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reignpage · 3 months ago

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Frat Boy!Gojo

Old Fashioned: swallow that bitter taste

Word Count: 2.7k Contents: angst, cursing, some dark themes, which include slut shaming, abuse, both physical and verbal, threat of violence, not proofread

The beep beep beep that echoes around the empty, dusty room strikes at your equally empty and equally dusty heart. You try to visit the hospital as often as your schedule permits, but these days, with all the wedding preparations, you could really only dedicate an hour every Thursday, between lectures.

It’s pathetic. He deserves better than this half-hearted display of love and guilt, the natural combination. If he was awake, he’d undoubtedly make a snarky comment about how the wilting flowers you can barely afford is a representation of your friendship going down the drain because he obviously deserves more than carnations, of all flowers.

Oh, how you wish he could tell you off right now.

“Hi, Asahi. You’re looking shittier than last time,” you muse with a chuckle, a shaky smile pulling at your lips.

There he is, lying in some drab hospital gown, tucked all nice and warm in a rigid bed, with only you, a dull lump of black lace as his only company. He can’t roll his eyes at your pitiful tone or fire back some insult about how your eyeliner is far too thick for your eyes and you more closely resembles a panda than any sexy vampire you’ve been trying to simulate.

“Remember the boy I’ve been telling you about? Well, we got into a bit of a disagreement the other night. I don’t know, I guess he got fed up with this play acting thing we’re doing. And I don’t really blame him, y’know? We’re barely adults and we’re getting married. Isn’t that crazy? God, I wish you could be there, you can laugh at me and throw rice or confetti or whatever it is they do nowadays. Maybe even purposefully get it in my eye, knowing you.”

No reply.

Just like all those times before, there is never a reply, only a beep beep beeping that drives you crazy and you can never seem to tune out, try as you might. Sometimes, at night, you hear that mocking sound hooking itself into your spine and carrying you away from the guiltless comfort of sleep.

With a sigh, you carry on. “Well, anyways, I think you’d really like him. He’s a little stupid. Okay, maybe a lot stupid, but I don’t know, I think it’s endearing. He has these annoying eyes that are just so bright and God, do you ever just wanna rip off someone’s eyes and stomp on them because they’re too dazzling? ‘Cause I do. Every time, I look at his. And his laugh. Oh, God. You won’t believe it. It’s the most obnoxious sound in the entire world. I actually get nightmares, I swear. He laughs like he doesn’t care how loud he is, like he thinks people should laugh more, like it’s a crime not to find laughing easy. What an idiot, right?”

You don’t mention how since that evening, he hasn’t blown up your phone like he usually does, in fact you received no notifications from him at all. Within the first hour or two, you thought he still needed some space, and you understood. But then as hours turned into a whole night, then a whole morning, then a day and another, you started to think that maybe, just maybe, he’ll never text you again.

And can you blame him?

He wasn’t wrong, about him being used. From the very beginning, he always represented wealth and what that can bring. Surely, he was aware that even if people did genuinely like him for who he is, the strength of his name, of what courses through his blood, will always hang in the air, this infinite void shielding him from everyone who tries to get too close only to end up further and further away.

“I think I should apologise and give him that second date he’s been begging me for. Yeah, actually begging. I told you he’s stupid.” Your voice is trailing off, a slight wobble that you can’t seem to command away. “I think I hurt his feelings. I know, surprise surprise. But I just can’t help but feel like, out of everyone involved in this thing, he’s the least deserving, y’know? Ugh, I’ll talk to the guy when I run into him on campus — he’s kinda hard to miss.”

Even paralysed and in a coma, you’re certain Asahi can tell you aren’t convincing yourself with the fake bravado. Truthfully, you’re not sure you could bring yourself to mutter an apology. No, it isn’t that. You can’t bring yourself to come face to face with him, lest you see something that doesn’t quite match up with your vision of a sincere expression of happiness, at seeing you.

Fiddling with a loose thread on your dress, you pull it taut, tighter and tighter, until it snaps.

“Here again?”

Your head snaps back.

“Mother, w-what are you doing here?”

Beep beep beep.

She waltzes in, clasping her snakeskin handbag closer to her, as if the cramped room would snatch it off her manicured hands. Burgundy pencil skirt clashing with her neon blouse, those staple bright red lips curl into something that makes you gulp. You don’t dare bring up the fact that she desperately needs a stylist — that is the least of your issues.

Pursing her lips, her disapproving eyes roves over your body, before she scoffs and looks away, focusing instead on a framed print photo of tomato soup cans in all sorts of colours. You shuffle in your seat, the plastic squeaking.

“You’ve disappointed me once again,” she begins, settling her bag on the table where your flowers droop over the vase. You recognise this tone of hers, the one that’s too calm, too flat to ever mean anything other than trouble. “You were given one task and one task only, and somehow, either by natural ineptitude or wilful rebellion, you’ve failed at something so simple. Goodness, what ever did happen to that brain of yours?”

It’s clear she isn’t here to chat about the weather, so you stand up, pulling a glove further up your wrist and exhale as quietly as you can.

“Now, mother, I know the dinner didn’t end very well, but he just needs a second to cool down and then he’ll be on board again. I’ll go on another date with him and show him we can work together. I’ll fix it, I swear.”

Her glare pierces you, forcing you to stumble back.

Scoffing, she waves a hand in the air. “‘Fix it?’ You will fix it? God, Y/N. It is not the time for your sarcastic little jokes. You can’t fix anything. You proved that the other night with whatever you had texted him as we made plans for your wedding.”

“Y-you knew?”

The laugh that escapes her lacks any real joy — the only one she’s capable of. Cold, mocking and scathing, you can do nothing but wince under its weight.

“It’s hard to not notice you typing away under the table like some whore playing footsie! I raised you better than that, no? Where did all those etiquette lessons go anyways? Hmm? It’s certainly not towards your uncouth behaviour. Goodness, look at you. You’re in your final year of university and you still haven’t matured.”

When she gets into these rants, there’s no stopping her. You learnt that when she snapped at you for tripping on your own dress in front of a ballroom of people at the age of eight, and at twelve when she overheard you use a swear word with a friend.

“Still bumbling about, pretending to be indifferent and nihilistic, like some child playing dress up. And what have I said about this all black look? You look ridiculous and not to mention hideous. When are you going to grow out of this phase? You couldn’t even lose those repulsive piercings? Even just for a couple dinners? Maybe if you did, the Gojos would have been more keen to welcome you into their family.”

Beep beep beep.

She continues, taking a step closer towards you, and you feel the room get smaller like the walls are shifting in, “We had him. Him and the rest of his family in the palm of our hands. You were so close to marrying him and fixing all our problems and then you ruined it. This is all your fault.”

Your mother’s voice grows louder, pitchier, more shrill, and you clutch your dress tight in your fists. She’s been drinking. You don’t know how you didn’t notice until now but she reeks of alcohol. Perhaps, the natural smell of death and deep levels of sanitation that permeates the air of this hospital masked that scent of hers she never bothered to try to shake off.

“Why couldn’t you just be a good girl, hmm?” Her hand reaches for your face and you flinch. Ice cold, her touch brings the hairs on the back of your neck to a standstill. It’s been many years since she had last touched you, in any kind of soft, maternal way at least, and this foreign feeling leaves you holding your breath.

“Why couldn’t you just give him what he wanted? Flirt a little, flash him a smile, slide those legs and let him take what he needed. Anything! Anything to make him yours. The way I did with your father.”

Falling to your chest, her hand curls, digging itself into your dress and you stagger forward with her powerful yank. You gasp. And then, eyes wide, you clutch your heart, watching the lace collar that had once been a part of you dangle in her grasp. She casts it aside.

A cry rises up her throat, like bile, and she spews it at you. “Boys like him only want one thing, my dear. Do you know what it is? Did I ever teach you?”

Her nails are sharp.

You notice that as she leans forward, skimming them against your cheek once more. Clammy, you feel the material of your gloves stick to your skin and you feel a sudden itch to keep it on even in death. There’s no one here. Nurses rarely come to check up on this room, not when the patient has so little wants and needs. And there’s not anyone you can text and call, no one who’d understand, who’d come at the drop of a hat.

“Answer me!”

She wrenches your sleeve in a blur, her movements jerky and sudden and too unpredictable. That too falls to the ground, lifeless.

Beep beep beep.

Bottom lip quivering, you stammer out, “S-sex?”

You feel the burn of your cheek before you hear the sound of her palm strike you. And you sob with her, just as she soothes the skin with a cooing sound. Her expression softens and for a second, no more and no less, she actually looks like a mother.

“No, my dear. All boys, whether that Gojo boy’s age or your father’s, want thrill. They’ll seek it anywhere. If not from their wives, then from common whores, or from sports cars, or violence, or casinos, like your daddy — it’s why we needed you to marry that boy, remember? We have no money, our family’s fortune is scattered in the vaults of seedy casinos all over the city. We needed their money, to get back to where we used to be. They were our last chance.”

“L-last? B-but the wedding’s still happening, isn’t it?”

Was that even your voice?

It sounded so meek, so frail, so young.

“No, dear.” Her smile is sharp, one corner stabbing into your heart and the other twisting. “This morning, your little fiancé went to the press and informed them that you two were so-called victims of a forced engagement and would like the public’s support to maintain your ‘liberty’. The Gojos have already begun doing damage control, claiming that you broke up with him and he’s a classic college student — drunk and seeking revenge. So that’s that of your love story. Such a shame.”

Beep beep beep.

“B-but he wouldn’t. No, he wants to be with me, h-he just needed some time to cool down.”

You’re running out of breath, you can feel it seeping out of your lungs. It’s too tight in here, there are too many machines making all sorts of noises, and you just need air, you need something, anything. There’s nothing to clutch, nowhere to lean against, and when you turn to the one other person there, the eyes you wish would look at you aren’t.

Beep beep beep.

There’s simply no way Satoru would go to the media. No, he was finally accepting the marriage, accepting you. You were so sure of it. It was clear as day in his eyes. You could even feel it pulse in that minuscule gap between you when he had fitted your gloves back onto your hands.

He can’t be done with you.

He just can’t.

Beep beep beep.

Holding up a bedpan, she inspects her face in the reflection and her lips purse once more. Taunting, she giggles. “Oh, but all women learn eventually that time does nothing for us.”

She’s ran out of steam, much faster than she usually does, and even though parts of your dress lay in tatters on the hospital floor, you feel fortunate that she hadn’t decided to rip out your heart instead. You’re not sure she’d find anything in your chest cavity anyways.

Detached once more, she slurs with bewildering high, “Don’t look so devastated, goodness. You’ll forget all about that Gojo boy soon. You must. Because you’ll be marrying into the Zenins. A nice, young man, just a little older than you. I believe his name is Naoya.”

The blood drains from your body.

“No,” you gasp out. “No, mother. I can’t. H-he’s abusive. You know this. Everyone knows this. He’s sadistic and cruel a-and —“

Beep beep beep.

“And he’s on the market looking for a wife.” She cuts you a look, one that forces your mouth shut. It’s a talent of hers. “The Zenins reached out. Apparently, whatever’s good enough for the Gojo’s is good enough for them. What great luck, wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”

Beep beep beep.

You’ve heard stories of how he used women like dolls, dressing them up and tearing them down as he pleased. There’s always scandals and blind items making rounds online about girls he’d left battered and bruised, disoriented and silenced by copious amounts of money. A man like him would never love you. He’d never even respect you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew it would turn out like this. Having met the man once, at some yacht, a couple years ago, you recall the pure repulsion in his eyes when you bumped into him. He saw the beginnings of your true style coming in, like adult teeth, and something flashed in his eyes. A recognition of your rarity in these parts. A sparkle of challenge. A barely restrained desire.

You could never forget the way he had looked at you — you were a trophy at the end of a marathon and there was a spot in his collection waiting just for you.

Like a fool, a naive, pathetic little fool, you thought you had outran him. That, in the arms of another man, a stronger, richer man, you’d be safe. But that man doesn’t want anything to do with you.

You’re alone.

Beep beep beep.

Sighing, she makes a tutting sound and focuses back on you. “I did say to behave, no? I told you it was in our best interest that you drag that boy up to the altar no matter what, and you failed your duty as a daughter. This is the consequences of your actions, dear. But despite your frightening appearance, you’re still desired. How nice. So, smile, yes? You’re getting married, after all.”

A machine flatlines. It’s not Asahi’s heart who fails and dies right there and then. You don’t even hear anything but that incessant beeeeeeeeeeeeep that knocks you back into your seat, jaw slack and cheek stinging.

“When?”

She smiles again.

“Tomorrow!”

#jjk angst #Gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk x you #gojo satoru #modern au

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love44lew · 3 months ago

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Day 3: ‘you’re gonna be a mom’

彡drivers lewis hamilton x pregnant!reader 🪼

彡genre intense fluff

彡summary you find a special way to reveal to your husband that you’re gonna be parents

၊၊||၊ i kind of made a part two for this because i wanted it to be a series originally but i kinda thought it was just fine to leave it here ;-; anyways feedback is always appreciated, enjoy!! ၊၊||၊

彡warnings cuteness overload

Lewis has ALWAYSS wanted kids. his natural connection and love for kids is so beautiful and every time you see him with his niece and nephew your heart just explodes into a million pieces. he is SO CUTE ♡︎!! so to your not-so-much surprise when you found out you were pregnant, you knew this would skyrocket him to space. fathers day is up in coming so you knew it was the perfect timing.

you glanced out the window of your bedroom to see your husband carrying the last of the bags into the trunk of your suv as you were inside finishing wrapping the little present you have for him and make your way to the kitchen where you await for him to enter back into the house.

“baby!? you ready to go?” he calls from the front door. “yeah, can you come here real quick?” you call back. lewis makes his way towards the kitchen to find with a little present box in front of you on the island.

“whats this~?” he leans back a little trying to look suspecting with a big smile creeping on his face at the same time. your heart is beating through your chest but you manage to keep your composure as you shakily slide the box towards him.

“for me? thank you.” he leans over and gives you a loving peck on the cheek before unraveling the ribbon tying the mini gift closed.

you can feel your heart beating in your damn ears and you feel like you’re about to throw up like you have been doing for the last 3 days—the mixtures of fear and excitement stirring up within you. it feels like time is moving in .3x with your eyes glued to his hands as he discards your carefully tied ribbon to the side and pulls the top off the box, which lifts the whole box it and a little with a pop as the air trapped within releases as the top drops off the rest of the box. he carefully pulls back the colorful paper and confetti covering the goods within and he slowly takes out a mini diaper followed by a positive pregnancy test. his shoulders drop and he stares at it for a couple seconds. you swore your heart stopped for a moment and your breathing paused as you stood by impatiently for a response. lewis trails his gaze towards you, his eyes pink and glossy. unexpectedly, he carefully places the stuff onto the counter and takes a step toward you, closing the gap between as he pulls you into a warm embrace.

he didn’t say anything but over your own heartbeat you could hear his as your head lay rested on his shoulder, your bodies enveloping in each others warmth. a few moments pass by and lewis breaks the silence with shaken whispers of “thank you”’s and “i love you”’s muffled into the crook of your neck. you rub your hands up his back and neck, you can feel little warm droplets kiss your cheeks, your eyes spilling sweet tears. its not the reaction you expected, but its the reaction you needed. you’ve always wanted kids of your own, its a shared desire between you and your husband.

now, this dream is true and you’re more than ecstatic not that your fulfilling a dream of your own, but now a dream of the one you love the most. his short lived silence spoke volumes. it wasn’t just happiness, it was relief. lewis slightly pulled away to face you, taking in your beauty lovingly. he leaves a series of soft kisses across your face. lewis takes your hand and shifts his lips over to your fingers and palms and then guiding it to his face. you caress his cheek with your thumb, wiping away a light tear that dared to travel further down his smooth glass skin.

