#anyone else would be a spoiler and a half

[propenseverbosity]

Spoilers for Eddie and Volt's story in Date Everything but I need to rant about this for a minute.

I get why Volt exists. Honestly if I got to that point where Eddie was, I'd be burned out too. (Hell, I did. And I was.)

Keeping the power stable is a full-time job in itself. Now that he's running the Breaker Box too, Eddie needs someone to run the bar, dazzle the crowd, command the stage, complete all the necessarily repairs to maintain the club, and have enough mental and physical energy left over to keep the damn lights on. He's only one man. All that on top of a faulty wire? He knows he can't keep up with all of it forever without fizzling out.

To fix this, he made Volt to pick up the slack. For both the house power and the Breaker Box, but it's become so much more than that. He made Volt to be the host because he's the personification of what Eddie thinks people want from him. Volt is handsome, charming, and likeable. He doesn't tire out as easily after a surge, doesn't need to take breaks between social interactions to recharge (or else he starts snapping at customers left and right) and he doesn't shy away from flirting with people he finds attractive.

Volt is Eddie's mask taken form. He's there to throw on a smile and flirt with the human often enough that they won't want to peek behind the curtain and see what a mess everything really is. All they see is a loose floorboard here, a cracked bulb there, and hidden beneath it all is Eddie, barely keeping it together.

After all, why would they ever want Eddie when they can have Volt? Eddie himself created Volt to be everything he wants to be. How could anyone not fall in love with that?

So when the human starts taking an interest in Eddie of all people, he's confused. They must be there for Volt, right? Everyone's there for Volt. No one actually shows up to the Breaker Box just to see Eddie. Not that Volt would allow that in the first place, especially if Eddie was resting that day.

(Half the dialogue options for that interaction involve asking him where Volt is, or mentioning they'll wait until Volt gets there and that just broke my heart. This man is not ready for anyone to take an interest in HIM.)

Because the human does, of course, like Volt too, but that doesn't make Eddie any less important to them. (They are truly a bonded pair, do not separate.) The human wants to make sure both of them are okay, and seeing Eddie hurt is hard for them. They want to help in any way they can, whether Eddie trusts their intentions or not.

Even during the repairs he's hesitant to trust them. After all, they're probably only helping him to get in good with Volt, right?

But then he opens up to them about his struggles, and they promise not to tell Volt about what's going on, and he realizes they really do care about him, and want to help the club.

THAT'S the reason he calls them Live Wire after the reset, because it's not really just Volt who calls them that, Volt is literally a subset of Eddie's existing personality.

The way I see it is more like how a circuit splits power from series to parallel. He created another version of himself during that split, but in terms of making that split power into A Person, he hand-picked certain aspects of his personality to give Volt so that people would like him. After the split, Volt kinda grew to become his own person, so their personalities would be sorta like a venn diagram. Eddie on one side, Volt on the other, and the intersection is the specific traits Eddie chose to give Volt.

And how could Eddie not fall in love with the person he created to protect him on his worst days?

Anyway thank you for coming to my TED Talk, I'm very normal about the breaker box tyvm

[russenoire]

on first watch as an anime-only, i remember feeling like ritsu kageyama's descent into evil in episode seven needed a little more air, more space to breathe. i... no longer do. if that slide down the slippery slope feels a bit sudden, there is a reason; and if you know what to look for, it's not actually all that sudden. bear with me here.

from the first episode, the anime sets ritsu up as shigeo's kind, solicitous younger brother. we don't see much of him for the first three episodes, but when we do, he's making bids for shigeo’s attention: helpfully straightening his spoon when it bends and deposits a bite of his dinner on the dining table; noting that he seems out of it and offering himself up as a confidant at least twice; checking in on him in the morning so they can both leave on time. (i actually love the anime for doing this. ritsu doesn't even show up as a character until maybe the middle of the manga's second volume?) except for the spoon, shigeo gently turns him down every time.

and yet. the interview ichi mezato snags with ritsu in episode four confirms a distance between the kageyama boys. you are not seeing things here. he initially refuses her desire for detailed information about shigeo’s powers, only indulging her to find out what shigeo’s been up to. ritsu holds those powers in such awe that he uses a rather hyperbolic phrase to describe shigeo for her: '世界の基本', or sekai no kihon, literally the standard for [his] world.

after he coldly walks out on her, she reviews what little she’s gleaned from their chilly meeting: he's hawt, at the top of his class, athletic, very popular... all things his older brother decidedly is not. the story establishes a duality here between ritsu’s image—indirectly revealed through mezato’s notes—and the reality of ritsu, sat hunched across from her, sullen, barely tolerating her until she coughed up the information she promised him. later on that evening, we see just how deep ritsu's awe goes... or rather, how snared up it is in resentment and envy as he attempts in vain to bend a spoon, just like shigeo did when they were younger. all the trophies of others’ esteem already gathering dust on his shelves don’t mean shit if he can’t have this.

ritsu intercepts shigeo as he leaves for class the next morning: no student council meeting, so an opportunity to actually talk to him. this is rare, his brother notes. and of course dimple is haunting shigeo. when the specter comments on their apparent closeness, the boy side-eyes him hard. this can easily be read two ways: ‘why the hell are you talking to me when no one else can see you?’ and ‘man, fuck you for sticking the knife in deeper.’ ritsu doesn’t ask about the cult meeting here or ever in the entire series. was he really all that interested in mezato’s news? no, he only wants to know why his brother doesn’t use his powers anymore. and this is the first time they’ve talked about this.

it’s such a neat little mystery, these breadcrumbs the story leaves for us until ritsu’s formal introduction in episode six. even though they share the same home and appear to be on friendly terms, the kageyama brothers may as well live on opposite sides of the planet. we don’t even get a sense of why this state of affairs exists until episode five, where teru chokes the breath out of shigeo and his pissed-off soul levels teru’s school before catapulting him into the stratosphere to reflect on his sins: several years prior, shigeo nearly killed ritsu (and possibly ended three much older boys) in an accident neither boy understands; fragments of memory flash before his eyes as his consciousness shorts out.

‘brother, you’re home late, sopping wet. here’s a towel. are you hungry? you seem down; is everything OK? if you need to talk, i’m here for you.’

instead of turning down this bid for connection like all the rest and turning inward again, shigeo actually opens up. he apologizes for the accident—for the first time—then asks for some clarity, since his memories of it are broken. and ritsu clenches the knob to his brother’s bedroom door tighter. he lies to his face, tells him to ‘get over it already.’ this after asking shigeo to confide in him again, no less: too terrified to be honest with him, too used to being shot down. this boy is soaking in fear he has no context for, and he heads downstairs to soak in it alone. shigeo at least has reigen to process his own fears with, though he never trusts the man enough to take full advantage.

ritsu has no one.

he’s already keeping up appearances at home and has been for years; over the course of the spring cleaning big cleanup arc, we learn the extent to which he’s been doing so at school.

(all those expectations of him weighing him down for so long… he can’t hold out forever.)

student council vice president tokugawa calls him out on trying to melt into the scenery like his brother; his considerable gifts make that impossible. said gifts, however, are so ego-dystonic for him that they’re yet another part of Ritsu Kageyama’s Big Lie. the academically-gifted, popular sprinter so many of his fellow students swoon over isn’t real: why does everyone praise him for things anyone could do? he doesn’t actually have friends, just associates. who cares about charisma? why does everyone think he’s perfect when the only thing he truly wants will never be his? and why does his locker leak chocolate every valentine’s day?

gentle reader. are you still wondering why he snaps when he finally gets his wish? and why it looks the way it does?

[angelsdean]

don't know how people multi-fandom. dipped my toe into another one and immediately backed out bc everyone there was insufferable.

[veilord]

I’m writing this because I can’t stop thinking about sbg and I’m really excited for the next chapters but I’m really impatient and I can’t buy coins :(

I love “School Bus Graveyard” so much and I recently reread the entire comic because I stoped reading for a while. I had fun but it really reinforced the major criticisms I have with it, and that is the pacing and telling instead of showing.

The best way I can think to explain it is that the story goes to fast, especially in the first season.

Like it starts with the cold open to the kids almost getting got by the phantom before going back to give us the context of what’s happening. And this works great to hook readers when the start of the story is a bit slow. Then we have the kids bonding on the trip before they are pulled into the phantom dimension for the first time, and it’s great!! I love the first night and was getting so invested in what would happen next! Then it skips back to the time during the opening.

Skipping boring or irrelevant stuff in a story is expected, we don’t want to watch the kids go to all their classes during school if we don’t need to. This skip isn’t like that, it skips over a lot of interesting story that we need to know about to understand how the kids got into the situation they’re in during the opening. So the story has to full us in on the stuff skipped and dose so by just having Ashlyn monologue about it.

I didn’t notice when I was reading but thinking back this happens a lot, the story skips ahead to the more plot relevant and exciting stuff and has Ashlyn fill in what we missed. This results in the story having almost no downtime which, isn’t good. It makes the story very fast and can be confusing, like when preparing for getting the jeep Ashlyn says it takes a lot of preparation and practice, but we don’t see any of it. So when the plan goes wrong because the keys were moved we aren’t as panicked and confused as the kids. Well it may have been weeks or months in story for us it seems like a few days at most. I have no clue how long they have actually been dealing with the phantoms but the way the story is paced makes it seem like they have only been dealing with it for a short time, making how stressed and tired they are seem like to much.

But I find the biggest problem with the pacing and lack of downtime is how it screws over the characters. When the time skips happen we lose so much character building. We don’t see how they interacted right after the first night in the phantom dimension, how they handled the second night, how they all got to the graveyard, all the arguments about going back to savanna, what they text in the group chat, visiting each others houses, Tyler teaching Ben guitar, just hanging out. When we are told backstory’s they don’t hit very hard because we don’t know much about the characters, we never got to know them. When Tyler falls on the tree and we get his backstory it’s informative and sad and stuff, but then it tells us that Tyler sees the gang as a second family and… what. When I first read that I was genuinely confused, it felt like it came out of nowhere, like they just met, he barely knows any of them. But they didn’t just meet, they’ve known each other for months and have been surviving together every night and hanging out often during the day, but we didn’t see any of it. We only see them in stressful situations so we never really see Tyler warm up to the group, we don’t get the sense that any of these kids are really friends most of the time. The few hangout scenes we get are so good, they let us relax and get to know the characters as they get to know each other. And we know that they hang out more than the two times shown so it super sucks we don’t see more.

The characters need more room to breathe and establish themselves as individuals and as part of the group. As it is whenever one character get more focus it feels like the others are pushed to the side, like there isn’t enough room for all of them when I think there could be more then enough room.

I hope this makes sense I’m not proofreading it lmao. I do really like this story and a lot of my complaints feel less relevant to season two, but because a lot of these problems happen in season one when set up and character building is most important for establishing a steady base for the story to build on it’s very noticeable even as the writing improves. Maybe one day Red can go back and improve the story somehow, but that seems unlikely so I hope these issues continue to be improved as the comic goes on.

[seaofreverie]

I'm actually so serious that spotify wrapped is one of my favourite holidays of the year and the fact that it's taking a week longer to release this year than I was fully convinced it would actually take is pretty agonising. But also opening the wikipedia article about it and seeing it described simply as a "viral marketing campaign" cracked me up in a sad way because well. Yeah of course it's that. Of course it's a viral marketing campaign first and foremost. But also give me my stats and my 100 top songs of the year playlist NOOOWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[desertdragon]

T/////Eight story amounted to basically nothing so I guess I'm back here to the other stupid as shit game I give too many chances on a more full time basis again (minus still writing my As///u/////Lil////i fic I love that thing too much and people in my DMs are counting on me for more)

At least I'll always have my friend and her best ending

And her faggot

EDIT: Ok it was nonsensical and full of holes like swiss cheese but now that i've calmed down this was always a goofy silly dumb game that cares less about taking itself seriously as it does being cool and fun, so while im disappointed and im allowed to be disappointed, im not running away with my expectations on this like others have. Tekken is still fun and will always have a place in my heart. And I do appreciate receiving some things I've always wanted regardless of my upsets with their execution flaws. They were finally able to make me feel like my favorite characters have closure on some level regardless, and that has to be commended.

[xenglitch]

monhun wilds good..... monhun wilds fun....

[goyardgoyangi]

eating wingstop in street racer! sukuna’s car

You’re halfway through your second tender when it hits you — he hasn’t said a word about the crumbs.

The scent of hot honey and voodoo fries fills his GTR, thick and sweet, the kind of smell that would make any car guy lose his mind. But Sukuna just leans back in the driver’s seat like he’s been waiting for this all day.

Maybe he has.

Which is weird, because just last week, you watched him nearly commit a felony when some guy got too close to the rear spoiler. The poor dude barely breathed near it and Sukuna went off — meanwhile, you stood on the sidewalk sipping iced matcha, thoroughly entertained as Sukuna wiped down an invisible fingerprint like it was an insult.

But now he’s focused on the wing in his hand — mostly. His eyes keep flicking to you every few seconds, like he can’t decide what’s messier: the sauce on his fingers or the look on your face while you chew.

“Don’t get sauce on the leather,” he murmurs, almost out of obligation.

There’s no bite to it, though.

You glance at him through your lashes, catching the way his body’s angled toward you. Elbow on the center console. Guarded, maybe — but not from you.

“You let me eat in here,” you tease, waving a greasy fry at him. “This a trap?”

“No.” His voice is quieter now, eyes on the dashboard. “Just… you’re clean.”

You arch a brow. “Wow. Thanks. Romantic.”

He rolls his eyes — a little too hard. “You know what I mean.”

You kind of do.

He’s not cold. Not really. Just hard to read. Always elbows deep in engines, more tuned into the purr of an exhaust than the sound of his own name.

You reach into the paper bag, the grease turning translucent in spots, and offer him your last fry.

He hesitates.

Then he takes it with two fingers, careful not to touch yours, and tosses it into his mouth. He nods, approving.

“I don’t let just anyone in this car, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Clearly. I’ve heard the horror stories.”

But here you are — box in your lap, fingers messy, dipping your tenders into the extra ranch he always orders without you having to ask. The car smells like fried food and leather, two things that should never mix, but somehow feel natural when it’s the two of you.

You glance over at him, chewing thoughtfully. “Well then, who would you let eat in here?”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just finishes off his wing, sucks the bone clean like it’s muscle memory, then tosses it into the bag with a lazy flick of his wrist. He wipes his fingers on a napkin already soaked with grease, then tosses that aside too.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. Slower. Measured.

“I don’t let anyone else do a lot of things.”

You pause, fingers frozen over your food. The words hit heavier than they should. He says it like it means something — like it is something. But the moment hangs in the air for just a second too long, so you roll your eyes and reach for another tender.

“Could’ve just said I’m special,” you mutter, half-joking, careful not to drop any crumbs on his pristine interior.

Because even if he won’t say it, you already know. You’ve heard the stories — how Sukuna doesn’t even let people breathe near his car, much less eat in it. Water bottles? Off-limits. Shoes on the seat? Instant death. And yet here you are, mid-bite, elbows up, your takeout box resting comfortably in your lap like you’ve been doing this forever.

And maybe that’s the scariest part.

Because he lets you.

And he never lets anyone.

[shortnspidey]

JUNO

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 6.3K

SUMMARY: Everyone’s drawn to you, it’s part of what makes you so special, and one of the first things Bucky fell in love with. He admires the way you light up every room, the way people naturally gravitate toward you. But it also means he's constantly sharing you with the world. So one weekend, he decides to take you away from it all, just you, him, and the time he's been craving.

WARNINGS: INCLUDES SMUT (18+) Literally all fluff, clingy Bucky, platonic everyone x reader, set after Thunderbolts* but there are NO spoilers, lots of sexual tension & kissing, unprotected p in v, body worship, oral (female receiving), breeding/praise kink, possessive!Bucky

A/N: Based on my Collateral Hearts series but can be read as a standalone! This is my first time ever writing smut so please proceed with caution! Miss Sabrina has corrupted me with her sensual songs! Who else is excited for Man’s Best Friend?! 🙋🏻‍♀️

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

➩ bucky barnes masterlist

Bucky loved that you were well-liked, adored, even, especially by his new teammates. People naturally gravitated toward you. You had a natural charisma that allowed everyone to feel comfortable around you in a short period of time. Hell it was on of the many reasons as to why Bucky fell in love with you. But right now? He all but hated it.

Ever since moving into the Watchtower, it felt like he barely saw you anymore. Mornings used to start with you curled up beside him, the soft rhythm of your breathing syncing with his, your fingers finding his even in sleep. Sunlight would filter in through the curtains, casting lazy patterns across your tangled limbs and the bare stretch of your shoulder where the blanket had slipped.

Now, half the time, he woke up alone, your side of the bed already cold. The bed always felt too big without you in it. Sometimes it was Yelena who stole you away before dawn, coaxing you into early-morning workouts with the promise of post-training pancakes. Other times, it was Ava, needing a 'worthy' sparring partner. You took the hits, gave them back twice as hard, and came home with bruises you waved off.

Then there were the weekends you spent away, Pepper and Morgan. No matter how much he wanted to go, it always seemed like last minute missions dragged him away. You’d always call him, voice chirping through the phone promising to be back soon. But “soon” never felt soon enough. Sometimes Kate or Peter whisked you off into the city, for coffee, errands, or just something spontaneous and chaotic.

You always said yes, always too sweet to turn them down, even when he could see the exhaustion in your shoulders. Even when he wished you’d stay. Then there was Alexei, roping you into helping with one of his latest “experimental” kitchen masterpieces. You played along, though Bucky was pretty sure your true motivation was making sure the kitchen didn’t spontaneously combust. He’d watch you from the hallway, laughing through the chaos as you tried to wrestle a spatula from Alexei’s hand.

Bob was quieter, more subtle, inviting you out to bookstores or record shops with that shy smile of his, slipping you away for hours without anyone noticing. Bucky noticed. He always noticed. Even Alpine, your spoiled, smug little cat, got more time with you than he did. She curled into your lap like she owned you, purring contentedly as you worked or read, giving him that self-satisfied feline stare that somehow made him feel like the third wheel in his own relationship.

He didn’t blame them. Not really.

He knew what it was like to want to be near you. You were the kind of person people clung to without realizing they needed to. He understood that better than anyone. But still... call him spoiled, call him selfish, but he had grown used to having you all to himself. The soft silences. The late-night whispers. The quiet reassurances no one else got to hear. Which is why he had a plan to keep you all to himself. Bucky had been awake long before the first hint of dawn began to warm the skyline outside the Watchtower’s windows.

For once, he wasn’t watching the clock tick down to your departure, he was preparing to stop it altogether. About an hour before your alarm was set to buzz, he reached across the nightstand in the dark, silencing it with a flick of his thumb. Then, with a quiet exhale, he shifted toward you, strong arms sliding around your waist and pulling you back against the solid heat of his chest. Your skin was warm and soft beneath the covers, your breathing still deep and even.

For a few precious seconds, he simply held you, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing you in. The faint scent of your shampoo clung to your hair, sweet and familiar, something he swore he could never get enough of. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another to the space just below your ear, scruff brushing against your skin as he did. You stirred, just barely. Your body tensed for a split second, instinctively aware it was time to start your day.

Your internal clock, honed by routine, nudged at you to slip out of bed and head down to the gym to meet Yelena and Ava. But of course, your super-soldier fiancé had other plans. Plans that involved making it incredibly difficult for you to leave. Before you could so much as stretch, Bucky tightened his grip, strong arms flexing around your waist to pull you back flush against him. The warmth of his bare chest pressed to your spine, the beat of his heart slow and steady against your back.

His nose nudged into the crook of your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin there as he mouthed lazy kisses along your pulse point, soft, lingering, possessive. A soft sigh escaped your lips, your head instinctively tilting to the side, offering him more skin, more of you. His metal hand found yours under the blankets, cool fingers intertwining with your warmer ones. You didn’t resist. You never did when he touched you like this, slow, intentional, like every movement was a vow.

His legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets, thigh sliding between yours in a way that made it near impossible to move. Not that you wanted to, not when his body heat seeped into every inch of you, not when he was anchoring you so completely to this moment, to him. “You’re not going anywhere,” He murmured into your skin, voice rough with sleep, lips brushing against the spot that always made you shiver. “Not today, doll.” A small, sleepy smile curved your lips as your fingers tightened around his.

You could feel the way his breath hitched just slightly when your hips shifted back, nestling closer. Maybe Yelena and Ava could manage without you this morning. Just this once. You lips curled with amusement and affection, loving just how clingy Bucky was in the mornings, how much he needed to wrap himself around you like a super-soldier sized blanket, as if keeping your body close could somehow shut out the rest of the world. Oh, how far the two of you had come. “Big, bad, brooding super soldier…”

Your voice was soft, still heavy with sleep, but laced with teasing warmth as you turned in his arms to face him. Your legs shifted against his under the covers, tangling tighter. Your arms slid up around his neck, fingers brushing over the edge of his jaw as you pulled him in until your noses nearly touched. The heat of his breath mingled with yours, slow and heavy, like neither of you was in any hurry. "You’ve grown soft, Barnes.” You whispered, voice dripping with playful smugness.

