#I hate my new job so much LOL. but I need the money so… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jakesimfromstatefarm · 2 months ago

Text

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.

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 :( )

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boysbeware2 · 5 months ago

Text

all the old tptm girl journal entries w the new (if anyone wants to see them again and compare them)

please proceed with caution as many of these could be upsetting to read

disposable girl (jordyn)

(old)

i cant fucking stand this. i try so goddamn hard to make friends, to be attractive to people, to be even somewhat appealing to them etc etc. it never works. i thought it would get better the older i get. thats what i was told. guess what! i was fucking lied to!!! im alwasy left out of EVERYTHING i never get invited to shit and my own friends ignore me all the time. everyone looks at me weird. i cant go in public anymore im so fucking terrified of everyone. nobody fuckinf wants me, man. im so close to doing something stupid i feel so gross and ugly and dumb i should actually just die id be doing everyone a favor LOL

(new)

man, i havent been on here in forever. the internet is kind of dumb. what is there to say? my friend group celebrated our outpatient graduation anniversary the other day, that was pretty nice. we’re all trying to figure out housing stuff, nora’s been helping with that. freyja + mayra + kairi found a place already (how are they so responsible??) and the rest of us are trying to find places near them so we can visit more often. i never expected to have such a big group of friends. if you told me 2 years ago that i’d be living like this, i wouldn’t believe you. it’s still surreal to me. i’m not sure what i did to deserve them. same goes for my girlfriends. i don’t wanna say who just yet, we’re still figuring things out, but i’m just so thankful for them. i feel so lucky to have a second chance at life. i really didn’t believe people when they said it would get better, and then it did. how funny…..

irreverent girl (kairi)

(old)

I do not want God to see me anymore. I do not want anymore eyes on me. This is near unbearable. I have no one to turn to. My mother is in the church. Many of my friends are in the church. They would tell me to find hope through Christ. They would tell me to pray to Him. They would tell me that He will save me. He must not remember He made me, and if He does, He simply does not care. I know this is unbecoming of me, and I don't mean to be dramatic. I am simply depressed, nervous, and I cannot tell what's real and what isn't anymore. I know I'm supposed to hear God speaking to me, but I do not, and I am tired of straining my ears. I just want to see a doctor. I want some kind of tangible solution. I do not want to pray anymore. Praying hurts. I only do it when I am afraid, but I am afraid much of the time. I don't want to be unheard anymore. I do not want to hold out hope for someone who does not act like they're there. I am hurting. I am hurting. I am hurting. Belief is hurting me. The idea of God is hurting me. I need an out. I am hurting.

(new)

When I have a job and money and I can move away from my shitty Mormon parents

splitter girl (tahira)

(old)

theres something so broken in me thats beyond saving. so i dont know why i keep trying to be saved. i meant to kill myself when i was 18. i didnt. all ive wanted to do lately is kill someone or something. i havent. im too much of a pussy to plan anything concrete, no matter how much i hate everyone around me. no matter how much i get off to videos of people dying or how much i love cutting myself i cant actually take action against other people. i am fucking purposeless. i was born from evil and i will always be evil and i cant even live up to that. i hate myself i hate myself i HATE myself and the universe hates me too. i dont know what to fucking do at this point. i talked to one of my friends about wantingto die and they said smthn about hospitalizing myself. maybe. i dunno. i dont know what else there is for me/. my eyes are fucking burning from lookign at my computer for so long adn not getting any goddamn sleep. i am not a good person. i dont think i can be helped but i just dont wanna fucking keep goign to school and being around people and pretending like everything is norma;l. i cant keep doing it. what the fuck is wrong with me whagt happened. why cant i be loved or feel love for other people when did something change in me that switched the aggression and affection parts of my brain. im hyperventilating ill be back. maybe

(new)

getting myself onigiri from this one good boba place 2nite bc im 8 months clean…… its the little things~ ^^

fainéant girl (freyja)

(old)

i know i dont hate being disabled... i just hate being disabled in a society that makes existing difficult... but sometimes i really just dont want to be disabled anymore. i dont want my family to lecture me about how i could be helping out more, or how i should get a job. i dont want teachers to keep asking me whats wrong or the fuckin uni counselor to try to get me hospitalized. i dont want to be in so much pain anymore, to feel so exhausted that i cant even do so much as prepare food for myself, let alone do anything meaningful or fulfilling. its not fair. i shouldnt have to stay inside and sit in the dark all day,. i should be able to have friends. to talk to people and to go out with them and to feel like i am alive. its lonely and traumatic to suffer through this and on top of that no one around me understands, and they never fully will. i am tired of trying to justify my existence to everyone, to explain the pain that i am in and why i shouldnt have to experience it. i know the problem isnt me. i know i live in a world that isnt built for me. but if the world cant change then sometimes i truly feel that i should just stop living in it. my lifespan is already shorter than everyone else's anyways. what difference does it make

(new)

my qpps didnt seem to appreciate me playing Alien Kids Alien Rap for them. Do they even love me

caliber girl (nora)

(old)

唉～It is 3 AM and I should go to sleep but I can’t. I have a work zoom meeting early in the morning and I gotta hit the gym also because I haven’t done leg day in like… weeks. Oh well, it doesn’t even matter. My value is depleting but I don’t think I care anymore. The turnaround date for my code is also in a couple of days and I haven’t made any progress. I keep getting the same error and I’m too tired to figure out what’s wrong. I might get fired at this rate LOL(笑). If that happens, I think I’ll just consider ending it all. Not that anybody will miss me. God I sound so weak and pathetic right now. When did it get like this. How did it get like this. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse before and this is nothing. Ugh, why is it so hard to breathe? My chest hurts and I feel like something is wrong but I don’t know how to make it go away. Should I call someone about this? No. No one is awake or around to help. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep it off. Shake it off… shake it off…

(new)

My Tamagotchi beeped during a meeting fml

chocolate box girl (morgan)

(old)

i thought i was doing better but i cant stop thinking about them. their touch, their interests, their smile, everything. the worst part is that i miss them, after all of what they've done to me. i was 13. i dont even feel justified calling it rape since our relationship was so muddy... they never yelled at me or was angry at me, they just got so sad when i tried to speak my mind, and got all my friends to hate me when we finally broke up. i never said no so i feel like im insulting actual survivors by feeling violated. i wasnt even trying to get into a relationship with them, it just happened... i feel like everyone around me wants me in the same way they did, even though im an adult now and i dont even try to make myself appealing. i wish i could trust people not to take advantage of me, and i feel disgusting and selfish for feeling like everyone has ulterior motives of getting me to fall in love with them, or worse. that's so self centered of me. i dont know how long i can keep doing this

(new)

girl help i cant stop looking at anime figures on japan yahoo auctions !!!!!

taxidermy girl (mayra)

(old)

I don't remember ever not having a sex drive, is that normal ? I was born and then it was all downhill from there, something happened to me sexually i think, I don't know what happened, because I don't remember much, but something happened and I was beaten for it and yelled at and my mother hated me, and now I am an adult and I try to have sex, and I'm not there mentally, even if my body is participating, I feel like I am in the past again, being beaten and yelled at . I want to keep trying, I want to have fun, to feel safe in someone else's arms, to reach the heights of pleasure, but my mind scares me so much, I haven't been able to eat anything today because I feel so horrified by my body . If I was good I would have been born as a nonsexual being, no parts, no desires, no instincts, a blank slate, too empty to be enjoyed . Do you know what it feels like, to have your mother tell you people want to sexually abuse you when you are a child, and then to be made fun of by your peers for being so ugly, to have your middle school and high school classmates joke about how much they don't want to have sex with you ? I am illicit and undesirable at the same time, I am everyone's last option, I am nothing and still too much, rotting deer meat on the side of the road . I wish I had been born as something beautiful and pure, I wish I could start over, that whatever that initial sin was had never been committed .. I want to start over

(new)

Went to a kink event the other night and everyone was so nice … The low lights were fucking with my vision so one of the hosts helped me navigate the place . I ❤️ you random disabled ally with a pup mask on

chemical girl (joy)

(old)

LMAOOOOO im too angry and miserable to be around. i think i just need to give up at this point because theres clearly like. something broken inside me that cant be fixed. that has 2 be it because i try to talk and i just sound cold, i try to make a joke and it comes out overly edgy and unfunny, i try to be like everyone else but its too much. i cant even be a collection of the positive traits i see in others, i try to replicate it and it comes out warped and wrong. im either fucking enraged or in abject misery or way too happy and nobody can keep up with me. the thing is i dont even blame them. i wouldnt want to be around me either. do u know what thats like? being someone you wouldnt want to know? i keep hoping that one day ill wake up and suddenly be normal, the mood swings will be gone and everyone will like me and i wont do stupid shit that pisses them off. but i know that day isnt coming. theres no hope for me and i want to say sorry to everyone who has ever had the misfortune of knowing me but i know it wouldnt do anything. theres nothing i could ever do to make myself right

(new)

i need to convince my gf to take me to Round One again soon

refraction girl (nataana)

(old)

i don't want to do this anymore. i'm going somewhere better

(new)

talked with my psych and i’ll be starting TMS soon, it’s some thing where they put magnets to ur brain and it’s supposed to treat depression.. trying to temper my expectations bc i’ve tried so many treatments that just do nothing for me, but i’d be lying if i said my hopes weren’t riding on this. i want to confidently say i’m glad to be alive. i feel like i’m getting closer to that

nurse parallel/machine girl (xiomara)

(old)

I am so excited... Tomorrow my experimental outpatient treatment plan begins!!! I'm beyond delighted. I have complicated feelings about my DID being in remission, but it's nice to feel stable enough to be in charge of something this big, and to not have terrible gaps in my memory anymore. I still don't remember everything that happened to me, but maybe I don't need to. At this stage of my life, I feel content. I can confidently say everything was worth it. I want to help others feel that way, too. I think I can.

(new)

I’m meeting up with a new friend tomorrow… I feel nervous, but it’s a good nervousness, I think!

#the post traumatic manifesto #tptm #refraction girl #weevildoing #splitter girl #nurse parallel #chocolate box girl #chemical girl #disposable girl #faineant girl #irreverent girl #taxidermy girl #caliber girl

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 3 months ago

Text

Punish me.

Pairing: Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 5853

Summary: What happens when your boss punishes you but you like it too much? You look for more. And more. Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of Y/N, legal unspecified age gap, power imbalance, dom!Joel / sub!reader, degradation, oral (m receiving), spanking, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), initially dub-con but reader is very into it, risk of being caught, a little chocking if you squint, cream pie, squirting, reader has no description other than the clothes she is wearing, manipulation, slurs, pet names, reader calls Joel "Sir". This Joel is low-key inspired by Don Draper from Mad Men and the whole thing was also low-key inspired by Secretary (2002). Let me know if I forgot something important, I will add it right away. A/N: Written for Never Have I Ever challenge hosted by the lovely @yxtkiwiyxt , this was my prompt and I had so much fun working on it! Thanks for giving me the opportunity to join! 🥰 Thanks to @aurorawritestoescape for being the most precious beta and @joelmillerisapunk for being the best support I could ask for and for letting me yap about it for a month and half lol I love you so much 🥹❤️ English is not my first language, every single mistake is still on me, I deeply apologize if you find any. Thanks to anyone who will read! masterlist | Joel Miller masterlist

“Mr Miller wants to see you in his office at 3” When Pam called you to say that a shiver ran down your spine.