“you’re gonna be a mom” he slightly squeezes your hand as he says that. every doubt and nervousness immediately drops from your body as you fall into a small giggle fit. some tears leaving your eyes as you conclude with a sniffle.

“yea..” you roll your eyes playfully “i guess i am”. he dips his arms down below your bum and picks you up into an embrace, continuing his series of kisses on your neck and chest.

your heart flutters and jumps with positivity as you throw your head back in laughter. he places you down on the island and cups your face taking you lips into his for a passionate but loving kiss. his large hands run up your sides, taking a moment to pass them over your stomach feeling over a baby bump that doesn’t quite exist yet but his imagination going wild knowing everything you both achieved up until this point, your love, patience, and hope, has now taken human form. his little miracle. oh how much they need to catch up on when they’re born. he has so much to tell them, he wont even know where to start. he pressed his forehead against yours, his palms ending their path on your shoulders.

“everything feels so right, you feel right baby..” lewis cups the sides of your neck in his hands.

“i love you. words will never be enough to tell, but i hope you know i do and i’m so glad its you, its always been you.” his lips collide with yours once again.

slow and sweet, but feels like electricity every time. your hand rests on his bicep giving it a little squeeze. he pulls away, his kind doe eyes gazing down at you. your eyes dart to each one of his, a pause before your lips clash once again, wherever you were supposed to go long forgotten by now. bodies intertwined as emotions consumed the two of you. your legs swing around his back, forcing his hand to leave your neck and slap down on the counter trying to keep his balance as you pulled him down, deepening the kiss. his other hand slid its way down your body and back to your lower stomach, caressing with his thumb. before things could go any further, lewis’s phone starts to ring. you attempt to ignore but when they called again, its probably important. with a sigh and a final kiss lewis answered the phone with his sister on the other line. “hello?” lewis spoke into the phone.

you can faintly hear the other line and you recognize the voice. “are you guys on the way?” his sister asked. lewis glanced at you and you both exchanged a quiet chuckle.

“yeah, yeah.. you can say that” you heard some “huh? what does that supposed to—“ before the other side of the line went silent as he hung up you and your husbands clips colided with yours again, continuing your interrupted kiss.

“as much as i love kissing you like this, we do have somewhere to be..” he sighed out in between final pecks between you two before pulling away from your lips completely.

“as much as i love kissing you like this, we do have somewhere to be..” he sighed out in between final pecks between you two before pulling away from your lips completely. you whined, the taste of his lips still lingering on yours. lewis helped you down from the table and walked you all the way to the car.

“hehe I’m not disabled yet” you giggled as he helped you down the porch stairs. “i know, just getting into the habit.” he smiled, kissing your knuckles as he assisted you entering the car. your whole life, you’ve always wanted kids. the only problem was, what if its with the wrong person? what if he leaves mid trimester or isn’t the father that her baby needs? what if she fails as a mother? all these doubts have now flown out the window with the wind. since the day you met your husband, you’ve known it was going to be him. he takes any of those doubts and squashes them like annoying bugs. even if your love story comes to an end (which you hope it doesn’t) you will be sure co parenting with him will be an easy feat.

you couldn’t ask for anything more. “woo hooo im gonna be a dad!” your silly husband screams out the car window to the unsuspecting oncoming cars. all you can do is wipe away your tears of happiness and laughter at his goofiness.

—-🐚-—

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mocchiixxx · 2 months ago

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Double the Trouble

(Woozi x Reader )

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Opposites Attract

Summary: Woozi somehow ends up with you—his energetic, chaos-loving girlfriend who’s basically Hoshi 2.0. Between surprise visits and matching tiger onesies, his life is now twice as exhausting… and twice as fun.

Woozi prided himself on being composed, hardworking, and relatively sane. But somehow, the universe had decided to throw you into his life. You who's a whirlwind of boundless energy, dramatic reactions, and an enthusiasm that rivaled Hoshi’s.

It was both a blessing and a never-ending headache.

"JAGIYA!" You burst into Woozi’s studio with the same chaotic energy of a confetti cannon, nearly knocking over a stack of lyric sheets in the process.

Woozi sighed, already bracing himself. "What now?"

You gasped, dramatically clutching your chest. "Why do you sound so tired when you see me? Shouldn’t you be excited?"

"I would be if you didn’t come in like a tornado every time," he muttered, though he was already smiling despite himself.

"Well, I have great news!" You plopped down beside him, eyes sparkling. "I got us matching tiger onesies!"

He blinked. "…What?"

"Like Hoshi’s! But for us!" You wiggled excitedly, holding up the onesie like it was a trophy. "We can be Team Tiger 2.0!"

Woozi groaned, rubbing his temples. "Not you too."

"YES, ME TOO!" You pumped your fists in the air. "Come on, babe, imagine the power we’ll have."

As if summoned, Hoshi suddenly peeked his head into the room. "Wait, did I hear Team Tiger 2.0?!"

Woozi shot him a glare. "Leave."

"Not until you agree to wear the onesie!" you and Hoshi said in unison, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Woozi sighed, knowing he was hopelessly outnumbered. He stared at you—his energetic, chaotic, sometimes too much girlfriend—and despite the headache forming, he couldn’t help but smile.

"...Fine. But only at home."

Your excited scream probably shook the entire Pledis building.

Author's Note: Just imagine woozi having a girlfriend who has the same personality and energy as Hoshi makes me giggles like a mad woman. That'll be so cute, swear! Hihi

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #svt #svt imagines #svt x reader #svt fluff #seventeen carat #carat #svt carat #woozi x reader #svt woozi #seventeen woozi #woozi #lee jihoon

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nebulablakemurphy · 4 months ago

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What’s in a name?

Summary: Haymitch Abernathy x Reader set in the moves & countermoves universe. Y/N is currently pregnant with their second child and they need a name.

Warning: 18+ ONLY MDNI (Smut)

They struck gold with Everest, the child and his namesake. The people of Panem loved the grandiose nature of the name Everest.

The novelty of his existence dwindled over the years, in the public eye. But to his parents, he becomes more perfect each day. By the age of three he possesses luxuries other children his age could only dream of.

Y/N and Haymitch are more than happy with just him. The thought of another child rarely crosses their minds.

Y/N is reading to Everest on the living room couch when Haymitch receives the pristine white envelope stuffed through the mail slot. He skims over the letter three times, painting on a smile as he returns to his wife and son.

Y/N knows him well enough by now that she can feel his distress. Waiting until after Everest is tucked into bed to whisper, “Haymitch, what’s wrong?”

“Snow wants us to have another baby.”

“Ok,” Y/N takes the blow better than she had the first time. “We knew this was coming.”

Haymitch curls his fist around the open bottle of liquor on their bedside table. He gulps it down, unwilling to admit how much he hates the way she isn’t surprised. Even when she cries or screams or throws things, she is fighting. This time she doesn’t fight at all, doesn’t resist in the slightest and it breaks his heart.

He takes it out on her two days later, without meaning to. Instructions from Snow come, sentencing them to the “room” in Y/N’s house with the cameras.

Madge stays with Everest at their house, oblivious to it all.

Before long Y/N is face down, fisting her pretty hands in the sheets as he fucks her.

Haymitch can’t see her face, perhaps that’s why he positioned them this way. He doesn’t deserve to see it.

Her fingers search for his, longing to entwine them, but his mind is far from here, far from his body and her. Going through the motions.

“I love you, Haymitch.”

No, his hips falter. Not that, anything but that. He runs a hand along her spine, her sweat damp skin. “Turn around,” he pulls out, rocking back on his heels to give her room.

Y/N turns to face him, catching her breath. Watching with worried eyes. They don’t switch positions during a recording unless it’s been requested specifically. The goal is always to finish as quickly as possible.

Haymitch closes the space between them, leaning onto his forearms as he eases himself back inside her. “I love you so much.” He murmurs against her ear, causing Y/N to shiver. “I love you.”

Y/N nods, burying her hands in his hair. Understanding how hard those words are for him to speak. “I know.”

“I love you.” A plea, an apology.

“I love you too.” Y/N holds him to her, kissing any part of him she can reach.

————————————————————————-

Haymitch wastes no time, the minute the test is positive, he is on his knees. Talking to their sweet baby, kissing Y/N’s belly, telling them stories. The way he feels about his wife hasn’t changed much since her first pregnancy, he just knows how to communicate it better. He knows what she likes and what she doesn’t, he knows the extent of reassurance she needs to feel safe.

As her belly grows, Y/N comes to him often, seeking comfort in the form of physical intimacy. He welcomes her with open arms, makes her happy. Makes her laugh. Makes her cum. Doing everything he wishes he would have while she was pregnant with Everest.

“Do you think it’s another boy or a girl?” Y/N wonders, watching her husband trace patterns across her belly.

Haymitch smiles, “girl.”

————————————————————————

A few months later his suspicions are confirmed, they are expecting a daughter, announced via Caesar Flickerman and a slew of pink confetti.

Everest squeals in his father’s arms, until Haymitch sets him down so he can dance under the falling pink glitter.

Y/N turns to her husband, with a knowing smile.

“I told you so.” Haymitch cocks his head to the side.

Y/N is in his arms a moment later, silencing him with a kiss.

————————————————————————-

“Is there a name you like?” Haymitch asks; she gets first pick.

Y/N shakes her head, “this one’s all you.”

Finding a name suitable for this child takes months.

“Can’t you just tell me, kid?” He whispers to his unborn child. “What’s your name?”

Y/N chuckles.

“Help me out here.” A swift kick to his nose tells Haymitch that he’ll just have to keep looking.

He searches high and low for a name. In books from the hob and passersby on the street, until finally he passes over the third page of the potential names again.

Arista.

‘The name Arista has its origins in the Greek language and signifies 'Best.’

“Arista,” he murmurs.

“That’s pretty.” Y/N smiles, passing a hand over her belly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

#moves & countermoves #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy smut #haymitch abernathy fanfiction #haymitch smut #haymitch x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #haymitch fanfic

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fortunxa · 5 months ago

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Jinx’s take on birthdays

H E A D C A N O N S

「 ✦ Jinx x birthday girl!reader (ft. Isha!) ✦ 」

author’s note: this is my birthday gift to myself, so happy 21st to me! a day late, but the energy is here 🍰 it’s a hefty “birthdays by Jinx” guide, trust. everybody’s included

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

── .✦ in general

⭑.ᐟ Jinx is unpredictable and spontaneous, but she’d put a lot of effort into making you feel special. It wouldn’t necessarily be traditional, but it would scream Jinx’s personal touch. Expect creative, maybe even over-the-top plans.

⭑.ᐟ She’d probably start scheming weeks in advance. She would try to keep it a secret but might accidentally drop hints—giggling to herself or testing out her surprise explosives in the middle of the night.

⭑.ᐟ On the day of, she’d be buzzing with energy, maybe even more excited than you. She’d be jumping around, barely able to contain herself, and constantly checking to make sure everything’s “just right”.

⭑.ᐟ Chaotic wake-up call. Jinx wouldn’t just wake you up—she’d startle you awake. Maybe it’s a mini firework going off, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” screamed at the top of her lungs, or her jumping onto the bed while tossing confetti in the air. She’d think it’s hilarious.

⭑.ᐟ She would wake up early to attempt to make breakfast in bed, and it’d be a mess. The pancakes might come out misshapen, the eggs might be slightly burnt, and the kitchen might look like a warzone, but she’d serve the meal with the biggest, proudest grin, sticking sparklers in it.

– “Chef Jinx, at your service! Presentation’s… optional.”

⭑.ᐟ She would tease you all day with “hints” about what’s coming—big dramatic gestures, mysterious grins, and exaggerated secrecy.

⭑.ᐟ Alternatively, she’d pretend to forget about the birthday at first, just to make the reveal more dramatic.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx might attempt to bake a cake—or something resembling one. It’d probably have lopsided layers, mismatched decorations, and way too much frosting, but she’d remind you it was baked with love. Surprisingly, it ends up tasting quite good, all things considered. She insists on lighting so many candles that it becomes a literal bonfire.

– “Make a BIG wish!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would pour her heart out into making a gift. Maybe it’s a painted gadget, a weapon engraved with your initials, or a music box that hums your favorite tune. / She would try her hand at crafting something wearable—a necklace made from colorful wires and gears or a bracelet with tiny charms representing your relationship. / She might secretly collect mementos from your time together—photos, doodles, or little objects from your dates. She’d throw them into a scrapbook and complete it with her graffiti-style art.

⭑.ᐟ Isha would work on a small handmade gift for you as well—a simple drawing or a decorated trinket like a painted stone or a flower crown. She’d try to give it to you directly but hesitate, clinging to Jinx’s sleeve.

– “What are you waiting for, kid? Go give it to her!” And Isha would finally step forward, holding out the gift with both hands and a bashful smile.

⭑.ᐟ The birthday card would be a mix of chaotic doodles and messy handwriting. Jinx might overthink the message, so she’d stick with keeping it short and sweet.

“I suck at words, but you make me feel lucky. Thanks for sticking around, you weirdo. ꨄ︎ Love you. — Jinx :Þ”

⭑.ᐟ She would secretly paint an enormous mural on a wall in Zaun or Piltover, featuring your likeness surrounded by bold, neon colors and chaotic designs. It’d say something cheeky like, “the best girlfriend in Zaun (and Piltover—fight me)”.

⭑.ᐟ If someone tries to upstage her efforts—whether with gifts or plans—she would get hilariously pouty and competitive.

– “Oh, that’s cute, but did they make you a flamethrower? Didn’t think so.”

⭑.ᐟ If anyone else tries to monopolize your attention for too long (even for innocent birthday wishes), she might get possessive and interrupt, playing it off as a joke.

– “Okay, okay, enough. She’s MY birthday girl.”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would be extra overprotective on your special day, constantly holding your hand or slinging an arm around your shoulders. She’s not only protecting you but your “birthday vibes” as well (her words). She scowls if anyone so much as looks at you funny.

– “You want a birthday beatdown, huh?”

⭑.ᐟ She would absolutely wear a birthday hat all day, and she’d insist you wear one too.

⭑.ᐟ She would write a chaotic, nonsensical birthday song and perform it with full dramatic flair, banging on random objects to create a “beat.”

– “This song’s copyrighted—only for you, babe!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would stick to you like glue, constantly poking you, dragging you to see surprises, and showering you with compliments.

– “Wow, your face is so birthday today. Like, insanely cute. Unfair, really.”

– “You’re so perfect, it’s disgusting.”

⭑.ᐟ She might hijack a Piltover broadcast or Zaun’s speakers to publicly shout out your birthday.

