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ao3 — spotify

[my5erenity]

Can we sit for a second and think of xavier desperately trying to make reader mad at him bc he wanna have angry sex with her, but ofc she's not falling for any of it even after he used every single trick in the book @ lads writers please im begging 🙏

[my5erenity]

[luna-azzurra]

CREATIVE HOBBIES TO START WITH NO EXPERIENCE!! <3

⟡ Collage: cut things up, rearrange them, call it art because it is

⟡ Linocut printing: carve a stamp, press it everywhere

⟡ Making your own ink from berries, walnut shells, iron

⟡ Watercolor: the most forgiving medium for imperfect people

⟡ Hand lettering: start ugly, get better, it takes exactly as long as it takes

⟡ Making playlists as an art form

⟡ Crochet: meditative, portable, produces something cute

⟡ Bookbinding: turn anything into a journal you actually made

⟡ Embroidery: more forgiving than it looks, more satisfying than expected

⟡ Soap or candle making: VERY functional and deeply satisfying

⟡ Charcoal drawing: messy in a way that feels free (love it)

⟡ Block printing on fabric: turn old plain things into something yours

⟡ Pottery hand-building without a wheel, its more accessible than you think

⟡ Pressed flower art!!!

⟡ Journaling with mixed media, like glue, paint, pen, tape, anything goes

⟡ Dried flower arranging

⟡ Sketching architecture: trains the eye to see structure everywhere

⟡ Leather tooling: more accessible as a beginner craft than expected

⟡ Natural dyeing: plants and fabric and patience and lot of magic

⟡ Making something ugly on purpose to get over the fear of making something bad

[goatkkotsu]

Could this jealousy ever fade

Summary : Xavier has a crush on you, surely you are over your childhood friend?

Content/Tags : fluff, slight angst, Mention of Zayne as a past ‘love interest’, mention of Caleb and mc, reader isn’t mc but is still a hunter and part of the childhood trio (ig quad then??), allusion to Zayne’s low tolerance of alcohol.

a/n : Hiiiiiii, okay another fic! Second one im posting alright!! Please bear with me as these are mostly things i wrote for my pure enjoyment and my friend in my dms or docs so i never really intended to post them, english also isn’t my first language so apologies for any mistake! I also never used tumblr much other than for reading so I’m still learning how to use it, anyway! I hope you guys enjoy this 💕

wc : ~ 3k

Xavier knows that getting over an ex isn’t always the easiest thing to do. He is well aware that some people have a hard time getting rid of the lingering feelings they have towards who once used to be their lover, however that didn’t mean that said person wanted to be with their ex or who once used to be the ‘love of their life’.

It didn’t necessarily mean that one wanted to keep thinking about said person or that it meant that one didn’t want to start a new relationship and hopefully actually find the love of their life, their true soulmate if you will. 

That is exactly why when Xavier heard that you had officially declared that you were over and done with your one sided feelings for the infamous doctor Li Zayne, he decided that this was not an opportunity to be missed, and so he all but jumped into courting you and trying to woo you.

One could argue that you never actually dated the doctor and so he could barely be considered an ex and therefor surely your feelings for him weren’t as strong as if you were to have dated him and basked in his love like how you dreamt of for so long, but to Xavier it was all the same.

To Xavier the doctor was nothing short of your ex, he had seen how you’d gaze at him when the hunter’s association would send you both to do your routinely check ups, he would notice how your gaze was full of adoration and love, how in spite of being so loud and confident; traits that Xavier absolutely adored on you; you’d turn shy and quiet when the green eyed doctor would come to do a check up on you.

How your ears would turn red and how your eyes would look up at him with such adoration. 

Xavier was a jealous person, he had no shame in admitting that. Each and every time he saw how you’d turn meek around the older man he’d secretly seethe, but back then he felt he had no right to voice his feelings, after all he was nothing but your colleague and friend and that was all.

This was back then, however. Not anymore, and Xavier couldn’t have been happier when during one of your hangouts at your local park you had admitted to him that you would put an end to the feelings you harbored for your physician. 

Was Xavier selfish for wanting to beam right there and then?

Instead of doing that he had asked you why, and when you told him it was because you had come to understand that the doctor harbored feelings for your childhood friend, Xavier simply nodded and pulled you into a hug.

Something way more intimate than what your friendship had ever seen, maybe he had felt emboldened but you didn’t push him away or turn rigid instead you melted into his embrace and let him comfort you, Xavier couldn’t help but marvel at how soft and right it felt to hold you in his arms he wonders if you felt the same at that moment. 

You surely did, his embrace felt so safe and comforting you wound up dreaming and thinking of it way more than what could’ve been considered friendly. 

Making you fall for him was something Xavier had hoped for for quite some time now, he had imagined multiple times how he would take you out on dates and be able to spoil you rotten, he had long fantasized about holding your hand and maybe even interlock his fingers with yours, how he would finally be able to hold your waist in his hand and just feel the curve of your spine.

He had long dreamt about calling your name without withholding the care and love in his voice, he had thought of the times where he would be able to hug you and feel your heart beat against his, he had thought of it all. Yet nothing came close to the reality of it, nothing came close to the slow shift in your face after that night where you confessed to letting go of Zayne, the friendly look you’d always give him slowly morphing to something else. 

Xavier had been careful with pursuing you after you had let go of your unrequited love, he had known that if you jumped directly in a relationship after years of yearning for one man and never getting him would hurt you more than anything else, so he waited. 

Xavier was good at waiting. 

And as it turns out his patience was indeed rewarded, because the slow shift in your demeanor around him was everything. The butterflies he felt each time your eyes would meet across the room intensified ten times more now, because now, instead of just giving him a nod or a friendly smile, now your cheeks flushed slightly, now your smile was nervous.

Gosh he sounds like such a douche but having you finally be aware of his existence as something more than simply a colleague of friend made Xavier so thrilled, try as he may he could not bring his heart to calm down around you. 

Whatever he had imagined it’d be like to finally reciprocate his feelings, nothing came close to the reality of it.

The late night playing games with you after a particularly hard mission, the going out to help you shop for new furniture and ending up buying plants calling it your child, late afternoon walks around the neighborhood on particularly nice days, feeding cats together and laughing as they curl around your laps, holding you close to comfort you after a particularly hard day, helping you solve your problems. 

The agonizing over what book to recommend for you after a long talk, and gosh, the talking, the long prolonged conversations. The everything and nothing, the debates, the debriefs of books and movies. Xavier was never much of a talker, but he found that he loved the melody that your voice and his created. 

Xavier loved you, and every little mundane thing that made up life. 

Through it all, he knew that you slowly but surely started to develop feelings for him as well, and nothing could’ve made Xavier happier. However, getting over one’s ex is not an easy thing, even more so if said ex never did anything to wrong you, and even more so if said ex was never, well, an ex.

You had always been the kindest person with the most loving heart, and Xavier knew that within your heart Dr. Li had made himself a comfortable seat. 

Yet, in spite of everything, he had wished to believe that maybe, surely, your feelings for him were stronger. Granted, you were still not officially together, neither did you do anything more than hug and occasionally hold hands, but Xavier believes that the love he holds for you is surely reciprocated, he believes that in the face of a decision, you will choose him. 

Now facing him was a drunk Zayne, face flushed and eyes droopy, words slurred and voice mellow as he whispers and calls your name incessantly, his taller build engulfing yours nearly completely, and Xavier hates how deep within his heart he can understand why Tara had encouraged you repeatedly to confess to the doctor, going on about how the both of you would make a cute couple. 

Xavier feels his stomach churn. 

His thoughts are cut off by your bewildered expression and your voice. “Xavier!! What are you doing here?” you say, he watches as one your hands snakes around Zayne’s waist while the other holds his arm around your shoulder to steady him, he feels his stomach turn again. 

He holds up his phone showing you the call log. “You called me.” His voice is hoarse, he had run all the way here. You give him an apologetic look, your face turning for a second trying to shush the grown man by your side who kept whining for your attention. Your voice cuts the silence again.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve butt dialed you as I was trying to help this one out of the venue.” he watches; jealousy rendering him near voiceless; as you squirm when Zayne’s voice tickles your ear. 

Ah, were you sensitive there? he swallows dryly and keeps standing there, fists balled, he hates this. Even more so when he sees the telltale of your lingering feelings, the red of your ears peeking from under your hair. 

“Anyway, sorry Xavier, I gotta get this one home.” You give Zayne a slight nudge with your hips which makes him turn around and drape both arms around your neck, effectively hugging you. This makes you let out a small gasp and Xavier watches as your eyes widen for a second before you let out a small smile grace your lips. “As you can see he is very drunk.” 

Xavier knew that you were one of his childhood friends alongside two other individuals, a colonel and another hunter who was your colleague. So in theory he knew that you were close to the doctor, it had even come up during one of your late night talks, you had confessed how you had always felt closer to Zayne than the pair of siblings that constituted your childhood friend group and that it most likely ended up being the reason as to why you had developed feelings for the older man.

He knew of all this, yet seeing you so close and friendly made him feel so envious. 

Would you have ended up falling for him instead if you both had grown up together?

With a sigh he shakes the thoughts away and approaches you, taking the man off your arms, and rolling his eyes when he hears him whine for you. “I will help you, should we take him to his house?” he watches as your shocked expression turns into one of gratitude.

With a nod, you start walking and he follows suit dragging the other man with him. “Yes, please. He got drunk at an event and ended up calling me, it is very reckless of him seeing as he came here driving.” you explain, stopping in front of a black Audi and opening it. 

Silently Xavier places the man in the backseat and marches towards you. “I will drive, you can give me the directions.” you nod with a smile and go to sit in the passenger seat. “Thanks for the help Xavier, I don’t know how I'd have hauled his huge frame by myself.” he nods with a small hum, starting the engine and driving.

“Do you like it?” he asks and you turn to him with a small smile, humming in interrogation. He clarifies. “Do you like men who have bigger frames?” He doesn't know what is taking over him, just that having what could be considered your ex calling your name incessantly pisses him off. 

