#yall can come at me for having the 'wrong' take or whatever but i personally can take a lot from that ending so 🤷‍♀️

[cannimumsable]

The pattern is that people straight up do not read™. or they read a 3-5 tweet summary of what happened and treat it as if they did. or because shonen expectations based on "the classics" is bullshit and significantly rotted people's brains when deciding wether an ending is good or not.

Which could be nothing right

yeahhh. i will forever regret reading the last chapter through leaks because it was a dreadful experience, and watching everyone ever shit on it for like a week after genuinely made me want to just get off the internet forever or something because i felt like an idiot for liking the ending (all this is my fault for getting too invested in both tumblr and mha etc etc).

All the "it's rushed" and pacing complaints barely matter to me at this point because you just cannot feel the pacing of something correctly when you're reading it exclusively through leaks. you can't absorb info like that. And don't get me started on the number of complaints and criticisms I've seen of the last chapter that are just provably bullshit (I saw someone say Izuku didn't get a statue lmao. yes he did, you just read the fucking leaks and watched twitter drama unfold instead of reading the actual chapter i fear).

[waddingham]

At this point the only ending that makes sense is the Mary Poppins ending. For me their last chance was when Henry visited, and we saw how that went ...

they definitely had the chance to go another way, but i've never been able to fully convince myself that ted, for all his faults, would ever indefinitely forsake being a daily part of his son's life to stay in richmond. like. traumatically lost his dad at 16 ted? trying to be a kind of father to anyone he meets ted? clearly has an awareness of the importance of that kind of regular support ted? while i think it terrifies him a little bit to be a father, i don't think anything is more important to him and i don't think the circumstances as they are currently in the show are enough to satisfy him.

but that's just my onion as someone who truly doesn't mind them landing on toting the idea that the connections we forge with others whether they're lifelong or three years or a matter of months can be hugely impactful and just because they're short or they've 'ended' (who says him leaving would fully cut any of these ties?) doesn't mean they were any less important. cause ted completely changed people's lives and i don't think it does a disservice to ted at all to paint him in a kind of mary poppins role because i don't think anyone has changed more than he has. richmond changed him right back and he gets to take all the growing and evolving he's done there with him, wherever he goes

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs

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

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

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

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

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

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

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

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

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

Total dream job. 

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

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

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

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

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

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

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

Someone?

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

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

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

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

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a curse.

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

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope.

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

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

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

Except it is.

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

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

He looks up.

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

Abort mission. Now.

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

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

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. 

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

And looks directly at you. 

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

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

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

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

Almost. 

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

Excuse me? 

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

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

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

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

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops slightly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. 

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

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

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

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

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

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

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

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

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

However—

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

The first? 

Insomnia. 

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

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

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

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

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

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

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

Well, except for last night. 

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

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

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

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

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

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, ouch. 

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

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

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

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

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

Do you recognize him? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

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

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

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

He’s so weird. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

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

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

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

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you should do the same.

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

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

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

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

And yet—

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

It’s nothing.

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

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

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

And then—he hesitates.

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

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

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

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

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

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

“What…are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

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

Still no response.

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

That makes him pause.

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

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

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

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

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

You blink. “Wait, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

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

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

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

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

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

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“I do…stuff.”

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

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

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

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

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

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

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

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

"Weird how?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

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

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

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

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

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

His stomach drops.

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

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

Panic creeps up his spine.

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

You jump in your seat.

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

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

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

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

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

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

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

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

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

You squint at him.

Then—

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

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

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

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

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

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

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

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

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

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

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

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

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

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

Heeseung groans.

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

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

You stare back at him.

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

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

You stop.

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

Then back at him.

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

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

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

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

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

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

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

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

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

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

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

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

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

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

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

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

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

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

“Choose.”

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

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

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

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

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

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

“More like character damage.”

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

“Here. Try some.”

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

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

And then he moves. 

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

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

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

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

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

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

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

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

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

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

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

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

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

Oh.

Oh no.

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

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

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

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

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

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

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

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

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

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

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

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

At Heeseung.

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

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

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

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

And Heeseung? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

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

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

Because he gets it. 

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

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

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

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

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

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

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

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

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

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

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

Just maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

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

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

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

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

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

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

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

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

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

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

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

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

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

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

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

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

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

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

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

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

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

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

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

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

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

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

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

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

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

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

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

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

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

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

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

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

You search up his name.

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

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

And to him? 

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

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

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

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

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

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

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

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

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

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

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

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

And you hate it.

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

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

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

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

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

But, no.

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

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

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

You don’t respond.

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

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

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

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

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

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

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

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

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

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

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

And that makes you hate this even more.

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

“When were you going to tell me?”

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

And he stills.

There it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Heeseung stays silent.

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

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

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

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

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

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

Your stomach twists.

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

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

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

And somehow, that makes it worse.

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

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

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

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

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

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

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

Whatever this is.

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

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

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

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

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

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

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

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

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

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

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

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

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

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

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

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

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

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

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

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

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

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

But you don’t. 

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

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

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

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

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Heeseung?

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

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

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

But what he can’t go without?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

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

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

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

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

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

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

You stop.

He stops.

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

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

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

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

You’re right.

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

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

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

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

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

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

You blink, unmoving.

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

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

“About this. Us.”

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

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

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

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

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

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

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

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

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

The tension eases. Just a little.

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

“So now what?”

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

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

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

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

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

However—

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

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

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

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

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

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

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

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

[astonmartinii]

knives out | lewis hamilton social media au

pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

2016 saw the murder of brocedes right before our very eyes, but who got y/n in the will?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

- part of the brother's best friend series -

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 and 751,209 others

tagged: nicorosberg

yourusername: back in barcelona! nothing has ever happened here, right? RIGHT?

view all comments

user1: when i'm in a victim of brocedes contest and y/n rosberg turns up

user2: nico was like "oh, lewis has had a good qualifying... here comes the curse"

user3: he's the hater we should all aspire to be

nicorosberg: barcelona is a beautiful place but you should pick your company well!

yourusername: great advice nico, i should've left you at home

nicorosberg: snore! i'm great company you just can't keep up with my great personality and wit

yourusername: what ever you need to tell yourself old man

nicorosberg: i'm two years older than you?

yourusername: how was the industrial revolution?

user4: i hope they never grow up and always argue in public

user5: omg the argument on sky about lewis v seb in canada... and jenson just stood there with the biggest shit-eating grin ever

lewishamilton: my trauma is not your joke

yourusername: it was my trauma too i was the one who had to listen to him complain for the next TWO WEEKS

lewishamilton: trying to find where i care...

yourusername: you complained first ??

lewishamilton: rightly so!

yourusername: do not tussle with me about this, by now i thought you'd know that us rosbergs don't play about complaining

lewishamilton: believe me my therapist knows that

user6: i know nico sat on his hands forcing himself not to comment back

user7: alternatively, celebrating that he still lives in lewis' head

lewishamilton

liked by georgerussell63, charles_leclerc and 2,305,899 others

tagged: yourusername

lewishamilton: @yourusername i may love you but if that man ever takes a picture of my car i'm putting a hit on his head

view all comments

user11: we got a relationship reveal and a death threat all in one post

user12: lewis saw yall ready to make a brocedes edit using this race and made sure you knew that he doesn't care about a his old haunts

user13: he was like yall shipping me with the wrong rosberg

yourusername: let's refrain from threats for now

lewishamilton: we're gonna have to get rid of that last name, no more curses

nicorosberg: RIGHT THAT IS IT IF YOU DARE GET MARRIED DOUBLE-BARRELLED OR ELSE, ROSBERGS ARE ELITE AND YOU WISH YOU HAD THIS NAME

yourusername: he does have a point

lewishamilton: i'm for real going to lose my mind that we haven't spoken in years and this is where he drew the line

nicorosberg: you told the world you're dating my sister at the same time as me

lewishamilton: stop cursing me then 🤨

nicorosberg: i don't curse you my devilish good looks just sent your engine into cardiac arrest

user14: i know toto wolff just fell to his knees in the mercedes garage seeing them bicker in instagram comments after making merc a literal warzone for years

user15: and yet this is the most brocedes way to go about it

georgerussell63: even if you're dating his sister, i'm still your favourite teammate right?

yourusername: valterri exists buddy soz

georgerussell63: *clutches my pearls*

lewishamilton: and that is exactly why valterri is my favourite teammate

georgerussell63: whatever 💁🏻‍♀️

charles_leclerc: not for long xx

yourusername: whoever can bring me the best coffee can get the crown?

lewishamilton: stop exploiting my teammate and future teammate

yourusername: that's what they're there for?

yourusername

liked by nicorosberg, maxverstappen1 and 823,087 others

tagged: lewishamilton

yourusername: anything happen this week?

view all comments

user19: y/n ruining her brother's week - anything happen this week?

user20: more like year

nicorosberg: more like life

yourusername: drama queen

nicorosberg: as i should be !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

yourusername: got enough exclamation marks in there buddy

nicorosberg: no open the door i need to scream directly in your ears

yourusername: if it's any consolation, the relationship started after 2016

nicorosberg: so he got me out of the way so he could go for my little sister 🤨

lewishamilton: yep!

nicorosberg: no i'm serious let me in i need to yell

nicorosberg: I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE I CAN HEAR ROSCOE

nicorosberg: fine i'll just abseil from my apartment give me a sec

user21: y/n please let him in he's so serious about that i can feel it

user22: anyone from monaco here and want to keep us updated?

danielricciardo: Y/N LET HIM IN HE NEARLY KICKED MY POTTED PLANT OFF THE BALCONY

yourusername: lol

danielricciardo: THIS IS NOT A LAUGHING MATTER PLEASE

lewishamilton: fine, you people are such bores

nicorosberg: i nearly lost a birkenstock

yourusername: and my inheritance nearly doubled

lewishamilton: *our

user23: i think lewis is having way too much fun with this

nicorosberg

liked by lewishamilton, jensonbutton and 692,889 others

tagged: yourusername

nicorosberg: we're back at the track and i've got a sneaking feeling that the red bull might be fast around here

view all comments

user24: nico said babe won't catch me posting lewis on my instagram

maxverstappen1: sure thing buddy he's dating your sister, but there's NO NEED TO TAKE IT OUT ON ME

nicorosberg: i said you're going to win?

