Fun tag game idea: say something that most of your followers wouldn’t actually know
I’ll start first: I am actually married. Irl. I have a husband. I know it’s surprising considering the Tumblr spouses, but my husband thinks it’s funny.
gangalang i havent been in a tag game in a hot minute holy hell... also shoutout to lovely 🌙 ( @ravensncrowsx )
when i was younger i got an ass ton of hatchimals (like when they were popular) and now that they're discontinued i could lowkey make bank someday w them cus i still have them somewhere in my room
tagging: @dontmindtestaccount @kovu-bunnbunn @flowernoor + other gangalangs
I really really love the rain, whether it's being in it, staying indoors while it pours, or just watching the drops fall from the sky and trail down the car windows
i bet most of y'all don't know that i am writing a novel series!!! it's in the early stages but one day ya girl will be a published author (no fanfiction does not count btw i have been asked that)
tagging my baes @nanamitaaa @carienations @d3cay1ngst4tic @satorus-princess @shokocide + anyone else who wants to join (i just woke up i can't remember much)
okay i'm lowkey sleeping with this guy rn and it's purely because his physique is somewhat reminiscent of gojo in this one fan art by @/thatsallitcheif that i added to my first ever fic , and instead of thinking about him i'm thinking of gojo LMFAO IS THAT BAD. (he was at my place and he saw my gojo cutout on my door (real ones know from the tiktok i made the other day @/sixxels subtle plug) and he literally posed next to it and told me to take a photo not knowing that's who i'm really fantasising abt..)
anyways that's sending me straight to hell but oh well.
im,,,,studying to go to med school rn well technically im not out of highschool yet,,,im still in year 12) and im a raging bisexual whos terrified of romantic intimacy even if ive been in relationships b4 (only online tho,,,) gn 😋
Sharing this as tea that somehow feels fake. I got unofficially proposed to by a hot CEO who blushes at the sound of my name LMAO (he's almost my age dw), annddd I might meet him next week. doing it for the plot and potential fic inspo
Further tagging @starrnado @3ardnpc @sweetieelilii @luvinbloom @wetforsylus
♡ Thank you for the tags @luvinbloom and @blessdunrest ♡
Something that most of my followers don't know about me:
I did classical ballet for 10 years. When I was a kid, my teacher told my mom that I could probably dance at the opera if I wanted, but then puberty hit and my stupid feet had other plans! Got so bad that I've actually had surgery on my left foot lol. It helped with some of my pains, but I also lost a lot of mobility. . .
No pressure tags ♡ @gardenialily ♡ @lowkeylaufeysons ♡ @deepspacenova ♡ @atzeroo ♡
. . . sorry if you've already been tagged lol
That's such an amazing story, I'm so sorry to hear about your foot though!! I hope the pain is manageable nowadays and you are doing better!🤗
Say something that most of your followers wouldn’t actually know:
To be honest, there's quite a lot I haven't shared about myself on here before, so I'll just go for the one that is taking up most of my life:
I'm currently pursuing a master's degree in business administration! Graduating next year and hoping that in another two years I can get the qualifications for my dream job!🤭
No pressure tags: @xaviersbunny @starlitsofia @heartofafiend
(Sorry if you have been tagged already!)
I’m actually a huge bio nerd. I spend an embarrassing amount of time reading up on medicine and I’m lowkey (highkey) aiming to be a doctor one day. Also, I’m currently trilingual! I speak 3 languages already, but I’m really interested in learning even more <3
no pressure tags: @tbaluver @wetforsylus (sorry if you’ve already been tagged)
i recently stumbled upon this tiktok and was wondering how lads men would react if reader did this prank on them
https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSPY1o7gT/
thankyouuu i love your posts sm <3333
Pranking him into thinking he planned a date and forgot
𝜗℘ feat. rafayel, xavier, zayne, sylus, caleb.
A/N: Hi!! Thanks for the request, I had a lot of fun writing this. Thanks for all the love ♡
— 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋
Rafayel knows when things are his idea. He prides himself on it. Which is why the moment he steps into the apartment and sees candlelight reflecting off the glass table, his first instinct isn't to delight, it’s suspicion.
