#except this time it's unamusements

[sleepyowlwrites]

man i sleep like the alive. more specifically, the awake

[sleepyowlwrites]

and i need you to understand how unusual this is. if nothing else i have so much oc lore than I can tell you about at the drop of an ask but I currently have nothing and that's so weird!

i want to talk about my ocs but im literally this image. i got nothing

[your-local-grinning-cat]

AR Speaks

RIP (but not really) to Dr. Toesfarts. 🥀

Che’nya is being scarily quiet again today except to erupt into maniacal giggles at random intervals…

No idea when it’s going to happen. He’s currently still present in the Tulgey Woods. But who knows how long that’ll last.

I’m not asking. Plausible deniability and all that. Also it’s more fun to be surprised with the rest of you. This time I have my own popcorn ready! 🤣

[gctchella]

Typing up a draft and just had this thought: Since the Hotel fell apart, do you think that means the bar got squashed too, and Lucifer just made a newer, even grander one for Husk? And that has probably just put such a nasty bee in Alastor's bonnet?

[thistle-wrote]

Husbands

cw: established poly relationship, anal, vaginal sex. Authors note: for the first time in my life, I get to give one of those ridiculous notes to preface my fic. as I was writing this my house was swarmed with BEES so I'm sorry if it's bad lmfao. John Price X Simon Ghost Riley X Reader.

“John?” John glanced over at you, his focus mostly on the newspaper in his hand.

“Yes, princess?” 

“Love, why is Simon in the guest bed?” You question him, you weren’t upset by any means, truth be told you love it when Simon comes over, even more when he stays for a while it’s just when John crawled into your bed last night he hadn’t mentioned Simon was with him.

“Probably because he’s tired.” John said not looking up from the paper, it was the kind of plain, dry statement you usually got from your otherwise adoring husband. You met his gaze with a rather unamused expression, a silent demand for an actual answer.

“Needed some love from baby girl, that's all, we had a rough go round this time.” He states, leaning back farther into his recliner. You watch him as he gives a slight wince at the pain in his side. You hate that. John was clearly feeling as though that statement was enough of an explanation, and for the most part, it was.

You understood little of your husband’s job beyond the simple and watered down explanations he gives when he comes back from missions, still, you understood enough to know they needed extra love and care for a while afterwards, Simon is no different except for the fact he’s easier to deal with.

You make your way down the hallway, feeling the soft new carpet that you begged John for beneath your feet, muffling your steps. You open the door to the guest bedroom to find Simon sprawled out on the small bed.

“Si?”  You cautiously speak, you know for a fact he is not sleeping, the man rarely sleeps as is but definitely not in a bed two sizes too small and especially not after going through God knows what.

“Honey.” You probe again, walking now fully into the room and sitting down on the white crinkly duvet next to where he’s lying. His eyes are open but still, you get no response, you look him over noticing the new cut on his cheek, the facial hair he hasn’t bothered to shave yet, the bags under his eyes, the way his blonde hair sticks up in every direction from tossing and turning all night.

You never have loved the way he looks after a mission, always worse off than John, you know that John just hides it better but you worry for them both.

“Gotta tell me what you need, baby boy.” You mutter trying not to let the worry in your face show while brushing your fingers along the curve of his cheek, feeling the rough stubble that he will no doubt shave within a few days. He looks up at you, for a brief moment you can see the relaxed expression, like for a second he forgot about everything, everything but you. 

“I’m hungry.” A soft smile finds its way to your face. You lean down to place a soft kiss to his chapped lips.

“I’ll make you something.” 

As you cook you think of Simon, of John, you think of how lucky you are to not only have an amazing husband but to have the man in your guest bedroom. John doesn’t say it enough and Simon won’t ever admit it but the three of you have found a rhythm, this is Simon’s home as much as it was yours and John’s. It’s better when he’s home.

“Cookin’?” John asks after a few minutes, walking halfway into the kitchen and leaning onto the door frame.

“Yes.” You respond softly looking up with a smile, where John and Simon differ is mostly in the way that they treat you, neither one bad or wrong but different. John saw you, his little wife, as some sort of angel; he’s told you as much. He never asks or demands anything of you. You don’t work; you only cook or clean out of your own volition. To him, you’re more of a precious artifact that can’t be tampered with.

Simon is different, he’s a little more closed off, so you need a more aggressive approach, he’s learned over the years that your demands for him to tell exactly what he wants will be met with not hostility, but a soft hand and a loving voice, doing for him exactly what he needs. You’re sure that John wanted breakfast just as much as Simon did, but John would never ask for it.

As you cook, John remains in the kitchen, not speaking, but there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, it’s comfortable, loving, and warm despite John’s current condition he wants to be in your presence.

After a long stretch of comfortable silence, you speak again. “Simon looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.” You mutter. You know that despite him not always behaving like he does, John cares as much for Simon as you do. Simon and John have a relationship that is difficult to explain, not only in how John allows him into both your home and marital bed. But also, how John relies on Simon to take care of you when he can’t, to meet you at the petrol station to fill your tank when he’s closer, to call and check on you when his phone dies. John expects Simon to have the same kind of care for you as he does.

“He hasn’t.” John’s simple statement makes you stand on edge a little, you love Simon, John knows that. You know when they are gone doing things that they won’t explain to you, Simon has John to look out for him, but they are men. A pat on the back from John does not have the same effect that a tender embrace or a home cooked meal does.

Once the simple meal of toast, eggs, and sausage was cooked, you made John a plate, sitting in front of him with a small clink of ceramic against the granite island. He smiled, a wordless “thank you.“ as you made Simon a plate carrying it with you to the guest bedroom.

You didn’t bother with a knock when you entered the bedroom. You set the plate on the nightstand, then sat in the same spot you had previously.

“Sit up, love.” It’s a demand, a loving demand, but a demand, nonetheless. He does as requested.  You never wish for Simon to be wearing a shirt, but at this moment, seeing the bruise along his torso and the bandage on his arm, makes you almost wish he were wearing one. Your incessant need to mother your men at war with your desire to focus only on what you could control; you could control breakfast.

“Here.” You hum, placing the plate on his lap. His tired eyes find yours. As Simon eats, you don’t move, you just chatter, talking to him, as though he were responding you watch his silent nods as he shovels food into his mouth as if he would never get to eat again.  As Simon finished his plate you began to pick it up, taking it to clean when you felt a big rough hand wrap around your wrist.

“Don’t go.” His deep voice echoed through the room, not loud, or demanding but a clear plea. You nodded, understanding what he needed in that moment was not breakfast in bed or space but rather just your presence. 

You move over the bed, making a mental note to buy him a bigger bed for the guest bedroom since he’s the only one who stays in it. You cautiously curl up into his side, pushing your legs beneath the covers to intertwine them with his own. Simon wrapped his arms around you and sighed deeply.

It was a satisfied sigh. You let the large man manhandle you, allowing him to pull you where he sees fit with your head now resting against the inside of his shoulder and your fingers grazing along his tummy. He speaks finally for the first time without you prompting him to do so. “Missed you.” It’s quiet like a confession he doesn’t feel he’s allowed to make.

“I missed you too, baby.”  You don’t hold the same reservation about voicing your adoration for the man curled up next to you. A soft kiss grazed your lips as he pulled you further into his chest.

“Love you.” he murmured against your lips, your want to say it back was stopped by his mouth, continuing to move against yours, holding your arm, as if he feared you trying to pull away. Things with Simon have always been silent, actions rather than words. While he is silent, you are fully aware he is asking for something in the way his hands wandered from your arm to the small of your back, to your ass. 

A desperation to be close, close where your bodies can meld together. When his lips moved from yours to your neck you let out an involuntary little whine. His soft, loving kisses, turned into something more, an outlet.

“Si.” You whine out. He, despite being tired and drained from the past month, let out a laugh and an almost condescending chuckle, sure the sweet boy had been waiting for soft kisses and breakfast in bed, getting to cuddle with the captain’s missus but he was hungry and not for food.

You let out a little gasp when his hand slipped down the front of your leggings. “Si.” You repeated it again this time, breathless, longing.  He let out a groan when his fingers swept between your folds.

“There’s my girl.”  He said, his fingers gliding along your slick sex. You had no words left, no protests either. Already the world around you grew hazy, and before you knew what happened, your T-shirt and leggings were in a heap on the floor.

Simon took his time watching, touching, kissing. He drew orgasm after orgasm from your body with just the deep plunge of his fingers.

“Well, that’s a pretty sight.”  A deep voice hummed from the doorway. Normally, you would acknowledge the presence of your husband but the way your lover was working his fingers into you could make even the smartest of women feel dumb.

Simon didn’t respond, just glanced over through his dilated pupils, merely continuing as John crossed the bedroom sitting down on the duvet.  For a moment you thought he would just watch His lieutenant pull sweat noises from your lips, but you believed you may have seen God when his thumb made contact with your clit.

“Give us another, pretty girl.”  You weren’t sure in that moment exactly who the words came from; you were unable to respond. All you knew was that the words were being spoken to you. 

And you did, not that you could help it. It was almost instantaneous, the way your body tensed before releasing. You drenched Simon’s torso, you didn’t even realize what you’d done at first, you squirt so rarely.  Once their hands came to a halt, you blinked you opened your eyes. Embarrassment worked its way onto your already pink cheeks.

“I’m s…” Your apologies were instantly cut off. “Shut up.” The words weren’t mean despite the quickness and aggression in them. It wasn’t mean, it was desperate. Shirts were ripped off, pants unzipped. While you lay there heaving and trying to come down from your high.

There was zero protest from you when you were lifted from your spot on the bed. You were pulled to lay on top of Simon‘s chest. Even in your limp and already fucked out state, you had half of mind to protest simply because of his bruise. The words died in your throat though, as your husband knelt in front of you.

“Be good okay, Pretty?” John said, positioning your legs, pushing your knees against your shoulders as Simon held the underneath of your thighs. You nodded, both men seemingly took that as their go ahead.

Simon pushed himself into you, a sensation you had gotten used to throughout the years. He was big, but he likes your ass, so it’s not an abnormal feeling either. You whine and wiggle a little at first, but as he settles, your body got used to the stretch, as you tipped your head back John too, began nudging your wet hole with the reddened, hard tip of his cock.

John, however, did not give you the same consideration as Simon, there was no time to get used to the stretch. He plunged himself to the hilt, touching your cervix. In an instant it was as if everyone let out a sigh of relief, like this, despite the responsibilities and lives of every person, was exactly where they were all meant to be.

Both of your men began moving, each at their own pace. Each grunting and groaning. You don’t believe in heaven, it has always seemed an abstract concept. But this? This has to be it.

As they both rutted into you, you whined. “Don’t start crying on me now, princess.” John’s deep voice commanded. You obey as best you can. Simon squeezes on your thigh as he continues his relentless pace. The huffing and gripping onto his arms is all you can do to keep from screaming in pleasure.

They each continue with rapidly increasing speeds, speaking filthy things to you as they near their individual climaxes. “Milkin’ me fokin’ dry.”  The first words from Simon’s mouth in a while, an indication of just how close he was. 

John was not far off, his breathing was rapid, his grip on your knees nearing on painful. His strokes got harder, rougher. Then all at once you could feel him snap, you could feel the warmth of him spilling into you. His pace slowed as he rode out his orgasm.

Simon did not stop. Soon his pace too slowed as he filled you up with him. 

You all lay there for a moment, no one speaking. Just breathing in the comfortable, love filled space. You always know exactly what to do to give them the little TLC they need.

CoD Masterlist

[sleepyowlwrites]

this and "oh, I do have friends" are pretty much what all my stories are about

Writing an "Oh. Oh." moment, except instead of "Oh shit, I am in love" it's "Oh shit, I am traumatized."

[pomefioredove]

overblots and rollo with a reader who flirts a lot unknowingly? like they see it as friendly teasing or just genuinely giving someone a compliment they don’t think of it as romantic. (their reaction to you accidentally flirting with them or. someone else and they start seething perhaps?!)

oh... I'm guilty of this (｡- .•)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ accidental flirting

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus, rollo ~☆ additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

it's not like Riddle's fellow students have never complimented him, but this is different. his academic achievement is not like... what had you said? the color of his eyes?

no one would be so bold as to compliment his physical features, let alone call them "beautiful" ... no one except for you, of course

you seemed rather confused when his whole face turned red. hopefully, you won't think about it too much...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

what was that? Leona looks nice when he dresses up? well, aren't you the flatterer? go on, then, say something else. he's listening!

Leona knows you didn't mean it that way, but that makes it even better. smug bastard. and it gives him the go ahead to flirt back, without you even realizing! if you weren't such a clueless little herbivore, he'd think you were trying to get something out of him... but you're you, so he knows you mean it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you're so strange. you're definitely just mirroring Azul's body language and flattery, but you're being genuine, too... you're so socially awkward, it's making you a flirt. he's trying to butter you up for a deal, not a date!

...well... he was, anyway

now he's got to figure out how exactly to flirt back in a way that'll sound genuine coming from him...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

is it unconscious? are you teasing? or have you suddenly become a flirt overnight? Jamil is having a difficult time reading the room, which is unusual for him. the way you've been complimenting him, batting those pretty eyelashes of yours, is... distracting, to say the least

...he could also be reading too much into this. maybe he just needs a nap

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil simply can't pass up the opportunity. can you blame him? there you are, looking adorable as per usual, telling him all this nonsense about how lucky his future partner will be, blah, blah...

and you're clueless. it's endearing, really. he'll call you sweet and leave you with a kiss on the cheek

something to think about for later ;3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

are you trying to send Idia to an early grave??? of course, the one time he lets Ortho drag him outside, there you are, as cutesy and... sunshine-y as ever, telling him you like his hair with a smile. and what does he say?

