Xavierfrogprincess - Delelued♡Reality
More Posts from Xavierfrogprincess and Others
Maps headcanons -
Caleb and period cramps
Details: 600 words. Feel good food. Fluff. Tender, wonderful, caring, loving Caleb during that time of month. It actually fits if you just want a lil pampering from our boy too. Get you a man who can do both *cries* this is for you @gavin3469
You barely make it through the door before exhaustion weighs you down. The day had been long, and your body felt like it was fighting against you, every step home a battle you barely won. You had considered stopping by the store, picking up something to comfort yourself, but the thought of carrying even the lightest of bags felt impossible. You just wanted to collapse, to sink into something warm and safe and let the world fade away for a while.
You sigh as you unlock it, expecting nothing more than the quiet stillness of your apartment. But the moment you step inside, warmth greets you like an embrace. The air smells of apples and vanilla, and the soft flicker of candlelight casts golden glows against the walls. There’s something else too—something that smells like summer, fresh and inviting.
“Hello?” you call out weakly, toeing off your shoes.
No answer.
Your brows knit together as you shrug off your coat, your tired brain sluggishly trying to recall whether you had left any candles burning this morning. But then you see him.
Caleb stands in the kitchen, completely oblivious to your arrival, airpods in as he chops vegetables with effortless precision. His movements are fluid, a rhythm all his own, the steady thunk of the knife against the cutting board matching the beat of whatever music he’s lost in. He sways as he works, shifting his weight, rolling his shoulders in time with the sound only he can hear. It’s not forced, not even intentional—just an unconscious, easy sort of grace.
But that isn’t what takes your breath away.
Across the living room, near the couch, sits an enormous cube of heaven—a down duvet, the kind that screams luxury, thick and impossibly soft. A massive ribbon is tied around it, wrapped so perfectly it looks like a gift for a special occasion—something you’d dreamed of unwrapping on your birthday, carefully chosen just for you—rather than just Caleb being Caleb. The sight of it—of the effort, the quiet, knowing care behind it—makes something ache deep in your chest.
Caleb’s head lifts, eyes widening briefly in surprise, and then, in an instant, he sets the knife aside and crosses the room with the kind of intent that makes your heart stutter. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask—just gathers you into his arms, pulling you close, holding you like he’s been waiting for this moment all day. His warmth envelops you, deep and unwavering, the kind that seeps into your bones, making the exhaustion, the ache, the weight of the entire day fade into nothing.
The whole world disappears—there is only this, only him. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek as he exhales, his lips pressing softly to your hair, lingering there as if he’s just as relieved to have you home as you are to be here. His hand slides down your shoulder, fingers squeezing lightly, grounding you in a way that feels like safety, like home.
“How has your day been, dear?” he murmurs, voice low and filled with quiet affection. “I’m so happy to see you.”
The words break something loose in you, and before you can stop yourself, your eyes well up. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, the pain that’s been gnawing at you all day, or maybe it’s just him—the thoughtfulness, the way he always seems to know exactly what you need before you do. His hands find your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears before they can fall, and he presses the softest kiss to your forehead.
“Hey, hey,” he soothes, voice barely above a whisper. “I got you. You don’t have to do anything tonight. Just let me take care of you.”
You exhale shakily, leaning into his touch, grounding yourself in the quiet strength of him.
Then, as if reading your mind, he grins and tilts his head toward the couch. “Wanna try out your new duvet? Bet you won’t wanna leave it once you do.”
A laugh bubbles up despite yourself, and for the first time all day, the heaviness in your chest lifts just a little.
You nod, unable to find words, and Caleb grins before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. He takes your hand and leads you toward the couch—toward warmth, comfort, and the unwavering truth that, in this moment, you are the only thing in the world that matters.
——————————————————————————
You went for a drive out of the city, and during a coffee stop, you decided to break the news in a creative way. You had "Best Dad Ever" written on his cup.
🧜♂️ Rafayel
The drive is calm. For once, Rafayel isn’t dramatically complaining about how boring the scenery is, nor is he blasting music at full volume just to mess with you. Instead, he’s relaxed, one hand draped over the wheel, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, humming lazily to himself.
You hand him his coffee.
“Mm, thanks, cutie,” he purrs, taking it without looking, already lifting it to his lips—
Sip.
Pause.
His fingers tighten slightly.
Then—
The car swerves.
"RAFAYEL!"
With zero hesitation, he veers off the road and slams the brakes, the car jerking to a sudden, dramatic stop.
"WHAT THE HELL—" you start, gripping the dashboard.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!"
Rafayel is staring at the cup like it just personally betrayed him. His eyes are huge, his fingers clamped so tightly around the cup that you’re genuinely worried it might crack.
He snatches off his sunglasses, turns to you, and—says nothing.
Just breathes heavily.
Like he’s witnessed something cosmic.
You raise an eyebrow. "Something wrong, babe?"
He flips the cup toward you, jabbing at the words printed on the side.
Best Dad Ever.
"Is this a joke?" His voice cracks. “IS THIS A JOKE?!”
You bite back a laugh. "Nope."
His entire body freezes. His brain disconnects from reality.
Then—
He LAUNCHES himself out of the car.
“RAFAYEL, OH MY GOD—”
He starts pacing.
Wildly.
Hand in his hair, fully spiraling.
"I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!" He throws his arms in the air. "MY GENES ARE TOO POWERFUL—THIS WAS INEVITABLE—"
You lean out the window, exasperated. "Can you—"
"I CAN’T BREATHE—"
"Then inhale through your nose, genius."
"I AM. IT'S NOT ENOUGH."
He stops abruptly. Whips back toward you. Marches over to the car like a man with a mission, plants his hands on the doorframe, and leans in—
"You’re serious?" His voice is deadly quiet now.
You hold his gaze. “I’m serious.”
For a second, he just stares at you.
Then, suddenly—
He laughs.
At first, just a short breath. Then—full giddy, unfiltered joy. He grabs your face, kisses you sloppy and hard, and laughs against your lips like he can’t believe it.
"I KNEW IT!" He pulls back just to yell into the sky. "I AM ABOUT TO CREATE THE MOST GORGEOUS CREATURE IN EXISTENCE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? THIS IS HISTORIC. THIS CHILD WILL BE A CULTURAL ICON—"
You groan. "Rafayel—"
“I HAVE TO DOCUMENT THIS MOMENT.”
"—No."
He’s already reaching for his phone.
"—RAFAYEL, NO—"
"WE NEED A PORTRAIT. A MONUMENT. A SERIES OF LIMITED-EDITION ART PRINTS."
You physically reach over and grab his wrist. "GET BACK IN THE DAMN CAR."
He gasps.
Dramatically.
Hand-on-heart levels of betrayal.
"You wouldn’t deprive me of this joy?"
"I will deprive you of seeing your child if you don’t start driving."
Instantly—he’s back in the car.
Straightens his jacket. Adjusts his hair. Puts on his sunglasses.
"Holy sharks," he breathes, gripping the wheel. "I'm gonna be a dad."
You sigh, finally relaxing. "Yeah, babe. You are."
He exhales slowly.
Then, softer this time, he reaches out, brushing his fingers over your stomach—reverent now.
"You just made me the happiest being alive," he murmurs. His smirk is still there, but his voice is completely serious.
You smile, resting your hand over his. “I know.”
The moment lingers—soft, intimate, perfect.
And then—
A wicked glint flashes in his eyes.
“Ohhh,” he grins, leaning back lazily. “This kid is gonna be a menace.”
You groan. "Rafayel—"
"THEY WILL BE CHAOS INCARNATE."
"Stop—"
"WE HAVE A DYNASTY TO BUILD."
And just like that—your entire future flashes before your eyes.
🖤🐦Sylus
It’s been a quiet drive, Sylus tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, humming along to the music. He’s in a good mood. Relaxed. Smug, as usual, but easygoing.
You hand him his coffee.
He takes it, sips, lets out a pleased little hum—
And then—
The car jerks.
You barely have time to register what happened before he slams on the brakes, throwing an arm across your waist to stop you from lurching forward.
“SYLUS—”
"EXCUSE ME?!"
The wheels screech to a stop on the side of the road. A cloud of dust kicks up behind the car, but Sylus doesn’t even look at it. No—his full, undivided attention is now locked onto the cup in his hand.
He turns it slowly, his crimson eyes glowing as he reads the words again. And again.
Best. Dad. Ever.
He blinks.
Then he grins.
Not just a smirk—a full, wicked, teeth-flashing, Sylus-style grin that immediately puts you on high alert.
“Kitten,” he purrs, tilting his head, voice dangerously low. “Is this what I think it is?”
You cross your arms. “If you think it means I’m pregnant, then yes.”
He lets out a low whistle, tapping the cup against the steering wheel like he cannot believe his luck.
“Oh-ho-ho,” he laughs, running a hand through his silver hair. “Oh, kitten.”
“…Why do you sound like you won something?” you ask, already regretting everything.
He takes another slow sip of coffee, relishing it, before placing the cup deliberately in the holder. Then he turns to you.
And just—stares.
His eyes gleam. His smirk deepens. And then—
“You belong to me now,” he murmurs, voice soaked in satisfaction.
Oh. Oh no.
“Don’t—”
“You were already mine,” he continues, ignoring your protest, fingers tracing slow circles on your knee. “But this? This makes it official.”
You squint. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, leaning in until his nose barely brushes yours. “You are so trapped.”
Your breath catches.
His lips brush your jaw. Soft. Slow. Dangerous.
“Our baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “My legacy.”
Okay, that makes you snort. “Legacy? Are you serious—”
His fingers tighten on your thigh.
“I never joke about ownership, kitten.”
