#i don't think there will be- well no. that's a lie there will totally be more great works with these specific themes in the future . . .

[xylatox]

fine line || lhs

Finally reading my love Addie's fic :) I have a deep love-hate relationship with this man (he's annoyingly cute and it pisses me off lol), so I'm absolutely looking forward to this!

Off the bat this is so funny, 😭 like I wish getting hired irl was this easy omg.

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). — ADDIE WHAT😭😭😭

Because who in the right mind pairs volcanic spicy ramen with coffee milk? Is that even legal? — this absolutely sounds like stomach problems. like imagine someone with acid reflux and a lactose intolerance consuming this

Addie you weren't joking when you said crack, this is so fucking funny what the hell I'm genuinely dying

The entire scene where they don't have the flavor, I think of Hee when he went on the show with Soobin where he did the presentation on Ramen and he had the cutest fucking boba-eyed face while being so serious, yeah. I'm so normal about him.

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.  — poor baby😭

The nicknames they have for each other are cute I can't lie

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). —😭??

“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?” — I'm laughing at her not recognizing knowing fully well I probs wouldn't either if I wasn't a fan😭

Also I absolutely love the dynamic remaining the same despite his identity being known.

“Every night, baby.”—I would die if he said that to 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?” — oh my god

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— og my God (x2)

I finished this and I'm so glad omg. It was so funny and cute and ???? addie😭 I'm always glad to read your work it always makes me so happy to do so!!

fine line ── l. hs

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

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

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

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

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

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

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

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

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

Total dream job. 

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

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

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

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

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

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

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

Someone?

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

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

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

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

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a curse.

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

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope.

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

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

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

Except it is.

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

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

He looks up.

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

Abort mission. Now.

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

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

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. 

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

And looks directly at you. 

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

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

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

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

Almost. 

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

Excuse me? 

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

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

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

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

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops slightly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. 

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

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

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

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

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

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

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

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

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

However—

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

The first? 

Insomnia. 

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

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

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

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

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

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

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

Well, except for last night. 

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

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

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

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

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

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, ouch. 

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

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

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

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

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

Do you recognize him? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

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

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

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

He’s so weird. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

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

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

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

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you should do the same.

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

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

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

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

And yet—

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

It’s nothing.

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

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

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

And then—he hesitates.

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

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

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

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

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

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

“What…are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

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

Still no response.

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

That makes him pause.

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

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

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

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

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

You blink. “Wait, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

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

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

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

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

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

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“I do…stuff.”

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

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

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

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

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

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

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

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

"Weird how?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

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

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

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

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

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

His stomach drops.

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

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

Panic creeps up his spine.

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

You jump in your seat.

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

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

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

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

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

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

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

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

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

You squint at him.

Then—

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

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

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

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

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

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

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

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

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

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

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

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

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

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

Heeseung groans.

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

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

You stare back at him.

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

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

You stop.

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

Then back at him.

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

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

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

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

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

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

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

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

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

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

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

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

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

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

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

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

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

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

“Choose.”

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

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

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

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

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

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

“More like character damage.”

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

“Here. Try some.”

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

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

And then he moves. 

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

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

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

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

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

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

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

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

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

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

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

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

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

Oh.

Oh no.

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

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

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

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

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

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

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

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

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

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

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

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

At Heeseung.

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

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

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

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

And Heeseung? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

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

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

Because he gets it. 

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

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

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

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

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

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

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

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

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

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

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

Just maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

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

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

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

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

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

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

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

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

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

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

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

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

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

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

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

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

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

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

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

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

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

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

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

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

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

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

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

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

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

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

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

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

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

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

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

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

You search up his name.

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

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

And to him? 

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

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

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

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

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

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

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

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

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

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

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

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

And you hate it.

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

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

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

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

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

But, no.

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

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

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

You don’t respond.

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

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

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

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

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

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

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

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

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

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

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

And that makes you hate this even more.

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

“When were you going to tell me?”

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

And he stills.

There it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Heeseung stays silent.

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

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

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

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

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

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

Your stomach twists.

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

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

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

And somehow, that makes it worse.

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

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

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

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

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

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

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

Whatever this is.

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

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

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

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

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

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

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

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

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

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

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

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

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

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

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

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

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

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

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

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

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

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

But you don’t. 

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

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

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

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

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Heeseung?

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

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

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

But what he can’t go without?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

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

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

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

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

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

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

You stop.

He stops.

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

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

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

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

You’re right.

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

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

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

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

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

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

You blink, unmoving.

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

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

“About this. Us.”

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

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

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

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

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

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

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

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

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

The tension eases. Just a little.

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

“So now what?”

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

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

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

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

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

However—

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

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

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

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

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

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

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

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

[neeeooon]

shut me up ;

10 | y/n and the groupies

you thought the boys might be a little shy with you in the car, but if they were, they definitely didn't seem it.

your hand was glued to the door handle for support with bachira behind the wheel. he had a lead foot, pressing down on the gas when there was no one in front of him and slamming on the brakes when someone was. some rock song you weren't familiar with was blaring from the speakers, yet it did next to nothing to drown out the loud chatter coming from the backseat.

"i didn't even know hedgehog bites could hurt so bad! something so small shouldn't cause so much pain." isagi looked at his pointer finger and shivered. you smiled when shidou teased him for getting on pocari's bad side. when bachira caught the way your brows scrunched, he leaned toward you and said, "pocari is isagi and his roommate's pet hedgehog. well, technically, he's all kurona's, but isagi likes to play step-daddy—ow! hey, don't hit the driver!" you can’t miss the scowl isagi shoots at his friend. it sends you into a short fit of laughter.

“we’re almost there,” you hear shidou say from the seat behind you, and nod while flashing him a thumbs up. “sweet! my friend said he’ll be waiting outside for me.”

you’d asked the boys in advance if reo could join, and they were pleased to hear that they had some fanboys willing to show their support front row. bachira shook his head when he processed your words. “nah, have him park around back so we can all go in together. you said he’s a fan, right? maybe he’ll want an autograph!”

“jeez, humble much?” isagi groaned, ignoring the glare bachira sent him through the rearview. you smiled. “he would lose his mind if he saw you guys up close, let alone talk to you.”

“i’m not gonna lie, y/n,” shidou began, hand gripping the back of your headrest. “the effect this has on my ego is not good. it’s such a turn-on.”

“ew!” isagi pressed himself against his car door to get as far away from shidou as possible.

the rest of the ride was fairly peaceful, with bachira filling any silences with mindless chatter. you now know more about the history of dolphins than you'd like.

"we're here!" bachira cheered, pulling the car to a shuddering stop before parking. looking around, you spotted a bar a few buildings away and gasped when you realized it was chigiri and kunigami's. "hey, my friends work there!" you beamed, pointing pridefully at the little bar.

shidou stepped out next and appeared at your side. "i think we played there a few times when we were just starting out. cool place." you flashed him a smile and let the trio lead you into the club.

there were two men already backstage, and you quickly recognized by their matching teal eyes that they were the itoshi brothers—the drummer and bass player. they greeted you with matching, bored looks, but you waved anyway. "nice to see you again, sae. doing well?"

his lips quirked. "doing well. how's the apartment treating you?" you nodded, inviting him and his brother rin to movie night when the door slammed open once more, and a blond appeared. you raised a brow, but the second you spotted the smear of lipstick on his neck, you knew who this was. you fought the urge to sneer. "michael kaiser! it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

he looked you up and down in a way that made you feel scandalized, but once sae introduced you as y/n, he let out a chuckle. "the one who threatened to beat me with a broom, right?"

"i did not!" you totally did and shot a quick glare at isagi, bachira, and shidou for tattling on you to their bandmate. whatever else you wanted to say was wiped from your mind when your phone buzzed with a text from reo, informing you he'd arrived.

"my friend's here!" you announced to the group as you slipped between bachira and shidou to reach the exit. "good luck performing! i'll be cheering you all on." you didn't give them a chance to reply before darting around the corner to see reo.

masterlist // previous (ch 9) // next (ch 11)

notes -> poll will be out today ;)

tags -> @x3nafix @n0tbelle @nensi @ohagiyo @tired-child00 @melinana @chaoslibra @kaidostwin @bubybubsters @miss-aesthetic-13 @ihsoti @arwawawa2 @lonigiri @realrintaro @mivqko @sorasushik1 @pookalicious-hq @higuchislut @tofumiarchives @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @rainychi2 @ch4rstxr @sapph1r3x @sagging-saging @5-laska @tuna-toes @seinuis @sindulgent666 @evilari111 @newinhalerpls @kisses2kanao @sugacor3 @meizumi @90s-belladonna @meowstertruck420 @kyutiipie @ranzess @cookiesandcreammy @nevvynev @stwberri @mikeymyfav @dontmindtheevie @kaikaidenkai @mizukiblogs @ravenbc @beoms-sugar @cyberasterrr @lily-isalittlegirl @yourlocaleffy @hanamatopoeia @silverwings920 @ihe4rtme @sharks31

© neeeooon, 2025

[mooshlovely]

Nein Again Episode 6

(oops I was traveling and got behind)

"Oh my god you killed your whole family" tbh I kind of expected a flinch from Caleb at this. But I guess Liam was distracted (12 min)

The Molly interrogation is interesting cause its such a huge percent lies lol (13)

