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🐺 01.23 || Icon: Valko and his choccy milk 🐺
🌺🌷! Just introverted n a lil silly :D Hii !🌷🌺
Genshin || HSR || WuWa || LADS || ObeyMe:SWD || JJK || OP || AOT || MHA || KNY || RE:R || N MORE
HEAR ME OUT: they're both bosses, they're smart, they're cunning, they look cool asf, like RLLY cool. Genuinely the biggest aurafarmers when it comes to status.
I imagine these two would go drive off and have meaningful conversations after a gala dinner or a big business meeting or a charity event, DO YOU SEE MY VISIONN??? Like maybe they'd get a few drinks in, Valko can visit Sylus' base in N109 and I imagine the Twins would welcome him too.
Maybe they'd try to outrank each other, friendly competition though because their masculinity ain't fragile, they'd 100% laugh at idiot podcast bros omg. THERE'S SO MUCH POTENTIAL. THE FRIENDSHIP AND BUSINESS PARTNER POTENTIAL.
Anyways, if I put my MC in the picture, she's 100% confused at what they're talking about bc the mind of business alpha males is too complicated for Ms Hunter. That's all folks.
⛈️ the lads guys with a partner having the midwestern urge™ to go outside when there's tornado sirens instead of taking shelter 🌪️
edit: now including valko!
mc may not be a big storm fan but i am, so here's the lads guys when their partner goes outside to find the tornado instead of inside during a tornado warning ⬇️
(take shelter in dangerous weather conditions. do as i say, not as i do.)
xavier:
is actually horrified the first time you're together when sirens go off and you get up and go outside
he loves you he really does but the more you try to explain why you want to be out there the more genuinely concerned he is for you
will absolutely drag you back inside if he has to, but he'll talk you into coming inside with him willingly by promising to listen to you talk about what you like about storms and, if needed, make you feel a bit guilty about staying outside because that means he has to stay outside too
he likes a calm rainy day to sleep to, but howling winds, windows shaking, that yellow-greenish tint in the sky? no thanks. he doesn't really get it
be prepared for the comfiest storm day. whether you're in the bathtub or the basement, you've got pillows and plushies and blankets to be cozy in
if he feels there's time, he's bringing whatever plants he can inside
zayne:
sirens mean take shelter. get back inside. yes, it looks very intriguing, and he appreciates your curiosity about the natural world. come back inside. now.
doesn't really understand when you try to explain it's fun to watch and might get a bit frustrated if it takes him a while to get you to come in
doesn't want to scare you but will start rattling off storm safety facts and risks to get you to follow him back inside
swears by the emergency radio he's got where you take shelter, doesn't matter if the sky clears and birds are chirping, you're not leaving shelter a moment before the tornado warning is officially lifted
obviously has the shelter area stocked up with first aid supplies, but you're pleasantly surprised to find that he also has a copy of your favorite book and a puzzle to keep you entertained
when it's time to leave shelter, he's going out first to make sure everything is actually clear before he'll let you come out
rafayel:
actually pretty calm about the situation, particularly if you're near the coast. god of the sea can handle a storm
he best appreciates the beauty of a storm and loves standing outside with you taking cool pictures
likes watching the sky (and water, if it's nearby) change colors and feeling the air pressure change
but once there's cloud rotation, it's time to come inside, and he'll guilt you into coming in with him by mentioning you two have to make sure reddie gets sheltered safely
(⬆️ that said, i once ran up from the basement when i realized my dwarf frogs were still in my room. as i ran back downstairs with their tank, i looked outside and saw a tornado a few miles away coming down 😬 if you pull that shit, rafayel's gonna be mad you risked your safety even though he loves that you love things so passionately)
the bad weather actually puts him in a pretty good mood, once you're settled in the basement or bathroom he's painting or doing a puzzle with you. he likes that the storm 'forces' some relaxing time
not super worried about keeping up with the weather on the TV or radio, he'll feel when it's safe to come out of shelter
sylus:
he enjoys storms. he loves that feeling when a popup is forming and the temperature suddenly plummets and you can feel the storm in the air
and he enjoys you, so if you want to poke your head outside, by all means do it and he'll be out there with you (so will the twins tbh)
yeah once it gets, like, legitimately dangerous, he'll shepherd you back inside, but that tornado could be on the ground and he's just fine watching you watch it as long as it's still far away
overall pretty chill about it
mephisto is not happy about it and will throw a fit if you're outside for what he deems too long though
storm shelter is a basement room on the base that's basically a whole apartment so you're in for a fun time until the storm passes
caleb:
he's out there too at first. he strikes me as someone who's fascinated by storms. get ready to hear some of the science behind what's happening in the sky
he's got a hand on you just in case, though. he knows it's not like a single gust of wind is just going to sweep you into the sky, but he can't help it
the second it starts to pour rain, the wind really picks up, or clouds start to seriously rotate, you're getting pulled inside. no exceptions.
get ready to spend the rest of the day sitting in a laundry basket in the basement, or the bathtub if you don't have a basement
he has some emergency supplies in whatever your designated storm area is, but since you often end up being there for a while, he's the one to run upstairs/out to the kitchen to grab more food or check the weather.
you are not leaving that room until he decides the storm is far enough away and there are no hazards like flooding or downed lines
valko:
out there watching with you
he has a very deep appreciation of nature and sees the beauty in the storm and the impacts in can have
he likes seeing the sky change color and the smell of the air change
he might stay out with you longer than some of the other guys, appreciating the thrill of it, but his senses are much more in-tune to the changing weather than yours are, so the second he knows it's getting serious, he's guiding you back inside and promising you can always watch storm chasers later
he's very grabby if it gets bad. he stays in the basement/bathroom with you, sitting down behind you and wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your head or shoulder. it's comforting to him to know you're secure and that he has a good hold on you if the worst happens
doesn't seem distressed, but his ears and tail can be a giveaway, especially if it's a really bad storm
pairings: RAFAYEL QI x reader
synopsis: rafayel's overthinking has literal storms brewing in linkon.
wc: 2.8k
cw: none, this is pure fluff, raf is silly in this, oblivious reader
RAFAYEL who before he confesses his love for you is a nervous, overthinking mess.
It's so bad that his sea god powers make the weather act all funny the week leading up to his confession.
On Monday it's drizzling as he's pacing his living room, mumbling the little script he made up the previous night. He had invited you to one of his exhibitions and nearly spilled out all his feelings to you when you stepped out in that dazzling dress that made you look like a goddess.
It didn't help that you clung to his arm like an octopus, the crowded venue seemingly working in Rafayel's favor since he always got giddy whenever you were close to him.
He didn't know why he was suddenly tongue tied, or why his face felt like it was on fire. His speech was jumbled and he couldn't look at you for more than two seconds before looking away.
Well, he knew the reason-that being you who he yearned for openly and dreamed about you each night-but he hadn't told you yet.
All his feelings had been brewing the past couple months he had known you into a storm that was waiting to burst out any moment now.
"Are you okay, Raf?" You asked, concerned. The two of you had found solace in a quiet corner of the venue where Rafayel was wiping his sweaty palms behind him, cursing how hot he felt right now.
"I'm fine, cutie," He laughed shakily, glancing at you before his heart betrayed him once more, doing a weird stutter. You frowned, knowing he was lying, but decided not to pry any further.
What's even worse was that you were completely oblivious to the effect you had on him, chalking it up to Rafayel just being his normal, silly self.
Oh boy, you were dead wrong.
Tuesday afternoon when you were walking home from work, it started raining like crazy, going from a gentle drizzle to large drops that had you drenched in seconds.
Rafayel, of course, was the culprit, and was currently sitting on the floor contemplating his situation. His canvas and paint brush lay forgotten in some corner, as he was tangled up in a myriad of scenarios.
His mind went back and forth about confessing to you. An hour prior, he was just a tad bit nervous before it spiraled to utter overcomplication. What if you didn't like him back? What if you rejected him and you didn't want to be friends anymore? What if you laugh in his face? He'll have to move...yeah, he'll have to move from Linkon...wait...WHAT IF YOU WERE IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE ALREADY-
You, on the other hand, jumped at the sudden clap of thunder that made you drop your phone on your foot.
Wednesday was even worse. The moment you woke up, rain pelted your window, the drumming of rain against your apartment building only intensifying as you made your way out, an umbrella clenched tightly in your fist.
"The weather is being silly," Tara commented, leaning against your desk, her brows knitted with worry. You agreed, and wondered aloud what was going on. It wasn't rain season, and the weather channel had nothing to say about it. In fact, all of Linkon was buzzing online about why it was suddenly raining all the time.
There were conspiracy theories about EVER coming up with some weather controlling technology, issues with Skyhaven and that it was affecting Linkon's weather, etc.
Then there was Rafayel who was sulking on the couch, muttering 'she loves me, she loves me not' dejectedly, unaware of the crazy conspiracy theories he had started on the internet.
He had awoken suddenly from a nightmare-one which where you had rejected him. The dream felt so real that it had put in him a bad mood, the storm forming quickly before he could stop it.
Rafayel was usually good about not starting, you know, severe storms, but when it came to you all control was lost.
He cursed at how strong the storm was, but his mind was such a swirl of emotions that he couldn't calm it down. He needed you to calm down, but at the same time if he saw you, he would spiral even more.
