#anyway just wanted to scribble him in that look again

[cyofii]

⩩﹕IN WHICH Phainon, always the playful troublemaker, decides to help his friend Mydei get closer to you. With the new library opening next to your favorite café, Mydei, the kind and mysterious owner, has been secretly watching you but has never had the courage to talk to you. Now, with a little help from Phainon, the chance is finally here. As you share shy glances and small talk, the two of you slowly begin to understand each other. Meanwhile, Phainon watches happily, believing his plan will work… eventually.

wc: 3.6k 𐔌 ᯓ modern/college au, slow burn, friends to lovers, mydei being secretly smitten, mutual pinning if you squint, might be ooc!

“I heard there’s a new library that just opened right beside the café we always go to,” Castorice said, glancing up from her book with a hint of excitement in her voice. It looked like she had been jotting down ideas for a new chapter again—her pen still hovering above the page. You looked up from your phone, eyebrows raised in confusion as you tried to recall if you’d seen any signs of construction the last time you were there.

“Really? Are you thinking of going there to look for inspiration?” you asked, slowly lowering your phone on the table as curiosity began to spark in your voice. Castorice nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face, the kind that made her eyes light up. “I thought it might be nice,” she said, “A change of scenery could help me get through this chapter.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” you asked with a warm smile, your voice gentle as you leaned slightly forward, genuinely interested. “We could check out the library first, and then head to the café to hang out like we usually do.”

Castorice looked at you, her smile growing a little wider, touched by the offer. “I’d really like that,” she replied softly, her fingers pausing on the edge of her notebook. “It’s easier for me to write when you’re around… I feel less stuck.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, as if silently thanking you for always being there.

“No problem!” you said with a cheerful grin, flashing a smile in her direction. As you and Castorice continued chatting, the soft hum of the cafeteria around you blending into the background, a familiar figure with white hair approached, looking mildly frazzled and out of breath.

“There you guys are!” Phainon exclaimed, sliding into the seat beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Professor Anaxa just won’t let me go until I finish that one-thousand-word essay about Dromas,” he groaned, slumping forward onto the table as if the weight of academic suffering had finally crushed him. “I swear he has it out for me.”

“Well, you did turn in a blank essay before,” you said with a teasing smile, unable to hold back a laugh. “So honestly? This one’s totally on you.”

Castorice let out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, clearly amused by the memory. Meanwhile, Phainon only sighed louder, dramatically resting his forehead on the table.

“I was having a creative block, okay?” he mumbled, voice muffled against the surface. “Totally different situation.”

“Whatever you say…” you said with a playful smile, shaking your head slightly. Then a thought struck you. “Oh, by the way—are you free after class? Cas and I were planning to check out the new library next to the café we always go to.”

Phainon lifted his head, blinking a few times before meeting your gaze. “Library and café?” he echoed, then gave a quick nod. “Sure! Sounds better than sulking in the dorms over that essay, anyway.”

The afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden patches of light across your desk. Professor Anaxa was deep into his lecture about ancient civilizations, his voice steady as he paced across the front of the room. You were half-listening, somewhere between jotting down notes and sneaking glances at your two friends.

Castorice sat a few seats ahead, scribbling diligently in her notebook, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. It was clear she was trying her best to stay focused, though the way her gaze occasionally drifted to the window hinted that her thoughts were already wandering toward the library plans.

Beside you, Phainon looked like a tired golden retriever stuck in a history class. His head rested on his hand, eyelids drooping every few minutes, and every now and then, he’d scribble something that probably wasn’t related to the lecture, just enough to make it look like he was keeping up.

You nudged him with your elbow. He flinched upright slightly, blinking at you with a betrayed, sleepy expression.

“I was listening,” he whispered, clearly bluffing.

“Sure you were,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh.

Up front, Professor Anaxa paused mid-sentence and turned around. “Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the class?” he asked, arching a brow.

You and Phainon straightened in sync, both shaking your heads quickly like well-behaved students. Castorice glanced over her shoulder with a small, knowing smile, barely hiding her amusement.

As soon as the professor turned back to the board, Phainon leaned toward you again and muttered, “Okay, maybe I do deserve that one-thousand-word essay…”

The moment Professor Anaxa dismissed the class with a sharp tap of his pen against the desk, the three of you practically leapt out of your seats. Phainon let out a dramatic groan as he stretched, slinging his bag over his shoulder like he’d just escaped a life sentence.

“Freedom never tasted so good,” he sighed, trailing after you and Castorice as you all made your way down the hallway.

Castorice chuckled softly, hugging her notebook close to her chest. “You act like you just finished a twelve-hour shift at a coal mine.”

“I might as well have,” Phainon replied, feigning exhaustion. “My brain has withered. My soul aged ten years.”

You smiled. “Good thing we’re going somewhere peaceful. Who knows, maybe the library will help restore your ‘withered’ brain.”

The three of you stepped out into the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was quiet, lined with swaying trees and the occasional rustle of passing students. Just a short walk from the campus gates, the familiar café came into view—its windows glowing softly, the scent of brewed coffee drifting through the air. But today, your eyes were drawn to the sleek building next to it: tall glass windows, elegant wood paneling, and a freshly painted sign that read Kremnoan Public Library.

“There it is,” Castorice said, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to it. “It looks so calm.”

“And bookish,” Phainon added. “Like a place where the air itself smells like old pages and productivity.”

You laughed. “Let’s check it out.”

The doors opened with a soft chime, and the scent of new books and polished wood wrapped around you like a gentle hug. Shelves stretched high and far, with sunlight pouring in from the skylights above. It was quiet, but not cold—welcoming, like it had been waiting for people just like you.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” Castorice murmured, already drifting toward a corner desk near the window.

Phainon blinked up at the ceiling. “I might actually feel inspired to write that essay…”

You raised a brow. “That’s a big maybe.”

He grinned. “I said might.”

Ignoring Phainon's words, the three of you quietly went your separate ways inside the library.

The space was bigger than it looked from the outside, with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly. You wandered through the aisles, your eyes drifting over titles that sparked your curiosity, history books, fantasy epics, and scientific journals. Despite all the options, you somehow ended up in the light novel section, the one place you often found comfort after a long day.

You slowly scanned the shelves, your fingers brushing across worn covers and fresh ones alike. A few familiar titles stood out, but one in particular caught your attention. It was a book Castorice had recommended to you before. The cover looked exactly like how she described it, and just the sight of it brought a small smile to your face.

You reached out for it without hesitation, eager to finally give it a try. Just as your fingers touched the book, another hand reached out at the same time.

Your hands brushed against each other.

Startled, you looked up just as the other person did too.

A man stood across from you, tall and composed, with an unfamiliar but calm presence. His eyes met yours for a moment, sharp, golden, and strangely warm. He didn’t speak right away, and neither did you.

The silence stretched, not awkward, but still enough to make you realize your hand was still lightly touching his.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and smooth, almost too gentle for someone his size. He glanced at the book between your hands. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

You quickly pulled your hand back, heart skipping a beat. “Ah—sorry! Did you want it?”

He shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile. “No, you go ahead. I’ve already read it. It’s a good one.”

He reached up to return another book to the shelf beside you. The cuff of his black dress shirt shifted slightly as he moved, his gestures neat and practiced. Before you could think of anything else to say, he gave you a short nod and stepped away, heading toward another section with quiet, steady footsteps.

You stood frozen, gripping the book.

“He’s… handsome,” you muttered, a bit too loudly.

A soft snort came from behind.

You turned to see Castorice standing there, eyebrows raised and clearly holding back a grin. “That obvious?”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

She laughed quietly, linking her arm with yours. “Come on, lovebird. Let’s find a seat.”

The next day, the cafeteria buzzed with its usual midday chaos—clattering trays, low chatter, and the hum of students trying to relax between classes. You and Castorice sat across from each other, your half-eaten lunch long forgotten as the conversation circled back to the one thing that had been stuck in your mind since yesterday.

“I still can’t believe you said that out loud,” Castorice teased, sipping her iced tea with a knowing smile. “You should’ve seen your face.”

You groaned softly, hiding behind your hands. “I was caught off guard, okay? He was just… he had this calm aura. And his voice. And the way he just—ugh. Why are mysterious guys always so cool?”

“He was polite too,” Castorice nodded thoughtfully. “Didn’t even look annoyed when your hand touched his.”

You glanced to the side, then back at her. “I wonder who he is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around before.”

Just then, Phainon plopped down beside you, placing a few snack packs on the table. “You two are talking about Mydei, huh?”

You blinked. “Wait. You know his name?”

Phainon raised an eyebrow like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. We’re in the same Ethics class.”

Castorice nearly dropped her drink. “You know him?!”

“Sure do,” he said with a casual shrug, already tearing open a bag of chips. “Smart guy. Doesn’t talk much. Kinda intense. Has this weirdly perfect handwriting.”

You stared at him. “And you just… didn’t say anything yesterday?”

Phainon stuffed a chip into his mouth. “No one asked.”

You and Castorice exchanged a look of disbelief.

“He’s a student?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Phainon nodded. “Same year, too. He just keeps to himself most of the time. Spends a lot of time in the library ever since it opened. Pretty sure he works there too or something. Might even live nearby.”

You blinked slowly, the realization settling in. “That explains a lot.”

Phainon smirked. “What, you gonna go back to the library and confess now?”

Your hand immediately went to your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Castorice chuckled. “Be honest, if we run into him again, you’re totally going to freeze, aren’t you?”

“I’ll have you know,” you said, trying to sound dignified, “that I am perfectly capable of functioning like a normal person around handsome, mysterious guys.”

Both of them stared at you.

“…Sometimes,” you added.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself back at the Kremnoan Library, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You hadn’t borrowed anything yesterday. There was no real reason to come back. But here you were, wandering past the front desk with Castorice beside you, trying to look casual while your eyes flicked over every aisle.

Castorice leaned in slightly. “So… are we pretending this is just another visit, or are we being honest about it?”

You gave her a pointed look. “It’s a library. I’m allowed to show up and browse.”

She grinned. “Sure. Totally not hoping to accidentally run into someone.”

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to turn into the same section as before—the shelves filled with light novels and some fantasy titles. You pretended to scan the books, fingers lightly brushing along the covers, heart quietly thudding in your chest for no reason you could admit aloud.

Then you heard it.

“You’re back.”

You turned, and there he was again.

Mydei stood a few feet away, holding a couple of books in one hand, a calm expression on his face. His gaze met yours easily, as if you were someone he fully expected to see again.

“Looking for something specific?” he asked, voice as smooth as yesterday, but a touch more curious.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Just browsing again.”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the shelf you were near. “There’s a new arrival two rows over. Same author as the one you were interested in yesterday.”

You blinked. “You remembered?”

He gave the smallest shrug. “It was a good choice.”

You barely registered Castorice pretending not to hover behind you.

“Well, thank you,” you said, trying not to smile too hard. “I might check it out.”

He gave you a soft look, not quite a smile, but something that lingered in his eyes, before turning and walking past. His footsteps were quiet on the wooden floor.

Castorice waited two full seconds before whispering, “Okay. He remembered what book you were looking at, and you still think it was just a coincidence?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you said, trying to steady your breath.

From the next aisle, Phainon suddenly popped his head around the corner, holding a random book and grinning like he knew everything.

“Are we still pretending this is a casual visit, or are we admitting it now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How long have you been there?”

Phainon shrugged. “Long enough.”

He tossed the book into the crook of his arm and added, “Oh, by the way, Mydei and I have a class later. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “You are unbelievable.”

“But you didn’t say not to,” Phainon said innocently, strolling off like this was all a normal day.

Castorice was already laughing beside you. “We should’ve known he’d show up.”

“Mydeimos!” Phainon called out, walking toward Mydei, who was just about to exit the classroom.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want now?” Mydei raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with indifference.

Phainon dramatically placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by the cold reception. “When you’re talking to them, you get all soft and gentle, but when it comes to me, it’s all cold and distant!” He pretended to sniff, his eyes wide with playful sadness. “Why do you hate me, Mydeimos?”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t get all nice and soft for you like I do for others,” he said, his tone playful.

Phainon let out a playful sigh, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I see how it is. I’ll remember this betrayal.”

“You’re impossible,” Mydei muttered, but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Still, though, you pulled it off!” Phainon beamed, clearly proud of himself. He hadn’t expected his little plan to actually work.

A few days before you and Mydei spoke for the first time, Mydei had already been admiring you from afar. Ever since Phainon befriended you on the very first day, he’d noticed the way Mydei’s gaze lingered a bit too long whenever you were around. It was a shame, really. Mydei didn’t even share a single class with you.

But Phainon had noticed. Whether it was in the corner of the cafeteria, walking down the hallway, or lingering near the courtyard, Mydei always seemed to be nearby whenever you and Castorice were hanging out. That’s when Phainon decided to do something about it.

He cornered Mydei one day after their ethics class.

“You like them, don’t you?” Phainon had said with a raised eyebrow.

As expected, Mydei did not give him a clear answer. He either dodged the question completely or brushed it off like it meant nothing. But Phainon did not give up. He remembered Mydei mentioning that he was the owner of the new library being built beside the café that the three of you often visited.

That’s when the plan formed.

The moment the Kremnoan Library opened, Phainon made it his mission to drag you there. He figured that if Mydei wouldn’t make a move, he’d give him the perfect opportunity: a quiet space, the two of you alone, no interruptions. Just enough to spark something... or at least get Mydei to finally speak to you.

And now, seeing how things were playing out, Phainon couldn’t help but feel smug.

“You know… I heard something new was added to the menu at the café next to your library,” Phainon said, wiggling his eyebrows at Mydei.

Mydei didn’t even hesitate, he lightly punched Phainon on the arm.

“What are you planning now exactly?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Phainon grinned. “You ask them to go on a date with you! I’ll make sure Castorice and I are conveniently busy so we don’t interrupt.”

He leaned back against the wall with a smug expression, clearly enjoying himself as he imagined how everything might play out. "C'mon, you've got the perfect setting. Just say the word, and I'll handle the rest."

It was a quiet Saturday morning when you found yourself once again wandering into the Kremnoan Library. With no classes and the weather calm and cool, it felt like the perfect day to catch up on some reading.

You were flipping through a book near the back shelves when you heard someone approach. The footsteps were light but familiar, and when you turned your head, you found Mydei standing there.

He looked a bit more casual than usual, wearing the same black dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and for a brief moment, he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Do you have any plans today?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not really. Just came here to read.”

“Perfect,” he said, a little too quickly, before clearing his throat. “I was thinking... maybe we could go to the café next door. Together.”

You blinked in surprise. “You mean... right now?”

He nodded. “If you’re free. I thought... maybe I could buy you something.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that formed. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mydei?”

He didn’t answer right away, but a small, almost shy smirk appeared on his lips. “Only if you say yes.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling a warmth rise in your chest. “Then yes.”

Mydei’s smirk grew just a little, and without another word, he motioned for you to walk with him. You both exited the library together, stepping into the gentle morning breeze. The café was just a short walk away, and for a while, the two of you walked side by side in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward at all.

You leaned back a little in your chair, sipping your juice as you watched Mydei quietly fiddle with the handle of his coffee cup. It was rare to see him look unsure of himself. Usually, he carried a calm, unreadable air, but right now, he looked like he was searching for words.

"Mydei?" you asked gently, setting your drink down. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. "No. It’s just..." He paused, frowning at his coffee as if it would help him gather his thoughts.

You waited patiently, a small smile playing on your lips.

"I’m not good with... saying things," he finally muttered. "But... I think you’re... nice. And... I like being around you."

His voice was quiet, but honest, almost vulnerable.

You blinked, your heart fluttering at his words. A warm feeling bubbled up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh.

"That's the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day," you said warmly.

Mydei coughed awkwardly, his hand running through his messy hair as he looked away, his ears slightly tinted red. "I just thought you should know," he added, his voice almost a grumble.

You smiled brightly and leaned forward just a little. "Well, I like being around you, too."

He glanced back at you, and for a moment, the faintest smile touched his lips, gentle and unguarded.

The sun outside glowed a little brighter through the window, but somehow, nothing felt warmer than the look Mydei was giving you right now.

Unbeknownst to you and Mydei, two very familiar figures had quietly slipped into the café. Hiding behind a menu near the entrance, Phainon and Castorice peered over the top, barely containing their giggles.

"Would you look at that," Phainon whispered, a mischievous grin on his face. "Our dear Mydei actually pulled it off."

Castorice nodded, smiling fondly. "They look good together," she said softly.

"Should we say hi?" Phainon asked, already halfway standing up.

Castorice grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him down. "No way. Let them have their moment."

Phainon pouted, but stayed put, sneaking another peek at you and Mydei. The two of you were leaning closer now, smiling and talking like no one else in the world existed. It was honestly too sweet to interrupt.

With a defeated sigh, Phainon slumped in his seat. "Fine, fine. But I’m teasing both of them later."

Castorice chuckled. "Only if you want Mydei to strangle you."

Phainon snickered. "Worth it."

With that, the two of them exited the café, sneaking off down the sidewalk like mischievous partners-in-crime, already planning how they would tease you both the next time you met.

[a-bit-of-writing]

Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's  Characters: Sun/Moon x Reader  (gender neutral) Words: 1,034 Summary: They don’t know they’re killing you. They just know you can’t leave.

Note: This is a continuation from this ONESHOT. So, consider this as a sequel. I may or may not be considering making a series out of this from different perspectives to see if Reader survives 😉.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here.

The Pizzaplex has no windows, no clocks. Just the endless hum of dying machinery and the flicker of failing lights. You stopped checking your watch a while ago - the numbers blur, meaningless. Time doesn’t exist here. Only they do.

Sun’s fingers are cold where they lace through yours, holding too tightly, too long. His smile, painted and permanent, flickers with static in the low light.

 “See?” he chirps, though his voice warps at the edges. “This is better! No need to leave, no need to worry, just you and me and games!”

You don’t correct him. You’ve learned that’s dangerous.

The last time you tried to leave - really leave - his grip left bruises. Fingerprints pressed so deep they felt like they’d never fade. His voice never rose, but the light behind his eyes had flickered too fast, too sharp.

Moon had surfaced that night.

 “You’re not going anywhere.”

Now you sit quietly, back against the cool foam wall of the daycare, feeling Sun’s weight leaning into your side like a child desperate for comfort. His rays are bent, some bells missing, but he hums like nothing’s wrong. Like the two of you are still surrounded by the laughter of children.

But there’s only the two of you.

And him.

Because the lights will fail. They always do.

The flicker is subtle at first. Just a dimming at the edges, the soft buzz of electricity stuttering. Sun’s grip tightens.

“N-no! Stay bright, stay bright, stay—”

But the darkness comes anyway.

———————

Moon unfolds from the same body like smoke leaking from cracks. The softness in Sun’s posture is gone, now replaced by something leaner, sharper. His head tilts, eyes glowing faint red in the dark.

 “Still here,” Moon purrs, crouching in front of you. “Good.”

You swallow hard as he reaches out, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up.

 “I was afraid you’d get ideas again.”

His voice is lower, calmer but laced with something heavier. Threats that don’t need to be spoken.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly.

It’s the only thing that keeps him steady.

Moon hums, satisfied for now, but he doesn’t pull away. His thumb traces your jaw, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. The only thing in this place that still moves, still breathes.

“You’re the last thing that belongs here,” he murmurs. “The last thing that works.”

You close your eyes, just for a moment but the darkness behind your lids feels too much like him, so you force them open again.

——————

You wake later - how much later, you don’t know - half-curled beneath one of the padded play structures, your limbs stiff. Your throat dry.

You should be afraid. You are afraid. But it’s dulled, worn down by days - weeks? - of the same cycle.

Sun’s nearby, sitting cross-legged, singing to himself in a voice glitching at the edges. He’s got a crayon in one hand, dragging it across a moldy sheet of paper. Scribbles, rough shapes, crude drawings of you smiling.

“See? You look happy here!” he chirps, turning the drawing toward you with a proud shake of his bells.

The figure doesn’t look like you. Not really. But you nod, because it’s what he wants.

“It’s… nice,” you manage.

He beams.

“We’ll hang it on the wall! Right next to the others!”

You glance to where dozens - maybe hundreds - of similar drawings are taped along the foam walls, curling at the edges. Each one a distorted version of you: smiling, waving, staying.

——————

It happens again that night.

The lights stutter.

The hum dies.

Moon pulls you close the second the dark settles, holding you too tightly against his chest, metal fingers splayed along your back like a cage.

“Why do you flinch?” he whispers.

You don’t answer.

“I’m keeping you safe.”

His breath - synthetic, cooling fans whirring faintly - ghosts across your neck.

“The others left,” he murmurs, voice soft as silk. “But you… you stayed. That means something.”

Your heart pounds harder.

“I stayed because I care,” you whisper, lying because it’s safer than the truth. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”

For a moment, Moon stills.

Then, almost too soft to hear:

 “You’re lying.”

His grip tightens, fingers pressing into your spine. Panic surges but he shushes you, rocking gently, back and forth like a lullaby.

 “It’s alright,” he hums. “You’ll mean it soon enough.”

———————

Days blur. Time rots.

You wake once with Sun tucking plastic flowers behind your ear, humming a song you recognize from childhood. Another time, Moon holds your wrist so tightly it aches for hours after, his voice a constant whisper in your ear.

“You’re safe here. No one will hurt you.”

You believe it less every time he says it.

But you nod. You smile. Because it’s the only way to survive.

——---

It isn’t until much later that you hear the buzz of power again - stronger, steady. Somewhere in the distance, systems reboot. Lights flicker in the hallway beyond.

A chance.

Your body tenses. You’re on your feet before you can second-guess, darting toward the exit of the daycare.

You don’t get far.

Moon’s arm snakes around your waist, dragging you back so fast your breath leaves you in a gasp. His grip bruises.

 “Leaving?” he hisses, voice no longer soft. “Leaving?”

You struggle, panic surging but his strength is unmatched. He pulls you against his chest, head tilted, grin stretched wide.

“Why?” he whispers. “After everything we’ve built here?”

Sun flickers back in, blinking, frantic.

“Don’t go!” he cries, pulling at your arm with desperate, shaking hands. “We can play more games! We can -  we can paint! Please - ”

The switch back to Moon is violent.

“You don’t get to leave,” he snarls. “Not after all this time.”

You try to speak, try to explain, but his grip tightens painfully.

“We kept you safe,” Moon growls, face inches from yours. “We kept you safe.”

And in the flicker of failing lights, you realize:

It was never about safety.

It was never about you.

It was about them. The last piece of control they had left.

And they’ll never let it go.

Not even if it kills you.

[timethehobo]

Had the random urge to doodle KTJL Boomie in that black v-neck casual he had in the 1987 suicide squad comics cos 👀

[lunarharp]

things.. uh... Gentry era au

[thepencilnerd]

Glasses Be Damned

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: Lazy Sunday mornings. You in his shirt. Him wearing—glasses? What could be better? genre/notes: domestic, tooth-rotting fluff, banter, implied-but-not-explicit smut, steamy and fluffy like the perfect scrambled eggs (or tofu), beard scruff, you being down so bad for your man in glasses, age-gap relationship word count: 1.8k a/n: happy sunday! I worship those damn 1x01 gifs that live in my head rent free

It was a sleepy Sunday morning. You’d stayed over the night before—his place, not yours—because he made a surprisingly excellent omelet and your apartment was a barren wasteland save for one expired can of soup and half a granola bar. You were planning on moving out soon anyway—leases expiring, schedules syncing, toothbrushes and charger cords already blurring the lines—and in with Robby.

One cold morning not long ago, you’d rushed into the hospital just a few minutes late, hair still dripping and teeth chattering from the walk over. Robby had looked up the second he saw you, eyes narrowing in concern, about to ask what was wrong.

You’d beat him to it. "My apartment’s basically falling apart," you said, breathless as you rubbed your arms. "No hot water, the heater’s busted, and I'm pretty sure there's black mold. I’ll call the landlord later. It’s fine."

He didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at you for a second longer, then quietly shuffled through the papers on the counter.

"You should move in with me," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked. "What?"

So he repeated himself, just as casually. "Move into my place."

He said it like it was nothing—like he was asking you to grab coffee, or teach the interns how to perform proper chest compressions. Calm. Nonchalant. Then, as if to prove his point, he started listing the benefits: less commuting, better water pressure, warmer blankets, shared groceries, an actual place to hang your coat that wasn’t a pile on your chair, cuddle cards redeemable for forehead kisses and back rubs, and—most importantly—no more freezing walks alone or in the dark. He even threw in something about matching mugs and leaving notes on the fridge like it was a feature, not a fantasy.

You opened your mouth, prepared to deploy every avoidant tactic in the book—because even after dating for a couple of years now, there was still a part of you that worried about taking up too much space, too much of him. But before you could spiral into worrying about boundaries, permanence, or him getting sick of you, he looked up again and softened.

"Hey," he said gently. "If you’d rather find a new place, I’ll help you. Really. I just want you safe, healthy, and not at risk for mold poisoning or hypothermia."

Then, with the same ease as his offer, he pressed a warm kiss to your cheek. "See you in five," he murmured, as if he hadn’t just tilted your entire world off its axis, and walked away.