"We agreed not to put anyone in harms way in an excessive manner" "When did we agree to that?" This is probably why people think Fjord is the moral backbone lol. Also just such a hilarious interaction (17)

Switching the salt and sugar is an underrated prank. I appreciate Jester's tiny bits of chaos so much. It's the sort of thing that I would love to do as a harmless prank, but can't cause once you get older it no longer really seems harmless anymore. (how much food will this person make before realizing? How much food is going to get wasted right after such a devastating battle?) (21)

"I've also been the victim of a horrible attack" well it's not a lie (28)

"I recommend you take it slow" Caleb speaking from experience here, I'm surprised no one asked when he felt like that before. I bet he wished he had friends he could have stayed with after it all went bad (33)

Matt really did an excellent job setting up the conflict between the Empire and the dynasty. He just keeps sprinkling bread crumbs (42)

"Famine, syphilis" ah so this is where it started (43)

"We are very experienced" Caleb stretching the truth a bit lol. Is this him overestimating their capabilities or manipulating Bryce to have more faith in them? (45)

I love finally understanding all the secrets. Jester clocking that the Starosta had been to the Chateaux is such a good detail. And it's even better because no one else knows what she's talking about (55)

Wow Liam's commitment to counting (1:02) Also stealthily under paying

And Nott's alchemy skills coming up :) (1:05)

"..I run and you kill them" (1:08)

"no social graces" is such an interesting comment from Caleb cause it so patently untrue. Is it reflecting his current uncertainty being around people cause he's out of practice? Or is it also manipulation to make people underestimate him? Cause it definitely doesn't reflect his actual skills. It could be the difference between interacting with strangers versus friends, he knows how to charm but not how to be himself (1:12)

Ooo the Fjord charisma coming out to play, got to love it (1:14) Not that it worked lol

And Caleb coming in to back him up (1:16) and also under paying again lol

"Bad news, oh shit, there's a fuckton of them" Amazing line from Beau, also exciting to see Beau investigating stuff (1:21)

"I don't want to, like, make y'all alarmed or anything, but that was kind of fucking efficient" You said it Fjord. I cannot help but like a party that is really fucking good at what they do and the Mighty Nein were scary efficient from the very start (1:42)

I also love the scavenger levels Taliesin (1:47)

I still can't believe Sam made a rogue thats literally scared of everything. And the intentional intoxication right before a combat encounter. I love Nott so much (and obviously Veth is great too, but this is the energy I miss in later episodes) (1:50)

"I think maybe …none.. of us should hold it" Wow Nott really has no faith in anybody. Which is totally justified lol. Fjord once again being singled out as the responsible one (2:10)

I love how this party plays with stereotypical party roles. What does it mean to be 'the cleric' or 'the rogue'. Like of course Nott has no idea how to check for traps, why would she? This whole scene in general is also just so good (2:12)

There's Caleb's weak stomach again (2:38)

Once again singling out Fjord and Caleb as the strategy ones. (2:43)

Love the top table dynamics, literally the whole brains of the operation (2:45)

The ball bearings! Did they ever actually help a situation? I swear every time Beau used them they did nothing or actively made things worse (2:58) and yup this time is no different

Oh yeah a baby in danger would fuck up Nott (3:52) Matt is not pulling his punches

[ancha-aus]

Gifted Drabble - NewAgeAU - Understanding

Hey @spotaus !! As promised :3 I got a little something for you!

Your drabble got me thinking and made me consider something. (also i am so sorry if i got the ages wrong. I really tried)

As always. Feel free to use whatever you want from it or just ignore what doesn't fit <3 I am just having fun and it is meant as a gift for you <3 (also to motivate you to keep writing more about it!)

*------------------------*

Nightmare gets off his horse as he stares at the castle.

Well. His castle now.

He is still not quite used to that. Refering to it with his castle instead of his mother's.

Even after almost 12 months. He still doesn't expect to see himself in the mirror. or maybe the problem is that he expects his old self. The young teen.

The weakling. The failure.

No focus.

He isn't that anymore. He now has the magic. He is the new powerful leader of his land. And he will make this work. Even if he still has no idea what he is doing.

No. He needs to get back and make sure no one tried to rebel against him. That no one tried to hurt Ccino while he was gone.

Nightmare gets off the horse and someone rushes over to take the horse. Nightmare stares at this person and figures out quickly it is the stablehand who has been taking care of the horses.

Nightmare looks over his shoulder and motions the new people to follow him. The set of brothers, the dog monster. and Killer.

Nightmare walks into the castle as he speaks "Some of the other servants will take you to your chambers to rest and clean up. Tomorrow the three of you will join some of my other staff to see what is needed and where you fit. Killer. You will-"

"My liege."

Nightmare blinks and looks over.

Ccino has appeared out of one of the servant secret passages and walks straight towards him. Nightmare can see, and feel, when Ccino takes in the new people and just who they are.

Ccino's face turns a bit harder and Nightmare can feel the annoyance and frustration in the air "My liege!" Ccino smiles brightly as he speaks "Have you eben succesfull in finding a possible knight?"

Killer chuckles behind him and mutters "someone is in trouble~"

Nightmare knows Killer is being sarcastic. But if only Killer knew how right he was.

Nightmare however could never be worried or afraid off Ccino. For him? Maybe. But never because of him. He gives a tiny nod. The only amount of respect their places and ranks allow them when others are near "Ccino." He waves into the direction of the new arrivals "These people will join my workers." He looks at the four new arrivals "This. Is Ccino. He is head of the house." a title that will never pass away from him. Not as long as Nightmare is in charge.

Ccino nods "Pleasure." he looks back at Nightmare "My liege. If you have the time. There is a matter we need to discuss."

Oh yeah. Nightmare is very much in trouble.

Nightmare's voice is still calm as he speaks "Very well. I will meet you in my study after i made sure they go to their chambers."

Ccino feels unamused but he nods with a bow before he leaves the hall with a quick turn.

Nightmare turns back to his new... servants? He never quite liked that word but it works. He turns to his servants and feel his tentacles slowly rise from their position on the ground. They slowly start to idle again as he makes sure the new people learn where their rooms are and where to get food.

He brings Killer to a room more seperate from the others. Beyond the guard positions. Just because Nightmare wants to give him a chance and the fact he doesn't fear him is refreshing doesn't make Nightmare forget how dangerous Killer is.

Fuck this was a mistake.

What if Killer hurts people here?

What if he hurts Ccino?

Killer looks around his room before lounging on the bed "So what is the deal with the other skeleton?" he grins and wiggles his eye brows "Little secret going on there?"

Ngihtmare needs a moment as he wonders what Killer could mean. Then it sinks in and Nightmare feels his tentacles all spasm as he shudders "No." the answer is final and harsh. Killer actually looks surprised.

Nightmare holds his sight and speaks slowly "I will only repeat this once and remember this well. I don't like having to repeat myself." he holds Killer's gaze "Ccino is head of the house. He will remain head of the house. Nothing anyone can say or do will change this." he holds his gaze before straightening himself again as he moves towards the door "Tomorrow we will start training."

Kilelr sputters "We?!"

Nightmare stops and shoots him a look "Obviously. How am I to keep track of your skills and promise if i don't oversee the training myself?" and he leaves the room.

He hurries back through th castle towards his study. Sinking in and out of shadows as his mind, body and soul all know where he wishes to go.

He stops by his study and enters it.

Ccino is already in there. Studying the old masks in the special glass casing.

Nightmare closes the door and Ccino turns to him with a glare "What were you thinking?"

Nightmare gets taken back to a year or two prior. When he was still small. When he had cut himself to practise for the ritual. He hadn't been able to sleep and had been nervous about the apple ritual already. He had wanted to practise his part. to perform a blood oath to promise loyalty until death to his twin.

Ccino had caught him with a knife out.

Nightmare blinks back into the here and now as Ccino looks at him expecting with his arms crossed.

Nightmare blinks as he looks to the side for a moment. How is it that even wiht him being taller than Ccino he still feels small compared to him? "They were innocent."

Ccino looks unimpressed as he crosses his arms "Now with less lies."

Nightmare blinks and shoot his traitorous tendrils a look. No doubt they did something to give his little slight lie away. Ccino jsut raises a brow as he taps his foot.

Nightmare speaks again "Most of them were innocent. I didnt want them to get hang for something they did not do."

Ccino hums as he waits "And the murderer?"

Nightmare looks at Ccino "how did you know?"

Ccino sighs but has a small smile on his face. an old fond feeling as ccino looks at him and the tiny part of nightmare that had been stressed relaxes. Ccino just keeps looking slightly amused "There is a reason i told you to get out more. you only hear so many things from people in the castle nightmare. You need to go out to hear everything from everyone. I know who he is because i go to the market sometimes."

nightmare gives aslow nod as he looks away. So Ccino knows that nightmare brought a serial killer home. great.

Ccino sighs and sits on the couch for visitors and Nightmare joins him instead of sitting in his own chair.

Ccino looks at him "Just... tell me what happened. Why did you decide this?"

Ngihtmare looks at his hands. again slightly shocked to see the goop. It never stains anything yet it feels like a reminder. It is dirty. it isn't the holy light the powers promised. it is weird and looks diseased which is fitting for him. someone who betrayed everyone. who betrayed his twin. He may have gone it to protect dream. But even dream doesn't see this.