He pauses. Slowly. Like a man walking into a room that looks a little too staged.
“…Did something happen?” He asks, coat still on, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
You glance up from where you’re pretending to fix the playlist. “Hm? Oh no. Why?”
He gestures vaguely. “The candles. The drink. The fact that you somehow ordered from that place I said was ‘overpriced but tolerable’ three months ago.”
You blink at him. Once. “Raf, you literally planned this.”
Silence.
He laughs sharp and quickly. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did. You said you wanted a ‘low-effort, high-aesthetic’ night in. Your words.”
His brows knit together. He opens his mouth and closes it. You can almost see him rifling through his memory like a filing cabinet that should contain this information.
“I… would remember that.”
You hum thoughtfully, crossing the room. “You were tired. You said you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. You even told me not to dress up.”
That lands. Because that does sound like him.
Rafayel exhales slowly, fingers brushing his jaw. His confidence wavers just a little. “I suppose… that’s possible.”
You push it further. Hand him the drink. Sit exactly where you’d sit if this were his plan. When he finally settles into the couch, it’s with the air of someone accepting responsibility for a choice he doesn’t fully recall making.
Halfway through dinner, he studies you over the rim of his glass. “If I planned this,” he says carefully, “why does it feel like you’re watching me enjoy it?”
You smile sweetly. “Because you’re cute when you’re surprised.”
Later, much later, when you admit it was all you, he doesn’t get mad. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, amusement curling warm and fond.
“So you manipulated me into romance,” he murmurs. “How dangerous and effective cutie, don’t ever stop.”
— 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑
Xavier walks in humming and stops mid-note.
The room is glowing. Soft lights. Snacks laid out with ridiculous care. A little handwritten card on the table that says date night! in your handwriting.
He blinks. “Oh.”
You look up. “What?”
“I didn’t realize we were… doing this tonight.”
You frown. “Xavier. You planned this.”
His smile falters. “I- did I?”
“Yes! You said you wanted something cozy. No missions. No interruptions. Just us.”
His confusion is immediate and painfully genuine. He scratches the back of his neck, thinking hard. “I don’t… remember saying that.”
You grab his hands before he can spiral. “You were half-asleep. You said it right before you passed out.”
That explains everything. He nods slowly, relief washing over his face. “Oh. Okay. That makes sense.”
He brightens instantly, slipping into excitement like it was always meant to be there. “Wait, then this is my playlist?” He beams. “I have good taste.”
You let him ramble. Let him proudly explain “his” plan. Let him apologize for not remembering every detail.
The guilt hits him later when he’s hugging you from behind, murmuring, “Even if I forgot.” he murmurs, “I’m glad we’re here.”
That’s when you break.
He stares at you, processing all the information, then laughs softly and breathlessly. “You tricked me? You’re sneaky.”
“You were adorable.”
He pulls you closer, forehead pressed to yours. “Okay,” he says quietly, smiling. “But next time, I really will plan it. Just to keep up.”
— 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄
Zayne notices immediately.
The lights are wrong. The apartment smells like food he didn’t cook. There’s music, not background noise, but intentional.
He removes his gloves slowly. “Why does it look like a date?”
You don’t even look at him. “Because it is.”
He stops. “I didn’t plan a date.”
You finally turn. Calm. Certain. “Yes, you did.”
“No. I would remember.”
You walk up to him, fixing his collar like this is routine. “You said we needed a break. That you wanted one night without thinking.”
That… gives him pause.
“You said not to argue,” you added gently. “So I didn’t.”
His jaw tightens. He exhales through his nose. Zayne hates gaps in his memory, but he hates disappointing you more.
“…Alright,” he says after a moment. “If I planned it.”
The rest of the night he’s quiet but attentive. Like he’s trying to live up to a promise he’s no longer sure he made.
When you finally confess, he closes his eyes slowly.
“You’re dangerous,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. Only a faint, betrayed smile. He cups your face. “Do it again, and I will plan the next one. Properly.”
— 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒
Sylus doesn’t buy it.
He steps inside, surveys the room once, then looks at you. “You arranged this.”