Bucky’s eyes flickered down to your lips, his gaze hooded and hungry. “Mmm,” He rumbled, head tipping slightly into your touch as your fingers raked through his messy, sleep-tousled hair. He let out a low groan, that deep, gravelly kind that always made your skin prickle, especially when you scratched at his scalp just the way he liked, nails grazing along his roots with just enough pressure to make him shiver. You arched a brow, smirking. Point proven.

“Can’t help it, doll,” He murmured, voice dipping even lower, his mouth already dangerously close to your jaw. “You’ve got me all spoiled.” Your laugh came out as a soft, breathy exhale, a little too breathless to be innocent. And before you could fire back with something cheeky, Bucky leaned in and pressed his lips to the curve of your neck, slow, open-mouthed kisses that sent shivers cascading down your spine. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him room, your grip around his neck tightening slightly.

He took full advantage, grazing his teeth against your pulse point before sinking them in just enough to make your breath hitch. “Bucky,” You whispered, half warning, half plea. He chuckled against your skin, low and satisfied, before soothing the bite with a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue. The heat between your bodies thickened, the space beneath the covers was suddenly too warm. You shifted again, hips brushing against his, the tiniest movement, but enough to feel the way his breath caught.

“As much as I love where this is going…” You murmured between soft, uneven breaths, your voice catching slightly as Bucky’s teeth gently tugged at your earlobe, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. His tongue flicked over the spot to soothe it, and you let out a soft moan, fingers curling instinctively into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ve gotta go downstairs before Yelena breaks down the door.” You whispered, trying to sound authoritative.

Yet, the conviction in your voice faltered when he pressed himself closer, all muscle and heat, pinning you beneath the weight of his affection. Bucky shook his head slowly, deliberately, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck as he exhaled a warm, lazy breath. “Not today,” His voice didn’t leave room for argument. “You’re mine for the weekend.” You tilted your head, brows raising in amused disbelief, though your body betrayed you, arching subtly, craving more contact, more of him.

“Oh?” You teased, breathless, your fingers dancing down his spine under the sheets, feeling the way his muscles flexed in response to your touch. “And what exactly does that mean, Sergeant?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes smoldering with a look that made your stomach flip. His gaze flicked down to your lips, then dragged slowly back up to meet your eyes with a lazy, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I already packed our bags,” He brushed his nose against yours, voice dipped in that slow, rough drawl that always turned your knees to jelly.

“You and me. Hotel suite. Privacy. Room service. A giant bed with no interruptions. And a whole lot more of this.” His hand slid from your waist to your thigh, fingers gripping and pulling until your leg was hitched over his hip. The shift brought your bodies impossibly close, so that you could feel a very prominent bulge, between you both. His metal hand cradled the back of your neck, the coolness contrasting deliciously with the heat building between you. Then he kissed you, not soft, not teasing.

His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that had simmered beneath the surface all week. Lips parted, breath mingling, and then his tongue slid against yours in a slow, deliberate sweep that made your toes curl under the sheets. He tasted like sleep and warmth, like something familiar and utterly addictive. You responded just as eagerly, pulling him closer with a quiet, breathless whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair again, nails dragging against his scalp to coax out another low groan from deep in his chest.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, catching it just enough to make you gasp, and then he soothed the sting with a lazy flick of his tongue, sensual, unhurried, like he was savoring every inch of you. The kiss deepened, grew slower and heavier, full of unspoken promises and heat that made your thighs clench around him. By the time he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, his chest rising and falling just a bit faster, matching your own ragged breath.

His forehead rested against yours, and when he looked at you, there was nothing but lust and devotion burning in those storm-blue eyes. “Privacy, huh?” You whispered, grinning against his lips. “That sounds dangerously tempting.” He grinned back, eyes flickering with a flash of lust and mischief. “Good. Because I’m not sharing you this weekend. Not even with Alpine.” You let out a laugh, breathless and light, your fingers brushing over the stubble along his jaw. “She’s going to be deeply offended.”

“She’ll live,” He shrugged, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then down your neck with renewed purpose. “But me? I might not. I need you, doll. All of you.” And from the way his hands roamed, slow and possessive, from the way his mouth claimed your skin like he was memorizing it all over again, you believed him. You lay together in a haze of half-lidded glances and lingering fingertips, your thigh draped over his hip, his hand splayed low on your back, as if letting go of you might break the spell.

The silence was soft, intimate. A kind of quiet only earned by two people who knew each other completely. Every now and then, his mouth would brush your shoulder, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, not with urgency, but reverence. Like he was reminding himself that you were really here. That he didn’t have to share you yet. Eventually, as much as neither of you wanted to move, the idea of privacy, true privacy, pulled you both from the comfort of the sheets.

You slipped out of bed first, bare legs brushing cool hardwood as you padded to the dresser, and Bucky’s gaze followed you like a shadow. His Henley, the one you’d stolen off his side of the floor, hung loosely over your frame as you gathered what you needed, catching his smirk in the mirror when your shoulder peeked out from the stretched collar. He moved slower, watching you beneath hooded lids as he tugged on a dark t-shirt, one that clung just right to the lines of his chest.

His fingers brushed yours more than necessary while you finished packing, every accidental touch lingering too long, every stolen glance speaking volumes neither of you said out loud. Before leaving, Bucky moved to the nightstand and, with deliberate ease, turned both of your phones off. Then he tossed them into the drawer and shut it with a soft click, a clear, quiet declaration. This weekend wasn’t for notifications. For distractions. For anyone else.

With that, the two of you slipped down the hallway like a secret, hands brushing, steps slow and careful. The tower was quiet for once, the buzz of conversation strangely absent. You passed the main floor where the sunlight pooled in warm patches across the tile, and just as you reached the elevator, a quiet rustle of pages caught your attention. Bob sat in one of the oversized armchairs by the couch, a book in one hand, the other cradling a half-empty mug, brows raising as he looked up.

He didn't say anything, just gave the two of you a knowing look over the rim of his cup and turned the page, eyes dropping back to his book. Bucky didn’t even glance over. He just reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and pulling you gently into the elevator. The doors slid closed with a quiet chime. The car ride was calm, quiet. You rested your head on Bucky’s shoulder, fingers still twined as they rested on your thigh, the city slowly unfolding outside the tinted windows. The farther away you got from the Watchtower, the more your shoulders dropped.

Maybe you really did need this.

The hotel was tucked away in the quieter part of Manhattan, tall, sleek, with understated elegance. Marble floors, tall windows with sheer curtains that caught the light, staff that didn’t ask questions when Bucky checked in under an alias and insisted on the penthouse. He kept you close at his side, his hand firm at your waist as you walked through the lobby, brushing against you just enough to keep your body warm with anticipation. The elevator to the top floor was silent, save for the soft chime as you rose higher.

You could feel his eyes on you the entire way up, as if he was counting down the seconds. The suite itself was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the room, bathing everything in soft, ambient light of the heart-shaped candles. The bed was enormous, dressed in layers of cloud-like linens and plush pillows. A fireplace flickered in the corner, and beyond a set of French doors, was a balcony, offering the hush of the city far below. Bucky didn’t say a word as he dropped the bags to the floor.

He simply walked past you to the windows, drawing the curtains slowly, blocking out the world in measured movements. The light dimmed, shadows deepened. And you could feel it again, that weight between you. The heavy, unresolved tension that had followed you all morning. The quiet wasn’t awkward. It was thick, charged, humming with the ache of everything you hadn’t done yet. You stood there, still, your pulse tapping just under your skin, watching the way Bucky’s broad shoulders moved as he stepped back toward you.

His eyes locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. He stopped just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, his hands hovering, not quite touching, as if waiting for permission. You gave it, without a word. He stood there, quiet and still, but his eyes said everything, dark, slow-burning, full of hunger. His hands lifted, finally closing that small space between you, one brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear while the other rested at your waist, thumb pressing gently into the dip of your hipbone.

He kissed you like the world had stopped. Like there was nothing else, no time, no place, just the two of you, and this quiet room. It started slow. His lips moved against yours with aching patience, savoring you. You found yourself clutching his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. You could feel the restraint in the way he held you, the quiet tension in his shoulders, in his hands, like he was trying not to overwhelm you, not to take too much too fast. But you didn’t want restraint, not today.

You wanted all of him.

As if reading your mind, he lifted you into his arms without breaking the kiss, carrying you to the bed like you were something priceless. He laid you down gently, settling in between your thighs like you were sacred. His eyes never left yours as he hovered above you, thumb stroking over your cheek as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips. You could feel the restraint in the way he held you, the quiet tension in his shoulders, in his hands, like he was trying not to overwhelm you, not to take too much too fast.

"Bucky," You gasped against his mouth, your voice thick with need. “Stop being so damn careful. I need you, all of you.” You nipped at his lower lip, a sharp spark of impatience. A low growl vibrated in his chest, a sound both feral and tender. Your plea finally snapped the last fragile thread of his restraint. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze blazing with sudden intensity. The tenderness didn't vanish; it transformed, becoming possessive, hungry.

His hands slid down your sides, palms rasping deliciously against the thin fabric of his your shirt before finding the hem and pulling it up and over your head in one smooth motion. Then, with a quiet exhale, he leaned back on his heels just enough to reach for the collar of his own shirt. You sat there, breath caught, watching with parted lips as his fingers gripped the hem. And then he lifted. It was deliberate, the kind of slow that made your mouth go dry. The fabric peeled upward, revealing inch by delicious inch of golden skin and muscle.

Every flex and ripple beneath smooth scars catching in the soft light. His abs tensed with the motion, the deep ridges carved with perfect symmetry. His metal arm gleamed with subtle reflections, a stark, beautiful contrast to the warmth of the rest of him. When the shirt finally cleared his head, he tossed it aside without looking, his eyes never leaving yours. You stared. Blatantly. Breathless. You’d seen him shirtless hundreds of times. After training, after missions, in bed beside you in the quiet haze of morning light. But somehow, this felt different.

Intimate. Like every inch of him was bared just for you, not just in body, but in trust. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. He just stood there, letting you look, chest rising and falling as if he felt your gaze like a touch. And you were in awe. Of the sheer strength written into every line of his body. Of the scars he didn’t hide. Of the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Your fingers twitched, aching to touch him.

He took a step forward, quiet and slow, and as he knelt onto the bed in front of you again. Your hands rose on instinct, palms flattening against his chest. The heat of his skin radiated beneath your touch, his heart thudding strong beneath your fingertips. Cool air kissed your skin, but it was instantly replaced by the searing heat of his stare as he drank in the sight of your bared torso, clad in a blue lace bra. His flesh hand spanned your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast.

While his vibranium fingers traced the delicate line of your collarbone with astonishing sensitivity. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He breathed out dipping his head, not to your mouth this time, but instead to the pulse fluttering wildly at the base of your throat. His lips pressed there, hot, wet, and open-mouthed, then traced a slow, searing path downward. He worshipped the slope of your shoulder, the valley between your breasts with lingering kisses that made you writhe in pure pleasure.

He took one of your peaked nipple into his mouth through the lace of your bra, sucking gently at first, then harder. The wet heat and the scrape of his teeth sending jolts of pure lightning straight to your core. You cried out, fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him there as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, peeling the bra aside with infinite care to expose flushed skin to his hungry mouth and tongue. "Every freckle," He murmured, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in your bones.

"Every curve, I have memorized." His lips followed his hands, kissing a slow, burning trail down your sternum, his tongue swirling around your navel before dipping lower still. He made quick work of your jeans and underwear, stripping them down your legs with efficient grace. “Soaked for me already, and I’ve barely even touched you,” He rasped against your damp skin, his breath ghosting over your sensitized nipple. “Just like I knew you would be.” And then he was kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed, broad shoulders parting your thighs with gentle insistence.

He paused for a long moment, just looking at you spread bare before him in the dim light. His gaze was dark, possessive, tracing every curve and fold with agonizing slowness. “Mine.” He stated softly, the word a vow that resonated deep in your bones. Then he lowered his head. The first touch of his tongue was a revelation. Not tentative, not teasing, but a broad, flat stroke from the very base of your core up to your clit, gathering your slickness with a low groan of appreciation that vibrated through your entire body.

You arched off the bed with a sharp cry. Bucky Barnes didn’t just go down on you; he worshipped you. His mouth was relentless. He lapped at your entrance, savoring your taste, his tongue delving inside in shallow thrusts before swirling back up to circle your clit with exquisite pressure. His vibranium thumb joined in, rubbing firm, knowing circles just beside that aching nub while his tongue focused its attentions lower, fucking into you with slow, deep strokes that made you see stars.

He alternated, broad licks that covered your entire core, focused suction on your clit that had your hips bucking wildly, deep penetrations with his tongue that mimicked the thrusts you desperately craved from another part of him. His metal hand slid beneath you, gripping your ass, lifting you slightly, angling you perfectly for his mouth. His flesh hand joined the mix, two fingers sliding deep inside you with effortless ease.

They curled upwards in that devastatingly perfect come hither motion that hit just the spot. He hummed against you, the vibration traveling straight to your core, intensifying the coil tightening unbearably low in your belly. "Taste so fuckin' sweet," He growled, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Gonna make you come all over my face. Gonna drink every drop you give me." His eyes, blown with lust, flicked up to yours, holding your gaze as he intensified the pressure, his tongue pressing hard, rapid circles directly on your clit while his fingers pumped deep and fast.

“B-Bucky, I-I’m close.” You moaned out, hands fisting the sheets, knuckles white. “Come for me.” As if his words were a direct order, the orgasm crashed over you like a slow-building wave finally breaking shore, utterly consuming. Your back arched, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your inner walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers. Bucky moaned against you, lapping eagerly, drinking down your release, his tongue gentling to soft, soothing strokes as the tremors subsided, prolonging the aftershocks until you were breathless beneath him. 

Before you could even catch your breath, Bucky surged up over you, his eyes wild with need, lips glistening with your arousal. He shoved his own jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock, thick, flushed red, veins standing proud, and already weeping at the tip. The sight alone sent a fresh surge of desperate heat through your spent body. He rose above you, his chest heaving, his cock thick and flushed, veins standing proud, glistening with pre-come.

The candlelight caught the silver of his dog tags where they lay against your sweat-slicked chest, shifting slightly with each breath. His gaze fixed on them, then slid to the diamond ring on your finger. A possessive, primal satisfaction settled over his features. His metal hand reached out, not to touch you, but to gently lift the chain of his dog tags, letting the cool metal slide through his fingers before letting them fall back against your skin. "Right where they belong," His thumb then brushed over your ring finger, tracing the band.

"This too." He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, claiming kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "My future wife." He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head nudging against slick, swollen flesh. “Need to be inside you,” He growled, his voice ragged. “Need it like air. It's been far too long and I’ve waited long enough, baby.” There was no question of protection; the raw need in his eyes, the possessive set of his jaw spoke of something deeper, primal.

He pushed forward with excruciating slowness, his eyes never leaving yours, watching every flicker of sensation across your face. You felt every ridge, every inch of his impressive girth stretching you, filling you impossibly full. He paused when fully sheathed, buried to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. The feeling was profound, a deep, aching fullness, a sense of being utterly claimed. He paused there for a heartbeat, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. “So damn perfect,” He choked out. “Like you were fuckin’ made for me.” 

He began to move then, withdrawing slowly, almost completely, before sliding back in with that same deep, deliberate glide. His thrusts were long and slow, a powerful, rolling motion of his hips that ground his pelvis against your sensitive clit with every deep penetration. His metal hand braced beside your head, his flesh hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in possessively, pulling you onto him with each thrust, ensuring he reached impossibly deep.

He kept his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face. "Look at you," He groaned, his gaze raking over your face, down your body to where you were joined. "Taking me so deep, so fuckin' perfect." His rhythm remained measured, but each thrust carried undeniable power, a claim. He shifted slightly, angling his hips, and the next deep glide brushed directly against that sweet spot inside, drawing a sharp cry from you. “B-Bucky!” You gasped, reaching to place your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh, needing something to ground you. 

"There?" He rasped, a feral grin touching his lips. He repeated the angle, hitting that spot with unerring accuracy on every deep stroke now. Each powerful stroke sent a shockwave through your core, forcing a ragged gasp from your lips. "Yes! Bucky, yes! Right there!" You cried out, the words dissolving into a high, desperate whine as the sensation intensified, stealing your breath. "Gonna make you come again, right on my cock, gonna feel you milkin' me."

The pressure built again, coiling tighter, fueled by the relentless friction against your clit, the deep stimulation inside, and the raw possessiveness in his voice and gaze. His thrusts grew fractionally harder, deeper, the bedframe groaning softly in protest His big hand slid from the curve of your hip, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh of your ass, lifting you higher. He angled you perfectly, driving himself impossibly deeper, stretching you wider.

You wrapped your legs tighter around his sweat-slicked hips, heels digging into the small of his back, anchoring yourself as your head thrashed back against the pillows, a sob tearing from your throat. "Please, Bucky! Need it!" His breath scorched the shell of your ear, his growl a possessive rumble deep in his chest. "Wanna fill you up," He promised, punctuating each word with a brutal shove of his hips that made you see stars. "Wanna pump you full, mark you deep. Make everyone know you’re mine. Only mine."

You felt the primal truth of it in the desperate clench of your own muscles, in the slick gush of arousal coating his cock with every withdrawal. He grunted, a harsh sound of pure lust, his rhythm becoming a frantic piston, slamming into that glorious spot relentlessly. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with your choked cries and his guttural groans. You could feel the tell-tale tightening in your belly, the flutter becoming a frantic pulse triggered by his words, and the exquisite torture of his cock stretching and stroking your inner walls.

"G-Gonna c-come ag-gain." You sobbed, your words barely intelligible. “Oh God, fuck! I'm coming!" The coil snapped. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and shattering, radiating out from your core in violent waves. Your body seized around him, milking him frantically. Feeling your release, his thrusts became frantic, powerful pistons driving deep. He buried himself to the root with a final, guttural groan, his body locking tight as he pulsed hotly inside you. You felt the distinct, thick spurts of his release, flooding your walls, impossibly hot.

He held himself there, buried impossibly deep, grinding his hips against yours as the last pulses left him, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged gasps against your lips. "Mine." He whispered, a satisfied rumble vibrating through his chest and into yours. His metal hand drifted up, his fingers gently tracing the chain of his dog tags resting on your sweat-slicked skin, right over your pounding heart. His thumb found your wedding ring again, rubbing it slowly. "All mine. Filled with me. Marked by me."

He stayed buried inside you, his weight a comforting, possessive anchor, his release a warm, claiming presence deep within, sealing the promise whispered against your skin. A low hum vibrated deep in his chest as he pressed a feather-light kiss to your temple. "Easy," He murmured, the rasp in his voice gentled but still undeniably him. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, wiping away the dampness there, sweat or tears, it didn't matter.

"Just breathe with me, alright? Deep and slow." He demonstrated, drawing in a long, shuddering breath, encouraging you to follow. The overwhelming intensity of release still shimmered through your limbs, leaving you boneless and trembling. With infinite care, he finally slid out of you, a soft, wet sound accompanying the withdrawal that made you whimper softly at the sudden emptiness. You felt the slick warmth he'd pumped into you trickle free onto the already soaked sheets. "Shhh, I got you." He soothed instantly, his big hands moving with surprising tenderness.

One arm hooked beneath your shoulders, the other beneath your knees, and he gathered you close against his chest as he carefully rolled onto his side. The movement brought you flush against the hard planes of his body, skin sticking where sweat hadn't yet dried. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a slow exhale as Bucky reached blindly towards the nightstand, fumbling for the soft cotton washcloth. He’d always come prepared. With meticulous care, he began to wipe the sticky evidence of your shared pleasure from your inner thighs and the swollen flesh between them.

The cloth was a shock at first, then soothing against your overheated, sensitive skin. He paid gentle attention to every curve, every fold, his touch reverent now instead of demanding. The sight of his seed mingled with your own slickness on the cloth sent a fresh wave of possessive satisfaction through him, visible in the slight tightening of his jaw before his expression softened again. A slow, utterly sated smile touched his lips as he tossed the cloth aside and pulled the sheet up over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders.

You subconsciously molded into his side as he kissed your forehead, lingering this time. "My good girl.” Nestled against him, surrounded by the scent of sex, sweat, and him, you felt utterly safe. The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows and the steady rhythm of your breathing as you lay tangled in each other under the soft weight of the duvet. Bucky’s arm was wrapped snugly around your waist, holding you to his chest like he was afraid you might slip away again.

Like if he let go, someone else might steal you back. Your fingers traced lazy, aimless patterns along the metal plates of his left arm, marveling at how gentle something so cold and strong could feel. After a long stretch of silence, you finally broke it, your voice low and hoarse, still coated in the haze of what had just passed between you. “You really went all out, huh?” You teased, tipping your chin up to look around the suite, your lips curving with soft disbelief.