Where does that leave him?

Ccino's hand rubs his cheek and Nightmare shakes himself out of it. Ccino looks so worried as he rubs his skull "Hey... it is okay... i am not mad at you. I am worried about you. I am sorry if it seemed like i was mad."

Nightmare knows ccino isn't mad at him. Not like that at least. Nightmare can feel that. But he likes that ccino still tells him as much too.

Nightmare sighs as he leans into the gentle hold and touch. Ccino had always been one of the few to hold him. As his and Dream's babysitter it had been his job. But Ccino had always truly cared about them both. The moment that Nightmare could feel emotions he had been shocked by that.

That Ccino held no hatred for him. Not even a little bit. He enver blamed either Nightmare or Dream for his situation.

Nightmare speaks softly "The... kngihts you picked out. they were amazing. They showed much promise and would have made fine warriors."

Ccino hums as he keeps rubbing his skull "But?"

Nightmare sighs "They hated me. Even if with time they would eventually grow loyal and accept their place. They would forever hold resentment towards me for making them come."

Ccino hums and nods "I get it. It were only options Ngihtmare. there will be more people who fit the job."

Nightmare feels another part of him relax. knowing that Ccino still understands him "Killer wasn't afraid."

Ccino hums questioning.

Nightmare speaks slowly "He wasn't afraid. Not of me. Not of his situation. He stood up when near me. He didn't cower and he didn't hide." he sighs as he leans into the hug. He shouldn't need these anymore. He is an adult now and not that awkward young teen anymore. Nightmare shouldn't still count this much on the other "He saw me and didn't hate me. He knew who i was and didn't hate me. It was... new."

Ccino still feels unsure but he holds him still "And that gave you hope? That maybe if soemone didn't start with that hatred they could maybe become truly loyal?"

Ngihtmare shrugs. He isn't quite sure. he didn't think that far ahead. He just didn't want to lose another person who didn't hate him.

Ccino sighs as he keeps rubbing his skull and the back of his neck "I won't say i trust him. Because i don't. And I worry about you. I am scared he will end up hurting you."

Nightmare rolls his eyes as he answers "I have yet to even lose a fight and i had almost no training." all because of his tentacles and his newfoudn power.

Ccino just holds him tighter "There are more ways someone can hurt you Nightmare."

Nightmare feels the fear of before return. THe idea that somoene would kill Ccino. "If... if him being here makes you feel unsafe i will return him to the guards."

Ccino laughs and shakes his skull "Ngihtmare I am fine. I am not scared for me."

Nightmare keeps holding him as he feels himself start to shake. fears he had been trying to ignore and push away return to the front of his mind "Waht if they realise just how important you are? What if they try to hurt you to hurt me? What if they kill you to hurt me? Ccino maybe it is better if you hide." hide... hide away... out of sight out of mind.

Ccino just rubs his neck "It is okay Nightmare. It is okay. They don't know. and even if they have an idea your reputation adn the past of this country will just make them think I am someone who will be used as sacrifice last. That i will be punished last or least."

Nightmare shakes as he keeps holding the one person who remained "What if they hurt you because of me?"

Ccino is so calm and sure "then it would be on them. Not you. You don't want others to hurt me. It wouldn't be your fualt Nightmare and I will never see it as your fault. It is okay."

Ngihtmare still feels unsure. He made it obviously clear to Killer that Ccino is improtant. Killer is smart and Nightmare has no idea what he could be planning.

Another thought enters his mind. Somethign he had found early on in his ruling.

A very very damning piece of paper. a slave contract.

Nightmare speaks softly "I am sorry you are stuck here..."

Ccino shrugs as he keeps rubbing his back "Not your fault."

Nightmare shakes as he holds him "I.... I can undo it... I can give you back your freedom..."

Ccino had been taken from his home. Sold to the castle with a very clear purpose. First to be a babysitter. and later... well... Drema had been planning to be all powerful and go from young teen to adult in just one ritual. There is a reason Ccino's age had been only 6 years older than them.

Ccino had been suposed to be Dream's from the very start.

Ccino hums "A nice thought. Not that i thought about that contract in a long time. It hardly matters nowadays. Not like I can just leave."

Nightmare feels his grip tighten and his tendrils curl around them. He doesn't want to let go of the one person who cared. The one person he could count on to help him. To give a single shit about Nightmare. But... but how long will it take before Ccino starts hating him? If Nightmare keeps him here?

Nightmare holds him close "I... I can get you a horse... I can give you gold..." He will just use some of the treasury. Ccino deserves it. "I can send some guards with you on your way. You could go wherever you want. Back to your family."

Ccino locks both his arms around his skull and hums softly. an old lullaby and Nightmare stops. The amount of memories almost hurt. It was always Ccino who held him on bad nights. Or when he was sad. Or when everyone pushed him aside again.

Ccino speaks sfotly "Nightmare. When I say i can't leave i don't mean i physically can't leave. It means i don't want to. I decided a while ago i want to stay here Nightmare."

Nightmare shakes but refuses to let go "What... what about your family?" Ccino's fmaily have to love him. Ccino is so amazing. There is no way he isn't missed dearly after he was stolen from them.

Ccino sighs sadly "Nightmare... They have been killed a long time ago. The day i was taken the guards made sure i knew there was nothing to return to. even if i ran." Ngihtmare feels himself freeze. why... why had he thought?

Ccino rubs his skull "It hurt a lot but i accepted a long time ago Nightmare. I accepted that you two were my family now... and well... now it is just you. and it is okay. I am okay with that. I will always support you Nightmare." he grins "You may be older now but i like to think i am still the older brother."

Nightmare feels aprt of himself break as he just sinks fully into Ccino's hold "please don't also leave me." it is weak. it is pathetic. He should be stronger than this. He should have been prepared for this.

Ccino just covers his skull wiht his body and holds him "I am not going anywhere Nightmare. I will be by your side. I swear on my soul."

Nightmare relaxes and lets himself enjoy the comfort he should not need this badly. He enjoys it and can't help but let his eyes slide around the room. His sight finds the masks and remembers.

The masks are the highest honour. only shared with those most special.

He thinks something catlike will fit his older brother.

[d8tl55c]

me: waiting for shoe(s) to drop

Personified Alan Becker YouTube Icon: oh... buddy...

[monochromeia]

REALLY wanna work on a fan continuity where the decepticons are in the right

[sysig]

Idiot hours 💖 (Patreon)

[helloidkwhatimdoing-0]

Okay i think im gonna go shower and then lie face down until i fall sleep bc i rly am not having a great time right now lol

Hopefully tomorrow will be better

[stirdrawsandreblaws]

seeing a lot of misinfo posts surging in the wake of Site Owner's Tantrum but there's a single point i keep seeing over and over that i really want to address:

tumblr banning users posing as black activists who were actually paid workers for the russian "internet research agency" is not some shit they made up to ban black activists

that was a very real psyop across multiple social media sites, and there were multiple governments and investigation orgs involved in tracking them down.

do not put actual black activists in the same fucking category as political catfishers who used uninvolved peoples' photos (putting them at risk of personal harm) while intentionally spreading misinfo and attempting to disrupt anti-racist and anti-fascist action, among other things

[dreammfyre]

the heir's favorite ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of the marriage between your mother Rhaenyra Targaryen and your father Daemon Targaryen. Always the most rebellious and difficult of all, temperamental, impulsive. However, weak before the temptation to possess your older brother, the crown prince Jacaerys Velaryon, a knight par excellence, the opposite of you. But no one in Dragonstone imagined that you shared much more than dragon's blood.

WARNINGS. +18 Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest (brother and sister). Jacaerys aggressive and dominant. Smut. Based on the second season of House Of the Dragon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. This was a suggestion left anonymously in the messages, so I invite you to leave yours. Thanks for reading.

The empty room was so quiet that you could feel your thoughts could be heard all over the place. The full moon illuminated the dark sky, standing out against the stars that night where everyone was resting in their chambers, but you were unable to lie in your bed, much less fall asleep without having nightmares. The Stone Table was where everyone met daily to discuss strategies for the war that was being unleashed in Westeros, but now that empty place was strange, so much silence and loneliness. The extinguished embers did not illuminate the tabletop, you touched the stone expecting to burn, however, it was totally cold.

"Who's there?" a familiar voice entered the place. You turned immediately finding Prince Jacaerys, your older brother and heir to your mother's throne. "Sister... it's very late."

"I know, you should be resting." You replied walking towards him.

"It's a bit complex lately." He took the luxury of joking, in response you smiled without much encouragement. "May I know what you're doing here?"

"Not much. Seems to me you're not the only one who doesn't get any rest." You lifted your shoulders casually. "Any news on your rounds?"

Jacaerys shook his head in disappointment, pacing around the table resting his hands on the handle of his sword without taking his eyes off you, analyzing your presence carefully, as if silently judging you. You rested your hands on the stone of the table relaxing your body on your arms, but your head couldn't stop scheming hundreds of thoughts and bloody imaginary scenarios regarding the war.

"Cole's army is getting bigger and bigger and we don't have a damn clue about anything." You said with a tense jaw. "And about my father..." you sighed deeply without looking your brother in the face "no word from him for days."

