#— ✎ scenarios

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au, convenience store worker!reader || angst hehe, crack, eventual fluff

↳ ✎ᝰ 15.4k (gasp, she kept it under 20k????)

↳ contains ── so much bickering and banter, reader is kinda sassy and a lil crazy, heeseung is a lil weirdo at first, CRACK (this entire fic revolves around EXTRA HELL FIRE RAMEN PLS), angst, both heeseung & reader can't communicate their feelings & are stubborn as hell, tension tension tension! , deep conversations about life choices lol, cursing

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── IM ALIVE (barely) ! i survived a global expedition (one 12 hr flight) just to come back and face an apocalypse (i got a bug infection and a cold) but dragged myself out of my deathbed (my comfy bed) to finish editing this because i told yall i would and bc i felt bad ghosting everyone for a week LOL apologies (if anyone cares,,,pls tell me u do or i'll cry rn) anyways i hope yall enjoy this one,,,this one was fun to write, it felt very sitcom-y and was lowkey based off of backstreet rookie vibes (only bc it's set in a convenience store). i hope you all enjoy & pls let me know what you think :') thank u for the support & love always <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

Customer service voice on, a smile plastered on your face, greet the customer, scan the item, take their money, bag said item, throw in a half-hearted ‘Have a good night!’

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

Occasionally, there’s the fun of kicking out a few drunk teenagers looking for a bathroom that you definitely don’t have (yes you do). But otherwise, this graveyard shift at your local corner convenience store? 

Total dream job. 

You get paid—as in actual, legit money—to sit behind a counter, scan snacks, and feast on your personal holy trinity of microwavable cheesy ramen, peach juice, and potato chips. What could possibly go wrong? 

At least, that’s how the manager sold it during your interview. And by interview, you mean the three-minute conversation that went something like: 

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

No background check, no follow-up questions, not even a glance at your resume. A broke college student with insomnia and schedule flexibility? You were the perfect candidate. 

And it’s not like you’re picky. You needed cash, and this seemed like a pretty solid deal. What can you say? College is expensive, and someone’s gotta fund your caffeine addiction and deeply specific (and yet completely necessary, you would argue) habit of playing at every single claw machine game you stumble across. 

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

Because on the night of your first shift, exactly at 1:09AM, the doorbell gives its friendly little ding, and in walks...something.

Someone?

Whatever it is, it's a walking shadow. Oversized hoodie. Baggy pants. A baseball cap shoved under the hood. A black face mask covering whatever’s left of his identity. You think it’s either a ninja, a celebrity in disguise, or—more likely—a vampire who hasn’t seen sunlight since the Joseon era (you’re leaning more towards vampire).

But more than the wild theories running around in your head, something else piques your curiosity.

Because unlike the other weirdos that usually shuffle in at these ungodly hours, this one moves with true purpose. He beelines straight to the ramen aisle, snags something off the top shelf (most likely the ultra-spicy soup one because, of course, you already have the shelves memorized), and then grabs a bottle of coffee milk from the cold drinks section without even so much as glancing at it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Like he’s done this a thousand times before and is now on autopilot mode.

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

Because who in the right mind pairs volcanic spicy ramen with coffee milk? Is that even legal?

You’re barely recovering from your own appalled thoughts before he’s already at the counter, placing his borderline apocalyptic snack combination on the counter in front of you with the same eerie precision he has.

You fail to keep your poker face on when you scan his items, your face scrunching up in disgust.

“Uh,” you shake it off, forcing yourself back to reality, “That’ll be—”

But before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already fishing out the exact amount—three crisp bills—out his back pocket and holds it out for you.

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare down at the money in his hand for a second too long, suddenly convinced this guy practices his convenience store interactions in the mirror or something.

When you don’t show any further signs of moving, he eventually gives up, placing the money on the counter with a quiet sigh, grabbing his ramen and coffee milk, and striding off to the self-service corner like he personally owns the place.

All of this. Without. A single. Thank you.

Wow. Okay. So tonight’s customer is potentially a vampire with a side gig as a professional jerk. Good to know.

You internally scoff at the entire interaction, but—unfortunately for you—you can’t look away. Because this guy? This walking shadow?

You’re weirdly intrigued. Like when you accidentally click on a pimple-popping video and immediately regret it, but still end up watching five more.

It’s a curse.

Out of the corner of your eye (because obviously you’re not staring, you’re just…hyper-aware of your surroundings), you watch him execute his ramen-and-coffee-milk routine with the precision of a man possessed.

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

Step three: Wait for exactly one beep before yanking the microwave door open with alarming speed, as if he's scared to even give the second beep the chance to ring.

Step four: Peel the lid back in slowly—so painfully slow you're about to march over there and do it yourself.

Step five: Insert the straw into the coffee milk—of course, perfectly right in the center. Bullseye.

Honestly? It's all kind of impressive. Horrifying, but impressive.

And, of course, just when you think you might finally look away, because out of sight, out of mind—he slides onto one of the bar stools by the window, right in your direct line of vision. The perfect spot for you to get a pristine view of his back, which, spoiler alert, is completely unhelpful in your personal mission in trying to see even a glimpse of what this guy looks like.

Maybe if you squint hard enough, you can make out his face in the reflection of the store window. Maybe. Just maybe—

Nope.

All you catch is a brief glimpse of his eyes—barely visible beneath his excessive hoodie and hat combination. Even his mask stays glued to his face and you wonder how he even plans on eating his outrageous meal.

But even so, you still can’t look away. What even is that color? And why can’t you look away?

Whatever. It’s just eyes. Totally normal. Everyone has them. Not noteworthy at all.

Except it is.

Because you catch yourself still squinting, hoping the glare of the fluorescent lighting against the window hides your not so subtle mission from him. You’re probably risking retinal damage at this point with how hard you’re trying to decode this guy’s entire identity from literally just his eyes.

You catch another short glimpse of his eyes as he shuffles in his seat and just as you’re trying to piece together why his eyes look oddly familiar—

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours in the glaring reflection of the store's windows, and you freeze.

Abort mission. Now.

You cough—loudly, dramatically—and your eyes immediately dart elsewhere, your hands shuffling on the discounted candy bars displayed on the counter top, pretending to look busy and silently praying he didn't catch you looking for too long.

When enough time passes by, you risk another quick glance back at him, to see he’s now digging into his ramen, head tucked so low you can’t even see his eyes anymore. He’s gone full turtle mode.

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

A weirdo with an ego. Slurping and sipping away at his crime-against-humanity meal as if he owns the building.

Maybe he's mute. Or a people-hater. Or a cryptid who thrives on ramen and coffee milk instead of human interaction. Maybe I'm being pranked?

You shrug it off, because no matter how hard you try to figure him out, one thing is glaringly obvious: he does not want to be bothered.

And you're not sure if that makes him more intriguing or more annoying.

You’re in the clear. At least, you think you’re in the clear. 

After your first weird encounter with Mr. No-Name-No-Face—spicy ramen enthusiast and potential vampire—you’ve begrudgingly adjusted to his nightly visits. 

He shows up at 1:09AM like clockwork, grabs his neon red Extra Spicy Hellfire Ramen (yes, that’s the real brand name, and yes, your soul dies a little every time you even have to think about it), and parks himself in the window seat across from your counter like it’s a Michelin-star ramen bar—and not your humble convenience store with a health inspection rating of B+ (don’t ask). 

By night three, you’ve downgraded him from potential murderer to mildly annoying ramen connoisseur. 

By night four, you’ve decided he’s your own personal karma sent by the universe. 

It starts off with the door chime. You don’t even flinch. 1:09AM. Right on schedule. 

You don’t look up from the colorful juice pouches you’re restocking. You’re halfway through creating a perfectly symmetrical pyramid display—color-coded, of course—because, clearly, you’ve peaked as a human being. 

Behind you, footsteps head straight to the ramen aisle. And sure enough, you peek over your shoulder, and there he is: drowning in black hoodie layers, hood up, mask on, the patron saint of please don’t perceive me. Same old routine, same old—

Wait. 

He freezes, mid-reach for his usual ramen on the top shelf, his hand hovering in the air. And then, horrifyingly, he turns. 

And looks directly at you. 

Your face heats up—probably not as red as the hellfire ramen he was about to grab, but it’s close, you imagine. You find yourself clutching onto the random juice pouch in your hand as if it’s your lifeline before you clear your throat, “Uh—is something wrong?” 

He glances from you and back to the shelf in front of him, and for the first time in…ever, he speaks. 

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

“They’re out of my flavor,” he says. His voice is deep, which isn’t surprising to you, given he’s the literal human embodiment of the color black, but it’s also serious. So unnecessarily serious that you almost laugh. 

Almost. 

Because his tone isn’t just serious—it’s accusatory. As if you personally raided the ramen aisle and hid his favorite flavor for entertainment. 

Excuse me? 

Your mouth opens then closes, flopping like a fish that now deeply regrets every life choice. The fire rising in your chest is about two seconds away from erupting into a full-blown lecture on how supply chains work, but you keep it in, deciding getting fired on the fourth day probably doesn’t look good on your resume. 

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

“Uh..yeah, it looks like it,” you deadpan, inching closer to where he’s standing to investigate the shelf. 

Leaning up on your toes, you scan the shelf for any hidden Hellfire cups, hoping some miracle will save you from continuing this interaction. 

Nope. It’s empty alright. Emptier than your will to entertain his dramatics. 

“Tragic,” you glance back at him, strategically avoiding eye contact, and settle on offering a shrug. “There are plenty of other flavors. Maybe try…the regular spicy?” 

You grab the flavor below his usual one and hold it up as an olive branch, but he cuts you off with a tone that even convinces you that you’re deranged. 

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

You’re standing in the middle of a fluorescent-lit ramen aisle, at your minimal wage night-shift job, at 1:12AM on a random Tuesday, and this guy is dead serious. 

And he’s staring at you like this is a life-or-death situation. And judging from the look in his eyes, it’s looking like you’re facing death. 

But then, you really notice his eyes. And for a split second—just a split second—you’re derailed from your rising anger. 

They’re brown. But not just any brown—the kind of brown that makes poets write bad metaphors. Cinnamon swirls. Autumn leaves. Possibly falling in love in a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

But then you blink again, hard, snapping yourself out of whatever ridiculous moment your sleep-deprived brain just conjured. This is not the time. You’re literally staring at, like, three inches of this guy’s face. 

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

“Uh, yeah,” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound professional through your disbelief. “Sorry. We probably put in our shipment request late. But I’m sure you won’t implode by going one night without it?” 

You tack on a small laugh and smile at the end of your sentence, hoping to lighten the mood. 

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

Instead, he continues to stare at you like you just suggested he eat plain, untoasted bread for the rest of his life. 

You want to bury yourself into a hole. Maybe getting fired on the fourth day won’t be so bad afterall. 

“I’m sure the regular spicy one is just as good. What’s the worst that could happen?” you offer weakly when he makes no sign of saying anything, and you really hope this guy doesn’t explode in front of you—mainly because you’re not confident in your own ability to explain that situation to your manager. 

“I’m not risking it,” he finally deadpans. 

Your jaw drops slightly. 

“You’re not ris—” you hesitate, debating whether you want to ruin your night further. But you’ve come this far. “You’re being…serious?” 

The question lined with your clear judgement hangs in the air between you two, and no amount of fake customer service can mask the expression of disapproval on your face. 

His eyes narrow at you as he scoffs, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand,” you tilt your head, your annoyance slowly reaching a boiling point, throwing all professionalism out the window. All you wanted was to enjoy your juice-sorting in peace, not babysit this walking ramen manifesto. “I understand that you’re just picky.” 

At that, his eyes flash—sharp, unreadable. “I’m not picky.” 

“You won’t eat a perfectly fine ramen just because it’s not named after the ninth circle of hell.” 

Silence. 

He stares at you with the intensity of someone about to write a strongly worded online review. 

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he finally mutters, “Fine. I’ll take the mild one.” 

You blink at the flavor in your hand—the one that’s clearly labeled in giant, blazing-red, font: Regular Spicy. Then you look back at him. 

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

He grabs the ramen cup from your hand and stalks off to grab his usual coffee milk, leaving you stranded in the middle of the ramen aisle, questioning every life choice that brought you here. 

Before you’re about to mentally spiral, his voice cuts through the store. 

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

You scramble back to behind the register, quickly moving your hands to ring him up and get him out of here as soon as possible. 

He hands you his three crisp bills, and before you hand him his glorified ramen and godforsaken coffee milk, you hesitate, pulling them back slightly. He freezes, his hands hanging in the air between you two. 

“You know,” you narrow your eyes as you look up at him, “some people would say thank you for the recommendation.” 

His brow arches—or at least, you think it does. It’s hard to completely tell under his stupid hat. Then he fires back—

“And some people wouldn’t forget to restock the ramen.” 

Your mouth falls open, your words failing you as he grabs his goods from your hands, heading to the self-serve station to continue his nightly noodle worship as if he didn’t just verbally body-slam you. 

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore? 

Between back-to-back choreo sessions, recording tracks at hours that shouldn’t legally exist, and navigating the emotional and physical minefield of constant shows, interviews, photoshoots—you name it—nothing about his life is consistent. 

However—

There are two things—two sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness. 

The first? 

Insomnia. 

Not by choice, of course. He doesn’t love being awake at 3AM, staring at his ceiling and waiting for sleep to take over. But it’s a loyal companion, like a stray cat that keeps showing up at your house no matter how hard you try to shoo it away. Heeeseung’s insomnia is always there for him, night after night, ensuring he gets exactly only four hours of sleep—with a side of existential dread. 

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

This unlikely pairing is Heeseung’s personal slice of heaven he can actually control and choose in a life otherwise ruled by the rest of the world. 

Every night, he drags himself to his favorite corner store, grabs his fiery ramen and sweet, creamy coffee milk, and plants himself in the window seat to enjoy his culinary masterpiece in peace. 

Then—and only then—can Heeseung catch a few hours of sleep, the spice-induced euphoria lulling himself into a temporary state of calm. 

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

Because in a world that demands he change at the drop of a hat, this little routine of his is the one thing that stays consistent. 

Well, except for last night. 

Because last night, someone dared to disrupt the cosmic balance of his existence. Someone failed to restock his precious Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen. 

He had stared at the empty spot on the shelf, the betrayal hitting him like a personal attack. He went home last night only a quarter satisfied from the mild spicy ramen he had settled with. 

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

Now here he is, stepping into the corner store at 1:09AM, ready to make up for last night’s disappointment of an outcome. 

Heeseung steps into the brightly lit store, the familiar ding ringing behind him as he enters right on time. He continues his familiar route to the ramen aisle, but not before shooting a quick glance from below his hat toward the counter. 

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

The new graveyard shift employee. The one who dared to challenge his sacred ramen ritual and stared at him like he was a walking poor life choice. 

You’re here again. This is five nights in a row. Heeseung wonders if you 1) are insane, 2) have no life, or 3) are purely here just to spite him. 

But tonight, he’s prepared. His focus is razor-sharp, his mission clear: Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk. Nothing will get in the way tonight. 

Heeseung looks up, exhaling in relief when he spots the fiery red packaging of the Extra Spicy Hellfire sitting innocently on the shelf. There you are. 

He grabs the cup (with too much excitement that it should honestly embarrass him), cradling it like a long-lost love, before he makes his way to snag his coffee milk. 

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

Except, of course, you’re watching him. Again. 

He doesn’t even need to look up to know it. He can feel your judging eyes burning into the back of his head like you did the other night—like you’re seconds away from filing a report against his own taste buds. 

He doesn’t get it—what’s so strange about ramen and coffee milk? It’s not like he’s dipping the noodles in it. Why you’ve made it your personal mission to antagonize him, he has no idea, but it’s really throwing him off his ramen zen. 

Heeseung sighs to himself as he steps up to the counter, making sure you hear the sheer misery in this voice—because, of course, fate has cursed him with yet another encounter with you.

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?” 

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night. 

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and that same unimpressed, judgmental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What's right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spicy and sugar.’” 

Okay, ouch. 

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off. 

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help,” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.” 

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know. 

Do you recognize him? 

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something. 

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast. 

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him. 

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands. 

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head. 

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues. 

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest. 

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk. 

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious. 

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

By night six, you don’t know whether to pity the guy or stage an intervention.

The ding of the automatic doors announces his arrival, as usual, at exactly 1:09AM. You know it’s him—Ramen Guy. The guy who you’re convinced single-handedly continues to keep the Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen business float. 

You lean against the counter and subtly watch him make his usual pilgrimage to the ramen aisle, internally scoffing to yourself at the weird moment he picks up his ramen like it’s his newborn child.

He’s so weird. 

You wonder what kind of person he is outside this convenience store. Does he always make such objectively strange choices? Like, does he wear socks with sandals? Does he mix his cereal with orange juice instead of milk? 

Your haunting thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his usual unholy pair of snacks hitting the counter in front of you with a soft thunk. You look down at the items before glancing back up at him with a skeptical look on your face, “You ever think about switching it up?”

Ramen Guy, clearly expecting the snark, doesn’t miss a beat, “You ever think about minding your business?” 

“Not really. Boredom makes me nosy,” you shrug. “And at this point, you’re the only thing keeping me entertained at this hour.” 

He rolls his eyes so dramatically you’re mildly concerned he might sprain something. 

“And I’m starting to think you like judging me a little too much.” 

“Wrong. I like judging everyone equally,” you scan his items, then tilt your head. “But maybe you’re a special case. With issues.” 

To your surprise, he snorts. Like, an actual, out-loud laugh. 

“Says the girl who voluntarily works the night shift.”

Your smirk falters for half a second. He catches it.

Ramen Guy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “What? Too close to home?”

You shift in your spot, “Bold of you to assume I have issues.”

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You shift the attention back to him. “What about you, then? Why do you keep showing up here, huh?”

At that, something changes. The words in the air, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his demeanor—the slight awkwardness in the way he shifts his weight. 

Then, after a brief pause, he meets your gaze and throws the question right back at you.

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

You freeze, putting his items back down on the counter, caught off guard by the reversal. "Touché. But I asked first."

There's hesitation again for a moment, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter impatiently—nervously?

"I like the peace and quiet,” he finally says, and for the first time tonight, he meets your eyes.

For a split second, you’re startled by the sincerity in his gaze and sudden shift in tone—it’s almost distracting. But you shake yourself out of it just as quickly.

"Nothing about Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk sounds peaceful or quiet," your voice softer now but still teasing.

"Okay, Miss Graveyard Shift," he fires back, leaning a little closer over the counter. "Why are you here every night? Do you have a thing for fluorescent lighting and cleaning up after drunk customers or something?"

You don't miss the faint challenge in his voice as you narrow your eyes at him.

Then, you settle for a shrug and take a breath, answering honestly.

"It's flexible. Pays well enough," you start, before looking back at him, and add, almost as an afterthought, "...and I like the quiet too."

It’s an honest answer, one that seems to hang in the air between you two for a beat too long. His gaze softens ever so slightly, and you swear you see something shift underneath that stupid cap of his, but before you can dwell on it, he straightens up.

He places his three bills on the counter, grabs his items, and pauses.

“So,” he starts, his lighter tone breaking the silence, “do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Graveyard Shift Girl?”

You raise a brow, amused, as you start putting his bills away, “Do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Ramen Guy?”

For a split second, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—something smug, something entertained. And you don’t know it, but under his mask, his lips twitch, fighting back a faint smile.

“Touché,” he murmurs, echoing your earlier words before stepping back from the counter, items in hand, but lingers just a moment longer than necessary—like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the self-serve station, falling back into his regular routine.

And you should do the same.

You try to do the same. But as you go back to your usual tasks—wiping down the counter, restocking shelves, pretending to be productive—you find yourself sneaking glances out of the corner of your eye toward his window seat.

He just sits there, just like he always does, stirring his ramen absentmindedly as he stares out into the empty street. And yet, tonight, something feels…different.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just curiosity. Natural, given how he keeps showing up every night, breaking up the monotony of your shift with his weird food choices and even weirder personality.

And yet—

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to stop thinking about him—the way he looked at you earlier, the way his demeanor shifted even slightly.

It’s nothing.

Still, your gaze flickers back at him, catching the way his fingers tap lightly against the table, lost in thought. You wonder what kind of things keep a guy like him up at night.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to find his weird little habits endearing, too.

The faint sound of the store’s music plays in the background, the clock ticks, and eventually, he finishes his ramen, tosses his trash, and makes his way toward the door.

And then—he hesitates.

Just for a second. A small pause, a barely-there moment where he stops, glances over his shoulder just slightly—just enough to look at you.

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

You blink, caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can manage is to stare at him. Then, as you fail to ignore the weird blooming feeling in your chest, your words slip out almost on instinct:

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

The next night, you do something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—you take your cheesy ramen, peace juice pouch, and bag of potato chips and plop yourself down right next to Ramen Guy and his usual window seat. 

He pauses mid-slurp. Keeping his head low, he turns to you slowly. Suspiciously.

“What…are you doing?” 

“Having dinner,” you say matter-of-factly, popping open your bag of chips. 

His gaze drops to your meal, and then back to you. “It’s almost 1:30AM.” 

“Okay? Dinner, early breakfast, midnight snack, call it whatever you want,” you shrug, unbothered as you continue unwrapping your meal. 

Ramen Guy exhales through his nose, shaking his head to himself like he’s just accepted his fate. Without another word, he turns back to his own meal and resumes eating. 

A surprisingly comfortable silence follows—the only sounds filling the empty store the quiet hum of the store’s playlist, the buzz of the lights above you, and the synchronized slurp of two insomniacs with poor diet choices. 

Then, without thinking, you tilt your bag of potato chips, holding it out between you two, “Want one?”

He stops mid-motion, as if he’d almost forgotten you were still here.

Almost.

A glance into your bag, a small shrug, and then, just like that, he grabs a chip and pops it into his mouth, moving so fast you barely catch a glimpse of his face without the mask.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a sip of his coffee milk, still keeping his head low.

You hum in response, your fingers drumming against the counter before your curiosity wins the best of you, “So…what kind of life leads you to seek peace and quiet in a convenience store?”

It’s a question that’s been on your mind since last night’s conversation. What can you say? You’re a creature of curiosity.

Ramen Guy shrugs next to you, “What do you mean?”

“Like…you’re here every night. Why at night? Why not during the day?”

He lets out a short chuckle. “You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

You exhale sharply, your fingers now absentmindedly swirling the noodles in your bowl. “Look, I’m just saying—most people are asleep at this hour.”

He smirks. You can hear it in his voice without even looking. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”

“That’s different, this is my job,” you scoff, amused, before pointedly gesturing at this meal before him, “Unless you want to call your weird habits a job. Which, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was paying you to subject your tastebuds to that every night.”

