Working the lunch shift at the ramen shop wasn’t glamorous, but it kept your hands busy and your thoughts away from the battlefield.

At least, until she showed up.

The bell over the door chimed, and in walked Madara — not in armor today, but in something far more dangerous: a knowing smirk and the full confidence of someone who knew exactly how to undo you.

She leaned against the counter, crimson eyes scanning the small shop like it was a war table. Her hair spilled down her back in a glossy cascade, her hips swaying deliberately as she approached.

“There you are,” she murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Covered in broth and sweat. It’s almost endearing.”

You didn’t have time to protest before she was behind the counter, slipping through like she owned the place — which, arguably, she did. Her hands slid around your waist from behind, pulling you back against her.

“You’ve been away from me for hours,” she purred into your ear, lips brushing your skin. “I’m dying.”

You tried to explain you had customers, but Madara wasn’t listening. She turned you around slowly, backing you against the prep table, her hands still gripping your apron.

“I came to steal a kiss,” she whispered, inches from your face. “Maybe several. Maybe I’ll just steal you.”

Then she pressed her lips against yours, slow and warm, her thumb brushing your cheek with surprising tenderness. When she finally pulled back, your breath was gone — and so was your ability to think straight.

Madara chuckled, smug and victorious.

“I’ll be waiting at home,” she said, flicking your nose playfully. “Don’t make me come back for you. Next time I’m dragging you out of here in front of everyone.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strolled out, leaving behind the scent of her perfume and the burning imprint of her kiss.

Ramen orders or not… you were definitely closing shop early.