Xavier watches as you sputter for a second but luckily for you Zayne seems to come to your rescue as he reaches forward as if to hold you, making you turn your attention completely to the dark haired man. turning to face him and hear what he is saying better. He calls your name again and again.

“I miss you…” he slurs, eyes bleary and unfocused. The absence of music in the car makes his confession even more intimate and Xavier watches in his periphery how your cheeks seem to redden as you let out a small ‘oh’. 

Great. You seem to completely forget about the man driving beside you as you angle your body even more towards your childhood friend. It had been true that you hung out with him less and less, all of your free time now occupied with Xavier, but the light haired man felt no remorse whatsoever, that is what happens when one does not value what they have. 

With a lithe voice you speak up. “I miss you too, Zaynie..” You give the drunkard a small smile and Xavier, try as he may, could not stop himself from scoffing loudly at the nickname. This makes you turn towards him with flushed cheeks. “What?” You frown and he just scoffs again, an annoyed smirk taking over his features. “Nothing.” he answers. 

You had never used any nicknames when addressing him before. Another scoff that earns him a petulant ‘what’ from you. 

The rest of the ride is silent, and once you arrive, he helps you guide the doctor inside his home and place him on the bed. He tries not to let the jealousy get the best of him as he watches you tuck your childhood friend in and take care of him, out of love and care for you he does help and fetch whatever you tell him to, but not without feeling like hot molten silver has been poured inside his chest. 

“Sleep tight Zayne, I will call you tomorrow, yeah?” Xavier watches, short of going mad, were you going to give him a goodnight kiss now? Luckily for his heart you do not, instead you just pat the doctor’s head and turn to him, giving the light haired man a small smile. And just like that you both find yourself outside the door. 

Xavier watches you as you stretch and groan, turning slightly to him, giving him a smile. “Thank you so much, I don't know how I'd have managed without you Xavier.” When he hums in response you continue. “No seriously, I got his call suddenly and I was in such a pinch, Zayne rarely gets drunk so it was a first for me.” he nods along, walking two steps behind you.

“By the way, how did you manage to know where I was?” at that he finally speaks up. “You still had your location shared from last time, I got worried when you didn’t speak coherently on the call so i just checked it and rushed there.” 

You chuckle and hum. 

Xavier had firmly believed that if a choice had to be made, then surely you would choose him over your childhood friend, but right now, as jealousy and envy cloud his heart and judgement he is not so sure anymore. He knows it’s childish, he knows he has no right, he knows that nothing even happened to warrant such a reaction, but Xavier just could not help himself. 

Xavier was a jealous person, and right now he was ashamed of admitting it. 

He stops in his tracks, now standing in the middle of the park that leads you to the train station. Xavier was jealous, he hated this, he hated it all. The nicknames, the care you held, the blush, the small gasps you let out. All of it, he hated it so immensely it was just not fair that it was that doctor that got to receive it. 

With his hand reaching towards you, he holds the hem of your shirt and tugs, stopping you right in your track and making you turn to look at him. Maybe this was the first time that night that you finally got a good look at him, and what was he showing you? The face of a petulant child no doubt, with his head down and an obvious pout on his lips, his large hand tugging at your shirt not letting go. 

What did you think of when he showed you this side, were you regretful that it was him and not Zayne? Did you wish it was the older man walking home with you now? Perhaps you wished he was the one you could spend time with instead of Xavier. The doctor had expressed his longing for your company so does this mean that you will no longer give Xavier a chance? no longer hang out with him? Gone were the leisurely walks and long discussions? 

Just what did you think of him? Did he appear pathetic right now to you? 

If only he knew, that right now as he holds your shirt and pouts, very obviously jealous, all you could think about is how a man could act so cute.

“I..” he cuts himself off, he doesn’t know what to say. Don’t leave me? Choose me? Forget him? Why have you never given me a nickname before? Just what could he even say, his own feelings don’t make sense to him.

Finally looking up he is met with your gentle smile as if coaxing him. His hands move from your shirt to your hand and swiftly he closes the distance between you two. “Tell me, Xavier?” You smile at him, your hand interlocking with his, and Xavier feels emboldened. 

“I like you.” He had never said it outright before, but you knew it , he had made it obvious enough and he knew that you knew. Now with the confession out there was no way of avoiding his feelings. He watches as your eyes widen at the sudden words. Were you truly not expecting it? 

“I like you a lot, I like you more than you give me credit for.” He leans closer and closer, until his face is mere inches away from yours and until your breaths mingle, his eyes that were fixed on yours now drop to yours lips and from here he can see the shimmer in your lip gloss, was it the one he brought for you a few week ago? 

Without a second thought he engulfs you in a hug, guiding your hands to hug his waist tightly before wrapping his arms around your neck, nuzzling his face there. He could not get the image of Zayne hugging you out of his mind. 

He hugs you for a while longer, basking in your warmth before nuzzling his face even closer to your neck, his lips brushing against your ear. “I like you so much, and I miss you. Terribly so.” 

He takes notice of the way you shiver against him but do not move. His voice drops to that sultry note he knows you like and continues talking. “You like it here right?” Blows slightly and dares to chuckle when you yelp and call his name. Turning his face to look at you with a pout. “I like you;” He repeats this time softer, feeling a soft blush coat his face as he notices the one adorning yours. 

Ah, he likes you so much. 

With a small nod you pat his back, keeping eye contact as he leans even closer to you, completely lost in your warmth. But just as you are about to answer him, he stops you. 

“No, I don’t want the first time I hear it from you to be after I got jealous of your past love.” Your eyes widen and Xavier simply pats your head. “I will make you say it to me, with utter love and devotion.” At that you chuckle before pinching his cheek, “Alright, Romeo. Let's go home now I'm exhausted.” 

This Was pretty rushed but i hope you liked it all the same!

[dovesgrave]

boyfriend!xavier headcannons

boyfriend!xavier likes to text you when he wakes up. he likes to text you before he goes to sleep. he has a whole plethora of silly cartoon ‘goodnight’ stickers and ‘good morning’ stickers saved on his phone that he sends you regardless of the time, so dont be surprised to receive a message at 10:30 am from xavier, bidding you a good night of sleep with an attatched gif of a koala hanging on a half moon.

boyfriend!xavier who’s chat history with you is practically his digital diary. he likes to send you photos of the most random things he encounters. sometimes he provides very little context, but you don’t suppose it needs any. sometimes he sneds you selfies that are so close up that his bangs are in the way of the camera. he also likes to send you photos of your dates with him as if you weren’t present for them, or if it had been ages since the outing occurred.

xavi: (image) we looked so cute back then…

[name]: babe that was twenty minutes ago. you just dropped me off.

boyfriend!xavier who takes every tiktok you send him very seriously. sometimes a bit too seriously. when you sent him one of those ‘missing my gf so i baked her into a cookie’ videos, he sent you back an actual photo of a burnt tray of suspiciously you-shaped gingerbreads. theres a small fire in the background. before you could even reply, too aghast to comment, he started munching on one.

‘it’s a bit salty…’

’XAVIER YOU’RE CHEWING ON MOUTHFULS OF ASH!’

boyfriend!xavier who actually prefers to be next to you and watch you in your sleep, in turn to sleeping himself. not in a creepy way, but he can’t resist but admire your sleeping face, so calm, so relaxed…he cant help but to reach out a finger and squish your cheeks while you’re smushed up against him anyway. he cuddles you closer and buries his face in your neck, pulling the duvet covers over you both, like an arctic hare burrowing into the snow.

boyfriend!xavier who’s favourite sound to fall asleep to is either your voice (if you’re awake and willing) or the sounds of your shared home. he finds the sounds of water bubbling to a boil especially soothing, although you tease him that he only likes it because it sounds like a steaming bowl of beef hot pot, his favourite. he doesn’t admit that really, the sound of you flicking on the kettle, you turning on the tap, you boiling the water, you pouring the steaming liquid out, you rattling the teacup…is what affirms him of your presence. he likes such mundane, ordinary sounds because it assures him that you’re there, you’re by him, and you’re safe.

boyfriend!xavier who’s favourite form of messaging from you is either big paragraphs of text, or long chains of voice recordings. they feel so intimate to him, and he loves to read or listen to your ramblings. there’s still so much he wants to learn from you. plus, there’s nothing he loves more than the sound of your voice.

and of course, xavier responds to every single one of your texts and calls and voicemails, but why this time—

[sorry. the number you’ve dialed has been disconnected]

oh. right.

you’ve been dead for well over a year now. he knew the phone company would shut down your service eventually.

xavier rubs the sleep from his eyes. ever since your absence, your home has grown to become so empty. there are dishes undone in the sink from the last meal you ever made him. windows coated with dust. beds unmade. what the morgue sent him, still on the table. he couldn’t bear to do anything about it.

and now…a phone that xavier can no longer call you and leave you tearful voicemails on. a number that he can’t text you day and night to, with messages that he’ll know you can’t respond to but there are so many things he aches to tell you. a service he can no longer call to tell you that ‘i miss you’.

xavier throws his phone into the overflowing sink.

it’s no use to him anymore.

[my5erenity]

Ok.

