#i just can't get this thought out of my head

[tiramissyoucake]

Self indulgent post, Mark being down bad

You were thankful you decided to stay home today, the storm was unrelenting outside as rain pattered down against surfaces like bullets, thunder and lightening exploding amidst the wind and rain. As ominous as it was, taking safety measures and remaining inside comforted you, you followed procedure, anything else is out of your hands.

A warm mug next to you as your favorite blanket draped over your legs, your laptop dimly playing videos of varying types. Everything was fully charged, your phone next to you, quiet as a mouse. You weren't going to move for a while...

A knock on the front door quickly stopped your train of thought, all appreciation dissipating.

Holding back a groan, you got up from the couch, adjusting your clothes as you made a beeline for the door— peephole be damned, who's crazy enough to be out in this weather?

Swinging the door open, you look up to a messy head of sopping wet black hair. You almost didn't recognize Mark since his hair is always out of his face. His eyes were swollen, and his lips tugged into a cross between a frown and a pout. This is the first time you've seen him since your break-up about a month ago.

"... Mark?"

"... Hi." He sounded glad, like he didn't expect you to answer. "... c-can I come in? I just- I need to talk to you, like REALLY need to."

"No." Your answer may have been cold, but your relationship ended on bad terms. "Go home, it's thundering outside."

His heart plummeted to his stomach seeing you close the door, his hand quickly reaching out as well as his foot to keep it open. "Wait— please. (Name), hear me out. Just hear me out and I'll go, I swear." His voice almost cracked as he begged you.

"Mark, it's over. I gave you back all your stuff and deleted your number, just move on—"

"I can't." He whimpered, "please, don't make me do this— I can't find anyone else like you." He sighed, unsure if it was shaky from the cold or the sob bubbling in his throat. "Don't leave me, please- just hear me out."

You grimaced, the door opening further by his hand. "(Name), you don't have to respond now, but please just... don't do this." Mark approached you, clothes soaked through his coat and hands hesitant to touch you. "I-I can't stop thinking about you, please baby—"

You looked away, wincing at the nickname. "I told you not to call me that."

"I'll call you whatever you want— fuck, (name), please—" you heard a thud, glancing back to him you found him on his knees, his arms caging around your legs. "Don't leave me, please- need you so bad.." he sniffled, a choked sob escaping him.

His rambling continued as he rubbed his cheek against your body. You're now mortified as your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself. "Mark. Get up. My neighbours will see—"

"Let them, I don't care." He huffed, the tears and sobbing returning tenfold. "Just take me back— I-I'll be good, I promise." Mark looked up at you with glossy eyes, the pink undertones of his skin now more evident from both the cold and the crying. "Please baby, lemme be your good boy again..! I'll be the best, I promise. I love you so much..!"

Your other hand landed on his head by mistake, he almost moaned at the feeling of you touching him in a way that slightly resembled affection, leaning up to your hand. "I know deep down you still love me too.." he huffed, that sentence was such a gamble.

"Let me in, let me show you how much I love you." He kissed your body wherever he could reach, causing you to yelp. "Mark!! What the hell?! I'm serious! Stop it!"

With renewed vigour, he looked up at you. "I'll stop when you let me in... please, baby.. it's so cold outside..."

[madamechrissy]

CEO Nanami

pairings- CEO Nanami x F! assistant reader

MDNI- explicit- lots of longing, masturbation hehe (m and f) some fingering, and teasingg- just more Nanami drabbles bc I love him

CEO Nanami constantly thinks about you, his pretty assistant, so bratty and just well... perfect. Driving him insane in your tight little business skirts, making him have to clear his throat and look away, blushing, trying to will his thick cock to go down.

CEO Nanami keeps it professional of course, he respects how hard you work, even if he's constantly just thinking about you on his desk, your legs spread. Even if he keeps picturing his cock pumping in and out of what he's sure is a perfect little pussy, between sexy thighs clad in black stockings destined to drive him to distraction.

CEO Nanami can't help himself from staring when you're showing him a presentation you've put together for him, smiling so pretty and smelling so sweet. He leans back in that big leather office chair, huge hands clenching and unclenching at the thought of bending you over it right now, when you look at him nervously 'Is the presentation alright Mr. Nanami?'

CEO Nanami clears his throat, smiling at you, only enhancing his cheekbones impossibly more. Making your pulse race, the sandy blond haired man sitting with his long legs spread wide does insane things to your mind, you shouldn't think this way about your boss! You will those thoughts to calm down, thinking the most wicked things about that cheetah tie, how good it would feel on your wrists. 'The presentation is wonderful' he murmurs then, so sweet as always.

CEO Nanami sees an eye full of your breasts when you bend over, blouse unbuttoned just a bit, his cock hurting, he knows he'll stroke it to you later, he always does, but it takes so much not to rub his palm over his length then and there. You smile sweetly from his praise, your own mind running as you peer at him, his green glasses firmly on the straight bridge of his nose.

CEO Nanami locks his office with a click when you leave, stroking his thick, veiny length with a muffled groan, already leaking precum from you just too close to him. He hates that he feels this way its simply unprofessional! But how can he not when you're so, so fucking pretty!? He's stroking faster, picturing being deep inside your cunt as he then hears a knock on his door, a rap rap rap.

CEO Nanami answers only after tucking his cock up into his belt, yes its that big its his only option, looking to see you now, hands itching to grab you. 'So sorry Mr. Nanami, I forgot my favorite pen!' You grab it quickly, bending over just enough to almost make him cum, before smiling again so sweetly and rushing out. Nanami rest his head on the door, sighing, just how is he supposed to not fuck his pretty assistant?

CEO Nanami doesn't realize you look at him that way because you want him, because you need him. He doesn't realize being near him alone gets you so wet you're touching your own pussy, hidden by your big desk at work, as you catch a glimpse of him from his office, resting his handsome face on his knuckles, as you circle your clit so wanton. He lowers those glasses, hazel eyes boring into yours, as you casually smile, wishing this man would make a move. But no, Nanami is a gentleman.

CEO Nanami really is not such a gentleman in his head, when there is the company dinner, and he's sipping on a whiskey neat and watching you dance with a coworker, he aches to yank you by your hair, to fuck you so good you have no chance to pay attention to these boys. Boys is what they are, as you giggle and look at him over your glass of champagne, wishing he'd ask you to dance. When Nanami does finally come up, pulling on that cheetah tie, the next words shock you.

CEO Nanami leans down, lips against your ear, murmuring - 'will you ever be a good girl?' which leads to him pressing you against a wall in one of the halls of the grand room moments later, slipping two thick digits in your slutty little cunt, his other hand pressing on your lower tummy over the sleek little dress that's covering nothing, as you cry out against your own palm. 'Couldn't wear any panties, hmm? trying to ruin me?' he demands desperately, only for you to look back, eyes dilated, your lips parted, hearing the squelching wetness of your cunt as you whisper - 'yes'

hehe- I love writing Nanami as a boss MY GOODNESS

perm tagsss- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji  @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @cutelittlesugarfairy

[submattenthusiast]

baby sub!matt

a toothy smile crept on to matt's lips at your current state, head thrown back, nails twisted into the sheets, eyes rolled back into your skull. combined praises left your lips as your legs clamped around him, holding onto him for dear life. his hips stuttered and his cock twitched, giving you a few sloppy thrusts, your body distracting him. the way you were reacting to him made him so happy, he felt so good about the fact that he could make you feel good.

“god matt don't stop you're making me feel so good” you praise, nails scratching at his lower back. a pink blush crawls up his neck as he tries to return focus, do what you said, — keep going. his fingers dig into your waist, holding your flesh for stability and closeness. a moan disrupts the sly smile he plastered on, lips molding a o shape from the way your pussy swallowed him. “not gonna stop—go-gonna fill you up” he pants, thrusts getting more eager. the stutter was unavoidable, he never outrightly said that he had a breeding kink and he didn't think he did until he felt you raw for the first time, and everytime after he fought the urge to let those words slip, biting his tongue and pulling out instead.

a tingle made its way throughout your body, back arching at his vulgar words. your hands creep up his back and onto his neck, angling his head toward you. "dirty boy" you purr, building up a teasing tone. “you wanna fill me up to the brim then to breed me?” his eyes light up at the repetition of the statement, filthy thoughts filling his head. “yes please—wanna so bad. want to make you a real mama not just mine” he whines, rutting his hips against you. the use of mama had you clenching around him hard, veins mashing with your walls.

changing the angle, you plant your feet down on the bed, bending your legs for more access, more closeness. you craved the deepness, the feeling of him being buried inside. he held onto your thigh as he thrust again, hips smacking your ass and tip kissing your cervix. your back demonstrated an example of a perfect arch as he hit that sweet spot, delicious moans following shortly after. his elbow wobbled as he came closer to the edge, balance faltering with each thrust.

his pace began to slow and his strokes became less calculated, he was getting tired. but you were almost there, you could feel the orgasm building in your stomach. grabbing his attention again, your fingers hold his face tight, “cmon matt focus, you want to make me cum don't you? because if i don't cum you can't,” you remind, scratching his stubble. horror paints his flushed features as his head shakes and his mouth falls open as if you threatened to stab him. “no no no please” he rushes, giving you a sad look. “need you to cum so i can. want us to feel good”

his weakness forces a position change, chests colliding and skin sticking. hot breath fanning against your neck from the proximity. though tired he never gave up hips pathetically meeting yours as he slides in and out. “gonna look s'pretty as a mama, having my babies” he mumbles between kisses, plump lips caressing your skin. you moan at his lust filled words, everyone going straight to your core.

the feeling in your stomach got stronger and your nipples hardened, his sloppy thrusts bringing you closer each time. “fuck you're doing so good baby m'getting close” you groan, hands scattering all over his body. his hips rock into yours with a grunt, bed crying out for help with the constant shaking. “cl-close mama, please be close with me. please c-cum—shit—with me” his cock fluttered and his hips bucked, the coil in his lower stomach threatening to snap.

his breathy moans filled your ear as he finished both of you off, making his last movements worthwhile. “make me cum matthew i know you can” you moan, pushing him further and with a few more quick strokes and loud moans, you both came. your mouth releasing high pitched moans and his cock jerking and hot cum spurting in rounds inside you. a late warning came from him, lips rushing to form a sentence “cumming—gon'fill y-oh god”

the energy between you both was close to nonexistent, matt was too lazy to pull out and you were barely moving as you caught your breath. you chuckle down at him as you feel him cuddling closer to you, body smushing yours. “filled me up good didn't you? such a good boy” you smile, tangling your fingers into his knotty hair.

not proofread and yes i have a breeding kink

[embervoices]

I think there may have been two or more plots to begin with, actually, and we finally caught where they diverge!