"uh- um- uh-"

great work, everyone. he'll work on that

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

fae courting is... strange. you know this. you don't know all of it, though. so when you tell Malleus you've planted some Briar Valley flora around Ramshackle for him... he sort of takes it as a vow. it's basically like a promise ring to him

he's all sunshine and rainbows for the rest of the week, much to everyone else's confusion

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rollo will hit you with the most unamused look you've gotten in your entire life, politely tell you to be decent, thank you, and then leave to lie in bed and think about your future wedding for the rest of the day. that's just the kinda guy he is

[toytle]

my little sister asked me to draw “barry and hal and batman as friends when they were younger,” and who am i to deny a childhood friends au

tip jar

[ID in alt text + readmore]

IMAGE 1: Fan comic of Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen, and Hal Jordan in a childhood friends AU. Bruce has dark slicked back hair, bat-motif eyebrows, a grey button-down, dark slacks, and dark dress shoes. Barry has feathery blonde hair with strands behind his ears resembling wings, lightning motif eyebrows and blush, white short sleeved button-up, a blue vest and red bowtie, light blue jeans, and white winged sneakers. Hal has short fluffy brown hair, freckles and an off-center tooth gap, a pilot jacket over a green T-shirt, dark baggy jeans, and brown sneakers.

Bruce: [knee to ground, observing a feather through a magnifying glass]

Barry: [crouching, concentrated expression, nodding with finger to lip]

[vague word bubble behind them reading: *sleuth sleuth* *ramble ramble ramble* *science science* *blah blah blah*]

Hal: [head thrown back in exasperation, holding toy airplane] This is so BOOORRIIING.

IMAGE 2:

Hal: [bored frustrated expression, arms out] Can we play something else now?

Bruce [rolling eyes] and Barry [furrowed eyebrows]: [simultaneously] No.

IMAGE 3:

Hal: [shaking Barry by the shoulders] Barryyyy

Barry: [undisturbed, hands on hips still deep in concentration]

-

Barry: [unchanged pose] Hal, I already said no. It’s not fun when you’re the only one with the plane.

Hal: [frowns]

-

Hal: [forward facing unamused expression] Hrmm.

-

Hal: [puts hand on Barry’s shoulder as if making a pitch] Well… who said it had to be airplanes again?

Barry: [eyes light up with curiosity] ?

IMAGE 4:

Hal: [on monkey bars, wearing a green rubber band as a ring] My power ring lets me fly, so good luck reaching me now!

Barry: [looking up at him with a pokerfaced pout]

-

Barry: [viewed from above, awkward determined smile] Uh, well, I can run so fast that it creates a tornado that pulls you back down!

-

Barry: [starts to run in a circle, tongue out of determination]

Hal: [holding on to monkey bar with one hand, pointing his “ring” at Barry with the other] Oh yeah? Then I’ll just stop you in your tracks before you can even take the next step!

-

Barry: [stops, looks up at Hal in irritation, hair swooshed back from running] What? That’s cheating.

IMAGE 5:

Hal: [hopping down from monkey bars] How is that cheating? You literally just used time travel, like, a second ago!

-

Barry: [counting off his fingers] But you can fly, AND use telekinesis, AND shield yourself, AND create anything, AND—

Hal: [throwing arms up in disbelief] Barry, you TIME TRAVEL.

-

Hal and Barry: [blurry foreground bickering]

Bruce: [deadpan annoyed expression] <- Chose a superhero persona w/ no powers

IMAGE 6: Barry Allen narration boxes from The Flash (2016) #21: “Bruce Wayne. The Batman. The day I joined the Justice League was the first time in my life I felt like I had real friends I could relate to… But when I talked forensics… I could see in their eyes that I might as well have been speaking another language. Except Bruce. We could talk about evidence for hours.”

IMAGE 7: Hal Jordan narration boxes from Legends of the DC Universe #33: “Just seeing Barry lifts my spirits. He always had a knack for doing that. I don’t know if I was ever truly innocent… but handing out with the Flash sure made me feel that way. We were like a couple of kids—playing at being super-heroes. So I don’t think anyone’ll mind if we play again…”

[p1astr81]

just a prank - op81

in which: Lando has his friends over, and while his roommate is taking a shower, they decide to play a prank on her. Oscar is the one to come to her rescue.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x Lando’s roommate!reader

warnings: uni au, fluff, bullying lowkey, use of y/n, a little objectifying, my first fic on here so pls don’t be rude

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧

Y/N just got off work, and she desperately needed a shower.

Wanting to become a physiotherapist, she worked part-time at a private secondary school alongside the athletic trainer to make some money while she studied at uni. She was helping one of the football athletes. He’d sprained his ankle earlier in the season, and she was having him do a few exercises to rebuild his strength in that foot.

Long story short, three boys came in asking for her to tape up their knees. Before she could say anything, one of the boys “tripped” and spilled an entire can of Red Bull down the front of her. The nice football player offered his shirt to her, but she politely declined. She’d remained in the sticky clothes for the rest of the day. And as soon as she got home, she jumped in the shower.

Conveniently, her roommate, Lando Norris, forgot to tell her that he invited a bunch of his friends over. So a quarter of the way through her shower, the shared apartment became filled with boys.

“What is taking her so long? I have to piss,” Keegan complained. Lando just shrugged. “Oh!” Carlos exclaimed, like a lightbulb just went off in his head. “Let’s play a prank on her.” He suggested. “Like turn off the lights?” Max Fewtrell asked. “Or turn off her music.” Ginge grumbled. The pop music was blasting, filling the apartment with the vocals of various pop girls.

“I was thinking more like take her clothes,” Carlos said, a mischievous tone about his voice. Lando laughed. “Just say you want to see my roommate naked, mate.”

Oscar thought they should leave her be, but he wasn’t friends with everyone in the room. Only Lando. And he didn’t want to be labeled as a kill joy, so he stayed silent.

“It’s not just me, I think everyone wants a piece of her.” Carlos defended himself, glancing at the others in the room who hesitantly nodded along—well, except for Oscar. “You’ve got your share already, haven’t you?”

Lando shook his head. “Nope, she sees me as a ‘friend’.” He shared, unamused. The room winced at the fact he’d been friendzoned. Carlos got up from the couch, and headed down the hallway where the bathroom was located.

Y/N heard the door open and groaned. “Lando how many times do I have to tell you, you have to knock before coming in.” You scolded, but instead of the usual sassy response you’d receive, it was silence. The door clicked closed, and you peaked your head out, not noticing anything different immediately.

Carlos emerged from the hallway. “Got the clothes, and the towel.” He held up the items proudly. The group of them cheered. Something inside Oscar’s stomach twisted. These aren’t the people he thought he befriended.

after around fifteen minutes, the shower water turned off, and her music followed quickly after. “Lando!” She shouted but got no reply. So she stuck her head out of the door. “Lando! Give me my stuff back!” She demanded. This time, she was met with laughter. She quickly realized it wasn’t just Lando in the apartment. Panic set in.

Her roommate seeing her without clothes on was one thing. She could live with that embarrassment. He accidentally walked in on her changing once before. But by the sounds of it, there were at least five other people out there. The status of their phones—whether they would be recording or not—was completely unknown to her.

She shut the bathroom door, and began scheming. Her first thought was the shower curtains, but the rust had fused the clips of the cheap hangers together. She could use the hand towel, but that wouldn’t cover much. Toilet paper wasn’t an option, as there was so little left in the roll that it would help just about as much as the hand towel. She was left with pleading.

She stuck her head out the door again. “Lando, come on. Just give me a bath towel at least.” All she heard was laughter. “I’ll buy you take-away for a week.” She tried to bargain. Again, only laughter. She huffed. Knowing most of Lando’s friends were pining after her, she tried to bargain with, “I’ll kiss every one of you if you just give me a towel.” There was no laughter immediately, as if they were actually considering it. It gave her a little bit of hope. But it shattered moments later as they began to laugh again.

Seeing as bargaining didn’t work, she was reduced to begging. “Lando, please.” They only laughed harder, but their laughter was soon replaced with cries of disappointment. “Mate, don’t.” “Come one man don’t be a wet blanket.” “Dude she was gonna have to come out eventually.”

Her saving grace appeared at the end of the hallway, her towel in his hands. While the hallway was dimly lit, the floppy hair on his head couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else. Oscar was always her favorite out of all Lando’s friends.

He stopped in front of her. The bathroom light illuminated his face enough for her to see his small smile. “Thank you so much.” Her words came out with a sigh of gratitude. His smile widened as he nodded, his hair flopping along with his head.

She closed the door on him, and re-emerged seconds later with the towel wrapped about her. “Oscar,” she called to the man who was stood at the end of the hall. He turned to her with a raised brow as she caught up with him. She took his arm, passing the group of booing boys on the way to her bedroom.

She brought Oscar into her room and locked the door behind them. “Oh, no. I didn’t do that to get anything in return.” He quickly said, his eyes wide. He did not want her to feel like she was obligated to give him something.

“Trust me, I know.” She smiled. “You’ve always been my favorite out of all of Lando’s friends. You’re the only polite one.” She shared while digging through her dresser for new pajamas. Carlos was still holding her other ones hostage.

“Oh, uhm, thanks.” He scratched the back of his neck. He was looking everywhere except at her. “Turn around for me.” She requested, and he quickly listened.

His cheeks went red when he heard her towel drop. He wanted to take a peak. Like the other boys, he did think you were very attractive. But unlike the other boys would have, he didn’t try to steal a glance at you. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very good looking?” She asked.

“My grandma called me handsome once.” He shared. Her laughter rang out, the angelic sound floating right to his ears and making his head feel a little lighter. “Funny, good looking, and polite. It’s a wonder you haven’t been locked down yet.” She laughed again.

Oscar didn’t know what to say to that, so he just laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I’m probably making this really weird. I just wanted to thank you.” She apologized, her voice sincere. Oscar shook his head quickly. “It’s not weird, and you don’t need to thank me.” She heard in his voice how nervous he was, and smiled softly at him. “You can turn around now, by the way.” He did, and bit back a laugh at the set of hot-pink pug pajamas she’d put on. “Don’t laugh. They’re all I have clean.” She sighed.

“‘M not laughing.” He stated, though his voice was very clearly on the verge of breaking into hysterics. He couldn’t help it, and after a few seconds let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, alright. You can get back to your friends now. Sorry for keeping you.”

“Eh,” Oscar stammered. “I’m a bit afraid to go back out there, if I’m honest.” He confessed with a nervous glance toward the door. She shrugged. “You could stay here with me. I don’t mind. I was just going to watch a few episodes of Brooklyn 99 before going to sleep.”

He hesitated. “If you truly don’t mind.” She shook her head and scooted over to make room for him in the bed next to her.

Morning arrived, and when Oscar stretched his limbs, he found himself unable to move a great part of the left side of his body. Glancing down to investigate the problem, he found y/n at it’s source. He realized he never left her room last night, and as a result, they fell asleep together.

Slowly, he sunk back into the mattress, doing his best to keep her from waking. She looks inexplicably tranquil beside him. A small smile graced her lips as her head laid on his chest. An arm of hers was draped across his torso, and she had a leg laying cross his, disabling his ability to move them freely. He didn’t mind, though. In fact, he found himself at peace.

Despite his attempt at not disturbing her, she began to stir. She blinked repeatedly, trying to wake herself up. She let out a sigh before lifting her eyelids. She looked up at Oscar through her lashes. “Oh,” she muttered, lazily pulling herself away from him. “Sorry about that.” She apologized. Oscar found her groggy voice somewhat endearing. “I suppose you should get going, then.” She stood, stretching her arms toward the sky.

Oscar nodded. “Only if you let me take you out tonight.” He didn’t know where the confidence came from, and as soon as he got the words out, he began apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I’m not normally- I didn’t mean-“

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.” She interrupted his fumbling, smiling warmly at him. “I’ll walk you out.”

On their way out, they passed Lando, who was toasting pop tarts. “Have a fun night?” He asked bitterly.

“Calm down, we didn’t fuck.” She rolled her eyes before adding, “If we did, you definitely would’ve heard.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waved her off. “All the guys aren’t too fond of you now.” He told Oscar, who shrugged. “They’re not the kind of blokes I care to be friends with, anyway.” Y/n smiled up at him.

“Oh!” She hummed, facing Lando. “and you’re going to have to cook your own food tonight. We’re going out.”

Lando rolled his eyes as the toaster popped from behind him.

[sleepyowlwrites]

that's MY line

See the thing is. Sleepy. You know. And under the sleepy? Fatigue. What am I supposed to do with that?

[itendtothinkalot]

in this economy? (part 2)

summary: you needed money. he needed a fake girlfriend. easy deal, right? except he’s your best friend’s boss. and you’re one minor inconvenience away from setting something on fire. he’s cold, rich, emotionally unavailable. you’re loud, broke, and very good at pretending this isn’t slowly turning real.

genre: fluff | fake dating

characters: ceo!heeseung x f! broke ass reader

words: 11k???

warnings: implied sex

part 1

"Where's Jake?" you asked, dropping your bag onto the seat in front of Heeseung’s desk like you owned the place.

He didn’t glance up from his computer. “He has a meeting. I sent him on my behalf.”

You blinked. “Wait. You actually trust him to speak on your behalf?”

Heeseung paused, then looked up slowly. “Not really. But the board finds him charming and impossible to argue with, so it balances out.”

“Huh.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Dangerous skill set. Should be illegal, honestly.”

You hesitated for a beat, shifting your weight between your feet.

