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[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 •｡`) ♡

[l0vergirlwrites]

A totally random fic request but something where like reader sees like the team treats Spencer badly like interrupting him or something or like making him feel bad and the reader just like following Spencer out and like holding him I guess or something like that, sorry it’s rlly vague 😭😭

elevator sweetness ; spencer reid

synopsis: after another slightly deprecating comment was made about spencer, you offer him a shoulder to lean on & some kind words.

warnings: mentions of spencer being a bit sad, morgan making a comment about spencer (ily but leave my boy alone lmao), sorta new to the bau fem!reader, non-established relationship but future relationship is teased, fluff & slight angst themes, loosely based on s2 ep8

note: thank you for the request! i hope you like it! 💌

you first noticed it when you walked into the bullpen that morning, leather saddle bag snug on your shoulder as you beelined for your desk. you sat at the cluster of cubicle styled desks across from spencer’s, giving you a perfect view of him, which you’ve come to find is a blessing & a curse.

he had walked in moments after you, eyes drawn to the floor or inanimate objects, that curious twinkle was missing, & his soft smile was nowhere to be seen. spencer just sat at his desk, throwing himself into his work without greeting anyone or even getting a start on his morning coffee.

it made your lips pull into a small frown as you turned your gaze back onto your computer before anyone noticed you looking at him for too long.

“bau—conference room in fifteen” hotch’s voice broke through the morning chatter, the tiniest pit of dread filling your tummy after his alert. you wondered what the case was this time.

after going through your emails in a dash, you made your way to the small office kitchenette to grab a coffee before the round table, glancing spencer’s way once more. you saw derek perched by his desk, a teasing smile on his face like normal, but spencer remained rigid.

it made you frown again.

by the time fifteen minutes passed, you were in the conference room with two cups of coffee, casually placing one where spencer usually sits before the others noticed. you made sure to add lots of cream & sugar.

when spencer walked in, tight lipped & awkward, he felt a little lighter when he saw the coffee on the table. as jj grabbed everyone’s attention, his eyes fell onto you.

“thank you” he mouthed before opening the tab on the plastic lid, lightly blowing on it as jj played a video on the tv screen.

this weeks case was dealing with a kidnapping. three high-school girls from a small town, all athletes with bright futures—but they disappeared out of nowhere with odd voicemails as the only evidence to go off of for now.

“are we sure that they aren’t just going on a road trip? they said they’d be back by the weekend & their parents aren’t all that worried so—“.

cutting morgan off, spencer spoke up, much to your surprise. “but their voicemails were quite cryptic. clean cut. as if they were reading off of a script—“.

slightly rolling his eyes, morgan interrupted spencer. “you know, not every high schooler is a stickler for the rules like you were. it’s normal for teenagers to make impromptu plans while they’re young—have a little fun even”.

about to rebut his point, spencer opted to stay silent. he’s used to being picked on, jabbed a little here & there for his goody toe shoes persona around the team. but today just wasn’t the day he could brush it off easily.

noticing spencer’s body language closing in as he slightly slumped into his chair, you took your turn to speak. “morgan, spencer’s right. the girls sound almost afraid on the phone—monotone, maybe even apprehensive. plus, they both said the exact same thing to their parents—word for word. just because their parents aren’t super worried doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be” you pointed out, jj quickly agreeing with you before gideon & hotch followed suit.

the meeting soon wrapped up with a warning that the jet would be leaving in half an hour, causing the team to scramble to prepare. as spencer made his way to the elevator, you decided it was your moment just to check in with him.

“spencer!” you gently called out, seeing him stop walking & turn around to see you. it made you smile a little when you saw that he was still nursing the coffee you made for him.

saying your name in greeting, spencer & you continued to walk once you were at his side. “grabbing your go bag?” you asked & he confirmed with a nod.

“could i tag along? i have to get mine from my car too. what do you usually pack in yours?”.

as you both waited for an elevator in the busy office atmosphere, conversation came easy. you noted the way spencer spoke almost hesitantly, as if he was conscious of him rambling too much that he censored himself. you came to learn that he always packs a few books in his bag with sticky tabs to annotate—it’s become a new hobby of his.

once an elevator became free, the doors closed before anyone else could occupy it. so it was just you & spencer.

despite the decently large space, you both hovered to the centre with a few inches of personal space separating your arm from brushing his. the thought of it made a chill run up your spine.

“can i ask you something?” you fiddled with your fingers, tempted to pick off the black nail polish you wore as you looked to spencer.

you could tell he was still down in the dumps about something, but without the loud chatter of the office, a metaphorical weight was lifted off his shoulders for a moment.

“sure. what’s your question?”.

swallowing your anxiety in fear it was out of line to ask, you felt like it was right. “is it normal for the others to kinda, i dunno, make comments about you like that?”

you watched as spencer’s face sort of furrowed, clearly not expecting a question like that. he was unsure whether he should answer it honestly or brush it off. he’s gotten used to doing that.

“uh…” he licked his lips, looking away from you to think.

you cringed. “sorry if that’s weird of me to ask”.

he shook his head. “n-no, it’s okay. i-uh, just wasn’t expecting you to ask that” he scratched his neck, swallowing his own nerves as he continued to look at the metal floor of the elevator.

he wondered why it was moving so slow.

“i’m used to the comments—most are made in good fun, i know they aren’t targeted to get under my skin. but uh… people have said stuff like that, even worse, my whole life. so it doesn’t really bother me as much as it used to” he explained, tight lipped again as he nodded his head, finger drumming against the metal rail.

he knew you could see right through him though. “it doesn’t mean those comments can’t hurt sometimes though. you’re allowed to feel uncomfortable by them” you assure him, trying to validate his feelings like you wished others did for you too.

you knew exactly how he felt. different circumstances, but same feelings nonetheless.

the fragility & kindness behind your words made spencer’s chest ache as he turned his head to look at you again, seeing nothing but empathy across your features.

“i know it’s not my place, but i also know that it’s not fun for them to jab at you like that every now & then. i just wanted you to know that i…i have your back, you know… that i care”

spencer let the tiny crease in his brow dissipate, his eyes softened, & he felt a blanket of warmth spread across his body at your words. he didn’t know what he did to deserve someone so kind.

he almost felt choked up. “that’s really nice of you,” he spoke your name with such sweetness, it made your heart break into two & mend back together. “y-you don’t know how much that means to me. really”.

you gave him a warm smile in return, not realizing that your hands were just barely touching his against the metal rail. “it’s no biggie. i know you’d do the same for me” & spencer nods, affirming that what you said was true.

“i would—i-i do” he corrected, letting a smile grace his lips too. you didn’t realize how much you missed it.

“pinky promise?” you proposed, slowly lifting up your hand, pinky outstretched. you hoped it would lighten the mood a bit.

spencer took it without hesitation.

“pinky promise”.

soon enough, the elevator opened to the car park & you both walked in tandem to his car before reaching yours. more conversation was made along the way, one even included a promise that you both would sit next to each other on the jet & listen to music from an album you recommended him.

from that moment on, spencer couldn’t look at you without noticing the way your tucked your hair behind your ears, the crinkle in your eyes when you smiled, or how your laugh made his heart feel fuzzy.

he didn’t know that in this moment, he fell for you. & he wouldn’t realize it for another year.

[ssahotchnerr]

Mom!friend reader bringing everyone cute lunches at the bau with personalized little notes for each person 😭 maybe hotch doesn’t even know that you do this for the others too so when someone mentions readers cooking, he’s like “wat”

personalized

ADORABLE cw; bau!fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of food, fluff and aaron being cute <3

the pace at which aaron was moving must've been more intense than he intended and realized; as he hurried past jj's desk, the small draft that followed caused a small piece of paper to flutter to the ground.

uttering an apology, aaron immediately reached down to pick it up. however it had landed face up, and his eyebrows furrowed in small confusion as he caught a glimpse of its contents.

your familiar handwriting kept his eyes, instead of peering away as he normally would - 'my sweet jj! thank you so much for your help on the arizona case file, you're a total lifesaver and your expertise is always appreciated, hope you know that. enjoy <3 ps - your new lavender sweater is the cutest. must plan a shopping day w/ pen soon!'

aaron's eyebrows stayed in that confused line, his eyes shifting up to jj's in a silent question.

"came with the cookies." jj answered for him, pointing her head towards the tupperware container perched on her desktop.

instantly aaron's mind made the connection - so that's why you were up late baking. that made more sense; the time you had spent baking was much too long for the small plateful quantity he had found reserved for him and jack this morning.

"pretty girl sure knows how to cook." derek added into the conversation as he approached the cluster of desks, raising his hand to pat aaron on the back but stopped himself halfway - aaron shot him a pointed look, hiding his own amusement, while jj attempted to conceal her smile with her palm.

another eyebrow furrow. "and when have you had her cooking?"

"here and there. always comes with a note too. i could just about fill a desk drawer with how many i have." derek admitted, with his signature, vivid grin. "she may be yours, we get special treatment too, y'know."

a bit later, you strolled into aaron's office, juggling numerous files in your hands.

"as requested," you started, dropping them firmly onto aaron's desk. "five action reports, minus dave's. he told me when you're as experienced and italian as he is, you can slack off and kinda get away with it. but i think that's his fancy way of admitting he's old." you joked with a eye roll.

"thank you," aaron flashed you a smile, sorting through his current papers. assuming that was all, you spun on your heel to head out and return to the everlasting joy of paperwork, but, aaron's voice stopped you.

"hey hold it, c'mere a sec."

you pulled back one of the chairs in front of hiss desk, the legs producing a scraping noise against the floorboards, but aaron gestured for you to come around. your eyes darted in the direction of his open blinds, then back at him. 'you sure?'

aaron nodded in confirmation. and if you needed any more convincing, once in reach you were pulled onto his lap, his hold on you tight.

if he wasn't being a stickler on the open affection, neither were you; you relaxed yourself against him just as you would normally, your body melting into his and throwing your arms loosely around his neck. "what's up?"

"i didn't know you wrote the team notes."

"oh," you laughed softly, with a light shake of your head. by habit your fingers ran along the skin of aaron's neck, scratching the nape of his hair gently. "yeah, if i bring in lunch or a treat or something. or both. or sometimes just because. an appreciation reminder."

aaron nodded, his fingers drumming against your hip comfortably.

"that's not a problem, is it?"

"well," aaron pretended to think, his hand changing motions and sliding up and down your side, "yes."

"actually?" you blurted as your own fingers paused. that wasn't the answer you expected, and it caused a rush of nervous heat to pool within you. until, you saw the feigned, solemn expression on his face.

aaron peered down at you, his playful eyes canceling out the forced pout on his lips. under his breath, he mumbled humorously, "i thought i was the only one getting notes."

you laughed brightly, the joy within the sound immediately bringing a smile to aaron's lips. "oh don't worry, they don't get the lipstick smooch on theirs. that's reserved for you and you only."

"i would hope not."

"or the, occasional... explicitness."

"again, i would hope not." aaron laughed again. his lips graced your temple, lingering gently as he spoke, "you're sweet."

"a very wise, very attractive person once said, 'people need to know they're important'." your lips quirked into a loving smile, a glint in your eyes. "thought this would be an easy way - i learned from the best."

[reiding-writing]

Ive read all your cold reader fics and i love them so much 🥹 i swear theres not many fics with the reader being the grumpy or cold one so its safe to say these fics will always have a place in my heart. i have a request if your not too busy about how the reader would act when Spencer is sick i really liked the fic about when the reader was sick and id love to see the roles reversed ❤️❤️

A STUDY IN CARE — SPENCER REID!

spencer doesn’t know how to take care of himself, so you do it for him.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 1.2k | h/c | series masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — love a good sick!fic

Spencer looks like hell when he walks into the bullpen.

His normally tidy curls are limp with sweat, his eyes dull behind barely-worn glasses, and his complexion is pale, save for the telltale flush high on his cheeks. He’s sick—obviously. Anyone with eyes can see it.

You pretend you don’t.

You’re not heartless, just… selective with your concern. You and Spencer have kissed a few times, gone on a date or two, but it’s not like you’re together together. And as much as you might find yourself drawn to him—more than you ever intended—you’re not about to turn into some doting girlfriend type.

Still, when he shuffles over to his desk with an uncharacteristic sluggishness, you catch yourself watching him. His movements are slower than usual, the precise, practiced efficiency dulled by whatever virus is wreaking havoc on his immune system.

Morgan beats you to the punch.

“Damn, pretty boy, you look rough,”

Spencer sniffles, blinking blearily at him. “I’m fine,”

Emily arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, you sound fine,”

You roll your eyes at the teasing. It’s not like you disagree, but it’s exhausting being around these people sometimes. You refocus on your own work, but not before sneaking another glance at Spencer.

He’s rubbing his temple like even the fluorescent lights are too much for him. His usual meticulous posture is slouched, his elbows braced against his desk like he needs it to hold him up.

With a quiet sigh, you push back from your desk, standing up before you can second-guess yourself. You ignore the way Morgan and Emily exchange a look, knowing full well that any deviation from your usual cold indifference will not go unnoticed.

Spencer doesn’t even seem to realise you’re approaching until you place a steaming mug on his desk.

His head lifts slowly, eyes narrowing at the tea you set in front of him. “…What’s this?”

You give him a look devoid of humour. “Not cyanide.”

He blinks at you, his brain a fraction slower than usual. “I… what—”

“It’s tea, Spencer. Drink it.”

He hesitates for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of trick, but eventually, he wraps his hands around the mug. “Thank you?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you cut in, walking around the cluster of desks to re-take your seat.

“I wasn’t,”

“Good,”

—

You don’t hover.

Hovering is not your thing. Hovering implies caring too much, and that’s not really your style. But you do make sure to keep an eye on him throughout the morning.

Subtly.

Not that it’s hard to notice how much worse he gets as the hours drag on. His usual rapid-fire analysis is slower, his focus slipping at times. He sniffles every other minute and occasionally buries his face in his elbow to stifle a cough.

It’s pathetic, really.

At one point, Hotch hands out case files, and you catch the way Spencer stares at his stack like it’s personally offended him. He rubs at his temples, the weight of the work clearly pressing down on his already exhausted body.

So, you wait until he’s distracted—probably zoning out over some statistic that’s floating around in his head—and quietly slide a couple of his files over to your desk.

He doesn’t notice.

But Morgan does.

“Interesting,” he drawls from across the room, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk. “Since when do you do extra paperwork?”

Emily glances up from her own files, her gaze darting between you and Spencer before her lips curve in amusement. “Wow. This is new,”

You don’t look up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Morgan chuckles. “Oh, come on. You think we haven’t noticed?”

“There’s nothing to notice.”

“Right,” Emily says, nodding sagely. “You just happened to develop a sudden love for Reid’s paperwork,”

“You see this?” You lift your head just enough to give them a blank look. “This is my ‘I don’t care what you think’ face.”

Morgan and Emily exchange glances, clearly entertained. You, however, return to your work, entirely unbothered.

If they were expecting the usual defensive reaction, they’re going to be disappointed. Maybe a few months ago, you’d have spat out an insult or tried to redirect the conversation. But now?

You really don’t care.

—

By noon, Spencer looks about two minutes away from passing out at his desk.

And, fine, maybe you care a little. But it’s not like you’re going to say that out loud.

Instead, you stand, grab your coat, and walk over to his desk with all the nonchalance you can muster.

“Come on,” you say.

Spencer peers up at you, bleary-eyed. “What?”

“You’re going home.”

He frowns. “I told you, I’m fine—”

“I’m not debating this with you, Reid.” You grab his arm and haul him to his feet. He barely resists, which is all the confirmation you need that he’s feeling worse than he’s letting on.

Morgan snickers from his desk. “Whipped.”

You shoot him a look before turning back to Spencer. “Come on. I’m driving you home.”

—

Spencer dozes off before you even make it to his apartment.

You don’t wake him right away. Instead, you let him rest for a minute, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. He looks younger like this, all the stress and exhaustion smoothed away.

Eventually, though, you nudge his shoulder. “Reid.”

He stirs, blinking at you with heavy eyes. “Mm?”

“We’re here.”

It takes him a second, but he finally sits up, rubbing at his face before fumbling for the door handle. You sigh and get out first, walking around to help him. He doesn’t protest when you loop an arm under his and guide him up the steps to his apartment.

Once inside, he drops onto the couch with a groan. You shake your head and head to the kitchen, rummaging through his cabinets until you find some instant soup.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” he calls weakly from the couch.

You snort. “Yeah, clearly.”

By the time you bring him the soup, he’s already half-asleep again.

You set it down on the coffee table and sit beside him, watching as he blinks sluggishly at you.

“Why are you being nice to me?” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I mean it.” His voice is softer now, quieter.

You glance away. “Because you’re sick, Reid. And because—” You hesitate. Then, with a deflected glance, you finish, “Because I like you, obviously.”

His lips twitch, almost like he’s trying to smile. “Obviously?”

You nudge his shoulder. “Shut up and eat.”

Spencer doesn’t argue. Instead, he just watches you for a moment longer before picking up the bowl, a small, contented look settling over his face.

[pathologicalreid]

hi! i was wondering if i could request a spencer x fem kindergarten teacher! reader who has to be interviewed by the team when something happens to one of her students (they find him) and spencer sees her and is just like in love immediately. thank you so so much!

kindergarten crush | S.R.

when one of your students goes missing, the BAU sends the A-team to ask you some questions

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: allusions to child abuse/endangerment but nothing detailed, kindergarten teacher!reader, spencer is smitten, emily is such an older sister, average cm case stuff word count: 1.86k a/n: ugh if you know how much i love teachers then you know how much i loved writing this!!!! tysm for requesting!

“Don’t teachers leave school when it ends?” Emily asked, following the secretary through the elementary school hallways.