Okay, backing up.

I don't have anything like your whole picture in my own head, even from what you've said in the tags, and it sounds like you're asking a question that requires more personal context than I can address from here - assuming I'd have a useful answer if I knew more, which... like... Quite possibly not? I'm not a mental health professional, I'm just some guy on Tumblr who happens to have experience living with anxiety.

I do want to clarify that I was never intending my answers to be personal to you. You added a totally reasonable question with general applicability to an open thread, and I gave an answer that applied to the question I thought you were asking for the sake of the broader audience. Making decisions about complex situations is challenging for a lot of people, especially if we have anxiety about it. There are some generally useful things to keep in mind about it.

Granted that they are things you already well know! Gods know DBT has piles of mnemonic acronyms to choose from! But that doesn't mean everybody else knows them, so I still point them out.

But I think it's also, in this case, that I was assuming a longer context for the thread than you were. It sounds like you were talking about in-the-moment situations to get out of physically, and I was talking about long-term situations to get out of socially/physically/etc.

Seeking advice is usually more for getting a reality check on repeating or long-term situations one is in - jobs, relationships, social contexts, etc. Therapists can be great for helping us learn to apply internal tools to those and other situations, but they're not going to help nearly so much for in-the-moment decisions unless you're allowed to have them on speed dial or something.

There's a very big difference between

"Should I quit my job? If so, immediately, or should I try to stick with it long enough to line up another job first?"

and

"I'm starting to feel weird. Should I leave the grocery store right now?"

In your specific case, I'm not sure I can help much. I will say, I'm not familiar with any model that ever places feelings and emotions outside? So, I'm guessing you mean outside stimulus? As in, are you reacting to something internal, or is something in the environment prompting the reaction?

Yeah, if that's hard for you to gauge, that's going to make figuring out whether you should depart a specific physical environment way harder, and you're not necessarily in a position to get an external reality check about it when it matters, because it's a problem in real-time. Fair point, and that's a really rough place to be.

Personally, I always aim for calming down first when I start to feel funky, before any other decision making. If I can't calm down enough to make a clear decision, then it's time to get out regardless of why I'm getting upset - whether it's a sensory problem that I don't have the spoons to handle that day, or I'm just having a really off day, or whatever. Many different things can make my thresholds lower for a day, such that sensory input I can tolerate today may be overwhelming tomorrow.

But - and I know this is important - I can almost always afford to just go home when I'm overwhelmed. I get that the same is not true for everyone else, and thus the risks may need to be higher before they make that decision.

I do wish you well, and I wish I had more foolproof answers - or at least more contextually relevant ones!

i wish there was an easier way to tell the difference between an "if it sucks hit da bricks" situation and a "sometimes being an adult means doing things that you dont wanna" situation

[dont-touch-the-phlebotinum]

Blood pounds in Buck's ears along with the sound of his frenzied footfalls echoing around the stairwell, but it's not nearly loud enough to drown out his spiralling thoughts, the thrum of helicopter blades picking up speed, of explosions and gunshots and every single thing that could possibly go wrong before this day from hell is over. He's pretty sure the only reason he's not having a full-blown panic attack right now is because he doesn't have either the time or the oxygen to spare.

Please, God, don't let him be too late.

He bursts out onto the rooftop with enough force that the door bounces back against the wall and slams behind him, and Buck can't tell if the spotting in his vision is from the sudden blinding sunlight or because he's forgotten to breathe in what feels like hours. But it doesn't matter. The helicopter is still there on the helipad, blades motionless, and there's a familiar silhouette walking towards it.

"Tommy!" Buck scrambles closer, before he can reach the helicopter and escape, again, before Buck has chance to explain, to fix things. He's too far away. Even at Buck's breakneck speed he won't reach Tommy before he reaches the helipad. "Tommy!"

The figure stills, and turns.

Buck stumbles to a halt in front of him.

In the golden light of the setting sun Tommy looks gorgeous — and wary, and torn, and Buck's every impulse is screaming at him to take Tommy's face in his hands and kiss all that pain away. But he bites it back. He's let his impulsiveness take over too many times when it comes to Tommy; it's time to be deliberate. If he doesn't get the words out now…

Tommy's head turns towards the helicopter waiting for him, the responsibilities, the reminder that the world is bigger than the two of them as much as Buck wishes right now it could be otherwise. He looks back to Buck, pleading. "Evan—"

"I know," says Buck. Each breath feels like a knife between his ribs, but he forces himself to take one, to shape what he's needed to say to Tommy for far too long. "Just — please, just give me a second to say this before you go."

The corner of Tommy's mouth twitches into a wry smile. It doesn't reach his eyes. "That's not a ringing endorsement of my chances," he quips, but if Buck lets himself think about Tommy's chances right now whatever force has been powering him through past the fear clawing up his throat and threatening to suffocate might finally up and leave him, so he shakes his head, shakes the words away somewhere they can't be heard, can't be made real.

"It hurt, what you said that morning," he says. "But that doesn't make it okay for me to hurt you back, and I'm so sorry I did."

Tommy nods, squares his shoulders like that's all Buck had to say before letting Tommy go. But it's not, not even close to all the words scrambling to make themselves heard, and Buck catches Tommy's wrist before he can turn away from him again.

"I just — did you really think I could've spent our entire relationship thinking about anybody but you?" The thought has churned through his mind enough times these last few weeks that the anger that comes along with it is less biting — less likely to make him say something he'll regret, hopefully — but it still flickers in his chest. He's been so goddamn gone for Tommy since the moment they met, how the hell could Tommy never see it?

The smile on Tommy's face is so sad, so defeated, that Buck wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him. "I know how this plays out, Evan," he says.

"But you don't!"

He forces himself to stop, let his emotions settle. It's not easy to think clearly around Tommy, never has been, between the lust and affection and hurt and now a healthy measure of bone-chilling terror that Buck might lose him completely, but he owes it to Tommy to try. Maybe he owes it to himself, too.

"When I said I didn't have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with, I didn't mean that I don't have feelings for you. I do. Tommy, I feel so much for you I don't know how I haven't burst from it all."

He watches Tommy's face for some sign of him shutting down again, that Buck isn't getting through to him. His jaw is clenched, tension still radiating from him like it's taking everything in him not to give in and run, to fight that wounded animal side to him that Buck was too blind to see before. But his eyes, glittering wet in the dying sunlight, are still fixed on Buck, and he's listening.

Maybe it won't change anything. But at least Tommy will know what he really means to Buck. Will know he's important, and loved, and deserving of so much more than he lets himself have. And that'll be enough.

"What I was trying to say was that I know what I'm doing. I know who I want to be with and who I don't. You know," he says, "everyone else keeps telling me what I want, like I'm too dumb to know it myself."

"That's not what I—"

"Don't," Buck cuts in, before Tommy can say it. He's on a roll now, and he's going to say his piece even if he has to strap himself into the cockpit beside Tommy and fly into God only knows what dangers to do it. "Right now I need you to listen when I tell you what I want."

There's something of surrender in the shrug of Tommy's shoulders, but he's smiling, as if even this version of Buck, frantic and sweat-soaked and angry, is still hopelessly endearing to him. "Okay," he says.

"I want you, Tommy. Only you. I want to wake up next to you in the morning. I want to listen to you talk about basketball even though we both know I only go to your pickup games 'cause you look so hot when you play, and I want to ramble about whatever stupid thing I learned that day that nobody else cares about and see you watching me the way you do, like you really wanna hear what I have to say, and know you're gonna remember months from now when I've forgotten it myself.

"I want you to feel like you can be yourself with me, and let me see that scared, lonely part of you you try so hard to keep hidden, and I want you to believe me when I tell you I'm in love with you, because I am. I love you so much, Tommy."

The tears in Tommy's eyes spill over, and Buck's pretty sure he's crying too at this point but he doesn't stop to scrub his cheeks, doesn't want to stop for all the world. The wind whips around them, sounds of traffic drifting up from the streets so far below, and there's people waiting for them, people who need them, but right now the only thing that matters is Tommy stood in front of him.

"And when you're ready, I want us to build a life together."

Tommy swallows. "I'd like that," he breathes.

The words are cracked and quiet, but he and Buck have gravitated so close towards each other by now they're stood practically chest to chest and the sound tucks itself between their bodies, there for Buck and Buck alone. He nods, and lets out a shaking breath.

"I'm gonna screw up," he says, giving Tommy one last chance to walk away before Buck gets his hopes up, as if it isn't already going to kill him if Tommy takes it. "I'm gonna say the absolute worst thing at the worst time and I'm gonna hurt you without even realising, but I swear to God, I will do everything I can to fix things if you'd just stick around and give me a chance. Do you trust me?"

"With my life."

"How about with your heart?"

Tommy leans in, touches his forehead to Buck's. "You already have it," he says. They breathe deep, not kissing, barely even touching — just there, together, reaching for whatever comfort they can find in each other. "It feels like I've been terrified my whole life. I'm not sure I know how not to be. But I want to try, with you."

"I can work with that."

And finally, finally, they're kissing. Not the desperate, all-consuming kisses they'd shared last time, but something tender and honest in a way maybe neither of them have really been with each other before now. They stay close even after their mouths drift apart.