"That's not your fault." Jace tried to make you feel better with repeated kind words, but your guilt was growing and the anguish of the approaching war wouldn't leave you alone. "Daemon is not the priority."

"That idiot should be here, on the island, with his queen and his children." You whispered angrily. Then you looked up resolute in your decision. "I'll go see him tomorrow."

That didn't sit well with your brother.

"Don't talk nonsense, Visenya." The heir scoffed. "You can't go to Harrenhal alone, it's too dangerous and we don't know if the way is clear."

"You think I'll arrive by land alongside Daemon's imaginary army?" you sneered in the same condescending manner, a brazen gesture that made Jacaerys' blood boil. "I will ride Vermithor's back at dawn and arrive before the sun peaks. I will return the same day with news before the queen."

"That's a lousy idea!" Your brother exclaimed angrily. Grabbing your arm with brute force, forcing you to look him. "How can you even think of traveling alone to lands we don't know if they are enemies or allies?"

"We need to move fast before they come for us, Jacaerys." You squirmed under his grip feeling his fingers bury into your pale skin. "Do you intend to wait for my father to return?" you managed to break free from his grip with difficulty, Jacaerys ran a hand through his wavy hair desperate not to talk sense into you. "Because you may take a seat, I will not be accompanying you."

"Visenya, please understand the magnitude of your stupidity." He begged, chasing you from side to side. Your brother knew how impulsive you were, and how hard it was for you to get an idea out of your head, no matter if it was good or bad and in this case it was a rather dangerous one. "What happens if you cross paths with Vhagar in the skies?" The prince raised his voice to you demanding and imperative trying to intimidate you, anyone passing nearby could overhear your discussion. You turned your back to him, you didn't want to look him in the face out of embarrassment because deep down you knew his words were true. "You have no business there!"

"I have no business here either!" you exclaimed with the same intensity. You were temperamental by nature and now you were blowing off steam. "I'm tired of staying cooped up on the island, waiting for others to figure things out! I'm a dragon rider, and I'm constrained by these walls."

Your brother understood that feeling better than anyone, he grabbed you by both cheeks, covering your face with his firm hands.

"I know how you feel, Visenya. Believe me, but walking out at the first impulse is not the solution, don't you understand?" You put your hands over his, looking at him intently. You wanted to nod to answer him the question he asked you, but you were mesmerized in his nearness and his breath hitting your face. "Stay here, with us." He watched you carefully without letting go, losing himself in the sense of his pleas to look at you closely, you were so beautiful in any light no matter how dim, a Targaryen through and through with bright, intense violet eyes of long white hair like your parents. Jacaerys couldn't help but stare at you, the half-open lips tempting him to taste you, trying not to lose what little composure he had left. "With me."

You possessed the ethereal beauty of your mother and the complex character of your father, Daemon Targaryen. Under your little ethics and impulsiveness you did not think if it was a coherent idea and you threw yourself to kiss the thick lips of your brother who reciprocated instantly, none of them reasoned, they only moved to the rhythm of the kiss where their moist lips brushed anxiously. Your brother's hand on your waist took you by surprise, more so when he pressed you against his body bumping you against his chest and cornering you against the table.

"Go to sleep." Jace scolded you making an attempt to stop kissing you, but you kept reaching for him. "This isn't a good place."

With a smile you ignored knowing the only way to stop the situation was for you to go to your quarters and you didn't feel like leaving. You grabbed her hair tangling your fingers in her chestnut curls, Jacaerys strength intimidated you, but it wasn't enough to stop you.

"Don't go to Harrenhal." He pleaded leaving kisses on your neck, tracing a wet path over your skin taking advantage of inhaling your scent. "Do it and I promise I will warm your bed every night."

You felt a shiver run down your back at his offering, Jacaerys kept leaving kisses until he reached your collarbones uncovered by the neckline of your dress. His warm lips made your heart beat faster, you grabbed him by the face stopping him.

"Would you do that for me?" you asked with dangerous innocence, watching his glossy swollen lips.

"Do you really doubt it?" he answered against your ear, then brushed his nose against yours slowly, you left a short kiss on his lips almost by instinct, so tender and unexpected that you heard a laugh come out of the prince.

"I'll think about it." You whispered touching his chest, playing with the textures of the fabrics, his agitated breathing gave him away, having you close was a personal challenge for the prince. It was a lie, you weren't going to think about it, you just wanted to give him what he needed to hear to stay with you.

Jacaerys' big hands began to take hold of your body squeezing you tightly making you gasp, then you lifted your chin giving him access to your neck, the kisses there unsettled you in a special way and only your brother knew it, taking advantage of your weakness, listening closely to his breathing and feeling the warmth of his breath was much better. Everything about him you liked, and you were missing him lately. The pressure and uncertainty of the war had taken your head elsewhere, you had abandoned each other for valid reasons, but at that second you just wanted to give yourself to him one more time.

You stood on your tiptoes to gain a little more height reaching for his ear, your brother tensed at the delicate touch of your hot tongue against his lobe, you licked delicately knowing that it turned him on, he confessed it to you one night and you never forgot it. A deep moan of satisfaction came from his throat, then carefully, you lowered one of your hands straight down to his pants, positioning yourself over his hard member that was pressing against the fabric.

"This is not the best place." Begged the prince resting his forehead on your shoulder. "We are in a sacred place, you know?"

You cared little for his insistence or decency when you only wanted to shout his name, though you knew Jacaerys was asking you to stop for the sake of not failing in duty, not because the desire wasn't there. No one understood the reason why Rhaenyra did not cancel the stupid engagement between Lady Baela and the right Jacaerys, no one could deny that they could become blameless kings for the history of Westeros, but there would never be the tension and burning desire throbbing as when the fire was unleashed between you. That first time with a taste of sin, you begging him not to stop, that it was going to become a one-time secret that his parents would never find out, a secret they couldn't help but repeat between your sheets and his, in the hallways and in the library.

Desperate, your brother lifted the skirt of your dress with your help by grabbing your leg and pulling it up to his waist. The mere contact made you moan from the pleasure, you clamped your mouth shut to keep from making noise, you were too sensitive and needy and Jacaerys liked to have you under his control. You were always sarcastic, upset and nasty, just like your dragon, but Jacaerys Velaryon knew how to control you.

"What are you going to do if someone finds out about us?" You asked with bated breath. Deep down it was important to keep the secret guarded to keep it. Jacaerys' fingers stroking between your legs making you jump, clinging to the heir's neck and leaning against the table. "What are they going to say when they find out the crown prince fucking his sister."

His fingers slowly moved up and down, playing with your slimy wetness between his fingers. The mischievous grin on the chestnut's face only reflected the satisfaction of having managed to have you like this, so submissive to him.

"Does it scare you?" he whispered against your moaning lips. With his other hand he gripped the back of your neck tightly, so you wouldn't move. "They're going to find out you're my spoiled sister." Two of his long fingers began to search for the perfect place to insert themselves into you. You stirred under his grip settling in for him, your desperate breathing needing him to finish his work, but he seemed very calm provoking you with his words. "Do you know what they'll call you?" he bit your lip, pulling it towards him. "The heir's whore." His fingers slipped inside you so easily, sliding into your wet insides gushing moans from your chest as you felt him move in and out of you. Jacaerys took your leg his free hand clutching his fingers to your thigh preventing you from closing before him.

At the first loud moan you covered your mouth immediately knowing you were attracting attention, the sensation between your legs was stronger. You squeezed your brother's shoulder getting used to the movement of his fingers inside you.

"Don't yell." He ordered uncompromisingly. He had to kiss you to shut you up, which served you a few short minutes. You were losing your mind, your legs wanted to close but Jace put his foot down to stop that from happening.

"Jacaerys." His name on your lips excited him more than anything else, for it was the tone of desperation that mirrored your desire. To know that he controlled you and you were under his dominion with how arrogant you were, that no knight owned you, that everyone desired you for being Rhaenyra's spoiled daughter, but you were his, no matter an arranged marriage or duty was enough. "Mmh." You ran your hand over your face, desperate to keep silent fighting against your body that was beginning to tremble as his fingers went faster.

But for an ego like Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's it wasn't enough. Listening to you enjoy yourself on the Stone Table where every day they met to discuss war strategies was the most satisfying image to his eyes and he was not going to be able to forget it. The way you moved, dragon-like, the sweetest and most desperate noises came from you, none of the whores he had been with compared to the delicacy of a pureblood Targaryen. A unique and unrepeatable privilege.

When your breathing became erratic and the murmurs incomprehensible swearing you were going to reach that peak, Jacaerys came to a screeching halt chastising you. You opened your eyes in disappointment and fury, your heart leaping out of your chest and your legs damp and trembling.

"Be a good sister," he stroked your cheek with the gentleness you deserve to be treated with. You were trying to listen to him but you were so upset you just wanted to insult him for doing that to you. "Turn around."

Your hair stood up at his tone of voice demanding and conciliatory at the same time. As obedient as ever, just for him, you turned your back to him as the prince busied himself with pulling down his pants that were pressing against the erection he was trying to contain. Your heart wouldn't stop pounding, you could still feel his long fingers inside you and the wait, however minimal, was becoming eternal and torturous. You looked sideways at the entrances of the place without finding anyone, but the truth is that you didn't care if at that moment the queen arrived and found them like that, the euphoria and adrenaline was taking over your body and your reason, the overflowing desire had taken your actions. You felt Jace's hands sneaking up your skirt, careful where to touch, looking for just the right position to enter. He stood behind you, your dress pulled up over your back, the mere touch made you moan. You were so wet it was slipping from your entrance.