“Then… should we still continue?” you asked. “I mean, without Jake hovering and directing us like a deranged drama teacher. I can come back in an hour. Or tomorrow. Or never. I’m flexible.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to the pantry to steal bread, aren’t you?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“I—”

“There’s some over there,” he said, cutting you off with a tired sigh, nodding to a neat tray sitting on a side table near the window. “You don’t have to steal them anymore.”

You stared at him.

He looked back at you, completely unamused.

“You stocked bread for me?”

“No,” he said flatly. “They were already there. I just didn’t bother to hide them.”

Your lips twitched. “So… a passive offering.”

“More like preemptive damage control.”

You crossed your arms and tried not to smile. “You’re being oddly considerate today.”

“I just don’t want crumbs on my conference table again.”

“I make no promises.”

Heeseung exhaled, returning to his screen.

You walked over to the tray, took a roll, and sat down in the chair across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And somehow… it kind of was.

The two of you had, against all odds, managed to fall into a kind of rhythm.

Heeseung sat at his desk, typing away at some high-stakes corporate proposal with the focus of a man trying to win a war. His jaw was tense. His posture perfect. Not a single hair out of place.

You, on the other hand, were curled up on his couch—yes, the very expensive, probably Italian-imported couch in the corner of his office—laptop balanced on your thighs, working on a university assignment that made you question all your life choices.

It had been relatively peaceful.

Until you sighed.

Again.

For the tenth time.

Loudly.

Heeseung’s fingers paused on the keyboard. He let out a groan, leaning back in his chair. “Can I help you?”

You didn’t look up. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve sighed ten times in the last fifteen minutes.”

“I sigh when I’m tired,” you muttered, chin resting in your palm. “It’s a coping mechanism.”

“Then maybe you should be concerned for my well-being.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was the tiniest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You know, most people who use my office do it for meetings. Business. Work.”

“I am working,” you said, lifting your laptop like a trophy. “This is an academic battlefield.”

He snorted softly. “Right. And I assume the heavy sighing is your war cry?”

“Correct.”

You slumped further into the couch, dramatically over-exaggerating your next exhale.

Heeseung shook his head, mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable, but he didn’t kick you out.

Instead, he turned back to his screen.

And you kept sighing.

Maybe a little louder this time—just for fun.

You were trying. Truly. Every ounce of effort was going into keeping your eyes open.

But the soft whir of the air conditioning, the muffled clicks of Heeseung’s keyboard, and the dangerously plush couch—the one you swore had memory foam meant for seduction—were all working against you.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Your screen blurred. Your head dipped.

And then you were gone.

Curled up awkwardly, slumped to one side, your head tilted off the edge of the couch like gravity had given up. Your mouth parted slightly, and one arm hung limp off the cushion, fingers twitching like they were still trying to finish a sentence.

Across the room, Heeseung didn’t notice right away.

But then the silence hit.

No more sighing. No muttering. No passive-aggressive typing.

He finally looked up from his screen.

You were fast asleep. In his office. On his couch. With your mouth open.

And somehow… you still looked soft. Small. Asleep in a way only someone who was truly exhausted could be—your guard down completely for the first time since he met you.

His brows lifted, surprised at the sudden pang in his chest.

He set his pen down. Sat back in his chair.

Then, after a moment, he rose—slowly, quietly, as if not to wake you.

He crossed the room, footsteps soundless against the carpet. For a beat, he just stood there, gazing down at you. Your breath was steady, lashes resting against your cheeks, hair a little messy from where you’d burrowed into the armrest like it owed you comfort.

Heeseung let out a small breath of amusement. Shook his head. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he shrugged off his jacket.

It was still warm from his body. Crisp and dark and clearly expensive.

But without a second thought, he leaned down and draped it over your sleeping frame—gentle, careful. He adjusted it around your shoulders, tucking the edge around your knees like someone who’d done this before. Like someone who wanted you to stay warm.

His fingers hovered at your wrist for a second too long.

He didn’t know when it had started—this quiet shift inside him. This tug. This softness.

You mumbled something in your sleep and shifted slightly under the jacket, your nose scrunching the way it always did when you were annoyed.

Heeseung smiled. Not the amused kind. Not the forced, polite kind he used at business meetings.

He watched you for another beat, hands back in his pockets now, expression unreadable save for the faint flicker in his eyes.

“…Don’t drool on the couch,” he murmured softly.

Your breathing had evened out. The room was quiet. Peaceful, even. But then your head shifted.

Just slightly at first, a twitch in your sleep—then more. A slow, inevitable tilt toward the edge of the couch cushion. Your cheek slipped against the fabric, your entire upper body beginning to slide.

Heeseung caught you before gravity could win. His hand shot out, steadying the side of your head, palm cradling the curve of your temple with surprising gentleness.

He froze.

Your hair was soft. Your skin warm against his fingers.

You stirred at the contact, brows twitching, and he held his breath.

If he moved you too suddenly, you'd wake up. And as much as he'd pretend it was to avoid the awkward explanation, a small part of him didn’t want to see that shift in your eyes—the one where you’d go from relaxed and unguarded to self-conscious in a flash.

So, he didn’t move you.

Instead, with a barely-there sigh, Heeseung sat down beside you. Slowly. Carefully.

And with a hesitant, almost unsure motion, he tilted his shoulder toward you, easing your head against it.

You didn’t stir.

He relaxed, just slightly, settling in. One arm resting loosely behind you on the back of the couch, the other propped on his leg. Your head fit there like it belonged—heavy, warm, grounding in a way that made no logical sense to a man who built his world out of logic.

He turned his head just enough to glance down.

You were still sleeping. Peacefully now, your lips parted, breath brushing the fabric of his shirt.

He shouldn’t have let this happen.

This wasn’t part of the contract. This wasn’t strategy. This was something else entirely. Something real. And that was dangerous.

But… he didn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

Minutes passed. Long enough for the hum of his computer to fade into background noise. Long enough for the warmth of your body to seep through the layers between you.

Eventually, without quite meaning to, Heeseung's head drifted sideways.

And rested gently against yours.

His eyes closed.

Sleep tugged at him.

And before he could tell himself this was a terrible idea, he was out too.

—

“Uh… Mr. Lee?”

The voice was hesitant. Too hesitant.

Heeseung stirred with a low breath, one hand coming up to rub the sleep from his face. His neck ached. His back cracked. His eyes were still half-closed, vision blurry from the impromptu nap—until the shape beside him shifted ever so slightly.

Warmth. Weight. Soft hair against his collarbone.

You.

Still asleep, head nestled against his shoulder, one hand curled lightly near his chest, your body tucked close to his side like you’d been there all along. Your leg had, at some point, slid across the cushion, half draped over his. His jacket—his expensive, custom-tailored jacket—was still wrapped around you.

And you looked peaceful.

Which made it worse.

His breath caught, muscles going rigid. He moved the tiniest bit and—

Your head shifted.

Rested more firmly against him.

His eyes widened. He froze.

The sudden, horrifying realization of his current position crashed down on him like a second cup of scalding coffee: He was on a couch. In his office. Asleep. With you.

His fake girlfriend.

His hired, bread-stealing, chaotic fake girlfriend.

He didn’t even have time to process the panic beginning to crawl up his throat before a second voice—a louder one—cut through the awkward silence.

“SEUNG!”

A loud clap echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Heeseung flinched violently. You jerked awake with a muffled yelp, nearly toppling off the couch in the process.

Jake was standing near the door, clutching his tablet awkwardly like it was a shield. His expression was half amused, half frozen in I’m witnessing something I should absolutely not be witnessing panic.

And behind him—

Grandpa Lee.

Cheerful. Smiling. And very observant.

Heeseung sat bolt upright, his shoulder cold from where your head had been. You blinked up at the room in confusion, your hair a mess, his jacket slipping off one shoulder.

Your eyes met Jake’s first.

Then Grandpa’s.

Then slowly—painfully—Heeseung’s.

There was a long, horrible silence.

Jake cleared his throat. “I—I knocked. I definitely knocked.”

You looked at Heeseung, wide-eyed, still half-asleep. “Did I… drool on you?”

Heeseung said nothing.

Because yes.

Yes, you had.

Right on his dress shirt.

He ran a hand down his face.

Grandpa Lee took one look at the scene—the two of you crumpled on the couch, the jacket, the disheveled closeness, the obvious, inarguable evidence of intimacy—and clapped again.

Grandpa Lee took one look at the scene—the two of you tangled on the couch, his grandson’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your face still warm from sleep, Heeseung looking like he’d rather melt into the floor—and clapped again.

This time in absolute delight.

“Well, well, well!” he beamed, eyes twinkling. “So this is the girlfriend I’ve been hearing about.”

He wiggled his eyebrows with the energy of a man half his age and immediately began making his way across the room—eyes fixed on you like you were a prize to be claimed.

Unfortunately, the coffee table had other plans.

He bumped into it with a grunt, then made an awkward shuffle-waddle between the corner of the table and the armrest of the couch, muttering something about how “the furniture in this place keeps shrinking.”

You panicked.

Immediately sprang to your feet like someone had launched you out of a cannon.

“Hello! Mr. Lee!” you blurted, practically diving over the armrest to intercept him before he got too close to your nap crime scene. You stumbled slightly as you landed, pushing your hair back and straightening your posture in one frantic movement. “It’s, um—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stuck your hand out stiffly. Firm grip. Friendly smile. Crisis mode: activated.

He took your hand with both of his, beaming. “My, my, my. You’re prettier in person than the way Jake described you.”

Your eyes snapped to Jake, who was hiding behind his tablet and mouthing I’m so sorry while also very clearly not sorry at all.

You turned back to Grandpa Lee, cheeks on fire. “Ah—thank you, sir. I—um—I really wasn’t planning to… meet you while half-asleep on Heeseung’s couch but—”

You laughed. A bit too high-pitched.

Heeseung made a strangled noise behind you.

Grandpa Lee chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about that. You’re the first girl I’ve seen knock him out cold. Must be doing something right.”

Your soul left your body.

You smiled, borderline delirious now. “Right. Yes. That’s me. Doing things right.”

Grandpa leaned in slightly, peering at you with amused affection. “You call him Seung, huh?”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

“You called him Seung in your sleep,” Jake chimed in unhelpfully from the corner.

Heeseung let out a sharp exhale. “Jake.”

“I just thought it was cute,” Jake said, shrugging.

“I—I must’ve been dreaming!” you blurted, your laugh high and awkward as you fidgeted with the sleeves of Heeseung’s jacket still wrapped around you. “Dreams are wild, right? Who knows what they mean. Crazy subconscious stuff—anyway!”

Your eyes lit up suddenly, and you reached out, gently grasping Grandpa’s forearm. “Grandpa Lee, have you eaten yet? You must be so tired after all the traveling. I should’ve asked earlier—do you want some tea? Water? Should I—should I find someone to bring you something?”

His eyes crinkled, delighted. “My, oh my. A girl with so much manners.”

He gave you a fond pat on the back, then turned immediately to Heeseung, his face dropping into theatrical disapproval. “You little brat.”

Heeseung, still half-seated on the couch, blinked. “What?”

Grandpa raised his cane with flair, like a sword in a historical drama. “Why aren’t you the one taking care of me?”

“I—I didn’t know you were coming today—”

“She’s the one asking all the thoughtful questions,” Grandpa interrupted, gesturing toward you with a dramatic swing of his cane. “Why aren’t you ever this considerate? Huh?”

Heeseung opened his mouth to respond. Closed it. Looked mildly offended. “I pay for your full-time driver, your concierge doctor, and the personal chef who makes your weird seaweed soup every Tuesday.”

“And yet,” Grandpa sniffed, crossing his arms, “she asks me if I’ve eaten. That’s love. That’s care. That’s human decency.”

You tried very hard not to laugh, smoothing your hair nervously and reaching to help Grandpa steady himself when he shifted his cane.

He gave your hand a squeeze.

“You’re very sweet, dear,” he said, looking at you like you’d just personally renewed his faith in humanity. “If Seung doesn’t treat you well, I’ll disown him.”

You turned pink. “Oh—thank you, sir. He’s been… very kind.”

Behind you, Heeseung made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan.

You turned to glance at him, and just for a second—just one—his usual blank expression cracked.

There it was.

A barely-there smile.

Small. Subtle. But real.

It disappeared the moment you made eye contact.

He looked away with a mutter of, “He’s going to be insufferable about this for weeks.”

But he didn’t stop smiling. Not completely.

And when you turned back to Grandpa, still fussing over whether he needed tea or a cushion or someone to call his driver, Heeseung just watched you quietly.

With a look that wasn’t quite annoyance.

Not quite amusement.

Something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

—

Somehow, without quite meaning to, you’d been swept into the strange, chaotic current of the Lee family dynamic.

Jake had left hours ago—after giving you a dramatic, drawn-out farewell like he was being shipped off to war and not just heading back to his apartment. You’d waved him off, chuckling under your breath, unaware that the moment he was gone, you were being voluntarily held hostage by a rich, meddling grandfather and his emotionally-repressed grandson.

“I insist,” Grandpa Lee had said, gripping your hand like a man on a mission. “Come to dinner. We’ll order something good. I’ll show you pictures of baby Heeseung. You’ll love it.”

You had tried, really tried, to politely decline.

But the man begged.

Not gently. Not in passing.

He begged—with wide eyes and dramatic sighs and the kind of wounded expression only grandfathers and veteran actors could pull off.

You couldn’t say no.

You weren’t heartless.

Not even if he was filthy, stinking rich and had an estate large enough to qualify for its own postal code.

So now here you were.