Your last client was the owner of a large brewing company, a self-centered rich asshole that you couldn’t stomach in any way.

He had been pressing you for weeks for you to come up with the most sexist and stupidest ad campaign ever, all while you were trying to present him with new ideas that didn't necessarily include 10 women in bikinis at the feet of one man or other such things that had been done 200 times already .

You hated the guy with every fiber of your being and you told him exactly what you were thinking about him when he called you a prude and argued that he could show you what a real man was.

Seeing his sleezy smile as he winked at you and told you that you needed to fuck more was your last straw.

You were glad to be rid of him but you knew well that your boss would not have the same opinion.

Right out of college what you wanted was to learn the profession as soon as possible, and you wanted to learn it from the best in the business.

Joel Miller owned the most famous advertising agency in town, so you did everything to get an internship there.

You understood why he was so successful from day one.

__________________________________

Pam was sitting at her desk as usual when you walked in.

Her desk was a few feet from the door of Mr. Miller's office.

A large, black, solid wooden door with a fine frame, one of those that seemed to lead to the rooms forbidden to poor commoners.

She just looked up from the computer screen to tell you to come in, Mr. Miller was waiting for you, and then she was back to work.

Pam was a woman in her 60s, blond hair perpetually pulled back in an elegant bun, a pearl necklace around her neck, cachemire sweaters in all pastel colors, silk blouses and matching skirts.

She looked very neat, austere, you could swear you never saw her smile but heck, she was really good at her job and had been managing Mr. Miller's impossible schedule for many years.

You knocked on the door feeling your heart in your throat, thinking you were one step away from being fired.

Joel's voice bounced through the door, heavy and raspy, "come in.”

You entered trying to maintain a composure.

“Good morning, Mr Miller, you wanted to see me?”

He put down the papers he was perusing on the desk and looked up at you.

“Oh, it's you,” he said in a very calm voice. “The one who made me lose a lot of money.”

“I...I'm sorry but the guy was too much of an asshole for me to take it,” you spat out.

You knew Joel appreciated people who were standing their ground.

“Excuse me, should I care? You just made a thousand dollar check disappear.”

The silence that enveloped the room was unreal.

You stood in front of his stately mahogany desk, trying to keep your back straight and your shoulders high.

Of course, he didn’t care, he was an asshole too.

________________________________

He had conducted the interviews personally, without delegating it to his subordinates.

He hired you himself, without missing the opportunity to intimidate you in the meantime.

The first day you had come in you were shy, awkward, afraid of your own shadow.

How did you think you could deliver a presentation in front of a client if you looked like a frightened little bird that had just fallen out of the nest?

Joel said he took a risk hiring you, the least you could do was to show him how much you really wanted the job.

Eventually you learned to fight.

It hadn't been pleasant or even easy, Joel wouldn't let you get away with anything, criticized your every idea, sometimes blatantly mocked you.

He had pushed you to work harder than you would have imagined and you were eager to let him know that you were worth something, that you were not just an honors graduate but could translate your knowledge into the practical field.

You also owed it to yourself.

Your parents supported you but had always told you that you were not the type to work in advertising.

Too kind, too quiet, too sweet.

“Honey, are you sure? Wouldn't you rather do some other job?” your mother always asked you.

No, you didn't want to do anything else. And you were going to prove it to everybody.

You became a sucker for Joel’s attention in no time.

Whatever type he wanted to give to you.

As you progressed and learned, he became gentler, too much so at times.

Grazing your knee under the table at meetings, touching your waist way too much as you walked down the hallways talking about some projects, playfully slapping your ass once, after successfully signing your first contract with a client.

It was becoming a relationship that other colleagues didn't have to notice.

He was your mentor, your inspiration, the person who had taken you under his wing and taught you to fly.

Along with the desire to do well, however, something else grew in you over time.

Arousal, desire, need.

It lingered in the air while you were trying to flap your wings and stay aloft.

_______________________________

“Furthermore…” his voice dropped and deepened, “we don’t tolerate this kind of language here.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the clear change in his voice.

You knew what he was doing.

And you liked it.

“Well, I’m sorry but there’s no other appropriate word to describe that person” you chirped.

You didn’t drop the asshole just to have this, you really hated the man with all you had, this was just a pleasant collateral damage.

Joel being angry at you.

Joel who wanted to punish you.

He ran a hand over his mustache, looking at you as if he wanted to devour you.

You felt your clit throb in anticipation.

He stood up from his chair, he was imposing, broad shoulders and awe-inspiring piercing eyes.

“Let me explain it to you properly. I don't care if he didn't meet your moral dictates, I don't give a damn if he was so obnoxious that he made you sick to your stomach, okay?” his voice was a thin, cold, steady blade.

“Yes, Mr. Miller” you swallowed, without breaking eye contact. “You acted like a whiny child,” he stated. “ And you made me lose a ton of money”

His heavy step creaked faintly on the fine parquet floor. He was towering over you.

“Yeah, you said that already,” you rolled your eyes.

You would have sworn you were hearing Joel’s blood simmering in his veins and that was exactly what you wanted.

“Do you think criminal lawyers like to defend murderers? Do you think they like their clients?”

“No,” you muttered

“Yeah, they don’t like them but they do it anyway because it's their job.”

That was a little extreme example but he did make a point.

You were torn.

Disappointing your mentor was the last thing you wanted but seeing him like that, ready to give you a lesson was making you horny like nothing else.

You craved it.

“Do you know what they used to do to wayward children like you?”

You could feel the warmth of his body with how close he had gotten.

“Yeah.”

His eyes looked like onyx stones.

“Say it.” “They spanked them,” you finally let out.

“Yeah. You’re goddamn right, darling. They spanked them.” His words were a sheet of ice on which you couldn't wait to slide.

“Bend over the desk.”

“No,” you tried to argue.

“I. Said. Bend.” He ordered, punctuating every word.

You raised an eyebrow, glaring at him, but finally gave in.

You approached the desk, rested your elbows on it and jostled your ass out, poised on your heels.

He positioned himself behind you, you turned to look at him, and he immediately hissed,

"Eyes to the wall, missy."

You huffed, returning your gaze to the large painting hanging behind the desk.

His hands slid down your legs.

It was the first time he touched you, the first time you felt his strong grip on your body, the first time his warmth penetrated your flesh.

“You really disappointed me today.” His voice was calm, low, but full of disgruntlement.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered.

“It's not enough,”

His hands had reached the hem of your skirt, raising it dangerously, pulling it up, exposing the edge of your thigh-high stockings and your panties.

“Do you still think you deserve a place in this agency?”

Panic welled up inside you, you felt your cheeks on fire and your hands trembling on the wood of the desk.

You didn't want to lose everything you had worked for.

Joel wouldn't sign any reference letters for you, you wouldn't get a job at any other agency, and your career would be over before it even started.

You remained stubbornly silent, trying not to be seen as weak, until he blurted out,

“answer me.”

“Yes. I made a mistake.”

“You’re goddamn right, honey,” he replied wryly.”How will you fix this?”

That honey sounded like a mockery. Like you were still too soft to do the job and be successful at it.

You hated it and it made your pussy throb at the same time.

“I will find a way, Mr. Miller.”

“We’ll see” he retorted “But you still deserve punishment, don't you think?”

“Yes,” you breathed reluctantly.

You didn’t like to admit that but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You wanted it too much.

You wanted him too much.

You didn’t hear him fumbling with his pants, no zippers coming undone, no buttons slipping through the buttonhole.

You just felt his breath fanning over your back and his hand gripping at your hips.

You felt his gaze seeping into your flesh.

You would have liked to turn around, tell him to get it over with and fuck you, but you didn’t.

You stood still in your turn, feeling the tension bubbling in your chest while he seemed so calm and collected.

He was taking his time with you.

You sighed, just before you felt the air shift behind you and his hand landed deafly on your ass.

You gasped.

Another slap had hit you.

Harder than before.

Pain spread all over your butt, tingling, until it turned into a destabilizing pleasure.

You had never done anything like that before and as disconcerting as it was to admit it, you liked it.

You liked it like crazy.

You felt a slick of arousal wetting your panties while you moaned.

“Do you want some more?”

You nodded eagerly.

“Oh. You gotta use your word, I feel like I taught you that, right?” He tutted.

“Yes.” You whispered “please”

Instead of continuing, he walked over to the bar cabinet, poured himself a couple of fingers of whiskey into a glass, sat back down on his leather chair and looked you in the eyes.

“Get out of here.”

You stood there watching him, hunched over his desk, wood still pressing on your clothed tits, feeling like you were in a fever dream.

Had it really happened?

The heat still throbbing on your ass cheek told you it had.

You stood up, straightened your skirt, your darting gaze metaphorically stabbing him.

He had humiliated you.

How had you let this happen? And most of all, why did you want more?

You left without looking back.

Pam wasn't at the desk when you left, you slipped out as quickly as possible, with one fixed thought in mind.

______________

The next few days he ignored you. He started following another girl who had just arrived and he was behaving the way he had with you.

Jealousy had never been a vice of yours. Never. But seeing him chuckle at her jokes, praise her for her efforts, smile at her, start calling her by her name like he had done with you made you furious.

It squeezed your chest in a cruel fist.

You had worked on the presentation for a market-leading make-up client, and fortunately for you, the CEO had been enthusiastic about your ideas.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know how much he was hurting you but despite the persistence with which you tried, you grew so hungry for him that all you were thinking about was finding a way to make him furious again.

To get punished again. You hated having fallen for his game, but by now you were a fish seeking oxygen in the mesh of the fishing net.

You were trying to get his attention in every way without success.

At the peak of your desperation, you had passed an embarrassing number of times in front of his office in the hope that he would come out.

You kept meeting only Pam bringing coffee, folders or Joel's personal correspondence.

After a week she no longer seemed surprised to find you there, there was a kind of understanding in her gaze, a muted feminine solidarity, an ill-concealed displeasure.

“Honey, why do you do this to yourself?” she seemed to say.

You didn’t care. Your pussy didn’t care either.

______________

One day, when you saw Pam pass in the hallways during the lunch break, you decided to do something.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You had gotten up deliberately exclaiming, “Oh, I really need a coffee!” And you had pretended to head for the common room. At last you had turned the opposite corner and snuck into the hallway that led to Joel's office. You had to hurry.

You slipped inside in an instant and found yourself in front of the imposing door that led to the office of the object of your desires.

He was talking to someone on the phone, you could clearly hear his voice but none in response.