And he laughs. It’s small, barely there, but you catch it. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally answers, “It’s like I told you before, I like the quiet at this hour…I don’t get a lot of that.”

You stop twirling your noodles, the air shifting into that same unspoken understanding from last night. Faint, but unmistakable.

Something unsaid hanging between the two of you, something that tells you this guy is more than just an insomniac with questionable food choices.

You tilt your head. “So, what, you got a bunch of loud roommates or something?”

A small, almost knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Something like that.”

You raise a brow at his vague answer but don’t press. Instead, you nod towards his food. “And your criminal meals? That part of the quiet too?”

He huffs, “Maybe I just have superior taste.”

“Right, totally,” you laugh, the tone in your voice almost testing him. 

Ramen Guy finishes up his meal, wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin before putting his mask back on and finally turning to face you fully.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You think you have me all figured out?”

You mirror his actions, facing him fully for the first time tonight, folding your arms, “Oh, I do have you all figured out, Ramen Guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans forward slightly. “Alright, go on. Tell me who I am, Graveyard Psychic Girl.”

You roll your eyes but accept the challenge, leaning back in your seat.

“You’re a creature of habit, clearly. You like consistency. Probably because your life is very inconsistent otherwise.”

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

“You’re a night owl, but not by choice. You want to sleep, but your brain won’t let you.” Your eyes flick down to the coffee milk. “So, instead, you drink this, even though it probably makes it worse.”

Still no response.

“So now, you just keep showing up here because it’s predictable,” you finish with a small shrug. “And maybe…‘cause you’re kinda lonely.”

That makes him pause.

You immediately regret saying it. Because…what was that?

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t deflect. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or peer them at you the way he does a million times a night.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“…Not bad,” he says finally, reaching for another chip from the bag in your hands.

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, kinda harsh, but…mostly true.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that.

A beat of silence passes before Ramen Guy speaks up again, “So basically, you’re saying we’re the same.”

You let out a snort, “Not even close.”

“We both work weird hours. We both like the quiet. We both eat the same convenience store junk food.” He holds up the bag of potato chips before eating another one.

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

“Yeah, but I’m still eating them, which means my taste is obviously elite.”

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

“Okay, you’re the one who made it weird.”

A mischievous smile starts forming on your face as you snatch your bag of chips back from him, “So you agree your food choices are weird?” 

His smirk falters as a small giggle rises out of you. 

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

The next night, Heeseung does something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—he’s late. It’s 1:30AM, well past his usual 1:09AM show-up time, and the store is Heeseung-less.

He blames late-night dance practice. He also blames Ni-ki for stealing his usual black hoodie—forcing him to spend an extra thirty minutes looking for another one. Not that the hoodie matters, he would argue (yes, it does).

When he finally steps through the door at 1:32AM, the familiar ding barely finishes echoing before—

“Wow,” you drawl from behind the counter, arms crossed. “Tragic. Unbelievable. I was starting to think you found a new place to bother.”

Heeseung snorts, making a beeline for the ramen aisle, “You wish. Wouldn’t want you to get bored without me.”

You let out a dramatic gasp, “Wow. Thoughtful and self-aware. Who knew you had layers?”

Heeseung tries to ignore you, moving to grab his coffee milk. But his lips twitch under his mask, and he’s glad it’s hiding the way he’s failing to fight the smile growing on his face.

When he finally reaches the counter, you push off from where you were leaning against the counter, hands settling on your hips. “Okay, be honest. Outside of this, do you have anything else going on in your life?” 

Heeseung raises a brow, completely caught off guard. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past few nights, it’s that you’re incredibly nosy. And for someone who claims to like working the night shift because of the quiet, you’re absolutely terrible at keeping things that way. 

“Excuse me?”

“You mentioned that you work weird hours yesterday,” you gesture vaguely at him. “So, spill.”

His stare remains blank, debating if he can distract you by handing you his three bills of cash (he can’t).

“I do…stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeat, “Quite riveting.”

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

You shrug, taking his cash and putting it away. “You must do something interesting. You’re too weirdly confident for a guy who just bums around convenience stores at night.”

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

"Yeah, like—" You wave around you. "You walk around like you have some big, mysterious purpose. But all I ever see you do is glare at instant noodles and sip milk like a sad Victorian child."

Heeseung shakes his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "Maybe that is my purpose."

Then, he simply shrugs. But there’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, like he’s deciding exactly how much he wants to say.

"It’s hard to explain,” he finally says. “I just…have a weird work schedule.”

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in, I don’t really get normal hours. Always moving, always working. Makes sleep kinda impossible."

You pause, taking in his words. Then, you shift slightly, crossing your arms. "Sounds exhausting."

Heeseung exhales a laugh, leaning against the counter. "You have no idea."

For a moment, a familiar and warm quiet fills the air as the two of you linger, as if waiting for the other to say something more.

And he doesn’t know why, but his chest feels a little too tight—like he’s let you stumble into a part of him you weren’t supposed to see yet.

“Well,” you say quietly, your lips curving into a soft smile that sends a weird jolt through his body that he chooses to ignore. “I’m honored you’ve chosen this fine establishment as your official sanctuary.”

He scoffs, reaching for his items. "Don’t let it go to your head, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

Heeseung pauses, turning back at you like an awkward child lost in the middle of a store.

“My name,” you clarify, casually returning to sorting the register’s bills. “A lot easier to say than Graveyard Shift Girl.”

Heeseung gives you a slow nod, something unfamiliar and unplaceable twisting in his stomach as he turns back around.

And when he finishes his meal and leaves that night, he calls out—

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And, this time, he doesn’t fight the smile under his mask when he hears your voice, a little softer, call back out:

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

Heeseung doesn’t even make it past the threshold before a familiar melody drifts through the weak convenience store speakers and to his ears.

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

Familiar because it’s literally his voice singing the line.

His stomach drops.

Instead of his usual beeline to the ramen aisle, Heeseung turns towards the counter where you’re idly tapping on your phone, oblivious.

The hum of the melody continues, and Heeseung is suddenly too hyper-aware of how loud his own voice sounds in the otherwise dead-silent store.

Panic creeps up his spine.

He moves fast, crossing the store in a few long strides, slamming his hands down onto the counter that divides the two of you.

You jump in your seat.

“Geez—” you clutch your chest, wide-eyed as you take in his very sudden, very urgent presence. “What the hell?”

Heeseung ignores you, pointing above him, “Did you put this on?”

Your brows furrow as you put your phone down, glance up at him, then at the speakers he’s pointing at. You barely register the song before recognition flickers across your face.

“Oh—this? Nah, it’s the store’s playlist,” you gesture towards the iPad behind the counter, currently playing a Current Hits playlist on shuffle. “It’s some group’s new song. Pretty catchy.”

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

The realization sends relief crashing over him, but he quickly snaps out of it with a brand-new problem—because now he has to decide what the hell to do with this information.

Does he tell you? Drop the act and lay it all out? Would you believe him? Would you even care?

“You okay?” Now you’re staring at him, suspicious. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Heeseung clears his throat, realizing his stance is way too conspicuous, and slowly removes his hands from the counter to stand up straight, attempting to sound normal, “No reason.” 

You squint at him.

Then—

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes suddenly lighting up. “Wait.”

His heart stops. Oh, shit. She figured it out. This is it.

“Are you a fan?” you blurt, leaning forward in your seat eagerly.

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

“Oh, you totally are,” you continue, completely missing the way his soul is currently leaving his body. “You came straight to the counter like a man on a mission. Oh my god. Are they, like, your favorite group or something?”

Heeseung has never wanted to laugh and cry at the same time more than he does in this moment.

“Something like that,” he mutters, bringing a hand to rub this temple, because no way this is happening right now.

You beam brightly from your seat, “That’s cute. Who’s your bias?”

At that, Heeseung does laugh—because this is now officially the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

And then—after a deep breath, a long and heated internal debate, and one last glance at your innocent, completely oblivious face—he finally exhales, looking you straight in the eye.

“This guy,” he says as he hears his own voice ring out through the store. “Because that’s me. That’s my voice.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

Then you tilt your head. "I'm sorry—what?"

Heeseung watches as your expression cycles from confusion to skepticism to outright disbelief. He braces himself.

"My name is Lee Heeseung," he repeats slowly. "From Enhypen."

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

"Okay, Ramen Guy," you snort, crossing your arms. "Very funny.”

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

You roll your eyes, "Oh, I’m sorry, but when in our thriving relationship have you ever given me a reason to believe that you’re actually a famous idol and not just some guy who has concerning dietary habits?"

Heeseung groans.

He regrets everything. He regrets this entire conversation. He could have lied. He could have said literally anything else. But no—he had to be honest. And look where that got him.

"I’m serious," he insists, leveling you with a look.

You stare back at him.

Then, something seems to click in your brain, because you suddenly lunge for your phone.

"Oh, we’re doing this," you mutter, fingers flying across the screen as you type in his name. "Let’s see if—"

You stop.

Heeseung watches as your eyes widen, scanning the images in front of you. Then you look up at him. Then back down at the phone.

Then back at him.

“Take the mask off,” you mutter quietly, slowly holding your phone up next to his face.

With an exhausted sigh, Heeseung does what he’s told and pulls it down for the first time in front of you.

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

"You've gotta be shitting me," you breathe.

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

You don’t know what shocks you more—the fact that a literal celebrity has been standing in front of you this whole time, or the realization that the once-random stranger you used to relentlessly tease has, somehow, always been this ridiculously good-looking all along. 

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that?" You shove your phone toward him, your screen now displaying the group’s Instagram page. "You literally have fans. Like, millions of them."

Heeseung cringes, "Okay, you don’t have to say it like that."

"Like what? Like you’re a superstar and I’ve been treating you like a regular guy who can't cook for himself?"

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

“Unbelievable,” you scoff, shaking your head. “So you sing. You perform. You—commit crimes against humanity with your ramen choices each night.”

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo, standing up from your seat behind the counter. “So you’re telling me that every night, an actual, real-life idol has been showing up here, inhaling a week’s worth of sodium, and I—” You pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you even allowed to be eating this garbage?”

“And are you ever able to mind your own business?” Heeseung counters, now fully regretting this entire conversation.

“Absolutely not, Lee Heeseung, because this is literally the plot of a drama,” you wave your hands in disbelief. “Mystery insomniac convenience store guy turns out to be a world famous pop star—”

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

“—and I, the unsuspecting cashier, unknowingly roast him every night like he’s just some sleep-deprived college student instead of a millionaire with talent. Wait—” you then pause again, placing your hands on your hips, staring at him with a newfound judgment. “—you’re loaded, aren’t you?”

Heeseung pinches the bridge of your nose, exasperated, “Why is that your takeaway from this?”

“You are!” you exclaim, your smile widening as you ignore his suffering. “You’re rich and you’re out here eating instant ramen every night!”

Heeseung groans again, dropping his head onto the counter in front of you, “Oh my god.”

Grinning, you bend down to this level. “So this whole time, you’ve been lying to me?”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you. "It’s not lying. It’s…selective honesty.”

You scoff, straightening up just as Heeseung does, meeting his gaze with an accusatory squint. “That’s literally the definition of lying.”

“Look, it’s not like I planned to make a habit out of this,” he gestures to the store around him. “I came in one night, and then I came back, and suddenly, I had a thing going. Then you showed up and started running your mouth, and—”

“And you kept coming back anyways,” you finish, crossing your arms, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips.

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

A silence stretches between you—charged, almost personal—until you decide to cut through the tension with a smirk.

“What if I play your group’s music over the speakers every night?”

The look on his face is deadly. “You wouldn’t.”

Your grin grows, “Wouldn’t I, though?”

“This is the worst night of my life,” Heeseung drags a hand down his face and turns towards the ramen aisle. “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, c’mon,” you tease, calling out after him and delighting in his suffering. “Also can we talk about how you literally just said you’re your own bias?”

“Shut up.”

You’re still laughing when he returns to the counter thirty seconds later—Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk in hand, cheeks tinged pink.

“Alright, serious question,” you say, leaning in slightly from your seat at the window barstools. “If you had to give up either Extra Spicy Hellfire or coffee milk for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

Heeseung immediately stops chewing, his chopsticks frozen midair as he turns to you with a look that says you just personally offended him.

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You can’t just throw life-altering hypotheticals at me like that.”

“Choose.”

He stares at his ramen. Then at this coffee milk. Then back at you.

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Aw,” you flash him your sweetest, most infuriating smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me. Like, ever.”

Heeseung shoots a glare at you, “I hope your regular spicy ramen tastes like disappointment.”

“Oh, it totally does,” you look down at your own ramen in front of you and take an exaggerated slurp, “It’s just so awful.”

Heeseung’s lips perk up into a smile at your weirdly endearing antics before shaking his head, “You’re a lost cause.”

You giggle to yourself, taking a sip of your own juice when you hear Heeseung, barely audible, suddenly mutter:

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

“I know, okay?” He rubs his temples as if the decision is actually hurting him. “It’s like choosing between two children. But at the end of the day, ramen is ramen.”

You nod along, pretending you understand the gravity of his heavy decision (you don’t). But still, you smile—because you were the one who got him to betray his beloved coffee milk.

Heeseung takes a sip of it anyway, groaning as he swirls the bottle in his hand. “I hate that you made me think about this.”

“You should be thanking me. Y’know, character growth and all that.”

“More like character damage.”

You grin, victorious, and he just rolls his eyes before pausing for a second to think, then—he nudges his ramen cup toward you.

“Here. Try some.”

You recoil immediately and look up at him with a look that tells him he’s absolutely psychotic.

“Absolutely not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why? You scared?”

“No, Heeseung, I just have these things called taste buds.”

He scoffs, shoving the bowl between you two closer. “Just one bite. C’mon, Graveyard Shift Girl, live a little. For me.”

You hold his gaze, suspicious but faltering, because—damn it—he’s looking at you like that. All smug and teasing, head tilted slightly, and it affects you.

And then he moves. 

He picks up his chopsticks, twirls them in the bowl, and catches a perfect bundle of noodles before leaning forward, holding them up between you two. He waits.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes flicker to the steam curling from the noodles, twisting in the air between your faces, fragile and fleeting.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

It’s ridiculous, really. I mean, it’s ramen. But the way the space between you suddenly feels thin, the way his grip on the chopsticks stays steady, his fingers just inches from your lips, the way his dark eyes stay locked onto yours, watching you with something unreadable flickering beneath the usual teasing glint—it feels like time slows down.

You blink rapidly, clearing your throat. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re overthinking.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and slowly lean in to take the bite.

Your lips brush the chopsticks as you close your mouth around the noodles, and for a split second—one charged, unspoken, split second—neither of you move.

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

You can see the soft curve of his mouth, the way his gaze flickers over your face, the way his breath catches slightly like he just realized something.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of the close proximity and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. Panicked, you pull back quickly and settle into your seat like nothing happened.

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

No, wait. Wait. That heat in your cheeks?

Oh.

Oh no.

Yeah. It’s definitely not because of Heeseung (well, maybe a part of it is). 

Because the second you swallow down the bundle of noodles—the embodiment of heat, pain, and suffering all slams into your mouth instantly.

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

“Oh my GOD—” you choke, slamming your hands onto the counter, your body shaking as the spice courses through your veins.

Your throat ignites, your sinuses clear, and you swear you can hear colors.

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

His laugh bursts out of him—loud, unguarded, and completely delightful. He clutches his stomach, nearly hiccuping from how hard he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples deep in his cheeks.

If you weren’t literally physically dying in this current moment, you’d probably be absolutely too flustered to function at the sight.

“No way—” he wheezes through his laughter,“—are you actually struggling right now?”

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, HEESEUNG?!” you glare at him through the tears forming in your eyes as you desperately flail your arms around, searching for your juice pouch. “You eat this voluntarily?!”

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

Your hands finally find your drink and you gulp it down as if it’s your lifeline, eyes still watery, throat still burning, lungs barely breathing. But somewhere in the middle of your suffering, you catch yourself staring.

At Heeseung.

At the way he’s still smiling, like he just had the best meal of his life. At the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, his dimples peeking out like his own hidden secrets, the way his nose scrunches slightly when he’s amused—

Weird.

You blink the thoughts (and your tears) away, shaking it off, and blame the spice, the delirium, and sheer trauma of what just happened.

You clear your throat, sitting back with a desperate huff.

“I hope,” you catch your breath, gesturing to his bowl, “that when you come in tomorrow, we’re all out of this horrid flavor.”

Heeseung smirks, leaning back in his chair as he gives you a knowing look.

“You’d still restock it for me, though.”

Damn it.

Your shoulders slump, and both of you know you’re defeated.

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

Heeseung just grins, then, without a word, slides his coffee milk toward you in a silent truce.

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

It’s 1:20AM when you find yourself behind the counter, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of instant noodles and bottled drinks. The store hums with its usual white noise—lights buzzing above, soft music humming overhead, the low whirr of the coolers. 

And Heeseung? 

Heeseung is across the counter, perched on a barstool he dragged from across the store, doing absolutely nothing to help. 

For the nth time tonight, he flips a soda bottle into the air. 

And for the nth time tonight, he fails to land it upright, the bottle clattering onto the counter.

“You’re supposed to be helping me restock,” you remind him, tossing a pack of chips at him. 

“I am helping,” he argues, dodging the bag in time and letting it fall flat onto the ground. Great. 

You cross your arms, scoffing, “Oh yeah? What category does sitting there and flipping Diet Coke fall under?” 

Heeseung finally puts the bottle down on the counter and hums, tapping his fingers against the counter like he’s deep in thought. Then, he flashes you a meek smile, “Moral support?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to unbox another package from the pile stacked in front of you. 

Another silence falls between you and Heeseung watches as you go back to your job before he breaks it—

“How do you do this every night? Does it not get…I don’t know, tedious? Boring?” 

You freeze in your spot, caught by surprise at the question.

“Hm,” you turn to him, head tilted as you think.

Heeseung glances up at you, intrigued. The way your lips purse slightly, how your fingers fidget absentmindedly with the torn edge of a cardboard box. 

You exhale, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah, the hours suck, pay is…alright. And—” 

You hesitate. Your gaze drifts toward the floor, fixating on a dent near the register, “—and I think, at some point, I thought I felt stuck.” 

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

“I mean, I’m a college student, for god’s sake,” you continue, a small, humorless laugh escaping you. “And I spend my nights serving cigarettes to barely legal teens and cleaning up after ramen spills. It kind of felt like I was just…watching life pass me by, you know?”

Your voice quiets and it’s just the soft hum of the store again. You pick at the box without thinking, fingers grazing over the worn edges, and Heeseung watches you.

Because he gets it. 

He gets it in a way that makes his chest ache a little.

Because despite the differences in your lives—despite how he’s constantly moving while you feel stuck—you both know the feeling of watching life slip between your fingers, of wondering if you’re ever going to feel like you belong in it.

Heeseung holds the soda bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forth, murmuring, “Yeah, I get that.” 

You glance up at him, making eye contact, but you don’t push. 

“But then,” you say quietly, “I started seeing this place differently. Instead of somewhere I was stuck, it became more of a…break. An escape from everything. A breath of fresh air from expectations and routine.” 

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

Because deep down, that’s exactly what all of this has become for him too. 

He doesn’t know when it happened—if maybe it was the first night he found the store, maybe whenever you showed up, maybe all the sarcastic exchanges, or somewhere in between all of that—but these late-night visits, these stolen moments in a world that demands from him, have become something steady. Something his. 

And he wonders if maybe…maybe you’re the reason for that. 

Maybe you’ve been keeping him grounded in a life that never stops moving. 

And maybe he’s been keeping you from feeling stuck. 

Just maybe.

It’s late. Way later than usual. And Heeseung is still here. 

And you don’t know how, but you’ve both abandoned your usual spots—his self-proclaimed window seat and your stool behind the register.

Instead, you’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the register counter, backs pressed against the shelf of over-the-counter medications that you just re-organized, with a laptop and plenty of empty snack wrappers sitting between the two of you.

“See this is exactly my problem with this movie,” you point at your laptop screen, your voice slightly muffled by the gummy bears in your mouth. “One idiot makes one bad decision, and suddenly everyone’s dead! Like, be so for real.”

Heeseung scoffs, leaning back on his hands, “It’s a movie, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

“And I don’t have to pretend this isn’t garbage,” you shoot back as the credits roll, unimpressed. “This is objectively the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“I think I just have an acquired superior taste,” Heeseung quips, his eyes teasing. “Just like with my food choices.” 

“Right,” your voice drags out. “Superior delusion, maybe.”

Heeseung shoves your shoulder with his own, and you laugh, the sound natural, unfiltered, and totally at his expense.

As you shut your laptop and start gathering the remains of your late-night snack feast, the conversation quiets for a moment into an easy, warm silence. It’s the kind of quiet that feels good, the kind that’s been happening more lately—something you never would’ve expected that first night you ever saw him enter the store. 

Then, Heeseung exhales, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back against the shelf, “You know, this might be the longest I’ve sat and relaxed in months.” 

You glance up at him, brows raised, “What, you don’t get to laze around on the floor surrounded by junk food with your favorite convenience store worker on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he huffs a laugh. “But I thought a lot about what you said the other night. And sometimes it’s like…”

He pauses and tilts his head back, his eyes following the way the light fixture above him flickers in and out, “Like I’m moving so fast I forget what it’s like to just…be.”

Something in his voice makes you pause in your actions, your hands putting down the miscellaneous wrappers between you.

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

He lets out a breathy chuckle from beside you, “It’s…a lot. You’re always being watched, always expected to be on. And even during breaks I’m already thinking about the next thing. The next schedule, next performance, next practice.”

You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against his knee, something you’ve started to notice over time whenever he’s lost in thought. 

“But there are moments that make it worth it,” he continues, a small smile playing on his lips. “The music, how fun it is to be on stage, the fans. The feeling of performing and knowing people are there because they love what you do. It’s unreal.”

Your own smile unconsciously appears as you listen to him reflect, taking in his words. You never stopped to really think about his life in-depth before—and it does sound like a lot. Like something people dream of but don’t realize the weight of until they’re carrying it themselves. 

You nudge his knee lightly with yours, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to just exist sometimes, too.” 

Heeseung turns to look at you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, reaching into the closest bag of gummy bears to you and tossing one to him. He catches it easily, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“See, this is why I keep coming back,” he says, chewing. “Gourmet snacks and free therapy.”

You roll your eyes. “Unbelievable. I take it back. Suffer.”

Heeseung laughs, popping another gummy bear into his mouth, before his fingers start tapping his knee again. Then, after a beat—

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

When you look up at him, he’s already looking at you with a new…something. A newfound sincerity, maybe. Or uncertainty. Or both.