[ytmkiz]

absence. lads boys x non!mc reader

one of my favorite kinds of non mc angst is when you have stood by the boys through every lifetime, so much so that your presence has become a quiet certainty for them.

they expect you to always be by their side, moving through the world as if your loyalty is as certain as the sunrise.

and whether they are blind to your feelings, consumed in their quest to reunite with mc, or simply incapable of truly seeing you, they’ll never choose you.

still, you remain, tethered to their side through every heartbreak.

but when you find out your cycle of reincarnation is finally ending, you keep it to yourself. is it selfish? perhaps. but your heart is weary, your love is stretched thin, and you know that if your devotion was never returned before, it never will be.

so when you finally slip away—cradled in their arms during a mission, surrendering your soul to the ocean at a seamoon ceremony, or resting among a field of datura flowers—they mourn you. of course they do. tears will fill their eyes as they whisper your name into the silence.

but some part of them knows you’ll come back.

you always do.

they’re certain you’ll return just as you always have, and that soon enough you’ll be smiling beside them again, teasing them like nothings changed.

you always return as yourself—changed in small ways, perhaps, but still marked by the beauty spot beneath your eye or the gentle brown of your gaze.

your face may shift with each timeline, but the faint scar along your arm from protecting him from wanderers or the wound over your heart always remains.

it’s all a quiet testament of your love.

so when the next cycle comes, and they cannot find you in a scattered crowd of villagers, when they don’t sense your presence in a university hallway, when they wait for you to find them in a game of hide and seek on a playground—the one right next to your father’s house—or amongst the last remaining lemurians who reside in verona, they begin to question it.

they start to wonder.

where were you? what’s taking you so long to come back to them?

where is the one who knows them best? the girl who shares every memory, who understands their purpose, who feels their pain more deeply than anyone else?

simply put—

where are you?

but the truth is painfully simple.

you are not here.

not anymore.

your soul is finally at peace, and alongside it, your love.

or maybe, somewhere in the world, you still exist.

maybe you grew up wrapped in the warmth of a loving family. maybe you still remember the warnings of hunters past and steer clear of those forbidden no hunt zones.

maybe you attend college, or perhaps you open a flower shop in a city where no one knows your name.

maybe every night you dream of a life you have never lived, with a man whose face you have never seen.

maybe you are sitting right beside them, by the sea or on a park bench, laughing at a joke you just told, while he absentmindedly takes your hand in his.

and maybe when you wake with tears drying on your cheeks, you’re confused, unable to understand what it all means.

but dreams fade the longer you remain awake, and slowly, you return to your life.

you feed your cat. you take out the trash. you spend a tuesday afternoon tackling a week's worth of laundry.

you live through mundane, ordinary moments.

you meet up with old colleagues for brunch, talking to your mother on the phone while waiting for the next train. you reply to the messages of a man you matched with online and let him take you out for a drink or two, thanking him at the end of the night for the fun you had.

the next day, you pass by a mural painted by a well-known artist from whitesand bay, leaving you so awestruck that you take a quick snapshot to post on your moments page before continuing on your way.

you arrive at akso hospital, stepping into the lobby to find the rest of your family sitting anxiously for news of your niece’s birth. you sit beside them, praying for the time to pass more quickly, absentmindedly reading the framed research credits of a 28-year-old cardiac surgeon hanging on the wall nearby.

and when you return home that night, head stuck in the clouds, swiping at the hundreds of photos you took of your sister's baby girl, someone stops you in the street.

their eyes—sky blue, violet-gold, or cotton-candy—search your face with overwhelming relief, haunted by a grief that feels centuries old.

“i’m so glad i found you again,” they’ll whisper as their arms wrap around you, the embrace tight enough to keep you from pulling away so easily, but gentle enough not to steal your breath.

“i missed you so much. where have you been?”

you freeze, fear rooting you into place as a voice inside urges you to fight, to punch, to kick, to scream—anything to break free from the arms of someone you don’t know.

you tense, and they feel it immediately. they notice your stillness, your lack of recognition, and finally, they let you go, albeit slowly.

their hands settle gently against your shoulders, smiling with a softness you have never seen directed to you, and they ask again:

“where have you been?”

you force yourself backward, taking three deliberate steps to create space between you, your left hand already searching your purse for anything to defend yourself with.

and with quiet uncertainty, you ask:

“i’m so sorry, but…do i know you?”

[gloxym]

f!reader x Xavier | non-mc!reader x Xavier | unrequited love | plot twist | angst | there's gonna be grammatical errors | might have lore mistakes my bad

Xavier knew something was wrong the day he saw you sitting on his couch, uninvited with an awkward smile on your face.

He knew that you, out of everyone that remained of the Backtrackers, remained dutiful and isolated from the rest of the team. You didn't show up unannounced without a good enough reason. And yet, there was no great exigency that caused you to break into his home and watch day time television on his couch.

"The mechanic shop you had me maintaining near the outskirts of the N109 Zone is under repair after some nasty Wanderer situation. So, hope you don't mind me crashing at your place."

"Could you not stay at Philos?"

"You forget I'm still angry at Jeremiah. Yeah, no, that's not happening unless you want him knocking at your door demanding compensation for all the flowers I'd destroy out of spite."

"The flowers are innocent."

"Don't care."

And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about you. You never specified exactly what happened, however, crucially, he never pressed you for more details aside from one or two questions that you vaguely answered.

You crashed in the spare bedroom, yet each morning he always saw you on the couch, no matter what odd hours of the night he woke up. You would just wave at him, watching whatever was on. He never took you as the type to indulge in modern television, investing your time in dramas and sitcoms like you had nothing better to do.

"So, if I'm understanding this right, Kim is in love with Taeha, but because of the historical accuracy this show is trying to present, they can't be together because they're both men and being gay is illegal?"

"I'm not even sure what's going on because you've been watching this for the past three days and I just started right now."

"Okay, but, what would be your opinion on that? Would it just be better to elope somewhere and move away?"

"If I understand it based on this half-hour you've made me watch, I don't think that's possible. They're both in the military to start off and Taeha is his commanding officer. They'd be hunted and killed for deserting if they made that attempt."

"Tragic."

"Sure, but since when did you commit so hard to watching dramas? The last time I saw you, your commitment was towards monitoring everything you could about the current technological advancements."

"Mnm, I was. I simply hit a cap point for now and thought a hobby was in order. Besides, I like hanging out with you."

And there was just something about the way you turned to him, eyes soft and smile so tender that made him realize that he never really got to know you. He'd never taken the time to really learn about your likes and dislikes. What other hobbies did you have? Did you try to make friends here, like he and Jeremiah had?

Were you happy with the way things turned out? Did you have any regrets? Did you have any doubts?

Did you feel like you were withering away here?

For the time being, he made the effort to try to learn more about you. He hung out with you more, finding a nice TV show to watch together. He learned what made you laugh the hardest or what trashy show ended up being a guilty pleasure. He learned that you were closeted romantic, catching the tears in the corner of your eyes as you tried to disguise the sniffles when the couple finally kissed.

Before he really knew it, months had gone by with you in staying at his place. He grew accustomed to your presence in his home, always greeting him when he came home and wishing him pleasant dreams when he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He woke up with a blanket over him more times than he could count.

"I noticed something about you."

"Mnm, what's that?"

"You've been wearing the same sweater the entire time. I don't think you've taken it off. With how often you wear it, I can't imagine all the dead skin cells and sweat that might be clinging to that poor thing."

"I'm sure you've heard of them before, but just in case you haven't, there's this machine that cleans your clothes. They call it a 'washing machine' and it's pretty easy to use. You just toss your clothes in, add some laundry detergent and fabric softener, press a button or two and it cleans your clothes for you."

"Uh-huh. But why not wear something else in the meantime?"

"It's my favorite sweatshirt. You gifted it to me a few decades back, don't you remember?"

"Hm, yeah, it looks familiar. I'm surprised it's still in good condition after all this time."

"I take good care of my gifts, Xavier."

He should've known something was wrong at the time, too. He should have noticed it. Aside from the meter, there was nothing noticeably different about the bills that came every month. No extra water usage. No dip in his food bill when he went out. Even the days he was gone longer on missions, the food in his fridge remained untouched. Not even extra dishes.

You always made the excuse that you ate beforehand every single time, too stuffed to even drink a glass of water. He never took the time to question it, believing more that you just did everything outside of the apartment.

Xavier believed in you, even if his instincts warned him in the back of his mind. He trusted you because you were never lied to him. You never betrayed him. You stood by him when the other Backtrackers turned. You sullied your hands with their blood alongside him, knowing the dangers of losing part of your own humanity. Living with the looming threat that if you lost your sanity, you would turn into a Wanderer just like them the longer you remained.

"She's training to be a Hunter now."

"Mnm, it's been a decade since the disaster hasn't it?"

"It has."

"Worried?"

"No. Well, maybe a little."

"Relax. Her Majesty was rather skilled from what I can remember. I'm sure she'll be alright. Just keep doing what you're doing and keep an eye on her from the defectors and everything should be fine."

"Don't you mean 'we'?"

"... Of course."

He should've known then. He should have questioned you right then and there and pressed for more information. But he didn't. He ignored what his eyes were telling him because you were his friend. Because he grew comfortable around you despite the suspicion gnawing inside of him.

Xavier should have known something was wrong when you refused to go see Jeremiah at Philos. You claimed you were still angry at him, but who held a grudge that long? He never knew what it was that made you resent him so much that you just outright refused to even contact him. Which was why he thought he'd try to smooth things over and ask him while he was getting updates on the other Backtrackers.

"Wait, you're telling me that she's been squatting at your place for months now? And she's still mad at me?"

"This week would mark the eight months she's been at my place. She showed up and said that the shop was in repairs. Though, every time I bring it up, she tells me that the construction was delayed due to the increase in Wanderer activity."

"That's weird."

"She's never lied to us about situations like these before, so I trust her. But, I'm also here to see if I can extend the olive branch. I don't really know what it was that made her hate you so much."

"Hm, I want to see something."

"Dodging the question?"

"I'm looking up the updates from her last entry and something isn't quite adding up. You said she's been there eight months right?"

"Watching TV on my sofa like it belongs to her."

"... Xavier, the last update she gave me was almost a year ago. It's been eleven months. She never missed an update before that."

"That doesn't make sense. I understand eight months since she's been with me, but eleven? Where are the extra three months unaccounted for?"

"No idea. You said she was mad at me, right? Enough to not want to talk to me? But, even if that were the case, if she really had a problem with what I told her, she would just message you, not me."

"... I'll try talking with her. Something isn't adding up."

"Tell her I'm sorry, while you're at it. I... I didn't mean to call her out."

"Call her out?"

"She'll know. It's not something I'm allowed to tell you."

Hundreds of possibilities surged through his head on his way back. Hundreds of potential lies. Hundreds of questions that all led to the one conclusion he refused to believe.