maxverstappen1: i DON'T NEED YOUR BAD JUJU GIVE IT TO LEWIS HE'S THE ONE YOU'RE ANGRY AT NOT ME

nicorosberg: i'm not angry at lewis

lewishamilton: really?

nicorosberg: OF COURSE NOT

yourusername: he'll get over it soon lewis don't worry

lewishamilton: really? he's still holding a grudge from 2016 - that was EIGHT YEARS AGO

yourusername: yeah sorry that's a rosberg trait ❤️

user25: not the grid becoming victims of the brocedes fall out eight years later

yourusername: you're so shady why did you crop lewis out?

nicorosberg: outfit wasn't on par with the rosbergs

yourusername: oh no

lewishamilton: HOW DARE YOU

yourusername: you queens can take this out on each other i'm not getting involved in this one

lewishamilton: i know this birkenstock wearing primadonna is not dissing my custom mcqueen

nicorosberg: it's custom because no one would want something so ugly 🫶🏻

user26: someone take nico off the parc ferme interviews lewis might just run him over

user27: he should just let roscoe at his ankles

nicorosberg: that vegan dog can't do shit to me

yourusername: leave the kids out of it nico

nicorosberg: you birthed that? my condolences to your reproductive system

lewishamilton: DO NOT FAT SHAME MY SON

roscoelovescoco: kill yourself @nicorosberg

user28: WTF IS GOING ON

lewishamilton

liked by georgerussell63, kimiantonelli and 2,844,599 others

tagged: yourusername

lewishamilton: he may have won the battle, but i won the war

view all comments

user29: bro you're going to be subjected to boho chic Christmases for the rest of your life

user30: guy is going to get poisoned via christmas nut roast by nico 😭

yourusername: this is corny but i love you

lewishamilton: i love you too i'm going to pretend you didn't just call my super thought out caption corny

yourusername: it was corny and that's what i love about you

nicorosberg: you need better standards

yourusername: for someone who had so much homoerotic tension with the man that you retired you're being very rude about the subject of such tension

nicorosberg: that's not how that went

yourusername: sure, jan

nicorosberg: stop trying to rewrite history

yourusername: i saw it with my own two eyes... are you jealous that i ended up with lewis instead of you?

nicorosberg: nO

user31: i feel like this is definitely not the argument i thought i would see on the internet today

user32: lewis hamilton got passed around the rosberg house ... this your goat?

user33: both rosbergs are hawt as hell so yes!

charles_leclerc: oh great, keep stoking the flames lewis! if you invoke his wrath upon ferrari next season i will personally sacrifice you to the gods

lewishamilton: excuse me?

charles_leclerc: i don't know if you know this but i kinda don't have a world championship yet ... I DO NOT WANT THE ROSBERG CURSE ATTACHED TO ME

lewishamilton: do not minimise my trauma charles

charles_leclerc: you haven't joined ferrari yet, you don't know trauma. be nice to him, i can't finish my career with max having more championships than me

maxverstappen1: skill issue

user34: do these people ever stop arguing?

yourusername: no! and i can assure you it's worse in person

user35: worst brocedes tussle since nico found out?

yourusername: i was making a list of people to invite to my birthday dinner and nico was angry that i wrote lewis' name before his

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and 1,304,277 others

tagged: lewishamilton, nicorosberg

yourusername: still a victim of the brocedes nuclear fallout all these years later

view all comments

user37: bro nearly lost her bf to her brother

user38: lewis couldn't have nico and went for his sister instead

user39: insert larry stylinson theory here that y/n is just the beard and toto wolff is simon cowell

yourusername: i'm blocking all of you

nicorosberg: still yapping about this ... and i'm the dramatic one

yourusername: babe we can all see all of your comments on previous posts where you're the literal definition of crashing out

nicorosberg: BARCELONA WAS LEWIS' FAULT WE ALL KNOW THIS

yourusername: when did i bring up barcelona... you just proved my point IDIOT

nicorosberg: make me sound insane all you want ... TOTO IS THE REAL VILLAIN HERE

yourusername: ???

nicorosberg: he notebooked us

yourusername: riiiiiiiiiiight

nicorosberg: i wrote lewis a letter when i retired and toto never gave it to him

yourusername: you're telling me i had to hide my relationship for so long because you trusted that austrian big foot fraud to be your messenger pigeon ?

user40: did we just get insane brocedes lore on a random tuesday?

user41: you're telling me it was toto's fault the whole time?

lewishamilton: well yes it would've been helpful to have gotten the letter, you have to admit the sneeking around was hot

yourusername: you're right 🤭🤭🤭

lewishamilton: hiding in your bathroom while nico came over to bitch about me was a personal highlight

nicorosberg: excuse me?

lewishamilton: i know we're trying to be better, so here's a compliment: you're very creative when being mean about me

nicorosberg: why thank you 😝

yourusername: nuh uh we ain't doing this shit

lewishamilton: don't worry y/n you'll always be my favourite

nicorosberg: but you'll never have our trip to greece :P

yourusername: i will strangle you britney

user42: y/n got brocedes to talk again, but at what cost?

lewishamilton

liked by nicorosberg, charles_leclerc and 4,677,309 others

tagged: yourusername

lewishamilton: got y/n's hand in marriage in the will (after i murdered her brother's career)

view all comments

user43: y/n can't escape brocedes even on her engagement post

user44: she (and them) will never get rid of it

yourusername: i love you baby, here's to the rest of our life (even if that includes you arguing with my brother for the rest of time)

lewishamilton: i love you even more, i'd go through all of that psychological warfare again and again if it means i still end up with you

yourusername: we've always had an invisible string

lewishamilton: and there's no one else i'd want to be cosmically tied to <3

user45: i might cry they're so cute

user46: that comment thread called me single in about 100 different languages

charles_leclerc: congratulations you two! also congratulations to me - no more rosberg curse!

yourusername: really? on this POST?

charles_leclerc: hold on girlypop, it was mr hamilton-rosberg that brought up your brother first not me

lewishamilton: you better get all this attitude out now charles

charles_leclerc: what? you gonna marry my brother?

yourusername: lol i'm not threatened by them

arthurleclerc: why am i being shaded?

user47: 2025 HURRY THE FUCK UP

nicorosberg: i guess you're finally getting the rosberg name you've always wanted ...

lewishamilton: yes... i have always had a crush on your sister

nicorosberg: GASP! PERVERT 🫵🏻 i have known you since we were 12 you GROSS MAN

lewishamilton: WELL YES I WAS ALSO 12 I'VE NOT ALWAYS BEEN 36 MORON

yourusername: well doesn't this just get me excited for christmas

user48: i know a monopoly board hate to see these three coming

yourusername: @nicorosberg can i have an actual congratulations???

nicorosberg: i'm happy for you, i'm glad you're happy (also he's loaded so slay)

yourusername: i'll take it!

lewishamilton: sure whatever thanks nico !

fin.

note: lol finally finished this one! i have been very in and out on here, i have a lot going on x

[cherryswisherz]

WILSHIRE

♱ CONTAINS: semi happy ending, kissing

♱ NIYAHSPEAKS: this is long as hell and most of it is written as flashbacks but here we areeeeee s/o my tyler fans CHROMOKOPIA 10-28 !!!! i'm finna do yall requests over the weekend because i have nothing else to do so... be prepared!

♱♱♱♱

it's the 2024 wnba draft. azzi's my plus one. nika and aaliyah are getting drafted tonight and i'm trying to keep my cool. because tonight is about them, not about me, not about azzi, not about our summer of utter fucking confusion.

lights from cameras flash. i smile, i mog, i pose. reporters are shoving mics in my face asking stupid questions as i guide azzi off the red carpet with my hand in a respectful position on her back. we have to find the girls before the draft starts. azzi wants to meet them before so it's not awkward at the after party. i'm trying to tune everything out but 6 words take me back to june and i freeze in my tracks.

"what's going on between you two?"

met you on a saturday knew it was somethin' soon as you spoke it eye fucking across the table, don't think anybody noticed you asked me if I was coming to the city you from maybe we should kick it, i was interested that would be dumb, if i denied

"paige..." that was the only thing she'd said directly to me all night. the rest of the time she'd spoke to everyone, answering their questions about how she met ethan, what her major was, etc. 

i'd been staring at her as she did this. studying the way she spoke with her hands, the flutter of her lashes, the bounce of her curls. her voice was so sweet and she always smiled when she wasn't talking so i could see her perfect fucking teeth. 

"where you from?" someone, i couldn't remember who, asked and she threw a glance my way, looking me dead in my eyes for a split second. 

i knew where she was from. we played against each other every year in high school. i was a year ahead of her. we never really paid attention to each other off the court, but i knew she was a killer player and an acl injury during her junior year took her out of the game for good

"uh- i'm from virginia. arlington county." she smiled as she cut her chicken. "me and paige played each other before i had to quit." she looked at me again, longer this time, and i damn near melted into the chair before she put her attention back on the conversation. 

"yeah she gave me a run for my money." i laughed, and that made her look at me again. she seemed confused, probably because i hadn't spoken this entire time. 

"my schools giving you a run for your money." she giggled and it was the most perfect sound i'd ever heard. "they say you're gonna be back when you guys play us next month. any truth to that?"

the competitive side of me took over when i answered her. "yeah i'll be back to tap dance on yalls ass in your own arena." 

"i guess we're in trouble then, huh?" she asked, her big brown eyes boring into mine.

you and i make sense, you stayed back at my telly we was chattin' 'til morning, vibration was heavy i wasn't drowning or yawning that's when i told you my feelings you told me you felt the same but you got homie you dealin' with damn, i didn't know, that's a bit unexpected but i get it, it's whatever, least i can do is respect it

after that dinner, azzi and i hadn't stopped texting and facetiming. it felt wrong because she was my friends girl, but i couldn't leave her alone. i wanted to be near her even if i couldn't see her in person until my team played hers. 

as predicted, we beat their ass and i made sure to remind azzi of that the whole ride back to her apartment. and when we got there, i took off my hoodie and plopped onto the couch. 

"so what we doing tonight? you wanna go out or stay in?" i asked her, praying she said stay in because i was dead tired. 