Your eyes meet, and suddenly, he visibly hesitates—shifting almost awkwardly in his spot, as if he both rehearsed what he’s about to say and yet has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

“I—um,” he swallows hard. “I’m sorry? For, y’know, being kind of a jerk when we first met. I think I was pretty…” He trails off awkwardly. “Jerk-ish.” 

You don’t move for a second. Slowly, one brow arches.

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

Then, a smile—slow and sweet—curls at your lips.

And suddenly, Heeseung realizes he doesn’t regret a damn thing.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, nodding along dramatically. “You were a menace. Like, an insufferable, grumpy, little menace.”

Heeseung lets out a noise that lands somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, I get it.”

“But,” you continue, locking eyes with him again, “I guess I should apologize too.”

Heeseung perks up, now his brow lifting, “For what? Finally admitting I was right about—”

“For judging you and your still…very questionable choices.”

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

“But seriously…you’re, like…” you dramatically draw out the moment as if the words physically pain you to say.

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you scoff. “You’re still a ramen-addicted jerk.”

Heeseung hums, still smiling, “Might be too late.”

Then, he tacks on, without thinking twice, “You’re pretty cool, too, I guess.”

You laugh at the hesitancy in his voice, “Okay, that sounded almost sincere.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile softens, “No, but seriously, it’s…nice. Having someone I could talk to outside of…you know, my whole chaotic life.”

The sudden shift in the air quiets you for a moment as you look at Heeseung, noticing the slight drop in his shoulders, the way his fingers continue to drum against his leg. When you don’t say anything, he continues.

“I don’t…really talk to people like this,” he quietly says, as if admitting something to himself more so to you. Then, after a pause, he glances back up, eyes searching your own. “Now like how I do with you. Like…I could tell you anything and everything, really.”

Your breath catches, but you keep your expression neutral, “Oh?”

Heeseung shifts, looking down at his hands before exhaling a quiet laugh, “Sorry. Too serious?”

You find yourself quickly shaking your head. Because although, yes, most of your interactions with Heeseung are filled with jokes and teasing, the serious conversations or shared warm silences in between recently—have started to mean something more. They’ve become an outlet, a quiet escape from reality. It’s like the moment he steps through the store’s doors, the door rings, the outside world fades, and for a few hours, it’s just the two of you in this shared space.

A space that feels safe, untouched by expectations, where both of you can just be.

“No,” you say, softer this time. “Not at all.”

You hesitate for a beat before adding, “I…really like talking to you too. It’s—” you let out a small laugh, “almost unnaturally easy, actually.”

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. He just nods, and then looks up at you from the ground and his eyes are serious—no teasing, no usual smugness, just something…real. Vulnerable.

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You should say something. Something light, or something sarcastic, or something normal.

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly, you’re close. He’s close. Too close. Close enough to hear his quiet inhale. To see the way his lashes flutter. To feel the space between you two thinning into something dangerously nonexistent.

You should move. You should break the moment before it turns into something neither of you can take back.

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open shatters the moment.

You both jolt apart like a pair of teenagers caught guilty, and your heart is practically breaking out of your ribcage as you scramble to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants, your face burning as you appear from behind the counter to greet the customer that was blissfully unaware of whatever was definitely not about to happen behind the counter. 

You clear your throat as you look down at Heeseung, who’s still frozen in his spot and trying his very best not to lose his mind, “I should—um. Go back to work.”

Then, suddenly, Heeseung stands too, nodding quickly as he runs a hand through his hair, his face slightly pink, very much not looking at you, “Right. Yeah. Work.”

Right when you turn back to the counter, the customer is there, waiting for you to ring them up. You plaster the most normal smile you can muster, scan their snack, take their cash, and hand them their change—all while pretending you don’t feel Heeseung’s presence still lingering behind you.

You don’t turn around, and he doesn’t move.

And despite the complete lack of physical contact, you still feel his warmth. The same amount of warmth as when he was only mere inches away from your own face.

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding your gaze before forcing out, in the most casual voice he can manage—

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

Then, finally, you let out a small laugh, “You’re so weird.”

The tension in the air cracks just enough, and Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, “And yet, you’d miss me if I didn’t show up, wouldn’t you?”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, except—nothing comes out.

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

So, naturally, instead of admitting defeat, you suddenly grab a rag from behind the counter and start aggressively scrubbing at a perfectly clean surface.

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung just grins, shoving his hands into his pockets as steps out from behind the counter and backs away. “Night, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

When he’s finally gone, you’re left standing there, staring at where he just was before you.

And finally, when the reality of what just happened fully settles in—

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

The clock above you ticks, a sound that usually fades into the background and becomes a part of the store’s white noise. But tonight? 

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

You think if you have to hear it tick one more time, you’re taking the ladder from the backroom, climbing up there, yanking that thing off the wall, and tossing it right into the dumpster. 

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

2:21AM, and you’re alone. Stuck in this sad, empty convenience store with nothing but your own annoying thoughts and the snacks laid out in front of you with no one to share them with. 

Same time tomorrow, my ass, you think bitterly, aggressively straightening a stack of receipts near the register that don’t even need straightening. 

Heeseung’s voice from a few days ago still rings in your head—completely, and unfortunately, uninvited.

You don’t even know why they’re stuck in there, his words looping around, constantly taunting you.

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

Three full days since Heeseung has walked through those automatic doors, plopped down in his usual seat, and proceeded to either a) annoy you, b) argue with you over his food-related crimes, or c) make you laugh against your will.

And you don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.

Frustrated? Yeah, you’re frustrated. But the real question is—at what, exactly?

Frustrated that he just disappeared without so much as a heads-up? No warning?

Or maybe you’re frustrated at the very fact that you’re even thinking about this at all.

It’s not like he owes you an explanation. It’s not like he belongs to this store…or to you.

So why does it feel like something’s missing every time you glance at the entrance, half-expecting to hear the ding of the doors and see him stroll in with his stupid hoodie and even stupider smirk?

You shake your head, trying your best to snap yourself out of it.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

You don’t care so much that, for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain—your traitorous, overthinking, hardworking brain—itches with a thought.

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

And before you can fully even process what you’re doing, your fingers are already unlocking your phone, your thumbs moving on autopilot as you do something you swore you wouldn’t.

You search up his name.

It’s pathetic. It’s sad. Even you’re disappointed in yourself. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t associate Heeseung with his job, with the persona that everyone else sees. Because to you, Heeseung is just…Heeseung—the insomniac who bickers with you every night, who somehow turns every conversation into an argument he has to win, who sits cross-legged with you behind the register eating spicy noodles and giving objectively bad movie recommendations.

And to him? 

Well. You thought that to him, you were just you. Just some convenience store worker he happened to befriend. Someone outside of his world, outside of the blinding lights. Someone he didn’t have to be anyone around. 

His words echo in your mind as you think—just a person he could tell anything and everything to. 

You push the thought along with their feelings down as you continue scrolling—quick, desperate, your fingers flying over your screen, swiping through posts, comments, anything that could explain his sudden absence—

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

Tagging his group, followed by a message. It’s short. Sweet. Simple. 

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

“Can’t believe they’re leaving for tour already tomorrow! So excited to see them in a few days!!” 

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

Your stomach twists violently as you scan for more confirmation, your hands gripping your phone with a newfound frustration as you tap through articles, fan accounts—anything to tell you this isn’t real. That there’s some mistake. That you didn’t just foolishly spend three days waiting for someone who was never going to show up.

But there it is. Everywhere. Right in front of you.

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at your screen. The words all blur together, but the sinking feeling in your chest is sharp, clear, and undeniable.

And you hate it.

You hate that you feel like this. You hate that your first instinct wasn’t to be happy for him, or proud, or even remotely understanding.

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

And just as that realization settles in—just as the blur of your feelings finally sharpens into something unmistakable, something you can no longer ignore—the familiar ding of the automatic doors cuts through the quiet store and the screaming thoughts in your head.

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

You blink, because at first you think maybe you’ve been drowning in your thoughts for so long that you’ve started hallucinating him—manifesting his presence out of sheer frustration towards him.

But, no.

Heeseung stands there, at the entrance, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking at you like nothing’s changed.

Like he hasn’t been gone for days, like he hasn’t left you suffering with your own emotions—like he hasn’t been the only thing on your mind even when you really, really, didn’t want him to be.

“Hey,” Heeseung nods at you casually, walking over to his usual stupid aisle, grabbing his usual stupid Extra Spicy Hellfire, then reaching for his usual stupid coffee milk—all like clockwork, all like he never left.

You don’t respond.

Instead, you busy yourself—wiping the spotless corner of your counter, smoothing out a crumpled receipt, pretending you’re looking for something in the shelves beneath you.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

Because if you have to stand here and pretend like you’re fine, that these past few days haven’t felt like an eternity for you—you might actually lose it.

Heeseung finally walks up to the counter, places his things between you, then pauses before repeating, tilting his head, “Hey?” 

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

“You mad at me or something?” he asks, his head still tilted, his voice light, hesitant.

You inhale, your fingers subconsciously tightening around the edge of the counter.

Then, you let out a quiet laugh—an empty, humorless scoff.

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

You finally look at him. And you think it was a mistake. Because the second you meet his gaze—uncertain, searching, so annoyingly familiar—you feel your throat close up.

He looks the same. Same stupid hoodie. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes that you’ve somehow come to find comfort in.

And that makes you hate this even more.

“Is this because I haven’t been showing up?” Heeseung tries again, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Damn, I didn’t realize you’d miss me that much. Sorry, Graveyard Shift Gi—”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Your voice is quiet, but he doesn’t miss it.

And he stills.

There it is.

He shifts in his spot again, his eyes now darting down to where his fingers are tapping against the counter.

“What?” he says again, but this time, it’s different. Careful.

You swallow, forcing down the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to look at him.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. But lined with something raw, something vulnerable, something hurting.

And Heeseung hears all of it. He feels all of it.

He doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, lips pressing into a thin line.

Somewhere in the background, the clock continues ticking, the lights overhead buzzing, a song from the speakers humming.

And Heeseung stays silent.

“You weren’t,” you murmur, the words caught in your throat. “Were you?”

Heeseung exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, “I—” 

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

You cross your arms tightly, more so to ground yourself more than anything.

He lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head.

“Look,” he gestures vaguely, between you, at the store, at the shelves, at the space you’ve unknowingly carved out for him here. “This—this is the only thing that’s felt normal for me in a long time.”

Your stomach twists.

“Everything else—my whole life, it’s all…chaos. But this?” He swallows, his eyes finally looking up to meet your gaze, his voice quieter now. “You?”

His eyes flash with something new, something softer, something that lingers in the way he looks at you. The same way he has over late-night snack feasts, whispered movie nights, conversations that blended into the early mornings. 

“You’re the closest thing to normal I’ve had.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because you get it. You know him, so you understand.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he was going to leave without telling you.

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

“So what?” your voice is still quiet, but now edged with a new sharpness. “You thought if you didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t have to be real?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, I wouldn’t have to lose this yet.”

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Heeseung didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to ruin this.

Whatever this is.

Whatever the two of you had built over the weeks between instant noodles and snacks, between arguments over food choices, between all the unspoken moments that made you feel like maybe, maybe, this was something more.

You let out a wavering breath, shaking your head, “That’s not fair, Heeseung.”

“I know,” his voice is rough now, like he’s tired of saying it. Like he’s already told himself a million times and accepted it. Like he wants you to just accept it and move on.

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know how!” His voice rises in frustration, an exasperated sigh slipping out. “Because you—this—whatever this is, it started feeling real. Too real. And I just didn’t want to fuck it up, alright?”

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, everything you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, every feeling you’ve been trying to convince yourself wasn’t there, is suddenly painfully undeniable.

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

“So you thought it’d be better to just disappear instead?” Your voice shakes, biting down on the thick emotion rising in your throat. “You didn’t even think to tell me.”

Heeseung steps closer, and for the first time tonight, you see it—his own frustration bubbling beneath his surface, the barely restrained emotion.

“What does it matter, Y/N?” his sharp voice cuts through the heavy air lingering between you. “What difference would it—would you—have made? It’s not like this was ever going to change anything.”

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

He sees the way your eyes move away from his. He sees the way your posture suddenly deflates, as if his words physically hurt you.

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

And no matter what, no matter the amount of realness, no matter what either of you feel—that was always going to be the reality.

“Right,” you finally say, your voice dangerously close to giving out. “Because it’s not like any of this really meant anything, right? At least not enough for you to acknowledge.”

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

You let in a sharp inhale, nodding once, your lips pressed into a straight line. “Got it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw, like he wants to take the words back, like he wants to fix whatever just broke between you.

Instead, he exhales, stepping back from the counter, “I should go.”

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

Heeseung hesitates for a half second, like maybe—just maybe—he’s waiting for you to say something.

But you don’t. 

Not when you feel so utterly lost in everything you’re feeling that you can’t even begin to put into words. 

So he nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets, turning away.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

You’re left at the counter, staring at his abandoned cup of ramen, untouched coffee milk, and the ghost of something that never got the chance to be.

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

He wasn’t thinking four days ago, when the space between you two had grown impossibly small—when he was this close to you, when the air felt thick with something unspoken, yet undeniable, something that made his pulse race and his breath hitch. 

He wasn’t thinking when he let fear creep in, when the weight of him realizing his own feelings sent him running, keeping him from stepping foot into the store at all. For three days. 

He wasn’t thinking when he looked you in the eye last night and told you this didn’t matter. That none of it ever did. 

He wasn’t thinking when he walked out of the store, leaving you to think that you didn’t matter to him. That you never did. 

And he definitely isn’t thinking now, when he’s supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour, but instead—his feet pound against the pavement, tearing through the empty, quiet streets like a man possessed, like maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the regret clawing in his chest. 

The cold air stings against his face, streetlights flicker overhead, and the city hums all around him—but none of it matters. None of it even registers. 

Because all Heeseung knows, all he cares about, is getting to you.

Because Heeseung?

He can go months on tour without his Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen.

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

He can go months on tour without those, even if it means braving his insomnia.

But what he can’t go without?

Heeseung can’t—he won’t—go months on tour knowing you think you meant nothing to him. That you didn’t bring him relief after the longest days, laughter when he forgot how to find it, comfort in a world that never slowed down for him.

That you weren’t the one thing that felt real in a life that so often didn’t.

And if there’s even the smallest chance to fix this—to make sure you know—then nothing else matters.

The neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, and Heeseung’s heart lurches in his chest as he approaches, his staggered breathing visible in the cold air in front of him, his hands clammy.

He stumbles through the sliding doors, the familiar ding barely registering in his mind as his eyes dart around—only for his stomach to drop.

The counter is empty. The soft sound of your absentminded humming, the teasing lilt of your voice, the annoyed glare in your eyes—it’s all missing.

And all wrong. Too quiet, too empty, too…not you.

Instead, some guy he’s never seen before glances up from behind the register, staring at the way Heeseung just lingers frozen near the entrance.

“Uh,” Heeseung swallows thickly, his voice strained from his sprint. “The girl who usually works nights. Is she here?”

“Oh, Y/N?” the worker raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, she called off tonight.”

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

Because last night, you were here—waiting, hoping, and he walked out on you.

“Oh,” is all Heeseung can manage before he feels the words getting caught in his throat.

His jaw clenches, his stomach twists. The weight of regret settles deep, heavy and unrelenting.

“Right. Okay. Thanks,” he mutters, nodding absently, then turns towards the door.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

Right there, walking towards the store, hands shoved into the pockets of your coat, face buried into your scarf.

You stop.

He stops.

For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.

The neon glow of the store’s sign reflects off your face, casting a shadow over your widened eyes. A car honks in the distance. A gust of wind blows past.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Heeseung says without thinking, almost breathless.

A small laugh escapes your lips, airy and uncertain, “Yeah, well…neither are you.”

You’re right.

He should be on his way to the airport. Bags packed, schedule set, moving on.

But instead? Instead, he’s here, standing in front of the only person who has ever made him hesitate.

Heeseung takes one step forward, “I was looking for you.”

You tilt your head, your lips pressed together like you’re weighing something in your mind.

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

It comes out all at once and rushed, but utterly honest. Honest and heavy, the way it’s been aching in his chest—and he can’t hold it in anymore.

You blink, unmoving.

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung says again, stepping closer. His voice is steady, gentle, but nervous, scared you won’t believe him. “For everything. For not telling you. For leaving like that. For being a completely fucking idiot about—”

He stops. The look in his eyes is vulnerable, genuine. Longing.

“About this. Us.”

You don’t say anything right away, just watching him carefully.

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dry laugh as he realizes he’s about to lay everything out bare.

“I think I was scared,” he admits. “Of what it all meant. Of what you meant to me. I kept telling myself none of it was real, that it didn’t matter. But then I walked out yesterday and, I realized—”

He swallows hard, looking at you and the way your eyes soften with something unreadable.

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

Then, you let out a soft exhale, shaking your head, as if something’s finally clicking into place, “I’m sorry too.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

“For not—,” you sigh, your hands now fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. “For not saying something sooner. Because the truth is, I’ve been denying it too. I didn’t even realize how much I—how much you meant to me until I saw you last night and…”

You trail off, your cheeks warming. Then, with a deep inhale, you take another step closer, meeting his gaze from an arm’s length away.

“I was just so angry and upset, but I think…I realized it’s only because I like you, Heeseung. So much.”

Heeseung swears his heart stops. It feels like his whole world has just shifted, and all his thoughts are tangled up in the way you’re looking up at him now.

“And…I should’ve been more understanding,” you add softly. “I shouldn’t have held it against you like you owed me something. I was just hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle it, honestly.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, not when his thoughts are running wild and his heart is beating like it’s about to fully grow legs and escape.

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

“We’re both idiots,” he says finally, shaking his head softly. 

A small, knowing smile dances on your lips, your eyes locking onto his, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

The tension eases. Just a little.

Heeseung takes a small step closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of you, despite the cold air surrounding you both. 

“So now what?”

You tilt your head as you look up at him, eyes searching his, “Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight soon?”

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

That’s what’s been planned all along. That’s the reality.

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

Your eyes narrow slightly, a playful glare sparking in them, "Maybe?"

Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe."

The warmth in his chest spreads when he sees the way you bite back a smile, the way your weight shifts just the tiniest bit closer—like you're testing the space between you.

Then, you reach into the tote bag slung around your shoulder and pull something out. 

“Here.”

You press a small bottle of coffee milk into his hands.

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

And you’re looking at him with something gentle—something that makes his chest tighten in the best way possible, something that makes the world feel just a tiny bit warmer.

“Just in case you need a reminder,” you say, your voice light and grounding. “Of what’s normal.”

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and suddenly—everything makes sense. 

The missing piece clicks into place as the static in his mind all fades away, leaving only this—only you. 

You, standing here in front of him, looking at him with that small, steady smile, and Heeseung knows. 

He's never been more sure of anything in his life.

A laugh escapes him before he even realizes it, soft and breathless, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, where warmth curls all around it, wrapping around his own heart like a quiet, undeniable truth. His heart races and his fingers tighten around the bottle in his hands—slightly trembling, not from nerves, but from the realization of something so much bigger. Something so much realer. 

And then, without even thinking, he steps forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and closes the small space between you before wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you in, slow but certain, with a gentleness that catches you by surprise. 

You freeze, breath catching, but only for a second. Because then—like a reflex, you melt into him, your own arms tightening around him.

Holding onto him just as much as he’s holding onto you.

Neither of you say anything.

There’s a quiet calm between you two—no need for words, just the rhythm of your heart beating against his own. Steady, calming, like it’s syncing with his, like they’ve always known each other’s pace.

Like they’ve been moving in tandem all along, even when neither of you realized it. 

And in a way, maybe that’s just how it’s always been with you two—balancing on the fine line between pushing and pulling, between sharp words and lingering glances, between pretending you didn’t care, yet feeling everything all at once. 

So easy to cross, so easy to blur, so easy to mistake for something else. 

Maybe you spent all this time thinking you were standing on opposite sides, only to realize you were always moving toward the same place.

And now, as one of his arms moves across your back, the other threading gently through your hair, holding the back of your head against his chest like he never wants to let you go, his heartbeat still steady against yours, you know for certain—

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore?

However—

There are three things—three sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness.

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo. And no, he still doesn’t care.

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it to the end, i'll ship u some extra spicy hellfire ramen & coffee milk rn ! <3 luv u mwahmwahmwah !

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

(bolded didn't let me tag, sorry :( )

[sqtorux]

brain is filled to the brim with pornstar! suguru filming videoes with you for the first time.

you're a bit nervous to be doing all this but it's suguru. of course you'll do whatever he asks.

he excels at his job because boy, does he take you well. your back is to him and you're bouncing up and down his cock— slaps of skin and unholy moans fill the room.

when you feel your legs giving out though, his hands find themselves to your waist gently guiding you, helping you out.

heat rises to your cheeks at the gesture and you're suddenly aware of the soft strokes he does on your hips.

suguru sees you looking down, trying to hide your flustered face but no, none of that— he wants to see you. whats the purpose of filming this if you're hiding from the camera?

he leans in, closing the small space between your back and his chest. your name falls from his lips like honey as his warm breath brushes the side of your cheek.

"you're doing so good ..." his sweet sweet words only tightens the knot in your stomach.

"baby- god- baby can you look at the camera f-f'me" of course, you comply. shaking your hair away from your face as suguru's hands trail up to brush them away for you, you stare into the camera—his thrusts in you never stopping.

"there she is" suguru groans when you clench around him, desperate to milk out everything his dick has to offer.

with your fucked out face and pretty sounds suguru thinks maybe, just maybe he finally has a favourite person to film his videos with.

[jjslvt]

COPS CAN’T STOP US ── .✦ nsfw, mdni, 18+ .ᐟ.ᐟ 

⤷ bf!jj maybank x bratty gf!reader // ❝ cops be damned. ❞

➤ wc: 3.6k (🙂) // masterlist

(includes some arguing, public sex, unprotected, piv, size kink, rough, dirty talk, almost(?) getting caught) — be safe y’all!

notes: i’m feeling a writer’s block forming already with my wips. this was not written how i originally planned. i wanted a short lil thing like my “ayo technology” fic, not this monster length! & bratty was not the way i wanted to go lol but it happened!

you and jj maybank were literally hiding in the woods right now — on the run from cops as you both heard the sirens blaring and a small search team shouting somewhere not too far away.