You didn't betray him.

You were loyal.

You stood by his side when all he wanted was to make sure that the woman he loved wouldn't have to be sacrificed time and time again for the sake of a doomed planet.

You turned your back to your comrades. You turned your back to your people that cursed their names for their betrayal. You killed people that you once called a friend. You did it all with him, never once wavering.

Had time finally caught up with you?

Were you finally too exhausted of this life and just wanted to go back home?

He needed to finally quell the suspicions that plagued him. He'd rather make an ass out of himself, questioning your loyalty than be weighed with the guilt that his decisions finally pushed you over the ledge.

And like always, when he entered his apartment, you were there, smiling at him and welcoming him home. The TV was on, like it always was. You were watching reruns of the drama you've probably seen a hundred times already.

But things were different. He wasn't allowing his eyes to be clouded in the presence of a friend, but someone that could potentially ruin all the work they've done these past hundreds of years. He was going to see you for all that you were.

"How was Jeremiah? Still tending to his plants?"

"Yeah. But, we need to talk about something." You hesitated briefly, the corner of your lips tightening a bit before you relaxed yourself.

"Can it wait until after the show is over?" A show you've seen a hundred times already? It wasn't that interesting.

Xavier wasn't going to let you deflect. He walked towards you and picked up the remote, turning it off and standing before you. You closed your eyes, sighing deeply before sitting up and meeting his eyes.

You weren't running away. You never did.

"What's up?"

Too many questions sat at the tip of his tongue, his eyes darting around the room for a moment to take in the environment. Was it... always so cold near you? Is that why you wore a sweatshirt all the time? Was there a draft?

The lights never turned on, but the TV was never off. No matter what odd hours he woke up, be it in the middle of the night or late into the afternoon, you were always sitting right there.

Eight months.

Eight months... and he never got close enough to touch you.

Xavier felt his grip around the remote loosen until it clattered to the floor, his heart sinking so deep into his stomach as a cold chill ran down his spine. He a took step towards you. Then another. And another. Each one heavier than the last until finally, he was standing so close, his legs brushed against yours.

You didn't flinch. You didn't move away. But your expression looked so clouded, your smile wavering as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes. He reached forward to touch your cheek, feeling something solid, just... frozen.

You were freezing to the touch.

"What happened?" Your eyes fluttered shut, your hand coming up to hold his hand closer to yours, nuzzling your cheek into his palm.

"Something bad. I'm sorry, Xavier. I'm sorry." He dropped down to one knee, taking your face fully in his hands as he watched the tears that gathered finally fall.

"Tell me everything." You laughed weakly, peering at him through bleary eyes, your lips quivering as you tried to keep a brave face for him.

"I failed. I wasn't strong enough for the ambush sprung on me. I didn't have time to react and I didn't know my system's defenses had been breached. The remaining defectors caught me and though I tried to fight them off, eventually I was captured."

Xavier bit his tongue, the anger that ignited within him threatening to overtake him. He couldn't allow his emotions to get out of control right now. Right now, you needed him to stay calm. You needed him to be in the right state of mind.

"They threatened me, tortured me, tried to blackmail me and when I didn't budge, they were willing to use me as bait. The problem is, when you rile someone up enough, they make mistakes. They get so angry and so resentful, they lash out." You chuckled weakly, shaking your head lightly. "They didn't mean to kill me. But... I was hoping they would. It would ruin the mission if you had to deal with a hostage exchange."

Anger gave way to shock. Shock turned to disbelief. Disbelief turned to grief.

"You're dead?" And suddenly, everything clicked into place. Why you never moved from your spot on the couch. Why you never ate. Why you never drank. Why you wore the same clothes every single day.

He was right. He was wrong.

You didn't betray him. You never did.

Your loyalty got you killed.

Your trust and faith in him to find the solution he was so desperate for made you think your life wasn't worth saving.

You swore your allegiance to him. To the Queen. You never wavered.

And in the end, all you got in return was an early grave after dedicating your life to finding a solution and a way back home.

Guilt tore at him in a way he couldn't imagine, his chest feeling like it was caving in on itself as he struggled to maintain his composure. It didn't make sense though. Something still wasn't adding up.

"How are you... here?"

You laughed. You laughed, staring into a fit of giggles before bellowing out with laughter as the tears continued to fall. As you held his hands so tightly, trembling from all the emotions you were experiencing.

"Guess ghosts are real, huh? You know what they say, if you die with regrets, you can never really move on. Didn't think it'd apply to aliens like us, huh?"

It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all.

He spent these months with you in his home. He watched all sorts of dramas and movies with you. He learned everything he could about you, crossing that bridge and getting to know the person you were.

A hopeless romantic deep down inside. So much, you cried at even the most shallow of love stories because you were happy they were in love. But you cried the hardest when the second lead never got their chance to be with the person they loved. When they let them go... because their happiness meant more to them than their own heart.

"Even if the second lead would have given up their entire soul for the main lead, it takes a lot of whole lotta grit to let someone that means the whole world to you go. Their happiness is all that matters."

No. It couldn't mean...

"Jeremiah said he's sorry for calling you out... what did he mean by that?" Your lips brushed against his palm in a chaste kiss, your eyes slowly dragging from his lips up to his eyes to really look at him.

"He knew I was in love with you."

It never crossed his mind. It never was a thought he entertained when he was so devoted to his beloved. To the young woman he was so desperate to save.

He could argue that you never let it show. He could shift the blame that you didn't like being around people often that he never saw it. He could lie to himself all he wanted.

The truth was in the sweatshirt you wore. The day he gave it to you, you never looked so soft. Your smile was splitting your face, the giddiness rolling off you in waves as you put it on as quickly as you could. The only time you went out of your way to hug him, squeezing him tight as you thanked him for the gift.

It was just a sweatshirt. He got it because it suited you and he thought you would like it since you had been working so hard.

And now you were dead.

"I don't think I've ever seen you cry before, that's so alien. It's a little weird." Xavier couldn't help it. He couldn't help the anguish he was feeling, never knowing your true feelings. Even if he couldn't return them. Even if...

He pulled you tight into his arms, hugging you close and burying his face into your shoulder. His body wracked with sobs, the guilt of every decision he made and all the people he lost tearing right through his chest and carving a hole where his heart was.

You died and remained with regrets.

You haunted him because you wanted to remain close to him.

Even if all you did was spend time watching stupid shows and movies on his couch while he drifted in and out of sleep. That was enough for you. It wasn't fair to you. It wasn't fair at all.

Xavier cradled you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap as he sobbed into the very gift that meant so much to you.

"It's okay, you know? I don't blame you. It was just something that was bound to happen the longer we stayed here." You soothed his back softly, comforting him even in death. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. Even if it wasn't something I couldn't control, I'm sort of glad it happened. It meant I could hang out with you like this."

He shook his head violently, his grip around you tightening so much that he would have left bruises if you were... alive. "You could have done that at any time! Not like this. Not when you're just a ghost in my apartment. Not when..." God his voice never sounded so broken before. "Not when you're dead. Not when your body is somewhere we don't know."

"Yeah, sorry. That was... insensitive of me." He couldn't let go.

He didn't want to let you go.

There was still so much he had to learn. So much he wanted to talk to you about. There was so much time you both were supposed to have. So much time wasted. So much time he could have taken to actually hang out with you. Suddenly, a hundred years felt so damn short. He took the long lifespans for granted and now it was all too late.

"Xavier." You did your best to peel yourself back so that you could look at him. His eyes were burning and his nose was blocked up, but he met your gaze head on. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, wiping the tears away.

He committed your face to his memory. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him with the most gentle smile on your face. The way you looked at him with such tenderness and love, he wished he could see it on you for real.

"I love you." You leaned in to kiss him, your lips soft against his as he gently kissed you back. It wasn't out of love, but he felt you deserved it. You did.

It was closure and you deserved it more than anyone.

He felt it before he saw it. Your form was dissipating right there in his arms, but he didn't pull away. He just clung to you tighter, kissing you harder to give you something before you completely disappeared.

"Thank you." Were the last words you said before you were gone.

He sat there on the floor, his arms empty and his apartment colder than ever. You were never coming back. He was never going to see you sitting on his couch and welcoming him back. He was never going to hear you laugh too hard at a comedy skit or ball your eyes out over some romantic drama.

He was never going to learn more about you. Never hear your voice again. Never see you again.

You were gone.

"Thank you for always being by my side."

a/n: could not put the post twist in the tags, sorry. if it bothers you, feel free to yell at me. and yes, I write this in one go because I have no self-restraint

[my5erenity]

BACKTRACKER NMC I WAS YEARNING FOR U

[coralreefqueen-ao3]

Lawless

Pairings: 18+ | Outlaw Rafayel x Outlaw Reader x Outlaw Xavier

Tags: post-apocalyptic, survival, polyamory, bounty hunting, burlesque, gothic western, slow burn, dirty talk, secrets, violence, nitty gritty, angst, banter, Rafayel and Xavier fall first, widowed reader, high-stakes, eventual smut and everything in between.

Summary: After your loss, you'd vowed to run solo. Drowning sorrow in work, taking any job but murder, you were the last marksman in the county. Your latest job would set you right for the rest of year, until it's thwarted by a pair of outlaws, one armed with a smart-mouth and dagger, the other with observant eyes and a sword. You would rather never see the two of them again, until they approach you with an offer impossible to refuse.

Sneak Peek:

“You.”  The outlaw in front of you smirked, his swallow forcing his throat against the barrel of your gun.  “Me,” he replied.  “Don’t you dare play coy with me,” you threatened, taking one step forward. It knocked your knee against the barstool, and your hip dug into the counter, yet you held true, unlatching the safety with your thumb.  He tutted, the flick of his pink tongue rapid, natural, and even more infuriating. Just to mock you, his hands raised in surrender, a hint of enjoyment tugging on the corner of his mouth once more.  “I recommend you tread carefully, sweetheart, damage this pretty face and the town will be up in arms.”  “Do you ever shut up?”  His gaze descended to your mouth, blazing with interest, “if someone makes me.” 