"definitely stay in." she said, sitting beside me on the couch. "lets put on a movie or something." 

and we did. we put a movie on. now did we watch the movie? no. 

we started talking, just yapping about any and everything. i was totally wrapped up in what she had to say, whether it was about school, or music, or anything really. i wasn't even tired anymore, she had my full attention. 

but then the conversation shifted to basketball and azzi's mood shifted with it. 

"sometimes i try and run 1v1 with ethan and for a second, i forget that my leg is fucked. for those 45 minutes i feel like everything is how i planned it to be." she looks at her knee poking out of her ripped jeans, then she rubs her scar. "and then i stand on it the wrong way and i remember that i'm not a player anymore. just a fan." the crack her voice forces me to grab her and pull her into me, letting her sob into my chest.

"az, you'll always be a baller. that shit's in your spirit ma." i almost wanna cry with her. "and even though you can't play anymore, you're one of the most beautiful people on the planet. and you're smart and you could do anything you wanted to do, basketball be damned."

a few minutes passed and she sniffled, looking up at me, and i got lost her red eyes and wet lashes. our faces were so close together, i could feel her breath on my nose. 

"i really like you azzi." 

fuck.  i shouldn't have said that.  she has a boyfriend.  her boyfriend is my fucking friend she's probably stra-

"i really like you too p." 

oh?

"but i'm with ethan. and he's good for me."

oh.

anyway, convince him to bring you to me so we can kick it right in front of his lenses, since nothing here is malicious you sat by me in that movie we went outside for them doobies we walkin' off when we talk man, that nigga not fucking stupid

"you should bring azzi to storrs with you." i suggested to ethan. "does she like horror movies?"

"uhhh yeah i think so..." he trailed off then scard the hsit out of m. "AZ! YOU WANNA COME WATCH A MOVIE WITH US?" i guess she asked who all was coming. "JUST ME AND PAIGE!" and then i guess she said yes. "okay paige, we'll be there in like 30." 

at the movies, in the five minutes i was waiting for them, i checked my hair 4 times, rearranged my jewelry twice and made sure my breath didn't smell like lunch. and when they got there i choked on my spit because azzi was wearing a sundress that hugged her in every right way. 

i honestly dont think there could be a wrong way. 

when she hugged me she whispered "i missed you." in my ear and dropped a light kiss on my neck that left me flushed. 

in the theater, i sat between her and ethan but we didn't really pay him any attention

"you look really good paige." azzi whispered to me. 

i looked down at my basic ass outfit (wifebeater and sweats), that i spiced up with jewelry and some fire shoes. "girl, this is lightweight." i whispered back.

"yeah well you look good in anything." 

"you look good too az," 

"you think so?" she's fishing.

"if your boyfriend wasn't next to me we wouldn't just be talking right now." i laughed, taking her bait. 

i got a laugh out of her and then she moved to hit me on the leg, but i caught her hand and tangled out fingers together, looking forward at the screen. she didn't move her hand. just set both of ours in my lap. and we stayed that way for like 15 minutes until she leaned into me and whispered again. 

"i hate horror movies, and he's snoring." she laughed pointing over me at her boyfriend who was knocked the fuck out. "can we leave?"

"yeah i got you." i thumped ethan on the head, causing him to jerk out of his sleep.  "yo. wake up, you're loud as hell. ya'll go home."

when we left the theater we walked out in silence but when we stared to say goodbye, azzi cleared her throat.

"actually, i wanna get something to eat really quick so, e, you can go home." she placed her hand on my shoulder, squeezing a little. "paige can you take me home after?"

my heart sped a little at the thought of being alone with her but i kept it P because her literal boyfriend was right next to me. 

"uh yeah if that cool with you?" i asked, not because i needed his permission, but because he's my friend and i wanted it. 

"yeah of course." he nodded then dapped me up "goodnight p."

"night." as soon as he was gone, i rubbed my hands together and looked down at azzi, catching those brown eyes in a way that made me think i never wanted to lose them. "so... where we boutta eat because im hungry as hell." 

"im not actually hungry, i just wanted to spend time with you." she said, putting her hands behind her back. "but you live here, so you pick."

"oh word?" i raised my eyebrows and put an arm around her shoulder, turning so we were side by side as we started walking towards my car. "imma take you to my spot."

"take me anywhere you like." she said, opening the passenger door, leaving me looking over the roof of my car, trying to keep it together until i got in the driver seat and began to queue a few songs. 

then i got a text. 

ethan: tell az to bring me a to-go plate

ethan. FUCK.

said you can't fully be into me 'cause you with him then why the fuck when we link it's like he doesn't exist? they all know that we're friends but we both aware that it's more everything i got, if you say the word, then it's yours

the party was loud as shit. i was drunk as shit. azzi was drunk as shit. ethan was nowhere to be found. 

"paige i have to peeeee." azzi whined into my ear. 

"okay come on." i shouted, guiding her to the bathroom, which was empty. 

while she was in the stall, i drank some water from the faucet, because i was so fucked up and i think that's why i haven't been able to stop thinking about her.

about how fucking hot she looked in her outfit. about how long her natural lashes were. about how soft her lips looked. about the heat radiating from her body as she danced with me. 

shes so fucking pretty.

"oh my god i feel so much better!" she shouted into the universe as she came out of the stall and started washing her hands. 

i think i just wanted to be close to her again because i moved behind her and hugged her from behind. with my head in her neck, i kissed her softly moaning quietly, "you smell so good, az." 

she turned around in my arms, facing me and i kept kissing her neck, moving to her collarbones, then i pulled away and we just stared at each other for a second. 

it was like a silent conversation, asking each other "are we really gonna do this?"

and i guess the answer was yes, because azzi leaned in and place a single peck on my lips, then pulled away with the speed of light. 

but one wasn't enough. so i leaned back in and enveloped her lips with mine. our mouths moved in perfect harmony, giving me everything i'd wanted since that dinner so long ago. she moaned into my mouth, and i picked her up, placing her on the sink behind her. 

we just kept kissing, caressing each others tongues, rolling our bodies into each others, both of us enjoying the way the other person felt. 

....until she pulled away, pushing me back when i chased her lips. 

"paige we can't." she said, trying to catch her breath. 

"azzi..."

"i have a boyfriend, paige." she sounded kind of sad as she said it. 

"i know az." i said, walking back up to her. "but tell me there's nothing here." i grabbed her hands. "tell me, that these past 3 months, you haven't felt what i feel."

"you know i do paige. i wouldn't have kissed you if i didn't." she looked at me with tears in her eyes. 

you told me when you're with me it's like heroin told me that your confidence went up since we befriended

"when im with you, i feel like i'm floating. like it's just us and that's all i'll ever need. you're-" she sniffled. "you're the only person who gets how much not being able to play fucking sucks. and you made me feel better about it. you make me feel like so much more than a fan, or just a person in the stands. and no one's ever made me feel that way."

and told me that you didn't wanna hurt him

"but ethan, p. ethan is my boyfriend. hes your friend. and he's so good to me. he loves me. and i can't do that to him."

why we doing this?

"so why kiss me then azzi?" i asked. "why the fuck would you let me touch you, or say the things we say, or let me buy you shit? why did you fucking kiss me?!" 

it was harsh, i know but she fucking played me and i was pissed. 

told me this a awkward situation and you just wanna be through with it

"i don't know paige. and i'm sorry." she kept crying. i assume she felt guilty, and i couldn't give less of a fuck. "this isn't easy for either of us. but i think we should just be friends. i don't wanna lose ethan, but i don't wanna lose you as a friend either. 

i snatched my hands out of hers and back away from her so fast, you would have though she had the plague. 

"friend? azzi. you were never 'a friend' to me. i liked you as soon as i saw you in that fucking restaurant. and i tried to be respectful. i tried to respect your relationship but you were the one who made me think you wanted me. you were the one lying to your fucking boyfriend to spend time with me. sneaking into the bathroom to facetime me at 11 at night. you were the one who kissed me. you. it was all fucking you. and now... now youre asking me to be friends? fuck outta here bro." i said, then walked out of the stall and out of the bar.

i know you could be it and everyone around me that care about me can see it i could fuck a trillion bitches every country i done been in men or women, it don't matter if i seen 'em, then i had 'em but with you, it's a feeling

i was still plastered, so i had nothing but time to think about the situation. 

i knew azzi and i could be great, if she just gave it- gave us- a chance. i knew she wanted to. i knew she felt what i was feeling. i'd have known even if she didn't say it. i also knew she didn't feel for ethan, what she felt for me. but she felt an obligation to him. why? i have no idea. but i just wish she would have made up her fucking mind before sticking her tongue down my throat. 

and i know what you're thinking. 

she just wanted to smash.

and that's not true. me and azzi aren't a quick fuck. 

i mean i'm not opposed to a quick fuck. it wasn't a secret that i was bit of a slut. i mean can you blame me? 

d1 athlete, making bank off NIL money. and every girl in every city i went to, wanted a piece of me. who was i to deny them? 

so yeah i guess you can say i got around, but none of that mattered when it came to azzi. she wasn't just a groupie looking for a quick fuck, or to be a basketball wife. she was a baller. if anything she wanted to live vicariously through me and compete again. and i was willing to let her do just that. 

azzi was the object of my affection for three fucking months. i knew everything about her. i fucking craved her. i knew it was wrong. i knew she was my friends girlfriend. but i couldn't quit her. 

my teammates could tell that i had feelings for her too. anytime i was on the phone for more than 10 minutes, they knew it was hr. they picked on my for it, calling me a simp. kk nicknamed me 'sidepiece' which was a nice change from 'community strap' but it stung worse. 

whatever. 

fuck her. 

you said you told him the truth and you never lied now he lookin' at you with them eyes we never crossed the line but he got every right to be a little pissed off he you picked up, y'all got in argument he got his shit off

two weeks after the bar incident, i'd somewhat gotten myself together. figured out how to sleep without her goodnight text. found new favorite spot to eat. slept with someone without seeing azzis face. i'd found a new routine. 

and then it all went to shit. 

"azzi? its 9:30 at night, why are you calling me?" she answered my question with a sob. "azzi baby what's wrong?

"paige... he- he knows.." she cried into the phone. 

"who knows what, az?"

"ethan!" more crying. "he-he-he asked me out no where if you and i had something going on."

"shit." 