“they can’t be far! you see those brats and cuff ‘em with force, i don’t give a shit! bring them in!” shoupe yelled, his voice most recognizable to the two; the man sounded like he was using a megaphone on top of it.

you and jj decided to pull a little heist before the evening rolled in. you had a bad habit of indulging your boyfriend’s schemes and even enjoying the thrill of it (jj was doing well to corrupt his girlfriend). you loved it though; you wouldn’t change it because he brought adventure into your world, even if some of it was illegal. it made for good memories. plus stealing from rich assholes like the kooks was just worth it.

however, this time it was a little different as the two of you had argued the moment it all went wrong and the cops started their chase — couples bicker, it happens but sometimes the two of you got extra fiery. you could have the same amount of intensity as jj himself which made for a few explosive moments.

right now, he was getting ready to plop his large hand over your mouth because you wouldn’t stop running it, even in this situation.

“babe, i swear to god if you don’t shut up right now-”

“oh, that’s cute. my boyfriend’s threatening me? yeah, jj?! if i don’t shut up THEN WHA-”

his moved quick once your volume got louder — he didn’t want to risk the cops hearing it. he pinned you to the tree nearby because you were smaller than him (which he enjoyed too much sometimes) and slapped his hand over your mouth (and cheeks because of how big his hand was compared to your face), muffling your sounds & protests.

to which you glared and started squirmed — a steady tension was beginning to rise between the couple. one that wasn’t just stress from the situation and having been arguing, another type was filling the air.

his hand still pressed firmly over your lips, feeling you try to move your mouth to no avail.

his height towered you as he pressed closely against your body to stop you from squirming, looking down at your face — seeing that glare and giving you one of his own, “shit didn’t go as planned but we don’t got time to keep arguin’ right now!“ he whisper-shouted, breath fanning close to you.

but oh, you could struggle keeping the brattiness at bay at times — you outmatched jj in some moments with the chaotic energy. neither of you ever liked admitting things or backing down, no matter what.

your hands had instinctively grabbed onto his biceps for some hold though, just a natural reaction… having known his body. your hands would always grab onto him, as if they needed to touch even during all this (plus it didn’t help that he was wearing that red muscle tee and his blond hair was even more of a sexy mess).

though the way his body had engulfed yours sent a secret jolt of electricity through both of you and your movements causing a small friction didn’t help. it was amazing how frustration and being angry could create sexual tension to form but you both stubbornly ignored those feelings right now.

you started to thrash and his blue eyes grew piercing. he pushed himself against you more to stop you and leaned his mouth to your ear, voice a little hoarse from everything, “stop being a lil brat!”

you stilled at the word, a muffled sound of annoyance (and slight arousal at how he sounded) unable to fully escape your lips as his hand never left. he felt you still and some smugness was overcoming him.

he leaned his face away to look at you. he could almost picture the minor pout that his hand was hiding, “you gonna be good now? so we don’t get fuckin’ caught, yeah?”

you rolled your eyes slightly and he was reminded of all the times your eyes rolled back even more than that because of his dick buried inside of you — he faltered for a split second, mentally scolding himself because all the tension was not helping. he could already feel himself get half-hard, if he wasn’t before.

‘… why do i always wanna fuck you after you piss me off.’

his thoughts pouring out in his mind.

‘god, my girlfriend just had to be this hot little menace… worse than me sometimes. damn, focus jj.’

the sound of cops searching was still lingering closely by and he was summoned back to reality. he slowly lifted his hand off of you mouth as you panted to breathe. you still had that pissy look on your face as you stared up at him. you were pouting a bit, which he knew.

it also revealed the flush on your cheeks and…

‘… you look cute after being riled up. and fuckable, way too fuckable. this girl…’

his mind was at war it seems; battling every perverted thought that was whirling around as he kept control of himself. he was still half-irked from the arguments, your defiance but he was mildly turned on too.

and he knew his girlfriend well. you were feeling it too, no matter how much you’d act just pissed off.

“you’re annoying,” you finally whispered out, taking your gaze away but neither of you made a move to change the positions. you let him keep you pinned to the tree. at some point his other hand snaked around your waist lightly and your hands that had held his biceps never let go; your bodies spoke to each other.

he scoffed out a dry chuckle, “yeah… yet you still date me and follow me into every one of my schemes, princess.”

you sighed quietly, your previous anger subsiding just a smidge, “well obviously… jay. love makes you do stupid things.”

your gaze was still anywhere but at his face.

he smirked a little at that and used his hand that covered your mouth previously to grab your chin, making you look at him, “love makes you do stupid things?”

“don’t make me repeat myself, jj. you’re not deaf,” your little attitude came back out but this time he enjoyed it as his smirk widened.

his whisper went husky and he swiped his thumb over your bottom lip while he held your chin, “sometimes i think you get bratty with me during our arguments on purpose because you know exactly what i’m gonna do to you afterwards.”

that declaration got your full attention as a shiver went down your spine, feeling caught that he was speaking out the obvious that happened in your relationship.

‘… he’s not wrong.’

the tension was thick enough to cut through with a knife. he pushed his hips onto yours, feeling himself react to your shiver and the way your blush just got deeper. your pupils dilating… your heart starting to pound. although it was racing before from adrenaline but now it was racing for a different reason.

“what, pookie? don’t get silent on me now.“ his lips hovered over yours, breaths starting to intermingle.

“i’m right, aren’t i? i think it’s a way for you to beg me to fuck that attitude out of you.”

‘fuck me, that stupidly sexy and cocky tone of his…’ your mind went haywire.

“you wouldn’t…” you managed to mumble out as the arousal between you both grew.

those ocean colored orbs now twinkled with a mischievous glint you knew all too well.

“did you forget who your boyfriend is?”

“jj-”

he cut you off before you could say any more, “yeah. me. jj… the one who definitely would.”

by now, he was fully hard and making sure you knew as you were still trapped behind the tree and his larger stature. he pressed up harder against you and you groaned, feeling that clothed erection through your thin-fabric pants. that little groan of yours did him in but he heard the cops still out there.

however, when did he give a shit? he ran with impulse and right now, every bone in his body wanted you. especially after frustrating him.

“fuck it,” he muttered, lifting you up which made your legs wrap instantly around his waist as you held onto him. your eyes going wide.

“jj!”

“shh! just hang on…” he grunted, starting to move fast. getting deeper into the forest and making sure he had a good distance away from the cops so he could do what you both wanted.

he loved that he could just carry you on the go, he was thankful for being much bigger & stronger especially right now as he whisked you away. but damn if that didn’t make his cock throb more with need.

then you, being the minx you are, latched your lips onto his neck as he ran with you in his arms. he groaned softly, “you’re enjoying this, huh?”

“yeah, i actually am…” you smirked against his neck then licked up his flesh in a straight, short line.

“baby… i’m not gonna get far enough if you keep-”

you bit gently onto his neck, right where the pulse point was & started to suck on it erotically and he practically let out a helpless whine. he felt so tense now and there was a thrill in trying to escape the cops just to find a more secluded spot to fuck your brain out.

you were giving him a hickey… the sensations were hitting him and he gave up. he didn’t get as far as he would like at all but that was okay. you two could speed up the filthy, erotic dance that was coming, right?

he pushed you against another tree, still carrying you and your lips left his neck as you gasped (there was a bruising hickey) — there had luckily been a lot bushes around in this area, it was a little secluded at least. the cops were in the farther distance for now.

he was panting harshly and leaning his forehead against yours, “i can’t wait.”

your eyes widened, “wait, here? but that’s not far enough. the cops-”

“cops be damned,” he brushed up his lips against yours slightly, “ain’t nothing in this world gonna stop me now.”

that sent a spark of desire up your body as your legs trembled around him. he sounded desperate and it wasn’t like the risk of getting caught didn’t turn you on too.

plus the way he worded it made you whimper.

his eyes bore into yours, a small plea to them — he wasn’t a complete barbarian. he was checking if you were okay with it too and you bit your lip, nodding.

“cops can’t stop us…” you murmured and he grinned.

“that’s right baby, they can’t.”

and so, jj let you to the ground for a moment while you both fumbled fast with yours bottoms. your hands moving nervously & with excitement to pull your pants down enough. he helped you, covering your hands with his as you pulled them down together but he almost came on the spot from the sight.

“you’re not wearing any underwear?! this whole time… fuck- what, did you plan this!” he groaned, feeling his heart rate kick up and the tip of his dick leaked with precum at it, making a wet spot on his boxers. the wetness of yours was dribbling down your thighs on top of it — he subconsciously licked his lips.

“n-no… i just…”

“just tryin’ to drive me insane, i see.”

he knew you both were running on not so much time.

he quickly moved to undo the belt of his cargo shorts, unzipping & tugging those shorts & boxers with haste — his thick and long cock fiercely sprang out, every vein on it throbbing and aching. you squeezed your thighs at the view… the tip was so leaking and so angry with red.

he was well endowed — no matter how many times you two had sex and he stretched you, you remained tight.

but you loved it and so did he. he loved plunging into that pretty tiny cunt, watching a bulge form in your tummy from his massive length. it felt powerful and your reactions to him fueled the fire blazing in him every single time.

did he have a major size kink? probably. he enjoyed thoroughly dominating you and making you see stars. the way those warm, silken walls would wrap around his shaft, trying to milk him for everything he’s worth.

he lifted you back up and instantly sank you onto his cock as he kept you pinned against the tree for more hold. you moaned out immediately, feeling yourself get stretched again. his gaze went down, watching the way every inch of his length disappeared inside of you. he let out a low groan of pleasure while your eyes rolled back a little, lashes fluttering.

“fuuuuck… always so tight, god, fuckin’ perfect.”

he couldn’t help but harshly thrust up once, feeling the way he already hit the spot you loved. your back arching against the tree and your chest arching into him — his tip kissing your cervix and your walls clenching around him.

“mnn, j- jay…!”

he guided your hips with his strength, bouncing you up and down his dick in rough movements. he pressed his lips against yours, breathing harshly… speaking between sloppy kisses, “all good for me now, huh? no more attitude or anything…”

you mewled out and he shuddered at how sweet you were sounding.

“my good fuckin’ girl… letting me fuck you in the woods while cops look for us…”

your cunt tightened more at the praise, feeling all the frustration vanish and get replaced with nothing but pure lust.

“oh you like that? you like that i’m takin’ you right in the open?“

you called out softly, “y-yes… jj.”

you were just as dirty as he was and it couldn’t have been a more perfect match.

at this point, your walls had him in a vice-like grip — he almost threw his head back as he slammed you down more harshly, in a frenzy.

you whined against his lips and he spoke over it, “god, b-baby. if that tight little pussy keeps squeezin’ me so much… i’m gonna lose it…”

he was already on edge but he didn’t want to be done so soon. no way, he needed to prolong it as long as he could.

every vein on his cock was vibrating inside of you… he pressed you more against the tree so it could help hold you up while he started rutting up into you with a fast and hard rhythm, making sure to keep hitting that sweet spot. he made sure to rub into every part of your velvet walls, make you feel him completely.

“nghh!! ah, ah… jj…” your voice sounded so wrecked and he shoved his tongue into your mouth to swallow every delicious moan that came out. delving into every crevice as he tasted you.

he kept pounding into you, coaxing out every pretty and wanton sound from you. he broke the kiss to grab your bottom lip with his teeth and drag it out.

‘you feel so goddamn good, so tight… i wanna make you scream… let everyone know you’re getting fucked by me…’

but he knew, making you scream out in pleasure would be a bad move. that would be a dead give away to the cops that were still looking for you both!

his body was moving on autopilot though; thrusting up faster, harder and deeper — the wave of desire and the risk of getting caught (as he heard the cops started to find their path from afar, heading into their direction) made him keep losing control. the way your legs kept hold of him. everything was tight… outside of you, inside of you. you had him locked in.

he was in a daze of debauchery; wanting to oblige it all but he somehow forced himself back to actuality. you two couldn’t get caught, he promised to always keep you safe.

he let go of your lip, “we need to hurry… i gotta make you cum mama, now…”

“jay…” you breathed out, “but…”

he let out a noise as he kept moving, “we can’t stay here long… haa, i hear them. they’re moving this way. c’mon...”

he let go of chasing his own release to focus entirely on yours — moving a bit in circular motions and grinding against your walls in sensual movements along with keeping a roughness.

you squirmed, tensing up and jj could feel your walls start to flutter around him. “that’s it, let go… i need to feel you spill on me, beautiful.”

jj could easily get you to climax with that; you shuddered and leaned into him again, arms around his neck as you released. muffling your soft cry by biting onto his neck which gave him a feeling of pleasant goosebumps.

he let out a grave groan, slowing his pace as he felt your warm fluids surround his dick. the sensation almost brought him right there with you. but before more could happen, shoupe’s voice finally sounded somewhat close and he froze up. the worst part was the aching he felt in his balls because he was not too far from his own release.

‘please, not now…’

a chill ran down his spine and you noticed. he couldn’t let them actually catch you both. he couldn’t let you get locked up with him, he hated that. he let out a rough huff, forcing himself to start pulling out.

“at least, i made you cum… most important.”

those words reminded you of one of the reasons why you loved jj — despite your arguments sometimes and the way you two could bicker like an old married couple; you both had so many wonderful moments. he really treated you well and would put you first in a lot of situations. like right now and there was no way in hell, you would let him pull out and not get his release too.

“no.” you whispered firmly, out of breath still but you bounced gently, moving your body with all the strength you could muster and his eyes widened.

a low, quiet moan escaping his lips as his cock twitched inside of you, “b-babe… what are you-“

“i want you to cum… jj.” you sounded so determined even when you were in this state.

his body couldn’t help but move at your movements, following along slowly.

“but… they’re near…” he whispered so ragged, words opposite to his actions.

“and you need to also. please jj, i know you wanna fill me up…”

“fuck, you’re playin’ dirty!” he whispered in a needy whine because you were so right. he definitely wanted to pump his cum into you.

“you want to. come on, love. i’m right here…”

the sounds of the others were getting louder but your movements and words made him cave in; he wanted this originally anyways, he did say ‘cops be damned.’

his cock desperately seeking release as he resumed his fast, sharp slams. both of your lips crashing together to drown out any noises you two made — you were tightening around him again and he felt tense. the adrenaline kicking high from the thought of getting caught… everything making his world spin now.

but he finally came, flooding your walls with his hot cum as his body shook and you swallowed his low, guttural moan of relief — keeping your lips attached to his. he squeezed his eyes shut as every spurt of cum exploded out of him as he stayed balls deep inside. it was beyond satisfying and he almost wanted to sink to the dirty ground as his legs wobbled for a moment.

it was a powerful climax for him.

he couldn’t help but move one hand down to press against your tummy during it — feeling the slight bulge of how deep he had been in you. if he wasn’t spent now, that would have made him hard all over again.

how he still held you up (one arm now) and kept himself standing? he had no idea. though he mentally thanked the tree for being so sturdy and alleviating some of the pressure.

“sir, did you hear something?!” a cop yelled out to shoupe.

“not sure. where?” shoupe grimaced to himself, ‘tell me, that isn’t what i think it was…’

“think i heard some type of noise, hm. this way!”

the reality check came swooping back on you botj; he swiftly pulled out of you. catching sight of his cum leaking out of you and he bit the inside of his cheek, looking away as his heart hammered. he gently placed you on the ground as he whispered so quietly.

“can you move?”

“barely …but my fight-or-flight instinct is about to kick on. we’re not gonna let them catch us.”

“that’s my girl.”

though you both were a hot mess… in times like this, people surprisingly found strength to push on. you two were hot, sweaty and sticky as fuck but didn’t care as you both pulled your bottoms back on… he grabbed your hand and made a run for it — alerting the cops.

“that way!!” yelled a younger one but shoupe held up his hand, silently stopping them.

“i’m callin’ it off.”

“sir? but why!”

‘because those two idiots can think we’re chasing them… especially if they were doing what i think they were. need a damn vacation. let them tire themselves out more, good enough punishment!’

“because i don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

(i had originally written this using she/her for reader but changed it; so if ya see typos, pls lmk, ty!)

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ LET ME TREAT YOU ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || 박종성 x fem!reader || drabble

— KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO series

summary: jay was a giver, he always has been. so when your darling boyfriend decided to treat you with his new pay check, you were as grateful as always, but you soon decide that there were more important things than a new pair of jeans

genres: fluff, romance, non-idol!jay x non-idol!reader, est. relationship

warnings: attempts at humour, pet names, the smallest hint of angst, potential to feel guilt bcs jay is too good for this world

w.c: ~ 1k

[archive]

“I might try this one on too.”

Jay smiled, gesturing for you to let him hold the jeans.

His first pay check had just arrived and your boyfriend had surprised you with a trip to the mall and a nice lunch.

You felt like you’d already splurged enough on the delicious affogato at the cafe but Jay had insisted that you both treat yourselves to some new clothes. And you desperately wanted a new pair of jeans.

“Jay, I swear, it’s impossible to find one that fits exactly the way I want.” You had about four different styles of denim pants hung over one arm as you sifted through the hangers for more options.

Jay was designated with the task to keep track of which jeans seemed closest to your desired style.

You had your back turned to him but you could still hear your boyfriend sigh a little, leaning against the wall as you continued your hunt.

“Love,” he called out, “how about you start trying some of these and see if we can eliminate some options.”

You waved a hand as a gesture for him to wait a second. “I just need one more!”

Jay scoffed a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Mhm.”

more under cut !!

After staying silent for a few moments, Jay cleared his throat. “If these jeans fit anything like the ones you’re wearing right now, then I guess it’ll be worth it.”

You gasped, flicking your head to the side, “Park Jongseong!”

Heart racing at the sound of his laughter, you turned away hastily to grab the last pair of jeans in your size before rushing off to the trials rooms.

“Goddamn, slow down.” Jay followed behind you, his long strides helping him catch up in no time.

A smirk creeped onto your face and you shook your head involuntarily at the way Jay pulled you closer by your waist, walking in tandem as you reached the last stall.

“Here.” He handed you the pile you considered ‘Pile 1’ aka the jeans that you were hoping and praying would fit you because they looked perfect. He proceeded to take ‘Pile 2’ off your hands. “Gimme those, and I’ll be right here if you need me.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thanks baby,” you whispered, before sliding the curtain shut.

Out of the four jeans you’d brought into the trail room, three fit you quite nicely, but one in particular, was perfect. So much so that you couldn’t help but poke your head out (followed by a quick laugh at Jay’s startled expression) before asking him to come inside.

“So, what do you think?”

Jay dropped the jeans he was holding onto the trail room seat, his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated between you and your reflection in the mirror.

You turned a couple times to glance at yourself, extremely satisfied with the way they fit.

“You look great,” Jay smiled, his eyes closing slightly into half mooned crescents. “You definitely need to get these.”

You brushed your hair back, sighing from the relief of finally finding a new pair of jeans and not having to wear the same two pieces you had for years. “How much is it?” You asked aloud, turning back to let Jay check the tag.

You watched his face as the sound of cardboard brushing against his fingertips filled the small room. His expression was pretty unmoving, a simple jut of his lower lip followed by a nod.

“It’s good, totally fits the budget.”

You frowned, “Okay… What is it, though?”

“Uh…”

You twisted around to check the tag yourself before feeling your jaw drop. “What?”

Jay stepped forward, his hands enveloping yours, making you let go of the price tag as he turned you back around to face your guys’ reflection. “Don’t worry about it.”

You blinked at his nonchalance, “Jay, it’s not within our budget, it is our budget.”

“You know I can afford it,” he reasoned.

“That’s not the point!”

“Love-”

You look away from the mirror, facing your boyfriend and resting your hands against his chest. “Jay, this is your first proper pay check, this isn’t an internship anymore, you deserve this money.”

“I know that.” Jay leaned a little closer, “But I want to spend it on you.”

You pursed your lips. On the one hand, you really wanted these jeans, but agreeing to spend that much money on them — regardless of the fact that quality denim is an investment — it wasn’t fair to Jay and therefore, went against everything that you stood for.

“I’m not doing it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I don’t need these. I want them, but I can — no, I will find a more affordable price.”

Jay opened his mouth to interject, only to be silence by your soft palm against his lips.

Your voice was just a whisper, “I don’t want you to convince me. You already give me so much, Jay. We can buy me some nice jeans another time, just enjoy the money you earned for yourself, please.”

Jay’s eyes darted back and forth between yours, you could feel the gentle smile of his lips against your palm before you removed it.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you closer and kissing you tenderly. “I’m not exactly happy with this,” his words came out muffled between your kisses, “But just know that I will be spoiling you soon.”

“How about you let me pick out some clothes for you and we’ll call it even?” You slid your arms around his neck.

Jay smirked. “That’s not even in any way.”

“You’ll get a hot new outfit.”

“Tempting.” He leaned forward, nudging your noses together.

a.n: second instalment of the ‘kiss me don’t say no’ drabble series !! trust cute bf jay to want to treat you when he should be the one getting special treatment :(

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf — @itsrinsdrs — @enjakey

2025 © yourislandgirl

[atierrorian]

Could I request Ace, Azul, Leona, and Jamil (the tsunderes) getting a stunning, Magicam-worthy dessert from their s/o after the boys get jelly (heh) that she's always giving their dorm mates tasty and cute sweets or desserts she made?

Ace would 100% whine, just sayin'

I 101% agree with you on that last line. And I am so sorry for not doing this sooner! And once again, apologies if they're ooc.

TW: Ooc, slight suggestive on Leona's part, slight mentions of insecurity, a bit longer on Jamil's part, mentions of jealousy

WORD COUNT: 247

• So it all started when you baked some goodies and decided to give them to one of the members of Heartslabyul since they weren't allowed desserts. (You felt bad) • And since Ace wasn't there (Trying to avoid Riddle, again), you gave all of the baked goods to a good half of the Heartslabyul. • It continued like that for quite some time, and surprisingly, Riddle was unaware of you giving sweets to his dorm members. (And you hoped it would stay that way) • Now how did Ace find out about this? Simple, from Deuce telling him that you were giving out desserts to half of the Heartslabyul. And Ace being Ace, became really slightly jealous and pouty and whiny, which is not a good combo. • Ace practically barged in on you baking more sweets and confronted you. Whining and complaining about why you didn't give him any desserts too :( • So as compensation, you gave him a stunning and tasty treat, way more than what you gave Heartslabyul that's for sure. • Ace forgave you and teased you for making him such a wondrous dessert. • The two of you shared the dessert and had good laughs here and there, teasing him for being jealous, etc, etc. • At least it ended up not being so bad, huh?

• BONUS: Riddle found out about the baked goods, safe to say it did not end well for you or half of the Heartslabyul.