Your stomach flips. “Sylus, I swear—”
“I am,” he continues, voice so dangerously pleased, “about to be the most unbearable man alive.”
“You already are.”
He chuckles, dark and smooth.
Then, with zero warning, he pulls your seat lever—fully reclines it—and cages you in with both arms.
“SYLUS—”
“You think I’m letting you out of this car without celebrating properly?” His knee presses between yours. His lips hover just over yours. “Oh, kitten.”
A smug, deadly whisper—
“You’re not going anywhere.”
And just like that—you are so. Completely. Screwed.
☃️ Zayne
The drive is quiet, smooth, the hum of the engine steady. Zayne is driving like he does everything else—efficiently, precisely, with absolute control. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, his posture effortlessly composed.
You hand him his coffee.
He takes it automatically, barely looking away from the road as he lifts it to his lips.
Then—
The cup stops midair.
His fingers tighten.
His eyes flick down.
The muscles in his jaw shift.
You can see the exact second his mind starts processing.
His lips part slightly. His brows furrow just a fraction.
His eyes scan the words again, like data he needs to verify.
Best Dad Ever.
And just like that—Zayne enters full diagnostic mode.
His pupils dilate. His breathing adjusts. His shoulders tense in micro-movements.
Then, before you can speak, he mutters—
“Seven weeks.”
You blink. “What?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s already calculating. His eyes flick to the dashboard clock—counting back the exact number of days since your last cycle.
“No, wait,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, “six weeks, five days. That lines up better with—”
He cuts himself off, his grip on the wheel adjusting, his mind racing a mile a second.
Then he grabs his phone with one hand and immediately dials a number.
You stare at him. “Zayne, what are you—”
“It’s Doctor Zayne, I need a full prenatal assessment scheduled immediately.”
“What?!”
He ignores you, listening intently. His tone is calm, clipped, entirely professional, as if he’s in the middle of a patient consultation.
“Yes, priority level one.” His fingers tap against the wheel. “Standard screenings plus full genetic panel. I also want a full cardiovascular assessment given her recent—”
“ZAYNE.”
His jaw tightens. He barely spares you a glance, still listening to whoever’s on the other end.
“No, reschedule that for tomorrow, I’ll be overseeing this personally—”
You reach over and end the call.
Silence.
Zayne blinks once, slowly, as if rebooting.
Then he turns his head very carefully toward you.
“…Did you just—”
“Yes.”
His eyelid twitches.
“You,” he says, deadpan, “just ended an emergency medical consultation with one of the most sought-after specialists in the Linkon-city.”
“Yes.”
His lips press together tightly. His nostrils flare just a fraction.
Then—the cracks start showing.
His throat bobs. His fingers flex around the wheel. His chest rises with a sharp inhale—
And then, finally, he breaks.
His entire body sags forward as he presses his forehead to the steering wheel, exhaling shakily.
“…Oh, fuck,” he mutters, voice completely wrecked.
You blink.
He takes another sharp breath, his hands gripping the wheel like he’s stabilizing himself.
“…I was fine,” he says, more to himself than to you.
You stare at him. “No, you weren’t.”
“I was,” he insists, head still against the wheel. “I had a plan. I was handling it.”
You tilt your head. “Handling it like a patient case?”
His fingers flex again. “It’s not the same.”
“Zayne.”
He doesn’t move.
“Zay.”
Nothing.
So you reach out, fingers slipping into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp—
He lets out a breath that absolutely shatters you.
Like something inside him has finally collapsed.
Then—without warning—he turns and kisses you.
It’s not like before. Not calculated, not measured, not careful.
It’s desperate.
Like he needs to feel you, needs to know you’re here, with him, real.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.
“I can’t…” He exhales slowly. “I can’t lose control of this.”
Your chest tightens. “You don’t have to control everything, Zayne.”
His hand slips down, pressing gently against your stomach. His fingers splay, warm and reverent.
“…You’re right.” His voice is quieter now.
Another pause.
Then—
A tiny, breathless laugh escapes him.
You raise an eyebrow. “What?”
His eyes flick to yours, golden-green and impossibly soft.
“…I’m going to be a dad.”
You smile. “Yeah, you are.”
Another shaky exhale. Then, a full-blown smile—rare, genuine, warm.
“…Shit.” He laughs again, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen this coming.”
You grin. “Should I be concerned that you can predict organ failure before it happens, but not this?”
His hand tightens just slightly over your stomach. His smirk is smaller now, more sincere.
“No,” he murmurs. “Because this—”
He leans in, lips brushing just over your temple.
“This is the best surprise I’ve ever had.”
🍎 Caleb
It’s a perfect drive—at least, for now. The sun is low, stretching golden light across the road, and Caleb is relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other lazily resting on the armrest. He’s humming to himself, terribly off-key, completely endearing, and utterly oblivious to the bomb you’re about to drop on him.
You hand him his coffee.
“Thanks, pip-squeak,” he murmurs, taking it automatically, his eyes still on the road.
He takes a sip.
Then—
He stops.
His hand tightens around the cup.
His posture locks up.
And just like that, you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake.
The car swerves.
“CALEB!”
With military precision, he pulls over so hard the tires skid, shifts into park, and slams the brakes.
He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t breathe.
You barely have time to process before he whirls toward you, holding up the cup like it’s an explosive device.
“WHAT. IS. THIS?!”
You blink. “Uh. Coffee?”
His eye twitches. His chest rises in one sharp inhale.
Then—his voice drops to a whisper.
“…Are you messing with me right now?”
Your lips twitch. “Nope.”
Silence.
Pure, deafening silence.
Then—
His entire soul leaves his body.
He throws the door open, jumps out of the car, and immediately crouches down with his hands on his knees.
You watch in real time as a fully grown man has a complete emotional crisis on the side of the road.
"OH FUCK. OH FUCK. OH FUCK."
“CALEB, GET BACK IN THE CAR.”
"I NEED A SECOND."
“You’re going to get hit by—”
"I NEED A FUCKING SECOND."
You drop your head into your hands as he rakes his fingers through his hair, muttering to himself like he’s trying to process the meaning of life.
Then—abruptly—he stops.
Stands up straight. Spins to face you.
“…How long?”
You hesitate. “Caleb—”
“HOW LONG?!”
You sigh. “A few weeks.”
His jaw clenches. His eyes dart down, scanning you, like he’s only just now realizing that oh shit, you’re actually pregnant.
Then—he yanks open the car door, sits back down, and buckles his seatbelt like it personally wronged him.
You blink. “…Are you okay?”
“No,” he admits immediately.
He exhales sharply, presses his hands to his face, and just—
Whimpers.
Not dramatically. Not in distress. Just the most overwhelmed, overjoyed, short-circuited noise you’ve ever heard come out of him.
Then, suddenly—he laughs.
Not just any laugh—a helpless, breathless, disbelieving laugh.
“Oh, fuck.” He drags a hand down his face, his grin growing. “Oh, fuck. We’re having a baby.”
You grin back. “Yeah, we are.”
He turns to you, and something changes.
The panic is still there—but beneath it? Something warm. Something so impossibly, devastatingly soft.
Then—he moves.
His hand presses to your stomach.
Just rests there.
Like he’s afraid to push too hard, afraid to shatter this moment.
His throat bobs. His fingers spread slightly.
And then, his voice—softer than you’ve ever heard it—
“…That’s our baby.”
You nod.
His eyes flicker. His entire body tenses.
Then, without warning—
You are no longer sitting.
You yelp as he hauls you into his lap, wrapping both arms around you and crushing you against his chest.
“CALEB—”
“NOPE.” His voice is muffled into your shoulder. “I NEED THIS. GIVE ME THIS. RIGHT NOW.”
You laugh. “You’re squishing me—”
"YOU’RE PREGNANT WITH MY BABY AND I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS EMOTIONALLY, THANK YOU."
You let him have it.
For a long moment, he just holds you. His breath is shaky, his grip tight, like he’s trying to memorize every second of this before it slips away.
Then—he shifts slightly.
A deep breath. A pause.
Then, suddenly—
His grip tightens, and he leans back just enough to look at you dead in the eyes.
“…Okay but—what about me?”
You blink. “What?”
His ears start going red.
“I mean,” he clears his throat, gaze darting anywhere but your face now, “what about… you know.”
You smirk. “I don’t know. Clarify.”
He groans, tilting his head back against the seat. “Pip-squeak, come on.”
You hum, trailing your fingers over his shoulders, down his chest. “Ohh. You mean—”
"YES." His grip tightens on your hips. "What happens now? Do I just—" He gestures vaguely between you. "Forget about it? Nine months of nothing?"
You shrug innocently. “Well. There are other ways…”
He freezes.
His eyes darken. His jaw clenches. His fingers twitch.
“…Other ways.”
You nod. “Mhm.”
He stares. Processing.
Then, suddenly—
He grabs the steering wheel with both hands, stares straight ahead, and shifts into drive.
“Okay.”
You snort. “That’s it?”
“I have to drive us home. Immediately.” His voice is far too serious. “This is now a time-sensitive situation.”
You laugh. “Caleb, you are so—”
He shoots you a warning look, eyes still burning. “Do not finish that sentence unless you want me to pull over again.”
You grin wickedly. “And then what?”
His grip tightens on the wheel.
Then, low and dark—
“…Don’t test me, pip-squeak.”
And just like that—
You have created a monster.
☀️ Xavier
The drive is smooth, effortless. Xavier handles the car the way he handles everything else—calmly, efficiently, like he’s already three steps ahead of reality. The road stretches endlessly ahead, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence between you.
You hand him his coffee.
“Thank you, love,” he murmurs, taking it without looking, perfectly composed, as always.
He lifts it to his lips, takes a sip—
Then stops.