You smile. “You did.”
“No.”
“You left instructions.”
He studies your face for tells. Finds none. His gaze flicks back to the setup, too precise to be random, too intimate to be careless.
“…I don’t leave things unfinished,” he says slowly. “If I planned this, I would’ve remembered.”
You tilt your head. “You trusted me to handle the details.”
That’s the mistake. Because that is something he would do.
Minutes pass. He sits. “I’ll humor this,” he says calmly. “For now.” He accepts the glass you hand him. Watching you with narrowed eyes the entire time.
Only at the end when you show him the proof does he exhale a low, incredulous laugh.
“I knew halfway through,” he admits. “I wanted to see how far you’d go.”
He reaches for you, thumb brushing your knuckles. “That doesn’t happen often.”
— 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁
Caleb walks in and freezes.
“…Why does this look like a date?”
You grin. “Because you planned it.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did! You said you wanted something nice. Said you’d been busy and wanted to make it up to me.”
He squints, trying to remember, fails, and then rubs his face. “That sounds like something I’d say.”
You nod emphatically.
He laughs, embarrassed but pleased. “I guess I’m better at romance than I thought.”
He spends the night proudly claiming it, bragging and teasing you about how “he surprised you.”
When you tell him the truth, he groans, dropping back on the couch. “You tricked me into being romantic?”
You shrug. “Worked, didn’t it?”
“I knew something was off,” he laughs, pulling you down with him. “Didn't care.”
Rafayel Romano lives two lives: sharp-tongued and charming by day, and Nova City’s shadow-lit vigilante by night.
Your lives collide the night he crashes through your window injured, masked, and entirely too breathtaking for someone bleeding on your floor.
What begins as accidental involvement spirals into something deeper: trust, heat, and the kind of partnership that terrifies him more than the criminals he hunts.
✧ 𝐂𝐖: +18, MDNI, violence, injuries, threats, angst, emotional vulnerability, mature themes in select parts (explicit chapters marked with ✦), vigilante/hero AU, slow-burn romance
✧ 𝐖𝐂: 2.1k
✧ 𝐀/𝐍: After taking a bit longer than expected, the prologue is finally here. Thanks for reading, and I hope you like it ♡
series masterlist ✦ next chapter >>
Your apartment was supposed to be silent at this hour.
High above Nova City, the hum of the streets softened by distance, fog, and neon, it should have been calm. Just you, your water, and the faint noise of the air purifier a place where nothing dramatic could reach you.
A place you chose precisely because nothing ever happened here, which is why the shattering crash made no sense at first.
Glass rained across your hardwood floor. The curtain billowed as if inhaling sharply, and a heavy figure tumbled in, colliding with your bookshelf and sending a storm of books, trinkets, and memories clattering to the floor.
You screamed.
Your glass of water tipped, sending the liquid onto the carpet. You froze with your heart thundering.
Instinct kicked in before logic ever could. You stumbled backward as glass rained across the hardwood floor, shards skittering like insects under your feet. The curtains billowed violently, torn from their peaceful stillness, cold night air rushing in as if the city itself had lunged for you.
Someone, no, something was in your apartment.
“Oh my- oh no-”
You grabbed the nearest thing within reach, a ceramic mug, useless but heavy, and backed toward the kitchen, pulse roaring in your ears. Your mind scrambled through possibilities. Break-in. Assassin. Drunk lunatic. A body.
A body?
The figure groaned.
That sound froze you in place.
Slowly, shaking, you leaned forward enough to see him.
A man lay sprawled amid shattered glass and fallen books, tall, broad-shouldered, cloaked in dark armor that glimmered faintly with blue streaks along his chest and arms. A mask hid half his face.
Blood stained the floor beneath him.
It took you three seconds, maybe four, to process it.
“Nope,” you breathed. “No. Absolutely not.” Your knees threatened to buckle. This wasn’t real. This can't be real.
Then he lifted his head.
Pain flickered across his features, gone almost instantly, smoothed into something sharper, his eyes found you immediately, alert despite the blood loss, tracking every movement you made.
Recognition hit like a second impact.