WORD COUNT: 334

• The Mostro Lounge is good and all, but you felt something was amiss, to say the least. And you realized that there were barely any desserts in the Mostro Lounge! (There were just a few) And you had a new recipe you wanted to try out so… • And it was so delicious that most students only came into the Mostro Lounge for your cute and tasty treats! And since you made extras, you gave them to the students. (Not for free though) • Now, Azul found out due to all the whispers of the students because they can't keep their mouths shut. And to say the least, he's surprised he hasn't found out about it sooner. • Although Azul is glad that more people are coming to the Mostro Lounge; he gets jealous because those grubby students keep flocking you and he can't seem to talk to you with all the people hoarding you. • Jade and Floyd(Mostly Floyd) TEASES Azul for his jealousy and Azul not wanting to break his reputation, denies it because he's still trying to up his facade but he knows deep down that it's true. And Azul can't help but feel a bit insecure… • You felt Azul's stare and immediately knew what he was feeling. So you excused yourself and went over to him and comforted him and told him that you promise you'll make even more tasty and cute treats for him. • Happy octopus noises! • Azul is somewhat hesitant to eat due to his past, but you tell him that it's alright and you promise that it's really really good! Azul agrees and he can't help but feel slightly embarrassed because he was jealous for nothing. • You both continue eating and you saved some for both Floyd and Jade. (Floyd almost ate Jade's treats because he loves them so much)

• BONUS: All your tasty baked goods and desserts are on the menu, except for the one you and he ate together.

WORD COUNT: 303

• If Leona has to be honest, he kinda doesn't really care that much you were giving out free desserts to his Dorm members. I mean, you do whatever you want and he'll respect that. • However, seeing some of them being way too close then they should made him slightly jealous.. • He acts like he isn't affected by it, but the glares he sends in their direction and the flattened ears alongside the tail swishing back and forth give it away. (Ruggie teases him for it) • If it gets too much, he'll gladly drag you away from that student and make you his pillow for the rest of the day. He prefers lazing around with you! (You'll get in trouble the next day for not attending, but who cares?) • You know Leona is jealous just by his behavior, so, to make it up to him; you baked him goodies, a lot tastier than what you normally give out that's for sure. • Leona smirks when you present your cute delicious sweets to him. Your baking never cease to amaze him, however, he does think you taste tastier though wink wink. • After you two shared the treat, he immediately dragged you to his room and forced you to act like his pillow, again. But hey, at least you got to see a content smile on his face. • Ever since then, Leona has been a bit more protective than usual. Most of his dorm members backed off since you weren't handing out that much sweets as much as you did before. Just on some occasions. • Leona loves your treats, but he definitely prefers you as his pillow.

• BONUS: Ruggie is sad that he'll get less desserts from you ever since Leona told you to tone it down.

WORD COUNT: 364

• He is currently in a dilemma with this. On one hand, he doesn't want to admit he is jealous; on the other hand, he's possessive and it's more obvious after his Overblot. • But, he hides it really well and offers to help you. He sees it as a way of bonding with you even more and giving each other tips on each other's recipes. • When you hand out your treats and desserts, he will be watching from behind you and make sure the members of Scarabia don't do anything dumb. (All they have to do is say thank you and that's it) • He is fighting his inner demons when Kalim comes into the picture and asks you for your goodies as well. Of course, you can't decline Kalim's request so you give it to him while Jamil is slightly fuming... • Don't worry, he gets over it eventually and accepts this is reality now. (But that doesn't mean his jealousy diminishes every time) • He thinks he's quite good at hiding what he truthfully feels, even from you. However you have noticed lately that Jamil has been in a sulking mood lately, so why not surprise him by making him a top notch dessert and alone quality time? • Jamil suspected something was going on with you since you were pretty secretive of your motives. Everytime he asked what you were doing, you'd simply dismiss his suspicions and tell him that it's nothing at all and that he doesn't have to worry about it! (It increases even more when you tell him this) • After your hard work of preparing everything and making sure it was perfect, you'd waited for Jamil to be finished with his duties so both of you could relax and spend time with each other. You were pretty excited because you had made a special treat just for him! • Once Jamil was out of his duties, you'd immediately dragged him to the kitchen where you prepared your best ever cute treat just for him! And safe to say, you both enjoyed it together!

•BONUS: Jamil internally celebrates that he finally is number 1 for someone.

YAYA! I'm finally finished!! This has been in my drafts for the longest time and I'm glad I got to do this request!

[eluxcastar]

One of Repetition — Prologue

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: your sudden dismissal from your position of harbinger, and the fatui as a whole, marks the end of the largest chapter in your life. you had never known a day without the tsaritsa's guidance, and you are set to never know another with it.

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: fem reader, reader is a harbinger, reader has a pyro vision, capitano is still not human and I haven't played fontaine or natlan ngl, possible ooc, not proofread but lightly edited

୨୧﹑words :: 6.5k

it only took me forever and a day. it's finally here being rewritten this is gonna take so long updates WILL be slow so you're gonna have to bear with me

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

Her words left you exasperated, literally at a loss for words, and you struggled to comprehend the reason for it. There was nothing you could think of, no instance that struck you as prominent. Yet, somehow, as one of the Tsaritsa's children, you had become what any parent might refer to simply as a disappointment, their failure—the problem child who never quite ironed out their issues. You had always been faithful to her, hopelessly devoted to the archon and her will. News such as this came out of nowhere and struck you like a hammer to the chest.

Effective immediately, you are to be stripped of your title.

Two of her most mighty children were near and dear to her, and now the other had turned against you as he remains loyal to her. The Jester, who you once held in high regard, has turned against you. It is a bitter pill to swallow, for you must now sever ties with the one man you believed was truly deserving of serving the Tsaritsa. Your mother—your world—turns against you with him, before him, leading the way for him. 

In vain, you draw your bow to strike an arrow between his eyes. You have to prove your strength and power as above your position, above him, even with this weapon that disagrees with your armour, but it means nothing. Your strike is blocked, and the Tsarita's Damselette Columbina moves to detain you. You believe she would not be strong enough, but you don't itch to fight eight other Harbingers or their Director. You understand that even you have a limit, and fighting what are supposed to be the strongest people in the country is not a part of that.

Your honour is on the line, an honour which would tarnish not only Brighella's name but also have a ripple effect on your soldiers, men and women who fight for you and do not deserve the punishment that would result from their actions.

"Think carefully, Brighella." Columbina's warning is not lost on you. "You could remain as a hero or fight, and I will lure the creature you brought from the Abyss and gut him before your eyes."

You do not want that. That creature is not yet loyal to the Tsaritsa but to you, and she will convince him he can save you. He will fall into her trap and die because, for all that you have taught him, he is naïve.

You bite your lip, trying to think of a way to escape and capture him so that you can run off somewhere. He does not deserve to die, but you can't think of anything. Not when you know how thorough these people are. There is not a will, really; there is only a has. He has fallen into her trap and is at the mercy of the Damselette.

It suddenly makes an abundance of sense why your greatsword was missing this morning from where you discarded it on the floor of your chambers. Someone took it. They took it so you would appear before the Tsaritsa without your armour to carry your bow with you, taking advantage of your subordinate's absence to wander around so exposed.

You revealed your every weak point just as you were meant to because you are an arrogant creature of habit.

"What if I am to obey?" You finally ask the question you did not want to, surrendering in a way, though the bite has not left your words.

"I'll leave him be." Her answer is swift. She expected that you would eventually give in and only needed to wait for it to happen.

You shake your head, dissatisfied with only that as your compensation. "Not enough."

The smile on her face does not waver, thin and deceitful as ever, eyes hidden and closed, unseen behind the band of lace. "Mm. I can't bargain anything else." 

"Have him take my place." You lay your condition out firmly. There is only one to meet, and it is not a hard one at that. It would be easy to sway him into it, using whatever they plan to do to you as motivation. His loyalty and affection for you would make him accept it.

She ponders the situation and proposal momentarily, powerless to make the executive decision but undoubtedly keen on the thought of it all. "He believes that you are about to fall in battle to a foe and that he is going to save you."

You grit your teeth, knowing that this is her trap. Lure that creature to a place where he is vulnerable. It was not what you had expected, but it is no less the Damselette's style of acting. There is always a damsel, but perhaps she recognised that she would not suffice this time. She needed a better damsel for him to save; for that to work, it needed to be you. 

She needs your name, reputation, and your relationship with your subordinate. They meld with her lies to write a tale of tragedy, with him as the grief-stricken hero vowing to take his mentor's place.

The thought of him rushing to his death under the guise of saving you spikes your blood cold, chilling you. You're aware of her cruelty and always have been, but to experience it is different than hearing about it from her perspective. You are experiencing it from the perspective of the victim. 

His death was another factor to hold over your head—your penance—the anchor to force your compliance. Your blood boils with rage, but you cannot fight. Despite your anger and frustration, you know that lashing out will only cause further harm and pain.

There is only one thing you can do. You know you must. It's simply that you don't want to. 

But…you must. 

You must for him, that poor creature you tried to give a home to and who would never be in such a position if not for you and your ambition. 

"Then I will fall, and you will use the honour I built into him to persuade him." 

It was an honour meant to humanise him in a way, a being only able to imitate humanity. He had a mentor and something to fight for. Now you're imploring that it be used against him to burden him, but he will do well in your position.

Columbina smiles, that mocking smile like she knows the secrets of this world and more. "Would he really believe that?"

The helmet. You should use the helmet to your advantage. Your subordinate's first exposure to humanity being you, a woman in a metal helmet, seemed to last. He used to think that was what humans looked like, and he admitted as much to you as he had asked you to remove it once he could speak. Your impression left an indelible mark on him that he still treasures. Even if he were to see you in the aftermath, he would not uncover the lie.

"He has never seen my face. He would not recognise me."

Columbina accepts that readily, and her eyes open, pools of black and white visible through the cracks in the lace over her eyes. You've seen them before, inky black sclera and inhuman patterns decorating the borders of her irises, but you can't help the unsettled feeling that makes a home for itself in the pit of your stomach. 

-

By the evening, you are stripped of your honours, titles and coat and dumped to the curb like a bag of rubbish somebody left out. There is no more fight, no more bargaining, no more arguing. Everyone has the things they want, for the most part, so you are all satisfied enough to remain amicable with each other. Without a fight, you allow the Jester to remove the fur-lined overcoat despite the cold that rushes over you once it is gone and discarded in a heap of fur and fabric on the floor with none of its previous value. 

After that comes the slow, deliberate removal of every trinket that denoted you as you. From your delusion, several gifts to your very insignia, the only thing left of you is a lone pyro vision and the clothes on your back. You've never been more thankful to not wear a standard-issue uniform lest you be made to undress and hand that over, too.

That was it. Your everything.

With each piece of regalia taken, a part of yourself disappeared until you were left an empty husk of a person, your entire reason for being for hundreds of years snatched out from under you and spat on. Pierro allowed you the pity of dressing you in your weathered armour one last time to see you off, though he admits he cannot return the sword that goes with it.

The Harbingers were supposed to be the children of the Tsaritsa, and this was your grand disowning. A show of power and influence over her closest children and, by extension, the ability to bring pain to her lesser— to her followers. It was foolish of you to ever think you were special in her eyes for having been by her side since during the Archon War. 

What did it matter when she left you amongst the rest of them?

The years you spent since you had hobbled into her life so tiny and cute were now reduced to a few personal belongings and a set of words that shattered your world to sharp and dangerous pieces that would only hurt you in your haste to reassemble them and string your life back together.

Whatever should remain of yourself is torn away as if those things never belonged to you. Your memories are tossed down the drain by time, and the crown you thought sat firmly atop your head as Snezhnaya's spoiled princess is broken by the hurry to dismantle your power in its entirety.

When you were young, your cuteness may have been your best asset: a small body with endearing quirks and the inability to walk long distances without tumbling. You required your mother for everything because you would only find danger in the harsh Snezhnayan winters. To even acquire your own food was unthinkable, so you were sheltered and provided with ample treats that you could nibble from the palm of her hand if that were what you wished. Anything to keep you happy and content.

Like a little trinket, she cradled you for as many years as it took you to grow, and once you were at an age where you no longer needed to be cradled, she made you her loyal companion, or so you had believed. You thought her affection for you was unwavering. She was the only mother you had ever known; she is the only mother you will remember for all eternity.

Although it may have been an exaggeration, watching the sun's gradual descent below the horizon, you could almost believe eternity would quickly prove to be a very real concept. You watch the sky darken in silence for a time. You roam aimlessly around the city, your presence still striking unease in the people from the threatening demeanour you learned to conduct yourself with as a Harbinger, even without your official attire. The only remnant of your former self is a helmet you consistently wore during every public appearance strapped to your hip. 

You can't help your wandering mind. Did your imitation of the Tsaritsa's actions make you weak? Attempting to nurture someone in the same manner she nurtured you? You are not a god, only the former child of one. Maybe you cannot care for him and maintain your objectivity. He may have become your Achilles' heel, as you were forewarned when the Tsaritsa less than subtly suggested you eliminate him.

You cannot live like this.

No matter how many suns you watch set, you will never come to terms with living like this. The world you once knew, which revolved around a singular governing entity and individual, has disappeared without a trace. Without a central axis to anchor it in place, your world spirals chaotically out of control, with each passing second feeling more frenzied than the last.

This purposeless existence where you have no one to create meaning for you feels just as endless as your high on the rush of power once did.

Your head is too muddled, your brain too overwhelmed by your emotions to think objectively of the faults in your time as a Harbinger. Years of your life have been spent that way, burying your thoughts beneath a heavy weight of despair. Your life is over. Even as the woodlands are forced to welcome you, they mark the end of everything, embracing you in what could be your death, as you imagine it is meant to.

The conclusion of those years greets you with nothing but a cold, detached farewell you never expected. The years you spent dutifully carrying out your mother's will should've been concluded by a grand celebration or momentous occasion to mark the end. This is not how these things are supposed to go, but you can't say it's never happened before. Usually, you'd just kill Harbingers your mother no longer approved of. You might have the better side of things, even if your career is at the worst possible end.

You almost want to call those years wasted, but that would be wrong. Without the Tsaritsa, you might've— no, would've died during the Archon War. Perhaps another god would take you in, but it is unlikely that they would have exhibited the same level of compassion and generosity as the Tsaritsa. They would not have coddled you into comfort the way she did. Then again, what if that had been your downfall? Did she ever genuinely want you to stay? Based on this…perhaps you took her kindness for granted and overstayed your welcome.

You had no right to make demands of her in your final moments as her child, acting like a spoiled brat throwing a temper tantrum. But can you be justified? Can the threat to your subordinate's life negate that? Surely a bit, but not entirely, not if her actions were in response to yours. 

Oh, even if you begged on your knees, she would not take you back now.

Why had you not done that before?

She must be disappointed that your attitude was born from her compassion, the epitome of her failures. You do not deserve to call her your mother. You took her generosity as a guarantee, thought yourself above her other children solely because you were her first, and believed you were her favourite for no reason besides arrogance.

You have failed the only being in Teyvat willing to show pity toward you.

-

The deepest heart of Snezhnayan forest welcomes you readily with open arms and the gnashing jaws of monsters starving for food. The forest seems to come alive with a vicious hunger for flesh. You have only your vision and bow left to aid your defence as you shrug off part of your armour to delegate it to the ties on your hip that secure your helmet.

Your delusion is gone, and your subordinates are nowhere to be found to assist you. The danger is to be braved alone for the first time in what must be forever. Despite this, marking your way with a trail of bodies is easy. It is just an inconvenience to always be on guard, but you are strangely used to it. Your life has been spent that way. Being on guard is what keeps you alive on long expeditions, at night when your lessers slept under your watch, in the depths of the Abyss where it is the only thing stopping the resilient from dropping like flies.

The cold is numbing as the air hits your face, your fingers almost wholly without a sensation of touch and even a tingle in your toes. Your vision emits warmth like a stone of fire seeping into your bones to chase the chill away. It nearly suffocates your fingers each time you press your hand to it, hoping to glean some heat from it.

You spent many missions that way, tensed and expecting violence at any moment, hardly allowing yourself to sleep, let alone relax. Despite so many things changing, you are just as high-strung as you used to be. It feels like nothing has changed in that respect, but you know everything has. You cannot hear the large crackling bonfire or the pattering of footsteps in the snow as your subordinates come to join you, their laughter and chatter and their whispers to each other.

While everything falls apart around you, you freeze as if that is the only thing keeping you together, even knowing that nothing will remain once you finally let go. Breathing is difficult, and so is thinking, but you'd rather not think at all. You want to pretend you'll look across the clearing you wander through and see that creature eagerly waiting, so safe and out of every hand that might harm him.

There is a fragile little balance of land around you that slowly crumbles away piece by piece as it encroaches upon the section that keeps you afloat without regard for where you're supposed to stand when the last of it falls from under your feet. Eventually, you'll have nothing left beneath you.

If there is a time when the only part of what was is yourself, you must protect that no matter what it does to you. You have to maintain the same rigid ways you've always stuck to. Those are the last parts of you made by your mother; those are the last parts of yourself you can trust for as long as you can't trust yourself.

The stark silence is deafening to your ears.

-

On the seventh night, you pass through a village on the outskirts of Snezhnaya, where you first catch wind of the news you had agreed on.

The locals informed you that they had recently halted their work for half a day in honour of your passing, believing that you had been slain in battle, though they are just as unaware as everyone else you've passed that they're talking to the person they believe to be dead. Hearing the story that the Jester spoon-fed the public to explain your disappearance makes it feel a touch more real, the consequences of your obedience stinging in a way you didn't expect. You cannot claim it to be a sick joke when it has had time to reach the smaller villages.

Even when that information would naturally spread like wildfire, the thought that it has come to be known by the nation solidifies the death of Brighella.

In a way, she really is dead.

You're the only one still standing here.

You find what can only be a wayward adventurer not far from the town, engaging a wild boar in combat, brandishing a blade at the beast as it snarls back at him and prepares to rush toward him. He faces it with the heavy hand of experience steadying his grip, ending the boar in a swift movement of his blade that matches the work of his feet to jostle him out of its path.

"Good morning," you greet him after a moment, arms folding over your chest as you watch him poke at the boar with the tip of his sword. "Strike it through the back of its neck. It'll die quickly."

"And painfully," he scoffs back, yet his foot steadies the boar nonetheless, and it is out of its misery by the final stab.

You break away from the spot that had glued you to the ground, approaching the man and his kill to assess the job as if on instinct. "Good work," you tell him without really thinking.

"You think so?" he questions. His eyes focus on you instantly, watching you inspect the boar with a curious gleam. You offer a curt nod. He stares as if waiting to be appraised in precisely the same manner you do a dead animal, weary enough not to sheath his blade. "You really think it's smart to walk around like that?" he asks after a few seconds.

"Why?" you ask, absently poking at the boar. You half expect it will spring back to life and knock the both of you flat on your asses, yet it never does.

He hesitates for the first time since you first saw him, opening his mouth to speak before reconsidering and pressing his lips into a thin line. He catches his breath. "The armour," he begins. "It..."

"It...?" You don't recall ever meeting him before, though it is not uncommon that adventurers know what you look like. You travel so much that it's hardly unusual that people catch glimpses of you, and never forget the Harbinger dressed in the old armour of the guards of Zapolyarny.

It is not unthinkable for a man used to being at odds with Fatui soldiers would recall what might be the most royal pain in his ass.

"A Harbinger was slain," he continues, gaze wandering away. "A Harbinger dressed in armour. I mean, people wear armour all the time, but that set..."

You quirk an eyebrow at such an awkward explanation. It's an accusation he doesn't dare make for its boldness, but he cannot deny it when he considers it for himself. "You recognise it?" you question.

"Something similar. From when Brighella was in Sumeru," he confirms. "I may have been a child, but I recognise it anywhere. Most people have armour custom made to fit them, but yours..."

"Someone else's," you finish for him.

That is technically true regardless. Even as Brighella, the armour was stolen. You vaguely recall the story, but you took it from the stores, assuming it belonged to a guard who no longer had use for it. It should've been the property of a grown man, but you have always accounted for the pinching and awkward proportions. You had to grow into it and didn't grow quite enough.

"You're asking if I killed her," you conclude, though that is an equally bold assumption.

He pauses, weariness in his eyes at the thought, but shakes his head. "That would be a bit presumptuous," he responds. "I just wondered if you really thought it was smart to wander around in armour that looks so much like hers."

"Perhaps not," you admit, swallow your pride to allow that much. "It might be smarter to get some clothes from a market."

"New armour wouldn't hurt," he adds. "You're travelling to...?" he trails off, briefly glancing up as if to seek your appearance for the answer. "Not the heart of Snezhnaya, I hope."

"Fontaine," you answer. "It's the first trail south."

"I'm sure you'll find both of those things there," he says. He offers a slight smile despite the circumstances, an unspoken reliving of the tension you realise lingered on past the point you expected it to.

A part of you knows that he makes that presumptuous assumption. He suspects that you have killed the reigning tyrant but says nothing, perhaps out of relief at the possibility you did. Snezhnaya finds liberation in your slaying. A weight has lifted in your absence that they are not yet allowing themselves to get used to out of fear that you might return. It's as if everyone holds their breath for the news that you resurfaced from the Abyss and were merely lost to a chasm in the world.

You know that news will never come.

Now, the armour that once protected you as a Harbinger will stand as a triumphant emblem of your hard-won victory over Brighella and the end of the Harbinger's tyrannical hold over the land. Even knowing that he is right and it is unwise to wander clad in your old armour, you can't let it go. You are glad it is still yours. Pierro granted it to you, and you didn't care to ask why when it felt as though you were watching your comrades through the eyes of your younger self five hundred years ago. Through danger, you will keep it close, treasuring it always as a tangible reminder of the sacrifices you made to reach this pivotal moment. 

You slayed Brighella. You ended the Harbinger's tyranny.

Brighella is dead.

Though there is no truth to it, you take responsibility for the Harbinger's slaying at the first gasp of a wayward adventurer recognising it. You grasp it as your singular piece of this life—your trophy. It is the first fragment of your new self.

If you didn't know better, you would think you were getting a little too far into it and starting to believe it yourself.

-

By the eleventh night, you find yourself situated in an inn, and the nights only carry on from there all the way up to the twenty-second night since your abrupt dismissal and, to the rest of the world, your supposed demise. The sigh of relief finally sounds, if a tad reserved. Snezhnaya collectively agrees that Brighella is dead enough to think they might have escaped her thumb, even if they aren't wholly convinced that she could really be dead.

The whispers that once revolved around Brighella's defeat now shifted to speculations regarding her successor. The question was not necessarily who, but who could possibly? Her brutal reign as a Harbinger had instilled fear in the hearts of all who crossed her path; in the minds of the people, no one else could measure up to her sheer terror-inducing presence.

Nobody knows what happened once they dared to fight Brighella until now. She was the first of the Tsaritsa's children, and she was the most combat-heavy. No one wished to cross her except for the rumoured contender for her throne, who was spoken of in hushed tones, as nobody was eager to have their reverence for whoever was bold enough to reach the wrong ears.

