#this is so not a preemptive peace offering

[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

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

snapdragons mean i'm sorry

summary: you own a flower shop down the street from Wade and Althea, and now Logan's apartment. You and Logan had grown quite close, until you hear him complaining about you through the door. A week later, he shows up at the shop, groveling wc: 2.0 k a/n: sorry about the delay with this one, things have been a bit crazy! I really enjoyed writing for worst!Logan, I think I'm considering a part two for this as well. This fic is based on this request! warnings: lots of hurt and comfort, reader uses she/her pronouns, confused and groveling Logan, Wade being a meddler, slight spoilers for the end of Deadpool and Wolverine

You were two seconds away from chucking the bouquet that you were working on clear across the room. Instead, you gently set the flowers down on your workbench and tightened your pony tail. Heaving a sigh, you snatched the broom out of it’s place leaning up against the doorway and made you way to the front of store. 

Usually, being surrounded by all of your flowers and specially curated knickknacks brought you a sense of peace. But so far today you’d broken two vases and stabbed your thumb on rose thorns maybe more than you’d ever done in your entire life. 

Being friends with a superhero (singular) was much less stressful than you’d thought it would be. Wade would stop in to the shop around once a week to buy flowers for Vanessa, always with a quick joke or two before being on his way. It wasn’t until he’d saved you from an attempted mugging a few years back that you’d really become close. And you’d been there for a lot. Through his break up with Vanessa, when he was nonstop moaning about how deeply he hated selling lightly used cars, and whenever he needed a second opinion about a new hair system he was perched on a second stool that now had permanent residence behind the counter, right next to yours. 

Being friends with superheroes (plural) was bringing a new host of issues. Namely, an accelerated heart rate and trouble forming your words in front of Wade’s new roommate. Wade had warned you that his new acquisition was prickly when he’d stopped over to invite you to the Welcome Home Pizza Party Palooza, according to the hand drawn invitation he’d proudly presented you. He’d lured you in with promises of meeting his new dog before dropping the bomb that there was an introduction to his roommate included in the package deal. You’d already agreed, and Wade was too busy rambling about how you were being moved up to from side character status for you to intercede with a made up reason you could no longer attend. 

You historically didn’t do well with meeting new people, and someone who was likely to snap at you at some point throughout the evening, by Wade’s estimations, was an even bigger hurdle. Even though you had worked yourself up enough to feel slightly sick to your stomach, you’d arrived at the party, armed with flowers for the new roommate and a mini bouquet of dog treats for Mary Puppins. Wade and Al’s apartment was full of familiar faces when you’d arrived. You were caught up in a conversation with Peter and Yukio for a few minutes before they’d asked about the flowers all but forgotten in your hands. You admitted they were a welcome home present, and Peter kindly pointed out where Logan was standing across the room. You’d thanked him, and made your way across the room. 

When you reached him in the kitchen, you stood quietly behind him, working up the courage to make your presence known. Ultimately, it was unnecessary, because he quickly turned around and greeted you with a crinkly-eyed smile that made your heart flutter against your better judgement. You’d shyly handed over the flowers, stuttering through the explanation of owning the shop down the street and apologizing preemptively if he didn’t like them, expecting a strong rebuttal. He certainly looked like the type of man to rebuff the offer of flowers in fear of appearing unmanly or some other nonsense. Instead, he took the flowers from you gently, thanking you. He turned away, searching through the cabinets before pulling out a novelty beer stein decorated with My Little Pony characters with a huff. Logan made quick work of depositing the bouquet in the beer stein, but he frowned at his work, clearly unhappy with the vase options. “So you’re the florist that he’s obsessed with.” 

You smiled to yourself, glad to hear that Wade wasn’t only kind to your face. “Are you kidding me?” Speak of the devil. Wade slung an arm around your shoulders, depositing your typical drink of choice in your hand. “More like worship the ground you walk on. I may be Marvel Jesus but I’m your disciple. The things she can do with a chrysanthemum.” He moaned in a way you had never heard someone while talking about a flower, of all things.

Logan shook his head, but before either of you could respond, Wade noticed Vanessa coming through the door and was at her side in an instant. You’d stood with him in the kitchen for a few moments, silent but comfortable. It wasn’t long before Althea had called everyone to the table, where you took your usual seat next to Althea and Vanessa. The evening had been comfortable and you couldn’t help but notice how naturally Logan and his daughter Laura fit into your strange little family. 

The next day, you’d stopped by their apartment armed with another bouquet, this one beautifully arranged in one of your favorite vases you kept in stock. You couldn’t shake the image of how disappointed Logan had looked with his options the previous night. Al had ushered you inside quickly, letting you know that the rest of the roommates had left her in the name of picking up some necessities for Logan. You’d dropped the vase on the kitchen counter, ruffled Mary Puppins’ hair and saw yourself out. 

Logan had come by to thank you at the store, startling you where you were working in the back. You’d fumbled one of your vases, sending it crashing to the ground. Logan was quick to usher you onto a stool, locating a broom and making quick work of the glass. You’d insisted you could take care of it, but he’d shot your down insisting that he would heal right up if he managed to cut himself and he didn’t feel like a trip to the ER. It should have stung, but there was a lightness to his voice and a twinkle in his eyes that instead had you fighting down the hear rising to your cheeks. 

After a few weeks, it was routine for you to stop by a couple nights a week after work, armed with a fresh set of flowers for the vase and some take out. Logan very well could have taken some home with him, as often as he was stopping by, but somehow you’d always get to talking and forget to bundle some up for him. He was immensely helpful around the shop, able to reach things on high shelves and move heavy pallets you would get in much more easily than you were able to. Wade’s stool had quickly become Logan’s but you didn’t much mind. 

Your hand had settled on the doorknob to their apartment, when two familiar voices faded in through the closed door. It was instinct to pause, you hand’t really meant to snoop. But the words hurt all the same. “I really am fond of her, but she could really stand to let up on how often she’s hanging around me.” Your heart started to hammer, frozen in the hallway. 

“I hear you peanut,” Wade was quick to respond. “Cling-ville USA, population her, amiright?” 

“Fuck off, you’ve been obsessed with her as long as I’ve known you.” Your heart sunk. Isn’t that what Logan had said, the first night you met? Wade was obsessed with you? As quietly as you could, you dropped your hand from the doorknob and backed away down the hall, hoping that their conversation was loud enough to drown out the sound of your retreating footsteps. You’d retreated down the hallway, quickly shooting Wade a text that you weren’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to make it. 

You hadn’t seen them since. You knew it shouldn’t have mattered, but it stung. You’d moved their stool into the far back corner of the shop because as silly as it sounded, it made you sad to look at him. Thankfully, there had been a steady stream of customers to keep you busy for a while. But now, you were dead and your thoughts were drifting when the bell on the front door rang. You sent a silent thank you to the universe and rushed out to the front of the store. But the customer waiting for you was the only one you were reluctant to see. 

You hated to admit it, but the image of Logan standing in the middle of your showroom, shoulders slumped and one of the most regretful looks you’d ever seen on anyone was almost enough for you to forgive him on sight. Close but no cigar, one could say.   

“Hey, sweetheart” he said sheepishly, hands shoved into this pockets. 

If this is how he was going to play it, so be it. “Hey, Lo. Where’ve you been?”

“Laura needed some help at the mansion, and they roped us into a mission. Meant to call but,” he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “Got a bit busy.” You nodded, doing your best to remember that you were mad at him. Stopped by for some flowers, if you have a minute.”

You nodded curtly, shocked that he wasn’t bringing up the obvious tension. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “What kind are you looking for?” 

“Eh, whatever you think says ‘Sorry, I fucked up’ the best” he shrugged, making his way behind the counter. 

“Who else did you piss off?” You asked, arranging a few more pieces of greenery into the bouquet he had requested. Even if you were frustrated and moody, you couldn’t bring yourself to make something you weren’t proud of. 

“Where’s my seat sweetheart?” He asked, before taking a pause. “What do you mean who else?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. 

“What do you mean ‘where’s my seat’?” You mocked, doing a poor imitation of his gruff voice. 

“Okay, you’ve gotta catch me up here, sweetheart because I clearly missed something.” 

“Wouldn’t wanna cling on too hard, are you sure you want me to do that?” You snarked, dropping the bouquet on the table and storming over to him, poking your finger into his chest. “I heard the both of you complaining about me last week.” 

Logan’s hand wrapped around yours, drawing it closer to his chest. “I was coming in here to apologize for being gone for a week. But I’m happy to double the order to make up for the confusion. If my math is right, bub, you overheard me complaining about that fucking dog insisting on sleeping on my bed. Even after I told Wade to keep her out of my room.” 

“You love her.” 

“Yeah, you know me too well sweetheart.” 

You smiled up at him, soaking in the warmth of having him this close, when something clicks in your head. “Are you telling me that you waltzed in here and asked me to make my own apology flowers?” If you hadn’t already decided he was off the hook, the way his mouth turned down into a little pout would have sealed the deal. 

He hesitates for a few moments, eyes glancing around the shop seemingly in search of an answer. “Didn’t want to give the business to someone else.” He shrugged, bashfully.  

Against your better judgement, a few giggles slipped past your lips, which had been firmly pressed together. A few more, and then you were laughing so hard you were having trouble breathing. You leaned your head against his chest, taking measured deep breaths to curve the laughter “I can’t believe this,” you gasped, wiping a few tears away that had spilled onto your cheeks.  You grinned up at him through the tears, taking in the way his eyes warmed when he smiled. 

“Could have been worse,” he shrugged, mischief making his eyes sparkle. “Could have gone with Wade’s suggestion.”

“I have to know.” 

He slipped both his arms around you, pulling you in close. “Wanted me to jump out of a cake.” 

You snuggled in close, leaning your head on his chest. “I would like to see it.” 

“Then we’ll have to see what we can do about that.” 

[witchingwithscissors]

Based on a prompt suggested by @jeridandridge 🪴

Agathario AU | Butch Agatha’s terrible at plants but excellent at falling for the hot garden girl.

Westview Hardware smelled like dirt and lumber and the permanent ghost of gasoline from old lawnmowers someone kept trying to fix.

Rio wiped her forehead with the inside of her wrist, smudging more garden soil across her skin, and stacked another flat of seedlings under the slow creak of the ceiling fans.

The bell over the door jingled.

She didn’t have to look up to know.

Boots scuffed from honest work. Jeans faded pale at the knees. A loose gray shirt stretched over a strong back.

Agatha Harkness.

Carrying, today, a pothos plant that looked more like an obituary than a living thing.

Rio set the seedlings down and leaned into the counter, letting herself smile slow and dangerous.

“Here to kill another one, cowboy?”

Agatha startled—visibly.

Her head snapped up, and her eyes—an impossible gray-blue like storm clouds—widened.

A slow flush crept up her neck, staining her collarbone pink where her shirt hung loose.

Rio savored it.

“It’s not dead,” Agatha said defensively, depositing the sad plant on the counter like a peace offering. “It’s just… having a rough… week.”

“You said that about the succulent too,” Rio teased, inspecting the limp vines. “And the fern. And that poor rosemary that deserved better.”

Agatha shrugged, hands shoved deep in her back pockets, shoulders curling inward slightly.

It was a strange kind of vulnerability, seeing someone so capable look a little lost in a sea of plants.