"I love you, too," Tommy says. "And I'm sorry as well. I was an idiot. You know," he adds, in that bone dry tone Buck has spent months thinking he'd never get to hear again, and Buck smiles at the sound of it, "I'm kind of a mess, Evan."

The laugh that bubbles up from Buck's chest feels like a tide washing over him. "I had noticed that, actually."

"Wait, you did?"

"A little bit, yeah."

"Damn."

"I don't mind getting messy," says Buck, serious again. "And, in case you hadn't noticed, there's plenty of issues over here too."

Tommy smiles back at him. "Maybe we can work on them together."

"Deal."

And like a spell's been broken, Tommy's radio crackles to life, thrusting them back into the world, into the uncertainty of what's to come, into the gnawing terror that regardless of how their conversation had gone there's still a chance this is the last time Buck ever sees the man he loves.

"Kinard, what's your status?" comes a voice over the radio.

"Go save the day," Buck says, a gentle nudge to Tommy's chest to get him moving before Buck can give in to the urge to pull him closer and refuse to let go. "Just promise me you'll come back."

"I'll try my damnedest. I've got a hell of a good reason to now." He presses another kiss to Buck's lips, and Buck tries not to think of it as goodbye. "They'll need you on the ground."

"As soon as you're airborne I'm gone."

Tommy nods. "Be safe."

"You too."

One last embrace — no, Buck tells himself, not the last, because there's a future waiting for them and they're both going to fight like hell to get to it — and Tommy's jogging towards the helipad. The sun's dipped beneath the horizon now, the clouds swept away for Tommy to take to the air, giving Buck a clear view to track his progress from the ground.

"Hey," he calls after Tommy. "What are you doing Saturday?"

Tommy turns back to him with a grin. "How about you let me know when I land?"

[luffydotcom]

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader (they aren’t together yet) but Luffy has a big crush on the reader without realizing and he’s always super touchy with her without thinking anything of it, like always holding her or picking her up when they’re on adventures and protecting her too all without realizing until the crew makes a comment about it to him, I think it would be super adorable. thank you!

this is such a cute idea oh my GOD. it feels so accurate for luffy too, i just love him so much. thank you for the request as well! it's actually my first ever one! i hope it suffices.

so it's love, then?

pairing: luffy x female! reader warnings: none! word count: 915

ever since you joined the crew, luffy had always thought there was something different about you - something special about you. he was just so drawn towards you, more than anybody else. and he couldn't put his finger on why.

of course, he loved all his friends with his whole heart, but for some reason he didn't understand, when he was around you, he would get a different feeling inside, almost ticklish, making his heart feel funny.

why do i feel like this? i guess it's pretty nice though!

he didn't know what it was, but he sure as heck loved it.

he just can't keep his eyes off of you, but more than that, he can't keep himself off of you. he's always scooping you up to which you laugh in surprise, diving in to hug you close after a successful battle, and practically hanging off your arms when you're busy with a task. even in fights, he can't help but protect you more than needed.

and the worst part is, he never thinks anything of it. little does he know how much his actions make you feel. how you have to hide your excitement when he pulls you in for a hug, or your contentment when he carries you around playfully. he's practically killing you and he doesn't even know it.

and it's like everyone can see it but him.

one afternoon on the sunny, luffy is kicking back on the grass, his head resting on his hands and his eyes closed, about to take a nap. until suddenly, he hears your voice as you're leaving the galley - and and it's like he was never tired at all. he can't help but grin cheekily and stretch his arms to scoop you up above him in the air.

"hey! LUFFY!" you yell in surprise. "w-what're you doing?"

"i don't know," he starts laughing. "i just feel like i want you near me!"

before you can object, he gently puts you down next to him on the grass, your faces close. you're afraid to even breathe wrong as luffy refuses to look away from you, still smiling as if it's nothing. he feels that funny feeling in his chest again and he doesn't want it to end.

he's about to say something, until you both hear footsteps nearing. you both turn over and to see the entire crew standing with bewildered looks on their faces.

"i hope we're not interrupting anything," usopp teases. your face feels hot at his comment. you look over to luffy but he just looks lost.

"interrupting? interrupting what?" he raises an eyebrow. "and why are you all just standing there?"

"well, luffy, we've been needing to ask," nami starts as she looks down at you both. "i mean, i know it's not our business but... haven't you been a bit... touchy with y/n lately?"

you freeze. you can't believe that everyone is collectively agreeing as they nod at what nami's said. you try to say something but suddenly you've forgotten every single word in your vocabulary. instead, luffy speaks.

"touchy? when have i been doing that?" luffy tilts his head, genuinely confused at the observation.

"RIGHT NOW!" everyone practically says in unison as they look at his arm which is suddenly around you. your eyes widen - even you didn't even realise it was there.

luffy bursts out laughing, before eventually composing himself again. "i guess i am kinda touchy, aren't i? but i don't get it. why's that bad?"

nami shakes her head. "it's nothing bad, of course. it's just... well, with how affectionate you are with y/n... always hugging her, play-fighting with her, picking her up-"

"it's like you're in love with her or something!" brook bursts out, unable to help himself as everybody laughs.

your eyes feel like they're about to jump out of their sockets. "w-what? don't be silly... luffy's just being luffy. right, luffy...?" you stutter out, looking at him desperately to say something. but the captain who would normally laugh along at brook's outburst and is usually full of words is awfully quiet... and in thought.

"love?" luffy whispers to nobody at all as he gives it thought. every time he's wrapped his rubber arms around you tightly with affection, every time he's protected you in heated battles, every time he's fought the urge to kiss you - they all flash through his mind. with every time, he always craved you more. would that explain the funny feeling in his heart he gets when he's near you?

"now that you say it, i guess i am in love with you!" luffy laughs loudly before noticing everyone's jaws, including yours, all dropping to the floor. "what? what's wrong?"

you feel like you might faint. the weight of his words that he's just admitted so casually feel like a boulder just dropped on top of you. "you... love me? you're serious?"

"well, i know for a fact that luffy's practically incapable of lying," sanji adds, lowering his cigarette with a smile. "so you have no choice but to believe him, dear."

not giving you another second, luffy is already on his feet. "man, i love you so much! it makes so much sense now." he hauls you over his shoulders playfully to everyone's amusement, leaving your legs dangling over him and it's too late to object. yet you can't help but laugh and neither does the crew.

"that explains why i just can't let go of you!"

[vinnyvamppp]

I NEED A FIC OF THE NO GOGGLES MARK VARIANT!!!

specifically make him THAT KINDA FREAK we already know he loves to toy with others (from his battle with the Guards of the Globe) and is crazy asf with a sense of dark humor. My fic idea is where he’s with his gf and this is their first time having sex tg and she doesn’t know about his kinks or anything since she would just take his comments of him telling her to ‘try to choke him’ or basically to inflict pain on each other as a joke.

Slap Me Silly

Note: This is yummy, we like this, we NEED this. I've seen maybe two fics have elements of this, so lemme just—slide myself in. (the pic is a hint SOMEONE TIE HIM UP)

Warnings: Nipple play (most male receiving), Switch Lenless!Mark (YOU CAN'T TELL ME HE DOESN'T OCCASSIONALLY BOTTOM), Dom!Reader, Riding, Tit Squeezing, Biting, Dark Humor, Choking, Degrading, "Good Boy", Slapping, Dirty Talk, Porn w a Plot, Smut, and ofc the over usage of 'Dude'.

No Goggles/Lensless!Mark x Dom!Fem Reader

Word Count: 2,303

The apartment is quiet, save for the occasional hum of traffic outside and the soft rustle of fabric as you shift on the couch. Mark is stretched out beside you, legs spread like he owns the place—because, in his mind, he does. His grin is lazy, all teeth, and his dark eyes flick toward you with that ever-present glint of mischief.

“You keep staring at me like that, babe,” he murmurs, tilting his head against the couch cushion, “and I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me.” You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “God forbid.” He chuckles, low and amused, and suddenly he’s closer—leaning in like he’s got a secret to tell. “Nah, I think you do,” he teases, his breath warm against your jaw. “Like, a lot.” You scoff, pushing at his chest. “You wish.” Mark lets himself fall back dramatically, spreading his arms out like he’s been struck. “Right in the heart. Dude! That was brutal.” Rolling your eyes, you reply. “You’ll live,” you deadpan.

“Oh, I always live.” He winks, and for a second, there’s something in his expression, something dark and knowing, a reminder of just how much weight those words actually carry. But then it’s gone, replaced by that ever-present smugness. His fingers drum against his thigh. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Ha. Ha.” He smirks. “No, but really—since we’re both so hopelessly in love or whatever—” You snort, but he ignores you. “—don’t you think it’s weird that we haven’t, y’know, done anything yet?” His eyebrows lift, feigning innocence. “Not that I’m complaining. I like a good slow burn. Gets me all antsy and horny.” Your stomach tightens. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Mark is—well, Mark. Infuriating, cocky, always pushing just to see how far he can go. But he’s also magnetic in a way that makes it impossible to look away. And when he wants something? He gets it.

Still, you manage to play it cool. “I figured you’d explode if you went more than a week without getting laid.” Mark grins, tilting his head. “I do like explosions.”

You shake your head, but before you can throw another sarcastic remark his way, he moves. Fast. Not using his full speed—he’s learned his lesson about freaking you out like that—but enough to make your breath hitch as he’s suddenly towering over you, hands braced on either side of your hips. “Wanna hear something funny?” he asks, voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken.

You swallow. “That depends.” His fingers trail up your arm, barely touching, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You remember all those times I told you to try and choke or slap me?” You let out a brief chuckle. “You mean when you were being weird?” Mark hums, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “See, that’s the thing—you think I was joking.”