The secretary glanced behind her to make sure Spencer was still following, “Contract hours end at four in the afternoon, which is about twenty minutes after the last bell,” she responded. “Some teachers are in charge of after-school clubs or they’ll stay to grade or plan for the next day, but the rest head home at the end of the day,” she continued.

Emily nodded in understanding, “And when does Ms. Y/L/N usually leave for the day?”

For a moment, the secretary’s resigned expression faltered to one of concern, “Once all of her students leave for the day.”

“Is that usually at a different time every day?” Spencer asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as they turned another corner, the walls were coated in colorful flowers with the names of what he could only assume were the kindergarteners scrawled on them.

There was nothing but a sigh from the secretary as she considered her answers, “That might just be a better question for you to ask her.” She continued leading the way until she stopped in front of a door that was being held open by a doorstop, knocking on the door, she peeked her head in, “Y/N?”

From where he was standing, Spencer could see your head peek out from beneath a desk, but once you recognized that you had unexpected guests, you stood up straight, “Oh, hi,” you greeted, hastily walking around the clusters of tables as you made your way to the door.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” Emily asked, pulling her credentials out when you confirmed your name, Spencer followed suit, “We’re Agent Prentiss and Dr. Reid with the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit, do you have the time to answer a few questions about a case we’re working on?”

The bright smile that had initially been on your face quickly fell as you eyed the FBI credentials in front of you, “Oh, Cody,” you murmured. Stepping to the side, you gave the two federal agents space to enter your classroom.

Prentiss thanked the secretary before stepping into your space, “Oh, it’s colorful in here,” she said.

“It’s a kindergarten classroom,” Spencer responded quickly, “Studies show that there’s a link between bright colors and brain development, so these colors are probably conducive to a productive learning environment.”

He went over to the side of your classroom, watching you as you nervously wrapped your arms around yourself, “Thank you?” You said quizzically, not sure if you should take what he was saying as a compliment, “You are here about Cody, right? Cody Jenkins?”

Spencer nodded, “We are, you knew immediately, though.”

You moved your hand to cover your heart as if it was racing, “I was worried when he wasn’t here yesterday, but I knew when I didn’t see him today that something was wrong.” Your eyes flickered between Emily and himself, waiting for either one of them to say something, “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Why were you so worried when Cody didn’t come to school for two days?” Emily asked, tilting her head to the side, raven black hair catching in the fluorescent school lighting.

Sitting down at your desk, you sighed, “Cody loves school. He’d never miss a day unless it was absolutely necessary – I’m the one who brought the first concern to the administration that there might be problems at home, but…”

Raising her dark eyebrows in curiosity, Emily shared a look with Spencer, “But what?”

Watching you, Spencer noticed the way you nervously fiddled with a beaded bracelet on your wrist, although he couldn’t quite make out what the lettered beads spelled, he was able to deduce that the bracelet was important to you. “What’s on your bracelet?” He asked, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, he craned his head to try and read it on his own.

“Oh,” you said, looking down at the bracelet as if you needed reassurance that it was still there, “A student made it for me a long time ago. When I was still a student teacher,” you looked at the beaded creation fondly, “The mascot was the dolphins, so it just says ‘dolphin’. Spelled with an F, of course, because she was four.”

Once he knew what the bracelet said, he was able to make out the words, even noting the dolphin charm at the end of the word, “You care a lot about your students,” he said, stating the obvious, but the words seemed to put you at ease. “What do you know about Cody’s home life?”

Your eyes widened as you looked back up at Spencer and he tried to make himself seem as friendly as possible. “I know his parents have had some trouble – his dad has a bad history, as I’m sure you know, but his mom is a good person,” you said, reaching your hand up and scratching the back of your neck.

“But she never left Cody’s father,” Emily said questioningly, seeking confirmation more than anything else.

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you shrugged, “I’ve never been in that situation before, I don’t get to speak on the difficulty of leaving, but I can tell you that she’s a good person – she loves her son.”

“You care a lot about your students,” Spencer noted aloud, he looked around at the clusters of tables – each table was stocked with the same supplies. You even had a snack station at the back of your classroom.

Quickly, you nodded, “I don’t believe in kids getting a lesser education just because they don’t have the money or the support system at home. I do what I can,” you admitted. “Do you… do you think Cody’s dad did something to him?”

Sadly, Emily affirmed your question, “He’s a person of interest in the case.”

Pressing your lips in a thin, white line, you slouched back into your office chair, “Sometimes I wonder if there’s more to do. The state requires me to teach these kids about stranger danger, but last year a majority of AMBER Alerts that went out were for family abduction.”

“I’m sorry that you know that, Ms. Y/L/N,” Spencer told you.

You brushed off his apology, “For eight hours a day, five days a week, it’s my job to keep these kids safe – even if that means knowing things that I don’t like.”

Both Spencer and Emily accepted this, and they continued to ask you a few questions about what you knew about Cody. From your point of view, he was just a kid trapped in a bad situation, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it ever hurt you to send him home at the end of the day.

As the two of them left the elementary school, he shook his head in disbelief, “She made three reports on the father, and none of them were taken seriously by the school.”

“I know, Reid,” Emily commiserated, “So, the teacher?”

Her question came when the two of them piled into the SUV, giving her a bewildered look, Spencer furrowed his brows, “What about her?”

Emily scoffed, “’You care so much about your students,’” She said in a mocking voice, taking one hand off the wheel and placing it on her chest, “’Oh, I’m so sorry that you have to know that information’. What was that about the colors in her classroom?”

Rolling his eyes, Spencer sat back in the passenger seat, “Okay, first of all, I do not sound like that. Second of all, I was building rapport – you should try it sometime.”

She chuckled from the driver’s seat, tossing a piece of paper in his general direction before placing her hands near the bottom of the steering wheel, “Here, this is for you.”

“What is it?” He asked as he took the paper and unfolded it.

Humming, Emily didn’t even look as she responded, “I wrote down her room number for you, so you can go ask her out once this case is over.”

Your door was closed when he got there and he wasn’t quite sure if he should knock or just give up. It wasn’t a far drive to get to your school from Quantico, and if he could ever work up the courage to make the drive again, he could always try then.

Lifting his hand to knock, he hesitated again, opening his palm and letting his hand drop to his side. “This is ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself, taking the sticky note that Emily had ‘gifted’ him and triple-checking the room number as if his memory and your name on the door weren’t enough confirmation.

Giving up, he turned around, stuffing the paper in his pocket as he did so, and almost running into you in the process, “Oh!” You said, stumbling back and taking a moment to reorient yourself before meeting his eyes. “Oh,” you repeated, softer this time, “Dr. Reid, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Spencer,” he corrected and immediately cringed. “I mean, I’m not here in any professional capacity, so… you can just call me Spencer.”

Flashing him a bright smile, you grinned in response, “It’s nice to see you again, Spencer.” You proceeded to tell him he could call you by your first name before inviting him into your classroom.

Looking around the room, the colors of the space once again made him feel welcome, “You’re here late,” he observed, looking up at the clock and noticing that it had passed your contract hours while he stood outside your door.

You nodded, “It’s the first of the month tomorrow, so I need to switch over my calendars and everything.” You went to pick up a dry-erase marker from the whiteboard, “Um, have you… did you find Cody?”

“Yes,” he responded immediately, remembering the excuse he had given the team when he told them he was going back to visit you. Morgan and Emily weren’t likely to let him forget. “He’s safe, and it looks like he’ll be able to stay with his mom,” he informed you, relishing the way his words put you at ease.

Any remaining stiffness in your stature faded, and the weight of your missing student was officially off of your shoulders. “Thank you – and thank you for coming back to let me know,” you said, putting your hands behind your back, the two of you seemingly at an impasse.

Taking a deep breath Spencer braced himself, “I actually didn’t come back for that. No, I mean, I did. I wanted to let you know that Cody was safe because you were worried and he’s a kid so obviously that was something that I thought you deserved to know since-“

“Spencer?” You said quizzically, smiling at him as he rambled on about your previously missing student, “What else was there?”

His eyes widened as you smiled at him, “Would you want to go out? With me?”

Your smile dropped from your face, and he began to emotionally prepare himself to lay face down on his couch tonight, but what you said next surprised him, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

[ilovemitsuya]

sylus x reader (fluffy,angsty?)

summary: “During a mission, I sustained serious injuries and was hospitalized. Though Sylus couldn’t visit me, he sent Mephisto in his place. When I was discharged, I wasn’t expecting him to be outside.”

“I’m not going to lie to you two.” Jenna said, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against her desk. “This mission isn’t like the others we’ve done. That facility is more unstable than we initially thought. The few teams we’ve sent to investigate before found nothing at all.”

Crossing my arms as I studied Captain Jenna’s face.

“So why send just the two of us, then?” I asked.

“Why not a full squad if it’s that dangerous?”

“Because we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. A bigger team could draw too much attention.“

“And if we find something… unexpected?” Tara asked.

“You report back immediately.” Jenna said, her tone firm. “Don’t try to take on anything alone if it’s beyond your capabilities. This isn’t about being heroes.”

There was a beat of silence before Jenna pushed off her desk and took a step closer to me and Tara. “But you’re not going in blind. We’ll have a team on standby if things get too hot. You need to trust your instincts and watch each other’s backs.”

Glancing at Tara, she gave me a reassuring nod.

Tara and I turned to leave, but Jenna’s voice stopped us just before we reached the door. “And remember.” she called out, “If things start to go sideways, you get out. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at her.

With that, Tara and I exited the office, both of us knowing that we were walking into something dangerous. But we had our orders.

———————————————————————

The facility loomed over us, the metal creaking with the weight of its own decay. Tara and I moved cautiously through the halls, weapons at the ready, our footsteps echoing against the cracked concrete.

Dust hung in the air like a fog, making each breath feel heavy. We’d been searching for signs of Wanderers for hours, but aside from a few ominous claw marks on the walls, there was nothing.

Tara walked a few paces ahead, her sharp eyes sweeping the darkened corners as she scanned for any signs of movement.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“The readings are coming from this sector.” I confirmed. “It’s like there’s a cluster of energy sources in the storage area up ahead. Something’s definitely drawing them here.”

Tara nodded and pushed forward, keeping a steady pace as we approached the large metal door that led to the storage room. She placed a hand on the door’s surface, glancing back at me. “On three?” she whispered.

I tightened my grip on my gun and gave her a quick nod. “On three.”

“One… two… three!”

Tara shoved the door open, and we moved inside in a swift, coordinated motion. The room was just as the rest of the facility, old crates and equipment lay scattered across the floor, and the walls were covered in peeling paint.

I took a step forward, my eyes sweeping the room for any signs of movement. But then, there was a flicker of motion in the shadows, too quick to pinpoint at first.

I turned to Tara, but she had already seen it. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her weapon in the direction of the disturbance.

“Stay sharp.” she said, voice tense. “I think we’ve got company.”

I reacted on instinct, surging forward to intercept it with a gunshot.

It swiped at me with one of its jagged claws, forcing me to block the strike with my forearm. Pain shot through my body as its claws tore through my sleeve and left deep gashes across my skin.

Before we could even do anything, the wanderer let out a loud roar and smashed its claws against the support beams around us. A low rumble vibrated through the building, and the ground beneath us trembled. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and a series of cracks split the concrete walls, spreading out in every direction.

“Get out of here, now!” Tara shouted, sprinting for the exit.

I turned to follow her, but the ground heaved under my feet, and a section of the ceiling gave way with a deafening crash. I stumbled and fell, barely managing to roll out of the way as a massive metal beam slammed down where I’d been standing. The room shuddered violently, and the walls seemed to cave inward.

“Tara!” I called out, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of collapsing debris. I saw her struggling to keep her footing near the exit, but then another tremor hit, and a cascade of rubble came crashing down, forcing us apart.

I fought to keep moving, dodging falling beams and lunging over shifting pieces of debris. But it was no use. The floor buckled beneath me, and I felt myself falling through the collapsing structure.

The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, and pain exploded through my side as I hit the ground hard. I tried to move, but my legs were pinned beneath a heavy chunk of concrete, and the darkness quickly closed in around me.

The last thing I saw before everything faded was the shattered remnants of the facility above, crumbling like a house of cards. Then, there was nothing.

———————————————————————

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing I became aware of as I drifted back to consciousness.

The world came back in hazy fragments, a faint antiseptic smell, the dull ache radiating through my entire body, the blinding white light overhead. I blinked slowly, the ceiling tiles came into focus. I was in a hospital room, covered in bandages, and every muscle felt like it had been dragged through hell.

A groan escaped my lips as I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The movement must have caught someone’s attention because I heard a chair scrape back and then footsteps rushing closer.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” It was Tara’s voice, low and familiar, filled with a relief I hadn’t heard from her often. She came into view, her face creased with worry. Her eyes softened when she saw I was awake, and she let out a breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for a long time. “You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

I managed to lift my head just enough to give her a weary look. “Like I got hit by a train.” I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. “What happened to me?”

“You were inside when the building collapsed.” she explained, pulling a chair closer and sitting down beside me. “By the time we got a rescue team in there, you were unconscious and pinned under the debris.” Tara’s voice wavered slightly, and she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to show how much the whole thing had shaken her.

“You’ve been out for a while.” Her tone was a little lighter now, a hint of humor breaking through. “Can’t believe you’d scare me like that. Do you know how annoying it was waiting around here?”

A faint chuckle escaped me, though it quickly turned into a wince.

“I should let the doctors know you’re awake. They’ll want to check you over.”

I gave a slow nod, already feeling exhaustion pulling at me again, but I didn’t want her to worry. “Go ahead.” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell silent again, and I found myself staring at the ceiling, fighting the familiar feeling of emptiness that came whenever I was alone. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.

I wished Sylus were here. There was no way he could just walk into a hospital like any normal person.

I was about to close my eyes again when I heard a soft tapping on the window. My eyes snapped open, and my heart skipped a beat as I turned toward the sound. There, perched on the narrow ledge just outside the window, was a black crow. Mephisto.

I struggled to sit up, limping a little as I reached out to unlock the window. It slid open with a creak, and Mephisto hopped inside, a small bundle of wildflowers clutched in his beak. They were ragged and windblown, a little wilted from the journey, but I could tell they’d been picked carefully.

I took the flowers gently from Mephisto’s beak, my hands trembling slightly. There was a small note tied around the stems with a piece of dark string. I untied it and read the familiar handwriting: “Since I can’t be there. Take care of yourself. – S.”

Sylus couldn’t come to see me himself, but he’d sent Mephisto instead. His way of saying he was there, still watching over me.

“Thank you.” I whispered

Mephisto tilted its head and gave a soft caw, as if acknowledging my words. Then, it took off out the window again.

I sank back against the pillows, holding the flowers close. It wasn’t the same as having Sylus here in person, but it was enough to know he was thinking of me.

———————————————————————

As I lay in the hospital bed, I reached for my phone on the side table and unlocked the screen. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed out a message to Sylus.

I hit send and waited, my heart beating a little faster than it should. The minutes dragged on, and I started to wonder if he'd even seen my message. But then, my device buzzed with his reply.

Typical Sylus.

The response came almost instantly, as though he'd been expecting my question.

I glanced back at the window, half expecting to see the crow still there. It made sense. Mephisto had always kept an eye on me, by Sylus’s command.

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as I read his words.

There was a long pause before his next message arrived.

It was the closest thing to comfort I would get from him, even if he couldn't be here with me.

———————————————————————

The final paperwork was a blur, the nurse’s instructions fading in and out as I focused on keeping steady. I was bandaged up and aching from head to toe, but at least I was getting out of the hospital. They’d wanted to keep me a few days longer, but I’d insisted on leaving.

As soon as they handed me my things, I slipped into my jacket and headed outside.

When I pushed through the front doors, a figure was leaning casually against the side of the building, half hidden in the shadow cast by the streetlamp. Sylus. He looked up when he saw me.

“Sylus…” I said, managing a small smile as I walked over, but his expression was tense as he straightened up, his eyes quickly scanning over my injuries.

“You’re stubborn for a hunter.” he muttered, his tone flat, though I could tell by the way his eyes lingered on my face and my bandaged arm that he was probably worried.

“The hell are you doing out here so soon? You could barely stand a few hours ago.”

“They were going to keep me trapped in there another week,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. “I couldn’t just stay there doing nothing.”

He gave me a sharp look, he slipped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me firmly to his car parked a few feet away.

“You’re barely out, and here you are, thinking you’re ready to run around already.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Since when do you drive anything other than that death trap of yours?"

"Since I figured you might not be up for riding around on a motorcycle after getting half crushed under a building."

He helped me into the passenger seat, taking extra care to ensure I was settled in before closing the door. He didn’t say anything as he walked around and got in himself, but the silence felt heavy, like he was holding back from saying a thousand things.

We drove through the streets in silence until we reached the edge of the city. I realized where we were going the moment we turned onto a narrow road.

“Your place?” I asked, glancing over at him.

He kept his gaze on the road. “You’re not going home alone in that condition. Not happening.”

I knew better than to argue, so I just nodded.

When we finally arrived, he was already at my side, opening the car door before I could even move. I tried to slide out on my own, but he offered his hand, steady and warm, and before I could argue, he was lifting me out of the seat.

I groaned, shaking my head. “Sylus, I can walk. You don’t need to—”

“Too late, sweetie.” he smirked, his arms sliding under my legs as he pulled me up, holding me effortlessly in a bridal carry. “Just sit back and let me do this.”

I sighed, trying to hide the warmth creeping up my face. “I’m tough, you know.”

“I know you are.” He glanced down, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he carried me toward the door. “But you’re hurt, and besides,” he added, leaning closer, his voice softening, “sometimes, you need someone to take care of you.”

Inside, he led me to his room and gestured for me to sit on the bed. “Wait here. And don’t try moving around.”