⭑.ᐟ She would watch your reactions to everything she planned, grinning like a proud kid.

– “Do you like it? Tell me you like it! C’mon—smile for me!”

⭑.ᐟ She keeps shouting, “IT’S HER BIRTHDAY!” every time someone enters the room, even if it’s someone who already knows.

⭑.ᐟ No matter how chaotic the day is, Jinx would genuinely want you to feel loved and appreciated. She’d get quiet for a moment at the end of the day, letting her vulnerability show.

– “I don’t always get things right, but… you’re my favorite person. So, yeah. Happy birthday, babe.”

⭑.ᐟ As long as there’s leftover cake, she’ll keep celebrating.

– “What do you mean your birthday is over? How am I eating a birthday cake slice, then?”

── .✦ Jinx planning a surprise birthday party

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would throw a chaotic but fun party with a theme that makes sense only to her. Think: “sharks with birthday hats”.

⭑.ᐟ Or, she’d mix everything you like to make a big, nonsensical theme. Think: your favorite animals/colors/anything relating to your interests in one big concoction. (thanks bunny!!<3)

⭑.ᐟ She would talk a mile a minute about her ideas, constantly glancing at Isha to see if she’s keeping up. Isha, sitting cross-legged on the floor, would enthusiastically point to certain parts of Jinx’s sketches or mimic explosions with her hands to signal she loves the idea of fireworks.

⭑.ᐟ Isha would be Jinx’s undercover operative, spying on your preferences.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would drag Isha into a crafting frenzy. They’d make mismatched decorations like paper chains and confetti cannons. Isha would quietly fold a bunch of origami animals to scatter around as subtle decorations, which Jinx would “improve” by adding googly eyes to practically all of them. Can’t forget the banner that says “YOU’RE THE BOMB” (because of course).

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would initially want to handle everything herself, believing that only she could make the party perfect. She’d get flustered when things went wrong but stubbornly refuse to admit she needed assistance.

⭑.ᐟ If things got overwhelming, she might swallow her pride and reluctantly ask for help in last-minute desperation, though it’d come out dramatically.

– “Okay, fine! I need backup.”

⭑.ᐟ To keep the party secret, she would assign ridiculous code names to everything.

the party = “Operation Boom Bash”

the cake = “Project Frosty Delight”

you = “Target Hot Stuff”

⭑.ᐟ She would treat it like a mission briefing, but she’d be annoyingly cryptic with her instructions.

– “Okay, so I need, like, three gallons of paint, a live shark—just for a minute!—and maybe some cupcakes.”

– “How is the live shark a must-have for a birthday party, but cupcakes are a ‘maybe’?”

– “No questions!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would be offended if anyone tried to suggest a different idea. She was your girlfriend, after all, and she only wanted the best for you. But she quickly realizes that her demands are nearly impossible to meet, so she tones them down to avoid making the party a disaster. Accepting the help is her way of showing she’s trying to be a better person for you. She wants to show she can do something right.

– “I just want her to be happy, you know? I need this to be right.”

⭑.ᐟ DIY invitations. Jinx would hand-make wild, artistic invitations for the party, even if it’s just for you. They’d be chaotic masterpieces—probably involving glitter and graffiti-like design, with Isha sneaking a doodle of you, Jinx, and herself on the back. Jinx would only invite people she knows you like, even if it means threatening them to RSVP with notes like, “Show up or get kaboomed. <3 Jinx.”

⭑.ᐟ The day of the celebration, she might hand out “party favors” for any friends who join—small, colorful explosives or confetti grenades.

– “Take one! They’re mostly harmless!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would constantly check in with you because she’d be genuinely worried about messing things up despite her confidence.

– “You havin’ fun? You like it? How ‘bout now?”

– “You’re smiling, so I guess that means I didn’t screw this up, right?”

⭑.ᐟ She’d pull Isha aside occasionally to ask her to “spy” on guests to make sure no one was causing trouble.

– “Okay, short stack, go check on the snack table and make sure no one’s hogging the chips.”

⭑.ᐟ Isha would quietly insist on getting a slice of cake to give you herself, practically shoving it into your hands with a big smile.

⭑.ᐟ During a toast for you, Isha would quietly raise her glass (even if it’s just juice) and look at you with a shy smile, gesturing a little “cheers” with her cup.

⭑.ᐟ Isha would be in charge of keeping guests entertained while Jinx set up bigger surprises. She would direct people with expressive gestures, and they would end up following her lead because she’s so animated and endearing. She’d shoo them away to the dance floor or hand out drinks with glow-stick stirrers.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would constantly circle back to you to check if you need anything.

– “You still good, babe? Need more cake? A drink? Someone thrown out?”

⭑.ᐟ Isha would trail after you for a bit, helping out in small ways, like passing you a drink or brushing confetti off your shoulder, subtly showing her affection.

⭑.ᐟ If anyone tried to make the party about themselves or annoyed you, Jinx would intervene immediately.

– “Go eat some cake and zip it.”

⭑.ᐟ Isha would stick close to you during parts of the party, mirroring Jinx’s protective instincts. If someone approached who looked suspicious (in her eyes), she would cross her arms, glare, and shake her head like a little bodyguard. Jinx calls it “the Isha test”.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would rope Isha into playful pranks, like sneaking up behind guests and tossing glitter at them.

⭑.ᐟ She would start spontaneous dance-offs, grabbing you and spinning you around just to hear you laugh.

– “Dance with me, birthday girl! Don’t make me embarrass myself alone!”

⭑.ᐟ She would be darting around and hyping up the crowd, while Isha acted as her silent shadow, handing out sparklers or checking up on the games.

– “Ladies and gentlemen, step right up! And by step up, I mean do what the kid tells you—she’s in charge of this one!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would stick to traditional party games and activities but add her own twist to them each time, no matter how trivial.

“bomb pong” ➪ her version of beer pong, where she’d paint the ping pong balls to look like mini bombs.

“truth or chaos” ➪ self-explanatory. She would make sure you only got fun or flattering dares, even being flirty and teasing with them.

– “Oh no, you chose chaos? That means you have to kiss the coolest person at this party.” And you both know it’s her.

trivia game ➪ Jinx would want to show off how much she knows about you. The catch? Half the trivia questions would also be about herself just to test you, too.

– “Okay, bonus round—what’s my favorite thing to blow up?!”

Glow-in-the-dark darts and lit up board just because she could. If you point out the dangerous side of the game—especially with little Isha running around—she’d groan loudly but relent, setting up a glow-in-the-dark ring toss instead.

She’d hang a homemade piñata filled with tiny trinkets and candy. Everyone would take turns blindfolded, with Jinx calling out unhelpful directions like: “Swing left! No, your other left!”. She’d make sure you got the first and last swing.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would be cheering you on during every activity and heckling the opponents, while Isha would root for you by miming cheers and clapping her hands. If you won a round, Isha would leap into the air and give you a medal she crafted beforehand.

⭑.ᐟ Like the mini-Jinx she is, she would periodically check on you, giving you a thumbs-up or tapping your shoulder to make sure you’re having fun.

⭑.ᐟ If you seemed overwhelmed, Isha would grab Jinx’s arm and point to you, miming a timeout gesture. She would sit quietly nearby, offering her company without being intrusive.

⭑.ᐟ After the chaos of the party, Jinx would unwind next to you on the couch, resting her head on your shoulder while little Isha napped, curled up in your side, making you both grin.

– “Looks like you’ve got another fan, huh?”

── .✦ birthday girl!reader who wants a low-key celebration

⭑.ᐟ If you didn’t want a big party or over-the-top surprises for your birthday, it would definitely take Jinx a moment to recalibrate.

⭑.ᐟ She might struggle to understand why you don’t want a big celebration. She’d look genuinely puzzled, her mind racing to adjust her usual plans.

⭑.ᐟ Once she accepts that you prefer a low-key celebration, she would throw herself into making a quiet day special. It might take some effort for her to tone down her usual chaotic energy, but she’d do it because it’s what you want for your special day.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would constantly ask questions to figure out what you consider “too much.”

– “Okay, so like, if I draw a heart on the wall in paint, is that over-the-top? No? Cool. What if I set the heart ablaze? …Too far? Got it.”

– “Would it be too much if I put your name in lights? Or not enough?”

⭑.ᐟ She’d be extra gentle and overly concerned at times, to the point of being funny. She’d fidget nervously, constantly checking in. She’s worried about getting it too wrong.

– “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean it’s cool, it’s chill, but like… you’re sure?”

⭑.ᐟ Super simplified decorations. After easing her anxieties, Jinx would decorate with a single balloon or one small banner just because she thinks it’s hilarious. She’d point at it dramatically, bragging about how she’s “reinventing minimalism”.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would leave funny little notes in random spots to quietly show you she’s thinking about you.

inside your favorite book: “Reading? On your birthday? Wow, nerd alert. (Just kidding, keep being the smartest, cutest, book-loving babe ever.)”

by the light switch: “Every time you turn this light on, think about how you light up my life. Too cheesy? Deal with it, it’s your birthday!”

on a snack bag: “Munch away, birthday girl! Each bite makes you 10x more adorable. SCIENCE FACT.”

on the bathroom door: “Birthday bathroom breaks are scientifically proven to be 20% better than regular ones. FACT. Don’t ask how I know.”

The scientist behind the studies? None other than Jinx herself.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would give you small gifts throughout the day instead of all at once. She’d say it’s a “drip-feed of love” to “keep the birthday vibes alive”.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would plan something like an art date. She would take you to a hidden spot where you could graffiti together. She’d bring spray paints and help you come up with a tag that matches her monkey one.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx might quietly admire you during the day, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with her feelings for you.

– “Y’know, I like this. Just us. You’re kinda… everything.”

⭑.ᐟ If you wanted to stay in, she wouldn’t mind just spending the day relaxing together in her hideout. She’d insist on building a “birthday pillow fort” and filling it with snacks, blankets, and fairy lights, creating a cozy little haven.

– “Just you, me, and some snacks. It’s a date. A birthday date!”

⭑.ᐟ Well, it was a date until Isha felt left out and peeked her head out from the entrance, which made you promptly pull her into the pillow fort.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would focus on spending uninterrupted time with you—talking, laughing, and just enjoying the day together. She’d cherish the calm moments, even if it’s not her usual speed. She might actually enjoy the slower pace, realizing it gives her more time to focus on you.

– “This is nice. I don’t gotta share you with anyone else today. Well, except short stack over here.”

⭑.ᐟ Since you don’t want anything big, Jinx would ditch the giant cake and instead stick a candle in a cupcake, donut, or even a sandwich.

⭑.ᐟ If you’re worried about Jinx not having fun with a quiet birthday, she would quickly shut that down.

– “What, me? Bored? Nah, babe. I’d sit in total silence if it meant hanging out with you.”

⭑.ᐟ By the end of the day, Jinx would be extra soft and sentimental, realizing she doesn’t need a big party to make you happy.

– “I don’t care what we do, as long as it’s with you.”

── .✦ birthday girl!reader who hates birthdays

⭑.ᐟ Initially, Jinx would be thrown off guard—she would be baffled. Expect a lot of teasing questions and remarks to test your boundaries or to try to make you laugh, diffusing the tension of the day.

– “What did birthdays ever do to you? Did a balloon pop in your face as a kid? Was there a cake betrayal I need to know about?”

– “If you hate birthdays, does that mean I don’t get to wear a party hat? Because I look really good in a party hat.”

– “What do you call someone who hates birthdays? You! Wait, no, seriously—is there a word for that? Birth-a-phobic? Cake-averse? Anti-balloonian?”

– “What do you want to do on your birthday? Oh wait—you probably want to boycott it. My bad.”

– “Can I still blow up balloons? Asking for a very sneaky clown.”

– “So, if we can’t celebrate your birthday, can I just celebrate mine again?”

– “What’s worse: hating birthdays or admitting it to someone like me? I mean, now I have to mess with you.”

⭑.ᐟ If you opened up about why you hated birthdays, she would actually listen and try to understand. She would struggle at first but ultimately stick to your wishes. She will try to come up with other ideas to make you feel cared about regardless.

⭑.ᐟ She would leave a card that says: “This is NOT a birthday card. It’s just me reminding you that you’re the coolest person ever. Luv, Jinx.”

⭑.ᐟ Subtle “not birthday” gestures. Jinx would sneak in small, low-key things to make you smile without drawing attention to the day. She would spend the entire day being extra affectionate without outright acknowledging your birthday.

Random hugs.

Leaving little flowers on the table without saying a word.

Bringing you your favorite drinks or snacks, then casually walking away like it’s no big deal.

Leaving a tiny, heartfelt note that says, “I love you every day, not just today.”

⭑.ᐟ However, it would be hard for her not to be suspicious at times. She would quietly slip a thoughtful little gift into your bag with a note that says, “Not a birthday present. Just because.”

⭑.ᐟ Accidental overstepping happens. Jinx might slip up and do something mildly celebratory out of habit, like throwing confetti or humming the birthday tune. If you got upset, she would immediately backtrack.

– “Wait, wait, wait—don’t be mad! It’s not a birthday thing! It’s just… a ‘you’ thing!”

⭑.ᐟ While you cuddle in bed at the end of the day, Jinx can’t help herself from wishing you a happy birthday but in a safe way.

– “You hate birthdays, but I love you. So, thanks for being born. Even if you hate me saying it.”