Entering the Lee family home like you’d been there a thousand times, when in reality, you were still trying to figure out if this entire week was an elaborate fever dream.

“Careful now,” you said gently, your hand looped around Grandpa Lee’s arm as you helped him up the front steps. “We can go slowly, no rush at all.”

“Oh, you’re an angel,” he replied, letting you guide him toward the front door like you were escorting royalty. “You’re much gentler than my useless grandson. That boy leads me around like I’m made of bricks.”

You laughed softly. “Well, you’ve only got one pair of knees, sir. I intend to make sure you keep them.”

He chuckled, clearly pleased.

Behind you, Heeseung followed a few steps behind—quiet, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding the door open as he watched the two of you walk ahead like old companions.

He should’ve been annoyed.

His grandfather was clearly laying it on too thick, pushing boundaries, dragging you into family traditions you had no business being part of.

But instead…

Heeseung just watched.

You, glancing over your shoulder to flash him a smile that was too real for a fake girlfriend.

His grandfather, soaking up your attention like sunshine and already asking if you liked kimchi stew or preferred something mild for dinner.

And Heeseung?

He thought about how much he could get used to this.

—

The dining room table could seat twelve.

Twelve.

Twelve humans.

Maybe fourteen if two of them were toddlers and didn’t mind elbow contact.

You sat across from Heeseung, quietly chewing your food like a peasant at Versailles, trying not to let your eyes dart around the room every five seconds. But how could you not? The chandelier above you looked like it belonged in a royal ballroom. The dinnerware probably had a net worth higher than your student loans.

God, his house was huge.

You were ninety-nine percent sure there was an echo in the room. The soft jazz playing through hidden speakers? Offensively classy. You were half-expecting someone to walk out offering you a wine list in French.

The fanciest place you’d ever eaten was Cheesecake Factory. Once. And Jake had paid.

Meanwhile, here you were being served short ribs plated on imported porcelain while pretending to be the loving girlfriend of Lee Heeseung, Seoul’s most emotionally constipated tech prince.

Heeseung, for what it was worth, sat beside you with practiced ease—perfect posture, calm expression, cutting his food like it was being filmed for an etiquette manual. But every now and then, his eyes flicked toward you.

And lingered.

Just for a moment.

Grandpa Lee, of course, was in full host mode. Reclined at the head of the table, wine glass in hand, looking positively smug.

“So,” he said, pausing mid-chew, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened.

Heeseung paused, fork in midair.

Oh no.

This was it.

The fake dating interrogation.

“Ah—” you began, immediately kicking Heeseung under the table for backup.

“She was…” Heeseung started slowly, eyes shifting toward you. “She was at a café.”

You nodded quickly. “Right! I was getting coffee.”

Heeseung added, “She spilled it.”

“On myself,” you confirmed, gesturing vaguely at your shirt like it still bore the evidence. “Scalding hot latte.”

Grandpa raised an eyebrow. “Romantic.”

You pressed on. “And he—Heeseung—offered me napkins.”

“Nine of them,” Heeseung said flatly.

You turned to him, surprised. “You remember the number?”

He blinked. “It was excessive.”

Grandpa watched the two of you like a cat watching goldfish. “And then?”

“And then we started talking,” you said quickly. “And he—um, he helped me order a replacement drink because I was too embarrassed to go back to the counter.”

Heeseung cleared his throat. “It was a weirdly long line.”

“But he waited,” you said, and then—before you could stop yourself—smiled a little. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

There was a pause.

A beat longer than necessary.

Heeseung looked at you.

You looked at him.

And something about the way your smile lingered—soft, a little grateful—made his chest feel strangely warm. He swallowed.

You quickly turned back to Grandpa, cheeks hot.

“So, yes,” you said, stabbing your fork into your rice like you were sealing the story with a signature. “That’s how it happened.”

Grandpa sipped his wine, clearly amused. “Hmm.”

“You don’t believe us?” you asked, trying not to panic.

“I do,” he said easily. “Too many details. Real liars don’t share numbers. Nine napkins? That’s commitment.”

You nearly exhaled in relief.

Then, out of nowhere, Grandpa added, “And I saw the way he looked at you just now.”

You froze.

Heeseung did too.

The room went quiet.

“I’ve known that boy since he was born,” Grandpa said, setting his wine down with a quiet clink. “He doesn’t look at people like that.”

Your throat tightened. “Like what?”

“Like he forgot he’s supposed to be faking something.”

You blinked. Slowly.

Heeseung didn’t say anything. But you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the shift in the air beside you.

And then—suddenly, quietly—his hand brushed yours under the table.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to ground you. To say yeah, that wasn’t planned either.

You didn’t pull away.

And you didn’t speak.

But you felt it.

“Oh.”

The room had settled into a strange kind of stillness.

Not uncomfortable—just quiet. Like everyone was waiting for someone else to speak.

You kept your eyes down, gently prodding the last piece of rib on your plate, pretending your heart wasn’t doing tiny somersaults over the fact that Heeseung’s fingers had just brushed yours under the table.

Grandpa, of course, was not one to let silence win.

He set his glass down with a soft clink, leaned forward slightly, and said, with all the casualness of a man dropping a bomb:

“You know, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Your fork paused mid-motion.

Heeseung visibly stiffened beside you.

You blinked up at Grandpa. “Like what?”

“So… attentive,” he said, as if that explained everything. “My grandson doesn’t just give away his jacket. That thing is practically stitched to his body. I've seen him wear it through a snowstorm. And yet, what do I find? Him curled up next to you, jacket draped over your legs like he’s your personal butler.”

You choked slightly on your rice.

“Grandpa,” Heeseung muttered, eyes narrowing.

But the older man wasn’t finished.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice,” Grandpa continued, pointing his chopsticks at Heeseung. “In the car—on the way back—you turned up the temperature. Just a notch. Quietly. Barely moved a muscle. But I saw you glance at her first. Just once.”

You flushed, your heart tripping over itself.

You had shivered once in the back seat, barely even noticing it yourself. But apparently… he had.

Grandpa leaned back in his chair, smiling like he had just solved a particularly satisfying mystery. “He’s never done that. Not for anyone. And let me tell you, this boy’s been around people his whole life—business deals, charity galas, matchmaking setups I’ve dragged him to. You name it.”

He turned to you, gentler now. “He’s polite, always. But attentive? No. Never. Not unless it’s something that matters to him.”

You blinked. Swallowed.

Across from you, Heeseung was uncharacteristically still.

His jaw was tense, eyes downcast, but something had shifted in his face—something softer, quieter. Like he was letting the words sink in too.

You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t.

The room had gone warm. Not from the heat. From the weight of what Grandpa had just said.

And what it meant.

You glanced at Heeseung.

He looked up, met your gaze.

And for the first time all night, neither of you needed to say anything at all.

—-

Dinner had ended… eventually.

The plates had been cleared, the wine glasses refilled twice, and Grandpa had officially shifted into storytelling mode—arms waving, voice animated, eyes twinkling with the kind of energy only decades of mischief could supply.

You hadn’t said much.

You just sat there, chin resting on your hands, smiling as you listened. And oh, the stories. Stories about little Heeseung—piano recitals gone wrong, failed lemonade stands, a brief but passionate phase where he thought he could become a magician.

You laughed. You giggled. At one point, your eyes welled up from how adorable it all was.

Across the table, Heeseung looked like he was deeply regretting ever being born.

“Was he always this serious?” you asked, voice light.

Grandpa barked a laugh. “Serious? That boy once cried for an hour because someone stepped on his sandcastle. Age twelve.”

Heeseung groaned. “Can we not—”

But it was already 11 p.m. by the time the laughter began to fade and your eyes started to droop. You stretched your arms with a yawn, blinking slowly.

“I should probably get going,” you murmured, rubbing at your eyes. “I’ve got an 8 a.m. lecture tomorrow and if I miss it, I’ll cry. Publicly.”

Heeseung stood from his seat automatically. “I’ll drive you.”

But before he could even reach for his keys, whack—Grandpa’s cane smacked lightly against his shin.

“Are you crazy?” Grandpa scoffed. “It’s almost midnight. Let her rest here. You have a perfectly good bed. And walls.”

Heeseung’s jaw dropped. “Are you crazy?”

Grandpa looked between the two of you like you were the ones being unreasonable. “Don’t tell me she’s never slept over here.”

Heeseung shot you a look that screamed don’t you dare.

You smiled tightly, heart racing. “Oh, plenty of times!”

Heeseung choked.

“Gosh,” you added with a nervous laugh, hands fluttering in the air, “this house… it’s practically my second home. I love this house. Love it. So homey. Very… echo-y.”

Grandpa raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but having way too much fun.

“So,” he said, voice dripping with casual menace, “you’ll be sleeping with Heeseung tonight?”

You blinked. “I—left my—”

“You’ll be sleeping with Seung tonight,” Grandpa repeated with a knowing smile, cane tapping the floor rhythmically. “Won’t you?”

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Then looked at Heeseung, who looked exactly like someone who’d just swallowed a lemon.

You turned back to Grandpa with a grin so forced it should’ve come with a cramp.

“…Yes. Of course. That’s the plan.”

“Well then,” Grandpa beamed, clapping his hands once. “I’ll sleep soundly knowing my two lovebirds are safe and snuggled up. Goodnight, children.”

And just like that, he turned and shuffled down the hall, whistling.

You stood there in the silence that followed, staring down at your socks.

Heeseung exhaled deeply beside you.

“This is the worst lie I’ve ever committed to,” he muttered.

You peeked up at him.

He wasn’t looking at you. Just down the hallway. But the tips of his ears were red.

And yours?

Burning.

“…Where’s your room?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He finally met your gaze.

“Upstairs,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’ve got an extra pillow.”

—-

You weren’t sure what rich people did with this much space, but Heeseung’s en suite bathroom was bigger than your entire dorm room. Probably had better plumbing too. The water pressure? Heavenly. The heated floors? Life-changing. The mirror didn’t even fog. What kind of sorcery—

You stepped out wrapped in an oversized cloud of cotton.

His pyjamas—crisp, soft, and clearly designed for a man with longer legs and significantly broader shoulders—swallowed you whole. The shirt hung just past mid-thigh, brushing against your bare skin as you walked. The sleeves covered your hands. The collar was just slightly too wide, revealing the soft slope of your collarbone with every step.

You hadn’t bothered with pants. The top was long enough. Besides, who the hell was going to see?

...Right.

Heeseung.

You made a small sound as you fumbled with your hair tie, accidentally knocking over a bottle of something suspiciously expensive on his nightstand.

His head snapped up from his phone.

And everything in him—every rational, composed, deeply repressed cell—froze.

There you were.

Walking toward the bed like some kind of sleepy siren, his shirt hanging off your body like it had always belonged to you. Bare legs. Damp hair. That slightly flushed post-shower glow. He could see the delicate line of your throat when you tilted your head to fix your sleeves.

His breath hitched—sharply.

He looked away immediately, gaze darting back to his phone like it was on fire.

Nope.

Nope.

He was not going to think about how your thighs looked in the dim lighting. Or the fact that you were wearing his clothes. Or the way the fabric of that button-up swayed slightly as you walked.

He swallowed hard.

Cleared his throat.

You glanced over at him, half amused, half oblivious. “You good?”

“Fine,” he said too quickly. His voice cracked. Cracked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounded like a dying bird.”

Heeseung coughed into his fist and sat up straighter, yanking the blanket slightly higher over his lap.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, eyes glued to his screen like he was researching stock reports and not silently begging the universe for strength.

You padded across the room, dropping onto the other side of the bed with a little bounce.

His bed.

You were in his bed.

Wearing his clothes.

With bare legs.

He stared at the ceiling.

You, stretching lazily, tucked the blanket around yourself. “These are really soft, by the way.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “They’re… cotton.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect.”

Your knee brushed against his under the covers.

He stopped breathing.

You didn’t notice.

But God help him—he noticed everything.

"Are you sure…" Heeseung’s voice cut through the quiet, just barely above a whisper. “You don’t mind sharing one bed tonight?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Not really. I’ve done this plenty of times with Jake when we go on trips.”

“Oh.” Heeseung blinked. Hard.

Jake. Right. Your other male roommate. The one you’d apparently shared beds with like it was no big deal. The same Jake who drank from the milk carton and sang in the shower and left hair ties in the microwave.

Cool. Casual.

Totally fine.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when you were currently climbing into his bed, his shirt hanging off your body like sin itself, the hem rising with every motion of your legs. Your thigh brushed the comforter as you moved, bare and soft under the dim bedside lamp, and Heeseung’s eyes locked on it like he’d been hypnotized.

You flopped down with a sigh, fingers raking through your damp hair. With a frustrated huff, you pushed up onto your knees and pulled your hair into a ponytail—arms raised, shirt rising even higher, revealing the smooth curve of your hip and a glimpse of skin that did unspeakable things to Heeseung’s already struggling self-control.

Something snapped.

He swallowed.

Hard.

“I—on second thought,” he said abruptly, voice tighter now, “maybe I’ll just… sleep on the couch.”

You whipped your head around. “What? Are you crazy?”

He was already half out of the bed, blanket in hand like he was escaping a wildfire.

“It’s fine. Really. You—you take the bed. I’ll just—”

You rolled your eyes. “Heeseung, it’s just one night. It’s not like we’re going to do anything crazy.”

“That’s not—”

“And besides,” you added casually, slipping under the covers like it was your own bed, “what if Grandpa comes in? Huh? What’ll he think when he sees one side empty? We’ll be exposed. Caught. Fired.”

Heeseung paused, blanket still clutched in his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “He already thinks I call you Seung in my sleep.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“C’mon,” you said, patting the empty space beside you. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He looked at the bed.