I managed a small, sarcastic smile. “What, you think I’m going to run off?”

His gaze darkened. “You have a habit of being reckless.”

Before I could respond, he was already disappearing into the other room, returning moments later with a small first aid kit and a glass of water. He knelt beside me, unwrapping some of the bandages on my arm with practiced precision.

“I already saw the doctors for this.” I said, watching him closely. He ignored me, dabbing disinfectant on a fresh cut and glancing up with a glint of warning in his eyes.

“Clearly, they didn’t do a good enough job if you’re in this condition.” he replied, his tone clipped.

I sighed, not bothering to respond. Instead, I watched his hands move, careful but efficient, his expression focused as he replaced the bandages. He was so quiet, so steady, so… unlike his usual self. His eyes kept flicking up to meet mine, only for a second, before going back to my injuries.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I murmured, not sure if I was talking to him or to myself.

He paused, his hands stilling for a moment, before he looked up, his expression unreadable. “And if I don’t, who will?”

I watched him as he worked, watching how he gently wrapped fresh gauze around my arm, tightening it carefully.

His fingers lingered over the bandage, as if making sure it wasn't too tight.

"Is this too tight?" he murmured, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

"No... it's fine." I whispered, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. My words were barely a breath, and I wasn't sure if he heard me, but he continued anyway, his focus unbreakable.

"You can tell me if it hurts." he said softly, his gaze locking onto mine.

"It doesn't hurt." I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. But the truth was, all I can think about is how his fingers felt against my skin.

“You could have been killed.” he suddenly said, the faintest tremor in his voice. “And you didn’t think to tell me, or anyone, what you were dealing with out there?”

I looked down, feeling that familiar pang of guilt again.

“Tell me next time before you go off on one of these suicide missions.” he snapped, his jaw tight. “Or better yet, stay out of places where buildings collapse on you.”

“I don’t get to pick and choose which missions are dangerous.” I replied.

“And I’m supposed to sit back and just watch you throw yourself into the line of fire?” His voice was low, but I could hear the worry simmering beneath it.

He was silent for a moment, his expression hardening as he reached over to brush a strand of hair from my face.

“And next time, you’re telling me about this kind of mission. I don’t care if you think it’s nothing.”

My expression softened as I looked up at him

“I’m okay now.” I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod.

“Try to rest here. I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” he said, guiding her down gently. “I’m guessing you don’t want to stay in those all night.”

I took the bundle of soft, comfortable clothes he offered.

“Thank you, Sylus.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, running his fingers lightly through my hair, guiding me to lie back against the bed.

“Enough fighting it, sweetie.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You need to rest.”

I started to protest, but he pressed a finger gently to my lips, shaking his head. “No arguments,” he said softly. “Just close your eyes.”

He pulled a blanket over me, his hands lingering as he tucked it around my shoulders, and as my breathing slowed, I felt his fingers brush my cheek, tracing gentle patterns along my skin. The last thing I saw was him watching me, his expression filled with something I couldn’t quite place, a mix of worry, relief, and maybe… something else, something deeper.

“Sleep.” he whispered, his voice a barely audible murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

———————————————————————

The soft rise and fall of her breathing filled the room. Sylus sat beside her, one leg folded over the other, his arms crossed as he watched her sleep. In the dim light, she looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the worry that had been etched into her face earlier. He’d seen her like this before years ago.

He could still remember that night, when she’d slipped through his fingers.

He reached out almost instinctively, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She didn’t stir, but his touch softened, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against his fingertips.

Unable to bear it, he slipped his arms around her, drawing her close, careful not to wake her. She was warm, her head resting against his chest, her body relaxed in his embrace. He pressed his cheek against her hair, letting himself take in her scent, the steady beat of her heart.

“You don’t get to do this to me again.” he whispered, his voice rough, barely audible even to himself. “Not this time. I won’t lose you. Not again.”

if you made it this far thank you sm for reading! I appreciate you feel free to request ♡

[seiwas]

grow on me like a dog loved fondly: prologue | kamo choso

wc: 1.0k

summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, animal shelter employee choso x flower shop owner reader, implied that reader is shorter than choso, flowers, small talk.

a/n: the promised choso drabble! depending on how this is received, i intend for this to be the prologue to a longer choso fic i have in mind!

You have a regular on the weekends. 

Business in the flower shop tends to be slow during winter, with less occasions having the need for flowers and even less buds blooming during the season. 

But even with the expected decline in customers, Saturdays always guarantee one—

The bells attached to the store doors jingle, allowing in a gust of cool air that tickles your cheeks from where you’re crouched down. The peonies in your hands were delivered just yesterday, the ends of the stems needing a slight trim to keep them fresh for longer. 

You turn, standing up to face your visitor. A purple scarf is wrapped high around his neck, with white fleece running down the length of his arms—a sort of undershirt to the short-sleeved uniform worn atop it. The outfit is familiar enough, but what truly distinguishes him are the two spiky pigtails on the sides of his head. 

There are a few things you’ve managed to pick up from four-line exchanges with your regular (six if you’re lucky): 1) he works at the animal shelter a few streets away, 2) the flowers he buys are for the front desk, a weekly replacement he deems necessary to keep the place looking alive, and 3) who he is, his name—

—‘Choso’, if the tag on his uniform says anything. 

The tag that is now, also, just a hand’s reach away from you. 

You look up, pocketing your plant nippers. The peonies dangle between your fingers. 

“W-welcome!” you stutter, focusing on the thin metal chain running across his nose. 

It’s new, an addition that intrigues you more about the man in front of you. 

The look he gives you is lazy, gaze deadpan, almost empty. Anyone else might find it snobbish and off-putting, but you’ve gotten used to it—an almost magenta puffiness that surrounds his eyes, bags of fatigue that usually hang underneath. 

He continues to stare, unmoving. 

Considering all your previous interactions, you’ve realized, he isn’t scary or rude or anything of that sort—he’s just awkward. 

A bit quiet and unbothered, maybe, but still just awkward. You don’t think he’s ever started an interaction with you first. 

“Is there any flower in particular that you’re looking for?” you ask, motioning around your store. 

The selection is limited this season—a few camellias and clusters of Japanese primrose with an abundance of peonies and daffodils. 

His head turns as he glances around the store, pigtails bobbing slightly with each movement. When he faces you again, he shrugs, voice deep and firm as he asks, “Do you have any recommendations?” 

It’s an odd feeling, borderline awkward and nervous; you have no idea why your mind is blanking. 

“Um,” you clear your throat, tucking the peonies between your fingers into your apron pocket, “daffodils are bright and friendly, good for entryways and front desks, I think.” 

He eyes the daffodils to your right, buckets of stems holding yellow and white. The store stays quiet for what feels like a good minute before he nods, agreeing to your suggestion. 

“The usual?” two clusters, wrapped in newspaper. 

Your question echoes throughout the shop, lingering while you pick at which daffodils look best. 

“Yes, but two of them.” he answers in monotone, before adding on, a soft hesitancy, “Please.” 

You smile to yourself, picking more daffodils for another bunch. 

Both of you make your way to the cashier, another bout of silence surrounding you as you crumple newspaper and pull at tape. He always watches, you notice, his focus set on your practiced handling of stems and leaves. 

You look up momentarily, seeing that he keeps his head down, “The pigtails are cool.” 

He doesn’t say anything, and for a while you’re afraid you might have offended him, but he responds, voice low; it’s soft, gentle in a way you never expected it to be. 

“Thank you.” you catch him shifting his weight from your periphery, hands digging deeper into his pockets, “The dogs think they’re chew toys when I wear it this way.” 

You most certainly were not expecting that, either. 

This is the most initiative he’s taken to add onto the conversation.

You grin, chuckling under your breath, “That must be fun.” 

It’s faint, but you think you hear him laugh a little. 

When the flowers are completely wrapped, you set them aside, making your way behind the cash register. You punch in the cost, ready to bill him before he speaks again. 

“Actually, would you happen to do deliveries?” he seems shy asking it, barely looking you in the eye. 

“Yes!” You nod, grabbing a pen and paper to hand over to him, “Just write down your contact details, the address you want it delivered to, and when you’d like it to be delivered.” 

Another thing you’ve realized, is that despite appearances and what he seems to be, Choso handles objects gently; the pen and paper you’d just given him were taken lightly from your fingertips. Even the strokes of his penmanship are slow, the tip of the pen barely creating an indent on the small sheet. 

“Will you be having both of these delivered?” you ask, holding up the bundles of daffodils. 

“Just one.” he answers promptly, before adding on again, “Thank you.” 

And you know you shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t be so nosy, but—

“What’s the occasion?”—

Flowers are rarely in demand during the winter season. 

—“If you don’t mind me asking,” you follow-up quickly. 

The immediate quiet makes you think you might have gotten too comfortable again, made him feel weird about your questions—but he answers.

“My brothers,” he finishes the final curves of his writing, “they’re coming to visit.” 

The piece of paper is handed to you, and you hum, acknowledging his response. You go over his details, reciting it to him to double-check. But when you land on his address, your eyes go wide, a little ‘oh!’ slipping out. 

He furrows his brows, confused. 

You definitely, most certainly did not expect this. 

“Sorry,” you shake your head, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, “Just—“ you chuckle, “I think we might be neighbors.” 

thank you notes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for sending me lil prompts that somehow birthed into this!! + @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell for feeding the choso brainrot 🥹 + @mysugu @soumies for being my angels, lights of my life!! listening to me ramble abt this and helping me pick music, hash out plot, pick title, everything! ily

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Seventeen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None. Some angst. Some fluff. AHHHHHHHHHH just look at the gif guys

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“I will.” 

The wet cloth soothed his burning skin as you carefully cleaned away the smattering of blood dashed over his high, bruised cheekbones like freckles. You were both holding your breaths, only daring to move when your lungs demanded it. Azriel sat on the chair you’d dragged into your bathroom, face level with yours as you leaned down to inspect his face with two fingers tucked beneath his chin. 

Azriel’s fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch you somewhere. Anywhere. 

“You said you’d tell me if I hurt you.” 

“You’re not hurting me, Y/n.” 

Azriel could have told you that he was well versed with cleaning blood off his body and clothes. He could have reminded you back in the dining room that Feyre and Rhysand stood only ten feet away and could have whisked away his injuries and the bloodstains with a single touch or snap of their fingers. But instead he’d said nothing. He’d let you close your hand around his, fingers dangerously close to his thrumming pulse, and followed you to your bedroom while ignoring the throbbing pain of his cracked ribs. 

Feyre called your bedroom The Wisp after having decorated it with all manner of airy, cream-colored furniture accented with soft browns. Your desk was overrun with neat piles of papers, books, and journals. The windowsill by your bed was dedicated to pre-sleep novels and clusters of lavender tied with twine and left to stand upright in vases fashioned from ink bottles. The scent of old books and parchment paper clung to every surface along with something that smelled clean and entirely like you.

Your bathroom was similarly orderly. Bottles of perfumes, lotions, and oils were laid out on the countertop like little soldiers, catching and scattering the moonlight from the window in a rainbow of color. 

You brushed the cloth over his lips, eyes lingering on the two splits already scabbing over, then down the curve of his jaw to his chin. 

It was reverently quiet here in your bathroom. Nothing but the faint and steady drip from the faucet into the quartz basin and your breathing filling the space. 

Color had been spilled over Azriel’s face like a watercolor painting, equal parts painful and beautiful to look at. Because he was still so, so beautiful looking up at you with those whisky eyes that made your head spin. Those dark curls that hung over his forehead like seafoam waves. Your hands fluttered over the bottles on the countertop before settling on a pale green one that smelled strongly of mint. You smoothed the oil over Azriel’s face, leaving a cool, tingling sensation wherever you touched.

“I’m sorry about Lucien,” You whispered. “And Helion. I never wanted you to get hurt like this.” 

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled sadly. “Cassian was right when he said I had it coming.”

You winced. “How bad was it when you fought Lucien the last time? When you invoked the Blood Duel?”

Azriel didn’t shy away from the question, and his gaze never left yours as you quietly restoppered the bottle. “I was a second away from stabbing him through the heart when Elain stopped us. There are a fair number of scars we both left that fight with, but we did walk away,” He stiffened at the memory, “Barely.” 

“Do you… do you regret it?”

“Yes,” Azriel said quickly. Firmly. “I will regret what I did and what Elain and I did together until the day I die.” His hands flexed by his sides and he dared to lift them up to your hips, anchoring himself with the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. When you didn’t shy away from his touch, he continued on. “I wanted what my brothers had and in my desperation I think Elain and I chose each other because we just wanted to do something. I wanted a mate and proof that I belonged alongside Rhys and Cassian, and Elain wanted to break the rules for the first time in her life. To feel in control. But we never should have done it knowing everyone would get hurt.” 

“Sometimes love is like that,” you murmured, “Messy and hurtful… or so I’ve read.” 

“I didn’t love Elain. I don’t love Elain. At least not romantically.” Not the way that I love you. 

You tried to ignore the flutter of relief in your chest. It didn’t feel like the right time for it. Not with Azriel bruised and hurting before you. You dropped your eyes to the pale green tiles and caught sight of Azriel’s gloved hands. 

“You’re wearing them again.”

Wordlessly you picked up one and gently began tugging the leather off his fingers. One by one. The whole time you kept your eyes on him, tracing the tension in his shoulders and between his eyes as his ruined skin was exposed inch by inch. The air felt foreign on the skin of his palms. The feel of your body so close to his felt exhilarating. 

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel whispered, “I never meant to hurt you in all the ways that I did. What I did—” 

“I know, Azriel.” 

His eyes traced every line of your face, hands shaking. “You’re not a fourth choice. You’re not broken... But I think I might be,” he confessed. The words hung in the air between you two. Words you could wrap around his neck and hang him with. 

He felt every stroke of your fingers over his knuckles. Every flutter of your eyelashes as you looked at him with the faintest tilt of your head. 

“So what?” You breathed out. 

Azriel shook. “Y/n?”

“So what if you’re broken? Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” You leaned your forehead against his, noses brushing, “But you’re still Azriel.” You smiled gently at him, eyes fluttering closed as you sighed. “And I think that’s a wonderful thing.” 

Azriel stopped breathing as you brought his hands up to your lips and brushed them over every scarred knuckle. Every touch of yours was sacred. In their sincerity. In their rarity. In their preciousness to him. 

“Do you… do you like me, Azriel?” Your words were nervous and soft. Softer than the finest bed Azriel had ever laid his head down on. Softer than the clouds that turned to rain when he flew through them. Softer than your ink-stained fingertips landing on the sprinting pulse of his neck. 

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “You can’t even begin to know, Y/n.” 

And then your softness was all around him. It was your lips against his lips, pillowy and tasting faintly of the sweet wine you’d drank at dinner. It was your hands and arms looping around his neck and keeping his head squarely on his shoulders so he could experience this vibrance. It was the feel of your body as he held onto your hips and then flattened his hands against the small of your back, pressing you as close as he dared. River-soaked robes long since forgotten. 

You were like water threatening to slip through his fingertips. 

You hoped you were doing this right. Reading about kissing was very different from the actual thing. Your lips felt too stiff or too fervent. You worried your hands were too greedy as you plunged them into his raven-wing hair and tangled silken strands. But while you lacked experience, Azriel surely seemed to be making up the difference. He held you as close as possible, until it felt more like breathing than kissing. 

Salty tears landed in between your lips until you could both taste their sharp tang on your tongues. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept saying over and over in between shaky gulps of air. “Y/n, please believe me. I—” 

You kissed him harder just to make him stop, swallowing his pain as best you could until his breathing evened out. 

“I’ve got you, Az.” You brushed his black waves away from his forehead before kissing him there too. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Tell her. Tell her. Tell her. 

Azriel’s shadows chanted in his ears. But he made them go silent. 

Another day. 

Let him just hold you like this for now. For as long as you would let him. Here in the stillness with you — the only person who’d ever brought him a real sense of peace and quiet — he felt it was safe to hope again.

The long stream of kisses ended too early for his liking, although he didn’t dislike the sight of your heaving chest and blushing cheeks. He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, and you seemed to be thinking the same thing as you stood between the walls of his legs, his arms wrapped loosely at your sides and yours dangling off his shoulders. 

You’d kissed him. You’d kissed him. 

You touched your fingertips to your lips, worry in your eyes. “Was it bad? Did I do a bad job? I’ve never—” 

Azriel would have none of that. He tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and kissing you all over again. You relished in his heat and the faint tickles of shadows that encased you both in darkness, like a veil had been thrown over the room leaving everything gauzy and soft. 

“You, my Y/n,” his lips brushed over the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your neck when he sighed so, so softly, “Are a marvelous kisser.” 

Had you melted into a sack of bones on the floor? It certainly felt like you had. You were blushing uncontrollably, searching for something, anything, to comment on. You thought your heart might just burst out of your chest. 

“You have frosting in your hair.” You plucked the white blobs off his head, feeling the sugar grains crumble between your fingers. 

“I think that was meant to be dessert.”

“I think you might be right.” You tried controlling your breathing when Azriel leaned forward and kissed the bare skin of your shoulder, and failed miserably. “It’s a real shame,” you stammered, “I was looking forward to cake.”

He kissed the center of your chest next and your heart skipped a beat. “I’ll buy you all the cake in the world to make it up to you.” 

“That’s a hefty promise, and a waste of cake.” 

“Do you doubt me?” Azriel asked honestly. You could ask him for moonlight in a bottle, or a dress spun from spider silk, or all the stars in the sky and he’d find a way to make it happen. Some way. Somehow. He’d give you everything that was his to give, and then some. 

“No. I don’t doubt you.”

“Good.”