It was breathtaking. The kind of romantic gesture that felt pulled from a dream, except it was real, and it was him. The sprawling king-size bed behind you was draped in white linens, now rumpled from your bodies. Champagne rested in an ice bucket on the nearby table, condensation dripping slowly down the glass. Heart-shaped candles flickered across the space. Bucky looked down at you, his expression softened with something that looked like pride, but not the cocky kind. Something quieter. Earnest.

A hint of bashfulness pulled at the corners of his mouth, crinkling the skin at the edges of his eyes in that way you loved. "You deserve the world," He declared quietly, voice rough. “I figured… if I had a whole weekend, I’d make it count.” You bit your lip, emotion swelling in your chest. That was the thing about him, underneath all the muscle and metal and history, he was tender. Thoughtful. So hopelessly, endlessly in love with you. You nestled closer, letting your forehead rest against his collarbone.

Your breath ghosted against the hollow of his throat as you exhaled, pressing a featherlight kiss to the sensitive skin there. Your hand rested over his heart, fingers splayed, feeling the strong, steady thump beneath your palm. His heart. Your home. “You know I’m already marrying you, Bucky.” You whispered against his skin, as the diamond on your ring finger caught the candlelight. You felt it instantly, the subtle stutter of his heartbeat, the breath he inhaled just a little too sharply. His grip around you tightened.

His hand slid up your back, slow and deliberate, fingers spreading wide between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him like he needed the contact to stay grounded. He held you there, close, like he was trying to memorize the feeling of your body against his. “I know, but I just… wanted to remind you how much I love you.” You lifted your head then, meeting his eyes, eyes that had seen too much and still looked at you like you were something precious.

You kissed him slowly, lips brushing his with quiet gratitude and a love too big for words. “You do,” You whispered when you pulled back. “Every single day. And I'll spend the rest of our lives expressing how much I love you too.” He smiled, that small, rare smile only you ever got to see. Then, without another word, he pulled you into his arms again, pressing his lips to your temple, content to hold you in that quiet, candlelit room where for once, the world had nothing else to ask of you. No missions, no alarms, no interruptions.

Just Bucky and you, exactly where you were meant to be.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[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 :( )

[ang3ltine]

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙— "𝖠𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇" - Bob Reynolds x freader x platonic thunderbolts

Golden Retriever x Black Cat trope

Being recruited by Valentina as part of the new Avengers (z) team was never part of your list of agendas. Yet here you were, doting on an awkward brunette.

a.n - This is a short scenario that got me all giddy while writing this, so I hope you Bob fans enjoy this as much as I did!

Warnings - minor spoilers! trauma, nightmares, making out, hickeys & yearning Bob! Lots of fluff too

A few months had passed since the 'incident' on the streets of Newyork where almost half the city was engulfed in complete darkness.

You mostly blamed this on Valentina since she pushed her ideals of the sentry project onto Bob. Now you, along with the others tried your best to make him feel welcome and wanted, despite his 'minor' flaws.

Now that you all moved into the newly refurbished Avengers tower, you had to adjust to your new life. This was never part of your agenda but you're one to complain.

Especially since you got the chance to dote on a certain brunette, who you undeniably cannot ignore since he's always trailing after you wherever you went.

Yelena had introduced you to Bob properly after the whole incident and he's been glued to your side since then. You were more on the nonchalant and cool girl type while he was the polar opposite.

But he still admired you nonetheless. Not to mention, you also get endlessly teased by Yelena and the others.

More so than usual when she noticed that Bob tends to follow you around more than her now. Not that she cares, she was more than happy that he was trying to get closer with someone else other than her.

Yelena had joined you in the main kitchen after training together. You reached into the refrigerator to bring out your bottle of water when she asked an unexpected question.

"Do you like Bob?" She asks straight up, catching you offguard in the process.

"As friends? Yeah ofcourse." You muttered underneath your breath then took a chug of your water.

"Pshh friends? Friends don't eyefuck eachother across the room." She mused while leaning against the refrigerator door with an amusing smirk.

You choked a couple of times while Yelena pats your back before adding another comment. "It's okay! No need to feel ashamed."

"What're you talking about??"

"Okay maybe not, but you two would still make a cute couple." She mused while flashing you her iconic smirk.

"Oh...I don't know about that 'lena. He's just someone I care about alot you know?"

Before you could carry on the conversation, your eyes shift past Yelena's shoulders. Sure enough, Bob was awkwardly standing in the hallway.

"I uh - I didn't hear anything."

Yelena steps back to let Bob in before mouthing a quick 'goodluck' to you. God that girl was going to be the death of you.

The only times he wasn't with you was when you went on missions, which is when he'd spend most of his time in the tower with Alpine.

After a gruelling and unbearably long mission, all you wanted to do was to take a shower, eat dinner then go to bed.

"Ugh...Ava, what time is it?" You groaned while rubbing your temples to somehow lessen your headache.

Ava, along with you and John were on the quinjet, which was preparing its landing sequence on the helipad of the tower.

She glances at the time on her watch before answering with a yawn. "It's a little past midnight."

"You think anyone's awake right now?" John joins in on the rather dull conversation. The ship was on autopilot and had finally landed when he finished his sentence.

"Mhm I highly doubt it," you replied with a strained voice as you stretched your limbs. Almost every inch of your body ached, and your muscles were extremely sore.

As soon as the hatch opened, you dragged your tired body through the hanger. The endless corridors of the living quarters almost made you lose your mind, but you breathed a sigh of relief when you finally made it to your room.

You hesitated for a moment, noticing the door was slightly ajar. Figuring it was just you being paranoid, you swiftly flung the door open, only to find a familiar set of eyes blinking back at you.

Bob stood almost a feet away from you with a pillow in hand, the poor man had flinched at your sudden appearance. Almost immediately, he let out a string of '"sorry's'' since he invited himself in without your permission.

"Hey-- Bob, it's ok. You can stay in my room as long as you like." You say in a hushed tone while placing your hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently so he'd calm down.

He found it hard to focus on your face as his eyes shift downwards in shame. "I just... I wanted to talk to you as soon as you came back."

"We can talk-" you intercept almost immediately. "But would you mind if I took a shower first? Then we can talk afterwards ok?"

Bob finally lifts his eyes off the ground to look at you before nodding. "Uhh yeah... yeah, I can wait."

You reached up to ruffle his slightly messy hair before retreating to where your walk-in closet was. Bob took the leisure of sitting back on your comfy bed as his eyes followed your every move.

"Ah, this will do," you muttered to yourself while fishing out your sleep shirt and a pair of shorts. Except, it looked bigger than usual?

"Oh right uhm, I think that's mine..." Bob mumbles hesitantly when you notice that it was, in fact, not yours.

Bob had the tendency to leave his belongings scattered in your room, including his large sweatshirts. He'd vist you almost every night since he'd constantly have nightmares, and you would comfort him whenever you could.

"You wouldn't mind if I wore this would you?" You turned around with the sleep shirt pressed against your chest to show it off. It was a deep blue navy colour, simple, yet comfortable.

"Uh yeah! Go ahead." Bob replies with open arms and his usual widespread grin. You returned the smile before grabbing your towel and headed into the washroom.

You quickly scrambled out of your suit and chucked it into the laundry basket to wash later. Bob could hear the sound of falling water through the doors of the washroom as he looked around.

That's when he realised he made quite a mess while waiting for you. So he took his time going around and picking things up from the floor to put them back to the right spots.

After half an hour or so, you stepped out with the towel around your neck after wringing out excess water from your hair. You had the power to control the wind, so it was easier to dry your hair, which was awfully convenient.

"Bob? You here?" You called out after noticing that he was nowhere in sight. The lack of response concerned you as you frantically searched your room for the man.

You finally found him in the far corner of the room, huddled with one of your plushies and was fast asleep. The racing of your heart only quickened once you hear him mumbling your name in his sleep.

"Oh Bob..." you shook your head amusingly as you bent down to his height to lightly shake him awake. It only took a few seconds before he stirred, you felt bad for doing so but you didn't want him to sleep on the floor.

"Do you wanna sleep here tonight?" You asked quietly since he was still half asleep, trying to process what you were saying. He nods his head after a while, placing the plush toy back where it was in the pile before reaching his arms out for you to grab.

You do just that and lead him towards your massive king sized bed. Just earlier on today, you had changed the sheets to satin ones, so it was even more comfortable than usual.

The lights were dimmed but not completely off since you learned the hard way that Bob hated the dark. So you switched on a nightlight by your bedside for extra light just in case.

Bob settled into the crispy sheets that had been untouched since your arrival. He scoots over a bit while you slipped in next to him.

Although, you two were in quite an awkward position after a while. Since you had to prepare a schedule for the next day, he was pretty much beneath you. You were struggling not to crush him while he only made things worse. His arms were wrapped around your waist to pull you closer to him so he could soak in your warmth while you worked.

"Sorry Bob, just give me a few more minutes." You sighed while typing away on your phone. Bob only hummed in response while burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"By the way...do you want to talk about the nightmare that you had?"

"Mm...yeah." Bob replied with a muffled voice as the vibrations tickled your skin, making you squirm slightly. "Alright, tell me what happened."

That's exactly what he did. You listened carefully as he mentioned all the bad things that he had seen in the nightmare.

That's one of the reasons why Bob admired you. You were straightforward with him but caring.

Many would think that sort of activity was only reserved for relationships. Which was partially true, you in fact, did harbour feelings for him. But you chose to keep them to yourself.

What Bob needed was someone who was patient and not pushy. For now, you were content with just being 'friends.' Even though it was far more than that.

It was around 7am in the morning by the time you awoke. The soft golden rays of sunlight shone through the blinds of your room, giving your room a soft glow.

Little did you know that a blonde haired assassin had come to your room during the night to ask you something, only to find you with your limbs entangled with Bob's.

Yelena being Yelena, took the opportunity to snap a few pictures on her phone before leaving. Already planning on using them for blackmail or to tease you whenever she pleased.

Speaking of Bob, he was fast asleep as you peer down at him. You became quite flustered since his face was fully pressed against your chest. He probably thought that it was his pillow, yet you were too afraid to move him. Instead, you opted to run your fingers through his dark chocolate locks.

They were soft, as usual, but still, you tried to detangle his hair gently since there were a few knots. It wasn't long before he started to stir, causing you to freeze in the process. You move away from him slightly to give him some space as he slowly processes where he is.

"Morning sunshine... did you sleep well?" You whispered gently as he peers up at you through his lashes, his eyes still heavy with sleep. His voice was hoarse while he spoke,

"G'morning...yeah I slept well, and you?"

"Ahh, me too..." You responded while brushing stray hair away from his face, it had gotten slightly longer than before. Which gave you the idea of maybe trimming the front bangs later on, with his consent, of course.

Your fingers lingered on his cheek for a brief moment, before retracting your hand. Bob was disappointed to say the least when he felt the warmth of your hand no longer present against his skin.

"Let's get freshen up and head down for breakfast. How does that sound...?"

Bob nods in agreement after rubbing the sleep from his eyes while you slowly got up.

He found himself practically swooning over you while he observed the way you stretched, letting your hair fall across your shoulders. Sure it was messy since you had just woken up, but to him, you looked heavenly.

You felt him staring but you chose not to think much of it. Bob's cheeks had a slight hue of red when you did manage to look back down at him, bringing a small smile to your face at his bashfullness.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

Bob immediately shook his head before you positioned yourself above him. You reached down to place one hand on his cheek to feel the light stubble against your skin.

This time he doesn't let you retreat that easily as he tugs you down gently. A bold move indeed, especially for you.

At first you weren't sure how to respond, the air around you suddenly felt awfully scarce as you were beginning to find it hard to breathe.

Even though he was the one who had instigated the sudden act of intimacy, he too grew a sense of shyness.

To test the waters, he lean in closer, bumping your nose against his and letting your lips hover over his. Your eyes flickered from his lips back up to meet his. If anything, you were more than happy to back away if he felt uncomfortable.

But Bob did want this, so he took the initiative to press his lips against yours. You let out a surprised sound before melting into the kiss.

His lips were slightly chapped, but that didn't bother you. You smiled against his lips as he was struggling slightly, honestly you didn't blame him. He probably hasn't kissed anyone for a while.

But eventually he got the hang of it. He picked up the pace while you struggled to keep up. Turned out he's a quick learner since he copied the way your lips moved against his.

You wasted no time reaching to the back of his neck and slipped your fingers into his dark hair pulling him in impossibly closer.

Soft whimpers escaped his mouth in between each kiss while you soaked in every one, pushing him to kiss you deeper. Sighs and moans of content or pleaure are passed between both your lips and his. The two had to fight to not entirely lose yourselves completely within pure bliss.

You nipped his bottom lip slightly before leaving a soft trail of kisses from his mouth down to the side of his jaw.

"Hm? What're you doing?" He drawled while your lips leaves his briefly, almost bringing out another whine as he feels you lightly kiss the juncture of his neck.

"Mhm, just need you - ," you hummed against his supple skin. You left open-mouthed kisses against a specific area on his neck before gently taking his skin between your teeth to leave a mark.

The feeling was too overwhelming for him yet he found himself bringing you in impossibly closer while you worked. After leaving a significantly dark hickey on the side of his neck, you move back towards his lips.

Which he happily accepts. Head tilting the side, his hot breath mingling with yours, he kisses you with much fever.

Yet keeps it sweet and gentle at the same time. Lightly sucking on your bottom lip while running his thumb against your cheek.

The kiss was filled with raw emotions, all the times that he wanted to tell you of his true feelings were poured into it. You too shared the same amount of passion when you deepened the kiss even further.

Sadly, the need to breathe was apparent after what seemed like forever. You flutters your eyes open before pulling away to take in Bob's appearance. He looked so effortlessly pretty.

His cheeks were rosy and wet from his tears and hair was disheveled, but he still managed to look perfect to you. Before you could say a word, some unexpected words leaves his lips.

"I...I love you," he whispers while you processed what he just said. A small rush of warmth filled you at the sound of those meaningful words as you fought back the urge to kiss him again.

"I love you too..." you whispered before dipping your head low to pepper his face with kisses, making him laugh in the process.

"C'mon sleepy head, let's wash up." Bob reluctantly accepts the offer and tugs the end of your shirt while following you into the washroom.

He was still trying to recover from the small makeout session as his legs almost felt like jelly as he walked. Which was new for him.

An array of skincare products lined up before him as you reached into one your drawers to bring something out. You had given him one of your waterproof headbands to wear so that his hair wouldn't get in his face in the process.

One of the reasons why you did a skincare routine specifically for him was because he enjoyed the feeling of being pampered by you.

So it was no surprise when he leans into your touch with excitement while you applied the cleansing foam on his face. A satisfied grin played on his lips while you rubbed the product into his skin, making you feel all giddy inside.

After the two of you washed up and got dressed, you then made your way to the kitchen to have breakfast.

Not even a second went by when Ava gave you one of her snarky remarks as soon as you walked in with Bob in tow.

"Ahh the couple's here to join us." You rolled your eyes playfully at the sarcastic comment as you turn to face the women in question.

Little did she know that she was, in fact, telling the truth. But you weren't going to give her that satisfaction.

"Oh shush, you're just jealous that I'm not giving the same attention to you." You retorted with the same amount of sass.

"Wow, Touche." She responds while sipping her coffee.

"Bob? Do you want pancakes?" You turned your attention back to the brunette who was patiently waiting for you.

"Yes please," he replies with a tight-lipped smile, already feeling shy from Ava's comment of referring to you both as a couple.

"Pancakes it is then."

Taglist: @doodlebob-mp3 @perdidosbucky-yyo @marianastudiesart @ordelixx @starktonyx @hisredheadedgoddess28 @avatarobsessedgirly @starstruckfirecat @adventure-awaits13 @milkbean69 @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf

[starsforxavi]

half a heart

·······•✦ description: In which; you asked zayne to accompany you to a work party, but after he got tipsy and letting you lead him back to your apartment, some feelings came bubbling up to the surface.

·······•✦ pairing: virgin!zayne x afab!reader ·······•✦ word count: 10.7k ·······•✦ genre: smut, porn with plot, fluff ·······•✦ general tags: Loss of Virginity, Virginity, Cowgirl Position, Drunken Confessions, Slight spoilers for Zayne's lore, Fluff, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Condoms, safe sex, Nipple Play, Teasing, Jealousy, Marking, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Grinding, Fluffy Ending, Aftercare, Naked Cuddling, First Time, Virgin!Zayne, Reader-Insert, Awkward First Times

·······•✦ posted on: ao3

Footsteps echoed on the pavement as two pairs of feet walked to the office. A light breeze brushed past, goosebumps rising on both pairs of arms. A shiver couldn’t help but cause you to shake, which didn’t get past the calm man walking beside you. His eyes shifted, noticing the goosebumps, and he silently took off his coat.

“Here,” Zayne murmured, draping the coat around your shoulders. Although he felt his own skin pebbling with the bumps, he ignored it. The cold never really bothered him, and all he wanted to do was warm you up. His hand brushed your shoulder as his arm fell to his side. The dress shoes he picked out specifically for the event clicked on the pavement, his tailored slacks covering his ankles from the chilly breeze of the evening air. 

Though he didn’t let it show, his heart rate spiked when you invited him to the annual Hunter’s office party. He wondered if you had been asked by anyone else or if you specifically sought him out. There were many options for you to pick to ask to accompany you, yet you chose him … 

You said it was just so you weren’t one of the few without a date, but your brain said otherwise.  It was partly for that reason, but you couldn’t deny the small smile on your lips when he agreed. Even a small part of you hoped no one else asked him, or if they did, he didn’t accept their offer… Maybe he waited for you to ask him…

“Thank you.” You grinned, curling the coat around yourself. It was warm and smelled just like his cologne. The lights of the office came into view, and you noticed the way Zayne’s hand brushed against your own. As you looked up at him, you noticed a slight blush on his cheeks from the cold air. “I’m glad you agreed to come with me. I don’t know what I would do if I showed up and I was the only one without a date.”

A soft breath left Zayne’s nose, a hint of a smile appearing as he met your eyes. Thoughts drifted in his head, and there was one thing he couldn’t stop pondering over…

“Did you think about asking anyone else?” Curiosity laced into his tone, gaze flicking to you for just a second to gauge your reaction. Your pace didn’t change, shaking your head when you thought back to it. There was no hesitation; you were only thinking about asking Zayne.

“No.” The answer was simple, but you wanted to elaborate. “If you had declined the offer, I probably would have gone alone.”

His steps slowed, eyebrows twitching. The muscles in his back tensed as he heard your words, but he immediately straightened up and cleared his throat. He couldn’t help the smirk that formed, looking away from you towards the street. Once he maintained his composure, he looked over at you.

“You probably had men ready to accept your offer… But you would have gone alone if I said no?” He couldn’t help it; he knew people had their eyes on you, and he wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t bother him.

“Well—” As you tried to speak, you heard yells from the office doors, some of your friends yelling and cheering. The sound of their cheers turned Zayne’s ears pink, his gaze looking down, but his face remained stoic. 

“Look who finally showed up!” Tara yelled, pulling you into a hug. You exchanged a short look, knowing she had talked to you about asking Zayne to go to the party. Her eyebrows wiggled, and you shook your head, her loud laughter echoing in the parking lot.

“Sorry, sorry. I was taking so long deciding what to wear.” You laughed, walking a step back to be beside Zayne once more. The smell of your perfume surrounded him, and he relaxed a bit, shaking hands with your coworkers. They all knew Zayne. Of course, they did… He did drop by sometimes to give you lunch or a ride home from work if he was off. A few had even asked if he was your boyfriend, to which you denied it, your heart speeding up at the thought.

Tara led you inside, the music pumping through the air. In the cafeteria, tables were pushed to the edges of the room, leaving the middle empty for dancing. The atmosphere was light, yet you noticed some people getting calls on their phones, missions not stopping even in the midst of a party. 

“You have to try this drink!” Yvonne screamed over the music, handing you a blue liquid in a cup. With a whiff, you winced, already smelling the pungent odor of alcohol. 

You took a small sip, eyes locking with Zayne’s over the edge of the cup. A warning gaze met yours when you swallowed, your nose scrunching and your head shaking. With a disgusted expression, you heard Zayne chuckle. He watched you carefully take another drink, needing a buzz to give you a boost of confidence. 

“Careful.” He said in a soft voice, stepping closer to you so he could talk over the music. “I’ll carry you home if I need to, but I really don’t want that to happen.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.” You assured him. It was all Zayne wanted to hear that you’ll be okay. Holding out the cup to him, you smiled sweetly, trying to tempt him. “You should try this, though. Once you get past the taste of the alcohol, it isn’t that bad.”

There it was. The look . He couldn’t resist you with that look. You knew that, and he knew that. So he reached out, his fingers brushing yours. Tilting the cup to his lips, he raised an eyebrow, silently giving you a cheers. 

The alcohol didn’t affect him as much as your eyes burning into his skin. He tried to chalk it up to the slight buzz, the way your pupils dilated and unblinking. Even though it hadn’t been but a second since he took a drink, it had to be the buzz… At least, that’s what he convinced himself it was… Your eyes mesmerized him, distracting every thought that tried to pass through his head. Next to you, Tara asked a question, but he didn’t hear it. 