Your breath catches. His eyes are half-lidded now, watching you with something between amusement and hunger. “…You weren’t?” Mark smirks. “Dude. You have no idea.” He leans in, brushing his nose against yours. You stare at him for a second, searching his face for any sign that he’s messing with you. Nothing. Just that same cocky, lopsided smirk, like he knows something you don’t. His grin progressively widens as you open your mouth to speak, “You have to be kidding.” Mark tilts his head, feigning offense. “Why would I joke about something so serious? Dude, I’m hurt.” Here he goes again with the dramatics. “Oh, I’ll hurt you, alright.” The words leave your mouth before you can grasp them, but Mark’s eyes light up like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket.

His lips part slightly, tongue flicking out to wet them. “Please do.” You let out a laugh—sharp, disbelieving. This idiot. He’s always like this. Pushing buttons just to see what happens. You stared, more interested than before, your head shaking. “You’re insane.” Mark doesn’t miss a beat. “And you love it.”

You roll your eyes and, without thinking, lift your hand and smack him across the face. A sharp pop echoed as your palm struck his cheek, snapping his head to the side. Not hard, just enough to wipe that smug look off him. Or, well. That was the intention. Because instead of looking shocked or offended, Mark just stares at you. Slow blinks. Chest rising and falling a little too deliberately. “…Holy shit.” He gasps, making you hesitate.

He lets out a breathy laugh, touching his cheek where you slapped him. Then, with a grin that is way too excited for comfort, he looks back at you. “Dude.” His dark eyes go heavy-lidded, lips parting slightly as he exhales slowly, shaky, and wrecked like you just did something unspeakably good to him, and he’s already desperate for more. You blink. “What?”

“Do that again.”

You pull back slightly in hesitation, wondering how you even scored this crazy fuck. Taking notice, Mark clicks his tongue, shaking his head like you just deeply disappointed him. “C’mon, Dude. Don’t be like that.” He leans in again, voice dipping lower. “I liked it.” Your stomach flips. You open your mouth two seconds away from calling him an absolute freak, but Mark beats you to it. “See, this is why I keep you around,” he muses, like he’s talking to himself. “You get me.” He rasps with an estranged fascination, seemingly savoring the sting against his cheek. “I literally do not—”

“—you do, though.” He gestures vaguely. “Even if you pretend you don’t. Which is, like, really cute, by the way.” He pauses dramatically with a slight sing song “And hot.” You exhale through your nose. Okay. Fine. He wants to be weird? You can be weirder. So, with the most exaggerated sigh you can manage, you lift your hand and slap him again. This time, it’s harder. The slap lands sharp and sudden, a crisp crack that echoes in the quiet room. His skin is warm under your palm, the impact sending a fleeting sting through your fingers, while the faintest thrum of satisfaction lingers in the air between you. Mark's head tilts slightly from the force, but the way he laughs is low, throaty, and giddy. The kind that sends something hot and electric through your spine. His gaze snaps back to you, darker now. “Oh, yeah,” he breathes, voice thick with something you don’t quite know how to name yet. “That’s the stuff.” Your gaze flickered lower, his hips fidgeting. He was hard.

Mark leans in, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your lips. He’s still grinning like he’s just won the lottery, panting like an excited mutt before he whispers, “…Your turn.” You took this as an invitation to explore his other kinks, his willingness empowering you like never before. The space between you ceased to exist in an instant, your bodies pulled together with an urgency that set your skin ablaze, his lips claiming yours like a force of nature. Groans filled the space within your mouths, his sloppy kisses trailing lower over your neck. You deserved such romance for your first time, but his body was already seething for more. His hand reaches forward, fingers tingling with excitement as they curl around your throat. He forces you down against the couch, the pressure against your windpipe causing you to gasp. Before he could do more your hand lashes out, striking his cheek with a resounding slap. He paused, welcoming the change from his usual dominance. "Fuck yeah," he growls, his voice thick and eager. "Don't hold back, babe."

Emboldened further, you push him back and climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. You can feel his hard already weeping cock pressing against your clothed sex, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of your panties. You grab his throat, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. "You like this, don't you? Being used like a little bitch?" You insulted, testing the waters.

Mark's eyes flutter closed as he lets out a shuddering moan. "Yes," he hisses, his hips bucking up against you. "I fucking love it." His hands grip your thighs tightly, fingers digging into your skin.

You tighten your grip on his throat, feeling his pulse jump under your palm. "Beg for it," you demand, grinding your cunt against his straining erection. "Beg me to choke you while I ride your cock." Mark's eyes snap open, gleaming with satisfaction. "Please," he rasps, his voice strained from your hold. "Please, please, choke me while you use my dick. I want to feel you squeeze the air from my lungs as you cum all over me."

A thrill runs through you at his words, at the complete submission and desperation in his voice. You release his throat, only to fist your hand in his hair, yanking his head back. "Good boy," you purr, before crushing your lips against his in a fervent kiss. You rake your nails down his skin, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

You whimper into his mouth, his hands moving to your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh. You can feel him throbbing against you, his cock leaking pre-cum into his pants. Breaking the kiss, you lean back and hastily remove your top, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. His fingers follow suit, bringing his shirt over his head as he refuses to blink even once. "Fuck yes, Mistress." He groans, voice strained as his eyes glued to your tits. "You're so goddamn sexy." His lips nearly prepared to worship you.

It was odd, you stared down at him enjoying the power you have over him. He could easily turn the tides at any moment, but he was so willing to fuck you with such courtesy. Your fingers gently tapped against his throat, just threatening, begging him to make a move that would cause your grip to tighten. Mark immediately sits back, panting and red-cheeked. You lift your hips, his hands shove down your panties and help you kick them off. Then, with a courage-building sigh, you line up his cock with your dripping entrance. Mark groans, his hands flying to your hips. "Need to feel your tight pussy around my cock." Without warning, he slams you down onto him, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion. You both groan at the sudden intrusion, Mark's head falling back as his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Oh god," you moan, savoring the feeling of him stretching you open. "You're so fucking big, where were you hiding this thing?!"

"I'm gonna fill this pussy up so good," Mark declares between giggles, his hips starting to move beneath you. "Gonna pump you full of my cum until it's leaking out of you." The dirty words only spur you on. You start to ride him fast, your hips slamming down onto him as you chase your pleasure, barely allowing yourself to breathe. Your hand never leaves his throat, tightening and loosening in time with your movements. Mark's face is flushed, his eyes glassy with lust as he bucks up into you, meeting you thrust for thrust.

"Harder," you demand, squeezing his throat tighter, his eyes rolling back. "F-fuck me harder." Mark lets out a choked groan, but does as he's told, slamming up into you with renewed vigor. The new angle has him hitting depths you didn't know existed, making stars burst behind your eyelids with each thrust. You can feel the pressure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter as he pounds into your g-spot. Releasing him from your ever-desired grip, he protests, his hips punctuating as you let out a yelp. “Dude..!” He whines, exasperated before a resounding clap echoes against his cheek, his face growing warm as blood swelled. “Again! Again…!” He encouraged, and you followed suit devilering smack after smack. The feeling only rousing him more as his hips pressed further.

Arching your back forward, your tongue finds the blistering streaks left from your nails. Soothing them with the soothing stroke of the muscle, you lick over his nipples, teeth tugging on them gently. The small buds hardened slightly from the cold air, and his grunt echoed from above. “Holy shit... yes!” Coming up for air, he returns the favor, hands leaving your ass and latching onto your tits as he squeezes them like stress balls. It's painful, he knows but he attones as his thumb traces rings around your areolas causing mild pleasure.

Your hands returned to his throat, tightening like a vice. With a strangled chuckle, his cock twitched inside you as he floods your pussy with his hot seed. The feeling of him pulsing inside you, the overwhelming sensations overloading your senses, and the obscene squelching sounds of his cum filling you pushes you over the edge. You throw your head back with a scream as your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt spasming as you gasp. Were orgasms always meant to feel this strong?

Mark groans as he feels you contracting around him. "Milk my cock dry. Take every last drop." You continue to ride him through your climax, grinding your clit against his pelvis until the last waves of pleasure fade away. When you finally collapse against his chest, both of you are panting and covered in sweat.

You could barely catch your breath when he spoke up. "Dude, we're definitely doing that again," you murmur against his chest, exhausted, he chuckles, his chest vibrating beneath you. "Hell yeah we are." He says to himself. Without missing another beat, you're suddenly flipped over, his cock hardened with renewed energy. "Ready for round two?" He asks, tracing patterns against your calves as he spreads your legs over his shoulders. Now it was truly your turn.

Can you guys tell I love submissive or freaky men? Hopefully, this fulfills your request!

[mina-org]

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five you're reading part six!!

Seriously? Fuck this shit

You can’t move the frown, it’s stuck to you. What were you supposed to do? you had refused to go out with sabre because you didn’t have any money and now no electricity, your phones dead, you can’t even text him:(

Soon enough the clock strikes 12, a knock echoes through your apartment.

sabre is here and he’s gonna think you’re an idiot!

This is a great start, perfect.

Before you can unlock the door he’s letting himself in, “love you gotta keep the spare in a better place, ya lucky it’s just me.” Soon enough his shoulders are brushing past yours, heading to the kitchen.

“I picked up some food for us lovie, didn’t want ya cooking for me ‘nd hosting,” everything he does is so natural, it’s like he’s been here before and he’s not said anything about the electric situation, maybe because it’s daylight so he’s not noticed? Maybe it’s because the windows let enough light in? But you haven’t messaged him, he’s probably thinking you’re rude and now you’re being completely silent.

"im really sorry for not texting or anything, my electric isnt on and my phone is dead." you blurt out fast, your chest tightens a little, scared of his judgement, first you cant pay for coffee and now you asked him to come over and it looks like you didn't pay your electric:(

"its alright lovie, just gotta light some candles, it'll add to the mood 'nd add to the mood." he coaxes a nod out of you and you're meet with a smile. "good, now lovie I got a portable charger in the car, can get it for ya? dont want you ignoring me too much alright? and you dish out the food for us, yeah?"