I am super stoked for this story. So much so I wanted to introduce it now! Also the dynamic of reader being annoyed by Raf ?! He has to work for it?! Part 1 is set to be released for this weekend. If you want to be added to a taglist, lemme know.

[my5erenity]

HELLO??????

[peacexpeace]

"— and that guy's out of his fucking mind! fuck both of you!"

the final words of your supposed to be hookup for the night ring in your head as he slams the door so hard it shakes the picture frames on the wall. beside it, xavier looks exceptionally proud of himself. it's not the first time this has happened, and you suspect it won't be the last if you don't nip this issue in the butt.

"xavier."

the smile is gone faster than you can blink, and he's already heading towards your side with wet eyes and a pain filled, "my star-"

"your nothing!" you interrupt, putting out your hand before he can try to hold you. "i've made it abundantly clear to you that we are not, xavier look at me, we are not dating."

he makes small noise of disapproval in his throat and you can see his fingers twitch restlessly. he does this every time you have to remind him that it's his choice not to sleep with other people, but not your choice to do the same.

you never once led him on, so why he seems to keep feeding himself these delusions of something more going on between you both is completely beyond you. while you promised you'd always be as safe as possible and get tested often, you thought he understood clearly that you had zero plans for a committed relationship.

"he wouldn't treat you well," xavier says after a few moments of silence, very clearly choosing not to acknowledge your previous statement.

you can't even pretend that this is funny anymore. the last six people you've tried to have over all ended up in similar situations. last weeks date ended up locked out on your fire escape while you were in the bathroom, making you think he has suddenly dipped. the girl before him somehow got food poisoning right as your clothes were coming off. again and again, it had seemed like divine intervention to both you and xavier – who had said that maybe it was a "sign you started dating someone," before clarifying he meant someone you knew, and maybe lived really close to you, and you saw often, and you were already sleeping with.

a true mystery on who he could be talking about.

this time though, it seemed like he grew sick of calculated planning. xavier instead had quite literally shown up in the middle of your living room with his sword brushing again your date's neck, letting the blood beginning to trickle down his jugular serve as a rough indicator as to what would happen if he even thought about you in an impure way.

the rest was a blur until this moment, where the daggers you're glaring at him are making him visibly uncomfortable. you both know the one thing the won't say is that he's sorry, because he really isn't ; which is why you find your next words drifting without thinking about the full implication behind them.

"then it's probably best that we don't see each other any more if you're that worried about my dating life."

you've never seen xavier panic a day in his life, and you supposed you still haven't, because panic is not an apt word for the indescribable anguish that takes over his person. the air pressure in the room seems to grow lower in the milliseconds it takes for him to be pressed against your chest. his hands wrap around your wrists so lose that it can barely be called a restraint, yet the force of his emotions keeps you pinned in spite of what any reason might tell you.

"you don't mean that," he says slightly too fast for what you've come to expect from him. the tone is off, unsure. he's trying to convince himself that you'd never break his heart in such a ruthless manner, not the one person who'd offer it willingly to you carved whole from his chest, but you both know all signs are pointing and laughing right in his face.

he needs you so much more than you could ever need him.

[irandial]

LaDs Short:

Intimacy and Cooking

A writing event hosted by @gardenialily

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader

Content: fluff, cooking, kissing, a little mishap and a very sly fishie 🤭, a bit suggestive

Word count: ~ 500

Author‘s note: based on this post

A little something I did for the writing event. Hope you enjoy 🥰 The prompts: my blog name I, main LI, and my name C (that’s all you get from my real name 🤣)

And once again proof read by @dat-silvers-girl

Intimacy, Rafayel, cooking/careless

Masterlist

The various pots on the stove are steaming, bubbling and filled with the ingredients you hopefully turn into a delicious feast with Rafayel. 

Your boyfriend is standing right behind you, caging you in with his taller form. Both his arms on your sides are cradling your smaller hands as you stir the tomato sauce in a little pan together.

It’s an intimate and domestic moment — cooking together with him this close. Rafayel’s hot breath bows over your neck and ear occasionally, as he's slowly humming a tune to accompany the symphony of food boiling on the stove.

The warmth of his body on your back is a silent reminder of his presence, and the steady guidance of his hands are a welcome help. At this very moment, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

But right as you’re zoning out for the fraction of a second, something hot hits your left hand and startles you out of your reverie.

“Ow!” you gasp, freeing yourself from Rafayel’s tender hold to observe a drop of hot red sauce burning your skin.

Before you can process it properly, your hand is caught again, and the Lemurian immediately licks it off, his tongue quick and even hotter on your skin. Or maybe it's just that you are now shocked and flustered.

“W- what are you doing?” 

Eyes, deep blue like the ocean and pink like the setting sun, lock on to you, paired with a cocky smile as he noticed your embarrassed state. “Wiping the sauce of your skin.”

You gape at him, dumbfounded “I see that. But why did you lick it? And not just… wipe it off?!”

As a gentle, slender finger caresses the now slightly red spot, Rafayel’s brows furrows in little worry and an underlying annoyance that something made you hurt, before setting his gaze back to you. “Licking is faster and more effective than simply wiping it off.” He just states with a shrug, but with a hint of mirth in his unique eyes.

“Who told you that nonsense?” You retort back, hearing this for the first time in your life.

With a kiss on your knuckles, Rafayel simply smiles — one of the sort that turns your knees into jelly. “A very kind and wise nonna in Verona. She also taught me this recipe.“

“A… what?” Now you’re even more confused.

The Lemurian now laughs — that carefree, silly sound that you hear more often in these last months, because you are together now. “I'll tell you about it at dinner, how’s that sound?” He offers, and you are pulled into his embrace. 

Strong arms cradle you firm against his chest, and his lips are only a few inches away now. And before he leans in to steal a kiss from your lips that are still parted in annoyance, he adds “Buuut you need to taste the sauce first.”

Then soft lips are warm on yours, and the rich taste of tomato and herbs that still lingers on his lips, conquers your senses along with his devouring kiss.

Little foot note: „Nonna“ is the Italian word for grandma, indicating that he had an affectionate connection with that old lady 🥰

Mention List: @homurasturtle - @ladyparamount - @deepspacenova - @shypotatoes013-blog - @thekingswin - @jean4life - @yourfriendlypyrovampire - @aliyahlovesgermanrap

[melancholygypsophila]

rafayel's favorite sight - rafayel qi x reader | thought bubble series

-> synopsis: rafayel's eyesight deteriorates slowly, robbing him of the vibrant colors he once painted with and his favorite sight, you.

→ pairing: rafayel qi x reader

→ card: omnipotent perception | divider: @bhavihelps

there's a quiet hum in rafayel's studio. sitting in the tub, he submerges himself in frigid water, thinking that his vision will return to normal.

it takes a few minutes for him to resurface. one minute drags to ten minutes. rafayel knew that even if he was underwater for almost a day, his eyesight would not return.

trickles of water drop from his soaked hair, treading down his neck and back into the water. It's an endless cycle of lost hope, disappointment seeping back to consume him once again.

he blinks once. twice.

rafayel hears a door open. The sound of light footsteps reveal the person who came in. you.

you approach the side of the tub, dragging a small stool.

"rafayel," you calmly announced, "i'm home."

the blind man turns his head to you. he attempts to look directly at you to prevent you from worrying about him. but his gaze is slightly off and distant.

"there you are, cutie." rafayel smiled. "i've been waiting for you." his hands move to hover in the air, waiting for a feeling. a touch. your touch.

you gently grab his hands and rest them on either side of your cheek. rafayel's movements are slow and cautious. his thumb caress your cheek. then, your lips, your cheek bones, your eyelids, and your eyebrows. he touches them with intent to remember every dip and crease in your body. your hands rest on top of his hand as he makes his way upward.

he doesn't know, but you stare at him with an aching heart. the curves of his face are defined by the moonlight peeking through his studio's sheer curtains. his eyes temor slightly, desperate to see everything and anything. but alas, nothing.

"your eyes feel a little puffier than usual. did something happen?" rafayel asked, his cold thumb cooling the underside of your eye.

you shook your head. "just been working late recently. don't worry."

rafayel doesn't respond. instead, his hands clusmily intertwine with yours. his fingers wiggle, almost tickling you.

"rafayel-"

rafayel interrupts. "your hands are rougher than usual... make sure to apply that lotion i gave you."

you let out an exasperated sigh, tired of his nagging to which he responds with a quiet laugh.

"why don't we head to bed now, hm?" you asked, holding his hand a little tighter.

it takes a bit to get to bed, but nonethless, you make it. you're laying next to rafayel, your hand intertwined with his. a lost of touch or contact feels like an eternity without yoh to him. as his vision began to worsen day by day, his other senses enhanced and became more sensitive to sounds.

the rustling of the blanket alerts him.

"going somewhere?" he queried.

"no, just feeling a little hot under these thick blankets!" you respond, cuddling closer to rafayel who smells like your shared shower gel. your body is pressed and fitted against his, almost like a matching puzzle piece. you slot your head under rafayel's head and kiss his exposed collarbone.

"not fair, cutie." rafayel pouts. you look up to see his expression. pouting yet amused. "come here."

you level your head with his and look at him like before. except, you're the only one who can see.

rafayel uses his thumb to navigate your lips to place a sweet, chaste kiss. a lingering silence grows between the two of you and you embrace him.

"why don't you tell me about your day?" rafayel begins. "might be better to get things off your mind. i'll be here to listen."

because that's the only thing you could do. you thought to yourself. your eyes water, but you quickly take them back. you guide rafayel's hand to play with your hair as you recount your day.

sometimes, your days were mundane. waking up, going to work, coming back home, and sleeping. sometimes, your days were filled with anxiety. either way, rafayel wants to hear all about it. and you want to talk all about it.

when you do, you go into detail about your surroundings, something you didn't do before until rafayel began to lose his sight.

when he first told you about it, you embraced him with all the love and assurance you had, promising him that you'll be his eyes. his guiding light.

rafayel was very happy when you said that. you could tell. with that evident smile on his face despite having an expression that squeezed your heart.

you didn't find his loss of eyesight a hindrance. but rather an opportunity to love him even more and your surroundings. the small things you would see on the way to work, you would tell him in the finest detail. rafayel would be curious and ask questions while holding your hand.

because of this, the roles between the two of you began to switch. rafayel, who nearly talked your ear off became the listener. you, who listened intently to his ramblings became the talker. it was something the both of you adapted to without complaints.

you smiled to yourself when you recalled these moments. rafayel hears an amused noise coming from you.