945 notes · View notes

velaenam · 5 days ago

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𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. you said you were happy with your boyfriend ,then caleb came home, and now his mouth is on your neck. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – NSFW (18+!!) dirty...nasty!!! RAW!! smut!!!, smut w/ alcohol (dubcon), reader cheating on bf w/ LI, caleb is the other man, swearing, mature languages, sexual themes, riding, creampie,raw doggy blah blah, p to v, internal conflict from reader 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 – not proofread. THIS HAS EXHAUSTED ME. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 1 POST BUT TUMBLR HATES ME. ENJOY THIS PURE SMUT CHAPTER. ITS FILTHY. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 2 of idk ! previous chapter / next chapter — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

you unlock the front door with one hand, your work bag sliding off your shoulder as you step into the apartment. the lights are low—too low. it’s quiet. unusually quiet.

you frown, closing the door behind you. “adrien?”

no answer.

you toe off your shoes, drop your keys into the tray by the door. the living room is dark except for the faint flicker of candlelight—just a few, scattered along the edge of the table, casting gold shadows up the wall.

your pulse stirs uneasily. “hello?”

and then—

“surprise!”

the lights flick on all at once, flooding the room in warm brightness. a chorus of voices greets you—familiar, loud, laughing. confetti bursts from somewhere near the kitchen. m.c. is already walking toward you, glass in hand, eyes glittering with mischief.

you freeze.

adrien’s behind her, beaming. “you didn’t think we’d let your mood go unchecked forever, did you?”

nero lifts a drink in your direction. “you’re officially too hot and too successful to be sad.”

tara’s already shoving a sparkly cocktail into your hand. “drink first, process later.”

m.c. pulls you into a hug before you can even reply. “we love you. you don’t have to be okay all the time. just… be here with us tonight, yeah?”

your chest tightens, too full to speak.

adrien’s at your side next, one hand at the small of your back, steady, warm. “you deserve something good,” he murmurs against your ear. “and if it has to be flaming alcohol and obnoxious friends—so be it.”

you manage a breathless smile, looking around the room at the faces that have never left you. the table is piled with food. the playlist is perfect. candles line the corners like constellations.

and then, from the kitchen— you see him. caleb.

leaning against the counter with a glass in hand, that same quiet posture, dressed in black, eyes already on you.

your breath catches. adrien leans in again, oblivious. “and we even got your favorite drink. imported.”

you blink slowly. flamefruit. you don’t even like this shit.

it burns going down, but it’s sweet after. you don’t say a word. you just step into the party.

and pretend your world hasn’t tilted just a little further off its axis.

the night unravels in a blur of glittering glasses and warm laughter. someone plays music too loud. someone opens the flamefruit and starts to drink it with no chasers. nero starts an impromptu drinking game that ends with m.c. and tara collapsed on the couch, wheezing laughter into the same throw pillow. xavier serenades the hallway mirror.

adrien’s glowing—arm around you, beaming, flushed with joy and wine. he’s so happy, so in love, and for a while, you let yourself drift in it.

until you’re not sure how you ended up here.

the house is quieter now, softer around the edges. your hand’s still wrapped around a half-empty glass, fingers a little clumsy. the hall light is off, but the door to adrien’s study is cracked open, the faint blue glow of one of his digital screens still pulsing gently inside.

you don’t mean to walk in.

you just… drift.

the door creaks a little as you push it open.

and there it is.

his desk.

clean, meticulous. dark wood polished smooth. the faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air—cedar and something more expensive beneath. his tablet is powered down, his stylus perfectly aligned. everything where it should be. orderly. safe.

you stare at it.

tipsy and slow, heart pounding harder than it should.

this is where he works. where he plans the future you’re supposed to build together. where he makes decisions about cities, people, the empire of his name—and you.

this is where he probably looked up engagement rings.

you lower your glass onto the edge of the desk.

and for a long moment, you just stand there.

like you’re waiting for something to make sense.

behind you, a soft shuffle. then a familiar voice, low and wrecked with restraint.

“you shouldn’t be in here.”

you turn.

caleb is leaning in the doorway, shirt half-untucked, eyes glassy but still clear enough to pin you in place.

he steps inside, slow. controlled.

but you can feel it—how close the edge really is.

his eyes flick to the glass you left on the desk, then back to you. he shuts the door behind him without a sound.

“funny,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with smoke and wine. “of all the rooms in this perfect little house… you ended up in his.”

you swallow.

he walks toward you, slow and deliberate, every movement soaked in intention. not touching—but close enough that your breath trembles.

“you staring at his chair for a reason?” he asks, one brow lifted, eyes never leaving yours. “planning your future in his office? wondering how it feels to sit in the middle of all that power?”

you don’t answer.

you can’t.

he leans just slightly, one hand bracing on the edge of the desk beside you. his voice drops further. “or maybe you came in here looking for something you weren’t ready to admit.”

his gaze drags down—over your mouth, your throat, the way your hands are clenched into the fabric of your dress. “you’re flushed.”

“flamefruit,” you manage.

he smirks. “sure.”

you can feel the heat rolling off him, the quiet weight of his want simmering just beneath the surface. he brings his mouth close—not touching—but you can feel the shape of his words against your skin.

“you know what the worst part is?” he says, soft and dangerous. “i’ve been good. so good. standing across from you all night pretending i don’t remember what you sound like when you moan.”

your breath stutters. your fingers tighten on the desk behind you.

“but i do,” he says. “and you do too. don’t you?”

he’s so close you can smell him—warm skin and faint sweat and the ghost of something expensive and sharp.

he shifts, gaze catching on the edge of your lip, the column of your throat. “he built this room for control,” he murmurs. “and here you are—shaking in it.”

he shifts behind you, the room warm with breath and liquor and history. the desk presses into your hips, polished wood slick under your palms. his chest is at your back now, broad and solid, his body boxing you in like you were meant to belong here—like he was.

you don’t remember when he touched you.

hes got you bent over the desk your boyfriend so religiously used as his safe haven of when he’d cower against his many business modules. his fingers digging into your side— his breathing tickling your ear like music unable to dissipate from your heart. his other hand caressing the slip of your skirt as he pulls you closer with his manipulation.

“tell me to stop.” a pause

caleb’s hand slides down, caressing the hem of your skirt. dragging it higher this time, pulling you closer with a kind of practiced cruelty that makes your chest squeeze and your knees shake.

his lips barely graze your ear. his voice breaks the silence like a blade sheathed in silk.

“tell me to stop.”

again.

his fingers don’t wait long.

they slip under the hem of your skirt, slow at first, teasing the edge of your thigh like he’s testing just how far you’ll let him go. his breath stays hot at your ear, but his mouth doesn’t move now—he’s waiting. watching.

you should say something.

his hand traces upward, palm dragging across your skin until his fingers find the edge of your panties. they rest there for half a second, still—like he’s giving you one final chance to pull away.

you don’t move.

and so he continues.

his fingertips slide under the delicate fabric, brushing soft and purposeful. a quiet, devastating stroke that makes your whole body lock against the desk, your moan veiled in secrecy. you felt his fingers go in between your folds, suddenly so slick and coated. it’s not rushed. it’s not rough. it’s just intentional—every movement designed to make you feel like you’re unraveling one nerve at a time.

his other hand stays firm on your waist, fingers curled tight into your side like he’s anchoring himself to the moment, or maybe to you. your breath stutters—sharp and trembling—and he exhales low, almost a growl.

“you’re already soaked,” he mutters, voice rough now, mouth dragging along your temple. “and i haven’t even kissed you yet.”

he presses in closer, hips against the back of your skirt, hand still working slow, measured strokes. there’s no rush. no hesitation.

just him—and the way he’s studying your every reaction like a man starved.

his fingers never stop.

they move in slow, devastating circles beneath the fabric, dragging slick heat through your nerves until your breath is shaking and your hands are gripping the desk like it’s the only thing tethering you to this world.

then he shifts.

his palm flattens against your hip, fingers curling under the band of your panties—not just touching now, but claiming. he drags the fabric down with maddening slowness, inch by inch, until it slips past the swell of your thighs and falls loose around your knees.

his other hand moves with him—hooking into the hem of your skirt and sliding it higher, up over your hips, over the arch of your lower back, until you feel the cool air hit bare skin and realize—

you’re completely exposed to him— and he’s right there.

you feel him before you see him—dick hard and straining against the fabric of his pants, pressing against the curve of your ass like gravity’s pulling him toward you. not grinding. not rushing.

just there.

thick heat and tension and everything unsaid, resting at the very edge of control.

his breath comes harder now, his chest rising behind you, and the hand that had steadied your waist slips forward—bold and possessive, curling around your front, groping you with an ache that borders on reverence.

he leans down, lips brushing the curve of your shoulder.

“still want me to stop?” he whispers, rough and hungry.

your knees nearly give out.

you don’t answer him—not with words.

instead, your hips shift back, slow and intentional, pressing into the hard line of him behind you.

the sound he makes is low and guttural—half groan, half curse—and it hits you like a spark behind your ribs. his hand tightens on your waist. you feel him falter for the first time, breath catching as he presses in harder, the fabric of his pants rough against your skin.

his fingers fumble at his waistband, sharp and uncoordinated with urgency. you hear the soft drag of his zipper, the hitch in his breath as he frees himself—and then his body finds yours again, the heat of him suddenly there, bare, dragging across your skin. you didn’t have to see how big he was. his thickness laid on your bare ass cheek.

he doesn’t push in though— not yet.

he shifts his hips, letting his tip glide over you in slow, devastating passes, teasing, testing—coaxing your body into submission without force.

his voice is gravel against your ear. “you’re not going to say it, huh?” his breath hits your neck, lips hovering. “you’re not going to tell me to stop.”

another slow roll of his hips, the pressure sending your breath spiraling.

“then i’m going to take what’s mine,” he murmurs. “slow. deep. until you remember who made you feel this way first.”

you clutch the desk tighter, legs trembling.

he grinds the head of himself along the ache of you again—so close now, so slow, and still not in.

his mouth finds the shell of your ear again. “you’re not leaving this room the same.”

your breath hitches—and then you move.

slow, deliberate, trembling with want.

you push your hips back into him, grinding against the thick weight of him until he slips past the edge, forcing him inside in one sudden, desperate motion.

he gasps—loud, raw—and his hands seize your hips like he’s about to lose his grip on reality. his body stiffens behind you, forehead dropping to your shoulder, a strained, broken sound escaping his throat.

“fuck—” he hisses, voice strained and wrecked.

you feel it—the way he fills you, the way your body welcomes him like it was always meant to. heat, stretch, pressure, home. it’s dizzying. dangerous. you were stunned by how fat his dick was. how thick it felt, how long it was. you grasped at air, gripping the desk for dear life.

his fingers dig into your skin as he tries to steady himself, tries to hold back.

“you—” his voice cracks. “you can’t just—do that.”

but he doesn’t move away, he sinks a little deeper instead.

his breath comes hot and heavy against your neck, jaw clenched, every inch of him trembling with restraint. “almost came just now,” he mutters, teeth grazing your skin. “fuck.”

you bite your lip to keep quiet, to keep still.

but he feels it—all of it.

“you’re going to ruin me,” he growls.

his hips twitch, his control slips, and everything spirals tighter.

his hands are still trembling. you can feel it—in the way he grips your hips, the way his fingers flex like he’s barely holding himself back from slamming into you, from giving in completely.

his breath is ragged against your neck, body trembling with the need to move.

but he waits. he pulls back—just an inch—then slides forward again, slower this time, letting you feel every deliberate, overwhelming inch of him as he buries himself deeper.

you gasp. and that sound—it shatters something in him.

his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, voice rough and breathless.

“you belong to me.”

he thrusts again, deeper, harder. your knees buckle.

“say it,” he growls, voice sharp at the edges, like he’s not asking. “say it, or i’ll keep fucking you like this until you do.”

your head spins. his rhythm builds—steady, consuming, every thrust dragging a broken sound from your throat.

he grips your waist tighter, pulling you back into him like he can’t get close enough, like the desk between you and the world is the only thing keeping this from setting the room on fire.

“look at you,” he breathes. “being a mess for me already.”

his hand moves, sliding down between your thighs, his touch precise, ruthless, loving. your body jerks.

“you’re so good—” he groans, teeth gritting. “so good taking my dick so easily. like your body was made for me.”

your name breaks off his tongue like a prayer and a curse in one. he leans in closer, one hand tangled in your hair, voice dropping to a snarl.

“he can’t fuck you like i can. you know that. you feel that.”

your nails dig into the wood. he moves faster now, chasing the edge you’re both hurtling toward.

but even through the pleasure—every broken breath, every soaked heartbeat—you feel the weight of something else beneath it.

not just lust, claim, history. and the fear that maybe this has never stopped being love.

you don’t mean to say it.

but it slips out—cracked, breathless, soaked in surrender.

“caleb…”

his name breaks from your lips like it’s always been meant for him—like you’ve spent years holding it back, and now it rushes out too fast, too full.

and it snaps something in him.

he growls—deep and low in his chest—before pulling out suddenly and grabbing your waist with both hands. you gasp, too stunned to move, but he’s already turning you, spinning you to face him.

your back hits the desk with a thud, papers scattering, your breath catching in your throat. he shoves everything aside—your glass, a stylus, notes you never read—and lifts you onto the edge like you weigh nothing.

“wrap your legs around me,” he orders, voice wrecked.

you do it without thinking, locking your ankles behind his back as he yanks your hips flush to his.

he’s bare, flushed, violet pupils blown wide with need—but even through the haze of desire, there’s something fierce, almost angry in his expression.

he thrusts into you again, deeper this time—deliberate, unforgiving.

you cry out—his name again, half-formed.

his hand curls under your chin, forcing your gaze up, holding your face steady with startling tenderness.

“you’re going to look at me when you cum for me,” he growls. “no more hiding. no more pretending.”

his hips drive into you hard, and your body responds without permission—arching, clinging, unraveling.

“say my name again,” he demands, panting his hands gripping your face steadily, but still lovingly— gently, “i want to hear you fall apart on it.”

you try to hold on. but you can’t. you cry out his name. because it’s him. and, you’ve always belonged to him.

he leans in, chest flush to yours, catching your mouth in a kiss that’s all tongue and breath and hunger. it’s messy—raw, unrestrained—his lips crashing against yours as he moves inside you, relentless, each thrust harder than the last.

the desk groans beneath the force of it—wood scraping slightly across the floor, your spine arched back, legs wrapped tighter around him just to keep from sliding off. your arms tangle around his neck, holding him there, holding yourself together.

his mouth drags down your jaw, to your throat, to the hollow beneath your ear. each word is a shudder, a growl, a confession you were never supposed to hear.

“you feel so fucking good,” he pants with each thrust, “tight around me—perfect.”

your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scraping over fabric, skin, anything to hold onto.

“i should’ve never let anyone else touch you,” he whispers, breath hot and broken. “this—this is mine. you’re mine.”

his hips slam forward again and again, dragging you closer to the edge. the wet sound of your bodies moving, the ragged slap of skin on skin, fills the room.

“you like this, don’t you?” he murmurs, filthy and soft at your ear. “being ruined in his office. bent over his desk while i make you fall apart.”

you whimper, his name escaping again, and he swallows it in a kiss.

“i want to fill you up,” he groans, losing rhythm for a second as he pulses deep inside. “want you dripping with me—full of me—so you remember every time you look at him who you let inside you first.”

your body trembles—so close, so close—

and caleb feels it. he knows.

“you’re gonna cum for me, baby,” he rasps, forehead pressed to yours. “you’re gonna look me in the eyes and fucking break.”

he feels the way your body’s tightening around him—trembling, too close to hold on. your legs clench tighter around his waist, breath ragged against his neck.

but caleb isn’t done with you—not even close.

he breaks the kiss, breath wrecked, and growls, “legs up.”

you barely have time to react before he unhooks your ankles from behind him, lifting your thighs with both hands, folding your knees up toward your chest. he shifts his grip again—one arm looping beneath your thighs, the other bracing you steady—and with a sharp inhale, he pushes your legs up, resting them over his shoulders.

the new angle hits deeper—sharper. you cry out, a soft, helpless mewl slipping from your mouth before you can even think.

he grins—wild, wrecked, proud. “that’s the sound i wanted.”

his thrusts grow sharper, precise—his hips rolling just right, his movements aimed perfectly at that one spot that makes your vision blur.

“this what you like?” he rasps, teeth gritted, sweat beading at his brow. “right there, huh?”

you nod frantically, your hands clawing for the edge of the desk again, hips jerking up to meet him, but he presses you down.

literally.

his palm slides to your lower abdomen, applying steady, firm pressure—just enough to intensify every thrust, every ripple of sensation spreading through your core.

your moan shatters into fragments, your whole body arching off the desk.

he leans forward—folding you tighter, his chest pressing your knees nearly to your chest, eyes locked on your wrecked expression.

“look at you,” he growls. “moaning like you were made for me.”

he thrusts harder, the desk creaking beneath the strain, your name falling from his lips like it’s sacred.