He couldn’t help himself. He kissed you again, reveling in the faint sighs that he swallowed up and the few that escaped between your locked lips to sing in his ears. You traded kisses for hours on end, slipping them in between conversations and gentle touches. It was an exploration in intimacy that you worried might sweep you away, but Azriel was as he always was — patient and gentle — from the tips of his black hair to his scarred hands to his leather boots. And you loved every inch of him. 

You clung to his shirt, the scent of soap still clinging to his skin after he’d returned from his bath and laid down in bed beside you in cotton instead of leather. 

“Azriel,” You said, your voice thin and tired. The candles burned low casting shadows that flickered and twisted on the wall. But you didn’t pay any mind to shadows any longer, not when you knew they belonged to Azriel as surely as you did. “Stay.”

And who was he to deny you? He held you close, your cheek pressed against his chest. You fell asleep to the sound of his heart, and he fell asleep to the rhythm of your breathing. 

You woke up to the weight of Azriel draped over your body, face pressed against your breasts, arms wrapped around your waist, and the rest of him nestled in between your legs. He grounded you, wings splayed out and bathing in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. 

You were pleasantly surprised that he was still asleep and you took the time to lightly trace his features, weaving your fingers through his hair until he made a sound that had your heart speeding up. Something halfway between a sigh and a groan. 

He was slow and sluggish to wake, eyes blinking languidly as he registered the warm, supple body beneath him. 

You. 

He’d fallen asleep here with you, wrapped up in your scent until the world had faded away into blissful nothingness. He could have been asleep for eight hours or eight years and he would be none the wiser. All he knew is that you were running your fingers through his hair, and he didn’t want you to stop. 

“Hey, you,” You murmured when his whisky eyes fluttered open, eyelashes casting spidery darkness over his cheekbones where his own shadows curled as if still asleep. 

Azriel hummed, burying his face in your chest and sighing with his whole body. His arms rubbed up and down your sides leaving molten heat in their wake. “Please don’t tell me it's morning.” 

“I’m not above lying, Azriel. It’s the middle of the night.” 

His wings shook with quiet laughter, the movement of his body tickling your skin until you were grinning unabashedly. 

“Then why are you awake?” Again, his words were muffled by your skin. 

“Because I’m currently being crushed beneath the weight of an Illyrian warrior.” 

His head shot up in alarm. He was no small male and although he’d spent centuries gaining enough strength for his wings to feel weightless on his back, he knew they were anything but. And you’d let him stay like that all night. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffocated.

Stupid. Stupid. 

“I’m sorry. Gods, I didn’t mean—” He began to slide off of you. But you were laughing. 

“Wait! No! I was joking. I was joking. Come back!” You wrapped your legs around his back, the sudden movement pulling him flush against you in a rush of heat that made him go stone still. 

Mother, help me. He thought to himself, feeling blood travel both up and down his body. 

You guided his head to your chest by the strands of his hair until he was following the curves of your silhouette once again. “I like it when you hold me like this, Azriel,” you confessed. “I don’t feel like I’m going to float away anymore. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he whispered. He felt the same way. “You make the world go quiet, Y/n.”

It wasn’t until the clock struck twelve bells and the House’s cooking wafted through the hallways that you and Azriel finally peeled yourselves off one another, shuffling to the bathroom in a cluster of wings and loose night clothes. 

Azriel watched you closely, finding new ways to love you even as you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping hips and smiling at one another shyly. He watched as you brushed your hair and washed your face, stealing kisses that left minty cool tingles on his skin. 

Lucien was noticeably frowning when you and Azriel walked into the dining room, Azriel’s scent still clinging to your skin and yours to his. You’d done nothing more than sleep in the same bed, everyone was looking at you with shit-eating grins like you’d taken Azriel on the living room couch for the whole House to hear. 

“You look well rested, brother,” Cassian noted over the lip of his coffee cup. 

It was the best night of sleep Azriel had gotten in centuries, perhaps in his entire life. 

You wordlessly traded seats with Elain at the table, leaving you and Azriel on one side and Lucien and Elain directly across. When no one was looking, he reached down and pulled your chair closer, pressing his knee against yours beneath the table. Lucien noticed — of course he did — but the blush on your cheeks was so innocent and the love in your gaze so honest that he couldn’t bring himself to make any comment. Although, he did throw a few dangerous looks Azriel’s way, looks that plainly said, If you hurt her, you’re a dead man. 

Azriel only nodded faintly in reply, as if he knew what Lucien had been thinking all along and was in agreement. 

But in the following weeks your brother would come to be grateful that your care for one another was not loud. It wasn’t desperate, groping hands in hallways or sultry looks that heated up crowded rooms and made people uncomfortable. It was reserved smiles and knowing glances when you independently formed the same thought at the same time, eyes latching onto one another until one of you inevitable broke away laughing.

For the first time in his life, Azriel had someone who wanted him back just as fervently, even if it was difficult to believe. 

Azriel always needed to be touching you, whether it be a hand at the small of your back or the press of your shoulders together as you leaned over one of the desks at Cagniv — now that Azriel was allowed inside — with papers strewn about like dove feathers. 

You were no better. You stuck close to his side where shadows lingered and sought him out in every room until you may as well have owned the space within the curve of his wings. 

But things were changing. Koschei loomed taller and taller over the House like an avalanche ready to wipe Velaris off the map. Once again, everyone heard Vassa’s cries at daybreak and nightfall, and when Jurian slipped out of the attic for his own rest, he looked a little thinner and paler each time and no amount of medicine or food you and Lucien brought upstairs seemed to be helping. 

Azriel tried to steal every extra second with you in the mornings. If he had his way, he’d never leave his bedroom again, content to admire the splash of sunlight over your body and your sleepy sighs. But he was still the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court and you quickly got accustomed to waking up to an empty bed with only a note on the nightstand. On those days you migrated out of whatever room you’d spent the night in — yours or Azriel’s, although the lines were blurred — often trekking to Cagniv to escape a house where strange, new faces were coming and going with more frequency: ash-pale fae from Winter, a white-haired female from Summer with skin so dark it was almost black, and golden males from Dawn with downy hawk wings. They locked themselves in Rhysand and Feyre’s office where bargains and plans were made in blood and salt. 

Other days you carted your books to Feyre’s studio with Nesta and Ione in tow, perching on a stool while the High Lady crafted life out of brushstrokes like she was the Mother herself. 

Feyre stood at her easel, as she had been every day this last week, with her pencil clenched between her teeth as she ignored the faint aches in her lower back and her wrist. Every line, every detail, was attended to with painstaking precision as she mapped Nesta and the old woman’s faces onto the blank canvas first with graphite, then with a thin wash, then with layers of paint that added dimension and familiarity to the two stoic faces. Feyre didn’t let her passion overtake the more clinical approach she was taking with this piece. This was not the time for free flowing movement and modernism. 

This was all about realism. 

Exactness. 

When the High Lady placed her brush on the muddied water cup beside her, you jumped up. “Is it finished, Feyre?” 

“As finished as it will ever be,” Feyre responded gravely as you took in the sight before you. Three women: Nesta, Ione, and some mixture of the two. Feyre had captured their likeness with incredible precision, using the painting to familiarize herself with their faces and the ways they could be warped and molded.  

You peered over the corner of the canvas to where the two women were standing side by side. Ione lengthened her spine, cane clasped in her hands that you’d never seen her lean on with her full weight. Time had condensed her bones and stolen some of the height from her frame, but none of her sharpness. It was a trait that granted her a strange degree of likeness to Nesta, as if you’d glanced into a future where she’d never turned fae. 

You looked at Feyre, then down to the vials of blood you’d collected from the pair. Already your magic was seeping into the burgundy bottles, testing its boundaries with such an unfamiliar medium as you released any hold you had on it. You looked at the High Lady and nodded. 

It just might work. 

“My brilliant daughter,” Helion praised, kissing you on the top of your head before disappearing in a flash of light. His empty teacup spun on the saucer. 

You felt a familiar flicker of pride grow within you. Helion had spent hours pouring over your notes, your manuscript, and leaning his ear towards your plans. He was in agreement. 

It just might work. 

Lucien slunk out of his room after Helion’s voice disappeared and sank into the abandoned couch with his whetstone and white-bone blade. The ring of metal echoed through the room, melting into the birdsongs that slipped in through the cracked open window and the clatter of sugar spoons against a porcelain plate.  

“You should tell him,” you said again, pushing a teacup over to your brother. It was a common refrain after Helion’s visits. 

Lucien stared at the three cups now strewn across the coffee table. Two empty. One full and untouched. Had Helion noticed the extra one? 

“I’ve had enough of High Lords for a while,” Lucien said as you poured yourself another strong cup, “When this is over, I’m taking Elain, Jurian, and Vassa back to the Human Lands.” His eyes flickered over to you briefly, “You should come live with us. You’d find it interesting how they conduct themselves. You might even learn something.” 

“I’ll visit for a short time, but nothing longer than that.”

“Why not?” You lowered your gaze and blushed, unconsciously tugging your sweater higher up your neck. The sweet marks Azriel’s lips had left on your skin were long gone, but you swore you could still feel them. “You know why.” You murmured softly. 

Your swollen eyes spoke of restless nights without the Shadowsinger’s hands to lull you to sleep. Azriel had gotten into the habit of stroking your cheek while you talked in bed, until the steady brush of skin against skin finally had your eyes closing shut. You missed him. 

“Lucien, I understand that you want nothing to do with Helion or any other High Lord, but… You could be better. I know you could be. You could be the best High Lord of them all, if you’d only be open to it.”

Because that was Lucien’s worst fear, wasn’t it? That a time would come when Helion would leave this world and any hope for a quiet, peaceful existence with Elain would be gone.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

You touched his wrist and the blade stopped its strange singing. “‘It’s often those who think they deserve it least, that deserve it most.’ Pippin Clodshot from—”

“A Duel of Two Faces by Aechtion.”

You reared back in surprise and Lucien grinned, tapping your nose. “I do read, sister.” 

The sarcasm in his voice was laid on so thickly you could only grumble in response. “I wasn’t aware you had two brain cells to rub together, brother.” 

Lucien laughed so heartily and for so long that Elain and Ione stuck their heads out from the kitchen in conern. 

“I thought someone was dying.” Ione rolled her eyes before her grey head disappeared once again. 

You slid further under the covers, burying your face in Azriel’s pillows as the sun finally slipped behind the mountains and shadows raced each other to the Sidra. 

Seven days. 

Seven days of waking up to empty sheets after Azriel had jerked awake halfway through the night, bloodshot eyes searching for something you couldn’t see and that he didn’t tell you about. He’d only kissed your forehead, smoothing back your hair and murmuring something about a task he needed to take care of before shrugging on his leathers. You’d sat in bed, comforter tucked under your arms and over your chest even though you were fully clothed, and watched Azriel move around the room with a practiced air as weapons flashed in the moonlight and disappeared into his bag. 

You knew all the hiding places in his room now — one of the many secrets you’d unearthed — so you didn’t find it at all strange when he captured your lips before dipping his hand beneath the mattress and pulling out a long serrated blade, perfect for sawing rope and wood. 

“Where are you off to this time?” 

Azriel had gone still, taking his time to shake away his thoughts before sweeping a handful of stoppered vials off his desk — sleep potions, draughts for pain and healing, subtle, painless poisons. You would know because you had helped make them. 

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/n,” He’d whispered, eyes boring into yours with a haunted look that hadn’t left him since that day in the market square. 

Ten days.

Ten days of carrying around a heavy ache that every so often tightened with a feeling you couldn’t name. Almost as if it didn’t belong to you.

You paced back and forth in Azriel’s room, trying to calm a heart that hadn’t stopped racing for the last hour. You’d tried opening, then closing the windows as you curled up beneath the covers of his bed, mountain air blowing the curtains open and chilling your too hot skin. But none of it helped. 

Chasing his scent in the sheets wasn’t enough anymore. 

You tiptoed out of Azriel’s room, copying his silent steps and sticking to familiar shadows as you slipped through the House. Like Lucien, you tended to stay hidden whenever representatives from other Courts visited the River House. They were people Rhysand and Feyre trusted, but that didn’t mean you could erase centuries of wariness from your bones. 

You heard nothing coming from Feyre’s studio, but you knew that if you were to sneak through the layers of air she’d sealed around the space, you’d meet a male carved from molten heat. 

You waited in one of the spare studio rooms for the High Lord of Autumn to leave, eyes peering through the slit between the door and its hinges. If you stared for long enough, you swore you could see the air beside the door rippling with Autumn heat. 

Finally, Eris Vanserra stepped into the hallway in all his striking glory, followed closely behind by Lucien. Violently red hair hovered over a pale, freckled face composed of angular lines — striking but not unkind. You thought he looked like a lit match with his wiry frame wrapped in resplendent browns, reds, and golds that spoke of forest riches. Or maybe he just looked narrow when standing next to Cassian. That was always a possibility.

“Thank you, Eris.” Feyre squeezed his hand reassuringly. She wore similarly decadent clothes. The moonstone and diamond crown perched atop her light brown hair was a rare sight, but Feyre wore it as naturally as she wore her paint splattered overalls. She was an artist and a High Lady in equal measure, and she sacrificed no part of one in favor of the other.  

The newly minted High Lord of Autumn chuckled darkly, eyes flashing like a living flame. You’d heard horrible tales about Beron Vanserra, his cruelty, and his violence. But whatever traits Eris had inherited from his father he’d sloughed off like a second skin. The molting process had been full of its own pains, but as you assessed him now, you saw only the characteristics he shared with Lucien.  

“Don’t thank me yet. Not until my feet have touched the Continent.” 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

Eris tipped his head, a smirk on his face, then disappeared in a flush of woodsmoke. 

Spring, Winter, Summer, Day, Dawn, and now Autumn. The seven courts had slid into an uneasy alliance once more, weary but willing after decades of war. Feyre wasn’t sure how much more Prythian could take if this transformed into another bloodbath. But if the fledgling plan you’d all helped nurse came to fruition, it wouldn’t come to that… at least that’s what Feyre kept telling herself every night so she could sleep. 

The High Lady jolted back when you slipped out from your hiding spot, cast in a halo of cool-toned light from the dying sun. Cassian shared in Feyre’s surprise. They hadn’t heard you come up the stairs or pass by the door. They hadn’t even sensed you until you made your presence known.

Maybe she’s picking it up from Azriel? Feyre said with some amusement. 

Gods help us all. There’s two of them.

“Where’s Azriel?” You looked to the High Lady for an answer, hands held stiff at your sides. You felt that strange anxiety clawing at your throat. It had dripped into your feelings slowly since the morning, growing like a weed until you couldn’t stop clenching your fists. “I haven’t heard from him in days.” 

Feyre felt a familiar coil of guilt settle in her stomach. 

Don’t tell her about this, Fey. Azriel had begged her, his eyes hard and tired before taking off from the back porch towards The Warren. 

He’d made all of them promise not to tell you about that place. About what he did. About what he was doing. But you weren’t a fool. You knew of his reputation as a Shadowsinger and a Spymaster and the work that came with it. You’d traced some of the scars on his body, plucking the stories from his skin whenever he let you, and you woke up when he did from his silent nightmares. The slightest change in his breathing pattern, the barest flinch of his arm wrapped around your waist was all it took for you to open your bleary eyes and shake him awake. 

But there were some secrets he was still too afraid to reveal, and some secrets he’d buried so deeply he didn’t even know what their monstrous faces looked like anymore. 

“Y/n—” Feyre began.

“I want to know.” You reached for Feyre’s wrist, grasping it so tightly your knuckles paled and Cassian stepped forward. It was a silent reminder that you had the power to take that knowledge from her if you wished. You loved Feyre. You considered her a friend. But the panic wasn’t leaving you. You stared at her desperately, pupils blown wide open. “I need to know he’s alright.” 

Feyre opened her mouth to speak, then froze as Rhysand’s velvety voice entered her mind, strained to the point of breaking.  

Feyre, you need to bring Y/n to The Warren.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

85K+ WORDS AND FINALLY THEY'VE FUCKING KISSED HOLY SHIT

I really must applaud you all for your patience because hot DAMN I am FLOORED!!! And yes, yes, I know, I know y'all want Y/n to figure out their mates and I will simply be pleading the fifth and hiding in my room and not telling anyone of you when that will actually happen because I simply cannot! ASFDK;JABSLDFIGUH

*takes a deep breath* Thank you all so much for reading and for your engagement whether that be leaving comments or liking or literally anything because it makes my day and I'm just happy that my passion project/hobby is able to bring people some smidgen of joy because the world really sucks but hey at least we have fanfics

[interiorergonomics]

Facing Workstation Cluster of 6 Peoples

Meet the modern bespoke office workstation cluster of 6 desk cubicles. Each of its combined desks is separated with colorful PET acoustic panels along with round grommets on ever corner. Every desk also is assigned a storage cabinet with seamless edge designs to match workspace aesthetics, safety and emphasize the branding. Since collaboration is a key in every forward-thinking organization, it accommodates 6 people regardless whether left or right handed in a single seating . Get this Diamond Series Face to Face workstation cluster of 6 desks from the leading Dubai office furniture manufacturer at an affordable cost in just 7-12 working days upon making payment

Read More about :

[little-jana]

"Under The Mistletoe"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing, just two cuties

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Another Mistletoe kiss with Spencer.

a/n: I just love love love these chrismas ff with Spencer. What do u think?

The BAU’s Christmas party was winding down, but the bullpen still sparkled with warm, holiday cheer. Twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the desks, Penelope’s carefully curated playlist hummed in the background, and the scent of cinnamon and pine filled the air. I stood by the snack table, munching on a sugar cookie, my eyes wandering to Spencer Reid.

He was sitting near the bookshelf, his legs crossed awkwardly, a mug of eggnog in one hand and a book resting in the other. He wasn’t reading, though. His gaze flicked up every few seconds, catching mine before darting back down.