"something interesting?" rafayel asked once again, his fingers gently rubbing a strand of hair.

you laughed and shook your head again. "just reminiscing."

"well, don't leave me out now. don't miss out a single detail, my love." rafayel said, placing a kiss on your hair.

as the two of you fall asleep, a memory resurfaces in your mind. a time where rafayel could see the most vibrant colors.

"that's quite a statement color, rafayel." you pointed out, looking at his new painting. rafayel holds his paintbrush in one hair and your waist with the other.

"it's my new piece! courtesy of thomas, of course." rafayel added. while he tests you on your knowledge and interpretation of the colors, he glances at your serious expression and smiles to himself. when you catch his gaze, he's slightly taken aback before he places a kiss on the top of your head. 

i like their expression when they look at me. the cutest reflection in the world is in front of my eyes. rafayel thinks.

however, rafayel forgot to tell you one thing. that shade of pink he once wandered for years is the only color he can see. and that same color still embraces your figure today.

[my5erenity]

[ytmkiz]

is this how he copes? 😭😭

[dovesgrave]

the little mermaid!rafayel x reader headcannons

the little mermaid!rafayel who, on his eighteenth birthday, was finally allowed to swim to the surface to see the world above the water. but little did anyone know, he’s been sneaking to the surface for years before to catch glimpses of the passing human ships and the land in the distance.

the little mermaid!rafayel who was captivated by you at first sight, as he watched you party and dance on the deck of a ship. yet he could only admire from afar, hidden by rippling waves.

the little mermaid!rafayel who saves you from drowning once a storm suddenly hit the ship, throwing you overboard into the dark waters.

the little mermaid!rafayel who stays with you on the shore he dragged your unconscious body on to until dawn broke, making sure you weren’t at risk (and also getting to admire your face up close for the first time).

the little mermaid!rafayel who has to watch you awaken, not to him, but to the sight of another man, who you presumed had rescued you from the shipwreck the night before. he has to watch as you thank the other man graciously, grasping the other man’s hands and allowing him to help you stand and accompany you back to your castle. he couldn’t help but seethe with jealousy.

the little mermaid!rafayel who carves a statue of you, having been forced to return to the depth of the ocean while you were on land. he sulks at the foot of the statue every day, looking up at your face and yearning to see it in the flesh again. he had memorized every detail before etching it into stone.

the little mermaid!rafayel who makes a deal with the sea witch (sylus) of the sea’s N109 zone for human legs in exhange for his voice. he doesn’t hesitate even when told he’ll only obtain the ability to be human forever if he wins your love and marries you. that every step he takes with his human legs will feel immensely painful. that if you marry anyone else, sylus warns him, he’ll die with a broken heart and dissolve into sea foam upon the waves. rafayel agrees anyway, thinking of you, and takes the potion.

the little mermaid!rafayel who got exactly what he desired, two long shapely human legs. this time, it was your turn to find a beautiful purple-haired boy washed up on the shore of your kingdom. you immediately allow him to become a guest of your castle (which he seems mildly unimpressed by, the palace underwater where he lives is much bigger, hmph) though he seemed to enjoy you fussing over him. if only he could tell you all about his world from under the sea. if only he had his voice to talk.

the little mermaid!rafayel who dances with you for every dance at a ball even though with each step he feels as if he’s treading on knives. who could listen to you talk for hours and hours, even though he couldn’t tell you what he thought. who quickly becomes your favorite companion, you two become inseparable after each outing, each afternoon spent in each others company and each stroll along the coast. you confide in him about everything, and he continues to paint portraits of you and gifts them to you to make up for his inability to tell you how he feels.

the little mermaid!rafayel who is devastated to find out that you were put into an arranged marriage with someone else. but you quickly reassure him that you refused the marriage. you promise him that you’ll only ever love the man who rescued you from the shipwreck. if only rafayel could tell you the truth.

the little mermaid!rafayel who stands by idly, unable to do anything, when the man who you were arranged to marry lies to you that he was the one to rescue you from the shipwreck, that he saved your life, and not rafayel. rafayel, who could only bitterly watch, desperate and distraught, as you agree to marry the other man. he tries to explain, but you don’t seem to understand his frustrated gestures. you insist that you must marry the man out of gratitude for your life.

the little mermaid!rafayel who still accompanies you to your wedding celebration aboard a wedding ship. he was the one to hold the train of your veil for the ceremony, all whilst yearning to be standing with you at the altar instead of behind you. his heart breaks.

the little mermaid!rafayel who despairs, knowing the fate that awaits him per what the sea witch warned, but before the dawn of the next day, his family rise out from the waters and brings him a dagger. a dagger they exchanged from sylus, with the cause that if rafayel kills you and lets your blood drip on his feet, he will become a mermaid once more, all his suffering will end, and be will live out his life back in the ocean with his family.

the little mermaid!rafayel who cannot bring himself to kill you, not even for his own life. instead, he throws the dagger away and with tear filled eyes, jumps from the helm of the ship and back into the sea, just as dawn breaks over the horizon.

the little mermaid!rafayel who’s body dissolves into foam, ceasing to exist. even as his flesh dissipated, rafayel did not blame you. he simply wished for the opportunity to be able to tell you, not that he was the one who saved you, but to tell you how much he fell in love with you.

if only.

[my5erenity]

😦

[calebsfavoriteusedthong]

WATERWORKS💦

CW: Smut. Oral. Squirting. Use of toys. They cum untouched. 🔞 MDNI🔞

Since my blog is already getting reported I might as well keep posting nasty smut 🤭.

Part 1: Rafayel/ Xavier

Part2: Caleb/Zayne/ Sylus.

A ragged, choked sound escapes his throat, somewhere between a groan and a sob when you swat his hand away.

"Please, I can't... I need you," he gasps out. He reaches again, fingers twitching towards the pulse of his own arousal, desperate for even a second of relief, but you catch him mid motion again.

"Don't touch, Raf"

His jaw drops just a fraction. A flash of indignant, bratty frustration flickers in his eyes, but it’s instantly drowned by the hunger staring up at you. He looks wrecked.

There’s a hint of the ancient creature he truly is as he watches you settle back against the pillows. Slowly you spread your thighs to offer him the view he’s been starving for.

He lets out a choked noise and collapses to his knees. He hits the mattress with a heavy thud, his head dipping low until he’s hovering just inches from your cunt.

"Please..." he whimpers again. It’s such a pathetic sound coming from someone so devastatingly handsome.

When you hook two fingers into your folds, spreading yourself wide for him, he actually flinches. His breath hitches, a sharp intake of air that whistles through his teeth. He stares, mesmerized, watching the way you glisten in the dim light. Between his legs, his cock pulses visibly, weeping a bead of moisture that mirrors your own readiness. He looks like he might actually combust right there.

Then, you bring out the toy.

The soft, rhythmic hum of the small vibrator cuts through the silence of the room. His gaze tracks the movement of the device, his eyes darting from the buzzing plastic to the way your flesh reacts to the contact. He licks his lips, fighting the impulse to just dive in and devour you.

"You wanted me to use my toy, didn't you?" you tease, the vibration making your voice tremble just a little.

He lets out a breathless laugh, though there isn't a shred of humor in his eyes only a terrifying amount of want. He has to swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively in his throat.

"I did... I do," he confesses, his voice dropping into a honeyed register that vibrates deep in his chest. He might actually lose his fucking mind if he doesn't taste you soon. "Fuck, just look at you... so wet and ready. You're not making this easy, cutie. You're trying to kill me, aren't you? Just to see if a Lemurian can actually die of longing?"

He leans forward, his nose brushing against your clit, inhaling deeply.

"Let me," he pleads, his breath hot and damp against your sensitive skin. "Stop teasing and let me have you."

He’s trapped in a trance, his eyes glued to the way the plastic tip nudges and probes at your entrance, parting the slickness of your folds with agonizing precision.

When he finally breaks eye contact to look up at you, gone is the poised artist, in his place is a man stripped bare by desire, his eyes wide and shimmering with a desperate sort of prayer. He’s begging for permission, waiting for that single nod of approval that will allow him to descend into holy madness.

"I need to feel you cum on my tongue," the words catch in his throat. He sounds half starved. "Then maybe... maybe I can focus enough to watch you fuck yourself with your toy until you cum again."

When you press the humming weight directly against your clit, the reaction is instantaneous. Your spine snaps taut, back arching off the sheets in an involuntary spasm of pleasure. From his vantage point he sees everything, the way your push your breast together, the way your muscles ripple and quiver, and the helpless way your pussy clenches around empty air, searching for something to hold onto.

He loses the battle with his restraint. A groan rips from his chest as his hands fly to your thighs. His long, elegant fingers, usually so delicate when he holds a paintbrush, sink into your soft flesh with bruising force, anchoring you to the bed.

"Oh fuuuck, look at her..." he whispers against your inner thigh "So desperate for stimulation. You need something to fill her up, don't you, cutie?"

The filthiness of the comment is accidental, a byproduct of the fever raging in his blood but it hits exactly where it needs to.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He doesn’t have the patience for it.

The second you offer the toy to him, glistening with the heat of your body, he takes it into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it, lapping up every trace of you.

His eyes flutter shut, head tilting back as he moans around the toy, his throat working as he swallows. The sheer bliss on his face is a mixture of agony and ecstasy, a Lemurian’s single minded devotion channeled into one singular, overwhelming act.

His playfulness vanishes, replaced by commanding strength.