“Oh,” you whispered, horror curling cold in your stomach. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Nightwing.
The vigilante that news outlets alternated between calling him a hero and menace. The one who slipped through shadows, faster than light, appearing wherever danger dared rise.
And now he was bleeding on your carpet.
You laughed. “This isn’t happening. This is a stress hallucination. I finally snapped.”
He lifted his head. Breath uneven. Even through the black domino mask, you recognized the sharp angles of his face and the slight curl at the edges of his mouth that suggested both mischief and menace.
Moonlight or city light caught in his eyes made them glow strangely, like they belonged to someone who didn’t quite exist in this world.
“Hey,” he rasped. “If you’re hallucinating, you picked a hell of a face.”
The sound of his voice snapped something in you.
“Don’t talk,” you shrieked. “Don’t move. Don’t- why are you here?!”
He winced, but the corner of his mouth lifted anyway. “Trust me,” he said hoarsely, “this wasn’t on my schedule tonight.”
Of all the things he could’ve said, that somehow made this worse.
You backed farther away, hand fumbling for your phone. Police. Ambulance. Literally anyone else.
“Don’t,” he said instantly.
The single word was quiet but dangerous. Commanding in a way that made your fingers still despite yourself.
“Don’t what?” you demanded. “Don’t call the cops? Don’t scream? Don’t bleed on my carpet?”
His gaze flicked to the phone, then back to your face. “If you call anyone,” he said, “this gets a lot messier for both of us.”
“You broke into my apartment!”
“I fell,” he corrected weakly. “There’s a difference.”
“...You fell through my window.” Your voice sounded far too thin, too small.
“In my defense,” he said, wincing as he pressed a gloved hand to his side, “your window got in the way.”
“You’re insane.”
He laughed under his breath, then sucked in air through his teeth as pain caught up to him. Sweat beaded along his hairline beneath the mask.
You stepped closer despite the alarm ringing in your chest. “You’re hurt.”
Your panic sharpened into something else: anger, maybe, or fear trying to look useful.
“You’re bleeding,” you said unnecessarily.
“I’ve noticed.”
“You could be dying.”
“Also noticed.”
“And you’re joking.”
“Occupational hazard,” he replied, almost casually, though the twitch in his fingers betrayed that it wasn’t entirely a joke.
You stared at him, chest heaving, glass crunching under your feet as you took a cautious step closer. Every instinct screamed at you to run to bolt out the door and never look back.
But he didn’t reach for you, he just watched you.
“Why here?” you asked, quieter now. “Out of the entire city… Why my apartment?”
Something unreadable crossed his expression. The teasing edge dulled, just slightly.
“Because I couldn’t make it anywhere else,” he admitted.
That honesty landed harder than any threat.
His knees buckled as he tried to shift again. You lunged forward without thinking, catching his arm before he could hit the floor a second time.
“Okay,” he muttered, breath brushing your ear. “That’s… embarrassing.”
“You need help, sit down.” you snapped, hauling him toward the couch with more strength than you thought you had. “Before you pass out and traumatize me forever.”
When he collapsed onto the cushions, his head tipped back, chest rising unevenly. Up close, the mask didn’t hide much sharp jawline, expressive mouth, and eyes far too bright for someone losing blood.
You hovered, shaking, then cursed softly and rushed for your first-aid kit.
“You don’t have to-” he began.
“You are not dying in my living room,” you cut in. “I draw the line there.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. Genuine. “You’re surprisingly bossy.”
“You broke my window.”
“Fair.”
You knelt beside him, hands trembling as you assessed the damage. Blood seeped through his suit along his side, dark and alarming. You worked quickly, cleaning the wound as best as you could.
You noticed how his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, the way his shoulders tensed whenever your hands brushed him, and the subtle smirk that never left his lips even when he winced.
He sighed, an exhale heavy enough to make the couch dip under him. “Alright. Maybe… slightly worse than I thought.”
You muttered under your breath, though he heard you anyway: “Slightly worse than fine. Right.”
He didn’t look away.
“You’re bad at lying,” you said, pressing gauze to the wound.
“Only when I’m bleeding.”
He hissed despite himself, fingers tightening briefly in the fabric of the couch. Then slowly he relaxed.
“Most people scream,” he murmured. “Or faint.”
“I did scream.”
“Yes,” he said lightly. “But you stayed.”
You paused.
“I don’t know why,” you admitted.
His gaze softened just for a second. “Neither do I.”
The rain outside softened to a steady rhythm. Neon reflections shimmered across the floor.
He stayed reclined against your couch cushions, breathing measuredly, eyes half-lidded but alert in that unnerving way only people trained to never fully rest could manage. You finished bandaging him with more care than confidence, fingers lingering just long enough to feel the heat beneath the suit before pulling away.
“There,” you said, sitting back on your heels. “That’s the best I can do without a medical degree or… whatever kind of illegal healing tech you vigilantes or heroes have.”
“Disappointing,” he murmured. “I was hoping for nanobots.”
“You fell through my window.”
“Still processing that, yes.”
You crossed your arms, staring at him. “You can’t stay here.”
His gaze flicked up to meet yours instantly. “Ah.”
“There’s blood. And glass. And you’re a vigilante,” you continued, pacing once, nerves buzzing. “I could get in serious trouble.”
“True,” he agreed easily.
“And I don’t even know your name.”
“That part’s intentional.”
You stopped pacing. “So you’re leaving.”
He studied you for a long moment.
“I shouldn’t stay,” he said finally. “You’re right.”
Relief loosened something in your chest only for it to tighten again when he shifted, trying to stand.
He made it halfway up before his balance failed him.
“Don’t,” you snapped, lunging forward again. “You’re going to reopen it.”
He caught himself on the back of the couch, jaw tightening. “I don’t exactly have the luxury of options.”
“You could-” You stopped yourself, exhaling sharply. “You could rest, just for a bit, until you’re steady.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You just said-”
“I know what I said,” you cut in. “I also know what you look like when you’re about to faceplant.”
He paused, then, very slowly, his shoulders eased.
“You’re terrible at setting boundaries,” he said.
“You’re terrible at listening.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “Fair.”
You disappeared into your bedroom and returned with a blanket, tossing it at him with more force than necessary. He caught it easily.
He accepted it with a nod, draping it over his shoulders without protest.
“You sleep,” you said. “On the couch. I’m locking my door. And if you try anything-”
“I’m injured, not stupid,” he replied. “And I promise, if I wanted to hurt you, tonight would’ve gone very differently.”
He settled back down, movements careful now, disciplined. You watched him for a moment longer than necessary how he positioned himself to avoid strain, how his breathing evened out despite the pain.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
You hesitated at the doorway. “Don’t make me regret it.”
His eyes met yours, unreadable but sincere. “I won’t.”
Sleep came in fragments.
Every creak of the building, every distant siren dragged you half-awake, heart racing. More than once, you cracked your door open to check on him.
Each time, he was still there.
Mask on. Breathing steady. One gloved hand resting loosely against the blanket, fingers twitching now and then like he was chasing something in his dreams.
The night stretched on in silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of rain and the faint hum of the city below.
By morning, exhaustion won.
Sunlight crept into the apartment, painting soft gold over the city haze. You woke with a stiff neck, memories of the night crashing back all at once.
The couch was empty. The blanket was folded neatly. The bloodstains were cleaned with precision. Your shattered window was temporarily sealed with plastic and tape. On the table sat your first-aid kit, and beneath it, a note.
You should replace the glass before tonight.
Sorry about the rug.
— N
You stared at it for a long time, then you scoffed. “Unbelievable.”
Life, cruelly indifferent, resumed.
You showered, dressed, and ate breakfast that tasted faintly burnt and too weak. You told yourself repeatedly that last night had been a fluke. A once-in-a-lifetime encounter that would never happen again. At least, you thought, you’d never have to see him again.
Vigilantes didn’t belong in your life.
By the time you reached your office, you almost believed it.
Almost.
The elevator doors opened to a low murmur of voices near reception. Someone new, apparently. HR paperwork. Introductions.
And then you saw him.