"and i couldn't lie to him paige. i told him we never had sex, but-but i told him how i felt about you, and that i kissed you and he just went off." she was crying so hard, i could narely understand her. "he said he should have known not to trust me around you when i told him i was bi, and that you couldn't let him have one thing, and that he couldn't look at me and- and- and-" she started hyperventilating. 

"azzi baby i need you to calm down for me. breathe babe." i mimicked the way she should breathe and got her to calm down enough to listen to me. "azzi. i'm gonna come get you. send me your location and just stay there and stay calm."

"okay..."

i never drove so fast in my fucking life.

i picked you up, your energy off your lips really dry, something is off you asked if i gotta, i asked if you gotta we tripping on our words nobody is lying, hakuna matata we sat in the car and cried for an hour

as soon as i got to the starbucks azzi was at, i looked at her through the window and my heart broke for her. she was in pajamas and a bonnet. those beautiful brown eyes i'd grown so fond d were red and swollen, lashes wet with tears. her soft lips weren't soft anymore. they looked dehydrated, that's how much she'd cried. 

when she got in the car, she didn't say anything. just played with the sleeves of ethans hoodie. 

"do you-" "i'm so-"

we spoke at the same time, then waited for the other to say what they were gonna say. 

"i'm really sorry paige." she whimpered. "i never meant for any of this to happen. i never meant to hurt you or him. and i shouldn't have called you after what happened." she broke down again. "god i'm so fucking sorry." she cried with her head in her hands. 

"hey..." i rubbed her shoulder, "it's fine. you made a mistake and it's okay. "

"i'm so sorry." she just kept sobbing. she was too upset to hear anything i was saying. "i love you too much to have done that to you paige. im so sorry."

and time stopped. 

she WHAT?!

she said she loved me. she said-  no. she's hysterical right now she doesn't realize what she's saying.

ignoring the pit in my chest, i bring her closer to me, making us both lean over the center console. her head fell perfectly into my chest and she let everything she had out. 

as i held her, and felt her whole body shake as she cried, my heart shattered with hers and shed a few tears with her.

on god, i love that girl i'm a sh-, i'm a bad person like, i'm in the wrong, i'm a bad person i had no ill intentions, though shit, everybody got hurt i got hurt

i never meant for any of this to happen. i pride myself on being a good friend, and being loyal to those who are loyal to me. 

and the one time it really mattered, i had to fall for my friends girlfriend. and he really like her too. i think if i hadn't fucked it up, they could have been great. but i did. and it's ruined. 

and all this for what?

for ethan to be hurt? for me to lose a friend? for azzi to feel like shit? for me to have to act like i'm not hopelessly in love with azzi?

and i'm mad private with this side of my life cause people are weirdos, and i just try to keep anyone i care about in the shadows safe from the commentary and spotlight and thoughts cause it's just a story for the people outside of it but i guess you're just another chapter in a book

and here we are, at the 2024 wnba draft in support of my teammates. 3 days ago, i would have been here alone. 

but azzi needed a pick me up and i would rather her be her friend than nothing at all. 

so instead of breaking down about what could have been on a red carpet, i smile, lean into th mic and say, 

"azzi is one of my closes friends. she was supposed to be one of the greats and if she hadn't gotten hurt, she would have been drafted next year. so i just wanted her to see it in real life because she's so much more than a fan. she deserves to be here with us."

i looked at her and smiled, pulling her to the back rooms of the building where nika and aaliyah were getting ready. 

but between the two of us....

i would shoot someone in the face if it meant azzi would light up like that again.

♱ TAGLIST: @patscorner @riyahtheballer @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @1onescu

@mrsengstler @kmoneymartini @sageworld @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @justliketoreadsowhat @authentic-girl03

[yinyinwon]

     won't you give me your light? [ft. p.hn]

-> recap : you also can’t help thinking of another universe.. one in which she’d run after you, through the rain. like a scene from the one of those cheesy rom coms you used to watch with her all the time.

GENRE : <3 TW/CW : secret alt vers ending WC : ~ 0.4k XOXO : here yall go + [series m.list]

“yn-!”

what … ?

“yn you dummy- slow down!!”

as you turn around, you find your utterly soaked body suddenly shielded from the assault of the rain by an umbrella. 

hanni. she ran after you.

“what is wrong with you – why would you ever think it a good idea to just stroll out in this goddamn rain? huh?” 

“i..” you start to defend yourself, “.. just didn’t want you and moka to have to go through this. i’m only one person, i could’ve made my way-”

hanni really doesn’t seem to be listening to you. maybe the echo of the rain pattering on the umbrella is too loud.

she drapes her jacket around you, tugging you closer a tad too harshly. it’s obvious from how she’s acting that she’s pissed.

“..hanni…” 

she merely sighs. 

“hanni.”

her head falls on your shoulder this time. “why do you have to be such an idiot?”

can’t really answer that one, can you? but you’ll still try to make her hear you out, “listen. i wanted you to have it, i promise. i wasn’t being righteous or noble or whatever.

…

why did you come out hanni?”

when she replies, her voice is barely more than a whisper. but somehow you still her hear words envelope you completely.

“because ... how could i not? it’s you. 

… it’s us.

it’s always us.” 

a flashback suddenly reminds you of the “promise” she’d made you swear a grade earlier : that you’ll always be hers. you get it now. that that made her yours just as much.

hanni only looks up after a couple moments of absolutely no response from you.

one single drop trails down your cheek. she kisses it away, softly.

you’re really thankful of how hanni seems to know just what to do without asking any questions. 

questions such as why the rain has made its way to you even while under the shelter or the umbrella. so you don’t ask any either.

(like why for god’s sake did she take so long.)

because this is enough. 

because it’s the two of you. 

you only wrap your arms around her neck and pull her closer. when she returns the embrace, the umbrella drops from her hand.

but neither of you could give a single fuck about that right now.

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k24

[amesemii]

SPEND SOME MORE.

A/N; hey yall im sorry this took so long but i’ve been so busy with life. i have this and so much more to give you guys. MY REQUESTS ARE OPENNNN BTW GOSH. and imma make a part 2 to this i just didn’t wanna let it get toooo long and also i wanna force myself to write more…writers block kicking my ASS and i have literally NOOOO ideas💔 but here yall go.<3

synopsis;you go on your little date with constance, he gets you everything you like just for you to say your scared to trust him. that’s okay, he knows just the way to get you more confident with him.

W/C; 2.1k

Your back aches as you sit up from the bed, stretching out your aching muscles. you definitely slept wrong. you look at your phone and see that it’s 8:34 and you groan.

you hated waking up early, even if it was 8. so you get up (unfortunately) and go to your bathroom to start getting ready. You brush your teeth and fix your hair in a way so you can wash your face

You quickly finish your morning routine and go to your walk in closet and find something cute to wear, putting on your favorite smell.

your phone lights up with a text from connie and you’re quick to go grab it to talk a lil shit. i mean he was trying to take you out today right? might aswell give him a taste of the attitude he’s gonna have to deal with!

you decide to try and get a little information out of him about whatever he’s gonna try and have you doing.

you truly feel like he flaked on the shopping thing, you knew you were spoiled and were just fine with that. but you were shocked with his answer!

a little part inside of you tingles as you read that text imagining him saying it in his voice and you have to snap yourself out of your daze to reply to his text.

you tell him how he’ll just have to keep reminding you and he hearts the text. you go downstairs to see your caterer setting your plate and you thank her.

you scroll on your phone as you eat the breakfast prepared for you and your fathers comes out of his room all suited up ready to go.

“hi my little flower.” he says as he comes and kisses your forehead “hey da how did you sleep?” “not much sleep i had work to finish up on, where are you going today?”

you blush thinking about having to tell your father you’re going on a date with a man you only met last night. “i’m goin on a date da” “hm. with who?”

your father goes on to ask many questions about the person you’re going on a date with while you get an incoming call from none other than connie himself.

“hold on daddy” you mumble as you quickly get up giving him a kiss on his cheek as you walk into the livingroom to take your call.

“hi constance, what’s up”

“damn ma. you don’t listen to me at all, but what’s ya address so i can come pick you up?”

“oh i live at {address} “

“mmm you live in a fancy neighborhood? spoiled princess aren’t you.”

“mhmmm that’s why i said you wouldn’t be able to handle taking me out.”

“we’ll see mama. come outside im here.”

he hangs up and you go up to your dad telling him how you’re about to leave and your date is outside, he gets up mumbling abt wanting to meet the young man taking his baby out.

you open the door to see connie standing there with a money bouquet, a regular bouquet and a gift bag. your jaw drops a little and he just smiles.

“is this all for me?” you look at him and he smirks “nah it’s all for yer dad.” he says words dripping with sarcasm and your father laughs. “oh i like him already, listen just treat my little girl right. she’s all i’ve got.” your father says reaching out a hand.

connie hands over your gifts and shakes your father hand and they both smile. “cmon pretty.” he grabs your hand and opens up the trunk for you to put the gifts in. he opens your door and waits for you to be fully in before he closes the door, waving at your father.

he gets in and his phone automatically connects to the car and frank ocean is playing lowly as you feel the beat slightly, he smiles at you and before he can say anything you’re interrupting “thank you so much for the gifts” you say smiling.

he pulls off and looks at you “there’s more of that today, you’re welcome tho mama” he drives with one hand after turning the music up so you decide to pull out your phone and scroll.

you feel his hand grip your thigh as he drives and you get butterflies but try not to let him see it effects you, ur supposed to be hard to get.

it’s easy to ignore him until his thumb start stroking your inner thigh and you damn near lose your mind. “con.” you try to say sternly while looking at him “oh so now im con?” he grumbles looking over at you. he thinks you’re just so cute trying to be all mad at him. he sees right through that facade you’re trying to hard to put up.

he pulls into the parking lot of the mall and you get excited deciding to mess with him “you sure you can handle this? i won’t get mad if you back out now” you say smirking at him.

he grabs your neck pulling you close to him over the center console and whispers in your ear “i’m sure. are you sure you can handle this though?” and you have to sit silently as your heart races you can’t decide what you want to say to him “hmm mama? no answer, that’s what i thought.”

he gets out and comes to open your door and opens it, giving a hand for you to grab and you do. nobodies ever really silenced you like that and he only truly got lucky you couldn’t find a comeback.

you hold hands as he walks you into the mall and he looks at you, “where to first?” “i think ill go to coach and look to see what their new collection is looking like” he shrugs and mumbles lead the way.

you hate walking in heels, you know that once u start being in them for a long time that it hurts so you don’t know why on earth you wore these damn heels. tryna be cute gon have ya legs fucked up and you know it.

you find some cute bags and ask him if this is okay and he just gestures towards the cash register, the woman looks at you and him and is quick to pop out with a quick remark “quite the expensive bags you’ve got here, do you want to put one or two back?” you look at the 2 big purses, 3 mini purses, and 4 wallets and you look up at connie to whisper something to him “actually i really want that purse and wallet set over there, do i have to put something back?” he looks over and walks away to grab it and you smile like a kid in the candy store when he says “this too” and the lady is extremely surprised.