When he finished, you opened the door and entered, full of doubts and fears but the same moved by a disruptive urge you couldn't say no to.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Joel's rough voice greeted you. “I came to see my mentor,” you whispered. ”And to tell him that tomorrow we will sign the contract with the make-up company.”

You smiled, waiting for his reaction.

He demolished you immediately in response,

“So? What do you want, a golden star? A kiss on the forehead?”

He raised an eyebrow mockingly staring at you.

“No, I just wanted to let you know,” you countered in a voice far too resentful for your taste.

You were turning on your heels to leave when you heard his voice say,

“What is the real reason you are here?”

You turned again and looked at him.

Elbows rested on the desk, the sleeves of the white shirt he wore rolled up to leave his muscular forearms exposed, rolling the platinum ring he wore on his middle finger around, his straight shoulders wrapped in the fabric that seemed to contain his broadness with difficulty, the first few buttons left open giving you a glimpse of a few freckles on his bronze chest.

The posture of the boss judging you, sitting comfortably in his leather chair, a smirk plastered on his face, a defiant expression in his eyes.

He was both sultry and irritating.

You wanted to slap him but also take off your panties and sit on his cock.

To be honest, you wanted to do both at the same time.

“You walked in here without asking Pam,” he noted amusedly, looking at you as if he could read your mind “What were you trying to do?” “Nothing,” you lied, fidgeting with a button on your shirt. “Just my job”

“I think you were trying to get on my nerves,” he suggested

You scoffed “You think you’re the center of my universe?”

“You’re the one in my office right now. Say what you want. Or leave. But I think you want to stay, am I right? Your pussy wants it.”

You were speechless, totally caught off guard.

“What do you need, darling?” He urged you, walking towards you.

He raised a hand reaching for your cheek, brushing it with his thumb.

His voice softened slightly, the knot in your stomach tightened.

It felt manipulative.

But also arousing when he gently pulled your lower lip open and grazed it with the pads of his fingers.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head to face him.

His gaze was authoritative, demanding but also sweet, like he was trying to get you convinced that he was a good guy, just eager to give you something you wanted so much that you showed up uninvited to his office.

“Punish me,” you breathed as he was sliding his fingers down your neck.

“See? It wasn’t so difficult. This was all I needed to know,” he chuckled softly, right after grabbing you by the waist, gentleness instantly out of the menu, pulling up your skirt to expose your ass.

“You want me to spank you again, am I right?”

Your voice came out husky and broken, you only managed to mumble a “yes”, the most desperate yes you’ve ever said in your life.

“That's what I was thinking,” he groaned

His hands were roaming your thighs “Hold-ups. Of course. You’re the target for that Agent Provocateur campaign we launched last month, aren't you?”

You would have laughed if you could but you felt his fingers graze the wet, sticky stain spreading across your panties and you gasped instead.

And then his hand crushed on your ass cheek, his ring marked your skin, pain spreading across your skin, immediately replaced by an unbearable heat.

It made you feel alive.

You had his attention again.

One, two, three spanks burned your flesh, you could clearly feel a trickle of pleasure flowing out of you.

“How dare you come into my office just to provoke me? Don’t you know who I am? Huh, little slut?”

“Yes,” you muttered. “yes Mr Miller but…”

You had started this, you would have liked to say.

You were the one flirting first.

You were the one leading me to want you, this, always.

Another slap hit you and you said nothing instead. You just moaned.

A knock on the door stopped Joel in his tracks.

He froze with his hand high up in the air.

“Who is it?” He asked nervously.

He still held you tightly by the waist, you tried to wriggle free from his grip without success.

“It’s Pam,” her voice came muffled from outside the door.

“Fuck” you whispered, you instantly looked around in panic for a place to hide.

Not the bookcase, or the bar cabinet or the nice leather couch and armchair that were placed in front of it.

There was only one option.

“Get off of me,” you hissed “now!”

Joel let go of you and you quickly cowered under the desk.

He sat down and spread his legs just enough to give you room as he moved his chair as close to the edge as he could.

“Come in” he ordered, trying to regain his composure.

Pam cracked the door open and entered the office.

You couldn’t see her but you could hear her light footsteps approaching the desk and her voice saying “I brought Mrs. Jones’ presentation that you wanted to review, Mr. Miller”

“Oh. Thanks Pam”

You could clearly hear the underlying nervousness in Joel’s voice and it was starting to make you laugh.

You decided that since he was playing dirty you would do the same.

Your hand slowly moved up his pants, grazing his ankle, then his shin, up his thigh, until it reached his crotch.

Joel was desperately trying to hide his squirming as he examined the work of his new protégé. The one he was trying to replace you with.

It was delicious to feel him like that, helpless, harmless for once, totally at your mercy as you moved your hand up and down over his clothed cock that was desperately straining against the zipper.

Pam didn't move, waiting for him to finish evaluating the project, only her regular breathing told you of her presence.

You liked the risk, the thrill of being discovered that ran under your skin.

You could do more.

Slowly, your fingers closed on the metal tag of Joel’s zipper.

You pulled it down, while Joel tried to hide the noise with a cough.

You pushed aside the flaps of his pants, pulling down his boxers to free his cock. He was hard in front of you.

Thick, pink and darker at the tip, pulsing veins ran along the shaft that was slightly curved to the right.

Little drops of pre cum dripped onto his skin, making your mouth water.

It was perfect and you had to have it. Right there and then.

You kitten-licked the underside where a white pearly bead was sliding, catching it with your tongue.

Joel squirmed visibly on his chair, you couldn’t see it but you imagined his eyebrows shutting up and his lips twisting.

You smiled in the heavy and heated air under the desk.

You hoped Pam would go away, but at the same time you were intrigued by putting Joel through the wringer without him being able to make any fumbling movements to stop you.

You held his cock in your hand, it throbbed in your palm, and a musky smell filled your nostrils. The smell of sex.

You didn’t resist and licked again, more greedily, its flavor spread over your tongue.

It was driving you crazy.

You felt his whole body stiffen as he sent his secretary away

“That's all for now Pam, thank you. Tell the team to refine the graphics and report to Ms. Jones that the idea may work but the slogan is a bit weak, I want more ideas for next week ”

He had tried to maintain a professional tone, but his voice cracked mid-sentence, and you could only be mischievously proud of that.

As soon as Pam came out he yanked up his pants and wrapped a hand around your wrist dragging you out of your hiding place.

“You dirty slut, what were you trying to do?" he rattled off.

He had you standing up and trapped you against his chest, his half-dressed erection pressing hard against your ass.

His hand closed on your wrist hurt but you didn't care, you liked being manhandled like that.

You weren’t even intimidated anymore, just feral.

Unhinged, eager, completely drunk on him.

“I thought you liked some action under the desk, Mr Miller” you replied, sneering without shame.

“Oh you’re so thoughtful, aren’t you?” He barked, shoving you on the desk again.

“Yes I am.” You have never been so cheeky before, you were quite surprised and proud of yourself.

“No, you aren’t, darling”

With that, he pushed you onto the desk, your breasts pressed against the perfectly polished wood and his hands running to your skirt to hastily tug it down.

It was like Deja vu.

The best type of.

He moved to lock the door.

“Hands on the desk, darling. And you better not take them out of there”

He took off his tie, placed it on the desk and walked over.

His authoritative voice sent a rush of arousal straight to your pussy.

He pulled down your panties, making you walk out of them and throwing them on the floor.

His hand grazed your folds, lightly at first and then he covered your whole sex and squeezed, sending a rush of adrenaline into your system

“First time doing it? Getting fucked by your boss? Mh?”

“Yes” you breathed “I’ve never done anything like this before”

”You think you earned it?”

“Yes”

He had withdrawn his hand from your pussy and placed both of them on your thighs.

“Bold of you. And I've already told you, you have to learn to speak properly. Yes, what?” His hands were gripping on your flesh so hard you were sure you'd end up with bruises.

“Yes, please” you whispered. “You think you deserve me giving attention to your pussy, huh?”

His voice was low and raspy, almost like a subdued roar.

“Yes, please. Sir.” You added, emphasizing this last word.

“That's the way I like it, you're starting to learn. Turn around” You got up from the desk and he pushed you to sit on the edge, your bare pussy leaking on the surface.

He slipped his hands down your thighs, over your bottom, up your back, stopping at the sides of your breasts. His thumbs rubbed your nipples through your shirt and lacy bra while he held you trapped between his body and the desk, standing between your open legs.

Your naked pussy throbbed against his pants, you could feel it dripping over the fabric, making a mess. He slipped his hand between the two of you, touching your folds with the pads of his fingers, up and down gathering more and more of your arousal and spreading it all over on your lips and clit. You tried hard to stifle your moans but a low husky one escaped your lips as you were rocking your hips against his hand.

“Look what I’m doing to your pussy.” He ordered while he started flicking your bundle of nerves. You looked down at his hand moving obscenely over your pussy, two of his thick fingers sliding inside you, his ring right out that was getting wet with you. You gasped loudly at the sensation when he curled them up just right, reaching for your special spot. “Be quiet” he had warned you off “either that or I’ll stop immediately” “No!” You wailed. “No, what?” He barked grasping your neck with his free hand

You looked at yourself in his pitch black eyes, losing yourself in that deep darkness.

A taunting smile curved his lips. “No, please” you were quick to correct yourself “That’s right” his hand lightly squeezed your pulse point. “Undo my shirt, now” Your fingers were moving awkwardly over the buttons, trying to unfasten them while he continued to move his fingers inside you.

His skin, unveiled before your eyes, was almost too much to bear: golden and dotted with freckles that you wanted to lick one by one.

He smelled like whiskey and mint and a distinctive something that was only his, filling your nostrils, awakening every molecule of that secret part of you that was a slave for him.

Once you reached the last one you were so worked up you were almost on your brink, Joel noticed that right away and stopped, taking away his hand from your pussy. You whined in disappointment and he retorted

“You don’t get to complain, darling” accompanying his words with a slap on your right tit “we clear?” “Yes, sir. I’m sorry” you breathed, feeling the pain spread all over your chest.

A rush of adrenaline made you quiver against his hot body.

He put his wet fingers in your mouth. “Clean them up, darling” And you did, you thoroughly swirled your tongue all over them, licking till the last drop, going feral for the taste of you and the way he pushed them through your lips, up to his knuckles.

“Good job”

He took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. He shifted, moving you in front of him.

“Kneel. Show me how sorry you are for complaining” You kneeled right away, moving your hand over his pants, stroking the underline of his cock. “What do you want?” “Your cock” you purred “Ask nicely” he told you, totally unfazed by your attempt to bribe him

“Can I please pull your cock out, sir?” You would have looked up to anyone, but the power it exerted over you at that point was unmanageable and devoured you.

His onyx eyes were fixed on you, pinning you down to the ground, like he was holding your entire being in his fist.

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Go ahead”

You hastily pulled down his pants and boxers, he stepped out of them and kicked them away.

You took his shaft back into your hand, licking the tip first, coating it in your saliva, until it was glistening and pulsing right before your eyes again.

