on.”

He nudged your arm with his elbow, softer than a joke. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

You didn’t need to think long.

“Yeah,” you said. “My seventh birthday.”

The memory came in bright colors: pink, gold, and the warm scent of summer.

-

You had worn the fluffiest pink dress your mother could find, the kind that swished when you twirled and had tiny pearl buttons down the back.

A plastic crown sat crooked on your head. You were a princess, officially. The paper invitations had said so.

Your parents had decorated the front lawn with balloons tied to the fence and hung streamers from the porch. 

All the neighborhood kids had come—some running around screaming, some already sitting on blankets and nibbling on triangle sandwiches.

But your eyes weren’t on the party.

They were on the boy sitting far away, crouched near the end of the road, next to the pavement where the grass cracked and the hedges were too wild to trim. He was fiddling with rocks, stacking them, knocking them down. 

You had seen him before. On the swing at the park. Beneath the giant oak tree near the lake. In the back row of your classroom, staring at the desk like it held secrets. He was your age. Maybe even in your class. But he was always alone.

Always, always alone.

And he always looked sad.

What could he be sad about? He had the whole world to run in! There was cake to eat! Balloons to chase! You watched him for a few more seconds, frowning. And then, crown bouncing on your head, you marched over.

He didn’t see you at first. You crouched beside him, folding the layers of your dress underneath you.

“Hi!” you said.

He looked up. His eyes were grey like the sky after a storm. His hair was dark and messy and stuck up in the back like a bird had nested in it.

“Are you lost?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“Why are you sitting here?”

He shrugged. “Just am.”

You glanced back at the party. Someone was already unwrapping the presents without you.

“It’s my birthday,” you told him proudly. “I’m seven!”

He blinked. “You look too pink.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I look like a princess.”

He tilted his head. “Are you a real one?”

“Yes,” you said immediately. Then you added, “And if you come to my party, you can be a prince.”

He made a face. “Yuck! Princes are boring. They wear shoes with buckles and talk too much.”

You thought about that. It was a fair point.

“Okay,” you said. “You can be a pirate.”

He stared at you like you’d offered him treasure. “Really?”

“Yeah. We need one. You can be the pirate and I’ll be the princess, and you can steal the cake.”

He hesitated, then stood up slowly, brushing the dirt off his shorts. “I guess that’s okay.”

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Sirius.”

“Like serious?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, not like that!”

You giggled. “I’m Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Come on, pirate.”

You took his hand.

The moment you dragged him into the yard, everything changed. He didn’t say much at first, didn’t even run around like the other kids. But when the food came out, he came to life.

To say that Sirius ate a lot at your birthday party would have been an understatement. He devoured two plates of sandwiches, three slices of cake, and so many biscuits your dad raised an eyebrow.

At first, it was funny.

Then it wasn’t.

Your mother came over gently. “Sirius, sweetheart, do your parents know you’re here?”

And everything stopped.

Sirius went stiff. His shoulders locked. His hand, holding a biscuit, dropped slightly. His cup of juice slipped from the table and shattered on the patio. Orange juice spread across the concrete.

His eyes went wide. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I’ll clean it, I can do it, I didn’t mean to break it, I swear—”

Your mother was already kneeling beside him. “Sirius. It’s okay. It’s just juice, love. It’s just a cup.”

He was still babbling apologies under his breath.

“Sirius,” she said again, pulling him into a soft hug. His whole body locked up for a second, then slumped. “You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.”

You stood frozen, watching. Something strange settled in your chest, something heavy and confused.

Later that evening, when the sun had begun to fade and the candles on your cake had melted down into puddles of wax, Sirius came up to you, eyes a little less stormy.

“Thanks for the cake,” he mumbled. “And the pirate job.”

“Want to play more tomorrow?” you asked. “We can go to the lake, there is a swing there. We can fight monsters!”

He nodded, just once. “Okay.”

When he walked home—barefoot, carrying a napkin full of biscuits for someone—your parents pulled you aside.

“Sweetheart,” your mother said, brushing your hair back. “Where did Sirius come from?”

You pointed down the road. “The black house. Two doors that way.”

Your father nodded slowly, and exchanged a look with your mother.

“If Sirius ever needs somewhere to go,” he said gently, “if he needs to come over for dinner, or stay the night, you bring him here. Okay?”

You frowned. “But I already did that, today.”

“I know,” your mother said. Her voice was soft. “Just promise us. If he needs to come over, you let him.”

It felt like a strange thing to promise. Wasn’t that obvious?

Still, you nodded. “Okay. I promise.”