Though he didn’t mean to, Zayne found himself finishing the cup. It wasn’t often that he indulged in alcohol, especially not the mixed drink in his cup, but the only way to get away from your eyes meant looking at the bottom of that cup. It didn’t phase him in the slightest, the liquid courage effortlessly sliding down his throat. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Setting the cup down on the table, he raised an eyebrow towards Tara, a light pink hue on his cheeks. You smirked at him, noticing the way he refilled his cup. He took another small sip of the sweet drink; eyes now focused on Tara to hear exactly what was said.

“I asked if you coordinated your outfits. You guys look so good together!” Tara pointed to the matching colors of Zayne’s tie and your outfit. Heat flickered across his cheeks as he took another drink, ignoring the way the alcohol had already raced through his system. 

The air around you was tense, your eyes flicking across Zayne’s outfit and finally noticing the coordination. He did ask you what color your outfit was going to be… So, he really picked out a matching tie? A fluttering in your stomach made you clear your throat, bumping shoulders with Tara as you watched Zayne finish his second drink.

Okay, I’m finished. Zayne’s thoughts raced as he set the drink down, his lips quirking up slightly as he noticed your gaze flicker from his tie to your outfit. Of course, he did it on purpose, wanting everyone at the party to know he was your date. He felt the eyes on him as he walked in with you, and people recognized him from the hospital. Everything in him wanted to show you off, even if he wasn’t officially yours; he needed everyone to see he was with you.

“Oh, he asked what color my outfit was going to be. Probably so he didn’t lose me in the crowd.” Shuffling on your feet, your voice raised due to the music, making sure that both Tara and Zayne heard you. It was hard to figure out Zayne’s intentions, and you could only assume it was just him tagging along as a friendly date. Even though you hoped for more…

“ Please ,” Tara whispered into your ear, leaning close. You watched Zayne’s eyes travel between you two. “He’s been giving you the fuck me eyes since we walked in here.”

With a laugh, you landed a light smack on her shoulder. You shook your head, stopping yourself from looking Zayne in the eye. It hadn’t been long since you got there, the songs changing about 10 times overhead as you stood and talked. It felt like an eternity; however, the slight glint in his eyes shone bright as he looked at the bottom of his cup.

Zayne held his cup, looking down and debating whether or not he should get another. It’s not like either of you drove here, and his heart couldn’t help but beat faster as he watched the lights dance off your features. His memory was exceptional, still remembering exact phrases from medical school textbooks, and nothing could erase the sight of you standing there, lights flickering and shining in your eyes, out of his brain. If he could choose one moment to relive before he died, that would be it.

Before you could shut Tara down, telling her that you had only asked him as a friend and that you chickened out and took the easy route, you were interrupted by one of your coworkers coming up to you. His eyes traveled between you both, and Zayne’s jaw clenched. It wasn’t until he extended a hand to Tara, his voice softly asking to dance, that Zayne relaxed a moment.

As Tara looked at you, she winked, walking away with the male. Her laughter echoed as a soft song played, her hands wrapping around the man’s shoulders.

Zayne moved closer to you, leaning over to grab another drink. This one wouldn’t be downed in one shot, he told himself that. As he leaned, his shoulder brushed yours. A shiver ran through him; his face flushed as he noticed just how close you were. All he had to do was lean down and-

“Be careful,” Your voice cut off his thoughts, eyes drifting to the cup in his hand. “I don’t want to have to carry you home.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t. I can handle alcohol.” A chuckle rumbled through his chest as he stepped back, his attention focused on you. Taking a small sip, he held his cup up. It was true; he could hold his alcohol well. His balance and posture remained steady when he drank; however, his words, more often than not, betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, pointing towards Tara and the man she was dancing with. Grabbing Zayne by the sleeve, you pulled him closer, turning him around to watch. Their moves were awkward, with Tara stepping on his shoes and him holding her waist a little too tightly.

“They look like they’re having fun.” Sarcasm laced your voice, a small laugh puffing out from your lips as your hand drops from Zayne’s sleeve. As he looked over to them, he stifled a laugh, finding their awkwardness kind of endearing. 

Then, all at once, he realized how close he was to you. His arm brushed against yours, the hand that held his cup tightening slightly. Your perfume surrounded him, and he felt drunk both on the alcohol and his proximity to you. To avoid making his flush even darker, he stuffed his hand into his pocket.

“I think it’s endearing,” Zayne commented, watching them gently sway with the music. Her cheeks were red, hands resting on his shoulders. “I’m sure you’re no better.” 

With a laugh, you looked over to him, raising an eyebrow. Just as you were about to challenge him, you heard someone clear their throat. A man walked in front of you, a crisp black vest over a plain blue collared shirt. He looked handsome, his curly brown hair falling just in front of his eyes. Glasses framed his blue eyes as he gave you a sheepish look. If he was also a Hunter, you didn’t recognize him. When your eyes fell on him, he cleared his throat again, his eyes meeting yours momentarily.

“Oh, hi, I’m Alex.” His voice was soft, words stuttering in random places. “I just started here and noticed how pretty you are.” Another cough and he held out a hand for you. “I was wondering if you wanted to dance?”

Zayne’s jaw clenched. Everything in him wanted to intervene, tell the man that he was your date, and if you were to dance with anyone, it would be him . However, he didn’t push it, eyes flickering between you and the man. He didn’t want to force you to stay by his side, and if you wished to go with someone else, you could. Besides, you were just here as friends .

“Oh,” You looked over at Zayne, seeing his jaw clenched slightly. Part of you hoped he would cut in, but another part knew you were just here as friends. With a gentle smile, you looked at Alex, “I’m sorry, but I’m good. I’m already here with someone.” 

When you gestured over to Zayne, you watched in amusement as Alex’s eyes traveled over, widening as he took in your date’s calm but mysterious demeanor. Having many articles and interviews in the city paper definitely paid off, a flicker of recognition passing across the man’s features. With a stuttering excuse that you didn’t quite catch, he walked away, his ears a bright red.

“Am I really that scary?” Zayne’s voice was soft in your ear, his cologne surrounding you as he stepped closer. The music overhead drowned out a lot of voices, the soft tones pulsing against your ear drums. Even though you left Zayne’s coat at the door, it was like you were enveloped in the fabric all over again. Is this what it would feel like to be wrapped in his arms?

“No,” Chuckling, you watched him take a sip of his drink, the tips of his ears red from the alcohol. “At least, I don’t think you’re scary…”

His eyes scanned the crowd, watching the men meander around and confront some of the women still standing along the walls. Sure, you were also standing there, admiring the people dancing… But you were standing next to him … Why would they come up to you?

It took him a moment to come back to reality, his gaze falling back on you. That was all that mattered. People could be intimidated by him or scared of his naturally stoic expression, but as long as you weren’t… Nothing else mattered.

“Good,” Zayne said, setting his cup on the table behind him. As the song came to an end, Tara and her partner stood on the dance floor. After a few moments, they walked deeper into the room, closer to the speakers. 

A more upbeat song came on, and you smiled at Zayne, focused on the way his eyes darted over your features. With a gentle smile, he nodded, the alcohol affecting him in more ways than one.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” After a small nod, he walked away, weaving through the dancing people. It was somewhat awkward trying to get past people doing everything but grinding against each other.

While he was away, you turned to the table, taking in the beautiful decorations. As a celebration of all the hard work over the last year, the Association decided to throw the party. It was amazing, the small snowflakes hanging from the ceiling and icy white projections making it seem like you were outside in the middle of winter. After all, it was the end of the year, and the cold was already beginning to set in. A subtle shiver ran through you, thinking back to Zayne’s cologne wrapped around you along with the warmth of his coat.

“Excuse me?” A male’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, the face of a man you barely recognized filling your vision. He was very close, his cologne filling your senses. It wasn’t bad, just strong and distinctly not Zayne …

“Oh, hi?” Giving him a small smile, you stepped back against the table. Just a little bit of space… 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” He chuckled, one of his hands behind his back while the other was pushed into the pocket of his slacks. It seemed he decided just to dress business casual and while he didn’t look bad, you couldn’t help but compare him to the beautiful outfit Zayne came in. Your thoughts always drifted back to him… “We work an office away from each other, Stephen?”

“Yeah, Stephen!” Nope, no recollection. A laugh with no intent behind it left your lips, your eyes drifting around the room to find Zayne. He wasn’t there to scare the guy away…

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to dance with me?” Stephen asked, his ears bright red as the song changed to one that was much slower. 

The thought of dancing to that song with him was unappealing. Your heart raced as your mouth fell open. Stuttered half-words fell from your lips as you looked around. You did not want to hurt his feelings, but you did not want to dance with anyone but Zayne.

Your attempt at a rejection was cut off by someone standing in front of you, his back nearly pressed to your front. Zayne’s cologne overwhelmed you, and you smiled, looking from around his shoulder as Stephen took in Zayne’s appearance. Far too handsome for an event like this…

“Actually, they already have a date, and we’ll be dancing now.” Zayne’s icy voice cut through the music, his tone polite but curt. With a nod, Stephen left almost as quickly as he appeared, his cheeks now matching in tone with his ears.

A short laugh fell from your lips as Zayne turned around, the tips of his ears red, and his eyes focused on yours. While it was most likely the effect of the alcohol in his system, you couldn’t help the shy smile; your eyes drifted to the ground. The way he looked at you was so intense as if he was committing every detail to memory.

“Thank you for coming to save me.” With a smile, you let out a relieved, breathy laugh, your heart returning back to normal as Zayne looked at you. 

“Well?” His voice was soft, the song wrapping around him and causing his already tipsy mind to go to other places. He held out his hand to you, head bowing and eyes meeting yours through his eyelashes. “I thought we were going to dance?”

Oh… He actually wanted to dance? With a small nod, you took his hand, his warm and clammy palm enveloping yours in a gentle hold. It must have been from the tipsy whirlwind going on in his mind… It must have … The calm doctor becoming entrapped in your eyes. You had never known Zayne as one for such intense eye contact, nor did you remember his gaze traveling over your body as it did.

As he led you out onto the dance floor, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Electricity tickled your nerve endings as he stopped, the hand that wasn’t holding yours moving to your hip to pull you just a little closer. Even though the winter air settled outside, there was a warmth that grew between you.

“Is this okay?” Zayne’s voice was gentle, much like the way he held your hip. You were far enough away that you could push him off if you wanted to. Of course, you didn’t want to… As you tried to speak, your voice was lost in your throat, and the close proximity was nothing new; he had been close while listening to your heart and whatnot. But his eyes and his touch were different, and they made you feel like you were the one drinking.

“Yeah!” You spit it out as Zayne began to pull away from you, taking your silence as rejection. After clearing your throat, you rested your hand on his shoulder, stepping closer. “Yes, it’s okay.”

Under the icy white lights, Zayne looked at you, and instead of shivering, he was warm inside. For as long as he could remember, you made your home in his heart, and having you close, his fingers brushing your lower back, caused his already tipsy state to dive off the deep end. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” He murmured, making sure the words were for you and only you. Taking a step left, then right, then back, you let Zayne lead you. The song was very slow, almost one that would be played at a wedding. Zayne couldn’t help the drifting thoughts spurred on by the alcohol… Is this what you would look like if you got married to him? 

“Thank you,” The words were whispered in the air, your feet brushing against each other as you danced to the music. It was like everyone else disappeared, and you focused solely on the man in front of you. His eyes drifted across your face, a gentle smile gracing his lips. If Zayne were anything, it was truthful, sometimes to his detriment, but he would never lie about how he found you stunning, talented, amazing…

“Of course.” His cheeks were bright red, and you were pushed into silence. Your eyes locked onto his as you stepped to the music. The song seemed to stretch into eternity, and you lost yourself in Zayne’s eyes as you danced.

As the song drifted to a close, you stepped away from Zayne. He couldn’t help but stand still, his hand still resting on your hip. When you stepped away, his hands fell to his side, his cheeks a bright red. Whether it was from the alcohol or the proximity of your body, he didn’t know; perhaps it was both.

An upbeat song began to play through the room, and you chuckled, looking around at the table where you had previously stood. With a jerk of your head, a smile graced your lips. “I’m not a good dancer when it comes to these songs. Let’s go.” “Agreed,” He hiccuped, following you back to the table. Somewhere along the way, the alcohol caught up to him, his vision blurring slightly as he leaned against the wall. It was slightly embarrassing; he didn’t want to be seen like this.

“Zayne? Are you okay?” As you spoke, you pressed a hand to his forehead. His skin was unusually hot, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes blinking in a slow flutter. 

“I’m afraid I may have had too much to drink.” Leaning down, his face moved closer to yours. He stared at you, an amused smile on his lips. He chuckled, pulling back and closing his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he nodded, a long sigh hitting you. “I should probably go home.” “How about we head to my apartment? You drove there, and you’re not driving to your house…” you trailed off. “I have a spare bed; you can sleep it off.” With a nod, you held onto Zayne’s arm, beginning to steer him towards the exit. Tara would probably ask you questions on Monday, but you needed to get Zayne home and safe in bed. His bicep flexed as you grabbed his coat. It didn’t look like he needed it, so you draped it over your shoulders. “Ready to go?” You asked, trying to ignore the way his hand brushed across your hip. It was just a friendly gesture, holding onto Zayne’s arm and leading him out the door. The night air was crisp and cold, but Zayne’s face was still bright red, his eyes drifting to the ground, watching the way your hand wrapped around your arm, the way his coat draped over your shoulders. His coat … Wrapped around you…

Your footsteps echoed on the sidewalk, passing bars and clubs with yelling people and bass-filled music. This was a stark contrast to the silence that drifted between your bodies. His skin was warm, and his breath came out in soft pants as fog rose in the air.

It wasn’t long until you made your way to your building, letting Zayne lean on the wall as the elevator brought you up to your floor. With shaky steps, you wrapped an arm around Zayne’s waist, feeling him lean on your body as you unlocked your door. He was silent as he leaned into you, his eyes slowly blinking. 

His mind was whirling a mile a minute, enjoying the way your arm wrapped around him. Your touch on his waist sent electricity down his spine, his thoughts running to what it would feel like to hold you in his arms.

Closing the door behind him, you walked him to the spare room, letting him fall onto the bed with a hollow thump. Chuckling, you watched him lie on his side, looking up at you. He was thinking something, his eyes searching yours, and although he was a bit tipsy, it was still hard to read his expression.

“Sit, please,” Zayne asked, patting the spot next to him. Moving to sit against the headboard, he watched you sit facing him. With his heart beating in his chest, he closed his eyes, thoughts fluttering around like butterflies. You were so distracting with your beautiful face and the way you looked at him. Sometimes, he could imagine that you felt the same way.

“Do you need anything?” Worry spread through you as Zayne closed his eyes, leaning back against the headboard. It wasn’t often that you saw him drink, and there was no way you had seen him like this… What if he was sick? 

“You,” His mouth caught up to him, his eyes shooting open as he realized what he said. Your eyes widened, wanting to speak, but you couldn’t. With a sigh, he relented to his mind, his hand rubbing along his shoulder to release some of the tension that had built up there. Silence echoed in the room, and Zayne swallowed, the feeling of your eyes on him making his skin tingle.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.” He sighed, watching your expression for any sense of discomfort or disgust. That was the last thing he wanted… And he wasn’t sure if he could live in a world without you. The thought of losing you made his chest hurt, and he shook his head. “I… I understand I’m springing this on you, but now that I’ve said it, I guess I should let it all out in the open.”

“Zayne-”

“I… I can’t bear the thought of being without you, and if this ruins our friendship and our professional relationship, then so be it.” Crossing his legs, he ran a hand through his hair. His normally colder expression turned to one of exasperation and worry. “But I feel things for you that a friend wouldn’t feel for a friend. My body reacts in ways that nothing else can cause except you .” Your breath hitched, listening to the words fall from his lips. He really felt that way… All of your dreams rushed back to you, the thoughts of going on dates, visiting his office with lunch. His feelings made everything clear. He felt the same way …

Except what if it was the alcohol? What if he was only saying these things because he was past the point of tipsy? Alcohol can make people say things just to get into bed with someone… Who’s to say that it isn’t affecting Zayne the same way? With a sigh, you looked down at your hands, seeing Zayne’s fingers twitching on his stomach.

“Zayne…” You started, your heart racing quickly. Wanting to believe him and also knowing the effects of alcohol on a person’s feelings. “I think it’s just the alcohol speaking. You need to rest.”

Your hand brushed against his shoulder, and his head spun. Just the smallest touch from you made his muscles freeze, his fingers clenching. He couldn’t take it, every touch and glance, his heart beating so fast. The fact that you didn’t believe him was slightly frustrating, but he also understood. Maybe in the morning …

“Yes, rest.” With a nod, he looked at you. “Let’s rest.” His eyes drifted down to your hands, wondering what they felt like on his face, or his neck, or his chest… “Is it too much to ask if you’ll stay here with me?”

He knew he was pushing it, your own belief wavering at his suggestion and the alcohol running through his system. Desperation flowed through his veins, and he wanted so badly to wrap his body around you. His soul ached to be closer to yours, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it.

“Uhm…” Humming, you searched his face. Of course, you trusted him; he wouldn’t pull anything funny, but what would happen in the morning if he woke up with you in his arms? Would he regret what he said? Would he even remember ? Taking a deep breath, you relented, nodding your head. “Let me go change into something more comfortable… And I’ll be back.”

Before he could say anything, you walked out of the room. Your mind was running a mile a minute as you changed into comfortable pajamas. Standing in the middle of your bedroom, you took a few breaths. Half of you wanted to climb into your own bed and let him sleep it off. The other half wanted to crawl into his embrace, kiss him, let him hold you close.

The latter half won, and you walked into the spare room, finding Zayne already under the covers. Resting his head on his hand, he sat up, watching you with a smile. The blush on his cheeks was illuminated by the lights of the room. He had flipped the covers back, silently inviting you. A small smile forced its way onto your face, and you shook your head.

Climbing into the bed, you immediately felt his warmth. As you lay on your back, you felt Zayne’s eyes on you, trailing down your body to the edge of the covers. Your face heated up, looking over and catching him staring. With a laugh, you turned over to face him, your eyes searching his face.

“What are you thinking?” It was a dangerous question to ask the tipsy man who just confessed to having feelings for you that a friend shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help it. His breath sped up as he looked at you, his hand hanging off his waist. 

How could he describe what he’s thinking? That he needed you in every sense of the word? That he felt incomplete when you weren’t around? That no matter what he did, his thoughts always drifted back to you?

“I’m thinking about you, laying right here in front of me.” His voice dropped low, lips curled into a small smile. Nothing could stop the way he admired you, like nothing else in the world mattered. Nobody could take him away from you; nothing could take him away from you… He would always find you. “I’m thinking about how my heart calms whenever I’m around you.”

Your skin prickled with each of his words, the distance between you seemingly too much for either of you to handle. Despite your better judgment, you moved closer, watching as Zayne flipped onto his back. With an open arm, he watched you crawl into the empty space. Your arm rested on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat under your hand while your head nestled into his shoulder.

It felt nice, but the worries crept up to you as you remembered he was drunk… The thought of waking up in the morning to an empty bed, the aforementioned man gone, along with the hope of any real truth to his statement, was terrifying. Yet you were swayed by his warm embrace, his fingers dancing along your arm as you lay still.

“Just relax, darling,” Zayne whispered, his own body still quite tense. It was everything he ever wanted, to hold you close. While he knew in the back of his tipsy mind that you might only be doing this to appease his drunken demeanor… He also hoped that he would remember this happening in the morning. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

With a deep breath, you nodded, your muscles relaxing as you closed your eyes. It was nice, his fingers slowly dancing up and down your arm. Since you turned off the light overhead, the only source of sight was the lamp on the nightstand. The events of the night caught up to you, and you yawned, your own body preparing for sleep.

“Good night, Zayne.” The nickname he called you… Darling … Your heartbeat sped up, and you took a breath, forcing your eyes to close. If you lay like this for too long, you wouldn’t ever be able to sleep, too caught up in the feeling of his muscular arm wrapped around you.

“Good night, darling.” Zayne yawned, his own eyes closing as the alcohol caught up to him, pushing him into a deep sleep almost instantly.

You laid awake for a few minutes, drifting back to the party, his jealous actions that you brushed off, and then the drunken confession. Was it real? Was it genuine? You weren’t sure, but you fell asleep with the hope that the morning would bring a clearer picture.

--------

Zayne’s eyes ripped open as he felt the sun’s rays on his face. Waking up in an unfamiliar room, with you in his arms, was not something he expected. You looked so peaceful, sleeping soundly in his arms. Your chest rose and fell with each breath, and Zayne smiled.

Wait… What happened?

Looking around, Zayne took in his surroundings, realizing that he was still in his formal attire from the party and you were dressed in pajamas. His mind drifted to the party, remembering the men coming up to ask you to dance… The drink in his cup slowly disappeared with each clench of his jaw. It was sweet and tasted just like candy. 

“Fuck,” Zayne couldn’t help the expletive, pressing his head further into the pillow. Why couldn’t he remember?