You slid it in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, savoring his musky flavor, licking him like a lollipop, like the most delicious ice cream you’ve ever had.

“That’s what a good girl does,” he praised you “she fills her pretty mouth with a nice cock, just like that” You relaxed your jaw to take all that you could of him in your mouth.

His fingers reached for the back of your head, holding you possessively

“Go on, miss, I know you want it, don’t you? You would like my cum on your tongue, huh?” You hummed against his shaft, even more eager for him.

You tried to brush your fingers on your clit, searching for some relief from the throbbing heated mess you felt between your thighs but he scolded you

“Nuh huh, girl, don’t you dare. You don’t get to come until I say it” You whined, reluctantly moving your hand away.

You kept sucking on his cock, devouring every inch of him with purpose, messy and sloppy, thin trades of your saliva running onto his length to his balls.

You swirled on the tip before sliding down to them and taking one in your mouth, greedily sucking on it.

He was granite that crumbled slightly at your every touch, trying to hold back the grunts that vibrated in his throat, trying not to close his eyes so as not to get lost in every lap of your tongue. He tried not to give you any satisfaction but at the same time his body betrayed him, letting slip how much he wanted all of that. And you.

At his brink, he stopped you, manhandling you back on the desk, tearing away your shirt making every single button pop out and yanking at your bra to expose your nipples.

His lips closed on one of your hard rock buds and sucked it avidly. You were a whimpering mess, whining under your breath “please sir, fuck me”

He grazed your nipple with his teeth, running a finger through your folds.

“Look at you, darling, so hungry for my cock your pussy is weeping, your body is shaking…”

With one hand he yanked the papers off the desk, a shower of paper clips followed the sheets to the floor along with a stapler and the golden tag with his name engraved on it.

“Lie down” he hissed

You lay on the desk, obscenely open and throbbing for him, a raw uncontrollable heat flowing through your body.

“Please” you cried.

He grabbed your legs and placed them on his shoulders, holding you tightly by your ankles.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this” he said tapping his cock on your folds and sliding it through them, before starting to enter you agonizingly slow.

“Mmm feel how good she’s stretching, darling, your tight little pussy’s all full of me”

“Yes, sir”

“Say: thank you, sir”

“Thank you, sir”

It was all inside you and your pussy was swallowing it hungrily.

He started thrusting into a steady rhythm, slowly at first, like tidal waves hitting you, ripples on a blank shore caressing your special spot, and then stronger, faster, like thunderstorm on the ocean, high dangerous waves making you see stars.

His huge cock shifting and brushing against your drenched walls, sinking into you again and again.

Your moans bounced around the room like an echo, mixing with squelching sounds of his dick slamming into you, making you his.

“Yes, baby, you’re doing so good for me” he whispered “come here”.

He grabbed you and held you close to his chest, making your legs parting some more, reaching for another angle that made you feel him even deeper.

His moustache brushed along your jawline, lowering on your neck, his lips sucking on your pulse point.

“Look at you, dripping on my desk,” he muttered softly, his voice reverberating on your skin.

The impossible pace became too much to bear when his hand moved from your hips to your clit, his thumb brushing on it.

He looked you in the eyes, feral and assertively “you want to come, huh? Make a mess all over my cock?”

“Yes.” You cried, seeing the wreck that you were reflecting in his deep brown eyes “yes, please sir I need it”

“Then come, baby” he said, increasing the pressure on your clit and pushing into you like it was a matter of life or death.

That was all you needed to hear.

You broke the dams that still kept you anchored to reality and flooded his cock, squirting all over his desk, a complete and utter disaster disheveled and exhausted.

The fine wood of his desk was probably ruined forever but he didn't seem to care in the slightest, he pumped into you, grabbing your neck and hair until he spurted all of him into your cunt.

You felt it warm and sticky, painting your walls, making you full like you’ve never been before.

He slipped out a moment later, caressing your cheeks and praising you.

You got up from his desk and clung to his neck, pulling him into a long, deep kiss, tilting your head as you felt his tongue play with yours.

“Thank you” you murmured against his lips, smiling softly “And by the way, I’m on the pill”

“I know. I saw you take it the other day in the conference room before the meeting started” he said, while adjusting his trousers and taking a clean shirt from a desk drawer.

“Get out of here, naughty girl”

“Well, you destroyed my blouse…” you said, picking up the garment from the floor.

“Here, take mine”

You put on his shirt, too big for you, trying to tuck it under your skirt so it was less noticeable how long it was. He helped you by rolling up your sleeves, barely touching your skin, but enough to make you feel a shiver down your spine.

“mmm sexy,” he said when he stopped to look at you.

“Let’s try not to make this a habit” he smirked, giving you another playful slap on your ass cheek “We can't do this 24 hours a day, seven days a week.”

“Why not?” You winked right before going out the door.

You could smell him on you and it drove you crazy. You already knew that you would use his shirt to sleep that very night and for many nights to come.

Once outside the door, Pam looked at you over her glasses, raised an eyebrow, and for the first time you saw a little smile curve her lips.

tag list for this one: @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @thundermartini @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @gothcsz @harriedandharassed

archive tag: @pedrostories Let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away.

#nhie2025 #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x female reader

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arlana-likes-to-write · 1 year ago

Text

Dirty Thoughts

Summary: It was so wrong to have these thoughts. She was engaged to your boss, your best friend but it was impossible to not fall in love with her.

Relationships: Natasha x Maria, Maria x reader

Warnings: non Avenger AU, Gang AU, cheating, lots of cheating, mention of violence, implied torture, implied sexual content, gun shot wound, blood, angst

Word Count: 3.3k

Note: I do not want to talk about how this one shot made me spiral into possibility writing a multiple part story. If you are interested let me know lol. Also, thank you to @sycamorelibrary754 for helping me with the engagement ring

God, you were so fucked. Absolutely 100% fucked. You stood at the party, hand wrapped around the beer you were drinking. At a party, your job was to be alert and look for possible threats. Tonight was different. Tonight was a party for celebration as the head of the Black Widow gang was engaged to her long-time girlfriend, Maria Hill. You were in charge of Natasha's security, so the redhead placed you in charge of Maria's protection. You grew close to her, learning her every secret, dislike, and like. You knew her coffee order, what ice cream to get when she was on her period, and her favorite movie to put on to make her smile. You loved your job. Natasha took a chance on you and saved your life, which makes your current predicament so much worse.

No one knew you were head over heels in love with Maria Hill. No one could ever know. "I'm pretty sure Nat gave everyone the night off." You were so lost in your thoughts that you were surprised by Maria standing before you. "I think I saw Pietro doing a keg stand." You chuckled and sipped your beer.

"I'm always on the clock, sweetheart. Got to keep the crown jewel of the Black Widows safe." Maria rolled her eyes, but you didn't miss the slight blush on her cheeks. "Congratulations, by the way. That's an impressive rock." The ring was gold with a square-cut diamond. Along the band and the main diamond were smaller jewels. It looked expensive, but that was Natasha. She liked expensive things, from clothes to cars to liquor. Before Maria, the redhead was always at the clubs throwing money at women left and right. She looked at her hand.

"A little too flashy for my taste," you knew that too. She wanted something modest. "But Nat likes to claim what's hers." You hated how your stomach burned with jealousy.

"Oh, I know that. Besides, Romanoff has enough money lying around. She should spend it on something," you smiled. "Hey, maybe you can convince her to take us on vacation. I heard the Maldives are beautiful this time of year." A quick smack to the back of your head caused you to jump. Maria laughed as Natasha rounded from behind and wrapped her arms around Maria's waist.

"Are you saying I don't treat you well?" She smirked.

"You treat us like shit, boss," you deadpanned. "I hate it here." You winked at Maria. Her smile caused your heart to skip a beat. Natasha scuffed, placing her chin on Maria's shoulder.

"You know I saved your life. I could have left you on the streets of New York, but out of the kindness of my heart, I gave you a job." You rolled your eyes.

"And here I thought you liked me for my charming personality and good looks," you smirked. She narrowed her eyes at you, pointing at you over Maria.

"I'm going to kick your ass, Sentinel,"

"Darling," Maria placed her on Natasha's chest. "You know she could kick your ass." You had to hide your smirk behind your drink.

"Unbelievable," Natasha mumbled.

"Go go have a good night, you lovebirds," you said. "You know where to find me if you need me." You held out your hand for Natasha. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you." And you were. No matter how much it hurt for Natasha to be marrying Maria, you would always be happy for her. At least Maria would still be in your life. Instead of shaking your hand, your boss pulled you into a hug.

"Enjoy yourself tonight. I heard a certain captain wanted your attention," you chuckled, but you looked at Maria, who was frowning. Thinking she was angry at you for hugging Natasha, you patted her back and ended the hug.

"Use protection," you told them as Natasha grabbed Maria's hand and returned to the party. Natasha still managed to flip you off. All members of the Black Widow crew were given code names. Carol was Captain Marvel. Peggy was Agent 13. Monica was Photon. You were Sentinel, the vigilant guardian who watched over the gang's safety. It was Maria who gave it to you.

It was late one night, and you were new to protecting Maria. Before she started Natasha, Maria was studying to get into the academy. She spent a lot of her time at the library, so in turn, you spent a lot of time there as well. When you were walking back to the car, two street thugs tried and failed to jump her. You were quick to take them down before they could even touch her. Sentinel was a name everyone called you, and it became a name that was feared on the streets.

The same night you saved her, you realized that your thoughts and feelings towards Maria were not platonic. Everything Maria and Natasha had you wanted. Now the ring on her finger solidified she could never be yours.

"Can you pick Maria up from her father's?" Natasha asked you. "I have a meeting with the Maximoff Twins, and I can't get out of it." You frowned. A part of your job was to know the schedules of Natasha and Maria. There was no meeting with the Maximoffs today; you knew that. Instead, Natasha and Maria had a date planned. Nothing was set in stone in this business. The redhead rolled her sleeves and picked up a knife from the table.

"Yeah, I can do that," you put on a pair of latex gloves. "Do you want me to take her back to the house?" She handed you a knife.

"It's up to her. Take the card and get whatever she wants." She rolled her shoulders and faced the man tied to the chair in the center of the room. "Ready, Sentinel?"

"Always boss."

Once you were changed and out of the blood-stained shirt, you made your way to Maria. You relieved the lower-level member and walked up the house's front steps. Before you knocked, the door swung open. "Fury," you smiled at the man. "How's my favorite beat cop?" He frowned.

"You smell of bleach." He deadpanned.

"Just a new perfume I'm trying out," you squeezed past him, and you heard the door close. Nick Fury, the commissioner of the NYPD, was surprised when Natasha started dating his daughter, but she did everything for a reason. At first, it was a tactical relationship, a way to bend the relationship between the NYPD and the Black Widows. Over time, Natasha fell in love with Maria.

You found Maria in the kitchen, her back to you as she washed the dishes. "Who would have thought an engagement would turn you into a housewife?" She jumped and dropped the plate into the water. A frown was on her face when she turned around to face you. "Awe, are you not excited to see your favorite bodyguard?"