“I’m better with wiring electrical,” Agatha muttered. “Plants expect you to know what they need without them telling you.”

Rio snorted. “That sounds suspiciously like a personal problem.”

Agatha’s mouth tugged into a reluctant smile—small, crooked, private.

Rio felt it, sharp and sweet, somewhere under her ribs.

She plucked a basil starter from the seedling rack and held it out like a challenge. “Try this instead.”

Agatha eyed it warily. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” Rio said, stepping closer. The earthy, sharp scent of the basil mixed with the musk of sun-warmed denim and the faint tang of sweat from Agatha’s skin. “It’s forgiving. Even you might not kill it.”

Agatha reached out. Their fingers brushed warm, rough, calloused—and Rio’s pulse jumped.

“Keep it alive through August,” Rio said, voice dipping low, “and maybe I’ll use it to cook you dinner.”

Agatha stared at her, the basil cradled awkwardly between them, like she didn’t quite know how to hold this—the plant or the offer.

“You always hustle your customers like this?” Agatha asked, voice rough.

“Only the dangerously handsome ones who forget how phones work,” Rio said with a wink, spinning away before she could catch the damage she’d done.

Later that night, Rio sat cross-legged on her bed, the cracked window open to the heavy, cicada-loud summer night.

Her phone buzzed.

Agatha: so if it dies a little does that mean coffee instead of dinner? asking for a friend.

Rio grinned. Agatha had had her number for a few weeks, but after today’s basil offering, she had finally decided to text her. Rio’s thumb flew across the screen.

Rio: Nope. Basil crimes are taken very seriously in New Jersey.

A minute later.

Agatha: what about preemptive bail?

Rio: Depends. Can you spell “photosynthesis”?

Agatha: bold of you to assume i can spell at all.

Rio laughed out loud, startling the black cat curled at the foot of her bed—her grandmother’s cat.

Outside, the crickets sawed at the night, and somewhere far off, someone’s sprinkler squeaked into life.

The next day.

Agatha: still green. slightly judging me but green.

A photo followed: the basil pot perched precariously between a pair of socks and a paper coffee cup.

Rio: It’s judging you for the company you keep.

Agatha: fair.

Another photo: Agatha giving the basil an awkward thumbs up, her hair messily falling into her face, a faint smudge of dirt along her jawline.

Rio saved it and immediately assigned it to Agatha’s contact in her phone.

Two weeks later, Rio was hauling bags of mulch under the punishing July sun when Agatha ambled up, pretending to browse seed packets.

“Cowboy. You stalking me?” Rio called without looking.

“I plead the fifth,” Agatha said, voice low and pleased.

They ended up working side by side anyway—Rio loading pallets, Agatha catching them into her truck. Easy. Unspoken. Like they’d done it a hundred times.

At some point, Rio peeled off her work gloves, flexing her fingers, and tossed another heavy bag toward Agatha.

Their hands brushed mid-catch. Calluses skimming calluses. Skin on skin, hot and dry and so electric Rio almost dropped the damn bag.

She looked up—

And found Agatha already looking at her.

The air between them stuttered.

Hot, humming, fragile.

Rio felt it first—the tilt forward, the magnetic pull.

Agatha didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

It would be so easy.

One step closer.

One tilt of her head.

But Rio, breathing shallow, heart racing—only smiled.

A slow, wicked thing to hide the fact she was terrified.

“Careful,” she drawled, voice catching. “You might start thinking you like me.”

Agatha’s smile—small, dangerous—ghosted across her mouth.

“Maybe I do,” she murmured.

Rio’s heart slammed sideways.

But Agatha stepped back, palms flat against her jeans, and turned away to load another bag like nothing had happened. Rio stood there for a long moment, mulch dust settling in the spaces between them.

That night, Rio lay in bed, sleepless.

The oscillating fan buzzed, moving humid air around her tiny garage apartment.

The basil plant sat on the windowsill, leaves stretching toward the stars.

Rio traced patterns across her bare stomach with one hand, thinking: Don’t be stupid. You have two months left, max. You leave at the end of summer. Always have, always will.

But still—

She remembered the way Agatha had looked at her.

That same night, Agatha sat on her porch, bottle of beer forgotten at her side. The basil—somehow still alive—glowed faintly under the porch light.

Agatha scrubbed her hands over her face.

She’d kissed women before. Slept with them, too. No big deal. But no one had ever hit her like this—like the whole damn world tipped sideways around one girl’s rough hands and easy, reckless smile.

Agatha closed her eyes, leaned back against the railing, and listened to the summer night breathe around her.

The next afternoon, Agatha got a text.

Rio: Movie night? My pick. No takebacks.

Agatha pulled up an hour later, six-pack and licorice in one hand, smirk already threatening to break loose.

Rio opened the door barefoot, wearing cutoff denim shorts and an tight shirt with a band Agatha didn’t recognize. Her hair was damp from a shower, curling loose around her shoulders, and she smelled faintly of cheap shampoo.

Agatha nearly forgot how to breathe.

They settled into Rio’s battered secondhand couch, beers sweating between their palms. The movie was some chaotic indie thing Rio narrated halfway through with delighted sarcasm, and Agatha found herself laughing more at Rio’s commentary than at the film itself.

At some point, Rio stretched—long and lazy—and her knee brushed against Agatha’s splayed-out thigh.

Neither of them moved.

The next time Rio laughed, she leaned her head briefly against Agatha’s shoulder.

Agatha pretended her heart wasn’t racing.

Agatha, who could rewire a lamp blindfolded, who could change a water heater one-handed, sat there paralyzed by the press of a girl’s warm weight against her side.

The movie ended. Credits rolled. Neither moved.

Rio tilted her head, chin resting against Agatha’s arm. Her voice came soft.

“So… you gonna kiss me, cowboy… or do I have to do everything around here?”

Agatha didn’t think. She turned and kissed her.

It was a little clumsy at first—teeth bumping, noses in the way. Rio laughed into her mouth, hands sliding into Agatha’s hair, and then it turned molten—hot, slow, anchoring. Agatha kissed the way she worked—with careful, practiced steadiness—but Rio kissed like she had nowhere else to be, like kissing was an act of ownership. And God help her, Agatha wanted to be owned.

The cold shower didn’t help.

The whiskey didn’t either.

Agatha, still damp and grinning like a woman freshly fucked, snapped a selfie—towel low, eyes dark—and texted Rio.

Agatha: you’re in charge of aftercare next time baby girl

A minute later.

Rio: Come over. Now.

And she did.

Agatha woke to sunlight slanting in through her open windows, the faint hum of summer already buzzing outside. She blinked groggily, stretching, and realized two things simultaneously: First, Rio was not in her bed. And B) there was rummaging in the kitchen.

Agatha kicked the sheets away and found Rio standing at the fridge, looking at it like it had let her down.

“You only have five kinds of canned beans,” Rio said, voice flat, “and an expired strawberry yogurt...”

Agatha scrubbed a hand over her face. “I have oatmeal.”

“Instant oatmeal with candy dinosaur eggs doesn’t count as a food group. That’s kindergarten survival skills.”

Rio closed the fridge and turned, hands on her hips, an expression of determination on her face.

“Put on your shoes,” she ordered. “We’re going grocery shopping.”

“It’s—” Agatha glanced at the clock, “eight in the morning.”

“Grocery shopping,” Rio repeated firmly, tossing her a pair of beat-up sneakers.

Agatha grumbled but obeyed, pulling on sweatpants over her boxers and grabbing a clean-ish shirt from the floor.

Rio, infuriatingly beautiful, threw on rain boots over bare legs and one of Agatha’s flannel shirts she must’ve stolen at some point during the night. It hit her mid-thigh.

Agatha nearly walked into the doorframe staring.

At the store, they looked like a Pinterest board gone wrong. Agatha bleary-eyed, hair in a messy low ponytail, Rio bouncing ahead of the cart with a shopping list in her head and nothing on paper.

“Essentials first,” Rio said, tossing coffee grounds and bread into the cart.

Agatha trailed after her, pushing the cart like a dazed cattle dog.

She bought vitamins for Agatha without asking, tucked quietly next to carton of eggs.

She sniffed melons and weighed tomatoes in her palms.

And Agatha—strong, stubborn Agatha—wanted to kiss Rio’s mouth right there in the middle of the meat section. But fought the urge.

Back home, Agatha flopped onto a kitchen chair, blinking stupidly while Rio moved through the kitchen like she’d been there forever. Fresh spinach cracked in a pan. Eggs whipped into golden froth. Cheese grated, basil pinched from the tiny windowsill pot.

“This morning, I was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed,” Rio said, laughing, “but I realized you need saving first.”

Agatha grunted in response. She couldn’t form words with Rio like that—barefoot, hair tied up messily, making her house smell like heaven and Sunday mornings and salvation.

Rio slid the plate across the counter: fluffy quiche, fresh berries, coffee so rich it made the air smell like a promise. Agatha just stared, her heart kicking once, hard.

Later that week, Agatha kicked off her boots and shoved her work jeans down with a low groan, the knee torn clean through. Rio knelt in front of her without a word, fingertips brushing the worn denim, then reached for her sewing kit like it was second nature.

“You’re a danger to yourself,” she muttered, guiding needle through denim with careful hands.

Agatha watched from the couch, quiet. Something knotted under her ribs—something sweet and terrifying.

No one had ever mended things for her before.

Not her boots, not her shirts, not her heart.

Rio tied off the thread with a flourish and tossed the jeans back at her. “Good for another few years of reckless living.”

Agatha held them like they were spun from gold.

Rio came home one night to find her old garden shears—the ones with the cracked handle and the dull blades—sitting neatly on the porch, cleaned and repaired.

No note. No text.

Just the kind of love Agatha knew how to give: Silently. Steadily. Surely.

Rio sat on the porch steps, turning the shears over in her hands, and smiled so wide her face hurt.

Agatha had been in Rio’s garage apartment before. But one humid evening, for the first time, Rio led her into the bedroom.

It was cramped, full of plants and books and little touches of home mended curtains, handmade pillowcases, a poster of a punk band taped crooked on the wall.

Agatha took it all in slowly, carefully.

The sewing machine in the corner. The stack of plant biology textbooks dog-eared and worn. The sweater draped on her bed, sleeves patched with loving clumsiness.

This wasn’t a room.

It was a nest.

Temporary. Half-packed.

Built on borrowed time.

Agatha sat carefully on the edge of Rio’s bed, heart pounding.

She wanted to unpack.

She wanted to build her a house that didn’t have a deadline.

Rio caught her looking, and smiled—small, secret.

“Don’t get used to it, cowboy,” she said softly. “I’m not staying forever.”

Agatha nodded, but something deep inside her whispered: I wish you would.

At the summer fair, Rio wore a sundress—pale green, strappy, dangerous. Agatha tried not to stare, but failed.

She found Rio behind the food tents, slipping out from under the blinding afternoon sun.

Without thinking—without stopping—she grabbed her by the waist, pressed her against the side of the tent, and kissed her.

Hard. Hungry.

Rio laughed against her mouth, kissed her back twice as hard.

Somewhere in the background, kids screamed on the Ferris wheel and the scent of fried dough thickened the air.

Agatha didn’t care.

She was just thinking about how good Rio tasted. Like salt and sunshine and something that felt a lot like hope.