“your total is $4,130.56, will you be paying cash or card?” connie looks up from his wallet shocked and u smirk feeling like you were correct and he says “wow, you said it was expensive.” as he hands the woman his card.

she bags all of your stuff and connie grabs the bag and you hand as you guys walk out of the shop. this goes on thru the day as you get stuff that you really want and he doesn’t even hesitate, whether it was with cash or his card.

At this point you’ve been walking for hours and connie has and arm full of bags. your feet are in so much pain and you think you might cry. connie has clearly proved himself today and you feel like you can be a little vulnerable with him.

all it took for him to stop walking was you to lightly tap him and mumble ‘con’ and he’s already looking at you and he can see the pain on your face “princess what’s wrong?” he’s quick to come to your aid as he puts you and the bags on the nearby bench.

his hand cups your face and you look away mumbling. connie grabs your face softly and says “i’m over here mami, speak up please.” “my feet hurt…” you bite your lip out of nervousness and connie grabs your shoes off your feet and puts them in a bag.

“do you wanna be done today or do you wanna keep shopping?” “m’ all done con” he shrugs and puts you over his shoulder, you guys were already near your exit so he just walks you out to his car and sets you inside so he can put the bags in the trunk.

connie gets in and looks over at you as you play with your hands in your lap “i don’t know why you didn’t tell me sooner, we could’ve bought you some shoes so you could switch.” and you can’t help but laugh.

“connie you’re actually so sweet” you say while smiling as you reach over to stroke his face, his lips are such a nice shade of pink, with that little mustache and a lil beard growing in, god he looks so good.

connie’s looking at your glossed lips and thinks about how gorgeous you are, both of you leaning in for a kiss. the kiss was nice at first, small pecks back to back, but then it became a make out.

both of you wanting more leverage over the other so it was very heated, you slide over the console to sit in connie’s lap and you feel him graze you under your skirt and safety shorts.

you whine when he catches you off guard, nibbling on your lip and he lets go “not now mama, not here.” and he’s setting you back over in your seat. you pout because why did he do that to you? give you such a nice kiss to not give you what you want in the end.

“what you wanna eat?” he looks over at you as he starts to drive ‘you’ you think to yourself as you think of something you could possibly be craving, i want (f/f) (it can be a place or just a regular food, whatever yall want)

once you guys get there you opt against going inside cause you’re just ready to be in bed. he tells the person what you want and he orders something simple for himself aswell.

h hands you your bag of food and you thank him, he looks over at you and smiles. “you will always get what you want with me mama” and he rubs your thigh.

you know that it’s only been 2 days and you’re probably moving very fast but he’s just so…charming? it’s just something about him that makes him so trusting but still he is a man.

“thank you, you know um…for today connie. even though i still think that you can’t handle me, it can’t hurt to give you a chance.” and he actually begins to chuckle because what did you just say?

“so you still don’t think i’m doing good enough for you mama?” he says grabbing you face making you look at him as he smiles, why did he have to look so fine rn?

“cmere mama.” connie pulls you close and you comply. you can’t help but stare at his lips and you too gravitate closer as if you were magnets of opposite ends.

you pull eachother close once your lips clash and it’s unholy the way you two are making out. his presence is so dominating and overpowering you can feel the pool in your panties and you begging rubbing on his torso when you start heavy breathing.

before anything can really even happen connie pull away and starts the car back up. “un un mama not here.” and your stomach sinks, did you do something wrong?? was he just playing and didn’t actually wanna take it far?

rejection was one of the many things your spoiled lil self couldn’t take, so since he hurt your feelings, it was only logical to you that you hurt his back, right?

you stare out the window with tears brimming your eyes from sadness and anger, too confused to know how to feel. why would he kiss you like that just to say not here?

while you brew in your emotions connie constantly looks over at you, watching you go through whatever you’re going through. he didn’t mean to upset you but he wanted it to be different. not in his car in a fast food parking lot.

you guys pull to a stop at a fresh yellow light and connie’s the first to speak. “mama i’m so-”

“ion want no apology from you constance. save that shit for somebody else, i knew you was too pussy to handle-” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before connie’s grabbing you but your neck pulling you into a kiss.

his other hand traveling down towards your pussy, his rubs on your thighs before pulling away to look at you “what baby, cat got your tongue? where’s all that sass you just had?”

the light turns green and connie starts driving towards his house and you clearly still have an attitude, that’s fine tho. connie knows how to handle that.

i’m really hoping yall liked this!! i’m trying really hard to write stuff but idk what i wanna write😭

ALSO {💋} is y’all’s name for inserts<3

[transmascdagothur]

Idk how to say this but I'm kinda tired of uwuifying every single aspect of Elder Scrolls and Dagoth Ur especially. I know the transmasc dagoth ur blog has been pretty funny so far but you know, TES lore by nature is insanely dark and i don't see many people appreciate that over here on tumblr. I want to see more horror. I want to portray Dagoth Ur as a fucked up husk of a sad man, I want him to be an absolutely horrifying monster. There's nothing wrong with taking terrifying characters and turning them into comfort characters because at the end of the day it's just fictional shit like go off monarchs, you want miraak to have a chiseled jawline and sheogorath to have a family, like that's cool and whatever. Tbh I love it when people use their imagination and come up with shit like that.

BUT. Personally I find it insanely cool when people can take a villain as a comfort as well as portraying them as just that: villains. Like can we all agree that if you portray a comfort oc as inherently evil or at least morally grey, IT DOESN'T MAKE YOU A BAD PERSON. You can like Dagoth Ur as the fucked up thing he is in game, you don't have to ignore that he literally wanted to drive out all the other races from morrowind and take over tamriel with a god robot. It doesn't mean you support ideas like that if you like the character. Idk why I need to say that.

It's not just Dagoth Ur, I see it with all the other evil characters too. Miraak, Mannimarco, all the daedric princes, Alduin, the tribunal, like ESPECIALLY the tribunal. I don't wanna hear anyone go like "nooo my babygirl Vivec has done nothing wrong" to me he is a bug eyed little freak and I LOVE HIM BUT HE ALSO BETRAYED AND SPEARED NEREVAR ALIVE. I'm looking at all of you rn. lol

Anyway so if you disagree with this idc, this is just my opinion. I'm just saying, I'm gonna focus on more darker aspects of this franchise from now on, at least with my other nerevarine oc Kazakir. But yall can still ask stuff about Dravas and his super romanticized AU with Dagoth Ur! Remember to hydrate and stretch your legs, rant over.

[nachtai-ish]

A Baby? (Ouch part 2)

a quasi part two to this. just a drabble yall. it has no rhyme or reason.

trigger warnings: use condoms, doctor talks, endometriosis talk, bad writing lol

plot: i suggest female obgyns personally.

                You were sitting on top of the examination table. The stirrups had been placed to the side a while ago and now you were just waiting. For the inevitable.

“Well…you know, endometriosis…there no cure for it. So our options are birth control  or you get pregnant.”

It was an age old conversation. How do you want to stop your horrible periods every month? Some kind of hormonal patch, shot, weird twig thing or a loving bundle of responsibility.

“I think I will take the IUD.” You said tapping your stomach.

The doctor paused for a moment, only sound in the room was the click clacking of his keyboard.

A breath. “You know, you’re 30.”

“I know.”

“You have one ovary.”

“I know.”

“…Don’t get me wrong. You have plenty of eggs so it functions well…but you’re not getting younger kid.” He turned to you then. He was being sincere; you could tell but… “Doesn’t your mom want grandchildren.”

“She has a grandchild. She’s fine.”

He smiled, “I’m sure she wants your grandchild. …We can do the IUD but you’ll also need to come back for…”

                “And then he told me, ‘You should stop being selfish. Think about having that kid.’ Like what the fuck.” You said, your feet kicked up over Terry’s lap container of general chicken in one hand, chop sticks in the other.

“No he didn’t. What did you say?”

“…Give me the IUD.”

“That’s it? You should have cursed his ass out. I told you should have let me come, I would have told his old ass where to go with his old ass doctoring-

“Yeah, and like they say that babies don’t even really help with endo. It’s just like a patch. So now what, I have a fucking baby and debilitating pain during periods. No thank you.”

“Right. How could he suggest this? What kind of doctor is he? What’s his name again? I’m gonna leave a bad review.”

“And I mean.” You sat up tucking your legs up underneath you. “Who am I going to have a baby with anyway?”

Silence.

You looked over at Terry, and he was looking at the TV, but he wasn’t really looking at it. Not really. He just wasn’t looking at you.

“What?”

“What you mean what?”

“What you got to say? Why you so quiet?”

“Nothing.”

“Terry.”

A breath. “…I mean…you could have a baby with me.”

“What?!”

“If you wanted to. If you needed to. You know…for your endometriosis. Or…” Looking at you now. “If you just want to.”

“Terry, what the fuck are you talking about? You want kids?”

“No.” He reached forward, turning the tv off with the remote. “…Shit. I don’t know. Like you said who am I going to have a baby with. Why not me?”

“…Terry, we’re not married.”

“Who said we had to be married?”

He was right. You sat the container down. “Okay, but like we haven’t even put a label on whatever this is.”

Another 5 heads, six nipples stare down. “…Girl.” He chuckled. “I’ve been fucking you into the mattress every night, every other night, for 6 months now. You are sitting on my couch in a night shirt that you got out of a drawer in my bedroom. You know one of the 3 drawers you have in my 6-drawer dresser. You have a toothbrush, hair dryer, flat iron, and a hot comb here and I signed for one of your amazon packages today. What do you think this is?”