"No, I am," she sighed and focused on her task.

"I know," Natasha was canceling more and more dates and getting stuck at the office. It was the summer, so there were more things to do. The days were longer, and arrival gangs were out to steal the Black Widow's turf. "But," you leaned against the counter with Natasha's credit card between your fingers. "The boss gave me her card. We could do anything on her dime." Maria stayed quiet. "Or we can return to the house, order takeout, and watch the Breakfast Club." A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Come on, Ria," you whined. "You know I hate seeing you sad." It was true. It tugged at your heartstrings, and you would do anything to make her smile.

"Help me with the dishes, and then we'll go to the bookstore and get Tai food." You smiled.

"Aye, aye, captain," you gave her a salute, and her laughter danced off the kitchen's walls. Her laughter was music to your ears. It was beautiful, so full of light. You would do anything to hear it again and again.

In hindsight, you should have knocked, but you were so focused on the phone call that you walked into Natasha's office. It was late, and Monica's frantic phone call woke you up, and you raced to see Natasha. Red room guys were seen gathering weapons at the dock. They were planning an attack. "I just got here," you told Monica. "Don't engage without us," you opened the office door. "I- Jesus Christ," if it weren't for the phone call, you would have said a lot more. "Nothing, I'll call you back." You hung up.

Maybe you should have knocked. Perhaps you would have heard the moans behind the closed door if you weren't on the phone. The moans were not coming from Maria but from Wanda Maximoff. She was topless, lying on top of Natasha's desk with the redhead between her legs. Your jaw clenched as Natasha rushed to pull away from her and throw her a sweatshirt.

"It's not-"

"Save it," you snapped. Oh, you were seething. All you saw was red. She was engaged. Maria was planning a wedding. You wanted to push her up against the wall and tell her off. "We have an actual problem, but please, if you think this little affair is more important, please continue." Natasha ran her fingers through her hair. You ignored Wanda as she stood up from the desk.

"What is it? Is it Maria?" She had to be fucking with you. Even across the room, you could see the hickys covering Natasha's neck. You laughed. You were so close to snapping.

"Oh, so you remember her name? Your fiance," you shook your head. No, she's safe. The Red Room was spotted on the docks gathering weapons. Monica said she tried to call you but couldn't reach you." Now you looked at Wanda. "I guess you had your hands full." You were furious not only with your friend but also with yourself. How did you not notice this? All of the signs were there. Are you coming or not?"

"Sentinel-"

"I don't want to hear it, Romanoff. People's lives are at stake. People you promised to protect. Are you coming?" Natasha nodded, but you refused to look away. She kissed Wanda goodbye and told her that she would call her later. Unbelievable, you thought. Oh, you were going to kill your best friend.

The rest of the crew knew there was a problem between you and Natasha. You were still a professional and did your job, but that was it. Gone was the friendly banter, the inside jokes. All of it changed overnight.

Loyalty was important to you. It was important for the crew to maintain respect, but Natasha broke that with you. Before joining the Black Widows, you were fucked over by the last crew you worked with. They ignored your warnings about an upcoming job. They promised that whatever would happen, they would have your back. But the job fell through, and they left you. Natasha found you before the cops showed up. You were forever grateful for the redhead and knew you would stay loyal to her because of what she did for you.

Now she was using that loyalty over your head to keep her secret, to help cover for her. She kept saying that you were loyal to her, not Maria. She saved your life, not Maria. She was your boss, not Maria. It was killing you.

Every date Natasha missed. Every time she stayed late at the office, you saw Maria lose herself more each time. Adding to the pressure of the Red Room, you were at your wits end. So you quit. You told Natasha you were done.

You were in your room packing up your stuff while nursing a gunshot wound to your stomach. A simple meeting turned into a shoot-out as Red Room goons surprised you. Lately, it seemed Natasha kept making bad calls after bad calls. Last week, Carol got hurt. Two days ago, Peggy got jumped. Now, you were on the receiving end of it. These girls were your family, but you weren't sure what to do. The Red Room was gaining momentum. You heard whispers of HYDRA gaining territory. An all-out war was growing.

"I can't believe you are leaving," Maria's voice followed the sound of your front door slamming shut. "And I had to find out through Natasha." She was here quicker than you thought. You wanted to be done packing, but the wound slowed you down.

"Carol will do just fine," you refused to look at her. "She knows all your likes, dislikes, and what you are allergic to.

"I don't want Carol. I want you," you closed your eyes. You knew it was as a bodyguard and nothing more, but a part of you wished it was more. "Why are you leaving me?"

"I'm not leaving you. I-" Would you say to her? That her fiance was cheating on her with someone Maria considered a friend. That a gang war was coming and so many people were going to die in the crossfire.

"I know about Natasha and Wanda," you spun around to face her finally. She was wearing your sweatshirt that you thought you had lost and a pair of jeans. Her hair was damp. She must have rushed over here as soon as her shower was over, but you thought she never looked more beautiful. "You've been shot," she said.

"You knew?" You questioned.

"Don't change the subject," you rolled your eyes because she changed the conversation. She grabbed the first aid kit you had left out and forced you to sit in your recliner. "Of course, I know. I'm not an idiot." You hissed as she pulled the gauze off. "I think it hurts more that you knew and didn't tell me. I thought we were close." She cleaned around the wound. "No exit wound. I have to get the bullet out." You nodded.

"If you knew," you squeezed the chair's armrests as she dug for the bullet. She cooed softly.

"I know, baby," she whispered. "This is the worst part." It had to be the pain. Maybe you were delirious, but you swear you heard her call you baby. You called her pet names because you liked to see her blush.

"If you knew," you continued. She placed the bullet on the side table. "Why stay? Why not call off the engagement?"

"Because I wanted to stay close to the gang," she threaded the suture through the needle. "I wanted to stay close to you." You let her confession rest in the silence as she focused on stitching the gunshot. You felt no pain when the needle pierced your skin. When she was done, she placed a new bandage on it. You grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at you.

"Tell me what you meant by that."

"Nothing," she said. Don't worry about it." Maria tried to pull away from you, but you held her in place—not enough to hurt her, but enough to keep her from running away.

"Tell me, please." You moved your hand to hers and pulled her to her feet. She protested when you told her to sit on your lap, but you held her in place. "Tell me you have the same thoughts I do," you ran your hands up and down her sides and enjoyed the shiver that you felt. "Because I get dirty thoughts about you. They get worse when I'm without you. Are you thinking of them as well?" Instead of answering, she trailed her finger over your lips and down your chest. You weren't sure where this newfound confidence came from. You were leaving, and she was Natasha's; the ring on her finger still confirmed that. "I shouldn't think the things I'm thinking," you admitted. Finally, she locked eyes with yours.

"How long?" She asked. It was a simple question, but still, you hesitated.

"Far too long," she chuckled, shaking her head.

"The more that I push them away. The more that you're stuck in my brain." It was all you needed to hear. You twisted your hand in her brunette hair and kissed her. The kiss was messy and frantic, and Maria's soft sigh only spurred you on more. She matched the intensity of the kiss, but the quiet voice in the back of your head told you this was wrong. She was engaged. Even though her fiance was cheating, her loyalty was to her. You ended the kiss. "Why did you stop?" Maria asked. Her chest was heaving, and a slight blush dusted across her cheeks.

"I don't want to stop," you whispered. Your eyes flickered to the ring on her finger. "You aren't mine." She looked at her ring. Immediately, she took it off and placed it on the table next to the bullet.

"I'm not hers," she said. "Our relationship was always to forge a better relationship between the NYPD and the Black Widows. I've known that from the beginning. If Natasha wants Wanda, then I want you. I always have." There were 101 questions that danced around in your head but died on your tongue due to how she looked at you. Her pupils were blown out, and the color of her eyes was gone. She wanted you. All of your hesitations vanished.

Ignoring the pain from your injury, you picked her up and carried her to your bed. You gently placed her down and quickly covered her body with yours. "Tell me," you whispered, kissing her neck. Her hands grabbed onto your shoulders. "Tell me your mine." You bite down and soothe the spot with your tongue.

"I'm yours," she moaned. Her hand went to the back of your head and forced your lips together. "Tell me your mine."

"I'm yours," you said. "Always have been and always will be."

"Take me with you," she lay in your bed, wrapped in your blankets as you were in the bathroom. You wondered when this conversation was going to happen. With a sigh, you joined her back in bed and dragged the sheet over you. You laid on your side to face her.

"I don't even know where I'm going."

"I don't care," she said, taking your hand. "I'm safer with you than with anyone else."

"What about Fury?" You questioned. "You wouldn't leave him, and I wouldn't let you." Her silence was enough of an answer for you. You kissed her hand.

"You are going to leave before an all-out turf war breaks out." God, she was more perceptive than you gave her credit for.

"I can't stop it from happening."

"No, you can't," she smiled. "But you can end it quicker and save lives. People listen to you," you played with her now bare ring finger. You dreamed of putting a ring on it one day. "I always believed Natasha wasted your potential. You are a leader, not a guard dog." All of your life, you've been a follower. You followed your father when he left your mom. You followed your old crew into a death trap. You blindly followed every order Natasha gave you.

"Help me then," you told her. She seemed surprised by your request. "You are more than a pretty little to hold on my arm." Maria was barely allowed in meetings when she was; she was ordered to stay quiet and sit by Natasha's side.

"Do you not think I'm pretty?" She teased. Your eyes widened. Laughing, Maria pushed you onto your back and rested her chin on your chest. "I'm teasing. Of course, I'll help. I think we make a good team." If she believed in you, then that's all you needed.

"Let's plan to save the city tomorrow," you rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. "I'm tired." She smiled and kissed your lips softly. "Are you staying?"

"I am," she got comfortable with your arms around her. "Sleep, baby. The city can wait one more day."

#maria hill x reader #maria hill x you #natasha romanoff x maria hiill #maria hill x natasha romanoff #blackhill #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wandanat

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mysticalserenity-tarot · 9 months ago

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💸 What sort of money flows comes to you naturally? 💸 (Pick a pile)

{How to pick a pile? First, take a deep breath with your eyes closed to clear your mind. When you open your eyes, don't hesitate – pick the image that immediately grabs your attention or stirs up a memory. Remember, you can pick more than one pile if you feel called to. If none of the images stand out for you, it means there's no message for you at this time. You can always come back to it later.}

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ - ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ - ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ✧

Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3 (from left to right)

Hello and always a huge thank you to everyone for your incredible support, it means a lot to me!

In this collective pick a pile reading, we'll explore the ways in which money and financial abundance might come into your life effortlessly and harmoniously. Let's see where your energy takes us.

Disclaimer: This is a collective reading I picked up on multiple energies, so please only take what resonates and leave the rest. When something resonates you usually feel a light energy and in your heart you can feel it's your message, and the pic that attracts you is a clearly sign.