Violet hair, glossy beneath the lights, catching the overhead glow like it belonged there perfectly styled. Eyes the color of twilight after a storm, sharp and bright, entirely too beautiful to belong to a stranger. Handsome wasn’t enough. He was something else entirely.
He stood with easy confidence, leaning one shoulder against the desk like he owned the space without trying to. He’s wearing a tailored jacket, has a relaxed posture, and has a smile that makes people listen.
Your breath caught.
He noticed you instantly. Straightening in a fluid motion, he met your gaze. The smile he gave you was polite, then it widened just slightly. Not teasing exactly, not fully, but knowingly aware of the effect he had.
“Good morning,” he said, voice smooth and pleasant.
“Good morning,” you replied automatically, your pulse misbehaving.
He extended a hand. “Rafayel Romano. New consultant.”
You shook it.
His grip was firm. Familiar in a way you couldn’t place. For half a second just half his thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles, deliberate and subtle. Something in his eyes flickered, then it was gone.
“Nice to meet you,” you said.
“The pleasure’s mine,” he replied, smile deepening just a fraction. “I hope we’ll be working closely.”
He held your gaze just a heartbeat too long enough to make your stomach flutter then offered a polite, almost curious smile. As he turned back to reception, your coworker leaned in, whispering, “Who is that?”
You swallowed. “No idea.”
“New hire?” Your coworker whispered next to you.
You shrugged, trying to seem unaffected. “It seems so.”
You didn’t know who he was or why his presence felt so strangely significant, but your heart was already betraying you because somewhere deep in your instincts, far beneath logic, you knew this wasn’t over.
capturing every matching detail between Bride MC and Sea God's outfit 🩵💜
am falling in love with how pretty they are again🥹
I notice that Bride MC has more extravagant details than Rafayel, like they both have pearls in their hairstyles and yet MC has lots of gemstones and bigger pearls. MC's bodice details on her dress is fully gold with more gems but Rafayel's is mostly a body chain and fewer gems (just like how if u compare their Abysswalker outfit, Princess MC has a nicer condition than Rafayel's who is torn apart)
unlike Abysswalker timeline, Rafayel is obviously living in a better status here as a Sea God and she is his bride so technically they are equals, yet he's still insistent in making sure MC has more than him in every timeline
hey🥰!! Humbly requesting (if possible) what the Lads guys do when you kiss them and then run away ig? to tease them.
And happy December 1st✨️🤍
When you kiss him and run away
𝜗℘ feat. rafayel, xavier, zayne, sylus, caleb.
A/N: Happy December everyone!! I know I’m late but exams are chewing me alive ( ◜‿◝ )♡
— 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋
The kiss is quick, a soft brush of warmth against his lips and you’re gone before his breath even leaves him.
Rafayel freezes.
You watch his face change in seconds: surprise, wounded pride, disbelief… and finally, a quiet ache he tries to hide.
Slowly, he stands from his seat, fingers still stained with color from whatever painting he abandoned the moment you touched him.
You hear a dramatic sigh echo across the room.
“Oh,” he says, voice wounded enough to be framed in a museum. “So this is your new hobby? Kissing me and fleeing before the colors settle?”
He walks toward you not with the speed of someone chasing, but with the deliberate elegance of someone approaching a canvas that offended him personally.
“Cutie,” he calls, the word slicing through the silence, “you’ve left me with more questions than brushstrokes.”
You’re cornered by the time he reaches you, not trapped, just enveloped in his presence, in the intensity that follows him like spilled ink.
Rafayel leans in, fingers lifting your chin, eyes simmering with something softer than his pride wants to admit.
“You kiss me like that,” he whispers, “and then run?” A breath, warm and trembling. “That’s cruel, cutie.”
He presses his forehead to yours. You can feel his small smile, pained, fond.
“Next time… don’t run from what you started. Stay, and let me do the rest.”
He hooks a finger under your chin and pulls you in with theatrical precision, kissing you with dramatic, intoxicating depth. His arm slips around your waist, holding you close like you’re the center of his world. When he finally breaks the kiss, his lips brush yours as he murmurs, “Kiss me like that again… and don’t you dare run.”
— 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑
Your kiss lands against his cheek soft, fleeting and then you disappear like a startled spark.