His hands slide upward, abandoning your thighs to hook firmly into the meat of your ass. With a sudden, decisive tug, he hauls your hips forward, dragging your pussy flush against his face. He waits until you plunge the toy deep inside yourself, a wet, sliding sound that makes his eyes snap open, blown wide and glazed, before he dives in.

Your fingers tangle blindly in his soft hair, pulling him closer, demanding more, and he answers with a fervor that feels sinful. He follows your lead perfectly, his tongue sweeping broad and flat across your soaking slit before narrowing to a torturous swirl around your engorged clit. Between the relentless, mechanical hum of the toy and the wet flick of his tongue, the world starts to blur into a smear of static and heat. You’re teetering, precariously perched on the precipice of a total sensory meltdown.

"Raf... Oh... my... Just like that..." you choke out, the words barely recognizable.

He grins against your skin when he feels your walls flutter, clamping spasmodically around the vibrating intruder.

Then, he goes for the kill.

He latches onto your clit, suckling with demanding pressure, while simultaneously using his hand to shove the vibrator as deep as your anatomy will allow.

Your body goes rigid the moment you break. A warm rush of arousal gushes from you, a release that floods his mouth and splashes across his cheeks and chin, drenching him in your sweetness.

His eyes roll back into his head, showing only the whites in a moment of ecstatic delirium. His cock pulses, spurting thick, hot ropes of cum that splatter across the sheets.

Eventually, the tremors subside. Moving with a languid, post coital heaviness, Rafayel carefully slides the toy out of your still twitching core. He doesn't toss it away immediately, instead, he brings the slick device to his lips, reverently sucking the last lingering traces of you from the silicone before finally letting it clatter unceremoniously onto the floor.

You lie there, limbs heavy and brain turned to mush, staring at the ceiling. "Raf... that was... easily one of the best orgasms of my entire life" you breathe, your own voice sounding far away.

"Yeah," he mumbles "Mine too."

You blink, turning your head to look at him. "...What?"

A furious, crimson blush sweeps up his neck and floods his face, reaching the tips of his ears. He avoids your eyes, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck with a trembling hand.

"I said what I said!" he huffs "God, don't look at me like that! I came like a horny teenager just from eating you out. Pathetic, yeah?"

It took a heartbeat maybe two for the image to actually register in his brain. There you were, flushed and breathless, straddling a thick slab of silicone, the wet thwack of the toy meeting your skin echoed off the walls, a sound that should have been erotic but felt like a direct insult to his pride.

Every time you slid down, burying yourself deep, a fresh wave of irrational, stinging jealousy flared in his gut. Why was that object getting the best version of you? Why did it get to feel the pulse of your pussy clenching around it?

"You wanted to watch me use the toy," you managed to pant out, your voice strained and heady with heat. "I'm doing exactly what you asked..."

Xavier didn't speak, he couldn't. His jaw was clamped shut so tight it ached, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the mattress. Watching the way your muscles bunched and released, it was too beautiful. Too frustratingly not him.

"Holy fuck..." The whisper escaped him, ragged and stripped of all that usual composed grace.

"Xavie... I'm gonna cum."

In his mind, he saw it happening the way your eyes would roll back, the way your body would go taut and spill itself all over that plastic toy. And suddenly, he couldn't stand another second of being a spectator. Being sidelined in his own damn room.

Before you could finish the descent, he moved. Large, calloused hands clamped onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave a mark. With one forceful yank, he hauled you off the toy, breaking the suction with a wet pop that made his blood roar in his ears.

He tumbled you backward onto the mattress, his body following yours instantly, caging you in.

"No... you're not," his eyes were burning with a terrifying sort of focus. "Don't you dare give that feeling to anything else. Not on that thing. You have me right here."

Your laugh was airy, half delirious from the sudden loss of friction "You know... that thing can make me cum in a minute, flat.”

A lopsided smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned down, his nose brushing yours, his scent, something clean like rain and expensive cashmere, flooding your senses.

"Fifty nine seconds, bunny," he promised as his hand slid down to find exactly where you were already aching. "Watch me."

There was no gentleness in the way he took you. Gentleness was for the daylight hours, for the moments when he was pretending to be just your coworker. Right now? He was hungry.

His hands forced your legs open "Let me eat, my star" he murmured against your skin before he descended.

When his tongue first made contact, dragging a slow, deliberate stripe from the bottom of your slit upward, you nearly jumped off the bed.

"Oh god, Xavie!"

The moment he found your clit the world outside his bedroom ceased to exist. There was no Linkon City, no Wanderers, no looming shadows of a forgotten past. There was only the weight of his hands and the pressure of his lips. When he finally took you in, sucking firmly, drawing you deep into the warmth of his mouth, your brain simply short circuited.

It was as if he knew the exact topography of your pleasure, every nerve ending mapped out in his mind.

Your vision fractured into white sparks, dancing behind your eyelids as he intensified the assault.

His hands moved, palms slapping against the underside of your cheeks before his fingers dug deep into your ass, hauling your hips downward. He needed you closer. He wanted to drown out the rest of the world and replace every sensation you’ve ever known with the rhythm of his tongue and the weight of his devotion.

As you bucked blindly, your hips searching for a friction that was driving you toward the precipice, Xavier felt himself coming undone. His cock was rock hard between his thighs, weeping pre cum against his underwear, jerking in sync with the tremors racking your body.

He was chasing your peak, determined to hunt it down and capture it, because as long as you were screaming his name, he knew that you weren't thinking about anyone else. 

Without a single word of warning, his fingers long and steady plunged deep into your center. Curling. Perfect.

He found that spot, hooking his finger with calculated pressure that sent a lightning bolt straight to your brain. He groaned directly against your swollen clit and it was the final shove you needed. The cliff disappeared, replaced by a plummet into pure ecstasy.

"Oh my god, yes!"

Your hands moved to his hair, anchoring yourself to earth, knuckles white as you gripped his locks, oblivious to whether you were being too rough. In that moment you didn't care.

His fingers kept moving, stroking that perfect spot over and over again until slickness gushed forth, coating his lips and soaking the tangled sheets beneath you in a warm, heady rush.

That was the thing that broke him. The taste, the wet heat, the way you moaned his name over and over again, it all crashed together. His hips bucked once against the mattress, then again, and thick ropes of cum pulsed out into his pants without a single touch. Sticky warmth spread fast, clinging to his skin, making the fabric heavy and uncomfortable. "Fuck," he gasped, voice cracking a little with surprise because this wasn't the plan. Not at all.

You wiped a stray tear of pleasure from your eye, a tired but triumphant smirk dancing on your lips. Despite the fact that your limbs felt like jelly, you couldn't resist. "That was definitely more than a minute, Xav"

He lifted his head slowly, hair messy from your grip, eyes still hazy but sharp when they caught yours.

"Yeah, well," he countered, leaning in to nip playfully at your inner thigh, his grin widening. "I made you squirt all over my face. That counts as an extra point, doesn't it? So, mathematically speaking..." He paused, pressing a lingering, heated kiss to your clit "... I win."

Tags: @remnantsofgildedcages

[cherryscript]

18+

rafayel has a secret collection of cockrings that no one knows about—except you.

He loves jewelry, adores every kind of body accessory, but cock rings hit different for him. He picks them depending on his mood, on the occasion, on how fucking filthy he wants to feel underneath all that expensive elegance. Some are delicate and light, barely there, teasing. Others are heavy, thick metal pieces so well-crafted they weigh down on him, pulling at the base of his pretty cock with that delicious, constant pressure.

The ones he loves most are the heavy ones. Cold, unforgiving steel or silver that locks tight around his shaft, the chill biting into sensitive skin the moment he slides it on. He stands in front of the mirror, completely naked, watching himself grow harder just from the feel of it. The weight makes his dick hang heavier, thicker, the metal gleaming against flushed skin. He bites his lower lip hard, eyes half-lidded, and mutters under his breath, voice low and smug, “Fuck… I’m hot as hell.”

Then he tucks it all away—his swollen, ringed cock, the heavy metal hidden beneath layers of luxurious fabrics, tailored pants that do nothing to hide the subtle bulge if you know where to look. No one else gets to see. Just you. The secret stays between his thighs until he decides it’s time to show you exactly how much that cold, tight grip has been driving him crazy all day.

A/N : ik I'm being manipulated by a literal fish to main him but i can't prove it. actually yk what?—do not save me. I'm right where i want to be.

© CHERRYSCRIPT 2026 — don't copy translate feed my work to ai.

[my5erenity]

[smsomah]

Morocco; silver cloak fasteners; late 18th century-early 19th century

[smsomah]

Oman; hirz; silver, glass, Maria Theresa thalers, cotton; mid 20th century

[xxfrozenpearlsxx]

Well, when I said this request would be controversial, I wasn't kidding. So, here goes.

May I request: Non-MC knows her marriage with Caleb is over when he requests (read: demands) that she let MC have his first child.

okay i actually had a lot of fun writing this one cuz i was writing fluff and smut all day and this angst just hit PERFECTLY 🙂‍↕️ thank you for leaving this request, it was such a breath of fresh air and got my brain all excited for it!! hopefully i didn't misunderstand your request and you'll enjoy it! ♡ p.s. not proofread

⋆. — content warnings: heavy angst, no comfort, infidelity, marriage falling apart, unrequited love, self-deception, caleb loves mc & is married to non!mc/reader

The kettle was still whistling when he said it.

You’d been pouring tea, that ridiculous oolong he’d bought you for your birthday last year, the one in the tin with the gold lettering, and your hand was steady on the handle and the steam was rising and Caleb was sitting at the kitchen island with his sleeves pushed up and his forearms resting on the marble and he said it the way someone might mention the weather. 

So fucking casual, you almost couldn’t believe your ears.

“I need you to let her carry the first.”

You poured the tea.

It was important, somehow, to finish pouring the tea. The amber liquid filled the cup. Steam curled. Your hand did not shake. Whose first, your brain offered politely, because your brain was being kind to you, was buying you time, was pretending it didn’t already know.