The heat broke the week Rio started fully packing.

Storms rolled over Westview in heavy gray waves, and the sidewalks steamed in the aftermath.

Rio folded shirts into boxes, books into old grocery bags, the scent of rain mixing with the sharp, green tang of basil from the windowsill.

Agatha leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, saying nothing.

Neither kissed the other goodbye. It would’ve been too much. Or maybe not enough.

Two weeks later, Rio stood in the tiny galley kitchen of her Washington apartment, staring down at a mug of coffee she couldn’t bring herself to drink.

It tasted wrong.

Too bitter, too stale, too much like alone.

She sat down on the old tile floor, coffee burning a path down her throat, and curled her knees to her chest.

She missed Agatha with a violence that scared her.

Not just the sex, not just the easy laughter, but the way Agatha filled up the quiet spaces, the way she knew what Rio needed before she even asked, the way her hands knew how to hold things without breaking them.

Rio pressed her forehead against her arms, breathing shallowly.

The basil plant Agatha had given her—Herb, still barely alive—sat drooping on the counter.

“Sorry, buddy,” she whispered, voice wrecked.

Some things just didn’t survive transplanting. Right?

A week later, Rio stitched together a leather tool pouch by hand.

It took her six tries and two stabbed fingers.

The stitches weren’t perfect. Neither was the leather. But it was solid. It was meant to be carried, used, trusted.

She wrapped it carefully and tucked a note inside: “Carry what matters.”

No signature. No explanation. Just everything she didn’t know how to say—packed small enough to survive the miles between them.

Agatha found the package three days later, wedged crookedly in her mailbox.

She carried it to her truck and sat there with the door cracked open, summer air hot and heavy against her skin.

The pouch smelled like new leather.

She ran her fingers over the careful, imperfect stitches, over the rough seams where Rio’s hands had worked.

When she unfolded the note, the words knocked the air clean out of her lungs.

“Carry what matters.”

Agatha pressed the note flat against her heart, hands shaking. Breathed through her teeth. And finally, finally, whispered to the empty truck cab, “I miss you, baby girl. I miss you so much.”

The basil plant on her porch was still alive.

Barely.

Agatha cradled the tool pouch in her lap and stared out at the flat gold light spilling over Westview, thinking: You don’t let things like her slip through your fingers. Not if you’re smart. Not if you still have half a heart left to lose. Life apart didn’t feel like life.

Rio threw herself into research, into papers and labs and long nights spent cross-referencing drought-tolerant hybrid strains. But her hands still reached automatically for a second coffee cup when she brewed in the mornings. Her eyes still flicked toward the door when it opened, stupidly expecting Agatha’s heavy boots and sheepish grin.

Agatha kept working—wiring houses, fixing busted water heaters, patching fences for neighbors too old to do it themselves.

But she stopped eating real breakfasts.

She stopped laughing at dumb jokes on the radio.

The weight of absence settled into their bones.

Ordinary. Constant. Crushing.

Some nights, Rio fell asleep clutching her phone.

Some nights, Agatha sat on her porch with the tool pouch on her knee, nursing a beer and the ache in her chest.

Neither said it out loud.

But the basil—stubborn, battered, half-wild—kept growing.

The knocking woke Rio from a restless half-sleep.

She blinked at the clock—2:17 a.m.—and stumbled to the door, dragging the hem of her too-big shirt with one hand.

When she swung the door open, Agatha was standing there, backlit by the flickering porch light, looking like hell. Sweat-streaked hair. Dirt-smudged jeans. A worn duffel bag hanging from one shoulder like it weighed a thousand pounds. Her eyes—those damn storm-gray eyes—locked onto Rio’s and didn’t look away.

“Hey,” Agatha rasped, voice low and broken in places. “I, uh—”

Rio didn’t let her finish.

She hauled Agatha inside by the front of her shirt, slammed the door with a heel, and kissed her.

It wasn’t graceful.

Teeth bumping, gasps caught halfway in their throats, hands fumbling with too many emotions and too little coordination.

Agatha kissed back like she was drowning and Rio was the only air left in the world.

Rio cupped Agatha’s jaw with both hands, grounding them both. “You’re here,” she whispered against her mouth, disbelieving.

“I’m here,” Agatha whispered back, voice wrecked. “If you still want me.”

The trip to the bedroom was a mess of half-torn clothes and muttered curses.

Rio shoved Agatha down onto the bed and crawled over her, pinning her wrists lightly to the sheets. Agatha’s pupils blew wide.

“You drove across the fucking country for me,” Rio said, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“You’re worth it,” Agatha said simply.

Rio leaned down, forehead pressed to Agatha’s. “You absolute stupid gorgeous fucking cowboy.”

They kissed again, deeper now. Slower.

Agatha’s hands—steady, rough, reverent—mapped the curve of Rio’s back, the strong line of her thighs, the places she’d memorized and missed in the same breath.

Rio kissed her like she was reclaiming territory she had never wanted to give up in the first place.

When Rio pulled back long enough to tear her own shirt over her head, Agatha’s hands trembled on her hips.

“Still want me?” Rio asked, soft, dangerous.

Agatha exhaled like it broke something inside her.

“Always,” she said.

They moved together without finesse—too desperate, too hungry—until Rio straddled Agatha’s hips, pinning her hands again with a wicked grin.

The sweat-slick slide of their bodies sparked along every raw, open nerve.

Agatha arched up helplessly into Rio’s weight.

“Fuck,” Agatha muttered, breathless.

Rio leaned down, mouth brushing the shell of Agatha’s ear, voice gone hoarse with emotion.

“Still my handsome cowboy,” she whispered.

Agatha froze under her. Choked out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a moan. Pulled Rio down and kissed her like salvation.

It wasn’t sex the way Agatha had known it—a transaction, a way to pass the time.

It was messy and reverent and stupid with want.

It was Rio laughing into her mouth, whispering “mine, mine, mine” until Agatha shuddered apart in her arms.

And when Rio came too, gasping into Agatha’s shoulder, Agatha closed her eyes and let herself believe—for the first time in a long time—that maybe, just maybe, she was allowed to keep something good.

The backyard smelled like dirt and spilled tequila.

It was summer again when Agatha drove the last post into the earth with a grunt, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. The sun was merciless, high and white against the endless New Jersey sky, but she didn’t care.

Rio was sitting cross-legged in the grass, sorting seed packets into neat piles—tomatoes, peppers, herbs. Her hair was tucked into a messy bun, wisps clinging to the damp edges of her neck.

Agatha took a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Sometimes she still forgot she was allowed to look.

“You’re not gonna make me build another raised bed, are you?” Agatha asked, leaning on the mallet.

Rio squinted up at her, smirking. “Only if you’re good.”

Agatha barked a laugh. “Define good.”

“Still up for debate,” Rio said airily, tossing her a packet of basil seeds.

Agatha caught it one-handed, heart tugging in her chest.

Basil.

It always came back to basil.

Later, after the dirt was packed and the hose coiled and the sun had started to slide toward the horizon, Rio brought out Agatha’s old work jacket.

The left sleeve had torn weeks ago, caught on a fence post Agatha was fixing.

Rio sat on the porch steps, denim stretched over her knees, a sewing kit balanced carefully beside her.

Agatha watched from the grass, heart cracking open along familiar lines.

“You don’t have to fix everything, you know,” she said, voice soft.

Rio threaded the needle carefully, not looking up. “Maybe I want to.”

Agatha crossed the yard, sat down heavy beside her.

Rio’s fingers worked quick and sure, weaving the thread through fabric, mending the worn places with patient, stubborn care.

Agatha didn’t say anything. She just sat there, breathing in the scent of sun-warmed cotton and cheap shampoo, letting Rio stitch her life back together one small act at a time.

When Rio tied off the final knot, she leaned into Agatha’s side without hesitation.

“There,” she said, satisfied. “Good as new.”

Agatha slid her arm around her, pulling her close. “Better,” she said gruffly.

That evening, under the bruised purple sky, they planted a few herbs together.

Rio kneeled in the dirt, hands steady and sure. Agatha hovered awkwardly at first, unsure where to dig, until Rio shoved a trowel into her hand with a grin.

“Don’t be scared, cowboy. It’s just dirt.”

Agatha snorted. “I’m more worried about disappointing you.”

“Impossible,” Rio said easily, and meant it.

They worked in companionable silence, the cicadas screaming their summer songs, the earth warm under their knees.

Agatha brushed a smudge of dirt from Rio’s cheek with her thumb, and Rio caught her hand without looking up, threading their fingers together.

“Good things take time,” Rio said absently, pressing a basil seedling into the soil.

Agatha swallowed hard against the lump rising in her throat.

She could still remember that day—Rio laughing at her dying pothos, teasing her about killing herbs, holding out a basil plant like a dare and a prayer all in one.

She could still remember what it felt like to hope and be so damn afraid of it.

And yet—here they were.

Not perfect. Not easy. Just… real.

Agatha tilted Rio’s chin up with two fingers, kissed her slow and sure under the fading sky.

“And some things,” Agatha said against her mouth, “you just grow into.”

Rio flashed that soft, wicked smile and murmured, “I grew all over you. You didn’t even fight it.”

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

A Chance

A co-workers, enemies to friends piece for you guys!! Here's the Masterlist for this series!

Warnings: mentions of cheating, rude/snippy remarks, alcohol use

WC: like 3-4k?

If there was anyone that frustrated the living daylights out of you in the office, it was Harry. You swore that God had designed him with the sole purpose of irritating you. You didn’t hate him, you didn’t know him that well. But you didn’t get on well with him; you were just opposites and often times had opposing views or solutions for things. He wasn’t lazy but he distracted everyone all the time because he finished his work quite fast. Like now… 

You bit your lip, trying to hold back from saying something as he and your cubicle neighbor, Adam, laughed loudly about something. It was hard to concentrate on your editing with this racket! Music distracted you instead of help you concentrate, so you didn’t want to put on headphones, you really needed the quiet. After another minute of their commotion you shot up from your seat and went over to the little stool you had against your shared wall with Adam and stepped on so you could peer over the division.

“Can you two shut it, please? I have a last minute thing to do and the deadline’s in an hour!” You implored with a frown on your face and they both glanced over to you, smiling fading.

“Yeah. Sorry, Y/N.”, “Sorry.” They both mumbled before you clambered down and went back to your seat. 

Harry wasn’t a dick, if things got to a point like this, where you had to say something to him, he always apologized. You had no idea why you suddenly developed this dislike towards him, but you just did and you could tell it bothered him. You sighed when you heard two gentle knocks on the frosted glass sliding door of your divider.

“What?” You asked monotonously and when there was no response you rolled your chair over and opened it up, startling Harry who was scribbling on a sticky note now. “What is it, Harry?”

“Nothing, just wanted to apologize again for the noise.” He offered another apology and you just nodded once. “Ummm…so what piece are you editing?” He asked, taking a step closer to you and you sighed.

“Harry, all the time I waste chatting with you about work is time I could spend actually doing my work.” You pointed out and he nodded.

“Right.” He hummed with a tight lipped smile before he took off without another word. You bit your lip nervously, feeling a bit bad over the way you’d dealt with this situation. You’d been rude for no reason and seeing him leaving all defeated like that made you feel like shit.