"Don't say anything." He told you and you nodded, you were capable of begging if necessary, though deep down you knew he enjoyed it making you obey. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

You closed your eyes as you felt Jacaerys slowly push behind you. You took a breath and tried to relax, you both moaned slowly, the prince tensed his jaw and clenched his teeth to keep from making noise, he stayed still for a few seconds searching for your hips digging his fingers into your skin trapping you in that position, moving you back and forth to better thrust. The rubbing of his member on your walls felt warm and wet, an invasion of your body, you were so used to his size that the sensation became familiar, literally. Some of the pieces of stone you unintentionally threw away, that was going to be a problem for later, because now the noise of their bodies colliding was beginning to consume you. The control he had over you didn't bother you, he gripped you tightly taking over everything. Her hips moved with yours instinctively in a delicious back and forth.

"Like this." You gasped with closed eyes and a satisfied expression. You reached for his hand under your dress and clung to him as tightly as Jace clung to you.

His length pumped in and out of you at a rapid pace, but this time, Jacaerys made sure each thrust was deep by ramming his pelvis into your buttocks.

"What a pleasure to meet again, don't you think?" his question was punctuated by your same panting without stopping moving. You weren't able to answer, your high-pitched moans were getting louder and louder, putting both of you at risk. On the other hand, he was breathing heavily. You had to cover your mouth with your hand, biting your palm to stifle your own moans of pleasure at having him inside you.

You started to stir but you were trapped in his hands, he knew you well enough to know what to do, you turned to look at him finding the heir ramming you with force and speed, his hair fell in curls that moved to the rhythm of his rhythm, when their gazes met for a second he stared at you, your face sweating, your eyes bright with a frown of supplication and red cheeks were enough to have no mercy. Your entrance was tightening at the same time you couldn't breathe, that feeling of a wave invading your insides begging for more desperate to reach orgasm. Jacaerys took your with one hand your waist and with the other your hip, encasing his fingers preventing you from escaping, you were in this together and you had to finish it.

You moved your arm and disarranged the pieces on the board. Now you could hear your brother moaning, cursing you for being his undoing and the greatest of his sins, making you his own feeling the power to mark you and deflower you breaking any tradition that governs the Targaryen nobility. It felt so good that you could confess your love to him just so he wouldn't stop. Luckily for both of you, he didn't stop, the rapid movements and the pressure forming in your lower stomach was getting out of control, the noise intensifying from the collision of your bodies and your knees seemed to lose any kind of strength to hold you up, luckily the table was there to support your body, plus your brother who wasn't going to let you fall. Until you couldn't manage to resist anymore, your orgasm came first like a shiver throughout your body, you closed your eyes tightly and watching you exclaim his name in screams of pleasure ended the infinite torture of the heir that took a few seconds to wait.

"Shit." Your voice hopefully came out of your dry mouth. You had your chest against the weight crushing your breasts, one of your hands intertwined with your brother's who was rebounding behind you.

You both took a second to take a breath and assimilate what you had just done, you had promised not to fall into carnal sin again and that's why the last time was several months ago. You leaned on the table with both hands coming back into yourself with your chest heaving, your brother's hands were still in the same place but he was no longer squeezing you with the same possessive intensity. Your hair was falling on both sides, tousled from the movement and your legs were begging you for a rest.

Jacaerys caught his breath, but his heart had not calmed down at all. His body was still experiencing those chills and that unique tension, he took a step backwards out of your body to get dressed. You immediately felt the fluid trickle down the inside of your thighs, dripping slowly down your hot skin.

"Are you okay?" Jace asked pulling up his pants, his movements a little uncontrolled as the adrenaline was still pumping. You nodded fixing your wrinkled dress. It wasn't the first time it had happened, you both knew what it was, that meant you would have to have tea the next morning.

"Looks like I'll be staying."

Your older brother smiled, fixed his hair pulling it back and moving closer to kiss you again, this time slower and softer, trapping your lips with his so slowly that you relaxed. You took his face kissing him again, his scent, his warmth, his bearing that forced you to lift your chin to reach your mouth, the softness of his lips, it was the most comforting sensation you knew.

"Go rest." He whispered without opening his eyes. Tidying your hair behind your ear.

"Okay." You replied in the same tone, so obedient and submissive before him, kissing for the last time his mouth following your movement. "Good night"

Leaving him was complicated, but you were satisfied with the encounter. As you walked you felt the burning between your legs, a reminder that was to last a couple of days that he had made you his once more, that was the greatest secret they kept hidden, they had forgotten for a moment the war between families, the political problems, duty and order.

Jacaerys Velaryon watched you go, silently picking up the sword he had dropped to the ground. That simple symbol that he was capable of abandoning his duty as prince for you, he staked his honor and his word for taking you. He stayed a while longer tidying up the mess they had created, arranging the pieces of stone in the place that corresponded according to the figure, picking up from the floor some that fell without realizing it. It was he who always assumed the role of responsibility for cleaning up the mess and pretending nothing had happened. How was he going to show up tomorrow at this very spot knowing he had relations with Visenya, the spoiled and arrogant princess, right there?

He only hoped Daemon Targaryen would never discover that his daughter was the heir's favorite if he wished to one day ascend the throne.

[brawberryz]

Little Demon

Batfam Yan! × Neglected Nezuko! Reader

Note:English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error

You were normal

You weren't the monster you've become, before everything you were just an ordinary high school student

Everything had happened so fast that you didn't even have time to process it

A few hours ago everything was normal

You woke up as usual adding yourself to go to class, you greeted alfred while you were having breakfast

Breakfast felt as lonely as always your family was never present not even in things as common as having breakfast together as a family

No one ever had time for you, everyone was so busy with their responsibilities and you understood it, you always understood

They were vigilant and you knew they had a lot of responsibilities on their shoulders but sometimes you would like them to look at you or ask you how your day was

If someone in the family turned to look at you or talk to you it was a miracle, the only person you had by your side was alfred

He was a father figure more than your real father could be

Bruce, as you called him because father was too big a name for someone like him, maybe he wasn't even worthy of being called father

You saw his relationship with the rest of your siblings and how he treated them with so much respect and affection

At some point you felt jealous, why was he so good to them? Why couldn't you feel that affection

Why?

Why!?

Nobody took care of you or protected you, since you were little you understood that if you didn't protect yourself nobody would

Everyone had talents and they were amazing

You were just (name), the shadow of the family because the only thing that was important was having the last name Wayne, but then you were nobody

You were never anybody

You stopped thinking so much and picked up your bag and walked out the door of the mansion giving Alfred a last goodbye

_

Classes went by faster than you would like, school was a safe place for you, there you could be yourself with your friends

To your friends you weren't (name) Wayne, the daughter of a billionaire playboy, you were just a (name) L/N a girl full of energy and eager to help others

You lazily got up from your seat grabbing your bag heading to the classroom door

There was Aoi waiting for you as usual, you were grateful to have such a good friend like her

"You look more tired than usual, is something wrong (name)?"

The black-haired girl asks worriedly, walking with you to the exit. You just nodded, giving her a fake smile.

"Yeah, don't worry, I just didn't sleep well today."

That's a lie. You had slept more than well, but since this morning you had felt that something was wrong, as if something bad was about to happen.

You couldn't shake that feeling off after hours. You decided to ignore it, but that feeling still remained.

Aoi just nodded, unsure of your answer. She had been your friend for years and she knew you too well to know when something was bothering you.

"Hey, today me and shinobu are going to a new cafe that opened. Do you want to go?"

You stayed quiet for a few seconds thinking about the proposal, you liked going out with your friends but this time you felt like you shouldn't go

"I'm sorry aoi but... I'm really busy today I have homework to do"

You politely apologized to her

Aoi raised an eyebrow, there was something she didn't like, she knew something was happening to you but she wasn't going to force you to tell her, she didn't want it to seem like she was someone insistent

She simply gave you a nod and then looked ahead, this was where your paths separated as you lived on totally opposite streets

She gave you a big hug as a farewell and then separated from you with a smile on her face

"See you tomorrow (name), take care!"

She said as she shook her hand and her presence disappeared more and more as she walked away

You let out a tired sigh before turning on your heels and taking the path home

You walked with your head down, your thoughts consumed your head that you didn't even notice the imminent danger that was approaching you

You didn't understand why your family seemed to hate you, you were always obedient, good and polite

You were the best in your class and you had great intelligence but you were still invisible to all of them

Sometimes you just wanted to disappear, being someone else didn't matter you just wanted to leave

But you knew that until you turned 18 it would be impossible to get out of that house

You were so distracted in your thoughts that you didn't even have time to react before something too strong pushed you into a dirty alley

You tried to get up and defend yourself but that strange man grabbed you by the neck cutting off your breathing and not being able to get up

As your vision blurred you could see his red eyes and a cynical smile forming on his lips

The last thing you felt was something embedded in your neck causing you to lose consciousness

Everything was black, you couldn't move or feel anything

So you died?

Is this how it all ended? Dying in a dirty alley full of trash and rats?