You fought back a smirk, “…Okay, but you still haven’t said what it is.”

“Neither have you. But if you need to know, you’re mine and I am damn sure yours. And if you really really need to know, if any other man comes near you…anything is a weapon to me. And I have a valid excuse for going crazy on dude.”

“Again, with the caveman stuff. My god. Did your mom teach you manners?” You giggled as he pulled at your leg. You scooted closer to him.

“I mean, baby.” He lifted your chin up. “I haven’t thought about kids, and yeah we’ve only been together for six months, so maybe it is too early for kids. But if you got pregnant, I wouldn’t be unhappy. And if you needed to be married to make it legitimate to you, I won’t oppose it. Like married, not married, pregnant, not pregnant, I want you. And I want you to be happy, and healthy, and not crampy. So if you needed it or wanted it, or if happened by accident, I’m cool.”

You grinned, the speech warming you to your core, “Cool.” But let’s be realistic. “But I did get the IUD, so we shouldn’t have to worry about that. I mean if you wanted to be extra sure, there’s a pack of condoms in your top drawer.”

“Nah.” --------------------

A/N: Partially Inspired by True events. Like 4 days after my 23rd or 24th birthday (2019), an ovarian cyst I had ruptured and I had to have surgery to get it out. It resulted in me losing my left ovary (or my right…I SERIOUSLY ALWAYS FORGET. I really think COVID killed my brain cells) and when I visited my doctor afterwards, that is the conversation I had.

Except I was in my TWENTIES.

That MAN told me I was not getting any younger in my early twenties and that my mom really wanted my grandchildren specifically. He was a nice guy but I didn’t realize how crazy that conversation was until I retold it to my current OB and she said,

“Well why in the hell would he say that?”

I hope yall enjoyed my thinly veiled piece of self insert fan-fiction lol.

[4pfsukuna]

Todo headcannons/drabble

The lack of love yall show Todo is INSANE, but its alright… imma do our himbo hottie some justice

Warnings: lil bit of smut, mentions of Todo being a much cause he for sure is.

Being Todos girlfriend was… indescribable.

You two meet senior year of college you were a fashion major and wanted to explore one of the most fasionable places in the workd…japan.

The only love on your mind was love for clothes not romance with any men.

So when a big beefy man is standing in the door way you barely pay him any mind even though hes flexing every muscle you pay him no mind.

He thinks its love at first sight from your beauty alone and he was going to introduce himself but the sweet intoxicating aroma of your perfume makes his brain short circuit and forget about stranger danger… and boundaries… and introductions. 

IT’s not until “my beautiful tiger lily a flower as delicate as you shouldnt be carrying such a heavy load allow me” to an unaware you whos more focused on where to get lunch from.

Hes talking about you carrying all the fabrics you have thats overflowing your bag from class  and not just any bag but your denim telfar and it all happens so fast.

Hes grabbing your bag thinking hes being a gentlemen (mans is delusional okay) but youre from new york and the last time a man touched your bag he was halfway down the train platform with it and your laptop.

So off pure instinct you swing as hard as you can.

This is no cliche experience where youre the first woman who can put him on his ass, no! The man is a brickhouse you basically punched a wall. The pain shoots through your hand faster than the curses can fly out your mouth and Yuji, poor poor Yuji is witnessing it all has to come to the rescue.

“I am so sorry about my— him” he apologizes as you craddle your hand to your chest fighting back tears. That was a punch that would have caved a man's chest in.

You have to wear a cast for 3 weeks and Todo takes it upon himself to become your personal servant and he seems more than happy to? You make not to ask Yuji what was wrong with him…again and if all men were like him.

No man is like Todo Aoi.

The man may wbe delusional but hes smitten. For the next 3 weeks he’s at your door 8am sharp ready to make breakfast and aid you in whatever you need and ogling every morning when you open the door at the different ways you style your hair and clothes.

You swear He almost faints the day you open the door and you two have on the same matching nike swishy joggers. He paired his with a white tee while yours with a black graphic tee tied up and a bucket hat. 

You’re also convinced he has stars in his eyes when he realizes its his tee that he left 3 days ago on accident not wanting to get messy while making you onigiri.

Oh yes this man cooks! and will cook 3 meals a day which isnt a shock look at how big he is?! He takes advantage of your dominant hand being in a cast and your lack of knowledge on how to use chopsticks to feed you. 

Of course you put up a fight but if a fine ass 6 foot 4 pure muscle chef wants to buy your groceries cook and feed you… who were you to deny?!

He listens to your music while he cooks but loves meg thee stallion. 

Back to you wearing his shirt He notices you didnt care youve known him for only 2 weeks and when your fashion mind got ahold of something your brain knew no limits. 

He loves hearing you talk about fashion and clothes and accompanying you on your shopping hauls, using carrying the bags as an excuse. So a few weeks later when your hand is fully healed and he’s still opening every door, carrying every bag and feeding you with chopsticks at a restaurant he just had to bring you to, your forced to realize you actually enjoy spending time with him.

Not only is he a foodie as much as you he takes the best pictures… Because he stares at you so much he knows all you’re best angles… all of them… And because he’s a native he knows the best photography spots.

Its when he takes you to a lounge restaurant that has music and food when you learn alot more about Todo, this man never said how much he loves to dance!

You call it his lil dancey dance which he IMMEDIATELY corrects and tells you “its the boogie woogie”

Dancey dance, like you said.

It’s almost 3am when the two of you leave and although you two had been drinking sake all night he seemed completely sober and maybe it was because he was so big. 

He goes completely tender, heart doing flips when you use his bicep as leverage to guide you down the street. It makes him feel like a man and with you being as strong willed and stubborn as you are, allowing him to lead,  makes him feel honored. 

Pulling a cherry blossom from a tree you two were walking under and it feels like a scene from a movie as you smell it and smile up at him his strength making more shower around you two. To him though this was how his world always looked when you were around.

Delusional or lover boy?

Todo is a heavy sleeper so when you Wake up to the sound of the alarm wrapped in his arms dressed in his tshirt your scarf on your head you’re shocked. What shocks you more is his usual bun isnt bunning his hair is sprawled around his face over his shoulders, long lashes touching the tips of his cheeks and has his lips always been this full and pretty? Were you catching feelings? Oh you were fucked.

For the rest of the day you can’t help but be awkward and sometimes you appreciate his obliviousness because he assumes you’re being strange because you’re hungry and goes to try a new recipe that he couldn’t wait to cook for you and you busy yourself with fashion…things.

You actually become submerged and your eyes can’t leave the screen not even when he request you taste what he’s made. You open your mouth leaning over to take whatever he made in your mouth not questioning what it would be until you notice it’s his fingers. He always fed you with chopsticks its when you make eye contact with him that— are his eyes in the shape of hearts?

You try to avoid him after that you didnt come to japan for romance you came for fashion. But of course hes not going for that this man knows your schedule, your habits, your hiding spots and your period cravings he would find you anywhere and he’s not letting you go until you tell him why you’ve been avoiding him.

Okay maybe he’s not that oblivious. So when you admit you’re feelings and tell him about your crush he’s back to heart eyes and the first thing out of his mouth is “let’s get married”

The man is Delusional. But the more you spend time with him after officially becoming his girlfriend you realize he’s delusional not dumb. 

Certified munch™️

Will eat you like the last meal before war.

Will suck your soul out of you like a crab leg.

He speaks sign language… with his tongue… on your clit.

And when your in the brink of conciousness thats when he pulls all 9 inches out. Nothing about this man is small or skinny.

Hes so… tender though. Has a worship kink and honestly youre not suprised. He wants to worship and caress every inch of your body every curve.

Hes also a jealous man, how dare another man think hes worth of your smile.

Jealous sex with him is always 12/10… its like hes trying to prove himself to you all over again pulling out tricks hes never done before.

Its when his jealousy goes to far putting you in an embarassing situation that you almost end his life.

You want to fold his clothes with him in it but…

The only thing better than jealous sex was angry sex and you commanding him trying to over power him  is the moment his soul no longer belongs to him. 

“Youre such a jealous man” you hiss riding his length one hand pressed into his abs for leverage the other switching from his bicep to his shoulder leaving the indent of your acrylic nails.

“And you know that yet still… baby fuck” he grunts his head in your shoulder trying to hold onto his release but your just so tight and warm and the squelching sounds mixed with your heavy breathing has his two brain cells fighting to form a sentence.

“Fuck… dont ever do no dumb shit mmmm like that again” you snap grabbing the nape of his neck pulling him up by the hair there and he almost cums like that.

He loves when you take control as much as he loves you taking your anger out on him his thumb goes to play with your clit knowing hes not going to last much longer.

“Like this” he smirks applying pressure and your hands slip but hes there to catch the pace pushing his hips up to match the rhythm you set. 

Your neighbors are not happy about your all night sessions but they wont say anything to the giant.

Aftercare is nothing less than special warm rag, massage, lofi music, the curtains open just enough to have the city lights on you and whatever 5 star meal he concocts up to make sure you eat before bed.

Tojis been a tenderoni for you since day 1.