Then at you.

Then at the ceiling like he was praying for strength.

And with a sigh—long, heavy, full of the emotional weight of a man who had just been sentenced to a trial by fire—he climbed back in.

Stiff as a board.

Tense as a wire.

And one wrong move away from completely combusting.

You, meanwhile, simply yawned. “Goodnight, Seung.”

His breath caught again.

“Sleep,” you mumbled, already drifting off. “Be normal…”

He stared at the ceiling.

He was definitely not sleeping tonight.

It had been ten minutes since Heeseung shut off his phone.

Ten minutes since the room went still, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights spilling through the tall windows. Ten minutes of lying there, staring into the dark like it might offer him a lifeline.

It didn’t.

Instead, he tossed. Then turned. Then flipped onto his back, onto his side, back again. Adjusted the blanket. Shifted the pillow. Anything to make it stop.

But nothing did.

Because you were beside him.

And you weren’t just beside him—you were curled into the covers wearing his shirt, skin bare beneath it, body warm, soft, close.

Every time you moved—every tiny adjustment, every sleepy twist—your thigh brushed against the back of his hand. Light. Innocent. Deadly.

And he was losing it.

Because your skin was smooth. Because you smelled like vanilla and his body wash. Because your breathing had gone slower, heavier, but not deep enough to say you were truly asleep. And because you’d been inches away from him for ten solid minutes, and he was almost certain the mattress had started shrinking just to screw with him.

His mind spiraled in every direction—don’t look, don’t touch, don’t think. Especially don’t think.

He swallowed hard, chest tightening when you shifted again, this time dragging your leg slightly against his, a friction that had no idea how dangerous it was.

“Can’t sleep?” your voice came through the dark, quiet. Soft. Laced with sleep.

Heeseung let out a slow breath. “No.”

Not when you’re wearing next to nothing in my bed. Not when you keep moving like that. Not when I can smell you.

He didn’t say it.

He just laid there, staring at the ceiling like it was his only ally in this war.

There was rustling beside him. Sheets moving.

And then—

You turned.

Faced him.

He could feel it—your presence shifting, your warmth moving closer. Then your face, just barely lit, settled near his. Inches. Maybe less. He turned his head and you were right there.

Your eyes found his.

And he couldn’t breathe.

“Why did you have to resort to fake dating?” you asked softly, voice low, barely a whisper. Like it was a secret meant only for this room. Only for him.

He blinked. The question registered—somewhere far away. But mostly he was focused on how close you were. How your breath skimmed his chin. How your lips were parted just enough, soft, tempting, completely unaware of the absolute chaos you were causing.

“What?” he managed, though it sounded hoarse.

You didn’t back away.

Your gaze stayed on his like you were still trying to figure him out. “Why’d you resort to this? Paying someone $500 to pretend they like you… must be—”

“Weird?” he said, lips twitching faintly.

You shook your head. “Exhausting.”

That word sat heavy between you.

He swallowed again, eyes flicking down—just for a second—to your mouth.

“I just…” he hesitated, jaw tensing, “I guess I don’t want Grandpa to be disappointed.”

Your features softened. He could see it—could feel the way your expression shifted, less teasing now, more understanding. More real.

You blinked slowly, and then, before he could even brace for it, your hand brushed against his under the covers. Light. Unintended. But it stayed.

Heeseung’s pulse jumped.

You didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

“I don’t think he’d ever be disappointed in you,” you said quietly, your voice gentler now.

And for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The space between you disappeared.

The tension changed—thicker, charged. Heeseung could feel it building in the air between your knees, your chests, your breath.

He didn’t touch you.

Didn’t dare.

But he wanted to.

God help him, he wanted to.

His hand lay there beneath the blanket, centimeters from yours. Still. Controlled. Every muscle in his body tense with the effort of not reaching. Not brushing his thumb across your knuckles. Not leaning forward just to see what your lips might feel like under his.

And then—quietly, like a sigh—he spoke.

“You’d be surprised.”

Your brow furrowed. “About what?”

He turned his head toward you, gaze meeting yours in the dark.

“About Grandpa,” he said, voice soft, almost like it wasn’t meant to be said aloud. “It seems like his whole mission is to make sure I’m happy, yeah. But I don’t think he knows how. So he fills in the blanks. Tries to fix things I don’t say out loud.”

You were quiet for a beat, processing that.

Then, “Are you kidding me? It seems like his entire life revolves around you. The way he talks about you, it’s like this life mission is to keep you happy.”

He let out a soft, dry laugh. “Happy or not alone?”

Your eyes searched his face, reading more in the curve of his lips than in the words themselves.

“In his defense,” you murmured, smiling just a little, “you can be kinda… aloof.”

He turned toward you slightly, one arm propped beneath his pillow. “Oh really?”

You nodded, suppressing a grin. “When I first met you, you said I was late.”

“You were late.”

“I was two minutes late.”

“And that’s still late.”

You huffed a laugh, leaning in just slightly, forehead nearly brushing his. “That’s not late. That’s margin-for-error-level arrival.”

“It’s a time commitment. If someone says 2:30, it means 2:30. Not 2:32. Not 2:31 and thirty seconds. 2:30.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” you whispered, eyes sparkling in the low light.

He smirked. “You’re the one fake-dating the weirdo.”

“Yeah, well,” you murmured, voice quieter now, “he’s growing on me.”

Heeseung blinked.

Just once.

And everything in him stilled.

You didn’t mean to say it. Or maybe you did. You weren’t sure anymore. But it was out there now, floating between your shared breaths, warm and weightless.

The silence returned—but this time, it wasn’t empty.

And neither of you moved.

But that space between your hands?

It got smaller.

And smaller.

Until your pinkies brushed.

And neither of you pulled away.

“I don’t have to… submit a request to kiss you, do I?” you whispered, your voice feather-light, but laced with something deeper—something that curled low in your belly and dared to rise.

Heeseung blinked, startled.

“What?”

“The contract,” you said, gaze flickering down to his mouth. “Clause Five. Physical contact?”

His expression twitched—something between amused and completely wrecked.

“You’re an idiot,” he murmured.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

Not hesitant. Not even close.

He surged forward, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he’d been holding back for hours—days—and couldn’t do it a second longer. His lips crashed into yours, hot and hungry, all restraint forgotten.

Your breath caught—then disappeared completely.

You kissed him back just as desperately, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, yanking him impossibly closer. The warmth of his body pressed flush against yours, the heat rolling off him. His mouth moved over yours like he’d been waiting for this–firm, demanding, a little messy, a lot needy.

You gasped when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he took the chance—deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your thighs clench, your entire body arch into him without thinking. Your hand fisted at the back of his neck, pulling, anchoring, grounding yourself as your mouths moved in perfect, aching sync.

His other hand slid under the hem of your—his—shirt, fingers splaying over your bare waist. His palm was warm, calloused, and when his thumb dragged slowly along the soft curve of your side, you shivered.

He pulled you until you were nearly straddling his thigh, your legs tangled with his under the sheets. His lips left yours just long enough to catch his breath, only to return to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You let out a noise—somewhere between a gasp and a sigh—and he cursed under his breath.

“I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind,” he whispered against your skin.

“You already are,” you panted, tugging him back in.

He kissed you again, harder this time. Like this had stopped being fake a long time ago and neither of you had realized it until now.

You felt his breath hitch, his hands still roaming your sides, reverent and aching and starved.

And in that dark, breathless tangle of limbs and mouths and months of built-up tension, one truth burned bright:

This wasn’t part of the contract.

This was real.

And you both knew it.

The moment your mouths found each other again, it shifted.

The desperation from before—hot and rushed—simmered into something deeper. Slower. More dangerous. Like you were both savoring what you already knew would ruin you.

His lips dragged over yours with purpose, tongue sweeping slow and teasing before pressing deeper, pulling a soft, wrecked sound from your throat that made him groan into the kiss.

He rolled slightly, his hand gripping your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of your borrowed shirt—his shirt—his thumb brushing the bare skin there like it was something sacred. You gasped, the contact sparking fire under your skin.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered against your lips, forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, voice hoarse.

You barely managed to respond before he was kissing you again—slower this time, but no less intense.

Your own fingers slipped beneath his shirt, running along the firm lines of his stomach, the dip of his waist, the warm, smooth skin stretched over lean muscle.

You pressed closer, your legs tangling with his under the sheets, the soft brush of his sweats against your bare thigh igniting something primal. His hand found the curve of your ass, dragging you just that much closer as he kissed you deeper, harder.

The air grew heavier, your bodies slick with heat and friction.

And then he pulled back—barely—his lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. His eyes were dark, wild, but searching yours with something softer beneath it all. Something that ached.

“This isn’t just the contract anymore, is it?” you whispered, voice cracking at the edges.

His thumb brushed along your jaw.

“No,” he said. “Not even close.”

—-

The sunlight poured in far too kindly for the chaos it was about to illuminate.

You stirred first, blinking blearily as your body slowly registered the warmth next to you. A solid chest. An arm draped loosely across your waist. A slow, even breath at the back of your neck.

And then it hit you.

You weren’t in your bed.

You were in his.

You were in Lee Heeseung’s bed.

And right—right—you remembered now.

Flashes of last night hit like a slow-burning montage.

His hand cradling your face. The way his voice cracked when he said it wasn’t fake. The way he kissed you like he meant it. Like you were something he'd been holding back from for far too long.

Then—heat. Teeth. Hands. Skin on skin.

And now?

You were naked.

Fully. Absolutely. No-fabric-in-sight kind of naked.

Your eyes snapped open.

You lifted the edge of the blanket and peeked underneath.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “Shit.”

Your cheeks blazed as you slowly, carefully dropped the covers like they had personally offended you.

You had done it.

You had done did it with your fake boyfriend.

Who was also your fake boss.

Who was also—by technical definition—your employer.

Your CEO.

“Shit,” you muttered again, burying your face into the stupidly soft pillow.

Everything about last night replayed in agonizing, high-definition clarity.

And yet—beneath the panic, beneath the mild oh-my-god-I-slept-with-the-CEO breakdown—a softer, more terrifying feeling began to surface.

Because it hadn’t been just physical.

You remembered how he looked at you before it even began. How he touched you like you were something breakable. How, afterwards, he didn’t just roll over and sleep—he stayed close. Held you. Let his fingers run gently along your back like he didn’t want the moment to end.

And now you were awake.

Naked.

In his bed.

It was an HR violation with a side of deep emotional confusion.

Except you weren’t technically working for him. Not in that way.

You weren’t on his payroll, didn’t report to him, weren’t attending Monday meetings and yet… you were getting paid. By him. For relationship labor.

So what was this?

What was he to you?

You clutched the blanket to your chest, eyes wide, brain spiraling like a loading screen with no internet connection.

You were going insane. That was the only logical explanation.

And maybe—just maybe—your inner meltdown was loud enough to wake the man beside you.

Heeseung stirred beside you, letting out a soft groan. His arm stretched, his hair falling into his eyes as he rubbed at them groggily. Still half-asleep, he blinked blearily at you, then glanced around the room like he was buffering.

“…What time is it?” he muttered, voice still raspy from sleep.

You cleared your throat. “Uh. Eight.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Don’t you have a lecture?”

You clutched the blanket tighter. “It’s not like I can go now.”

“I can drive you—”

“It’s fine.” You looked away, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ll just ask Jungwon for notes.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Heeseung sat up straighter, blinking the last bits of sleep from his eyes.

His hair was adorably messy—tufts sticking out at odd angles, like he'd lost a round with the pillow. His voice, still husky and half-croaked, sharpened with sudden realization.

And then… his eyes dropped.

Just briefly.

A subtle glance under the blanket that covered both of you, then back up to you.

His entire face went red.

Not just a light flush. Red. Crimson. Full-body blush like he’d been slapped by the truth.

“Did we…” he asked, voice almost squeaking at the end.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Then down at the blanket.

Then back at you again.

Your own cheeks heated in response, but you somehow managed to keep a straight face. “Heeseung.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I mean—like—did we actually…” he flailed, hand gesturing vaguely toward the bed, the room, your bare shoulders.

You raised a brow and slowly lifted the blanket just enough to peek.

Then dropped it.

“Unless I had a really intense dream and sleepwalked out of my underwear,” you said dryly, “yes. We did.”

Heeseung made a noise—something between a cough and a whimper—and dragged a hand down his already-flushed face.

“I swear I don’t usually do this,” he mumbled into his palm.

“Neither do I,” you muttered, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. “Believe it or not, this isn’t standard protocol in fake dating.”

“God,” he whispered.

Silence settled over the bed again. Awkward. Tangled in expensive sheets. Full of unsaid things.

Then, softly, almost shyly, he added, “Was it… okay?”

You turned your head slowly, raising one unimpressed brow. “Are you asking me for a Yelp review?”

Heeseung groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, pulling a pillow over his face.

You snorted. “For the record,” you said, staring at the ceiling again, “I’d give it a solid four and a half stars.”

He peeked out from under the pillow.

“Four and a half?”

“You lost half a star for the part where you knocked over the lamp.”

“You moaned my name when that happened!”

You rolled your eyes, biting down a grin. “Okay, then what about me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Me, Heeseung.” You turned your head to face him fully, the blanket still tucked under your arms. “Did I… I mean, did I do fine? Because I haven’t really—”

Your voice trailed off awkwardly. Heat crawled up your neck. You tried to brush it off with a casual shrug. “I haven’t, like… done that in a while. At all. So if I was, like, bad or weird or made a weird noise or elbowed you in the ribs—”

Heeseung sat up, eyebrows raised, lips twitching like he was trying very hard not to look completely charmed.