In fact, he's been avoiding your texts all day, something that made you increasingly worried as the day went on. Rafayel never ignored your texts. Never.
Rafayel felt guilty, but he felt like he needed to sort out his thoughts first before he could function properly around you again.
Thursday morning it's eerily calm. When you woke up, you expected to hear rain again, but was greeted with a disturbing silence that only came before a massive storm.
You went to work as usual and anticipated the storm, your umbrella packed just in case, but it never came. You said goodbye to Tara, Xavier, Nero, and your other coworkers before heading out.
You texted Rafayel once more, asking if he was okay. Something deep inside of you felt like the storms were connected to Rafayel, but that was silly! Right..?
"Tomorrow..." Rafayel mumbled incoherently, pacing his living room again, his hair a ruffled mess as a kept running a hand through it. He hadn't slept at all and his brain was running a million thoughts per second. He was going to do it tomorrow. He was going to tell you how he felt.
His stomach twisted-from excitement or anxiety he honestly couldn't tell-and he had to grab onto the back of the couch to steady himself. Why did he feel so nauseous?! It was you...it was just you...why was he so nervous?
Because she's perfect.
Because I don't want to fuck it all up.
Because I love her too much.
He groaned into his hands, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself down. He had it all planned out. He would catch you on your walk home from work, lead you to that romantic spot on the bridge overlooking the river and ask you out. Yes, he had it all meticulously planned down to his outfit and speech and-
Beep!
He gasped at the sudden noise, his eyes finding the lit up screen of his phone tossed carelessly on the couch cushions. He reached for it hesitantly, knowing that it was most likely going to be from you, his beloved cutie.
cutie: RAFAYEL ARE YOY OK???
cutie: its weird to not hear from you...
cutie: why are you ignoring meee
His heart ached at the messages, his fingers hovering over the keypad before swiping away. He didn't trust himself to reply to you right now. He was scared that he would say something stupid, or worse, outright text 'i really like you and i cant get you out of my head' like a desperate loser...what would you think of him?
He needed to say the right thing.
He needed to come up with the right words.
He turned his phone over and sighed, his heart hammering wildly at the thought of tomorrow. All he had to do was stay calm until tomorrow. He could do that. Totally.
He had this in the bag!!
The following Friday morning, your phone issued a severe thunderstorm watch, a hurricane watch, flood watch, and a strong winds warning. You blinked blearily at the notification since you just woke up, and curled back into bed before your phone exploded with more weather advisories.
"What the hell," You muttered, finally swinging your legs over the bed and slipping into your fluffy slippers. You stumbled into the kitchen, still scrolling through the weather reports before receiving a text from Rafayel.
fish: i think you should stay home from work today
fish: or not
You blinked. The ominous text only made you more curious. That was the first text he sent you all week!!
you: where the hell have you been
you: what do you mean?
you: are you ok?????
You waited a beat or two before rolling your eyes and went to get ready as usual. Whatever Rafayel meant would come to light anyways.
You pulled on your hunters uniform and watch and laced up your boots before heading out. You caught up to your neighbor, Xavier, and the two of you walked to work together.
The winds were strong, but there was no sign of rain yet.
Yet.
It was like the entire sky was holding it's breath.
"Did you see all those warnings?!" Tara exclaimed, greeting you with a cup of coffee. You mumbled 'thanks' and took a quick sip.
"Mm, stupid weather," You yawned, padding over to your desk. Xavier followed behind you, rubbing his eyes.
As you worked on reports, the building increasingly got darker, the clouds outside turning into an angry, dark gray.
When you clocked out, the sky was so dark that it covered the entire city in a looming shadow. The streets were nearly empty as you and Xavier walked home from the Association's building, umbrellas hand in hand anticipating the first raindrop.
The two of you made small talk before a tall figure blocked your path. Your eyebrows shot up at a very red Rafayel, his purple locks swaying from the wind. He was wearing a simple linen button up and dress pants, a typical Rafayel outfit, but there was something off about his expression.
His usual teasing smile was replaced with a very nervous one-something you've grown used to in the recent weeks, but he looked absolutely wrecked.
"Rafayel! Where have you been?!" You shot forward and grabbed his hands, unsure whether to feel angry or relieved. Rafayel's face turned an even darker shade of red, his mouth parting to say something but no words came out. His sunset eyes landed on you and then found Xavier who watched sleepily behind you.
"I'll explain everything," He managed to say, choosing each word carefully before he blurted out his feelings in front of your coworker. "I just-let's go somewhere else."
You blinked, absorbing his face and the way his eyes rapidly blinked. His ears were beet red and his lips trembled slightly. Whatever it was, it was serious.
"I-uh, okay?" You shrugged and looked over your shoulder. "Have a safe walk home, Xav."
"You too," Xavier replied, giving Rafayel a long look before walking off. You sighed, grabbing Rafayel's hand and nudging him forward.
"Well? Where are we going? You better hurry up-the storm will start any time now!"
"Okay, okay, just-" Rafayel inhaled sharply, the warmth of your hand in his was too much. How many times has he fantasized about being the only person you held hands with?
He could already feel himself losing the little control he had left.
"Rafayel..." You started slowly. The wind started to pick up. "Are you really okay? Were you sick?"
"I...something like that," Rafayel murmured, avoiding eye contact with you. He started to pull you towards the direction of the river bridge, his grip on your hand becoming slightly firmer.
"Why didn't you tell me?" You looked up at him, concerned. Rafayel didn't say anything, he couldn't say anything without breaking down like a fool in front of you. "Raf..."
The two of you now stood in the middle of the little river bridge that you had gushed about being 'super duper cute' in the first weeks of being his friend. The moment you had commented that, Rafayel was already formulating his confession at this very spot, and now it was really happening.
He wanted to giggle and laugh and scream and throw up.
Rafayel sighed, looking up at the stormy clouds, wishing it was a clear blue for you, but no-his emotions had gotten the best of him and now he was confessing to you on the brink of a hurricane.
"Y/N, I..." He looked down at his shoes, cursing inwardly. He's heard about you rant countless times about how you wanted your first confession to be romantic-yet he couldn't provide that for you. Not when his heart was a stuttering mess and his hands were all sweaty and his face was lit on fire.
Did he already ruin everything already?
"Raf?" You said gently, squeezing his hand. He froze in place, his eyes locking onto your interlocked fingers.
He was nervous yes, but he had never been so sure about something in his life than how he felt about you.
He was scared of rejection, but he feared a life where he never told you his true feelings.
It was you, the woman he slowly fell in love with that he wanted to be with.
A sudden wave of courage washed over his fear, words bubbling in his throat as he tried to find the 'right' ones-but he realized there were no 'right' way to confess-he just had to tell you how he truly felt.
And that was easy.
"I'm in love with you," He choked out. You froze, your heart skipping a beat.
"I...what?" You breathed, your face heating up when he finally looked into your eyes. His face was still flushed, but a new determination overtook his features.
"I'm in love with you," Rafayel declared confidently. At his words you heard thunder rumble in the distance, the wind picking up speed. Your mouth hung open, your brain short-circuiting at his confession. You blinked rapidly, looking elsewhere but him.
"Rafayel-" You gasped. "I-you're seriously confessing to me right now?"
Right before a severe storm?! This guy-!
"Yes. I am." He answered firmly, though his lips trembled. "Look at me...please." He added softly. You gulped and looked back up at him, though it was difficult to focus.
"Okay," You whispered.
"Y/N, I am deeply and madly in love with you. I can't go a second without thinking about where you are, how you're feeling, if you're happy-it drives me crazy," He let out a genuine laugh, a smile forming on your face at the sound. "I have so many sketchbooks filled with you that it's embarrassing-well, not really-but you get my point, yeah? I am enamored by you-you are my muse. The only person I see spending the rest of my life with. So I-well, I would really like it if I could be your boyfriend."
His words had you shocked, your brain absorbing the sweet and heartfelt confession as you struggled you form words. You've never been confessed to before, albeit so sweetly. You wondered the countless nights Rafayel spent thinking about it and suddenly had the urge to giggle. You knew it was inappropriate, so you settled on saying something else to him-
Instead, a laugh rang out.
"Oh my god Raf, it sounds like you're proposing," You smiled up at him, his bright eyes mirroring yours. "You could've just asked me on a date and I'd say yes, you big idiot!"
Rafayel felt his chest loosen with relief.
"So, is that a 'yes I would love Rafayel to be my boyfriend" orrrr..." His voice trailed off, a smile on his face because from the way you were grinning at him, he knew the answer.
"Are you kidding me?! It's a yes!! I would love to be your girlfriend!" You exclaimed giddily and lurched forward to envelope him in a warm hug. He sighed with relief, resting his head on your shoulder before allowing himself to slowly wrap his arms around you.
"Really? Oh, I'm so-" He couldn't even finish his sentence because you had leaned backwards to give him a quick kiss on the lips. His eyes widened into saucers and he was unable to say anything when you looped your arm with his.
"Wellll we really should get going home," You said teasingly. "Y'know, before we get swept away in a flood or something." Rafayel laughed, pressing a finger to his lips before glancing up at the sky. The darkened clouds were already starting to fade away, and you didn't even notice that the wind was no longer blowing.