Your achievements find their place amongst the rumours as people say that Brighella's killer stole her armour and wears it as her trophy.

Despite the slew of gossip that its patrons indulge in, you enjoy the quaintness of this bar made and run by travellers who use it like a pitstop to rest and recuperate. It is a home to them, along with adventurers and merchants who benefit from the atmosphere. The people are strangers, often reserved and eager to keep to themselves, but have an immeasurable wealth of information that spills with a few drinks and a group of acquaintances who are, for only one night of pleasure and indulgence, their lifelong friends.

Among those friends buried in your own tankard of cheap ale, you laugh along with their jokes and entertain their questions like a test of your ability to lie and improvise in this tale you're making for yourself. If they have names, you don't know them. Brighella's death was a glorious battle but isolated to the hills where you were alone.

"Brighella was alone, and they were weakened by prior injury. I don't know what caused it." You mix a dash of the speculations in, downplaying your strength as you're unwilling to expose too much of it. "I'm not one to miss an opportunity. When would it arise again?"

One of your new acquaintances scoffs, amused but no less aware of the dangers of doing such a thing. "And make an enemy of the Fatui?" He is a new graduate of the Sumeru Akademiya who's come to make his way through Snezhnaya for a job offer. Reminds you of someone else, minus the graduating.

"They will not miss her." You are quick to answer—too quick, arguably—as it draws a sliver of attention before dipping back under the radar as a product of your confidence. "Her 'head' makes too cute a decoration on my side to pass up stealing it."

"I wouldn't dare say such a thing. Fatuus comes here sometimes." They are the words of a Snezhnayan native raised to worship the Fatui, though he is somewhat disillusioned by their crimes and cruelty, as you've learned many are.

"Let them hear it!" Your laughter is boisterous and unabashed. "They'll see the armour anyway. They probably despise her like everyone else."

Another one of your new friends, a travelling merchant from Fontaine, interjects your ravings to add only a passing comment. It was as she had done all evening, her secrets locked up tight. "She did not make herself likeable."

"She was not meant to be likeable but a fearsome warrior." Again, the Snezhnayan man rebuts the criticism against her as he had been doing all evening.

"You don't have to get so far up her ass, Brighella's not gonna crawl out of her grave and thank you for it."

"You're so vulgar."

You plant your tankard firmly on the table between the four of you, leaning over it to close the distance between you and the man. "I'm not meant to be likeable either."

Forget being only a little too into the role. You're revelling in the freedom of this new identity of yours.

Quick to disperse the tension, your graduate friend changes the topic without a hint of hesitance in his voice. "They left an underling people believe will take their place. It's a surprise to think Brighella had someone who followed them with such…devotion."

It seems they finally figured out who might take Brighella's place in the grand scheme of things, and the rumours say there is only one candidate.

The creature wearing the face of a man she brought home from the Abyss.

"It's strange but not impossible." The merchant from Fontaine again, contributing nothing you weren't all already thinking.

"Could she have had a sentimental side?"

"Who cares if she had a sentimental side?"

"Upset the attention isn't on you anymore?"

Anger crosses your face, but you stifle it as quickly as it appears. You wish their attention was off of you, really. The former you, maybe, but you nonetheless. You want to know about your subordinate. What happened to your second in command? You don't care to hear their speculation as to whether you were or were not particularly emotional with your underlings. You know the answers to all of those questions and more without their guessing games.

"Regardless of the reason, they say the underlying is much easier to swallow than she is, so maybe the position of First Harbinger will change drastically if he takes it." 

"Would he really change its purpose if he was so loyal?"

"Unintentionally, perhaps."

Gods, these people are so dull. Just by listening to them, you can tell they know nothing about the ways of the Fatui. Harbingers are not individual job positions with specific parameters. Each role is its own, and they are moulded by the person who assumes them like a character in a play, enchanting and unsettling in a horrific mix of theatrics and violence. It is what they stand for. One does not assume the role and become an actor with a script. They must improvise and act on a whim to the beat of the Tsaritsaʼs drum, their life no longer their own.

They are not whatever these ramblings and poor excuses for speculations make them out to be.

"Terribly misinformed, aren't they?" In your ear is the low voice of the Snezhnayan man holding in his laughter at the two as the scholar and the merchant go back and forth. You watch them with a sharp gaze that almost borders a glare, bored of their squabbles and misconceptions.

You glance to your left, where he has leaned closer to you. You eye the way he tilts in his seat, his hand resting on the table. "Repulsively," you respond curtly.

He has a faint glint of satisfaction in his eye as you seem to have confirmed something. "I thought you might've been from Snezhnaya." 

Your eyes narrow at his conclusion, though it is the truth. You don't trust the gleam in his eyes or the way his gaze fixes between you and the helmet secured to your hip. "So what if I am?" you question lowly.

"It was only an observation."

In the background, the main conversation continues, just as clumsy as before you had tuned it out in favour of drinking some more. "Does this mean he will also be named Brighella?"

Straightening back in his seat, the man swiftly interjected their back-and-forth responses to explain to them. "They receive a unique title upon their promotion, and nobody knows what it is until then." A simple enough concept to understand.

"In other words, anything but Brighella."

"It hasn't been long enough to know yet."

"It's strange. Nobody knows his name even now."

That would probably be because you never gave him one.

You considered it in the years you spent with him but couldn't find one you liked. His name was inhuman, not for your ears and not for your tongue, rendering it useless to you and everyone else who would hear it. The night you found him was spent crowded around a bonfire listing off every suggestion you and your subordinates could think of to no avail, as he only sat quietly by your side and said little about any of these choices, finding no familiarity in any of them. That's only natural, you suppose. 

You still haven't chosen a name for yourself that isn't Brighella, either. Your old one is well and truly forgotten, with the years eroding your memories. It had been centuries since you had been called anything else. Evidently, picking names is not your forte. 

"As far as I've heard, nobody knows what it is."

You find the mention of your subordinate has completely ruined your mood. You are grateful the creature is alive but worried the knowledge you're snooping around to find out when he will be promoted could land you in trouble. It's troubling enough to wonder if he has heard your tales through the grapevine about how you had supposedly 'killed' Brighella—his mistress and mentor—which he would not be happy about.

Though you did not fear the creature before, now that you've personally trained him to understand human combat, you're not so sure you'd want to fight him. It would be a hassle. Unlike many, you do not fear the inhumanity of the Doctor or the stone wall called the Jester. Even the cunning Damselette struggles to do more than unsettle you, but you respect that creature's raw strength and understand that no matter what you do, it doesn't matter. You are confined to a human form, and he is not.

You lied when he said he wouldn't recognise you, however. You don't actually know if he would.

You don't know the extent to which his eyes can pick out the details in your appearance that aren't physical. Had he memorised your relative build? Your height? The way you carry yourself and your mannerisms? The thought unnerves you, but so does everything else about him.

"I'm turning in for the night," you declare to the table with a knock of your cup as you slam it down.

Without regard for the ongoing conversation, you announce your intentions and abruptly shut down whatever is being said at the time without much care for it. Whatever it is, it isn't important. Your unfinished drink is left behind as you make your way to your quarters.

In retrospect, you understand their eagerness to merely cover up the circumstances of your dismissal. For a Harbinger as feared as Brighella, it is easier to halt work for a mere half-day rather than attempt to contain the resulting fallout of admitting one of their own was inadequate while simultaneously preserving their tenuous hold on power.

You drop to your bed with far too much faith in it and already regret the potent scent of alcohol on your breath that addles your mind and forces you to wander back to your betrayal. There's not much else you can call it.

Even as you try to squeeze your eyes shut and vanish the image from your tired mind, the confusion lingers against your will. You thought you were your mother's lucky charm. You had been so since the Archon War, to your knowledge, but you lost many of your fragile memories to the sands of time. Something changed while you weren't looking, and her gaze shifted from you to her goals.

Nobody won.

Nobody won...

You have always wondered what she met. You thought it was because the people were at a point of unrest you feared they wouldn't return from, but no one is left to remember the old gods now. You are instead struck by the ghost of your own blindness. You had ventured to the Abyss so many times and lived for so many years that you fell out of touch with her in a way. Even as you did everything to preserve her love for you, it disappeared.

It couldn't have happened in an instant.

You just don't know when it started or at what point it ended, both of which gnaw at your mind incessantly like a parasite that threatens to consume you whole. You dwell on what may never be answered in an attempt to understand something that cannot be understood. You have never been good at avoiding the bad habits of chasing ghosts, even if you fooled yourself into believing otherwise.

Each passing day forces you to wonder if it has anything to do with the many people who died under your command or were distorted by the Abyss during your expeditions. You struggle to imagine it has anything to do with anyone but yourself. You thought you were exactly who she wanted you to be, but perhaps you weren't. Whatever the reason, it escapes you.

You pile your armour off and leave it beside the bed with a touch more respect than you've ever had for it; your helmet carefully stands on the nightstand where you hope it does not fall and collapse back into the bed, eager to escape such vision of before.

You have no desire to remember the days when your hands were smaller, and you could barely reach the handles on the palace doors or fit your suit of armour. Those were the days you never once doubted her affection, though you feared she was pulling away. You looked into the eyes of a weathered old man and saw competition where he mourned his fallen nation as he was forced to linger in a world ruled by the very gods that had caused it to crumble.

You never understood his weakness. By then, though small, you had forgotten what it felt like to be an ant on the mountain where gods battled.

[asmobeuses]

Your Boyfriend Yuuta Okkotsu!

Warnings: None

Type: smau

All are different scenarios!

Dipping my toes into texts and smaus... hint hint...

M.list <— if you enjoy my silly works, I have more here!

[neteyamyawne]

Hey girlie🤭It's me perse! You know i LOOOOVE me some Tonowari, AND TUMBLR IS HAVING A TONOWARI DROUGHT🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬!!!!!!! I wanted to request a Tonowari x Reader where they're both young, he's on his journey of becoming Olo'eyktan, and he's courting the reader to be his future Tsahik. I was thinking a little best friends to lovers with some jealous, protective, possessive Tonowari dipped in there.🤭It's all love and keep up the good work🩵

Tihawnu ♡

Pairing : Tonowari x fem!reader

Summary : Request

Song : Dear future husband

Love 🤍

❈ Warning : minor angst, fluff, tiny bit of misunderstanding, confession, jealousy, threatening, protective tonowari

❈ Word count : 2.6k proof read

❈ Note : Perse! I love your request, send me more rahhh, i love protective tonowari and thank you @teyamsbitch for the motivation ILYSM

"word" - dialogue, ~word~ - thoughts

❈ Glossary : Tsahik - spiritual leader, Tsarekam - tsahik in training, sa'nu - mom, sa'nok - mother, mauri & kelku - tent, ma'parultsyip - term of endearment for a child, evi - child, tweng - loin cloth, ma'ite - my daughter, tiyawn - love

You sat with your eyes trained on the mortar and pestle in your hands as you grind the herbs into fine powder, the tsahik keeping a close eye on you while you train under her overlooking, being the tsarekam was tiring you but every drop of exhaustion evaporates from your body as your eyes catches the movement of a tall and handsome metkayina, who you call your best friend, but the thing is, you never saw him as your best friend from the start, though you won't admit it, that's another problem for another time, but also you saw your sister, Ronal, walk right behind him, your blood boiled to see her with him, everyone knew of Ronal's liking over Tonowari, even he knew about her feelings towards him but he always made it his life's Mission to stay away from her and her advances but as you watched her trail behind him like a lost puppy, your anger raised to you brain as you grinded the pestle into the mortar so hard that your hand slipped and all the half an hour worth of grinding spilled over the woven flooring, instantly regretting your anger as the tsahik's eyes glowered down on you, you quickly try to salvage what could be used from fallen powder but your mind remained on your sister and tonowari, somehow finishing your daily chores with the tsahik, you made your way back to your family mauri, though still fuming at ronal's advances you knew you couldn't do anything.

Walking inside the kelku your attention immediately went to your sister who was laying in her hammock, staring at the roof of the kelku with a small smile playing on her lips, you rolled your eyes and dropped the basket in your arms with a loud thud on the floor, your sa'nok instantly turning to face you at the loud noise "are you alright, ma'ite?" She asked in a concerned and worried voice at your display of frustration, you huffed and sat down near the basket, picking at the woven flooring of the kelku "nothing, sa'nu" you said back in quitely, legs drawn to your chest and head perched on your knee, staring at the blacked wood of the fire place, when you feel your mother sit down beside you "ma'parultsyip, i can see something is bothering you evi" her concerned voice filled your heart, her soft and caring efforts melting you enough to answer back "why did you send me to be tsarekam when you knew she would easily surpass me" you huffed angrily but not at her, instead eyeing your sister, she chuckled lightly at your complain "oh ite, do not compare yourself to her, you are different and unique, you will have your moment when the time is right, i know it, eywa makes no mistakes and I know what I'm doing, my child" she smiled at you and kissed your forehead lovingly before getting up and going on with her daily chores while you were left thinking about what she just said but soft chuckles and giggles fell on you ears as you looked at your sister's hammock from were the sound came from and rolled your eyes once again in annoyance before walking out yourself, going to the shore for some peace of mind.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You floated around in the shallow waters of metkayina, your body facing up to the sky, eyes closed, letting the light waves wash over you, calming you down, but your peace was disturbed as tonowari ran towards your direction, yelling your name "(Y/N)!!!" begrudgingly, you got up but he tackled you in a big side hug, almost knocking you over "calm down, brute, you'll crush me" you chuckled, recovering your balance, his laughter booming around you, of course you knew he was happy, he passed his iknimaya and the celebration that was being held for them in the evening made him even more energetic, you were happy for him with your whole heart but somewhere in there that Little flame of love and jealousy flared but you stayed quiet about it, he saw the flicker of change on your face "hey, what's wrong?" Picking up on your signs, he knew you like the back of his hand, you sighed looking at the waters again "it's nothing, just duties, don't worry about it, it's your big day! Not mine" you smile, playfully nudging him, he's still hesitant but let's go of it.

He knew you'd talk about it when you feel like it, but you knew you'd never tell anyone about this, he changed the subject "you're coming to the celebration, right?" He smirks confidently, but you don't answer immediately and his confidence falters "you're coming, right?! Please, you won't come to your best friend's celebration?! Am I even your best friend anymore?" He said in an overdramatic and playful manner, a hand on his chest in mock offense, which you couldn't help but laugh at "I'll try, I'll try but no promises!" You chuckled, he smiled at that too "I'll be waiting for you" his voice was softer than before, a glint in his soft aqua blue eyes, you both stood there on the shore, staring at each other, neither of you moving or looking away, he puts a hand on your forearm, leaning in to say something but the moment was broken when his friends screeched and howled for him to join them, your face warmed up as you looked away, butterflies swarming in the pit of your belly "you can go, they're waiting for you" your voice was barely above a whisper, he groaned internally but obliged, giving a last side hug to you, he ran of with his friends, turning back a little and waving at you before finally running off with them, but the effects of the hug still lasted way more than you thought they would.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You stayed on the quite, or for you, the peaceful part of the shores for a long while, it was way past eclipse as you sorted out your thoughts one by one, readying yourself for the next day, you didn't even bother to go to the celebration, you knew it'd just end with you talking to your friends and staring at Ronal who would, most likely, be all over tonowari and you were in no mood to see such utter nonsense but the sounds of beating drums, elders singing the songs of warriors vibrated through the air and tonowari's request for you to come pressed you enough to rethink about not going, even if you, originally, never planned to go, the music and his memory, made you walk up to the lively celebration, the dancing and singing of the event lightening your mood once again, the drums playing in beat with your heart, you bob your head to the music, enjoying yourself for once today, you didn't wear any festive clothing, just your day to day tweng and beaded top, taking a seat near the fire with a drink in your hand, ~this isn't that bad after all, right?~ You asked yourself as a small smile played on your lips, but your thoughts were proved wrong as your eyes fell on the very people you wanted to avoid, your heart sinking down as you saw Ronal putting her arms around tonowari's neck, while he looked constipated to be around her.

Any plans about staying around for the event vanished as you made eye contact with him and he gave you a small smile and a little wave but you were too focused on ronal's hand tracing up his torso and chest, her cheek pressed on his shoulder, you had enough of this scene and got up Huffing, he watched worried as you left the premises after seeing him while Ronal giggled at something she said, who were you kidding? Of course he'd chose her, she's perfect in every way possible than you could ever be, you burst through your mauri and to your hammock, just laying there staring at the ceiling, you were so stupid to fall in love with your best friend but you couldn't do anything now but just watch everything as you die inside little by little everyday watching them together.

A knock on the rim of your mauri brought you back out of your thoughts, you hurriedly wiped your tear stained face getting up to see who it was but stopped in your tracks as tonowari leaned on the entrance, looking at you with a concerned expression "y/n-" he said as he came inside but you were frozen to the spot, he walked towards you, his hand resting on the back of your neck "y/n are you alright? Why did you leave the celebration?" He asked looking into your eyes but you looked away, turning around to your hammock as you played with the strings, your back facing him, not allowing yourself to breakdown in front of him right now "I'm okay, you can go back to Ronal, she must be waiting for you, it's your celebration after all" you spoke in a soft, quiet voice, he looked puzzled at that, after much consideration, he came up behind you, his palm coming down on your waist and you turned around surprised, gazing at him confused, he smiled down at you "why did you leave, y/n? Are you not happy for me?" He asked worry plastered over his face but his question was filled with patience, you felt your walls breaking down at his tone, you were undone by him.

"No– eywa, no! I'm so happy for you, wari, i- i left because…" you couldn't bring yourself to say it, he looked worried as you stopped mid sentence "because what, y/n?" His words were filled with determination, he wanted to get to the bottom of your troubles, this time you didn't hold back "I left because I saw you were busy with your future mate, i didn't want to disturb you and her, it's better i leave before it gets worse for me" your voice getting quieter and quieter with each word but still you stood your ground, eyes glazed with unshed tears, tail curling and swishing behind you "what-? Ronal?! What are you-" then it hit him as if he was thrown into ice cold waters of the ocean, his whole demeanor changed as towered over you, with a quick Maneuver he pulled you closer to him as he snaked his arms around your waist while you stood in shock, pressed up against his chest "who said i wanted her in the first place, tiyawn?" He smirked, his other arm moving to caress your neck, now you looked at him puzzled "wari? What.." but his eyes gazing into yours gave you all the answers you were searching for.

He was glad he followed you here, his long buried secrets were finally being true now, he couldn't contain his happiness, he leaned down his face centimeters away from yours, his eyes falling to your lips then back to your own eyes again "may I?" He asked politely, your heart was beating so fast it could have traveled all across Pandora by now, your mind was racing, this was the one thing you wanted this whole time and now that the opportunity is in front of you, you were a nervous wreck but that didn't stop you from nodding and crashing your lips against his finally, throwing caution to the wind, you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers curling in his soft curls as his bigs hands pulled you in by your waist, fitting perfectly in your curves as his hands didn't just stop there, going up and tracing small circles with his thumb on your ribs, the kiss was sweet, filled with want and unattended love you felt for each other all these years, you pulled back gasping for air as you smiled like you never did before, he had the same expression as he picked you up in his big arms, spinning you around before kissing you once again "ohh you don't know how long I've waited for this moment" he mumbled happily against your lips, nuzzling his nose to your cheek as you giggled lightly, as this was your dream come true as well.

He sat down on the floor, pulling you into his lap while he unhooked the necklace sitting around his neck and presented it in front of you "will you, (y/n), accept this necklace as my token of love, for the start of our courtship?" You were stunned, you couldn't believe this was happening, no words formed in your mind to speak up, pulling yourself together at last "yes- oh great mother, a thousand times yes!" You squealed hugging him tightly, squeezing him to your heart's content as he laughed, hugging you back while quickly slipping the necklace around your throat, then resting his arms around you firmly, everything was going just perfectly until a gasp was heard from the entrance of your mauri and both your heads snapped to the opening.

Ronal stumbled in, her mouth dropped to form a 'O', the beads and shells if her top and loin cloth clinking together as she walked towards us, tonowari immediately got up, pulling you up with him as your eyes were as wide as saucers, terrified of what she might do you "HOW DARE YOU?!" She charged forward towards you but tonowari got in between, shielding you from her as he glared daggers down at her form "Back off, right now or it won't end good, Ronal" he spoke sternly and for once you were the smug one and she was the one gawking at you two, her eyes welled up with tears "This is wrong!! You were supposed to be mine!" She whined like a child at him, stomping her foot, he rolled his eyes at her "we were *supposed* to end up together, not *have* to, so please I will advise you to stop embarrassing yourself" he said just as annoyed as he always was with her around.

A small group of crowd accumulated outside your tent, they were all her friends, watching Ronal breaking down in front of him and you felt sympathetic for her, getting out of your cover from behind his back, you kneeled down next to her, you knew she truly did love him "hey, I'm sorry-" but you didn't get to finish your sentence as she shoved you back and tonowari growled at her, baring his teeth, instantly pulling you up and behind him protectively, Ronal was taken aback at his act of defense against her, she got up and ran out of the tent, crying, the small crowd of her friends following behind, you sighed, you knew they will now harass you for weeks or even months but you felt bad for your sister, she was your older sister and you felt guilty to hurt her like this but the damage was done, tonowari saw this and pulled you into his arms, kissing your temple lovingly, rubbing your back "shh, it's okay, she was bound to feel this way, it's not your fault and even if she wouldn't have seen us, i was planning to say no to her in the end anyways, so please don't blame yourself over this" his voice like first rays of sunlight, bright and peaceful, you relaxed at his words, looking up at him smiling once again, laying your head on his chest "thank you" you whispered, protected and safe in his arms, his mere presence filling you with such warm comfort as he smiled down at you, his mind screaming in happiness as he knew he made the best decision to say how he felt rather than hiding it, now you were his, his to protect and more importantly, you his to love, forever by eywa's grace.

A/n : i need more tonowari x reader rahhhhhh, i love his big body soo much *faints*

Yawne : @fanboyluvr, @callmeoncette, @lu-the-ghost-reader, @brisbriskett, @saltedcoffeescotch, @ducks118, @itscheybaby, @jackiehollanderr, @elriel-4-ever, @zoetrope1997, @yeosxxx, @persefolli, @im-in-a-pansexual-panik, @teyamsbitch, @elijangwifey, @erosthefae, @murderbirbdany, @thearabloak06, @killua2dot0, @ilovechickenwings, @kylobensgirl, @darling-imobsessed, @majathepapaya, @sweetirilly, @reinap06, @neteyamforlife, @thatgirljas13, @totesnothere04, @arminsgfloll, @babyqueen17, @kikookii, @bigbadsofty07, @g-l-1-t-c-h-3-r, @urfavpansexual.