“Why don’t you go talk to him?” JJ teased as she passed by, balancing her own plate of cookies.

“I talk to him all the time,” I said, feigning indifference.

JJ just gave me a knowing smile. “Sure you do.”

She wasn’t wrong, though. I did talk to Spencer all the time. I was one of the few people he seemed comfortable enough to really open up to, and our conversations were some of the highlights of my day. But tonight, under the glow of Christmas lights, something felt… different.

I crossed the room, weaving through clusters of my teammates, until I reached his corner. He looked up, startled, when I sat down next to him.

“Hey,” I said, smiling.

“Hey,” he replied, setting his mug down. “Enjoying the party?”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning back against the wall. “You?”

“It’s nice,” he said, his voice soft. “A little overwhelming, but nice.”

I nodded, understanding completely. “I saw you reading earlier. What is it this time? Something festive?”

He hesitated, glancing at the book before sliding it toward me. It was a leather-bound copy of A Christmas Carol.

“Classic,” I said, impressed.

“It’s one of my favorites,” he admitted. “There’s something timeless about it—Scrooge’s transformation, the idea that it’s never too late to change.”

“Leave it to you to find the deeper meaning in a Christmas story,” I teased.

Spencer smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “It’s a good story.”

“It is,” I agreed. “But you know, you’ve been staring at that same page for the past ten minutes.”

His cheeks flushed, and he quickly closed the book. “I, uh… I got distracted.”

“By what?” I asked, leaning forward, curious.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, avoiding my gaze.

“Spencer,” I said, my tone teasing. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. I might have been… looking at you.”

That caught me off guard. “Me?”

He nodded, his face growing redder by the second. “You just… you look really nice tonight.”

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. Spencer Reid, the man who could rattle off statistics about anything and everything, was suddenly flustered.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my own cheeks warming. “You look nice too.”

Before he could respond, Penelope’s voice rang out across the room.

“Attention, everyone!” she called, clapping her hands. “It’s time for our favorite holiday tradition—mistletoe!”

The room erupted into cheers and groans as Penelope grabbed her sprig of mistletoe and started weaving her way through the crowd, stopping pairs and insisting they partake in the tradition.

“Oh, no,” Spencer muttered, sinking deeper into his chair.

“Oh, yes,” I said, grinning. “You’re not getting out of this one, genius.”

“I don’t see why mistletoe is such a big deal,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Did you know it’s actually a parasitic plant? It attaches itself to a host tree and siphons off nutrients to survive.”

“You really know how to kill the mood, don’t you?” I teased.

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Penelope appeared beside us, brandishing the mistletoe like a weapon.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What do we have here? My two favorite geniuses hiding in the corner?”

“We’re not hiding,” I said quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Penelope said, clearly unconvinced. She dangled the mistletoe above our heads. “Rules are rules, my friends.”

Spencer groaned softly, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re not getting out of this one, Spence,” I said, leaning closer.

He hesitated, his eyes searching mine. “You know,” he said quietly, “hands actually transfer more germs than mouths. Statistically, this is the safer option.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Is that your way of saying you want to kiss me?”

“I—well—I didn’t mean—”

“Spencer,” I said, cutting him off. “Relax. It’s just a kiss.”

And before he could overthink it, I leaned in, pressing my lips softly against his.

The room seemed to fade away, the laughter and music melting into the background. His lips were warm, tentative at first, but as he relaxed, the kiss deepened just slightly, a perfect mix of sweetness and surprise.

When we finally pulled back, his eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed.

“That… wasn’t so bad,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” I agreed, smiling. “It wasn’t.”

Penelope clapped her hands, breaking the spell. “That was adorable!”

Spencer groaned again, burying his face in his hands, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Come on, genius,” I said, nudging him playfully. “Let’s go find some more eggnog.”

As we walked back toward the party, I couldn’t stop smiling. Maybe mistletoe wasn’t so bad after all.

[itsmemuffy]

Oh, Lover Boy

♡27 Days of Love: A Valentines Series (x)♡

Day One: A Secret Admirer

Contents: Logan Howlett x fem reader, pure fluff, reader is implied to be bisexual

You trotted down the quiet halls to your classroom. The sun had risen just enough to illuminate your surroundings with hazy rays of light. It was one of those slow, easy mornings when it served no purpose to be in a rush.

Skipping a hot morning meal in favor of a breakfast bar, you were setting up earlier than all the other professors. All the others except for Logan, that is. It was typical for him to be up before everyone else, savoring the quiet dawn.

Logan stood facing the hall leaning back on his desk. The hot mug of coffee in his hand was strong enough to fill the surrounding air with its toasty, bitter aroma.

He spotted you passing by his classroom door, greeting you with a wave and a lazy grin. You only smiled in response, the both of you in unspoken agreement not to break the morning silence just yet.

After you enter your class and open the blinds, you notice something you don't immediately recognize on your desk. On it sat a modest bouquet arranged in a glass mason jar- red and pink carnations grouped with clusters of baby's breath.

Beside the makeshift vase sat a plain piece of folded cardstock. Within the card was transcribed;

For the sweetest girl.

I could eat you right up.

You repeatedly turn the card over in your hands, attempting to process what was happening. In your time here, you have received the occasional flowers. Once or twice for teacher appreciation day or to send you well wishes after getting injured on a mission. Never with a note attached like that.

One thing that immediately stood out to you was how... nice the handwriting was. Definetly nicer than what you saw on a daily basis grading worksheets. The cursive on the note was neat and old-fashioned. Every dip and curve connecting the letters appeared to be penned out with care, deliberate but posessing minimal embellishment or frills.

The list of potential suspects that may be behind this was admittedly short. The night previous you stayed up grading papers until a late hour. Not to mention how early you had arrived today. It could only of been from someone within the mansion.

You cancel out everyone already in a relationship. Oh god, unless Jean and Scott need a third... And then you rule out some less likely contenders. It's probably not Charles... right?

Now you analyze the most likely suitors. Did all those times Ororo put a hand on the small of your back mean something? Was there an alterior motive when Kurt asked you to join him on his yoga sessions? You stand there driving yourself crazy with these thoughts until the morning bell chimes, signaling students to start rolling in to class.

To say you were flustered would be an understatement. The warmth in your chest persisted throughout your lessons. You couldn't tell whether to be flattered or embarassed.

The past couple of years you had shifted your focus away from romance, dedicating your life to help build a community for your fellow mutants. February had become just another month. Being the object of a secret affection was not something you were prepared for.

It was all you could think about, and you couldn't look any of your colleagues in the face while not knowing who left those flowers. After you dismiss your students for lunch, you cook up a scheme to get to the bottom of this. Your plan of action was to visit each class in the hall, peeking at the chalkboards and comparing the handwriting to the one on your note.

You start with the room adjacent to your own. On the board, Ororo had written out an introduction on the ecology unit she had just begun with her students. Unfortunately the letters were too small and close together. Decoratave loops gave her writing a regal effect- beautiful, just like her. Unfortunately, not a match.

One door over brought you to Kurt's drama class. His scribe was much more loose and relaxed than the mystery candidate or Storm's. Something about his handwriting was quite adorable. You find yourself getting sucked in reading pointers he left on Shakespearean tragedies before moving on.

You encounter an issue with your strategy when you find Logan's classroom still occupied by its professor. He sat as his desk doting over a stack of essays on the revolutionary war. To make matters even worse, his chalkboard was blank- freshly wiped down and ready to teach the next group of students.

So caught up in thought, you couldn't have realized you were awkwardly standing in his doorway for quite some time. A rough, easy voice spoke out to you and snapped you out of it.

"Can I help you?" Logan locked eyes with you.

"Oh, I uhh..." You wrung your hands as you made up an excuse, "I was wondering if... you had any spare clipboards? I can't seem to locate mine."

"Clipboards?" He scoffed, but his tone was softer than what was usual for him. You felt a wave of embarrassment crash over you. "Yeah, think I got one in one these drawers."

Logan turned to his desk and started digging for your requested item. He rummaged through piles of probably-dead pens and junk he never uses. You slowly step forward until you stand right behind him.

You leaned in closer, trying to peek over his shoulder discreetly. Close enough to smell the stale tobacco that clung to his jacket. Underneath you picked up the scent of the woodsy cologne he always wore. He never sprayed too much, using just enough where you could only sense it in intimate proximity.

You shift your weight to one foot to keep your balance as you lean forward. Suddenly, the bottom of your shoe loses traction with the floor beneath and you slide into his desk. You catch yourself on the surface of the wood with your arm.

Logan jolts as your hand slams in front on him. "What's the hold up, bub?" You picked up the annoyance in his voice and immediately wanted to dig a hole to bury yourself in.

"Oh, I was just trying to see if..." Fuck. The last thing you wanted to do was embarass yourself further. "Nevermind, it's nothing."

He takes your wrist within his grasp, touch much more gentle than you anticipated. "Are ya going to tell me why the hell you're acting so weird?"

You were now within his hold facing him, closer than you think you've ever been to Logan. Your hands crane as your not quite sure where to put them. He lets your wrist go to hold onto your arm.

"It's nothing..." your eyes dart trying to avoid his gaze. "It's... nevermind."

"Can't be nothin' if it's got ya actin' so jumpy." His breath is fanning the strands of hair dangling over your face.

"Well, someone left me flowers on my desk this morning." He nods in response. "And I was trying to figure out who they were from by the writing on the note." He nods again, like a light bulb went off over his head.

"Ah," Logan tsks. He steps forward and your hands in front of you naturally fall on his chest. "Didja like 'em, sweet girl?"

Your breath caught in your throat as he brings his free hand to lift your chin to meet his gaze. His pupils were so dark and wide you could fall into them, but his expression was relaxed.

Logan was now the center of gravity and you were falling into him. Soft, thin lips and rough stubble had you in his orbit. Your mouth goes slack and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hand on your chin traveling to cup your cheek. You never had a kiss that took your breath away quite like this. By the time he pulls back to look at you, you are already desperate for more.

"Figured ya would."

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter |

💖 Dad!Price x Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader

PART FIVE: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2,908words

TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

Previous parts > [Series Masterlist]

🔈Reader’s view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

The whirring heater on John's desk blew a cloud of dust in his face as he flicked it on. He didn't know when it had last been used, the halogen bulb glowing orange, blinding him. The small cubicle office they'd assigned him looked like it hadn't been touched in over a decade. Thankfully it had been dusted, a little musty, nothing a cracked window couldn't solve.

The autumn weather dropped considerably the past week and John still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that you didn't have a proper coat. His fleece lined and cord jacket weighing you down, but you wore it with no complaints. He tried to search your bag, but you interrupted him before he could figure out what size in clothes you were. Every one needed a thick coat for the autumn, winter. A staple in the wardrobe, something to pull out every year.

Now that he thought about it, you didn't complain about much. Definitely nothing like your mother, she enjoyed picking fights with him over anything and everything. Not that he'd compare you much, you're your own person. You’re an adult now and he’s starting to feel like he isn't needed, but that’s when parents are needed most, right?

Doesn’t matter how old you are, he wants to help.

A knock sounded on the other side of the door, the person however didn't wait for a response to enter. Kyle walked in, dropping to the seat opposite the captain. He winced, shifting in the hard plastic chair trying to get comfy.

"Little early for our meeting later," John grumbled, gaze flitting to the clock on his computer screen. He picked up the chipped mug and sipped the warm coffee.

"Well, Toff passed Si on her way in and gave him a bag of interview clothes. He's been roped into being a fashion advisor," Kyle chuckled, finger prodding Price's name plate back into the centre of the desk.

John eyed the clock again, two hours till your interview and five till the meeting with Laswell. “And you left him?” John’s brow raised, smile tugging his lips.

That John had to see, he logged out of the computer and rose from his seat, tugging the fleece draped over the armrest. He’d woke a few hours earlier to clear some of his work and have the hour to take you to your interview. You were going to take the bus, which took a lot of convincing for you to give in and let him drive you. There was no way he'd leave you waiting around.

“Maybe you should ask him for some pointers too,” Kyle said, dodging the stress ball flying at his head. "Still at the res' house before Laswell's?" He called over his shoulder, chair tipping onto its back legs as he tried to catch John's gaze.

"Yep, don't be late," John snapped, pushing the back of Kyle's head and setting the chair back on the floor with him. "You boys got everything."

"All set Cap."

Nodding, John shrugged on his fleece and readjusted the knitted fisherman's hat under his hood. The rain lashing against the windows didn't deter him as he pushed the emergency doors open. A group of sergeants acknowledged him, but he didn't stop to chat like he usually would. He flashed his military pass at the gate, squeezing through the gap instead of waiting for it to slide open and allow him entry.

The cluster of houses all the same, red brick exterior and dark wood doors. Thick blocked pavement slippery under his boots, he rushed down the pathway and unlocked the front door. Your voice echoed through to the porch, soft and light as you asked questions.

John inched round the corner, hanging back to take in the moment. You were holding up two belts in your hands and asking Simon which one would be better. Simon's head tilted up at the ceiling, his arm hung off the back of the sofa. You might as well have been talking to the void. He was surprised Simon was still there.

"Never mind, the black is the probably the safest. You're not very good at this," you muttered to yourself, too focused on pulling the belt through the loops of your suit trousers. "I should tuck my shirt in, right?" You glanced to Simon, shaking your head as you realised he wouldn't give you any input.

"Tucked in, Kiddo," John said, sitting on the edge of the arm of the sofa. The bag of clothes that Toff had given you were more than enough, four different suit bags filled with matching pieces. You'd chosen the simplest one, navy straight leg trousers and a crisp blue shirt. A blue pin striped blazer slung on the coffee table. He'd have to thank Toff later.

Simon muttered a thank fuck under his breath, his gaze sliding to John's. He stood from the sofa, walking to the kitchen and flicking the kettle on.

John turned back to you. You buttoned up the blazer, only to undo it and throw a satchel over your shoulder. Something Toff said you could keep, the worn leather had seen her through university and she hoped it'd hold out for you too.

"Ready," you said, standing in front him. You glanced at the watch on your wrist, "takes like, twelve minutes to drive there."

The loafers on your feet are shiny, Prada badge telling him that those too were borrowed from Toff. Maybe he'd be able to take you shopping for a few bits, if and when you got the job. Or just give you his credit card and you order it all.

"Thanks Simon," you said as you passed him on the way out, he raised his cup of tea to you and retreated to his bedroom.

John couldn't get over how grown up you looked, he kept glancing at you and you raised a brow at him, as if you thought he was judging your attire. "Come on, let's get a move on," he said, unlocking the trucks door and opening it for you.

You shifted in your seat, smoothing out the creases in your trousers and pulled the seatbelt, clipping it at your side. The satchel on your shoulder rested on your lap, fingers playing with the buckles on the front.

The truck started on the third turn of the key, the colder weather making the engine stutter, but it always started. Your grip on your bag loosened and your eyes flitted to each road sign and street John drove by.

The passenger window rolled down, glass panel screeching as you turned your face towards the rush of wind entering the truck. Your leg bounced up and down, lips moving silently as if you’re practicing a script for the interview.

“You’ll be alright kiddo. A firm handshake and clear speech, all you need.”

Exhaling, you draped your arm out of the open window. "Can we not," You mumbled, hand pushing against the cool breeze. "I don't wanna talk."

He didn't take it to heart, you were always a quiet kid. John would have to sit in silence till you were ready to speak. A little hand holding onto his pointer finger, head leant against his arm as if you didn't want him to leave again. Each time he came back from an op, it was like you knew he needed grounding and the weight of your touch reminded him that he was a father. Sometimes you'd sit beside the couch by his boots and watch tv with him until you warmed up to him again and climbed into his lap.

Never allowed in their bed because of his nightmares, no you self soothed probably as you never knocked on your parents door. The only time you sobbed into his chest was when he had to return to work, his sleeve twisted in your grasp as he tried to climb into his truck. He tried not look in the mirror as he drove away, didn't want to see you still watching him disappear for who knows how long.

Your mother used to make him stay at the base till his wounds had healed, blaming him for scaring you the one time he came home battered and bruised. John hadn't shown up like that ever since, afraid to cause you any harm.

In some ways he can still see that little girl. Hesitant to reach out, as if you're trying to figure out the kind of man he is now. John doesn't blame you for it, not after he picked you up that night. Not after he found out the type of guy you'd been living with. The thought alone is enough to anger him, but he shoves it down. That's the last thing you need, rage and violence.

John parked in the nearest space, cutting the engine and flinging his seatbelt off. "Good luck, Kiddo."

Forty, fucking minutes you were in the building. You jabbed the down button and waited for the lift. The thumping in your head chipped away, eyes squinting as the metal doors opened and your vision flooded with the harsh florescent lights of the lift. You'd spent the last fifteen minutes staring at a computer screen and filling out test spreadsheets and doing bloody maths.

The lady that interviewed you looked like military. Her hair scraped back so tight it gave her facelift, the pant suit she wore tailored to the curves of her body and clung to the defined muscles of her biceps and calves. You found yourself calling her Ma'am, sitting up straight in your seat and looking her in the eye.

You stared out at the carpark, hoping that you'd be using it soon. The wound on your back burnt, your hand patting the area as you tried to stop the itching sensation rubbing against the scab. You shrugged off the pin stripe blazer and draped it over your arm, the cool cotton shirt light against your shoulder blades. The less weight on you the better.

The mirror beside you highlighted every flaw, the yellow lighting drew out the scar above your brow. Deep rims under your eyes as if they'd been carved there and would never go away. You pressed your finger to the spot, nose scrunching up at your reflection. You tried not to look too long, never were one to look in the mirror.

Another reminder of everything. Another mark to remind you.

Stepping out of the lift you're met with the same receptionist, her head nodding and smile pulling her lips. You handed over your guest I.D and signed your name out, waiting for the security guard to buzz you out.