"Orrr we could go on that date you were talking about," Rafayel said smugly, regaining his typical attitude fueled by happiness and the proximity of being close to you again.
"Really?! But-the storm-"
"I don't think we need to worry about that, cutie," Rafayel chuckled, his mood a stark contrast to how he felt when he woke up, all feelings of uncertainty replaced with the image of your smile, the warmth of your arms around him.
He didn't know why he worried so much in the first place!
"Let's just go home first," You pressed to which Rafayel did not disagree with. He also was bombarded with storm warnings when he woke up and did not blame you in the slightest of wanting to go home.
The two of you walked home together, the words of confession still fresh in your mind, continuing to bring a blush on your face. Rafayel, back to his usual antics, was quick to tease you again, a newfound joy in his heart now that you had accepted his confession.
He could nearly squeal at the new found relationship and was already planning an itinerary of dates and places he wanted to take you-though that could wait another day.
For now, he focused on the present, the you who was with him in this very moment.
Outside your apartment, while you and Rafayel were giggling together on your sofa, the storm clouds had completely disappeared, leaving a clear, certain blue.
a/n: Inspired by the onslaught of storms I've been facing LMAOO I love rafayel so much...i miss him... dividers by: @bbyg4rlhelps
Hii!! First time doing this but I’m obsessed with your Poly!LADS series, it helps me feel inspired to continue with my poly!LADS mini adventures. I was wondering if you can take a request of the Lads coming home to a remarkably clean house which is bad cause MC cleans when pissed. Please don’t feel pressured to do it!!!
Awww thank you so much, that means the world to me that they've inspired you! 🥹 I'm gonna be reviving the series soon; the next part is drafted, I just gotta write it!
Decided to use this as a warm up for writing the guys together again tehe-- no Caleb or Valko yet because I wanna introduce them properly in the next part!
This was such a fun idea so thank youuu! 🫶
"Spring" Cleaning
Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus x Reader
Summary: One of the boys has messed up big time! Bonus points if you guess who~~ 👀
Sylus has run his finger over a shelf— circled a vase, taken a detour up the spine of a book— and his fingertip is spotless. No dust that tickles his nose as he lifts it up to his face in scrutiny. No grubbiness he feels the need to scowl at in disgust.
“Relax, yeah?”
It’s Rafayel. Of course it’s Rafayel: always poking at an open flame. The artist has flung himself down on the couch, and is watching with his head rolled back over the armrest; he just has to be interesting. His hair is dangling, gravity clawing it back from his forehead. “If something was wrong, wouldn’t his watch be, like… yelling?”
He points at Xavier.
Xavier is squinting, looking around the house like a Wanderer really might lurk in the mundanity of a houseplant. Yes, his watch is indeed silent, but he shushes Rafayel regardless. “No… Sylus is right.” Ha. “Something’s weird. I can feel it.”
“It’s too clean.”
Last to step through the door, Zayne sets down his share of groceries. And Rafayel’s. And Sylus’s. Ever the knight in shining armour, Xavier is the only other with brown paper bags at his feet. One is sideways from where he’d dropped it— a satsuma rolling away in a half-hearted meander.
Rafayel catches it as it passes the sofa. Picks it up and sinks his thumb through the peel. “You think it’s too clean? You work in a hospital. Clean is good, right? Thought you liked clean.”
With a pensive hum, Sylus picks up a photo frame. You’re beaming in the picture, crouched beside where Rafayel is lying, buried up to his neck on the beach. Xavier is posing, a yellow toy spade in hand. Zayne is standing by the parasol he’d dragged over so the artist wouldn’t expire from heatstroke. Pity.
He shakes his head, then hands the photo to Zayne as though it’s incriminatingly gory. “Look.”
“Just as I thought,” Zayne nods, glasses glinting in the light. The frame is ornate— textured silver that winds like vines— and he sees it too, doesn’t he? Every crevice is polished. Meticulously.
Call it instinct, or an educated guess; they all look towards Rafayel.
Rafayel, who is now sat cross-legged on the couch, with a mouth full of satsuma segments. He splutters— sudden, sweet acidity and a spotlight. “What?”
“What did you do?” Xavier asks like the edge of a knife.
“Nothing!”
“That’s what they all say,” Sylus is tutting, stalking up to the sofa so he can spread his hands on the armrest and lean in. (He is, of course, a devoted member of that aforementioned ‘all’, so he would know.) “We’ll learn the truth sooner or later, little artist. Spare us any charades. Give in.”
Xavier’s voice digs deeper. “It’s over.”
And Sylus can’t resist a: “Relax, yeah?”
Unfazed, Rafayel is studying Sylus as he swallows another satsuma segment. The parroted words aren’t an ace, it seems; his expression implies they’re a three, at best. “What is this, like, scary-cop, horny-cop? You relax. I’m not cutie. You’re barking up the wrong coral branch with your pseudo-sexual mind games.”
That is not what Sylus was going for. Even remotely. He pulls back with a soft frown; maybe he has been spending too much time with you. Whoops.
A quiet rustle of brown paper, and Zayne has finished collecting the groceries from Xavier’s bag. He wanders over, ushering Sylus aside. It’s audacious. It’s presumptuous. It’s… a mercy, really. Sylus is still having a long, hard think about his behaviour, and how he comes across to others.
“Rafayel,” Zayne asks like an open hand, “think back over the last few days. Can you think of anything— anything at all— that might have upset our mutual friend?”
“Nah,” Rafayel shrugs, splitting off more of the fruit he’s holding, “I’m cutie’s rock, y’know. If I were you, I’d, uh… be looking in a more—” he shields a whisper— “white-haired, red-eyed direction.”
Sylus scowls. “I heard that.”
“Heard what? Didn’t say a thing.”
Rafayel yawns, then pops another segment in his mouth. The interrogation is over, and he thinks he’s passed with flying colours.
If Xavier were still here, he could get the truth out of him. Blood from a stone, and all that. Regrettably, the Hunter has wandered off to scout the rest of the house. A deep-cleaned lounge means one of them has upset you marginally. A deep-cleaned home? Kitchen? Bathroom? Garden?
Sylus glimpses motion beyond your floor-to-ceiling windows. Xavier is out there, inspecting a shrub, and he looks up— locks eyes with the group— and gives a grave shake of his head.
Has that… has that shrub been pruned?
A shiver runs down Sylus’s spine. This is cataclysmic levels of neatness. Someone here might have actually killed something you love.
“What’s Xavier doing out in the garden?”
Forget a shiver— for a single moment, Sylus’s entire soul leaves his body.
You’re standing at the foot of the stairs with a feather duster, like the ghost of a housekeeper who died before the job was quite done.
“Are you… are you alright, love?” Zayne voices tentatively.
“Why wouldn’t I be alright?”
You smile and it’s chilling. That’s the smile in the beach photo. The smile that gives all of them the strength to get out of bed every morning (or, in Sylus’s case, noon) but it’s wrong, somehow.
Hands latch onto his shoulders; Rafayel is gripping him, using him for cover. “Heeeey cutie,” he sing-songs nervously, “spring cleaning?”
“It’s July, Rafayel.”
“Summer cleaning?” he tries again.
Sylus shakes his hands away from his shoulders.
“Why’re you guys being weird?” Your tone is relaxed, but your gaze finds satsuma peel on the sofa behind them— a little on the floor, too.
Rafayel impulse kicks the floor peel under the coffee table.
Your transparent, glass coffee table.
Amateur.
You put your hands on your hips. Rafayel sheepishly lowers himself to the ground.
“You can all relax,” you sigh, setting your feather duster aside. “This isn’t murder cleaning, it’s ‘I have a thing tomorrow’ cleaning. Tara’s coming over. Bringing some of the guys from her tarot club. Xavi, you knew about this— I was with you when she invited you.”
Xavier is midway through stepping in from the garden, but he freezes. Glances up. “Hm?”
“Tara’s thing? The tarot thing?”
“Oh… oh, yeah, I’m going to that. There’ll be food,” he grins warmly.
Zayne presses his fingers to his temple. Sylus is suddenly craving a drink.
“Are you kidding me?” Rafayel groans, still prone on the floor.
…
“So… what’s wrong?” Xavier smiles, shoulder gently nudging yours as he unpacks groceries with you in the kitchen. “And is there any way I can help?”
There is no thing with Tara and her tarot club tomorrow.
“Grab me a mixing bowl?” you answer. He does, and you set it down with a clink. “Funny thing happened the other day, Xavi.” You’re separating ingredients from the groceries. “Yvonne was going through some stuff. You know Yvonne, from Akso? She helped you that time, when we were waiting, and you’d sprained your—”
“Yeah, I know Yvonne. She’s nice.”
“Mmh. So, yeah, she’d lost a relative. Things at the hospital had been pretty hectic too, so I decided to do something for her. Something to cheer her up. I made her some cupcakes.”
The ingredients you’re setting aside are for a cake too, incidentally.
“She wasn’t there when I brought them in— she was off helping someone. And I was in a rush, so I left them on the front desk. A tin of cupcakes, and a note. ‘Dear Yvonne’, it said, ‘from your favourite Deepspace Hunter! Just a little token of how appreciated you are.’”
“That’s sweet,” Xavier says, then chuckles over his inadvertent pun.