“gonna keep fucking you like this—until you scream.”

and god, you’re close.. so close, and he knows it—and he’s not letting up. not until you break.

you can’t breathe—can’t think.

your body’s a live wire under his hands—hips pinned, legs trembling where they’re draped over his shoulders, the pressure of his palm pressing down on your lower belly keeping every thrust deep, hard, devastating.

your voice breaks into choked whimpers, high and helpless. he groans, hips stuttering. “you’re so fucking tight—so perfect—”

your hands reach for him, any part of him—his arm, his chest, his name tumbling from your lips in gasps.

and then it hits. you clamp around him, the wave crashing over your body with dizzying force, your thighs shaking, a sharp cry leaving your mouth before you can bite it back.

caleb curses—his grip tightening, a deep moan ripped from his chest as your walls pull him deeper, tighter, desperate.

“fuckfuck, baby—” his pace falls apart as he drives in one last time, buried to the hilt, his hips grinding against yours as he spills into you with a guttural, broken sound.

his whole body shudders. he holds you through it—still inside, still pressed deep, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as you tremble in his arms.

your breathing is sharp. ragged.

his lips ghost your cheek, your jaw, your temple.

he doesn’t say anything.

you both stay like that—tangled, breathless, pressed together like gravity won’t let you go.

his forehead rests against yours, still panting. your hands are curled against his chest, his heartbeat racing beneath your palm. you can feel every twitch of him inside you, every aftershock still rippling through your limbs.

the room is too quiet now. too still.

and yet, neither of you moves.

his hand strokes your thigh absently, almost without thinking, like he’s trying to memorize the way your skin feels beneath his fingertips. his eyes are still closed, his face close enough that you can see the lashes trembling slightly.

“fuck,” he breathes, like the air finally found him again. “i’ve wanted that for so long.”

you don’t answer.

you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

he finally pulls back just enough to look at you—his expression soft, unreadable. not proud. not smug. just full.

then he slides out of you, slow and careful, and you both wince at the loss.

you shift on the desk, dizzy and sore, the weight of what just happened settling in your bones.

his cum is already starting to drip down your thigh.

you reach for the edge of the desk to steady yourself, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

he grabs a tissue from adrien’s desk drawer, silent, gentle, like the spell hasn’t broken yet—but the guilt is creeping under your skin, cold and steady.

you try to speak. fail.

he beats you to it.

“i shouldn’t have let it go that far,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “but god… i don’t regret it.”

you stare at the floor.

he reaches for your face, thumb brushing your jaw. “i know what this means. i know what we just did.”

you shake your head, voice thin. “i don’t know what to do.”

he leans closer, his voice rough and raw. “you don’t have to decide tonight.”

and you believe him. but when he kisses you—slow, tender—you taste everything that might still ruin you and for once you felt like this was right.

by the time you both manage to stand, everything feels too quiet.

your legs are unsteady, your heart still hammering with something that isn’t quite fear but sits awfully close to it.

caleb’s already moving—methodical, focused. he helps you off the desk, steady hands at your waist, his eyes meeting yours only briefly before he turns and starts fixing the room.

no words.

just motion.

you smooth your skirt back down, tug your blouse into place, fingers trembling slightly as you reach for your glass and wipe down the desk with a tissue—careful, thorough, like you can erase what just happened if you clean hard enough.

he buttons his shirt.

you both work in practiced silence.

within minutes, the study looks untouched.

like sin was never written across its surface.

he gives you one last look—checking, steady—and opens the door.

the living room is dim.

music is still pulsing low from a speaker in the corner, looping the same half-finished playlist. soft, woozy synths floating above the mess. but no one stirs.

m.c. is curled on the couch, one leg hanging off the armrest, her drink tilted dangerously sideways on the floor.

xavier is face-down on the rug, half-wrapped in a throw blanket he must’ve pulled off someone else. tara is sitting upright in a chair, completely asleep, sunglasses still on.

adrien is nowhere to be seen.

your breath catches for a second—until you spot him curled on the balcony chaise under a throw, sleeping soundly, one arm over his chest.

they didn’t hear anything.

the music saw to that.

you and caleb exchange one look.

he moves first, walking to the couch and gently adjusting the blanket over m.c., then grabbing a few more from the closet. you follow, helping without speaking, draping warmth over your friends as your stomach twists with guilt and something crueler—longing.

when the last glass is cleared and the last body covered, you both stand in the quiet, hands brushing briefly over a folded blanket.

you don’t look at him.

and he doesn’t say your name.

but the silence says enough.

the sun creeps through the windows slowly, painting long golden lines across the floor. it’s quiet, soft—the kind of stillness that only comes after a night that’s gone too far.

you’re in the kitchen.

the smell of coffee fills the air, rich and bitter and grounding. bacon sizzles low in the pan. there’s a bowl of chopped fruit beside the stove, a pile of toast cooling on a plate, and two half-empty mugs tucked off to the side of the counter. the hum of the kettle clicks off in the background.

you’re barefoot. hair tied back. wearing one of adrien’s oversized shirts.

but it’s caleb beside you.

sleeves rolled. expression calm. slicing tomatoes with methodical precision, like his hands aren’t still remembering the feel of you from hours ago.

neither of you speaks at first.

not about that.

you just move around each other easily—reaching, passing, flipping, tasting. like you’ve done this a thousand times. like it doesn’t mean something different now.

he glances at you once, quietly, while you stir eggs in a skillet. his mouth quirks faintly.

“you’re a good cook,” he murmurs.

you don’t look up. “you say that every time.”

“and every time, i mean it.”

you feel the warmth of his eyes before you hear footsteps.

m.c.’s voice croaks from down the hall. “someone making bacon or am i dreaming again?”

“real bacon,” you call out.

“thank fuck,” she mumbles, disappearing into the bathroom.

soon, the others begin to stir. tara dragging her blanket into the kitchen like a cape. nero groaning against the hallway wall. xavier looking like he just rose from a battlefield. adrien appears last, cheeks creased from sleep, smile lazy and soft as he walks up behind you and kisses your cheek.

“you’re incredible,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist. “and you made coffee? i’m marrying you.”

you laugh. but your eyes flick—just for a second—to caleb. he’s watching.

expression unreadable. but you feel it again—that hum under your skin. the memory of being pinned to a desk, his mouth on your ear, the way he said you’re mine.

you flip the eggs. adrien pours mimosas. the kitchen fills with warmth and laughter.

and no one knows a single thing.

the day drifts on in slow, lazy waves—plates passed around, hangovers soothed with fresh juice and greasy food, sunlight stretching over the living room like a warm hand. the worst of the mess has been cleared, though a few cups still linger in odd corners. someone plays music low from their phone. there’s laughter, mumbled teasing, even a few half-hearted recaps of the night before.

you stay close to adrien, answering softly when he pulls you into the conversation. he kisses your temple between bites. calls you baby like it’s second nature.

and you smile. you smile through it all.

but when everyone starts gravitating outside—m.c. corralling the group toward the backyard garden, tara demanding to feel the sun on her “hungover soul”—you stay behind to rinse a few dishes in the sink.

the back door clicks softly behind them. and then you hear it.

footsteps. he doesn’t speak right away.

he just comes to stand beside you at the sink, close but not touching, the sound of water and wind the only thing between you.

you don’t look at him. not until his voice comes, soft and edged.

“you were going to come back to me last night.” you don’t answer.

his hand doesn’t touch yours—but his knuckles brush your wrist.

you inhale—shallow, “but you didn’t,” he says quietly. “you went back to him.”

you finally look up. his gaze is steady, searching. not angry, not pleading, just… full.

“did it mean nothing to you?” he asks.

your chest tightens. “it meant everything.”

his jaw flexes.

you glance toward the door. “we can’t do this again.”

his voice drops. “you’re right.”

but neither of you moves. neither of you steps back.

you just stand there, in the stillness of your shared silence, with your hands in a sink full of warm water, the smell of breakfast still clinging to the air, and the weight of your mistake sitting quietly between you like it never left.

but was it really a mistake? didn’t feel like it.

your breath stutters as his body crowds you in—slow, unassuming—until your back presses gently against the counter’s edge, the warm water dripping quietly behind you, forgotten.

his hands don’t touch you yet.

but his voice does.

“i can make you cum in five minutes.”

your eyes widen—your breath catches.

his mouth tips into something between a smirk and a promise.

you press a hand to his chest. “caleb—no. we can’t.”

his hand catches your wrist—not rough, just steady—and holds it there against him, like a reminder of what’s already happened. his heart thumps fast under your palm.

“they’re outside,” he says, voice like silk dragged through embers. “they won’t hear a thing.”

you shake your head, pulse rushing in your ears. “we’re going to get caught. you want me moaning your name with adrien right there?”

his gaze darkens. “i absolutely do.”

you glare at him. “i’m serious.”

he leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

“so am i.”

his hand slides slowly to your hip, thumb dragging over the waistband of your shorts like he’s testing you. your body responds instantly—tense, flushed, already leaning into him like gravity’s doing the deciding for you.

“you think i can’t do it?” he murmurs. “five minutes. no one notices you’re gone.”

your breath shakes.

you glance at the door again, heart climbing into your throat. voices drift in from the garden—laughing, harmless.

he presses just a little closer. “you’re still wet for me. don’t pretend you’re not.”

your knees almost give out.

but your voice—small, trembling—still rises. “i can’t. not here. not again.”

he doesn’t wait for a reply, just walks to the back door, pauses for half a second, then slips outside with the rest of them—like nothing ever happened.

you stay frozen by the sink, heart thudding so loud you swear it might give you away.

the rest of the week slips by like nothing ever happened.

the apartment is clean. your schedule’s full. adrien brings you coffee every morning and kisses your forehead before he leaves for meetings. m.c. texts you memes. tara sends a video of xavier sleepwalking into the pantry. everything is fine.

it’s almost convincing.

except your phone won’t stop lighting up.

he waits until you’re at work, or just getting out of the shower. late at night when adrien is brushing his teeth. early in the morning, before you’ve had a chance to open your eyes properly.

it starts simple.

a message:

caleb: still thinking about the way you sounded on that desk.

then another:

caleb: wanna bet i could do it again? in less than five minutes this time?

and then the photos.

not filthy….not at first— just enough to ruin you.

a shot of his hand resting low on his abdomen, waistband of his joggers pulled just enough to show the line of muscle beneath. a mirror selfie, sweat-slick from training, shirt lifted and eyes locked on the camera like he’s daring you to respond.

you don’t….not always.

but sometimes… you stare too long.

it starts with the silence.

adrien’s been gone for three days—some urgent expansion deal in the outer prospects, a week of meetings, press, closed doors. he calls you when he can, always kind, always sweet. but the time zones are wide, and your bed is too big without him.

and your thoughts?

dangerous.

you try to distract yourself—wine, long baths, old telenovellas you used to love—but nothing dulls it. not the ache. not the tension. not the memory of being spread open across a desk with caleb whispering filth against your throat.

so you call him. not with a plan. not even with words.

just the need humming between your legs and his name sitting too heavy on your tongue.

he picks up on the second ring.

“i was wondering how long it’d take,” he says, voice thick, already low.

you don’t answer. just breathe. that’s all it takes.

“you alone?” he asks, soft, coaxing.

you nod, then remember. “yes.”

a pause, then, “want me to come over?”

you bite your lip. “no.”

his chuckle is quiet, warm, infuriating. “why not?”

“because,” you say, voice thin, “if you’re here, i won’t stop you.”

another pause, longer this time.

his voice drops into something rough, reverent. “then what do you want from me, baby?”

your breath trembles, “talk to me.”

he exhales, slow. “you touching yourself?”

you press your thighs together, pulse fluttering. “not yet.”

“good,” he murmurs. “because i want to tell you exactly how to do it.”

you close your eyes.

his voice fills your ear like silk over flame.

“you’re going to slide your hand down, real slow. just your fingertips. pretend it’s mine. you remember how it felt, don’t you?”

you nod, already falling under, his words wrap around you like heat, like a grip you never escaped in the first place.

and even though he’s not here—you feel like you’re his again.

“you remember how it felt, don’t you?”

his voice curls in your ear, velvet and heat.

you nod again, barely breathing, your other hand clutching the edge of the bed.

“yes.”

“tell me,” he says, low. commanding.

you swallow. “you were deep. i couldn’t think.”

he exhales, sharp and uneven, and you know exactly what kind of image that paints in his mind.

“good,” he says. “now lie back. open your legs for me.”

your body obeys before your voice can argue.

you slide down into the sheets, your bare thighs brushing the cool air, your fingers drifting slowly beneath your waistband—still unsure, still trembling.

“slow,” caleb murmurs. “pretend it’s my hand. my fingers.”

your breath catches as you touch yourself, soft and hesitant.

he hears it. groans, quiet and low.

“fuck, baby. that’s it. just like that.”

you close your eyes.

“are you wet for me already?” he asks, voice strained.

you nod. then remember, “yes.”

“yeah?” his voice shifts, darker now. “from just my voice?”

“yes—caleb.”

he groans your name back like it hurts him.

“rub yourself. slow circles. i want to hear what i do to you.”

you move, gently, following his rhythm. your breath stutters.

“that’s my good girl,” he whispers. “how fast are you moving?”

you gasp. “not fast. not—yet.”

“good. don’t rush. i want you aching.”

his voice stays steady even as his breathing picks up. you know he’s hard on the other end of the line, probably palming himself with the same patience he never showed when you were under him.

“picture me,” he says. “standing between your legs, mouth on your neck. my hands spreading you open.”

you whimper.

“you miss the way i fill you?” he growls.

“yes—”

“you want me to fuck you again?”

“caleb—” your voice breaks on it, thighs shaking.

“say it,” he demands.

“i want you to fuck me.”

“then you better cum for me first,” he hisses. “i want to hear it. i want you to fall apart with my name in your mouth.”

you gasp his name again, louder this time, as the edge creeps in fast.

he hears it. knows it.

“you’re close,” he breathes. “aren’t you?”

“yes—yes—”

“then let go. now. i’ve got you.”

you cry out—his name shattering off your lips—as the wave crests and crashes through you. your back arches. your hand trembles. everything pulses with that bright, sharp flood of release.

on the other end of the call, caleb groans—loud, raw, undone.

and then there’s silence.

heavy. intimate. both of you breathing.

you lie there, sheets tangled, sweat beading at your collarbone.

his voice returns, softer now.

“you still with me?”

“yeah,” you whisper.

“good.”

all of the sudden, you hear the line cut. your breath hitches, confusion seeping in.

you’re still catching your breath.

the sheets are twisted around your legs, your phone quiet now beside you, the screen gone dark. your fingers are trembling—still slick, still warm, still marked by his voice.

and then—

ding-dong.

you freeze.

your heart stutters in your chest.

the sound echoes through the apartment again, sharp and real.

you grab the edge of the bed, pull the sheets tight around your bare skin, breath caught somewhere between panic and disbelief.

your legs carry you to the door before your mind can catch up.

you check the cam.

your stomach flips.

it’s him.

he’s standing just outside the threshold, all dark clothes and darker eyes, hood up, head tilted like he knows exactly what he’s doing. like he’s not sorry.

you open the door a crack, voice thin. “caleb—what the hell are you doing?”

he looks at you, gaze steady. low and hungry.