The cold hits you, but you don't bother slipping on your blazer. The drop of temperature soothing your aching body. You preferred the cold, always easier to make yourself warmer. Walking around the side of the building, you had to do a double take. Your dad's brown truck still parked at the side of the road.

You slowly walked to the truck, the captain too engrossed in the newspaper spread across the steering wheel. A take away coffee cup in one hand and a croissant in the other. As you crept closer you could see the flakey crumbs in his moustache, the sports radio a dull hum of presenters talking about some football league. His window rolled half down, he probably smoked whilst he was waiting for you.

"You're still here," You blurted out, "I mean don't you have work or something to do?"

The Captain didn't even flinch, he folded the newspaper and stuffed the half eaten croissant back into the paper bag, dropping it into the centre console. He leant over to unlock the passenger door, pushing it open as you rounded the truck.

"Don't you worry about that, Kiddo," he said, waving his hand in the air and sipping his coffee quickly before placing it back in the cupholder. "Coffee and a pastry there for ya." He dabbed his face with the scratchy tissue, crumbs falling into the newspaper which he tucked into the side of the door.

The interior reeked of tobacco, another pine tree air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. As if that would make a difference when the Captain smoked like a chimney. There's still an underlying smell of old spice, the same old aftershave that you used to mix in the sink when he was still living with you and your mum.

"Uh, thanks." You're still getting used to the small stuff, the little things your dad gives you without you even asking. You pick up the paper cup and lift the lid, a sweet aroma escaping with it.

The car stuttered to a start, indicator ticking away. The Captain glanced to you, "caramel, you still like that?" He says it like you change your mind weekly, but who are you to turn down a free coffee? Or whatever pastry he's just dumped into your lap.

You don't even know the last time someone had bought you something. It's been ages since you've had the money to buy yourself a coffee let alone be given one.

"Yeah, I still like caramel." Of course you do, he used to bring you caramel chocolates every time he visited when you were a kid, the only reason you liked it so much. It's not till now that you realise it.

The car ride back to base is silent, thankfully the Captain's figured out you aren't one for small talk. Nothing but the football stats blaring through the speakers, the tick of the indicator with each turn. You can't wait to change out of the formal clothes and hide out in your dad's room until the house is empty whilst they're at their meeting.

The Captain swore under his breath as his sacred team's dropped down the league table, finger switching the radio to some classic rock station. You bit your lip trying to muffle the laughter, but his gaze swept to yours, hand squeezing your knee. Another thing he used to do to you as a kid, a yelp leaving your lips. You rubbed the spot, swatting his hand away as he tried to go for another.

You don't wait for the truck to roll to a stop, flinging the door open and slamming it behind you. The Captain calling after you, muffled voice telling you not to slam the bloody door. You're not too bothered though, the safety of the front door in your reach, but it's snatched away as you set foot in the porch.

The guys are all huddled in the kitchen, Simon stirring something in the pot over the cooker. Kyle setting the table and Johnny's leaning against the counter tasting what ever's on the spoon. So much for eating in the canteen.

A hand landed on your shoulder, "Why don't you get changed and we'll have some dinner. The boys made stew," the Captain said, giving you a light push towards his room.

You nod, not quite sure why they're all having dinner so early, but you don't question it. Their laughter and voices echoed down the hallway, Simon asking Johnny to speak English another round of laughter erupting. You shred the suit and chuck on some comfy clothes, slipping back out.

Just like everything else, they move in sync with each other. Like a family would, well that's what you've seen in movies. You sink into the chair beside the Captain, staring at the placemat and cutlery set in front of you. Everything mismatched, the weight of the knife and fork different.

The guys took their seats at the table, Kyle stood over the casserole dish in the middle with a ladle in hand. "Anything you don't like?" Kyle said, ladle paused above your bowl before he adds all of the food to it.

You shook your head, "I'm not fussy." It was food at the end of the day, you weren't going to turn down a warm home cooked meal. Soft beef, carrots, potato and dumplings swimming around the casserole dish. Kyle served up three spoonfuls and placed your bowl in front of you.

Apparently Kyle's the designated person when it comes to dishing up equal proportions, but he gave you extra according to Johnny. Another reason they go to the canteen on base, so they can help themselves to food and not worry about sharing. That and the convenience of going whenever they've got the time.

"So how'd it go?" Johnny asked between bites, he sucked in a breath trying to counter the heat of the food in his mouth. His spoon already digging for the next load.

"I think it went well, won't hear back for a couple days," you replied, pushing the dumplings around in the stew.

Simon's elbow knocked into your arm, your spoon clanging back into your stew. You're squeezed between him and your dad, both of them invading your space. He doesn't say anything, just dropped a dumpling into your bowl instead of an apology. pointing his fork as if to tell you eat up.

“I’m sure you’ll get it,” Johnny said, scraping the last bits of his food off his bowl. “How about you help me clean this up?”

You nodded piling up all the stuff the on the table and dumping it in the sink. Maybe staying here wasn’t so bad after all.

✨ Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @reiluvr @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie @elegancefr

(Some of the tags wouldn't work so sorry if I didn't tag you. If you would like to be added just let me know)

[moongirlcleo]

A Thorough Appointment

Tags: Jealousy, Childhood Friends, MMF Threesome, Counter Sex, Kitchen Sex, Oral, Caleb and Zayne get Competitive, Poly-ish, MC is a little Shit, Porn with Plot, Double Penetration AN: Check out all of my works on AO3! -> | link

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo

After a long day of hunting—and a doctor’s appointment you were definitely late to—you barely have time to kick off your boots before walking straight into a storm: Caleb’s jealousy. One rescheduled date, one harmless visit to Dr. Zayne, and suddenly, you’re the grand prize in a competition you didn’t even sign up for.

What starts as a little petty jealousy spirals into a full-blown rivalry, and before you know it, they’re both set on proving exactly who knows how to take care of you best. Spoiler alert: they’re both very, very competitive.

“Your appointment was scheduled for 2:30 today, were you aware of that?” The receptionist at the desk of Akso Hospital said, barely looking up from the computer screen. Her plaited hair curled around her face from under the bonnet on top of her head, giving her a worn but stern look.

With a wince, you nodded.

“Er, yeah… I apologize, but I was working and I had an assignment run late.” You wrung your hands in embarrassment, hoping the receptionist would understand. After all, being a Deepspace Hunter wasn’t exactly your typical nine to five.

The receptionist gave you a withering look, causing the apples of your cheeks to burn with heat. She typed something onto her document and nodded toward a small cluster of chairs.

“You can wait over there. The practitioner will call your name when they’re ready for you.”

With a small sigh, you retreated toward the waiting ward, mulling over the previous assignment that had held your schedule up.

Wanderers had been attacking areas of Linkon City in droves lately, keeping all hunters busier than usual. So much so, that you had barely even seen your own partner, Xavier, in weeks. The sheer amount of protocores being turned into the association backlogged the systems, making paperwork become an even bigger nightmare too.

“Ms. L/n?”

Looking up from your hands, you saw a practitioner holding a chart, looking toward you. With a short nod, you stood up and followed the young man as he rattled off a grocery list of questions.

Mumbling a reply, you continued to follow him into Dr. Zayne’s examination room. It smelled of sterilized equipment and a fragrance you couldn’t quite place.

The NP guided you toward the examination bed, to which you hoisted yourself on top of. You silently watched as the practitioner took all of your vitals, quietly charting them down for the doctor to assess.

“Alright, Ms. L/n, Dr. Zayne will be along shortly. When you have a moment, please change out of your clothes into this examination robe.” The NP handed you a flimsy paper gown, and with a smile, he retreated from the room.

Once the door clicked shut, you began to strip down into bareness, hastily tying the rope around your waist to securely tie the gown down.

Settled, you sat on the bed once more and began flipping through your phone apps to entertain yourself while awaiting the doctor. It seemed like only yesterday that you and Zayne were snot-nosed kids, always hanging out together. With a smile, you remembered one such instance where you and Zayne played hide and seek with Caleb, the latter growing upset at being unable to find you until way later. The memory of your youth was enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Y/n?” A voice came from behind the door. “May I enter?”

“Y-yes!” you called back. “I’m decent.”

The door opened and Dr. Zayne appeared, looking handsome as ever. He gave you a serene smile and picked up the chart on the counter.

“So,” he began, flipping through the papers. “Looks like you’ve been overexerting yourself again, haven’t you?”

With a sheepish grin, you nodded. “Well, yeah… I mean I’m fine, though, Zayne. Really.”

The doctor gives you a stern look, jaw set. “Y/n, I mean it. You know you’re not supposed to push yourself, else your heart co—”

“I know, Zayne,” you snapped at him. “But I can’t let that stop me from doing my job and protecting the people around Linkon.”

Zayne’s eyes softened as he looked over you. “I know you want to save people. But you can’t do that if you’re dead. I mean it, please try not to overexert yourself.”

Zayne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he set your chart aside. “You always do this, n/n” he muttered, voice softening, though the frustration remained, laced with something unspoken. Something you didn’t want to name.

You blinked, thrown off for just a second. It had been years since he called you a nickname—since the days when scraped knees and childhood dares were your biggest worries. You shifted on the exam bed, folding your arms over your chest like a shield. “And you always worry too much,” you muttered.

Zayne exhaled, shaking his head. “Someone has to.”

A silence stretched between you, thick with familiarity, with the weight of history neither of you addressed. His gaze flickered over you, assessing, as if he could see past the mask of easy confidence you wore. For a moment, you thought he might say something more, something that would break the careful distance you’d kept.

But then his communicator beeped, the sterile air of the examination room shifting back to reality. You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, taking the opportunity to hop off the table, your movements brisk, determined.

"Promise me you’ll at least consider taking a break," he said, quieter this time.

You hesitated, fingers ghosting over the knot of the paper gown before you forced a grin. "No promises, doc."

Zayne watched you go, jaw set, the worry never leaving his eyes.

The afternoon air was crisp as you stepped out of Akso Hospital, the scent of antiseptic replaced by the damp, metallic tang of the city. Sunlight glared off the polished streets, casting long shadows as you made your way to your vehicle—a sleek black hoverbike stationed in the parking dock. You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling as you swung one leg over the seat and keyed in the ignition.

The quiet hum of the engine filled the silence, but your mind wasn’t so easily drowned out.

Zayne’s voice still lingered, edged with concern, the ghost of his words brushing against your thoughts like a whisper from another time. You knew he meant well, that he had every reason to be worried, but slowing down wasn’t an option. Not when the city was crawling with Wanderers. Not when Xavier had been out in the field for weeks without so much as a check-in.

Not when you were already late.

Your eyes flicked to the clock on the dashboard—an angry red 3:37 PM blinking back at you.

“Shit.”

You revved the bike, the thrusters lifting you effortlessly above the streets of Linkon City. Buildings blurred past in streaks of neon and chrome, the hum of traffic and distant sirens becoming nothing more than background noise. Caleb was waiting. He hated when you were late—though he’d never say it outright, not in so many words. But you knew. You always knew.

He worried, too, though in his own quiet way.

Your grip on the handles tightened as you wove through the lanes of air traffic, mind cycling through a dozen excuses. The job ran late. Zayne held you up. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but something about the thought of Caleb’s knowing stare made your stomach twist with guilt.

You’d make it up to him.

You cut a sharp turn, your apartment complex coming into view, its glass windows reflecting the golden afternoon light. Your fingers tapped absently against the throttle, your heart still hammering from the weight of the day.

Late. Again.

Would Caleb still be waiting? Or had you let another person down today?

You barely had time to kill the engine before the apartment door swung open. Caleb stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unreadable beneath the warm afternoon glow filtering in from the window behind him.

You could tell immediately—he knew.

“You’re late,” he said, voice deceptively even.

You sighed, tugging your helmet off and running a hand through your wind-blown hair. “I know. I—”

“Had an ‘assignment run late’? Or did Zayne hold you up?”

The way he said the name—clipped, pointed—sent a prickle of irritation down your spine. You unzipped your jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch as you stepped inside, leveling him with a tired look. “Caleb.”

“What?” He pushed off the doorframe, shutting it behind you with a quiet click. “Just curious how long I was supposed to wait before you finally decided to show up.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was a doctor’s appointment. Not a date.”

His jaw tightened. “Didn’t look that way from what I heard.”

Your breath hitched for half a second. He had heard something.

“Who told you?” you asked, wary.

Caleb scoffed. “Does it matter?”

Yes, it did. But that wasn’t the fight you were having right now.

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Caleb, I didn’t plan on seeing him today. I had to go, I got chewed out, end of story.”

He took a slow step closer, eyes flicking over you, searching. “Chewed out?” His voice lowered, tone almost taunting. “So he was worried about you.”

Your lips pressed into a firm line. “That’s his job.”

Caleb let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Right. His job. Funny, because last I checked, I’m the one who actually has to patch you up when you push yourself too hard.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make this a competition.”

His gaze darkened, something possessive flickering behind his eyes. “I don’t have to make it one.”

Silence stretched between you, thick, charged. You should be annoyed. You were annoyed. But the heat in his stare, the sharp edge in his voice, sent something else curling in your chest.

Still, you wouldn’t let him get away with it.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head, voice deceptively light. “For someone who isn’t making this a competition, you sure seem jealous.”

Caleb’s jaw tensed, but you didn’t miss the flicker of something else—something unguarded—before he masked it behind a smirk.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered, stepping back.

You arched a brow. “Uh-huh.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Forget it. You’re here now. Just… try not to keep me waiting next time.”

You studied him for a beat longer, then let out a quiet chuckle. “Alright, alright. I’ll make it up to you.”

Caleb glanced at you from the corner of his eye, skepticism still lingering in his expression. “Yeah? How?”

You grinned, tossing your helmet onto the couch. “I’ll figure something out.”

The tension didn’t fully dissipate, but for now, it was enough.

Caleb didn’t move right away. Instead, he watched you with that sharp, unreadable gaze, the smirk from earlier fading into something heavier. Something darker.

You barely had time to process it before he took a step forward—then another—until the space between you had all but disappeared.

“Caleb…” you started, voice caught somewhere between exasperation and warning.

But he wasn’t listening. His fingers brushed against your waist, slow, deliberate, tracing the fabric of your shirt as if mapping the shape of you.

“You think this is funny?” His voice had dropped lower, smoother, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in—so close, you could feel the heat radiating from him.

You swallowed, but you refused to be the one to step back. “I think you’re being ridiculous.”

His lips quirked at that, but his eyes remained intense, smoldering. “Ridiculous, huh?”

His fingers flexed against your waist, grip tightening just enough to make your pulse spike. He wasn’t just annoyed anymore—he wanted to prove something. To remind you who you belonged to.

“Caleb,” you murmured, pulse thrumming under the skin of your throat.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice was pure velvet, thick with unspoken intent. “If I kissed you right now, would you still think I was being ridiculous?”

Your breath hitched.

He was playing dirty.

Your pride screamed at you to keep the upper hand, to smirk and brush him off like this wasn’t affecting you. But your body betrayed you, heart hammering against your ribs, a traitorous warmth pooling in your stomach at the way he was looking at you—like you were his.

And damn it, maybe you were.

Before you could form a retort, he tilted his head, nose grazing yours, the faintest ghost of a touch against your lips—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound shattered the moment like glass.

Caleb went still, his body tense with frustration, his jaw ticking like he was barely holding back a curse. You blinked, mind still fogged over as you registered the sound.

Another knock.

Caleb exhaled sharply, his hands leaving your body with obvious reluctance. His head fell forward slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he muttered a single word, voice dark with irritation—

“Unbelievable.”

You, still caught between flustered and amused, barely had time to compose yourself before—

“Y/n?”

That voice.

Your stomach dropped.

Caleb’s entire body stiffened, his grip tightening into fists at his sides.

Zayne.

You pulled away, clearing your throat as you straightened your clothes, ignoring the heated look Caleb shot toward the door.

“Uh—one second!” you called, hoping your voice sounded normal.

Caleb let out a low growl, raking a hand through his hair before turning toward the door, murder in his eyes. “Of course it’s him.”

You shot him a warning look, but he only leaned against the couch, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips. “Go ahead, pipsqueak. Let Doctor Perfect in.”

Oh, he was so not letting this go.

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you unlocked the door—only to be met with Zayne’s calm, knowing gaze.

And just like that, the tension in the room shifted again.

You barely had time to school your expression before Zayne’s eyes flickered over you, sharp and assessing. He was calm—too calm—the kind of composed that sent a prickle of unease down your spine.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”

Zayne’s gaze lingered on you a beat too long before he lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t answer my messages.”

You blinked, stomach twisting as you glanced at your phone—still sitting on the couch, untouched. Damn it.

Before you could respond, a slow, almost too satisfied voice cut in from behind you.

“She was a little… busy.”

You closed your eyes briefly, bracing yourself before turning.

Caleb leaned against the back of the couch, arms still crossed, a smirk playing at his lips—relaxed, easy, deliberate. Like he wanted Zayne to see.

Zayne’s posture didn’t shift, but you caught the flicker of tension in his jaw.

“I see,” he said smoothly, though there was something clipped underneath his tone. His gaze moved between the two of you, his lips pressing into a firm line before he turned his attention back to you. “I needed to check in. You left the hospital in a hurry.”

“She’s fine,” Caleb interjected before you could answer, pushing off the couch and strolling toward you. He stopped just close enough that Zayne had to either stand his ground or step back.

Zayne didn’t move.

You sighed, muttering, “I was going to say that myself,” throwing Caleb a look.

Caleb just gave you an innocent shrug. “Just savin’ you the trouble.”