His fingers tighten slightly around the cup.
You watch as his eyes flick down to the message.
Best Dad Ever.
For a moment, he doesn’t react. Doesn’t tense, doesn’t flinch. Just…observes.
Then, with deliberate ease, he tilts his head slightly in your direction.
“…Very funny.”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
He gestures toward the cup, lips twitching in amusement. “You can’t fool me, princess. I know you too well.”
He takes another slow sip, entirely unbothered.
“This is a joke,” he continues, matter-of-factly. “You wanted to see if I’d panic. Clever, but predictable.”
You hum thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah? What makes you so sure?”
His smirk grows. “Because if it were real, you’d be significantly worse at hiding your anticipation.”
You tilt your head. “Mm. Maybe.”
He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he shifts his focus back to the road. “You’ll have to do better than this next time.”
You shrug, lifting your own coffee to your lips.
He barely glances at it.
Then—he does a double take.
His brows furrow. His body stiffens slightly.
You see it—the moment the wheels in his head start turning. The moment his brain connects the dots.
Best Mom Ever.
Of twins.
There is a pause. A deep, soul-crushing pause.
Then, slowly, very slowly, he takes one more sip of coffee.
And immediately chokes on it.
He coughs once, hard, sharp. His grip on the wheel tightens so fast his knuckles go white.
And then—he does the single most terrifying thing he has ever done in his entire existence.
He slowly eases his foot off the gas pedal.
Not jerking the car. Not slamming the brakes. Just gradually reducing speed with surgical precision.
His eyes are locked straight ahead, unblinking.
The car glides toward the shoulder of the road in complete, deafening silence.
Then, in eerie, methodical movements,
He puts the car in park.
Takes off his seatbelt.
Reaches over.
And plucks your coffee out of your hands.
You blink. “Xavier?”
He says nothing.
Instead, he places both cups onto the dashboard.
Adjusts them. Lines them up perfectly so that the words are directly facing him.
Then—
He stares.
At the cups.
At the words.
At his entire future.
Silence.
Then, very quietly—
“…Twins.”
His throat bobs.
His hand comes up and presses against his temple.
Another beat of pure silence.
Then—
He laughs.
A single breathless, helpless laugh.
Then another.
And another.
Until suddenly—
He dissolves into a full-blown existential breakdown.
His entire body tips forward, forehead pressing against the steering wheel.
“Twins.” His voice is muffled, bordering on delirious. “I—twins. Two. There are two.”
You bite your lip. “There will be, yeah.”
He lets out a sound that is neither human nor machine.
Then, slowly—he lifts his head again.
His eyes are unfocused, like he’s calculating probabilities of survival in real-time.
Then—
His head turns toward you.
And you swear you see actual panic.
“How,” he exhales, voice quiet, shaky, “do we own two of something when we never needed to own one?”
You blink. “Xav, what—?”
He gestures vaguely at the cups.
“How do we prepare for twins if we were never prepared for a singular baby?”
You open your mouth—
"WE DON'T EVEN HAVE TWO OF THE SAME PILLOW."
You freeze. “What.”
He gestures more aggressively now, looking absolutely unhinged.
“OUR BED.” He waves toward the back seat. “THE PILLOWS. THEY’RE DIFFERENT. HOW DID WE GET TWO DIFFERENT PILLOWS? HOW DID I LET THIS HAPPEN?”
You stare at him.
“You’re spiraling.”
“I AM LOGICALLY PROCESSING THE GRAVITY OF OUR SITUATION.”
“Xavier.”
He inhales. Exhales.
Then, softer now, more real, more raw—
“…We’re going to have twins.”
You nod.
His shoulders drop. His eyes soften.
Then—before you can react, he reaches out, pulls you into his lap, and buries his face into your neck.
For a long moment, he just holds you.
No overthinking. No calculations.
Just you.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low, warm, unshaken.
“…I am never going to recover from this information.”
You laugh softly. “You will.”
He leans back just enough to meet your eyes. And finally—finally—his lips curve into a small, exhausted smile.
“…They’re going to be terrifyingly intelligent.”
You snicker. “Oh, for sure.”
“And devastatingly attractive.”
“Obviously.”
He hums. “I will be insufferable.”
“You already are.”
His arms tighten around you, his lips brushing your forehead.
“…I’m going to be a father of twins.”
“You are.”
“…That’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
You grin. “You’ll be fine.”
Another pause.
Then—
A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes.
“…Twins, you said?”
You narrow your eyes. “Yes?”
His smirk returns, sharper this time.
“So.” He tilts his head. “Shall we test for a third?”
You shove him so hard the car rocks slightly. ****** More stories here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleksa_Tia
𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅
𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑
The sound of tumbling and a series of thuds echoed through the hallway of the Hunter Association building as you lost your footing at the top of the stairs. Your body bumped and rolled down the entire flight before landing in an ungraceful heap at the bottom. Xavier, who had been walking a few paces ahead, turned at the commotion.
He blinked once, then twice, his eyes widening as you simply stood up, dusted yourself off, and continued walking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Are you okay?” Xavier finally asked, his voice carrying a note of concern. He stood perfectly still, analyzing you with careful eyes.
“Just a little slip. Nothing to worry about,” you responded casually, as if commenting on the weather rather than your spectacular tumble.
When you reached him and nodded casually, he continued to stare, his eyes tracking over your form as if conducting a silent assessment.
“The impact of your fall might cause potential contusions to your left side and possible minor fractures to your wrist based on how you landed,” he stated matter-of-factly, pointing back at the stairs. “Yet you’re displaying no signs of physical distress.”
“I’ve had worse tumbles than that during training,” you replied with a shrug, continuing to walk forward.
As you dismissed his concern with a wave of your hand, a subtle crease formed between his eyebrows.
He reached out, gently taking your arm to stop your forward momentum, and examined you more carefully. His touch lingered for a while.
“Your physical endurance is... unusual,” he observed quietly. “I’ve witnessed similar falls result in hospitalization for others.”
“I’ve had worse during missions,” you said with a hint of pride, meeting his gaze.
Xavier’s eyes narrowed slightly, the only indication that your comment had given him pause. He studied you for a moment longer before releasing your arm.
“If you say so,” he said, falling into step beside you. Yet throughout the remainder of your walk, he stayed unusually close, his hand occasionally brushing against yours. At one point, he subtly adjusted his pace when you winced slightly turning a corner—a reaction so minor most would’ve missed it, but not Xavier.
“The human body often reveals what the mind attempts to conceal,” he remarked softly, hours later, offering you a small container of what appeared to be homemade salve. “For the bruising you claim doesn’t exist. Mission injuries included.”
His last words carried the faintest hint of what might have been amusement, gone so quickly you almost missed it.
𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄
The cascade of thuds drew Zayne’s attention immediately. He turned just in time to witness the last half of your tumble down the hospital’s stairwell, your body bouncing off the final steps before sprawling across the polished floor. His posture stiffened as you simply stood up, straightened your clothes, and began walking away as if you hadn’t just fallen down an entire flight of stairs.
“Stop right there,” his voice cut through the shocked silence of onlooking hospital staff, his tone commanding.
You turned around with an exaggeratedly innocent expression, eyes wide, pointing to yourself as if to say “Who, me?” despite being the only person who just performed an impromptu demonstration of gravity’s effects.
Zayne’s eyebrows knit together, clearly not amused by your feigned innocence. His footsteps quickened as he approached you in a few strides.
“As your doctor, I’m not giving you an option here,” he said firmly, moving directly into your path and effectively blocking your escape. “Come here. Now.”
“Is this your professional opinion or personal concern talking?” you asked, a hint of challenge in your voice as you met his stern gaze.
Something flickered briefly across his features—perhaps surprise—before his professional demeanor reasserted itself.
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he said, his expression hardening as he gestured to his office that happened to be nearby. “You just fell down an entire flight of stairs. Adrenaline can mask symptoms of a concussion or internal bleeding. This isn’t negotiable.”
He guided you firmly but gently into the room, his trained hands already examining the back of your head for contusions.
“Follow my finger,” he instructed, moving it side to side before your eyes. His expression remained serious, but you caught the slight softening around his eyes—a look of concern he didn’t bother hiding from you. “Even if you feel fine now, delayed symptoms are common with trauma injuries. The human spine isn’t designed to bounce down twenty steps.”
“Is this really necessary?” you sighed, even as you complied with his instructions.
“Yes,” he replied curtly, not breaking his concentration as he continued his examination. “It is absolutely necessary. And if you were anyone else, you’d already be on your way to radiology.”
After completing his thorough examination, his expression softened slightly. He reached into his pocket and offered you a piece of candy.
“What’s this for?” you asked, surprised.
“Sugar. Helps with shock,” he explained, pecking your forehead. “Next time, please hold the railing.”
𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋
Rafayel was midway through a call with Thomas, describing his latest artistic inspiration with gestures when the thunderous cascade of your body tumbling down the stairs interrupted him. His expression froze in horror as he watched you bouncing and rolling down the entire flight, wincing visibly with each impact.
“Oh—” His eyes widened comically as you hit the bottom with a final thud. But before he could rush to your aid, you simply stood up, brushed yourself off, and continued walking as if nothing had happened.
Rafayel stared at you, mouth slightly agape. He blinked rapidly, looking from you to the stairs and back again.
“Wait, wait, wait!” He ended the call abruptly, not even bothering with a goodbye, and hurried after you, his long legs quickly closing the distance. “Did you really just—? And you’re just—you’re just walking?!”
“Your face right now is priceless,” you said with a small laugh, watching his expressions shift rapidly between shock, concern, and disbelief. “Take a breath, Rafayel. You look like you might pass out.”