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ - ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ - ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ✧

💵 PILE 1

(the longest lol)

The Sun, Ace of Swords, The Hermit

Hello Pile 1, and welcome to your reading. Let's dive in!

The vibes I'm getting from this collective are super energetic and moving. It's about not staying in the same environment and situations, because life should move for y'all. This tells me that the way money and financial abundance come to you is through experiences, trying different things. Mostly through traveling and freedom. Literally expanding your mind and soul. To attract prosperity, you have to feel free from any burden, which could be in the form of a thing, a person, or a situation. I see that you easily drain yourself, and you need to retreat for a certain period to come out stronger and empowered. People drain you, my pile 1, but you shouldn't feel bad about it. Indeed, you benefit more from alone time and focused on your goals.

You attract financial abundance, money the most when you're tuned into yourself - which is hilarious because in my spread I see no one but you. When you do what your heart suggests and ignore people's opinions trying to get into your business, you hate this, right? You don't look for help outside of you, but let me remind you that asking for help doesn't make you any lesser, but it's actually a strong act, and you should be proud of it.

So, the inspiration comes or should come from within you because you're the type that ventures in search of new, exciting experiences, and this is a great way to attract abundance into your life. But, your guides are warning here - be careful not to spend over 'useless' things that don't serve your higher good, and some of you do this a lot, and when you go broke, you regret it.I see your cup overflowing with water, and you know when you fill something with too much liquid, some of it falls. You have to learn how to control yourself, my dear, and stop yourself from falling into this trap of spending where there's no need. However, don’t deprive yourself entirely when you truly desire something. Always remember the saying, 'who wants too much, at the end nothing holds.' Be mindful of your own spending - and when you borrow money from someone, please don’t forget to give it back, or the divine may not be forgiving.

If we have to sum up your reading, we'd say keep seeking new experiences and don't forget to follow your heart/your intuition, and trust that money will find you. This doesn't mean immediately or magically, but for example, if you take new job opportunities or open your own business. Right off the bat, if someone here is thinking about open their own activity this is your sign, as I saw the Chariot before starting your reading, it's a sign that it will bring you success in the long run. I also see many 9, Aces, and numbers following – 9, 111, 789 may be significant, as well as enlightenment and the color yellow.

9: validation, completion, justification, intuition, success.

1: beginnings, core, inspiration.

Thank you for allowing me to read your energy, Pile 1.

Note: -If you enjoyed this and my other readings, and you'd like to support me further, you can do so on my ko-fi, I'd greatly appreciate it. It's not mandatory.

-For further guidance or a personalized reading, feel free to book a reading through my Tumblr DM or email [[email protected]]. I'm here to help you navigate life's challenges and find clarity. We can decide the price together. [I will be providing more details on my paid readings in the future. Keep an eye out for it]

💵 PILE 2

2 of Wands, Ace of Pentacles, 10 of Pentacles

Hello Pile 2, and welcome to your reading. Let's dive in!

When it comes to money flows, I pick up a similar energy to pile 1, although in an opposite way. Despite this possible correlation, some of you may still resonate with some messages in pile 1, so feel free to check it. Unlike my pile 1, who is more open to adventures and new experiences, you are more restrained and closed off, even though you'd like to get out of your comfort zone. The cards have spoken, dear. It's not a question of 'if you want' but a necessity – 'you've got to go.' This is how financial abundance naturally finds you. Some of you have refused job offers that would have brought significant gains because you felt you weren't good enough, or someone was better, and later regretted it when it was too late.

I completely understand, but I have to tell you that our mind is powerful, and if we want something, we shouldn't give up and persist through sweat and tears. In this way, we'll obtain it no matter how it may not align with us. We are souls in a human body, and we can reach whatever we set our minds to.

The abundance of pentacles suggests the career area as your most thriving and struggling aspect, but this struggle is a lesson for you to do even better.What I also see is that you're stubborn when it comes to want something - people and even the divine offer you something that would help you grow and expand, but you're always thinking, 'No, I want that one thing/person.' Unfortunately your tendency to be a traditionalist or afraid of change hinders your growth and expansion. You have to be more open to new possibilities. You're a traditionalist or afraid of change, and I hear you loud and clear because same here.

Side note: I feel like some of you are about to get money from your friends or family, perhaps a grandmother for your birthday? this is nice!

To sum up your reading, you have to stop refusing any kind of opportunities presenting in front of you, evaluating the pros and cons based on your goals, and not on your lack of confidence. Get out, and let everyone see you. You are meant to shine, darling!

Thank you for allowing me to read your energy, Pile 2.

Note: -If you enjoyed this and my other readings, and you'd like to support me further, you can do so on my ko-fi, I'd greatly appreciate it. It's not mandatory.

💵 PILE 3

7 of Wands, 2 of Cups, Knight of Pentacles rv

Hello Pile 3, and welcome to your reading. Let's dive in!

You guys let other people step on your dreams and goals, and I'm picking up energy of defeat. Maybe you let others dictate your life, consciously or unconsciously. When we don't realize it, our subconscious starts to play. This is a heavy burden for you.

So, the sort of money flows that come into your life effortlessly is when you don't let anyone's opinion, including family or friends, phase you. You have all the tools to live on your own terms. One of the worst feelings is to regret not doing something because someone didn't want you to. You need to start believing in yourself more. You have all the right tools to go forward without anyone's help. But as I like to mention asking for help doesn't make you any less, and it's important when you really need it. A little trip alone can be beneficial to show yourself that you can do it on your own.

Another important thing I'm getting for financial abundance to naturally enter your life is to be loyal to your goals, dreams, beliefs, and complete things you start. Be productive as much as you can, and don't let laziness take control. We all have lazy days and there's nothing wrong with admitting it, but as I said try not to let them get the best of you because it would be a pity since you're one of those people that can change the world if you really want to.

Some of you may have or will have wealthy or even rich partners who will bring financial stability or significant gains, especially if you're still youngish. I'm picking up unions, partnerships whether in love or in work as an another money flows for you, connections that will help reach your goals and so financial stability (not immediately though)

To sum up your reading (which is kind of short as the cards and your guides came up more straightforward for you 😆), the cards highlight the importance of self-belief, loyalty to one's goals and beliefs, and the potential for financial abundance through partnerships or wealthy partners.

Spiritual warfare, meaningful pieces of jewelry may be significant for some of you, as is the color green.

Thank you for allowing to read your energy, Pile 3.

Note: -If you enjoyed this and my other readings, and you'd like to support me further, you can do so on my ko-fi, I'd greatly appreciate it. It's not mandatory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ANY LIKE/REBLOG/COMMENT IS APPRECIATED, ALSO IF YOU LET ME KNOW IF IT RESONATED.

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.

ALWAYS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EACH ONE OF YOU'S SUPPORT, I'M GRATEFUL 🤗🤍

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please note that I used AI language bot to help improve grammar and spelling in my readings, as English is not my first language. However, the interpretations and insights provided in my readings are all my work, based on my intuition and the cards' symbolism.

Disclaimer: Tarot readings are for entertainment purposes only and are not meant to predict or dictate your future. The cards provide insights and guidance, but the ultimate power of choice lies with you.

#pick a card #pick a pile #tarot community #tarot blr #tarot blog #pick an image #tarot cards #collective reading #collective readings #general tarot reading #spirituality #growth #tarot deck #the light seer's tarot #mysticalserenity tarot #intuition #intuitive reader

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theodore-windsor · 2 months ago

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Can you bring my stuff?

The text rippled across the screen and Theo swiped his phone open to the thread. Three dots appeared, the sender was still typing. Theo waited. “No way I’m going back to hell. lol.” Theo haha’ed the message and then responded: No worries, dad. I got you.

It wasn’t like Theo’s day consisted of a hectic schedule. He could easily run to their childhood house to gather the things his father had left behind. After all, he didn’t blame his dad for getting the hell out of there and never looking back, especially after his confession.

Theo finished his breakfast, taking his time to enjoy it. There was no rush. He wanted to make sure his mother was gone from the house before his arrival. After he showered and dressed for the day, he finally pocketed his phone and grabbed his keys, making a quick exit from his flat. The drive over was drowned out by the music that blasted his speakers and before he knew it, he was staring up at the house with trepidation. His last visit here was when his parents sat him and Blaire down to inform them of their divorce.

He slipped the key in the front door and turned it, unlocking the mechanism. A moment later, he was staring into the foyer, boxes of his dad’s things were stacked neatly against the wall. Blythe could never stand a mess. Theo took amusement in the fact that dad’s big secret had to come as a surprise to her. Good. She needed her picture perfect life shaken up.

Maybe Theo was a little bitter. It was hard not to be when you had Blythe as a mum. Well, Blaire wasn’t, he reminded himself as he started shoving boxes into the trunk of his car. Blaire was a ray of sunshine. The brightest light in his world. She was as perfect as perfect could be in his eyes. His heart felt a pang of anxiety. He always worried about Blaire, especially when their mum had her claws so deep into Blaire's life. Fucking bitch, Theo thought and stiffled a sigh. He had the last box in his hands and he was halfway to his vehicle when Blythe appeared in the driveway, having just parked her car.

“What are you doing here?” Blythe asked her son, shoving her keys into her purse now that the front door was already unlocked and wide open. She wasn’t happy to see him. And the feeling was mutual.

Theo gave her an annoyed expression, giving the box a shake. “Getting dad’s shit. You know, for his new house… with his boyfriend.” Theo took a bit too much pride in this jab. He hated the person he became whenever in the presence of Blythe… but he couldn’t help himself. The man placed the final box in his car and shut the trunk. “I’ll be going now,” he said in a gentler tone.

Theo almost made it to his door before his mum’s nauseating, shrill of a voice reached his ears. “Blaire’s getting married, you know.” There was pride in this announcement, but also something else…excitement, perhaps? But in Theo’s eyes, it wasn’t for Blaire. It was for herself and the opportunity this gave her. “And then there’s you,” she added, sighing with disappointment. “No engagement. Hell, you’re not even dating. You don’t even have a proper job.”

Theo slammed his hand on the hood of his car and stormed over to where his mum was. He stopped right in front of her, his finger being pointed in her direction. “You listen here,” he began, narrowing his eyes at her as he tried to keep his composure. “Blaire is engaged. Blaire is getting married. Not you. So unless she asks you for your advice or opinion, you shut your trap.” Blythe looked appalled but before she could respond, he continued, “You stay out of her business. Don’t spam her with phone calls or texts. Don’t show up to her place unannounced. And don’t even try to wear white to the engagement party.” Theo snapped this last part, because it wasn’t too far fetched for her. He glared at her, shaking his head, before throwing a look towards the house that never felt like home to him. Blythe scoffed and stormed off to the house without a word to her son.

Oh, he hated her. Truly and deeply. Theo never thought he was capable of hatred, but he was. Solely for Blythe. The hatred ran deep. Partly for himself, naturally. The criticism he endured growing up had left a scar on his mentality. He struggled with perfection and goals and love. But the bigger part of his hatred towards her was for her treatment of his baby sister. Theo hated the impact Blythe had on Blair. The last thing he wanted was for his sister to be ruined by her the way he was.