"yes please, that'll be great." you soon return his smile, looking up at him! its perfect, he loves a damsel, especially one in distress(ignoring the fact he and his bros are the reason for it but thats none of your business)

Kyle searches through his car and puts his phone on mute, and changes Simon's name on his phone, doesnt want you to see Johnny simon, and price on his phone and put one and one together. the thought of johnny's tech fumble still gives him a giggle. that man hides his intelligence so, so well.

soon enough hes back upstairs, placing the charging brick on a side table before wrapping his arms around you, bringing into his chest and snapping a picture, "it'll be good for a scrapbook love, 'nd I wanna show off my pretty girl to my friends." he informs you and usually you'd protest but sabre was a breathe of fresh air, he was everything you wanted in simon and you didnt have to beg for it.

soon enough tea light candles are scattered across the table, charting out the new constellations that'll shine over you sabre, no, no, no.

You're getting ahead of yourself, you've known sabre for like 30 minutes? can't plan your wedding right now, when he goes home though? free range!!!

"so um, I thought we could like do a little painting dating, I grabbed a couple of canvases and stuff."

"great! I see this stuff all over 'nd I never 'ad anyone to do it with." sabre responds eagerly, he settles into his seat

"what are ya gonna paint?"

"not sure yet" you stare at the colours and suddenly you've never seen anything before.

"have ya seen the hand one? like we both have a colour and than I press my hand on the canvas 'nd than you do it over mine" he suggests.

do you just wanna compare hand size? you tilt your head to the side.

"yeah, but this way ill have a painting for when ya busy, unless youre willing to give me a hand, love?" he nods, admitting it with a laugh, you notices theres a hint of embarrassment, "'m a clingy bugger love, hope that's alright."

you nod at his words, "me too" you say simply and sabre starts picking out colours.

"you wanna be purple love, 'nd I can be green?" you nod and sabre is soon tugging up his sleeve and passing over his hand for you to paint.

you hold his hand so gently, he can't remember the last time he was held so delicately. the mix of the sensation of bristles and cold paint sends a shiver down his spine but you hold him steady and the scent he had smelt on simon and lingered in his flat it's suddenly flooded him, moorish caramel and rich vanilla, he wants to take a bite out of you.

his hand is soon covered in the pistachio green paint and moving to press down on the canvas.

now its your turn, but sabre is already tugging your sleeve up and a gently but firm hand brushes a layer of lavender over your own hand, you and sabre chat about everything and anything, his thumb gently rubs up and down.

soon enough the painting is done and sabre's got his phone out and taking pictures of you and the creation, saying he'll post it. little do you know he's sending it to simon who's spiralling because what the fuck? you always sent those sappy videos to him and now youre doing them, with Kyle:( not him. sickening. blood rises and he wants to grab Kyle out of your flat and take back his place.

sharing has never been Simons strong point.

taglist: @skeletonsucker @supernova2205 @wh0re4-alexademi @grr457 @gh0st-spid3r @sweetlittleblackrose @aceywaycy @mooievis @theadultoedge @cheese-pull @imtherain@h0e-02 @misscaller06 @lucilleifer @cherryflavoredguts @junitries @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @drewsphswife @just-lilita @bvrnxy @crempuffie @erintaro @skyfire93 @my-little-evil-blog @alexalix-z@littlemiss-it-girl

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs

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

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

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

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

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

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

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

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

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

Total dream job. 

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

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

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

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

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

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

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

Someone?

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

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

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

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

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a curse.

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

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope.

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

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

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

Except it is.

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

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

He looks up.

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

Abort mission. Now.

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

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

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. 

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

And looks directly at you. 

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

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

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

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

Almost. 

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

Excuse me? 

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

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

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

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

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops slightly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. 

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

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

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

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

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

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

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

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

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

However—

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

The first? 

Insomnia. 

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

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

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

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

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

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

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

Well, except for last night. 

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

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

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

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

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

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, ouch. 

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

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

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

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

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

Do you recognize him? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

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

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

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

He’s so weird. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

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

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

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

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you should do the same.

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

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

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

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

And yet—

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

It’s nothing.

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

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

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

And then—he hesitates.

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

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

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

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

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

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

“What…are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

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

Still no response.

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

That makes him pause.

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

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

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

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

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

You blink. “Wait, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

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

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

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

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

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

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“I do…stuff.”

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

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

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

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

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

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

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

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

"Weird how?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

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

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

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

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

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

His stomach drops.

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

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

Panic creeps up his spine.

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

You jump in your seat.

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

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

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

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

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

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

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

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

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

You squint at him.

Then—

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

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

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

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

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

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

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

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

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

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

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

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

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

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

Heeseung groans.

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

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

You stare back at him.

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

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

You stop.

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

Then back at him.

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

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

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

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

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

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

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

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

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

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

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

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

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

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

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

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

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

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

“Choose.”

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

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

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

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

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

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

“More like character damage.”

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

“Here. Try some.”

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

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

And then he moves. 

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

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

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

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

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

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

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

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

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

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

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

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

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

Oh.

Oh no.

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

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

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

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

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

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

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

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

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

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

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

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

At Heeseung.

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

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

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

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

And Heeseung? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

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

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

Because he gets it. 

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

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

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

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

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

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

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

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

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

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

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

Just maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

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

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

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

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

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

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

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

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

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

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

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

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

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

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

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

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

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

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

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

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

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

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

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

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

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

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

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

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

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

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

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

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

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

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

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

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

You search up his name.

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

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

And to him? 

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

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

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

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

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

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

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

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

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

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

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

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

And you hate it.

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

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

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

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

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

But, no.

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

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

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

You don’t respond.

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

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

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

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

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

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

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

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

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

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

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

And that makes you hate this even more.

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

“When were you going to tell me?”

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

And he stills.

There it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Heeseung stays silent.

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

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

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

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

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

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

Your stomach twists.

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

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

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

And somehow, that makes it worse.

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

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

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

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

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

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

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

Whatever this is.

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

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

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

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

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

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

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

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

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

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

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

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

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

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

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

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

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

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

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

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

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

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

But you don’t. 

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

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

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

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

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Heeseung?

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

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

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

But what he can’t go without?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

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

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

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

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

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

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

You stop.

He stops.

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

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

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

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

You’re right.

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

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

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

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

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

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

You blink, unmoving.

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

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

“About this. Us.”

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

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

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

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

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

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

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

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

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

The tension eases. Just a little.

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

“So now what?”

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

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

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

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

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

However—

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

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

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

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

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

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

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

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

[l1tw1ck]

Symbiotic Bonding

Bottom!FTM Peter Parker x Top!Masc Reader

🕸️ Word Count: 1,477 🕸️

AFAB Language Used | [Series]

CW: Non-Con, Yandere Peter, Murder (Blood, Mentions of Corpses), Wombfucking, Creampie

Peter blinks a couple times, trying to wake up from what he thinks is a dream.

Blood is splattered all over the floor. Hundreds of glass shards reflect the bright moon outside. Did he kill someone?

Peter whips his head around. His heart drops. A corpse. With markings around their throat. He looks at his hands, it's not his usual suit color. Black and white. He can clearly see the victim’s blood on this suit.

There won't be any evidence he was here. His suit…or whatever he's wearing, won't leave footprints. His mask is intact, no stray hairs to analyze.

He gulps. He needs to figure out what happened. Maybe he passed out while trying to defend them. Peter lets out a shaky breath before leaving.

Peter still can't wrap his head around what happened. He knows that the symbiote you were studying escaped and chose him as its host. You’ve been looking for it but he's scared to tell you. He also knows that the person he killed was someone who worked in your lab. What he can't understand is why. If it happened in the lab or the building itself, he could blame it on the misfortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. But it happened in their home. In a place Peter would never have a reason to enter. He didn't even know their name until a few days ago.

Then it clicks.

They touched you. He assumes the symbiote has some sort of connection to you. Is it capable of having complex thoughts and feelings? Or could it just see you as its caretaker?

Whatever it is, he needs to get rid of it.

“Peter, you’ve been zoning out lately. I know one of your friends went missing so if you need a break, I’ll make sure you get paid time off.”

“What?” He looks at you, bewildered.

“You didn't hear? Flash disappeared without a trace two days ago.”

What could Flash….

“Oh my God.” Peter covers his mouth. A while ago, Flash had a private interview with you. Long before the symbiote was even discovered. It knows his memories.

“You should go home.”

You're right. He needs to focus on getting rid of this thing.

“You're so soft, Peter.” You gently kiss him all over. “And you feel so good.”

Peter moans as you fill him up.

“I’m glad you killed my husband." Your cock pokes his cervix.

Peter wakes up gasping. Another corpse. The corpse of your husband. He didn't even know you were married. You must've kept your ring somewhere safe, that kind of jewelry isn't safe in a lab. But how did the symbiote find out?

His spider senses alert him of your presence. You're never going to forgive him. He tumbles to the ground. His body begins to move on its own, getting him out just before you open the door.

Peter doesn't stick around to watch.

In the morning, an email is sent to the team. Everyone's getting time off. The place can't really function without you and everyone knows it.

No matter how hard or what Peter tries, it won't leave his body. When he's out of the suit, it just…becomes part of his skin. It leaves…a tattoo. He doesn't like to look at it.

He has blood on his hands. He has to tell you. He knows he does.

“Peter…” You let him into your hotel room. There are bags under your eyes. It's his fault. He did this to you and he can't blame the symbiote. He should've told you. “How did you know I was staying here?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Peter frowns. “It’s my fault, Doctor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The symbiote—” He drops to his knees. Strong feelings of arousal overtake him like waves in a storm. He finds himself grabbing your pants, part of the symbiote transfers itself to you. You start to feel what Peter feels too. You know what he wants. What he needs.

You get down and pin him to the floor. Your aggression causes his head to hit the ground too but he can't feel the impact. Your hands move on their own to remove both of your clothes. “Peter-”

He moans your name and spreads his legs, his pussy dripping slick onto the ground. You're both fully aware of what your bodies are doing and you can't stop it.

“What– what’s going on?” You sound exasperated as your body forces you to penetrate him. Peter can see your pain. He knows how much you hate this. There's nothing he could do to you that's worse than this. It hasn't even been a day since you found your husband's body.