-

When the memory faded, you blinked yourself back into the present. The sun had dipped lower, the lake gleaming gold and glassy beside you. 

Sirius was looking at you again, but differently this time. His expression was quiet, unreadable, like he was trying to match the girl in the memory with the woman beside him now.

You glanced sideways. “What?”

He tilted his head. “Nothing. You’re just really, really pretty.”

Your step faltered slightly. The popsicle in your hand dripped unnoticed.

You laughed, flustered. “Oh, don’t say that out of nowhere.”

“But it’s true,” he said, bumping your shoulder. “Even with lemon on your chin.”

You wiped it quickly, cheeks burning. “You’re the worst.”

He smirked. “The worst pirate.”

You shook your head, smiling at the ground.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he stopped walking. Turned toward you.

You turned, too, not fully understanding, not fully ready.

But he kissed you.

His lips met yours softly, like a question asked in a language only the two of you understood. There was no rush, no push—just quiet, steady warmth. He tasted faintly of blueberry ice and something familiar you couldn’t quite name.

When he pulled away, you were still, stunned silent. Your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat, eyes wide, heart knocking against your chest like it had just remembered how to beat.

He noticed, of course he did.

His voice came low and amused. “Was that okay, or did I just commit some kind of unforgivable crime?”

You blinked, lips parted, but nothing came out at first. Then, quietly, like the truth might dissolve if spoken too loud, you said, “That was… my first kiss.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprise flickering across his face. “Seriously?”

You nodded, a little slow, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. I guess I just…”

He looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes before it softened. Then came that familiar, lopsided grin—the one that always made the world feel slightly off its axis in the best possible way.

“Well,” he said, voice gentle but teasing, “I’m honored. And a little shocked, to be honest. A girl like you, in the city, has never been kissed before?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now. “City boys weren’t exactly my type.”

He grinned slowly. “And what is your type, then?”

You grinned wide. “Pirates.”

He barked out a laugh, too loud for the quiet around you. “Well, good thing. I’m terrible at being a prince.”

You looked up at him, a little smile dancing on your lips. “There isn’t even a princess around here.”

“No pirate either,” he said, hands in his pockets.

Then he turned to the lake, still as a mirror, the sky blushing down onto its surface.

“Come on,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Let’s go back to Saturn.”

You laughed, breathless, letting him drag you through the grass until you were at the base of the tree. The swing still swayed slightly in the breeze.

He pulled you under its branches, into the shade of everything you used to be.

And then, grinning like a child again, he stood taller and cleared his throat. “Princess,” he said formally, “the seas are wild and the moon is high, but I have come to rescue you from the wicked storm!”

You blinked up at him, suppressing a laugh. “And who exactly are you?”

He bowed. “Your favorite pirate, of course. The one who sails from Saturn to Moon.”

You played along, tilting your chin and sweeping your arms out dramatically. “I demand treasure and tea before I agree to go anywhere.”

Sirius took your hand and spun you gently beneath the tree, the breeze lifting your hair. “You shall have both, princess. If you promise not to fall from the mast this time.”

You pretended to pout. “I did not fall. I jumped. And besides, I was rescuing you.”

He stepped closer, voice softer now. “Guess we keep rescuing each other, huh?”

You looked up, something catching in your chest.

And then, without hesitation, he touched your cheek again and whispered, not in character this time, “Love you to the moon, and to Saturn.”

You smiled, slow and sure, heart stammering in your ribs. “Love you to Saturn, and to the moon.”

Somewhere between Saturn and the moon, in that quiet seam of sky where make-believe dares to become real, you reached out your hand to a boy sitting alone beneath the trees.

You had just turned seven, barefoot and fearless, your crown of summer leaves slipping low on your brow. And though you couldn’t have known it then, that single, innocent gesture would become the anchor he held onto for years.

You didn’t know that twelve summers later, it would be you who led him out of the haunted house. That it was your voice, familiar and full of light, that pulled him back from the brink, when the grief of losing his brother turned the world hollow and the monsters in his bloodline came far too close.

But that’s the thing—you never needed to know. You were a princess, after all, and Sirius had always vowed to protect you.

He thought, sometimes, about telling you. About how he still wanted to be your pirate, how he had never stopped, but it could wait. There was time, time to say that even if he was never a prince, he had always been yours. And always would be.

Passed down like folk songs, your love lasts so long.

a/n: this was so gut-wrenching to write omg </3 i can't write kids dialogue for shit, sadly! i feel like this could have a part two possibly? either ways i loved this