#theo x 3

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pyramid-of-starrs · 2 years ago

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Don't Be a Sweat

Pairing: Gamer Yunho x Gamer Fem Reader

Genre: Smut & Fluff

Warnings: Sub Yunho, dom reader, fem reader and parts but no fem names, cum eating, exhibitionism, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex (stay safe pls), cursing, if its anything I missed pls let me know.

Word count: 4.8K (one day I'll get past 4k lol)

A/N: First sub Fic, I think I did an okay job but let me know if you like it!

Minors dni

Smut under the cut

The door to your best friend’s room opens and you and her walk into it, you both plop down on her bed tired from a long day of socializing. You both decided to do attend a "group date" that the designated match maker of your friend group set up. 3 hours of karaoke with the lamest guys you think you've ever met it was so dreadful and boring, you would have much rather been home streaming yourself playing overwatch or the new PSN free games of the month.

"I know what you're thinking Y/N." Your best friend turned to you and said,

"And what am I think little Ms. Mind reader."

"You're thinking "God those guys sucked I bet they couldn't even beat me in a 1v1 on Minecraft." or something like that." you both laughed.

"Good effort but you can't 1v1 on Minecraft there is no fighting on it, Minecraft is-"

"Ah- spare me the nerdy details I hear enough gamer bullshit with my brother. Anyway, what the hell was she thinking setting us up with that pack of losers of the year." She laughs and shakes her head.

"Oh god did you hear the one ranting about all women wanting money." you joined her in her laughing.

"If you're gonna ask me my income you're gonna need to cook and clean blah blah blah go live in the fucking 50s then! Oh, and the one that hounded you when you told him that you're a streamer."

"I bet I could beat you at this! I bet you've never heard of this! Like gag me, literally."

You two started laughing louder at your impressions of the men, they truly were just that pathetic, but to you, every man was.

Being a streamer, you run into your fair share of overly misogynistic incels that hate you just because you like games and have a vagina but in reality they would crumble at your feet if they ever saw you. Hot women that play games make men angry for some reason and you wanted nothing more than to break them down . Beating them after they whine about how you're a terrible and only popular because you're pretty, always made you smile. It was kind of a sick enjoyment you got out of beating them but who care, sweats get no sympathy from you.

Speaking of sweats as you and your best friend were enjoying having a laugh you suddenly heard loud knocking on the door. Your best friend rolled her eyes.

"Ugh What!" she knew exactly who it was.

The bedroom door swung open and in walked your best friends twin brother Yunho. Yunho was also a gamer like you, very tall and handsome but you two have never seen eye to eye. Ever since the day you became friends with BF/N Yunho terrorize you. Calling you names, embarrassing you in front of guys, making fun of your hair and outfits and just being an all-around bully. Eventually feelings became mutual, and you only put yourself around him to hang out with your friend but other then that you and Yunho couldn’t even have a conversation with out arguing.

“Can you guys shut the fuck up already? I’m trying to play squads with the guys, and they can barely hear me over you two.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever they will live.” Your best friend said while trying to wave her brother off.

You let out another giggle “You guys can barely shoot straight I’m sure we aren’t the reason you guys are losing, y’all just suck.”

You and BF/N started laughing together again as she slapped your shoulder.

“Ohhh Y/N maybe we should invite Yunhos friends over they are actually kinda hot and a few game like you, you’ll really like the really hot one uhm what’s his name- oh San!”

“Ooouuu, he sounds sexy, maybe we should invite them over.”

“As fucking if, my friends would never date a chick like Y/N.” Yunho rolled his eyes.

“And what the hell kinda chick am I Yunho.” You folded your arms and tilted your head ready to pop off at him.

“The kinda chick who can’t keep a guy even if he was locked in her basement because no one wants her ugly ass.”

“Now I’m ugly? Well, who dyed their hair Blonde just to get a girl that ended up fucking everyone BUT you.”

His ears and face turned red in embarrassment.

“Sis, you told her about that?”

“Yuyu, I had too, I wanted her to feel bad so you guys could talk, and you could finally tell her you like her.”

Boy if his face wasn’t red then it sure was red now, he even tried wiping the embarrassment off.

“What !? As if I would like some girl that spends all her time gaming and talking shit online like a fucking loser. I’d never date someone like her!”

“Good cause it’ll never fucking happen, maybe I should do what BF/N said and fuck your friend just to piss you off!” You stood up at this point, who the hell does he think he is calling you a loser.

“Fuck you Y/N!” He yelled before walking out and slamming the door, thank God Yunho and BF/N moved out and into their shared apartment so their parents didn’t hear the argument.

You plopped back down on the bed.

“God what the fuck is his problem? It’s like he hates my guts for no reason.”

“It’s just like I said Y/N, the boy likes you.” She yawned and stood up to change into her sleeping clothes.

“What? BF/N be serious here.”

She finished getting ready for bed and you got up to change into the shorts and shirt you brought with you to spend the night.

“I am being serious; he’s always liked you that’s why he’s mean to you.”

She got up and turned off the lights and got under the covers, you did too, you two faced each other.

“If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself tomorrow, good night, Y/N.”

“…night.”

You two eventually drifted off to sleep but your mind was still racing, did Yunho really like you? Isn’t that “boy is mean to the girl he likes” trope only in moves and poorly written fan fics? (Girl I’m trying my best)

Around 2am you were woken up by Yunho yelling, he was most likely playing the game with his friend, you could hear him faintly saying “Bro get him” and “Fuck” in the next room. You were going to go back to sleep but decided to see if what your friend said was true because it was slowly eating you up. You got up and walked to the room next door and knocked on his door. You could hear him telling his friends he would be back and then he opened the door. He had on random graphic tee and some grey sweatpants; fuck why does it have to be grey sweatpants. His room was nice, the lights were out but the LED strips around his bed still lit up the room.

“Oh, its you, what do you want?”

“Um, well can I talk to you for a second?”

“I mean I guess…” he walked back over to the gaming chair that was stationed in front of his TV and sat back down.

You decided to sit on his bed on the edge facing the TV and there was a brief awkward silence before he broke it.

“You came to my room just to sit here and stare?”

“No…um…”

“Spit it out dude God, what’s your problem why can’t you be normal?”

Even with you trying to talk to him he just pisses you off.

“I heard you got the new street fighter game, lets play it.”

“What ?”

“Yea let play, loser has to do whatever the winner says.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, no I’m going back to playing with my friends.” He picked up his controller and put his headset back on. You just couldn’t understand why Yunho was so mean to you, what you ever did or why he just woke up and chose to treat you this badly. If what your friend said was true then you needed to find out, tonight! While Yunho continued to play with his friends you took matters into your own hands and snatched his headset and controller.

“What are you-“

“Sorry, Yunho is busy he’ll get back on later.” You said directly into the mic then quit his game mid match.

“Y/N What the fuck is your deal?”

“Shut up.”

He sat quietly while you started up the street fighter game, you tossed him back his controller and grabbed the unoccupied one and turned it on.

“Now like I said, loser has to do what ever the winner says got it?”

“…fine”

“Good.”

You two selected your characters and the match started, 3 rounds, unlimited time. You and Yunho played while making random grunting sounds and shouting one worded taunt but even he couldn’t match up to your acute game skill. The match ended with you as the winner, and you raised your hands in victory.

“That was such BS.”

“Don’t be a sore loser YuYu.”

“Don’t call me that! I’m not a kid any more Y/N.”

“Whatever, since I won you have to do whatever I say now.”

“What do you want me to do.”

“Hmm…for now you have to sit next to me on the bed.” You said in a slightly shaky voice.

He arched his eyebrow but chose not to question it getting up from his gaming chair and sitting next to you on the edge of the bed. Your heart started to beat a bit faster, Yunho has never made you feel this way before but with the thought that he may like you in mind it made you feel a bit shy.

“Earth to Y/N, come on let’s go again.”

“Y-yeah okay let’s play.”

Why was this making you so shy, you aren’t that kind of person especially for Yunho, so why is the thought of him liking you driving you crazy. You had zoned out thinking and didn’t realize you were losing, by the time you snapped out of it you had lost the match.

“I thought you were supposed to be some awesome ass gamer, that was terrible.”

“Shut up! What do you want me to do ?”

“How about you play in just your bra from now on.”

You scoffed because you knew that he was doing this to embarrass you, you knew he just wanted to belittle you. Even if he did like you, he was still an ass, and you were determined to finally put him in his place.

“Fine you want to play it like that, say less.”

You took off your night shirt and Yunho looked back at the TV to get ready to play the next round. Round after round Yunho lost to you because you had to show him who’s the top gamer here. You kept his theme of stripping, and he was left playing in just his underwear, his face was red as a tomato, and he was flustered playing. The next round started, and he pulled the ultimate foul move of gaming, pausing to see the move list.

“Come on YuYu don’t be scared of losing.” You laughed at his embarrassment.

He growled lowly. “Shut up, why are we even doing this anyways?”

“I have my reasoning, so come on and lose like a champ.”

Your eyes focused back on the TV and before he could unpause the game to take his loss, a message from one of his gaming friends came up.

xX_CallMeDaddyMin_Xx: Yo, Yunho did you screw that streamer chick your sister is friends with finally lol.

You both read the message and before you both could react another friend sent another message; you realize it’s coming from the group party chat. You disconnected his mic but forgot to leave the party too.

__bl00dy__San__: Yeah, tell her how you always watch her streams, probs jack off to them to lmaooooo.

Before anymore messages could come through, he turned off the TV.

“Ge-Get out I’m going to bed.”

He was a blushing mess, everyone just kept outing his little secrets today, he got under the covers and covered his face, and you couldn’t help but giggle at him, he was so cute when he was shy, and you hated to admit it. You crawled up next to him, now was your chance to get some revenge.

“Come on YuYu, tell me if what they said was true.” You snaked your hand under the covers slowly, trickling down his leg.

“Leave me alone.”

“Do you watch my streams YuYu?”

“Go the hell away Y/N” he said in a muffled shy voice, you needed to tease him more now, this was your area of expertise. Once again you were used to toxic guys trying to come into your streams to harass you, but you had a love for turning those same yelling dickheads to whimpering messes, it gave you so much power, and to finally have that advantage over the same guy that has bullied you for years. You were going to enjoy this way more then you should, and so was he, you reached up and whispered into his ear.

“Why YuYu? Don’t wanna admit you like to watch me stream even though you hate me.”

Your hands reached his V line, you played with the band of his boxers.

“I-I don’t hate you…”

“Oh really? How do I make you feel then YuYu?”

Your hands dived into his boxers, and you found his semi hard length, you started to rub up and down the shaft slowly to really tease him. One thing you hated to admit about Yunho was that he was packing. You grew up seeing him in all kinds of clothing and sometimes would see the outline, but you’d rather choke then admit he had a big dick but now that you’re feeling it it’s undeniable.