“That was harsh.” Adam said, peering over the division and you glanced over at him and nodded.

“I know. I’ll make it right later.” You assured him and he smiled and nodded. You got on well with Adam, you wouldn’t say you were close but you were friends, he was the one that bought you the stool to be able to look over the 6 foot division between the two of you. You could have lunch or get drinks after work sometimes and carry conversations, and more importantly, you could hold each other accountable. Whether that was in your personal conversations or with things at work.

“Good.” He said and then went to sit down again. 

With the peace and quiet you were able to finish editing before the hour deadline came and the most stressful part of your day was over. You hated when the did last minute changes or additions to the magazine but it was part of the job. You couldn’t imagine how much more stressful it’d be to work for the newspaper or even for the TV where changes could be made in real time! So you let go of that frustrating part of your morning and then went to lunch. You stopped by the coffee shop around the corner and got Harry an iced, Vanilla Cinnamon latte. It was the office favorite and the perfect peace offering. So you made your way over to Harry’s cubicle with the little note you had scribbled preemptively (you were hoping he was still on lunch because confrontation was hard) but you saw him sitting there just scrolling through his phone. You bit your lip and stuffed the note in your pocket before knocking on the frame of the sliding door.

“Harry?” You said as you knocked and he turned around. When he saw it was you, he straightened up.

“Hey, Y/N.” He greeted you with a half-smile.

“Hey.” You said nervously, “Ummm, s-sorry for being rude to you earlier. I was annoyed and I took it out on you and Adam.” You explained, “Well, mostly on you.” You added.

“That’s alright, last minute additions are a pain.” He said and you nodded, relieved at his understanding.

“Yeah…so I ummm, got you this.” You said extending the drink to him, “It’s the vanilla cinnamon one that everyone seems to love.” You shared and he smiled at you.

“Wow, thank you so much. You didn’t have to.” He thanked you and you shook your head.

“It’s nothing really.” You assured him, “Just a peace offering.” You said and he nodded.

“Well thanks again.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome. Sorry again for earlier.” You said before hurrying off to your desk.

It was maybe 20 minutes later when you went to the kitchenette to grab some more water when you saw two of the girls from campaigning sitting at the table in there. The one called Destiny looked giddier than ever as she sipped on a latte, a latte that when she set it down had Harry’s name written in black sharpie. He had regifted your peace offering?! You were livid and felt betrayed! Maybe you had pushed him too far this time and he disliked you now too! You couldn’t help it when you mouth opened to ask her about it.

“H-hey Destiny, did someone do a coffee run?” You asked her and she shook her head and smiled cheerfully.

“No, Harry got it for me over lunch. Said he knew I liked these. He’s so sweet!” She said and you were holding off an eye-twitch.

“Wow, so sweet.” You said and then rushed back out without your water. You started to storm over to his area but then stopped yourself. You didn’t like him and he clearly didn’t like you, which was fine. This was fine and yes, your feelings were hurt, but you’d done the same to him and well, a coffee was nothing compared to hurt feelings so you just trudged back to your desk and sat with a huff.

“What’s wrong?” You heard Adam ask from his cubicle.

“Nothing, just forgot to grab water before coming back.” You said and he hummed.

“I’ll be back…” you mumbled before heading back to the kitchen. You were filling up your water bottle when Harry walked in, humming a familiar little tune.

“Oh, hey Y/N!” He greeted you with pep and you turned to him.

“Harry. Did you enjoy your coffee?”

“I did, thank you! It’s not a favorite for nothing!” He said with a smile and you hummed.

“Well good. It’s a lot of people’s favorite here.” You said and he nodded with a smile, but he sensed the awkwardness emanating from you.

“Yeah, it is.” He smiled again as you held eye contact with him for a few seconds and you just walked out without another word. 

…. A FEW DAYS LATER ….

It had been a few days and you were still upset that Harry had regifted the coffee you’d bought him. And more than that, it irked you that now he thought you were friends. He’d say hello everyone morning and you’d just respond half-heartedly. He knew better than to strike up conversation while you were in the zone, so to him this was just you acting like you always did. And to you, well he was just lying and being fake, which made you like him even less. All of this was affecting you far more than you cared to admit. It really struck you with awe just how easily he had the others fooled! It was around lunch time when you contacted your best friend, Nina, to see if she wanted to meet up for drinks she agreed and now you had something to look forward to for the rest of the work day.

It was 7 on the dot when you walked in to the bar you’d agreed upon. It was a little bit up-scale, so you’d gone home and changed and done up your makeup a little bit more. Thankfully, the bar top had two open spots so you hurried over and set your purse down on the empty stool to reserve it for Nina. It wasn’t odd that Nina was late, after she had her daughter she was constantly running 15-30 minutes behind everyone. It was annoying but you knew that being a mom was also annoying sometimes, it was a full-time thing, 365/24/7. No days off. Around the 32 minute mark you got a text from her stating that the baby had a fever and she couldn’t leave her with her boyfriend, who was also sick. You sighed and then raised your hand to get the bartender.

“Ready?” He asked as he walked over.

“Yeah, just the espresso martini.” You said.

“Got it. Open or closed tab?”

“Just leave it open.” You said and he nodded before taking your card and setting that up. 

You texted Nina back and then just looked around the bar, it was more full now and there were people waiting to sit, so you decided now was a good time to remove your things from the neighboring high chair. And as you gave one more look around the room your eyes landed on none other than Harry Styles. He looked relieved to see you and started making his way over to you. You sighed and turned to face the bar again, but moments later you heard his voice.

“Y/N!” He greeted you.

“Harry.” You mumbled, staring straight ahead.

“Can I…touch you?” He asked and you whipped around quickly, thanking the interior designers that these chairs spun.

“What?!”

“Can I touch you, not in a creepy way! Just, like a hand on your waist or hip?” He asked.

“You may not.” You scoffed.

“Oh my god, please! I ran into my ex outside and she already has another boyfriend! I told her I was seeing someone too because I…felt sad and jealous that she moved on and when he gets here and she gets inside I don’t want to look like a fool.” He explained and you pouted a bit. You knew about about exes that made you feel bad about yourself.

“Fine.” You sighed, “This seat is not gonna be taken anymore so just hop on.” You mumbled and he thanked you as he sat.

“So did you get stood up?” He asked carefully.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, it was by my friend, not a date. Her baby is running a fever.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” 

“Yep.” You hummed and then moments later your drink came and Harry ordered the same. Which then reminded you of why you were so annoyed at him. 

“Hey, I also wanted to ask, maybe this is not the time and place to have this conversation, but do you…have a problem with me?” He asked and you turned to him.

“Not really, I just…don’t mesh with you.” You said simply and he frowned. Everyone meshed with Harry. He was an air sign, he was freewheeling and fun and kind and creative!

“Well, why not?” 

“I don’t know, I just don’t like your manner of doing things. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I mean you’re getting things done and everyone likes the outcome of your work, it’s just the way you go about it. It doesn’t work for me. It’s not personal, Harry.”

“You make it personal though.” He said and you frowned.

“I don’t.”

“You do.” He insisted, “I’ve left it alone because you’re just how you are and everyone tells me that it’s not me, that you’re just…a certain way, but I don’t know you that well so…” he trailed off and you frowned.

“You talk about me to other people?” 

“Sometimes…just to ask if they’ve heard you say anything about me, you know? Not to talk badly of you. But sometimes people come to me about it. I mean, it’s not like they don’t see the difference of how you treat them versus me.” He said and your brows furrowed. You thought your dislike towards him was discrete but everyone knew apparently.

“And everyone thinks I’m…a bitch?” You asked and he bit his lip nervously.

“I’ve never said that to anyone by the way, but people have…used that term from time to time.” He explained and you frowned, “I know we don’t know each other all that well but to me it just seems you’re just…a grump. Not a…well, you know.” He shrugged.

“Hey Harry!” You both heard and spun around to see who you presumed was his ex standing there with a tall man on her arm. She was breathtaking. You weren’t insecure about your looks all that often, but right now you were. You swear you’d seen this woman in some ad on the internet before.

“Hi Eden, nice to see you again.” He smiled.

“Yeah, we ran into each other outside.” She explained, “This is Gerard, my boyfriend.” She introduced him, “He models too.” She said and you and Harry both nodded.

“I’d imagine so!” Harry smiled easily. You were impressed at his composure after he admitted to you that he felt sad and jealous about this minutes before. Your irritation and insecurity would’ve flared far too easily and you would’ve made a fool of yourself. “Nice to meet you, Gerard.” He said extending his hand and shook it. “This is Y/N, my date tonight.” He said and then you felt Eden’s scrutinizing gaze down your face and body.

“Mmmm, kinda cute, I guess.” She said with a hint of snark and your eyes narrowed at her.

“Like those shoes!” You said with a sardonic smile and her mouth dropped open a bit, “We were kind of in the middle of an important conversation, so if you’re done trying to flaunt Gerard to your ex maybe it’s time you go find a seat.” You said and she just groaned and pulled Gerard along. Moments later Harry started laughing and you held back your smile as you turned back towards the bar.

“Oh, that was funny.” He chuckled, “Thanks for that.” He said to you with a smile and you maintained your serious facade.

“S’nothing, she was too condescending. And that poor man, being dragged into her games.”

“Either way, thank you. Standing up to her is not an easy feat.”

“Is that why you broke up?”

“Yeah…she was mean spirited and she cheated on me so-”

“Oh, that’s awful, Harry! I’m sorry.”

“Well at least she’s with him now and it wasn’t some rando.” He said and you shook your head.

“I guess but only an awful person betrays someone like that and it’s not worth you feeling sad or jealous over.” You stated firmly and glanced back at him and he was smiling a bit, “Or well…that’s my opinion about it.” You shrugged, sounding a bit less secure now that he was staring into your eyes.

“Well, thanks for that. I think I minimize it to…not feel so badly about it.” He explained and you hummed and reached for your drink again.

Everything you’d thought of Harry up until this point was the opposite of what he seemed to be. His constant need for socializing had you thinking he had no self awareness, but his priori statement made you realize that he did have it. Maybe you’d just judged him far too harshly for absolutely nothing. And well, no one likes to admit that they’re wrong…but you were wrong about him. But sadly, he wasn’t wrong about you and it made your smile fall.

“What’s wrong?” He asked you and you shook your head.

“It’s nothing.” You assured.

“Hey, tell me. The least I could do is listen after you retrieved my balls from the dragon guarding them.” He chuckled and you smirked, “Sorry for being crass but I mean…that’s what it was.” He said.

“I concluded that I have been wrong about you this whole time but you haven’t been wrong about me and that’s…it’s sad.” You said.

“It’s not like you’re a bad person. You’re just…irritable.” He said with a smile and you sighed.

“I try not to be…and like it’s not like in a condescending way. I don’t think I’m better than anyone else. I just…I’ve always had a hard time relating to other people. Like I’m not into the same things as everyone so I can’t join in on conversations a lot and it does upset me. But now everyone things I’m this kill joy and a raging bitch!” You said through a laugh of disbelief.

“I mean…what you did for me the other day? With the coffee?” He asked and then your smile fell again.

“You mean the coffee you regifted to Destiny?” You asked and he sighed. “I saw her with it in the kitchen. She said you bought it for her.” You said with an accusatory tone, “That…hurt my feelings.” You confessed. It felt like you were choking on sand, admitting that to him but it had been something you couldn’t move past.