“I don’t need to know about your ‘previous ones,’” he said, air-quoting with a soft laugh, “but I thought you were…”

He hesitated for a second. Like the compliment got stuck in his throat.

You raised an eyebrow. “You thought I was…?”

His eyes met yours—steadier now. 

“I thought you were beautiful,” he said simply.

—-

You didn’t have to tell Jake that something happened.

Son of a bitch knew.

Knew it before you said a word. Probably the second he walked into the apartment and caught you humming Levitating while making coffee with the dopiest smile known to mankind.

So now here he was.

Storming into Heeseung’s office with murder in his eyes and violence in his heart.

“Jake!” you yelled, already chasing after him in panic. “Jake, don’t—”

Too late.

The door slammed open.

Jake marched in like a one-man riot, fists clenched, breathing like he’d just sprinted through traffic—and made it his personal mission to ruin one (1) rich man’s entire day.

“You slept with my best friend?!” he roared.

Heeseung blinked from behind his desk. “…What?”

Jake didn’t wait. “You SLEPT with her?!”

Then he lunged.

Like physically lunged.

“Jake!” you shrieked, grabbing his arm, but he twisted out of your grip like some low-budget action movie star. “I swear I didn’t tell him! He figured it out on his own.”

Heeseung dodged just in time. “Dude! What the hell?!”

“You absolute bastard!” Jake shouted, winding up for Round Two.

“Can you not try to assault him?!”

“I’m not his employee anymore! I quit! I QUIT, baby!” Jake yelled, chest heaving as he pointed at Heeseung with a shaking hand. “Which means I can say whatever the hell I want and throw hands freely!”

Heeseung held up both palms. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now—”

“She was singing Dua Lipa, man.”

Heeseung paused. “…What?”

“LEVI-FUCKING-TATING.”

You groaned. “Jake, please don’t—”

“She only sings that damn song when something life-altering happens. Once after her ex situationship finally disappeared from the face of the Earth, and once when she found fifty bucks in a jean jacket she forgot she owned.”

“Okay, that second one was a really good day,” you muttered.

Jake spun dramatically, wild-eyed. “Exactly! So when I walk in and hear her humming the post-coital anthem of joy, don’t expect me to sit quietly and sip tea!”

“You drink cold brew,” Heeseung said numbly.

Jake turned on him. “Don’t you dare correct me right now, Lee! You think you can just—just—have sex with her like it’s nothing? Like she’s just one of your carefully-scheduled board meetings? Bro, this isn’t a calendar event. This is a human woman! She’s the love of my platonic life!”

“Jake, oh my god,” you groaned.

“She’s not some emotionally available guinea pig you can use to test whether or not you’re capable of affection! She is smart, and kind, and sings weird songs when she’s nervous, and loves shitty takeout dumplings! She is—” Jake choked on his own rage. “She is MY best friend. Yea, she can be irritating. A little annoying. Doesn’t use a coaster. Loud as hell—”

“Get to the point.”

He pointed at Heeseung again. “BUT if you hurt her, I will haunt you. Alive.”

“…Still don’t know what any of this means,” Heeseung muttered.

Jake didn’t even blink. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”

Then, softer, almost broken, “We want out. I don’t care if she doesn’t say it—I’m saying it. This arrangement? This fake dating thing? Over.”

You stared at him, guilt and panic knotting together in your stomach.

Jake took a breath. His voice cracked as he added, “You can’t just sleep with her and expect me not to beat your ass.”

He turned, ready to leave.

And muttered one last time under his breath:

“Levitating. Fuckin’ hell.”

Then walked out.

Slammed the door.

Left behind a room full of stunned silence and one emotionally derailed CEO.

Heeseung turned slowly to look at you.

“…You sing Levitating after sex?”

You groaned, face in your hands. “I’m never listening to Dua Lipa again.”

You and Heeseung exchanged a look.

Then together, without a word, you marched out of the office in search of one (1) dramatic, emotionally unstable Jake Sim. He hadn’t made it far—just outside the hallway, pacing and muttering to himself like he was trying to manifest a HR lawsuit.

You each grabbed an arm and yanked him back inside.

“Jake,” you said sweetly, too sweetly. “Jake Sim. My baby. My sweet, sweet emotional support delinquent.”

Heeseung stiffened beside you, maybe a little jealous. “Not loving the pet names, but okay.”

You ignored him. “Look. Fine, yes, Heeseung and I… slept together…but—”

Jake immediately slapped his hands over his ears. “Lalalalala—I do not need to hear about something that repulsive before I’ve had my first fucking meal of the day.”

“Let me finish! Jake. JAKE!” you swatted at his hands, trying to pry them off. “Jake Sim, you son of a—get your hands off your ears, you dramatic toddler!”

The two of you spiraled into a flailing, full-body slap-fight. It was mostly ineffective but very loud. You were pulling, he was twisting, there was shouting, and all the while Heeseung stood there watching like a war correspondent reporting live from the world’s most undignified domestic disaster.

“YEAH!” you shouted suddenly, loud enough to shake the windows. “YEAH, WE FUCKED!”

Jake froze.

“I’M TALKING FUCKED SO GOOD—”

“EW! Get your musty, dusty, grimy little goblin fingers off me, you unhinged FREAK!” Jake hissed, fighting you off like a wild animal.

“Okay,” Heeseung said quietly in the background, looking one emotional outburst away from leaving the country.

The wrestling match raged on until—

“OKAY!” Heeseung snapped, louder this time.

You and Jake both froze mid-grapple, hands still locked like a pair of tangled action figures.

Heeseung ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. Then, leveling his gaze at Jake, he said, “Yes. We slept together.”

Jake narrowed his eyes like a detective about to call bullshit, “I—”

“But I’m not playing with her,” Heeseung said. “Despite what you think, this isn’t a joke. This isn’t some fake PR stunt. And it sure as hell isn’t a game.”

Jake folded his arms, jaw tight. “And why the hell should I believe you? Huh, Mr. Contract Clause Five No Touching? Mr. Emotionally Constipated CEO? Mr. Fake Dating Lying Bitch—”

“You really gotta stop calling everyone ‘bitch’ in this office,” Heeseung muttered.

Jake didn’t blink. “Bitch.”

You sighed so hard your soul briefly left your body.

But then—Heeseung took a step forward.

Calmer now. Firmer.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice quieter this time. “I like her. A lot.”

Silence.

Complete. Deafening. Awkward silence.

Jake blinked.

You blinked.

Heeseung, for the first time in this entire conversation, looked… a little nervous.

“And I like her,” he said again. “As in—I want this to be real. If she’ll let it.”

Jake stared at him. Then looked at you.

You were too stunned to say anything.

Mouth slightly open.

Heart pounding like it was trying to escape your chest.

“You…” You swallowed. “You like me? Like you find me attractive kind of like me or is this a friendship kind of thing…”

Heeseung looked at you—really looked at you—like he had been holding that in for longer than he’d ever admit. His voice, when he spoke, was low and sure and a little wrecked.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d just do what I did with anyone, did you?”

Your face burned. “I just assumed—”

“That I was emotionally void?”

“...Kind of?”

He let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Fair.”

There was a pause. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… full. Full of everything unsaid between the two of you. Full of five fake dates, one very real night, and every tiny glance in between.

He shifted a little closer, his tone softer now. Sincere.

“Look,” he said. “I know we haven’t known each other long. Barely a month, honestly. And maybe this wasn’t how either of us expected to start… anything. But if you’d let me—if you’re okay with it—I’d love to take you out.”

He smiled. Not the polished, press-ready one. A real one.

“For real this time.”

Before you could respond—

“Over my dead body!” Jake shrieked from the couch, hand dramatically raised like he was about to object in court.

You whipped your head around. “Jake Sim. I swear to God—” Your death glare could’ve ignited small fires.

Jake whimpered. Whimpered. And slowly sank back into the cushions like a chastised poodle.

You turned back to Heeseung, still breathless, still unsure if you were dreaming.

“So… we don’t have to lie anymore?” you asked. Voice small. Hopeful.

“This doesn’t have to be fake?”

Heeseung’s eyes were on you. Gentle. Steady. A little pink around the edges, like he was terrified you’d say no.

“No,” he said. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

You exhaled. Slowly. Fully. Like you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath for days.

“So…” you leaned in slightly, tilting your head with the faintest grin. “You mean I can kiss you… without submitting a formal request?”

Heeseung smirked. “Correct.”

“And touch you without sending an email for approval?”

“You never had to do that.”

“I was being respectful.”

“You licked the top of my bubble tea straw in front of my boardroom.”

Jake groaned from the couch. “I’m going to vomit.”

You ignored him.

“So,” you said again, brushing your hand against Heeseung’s. “If this is real now…”

He turned his palm up. Laced his fingers with yours.

“Then maybe,” he murmured, eyes on your lips, “you should kiss me. No email. No contract. No Jake screaming.”

You smiled, heart fluttering somewhere near your throat.

And then, without another word, you leaned in—and Heeseung met you halfway.

The kiss wasn’t soft this time.

It was a collision.

Weeks of tension, fake-flirting, lingering looks, and one very real night all combusting into one hungry, breath-stealing kiss. His hand cradled the back of your head, your fingers gripping onto the collar of his stupidly expensive shirt.

He deepened the kiss, your noses bumping, your breath catching, your entire body leaning into his like you were trying to erase every inch of space between you.

And then—

“Get me outta here.” Jake groaned loudly from the couch.

You broke apart, lips flushed, cheeks hot, both of you turning in perfect sync to glare at him.

Jake, as always, remained completely unfazed.

He sat up, stretched dramatically, then sauntered across the room, like he wasn’t the same person who just tried to commit CEO murder twenty minutes ago.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands together. “About the whole ‘I quit’ thing…”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow.

Jake smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, uh, I was kinda joking. Like. Performance art. Stress-induced drama. You get it.”

You crossed your arms. “You literally said ‘I want out, and I speak for both of us.’”

“Right, but I was speaking from a place of deep emotional instability.” He pointed at Heeseung. “So. Let’s all just call it even.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You screamed ‘bitch’ at me five times in a row.”

Jake held up a finger. “Technically three of those were about the situation, not you personally.”

You blinked. “Jake.”

Jake turned to you, smiling way too brightly. “I’m just saying—if I don’t get paid this week, I will marry a rich sugar daddy.”

You snorted. “Honestly? Kind of tempting.”

Jake pointed at you with full enthusiasm. “RIGHT? We could be a duo! I’ll make a spreadsheet. We’ll tag-team it—me and you, taking turns flirting with eligible old men at yacht clubs.”

Heeseung froze.

You blinked. “You made a spreadsheet?”

Jake nodded proudly. “I could make one that’s color-coded. We’ll have target age ranges, net worth minimums, and a calendar for shared sugar daddy rotations. If we get a two-for-one, I call dibs on the one with the villa in Capri.”

You tried so hard not to laugh.

Heeseung, meanwhile, was gripping his pen a little too tightly.

“Jake,” he said slowly, voice eerily calm. “You’re rehired.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes.” Heeseung didn’t even look up. “Starting now. With a strict office policy: no more saying the word ‘bitch’…”

Jake opened his mouth.

“…Or sugar daddy.”

Jake frowned. “Is this a personal rule or an HR rule?”

“Yes.”

Jake squinted at him, then grinned with evil glee. “Oh my God. You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Heeseung said through clenched teeth.

Jake ignored him entirely, turning to you. “You think if I start dressing like you, I’ll get a CEO to kiss me on a rooftop?”

You smirked. “You gotta be more charming like me, dude”

Jake nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. I’d get too attached. I’m more of a ‘ruin your life in a week and leave behind a playlist’ kind of guy.”

Heeseung pinched the bridge of his nose.

Jake kept going. “Anyway, I’m free Thursday if you wanna start scouting sugar daddies in the CBD.”

“She’s not free Thursday,” Heeseung said flatly.

Jake blinked. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Heeseung looked right at him, then at you. “Because we have plans.”

You choked.

Jake grinned. “Oh, you’re so jealous.”

Heeseung leaned back, calm but dangerous. “And if you ever mention her dating anyone else again, you’ll be the first person I rehire just to fire.”

Jake raised both hands. “Damn. Okay. Y’all got real.”

He looked at you.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep sugar daddy scouting just in case this one implodes emotionally?”

You smiled sweetly. “Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Get out.”

“Right, right. Leaving.” He paused dramatically at the door. “But if you change your mind—Villa. Capri. Matching linens.”

The door shut behind him.

Silence.

You turned to Heeseung. “You know he’s gonna keep this over your head, right?”

Heeseung looked at you—then, with the softest smile, pulled you closer.

“As if you could find a better sugar daddy than me.”

part 1

[beaureveries]

Paige reaction to Azzi in her jersey after the game today

ONE SHOT : PUT MY NAME ON IT

paige x azzi

trigger : cuteness and fluff overload

also additional prompt from here

congrats pazzi on the hard launch 🚀 (we been knew.)

P.S if y’all are one of those who thinks P doesn’t love Az as much just cause she “hardly shows her off” can leave. That’s the dumbest shit i’ve ever heard, they don’t owe y’all nothing.

-1.5 k words

——————————————————————————

The bedroom was still quiet, the kind of quiet that only happens early in the morning before the world wakes up. Sunlight was just starting to peek in through the blinds, stripes of gold cutting across the mess of blankets tangled around them.

Paige was awake first, barely. Just enough to feel Azzi’s weight against her, head tucked into the crook of her shoulder, warm breath brushing against her collarbone.

For once, Paige wasn’t thinking about the game yet.