“I’m sorry- I didn't—” He hisses in pain. You're just as big as you were in his dream. “I can't control it-”

As you reach deeper inside him, you start to lose your awareness. You groan with pleasure as your brain removes all memories of your husband and replaces them with ones of Peter. “God…Peter~”

Peter looks at you with confusion.

“You're so fucking sexy.” You slide your thumb around his womb tattoo.

“You- your- your husband-”

“You wanna be my husband, baby?” You smile.

If the symbiote can access memories, it's no surprise that it can alter them.

“I..”

“You're so cute.” You kiss his cheek. “I’ll buy you a ring tomorrow.”

Peter looks at you in fear. He can't get over his guilt. His mouth hangs open once you reach his cervix. He whimpers your name.

“Fuck….I could…” You bite down on your lip.

“Do it.” Peter's mouth moves on its own again.

You bury your face into his shoulder as you thrust inside him. You can hear his adorable voice even better now.

Peter's almost surprised it doesn't hurt. There's nothing normal or realistic about this, it seems reasonable…in this situation. He doesn't understand the symbiote’s obsession with you. Is it amplifying his desire for you or is it acting on its own? He can't tell.

You marvel at the feeling of penetrating his womb. Your horny sounds drown out the guilty and fearful thoughts in Peter’s brain.

It's not a sin to enjoy himself, it's not like he's the symbiote. Does he really have to resist the very thing he's been dreaming about for months? The thing that's drastically increased his masturbation frequency? Maybe the symbiote is just making him act on the desires he was too ashamed of. Maybe he is the bad guy, but…

You shakily moan Peter’s name as you start to fuck him. He can see your excitement painted all over you. If you're feeling good, then isn't that a greenlight? If you're acting like this just from your memory being altered, then technically, you are consenting. Technically.

Peter wraps his arms around you. “More– more~” He moans your name. “It feels so good!”

“I didn't think it'd be possible..” You sloppily thrust into him. “What if I….”

Peter already knows what you're thinking. “Yes~ inside– come inside~!” He already comes at just the thought.

“Peter~” You give his skin a gentle kiss before coming inside him. You pull your head back. “Can I…Can I keep going?”

Peter smirks. He can tell you're still hard. He wraps his legs around your body and sits on top of your lap. He's at the point where he can no longer tell whether it's him or the symbiote in charge. “I wonder how this’ll feel.” He holds onto your shoulders and starts to ride you. “Oh God..” His mouth hangs open. It's even more intense like this.

He picks up the pace, increasing the erotic sounds in the room. If it's not soundproof, you two are gonna have a few complaints. He leans in to kiss you, sealing your relationship with his tongue. He's fully embracing this even though he knows he shouldn't.

You deepen the kiss and grope his body. He moans into your mouth. The two of you come at the same time, cum dribbling out of his pussy.

Peter relaxes his body, his breaths in sync with yours. He soon falls asleep in your arms, finally catching up on all the hours he missed this month.

It's been a week and everything has been completely altered to benefit Peter. He has no idea how but the story of your dead husband was twisted into a false story. Now, reports say your friend who was staying over got caught in the crossfire between criminals. They got into your apartment and used your ‘friend’ as a hostage. Not a single person or website has any information about you ever being married. Although, that'll change once you two set the date.

He knows it's awful and completely contradictory to his beliefs, but he's glad it worked out. He loves you.

[c0s-lettuce]

my own girlfriend hates me

joaquin torres x reader

synopsis: joaquin loves how clingy you are in the mornings. but he's thrown for a loop when he wakes up to you ignoring him.

word count: 0.8k

warnings/tags: fem!reader, fluff, established relationship

a/n: my very late contribution to the joaquin torres empire! short and sweet! hope you enjoy <3

Everything still feels fuzzy in your half-sleep. Outside, the birds have begun their song as the city wakes. Sunlight streams through the window, but you keep your eyes closed, blocking out the effects of the day.

You're safe and warm in Joaquin's arms. He lies behind you, his chest firm against your back. His hands are slipped under your shirt, pressed against the softness of your skin. You don't need to be anywhere today, so you simply relish in the moment.

But it's not long before a buzzing ringtone disrupts your peace. Behind you, Joaquin stirs, shifting away from you to reach his phone.

"Hello?" he mutters, his voice still a bit rough.

You can barely make out the voice on the other end. But you don't need to hear the words or be fully awake to know what's happening. Joaquin's being called away again.

"Alright, I got it," he affirms on the phone. "See you soon."

He ends the call and lets out a sigh. Placing his phone back down, he cuddles up to you again. He nuzzles his head against the back of your neck, placing a kiss below your ear.

"I have to go now," he murmurs softly.

You let a short hum in response, conveying nothing but a simple acknowledgement of his words. Joaquin doesn't think much of it yet.

He continues. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"

This time, you give no response. He just hugs you tighter, peppering more kisses in the hopes of eliciting a stronger reaction from you.

"Hey," he tries to get your attention. "Aren't you going to try to get me to stay?"

"Mmm, no," you mumble, curling away from Joaquin.

He pauses, sensing something is wrong. Even at your most sleepiest, you'll at least let out a sad noise or try to hold onto him. But now, it's as if you want nothing to do with him.

He props himself up on his elbow. Even with your eyes closed, you can tell he's peering at you. You do your best to hold back a smile. But Joaquin, upon seeing your sleeping face, suddenly feels bad. He doesn't want to disturb your rest, so he leans in to give you a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Alright, bye baby. I love you," he says before quietly slipping out of bed.

Again, you don't respond. You remain still as Joaquin starts getting ready to leave. You hear him move around the bedroom, getting dressed and gathering his things. It's not until you hear the bedroom door close that you finally open your eyes.

You can tell it's still early by the light. But it's suddenly cold and lonely without Joaquin. And as funny as that was, the guilt starts to set in. So, you get out of bed and head to the door.

Carefully, you peek out into the living room and see Joaquin grabbing more of his things. He's got a slight pout on his face, his brow furrowed. It's adorable, but you know you can't let him leave like this.

You step out and cross the room to reach him. He notices you approaching but can't voice his surprise in time as you grab his face and pull him in for a kiss. He relaxes instantly, his hands finding their home around your waist as he kisses you back.

"I love you, too," you say when you pull away.

"Jesus," Joaquin replies. "You scared me. I thought you were mad at me or something."

You smile sweetly. "I'm sorry, I was just messing with you."

He huffs, pulling you into his arms. "I can't believe you. My own girlfriend hates me."

You hug him back, resting your head on his chest. "Oh, come on. It was kinda funny."

He hugs you tighter. "Whatever, smarty pants. Just don't do that again, alright?"

"Alright," you relent. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he replies.

Joaquin lets out a deep breath. He pulls back and cradles your head in his hands. A moment of silence passes as he admires you.

Then, he speaks up again. "You're a dummy, you know that?"

"I'm not a dummy," you feign offence.

"Yeah, you are," he states.

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before he picks you princess-style. You let out a small, surprised yelp, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"It's still early," he replies. "You should get more sleep."

You don't argue with that. You're more than happy to go back to bed. You let Joaquin carry you back into the bedroom. He tucks you in, and you watch with a smile as he gently lays the covers over you and leans in to kiss your forehead.

But as he's about to pull away, you grab his arm. "Stay with me?"

Joaquin laughs. "Oh, now you want me to stay."

You pout. "Please?"

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, baby. I'll try to finish early, okay?"

You sigh, letting go of him. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats. "I'll see you tonight, sleepy."

He smooths out the covers and gives you one last kiss before pulling away. Smiling fondly, he bids you farewell and leaves you to bask in the morning light.

[neigepomme]

watching the sunset with caleb fic i beg >< just laying our head on his shoulder with his arm around us ARGH i need something fluffy 🙏ALSO CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS!! you deserve the world 🫶

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ style / caleb x reader

synopsis; special delivery! did a certain pipsqueak order a cute pilot boyfriend to distract her from her upcoming exams? well you're in luck, because caleb is here to help!

🍎 pomme's notes — omg i have not listened to taylor swift in a HOT MINUTE this was fun.. if anyone's interested in participating in my drabble event, the info is right here!

⋆ 800 words / fluff / fem reader / 2nd person

exam season was going to kill you. or the heat in your dorm room. whatever came first.

studying for the hunter's exam was a pain, on top of that you were growing insanely homesick and missing caleb's braised chicken wings. you loved the prospect of being a hunter, of course you did, but being away from your boyfriend's arms and instead being doomed to pull all-nighters 3 days in a row? not fun.

on top of that, the AC in your dorm room was out and you felt yourself sticking to your chair. the sad fan that the college provided while you waited for maintenance wasn't doing much to help, instead the soft breeze from your window was the only thing bringing you a semblance of cool air.

but in the midst of your misery you just thought about caleb.

he was busy at the DAA, probably with an assignment in the deepspace tunnel or something, so you didn't let him know that you really, really missed him — something about not putting pilots under stress. that didn't stop you from dreaming about him whisking you away from your studies, just for the evening, at least.

your phone buzzing broke your reverie, and when you look down to read the text message, your entire expression brightens.

getting up from your desk, you look down your window, and it's like caleb can read your mind. leaning against his car outside of your dorm, he waves at you to come down, and you quickly put on shoes and run to him.

"i thought you were in the deepspace tunnel?!"

he grins at you before leaning down to hold you tightly in his arms.

"what, can't i miss my girlfriend who's clearly been deprived of vitamin caleb? you look like you haven't been sleeping at all. exam season's that bad?"

you really were going through a caleb deficiency but you weren't going to outright admit it, so you instead just melt into his embrace and complain about your finals. how much you've studied, and how stressful your teammates for your end of semester presentation were — and that stupid broken AC.

resting his chin atop your head, he hums and sways with you back and forth, soothing you a bit from finals anxiety.