His erratic breathing and small movements shifted your body. Your eyes opened to the sight of a flushed Zayne looking around the room. Your heartbeat sped up as you remembered everything that happened.

“Morning.” You whispered, sitting up. His eyes flicked over to meet yours, his cheeks a light pink as he moved to sit against the headboard. “Do you… Uh, do you remember what happened?”

Zayne’s heart sped up, clearing his throat. He never wanted to lie to you, and he had to admit he was curious about what had transpired, seeing the position he had woken up in. With a shake of his head, he looked down at his lap. “No… No, I don’t remember.”

Your heart sank, throat constricting around all the words that you wanted to say. Of course … When he figured out what he said, he would probably regret it, taking back all of the feelings he had shared with you.

“Oh… Okay.” With an awkward chuckle, you tried to pull back, escape the room, and wallow in tears for a bit. The thought of being so elated that he shared your feelings only to look up and see sharp icicles ready to pierce you. “Well, I guess you can go now if you want.”

“Wait,” His voice was firm, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. He didn’t want you to go, and he didn’t want to leave without resolving whatever happened. Judging by the look on your face, he knew something happened after you left the party. “What happened? At least tell me.”

He wished he could just remember , but perhaps it was the alcohol that kept him from retaining all the memories. Perhaps it was just his own brain that knew what happened and didn’t want him to remember…

“Uhm…” You paused for a moment, caught between wanting to tell him exactly what happened and lying. At least if you lied, you could continue your friendship with no hurdles. Except for the deep hole in your heart when you heard his voice in your head saying those lines over and over. I feel things for you that a friend wouldn’t feel for a friend …

“Please tell me. I want to remember.” Zayne pleaded, his voice desperate. If there was anything he wanted to do, it was remember . “I want to know…”

It was embarrassing even thinking about it, much less saying it out loud. With a breath, you closed your eyes, not wanting to watch as the realization set in. “Well, you said that you felt things for me that a friend doesn’t feel for another friend… Then you asked me to join you in this bed… Then you said that your heart calms down when you’re around me…” You cleared your throat, your body heating up as you recalled the last part. “Uhm, you also said that your body reacts in ways around me… Yeah.”

Silence fell between you as Zayne stared at your face, your eyes still closed in fear of seeing the regret and realization pass across his features. It took a moment for him to realize everything that you said, his mind vaguely remembering the words falling from his lips. “I did?” His voice was nearly a whisper, disbelief in his voice with a hint of embarrassment. How could he do this? What if it ruined his entire friendship with you… He could lie and say it was just the alcohol, but could he really say that he didn’t mean it when, deep down, he just wanted you to know his true feelings? “Oh, I- I’m sorry. If I ruined things between us.”

Your eyes remained shut, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you heard his voice. Fuck . So he didn’t mean it; he didn’t reciprocate all the things you felt for him. With a sigh, you struggled to speak, wanting to ask if it was true but also not wanting to hear the answer…

“Did you mean it?” Your mouth started the sentence before your brain could stop you, and your eyes fluttered open to see the deep blush on Zayne’s cheeks. This time, it wasn’t the alcohol… “Everything you said, was it the alcohol speaking, or do you actually feel that way?”

“Of course, it wasn’t the alcohol.” He was caught now, and he had no choice but to admit the truth. He couldn’t lie to you, especially after hearing the vulnerability in your voice as you asked him. “I actually feel that way about you. You’re beautiful and, talented, and kind. I think about you every second of the day, and there isn’t a moment of my life where I don’t want to be near you. I can’t help the way my body reacts around you…”

“Oh,” Looking down at your hands, you couldn’t help the way your heart raced as he looked at you, your own body reacting to his words. You wanted him, and it seemed he wanted you just the same. 

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way…” He trailed off, his dress pants bunching around his thighs as he moved to get off the bed.

“Wait!” Your hand on his wrist stopped him, his skin now freezing cold compared to the night before. “I do, though. I feel the same way.” You clarified, trying to calm your beating heart with a few deep breaths. Just the feeling of your hand on his wrist made Zayne clench his jaw. Every atom in his body vibrated as he smelled your fragrance waft around him.

“Really?” His eyes trailed down to your mouth, watching as your tongue darted out to trace along your bottom lip. The thoughts he so often fantasized about flashed in his mind, and he wanted so desperately to reach out, pull you closer, and never let you go. A flash of deja vu passed through him, and he turned his body to face you. He remembered this… 

“Yeah, really.” Your hand moved to rest on top of his, feeling his muscles strain and tighten under your fingers. Watching as his eyes drifted to your lips, a surge of need flowed through you, and you sat up on your knees. 

“Well then,” Zayne moved, taking your hand in his. His body angled towards you, legs stretched out on the bed. With a small tug, he pulled you closer, your hand now burning into his shoulder. Your warmth emanated through his entire body, and he sighed. The feeling of you so close made his heart feel complete. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart raced, Zayne was asking to kiss you … It was all you had ever wanted, and now that he was there , asking to kiss you… The only thing you could do was nod in confirmation, moving so your nose brushed against his cheek.

Zayne’s hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing along your cheekbones. Every nerve in his body was on high alert, his heart thrumming so badly he was worried he might not survive even kissing you for the first time. His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitance, his nose nuzzling yours. His breath mingled with yours as he felt your hands on his waist, your knee pressing against his thigh as you inched even closer.

“Are you sure?” He needed confirmation to know that you wanted him just like he wanted you. A trepidation passed over him as his voice pleaded with you.

“Yes, I’m sure…” You breathed, smiling in hopes of easing some of his obvious tension. “I want you to kiss me, Zayne.”

It was all you had to say before Zayne pressed his mouth to yours. His lips were chilly, and he was slightly awkward, the way his nose bumped yours. It had been a long time since he kissed someone, and never this intensely , and never did it feel that good. The hands on your cheeks barely touched you, like he was afraid of holding you too tight.

So you took the initiative, moving your leg over to straddle his thighs. Oh my god … Your hands played with his collar, pressing your mouth into his. Soft smacks and low moans fell from Zayne’s lips as you kissed him, his cheeks a cherry-red and getting hotter by the second.

Zayne pulled away first, his head hitting the wall behind him. His touch traveled to your hips, holding you still. If you moved up any further, he would have a very big problem… The sensations were too much, and he needed to take a deep breath, afraid he would make a mess of his slacks and embarrass himself even more.

“Hold on,” He panted, taking in the sight in front of him. You were so beautiful , sitting softly on his thighs, your own chest rising and falling with deep breaths. The way your hands held his collar, your lips glistened with saliva, it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

“Do you want to continue this?” Your voice shot right through Zayne and straight to his cock, his slacks becoming even tighter than they already were. The feeling of his hands on your hips, a ghost of his presence against your skin, made you frustrated. If only he would touch you … “Because I do.”

Zayne stared at you in disbelief, his abdomen clenching as he closed his eyes. Never in his dreams did he think he would be in this position, your perfect thighs on either side of his own, hovering dangerously close to his hips. Your eyes, watching his every movement, every twitch of his eyebrow, every small quirk in his lip. Your fingers played with his collar, drifting close to the buttons of his shirt. The need to just rip open his shirt and see him laid out for you was high, yet you needed confirmation.

“Yes, yes .” He breathed out, pulling you forward to kiss you again. The thoughts of his inexperience didn’t hinder him; he needed you in every sense of the word. “You have no idea, darling, how much I want this. Want you .”

His words were pressed into your mouth, your tongue tracing his bottom lip before entering to tangle with his. A low groan echoed in your chest as Zayne’s hands moved you up onto his lap, where you could feel just how excited he was. Your clothed pussy pressed against his erection, both of you feeling the shocks through your body.

“Please,” He groaned, your hands playing with the buttons of his shirt. The fact he slept with this on, just for your comfort, so you didn’t feel weird with a half-naked man sleeping next to you, made you smile. With quick fingers, you pushed his shirt off his shoulders, your lips still meeting between moans. His skin glistened with sweat as you cupped his jaw, your lips moving along the expanse of his neck and shoulder.

You were careful not to make marks, and your sloppy licks and nips only made red spots that would disappear by the next morning. That doesn’t mean you didn’t want to mark him; make sure he remembered what you two did. Each nip was accompanied by a groan from the man above you, and his hands remained motionless on your hips.

“Zayne,” Your hands ghosted across his abdomen, thumbs brushing his nipples before moving to rest on his shoulders once more. A gasp fell from his lips as you said his name, his hips adjusting and his cock brushing against your pajama pants. “You can touch me, grab me, anything .” 

But I don’t want to hurt you … His thoughts echoed in his head; eyebrows furrowed as he held onto your hips just a bit tighter. Something deep inside him was scared , like one wrong move, and he would cause you pain. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but hearing your voice broke him out of his fear slightly.

“Just… If I do anything you don’t like…” His voice was a whisper pressed against your shoulder, his hand playing with the hem of your shirt. “Or if anything hurts , please tell me. I haven’t done this before… And I don’t want to hurt you accidentally.”

As his hand slipped under your shirt, you gasped, nodding along to his pleas. His fingers were cold, and your nipples immediately hardened as his thumb brushed your left breast. He was testing the waters, his mind clouded with need but also hesitance. 

The way his large hand drifted across your skin, along your stomach and breasts, you couldn’t help the moan that brushed across his shoulder. He needed to touch you, all of you , and as he reached your back, his nails lightly scratched your skin, enjoying the way your thighs clenched around his hips.

“Yes, fuck.” Your forehead rested against his bare shoulder, your hand gripping his skin tightly as his fingers danced up and down your back. “I’ll tell you, but I need you right now, Zayne.”

With frantic hands, you tugged your shirt off, enjoying the way Zayne’s eyes widened only for a moment before you were standing up. “Pants off,” you motioned to the man on the bed, your hands pushing your pajama pants down. You didn’t mean to be so demanding, but as Zayne’s fingers twitched slightly, his cheeks flushing deeper red, it was clear he enjoyed it a bit.

Zayne fumbled with the button of his slacks, his fingers shaking in anticipation of what was about to happen. A gasp echoed in the room as he struggled to take his pants and briefs off, his cock pressing against his abdomen as he finally let the pieces of fabric fall to the floor. Sitting back on the bed, he looked at you, eyes pleading silently.

His pupils dilated as he took in your naked form, from your feet to your thighs, to your stomach and breasts, all the way up to your face. He didn’t miss the way your gaze settled on his cock, and he blushed, knowing he was big but hoping you were okay with that.

Walking towards him, you settled back into your previous position, his cock now nestled between your slick folds. Arousal dripped from your entrance and coated his balls as you rubbed yourself along his length. His hands gripped your hips tightly, muscles in his arms straining.

“Wait,” He stopped you, his jaw clenched as he felt a pool of his own precum settling just below his navel. With a shaky breath, he looked down, seeing only his tip poking out from between your bodies. “I’m afraid if you keep doing that, I’m going to cum.”

His honestly always amazed you, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you nodded. Your hands wandered across his body, thumbs tweaking his nipples and watching as he closed his eyes and groaned. 

The noises he made were so pretty , each moan and groan only adding to the dripping slick that covered his thighs and cock. You wanted to hear every single variation, every moan, and whimper, every gasp and whisper, but hopefully that could be for another time.

Zayne knew what was coming, the sight of you on top of him, your hand drifting dangerously close to his cock. Leaning over to the nightstand, he grabbed his wallet. His cheeks bloomed red as he brought out a foil packet. As he met your eyes, he chuckled, shaking his head at your teasing smirk.

“This is just a precaution… In case something like this happened…” He stuttered, his hand shaking slightly as he looked at you. Sex wasn’t something that was on his mind often, yet he knew it might come up, and he wanted to be prepared. The fact that it was with you … It was his dream come true. “I mean if we did something… Or someone else… Or-”

Your hands covering his stopped his rambling. You laughed, taking the packet from him and ripping it open with your teeth. Scooting back just enough to take hold of his impressive cock, you stared straight into his wide-open eyes as you slid the condom onto his length. He swore he could cum just from that alone, your gaze piercing through his soul and making his cock twitch as you released him.

“Oh my,” He gasped, his hands moving back to your hips as your pussy glided back across his cock once again. “Don’t tease, darling.”

A silence fell between you both, your eyes searching one another for any hint of hesitance. Your hands drifting from his chest to his shoulders. Leaning closer, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, softer than the previous clash of mouths and tongues. Zayne’s heart raced, his thumbs brushing along your hip bones as you kissed him, and he relaxed a bit.

“Are you sure you want this?” You asked, your lips only centimeters away from his. The light from the sunrise filtered through the curtains, casting a beautiful orange hue across the room, and Zayne couldn’t think of a time when you looked more stunning than you did now. Your body displayed in front of him, your eyes following his every move and your smile , asking to make sure he really wanted it, and fuck of course he did.

“ Yes ,” He couldn’t say anything else that would convey just how badly he needed you. No amount of whining or pleading could ever show you how much he wanted to be buried deep inside you. “There’s nothing else in the world that I want more…”

Time seemed to slow down as you stroked his cock, sitting up on your knees to position him at your entrance. His attention flickered from where his tip nestled against your hole to your eyes, hooded and watching him like a hunter with their prey. Keeping your plea in mind, his hands tightened on your hips, feeling you sink down onto his cock in one fluid drop.

It was like the air was knocked out of your lungs, his thick cock stretching you out so deliciously. Your heart rocketed against your chest, your nails digging into his shoulders as the back of your thighs finally laid flush against his hips. The curve of his cock pressed right into your sweet spot, your pussy clenching around him.

Zayne needed to take a breath; his eyes squeezed shut as he centered himself. Breathe … In through his nose and out through his mouth. It was insane to think, but he felt complete , like he was made to fit inside you, to fit against you or even next to you. One of his hands moved to cup your breast, the other drifting behind you to knead the flesh of your ass. He needed his hands on you, all over you, and hopefully, in the future, inside you .

“You’re stunning,” he whispered, his tone one of shock and awe. The thought had you laughing, and you pressed another kiss to his lips in appreciation. His hands were still cold, and you shivered both from his touch and from the way he looked at you. It was like his hands were making a map of your skin, drawing imaginary lines and dips that he could chart on his journey to touch every inch of you. 

“Thank you,” You moved your hips, feeling his cock rubbing against your walls. A soft hum fell from your lips, your head tilted back, and your eyes closed as you enjoyed the slow drag. “You’re quite handsome yourself.”

He wasn’t sure what to do, his hands roaming along your body, caressing every inch of skin he could reach. It was all so much , the feeling of your thumb brushing his nipple and the way your pussy so perfectly fluttered around him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes closing in an attempt to prolong his orgasm. Although he tried desperately, his fingers curled tighter on your ass, and you were sure you would have a bruise there in the coming hours.

“You- you can move now,” He stuttered out, his tone nearing a whine. His suggestion sounded more like a plea, one that you were happy to oblige. Sitting up, you felt the smooth drag of his cock, until only his tip was nestled inside. You picked up the pace, sitting down on his cock over and over and over. Each time was even more pleasurable than the last.

“ Fuck ,” Zayne didn’t indulge in swear words very often, but the circumstance seemed right. His mind was so caught up in the way your thighs slapped against his own, the noises echoing through your apartment, that he didn’t realize the tight grip he had on your hip. His fingers dug into your skin, and his jaw clenched tight as he tried so hard to will his orgasm away for just a few more minutes.

Your breasts bounced in his face as you rode him, your moans wrapping around him and pulling him closer to you. Without warning, his nose pressed into your chest, right between your tits. Claps and groans filled the air, his tongue lapping at your salty skin. His hazel eyes shone as he looked up at you from his spot between your breasts. 

To tease him, you stopped momentarily, your hips flush against his. It was fun toying with him, watching his eyebrows rise and mouth gape open in a gasp. The furrow in his brow made your stomach leap, a soft groan coming from behind his closed lips as he stared at you. Desperate to be closer to him, you leaned forward, pulling him up from his spot between your tits to press your lips against him in a harsh dance.

Zayne hummed, his tongue pressing and wrapping around yours. A trail of spit dribbled from the side of his mouth, his need and desperation showing in the way he held you. One of his hands dug into your hip, the other now pushing against your back until your chest was flush against his. His heartbeat matched yours, the vibrations echoing through his head as he held you close. It was like you completed him, your body fitting perfectly against his. The cold and empty half of his heart had finally found a home in you, and he wasn’t sure why he felt this way, nor exactly what it meant… But his body knew.

“Fuck, darling.” Zayne rested his forehead against yours, biting his lip as your thumb tweaked his nipple again. He loved it, and having never experienced anything like this before, he didn’t know just how he would react. Gasps and lewd moans spurred you on, his hips bucking up into you for some other type of friction - though he had a feeling he might have been able to come just from his nipples alone…

“You like that?” You didn’t mean for your tone to be as teasing as it was; you were genuinely interested, wanting to elicit any sort of reaction from the normally hard-to-read man below you. It seemed like he enjoyed your voice, however, because you felt him twitch inside you, your bouncing slowing down to help him speak.

“I… I guess so.” He fought between his teeth, his thighs flexing under you as you languidly dragged your pussy up and down his cock. Having never done anything close to this before, he had to pride himself on his resolve, his abdomen flexing and releasing as he fought off his orgasm. 

Zayne’s hand on your back moved to your ass, his hand kneading your flesh as you sped up your hips. Riding him was a thrill, feeling his thighs tensing every time you sat fully on top of him, his hands both guiding you and helping you grind your clit against his stubbly pubic bone. 

You weren’t prepared for the way he suddenly leaned forward again, his face pressed against your chest. Turning his head, his nose brushed against the side of your breast, his warm breath fanning across your nipple. In an attempt to silence himself, he sucked on the skin of your chest, leaving a dark red mark. His tongue flattened along your flesh, moving to the side and nipping at your other breast. 

Seeing the way your chest moved in front of his face, your moans echoing around him, and your pussy clenching him so tight … He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. His hand dug into the flesh of your hip, his other hand lifting to bring your nipple to his mouth. Gasping, your hand flew to his hair, holding him against your chest as he dragged his teeth along your skin.

With a hiss, you pulled him off, seeing his apologetic look before his tongue flattened across the sensitive nub. His warm mouth enveloped you, his tongue flicking and doing things that made you second guess his claim of it being his first time. 

Your hips stuttered, clit grinding against his abdomen with each thrust. His hand held you so tightly, guiding you to ensure you were feeling just as good as he was. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and you whimpered, the combined sucking on your tit and each thrust that filled you to the brim; it was too much.

“Zayne, I…” You stopped, a vibrating hum pulsing through your body as the man below you nodded. His own hips stuttered, jerking into yours as he tried to help you there. Caught in his own heat, he wrapped his lips around your nipple, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

“Oh my god , Zayne.” You moaned, closing your eyes. The heat ignited in you, feeling Zayne’s groans against your chest as he came undone, emptying into the condom. It wasn’t but seconds later that you followed, your pussy tightening around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. 

It wasn’t until you stopped that you realized just how much your knees ached, and you fell into Zayne’s arms. Feeling the stickiness of his sweat and spit on himself, he rolled you over so you were lying on your back, your limbs stretched out across the bed. Standing up, he let his eyes trail across your body for a moment, admiring how beautiful you looked in the afterglow, the sun greeting you from behind the horizon.

Quick steps brought him to your bathroom, disposing of the condom and splashing some cold water on his face and chest. His eyes met his reflection in the mirror, and he chuckled, somehow thinking he had traveled to another dimension or was stuck in a dream. 

Except when he saw you laying there, your body glistening and spent, he knew it was real; he wasn’t imagining it. Slipping on his briefs, he joined you in bed, his heart speeding up as you curled into him. Your still naked body pressed against him, chin resting on his chest as you analyzed his features.

“Zayne…” You started, your mind wandering to thoughts that you hoped weren’t true, yet you couldn’t help but worry. “Did this mean anything to you?”

He pondered it for a moment, his hand wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you so you were lying fully on top of him. Looking down at you, he smiled, closing the small distance to press a kiss to your lips. It was innocent, holding the hope of something real in it.

“Of course it did, darling.” He said simply, his hands trailing across your hips. Trying to put it into words was hard; just how much it meant to him that you were his first, the one he felt the most connected to. It meant a lot that you felt the same way and that this was the beginning of a new chapter in your friendship, one that drifted more to the romantic side of things. “It meant that, hopefully, this was the start of a new step in our relationship. A step into something more real.”

The memory of the way he held you so tightly popped up into his mind, and his eyes widened. With a jerk of his head, he looked down, inspecting your hips for any marks. He frantically searched you, looking at your jaw, down your neck, across your breasts. A dark red mark in the middle of your chest had his jaw gaping.

“Did I hurt you?” His hand drifted over the mark like he was afraid to touch it in case it caused you more pain. He couldn’t live with himself if he hurt you, whether it be due to the intense pleasure or not, it was unacceptable …

“Oh, no.” You shook your head, tilting it to the side to look at him from another angle. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, and you closed your eyes, a sense of peace washing over you. You knew he would never hurt you, though you had to admit you wanted to see what he could give you if you riled him up enough. “I liked it, don’t worry.”