“Okay, there’s an explanation.” Harry said, “I’m lactose intolerant and when I tried it I realized it wasn’t lactose free and I would get sick if I drank it. I didn’t want to throw it away and risk you seeing it in a garbage can. So I…gave it to the person who sat further away from you and told her a little white lie about it.” He explained and you couldn’t be upset at that.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright. I appreciated the gesture though! A lot! I thought maybe that meant we could start to be a little more chummy, you know?”

“I thought so too until I saw you regifted it.” You said and he smiled.

“Yeah…I should’ve said something then or asked. But I just assumed you knew. Usually when we group order I’m the only other person who gets a cold brew black-”

“Oh! I’m the other person who orders that!” You said excitedly and he grinned.

“Yeah? I mean, good coffee doesn’t need anything in my opinion. It has a whole flavor profile on its own!”

“Agreed!” You concurred and he smiled.

“See, there’s one thing in common.” He added and you hummed and smiled.

The rest of the evening with Harry was pleasant. After all of the unpleasantness you’d put him though you picked up his tab too and assured him that next time he could get you and well, he was pleased that there’d be a next time.

Harry was glad you two had a breakthrough. He was walking back to his car and was feeling for his keys in his pockets when he realized they weren’t there. He circled back to the bar and no one had turned anything in and they weren’t where you two sat or in the bathroom. So he hurried out to his car and upon peering in with his phone light on he saw them sitting in the cup holder. He groaned as he recalled that he’d seen Eden walking down the sidewalk when he was about to get out of the car.

“Shit…” he mumbled and then dialed your number.

“Hey Harry!” You answered right away as you had just gotten to the intersection.

“Hey, I hate to do this but I locked my keys in my car and my insurance thing is in there too and if I call a random tow they’ll charge me an arm and a leg…”

“Yeah, no worries ummm, I can circle back I’m just down the street.” You assured, “Did you need to stay over as well?” You asked.

“Only if you’re fine with that! If not I could see who’s up and can let me crash!”

“No that’s alright, my couch is very comfy.” You assured him.

“Okay, thank you so much! I parked around the corner on 4th.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a few.” You assured and hung up.

Minutes later he was getting into your car, thanking you profusely for helping him out. He was searching through his emails for his insurance agent’s contact to give him a call in the morning, and thankfully he found it. He explained it wasn’t any of the bigger insurance companies since those were too pricey. So he ran everything by this guy to ensure that things would get covered by his policy if and when he ran into any issues. You fully understood this and chatted about it a bit more until you were at your apartment.

Once you got in you assured him he could borrow some stuff from your ex boyfriend that’d been left behind and got him a spare toothbrush too and he went off to get showered and changed while you made up the couch for him. You waited for him to get out and then headed back out with two pillows.

“Hey, ummm soft or firm?” You asked him.

“Whichever one you don’t use.” He smiled.

“Oh no, I have like 6 pillows, you choose the one you prefer.” You assured.

“Firm, please.”

“Alright, here you are.” You said walking it over to him.

“Y/N, seriously, thank you for tonight. For all of it.” He said softly.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. It’s the least I can do after being a huge bitch to you for nothing.”

“It’s not because you’re trying to make things up to me. It’s because you’re a nice person.” He said and you smiled a bit and glanced away, “Hey, you are.”

“After everything I’ve done to you and how I’ve treated you, you believe that?”

“I do. I also believe in second chances.”

“Hopefully not with cheating exes…” you added with a timid smirk and he grinned.

“Yeah, definitely not.” He said, gaze still locked on yours. You felt this tension rising between you, it was all of the good things mixed with all the past irritations and it was making your brain cloudy. “Y/N?”

“Hmmm?”

“How mad would you be if I tried to kiss you right now?” He asked and you couldn’t tell if he was kidding around or being sincere.

“Ummm…I don’t…know.” You got out nervously, “Let’s just get to bed.” You said and he nodded, “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Good night.” He responded and you hurried off to your bedroom. You also washed off your body and got ready for bed and as you finally settled in your phone pinged with a text message.

Harry Styles:

How do I turn off the light?

You smiled and got out of bed and went over to find him already cuddled up on the couch and he glanced over at you.

“Sorry couldn’t find the switch.”

“It’s on this remote.” You said reaching for it on the coffee table.

“Oh, fancy.”

“Right!” You grinned and handed it over. “You can change the settings too if you don’t want it pitch black.” You said and he nodded.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” You said and started walking off before you stopped at the entrance of the hallway. You went back and leaned over him before kissing his cheek gently. His eyes fluttered shut and he smiled for a second before you pulled back. “Sorry.” You whispered.

“That’s alright.” He assured you and you bit your lip nervously before hurrying back down the hall. You closed the door and leaned back on it with a pounding heart and a smile on your face. You were so happy you had given him a chance tonight.

>> NEXT PART >>

[littlekysworld]

A Dadmight snippet absolutely nobody asked for? Coming right up!

(Part of a creative writing word prompt exercise. This one was for the word 'hand'. End of manga spoilers ahead.)

~~~~~

Ever since the dust of the war has settled, Izuku has noticed that All Might has been holding his hand a lot.

In fact, that was the first thing Izuku had woken up to in the hospital; All Might, from his own neighboring hospital bed, reaching across the way to clutch at one of Izuku's unfeeling hands like a lifeline at sea. Absently tracing over Izuku's scars with long fingers, knowing their trails without having to look. Tears had filled his hero's eyes when the story was recounted of how Izuku had finally, as they’d been warned time and time again, lost both arms– even if temporarily. His mentor took both of Izuku's hands and squeezed, eyes shining simultaneously with sorrow and reverence as they regarded him. More tears when Eri visited, the broken horn her head all bandaged up, and he saw the way All Might's arms shook when they wrapped around her for a grateful hug.

The first war flashback Izuku experiences outside the privacy of his nightmares is midday, in the middle of a grocery store.

He's been trailing somewhere behind All Might. The man's buoyant chatter travels down from where he towers heads above Izuku in the aisle, both of their eyes scanning their respective heights of shelves for ingredients for the dinner All Might insisted on making with him later.

The dozens of bangs that clatter out from behind them are cans falling from a top shelf, but for a moment in Izuku's mind, they are–

Shigaraki's rage as bits of earth crumbled around him. The pounding of Edgeshot at Bakugo's stopped heart. The 'snap' of limbs breaking, the 'pop' of his enemy's arms multiplying–

A worker sheepishly apologizes from atop their ladder where they've gotten clumsy with their organizing. Izuku doesn't hear it over the deafening thrum of blood rushing between his ears. 

After a friendly reassurance to the worker, All Might turns to Izuku and pales– but by the time he's crouched in front of the boy, hands coming to his shoulder and his face, Izuku has already shoved the hellish images from mind. Bullets of sweat dart down his forehead, but his breath has returned to him, and he tries to give All Might a reassuring smile when the man mouths 'Do we need to leave?' (Or maybe he's said it out loud, and the rushing blood hasn't yet quieted in Izuku's ears.)

His smile must come out more like a grimace, though, because when All Might straightens, it's with Izuku's hand wrapped carefully within his own. It's warmed where the rest of him has gone ice cold. At Izuku's quiet, self-conscious insistence that they stay, All Might leads them back through the aisles, continuing their journey of swiping up katsudon ingredients. His voice is soft yet steady as he keeps Izuku grounded with light conversation. 

If anyone finds the image of a teenager being led throughout the store with their hand held like a child by the former Symbol of Peace strange, they don't have the boldness to say so.

The next time they are out in public, before entering another enclosed space, All Might stops in the doorway to preemptively offer Izuku his hand.

Izuku stiffens. His face flushes with embarrassment as he eyeballs the large hand, and then the man extending it– but his hero does not look down at him with pity. All Might looks down at Izuku with the same reverence that had shone in his eyes when Izuku had first awoken. With an unspoken ‘We agreed it's not a weakness to accept help, no?'

Also with, what Izuku is brave enough nowadays to hope is what he feels from his mentor father, love.

Izuku takes his hand then, and for many times to come.

There will come a day where Izuku doesn't need to take it, anymore, but there will never come a day where All Might stops offering. 

~~~~~

You can find more of these random blurbs in my drabble fic if you'd like:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954239/chapters/57611152

[cyberpunkvan]

Dancing with myself - SilverV fic

Read on ao3 Synopsis: V is desperate for some alone time, but Johnny has a plan of his own. Word Count: 3,061 Pairing: Johnny Silverhand / Female!V Warnings: Smut, masturbation, angst ending

The room was silent, except for the street noises below, which the mind tuned out. The only light offered came through the slanted blinds—the blinding light of colorful billboards. It seemed like the perfect night for V to vent some physical frustrations. Johnny Silverhand had plagued her mind in more ways than one for almost a week now. No matter where she found herself, he was always lurking nearby. He would burst in during her attempts to enjoy a hot shower, disrupting her moment of solitude with his incessant chatter. As she lay in bed, hoping for rest, she could feel his presence as he metaphorically knocked on the side of her head, invading her thoughts and disrupting her peace. The most invasive aspect of it all was that no thought of hers remained private; it felt as if he had access to her innermost musings, stealing away her sense of autonomy and making her feel perpetually exposed.

It was only natural for thoughts of a sexual variety to pop into her head now and then. The curve of good ass. A shirt showing the right amount of cleavage. An ad that was a little too suggestive. This kind of thought came up often in Night City. It was even worse with Johnny around. Not only because V couldn't deny an attraction to him, despite how much she hated it, but also because his own seeped in. Suddenly, her casual checking out turned into full-blown fantasies at the whim of Johnny. All of this had led to a sharp increase in her sexual desire. However, she couldn't bring herself to get hot and heavy with anyone. After an ice bath featuring Alt and Johnny's top hits, she'd already seen what it was like from the other side. She wasn't sure whether the reason was that she didn't want to subject Johnny to the same thing or if the idea of him watching made her not want to.

Either way, that left her with only one option: her hand and a soft bed. She had tried several nights already. However, when the idea popped into her head, Johnny would tease her with a snarky comment. He was a pro at ruining the mood. Tonight was different. The idea had already occupied her mind for several hours, yet Johnny had not made an appearance.

V peered around her small apartment as if Johnny was hiding around a corner somehow. With light feet, she snuck into bed. The covers were pulled back as she slipped into the soft, warm nook. She couldn't help biting her lip in anticipation as she sunk into the pillow. Her hands preemptively ran along her sides while placing her feet on opposite ends. Her knees bent slightly as her tank rode up to reveal her stomach. Flashes of lewd images passed through her head. First of past encounters, then of recent fantasies. However, her mind seemed to push the idea of Johnny Silverhand onto her. V ground her teeth in annoyance, trying to force them out. She shook her head before closing her eyes to continue. Her hand slinked ever so slightly past her hips. Thoughts of toes clenching, hands grasping, and Johnny caressing her thigh as he hooked his leg under it.

Fuck! V groaned as the image flashed in her brain. She rubbed her eyes until she saw stars, hoping it would clear it out. However, a new one appeared. Johnny sat on the edge of her bed, leaning back on his hands to get a full view of her. Unfortunately, this wasn't a vision or a dream. It was real. As real as a construct in your head can be.