His bit back a small moan at the feel of your fingers on him, his mind was racing, the girl he’s been madly in love with since they were snot nosed was in his bed feeling him up, how could he possibly function.

“….you’re okay I guess.” He continued to hide his face in the covers.

“No, no little baby, I need a better answer then that, or do you just want me to stop and leave.” You stopped moving your hands but didn’t take them out of his underwear.

“No…please don’t stop.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to stop YuYu? Am I making you feel good? Is that why you watch my streams? Because I make you feel good baby.”

He didn’t respond so it was time to push these answers out of him, or more so rub them out of him. You gripped the base of his length and started to slowly pump his dick, he let out a soft moan at the sudden friction and it made your clit jump, you needed more and so did he.

“You…you look nice when you’re gaming.”

“Aww thank you baby but I’m asking you how I make you feel, so tell me that.”

Moving your hands up and down his shaft you directed your attention to his tip, pumping it tightly as precum slowly oozed out of it, you spread it over his tip the more you pumped, you wish he wasn’t so shy so you could watch his pretty pink tip be teased right now.

“Do I turn you on Yuyu? When I watch and degrade those guys on my stream does it make your dick throb? Do you wish I was talking to you?”

He could barely focus, the slow stroking on his length made him dizzy because the sensation was so strong.

“How about you let me see you Yuyu, let me see you fall apart for the girl you claimed to hate all these years.”

You pull the cover back and pull his dick out of his boxers, his dick was red and ready to burst, the tan shaft had pretty veins bulging on it, he had some girth, but the length was something to look at.

“Wow Yuyu your dick is so pretty for an asshole.”

He covers his face and looks away from you, he didn’t know rather he wanted to disappear or cum, your teasing was so sexy, but he didn’t envision the first sexual encounter with you going like this, but he wasn’t mad at it either. You started to pump his dick even more and moved down to it. As you pumped his dick faster, he bit down on his lips hard.

“Don’t hide YuYu let me see what you look like when you cum, is that what you want baby? You want to cum for me like a desperate little slut?”

“…yes…please…”

“Please what baby?” You kept a steady pace as your grip tightened a bit.

“…please let me cum for you Y/N.”

You grinned a bit at his begging.

“Show me Yuyu, show me how you touch your self when you watch my streams.”

He was shy but he was desperate, he sat up and you removed your hand from his needy dick, and he replaced it with his own. He avoided your gaze, his whole face was red, and his eyes were low, he wanted to cum for you so bad it was driving him crazy. He started to pump his sensitive cock, throwing his head back onto the LED lit bedframe, breathy moans coming from his plush M shaped wet lips.

“Ah…Y/N…please watch me cum.” He tightly closed his eyes as he could feel his climax steadily approaching.

You had a lustful yet evil smile on your face.

“Of course, baby I’ll watch you stroke your slutty dick all night if you want me too, but I want to see more baby so don’t cum just yet, okay?”

He opened his eyes, his vision was hazy, his climax was right on the horizon and having him hold it only made it worse.

“Please…please let me cum for you Y/N” his grip on his shaft was firm as he continued to fall apart under you gazes.

“Mm well since you ask so nicely and you’re so desperate, go ahead and cum for me Babyboy.”

His moans were soft but got louder as his strokes became faster until his came. He shot hot ropes of cum from his throbbing cock, he continued to pump as it shot out and landed on his legs. His chest puffed in and out as he held his dick in his hands, he tilted his head on the side of the headrest of the bed. You giggled at his fucked-out state.

“You’re actually so cute YuYu.” You gathered up all the cum that came out onto your fingers, his eyes opened to see what your next step was. You put your now cum covered fingers into your mouth and sucked all of it off as he watched.

“Come on Yuyu, I want to play some more.” You sat on your legs and reached behind you to unclasp your bra, when you removed it Yunhos eyes was glued to your 2 mountains. You took it a step further and removed your shorts and underwear. Yunhos breathing spiked again and his softened rod started to rise once again.

“Do you want to touch me Yuyu? Go ahead and touch me wherever you like.”

He eagerly nodded his head and reached out both hands and gripped both your breast, he started to massage them.

“Ah~ that feels so good, touch me more okay Yunho.”

He brushed his thumbs over your nipples, and you moaned even more, your aching cunt became hot as you threw your head back.

“Ca-can I kiss you?” he shyly asked.

“Of course, baby.”

He didn’t waste another minute and planted a hot kiss on your lips. You’ve had sex with plenty of guys before and kissed lots of them, but this wasn’t like any kiss you’ve ever had, this kiss had dept and meaning to it, however now that you realized it, this whole moment felt so sensual. His touch on your breast gave you goosebumps and his tongue entering your mouth made you want him even more, you never realized just how much your body yearned for Yunho until now. Your tongues were doing an elaborate dance before he disconnected your mouths.

“Y/N…I need to taste you please…” Before you could even respond he pushed you down and got between your legs.

“You’re such an eager little baby, you want to taste my pretty little pussy that bad?”

He once again nodded eagerly, the look in his eyes looked like he wanted to literally eat you. You decided to give him what he is craving, and you spread your legs nice and wide so he could get a nice view, he leaned down and put his face inches away from your soaking cunt, he was so close you could feel the small breaths he was taking.

“It’s so pretty Y/N” Your face got hot at the compliment, one of the rare times he has complimented you and its about your pussy, you felt like melting. He licked one long stripe from your hole to your clit, then flicked his tongue on your nub, your legs flinched to close, and he swiftly brought his hands up to hold your legs open. He was eating your pussy like he was on death row, and this was the last meal he requested. Your back arched and staggered moans started to come from your mouth. He inserted one then two fingers into your hole, your pussy clenched and unclenched repeatedly around them as he sucked your clit like it was a lollipop. Your hands gripped his newly bleach blonde hair.

“You’re doing so good Yuyu, I’m going to cum on your pretty face if you keep going baby.”

“Please Y/N, please cum on my face, I need more of you.”

He hadn’t even entered you yet and he was already pussy drunk, he kept licking your core like his life depended on it. Your hips started to buck and you grinded down on his face, the feeling of his lips wrapped around your clit and his long slender fingers deep inside you, you had reached your limit. You came on his face, your clit throbbed, your hole started to squeeze his finger tightly, you had a firm grip on his hair, and he kept lapping up your juices. Over stimulation started to kick in and it seemed like Yunho had no plans on stopping anytime soon. You tried to push his face away, but he was stronger than you and kept going.

“Yunho! I’m gonna go crazy and wake your sister up, stop!”

He finally released your swollen nub from his lips and took his fingers out of you, he looked up at you with his face covered in your wetness, his eyes looked to pure and sincere yet the entire scene of him still having your legs spread wide was everything but pure.

“I’m sorry…I just need you so bad Y/N…”

“Then hurry up and fuck me Yuyu.”

His eyes gleamed like a kid that just got told he can open his gifts on Christmas eve and not Christmas.

“R-really? Oh my god okay let me grab a condom.” He excitedly got up and walked over to his dresser. He grabbed on condom from the top drawer, and you could swear you saw his invisible golden retriever tail wagging, he was so cute you giggled to yourself. He walked back over as he was tearing open the condom, he fully removed his boxers before getting back between your legs. He rolled the condom all the way down his length and lined himself up with your entrance.

“Are you sure about this Y/N? We don’t have too if you don’t want to.”

You reached up to cup the side of his face and smiled warmly at him.

“I want this Yuyu, please take me, I need you just as much as you need me right now.”

He leaned down to kiss you deeply and inserted the tip into you. You winced as your pussy began to stretch around his dick. He kept the slower pace as you moaned into his mouth, his length just kept coming, it felt like it was never ending. Once he bottomed out in you, he stopped the kiss.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay baby, I promise.”

He stroked into you once. Twice. Three times. Then stopped deep in you and closed his eyes tightly as he held his position inside of you.

“What’s wrong? I told you I’m okay, you can keep going.”

“I-I know but- I’m not” a rosy blush covered his high cheeks bones yet again and that’s when you put two and two together.

“Yuyu did you…did you cum?”

“…yeah”

He pulled out of you and the condom was filled with his cum, he took the condom off in embarrassment and tossed it into his bedside trash You wanted so badly to tease him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, instead you reached your arms out to invite him in for a hug and he gladly accepted it. He dropped down on your body, and you hugged him tightly, even though he just came his dick was still hard as rock.

“Are you still horny Yuyu?”

“Yea but that was my last condom.”

“So, you are a little slut huh?”

“Not now Y/N” he was still sad that he couldn’t fully experience his first-time having sex with you the way that he wanted too.

“…Are you clean?”

“Of course, what kinda question is that?”

“…well, I am too.”

“What are you saying right now Y/N?” He leaned up to make sure he was understanding exactly what you were saying, and he wasn’t just hearing what he wanted to hear.

“I’m saying…if you want to keep going without a condom…we can…I trust you.”

That was all Yunho had to hear, he leaned back down onto you, and you hugged him again, he reached down and lined himself back up into your entrance and slid his dick back into you. His ear was right by your mouth as you let out a throaty moan, he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly, pumping into your pussy slowly and deeply. You gripped both his shoulders and drip your nails into them.

“You feel so good inside me Yuyu it’s so deep.”

He started to pump into you deeply, his tip hitting your spot like it was a drum as he drilled into you. He groaned as the over stimulation and his soon approaching climax was rushing forward.

“I’m about to cum Y/N please cum with me.”

You dragged your nails up and down his back leaving red streaks up and down his back as he stroked deeply into you. You started to see stars; you tried your best to moan quietly but you couldn’t the feeling was too amazing. In perfect sync you two came together, you could feel the hot liquid deep inside you, thank God you were on birth control or you’d for sure be good as pregnant.

He still held you tightly and gave no signs of letting go, his dick softened inside of you.

“Yunho pull out so I can wipe up.”

“I want to stay in you forever Y/N, I love you so much.”

You couldn’t help but smile when he said that.

“I’m so sorry I’ve been so awful to you, it’s not an excuse but you drive me so crazy, and hearing about that stupid group date my sister dragged you too pissed me off so bad. I want to be the only one taking you out, I want to be the only one seeing you like this…” He kept going, just spilling out all these feelings he had held in for years, you felt like your heart was going to explode. As he was still talking, you pulled him into a kiss.

“I like you too loser.” You kissed him again and he slid out of you, you could feel everything seeping out of you, he reached over to his bed side table and grab a few of the tissues that were in the tissue box. He carefully wiped out your overstuffed pussy and threw the tissues away. He pulled the cover over you both and brought you in too cuddle.

“Yunho, I have to sneak back into your sisters’ room before she wakes up.”

The door swung open, and your best friend stood in the door frame with dark circles under her eyes.

“Too fucking late for that, I’m glad you two worked out your feelings for each other but next time do it quietly and when I’m not fucking home.” She slammed the door as she left, and you and Yunho just laid their giggling with each other.

#Yunho smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #atz smut #yunho x reader #writenbypyramidofstars

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