“Okay… Good.” Zayne smiled, watching as you yawned and lay on his chest. The sun was beginning to rise, but he shifted your body up against his, his arms wrapping around you securely. Throwing the blanket back over your bodies, he closed his eyes. 

Although your relationship was uncertain, you knew he felt the same way, and you wanted nothing more than to make it work. He patted the top of your head, his heartbeat returning to normal as he watched you drift off in his arms. “Let’s go to sleep, darling. I can take you out for a lunch date later before I go in for my shift at the hospital.”

© starsforxavi

[witherby]

What would happen if Mouse got sick? Like super, probably at deaths door kind of sick? ok maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit...But like almost 39 degrees fever, coughing to the point of gagging and vomiting, runny nose, fatigue, no appetite for anything, etc. Based off my own experiences when I get sick. I wanna know what they would do and who would panic the most. Who would lose the little sleep they already have even more. Who would think that the babeh is at deaths door. And who would be the most relieved when Mouse is better a few days later with the help of a paediatric approved medication

-🍨

I like this prompt a lot so I'm gonna do it. Hope u reaaaally like angst tho.

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 1

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Spoiler/content warning: Young sick child, fever, depiction of seizure ⚠️

It starts with a cough.

"Hey, careful," Jason says, patting your back. The water you'd been sipping sprays across the table as you choke. Tim reaches over to right the glass and Alfred goes and collects a rag to mop up the mess. "You okay?"

"Mhmm," you mutter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. "Sorry...I can clean it, grandpa Alfie."

"It's quite alright, Flittermouse." Alfred gently runs a hand through your hair. "Oh, my, you're quite warm. Why don't you head up to your room and I'll have someone bring a tray to you with soup and crackers?"

"Okay." You push your chair away from the table and duck underneath it, allowing the shadow of the furniture to swallow you up. Bruce watches the dark blob you've become slide out of the dining room and towards the stairs with less energy than usual.

"I'll take it, Alfred," Dick says before anyone else can volunteer, rising from his seat. He sets his leftovers in front of Jason as he passes, helping the butler prepare a tray for you. "Do we have any Tylenol for little kids? If not, I can just crush up a half-pill for them."

"Child-friendly medications will be found in the young master's en-suite bathroom cabinet," Alfred says. "It will just be a few minutes for the soup, Master Dick. I'd recommend you head upstairs and measure out a small dose for your sibling before it's ready."

"Kay, sure," he nods, excusing himself.

Dick hops up the stairs two at a time and enters the family wing of the manor, trailing his hand along the walls and door frames until he finds yours. He knocks lightly and rapidly, a silly little sequence to let you know which brother it is, then opens the door to let himself in.

Your bedroom is almost pitch black. Since the development of your powers, your space has changed to reflect your needs overtime, which means the overhead lightbulbs have been removed and the sheer, pastel blinds over your window have been replaced with thick blackout curtains. For your family who require some form of illumination to see, you have several night lights you pick and choose from; you currently have a round projector plugged in that casts aurora borealis across the ceiling (a gift from Tim) and you've activated the touch sensors installed in the floor that briefly light up everywhere Dick walks, leaving his footprints behind for several seconds until they fade away.

The furniture you originally had, designed in warm, woody colors with bright accents, have also been replaced with black hardware and dark materials. Your bed frame is a dip-dyed wood with silver accents, your mattress and sheets are black, and your dressers, nightstand, and closet have all been painted to match.

At first glance, the large bedroom looks like every goth kid's biggest dream, but the light from the hallway spills briefly into your space when Dick walks inside, showing the bright, colorful books sitting on your black bookshelves, the even more colorful clothes in your wardrobe, your vast collection of toys, and a litany of pictures and photos on all the walls. There is a vibrant, beautiful life in the darkness, which encapsulates you perfectly in his opinion.

"Hi, Flitty," he greets, moving slowly as his eyes adjust to the light. "Alfred's working on your soup, so big bro Dicky's here to do medicine time. Holler at me so I don't accidentally step on you in here."

"Okay," you say from his left. Dick turns and squints, spotting a lump on your bed. He smiles.

"There you are. Lemme see if there's any of the gummies in your med cabinet. Those ones don't taste all gross."

He steps into your bathroom and turns the fairy lights on, bathing the area in a soft glow, and rifles through your cabinet for a minute. Then he makes his way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it with some chewables and a glass of water.

"C'mere," he says, and you comply, shuffling across the bed to give him a quick hug. "Alright. Can you show me you're a big kid and take this for me? Then you'll get a nice bowl of soup and maybe some juice."

You comply without fuss. Dick hears more than he sees you take the medication in the low light, and you go back to hugging him when you're done. Dick wraps his arms around you and lies down, propping you mostly on his chest.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Just sleepy," you reply. "And my throat hurts kinda, from when I spit my water."

"Aw, I'm sorry. You only need to stay awake long enough to take a couple bites and then you can rest as long as you want."

"Okay...stay?"

Dick hums, running his fingers gently through your hair. He was supposed to go back to Blüdhaven this afternoon, but...

"Yeah, Flitty. I'll stay."

--

It turns into a fever.

"I'm sorry to turn you away when you've already come by, Delilah," Bruce says, meeting your private tutor in the vestibule. "Mouse came down with something yesterday, and I don't think they'll be up for lessons for the next few days. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, that's absolutely no problem, mister Wayne," the tutor smiles, shaking her head. "I wish them a speedy recovery! Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you. Take care!"

Bruce closes the door after seeing her out, the Charming Socialite mask slipping off his face as he heads for the stairs. He meets Alfred at the top with a nod, stepping past him and walking up to your bedroom door.

He gently knocks three times against the glossy wood, calling your name. "Can I come in?"

After a moment, he watches it click open, and you squint up at him in the doorway.

"Hi, daddy," you croak, voice dry and harsh from the progression of your flu. Bruce tuts and scoops your clammy body into his arms, carrying you back to your bed.

"Honey, you didn't have to come greet me," he says, "manners get thrown out the window when you're sick, remember? Let's get you tucked in."

You don't fuss or complain, which makes the worry flare up in Bruce's mind. He pushes it back, refusing to catastrophize a cold. All of his children get sick, it's not unheard of. A little fever is fine, and so is your lack of excitable energy. It's normal and expected.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You squirm a bit, kicking them down.

"Hot," you say, "sleepy."

Bruce compromises by tucking the blanket around your tummy instead. You don't push it down any further. He pulls out a thermometer from his pocket and scans your forehead.

"Yeah, you are running a bit hot," he admits. An even one hundred degrees. Should be easy enough to control with careful attention. "Alfred says you refused breakfast this morning. Do you want to try eating something small for lunch? More soup?"

You shake your head. "Not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry, pumpkin," Bruce says, gently squeezing your hand. "But you don't wanna starve, either. Then you'll shrink up like a raisin! How am I supposed to snuggle a raisin?"

You smile a bit and give a wheezy huff of laughter. Bruce smiles back.

"So, will you try? You can have anything you want. I just need to see you take a few bites of something."

"Okay, daddy. Want...um... I want more soup please."

"You can have more soup," Bruce promises, running a hand through your sweatslick hair. He reminds himself to run you a bath in a couple hours. Maybe after a nap. "Do you want anything else?"

"Mmmyeah. Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," he says. "Any story you want, after we get some soup in you."

You smile again. It eases the knot of dread in Bruce's chest.

--

It gets worse.

Three days into it, your fever spikes in the middle of the night. You completely refuse any sort of food or drink all day, despite the angry growling of your stomach, and the family unanimously decides to bring you to the hospital in the morning to get looked at. Dinner without you is full of worry and tense glances toward the family wing, and it seems like not a lot of sleep is going to be had before they find out the total extent of your illness.

When tossing and turning in bed for a few hours doesn't lead him anywhere, Damian decides to give in to the nagging in the back of his head and pop in your room to check on you. He rushes to your bed when he sees you seizing and gasping for breath. Your temperature's shot up to a hundred and six and you don't react when he tries to shake you awake.

Fearful and, for once, feeling every bit the child he still is, he clutches your body to his chest and screams.

"BABAA!!"

The door slams open in seconds, though to him it feels like an eternity. Hal and Jason are coaxing Damian to let go of you and Bruce climbs on the bed to roll you onto your side, carefully wiping the foam and drool away from your mouth while he checks your vitals. Tim is in the hallway calling 9-1-1 and texting Dick to let him know what's happening.

"Dami, you gotta move," Jason says, placing his hands overtop his brother's. Damian's grip on your arm is so tight it's bruising. "Let go, they're okay. Let go."

"I'm tracking their pulse, you dumb bastard!" Damian snaps. "Release me!"

"You're hurting them, Dames," Hal says in his ear, wrapping his arms around Damian's waist. "Bruce has them, now. You have to let go and get out of the way for the paramedics."

Green eyes snap to your arm. He seems to finally take stock of what he's doing and eases off, letting Hal pick him up and pass him off to Jason, who carries him into the hallway.

"Stay out here," Jason says. "It's our job to keep out of the way for now."

"Who's going to let the paramedics in?" Damian asks, trying to pry himself out of Jason's grip. As much as he tries to crane his neck, Jason's standing too far away from your door to let him see how you're doing, and his iron grip is unyielding.

"Alfred's by the gate controls, he'll let them inside."

Tim gets off the phone with the emergency dispatcher and glances at your door with a frown. Every hitching gasp and choke you make can be heard from the hall, along with Bruce and Hal's barely-concealed, panicked murmuring, and he crosses his arms tightly and shuffles over to Jason now that his task is done.

"Can we wait downstairs?" He mutters. Jason keeps one arm wrapped around Damian and slings the other around Tim's shoulders, guiding them to the staircase.

"I want to stay!" Damian insists, pulling against Jason, who ends up needing to sling the little assassin over his shoulder to get him to move. "Todd!!"

"Robin," Jason snaps in his best Batman impersonation. It's a damn good one, because Damian quiets immediately, stiffening in his arms and ceasing his struggling without further protest. Tim freezes beside him, but Jason just pats his back and keeps guiding him down the stairs.

The trio is quiet as they file into the main living room. Jason and Tim sit on the couch and Damian gets propped up in his brother's lap. Try as he might, he can't wiggle out of Jason's arms.

"This is asinine," he hisses. "I should be up there."

"Doin' what?" Jason asks. "Bruce and Hal are both in there with Mousey. Alfred's about to guide the EMTs inside. Tim called 911 and then told Dick the situation. You were the one that first found 'em and got help."

Jason gives Damian a squeeze, propping his chin on top of his head.

"You saved their life, Damian. Ya don't need to do more than that right now. Let the grown-ups take the reins for a while."

"But I —"

"You've done more than enough," Jason insists, not unkindly. His tone has been uncharacteristically soft the whole time, Damian realizes belatedly. "I'm sure they'll thank you when they come out the other side of this."

Damian didn't do it for your thanks. He did it because he loves you. Despite you quickly approaching the age where Bruce might offer you the Robin mantle soon, which has filled him with more anxiety and anger than he's had in a long time, he loves you dearly and doesn't want anything to befall you.

In spite of everything, he's your big brother and he loves you just as much as he can't stand you.

"They will be fine," he mutters firmly. "There's no alternative."

"Right," Tim speaks up. He sounds like he needs the reassurance just as much as Damian. "M is gonna be okay."

The three of them turn their heads when several pairs of footsteps enter the vestibule. Four paramedics rush in with a stretcher and duffel bags of medical equipment. Alfred orders them in the direction of your bedroom with simple, firm instructions, and they head off.

The butler then turns, spotting them out of his periphery, and he clears his throat and adjusts the belt around his robe. He's still in his sleepwear, having rushed out of bed to help prep for the emergency like everyone else.

"I've had my fair share of exciting nights," he comments, "but I must say, they never become more enjoyable. Why don't you all join me in the kitchen and I'll prepare some drinks? Hot chocolate should suffice on a chilly evening."

"Sounds fantastic," Jason says, hopping to his feet. He lifts Damian up with him, denying him the chance to refuse, and with a glance and jerk of his chin, coaxes Tim to get up and follow after.

"Put me down," Damian says, reaching up to tug on Jason's night shirt. "I won't run back upstairs. I swear."

"Yeah? You double-swear? Don't make me chase you, kid, I really do not have the patience."

"On Father's life," he insists.

Jason sets him on the floor. Damian follows them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island, cupping his hands around a warm mug of hot cocoa when Alfred hands it to him a couple minutes later. He watches the wisps of steam curl up into the air and dissipate, unable to stop thinking about your writhing body in bed. Your eyes had rolled back and your limbs had locked up, jerking uncontrollably. And the noises you were making...

The mug gives a foreboding creak under his grip. Alfred gently places his hand on Damian's back and gives it several soft pats.

"Do not fret, master Damian," he says, "our little Flittermouse is very resilient. An illness turning poorly won't keep them down for long."

"I know," he says. Alfred nods, and with a final brush against his shoulder, tends to Tim next to ensure he's also doing okay. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees him calmly drinking from his mug without so much as a furrow in his brow. But there's an almost imperceptible ricketing noise that means he's bouncing his leg nervously. It makes his stomach twist almost painfully, to know he's just as scared as everybody else.

Damian takes a deep breath. He sips his coco. He thinks of the froth pouring out of your mouth when Bruce rolled you into the recovery position. He puts the mug down.

He knows you'll be okay. You have to, because he just can't live with the alternative.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

But Why’s It Feel So Good?

John Walker x Thunderbolts*!Reader Sex Pollen

Summary: While out on a mission together, Reader and John stumble into a researchers trap. Leading to them being doused in an unnamed chemical. [Reader is a former H.Y.D.R.A. Agent with combat experience, along with an endurance boost. Codename: Felidae.]

CW: Thunderbolts* spoilers, kinda enemies to lovers (isn’t everything with John), mutual pining (it's my favorite), typical sex pollen, blood, fighting, sex fantasy, masturbation, biting, oral f!receiving, breeding kink, p in v, creampie,

a/n: if you told me 3 years ago I would be writing a John Walker fanfic I would’ve laughed in your face and called you a liar. But after Thunderbolts*?? I am eating my words

Help Me Move?