Not about film, not about matchups, not about anything except the weight of Azzi’s leg slung lazily over her thigh and the way Azzi’s hand twitched every so often in her sleep, like she was dreaming about shooting 3’s even in her sleep.

She hasn’t seen Azzi for three weeks.

And by hasn’t, she means in real life. Cause of course they have been video calling each other every day since they got separated by distance.

Even yesterday they face-timed each other knowing they were gonna see each other by night.

As soon as the plane landed in Connenicut, Paige was out that door and zooming to wherever her girlfriend was.

The reunion felt like they both exhaled at the same time, like neither of them realized they’d been holding their breath for weeks until right now, in each other’s arms again. The weight of distance, of calls and texts that weren’t enough, all fell away in that second.

And now, having Azzi sleep and tucked away in her arms again, after all the lonely nights with the empty sheets and longing misses.

This felt so good. This felt like she was home.

Cause she was. Azzi was and will always will be her home.

Azzi shifted, nose brushing against Paige’s neck, voice low and rough. “Stop staring at me.”

“I’m not” Paige whispered, smiling to herself.

Azzi opened one eye, suspicious. “You are.”

“Not my fault I missed my pretty girlfriend” Paige murmured, brushing a curl away from Azzi’s cheek.

“I missed you too.” Azzi muttered softly, now fully awake with her big doe-eyes full on view.

Paige felt the words hit deeper than they ever used to.

Back when they were on the same team, the same campus, seeing each other every day—it was easy to brush off a missed lunch or a late-night film session, knowing they’d still crawl into the same bed at the end of the day.

But now? Now that they were in two different places, two different schedules, nothing felt guaranteed anymore. Every second together felt heavier, sweeter, more earned.

Paige didn’t want to waste a single moment with her. Not anymore. Not when distance taught her how rare it was to have everything you wanted right in front of you.

They laid like that for a while, before Paige had to go pre-train for game night. Easy, soft, soaking all the miss cuddles and post-poned kisses while they were away. this was until Azzi stirred again, this time glancing toward her phone on the nightstand.

“Oh,” she said suddenly, voice a little brighter. “Forgot to tell you, me and KK were talking about matching today.”

Paige’s brow furrowed, confused. “Matching what?”

“Your jersey.”

That got Paige’s attention fast. “Really?” She suddenly grinned as hints of pink overlaps her cheeks.

Azzi rolled her eyes in a non—serious way, finally moving to start the day, muscles flexing as she stretched her limbs. “KK said she was gonna buy your jersey at the merch stand before the game, and I was like, bet, I’ll wear one too.”

Paige sat up slightly, pushing her hair out of her face. “Azzi, be for real.” She suddenly deadpanned as her voice dropped an octave lower, clearly unamused.

“What?” Azzi genuinely expressed her confusion, tho still looking so adorable in her girlfriend’s eyes.

“The merch stand?”

Azzi frowned. “Yeah? Trying to be a supportive girlfriend? What’s your problem?”

Paige sighed and stood up, walking across the room to her suitcase that was by Azzi’s closet, rummaging through the stack of stuff she brought while grumbling underneath her breath something like—“she wears my clothes all the time but then she does something like this” not loud enough for Azzi to hear tho… until she found it, her jersey, not from the store, not printed for fans, but one of hers.

“Baby, what’s the point of buying a replica of my jersey when you can clearly just wear mine.” Paige walked back to bed, stating the obvious.

“Don’t you need this for later?” Azzi raised an eyebrow as she took the jersey that Paige handed out for her.

Paige stood a little too—quiet before replying “Nah it’s okay. Don’t worry about it” clearly trying to act nonchalant, like she hadn’t just presented her literal game jersey like it was nothing.

“I’ve got backups” Paige mumbled, eyes flicking away. “It’s fine.”

Azzi’s lips curved slowly, clearly realizing her girlfriend’s behavior. “Paige.”

“You packed this for me.”

“No, I didn’t…” Paige lied terribly.

“Yes, you did.”

“Shut up.”

“You were gonna give me this anyway.”

“I said shut up.” Paige groaned.

Azzi was full-on grinning now, leaning back on her elbows, smug, pretty, entirely too pleased with herself. “Aww... P, you were gonna give me your real jersey before I even said anything. That’s cute.”

Paige rolled her eyes, cheeks pinking. “I’m literally never nice to you again.”

“You’re so soft for me.”

“I’m actually mean.”

Azzi pulled the jersey into her lap, running her hands over the stitching. “You’re the softest.”

Paige fought the smile threatening to break across her face. Lost. Completely.

“Just wear it” she muttered.

Azzi’s voice dropped softer, playful turning into something closer to fond. “I will.”

And God, Paige knew she was done for.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Paige was locked in and having fun during practice, feeling the air where she was already comfortable with.

And then she saw her.

Azzi.

Right by the corner of the court, standing casually, one hand in her pocket, curls bouncing softly as she shifts, added with the perfect touch of her hoops.

And she was wearing it.

Her jersey.

Not a replica.

Not a fan-store version.

Paige’s actual jersey.

The one she’d packed for her. The one she gave her this morning, acting casual, pretending it was nothing, pretending she didn’t care if Azzi wore it or not.

It fit perfectly. Tight in the shoulders, hugging her arms over her white long sleeve shirt, molding across her back like it was meant to be there. Her name—Bueckers stretching clean across Azzi’s shoulders like it belonged there.

And Azzi?

Standing there like she knew she looked perfect in it.

Which she was.

Like she knew exactly what she was doing to Paige by just existing in that jersey.

KK was standing next to her, wearing the merch version, laughing at something on her phone, totally unaware that Paige was currently fighting for her life just trying to stay upright.

Azzi caught Paige’s eyes from across the arena and smiled. Small and smug. Like it was just the two of them in the entire arena.

Paige swallowed hard, and tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, dragging her gaze down and back up Azzi’s body. It felt unfair—how right she looked in it.

When Paige finally walked over, slow, controlled, pretending she wasn’t completely losing it, Azzi tilted her head, curls brushing her cheek, eyes bright with the kind of trouble that Paige secretly loved.

“Nice jersey,” Paige said under her breath, fighting the smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

Azzi bit back her own grin. “Matches my girlfriend.”

Paige stared at her and raised her eyebrows fully amused by her cheeky girlfriend.

“Can’t help it you like when I wear your stuff.” Azzi added, deciding to be a bit of a menace today.

“You have no idea.”

“Hmm… I think I do.” Azzi purposely acted like she was thinking, before showing off a full on dimpled smile.

KK chose that exact moment to look up, eyes flicking between them, and immediately started grinning like she knew everything.

Azzi didn’t look away. Not for a second. “Good luck later”

Paige murmured. “Thanks baby”

Paige was already gone for her. Had been. Would be.

Forever.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The arena was clearing out, postgame noise buzzing around them, Paige just finished taking pictures with fans and the UConn team who came to watch, she can finally pay full attention towards her cute girlfriend who waited patiently but clearly was in a hurry to go.

Paige already knew what was coming. They’d talked about it, planned around it, understood it.

But it still never get’s easy.

“I gotta head to New York,” Azzi said gently, eyes watching Paige’s face like she could already sense the shift. “Fanatics thing.”

Paige nodded, letting out a soft breath. “Yeah. I know.”

She wasn’t mad. Not really. Just that low, familiar ache curling in her chest, the part of her that hated goodbyes, even temporary ones. She understood, but it didn’t mean she liked it.

Azzi tilted her head, searching her girlfriend’s blue eyes. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Paige murmured. “I just… I wish I could come with you. Or drive you. Or Something.”

Azzi smiled, small and knowing. “I know you do. But you’ve got your own stuff.”

“Yeah.” Paige’s jaw clenched lightly. “I know.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t some meltdown. Just that quiet, frustrating feeling of wanting to be in two places at once and not being able to.

But Paige had been here before. They had been here before.

Azzi reached out, fingers curling softly around Paige’s wrist, grounding her. “I’ll meet you in DC. I promise.”

“That’s like a whole week away.”

“It’s in two days P.”

“Feels like a week.” Paige grumbled.

Azzi pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Paige’s mouth. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You love that I’m dramatic.”

Azzi grinned. “Yeah, I do.”

Paige pulled Azzi in for a hug. breathed her in, holding her tight, not wanting to let go but knowing she had to. “Text me when you arrive.”

“Obviously.”

“And facetime me before you go to sleep.”

“Mhm.”

Paige nodded again, slower this time, letting her thumb run across Azzi’s knuckles. “Okay… you can go now baby, good luck on your fanatics event”

Azzi nodded slowly, pulling away. “See you P.”

“See you baby.”

[moon-fics]

Lewis Pullman character request idea 💡: Dr. Calvin Evans doesn't know how to act when his lab tech/research partner is going on a date with a colleague from his past (perhaps yearning, jealousy, and a declaration of love ensues 👼) I highly recommend everyone to watch Lessons In Chemistry if you haven't

Lessons in Chemistry has destroyed my life and soul. It's amazing and deserves a bigger fan base. I grant you your request. (Please note I chose a major FAR away from the sciences. I know NOTHING about chemistry.

It has been months since you started working as Calvin's lab tech. For the most part, you help organize his lab and brainstorm. You also spend most of your time reading research papers and textbooks to find solutions or get a different perspective. So far, things have been going well.

Except for the fact that he's hardly been talking to you recently. You can't remember the exact day things changed, but it can't have been more than two days. Every time you try to bring up an idea, he nods his head and gives you a one-word answer. It's gotten to a point where the other chemists talk to you more than him.

You expect the same treatment as you enter his lab. You've learned to ignore the signs on his door that grow in numbers every once in a while. The newest one is 'stop asking for my supplies'.

"Morning, Calvin," You greet him. He's hunched over one of the black laminate lab tables. He's staring intently at two beakers with different liquids in them. You know better to ask at this point.

"Morning," He replies in a low tone. He's dead focused and lost in thought. You pay him no mind and grab a textbook from his shelf. You've decided to go back to the basics to find anything you can use as a breakthrough. You can feel his eyes watching you as you sit at his desk.

You ignore him the same way he's been ignoring you. You won't give him the satisfaction of having all your attention unless he's earned it. Except, every few minutes, you can sense him watching you. It drives you mad that he won't even say a word. You want to throw the textbook at him to see if he'll finally speak, but you need it.

"Could you pass me my notebook and pen?" He asks after an hour of silence. Your eyes flicker from the page to him with an unamused expression. Without looking away, you reach for the notebook and pen. You hold it out in front of you and dare him to ask you to get up. "Thanks," He mutters.

He approaches you and takes the requested items. He doesn't move away from you. At least, not right away. You follow his line of sight, and he's zoned in on your hand. You clear your throat, and it snaps him out of his trance. He slaps the notebook against his hand and walks back to his experiment.

Another long space of silence passes, and you've finally gotten into the reading. You've relaxed in his chair, and your mind is filled with equations that you're trying to alter.

"Do you mind-" He tries to start, but you twist around in his chair to glare at him. Your fingers press against the chapter page as you silently loathe him.

"Listen, if you're going to keep me around to fetch you items, then I'd be more useful helping the other chemists." You snap. You're tired of only speaking to him when he needs something. You miss the banter and jokes you'd share with him. It used to brighten your day, and if he weren't so handsome, you'd have left by now.

His soft blue eyes search your face for a joke or for any sign that you're bluffing. You wish you were. His jaw clenches and unclenches as if he has something important to say.

"I heard you got asked out," He declares. He rests his fist against his mouth as if he regrets speaking. "I can't have you getting distracted," He mumbles.

"That's what this is about?" You scoff. He's been acting off because you got asked out. He's more interested in you remaining devoted to chemistry than your personal life. "One of the lab techs asked me out and I agreed. Is that enough information for you?" You speak harshly.

His eyes squint and reset at your reaction. You can see the gears working in his mind to figure out what to say.

"You agreed?" He asks. There is internal screaming inside your head that fuels your annoyance. "Does this mean you'll be here less?"

"I'm not sure! If things go well, then maybe. That isn't important, though." You throw your hands up. "I'm dedicated to helping you, so I'll be here enough."

"We need a submission for the grant, and if you're busy running off on dates, how am I supposed to rely on you?" That was more than enough for you. You close the textbook and set it on his desk. Your body is way too hot, and you cannot stand to be in the same room as him right now.

Without a word, you storm out of his lab and slam the door shut behind you. You can hear one of his signs hit the floor from the force. The farther you get, the worse your heart feels. As if it's being pulled in two different directions.

---

The day went by quickly after you left his lab. You distracted yourself with mindless tasks, but you still couldn't stop thinking about the argument. It doesn't make sense in your mind as to why he'd react that way.

You step outside the building to see heavy rain pouring down. Thankfully, you're covered where you're standing. Unfortunately, you didn't bring an umbrella to work. With a grunt, you step out from your protection and allow yourself to be exposed to the rain. The soft drops cool your skin down, and it soothes something inside you.

By the time you reach your car, you're soaked. You press the key into the slot of the door and right as you're about to turn it you hear your name.

Your head snaps up to look around the lot. You notice a figure running towards you and recognize them to be Calvin. You don't know why he's running in the rain to you, but you don't jump in your car.

He stops a few inches from you, and he's not even out of breath. His eyes instantly stare into yours as he tries to collect his thoughts. Rain drips from his hair down his nose. It's maddening how dignified he looks while getting drenched.

"Don't go out with him," He isn't ordering you, but he isn't suggesting either. "Please."

"This again? I'm not going to be distracted!" You groan. You press your hands against our face to contain yourself. You cannot believe you're about to have the same argument from earlier.

