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burntheedges · 2 days ago

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Whhhheeeeewwww this was so freaking good!

First of all, hell yeah to that whole description of Javi at the beginning!

You were so fucked.

Soooo relatable!

You saw this man, wearing clothes that seemed glued to him and a little dated.

Lmao I love this description! And I love her sort of slow learning of his character, from first impression to figuring him out. You described that growing connection so well. I like that they both see the other person is hiding, not fully being themselves!

It took him months, but you started to call him Javier, instead of Peña. And you realized one day that you liked the sound of his first name on your lips a little too much.

😏 also I love that the window he found was making her laugh. That’s so cute and real. And once they’re together, of course he’s different!

“I know. But there are things we say out loud. And things our bodies say. I see the way you tense up sometimes. And I don’t want that. There’s no one else.”

This is so Javi, speaking with bodies and touch. I love that he puts it into words, though.

Secret relationship Javi!! Ugh what a lovely dream. Thank you!!

Also I love the dividers! So pretty.

3 sides of a man

3k3 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: you meet the biggest seducer of the DEA. There’s no way you will fall for him. Right? Warnings: 18+ mdni. seducer!javi as we know him, soft!javi, somnophilia, oral (m), piv, creampie. No age specified.

a/n: this is written for @burntheedges 's roll-a-trope challenge. I got secret relationship with Javi 🧡 Thank you for the event Kate 👌❤️

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 @saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏 @morallyinept for your Javi's dialogue page 🌻

It was already daylight when you woke up, rays of the sun warming your bare back, the sheets a mess at the foot of the bed. You were facing him, the sun only reaching his hand, placed on your pillow. He was asleep, naked, and his tanned ass was a call to sin. His bent knee was pressed against your bare thigh. You loved when he slept in your bed, which would keep his scent for a few days. A mixture of cold tobacco, cologne, sex. Of him.

Javi.

He sighed in his sleep, rolling onto his back. Revealing his happy trail that seemed to trace a light line down to his bush, and his soft, sleeping cock. Soothed.

You bit your lip, trying to resist the temptation. Your gaze trailed up his body, to his biceps that bore the mark of a hickey you had given him during the night, while he was fucking you slowly, lying between your thighs, keeping you consensually trapped in his arms. Desire overflowed from your folds as you thought about it. Quickly, you raised your gaze to his beautiful face, his carefully groomed mustache, his cheek scarred with the crease his pillow had given him. His messy hair, both from the dance of your two bodies and from the night of sleep.

You were so fucked.

When you joined the ambassador's office, fresh from the US, you didn't expect to break some of your principles. The most important being having a secret relationship with the biggest player of the DEA, who regularly checked out every woman in the department, and used his charm to get around the administrative burden that drove him crazy.

Peña

The first time you saw him act that way, was actually the day you met him. You were sitting in the hallway of the DEA, waiting to be received by the ambassador. You saw this man, wearing clothes that seemed glued to him and a little dated. Dark hair, brown eyes, a cigarette between his lips, walking next to another agent- a blond one. When they passed one of the assistants, the dark-haired man turned around to check her ass, and you hadn't been able to stop yourself from exclaiming a high sigh. He looked at you and paused for a moment before catching up with his coworker.

The ambassador came out of her office at the moment they reached you, and introduced you. Their names were Steve Murphy and Javier Peña. Peña held your hand for half a second too long, and your frown made him smile slightly, until your hands separated. As if you had become a challenge he had to win.

There was no way he would think you would be receptive to his play, even if he was one of the most gorgeous men you ever met.

That man was surely a seducer, but you noticed soon he was a mystery. He loved to check women out, but mostly he seemed to love the power of seduction he naturally had over them. He didn't use flirtatious looks, he didn't have a special or warm attitude. And despite all that, he didn’t have to try hard, they fell for him. You couldn't help but roll your eyes each time you were seeing their eyes sparkle when he spoke to them, or the way they would wrap a lock of hair around their finger.

They did not see that his gaze on them was fake, almost cold. That he just used them to get rid of what was bothering him in his hunt for Escobar. They didn’t realize they were the asset of the moment, forgotten as soon as he got the information or paper he wanted. Replaced quickly by some next asset. You didn’t understand how they could fall for him so easily.

Of course, he quickly realized you were really not receptive to his play. You didn’t giggle when he spoke to you, you didn’t lean forward when you had something to ask him. You talked to him neutrally at best, but mostly coldly, calling him “Peña”, always. He gave you a piercing look once or twice, seeing that his charm wasn't working with you.

You even confronted him one day, when you turned towards him on the stairs, and he didn’t have time to look up from your ass fast enough. You started to climb the stairs again, letting out a “no need to look, Peña. You’ll never fuck me.” He raised his hand towards him, ready to answer you, when you cut him off: “and don’t offend me by saying that’s not what you want. You won't pin my name on your list of conquests.” After that, you caught his gaze on you sometimes, but in a different way. Like a burglar searching patiently for the combination to a safe.

You kept hearing conversations of agents talking about him and how he used his informants to know more about the sicarios. Or even some conversations between him and Steve in the corridors of the DEA:

"Are you fucking her?"

"Sleep with a communist? That would be downright un-American."

Peña barely hid the sarcasm in his voice.

Nevertheless, you quickly learned that the man you only took for a seducer happened to be one of the best agents of the DEA. Serious, invested, abrupt. Bossy. Never hesitating to speak his mind. He had a bad reputation among some of his male colleagues. He obviously didn’t care at all, and even seemed to enjoy it, but you hated it. Hated the injustice, hated the fact that he was criticized for doing his job better than them. He wasn’t your favorite person in the world, far from it, but his professionalism couldn’t be questioned in good faith.

Another thing his colleagues or superiors might have hated was his sassiness. Sometimes you didn't even know if you should be shocked or amused by his condescending insolence.

One day he saw your half amused, half embarrassed smile, even though you tried to hide it behind your hand. From the day you met, Javi was determined to make you look at him differently. Not even like the other women did. He wanted you to really see him. The real Javi that he never showed to anyone since he moved to Columbia. Step by step, the way you looked at him obsessed him. He didn't care about other people's opinions, except for yours. Partly because you resisted him and he wasn't used to it, but also because he could sometimes see parts of your real personality that you were hiding, just like him, and it was as if he knew instinctively he would like it. So the day he heard your suppressed laughter, he knew how to behave around you.

Javier

What you didn’t know was that the man he was going to show you would make his way into your mind. Offering you sensitivity, even softness sometimes, you didn’t expect. His smile for you was warm. At first, you thought he was playing with you, acting differently just to have you. And there was no way it would happen. You tried to change the way you were beginning to perceive him. But the sincerity he showed, so different from his initial attitude, was slowly winning you over.

It took him months, but you started to call him Javier, instead of Peña. And you realized one day that you liked the sound of his first name on your lips a little too much.

You didn't roll your eyes anymore when he was talking to you, and he seemed to act slightly differently with the women at the office. After a year in the DEA, he was not only making you smile, but laugh too, and you admired the way he stood up to the ambassador. Or the way he walked down the halls in his leather jacket. Or the way he held his cigarettes.

Your brain tried to warn you that you were screwed, but your heart silenced it. An internal battle your brain was already losing.

He became almost a friend, with whom you spoke about your previous lives. He told you about Laredo, his father and the ranch. You knew that he kept certain aspects of his life secret, but patiently, you were hoping to learn more. You told him about your childhood, in Texas too, your studies, how you had joined the Ambassador's office.

And finally, he became a friend. A friend you suddenly kissed at home one day, before he pinned you against the wall of your dining room, letting out an impatient “I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you?” between two kisses, to which you responded with a breathless “shut up, Javi,” your fingers lost in his tousled hair. “Javi, uh?” he growled, pushing the head of his cock in your cunt.

He fucked you against the wall, and you made him promise never to tell anyone about it, demanding nothing else from him. You really thought it would be a one time thing. Except that the way his cock spread your folds and brushed your g spot was a little too perfect. And the way he talked to you through it, half spanish half english, was way too intoxicating to stop, now that you had tasted it.

And now his tight jeans seemed to scream “fuck me” at you every time you saw him at the DEA.

You saw a clear change in his attitude after the second time you fucked. Probably because he felt you tense up when Colleen showed him her new nail polish. You couldn’t help yourself, even though you quickly pulled yourself together. But not fast enough for him not to notice. He avoided Colleen, and didn’t try to tease you about it. Didn’t play. That night, you told him he could fuck whoever he wanted, just before impaling yourself on his thick cock, after you pushed him against the couch.

“Really? You wouldn't mind?” he smiled, before grabbing your hips and imposing the rhythm he wanted. Or rather, the rhythm he knew you wanted.

You didn’t mention it again, and Colleen never showed him her nails again. He didn’t give compliments in a seductive way anymore either, didn’t turn around to look at every woman he passed in the hallway.

You loved it a little too much, when after you barely opened the door to your apartment, he would slip through the crack and wrap his arm around your waist, holding you tight against him while his lips were already pressing against yours. Your hand resting on his shoulder covered by the leather of his jacket, helped you to keep your balance as he was spinning you around. A spin that made you lose your mind for a moment while your heart didn't know how to stop spinning at all.

It was more and more difficult for you to hear some of his coworkers calling him an asshole. You asked him why he only showed them that side of himself, while you knew how much he had to offer.

“Why would I show them anything else? We work together, they do their job, I do mine, that’s all,” he answered with a shrug. “I don’t care about them,” he added, looking you straight in the eye, which made you swallow loudly, hearing his way of expressing in half-words how special you had become to him.

And on top of his professional skills, he fucked you like a god, making you chant “Javi” in the darkness of your or his bedroom. He was way too hot, enjoying an after sex cigarette, lying on the couch in his jeans, looking at you with his messy hair, as if he already wanted to fuck you again.

Javi

He respected your choice to keep your relationship a secret, but couldn’t help but let his hand rest on the small of your back for a little too long, when he followed you to the elevator. He was torturing you with his sad puppy eyes when you said ‘no’ to him, for whatever professional reason. Forcing you to frown when someone else was nearby, to make him stop. Then he would stop, smiling, and you would fall a little more for him.

It made Steve smile once or twice, clearly not fooled.

“Are you gonna see Vanessa after work, Javi?” he asked him once, in your presence. You didn’t know who Vanessa was, but the way your heart suddenly curled up on itself made you think that your brain was definitely right, months ago.

“No,” Javi answered, visibly annoyed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been there.”

Steve smirked before leaving the office.

“You’re ok?” asked Javi, eyebrows furrowed, concerned.

“Yeah,” you replied through gritted teeth, trying to catch your breath after holding it for what felt like far too many seconds. You left for a meeting, while he was rubbing his fingers anxiously.

The thing is, you loved a little too much how he kissed your lips, your nose, your neck. Feeling his moustache move down your shoulder, kissing your skin without stopping before reaching one of your nipples, sucking, nibbling, licking it. Everything about him was sensual and feline. Soft. He was made to love, kiss, fuck. And you realized that you couldn't do without him anymore. And that your heart couldn't bear to share him with someone else.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked you that night, at your place, just after you hung your jacket on the coat rack.

“Talk about what?”

He tilted his head to the side, and added gently “come on baby, don’t play with me.”

You tried to smile. Tried to shoo away the invisible hands that were gripping your heart, squeezing it like a lemon.

“Vanessa’s a hooker,” he said, and you stopped him, reminding him softly that he didn’t have to explain anything.

“I just want you to know, hermosa. I don’t want you to get wrong ideas.”

Hermosa. It was the first time he called you that, your little heart starting to beat again and pushing back the pressure that had been increasing on it until then.

“I used to go to that brothel. But I haven’t in a while. In fact… I’m seeing only you, baby.”

“I told you I wasn’t asking anything from you, Javi,” the smile on your lips wasn’t reaching your eyes that were about to burst into tears.

“I know. But there are things we say out loud. And things our bodies say. I see the way you tense up sometimes. And I don’t want that. There’s no one else.”

Your gaze was downcast as he processed his confession. He gently grabbed your chin, between his thumb and index finger, lifting it towards you.

“Is that ok?”

You nodded, and he gave you the sweetest kiss ever, his soft moustache brushing your skin.

“You still want this to be a secret?” he asked, and you nodded again.

“Okay. It’s hot.” His warm smile was devastating and it was impossible for you not to fall for him. “And seeing you blush and roll your eyes at me in the office… it’s really cute.” This time the smile reached your eyes, and the tears that had been threatening to fall until then dried up. He took you in his arms and kissed you, his hands resting on your cheeks as your arms were wrapped around his shoulders.

You were thinking about it, the morning after having this conversation, lying in your bed facing him asleep, while you could no longer count the number of times you fucked.

Or ignoring how fast your heart was beating for him.

Yeah, you were fucked.

And couldn’t resist the cock in front of you anymore. You wanted to feel it come to life in your mouth, thickening until your lips ached around it.

You settled right next to him, trying to move the mattress as little as possible so as not to wake him. The tips of your fingers lightly ran over his bush, strewn with little white pearls of cum, and your desire from the night that had flooded on him.

The tip of your tongue delicately brushed his cock. Both of your tastes instantly coating your throat. You licked his slit before taking his tip into your mouth.

“Hermosa?” he muttered in a sleepy voice, lifting his head to understand why he was feeling heat spreading from his crotch.

“Shhh, lemme suck your cock, Javi.”

“Damn,” he said, letting his head rest on the pillow, his fingers on his forehead. “You're gonna kill me.”

“I hope not,” you chuckled and took him back into your mouth, your lips focusing on his tip.

And you loved hearing his breathing quicken when you took him deep in your throat.

You loved how his fist tightened in your hair when you licked the thin skin of his balls.

You loved hearing him moan when you sucked his tip, or licked his shaft from his balls to his crown.

You could never have enough and you wouldn't have stopped until his hot cum filled your mouth, if he hadn't placed his hand tenderly on the back of your neck.

“Come here, baby. Wanna feel you against me.”

Your eyes locked with his for a little too long, while you were still kneeling between his thighs, your hand on his shaft, and your lips still rounded around his tip. A twitch of the corner of his lips warmed your heart. You released his cock, letting his precum flow into your throat one last time, and kissed him before laying down on the bed. He settled between your thighs, just like you loved the most. That way you could see him. Lock your eyes with his, while his cock would brush against your walls relentlessly, in the sweetest, perfect way. Like he was made for you. You loved to see that his stare wasn't fake or cold towards you. Day after day, your heart was melting a little more.

And you wanted to keep it a secret, you wanted Javi for you only, for now. You loved this little secret garden that made your story so special, only yours. You loved being the only one, seeing his warm smile and eyes.

His hand brushed your cheek as he asked “what's going on in your pretty head, baby?”

“Just you, Javi…,” you answered.

“Really? Good thoughts, or bad thoughts?”

“Oh, terrible,” you smiled, while your fingers were running through his dark hair.

“Of course. Gonna have to change that, then,” he said, nestling his wide tip at your entrance, the sensation alone making you moan.

“What about those thoughts, now?”

“A little better,” you breathed out, your playful gaze fixed on him.

“Mmmm….” He slid his forearms under your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “And now?”

You whined and hid in his neck, as he was thrusting in, slower than ever.

“They're… good. Oh my god so fucking good, Javi.”

“I thought so,” he chuckled. “Fuck, baby…” he added, his shaft sinking slowly until your core fully welcomed it. Your eyes were rolling back in the back of your head with every brush against your g spot.

“Keep going, Javi, please,” you whimpered. “I want more, please. I need a little more.”

“I know, baby, I'm not going anywhere. You're always so wet, so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

He kept thrusting in slowly, like both of you needed it, until you came on his shaft, and he came in your cunt, deep, so deep. Moaning in your neck. Your breaths slowed down, and he kissed your neck and your chin.

You drove to the office in two separate cars, as usual. You went to a meeting as soon as you got there. When you got back to your office and opened your drawer to put a file in it, you found a note in Javi’s handwriting.

“Already miss you. Can’t wait to have you just for me tonight, and feel your skin against mine.”

Javi p masterlist

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#fic rec #javier peña x reader #roll a trope fic #marchficmadness25

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fangdokja · 2 days ago

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♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 827

The first time he dragged you from the library, he did it without hesitation, and you followed without question. You remember the way people stared, how the chair screeched against the floor as he yanked you up by the nape of your neck, fingers possessive, unyielding. There was no struggle. No protest. You just packed up your things and went where he wanted, as if you belonged to him already.

He liked that. You know he did.

Now, it’s routine. The way he looms over you, his touch always present—around your throat, in your hair, at your wrist, like he’s making sure you don’t slip away when he isn’t looking. It’s not about affection. It’s about control.

“You’re a creepy little thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs, thumb stroking absently at your pulse. His voice is always amused when he talks to you, dripping with derision, like he’s fascinated by your willingness to submit.

And you are willing, aren’t you?

The backseat of his car smells like leather and sweat. He’s already got you folded up against the door, your knees pressed to your chest, body caged beneath his weight. His hands are rough, greedy, digging into your thighs as he forces them apart. There’s no preamble, no patience, just the brutal press of his cock against your slick entrance before he’s forcing his way inside, stretching you too fast, too deep, making you choke on your own breath.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, voice thick with pleasure as he watches the way your tiny hole struggles to take him. “Dumb little bitch can barely fit me in.”

You whimper, squirming under his grip, but there’s nowhere to go. He presses a palm against your lower stomach, applying pressure right where he’s splitting you open, grinning at the way you jolt.

“Feel that? That’s me, stuffing you full.” He laughs when you tremble, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “Shit, you love it. Love getting bullied even when I fuck you.”

The degradation never stops.

He shoves his fingers into your mouth, making you drool all over his hand, his hips snapping against yours in merciless, unforgiving thrusts. The car rocks with the force of it. Your back slams against the door, the seatbelt buckle digging into your side. You’re a mess—spit leaking from your swollen lips, moans punched out of you with every brutal movement, body limp and pliant beneath him.

“Fucking pathetic,” he snarls, dragging his teeth along your jaw, biting down hard enough to bruise. “What kind of freak just lets someone use them like this?”

You don’t answer. You never do. But he knows. He knows exactly what you are.

His grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat is exposed, vulnerable, and he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the column of your neck. His tongue flicks over your pulse before he sinks his teeth in—hard. You yelp, body jerking against him, but he doesn’t let up. If anything, he’s crueler.

“Stop making those sad little noises,” he mocks, voice dark with amusement. “You knew what this was. Knew what you were getting into.”

And you did.