© Neteyamyawne 2023 | All Rights Reserved. Do not repost on other platforms, copy, steal, or translate any of my works!

[illustrious-ia]

[ 𝐁𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐡𝐮 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 ]

Warning: Yandere tendencies, usage of antihistamine, obsessive thoughts, Baizhu worries about your health a bit too much, terrible writing and written by a non-medical student. Let me know if I missed anything!!

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Seeing Baizhu abusing his medical knowledge to beyond healthy in a fic is a bit unrealistic to me. So yeah here's my yan vers of him !!!

Type: Doting

His knowledges of mortal healths has lead him to being a very doting partner.

He do a little check up everyday to see if you're unfortunate enough to catch some illness. Totally not trying to get close to you and feel your warmth, Non! Totally not!

If you do catch any kind of illnesses, whether it's severe or not, Baizhu will be all over you

Fussing about how you should rest more, balancing your diet and stop stressing about something so insignificant.

Just relax.. And let him take care of you <3

He might slips little doze of antihistamine, a non addictive sleeping pills to your list of medicine or food for you to sleep longer and comfortably. Don't worry, he only does that when he deemed you to be more "overworked" Than usual.

Plus the longer you sleep, the longer he get to keep admiring your beauty without being too creepy. To your unconscious state, at least. Tho, Changseng who witnessed it all would like to beg the differ.

Speaking about Changseng, she absolutely adore you!! It's been like a while since Baizhu took a break from the medical world and tried enjoy the ecstasy of love in the world of the living. She's impressed by how easy it is for you to pull that off.

Baizhu is normal most of the time. Sure, his lovestrucked expression is sometimes too intense for normal people or even yourself. However, he is but a mortal. He is not immune to the love sickness, a condition not even the greatest of pharmacist could handle.

Since he's been treating and warding off your mortal ailments, should you also cure his love disease? After all you infected him with it. Since it has no cure.. it wouldn't be so bad of an idea to feed it even more, doesn't it?

©All work belongs to Illustrious-ia. Do not translate, steal, or repost it outside of Tumblr.

[eroticdarling]

₊˚ෆ MISS RIDER.ᐟ

[ IMAGINE ] You and Shuji have been dating for months, and you want to try something new like allowing him to record you riding his dick

You and Shuji had been dating for months recently, and since y'all were already starting to have sex together, it didn't hurt you to bring up or suggest doing something new like riding him while he filmed it.

He didn't say anything to your suggestion. Instead, he went out while you were busy cleaning and bought a camera since his old one was broken.

"C'mere mamas." He called out, making you walk over to the couch and see him turn on the camera and place it on the table in front of him for the perfect angle.

"What're you doing, Shuji?" You asked.

"What you suggested, doll face, now come get on top." He said, signaling you to come with his hand.

"Yes, sir," you said, taking off all your clothes, not leaving one piece of fabric on, going towards him with excitement.

Shuji took off his clothes as well, pressed record, and grabbed onto the plush of your waist to make you hover over his lap.

The way your melanin skin felt smooth and your naturally plumped two-toned glossed lips glistened under the light made him mesmerized by your beauty.

He scanned your body, from the way your pretty tits laid down to your thick plush thighs. Just the sight of you being on top of him made his dick rock hard, and your eyes lit up in amusement at how he could get bricked just by looking at you every time.

"You wanna do the honors, ma?" He asked making you shake your head in agreement then grabbed his long thick cock and aligned it with your already soaked pussy.

You slowly sink onto his dick earning a groan from the man, but before you can fully go down, he grabs your hips and slams you down, making you moan loudly.

You arched your back and held onto his bare chest for leverage instantly, starting to ride him. You would bounce on his cock and then stop to grind on it, which made Shuji let out small sounds.

"Fuck, doll face you're doing so good." He said as he grabbed your waist and the back of your (h/c) (h/t) hair, starting to take control after letting you have your few minutes of fame.

He thrusts his hips deep into you as you wrap your arms around his neck, putting your head in the crook and sucking on his pale skin, leaving noticeable marks behind while also moaning at the feeling of his cock filling you up.

You were on cloud nine, but Shuji was higher. The pretty moans and whimpers that came out of your mouth sent the man into a spiral.

You stopped marking his neck and connected your lips with his, allowing him to swallow your moans. Mid kiss, he had slipped his tongue in making you feel a shock wave down your spine since you’ve never kissed like this before.

As his tongue intertwined with yours, he started playing with your soft tits that he favored with his big hands fondling them as the kiss went on, then broke the kiss to pop a tit in his mouth while the empty hand laid on your ass.

His tongue swirled around your nipple and then sucked on it, making you feel so much ecstasy flow throughout your body. He couldn't get enough of your tits and he loved it when you wore black or red laced bras or small bras that made your tits almost spill out.

After a few minutes, he was finished playing with your breasts and detached his mouth from the one he was sucking on, making a pop sound then continued fucking you at a fast pace like before.

The sounds of his balls hitting your ass and sweet moans filled the room, Shuji was hitting your g spot nicely, and you were already feeling the knot in your stomach more and more with every thrust of his hips.

"I wanna cum sir." You managed to moan out feeling Shuji's dick twitch at the moment, realizing he needed to too.

"Be a good girl and cum with me then." He said smacking your ass then reaching back up to your hair gripping it tighter than before and thrusting deeper into you making you bounce on his cock.

Your moans could now be heard throughout the living room and maybe outside if someone was listening hard enough or walking up to the door but that didn't matter cause the only thing Shuji could think about was making you cum all over his dick while he filled your pussy up with his.

The feeling in your stomach tightened up more, and Shuji's thrusts were now getting sloppy.

"S-shit mamas you're gonna milk me dry," He studdered as your hips were now in sync with his.

It wasn't even a minute later when you both came together feeling a wave of euphoria washing over.

Shuji put a huge load inside you like you wanted and the mixture of yours and his cum was leaking out of your abused hole and onto his dick.

It was messy, but Shuji loved the mess, and it was his favorite part of having sex.

You both started catching your breaths as sweat was on y'all bodies, and strands of hair were on both foreheads.

You were finished and couldn't go through another round because you were already tired from cleaning and he had made you even more tired but Shuji on the other hand wasn't and started moving his cock slowly into you.

His grip on your hair loosened, and it was now around the back of your neck as he did slow strokes, making you moan softly.

"Does this feel good, baby?" He asked, earning a hum in agreement.

He then stopped and picked you up off of him sitting you on the couch beside him then looking at his messy cock.

"Damn, doll, this is a bigger mess than usual. You wanted this video to be special, huh?" He said, picking up the camera to show the mess he made of you.

"Smile baby," He said, making you smile and then pushing the camera off you.

He stopped recording and picked you up so you both could take a shower in the downstairs bathroom and then go back to the couch to cuddle.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── YOU'RE HERE, THAT'S ENOUGH . ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka jake's late, you order for your own drink for once, and now he owes you his life.

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 866 ⌗ pure fluff, jake is so self-panic-inducing, mentions of breaking up, mentions of jake abt to jump out a window . he's just a simp at the end of the day .

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── hehe another cutesy one. im excited for the next one everyone pls buckle up...i almost kinda feel bad for jake here this poor guy just lives life on the verge of panic every day. am i evil for this? sorry jakey <3

Jake is sprinting.

Not fast-walking. Not lightly jogging.

Jake is in full-on, Olympic-level, life-or-death sprint through the streets.

His bag is slapping his side. His hoodie is slipping off his shoulder. His lungs are screaming. And he’s probably sweating more now than he did during the entire extra hour of dance practice that made him late in the first place.

And still—he’s pretty sure he’s still not moving fast enough.

His phone is glued to his palm, screen still open to the frantic texts to you:

jake (6:32PM): baby im so so so sorry practice is running over i swear im leaving soon PLEASE dont hate me

jake (6:41PM): im literally dying to be there pls give me 10 minutes max i promise

jake (6:47PM): oh my god im running now im literally sprinting my lungs are collapsing hold on

jake (6:50PM): please still be there please please please

Jake nearly crashes into the café door.

He bursts in, chest heaving, heart racing, vision tunneling. His eyes dart around the café, already mentally preparing the most desperate apology of his life—

And then he sees you.

There you are. Sitting by the window like something out of a postcard. Sipping your iced peach latte. Typing away on your laptop like nothing’s wrong.

Jake’s lungs fully give out.

He practically trips over his own two feet, words spilling out before he’s even fully made it to you.

“I am—so sorry,” he gasps, hands bracing himself against the table, his bag fully falling to his side now, his entire image disheveled. “I—I—oh my god—I messed up, I know—”

You blink up, startled.

“Jake—”

“I swear I left as soon as I could, I was literally ready to bolt over, but then we had to go over the choreo one more time and—” he cuts himself off to breathe, huffing in frustration, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “I swear I was ready to jump out the window to get here faster and I know I should’ve managed my time better and I shou—”

“Sim Jaeyun.”

Jake’s mouth snaps shut.

You tilt your head, your eyes soft as you look up at your boyfriend.

“Sit.”

He does. Immediately. Like an obedient golden retriever.

“Breathe.”

“Trying.”

You gently push an untouched iced Americano towards him, “I ordered for you.”

Jake looks down at the drink. Then back at you.

“Wait, you ordered? Like you spoke to the cashi—wait. You’re not mad?”

“Nope.”

“Not even…like, a little mad?”

“You sound like you want me to be.”

Jake lets out a sound that’s equal parts relief and self-deprecating, “Well, definitely not, but I’m late. To our date.”

You casually take a sip of your latte, your gaze still soft on him, “Jake. You told me what was happening, you ran here like an insane person, and now you’re looking at me with those eyes you do that makes you look like a kicked puppy. Why would I be upset?”

Jake blinks.

You’re not mad. You’re here.

Still here.

Still you.

Looking at him with nothing but patience and understanding.

And Jake feels something deep and warm settle into his bones.

Jake just stares at you for a full solid second until finally—

“Oh my god,” he collapses onto the table, face-planting into his arms. “You’re actually an angel. I don’t deserve you.”

You break out into a fit of giggles, “Okay, that’s a little dramatic.”

“No, like—” he lifts his head just enough to look at you with big, defeated eyes. “I thought I ruined it.”

“You didn’t.”

“I thought you were gonna break up with me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I thought I’d walk in here and you’d be gone and I’d have to get on my knees at your front door and beg for my life back.”

“…Did you eat lunch today?”

Jake ignores that.

“I just—” He grabs your hand across the table. His voice drops into something low, something sincere. “I don’t want you to think I’m not trying. Or that you’re not a priority.”

Your face softens, “I know I am. And you are trying, Jake. Like, so hard. I see it. You don’t have to prove yourself to me every second of the day.”

Jake swallows.

“I appreciate you, Jakey—” you squeeze his hand, “—a lot. And I’m just happy you’re here.”

Jake lets out a breathless laugh, feeling suddenly light again. He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles—once, twice, like he needs to (he does).

“Okay,” he breathes, lips still brushing your skin. “Okay. But just so you know—I am still making it up to you.”

You raise a brow, smiling, “Oh?”

“Yup,” Jake grins, flipping your hand over to press another kiss to your palm. “Whatever you want. I feel bad you had to order our drinks by yourself, I know you hate that.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, “That’s true. I hate talking to cashiers.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” Another kiss. “I’ll make sure you never have to talk to one ever again for the rest of your life.”

“You’re actually ridiculous, Sim Jaeyun,” you smile, cheeks warm.

“Mmhm,” he mumbles before countering immediately—

“And you’re perfect.”

<< past || no doubt m. list || next >>

tag list! (open ! // bolded couldn't be added!)

@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @veilstqr @etteyun @dreamiestay

[sqtorux]

husband! satoru who helps you get ready for date night instead of just waiting around or rushing you.

husband! satoru who learnt how to do your hair exactly how you liked, taking care not to pull on it too hard and delicately running his sleek fingers through each strand to place them perfectly.

husband! satoru who couldn't help but admire the way you put on the little lines and colours on your face that you insist makes you more prettier. he thinks you look mesmerising with or without.

husband! satoru who pulls you onto his lap to help you with the remaining touches while telling you how perfect you are over and over and over, until you believe it and then once more.

husband! satoru who has no problem with whichever dress you choose, no matter how revealing because he can fight and will win.

husband! satoru who helps zip up your attire but not without running his hands sensually on your back while whispering sweet nothings and 'i love you's into your ear.

husband! satoru who takes you to see the wonders of the world while he stares in awe at the wonder in his world — you.

[jjslvt]

UNDERWATER KISS ── .✦ tooth-rotting fluff .ᐟ.ᐟ

[bsf!jj maybank x fem!reader] [ masterlist ]

notes: i really wanted to post this for valentine’s day but couldn’t wait (also the pic, not mine & i prefer using screenshots of the show & making icons but that kinda looks like him so it goes lol)

imagine being best friends with the pogues and jj maybank being the one you were the closest with. you all had known each other for years and were almost like a family.

well, except you and jj?

the pogues knew that both you and jj had been pining after each other for a while. the two of you being oblivious to the other’s feelings, despite how damn touchy & clingy y’all are. the rest of them were just waiting for something to happen.

one random sunny day; the pogues were picking you up on the boat and jj instantly greeted you like a puppy who waited for his owner. he softened up more because of you, you were his exception to letting walls down — his happiness. the others knew that their best friend had met his damn soulmate because you helped bring these sides out.

on the boat, he’d sit right next to you — latch himself to your side, putting an arm around your shoulder and you didn’t mind. because he was also your comfort person, it had all just fell into place naturally and you both relaxed. the other pogues would share knowing looks at how you two were practically glued to the hip, giving secret smiles. they all wondered when you two would finally realize the true meaning of that profound bond.

jj knew he liked you, a lot. maybe even more than just like. you’re his person, he feels that. for once, he was very aware of his feelings and had processed them — trying to keep them secret but it was hard for the boy. especially with how he couldn’t stop himself from attaching to you, physically needing to be near you. he just hadn’t figured out if it was mutual but today in particular, he felt like he was struggling to contain it fully.

at one point, he pulled you onto his lap so you could lean on his chest. his arms wrapped around your waist and his chin rested on your shoulder. you had started flushing a tiny bit to which he couldn’t see but the rest of the crew did and snickered to themselves.

but as time went on, you all talked and joked around, enjoying the time together and feeling so free in this moment. it was the perfect chill day, despite you and jj feeling your hearts race because you two stayed in that position.

he was feeling ready to burst, to push the boundaries a bit more plus it wouldn’t be jj if he wasn’t teasing you somewhat. that was still in his true nature (and you loved it). so he started tickling your sides a bit, bantering with you at times. then he really surprised you by blowing a puff of air right into your ear which made you squirm and shift in his lap. he got a kick out of that.

though he couldn’t deny his heart skipped a beat at your reaction, wondering if maybe… he had a chance.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he chuckled, his tone teasing and smug as he whispered in your ear, only making you more sensitive.

“n-nothing, you brat.” you had huffed out, trying to regain yourself as you felt hot and a flutter of butterflies parade in your tummy. though you grimaced slightly at the way you stuttered and he started smirking to himself.

still pressed behind you, he decided to keep his lips near your ear as he blew another round of air into that ear.

“j- jj!!!” you whisper-shouted at him as a pleasant shiver went down your spine from the action and this time, he let out a delightful bark of laughter.

the others quietly stopped whatever they were doing to pay attention to the both of you, john b grinning slowly and thinking… ‘about damn time he starts doing something about his feelings.’

john b couldn’t help but add onto it, to push you out a little more and give jj more egging on to continue, “y/n, why is your face so red?”

you snapped your gaze in his direction for outing you like that, sending him a glare while sarah and kiara started giggling quietly.

pope chimed in, “damn, he’s right… interesting shade of red there.”

meanwhile jj’s hold on you suddenly got tighter when he heard his friends. his laughter dying down as he moved his head over your shoulder, turning fully to the side to get a look of that flush himself, feeling all too joyous.

“awe, princess is blushing? why’s that?” he murmured with the same playful tone but there was something tender in there too. he felt hopeful. which all went over your head as you were still somewhat embarrassed.

“oh my god, you’re all annoying!” you practically whined & pouted, trying to squirm out of his grasp now as you refused to turn your face near his (since you thought your heart would explode at the proximity).

the pogues laughed but jj kept his lock on you, unable to stop the urge to go further — feeling the swell of confidence. his lips grazing your ear as that turned red too, “calm down, baby. don’t get upset. do i gotta tickle you again?”

his ‘baby’ sounded a bit different this time and suddenly you found yourself wondering if he wasn’t just fooling around but before any more thoughts or reactions could come out of you, he DID start tickling again. right after he nipped your ear just a tiny bit, making your eyes widen.

your brain was a mess of short-circuits as his fingers tickled your sides so hard. you started thrashing against him — laughing so hard that you couldn’t breathe, tears had formed and the others died too.

“j- jay… s-st— HAHA, sto- STOP!” you barely choked out the words between laughs and minor frustrations. as he heard your state, his relentlessness finally slowed and started taking a pause to let you recover but your frustration was rushing through.

many types of frustrations.

you quickly separated from him and stood up, trying to catch your breath and he followed (of course), standing up with you as you turned around to face him.

‘goddamn… you don’t know how fucking beautiful you are…’ jj thought to himself.

staring back with a tilted head; his eyes going dreamily half-lidded as he felt the air leave his lungs. he liked that you looked riled up — that crimson color painted on your face like art, the way your hair had gotten a bit messy, your lips parted to let out breaths. just everything about you… he thought was more than stunning.

he couldn’t help but give a soft smirk (your final straw). that’s when YOU took on a spontaneous turn, surprising him as you lunged towards him — throwing you both off the boat and right into the water.

not that he minded, he loved how you could surprise him at times though the others instantly lifted up — trying to look over and find you two, “woah!!”

once your bodies hit the water, you two had dove quite a bit from the impact… your brain was replaying that smirk. and remembering the way he had held you, the air blows and that damn nip on your ear. you couldn’t take it anymore.

you quickly grabbed his face as you two stayed under the water. you crashed your lips against his — he felt like he was dreaming, he couldn’t believe it was happening but it didn’t take many seconds for him to wrap his hands around your waist, pull you closer and kiss you with an equal passion. all the pent up desires and affections the two of you had felt for each other had erupted in the kiss.

it felt like time itself had slowed down… nothing was heard under the bliss of the waterscape and luckily, it wasn’t cold. instead it felt like you two were frozen in a perfect moment. just you and jj, nobody else around — except the cute little fish floating by. the scene looking ethereal as your hair flowed, like a mermaid. your hands dropped from his cheeks to wrap around his neck while he kept holding you. his body molding to yours and his lips moving eagerly against your lips, savoring how soft yours felt against his.

it was a wet but warm and extremely loving kiss, your first kiss together.

but you two couldn’t stay lip-locked down there. unfortunately, you weren’t a mermaid and merman so once you both needed air, you pulled apart and surfaced up, panting loudly. the others were still hanging over the edge of the boat with shit-eating grins, especially with how jubilant jj looked. it showed very clearly on his facial expressions that the boy just experienced the best thing in the world.

you looked up at them, floating in the water as you caught your breath while jj kept his eyes on you.

kiara spoke with amusement, “you two were down there for a mighty long time.”

john b agreed, “mhm… were you two maybe… oh, i don’t know, smooching?”

you playfully rolled your eyes though your blush returned again.

jj was about to reply with a loud, “ye-”

but you cut him off, a small silly tone, “pssh noo… not at all.”

they shook their heads, still excited and jj’s brows rose up as he heard your cheeky tone. he swam closer, getting right up in your space. his hands under the water grabbing your hips, “no?” he asked you, amused.

you bit your lip, his eyes catching it and feeling another flare of desire rise up within him.

“nope!” you continued your act and he scoffed out a short chuckle.

he spoke loudly for the others to hear, “really? cos i recall a certain princess smashin’ her lips onto mine.” his accent growing a bit stronger.

the others let out whistles, waiting for your reply.

“must have met a mermaid down there, jay.”

“oh, i did… mermaid princess and i think, i gotta remind her what just happened.”

as soon as the words left his mouth, he did exactly what you did under the water. in front of all of them — he proudly captured your lips in a fierce, swift movement. smirking as he heard you gasp out against his mouth… taking the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss and taste what he had desperately been wanting to for years; the sweetness that was you.

all that was heard were cheers from your friends and sarah yelling in the background, “FINALLY!”

[yourislandgirl]

⋆౨ৎ˚ THE DONUT THIEF ⟡˖ ࣪ || OT7 platonic!엔하이픈 x reader || smau

summary: chaos erupts in your group chat as you and your seven roommates try and locate sixteen missing donuts

genres: crack, platonic!enha x gn!reader, ft mentions of yeonjun

warnings: swearing/cursing, attempts at humour

[archive]

a.n: over 100 follower’s special !! thank you all sm <333 currently working on a jake x desi!reader fic so i hope look forward to it xx

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf — @itsrinsdrs — @enjakey — @rynnest

2025 © yourislandgirl

[soobberries]

Dilf!Seonghwa pt 2.

Author's Note: Mayhaps I'm tempted to make this a proper fic series and rewrite it... But for now, it's going to be a 'deconstructed fanfiction' as I call it. Let me know if you want a part 3! Feedback is always appreciated too!

Also, this hasn't been properly proofread :p

Warning: Despite this technically being based on a legal reader, since there is a somewhat large age gap - thought I would clarify:

Please be aware that I do not condone any type of relationships between minors and adults, nor do I encourage the idea of being a homewrecker. This is all just fiction! So without further ado, let’s get started!

Genre: Doesn’t exactly have one but has elements of crack and is suggestive.

Age: This is written for a somewhat mature audience so please, no under 16s. Stay safe younglings <3

Word Count: 3.9k

Part one: click here!

Yeah booooiiiiiz, let’s go!

After the first encounter at the fundraiser, which by the way, was ruined by some PTA moms gossiping outside the bathroom door (which caused you and Mr. Park to get the shock of your lives. Fumbling around the enclosed space in slight panic with the sudden reality check of where you two were). 

It ended in him having covered your exposed self with his blazer, insisting you can keep it, secretly in hopes that it would be an excuse to somehow see you again. 

Despite it being painfully awkward (read: unlawful), you were far too intrigued by Mr. Park to let that be your last encounter as well. 

I mean who can blame you? It was a day that definitely took you for a ride (and perhaps not the exact one you would prefer but who knows, maybe it'll lead to the ideal one 🤪). 

jk jk… Unless-

Sometimes you even question if it was a fever dream or something but… you knew it wasn't- 

… the blazer stared you down a lot. It definitely was real. 