"what do you say we go on a ride and watch the sunset together then? distract you a bit from schoolwork."

it's in moments like these that you think caleb truly is your soulmate.

nodding furiously, you open the passenger door and get inside, all while he laughs at how excited you are. this was just like when you two were younger, he'd take you on late evening drives and you'd sing along to whatever song was on the radio while the soft breeze caressed both of your faces.

this was the closest to heaven on earth. caleb by your side, singing taylor swift songs at the top of your lungs together, while sipping the fizzy apple soda he got for you.

he pulls into a parking lot near a national park, where you can see the setting sun reflected into the nearby lake motioning at you to get out. opening the car trunk to reveal a blanket laid out and a box of your favorite cut up fruits, he hops in before extending a hand towards you.

"get comfy, i'm kidnapping you for the next few hours before i have to go back to the DAA."

caleb really was an angel sent from above to save you from college troubles, wasn't he? you grab onto his hand and he drags you towards him, allowing you to rest your body against him, his arm resting around your waist.

finally allowing yourself to exhale and push away the stress of exams, you lean your head on his shoulder and stare at the sunset. the purple and orange shades remind you of him, his gorgeous eyes always so full of love when he looked at you.

"this sunset looks like you, caleb. i missed this."

you don't need to see his face to know that he's got a smile plastered on it after hearing your comment, his ears probably red and his cheeks flushed from your sudden wave of romanticism.

"mmh. missed this too, pips. missed you."

and as the last rays of sunlight fade from view, you think — loving caleb could never get tiring for you. a never ending teenage love, never growing old, never going out of style.

🍎 pomme's notes — i think caleb would know the lyrics to popular pop songs and yell them out with you in the car nods nods.. also caleb come whisk me away from my responsibilities PLEASE!!!!!

[calebverse]

caleb loves your scent. 

there’s just something so fresh, so sweet, and so you that got him addicted to it. he loves holding you close, so close, that he can pick up the smell of your skin and body wash. he would give you forehead kisses, taking the chance to place his nose by the crown of your hair for a whiff of your shampoo. the smell of your clothes helps him know you’re around him without even seeing you yet. he never misses the chance to tell you that you smelled good, amongst all the other praises he would say. and even when you would try to push him away when you say you’re all sweaty, he would still playfully tackle you just to catch your scent before reluctantly letting you go because you kept claiming you needed a shower. 

he is all-familiar to your fragrance, so imagine his surprise when he finds you after you got home from your work. 

he greets you with a hug, and then catches a new but oddly familiar scent on you. 

caleb lets loose of the hug but kept you in his arms. “new perfume, pipsqueak?” it smelled like leather with a hint of mint. it was thick, a complete opposite to the perfume you would usually go for. in a split second, he recognizes that it smelled like men’s perfume.

the thought of being you being close to another man to the point that whatever his perfume was rubbed off on you irked him. his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. 

you, however, were completely oblivious to the storm brewing in caleb's mind. you just smiled sheepishly. “it's yours, silly.”

“i was running late to work this morning, had to get dressed and put on my makeup quick. and then, conveniently,” you said with a roll of your eyes, “i found out that my perfume just ran out. can't get even a few sprays in anymore. but i saw your cologne, and i didn’t want to walk out without having anything on me. i only sprayed a little bit. one spray behind each ear, each wrist, and two sprays under my shirt.” 

caleb let out a breath he was holding. thank god it was his cologne and not anyone else’s. how was he not able to recognize it in the first whiff? 

and then it was as if a switch was flipped inside of caleb. you smell like him. you walked around, went about your day, carrying his scent. unconsciously carrying a claim he had on you. unknowingly letting people know that you were his, that a piece of him was on you. he wondered if you knew. he wondered if people asked about it. how did you answer? did you tell them it was his scent all over you?

while his favorite scent will always be yours, this came a close second. it all appeared so… territorial. and it pleased even the darker sides of his mind. suddenly, the idea of holding you close to him you start smelling like him, or the vision of him leaning in, kissing every part of your skin with the scent of his cologne was appealing.

“i see,” he said, clearing his throat. his hands made their way to your waist, and he tightened his grip three times. “don't worry pipsqueak, you can use it until you buy another bottle of perfume.”

“really?” you chuckled. “to be fair, i might have to research the brand and see if they have anything i could try. your cologne is great because it lasted the whole day. it's like i have you with me all the time.”

the statement was said in a tone that was cheery and playful, but the thought of it was so intimate in caleb’s mind. he couldn’t help but kiss your lips in short, consecutive pecks, eliciting a giggle from you. then he let his head rest on your neck, his nose pressed to the corner where your ear meets your jaw. 

“you smell nice.” caleb mumbled into your skin. 

“i smell like you.”

“exactly.” he replied. “and i don’t mind one bit.”

a/n: aaaaa it's been a while since i wrote an actual fic (this is a drabble to be honest) but this is me dipping slowly into it again! i've recently got hooked into the world of love and deepspace and we have this 6'2 colonel mf to blame. no complaints though.

anyways, this was slightly inspired by a real life experience and my first thought was 'damn that sounds like something caleb would do.' so here it is!

[sunkeji]

Finding out you're a girl 🫵🏻👯‍♀️😱⁉️

A/N: idk guys I lost my train of thought(s) so you get this. I decided to do this differently than the other ones.

C/W: mentions of bra, hinting at your pp (it's nth bad I promise), yuu is reader

Heartslabyul Savanaclaw Octavinelle

Riddle, Trey, Cater

Sorry guys but the Adeuce duo can't keep a secret for shit ����. They have good intentions I promise but their approach is questionable. You've sent them out to get more pads during one of your horrible cramps. Sam sells them to you so all they need to do is go there, get the right one and come back.

Nothing is easy with them though 😔. Currently, they're crouched on the floor in the store room having a whisper-shouting argument of what sized pads to buy you.

During their heated debate of what kind of pads to get for you, they don't hear their 3 seniors walking into the shop and have stopped an Isle away from the storage room behind them.

"I think Yuu wants the longer ones."

"nah, I think they'll fit the medium one better"

"what? What do you mean by that??"

"you know the..."

"the what???"

"don't make say it!"

After hearing the familiar voices as well as bits and pieces of their unusual conversation coming from the room, Cater opens the door.

"uh what are you guys doing?"

The Adeuce duo whip their heads back to see Cater with his hand still on the door knob, Trey with an eyebrow raised and Riddle having a suspicious look on his face with his arms crossed.

"Are you stealing?" Riddle asks with growing irritation.

The Adeuce duo freeze like deer caught in headlights, their hands still clutching two different-sized packs of pads like they were some kind of forbidden treasure(?).

Ace, ever the quick thinker (or so he thought), blurted out, "We’re not stealing! We’re just… uhh… conducting a very important research project!"

Deuce, even more panicked than Ace aggressively nods his head. "Yeah! For school!"

Riddle’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Science. For school." His voice was flat, dripping with disbelief.

Trey, ever the peacemaker (but also unable to resist the chaos), leaned in and squinted at the pads in their hands. "Ah, I see. A comparative analysis of absorbency levels?"

Cater, barely holding in his laughter, pulled out his phone. "This is so going on Magicam. ‘Heartslabyul’s Finest: Pad Investigators.’ #NotAllHeroesWearCapes #ButTheyDoBuyPads."

Ace turning bright red. "DON’T YOU DARE—"

Deuce, in a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, held up both boxes like a shield and went on a word vomit;

"Lookwe’rejusttryingtohelpYuu!Shesentustogetthesebecauseshe'sonherperiodandwedon’twannamessitup,andwhilewe'reonthetopic,Yuu'sagirlifyouhaven'tfigureditoutyet"

[Look we’re just trying to help Yuu! She sent us to get these because she's on her period and we don't wanna mess it up, and while we're on the topic, Yuu's a girl if you haven't figured it out yet]

A beat of silence.

Then Riddle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'd be more surprised if more people didn't know Yuu was a girl with how loud you two idiots always are. We've known since months ago when we heard you guys talking in the corridor"

Trey chimes in bringing focus back to the matter at hand; "So instead of asking which one she needed, you decided to have a covert operation in the storage room?"

Ace cross' his arms defensively. "Well, it’s embarrassing! We didn’t wanna yell it across the store!"

Trey, now fully grinning, shook his head. "Well, it's much too late for that AND Yet here you two are, whisper-shouting about pad sizes loud enough for all of Sage’s Island to hear."

Cater wipes a tear from his eye while giggling. "ugh, I can’t. I just can’t. Yuu’s gonna die when they hear about this."

Deuce groaned, slamming his head into a shelf. "We’re never gonna live this down, are we?"

Riddle, after a long, suffering pause, finally uncrossed his arms. "Just get the overnight ones. And for goodness sake, next time, write it down."

As the seniors walked away (Cater already typing at lightning speed to fill you in on what's happened), Ace and Deuce stood there, defeated, holding the correct pads at last.

Ace: "…We’re never doing Yuu a favor again."**

Deuce: "Agreed..."

Meanwhile, you're back at Ramshackle, curled up in pain, wondering why it’s taking so long to get pads and if you should’ve just asked Grim to steal some instead.

Ace & Deuce

The story starts when these 2 Knuckleheads are hanging out after class with you at the Ramshackle dorm and become curious of your belongings. While you're away, they're in your room opening drawers and looking at your things.

When they eventually get to your wardrobe, they're opening drawers haphazardly and looking at what minimal belongings you have, expecting to see normal guy clothes and hoping to find something to laugh at you about but the first thing they see is a bra. Both of them stop in their tracks and just stare at it speechless.

Deuce picks it up and stares at it while Ace's eyes grow wide and smacks it out of his hands, sending the bra flying. "Don't touch it dummy! don't you know what that is?!".

Unexpectedly, you enter the room at the exact moment your bra lands on the floor, right in front of you.

Ace immediately points at Deuce and shouts; "IT WAS DEUCE! HE'S THE PERVERT!". Deuce immediately gets red at that while shouting that he's not a pervert and then the 2 of them have started slapping and shoving each other, completely forgetting the precarious situation they were caught in.