“It was sweet, right? So imagine my surprise when I next visited the hospital. She wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t look at me. Pretended she was on the phone so she could wave me away like she was busy,” you huff. “Had to go to Greyson to find out what happened. Turns out… she did get my note. My tin, too.”
“And?”
“And it was empty.” You tear into a bag of flour. “She was devastated. Thought I was making fun of her. So, Greyson and I checked the CCTV. Found out someone got to the cupcakes first. Someone recognised my tin and thought, ‘oh, these must surely be for me,’ and someone? Was far too busy being a big, important doctor to stop and read the note.”
Xavier is still as he listens to your story. When it’s done, and you’re stirring flour, sugar, and spices together so violently that some is escaping the bowl, he stoops to a drawer. Fishes out a grater.
Then he goes to the fridge and pulls out some carrots.
the first time you meet toji fushiguro, you think he's asleep.
he's stretched across a bench outside a convenience store, one arm thrown over his eyes, dressed in a worn black hoodie despite the warmth of the afternoon. there's a duffel bag tucked beneath the bench, the zipper half-broken, and a pair of scuffed boots resting neatly underneath him like he's worried someone might steal them.
you almost keep walking. then his stomach growls, loud enough that you hear it from several feet away. you stop & he doesn't move. for a second you wonder if pretending to sleep is less embarrassing than admitting he's hungry.
your chest tightens. you quietly step into the convenience store instead.
when you come back outside, you're balancing two warm paper bags and a drink carrier. you crouch beside the bench. "um..." nothing. "...excuse me?"
one green eye slowly opens. toji looks at you like you've interrupted the best nap of his life. "yeah?"
you awkwardly hold out one of the bags. "i, um... bought too much."
he stares at it. "didn't ask."
you nod quickly. "i know. but i thought maybe you were hungry."
another long silence. he's waiting, probably for you to ask for money. or your phone number. or for you to tell him there's a camera hidden somewhere filming his reaction.
instead you just smile a little. "it's okay if you don't want it." you gently place the bag on the bench beside him. "have a nice day."
and before he can answer you walk away.
toji waits until you're halfway down the street before opening the bag. inside is still-warm katsu curry, a bottle of water & a chocolate bar with a little sticky note folded in half.
please don't skip dinner.
that's it. no number. no name. nothing. he stares at the note for a long time. "weird." then quietly eats every bite.
he expects never to see you again. instead, three days later... you're back. same convenience store. same shy smile. same ridiculous amount of groceries in your arms. you stop when you notice him sitting on the curb. "oh." your face brightens. "hi."
toji blinks. "hi"
you hesitate. "did you like the curry?"
he almost lies. almost says it was terrible just to see your reaction. instead: "yeah"
your smile grows impossibly bigger. "good."
"that's it?"
you tilt your head. "what else would i say?"
"most people would've asked for somethin'."
"like what?"
"money."
you laugh. "i already spent my money on the curry."
he stares. you genuinely seem confused by the conversation, like kindness costing something has never occurred to you.
it becomes... a thing. every few days, you'll "accidentally" buy too much. an extra sandwich. an extra coffee. an extra pastry. and every single time, you insist you couldn't possibly finish it alone.
toji stops arguing after the fourth visit. mostly because he's starting to realize arguing makes you sad. he weirdly doesn't like that.
eventually, he learns your routine. every tuesday and thursday after work, always stopping at the same store, always carrying too many reusable shopping bags because you refuse to use plastic ones. always smiling at the old cashier & always waving goodbye. it's sickeningly wholesome.
he hates how much he starts looking forward to it. "you got a name?"
you blink, "yeah."
"you gonna tell me?"
you giggle which completely throws him off. "only if you tell me yours first."
"toji."
you repeat it quietly, like you're testing how it sounds. "toji."
he pretends it doesn't make his heart do something weird. then you tell him your name & he repeats it once. you're not sure if it's the street lamp lihgting, you'd think he was smiling.
the first time it rains while you're talking, you immediately panic. "your bag!"
toji looks over. "what about it?"
"it's getting wet!"
before he can stop you, you're dragging the heavy duffel beneath the shelter with both hands, huffing from the effort because it's apparently filled with bricks.
"there." you beam. "better."
"thanks."
"of course."
weeks turn into months. toji eventually admits he's sleeping in his truck. "that's... slightly better than the bench? do you have blankets?"
"yeah."
"are you lying?"
"maybe."
the next afternoon you show up with two thick blankets. "my closet was getting crowded."
he raises an eyebrow. "really."
"okay, i bought them."
"thought so."
you never pity him. that's what he notices. you don't look at him like he's broken or dangerous, or someone to avoid, you ask him about his day, tell him about the stray cat that's started following you home. complain about your boss. laugh over dumb internet videos.
you talk to him like he's just a person, not dirt under your shoe. it's infuriating. he'd almost forgotten what that felt like.
one evening you find him outside the store again, except this time he's standing. clean clothes, fresh haircut, a little less tired around the eyes.
you notice immediately. "you look different."
he scratches the back of his neck. got a job."
your face lights up so brightly he actually has to look away. "toji!"
before he can react, you've thrown your arms around him. the hug lasts maybe two seconds which then ends when you suddenly realize what you've done. your eyes widen. "oh my gosh—i'm sorry!" you immediately let go, mortified. "i should've asked first—"
"you happy for me?"
you blink. "of course."
he nods once. then quietly says, "do it again."
"...what?"
"the hug."
your cheeks turn pink. "are you sure?"
instead of answering, he opens one arm awkwardly like he hasn't hugged someone in years. maybe he hasn't. you smile, step forward and this time, when you wrap your arms around him, he hugs you back carefully. he closes his eyes for just a second, breathing in the faint scent of laundry detergent and vanilla.
home.
he doesn't know why that's the first word that comes to mind. he just knows that for the first time in a very long time... he isn't thinking about where he's going to sleep. he's thinking about whether you'll be waiting outside the convenience store on thursday.
after that, things change so quietly that neither of you notices at first.
he's still waiting outside the convenience store on tuesdays and thursdays, except now he isn't there because he's hungry.
he's there because you're coming.
you still bring him coffee some mornings, even though he now has enough money to buy his own. you still insist on splitting pastries in half because "they taste better when someone else steals a bite."
toji rolls his eyes every single time.
then steals the bigger half.
he learns the little things about you before he learns the big ones. that you always tear the sleeves off your coffee cups because you fidget when you're nervous. that you hum absentmindedly while reading ingredient labels. that you can't walk past flowers without stopping to smell them, no matter how rushed you are.
you're soft in ways he doesn't think the world deserves. toji has spent most of his life believing kindness always comes with conditions. people are nice because they want something, they expect something. eventually they'll remind you of everything they did for you. but you never do. you never bring up the meals. it's almost unsettling.
one afternoon he finally asks. "why?"
you look up from where you're trying to untangle the strap of your tote bag. "why what?"
"why'd you help me?"
your brows knit together like the answer is obvious. "you looked like you needed it."
"that's it?"
"yeah."
"you didn't even know me."
you smile softly. "i know."
his first paycheck isn't much. after rent on a tiny apartment and replacing clothes that have seen better days, there isn't much left over. still.
the following thursday, he gets to the convenience store before you. he waits outside, hands shoved into his pockets. when you finally appear, smiling the moment you spot him, he awkwardly holds something out.
it's a paper bag. you blink. "what's this?"
"bought too much."
you look at him. "toji."
he shrugs. "couldn't finish it."
you laugh so hard you have to cover your mouth. "you're terrible."
"learned from you."
inside is your favorite sandwich. the strawberry milk you always buy and a chocolate bar. tucked inside is a tiny sticky note with handwriting so bad it takes you several minutes to decipher it.
please don't skip lunch.
your eyes immediately sting. "you kept the note."
"yeah."
"why?"
he looks at you like you've asked the dumbest question imaginable. "'cause you wrote it."
you don't realize you're crying until he sighs. "aw, don't do that."
you sniffle. "i'm not."
"you're literally cryin'."
"happy crying."
"still counts."
you laugh through your tears and, without thinking, throw your arms around him again.
this time he doesn't hesitate.
his arms wrap around your waist almost instantly, pulling you close with a quiet little huff, like this has become the most natural thing in the world.
months later, you're helping him unpack the last box in his apartment. it's tiny. the couch barely fits. the kitchen only has enough room for one person at a time. the bedroom window sticks whenever you try to open it. you think it's perfect. "you've got a home."
toji looks around the room. "yeah."
but he isn't looking at the apartment anymore. he's looking at the girl kneeling on his living room floor, carefully placing cheap mugs into the cupboard like they're priceless antiques.
the girl who fed a stranger because she thought he looked hungry and who bought blankets without making him feel like charity. who never once looked at him with pity, just warmth.
he walks over before he can think too hard about it. "hey."
you glance up. "hm?"
he crouches in front of you, takes your hands. "i got somethin' to ask."
"okay."
he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking strangely nervous. "you've been buyin' me food for almost a year."
you giggle. "i have."
"think it's about time i returned the favor."
"toji."
"let me take you to dinner."
you smile. "that's your big question?"
"yeah."