“couldn’t help myself.”

“we already—” your voice falters. “the call—was enough.”

his eyes flick down your body, taking in the rumpled sheets draped around your figure. your skin still flushed. your thighs still trembling.

his voice is low, rough.

“you think i’m letting you finish without me?”

you grip the door, torn, heat rising again in your chest.

he leans in, close enough to feel his breath on your skin.

“open the door,” he murmurs. “or i’ll find another way in.”

your fingers loosen and the door swings wide.

the moment the door swings fully open, he steps inside—slow, unhurried, like he already owns the space. like he’s walked these floors in his mind a hundred times.

you take one step back—and that’s all he needs.

he grabs you by the waist, spinning you in one fluid motion until your back hits the wall with a soft thud. the sheets fall from your hands, forgotten, pooling at your feet. his body is on yours instantly, pressing you into the wall, mouth crashing down over yours.

it’s not a kiss. it’s claiming.

his hands roam everywhere at once—greedy, relentless—dragging over your waist, cupping your thighs, gripping your ass like he’s been dying to get his hands back on you.

you gasp against his mouth, and he drinks it in, biting down on your lower lip as he rolls his hips against you, slow and punishing. you’re already soaked again—he feels it, groans into your throat.

“you’re so fucking needy, i love it.” he growls, pulling back just enough to speak. “couldn’t even last a full week without falling apart for me.”

you don’t answer—can’t.

your head tilts back as his mouth moves down, teeth scraping against your collarbone, hands already pulling your legs up around his waist. he presses harder into you, his voice a low rasp against your skin.

“told you i’d finish the job.”

his hand slips between your thighs again, rough and certain, and you break against the wall—already breathless, already shaking.

and this time—you don’t even try to stop him.

your legs are already wrapped tight around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs with bruising force, and he’s already pushing his pants down just enough, lining himself up with a growl vibrating low in his chest.

“you’re dripping for me again,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “fuck, i didn’t even have to touch you.”

your only answer is a gasp—high and broken—when he thrusts into you in one hard, unrelenting motion.

the impact slams you back against the wall, your cry muffled by his mouth as he captures it in another bruising kiss.

his hips start a brutal rhythm—fast, deep, hungry—like he’s been starving for you since the moment he left. the slap of skin echoes in the hallway, raw and wet and reckless.

“this what you wanted?” he grits out. “me fucking you against his wall?”

your nails dig into his shoulders, your body helpless against the force of him. each thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. every word from his mouth cuts you wide open.

“say it,” he growls. “say you wanted this.”

you nod, sobbing out his name.

“louder.”

“yes—caleb—yes—”

his hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back so he can watch your face.

“you’re mine when you come like this,” he snarls, pace brutal. “say it.”

“i’m—i’m yours—”

he slams into you harder, teeth bared.

“that’s right.”

his hand slides between you again, thumb finding the spot that makes your whole body jolt.

your walls start to flutter. he knows it.

and he chases it.

“cum on me,” he growls, voice like thunder. “right now—show me you belong to me.”

and with a choked cry, you fall—legs shaking, body collapsing against him as everything breaks apart in waves.

he follows seconds later with a deep, guttural groan, hips driving in hard as he spills inside you, buried to the hilt, fingers clutching your thighs like you’re the only thing keeping him from losing control completely.

your breath is still hitching in your throat when he pulls back—just enough to look at you, eyes dark, mouth parted, chest rising like he’s trying to steady a storm still raging under his skin.

but he’s not done.

not even close.

his hands shift, one sliding beneath your thighs to lift you—strong and certain—while the other braces your lower back. you gasp, legs trembling around him, but he carries you easily through the living room, the sounds of your bodies still echoing in your ears.

the couch catches you softly, and he’s already on you again.

he pushes you forward—slow, firm—until your chest meets the cushions, the cool fabric grounding and jarring against your flushed skin. his hands roam your back, trailing down your spine like he’s drawing a line only he gets to cross.

his voice is low, wrecked.

“ass up.”

you shiver.

you move, obeying—arms braced on the couch, back arched, body already anticipating him again even through the haze of your first release.

he groans behind you, the sound raw and almost reverent.

“fuck, look at you.”

you can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his hands slide over your hips with a grip that says mine, the way he tilts your hips just right—like he knows exactly how to break you open all over again.

his mouth dips low, breath hot against the small of your back.

“you asked for this the second you called me,” he growls, low and thick with need. “and now i’m going to make sure you don’t forget who really owns this body.”

you barely manage a breath before he pulls you back into him—and everything spins again.

he moves behind you with a hunger that’s no longer masked by charm or restraint. his grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin like he’s marking you, grounding himself in the way your body curves perfectly for him.

he leans in, chest over your back, mouth dragging along your shoulder, breath hot and uneven.

“just like that,” he growls. “back arched, head down. fuck, you look perfect like this.”

your fingers curl into the cushions as your breath catches again—already burning, already building. his rhythm is relentless, sharp, and possessive. each motion drives heat higher through your core, your body responding like it never forgot this exact cadence—like it was made for his hands, his hips, his voice.

“you feel that?” he murmurs, low and ragged. “how deep i am? no one else makes you this tight. no one else gets you this wet.”

you whimper, face buried in the fabric, and he groans—deep and guttural—at the sound.

“you gonna cum for me again?” he asks, one hand sliding forward to grip your waist, the other pressing low on your spine to keep you in place.

you nod, dizzy, already so close.

“no,” he growls, voice like fire against your ear. “use your words.”

“yes,” you gasp. “yes, caleb—”

“say it right.”

your whole body shakes.

“i’m gonna cum for you,” you sob, voice cracking.

he thrusts harder, chasing your rhythm, every breath a broken promise.

“that’s my girl,” he growls. “cum for me. let me hear you—don’t hold back.”

and you don’t. you break. you shatter.

your body trembles under him, your breath torn from your lungs, a cry ripped out of your throat that has only his name in it.

he curses—loud, filthy—his rhythm faltering as he slams into you one final time, hips jerking, teeth clenched, every muscle drawn tight as he follows you over the edge.

his hands stay on you even when it’s over, heavy and sure. grounding.

both of you collapse forward—chests heaving, skin slick, tangled in the ruin of what was never supposed to happen again.

but it did.

and the room is quiet now.

except for the sound of your hearts, still beating like they know this was never just lust.

the next day you’re at his house.

the sun filters through caleb’s floor-to-ceiling windows—soft gold over sleek metal, shadows painting his sheets like secrets.

you’re in his bed.

your legs straddle his hips, skin flushed and marked, your hands pressed to his chest to keep your balance as your body rocks in a slow, devastating rhythm.

his hands rest on your thighs, thumbs stroking upward, reverent, greedy. and your phone’s pressed to your ear.

adrien’s voice filters through the line, sweet and unsuspecting.

“i miss you already,” he says warmly. “i should be free by tomorrow night. maybe i’ll bring dinner, yeah?”

you clench around caleb. his jaw tightens. your breath stutters.

“yeah,” you whisper, voice trembling only slightly. “that sounds… perfect.”

caleb’s hands tighten on your hips. and then he thrusts upward—sharp, deliberate.

your free hand clutches the sheet behind him, trying to hold still, trying not to moan.

adrien keeps talking. something about logistics. his voice is a comfort and a blade at once.

you glance down—caleb’s staring up at you, eyes dark, mouth parted. he watches you ride him like it’s the only thing that matters, like the phone in your hand is a game he’s determined to win.

he leans up slightly, mouth brushing your collarbone, whispering into your skin:

“keep talking.”

you swallow hard, barely able to think.

adrien laughs on the other end. “you okay? you sound a little breathless.”

caleb thrusts again—deeper this time.

your nails dig into his chest.

you lie. softly. “just… cleaning… this stupid stain is stuck on the carpet.”

his smirk is vicious.

and underneath you, he moves again. because he knows exactly what he’s doing. and he knows— you’re not going to stop him.

you try to keep your voice steady, try to hold on to the thread of the conversation—adrien’s voice still warm, still so good on the other end of the line.

but caleb’s hands tighten around your hips.

and then he starts moving— faster. deeper.

his rhythm shifts from teasing to deliberate force, every upward thrust punching the air from your lungs, your thighs trembling where they straddle him.

you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle the gasp that breaks free.

caleb growls beneath you, low and dangerous, eyes locked on yours. “don’t you dare stop talking.”

your body bucks, your hand still gripping the phone tight against your ear as adrien’s voice continues, oblivious. something about flight delays. dinner reservations. your future.

but all you can hear is caleb’s breathing. all you can feel is him, inside you—every push driving you higher, rough and precise.

your eyes flutter. your head tilts back. your vision fogs.

caleb sits up slightly, chest brushing yours, his mouth ghosting your jaw.

“eyes on me,” he murmurs. “or roll them back. i want to see how far gone you are while you lie to him.”

your eyes snap open. then roll back.

your whole body shudders, and caleb groans, fingers digging harder into your hips to keep you from falling forward. you barely remember the phone still in your hand.

adrien’s voice rises, concerned. “hey, baby? you there?” you choke out, breathless, “yeah. sorry. dropped something.”

“you sound kind of off,” he says gently.

caleb’s voice slides against your neck, a ghost of laughter and filth.

“tell him you’re busy.”

your lips part.

adrien’s voice flickers with gentle concern through the phone, just as caleb’s hips snap up again, hard and deep, dragging a strangled whimper from your throat.

“you okay? seriously. you sound—off.”

you scramble for words, breathless, legs shaking.

“i—” you gasp, voice catching, “i just stubbed my toe.”

a pause on the other end, “what?”

“yeah,” you breathe out, clinging to the lie like a lifeline. “was moving the mop around… hit the leg of the table.”

caleb bites down on your shoulder, grinning against your skin like the devil himself.

“damn,” adrien laughs gently, unaware. “don’t hurt yourself trying to keep the place spotless. i’ll be back soon, okay?”

your nails dig into caleb’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut.

“yeah,” you whisper, “soon.”

“love you.”

you barely get it out. “love you too.”

and then the line goes dead. you drop the phone.

caleb’s hands catch your thighs, slamming you down onto him harder, deeper, a broken growl torn from his throat.

“stubbed your toe?” he mocks, voice dripping heat and pride. “you’re about to scream.”

your body jerks. your control snaps, and you cum, all for him— yet again.

your body’s still trembling when he finally stills beneath you, his arms wrapping around your waist as your chest heaves, slick with sweat and silence.

your legs have no strength left—they’re draped over his thighs like silk, your forehead resting against his shoulder, eyes closed, mouth parted as you try to catch your breath.

his hands roam slow over your back, grounding you.

neither of you speaks for a long while.

you can still feel it—him inside you, softening, warm, the echo of him burned into every inch of your skin. and despite everything—despite what you’ve done—you don’t move.

you can’t.

his voice breaks the silence, soft and hoarse, barely louder than your own heartbeat.

“i love you.” you freeze.

your breath catches. he doesn’t pull away, just tightens his arms around you.

“i’ve always loved you,” he murmurs. “even when we met. even when i told myself i missed my chance. even when i watched you fall in love with someone else.”

your throat tightens. he leans in, his mouth brushing your temple.

“and i know you love me too.”

you don’t say anything— you don’t have to.

because your silence isn’t denial, it’s the sound of everything breaking.

he feels it in your hands, curled around his chest. in the way your head rests against him a little heavier now. in the way your breath catches, quiet, like a sob you won’t let loose. he doesn’t push. he just holds you there—on his lap, in his arms, like maybe this time you won’t disappear when the sun comes up.

but you do.

you’re home before the sun has even begun to dip.

adrien’s still gone, somewhere between meetings and cocktail hours, his voice soft and golden over the last call he left you: can’t wait to be home, can’t wait to see you, miss you.

and now the house is spotless.

every surface wiped clean. fresh sheets on the bed. laundry folded and pressed. the subtle scent of citrus polish clings to your hands. the floorboards shine in the afternoon light like you never tracked sin across them barefoot hours earlier.

you’re barefoot now too.

a soft tee and shorts cling to your freshly showered skin, hair still damp, skin still flushed in places he didn’t touch—but left burning anyway.

the mop rests in the corner like a prop, innocent and ordinary.

you hum as you move through the kitchen, slicing fruit with a smile on your lips.

you’re happy.

blissfully so.

not because you’ve done the right thing.

but because he doesn’t know.

adrien, with his soft eyes and warm voice and endless devotion, will walk through that door tomorrow and kiss your cheek and call you his, and he’ll never once suspect that your knees shook around another man’s hips less than twelve hours ago.

you chew a piece of mango, sweet and sharp on your tongue.

your phone buzzes. you don’t look right away. you let yourself feel this moment—domestic, easy, safe.

untouched.

then you glance at the screen.

caleb: you taste better than any lie you’ve ever told.

you hear the key turn in the door before you’re even fully dry from your second shower.

adrien steps in, suitcase rolling behind him, blazer slung over his shoulder, and that smile—the one he always saves just for you—spreading across his face like sun through the clouds.

“there’s my girl,” he says, voice warm from the road, from miles of distance you filled with something else.

he pulls you into his arms before you can even pretend to be surprised, holding you tight, breath in your hair. he smells like travel and cologne and loyalty.

you let yourself melt into it—for a second.

you even smile.

he pulls back, brushing your cheek with his thumb, and there’s something new in his eyes. not fear. not worry.

just promise.

“listen,” he says, voice quieter now. “i’ve been thinking about this for a while. and this week just made it clearer.”

your stomach drops.

your fingers twitch.

adrien reaches into his bag.

a velvet box—sleek, dark, unassuming—appears in his hand like it’s always been meant to be there.

your breath catches.

he opens it.

the ring gleams in the light. simple. elegant. perfect.

you don’t hear the rest of what he says—not really. just flashes of it.

“you’re everything to me…” — “want to spend my life with you…”— “if you’ll have me…”

your pulse roars in your ears. and your smile doesn’t falter. but your soul does.

because you already said yes to someone else.

not with a ring—with your body.

your phone is still in your back pocket, pressed hard against your spine like a curse.

adrien is still talking. and you’re nodding.

you excuse yourself a minute later with some excuse about needing to grab something from the room. he doesn’t suspect a thing.

not even as you step into the hallway, shut the door, pull your phone free with trembling fingers—

and text him.

you: he has a ring. what the fuck do i do.

you don’t wait for a reply.

you just sink to the edge of the bed, the world spinning too loud in your ears, the weight of the velvet box echoing like a war drum in the next room.

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sylusslittlekitten · 26 days ago

Text

30 Days of Sylus: Birthday Advent Calendar - Luke and Kieran Style

Crack Post Masterlist here

Presented by Luke and Kieran

LUKE: Welcome to what may or may not be the most intense emotional hostage situation of the year—also known as Sylus’ Birthday Month.

KIERAN: That’s right. We don’t know when the man was born. Could be today. Could be tomorrow. Could’ve crawled out of an ancient crater. Who’s to say?

LUKE: So instead of not celebrating, like normal people, we decided to take the completely rational route and throw him a birthday... every single goddamn day.

KIERAN: You’re welcome.

