#I need to start clearing my tabs

[valewritessss]

Can someone give me well written fluffy Percabeth fics I feel like I’ve read the majority of them already and I don’t want to open another tab to add on to the 107 tabs I have.

Edit: THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THOSE WHO GAVE ME RECS PEOPLE NEVER ACTUALLY ANSWER

[nerkmidcharm]

hello neofriends :) please look at my art page that i just spent all day coding

[humanjarvis]

the world when you're with me

synopsis: you seek out sylus for comfort after realizing you were wrong about him.

tags: comfort, fluff, implied avoidant!reader learns to trust sylus, implied avoidant!reader clings to sylus, sylus takes care of reader from afar, sylus has mephisto and the twins follow reader but wbk pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mostly mc word count: 802

a/n: is this the peak of literature? no. did i need to write it after the day i had? yes. did i need to post it today? no, because i’m trying to stagger my posts more, but here we are. anyway 4k caleb pwp coming tomorrow 

For the first few weeks after you’d infiltrated the N109 Zone, you’d avoided Sylus Qin like the plague. 

After being scared out of your wits by the first version of him you'd met—the cold, unavailable criminal mastermind who’d forced you to shoot him within 5 minutes of knowing one other—you were unashamedly wary of working with him again. 

But Sylus’s intel was unrivaled. More and more often, you found yourself visiting the N109 Zone to meet with him, eventually not even bothering to book a place to stay. There was always a guest room at the Onychinus base prepped for your arrival.

As you spent more time with Sylus, he’d noticeably changed his approach to interacting with you. Rather than forcing you to resonate with him, he’d explained to you how his Evol worked, letting you aim his hands at some training dummies to test it out yourself. Instead of unceremoniously shutting you out when he was tired, he’d drag his robe-and-slippers-clad self to sit beside you on the sofa, answering your cautious questions by practically giving away all his secrets. 

His shift in attitude hadn't stopped there. Sylus had clearly been using that endearingly incorrigible crow to keep tabs on you, but for the strangest reasons. 

Whenever you had a bad day at work, some building-wide maintenance emergency would magically appear, forcing your team to cease operations for the rest of the day. He’d text you a couple hours after your early dismissal, saying he was in the city and inviting you on an evening joyride to clear your head.  

The day after you’d lugged a case of water up the stairs to your apartment, having to pause a couple times to catch your breath, you came home to see your fridge mysteriously stocked with groceries. The only traces left behind were the masked twin figures you spotted scurrying away from your window. 

When a new phone showed up at your doorstep one day—you never even told him you’d shattered your screen, you thought—you’d decided that Sylus wasn’t as bad as you’d once assumed. Not anywhere near as bad, in fact. He was thoughtful, generous, and helped you without taking credit or forcing you to ask for it. You’d never had that before.

Which is why, somehow, you find yourself standing in the doorway of his armory, studying him silently as he polishes an antique-looking gun.

When he notices you, Sylus looks up, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Something wrong, kitten?” he drawls, subtly checking your body for injuries. 

Mind numb from your absolutely dreadful day, you stay silent while Sylus looks at you expectantly, his hands forgetting their earlier task. 

But for the next minute, you remain hovering in the doorway. You expect him to get annoyed—you almost want him to, so you have an excuse to go back to relying only on yourself—but all you see on Sylus’s face is patience.

When you start shuffling toward him, that patience mixes with a glimmer of anticipation that he visibly tries to suppress. You need him to be calm right now—an anchor, he thinks. If he loses his composure, if he startles you with his excitement at your approach, you might bolt at any moment. 

Sometime during his inner struggle, you reach him. Meekly, you stand before his chair, briefly opening your mouth before closing it. 

“What is it, sweetie?” he asks softly. “Tell me, and we can figure it out together. I’ll personally track down whoever seems to have stolen your words from you.”

At his offer, you break, collapsing into his lap. His large, warm hands immediately encircle your waist, and you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his leather and spice cologne. 

“Aw,” he coos in his baritone voice, rocking you slowly in his embrace. When he lifts your head an inch, you resist, letting out a soft whine. Gently, he guides your head back to his chest, his quickening heartbeat thumping in your ears and grounding you in the the moment. 

After several moments of silence, your deep, shuddering breaths the only interruptions, Sylus murmurs into your ear. “When I noticed you never ask for help, I was worried the world may not be treating as well as it should. You must be very tired, hmm?” he asks, rubbing his chin against your hair. 

Tightening your arms around him, you sit there for a while, his steady breaths seeming to mend a decades-long rift in your heart.

The next time Sylus tries to lift your head, you let him. He pulls your face from his neck so he can look into your eyes, hoping his gaze conveys his sincerity, before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. 

“You don’t need the world when you’re with me,” he promises. “I’ll treat you better than it ever could.”

[rutilation]

pissed myself off looking at atmospheric optics stuff on instagram

every halo... misidentified...

[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 •｡`) ♡

[ahqkas]

♯ THE TASTE OF HEAVEN . . . sugar daddy ! batboys x fem ! reader

BRUCE WAYNE

bruce wayne doesn’t need to flaunt his wealth because he is the wealth. he doesn’t call himself your sugar daddy—it’s just implied in every action, every gift, and every moment he spends with you. whether it’s a sleek black card handed to you with no spending limit or a private plane waiting to take you to an exotic destination, bruce makes luxury feel effortless

you can forget off-the-rack anything. bruce ensures you have custom clothing, jewelry, and even furniture. he’ll casually remark, “i had the designer make a few changes for you,” as though commissioning bespoke items for you is just another tuesday

his gifts are never tacky or gaudy—this man has impeccable taste, and everything he gives you reflects that. think diamond necklaces that catch the light just right, limited-edition handbags, or handwritten invitations to exclusive events where you’re his arm candy

you’re the arm candy !!! bruce’s automatic date to every high-profile gala, charity ball, and exclusive event. he wouldn’t even think of bringing anyone else. he makes it clear you’re not just an accessory, you’re the highlight of his night

you have a tab at nearly every high-end establishment in gotham. whether you’re shopping for couture or just stopping by your favorite café, bruce ensures you’re treated like royalty. everyone knows exactly who’s footing the bill

bruce isn’t the type to throw money at you just because—he always wants to make sure it’s something meaningful or useful to you. if you mention wanting to start a business or learn a new skill, he’ll quietly arrange everything you need, from connections to resources

while his gifts are extravagant, his affection shows in quieter ways too. when you’re stressed, he whisks you away for a weekend spa retreat. if you’re cold, he’ll drape his expensive coat over your shoulders without hesitation. every gesture, big or small, is about making your life as comfortable as possible

people know bruce is your sugar daddy, but they’re far too intimidated to say anything. the whispered assumptions only make him smirk. he doesn’t care what anyone thinks—if anything, he enjoys the power it gives him to make it abundantly clear that you’re his

despite the sugar daddy thing between you, bruce’s affection runs far deeper. he doesn’t just give you gifts—he gives you his time, his attention, and his unwavering loyalty. the material luxuries are just an extension of the way he sees you: as someone deserving of nothing but the best

he’ll sometimes joke about the arrangement with a mischievous smile. “you’re lucky i’m rich,” he’ll say, handing you keys to a new car or sliding over a box containing some ridiculously rare jewelry. but his tone is warm, his teasing more affectionate than condescending

DICK GRAYSON

unlike bruce, dick doesn’t shy away from the term “sugar daddy.” in fact, he might jokingly call himself that from time to time, especially when handing you an absurdly expensive gift

( dick ‘what’s the point of having all this money if i can’t spoil my girl?’ grayson )

while he spoils you endlessly, he does it in a way that feels personal and heartfelt. every gift, trip, or gesture reflects how well he knows you. if you casually mention a dream vacation destination or a favorite designer, you can bet it’ll show up in your life sooner rather than later

he is the kind of sugar daddy who makes spoiling you fun. he’ll turn shopping trips into mini-games, daring you to try on the most extravagant pieces in the store just so he can gush over how amazing you look. “if you don’t let me buy that dress, i’ll be personally offended,” he’d tease, but you know he’s serious

dick loves being seen with you. whether it’s walking hand in hand down the streets of blüdhaven or pulling up to a gala with you in tow, he thrives on showing the world just how proud he is to have you by his side. and yes, he does things like carrying your shopping bags with zero shame, flashing that charming grin at anyone who stares

doesn’t wait for a special occasion to surprise you. whether it’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a new gadget you’ve been eyeing, or tickets to a concert you love, he’s constantly finding ways to brighten your day

with dick, every vacation feels like a scene from a romance movie. he books private villas, sunset yacht rides, and five-star experiences, all while making it feel like the most casual, natural thing in the world. “i just thought we could use a break,” he’d say, as if flying you out to the maldives was as simple as grabbing coffee

he’s always finding ways to make you laugh, even about the relationship itself. if someone gives you a side-eye for carrying a designer purse, he’ll lean over and whisper, “they’re just jealous, babe. can you blame them?” his lighthearted attitude makes the relationship feel easy and natural

with his good looks and high-profile status, the press is obsessed with you two. headlines like “blüdhaven’s golden boy and his stunning girlfriend” are a constant, but dick takes it in stride, often laughing at the exaggerations

“you deserve the world,” he’d say, his blue eyes sparkling. “let me give it to you.”

JASON TODD

jason didn’t immediately step into the role of “sugar daddy.” in fact, he hesitated because he didn’t want his wealth to define your relationship. but as time passed and he saw how much joy he could bring you by easing your stress, he leaned into it—but only his way

for jason, being your sugar daddy isn’t about flashy displays or media attention—it’s about making sure you’re secure and comfortable in a way no one else could provide. he loves knowing you don’t have to worry about rent, bills, or any other mundane stressors. “if i can fix it, i’m going to,” he says simply, brushing off your thanks like it’s no big deal

he might not shower you with gifts constantly, but when he does, it’s jaw-dropping: a rare first-edition book he remembered you mentioned once, a custom leather jacket, or even a dream vacation to a quiet, secluded spot where you can both relax away from the chaos of gotham

jason is practical when it comes to what he provides. he’ll upgrade your phone, stock your fridge with your favorite snacks, and even surprise you with a car when he notices yours struggling. “i’m not about to let you drive around in that death trap,” he grumbles as he tosses you the keys

and while he’s not the type to parade you through expensive stores, jason shows his affection in quieter, more personal ways. he might take you on a motorcycle ride to a hidden gotham rooftop, where he surprises you with your favorite takeout and a designer bag “he happened to pick up”

despite his tough exterior, he has a serious soft spot for you. if you so much as hint at wanting something, he’s already making plans to get it. he’ll pretend it’s no big deal, but his little smirk always gives him away

jason sometimes pretends to be annoyed by how much he spoils you, but it’s all in good fun. “you’re turning me into one of those rich guys,” he’ll grumble, handing you a sleek gift box. but the way his lips twitch into a smile when you beam at him says otherwise

you’ll come home to find an envelope with tickets to your favorite band’s concert or a designer coat hanging in your closet because he noticed the weather getting colder. “what? you think i didn’t notice you shivering last week?”

he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else stepping in to provide for you. if someone so much as jokes about taking you out or buying you a drink, he’s quick to step in, slinging an arm around your shoulders and shooting them a glare. “she’s taken. move along.”

he makes sure you feel safe, cared for, and endlessly spoiled in his own rough-edged, loving way <3

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do 🤍

[ghostedgwen]

hear it in the silence | j.potter

note : I've been writing this for about three days and it has concluded on 11.6k word count, which is crazy. But with such a fleshed out plot, I couldn't just wing it on about 2k words for my standard fics, and I didn't fancy having more series on my plate so here's one very long fic for JP to celebrate 800 followers further and cope with my own grief lol - enjoy.

warnings : grief and death, terminal illnesses - losing family members, reader had abusive parents and left her in debt, questionable themes of jp taking advantage of reader's predicament, fake marriage trope, just overall angst and lots of sad stuff but it has good moments slipped in between

James Potter feels like his whole world had crumbled apart, terminal Dragon Pox was the diagnosis. It was already too much he has to deal with his parents being sick but then, they ask him to assure them that when they leave, he wouldn't be alone. And you, you with your piling debt and threatening letters from Gringots can only fall into despair when the two grieving paths cross - and a deal is struck. He gets a wife, and you clear your tab.

You two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round, and he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown . . .

Diagon Alley smells like burnt sugar, star-anise, and smoke. You can no longer tell which scent is yours.

The oven’s been on since four. The air is thick with the scent of puffing pixie pies, their blue-glazed crusts still gently sparkling in the cooling racks. You rotate a tray of warm wandwood scones with steady hands and an aching back, ignoring the familiar twinge in your wrist - a brewing injury from years of kneading dough without proper rest.

The enchanted glass dome that displays your bestsellers glows faintly with golden sigils - today's highlighted treat is a fresh batch of Honeyduke-inspired fire-fudge croissants that puff steam in satisfying curls. A chalkboard near the till scrawls out notes in overly chipper handwriting:

Please don’t tap the jar of Charmed Cherry Tarts - they bite. Broomstick Biscuit special ends at sundown. Please remind ____ to eat.

You erase that last one quickly with the back of your hand, smudging away the concern Essie must’ve tucked into the notes.

The debt letters - from Gringotts, from old family contacts with clenched fists and colder curses - sit unopened in a toffee-colored cauldron bowl beside the register. They hum faintly. One of them pulses like a cursed wound, red wax seal still unbroken. The goblins have stopped pretending to be courteous - not that they ever were.

You left the last one unopened.

The wards above the till flicker as your morning protection spell resets, casting a soft violet shimmer across the room. It catches in the sugar that dusts your counter like frost. You stare at the floating menu quill scratching out the day's specials and feel absolutely nothing.

Until the door creaks open with the distinct jingle of spell-silver bells.

You nearly jump - but it’s just Essie, your apprentice, dragging her broom in behind her and mumbling under her breath. Her hair is twisted into a half-up knot with sugar pearls tucked in like constellations, and she’s wearing her favourite pink cloak with scorch marks at the hem.

"Morning," she yawns, flicking her wand to float the Fanged Brioche into the window display.

You nod, already elbow-deep in kneazle-cream batter for the batch of Custard Cauldron Cakes you need for the lunch rush. "Morning."

She eyes the cauldron bowl with the debt letters. "They sent more?"

You don’t answer, just tap your wand against the iron mixing bowl and watch the batter stir itself into stiff peaks.

"You know," she starts carefully, "there’s a program at the Ministry for -"

"No." Your voice cuts too sharp. You soften, slightly. "Just get the Skyberry Tarts prepped. I’ll open the register."

She mutters an understanding, "Alright, alright," and you hear her charm the stove to a low simmer as she sets to work.

The till clicks open. You count the galleons and sickles. Barely enough for rent.

The display case glitters as the floating pastry charms adjust themselves, casting brief illusions of glowing stars and festive flickers. Some customers come just for the theatrics. Most leave without buying.

It cycles on, one spell after another. You don’t notice the time pass - just the deepening ache in your legs and the strain in your voice from offering smiles like empty potion bottles.

By the time the shop thins out and the wards reset for the evening, you can barely feel your feet. The sun creeps low through the frosted windowpanes. You lock the door with a flick of your wand and collapse against the back counter, sliding slowly to the floor.

You lean your head back against the wall. Close your eyes.

The bakery smells like cinnamon and burnt hope.

And for a long time, you don't move.

The sign swung lazily in the breeze, a battered little thing that proudly read Back in 15 minutes in slanted gold script. You exhaled hard through your nose before disappearing into the back kitchen, apron strings snapping against your hips.

Essie was already wringing her hands by the cooling racks, her face creased in the worried way you had learned to dread.

“You can’t keep pretending it’s going to get better,” Essie said quietly. Her voice was soft, too soft, like she was afraid of shattering something already cracked to hell.

You yanked open the icebox a little too hard. The bottles clattered. “We’re fine,” you said shortly.

“We’re not.”

Essie shifted from foot to foot, casting a nervous glance toward the front door. “I heard from Malkin’s this morning. They’ve been getting letters too. The kind that come with curses stitched between the lines.”

You slammed the icebox shut and pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, willing the hot burn behind them to settle. It didn’t.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” you snapped. “Do you think I don’t know exactly how deep in it we are?”

Essie took a cautious step forward. “Maybe you could - could ask someone for help. You have. . . friends, don’t you?”

A bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it. Sharp and ugly. “No, Essie,” you said, voice low and shaking. “I had parents who gambled away everything. I had parents who drank themselves stupid and died brewing potions they weren’t qualified to touch. And now I have a bakery that barely scrapes by, a name no one dares trust, and debts that have more teeth than half the werewolves in Knockturn Alley. I don’t have friends.”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t have anyone.”

The silence that followed was worse than shouting could’ve been.

In the front of the shop, the door had creaked open.

Neither of you heard it - not over the ringing in your ears, not over the slow collapse happening between you.

But James Potter heard everything.

He hesitated on the threshold, the smell of vanilla and spellfire curling around him. He knew grief when he felt it - raw, ragged, clinging to the curtains and floorboards like cigarette smoke. It was the same cold weight that sat heavy on his chest these days, whispering things he wasn’t ready to name.

He thought about leaving. Thought about pretending he hadn’t heard the way your voice broke like that.

But his feet stayed rooted to the ground.

In the back, you exhaled sharply, dragging your hands down your face before smoothing your hair back into something that almost looked composed.

“I’ll take the rest of the deliveries,” you said, voice scraped raw but steady. “You stay here. Lock up when you’re done.”

Essie nodded mutely.

You stepped back into the front of the bakery - and stopped cold.

James Potter was standing there, unmistakable even in the simple navy robes, hair sticking up at every angle like he’d flown there backwards. He looked up from the display case with a polite sort of blankness - just another customer looking for a pastry.

For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Of all the people to walk into your bakery today - it had to be him.

You pushed a smile onto your face.

Professional. Untouchable.

If he recognized you, he didn’t show it - facial expression mastered over years of pulling pranks, he feigned innocence.

“What can I get you, Auror Potter?” you asked, voice calm, hands smoothing over your apron as if you could scrub away the tremor in your fingertips.

He didn't bother asking how you knew him - everyone did at this point. Starchaser James Potter quickly climbing Auror ranks, or whatever rubbish the Prophet blurted out these days.

James blinked at you, thrown for half a second - there was something familiar about the curve of your mouth, the sharpness of your gaze - but he shook it off.

Just a tired girl behind a counter.

Just another place he would leave behind when the real world came calling again.

“I’ll just have whatever’s hot and butter-y,” he said, flashing an easy, careless smile.

You nodded, turning toward the shelves without another word, heart hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

The waiting room hummed with too-white light and antiseptic silence. James stood still for the first time in hours, though the tremble in his fingers betrayed him. His Auror robes were still singed from the mission he'd cut short, boots flecked with soot. He looked like he was ready to duel a dragon, but his wand was jammed too tightly into his belt, and his shoulders sagged beneath the weight of something heavier than duty.

He couldn’t sit. Couldn’t stop moving. Each tick of the wall clock pressed deeper into his chest. The healer’s door opened once - then twice - and still, not for him.

The world dulled at the edges. Muffled. Like he was underwater, ears clogged, vision blurry with the ache behind his eyes. He didn’t realise he’d stopped breathing until someone said his name.

“Mr Potter?”

He followed the Healer into a room where the walls felt too close. Too still. Her voice was calm - rehearsed, maybe. She said words like progressed, like untreatable, like comfort-focused now.

His mother and father had advanced Dragon Pox. The magical immunity treatments had failed. There was no cure.

They had months left. A year, if they were lucky.

James didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The sound in the room went static. The lights above buzzed like flies in his ears. The floor rocked like it might fall out from under him. He just stood there, barely nineteen, freshly graduated, a job he hadn’t even warmed into yet - and now this?

He left without remembering how.

He returned the next day.

Euphemia was pale, but smiling. Her hands had thinned, bones showing where soft skin once was, but she still reached for him like he was her world. Her room smelled like lavender, and there was a vase of sunflowers on the window ledge, yellow as his childhood.

“Don’t look like that, sweetheart,” she murmured, “we’ve had a good run, haven’t we?”

James tried to laugh, but it cracked in the middle.

“We’re not afraid, James. Not really,” she went on, voice low and steady. “We’ve had each other. We had you. You’ve given us everything.”

He shook his head, blinked hard. “Mum - ”

“What we’re afraid of is leaving you alone.”

She said it so simply, it cleaved something open in him. All his carefully stacked defences. All his grown-up bravado, tearing at the seems and ripping out stitches.

“We won’t rest easy knowing you’ve got no one left. Not when you've always carried so much. You never let it show, but we know. You’ve always been the light in our lives. We just want to know someone will carry that with you.”

He tried to brush her off. Said he had the boys - nevermind that they were all scattered around the world, all thirsty to find their purpose in this world and its brewing war. That he was fine. But she reached for his hand and stilled him with a look.

“Someone to come home to, James. Someone to stand beside you - not because they have to, but because they want to. You deserve that.”

James knew his parents' concerns too well. He's gonna be inherting that big manor, all to himself - with no one to come home to.

It lodged in his chest like a spell misfired. Her words, her softness, the knowing way she held him in her gaze. He nodded, but it felt like a lie. Because how could he promise her something like that?

How could he find love in the shadow of goodbye?

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

The manor was too quiet. Every corridor echoed. The portraits whispered too softly to hear. Grief sat heavy on his ribs, like wearing a crown too big, too heavy, for a boy still learning how to carry himself like a man.

He still had the traces of his youth, barely smudged by an adulthood stamp. He's still the same boy in red robes running through darkened halls with his brothers as their laughter echoed, followed by the loud sound of dungbombs going off.

He walked the halls until his legs ached. Stepped outside when he couldn’t breathe.

The night air bit at his cheeks.

And then - her voice.

Not real. Just a memory. Echoes from earlier in the week. From a tucked-away bakery in Diagon Alley.

“I don’t have friends. I don’t have anyone.”

He hadn’t meant to overhear. But now it's stuck on him like a gum he had stepped on during a stroll - he could get rid of it but that would require effort that he didn't manage.

You voice was stuck in his head.

It was sharp and tired. Raw and ragged.

He remembered her now - vaguely. Head Girl. Two years above. Always quiet. Always watching. She hadn’t looked at him like he was anyone special. And when she spoke, there’d been something in it he hadn’t known he needed until now - someone else falling apart.

Someone else with no one left.

And maybe - maybe two desperate souls can help each other out.

The bell above the bakery door chimed, soft and familiar, but you didn’t look up right away. Your hands were dusted in flour, wrists deep in dough. It was nearly noon, and you'd barely had a sip of your tea. The day had been steady - enough customers to keep you occupied but not enough to keep the intrusive thoughts out.

Your shoulders ached. Your back was killing you. (girl, same)

You muttered a quick greeting without turning around. "We’re out of treacle tarts. And the jam puffs won’t be ready for another hour."

A pause.

Then -

"That’s alright. I didn’t come for pastries."

Your hands froze. Not because you recognised the voice - not immediately. But because of the tone: uncertain, careful.

You looked up.

James Potter was standing just inside the bakery, hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers, hair a mess, robes too nice for this part of town. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time he’d come in.

The last time. Which had been. . . what? Two days ago?

He looked out of place. But not like a prince slumming it. Like someone who didn’t know where else to go.

"You again," you said, more confused than anything. "If not for pastries, come back for what, then?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry. I know this is strange. I just - can we talk?"

Essie, hovering by the front counter, raised an eyebrow at you. You waved her off. "I’ve got it. Go get started on the almond wands."

Essie didn’t argue. Just wiped her hands and disappeared into the back - she'd surely ask about it later.

You turned your gaze back to him. Folded your arms. "Alright. Talk."

James took a breath like he was about to dive into something very cold.

"I need a favour. A big one."

You blinked. "You need me to do you a favour."

That was the last thing you expected from James Potter.

He smiled, grim and lopsided. "Yeah. Mad, innit?"

You didn’t return it. "What kind of favour?"

"Marriage."

The silence that followed was so complete you could hear the oven ticking behind you.

"Pardon?"

He took a step forward. "Not - not real marriage. Not like that. Not at first. I just. My mum. She’s sick, both my parents are. Really sick. And she asked me - well, she wants to see me settled. She wants to know I won’t be alone."

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head as he scrambled to explain himself.

"You don’t even know me."

"I know enough," he said quietly. "I know you’re proud. That you’re hurting. I heard you, the other day. You and your friend, in the back."

Your stomach dropped.

"You were eavesdropping?"

"Not on purpose," he said quickly. "I just - heard you. And something about it - about you. It stayed with me."

You looked away. Heat prickled at the back of your neck. Shame, and something else. Something heavier.

"So what? You figured we’re both miserable, might as well be miserable together?"

James smiled faintly. "Something like that."

You should have laughed. Or told him to leave. Or hexed him, maybe - blacklisted him from your bakery for such an incredulous proposal.

Instead, you said, "And what do you get out of it? Besides ticking a box for your mum?"

"I'll handle the debt - you’d live at the manor during it," he said. "You’d be safe. Comfortable. No debts. No dodgy landlords knocking on your door."

"And in return?"

He met your gaze. "We pretend. Just for a bit. We give my parents the peace of mind they deserve, just before they go."

A long pause.

You looked at his hands - tucked into his pockets, knuckles white with pressure. He looked exhausted. Raw around the edges. Just like you.

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no, either.

He stepped forward and slid something across the counter.

A small piece of parchment. Just his name and an address, perhaps a place to owl. His handwriting neat and surprisingly careful.

You didn’t pick it up.

He nodded once. "Think about it."

Then he left, the bell over the door chiming again like a punctuation mark.

You stood there long after he was gone, arms folded tight across your chest, heart thudding loud in your ears.

You looked down at the name.

James Potter.

You didn’t throw it away.

The letter comes just after dusk.

It’s marked in red wax, the goblin seal pressed so deep into the parchment that it’s cracked the paper. You don’t open it right away. You don’t need to. You already know what it says.

You read it anyway.

Final Warning. Immediate repossession scheduled.

Your hands shake. The bakery’s quiet - too quiet - and the ticking of the old brass clock on the wall sounds like thunder. Upstairs, a leak drips steadily into a teacup you’ve stopped bothering to empty. It’s all falling apart. Bit by bit. Month by month.

You’ve sold nearly everything of value. You haven’t bought new robes in a year. You haven’t paid yourself in longer.

You sit at the kitchen table, still in your flour-stained apron, and stare at the parchment like it might change if you just will it to. It doesn’t.

Essie finds you like that. She’s still in her coat, scarf looped once around her neck. Her wand glows faintly as she steps into the back, eyebrows raised.

Then she sees the letter.

You don’t say anything. Just slide it across the table.

There’s a long silence.

“You’re not sleeping,” she says, not unkindly. “And you look like you’ve not eaten properly in days.”

You press your hands to your face. The tears hit before you can stop them - stupid, useless tears that burn your eyes and your pride alike.

“I’ve tried everything,” you whisper. “I’ve given everything I have, and it’s still not enough.”

Essie doesn’t interrupt. She lets you break. Quietly. Without judgment - like she always did, she's younger by a year but you feel as is she's decades matured than you.

Then, she says the one thing you’ve been trying not to think about:

“Maybe it’s time to take the offer.”

You freeze.

“You could do worse than a Potter,” she continues, setting her bag down. “And it’s not like he’s a stranger. Not really - and more than anything, his offer makes sense and it's not for shady reasons.”

But he is, you want to say. James Potter is a ghost of your childhood, a flicker of a memory too golden to have ever been yours. You haven’t seen him in years, and even when you did - you were just someone in the corner of his world.

He wasn’t supposed to remember you. He wasn’t supposed to come into your bakery. He wasn’t supposed to hear you like that.

But he had.

And he offered you a lifeline.

You don’t answer Essie. You just nod, once, and disappear up the stairs to your flat.

The letter is short.

You write it with trembling fingers, the ink blotching in one corner.

If your offer still stands, I’d like to discuss it. - ____ ____

You don’t sleep that night, either.

The café sits at the edge of Diagon Alley, just before the shadows of Knockturn begin to creep in. The windows are fogged, the booths are cloaked in perpetual half-light, and no one looks too long at anyone else.

You arrive wrapped in your thickest cloak, wand strapped at your thigh. The moment you step inside, you see him.

James Potter - sitting in the back corner, hood drawn up, still managing to look unmistakably like himself. Like autumn sun and lightning storms. Like a boy who’s never known real fear until now.

His eyes meet yours.

You sit across from him. The booth is too small, too narrow - your knees almost touch beneath the table. Neither of you orders anything.

You clear your throat. The words feel heavier now, weighed down by everything they mean.

“I’ll do it,” you say.

There’s a pause.

And then James exhales - not quite relief, not quite gratitude - something older, something heavier. The tension leaks from his shoulders, from his jaw. You realise he’s been bracing for a no.

“You’ve no idea what this means to me,” he says, voice low.

For a second, you think he’s going to reach for you. His hand twitches on the table, and your breath catches - but he pulls it back.

Then, from inside his coat, he pulls a neat scroll of parchment. Tied with a green ribbon. Thick and official-looking.

You blink.

“Is that - ?”

“The contract.” He grins, boyish and almost sheepish. “I wrote it up after I left the bakery. Had a feeling.”

“You knew I’d say yes?”

He shrugs, leaning back in the booth. A flash of something wicked glints behind his glasses.

“Call it intuition.”

And maybe he’s arrogant. Maybe he’s mad. Maybe you are, too.

But as your fingers close around the parchment, warm from his coat, you feel something almost like air in your lungs again.

A beginning.

Even if it’s the strangest one imaginable.

You arrive in a clean cloak, wand tucked tight in your sleeve, palms sweating despite every calming draught in your cupboard.

The manor looms quietly under the twilight - not cold, not cruel. Just. . . still. The way ancient places are. As if the walls remember everything.

James opens the front door before you can even knock.

“Alright, Head Girl?” he murmurs, and there’s that grin again, lopsided and golden, like this is all just a grand joke between the two of you. You elbow him gently.

“You’re lucky I don’t hex you for that,” you mutter.

But your smile stays.

"Relax, you look great, they'll love you." You pretend that your stomach didn't flip at the compliment. It was probably just to ease your nerves, not much to it.

You’ve rehearsed this story to death.

You were two years above him at Hogwarts. Head Girl. Known for your strict patrols and your no-nonsense duels with some Slytherins. He was a fifth-year nuisance, always in detention. You didn’t even remember him.

Not until he walked into your bakery, two years after you graduated, and said, “Your treacle tart’s going to ruin my life.”

You’d raised a brow. Told him you weren’t interested in love-struck boys with sugar on their lips. He’d come back anyway. Every week. Every Sunday without fail. Talking about literature, Quidditch, philosophy, muggle poetry and how you made the best almond croissants in London.

You tried not to fall. But the story goes - you caved.

It’s soft. Sweet. Just plausible enough to pass as truth.

And tonight, it has to be.

Euphemia Potter is already halfway to the door by the time you step inside. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement, hair pinned up with little golden combs. She’s wearing something soft - silk, maybe - in forest green.

“So you’re the one,” she says, eyes crinkling, voice like warm honey. “Our Jamie’s treacle tart.”

You blink then laugh, it was a real one - the opener was too silly. “That’s me, apparently.”

Fleamont’s footsteps echo from the hallway - slower, but steady. He gives you a long look, then smiles as he extends a hand.

“Didn’t expect him to fall for a baker,” he admits, voice gravelly, “but I respect a man with good taste - and we Potter men are known to have exceptional ones.”

They welcome you in like you’re already part of the furniture. Like you’ve always belonged - which is weird given how everything in the manor screamed luxury.

You knew he was rich and it was no secret that the Potters were influential - and he is to inherit everything, but you didn't really expect this.

You grew up far from all of this, and this might be your first time witnessing such grand luxury.

Now, dinner -

You talk about pastries, your best-sellers, your Hogwarts days. You even pretend to distinctly remember James in the corridors - “a menace in too-big glasses, always running away from trouble.”

They laugh. You laugh.

And each time, it cuts deeper. Because it’s not a performance to them -

It’s not a deal. It’s not debt.

It’s real.

You excuse yourself after pudding. Say you need a bit of air.

James joins you seconds later in the garden, stuffing his hands into his pockets like a boy again. You could almost laugh bitterly - even their garden screamed luxury.

“You alright?” he asks, quiet.

You shrug, eyes scanning the dark blooms around the gravel path. “Didn’t expect them to be so. . .”

“Lovely?”

You nod. “Real.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, and his arm brushes yours. “They are.”

He offers you his arm, gentlemanly and a little cheeky. You take it, because you’re supposed to.

But you don’t lean in.

You don’t think you could bear to.

Not tonight. Not when they believed every word.

You find James in the greenhouse, having been told by the house elf where he was so early in the morning. The morning hues were yet to bleed out, barely a sun peeking out but it was already bright.

It’s quiet, soft with the scent of damp soil and blooming citrus. Golden light spills through the glass, casting long shadows across the stone floor. He’s tending to something leafy and stubborn-looking when he hears your footsteps.

He doesn’t look up right away. Just says, lightly, “You’re early.”

You shrug and nod at him, “You’re always early.”

He turns to you then, wiping his hands on a cloth. There’s something different in the way he watches you - not amused or teasing, just steady. He nods toward the bench behind him -

“Sit.”

You do, without asking. And that’s when he pulls it from his pocket - a small box, velvet red and obviously old.

Your heart stutters.

He opens it, not with a dramatic flourish, but carefully. Like it presenting something heavy, yet important.

Inside, a simple gold band with a red gem in the middle glows under the greenhouse light. Thin. Elegant. The faintest shimmer of enchantment woven into its metal - and the gem that’s glistening like magic.

“It was hers,” James says softly. “Mum’s. She told me she’d like it to go to someone good.”

You blink. The weight of it hits before the ring even touches your skin, a family heirloom passed to every Potter bride.

You manage, “Then you’ve picked the wrong girl, Potter.”

He shakes his head. Smiling - not his usual grin, but something smaller. Truer, you wonder if how many of those he’ve had since the diagnosis.

“No. I don’t think I have.”

You reach out but he moves the box away from your touch, you frown as you watch him pluck it out, carefully moving as he slide the ring onto your finger.

It fits too well. And for one horrible second, you want it. Want this. All of it.

You look down at your hands. Then up at him.

“How are they?” you start, but the words catch.

James nods slowly. “Dragon pox. Started last year. Dad’s got it now too - not as bad, but. . .”

He trails off, sits beside you on the bench, his head hanging low in defeat.

“There’s no cure. Just potions to ease it. Mum’s pretending to make peace with it. But I think she knows.”

Your throat feels tight. You don’t touch him - can’t - but you shift closer, just enough that your knees almost touch.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, hoping your sincerity was bleeding into those two words. You keep your eyes on him, seeing how familiar he look - he looked like you with all the weight on him.

He breathes out. “They’re everything. And they asked me. . .” He hesitates. “They asked me to promise that when they go, I won’t be alone, they’re amazing and just want what’s best for me, I think they’re just holding on to see me happy.”

You understand then - what this is, so much deeper than a boy wanting to appease his parents. It’s a son who wants to give his parents peace.

There was a moment of silence, you turn away to not keep staring at him. Eyeing the plants.

“What about your debt?” he asks, careful not to make it sound like a threat, a burden for a burden.

You consider staying silent. But the ring on your finger glints in the light, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe.

“My parents made a mess,” you say. “Gambled everything away. Stole from the shop. Wrote my name on too many contracts and disappeared. I’ve been trying to pay it back ever since. The bakery keeps me fed, but barely.”

You glance at your lap, willing yourself not to sound too pathetic. Despite laying out all the

“I didn’t think I’d make it,” you admit.

Unsure what to say, he just swallowed the forming lump in his throat. Then he decided to part his lips, - "You're really strong, ____. You didn't deserve any of that, but you're still here."

You laugh a bit, nudging him with your knee. "Guess we both are - must come with being Gryffindors."

A long, quiet silence stretches between you.

It’s not uncomfortable.

The engagement announcement happens that night over dinner - nevermind the fact it wasn't all romantic how you got the ring on your finger.

James was the picture-perfect excitement, grin so wide you almost thought he was genuine about wanting to marry you.

James, lifting his goblet - cleared his throat. "Mum, Dad, we're engaged."

You almost smirk, he did not even make some grand speech. He just dropped it like that - that is so him.

Euphemia gasps like it’s the best news she’s ever heard - and perhaps it was. Fleamont claps James on the back - he sat at the head of the table and to his left was James - you sat next to him.

But Euphemia reaches for James’s hand over the table, and you can tell something’s bothering her - a look of worry paint over her wrinkled features.

“Just tell us this isn’t because of us,” she says. “What we said. About wanting to know you’d be alright.”

You glance at James. He hesitates - he appears to be losing it - the smile faltering and he seems like me might burst, at the reminder.

So you step in, a hand on top of his that rested on his thigh under the table, you didn't think much of it but he was shocked.

“It’s not because of that,” you say, voice even. “He didn’t pressure me. He’s been. . . kind. A gift I didn’t expect while I was struggling.”

Your words were true, you weren't lying and James could tell, he moved his hand to intertwine it with yours under the table, willing himself to be grounded by your warmth and your touch.

He exhales, exaspherated.

You meet Euphemia’s eyes and say, “I’d be proud to marry him.”

She smiles so wide it almost hurts to look at.

Fleamont raises his glass. James is quiet beside you - his grip tightened just slightly.

You don’t look at him.

You move in the next morning - the Potters were very eager to welcome you in as a housemate, Euphemia already discussing what tea to have with you every afternoon as that dinner progressed.

You felt warm all over, they were kind people - you somewhat felt goof to be giving them the peace they deserve, even if it is under deceit.

There’s only one trunk. Your life condensed into canvas and charm-bound compartments.

James carries it easily. Leads you up the stairs to his room - soon to be yours too.

You glance around. Quidditch posters, books on dueling theory, the faint scent of broom polish and pine. It is unexpectedly organized, with his personality - you expected a mess.

He clears his throat, feeling a bit awkward with how you eyed his room - his childhood room. “You alright sharing?”

You drop your trunk at the foot of the bed. “I’ve been through worse,” you say dryly. “Sharing a bed with a man is the least of my worries.”

He laughs, nodding slightly. “So I’m not even a little bit intimidating?”

You raise an eyebrow, turning to give him a look. “I still see you as that troublesome fifth-year. You’re a little boy to me, Potter.”

James scoffs, deeply offended. “I’ll have you know I’m an Auror now. Very manly. Very brave. Very capable.”

You wave him off. “Yeah, sure.”

“Need me to prove my masculinity? I can take my shirt off. Show you the Quidditch captain physique. Maybe throw in some Auror combat moves.” James wiggled his eyebrows and you just laugh at him - shaking your head.

“Merlin, please don’t.”

He grins, but it fades slowly, leaving something quieter behind.

Then the night finally came, the time to actually share the bed - that gryffindor red bed.

There’s space between you. But it’s warm - and you could feel him right behind you, backs turned on each other as if facing each other would reveal things you dared not discuss yet.

Still, it's warm.

Not love. Not yet.

But maybe something like safety.

The invitation arrives tied in a red silk ribbon, dropped onto the breakfast table by a smug little owl who barely waits for a scrap of bacon before flying off again.

You stare at the embossed lettering. Your name in fancy script. An invitation to a Hogwarts friend's wedding. Someone you haven't spoken to in years - not really. Someone who belonged to a life you thought you’d buried somewhere between unpaid invoices and final warnings.

Hariett Selwyn.

James plucks the card from your fingers before you can shove it away - he inspected it.

“A wedding?” His eyebrows lift, and he reads it aloud in a falsely posh accent, smirking. “How charming. Perfect opportunity to show off my beautiful fiancée.”

You groan, reaching for your tea like it might save you - ignoring the compliment, safer to do so. “I’m not going.”

“Come on,” he says, already leaning back in his chair like the decision’s made. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fun,” you echo dryly.

He grins, utterly unbothered. “We’re supposed to look like a real couple, aren’t we? Consider it . . .practice.”

You narrow your eyes. “I have nothing to wear.”

James shrugs like he’s been waiting for you to say that. He waves his wand lazily and a box appears, neatly wrapped, on the table between you.

“Handled,” he says with a wink.

You blink at him. At the box. At him again.

He has that shit-eating grin, you almost worried it was gone - James Potter now 18 years old with the weight of the world on him, he still has that youth in him after all.

“You’re insufferable.” You tell him without any bite to it.

“Thank you. Open it.”

Inside: a dress. New. Beautiful. Silky under your fingertips, clearly expensive - but not loud or garish. Thoughtful. Something you might’ve picked yourself, if you ever let yourself dream that way anymore.

You’re blinking too much. You cover it by rolling your eyes and muttering something sarcastic. James just smiles, infuriatingly pleased with himself.

You arrive at the wedding together - and you might as well be walking into a fairytale.

James is devastating in tailored formal robes, hair artfully messy, glasses gleaming. And you - you barely recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress fits like a second skin. It catches the light when you move.

When James looks at you, there’s a flicker in his expression he doesn’t bother hiding. You swallow all the butterflies down as if you could flush them out -

James Potter is straight out of a dream, no wonder girls swoon at the sight and mention of him.

People flock to you the moment you step inside. Champagne glasses pressed into your hands. Laughter and perfume and old, blurred memories swirling around you.

“You two look so in love!” someone coos, squeezing your arm. Probably in your year, you can't recall.

“About time someone tamed James Potter,” another one laughs - maybe another Gryffindor? Who knows.

James plays his part flawlessly. Arm around your waist. Whispered jokes in your ear. Smiling like you’re the only person in the world. Like he’s been waiting years just to be standing here with you.

At first, you fake it. Smile, laugh, nod in all the right places.

But the longer the night goes on - the easier it becomes. The lies sit lighter on your tongue. The champagne warms you from the inside out. For a few hours, it’s almost frighteningly easy to believe in this story you’re telling.

When the music changes, James holds out his hand with a theatrical bow -

“May I have this dance, Miss Treacle Tart?”

You roll your eyes but place your hand in his anyway, snorting at the name.

The floor tilts under you slightly - too much champagne, too many lies - but James steadies you without a word. His hand fits at the small of your back like it belongs there. His other hand twines with yours, easy and sure.

He twirls you under the soft golden lights.

You forget yourself for the berifest moment.

Forget the debt. The bakery. The past nipping at your heels like wolves - how everything has changed for the worse since Hogwarts.

For a dizzy, dangerous heartbeat, you forget where you end and he begins.

You laugh - breathless, lightheaded - and when you look up, you catch James already looking at you.

Soft. Something terrifyingly earnest in his hazel eyes. Right, they're hazel, so warm - the color of late autumn, all gold-flecked green and fading warmth, like the last good day before winter

The song ends. You pull away too quickly, mumbling something about needing air, needing another drink, needing space - just to put a distance between you two before it all collapse.

James lets you go without comment, just watching you with that same unreadable look -

Later, across the room, you feel his gaze again - heavier this time, more sure.

Your heart stutters traitorously in your chest. You tell yourself it’s just the champagne, you never did hold your liqour well - memories of your sixth-year, first time trying Firewhiskey, playing in your head.

You woke up in the Gyffindor common room on top of one Sirius Black, he had teased you relentless about how you quite literally passed out on him - said it was the first time a girl has thrown herself on him without getting a snog out of it.

You of course shut him up with a hex.

The bakery smells like sugar and cinnamon and something warm you can’t quite name. You’re behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair twisted into a messy bun, a smudge of flour at your temple you haven’t noticed yet.

You’ve only just reopened for the morning rush when the doorbell jingles - and there he is.

James Potter, grinning like he invented sunshine - or like it pours out of his ass.

He leans against the counter like he belongs there, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair as artfully messy as if he planned it. His glasses catch the morning light. He looks maddeningly pleased with himself.

You pretend you don't see him - but it never works.

He pretends you aren't pretending.

The girls by the window definitely see him.

You catch it out of the corner of your eye - the sharp gasp, the hurried whispering. You brace yourself.

Sure enough, a girl (eighteen? nineteen?) edges closer, clutching a pastry box like it might shield her. “You’re -” she breathes, wide-eyed, “you’re marrying him?”

You glance lazily over at James, who wiggles his eyebrows at you, utterly shameless.

You sigh dramatically. “I know. I still don't believe it either.”

The girl giggles and practically skips back to her friend. You see them both collapse into chairs by the window, whispering furiously.

James presses a hand to his chest, mock-affronted. "You wound me," he says loudly enough for half the bakery to hear. "Here I was thinking you were the lucky one."

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, without looking up from the till. “A real catch, Potter. Just what every girl dreams of. A boy who can't iron his own robes and thinks treacle tart is a balanced meal.”

"Oi," he says, affronted. "I've improved. I even have investments now."

"Mhm. I'll believe that when you can go a week without blowing something up in the kitchen."

James turns toward the waiting crowd like he’s hosting a press conference. "For the record," he announces, "best baker in the Alley. Also my fiancée. Did I mention that? Fiancée. As in, tragically, devastatingly off the market."

You throw a dish towel at his head.

He catches it one-handed, still grinning.

The bakery hums around you - the low chatter, the clink of silverware, the golden morning pouring through the windows - and for a few minutes, it feels almost terrifyingly easy. Like this was always meant to happen. Like there was always a version of the future where you ended up here, with him, like this.

James lounges at the end of the counter, watching you work.

“You look happy,” he says after a minute, voice lower, like he doesn't mean for anyone else to hear.

You blink at him, hands deep in the pastry case.

"I am," you say, and it's mostly true. "Feels good. Being here again. It's. . . grounding."

James smiles, soft and crooked, observing you as you continue to work. So natural, so in your habitat.

You clear your throat and reach for a new box. “We're famous now, you know," you tell him, more to fill the sudden quiet than anything. “Top gossip on Witch Weekly.”

James snorts. “Let them talk. They’re just jealous.”

"Of what?" you ask, deadpan. "Your charming humility?"

"My undeniable sex appeal, actually," he says, winking.

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle you don’t sprain something.

Somewhere between boxing up an order and wiping the counter, you lose track of him. You hear a suspicious rustle near the pastry display.

You whirl around just in time to see James, mouth full, cramming a stolen tart into his pocket with the guilty look of a five-year-old.

"James Fleamont Potter!" you gasp, brandishing a wooden spoon like a weapon.

He backs toward the door, laughing so hard he nearly trips over a chair.

"You’re banned!" you call after him, chasing him halfway onto the street. "Banned for life!"

"See you at home!" he calls back, victorious, scattering powdered sugar in his wake.

You stand in the doorway, hair flying loose, apron dusted in flour, laughing in spite of yourself. Your heart is still racing, from chasing him out or something else - you dared not wander there.

The kitchen at Potter Manor's kitchens was all warm light and drifting flour when he found you.

You were kneading dough on the marble counter, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned back, lips pursed in focus. You barely glanced up when he entered, dusting flour off your palms like you had every right to be there. Like you always would be.

James lingered in the doorway a moment longer than necessary. Watching you with a look you didn’t catch - soft around the edges, almost shy. Like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real. Like he thought if he blinked, you might disappear.

A wife, he hasn't really thought of that. He just got out of his Gryffindor robes and rucked it away, never to be worn again - it's all too fresh, a wife. . .

Finally, he cleared his throat.

"You know," he said, voice too casual to be anything but deliberate, "I was thinking we could bake something together."

You arched an eyebrow, skeptical. "You? Bake?"

He clutched his heart in mock offense. "I’m a man of many talents, I’ll have you know."

"You’re a menace," you said lightly, turning back to your dough. "And you’ll ruin your kitchen."

"Our kitchen," he corrected without missing a beat, flashing a grin so boyish you didn’t have the heart to argue - right.

You wiped your hands on a cloth and sighed, pretending to think it over. "And what exactly did you have in mind, Potter?"

He shifted his weight awkwardly, running a hand through his messy hair, not that that ever worked in his favour. "Something for my parents. I. . . I’ve never really done that before. Baked for them, I mean. Thought it might be nice, you know, for once."

Something warm flickered in your chest at that. The sentiment, awkward and sweet, was so very James. It softened the place inside you that had been hardened by necessity, by all the pretending.

"Alright," you said, gentler now. "Let’s do it."

He lit up, the way only James Potter could - sudden and breathtaking, like a boy seeing Christmas lights for the first time - you ignore how your stomach flipped.

You rolled your eyes but laughed anyway, nudging a mixing bowl toward him. "Start by cracking the eggs," you instructed, biting back a smirk.

James nodded solemnly - then immediately dropped half a shell into the batter.

You both burst out laughing, rich heir James Potter couldn't even crack an egg properly into a bowl after years of intricate Potions classes.

Somewhere down the line, flour ended sprinkled all over his messy hair.

"Right," he said, laughing breathlessly as you swatted him with a tea towel, "this is war, then."

"You started it!" you accused, dodging another cloud of flour he lobbed your way.

"You called me a menace."

"You are a menace."

He lunged for you, and you shrieked, ducking under his arm and grabbing a handful of flour to throw back at him. It puffed into his hair, turning it an even more chaotic shade of white, if that were possible.

"You’re going to regret that," he said, grinning wide and reckless.

"Big talk for someone covered in flour, Potter."

He chased you around the kitchen island, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. When he finally caught you, it wasn’t with the triumphant crow you expected, but with a gentle touch - his hands settling lightly at your waist, holding you still.

You froze. Not because you were scared. But because it was so easy. Too easy.

Your chest rose and fell, your pulse a drumbeat against your ribs.

For a moment, neither of you moved - just staring at each other like there was something settling in between. You neglect to notice how his lashes are painted white now, he blinks at you.

James’ smile faltered, slipping into something softer,, you pray to all your ancestors to calm your hammering heart in fear that he would hear it.

"I like seeing you laugh," he said, voice low.

You swallowed hard. "Don’t get used to it."

His mouth tilted in that familiar lopsided way. "Bit late for that."

You turned away under the pretense of rescuing the now-forgotten batter. Your hands shook just slightly as you picked up the whisk, you clear your throat.

James didn’t push. Just stood nearby, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him - you both pretend like you didn't get assaulted by the flour man.

"You ever bake anything before?" you asked, trying to sound casual.

He leaned on the counter, grinning. "Does nicking biscuits from the kitchens count?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then no."

You laughed under your breath. "Hopeless." Yep, you both were.

"And yet you’re letting me help," he pointed out.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. "That’s because I’m benevolent."

He nodded solemnly. "Saint-like, really."

You hid your smile as you handed him the whisk. "Beat that until your arms fall off - put all that quidditch and auror manliness to work."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, giving you a ridiculous salute before setting to work - slopping batter across the counter within seconds.

"You’re a disaster," you said, half fond, half exasperated.

"Disaster’s just another word for creative genius," he said breezily.

You rolled your eyes and bumped his hip with yours. He laughed and bumped you back, and you ended up side by side, shoulders brushing, working together.

Somehow, it didn’t feel strange at all.

Later, once the pastries were cooling on the rack - a little lopsided, a little burnt at the edges - you leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching James lick a smear of batter off his thumb.

You fought yourself from watching how his tongue darted out to lick it off, feeling your cheeks grow hot.

"You’ve got a bit on your nose," you said, pointing - distracting yourself from the image of him licking the batter off.

"Where?"

You stepped closer, hesitated, then reached out and wiped it away yourself.

His eyes stayed glued to you and for one charged heartbeat, neither of you spoke - like the world decided to pause so you can once again just look at each other, everything remains unsaid.

You cleared your throat and stepped back quickly. "There. All sorted."

"Thanks," he said, a little hoarse.

You turned away, fiddling with the edge of a tea towel. "S’pose you didn’t do half bad, for your first try."

"High praise coming from you," he said, mock-gravely.

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "Don’t let it go to your head, Potter."

"Everything goes straight to my head, actually."

You rolled your eyes again, but there was no heat behind it.You watch him pat his hair and the flour on it creates a veil of white in the kitchen, you laugh.

It was then you heard a soft noise behind you.

You turned.

Euphemia and Fleamont were standing just beyond the threshold, watching the two of you with matching expressions - fond, unbearably gentle, a little misty-eyed.

Euphemia had her hands clasped to her chest, her smile wobbly around the edges. Fleamont was clearing his throat, pretending not to be emotional and failing miserably.

You felt your chest twist sharply.

Because in that moment, it didn’t feel like pretending at all.

It felt terrifyingly, achingly real.

You straightened a little, brushing your flour-dusted hands on your apron, but Euphemia only shook her head, eyes shining.

"Don’t stop on our account," she said warmly. "It’s lovely, seeing the kitchen so full again."

James ducked his head, looking uncharacteristically bashful. You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to cry.

"We’ll leave you to it," Fleamont said, giving James a meaningful nod before steering Euphemia gently away.

The kitchen felt too quiet once they were gone.

James scratched the back of his neck. "They like you, you know."

You huffed a laugh, blinking fast. "I can’t imagine why."

"I can," he said simply.

The inevitable was happening, the Potters were getting worse - Dragon Pox was not something one could just power through for so long, they were bound to break down.

They've done so well holding it together for James, for their dutiful son who did everything to make it seem like he wasn't breaking down with them.

As they got worse, so did he. You can only watch as the entire family crumbles down, too afraid to pick up the pieces yourself and put them back together.

You still saw yourself as an outsider, an actor in a role - forced to play.

Instead, you resorted to helping him assist his parents. Nevermind that the house elves were there, you wanted to lend a hand. He lets you.

He feels oddly at peace when you'd sit by Euphemia and Fleamont's bed, talking about how your day has been at the bakery while they listen in. Too weak to stand up.

He watches as you take Euphemia's hand in yours and his mother's eyes fill with fondness.

Like you were the daughter they never had.

James felt something heavy settle in his heart as the days dragged on that they remained in bed, being fed potions to maybe help them regain mobility.

After three days, they were better - not healed or cured from it, but just better. Enough to get out of bed, to have dinner altogether as a family again while you all pretend death wasn't just outside the manor doors.

After those three days of dread, wondering if that was the end - you found James in your bedroom. Sat on the floor, leaned against the bed with his head hanging low.

The room looked like hell, like a bludger was set loose and it made efforts to ransack everything. Only your items remained unharmed, you heave a sigh at the sight of him so defeated.

You decided to sit beside him, distance closed. Your shoulders right next to his and he flinched at the sudden contact.

He made a move as if he was gonna say something and you stopped him. "Don't be sorry, a simple spell can fix all of this," you shake your head and bite your lip, feeling the tears build up.

It was hurting you. So much, and you were just a pretend daughter-in-law, you could only imagine what he's feeling.

He's only 18, and his whole world is falling apart before his very eyes. You probably didn't have the right to cry, this pain wasn't yours.

Then complete silence. You looked around the room to asses more of the damage, it's almost unrecognizable. Like a battle had taken place.

"You're a good son," you tell him quietly in the dark, "they're very lucky to have you.

He laughs, void of humor. "A good son wouldn't lie to his parents just to ease his guilt. A good son would go to the ends of the earth to find a cure."

You felt the tears escape then, his words hurt for so many reasons. He doesn't see himself the way you and his parents saw him, too deep in his regrets.

"That's not - " you breathe out shakily "You're a good son for giving them hope. For giving them peace. Although this is a lie, the fact remains that you have me."

He was quiet for a moment, then he turned. In the dark, you see jsut how tired his eyes are, his cheeks glossed by tears. "I won't always have you."

You were unsure now. Would another lie be better? Would another scam on top of the damned deal patch all this up and wrap it neatly in one big bow?

You decided against it, you only give him a sad smile. He doesn't say anythign after that, a whole minute passes as you looked at each other, everything unsaid still hanging in the air.

Then, swiftly, he shifted his body and his lips were on yours. Your shock rattled your whole body, barely processing the fact he was kissing you as you began replying.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It tasted like grief, and salt, and something desperate you didn’t want to name - his hands grabbed you like you were a lifeline to hold on to.

You let him, you kiss him back like you were answering it all. All the questions he would throw at the void. Why me? Why them? Why now?

You kissed him like you were able to calm the brewing storm inside him. Then he pulled back, heaving as he desperately gasped for air. You were the same, lips swollen and eyes glossed.

You didn't realize you were crying in the kiss.

He retracts his hand, holding his head like a madman. "Merlin, I'm sor - "

"Don't," you dared not let him apologize, because that would make it a mistake. And it wasn't, not to you - at least.

"Don't apologize. Don't explain," you tell him.

You understand, to some extent, why he did it. But there was no need to unpack it, it was the least of your priorities. You threw yourself at him to hug him, that was a first.

He hasn't really had that - something he didn't know he needed until he got it. He broke down in your arms like a man come back from war, he lets you hold him together while his edges were crumbling to dust.

"I'm here, James."

The garden had always been Euphemia's favourite place in the manor, she used to tend to it every day - James has taken over in her absence.

Even now, when her hands trembled too much to hold a trowel, when her legs ached too much to carry her beyond the cracked stone path, she still insisted on sitting outside - breathing in the crisp afternoon air, the fading scent of late blooms clinging stubbornly to the hedges.

You wiped your palms against your skirts, smearing soil across the fabric, and pushed to her feet. You had been kneeling in the dirt for the better part of an hour, stubbornly trying to coax life back into the frostbitten flowerbeds.

Another lost cause, probably. But there was something oddly comforting in these small, foolish acts of hope.

"Come here, darling," Euphemia called softly, her voice a thin thread against the quiet.

You brushed hair out of your face and crossed the grass. The sun caught in the pale wisps of Euphemia's hair, haloing her like a painting. Euphemia patted the bench beside her, and you sank down wordlessly.

Euphemia's hand - delicate - found yours. Her thumb brushed over your knuckles in a slow, steady circle. You couldn't remember the last time someone had touched you so gently, a mother's warm touch.

"Promise me," Euphemia said, voice almost inaudible. "Promise you'll stay with him."

Youblinked, throat tightening.

"He's always carried so much," Euphemia continued, her gaze far away, as if watching something only she could see. "Too much. Even when he was a boy - always looking out for his friends like the leader - he even gave us the gift of another son, our Sirius - "

You stay quiet. Yeah, the runaway Black has been visiting as well. If he knew the deal between you and James, he didn't say anything. Only exchanging greetings and thanking you for caring for his adoptive parents.

News of his adoption was no secret to all of Hogwarts. He was a Marauder, another headache for the Prefect that you were, four troublesome third-years, and then you were Headgirl and catching him snogging girls after dark.

He's changed a lot. Tattoos, longer hair - lots and lots of rings. But you also saw how he looked defeated. He's losing his parents again, how tragic.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. The lie hovered at the back of your throat - Of course, I promise — but it stuck there, heavy and sour.

You couldn't do it. Not again. Not to her, and not right now - it was all too much.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

The money. The debt. The arrangement you two agreed on to be made because you were both was desperate and selfish and terrified. The fake love you had branded around like it was actually yours to hold.

You poured it all out into the trembling space within the garden.

When you finished, you couldn't meet Euphemia's eyes. Shame burned down your spine like a lash, throbbing.

But Euphemia only smiled. A wise, old glint in her tired eyes and it undid you. Tears falling even more now. She knew.

"Thank you for being honest. But if I may - it stopped being fake long ago, dear. For the both of you."

Your heart twisted, sharp and aching.

You covered your face with your hands - and then, without thinking, buried your head against Euphemia's shoulder. Like a child. Like you hadn't allowed yourselfto be vulnerable in years.

And Euphemia stroked her hair, murmuring nonsense, the way mothers do - holding you like you were hers, and you fell apart even more.

Your voice cracked open on the words you had never said aloud, even when they clawed at your ribs in the dead of night:

"Thank you," you whispered, choking on the sound of it. "Thank you for being the first mother I ever had."

None of you saw him.

James had come to call you for dinner.

But now he stood frozen just beyond the hedge - the golden light of the dying day catching on the frames of his glasses, painting him in shades of grief and awe.

He had heard everything.

Every word.

And for the second time in his life, James Potter didn't know how to move forward. Didn't know how to carry it all.

He just stood there, heart splitting open silently inside his chest, as the girl he had fallen in love with cried quietly against his mother's shoulder - not for herself, not even for him, but for a family she was terrified to lose.

It happened days later, when the worst of the storm had settled - when Euphemia managed a frail smile again, when Fleamont grumbled weakly about his porridge being too bland.

You were in the kitchen, elbows deep in soap and dishwater, when James leaned against the doorway. Arms crossed. Watching you like he had all the time in the world.

The elves could've done it - but you wanted to do something more than just exist within the walls of Potter Manor. A future daughter-in-law waiting to be.

"Come out with me tonight," he said.

You blinked at him, suds dripping from your fingertips. "James - we can't leave your parents - "

"We won't be too far, just the gardens," he interrupted gently and you frown at him.

"Is this about the," you look over your shoulders to see Fleamont cradling a tea between his hands on the counter. You lower your voice. "The kiss?"

"What"

You shake your head. "You don't have to make up with me for that, I told you it was truly fine - "

"Just say 'yes', you stubborn woman," he laughs a bit at the end but he was pleading.

You pressed your lips together, searching his face. No jokes despite his boyish grin. Then you gave in, no word needed to be said as he let out a satisfied hum.

The garden was transformed.

Hundreds of tiny candles floated in the air, bobbing like fireflies. The table was small, intimate - just two chairs and a scattering of wildflowers in jam jars. The night air was cool and sweet, stitched through with the scent of late summer roses.

"The elves were the rewal MVPs for this by the way," he commented, grinning. You snort.

James pulled out your chair with a dramatic bow. You laughed, cheeks warming despite yourself, and sat down.

There was a picnic basket between you. He opened it with a flourish - and there, tucked carefully inside, was your favorite pastry from your own bakery. The lemon tart you always made fresh on Sundays.

You blinked. "You stole from me."

"Purchased, actually." He grinned. "You're very expensive, Miss Future-Potter."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt so full you were surprised it didn't spill out your mouth and drop to your lap.

You ate under the stars - swapping stories, teasing, laughing - like it was the easiest thing in the world. No performances. No pretending.

Just. . .you and him. It felt very real now, after the kiss was a date in the gardens - you can only guess that his parents were watching from the drawing room window.

Halfway through, James pushed his chair back and stood up. For a dizzy moment, you thought he was going to fetch more food - but then he turned to you and, without hesitation, dropped to one knee.

The world tilted.

You stared at him - at the way the candlelight caught the gold in his eyes, at the way he looked more sure, more himself, than he ever had before.

"This time," James said, voice steady, reverent, "I'm asking for real."

No contracts.

No debts.

No saving each other.

"Just me," he said, reaching for your hand. "Just you."

You covered your mouth with trembling fingers, tears blurring your vision. You didn't trust your voice, so you just nodded. Hard. Over and over as he caressed that ring.

You felt like you could choke from happiness but finally, you found your voice -

"Yes," you answered, laughing through the tears.

James surged up, caught you in his arms, spun you once under the floating candles - avoiding tipping the table over. You were both laughing, crying, a little broken, a little mended.

Maybe the world was ending - maybe winter was coming fast and cruel - but right now, right here, you could pretend it was only this.

Only James.

Only you.

And it would be enough.

It is a small thing - nothing like the grand celebrations that the tabloids expected and theorized soon as they heard that the esteemed Potter bachelor was to be wed -

They called it a wedding to look out for, with the Potters being rich and all, but it turned out to be an intimate gathering. One that you prefered very much.

Euphemia is wheeled into the garden, bundled in soft blankets, a wreath of tiny white flowers tucked into her hair. Fleamont sits beside her, his hand resting atop hers, their fingers still finding each other after all these years.

The air smells of lilies and earth and late spring - the world on the cusp of summer, trembling at the edge of something new.

You walk down the aisle alone, lilies cradled carefully in your hands, heart rattling against your ribs like it might break free. Had Fleamont been strong nough, he would have been with you - he said so himself.

Friends sit at the front, close friends of James from Hogwarts - a few of the Gyffindor girls from his years, you managed to invite your Headboy counterpart and his wife, the Longbottoms, there was even Essie, your greatest friend who stuck through the hardest times.

Essie winks as you pass. You mouth her a ‘thank you’ as she wipes her tears away, happy to see you finally in the light after so long in the dark.

Sirius stands beside James, ridiculously overdressed in formal robes, grinning like he knows a secret he’ll never tell.

Remus lingers just a step behind them, hands clasped neatly, a rare and quiet warmth in his gaze, behind him was also Peter who just looked happy to be included.

And James - Merlin, James.

He looks like every good memory stitched into one living, breathing thing: black hair wild in the breeze, glasses catching the light, suit fitted perfectly to his frame.

When he sees you, the whole world shifts slightly off its axis. For a moment, it’s just you and him, like it always was meant to be.

You reach him, hand trembling when you slip yours into his. He squeezes gently, grounding you, steady and sure.

The ceremony is short. Sweet.

No grand speeches. No crowds. Just the two of you standing stubbornly in front of everyone you love, hearts bare and open.

James says his vows like he’s carving them into the very bones of the earth, voice low and rough with feeling. "You came to me in the quiet, and you stayed. I will never forget that."

You barely make it through your own. The tears come halfway through, thick and hot, making the lilies in your hands blur into nothing but white and green smudges.

When you slip the ring onto his finger, you are shaking so badly that James has to guide your hand, thumb brushing your knuckles, steady and patient.

When the officiant says, "You may kiss the bride," James doesn’t wait.

His hands cradle your face like you're something holy - and he kisses you like a man who has finally, finally found home.

There are cheers, and petals tossed high into the air, and Sirius shouting something wildly inappropriate that makes everyone laugh through their tears.

Later, under the flowering arch, Sirius gives a toast - half a roast, really - about how he 'he never expected a troublemaker Marauder to marry a proper Headgirl who always gave them detention, but he supposed it was fitting as both became Heads in their last years' and "Prongs here got himself a Head Girl, although older, eh? Guess you like 'em more mature, mate!"

You laugh so hard your ribs ache. James presses a kiss to the side of your head, rolling his eyes at the implication, murmuring something only you can hear.

Probably to insult Sirius.

There are tiny cakes, charmed lights strung between the trees, plates passed hand to hand. The air is heavy with lilac and laughter and the stubborn kind of joy that refuses to be dimmed by grief.

You dance barefoot with James under the golden wash of the lights, your dress trailing behind you like a whisper.

The grass is cool beneath your toes, the sky wide and open above you. James spins you once, twice, until you are dizzy with it, until all you can do is clutch his hand and laugh into his chest.

The world feels soft. Real. Precious beyond measure.

Euphemia watches from her chair, smiling like she is imprinting the whole thing onto her soul. Fleamont squeezes her hand. She leans her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes, a small, satisfied sigh leaving her lips.

It isn’t forever.

But for now, it is enough.

And for once - enough feels like a miracle.

. . . And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars, and why I've spent my whole life tryin' to put it into words.

end. masterlist | married life snippets ask

[p1utofairy]

★ your next glow up?

note — i wasn't gonna post this now but i figured fuck it why not?! enjoy, my loves! this is for entertainment purposes only <3 take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. p.s. come in my ask box and tell me what you think!

PILE ONE.

pile mf ONE, you are really stepping into a new era! when i tell you this new you is gonna turn HEADS. tuh, you’re gonna be looking like new money. nicki minaj’s ‘new body’ verse is coming to mind lol “you ain’t fuck me, you fucked the old body. you ain’t fuck nicki, you fucked nicole body! ain’t no miles on this here new body, off with they heads these bitches is nobody’s.” OH YEAH OKAYYY, PILE 1. maybe you’ll be hitting the gym more, switching up your diet or possibly getting some cosmetic work done?

whatever you’re doing differently, it’s gonna be noticeable. people are gonna feel like something changed with you overnight like “um when did pile 1 get so bad?” and this isn’t to say you aren’t already attractive…there’s just something about your energy and confidence that just amplified x1000 and people are really gonna feel and see this change in you. you might start experimenting with your outfits a little more, giving off a more seductive vibe. it’s like you're breaking out of your comfort zone especially if you usually opt for baggier clothes or a more conservative look. wait cause why am i thinking of ‘pretty little liars’ when emily is talking to aria about hanna and she’s like “haven’t you heard? she’s the it girl now.” PERIOD, PILE ONE. giving serena page vibes from love island.

there will be a lot of talk about you and even if you don’t hear it directly, trust me, people are gonna try to keep tabs on you. i’m seeing people re-watch your instagram stories tryna figure out who took you that place and who you’re doing it with — oh these people are spiralingggg. this could very well be potential suitors tryna scope out the scenery, but they’re not sure if you’ll be interested in them. they might fear rejection because you just look so damn good and it looks like you’re in such a better space in life and got your shit together; whereas they feel like they lack the resources/finances to be with you. these potential love interests see you as high value, pile 1. they’re intimidated by your beauty and aura. you’ll be more so focused on attracting a partner that can actually make shit happen.

you don’t have time for the cat and mouse games. you want the real deal and i do see you getting the person that you want. you manifested this person into your life and i sense them feeling like they won the lottery with you! i’m hearing that you are sooo mesmerizing on the outside and your heart & personality makes you so much more beautiful. there’s layers to you and i think this next glow up will allow you to really shine and be yourself unapologetically – you’re leaning into the different aspects of yourself that makes you unique. if there’s anything you’ve got your mind set on or something specific you want to do, go for it! whatever you do, you’ll stand out effortlessly and be successful. say yes by floetry is coming to mind. “see, i’ve been watching you for awhile…your smile and style. wanna know if i can be with you for the night, alright.” i meannnnn need i say more?!

how to tap into this energy?

listen closely to your intuition! work on your third eye because i’m hearing that you’re a powerful manifester and you don’t even truly know it. even if you do know this, you start doubting yourself and limiting your own thoughts. always think big and bigger because it’s in your reach. don’t get so caught up in the “how?” because your manifestations can appear in many different ways, not just one. you have a clear vision into the future – you just gotta adjust your lens and focus on what it is that YOU want. who cares if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else, as along as you see the vision then it’s a go! listen to ‘i want it all’ by sharpay evans lol you need to embody that song and its energy.

PILE TWO.

hey, pile 2! i’m hearing you’ve been putting up with the bullshit for wayyyy too long and this next glow up is gonna be a proper FUCK YOU to all your haters! i feel like people take your kindness for weakness and you feel like you don’t get the respect you deserve. you can deal with a lot of passive aggression in your relationships or friendships and people expect for you to suck it up and be okay with it. what i’m mainly picking up is that you like to keep the peace. you don’t want to ruffle anyone’s feather, but it just makes it worse for you because you’re not truly expressing yourself and your emotions. this keeps you up at night like “ugh! i should’ve said this or I should’ve stuck up for myself and finally cussed so and so tf out.” but you don’t because you know why, pile 2? you’re better than them, simple as that.

you wouldn’t treat anybody how some people treat you, and the reality is that it’s so much harder to be nice than it is to be mean. anybody can be mean and say hurtful shit if they really wanted to, but to always be graceful and kind in the face of adversity and ignorance? rare af. +10000 aura points! don’t let anybody make you feel less than or like you can’t speak up for yourself. this next glow up you’re going to use your voice and really make it known that you are not to be fucked with, okay?! you will be standing your ground and really popping your shit in the most calm and collected way possible & people are gonna be like “wait…did [y/n] really just clock me like that?!” and you’re gonna be standing 10 toes down on it as you should. they’ll have no choice but to respect you lol. you will start to realize what is worth your time & energy and what isn’t.

you might start cutting off people that don’t mean you any good and really start to focus on yourself and your energy. no more walking on egg shells and sparing peoples feelings, this is YOUR life and you have a voice just as much as they do – so use it! i think you’ll also be meeting new friends & a potential love interest during this next glow up. i’m hearing ‘how stella got her groove back’ lol so yeah some of you might be playing the field a little bit.

some of you might just want something casual and nothing more because you just want to focus on your own healing journey. you’ll start to understand why things had to happen the way that they did & why certain relationships didn’t work out the way that you thought they would. you’ll be able to decipher what you are and aren’t willing to put up with and honestly i just see you bossing tf up and advocating for yourself no matter who doesn’t like it. that tiktok “nobody loves you baby! you should only love yourself – ON MY SOUL!” just randomly came to me lmfaooo this is your ‘i’m focusing on what really matters aka me’ era and i think it’s exactly what you need pile 2.

how to tap into this energy?

i think you need to transmute the negative energy that people try to project on you into something positive. 12:12 on the clock, yeah. like look at this way, if people doubt you, don’t respect you or don’t feel like your capable of achieving great things then use that to your advantage. let them underestimate you all they want, and then BAM boss up on them and show them who tf you are. what they don’t know only makes you stronger. you have the power to make some powerful ass connections and make a name for yourself so be calculated & strategic with your moves. people will be eating their words when it comes to you, pile 2.

PILE THREE.

pile 3 your next glow up is gonna be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster ngl, but very rewarding nonetheless. i’m hearing that one tiktok sound “you gotta take the good with the bad, smile with the sad. love what you got and remember what you had.” so yeah i think you’re really gonna be figuring out how to transmute your energy and create something from it – whether that be a job opportunity, a love offer, a trip, etc. there’s something that you really want and you’re doing the work to make it happen. you have the plan, you just need the platform lol.

for some of you, i see a major relationship coming to an end. this could be a lover or a best friend, but this person will be exposed because they’re not who you thought they were. this person has very sneaky/deceptive energy and you’ve been in the dark about this for way too long. this person/connection means a lot to you, so you will feel like this is a tough situation to completely walk away from; but my sweet pile 3’s you will be more than okay! you will be spectacular! 10:10 was just on the clock.

allow yourself to sort through your emotions and learn from the situation, don’t let it weigh you down. sometimes we get too caught up in how long we’ve been with somebody and all of the good memories we made with them, that makes us hesitant to move on. sometimes things just run its course and you’re no longer in alignment with that person. you can’t force anything or anyone in your life that doesn’t align with your highest self and that can be very hard to process when emotions are involved but i’m happy to let you know there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

i see some of you traveling to a place you’ve always wanted to go and possibly meeting a potential love interest. in this next glow up, you’ll be doing things that you’ve always wanted to do cause there’s no one holding you back. you’re stepping out of your comfort zone and just taking a leap of faith – high risk, high reward. you’re gonna be making time for yourself and also prioritizing your hobbies/interests. this is beautiful, pile 3. i see you really getting in touch with who you are at the core. be kind and gentle with yourself, because you are a precious gem that a lot of people value and care about.

how to tap into this energy?

stop giving your power away. work on your throat chakra, my loves. your voice is your power and it’s one of the major keys to your success. a closed mouth doesn’t get fed, so you need to speak up and communicate what it is that YOU want and not just say what people want to hear. this next glow up will really have you standing in your power. release is needed especially verbally cause you know that tight feeling you get in your throat when you’re tryna stop yourself from crying? yeah no more of that. no more walking on egg shells, pile 3. say what you feel and stand on it & watch how the tides turn in your favor. mwah!

PILE FOUR.

alright, pile 4! for this next glow up i see you moving. some of you might actually be moving into a new home or apartment and it’s gonna grant you so much peace and comfort. for others of you, this could be you moving on emotionally from a toxic relationship and/or familial bond and finally getting the clarity and peace you need to cut all ties and move onto something better. whatever the situation may be, it was weighing heavy on you and making you feel very down.

you’re gonna feel so free when you leave this situation behind, it’s not even funny. i’m hearing that you were a gilded bird in a cage. some of you could’ve been moving from place to place, not feeling quite settled or financially stable. if you feel lost right now and like you don’t know what to do with your life/where it’s taking you, i just wanna say keep going – W.A.Y.S. by jhené aiko is coming to mind. “if there's one thing that i learned while in those county lines, is that everything takes time. you have gotta lose your pride, you have gotta lose your mind just to find your peace of mind.” awww yeah that’s your theme song for this next glow up. things might not make sense right now, but please trust me when i say that everything is going to work out in your favor & things will be better than you could ever imagine.

you will be blessed with the tools you need to get to this next phase of your life. you are the source, pile 4. whatever you put your mind to, you can surely achieve! don’t let 3D circumstances throw you off, you are so abundant and prosperous you will see in this next glow up just how much of a powerful manifester you really are. you’re still trying to find yourself and figure out where you fit in in the world, but you don’t have to put yourself in a box, pile 4. pave your own way and once you do others will want to follow suit. no one can see your future the way that you do, so keep doing your thing because i’m seeing that you will come across people/friends that share similar interests and niches as you. awww pile 4 you’re going to find your soul tribe.

you have this flighty energy about you (air sign energy/esp gemini) like you’re from one thing to the next and you can’t figure out what you truly want to do. some of you might be in college or almost about to graduate and when people ask you “do you know what you want to do?” you’re like uhhhh….]>|>]^>.]€]€]£ like you truly don’t know but like that’s okay cause actually you do know! on a soul level, you know. what’s understood doesn’t have to be explained pile 4 lol people might not get it now but when you pop out living the life you’ve always dreamed of, TUH. they’ll understand then.

how to tap into this energy?

get out of your head so much and just vibe, pile 4. you can plan plan plan all you want but the reality is: shit happens! it might annoy you or make you feel incredibly frustrated when another problem or inconvenience pops up in your life, but there’s nothing you can’t overcome. it’s life. you will be greatful for these experiences in the long run because it will be another bridge that you’ve already crossed and dealt with, so you won’t fold under pressure – you’ll just already know what to do. you got this, pile 4. shit is about to get really good for you.

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ rafe stalking pogue!reader’s instagram and getting off to her pictures.

warnings — 18+ MDNI. instagram stalking, enemies (rafe x pogue!reader). male masturbation, slight degradation. rafe lowkey being a perv.

cherie’s note — i’m writing this half-asleep + my phone being on 4%, but i absolutely needed to get this out for you guys. c: no idea if this makes any sense i’ve been consuming cleaning chemicals all day LOL.

he tells himself he’s just checking up. that it’s strategic — practical, necessary — to keep tabs on the people who hang out on the wrong side of the island. that’s all you are — just another loud-mouthed pogue girl from the cut who didn’t know her place.

he spat the words like venom, made it clear he couldn’t stand you. said it to anyone who mentioned your name — he hated you.

but rafe’s lying to himself. and he knows it.

because every time your posts slide across his screen, it starts the same way. just a peek. just a scroll. and then suddenly, he’s got his cock in his hand and that skimpy bikini picture posted on your instagram pulled up like it’s fucking porn.

it’s pathetic. he knows that, too.

he groans, thumb dragging slow over the screen while the other hand pumps his cock with rough, desperate strokes. he’s already leaking at the sight — already imagining you moaning his name, begging him to fill the same pretty little hole you use to run your mouth with.

at least then that smug pogue mouth of yours would finally be good for something.

“fuckin’ pogue bitch,” he mutters, stomach tight, eyes glued to the screen. “bet you’d let me ruin you in two seconds.”

his mind spirals.

you, on your knees in that pathetic excuse of a swimsuit, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, while he fists your hair and shoves his cock down your throat. you, messy and whining, pretending you don’t want it just as bad.

“you’d let me,” he pants, thumb flicking to another picture — smaller bikini, lower angle, tighter smile. “you fuckin’ would. talk all that shit, then let me bend you over and make you cry.”

he sees it clear — you in that tight bikini, ass up in the sand, voice shaking while you beg him not to cum inside. him groaning about how tight your little pogue cunt is, about how it doesn’t matter what you say — he’s gonna take what he wants.

“i’d ruin you,” he growls. “turn you into a cock-hungry little mess. cry to your friends about how much you hate me — then sneak off just to let me fuck you again.”

he cums with a broken grunt — hot, fast, messy. fucks into his fist like he wishes it was you. thick streaks spill over his stomach, his knuckles, his fucking phone.

your face is still smiling up at him. happy. untouched.

he stares at it for a second, jaw clenched, chest still rising and falling. then he grabs the phone and hurls it across the bed, jaw tight.

“fuckin’ hate her,” he mutters, like saying it out loud might finally make it true.

[luffington]

nurse's office ♡

➤ summary: Even doctors need check-ups, so you indulge your boyfriend and put on a sexy nurse costume. (18+)

➤ pairing: trafalgar law x afab!reader

➤ word count: 3.1k

➤ warnings: switch!law, modern AU, nurse-patient roleplay, praise kink, established relationship, fluff, silly porn dialogue, fem reader

➤ notes: i LOVE law with all my heart but i have such a hard time writing him.... hopefully this turned out okay and it's accurate to his character :')

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

When you returned to your apartment after work, the lights were on and a familiar black trench coat hung in the entrance, but the coat’s owner was nowhere in sight. You called his name as you slipped off your shoes and received no response. 

A muffled noise coming from your shared bedroom caught your attention.

Curious, you crept through the living room and creaked open the door just enough to slip inside. Law sat at his desk in the dark with his back turned away from you. Completely focused on his dimmed laptop screen with headphones plugged in and unaware of your presence. A smile spread across your face when you noticed what he was watching.

A busty brunette woman in an incredibly cliché nurse outfit batted her fake eyelashes at the camera as she deep-throated her patient’s dick. Your boyfriend’s inked hand rose up and down his own cock, eyes half-lidded and biting his lip to attempt to stifle his throaty groans. When you were literally right behind him, you leaned over his shoulder to read the video title out loud. “‘The Best Prescription In Town Is A Dose Of This Naughty Nurse’s Pussy’?”

Law’s entire body went cold.

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” He panicked, whipping his head towards you and accidentally ripping his headphones cord out of the jack. Exaggerated and unrealistic slurping sounds, accompanied by the male actor’s moans, started playing at full volume. Law forgot how his typically agile fingers worked as he rushed to pause the video. He was ready to diagnose himself with a heart attack.

Your eyes flickered to the bottle of lube and box of tissues beside his laptop. “I think it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“No, I…” Embarrassment flooded his veins and he scrambled for a logical explanation. You were clearly amused instead of upset, but that didn’t deter him. Steeling his nerves, your boyfriend cleared his throat and prayed his voice didn’t shake. “I wanted to see how accurate this was, but it’s a disgusting mockery of nurses. This is completely inappropriate in a real hospital.”

“Well, duh,” you chuckled and rolled your eyes. You leaned closer to study the other tabs open in his incognito mode browser. One search for ‘hot nurse’ and another for ‘nurse fucks patient’. A second video titled ‘Nursing Student Gives Penis Exam’. A spark ignited in you. “Law, is this what you’re into?”

He stayed silent and let his head fall down in shame – which only directed your gaze to his quickly softening dick – as he mumbled a timid apology.

“Oh, baby, you have nothing to apologize for.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and nuzzled against his neck. “Please don’t be embarrassed, I genuinely wanna know what turns you on. I won’t judge, I promise.”

“You’re prettier than everyone in these videos,” was his only response. He was such a sweetheart without even trying. 

Even though you’d been together for quite a while, Law still had a hard time discussing his kinks. The man had a neurotic need to protect his innermost thoughts and thick iron walls guarding every part of his mind. It took a lot of time and patience, but you’d managed to break down most of his barriers. You wanted him to trust you and feel comfortable around you; having fun in the bedroom was just a bonus. 

Pressing your lips to his ear, you teasingly whispered, “I can buy a nurse costume, you know.”

“Huh? Are you serious?!” Wide gray eyes met yours, a flurry of emotions overtaking his stressed-out expression.

“Of course! I’ll look for a cute one right now.” You pulled out your phone, pausing before opening your browser to bat your eyelashes and say, “Only if you want me to.”

“I – I…” Law fumbled for words, unable to keep up with the thoughts racing through his brain. After a moment of hesitation, he licked his dry lips and hastily leaned over to look at your screen. “Let me see the options.”

The costume was set to arrive in 3-4 business days, which gave you and Law plenty of time to talk and plan. Both of you discussed what you wanted out of the scenario and what you each felt comfortable doing. You promised Law you’d do actual research by watching nurse pornos in order to imitate them, and he swore to never correct you mid-scene with his accurate medical knowledge. 

His steely eyes lit up when he spoke and made your heart flutter with love. As an accomplished surgeon, he took care of countless patients every day – of course he wanted someone to do the same for him. Nothing was sexier than seeing Law turn to putty in your hands, happily melting into your protection.

The fateful night arrived with a flimsy package at your front door.

Law sat on the couch in the ‘waiting room’ (also known as the living room), anxiously rubbing the letters tattooed on his knuckles and bouncing his legs. His throat was parched, his heart was racing, and his dick was already getting hard.

His jaw dropped when you opened the bedroom door – no, your office. The tight white dress hugged your body perfectly, accentuating all of your best features. Firetruck red stripes lined the sleeves and collar, and a prominent zipper ran all the way down the front. Your boobs were spilling out of the low-cut top and the skirt barely covered your upper thighs. A dainty white hat sat atop your head, sporting a white cross in a red circle that matched the one on your breast pocket. The look was complete with thigh-high white stockings, lacy crimson lingerie, Law’s real stethoscope around your neck, and a notebook and pen in your hand.

“Trafalgar Law?” You called out coquettishly.

His excited cock tried to answer for him, but he took a deep breath and nodded. “T-That’s me.”

With an overly sweet grin, you beckoned him into the room. “It’s time for your appointment. Follow me.” 

Previously arranged pillows on the bed mimicked the half-upright position of a medical chair. Law couldn’t look away from you as he shuffled towards his ‘exam table’, sitting down so his legs hung off the edge. You placed a gentle hand under his scruffy chin, his gaze flickering between your face and your tits. 

“Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Law didn’t have the confidence (nor the acting ability) to answer ‘my dick’ the way a pornstar would. So he settled for, “I’m not sure, miss. Maybe… give me a physical?”

“Ooh, a full body inspection,” you giggled, putting on a pair of hospital-grade latex gloves. “Please remove your shirt and lie on your back.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Only my shirt?”

Biting back a laugh, you responded, “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?” 

Your boyfriend nodded obediently, neatly folding his canary yellow t-shirt beside him on the bed. It didn’t matter how often you saw his heavily tattooed chest – you were in awe of it every time. You opened your notebook, humming in mock contemplation and scribbling nonsense on a blank page in an imitation of Law’s terrible doctor handwriting. He tried to peek at what you were doing, but you quickly shut the cover. 

“Just relax, I’ll take care of you,” you cooed with a gentle smile and ruffled his hair.

He apologized curtly and settled back into a comfortable reclined position. Running your fingers along his jawline, you trailed your touch down the column of his throat and across his collarbones. Gently massaging his shoulders and feeling the tense muscles loosen as he let out a content sigh. You were unable to resist tracing the massive inked heart on his torso as you’d done so many times, lightly trailing your pointer finger across its flames and swirls and sending pleasant tingles throughout his body.

Repeating the action on his matching bicep tattoos, you cheekily stated, “Such strong muscles. Your girlfriend is a lucky woman.”

He chuckled, finally beginning to relax into his role. “You have no idea.”

“Let me check your heartbeat.” Not even bothering to put the stethoscope in your ears, you ran the cold chestpiece against Law’s nipples, forcing a pretty hiss from his lips. Rubbing circles atop them until both were stiff peaks, then teasingly rolling them between your fingertips until he was flushed and panting. 

Satisfied with his worked-up state, you pulled away to write more nonsense in the notebook. Your boyfriend furrowed his eyebrows. “Seriously, what the hell are you writing?”

“Please let me do my job, Mr. Trafalgar.” You firmly smacked the end of your pen against one of his nipples. The sudden display of authority made his cock twitch. 

You caressed his defined abdomen muscles, moving lower down his gorgeous body and brushed over his dark happy trail. 

“Your chest seems fine, which means…” You trailed off and tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. Law’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed in anticipation, lifting his hips to help you slide down his sweats and boxers underneath. 

His rock-hard dick sprung free gratefully, angry red and twitching in excitement. You’d never seen him get this worked up so quickly – it made your cunt ache.

“Well, this is clearly the issue! Poor thing, you must feel so lightheaded from all the blood flowing down here.” You cooed, wiping his dark bangs away from his eyes in mock comfort. “I have to relieve this pressure or else the swelling won’t go down.”

“H-How will you–“ Law’s cheeky question was cut off by a groan when you curled your fingers around the thick base of his cock. Just one stroke pushed out several beads of pearly precum from his pretty tip. The synthetic softness of latex gloves felt strange against such a sensitive part of him, but it made the scenario extra immersive. 

“I need to milk you dry. Is that okay with you, Mr. Trafalgar?” 

Law nodded eagerly, too overstimulated to consent with words. He’d heard that phrase so many times in his videos. Your chest swelled with pride as you admired his submissive state. It wasn’t easy for your boyfriend to relinquish control to you during sex – no matter how much he wanted to – but he looked like he would die for you at that moment. 

You swung your leg over his body to straddle his upper thighs, cunt inches away from where he needed it. The movement caused your skirt to ride up and reveal a peek of your lacy panties. Law gulped when he noticed your soft thighs bulging around the elastic band of your stockings. 

Using both hands, you began to jerk him off with slow and deliberate movements. Dragging your palms from the base to the head with the perfect amount of pressure, making sure to trace the sensitive vein on the underside. A steady stream of translucent fluid dribbled out, the length pulsing and begging for more in your grasp. You paused to spit on his tip for added lubrication and rubbed it into his heated skin. 

Law was glad you were fixated on his cock rather than his face. He knew he looked pathetic. Barely three minutes had passed and he was embarrassingly close to cumming (though he was proud of himself for not bursting in his pants the moment you emerged in your costume). His abdomen muscles were wound tight and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Steely gray eyes never left your body, your hands, almost too afraid to blink. 

When you fondled his heavy balls, his orgasm hit him like a truck. Law threw his head against the pillow and cried out, painting white streaks across your baby blue gloves. You grinned watching your boyfriend heaving for air, finally meeting his gaze when you swiped your tongue across a thick glob of cum on your thumb. He watched dazedly as you wiped the rest of his spend off on your skirt, then tossed your dirty gloves on the floor. 

“Perfect! The swelling went down,” you grinned slyly and added, “but it might come back.”

“Oh, it’s definitely coming back.” 

Law grabbed your waist and quickly flipped your positions, pinning you underneath him by sitting on your hips. Holding your wrists above your head in one hand and using the other to cup your jaw, he pressed his lips against yours in a wet and messy kiss. You whined as he shoved his tongue down your throat, eagerly devouring your mouth. 

“M-Mr. Trafalgar, this is very unprofessional…” Weakly faking a struggle against his grasp, whining when it only got tighter.

“I gotta self-medicate now, miss, or I’ll never get better.” Your boyfriend kissed his way down your sternum, tugging down the zipper of your costume just enough to reveal your chest. He groaned at the sight of your vivid red bra. “Fuck, what a uniform.”

While mouthing at the swell of your breasts, your boyfriend stroked himself to full hardness – which didn’t take long. Desire was overtaking his mind and turning his vision hazy. He might actually have a medical issue if he didn’t fuck you immediately. 

Law slipped his hand between your legs and snickered at the wetness soaked through your panties. Pushing the fabric to the side, he unceremoniously thrust his E and A fingers in your cunt. Those skilled digits pushed and prodded inside you, a grin spreading across his face when he heard the sinful squelch of your drenched walls. 

“Naughty nurse,” he chuckled teasingly, gray eyes burning holes into your own when he sucked his sticky fingers into his mouth, moaning at your taste.

“I’m not naughty,” you pouted. “My job is to make patients feel better, and this is helping, right?”

“Shit, yeah, you just might cure me.” 

Law tapped your inner thighs and you spread them willingly, unsurprised when he chose to shove your panties to the side and keep the costume intact. He pressed his swollen mushroom tip against your leaking entrance. With freed wrists, you gripped the bedsheets, heart racing and pussy throbbing. 

Rather than fulfilling both of your desires, your boyfriend paused in thought. “Hold on, what did you diagnose me with?”

You shrugged and defaulted to something you heard in a porno. “Big dick disorder?”

Law fought against every well-educated neuron in his brain begging to correct you. He took a deep breath and let out an exaggerated exhale, but smirked proudly. “I’ll accept it.”

His cock slammed into you and knocked all the air from your lungs. Bottoming out with a groan, he paused to lean back and admire your outfit, feeling his cock get impossibly harder inside your cunt. Fucking a fantasy nurse was a deep-rooted desire of his, and he was amazed and incredibly grateful that he was able to act it out with you. 

“Is this the right way to treat my illness?” Smugly punctuating his words with a sharp thrust, the head of his cock kissing the tip of your womb. You’d never seen him so talkative in bed.

“M-move faster… it’ll be more effective.”

“Okay. I trust you, miss nurse.” Law whispered seductively in your ear. His beard tickled your skin when he nipped at a soft spot of your neck. 

Setting a brutal pace, he pistoned his cock in and out, balls slapping against your skin with every thrust. Messy wet sounds filled the room – your cunt gushing and your tongues desperately sliding against each other. Law typically limited his vocal expressions of pleasure to grunts and soft groans, but something in him had clearly snapped. He had no issue throwing his head back and moaning unashamedly, interweaving spat curse words and praises of your body. 

He sucked on your tongue while switching his hip movements to a slow grind, his dick fully sheathed and rubbing against every delicate inch of your cunt. 

“T-Traf… oh, fuck, Law.” Your eyes rolled back into your head as you tangled your fingers in his messy black hair and held onto it for dear life. He swallowed the string of saliva connecting your lips with a playful grin.

Shifting your position into a mating press, you locked your stocking-clad knees around his shoulders. His rough pace resumed, cock reaching impossibly deeper inside you, bullying your cervix with every thrust. Your body rocked back and forth on the shaking mattress. Every movement caused your hat to press against the pillow and reminded you of your costume – no, your role.

“Good girl,” Law panted, pupils blown wide with pleasure. “Taking care of me so well with your pretty pussy.”

You whined needily, feeling your core tighten. “I’m s-so close, baby,” 

A sharp slap came down on your tit. Law’s eyes narrowed. “Be professional.” 

Despite his strict command, he rewarded you by pressing and flicking his thumb against your neglected clit. You bucked your hips into his touch desperately, grinding the sensitive nub on his calloused finger.

You threw your head backwards, arched off the bed and came with a cry of, “Mr. Trafalgar!” Arms wrapped around his back, legs pulling him in even tighter as your pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, flooding over you in a bright white light. 

“Naughty fucking nurse.” Your boyfriend growled with a pleased smirk. Hot cum coated your walls as Law let out a deep moan, your cunt eagerly milking every last drop. Your boyfriend kissed you deeply until the aftershocks of both of your orgasms had subsided.

He collapsed on top of you, both of your chests heaving against each other as you struggled to catch your breath. Releasing your tight grip on his shoulders, you lovingly rubbed the giant skull tattoo on his upper back. 

“Thank you, miss. I’m cured.” Law mumbled happily, kissing your cheek. 

You frowned. “You are? After one round?”

“Oh.” That certainly wouldn’t be a satisfying ending to his appointment. “Um… No, I’m still very, very sick.” He followed it up with a fake cough. Not exactly a symptom of having a big dick, but whatever. 

Deciding to give your overwhelmed boyfriend a break, you took control of the situation again.

“I’m not sure how much medical knowledge you have, Mr. Trafalgar, but I have an ache in my chest.” You reached between your bodies to innocently spread your unzipped dress even more, pushing out your tits. “Mind checking it out for me?”

Law pushed up the cups of your bra without a second thought, groping your soft flesh with large palms. “I’ll see what I can do.”

[mywritersmind]

BIKINI TIES - LN4

summary : A fun day is made chaotic by your brothers best friend and his constant need to flirt with you.

listen up : back to me roots! (lando x fewtrell!reader) dirty jokes, lando norris slut allegations.

words : 1392

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The sun is hot against my back, a sign of my impending tan and a sure way to make me smile.

I breathe in as Dominic Fike starts blasting from the speaker, my eyes shut and hiding the many people around me, although their presence is definitely made known by the splashes in the pool, constant conversation, and drink orders being yelled across the backyard.

I’m laying a bit away from the rowdy group, in the perfect position under the sun, with my bikini top untied and my stomach against the lounge chair.

I shift my head against my arms, careful to not sit up so much that I flash someone. As I lay my head back down, my hair falls around my shoulders in a blanket of warmth and waves, but my comfort is quickly messed with.

I open my eyes at the contact, a hand pushing my hair away from my face. I’m annoyed at the move yet when the man in front of me unblurs from my vision, I'm not so angry.

I eye his smile and light blue trunks, “Is my turn to be bothered already? Last I checked, you hadn't even spoken to Chris.” I close my eyes again, still enjoying the sun even though he’s blocking half of it.

“Keeping tabs on me, Fewtrell?” He taps my leg, forcing me to move them and sitting down next to me.

“I’m observant.” I mumble, giving in to his game.

“You’re obsessed.” He teases and I try not to think about how he’s definitely checking out my ass in my tiny bikini.

“You’re delusional.” I hum in response.

He clicks his tongue, “Max is starting the grill soon, what do you want?”

I turn my head a bit, squinting at him with a smile on my face, “Are you taking my order?”

“Shut up and answer before I let you fend for yourself.”

I sigh, “Burger, please.”

I wish I could say that I jumped or slapped him when his hand met my skin, but I've become far too accustomed to his touch in these past years. The only reaction my body has is chills.

His fingers trail over my back and go straight for my bikini bottom, shifting the side to get a closer look at something I know he’s never seen.

“What the fuck, you have a tattoo?” I feel his weight shift on the chair, looking over the side of my body now.

“Yes.” I sigh as he looks closer, “Is that an issue?”

“Well… it’s not a ‘4’ so yeah.” He sits back up, flirting with me easier than ever. “Still cool, though.”

To his dismay, it’s not his racing number, but the number of the house Max and I grew up on. A street that was just next to Lando’s.

He’s not touching me anymore, but he is leaning over my back so his hand is bracing himself on the other side of the chair. I open my eyes again, looking across the pool to the obvious pair of eyes watching the two of us.

“Are you trying to get Max to kill me, or…?” I ask Lando, Max way too far to hear me.

“He’s not watching you, he’s watching me.” He mumbles, groaning and sitting up so he's farther away from me. “Cause i’m a whore and all.”

I laugh at this, “Right. I’m gonna go help Max. I think he might set this place on fire-” I move my hands back but Lando makes it clear that I don’t need to move.

His hand presses against my back, “I got it.” Is all he says before sliding his hands upward and before I know it, the strings of my top tug against my skin.

His hands move against my skin as if it’s nothing. I am used to his touch, his hands are familiar and the same ones that I have to often tell myself to not think about. But this, somehow, feels different. He crosses the strings, tying up my back without me even asking.

When I sit up, he’s looking at me already. I’m absolutely sure I look like a mess but why would I care what I look like when his perfect green eyes are only focused on me?

His straight face breaks when his eyes wander down my chest. Mine do the same, a smile appearing when I see the hair tie stuck to my body.

As if it’s the most obvious thing ever, he quickly peels it off my skin and slides it onto his wrist. I watch as his tanned arm braces himself against the chair again, his bicep tightening as he leans closer. Fuck his arms are attractive.

He blinks, running his tongue over his teeth. “You look hot.” He says nonchalantly.

I raise a brow, confused at his tone.

“You should probably cool off.” The second he stops talking, he’s grabbing me off the chair and pulling me into his arms.

I fight him instinctively, getting deja vu to our younger years. “Lando!” I scream as he carries me as if I'm a princess being saved, straight to the pool, “Lando, No!”

His grip on my legs tightens, the smile never leaving his face, “Come on, Fewtrell, I'd rather you scream my name later in the day.” I slap his arm after he whispers in my ear, too dangerous for anyone else to hear.

“Fuck you!” I scream just before I’m submerged in water. The pool is a cool relief that I definitely won’t admit to Lando. I kick away from him, finding air again as people around us laugh.

He pops back up right in front of me, grinning wildly and shaking his wet curls in my face. “I’m gonna get you back.” I say. I'm not sure if I'm out of breath from the sudden swim or the proximity that Lando is to me.

“Oh yeah?” He does that hot guy thing that makes me wonder if he knows how attractive he is, nodding at me with a lazy smirk. I shake my head, moving my arms to keep me above water, “You still look hot.”

I roll my eyes, dunking my head and spinning around so when I'm back in the fresh air, I'm not facing him, “I hate you.”

He tugs at my waist under the water, turning me back around and making me even closer to him. “Say it to my face.”

I bite my lip, his curls dropping water onto his face. I follow one droplet, watching it move down the face I know so well. Over his tiny nose scar that’s gotten more prominent with the sun, over the freckle on his cheek and disappearing at his lips.

He lowers his voice even though everyone around us is busy with their own things, “Cat got your tongue?”

I snap out of whatever trance I was just put in, “I hope you drown.”

“Aw, then who would stress Max out with you?” His eyes move past me and I jolt away from him, looking behind just to see everyone but Max.

I splash him before he sinks back under, a hand around my ankle in seconds.

I fight him in the water before both of us are out of breath, “He’s gonna kill us one day.” I say, wiping the water off my face.

“So why don’t you let me kiss you and give him something real to be mad about?” It comes out far too easily, his eyes locked on mine and his expression completely serious.

We joke like this a lot. With Max too, sometimes. But Max doesn’t find some of it as funny, especially when Lando is touching and/or flirting with me.

When I asked him why he gets so bothered, he responded with, “He’s my best friend. You’re my little sister. It’s gross.” I thought he was going to stop there, but then he gave me a bit more and the current reason why I'm scared to do anything with the Formula one driver. “I know him. I know his habits- especially with women. Why would I let you just be another girl to him?”

I swallow and do the only thing I confidently know how to do in moments like these. I push Lando under the water and swim away.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Falling With Style

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: What happens when you, the person in the chair/the eyes and ears for Captain America, is also dating The Falcon?

"How are we lookin', Specs?" Sam asks through comms. You're back at headquarters while he and Joaquin are currently on a chopper. Your bluelight glasses on to prevent eyestrain. Ever since you started wearing them, Sam started calling you Specs.

"Lookin' all clear, Cap," you respond through the mic, as you scan through aerial and satellite footage of any air traffic.

"And you're lookin' pretty cute today, babe," Joaquin adds in.

You snort, looking down at your current state "I'm wearing a hoodie and leggings and the matching crocs we have."

"And you look cute when you wear them!" Joaquin retorts back.

"Save it for later, lovebirds!” Sam butts in, scolding you two.

You snicker, “Was that meant to be a pun?”

“Y/N! Focus!”

“Right. Sorry, Cap!” Your eyes going back and forth to the three screens in front of you. You click to a new tab of thermal footage of the base where some hostiles are hiding out, "I'm seeing five hostiles and three hosta-shit."

"What? What do you see?" Sam asks.

"Sam, there's kids."

"Which means we gotta be extra careful," Joaquin says.

"Alright. Focus up. Specs, Joaquin and I are about twenty clicks away from the base. We're gonna drop down now before they get a whiff of us."

"Sounds like a plan."

"You should send out Red Wing to get a better look at the kids," Joaquin suggests.

"Good thinking. Sending him now."

While Sam and Joaquin wait for Red Wing to get to the base, Joaquin fills the silence.

"So, babe, wanna grab something to eat after this?"

"Sure, what were you thinking?"

"Maybe some pizza with a side of you?"

"Dude..." Sam says in a disapproving tone.

"It was a good line!"

You interject, "...it was an okay line, Joaco."

He scoffs, "And you can do better?" You can just imagine him crossing his arms over his chest, looking at you with a challenging gaze.

"Everyone calls you the Falcon, but can I call you Mine?" You speak into the mic with a smirk as you continue to scan the monitors.

"Well, I'm already yours so I give that a zero out of five stars."

You roll your eyes, "Fine! You go!"

There's silence until Joaquin speaks up again, "I'm not playing cards, but I definitely pulled a Queen."

"Two point five stars out of five."

"Oh come on!"

You don't see it, but Sam’s had enough of your flirting and banter. Red Wing has gotten a better look of the hostages and their captors.

They're a lot closer to the base now so, without any warning, he pushes Joaquin out.

Joaquin's yells echo through your ear, "He fucking pushed me!"

Sam goes “Guess you can say he’s falling for you,” he says with a smirk as he jumps out of the chopper, following his protege.

Joaquin yells on the comms, “You stole my line!” He pulls out his wings and begins to soar through the air,

You snort, “You good, babe?” You look through Sam and Joaquin's visuals. From Joaquin's point of view, he's more stable as he flies through the air.

“Yeah, after Sam so rudely pushed me out.”

“I didn’t push you. It was a little nudge.” The Captain argues.

“That was not a little nudge! You-“

You cackle and interject, “Alright! Alright! Clear comms. I’ll be here if you need me.”

"Call me Needy 'cause I always need you."

"JOAQUIN! FOCUS!" Sam yells out, causing you to laugh.

[luveline]

Hotch request! Please sir, can I have a Hotch request? I'm trying to follow what you said about comfort but also Hotch being angry. So I get low blood sugars cause of my diabetes and I'd love if you wrote something about them being on a case and BAU!Reader is really busy trying to get stuff done, so she has a bad low blood sugar and sits down but one of the local officers thinks she's slacking off so she tries to keep going and Hotch comes in and defends her, making sure she has everything she needs and doesn't faint. Love you <3

ty for requesting!! hope this is okay <3 fem, 1.3k

“I understand.” You frown, phone pressed to your ear hard. “I totally understand, but it’s really important that I get to talk to her.” 

“She’s on heavy medication,” the nurse replies, unimpressed by your asking, “she wouldn’t be much use anyhow.” 

“I understand, but–”

“Listen, I’m sorry, but we have a lot to do here. I’m sorry we can’t help. Bye.” 

You groan in frustration, bringing your phone from your ear to see the Call Disconnected notification flash across your screen. How are you and the team ever supposed to get answers if nobody wants to help? Your head rushes. You kid yourself into believing it’s annoyance like a hot flash, you’ve been sweaty for ages, but then reality cuts through. What usually makes you sweaty and dizzy?

“Where’s my test kit?” you murmur to yourself. 

The door opens while you’re looking through your bag. 

“Agent,” Officer Debs greets, a stout, sturdy woman with sharp eyes, “any news from Georgetown Psychiatric?” 

You rummage frustratedly through your things. You should know better than to misplace your test kit. Doesn’t matter. You’ll just have to eat something quickly before you get any worse. “Uh, no, nothing they could help me with.” 

“Did you call them?” 

Your eyelids are getting heavier. You sit down on impulse, worried you’re gonna fall if you stay standing. “Yeah, I called them.” You’ve had diabetes for long enough to know what to do, but it’s always harder than it felt the last time when your blood sugar drops. It can be so sudden. 

Realising you might need help, you clear your throat, about to ask Officer Debs if she can get the glucose tablets from your bag. You should’ve grabbed them —your thoughts are starting to thicken like someone’s poured cornflour into your skull. 

“Is now the best time for a break?” Officer Debs asks. 

You focus very hard on bringing your attention into the present. “No, sorry,” you say, standing up. You open your phone and direct to the contacts page, clicking your favourite contact at the very top. 

Don’t know m where test kit is, you text clumsily. Hotch should still be in the precinct. Do u have it ? 

“I hope you’re texting someone about the case,” Officer Debs says sternly. 

You shove your phone into your pocket. “Um,” you say, getting confused now, and not wanting to be shouted at. You grab for the page of phone numbers you’d been making your way through, can’t get your hands to work. “I wasn’t. But I’m getting to it.” 

“We really don’t have time to waste.” 

“I know, but my blood sugar–”

She talks over you. “What’s the point in all our officers working day and night when you FBI agents can’t be bothered to put in the same effort?” Her voice rises. “It’s ridiculous!”

“It’s not ridiculous, we’re trying our best just like you are.”

“Clearly not!” 

“My blood sugar,” you say, more insistently. “Stop shouting at me.” 

The door opens quickly, creaking hard on its hinge. Hotch doesn’t slam it open, he never slams anything, but he doesn’t hesitate either. “I have it, you left it in the car after you tested this morning,” he says, your kit in his hand. He gives Officer Debs a surprised up and down. “Who’s shouting?” he asks, unimpressed. 

You wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. “Hotch, I need a tablet.” 

If he’s shocked at your lethargy, he doesn’t say. He ignores the officer from that point on. “Yes, I think so, too.” 

Hotch is more efficient than you were, grabbing your tube of glucose tablets and shaking one out into his hand. “Can you take it yourself?” 

“You want to chew it for me?” you ask. 

He tips it into your palm. “Very funny.” 

He opens the test kit on the desk and starts to extract the pieces. It’s quite complicated, especially for people unfamiliar with it, but you’re pretty sure Hotch learned how to use it the day he knew you had diabetes. He wipes his hands with an alcohol wipe and presses a test strip into the meter, careful not to touch the end, before wiping your finger with a new wipe, and readying the lancing stick. 

“Gonna stick you, okay?” he asks quietly.

“Mm,” you hum, the glucose tablet like chalk between your teeth. 

He sticks you. Some days it feels more painful than other days, but today it’s like a pinprick in a haze. He squeezes your finger, wipes the first drop of blood with a cotton ball, and dips the test strip into the second bead of blood, careful not to jab your cut. 

In the five seconds it takes for you to get a result on the meter, he kneels down, pressing another cotton ball to your finger to stem the flow of blood. “Good,” he murmurs to you. The meter flashes on the table. “Not so good. Fifty nine, huh? How’d that happen?” 

You shake your head slowly from one side to another. “I’ve no idea.” 

“Okay. Well, that tablet’s not gonna do it, honey. Do you have any gels?” 

“No,” you say apologetically. 

“That’s fine. I’ll get you a drink.” 

Officer Debs clears her throat. You may be foggy, but her awkwardness is palpable. “I’ll get it.”

“It has to be full sugar. Coke, if you can,” Hotch says. She nods in understanding and leaves in record time. Hotch turns back to you, his severity melting away. “She was shouting at you?”

“Tried to tell her about my blood sugar. She told me we’re not here to waste time.” You close your mouth, licking the glucose off of your teeth.

“How did you get so low?” he asks.

“Must have done something wrong this morning. Am I okay?” 

“We’ll see. I think you’ll be alright.” 

“Don’t usually get so dizzy.” 

“When was the last time you were below seventy?” 

“Don’t know,” you mumble. 

Hotch peels the cotton ball from your finger and packs your things away cleanly. “Let’s see how you feel in ten minutes. After your coke. Now… what did the Officer say to you?” 

He’s getting his facts straight. Again, you wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. You relay your conversation, Officer Debs hadn’t even been that bad, just uppity, stuck on her own assumptions rather than willing to listen when you’d needed a hand. Her lack of empathy could’ve really affected you. Low blood sugar is no joke. 

You tell him, savouring in the warmth of his hand on your leg, how uncaring he is to be kneeling in front of you on the precinct floor. He frowns at you long and hard. 

By the time Officer Debs returns, he’s on his feet again. “A word?” he asks her. 

You don’t hear all of what he’s saying through the door as you sip your coke. He doesn’t shout, but he defends you with a heavy gravity. Officer Debs speaks up and he cuts her down, something about understanding, and then a more clear telling off, “I don’t want to hear about Agent L/N’s performance from you again. She’s my agent, and if she needs a break, she’ll take one. It’s none of your concern.” 

“I understand.” 

You feel much peppier when he comes back in, though he appears less so. “You’re nasty,” you say, smiling, happy to be defended, and happier to know you’re not gonna pass out.

He crosses the room. Still frowning, he takes your face into his hands, and he leans down inch by inch, until he’s pressing a soft, soft kiss to your lips. You barely have time to close your eyes before he’s pulling away, thumb pressed into your soft cheek. “Nobody gets to shout at you. Especially over your blood sugar.” 

“It’s usually you telling me off for letting it get low,” you mumble. 

He stands up straight, leaving you wanting for another kiss you won’t get, hands stolen back from your cheeks. “You’re ageing me prematurely. Drink some more coke, please, sweetheart.” 

“What do I get in return?” 

He touches your face briefly, as much of a promise as you’re going to get. 

[ragingbookdragon]

She blinked in her drunken haze at the bartender who nudged a glass of water towards her; her brows drew in confusion, and he said, “Look if you want to keep paying, I’ll keep serving, but you look like you need a ride home rather than more drinks. Drink some water and find a ride.”

Throwing a poor thumbs up, she watched as he walked off and she pulled out her phone, thumbing her password in so she could go to her contacts; his was one of the first and she managed to press call, laying the phone down on the bar, her head laying atop it. They picked up on the second ring.

What.

“Lt,” she slurred. “Will you come get me?”

You’re drunk, aren’t you?

It was rhetorical, she knew that, but she responded anyway. “Yeah, drank too much.” She closed her eyes. “Will you please come get me?” she smiled when she heard the annoyed sigh come across the line. “Pleeeeeeeeeeease,” she whined.

Pay your tab and I’ll be there in a few minutes.

“You’re not going to pay it for me?”

You’re pushing your luck much farther than how much you think I actually tolerate you.

“You tolerate me more than most.”

Whatever.

The line went dead, and she fished around in her pocket for a few bills, laying them on the counter as she lifted herself up and headed for the door. As she stepped out into the night, she drifted to an enclosed corner and sat down on one of the paved bricks that extended from the outside wall, shutting her eyes as she rested her head on the cold stone. She listened as people walked past her, taking in the laughter, the random bits of conversation, sometimes arguments, and breathed deeply as her brain rolled around in her skull.

It wasn’t until she felt the shift of the moonlight from her face to shadow that she cracked an eye open and gazed up at the masked man glaring back at her. “Hi, Lt,” she murmured, and he didn’t even blink.

“C’mon.”

He turned and started walking towards the parking lot when she whined and said, “You aren’t even going to help me up?”

His feet stopped on the pavement, shoulders lifting up and down before he spun around and walked back over, holding out his hand.

“Thank you,” she chirped and took it, letting him pull her up; she didn’t let go of his hand as they walked and at one point in her drunken stumbling, he stopped and let out a tired sigh, bending his knees to kneel beside her. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Get on,” he retorted, and she looked between his face and his back.

“You mean on your—”

“Get. On.” He growled and she hurriedly draped herself on his back, letting out a startled noise as he stood up suddenly, large hands clasped on the bottoms of her thighs as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

She blinked as she rested her head on his shoulder and murmured, “Wow, the air is so clear up here.” She heard it, the slight snort and she couldn’t help but smile as he carried her. “Lt?”

“What.”

“Thank you for coming to get me. I know I’m a pain in the ass.”

“At least you’re self-aware of how much a major pain in my arse you are. Bigger than Soap is on his worst days.”

“Now that’s just plain mean,” she mumbled, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped again and turned his head, looking at her. “I’d rather you be a pain in my arse than be nothing to me at all.”

She gazed at him with wide eyes, unable to stop her mouth from flopping open and he looked down then back to her eyes. “Really?” she asked in disbelief.

“You might be the biggest pain I’ve ever had the displeasure of having, but you’re my pain and I intend for it to stay that way.”

Her mouth shut and she melted against his back as he continued walking, gingerly snuggling closer to him, knees hugging his hips, arms tighter around him as she joked, “I love you too, Lt.”

“Nope, we’re not there yet.”

She paused, then wondered aloud, “You think we’ll ever be there one day?”

It was a long moment before he finally murmured back, “…yeah, maybe one day, pet.”

[thebibliosphere]

Pennyworth: Gainful Employment

Three years after the bomb dropped on London and it’s all starting to come together for Alfred.

MI5 have offered him a promotion, he’s got his mum set up in a nice flat in Edinburgh and Dave Boy is even paying his bar tabs. So, of course, Alfred is going out of his mind with boredom.

How convenient, then, that a strangely worded letter arrives from Gotham, thanking Alfred for his application for the position of Head Butler to Wayne Manor, urging him to come as soon as possible.

There’s just one small problem—Alfred didn’t apply for any job. Which can only mean one thing: Martha and Thomas are in danger and they need Alfred to get them out of it.

It’s probably a trap.

Alfred’s almost hoping it is.

Guess he’ll find out.

[Read the complete fic on Ao3]

I’m trying a new thing where I post fics I’m not entirely happy with but instead of letting them languish and rot in my drafts, ultimately killing my desire to do anything, I bludgeon my fatalistic perfectionism to death with a hammer and post them anyway.

Hopefully it’s all right.

Also don’t worry if you’re waiting on Richard’s story updating. I’m just sorting through WIPs in the hopes it’ll clear up some mental bandwidth :)

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you.