title track 🎶🥀

~~~

Stealth.

It was like second nature to you.

Trained for years by H.Y.D.R.A. to go unnoticed. Catlike reflexes accompanied by your ability to take a hit made you a reliable asset. Blending in to any and all environments. Able to disappear on a moments notice. Light on your feet and agile.

Making sure to take all you learned with you when you finally escaped the wretched hooks of H.Y.D.R.A. Being taken in by S.H.I.E.L.D. and finally regaining cognitive clarity. Disgusted by the actions you had committed under their leadership. Having to take time for personal growth and change. Learning alongside some operatives from the original Avengers.

Eventually parting ways once security had been breached. Not feeling safe and protected by those who you had grown fond of. Understanding why some heroes chose to go off grid. Even if it basically deemed you an Anti-Hero. It was worth it, if it meant you got control of your own life back.

Needing to take work from Valentina just to make sure you could keep the lights on. She begged for you to take some type of codename. Lynx. Or Oncilla. Or Jaguarundi. Or—

“You’re just naming types of cats,” you had said rolling your eyes on the end of the line.

“Well, you’re kinda like a cat… Oh! How about ‘Felidae’? Kinda sexy right?” Valentina had said, adding an accent to the word.

You scoffed. Accepting the scientific name over any specifics. You wondered if she thought you were stupid, or just unaware. Maybe she just thought she was smarter than anyone else.

After the chaos that Sentry had caused, you found yourself forced into a New Avengers Membership. Bonding deeply with your new teammates along the way. Albeit apprehensive at first. Especially now that you all shared a living quarter.

The Team was still trying to find its footing. What exactly it needed to be doing to make sure they were protecting the public to the best of their abilities. Although, the government was apprehensive to work alongside you all. Withholding important information about the crisis in space. Loosing contact with some of the remaining Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives.

This was not ideal. You knew the last thing needed was the government involved in the Avengers. Something Steve Rogers had fought for all those years ago. Leading to the original team breaking up. But what everyone did not understand was the power Valentina had over the public. Able to make or break you as a symbol without so much as lifting a finger.

You had to be here.

Even if here meant half a mile deep in some long forgotten about Headquarters. Intel suggested a former H.Y.D.R.A. Scientist was hiding at the lowest level. Leading to you and John Walker to be sent to investigate.

Valentina called it ‘team building.’ Separating you off into smaller groups so that you could learn to work together. Which sometimes worked out really well in your favor. When you got paired up with another teammate who matched your skillset perfectly. Bucky and Yelena could provide some strength that you lacked. Also being able to endure harder hits than you. Or Ava, who was able to completely scout out an area without being spotted. Secret missions were your favorite with her. Taking bets on which of you could be quieter.

And sometimes you would get paired up with someone like Alexei. Loud and quick to rush in without a plan. Which was not all bad, he made it a lot easier for you to hide when he was the loudest in any room he was in. Any time paired up with Bob consisted of mundane house chores. Nothing you could really complain about. Even if you did hate doing the dishes.

But then there was John. Cocky and sarcastic more often than not. Thinking he was the head of any and all missions you went on. Rude on top of it all. And the two of you seemed to butt heads more than any other team members. Maybe it was because you could not ignore his constant need to be right. Maybe it was how you saw right through his bullshit. He saw through yours too.

It was not that you hated him. Quite the opposite. You found his war stories endearing. Sometimes finding yourself laughing at an offhanded joke he would make. Having to hide your smile behind your hand because you could not show any sign of vulnerability to anyone. Even if you did find your walls crumbling around John when you spent personal time together. Seemingly always sitting together on movie nights. Or sometimes making him coffee first thing in the morning. Because, of course, he never rested.

Chalking it all up to a mutual understanding. Refusing to acknowledge the way your stomach would flutter when your hands would brush against one another. Or the times he would walk you to your corridor after a particularly scary movie.

"You're scared," you would tease.

"Am not. I was in Afghanistan, you think some cheap jumpscare could get to me?"

And you would laugh. Harder than you meant to. Nose scrunching up and hand glazing down his chest. John would smile while your eyes were closed. Going back to annoyed when you would look back at him.

Moments like this were nonexistent on missions together. It caused a certain level of tension to form between you. Pre-mediately angry and irritated with one another. Jaws tight and words not spoken. Fists balled up between your leather gloves. John's newly taco-shaped shield held up defensively as he led the path down metal stairs. Not even trying to hush his combat boots. Each step echoing against the steel walls.

It was causing your eye to twitch. How could he be so loud when you were practically mute? It was like he did not even care.

You finally reached the landing before delving into the final floor. John sighed. Halting his footsteps and turning to meet you. Your teeth were grinding together as you stared at his ocean eyes. He clicked his teeth together as he spoke, "Alright. The target should be on the next floor. You remember the plan, right?"

"Of course I do," you almost sounded offended, "Do you? I can't imagine he doesn't already know we're here with you stomping down the entire way."

John scoffed, rolling his eyes and waving you off, "Sorry. Not all of us can walk without making sound. Should've brought Ava if you wanted that."

"I would've," you hissed.

"Yeah, yeah," John tightened the strap around his helmet. Staring down into the oddly lit room. Understanding that it had to be a lab. The lab you had been warned about. A rouge H.Y.D.R.A. Scientist had been down here experimenting with different serums of all kinds. No telling what had been cooked up down here.

You followed a few steps behind John. Blue lights burned your eyes as you descended. John hid his gun behind his shield. You kept yours flat at your side. It was obscenely quiet. Almost ringing in your ears. It smelt weird and off-putting. Shelves with things stored in multi-colored liquids decorated every surface. It was like something from the mad scientist part of a haunted house. Your skin crawled.

Both sets of eyes scanned the entire room. Not a single sign of life. Hissing of a nearby pipe startled you internally. Not outwardly reacting other than you softly blowing out your breath.

John turned and pressed his finger to his lips. Silencing you.

Your blood boiled.

Fucking asshole.

You split, rounding the same glass container on opposite sides. Surprised to see the decaying body of the scientist slumped back in his chair. Hand grasping a vile, remnants of a bright blue substance stained his shirt.

"Must've been testing on himself," you whispered.

"See where that got you. Nazi scum," John stood tall. Tucking his gun back into its holster.

In the relief you felt from not having to fight, you both failed to see the infrared imager pinned to the wall. He knew someone would come looking for him. He was an evil genius after all. And he would be damned if anyone got to his research without consequences. The high pitched hum of the machine triggering clued you in.

"Walker, it's a trap!" you called out to your teammate. Hand absentmindedly reaching out to him as if you could protect him from whatever was going to happen. John backed up to you as fast as he could, but it all happened so fast.

Thick smog poured from every single vent. Hands flying up to cover your mouths, squinting and coughing. Smoke filling your lungs. Sticking to your tongue and throat. Tasting absolutely horrible. Something rancid, what you had to imagine a potent poison would taste.

John's hand gripped your shoulder to bring your attention to his face. He pointed towards the exit not wanting to inhale anymore fumes. His eyes watered as he guided you out of the room. Quickly climbing back up the stairs you had entered in on. Tripping at the last step and tumbling forward. Catching yourself on your hands, grunting at the way your knee skid against the floor. Not really painful. Just felt like the cherry on top of it all.

John extended his arm out to you, locking fingers around forearms as he hoisted you back up. The smoke beginning to follow slowly behind you.

"We've gotta go," John tugged you behind him. Running up the stairs as fast as your legs would allow it. He called in a report, letting the rest of the team know it was a trap. And that both of you had been exposed to some unknown gas. Both of you still coughing by the time you reached the top floor. Quick to exit the abandoned building.

You hunched over yourself. Huffing for air that could not fill yours lungs enough. Hands grasping your knees as you stared at the dirt. Body covered head to toe in sweat from, what had to be, the fastest you had ever gotten up half a mile of stairs. John stood with his hands on his hips across from you. His helmet discarded onto the ground. Head leaned back as he loudly groaned. Kicking the metal across the ground.

You looked up at him. His face was flushed, mostly from the run but also from his frustration. Finally looking over at you. Bloodshot morning skylike eyes stared at you. Lips parted and swollen from where he had been licking them.

Had he always looked this handsome?

"You alright?"

You nodded silently. Stomach churning from the heat and blocked airway. You wanted to lay down so badly. The dirt called to you like your bed after a long mission. But a nice shower sounded better. Especially with how hot your skin was right now. Limbs tingling like your nervous system was shot. Confused and a little worried about what would happen to you in the following hours.

"Feel any different?"

John patted his hands down his torso. Brows knitting together as he swallowed, "No. Just really hot."

"Yeah, me too."

There was no telling what that smoke was supposed to do to you. H.Y.D.R.A. had a myriad of freaks on their staff. All willing to experiment for anything that even slightly tickled their fancy. Unashamed. Brutal. Cruel.

"Guess the stuff wasn't meant to kill us or we wouldn't have made it up those stairs," you stretched your back. Hands meeting your hips as you strained.

"Right. Could have just been a really gross distraction. A way to make sure we could not stay to get any more information," John cupped his jaw as he stared out over the ridge, "No, that's too petty for H.Y.D.R.A."

"It really isn't," you halfway laughed, "I saw them gut a guy because he wore the wrong color uniform."

John's brows remained tight as he stared at you. Not sure what was so funny about that. Also not enjoying being corrected.

You sealed your lips shut, eyes jumping up as you looked away from him. Sometimes you forgot how touchy of a subject being a former H.Y.D.R.A. operative was. It was so far into your past that you coped by cracking little jokes. Usually ending with people looking at you the same way John was right now.

The buzzing of the helicarrier caught both your attention as it hovered above you. Shielding your eyes from the harsh sunset. The roped stairs unfolded in front of you. Looking to John with a nod.

“Ladies first,” he faked chivalry, putting his stupid helmet back on.

You smirked at him. Rolling your eyes as you started up. John followed closely behind you.

Something shifted inside him. His eyes found themselves unable to remove from your ass. Tight pants highlighting every curve and dip. His throat burned as he tried to catch his breath. Cock jumping for a moment when he imagined how it would look bare and imprinted with his hands. Trying to shake off the feeling.

You sighed as you reached your seat. Sluggishly buckling yourself in before anyone had the chanc to ask any question. John stood across from you, hand gripping one of the straps that hung down from the ceiling. Your head was leaned back trying to relax even for a moment. His hovering making it difficult. Something about his presence had your heart palpitating.

“You can sit down,” you sighed.

John took that as a challenge. Not liking the attitude you sported, “I’m fine.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Too exhausted to even play this game with him. Eyes falling shut trying to steady your breathing. Unable to cool your body’s temperature. Clothes feeling tight and sticky. Causing you even more discomfort and aggravation.

“What happened, you two?” Alexei’s voice sounded over the intercoms. Scratchy from the old headset he wore. Microphone far older than the aircraft itself.

“He knew we would be coming. Set up some kind of distraction to make us to leave,” John shouted over the whirring of the blades.

“Should’ve wore those Avengers Gas Masks I ordered! I told you they would come in handy,” Alexei’s singsong voice chimed.

Always with the stupid merchandise.

John looked at you. Throwing a hand up to the side and shaking his head. Sharing in your annoyance for Alexei’s positivity. You shrugged in response. Neither of you caring to have a smart mouthed rebuttal, knowing it would more than likely go over Alexei’s head.

The aircraft began its descent onto the landing pad. Opting to unbuckle and stand, straps irritating your skin. Jaw locked as you huffed out of your nose. Pressing up on your tiptoes to stretch your calves.

A sudden bounce of turbulence caused you to fall forward. Pressing your entire body flush against John’s. Up against the wall behind him. His hand grasped your hip as you held onto his shoulder.

It burned.

Inflaming your skin at the contact. Air hitched up in your throat. Eyes wide as you looked up at him. His heart pounded under your touch. Pain coursing through his body from where you touched him. Both of your faces flushed entirely. Your core pulsed. The smell of his natural musk mixing in with stale cologne had you feeling weak in the knees.

Awkwardly standing back on your feet. Clearing your throat as you turned to hop out of the helicarrier. Making sure to rush inside the tower. Leaving John behind in your dust. Waving off everyone as you entered, eyes locked ahead of you. Your goal only a few more steps away.

Your door sealed shut behind you. Your back resting against it as you grasped at your chest. Confusion overwhelming you. The throbbing between your legs not allowing you to think straight.

What was happening to you?

You shedded your clothes off as you trekked to the bathroom. Hunching over your sink when the pain began absorbing into your gut. Growling as you looked up at yourself in the mirror. Sweat decorated your face.

Suddenly images of John behind you filled your mind. His strong hands holding tightly onto your waist. Broad chest and large shoulders on display. Hips nestled into your own. Nude bodies pressed together where it really mattered.

You gasped. Hands coming up to cover your face. Shaking your head in disbelief. Fingers tugging down your face. Groaning with a hint of unease.

Turning the knobs to a mild setting. Shower raining down into the shallow tub. Stepping inside to try and wash away the days mission. It felt like a thousand tiny razor blades against your skin. Gritting away the pain. Forcing your body under the water. You needed to get this off you somehow. Attempting to adjust the temperature, maybe you just had it too hot? Even the cold water burned down your body.

You imagined his hands reaching around you from behind. Large palms holding your breasts in them. Thumbs flicking over your nipples. His bearded chin gently resting upon your shoulder, breathing heavily into your ear. Lips kissing directly below it.

You moaned. Knees buckling as you fell forward, nails scratching against the tile to brace yourself. Your cunt begged. Even when you tried to relieve yourself, it was not enough. Humping against your own hand trying to satisfy the desire overtaking you.

John’s image flooded your mind. The way you imagined his jaw would lock while fucking into you. Or how his calloused hands would feel around your throat. How his cock would stretch you perfectly.

You hurried to clean yourself off. Needing to find John. Your body craved his presence. Knowing he was somewhere in the tower. Not caring where, just needing to be with him. Towel drying your body and hair, throwing on some loungewear without even bothering to put underwear on. It was too uncomfortable anyway.

You stood in the hallway with your eyes closed. Allowing your body to urge you in what direction you needed to go. Downstairs.

You casually and quietly headed for the stairs. The ding of the elevator would give you away. Trying to make sure no one else followed you. Your senses were heightened. Everything punched into overdrive as you followed your body’s natural instinct.

The workout room.

You stood in front of the sliding, frosted glass door. Taking a deep breath.

This was stupid, you thought. Second guessing this decision. It was so ridiculous to assume John could feel this too. Or that he would even want to see you.

But you had to know. Holding your breath as you pressed the button to unlock the door. The loud sound of fists hitting something filled the room. Drowning out the sound of the door.

John swung at the punching bag hanging from the low ceiling. Fists burring into the leather over and over. Powder flying off the with each hit. Tank top highlighting his muscular physique. Tape wrapped around his fists. Arms bulging and sweat dripping down his figure.

You swallowed hard. Unsure why you were here. Your body told you it’s where you needed to be. With him. Near him.

It was almost like you could smell him across the room. Musky with a hint of oak from his deodorant. Jaw tight. Blonde locks sticking to his forehead. Sporty shorts hanging around his hips.

You hid in the shadows. Nails digging into the steel wall. Your legs shook. Fighting yourself from walking over to him. Ready to pounce on him like an animal on the hunt.

It hurt. Every inch of his fucking body hurt. No matter what he tried to force in his mind, he could not get you off it. His cock was swollen despite his attempt to relieve himself earlier. Pulsing with need. Hand wrapped around his member while imagining fucking into you. But nothing worked. This was the only way he could even attempt to distract himself. Giving his hands something else to do.

What he really wanted was to have them all over your body. Holding you down by the throat while he shoved his cock as deep inside you as possible. Knowing you would sound so pretty whimpering his name over and over.

He could not understand what had gotten into him. Something filling his veins with arousal. Could it be the smoke the two of you inhaled?

Were you feeling the same way as him?

You hesitated internally. Body moving on its own. Revealing yourself from the shadows. Hands crossed together in front of you. Fawning innocence.

John immediately noticed. Quick to stop swinging and look at you. His throat tightened. Fists balled up at his sides. Chest heaving with each deep breath he took. Your smell was strong to him. Pure sex and flowery. Must have been your body wash. Maybe your shampoo. He could not place it, only that it was you. So unabashedly you.

And, Christ, did he look sexy. Beard glistening with sweat. Hair disheveled. Chest hair peaking out the top of his cutoff. Pretending to not notice the clear outline of his cock through his shorts.

“Hey,” you choked out meekly.

“Hey,” John returned with a huff.

Silently staring at each other, John’s hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. You fidgeted with your fingers. Hiding your eyes from his stern gaze. You twisted your mouth around. Trying to think of what to say.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” he broke the silence.

“I… just wanted to make sure you were doing okay,” you said unsure.

His mind rattled with a response. No, I’m not okay. I’ve been so horny since we got back that I could kill someone. Oh, and you’re the only one I can think about right now. How do you explain that to your teammate?

“I’ve been better,” John stepped back on the mats repositioning to swing at them once more, “Would probably be better if our mission hadn’t gone up in smoke.”

“Literally,” you halfheartedly attempted a joke.

you idiot.

“And what about you?” he punctuated his question with a hit against the bag.

“Me? I’m— uh— okay? I guess?”

John’s eyes peered over at you. Lip arched to match his eyebrow. Wondering why you were suddenly being so awkward around him. He worried for a moment that you could see how stiff he was. Maybe read right through him. Knowing there was more you wanted to say but did not.

Your eyes doed at him across the room. His heart shocked throughout his body. Your loose fitting clothing driving him crazy. Wanting to see more of you. Nostrils flaring with each punch and grunt.

The noises he made had your entire body shaking. Slick pooling between your thighs when he would grunt especially loud. Reminding you of the fantasies you had in the shower moments prior. Filling in the gaps from before.

Your hand gripped the fabric of your shirt. Loving watching him beat the shit out of the leather bag.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch?” John’s cocky tone echoed against the walls. Eyebrows jumping up your forehead at his sassy comment. His hand gesturing in your direction. Venom lacing his words.

Biting your lip as you rubbed your chin with your hand. Face flooding with heat. Embarrassment almost overtaking the burning in your core. Your eyes upturned in sadness.

John’s heart sank into his stomach. You looked pitiful. Like he had just kicked a puppy. Your favorite puppy. He blew his breath out. Hand flattening against his hair. Stamping his foot for a moment doing a semi-circle and facing you once more.

You were all he wanted. His body craved yours like a man lost in the desert craved water. He knew you were the thing to douse the fire burning inside him.

“John—“ was all you got out before it made his insides boil. The low and needy tone that left you.

John punched the bag hard enough to knock it off its chain. Heavy thud slamming onto the floor. Allowing his temper to get the best of him. Member throbbing between his legs not helping with his annoyance. His hands were now on his hips as he turned to face you. Lip twitching as a heavy brow pierced through you.

You folded your arms over your chest. Matching the irritation that decorated his face. Trying to regain your composure. Accidental slip of your facade showing your weakness. Brows arching as you played chicken. One of the two of you would have to crack first.

John knew how to make sure it was you.

His eyes raked down your body. Making it obvious he was checking you out. It caused your face to flush. Throbbing between your legs at the way his blue eyes undressed you.

You spun to have your back to him, “God, you’re unbearable.”

“What was that?” he challenged.

You looked over your shoulder at him, “You heard me.”

“Come say it to my face,” John growled.

You snorted, waving him off with a roll of your eyes.

“Awww. What is it… Felidae? Cat got your tongue?”

That made your muscles tighten. Use of the moronic code name Valentina had given you causing you to grind your teeth together. Eyes narrowing in on the Dime Store Captain America. A fire igniting within you. Different than the roaring flames of arousal.

You dashed toward him. Fist rared back to strike him. Knocking him directly in his jaw. Barely phasing the super soldier. It only made you angrier. Repetitively striking him. Swearing you would wipe that smug grin off his face if it was the last thing you did. His head turned with each punch. Just taking your hits. Blood stained the corner of his mouth. A wicked smile across his lips.

Deciding it was finally enough, he swept your foot out from under you. Your back slammed onto the mats lining the floor. Eyes flying open to look up at him. His head fell to the side as he grinned down at you.

Before you could get back up, he had you pinned down. Strong hands wrapped around your wrists, keeping them above your head. It sent lava throughout your veins. Pooling in your core. Not even mentioning the compromised position you found yourself in with him. The part of him you wanted most hovering directly above where you needed it.

His palms were on fire. Skin to skin contact causing his cock to jump in his shorts. Your smell so sweet to his senses. Wide eyes stared up into his as you panted. Pupils blown with lust. Your eyebrows arched trying to fake intimidation.

Sharing in your panting, you held tight eye contact. Blonde locks plastered to his sweat ridden forehead. He was gorgeous. That was the only thought that could enter you. How beautiful the soldier looked above you. Thick stubble teetering on the cusp of a beard. Lips calling to you. Piercing blue eyes darting between your own.

Your gaze softened. Allowing your eyes to focus on his mouth. Eyelids hooding your vision. And John noticed. Exhaling harder than before. Barely inching forward to close the gap between you.

John’s lips pressed a chaste kiss against the tip of your nose. Testing the waters. It spread along your skin. Igniting your face. His own lips tingling from the contact.

You shifted your head, allowing better access for your lips to interlock. Fireworks exploded. Faltering for a moment when you tried to tug away from his hold on you. Wanting to pull him as close as possible. Hands begging to dig into his scruffy cheeks. Ironlike taste filling your own.

The burn inside you cooled momentarily. This was exactly what you needed. The only thing capable of calming the storm inside you. John’s forehead rested against yours as he closed his eyes.

“What’s going on with us?” John exhaled, hint of a smile on his face.

“I have no idea. But I know I want you,” you said airy. Lips chasing after his when he pulled back a little.

John released his hold on you. Hands grasped against your face. Thumbs burning against your cheek bones. Lips messy and hungry with your own. Sharing saliva between open mouth kisses.

“Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” John admitted.

“Me neither,” you breathed. Fingers threading through the sweaty locks upon his head. Tongues fighting for dominance. Exploring the other’s mouth.

One of his hands hooked under your leg, arching it around his waist. Grinding his erection against your clothed slit. Eliciting a loud moan from you, brows furrowing at the sensation. It made him quicken his pace, want bringing something primal out of him.

Your hands explored down his torso. Outlining the details of his muscles as you trekked down to his groin. Finger tips meeting his bulge causing him to buckle his hips. Grunting in discomfort.

“It’s not right,” he said with a tight jaw, “Need to be inside you.”

All the air left your lungs. Words like a song to your heart.

As much as it pained him, he rose to his feet. Your arms chasing after him immediately. Needing the weight of him against you. Your saving grace for the pain you were feeling. John extended a hand to you, pulling you up like it was nothing. Your torsos pressed perfectly together. Hearts beating in sync.

“Come on,” his voice was gravely. Forceful grip tugged you along behind him. Attempting to be as quiet as possible through the halls of the tower. Knowing the rest of your team was only a thin wall away. Making sure your footsteps were as light as possible, impressed with John’s sudden ability to be sneaky. Guess it was possible when he really wanted to.

John pressed the code into the keypad by his door. Looking back at you for a moment with a smile. Dark pupils enveloping the deep blue of his irises. Somehow, even now that his body begged for yours with his, he felt giddy. Excited like a teenager preparing to lose his virginity on prom night.

The airlocks released on the door. Quickly, you both entered the room. Dark. No lights at all. Settling in as the door closed behind you, shielding away the only source of light you had before.

John’s hands were on your waist. Forehead pressed into yours. Heat of his breath fanned down your face. Blinking to hope your eyes adjusted. His head ducked to your throat. Kissing gently down your jugular. Quickly turning hungry. Teeth grazing your pulse. Biting down and sucking a mark into you. Surely to be purple shortly. You moaned, one hand cupping the back of his head.

His hand interlocked fingers with yours, guiding you over to his mattress. Laying you onto your back, knees meeting the curve with your legs dangling off the edge. He clapped his hands and a yellow hued lamp clicked on the other side of the room. Accenting him in its soft glow.

“I want to see you,” he breathed out, kneeling at the edge of the bed. Fingers hooking around your waistband and pulling it down your legs. Exposing your unclothed core, John’s brows bouncing in response. Smirking up at you as he discarded your loungewear. The air was cold against your soaked core. Your legs pushed together to find some relief.

Strong hands pryed you open, displaying your folds to him. Eyes glowing as they stared at your center. His tongue coming out to wet his lip at the sight. One of his fingers grazed through your folds. Your hips bucking in response to his touch.

“Jesus,” John cooed, “You’re soaked.”

A gargled ‘mmhmp’ escaped you. Your head pressing back into the mattress, mouth gaping towards the ceiling as you fought for patience. Not sure how much longer you could take it. This was torture.

John pressed forward, kissing your inner thigh. Tongue trailing up to your pussy. Swiping it up your aching folds. You called out to him, hands digging into the mattress below you. It felt so good. Skillfully, he lapped into you. Eyes rolling back into his head with each pass through. “You’re so fucking sweet,” his words vibrated through you. Cock needing relief. Beginning to grind himself against the mattress.