Zayne’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Right.” He turned his full attention back to you, clearly choosing to ignore Caleb’s presence. “You should be fine, but I meant it when I said you need to ease up. If you keep pushing yourself—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Caleb cut in again, voice lazy, but his eyes gleamed with something sharp. “I make sure she gets plenty of rest.”

Zayne’s jaw did tick this time, and you swore you felt the air in the room drop a degree.

Okay, enough.

You stepped between them, pressing a hand against Caleb’s chest to physically keep him from leaning any closer. “Okay, that’s enough out of you,” you muttered before looking at Zayne. “And I’m fine, I promise.”

Zayne’s gaze flickered down to your hand against Caleb’s chest before meeting your eyes again. “You said that last time.”

You huffed. “I mean it.”

Zayne studied you for a long moment before exhaling, rubbing a hand down his face. “Fine.” But the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

Caleb, sensing victory, let his smirk widen. “See? She means it, Doc. You can go now.”

Zayne’s eyes snapped toward him, sharp as a blade, but instead of biting back, he exhaled and turned to you. “I’ll check in later.”

The moment he stepped back toward the door, Caleb slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just close enough that Zayne had to notice.

“Looking forward to it,” Caleb said, his tone all mockery and satisfaction.

Zayne’s eyes met yours one last time, and for a split second, you thought you saw something—something that wasn’t anger, wasn’t frustration, but something deeper.

He didn’t leave.

His fingers twitched at his side, his jaw set like he was debating something internally, but his feet stayed firmly planted. He wasn’t going to give Caleb the satisfaction of walking out first.

You felt the shift immediately. The charged air between them thickened, tension rolling through the room like an oncoming storm.

Caleb, always one to push, leaned further into your space, his arm still draped lazily around your shoulders. “Something wrong, Doctor?” he drawled, voice rich with amusement.

Zayne exhaled through his nose, but there was something measured in his expression, something controlled. “I just want to make sure she is actually taking care of herself,” he said, tone neutral. “Not being… distracted.”

Caleb let out a low chuckle, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I make sure she’s taken care of. Every. Single. Day.” His fingers brushed against your arm as he spoke, slow and deliberate, just enough to make a point.

Zayne’s eyes darkened.

You let out an exasperated sigh, stepping forward to put some space between them before they started circling each other like predators. “Okay, that’s enough of whatever this is,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

“This?” Caleb grinned. “Come on, pipsqueak, don’t act like you don’t enjoy a little attention.”

Zayne scoffed. “She doesn’t need this kind of attention. She needs rest.”

“Yeah?” Caleb mused, tilting his head. “And I bet you’d love to be the one to give it to her, wouldn’t you?”

Zayne’s jaw flexed.

You, caught between them, felt like you were standing at the edge of something dangerous—something thrilling. Caleb had always been possessive, but Zayne? Zayne was different. He was steady, rational, someone who thought things through.

But not right now.

Right now, he was pushing back.

Zayne took a step closer, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I care about her well-being.” His eyes locked onto Caleb’s. “That’s more than I can say for you.”

Caleb’s smirk widened, but his grip on your waist tightened. “That so?” His gaze flicked to you, hooded, deliberate. “What do you think, baby?”

Your breath caught.

You were so not getting in the middle of this.

Or maybe… you already were.

Zayne watched you carefully, the weight of his stare almost suffocating. Caleb’s fingers traced lazy circles against your hip, his expression smug, knowing.

Heat curled low in your stomach.

Damn them both.

You could play coy, pretend this was nothing more than a pissing contest. Or you could really test them.

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “I think…” you dragged out, shifting slightly so Caleb’s grip adjusted and Zayne’s focus sharpened, “...this is pointless.”

Caleb chuckled. “Come on, pipsqueak. You love when we fight over you.”

Zayne exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not fighting over her.”

Caleb’s brows shot up. “No? Could’ve fooled me.”

You huffed, but your lips twitched. “I think I need a drink.”

Before either of them could argue, you slipped out from Caleb’s hold, brushing past Zayne on your way to the kitchen. You felt both of them watch you go, their attention a tangible weight pressing into your back.

This was dangerous.

This was reckless.

And yet, as you poured yourself a glass of wine with slightly unsteady fingers, you couldn't shake the realization:

You liked it.

You took a slow sip of your wine, savoring the quiet moment—if only to let the tension stretch a little further, tighten just enough before you snapped it.

Behind you, you could still feel their stares, the weight of them pressing into you like a tangible force. Caleb was undoubtedly grinning, waiting for you to react, waiting for you to play his game. And Zayne? Zayne was still convincing himself that he wasn’t in this game.

You smirked against the rim of your glass. That wouldn’t last long.

Turning on your heel, you leaned against the counter, tilting your head as you let your gaze flicker between them, slow, considering.

“So,” you said, swirling your glass between your fingers. “You two seem pretty convinced you know what’s best for me.”

Caleb arched a brow, crossing his arms. “That a problem, pipsqueak?”

Zayne’s expression remained unreadable, but his eyes sharpened. “We just don’t want you overworking yourself.”

You hummed. “Right. So which one of you actually plans to do something about it?”

That got their attention.

Caleb’s grin widened, a lazy, dangerous thing. “Oh, I like where this is going.”

Zayne, ever the rational one, exhaled. “Y/n.”

You shrugged, setting your glass down and stepping forward, close enough that they both had to take notice. “You both keep telling me you’re looking out for me, that I need to rest, that I should take care of myself.” You glanced up at Caleb, then at Zayne, letting the air between you all thrum with expectation. “So prove it.”

Caleb was already on board, eyes glinting with interest. He stepped in first, fingers brushing the inside of your wrist as he smirked down at you. “You know I don’t back down from a challenge, pipsqueak.”

You met his gaze, pulse ticking faster as you turned to Zayne, who was watching the exchange with something unreadable in his expression—something deep, something restrained.

You smiled, slow and knowing. “And you, Zayne?”

For a second, he didn’t move. But then—deliberately, purposefully—he reached out, trailing his fingers down your other arm, his touch featherlight but deliberate. “If you want me to prove something,” he murmured, voice low, “then I will.”

Your breath caught.

Oh.

This was happening.

Caleb chuckled, dark amusement rolling off him as he leaned in closer, the heat of his body radiating against yours. “Guess the real question is…” His fingers ghosted over your waist, teasing. “Who makes you feel better, pipsqueak?”

Zayne’s hand flexed subtly against your arm, his touch grounding, steady, intentional. “Tell us what you need.”

A slow, sharp thrill curled down your spine.

This wasn’t just them competing.

This was them laying it at your feet.

And you were going to take it.

Your smirk deepened as you glanced between them, heat curling through your veins. Oh, this was going to be fun.

You let out a slow breath, drawing out the tension as you trailed your fingers up Caleb’s chest, then turned and let your other hand slide along Zayne’s forearm. A test. A challenge.

“Well,” you mused, voice smooth as silk. “You both seem confident.” You tilted your head, gaze flickering with amusement. “But confidence doesn’t mean much without action, does it?”

Caleb’s grip tightened at your waist, his smirk widening. “Careful, pipsqueak. You know I love a dare.”

Zayne exhaled through his nose, steady but watching you, eyes hooded. “You shouldn’t play games you don’t want to win.”

You chuckled, slow and sweet. “Oh, but I do want to win.”

Caleb hummed low in his throat, his fingers grazing up your spine. “Then let’s play.”

And just like that, they did.

Caleb was the first to move—of course he was. He was reckless, fast, the one who always pushed boundaries first. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips just enough to make you suck in a breath, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “That little appointment stress you out, baby?”

You huffed, but before you could snap back, Zayne was already countering—his touch different, slower, methodical. His fingers traced up the back of your neck, barely there, teasing warmth spreading through you as he leaned in from the other side.

“You’re avoiding the question,” he said, voice dipping into something quieter, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “What do you need?”

Damn them both.

Your pulse thrummed as you swallowed, eyes flicking between them. They were the ones in competition, and yet here you were, caught in their little storm, heat rising in your cheeks, breath coming in shorter, sharper.

You had to regain control.

So you smirked and pulled back just slightly, dragging your hands down their arms as you stepped out of their space. Not a rejection—just a tease, a taunt.

“Honestly?” you mused, letting your fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, playful. “I’m still waiting for one of you to impress me with your little game.”

Caleb let out a low growl of approval, shaking his head. “Oh, you like pushing your luck, don’t you?”

Zayne, ever composed, rolled his shoulders back, gaze dark with something unreadable. “Careful,” he warned, though there was no real threat behind it. Only a promise.

You leaned against the counter, tilting your head. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Caleb moved first—again—grabbing your wrist and yanking you flush against him. Your breath caught, but you refused to falter, your hands landing against his shoulders as he smirked down at you.

“I don’t think you understand, pipsqueak,” he murmured, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “You are the game.”

Before you could bite back a response, Zayne was there—his presence grounding, solid, but no less demanding. His fingers curled beneath your chin, tilting your head slightly so you had no choice but to look at him.

“Then we’ll just have to see,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk, “who wins.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Oh, hell.

Before you could even think of responding, Caleb’s lips were on your neck, open-mouthed, hot, his fingers gripping your waist just enough to make you feel him, to know exactly how much he wanted this.

And then—Zayne’s fingers trailed up your throat, tilting your head further as his lips hovered just over yours, not kissing you, not yet, but so damn close you thought you might lose your mind.

“You wanted to be taken care of, didn’t you?” Zayne murmured against your lips, voice a phantom touch.

Caleb chuckled against your skin, biting down just enough to make you gasp.

And just like that— the last shred of control snapped like a live wire.

Caleb, always the one who acted before thinking, always the one who wanted to leave a mark. His teeth scraped against the soft skin of your neck before he soothed it with his tongue, his grip tightening on your waist as if daring you to pull away.

But you wouldn’t.

Not when Zayne was still there, fingers tilting your chin, controlling the angle of your head, his breath hot against your lips. “You wanted to play,” he murmured, his voice lower now, thick with something darker. “Are you ready for the consequences?”

You barely had time to suck in a breath before Zayne finally closed the distance, his lips slanting over yours, slow but claiming, the kind of kiss that swallowed you whole. Where Caleb was fire, Zayne was an ocean, pulling you under with the sheer weight of his control.

You barely registered Caleb’s growl of amusement before his hands slid beneath your thighs.

“Up, pipsqueak.”

Before you could argue, he lifted you, strong and easy, and you yelped as he set you on the counter, your legs instinctively parting as he stepped between them.

Zayne barely moved from his spot, standing beside you, watching the way Caleb’s hands slid over your thighs, the way you instinctively leaned into the touch. But when you turned to meet his gaze, something dangerous flickered in his eyes—something restrained, like he was holding himself back just enough to let Caleb get away with it.

For now.

“Jealous, doc?” Caleb teased, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, testing.

Zayne hummed, rolling his sleeves up, eyes never leaving yours. “Not at all.”

Then he leaned in, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear. “You know how patient I can be.”

You shivered.

Caleb chuckled darkly. “Yeah? Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Then his mouth was on you, lips searing as he kissed you like he wanted to burn himself into your skin. His hands roamed, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulled you closer, your body flush against his.

You moaned against his lips, but before you could lose yourself entirely, Zayne was there again—his fingers sliding up your arm, up your neck, threading through your hair as he pulled you away from Caleb and back into him.

His mouth met yours again, this time rougher, more demanding, as if he was reclaiming his space in this game.

Caleb let out a low, satisfied hum. “There’s that competitive side.”

You barely had time to process the heat in Zayne’s gaze before Caleb’s hands were sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips ghosting up your back, making you arch against him.

“I think,” Caleb murmured against your throat, “we should see just how much she can take.”

Zayne smirked against your lips. “Agreed.”

Caleb nudged you to the edge of the counter, fingers making quick work of your zipper. Beside you, Zayne watched, his expression carefully unreadable—but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his jaw clenched just slightly.

The glint in Caleb’s eye was unmistakable as he slowly peeled your pants down, his fingers dragging against your heated skin. A lazy grin spread across his lips as a flush crept up your cheeks.

“What a perfect spread you’ve got for me,” he murmured, licking his lips.

Zayne exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “If you’re just going to tease her, step aside so a real man can do the job.”

Caleb shot him a glare. “And what, you think that’s you? Come on, doc. Even as kids, you couldn’t take care of her like I could.”

Without another word, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down in one smooth motion. The way both men stared at you—hungry, reverent—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs.

Then, slow as a hunter stalking prey, Caleb sank to his knees, lips ghosting over your inner thigh before his tongue swiped a deliberate path over your heat. The precise movement made you exhale shakily, your eyes fluttering shut—until a warm hand caught your chin.

Zayne.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your soft whimpers as Caleb’s mouth worked between your legs, devouring you like a man starved.

You barely had time to register the way Caleb groaned against you, completely lost in the taste of you, before he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you. His lips glistened, his breath warm against your core.

“Pipsqueak, we’re moving this to the couch.”

Before you could respond, Zayne stepped in, effortlessly lifting you off the counter and turning you over in one fluid motion. Your stomach pressed against the cool surface, your ass high in the air, as he smoothed a hand down your spine.

“No, we’re not,” he murmured. “I’m taking her right here. Feel free to watch, Colonel.”

Caleb huffed a laugh, but there was an edge to it. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he eyed the doctor with barely contained irritation. “You always gotta be first, huh?”

Zayne ignored him, too focused on the way your body trembled in anticipation beneath him. His zipper slid down, the sound sharp in the quiet tension of the room.

Caleb scoffed at the sight of him stroking his thick length, precum already beading at the tip. “I’m bigger.”

Zayne didn’t dignify him with a response, instead lining himself up against your slick entrance. His breath was hot against your shoulder as he murmured, “Can I move?”

“Yes,” you whispered, then, remembering your audience, “But turn me to face Caleb.”

Caleb’s eyes darkened with interest as Zayne shifted you, allowing you to brace yourself against the counter while still facing the other man. The doctor’s first thrust was slow, deliberate, stretching you open inch by inch, pulling a broken moan from your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Zayne breathed, his voice shaking with restraint. “You feel incredible. Even better than I imagined.”

Caleb barked a laugh, stepping closer. “So you have fantasized about her, doc.” His fingers tucked under your chin, tilting your face up toward him. “Not gonna lie, pipsqueak, as much as I hate that he’s fucking you first, you look damn good split apart on a cock.”

Your breath hitched as Zayne’s pace quickened, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you. Your hands reached for Caleb’s waistband, already desperate to feel him too.

“I bet you wish it was you inside her right now, don’t you, Caleb?” Zayne grunted, hips snapping forward.

Caleb smirked, shoving his pants down and letting his thick length spring free. “Oh, I know I will be soon. Right, pipsqueak?”

Ignoring his words, you leaned forward, taking him into your mouth. The weight and heat of him sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, especially when he hissed at the flick of your tongue.

“Fuck,” Caleb panted, fingers threading through your hair. “I mean it, though. I need to fuck you too.”

Zayne groaned behind you, his thrusts growing erratic. “Then do it now, before I lose control.” His grip on your hips tightened. “I want to make her come before either of us do.”

Caleb glanced down at you, his eyes heavy-lidded, waiting for your answer. The air in the room was thick with tension, anticipation crackling between all three of you.

You swallowed around Caleb’s cock, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “Let’s make it work, then.”

Zayne paused, considering. “If you turn toward me, Caleb can—”

“No,” Caleb interrupted, voice firm. “You had your turn with her pussy. It’s my turn. You take her ass.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “How about we let her decide?”

Two sets of eyes turned to you, heated and waiting.

You licked your lips, then smirked. “I am feeling a little needy… and I do think I want to feel Caleb.”

Caleb’s smirk was pure satisfaction as he reached for you, cradling you against his chest. Zayne schooled his features into something unreadable, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes as he pulled out and let you step toward Caleb.

“Come here, Y/N,” Caleb murmured, guiding you toward the couch. Zayne followed, his gaze heavy on your back.

Caleb sank onto the cushions, signaling you to straddle him. “Here’s how we do this. You ride me, and doc takes you from behind. You remember your safe word, yeah?”

Your heart pounded, excitement thrumming through you as you nodded. “Got it.”

You sank down onto Caleb’s cock, the stretch making your head fall back as he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. 

 “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered.

Zayne, behind you, let out a slow breath. “She is.” His hands traced down your spine, soothing. “I’m going to put it in, alright? Let me know if it’s too much.”

You braced yourself as he pressed against your tight entrance, the sensation overwhelming in the best way.

“Should I stop?” Zayne asked, voice tight.

You shook your head, body thrumming with overstimulation. “No—just… keep going.”

Caleb kissed your throat, murmuring, “That’s my girl. You can take it, can’t you?”

Zayne gave a rare smirk. “Alright.” He pushed in fully, the stretch making both men groan at the tightness. Caleb’s grip on your hips tightened as he buried himself deeper.

“Holy fuck,” Caleb breathed.

Zayne exhaled sharply. “Agreed.”

The room filled with the slick, rhythmic sounds of their thrusts, the heat pooling low in your stomach. Your body trembled between them, caught in the perfect storm of their attention, their need.

“Guys,” you gasped, “I—I’m close.”

Both of them groaned, their own control unraveling.

“Can I come inside you?” Caleb rasped, his voice clipped. “Tell me I can, and I’ll fill you up.”

Zayne, voice low, added, “I won’t last much longer either.”

Your nails dug into Caleb’s shoulders. “I want you both to come inside me.”

That was all it took.

Zayne shuddered as he spilled into you, his grip almost bruising, his breath hot against your shoulder. Caleb wasn’t far behind, groaning into your skin as he pulsed inside you, their releases mixing within you.

The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, body clenching around them as your orgasm ripped through you.

All three of you collapsed in a tangled mess of limbs, panting, your skin humming with satisfaction.

You lay between them, your chest still rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths, your skin humming with the aftershocks of everything you’d just done. The air in the apartment was thick with heat, the kind that clung to your skin, leaving no room for pretense or denial.

Caleb was the first to break the silence, a lazy, satisfied chuckle rolling from deep in his throat as he draped an arm over his forehead. “Damn, pipsqueak,” he murmured, voice rough, spent, but still carrying that unmistakable smugness. “You really know how to keep a man on his toes.”

You exhaled a slow breath, a smirk curling at the edges of your lips. “I’d say the same for you.”

Zayne, ever composed, ran a hand through his tousled hair, the sharp control he always carried just barely slipping at the edges. He turned his head, gaze flickering over you, assessing, lingering. Then, without a word, he reached out, fingers brushing lightly down the curve of your waist—soft, reverent, a quiet claim. “Are you alright?”

You hummed, stretching slightly, feeling the delicious ache in your limbs. “More than alright.”

Caleb huffed a laugh, rolling onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as he trailed lazy fingers down your stomach, teasing. “So… who won?”

You bit your lip, flicking your gaze between the two of them—Caleb’s ever-present smirk, Zayne’s sharp, expectant stare. You let the silence stretch, relishing in their anticipation, in the way they both waited for your answer.

Then, you grinned. “Pipsqueak,” you echoed Caleb’s earlier words, sing-song voice dripping with amusement, “this was just round one.”

Caleb’s laughter rumbled through his chest as he tugged you closer, pressing a final kiss to your shoulder. “Cocky little thing.”

Zayne exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but there was something dangerous glinting in his eyes. He brushed his knuckles down your jaw, slow, intentional. “Next time,” he murmured, voice low with quiet promise, “I won’t be as patient.”

His words caused you to shiver. 

Oh. This was far from over.

[solxamber]

Could I request Neuvillette with a female partner who's a phoenix, pretty please?

She's a mysterious yet sweet beauty who manages to attract people with her allure and singing. Unfortunately, this means she gets a lot of admirers who forget (or ignore) that she's taken.

I just really want to see Neuvi get super protective when he sees her getting hit on.

Neuvillette x Phoenix! Reader

ooo my first genshin request! i hope this is what you wanted and you like it <3

The soft hum of your voice fills the courtroom halls, your song gentle and serene as it echoes against the polished stone walls of Fontaine's Palace of Justice. It’s the same song you often sing when you’re alone or with Neuvillette—your way of soothing yourself and perhaps, unintentionally, others as well. Fontaine’s citizens, so caught up in the spectacle of trials and legal proceedings, often find themselves stopping in their tracks just to listen to you sing. And while Neuvillette loves your voice, loves the way your presence seems to calm him in ways no one else can, it’s not without consequence.

Today, however, there’s something unsettling in the air. Neuvillette, seated at his desk, has long since put down his pen. His eyes are narrowed, focused on the group gathered just outside his chambers. They aren’t here for him, not today, at least. They’re here for you.

He’s noticed it before—the way people are drawn to you, your beauty and your voice casting a spell over them. The way you seem to unknowingly attract admirers, and how they often forget, or worse, ignore, that you are very much taken.

And now, here they are, hanging around the entrance like a cluster of buzzing bees, stealing glances at you as you sit at the fountain near the garden courtyard, singing softly to yourself. He can hear them murmuring, see them leaning a little too close, their eyes lingering a little too long.

Neuvillette feels a surge of something hot and possessive in his chest, something protective and territorial. He isn't prone to emotion—he’s the Chief Justice of Fontaine, after all, calm and unflappable. But when it comes to you? It’s different. You, his phoenix, his brilliant, mysterious lover with the voice of an angel and the allure of a goddess. He’s always had the sense that you’re something more than human, something ancient and powerful, yet still so sweet and kind.

He stands, his gaze hardening.

Without a word, he strides toward the courtyard, his steps silent yet purposeful. The admirers don’t even notice him at first, so caught up in their infatuation with you that they don’t see the storm approaching. But when Neuvillette steps into their line of sight, they freeze, their eyes widening in realization.

"Ah, my love," you greet him sweetly, completely oblivious to the tension in the air. You look up at him with a smile, your eyes glowing with warmth, and Neuvillette’s heart softens for a brief moment before his attention snaps back to the onlookers.

His cold, piercing gaze sweeps over them, and they immediately shrink under the weight of his presence. The quiet authority he carries is suffocating, an unspoken warning in every step as he moves to stand by your side.

"Is there something you need?" His voice is calm but layered with a dangerous undertone, one that sends shivers down the spines of the crowd. His normally tranquil eyes are now sharp, like ice, as they narrow at the gathering admirers.

One of them stammers, "We were just, uh, enjoying the music…"

"Enjoyment," Neuvillette begins, "does not excuse lingering where you do not belong."

The message is clear. You are his, and any further advances or lingering admiration would not be tolerated. The admirers scatter, making excuses and quickly leaving the courtyard, their faces pale and their hearts racing. They wouldn’t dare cross Neuvillette, not after the silent threat in his eyes.

You blink, slightly confused, but you aren’t upset. In fact, a soft smile curls at your lips as you reach out, brushing a hand across his arm to soothe the tension you feel radiating from him.

"Protective, aren’t we?" you tease, your voice gentle and teasing as your fingers intertwine with his. You always know how to calm him, how to pull him back from the storm raging inside.

Neuvillette’s gaze softens as he turns to you, his posture relaxing just a fraction. "I simply dislike… unnecessary distractions," he says smoothly, though you can see the faintest hint of something more in his eyes.

You chuckle softly, rising to your feet and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "You know I only have eyes for you."

He exhales, tension melting from his shoulders at your touch. His arm wraps protectively around your waist, pulling you just a little closer as if to remind himself—and everyone else—that you are his and his alone.

"I am aware," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing now that the threat has passed. But there’s still a possessive glint in his eye as he looks down at you, his fingers gently trailing over your arm. "But I’ll make sure they understand that as well."

You laugh softly, resting your head on his shoulder as you both begin to walk away from the courtyard, leaving the garden behind. "You don’t need to worry about them," you whisper, your voice filled with warmth. "You’re the only one I want."

Neuvillette’s heart swells at your words, and while he knows he shouldn’t be so affected by something as simple as admiration from others, he can’t help but feel the need to keep you close. He’s a man of logic, of reason, but when it comes to you, his emotions often cloud his judgment.

But perhaps that’s the nature of love. Even for a man like him, it’s something uncontrollable, something that makes him feel vulnerable in ways he never expected. And though he tries to remain composed, the truth is that you’ve shaken him to his core.

"I trust you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "But it’s my duty to protect what is mine."

And with that, the two of you walk together, your steps in sync, his arm still wrapped securely around your waist as you make your way back to the halls of the Palace. You, his phoenix, radiant and untouchable to anyone else but him.

Masterlist

[samoschier]

✧˖*°࿐ 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄

series masterlist

—𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎. now go stand in the corner (and think about what you did)

𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐚, 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐡

Trying to deal with the aftermath of your boyfriend cheating on you with your best friend is hard... But it becomes a little easier when the perfect opportunity for revenge suddenly presents itself.

You were done crying over Luke Hughes. Too many tears had been shed the night you broke up, and you refused to shed anymore— even when he was glued to the side of some girl you had never seen before, barely a month after your relationship ended.

It felt impossible to stop staring at the picture. Jack was the one that posted it, Luke wouldn’t dare, not when you still followed him. Or maybe he would, everything you thought you knew about the kind of person he was had been thrown out the window weeks ago.

Jack probably didn’t even realize that Luke was in the background, sitting next to some blonde girl with his arm thrown around her. She’s halfway into his lap and you hold back the urge to scoff.

“Okay, no.” Your phone is promptly snatched from your hand, and before you can react, your best friend has quickly turned it off and slid the phone into her pocket, just out of arm's reach. 

“Chelsea—” you sigh, exasperated.

“Absolutely not.” She stares you down with a look that’s eerily similar to that of a mother’s. “I will not allow you to stare at this picture and wallow in self pity while Luke Hughes is out there sticking his dick into anything that moves.”

“Don’t say his name.” You sink further into your bed, pulling up the hood of your too-big hoodie that had been stolen from your brother’s closet long ago. 

“I can’t believe you still follow him, and his brothers.” Chelsea shakes her head, speaking up again before you have a chance to defend yourself. “He’s lucky I haven’t strangled him already, especially after what he did.”

The reason behind your break up still lingers, and no matter how much you wish you could forget about it, you seem to be reminded of it at every corner. At least it was summer, and you wouldn't be subjected to seeing Luke Hughes every time you walked around campus.

Your eyes drift over to the cluster of pictures that decorates the space above your desk. There are noticeable gaps, empty squares of white that stick out like a sore thumb against the colorful collage. 

There had been photos there, ones of you and the girl that was supposed to be your best friend since kindergarten, ones of you and Luke throughout your relationship, until you ripped them down with tears in your eyes.

Even now it was still hard to believe that she could do that to you, that they could do that to you. It makes your body heave with exhaustion. You were so tired of feeling like this, so tired of the ache that ran rampant across your heart.

So tired of being the only one heartbroken meanwhile Luke was off in New Jersey with his brother having what seemed to be the time of his life. 

The sound of running water from the bathroom stopped, and you could hear as Luke stepped out of the shower. Right as he did, a ding! From his phone caught your attention.

“Luke!” You called out, “you got a text.”

“Will you read it for me?” He asked, voice muffled from behind the door.

Without responding, you lean over from your spot on his bed, reaching for his phone that’s face down against the nightstand. The screen lights up as you turn it over. The name that pops up on the screen makes you furrow your brows. Why was she texting Luke?

You type his password in before clicking on the message. Your face drops, and you can feel your heart beating so loudly in your chest that you can’t hear Luke call out your name from behind the bathroom door.

It doesn’t register in your head the first time you read it, you have to read it a second time, and even then it's hard to believe what the words on the screen say. 

“I know we’ve already talked about this and you don’t want to tell her but she deserves to know. I know you said that you guys were on a break, but it never should’ve happened. We never should’ve slept together and I feel horrible about it. So either tell her about it or I will.”

When Luke calls out your name for a second time, you hear it. He’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. 

He scrunches his face in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t say anything, can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you stand up, phone in hand before shoving it into his chest. He stumbles, clearly taken aback by it.

Luke’s brows furrow before taking a look at what’s on his phone that has you so upset. His face drops, and then the yelling starts.

“You don’t unders—”

“I swear to God, Luke, if you try and come up with an excuse right now I’m going to slap the shit out of you.” Your jaw clenched, a futile attempt to hold back the tears that are beginning to well up and blur your vision ever so slightly. 

You can’t even look at him, can’t stand the pleading look in his eyes. Though, it’s hard to tell whether he actually feels guilty about it, or if he’s just sorry he got caught. Everything you thought you knew about the kind of person he was feels different now.

“Just let me explain.”

Tears are falling down your cheeks at this point, but even now you can’t help but scoff. “Explain? Explain what?”

“How you fucked my best friend— a girl I’ve known since we were kids, and didn’t even have the decency to tell me.” The way Luke lowers his head, casting his eyes downward in shame does nothing but set you off. “Explain how I had to find out through a text?”

“Were you even going to tell me?

The question is followed by silence, which is an answer in itself. Luke won’t look at you, even though he’s the one who did it. He’s the one that made that decision, and he won’t even take accountability for it. 

“When did it happen?” You ask, and it makes Luke look up at you, face scrunched in confusion, like he couldn’t possibly understand why you would want to know the details of him sleeping with another girl.

It takes him a moment to gather his words. “Uh, it was over spring break, when I was in New Jersey.”

The room goes silent as you process what he’s told you. Your voice cracks when you finally speak up again. “This happened almost two months ago?”

Luke takes a moment to respond. “We were on a break, I didn’t think it was worth mention—”

You attempt a scoff. “Just because we were on a break doesn‘t give you the right to sleep with someone else, and the fact that you didn’t think it was worth mentioning is… astounding.” 

You search his face for any sign of guilt, and if it’s there you can’t seem to find it. He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t apologize, doesn’t beg for forgiveness, just stands and stares at you, like this whole situation is just an inconvenience for him. 

The sudden urge to leave washes over you, unable to look at Luke any longer. Before you know it, you’re grabbing all of your things, but Luke is quick to try and stop you.

“Come on, don’t leave, can’t we just—” he goes to grab your arm, but you yank yourself out of his grasp, tears still streaming down your face.

“No, Luke! We can’t do anything about this, there’s no coming back from sleeping with my best friend.” Your tone is accusatory, and you can’t bring yourself to stand there any longer, not caring about anything else that could possibly come from Luke Hughes’s mouth. You’re almost to the door when you realize that there’s one more thing you want to get off your chest. 

“I would’ve never done this to you.”

That was the last time you’d seen him. You’d gone straight home that night, letting Chelsea comfort you while you cried yourself to sleep. Luke brought your stuff over a few days later, per Chelsea’s request.

You refused to talk to him, even after he blew your phone up with messages, though none of them were an apology. He tried to talk Chelsea into letting him into your apartment so he could talk to you, but she was quick to slam the door in his face. 

When Hailey texted you, however, you were torn. Explaining that she was upset with how you found out and that it shouldn’t have been that way. Apologizing that it ever happened in the first place. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

Which brings you to now, coping with the aftermath that comes from no longer having a boyfriend or a best friend in your life. 

It’s two weeks before the start of your junior year, and you’re sitting on the couch watching a movie with Chelsea when you get a text. It makes you furrow your brows and you nudge Chelsea with your elbow, angling your phone so she can look at the screen.

She turns to you with a puzzled expression. “Why is Mark Estapa texting you?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I know they’re already back at school, so he must've just told them we broke up. I don’t know why Mark would be texting me about it though.”

Right as you finish your sentence, another text from him comes through, one that makes your eyebrows shoot to the sky. 

Hey, sorry to hear about you and Luke.

Feel free to hit me up if you ever need anything. 

The two of you turn to look at each other, Chelsea with a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh. No words are able to come out of your mouth when she takes your phone from you. She reads the text over again.

“Feel free to hit me up if you ever need anything?” Her mouth is agape, rereading the text once again like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Chelsea laughs. “Oh, he wants you.”

You roll your eyes, reaching up to try and take your phone back but she holds it just out of reach. “No, he does not. He’s just being nice.”

Chelsea gives you a look. “No guy texts his homeboy’s ex after they break up just to be nice.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up, shaking your head at the girl, but the fun quickly ends when you realize she’s typing something. “Chelsea, what are you doing?”

She smirks and by the time you finally snatch your phone back to see what she’s doing, a text back has already been sent. Your jaw drops when you read what she’s written.

“I appreciate that, maybe I will, winky-face.” Your eyes went round, just completely astounded. You groaned. “Chelsea, he’s already seen it, what am I gonna do?”

“Well,” she starts, and you already know you’re not going to like what she has to say. “You could just fuck him.”

You swear your head has never whipped around so fast. “Chelsea!”

“What?” She laughs, shrugging her shoulders as if what she just said wasn’t at all out of pocket. “Come on, think about it. It’s like, the perfect way to get back at that dick.”

You sink further into the couch, glancing up to stare at your friend. “How is sleeping with one of his friends going to make this any better?”

Chelsea grins. “You wouldn’t be sleeping with just his friend, Mark’s like one of his best friends. They literally live together, could you imagine the look on Luke’s face if he saw you there with Mark?”

You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for her to keep going, but suddenly an expression crosses her face. You squinted at Chelsea, not liking the way her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I have an idea.”

“No.”

She promptly ignores you, adjusting her seat on the couch so she’s cross legged and facing you completely. “What if you got with all of them?”

You blinked. “All of who?”

“Luke’s friends.”

An incredulous look crosses your face. “Do you know how many friends Luke has?”

Chelsea lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t mean like every single one of his friends, just the ones he’s really close with. You know, like Mark and the rest of their group. It would be the perfect way to get revenge.”

Suddenly, you realize exactly who she means. “They’re not going to get with their best friend’s ex-girlfriend, they wouldn’t do that to him.”

“Mark would.” Chelsea smirked. When you didn’t immediately speak up to disagree she kept going.

You open your mouth to speak up, but promptly close it, letting Chelsea continue her ramble. She did have a point, but you were still unsure. Doing this just kind of felt exactly what he did to you, and you meant what you said; that you would’ve never done that to him. You understood that the circumstances were different, of course, you and Luke were no longer together so it wasn’t exactly what he did to you. 

You went back and forth in a mental debate before finally shaking your head. “I don’t think so, Chelsea. I just… at this point the last thing I want to think about is Luke. All I want to do is move on from this whole thing.”

Chelsea sighed, folding her hands in her lap. “Okay. If that’s what you want, then I won’t bring it up again.”

Reaching over, you grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you.”

As promised, she didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, and by the time you woke up in the morning, you’d almost forgotten all about it. It was around midday, though, when you found yourself scrolling on Instagram that you saw it. 

You shoot straight up, elbows no longer resting on the counter top like they were previously, and for the first time since the break up you find yourself angry, rather than upset. You screenshot the picture and zoom in, making sure you’re not just seeing things.

You’re not. 

You scoff, it’s a picture of Luke and some girl, his arm around her shoulders, but that’s not what has you upset. It's what she’s wearing, a necklace around her neck that’s yours. The one you were so upset about when you couldn’t find it because it meant so much to you.

You send the screenshot to Chelsea, typing out a message to go with it.

I take back what I said.

I want to get revenge.

— hope you guys enjoyed the intro, and if you did then there’s more where that came from

— i don’t have a set schedule for when i’m going to be updating, i am a college student so i’m pretty busy but i will try and get chapters out as quick as i can

— with that being said, remember my inbox is always open, feel free to ask me any thing you want to about the series (i’ll try and answer without spoiling anything as best i can) or if you just want to chat that’s okay too :)