Grim grabs your pants leg and stares from behind you. "Welp, looks like the cat's out of the bag."

[littelovelunette]

Fuck it

what are some of YOUR favorite HCs for our ladies? Any subjects, just things you haven't been able to bring up or talk about through requests

I wanna hear your thoughts :3c

~💜

Oh my gosh, finally someone wants to hear me outttt, you're the sweetest, anon 💜, thank youuu

Headcanons (Ft. Sevika, Ambessa Medarda, Violet, Jinx)

Author's Choice

Sevika

Multilingual through and through but sometimes a little bit of this language slips in through a little bit of that language because there's just so much in her vocabulary that she can't get across by using one singular language (Am I projecting? Yes.)

Sensitive to South Asian stereotypes and butch lesbian stereotypes

Likely to beat someone up over it

Grew up in a mysoginistic society which made her feel that she was somehow below men in the past but she doesn't let that affect her now

Considers dyeing her hair because she's insecure of the gray

In her past relationships, her ex girlfriends always made her feel like she needed to wear the pants in the relationship, so she never really was the one being spoiled, spooned or even simply headpatted

Loves being able to show even the slightest bit of feminity when she can with you, but it's rare because she's so insecure of it

If you bring it up, she'll say "Ridiculous," with a scoff and a head shake

Immensely insecure ever since she lost her arm and struggles with body image issues. Please reassure her

Has anger issues and breaks things when she's angry

She's just a kitten when she's angry so hold her close and hug her. Tell her it's okay and coo praises to her

No matter what I've seen other authors say, I think Sevika does get sort of abusive when she's angry, but she doesn't hit you of course. Instead, she slams and breaks things in the house

Ambessa Medarda

Brings you expensive gifts just because she can

When you sleep next to her, Ambessa hums a song and you can't help wonder of her melodious voice, and that she should sing more

Makes honey tea for you with her own hands and goodness does it taste like heaven, she tastes better though

Kneels down and does your straps for you even if her ego is so high, she loves kneeling before you in front of people to flash the dynamic of your relationship with her

Likely to propose only if you share the same loyalty for family as her

Eye contact means everything to this woman whether it's a normal setting, intimate setting or simply sex— look into her golden eyes and whisper "I love you"s

Would figuratively die out of concern if you ever got hurt in any way possible, wouldn't let you out of the Medarda Estate in fear you'll get hurt again. It may take a while for her trust in the world to build again, but she's not all that controlling

Shockingly lets you wear whatever you want to wear when outside but don't expect her to coddle you and take her time stripping you form those clothes. She is feral, she'll tear them off

Her love language is providing all sorts of protection that you need from whoever even if it may be the most dangerous person on the planet, you're safe with Ambessa

Vows to keep you safe whenever you fall asleep, mumbling them to herself as a constant reminder that whatever happens, her loyalty was to you and her family

Her kisses are surprisingly warm, gentle and calculated. She doesn't want to rush, and takes her sweet time. Sometimes it's barely tongue, and she just enjoys the feeling of your sweet lips against hers

Violet

Although she claims she doesn't care for your commands, if you told her to sit she'll sit

Favorite part of your body is your boobs no matter if they're big/small. She'll bury her face in them and even use them as stress balls. Nothing lewd really, she just likes sniffing them. What a pervert but come on, it's Vi

Loves interlacing her fingers with yours, rubbing the top of your hand with the pad of her thumb

Always carries sanitary pads/tampons for you to be your saviour at times of crisis

Can't stand your pout or your tears. Crocodile tears or not, Vi is buying you whatever you want or beating someone up over something that you want. She can't stand seeing her princess all pouty

"You're not scared of me, are you?" Vi's sometimes afraid what impression she gives off to you

Worried because you may be exposed to Shimmer. She doesn't care what the living conditions are, but she doesn't want you to get addicted to any sort of substance that can cause your life to go downhill

Stares at you so much you're sometimes worried whether she's even listening to what you have to say, or when you're just casually conversing she's staring at you as if you've grown two heads.

In reality, Vi takes one long look at you, one that could battle a stare contest, and decides you're too good for her. But she'll never say that out loud in fear you're gonna leave her

Scared she's gonna lose her shit and hit you when she's angry because poor baby has anger issues

Very much capable of confidently arguing with a child and losing

Jinx

Has anxious attachment issues with you, she knows it and you know it. But you both silently acknowledge that

Perfect dates mean bombing and terrorising Pilties with her... Or, you both could decide on a sugar marathon. Whichever you prefer

Her love language is putting effort into remembering the things that you like, often stealing the best of it from Piltover. Jinx makes you your favourite weapons in your favourite colour, with little scribbles that say you belong to her

Blushes when you hug her and she awkwardly returns it back but when she gets comfortable she can't stop hugging you

If you ever left her, she'd actually lose her shit, she's way too attached with you

Overthinks the whole love confession thing before you both dated and she lit your yard on fire with the words "I LOVE YOU"

Cried in your arms after Caitlyn shot her middle finger off. She was so upset, you almost gutted the woman for doing that to your baby

Sometimes she loses her shit, hallucinates and you wake up tied to her chair, her knife poking at your heart. "Love me. Love me. Love me." She repeats, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying. Jinx calms down eventually, unties you and asks you if she scared you. You always tell her no and give her headpats

Jinx is way too scared of relying on anyone emotionally and you can tell. You don't force her to trust you immediately but it is a slow process, she slowly starts to open up more

Swings her legs back and forth from the edge of the bed while you do her hair. Your arm workout is doing her hair

You motivate her to actually take care of herself, eat properly and shower. But you have to do it all with her

Surprisingly can pick you up

[starrdream]

Med bay shenanigans

Anakin Sykwaker x nurse!reader

summary: Anakin seems to stumble into the med bay way too often..

includes: fluff

Anakin limped into the med bay with a dramatic wince, his right hand holding his left shoulder. You glanced up from your work, already rolling your eyes internally.

“Master Skywalker,” you greeted him, trying to keep a neutral expression. “What’s going on this time?”

Anakin gave you a pained look as he approached. “It’s bad, Y/n.” He said, wincing again for emphasis. “I think I’ve really done it this time. I can barely move it.”

Anakin was so over the top about it, and you’d seen him do the same thing too many times before. He was obviously faking it, but you decided to play along.

“Again? You’ve been here, what, three times this week already?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Alright, let’s take a look then.”

Anakin carefully lowered himself onto one of the beds, his face twisted in discomfort, though it didn’t quite match his easy movements. He started to shrug off his robe, then tried his best to pull his shirt off without blowing his cover.

Nobody asked him to take any of his clothes off. Even if he was injured, he wouldn't need to do that.

He pulled one sleeve out before dragging the piece of clothing down his “injured” arm slowly, almost teasingly. You stared at him patiently, despite having a dozen other things to do instead of entertaining this behaviour.

You forcing your mind back to the task at hand. “Okay, let’s see...” you said, trying to sound professional as you gently guided his arm to examine his shoulder.

As your hands began to move his shoulder shoulder around, Anakin let out another exaggerated wince. “Oh yeah, it really hurts when I try to move it like this.” He said, his voice dripping with seriousness but not quite masking the playfulness.

“Hmm…It does feel a little stiff here.” You were teasing but kept your voice even and serious.

Anakin glanced at you, his eyes a little too bright. He leaned back a little, giving you the chance to examine him further. He lifted his arm slightly and flexed it—just enough for you to feel the raw muscle beneath.

“It hurts right here, too.” He added. “Can you feel that? Right there in my bicep. Maybe from all the training?”

You hummed, allowing him to place your hand over the tender-and completely fine-muscle.

“I see... Does this hurt too?” You squeezed his upper arm gently, pretending to give a massage of some sort.

He hisses dramatically, reaching over with his free hand to place over yours and stop the movement. He looks up at you with a Oscar worthy expression, full of pain and discomfort.

“Yeah..” He sighs defeatedly, shaking his head. “Feels a little hard, doesn't it?” He asks suddenly.

“Oh, yes, of course.” You nod, pretending to roll his shoulder around. You weren't stupid, you knew all he wanted was compliments on his physique. But hey, if that was gonna get him to stop disturbing your work-then so be it.

“Yeah, I'm glad we agree” He nodded again, pretending to think.

“I can't guarantee anything right now. I'll run some test and we'll go from there. You might need to lay off of training for a bit, just to be safe. You don’t want to make it worse.”

His face immediately fell, and you could see the flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.

You nodded, but the tiniest smile tugged at your lips. "Yeah, you should take it easy. It’s better to be safe."

Anakin’s eyes darted around, and for a split second, you saw genuine worry on his face. He shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe some painkillers or-”

You couldn’t help it anymore. You grinned and shook your head. “You were totally faking it, Anakin. I knew it.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and then he deflated, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Wait... you knew?” he asked, clearly caught off guard. “I thought I was being subtle.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Subtle? You’ve been in here more than once this week with a sore back, a bruised knee, and now a shoulder injury. It’s getting a little predictable.”

Anakin groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I wanted to spend time with you.” He muttered, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t think you’d catch on so quickly.”

You gave him a mock-serious look. “Could've just asked me out like a normal person instead of making a fool of yourself”

Anakin’s face flushed slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. For a second, he looked down at the floor, trying to hide the embarrassed smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d say yes.” He muttered. “I thought maybe if I made it a bit… dramatic, you’d notice me more.”

You softened, a little more understanding now. You weren’t entirely surprised that he had trouble just being honest about how he felt. He always came across so confident, but underneath that, he was still figuring out how to navigate real emotions.

You gave him a pointed look. “You should probably start thinking of better ways to get my attention. I’m not exactly sold on your dramatic entrance.”

Anakin grinned, looking a little more like himself. “Yeah, I’ll work on that. How about a simple ‘would you like to go out sometime?’”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart warming at the way he was slowly letting down his guard. “That’s a start,” you said, giving him a playful nudge.

Anakin’s grin widened. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You shook your head, amused by his persistence. “You’re lucky I like you, Skywalker.”