So you maaaay have decided against your better judgment to look after Nila a whole lot more these days, just in the rare case you may bump into him :D

You’ve been pretty unlucky though.

You’ve become used to seeing Yerim running towards you with Nila to give you hugs though… which honestly? A very wholesome experience so you can't complain. 

Yerim loved you now since Nila was her best friend and if you were taking Yerim back to Nila’s house or they were going to hang out, you’d take them out for ice cream secretly without their parents knowing (which made it even more exciting for them).

Listen, part of you knew that maybe all this was stupid, and the chances of seeing him were slim, but it wasn’t all too bad and you didn’t have anything to lose.

These two kids were basically like your own but without the burden and responsibility of being an actual parent, and you were making some decent cash over the summer (plus your mom was pleased with how much you were helping her co-worker since it helped their relationship too.) 

Which was great honestly. You grew to like the two munchkins since they weren’t bad or rude. They were both a little chaotic and loud at times, but overall, just really sweet, happy kids. You couldn’t help but cherish them.

So even without seeing the handsome devil himself, you felt satisfied with your looney decision as it came with other benefits. 

It wasn’t until one particular day after the girls had some late afternoon sports practice that you ended up finally seeing the man that's been plaguing your thoughts for the past while. 

Of course, you were excited to see that he was indeed, not a figment of your imagination anymore, however, you weren't as happy as you thought you'd be. 

In fact, you were pretty angry when you did end up seeing him…

You had good reason to be though.

After their practice, Nila asked if you and her could wait with Yerim until her mom came to fetch her so she wouldn’t be alone...and yes perhaps some undying curiosity about who the mysterious ‘Mrs Park’ actually was, was urging you to stay…

But you did also care for the two girls so it was a no-brainer when you ultimately sat down with them outside at one of the nearby benches, not really bothered.

. 

… 

Uhhhh… nevermind?

It’s been about an hour and both girls were getting restless, as well as yourself. 

Where was Mrs Park, or at the very least, the driver she often sent to fetch Yerim instead? 

You offered your phone to Yerim, and she was polite and thankful at the gesture, however, after dialing the number she knew off by heart twice, her mother didn’t answer, so she phoned the only other number she knew: her dad.

Seonghwa’s coupe rolled up about thirty minutes after the call, and if it weren’t for the circumstance, you’d be eyeing down his expensive car more carefully.

“Daddy!” Yerim shouted, running towards him with her arms open, only relief and excitement in her voice.

He leaned down waiting for her hug before embracing her into his arms.

“Hey sweetheart! Sorry, I made you wait, love. Why don’t you go put your stuff in the car while Daddy speaks to Y/n?”

(score, he remembers your name. Yerim must mention you at home sometimes). 

The girl nodded, running towards you to give you a hug as a thank you before running off to the car with her things, Nila assisting in carrying her lunchbox and maths book to the car as well.

You stood arms crossed and all, staring him down expectantly. 

Seonghwa gulped at how scary the aura you were exuding appeared to be.

“Nice to see you again,” is all he could get out with a small smile; meekly, at that.

Your knees were weak at the sight of his smile but your head was still strong.

“You made your kid wait two hours, you know that? They close facilities in fifteen minutes. How could you let her wait so long?” You spoke calmly, but Seonghwa couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed despite the gentle voice.

It felt like you were aggressively scolding him, despite you actually being more reasonable than perhaps the situation granted.

His chest tightened; he knew it was because he hated seeing you even slightly upset, he just wasn’t exactly sure why.

It just gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he feared something…

“Her mom was supposed to come and she didn’t. Apparently, she had work and forgot to tell me…” He uttered while gazing at the floor and clasping his hands awkwardly in front of him.

It was the first time Seonghwa didn’t have this confident flair that was always present, even if it was just in his walk.

He genuinely looked upset with himself and it made your heart drop a little, realizing that it’s not really your place to speak about what you did. You were just some girl, You crossed the line…

But it obviously wasn’t purposeful and granted, something had to be said. Being left at school by your parents can sometimes be the worst feeling after a long school day, and you know Yerim has mentioned waiting at school for a long while more than once.

“Hey,” You reached over towards him, placing your hands atop his shoulders.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were busy right?”

Seonghwa, with a spark in his eye, looked towards you, hesitantly nodding.

He had a small pout displayed and for a second you couldn’t help but wonder how the hell this handsome, adult man could look so cute.

No wait, be serious here!

“It just shouldn’t become a habit. I saw how sad Yerim looked when her mom didn’t pick up the phone, but she said she’s used to it...I, I know it’s not my place, but I just worry for her. Sorry for overstepping.”

You let out a sigh looking away, before retracting your hands, wanting to give him some personal space.

But you couldn’t because when you pulled away he grabbed your forearms pulling you to your previous spot which was closer to him.

He trailed his hands gently down your arms, grasping your hands in his own.

“It’s okay. You’re right. I just, really didn’t know,” He said tenderly. 

His voice is only loud enough to reach your ears, and your ears alone.

“If you ever need me to urgently help out with Yerim, I don’t mind…” You said, trying to ignore the close proximity between the two of you and the very much intentional hand-holding.

Everything felt still and peaceful,

Perhaps it was due to the school being mainly empty and the sky getting darker but for a moment things stopped for a second, it was just you two in each other’s company while silence encompassed the two of you.

“It’s nice having someone like you care so much for her...and me as well. I’ll keep that in mind.” he gave your hands a soft squeeze.

Ignoring the heat rising to your face, you sent him a bashful smile. 

"Uhh, you should get going…" You said uncertainly, trying to be responsible, but you knew deep down that you didn't want to let go of him just yet. 

"You're right… Before I leave, can I have your number? For emergencies, like you said." He uttered out, letting go of your hands to reach for his phone, causing you to realize how warm his hands were keeping yours. 

“I actually still need to return your blazer…” you mumbled mindlessly, as you took his phone, typing away.

He chuckled, placing his hand on the back of his neck, “Right, I almost forgot! Seems I remembered everything else about you that day except that,” he said, only to somewhat regret his ambiguous words after they came out of his mouth. 

You nodded, unsure exactly what he entailed, but you had a good idea of what he may have been referring to.

You awkwardly exchanged numbers with him before you both parted ways.

This was a bad idea…Offering up your services just like that… Especially since it’s not null of selfish intentions.

But, for now, if no one is getting harmed, then, whatever.

You’ll handle what comes when you get there if you get there.

So lil time skip of about two weeks and you’re chilling, procrastinating the cleanup that you should be doing this Friday afternoon when you get a notification— Seonghwa’s name appearing on screen.

Hey, I know this is a bit sudden, but it’s the end of our business quarter and I have to stay late. Yerim will be all alone at home and no one will be there until 11pm. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but would you be willing to look after her? I promise I’ll compensate you generously.

Are you really about to look after this dude’s kid because you think he’s hot when you could rather be hanging out with friends or watching movies (or actually cleaning)?

Yeah. deal with it.

Of course! I don’t mind at all. Is there anything particular I should know (like should I bring her dinner or-)? And I hope we can discuss the compensation when you arrive home :)

Oh man… your mind really shouldn’t be jumping the gun here but it’s like, really really hard to not think about this scenario playing out…

What scenario?

Him compensating for this through physical means instead-

Iykyk.

He lets you know that there are some leftovers in the fridge that you can heat up for Yerim and sends you his address.

On your way there you can’t help but wonder why his wife isn’t there or a caretaker for Yerim. Is she also working late or are they not staying with each other..? It’s none of your business but of course, you were curious.

The whole situation just seemed weird to you so perhaps you’d see if you can figure something out from Yerim.

Upon arriving, your jaw dropped at how fancy the place was. Like yeah, he seemed like he had a decent job but to be raking in this much money? Damn…

There was a glass staircase, floors made of marble, and art pieces that you knew only wealthy people have the privilege of buying, and let’s not forget the fancy security system, that Seonghwa so graciously gave you the password to.

You laid your things down, calling out to Yerim before she shouts that she was coming.

You see her scurry down the stairs, running towards you to give you a hug. You pick her up, amused by her excitement.

“Y/n! Are you looking after me?” She asks with bright eyes and you give her a nod to which she smiles, elated. 

“But your dad gave me some rules to follow and I don’t want to get in trouble. I’m sure you don’t either, right?” 

She eagerly nodded, seeming to have a war flashback to when her dad got mad at her. 

“Then let’s be good, alright?” You chuckled at her reaction.

You set her down, and after exploring the house nonchalantly, you played with her a bit before letting her go do her own thing in her room.

While silence filled the floor you were on, the various things lying around in the house piqued your interest. 

You walked up to a small desk that had very few minimalistic ornaments and three frames, as well as some flowers that seemed to have started withering.

Upon further inspection, you realized that in the frame were Yerim, Seonghwa, and the infamous Mrs. Park. You couldn’t help but scoff at how pretty she was. Bright, bold eyes, thick heart-shaped lips, a small nose, a long neck giving her an elegant appearance, dark raven hair, and a nice figure to top it all off.

You’d be lying if you said Seonghwa and her didn’t look beautiful together. 

In fact, they must’ve been the talk of their neighborhood with how well they visually complemented each other. People likely gushing over what a pretty couple they make.

You placed the frame down, picking up the vase of flowers, wanting to change the browning water.

You didn’t understand why, but you felt a bit bitter while staring at the photos. 

Maybe it was because of your obvious attraction to Seonghwa or maybe it was because through small anecdotes you’ve figured out that she’s seemingly neglectful to her family.

Either way, despite her being beautiful, it irked you to stay staring at the sweet family photos.

You walked away busying yourself with the vase, thinking of how interesting it is… 

They look like the perfect family in those photos, happy as ever…Meanwhile, Seonghwa has revealed to you how stressed and strained his relationship was, and you’ve witnessed Yerim look dejected whenever her mom or sometimes even her father failed to show up to school events.

When placing the flowers back in their original place, you shook your head, trying to get your thoughts in order as you made your way elsewhere in the house.

You sunk into the couch like a melting slug, wondering if this was a good idea. 

‘This’ as in you taking time to somehow be involved in his life, even if it’s indirect.

It’s harmless now; you’re just some young person crushing on Seonghwa and using opportunities to see him…

The problem comes if he tempts you to throw away your self-control or even vice versa (since you know you don’t do too much thinking when around Seonghwa), and if things start escalating…

With a heavy sigh leaving your mouth, you decide that as long as you don’t overstep your boundaries, you should be fine…Right?

It isn’t long before you heat up those leftovers for Yerim and make a little plate of something for yourself.

You help her get ready for bed, as it starts getting later. You try to make it entertaining and fun for her since she seemed to be a little hesitant to sleep until her dad came home. 

Through what Yerim said, it seemed like her mom hasn’t been home for the past few days.

Tucking her in bed, after reading a short story book you found lying around on the bookshelf in her room, you sat there listening as she told you about her favorite character from that book.

You chuckled at the absurd reasons she gave as to why that character was her favorite, such as the fact that they liked cereal bars and she liked them too even though some people in her class would tease her because they hated them. 

While pulling the duvet up to her head as she dosed off after rambling, you gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. You stood up switching off the lights before stopping in your tracks as she called your name.

“Y/n..?”

You turned around waiting for her to continue,

“Can you come over more often?”

You couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion at the request.

“Hmm? Why?”

“Well, you tuck me in and it’s fun when you’re around…Plus Daddy smiles whenever I talk about you so I think he likes you.”

Does she not normally get tucked in? Does Seonghwa talk about me with her a lot?

You gave her a soft smile, “Goodnight Yerim.” 

You headed downstairs, cleaning up the place a bit and doing the dishes before settling on the couch, watching whatever show was on as you waited for Seonghwa.

It was twenty minutes in when you realized looking after kids is no joke, even when they aren’t causing trouble. You were totally ready to have a nice rest after this.

You were fighting your sleep when 11:30pm hit but thankfully It wasn’t long until you heard the front door open, followed by the sound of business shoes hitting the marble. 

You stretched your arms and legs, standing up and switching the TV off, turning around to look towards the hallway entrance,

“Welcome home!” You sang out to Seonghwa, who was startled at the greeting.

His tired eyes lit up at the sight of you and he let out a breathy chuckle, as he took off his coat, hanging it on the hooks near the front. 

He was wearing a white dress shirt with a patterned tie and black slacks, and damn, did he look fucking hot. 

You were a little embarrassed that it didn’t take much for you to get flustered and worked up but his appearance was rather stunning for someone who spent the whole day at work. 

He ruffled his hair a bit, and loosened his tie, walking over towards you with a genuine smile.

“I can’t remember the last time I heard someone welcome me home,” he uttered, popping a few more buttons open, and folding up his sleeves, revealing his toned arms that you vaguely remember, “normally Yerim is either asleep when I get home, or otherwise I fetched her from school and we both came home together…” He trails off to which you nod, shyly petting your hair down, suddenly a little more conscious of your own appearance.

He comes to a stop in front of you, tilting his head, looking at you tenderly.

“It’s nice hearing it, especially so sincerely…”

You open your mouth to say something, only to close it, not fully sure how to respond. You look down to the floor, fumbling over what to say. Normally you’d be a lot quicker, but of course, it seems nothing really is normal when it comes to your behavior around Mr. Park.

He didn’t think much, before reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, cradling your cheek in his palm just after. You felt your breath hitch, realizing that even if you tried to speak, you’d choke on your own words.

WHAT WAS HE DOING RN??? HELLO SIR???

He brushed his thumb against your cheek, and you were honestly, just stumped. 

You didn’t know what was going on but you dreamt of this touch for far too long to slap him away like you probably should have.

“Sorry, you had some type of fluff on your cheek,” he uttered, removing his hand which you had to stop yourself from chasing. 

Really..? Fluff? 

You couldn’t tell if he was serious or just using an excuse… 

You knew you liked him and further, you knew the attraction was mutual, but for some reason, it still all felt a bit surreal.

“Was everything okay here? Did Yerim cause you any trouble?” He said gently, his voice low.

“No, not at all! The worst thing she did was tire me out a little bit, but nothing I’m not capable of managing,” you let out an airy chuckle, opting to bite your lip just after feeling slightly awkward. 

He made you nervous in a good way, but also in a way you didn’t know how to handle.

“Oh? It’s a shame. I was hoping I’d be the one responsible for tiring you out tonight,” He chuckled before immediately dying down as he processed what he just said and openly insinuated. 

You almost choked, but swallowed the lump in your throat down instead.

Did he just-

What in the Wattpad was going on?

Not that you minded, I mean the delusional self in you was jumping at this.

Even so, outwardly you had no idea how to respond, feeling overwhelmed enough to just laugh nervously, and beyond your better judgment say this:

“We haven’t exactly discussed my compensation yet, Mr. Park.”

Oh fuck.

Oh.

Fuck.

You said that. YOU REALLY SAID THAT???

Panic.

He scoffs, looking away and you catch a glimpse of his reddening ears. 

“You’re driving me mad” he utters under his breath, seemingly to himself, but you could obviously hear his words...

“Why the sudden formalities? ‘Mr. Park’? Y/n, surely you know by now…” His voice was low and his actions bold as he placed his hand against your waist, leaning over so that his lips were brushing against your ear.

It was giving you flashbacks of when you first met and your heart raced once again at the proximity. 

“I like it when you call me by my name.” 

He was firm in what he said, and his voice sounded different from anything you’ve heard before.

It took everything in you to keep standing, your legs threatening to cave in. 

You placed your hands against his shoulders, both yours and his touch rather chaste considering the connotation of your words.

“Is that so? Maybe I need a reason to do that in the first place…” You uttered out, breath shaky and mind foggy. 

You were hoping he understood what you meant by that, your dazed state not even concerned for any rationality.

He tightened his grip against your waist, letting his head drop against your neck as he chuckled.

“I don’t know what to do with you, Y/n,” he said, now with a lighter tone laced with uncertainty.

It was a small call to reality, but he wasn’t making any action to let you go.

In fact, he only wrapped his other arm around you, pulling his head away to look at you, rather intensely at that-

You felt a little doubtful under his gaze. 

You could see a swirl of emotions in his eyes and he no doubt was feeling similar to you, but there was moral conflict tearing you both away from your desires.

“Sorry-” you whispered out, unable to come up with something better, only to be cut off.

“I do know, however— that I want you.” 

Your breath hitched and you subconsciously slid your hands higher, wrapping them around his neck, hinting to him that the feelings are mutual.

He wanted to hear it said from you directly though. Not willing to take a chance at this moment, he pulled you closer.

“So tell me…” He trailed, eyeing your expression carefully as he brought one hand to cradle your face just as before, “What do you want?”

Oh, fuck this. Consequences can wait. 

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his.

“This,” 

You closed the gap between you two, finally able to feel his lips against yours.

[atierrorian]

| Glad it's you | — R.H

PARING: Rook Hunt x Deaf!reader

SYNOPSIS: All your entire life, you knew silence. But—it isn't as bad as people make it out to be. Because even with your biggest flaw, he still chose you.

˗ˏˋGENRE ´ˎ˗ — Romance, fluff, angst/comfort

˗ˏˋCW ´ˎ˗ — Rook is already a warning. Ooc, mentions of bullying, stalking(It's Rook, duh) horrible poetry.

˗ˏˋNOTES ´ˎ˗ — Wow! It has been a while and I am so sorry for not making anything in quite some time, I've become so busy nowadays that writing has barely crossed my mind, so I'll make most of my free time writing this!

✎| Masterlists|Navigation |

♡ "Are you really willing to accept me?" ♡ "I've accepted you a long time ago."

People always pitied you for as long as you can remember now. Frequently assuming it must be hard not being able to hear. And yeah, sometimes—but it isn't as bad as they make it out to be, if anything, you find solace in the silent world you have lived in all your life. Sure, there were times when it was hard to understand people, especially if they didn't know sign language.

Luckily, you mostly used poems to interact with them. Though, it was amusing to see them struggle to grasp your poems—that's what makes it fun anyway.

And so, making use of your skills, you swiftly wrote down another poem for a certain hunter. He's one of the few people you've known who could actually decipher what your poems meant. And it's not to say each and every time you show him your masterpiece, he always seems to be on your level when it came to writing back to you.

It always makes you feel giddy inside when he writes back to you. Re-reading every syllable. Caressing the ink that was clearly carefully written with such consideration with each word he used, you couldn't help but feel as though he was hinting to you about something.

You scoffed; shaking the thought away. Who were you trying to fool? This was the Rook Hunt you were thinking about! He's like this with everyone. Besides—why would he go for someone who had a defect? To say the least, you weren't insecure with your disability but, thinking about the blonde hunter who seemed to always cross your mind whenever you wrote—you couldn't help but feel your heart tightening in your chest from such thoughts.

In the end, why would he choose you? You're nothing special, far from it anyway. You're just someone who could never hear and someone who just writes to communicate. But, even then, you were still wrapped around his fingertips. And besides—it doesn't hurt to hope, right?

You felt a hand placed on your shoulder, you froze. You had never stayed still like a statue so fast in your entire life until now. What? Millions of thoughts were racing through your mind right now—was it another of the students who were here to once again chuck balled up papers again? Take your poems away from you and ripped them to pieces or flames it until there's nothing left but ashes?

"Awww, what's this? Another one of your silly stories?"

"Look! It's another one of their love poems!"

"Pathetic if you ask me."

You didn't focused on them, you never even knew what they were saying, and you could care less what insults or degrading comments they were spewing from their filthy mouth. Your knees on the ground while clutching onto what was remains of the paper you once cherished. And they tore it all up like it was nothing.

Shuddering from the memory, you closed your eyes and continued to look at your lap; prepared for whatever torture they were gonna do to you again. Tore your poems? Throw paper at you? Mocking at you while you cry in tears because they had nearly killed you? What else did they had in store for you?

You gripped the paper even harder, shutting your eyelids even tighter if that was even possible. You were scared.

Huh.

You felt a piece of paper slid onto your lap, hesitantly, bit by bit, you forced your eyes to open to see what it was. Was it an insult written in a letter? If so, then you're surprised that they were even intelligent enough to finally realized that you had a hearing disability instead of using their vocals to try and insult you.

But no, it was not anything you expected or thought. Instead, your vision was blessed with a familiar handwriting. Subconsciously, you read what was was written on the white letter that graced your sight, and goodness it always doesn't fail to make your blood rushing through your face. By the sevens, how does he always make you feel this way?

Why such a blue face? You don't need to be ashamed of such a heartache; If you need someone to wipe your tears, my heart will gladly volunteer; What you consider flaws, is what I consider perfection —

Mon Cherie, you are the belle of my dairy heart, You, sweetheart, have me wrapped around your fingertips; I will never let go of the string that wraps around my wrist; That connects me, to you.

My heart beats loudly; even you could hear it— If your heart longs for anything, Mon cherie, just write to me; And tell me all your silly sorrows. -Rook Hunt

Though it was short and simple, you couldn't help but re-read the words every now and then. You smiled seeing the words written on the paper. How could you not? His words sweet like candy, it was addicting in a way even you were worried you wouldn't get enough of it. Or maybe it's too late for you.

Your heart started racing so fast you thought even you could hear it. The more you examined the poem the more it started to look like a love confession. But it couldn't be that, could it? You so badly wanted to hope that you had a chance but you didn't want to get your hopes up.

You, sweetheart, have me wrapped around your fingertips.

Those lines, shit, you couldn't help but swoon over them. Clutching the poem, you finally gazed at the author with wonders and hope. He smiled at you and signed those three words you've been waiting to see.

"I love you."

Was it even possible for your heart to be beating faster than it was before? You held the poem closer to your beating heart, trying to conceal it; worried he might hear it. It felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest. You sighed dreamily and thanked your heart for choosing him.

Meanwhile, Rook chuckled seeing your flustered expression. He found beauty in all things whether it was considered good or bad to others. But he found you the most beautiful of them all. He won't lie, he fell for you hard when he saw you. Because even when he learnt about your flaw, it didn't matter to him; you were still the fairest of them all. You weren't able to hear his words—but that's alright; he'll gladly write thousands or more letters if it meant to show you just how much he loves you.

He'd gladly and happily dance in hot and burning shoes if it meant to show you his devotion to you, just to show how much he cares for you. And if anyone were to make you doubt? Let's just say they wouldn't be coming closer to you anymore if they caused you pain. But before that, he'd come and comfort you, with words written on paper just so all your worries would go away.

Even if his fingers start to go numb and bruises appear, he won't stop until he finally sees you smile. He's glad that his heart chose you.

END

Wow! Uhm, heyy ik it's been awhile but I finally found enough inspiration to make this! Again sorry it's been awhile I've been so busy that I barely found any time to write at all, but I do hope you guys liked this!