LUKE: Some say it’s overkill. Some say it’s harassment.

KIERAN: He deserves to be celebrated. Loudly. Repeatedly. Until he admits which day it is. Or files a restraining order. Whichever comes first.

LUKE: From surprise parties to emotionally destabilising photo albums, we went all in—because subtlety is for people who don’t cry when Sylus says “thank you” under his breath.

KIERAN: Scroll down. Witness the madness. Pick your favourite day of mayhem. And remember:

LUKE: Every day could be Sylus’ birthday. KIERAN: But every day should be a reason to love him harder.

Day 1 - Cake in the Face

Kieran shouts “SURPRISE!” and absolutely obliterates Sylus with a strawberry sponge.

Sylus: “...You’re cleaning that.”

Luke: “It’s symbolic. Like rebirth. Through cake.”

Day 2 - “Pin the Knife on the Target” Party Game

Actual knives. Actual target. It’s Luke.

Kieran is crying with joy. Sylus is annoyingly accurate.

Luke: “I saw God, and she said ‘do it again.’”

Day 3 - Custom “Best Boss” Mug

It’s hideous. Glittery. Spells “Slay Boss” on the back.

Sylus drinks from it every morning now.

Kieran faints from pride.

Day 4 - Choreographed Dance Battle

Kieran in sequins. Luke is wearing cargo pants and shame.

Music: "Toxic" by Britney Spears.

Sylus walks away. They follow him. Still dancing.

Day 5 - Themed Breakfast: “You’re My Favourite Mistake”

Black coffee. Toast burned into the shape of a gun.

Eggs scrambled like their emotional state.

Kieran made pancakes shaped like Sylus’ face. They’re terrifying.

Day 6 - A Dramatic Reading of His Texts

Luke performs it in Shakespearean dialect.

Kieran plays a violin out of tune.

Sylus: “If I murder you, is that still birthday behaviour?”

Day 7 - Surprise Parade

Three bystanders. One stolen marching drum.

Banner reads: “Happy Maybe-Born Day, Our Brooding Boss”

Sylus vanishes mid-parade. Leaves behind confetti and contempt.

Day 8 - Hot Springs Trip

Kieran books the whole place. Luke forgets towels.

Sylus sulks in the water but secretly enjoys the quiet.

Kieran wears a crown made of loofahs. No one asks why.

Day 9 - 10-Minute Therapy Session with a Goat

Kieran swears animals are healing.

Goat headbutts Luke. Kieran cheers.

Sylus feeds it quietly for 20 minutes.

Day 10 - Airhorn Wake-Up Call

At 10pm.

Luke records Sylus' scream. Makes it his ringtone.

Kieran bakes an apology pie shaped like a crow.

Day 11 - DIY Spa Night

Sylus gets cucumber eye masks and absolutely nothing else.

Luke nearly burns down the bathroom with scented candles.

Kieran offers a massage. Sylus threatens dismissal.

Day 12 - “Dress Like Sylus” Day

Luke wears all black. Kieran wears less and claims it’s accurate.

They follow him whispering, “Brooding is power.”

Sylus vanishes. Again.

Day 13 - Personalised Gun Range Session

Targets: Luke’s face.

Kieran writes “Emotions” on a target.

Sylus shoots it clean through.

Emotional breakthrough? Maybe. Everyone cries anyway.

Day 14 - Emotional Support Plushie Gifted

It’s a tiny plush dragon holding a dagger.

Luke: “It’s you, but huggable.”

Sylus: sleeps with it tucked under his arm. Never mentions it again.

Day 15 - Birthday Lullaby, Screamed

Kieran sings. Luke plays backup on a kazoo.

Neighbours file a noise complaint. Sylus bribes them to let it continue.

Day 16 - Mystery Box Day

Every hour, a new box. Could be a trinket. Could be a live crab.

Sylus opens 16 before he gives up. Luke opens the rest.

The 18th contains coffee. Sylus smiles.

Day 17 - Midnight Confessions

Luke: “You intimidate me but also I’d die for you.”

Kieran: “You’re not hard to love, Sylus. You’re just scared.”

Sylus: doesn’t speak for five minutes. Then says, “Thanks.”

Day 18 - Dragon-Themed Birthday Ball

Kieran wears wings. Luke is shirtless with red glitter.

Sylus is dragged in wearing a red, velvet suit and quiet rage.

He dances with them anyway. No one brings it up again.

Day 19 - “Things You Never Say But We Know Anyway” List

53 entries.

“You check on us even when you say you won’t.”

“You love deeply. That’s why you stay distant.”

Sylus reads the whole thing in silence. Folds it. Keeps it.

Day 20 - Mock Trial: Is Sylus Capable of Love?

Luke plays prosecution. Kieran defends.

Jury is plushies and Mephisto.

Verdict: Absolutely, tragically yes.

Day 21 - "Unsolicited Compliments Hour"

Every 5 minutes.

Kieran with a megaphone: “Your eyes look like murder. I’d die in them.”

Sylus: “I will break that megaphone.”

Kieran: “So strong. So alpha.”

Day 22 - Custom Fragrance: “Gunpowder & Longing”

Actually smells so good.

Sylus wears it. Kieran notices. Writes fanfic about it.

Luke sells bootleg versions.

Day 23 - Build-a-Weapon Workshop

Kieran bedazzles his. Luke chooses an axe.

Sylus forges a blade in silence.

It glows. Everyone agrees not to ask why.

Day 24 - Silent Movie Night: “The Tragedy of a Man Who Feels Too Much”

They reenact it live.

Sylus is portrayed by a potted plant with a stern expression.

He claps once. That’s the highest praise they’ve EVER received.

Day 25 - Spontaneous Hug Ambushes

Kieran tackles. Luke distracts.

Sylus fights them off to start.

After the 35th one, he reluctantly accepts every single one but growls during.

At the end of the day, he initiates one.

Day 26 - “Interview With the Birthday Boy”

Questions include: “Do you think you're loveable?”

Sylus: “No.”

Kieran: “Wrong. You lose. Try again.”

Day 27 - Late Night Drive to Nowhere

No plan. Just music, stars, and long silences that mean everything.

Kieran falls asleep on Sylus’ shoulder.

Luke drives. Sylus doesn't move an inch.

Day 28 - Surprise Photo Album

Polaroids. Stolen moments. Smiles he never knew he made.

One of him asleep with the new plushie.

Caption: "Proof: He does rest."

Day 29 - Night Under the Stars

They lay on a rooftop.

Luke points out fake constellations. Kieran holds Sylus’ hand.

“We don’t need to know the date,” he says. “You were born. That’s enough.”

It's awkward.

Day 30 - No surprises. Just peace.

No glitter. No screams. Just coffee.

Sylus wakes up to a quiet room.

A note: “You are loved. Even when we’re quiet about it.”

He doesn’t throw it away. Sticks it to the fridge in the armoury.

Crack Post Masterlist here

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #lads sylus #sylus qin #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #happy birthday sylus #luke and kieran #crack post

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pennyellee · 3 months ago

Text

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ELIXIR pairings: mafia hoseok x female reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s, arranged marriage, childhood friends to lovers word count: 22K/tba release date: 02.18.25 beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: "And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows" prompt 2: you were apparently promised to the heir of Jung's criminal empire since birth, not that you ever took that ongoing inside joke seriously. You grew up alongside the said man, yet your mind is conflicted about upholding your part and saying I do until one drunken night reveals a lot more than you'd like.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | explicit language, hurt men's ego, mild yandere behaviour (warnings were reduced to avoid spoilers)

author's note: ionoiafhoianfoaif, yalllll, I was writing this like foreveeeeerrrrr. So this is where it all basically started in my head when I created the retelling of what happened around the year 1996. Still, somehow Champagne Confetti and Anubis got out first, mainly because I will continue them, but this is one shot exclusively (I'm open to filler tho). Why? The story of Princess and Hoseok never dies throughout both the fics that are already out and those that will only come. Mainly with Anubis' chapters, you'll get to see them. I'm just as nervous to put this out as I am with every fic but very excited to throw Elixir in the world. I'm simultaneously working on my MA diploma thesis so bear with me when I'm radio silent, but I love you all! I appreciate you reading my stuff my good little fairies ♥ I'll see ya at Hobi's birthday! ♥ Enjoy!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, bloodshed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, and old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

main masterlist 𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑

Winter 1995 You spotted Hoseok seated at the table, a serene picture of composure, his fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee he enjoys in the mornings.

He looked up at your approach, his eyes locking onto yours. There was no trace of anger on his face, no sharp edge to his expression. If anything, he seemed calm, almost disarming.

"Hobi—" you started before he quickly interrupted you.

"Sit down," he said a bit more firmer than he'd want to, gesturing to the seat across from him.

You hesitated for a moment before lowering yourself into the chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. A plate of food sat before you, untouched. Your stomach churned, but the thought of eating felt impossible.

"Are you?—"

"I'm not mad, no," he cut you off gently, surprising you, as if he knew what you were suggesting before you even managed to let those words roll on your tongue.

"So?—" you echoed hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what to expect now. Maybe it would be better if he'd be mad and you knew that you have to make it better just like it used to be, instead he is not showing any kind of position in this situation and that was making you uneasy beyond comparison.

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

"You're still here. That's what matters to me for now." He began, his tone measured. For now. Hoseok was always skilled at this—at saying something that sounded kind but felt like a command.

"I panicked," you admitted softly, the honesty slipping out before you could stop it.

"I know, baby, you chose wrong—" he replied, his gaze unwavering.

"—twice," he added fuel to the fire, salt to the wound. But you knew why. He wanted you to submit to him, and he needed to work overtime to do so.

"You need to show me you're willing to make this right, love," you swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it nearly impossible to respond. His aura and magnitude of how he could move you however he liked now was overwhelming. You cannot run away, not when he dragged you back to this place instead of his brownstone at 57th street. You're not only under his surveillance here, but the Kkangpae and the rest of the family.

“What’s it gonna be? Cuz’ I can’t fucking pretend anymore–”

His gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he reached into his pocket. You stiffened instinctively, already guessing what he was about to do. Sure enough, his hand emerged clutching the familiar black velvet box. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

"Hoseok," you said softly, your voice trembling with unease. "Please—"

"I don't think I will be so forgiving if you'll choose wrong for a third time, Princess." He ignored your plea, opening the box to reveal the ring again. The one you'd angrily thrown at him that fateful night when he tried to force it down your finger after you explicitly said no to him.

The one that symbolised everything you were not ready to accept, but you had to. It glimmered in the soft light of the room, deceptively beautiful.

"I'm done asking," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. Your breath hitched, but before you could speak, Hoseok reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, yet the weight of his action was suffocating.

You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make it clear you weren't going anywhere. With deliberate precision, he slid the emerald ring onto your finger.

"There," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You stared at the emerald ring, your mind racing. It looked almost serene on your finger, as if it had always belonged there. Hoseok sat back, satisfied, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Before you could respond, the soft thuds of certain leather shoes announced another arrival.

"Joon-ah!" Hoseok greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I assume there's news?"

Namjoon glanced at you briefly, then back to Hoseok. "Yes. We've made progress with the Anubis situation. The distilleries have been secured, but the reports of interference need attention."

"Anubis situation?" You echoed Namjoon's words. Hoseok's smile didn't falter, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss your question. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers interlacing.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a quiet finality that suggested the topic was closed.

Namjoon, however, wasn't as careful with his expression. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a crack in the façade of calm efficiency he usually wore. It was gone as quickly as it came, but you caught it, and it only fuelled your curiosity.

"Anubis is my responsibility, Hoseok, you cannot—" you pressed, your tone sharper now. You'd learned long ago that brushing things under the rug only meant tripping over them later.

"Not anymore."

Hoseok's words cut through the room with an authority that left no room for argument. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of complete control, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity.

"What?!" You breathed out rather loudly now.

"Not anymore," he repeated, slower this time as if daring you to challenge him. And challenge him you did.

"Hoseok," you tried again, your voice quieter this time, laced with both frustration and fear. "This isn't—"

"I gotta punish you somehow, Princess," his one was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind his words was anything but. Your stomach churned as his lips curved into a faint, disarming smile—a predator's smile hidden beneath a veil of warmth.

"Punish me?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Exactly for what you gotta punish me, Hoseok?

"For running," he said, the amusement in his voice doing little to soften the hurt he felt inside. "For throwing the ring. For abandoning me this morning after we made love last night—"

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a raised hand. "Don't misunderstand me, Princess. I'm not angry. But actions have consequences."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. His calm demeanour made it worse. It took one wide-eyed glance for Namjoon to excuse himself and quickly retreat to Kkangpae's office to leave you two alone.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Namjoon seemed louder in the heavy silence that followed. Your eyes darted to it, half-hoping for an interruption, but it was futile. Hoseok's gaze was fixed on you, unrelenting and unreadable, trapping you in this moment.

"Hoseok," you began, your voice trembling. "This isn't fair. You can't just—"

"I can," he interrupted his tone steady but brooking no argument. "And I will. You know I don't take betrayal lightly."

"Betrayal?" you repeated, the word stinging as it left your lips. "Is that what you think this is? Hoseok, I—"

"You ran," he said simply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His fingers interlocked, creating a casual posture that only heightened your unease. "You left me, you threw the ring at me, you abandoned what we're building. Call it whatever you want, Princess, but to me? That's betrayal."

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "I needed time," you whispered. "Time to think, to—"

No, you needed Mark. But you also needed your best friend.

"Think?" Hoseok's laughter was soft, almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What is there to think about? You're mine. You've always been mine. And this?" He gestured to the ring now firmly on your finger. "This makes it only official."

"You can't force me to—" you said, the defiance in your voice surprising even you. This was never a discourse you or Hobi ever had. Everything was thought to be just platonic. Not for him.

"To what?" he asked, cutting you off again. His tone was low, dangerously calm. "To wear a ring? To stay by my side? To stop running every time things don't go the way you want?"

You flinched, the truth in his words hitting too close to home. Hoseok sighed, his expression softening just enough to make your heart ache. You were running each time you did not feel like the family was doing you justice. And each time it was Hoseok who came to talk sense into you. But this is different. You are not kids anymore, or teenagers. This is serious. Hoseok is serious this time.

"You know what Anubis means to me—"

"And you still thought it was something you could just walk away from?"

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as the urge to argue warred with the fear.

"I didn't walk away from Anubis," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed space, Hoseok."

"You said you were tired, love."

"You misunderstood—" Hoseok shook his head slowly, cutting you off once again, his gaze hardening.

"I never wanted it to come to this," Hoseok said, his voice softening as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. "But you forced my hand, Princess. And now, you don't get to run anymore. Not from me. Not from us."

"But Anubis—"

"It's still yours. But until you learn your place, Namjoon will suffice."

You bit your lip, caught between the suffocating desire to fight back but all you could do is shut your mouth and obey, telling yourself that this is only temporary.