Maybe this is what you deserved, you were never anything important just trash

And trash should stay with trash, right?

Alfred ran at full speed through the mansion towards Bruce's office, he couldn't believe that this had happened

He slammed open the door to Bruce's office causing Bruce to stop concentrating on the paperwork to look at his butler

It was too strange for Alfred to enter without knocking, and he was also struck by Alfred's worried and disheveled attitude

Only something too important or serious would have to happen to break Alfred's impeccable personality

"Master Bruce...Miss (name)..."

The old man struggled to find air in his lungs, having run all over the mansion had left him exhausted

"What's wrong with her? Don't tell me she got into trouble-"

Alfred interrupted Bruce in the middle of his sentence to speak again

"No...she...she's dead"

Those words hit Bruce hard

Dead?

Your death couldn't be true, it had to be some kind of joke

"What?"

It was the only thing he could say in shock, he knew that Alfred would never lie to him, much less about a subject as serious as death

But his brain simply couldn't process it

_

The entire batfam was at the police station, the news of your death shook the entire family in a bad way

Now they were here to identify your body, they found it in an alley according to the police record a woman who was passing by found your body covered in blood that was supposed to have been yours

According to the police it was a very crude and bloody crime scene

They couldn't believe that someone would be capable of doing that to a being as innocent as you

The simple fact that someone had done all those things to you made everyone's blood boil with rage

Richard felt terrible, remembering all the times you asked him to spend time together and he simply made the excuse that he was busy or that he didn't have time

He was the worst brother, he was supposed to be the oldest one who should have protected you but all he did was push you away and cause your premature death

Jason could barely handle all the emotions he felt at that moment, he felt rage, sadness and regret

He still remembered the times he had insulted you and told you not to interfere in his life

No matter what he had to do, he was going to avenge his little sister and he was going to make the person who had done that to you suffer

In Tim's head he tried to find some possible suspect for your death, maybe the joker had already killed Jason once, it was just a matter of time before he did it again

He could still remember the times he had ignored you, that moment when you made cupcakes was still in his mind and you had the brightest smile of all

You had prepared them especially for your family but all you received was their rejection telling you that they were busy

Remember the rude way in which I refused your food and asked you to leave, right now, anything to be able to be with you and try your desserts

Damian was burning with fury, who was the bastard who dared to kill his sister!?

He, unlike the rest, didn't want to accept his guilt. He firmly believed that the times he had hit you, humiliated you, and insulted you were for your own good.

You should know well that you were too weak for this world, that he was your protector.

Cass could barely process everything. She had lost another important person to her again, and this time it was her fault again.

She leaned against a corner and let her thoughts consume her. She felt the worst. Maybe if she had paid attention to you, you would be alive now.

Barbara felt the same way as Richard. She still remembered the times you begged for her attention, wanting to spend time with her, but she only pushed you away more and more each day.

Steph could only stare at the floor. It was her fault for ignoring you. She thought that at some point you would adapt to the mansion, but it never happened. All she did was make you feel more like a burden and a nuisance.

But the one who felt the worst was Bruce. He was supposed to be your father, he was supposed to be the first to protect you. But he didn't. All he did was ignore you

He was the worst father ever, now because of him you were dead

They took him to a room to identify your body and left him there alone for a few minutes

Right there he collapsed, his serious and unwavering facade broke

His daughter, his baby is now dead because of him, he would do anything to revive you, he would even use the Lazarus pit even knowing the consequences that caused

But suddenly he felt like something lunged at him

And there was you

Alive

You were alive in some way, but he saw that it wasn't you...

Your eyes had that wild look, your teeth were sharp and long nails that you had never had before

He grabbed a metal pipe he found on the floor and tried to fight you by putting it in your mouth so that you wouldn't bite him or disfigure his face with your claws or teeth

Your strength was superhuman, as if you were no longer the (name) that he knew

Now you had become something wilder

But he felt small tears falling on his face, he was crying

It seemed as if a part of you was trying to control your instincts, he noticed your distressed and scared look

Suddenly Richard entered the room with Jason

They had heard a loud noise coming from the room

The men's faces were surprised when they saw you alive

Or rather, you didn't look human and your skin looked paler

Also, your hair had changed, the tips that were completely black before were now orange

The two quickly came out of their trance and helped Bruce get you off of them, you were still struggling and trying to get out of their grip

Then Damian and Tim appeared through the door when they heard all the commotion

Before either of them could speak, Richard interrupted them

"There's no time for explanations, distract the police now!"

He said trying to keep you from getting out of the grip, Tim and Damian just nodded confused as they went with the others to distract the guards

Meanwhile Jason decided that the best idea was to knock you out so he did, but he earned a scolding from Bruce for hitting you so hard

"Stop complaining so much and be thankful we didn't let her kill you"

He said dryly, he saw how you fell surrendered to his arms, for now they should find a way to get you out of here without anyone noticing

_

The days passed quickly in the mansion, they had you with a kind of muzzle on your mouth to prevent any incident

Although after having "revived" you were only aggressive once, to tell the truth this version of you was much calmer and less energetic than the previous one

After Bruce asked Constantine for help he told him that most likely you had been turned into a demon and that if they wanted you to be human again the person that turned you into a demon was supposed to turn you back into a human

For days the batfam spent their time investigating and trying to find information about the person who did that to you but they found almost nothing

But almost nothing was that bad, it seemed you rejected human flesh and blood and you recovered energy by sleeping, you didn't need to eat or drink water just sleep

Most of the day (not to say all day) you spent somewhere in the mansion sleeping

Everyone fought over who would cuddle with you during your morning nap, they agreed on a deal that every day of the week it would be a family member's turn to sleep with you and take care of you

And after everything worked, most of your memories disappeared so they didn't have to worry about you remembering what horrible siblings they were

They also found out that you can't be in the sun unless you want to disintegrate and die

Tim thought it was a good idea to open the windows so you could see the sun after so long

Tim's expression The horror on his face was great when he saw how your skin began to burn and how you screamed in pain

He quickly closed the windows and approached you to see your condition

Luckily your regenerative abilities were very helpful, but Tim still didn't escape Bruce's scolding and you think Damian almost killed Tim that day

You could say that the days in the mansion were good, of course sometimes you would like to go out and see other places but you knew it would be impossible

The batfam preferred to die rather than let you wander alone through the streets of Gotham again, in their eyes you were still that weak little girl even knowing that you could easily kill them all

For now you should get used to this life until they find a cure

But you shouldn't worry, when you are cured they will never let you go again

Never

I finished this quicker than I thought

I hope you like it because I probably won't upload anything for 3 or 4 days

byeee

[chaoticwriting]

Part 1

Gotham New Rogue 2

It's been a few weeks since Danny started to become the Trickster. To be honest, it is working very well. His core is expanding fast as ectoplasm is regenerating faster than ever before. He is also slowly developing new abilities and gaining more control and powers to his already established abilities.

For instance, Danny used to struggle making clones, but now he can easily create dozens of them with just a thought. He can also change his clothes to whatever he imagines using ectoplasm now. His ice power is also stronger and easier to control. His superhuman body is developing and slowly getting stronger and faster.

Overall, Danny will say that make a smart decision to become a rogue especially since no one has caught him yet. Danny is currently laying on top of a building watching the sun slowly set in the horizon. His stomach suddenly grumbles and he decides to hit the shack before he gets to "work" tonight.

Jumping off the roof, Danny lands and walks to the nearest Batburger while still wearing his rogue suit. He has a totally funny idea today and it involves him being seen in public. Entering the Batburger is like entering a library for some reason. As soon as he enters, everyone goes deathly quiet.

Danny slowly walks towards the cashier and orders his food.

Danny: 5 sets of set C please.

Cashier: Ermm, that will be 60 bucks.

Danny: Here.

After paying for the food, Danny gets his food and sits at one of the tables alone. It's only after he is through his 3rd set that reality is set in for the people. They begin to move and contrary to Danny's expectations, approach him to ask for pictures. Danny allows them some pictures and unknowingly raises his status as Gotham's friendliest rogue.

Suddenly, a white man that screams rich guy, a woman with blonde hair and a black guy wearing Signal's merch approach him. Danny has learned a lot of things from his 14 years of life and 2 years of half life and Danny knows when a rich guy approaches you, it's never good (Sam doesn't have the rich vibe).

Rich guy: Hello Trickster! May we have a meal with you?

Danny: Sure.

Rich guy: Ah, how rude of me. My name is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. These two are my friends, Stephanie Brown and Duke Thomas. You can call me Tim by the way.

Danny: Sure, Tim.

They sit opposite him with their meals and try to make small talks with him while eating. The trio realize that Danny seems to respond a lot better when Steph or Duke is the one to ask the question.

Steph: So, Trickster. Why don't you like my friend here?

Duke: Way to go in being subtle, Steph. Why not ask who is he really next?

Steph: Hey, I can't help it you know. He seems so snarky whenever Tim asks questions. I wanna know if Tim pissed him off or something.

Danny: He is rich, right?

Duke: Err, yes?

Steph: Let's say he is. Why does that matter?

Danny: I hate rich people. And government. But who doesn't hate the government?

Duke: So, eat the rich?

Danny: Yes.

Steph: Cool cool. We are also here just so we could leech him off anyway. We're not really friends.

Tim: Ow, you hurt me by saying that. What happened to our vow of eternal friendships?