You’re not stupid. You knew exactly what he was when you let him take you, when you let him keep you. You knew he wasn’t gentle, that he wasn’t kind, that everything he did was for himself, to satisfy his own desires, his own obsession. You knew that when he dragged you from the library for the first time, his grip firm, his voice dripping with condescension.

And yet—you followed.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours, panting as he fucks into you harder, deeper, wringing desperate little sounds from your lips. “Gonna break you, baby. Gonna make you cry for me.”

He does.

He always does.

Tears sting your eyes as he forces you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you too fast, too strong, leaving you gasping, sobbing, clawing at his arms, his back. He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re spent, not until you’re shaking, not until you’re too exhausted to move, too wrecked to fight back.

Then, finally—finally—he stills.

He keeps you pinned to his chest, his arm thrown over your waist, a heavy, suffocating weight. He’s still big, still overwhelming even when he’s at rest, his body heat sinking into your skin. You’re panting, boneless, and he hums in satisfaction.

“Still breathing, baby?”

You don’t answer right away. His fingers dig into your hip, a silent warning.

“…Yeah,” you murmur, pressing closer, your voice hoarse.

He must like that. The deep, satisfied chuckle rumbles against your back, and you barely register the soft kiss against your shoulder.

“Good,” he breathes, tightening his hold. “Gotta take care of my little freak.”

Your heart skips a beat. You think he can hear it.

He exhales, slow, heavy.

Then, softer—like he isn’t a monster, like he isn’t the same man who just ruined you—

'Love you.'

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

♡ List of Fandoms and Characters.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

Ace Attorney: N/A

Arcane: N/A

Blue Lock: Michael Kaiser, Shidou Ryusei, Yoichi Isagi

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi, Katsuki Bakugo

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Sanemi Shinazugawa

DC: Damian Wayne

Dishonored Series: N/A

Genshin Impact: Childe, Scaramouche

Haikyuu!!: Hajime Iwaizumi, Yūji Terushima

Honkai Star Rail: Blade, Boothill

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Uvogin

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: N/A

Jujutsu Kaisen: Naoya Zen'in, Ryōmen Sukuna

Kill The Hero: Park Yong-Wan

Love and Deepspace: N/A

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: N/A

MONSTER: N/A

Naruto Shippuden: Hidan, Zabuza Momochi

One Punch Man: Suiryu

Reverend Insanity: N/A

TOUCHSTARVED: Vere

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Bill! Sans, Dust! Sans, Fresh! Sans, Ink! Sans, Killer! Sans, Nightmare! Sans, Shattered Dream! Sans, Underfell! Papyrus, Underfell! Sans, Undertale! Chara

Wuthering Waves: Scar

Your Throne: N/A

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood. Thank you.

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❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

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♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

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writesvani · 2 days ago

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Dear Me | 04

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS (for this chapter): anxiety, guilt, discomfort, emotional distress, self-sabotage, past trauma, relationship tension, self-doubt, jealousy, awkwardness, manipulation, abandonment, social anxiety

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 6,4k // date: 28th of March 2025

CHAPTER FOUR — The House; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey hey hey!!! okay, so, like, i am OBSESSED with this chapter. like, truly. i love it SO MUCH and i really hope you all love it too because i’m freaking out over here!!

now, listen up, i’m setting a NOTE GOAL for this chapter—250 notes because YOU GUYS LITERALLY SMASHED THE LAST ONE IN 2 DAYS and that’s just like... UNREAL! i'm over here losing my mind. i can’t even. you guys are LEGENDS. so, yeah, let’s hit that 250 and guess what? I’LL BE POSTING CHAPTER 5 ASAP once we get there. i HAVE to make the note goal higher because if i keep it at 200—i'll literally post everyday and i DO NOT have the strength to do that. i am sorry (not sorry at all).

—love, vani

To be quite honest, you’d rather switch places with Sisyphus right now.

Yeah, you’d probably be drenched in sweat, rolling that massive boulder up a hill over and over again, failing endlessly, panting like a feral raccoon on the verge of collapse.

And yet? You’d take it. Gladly.

You’d throw yourself into the depths of the underworld’s worst punishments if it meant being anywhere else but here. If it meant doing anything else but sitting through this.

If it meant not having to hear, for the hundredth time, just how great Jungkook’s proposal to Nina was. How wholesome and romantic and perfect it had been. How your childhood best friend—the one you once knew like the back of your hand—is, apparently, the most lovable, charming, sweet, and overall best boyfriend-turned-fiancé in existence.

You grit your teeth as Nina’s voice pulls you back to the present, each of her words like a tiny, invisible shock to your system. Her joy is undeniable, written all over her face in bright, delicate excitement. Her hands move animatedly through the air, cutting through the thick atmosphere of the coffee shop, mimicking the way Jungkook had taken her hand in his, the way he had slipped that ring onto her finger.

And you?

You just sit there, nodding along, pretending that every detail doesn’t feel like a stone being added to the weight already crushing your chest.

Yoongi is nodding along, gasping at all the right moments—but you see through him. His fingers tap lightly against his cup, and his lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a grimace every time Nina gets a little too animated. He loves her, adores her even, but Yoongi—despite being a massive book nerd with an unspoken love for romance in fiction—is allergic to real-life romance talk.

So the fact that he’s enduring this? Says a lot.

You, on the other hand, sit stiffly, your fingers curled around the handle of your cup, the ceramic warm against your skin. You don’t tense. You don’t flinch. You just… exist in the moment, pretending this conversation isn’t making you want to pour your espresso straight into your eyes. Your smiles are perfectly timed, your little laughs polite—just enough to make it seem like you’re engaged. But inside, every word feels like an iron weight pressing on your chest.

“And I swear, I was shocked,” Nina exclaims, eyes wide, hands flying through the air as if she’s physically reliving the moment.

Yoongi leans back slightly, expression unreadable. “No way you didn’t see it coming at all.”

Nina scoffs, placing a hand over her heart as if personally offended. “I didn’t! Look!”

Before anyone can react, she shoves her phone into Yoongi’s face so fast he physically jerks back, blinking like she just hit him with a flashlight. You don’t even need to look at the screen to know what it is.

“My friends and YOU, my sweet brother, knew and didn’t even tell me to get my nails done,” she groans dramatically, shaking her head.

Across the table, Jungkook, who’s been suspiciously quiet during this entire reenactment of his own damn proposal, finally speaks.

“They didn’t wanna ruin the surprise for you, baby.”

His voice is soft, steady, but there’s something in the way his hand lightly rubs Nina’s back that makes your stomach churn.

You tilt your head, forcing out a light laugh. “Wow. Talk about friendly sabotage.”

It’s an attempt at humor—something, anything—but your fingers twitch against your cup, and when Jungkook glances at you, just for a second, his expression unreadable, you feel it.

The weight of it.

Of everything.

Jungkook looks away first.

The moment is fleeting—just a quick glance, a second of hesitation—but it lingers in the air like a truth neither of you dares to acknowledge. The weight of years apart, of missed conversations and things left unsaid, sits between you, thick and unmovable.

And then, Nina speaks again, blissfully unaware of the silent war happening right in front of her.

“But they could’ve at least hinted at it,” she whines, but her eyes shine, a soft glow of happiness radiating from her features. “Like, I dunno—‘Oh, your nails are getting long, maybe book an appointment?’” She sighs, shaking her head. “Now my engagement pics are lowkey ugly.”

You let out a small, amused scoff. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad. Let me see.”

She doesn’t hesitate to show you her phone, flipping the screen toward you. You lean in slightly, eyes scanning the image. And yeah, okay—you get it. Her nails are a bit grown out, the perfect white tips slightly out of place, but it’s nothing dramatic. Still, if it were your hands in that picture, with a ring that big and nails that unpolished, you’d probably throw a tiny fit too.

You tilt your head, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Ouch. You kinda do have a point, girl.”

“Right?” Nina huffs, crossing her arms, but there’s laughter laced in her voice now.

Your gaze flickers to her hand, fingers curled around her coffee cup, the diamond on her finger catching the light just right. “At least your nails are on point now,” you remark, nodding toward them.

She grins, wiggling her fingers in front of you. “Duh. No way I was letting that happen again.”

Yoongi snorts. “I swear, you’re the only person who could turn a proposal into a nail horror story.”

“Hey! It’s a valid concern,” Nina shoots back, tossing a sugar packet at him. “A girl’s gotta have her priorities straight.”

Jungkook chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Babe, you literally cried when I got down on one knee. You didn’t even notice your nails until, like, an hour later.”

“Yeah, because I was overwhelmed!” She points an accusing finger at him before turning to you. “Do you know how rude it is to just casually propose out of nowhere? No warning, no heads-up—just ‘boom, life-changing moment, now deal with it.’”

You press your lips together, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Damn, how dare he propose to you without a PowerPoint presentation and a six-week prep course?”

“Thank you!” Nina exclaims, dramatically placing a hand over her chest. “Finally, someone who understands my suffering.”

Jungkook groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “Next time, I’ll send out a calendar invite first.”

“Yeah, maybe you could even send it to us too—so we can all prepare for the big day.”

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. Sharp-edged, bitter. You’re an adult. You know better than to let something so petty slip out. It’s not like you. It’s childish. Spiteful. But restraint is impossible when the truth is gnawing at you from the inside out—when the person who once felt like an extension of yourself didn’t even tell you he was getting married.

Didn’t give you the chance to be there. To help pick the perfect ring. To witness his excitement, his nerves, the way he used to come to you with every major life decision. You were robbed. Of a moment. Of a friendship. Of him.

Nina, oblivious, just laughs at your remark, too caught up in the glow of her engagement to notice the venom laced in your voice. She keeps swiping through her phone, showing video after video of the proposal—footage taken by the friends who did know, who were there, because Jungkook, ever the romantic, wanted to pop the question in front of the people she loved.

Yoongi wasn’t there. He had been overseas for a project. That’s the only reason. But it’s funny, isn’t it? How he never even mentioned the proposal to you until the invites were sent out. How that makes you question so many things.

Funnier still is the way he reacts.

Jungkook blinks. Slowly. His expression barely shifts, but you see it. The subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his tongue darts out to press against his cheek. His brows furrow, just slightly, like your words bother him. Like they’re an itch he can’t quite scratch.

And Yoongi—he catches it too. His shoulders flinch, his breath stutters for just a fraction of a second, but his gaze never leaves Nina’s phone. Like he’s pretending he didn’t hear. Like he doesn’t want to hear.

“Mhm.” Jungkook hums, tapping his fingers against his cup. “Didn’t wanna tell too many people. Didn’t want it getting out too soon.” His lips pull into a smirk, eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something unreadable. Something close to a challenge. “You know how it is—I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise.”

You force a nod, shifting in your seat. “Yeah,” you say, voice a little too smooth, a little too controlled. “Good thing you only told the people you trust.”

His smirk falters—just for a second. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but you catch it. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s choosing his next words carefully.

“Well, you know me,” he finally says, leaning back with a casual shrug. “Always thinking ahead.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Genius.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s something tight in the way his jaw moves, something lingering in the air between you that neither of you dares to name.

“Sooo,” Nina drawls, turning to you with a sly look, her eyebrow raised like she’s putting you on trial. “What’s going on with that boyfriend of yours?”

You blink at her, momentarily lost. “Which boyfriend?”

She scoffs. “Come on, you know—the guy you were talking about last time I saw you.”

You tilt your head, giving her a flat look. “Nina, that was two years ago.”

“So what?” She shrugs, taking a sip of her drink like that’s not a ridiculous amount of time to be out of the loop.

You exhale sharply, pressing your lips together. “We broke up over a year ago.”

Her brows furrow. “Why?”

You pause, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your cup. “Ehh… We just—drifted apart, I guess. Fell out of love.”

Nina hums, eyes flickering over you like she’s assessing if that’s the whole truth. You hold her gaze, daring her to dig deeper. She doesn’t—but the air still feels a little heavier.

You don’t notice the way Jungkook’s fingers tighten slightly around his coffee cup, how his grip falters just enough for the ceramic to shift in his hands. You don’t catch the subtle squint of his eyes when you mutter “drifted apart.”

But Yoongi does.

His gaze flickers to Jungkook, studying him like he’s reading between the lines of an unfinished story. Their eyes meet for the briefest second—silent, heavy. Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, clears his throat, like the moment never happened. Like Yoongi hadn’t just told him something without saying a single word.

But the message is loud and clear.

Dude, you’re an asshole.

But Jungkook—he doesn’t feel like an asshole. He doesn’t feel like he did something wrong.

Because he was the one who tried.

He was the one sending Facebook messages every damn day that summer while you were in Europe, just so you could reply—maybe three times a week, at best—because you were just so busy.

He was the one staying up all night, his textbooks blurred at the edges from exhaustion, only to set his alarm too early just so he could call you before your day started.

He was the one skipping lectures, missing out on life around him, just to sit in his tiny dorm room and listen to you talk—because that’s how much he wanted to hold onto you.

And when he finally stopped—when he silenced his alarm, when he went to class, when he decided to just wait and see if you’d reach out first—there was nothing.

No new calls.

No desperate messages.

Just silence.

And that silence? It was deafening. It was humiliating. It rang louder than any ‘I don’t love you anymore’ ever could.

So, no. Jungkook doesn’t feel like an asshole. He just feels like someone who learned the hard way that loving someone more than they love you is its own kind of heartbreak. He’s the one who learned when to stop trying.

When to stop holding onto the ties already cut.

“So, what are you guys up to tonight?” Nina asks, her gaze flicking between you and Yoongi as she swirls the last of her coffee in her cup. There’s a glint in her eye—curious, maybe even a little mischievous.

Yoongi leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Nothing much. Gotta finish a chapter I’m reviewing for that author I told you about,” he says, voice casual, though you can tell he’s already dreading it.

You glance at him before taking a slow sip of your coffee, the bitterness settling on your tongue. “Same. Just… getting mentally prepared for work tomorrow.”

Technically, it’s not a lie. You do have work tomorrow. But beneath the surface, there’s a flicker of something else, something you try to ignore—a spark of unease picking at your subconscious.

Because it’s Wednesday.

And that means an email is coming.

An email you don’t want to read. An email you’ll tell yourself to ignore. An email you know you’ll end up opening anyway, your fingers hovering over words that feel like ghosts of your past self, haunting you in black and white.

Yoongi, oblivious to the shift in your mind, tilts his head toward Nina. “Why?” he asks, tone easy but laced with mild suspicion.

Nina taps her fingers against the table, her lips twitching as if she’s debating something. Then, she shrugs, but it’s far too casual to be genuine.

“I was just thinking…” she starts, letting the words linger, dangling in the air like bait.

You're hooked, despite yourself. Nina’s dramatic pause stretches, her fingers absently twirling a lock of her black hair as she builds the suspense.

"Since Kook and I took a few days off..." she starts, her tone almost too careful. Then, before either of you can react, she holds up a hand. "Look—before you call me crazy, I know it’s the middle of the week," she adds quickly, eyes locking onto Yoongi like she already expects his disapproval.

Yoongi exhales sharply, his patience wearing thin. "Just spit it out, for fuck’s sake."

Nina grins, as if this is exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

"Okay, so—I saw there’s a gig at The House tonight, and I thought, maybe we could all go. Check it out. You know, like we used to in high school."

Her words land heavy in the air. Nostalgia. A double-edged sword. You feel it settle into your chest, an old, familiar ache.

The House is a relic of your teen years, a place that holds too much history to ever feel neutral. By day, it was a quiet coffee shop, hidden from the general crowd—only those who truly knew TH even realized it was open before sunset.

But at night? It transformed. Gigs, live music, bands clawing their way into existence, hoping to be something more than just a name on a dimly lit flyer. The House wasn’t just a venue; it was a second home. A place where dreams felt tangible, where friendships were solidified over cheap drinks and lyrics screamed into the air.

And if you go tonight, you already know exactly how it’ll go. The moment you step through those doors, Alex will spot you. His signature flirty smirk will stretch across his lips, the same one he’s been sending your way since you were a teenager. He’s only two years older, but he’s been working at The House since your very first time there—and somehow, he never left. A fixture. A piece of that place, just like the worn-out stage and the dim, flickering neon sign above the entrance.

Alex was always a walking contradiction. Despite his shameless attempts to charm anything with two legs and a vagina, he was also something else to you. To all of you. Like an older brother who saw too much, who knew more than he let on. Who watched you fall in love—watched you get hurt—and never said a damn thing.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? If you go tonight, it won’t just be a night out. It’ll be a collision with your past, a forced confrontation with the version of yourself that once walked those same floors, heart bare and reckless.

So, no. Thank you, but no. You’d rather spend the night wallowing in your misery, drowning in thar email, than risk stepping back into a place that remembers too much.

“Ugh, I don’t know…” Yoongi scratches the back of his head, clearly torn between his usual routine and Nina’s relentless pleading.

You lean back in your chair, taking a slow sip of your coffee. “I have work tomorrow, girl,” you remind her, hoping she’ll get the hint.

Nina’s eyes widen, and she immediately pouts, sticking out her bottom lip like she’s trying to win a contest for the most dramatic face. “Please,” she begs, “we haven’t gone out since high school. Just one night. Please?”

You roll your eyes, feeling the weight of her stare. “One night? Yeah, right. You’ll be the first to tell me how much I regret it tomorrow.”

“Not if you’re with us!” Nina says, flipping her hair dramatically. “It’ll be fun! You, Kook, Yoongi and me—same old crew, just like the good old days.”

Yoongi scoffs, giving her a side-eye. “You act like we were some wild party animals back then.”

Nina grins mischievously. “Whatever, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You stare at her, arms crossed. “Fine. But this is the last time, you hear me? Next time you pull this stunt, I’m throwing you in a broom closet with Alex from The House.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Wait, so you're going just to avoid the broom closet?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoy torturing myself.”

Jungkook, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally speaks up, his voice a little hesitant but teasing. “You know,” he says, leaning in slightly, “if you really want to make it interesting, we could all take shots and make it a competition. Who can go the longest without regretting it?”

You glance at him, your eyebrow raised. “Oh, you think you’re some kind of expert on not regretting things?”

Jungkook smirks, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Well, I did just propose, didn’t I? That takes a lot of confidence... and the ability to ignore some regrets.”

You laugh dryly, rolling your eyes. “Good one, Kook. Real subtle.”

Nina claps her hands excitedly. “Yes! That’s exactly the spirit we need! It’s settled. We’re going!”