His face scrunched up in a dramatic wince as he examined you from all angles, hands fluttering near your shoulders as if afraid you might suddenly collapse.
“Are you okay? That looked painful…” His voice rose several octaves. “Do you have any idea how terrifying that looked?”
“I’ve had plenty of practice at falling gracefully. Well, semi-gracefully,” you replied with a casual shrug.
Rafayel’s jaw dropped a fraction further. “Practice? You practice falling down stairs?” He made a wild gesture toward the staircase. “That wasn’t graceful in any way, semi or otherwise! That was terrifying!”
When you tried to brush past him, Rafayel gently grabbed your shoulders, looking straight into your eyes, his expression still a mixture of disbelief and concern.
“Seriously? You’re just going to walk that off like it’s nothing? Like you didn’t just do a full somersault down those stairs?” He squeezed your shoulders gently. “Even cats have the decency to look embarrassed when they fall.”
He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me, you know? I thought I was about to witness a tragedy in five acts, complete with a dramatic finale at the bottom.”
“Would it make you feel better if I limped a little?” you asked with a mischievous smile. “I could throw in some groaning for dramatic effect. Maybe clutch my side like this?” You demonstrated with exaggerated theatrics.
Rafayel’s worried expression cracked slightly, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t you dare mock me when I’m genuinely concerned about you,” he said, though the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. “Though your theatrical skills need work. That limp was completely unconvincing.”
He continued to hover around you for the rest of the day, periodically reaching out to touch your arm or shoulder as if confirming you were still intact. Later, he appeared with an ice pack and painkillers.
“Just in case,” he said. “Also, I may have told everyone to clear a path when they see you coming. You know, for public safety.”
“Public safety or my safety?” you asked wryly.
“Both,” he grinned. “Clearly, stairs have declared war on you, and I refuse to let it win another round.”
𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒
The sound of your tumble echoed through the corridor of Onychinus’s base. As you picked yourself up and continued walking as if nothing happened, Sylus, who had been observing from a few paces behind, arched a single eyebrow—a rare display of surprise crossing his features.
“Well,” he remarked at the unexpected scene he just witnessed. “Such a dramatic descent. I wasn’t aware you had an interest in impromptu acrobatics.”
“Just didn’t want to make a scene,” you replied, straightening your clothes casually. “Is my dignity still intact?”
The corner of his mouth quirked upward in a subtle smirk. “Your dignity? Perhaps partially. Your reputation for grace, however, may require some rehabilitation.”
He fell into step beside you, his usual smug smile returning as he studied your face with those piercing eyes, missing nothing.
“Most people would at least acknowledge their intimate encounter with a flight of stairs,” he commented, his tone casual yet observant. “Your nonchalance is either admirable or concerning. I haven’t decided which.”
“Would showing weakness earn me special treatment?” you asked, meeting his gaze with a challenging look of your own.
Something intrigued flickered in his eyes. “From me? Sure. Though I find your stubborn resilience equally fascinating.”
He reached out, straightening a piece of your disheveled clothing with his fingers, the touch lingering just long enough to assess for a reaction of pain.
“While I admire your endurance, even remarkable individuals such as yourself are subject to the laws of physics and biology,” he observed, his words carrying a subtle undercurrent of genuine concern beneath the calm exterior.
He gestured for you to continue walking with him, matching his pace to yours, watchful of any irregularity in your posture.
“I do hope you’re not concealing injuries for the sake of appearances,” he added after a moment. “While I appreciate your fortitude, I prefer my favorite person intact and functioning optimally.”
“If I admitted it hurt, would that satisfy your curiosity, Sylus?” you asked, your voice deliberately light.
His smile widened. “Curiosity? No. That requires a far greater mystery than your apparent immunity to staircases.” He paused, studying you with increased interest. “But my concern might be somewhat alleviated.”
“Next time,” he murmured, “perhaps consider taking the elevator if you don’t feel like walking.” His hand found the small of your back as you walked, the gesture appearing casual but actually allowing him to subtly assess if you were truly as unaffected as you claimed.
Later that evening, a package arrived, containing an ornate bottle of sophisticated bath salts. “For muscles that may protest their earlier mistreatment, despite your claims to the contrary. Consider it a reward for providing me with such an entertaining diversion to my otherwise mundane day.”
𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁
The moment you hit the bottom step and stood up as if nothing happened, Caleb’s expression transformed into one of shock and concern. He was at your side in an instant, hands hovering near your shoulders as if afraid to touch you.
“What the—? That wasn’t just a stumble, that was a full disaster in motion,” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you serious right now? You just… fell down the entire flight of stairs.”
“It looked worse than it felt,” you assured him with a small smile. “I’m fine, really.”
Caleb’s eyes widened further, clearly not buying your casual dismissal. “Looked worse than—? It looked like you were auditioning for a role as a human slinky!”
When you tried to brush it off and keep walking, he stepped in front of you, his hands finally settling on your shoulders to stop your movement.
“No, no way,” he said firmly, his authority briefly showing through his normally relaxed persona. “You know normal people actually feel pain when gravity wins, right? You don’t just walk away from something like that.”
“Fine, check me for injuries if it’ll make you feel better,” you conceded with a sigh.
He guided you to a nearby chair, kneeling in front of you to check for any visible injuries. “What happened? Did you slip or something?” he asked, his voice softening with a hint of teasing returning.
His hands gently examined your arms and shoulders, careful not to hurt you further. “Look, I need to know you’re actually okay, not just pretending to be tough. Those stairs didn’t hold back, and neither should you if something hurts.”
“Fine, it hurts,” you admitted with a slight grimace. “Happy now? But I’m still walking away from it.”
“I knew it,” he sighed. “And no, I’m not happy you’re hurt. I’m happy you’re finally being honest about it.”
He finished his inspection, seemingly satisfied that you were fine, and sat beside you, one arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “That was quite a fall, Pipsqueak. You scared the hell out of me,” he chuckled, but the worry hadn’t completely left his eyes. “Promise me you’ll be more careful next time, okay?”
“I promise to at least try to stay upright,” you said with a small smile.
“I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get from you,” he said, shaking his head with fond exasperation.
As you finally convinced him you were okay enough to continue your day, he helped you up, but didn’t let go of your hand, though you noticed he maintained a vigilant watch over you for the rest of the day, positioning himself on the stair side whenever you walked near any steps.
“Just in case gravity decides it wants another round with you,” he explained. “Next time, I might have to catch you. That would be more fun for both of us, don’t you think?”
“Next time I’ll just aim for you instead of the floor,” you replied with a grin.
“Deal,” he said instantly. “I’m much softer to land on than those stairs, guaranteed.”
Based on this request.
Can you...
Read 📖⬅⬅
...give me one last kiss?
🎵 One Last Kiss - Utada Hikaru 🎵
===
Just in time before Dec 7... another song lyric inspired piece இ௰இ I can't tell if my heart is ready or not
🤣🤣🤣
Lets glitch together while having chips in a flower shop
😉🤣😂
MC: “Do you think we’re just NPCs of someones gameplay?”
Xavier: “And that someone is another NPC of another someone’s play through. Like an infinite gameplay…”
Jeremiah: “If that is right why the hell are you both programmed to lay down in the middle of my shop EATING CHIPS???? YOU’RE SCARING MY CUSTOMERS!”
MC: “We are simply…”
Xavier “glitching.”
⋆. 𐙚 ̊ how they kiss you — love and deepspace
including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb
genre. fem! reader, making out (quite sexual), body fondling, established relationship
⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne
there's always a subtle silence before you happen to feel it— you know? the way zayne watches your lips like he's studying anatomy again— not clinically, silly! but reverently, like he might carve the shape of your mouth into his memory.
so precise, so devout, it borders on madness. soaked in tension and lust— quite obsessive, don't you agree? almost grotesque in how deeply he desired you.
the man leans in, close enough for his breath to ghost over your skin as he abruptly stops, catching himself in the same course of action he tends to take, every damn time.
zayne held himself back like the act of restraint was the only thing keeping him from collapsing into you completely, succumbing to those pretty, warm lips of yours as something deep inside of him broke that night.
he's going deeper before pressing into your lips at last— his psyche, his shadows, the way the hunger on his tongue felt different than anyone else's as he cups your face like he's afraid of shattering it, mouth crashing into yours.
not messy, not wild, instead, devastatingly precise— and every stroke of his warm muscle felt like it's been rehearsed in secret, fantasized about in sinful dreams as his hand slides down your throat, thumb resting on your pulse like he's checking it— not for medical reasons, but for control.
the kiss deepens and sharpens at the edges of each lap and suckle of your bottom lip between his teeth as his body presses you to the nearest surface with a force just edging on subtle bruising— and when your fingers suddenly thread into his hair to taste him more, when you pull him harder into you— he groans low, a sound rattling from somewhere hidden and forbidden, yes, like something sacred within him was being exposed.
and well, in that exposé, zayne finds a terrible, exquisite relief in each slip and slide of your tongues intertwining, bodies stroking each other as though this was the only way he's ever known how to feel alive.
⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier
xavier touches you first— although not to grope, yet to ground himself with his palm on your shaking hip while his other hand brushes against your soft cheek, and that look on him which was revealed next haunted you— like he's seeing a future he doesn’t believe he deserves.
slow, searching, his lips coax across your bottom lip, the tension behind each suckle on it unbearable as he continues to trace yours like he's adamant to make it everlasting. your boyfriend grunted like restraint stretched thin inside his frame, like one more kiss might tip him over the edge into something more, well, feral? ugh, but he holds himself back of course.
yet just barely.
those kisses you shared weren't just random pecks here and there, they felt like confessions, truly, like a collapse of two loving hearts forming a dance of possession— each movement sharpening to the truth of what this relationship meant to him, all of it rooted in desire and lust, shadowed with emotional gravity and physical intensity of hands squeezing your flesh.
and you felt it, all of it— the tremble in his fingers, the quiet threat of his teeth brushing just behind every soft tug at your lip, as though even the smallest motion could unravel him further.
you arch into him, obediently feeling the low, guttural sound that escaped his throat— a half moan, a sound so faint it could almost be mistaken for a prayer, whispered to no god at all, but to the madness he cannot escape.
your lips stay close at all times, breathing hard against each other with foreheads pressed together, "i don't want to hurt you," his voice, thick with restraint, was taken hostage somewhere between a confession and collapse, yet his hands disobey him at last— sliding beneath your shirt with a quiet desperation, mapping the ridges of your shape like he's meant to be.
truly, if you let him keep going with those addictive kisses, he'll worship you until he forgets where he ends and you begin.
⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel
hands in your hair, rafayel's lips were already open and panting, breath warm and uneven and jaw slacked, well, it's all then and there with no waiting, no warning— just the sudden, dizzying sensation of being devoured by the man you loved.
his tongue was everywhere on you— teasing you, curling and invading your mouth as he moans into your parted lips, pulling your lower lip between his teeth and laughing when you gasp out in slight shock— quite literally, the man loved to push you over the edge, he lived for the sweet, little responses you'd grace him with in return.
from being tangled in your hair to squeezed within your clothes, rafayel slides down further to cup your ass, squeezing the addicting mounds of flesh as you wince into his hold, "ugh, you taste like a bad decision," he smirks, whispering against your mouth, yet already leaning right back in.
before you could even response to him he kisses you harder, deeper, lapping and lapping and lapping his hefty tongue against your own as your hips were grinding against him just enough to make the room spin and your eyes roll back into your skull.
without a doubt, every second with him felt like falling and screaming and shattering all at once— fast at that, disoriented and inevitable when all you needed is for him to imbed you with his scent until there was nothing left of you to claim.
it's there when you realize that rafayel tasted like the sweetest sin that has ever existed, not kissing to seduce, but to ruin— and make sure you’re begging him for it.
for a slight second he pulls away just enough to look at your lips and what he's done to them— and would you look at that? your boyfriend adored the lusting sight of swollen, glistening, needy lips parted and puffed up, "baby, you're gonna be the death of me."
rafayel says it like it's a promise.
⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus
you can’t call this a kiss— no, not with the way sylus's mouth drags across yours like he's already lost the war against wanting you.
to call it a claim would be closer though, but even that sounds too civilized. there is nothing civil about the way his tongue parts your lips— wet, scorching, impatient, nothing gentle in the sting of his teeth catching your mouth, just enough to pull breath from your lungs and copper to your tongue.
he tastes it— even better, tastes you— and it makes something violent bloom in his chest as he growls out embarrassingly loud, not like an animal but like a man who's tasted divinity and was furious that he ever lived without it in the past.
his grip on your hips tighten as he drags you against him, feeling you up like shame didn't exist in his vocabulary, in fact, it quite literally didn't.
not a flicker of hesitation, not even the illusion of pause— only the dreadful inevitability of a hunger given form around his tongue, his lips moving with the certainty of something long premeditated, as if his body had been waiting its entire life for permission to devour you.
he doesn’t ask for allowance to be rougher, sylus knows he doesn’t need to.
his mouth licks into yours with a frenzied rhythm, like he’s trying to bury every unspeakable thought inside your throat as every shove, every bitten gasp, every ragged exhale that leaves his body was a hidden confession disguised as a dominating sin.
the man was not delicate. he was not kind. but he was true.
terrifyingly, brutally true.
furthermore, his tongue traces a wet line from your bottom lip, creeping toward your jaw, then dipping lower to your neck— infused with desperation and something dangerously raw.
his teeth find your skin at last— not out of need, no, but out of some dark impulse deep hidden beneath his heart, as if marking you up was the only act left that can prove he existed, that he's here, tethered to a body that's already unraveling.
"you have no fucking idea," he pants, his breath a jagged rhythm against your skin as if the act of inhaling and exhaling was the only thing that kept him secured— each exhalation a tremor, a faint admission of the madness threatening to spill over.
he smirks, "what you’ve done to me."
⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb
in the language of a yearning man, caleb doesn't speak— instead the silence clung to him like a second skin, as if words would shatter whatever fragile shell still held him upright.
as an alternative, his hands found your waist as he exhales deeply from his mouth when he feels your body— yet tentative at first, but with a pressure that deepens and sharpens, afterwards he leans in to kiss you.
not in a haste, no, not like a man chasing basic pleasure, but like a man aching with his mouth against yours— slow, burning, unbearably tender.
his lips taste of quiet torment, of years spent repressing the thing now trembling beneath his touch and the longer it goes on, the more unraveled he becomes— now here, his breath falters, his jaw tenses and when his tongue brushes up against your own needy one, it is with such aching slowness that it felt like a sin.
he grips your jaw softly, almost fearfully, as if he cannot believe you're letting him touch you as his other hand slips beneath the waistband of your pants— fingertips skimming over your bare flesh and squeezing at it like he's utterly worshipping you.
more and more, you want more but the kiss breaks open, becoming wet and open-mouthed, desperate and messy and ugh— caleb cannot stop and neither can you, even less when you whine at him all quietly and overstimulated, the kind of sound which made a man fall on his knees.
okay, he should pull away, correct? uh, before you'll both be unable to stop and take it further, you see the truth in that?
well, he doesn’t.
and neither do you.
©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own
Hey Little Stars ✨
The Prompts are up! 🎊
XavMC Week 2025 will be held from [10th - 16th May]
Post your works from 10th onwards, and tag your creative works with: xavmc week 2025
RULES:
Any form of creative content is welcome 😊fanarts, fanfiction, video edits, image edits, cosplay, glint photobooth pics, socmed AUs, etc..
Post your creations with tag: xavmc week 2025 (late creations will be reblogged within 2 weeks after the event ends)
TAG NSFW CONTENT WITH 🔞 + OTHER APPROPRIATE TAGS
STRICTLY NO AI 🚫
XavMC content only (your own MC is fine). No other LI ship.
Have fun! 💞
For any queries, feel free to send asks 💞
Originally for my friend in the LaDs server I’m in.
After learning about Xavier's myth, finally, I'm feeling soft for him. Meanwhile I mostly started liking Xav more already because of my friend. So now I'm going to be soft about him on main.
When the light of the early morning sun filtered gently through the curtains of your apartment, you awoke to the feeling of an arm slung over your waist. Cradled gently in Xavier's arms, you carefully turn over to look at him. It wasn't as though seeing his sleeping face was uncommon, but it was as novel as the first time you'd been graced with the sight.
Despite his nature, Xavier always tried his best to be awake to spend time with you. Your hunting partner even had his notification volume at a decibel you were certain no one else ever would just to make sure he didn't miss your texts and calls when you were apart.
You couldn't help yourself and brushed your fingers over his forehead, brushing back the hair covering the skin there to plant a tender kiss on the uncovered area. A giggle had to be stifled when his nose scrunched a little and he pulled you deeper into his embrace, inadvertently forcing you to bury your face in his shoulder. There was a happy hum, barely there, when Xavier finished shifting you to be closer. The feeling was a bit ticklish as the vibrations of the noise rumbled in his throat.
You decided the dawn was too early to rise and begin the day, especially when your prince still yet slept. So you slowly sunk deeper into the peaceful quiet Xavier brought you and returned to the land of dreams to greet your lover. The noon sun would be next to bring you back to the waking world. Plenty of time to frolic in starlit fields with the man who would give you his everything just to make you happy.
The next you woke, the feeling of soft hands and softer kisses brought you into wakefulness. Xavier's fleeting touches gentling you into the waking world. "Good morning, my star. The night was long, but you were there in my dreams. So it wasn't too bad being asleep all this time," were the first words to light upon still sleep drowned ears. "Good morning, Xavier," you got out sleepily, smiling when he responded with another kiss; this time on the lips.
"We could stay here. There's still time," Xavier began. "Whatever you decide, whatever you want- I want that, too."
"We could. Buuut- I'm sure you're hungry by now," was your reply. Which was promptly met by a still bleary-eyed look of eagerness, your bunny-like boyfriend enjoying the idea of eating. "I've got you." And then you were being carefully scooped up into his arms and set down. He shuffled forward, holding you up while still rubbing the remaining drowsiness from sleep-soft features. The rest of the short noontime was spent in such a way. The two of you groggily moving together, Xavier taking care to hold up most of your weight and thoughtfully move thing and hand them to you when necessary. It was sweet. Your sleepy boy doing his best to help your equally sleepy self, holding onto you tight all the while.
He gave you a silent look of apology while you made breakfast, wishing he could do it for you. But while he was highly capable as a hunter, the kitchen was certainly not a battlefield he could brave. Which meant that whenever you caught glances of him whilst moving about the kitchen, you saw his eyes stuck to your form. Xavier's eyes never once strayed, watching you now that he was given the opportunity to stare. You were perfect in his eyes. So strong, so capable- Even able to do things he couldn't. You couldn't help matching his hopeless smile, teeth peeking out before your hand covered the upward curve of your lips. This was met with a pout and a certain hunter stalking towards you to move your hand. "Don't do that. I like your smile."
You were cheesing again. Silly man.
An entire day off spent together is a day well spent, no matter how you chose to fill those precious few hours.
A movie together, dinner, getting ready for bed...
Laying down with him, arms once again secure around your middle and face nuzzling into your nape with a tender "I love you", you wanted to do it all over again. All the simple and mundane days you got to spend with your shooting star that made all your wishes come true. You'd gather up all the stardust of the quiet moments together until next you could hold this fleeting star in your arms.