You set the kettle down.

“Whose first what?”

Caleb didn’t look at you. That was the first thing you noticed, focusing on that instead of how your stomach turned involuntarily. He looked at his hands, at the marble, at the soft fold of his rolled sleeve. Anywhere but at you. Caleb who could meet anyone’s eye through anything, Caleb who’d talked you down through three panic attacks and held your stare during all of them, was looking at the countertop like the answer was etched into it.

“My first child,” he said quietly. “I need it to be hers.”

The cup was hot. You only noticed because your fingers were still wrapped around it. You were going to burn yourself if you didn’t let go. So you let go. You set it down on the saucer almost too carefully, and watched your own hand do this, like your hand belonged to a stranger, like you were watching a film of someone receiving the worst news of their life and being very polite about it.

Oh, you thought.

Oh, of course.

It was strange how fast the rest of you caught up. How the body knew. Your stomach was already cold. Your ears were already ringing. There was an ache low in your chest, somewhere beneath your ribs, like something with weight had just settled there permanently.

You felt sick.

“Caleb.” Your voice was flat. You were proud of your voice. “We’ve been married for two years.”

“I know.”

“We were going to start trying in spring.”

“I know.”

“You said—” and here it almost cracked, you caught it just in time, “—you said you wanted a little girl with my eyes.”

A long silence. He still wasn’t looking at you. His jaw was working in that small, controlled way that meant he was holding something back, and the worst part was that you knew he was holding back something gentle. Some softening. Some apology. He was going to try to make this kind, and you were going to have to sit there and let him, and it was going to be the most violent thing that had ever happened to you.

“It has to be hers first,” his words hit bullseye straight into your heart, finally. “You understand.”

You did, actually. That was the obscene part. You’d always understood.

You’d known the day he proposed.

He’d done it sweetly. He’d done it on the balcony of the apartment you used to rent together, with a ring he’d had resized twice to make sure it fit, and he’d said all the right things, I want to build a life with you, you make me steadier, I love you, I love you, I love you, and you’d cried and said yes and meant it. You meant it with your whole chest, tears ruining your makeup, but they were happy tears, because you’ve wanted the same life for so, so long.

Then his phone buzzed twice in his pocket while he was on one knee, and you’d watched his eyes flicker, just for a second, just for less than a second, and you’d known.

You’d known and you’d said yes anyway.

Because she hadn’t said yes to him. Because she’d never said yes to him. Because Caleb had been in love with her since they were children, and she’d chosen someone else, several someone elses if the rumors were accurate, and Caleb had needed somewhere to put all of that ruined devotion, and you had been right there, kind and patient and so stupidly in love with him that you’d opened your hands and said give it to me, I’ll hold it for you.

You’d thought, in the deluded little corner of your heart you didn’t show anyone, that maybe if you held it long enough it would become yours.

It never did.

You’d seen it. That was the thing you would have to admit to yourself now, in the unflinching light of the present nightmare staring you dead in the eye. You had seen it every time, and you had decided every time not to see it.

You’d seen it at your engagement dinner, when his phone lit up across the table and he had glanced down for a fraction of a second too long, his thumb hovering over the screen before he turned the phone face down as if he wasn’t dying to pick it up and run to her. You had not asked whose name was on it. You hadn’t needed to, really.

You’d seen it the night she came to your housewarming. She’d hugged Caleb hello, a polite hug, a friendly hug, exactly the kind of hug an old friend gives, and Caleb’s hand had landed at the small of her back in a way it had never landed at yours. Light. Familiar. Cherished, loving, as if he waited lifetimes to hug her exactly like that. 

You had watched it from across the room with a glass of wine in your hand and you had smiled at someone’s joke. Whose joke, you couldn’t remember.

You’d seen it every time her name came up at dinner. The way he stopped chewing for a beat. The way his shoulders would set themselves before he answered, oh, she’s fine, she’s traveling, I haven’t seen her in a while, careful and casual, the cadence of a man speaking around a hot coal in his mouth.

You’d seen the gift he kept in the back of his desk drawer, wrapped in pale blue paper, never given. You’d found it once, while looking for some tape. You had not asked who it was for. You had closed the drawer very gently and walked away and told yourself, fiercely, it could be for anyone. It could be for one of his friends. It could be for a colleague. It could be for—

It could be for anyone but you. That was the truth. You had known that even then.

You had built a marriage on top of every one of those moments. You had laid bricks over them, paved them over, planted gardens above them. And every so often the ground would tremble and you would pretend it had not, and you would pour another glass of wine and tell yourself you were imagining things.

You had not been imagining things. But lies were much easier to swallow than the humiliating truth.

“How long?” you heard yourself say.

He looked up at last, purple eyes finding your hollow ones. His eyes were red-rimmed. That, somehow, was the cruelest part. He was upset. He was upset on your behalf, he was sorry, he genuinely felt terrible, and that was so much worse than if he’d been cold about it. A cold man you could have hated cleanly. A man who cried while ruining your life had to be loved through it, and you didn’t have the strength.

“It’s not—it isn’t what you think,” he started. Oh, but you knew. Still, you let him explain, let him feed you sweet lies, hollow words, words he had served you time and time again throughout your whole marriage. You let him every single time. 

“How long, Caleb?”

“Six weeks ago.” he sighed in resignation, “We didn’t—it was once. She came to me about—it doesn’t matter. It was once.”

The word hit your body before your brain caught up. Once.

You had braced, somewhere in the back of yourself, for the slow betrayal. For the years of unspoken longing. For the leftover heart you had married. You had made peace with that, deep down in your currently breaking, fragile heart. You had told yourself, he doesn’t act on it. That’s the thing that matters. He chose me with his life, even if he didn’t choose me with his heart.

You had not braced for once.

For the literal, physical once. For his hands on her. For whatever night it had been, and your mind was already searching, already flipping through your shared calendar like a desperate librarian, and the version of him that had come home afterwards. Had he kissed your forehead good night with her still on his skin? Had he made you breakfast the next morning? Had he held you, three weeks ago, when you cried about something stupid at work, his palm steady on your back, with the memory of her warmth still in his mouth?

Your stomach folded in on itself.

You set your hand flat on the marble to steady yourself. The marble was cool. The cup was still steaming. Caleb’s eyes were red and puffy across the island, and you wanted very suddenly to throw the kettle through the kitchen window just to hear something break that wasn’t you.

“And she’s pregnant,” you supplied the answer for him. Your voice was a thing operating without you. It was not your voice. You hated it.

“Not yet.” he swallowed. “She wants to be. She’ll only consider it if—” he stopped. Coward.

“If I’m out of the way.” you hated your own voice, hated the hollowness of it. Hated how the words kept pouring out of you, unable to stop saying and imagining the worst.

“If you—” he closed his eyes. “If you give us your blessing.”

You laughed.

You didn’t mean to. It came out of you like something physical and unwelcomed, like a thing dislodged, and Caleb flinched at the sound of it, which made you laugh harder, your hand finding the edge of the counter for balance because the kitchen was tilting, your whole life was tilting, and somewhere in the back of your throat the laugh was already turning into something else.

Blessing. He wanted your blessing. He wanted you to bake them a cake. He wanted you to be gracious, to be the bigger person, to perform the dignified exit of a woman who had always understood she was the placeholder.

It was the demanding of it that finally lit something in you.

Not asking for permission or pleading for forgiveness or understanding. Demanding, in that quiet, reasonable voice, like a surgeon explaining a procedure you did not have the right to refuse. He had thought it through. He had decided this was the kind path. He had cast you, in the script of this conversation, as someone gracious enough to step aside, because the version of you who lived in his head had always been someone gracious enough to step aside. The wife who understood. The wife who was grown-up about it.

Of course he thought you would say yes. You had said yes to everything. You had been saying yes to less than you deserved for two years, and he had taken it, and now he was assuming, with the easy confidence of a man who had never once been told no by you, that you would say yes to this too.

The audacity of it rose into your throat like smoke.

You thought of the morning, six months ago, when he’d brought you breakfast in bed because you’d had a fever, and he’d sat on the edge of the mattress and pushed your hair back and said, I don’t know what I’d do without you, and you had believed him.

You thought of him, two months ago, going still at the sound of her name on someone’s phone in a restaurant, and how he had ordered another bottle of wine and pretended not to have heard.

You thought of the spare bedroom you’d been quietly redecorating in soft yellow, because he wanted a little girl with your eyes, and he had said the words out loud, and you had built a future on them.

“Get out,” your mouth moved before the feeling could catch up. Voice dull, scraped clean of anything soft. 

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.” Your voice was very quiet. You barely recognized it. “Don’t sweetheart me. Don’t you dare, Caleb.”

He hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, like there was a version of this where he could thread the needle and keep some part of you, and you looked at him through it all and saw the moment he understood that there wasn’t.

He went to the door, and you thought he would leave without saying more. It would have been too kind, so he paused with his hand on the frame.

“I do love you,” the confession left his lips, but it only made your heart break faster, “I want you to know that I—I do.”

“I know.” 

You did know. That was the thing. He did love you. He had loved you in the secondhand, leftover way that men love the women they marry when they cannot have the women they want. He had loved you sincerely and he had loved you less, and you had taken less because less was more than nothing, and you had told yourself it would be enough.

The door closed behind him.

You stood in the kitchen with the tea you would never drink and the ring you would not be wearing by morning, and you finally, finally let yourself feel it.

It rose up out of you in one long, silent wave. It wasn’t a sob, you felt too hollow to accept that, you still clung to your last drop of control. But it was present nonetheless, the terrible understanding that you had spent two years of your life building a loving home for a man who had been waiting, the entire time, for someone else to come back for him.

For her.

The tea went cold on the counter.

You did not move for a long time.

© zaynessbeloved 2026. please don’t copy, repost or translate my works. thank you!

🏷️: @young-adult-summer, @aiycnlyme

🔗 - comment to be added to the taglist for future fics

[my5erenity]

This made my blood pressure RIIISE, wdym she wants to????? The nerve .. absolutely shameless my poor nmc