You lean back in your chair, pretending to contemplate. “Fine. But if I hate it, I’m blaming all of you. And I’ll make sure you pay for the coffee tomorrow.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair with a smirk. “If I end up with a hangover tomorrow, I’m blaming you. And I’ll make sure you’re the one buying that coffee.”

Jungkook grins, chiming in, “I think I will need another coffee after Nina’s ‘party planning.’”

Nina gives him a playful glare. “You’re all just jealous you don’t have the same enthusiasm for drinking.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, yeah. But if I end up regretting this, I’m haunting every single one of you.”

Nina winks. “Deal!”

The weight of reality hits you the moment you step through the door of your apartment. The familiar scent of home isn’t as comforting as it used to be; instead, it hangs in the air like an unwelcome reminder. Why? Why did you agree to this reunion, knowing exactly what it would stir up? Going to The House feels like self-sabotage—it feels like clawing at open wounds that never really healed, just scabbed over. It's a mistake. You know it’s a mistake.

You stare blankly at your surroundings, the space that once felt so much like yours, and now it feels... wrong. The corner of your table catches your eye. Your laptop sits there, silently screaming at you. It’s the email. That email. It’s been sitting there all day, mocking you. “Take me. Read me. You know you want to,” it seems to whisper. But you won’t. Not today. No. You won’t let yourself fall back into that mess—not today, not when you're already feeling like this.

You push the thought away, willing yourself to breathe through the tightness building in your chest. There’s a limit to how much you can take, and you’ve reached it. You will not engage with that stupid email today, no matter how much it calls to you like some kind of irresistible siren. No. Not when you have exactly three hours before you have to face everyone.

Before you have to see Jungkook again.

It’s been so long since you’ve had to look him in the eye. Seeing him earlier today was one thing, but now, after everything, having to face him again—two times in one day—feels like too much. You’re not sure what you expected from today, but you know it wasn’t this.

Not this weight.

You stand there, frozen in the middle of your apartment, knowing you should get ready. But it feels impossible. Every part of you is screaming to run away, to hide from the past that keeps trying to drag you back. But you can’t. You won’t. You have to face it—face them. Even if it feels like you’re suffocating under the pressure of it all.

Your mind drifts back to The House, the one place you’ve avoided for so long. The memories are already flooding back. The laughter, the music, the people you used to know so well. But most of all, it’s the feeling of him—Jungkook. His presence is still a shadow over everything. And you know, deep down, this reunion, this thing Nina’s dragging you into, is just going to make everything worse. You're not ready.

You never will be.

Your phone lights up, the soft ping of a new message breaking the silence of your apartment. You glance down—Yoongi.

Yoon 🤍: ya home?

You: yea, just arrived. u?

Yoon 🤍: same. you sure you wanna go out tonight?

You: no, haha. wby?

Yoon 🤍: same man. but she’s my sis and the bride, gotta make her happy.

You: yeaa

Yoon 🤍: and i guess it would be nice to chill there, like before yk? see alex.

You: yeah, i miss alex, lowkey feel gulity for not visiting him there.

Yoon 🤍: yea me too.

Yoon 🤍: go get ready, we’ll be picking you up later.

Your phone pings again, Yoongi’s name lighting up the screen.

Yoon 🤍: you okay tho?

You: yeah, just... weird.

Yoon 🤍: i get that. but it’ll be fine. i’ll be there.

You: thanks. i guess it’s just… i dunno, feels like a lot of things are gonna come back up.

Yoon 🤍: yeah, i hear you. but sometimes it’s good to face the past, yk?

You: idk if i’m ready for that.

Yoon 🤍: i’ll be there to distract you if it gets too much.

You: appreciate it.

Yoon 🤍: of course. just get ready, we’ll be leaving soon.

You: alright, give me like 20 minutes.

Yoon 🤍: sounds good. see you soon.

You set your phone down, trying to take a deep breath, but then the realization hits. You quickly grab your phone again.

You: wtf dude, aren’t u supposed to pick me up in 3 hrs, not this soon?

Yoon 🤍: 😂 i’m messing with you. we won’t be there for a while. but hurry up, time’s ticking!

You: you’re an asshole, but i’m getting ready.

You roll your eyes, setting the phone down again.

As soon as you slide into the car, a sense of discomfort washes over you. It’s like stepping into a memory you’d rather not revisit, yet here you are. The seating arrangement is completely different from what you expected. Yoongi is at the wheel, his hands lazily draped over the steering wheel, fingers splayed wide. He’s laughing at something Nina’s saying—some ridiculous piece of friendship drama she’s telling him, no doubt embellished for dramatic effect. Nina, as usual, is sitting in the passenger seat, her voice louder than the rest of the car’s noise.

Then there's the seating beside you: Jungkook. It feels strange. Just like before. Yoongi and Nina are up front, gossiping, while you and Jungkook are squeezed into the backseat like it’s high school all over again. You’d imagined Nina and Jungkook sitting next to each other, given the whole engagement thing, but no—Nina missed her brother so much, she had to hog him for herself.

You sit next to Jungkook, trying to ignore the growing awkwardness. The car is small—Yoongi’s car is cramped, and the backseat feels even smaller. Jungkook is practically taking up half of it, his body large and solid, pushing you against the door like a pancake. You can sense the heat radiating off him, and every time he shifts, it’s like you feel it. His leg brushes against yours, making the space feel even more suffocating.

“Sorry,” Jungkook mumbles, trying to adjust, but his leg doesn’t budge much.

You chuckle dryly, trying to mask the tension in your chest. “It’s fine. Not like you can really do anything about it,” you say, motioning vaguely at how small the car is with your hand.

He nods, his eyes drifting to the window, as if he’s looking for some kind of escape in the passing scenery. The silence stretches between you, the weight of old, unspoken words hanging in the air.

You clear your throat, breaking the silence, whispering, even though your voice sounds too loud in your head. “I’m glad, you know.”

“Huh?” Jungkook looks at you, confusion flickering in his gaze.

“About your engagement,” you clarify, glancing at him. “How your life turned out. It’s... good to see.”

He softens at that, nodding in appreciation. “Thank you. Same goes for you. I’m glad all your dreams came true.”

You offer a small, forced smile. “Yeah, thank you.” The words are polite, but they feel like they belong to someone else.

The words hang in the air for a moment, soft but heavy. Jungkook’s voice barely breaks through the hum of the car, but you catch it, feeling the weight of it settle between you.

“Did you ever regret it?” His words are a whisper, but there's a tremor in his tone, something vulnerable hiding beneath the surface. You glance at him, catching the shift in his expression—there’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, like he's waiting for something, anything, from you.

You feel your chest tighten. Regret? The question cuts deeper than you expected. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the cramped space suddenly feeling even smaller.

“Regret what?” You ask, your voice quieter than you intended, your breath catching slightly as you look over at him.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the passing streetlights outside, as if the answer is too difficult to voice. “Following your dreams,” he says again, slower this time, as if testing the words on his tongue.

You breathe in sharply, trying to shake off the heaviness that threatens to settle in your chest. You let the silence stretch for a beat too long before you respond, trying to sound more certain than you feel.

“Never thought about it,” you reply, the words leaving your mouth easily enough. You glance away from him, fingers fiddling with the hem of your sleeve as you add, “But no, I don’t think so.”

And yet, even as the words leave your lips, there’s a flicker of doubt. A small part of you wonders if you really don’t regret it—if you don’t regret all the things you left behind in the process, the pieces of yourself that never quite fit after chasing everything else.

The rest of the ride passes in silence between you and Jungkook, the quiet tension almost suffocating. The only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional shift of his leg pressing against yours, the warmth of it seeping through your jeans, but neither of you speak. The space between you feels like a canyon, and you’re unsure if you’re even capable of bridging it anymore.

Instead, you let Nina's voice fill the car, a steady stream of gossip, her words a distracting, almost absurd relief from the heavy quiet. You listen absently as she recounts her latest drama, her tone increasingly animated.

“So, like,” Nina starts, her voice brimming with excitement, “Ana, you know Ana, right?” Yoongi nods. “Well, apparently, she’s been sleeping with her best friend’s husband. And get this—she’s been doing it right under her nose, for months.”

You blink, glancing at Nina through the rearview mirror, raising your eyebrows. The shock registers slowly. What the hell?

“I mean, what kind of shit is that? You should’ve seen Ana’s face when I called her out on it. She was like, ‘It’s just a fling, Nina. I don’t owe anyone an explanation.’” Nina lets out a loud, disbelieving laugh, “A fling?! With a married man? How do you even get to that point?”

You can feel the tension in the car rise, your stomach sinking as Nina’s story spirals.

"And guess what? The wife knows—she just hasn’t said anything yet. She's playing it cool, waiting to catch them in the act. She’s just letting Ana keep digging her own grave.”

Nina’s eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, a grin playing at the corner of her mouth as she leans in closer to Yoongi, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Wait,” you interject, not sure if you want to hear any more, “So, what—Ana's sleeping with the guy while his wife is just letting her?”

Nina nods, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Exactly! And the best part?” She leans forward, her voice dropping dramatically. “She caught them at a party the other night. The husband literally walked right past her, gave Ana this huge kiss on the cheek, and then turned to his wife and said, ‘Babe, I’m going to grab another drink.’ As if nothing was going on!”

You stare at her, blinking in disbelief. “What the hell?”

Nina throws her hands up in mock frustration, her eyes wide as if she's about to lose her mind. “I know! It’s like a fucking soap opera. I swear to God, I can’t keep up with these people anymore.” She shakes her head, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Like, if you’re gonna cheat, at least have the decency to be subtle about it.”

You glance over at Jungkook, who still hasn’t spoken, his eyes focused outside the window, though you can tell he's listening. His profile is unreadable, but you wonder if all lf this is more of a distraction for him than it is for you.

As soon as you step into The House, everything is blurry. The chaos of the night engulfs you—laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the booming bass from the speakers that makes the floor beneath your feet vibrate. There are a lot of faces, some familiar, some new. Thank God for the new ones. For a moment, you let yourself breathe in the energy of the place, the music blaring, the cigarette smoke curling around you, invading your senses.

Then you hear the familiar sound of a voice you didn’t realize you missed.

"Well, well, well, look who it is."

Behind the bar, a wide grin spreads across Alex’s face, his eyes lighting up as soon as he sees the four of you. Without hesitation, he’s moving—practically running—towards Jungkook. The scene is a little bizarre, sure. Alex, a full head shorter than Jungkook, wraps his arms around him like a long-lost mother finally reunited with her child.

“My boy!” Alex beams, patting Jungkook’s back like he’s proud of him for some hidden accomplishment. Jungkook laughs, actually laughs, his shoulders shaking a little with the sound.

“You’ve gotten so big. You’re huge now,” Alex adds, since the last time he saw Jungkook was… Well… Years ago.

Jungkook smirks, chuckling under his breath. “You forgot how to use a razor or something,” Jungkook says, pointing at Alex’s beard.

The comment makes Alex pull back just enough to give him a playful shove. “Hey, don’t start with me. I’m just getting better with age, alright?”

Nina, with a sly grin, steps forward as Alex turns to her. "Pretty girl," Alex motions toward her with a wink, “Look at you. Thinking about giving me a chance already?”

Nina laughs, rolling her eyes but giving him the affectionate hug he’s so eager to receive. “You’re still so lame.”

"You know I’m just being nice,” Alex says, patting her on the back as she pulls away. “But I’ll take the hug. You look good, girl.”

Yoongi, already standing off to the side with his arms crossed, lets out a small sigh. "The nerdy," Alex singsongs, eyes narrowing with the teasing tone. He gives Yoongi a respectful dap, fully aware how Yoongi’s personal space is sacred.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow but doesn’t pull away, muttering a quiet, “You’re lucky I don’t have to be nice to you,” but his voice holds no real bite.

And then Alex’s gaze falls on you. His eyes soften immediately, like everything around him just slows down. He leans over the counter, his arms outstretched toward you. “And my lil monster,” he murmurs, his body melting into yours as you wrap your arms around him.

You breathe in, the scent of him enveloping you—cologne, wood smoke, and something you swear smells like the old leather of the barstools. He smells like home. A safe place you didn’t know you needed.

“I missed you too,” you say, your voice surprisingly soft as you bury your face in his shoulder.

Alex chuckles, pulling back just a bit to give you a knowing look. “You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?”

You smirk, rolling your eyes playfully. “Don’t start, Alex.”

“Can’t help it,” he grins widely, the energy between you two palpable. “You all still owe me drinks. I’m running a tab tonight. Just like old times, yeah?”

Nina glances at Yoongi with a raised brow. “You know, I don’t think I ever told him no,” she says, half-teasing, half-serious.

Yoongi snorts, his arms still crossed. “We’re still not paying for you. Last time you drank enough for all of us.”

Alex throws his head back, laughing loudly, clearly unbothered by their teasing. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m the one who knows the best drinks, so you’re all stuck with me.”

You settle into the bar stools, the hard, cool surface pressing into your legs, yet it feels oddly comforting. The familiar buzz of The House surrounds you—dim lights, low murmurs of conversation, and the steady hum of the music—but all you can focus on is the figure behind the bar. Alex. His face practically glows as he crosses his arms, his sharp gaze flicking between the four of you with an intensity that feels almost... predatory. It’s like he’s studying you, looking for something, anything, that betrays the carefully constructed walls each of you put up. You can almost feel the weight of his eyes on you, dissecting every movement, every shift.

“So, what’s new?” Alex asks, his voice casual, but his eyes betray an underlying curiosity that you’re not sure you want to indulge.

Surprisingly, it’s Jungkook who answers first. He was always the one who could talk to Alex without hesitation, like the two of them shared some sacred bond. You can almost hear the warmth in his voice when he speaks. “I’m getting married, bro.”

Alex freezes for a moment, and for the briefest second, time seems to halt in its tracks. His brows furrow, and a flicker of recognition crosses his face as he processes Jungkook’s words. Then, his eyes dart to you, and it feels like the world slows down, all noise fading into a dull hum.

“Dang, dude,” Alex says, the words lingering in the air. “So I didn’t only miss you making it official, I missed the whole proposal?”

And just like that, everything shifts. The air in the room turns thick, suffocating. Your breath catches in your chest, and for a second, you think you might choke on your own thoughts. What? The? Fuck? Why would he say something like that? Why would he imply something so... loaded?

Jungkook gulps, his hand instinctively reaching for his drink, but it’s not served yet. There’s nothing to steady the trembling in his fingers. You see the tension in his jaw, the way he clenches his teeth, as if holding himself back from saying something. Yoongi’s eyes shut for a fraction of a second, like he’s trying to block out the uncomfortable atmosphere. Nina just stares, her expression unreadable, caught somewhere between confusion and shock.

And you? You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to feel. All you can hear is the sound of your own pulse thudding in your ears, louder than any of the chatter around you. You want to say something—anything—to break the tension, but your words get stuck in your throat.

But then, like a cruel punchline, Alex bursts into laughter. It’s not just a chuckle. It’s manic, almost cackling, like he’s just pulled off the best prank of his life.

“Ha!” he says, his voice ringing with amusement. “Should’ve seen your faces, I’m just kidding.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, but the relief doesn’t last. It doesn’t feel like a joke. Not really. The weight of his words hangs in the air, lingering in a way that makes you feel like you’re being suffocated by something you can’t shake. Because Alex is too good at reading people. He knows. He knows something shifted in the room, something unspoken that’s now hanging between you all. And even though he’s laughing, you can feel the subtle shift in his demeanor. You can feel his gaze flicker toward you, that apologetic look in his eyes—his way of trying to backpedal, to ease the tension he just created.

But it doesn’t feel like an apology. Not when you see how his eyes flick toward Jungkook with that look—a silent understanding passing between them. It’s the kind of look that speaks volumes, and you know exactly what it means: He saw it. He knows.

The air feels colder now, heavier. And no one says a word as Alex wipes the smile off his face, pretending like everything is fine, like nothing just happened. But you can’t shake the feeling that nothing good comes after this.

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @santiiagopopegarcia @jadaocon1 @asyr97 @gukieater @themwordsblog @whatevevrerr @amarawayne @tititania @guwol @reallygenerouskoala @bgfdcvbnjk @kyljjk @whoa-jo @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @upo1313 @polnaraffsrack @tatzzz-25 @orphicepiphany @coletaehyung @bjoriis @epiphany-n @kimyishin @eegyo @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @parkinglot-nights @mar-lo-pap @evrsncenewyork @jjeonjjk7 @minghaosimp @cerulean1riz @anumita-2007 @vantelover1306 @vynmin @nadzzzblog @jnghs @lachimolalajeon

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dcxdpdabbles · 15 hours ago

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I love your Freelance Inventor Au so much! (And, like, all your other work,, lol) I can't help imagining Danny finding out about the Batfam and turning to Bruce like, "You let our kids be vigilantes?!" Meanwhile Bruce is stuck on the fact that Danny called them "Our" kids. Or the reveal the other way, with Bruce finding out about Phantom first? He'd freak out- clearly he doesn't know Danny as well as he thought he did. And he can't believe Danny never told him! Meanwhile, Danny thought he mentioned the Phantom thing ages ago and that Bruce just doesn't care.

Since Jazz put the idea in his head, Danny has been unable to think of anything else. The idea that he might be in love with Bruce Wayne and had been for so many years but didn't notice because he assumed everyone felt that it was for that one friend.

It was there whenever he was drafting new blueprints, when he traveled across the world looking for inspiration and investors, when he settled into bed for a good night's rest, and most of all, when he finished his weekly phone call with Bruce.

"Get some rest," Bruce's warm, smooth voice says over the speakers. "I'll talk to you soon. Goodnight, Danny."

"Goodnight," he responds softly. He has a request to stay on the line on the tip of his tongue, but with the time difference, he knows it's not a good idea. And have a good day, Bruce."

The call ended with a click, but he couldn't help but feel their goodbye needed something.

I love you.

That was it. That's what was missing. But did he dare? Could he? Was he confusing love for something it wasn't? Was Bruce even interested?

Danny places his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling of the latest hotel he booked, wondering if Bruce is leaving for lunch with the kids. He said they were celebrating Tim's new clothesline and wished he was there to cheer the boy and his team on.

Danny is in Toykyo today, presenting his new hologram keyboards to a big company.

Of course, they were the second company allowed the selling rights. Wayne Tech was the first, and Danny kept the production and creation rights. It was one of Danny's most ingenious inventions, if he did say so himself, but the look on Bruce's face when he revealed it to him was far more exhilarating than creating the keyboard or gaining the fat paycheck.