You had an argument, and in the heat of the moment, you took on a secret mission—disappearing without a trace or warning for six days. He won’t let that slide, will he?
(⚠️ Warning: Slightly angsty and dramatic) 🔥 UPD: Guys, I hear you loud and clear about Xavier, and I'm already working on his full story. Let me know if you want more about the others (or any specific one).
🖐️💥😈 Sylus
You don’t even make it home.
One second—you’re stepping toward your door. The next—you're grabbed.
A sharp yelp leaves your lips, but it’s already too late.
One hand clamps down on your shoulder, the other hooks around your legs, and suddenly—you're airborne.
"Cargo secured."
A second voice. Muffled. Hollow.
You twist wildly.
Two figures in black masks, sharp beaked visors, curved horns on their hoods.
Luke and Kieran.
You thrash. “Put me down—”
"No can do, Miss," Kieran hums, flipping you upside down just slightly.
"Our Boss gave very strict orders," Luke murmurs.
Your stomach sinks. The car door swings open—
And you’re shoved inside.
Kieran and Luke plop down beside you, silent as shadows.
Then—
Luke sighs. Long and exaggerated.
"Such a shame," he muses. "She was so pretty."
Kieran hums. "So full of life."
Your eyes narrow. “What.”
They tilt their heads in unison. Luke’s fingers drum against the seat.
"He was so worried."
Kieran exhales. "On the first day, he simply waited."
Luke nods. "Second day, he sent people out. Checked hospitals. Crime scenes."
Kieran’s head tilts. "By day three… well, we all knew something had to bleed."
Your stomach drops.
Luke stretches, relaxed. "Four syndicates fell in one night. Just in case one of them had you."
Kieran sighs. "On the fourth day, he realized that wasn’t enough."
Luke hums. "So he started getting creative."
Your breath hitches. "Creative?"
Kieran taps his chin. "That warehouse in N109 Zone? The one that burned to the ground?"
Luke leans closer. "Day five. Still no sign of you. He collapsed an entire district."
Kieran shrugs. "Nothing personal. Just a message."
Luke tilts his head. "And then day six came."
A beat of silence.
Kieran chuckles. "You know, Miss… If you hadn’t shown up today, N109 Zone would’ve been repainted in blood by sundown."
Luke sighs dreamily. "It still might be."
Your blood turns to ice.
And then—Luke’s head tilts toward you.
"Now…?"
Kieran completes it, a beat later.
"Now he has you."
The car slows. Your chest tightens. And then—you realize where you are.
N109 Zone. His estate.
The car door swings open—
And you’re hauled out like luggage.
"Handle with care," Luke hums.
“I am handling with care," Kieran murmurs.
They carry you inside. Set you down with eerie gentleness. Smooth out your jacket. Brush imaginary dust off your shoulders.
Then—they step back. Bow, deep and slow.
“Welcome home, Miss.”
And then—they’re gone.
You whirl after them. “HEY—”
A quiet sound.
Fabric rustling. A slow, deliberate exhale.
You freeze.
And then—you turn.
Sylus is standing across the room. Calm. Collected. Expression unreadable.
But his eyes. They burn.
You swallow.
“What the fuck was that?” you snap, motioning toward the door.
Silence.
He just… watches you.
Then—slowly, smoothly—
He shrugs off his jacket. Lets it fall onto the chair. His fingers move to his cuffs. Undoing them.
One. Then the other.
Rolling his sleeves up, inch by inch.
Your stomach twists.
“Sylus.”
He doesn’t answer. His hands move to his belt. He unbuckles it. Pulls it free.
And you—
You fucking run.
You BOLT.
Straight toward the door. It’s locked.
You curse.
Behind you—he clicks his tongue.
“Oh, Kitten,” he murmurs, voice low, almost amused.
You spin, darting behind the desk. He follows. Casually. Slowly.
“You disappear for six days,” he murmurs, voice smooth, mocking, deadly.
You sidestep. He matches you.
“You ignore my calls.”
You swerve left. He steps right.
“I tear this city apart looking for you.”
You dodge back. He adjusts effortlessly.
“And now,” he exhales, tilting his head, smirking lazily, “you’re running.”
You hurl a stapler at him. He catches it. Drops it. Sighs.
Then—his patience snaps.
A sharp pulse of red energy explodes outward. The desk flips. The chairs crash against the wall.
And suddenly—
You are out of places to run. Before you can move—
He has you.
A sharp yelp rips from your throat as he grabs you, spins, and drops into his chair—
Bringing you down over his lap.
Your breath catches. “Sylus—”
"Ah, ah, ah.”
His palm glides down your back. Teasing. Amused. Smug.
"You made a very poor choice, Kitten."
Your heart pounds. His fingers hook into your waistband. And in one sharp motion—
He pulls your pants down.
Your entire body jolts. “Wait—”
The first smack lands. Sharp. Stinging.
You jerk violently.
Then—the second.
Then—the third.
“Sylus—you absolute bastard!”
A low chuckle vibrates through his chest.
“Six days, Sweetie.”
Another smack.
“You think you get away with that?”
You snarl, thrashing. “You—I’ll kill you!”
"Oh?" His hand presses against your lower back, keeping you pinned.
Then—lower now, smooth as silk, dripping with mockery—
“You sure you can handle that right now?”
You growl.
And then—
You bite him. Hard. Right on the thigh.
His breath hitches. Then—a slow, dangerous laugh.
He grabs you. Turns you over, setting you between his legs, hands gripping your chin—forcing you to look at him.
And then—
You see it. The rage is gone.
And in its place—
Something raw. Something wrecked. Like he’s aged years in just six days.
His voice—when it comes—is low. Hoarse. Unsteady.
“…I thought Ever carved you up for spare parts.”
Your stomach drops.
"You really think," his fingers twitch against your skin, "I was just waiting?"
His eyes flick over your face, scanning, memorizing. And then—softer now, almost broken—
"If you hadn’t come back tomorrow, I would’ve wiped them off the face of the earth."
Your eyes sting. Your hands reach for him, trembling.
You slide forward, onto his lap.
His breath stutters.
And then—you kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Unyielding.
He shudders.
Then—his hands clench around your waist, crushing you to him. When he pulls back—forehead pressed against yours, breath uneven—
“…Next time you disappear,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, voice shaking with something terrifyingly real, “I’m not looking for you.”
Your heart cracks. You shake your head. You cup his face. Hold him there.
“…You won’t have to.”
Silence.
Then—
His grip tightens. And just like that—
He is never letting you go again.
❄️🩸💔 Zayne
You already know where he is.
Zayne isn’t home. Of course, he isn’t.
So you do the only thing that makes sense—you head straight for Akso Hospital.
By the time you step through the pristine glass doors, you’re already talking.
“I know how this looks, but I can explain—”
And then—you see him.
Standing near the nurses’ station, uniform crisp, posture rigid, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat like he’s carved from ice.
For a second—just a second—his breath catches.
But then—
A switch flips. His entire presence shifts.
Cold. Professional. Untouchable.
His eyes meet yours. And he says nothing.
No relief. No anger. Nothing.
Just pure, hollow emptiness.
You swallow hard. Force yourself to continue.
“Zayne—”
“You need medical attention.”
His voice is calm. Impersonal. A doctor speaking to a patient. Not the man you know.
Your stomach twists.
He doesn’t ask where you’ve been. Doesn’t ask why you disappeared. Instead—he starts listing symptoms.
“You’re pale. Have you lost blood?”
You inhale sharply. “Zay—”
“Concussion?”
“No—”
“Fever? Infection?”
His eyes flick to your scraped knuckles, the dried blood on your sleeve.
And you realize—
He’s not angry. He’s protecting himself. He’s shutting down. Like he already convinced himself you weren’t coming back. Like he already mourned you.
And something inside you breaks.
Your legs wobble.
You sway—
And then—
You collapse.
The reaction is instantaneous.
A sharp inhale. A rush of movement. A sudden, firm grip catching you before you hit the ground.
Zayne’s arms lock around you. One around your back, one under your legs, holding you effortlessly. His breathing is uneven. His fingers tremble against your skin.
“Hey—!” His voice is no longer detached. It’s urgent. Terrified.
He tilts your face up, eyes scanning for injuries, pupils blown wide with panic.
"You—" His breath shudders. “Shit, you're—”
But you don’t answer. Because you keep your eyes closed. Because you know exactly what you’re doing.
And for a moment, it works. For a moment, he’s yours again. For a moment, his walls are completely, irreparably shattered.
Then—
His steps slow. His breathing evens.
And suddenly—
He stops. And you feel it. That one single, damning second of realization.
Your eyes are closed, but you can hear it. The sharp, cold click in his mind as he figures it out.
His arms loosen. Too loose. Too fast.
And suddenly—you're falling.
You gasp sharply, hands instinctively grabbing at him—
But he catches you at the last second, lowering you onto the cold, sterile floor of his office with just enough control to keep you from truly getting hurt.
But barely.
His jaw is tight. His nostrils flare. His hands press into his thighs like he’s physically holding himself back from losing control.
Then—flat, quiet, lethal—
“You lied.”
Your stomach drops. You open your mouth—and then you feel it.
A sharp, aching throb in your knee. It hits all at once—the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of everything that happened.
Your throat tightens.
And then—before you can stop it—
Tears prick at your eyes.
Your voice comes out small, weak, broken.
“Zayne… my leg hurts.”
Everything stops. The air in the room shifts.
And suddenly—
The rage is gone. His walls crumble.
His gaze snaps to your knee—swollen, bruised, torn fabric revealing skin already darkening with a deep, painful contusion.