You needed more. The burn in you spreading throughout you again. Nerve endings tingling causing pain to resurface. It was not enough.

“John,” you cried out, “I need you. Need your cock inside me. Please—“

His eyes lit up. Having been fighting his selfish nature to fuck you relentlessly. Wanting to make this a good experience for you. But when you were begging him, how could he resist?

Rising to his feet as shedding every item of clothing that stuck to him. Throwing them into a pile with your own. Both of you completely nude now. His beard shining with your juices. You gawked at his member. It curved towards his stomach. Swollen and leaking at the tip. A thick vein running along the side. Clearly craving release. Your mouth watered.

He joined you on the mattress. Dipping under his weight. Fabric burning against his knees. His arms caged you in, hands splayed next to your head. Sweat covered both your bodies. Pulses straining against your eardrums. Never had either of you felt this desperate. And neither of you would ever admit that you were.

His cock prodded at your entrance. Tip sliding up and down your folds. Your face contorted in pleasure. Pathetically whimpering at the feeling. Lip quivering as you tried to force him inside you.

And he could not deny you.

With a quick thrust, he bottomed out inside you. Both of you gasping for air that refused to enter your lungs. Your arms snaked around his torso, splaying along his spine. One of his arms hooked around your waist, folding you so that he could enter you deeper. Finding a quick pace. Loud sound of skin slapping together filled the tight space. His balls slammed against your ass as his cock stretched you with each thrust.

Finally. Some relief. He was good. His cock was perfect. The noises he made were straight out of a porno. Suddenly, you could understand why they had wanted him to be Captain America. He was the perfect man.

His free hand found its place on your clit, circling the aching nub tightly. Your back arched off the mattress. It tingled at first, but your body was finally getting what it so desperately needed. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Lips absentmindedly kissing and sucking his skin. Leaving little bruises in your wake.

His name fell from you like a prayer. Breathy huffs squeezed out of your chest. John grunted and groaned, completely lost in the way you wrapped around him. Tight walls gripped down on his girth.

John readjusted so that he could capture your lips between his. Messily kissing you, teeth grazing your bottom lip. His beard tickled your skin with each desperate kiss.

You were like two animals in heat. Unable to speak but knowing what the other needed. Dousing something primal within you. Something that you needed before the smoke filled your lungs today.

The knot in your gut wound itself tighter. If things continued, you would be cumming soon. Walls spasming as your body prepared for your orgasm.

“Pretty girl,” was the only thing he could choke out.

It made your face flush. He had not really complimented you, not past a sexual nature. But this was different. Not charged by the way you welcomed him inside you so easily. His words were genuine.

“Cum in me,” you whined, meeting his thrusts.

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up? Make sure you remember this for the next week. Maybe even knock you up. Let the whole team know who fucked you this good,” John groaned.

Your nails dug into his bare back. Scratching against the tight, muscular ridges. Nodding aggressively with a pathetic ‘uh-huh’ bubbling in your throat. His words had you on the brink. A few more swirls of his fingers and you would be a mess below him.

“Need you to first,” John breathed, “Cum on my cock, sweetheart. I wanna feel it.”

You called out to him as your insides began to pulse. The knot inside you snapping as your orgasm washed over you. Squeezing his cock between tight walls. Pushing him over the edge himself. Fucking into you as aggressively as possible making sure to get his seed deep inside you. Hips brushing against your own.

It was the sweetest relief you had ever felt. His spend cooling down all the agony that had consumed you. This was what you were meant to do. Meant to help each other. To be together.

John remained deep inside you, his body slumping against yours. Both of you panting, your hand caressing his back. Eyes closed. Neither of you prepared to say a word. Too afraid of breaking this small reality you had created together.

His weight was a nice blanket. Even if he did make it a little difficult to breathe. The feeling of skin perfectly pressed together helped. Your legs still wrapped around his waist. His beard scratched your chest momentarily.

You refused to move.

Remaining here in silence.

Spark of a flame began igniting inside you once more. You were in for a long night.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you for reading! I really enjoy writing sex pollen stories :) as always my inbox is open. Comments and Reblogs are appreciated //

{tags}

@lillycore ~ @deliciouslydisturbed365 ~ @ilove-hatethecw ~ @itsjml ~ @gayhorrormen ~ @linkpk88 ~ @1-800-styles ~ @sagexsenorita ~ @hepburnswan ~

[cocastyle]

I See You Pt. 2

Pairing — Bob Reynolds x reader

Word Count — 4.1k

Warning — SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE I REPEAT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE!!

A/N — and here is part two for you all <3 I’m so overwhelmed and astounded by the love i received on the first part that i had to write this ASAP. i forgot how much i enjoyed writing these silly little fics and how much they help when life just feels so crazy.

some special news is that i officially have decided to make this a four part series!! so be on the lookout for the final two parts and let me know what other characters you would like to see me write for as i get back into the swing of things :)

Part One Part Two Part Three

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Y/N L/N was used to being alone.

After the Blip, that was all she had ever known, all she had ever allowed herself to know, because that was what she deserved.

After all, she had single handedly ruined everything in her life and everyone else's all because of a moment of hesitation. It was her fault that half of the universe had disappeared and that she had lost control of her powers and killed so many people the year following. It was her fault that her friends and family had died and that she hadn't been there to bring everyone back or to prevent Tony from sacrificing himself for something she had done.

She deserved to be alone. All she ever did was screw up everything she touched and get the people she cared about killed.

Tony. Natasha. Steve. May.

Anyone who had ever cared about her was gone. May had been the last one to care about her, having helped raised the girl from the moment she moved in across the hall after her parents divorced. She had been there for both of her parents' deaths, always keeping her from succumbing too hard into the darkness even when she wanted to do nothing other than give up.

It was May's death that had been the final nail to the coffin, sending the girl spiraling further into herself than she had ever gone before. She hadn't known how to stop it and, if she were honest with herself, a part of hadn't wanted to anyways. She just continued to let the darkness consume her, the last of her light dimming to nothing but the dull flicker of a candle as it reached the end of its life.

When she had first entered the void, she thought that was it. That reliving all of her regrets and worst memories would be the reason her light finally snuffed out. A part of her welcomed it, was ready for it all to end.

But then there he was.

Bob.

And for the first time in such a very long time, her light had shone just a little bit brighter.

There was finally someone else just like her, someone who understood her in a way that she barely understood herself. Someone who saw her.

In that single conversation she had allowed herself to see a future, one that wasn't filled with loneliness, but with understanding. A future where she had someone else's back and they had hers. A future where she didn't have to go through it alone because she wouldn't be alone. She would have Bob.

But now even he was leaving her. Running further into his own nightmare just to keep the darkness away and save her from himself.

"Bob!" Y/N cried out, the panic raking through her body so quickly that the only thing she could think to do was to lunge for the boy as he broke through the wall of her nightmare and into the next room.

The darkness let out a roar of anger at both of their actions and a force hit her so hard that it sent her slamming into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Y/N let out a groan of pain as she struggled to push herself onto her feet, but by the time she was up again, the wall had sealed itself up and she was left trapped in the same memory as before, forced to watch as she attacked Tony over and over again.

"No," she muttered, scrambling helplessly over to the part of the wall that Bob had just gone through. "No, no, no, no. Bob!" Her fingernails were against at the wall, her hands turning a blinding white as her powers tried to grab any sort of footing that it could.

If she could just get through, she could save him. She could protect him from this all consuming darkness that she had been trapped within for so long.

She had barely made a dent before her hands suddenly fell through the wall as though it weren't even there to begin with, then hardening just as quickly so it could latch onto her. Her breathing grew ragged as she tried to pull her hands out, her eyes glowing white as she attempted to break free.

But she knew that she couldn't escape. This wasn't an accident after all. This was a retaliation for what she had done.

Y/N continued to try and pull her hands out, but the room merely spun around until she was dangling mid air. It was then that the wall began to pull back from her hands in a tauntingly slow sort of way while the floor disappeared from below her and turned into a swirl of shadows. The girl's eyes widened slightly and she desperately tried to keep a grip onto anything that she could, but her hands slipped out from the wall before she could even blink and she found herself in a free fall.

"No!" she cried out, but it was too late. The room seemed to melt away as she fell, darkness surrounding her until there was nothing but the endless void.

Y/N screamed out in anger, but was silenced when her body slammed against the ground that she hadn't even realized was there.

Her whole body was reeling from the pain, a loud ringing in her ears as she laid there and tried to catch the breath that had been knocked from her lungs. It took a minute but she finally attempted to sit up, her eyes still unable to focus on anything due to the darkness that surrounded her.

It seemed she had been right about the retaliation and if the feeling that someone or something was watching her was not enough to convince her then she wasn't sure what else would.

Bob may have saved her from being killed in that moment, but he hadn't kept the darkness away, hadn't kept Void away.

She could feel him watching her, could hear the soft whisper of thoughts that echoed around in his head. She couldn't hear what the whispers were saying. Every time she reached out to listen, it was like Void was pulling back. But she could feel what he was thinking, knew that he was curious more than anything.

Y/N ignored him, instead letting her eyes flicker around the room and hesitating on a small light coming from a little ways away. She pulled herself up onto her feet and slowly walked forward, squinting against the brightness as she grew closer.

It was only when she was right in front of the light that she realized what it truly was. Her memory.

It was different than the others. Instead of standing in the middle of the scene, it was like she was watching it from the screen of her phone and every time she tried to get closer to see it better, the memory moved further away. Y/N finally stopped trying to get closer in favor of looking to see what the memory was.

Her past self was standing by the Statue of Liberty, covered in grime and sweat with a cut on her face so deep that it made her subconsciously reach up to her own face and touch the scar that was in the same place on her temple.

A boy stood before her or at least she was pretty sure he was a boy. He was so blurry that it was hard to make out anything but his figure and the brown hair on top of his head. The type of blurry that made her rub at her eyes to try and make the scene clearer, but all it did was make him even blurrier.

Who was that?

Her eyes flickered over the scene and she frowned slightly, not even remembering what this memory was.

No sound came from the memory, but Y/N could see her mouth moving, could see the tears that were rolling down her face as she shook her head at the boy and seemed to be begging him to stay. The boy's body moved as though he were saying something back, his body language one of pain and sorrow as he attempted to console her. He pressed his forehead to hers and Y/N felt the faint ghost of a touch against her skin.

She didn't even realize she was crying until the tears were rolling down her face. She gently touched her face in surprise, suddenly overwhelmed by a sadness that she felt deep within her bones.

The boy pulled away and Y/N watched as her past self crumbled to the ground in despair. Y/N's heart ached at the sight. It felt as though someone was pressing down on her lungs and the room suddenly felt way smaller than it had been before.

The grief that washed over her told her enough to know that no matter who this boy was, he had meant a lot to her and she had lost him. Just like everyone else.

Why didn't she remember this?

"Interesting what the mind forgets, but the body remembers," a voice said from behind her. Y/N tensed slightly, her eyes not leaving the scene as she watched the boy walk away from her before the memory started all over again.

That feeling of loss was indescribable and for a moment, Y/N wondered if this was the He that Tony had been talking about, but she didn't let herself dwell on the thought long. Whatever this memory was, it was nothing but that — a memory.

Bob was what was happening right now and he needed her.

Y/N steadied her breath and turned around. She let out a soft gasp of surprise as she came face to face with Void, not expecting him to have gotten so close without making the hint of a sound.

He was nothing but the shadow of a man, darkness incarnate with two glowing white pupils that stared intensely at her.

"What is this?" she muttered.

"It's your memory," Void stated.

"I don't understand," she replied, shaking her head slightly.

Void tsked and let out a sigh of disappointment before as he leaned closer, what should've been his nose only inches away from her own.

"I don't get it," he admitted after a moment of ignoring what the girl had said.

"Don't get what?"

"What it is that's so special about you," he answered. "This is the first time someone has ever been able to make him feel something and. . .it's just you? Y/N L/N? The one who got half the universe killed and then tried to find herself at the bottom of a bottle? You're. . .nothing."

Y/N's eyes narrowed slightly, but she held herself together as she asked through gritted teeth, "Where is he? Where is Bob?"

Void chuckled darkly at that, finally pulling away from the girl as he took a step back as if to get a good look at her. "I guess you are pretty in a way. I'll give Bob that much," he muttered. "And there is that same darkness within you. Don't act so surprised. Of course I know it's there. What did you say before? Like calls to like?"

Y/N tensed slightly, her face paling as she realized that it Void had been with them the whole time. That he was always with them. She stilled at that thought, but didn't let it cross her mind again in case he managed to see inside her head.

Instead she tried to clear her mind of his taunting words and let her powers slowly reach out in attempt to worm their way into his mind. She was met with nothing but a dark force that quickly cut her off.

Void chuckled darkly, "It's cute that you think that was going to work."

"Was worth a shot," Y/N muttered and attempted a half hearted shrug, doing everything within her power to appear as uninterested as she could despite the ice crawling up her veins under his gaze and the feel of his powers gently caressing her own.

"Hoping to find where Bob is?" Void asked, his voice a bit mocking. "He left you, remember? He left you just like everyone else. Why would you want to find him? He's probably forgotten about you by now anyways. He told you about that, didn't he? The blanks in his memory? That's all you'll ever be to him."

Y/N didn't grant him the dignity of a response to that, instead turning her gaze back towards the memory. She felt his annoyance almost instantly, but with it came the slight flicker of the shields around his mind. It was so brief that she almost hadn't sensed it.

Almost.

Y/N glanced back towards Void, titling her head slightly as she said, "I might've been trying with the intention of finding Bob, but I got to say I'm way more curious to know why you're really here." Void was quiet and she took that as her sign to continue. "I guess I was hoping I would be able to see what made you so curious. I wanted to—"

"What? Read my thoughts?" he interrupted.

"Yes," she admitted. "But, now that I think about it, I don't need to read your thoughts to know what you're thinking. You're already telling me plenty just by being here to check on me."

"And what would that be?" Void asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"That you're scared."

Void was on her in a second, his hand grabbing hold of her face painfully as he lifted her in the air. She struggled in his grasp and the white of his eyes grew brighter as he stared at her, all the amusement gone and having been replaced by the anger flooding his senses. It was only then that he faltered, that he slipped up and let his emotions get the best of him. The defenses around his mind flickered and Y/N took advantage.

She was in his head before Void knew what was happening and the moment he felt her powers wrap around him, he was instantly back in control and shut her out.

But it was only that mere second that Y/N had needed, a second to be able to glimpse just where Bob was hiding and to lock onto his presence within this maze they were in.

"Got him," she smirked and Void's grip on her face tightened before he threw her to the ground.

"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice nonchalant despite the rage radiating off of him. Y/N pulled herself back up into a sitting position. She would not show him weakness. "There's no way you'll get out of here. No one has ever—"

Void stopped sharply, the two pricks of white that were his eyes disappearing for a small second as he blinked, surprise replacing his fury.

"No one has ever what?" Y/N asked, but she already had a sneaking suspicion of what had caught his attention. Someone had broken through these nightmares and they were coming for him.

Void titled his head slightly as he gazed off in the distance before he quickly snapped his eyes back towards Y/N. "Doesn't matter," he finally said. "Enjoy this new room of yours. Took me a while to work my way into your brain the way you've been trying to do my own. This particular memory is one I especially enjoy. So much pain and regret. Funny that you don't remember it." He shrugged slightly as though the thought already bored him. "Oh, well. Your mind might not remember, but I know your heart does." Void lazily waved his hand in the air. "The body remembers what the mind forgets and what not."

And with that, he was gone, having disappeared within the shadows between one second and the next.

But Y/N had all she needed now. She stood up and closed her eyes, allowing her powers to focus on nothing but Bob and that flash of light within him that glowed just like her own which had only grown brighter since the moment she met him.

She smiled softly at the sight of it and her body began to glow as her powers lashed out against the darkness of the room, the nightmare dissolving as it were nothing.

I see you, Bob. I'm coming.

- - -

Something was wrong.

Bob had thought he was finally taking control the moment he had started attacking Void, but this feeling creeping up on him as he threw punch after punch? It wasn't right. Something was wrong and it wasn't just the situation he was talking about.

Something was wrong with him.

But he couldn’t stop, not even when the rest of the Thunderbolts yelled after him as the room pulled them further and further away. Not even when he felt that familiar tug growing closer and closer.

Even when he felt her enter the room, he still couldn’t stop. It was like the darkness had sunk its claws into him and wouldn’t let go. All he could do was punch and punch and punch and nothing could stop it.

She was behind him now, her powers having tossed aside every single thing thrown in her direction like it was nothing but an annoyance. The team was yelling out something, shock in some of their voices probably due to the sight of the girl, but Bob couldn’t process any of it.

Y/N knelt down beside him, her powers reaching out and gently brushing against the edges of his mind. He knew she saw it, all that pain and loneliness that swirled within him. He felt her own call out to him, that same tug from earlier pulling hard against his heart.

Bob wanted to look at her, to end all of this and just hold her and apologize for leaving her like he had. He thought he had been doing the right thing, but none of this was right. The only time he felt okay had been when he was with her, but now he was afraid he was too far gone.

He wanted to scream for her to help, but even his mind was a storm of a million thoughts that he wasn’t even sure she would’ve heard him if he had tried. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he punched Void and he felt the kiss of a touch brush it away before her arms were wrapping around him, her body a steady weight against his own.

Bob threw another punch, but it was slower this time, Y/N’s embrace grounding him enough to start to realize where he was once again. He threw a few more punches as she whispered, “I’m here. I’m here.”

Her voice was shaky and he felt her own tears against his face as she held him and it was enough to have his fist pause in the air. Void titled his head as he looked at the boy, but Bob had turned his attention to Y/N, to her warmth, to the feel of her breath against his neck and the distant smell of lavender in her hair.

“I’m here,” she whispered again and Bob swallowed thickly. She gently brushed the back of his neck with her thumb and he softened against her, tears filling his eyes.

Words failed him so he sent the thought out to her instead, a question in his tone as he said, You found me.

I’ll always find you, she answered.

Bob’s hands dropped to his side at that, still clenched into fists but no longer punching Void. Y/N shifted so she put herself between the two and Bob leaned into her touch, shaking slightly as the darkness stopped at his shoulders.

“If you can't fight it, what makes you think he can?” the void taunted her, but Y/N ignored him as she dug her face into the crook of Bob’s neck.

“I’m here,” she assured him. “I’m here.”

"No!" the void cried out. "She doesn't understand. She doesn't get it. No one ever will. You're nothing."

Y/N held onto Bob tighter in that moment and Bob knew she was thinking of all the times she had probably said those words to herself. She moved her head so that their foreheads were pressed against one another and she shook her head slightly as she said, “Don’t listen to him. You’re not nothing, Bob. You’re. . .you’re everything.”

Bob cried at those words and he felt Y/N lift a hand up and heard the screeching of metal before he found himself being tackled by the Thunderbolts who all were quick to pull him into their embrace. He felt Yelena hug him from behind, her head resting against the side of his own. He felt John hold his clenched fist against his chest, his grip strong as he held the boy. He felt Ava, Alexei, and Bucky and the fierceness of their hold on him. The tears wouldn’t stop falling and a soft cry left his lips as they all held him as if they loved him, as if he mattered.

Void narrowed his eyes at Bob, his voice coming out rough as he said, “There will always be just us.”

“We’re here. You’re not alone,” Yelena whispered and Bob let out a sob as he let himself feel the embrace that was wrapped around him from all of his friends.

His friends.

Those two words felt so foreign to him, but it was enough to have him stop fighting against them.

You’re not alone, Y/N’s voice repeated into his head, the boy squeezing his eyes shut as his hand shakily reached up to rest against her neck and pressing her closer to him. I see you, Bob. I see you.

“He’s nothing. He’s always going to be nothing,” Void hissed and Bob winced at his words. Y/N shifted slightly, her lips pressing a soft kiss against his forehead before she pulled away.

Bob opened his eyes, hesitating slightly as he saw her turn to Void and stare down at him with sadness in her eyes. To his surprise, she reached out and gently touched the side of Void’s face, the darkness coming to an abrupt halt. The way he didn’t lash out at her told Bob that he was just as surprised as he was.

Void recoiled slightly as if her touch burned, but Y/N moved with him, her hand a steady presence against his cheek as she said, “I see you.” Both Bob and Void stilled at those words and the weight of what she was truly saying.

“I see all of you,” she whispered, her eyes flickering back to Bob who could only stare at the girl wide eyed. Tears were streaming down his face as the others held onto him and it was in that moment that he felt something break within him.

He couldn’t stop the sobs that were racking his body as he felt the darkness slowly release its hold on him enough that he knew they had won even if just for now.

He wasn’t alone.

The room began to melt away, the darkness receding as they all began to fall back.

Bob looked to the girl in a slight panic, knowing that they were about to escape and that he had no clue when he would see her again. He had so much he wanted to say to her. What if he forgot? What if this became another blank in his memory and he never saw her again?

He opened his mouth to call for her, but she already knew what he was thinking.

Don’t worry, Bob. We will see each other again, her voice whispered in his head with the gentleness of an ocean breeze in the early morning. Her eyes never left his own even as he felt his friends pulling him back.

She leaned forward, her fingers gently brushing the hair from his face before lingering against his cheek.

Bob softened slightly under her touch and neither of them broke eye contact as the Thunderbolts pulled him back and they broke free of the hold Void had placed on them all, their bodies falling back onto the streets of Manhattan while Y/N’s voice whispered a promise into his mind and straight to his heart.

I’ll find you.

[gotstabbedbyapen]

Why Apollo actually didn't have beef with Odysseus (spoiler for the Wisdom Saga)

Heads up, fellas: The rambling below contains spoiler for Epic the Wisdom Saga!

As we may know, in God Games, Athena needed to convince half of the Olympian council to approve Odysseus' release from Calypso's island. Apollo is the first god Athena encountered and the easiest for her to convince.

Now, why is that? Why does Apollo's beef with Odysseus seem way too easy to rebuke? He barely has any connection with the Sirens aside from the catchy songs, so why did he use them to "accuse" Odysseus (heavy on the quote-unquote because he barely even tried) and not the sacking of Troy, the murder of Astyanax, or the violation of the cows?

Here's my theory: Apollo has no real grudges against Odysseus. Apollo has every reason to be mad with the mentioned instances, but he is also the god of reason and rationality and knows there is no point in being angry.

First, as far as I know, Odysseus had not directly offended Apollo in the Trojan War or during his journey home. Apollo won't just harm anyone, he'd only take retribution against those who disrespected him greatly.

Second, the City of Troy had always been destined to fall so if it wasn't for Odysseus' wooden horse, someone else would have caused its demise. Apollo can't fault Odysseus for being part of the city's inevitable destiny.

Third, Apollo should be mad at Odysseus for killing an infant because he's the protector of the young, right? Well, in The Horse and The Infant, it was Zeus who told Odysseus that Astyanax was prophesied to take revenge on the Greek kings when he grew up, and he had to kill the infant to prevent that. Apollo is not one to go against his father's decree, so he wouldn't be mad at Odysseus for following suit.

(And if you look from a mythological standpoint, if Astyanax actually grew up to cause destruction to the Trojan War survivors, imagine how many sons and daughters of the Greek kings would suffer because the prophesied one was spared.)

Finally, why was he not mad with the cow thing??? Simple!

The cows were not even Apollo's, but Helios'. Apollo already gave his cows to Hermes in exchange for the lyre. So when Odysseus' crew killed the cows, they offended Helios, not Apollo. Of course, you could say Apollo should be mad on Helios' behalf, but that'll take us to point 2...

The crew killed the cows while Odysseus begged them to not. Odysseus didn't commit the crime or enable it, so he was in the clear. And lastly...

Odysseus' crew were already punished by death and Odysseus was left drifting in the sea and stuck on Calypso's island for seven years to the point of driven insane, so whatever "association" he could possibly have with the violation of the cows should be paid enough.

All that aside, Apollo has little to no beef with Odysseus and only makes up a flimsy "reason" to be mad out of obligation. He didn't care about bringing justice to Athena's favorite mortal, he probably only wanted to have fun in the family drama because hey, how often do you get to see your oldest sister asking for a favor from your King-god father?