Steph: I cross my fingers.

Duke: I lie.

Danny: Hahahaha. You're like my friends.

Tim: You have friends?

Danny: Of course I have friends. And unlike you I don't need money to have friends.

Tim: Sorry sorry. Are your friends also rouges?

Danny: Wouldn't you like to know? Last I need is Batman investigating my friends. I'm sure Batman is part of you rich people group chat or something.

Steph and Duke: *Snickers*

Tim: *Glares at the two* Why would you think Batman is in contact with the rich people?

Danny: Isn't it obvious? Batman has all these high tech gadgets and is always there fast whenever a Wayne is kidnapped. I would even say Batman is being sponsored by the Wayne.

Danny: I also don't like most heroes in general. They are just the government lapdog doing whatever the government wants.

Tim, Steph and Duke frowned at that statement. From the way Danny speaks, it is clear that he has some history against the government. Him being here also means he is at least confident enough to run away if any of the bats are here. Is it just blind confidence or a truly competent ability will remain to be seen.

Tim is just about to refute him when Danny suddenly stands up. All of them tensed up and ready for battle when Danny turns towards one side of the window, waves and disappears right in front of them. They are very confused and when they turn towards the direction Danny was just looking at, they see Batman and Black Bat right on the rooftop across the building.

Batman and Tim nod to each other and they all return to the caves.

-Batcave-

Tim: So you all hear the conversation right?

Dick: Except at the end where the sound becomes blurred for a moment, we hear everything.

Tim: Good. So what are your thoughts on this?

Damian: It is pretty self explanatory Drake. He has a personal hatred towards the government and that extends to all bodies of government or people he thought is connected to the government.

Tim: But why though? Is the hatred towards the government something as simple because he is a criminal? Or is there something else towards it?

Bruce: There is nothing to find about him currently with our limited resources about him. Return to the manor for today and take some rest. We will investigate it later.

All of them return to the manor and rest for the night.

-2 weeks later-

The Trickster is standing in front of an unconscious and tied up Batman. He is giggling loudly that evolves into full blown laughter.

He takes off Batman's belt and starts to pull out stuff one after another. Soon, he found the item that he needed.

Trickster: Hahahahahahaha. I have finally got it. The strongest weapon in the world!

The batfam that is watching the live broadcast shiver as they watch Trickster holds out the black object high in the sky.

Part 3

[dokyumms]

under the covers

pairings: mingyu x 14thmember!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive if you squint

cw: none

word count: 409

a/n: i just love sleepy svt (｡╯︵╰｡)

"what are you doing?" you ask groggily, feeling someone slip into your bed and wrap their arms around you. it could be anyone, seeing as all the members know each other's passwords to their apartments, and maybe you should be more worried. but you already know who it is, smelling mingyu's shampoo as he nuzzles into your neck. "missed you," is all he says, sighing when you run your hand through his hair. "we just saw each other a couple hours ago, no?", you ask. it's true; you all had team dinner after practice and then you went home to shower and take a well needed nap. "a couple hours too long ago," he argues back, lifting his head to give you a chaste kiss on your jaw.

you smile and tilt your head down to kiss him properly. he instinctively raises his hand to hold your face gently, deepening the kiss. your hands wander, brushing down his neck and landing on his shoulders. he pushes you over so he's hovering over you. "gyu, we have practice tomorrow," you warn quietly, knowing you wouldn't stop him anyway. he chuckles, "who says i'm going to do anything?" he asks innocently- oh no, you think before mingyu flops on top of you. "mingyu! you're heavy!" you yell. he hums, simply laying on your chest as you squirm under him, giggling when you give up and mumble something along the lines of you'll never let him kiss you again (which is a total lie). "you wouldn't," he dramatically pouts, "i did all of wonwoo hyung's laundry so he'd let me come here."

"he didn't let you?" you question. "he says he hates it when i come back late, something about how the front door bothers him in his sleep." he mumbles, closing his eyes. you sigh as you watch sleep take over him. "can you at least move off of me? i wasn't joking when i said you're heavy" mingyu complies, rolling off of you before caging you back in his arms. you savor the moment, listening to mingyu's quiet breathing while he's wrapped around you. you honestly don't know how you managed to pull this guy.

"you know i love you, right?" mingyu's voice breaks through your thoughts. you hum, "mhm, i love you too, gyu" you can practically feel him smile before he kisses the top of your head softly and you let the warm feeling captivate you into sleep.

[idiopathicsmile]

you know what really grinds my gears?

okay, bear with me: so as you may know, harry houdini and arthur conan doyle were friends, at least for a while.

by the early 1920s, both arthur conan doyle and acd's wife jean, aka lady doyle, believed whole-heartedly in spiritualism, talking to ghosts and all of that. (sidenote: this was of course right on the heels of a devastating world war and a devastating pandemic, both of which had created a huge population of grieving people, so spiritualism was having a moment.)

lady doyle sincerely thought she had the ability to go into a trance state and pass along messages in writing from the dead. she offered to do this for houdini. houdini agreed.

lady doyle attempted to channel houdini's late mother. she basically drew a cross at the top of the paper and filled it with generic platitudes addressed to "harry." houdini's mom was jewish and didn't talk like that, so houdini knew the jig was up, even if lady doyle didn't. but not wanting to make the situation awkward, he kind of went along with it to their faces.

then acd decided to publish a glowing account of the seance, and since both he and houdini were super famous, it got a lot of attention, and letters started pouring in for houdini, asking if this was true. ultimately, houdini couldn't lie about it. so he essentially said, like, "yeah, i think lady doyle THINKS she can talk to ghosts but she absolutely can't." and it ruined his friendship with acd forever.

and then of course a lot of the people running seances weren't even well-intentioned like lady doyle, they were just simple charlatans taking advantage of traumatized people mourning loved ones. in houdini's youth, he and his wife had traveled the carnival circuit where he did an act pretending to commune with spirits, so he knew all the tricks of the trade AND he had lingering guilt over having done this, AND he was infuriated by this increasingly popular wave of con artists so he decided to assemble a team of anti-grifting grifters and together they went on the road exposing whichever spiritualists were preying on the locals.

houdini's best agent was a young woman named rose mackenberg, who donned disguises to visit the fraud de jour and then importantly sussed out what non-supernatural thing was actually happening, and then houdini would demonstrate the techniques onstage to packed audiences.

(if you want to know more, check out episode 175, "ghost racket crusade" of the podcast Criminal or read Tony Wolf's book The Real-Life Ghostbusting Adventures of Rose Mackenberg.)

but yeah, what really gets my goat is that all this happened and as far as i know, we still don't have like four seasons of a Leverage-style historical procedural about rose mackenberg and the rest of the crew having adventures in the 1920s as they unmask craven hucksters all over the united states. (what we do have, apparently, is one season of a show called "houdini and doyle" which is about the oddball friendship of two contrasting men solving sometimes-actually-supernatural mysteries, and whose premise does i think at the very least a real disservice to houdini's whole quest and also totally erases rose, who is arguably the most interesting part of this story to me.)

i am just steamed about this. steamed.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

heyyy I was wondering if you could do pornstar! Logan x pornstar! reader, where they're doing a scene together and Logan's being a little more gentle with her and cooing at her and calling her sweet things because she's so blissed out by him fucking her so good. (the reader hasn't been fucked that good in a while) and it ends with them going out or becoming fwb idk.

this is prob the most explicit I've requested so I totally understand if you don't wanna do it, also feel free to take your time thxx

Omg I LOVED this idea!!! I was so inspired ughhh I want this man so baaaad

You have the perfect performance. Perfectly practiced moans, perfectly practiced expressions. You've got it all down, from the curl of your toes to the elegant arch of your back and the tilt of your head against the pillows.

You expect this new shoot to go the same. The usual age-gap thing, you innocent-looking vixen all-too-willing to let an older man fuck you.

You've never filmed with Logan before, but you've seen him around. And you've seen some of his videos.

At least he's hot and well endowed, you think as the sex scene comes up. The makeup artist fixes your makeup some and then you're sent to lie on the bed.

You can feel Logan's eyes on you as you position yourself on the bed. You glance over at him and he gives you a small grin, as if he knows something you don't.

At first, you're expecting the usual. Men that just fuck you like you're a toy and not caring for your pleasure.

But the moment Logan's hands are on you, you can tell it's going to be different.

His fingers trace your body like he's exploring precious, untouched terrain. Like he sees you.

The way he touches you and the way he looks at you like you're some precious thing has you plenty worked up.

His hand moves between your thighs, his breathing heavy. His fingers spread your folds and he groans, leaning down to lick at your entrance.

You shudder, a small gasp leaving you. You're shocked, amazed, exhilarated. Something about this is different—something about him is different.

You actually enjoy yourself. You don't have to fake anything. Every moan that leaves your lips is coerced by him and his talented tongue and fingers.

By the time the scene moves on to the actual sex, you're soaked and ready for him. And more than that, you're eager.

Logan holds your gaze as he slips his hard cock into you slowly. You gasp, he grunts.

“Fuck. So tight,” he says lowly as he starts thrusting.

He gives slow, long, deep strokes that almost feel like torture. He lets you feel every fucking inch of him with each thrust.

It feels so good that you almost forget about the cameras and the microphones and the crew that's recording and watching.