"i thought you were gonna ask me to help build ikea furniture or something."
he snorts. "don't push your luck."
you laugh, squeezing his hands. "i'd love to."
the smile that spreads across his face is small, crooked. so unbelievably boyish that it barely resembles the guarded man sleeping on a park bench all those months ago. you don't think you'll ever get tired of being the reason for it.
years later, whenever someone asks how you met, toji always tells the story wrong. he'll lean back in his chair, completely serious, and say, "she wouldn't stop feeding me."
you'll gasp dramatically. "that's not true!"
"is."
"i offered you one curry!"
"then coffee. then pastries. then blankets."
everyone laughs.
you bury your face in your hands. "i was just trying to help."
toji reaches over, intertwining his fingers with yours beneath the table. his thumb brushes across your knuckles. "i know." his voice is quieter now, only meant for you. "best thing that ever happened to me."
and every single time he says it — he still sounds like he can't quite believe someone as kind as you stopped walking that first afternoon. all you thought you were doing was buying lunch for a stranger.
you never realized you were giving him a reason to believe life could be gentle again. or that one warm paper bag and a little sticky note would eventually lead him home.
You had been scrolling all day on social media, practically rotting on the couch, just trying to find something that might entertain you.
And that's exactly when you stumbled across that new bathroom tour trend. It was so stupidly hilarious that you knew right then and there, your husband was about to become your next victim.
You were sitting on the couch with that suspicious grin on your face all day long, just waiting for him to get inside that bathroom and hear the door click.
You had already been soft-launching the fact that you wanted to make a few changes to the bathroom decoration here and there, which hadn't confused him all that much at the time. “You can do whatever you want, baby,” was his casual reply when you told him you might ask your best friend for some tips.
So the moment that damn door finally clicked shut, you rushed to grab your phone. You whipped the camera on, marching straight down the hall and stumbling into the bathroom like absolutely no one was inside.
Since you were both incredibly comfortable in your relationship, Toji didn't even really react at first; he just briefly looked up at you from the toilet before going right back to scrolling on his own phone. That was until he noticed your phone raised up in your hand, and heard you start talking to the screen as you pointed directly at the wall opposite him.
“I'm thinking of putting a shelf right here... maybe some books on it or something...”
“The fuck?” He muttered, his eyebrows drawing together as he stared at you.
You completely ignored him and turned, pointing toward the wall where he was sitting, intentionally capturing half of his frame on camera. “A little plant might fit perfectly in here... you can give me your opinion later.”
Toji immediately ducked his head down, trying his best to escape the lens. It was so serious to him that he even clicked off his own phone. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He started to grow more irritated as you continued to ignore him, fully committed to your little fake bathroom tour. “Last time you told me a picture here would be good... I'll consider that too...”
Stuck in a rare position of total vulnerability, the only resort he had left was launching whatever was within arm's reach at you so you would leave him alone. He started grabbing towels and the plastic bottles of detergent left on the counter, chucking them your way as he yelled.
“Get the hell outta here!”
He pelted you so relentlessly with rolls of toilet paper that you finally broke character, sprinting out of the bathroom laughing like crazy and slamming the door shut so he could finish his business in peace.
“Send that to anyone and I'll murder you!” his muffled voice screamed from the other side of the door.
Valko approaches Sylus, his hair and tail dripping with salt water.
"Valko, do not step any closer," Sylus commands from his beach chair, angling his book to hide the pages against his chest. Valko doesn't stop until he's right in front of him.
With a small, innocent smile, he shakes. Water splashes everywhere, dotting the sand, the chairs, and the towels, but mainly splashes over Sylus.
Despite his physique, you always forget how fit Sylus is until you're giggling at him chasing down Valko, both of them sprinting at full speed, until Sylus tackles him into the ocean. They narrowly miss Rafayel gliding through the water, their private section of the beach allowing him to show off his brilliant tail.
Beside you, Xavier stirs, peeking one eye open and squinting against the sun. You smile down at him. He's adorable like this, all groggy and disheveled, his cheeks tinged pink from the heat and the sun.
"Hey, Xavie. Good nap?"
He just hums, rolling over to rest his head in your lap, eye closing again. With a small laugh, you card your hand through his soft hair, allowing him to make himself comfortable again, his arm flopping over your ankles.
"I'm never doing this again!" Caleb's voice travels across the beach. "It's impossible!"
"You can fly a fighter jet, my love. I'm confident that you can surf," Zayne replies, a bit of amusement in his tone underneath the encouragement.
"The sky likes me way better than the sea does. I swear, I think that kelp was trying to drown me."
Zayne hums. "I think a certain fish would come to your rescue, should you need it. Now let's put some more sunscreen on and try again." Caleb just stares, and Zayne raises an eyebrow. "Don't give me that look. I know you won't give up that easily. You're too stubborn for your own good."
You could stay here forever, you decide, with zero responsibilities besides keeping your favorite men company.
You and Caleb are accidentally hurled two years into the future, straight into his apartment. Trapped in a closet, you’re forced to watch your future selves fuck like they’ve been starving for each other.
The art that inspired this fic: https://x.com/i/status/2077008975359525093
The heat at Grandma's house during peak summer was its own particular brand of suffering. It wasn't the same as the sharp dry heat of the city, this was heavy and wet and it made the air taste like cut grass and warm concrete. By ten in the morning you'd already sweated through your first shirt. By noon you'd given up on doing anything productive.
Which was how you and Caleb ended up in the kitchen at two in the afternoon, arguing about stupid stuff, because there was nothing else to do.
"We're out of green onions," he announced with his head inside the fridge. "And ginger. Grandma said we have to buy soy sauce and it has to be the right brand."
"Which brand?"
He turned around with an expression that said he had absolutely no idea.
"Great," you said. "Really helpful."
"She showed me once. It has a red label. Or maybe yellow." He pulled out a tote bag from the cabinet and dropped it on the counter in your direction. "We'll figure it out when we're there."
"The market is a fifteen minute walk in this heat."
"Then we should leave now."
"Caleb—"
He was already heading for the door. "Come on."
You grabbed the bag and your sunglasses and followed him out into the heat, which hit you like a wall the second you stepped off the porch.
The neighborhood was quiet on summer afternoons, everyone wanted to be inside with their fans on. You walked beside Caleb through streets you'd both known since childhood, past the park, past the corner ice cream store with the faded awning, past Mrs. Yuen's house with the wind chimes that had been making the same sound for fifteen years.
He was telling you about an incident with a new recruit that had happened at a training exercise last month and you were laughing.
"Did he get hurt?" you managed.
"Bruised his ego more than anything." Caleb pushed your sunglasses up. "Poor guy spent the rest of the session pretending it hadn't happened."
The market was cool and smelled like the same brand of air freshener they'd been using since you were ten. You grabbed a basket and split off toward the vegetables while Caleb wandered in the direction of the snack aisle, which —you'd learned over years of shared grocery runs— meant you were going to spend the next several minutes complaining about his choices.
You found the green onions. Found the ginger. Turned the corner into the snack aisle and found Caleb standing in front of the chips with two bags in his hands, deliberating.
"We don't need chips," you said.
"Yes we do."
"We have food at home."
"Chips are not food, chips are a separate category." He held them both up. "Salt and vinegar or barbecue."
"Neither. We're here for dinner ingredients."
"And chips." He put the barbecue in the basket.
You took it out. He put it back in.
"Caleb."
"It's for the walk home. You'll want some on the walk home."
"You are so—" You stopped, pointed at his chest. "Fine. One bag. And you're carrying it."
He was already reaching for a second one.
"One bag."
"Salt and vinegar for you, barbecue for me. That's technically one bag each which is—"
"That's two bags."
"One per person."
You let him keep both bags because the alternative was standing in the snack aisle for another five minutes.
The soy sauce took longer. You found the section, found approximately ten different brands, and stood there for a moment in silence.
"Red label or yellow?" you said.
"I said I wasn't sure."
"You said you'd seen it."
"I'd seen it, I didn't memorize it."
"Caleb, if we get the wrong one—"
He picked one up, turned it over, put it back. Picked up another. "This one looks right."
He put it in the basket and you picked up a different one, compared the labels side by side, and put his back and kept yours.
He switched them back the moment you turned away.
------
You were outside, bag on Caleb's shoulder, chips already open when your hunter's watch went off.
The sound cut straight through everything. Your hand was in the chip bag one second and at your holster the next, the muscle memory of it faster than conscious thought. The screen had gone red.
Wanderer detected. Class: High energy anomaly. Proximity: 100 meters.
Caleb stepped in close "Behind the market. Let's go."
You were already moving.
---
The alley ran behind a row of shops, narrow and shadowed, the air warping at the far end and that meant the Wanderer had already been there long enough to disturb local reality. You pulled your gun and kept your back to the wall, moving fast. Caleb came in on the other side, gravity already building at his hands, the air around his knuckles bending in a way that meant he was ready.
The Wanderer was enormous, the geometry of it not quite making sense no matter which angle you looked from. It moved fast for something that size, swinging a limb in your direction before you'd fully cleared the corner.
You fired twice. The shots connected and it shrieked, momentum redirected enough that the hit meant for you shattered a section of wall instead.
"Flank!" Caleb called.
You were already going wide. He pulled gravity in from the left, compressing the Wanderer's movement, slowing it just enough for you to get behind it and put three more shots into the joint where two of its limbs connected. It screamed and lurched sideways.
"Keep it off the street," you yelled over the noise.
"Working on it." He dragged it backward with a gravity pull that made the pavement crack under the force of it, steering it further into the alley.
It was not a clean fight. It kept redirecting, slamming into the walls, filling the alley with debris that you had to dodge while maintaining your sight lines.
Eventually the thing started to slow. Eventually it disappeared.
Then you saw it.
On the ground where the Wanderer had dissolved — a Protocore, small, throwing off an iridescent white that you'd never seen from a Wanderer before.
"That's not standard," Caleb said, coming to stand beside you. He crouched down to look at it without touching it. "I've never seen one this color."
"Me neither." You holstered your gun. "I should take it to HQ."
"Agreed." You crouched beside him, reaching for the core at the same time he did, and your hands closed around it simultaneously.
White light erupted.
It collapsed inward, pulling everything —sound, light, air, the alley— into a point of white noise and wind, and then nothing, a few seconds later there was a floor coming up very fast.
You hit the carpet with a thud that knocked the breath out of you.
Caleb landed beside you, one arm slamming down to catch his weight before he pushed himself up.
"Are you hurt," he said, breathing hard.
You did a fast inventory. "No. You?"
"No." He looked up. Looked around.
You were inside a huge apartment. Carpeted floor and warm light from the windows. A long couch. A coffee table with papers on it. A mug. A jacket draped over the back of a chair.
Someone's apartment.
You stood up slowly. Caleb was already at the bookshelf, and you followed, and then you saw the first photo and everything in your chest felt strange.
It was you. You and Caleb, standing somewhere sunny, laughing at something out of frame. You were wearing a jacket you didn't own. His hair was slightly different, grown out and pushed back.
There were more. The two of you at a restaurant, faces close across a small table. A shot of you asleep on a couch, and Caleb sitting at the other end with a book, but whoever had taken the photo had caught him looking at you and not at the page.
Your throat felt tight.
"This is my apartment," Caleb said quietly, from somewhere to your left.
You turned to look at him. He was looking at the leather jacket on the chair. His leather jacket, the one currently in his wardrobe back at the base. A pilot's manual on the shelf, the same one he'd been working through. A mug from the Farspace Fleet. A framed photo of your grandmother that matched the one at home.
"The photos—" you started.
"I know."
He crossed to the coffee table, picked up the newspaper and scanned the top page. He held it out.
The date at the top was two years from now. Exactly two years.
---
You spent the rest of the afternoon going through the apartment with careful attention, very aware you were somewhere you weren't supposed to be. You were trying to understand what the last two years had produced.
Caleb's future self left notes everywhere. Fridge, desk, bathroom mirror. His handwriting but with a different quality to it, more settled. There were more photos than you'd first noticed — tucked into the edges of the mirror in the hallway, stuck to the inside of a cabinet. A birthday card in your handwriting on the desk, standing open. A second toothbrush in the bathroom.
You both looked at that for a moment.
"I'm not going to say anything about any of this," you said finally, standing in the kitchen with your arms crossed.
"Good call," Caleb said, from the doorway.
"I'm —this is a lot of information."
"It is."
"And I'm not drawing any conclusions."
He went quiet.
The sun went down. The apartment went from warm gold to dark while you sat on the floor of the living room eating crackers you'd found in the cabinet, your backs against the couch, the Protocore sitting on the coffee table throwing faint white light across the ceiling.
"We'll figure out how to get back," Caleb said.
"I know."
"Same energy that brought us here should be able to—"
"Caleb, I know. I'm not panicking."
He looked at you sideways. "You're quieter than your normal quiet."
"I'm just thinking."
He nodded slowly. Ate a cracker. Didn't push it, he knew when to let something sit. Almost two decades of knowing each other and he'd learned exactly where the lines were.
You were about to say something else when you heard it.
Voices outside.
Both of you were on your feet before the door handle moved. Caleb stepped toward the entryway on pure instinct and you grabbed his arm with both hands and pulled.
"Don't," you said, low and fast.
"I just want to see—"
"You cannot make contact with yourself. Do you understand what that does to the timeline? Do you understand what happens if you alter something?"
"I wasn't going to —"
"Caleb." You got in front of him, hands on his chest, looking up at him with full seriousness. "We hide. Right now. We have to wait."
He looked at the door. The handle was starting to move.
"Fine," he said before he grabbed the protocore and then your wrist to pull you toward the hallway closet in two long strides, opening it fast and pulling you in after him, easing the door shut.
The closet was full. Coats, bags, a stack of boxes on the floor that immediately became a problem because you had nowhere to step back, which meant you were now pressed against Caleb from your shoulders to your knees.
You could feel every breath he took.
"This is very small," you whispered.
"I know," he said, directly behind your ear.
His arms were on either side of you because there was nowhere else for them. His chin was above your head. You could feel him making adjustments to keep whatever minimal distance physics was willing to offer, and it was working as well as you'd expect. Which was not well.
You were two childhood friends in a closet in an apartment that was apparently his, two years in the future, surrounded by photographic evidence of something neither of you had said out loud yet, and he was doing his very best not to press against you and his very best was losing badly to the laws of spatial reasoning.
The front door opened.
Through the slats of the closet door, the living room light clicked on.
"I told you." Your own voice, but looser, threaded through with laughter that had a very specific quality to it. "I told you we shouldn't have had that last drink."
"Yeah," came the reply. Caleb's voice, except it was rougher and stripped of the easy warmth you knew and replaced with something that made the back of your neck prickle. "You were flirting with the bartender just to watch me lose it."
"Maybe I was." Future you sounded unrepentant about this.
Through the slats you watched two people stumble into the living room and your brain took several seconds to process what your eyes were seeing. She was in a dress, form fitting, gorgeous, currently half unzipped down the back. Future Caleb had shed his jacket somewhere between the door and the living room, his shirt untucked with half the buttons open, chest visible, hair slightly wrecked.
Behind you, Caleb had gone completely rigid. You felt it happen, every muscle in his body locking up at once.
Then future Caleb grabbed future you by the waist and walked her backward into the living room wall.
The impact was loud. What followed was louder, the sound of them kissing, which was not the word for what was happening, kissing implied something with more restraint than this. Future Caleb had his hands in her hair and on her waist and sliding down to bunch the fabric of her dress up her thighs, all at the same time.
You made a sound you hadn't planned on making.
Caleb's hand came over your mouth so fast you didn't even see it coming, his palm pressing firm and warm against your lips, his forearm across your collarbone. His chest was heaving against your back and something else was pressing against the small of your back that you were both absolutely not acknowledging.
You made a muffled sound against his hand anyway.
His arm tightened.
Future Caleb pulled back just far enough to speak "You want to play games tonight?" A pause, heavy with intent. "Let's find out how loud I can make you scream."
He pushed his hand up her skirt.
You'd never made that sound in your life. Or apparently you would. In two years. Against that wall.
"Caleb—wait, wait—the couch—"
That was it. That was enough. Your hand shot out in the dark and found the closet door handle and you grabbed it.
Caleb's hand came off your mouth and closed around your wrist, pulling it back against you, his mouth dropping to your ear.
"Don't you dare," he breathed.
"We have to stop watching this—" you hissed.
"If you open that door they'll see us—"
"Then they see us—"
"And alter the timeline," he said. "Your words. Two minutes ago."
He was right and it was the worst possible moment for him to be right.
"Just—" His voice came out strained "Just don't move."
"Caleb—"
"I'm a guy, and you are literally grinding into me," he snapped softly, though there was no real anger in it. His forehead dropped briefly to the back of your head. "Just..." sigh "give me a second."
Outside the closet Caleb lifted her clean off the floor. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her the few steps to the couch and dropped her onto it.
His hands yanked the straps of her dress down, baring her breasts. He pinched a nipple, and she arched with a sharp cry. "You are so fucking wet already. Been thinking about my cock all day? Want me to stretch that pretty pussy out right here?"
"Yes—fuck, Caleb, touch me," she gasped, hips grinding up.
Your breath hitched. Heat flooded between your legs, sudden and embarrassing. Caleb's cock twitched against your ass and you had to bite your lip to stay quiet.
Future Caleb reached down and shoved his pants off. You couldn't look away. He was big, thick, flushed, veins standing out. Ready.
Panic hit you. "Don't look," you whispered frantically. "That's... me. Turn around or do something—"
"Like hell," he said against your ear, teeth grazing the shell. "You're the one staring. You like seeing him like that? Seeing what I— what he wants to do to you?"
"Caleb, shut up," you whimpered, thighs pressing together.
He didn't fuck her right away. He grabbed her ankles, yanked her to the edge of the couch, and spread her wide. Dropped to his knees.
"Caleb—" she started, but it dissolved into a broken moan as he buried his face between her legs.
The sound of his tongue working her was loud and messy, completely shameless. Her head dropped back against the cushions, fingers twisted tight into the fabric, her whole body shaking every time he dragged his tongue over her clit in greedy strokes. He licked broad stripes up her slit before focusing on her clit again, sucking it into his mouth with a low groan.
"Fuck, you taste so good,”Caleb growled against her pussy, voice muffled but clear enough to carry.
"Just like that baby” she moaned, one hand fisting his hair, the other still twisting in the couch cushion.
He pinched her nipple hard with his free hand, rolling it between his fingers as he sucked harder. Her thighs trembled around his head.
Behind you, Caleb let out a broken groan that made your knees go soft. His arm snapped around your waist, holding you steady, fingers digging into your hip the exact same way his future self was gripping her out there.
“Fuck,” you whispered, head falling back against his shoulder before you could stop yourself. Your pussy was throbbing, aching so bad it almost hurt.
“Listen to that. Listen to how wet you get for me.” Caleb shifted his hips, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your ass through your jeans, dragging the seam right over your soaked cunt.
On the couch, she was losing it. "I need you inside me. I can’t wait anymore.”
Future Caleb pulled back, mouth shiny, breathing hard. He stroked himself once, twice, then lined up and drove into her in one rough thrust. Her legs wrapped around him as he started fucking her deep and hard, the couch creaking like it might give out any second. His back and ass flexed with every thrust, hips snapping forward. “Gonna come on my cock like a good girl?”
He leaned over her, one hand pinning her thigh higher as he fucked her. “Gonna fill you up. Want you leaking my cum the rest of the night. You love being my dirty little slut, don’t you? Say it.”
“Oh my god,” you choked, voice barely there. Watching yourself get railed like that—by him—was too much. The guy whose arms were currently locked around your waist, the same guy you’d known since you were kids, was pounding into a future version of you like he owned her.
She gasped between moans, nails now digging into his back. “Yes—your slut, Caleb—harder—”
“That’s my girl.” His hips snapped faster “Come on my cock like you did last night."
In the closet, Caleb’s forehead dropped to your shoulder, his cock twitched hard against your ass, hips making tiny, helpless thrusts.
You couldn’t tear your eyes away, every filthy word making the ache between your legs worse.
“Jesus,” Caleb whispered raggedly “We really talk like that?”
You twisted hard, trying to turn around in the cramped space so you wouldn’t have to see it anymore.
“Stop moving,” Caleb gasped, his control fraying fast as your ass rubbed right over the head of his cock.
“I can’t watch this—let me turn—”
Your foot caught on a heavy boot buried in the mess at the bottom of the closet. Balance gone.
“Whoa—” Caleb grabbed for you, but it was too late. Your combined weight slammed into the door.
The cheap magnetic latch popped open with a sad little click.
The squeaking of the couch cut off like someone had yanked the plug on the whole universe.
The silence that followed rang in your ears. You pushed up on your elbows, face so hot you were surprised you hadn’t spontaneously combusted. Caleb was beside you, shirt rucked up, the very obvious, very hard line of his erection pressing against your thigh.
You both slowly turned your heads toward the couch.
A few meters away, future Caleb was frozen mid thrust, hands locked on future you’s hips, his body still buried deep inside her. She had one leg hooked high around his waist, hair a wild mess, chest heaving. Both of them stared at you with identical expressions of what the actual fuck.
They were a sweaty, flushed disaster, very naked and very, very mid fuck.
“What the…” future Caleb started.
Future you blinked slowly. “Is that… us?”
You opened your mouth, brain offering the most useless sentence in history. “We were just looking for soy sauce—”
The white light from the Protocore exploded again. The apartment, the couch, your naked and extremely confused future selves—all of it ripped away in a roar of rushing air.
Thud.
You hit the dirty alley hard enough to knock the wind out of you again.
Caleb groaned beside you, flat on his back, one arm flung over his eyes. His chest rose and fell in sharp pulls. You could still feel the ghost of his hardness against you, the way his fingers had dug into your hip in the closet. Your own body was still buzzing, thighs slick, pulse pounding between your legs like a second heartbeat.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Caleb let out a shaky laugh that sounded half hysterical. “Soy sauce. Really?”
You rolled onto your side, wincing at the scrapes on your elbows. “It was the first thing that came to mind, okay? We just watched ourselves— I mean, they— we were—” You gestured vaguely, face burning all over again. “You know.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
He sat up slowly and ran a hand through his hair. The front of his shorts was still a bit tented. He didn’t bother trying to hide it. You weren’t exactly in a position to judge, your nipples were tight against your shirt, and you were pretty sure your face was the color of a ripe tomato.
The protocore gave one last weak shimmer and dissolved into harmless blue dust that scattered across the pavement.
Caleb looked at you. “So… two years from now, huh?”
You swallowed. “Apparently we, uh… figured some things out.”
He huffed another laugh, but it was softer this time. Almost wondering. He reached over and brushed a bit of alley dirt off your cheek with his thumb. The touch lingered.
“We should probably go”
You nodded, but neither of you stood up right away. The air between you felt thicker than the summer humidity, charged with everything you’d just seen and felt in that stupid closet.
Caleb’s gaze dropped to your mouth for a second, then flicked back up. “When we get back to the house…”
“Yeah?” you whispered.
He smiled, small and crooked and a little nervous, the same smile he’d given you a thousand times growing up, except this one felt different.
“I’m not waiting two years,” he said.
Your heart did something complicated in your chest.
You grabbed his hand, pulled him up with you, and the two of you started walking out of the alley like nothing had happened.
But everything had happened.
And as your fingers brushed again while you walked, neither of you pulled away.
A Protocore throws you and Xavier two years into the future. You end up on his balcony. Your future selves end up against the glass door 😏.
CW: Smut. Jealousy. P in V 🔞MDNI🔞
Huge thanks to @stardustsirens for helping me with this series! 🧡🧡🧡
Caleb's part here
"Please tell me that's the last one"
The air reeked of burned grass and dead wanderers. You let out a long breath and let your shoulders drop as the last Wanderer dissolved into light that flickered once and went dark.
A few paces away, Xavier had a few hair strands stuck to his forehead and a thin sheen of sweat at his throat, and that was the extent of the damage. Meanwhile you looked like you'd been dragged behind a truck.
"Perimeter's clear," he said, quiet, like nothing in the world could rattle him. He crossed the debris toward you, boots crunching over glass and rubble. "You're bleeding, though."
You looked down. A chunk of crystal debris had opened a gash along your calf and you hadn't even noticed.
"Huh. Didn't feel that happen."
"Let me look at it." He dropped to one knee, taking a bandage roll out of your hands before you'd even fully pulled it from your pouch.
His hands were warm. Warmer than it made sense, given the cold. When he folded the torn fabric of your pants back to get at the wound, his fingers grazed bare skin and something jumped straight up your spine. You bit down on the inside of your cheek so you wouldn't make a sound about it.
This was the problem with Xavier. Some days he fell asleep against your shoulder like it was the safest place in the world. Other days he kept a careful distance between you and answered everything in a polite, unreadable tone, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.
"Does that hurt?" his thumb pressed against the unbroken skin just above it — the touch was not necessary to wrap the bandage.
"A little," you said, watching the top of his head, how the moonlight caught the color of his hair. "Xavier. Can I ask you something?"
His hands didn't stop moving, but his shoulders went still. "Yeah."
"Why do you do this?" You asked flatly, too tired to dress it up. "Sometimes I think we’re... I don't know, really close. And then other times, you look at me like I'm just another Hunter from the Association. It's confusing."
He finished tying off the gauze, stood up and finally looked at you "I just think about things. More than I probably should."
He reached out to help you up, hands closing firm around your forearms.
"Think about what?"
You went to test your weight on the bandaged leg and the ground chose that second to be uneven. You pitched forward, right into him, your chest hitting his. His hands slid from your arms to your waist to catch you.
Neither of you moved.
You could feel his heart going fast under his uniform, which didn't match the calm on his face at all. His eyes dropped to your mouth, came back up.This is happening, you thought, a little dizzy with it. He's actually going to—.
His grip on your waist tightened. Something cracked open behind his eyes, just for a second "You shouldn't stand this close to me"
"Xavier—"
He stepped back before you could get anything else out.
Crunch. Something snapped under his boot.
A white protocore.
He picked it and it suddenly went off with light, a white light expanding outward faster than you could track. The air got sucked straight out of your lungs. Your ears popped hard enough to hurt, and then the ruins, the sky, and everything else was sucked into a roar of wind that yanked you forward like the world had grabbed you by the throat.
You hit something solid and warm.
"Oof — sorry —"
A grunt came from underneath you. You blinked against sudden dark, hands slapping down flat against Xavier's chest. You were sprawled on top of him, legs tangled, face mashed against his neck.
"Oh my god." You scrambled back so fast you scraped your palms on the floor. "Sorry — are you okay?"
Xavier sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, hair falling into his eyes. "Fine. Are you hurt?"
"No, I— " You stopped. Looked around. "Wait."
You weren't standing in the ruins anymore. You were standing on a balcony with black wrought iron railing and a view of city streets that looked oddly familiar.
"Is this our building?" You turned in a slow circle, "Xavier, did you just teleport us home?"
"I didn't teleport us anywhere."
"You definitely did something..."
"I didn't" He was already moving past you toward the railing, scanning it like it might answer a question you hadn't asked yet.
"Okay, well, something got us here," you said, following him. "So if it wasn't you, what was it?"
He didn't answer right away. He crouched by one of the plants, fingers brushing the soil. Damp. Recently turned. "I don't have an explanation for this."
"When did you get so many plants?."
He moved to a small table near, where two mugs sat, both used, one rimmed faintly with lipstick.
"This is kind of freaking me out."
You spotted a newspaper folded beside the mugs and reached for it before he could stop you.
The date on the header didn't make sense. You read it twice.
"Xavier." You held it out to him, throat tight.
He took it, scanning it fast, and for the first time all night something like real alarm broke through his usual calm. "This is two years out."
"Two years." You said it slow, testing the weight of it. "Okay. We're just —somewhere else. Somewhere with your exact view, which is a really specific coincidence, but fine, sure, this is wrong, so so wrong—"
"Calm down."
"Xavier."
"What."
You pointed, wordless, toward the far corner of the balcony, where a lumpy, badly painted bird feeder hung crooked from its hook, one wing chipped clean off. You'd have known it anywhere.
"That's Fatso"s" you said.
Xavier followed your finger, and whatever he'd been telling himself died on his face.
You grabbed for your communicator on reflex. Dead screen. "No signal," you said, more to yourself than to him.
"Mine's the same. Clock's not even holding steady." He pocketed the device "We need to see what's inside. If someone's living here, we ask them what year it is."
"Oh yeah because that is a completely normal question to walk in and ask a stranger."
"Stay behind me," he reached for the handle on the sliding glass door, testing the weight of it without committing to opening it yet. Behind the curtain, something moved.
You froze. Your fingers found the sleeve of his uniform and held on.
A hand pressed flat against the glass from the other side of the curtain, fingers spread.
Xavier looked ready to run.
A second hand appeared beside it. Bigger. Scarred across the knuckles. Something in your chest went cold with recognition even before your brain caught up. The second hand moved to close over the first, fingers lacing through.
There were two people on the other side of that door. And from the way the curtain was moving, they were not just standing there.
"Xavier," you whispered, barely any air behind it at all.
He didn't answer. He didn't move his hand off the door either —just stood there frozen, staring at those hands through the glass like his whole nervous system had collapsed.
Then he moved. His hand closed around your shoulder and pulled, one smooth backward motion that tucked you both into a narrow space where the balcony wall met the building's outer brick. The spot was tight —barely enough room for two people to stand without touching —and the angle it gave you was merciless. The glass door sat directly in your line of sight, lit from inside.
You should have looked away immediately.
But you didn't.
The curtains moved a bit. Two bodies, pressed close. The woman's face was hidden, her head tipped back behind the line of the man's shoulder. His face was visible. Hair catching the light. That jaw.
Xavier
The anger came fast and hot and settled behind your sternum like coal. Months of warmth and then distance. Months of patience that felt like it was always just about to become something and never did —and here was the answer to all of it, pressed against a glass door in an apartment that was still his, two years from now, with someone else.
He was kissing her the way someone kisses when they've stopped being careful about it. Deep, his hands dragging her back against him, the movements of his lower body slow and unmistakable.
You looked away. Focused on a crack running through the middle of the wall beside you. Breathed through your nose.
Beside you, Xavier was still looking. His face was flushed.
"Is that—" His voice came out wrong.
"Yup," you said. The bitterness in it sharper than you'd intended. "That's you"
A sound came through the glass.
The impact of skin against the glass door followed immediately by a broken moan, the sound dragged your eyes back to the glass door against your will.
The curtain had been pulled aside all the way.
The view was now unobstructed.
The woman was pressed flat against the glass, her bare breasts against the cold pane, her hands finding the frame for something to hold onto. Her face was fully visible now.
The anger in your chest went out like a light.
It was your face.
Your shoulders, your hands, the sound of your own voice coming through the glass in pieces, breathless and nothing like anything you'd heard from yourself before. Your future self's cheek was pressed to the glass too, eyes half closed, lips parted around sounds that weren't words.
Future Xavier's teeth found her shoulder and bit down, not gently, leaving something that would be visible tomorrow. His hand came around the front of her, sliding between her thighs to line his beautiful cock against her entrance.
Then he drove forward.
The sound she made came through the glass loud and clear and a small involuntary noise started building in your own throat.
Xavier's palm came over your mouth.
Fast. Firm. His fingers sealing the sound in before it could escape. His hand was shaking.
The glass door shook with the next impact. And the next.
Xavier had his mouth at her ear saying something you couldn't hear through the glass but could read in the way her expression changed when he said it.
Xavier made half a sound against the back of your head and he immediately swallowed the other half.
You felt it anyway. Felt the way his arm tightened across your chest, felt the unsteady rhythm of his breathing where his chest pressed into your back.
You couldn't look away from his face —the future version of the face that was currently breathing against your temple— wearing an expression you'd never seen on him before.
"Xavier," you said, against his palm. Muffled.
His arm tightened.
"Xavier." Louder this time, enough that he could feel the shape of his name against his hand.
His mouth dropped to your ear "Don't move." The words came out rough "If they see us—"
Inside the apartment, your future self pressed her palm hard against her lips.
Future Xavier's hand closed around her wrist.
He pulled it down. He held her hand at her side and kept it there, and when she turned her face toward him he was already looking at her.
He wanted to hear her.
Below you a glass door scraped open.
One floor down, a man stepped out onto his balcony. Cigarette unlit between his fingers, head tilted slightly, listening to the night.
You pressed further into the shadow.
The rhythm inside the apartment changed. Not slower. The opposite. The glass shook in its frame and the sounds coming through it stopped being something that could be mistaken for anything else, and the man one floor down stopped trying to light his cigarette.
You looked at future Xavier's face.
His eyes were angled down and to the left.
He picked up the pace.
She tried again, her hand came up toward her mouth. Future Xavier caught her wrist without looking and his mouth moved against her ear again.
Whatever it was, she stopped trying to be quiet.
You thought about what you'd just watched him do. The escalation. The man on the balcony below. The reason your future self's hand kept getting pulled back down.
Was he jealous of that stranger?
Inside, her feet left the ground. Xavier had both arms around her, her arms caught under his, breast bouncing with every thrust.
You saw it first.
An unmistakable pressure beneath the surface of her stomach. Moving with every thrust. A belly bulge.
Your mouth went dry.
She was dripping. You could see it even through the glass —the inside of her thighs slick and glistening where his movements had worked everything down, coating her skin, catching the apartment light every time he pulled back. The glass had a faint fog to it from her breath, small clouds appearing and disappearing with each exhale.
The deep flush running from her chest to her throat made something in your lower stomach pull tight.
The Xavier beside you tracked every place her body responded to him, her hardened nipples, the way her toes curled against nothing, the flutter beneath her skin that mapped exactly where he was.
Crash
A flower pot.
It hit the floor and you both stopped breathing.
Inside the apartment, silence.
Immediate and total.
Through the glass you watched future Xavier's head come up. No panic in it. No confusion. Just a slow turn toward the sound, his eyes moving through the dark until they found the spot where the two of you were standing.
He couldn't see you. The angle was wrong, the shadow too deep.
He knew someone was there anyway.
His expression went cold and your future self said something against his chest. The curtain moved slowly across the glass from inside and the light behind it went out.
You had thirty seconds. Maybe less.
Xavier crouched beside you. The Protocore looked small against his palm, throwing a faint white pulse between his fingers for just a second.
The glass door began to slide open.
The air changed, the balcony, the broken pot, the man with his unlit cigarette, all of it collapsing into white noise and rushing dark.
You hit the ground hard. Your knees met broken stone, the air was knocked out of you on impact and you spent the first few seconds just existing on the ground.
Xavier landed beside you.
You pushed yourself up to sitting. "So..."
Xavier said nothing.
"That was weird."
Still nothing.
"We were—"
"I saw it" he opened his hand and noticed the Protocore was gone "I was standing right next to you."
"So we're both aware of what we watched."
"Yes."
"And we're not going to talk about it?"
He looked at you. "Are you going to be able to not talk about it?"
"Probably not."
He made a sound that wasn't quite a sigh, stood up and offered you a hand. You took it and he pulled you to your feet and didn't immediately let go.
"That man on the balcony," you said.
Xavier's jaw moved. "What about him."
"Future you saw him and then—"
"I know what he did." He dropped your hand. Turned to look at anything that wasn't your face. "You don't need to walk me through it."
"I'm just—" You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to smile, it felt inappropriate and also completely unavoidable "Was he showing off?"
"We're not talking about that."
"Xavier—"
"Not yet." He said it quietly. Just a line in the ground, clearly drawn. "Not tonight. There's—" He exhaled. "There's a lot I need to sit with before I talk about any of it."
You nodded. That felt fair.
You started walking, picking your way back through the rubble toward the gap in the wall where you'd come in, and Xavier fell into step beside you like he always did —slightly behind, slightly to your left, a position that meant he could see everything around you before you could.
The walk back was quiet. You were almost at the gap in the wall when he spoke.
"Can I ask you something."
"Go ahead."
He was quiet for a beat. Just long enough that you glanced over at him.
"Future me?" he said. "Or me?"
You stopped walking. "What?"
"You heard me. Who do you like more?
"Xavier, that's not—you are the same person—"
"Future me is two years ahead and has information I don't have and he was doing—" a small pause, "—things to you that I have not yet done. So. Future me or me?"
You stared at him.
He stared back.
"That is the most ridiculous question you've ever asked me"
"Humor me."
"You"
Something in his face changed.
"Good," he said.
"But future you did have his—"
The not quite smile disappeared. "We're going home," he said, and turned toward the gap in the wall.
You followed him, and you were very glad he was walking ahead of you this time because the smile on your face was not something you were ready to explain.
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