You stood there, frozen—and slowly, a small smile formed at the corners of your lips.

And that was it. No grand declarations. Just a calm, matter-of-fact offer that left no room for protest. So you said yes.

Robby had frozen for a second like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. And then—he lit up. That slow, rare smile spreading across his face like sunrise. He pulled you into a tight hug, spinning you once in the middle of the hallway, laughing against your temple. He kissed you—your cheek, your forehead, your lips—soft and quick and too many times to count, like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like he didn’t want to waste a second not holding you.

"You're going to regret it," you teased.

"Never," he said, kissing you again. "Not in a million years."

Now your things were already half there anyway—socks in drawers, your favorite mug on the drying rack, your name scribbled under his on the mail by the door. And every morning like this only made it feel more like home.

You’d rolled out of bed in one of his soft, worn-in T-shirts—the one with the hem that just barely skimmed your thighs—padding barefoot toward the kitchen in search of coffee, warmth, and maybe a kiss if you looked pathetic enough.

You’ve seen Robby in a dozen different states—bloody scrubs, half-asleep during pre-dawn rounds, in command in a trauma bay, soft and half-melted in post-call cuddles. But you’ve never—never—seen him in glasses.

Until today.

You weren’t expecting it. And there he was, standing at the kitchen counter, hair still a little tousled, wearing black, round-framed glasses while flipping through the newspaper like it was the 80s.

You froze.

He glanced up. "Good morning."

You stared. Mouth agape. Said nothing.

"What?" he asked, wary.

You pointed. "Since when do you wear glasses?!"

He blinked, then winced, lifting a hand to take them off. "I—only for reading. Usually. I forgot I had them on."

"No. No, no, no, no." You crossed the room like a woman possessed. "Do not take those off."

He paused, hand halfway to his face. "Why?"

You stepped closer, practically beaming as you drank him in with eyes like saucers. "Because that—is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life."

He stared at you like you’d just said you were into spleens. "You’re joking."

You weren’t. "Robby," you deadpanned. "You look like the hot professor everyone has a crisis about in college. It's a rite of passage."

"I’m decades older than you."

"Exactly! And only by a decade and a half. It’s working for you." You took a step closer and lowered your voice in the hopes of enticing him. "And totally doing it for me." 

He squinted, expression unreadable for a beat. "They make me look old." But his voice was softer now—like he wasn’t entirely put off by the idea. Like maybe, just maybe, his interest had been piqued.

"They make you look like you read poetry before bed and know how to ruin someone emotionally and intellectually."

He blushed—actually blushed.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, tugging him close. "Why have you been hiding this from me?"

"Because," he mumbled, suddenly very interested in the crossword puzzle, "I thought you’d think they made me look... I don’t know. Grandpa-ish."

"You’re out of your mind," you said, tugging the paper from his hands. "This is my Roman Empire now."

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. "You’re never letting this go, are you."

You grinned into his hair. "Not a chance."

His fingers skimmed under the hem of his shirt on your thighs—the one he always liked seeing you in, the one he claimed looked better on you than it ever did on him. His rough thumbs brushed against your bare skin in slow, reverent passes, toying with where the fabric met the soft curve of your hips. Goosebumps followed in their wake, your skin tightening under his touch.

He lingered there, gaze locked on the contrast between cotton and skin, the intimacy of it. The way you wore his shirt like it belonged to you—like he did. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his eyes darkened behind the lenses.

"You wore this on purpose, didn’t you?" he asked, voice low, one thumb brushing just beneath the hem like it had every right to be there.

You shrugged, playing innocent, but your smile was all heat. "It's pretty cozy."

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes soft but hooded, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or pin you to the nearest surface. "That’s not an answer."

You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. "What are you going to do about it, sir?"

His breath hitched, gaze dipping to your lips before dragging back up to your eyes, hungry and tentative all at once. You felt the shift in the air—warmth curling low in your belly as his grip tightened, just slightly, like he was reminding himself you were real. And here. And his.

"You are unbelievable," he murmured, voice low and slightly hoarse, each word curling around the edges of a smile he couldn't quite suppress. There was awe behind it—fondness and a hint of reverence, like he still couldn't believe you were his.

"And you're absurdly attractive in those frames," you murmured, fingertips sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair, curling gently as you tugged him down to meet you. The kiss you gave him was slow, thorough, but it carried heat—a teasing sort of promise beneath the softness.

His hands spanned your waist, thumbs brushing bare skin with growing intent as he kissed you back, deepening it until your breath hitched against his mouth. The glasses stayed on, slightly askew, and it only made your pulse race harder.

You gasped softly when his lips left yours to trail along your jaw, then just beneath your ear, the scruff of his beard dragging deliciously against your skin. It was just long enough to rasp, to make you shiver, to remind you that this wasn't just soft Sunday morning, off-duty Dr. Robby—this was all of him. "This what does it for you?" he murmured, voice husky, lips brushing your pulse point, beard scraping lightly as he spoke.

"God, I want you to ruin me," you whispered, lips ghosting the shell of his ear, your voice low and just shy of reverent. The grin on your face was wicked, but there was no mistaking the heat behind it—the way your breath caught, the way your body leaned into his like gravity had given up pretending.

He stilled for a moment, like you’d short-circuited something vital in him. Then, wordless and driven by something primal, he kissed you again—hungrier now, hands roaming, touch reverent and desperate all at once.

You giggled against his mouth, breathless. "Race you to the bedroom. Winner gets bragging rights and top position."

His eyes flared with something dangerous and amused. "Is that a challenge?"

"I’m just saying," you murmured, backing out of his arms with a wicked grin, "you’re not the only one with stamina, Dr. Robinavitch."

The next second, you bolted.

Robby cursed softly, then took off after you with a kind of urgency that had nothing to do with competition and everything to do with getting his hands back on you.

Your laughter echoed down the hallway—right up until he caught you halfway to the bedroom, spun you around, and pressed you back against the nearest wall like he’d just won gold.

"Called it," he murmured into your skin, beard scraping, lips insistent. "I can’t wait until this is every morning. Waking up to you, going to sleep with you…" he trailed kisses along your jaw, voice low and reverent as though he were citing a prayer.

You smiled against his mouth, fingers curling into his hair. "Then don’t let me go. Not tonight. Not ever."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and tender all at once. "You’re it for me."

The omelet could wait—left forgotten on the counter alongside the crossword and cold coffee. And the glasses? They stayed on. Fogged, slightly crooked, and forever etched into your memory.

[hyuckiefluff]

call out my name | lee jeno

pairing: stepbrother! lee jeno x fem reader genre + wc: smut / enemies to lovers-ish | 17k+ summary: your stepbrother suddenly starts acting a bit different after fixing your laptop, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the endless posts you’ve made about wanting him to fuck you brainless. content warning: stepcest, voyeurism, masturbation, cheating, smoking and brief mentions of drug use, unprotected sex, hard dom jeno, oral (fem receiving), face riding weee, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, jeno is a bit mean (but like in a hot way), lmk if i missed any! a/n: haven’t written for jeno in soooo long and my body needed it. also, beatbox era jeno still has me in a chokehold, so i imagined him looking exactly like that while writing this. that mullet-undercut combo was LETHAL i need him to reheat his own nachos expeditiously. also the lowercase is back too, i'm still trying to figure out if i like this more lol ps: if u catch the twilight reference you’ll get a kiss from me :p

jeno stomped into your room, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, jaw tight with irritation. your voice still echoed in his head.

‘fix my laptop and i won’t tell your dad you’ve been skipping almost every class since the semester started.’

fix it? he wasn’t a damn IT guy. and how the hell did you even know he’d been skipping? what were you, a stalker?

seriously, it wasn’t his fault you couldn’t take care of your stuff. and why couldn’t you just take the damn thing to a repair shop?

“i need it for college work,’ you’d said.

yeah, right. like he didn’t hear you at night. his room was right next to yours, and those walls were way too thin. not only were you loud, but you also needed headphones, because he could hear exactly what kind of videos you watched.

he exhaled sharply through his nose, stepping up to your desk. the laptop sat there, taunting him in its sickly sweet pink case covered in hello kitty stickers.

“god, what a child,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before plopping onto your chair. the cushion was still warm from you sitting there earlier. he flipped the laptop open, and a password prompt appeared.

he tried your birthday first. denied.

with a sigh, he scanned your desk. you were forgetful, he was sure you had the password written somewhere. his eyes landed on a cluster of polaroids, mostly of you and your boyfriend. he grabbed one and flipped it over. sure enough, there was a scribbled note in your messy handwriting.

‘happy anniversary, my baby ❤️’ and a date.

jeno scoffed but typed it in anyway. the screen unlocked with a soft chime.

the moment your desktop loaded, he was met with a picture of you sprawled out on a beach towel, skin sun-kissed, in a tiny white bikini that barely covered anything. jeno swallowed.

several seconds passed before he snapped himself out of it, shaking his head and forcing his attention elsewhere.

your laptop was a disaster. it was clogged with files, random downloads, and so many pop-ups it was a miracle the thing still functioned. he clicked around, deleting error files and clearing out junk.

then a notification popped up from a browser window that was open in the background.

he opened the tab out of habit, not expecting anything interesting, but then the page loaded and he had to blink twice to make sure he was seeing right.

it was a blog called ‘horny antidotes.’

"what the hell is this?" he snorted.

he scrolled, thumb hovering before tapping on a section labeled confessions. a list of posts loaded, the oldest ones stretching back to the beginning of last year. against his better judgment, he clicked the most recent entries.

i tried it again tonight. used my fingers since the new toys i got don’t really feel good either. i think my boyfriend’s starting to suspect something. it’s kinda weird that i barely get wet when he touches me (╥_╥) we even try watching porn together, but it does nothing for me. we just scroll through hundreds of videos and i feel nothing, while he gets hard so easily. so i end up sucking him off.

jeno’s brows lifted. jesus.

i get more turned on looking at pictures of LJN. but i can’t touch myself to him… it feels wrong. so i gotta find an alternative. any tips? (>д<)

LJN?

his lips parted. those were initials. your boyfriend’s? no… his.

L. J. N.

lee jeno.

his pulse jumped. before he could think better of it, his fingers typed LJN into the blog’s search bar.

hundreds of posts popped up.

he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

no fucking way.

today LJN helped me with my homework. he looked like he hated every second of it. it was hard to focus when he sat so close… his cologne makes me feel so… hot (/ω＼).

jeno dragged a hand down his face. he’s not imagining all this? right?

my boyfriend and i broke up again (kinda) (μ_μ). same reason as always… our sex life sucks. he thinks i’m not into him, but that’s not true. he tries… i just… anyway, LJN knocked on my door today. he was only wearing a towel. i almost dropped to my knees right there and then. how does someone get abs like that? god, those arms… veiny and strong… maybe i should call my boyfriend and try again…

a slow smirk stretched across jeno’s lips. so your boyfriend can’t get you off, but i make you wet that easily? he thought.

his gaze drifted to your bed. the sheets were a tangled mess, barely clinging to the mattress. did you write that post after touching yourself last night? thinking about him?

he exhaled through his nose, head shaking like he couldn’t believe it. but god, his stomach clenched at the thought of you squirming with his name in your head.

sure, he knew people found him attractive. girls threw themselves at him all the time. but you? who argued with him over stupid shit, called him an asshole just this morning while throwing a sock at his head?

you wanted him. wanted him so bad you spilled it online for strangers to read.

his gaze flicked back to the screen, to the words where you described his cologne driving you crazy.

he should’ve stopped reading but instead, he clicked on another post.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

the next morning, you woke up to find your laptop working perfectly. no note, no sarcastic comment scribbled on a post-it, nothing. just fixed.

weird.

you headed downstairs, fully expecting jeno to be in his usual morning mood, grumbling about chores, throwing half-hearted jabs just to rile you up. but when you found him on the couch, he was… quiet.

"hey," you said, grabbing a drink from the fridge. "so… thanks for fixing my laptop."

he barely glanced up, his gaze flickering over your bare legs for a heartbeat before settling back on his phone.

"yeah, no problem."

...that’s it?

you waited. no snark about your messy folders? no whining about how you owed him now?

your brows knit. "you okay?"

jeno stretched his legs, shorts riding up just enough to show more of his muscular thighs. "yeah, why wouldn’t i be?"

"i dunno," you said, eyeing him. "you’re acting weird."

he chuckled, head tilting as he shot you a lazy grin. "i’m always like this in the mornings. maybe you just don’t pay enough attention to me."

"trust me," you muttered, taking a sip from your drink, "i pay plenty of attention to you."

jeno’s lips twitched almost into a smirk.

then he hummed.

"yeah, i know."

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

the next few days, jeno turned it over in his mind—how to play this.

sure, the whole thing was entertaining, but you were still his stepsister. technically. your parents weren’t married, but they’d been together for about four years, and you’d been living under the same roof since last year.

not that you and jeno were close. you barely crossed paths, always out with friends or holed up in your room when you were home. plus, he found you immature. spoiled. maybe it was the three-year age gap, or maybe it was how quickly you’d settled in and made this place your own. his dad had asked him to be patient with you—“it’s a big change for her”—but if you were struggling, you hid it well.

especially with how you put on that perfect little act for your parents. sweet and responsible. as if you weren’t sneaking your boyfriend in through the window at night. or slipping out when you thought no one noticed. jeno noticed.

he just never cared enough to call you out. but the hypocrisy definitely grated on him. pretending to be miss goody-two-shoes when, by your own confession, you were getting railed by a guy who couldn’t even get you off?

the irony wasn’t lost on him. neither was the opportunity.

he could confront you. he’d definitely enjoy to watch you squirm, see that spark of defiance flicker into panic. tempting.

but maybe… maybe he’d keep this to himself a little longer.

drag it out and see just how much fun he could have before you caught on.

the perfect opportunity presented itself only a few days later when your parents announced their trip to italy for valentine’s day. conveniently their anniversary was also coming up, so they’d be gone for two whole weeks.

“we’ll be back next sunday,” jeno’s dad said, ruffling your hair. “don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone.”

you rolled your eyes, half-smiling, but then his tone shifted as he turned to jeno.

“jeno, take care of her. don’t let her get into any trouble. no parties or anything reckless.”

jeno nodded without a word, eyes flicking toward you before he turned back to your dad with a forced grin. “got it.”

you mom stepped forward, kissing your cheek, her hand lingering on your shoulder a moment longer. “be good, okay? we’re trusting you.” her gaze softened but held an unmistakable warning beneath it.

you knew exactly why. after all, it wasn’t like you had a spotless record. just three months ago, you had come home drunk after sneaking out to a friend’s party. what was supposed to be "just a few drinks" had turned into you singing on top of the table and someone posting it to their story. your parents found out the next morning, thanks to your neighbor, of all people, who’d seen the video. it hadn’t even been that scandalous, except for the fact that you were obviously drunk and under 21 at the time.

the hangover was bad, but the lecture was worse. "you’re lucky jeno was there to drag you home," your mom had said, shooting you a disappointed look. jeno had played the responsible older kid that night, carrying you out before things got worse. but that didn’t stop your parents from being more protective now. especially of you.

still, it annoyed you that all the warnings were directed your way while jeno stood there looking like a saint, when you knew he was anything but. sure, he hadn’t gotten wasted like you, but he was at the same party smoking weed on the back porch, making out with some girl whose name he probably didn’t even know, and encouraging shots like he was the party host. he was just lucky none of that was caught on camera, unlike you.

when the front door closed behind them, a strange silence settled over the house. you watched through the window as they loaded their luggage into the car and drove off. two weeks alone with jeno. what could possibly go wrong?

“guess it’s just us now,” you muttered.

jeno’s lips twitched into a small smile. "looks like it."

his gaze flickered over your body while you were distracted. this will be so much fun, he thought.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

the house felt bigger without your parents around. normally, you’d take full advantage by inviting friends over, staying out late, and enjoying in the freedom. but something about being alone with jeno had you on edge.

not uncomfortable, just… wary.

he’d been acting strange lately. not openly, but enough that you noticed. it was in the way he looked at you now, like he knew something you didn’t.

you were scrolling through your phone in the kitchen that night when he strolled in.

"big plans while they’re gone?" he asked, pulling open the fridge.

"nothing crazy," you said, thumb still flicking at your screen. "just enjoying the peace and quiet."

he let out a low hum, the kind that sounded like he was holding back a laugh. "right. because you’re such a quiet, well-behaved girl."

your scrolling stopped. your gaze snapped up to him. "where’s that coming from?"

jeno didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stepped closer reaching past you for a glass in the cabinet overhead. the movement brought him close enough that his cologne hit you warm, musky, annoyingly good.

"you know," he murmured, voice just above a whisper, "you might fool them. but not me."

your heart skipped. "i have no idea what you’re talking about."

he dipped his head slightly, eyes flickering to your cleavage.

"sure you don’t."

then he was gone, leaving you in the kitchen with your pulse pounding and a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

the weekend arrived quicker than expected, and despite jeno’s weirdness lately, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

until saturday.

jeno was sprawled on the couch, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his knee. his gaze drifted up just as you wandered into the living room, barefoot and still in your sleepwear—a thin tank top and shorts that barely covered your ass. you didn’t even glance his way, too focused on your phone as you padded toward the kitchen.

it was almost funny, how careless you were around him. clueless, really.

jeno bit back a smirk.

"you’re up early," he said, breaking the quiet.

you glanced over your shoulder while pouring cereal into a bowl. "uh… yeah?"

he shrugged. "figured you’d be catching up on sleep after sneaking out last night."

your hand faltered for half a second. it was subtle but enough for him to notice.

his grin widened as he leaned back against the couch cushions, arms draping lazily over the backrest. "right."

you set the cereal down with a little more force than necessary and turned to face him, arms crossed. "okay, what’s going on with you?”

"me?" he feigned innocence, eyebrows raising. "nothing, just making conversation."

your eyes narrowed, studying him. when he offered nothing else, you scoffed and turned back to the counter, muttering under your breath.

he’d never cared before. never commented on where you went or what you did. why was he suddenly so interested in you?

jeno used to treat you like background noise, a mild inconvenience at worst. now his gaze lingered longer whenever you walked into the room, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your skin prickle in ways you didn’t want to think about.

later that evening, you curled up on the couch with your laptop, half-heartedly scrolling through an assignment you had no intention of finishing. jeno sat across from you, phone in hand, occasionally flicking through something with the tv playing low in the background. it was peaceful enough… until he spoke.

"you know…" he stretched, shirt riding up just enough to expose the waistband of his boxers. "your boyfriend kinda sucks."

your fingers froze mid-typing.

"what?" you asked, tone clipped. you didn’t look up, but your jaw tightened on instinct.

he hummed, "if i were sneaking out every night, i’d hope it was worth it."

you shut the laptop with a snap. "why do you even care?"

jeno grinned, clearly satisfied that he’d gotten under your skin. "i don’t."

you stood abruptly, blood buzzing with irritation. "whatever. i’m going to bed."

he chuckled under his breath as you turned to leave, but the sound grated on you. it echoed in your head as you stalked halfway down the hall before…no. screw that.

you spun on your heel, storming back into the living room. "you don’t know shit," you bit out.

jeno glanced up, unconcerned. "about what?"

"me. my boyfriend."

that finally got his full attention. he set his phone down and tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "oh, you mean the boyfriend who keeps getting dumped and crawling back like a stray?"

your nostrils flared. "fuck you."

"i’m just saying—"

"no, you’re not ‘just saying’ anything," you cut him off, stepping closer. "you think you know everything about me just because we share a roof?"

"you’d be surprised," he shot back, annoyingly calm.

your fists clenched. "you don’t know what i need. so stop acting like you do."

for a split second, something flickered in his expression, gone too fast to name. then his usual smirk slid back into place.

"i don’t need to know what you need." he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "i already know what you want."

your breath hitched. you hated that, hated the way your pulse jumped at his words, at the confidence in his voice. what the hell did that even mean?

"you’re an asshole," you snapped. "i don’t owe you an explanation."

jeno nodded, like he agreed. "then why are you still standing here?"

your face burned with frustration, but you bit your tongue. there was nothing you could say that wouldn’t make this worse. so you did the next best thing, you turned on your heel and walked away, slamming your bedroom door behind you.

and yet, lying in bed later, the back of your mind replayed his words on a loop. you still felt like you’d lost.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

hours passed and you were still pissed.

your whole body ached with it, hot and restless, like something crawling under your skin. jeno’s words sunk in deep, wrapping around you like barbed wire, too sharp, too true.

‘your boyfriend kinda sucks’ his voice rang in your ears.

no, your boyfriend was nearly perfect. he had all the right looks, the right voice, the right everything and yet… somehow, even after months of trying, of letting him touch you, of trying to want it—

you never got turned on with him. not the way you were now after a simple argument with jeno.

your hand moved before you could think, fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts, finding that sticky warmth between your thighs. a shaky breath left you, head tipping back against the pillows. it wasn’t enough. god, it wasn’t nearly enough. you needed—fuck, you didn’t even know what you needed. just more. something to fill the ache, to drown out the way his voice echoed in your head. i don’t need to know what you need. i already know what you want.

stop.

you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to picture your boyfriend, to think about the way he kissed you, the way he whispered your name, the way he touched you.

but your body rejected it. the images blurred, twisted, morphed.

and suddenly it wasn’t his hands you were thinking about.

It was jeno’s slender fingers.

your fingertips grazed that sensitive spot, slick and throbbing, pulling a broken sound from your lips. your hips rolled up into your hand, chasing any semblance of relief. you let out a quiet, shuddering breath as your stomach clenched, your pulse kicking up as you fought it, fought him, fought the way his image took over.

but it was useless.

your body didn’t listen. it latched onto the memory of him. the way his pretty lips curled right before he was about to say something you knew would piss you off, the way his voice dipped when he was toying with you, the way his hands always fidgeted, tapping against his thigh, against his lips, always doing something.

your lips parted as your fingers moved faster, your other hand slid up your stomach, pushing up your shirt as your breath stuttered.

would he keep his rings on while touching you?

the thought sent a sharp pulse of arousal through you, your body tightening, the wetness between your thighs growing slicker.

you imagined his long fingers and the coolness of the rings against your skin. would he drag them over your stomach, trace your thighs, tease you with them first? or would he shove them inside right away?

you bit your lip, your fingers pressing down harder, teasing yourself the way he would, the way he might if he ever—

a moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “jeno…”

outside your door, jeno’s world fucking stopped. his body was tight, his breath stuck in his throat as he pressed himself against the wood.

he shouldn’t be here. he shouldn’t be standing outside your room, shouldn’t be looking through the small crack where the door hadn’t shut all the way.

but fuck.

fuck, you were so loud. did you even realize?

did you know how needy you sounded? the way your voice cracked, the way your breathing hitched, the way you whimpered when you…

jeno exhaled sharply, gripping the doorframe, trying to keep himself in check. but his mind was already too far gone. because if you were touching yourself to him, and if you were so desperate you couldn’t even keep quiet or make sure the the door was closed all the way… then maybe you wanted to get caught.

maybe you wanted him to see.

his breath came out slow and measured as he peeked through the crack, his body heating at the sight before him. the dim glow of your bedside lamp cast soft shadows over your skin, your legs spread wide, fingers buried deep inside yourself. the slick sounds of your movements, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted as you moaned his name. fuck, it was too much.

he felt himself throbbing painfully against his sweats, already aching from just watching you. his cock was so fucking hard it hurt.

he pulled himself out, his fingers wrapping around the thick length, hot and pulsing in his palm. he let out a sharp breath as he started stroking himself, matching his pace to the rhythm of your fingers slipping in and out of your pretty cunt.

he wanted to be the one touching you.

he imagined it, his fingers stretching you open, pumping in and out, his thumb circling your clit until you were shaking, whimpering against his mouth. would you let him fuck you raw the first time? god, you’d feel so good around him, so tight, clenching down on him like you never wanted him to pull out. he let out a quiet groan, biting his lip to keep himself from making any noise, even though part of him wanted you to hear him, wanted you to know exactly what you were doing to him.

your moans were getting louder, your breaths coming faster, more frantic. you were close, he could tell, your body was begging for release, and he wished, more than anything, that he could be the one to push you over the edge.

he knew that no one else could make you feel like this. not even your boyfriend, the one you pretended was enough for you. that idiot had the privilege of touching you, of being inside you, and still you weren’t getting off on thoughts of him. no, it was jeno’s name spilling from your lips as you fucked yourself.

his hand tightened around his cock, his strokes quickening. "cum for me, baby," he whispered under his breath, his forehead pressing harder against the doorframe.

maybe you heard him, maybe you didn’t, but your moans pitched higher, your fingers moving faster, your body trembling on the other side of the door. fuck—you were close, so fucking close, and he was right there with you. his jaw went slack, his breaths coming in ragged pants as the pleasure slammed into him, hot and heavy. his cock pulsed, his body shaking, cum spilling over his fingers in thick streaks as he saw you falling apart in your bed at the same time.

his body tensed, every nerve sparking as he milked himself through the high, swallowing back the urge to moan out your name. he barely had the presence of mind to tuck himself back into his sweats before he started dripping onto the carpet. that would’ve been a dead giveaway. but even as he came down from it, the heat in his chest didn’t fade. because now he knew just how badly you wanted him.

and he wasn’t going to just let it go.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

so, he was back outside your room the following night.

your door was closed all the way this time. he swallowed hard, his pulse hammering as he curled his fingers around the doorknob, testing it. it turned just a fraction before stopping. it was locked. he expected this. he had the feeling you suspected he’d seen you or at least heard you last night because you were unusually fidgety around him earlier today.

he exhaled slowly, lowering himself down until his face was level with the keyhole, his breath shallow as he listened. the obscene sounds of your fingers working between your thighs were unmistakable, each wet stroke sending another pulse of heat straight to his cock. he knew you were thinking about him again. your boyfriend wasn’t here, who the fuck else would you be touching yourself to?

he let his hand trail down, palming himself over his sweats, but this time, it wasn’t enough. he needed more.

his fingers drifted down to his pocket, curling around the small, thin tool he’d stolen from mark’s junk drawer earlier. jeno wasn’t an idiot, he knew to be prepared this time. hearing wouldn’t do it for him, he needed to see you again.

he slid the tool into the keyhole, his other hand steadying the knob as he worked it. it wasn’t his first time picking a lock. he’d done it plenty of times as a teen, sneaking into forbidden rooms at school, usually to make out with random girls. but this was different. he was breaking into his stepsister’s room so he could watch her touch herself. his hands itched, his whole body thrumming with a dangerous kind of thrill.

the lock gave a quiet click and he held his breath trying to listen for any indication that you noticed. after he thought it was safe, he twisted the handle and pushed the door just enough to crack it open.

and fuck, what a sight it was.

you were sprawled on your bed, your legs were in a butterfly position this time, your skin glistening with sweat. your shirt was hiked up all the way giving him the perfect sight of your tits. your panties were pushed down completely and he could see the way your fingers disappeared inside you. his name started slipping from your lips again, breathy, ruined. he clenched his jaw, his cock started to throb painfully at the sight.

you were so fucking beautiful like this. needy, desperate, chasing a high that only he could truly give you.

he licked his lips, watching the way your back arched, your fingers curling inside you as you edged yourself closer. his own hand slipped into his sweats, wrapping around his length, stroking slow, lazy, savoring the moment. he should leave. should close the door and pretend this never happened. but instead, he kept watching, his lips parting in a silent exhale as he imagined once again what it would be like to replace your fingers with his own.

or better yet, his cock.

you had no idea he was here. no idea you were putting on a show just for him.

there was no way in hell he was going to stop now.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you’d been locking your door more often now. you weren’t sure why. it didn’t make sense, but the feeling just wouldn’t go away. the feeling that you were being watched.

maybe it was the fact that you thought you heard a moan outside your door the other night. or maybe the fact that your panties had mysteriously gone missing from the laundry basket. and there was only one other person living with you at the moment. you tried to tell yourself it was paranoia. after all, why would jeno do something like that? he didn’t have fantasies like you, right?

still, something felt different when he was around. especially when you bumped into him in the kitchen or living room. the tension was so thick as if the space between you was charged, waiting for something, or someone, to cross the line.

you tried to distract yourself, flicking through jersey shore reruns with half your mind still on him. but as soon as you heard footsteps approaching, your pulse spiked. your body clearly not knowing the difference between riding a roller coaster, and your stepbrother entering the room.

you glanced up, trying to force a bored expression. the moment your eyes landed on him, however, everything in you froze. his damp hair stuck to his forehead, a towel draped loosely around his neck. his sweatpants hung low on his hips, his boxers peeking, and the way his white shirt clung to his chest made it feel like the room was closing in around you.

you swallowed hard.

he caught your gaze, and for a split second, it felt like he saw right through you. like he knew what you were thinking, what you were feeling. but he didn’t say anything. he just walked over, sitting close enough that his leg brushed against yours. the space between you was so small, but it felt like a chasm, a void that you couldn’t bridge. you couldn’t move. not when your body was so painfully aware of him.

“you like this trash?” his voice was casual, but his eyes were anything but. they were on you, studying you.

you blinked, the question throwing you off guard. you hadn’t even realized he was talking about the show until he nodded toward it. “uh... yeah. it’s... entertaining,” you stammered, your voice sounding foreign in your own ears. you wanted to say more, to defend it, but the words wouldn’t come. your mind was fixated on him.

you tried to focus on the screen, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. his towel slipping from his shoulders, water droplets sliding down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. you could feel that familiar flutter in your lower stomach.

your fingers twitched, desperate to do something, anything, to alleviate the tightness.

jeno tilted his head slightly, his lips pulling into that almost imperceptible smirk, the one that made you want to either scream or crawl into him.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft, but there was something dangerous underneath. “you look tense.”

you didn’t answer immediately. instead, you shifted uncomfortably, your pulse hammering in your ears. he didn’t push, but the way he was looking at you made you feel exposed, like he had you cornered.

suddenly, the doorbell rang, and you shot up from the couch like you’d been electrocuted. your pulse was still racing, your thoughts tangled in knots you didn’t want to acknowledge. this was good. maybe whoever was at the door would shake you out of this haze.

but the second you opened it, you almost wished you hadn’t.

your boyfriend…or ex? you didn’t even know anymore, stood there holding a single rose in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other.

“happy valentine’s day,” he greeted, flashing that charming smile he knew melted you.

your eyes widened. you’d been so distracted you totally forgot the date. damn you, lee jeno.

“i’m sorry i didn’t call in advance,” he pushed the rose into your hand and leaned to kiss you “and i know we agreed to take a break… still, i couldn't just not come today…”

he lifted the bag on his other hand. “movie?”

you forced a smile, your stomach twisting guiltily for a second. even though your relationship was a bit unstable as of late, valentine’s wasn’t something you ever wanted to half-ass so it was a good thing you’d planned ahead.

you bought his gift the previous week, carefully wrapping the box yourself because you wanted it to feel special. a pair of shoes he’d been eyeing for months, a new band for his apple watch since his favorite one had broken recently, and a handwritten letter tucked inside, detailing how much you appreciated him, how much you loved him. You even spent extra time decorating the envelope, adding little doodles and stickers just to make him smile.

you should've felt some kind of relief, his presence should distract you from the wild thoughts swirling in your head. but as you stepped aside to let him in, that sense of relief never came.

because the moment you turned back, you remembered jeno was still there on the couch. you silently willed him with your mind to go to his room, maybe leave altogether.

but of course he didn’t.

“oh. hey, dude” your boyfriend said as he finally noticed him. “didn’t know your brother was here.”

you winced. that word. brother. your tongue itched to correct him, but what was the point? he knew you weren’t really siblings. he just chose to say it anyway.

jeno let the word hang in the air before he finally stood up, stretching his arms over his head before settling into a straighter posture. he never stood that straight, but he was making sure to show that he was at least two inches taller than your boyfriend. It was a subtle move, but you saw it for what it was. a challenge.

you almost scoffed at the sheer pettiness of it.

“ah, hello…” jeno drawled. “sorry, remind me of your name again?”

your boyfriend told him, his tone polite but slightly stiff.

“right,” jeno said, half-smiling. “didn’t know we’d be having visitors today…”

your boyfriend cleared his throat. “ah, that’s my bad. i didn’t tell her I was coming since I wanted to surprise her for Valentine’s”

“hm,” Jeno hummed. “well... as long as you two keep it in the living room, should be fine. gotta look out for my little sister while the parents are out, you know?”

you squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, inhaling slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm. he never called you that. also, who did he think he was playing house police all of a sudden?

“sit down, babe,” you said, your tone so sweet it sounded forced.

jeno scoffed under his breath, soft enough that only you heard it.

you ignored it, settling onto the couch as he disappeared into the kitchen. your boyfriend sat beside you, oblivious, scrolling through movies, while you shoved a chip into your mouth just to distract your mind.

suddenly, you heard clattering from the kitchen followed by a curse.

“uh, y/n… can you come help me real quick?”

you squeezed your eyes shut.

“what did you break now?” you called, already exasperated.

"your mom’s china," he called back. "think i broke like two plates. maybe three. hard to say. pretty sure she’ll notice, though."

shit. you were on your feet before you could think, muttering a quick, “sorry, i’ll be right back,” as you hurried toward the kitchen.

the moment you stepped inside, irritation flared hotter in your chest.

“are you kidding me? what were you even doing near those? my mom explicitly said—” you voiced trailed off when you saw there was no broken china. no mess. nothing.

just jeno, standing there with his arms crossed, watching you with a smirk so infuriating you wanted to slap it off his face.

your hands curled into fists. “what are you doing?”

“really?” he ignored your glare, tilting his head mockingly. “he brought snacks and a single rose?” he let out a dry chuckle. “it’s valentine’s day for god’s sake, he could’ve at least tried.”

“i like simple things,” you shot back. “i don’t need a big fucking production”

jeno took a step closer making your breath get stuck in your throat. he wasn’t touching you, wasn’t even crowding you, but fuck he might as well have been, with the way your body tensed.

his voice dropped lower. “are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

he clearly wanted to get a reaction out of you and you refused to give it to him.

his gaze flicked down to your lips, pursed at him, and yet so pretty. he could still remember them parting and gasping his name last night.

"bet it gets tiring to pretend so much” he leaned in slightly.

you took a sharp step back.

“just… get out of my business,” you snapped, breath uneven.

jeno’s lips curled. “sure thing.” his eyes glinted with dark amusement. “hope you have fun with mr. buzzkill.”

your jaw clenched as you spun on your heel, storming back to the living room. who the hell did he think he was? since when did he have an opinion on your love life? he’d never cared before, never questioned, never even acknowledged it. so why now?

he kept pushing, prodding, playing with you.

and the worst part was that you were letting him. you knew you should ignore him. his opinion didn’t matter anyways.

so why couldn’t you stop paying attention to him?

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you decided to push jeno out of your mind, and what better way than by surrounding yourself with people you actually liked?

a pool party seemed like the perfect distraction. it was nothing too crazy, just a few close friends from college. the weather had been unusually nice all week, the kind of warmth that made everything feel a little hazy, the sun kissing your skin as you lay stretched out on a lounge chair, still damp from your swim. it was the perfect excuse to bask in the sun, let the tension ease from your body, and pretend jeno didn’t exist.

jenny, lying beside you on her stomach, propped herself up on her elbows and let out an exaggerated sigh. “by the way, where’s your hot brother?”

you sighed, not even bothering to open your eyes. “stop calling him that. people might actually think i'm related to that jerk.”

“honestly, though,” natty chimed in, rubbing tanning oil on her arms. “how have you not jumped his bones yet? he’s so fine.”

you scoffed, finally cracking an eye open to glare at her. “he’s really not all that. if you guys lived with him, you wouldn’t think like this.”

jenny turned onto her side, her smirk downright sinful. “girl, if i lived with him i'd let him do unspeakable things to me every night.”

you fingers tightened around your drink as something hot and unwanted curled low in your stomach. if only they knew the things you did thinking about him late at night.

belle made a face from where she sat at the edge of the pool. “you guys are gross.”

jenny just shrugged, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “why? they’re not even related.”

belle wrinkled her nose. “yes, but they live together. it’s still weird.”

jenny hummed, resting her chin on her shoulder as she eyed you knowingly. “whatever, i meant what i said.”

“does he have a girlfriend?” natty asked, stretching her legs out as she adjusted her sunglasses.

you shrugged, taking another sip of your piña colada. “i don’t know. i mean, he barely leaves the house. i doubt he has much of a social life… probably the most socially inept guy i’ve ever met.” the words left your mouth lazily, but the moment they did, a shadow loomed over you, blocking out the sun.

you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

you tilted your head back after a few seconds of silently cursing your big mouth. your heart did a million backflips as you locked eyes with jeno, who was now standing directly behind your chair. his head was tilted just slightly, a slow smirk playing at his lips.

you gulped slowly, and wished the chair would just swallow you whole. did he hear what you just said?

his gaze flickered over you, amused, but there was something heavier in the way his eyes traced over your bikini-clad figure. and then you realized he wasn’t in his usual hoodie and sweatpants. instead, he wore a fitted jean jacket over a graphic tee from a band you didn’t recognize, paired with tight black jeans. even his hair was styled, it looked like he got a fresh undercut, even added some designs on the side. he felt like an entirely different person. he looked good. too good.

“hello, ladies,” he greeted smoothly, his voice deep.

your friends giggled, but you barely registered them because jeno’s attention was back on you in a second.

“does dad know you’re having a party?” he asked, his voice had a teasing lilt to it, but there was something slightly patronizing underneath.

you rolled your eyes. “it’s just a few people.” get off my ass, you almost added but bit your tongue.

his smirk didn’t falter. “mhm… hope so, ‘cause he can see everything through those.” he pointed toward the security cameras, and something about the way he said it made irritation prickle at your skin.

he had the audacity to call your boyfriend a buzzkill, yet here he was, trying to kill any potential fun you could have.

“anyway,” he continued, “this socially inept guy is heading out.”

you breath caught in your throat. so he did hear you.

his eyes flickered over your body once more, and before you could respond, his hand brushed over your shoulder in a touch so fleeting, so meaningless, it shouldn’t have made your entire body lock up the way it did.

“call me if there’s an emergency,” he said. “be good, yeah?”

the second he was out of earshot, the giggles started back up, hushed and scandalized. your skin still burned where his touch had ghosted over you, and you hated that you wanted to turn your head, watch him leave, memorize the way he looked just now.

you swallowed hard, pressing your cold glass against your lips and forcing yourself to pretend that none of it affected you.

after several minutes of listening to your friends gush about jeno, how good he looked, how he smelled like expensive cologne, blah blah blah, you decided you’d had enough. you pushed yourself up from the lounge chair and made your way inside with the excuse of refilling your drink.

as you passed through the living room, a flicker of movement outside caught your eye. jeno was still there, standing near the edge of the sidewalk. his fingers dipped into his pocket, retrieving something small, and curiosity got the better of you. you squinted, trying to make out what he was holding.

despite knowing better, you grabbed a lightweight cover-up dress from the hook by the door and slipped it over your shoulders before stepping outside. the afternoon air carried the scent of chlorine and the faintest trace of citrus from the trees lining the house.

“since when do you smoke?” you asked, approaching him cautiously.

jeno turned his head slightly. the corner of his lips curled in that maddening way of his. without breaking eye contact, he placed the cigarette between his lips, the unlit end resting against the soft curve of his mouth.

“i don’t,” he said dismissively but then, he struck a match against his finger and the tiny flame came to life. the sight of it held your attention for just a second too long. probably because you’d never seen anyone light a match like that, or the fact that he was gaslighting you so casually.

“i thought you said you were going to hang out with friends,” you pressed, crossing your arms as you watched the flame kiss the tip of the cigarette.

“i said i was going to hang out,” he corrected, taking a slow drag before exhaling it in your direction, the smoke curling between you. “i didn't say with friends.”

you barely resisted the urge to cough, your throat tightening at the thick scent of tobacco. before you could call him out on this, the low rumble of an engine broke through the silence.

a black jeep screeched to a stop at the foot of your driveway, tires skidding slightly against the pavement. you instinctively took a step back as the vehicle came to a jarring halt. the tinted window rolled down, revealing a girl with jet-black hair that framed her face in glossy waves. he lips, painted a deep cherry red, curved into a smile that was just a little too perfect.

“sorry, i’m late!” she said, her voice airy, with a sing-song quality that immediately set your teeth on edge “there was so much traffic.”

“sure you didn’t just get pulled over for reckless driving?” jeno chuckled before taking another slow drag from his cigarette.

“mo, silly!” she giggled, her voice turning annoyingly flirtatious as she leaned a little closer over the window. “did you doll up just for me?”

“sure,” jeno replied casually. you didn’t catch the way his eyes flicked to you for just a split second because you were busy trying to mask the seething annoyance that was threatening to show in your expression. you didn’t even know this girl, and yet, the way she was acting was irritating you deeply.

“let me drive,” jeno said, pulling the door open for her to step out. you noticed the way she purposely wobbled slightly to fall directly into his arms.

“careful,” he said, his voice deep and resonant as he steadied her, the sound of it sending a heavy vibration through your chest.

“if your wet blanket of a boyfriend shows up later,” he continued once inside the car, his words laced with a hint of condescension, “just try not to fuck around in the pool, okay? remember, someone’s always watching.” the way he said that left a strange, uneasy knot in your stomach, the implication of his words lingering far too long.

before you could even muster a response, he slammed the jeep into gear and drove off.

it was around 9 pm when you decided to call it a night. your boyfriend hadn’t even shown up. he claimed he had to help his dad with “stuff” but you hadn’t really paid attention to the details. you weren’t interested in hearing excuses anyway.

your friends pouted, complaining that you should let them stay and have a sleepover, but you weren’t in the mood. they only left after you promised to do it another time.

you wandered upstairs, feeling the fatigue from the evening settle in your bones. the water from the shower was almost too hot, but you welcomed the burn as it stripped the chlorine from your skin. you lingered under the steam, savoring the quiet of the house.

once you were done, you meticulously moisturized your skin with extra attention to the dryness that clung to your arms after the pool and the heat of the shower. you threw on your usual pjs, a loose tank top and shorts. you thought of the way jeno’s dark eyes followed you whenever you wore them.

you made your way to the living room and sank onto the couch to watch tv, hyper aware of the ticking sound of the clock. the hands crept closer to 11 p.m. and you found your thoughts drifting despite your best attempts to focus. jeno’s face floated into your mind, his dark eyes flickering with amusement whenever he saw you. you tried to push it away but your mind kept returning to him and that girl with jet-black hair.

the sting of your nails digging into the palsn of your hands is what snapped you out of it. the thought of him with her… doing what? it didn’t even matter. why should it matter?

you decided to go to bed after realizing it was stupid to wait for him to come back.

it was around 2 am when you were jerked awake by the sound of shuffling outside your door. you heard a giggle followed by a hushed voice right before your door creaked open, and you quickly squeezed your eyes shut again.

"shit, wrong room," you heard jeno whisper, and your breath caught in your throat. you opened one eye just enough to see him standing in the doorway, the girl with jet-black hair practically draped around his neck.

she pulled him down into a kiss, and you watched, frozen, as they made out right there in front of your door. her soft moans echoed through the space along with the sounds of their hands fondling each other’s bodies.

they continued, oblivious to the fact that you were very much awake, until jeno finally pulled the door closed behind him, muffling the noises just enough for you to breathe again.

the anger hit you immediately, and the indignation that followed was almost comical in its intensity. with what face had he told you not to "mess around" at home because your parents were always watching, only to go and do this? right in front of your room, no less?

you heard the shuffle of movement in his room next door, and a chilling realization sank in.

they were about to have sex, and you’d hear every damn second of it.

it wasn’t like you’d never snuck your boyfriend in late at night before. But all you ever did was suck him off or let him finger you. you never actually had proper sex. not for lack of trying, but rather the issues you’d been having getting… aroused with him.

the moans started, soft at first, then louder. each sound felt like a needle, digging deeper into the pit of your stomach. you squeezed your eyes shut again, wishing, begging to be anywhere but within earshot of the noise that now felt like it was tearing your insides apart.

you could hear everything. the soft thuds of their clothes hitting the floor, the creak of the mattress as they fell onto it. jeno’s rough groans, the breathless whimpers he tried and failed to suppress. the wet, obscene sounds of him moving inside her. the desperate gasps, the frantic whisper of his name from her lips. their mouths meeting over and over again, the muffled, needy sounds of them colliding filling the space.

every movement, every noise, was painfully clear, as if you were right there in the room with them.

you wanted to disappear. crawl under your bed. evaporate into the walls. oh, the walls. the godforsaken, paper-thin walls that some sadistic architect clearly designed just to ruin your life.

you pressed a pillow over your head, begging for the sounds to stop, but it was useless. they only grew louder.

“jeno… i’m close,” she whimpered, voice high and shaking.

“cum for me…” he responded, breathless.

and suddenly, amidst the debauchery of sounds, you heard it.

your name.

spoken in a broken moan.

your breath stilled. for a second, you thought you must have imagined it, that your mind was playing a cruel trick on you. but then—

you heard it again. louder. needier.

jeno was calling your name as he came.

a paralyzing shock shot through you, pinning you to the mattress. your pulse hammering so hard you thought your heart might bruise your chest cavity. you stared at the ceiling, unblinking, as his moans settled over you like a suffocating weight.

silence followed, broken only by their uneven breaths. then you heard the rustle of sheets as they untangled from each other.

“can i stay the night?” the girl asked, her voice still heavy with satisfaction.

“no,” jeno said, voice oddly cold and detached. “my parents are gonna be here in the morning.”

that was a lie. your parents weren’t coming back until the following weekend.

you were still too shocked to move, too shaken to process what had just happened. but as you listened to her gather her things, to the sound of jeno walking her to the door without so much as an ounce of warmth in his tone, one thing became terrifyingly clear...

he hadn’t just used her. he’d been thinking about you while doing so.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you didn’t sleep. not for a single minute.

the shadows in your room shifted as the hours crawled by. it felt impossible to close your eyes without hearing it all over again. your name on his lips.

when your phone screen finally read 6:00 a.m, you gave up on sleep entirely, throwing off the sheets and slipping out of bed like a ghost.

you tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen, fingers numb as you grabbed a glass and filled it to the brim. the cold water slid down your throat in greedy gulps, but it did nothing to cool yourself.

then, a breathless laugh tore from your lips, unhinged and bitter. the sheer absurdity of it all crashed into you at once, like a sick joke the universe decided to play on you. jeno had been inside another girl, and yet, it was your name that spilled out of his lips.

the laughter bubbled up harder. it must have been loud enough to wake him, because a few moments later, footsteps padded into the kitchen.

jeno stood in the doorway, eyes heavy with sleep, brows pinched together as he took in the sight of you, your back was turned to him, shoulders trembling with laughter that didn’t seem to belong to you.

“the hell is wrong with you?” his voice was groggy.

you stopped, forcing the manic grin off your face before turning slightly away, shielding yourself from his scrutiny. god, if he saw the way you were smiling right now, he really would think you lost your mind.

“are you high?” he asked, a little more forcefully this time.

you let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. i wish. maybe if you were high, this wouldn’t feel so real. maybe you wouldn’t still hear his voice in your head from the night before, broken and desperate, calling for you.

a shiver ran down your spine when you felt jeno move closer behind you. you could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest, the faint smell of sleep and last night’s scent clinging to him. his hand clamped down on your shoulder, turning you around with an impatient tug.

“no, seriously.” his voice was lower now, forcing you to meet his gaze. “did you do drugs last night?”

your breath hitched when his chest brushed against yours, and that’s when you remembered you weren’t wearing a bra. the thin fabric of your tank top did nothing to hide the way your nipples hardened at the contact.

you saw the flicker in his expression, the brief second of realization when his gaze dropped.

“what do you care?” you shot back instead, tilting your chin up defiantly.

you liked the way his jaw ticked when you pushed him.

his grip on your chin was sudden, firm, tilting your face until your eyes locked with his. his fingers were rough and the touch sent something dark and electric crackling under your skin.

you ripped yourself from his grasp, grimacing. “don’t touch me. i know where that hand has been.”

jeno laughed, a rich sound that made your throat close.

“oh, so you heard.”

you scoffed. “of course i heard. it was impossible not to when you were being so loud.”

his smirk deepened. “then you know my struggle.”

he stepped forward, pressed you further against the counter until there was barely any air between your bodies. this was the closest you had ever been to him.

your heart slammed against your ribs, but you refused to shrink away. if anything, it only made you glare harder, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

“i hear everything you do in your room too.”

he paused, letting his finger curl around a stray hair falling over your face.

“every night.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out except a sharp inhale.

his eyes fluttered across your features, lingering on your lips, still wet from the water you just drank.

“wh-what…”

“yeah.” his grin grew sharper, his perfect teeth peeking out to tug at his lower lip. “every time you sneak your dumbass boyfriend in.”

his fingers brushed against the counter beside you, caging you in completely.

“every time you touch yourself…”

you swallowed, looking between his neck and shoulder, unable to meet his dark eyes.

“and you do that a lot lately.”

you gulped to soothe your dry throat, wishing he couldn’t somehow smell how aroused you were getting. you hated the way your body reacted to him, how your thighs pressed together on instinct. he noticed. the bastard always noticed everything.

he was still pressed so close you could feel the steady rise and fall of his hard chest against yours, the heat of his skin bleeding into yours like fire licking at gasoline.

“i—” you started, but your voice cracked.

jeno tilted his head, “what?” his voice was a murmur meant for just the two of you. his lips curved, but the smile wasn’t kind, it was wicked. “got nothing to say now?”

you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as your stomach twisted into knots. “fuck you.”

his smile widened. “i mean, that’s what you always think about, isn’t it?” he murmured.

your breath caught in your throat. he leaned in, his lips so close to your ear that you felt the ghost of them graze your skin.

“you touch yourself thinking about me.”

a wave of heat crawled up your neck. you shouldn’t be reacting this way. shouldn’t be giving yourself away this easily.

you inhaled sharply, gathering every ounce of strength left in your body before shoving at his chest, pushing him away. he let you, barely stumbling back.

“go to hell, jeno.”

you turned on your heel, ready to storm out, to get as far away from him as possible—

but you barely made it two steps before his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. he yanked you back against him, spinning you around so fast that you barely had time to register the shift before your back was against the counter again, his body crowding yours.

his grip tightened, but not enough to hurt just enough to hold you there.

"what are you doing?" you demanded, pressing a hand to his chest. "i have a boyfriend."

he laughed bitterly "oh, please. we both know he doesn’t even make you wet."

“how do you—?” you swallowed, barely able to get the words out.

the realization suddenly settled like lead in your gut. he read it. your blog. the one you used to vent frustrations you couldn’t say out loud, the one that held every unspoken insecurity, every late-night confession you never meant for anyone to see. every filthy thought about him.

and jeno of all people had gotten his hands on it. that’s why he’d been acting so strange lately.

your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, not pulling him closer, but gripping like you needed something to hold onto before you lost your mind.

his smirk deepened as he saw the expression of horror in your face.

“you should really clear your browser history,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “or, better yet…maybe don’t keep the tabs open on a laptop you asked me to fix.”

the bastard wasn’t even sorry for invading your privacy.

your pulse roared in your ears as you tried to school your expression, trying to make it seem like you weren't two seconds away from spiraling.

“i don’t—” you started, but the words wouldn’t come.

he leaned in, voice dipping lower. “oh don’t quit on me now. you had plenty to say in that little blog of yours.”

his fingers traced your jaw softly.

“especially about me.”

he grinned, teeth grazing his bottom lip as he watched your reaction unfold in real time. “what was it you said?” he pretended to think. “oh, right. he pisses me off more than anyone else, but i bet he fucks like a god.’”

you shoved him again but he barely stumbled, just let out a low chuckle like he was thrilled by your anger.

“what’s wrong?” he taunted. “embarrassed?”

“shut up.”

“aww, c’mon, don’t be shy now. i read the whole thing, you’ve definitely thought about this exact moment before.”

you wanted to die. right there on the kitchen floor. just disintegrate and never have to endure the smug, self-satisfied look on his face ever again.

but worse than the embarrassment? worse than the rage twisting inside you like a coil ready to snap?

was the terrifying, undeniable truth.

he knew you wanted him.

jeno moved closer, and you instinctively backed into the counter, your hands gripping the cool edge.

his smirk was insufferable. giddy, almost.

“god, you should see your face right now,” he murmured, tilting his head. “all pink and flustered. just like i imagined.”

your eyes darted across his face in shock.

“oh yeah,” he continued, watching the realization flicker in your eyes. “you’re not the only one who’s fantasized about this, baby”

“i don’t fantasize,” you said quickly, hoping to salvage some dignity.

jeno just laughed. “save it.”

he reached up, tucking another stray strand of hair behind your ear, the way someone might handle something delicate, except the glint in his eye was anything but soft.

“i said i read everything,” he reminded you, voice dripping with satisfaction. “i even memorized that one post, the one where you talk about my fingers—”

“don’t,” you interrupted, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could finish that sentence.

bad move. because now his lips were pressed against your palm, his breath hot against your skin. and he didn’t pull away.

instead, his dark eyes locked onto yours making your pulse stutter. he reached up, prying your hand away from his mouth, but instead of letting it go, he brought it lower flat against his bare chest, over the steady thump of his heartbeat.

“i like knowing your secrets,” he murmured. “i like knowing what gets in that pretty little head of yours late at night.”

your stomach flipped.

“and you know what i like the most?” he dipped his head, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “i like knowing that no matter how much you fight me on this,” he whispered, “you’ve already given yourself to me.”

his lips brushed from your ear down to the corner of your mouth, until finally, they met yours. you barely registered how easily your lips parted for him until his tongue slid in, claiming you. a groan slipped out before you could stop it.

you knew you should push him away. you should. but the thought barely even formed before it was gone, lost in the heat of his mouth.

"aren’t you gonna stop me?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to make you chase his lips.

you didn’t move, didn’t shove him away, didn’t say a damn thing.

his lips curled. "didn’t think so.”

then he kissed you harder, rougher. his fingers cradling your face while his other hand slid lower, gripping a handful of your ass. you gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pulling you flush against him.

his knee pressed between your legs, shifting just right, and you moaned. his lips curved against yours. "there’s my good girl."

heat flared up your spine, equal parts humiliation and arousal. some semblance of reason came over you and you pushed at his chest, but he caught your wrist, pinning it against the counter.

"you wrote about how bad you wanted me to take you right here in this kitchen," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. "want me to remind you?"

"shut up," you groaned, twisting your wrist free and shoving at him properly this time.

he didn’t budge. he only laughed, nipping at your lower lip before angling your face up, kissing you deep and slow, like he had all the time in the world. his hand slid from your ass to your thigh, hiking it higher around his hip.

the new angle made you feel him, every inch of his hard length pressing right against your core, and you gasped. he thrust against you and the groan he let out sent a pulse of heat straight to your stomach.

"fuck," he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours, his hips rolling again. "you feel that?"

your fingers curled into his shirt, whimpers spilling out of you as he kept humping you.

jeno’s grip tightened on your thigh, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked against you, his breath hot against your lips. “look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement and something darker. “clinging to me like this when you were just pretending to hate me a few minutes ago.”

you opened your mouth to argue, to deny, but all that came out was a sharp gasp as his hands slid under your tank top, fingers tracing lazy patterns up your ribs until they found your perked nipple. his knee pressed more insistently between your legs.

“jen—”

“shh.” he breathed against your lips. “you don’t have to say anything. your body’s already telling me everything i need to know.”

the way his lips ghosted over your jaw, then down your throat, made your breath hitch. you felt like you were drowning in the way he touched you, just enough to drive you crazy but not enough to give you what you really wanted.

“you’ve thought about this,” he mused, voice laced with satisfaction as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below your ear. “haven’t you? late at night, when you’re all alone…”

your nails dug into his shoulders as he ground against you again, harder this time. he was right. and that infuriated you.

“jeno,” you hissed, half warning, half plea.

“say it,” he murmured against your skin, hands slipping lower. “say you want me.”

you couldn’t do that. you still wanted to cling to some semblance of dignity. but then his fingers slipped inside your shorts, and the illusion that you ever stood a chance shattered.

your gasp turned into a strangled moan as his fingers dipped between your soaked folds, tracing slow circles, teasing you with featherlight strokes that had you melting against him. his breath was hot against your temple.

“if you don’t want this,” he murmured, “then maybe we should stop.”

and just like that, he started to retreat, his touch vanishing like a cruel tease.

“no,” you choked out, your hand gripping his wrist before he could pull away completely. “don’t stop… please.”

he tilted his head, savoring every ounce of your desperation. “you sure?” he mused, feigning innocence even as his lips, swollen and slick, curled into something devilish. “because if you think this is wrong, we really should stop.”

the bastard was toying with you, and worst of all, you found it maddeningly hot.

your nails dug into his arm, your body thrumming with frustration and need. “jeno,” you warned, voice dangerously low. “if you don’t touch me right now, i’ll go upstairs and do it myself.”

you saw the moment his pupils dilated, a dark, almost feral hunger flashing in his eyes.

“oh, princess,” he crooned, his hand slipping back into your shorts in an instant, fingers resuming their torment with renewed urgency. “you really shouldn’t have said that.”

but instead of touching you like you needed, he yanked your shorts down, your panties dragging along with them in one swift motion. before you could form a single word, he hoisted you onto the counter with ease, the hard surface pressing into the backs of your thighs. your legs instinctively tried to close, but his grip tightened, keeping you open for him.

and then he dropped to his knees.

your stomach plummeted, anticipation coiling so tightly inside you that you felt dizzy. he looked up at you from beneath his thick lashes, eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with hunger. his hands dragged slowly up the inside of your thighs, spreading them further. his tongue darted out, wetting his lips like he was about to devour the best meal ever.

your walls clenched around nothing.

“jeno—” his name came out in a broken gasp.

“you’re shaking,” his breath ghosted over your core, making you jolt, making you ache. "what’s wrong, baby? nervous?"

the way his voice curled around the word baby, sent a fresh wave of heat straight between your legs. but you didn’t get the chance to answer.

because then he dove between your thighs.

the first stroke of his tongue had you gasping, hands flying to his hair as your head snapped back against the cabinets. the heat of his mouth had your body jerking before you could stop yourself, pleasure so intense it almost hurt.

his hands flexed against your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you still as he licked deep into you. and when he groaned you nearly lost it. the vibration shot straight through you, your stomach clenching, your thighs twitching against his grip.

“jeno—” his name was barely a breath, a desperate sound that made him hum against you, pleased. he pulled back just enough for his lips to brush over your skin.

“god, you taste even better than i imagined” he rasped.

and then he was back on you, tongue working faster, fingers digging into your thighs like he needed this, like he was getting off on the way you gasped, the way your body trembled under his mouth.

he wasn’t just eating you out. he was devouring you.

his tongue moved in slow strokes, drawing out every whimper that spilled from your lips. you tugged at his hair, grinding down harder, but he just chuckled against you. cocky bastard.

“needy, huh?” he murmured between licks. “thought you could handle it.”

you barely registered his words, too caught up in the way he worked you open. but then he pulled away, making you gasp at the loss.

“jeno—” you started to protest, but he was already grabbing you by the waist.

“quit whining,” he smirked, hoisting you up easily. you yelped, legs locking around his hips as he strode toward the stairs. “you wanted this, didn’t you?”

your back hit the mattress a second later. you barely caught your breath before he tugged his pants down, the outline of his dick straining against his boxers.

jeno climbed onto the bed, gaze flicking over you with heat. you expected him to take you right then but he leaned back instead, hands behind his head.

“ride my face,” he said.

you froze, thinking he was joking for a second, but then you saw his his eyes and realized he was being completely serious. panic came over you, you’d never done this before, your boyfriend had never even eaten your out before, only fingered you. this was way more than that though.

“jeno—”

he raised a brow. “what, shy now?” his hands shot out, dragging you toward him. “c’mon, don’t start getting all sweet on me now.”

he positioned you right above his face. you swallowed, “jeno… i-i don’t know—“

“don’t worry baby, trust me”

and then he was spreading your legs further apart so you sank on his face slowly. his nose nuzzled between your folds first, the sharp line of it pushing against your core and making a guttural moan escape you.

his tongue followed, licking up and down, and prodding your entrance with insistence.

“oh, fuck—me” you whimpered, his hands on your hips guided you to press even harder against his face and even in your pleasure you worried he would drown in your cunt.

but when you looked down, there was nothing but pure bliss on his face, his eyes rolling back and his brows furrowed as he lapped relentlessly. it looked like he was enjoying this as much as you.

as your orgasm approached again, you couldn’t help but roll your hips against his face. the movement made his nose press further as his tongue continued licking long greedy strips against your clit.

“jeno—i...i’m—“ you moaned,

and your orgasm crashed over you with such a violent force it made you lean forward barely catching yourself with your arms before you could actually suffocate the boy under you.

you crawled down his body, your breath hitching as you took in the sight of his face glistening with your juices. his tongue swept out as he licked up every trace, dark eyes fixed on you.

his hands remained anchored on your hips, fingers flexing just enough to press you down against his body. you could feel him hard and burning through the thin fabric of his sweats. the instinctive grind of your hips had him exhaling a low chuckle. you wanted this, he wanted this, but something held you back. if you crossed this line… would you really be able to turn back?

you didn’t have time to find out because the sound of the doorbell ringing snapped you both out of your daze.

jeno blinked, looking toward the bedroom door. “seriously...?”

“shit—” you scrambled off him, tripping over your own limbs in the process.

“i’ll get it,” he offered, starting to sit up.

“no!” you shoved at his chest, pushing him back down. “your face, jeno— it’s covered in my—just—go wash it off!”

he grinned lazily. “didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago.”

“not the time!” you hissed, picking up your discarded clothes and putting them on.

jeno started, “i read somewhere that cum is really good for your skin—”

you didn’t dignify that with a response, slamming the door shut on your way out. your reflection in the living room mirror was a disaster: hair tousled, lips kiss-swollen, fresh marks blooming along your neck. you tugged your collar up and plastered on what you hoped passed for a normal expression before opening the door.

and promptly felt the ground vanish under you when you saw who was standing outside.

“hey, beautiful” your boyfriend said.

your mouth went dry. “oh. wow. hi—”

he held up a bouquet. “i realized we didn’t really do anything special for valentine’s, and you were so thoughtful with your gifts…” his other hand revealed a small box.

your heart twisted at the sight.

“figured you deserved something nice after everything you’ve done for me.” he opened the box to reveal a delicate necklace, your initial glinting in tiny diamonds. “also, i wanna take you out today”

you swallowed. “it’s... beautiful, thanks.”

“here.” he stepped forward, gently brushing your hair aside to fasten it around your neck. his fingers grazed your skin then stopped.

“you’ve got a mark,” he said, frowning. his thumb skimmed over the hickey, sending your pulse into overdrive.

“mosquito bite,” you blurted.

he raised an eyebrow. “looks... aggressive.”

“it was a big mosquito,” you managed with a nervous laugh.

“massive, actually” came jeno’s voice.

you turned just as he was descending the stairs, towel-drying his face and now dressed in…god help you, only sweatpants. fresh hickeys also peppered his collarbone and chest.

your boyfriend’s smile tightened. “hi, man. hope i didn’t wake you.”

jeno shrugged. “nah, i was just eating a delicious meal.” his gaze flicked to you with something too close to amusement.

you fought the urge to kick him in the balls. “so! you said something about... going out?” you blurted, trying to shift the topic.

“uh... yeah. a new amusement park opened up nearby. thought we could check it out.”

“sounds amazing! i’m in!” anything to get out of this situation.

“i’ll just… shower real quick,” you said, stepping back.

“i’ll put the flowers in water,” your boyfriend offered, heading toward the kitchen.

as soon as he disappeared, you turned to jeno and hissed, “are you insane?”

he chuckled. “i didn’t even do anything.”

“you’re standing there shirtless covered in hickeys i don’t even remember giving you!” you whisper-yelled.

“yeah you went a little crazy, who knew you wanted me this bad?”

you shot him a glare. “this isn’t funny.”

“it’s a little funny.”

you let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing your face. “god, you’re impossible.”

jeno leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of him. “wouldn’t be nearly as fun if i wasn’t.”

you shook your head and darted upstairs, pulse still racing. what the hell was your life right now?

you gave yourself only twenty minutes to get ready, worried about leaving your boyfriend alone with jeno for too long. god only knew what kind of things jeno might say if left unchecked. you quickly threw on a pair of high-waisted jeans and a knitted sweater, keeping it simple with just a swipe of lip gloss and a touch of mascara.

when you came downstairs, you found them sitting at opposite ends of the couch. jeno was scrolling through his phone, legs spread out, a bored look on his face. your boyfriend was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, glancing around as if searching for a conversation topic that didn’t involve glaring across the room.

“i’m ready,” you announced, trying to break the awkward tension hanging in the air. both boys looked up.

you noticed Jeno had changed into fitted jeans and a black t-shirt.

“i hope you don’t mind,” your boyfriend said, his smile too stiff to be genuine, “but i invited jeno to come with us.”

“what?” your head snapped to jeno, who didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

“yeah,” jeno said, casually running a hand through his hair. “a few of my friends are heading there too, so i figured we could all hang out.”

“oh… how nice,” you muttered through clenched teeth. jeno just smirked, waiting for you to snap in front of your boyfriend but you held back, drawing in a calming breath and turning toward the door instead.

outside, your boyfriend wiped a tiny smudge off the driver’s side door of his car with meticulous care. jeno scoffed audibly.

your boyfriend paused, glancing over his shoulder. “jeno, do you have a car... or do you wanna ride with us?”

“my car’s in the shop,” Jeno replied without missing a beat.

“oh yeah? what do you drive?”

“a ’69 mustang fastback,” jeno said smoothly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

your boyfriend’s lips parted slightly. you knew he was impressed—he loved cars—and even if he tried to play it cool, the way his eyes widened gave him away. “that’s a classic. was it your dad’s?”

“nope.” jeno grinned. “saved up since high school and bought it myself at the barrett-jackson auction last year.”

your boyfriend’s eyebrows shot up. “that’s... actually really impressive.”

yeah, jeno thought, satisfaction bubbling in his chest. he lived for moments like this, when people looked at him like he was something special. he just couldn’t let it slip that his dad had footed most of the bill for the car’s custom work. it wasn’t like he asked for that help, but there was no way he was turning it down either. and he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit that in front of your boyfriend. not when the guy was looking at him with something close to respect. honestly, jeno kind of liked having that edge over him.

you could practically see the mental competition unfolding in front of you. jeno stood there like he’d just scored a point, while your boyfriend’s jaw tightened, clearly thinking of how to reclaim the upper hand.

“are you guys done with the dick-measuring contest, or should i grab a ruler?” you asked, arms crossed.

jeno laughed under his breath. your boyfriend glanced away, muttering, “yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

the ride was somehow worse than you expected. normally, when you’d ride with your boyfriend, the car was filled with pleasant conversation. he’d ask about your day and tell you about his… but now, with jeno in the backseat, the air felt suffocating. not even the faint music playing on the radio could ease your discomfort.

“were you sleeping before i came?” your boyfriend asked, glancing at you briefly before focusing back on the road.

you tensed. sleeping? far from it. you’d most definitely come before he arrived, and now your face burned with the memory. you shot a quick look over your shoulder at jeno, hoping to gauge if he was going to say something incriminating. he was scrolling through his phone, but the corner of his mouth curled up in that stupid smirk of his.

“uh… no,” you said, clearing your throat. “i couldn’t sleep very well last night, so i just had an early breakfast.”

“ah,” your boyfriend hummed. “and your parents are back sunday, right?”

“yeah,” you replied, grateful for the change in subject.

the silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. your boyfriend tapped the steering wheel rhythmically, occasionally glancing at you like he was expecting conversation but you were too busy trying not to spontaneously combust from how tense everything felt.

he reached over and turned on the car’s bluetooth. “let’s put on some music,” he muttered, scrolling through his playlist. he settled on a song, and you relaxed until you recognized the beat a split second before the lyrics started.

"thoughts of you keep me up at night..."

heat immediately started creeping up your neck. of all the songs... and of all the lyrics to play right now.

"i think about all of the ways you turn me on... and my bed gets lonely whenever you’re gone..."

you stiffened, eyes wide as you stared out the window. you could feel jeno’s gaze burning into the side of your face, and when you dared to glance back, you saw his eyes fixed on you, an eyebrow raised like this was the funniest thing to ever happen. your boyfriend, oblivious to the lyrical implications, simply tapped along to the beat.

you reached for the phone. “let’s put something else—”

“what? you don’t like this song?” your boyfriend asked, glancing at you with a smile.

“it’s… just—” you floundered. jeno chuckled under his breath.

“leave it,” Jeno said. “I think it’s pretty relatable.”

your boyfriend shot him a look through the rearview mirror probably wondering what he meant.

you squeezed your eyes shut, praying for the ground to swallow you whole. why did the drive feel like it was taking forever?

when you arrived at the amusement park, you were pleasantly surprised to see jenny and natty waiting near the entrance, drinks already in hand.

“we’re the masterminds behind this whole thing, by the way” jenny grinned, looping her arm through yours when you reached her.

“yeah,” Natty added, slipping in on your other side. “we told him he was an idiot for not doing something nice for you on saturday, so this is his redemption, and we’re here as the judges.”

the revelation should’ve surprised you—maybe even disappointed you—but it didn’t. things with your boyfriend had been...off lately. neither of you was really trying, and you couldn’t blame him for that when you weren’t putting in much effort yourself.

still, you plastered on a smile. this is supposed to be fun, you reminded yourself. and it was, you went on nearly every ride. your boyfriend, though, wasn’t a big fan of fast rides due to his motion sickness, and you didn’t miss the way jeno scoffed every time he turned down your suggestions to ride together.

you were heading toward the food stalls when something caught your eye. “ooh! let’s do that one!” you pointed to a shabby building draped in fake cobwebs and flickering lights. a crooked sign above the entrance read bloody encounter in dripping red letters.

jenny made a face. “why would you willingly do that to yourself?”

“come on,” you urged, tugging her arm. “it’ll be fun! i saw a video of it on instagram! it looks insane.”

“that’s exactly why i don’t want to go,” jenny shot back, glancing warily at the entrance.

natty, wide-eyed, whispered, “have you seen that movie where a group of friends goes into a haunted house, and there’s an actual killer inside?”

“that’s literally a movie,” you said, but your attempt at sounding confident fell flat when natty added, “it was based on real-life events.”

you rolled your eyes but glanced over your shoulder at your boyfriend trailing behind. he looked at the ride and grimaced.

“eh... i don’t know, babe,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “you know i hate this kind of stuff.”

you visibly deflated and before you could respond, another voice cut in. “i’ll go with you,” jeno said, stepping forward, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“I—” you started to object, nerves twisting in your stomach. jeno? alone? no way. that felt like walking into a trap. “weren’t you going to meet up with your friends?” you tried, hoping to backpedal.

“they texted that they got a flat on the way here, so it’ll be a while before they arrive” he shrugged.

“you two have fun,” jenny said, already pulling natty away. “we’ll grab food in the meantime.” natty threw you a look that screamed good luck before disappearing into the crowd.

your boyfriend lingered. “you sure you’re gonna be okay?” he asked, eyes darting to jeno, whose expression remained unreadable except for the subtle roll of his eyes.

“yeah,” you lied, forcing a reassuring smile. “i’ll be fine. see you in a bit.”

stepping through the entrance, you were swallowed by darkness. the air was thick with the artificial scent of fog machines and that weird plasticky smell of cheap props. distorted laughter and screams echoed through the narrow halls, looping over speakers that crackled with static.

beside you, jeno looked about as thrilled as someone waiting in line at the dmv. he glanced around, gaze skimming lazily over the walls. "spooky," he deadpanned.

"wow, you're really committing to the whole fun-hater thing," you shot back, glancing over your shoulder. you knew something was about to jump out, it was just a matter of when. "if you hate this so much, why'd you come?"

“figured your dumbass boyfriend wouldn’t,” he shrugged, mouth quirking into something between a smirk and a sneer. "someone had to make sure you didn’t cry."

“excuse me—”

BANG!

a hidden panel to your left slammed open and a clown with cracked white paint on its face and red bulging eyes lunged out, blaring a horn right in your face. your soul practically left your body as you screamed and instinctively grabbed onto the nearest thing which, unfortunately, was jeno.

he didn’t even flinch, his arm simply went around your shoulders, comforting you even as your heart tried to beat out of your chest. you looked up, breath catching when you met his gaze. his eyes flicked down to where you were clutching his hoodie before lifting back to yours.

you pushed away, but his hand didn’t fall away immediately. it trailed from your shoulder down to the small of your back, you felt his warmth seep through the fabric of your sweater.

"so," he drawled, "should i hold your hand for the rest of this?"

“i swear to god…”

“—because i don’t mind”

“keep talking and i’ll feed you to the next clown,” you shot back.

he snorted. "like you’d make it through this without me."

you flipped him off without looking back, which earned a low chuckle in response. you stalked ahead, determined to focus on not tripping over the uneven floor, but his footsteps stayed close behind. annoyingly close.

the mirror maze was where things went downhill. everywhere you turned, warped reflections of you and jeno stretched and twisted in the glass. dark shapes flickered just out of sight, and the speakers just made everything worse by echoing whispers that felt like they were breathing down your neck.

your reflection twisted, making your head look three times too big. jeno snorted. “look, they got your good side.”

“bite me” you said, peering around a corner. your reflection multiplied into a dozen versions of you, all looking equally pissed.

“tempting,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

jeno’s fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you in the opposite direction.

“it’s this way,” he said.

“how would you know?”

“we’ve been stuck in here for like ten minutes,” he cut in. “you’re clearly not the best guide.”

you bit your tongue, resisting the urge to snap back.

jeno pointed at a door partially concealed by a tangle of fake cobwebs. “that’s gotta be the exit.”

“that looks deliberately hidden,” you said, eyeing it warily. something about it seemed off.

“well,” he shrugged, “either we try that or we keep wandering in circles. your call.”

fine. you followed him, trusting—against better judgment—that his instincts were better than yours.

they weren’t.

the door creaked open to reveal a forgotten section of the attraction with dust-covered boxes, broken props tossed in corners, and walls lined with peeling fake blood. the air smelled like damp cardboard and stale fog machine fluid.

“...okay,” he said, unfazed. “so not the exit.”

“wow. color me shocked.”

he shot you a look. “didn’t hear you coming up with better options.”

you rolled your eyes and turned back to the door. “whatever, let’s just—”

it didn’t budge. frowning, you tried again, putting more weight into it. nothing.

your pulse quickened. “uh... jeno?”

“what?”

“the door’s stuck.”

“just turn the handle—”

“i am!” frustration and panic crept into your voice. “i know how to open a damn door!”

“move.” he gently nudged you aside, grabbing the handle. he twisted while shoving his shoulder into it but the door held firm “...shit.”

your stomach dropped. this wasn’t funny anymore. “no, no, no… this can’t be happening.” you raked a hand through your hair.

jeno stepped back, scanning the room like there might be another way out. “it’s gotta be part of the attraction… like some escape room or…”

“yeah? you really think they’d make a whole escape room and hide it behind a side door that was clearly not supposed to be opened?” your voice cracked, breath coming quicker now.

he glanced at you, expression shifting. “hey.” his tone dropped, calmer. “don’t freak out.”

easy for him to say. your brain was already spiraling. you were locked in some creepy back room of a haunted house... with him.

you leaned back against the door, shutting your eyes as you tried to calm your racing heart.

“do you have your phone?” you asked, voice tight as you pushed away from the door and walked toward him.

he patted his back pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it up before showing the dead screen. “no battery.”

you let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temples. “of course.”

“the staff will probably notice we never came out,” he said, glancing around the dimly lit room. “they’ll be looking for us soon.”

“i didn’t even see anyone else besides that clown,” you muttered. “this is what i get for coming in here with you.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” his voice dropped a note lower, and when you looked up, he’d stepped closer. your back nearly hit the door again, tension sparking between you like static electricity.

“you’ve clearly upset some kind of energy around me, and that’s why all these things keep happening,” you snapped, trying to push away the sudden awareness of how little space there was between your bodies.

“are you being for real right now?” he chucked bitterly, dark eyes flicking to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. “you’ve been writing dirty fantasies about me for months but i’m the one somehow upsetting your energy?”

heat surged to your face, both from anger and embarrassment. “and that’s all they were! fantasies!” you shot back, voice rising. “i never wanted you to read those.” your breath came quicker. his proximity was messing with your ability to think straight.

“yeah?” he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. the playful glint in his eyes burned away, leaving something far more dangerous. “you say that like you didn’t mean every goddamn word.”

your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "is now really the time for this?"

“how come my presence didn't bother you when my mouth was between your legs?” he growled.

your hand shot up, ready to shove him away but he caught your wrist, pinning it above your head. your heart kicked into overdrive.

“not here,” you breathed, but it was weak, barely convincing.

“nobody’s around,” he rasped, chest flush against yours. “and you don’t really want me to stop.”

his lips dragged along your neck greedily, teeth scraping your skin before his tongue soothed the sting. your knees nearly gave out.

“jeno—fuck—we can’t,” you gasped, even as your hips arched toward him, desperate for friction.

“i’m sure i can make you cum before anyone shows up,” he promised, voice like rough velvet.

then he grabbed your thigh, hauling your leg around his waist and shoving his hips against you. the contact had you gasping, heat blooming everywhere at once. his grip was bruising, grounding you and shattering you all at once.

“you have no idea—” his breath was ragged, words spoken between gritted teeth, “—how fucking hard it was to sit back and watch you with him. i wanted to drag you away and remind you exactly whose tongue had you shaking mere hours ago.”

that snapped something inside you. your fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him in as his mouth crashed against yours. his hips rolled, grinding against you in rough motions that stole every coherent thought from your brain.

you should stop. you should care about where you were or the fact that your boyfriend was waiting for you outside, but the way he was touching you, kissing you, claiming you.

he pressed you hard against the wall, hands pulling at your sweater with urgency. the second it was off, his mouth was on you, sucking against the lace of your bra. his groan was barely controlled.

“fuck, so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words shaky. his gaze was hungry as he tore your bra off, his lips tracing the curve of your chest.

his mouth found your nipple, sucking hard. your back arched and a gasp slipped from you.

“god, perfect tits,” he growled. his hands were shaking now, and there was no control in his voice, just raw need.

without warning, he pulled your pants off, almost knocking you off balance. you barely steadied yourself before he turned you around, shoving you forward. Your hands gripped the wall for support, and you felt him push his erection against your ass.

“fuck, gonna make you feel so good. better than your fingers ever could. let me fill you up” he groaned, his voice desperate. you could feel how hard he was even through his jeans.

you bit your lip, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of knowing just how much you wanted him. before you could look back, his hand was on your jaw, turning your head to face forward.

“be good and i’ll let you look,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear.

he pulled your panties aside, the fabric stretching tight against you. it felt like it might snap any second, but before the thought could even settle, his finger was buried in your folds. the cool touch of his rings against your heat made you gasp, your body shuddering in response.

“oh god,” you mewled.

if your mind was clear enough to process anything, you’d laugh at how absurd this was. your fantasies, the ones you’d written about in your blog, were unfolding before your eyes, all within a day.

“barely even touched you, and you’re already dripping like this?” his voice was laced with amusement, though there was a growl beneath it.

“jeno, please don’t… tease me.” the words barely left your mouth, a plea you couldn’t hold back.

he smirked, his thumb brushing over your sensitive spot as he circled your clit. “i thought you were the one who didn’t want to do this here,” he taunted.

“please,” you whispered, barely able to form a coherent thought.

he chuckled, drawing another slow circle, teasing you, making you ache. every motion of his finger made your body respond, pushing your hips back instinctively. “so eager,” he muttered, his mouth hot against your shoulder.

his finger plunged inside you, and before you could adjust, another joined. he pulled them out slowly, spreading the slickness of your folds across your skin, making you squirm in desperation. you felt the pressure of his cock growing against your ass, and you clenched around his fingers, your walls yearning for more.

“ready for me, baby?” his voice was low, dark, almost a growl, and you nodded, mind too fogged to say anything.

he spread your legs wider, forcing you open for him, giving him better access. you felt the tip of his cock swipe against your folds, teasing the entrance, and you couldn’t help but steal a glance down. his pre-cum smeared against you, mixing with your slickness.

“when i’m done with you, you won’t even remember who came before me…” his words were gruff, hot against your hair.

and then, just like that, he thrust inside. you heard him inhale sharply as your gummy walls welcomed him, stretching around him, pulling him deeper. he felt thick, too thick, and you weren’t sure if he was all the way in, but the fullness was overwhelming. his body pushed against yours, your legs trembling under the weight of him, but he wasn’t stopping.

one hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as jeno continued to push deeper. your moans grew louder, and with each thrust your inhibition was slipping away. it felt too good to care about being caught, to think about anything else but the feeling of being so full.

but then, just as you were losing yourself completely, the sound of footsteps and distant voices jerked you back to reality.

“guys, they probably already came out,” you recognized jenny’s voice, and you froze.

“y/n isn’t picking up her phone,” your boyfriend’s voice followed, too close, so close you could practically feel him in the room.

you pushed weakly against jeno, trying to make him pull out, but he wasn’t paying attention. instead, he thrust into you again, harder, his cock pressing into you so deeply that you bit your tongue to hold back the moan threatening to slip out.

“that’s cause i have it,” natty’s voice rang out, innocently. “she gave it to me when she went on the roller coaster earlier.”

jeno’s hand moved to cover your mouth, muffling the sounds you couldn’t stop from escaping. he continued to pound into you, relentless, while pulling you flush against his chest, his pace steady but punishing. panic clawed at your throat as your breath quickened.

“when were you gonna tell us that...?” jenny’s voice sounded sharp, you could even picture the scowl that came with it.

“did you try jeno?” your boyfriend asked, the concern in his tone making the situation even more unbearable.

“we don’t have his phone number,” natty replied casually.

“i do,” Jenny said, her voice almost sheepish.

jeno’s hips stuttered for a brief moment, the pace slowing as he briefly pulled away from you. you thought he was stopping but before you could even react, he spun you around, forcing you to face him. his forehead glistened with sweat, his lips swollen from how hard he’d bitten them, his breath labored.

“what? since when?” natty asked, her voice sounding confused but amused.

“i stole it from y/n’s phone,” jenny muttered quickly. “don’t tell her, though.”

before you could even process her words, jeno thrust back into you, pressing you into the wall with each brutal stroke. the wall rattled violently with every movement and you could barely form the words to warn him.

“j-jeno, stop… they… they’re gonna hear us,” you gasped. your whole body felt like it was being torn apart in the best way, but the fear of being caught made it impossible to enjoy it fully.

“let them,” he growled against your ear, his grip tightening on your waist. “let your boyfriend know i’m the only one who can make you cum.”

you couldn’t help the loud whimper that came out when he said that.

“did you guys hear that?” your boyfriend’s voice rang out, sharp with suspicion.

your eyes widened in sheer panic, your body stiffening around jeno. but instead of stopping, he only smirked, still buried deep inside you. the bastard was enjoying this.

his hand trailed down, fingers finding your clit, and the second he started rubbing tight circles, your head lolled back involuntarily. another strangled whimper escaped before you could stop it. the feeling of his fingers working you over while he continued driving into you relentlessly had you seeing white.

“what?” natty asked, her voice tinged with unease.

jeno didn’t stop, his movements staying controlled except for the way his breath hitched when your walls fluttered around him. his lips parted slightly, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he fought to keep from moaning out loud.

“it sounded like… a person?” your boyfriend said, his voice closer now.

your head snapped up in terror, eyes locking onto jeno’s, silently pleading with him to stop. but he wasn’t even looking at you. his teeth were digging into his lower lip, dark eyes fixed on where your bodies were joined, watching the way he disappeared inside you over and over again.

“it’s probably just the scary audio replaying on the speakers,” Jenny suggested.

“and that rattling sound?”

jeno’s eyes flicked up at that, finally registering your panic. without pulling out, he wrapped an arm around your waist and lifted you off the wall effortlessly, carrying you a few paces away before pressing you down onto an old, dusty table.

before you could even think to protest, he shoved your knees up and entered you again, deeper this time, making you arch off the surface with a muffled cry. your teeth sank into the flesh of your hand to keep the noises in.

the table creaked with each sharp thrust, dust kicking up into the air around you. tears pricked your eyes, whether from pleasure, mortification, or both, you weren’t sure.

“maybe rats or something,” jenny suggested, her voice fading as she moved further away. “who cares? let’s just go. they’re not here anymore.”

the moment the voices started retreating, jeno leaned over you.

“we almost got caught,” he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe “...and you’re still fucking dripping around me.”

you didn't even get to feel embarrassed by his words because soon he was already moving again harder, deeper, like he needed to make up for the interruption. the table kept creaking under the force of his thrusts, and your fingers scrambled for something to hold onto.

when you looked down, your breath hitched at the sight of his cock drilling into you over and over, slick coating both of you in a wet mess. you were mesmerized by the sharpness of his hip bones, the way his veins bulged with every flex of his muscles.

you wanted to touch. you needed to.

your fingers twitched with the urge. why is he still so covered? you’d seen him shirtless before, had spent far too long secretly admiring the cut of his abs, but seeing and feeling were entirely different. you wanted to feel them ripple under your hands, to feel the heat of his skin against your palms.

driven by that need, you pushed up on your elbows, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he didn’t stop you, just watched with dark eyes and parted lips as you dragged the fabric up, exposing smooth skin and the taut muscles beneath. your fingers splayed over his stomach, feeling how hard he was clenching, how his body responded to you.

jeno tensed the moment your hands made contact with his skin, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth. his hips faltered for a second before slamming back into you with even more force. your breath stuttered, and when you looked up, his eyes were already locked onto yours, pupils blown wide with something wild.

suddenly, he leaned forward and his lips crashed into yours, all-consuming. a deep grunt rumbled from his chest as he licked into your mouth, greedy and desperate, sucking at your tongue like he couldn’t get enough of your taste. you gasped, clutching at his shoulders, your fingers digging into the sweaty skin under his shirt.

he groaned against your lips, voice ragged. “you—” another thrust, deeper this time, knocking the air from your lungs. “—are driving me fucking crazy.”

you felt your orgasm building fast, your breath catching as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach. words tumbled out of your mouth, barely coherent, dissolving into soft gasps as your body clenched around him. jeno moaned against your lips, his hand sliding back to your chest, fingers toying with your nipple. his hips didn’t slow, driving into you with almost manic thrusts that had your head spinning.

“fuck, i’m close,” he breathed out, voice rough in your ear. “where do you want it?”

you blinked through the pleasure, brain too sluggish to register the question. when it did, warmth flooded your cheeks. you were on the pill and the thought of him stuffing you up with his cum, just like you’d written about, made your walls flutter instinctively. “inside,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

jeno’s jaw flexed, his gaze darkening. “yeah?” his pace quickened, rougher now, his lips brushing against your neck. “couldn’t wait for me to fill you up, hm?” his words melted into a groan when you clenched around him.

“jeno—i—” the rest of the sentence dissolved into a cry as your orgasm crashed over you violently. your body arched into him, trembling.

he wasn’t far behind. you felt his rhythm stutter before warmth flooded you, his hips pressing deep as he let out a low, drawn-out moan. his lips found yours again, kissing you slowly, even as both of you tried to catch your breath.

when he finally pulled back, his gaze held yours for a while. you wanted to ask what he was thinking, but the words stuck in your throat.

you felt him slip out of you along with the slow drip of hia cum trailing down your thighs. he reached for your discarded underwear, swiping it between your legs with surprising gentleness before, without hesitation, tucking it into his back pocket.

“hey—” you started to protest, but the look he shot you shut you up fast. apparently, those were his now.

a few quiet minutes passed, both of you fixing your clothes, when the door groaned open. you flinched as an older staff member peeked in, eyes widening upon spotting you two.

“what on earth are you two doing in here?”

you quickly stepped forward, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “so sorry, sir! we got lost trying to find the exit, and then the door jammed. thank you for helping us”

“yeah. where’s the way out?” jeno added, right behind you.

“just head left twice. you’ll see the exit sign.” the man shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he waved you off.

“thanks again!” you called, already pulling jeno with you. once outside, the cool night air hit your flushed skin, and you wrapped your arms around yourself with a shiver.

“if we’d followed my directions,” you said, glancing sideways at him, “we would’ve been out a while ago.”

jeno’s jacket appeared over your shoulders before you could argue further. “yeah,” he smirked, eyes glinting under the neon lights. “but then we wouldn’t’ve had all that fun, would we?”

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 my inbox is always open for any feedback about the fic or if you just wanna talk

support me here if you want (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[abbotjack]

˚. ྀིྀི୧❤︎୨ ྀིྀི.˚ We know Jack writes letters.

They're the kind Robby can’t read all the way through without stepping outside to gather himself. The kind that cut clean and simple, because Jack doesn’t waste words—he means them.

So when he falls in love, of course he writes.

He works nights. You work days. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal—just a few missed dinners, a couple uneven weekends. But two years in, it’s become a rhythm neither of you like but both of you have learned how to survive. You brush your teeth while he’s lacing up his boots. He lets the microwave run too long reheating the dinner you left him. The sheets are always warm, but it’s rare you’re both in them at the same time.

You see him in fragments.

A half-empty beer left by the sink. His stethoscope on the kitchen chair. The smell of soap and hospital antiseptic lingering in the bathroom when you step out of the shower. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you catch him in the doorway before you head out and he gets home—eyes heavy, jaw dark with stubble, scrubs wrinkled. He kisses your forehead like he’s apologizing for the hours he missed.

But then there are the letters.

Tucked in the pocket of your coat. Folded into your planner between work notes and receipts. Once, wedged between the pages of the book you keep meaning to finish, like he knew you’d open it eventually.

They’re never long—just a paragraph or two, scribbled on the back of supply sheets or crumpled chart printouts, whatever scrap he could grab between calls. The handwriting is always the same: rushed, uneven, slanted like he was writing too fast to second-guess himself. He never rewrites them. Never polishes a word. And at the bottom, always that quiet little “—J,” like he’s hesitant to leave too much of himself behind.

“Didn’t sleep today. Kept thinking about the way you were breathing last night, arm over your face like you were shielding yourself from something. I should’ve held you. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“No letter tonight. Just wanted to leave a note saying I need to be near you. Wake me when you get in. Please.”

“You said something in the mirror yesterday—something about looking tired. I didn’t say anything then, but: You are beautiful. Even when you forget. Especially then.”

“There’s a receipt in your car from our favorite place. You went without me. I’m not mad. Just—next time, bring back fries. Or lie better.”

“You leave your rings on the counter and every time I see them, I think, ‘she came home.’ I don’t think you know how much that matters to me.”

“The plant you named after me is dying. Water it. Or don’t. I get it. But if it survives, I’ll take it as a sign you still love me.”

“You left the light on. Again. Which should annoy me. It doesn’t. The apartment feels like you were just here. Sometimes that’s all I need.”

“Tried to be quiet when I left. Still knocked over the shampoo bottle. Sorry. You flinched but didn’t wake up. I whispered goodbye anyway. It felt wrong not to.”

“You made the grocery list and wrote ‘Jack’s weird yogurt’ like I don’t have a brand. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

"Tonight was rough. Lost one. Didn’t want to bring it home with me, but I needed to tell you I love you anyway."

“You were talking in your sleep again. Said something about stealing a goat. If I come home and there’s a goat in the yard, I’m not asking questions. I’ll just name it.”

“You asked me last night if I’d still love you if I was a worm. I said no. You hit me with a pillow. I’ve revised my answer.”

“You bought four new throw pillows. We now have eleven pillows on a three-seat couch. I have nowhere to sit. I love you anyway.”

“You said you felt off today. Didn’t tell me what that meant. Just curled up under the blanket and didn’t talk much. I stayed quiet too. I just wanted you to know I noticed.”

“You made the bed this morning. I know you were late. You didn’t do it for you. You did it for me. I love you.”

You keep them all. Pressed flat in a shoebox under your bed, like tiny pieces of him that can’t fade with time. Some of them still smell like antiseptic and worn leather and faint traces of his cologne. Sometimes you reread them when the loneliness sneaks in, when the hours between seeing him stretch too long.

And the thing is—he never asks if you read them. He doesn’t bring them up. It’s not about the response. It’s not even about being heard.

It’s about leaving something behind.

A thread. A trace. A heartbeat in your drawer when he can’t be in your bed.

Because Jack Abbot may not say I love you in the hallway or across a crowded kitchen—but he’ll write it. Every damn time.

And he knows you’ll find it when you need it most.

[nebularsung]

⭑ studying with donghyuck is so easy ﹙+18﹚

your hands trembled as you gripped the pen, legs barely holding steady under the weight of the pleasure still coursing through your body. your handwriting—usually clean, confident, practiced—was a mess. letters skewed, curves jagged, ink blotted with hesitation. everything past the fifth question looked like it was written by someone drunk on something far stronger than wine.

and in a way… you were. drunk on him.

donghyuck, your annoyingly brilliant boyfriend, was pressed up behind you, heat radiating from his chest into your back. he���d been helping you "study" for your quiz all night. that’s what he called it, anyway—study. though with how your nightgown was bunched around your waist and his cock was buried deep inside you, it felt a lot more like punishment than preparation.

“ten questions, baby. that’s all i asked,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low, silken drawl that made your stomach twist. “you’re smart, yeah? you’re my girl. you can do this.”

his lips trailed down your neck, warm and wet and maddeningly slow, leaving kisses like little bursts of heat. you barely registered your scribbled answer to question eight until he glanced down and hummed approvingly, grinning like you’d just won an award. “good girl,” he cooed.

and then came the choice. “another reward?” his voice dipped, words slow and intentional. “or are you too tired already?”

you could still feel the ghosts of the earlier ones—the first few gentle, teasing licks that left you breathless… the way he had tugged your top down, flicking your nipples as he whispered filthy things that somehow made your toes curl and your heart flutter. he knew just how to talk to you. knew how to praise and corrupt in the same breath.

by the time you reached question six, he had you seated on his lap, legs spread, your slick soaking his thighs while he teased your clit with patient cruelty. and now? now, you were cockwarming him—his cock buried in your heat, thick and pulsing, unmoving—but so incredibly there.

every now and then, he twitched inside you, reminding you that he was just as needy, just as worked up.

you whimpered softly and reached for his hand, guiding it to your breast with a trembling breath.

“that’s my girl…” he whispered, pressing his lips to your shoulder. one hand rolled your nipple between his fingers, gentle but insistent, while the other ghosted down your stomach until it cupped your clit. you gasped as his fingers dipped lower, brushing against your slick folds, feeling just how ready you were for him.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” he growled, more to himself than to you. “you really like studying with me, huh?” a hint of mocking in his tone.

you couldn’t even answer. your eyes fluttered shut when he shifted beneath you, rocking his hips just enough to make you feel the stretch all over again.

but just when you tried to grind down against him, desperate for friction, for movement—for anything—his hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you still.

“nuh uh.” he chuckled, deep and dark. “not yet, greedy girl.”

“please…” you whined, voice breathless, almost broken. “just a little—”

“no.” he pulled his hands away from your body, making you feel the loss instantly. “you want to cum? answer the last question.”

you turned your head, eyes narrowed, lips trembling from frustration. “you’re so mean.”

he tilted his head and smiled sweetly, devilishly. “you’re the one who said you needed help studying. i’m just making sure you pass, baby.”

you let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking down to the page. one question left. just one. your thighs trembled from the effort it took not to move on his lap. your core ached—pulsing, dripping, desperate—and he was right there. inside you. still. waiting.

“do you wanna fail?” he asked, voice suddenly stern, dark and commanding in the way that made your stomach tighten. you shook your head quickly. “then you better start thinking.”

your hand trembled again as you reached for the pen, every nerve alive and alert—driven now by need, by frustration, by want and pride. and love. because god, you loved how he did this to you. how he could be so smart, so smug, so in control, and still look at you like you were his whole world.

you’d finish the damn quiz.

and fucking guaranteeing what you deserve.

your heart pounded as you scribbled down the final answer, shaky and barely legible, but you were sure it was right. or maybe you just hoped it was right—because you couldn’t wait another second. you dropped the pen, your breath catching in your throat as you whispered, “done…”

donghyuck leaned forward, resting his chin on your shoulder again as he glanced at the notebook. his eyes scanned your answer, and when he saw the correct words scribbled there, a slow grin stretched across his face.

“well, look at that,” he murmured, voice dripping with pride and something far darker. “my girl really is a genius.”

his hands moved instantly—no more teasing, no more holding back. he grabbed your hips and lifted you just slightly before slamming you back down onto his cock. the force knocked the air from your lungs, and your head lolled back onto his shoulder with a moan that sounded like surrender.

“fuck, i’ve been waiting,” he groaned against your ear, thrusting up into you again. “you feel that? that’s your reward, baby. you earned it.”

your fingers gripped the edge of the desk for balance as he began to move—slow, deep thrusts that rocked through your body like waves. the friction was intense. the fullness, overwhelming. you could feel every inch of him, stretching you just right, filling you completely.

and he didn’t stop praising you. “so smart. so fucking pretty when you’re focused. bet you’d ace every quiz if i fucked you like this after each one, huh?”

his lips found your neck again, this time biting softly before soothing the skin with warm, wet kisses. you were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t from nervousness. it was from the way your body was unraveling beneath his.

“you were so patient,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “now let me take care of you.”

one hand left your hip and moved between your legs, fingers sliding to your swollen clit. he circled it expertly, already knowing the rhythm that made your thighs twitch and your moans get high and breathless.

“hyuck—” you whimpered his name like a prayer, and he moaned softly, gripping your waist tighter.

“i know, baby. i know. let it go.”

and when you came—hard, fast, clenching around him like your body was trying to pull him deeper—you did so with your head thrown back, lips parted in a silent scream, tears welling in your eyes from the overwhelming wave of heat crashing through you.

he followed not long after, with a deep groan and a few more hard thrusts, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled into you, his whole body trembling.

for a few moments, there was only the sound of your breaths mingling—fast, uneven, needy. he wrapped his arms around you from behind, his mouth pressing lazy kisses along your shoulder.

“see?” he whispered, voice soft again. “i told you you’d ace it.”

you laughed, weak and breathless, leaning into his hold. “next time,” you murmured, “just quiz me in bed.”

he chuckled, pulling you tighter against him. “deal.”

｜ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 𖹭 the smut part looks so rushed 😫😫 but i still like it sjdkkfk hope you enjoy anon!

[hrrtshape]

things that my boyfriend does in my better cr that truly warms my heart ( aka emma yaps about coryo . . again )

i just have to say that like every time i am with him it might as well be raining rose petals because GRAH . i love this man so bad fuck

he steals the hair tie off my wrist mid-conversation just to snap it lightly against my arm. menace behaviour. then kisses the spot he snapped like it's reparations. it's not. but okay.

he uses my perfume when he misses me. pretends it was "accidental" because he was "in a rush" but i literally caught him spritzing it on his pillow. okay scented softboy.

him scribbling my name in the margins of his physics homework.

when i'm sitting on the counter he stands between my knees like it's just. where he belongs. like we're in a 2007 coming-of-age movie starring people with tumblr edits. which we are.

he bought a stupid little charm for my pandora bracelet when he went on a trip without me. i asked why that one. he said "it looked lonely." shut. UP.

he hates when i'm crying, like. goes feral. paces. brings me tea and tissues and then blames the weather. he’ll be like "it's always cloudy when you're sad" like okay shakespeare.

he always knows when i'm cold before i say anything. he'll just silently drape his jacket over my shoulders like it's a cape.

he keeps the receipts from our dates in a box. they're relics. we're going to bury them under a tree one day and kiss above the grave.

he'll grab my wrist when we’re crossing the street. dramatically. we're in a victorian and there’s a carriage hurtling toward me. we're literally on a suburban sidewalk.

he kisses my knuckles. ALL. OF. THEM. slow. one by one.

he makes me playlists with stupid names like "songs for when you're being dramatic (but i love u anyway)" or "music to study the divine tragedy of your smile to" and then says "it's not that deep." shut up it IS.

his mom super duper likes me because i helped carry the groceries once and he hasn't stopped bringing it up like i saved a child from a burning building.

he'll just. rest his head in my lap. no words. he's safe there!!!!!!!!!! that's home.

every time he kisses my temple i lose two years off my life expectancy. every. single. time.

he eats around the onions in my burger. without even saying anything. and then gives me the side-eye like how did you not check for onions.

he always opens my drinks for me. bottle caps, soda cans, vitamin waters. he lives to hear the hiss-pop and hand it to me like some sort of carbonated chalice. boycoded service.

he lets me pop his zits. i don't even want to unpack this one. i think it means we're married.

he pulled a leaf out of my hair and kept it in his wallet. it's still there. crunched and dry and maybe disgusting. romantic rot. ROMANTIC ROT.

every time we're walking past those claw machine games he makes me stop. wins me a plushie.

he saves the voice notes i send him.

he fixed the chain on my necklace with his teeth. we were running late. i was spiralling. and he just said "come here" and bit the clasp back together. yea. yea.

he let me win at chess once and i knew.

if i fall asleep anywhere near him, car, sofa, bench, airport floor, he'll tuck something under my head. his hoodie. his bag. his own arm. i'm never on tile. i'm on love.

i dunno if i ever said that....but yes....he has...indeed....put his jacket over a puddle.

he wrote "ema was here" in the dust on the back of his car. left it there for days. weeks. i checked. he washed everything else. not that. (p.s., i have an obsession with him writing ema instead of emma. just something about that.)

he carries my water bottle like it's his cross to bear but also refills it without me asking. i’m not a girl. i'm a beloved houseplant.

he figured out my coffee order before i told him and now i feel unsafe (in a romantic way).

my phone dies and he lets me use his. like "here. text your mom." and i'm like ??? i'm texting my pinterest mutual actually but thank you!!!

he keeps gum in his glovebox just for me. like i asked once. in january. and now it's always there.

when he walks behind me he'll tuck my tag in.

sings along to my favourite songs under his breath while driving even though he acts like he's too cool for them. you know. he knows every word.

when i wear lip gloss he won't kiss me right away. just stares. and says something stupid like "you're too pretty. it's a trap."

sometimes he picks me up and spins me like we're in a musical. usually in the kitchen. mind you, i'm just trying to get juice.

he learned how to tie a silk ribbon in my hair. doesn't talk about it. just does it when i can't get it right.

once i got mascara in my eye and he said "blink at me. i'll get it out" as if i was a disney princess.

he has my shampoo. doesn't use it. but. it's there. help.

he never lets me carry a takeaway bag. even if it's like. one (1) croissant. "you're not meant to suffer," he'll say, already loading five things into his arms.

he lifts me onto countertops. regularly.

he puts my earrings in his wallet if i take them off.

every time we hold hands he presses his thumb into the back of mine.

if i fall asleep in his bed he'll put socks (his!!!!!) on my feet and act like it's just something that happens.

when i talk about something i love, he looks at me instead of the thing. full eye contact. the whole time. THAT one image from pinterest. you know the one.

when i'm talking and he wants to kiss me, he just. does. mid-sentence.

once when i was crying he wiped my tears and went "you're gonna get dehydrated." (hrrtshape dot com is malfunctioning currently i need a moment)

knows how i take my tea. knows what brand. knows i like the ugly mug.

he put the 'emergency chocolate' in his bag. for me. not himself.

told me he dreams about me. casually. just said it.

when i send a selfie he'll say "come home."

he walks slower when we're holding hands so our steps match. who does that. freak behaviour. soulmate behaviour.

sometimes i catch him just watching me, smiling, and when i ask why he says "nothing." MHMHMMHMHMHMMmmmmmmm.

[rowdydevs]

⭐ Republished ⭐

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

𝟿.𝟼𝙺 𝚃𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝

3.8k

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

📖 Rafe is your boyfriend… You just don’t know it yet.

⚠️ warnings contain spoliers ⚠️

swearing, Stalking, pet names, degradation, namecalling, public masturbation, dark!rafe, mean!rafe, perv!rafe, mentions of cum play, mentions of unprotected P in V, ownership kink, mentions of rough oral, violence, threats, blackmail, fighting, blood, gore, mentions of sextortion, Rafe sneaks into the reader’s room, panty stealing, panty sniffing, takes pictures of the reader’s private images, cum tasting, oral male receiving, oral female receiving, twist dark reader, mutual obsession, rough oral, gagging, kissing, reader doesn’t ask rafe if he wants to go further than oral but he does and she starts anyway, messy sex, squirting, praise, drinking, smoking, mentions of drug use

✨ “Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched. ✨

Rafe’s POV:

“So, class. What does its structure contribute to the poem “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night?” The professor drones on, sliding her reading glasses down her nose as she looks out onto the lecture hall. I shrink in my seat slightly, along with the other boys, doing my best to avoid her gaze.

Required reading, my ass. Did she honestly expect us to read this shit on a Thursday night? Barely drug my ass outta bed for class. Thank fuckin’ god. I relax in my seat as one of the front-row nerds saves the basic population who doesn’t give a fuck.

“Repetition. The poet used it to stress his key theme for his readers.”

I nod, scribbling a little line of nothingness on my paper, keeping up with the facade. That shit went in one ear and out the next. “Hey, Cameron.” My frat brother elbows me on the side. “You good for the kegs?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. What else can daddy get you?” I sneer as I roll my eyes at Billy, who laughs and scoffs. “I get paid back first, plus 10%. Get me a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle; I ain’t drinkin’ Coors, and I ain’t pickin’ that shit up either.”

“Thanks, daddy,” he responds in a breathy voice, snatching the wad of cash off my hands. “We need ten kegs between the Deltas and Phi Mu… You good for that-”

“Fuck you, ‘Am I good for that’?” I cut him short through a breathy laugh. “You’re holdin’ the cash in your hands, bitch. Stop askin’. Add an extra 5% for questionin’ me-”

“Rafe.” My stomach sinks as my professor’s eyes zero in on mine. “Am I interrupting something?” The old bird cocks an eyebrow, her annoyance visible, matching my own.

“No,” I answer simply, crossing my arms across my chest and relaxing at my desk.

“Splendid. I assume you know the answer then. Correct?” She challenges me, trying to catch me off guard. A smirk pulls on her lips as she does just that. Cunt.

“I agree.”

“The key insight about death in the poem is, ‘I agree’?” She belittles. I stare at her blankly, blinking a few times to let her know she’s wasting her time. She’s not gettin’ shit out of me. I’ve got an A in this class, bitch. What’re you gonna do about it?

She chuckles weakly, shaking her head at my resistance. “Am I wrong, ma’am? I have a bit of conversational anxiety… If you’d like to repeat the question, I’d love to try again,” I ask through a shit-eating smirk, letting my sarcasm drip all the way through, irritating her even more.

“Anyone else?” She invites in a shrill voice as she dismisses me, looking around the room to find another. Some of my frat brothers snicker in the back, making the professor’s features even more rigid. “Miss. Y/n?” Her demeanor changes instantly, shaking off my defiance, moving on to another one of her perfect pets.

Who’s that?

Holy shit. I swallow hard, feeling my mouth dry up as I see her. She twiddles her fluffy pink pen, acknowledging the teacher with a smile. Y/n? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. How have I never seen her before? I watch as a football player shuffles down the row of the lecture hall. My question, answered in a moment as his broad shoulders cut off my line of sight. No. I stretch back, cranking my neck to get her in my sights again.

“The key insight’s that death should be fought against, even though it is inevitable.” Her beautiful voice fills the lecture hall like a song. The teacher smiles at her again, praising y/n for her correct answer. Y/n grins and nods, averting her eyes as she catches the room’s focus. Her cheeks blush the prettiest shade of pink, matching her glossy lips.

Those lips… I lick my own, thinking about the way they would look wrapped around my cock, drool running down her chin as she deepthroats my dick. I’d grip that little ponytail like a handlebar, using her mouth like a toy. I chuckle at myself, still surprised that my mind went there almost instantly, but I know myself too well. I am who I am.

Y/n looks so goddamn innocent… Not for long. She’s a slut for praise. I can tell. I can work with that.

My eyes work lower, following the curve of her cleavage in her low-cut shirt. Fuck, I can’t wait to get her on top; watch ‘em bounce in my face. I’m gonna cum all over her perfect rack. Tiddie fuck her while she cries for daddy’s dick. Smear that shit- “Earth to Rafe?” I grit my teeth as I’m torn from my fantasy. “Buddy, you good?” Billy chuckles, his voice taunting as he follows my focus to her. “Mmm… Y/n,” he sighs blissfully. “So fuckin’ hot, bro. She’s a Phi Mu girl.”

“No shit?”

“Mhmm… Transferred from LSU. Smart, funny, sexy… But she’s mine, buddy. Aight? Been layin’ down groundwork all semester.” He elbows me playfully, chuckling to himself, actually believing his own words.

“All semester, and you haven’t made a move?” I spit, eyes rolling in his direction. This whole conversation is laughable. Has he been sitting on this all semester? Really? She was mine the second I looked at her, buddy. You’re done.

“Long game,” he defends himself.

“Long game?” I scoff. “Doesn’t sound like you got any game at all...”

“Hey. Fuck off… I know she wants me. Her bedroom faces mine and she doesn’t even close the curtains when she changes anymore; she texts me all the time. See?” He gloats as he thumbs through his phone. I don’t even bother myself with the semantics. Why the fuck does that shit matter? What’s he gettin’ at? “I’m gonna help ‘em after class. They have some car wash fundraiser downtown.”

Is that so? “I like the sound of that,” I smile, feeling my cock growing stiff in my jeans at the thought of seeing her in next to nothing, wet and soapy no less.

“You can’t just take her from me, Rafe,” Billy mutters in annoyance. A laugh rumbles in my chest as I take in his empty words. “I’m not fuckin’ around. She’s mine.”

My head turns slowly in his direction as he bends in mine. I mean, the guy’s big, but I’m bigger. He can fight, but he’s not willing to see that shit through. Billy’s got that moral compass that urges him to stop where I couldn’t care less. And he knows it.

He balls his hands up in fists at his desk, jaw tightening as he does his best to intimidate me one last time. My boy’s a bitch.

“Mine.”

I study her movements as she glides through the halls. Her hair bounces with each step brushing along her backpack, half-hiding her perfect ass. Her bum shakes a little as she walks, just a tease for me. Y/n slight skirt grazes just a few inches below her ass, leaving her bare legs on display.

I wonder what they’d look like over my shoulder… Spread wide on my bed as I devoured her perfect pussy. Damn. I bet she makes some pretty sounds. I can’t wait to hear that, to see her face, as she squirts all over my mouth and cock.

Where are you going, pretty girl?

She hooks a left, heading toward the coffee shop. I continue to follow my girl, watching as she strolls inside. Y/n walks toward the line, stalling next to the case of pastries, eyeing the bottom. Do it for daddy, baby. C’mon. There you go… She drops down, surveying the options. That goddamn ass… Does she know I’m watching? She’s gotta know. The paisley material tugs higher on her thighs, a peek of her round ass poking out the bottom.

She stands up again, taking another step, moving with the traffic flow. Y/n reaches into her purse, pulling out her phone. She smiles as she looks at the screen. Billy Hargrove 💕. I feel my heart pick up pace, my breathing quickening; rage boils inside me.

I gave him an order. This shit’s not up to him. I roll the tension out of my neck, fingers twisting into fists of my own. Where’s the fucking loyalty? She bites her bottom lip and smiles at the message, making me physically ill.

I’ve got distracted by her… Say somethin’ to make her forget about that.

“Uh, hey,” I rasp. Y/n continues to type up a little message. “Y/n?” I reach out, resting my hand on her arm.

“Oh, hi… Umm, Rafe?” She says my name, making everything stand still. I look down at the beautiful eyes and soft, pouty lips, the corners of which curl into a sweet smile.

“Uh, yeah,” I answer, trying to level my tone. “We’re in class together.”

“Yeah… She’s kind of a bitch. Right?” Y/n asks weakly as her eyes soften on mine, showing me pity like my feelings might have been hurt by that little exchange between the professor and me.

“Yeah, she sucks,” I laugh lightly, tossing my head down in fake shame. “The boys and I got a little rowdy last night. I didn’t read that shit. Did you? I mean, obviously-”

“On my way to class,” she giggles as she looks around playfully for our professor.

My mouth falls into an open smile. “Naughty girl. Coast is clear, by the way,” I rasp through a little laugh.

“Good,” Y/n sighs as she tucks some hair behind her ear.

“You’re really smart.” I praise, watching her cheeks blushing again, this time closer than before, making my heart bang in my chest.

“Thank you. Oh, umm, you’re a Delta. Right?” She asks, solidifying her answer as she eyes the embroidery on my polo.

“I am. And you’re Phi Mu?” Y/n grins as she nods in reply. “I’m headed over to your car wash after this.”

“Awesome. Yeah, Lyndsey was worried that the University might question where the money came from if we made anything off selling beer tonight.”

“A cover-up?” I smile down at her as I stuff my hands in my jeans.

“Mhmm,” she breathes. “The party’s gonna be huge. Do you think we’ll get busted?”

I chuckle at the sweet nativity of her question. “‘Course we will. Over 500 students in one place… But it’s a block party. Right? So they won’t be able to pinpoint anybody. Not usin’ the frat’s money directly. Cash. The boys are gonna pay me back as they sell cups. Untraceable.”

“Aww. That’s so nice of you,” she smiles. Her demeanor hasn’t faltered since we’ve spoken. She doesn’t seem to care about the material shit; my Breitling watch, the gold rings on my fingers. Her face didn’t light up when I dropped the fact that I would buy beer for the masses. She just said it was nice… Fuck, she’s perfect.

“I try… But, if we get busted, I’ll blame it on some beautiful Phi girl I know.”

She gasps playfully, smacking me in the chest. “You wouldn’t!” Everything tenses in my body as I fight back my arousal, covering the growing excitement in my slacks with my notebook.

Y/n looks over my shoulder, catching the girl’s eyes behind me as she tells us to move forward. “Sorry,” Y/n sighs apologetically, clearing the open space between us and the register. Y/n steps up to the counter, ordering a latte and a muffin before reaching into her purse.

“Oh, shit. No. Sorry! Let me,” I breathe as I hurry to her side. “I’ll pay for whatever she’s havin’ and a coffee for me: one cream, one sugar. Thank you.”

“Wow. Thank you, Rafe. You didn’t need to do that,” she coos.

“No problem, y/n.”

Gifts… That’s what my girl likes.

Well, shit. She’s gonna need a grand gesture. I can sneak into her room tonight. Check the essentials: dress size, music taste; the little things she enjoys.

I’ll take a look at her nightstand. How could I not? Gotta know what she uses to please herself so I know what I’m working with and what it takes to get her there. I want to know her better than she knows herself.

I follow along, trying to keep my eyes on her face, but I can’t help but roam her body. I’ve never seen anything like it, never seen anything so perfect for me. I never wanted anything so bad.

The barista walks over, setting down my coffee. I suck my teeth, regretting my choice, knowing if I got the same shit as her, I could have stayed. But I shouldn’t. “I’ll come by. Yeah? Don’t kill me… I gotta big ass truck, and she’s dirty as shit.”

“No worries,” she smiles sweetly. “I’ll see you there, Rafe. Oh, and thanks for the coffee again.” She reaches out, resting her hand on my arm.

“Of course, sweetheart.” I test a pet name, watching her smile widen. Just gorgeous.

I step away, walking towards the door. Looking over my shoulder as Y/n pulls out her phone, that same smile for Billy setting on her perfect lips.

He’s fucking dead.

I pull up toward the parking lot, falling into the line of cars; a caravan of dicks with their windows already rolled down. Fuckin’ dogs. I lean out as well, surveying the scene looking for her. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I watch the gaggle of girls prancing around in their bikinis, excitement building as I frantically look for her.

My heart skips as I see her sporting the most clothes, donning yet the sluttiest outfit of them all. She’s an absolute fuckin’ tease in her cut-off jean shorts and white t-shirt, soaked with water. The material clings to her curves, teasing me with her little triangle top, gathered slightly, barely covering her tits.

She leans over and reaches into the bucket, pulling out a sponge before ringing out the soap. A guy rolls down the window of his Mercedes, bending his neck to watch as she washes the side. I can already tell where this is goin’. He smirks, watching her ass as she leans down, cleaning the rear fender. “Aww, sweetheart,” he soughs, “Uhh…You missed a spot.” Y/n smiles sweetly, lowering to where she was before, making me huff out an aggravated breath.

Her friend walks over with a hose, spraying down the suds that y/n left behind. Tori Clarence, a late-night Delta regular. She says something that makes Y/n laugh. Y/n claps back, teasing her sister through a wicked smile. Tori lifts the gun, spraying y/n with a stream of water, hitting her directly on her tits.

Y/n gasps as her shirt turns from milky white to practically see-through, the chilly water running down her perfect body, making her nipple hard. She panics to get warm, reaching for the bottom of her shirt. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. She pulls it over her body: soft skin, perfect boobs, and wet hair. Little lines of water cascade down her bare skin, rounding her curves catching on the denim of her shorts. Her eyes fall down her body, eyeing her damp state.

“Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched.

I start to fist my cock as she leans over the trunk, her body perfectly positioned like I’m taking her from the back. Goddamn. I’d snake my rough hand up her soft skin, following the curve of her arched spine, drifting into her hair. I’d pull it back, feeling her pussy clench around my big dick. I’d spank her, cracking her tight little ass with the palm of my hand, leaving her red and bruised. Just one of the many ways I’d mark my girl. “Fuck, Y/n,” I moan her name as heat radiates through my body.

She walks along the side of the next car, letting me see her little triangle top: light blue, thin material, the blush of nipples visible. I roll my hand over my tip, whimpering at the sensation, imagining myself hitting the back of her throat as tears pool in her pretty, innocent eyes. Y/n looking up at daddy, mascara running down her cheeks as she throats me like the slut I know she can be. I’d hold her head in my hands, using her mouth to stroke my cock. My perfect little toy…

Fuck. I got a Fleshlight with her name on it. I’m gonna use those pictures when I get home… Gotta get myself ready for tonight. She has no clue what she’s in for. What I wouldn’t give to have my cock in her hand instead of my own. I’d make her jerk me off as she pleaded for my dick deep in that pretty tight cunt. I bet she’s so goddam wet. So, so fuckin’ tight.

“I know, baby. Daddy’s gonna give you his dick. Don’t worry,” I mumble, feeling my breathing start to increase with my pleasure. I thrust into my hand, fucking up into my fist as I watch her undo the loosened side strings of her bikini, tightening it again.

I eye the sign, catching the time. 11-4 PM. Yes… They’ll be here all afternoon. Just need to make a pit stop. Grab a pair of panties. Whatever I can get. I need to taste her. Stuff ‘em in my mouth as I study my prize. My hips stutter as I feel myself about to bust, imagining just how sweet she’ll taste. I work myself quicker, taking hold of my steering wheel as I rut into my hand.

‘Rafe. Rafe. Rafe.’ I can hear it now. See my little whore creamin’ on my cock as I give it to her over and over again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby girl. Where do you want it?”

‘Deep in my pussy… Please, baby’. She’ll whimper and beg, pleading to get stuffed full. I’m gonna brush my fingers over her swollen clit, making her gush all over my cock and thighs, wetting everything around us until I’m pumping her full of my cum.

I’ll watch it drip out of her puffy pink hole, fucking it right back in, cleaning the rest off with my tongue before spitting it in her mouth.

My perfect cumslut.

I need it drippin’ out of her for days. Watchin’ my little angel walk into class, knowing just how good I dicked her down. I’ll watch her from my seat as she cleans the little cum tear off her inner thigh, slipping it between her lips as her eyes flick to mine, sucking it clean.

No one will have her again. “She was made for me.” The thought alone has my hand faltering; jaw falling slack. My stomach sinks, eyes doubling as she looks in my direction, matching my gaze. “Fuckkk…” My eyes roll back in my skull, toes curling, head thrown to the headrest as I cum harder than I ever have. Shit. I don’t even care if she saw. If she’s any girl of mine, she’d want to see it anyway.

My dirty little whore.

I look down at my jizz covered hand and lap. Goddamnit. I clear the gap between my car and the next before ripping off my shirt and wiping away my mess. I flip my hat on, snagging my protein shaker bottle from the passenger’s seat floor as I try to disguise the real reason I’m covered head to toe in sweat. I do my best to control my breathing, still running high from my climax, hit with the post-nut clarity that she may have seen it all.

She looks happy to see me… Real happy. Y/n smiles, making my heart race again as I meet her gorgeous eyes. She greets me happily, trotting up to my truck. “How are you doin’, sweetheart?”

She dunks her hand into the soapy bucket, grabbing a sponge. “Livin’ the dream,” y/n smiles, moving closer than expected. I take in her perfume, already so familiar to me, the smell of it revving me right up again.

“Sorry. I’m a sweaty mess,” I sigh. Her gaze falls down my body, studying me with a bashful smile.

“Just got done with a workout?” She asks.

“Mhmm…” I smile and nod in reply. “Pay now? Pay later?” I invite as I snag my wallet.

“Now,” she sings. “Donation based, so whatever you’re willing to give.” I thumb through my wallet, plucking out $200.

“Rafe…” She breathes, taking it off my hands. “Are you sure? This is a little much.” Y/n looks down at the cash in her hands before meeting my eyes again.

“Positive,” I assure.

“Well, that is very nice, Rafe Cameron,” she coos. Y/n uses my last name, making my stomach drop. She wouldn’t have known my last name unless she did some digging. I didn’t give it to her; I never said anything in class before today. She must have looked me up on Instagram or Snapchat… Maybe she asked one of her sisters about me.

I fight off a wide smile as she gets started on the car. She takes her time, putting in a little more effort than the cars before. She walks to the front of the cab, leaning over, breast jiggling as she swirls and circles the sponge on the hood. She rises a little higher on her tippy toes, unable to reach the rest.

“Here you go, babe.” Her friend sets down a ladder for Y/n. She bends over once more, the angle alone making my cock rock hard again as I imagine us fucking raw. Tonight… I’ll bend her over on the bathroom counter, just like she is now, the bass of the party on the street not even loud enough to cover her cries and my moans. I’ll pound into her as the slaps of our skin fill the bathroom. Her eyes shift to mine, catching my stare. She doesn’t drop focus, keeping her eyes on me as she continues to scrub. A smirk spreads on her lips, mirroring my own.

Baby girl…

Y/n steps down from the ladder before walking to her friend, grabbing the hose off her hands; taking her job instead. She sprays down the truck, cleaning off the suds. The light breeze catches the flow of water, sending little beads of it flying, catching on her perfect skin. My mouth waters as I imagine licking the glaze of it off her skin. Fuck… I don’t think I can take this.

“Alright, Mr. Cameron. You’re all set,” she smiles as she eyes her work. I bite my lip and nod.

“Thank you, princess. See you tonight.”

I pull forward, watching her from my wing mirror as she greets the next car. Her excitement fades as she welcomes the next. Good fuckin’ girl.

Next stop, Phi Mu.

tag list and masterlist on my pinned post

@starkeysprincess @rafesthroatbaby @gri959 @loserboysandlithium @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @akobx @darlydixon83 @hyperfixationgirl @savayvayblr-blog @oxpogues4lifexo @rafesgiirl @sleepiibunniiii

[lovebugism]

miss bug I have something to ask 🙋‍♀️

i don’t know if you do sickfics but! mayhaps steve and shy!reader where she doesn’t show up for school, steve goes to her house, and she’s utterly mortified because she feels like she’s nowhere near presentable

thank u for requesting!! — king steve pays his lab partner a visit when he hears you're sick, but definitely not because he has a crush on you (shy!reader, friends to lovers | 1.6k)

bug's two year celebration ♡

Steve waits for you that morning with half a bagel and his heart in his throat.

The desks in Ms. Click’s class grow slowly full with bustling bodies — some sluggish like zombies, others too chipper for an early morning. Steve cranes his head in search of your face in the crowd. Yours never shows, which is strange for Hawkins High’s future Valedictorian.

“Where is your partner, Mr. Harrington?” Ms. Click wonders beneath the grating morning bell. She ducks her head to peer across the classroom over her sparkly, cat-eye glasses.

Steve pauses, mid-bite of his sausage-egg-and-cheese. He shrugs wordlessly, with a wad of food jutting his cheek and crumbs sticking to his mouth.

The older woman sighs, too used to King Steve’s antics. She looks past him and asks, “What about you, Miss Buckley? Where’s Carol?”

“Probably under the bleachers with Tommy Hagan,” Robin mutters under her breath, though loud enough for everyone around her to hear, causing them to bite back their subsequent laughter. Steve, himself, nearly chokes on his bagel.

“Well, you’ll just have to pair up with Steven for the day,” Ms. Click tells her.

“Oh, god…” Robin groans in a whisper.

“Get to work.”

Steve spins his chair around to face the girl behind him, who he only really knew because of how highly you spoke of her. Despite your frequent praises, Robin doesn’t even look at him, nor does she bother to make mindless small talk. She just keeps her head down and scribbles notes on a worksheet. 

Steve, in spite of their differing statuses, struggles to find the courage to talk to her.

He slouches and tilts back his chair. “Hey, do you, um—”

“We don’t have to make conversation, alright?” Robin interjects before he can even start. She keeps her head bowed but glares daggers from beneath her lashes. “Let’s just get this hour over with so we never speak to each other again.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Well, I was— I was just gonna ask where your friend was. ‘Cause I don’t think she’s missed a day since, like, kindergarten.”

Robin’s freckled face flushes. She’d feel worse about being so short with him if he wasn’t such a douchebag. “Oh. Uh, she’s— She’s sick, I think.”

“Sick?”

His chest pinches with an immediate worry. Robin bites back a smirk at King Steve’s palpable concern for arguably the biggest nerd on this side of Hawkins. “Yeah,” she shrugs. “I figured she was just allergic to your hairspray.”

Steve laughs under his breath and turns away. Robin smiles only until he looks back at her, now with a brown paper bag in hand. It was meant to be for you — an even piece of his bagel, ‘cause he knows you don’t get breakfast yourself. He figures you’d rather not want it to go to waste.

“Want my other half?” he offers to the girl across from him, like some kinda olive branch.

Robin’s eyes dart from Steve to the paper sack and back again. It goes against every code in her personal handbook to take anything from Hawkins Royalty, but she shrugs in response anyway. “What the hell. Sure.”

—————

Finding your trailer isn’t hard. He visited there, once, for a project at the beginning of the school year. It’s the house directly across from the Freak’s. Eddie made it a point to play his guitar as loud as he possibly could, knowing The Hair was around to hear it. (Munson would never miss an opportunity to annoy King Steve, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him).

Steve decides to make his entrance through your bedroom window. Dead, unmanicured grass crunches under his sneakers as he rounds your trailer. He rises to the tips of his toes and knocks four times on the high-up window. The old glass feels strangely delicate under his fist.

He waits for an answer for several long moments. When he doesn’t get one, he lifts his hand to knock again. The window squeaks open before he can — and there he finds you, standing above him, holding a half-empty box of tissues in your hand like you plan to hit him with it.

“Whoa—” Steve flinches.

You look equally shocked to see him, fear swimming in your glassy eyes. “Oh, my god—”

“Sorry,” he grimaces with his palms splayed in surrender. “It’s just me.”

“I thought you were a burglar or something…”

“And what? You were gonna take me out with a box of tissues?” His laughter feels like warm honey compared to your splitting, icy migraine.

You take in a heaving breath and swallow hard through a stinging throat. “Sorry,” you sniffle. “Come— Come in.”

As Steve climbs through your window, trying hard not to get caught in the curtains, you become very hyperaware of your living space. It is your childhood bedroom, after all — every phase of your life is stored within these tiny four walls. Posters, trinkets, slightly dated decor. And on top of all that, you’ve been living like a total slob since you got sick over the weekend.

Your bed’s a mess, you’ve got bottled water and tissues piling in the bin, and you haven’t changed out of your pajamas in two days. It’s certainly no way to greet the king of Hawkins High, though he doesn’t quite seem to mind.

“You coulda just knocked on the door, you know?” you mumble, slightly nasally, as you swipe a balled-up tissue under your nose. “I would’ve let you in.”

Steve pants and stands to full height again, finally in your room with little to no struggle (though he’s pretty sure he’s stamped his footprint on your wall). 

“Well, what can I say? I like to make an entrance,” he jokes with a lopsided smile. The rosy expression fades when your glassy eyes glaze over with a faraway look. “…You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just…” you shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. “I’m just a little lightheaded. That’s all.”

Steve rushes to your swaying form without thinking. He grasps your arms in two wide, gentle hands. His honey eyes are wide and wild as they dart over your features, sufficiently bleary with whatever bug you’ve caught. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you insist despite the obvious. “Just can’t break this stupid fever.”

“Here. Lay back down.”

He guides you the short distance to your bed, foreignly patient with your sluggish movements. He keeps a hold of you with one hand and reaches for the mussed blankets with the other, pulling them back to ease you beneath them.

“Sorry for bailing on you today,” you apologize in nearly inaudible slurs as the boy props you against the pillows. 

Steve shakes his head with a quiet smile. “You’re sick. It’s okay. Stop apologizing,” he insists and tucks the covers on top of you again. You can smell his aftershave when he leans over you, a striking minty scent that melts nicely with his deeper cologne.

“Sorry,” you repeat before you can help it.

Steve rises again and fights the urge to brush the hair sticking to your clammy cheek. “Have you had any medicine?”

“I had some… cough syrup earlier…” you slur, face half-buried in the pillows.

“What about food?” he asks with his hand on his cocked hip. “Had any of that?”

“‘M too sick for food.”

Steve laughs and fills the gloomy room with sunshine. “You have to eat, babe. So you can get your energy back. That’s, like, science or whatever—”

His eyes widen, only then realizing his use of the nickname. His heart drops to his ass. He hopes he said it so quickly that you missed it. You seem to have, as sick as you are, basically half-asleep before him.

You’d heard it, though. The word alone has your delicate heart beating with a newfound fervor. You can’t tell if it’s killing you or bringing you back to life.

Steve starts rambling before he realizes it. “I can whip you something up, if you want. I make a mean macaroni and cheese— In the microwave, obviously, ‘cause I’m less likely to burn it that way. Did you know that you can actually burn pasta in the microwave? Yeah, I had to learn that one the hard way—”

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can you just sit with me?” you sniffle, eyes still shut. “Please?”

He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Yeah, of— Of course, yeah.”

The boy climbs into your bed with a lot less confidence than he’s used to. This is by no means the first time he’s been in another girl’s bed, but something about this one feels different. This time, he has to keep reminding himself to breathe. This time, his hands are all clammy and tingling with an anxiety he isn’t used to. This time, he feels so utterly unsure in his body that he doesn’t know how he became King Steve in the first place — let alone how he got here, next to you.

What’d an asshole like me do to deserve all this? his mind reels.

Your breath catches when the mattress dips under his weight. He sits over the covers, but still a lot closer than you thought he might, all things considered. You turn slowly onto your back to look at him without going dizzy again.

“You’re not scared you’ll get sick?” you croak, blinking up at him with sleep-swollen eyes.

Steve shrugs with his back propped against the headboard. “Not really. I mean, what’s the worst-case scenario— I get sick and have to be quarantined here with you? That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

His lips curl into a lopsided smile that makes your chest feel sparkly. You turn away and hide your own grin in the pillow. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,” you quip, half-muffled in the cushion.

“Yeah, I know,” he hums, never once taking his eyes off you. 

He can’t wait to kiss you when you’re better.

[bi-writes]

dark matter | ghost x f!reader

INSTALLMENT TWO — TIME ROT COLLECTION

type: one-shot, part of anthology series, can be read standalone (6.5k)

cw: dark!ghost, mature language and content, mature sexual language and content, mw3 spoilers, death, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, dubcon, size kink, manhandling, breeding kink, cumplay, unprotected piv (18+)

You don't know how long it's been. Maybe days, or maybe it's been weeks, you aren't sure, but it's hard to move when there is nothing that waits for you.

All that's left is a box that sits on your kitchen table. It has his name scribbled across the top, and when you opened it up, just seeing the photos of him tucked into the sides was enough to nearly make you sick. You haven't opened it again since. You haven't touched it. When you touch the cardboard, it burns, it stings.

You don't know what you're supposed to do when the love of your life doesn't come home. You don't know what you're supposed to do when there's bills on the table, when half of the bed is empty, when everything that was supposed to happen died along with him.

You used to sit on this very couch and talk about everything you would do and everything you wanted. You used to lay there, your head in his lap, looking up into those baby blues and tell him about what a good husband he would make, how it was going to be so hot watching him fixing the leaky sink and hanging up the new shelves you bought, being the house husband he was always meant to be.

Someone that pretty deserved to be at home all day, baking bread and fixing a vintage car.

He promised you so much. He promised you love. He promised you laughter. He promised you a lifetime of something more.

But there never really was anything more. He never married you. He never proposed. He just fucked you full before every deployment, whispering into your hair as you drooled about how, "I'll see ye when I get back, bonnie, 'n I'll tell ye how much I luv ye."

But he didn't come back. So you really aren't sure now how much he loved you.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, fluffing a brush over your cheeks. The makeup helps, but you look dead, and your eyes are dull.

You don't want to go to work, but you can't pay your bills, and Johnny wasn't your husband, so the box in your kitchen stands as a loving gesture from his mother, and that is all he left behind. And when you went to the service and asked for something, for anything, they said it was out of their hands.

You are entitled to no compensation—because on paper, you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one. And though his mother kissed you shakily, with tears in her eyes, you couldn't bear to ask her for anything, because she hurts, too, and you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one.

So you work; you work, and you don't stop, and you sleep only a few hours before you get up and do it all over again, and even after a long day, you count the pennies in your purse, and it isn't enough. You let yourself get comfortable, you allowed yourself to succumb to a man, a man you loved, and what did it get you?

Fuck all. You have fuck all, and you let a man do it to you.

Fate and destiny are a cruel reality. Unforgiving—they don't care about the choices you make because they happen anyways, and it's hard to be angry when this is how it was always going to be. It doesn't make you hate any less, and it doesn't make the dust collecting on the box any less thick.

When you do gain the courage to touch it again, you have a week left to find a new flat. You don't know where you will go, but you're packing, and you rip the top of the box off as harshly as a band-aid. Your eyes focus on the knick-knacks that Johnny must've kept. A few different sized sketchbooks, the nubs of worn and used graphite and charcoal pencils, a crystal and beaded rosary that his mother gifted him when he first enlisted. You pick up the crinkled and well-loved papers that are stacked at the bottom, and your eyes blur with fresh tears at the ripped out sketches that sit in your hands.

It's you, in different angles. Asleep, staring out at something, smiling at him. He captures your face beautifully, and you can see where he's smudged the shading with a thick finger to cast shadows and light over you. He sketches in exquisite detail—he always has, but he has always had a certain style, a certain eye, that made lead look like real life. 

It’s odd to see what you looked like through his eyes. Bright. Lovely. Soft. He draws with a breath of fresh air, and you can see where his finger has rubbed away all the harsh lines. When you see a few places where the graphite on his thumb has stamped his fingerprint onto the paper, you feel your throat close up. You want to feel those fingers on your face. You want him to brush the hair out of your eyes and look down at you. You want to feel that hand tracing your jawline, your nose, the lid of your eye—you want to feel the warmth that he always radiated, and you want to breathe in the scent of him until you forget the smell of anything else.

You pick up a loved and bound book, with thinner pages that you know can't be a sketchbook. You unwind the leather string on the front, flipping it open, and you swallow thickly when you realize what this is.

A journal. You never knew he kept one.

The first few pages are dated from when he first enlisted, a few years before he met you. He writes just as eloquently as he draws, and you settle into the couch behind you as you read about his enthusiasm joining, the purpose he finally has, the weight of the world lifting off of his shoulders as he thinks about all the things he will be able to do as he rises through the ranks. You let your fingers skim over the words, feeling how his pen has pierced the paper, and you try to imagine him—fresh shaven with less muscle, life in his eyes as he thought about serving his country. You smile a little, but it hurts after a few moments.

You flip a little further, your eyes skimming over times he cursed out his commanding officer, punched a private for sneaking into the women's barracks, the love he has for a detonator that began when he soldered his first pins. His personality shines, and it's like you can hear him talking to you all over again, and when he begins to talk about a love he doesn't know how to handle, you smile to yourself, because you think he's talking about you.

But when you look again, the dates are wrong. You hadn't met him yet, not at this point, and your smile fades when you realize he's talking about someone else.

He never says their name. He writes at length about them, someone who has captured his eye, someone he says he can't have. Someone unattainable, unavailable, and then there is his own reservations. You don't realize until his entries from a few months later that he's talking about a man.

never felt this way before. not about anyone. rosary i always look at is fucking mocking me, i think. i can hear mum, somewhere, telling me to find a good catholic bonnie, but this is real. i know it is, but i don't know what to do about it. not like anyone i've ever met. can't explain the bond. but i look at him, and i think he looks at me, and i just know. i know. it can't be just in my head, can it? i'm not mad. i'm not. but what am i supposed to do?

You flip the pages frantically. There's sketches of hands on one page, hands that hold a handgun, that squeeze a trigger. They're tame sketches, but you feel a little sick because you feel like you're looking at a part of his life that you're not supposed to be looking at. The intimacy of these sketches—just hands, and you feel like they should be censored to your eyes.

The sketches and the words, they morph as time goes on. Sketches of closed eyes. Of blonde lashes. A harsh brow, a scar cutting across a thin lip. There is no softness in these sketches. Johnny draws with an abrasive pencil. It cuts the shapes, jagged edges akin to glass.

i can't tell anyone. i want to tell the whole world. won't let me. want to scream it from the fucking roof that i love you, but you're such a stubborn bastard. so fucking stubborn.

The sketches suddenly become warped. Angry, spiked, and you can see the emotion from how hard he presses the pencil into the page. More hands, and you can’t help but notice how he draws them simply functioning. Hand over wrist. Holding a utensil. Picking nails. These hands tell a story, and you can see the bumps and bruises and the wounds that litter the surface of them—these hands are anything but delicate. They have wrought. They have dug until their fingernails bled. They have been stuck through barbwire, maimed to the point of texture and roughness and the blurring of scar tissue.

don't fucking believe you. it isn't just me.

You're blind for a few moments from the intensity of your tears. You wipe them furiously, you need to know more, you need to know. The dates skip, and you pause on the day that you met.

so bonnie. so beautiful.

Softer sketches. The delicate lashes that are your own, the gentle curve of your pouty lips. You recognize yourself, but only barely, because he draws you like you are out of focus. He draws you as if you are too far away, just out of reach.

she's everything i've ever wanted. so why can't i let it go?

Your bottom lip trembles when sketches of a butterfly overlap skulls. The motifs never disappear, not completely, and it's only obvious what his true feelings are when you smooth a finger down the sketch of a butterfly escaping its cocoon that hangs from the mouth of a discarded skull head.

haunt my fucking dreams. go away. go away. go away. the ring is right there, so why can't i give it to her?

You close it abruptly. It falls to the floor, the cover of it thudding as you cover your face with your hands. Was he thinking of someone else all this time? Every morning, every kiss, every time he looked into your eyes and told you that he loved you—was all of this meant for someone else? Someone he wanted but couldn't have? Someone that just didn't love him back?

You scream. You toss the coffee table. You shatter the flowers that have died, you pick up the box of his things, and you throw it. You watch the papers fly, the books fall, you hear the rattle of his dead memories meet the floor of the home he left behind, and you scream at all of it just to stop, please, stop, stop, stop—

You're not even sure if it's really Johnny you're angry at. Maybe yourself, because you've never really been good enough to be loved by anyone. No one has ever loved you and you only—you've only ever been additional, on the condition of loving another, never enough to be the one and only, and maybe that's your real problem. Maybe the real problem is that you want to die because you always give everything you have, and no one has ever wanted it enough to give you the same.

Maybe you just want too much. Maybe your dreams are too big, maybe it's just that no one wants what you are handing over. Packaged pretty, all shiny and new, but if no one wants it, you shelve that kind of love, and that's where it rots.

Maybe this kind of love died with Johnny. Not the beginning of something, but the reality of it, and now all you can do is accept the things you cannot change and tame the heart inside of you that isn't good enough to be for anyone else.

When you pick up his things off the floor the next morning, you find a scribbled address on the back of a torn sketch. So, you do the kind thing, and you gather his things back into the box, close the lid on what never really was, and you carry it with you out the door.

The door is unmarked. The paint on it is peeling, but you know this must be the place because there's a pair of dark boots caked with mud sitting out by the bottom step. You raise your hand to knock, and you tap it with your knuckles timidly, adjusting your hold on the box in your arms.

A few minutes pass by, but no one answers. You knock again, louder and firmer this time, and it finally swings open. From the dark flat emerges a large man, sticking his head out from behind the chain latched and glaring down at you. You think he's about to close it on you, but then his eyes flicker down, and you know he must read the name scribbled in big letters on the box that you hold.

It’s enough to make him pause. It’s enough to make him stay, rooted to that spot, even if you can tell all he wants to do is sink back into whatever void he came out of.

"Hi," you whisper, and you have no control over how broken the word comes out. "I...I just thought you should have this."

Because he never really loved me. Not really. Not the way he loved you.

The door shuts, and you hear the chain unlatch, and then he opens it wider. He emerges in the doorway, taking up the entirety of the width of it, and he snarls down at you from behind the mask he wears.

He opens his mouth to spit something at you, but then you hold it out to him with shaky hands, and he can see the tears that are coming down your face. You can't control them, he can tell that much, and he reaches out to take the box from you. You look at his hands, and you recognize them immediately. Uncanny, the resemblance, and you recognize the scar that cuts across the knuckles on his left hand. You know if you push his mask down, you could trace with closed eyes the scar he must wear that starts at his nose and ends at his chin.

He doesn’t know it, but you know what he looks like. You know what he is. If he took off that mask, you would see a face you know, even if Johnny never drew the entirety of it at once. Always bits and pieces of him, but you’d know them if you saw them put altogether. You have the puzzle pieces of him in the back of your mind, and you know you could put them back together if you really tried.

He would not be able to do the same for you. The pieces of you are scattered, and you know they are lost, and that there is no getting them back. Johnny took them to grave; you would never ask for them back, anyways.

You don't ask who he is. He doesn't ask you who you are; but when your eyes meet, there is some kind of understanding. Some kind of knowing. You almost don't want to leave—you know he mustn't be kind, not from what you’ve read of him and the way he looks, but Johnny loved him, and you want to cling onto anything that still breathes that might connect you to him. You hate him, but you love him, and Johnny loved this thing, so maybe...maybe—

The door slams shut in your face, and you catch yourself with the step railing as you crumple to sit there, on his dirty step, crying into your hands. You don't know how long you sit there, but it is dark when you drag yourself home.

It is much too dark outside for you to see the shadow that you pick up along the way—and you’re too in your head to realize it never leaves.

When you come home from work, your knees are weak when you see the letter that’s taped to the front of your door.

EVICTION NOTICE.

They give you until the weekend, a courtesy they tell you they don’t normally give to anyone. You aren’t allowed to stay, even if you come up with the money, and you’re in tears as you pack up your flat. The last place you shared with Johnny, and it’ll be gone soon. You don’t know what you’ll do with your things. You don’t know where you will go.

Johnny never married you. You don’t have any family. You’ll have to stuff your car full of as much as it can hold, and you’ll need to toss the rest. You’ll have to—

The knock at your door startles you. You get up off the floor, where you were trying to stuff all your dishes into a small bag. You pull the curtain back on the window beside the door, and your eyes widen when you see a giant man standing at your door. He feels your eyes on him, and he turns his head towards the window, tilting his head to the side menacingly when he looks at you.

You wipe your face, trying to dry the tears on your cheeks. You open the door shakily, poking your head out.

“Hi,” you say. You wish your voice was steady, but it cracks. “Can…C-Can I help you?”

The mask he’s wearing today is different. There’s a skull mouth painted on it, and his hood is flipped up over his head. He seems taller with his boots on, and he takes up nearly the entire width of your doorway. He’s got so much bulk on him—if you reached across and touched him, you know your hand would hit nothing but a solid wall. No give, just pure muscle and fat. His eyes are still dark, and he still looks like the most unapproachable man in the entire world. He clicks his tongue under the mask, and you swallow when he snarls a bit.

He fishes something out of his jacket. You recognize it—Johnny’s journal. He holds it out to you, expectant, and you open the door wider to take it from him. You feel tears come all over again at the sight of it, and you hold the leather to your chest, hugging it. Johnny never married you, but he would’ve taken care of you right now. If he would’ve known you were here, about to live in your car, he would not have hesitated moving you in with him. Getting you into his bed. Shielding you from the world that was much too scary, much too unforgiving. Johnny would know what to do.

Johnny’s dead.

Just as you are about to close the door, a thick boot stops it. You flinch a bit, looking up, and then a big hand presses against your door and pushes it open until it hits the wall. The man cranes his neck to look around you, and he narrows his eyes at the heap of your belongings huddled in the living room of your flat.

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“I’m just…moving.”

You step aside when he moves. He ducks his head just slightly to get through, and you watch as he walks around, taking stock of what’s in front of him. He seems to find what he’s looking for when he sees the notice on your kitchen counter. He snatches it up and and turns it around to face you, and you just stand there, frozen.

“I told you. Moving.”

His house is soulless. White walls. Beige carpet. Grey tiles. There’s one couch, one coffee table, and one TV mounted to the wall. There’s only dishes in the kitchen enough for one person, and he only has one bedroom. It’s the same lifeless place in there, too. His mattress is on the floor, but he has the decency to put a mattress cover and sheet over it. There’s one nightstand, with just a few cables where he must charge his phone, and one lamp. There are no decorations. There is no other furniture. His house is functional, not valuable.

He puts your bag in the bedroom. That settles that.

You cry that first night. You sleep early, curling up under his one measly sheet, and you cry. You cry because you’re sad. You cry because you’re lonely. You cry because you feel like you owe this man now, this stranger who hasn’t told you his name, and you have no idea how you will pay him back. You cry because you miss Johnny, and he never even loved you.

You jump when the bedroom door opens. He walks in, kicking the door shut, and you watch as he strips himself of his jeans and hoodie, tossing them onto the floor. You sit up on your elbows, meeting his eyes, but he doesn’t take off his mask. Instead, he comes towards the bed, plopping down on the mattress next to you, and you pull the sheet up to your chin. You hadn’t anticipated sharing a bed with him, but you’re also too afraid to complain.

“I can sleep…on the floor if—”

A big hand covers your mouth. You’re silenced, startled that he would touch you this way, and you start to cry again when he presses until you are laying on your back again, moving his hand back until it rests behind his head.

“Please—” You hiccup. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He hums at that. Satisfied. Pleased at your reaction. He could pluck your strings right now, and you’d play music. He falls asleep with that thought.

You try to give him money. He never takes it. You try to buy groceries. You find the notes you spent stuffed back into your wallet later. You try to pick up a broom to clean up, and he locks the supply closet after that. The only way you find out his name is when you find his dog tags in the bathroom drawer, because he still hasn’t spoken a single word to you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley. That’s who Johnny really loved.

You don’t know why the sex started—you don’t know why you let him in, not exactly. Simon had been gone, one of his usual spurts of absence that he occasionally had, but he came home earlier than you expected. Simon likes to shower as soon as he comes home, but you are already in there, under the hot water, leaning against the tile as you empty your head of any thoughts. Simon doesn’t knock, and he pulls back the shower curtain even though he sees your silhouette. There are no words exchanged as he comes in, getting under the hot water, and there are no words exchanged when he takes off his mask for the very first time, and he hoists you up against the wall and fucks you into it.

You know this, too. Your hands trace his back, and you can feel every scar you know will be there, and you can taste the same things Johnny said you would taste when you lick over his jaw. Tobacco. Citrus. Animal.

It almost feels like cheating, but you’re too empty inside to be sad about it. It really feels like lying, even though Johnny’s too gone to hear your excuses. At the same time, it feels like getting something back. Not in its entirety, but something close, something that doesn’t feel the same, but feels so good anyways.

You cry again when you realize you like it better. You cry more when you realize that you’re starting to lose your dreams of Johnny in favor of Simon. You see in the dark instead of in blue. At first, you used to mumble Johnny’s name into the pillow. You used to bury your face into it, muffle the sounds as Simon fucked you from behind, two big hands pushing your ass apart as he pulled you back over and over onto his cock. Now your head is turned to the side, and you’re crying Simon’s name, and he’s fucking you harder, getting down onto his elbows, pressing you into the mattress and using your throat as leverage so he can arch your back and get your ass shaking with how firm he pushes his hips against you.

You’re so delicate, but he can’t be nice. He can’t be gentle. He needs to see teeth marks on your thighs and on your back. He needs to taste your blood and your cum and your spit. At first, he thinks he was doing it because he was lonely, too, but now he just wants to eat and eat and eat.

Eat Johnny’s pretty girl. Fuck Johnny’s pretty girl. Keep Johnny’s pretty girl, because how dare he keep this one a secret, and how dare he try and hide her from him? Johnny wrote a lot of things in that journal, but he didn’t talk about Simon’s insatiable appetite, and he didn’t talk about Simon’s rules. He blamed the entire world for his seemingly unrequited love, but the reality was that Johnny was selfish.

Johnny didn’t want to share. He wanted it all for himself, so it’s no wonder he died for it. When your world isn’t in balance, it compensates. Johnny ended up on the wrong side of the scale.

That’s the fucking truth.

Simon’s got you on your knees again. He likes you this way, ass up, face down, on display. On your back, he stacks enough under your back that you’re nearly upside down, pussy in his mouth as he bends you in half and eats it like that. Now, he’s squeezing your hips, pressing down between your shoulder blades, thick tongue inside of you as he teases your ass with his thumb. Johnny used to love that, but you’re such a jumpy girl.

He’s going to fix that.

Johnny is so predictable. Letting you run around, spoiled, never telling you the way it should be. Johnny made you think you were a pretty princess. He probably intertwined your fingers and fucked you in missionary like a good Catholic boy, but soft, delicate things like you don’t need to be reminded of what they are. They need to be so cockdrunk and dizzy that they don’t know anything else but this place right here, in his bed. Simon knows that’s what you really need—to not know the world outside of this bedroom.

Love is useless. Love can be lost. Love comes and goes, it’s subject to change. Time bends it, rusts it like iron, and Simon doesn’t need something else that will slip through his fingers, no. He needs something that is latched onto him forever. He needs to take one of your ribs and absorb it. He needs to taste you on his tongue and between his teeth always. He needs your blood to be his blood, and he needs your eyes to be his eyes.

Marriage is not finality. Love is not permanent. No—it isn’t enough. He couldn’t keep Johnny, and maybe he can’t keep you, but there is something he can give you that will keep you with him. Even if you left, you would stay somehow, some part of you, and he can see it in some distant place.

Once Simon sees something, it’s as good as true. It might as well be real. Simon is something himself of a manifestation, and he realizes now that maybe he never really saw Johnny because it was you hiding in what he couldn’t see.

Everything is in focus now. He knows what he has to do. Johnny was too stupid to see it—to preoccupied with how beautiful you are between the legs, too mindless when he was cock-deep inside of you to understand what he had in his hands. They don’t make things like you. One of a kind. Once in a lifetime. Something that will never be again if you let go, if you look away.

Simon knows all too much about what it means to leave a scar. He understands permanence. It’s why he’s still alive. It’s why he’s got you here, right here, underneath him, wet-faced and sobbing and clenching so tight around him. Your nails are fixtures in his back, holding him here, and he knows that you understand, too. If he asked you, you would think about the answer, but your body knows. It knows who Simon is and what he wants. He’s certain it does because even if he wanted to, your cunt has him tight, barely enough give for him to pull out and push right back in. It doesn’t want him to leave, and he’s glad for it.

You cry so sweet. Blubbers and gentle tears. You want this; it’s evident in the way you claw at him and pull him back in every time he pulls out just enough. When you pull just that hard, he drops onto his elbows, caging you in, and you sob into his mouth as he grinds his pelvis into yours. The wet smack of his thighs has stopped, but the pressure against your clit has you whining so nice. Fuck, you are beautiful, and you look so sad. From the first moment you showed up at his door, you were all big eyes and sadness. You drag around an air of heaviness that hasn’t left, and Simon is so sick of it—Johnny wasn’t man enough to eat you whole, won’t you just fucking let it go?

Maybe Simon did love him, too. Maybe he did love him back. No, he must’ve—that feeling in his chest still hasn’t left. Simon made a thousand excuses. A man like him, simply unloveable. A soldier like him, just too busy and too dedicated to have anything for himself outside of duty. A victim, what a rotten word, but that is what he is; no one can want him, not really. He saw it, in the back of his mind, peeling back layers of himself just for someone to make a face. After everything, after breaking his nails crawling out of an early grave, rejection just might be the thing that finally killed him. Not a bullet, but the sheer pain from the cut of giving a nasty piece of himself over and not even getting everything back.

Johnny was careless. Loving two things at once, pulled in opposite directions. Too distracted by what he couldn’t have that he forgot about how good he really had it—what a fucking dog. Greedy. Naïve. Fucking delusional. Johnny gave up this to chase something that could never be real. It was pathetic. It was stupid.

It was mine.

“Look at me.”

You do. Your eyes, hazy and wet, meet his, and your hands are shaking as you cup his face and sob because yes, yes, yes, please—I need it, it hurts s-so good.

It does hurt. It burns. It steals. It takes. It swallows, like a brush fire against dry land, licking and eating and tearing apart whatever it can reach. Your moans enrage it, and your cunt feeds it, whatever the thing is inside of his chest that is begging to come out.

This isn’t love. This isn’t romance. This is necessity—survival. Without him, you will come apart, and without you, Simon will starve. He used to take bites out of Johnny. Just enough to make the screaming inside of him quiet a little, just enough to be distracted; but he hasn’t eaten in months, and whatever you’re made of is too good to let go of.

This time, he’ll make it permanent. He’ll make it forever. Where you end, where he begins, where his hands have sunk into you, where his teeth are stuck; he’s going to fix himself to this place, and then he’s going to make himself forget how to leave.

You’re buzzing. You’re somewhere else. You feel like you’re floating above yourself, but at the same time, you’re right here. Simon’s so big; he told you he would be, but it’s another thing entirely to have this man inside of you and hitting your squishy cervix. He’s nasty about it, too—he likes putting a big hand on your stomach and pressing; he likes to feel himself inside of you and laugh at how you cry, and he likes the sound it makes when you’ve come, and your thighs are wet, and his skin smacks against yours with a toe-curling squelch.

“‘s mine,” he says, and you whine, and you nod. You don’t know if he’s asking you a question, but you figure he isn’t. Simon isn’t the kind to ask. He just takes what he wants. He always has. When you come back from the dead, consequences don’t apply to you any longer. You’ve cheated reality, and now you get to reap your rewards.

“Yeah.”

Yeah. Yes. Of course. Yes. Yes, Simon, whatever you want, Simon, anything for you, Simon, yes, yes, yes, yes—!

It will take time. As Simon puts his thumb to your clit to hear you sing, he thinks about how it won’t take much of it. You’re already so docile. You’re already in his bed, eating his food, crying with his cock inside of you and your thoughts filled with nothing but white noise and his name.

Simon won’t be like the man before him. Johnny drew you as a butterfly—something in need, but something that would eventually fly away. Fuck that. If there is a light in you, Simon will snuff it out. If he has to keep you from discovering your wings, he will just cut them off. If it’s the blood inside of you that keeps you warm, he will let it drain from the wounds left behind by his teeth because I will keep you warm, I will make it better, no one else, just me—

His index and middle finger in your mouth silence you. You choke on whatever you are saying in favor of sucking on his wet fingers, your eyes crossing a little as he bites down on your ear and pants there. It’s rare to hear him; Simon tends to swallow any noises he makes in favor of concentrating on hitting that same spot inside of you, but you can hear him now. It’s low and rumbly, so much so that you can feel his chest vibrating against yours. A groan—fuck, he sounds so good. To know your pussy feels so good, it’s making him falter is enough to have you just at the cusp of something white-hot and blinding.

You come when he comes. Simon’s other hand has an iron-grip on the side of your thigh, hiking it up around his hips as he comes hot and heavy inside of you. You shake underneath him, sucking hard on his fingers as he presses his pelvis to yours. You can feel it dripping between your thighs, and the heat of it makes you come, too, a sob coming out of you as you spit his fingers out in favor of closing your mouth over his.

He tastes like you. You suck on his tongue softly, lapping it up, and he uses his wet hand to hold your jaw at an angle so he can spit into your mouth and kiss you again. You grip his dog tags hard, tugging him back to you when he tries to look down at where he’s inside of you. He suffocates you when he lays over you, but you don’t care. You need him skin-to-skin. You need his mouth on yours, his cock still this deep, sharing breath and spit and heat. If you lose it, you’ll lose something else, something more, and you can’t lose it again.

His weight crushes you, and you don’t register the significance of one of his hands underneath you and between your shoulder blades. He feels for something that you can’t see, and he kisses you again when he’s satisfied with what he finds. The lack of something. The killing of it. The knowing that you’ve gotten what it is you’ve been searching for all this time.

He holds you like that always. He keeps your eyes on his when he comes inside of you—always wants to look at you when that first spurt of cum fills you entirely. He likes the way your lashes flutter when he brands you. He likes the way you lose the ability to speak. He likes the way your entire body goes rigid and pliant all at once, seizing up and then melting underneath him until it takes no effort to turn you over onto your stomach and do it all over again.

He notices the change before you do. The tender breasts, the warmth of your lower belly. You are wet always now, eager to be bent over wherever you are because the ache between your thighs is tenfold now.

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long while, and you’re smiling, hips hiked up on the couch, your dress crumpled around your middle as his cum drips down the back of your thighs. Simon licks his lips as he sits back on his heels, thumbing over your puckering hole.

You lay underneath him in your cocoon. Death at your doorstep, and you let him right in. You draw it around you tight, tucked into this blanket of security and warmth and factitious love that you think will hold this time. Simon’s hand draws around your throat, but you easily fall into him. When he squeezes, crushing what you’ve built back up, you sigh with relief, letting yourself fall into his chest and stay there.

When you close your eyes, it feels like something familiar. Like a place you’ve been before. When you open them, it’s gone. Simon is there, staring at your curiously. Your shadow that never leaves. The thing that remains. Time passes, but you know this will stay, you know it won’t go away. When he bends you over again, his hand slides low, cupping your belly, and your mouth twitches—the ghost of another smile. You put your hand over his there and press, feeling the scars you know by memory alone.

You will give him new scars; and these ones will be only for you.

[wonderjanga]

I was thinking (dangerous i know) and i had an idea about Billy Batson and Cleopatra somehow meeting and becoming besties

Your take on that?🎤

Marvel: “Oh, yeah I knew Cleopatra.”

Hawkman: *slowly looks over to him* “You knew who?”

Marvel: “Cleopatra. And trust me, she wasn’t beautiful. No no, she was gorgeous. For the time period anyway. She was also really smart.”

Hawkman: “I…”

Hawkman proceeded to slowly pull out a little notepad because bro is an archeologist.

Hawkman: “Please tell me everything.”

Marvel: “Sure, but I think you’d be better going straight to the source.”

Hawkman: “Pardon? As in going to her to her tomb?”

Marvel: “What? No? She’s still alive. I thought you knew that. Weren’t you also a pharaoh of Egypt?”

Hawkman: “Well, yes, but I came before her. Anyways, can we circle back to the fact that she’s still alive??”

Marvel: “Oh, yeah, sure. Me and her get together every now and then. Do you want to meet her?”

Hawkman: “Yes, please. Quick question though. How exactly is she still alive after all this time?”

Marvel: “Oh, uh… you know that one movie?”

Hawkman: “Night at the Museum?”

Marvel: “What? No. Monster High.”

Hawkman: “What??”

Marvel: “Yeah, well in Monster High, there’s this character named Cleo and she wears this magical bandages that keep her young. Our Cleo does the same.”

Hawkman: “Okay… I see, I see.” *scribbles down in notepad* “And does she live in Fawcett? Because I know time is freaky there.”

Marvel: “No, she actually lives in Kahndaq! She didn’t want to go too far from home, and there’s also the fact that Kahndaq, like Fawcett has a high magical concentration so she likes that too.”

Hawkman: “So she just visits then?”

Marvel: “Yeah, she just takes a flight. She’s rich enough.”

Hawkman: “Huh.” *scribbles down in notepad again* “Hey, how’d you guys meet?”

Marvel: “At a grocery store.”

Hawkman: “What?”

[daylighted]

all i can think about is frat boy dean whos dating his nerdy little girlfriend and comes over to her dorm when shes studying and shes like struggling but dean tries to help her study even though he doesnt know shit😭 and then hes like “yeah i have no idea what im even saying” while hes trying to explain random crap

anyways ur theme is so cute!!

all of the classes dean was in, she was in the advanced placements for, pretty much an entire year above him. she was so damn smart that dean sometimes felt like she was humbling herself being around him and choosing him, especially in instances like this, where she'd asked him to study with her, and he realized quickly he does not know how to study properly.

"well, see," he's half leaned over her shoulder, chin resting in the little notch between her neck and arm, "the data's gotta have the answer. wouldn't be part of the question if it didn't."

dean did not have a clue what he was looking at. a table chart with so many numbers. a paragraph above it explaining the numbers and adding additional data. the practice question wasn't even multiple choice; who did that?

her smile is slow, and dean knows that again, he's said the wrong thing. but if there's one thing dean does know how to do, is dig his own grave. "like, math, right?" it was science. chemistry. whatever. "take all the numbers, add 'em up, get the average..."

well, now her eye was twitching, like a parent barely refraining from taking the pen and doing the problem themselves. dean's starting to stutter over his explanation. technically, she did ask for this, asking him for assistance, so... "then multiply the average by the number of sections on the chart. with all those steps, it's gotta be the way, baby, trust."

his beautiful, intelligent, quiet girlfriend did not say a word to argue. instead, she did something worse, and took her pretty pen out of his hand and moved the paper in front of her again. the silence was overbearing. now dean had completely abandoned his books and wanted to see this damn problem through, just out of his own disbelief. they made questions like this? without multiple choice? and all these numbers?

he, in fact, does not shut up, even as she's writing numbers and scribbling them out and repeating. "yeah, babe, to be honest? don't know what the fuck i'm saying."

"i know." two words, and she'd managed to dismantle the fragile confidence he had in chemistry-related things. "but thank you for trying to help in your own way."

she might as well have just stabbed him. "just doin' my job, pretty lady," dean saluted her, tipping his baseball cap at her before plucking it off his head and spinning it around. front facing meant business, backwards meant party. he deserved a party after the couple of braincells in his head had sparked and fizzled out. "hey, how 'bout this," the mischief in his smile is absolutely diabolical considering he was really just starting to hinder you more than anything, "every question either of us get right, we take somethin' off?"

her eyebrows raise. "you're gonna be fully clothed and i'm gonna be naked if we do that."

dean leans in to steal a kiss, that devilish grin still on his mouth. "that's precisely the point. get t'solvin', pretty lady."

she wasn't going to argue. especially not when he used precisely right in a sentence.

[clarii]

Title: More Than Just Friends

Summary: Everyone at school can see it—JJ Maybank and Y/N clearly have a thing going on. Whether it’s the way he always steals her lunch scraps, refuses to sit anywhere that isn’t next to her, or how protective he gets when another guy gets too close—there’s no denying the connection between them. But are they just friends… or something more?

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, protective JJ.

It was obvious.

Painfully obvious.

The Pogues had been watching it happen for months now—every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every shared laugh between you and JJ. The two of you swore you were just friends, but no one was buying it anymore.

Especially not today.

You sat cross-legged on the grass during lunch, the sun warm against your skin as you unwrapped your sandwich. JJ sat right beside you, so close that his knee brushed against yours every time he shifted. He was leaning back on his hands, his usual grin present, but his eyes kept flicking toward your lunch like clockwork.

It was routine by now.

You pulled the tomato slices from your sandwich, scrunching your nose as you handed them to him.

“Here,” you said with a soft smile.

JJ smirked, taking them without hesitation. “You know me so well, princess.”

He popped the slices into his mouth like they were the best thing he’d ever tasted, and then without a word, you reached for his untouched veggie cup and swapped it with your container of grapes.

“Seriously?” He groaned.

“You need fruit, JJ.” You grinned, popping a grape into your mouth. “Besides, you hate veggies.”

“Yeah, but I tolerate them for you.” He shot back, taking a grape despite his grumbling.

Kiara raised a brow, watching the entire exchange from where she sat with Pope and John B. She leaned closer, whispering, “They’re literally so together.”

“They’re not, though.” Pope muttered, narrowing his eyes. “I asked Y/N. She said they’re just friends.”

John B snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to JJ when he’s practically feeding her grapes like they’re in a rom-com.”

Sure enough, JJ had just held up a grape, wiggling his brows at you.

“C’mon, open up,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes but still let him feed it to you, your lips brushing his fingers just enough to make him swallow hard.

The Pogues exchanged looks.

Friends? Yeah, right.

—

The clinginess didn’t stop at lunch.

In history, JJ was already seated when you walked in, feet propped up on the chair next to him, clearly reserving the seat.

“Really?” you teased, raising a brow.

“Really,” he shot back, grinning as he dropped his feet and patted the chair. “C’mon, sunshine. Sit next to your favorite person.”

You couldn’t even argue because, truthfully? You wanted to sit next to him. Being close felt easy, like second nature, and the way he scribbled dumb doodles on your notebook when the teacher droned on only made you smile more.

When class ended, JJ was right there again, waiting outside your next period.

“Need a bodyguard?” he joked, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You huffed a laugh. “I can walk to class alone, JJ.”

“Yeah, but it’s better when I’m around,” he smirked, eyes twinkling.

But his playful mood shifted the second he spotted the guy who was your partner in biology standing a little too close when you walked in. His grip on your shoulder tightened just slightly, voice dropping as he whispered, “This guy bothering you?”

You snorted. “No, JJ. Chill. He’s my lab partner.”

JJ narrowed his eyes at the guy anyway, holding eye contact for a beat too long before reluctantly letting you go—but not before brushing his hand down your back on his way out.

And by the time the final bell rang, he was already waiting outside, leaning casually against the lockers with that grin.

“Miss me?”

You rolled your eyes but felt your heart flutter as he slung his arm around you once again.

It was instinct now. Automatic.

And when the two of you met up with the rest of the Pogues after school, still tangled together, JJ’s arm secure around your waist, Kiara muttered under her breath—

“Yeah. Just friends.”

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon needing to hold you after a bad day.

The tiny apartment was completely silent as Simon unlocked the door and stepped inside, head hung low and shoulders tense. Lights were turned down, tv was off; you were most likely already asleep by now. It was late, much later than he had told you he’d be back, but he had been struggling with the weight of his thoughts again today and had barely made it in. He would have let you know that he was going to be late… it was just…he couldn’t find the will to even shoot you a quick text.

It wasn’t like him to be concerned about who knew where he was or what he was doing, choosing to distance himself from everything and everyone that could potentially catch a glimpse of him cracking behind the mask, but right now all he wanted was to get back to the place he called home before he fell apart and the world would swallow him whole.

As quietly as he could he set his things down beside the door and continued on through the flat, catching little bits of you everywhere: your shoes lying scattered by the wall, the blanket you’d just been curled up in tossed haphazardly in a bundle on the sofa, a mug on the coffee table that had the remnants of your drink stuck to the inside. Scattered bits of you everywhere across his life as little reminders of what he had that waited for him here and for the first time all day it felt a little easier to breathe to know his angel was close by.

Passing near the kitchen, Simon spotted a piece of paper with his name scribbled on the front waiting for him on the countertop, your familiar handwriting obvious to his eye. He picked it up and unfolded it.

Hey baby,

I really tried to stay up, I promise, but you know how work has been kicking my ass lately. I thought maybe I could just take a nap until you got in, but I was worried that if I laid down I wouldn’t wake up, so I thought I’d leave this here for you to find. Didn’t want you to think I forgot about you. Just wake me when you get in, alright? I don’t care what time it is, I want to see you!

Love you.

P.S. I left some dinner in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet. We can reheat it and eat it together. XOXO 

Christ, what did he do to deserve all this?

Always looking out for him, always making sure he had a place back in the real world whenever he came home. He held that piece of paper between his hardened fingers, the note more significant than it should have been after the type of day he had. You were the closest to heaven as he could get, more than he ever thought he would get to have and that’s why it was you he was trying to break down that wall to come to for comfort. 

His sight flicked to the fridge where you said you’d left him something; he was definitely starving, but just the thought of the effort it would take to eat right now was too much and the knot that rested in the pit of his stomach made him too nauseous anyway. There was something that would fill him far better than food could and he knew just where to find it now.

Moving on to the living room, he set himself down heavily on the couch and began to remove his boots and the outer layers of his clothing along with his mask, stripping away all the bits of his life as the stone cold sniper now that he was safe here in his little sanctuary. Stripped bare until he was down to his boxers, Simon gently crept towards the back of the apartment hoping he would make it to the bedroom before this feeling took him. 

Closer and closer he walked towards the other half of his heart.

The door stood slightly ajar to invite him inside and as he stepped up to it, he caught the hushed, rhythmic sounds of your breathing as you slumbered. It sounded so peaceful that he could have stood there in the dimly lit hallway and listen to it all night long. Just a few more steps, barely any distance left, and he would truly be home.

The room was completely dark save for the small crack in the curtains that let in just a bit of light from the streetlamp outside, helping him to find his way through the maze of darkness. As those brown eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Simon turned his attention to the bed and his heart skipped a beat. There you were: the outline of your body silhouetted under the covers, your head buried in your pillow, all cares left behind as you slept.

No sound did he make as he crept to the edge of the bed and lifted the sheets so that he could climb inside and up against your body laying in the center. One strong arm slipped up under your pillowed head while the other wrapped around your waist until you were encircled and he pulled you slowly so that your back rested up against his chest. His body molded into yours still warm from being wrapped up tight.

You stirred awake gently at the feeling of that familiar large body suddenly laying beside you. “Hey you,” you whispered sleepily, a smile on your lips as your eyes fluttered as they worked to open. “Tried to wait up, but I got so tired I had to go lay down. I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you.”

Only silence greeted you as a response. No chuckle at your predictability, no picking remarks about how you couldn’t even stay up to see him, just the sound of labored breaths in and out as he lay there in the darkness curled up against you.

Silence only meant one thing and you knew it well.

“You okay baby?” you asked, but again there was no answer. Only the squeeze of his arm around your waist pulling you in tighter to his chest gave you any sort of reply as Simon’s nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his eyelashes brushing over your skin.

It was clear just from the silence that he was far from okay, that he must have been bottling this up for God knows how many hours so that the world would not see that he was not always the tough, put together soldier he was supposed to be. But he could not hide it from you...he didn't want to hide it from you.

You heard him inhale deeply, trying to capture as much of your scent as he could until it filled his head: your natural musk mixed with the smell of the sheets and added hints of shampoo and body wash. That comforting scent that belonged to only you that he couldn't ever get enough of, the one that helped to relax his troubled mind. Instantly the tension he had been carrying like a boulder upon his shoulders all day finally released him from its stranglehold. 

Gentle, exploring hands tentatively went up under your baggy shirt, one of his old worn ones you loved to wear to bed to keep him close even when he wasn’t there, as he just wanted to make contact with all that delicately soft skin. He traced over curved paths he knew by touch alone: it was soft, it was familiar, it was safe and his heartbeat slowed as the ache in his chest dissipated enough that he could finally talk.

“Bad day,” he whispered finally, warm breath against your shoulder. "Really fuckin' bad day... again."

You rolled over in his arms until you came face to face with those sad auburn eyes, moved by the shame in his tone. It broke your heart that each time he had one of these days he felt such guilt about it, as if he simply should have been over it all by now, as if he wasn't human, but you were not about to let him overthink the struggle. There was nothing to be shameful about.

“I’m sorry baby. These things just happen, you know, but its alright; we'll get through it together, ” you said quietly, fingertips gently running over the line of his eyebrow, down his cheekbone and further to his jaw in soothing circles.

Together.

Simon closed his eyes and eased into your hand as you traced patterns across his temple and through the cropped sides of his hair, letting the vile, churning thoughts rummaging around in his brain to fall away. No one else could ever see him like this save for you, no one else's touch he craved more than anything to bring him back into himself after the day had brought him down so low. 

He brought his hand up and placed the tough palm over top of yours to hold it firmly against his cheek as if to make sure that all of this was real, that you were not simply a mirage cast by his broken mind. 

“You’re home now, baby,” you reassured him as he took deep breaths in and out with his eyes closed, only wanting to feel you. “It’s gonna be okay, I got you.”

Home, still such a strange word for him.

Wherever you were that was home. Not a place, but a person, one who made certain that no matter how far he drifted she would always pull him back in. Simon had never had such a tether before, but fuck did he need it. He could feel it like medicine running through his blood, when you held him he could feel the chemicals rush to soothe the gaping wound in his heart.

Pulling your hand off his cheek, he brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to the surface before leaning in to give one to your gentle lips. You embraced him back with such tenderness as if to remind him of that promise you had made to each other that neither of you would have to traverse the hell of this world alone.

“Home,” he repeated the tender word in his gravely tone, letting the emotionless second mask fall away. "I hope ya know... that you are my home, sweetheart."

You smiled. "You're mine too, Simon."

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. "Bein' near ya is the only fuckin' thing that seems to help quiet the shit in my 'ead these days."

Pulling him back in, you gave him another kiss. "Then get nice and close," you said softly as you squirmed up under him more, setting his arm back over you.

Securing his arms around you again he moved over top of you so that his head rested against the middle of your chest, ear pressed in against your sternum to listen to your heartbeat rhythmically thump inside. With his hand still inside your shirt he drew his fingertips along your bare hips, not wanting anything more than your company tonight. 

Your calming fingers ran through his short hair and over his scalp as he counted the beats of your heart until he melted into your body. Discussion could happen later if and when he was ready, for now this was all he needed. However long he wanted to cling to your torso, you’d let him.

You were his life raft, pulling him back in and no matter how far he drifted and it was because of you that for the first time in his life he didn’t feel like he was going to get lost.