It feels so good that you allow yourself to get lost in the moment and you just feel it all.

You're moaning, hands grabbing onto his shoulders with a fierce grip as you try your best to remember the script. But no, you're too out of it. So Logan takes over.

“Yeah, baby, I know.” He chuckles as he grabs your leg and wraps it around his waist so he can fuck you deeper. “I know you like my cock in you, you ain't gotta say it.”

You whine, nails digging into his skin. “Fuck!” you squeal, words barely understandable through the mewls of ecstasy you let out.

“Such a good girl, hm? So obedient f’r me.”

You gasp, body trembling.

He smirks. “Can you say my name f’r me, darling? Hm?”

You mumble incoherently, remembering your lines from somewhere deep in your mind. You just can't say them. Literally. He's fucking you dumb.

“C'mon, baby, you can do better than that,” Logan taunts, kissing your neck. “Do better.”

You whimper, gasping, struggling to say the simple word you know he's wanting to hear.

He grabs your leg and moves it from around his waist to rest on his shoulder. He stops fucking you and lets you catch your breath. “Say it, bub.”

You meet his gaze through half-lidded eyes and say, “Daddy.” You're surprised at how hoarse your voice is. How long has he been fucking you for? It feels like it'll never be enough.

“Atta girl.” He grins, his cock twitching in you when he takes in the expression on your face. He starts fucking you again, harder and deeper this time, with more intention.

You're gasping, moaning, blubbering. And Logan fucks you harder.

You can feel that tight coil in your womb as the pleasure grows and spreads and threatens to take you over.

One of Logan's enormous hands comes down on top of your womb and he presses down. “I'm right in here. Can you feel me? Can you feel my cock so deep in this pretty cunt of yours?”

And that's it. That's all it takes for you to come on his cock. Your mind goes blank and you see stars.

Fuck the elegant arch of your back and the carefully practiced curl of your toes. Fuck the expressions you're supposed to make. You lose it. Your orgasm is messy and needy and intense and raw, and you love it.

By the time you come back to, Logan's already pulled out and come on your thighs, as per the script. He's already put on his robe and is drinking some water.

You sit up, body sore and exhausted, and the assistants are quick to help you into your robe and hand you some water.

You're still trying to get your bearings when Logan walks over to you. He smiles down at you as you sit on the edge of the bed and he holds out a piece of paper.

You take it. It has his number on it.

“’f you ever want a proper fuck again, bub, just call me up.”

---

Blog masterlist

[bbokicidal]

A Simple Analysis. | OT8 [SKZ]

Warnings: I'm gonna be straight discussing these men and their pp sizes so if you don't want to read about that then just skip this post, no biggie.

Notes: I'm just theorizing what I think they're like 'n I included some good 'ol references. Please note - these references include pictures/videos of the boys AS WELL AS pictures that are NOT the boys but are references to what I picture in my head when I write smut for them. I also need to thank @skzms because I Lowkey could not find bulge pics/vids on my own and their post really helped me out w that.

Extra Warning: There are twitter links in this post, so you know what that means!! Watch at your own discretion losers, I don't want ppl in my inbox whining that I use refs that 'don't look like them' like obv jfc let me hop on bub quick to ask Chris for a dick pic smh.

Extra extra warning: I like slowly lost the ability to think the more I wrote this because all I was doing was looking at SKZ cock so I mean. forgive me.

Chris

HEA. VY.

Heavy Heavy Heavy !!!! I said what I said !!! And if you want to know why, you can simply look at this video!! If I'm being totally honest here, I don't think he's massive down below but I do think he's a little above average at least. Maybe -- mm... six and a half inches? Pretty sure it's pretty, pink, and always leaking pre because he gets hard so easily.

Also, pretty sure it's relatively thick. I mean, we've seen it a few times before in his pants/shorts, so... definitely enough to make you whimper when he's splitting you open. <3

I'm not even gonna like. explain why I think this bc I'm pretty sure we all know but it's veiny as fuck and you cannot argue w that.

And his favorite thing is when you mention during sex how full you feel just bc of how heavy he is. :]

In conclusion: Pretty pink fat cock that is more than enough to make you feel incredible each time you fuck. <3333

Minho

This man is... packing. p a c k i n g.

Packing like I'm pretty sure it's not like thick thick but it's thick enough and it's probably more on the purple side than the pink side, and it's so fucking long--

Not as heavy as Chan but definitely bigger. Bigger, longer, one pretty blue vein running up the side. Literally so perfect and just the right size for your hands to fit around. Also not too long to the point where it hurts to take it but definitely... big. Seven, at least. At. Least.

And his favorite thing is when you whine about how he's fucking you so good that you might die. Dunno why that comment specifically gets to him, but he makes sure to fuck you a little deeper after that.

In conclusion: pretty cock for a pretty man and so fucking yummy.

Changbin

Okay look people might disagree but I think Binnie's a lil on the smaller side !!

Now look. I'm not saying 'bah this bitch has a small cock' I'm just saying it's not a cervix-kisser like a few of the men on this list. It's just right!! It's the perfect size to be perfectly comfortable when fucking and he knows that 'n he's happy with it. (I'm thinking five, bc five is a comfy size.)

However.

He will ABSOLUTELY split you wide fucking open with how thick he is. This man has the chubbiest, pink, mouth-watering, pussy-dripping, eyes-rolling-back, tears running down your thighs, cock ever !!! He's gotta prep you for so fucking long and there is always soooo much foreplay to you two having sex because he's just so thick that if you don't prep lots it's gonna hurt a lil and Bin really really just wants to take care of you. :(((

And his favorite thing is seeing the way you struggle to take him in your mouth because of how thick he is. :]]]]]

In conclusion: best cock on this list. <3

Hyunjin

Hoh. My God.

Hyunjin,,,, ... Hyunjin's packing a fucking rod of a cock, I can't even lie to you. I'm like 90% sure it's at least eight inches and if it isn't then I'm dead. Y'all thought Minho was big? LAWD have mercy, Hyunjin's got a fucking PIPE on him. A third leg, if you will. Shit slaps his thigh when he walks if he don't wear briefs.

SO. PRETTY. I keep saying all their cocks are pretty BC THEY ARE I JUST KNOW IT but Hyunjin's cock is actually fucking gorgeous like it's the type where even if you're someone who's like "I don't like dick pics" and he sends you one?? you're like "omg y'know what I've had an epiphany"

Not like heavy or thick like the others but soooo long, soooo pretty, soooo mouth watering. The type of cock that has you actually drooling and getting fucked dumb every time he puts it in you.

And his favorite thing is when you do just that ^ and go all quiet n whimpery during sex because your brain is mushy.

In conclusion: Monster cock and no one can convince me otherwise !!

Jisung

Mm, okay. I think it's -- average?? But see I dunno why but I'm picturing a little on the thinner side. (AND NO THAT ISN'T MY SUB JI SUPREMACY MINDSET SPEAKING) but just bc it's a little thinner doesn't mean it's not heavy !!!

And even though it only might be like - five and a half, it's still so cute and so pretty and so fucking tasty!!!

Also like a firm believer that he jerks it at least twice a day, sorry not sorry.

And his favorite thing is when you blow him because you just take it so well and he loves seeing it all disappear down your throat <33 mm mm mmmm !!

In conclusion: Mmmm,,, cutest cock on the list <3

Felix

Y'all keep saying Felix has a little cock just bc you enjoy Twink Felix and look - I too enjoy Twink Felix but I also believe in frat boy Felix supremacy SO -

Big dick Felix in the building !!!

Pretty sure he's above average. Like, 6 or 6 and a half, maybe?? SO pretty, cut, pink, so so cute, so fucking yummy looking.

Easily like, the slickest cock on the list. And if you know what I mean, you know what I mean. if you don't that too bad ig.

The type of cock you wanna like. put in your mouth forever and just never stop giving him head fr.

And his favorite thing is when you jerk him because sometimes he just doesn't have the energy or care but he wants it. Plus your hands look so much better on it than his do. :ccc <333

In conclusion: Pretty, big, hefty cock that fills you up soooo good. Also constantly leaking cum n making a mess but you didn't hear that from me !!!!

Seungmin

Y'all,,, I'm not just saying this because I'm a Seungmin bias but,,,

This man has a fucking. rod. Not like Hyunjin-length rod but rod that's like at least seven inches and I refuse to believe otherwise because have you seen the,,,,

Fucking!!Monster!!Of!!A!!Cock!!!!

Thick! So thick! So heavy! Rivals Chris w how heavy he is !!

And his favorite thing is when you choke on it because raaahhh!!! (im not okay)

In conclusion: 2Min Monster Cock Squad

Jeongin

Holy God y'all.

Think I mentioned it once in a post where I was like, "P sure Jeongin has a big dick because as soon as he hit 21 he had this massive boom in confidence n I'm p sure it's bc his dick grew like 6 inches"

Sooooo,,, pretty sure he's also in the monster cock squad.

Like, at least seven inches, again. So big, so tasty. The type of cock that makes you pray to God it won't rip you apart because I just know he fucks hard, bro.

And his favorite thing is when you actually scream during sex because of how good he makes you feel. <3

In conclusion: Jeongin big dick supremacy, we all know he's packing a fucking log of summer sausage in his boxers.

Taglist : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie