#jensen!reader

It was a normal afternoon at the Jensen house, which meant quiet—until it wasn’t.

In the backhouse, Justin and Y/N were supposed to be studying. For about ten minutes, they actually were. But math had turned into laughter, laughter had turned into teasing, and teasing had turned into the kind of kissing that made time disappear.

They were so caught up they didn’t notice Clay walking up the path outside. He’d forgotten his notebook and figured he’d grab it before heading back out. As he rounded the corner, he glanced toward the window—then stopped dead.

Inside, someone was definitely making out. Again.

Clay groaned under his breath. “Seriously, Justin? Again?”

He couldn’t see who the girl was—just Justin, clearly on top of someone, shirt a little wrinkled, hair completely ruined. Clay rolled his eyes, muttering, “Unbelievable.” Then he knocked loudly on the door.

“Comin’ in,” he called, voice full of warning. “Hopefully you ain’t making out with someone this time.”

Inside, Justin shot up so fast he nearly fell off the bed. “Oh, crap.”

Y/N’s heart jumped. “Who is it?”

“Clay,” Justin hissed. “I’m dead. He’s gonna kill me.”

“Act normal,” she whispered, grabbing the nearest open notebook.

Clay pushed open the door, eyebrows already raised. Justin was sitting at the desk, pencil in hand like he’d been mid-equation his entire life. Y/N sat next to him, expression innocent enough to win an Oscar.

“No making out,” Justin said quickly, voice way too chipper. “Just studying. With Y/N.”

Clay started to reply, but then his eyes caught up with his brain. He blinked once. Twice. Then it hit him.

The only girl in the room… was his sister.

His whole face changed—confusion melting into dawning horror. “Wait.” He pointed between them. “You were… you were making out with—no. No, no, no. My sister? Come on, bro!”

Justin’s mouth opened and closed, completely useless. “I—I didn’t know you were coming back!”

“That’s your excuse?” Clay demanded. “You didn’t know I’d see you swapping spit with my sister?”

Y/N groaned. “Clay, stop being dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m traumatized!”

Justin stood up fast, hands raised like he was facing a cop. “Clay, man, I’m sorry. I swear it’s not—well, okay, it is what it looked like, but it’s not some—”

“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence,” Clay warned, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t need details.”

Y/N tried not to laugh, which only made Clay look even more pained. “This is unreal,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “My best friend. My sister.”

“I really like her,” Justin blurted, desperate. “I wasn’t trying to sneak around. It just—happened.”

Clay glared at him, but there wasn’t much real anger left—just exasperation. “You two couldn’t have just said something? Saved me from walking in on that horror show?”

Justin winced. “Yeah. Not my proudest moment.”

“Understatement of the year.” Clay sighed, finally dropping onto the arm of the couch. “Whatever. You’re both adults, I guess. Just… not in front of me. Ever. Again.”

Justin nodded instantly. “Absolutely. Never again. Total agreement.”

“Good.” Clay pointed toward the table. “Now actually do some math, so the next time I see you together I don’t have to bleach my eyes.”

Y/N snorted; Justin gave a nervous laugh that sounded more like relief.

As Clay left, still muttering “my sister” under his breath, Justin exhaled and slumped back in the chair. “That could’ve been worse,” he said quietly.

Y/N smirked. “How?”

“He didn’t swing.”

She laughed. “Progress, Foley.”