"I'm not saying this because I'm worried about your commitment. I know you're just as devoted to getting this grant as I am," He huffs. "I'm saying it because the idea of seeing you and your smile less drives me crazy. You brighten my lab just being there, and you make me feel unstuck." He confesses hastily.

You can't find the words to say as he admits his feelings. You had no clue he felt this way. You should scream at him for treating you poorly, simply because he was jealous. Yet, you're almost glad he is.

"Working with you has been the greatest pleasure of my life. I'd give up ever winning an award if it meant I could stay by your side." He places his hands on his hips. "I'm sorry I've been distant and I've been wasting your time. I just wanted more of it." It's clear he has more to say, but he's waiting for your reaction.

"I'll accept your apology, but if you ever treat me like that again, I'm breaking all your beakers." You warn. You want to look serious, but a smile creeps up on your lips as you speak. "However, you're going to have to do more to convince me not to go on that date," You taunt.

"Say less," He nods. His hands gently cradle your head, and he tilts it so his lips can press against yours perfectly. Rain enters your mouth during the kiss, but it doesn't bother you. Not when his warmth is consuming you. The kiss is desperate but slow. He's trying to get his point across, and it's working.

When he finally pulls away, you continue to stare at his lips. Your hands go to his wrists to keep his hands in place.

"I think I can cancel that date," You hum.

"Oh, you think you can?" He chuckles. His thumb rubs circles over your cheeks.

[sleepyowlwrites]

the soup is still on the floor

Being a storyteller like:

my brain has a dumb little thought

I write down the dumb little thought

I accidentally spill the entire bowl of soup on the floor

the bowl also shatters

I have 7/13 parts of a story and none of them are a beginning, middle or end

despite the temptation, I do not eat the soup off the floor

I wipe off the bowl shards and throw them in the rock polisher to become curios

I have pretty things for my shelves

the soup is still on the floor

[jijournal]

MASTERLIST!

ˋ°•*⁀➷ GOLDEN TRIO ERA

╰┈➤ HARRY POTTER

♡ I See You

As a Muggle-born Hufflepuff, you were taught to always be kind-even when it hurt. Years of people-pleasing left you exhausted and invisible, until Harry Potter reminded you that your worth isn't tied to how much you give. Now, you're learning that kindness includes being kind to yourself too.

♡ Worse Than Veritaserum!

Something went wrong while you and Harry were brewing Veritaserum—the potion you created now causes you to read each other’s minds.

╰┈➤ DRACO MALFOY

ˋ°•*⁀➷ SERIES

♡ LOVE ME LOUD

♡ Part 1: Love Me Loud: To the world, Draco Malfoy was untouchable—arrogant, cruel, and proud of it. But when you took the only empty seat beside him, you became the exception. Well maybe not that much of an exception... He cared more about what his family wants, and not what he wanted. Which was you. ♡ Part 2: Love Me Again: After walking away from the boy who couldn't choose you, fate brings you face to face with Draco Malfoy once more. The feelings are still there, truths remain unspoken, and the question lingers—was it ever really over?

♡ CRAZY RICH... WIZARDS?

♡ Part 1: Crazy Rich... Wizards? You find out your long time boyfriend is a... wizard? Was it a prank? a joke? some kind of unamusing humor? No. It was real. And now, he wants to introduce you to his parents. ♡ Part 2: Wands, Weddings, And Wicked Traditions: When your boyfriend drags you into a world of old money, ancient grudges, and fancy robes, you quickly learn that fitting in isn’t about magic—it’s about surviving family dinners. ♡ Part 3: Wealthy, Witty, Witches: After barely surviving a disastrous dinner with your wizard boyfriend’s parents, you’re forced to endure yet another nightmare—this time, with his ex. ♡ Part 4: To be Continued...

ˋ°•*⁀➷ STAND-ALONE

♡ Right Here All Along

Camellia Rose and Draco Malfoy, childhood friends bound by loyalty, love, and unspoken words. As Camellia is torn between loyalty and betrayal as she discovers that Harry Potter, the one person she trust most, has been using her all along.

♡ You'll Be In My Heart

Whenever Draco needs you, you're always there. That's an older sister's duty after all. When he was at his lowest throughout the years, you teach him an important lesson in life.

♡ Just Pretend

To get his parents off his back, Draco begs you to pretend to be his date for a gala. He swears it's just for a night, but by the end, he's wishing it wasn't.

♡ "You're Going Down, Malfoy."

After a playful late-night duel with Draco, you win a bet and make him hold your hand in public for five seconds. Maybe a little longer than five.

♡ "Jealous Much?"

You receive a letter with a gift every week, and your brother Harry and his friends won’t stop teasing you about a “mystery admirer.” Little does he know, the sender is the last person he’d ever expect.

♡ Complain Here, Complain There

You had a talent for endless complaining—fortunately, someone always seemed to have the full-time job of fixing whatever you whined about.

♡ "Told You I Was"

A quiet winter night of sulking turns unexpectedly sweet when Draco proves he’s been listening all along, surprising you with thoughtful gifts that melt your heart.

♡ Charm Me Up

You’ve made it a habit to give small charms to those who need a reminder that they’re not alone. But there’s one person you keep finding reasons to give them to—one boy who always seems to need a charm.

♡ Little Miss Collector

In which the strangest girl in Slytherin collects lost things in a heart-shaped box, and Draco Malfoy realizes she might be the only person who’s never truly lost herself.

♡ He laughs at her eyes, at her smile, at the glasses on her face:

Draco Malfoy hates you, or so you thought.

♡ Undressed

And I don't wanna learn another scent I don't want the children of another man To have the eyes of the girl I won't forget.

♡ Never Go Near A Malfoy

You were taught to never go near a Malfoy, ever. But how could you? He's very much unavoidable.

♡ The Greenhouse Effect

When you're paired with Draco Malfoy for Herbology, you expected eye-rolls and dead plants. But, you don’t expect that the most sudden pairings bloom brightest.

♡ Drop The Beat, Steal The Heart

Hogwarts’ most popular DJ gets summoned to throw the party of the year—but when the birthday boy starts watching you like your a spell he can’t resist, things quickly turn electrifying. Get ready for beats, banter, and tension that drops harder than any remix.

♡ The Eleven Word Question

Draco Malfoy would literally die for you—unfortunately, asking you to the Yule Ball might just kill him first. When he finally gathers the courage to do it, you politely decline… thanks to a spectacular misunderstanding. Now, with his pride bruised and his heart set, Draco is determined to win you over—properly, this time.

♡ Fight Or Flight (Coming Soon)

A fierce academic rivalry brews between you and Draco Malfoy—your greatest competition for second place behind your bestfriend Hermione. But after years of witty insults and tension, one unexpected moment changes everything, revealing a spark even Harry and Ron never saw coming.

♡ You, Before The War (Coming Soon)

Being forced into becoming a Death Eater because of your family's name was unbearable—but betraying the love of your life to spy for the other side, all for the greater good, was far worse.

╰┈➤ RON WEASLEY

♡ A Weasley Gift

Ron surprises you with something very special in the Weasley household.

╰┈➤ GEORGE WEASLEY

♡ My Very Own Cupid:

Valerie Valentine, known as “Hogwarts’ Cupid” for her matchmaking prowess, finds herself heartbroken upon finding out George Weasley, her crush since 4th year, likes Angelina Johnson. This leads her to abandon her romantic endeavors, only to later discover something unexpected.

♡ Confession Candy

When Fred convinces George to test their latest prototype, George has no idea the candy will shout out a confession he’s secretly been holding in for years. To his horror—and your shock—it blurts out that he's in love with you.

♡ Hired Matchmaker (Coming Soon)

As a professional "matchmaker"—as people say—Molly hires you to find George the love of his life after Fred's passing. You both don't realize that the "love of his life" was standing in front of him, helping, all along.

╰┈➤ FRED WEASLEY

♡ The Thief

No one knows that you own a cute baby Niffler. It may be only a few months old, but his love for mischief keeps developing fast... really, fast.

♡ Prank Wars

You and Fred Weasley had been bickering since first year, locked in a never-ending war of (mostly) harmless pranks. Why is it that he's so obsessed with tormenting you? you’ll never know. The petty rivalry drags on for years, until your sixth year, when one of Fred’s pranks goes completely wrong… or maybe completely right.

╰┈➤ CEDRIC DIGGORY

♡ A Promise Kept

Before the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric makes you promise that, no matter what happens, you won’t cry over him. After his death, you struggle to keep that promise—until you find the letter he left behind.

♡ Another Chance

If you are given another chance to go back and prevent him from entering that stupid tournament, would you do it?

╰┈➤ OLIVER WOOD

♡ The Quidditch Bet

You and Oliver are captains of rival Quidditch teams, and the competition is fierce. But when a bet forces the loser to take the winner on a date, you realize that maybe you don’t hate him as much as you thought.

♡ Thicker Than A Broomstick

Quidditch is brutal, but nothing compares to Oliver Wood’s hopeless attempts at flirting—too bad the only person who doesn’t realize he’s asking you to the Yule Ball is you.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ MARAUDERS ERA

╰┈➤ JAMES POTTER

♡ Back To Friends

Best friends weren’t supposed to fall. But after one night and a thousand unspoken words, James Potter chose Lily Evans—and you were left remembering what it felt like to be loved, even if only for a moment.

╰┈➤ REMUS LUPIN

nothing to see here yet...

╰┈➤ SIRIUS BLACK

♡ "Bet You'll Fall For Me" (Coming Soon)

One lazy afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, Sirius makes a bold bet—he claims he can make you blush in less than five minutes. You're certain he (kinda) doesn't stand a chance.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

enjoy reading!

[riddlesrizzler]

Not Affectionate, My Ass

summary: The bunny theory is debunked! characters: bunny! reader, slytherin boys warnings: none! just clingy bunny reader with her bf word count: 699

The Slytherin common room was relatively peaceful for once. A rare thing, considering the usual chaos that surrounded the boys like a storm cloud. But today, there was no bickering, no arguments over whose turn it was to copy Theo’s homework, and no Blaise sighing in disappointment at the sheer idiocy of his friends.

Instead, the only sound was the soft scratch of Enzo flipping through a book, Theo absentmindedly shuffling his deck of exploding snap cards, and Mattheo lounging on the couch-his head tilted back against the cushions, hand lazily stroking the tiny, fluffy bunny curled up on his chest.

Bunny, in her animagus form, was completely melted against him, her small body rising and falling with each of his breaths. If she moved at all, it was just to burrow deeper into Mattheo’s hoodie, as if trying to merge into him entirely.

“Hey,” Enzo suddenly snorted, breaking the silence. “This book says rabbits aren’t that affectionate.”

Theo, barely looking up from his cards, hummed. “What?”

Enzo tapped the page. “Says here that rabbits don’t like being held too much. They prefer their own space, aren’t clingy, and don’t need constant attention.”

There was a beat of silence before Mattheo let out the loudest, most unamused scoff.

“That’s bullshit.”

Enzo blinked up at him. “Mate, I’m literally reading it from a book-”

Mattheo gestured aggressively to the tiny ball of fur plastered against his chest like a heat-seeking missile.

“Does this look like an animal that ‘prefers their own space’ to you?”

As if to further prove his point, Bunny shifted, stretching her little paws before snuggling even deeper into Mattheo’s hoodie, her tiny nose twitching against the fabric.

Draco, amused, finally put his book down. “To be fair, she is kind of obsessed with you.”

Mattheo smirked, scratching behind her ears like it was second nature. “Damn right she is.”

Theo chuckled. “Face it, Enzo. Bunny’s an exception to every rule. That, or she imprinted on Mattheo like a baby duck.”

Blaise raised a brow. “Honestly, we should be more concerned about how often she’s with him. I can’t remember the last time I saw them apart.”

Enzo frowned. “Wait… yeah. When has she ever not been stuck to him?”

Draco smirked, leaning forward. “You should see them in class. Bunny always sits next to him. Always.”

Theo laughed. “That’s nothing. You should see her at meals-she eats off his plate more than her own.”

Enzo’s eyes widened. “Wait, I thought she just did that to annoy him?”

Mattheo snorted. “She steals my food. Every single time. And I let her.”

Blaise nodded. “Yeah, that’s love, mate.”

“Oh, oh!” Theo grinned. “What about how she clings to his arm when we’re walking? If he stops moving, she just stumbles into him because she refuses to let go.”

Enzo laughed. “And when she’s not holding onto him, she’s following behind him like a shadow.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, though the fond smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Yeah, and when I disappear for more than five minutes, she comes looking for me.”

“She actually did that last week,” Draco added. “You left the common room, and she got up after two minutes, like, ‘Where’s Mattheo?’”

Blaise smirked. “And if she’s not in her human form, she’s in his hoodie as a bunny.”

At this, everyone turned to look at the tiny ball of fluff currently nestled against Mattheo’s chest.

“Case in point,” Theo said, gesturing.

Enzo scoffed. “How does that not annoy you?”

Mattheo just shrugged, still stroking Bunny’s fur. “It’s warm. I think she likes hearing my heartbeat or something.”

Draco let out a chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t know how you deal with it.”

Mattheo’s smirk widened as he scratched behind Bunny’s ears, watching as she gave a sleepy twitch. “I don’t deal with it. I enjoy it.”

Theo and Enzo groaned.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mattheo just smirked. “You’re all just jealous.”

Enzo huffed. “I’m not jealous-I just don’t understand how a bunny can be this clingy.”

Theo smirked. “That means the whole ‘rabbits aren’t affectionate’ thing is officially debunked.”

Mattheo just smirked, running a gentle hand down Bunny’s back. “Not affectionate, my ass.”