He was, indeed, not mad.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟎𝟐.𝟏𝟖.𝟐𝟓

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story is up for reading, you can write in the comments and I'll create a tag list!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

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vettelsvee · 3 months ago

Text

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE | Sebastian Vettel

High School History Teacher!Sebastian Vettel x Primary School Teacher!Reader ↳ Teacher AU ⋆ Part of CLASSROOM GOSSIPS

SUMMARY: Seb is stressed because his students did pretty bad in their latest History exam, but he gets more stressed and grumpy when Y/N, the cutest Primary School teacher according to Seb, arrives to the teacher's lounge to "annoy" him, but the truth is that there's more than that ↳ BASED ON THIS POST I MADE THE OTHER DAY!

WORD COUNT: 3099

WARNINGS: LOTS OF GRUMPY (Seb) X SUNSHINE (Reader), some bad words, cursing, nothing else but wait till the end because I assure you you're gonna love it!

TAGLIST: @koalapastries @vampsarereal @gracie23x @cutelittlefakejourneys @scopeiguess @hoziersfrancesca

VEE'S NOTES: I ABSOLUTELY adored writing this, and I hope you like it as much as I do! This goes all the way up to the top of my fave fics written by me. Also, a toast to you because you liked all this Teacher!Seb thing a lot 🥹 I'd love to read your opinions on this, so feel free to leave me a comment, an anon message or reblogging since it helps us creators a lot. Thank you so much for reading, and hope you like it! <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

“How can you say that World War II ended with the fall of the Berlin Wall? My God...”

“It makes no sense at all, but if you ask whoever told you that, they’ll give you a convincing enough answer to make you pass their exam.”

Sebastian lifted his head, even though he didn't need to in order to know who was speaking.

Y/N Y/L/N, the second-grade teacher who is the pure representation of the sunshine itself. Your smile, always revealing your teeth, and your energy, isn’t exactly contagious to him, and even sometimes that'd be enough to make someone want to throw up.

You were standing in front of him, holding an absurd amount of papers. Seb couldn't avoid looking at you. No matter how much you might irritate him at times, he found you more than fascinating. He admired you in every single aspect and, somehow, that made him pretty angry with himself. You took the opportunity to silently show him some drawings of bees. Bees. Happy bees. Sad bees. Damn it, there were even bees wearing party hats and surrounded by confetti, and other baking and having coffee.

Sebastian said nothing. Instead, he ignored you and continued grading exams, but you didn't take it personally since you know how stressed he had to be with his class.

It didn't take long before a series of increasingly loud bangs started to get on his nerves.

When he looked up again, he saw you struggling with the printer, which seemed to have decided not to work.

“Why is it that every time I come here, this stupid, useless piece of junk decides to stop working?” you huffed, nearly shouting. “It’s like… like it’s out to get me!”

“Maybe it’s because you make too many copies every week,” Vettel replies.

“I have to give my students a quality education, Seb. And a quality education includes, among other things, making as many copies as I need to teach the contents properly!”

“And does your quality education include printing an entire colony of bees?”

You shrugged, offering no further explanation. Instead, you grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it until it was next to Sebastian. To his utter surprise, you sat down beside him, placing your absurdly thick stack of papers on top of the ungraded exams.

If you didn’t leave in the next few seconds, Seb swore he'd have a heart attack.

“My kids need all of this, Seb,” you said again, showing him those ridiculous drawings once more. “They’re learning about pollination, and what better way than by coloring little bees and then putting them all over the classroom to represent how they work?”

“I’m currently questioning whether I’m a complete failure as a teacher so, to be completely honest with you, the last thing I need right now is you showing me this... nonsense.”

You scoffed, knowing he didn’t mean it. He was just too stressed. His students failing with embarrassingly low grades didn’t mean his skills as a teacher were declining, but it did mean he’d have an army of parents breathing down his neck, demanding explanations for why their children’s performance was so poor.

“Stop saying things like that!” You smacked his shoulder, and his patience wore even thinner when he noticed a red pen mark on the exam he was grading. One that, knowing all too well his students and their thoughts, they’d probably say looked like a penis.

“You’re not a failure. Teenagers are just… idiots.”

“Is that your opinion as a professional in the education field?2

“Of course!” you shouted, waving your hands dramatically. “Why do you think I teach Primary school? Little kids are way cuter, and they think I’m a genius just because I can spell difficult words without getting any help.”

Seb tried not to, but a small smile started creeping onto his face. He quickly bit his lower lip and shifted in his seat, attempting to maintain his composure even though sitting next to you made him more nervous and, especially, more entertained, than he would have liked to admit.

“Look at you! I made you smile!”

“If I admit that you're almost funny, will you leave me alone?”

“Let me think about it… No.”

Sebastian didn’t even get a chance to answer before you suddenly jumped out of your chair and rushed toward the printer again.

“I just remembered why I came here! Oh my god, why do I have to be sooooooo forgetful?”

“I suppose that’s to make my life more miserable,” the German replied, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s just a bonus, Seb,” you turned to him, still smiling. “So, yeah, this printer isn’t working because… Well, I don’t know why. But I really need to make these copies, so I guess I’ll have to go back to the Primary school teachers' lounge…”

Sebastian stared at you, unsure of what to say.

Was he misunderstanding things because of stress, or he understood that you had actually walked all the way to the High School section, which was not anywhere near the Primary one, just to make copies, despite having a perfectly good printer in your own area?

“Did you come all the way from the Primary section to the High School one just for… some photocopies?”

“Yes!” you nodded enthusiastically.

“You're perfectly aware that there's a much better printer over there, right?”

“Well, that’s debatable if you consider…”

“Y/N, cut the bullshit.”

You pressed your lips together, unsure of how to tell him that your free period, and your desire to see him, was the real reason you had come all this way, even if it had earned you a few questioning looks and whispered comments from some of your colleagues in the upper grades.

“Well… Maybe I also decided to come here to see you,” you admitted.

Vettel had no idea how to reply to that. He tried to think of something friendly and lighthearted, but his stress seemed to take over before he could filter his words.

“I'm this close to kicking you out, Y/N.”

You only laughed, placing a dramatic hand over your chest and letting out a fake gasp. Seb loved when you acted like this, but right now, he hated it more than ever.

“Oh, please, you wouldn’t dare. I’m your favorite person out of all the people in this school.”

“Funny, because right now you happen to be exactly the opposite,” he muttered.

“You didn’t mean that. I know you didn’t.”

Seb shook his head and buried himself back in grading exams. Of course, he hadn’t meant it. No one was perfect, but somehow, you came pretty damn close without even trying.

“Stop making that weird face, or you’re going to get wrinkles ahead of time,” you teased. By now, you had sat back down beside him and were carefully cutting out flower-shaped drawings with impressive precision.

“You are insufferable, Y/N, really,” Vettel shot back as he meticulously corrected a student's answer about the causes of World War II.

“And yet, you still haven’t told me to shut up.”

Seb frowned. He wanted to do it. He should do it. But he couldn’t. You were too kind to him for him to snap at you… just like what was happening now.

He cursed himself mentally and swore that, from now on, he would grade exams at home to avoid this kind of altercation. Though, deep down, he also knew he would do it because, maybe, it would give him a little more time to spend with you.

Suddenly, you moved closer to him, too close, and took his chin. Your eyes locked, and for a few seconds, neither of you could say anything, let alone voice everything running through your minds about each other.

“You need a break, Seb.”

Your hand instinctively moved to his cheek, caressing it with a kind of affection that neither of you expected. He swallowed hard, trying to stay calm, but his heart only pounded faster and faster, and he couldn’t see it as anything other than a betrayal of his feelings for you.

“Why do you always have to be a threat to me, Y/N?”

You simply smiled before leaving a kiss on his cheek and standing up.

“You can keep pretending all you want, but you know you love it,” you said, grabbing your things and heading toward the door, though not before turning back to him.

Sebastian knew exactly what you meant by doing that. He let out a deep sigh and carefully gathered all the exams, placing them in his briefcase along with his pencil case and phone.

“If I go with you wherever you’re going, do you promise to shut up?”

“Nop, there’s no way I’m doing that,” you replied cheerfully, taking his arm the moment he was beside you and dragging him out of the teachers’ lounge with no real destination in mind.

The German was beyond exhausted. He felt his head throbbing more than usual, which he knew was a sign of an oncoming migraine. He felt drained, frustrated, and more plagued by imposter syndrome than ever. It wasn’t the first time he’d had bad results on an exam, but it was the first time they had been this awful.

He decided not to dwell on it and did his best to push his intrusive thoughts aside, focusing instead on the woman beside him.

You couldn’t stop talking. First, you told him about how your kids, as you called your second-grade students, had made Christmas cards for you and even brought you a gift after the holidays. Then, you talked about how, today, your favorite student (because, according to you, yes, teachers had favorites) had dropped a piece of her sandwich on the floor, and you had to give her your own breakfast but it was worth it since she was more than happy to be having Ms. Y/L/N handmade cheesecake.

Now, you had launched into an explanation of the biodiversity project you were preparing for your students, focusing specifically on the importance of bees in the ecosystem. You even showed him some pictures of what you had been working on at home because you wanted it to turn out so well that you couldn’t just work on it during school hours.

“So…” you said after finishing your explanation. “What do you think about my project so far?”

Sebastian kept walking, trying to process the flood of information you had just given him in such a short time. While some of the pictures looked like pure chaos, something completely opposite to him, the embodiment of perfection, he had to admit that it was good. Really good, actually.

“Well… it looked fun,” he admitted.

“Are you serious!?” you squealed, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

He gave you a shy smile.

“Yes, of course, I mean it.”

“Oh, look at him! Grumpy Seb handing out compliments so easily!” you shouted again, now bouncing on your feet, earning a few disapproving looks from the teachers passing by. “This calls for me to get you a coffee!”

“Y/N, I don’t feel like having coffee. I already had one this morning, and I don’t think it’s the best idea, considering how nervous I—”

“That’s nonsense!” you interrupted, marching toward the Primary school section. “You’re going to have coffee with me, no matter what, and you’re going to thank me because I’m convinced my coffee is way better than that vending machine garbage you drink daily.”

“I’ll thank you the day not a single one of my students fails one of my exams,” he told you.

The Primary school teachers' lounge was empty when you both walked in. You didn’t say much, just offered Seb a seat and told him to make himself at home while you headed to your locker. The German pulled out the stack of exams once again, ready to continue grading them, if you didn’t annoy him again. As he kept marking the papers, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Not only were you making him a cup of coffee, but you also seemed to be decorating it. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, you were writing something on a piece of paper.

When you returned, you placed the mug in front of him. It had “Bee positive” written on it, and it was decorated, of course, with a little bee making a heart with its tiny hands. As if that wasn’t enough, you had somehow managed to create an impressive amount of cream, topped with a smiley face that looked like it had been made with cinnamon.

Then, as you took a seat beside him, you slid a note his way, the one he assumed you had been writing earlier.

“Even if you’re having a gray day, remember that you can always make the sun shine! Sincerely, your very own little Miss Sunshine,” followed by a heart and, unsurprisingly, a bunch of smiley faces.

He didn’t know what to say. His eyes, however, when they met yours, seemed to say everything.

“You know, maybe all you need is just a new approach.”

Your sudden change of topic, spoken as you took another bite of your chocolate cupcake, threw him off a little. But he preferred it over the uncomfortable silence you both knew was bound to settle in.

“I’ve already tried, Y/N.”

“Have you tried bribing them?”

Seb narrowed his eyes, impressed and clearly not convinced by what you had just suggested.

“I’m not going to bribe my students, Y/N.”

“Not even by making them work in teams and offering extra credit?” You widened your eyes in surprise. “Have you considered bringing cookies and handing them out? That works incredibly great as a positive reinforcement, trust me”

“I’m not giving my students cookies or anything else,” Seb stated firmly. “I don’t know what to do with them, and that’s what worries me the most. What if I start acting like, no offense, a Primary school teacher, when they’re only two years away from university?”

You shook your head. It annoyed you that Sebastian was so… rigid, so unwilling to change. But what annoyed you even more was that you couldn’t seem to find the right way to help him.

“If you help me with the biodiversity project and actively participate in it, I promise I’ll find a way to make sure all your kids pass the remaining exams this year,” you proposed.

“And what exactly does a primary school teacher know about teenagers and History?”

“First of all, stop being so grumpy with me… I’m just trying to help you!” You huffed, crossing your arms. He wasn’t expecting that answer, and honestly, neither were you. Sebastian straightened in his seat, a bit uncomfortable. “Second, I happen to have a few tricks up my sleeve, but I’m not sharing them until you agree with helping me with the project.”

“Y/N…”

“What is it? What you don’t like: bees, seven-year-olds, or me?"

“I don’t like bees that much, I love being around little kids, and I’m completely captivated by you.”

That was what Sebastian wanted to say. Instead, he stayed silent, absentmindedly playing with the coffee spoon while staring at the note you had written for him.

“You do realize how many exams I still have to grade, right?” was all he managed to reply.

“Seb, you need to relax. I’ve told you before, but I’ll keep saying it as many times as necessary until you actually listen to me.”

“I can’t relax,” Vettel muttered, furrowing his brows. “Do you have any idea how painful it is to read that…?”

You didn’t let him time to finish speaking. You approached him faster than you’d planned, took his face in your hands, and kissed him. At first, Seb was completely caught off guard, but then he placed his right hand on your neck, pulling you closer and making sure the contact between you didn’t break.

Sebastian wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner, while you were more than happy to finally have the courage to take the initiative, especially since it seemed like your work crush was responding with a lot of enthusiasm.

The lack of air forced you to pull away. You readjusted yourself in your seat and couldn’t help but laugh when you saw your lipstick smeared all over Seb’s mouth.

“Did you just…?” Seb tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again,” you kissed him once again, but this time it was shorter. “Sebastian Vettel, I need you to stop worrying about those fucking exams and take a break.”

Now, Sebastian couldn’t stop smiling, and that’s exactly when you knew you had won that battle.

“You’re so lucky you’re too cute and beautiful and you’re keeping me at my feet somehow, because I swear I wouldn’t stop talking and be annoying just for you to shut me up by kissing me.”

Your eyes lit up at his tease, and your mouth opened in surprise at what Seb had just confessed.

“Sorry, did you just call me cute and beautiful, and also say you want me to shut you up by kissing you?” you pressed him.

Seb didn’t know what to say. His cheeks started to turn red out of embarrassment.

“If I’d known this was going to happen between us, I should’ve asked you to work together waaaay sooner!” you shouted, jumping up in excitement and sitting on his lap. If he hadn’t grabbed you tightly around the waist and balanced the chair, you would’ve ended up on the floor. “Say it again, come on!”

“No way I’m repeating that, Y/N.”

“Please, Seb,” you pouted, then kissed him all over his face. “Just one more time, please…”

“No.”

“Please…”

“Y/N…”

“Seeeeeeebastian.”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Seb started, “but, somehow, you’re also my very own Little Miss Sunshine.”

You smiled brightly at his words, but you knew this wouldn’t be the end of things between you.

“I’m not your Little Miss Sunshine yet. At least, not officially,” you teased.

“Oh, really?”

You shook your head.

“I’ll be when you finally have the courage to ask me on a date,” you replied cheerfully, wrapping your hands around his neck and kissing him once more. “I’ve taken the first step and kissed you not once, but twice, so now it’s your turn. We’ve got to work as a team, Seb. Haven’t you learned that all these years working as a teacher?”

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