And just like that—he’s on his knees. The doctor in him takes over.
His hands tremble as they press to your leg, fingertips ghosting over the bruised flesh like it physically pains him to touch.
He leans down. And presses a soft, lingering kiss to the bruised skin.
Your breath catches.
His forehead presses gently against your knee. And then—a whisper, barely audible, like he’s afraid of his own voice.
“…I lost you.”
Your heart cracks wide open.
He inhales sharply, his fingers tightening against your leg, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real.
You slide off the chair. Sink onto the cold, sterile floor. Your hands come up, cup his face.
His breath stutters.
You press your forehead to his.
Hot. Unwavering. Eternal.
“Only death could take me from you.”
His eyes squeeze shut. And when they open again—
There’s nothing left but raw, agonizing devotion.
Then—
His hands reach for you. And this time, he doesn’t let go.
🪑🍎🎖️ Caleb
The door clicks shut behind you.
Something feels wrong. The air is too still. Too perfectly controlled.
And then—you see it.
The chair.
Placed dead center in the room.
The apartment is spotless. Too spotless. Like someone scrubbed it raw, wiped away every trace of warmth, every sign of life.
Your stomach tightens. And then—a voice.
Cold. Measured. Absolute.
"Sit down."
You turn sharply—
And there he is.
Colonel Caleb. Not your Caleb.
Not the man who kisses your forehead every morning. Not the man who makes you breakfast even when he’s running on two hours of sleep.
No.
This is the soldier. The commander. The man who could level entire cities with a single order.
And you are his captive.
Your jaw tightens. “Caleb, what the hell—”
"Sit. Down."
Your spine stiffens. “No.”
A flick of his fingers. The chair scrapes forward, slamming into the back of your knees.
You stumble, cursing—
But before you can react—a force clamps around you. G-forces shift. Gravity bends. The chair drags you back to the center of the room.
Then—weight locks around your limbs. You can’t stand. Can’t move. Your pulse spikes.
His face is unreadable. His eyes—stormy, dark, endless.
Like he hasn’t slept in six days.
A tablet activates in his hand.
Several floating screens appear around you, flickering with surveillance footage.
And then—his interrogation begins.
His voice is calm. Clinical. Devoid of warmth.
"In the hours before your disappearance, this man entered your building. Do you know him?"
You blink. “What—?”
He gestures at the screen. A blurry security cam shot.
You squint. “That’s—a fucking courier.”
"Interesting."
A swipe of his fingers. Another screen appears.
"You placed an order at a bookstore six days ago. Three books were delivered. For what purpose?"
You stare. “...For reading?”
His brows twitch.
"Curious. You spoke to the courier for over five minutes. What was discussed?"
Your hands clench into fists. “How the hell would I know?”
A beat of silence.
Then—softer now, dangerous in its evenness—
"You really expect me to believe you don’t remember?"
Your blood boils. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”
He swipes again. More footage. More records. More evidence that means nothing.
And you snap.
"You are losing your fucking mind."
His jaw tightens.
And then—
The gravity releases.
You lurch forward, finally able to move—
But before you can get up—
he’s already there.
A single step. One hand gripping the back of your chair, tilting it back—
His face is inches from yours. His gaze burns.
"Are you fucking someone else?"
Your breath catches. Your pulse thunders in your ears.
And then—
You laugh.
Sharp. Bitter. Furious.
You gesture at yourself—the dirt, the bruises, the blood still crusted on your sleeve.
“Look at me, Caleb.”
He doesn’t move.
“Does this look like a woman having an affair?”
His fingers twitch against the chair. His voice drops to a whisper.
"I’m on the edge of it."
Your chest tightens.
“I don’t doubt that, you psychopath.” You shove against his arm, but he doesn’t budge. “Now let me up so I can strangle you.”
His fingers loosen.
And then—
"Six days."
Your breath hitches. His hand moves. Curls around your jaw, firm but careful.
"Six days. Eight thousand six hundred forty minutes."
His thumb brushes over your cheekbone.
"I couldn't breathe without pain."
Your throat tightens. Your rage collapses into something else entirely.
“Caleb—”
"I searched. I traced every lead. I turned this country inside out."
His voice wavers.
And then—softer, rawer, almost desperate—
"If you hadn’t come back, I would have burned everything to the ground."
Your chest aches.
“…I had a mission. It was classified.”
His jaw twitches.
"Then tell me—" His voice turns sharp, edged with something almost pleading. "Tell me you weren’t running."
You exhale shakily.
“You’re so obsessed with losing me, Caleb—maybe that’s why you always do.”
Silence.
Something in his face breaks. He straightens. Turns away.
Leaves.
The door slams.
And you collapse to your knees. Your hands come up—cover your face—
And finally, finally, the tears fall.
But then—
A soft creak. A shift in the air. Warmth.
Arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a crushing embrace.
You freeze.
His voice is hoarse, quiet, trembling with something raw.
"You’re the only one who can destroy me without lifting a hand."
Your breath shudders. His grip tightens.
"One word from you," he murmurs, "and I’m gone."
You shake your head.
“Caleb…”
His forehead presses against your shoulder.
"I tried. Every day. Every second. I tried not to hold on too tight." He exhales shakily. "But I can’t."
Your heart clenches.
“Caleb, I always come back.”
He flinches.
You pull back just enough to cup his face. His eyes are stormy, desperate, flickering with pain.
"You have to trust me."
His lips part, but no sound comes out.
Then—barely above a whisper—
"I can't lose you."
Your fingers tighten against his jaw.
"You won’t."
Silence.
Then—
He kisses you.
It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Devouring. Starved.
His hands tangle in your hair, holding you to him like he’ll die if you pull away.
A single tear escapes down his cheek. And you catch it with your lips.
“…I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Caleb, I’m so sorry.”
His breath shudders. He shakes his head.
“No.” His voice breaks. "You don’t apologize to me."
Your brows furrow. “Caleb—”
He swallows.
"If you’re better off without me—"
Your hand flies up, slaps over his mouth. He freezes. Tears well in your eyes.
“Don’t. Say. That.” His chest rises sharply. You lean in, press your forehead to his.
“…You are my universe,” you whisper.
His hands shake against your back.
“No matter what we do, no matter what happens—” You press your lips to his, slow, deep, endless. “I will always come back to you.”
His breath shudders against your lips.
And then—his voice drops, quiet but unshakable.
"You will never disappear on me again without warning. Not now. Not ever."
🗡✨🌥 Xavier
The door clicks shut behind you.
You barely take a step inside before a voice cuts through the air—
Calm. Measured. Unshakable.
"Ah." A quiet exhale. "Look who finally remembered they have a home."
You freeze.
Xavier is already there.
Sitting in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a book balanced in his hand—like your sudden reappearance was nothing more than an interesting plot twist.
He doesn’t look up immediately. He finishes the sentence he’s reading first.
Then—calmly, unhurriedly—he turns the page.
And finally—his gaze lifts to yours.
Cold. Slow. Too calculating.
"Six days."
Your stomach tightens. "Xav—"
"Mm. No." He holds up a single finger.
The room falls silent. And somehow, that’s worse.
You watch as he closes the book. Carefully. Precisely. Then—without breaking eye contact—he sets it aside.
And then—a small smile.
Soft. Almost friendly.
Which means you’re in deep, deep trouble.
"You look tired," he murmurs, tilting his head. "Traveling, were you?"
You exhale. "Xavier—"
"Oh, no. Let me guess." His fingers tap idly against the armrest. "You were simply busy."
A pause.
"Too busy, in fact, to answer a single message."
Your jaw tightens. "It wasn’t—"
"Ah," he interrupts softly, as if realizing something.
His eyes flick over your torn sleeve, the faint bruises on your arms. Then, slowly—he smiles.
"Or," he murmurs, "did you lose your phone again?"
Your stomach drops. Because he knows.
You inhale sharply. "Xav—"
He shakes his head.
"No, it’s alright. I understand." He leans forward slightly, resting his chin against his knuckles. "I’m sure you had an excellent reason."
A beat of silence. Then—mild amusement, carefully laced with steel:
"Would you like to tell me what it was?"
You hesitate.
Because you were on a mission. A classified one.
Because he wasn’t supposed to know. Because you work together.
And yet—he knew nothing.
You try anyway.
"I had a—"
"A mission?" His brow lifts, a polite flicker of curiosity. "Fascinating."
His tone is smooth, unbothered. And that—that is when you know how angry he really is.
He gestures vaguely toward the stacks of reports on the table.
"Tell me, darling, which mission was it?"
You swallow hard. "I can’t—"
"Mm. Right. Classified."
Another small nod. A slow, deliberate blink.
"As are all major operations within the Association."
His fingers drum lightly against the armrest.
"And yet, strangely—" He tilts his head. "Not a single record of your assignment exists."
You say nothing.
Xavier exhales through his nose—almost disappointed.
"And here I thought," he murmurs, "we were supposed to trust each other."
You flinch.
His gaze softens. Not with kindness. But with something far worse.
Pity.
"You must have had your reasons, of course," he muses.
A small sigh, like he’s humoring a child.
"I imagine you thought it was necessary. Sensible, even."
His fingers lace together.
"Just as I found it necessary to send out a search party on day three."
Your breath catches.
"You what?"
He hums.
"By day four, I expanded my resources. You'd be surprised how quickly information spreads when you know where to look."
Your hands clench.
"Xavier—"
"Day five, I began considering alternative outcomes. Some of them, admittedly, rather unpleasant."
A flicker of something colder in his expression.
"Ever been forced to sit in a room full of people trying to convince you that your partner is dead?"
Your stomach turns.
"Xavier, I wasn’t—"
He clicks his tongue.