Fenton's Ghost Touch was a set of two rings with a hologram keyboard inside. When someone needed to type, they would spin the rings and double-tab the inner lining, connecting to devices using the Bluetooth function.

A visible hologram would pop up underneath their fingers, or if they wanted (and were good enough typers), they could move their fingers in the air without it, which would still allow them to type.

Danny had chosen to release the line in black internationally with Toyko, but Wayne Tech would release an exclusive color line. The rings were of the same design, all using slick silver bands but with different colors as the activation inner rings and some elegant carvings, unlike the international releases, which were just one solid color.

Fenton's Ghost Touch would come in seven colors: blue, red, pink, green, purple, white, and yellow.

Danny had purposely designed them using each of the Wayne kids' favorite colors and sent them all a set with their corresponding colors. The morning they arrived, he got a picture of them showing off their new rings, smiling widely at the camera from Bruce.

He saved the photo as his laptop background. His phone background already had a picture of him and the Waynes at Thanksgiving. They had crowed around, holding their wreaths with Bruce and Danny in the center.

Danny had been facing the camera, beaming in pride at the kids' work. Bruce was half-turning, his gaze stuck on Danny's face with a strange, fond, soft smile, the kind he rarely saw Bruce give anyone else.

It made him hope. Oh, how he hoped, but it also scared him. What if this wasn't love? Danny has never been in love before, has never fallen to the urges that others describe, and had been so comfortable convincing his asexuality meant he would never have to be the kind of person staying up long into the night overthinking every interaction with another person.

Yet here he was, seeing Bruce in a whole new light and discovering how different everything was because of it. But at the same time, how nothing had changed. He spoke to Dani about this, but his clone-turned-sister had only shrugged.

"You raised kids with the man." She laughed. Dani wasn't like Danny, and although she was more informed than their parents, she had difficulty wrapping her head around not having those feelings. "I think it's past the point of having a crush on him. I think you should go for it. Make it official."

Danny reaches up, rubbing at his eyes. It was midnight, and he had a meeting with another with the Japanese board again at eight. He really needed to rest and be on top of his wits so that he and his lawyer could ensure the contact was in his best interest.

He clicks open his gallery on his phone instead of swiping through photos of Bruce and feeling his heart leap nearly out of his chest. He misses the man.

Since Jazz's conversation, Danny has been practically avoiding him. This is due to his being hyper-aware of himself and Bruce: the way Bruce laughed, the dip in his voice whenever the British accent he picked up from Alfred popped in, the slight facial expressions he made when confused about emotions, the shift from playful to professional in work settings, and most of all, the attention he always bestowed onto Danny.

How the world just seemed brighter whenever he was with the man.

Bruce was his sun, and Danny was nothing more than a flower seeking him out. It made the Halfa want to hide in a hole but dance around in public all at once, and he didn't know why.

He finds a video, tapping the play button before thinking further of it, and melts when the first sound he hears is Bruce's laughter. It's quickly followed by the loud noise of the Waynes' Children. It was taken at the last Wayne game night—at the time, Danny had been in England with Dani.

Tim recorded Damian standing proudly over a map covered in white trains, arms spread into a T position, and Duke screaming accusations of cheating. After Alfred banned Monopoly in the Manor, the game Ticket to Ride quickly took over as the new worst enemy creator.

Dick was in the background sobbing into his hands as Jason tried to confront him. Steph and Cass were each leaning on Bruce's two shoulders, laughing as hard as their father, and Alfred was out of frame but not out of hearing, so when he stated, "Master Dick, how could have gone in the wrong direction? It's the map of the USA, it hasn't change in years!"

"He has a concussion, Alfrie!" Jason protested hotly. "Leave him alone!"

"YOU CHEATED!" Duke raged as Damian continued his pose with the most serious expression he'd seen on the child. It made his heart swell to see Damian copying him.

Danny struck the same pose whenever he beat his sisters at a game, even at his advanced age. Once an annoying brother, always an annoying brother.

The video ends with Tim flipping the camera. His broad grin covered the whole screen as he shouted, "Love you, Dad! Miss you! Can't wait to see you!"

Danny turns to his side, feeling his heart flutter more as the word plays repeatedly in his head. A few years ago, the Wayne Kids—excluding Damian, who was polite to the point it hurt—switched from Danny to Dad when referring to him.

Bruce hadn't made a big deal about it even though they called him Dad. Would that mean the man was happy his kids saw him as a second father figure? Did it mean the man thought of him as....a husband?

Danny groans, burying his face into the cool sheets of his futon, begging his mind to stop for a few seconds so he can rest. After this deal goes through, Danny is going to face the music.

He would go to Gotham and figure out a way to tell Bruce how he felt. He just hopes he has it figured out by then. Danny has an idea, but explaining the mess in his head into words is going to be much harder than anything he's ever done.

Not to mention Phantom. That was a can of worms he hadn't ever touched in Wayne's presence. What was Bruce's stance on ghosts anyway?

Should he practice what he would say about the topic? Turning onto his back, Danny holds up his phone, clicking the screen so the lock screen image of a grinning Bruce appears.

It was from the surprise vacation Danny rented out the hut next to the ones the kids sent Bruce to. It had been taken at sunset, the soft orange and purples of the sky framing Bruce's grin and dancing on his wind-blown hair. It had been a spur-of-the-moment walk around the beach, but from Danny's perspective down below and Bruce climbing back up to his hunt, it had almost appeared like Bruce was descending from the heavens.

Danny had used every film skill he had ever heard Dani speak about to capture the beautiful sight.

It is the best picture he's ever taken.

"I love you," the words leave his mouth in surprise, even though he had meant to talk about ghosts. But when they are spoken, he ducks into ice water and realizes they are true.

He sits up, using both hands to hold the phone in front of him, hoping that somehow, in some unrealistic dream, the words will carry across the world, and Bruce will hear them. Maybe even feel them, too. "I love you, I think I do. Do you love me too?"

The screen goes dark, and Danny sighs. Ten years. Will he really risk ten years of friendship over these little feelings?

Yeah. He thinks he will.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Freelance Inventor #Part 8 #Danny comes to terms with his feelings #Fluff #Pinning #spirit halloween ship #The slow burn is picking up heat #Have some family moments

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heejamas · 14 hours ago

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ADDIE YOU DID IT AGAIN 😭😭😭😭 THAT WAS LIFE CHANGING

ok, long-ass review coming your way.

first of all, i was CRYING laughing at the beginning when she calls heeseung a weirdo. like, of COURSE he would be the type to eat that cursed combo of EXTRA HELLFIRE MEGA 3000 SPICY ASS FUCK RAMEN with COFFEE MILK. that is literally so him. and when he hit her with the “and some people wouldn’t forget to restock the ramen” i LOST IT. like actually laughed out loud. also, why is y/n judging him so hard in the beginning?? girl, be so fr, i’ve eaten worse combos while high. i feel like me and heeseung would commit culinary atrocities together.

AND WHEN THEY START BICKERING AND HE ASKS FOR HER NAME ??? AAAAAAA like sir, you’re acting like you don’t care about seeing her every day but you still wanna know her name?? be so serious. i was giggling, screaming, kicking my feet. and then she sits next to him and i literally gasped. also when she calls him a fan of himself I WAS CRYING LAUGHING. genius behavior, addie. you are a genius.

“YOU’RE LOADED, AREN’T YOU?” LMAO THE WAY I WOULD FRAME THIS MOMENT. this fic had SO many moments where i just burst out laughing. and then him helping her restock 😭😭😭 that was so cute omg.

they are literally SO FREAKING CUTE. the kiss at the end????? I NEED A WHOLE SERIES ABOUT THIS, I WOULD WATCH EVERY EPISODE. and addie, you wrote heeseung so perfectly!!!! he’s literally just like this. so unserious, so dumb, so perfect. thank you for this, i swear, it was life-changing. i love the way you write him, he’s just so silly and dumb and i love him and i love u!!!

fine line ── l. hs

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

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

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

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

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

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really.

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

And repeat.

Well, most of the time.

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

Total dream job.

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

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

“Can you work nights?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, you’re hired.”

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

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

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

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

Someone?

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

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

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

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

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a curse.

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

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope.

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

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

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

Except it is.

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

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

He looks up.

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

Abort mission. Now.

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

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

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

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

And looks directly at you.

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

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

Gasp.

So we can cross mute off the list.

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

Almost.

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

Excuse me?

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

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look.

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

You blink.

“No?”

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.”

You blink again.

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes.

This man is dead serious.

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N.

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

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

He does not smile back.

Not even a flicker.

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

“You mean regular spicy.”

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.”

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

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

“Hello?”

Oh. Right. Your job.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night.

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

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

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

However—

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

The first?

Insomnia.

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

And the second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo.

No, he doesn’t care.

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

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

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

Does he have a problem? Absolutely.

Is he addicted? Without a doubt.

Does he care? Not in the slightest.

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

Well, except for last night.

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

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

And the worst part?

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible.

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

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

Yup, there she is.

You.

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night.

Except—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, ouch.

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

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

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

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

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

Do you recognize him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now you’re in his head.

Great.

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

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

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

He’s so weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

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

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

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

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you should do the same.

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

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

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

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

And yet—

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

It’s nothing.

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

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

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

And then—he hesitates.

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

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

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

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

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

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

“What…are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

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

Still no response.

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

That makes him pause.

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

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

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

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

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

You blink. “Wait, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan.

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

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

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

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

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

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“I do…stuff.”

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

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

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

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

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

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

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

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

"Weird how?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

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

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

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

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

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

His stomach drops.

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

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

Panic creeps up his spine.

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

You jump in your seat.

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

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

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

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

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

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

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

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

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

You squint at him.

Then—

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

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

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

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

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

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

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

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

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

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

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

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

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

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

Heeseung groans.

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

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

You stare back at him.

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

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

You stop.

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

Then back at him.

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

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

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

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

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

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

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

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

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

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

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

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

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

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

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

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

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

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

“Choose.”

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

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

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

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

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

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

“More like character damage.”

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

“Here. Try some.”

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

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

And then he moves.

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

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

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

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

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

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

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

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

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

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

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

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

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

Oh.

Oh no.

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

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

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

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

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

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

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

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

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

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

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

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

At Heeseung.

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

He knows you know you’re defeated.

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

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

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

And Heeseung?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts.

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

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

Because he gets it.

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

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

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

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

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

And that—that makes Heeseung look up.

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

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

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

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

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

Just maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

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

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

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

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

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing.

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

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

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

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

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

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

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

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

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

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

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

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

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

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

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

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

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

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

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

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

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance.

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

Why?

Because, it’s 2:21AM.

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

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

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

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

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

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

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

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

You search up his name.

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

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

And to him?

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

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

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

And then.

You see it.

A tweet.

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

Yet entirely soul-crushing.

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

Your breath catches.

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

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

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

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

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

And you hate it.

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

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

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

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

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

But, no.

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

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

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

You don’t respond.

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

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

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

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

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

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

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

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

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

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

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

And that makes you hate this even more.

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

“When were you going to tell me?”

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

And he stills.

There it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Heeseung stays silent.

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

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

He stops. Starts again.

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

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

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

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

Your stomach twists.

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

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

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

And somehow, that makes it worse.

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

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

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

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

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

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

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

Whatever this is.

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

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

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

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

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

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

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

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too.

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

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

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

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

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

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

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

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

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

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

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

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

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

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

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

But you don’t.

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

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

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

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

Heeseung doesn’t think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Heeseung?

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

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

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

But what he can’t go without?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

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

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

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

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

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

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

You stop.

He stops.

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

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

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

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

You’re right.

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

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

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

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

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

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

You blink, unmoving.

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

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

“About this. Us.”

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

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

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

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

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

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

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

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

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

The tension eases. Just a little.

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

“So now what?”

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

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

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

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were never meant to stay on one side.

You were always meant to cross it.

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

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

However—

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

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

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

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

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

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

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

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

#ronnies faves #now i wanna eat extra hellfire spicy loaded 3000 megatron ramen #heeseung i love you so much

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tiramissyoucake · 10 hours ago

Note

"Reader who fucking despises Mark Grayson but is an Invincible superfan"

Dude pleaaaaase write a small story to that, image reader even being a bitch or somewhat a bully to mark, but he can't even take her serious since shes wearing his merch

"fuck you looking at?"

"um, is that... an invincible keychain?"

"yeah. So what? Wanna choke on it?"

"no, I uh... Looks good."

– 💪🏽

This is less a story and more a ramble because GGRRRR I LOVE THIS IDEA I hope u like this <3

Mark is never going to live down the loser allegations because he knows deep down, he's too excited to be on the receiving end of your hatred.

But the thing that really made him fall in love with you is when he saved you as Invincible one day from a collapsing building, and you looked up at him with an expression he's never seen on you— god you looked so in love with him he almost ripped his mask off and revealed it was actually him all along.

You were always so... guarded around him, glaring at him and calling him a weirdo for staring at you too long and scowling whenever he'd have to talk to you, your disgusted gaze made him feel so small (regardless of whether he was taller or not) and he'd immediately look down and fidget with his hands.

And now, the tables were turned, he sets you down nearby and watches you under the guise of concern for a citizen, you were actually flustered this time, thanking him with a stutter and looking anywhere but at him as you fixed your clothes and your hair, under the layering and accessories he caught a glimpse of an Invincible shirt, god you were so cute.

"Anything for my biggest fan." He gives you his best smile while pointing at your shirt, an embarrassed laugh escapes you as you try to cover it with folded arms. "Again, thank you...! I really admire you and everything you do for the city...!"

He could die happy here and now, this was the first non-hostile exchanged he's ever had with you and you didn't even know it was with him of all people; Mark, the loser comic geek from your school.

He gave you a casual salute before flying off to deal with the rest of the threat, he could feel your gaze following him, ever since then he's been on cloud nine.

The following days since then, you're more freaked out by his behaviour, he's staring way more than he usually does. You had to restrain a groan as he approached your locker. "Hey, (Name)? I wanted to ask—"

"Thought I told you to fuck off, Grayson." You immediately responded, you could recognize that infuriating unsure tone anywhere.

"Well— I was gonna ask if you have a partner for that biology project?"

"... uh-huh, and why would I partner up with you?" You shut your locker, readjusting your bag on your shoulder.

Mark blinked before continuing. "Wh- Uh, well... because we're in the same biology class? And we.. both don't have partners?"

"Never noticed you there." Ouch, okay. Not the worst he's heard from you. "I have a partner, bye."

"Wait! Seriously..? I asked everyone and no one—" Mark paused when you groaned and whipped your head to look at him. "Can you stay out of my damn business?! My answer is no, go beg for another partner, creep!"

Your response left no room for an argument or a reply, and neither did the annoyed expression on your face. Mark raised his hands in surrender and watched you turn away, mumbling profanities about him, something something 'fuckin' geek'

He would've been dejected but he saw the cutest miniature figure charm of his hero alter ego hanging off the zipper of your bag, swinging back and forth with every step you took and he immediately remembered that cute timid girl who thanked him oh so sweetly for saving her life. He was sure if he peeked into your locker, he'd see posters or pictures of Invincible hung up for either moral support or pure admiration.

Your back was turned to him as the smuggest smile made its way onto his lips, you'd be wrapped around his finger soon enough, he just needed to play a little waiting game- him and his 'good friend' Invincible got all the time in the world.

#your stars have aligned .•°✧✦✧#invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader

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demon-at-peace · 3 days ago

Text

DC + DP JLD Danny

Danny has to make money somehow right? So he become a cult circle advisor, need help with a spell, incantation, drawing runes? Just call him right up, he even offers classes for beginners.

Naturally he encounters JLD and they are pissed. He’s the reason satan is getting called so often, he’s the reason why they have so many issues? But it’s a perfectly legal business operation, so to prevent their problems, they hire him. He teaches newer magicians, older magicians, he’s the official translator and teacher for the JLD.

The younger heroes love him, he doesn’t pester you, doesn’t scold you if you call the wrong inter-dimensional being. He brings snacks, and hangs up their art, he’s fun. The adults disagree. He scolds them, scowls at them, and most of all pranks them.

The first time a wormhole swallowed them up they freaked, until they saw the “Pranked ya” sign. To the JL Danny with his insufferable Midwest manners is horrible. But ultimately the best at occult stuff so they can’t fire him. Also because he would be right back to making money through cults.

I eventually they call him in to summon “the king of the infinite realms” a title he dumped of Pandora while he was at college. He’s nervous, but does the summoning anyway, because what else is he supposed to do? He needs to pay his bills.

She pops up in her wrath and looks ready to smite them. Before she realizes who they are.. “are you those heroes phantom loves?” Danny groans shrinking into himself, of course she wouldn’t recognize them for saving the world. No just his fanboying. Or should he say Phan-boying?

“A ways unfortunately the king decided to take a vacation in your realm so you won’t be able to contact him,” she groans. “Very nice circle though,” she hums as she looks at it in admiration. Then he eyes widen in understanding.

Then her head snaps up and she looks right at him, “Phantom, you look positively dashing, and Wulf certainly taught you how to do circle wonderfully!” She cheerfully floats over to him. Danny groans.

“Pandora I was supposed to be disguised! Now I have to configure a brand new identity!” He glares at her.

“Right sorry, I forgot the pains of maintaining a mortal identity.” Pandora hums

“Your phantom?” The bat asks. Crap now the justice league is glaring at him!

“Yeah?” He whines staring at them pitifully. He really wanted to finish college. “What?” Green Arrow jumps.

“sure am,” Danny sneers glaring at him. “What? You think ‘he should have told us’?” Danny mocks him. “As if you snobby bag of shit, we learned you know, I’m not dumb enough to let us get hurt!” Danny glares at them.

Pandora sighs, grabbing Danny’s hands, “look they might not know, the acts were kept on the down low;” she soothes. “Just hear them out; they did summon you;” she lets go when Danny nods.

“Fine, what do you want?” Danny crosses his arms, and looks like phantom. The JL stares at him in horror, and he looks remembers, the scars.

He’d panicked when he first saw them asked why they hadn’t healed. Frostbite told him they’d last as long as the trauma did, ghosts were creatures of emotions after all.

“What do you want?” He repeats glaring at them. They seem unnerved, shifting uncomfortably and exchanging glances.

”We were hoping you would deal with a ghost-“ Batman starts.

”Where are they?” Danny cuts him of. Looking around as if they’d randomly appear.

”Currently terrorizing LA with plants.” One of the leave members groans. “We thought is was poison ivy at first-“

“of course it’s f*cking undergrowth!” Danny groans. “Well bye, for good I guess,” he turn to Pandora, “Thank you sooo much for blowing my identity.”

the ghost wilts glowing a little less brightly “Sorry Phantom.”

“It’s fine,” he snaps his fingers and a portal forms.

“Wait! for good?” Superman asks, “Why?”

Danny looks at him in confusion, “I lied, and I’m an eldritch being, “ he sighs “I mean I’ve dealt with it before, I’ll just had back to the realms.”

”Stay,” to Danny’s surprise it’s the bat who says this. “We already have other eldritch beings,” he sighs.

“Maybe,” Danny smiles and steps through the portal, his eyes twinkling like stars.

—-

Why Pandora? Cause I was like ember would do that, but why would she be regent? So I chose her. Also do I sound American? Cause someone asked me if I was from like Texas on one of my fics, and I was like do I really sound that American?

Also idk how this works but I’d like people to know I’m totally open to asks, like idk if you have to say so or not so I just thought would.

Bye :)

#danny fenton #justice league #dpxdc #dcu

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wakatoshiiss · 2 days ago

Text

how the haikyu boys would react if you showed up to a game - after saying you wouldnt! °○~

contains : hinata, kageyama, daichi, tsukkishima, kuroo, kenma, bokuto, akaashi, oikawa, iwazumi, ushijima, tendou

warnings/tags : not all boys included ! suggestive themes in a few of them, but nothing descriptive!

note : just some of my fav cuties, if you want more pls throw it in the requests! i wrote half of this on mobile and half on my laptop, pls excuse any mistakes. i also had either none or alot of motivation for these, so eat up what you can out of this!

masterlist // requests are open

SHOYO HINATA :

he honestly forgot about the banter between you two, begging for you to come but then being shot down because of your studies. so when he stepped onto the court and began playing, he didn't pay any attention to it.

but in private, you felt too bad, so you attended. you cheered him on from the group of karasuno fans, a little louder than the rest. so when he turned his head and saw you, his face lit up, a big smile on his face before giving a small wave and turning back around.

by the end of the match, he met you outside, jumping at his full potential with hands on your shoulders, " you came!? but what about your homework? wait - did you see me during the second set!? " he blabbering on, before you just ruffled his hair and giggled.

" you should come to all my matches, it makes me play better " he mumbled as he pulled you into a tight hug while tanaka and noya gushed over young love.

" oi! hinata, let's go! " kageyama called, as they were getting ready for a team photo infront of the complex.

he dragged you along, jumping onto your shoulders just to be taller than kageyama in a photo.

---

TOBIO KAGEYAMA :

there was no point in asking you to come tonight, it was normal. but he did want you to see some new stuff he spent so much time working on. but of course, you turned him down due to working late at the onigiri shop downtown.

so as he put his uniform on, sliding his knee pads up and tying his shoes, he went about the match like normal. he actually never noticed tou watching in the stands, eyes flowing back and forth through his stealthy sets. that freak quick attack that he set up was always impressive. it made you wonder why you never saw matches before.

you caught him on his way out, bag slung over his shoulders and jacket zipped up. the bus was parked and waiting already, so you barely got to his hand. your fingers wrapped around his, and he almost smacked you before realizing it was you.

" yn? " he asked, tilting his head in confusion, " but - I thought you were working late tonight? " he muttered, fingers squeezing a little tighter when you smiled.

" well, thanks for coming. " was all he could muster up between the harsh heat in his cheeks. he burried his chin into the collar of his jacket, watching you reach up and plant a kiss onto his cheek before running back into the building.

yeah everyone sitting on the bus just saw kageyama fold for his girlfriend again.

---

DAICHI SAWAMURA :

he completely understood how important your studies were, and he seriously didn't mind you not coming to games. so when he kissed your head and jumped in the car, he expected to see you later after the match.

but he had no clue you spent the rest of the time getting all ready, dressing up and jumping into your car to race, and making the first set. you flooded the stands as it began, leaning against the barrier next to their manager, Yaichi.

daichi was too busy with slamming recieves back and forth. when he finally got steady with returning the great king, oikawa's, serves, the crowd cheered. so naturally, you did, too.

" nice recieve daich' ! " you called out, hands cupped by your mouth with a big smile.

his head whipped behind him to see you all bubbly and pratically shaking with excitement as you watched him play. all he could do was smile and wave before giving sugawara a nervous look.

by the end of the match, you were downstairs, watching the teams flood out. you patiently waited for your boyfriend, hands clasped in front of you as the rest of the teams said their hellos. when daichi laid his eyes on you, he belined, lifting you and spinning you.

" you said you weren't coming! don't do that! it made me nervous - " he laughed, reaching up and rubbing the back of his head.

" but - thanks for watching, means a lot to me, baby " was all he he said as he kissed your head and pulled you into a tight hug.

---

TSUKKISHIMA KEI :

he didn't care, he actually didn't want you coming. he didn't see the point, they'd probably lose. and of course being a grade freak he was not about to sit and do your homework with you till 2am, so yea get it done now.

but when you appeared with an extra water bottle right before he went on the court, he just furrowed his eyebrows. he looked around before smirking a bit.

" thanks " that's all he said before grabbing the bottle and taking a drink, " if you didn't finished your homework, you have no idea what I'd do " he groaned, piercing his lips together into a flat line.

" tsukki - it's fine! you know I love to watch you play! " you gushed, teetering on your heels and looking up at him with a plead, that he knew too well.

" I am not giving you a kiss right now " he mumbled, going to walk away

" but it's good luck! " you whined, chasing him almost to the court.

" will you shut up? everyone can hear you " he whispered, leaning down and pressing a peck to your lips before grumbling off to warm ups.

he made sure to always look for you in the crowd before the next play, your bright eyes and smile always widening when you two made eye contact. yeah, he secretly loved seeing you support him.

---

KUROO TETSURO :

" cmon, baby, it's just one match, can't you come? " he pleaded, waiting by the door.

you told him you wouldn't be able to make it to this match, you were too busy and had stuff to do at home. so you shook your head and sighed.

" sorry, testu, not tonight " and he frowned, but hugged you goodbye and as always, kissed both cheeks for good luck.

when you watched him leave, guilt ate away at your gut. so you checked the time, got as much stuff done, and then raced to the complex. his match had just started, and you were in his red jacket. so you blended in with the crowd of fans.

when they lined up at the end to thank the fans, you shot forward to the balcony and yelled out for him, " good job, tetsu! " giggling and waving as he looked up at you.

kenma also looked up, rolling his eyes when kuroo put his hands on his hips and cackled like a hyena, " told you she'd come kenma! " he patted the smaller boy on the back.

when you two met up, he crushed you, squeezing all the air from your body. " so you were busy, huh? " he teased, shoving you as he walked you out to your car.

he leaned against the top of your car with his arm, pressing down and capturing you in one more kiss. where he tried to make in to a full makeout session and fit into your drivers side.

" tetsuro! not now! " you yelped, shoving him out and scoffing.

" so later? I did win, yknow " he dragged out, and you rolled your eyes and shut the door.

---

KENMA KOZUME :

you barely made it to the third set, noticing kenma already being worn out and sweating buckets. you bit your lip anxiously, knowing kenma definitely didn't want you here. it made his anxiety skyrocket.

you stood hidden in the sea of fans, rushing out by the time it ended so he didn't see you. you watched him walk into the locker room, kuroo following close behind him with a proud smile.

you tried to creep your way silently, but kuroo seemed to notice you before kenma.

" ey! kenma look! " he redirected kenma from the door, to face you. you were wide eyed and smiling innocently.

" oh " he blinked, walking up to you, " when did you get here? " he asked, looking down at you with a blank expression as always.

" I just saw the last set - sorry I know you hate it when I come but - " you began, but kenma only stopped you by pulling you into a very awkward and sweaty hug.

you laughed and hugged back, of course. kuroo was already beckoning lev to come see this. once lev bursted out laughing, kenma let go, " sorry - they're just gonna be annoying " he muttered, shooting them a look.

" I know, kozu, you did great tonight " you nodded, trying to reassure him by rubbing soft circles into his palm.

" can you come to all my games from now on? "

---

KOUTARO BOKUTO :

every time was the same, bokuto trying to drag you out of your house to come to at least one match. you hated crowded areas, a sea of people watching a game of more sweaty people toss a ball around? yeah absolutely not.

but you knew it was important to him, so you always said 'next time', but there was never a next time. now bokuto was walking with you to the gym of fukarodani so the team can pack and leave.

" im sorry, kotarou, maybe next time? " you offered, holding his hands right before he walked in.

" you say that every timee! " he whined, but quickly gave up when he saw your frown.

" good luck out there, youre gonna do amazing " you kissed his hands before skipping away to the front of the building and driving home.. well, that was the plan

and somehow you found yourself driving 2 hours away to the complex, wearing an old jersey of bokuto's. you stepped out and scanned in with a wristband. the place was packed, fukarodani fans already setting up. so you sat and waited.

the match finally started, and akaashi was already fighting to keep bokuto out of emo mode. you teetered on the edge of your seat, clapping when they scored once more.

" lets go bokuto! " you couldnt help but give yourself away, and the look on his face was worth it all.

after that, bokuto scored point after point, taking both starting sets with ease. now akaashi was working on calming him down before they were kicked off the court. you were already on your way down to the court. when he saw you, he rushed off the court without a second though and into the crowd.

" you really came? hey! did you see that? all those were for you baby! " he shouted, taking you in his arms and jumping around, akaashi couldnt help but run after him and say his hello.

" akaashi! my beautiful girlfriend finally came! wait - why are you laughing? did you two set this up? HEY! " he began, hands on his hips and scowling.

---

KEIJI AKAASHI :

another night working late at the corner shop downtown, and man was it slow. you knew akaashi had a game tonight, and you were itching to go see it, but there was no way you could get off of work. so he made the effort to stop by right before leaving.

the door dinged open and before your started the whole 'welcome to l/ns' speech, your boyfriend already set your meal down on the counter. " hey you " he spoke, smiling slightly.

" keiji! but arent you leaving - what are you doing here? " you asked sadly, coming around the counter and hugging him.

he gently ran his fingers across your hair before pulling you back, " im sorry you cant see my game tonight, so i thought id bring you something " he offered, kissing your temple before letting you go completely.

the conversation continued, and he soon left. and your store was empty once again. you peaked into the back at your father, who was sleeping in a chair. you removed your apron quickly and bolted for the door, grabbing the bagged meal on your way out.

you hopped in your car and began directions to the complex, speeding almost half of the time there. you parked, squeezed your way through the people, and found your seat right as warmups began.

you watched the match, clapping and cheering as they took home the win. you said goodbye to some fellow classmates you found in the sea of fans, before rushing down the stairs. you got caught in cross traffic, and barely saw the team head into the locker room for warm down.

you waited patiently, noticing bokuto being the first to leave, " hey! bokuto! " you called out, rushing for him before he wandered from the door.

" ah! akaashis pretty ladyyy " he put his hands on his hips, " i thought you werent coming tonight? " he tilted his head, but the door opened after him.

" bokuto, did you say my - " akaashi was quickly cut off by the sight of you, swiftly scooping his arms under yours and pulling you into a crushing hug.

" i thought i heard you, but i figured i was hallucinating " he laughed, setting you down and holding your head to give you a large and dramatic kiss on the forehead.

" i wouldnt miss you for the world, keij " you giggled, noticing bokuto sulking.

" when is it my turn, akaashi!? " he cried out, trudging away

---

TORUU OIKAWA :

you seethed every time oikawa had a game, especially because his whole fangirl club would just shove you to the side to breathe his air. so when you told him you werent coming to anymore games, he quite literally got on his knees and begged for you to come to his final one, which was tonight.

" absolutely not, toruu! you barely even notice im there anyways! " you argued, crossing your arms and shaking your head.

" wha - no baby i promise! i will glue you to my side! ill shoo them away! " he pleaded, standing up and going to hold your arms.

" no, i have a bunch of homework to do anyways " you giggled, denying his words and looking up at him.

" finee " he sighed dramatically, gathering his things and waling for the front door with you following.

" good luck, okay? hey, i love you " you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before letting him walk out the door and to his match.

a few hours went by, and you got up and groaned, before ultimately driving to his game. you were in an extra jersey, dressing comfortably as you were going to be sitting the rest of the time anyways. you watched the match begin, noticing oikawa was first to serve. and his girls were going crazy.

it was like that for the rest of the time, screeching and drooling over the top balcony at your boyfriend. the game ended and you were now waiting outside near seijohs bus, anyone wouldve thought you were a creepy fangirl too.

when the team came out, and oikawa's eyes finally met yours, he took off running. he lifted you into the air and spun about a hundred times. " i knew you couldnt resisit me! did you see the whole thing? " he asked curiously, kissing all over your face.

a crowd of girls practically melted, tears quite literally rolling down their face at the sight of oikawa and another girl. but he paid no mind, only hugging and gushing over the fact you actually showed up.

" yes toru, i saw the entire thing " you reassured, nodding and giggling,

" oh just wait till i get home - " he muttered, before being slapped on the back by iwazumi.

" lets go shitty-kawa! " he yelled, getting onto the bus.

oikawa gave you one last kiss before waving off and sticking his tongue out. you shook your head and then noticed the stampede of girls that now chased after the bus.

---

HAJIME IWAZUMI :

oh this man was swooning over you, had a picture of you in every crack and crevice of his room or car. he even kept one in this pocket of his shorts during practice. so obviously when you said a family emergency came up, and you cant make it to his game, he was crushed.

" go home and make sure everythings okay, love " he said, kissing your head before seijoh loaded the busses for the tournament. despite him obviously loving when youre there, he understood this was important.

when you got home, a few hours of dealing with whatever had finally passed. you noticed, there was only an hour till seijohs warm ups began. so of course you ran for the car, ripping out of your driveway and speeding down the express ways to make it in time.

you filed into the crowd about halfway through the first set, that seijoh was obviously going to win. the vibes were up and good, oikawa fangirls fawning and falling. you just didnt understand, when your better looking love of your life, hajime iwazumi, was standing right there. well, youd kill anyone who came close to being a fangirl of him.

seijoh took the first set, and the second one, now advancing to the next round. you were over the moon excited, bouncing down each step to find iwa. you managed to tag onto the back of the train of players as they walked, making conversation with maki.

you noticed iwa and oikawa making conversation right outside of the warm down room, and you bolted. you stood behind iwazumi, putting a finger over your lips as oikawa giggled.

" oh it looks like a iwa-chan fan girl does exist! " he chimed, tapping his chin while iwa hummed.

he turned around and his face instantly flushed, lips sputtering out noncoherent words. " wait - yn? what are you doing here? " he asked, shaking his head to clear any confusion.

" well - i broke a few laws just to see you " you laughed, yelping when oikawa shoved iwazumi into you, laughing

" atleast hug your lady! " oikawa gasped, hand on his hip as he tried to escape a running crowd after him.

iwa held you close, head over top of yours, " you did all that for me? " he asked quietly, face hot with embaressment.

" of course i did, iwa! you think id leave you alone with him - " you went to pull away and point, but noticed the stampede oikawa was trampled by.

you and iwa only giggled together, before he looked down at you with the utmost sincere eyes, " thank you. truly, thank you " he muttered, kissing the top of your head while holding your hands.

---

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI :

you didnt even see ushiwaka before he left, he only sent a simple text. 'leaving now, love you' was all he said, you couldnt tell if he was upset about you missing this match, youve been pretty busy, so maybe hed understand.

as much as tendou tried to poke him, he only put in headphones and stared out the window for the entire bus ride. he tried to collect himself before going off and playing for one of the most important tournaments in his entire highschool career - and you werent going to be there.

you sighed and tapped your foot anxiously against your floor, trying to decide if you should really risk skipping all your piled school work to see him. but of course you chose the latter. you threw on one of his academy volleyball hoodies and began the drive.

of course you buckled, and barely sped up. all because of ushijimas extreme car safety thing he had for you. there was a little sticky note reminding you to buckle, and a photo of you two covering anything thing on the right side of the speedometer. and when you flipped your visor down, there was a sticky note next to the mirror that read, 'stop looking in mirrors. you know youre pretty'

you parked pretty shitty, running in and tripping over a few steps as you caught the last glimpse of the second set. ushijima absolutely slamming the last point into the ground. the crowd went wild for them, of course, it was shiratorizawa. everyone needed to see your hunk of a boyfriend that was the best spiker in the prefecture.

you watched him walk off the court, not paying attention to any of the harsh celebration dont by goshiki and tendou. he wiped his forehead, before lining up to shake hands. when the team came to thank to fans, he finally saw you.

you watched every muscle tighten up, and his stoic face falter for a moment. tendou nudged him a bit, before laughing as they walked away. you walked down the stairs carefully, trying not to trip again or you wouldnt hear the end of it from ushijima.

" yn. " he said broodingly, already halfway up to stairs to find you first.

" wakatoshi! " you beamed, trying to rush down to him, but he caught you first, demolishing you into this bear of a hug. " ushi - ! - cant breathe! " you squeaked out, and he let go.

" thank you for making it " he said quietly, blinking down at you, and for a moment, he actually smiled with his teeth.

---

SATORI TENDOU :

he was ecstatic for his game tonight, knowing it was against some no name school that they would beat in 30 minutes. but he was quickly shot down when he heard you say the words 'i cant make it tonight'. so he sulked and sighed.

" yn.. are you sure youre really reallyyyy busy? " he asked, putting his head down on your shoulder as you ate your lunch.

" yes, im sorry tendou " you chewed out, blinking over at him and giving him an apologetic smile.

" hm " was all he peeped out before sitting down in the desk ahead of you, backwards so he could see your face.

he drew meaningless shapes into the desk, huffing and sighing as you packed up your lunch box. the bell rang and you said your goodbye, not seeing him for the rest of the school day. you made sure to send him a big and happy good luck text, hopeful that it would bring his spirits up a bit.

when you went home, you immediately stared on your chores. you picked up around the house, your room, and helped cook, all while reading through your homework assignment. you tried your best to get it done in time to catch the game.

luckily you didnt live far from the stadium, so you arrived just in time for the match to begin. and as tendou expected, they beat the opponents in a whopping 43 minutes. he was giggling with goshiki, and practically jumping over ushijimas head while celebrating.

you stood in the hallway, squinting around and trying to peer over the crowd. you noticed a white and purple jersey, with the most noticeable red hair upon anyone, walking next to the broad wakatoshi.

" satori! " you bellowed out, trying to wave and get his attention but he was on a one track mind.

well, he was, but ushijima turned his head and nodded at you, before tapping tendous shoulder and pointing right in your direction. you waved happily, trying to get him to notice you actually came. and you swore the room just got brighter.

he smiled and laughed, running up to you and pulling your body into a hug. " so you caved? how was i? " he giggled, his cat like face peering down at yours with triumph.

" you all played very well, satori. " you spoke, kissing the corner of his lip and smiling.

" i have the best girlfriend ever " he announced, squeezing you until you coughed one too many times. " see, i told you she'd come, wakatoshi! " he chimed, grabbing around your shoulders to keep you by his side.

ushijima just grunted, looking around before looking down at you. you backed away slightly, smiling nervously all while tendou giggled once more.

174 notes · View notes

dollbrbie · 3 days ago

Text

♡ ⸝⸝ NOT GOOD ENOUGH

cw. fratboy isagi, reader doubting herself & isagi’s relationship, pretty angsty, i don’t love this but oh well, its #foreshadowing :p

after yours and isagi’s first argument, you both decided to swear off parties for a while. before isagi, you would rarely attend any, going on the occasional weekend out with your girls. but since isagi was someone who threw these type of party’s with his frat, it was sort of unavoidable that you got more into it.

but now you both agree it’s getting pretty repetitive, and starting to get to you both. besides, you always had as much fun, if not more, when you guys did typical, boring couple stuff. like staying in and watching a movie, maybe ordering some food and heading to bed early or even just lounging around just simply getting to enjoy each other’s company.

so for the next two months, that’s what you did. having early, quiet nights at your dorm to escape the usual party atmosphere at isagi’s frat brought so much more peace to your relationship, a kind of peace you both hadn’t experienced quite yet. it wasn’t like isagi didn’t give you peace, but it was just different. a good kind of different.

and you could tell how much isagi preferred it when anytime his friends suggested coming to a party, just for tonight, he’d always decline and hit them with, “nah, i’m just gonna chill with my girl.”

it was amazing while it lasted, and you felt like you were in the best place with yours and isagi’s relationship. but after a while, you started noticing his friends giving you strange looks, the kind of looks that definitely rubbed you the wrong way. you didn’t really feel like mentioning it to isagi. after all, they were his friends, they probably just needed to warm up to you.

it started off as little side eyes, something you could ignore and just shrug off. but soon came when you started to hear their whispers behind your back and the words that would soon send you spiralling.

“i honestly think the reason he doesn’t spend time with us is because of her. have you seen how she treats him? she’s definitely turned into some crazy control freak.”

“a girl like her isn’t good enough for isagi. he’s way too nice, so he’ll never put her in her place.

“sure, she’s pretty. but, that attitude? nah.”

“i bet isagi is just scared of her. he’s follows her around like a lost puppy! and he’s too nice to say anything.”

“nah for real, what happened to the party animal isagi used to be? there’s no way it isn’t down to her, they’re together 24/7, she’s definitely controlling him.”

yeah, it was insanely obvious they were talking about you through their hushed whispers, even if they never said your name directly.

you tried not to let it bother you, but since hearing them, it’s like your mind has played them on loop, making you overthink situations where you probably had been a little harsher than you should’ve, or where you begged isagi to stay at your dorm to hang out when his friends called.

but where you really being one of those kind of girlfriends? you did notice isagi hadn’t been at practice as much. granted, he always attended the compulsory ones, but when thinking about it, that just wasn’t like isagi.

and even if they had been jokes, your boyfriend did say you were mean to him. in the moment, it seemed like he didn’t mind, that he was going along with the joke. but, what if he mentioned something to his friends? what if he didn’t actually fuck with that? am i being paranoid?

fuck.

even your boyfriend noticed the solemn, dissociative vibe you had, asking you “are you okay?”, every five seconds.

and each time you’d nod with a small smile, “i’m okay.”

but you weren’t okay. and isagi shouldn’t be okay, he shouldn’t be okay with you. that’s what you had decided.

you felt like you were spiralling, and you had no idea what to do. this wasn’t even just isagi now, it had you so down that you couldn’t focus in your lectures.

and as much as you wanted to avoid it, you knew you had to do something about it. for yours and his sake.

you had to end this relationship.

154 notes · View notes

wordsofwhimsy · 20 hours ago

Text

˚｡⋆ ೀ ༘˚ Out of My Mind ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Death, mild gore, very mild 18+ topics

Tags: Obsession, reader matches his freak

Word Count: 1,723

Synopsis: Based on this anon request! Shout out to you anon really brightened my day with that message

a/n: i was going to wait until I finished the “Shattered Affections” series but that shit’s got my ass in a stranglehold right now, so i hope y’all enjoy this in the meantime :’-)

Mark Grayson sat on the rooftop of his childhood home, legs dangling over the edge as he stared up at the stars. His usual swagger was gone, replaced with an awkward, almost pouty expression. He didn't even notice the alien ships circling above the city yet. He wasn't thinking about that. No, he was thinking about you.

He had been obsessed with you for months. Ever since the first time he saw you — no, it wasn’t a "love at first sight" thing, but you were different. Cool. Not impressed by his superhero antics, which, let’s face it, was the kind of thing that made him weak in the knees. You didn’t swoon. You didn’t chase him around for autographs. And that, that was something he couldn’t get enough of.

But of course, like any tragic, brooding superhero, life had to throw a curveball. It came in the form of a full-on alien invasion. Mark was still getting the hang of his powers, and though his aim was getting better, he was still far from perfect. And just when he thought he was on top of things, the alien ships attacked your neighborhood. They weren’t here for small talk or to stroke his ego. No, they came to destroy, and in the chaos, you didn’t make it.

Dead. Gone. Kaput. No longer breathing. In a rather brutal way, really. And what’s worse, he didn’t even get a chance to actually do anything cool like saving you in a dramatic moment. He imagined himself swooping in and you looking at him like you had just realized you were both meant to be. Instead? Aliens ripped through the city, and by the time Mark had taken care of them, your lifeless body was all that remained.

He stared at your bloodstained hoodie and the smudged dirt on your face. His gut twisted in frustration. I never even got to talk to you. I never even asked for your number, he thought as he crushed the last alien's skull with a single punch, snapping the neck of the last invader like it was a cheap action figure. It was all over. But you were already gone.

“Yeah... I’m sure you’re really impressed now, huh?” he mumbled to himself, flying away in a huff, heart heavy with disappointment.

He stayed on the move, fighting crime, but there was a new hole in his chest that he couldn’t fill. Every time he saw someone who reminded him of you, it hurt. Even when it was just the way someone chewed gum or how they wore a jacket with that same red on it.

If Mark had to pinpoint when he started making the change of following in his father’s footsteps, it would’ve been that day.

If I want to keep people safe, I should control them. Make them listen. That’s what Dad did. He got it.

The lines between right and wrong blurred as Mark, once the hopeful and idealistic hero, slowly embraced the brutal, domineering approach of his father, Omni-Man. The streets, the cities — all of it felt like chaos, and the only way to fix it was with an iron fist. They need a leader, not a protector.

He went on a rampage, taking control of his world. Villains, heroes, civilians — all bent to his will. Any resistance was met with force. He became the tyrant he once hated, convinced that this was the only way to keep people safe.

But then, just as quickly as he'd risen through the ranks, Mark was pulled into an alternate universe by Angstrom Levy, given some directions he didn’t pay too close attention to wreak havoc in the name of destroying Invincible’s reputation.

Mark didn’t put up much of a protest outside of a few snide remarks. The promise of other universes to conquer wasn’t such a bad idea.

And even though he understood in theory that the universe he was being sent to would be nearly identical to his, it still struck him dumbly when arriving through the portal. The same skyline, the same vague something in the air that made him go, “Wait... no way.”

This is Earth, but it’s... not the same.

And then, like a gift from the universe, he saw you.

Except, well... you were different. Better. Way better.

You were standing there in a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders, holding a bag of snacks and looking like you were about to turn up at some cosmic nightclub. Your hair? Perfectly messy in a way that made Mark wonder if you were secretly a rebellious antihero in this timeline. Maybe a vampire? Maybe some sort of badass alien yourself?

“Whoa,” Mark said, landing with a thud in front of you.

You blinked. “Can I help you?”

Mark grinned like a goofy schoolboy. “Yeah, actually... are you... are you... you?” he stammered, gesturing vaguely to the universe around him. “I mean, you’re alive, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth curling into a smile. “Pretty sure I’m breathing?” you responded sarcastically. “What’s your deal, man?”

"Deal? Oh, you know, I'm just Invincible,” he said, giving a quick flex of his arm as if that was supposed to clear everything up. "And I’m pretty sure you’re my type.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the smirk. “Uh, okay? And what’s your type? Young women in spandex?”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, technically, yeah. But more like... you. I mean, you are definitely passing the vibe check.”

You chuckled. “Okay weirdo.”

Mark smirked, a glint of something darker flashing in his eyes. He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a low, almost menacing tone. “Trust me, babe, if I really wanted to, I could make your wildest nightmares come true. But you might actually enjoy it.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “Don't threaten me with a good time.”

Mark grinned, eyes twinkling with a mix of challenge and excitement. “Oh, I’m not threatening you. I’m offering you a chance to have a little fun.”

You crossed your arms and smirked back. “And what did you have in mind, Invincible?”

Mark took a final step forward, completely closing the distance between you with his gaze never leaving yours. He reached up and gently ran his fingers along the side of your face, the touch light, almost teasing. But then, in a flash, he gripped your hair tightly, giving it a sharp yank, pulling your head back slightly.

You froze, stunned for a moment, the suddenness catching you off guard. But then, he saw it — a flicker of excitement in your eyes, a thrill he had only dreamed of seeing on your face.

Mark leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. The weight of his grip on your hair made your pulse quicken, but the excitement building in your chest was undeniable.

"Trust me," he whispered, his voice hushed but intense, "I’ve got a long list of things I want to do with you."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Well, what are you waiting for, then?" you taunted, your heart beating a little faster now. You were no stranger to danger — and something about Mark’s dark, chaotic energy was drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Oh, I can’t wait to make you regret asking that," he murmured, before his lips suddenly crashed against yours. The kiss was rough, intense, and it caught you off guard at first, but the heat of it made your heart race. You hesitated for only a moment before responding, your body instinctively leaning into his.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his suit – too tight to actually get any sort of grip on it – as you kissed him back with the same urgency. His lips moved against yours, hungry and insistent, and you matched him, your own passion igniting. Every brush of his lips, every soft tug at your hair, sent a thrill racing through you, and soon, you were lost in it, no longer thinking, just feeling.

The kiss deepened, becoming more desperate, as if neither of you wanted to pull away. His hands roamed to your back, pulling you even closer, while yours slid around his neck, fingers tangling in his streak of hair.

You hadn’t even realized at first that you were no longer standing on solid ground. The only thing that existed was the kiss, the feeling of his hands on you, the way your bodies fit together. But then, Mark broke away just slightly, his lips lingering above yours, and suddenly you noticed the change. The weightlessness of the air hit you all at once, your heart skipping a beat as you pulled away, blinking in confusion. You were floating high above the city, the skyline below now a mere speck of lights, the ground far out of reach.

Before you could even gather your thoughts, Mark’s hands shifted, guiding you as he gently laid himself horizontally in the air, positioning you to sit on his hips as he floated effortlessly. You gasped, a flicker of panic rising in your chest at the height, but the fear only seemed to heighten the thrill running through your veins.

Mark’s smirk widened as he glanced up at you, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “What’s wrong?” he teased, his voice low and seductive. “I thought you were ready for this.”

You swallowed, the mix of fear and exhilaration twisting inside you. But you weren’t about to back down. “I am,” you said, your voice confident, a sly grin tugging at your lips. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

#invincible #mark grayson #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible show #mohawk mark #variant mark #mark grayson variants #mark grayson fanfic #mark grayson smut #invincible smut

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eddieslunchbox · 19 hours ago

Text

eighty-six, baby

summary: the ups and downs of the day eddie finally graduates

18+ [boyfriend!eddie x female!reader]

contains: blood, violence, bullying, hurt/comfort, swearing, mentions of alcohol, superficial injuries, fluff, kissing, surprise party, dustin and eddie acting like siblings

word count: 9.7k

a/n: baby's graduation day! eddie really deserved to walk across that stage in '86 and this is my interpretation of how he ended up going out with a bang and some blood. please heed the warning above if you're not comfortable with blood/violence. as always, please reblog/comment if you enjoyed this- I love hearing from you ❤

A metal clang rings through Eddie’s ears as he shuts the lid of his, now empty, lunch box, having met up for one final deal before the start of the ceremony. He shoves the tin into the back of his van and plucks his graduation cap off of the passenger seat.

"Hey, Munson!"

Eddie stiffens, his knuckles turning white around his cap as he straightens his spine and heaves a heavy sigh through his nose.

Graduation starts in thirty minutes and he really thought that he could avoid this today, but he just isn’t that lucky.

Shutting the door to his van and turning around, he plasters an unbothered smirk on his face to meet Jason and Andy, both dressed in their gowns like everyone else.

“Happy graduation, freak.” Andy grins, trailing behind Jason until they both come to stand in front of Eddie, effectively cornering him against the side of his van and blocking anyone’s view who may be walking through the parking lot. “I’m shocked that Higgins is actually letting you take home a diploma today.”

Eddie brushes this off, glancing towards the school where you’re waiting inside the front doors for him to finish his deal so that you could steal one last kiss before he has to line up with the other students.

“Happy graduation, fellas.” He tips his chin in a small bow. “If you came here for a trade, you’re out of luck as of-” he glances at his watch, “three minutes ago.”

Before he can blink, Jason is wrapping his fist around the collar of Eddie’s gown and slamming him against the side of his van, rolling his eyes in the process.

“We don’t want your weed, freak,” Jason grits, the corner of his lip turning up in a menacing smile. “You really think I was just gonna let you walk right out of here without a goodbye?”

Eddie plasters on his best poker face despite the way his heart skips a beat in his chest, Jason’s breath fanning across his face smelling like beer and the remnants of cigar smoke.

This was the third year Eddie spent as a senior in high school and with your help, he finally managed to get good enough grades and actually submit all of his assignments to secure his diploma and get the hell out of Hawkins High.

When you met, Eddie was in the eleventh grade and you in the tenth, and you were the dictionary definition of high school sweethearts. Attached at the hip and caught making out in the hallway between classes a few too many times.

When Eddie was held back from graduating the first time, he was pissed but he also secretly enjoyed getting to spend another year with you, taking a majority of the same classes. The second time it happened though, he had to watch you graduate while he sat in the stands with a flimsy bouquet of flowers in his hand and a shameful feeling in his stomach that he was forced to be there again, but this time without you.

And on the first day of what ended up being his final senior year, Jason and his gang were in the same grade and opted to fuel their egos through Eddie’s torment, making him their own personal punching bag whenever they needed to blow off some steam. It worked in their favour, not having you around, but you still knew what went on when you would show up to Eddie’s trailer on a Friday night and he opened the door with a bag of peas pressed against his cheek.

He never took the bullying well, at least not behind closed doors. And after attempting to fight back and being pummelled into the ground for a fourth time, earning himself a concussion, Eddie stopped defending himself.

They were stronger than him. So he let the jocks take what they needed without really blinking an eye, and he got off a little easier for it.

When he showed up to school with a black eye or a fat lip, he acted like it didn’t exist. No matter the judgemental looks he received from his teachers or the worried ones from his friends. But he struggled with the embarrassment he felt for himself, that teenagers were the ones overpowering him.

It was something he eventually confided in you with when he broke down over the phone one night the week after Christmas break.

They made him feel weak, immature, and downright stupid each time he was forced to clean up his nose in the school bathroom before Hellfire or see the look on his uncle’s face when he came home with another shiner.

But now, he’s graduating.

Third time’s a charm, he had said to you the night before the first day of class, and had been more determined than ever to get it right this time.

And he did.

But he still isn’t so lucky to believe that he could’ve gone the entire day without running into Jason.

“Look-” Eddie mutters, his jaw tightening. “I’m not fighting you. So just let it go, man,” he says, stooping low enough to practically plead for his own mercy today.

Wayne is here, waiting for him in the stands with the rest of the parents and families, and you’re bound to walk out of the school at any minute, looking for him.

“Shut up. You’re a piece of shit, Munson,” Jason spits, his nose close to brushing against Eddie’s with how close he’s standing. “I think I deserve one last hurrah, don’t I?” he breathes through a smile that makes Eddie’s stomach turn. “To show everyone here you’re just some weak and pathetic satanist that can’t even bother defending himself?”

“Jason- just wait… at least until after the ceremony, man, please-”

“You’re the last person here who deserves to walk across that stage today. You can go ahead and show your girl how fucking pathetic you are.”

Eddie manages to keep a straight face despite that comment feeling more painful than the fist that Jason throws across his face. His knuckles collide with the top of his cheek bone and skim across his nose with a soft cracking sound, springing tears to his eyes.

Warmth immediately spills from Eddie’s nose and before he can turn his head back to face his abuser, a glob of spit lands directly on his cheek that makes him wince.

“I truly wish you all of the best,” Jason says when he drops his hold around Eddie’s collar and takes a step back. “Lord knows you’ll be spending the rest of your life slinging drugs in alleyways until the chief finally locks you up for good.”

Eddie glances at Jason who grins as he walks backwards, knocking his fist against Andy’s.

“See you up there, yeah?” Jason points behind him to the football field where the ceremony is taking place. He sucks his tongue against his teeth before spinning on his heel and making his way back around the front of the school where everyone is starting to line up.

Blood seeps between Eddie’s lips and he spits it onto the ground, lifting his arm to wipe off the saliva on his cheek with his sleeve.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, bringing his hand to his nose and glancing at his fingers to see them coated bright red.

Your eyes flicker up to the clock above the doors, letting out a quiet sigh when Eddie still hasn’t shown. You cross your arms over your chest and rest your head on the wall, silently hoping he didn’t bail at the last minute since you had to convince him to come to this thing in the first place.

It’s only when you spot Jason and Andy walking past the front doors, laughing about something that you feel your stomach drop. Jason pulls a cigar from the pocket of his gown and you spot the blotchy red skin covering his knuckles.

“Shit,” you breathe, pushing the door open and stepping outside, rushing around the building to where Eddie’s van is parked.