"Damn V, didn't realize you saw me that way."

V slid her hand back to her side with a heavy eye roll. She pushed herself up and leaned onto her knees. She gestured at him vaguely with a raised eyebrow, "I don't see you in any particular way. I'm just... Well, you know. You can feel it too,"

V tried to ignore the heat in her face as a slight tingle ran through her. Johnny's small chuckle made it clear he felt it, too. The laugh only served to increase the feeling below her waist. Johnny removed his sunglasses. His eyes trailed from her chest down to the origin of the feeling. She grimaced at his lack of decency to look at her face first.

"Whatever gets your rocks off, Doll."

A cigarette flickered in between his fingers. He shifted forward, blowing the digital smoke in her direction. He flicked the cigarette between her legs. The ashes floated down before blinking out of existence just above her body. V was momentarily silent as she couldn't take her eyes off his hand lingering by her knees. Even though she knew he was just a ghost, the closeness still enticed her. Finally, she broke the spell with an annoyed groan. "Look, are you here just to fuck with me? 'Cause I'm doing this with or without you here. I'm tired of you getting in the way,"

"Nah. Actually, I have a plan."

"What? Want me to blow up a building so you can get off too?" V scoffed at him.

"I don't need to get at Arasaka to get rock hard. Just need you to take one of those miracle pills Misty gave you," his eyes landed on the pseudoendotrizine lying sideways on the kitchen counter.

V sat up quickly. She stared at him in awe of his stupidity. He wanted her to risk her own death so that he could get his dick wet. He was insane. She stood up to move in front of him. Before she could even get the argumentive words in her head out, Johnny spoke again.

"Calm down, Doll. I'm not trying to kill you. If we're gonna do this, then I want it to be good. I've been celibate for fifty years. Not gonna let my first time back be some mediocre finger tickle," he wiggled his fingers at her.

"And you think that you're better at making me cum than I am?" V looked down at him in disbelief.

Johnny smirked, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a confident grin as he slowly rose. For a brief moment, his image shimmered, a subtle distortion in the air, as his chest brushed against hers. He looked down, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that radiated his trademark cockiness. The playful glint in his eyes hinted at mischief, as if he were reveling in the charged atmosphere between them, fully aware of his effect on her. "You've seen me in action,"

He passed through her body, V feeling a cold shiver as the blue light entered her. She spun around to see him leaning his elbow against the counter. As he tilted his head slightly, he beckoned her attention to the small, organized array of pills on the counter. He beckoned her closer with a crooked grin.

"Just take half of one of those pills. I only need control of your hand to show you the night of your life,"

V mentally berated herself, a storm of frustration brewing within her. She couldn't believe how intensely his idea had piqued her interest; it felt like a betrayal of herself. The idea danced tantalizingly at the edges of her thoughts, its allure both unsettling and irresistible. She was on the fence about it. Was it really worth taking one of those pills? Was Johnny talking himself up, or is he actually good?

To put her worries aside, Johnny pushed his memories into her mind. He flooded her thoughts with images of his past with Alt, Rogue, and several groupies. The overwhelming influx made V feel overstimulated. She was hit with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions: an aggravating jealousy, a dizzying arousal, and a frustration that it was all affecting her. V grimaced as she snatched the pills off the table, hearing Johnny laugh triumphantly behind her. He leaned over her shoulder as she placed one pill on the sink counter and sliced it in half. She took a deep breath before swallowing it dry.

V clenched the cold countertop, her fingers tightening around it until her knuckles turned a ghostly white. A rough cough erupted from her throat, and she leaned forward, bracing herself against the sink. Luckily, there was no blood this time. With a murmur of a curse, she caught her reflection in the mirror, a familiar sight that felt oddly distant. Johnny was gone—his absence echoed in the hollow space beside her—but more disconcerting was the disappearance of the feeling in her arm. In fact, there seemed to be a shimmering, holographic robotic arm hovering just above her skin, its metallic sheen contrasting sharply with her flesh. Both of her arms lifted in front of the mirror. She wiggled the fingers on her right hand, knowing she was making it move. Her left hand, however, flipped off the mirror. Johnny was in control of that hand, for sure.

"Holy shit, it worked!" V wasn't sure if it was her words or his.

The two awkwardly stumbled back towards the bed. Their combined minds attempted to coordinate their movements to walk. They fell back onto the bed. Johnny pushed them up to lay back against the pillow. V took a deep breath as they both took a second to adjust to the new situation. She intertwined her hand with the holo one. The lack of feeling on the other hand made her head spin. Johnny squeezed back, easing the tension.

"Are you ready?" Johnny's voice rang out. V nodded. He let go of her hand to slip it under her pants immediately. V gasped as his fingers grazed the top of her clit. Quickly, she gripped his arm and pulled it back.

"What's wrong?" Johnny splayed his hand out on her stomach.

"You're going way too fast! It's more fun if you build it up," V smirked as she slowly lifted her tank. Surprisingly, V didn't feel any resistance to the idea from him. He typically believes he knows best in every situation. She held his wrist and guided it up to her chest. "Just take it slow."

Johnny's holographic hand flickered blue light as it squeezed her boob. His pointer finger moved down to twirl around her nipple. V sighed when her nipple started to turn hard at the consistent movement. She nodded in affirm Johnny while running her hand up her thigh. Slowly, she laid out her legs before spreading them. One leg hung over the edge of the small bed. She could feel Johnny's mind running wild at the sight. He wanted to move his hand back down, but V pressed her hand into his. He sighed from her lips as he started to pinch her lightly.

V gripped the inside of her thigh as Johnny kept working her up—his fantasies of having an actual body drove her further. Moments later, Johnny traced his hand along her side. He slipped it under her pants, running a finger up the middle. He chuckled as he pulled it back up above her panty line. V's mouth opened as he placed his middle finger inside. She sucked on it lightly until Johnny slowly dragged it out.

"I think you're ready now, V." Johnny appeared behind her shoulder. Since he was only partially inside her, he was still able to materialize in her mind.

Her breath stuttered as they worked in tandem to pull her pants and underwear off her legs. They landed quietly on the floor beside them. They laid back comfortably on the pillow. V's legs were bent at the knee when Johnny moved back into her. She leaned her head back against the wall. Her eyes peered over to see Johnny looking down at her. His eyes locked with a smirk. V gasped as he pressed a finger onto her clit. He spun it in a circle similar to the way he was working her nipple before. V felt herself clench as she overheard Johnny let out a low groan in her ear.

"V... It's so different-" Johnny cut himself out to let out another moan.

She couldn't hold back her own as he twirled his finger hard. V firmly grasped the sturdy shelf behind her head, the metal cool against her fingertips. She leaned back slightly, her posture exuding a mix of confidence and casual ease. With a shakey motion, she lifted her leg and rested it against the wall opposite the bed. The dim light from the window cast gentle shadows, highlighting the contours of her figure as she tensed. The two started breathing heavily together as Johnny tried to speed up his pace. Her body clenched when she raised her hips to move along with him. V rolled her hips as Johnny moaned at the new feeling.

"Johnny!" V crying out his name made him move faster. "Johnny, Johnny- Wait!"

He hesitated, holding his hand mid-air as V struggled to catch her breath. Her laughter bubbled up, lightening the tension as she slowly composed herself. Johnny watched her with a puzzled expression, trying to understand what had just happened. "Sorry," she said, "I just had my own idea." The playful glint in her eyes suggested that this was far from over.

V leaned over the bed's edge and opened a drawer, unveiling a recognizable sight: Sir John Phallustiff, a gift from her last partner. She picked it up and smiled wickedly. Johnny scoffed as he read her mind. V placed the toy by her opening as she peered at him. "I want you to pretend this is you,"

It was Johnny's turn to gasp as V inserted the toy deep and quickly. Johnny couldn't believe he was about to start whimpering. It took him time to adjust to the new sensation. The toy vibrated as V pressed it in and out. After a few more thrusts, Johnny was able to let his mind run. He shifted his hand back down to V's clit as he imagined himself in front of her. The image shared between himself and V. She joined in his moans as they moved simultaneously.

V's toes curled as her legs started to wobble. Her abs clenched, and she was losing her grip on the toy. Her moans got higher and louder. Johnny could feel it, too. His finger couldn't maintain the same pace as it slipped, and he became shakey. He was desperate to make them both cum. Something shifted when the toy glided all the way in, and Johnny's hand pressed down hard. V screamed out Johnny's name as he let out a low groan. Their bodies trembled. V's leg slid down from the wall and landed on the bed. She tossed the toy near the edge and buried her head in the pillow, her slick hair sticking to her forehead. Aside from their breathing, they lay in silence, savoring the rush of dopamine they shared. However, the relaxing bliss didn't last long as their vision started to blur.

V's eyes flashed with relic malfunction. She tried to hold in her cough while reaching for the omega blockers on the floor under her pants. Their shared hands quivered as they struggled to open the cap. Finally, the pills spilled out onto the pillow. She picked up one and swallowed it fast. V laid her head near the pills, waiting for the pill to kick in. Slowly, she felt Johnny's presence slip from her body. Her holo hand flickered until it was just flesh. V rolled over to the other side to see Johnny resting beside her.

"Fuck V, what did I tell you? I'm good at what I do," Johnny had a lazy smirk on his lips.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation but couldn't help laughing. It was utterly ridiculous. They had just shared an unexpected and passionate moment, yet the first thing Johnny wanted to do was inflate his ego as if that was the most important thing in the world. Despite her annoyance, she couldn't ignore the wave of warmth and appreciation emanating from him. She could almost feel it in the air around them.

Johnny desperately tried to suppress the rush of warmth and attraction that flooded his body. He wasn't embarrassed about being sexually attracted to her; that was a feeling he had grown accustomed to. But this attraction was something entirely different—it was softer, more profound. The way her tired laughter danced through the air seemed to touch something deep within him, causing his nonexistent heart to flutter as if it were alive. Watching her, he felt an unexpected connection that went beyond mere physical desire, leaving him both exhilarated and confused.

On the other hand, V felt a deep yearning for a kiss, a delicate expression of intimacy that would wrap around her like a warm embrace after their passionate encounter. She craved that gentle connection, acknowledging the intimacy they had just shared. However, Johnny's form denied any physical comfort, leaving her feeling a profound sense of longing. The closest she could come to bridging that distance was to tentatively place her hand in the small space beside him, hoping for a flicker of connection, a spark of warmth that might draw them closer together.

"You should probably get some rest, V. That pill always knocks you out," Johnny sat up on his elbow.

As V released a deep, heavy sigh, a sense of resignation settled in her chest. The weight of unspoken thoughts loomed large in the air, and she grasped the painful reality that any meaningful discussion about their choices or the feelings swirling within them was destined to remain untouched. It was a moment filled with unexpressed emotions, where the silence seemed to speak volumes, reflecting the distance that Johnny was placing between them.

Johnny flittered out of existence as he started getting up. V got up as well and cleaned up the bed and herself. She pulled up her pants before rolling back under the sheets. As V looked at the ceiling, she wondered if Johnny and her would ever address their relationship before they had to meet god again. But then she remembered...

There were no happy ends in Night City.

[edenfenixblogs]

Not doing services this year for a variety of personal reasons (trauma season aftershocks, my grandma is dying (not this second or anything but hospice care has begun) and there’s logistics happening where we need to be available, etc.) But am doing breaking the fast at my cousin’s later.

Instead, today I found peace and meaningful contemplation while finally completing my plant arrangement and care.

Everything repotted.

Everything receiving proper light and care after a proper quarantine period.

Everything watered.

Everything receiving its weekly maintenance (fungicide, insecticide, wipe down leaves, etc.)

This year is hard for a lot of reasons that anyone following me for any length of time wouldn’t need too many guesses to figure out.

But also, this is a holiday devoted to reflection and remorse and owning up to your mistakes and committing to being better.

I struggled going into this day with the idea that so many people should be apologizing to me, yet I know they never will. It felt for awhile like I was being asked to apologize the the people who hurt me for making them hurt me. And I honestly felt resentful and bitter about it.

But the custom here is clear: Apologize. Mean it. And do your best to be better.

So I did. And it felt nice, actually. The trick was meaning it.

I apologized sincerely to people even if I didn’t know if or how I’ve hurt them, just make sure we were ok. And I apologized to people who owe me an apology. But not in a way where I was vindictive. I sat with myself. Because true remorse is the essence of this holiday. And I had to ask myself what I was sorry for. What could I honestly apologize for? Well, I apologized generally and offered to make amends. And not many people took me up on the offer or even acknowledged that I’d apologized. But if they had, I felt comfortable that I found a real and true thing I could say I apologized for and comfort that I could apologize if they replied with something I hadn’t realized.

But what did I find that was real and true in this time?

Well, I apologized for letting my trauma motivate me to see the worst in people sometimes. I apologized for not trusting some friendships to be strong enough to withstand this storm. I should never have let my fear lead me to close myself preemptively to avoid more pain. I shouldn’t test my friends who are already uncomfortable with certain things, in order to see if they actually are still my friends. Even though I didn’t know I was doing it, I still definitely did it sometimes. And I realized that as I reflected on this year and tended to my plants.

Apologizing, fucking up, doing better—these are all things that make us human. And even when we least want to apologize or feel as though others should be doing better, that’s not an excuse for us to lower our own standards for how we behave toward one another. And I can feel and believe that with my whole heart today. I hope it is enough.

G’mar chatima tova chaverim.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Hey Mac, we thought you were dead;

Sequel to this post on Macaque being back in the "Century Stone Egg Au".

After the pregnant Monkey King breaks his shock, he'd run to embrace Macaque, even if he'd just been super close to clawing his eye out (again) and that they're last meeting was a huge fight. He only holds back because he's honestly a little scared/worried how and why Macaque is there. Wukong is immediately trying to apolgise for his violent reaction, but Macaque just laughes out; "Nah, it's my fault. Should've asked first." It's only with the shadow monkeys' breathy, almost *fond* laughter that Wukong realises that Mac is truly there for peace. Mac's interaction with PIF further confirms this.

The reincarnation gang + the dragon couple are super sketched out though. Pigsy is the one to loudly ask "How do you know it's him and not some weird copycat?", mostly cus he's legit worried for Wukong in this moment. Somebody's dead partner don't just show up one day!

Wukong responds with his Gold Vision + its hard to fake the way Mac smells. The gang still refuse to leave the two alone together until they recieve a decent explaination.

The fact that Macaque literally looks like he crawled out of the grave quickly gives everybody a bad feeling, and they def force Mac to sit down and explain how tf he came back to life before he's even allowed smell Wukong.

Macaque: "I may have agreed to do something... kinda stupid in hindsight." Wukong, : "Mac... look at me. What did you do?" Macaque: "...ok don't be mad." Wukong: "I'm preemptively seething." Macaque: "I accepted a deal from the White Bone Spirit." Wukong: "I'M FURIOUS!!!" *starts throwing whatever's closest at Mac* Macaque, dodges a pillow: "Pfff! Calm down, it's not like I'm actually gonna do it! She brought me back to life to release her from a tomb or something and I chucked the key away the second I got back." The whole Room: "..." Wukong: "Mihou... thats the stupidiest thing you could have done!" *summons hair clones to throw stuff at Mac* Macaque, now failing to dodge fruit: "OW! Why are you upset!? We both know nothing good will come of letting that demon free!" PIF: "Mihou, if this Bone Demon was able to bring you back from the dead, then she has the power to track you down and recind her offer." Macaque: "...so you're saying that I have to fufill her deal, or I might get dragged back to Diyu?" Wukong and PIF, at the same time: "YES!!!" Macaque: "Shit." The Whole Room: *covering Red and Mei's ears* "LANGUAGE!!" Tang: "You should work on that before the baby gets here.

Oh you better believe Mac's in the doghouse until they can figure out how to resolve the LBD business deal. PIF calls up her lawyer to go over the exact terms and conditions.

Fire Star: "Ok, I've got good news and bad news." Macaque: "Bad news first." Fire Star: "The Lady Bone Demon's geas is airtight. You will have to open her tomb *slash* free her spirit in order to keep your place in this mortal realm - less you be recalled at a later date for a task of similar value or until she makes you redundant." Pigsy: "Translate for the non-lawyers please." Fire Star: "Either he does it, or she makes him do it, or she just takes his soul." Macaque: "Shit." Wukong & PIF: *glaring daggers at Mac* Macaque: "So what's the good news?" Fire Star, slyly: "Those are the only conditions to the geas. There's a reason you need lawyers for these kind of things nowadays. She didn't stipulate say... where to release her. Or whom would be present to greet her when her tomb opens." Everyone: *shares similar delighted/scheming looks* (*a few hours + a few calls to a worried Nezha later*) Macaque: *unlocks LBD's tomb* LBD: "Freedom! Freedom! Fr-" All of Wukong's allies in the Heavenly Army + Diyu officials:

LBD: "Oh bother."

As the Bone Demon gets carted away for conspiracy to destroy the world, she gets yelled at by all of the Underworld/Diyu officials that now have to deal with the fallout of her actions.

King Yama: "Do you understand how much paperwork I have to do to mark this monkey as alive!? He doesn't have a death date! It's been blotted out! I'll be correcting his files for months!!" Macaque: *high fives Fire Star for the solid lawyer-ing*

As far as Hell/Diyu is concerned, Macaque performed a service and was paid upfront. They don't want the headache of trying to take him back if his mate (someone who's trashed Hell before) wants to keep him.

Wukong is still super-mad at Mac for a variety of reasons, don't get hom wrong. But he's atleast glad in the moment to have his mate back. And glad that LBD is gone for the forseeable future.

[babyangelsky]

Color Moments in Two Worlds Episode 6

EVERYTHING IN THIS EPISODE HURT. SOMETIMES THERE ARE PARALLELS AND THOSE PARALLELS ARE JUST FUCKING PAINFUL BECAUSE THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES IS HOVERING OVER EVERYTHIIIIIINGGGGGUH

*gets self together* Okay. All right.

"You like Phupha!" Kram says to himself while thinking about his kiss with Tai and then immediately matching him.

Sure, sure, mhmm. You keep telling yourself that, mi cielo.

Tai's life briefly flashed before his eyes when he was greeted with this sight.

But there was no reason for him to worry because Phupha was not in fact debuting as a couple with Kram. He just wanted to give them some nice clothes so they could look pretty for the "thank fuck we didn't all die!" party he was throwing.

AND RIGHT BEFORE WE GOT THIS SHOT, MY BOY KRAM VALIDATED ME!

BECAUSE THEY DO MATCH! IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MATCHING! I'm counting this as a Clowned Correctly moment for me and no one can take it away.

We learned in the preview for this episode that Jao has an unrequited crush on Tai, but @respectthepetty and I are gonna need him to get it together because he's out here talking about it to Wayu while he's matching him.

(Side note: The subs make it seem like Jao actually has feelings for Kram but in the preview--which is hard subbed--he confirms the crush is on Tai)

AND THEY STILL AREN'T MAKING OUT ABOUT IT! JAO! LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND PICK UP WHAT THESE COLORS ARE PUTTING DOWN AND KISS THIS MAN.

Jao also matched Tai very briefly this week, on account of the unrequited feelings that have now been brought to light. He's trying to be there for Tai but Tai snaps at him because he preemptively broke up with Kram because he thinks Kram is about to leave him for Phupha. Which better not happen.

Tai apologizes and we appreciate that but really, this is a golden opportunity for Jao to run his cute little self right into Wayu's big strong arms. Which better happen. POR FAVOR!

And then everything just starts to fucking hurt because Kram goes looking for Tai after Phupha asks him to come with him to Bangkok (Kram I'm so serious, you better have told him no) but instead of finding Tai, he finds this.

LOOK FAMILIAR?

Jao drops by again and after seeing this painting, Kram finally asks what happened to his alternate self and we get a series of achingly sweet and painful flashbacks to alternate Kram's relationship with Tai. I can't be sure, but it's sort of implied that present Kram is remembering everything as we see it because he clutches his head.

Tai and his Kram met when Kram accidentally got caught in a tiger trap while trying to save a bunny, and as we all know he did, he immediately brought warmth to Tai.

And they immediately matched.

He finds Tai napping under a tree and paints him, then wakes him up when he hears thunder. Tai, in his cold blue, likes the painting and wants to buy it but Kram, in his warm yellow, tells Tai he'll give him the painting for free if Tai agrees to be his friend.

They do up getting caught in the rain and this isn't a color moment, but ya'll deserve to see Kram having a real normal one about wet shirtless Tai.

Kram is a BL Boy, therefore he has to get sick when it rains. Tai takes him to the doctor and Kram wakes up the next morning to see Tai has stayed by his side the whole night. As he looks at Tai sleeping, he is surrounded by Tai's blue.

While I begin to slowly bleed out, Tai tells Kram that he wants to be more than friends and offers Kram some of the same warmth Kram has brought into his life and asks Kram to come with him.

*through tears* Kram accepts and then they arrive at Tai's house--their house--with Kram dressed head to toe in Tai's blue.

*sobbing* They build this cozy peaceful life together where they do their laundry in the river and cook for each other and they're so in love, and Tai just keeps giving Kram his newly found warmth.

And it all culminates in Tai basically asking Kram to marry him with the biggest Heart Eyes in all creation and them having beautiful, joyous love-affirming sex absolutely bathed in warm light.

But let me tell you, noticing the way shots are framed is a blessing and a curse. Because as amazing and beautiful as this moment between Tai and Kram is, the show won't let us forget about the sword hovering above our heads.

It won't let us forget about the danger lurking outside this warm little bubble, or that it already told us how Tai and Kram's story was going to end.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Challenge: Aegon had to be King for his own survival. Rhaenyra would have killed him. And Alicent. Maybe not Helaena. DEFINITELY Aemond. He was protecting himself. AND he offered her the chance to p much keep living her life in peace.

Rebuttal: We have absolutely no evidence of this short of Otto's claims. And Otto is lying.

He saw firsthand what happened when a member of Rhaenyra's family tried to steal her inheritance. When Daemon occupied Dragonstone and declared himself Viserys' heir, did Rhaenyra resort to bloodshed? Did she use this as an excuse to try and kill Daemon? No. She called his bluff. She invited him to strike first. So when Otto tells Alicent that Rhaenyra will have "no choice" but to put her brothers to the sword, either he is suffering from memory loss, or he's lying through his teeth. He should know better than anyone that Rhaenyra is no kinslayer.

Here's the real truth. Otto realized that he couldn't control Rhaenyra. That she would not accept her position being taken away without a fight. He saw how easily she won over Daemon, how alike the two of them were. Just look at Otto's expression when Rhaenyra is flying away. He's realized that if it came to a fight with Rhaenyra, she'd have Daemon backing her. And that terrified him.

The story that Rhaenyra would preemptively murder her brothers to prevent any challenges to her claim is just that, a story. Otto uses it as justification for his plot to reject the succession. During the Green Council, he tries to have Rhaenyra and Daemon murdered so they won't challenge Aegon - exactly what he claimed Rhaenyra would do. Realistically, why would she ever do this in the first place? If she murdered her own brothers without any provocation, she would look like a tyrant. All the lords actually on her side would abandon her. Rhaenyra doesn't have a reason to harm Aegon unless he gives her one, and it's clear as day that he wouldn't do so on his own. She'd likewise have zero reason to hurt Helaena or Alicent. They have no real power. I suppose Aemond might be a problem, but again, only if he initiates. Rhaenyra isn't going to pick a fight with him.

The terms offered to Rhaenyra in 1X10 are, frankly, a complete joke. They offer her Dragonstone...which she already has. She's been living there, and now that she's queen, the castle belongs to Jace. They offer to re-confirm Luke as heir to Driftmark...even though he was already re-confirmed, just two days ago. Not to mention that Corlys survived, so the Crown really doesn't have jurisdiction over that anymore. Corlys will always choose Luke. Oh, and they offer to take her two youngest children as hostages. Sure, they don't call it that, but Rhaenyra's no fool, and it's plain as day that they would be hostages. Perhaps treated as guests, but taken for no other reason than to keep Rhaenyra in line. She's the rightful Queen, why should she entertain such nonsense? Oh, and they offer to spare any Lords who "conspired" against Aegon's ascent. Even though the story of Viserys "changing his mind" isn't well known, and these Lords would have simply been following the succession as they knew it to be. Get real.

Finally, Aegon acting in self-defense based on what he was told might have been his motive in the book. But in the show, it's very clearly a case of enjoying the attention. He feels validated and seen by the crowd. It's the first time he is actually shown to enjoy being King and maybe even start to want it.

[relevant-url-incoming]

Ivellan Jonn is sweet, gentle, a wholehearted believer in the ways and ideals of the Jedi, and absolutely terrified of being one. She can handle the being nice to people part, and probably the lack of attachment, she thinks, but when things get dire she starts to doubt that she can handle that - at her core is a deep little fear of pain that she can't think her way out of, and in split-second decisions that fear drives her.

Taking Ivellan through the canon consular storyline has her killing more of the victims of the (did they call it a plague?) dark side mind control sickness thing than she or her leaders would like, due to her aforementioned fear and her doubt that she, personally, is strong enough to shield all these people. Gentle as she generally is, that would absolutely shatter her, and the canon storyline would leave her messed up in a way that requires its own lengthy post. (Stay tuned, I guess, since I can't shut up ever) Luckily for her, she is not a canon consular, and while her issues rear their head in her life they're at least not so dire.

Ivellan often ends up sent out to play second fiddle to some Jedi Master or other, always better at following someone's lead than forging her own path, and often is found on diplomatic missions or other places where someone calm and helpful makes the difference. One of her missions leads her to briefly cross paths with Ardun Kothe and, more importantly, a young Imperial defector who turns out later not to have defected at all. Ivellan and Uv'rianon have a brief romance, with him using her for information and her pretending she doesn't have to eventually cut it off, and she's relieved and guilty at her own relief when he vanishes without a word (especially when word comes out about what he did to Kothe...)

Ivellan tries to prove herself an even better Jedi after that, though everyone who works with her still knows she will waffle and drag her feet if asked to make a hard choice. Eventually she becomes the Jedi who works with younglings and rarely leaves the temple, a path that puts her at more peace than ever. She can even mostly ignore that nagging sense of guilt that there's a war on she's not in. Mostly - in her middle age, the war shifts and suddenly there's a Jedi leading an alliance. Ivellan knows a thing or two about seeing good in Imperials, much as she tries not to admit it, and she offers her knowledge to the Force Enclave.

(Ivellan is Del'qarev's birth mother, and tries at first to hide her pregnancy before deciding it's easier and better for both of them if she just. Gives him up preemptively. He can be raised a Jedi and not have to live with what she sees as her own inadequacies. She doesn't know he never made it to the Jedi temple after his birth, though sometimes seeing adult Del in the halls of the Alliance base she might... Wonder.)

[tewwor]

“You’re mine and I’m yours.”

- Kusa to Higgy

possessive prompts ( accepting ) — @ofcursedenergy

The slow rise of eyebrows should be response enough. Nothing good will come from whatever it is Hiromi has to say in return. Atsuya should know that by now, though. So he doesn't feel like it's particularly cringe worthy when the back of his hand goes to lay across the man's forehead. He even hums quietly, haws in a manner that can put any theorist's pensiveness to shame.

Then he's inching forward, bringing both hands down to the corners of his partner's jaw as a means to bring them closer. Both of their foreheads press together and he keeps watching — when does he not? Seconds of complete and utter silence tick by before he takes in a deep breath.

"You're not sick are you?" Okay, maybe it's a rather childish way for him to go about this, but he couldn't help it. And to make a preemptive peace offering, he steals a quick kiss ... and another. "Of course I am, and of course you are," he agrees with the barest echo of warmed humor. One more apologetic kiss to Atsuya's nose and he's scooting his way even closer. Practically makes himself at home on the man's lap and drapes himself across the broadened front of him. "I really do hope you're not sick, though. Both of us can't catch a cold at the same time."

[darkmaga-returns]

Jan. 6 Committee Chairman Bennie Thompson (D-Miss.) recently stated that he would accept a preemptive pardon from Joe Biden if it were offered to him. Thompson has not been accused of a crime – yet. So, what is he hiding?

Thompson believes his committee did a “wonderful job” investigation January 6. Innocent people do not need pardons. Clearly, Thompson knows something that the public does not. “The president…….it’s his prerogative,” Thompson said, according to The Hill. “If he offers it, to me or other members of the committee, I think it, I would accept it, but it’s his choice.”

Burdick v. United States, 236 U.S. 79 (1915) declared that accepting a pardon is an admission of guilt. “There are substantial differences between legislative immunity and a pardon; the latter carries an imputation of guilt and acceptance of a confession of it, while the former is noncommittal, and tantamount to silence of the witness,” legislation declares. “There is a distinction between amnesty and pardon; the former overlooks the offense, and is usually addressed to crimes against the sovereignty of the state and political offenses, the latter remits punishment and condones infractions of the peace of the state.”

The deep state will say that the committee should be preemptively pardoned in case Donald Trump prosecutes his political enemies as the left has done relentlessly over the past four years. Pardoning Bennie Thompson would also likely result in a pardon for Liz Cheney as both have allegedly destroyed evidence surrounding the J6 case.

[armagoworldbuilding]

There was this large warship, once thought lost. It was a threatening sight, armed with a vast, spinal tachyon emitter, arrays of artillery, it's own squadron of interceptor drones... out there, unmanned, sailing on its own.

With its crew gone, it traveled across the warped void, now barren and peaceful. From system to system, it wandered, aimlessly, feeding off starlight with its solar sails. A signal could be detected coming from it: it was constantly broadcasting the space shanties its crew once sung, for anyone in its vicinity to listen.

In one of its trips around civilized space, the concerned locals carefully tried to contact the lost ship, and the ship replied. It gladly shared with them its story:

It was a survivor of the colossal war against the dreaded Eclipsers, and the swarms of violence itself that followed the failure to stop said dreaded ones. Once the last major dregs of that galactic apocalypse were slain, many of the remaining spacefaring forces retired, joining the rest of the survivors in the grand task to build their homes, old and new, and making them thrive.

This warship's crew, exhausted from their long quest, were no exception.

They didn't do so with light hearts, for they knew the ship, sapient as most vessels from the shipyards of Cawlgel are, would miss its little brethren that kept its insides working and organized during the many harsh battles it faced in the past, but both the crew and the ship itself knew they deserved to rest after their campaign, and so they did.

The ship chose to make the best of its new circumstances, now left to its own will. Inspired by the suggestions it heard from its old friends before they left, it decided to adapt its own learning protocols. Once nothing more than its own shifting algorithms, it developed fully fledged curiosity, and to sate it, to entertain itself, it chose to travel, explore. For the sake of it, to pay attention to all it couldn't notice before, when it was preoccupied with its original duties.

It did admit, however, that it still felt lost. But...

That did not remain that way. Word spread about the sentient vessel, and out there, somewhere, some spacefarers invited it to their shipyards: they had an offer for it. And the ship obliged, out of genuine interest.

A few of its old friends were there, spacecraft mechanics and engineers, alongside many new friends they made during the rebuilding of life and society. The ship was retrofitted for a new purpose: to mine asteroids to supply the new civilizations. A lot of its weaponry recycled, many former ammo cargo bays repurposed into more general purpose cargo bays and even some on-board industrial refineries, its squadron of drones fitted with mining lasers, tractor beams and cargo holds. The tachyon emitter remained: too much effort to remove such a large weapon, and they might as well be ready if they find an old horror in their new quest. I've heard that for now they're using it to preemptively melt down asteroids, so there's that.

Geared up for its new purpose, and crewed by friends old and new, the old warship is now a renowned hero of our rebuilding efforts, bringing in vast hauls of much-needed minerals and materials it finds in its long expeditions, whether from asteroids or long-lost debris.

[newtedison]

i'm participating in Fandom Trumps Hate!

i know i rb'd tea's post about it but i wanted to make my own post announcing this. i've never participated before so i'm really excited!

obviously you guys will be interested in me offering the maze runner but jsyk i am also offering star trek and high school musical. in fact i am the ONLY person offering high school musical, so. i expect my line to be OUT THE DOOR!

you all know what i like for TMR you know what i'm about. i'm a newtmas, brenderesa, brinho, or sonyarriet girlie at heart, but if you are donating money for me to write something i am willing to listen to what you want. i will also do genfic for all fandoms offered :~) i go into more detail on the offering post but feel free to message me before bidding starts if you have any preemptive wishes!

i'm offering a 10-20k fic which might sound insane but i've noticed that my fics tend to naturally land around the ~15k mark so this seems reasonable to me, especially when given until the end of the year to do it. but the minimum bid is $5 :~)

once again feel free to message me about what i'd be willing to do if you aren't sure. peace and love <3

[oh-katsuki]

IN LIGHT OF THE JJK CHAPTER I AM PREEMPTIVELY SENDING YOU LOVE AND AFFECTION IN THESE TRYING TIMES

Very genuinely btw, I know the caps might make it seem otherwise but I am truly offering you all the best wishes and love right now i hope you have a lovely day in spite of the explosion currently happening online

i genuinely like.. what the fuck am i supposed to??? do??? im actually like... devastated what the hell. oh christ.

thank you for the well wishes i am so distraught im sick to MY STOMACH. i am sending u so much love and hopefully peace bc i......... '

LIKE WHAT THE FUCK>??? WHAT???!! WHAT THE HELL!!???@?@