[sirsealery]

need to rant about some people in the arcane fandom ... some of yall are PISSING ME OFF.

ok to preface this ... you can have whatever opinions you want. i dont give a shit. think what you want, i dont care the slightest. obviously im biased when im gonna say this because im vi's #1 fan but FUCK anybody who hates her for hitting and leaving powder in the scene s1 ep3. i dont care about any other opinion you have about vi but if you think this ... DID YOU WATCH THE SHOW???? WERE YOUR EYES AND EARS CLOSED OR??????

look i dont hit kids, i promise. im not a violent person, and i dont go around beating kids around the face for no reason. but if you have a sibling, YOU WILL KNOW that everyone smacks their siblings at least once in a while. me and my little brother beat each other DAILY for nonsense shit like dishes and leaving the butter out too long. im genuinely surprised vi didnt smack powder earlier, but tbh shes a better person than me and is much more parentified than i ever was. call me controversial or whatever, but in the first couple episodes, powder WAS a bit of a fuckup. and vi was very forgiving about it but there very much is a point where you fuck up too much and you cant just 'let it slide'. and that point for vi wasnt powder hesitating on the rooftop, not her slipping, not her blowing up the kirammann place (did she know that was pow's fault?), not her losing all that they stole, but it was BLOWING UP THEIR ENTIRE FAMILY.

imagine your little sister BLOWS UP YOUR FUCKING FAMILY???? and runs up to you grinning???? id lose it entirely. respectfully, id beat the everloving shit outta that little girl, and then bawl my eyes out and rot into the ground. i love powder, i love jinx, shes like my second favorite character in the entire show (wowww im so special and unique for loving jinx woww), but i would NOT have dealt with it nearly as well as vi did. im not gonna talk about how vi deals with her feelings with violence cuz its the only way she knows how because thatd be its own ramble ..

uh yeah. powder would not make it if i were vi, which might make me a bad person instead of vi a good one, but whatever i dont care. im hard betting that nobody else would be much better than me either. vi, at FIFTEEN, was incredibly mature for hitting powder once, yelling at her, and then backing away. once she realized what she'd done, she did absolutely the right thing by taking a step back to take a breath. thats literally what she did, by the way. walk away so she didnt say or do anything else she would regret and give herself a MOMENT to process the unimaginable loss she just experienced before going back to being powder's protector/caregiver/big sister/parent. and then when she TRIED TO COME BACK BECAUSE SILCO WAS COMING FOR HER SISTER, because she still cared for her by the way, and that girl is the only thing she has left, fucking MARCUS yanked her away and threw her in jail for the next six or seven years. gang did you miss that part??

im tweaking im so tired. sick of the dumbass vi hate cLEARLY you have never been an older sister and it SHOWS. scratch that, not even older sister, just a sibling in general. and then all that about vi hitting kids and bringing up when she smacked isha?? gang. that little girl BIT her, of COURSE she would whack at her its INSTINCT. man if a toddler bites my leg that hard and i dont see it i am BACKHANDING that little guy into space before i turn to look at him. and she regrets it immediately after too !! and if she really wanted to beat kids, she wouldnt have hesitated in bashing ishas head in when she went to protect jinx in that fight in ep .. 3 i think it was, or letting caitlyn shoot at jinx. shes not a child beater are you stupid????

and dont get me wrong either, i do understand that powder never meant any harm. of course i get that. of COURSE she never meant to blow up all of the people she cares about, WHO THE FUCK WOULD?? as she put very plainly, she only wanted to help. and i sympathize with that. the whole situation makes me very, very very sad. she wanted to save them, and thought she finally did it right for once. but vi also DID tell her to stay away. powder didnt completely understand why vi was so upset and hitting her so hard in the same way that she hits her enemies, grabbing her and screaming at her, then getting up and leaving, ignoring her sobbing for her to come back. of course vi wasnt RIGHT for any of it. in a perfect world, she wouldnt have done any of it. but arcane very much isnt a perfect world, and vi isnt a perfect person. she has insane grief and trauma that she doesnt know how else to process and i really do think that her walking away was the best possible solution, if marcus wasnt involved. in a better world, she wouldve gone back to powder after a couple minutes, been mad at her again or apologized or WHATEVER, kept her close, and escaped together. maybe beat the fuck outta silco in the process, i dunno.

tldr; vi punching powder and then walking away was a valid fucking crashout. YOU try getting your family exploded.

[littletealights]

What makes you think that Arthur is a person of color? :0 just curious.

gladly.

so, at first, i thought it was me projecting but i think the first clue i got was eddie. yall might think i’m being dramatic but eddie was…suspicious from the get-go. in a normal situation like this, there’s actually 0% chance that it turns out the way it did for arthur.

but that’s beside the point. eddie knocks on the door and receives an unhurried response. he walks away to do.. whatever it is he was doing. arthur comes to the door, opens it, looks around and picks up some trash, muttering to himself. suddenly eddie has urgent business inside the office with a. flimsy excuse at best. strike one.

we, as the audience, know that arthur is being shifty because he’s just killed a man. eddie has been told, quite convincingly, that arthur was moving… boxes or something (im looking at the transcript, arthur just says ‘not furniture’ so…). and that arthur is working with sensitive documents. not sure if you know this but private detectives have to work with proper authorities to be allowed to operate legally. that means they work with the police and the courts. when a PI says a document is sensitive, they mean legally. they mean eyes only. they mean ‘come back later or i could lose my fucking license because you got the wrong look at classified documents.’ a building manager, especially their building manager, should know that. strike two.

he also asks for arthur’s partner, peter yang (who is, i can only assume, an east asian man). i should hope that i dont have to remind you that this is massachusetts in the 30’s we’re talking about, and what that means logically. but i will. america hated asian people the most they ever did until COVID in the 30s through the 60s. the only people they hated more were black and brown people. no matter how shifty and suspicious arthur was acting, eddie would’ve been… let’s just say ‘incredibly unlikely’ to ask for peter instead of the white man. strike three

there’s some little bits about subvocals and tone that i could say, but it’d be a lot and i don’t fully understand it enough to explain well why eddie set off alarms for me. because i dont have to. it takes 5 minutes (from 11:48-16:09 on spotify, so nearly exactly) for eddie to go from inconvenient, to annoying, to suspicious, to violent. and he ends the conversation with a very real threat of violence that essentially boils down to ‘don’t come back to the building again.’ eddie is a maintenance man. he did not have the power to evict anyone. unless, of course, they were a poc. so why was arthur worried about eddie when sneaking back into the building?

but, like i said, i thought i was projecting. projection and being-on-the-lam can easily explain arthur’s hesitance when delivering the baby and asking for a ride. or the gunshop in part 6. but the lighthouse? no, what really solidified it for me was the end of part 8.

here’s what officer collin knows so far: a visibly disabled man has stumbled, confused and upset, away from a lighthouse and a body that CANNOT have been killed by a human; and it is dark outside. that’s it. using this knowledge, he then proceeds to beat said man. brutally. repeatedly.

in part 9 they learn he is blind and when that timid little fucker (mitchell) expresses doubt, collin says this

this is something we like to call coerced confession. arthur did not kill that man (the lighthouse keeper). officer collin knows that arthur didn’t kill that man. (dont play, he knows.) but because it is convenient to say that he did, they’ll threaten and torture him until he says that he did.

now, friends, i’m not going to lie to your face and say that white folk are safe from the cops, youre not, i know. but what im also not going to do is pretend like there os any world in which this happens and arthur is visibly white. not in the thirties, not in america. despite being forgotten or unmentioned they are in the midst of the great depression, the exact last thing these small-town cops need is the arrest of a blind white man on their hands. regardless, i have never ever heard of a cop speaking this way to a white person unprovoked. i, on the other hand, have been spoken to this way myself.

this is already quite long and it doesn’t even cover the sheer magnitude of people who feel comfortable calling arthur (at his grown ass age of visibly-an-adult) ‘boy.’ or the wicked and downright racist way that larson says it, (genuinely. it sounds like he’s a middle school boy who discovered the word ‘fagg*t’ for the first time the way he says it. i couldn’t tell you how many times that word (boy) drove an ice pick through my fucking skull this season.) but i hope you can at least get the picture.

original post is here

[dragonstailbutch]

Hey sorry i am trying to like. find examples of what you mean when you talk about mra stuff and (trans)misogyny in forcemasc content and tumblr search has betrayed me once again, can you explain?

(sorry I normally wouldn't ask but I wanna make sure I'm not perpetuating anything!! Also fucking tumblr search!!! it is ridiculous!)

so ive been sitting on this ask for months since ive got it. i want to do it justice and try to take it at face value that its being honest in asking.

The thing is, theres this trend and a weird amount of effort to be like force femme, to be forceful and like its something to fearful of and give in to. But we cant do that, cause all that does is reinforce the idea that being a man is a toxic thing. I saw this post the other day where a transman talked about like, the whole "raised as a weapon" thing, the violence and horror of being a man and raised that way versus how they felt growng into it as a transman. How they wanted to reclaim that phrase or something? i could be misremembering.

But that was never the intent of forcemasc. It wasnt actually about being a dude, literally *forcing* someone who was unwilling into masculinity, none of the posts that i made that started the community (and yes i, a transfem butch woman, started and made this community and some of yall need to get over yourselves) were ever about that, it was intended to be a soft mimic or even a call to forcefemme.

i was all about making it soft and tender for a reason, cause if i didnt i was only reinforcing the toxic masculinity narrative, "men fighting in the mud" "men are dominant and cool" " to be a man is to be forced into masculinity and to be disgusted with the feminine" or whatever. When masculinity isnt about just men, and being butch isnt just being masculine. masculinity should also be sensitivity, not domination. i wanted it to be better, show a better side of what masculinity could be, what being butch is.

Ive spoken before a bit too, about the tags people used and added to forcemasc, and really maybe i was wrong in ever naming it forcemasc. people used and still use tags like autoandrophilia, autoandrophile, androphile, autogynephilia, androphilia, and autogynephile. Ive seen so many people with urls and tags and posts calling themselves transandrobros, literally calling themselves MRAs, as if that was something to be proud of, as if they dont understand that they arent fighting for their and our rights, they're fighting for cis-mens rights by using those names and terms, not transmascs/transmens rights. I can understand ignorance, but weve talked about how the words you use have history, especially those like the tags i mentioned and androphilia and androphobia and others, all of them have roots in deeeeeeeply misogynistic and transphobic people and history.

Literally all of these are awful and are phrases that arent and wont be reclaimed because theyre history is one of pain and hurting trans people, one of coercive 'help', literal forced detransitioning and reinforcement of MRA and terf narrative that men are both good and the worst creature alive and that to be a woman is to be disgusting and the purest thing all at once. That to be a transwoman is sick and we shouldnt be trusted.

Im trying to be very kind, not scream and rage, not because i dont desperately want to, but because if i do, as a butch transwoman, ESPECIALLY cause i claim being butch, people wont listen to me no matter how much of what i say is meaningful. one of the reasons why im doing this NO, instead of in anothr day or two, is that im coming to terms with the fact that the situation will just get qorse, not better without words.

Part of why im still sane is that ive gotten a couple asks here and there about how my posts and creation of the community has helped them and its so wonderful to see that, genuinely so amazing to see people recontextualize and love themselves. its wonderful and im so fucking happy about it.

i personally made this space so i could love myself, who i am as a trans person and my body, and i knew that other people needed and wanted that for themselves too and i wanted to help, share this love with more people. That to be hairy and chubby and masculine and butch was a nice thing. But to me it feels like it was coerced into being a thing for Men. A thing no longer for me or people like me who share the butch culture and name to no longer enjoy cause people unfamiliar with kink and tran history have decided that masculinity and butchness are the exact same thing. Id say people should go be a bear, but you wont learn their culture either and thats cruel and insulting to bears.

We deserve better You deserve better. Stop falling for the lies and hate. We beg you

[cryptomiracle]

what type of lover is sam winchester?

sam winchester x reader (fluff headcanons)

"Wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark

Show me the places where the others gave you scars

Now this is an open-shut case

Guess I should've known from the look on your face

Every bait and switch was a work of art"

-willow by taylor swift

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊

WARNING(S)

I'm just on season 14 atm, but I took a break from watching it to focus on other things, so I apologize if his character is inaccurate.

gender neutral reader

this is my first time writing for supernatural, please be understanding of this

This is kinda short

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊

psychical touch

he's not very big on PDA, other than hand holding or a simple little peck on the cheek/hand every now and then.. but in private? this man cannot get enough.

If you're a night owl, he's the type to sit on the couch with his head laying on your lap at like 2 am, trying to fight off sleepiness just so he can be with you. when you two sleep together, he pulls you as close as humanly possible and sleeps with his face in the crook of your neck.

he's constantly showering you with kisses on your nose, on your mouth, on your cheeks, on your hand, you name it.

He's the type to kiss you goodbye, then pull you back into another kiss, and then another, and then another, until you have to psychically pull yourself away from him.

Sometimes when he gets spooked he'll involuntarily grab your hand.

Now don't get me wrong, he enjoys when you give him the same energy, he loves for you to comb your fingers through his hair, or when you wrap your arms around his arm when you two are walking around (it doesn't matter where you're going)

if you were to randomly walk up to him and hug him, he would literally melt into you, he would do all he could to prolong the hug as much as possible, just to stay in your embrace.

When you two are cuddling, he's a little spoon (I will die on this hill.)

love language

words of affirmation

This man is a poet when it comes to you, he will wake up in the morning and just start telling you the sweetest things you have ever heard.

he will quite literally have you swooning over him, and he means every bit of what he says.

Although I wouldn't call him an insecure person, you would have to return the favor, even if it's just little confirmation that you still love him.

He's constantly worried that his line of work would cause you to get hurt, or worse.. so you would have to remind him that you don't have any second thoughts, that you can take care of yourself and that you don't want to be with anyone else.

acts of service

He loves doing things for you, whether it's carrying your bags, or running you a bath.

he'll do things without you even having to ask.

if you show any interest in something in a store, consider it yours.

Quality time

hes fine with going out to a nice restaurant, but he's also okay with just having a homemade dinner with you. He's happy as long as he gets to spend time with you.

He's an okay cook. but he likes to cook with you, it's his favorite way to spend quality time with you

Sometimes though, he would rather go to a restaurant he enjoys seeing you get all dolled up, it makes his heart melt.

When y'all first started dating, he definitely had to ask dean for date ideas, but once y'all finally got fully secure in your relationship, he'd just ask you what you wanted to do.

He enjoys sitting at home and reading with you, or doing research on whatever case him and dean are working on at the moment.

He greatly appreciates if you help him with his research as well, if you were to find something before him, he'd compliment you and tell you how smart you were, & how much of a help you were to him.

He's just a little sweetie pie

(I love him so much YALL DON'T EVEN KNOWW)

fights

Honestly, fights with him aren't that bad.

He will let you vent out all of your emotions, but if he thinks you're being irrational he will let you know.

He does have a habit of storming into another room, or going quiet whenever he feels himself get genuinely angry, mainly because he doesn't wanna yell/blow up at you.

After he cools down, he will attempt to resolve whatever it was that caused the fight to begin with.

Oftentimes, he will try to avoid conflict with you all together.

I can just imagine the two of you fighting in front of dean and Castiel, and them just standing there like "🧍🏼‍♂️👀"

If it's a really bad fight, he'll need a little moment alone to settle down.

jealousy

imma give him a 4.5/10 on the jealousy scale.

He's secure enough in himself, and your relationship to where he doesn't feel jealous over little things.

but if somebody tests it, he will let it be known that you're his.

Like, if a cashier at a store were to flirt with you, despite him being right next to you he'll shoot them a confused yet humored look while sneaking his hand around your waist & pulling you closer.

what kind of lover is sam winchester?

overall, sam winchester is such a great lover his love is so bittersweet, kind, patient, and understanding. He's such a sweetheart ♡

[whimsyyart]

Alright yall here’s my take on a gf season 3

(note: I firmly believe there probably won’t be a season 3 and I myself don’t necessarily want one. The story is over and the show is already peak, I’m good fr)

…….HOWEVER

My hypothetical season 3 would go back to FULL season 1 energy. No overarching plot, no crazy demon battles. Just episodic and character driven fun.

It’s a couple years later and the twins are maybe 15 or 16. They haven’t made it back to Gravity Falls til now (with their parents divorced, there were a couple moves, etc) but with the Grunkles back in town, they just had to make it back up there for the summer.

And from there, we’re right back into the interpersonal coming of age stories we’re used to with lots and lots of family bonding. There are episodes like:

Dipper and Mabel babysit Soos’ toddler

Pacifica working at the diner

Mabel and Ford bonding time where Mabel can show off her smarts and maturity when not looking after Dipper. Ford gets to relax and be creative for the first time in I think his life

Wendy freaking out about going into senior year and/or college. Deciding whether or not college is the thing for her or what she wants for her future.

Rich Fiddleford shenangins

Dipper and Stan bonding time with a lot of deconstructing the toxic masculinity that Stan grew up with and echoed back on to Dipper. Dipper getting to choose what kind of person he wants to become.

The gang helping Gideon as he goes around town desperately trying to find a new hobby

Dipper has a noir detective episode for some reason

Grunkle Ford ace reveal please please please please please please please please

Mabel and the girls get really into a trashy ya series and get to be delightfully cringe about it. They accidentally find Stan on a fan forum and they immediately drop it

Blubs and Dubs gay wedding

I could go on literally forever but I will not.

And don’t get me wrong, there still will be a strong element of the urban fantasy and cryptids we’re used to. We see the gnomes and the manotaurs and maybe Mermando again idk. Maybe we get to see actual vampires this time (could tie into the ya series episode) or see an alien or they get stuck in a time loop. Anything goes! As long as it’s self contained.

And will there be any Bill content? I honestly don’t know. My instinct is to say no (or at the very least keep it to the finale again). But whatever it is, it should NOT have redemption for Bill- only closure for everyone involved. And maybe the Pines family can hit him like a piñata again…this is 100% included in family bonding time category.

Ok I think that’s it.

K bye <3

[goatdon]

You shouldn’t trust the show runners, they can lie, they’re probably lying about the significance of Langdon. I’ve been through enough fandom to know incompetent writers when I see them. I don’t believe for one second that Langdon is going to get any development. It’s best to lower your expectations for the excuse for an arc their going to give him so you won’t be disappointed

okay. if that’s how you feel then that’s how you feel. me personally i am going to chill since when i post this it’ll only be one day post finale. ill consider them liars or bag fumblers when the casting for s2 is announced or the first ep of s2 comes out.

ive been in fandom spaces since i was 14 and had my fair share of showrunners that suck or ruined the show for me. this show is just started so we’ve gotten no follow ups from the showrunners promises therefore I just don’t feel like making a solid “I love them/i hate them” stand. like im not taking every word they say as bible but like. cmon

and in defense of langdon’s arc and the ambiguous scenes: the ambiguity is necessary—in keeping people thinking and talking abt the pitt and giving them something to look forward to in s2. it also makes sense with langdons storyline because that man is so deep in denial and hasn’t even hit rock bottom yet for him to really see the gravity of his actions. there’s no way to resolve that or force him to see that he really will lose his job in an hour. especially when he’s convinced he can sweet talk robby into not reporting him.

he’s probably been making himself feel better abt everything bc he has this idea in his head that robby let him stay and if he can just get a one person to vouch for him maybe he won’t get reported. he’s kinda deluded in that aspect but it makes sense is what I’m saying. he’s grasping at straws and none of which are gonna be rehab.

outside of leaving it open ended what other options did they have fr? to have him a. verbally accept the offer to rehab that would be make no sense bc he won’t even admit he’s an addict and he does not want to do a 5 year program and b. if he said no and decided to say fk being a doctor. yall would still tweak out bc that rlly means he won’t be in s2. so what can you really do. all i will say is that he could’ve given him another scene at the end tho. maybe frame it in a hopeful way but nothing abt his mindset and where is he rn is all that hopeful since we know he’s scared and freaking out trying to save face. and ofc the secret third option of him dying or attempting but i don’t think that’d really get anyone anywhere.

idk maybe I’m wrong but I truly just don’t know what everyone was expecting. like this outcome and the vague ending is much better than what i thought was gonna happen because i was lowkey thinking someone was gonna get punched so….

s2 will probs start with langdon coming back or whatever fits into that box and thru the season we’ll see his struggles, his relationship with robby, what it’s like to have all the rumors/eyes on him and we’ll probs get to see the accuracy of the program an actual physician with an addiction would go thru. and #tome that is a literal goldmine. any writer worth half their salt would know to explore this and not drop it. they set up so much that it would genuinely be idiotic to drop the storyline and I don’t think that’s what they plan on doing.

i just don’t think him lacking screen time (which he lowkey has not had since ep 10) and not wanting to go to rehab is a bat signal from the writer saying “look at us we don’t know what we’re doing”

and yk based on this past season I’m choosing to believe the showrunners know what they’re doing and I’ll continue to do that unless they prove me otherwise in the months from april - jan.

ykw I will say that there’s a chance ur right so on jan i say we meet back here and if ur right ill admit i was wrong and loud and be embarrassed abt it on main. but until then I’ll just stick with my opinion on him returning. ill owe you a cute penny if the cast list for s2 comes out and he’s not on it.

and don’t even get me wrong there’s a lot of choices / things I don’t like abt the show or scene that pmo so it’s not like I’m meat riding for these people bc I’m really not