"Day six, I received word that you had finally resurfaced."
He leans back. Folds his arms. And then—a soft chuckle, utterly humorless.
"Imagine my relief."
Silence.
You exhale sharply. "Xav, I—"
"Did you know," he interrupts, voice light, conversational, detached, "that people tend to avoid looking a grieving man in the eye?"
Your throat tightens.
"Not that I was grieving, of course." He taps a finger against his chin. "I don’t make a habit of mourning people until I see a body."
He tilts his head slightly, studying you.
"But I imagine it must have been quite the inconvenience, being dead for six days."
Your chest tightens.
"You think I wanted to—"
"Oh, I know," he murmurs. "You didn’t want to disappear."
His voice lowers.
"But you still did."
And for the first time—he is no longer smirking. His blue eyes bore into yours, steady, sharp.
"You made a decision that left me in the dark."
A long, slow breath.
"And I need to know," he says softly, "if you would do it again."
Silence.
You don’t have an answer. You don’t think there is one.
He exhales.
Finally, he leans back. Gazes at you for a moment longer.
Then, calmly—he stands. Smooth. Effortless. Precise. And then—he walks past you.
Your heart slams against your ribs.
"Xavier—"
He doesn’t stop. You push to your feet.
"Xavier, you’re coming back, right?"
Finally—he pauses. Turns his head, just slightly.
And then—
"Ask me again in six days."
The door closes behind him. And this time—you’re the one left behind.
🧜🏻♂️🧑🏻🎨🌊 Rafayel
You are exhausted.
Every part of you aches. Your body demands sleep, warmth, peace.
Instead—
You come home to chaos.
Loud music. Laughter. The scent of wine, perfume, candle wax, and indulgence.
And then—the sight of him.
Rafayel.
Lounging near the pool, half-leaning against an ornate chair, a glass of red wine dangling lazily between his fingers.
His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to hint at toned muscle beneath, his sleeves rolled up, his perfectly tousled hair falling over his forehead in an effortlessly careless way.
And surrounding him—beautiful women.
Drinking, laughing, leaning toward him like he’s some fallen deity of temptation and excess.
Your stomach twists. A tight, burning rage coils in your chest.
And then—
He sees you. His eyes widen—just slightly. And then—a slow, almost lazy smirk.
"Ah." He lifts his glass dramatically, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look who's finally returned!"
You tense.
He rises to his feet, arms spread as if welcoming royalty.
"My muse. My inspiration."
His voice carries over the music, over the murmurs of people starting to notice the tension.
"The very heart of my art!"
A sweeping gesture.
And then—
He motions toward the canvas-lined walls.
Your breath catches. Because they’re all of you. Dozens of paintings.
But—ruined.
Slashes through the canvas.
Paint smeared and splattered over your likeness like an artist in rage, in agony, in heartbreak.
The fury in you erupts. Your voice cuts through the music.
"What the actual fuck is this?!"
He gasps, mock scandalized.
"Oh, you don’t like them? What a tragedy!"
He downs the rest of his wine in one smooth gulp, tossing the glass aside with a careless flick of his wrist.
Then—he grins.
Crooked. Reckless. Infuriating.
"And here I was, drowning in sorrow, channeling my unbearable suffering into art."
A sigh.
"But alas." He shrugs dramatically. "Seems the muse herself has returned."
You march toward him. He tilts his head.
"Careful, cutie. You seem upset."
"You’re a fucking disaster."
He laughs.
"You’re six days late to that realization."
You grab his wrist, yanking him toward the exit.
“We’re talking. Now.”
His body moves, but his feet don’t follow. Instead—he pulls against your grip.
His smile widens.
"Oh?" His voice drips with amusement. "Dragging me away already? Jealous, cutie?"
Your jaw clenches.
"This is pathetic."
Another laugh, lighter this time.
"Ah, but it was all I had!" He places a hand over his heart. Theatrical. Overdramatic. Perfectly insufferable.
You snap.
And shove him into the pool.
He barely has time to react—water crashes around him, drenching his white shirt, dragging him under.
And for a brief, glorious second—silence.
Until—
His hand grabs your wrist. You yelp, but it’s too late.
He pulls you down with him.
Cold water engulfs you, shocking your senses.
When you resurface, gasping, furious, he’s already brushing his hair back, blinking at you through wet lashes.
And suddenly—
The playfulness is gone. The crowd has vanished. Thomas made sure of it.
And now—it’s just you and him.
And for the first time tonight—he’s quiet. His voice is lower, slower.
"You storm into my house. Onto my estate. Into my party. And then..."
He gestures lazily toward the water.
"You throw me in my own fucking pool?"
You pant, teeth gritted. “Your—house? Great! I’ll leave you in your fucking house—”
You turn to climb out—
And he grabs you again. A firm grip. Unshaking.
His eyes—darker now. Sharper. Focused.
"Make another move, cutie." His voice is dangerously low.
"And we’ll have problems."
You glare. "Let. Go."
He doesn’t. Instead—he pulls you closer.
“You’re not walking away from this.”
Your pulse spikes.
"Rafayel—"
"Do it," he whispers. "Say it to my face."
Your breath catches.
"You want to leave?" His hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer, forcing you to feel the heat radiating from his soaked body.
"Then say it."
Your hands shake. You flick water into his face, desperate to break the tension.
He doesn’t even blink. Instead—his eyes drop.
To your clothes.
Soaked. Clinging. Revealing everything.
His pupils darken. And then—his jaw tightens.
"You left me for six days," he murmurs.
Your breath stutters.
"I left for work, not you, you hysterical maniac."
He tilts his head.
"That’s the same thing. And your phone?"
"A Wanderer shattered it!"
He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.
"Ah, yes. And I suppose you were also too busy fighting for your life to send me one. Single. Fucking. Message?"
You exhale sharply. "Raf, you’re insufferable. A party? Seriously?"
"How else am I supposed to handle soul-crushing heartbreak?"
His voice drops.
"Tell me, cutie." His fingers skim your waist, trailing fire in their wake. "How else was I supposed to drown my suffering?"
He leans in, breath hot against your lips.
And then—
He kisses you. Desperate. Possessive.
Your legs wrap around his waist, instinct taking over.
His grip tightens.
"You threw me in a pool," he whispers against your lips.
"You deserved it."
His fingers dig into your hips.
"You waltz in after six days and just—throw me?"
"Maybe I should throw you again."
He grins against your skin.
"I should make you pay for that."
"Raf—"
"Mm. Shh."
His hands travel lower, pressing you harder against him.
Your breathing turns shallow.
"Your paintings," you murmur.
"I’ll paint more."
"You hated me for six days."
"Endlessly." He kisses your throat, voice dropping further.
"You didn’t want to see me again?"
He grins against your collarbone.
"Try leaving me again, cutie."
His grip tightens, unshakable.
His breath is hot against your ear.
"And I promise—"
His hips press forward, slow and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt of heat through you.
"You won’t be able to walk for a week."
Writing sometimes feels like a strange disorder you just kind of cope with by being creative. Like your brain randomly decides to dump a million-piece puzzle in front of you and says, 'Solve this or we will never think of anything else, ever.' You toil away for years and by some miracle you solve it, and it's the most fulfilling, exhilarating feeling in the world. It's perfect. You did it. And your brain is like, 'OK, here's my idea for three sequels and a spinoff.'
-
disvstcr liked this · 1 month ago -
bbyhaji liked this · 1 month ago -
brendaxau liked this · 1 month ago -
nympha-foresta liked this · 1 month ago -
underfcvcked liked this · 1 month ago -
charmolypi-x29 reblogged this · 1 month ago -
charmolypi-x29 liked this · 1 month ago
-
angelicsv liked this · 1 month ago -
too-stressed-to-live liked this · 1 month ago -
mitskunicheesecake liked this · 1 month ago -
bread-made-of-garlic liked this · 1 month ago -
naughtynati liked this · 1 month ago -
natekatstwt liked this · 1 month ago -
sabr1naaa liked this · 1 month ago -
lovelynights-world liked this · 1 month ago -
margos-midnight-rain liked this · 1 month ago -
tofufairy liked this · 1 month ago -
canthegodsfixmeifimbones reblogged this · 1 month ago -
canthegodsfixmeifimbones liked this · 1 month ago
-
ghy132006 liked this · 1 month ago -
jasperthebunny777 reblogged this · 1 month ago -
manyuyuu liked this · 1 month ago -
jasperthebunny777 liked this · 1 month ago
-
joufancyhuh liked this · 1 month ago -
levis304 liked this · 1 month ago -
radeyaisha reblogged this · 1 month ago -
radeyaisha liked this · 1 month ago
-
pip-squeaked reblogged this · 1 month ago -
petalbit liked this · 1 month ago -
saturnslandfill liked this · 1 month ago -
sanniemellowbun liked this · 1 month ago -
usagiumiko3 liked this · 1 month ago -
softposh reblogged this · 1 month ago -
puffypuffins liked this · 1 month ago -
cubiecat liked this · 1 month ago -
efintired liked this · 1 month ago -
dysphxriaii liked this · 1 month ago -
fandomfail liked this · 1 month ago -
a-contemplation-upon-flowers liked this · 1 month ago -
seabride-audrey liked this · 1 month ago -
keconga reblogged this · 1 month ago -
keconga liked this · 1 month ago
-
beescuitsstuff liked this · 1 month ago -
jane2047 liked this · 1 month ago -
littletoni liked this · 1 month ago -
sheewa19 liked this · 1 month ago -
ramaeics liked this · 1 month ago -
vittannya liked this · 1 month ago -
rsxhq liked this · 1 month ago
loyal to my man ~Xavier .... Life is delulu at this point and other fixations
237 posts