The back doors are open wide, facing the forest where he backed in when he arrived and there’s a wet, red stain painting the road next to his passenger side door. You press your lips together, your heart rising into your throat.

Eddie is sitting in the back of the van, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and a tissue soaked in blood pressed against his nose. Broken blood vessels are painting the skin under his eye, turning a deep shade of red as it swells.

“Eddie…” you gasp, shoulders falling as you spot the two tissues he’s already discarded.

His head lifts up when you reach down to pick up his graduation cap off the ground where he dropped it, brushing it clean with your hand.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles, voice nasally as he holds the tissue tightly to his nose.

You glance towards the school, aware that the students are starting to line up. If Eddie doesn’t get there in time, he won’t be walking the stage.

Climbing into his van on your knees, you set his cap to the side and grab a few more tissues from the box he keeps in the back.

“Let me see,” you say, pulling out the water bottle you brought in your bag for the long day, dampening one of the tissues.

Eddie turns to you and carefully lowers the maroon coloured tissue from his nose. Your eyes dart across his features and threaten to fill with tears, drops of red staining the green and orange stole that sits around his neck.

Blood seeps slowly from one of his nostrils and you bring the tissue to his upper lip, carefully cleaning away the drying blood that’s smeared there. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s not broken,” he says, voice quiet and although he didn’t answer your question, you don’t push. When your finger grazes over the side of his nose, he hisses, pulling away and lifting his hand to your wrist. “Fuck- stop. I’ll do it.”

You frown, sitting back on your heels. “We don’t have time. You need to stop the bleeding, everyone is lining up already.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t?”

He shakes his head, letting your arm go and plucking a fresh tissue to hold under his dripping nose. “I’m not walking that fucking stage,” he mutters, and you don’t miss the sheen of saltwater that spills across his vision before he looks down at the pavement. “Not like this. Not when Wayne is here… he-” his breath catches in his throat and his jaw tightens, “-it’s humiliating.”

A lump forms in your throat that you swallow down, lifting your hand to his chin and turning him back to face you. You keep a gentle grip on his face as you wipe up the remainder of blood on his face, which he doesn’t fight you on.

“I didn’t even fucking do anything this time, I barely said a word but he needed to get one last punch in,” he continues, blinking quickly in an attempt to clear his bleary eyes. “But he got what he wanted. I’m not going up there. I shouldn’t even be getting this diploma.”

You pause at his words, lifting your eyes to his which are averted down to your thighs. “Did Jason say that to you?”

“Does it matter?”

He lifts a hand to rub at his uninjured eye and you notice the blood staining his fingers, dropping the dirtied tissue to the side and wetting a new one. He looks at you when you take his hand into your lap, chin tilted down to your chest as you clean up his skin.

“You deserve to graduate more than anyone here, Eddie,” you start, his brows twitching down at the conviction in your voice. “And you’re going to walk across that stage today and snatch that god damn diploma out of Principal Higgins hand, give him the bird, and celebrate the fact that you’re finally getting the hell out of here.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, noticing that his nose has almost stopped bleeding.

“This shit doesn’t make you weak,” you quietly continue, tilting his chin up to wipe up the blood sitting in his nose. “And Wayne isn’t going to think you are. Especially not if you go up there without caring about what any of those assholes think about you. They may be physically stronger than you, but they have nothing over you, Eddie. You’re already so much more than they will ever be.”

He’s quiet when you drop your hand from his chin and ball up the tissues in your hand to throw away later. His rings clink together as he curls his hand into a fist before flexing his fingers outward and back again, a nervous habit he developed a few years ago.

“You proved everyone wrong this year. And you’re graduating today. You finished high school.”

Despite the gnarly bruise that’s forming beneath his eye and the blood on his gown, he still looks just as beautiful as he did this morning when his lips curl up in a shy smirk, and he lifts his eyes to yours.

“Fuck Jason and his friends, you’re not going to see them again after today. And this day is for you. No one else,” you say, lifting your hands to rest on his cheeks, smoothing your thumbs over his skin to collect any tears lingering there. “Got it?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, sniffling and wincing slightly at the taste of blood in his throat. “Yeah, sweetheart. I got it.”

“Good. Now… just try not to touch your nose for a while. It stopped bleeding for now but you might like… rip something open again if you do anything,” you murmur, eyeing his nose carefully. “Do you want me to break into the nurse’s office and find an ice pack for your eye?”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” he replies despite the throbbing pain in his face. “But, are you really going to make me walk out there with blood on my gown?” he says in jest although he knows that it’ll only solidify his standing as the ‘freak of Hawkins High’ until he walks off of that stage and doesn’t look back.

“You might need to avoid Mrs. Click after the ceremony or she’ll make you pay for it, but-”

You’re cut off by Eddie’s lips eagerly meeting yours, muffling the noise of surprise you make. He rests his hand against the side of your neck, forcing himself to stop from melting into a puddle on the pavement from the way you slide your fingers into his hair, the sweet lip gloss you’re wearing smearing against his lips.

His nose brushes your cheek and forces him to pull back from the sting, his lips glossy and pupils wide when your eyes flutter back open.

“What was that for?” you giggle quietly as he slips his tongue out over his bottom lip to taste the gloss on his mouth and presses his fingers into the side of your thigh.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he breathes, sniffling softly. “I still wish that we would’ve been graduating together- but you’re here, and I couldn’t do this shit without you.”

You smile, giving him another quick kiss before swiping away some of the lip gloss on his bottom lip. “Don’t get all sappy on me already. You’re not allowed to make me cry until the ceremony.”

He chuckles with the shake of his head, tilting his head down to glance at his watch. His face falls slightly as he sighs. “I should get going.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to find you some ice? It’s going to be a while before your name is called.”

He shakes his head as you take in the swelling skin below his eye, knowing that his appearance is going to end up shocking some of the parents there today when he gets his diploma. Not that he cares about them.

“I’m sure,” he cements and you give him a small, unsure frown. “I don’t want you worrying about me- I swear I’m good.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “But I have some tylenol that you should take.” Pulling out a couple of capsules from your bag, you drop them into his hand and he swallows them down with the water you brought. “And bring your sunglasses. It’s sunny.”

You have no doubt that he is going to wind up with a headache by the end of the day, more sensitive to sunlight ever since his head got slammed into the ground by one of Jason’s friends after Eddie threw a punch that busted their lip open a week before Halloween last year.

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie murmurs and you roll your eyes, leaning into the kiss he presses to your cheek before plucking his sunglasses off of the floor of his van and sliding them onto his nose.

He grabs his graduation cap before getting up and pulling you up with him. “I’ll be in the stands with Wayne, but if you need anything-”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” he assures you, tugging you into his chest for one last hug before he locks his van and leaves you to go sit under the sweltering sun for the next hour. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you mumble, kissing him again before stepping back and nudging him towards the school. “Now go!”

He smirks, walking backward and giving you a two-fingered salute before spinning on his heel and sauntering off across the parking lot.

You make your way back over to the football field, spotting Wayne at the end of one of the rows, saving a seat for you next to Dustin who Eddie had no idea was here. They had become pretty good friends over the school year and Dustin was the reason Eddie had started getting passionate about his Hellfire campaigns again after the slump he went through when school first began.

And, Dustin practically begged you to let him come today, although you never thought of turning him down when he asked the first time, knowing Eddie would appreciate having him here even if he denied it.

Climbing the steps, you give Wayne a small smile before sliding past him to sit down, Dustin immediately holding out a bag of trail mix for you. “Thank you,” you mumble, plucking some from the bag to munch on.

The graduates are slowly filling into the seats but you can’t see Eddie yet.

“Hey,” you say suddenly, turning to Dustin. “Could you do me a favour?”

“Uh, depends what it is,” he mumbles through the food in his mouth.

“I need you to sneak into the school and find Eddie an ice pack and some water,” you reply and he looks at you with the raise of his brows high on his forehead. “And you’ll need to get it to him during all the blabbering-” You wave your hand towards the stage where the teachers are quietly conversing to each other. “Please?”

Dustin glances towards the school. “What happened?”

“What do you think?” you mutter quietly and he frowns, turning to you.

“Alright,” he sighs, shoving the bag of trail mix into your hand. “But if I get caught, you owe me big. And I mean big.”

“Deal.”

With a pause of hesitation, Dustin sighs before standing up and making his way down the stairs, disappearing behind the stands. Wayne clears his throat and you glance at him.

“He has a black eye,” you say unpromptedly and he blinks at you. “But he’s fine... I made sure.”

He doesn’t reply, flickering his gaze towards where the students are walking into the field, his lips pursing softly in disappointment.

“Dustin’s finding him some ice, and I gave him painkillers so he’ll make it through the ceremony without any issue. And this is… well hopefully, the last time he’ll ever deal with this,” you quietly continue and Wayne nods, keeping his eyes on the teenagers when he finally speaks up.

“Who did it?” he asks, nodding towards the group and you glance over, seeing that most of the first few rows are filled in, but Jason happens to be standing at the side of the stage, talking to his coach and tilting his head back with a loud laugh.

“Kid beside the stage… It’s been him and some of his friends.”

Shaking his head, he sighs and sits back, hands clasping the edge of the seat beneath him. “Well… thank you. For always making sure he’s okay.”

“Of course,” you shrug like it’s nothing and it makes Wayne smile as he plucks the program off of the seat and flips through it to pass the time.

When you finally spot Eddie making his way onto the field, his sunglasses are still perched on his nose and his graduation cap sits snugly on his head, flattening some of his curls. His head turns towards the bleachers and you can tell the exact moment he spots you, a grin spreading on his lips before he eagerly waves to you.

You smile, waving back and nudging his uncle’s leg with your knee to get his attention. He spots Eddie and lifts his hand in a wave, smiling softly as he follows the line into the next row of chairs stationed on the grass and sits down, his back facing you.

You’re glad he’s in good spirits after what happened and can only hope that the rest of the day goes smoothly.

About ten minutes later, while Principal Higgins is in the middle of his speech, you spot quiet commotion coming from the side of the field. Dustin is pulling his arm away from one of the teachers standing by the exit, a bottle of water and a plastic bag filled with ice clutched in his hands.

He manages to get out of her grip and runs towards the plastic chairs, catching the attention of almost everyone in the stands as he slides into the row that Eddie is in with his lips moving in what you can only assume to be quiet apologies to the people he passes. He stops halfway through the row and shoves the items into Eddie’s lap without a word before turning around and hurrying out of there.

A teacher is making her way over to him but he immediately darts around the rows of chairs and back over to where you’re sitting, his feet slamming loudly against the metal stairs as he climbs them. He hurriedly squeezes past you and Wayne and sits down with a heavy sigh, panting to catch his breath.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he huffs and you ignore the glances of both parents and students in favour of finding Eddie in the crowd, his body twisted in his seat and sunglasses in his hand.

He raises an eyebrow at you and you just smile, shrugging your shoulders to your ears. His tongue pokes into his cheek and a smile tugs at his lips, shaking his head in disbelief. You pucker your lips and press your fingers to them before blowing him a kiss, his cheeks turning a visible shade of pink.

With his sunglasses off you can see that his eye is now a deep shade of purple, and you’re glad you didn’t listen to him about the ice, knowing he’ll be grateful he has it if he needs it.

He turns around in his seat and you can feel another pair of eyes on you, lifting your gaze towards the second row of students where Jason has his head turned, eyes narrowing in your direction.

You lift your hand and wiggle your fingers at him before promptly sticking out your tongue, making his jaw tick in annoyance. He rolls his eyes and slumps into his chair as he looks back towards the stage and you smile in satisfaction, dropping your chin to rest in your hand.

You, Dustin, and Wayne spend the next little while finishing off the bag of trail mix and keeping as hydrated as possible in the heat, and you silently envy the parents who brought umbrellas to shade themselves from the unrelenting sun as you fold up your program into an accordion to fan yourself with.

The ceremony doesn’t drag on as much as you anticipated it would, already on the L’s after forty-five minutes, but Dustin is keeping himself occupied with the copy of Lord of the Rings he had borrowed from Eddie, who checked it out of the school library two years ago and dodged enough late fees until the librarian reluctantly ordered a new copy in replacement.

None of you are planning to stick around once Eddie gets his diploma, knowing that the last thing he would want is to be forced to sit here for the next hour or two until the end of the ceremony. And there’s currently an ice cream cake sitting in Wayne’s freezer that Eddie doesn’t know about, but that you’re dying to dig into after sitting in the sun all morning.

Wayne wipes a bead of sweat off of his temple with the back of his hand and you trade programs with him so that he can use your makeshift fan, flipping through his pristine one until you find the list of names. There’s only five people in front of Eddie and you glance up to see that his row is lining up at the side of the stage.

His water and ice were promptly discarded onto his seat before he stood up which you’re unsurprised by, happy nonetheless that he keeps his sunglasses perched over his eyes until the first M name is called out. Eddie tugs his glasses off and shoves them into the pocket of his gown, his eye visibly black and blue even from where you’re sitting.

Of course, this being his last day ever at Hawkins High, he’s going out with a bang. Although, you don’t miss the way he starts to fiddle with the rings on his fingers, toeing at the ground with nerves the closer he gets to the stage.

Wayne glances at you when you pull your camera from your bag, turning it on and tugging your bag back over your shoulder. “I’ll get a photo of him. Just enjoy this,” you say when you catch his eye and he quietly clears his throat, nodding as he looks towards the stage again.

You stand up and make your way out of the stands, careful not to trip over your feet on the steep stairs before walking closer to the side of the stage Eddie will be leaving from. Fiddling with your camera, you spot him on the other end, gripping the railing tightly as the student in front of him grabs his diploma and shakes Principal Higgins hand.

“Edward Waylon Munson,” Mr. Kaminski drones from his place at the podium and there’s scattered applause as Eddie hops up onto the stage with his signature smirk on his face.

You can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes as you lift your camera to your eye. Principal Higgings barely holds out the diploma before Eddie grabs it from his hand with a mocking bow. He turns to walk backwards for a few steps and lifts his middle finger into the air, letting out a loud “whoo!” that makes a few parents in the audience jump.

He is a sight to see with his frizzy curls poofing out from underneath his graduation cap and the violent bruise painting his cheek, but no one would have a clue that he was ever bothered by his injuries.

You’re not surprised when Eddie’s eyes snap to a section in the front row, hearing a quiet yell from Jason that you can’t understand but which makes your jaw tick in frustration. Eddie merely tilts his head to the side and lifts his hands up near his head, poking his fingers up and sticking his tongue out with a crazed look in his eye.

A few gasps erupt from the bleachers and Eddie’s face falls into an amused smirk as he lowers his hands back to his sides.

Snapping a few pictures, you hear Dustin cheering loudly from the stands next to Wayne and there’s a few others from the crowd that you recognize as Robin and Nancy, both who are in the same graduating class, Eddie’s bandmates, Mike, and Steve who you spotted in the bleachers when you first arrived.

Higgins and the other teachers roll their eyes, grumbling nonsense under their breaths, but Eddie just smiles, giving a two-fingered salute to Dustin and Wayne.

A lump settles at the base of your throat with your emotion, happy that despite all the people who had no problem voicing their negative opinion about him over the years, and particularly this past school year, that he still did make a couple of friends that were actually happy he was able to finally get his diploma.

There’s a soft pink hue ghosting across Eddie’s unmarred cheek that you’re pretty sure is from the handful of genuine cheers he received that he never expected, but you know if you mention it, he’ll blame it on the sun.

He tugs his tassel to the side and practically skips down the steps onto the grass as you shove your camera back into your bag and find his eyes with a beaming smile on your face. You hurry to meet him halfway, leaping into his arms with your legs wrapping around his hips and arms latching onto his shoulders.

Neither of you care about the eyes of anyone in the crowd as you hug him tightly. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eddie Munson,” you say with so much conviction that his eyes threaten to water as he buries his head in your neck. “You did it!”

You pull away, planting your hands on his cheeks and your lips on his. It’s hard to kiss him with your smile and you pull back when he groans.

“Careful of the eye, sweetheart,” he murmurs through a grin and you giggle an apology, sliding your hand to the back of his neck and kissing him again.

He sets you back down on the ground a few seconds later, keeping his lips on yours with a content hum vibrating his chest, only stopping when you hear Dustin’s voice.

“Get a room.”

Eddie smiles, pulling away from you and glancing up to see Dustin and Wayne walking over to you. You step to the side and notice the slight shift in Eddie’s expression when he sees his uncle’s glossy eyes.

You fumble to pull your camera back out of your bag as Wayne clasps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, shaking his head as he takes in the bruise on his cheek. “Christ boy,” he mutters. “That’s one hell of a way to go, isn’t it?” he jokes, making Eddie laugh before pulling him into a hug.

It’s hard to decipher any of the words they exchange as you snap a photo of the sweet moment, Eddie pulling back with a wobbly lip before he sniffles and glances down to his feet, letting out a soft laugh when Wayne pats a heavy hand on his back.

“Know I’m proud of you kid,” Wayne mutters and Eddie wipes at his eyes with his sleeve with a quick nod.

The sweet moment ends abruptly when Dustin walks up to him and throws his arms around his shoulders, making Eddie stiffen slightly.

“I knew you could fucking do it, Eddie-” he starts and Eddie gives him a brief pat on the back before squirming out of his hold, Dustin ducking before he can put him in a headlock. “You’re gonna let me use the throne now, right?”

“Considering none of those other guys take it seriously enough… Yeah, it’s yours man.”

You smile when Dustin pumps his fist into the air with a whispered “yes” and continues babbling about his campaign ideas as the four of you walk towards the parking lot.

Luckily Eddie’s friends walked the stage before him, so he isn’t missing out on anything, leaving early. He throws his sunglasses back on and waits until you’re at his side to slide his hand into yours, lightly bumping his hip against your side.

“You have to keep hosting campaigns, you’re the best Dungeon Master there is!” Dustin exclaims with wide eyes as you step off the grass and onto the asphalt, turning to walk backwards so he can look at Eddie. “I have so many things I still need to show you, and you have to help me with my own games now, and-”

“Dude, relax,” Eddie cuts him off. “I’m not giving up DM that easily. You’re taking the reins here-” he points to the school. “But I’ll still host campaigns, I just have to work out the details first.”

Dustin’s shoulders slump in relief and you notice the tiniest hint of a smile on Eddie’s face once he turns back around.

Wayne is parked a couple cars down from the van and you stop in the middle to part ways, Eddie lifting his foot to nudge at Dustin’s leg.

“Thanks for coming, man. Means a lot,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Dustin frowns. “Obviously. We’re all going to your house.”

You roll your eyes with a small sigh, not knowing why you ever trusted Dustin to keep even part of a secret to himself.

Eddie raises his eyebrows, glancing from Wayne to you and you give him a small smile, shrugging your shoulders.

“Come on,” you start, hooking your arm into his and tugging him towards his van. “Let’s go before someone says too much.”

“You got something planned?” he asks with a teasing smirk before his face falls slightly and he tugs you back. “But wait, can we stop for milkshakes or something? I’m sweating my ass off.”

“Don’t you need to go and return that gown before you go anywhere?” Wayne pipes up from behind him and Eddie spins on his heel, plucking at the fabric covering his chest.

“Not unless I wanna give ‘em any amount of money for this,” he says, grimacing down at the blood, now stained a murky shade of brown against the fabric. “They can’t do shit about it once I’m gone.”

“If you say so,” Wayne grumbles, rounding the bed of his truck to get into the driver’s seat as Dustin climbs in on the other side.

“We don’t need to stop for milkshakes,” you say and Eddie looks back at you with his bottom lip jutting out.

“Hey-” Wayne suddenly calls from over the top of his truck and Eddie turns back. “Don’t get any more speeding tickets, alright? ‘Cause I’m not paying for them anymore. You’re finished high school, so you’re not getting away with that shit as easily,” he scolds with a pointed look towards his nephew, but you can see the glimmer of pride in his gaze.

Eddie doesn’t reply but gives him a thumbs up before turning to you and curling his arm around your shoulders.

“So… why are you denying a graduate his milkshake? You know I’m driving right, so you don’t really have the ultimate say-”

“It’s a surprise!” you cut him off and he laughs, walking with you to the side of his van.

“One sec,” he quips before he’s ripping the stole off over his head and hastily unzipping the gown with a relieved sigh when the slight breeze in the air flits across his skin.

Your eyes trail down to what he’s wearing underneath, which you did see before he picked up his gown this morning, but it had somehow slipped your mind.

His favourite ripped black jeans are sitting on his hips, lacking their usual jewelry in place of an old leather belt that has a faded silver buckle of a skull resting just below his navel. A fitted, black singlet tank top hugs his lean figure, tucked into his jeans and showing off his arms which are slightly more defined than usual with the push-ups he started doing a few weeks ago.

He pushes the gown off of his shoulders, letting the fabric drop to the ground and your eyes drag over the recent additions on his arms from over the last year, the dark ink prominent across his pale skin.

When he turns to pick up the discarded gown, you notice the sheen of sweat coating his heated skin, glimmering under the summer sun and matting down the subtle peek of hair you glimpse under his arm.

Eddie turns his head to look at you and a smirk lifts to his face when he watches your lips part as your eyes dart over his figure.

“Baby?” he drags on slowly, standing up straight and tilting his head to the side.

Your eyes snap back up to his face, cheeks growing flush. “What?”

His eyes crinkle softly as he laughs, pulling open the door to his van and chucking his cap and gown behind the front seat with the fake diploma, the real one being sent through the mail in the coming weeks.

“See something you like?” he teases before lifting himself onto his toes and turning his back to you, whipping his head over his shoulder with a much too-forced smoulder that makes you giggle. “Doesn’t this deserve a milkshake?”

“No, Eddie!” you laugh, nudging him to get inside the van. “There’s something better at your house. Promise.”

“Oh yeah?” He arches his brow at you, perching himself on the edge of the driver’s seat, and you nod. “Consider me intrigued.”

He pulls you in for a kiss by the back of your neck, moaning quietly at the taste of your lip gloss before patting the back of your thigh and telling you to get in the van.

The drive back to his trailer is filled with blaring music combined with Eddie’s screams as he sings along, batting his hands against the steering wheel and bopping his head enough that his hair sticks to his cheeks, damp from the heat. There’s a wide smile on his face for almost the entire drive and you watch him and his happiness, recognizing how much more relaxed he already seems, the further away from the school you get.

The air conditioning in his van busted yesterday and he hasn’t gotten around to fixing it yet, so you’re sweating in places you didn’t even know could sweat, but nothing could have stumped your happiness in that moment, knowing that he’s finally free of all of the shit that’s been holding him back for so many years.

He reaches over to turn down the music when he pulls into the trailer park, having been scolded more than once by his elderly neighbour for the noise. He has a soft spot for her though, shovelling her walk in the winter in exchange for a cup of cocoa, or scrubbing her car clean in the summertime for a lemonade, like he’s done for the last handful of years.

You take your seatbelt off before he’s even put the van into park next to Wayne’s truck, twisting around to grab his graduation cap, smoothing the tassel out between your fingers. He watches you, shutting off the van and dipping his chin when you lean forward to secure the cap over his curls again.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, nose twitching when the tassel tickles his skin.

“Can you keep it on for a little bit?”

“Why?” He lifts his head and you push the tassel to the side of the cap, smiling at him.

“Because, I’m proud of you and you look really cute wearing it.”

His features briefly twist in annoyance as he groans, but you catch the faint smile that quivers at the corner of his lips. “Fine. But it’s coming off as soon as you’re done taking all your little photos.”

With that, you both get out and Eddie sighs in relief from no longer being in the hot, humid air inside of his van. He lingers in the subtle breeze, tipping his chin up towards the sky with his eyes falling closed and you take the opportunity to snap another picture of him, his head turning to you when he hears your camera.

You smile at him, shoving it back into your bag and holding your hand out. “Come on, I’m dying out here.”

He grins at you, looking like an excited little boy as he strides over to take your hand and follow you eagerly up the stairs and into the trailer.

“We’re home!” Eddie bellows, the screen door loudly slamming shut behind him. “There better be a damn good reason why I couldn’t buy myself a shake-”

He pauses, taking in the sight of the four boys sitting in the living room, talking each other’s ears off about some movie you haven’t seen. Your shoulders fall in relief that his bandmates made it to the trailer before you did, knowing they only left the ceremony as soon as Eddie walked off of the stage.

There’s a shiny foil banner hung above the television, reading “Happy Graduation!” and a few balloons scattered around the room; the most you were able to do in the short time you had the trailer to yourself this morning when Wayne took Eddie out for breakfast.

No one even glances up at Eddie’s voice, too engrossed in their conversation and you press your lips together with a disappointed roll of your eyes, having initially planned that they would all surprise Eddie as soon as the two of you walked through the door. Not even Dustin looks up, rambling to Gareth.

“Surprise?” you say timidly, looking up at Eddie to see a crease between his brows, an unreadable expression on his face.

His eyes snap down to yours when he hears your voice and his face softens. “You planned this?”

You nod. “I know it isn’t a big… party or anything, and if you want, I’m sure we can head over to Steve’s a little later to see everyone else but I just thought-”

You end up cutting yourself off with a quiet ‘oof’ when Eddie crushes you in a hug, almost knocking you straight onto the floor with the force, if only his arms weren’t holding you tightly against his chest.

“You’re incredible,” Eddie breathes into your neck, pressing his face there despite the pain radiating in his cheekbone. “I don’t care about a party… this is all I wanted- even more than I thought I did,” he says before pulling back and placing his hands on the sides of your neck. “Shit, sweetheart,” he chuckles, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks and glancing at the party banner on the wall. “I was so happy just to come back here with you and Wayne.”

“I still thought it would be a little bit more than this,” you say in quiet frustration, motioning to the boys in the living room who still haven’t acknowledged either of you. “They were at least supposed to say ‘surprise.’”

The smile on his face only grows before he’s pushing at your shoulders until your back hits the wall, his lips promptly smearing against yours. His kiss is rough and a little uncoordinated but it only lasts for a couple of seconds, Eddie pulling back when you hear a familiar, low clearing of a throat.

Wayne stands with his hip resting on the edge of the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest.

“Should I barbecue tonight, or do you want to go out again?” he asks, rubbing his fingers over the scruff on his chin and Eddie’s face drops into a sarcastic scowl.

“Do you have to ask?” he accuses and Wayne grumbles something under his breath before turning to go back into the kitchen, waving a dismissive hand.

“You’re helping me grill then,” Wayne calls and Eddie gives him a salute that he doesn’t see, turning back to you.

“This is still a surprise, baby,” he reassures your previous comment, tilting his head towards the living room. “But if you think you’re ever gonna pull them away from talking about Day of the Dead, you’re so wrong,” he drags out his words, voice dropping into a low hum.

You laugh, his hands squeezing at your hips before he plants another kiss onto your lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs and you smile, dipping your chin to rest your forehead on his.

“You’re welcome… Are you happy?”

“So fuckin’ happy,” he whispers, eyes glimmering in delight and you think today might just be the day that those brown eyes officially make your heart burst into pieces.

“Can I show you why we didn’t stop for shakes now? Maybe we can actually all cool off,” you ask and he nods quickly, the tassel on his cap wiggling with the movement.

Wayne is pouring sodas for everyone into solo cups when you walk into the kitchen, two beers dripping in condensation sitting on the counter and Eddie slips one into his hand, taking a swig of it. He keeps his hand on your hip as you pull open the door to the freezer, the icy air coming out in visible clouds and chilling your skin.

You feel his chin come down to rest on the top of your head while you grab the ice cream cake and slip out of his grip to set it on the counter.

His eyes widen when he sees it, blindly shutting the freezer and standing next to you with his jaw falling open in surprise.

It’s a simple sheet cake with white icing covering the entire thing, black piping around the edges and the demon from his Hellfire logo iced onto the centre in gel next to a dark green graduation cap, matching the one sitting on his head.

The words at the top of the cake read, 'Graduating Munson of ‘86,' with a cursive, 'Congratulations!' piped below the demon’s head.

Eddie cackles at the message on the cake as you pop off the frosty lid and set it to the side.

“Holy shit, this is amazing,” he beams, sliding his hands around your waist to pull you into his chest. “You do this?”

“Maybe… I placed the order anyway,” you reply, smiling when he tightens his arms around you. “Wayne came up with the writing though.”

“Well we’re not celebrating the whole bloody class of ‘86, ‘side from your boys,” Wayne mumbles from his place near the sink, nodding towards the living room.

“Is it chocolate inside?” Eddie asks, lips brushing your ear.

“Duh.”

His hand lifts up, eager to swipe off some of the icing on the side of the cake.

“Ah!” You lightly slap his hand away. “You’ll get your piece. But don’t you want a picture before you dig into it?”

“Hell yeah,” he agrees and moves around you to pick up the cake carefully in his hands while you bring your camera back out.

He smiles widely at you and you lift your camera to your eye. “Say ‘happy graduation!’”

The camera goes off but you instruct him to take another one and he pretends to pose just to humour you before he leans down and takes a big bite off the corner of the cake, smearing his face and nose with black and white icing as soon as the shutter goes off.

“Eddie!” Your jaw drops as you lower the camera and he looks at you innocently, chewing down the cake and ice cream in his mouth. “That’s going to stain your face.”

Wayne chuckles as Eddie’s face falls and he puts the cake down, sticking his tongue out to try and lick up the black icing on his upper lip. His uncle tosses a wet kitchen towel at his face as you move to start cutting up the cake.

“Better?” Eddie asks after a few seconds and you glance at him to see a small stripe of black still staining the side of his top lip and darkening the stubble he has there.

“Sure.” You smile and he frowns, poking a finger into your side.

When the cake is cut and distributed onto paper plates, Wayne calls the boys to grab their food and Eddie saunters into the living room with his arm curled around a bowl of chips, beer in hand. He drops down onto the sofa with a happy sigh, setting the bowl onto the coffee table and patting the cushion for you to sit next to him, grabbing the plate you made up for him with his already-bitten cake.

The next hour flies by with the boys greedy in their helpings of cake, and you eventually wind up curled against Eddie’s side and holding a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel to his cheek after he mentioned how badly it was starting to sting.

He has your legs pulled over his, one hand curled around your thigh with the other gesturing animatedly at his side as he talks about the new setlist he wants his band to try the next time they book a gig, since The Hideout is currently closed down for some much needed renovations.

It used to make you a little uncomfortable, joining in on hangouts like this with Eddie where you were the only girl in the room. But despite the people he deals to, or the ones that have a sour taste in their mouth whenever they so much as glance in his direction, Eddie generally surrounds himself with good people.

He has a habit of latching onto anyone that shows him any ounce of kindness, and was eventually left with the very few that never once got sick of him.

His friends are some of the most respectful you’ve ever met, treating you as any other member of the group aside from the occasional wrestling, headlocks, and crude pranks that they play on each other.

You’re also lucky that Wayne has always been so easygoing with your relationship with his nephew, so long as you stuck to keeping things strictly PG when people were around: a rule he demanded after having caught the two of you fooling around on the sofa one night when he came home from work early with a cold, the very first year that you had started dating.

You’re happy in a room with the people that Eddie loves the most and he’s overjoyed that you’ve found your place so seamlessly within the group, even if you occasionally slip away to spend some much needed time with Robin or Nancy.

The frozen peas eventually get too warm to do much of anything, but Eddie insists that they helped anyway, lightly prodding at his bruised cheekbone to feel how cold his skin is. Wayne takes the bag from you when he heads back into the kitchen to start prepping dinner and Eddie grabs your hand, lifting it to his lips to press a light kiss there.

He keeps his hand tucked into yours and turns to join in on the conversation about D&D, specifically, the new characters they were working on, started up by Dustin.

Without thinking about it, he tugs the graduation cap off of his head when it starts to feel too tight and your lip juts out in a small pout, catching his attention.

“Sorry, baby. But it’s gonna give me a headache soon,” he says, smoothing down his already flattened curls. “Here-” he twists to face you better and lifts the cap to set on your head, tucking it down over your hair.

“You’ve already seen me in this, Eds,” you mumble in resignation, not fighting him when his eyes brighten at the sight of you in his graduation cap.

“Yeah but you look hot in it.” He shrugs, nudging his finger against the tassel before dropping his hands onto your thighs.

Your cheeks feel hot at the compliment and you bite back your smile, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder.

Both of you briefly forget about the stiff piece of cardboard stitched into the top of the cap, the corner of it jabbing Eddie in the neck and making him yelp.

“Oh my god.” You whip your head up and he bursts into a laugh. “I’m so sorry!”

You press your hand to the red mark already forming on his pale skin, his shoulders shaking softly as he chuckles.

“I should’ve seen that one coming. You and Carver really know where my weak spots are,” he teasingly prods and your frown only deepens.

“Don’t compare me to Jason,” you mumble, his face falling at the joke he didn’t realize was a little too far. Your thumb brushes gingerly over the freshly marred skin near his collarbone and he lets out a quiet sigh at the delicate touch. “You know I didn’t do that on purpose-” you start to defend yourself but he grabs your hands to tangle them together with his.

“I know- hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about what I was saying.” He feels awful at the genuine sadness now painted across your features. “Was super shitty of me to say.”

“I still hate what he did today,” you admit, eyes lifting to his bruise.

“I know,” he murmurs against the back of your hands, his eyes rounding out in apology. “Forgive me?” he softly pleads, kissing your knuckles and you give him a weak nod.

You absolutely hate the reminder of what that piece of shit did to him, but you know that his words slipped out without thought with no intentional malice behind them. He had also mentioned to you when he pulled out of the school’s parking lot that this wound up being the first time he ended up not caring so much about what Jason did - once you talked him down at least - knowing now that the chances of ever running into him and his friends again are truly slim to none.

“Thank you,” he says through a sigh and lifts his head. “Can I have a kiss?”

Leaning forward, he merely pulls back and the crease between your brows deepens until he taps against the side of his neck. The corners of your lips turn up and you pull his cap off of your head, tilting your chin forward to press one soft kiss to his skin.

He finds your lips with his own when you sit back, resting his hand on your jaw. He lingers on you for a few seconds before pulling back, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

“You kissed me better… did it work with you?” he wonders, dark eyes flickering back and forth between yours and you have to pull your lips to the side to hide your smile.

There is a part of you that would love nothing more than to tease him more than you’re currently capable of with the presence of his friends in the room, but you just shake your head. His brow arches in surprise.

“No? How many do you need?”

You shrug and his eyes narrow at you before he starts counting up from one. Shaking your head with every number he says, you deny him satisfaction only until he reaches five.

“Five it is,” he murmurs, creeping his fingers over your collarbone before he wraps his hand around the back of your neck and pulls you forward.

It’s hard to kiss with the smiles lifting onto both of your faces and you laugh when he accidentally kisses your teeth. The five consecutive pecks are fast and noisy each time your lips part from each other, and you pull your bottom one between your teeth after the fifth one as Eddie trails his kisses up and over your cheek until you giggle, pulling away from his grasp.

“Worked like a charm,” he hums, laughing softly into your hair and catching Dustin’s disgusted gaze over the top of your head.

“Are you guys done?” he asks and has to duck behind the coffee table when Eddie immediately chucks a throw pillow at his head.

“Fuck off!” Dustin yells, throwing it back and Eddie dodges it as it flies past his head.

“Watch it! I’m damaged goods, Henderson.”

“You’re damaged something alright,” Dustin mutters under his breath and you press your lips together, not surprised when Eddie’s eyes narrow and he carefully pushes your legs off of his lap.

“You wanna say that to my face like a man?” Eddie taunts, a menacing smirk on his face as Dustin’s eyes briefly widen but he hides it with a forced clearing of his throat, pushing his fingers through his hair.

“What? No- I didn’t say anything.” His voice is quiet and Eddie pats his hand against your thigh before standing up to tower over his friend. “I’m just uh… gonna go to the bathroom,” he continues, pushing himself to stand and rushing around the sofa to put it between him and Eddie.

“You’re dead,” Eddie barely gets out before Dustin is sprinting out of the trailer with a shriek, making Eddie roll his eyes, sitting back down with a satisfied smile.

“You’re not going after him?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Let him hide out there for ten minutes, he deserves it. I graduated today, he doesn’t get to mess with me.”

“You’re really going to keep milking that for the rest of the day, aren’t you?”

His brows raise high on his head and he nods, grabbing a handful of chips to shove into his mouth. You playfully roll your eyes as he sits back and hooks an arm around your shoulders before pressing a salty kiss to your cheek.

“Ugh,” you scoff lightly at the crumbs that fall from his lips and down your shirt. “You’re lucky I love you,” you grumble and he chuckles once he’s swallowed down his snack.

“Luckiest guy in the world,” he replies, gently knocking his head against yours and you smile, cuddling deeper into his side, knowing just how much he truly believes that.

You feel the same way, after all.

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