Xavier blinks. Once.
His lips curl into a small, warm smile you almost never see the kind that settles into your bones.
He doesn’t chase you.
He simply stands, brushing off imaginary dust from his sleeve, and starts walking toward where you fled. Each step is measured, quiet, and unhurried. He looks like someone following the wind, not a person.
You hide behind a column, your heartbeat loud enough to echo.
He stops a respectful distance away.
“…Are you hiding?” he asks softly.
Not teasing, not mocking, genuinely gentle. His voice is dusk settling over the world.
“You don’t need to.”
You slowly peek from behind the column and meet his eyes steady, reliable, and warm. He doesn’t move. He lets you come to him.
And you do.
He lifts a hand, brushing a knuckle along your cheek with barely-there pressure.
“You startled yourself more than me,” he murmurs.
There’s something in his gaze, a quiet understanding that makes your chest warm.
“If you need me,” he says gently, “I’ll always come at your pace.”
He cups your face with both hands, drawing you in with a soft, trembling breath. His kiss starts gentle, almost shy, then slowly deepens with warmth, he’s too quiet to speak aloud. When he finally pulls back, cheeks flushed, he whispers, “Even if you run… I’ll always find you.”
— 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄
Your lips touch his for the shortest moment barely a kiss and then you vanish.
Zayne doesn’t tense, doesn’t jump, doesn’t even blink too fast.
He just straightens his posture, exhales, and mutters something that might be a quiet laugh.
Then he starts walking.
Not chasing. Following. His steps are steady, calm, almost silent the way he moves during missions, controlled and grounded.
You turn a corner, thinking you’ve gained distance.
You haven’t.
He’s already waiting there.
One shoulder leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, gaze steady like he predicted your escape route from the moment you sprinted.
“You ran fast,” he admits softly, “but not far.”
He steps toward you calm, composed, unhurried every movement precise and purposeful.
“You don’t have to run from me.” His hand rises, fingers brushing your jaw gently. “Or run to get my attention.”
Zayne tilts your chin just enough to meet his eyes.
“If you want a kiss… ask. I’ll always answer.”
He steps closer, his hand lifting to your jaw with that steady calm only he carries. He leans in without hurry, kissing you slow and deep, the kind of kiss that feels like warmth settling into your bones. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours as he breathes, “If you want me… you never have to run.”
— 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒
You kiss him quick, bold, mischievous and dart away.
Sylus freezes for half a second. Then a grin unfurls across his face, sharp and beautiful.
“Oh?” he hums, voice curling low. “You’re really going to try that on me?”
He doesn’t run, and doesn't even walk fast.
He simply appears wherever you aren’t expecting him.
You duck around a corner he’s already there, leaning against the wall, smirk shimmering.
You hide behind a door, his shadow slides across the floor a moment later.
You sprint down the hall he keeps pace effortlessly, voice lilting behind you:
“You’re predictable, sweetheart. I can read your steps like code.”
You whirl around, breathless and he’s practically nose-to-nose with you.
“How cute,” he murmurs, brushing a hair strand behind your ear. “You thought running would get rid of me?”
He cages you in with one arm above your head, smirk deepening.
“Next time you kiss me… don’t run. I want to kiss you back properly.”
He catches your waist and tugs you flush against him, lips brushing yours in a teasing whisper before he actually kisses you. The kiss is playful at first, then deepens with heat and a smile he tries to hide. He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Next time, sweetheart… I’ll be the one you chase.”
— 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁
Your kiss is gentle, affectionate, warm and then you bolt.
Caleb stops existing for a moment.
His hands go slack. His breath catches. His ears flush crimson.
Then something in his eyes sharpens soft possessiveness igniting like a spark catching dry leaves.
“Hey–! You can’t just run away!”
He chases you with his whole heart.
He nearly trips over his own feet catching up to you, breath uneven, eyes wide and shining with emotion he can’t quite hide.
When he grabs your wrist, his hold is gentle but unyielding like he’s terrified you’ll slip away if he lets go.
“You surprised me,” he says, voice trembling. Then, quieter, rawer: “I didn’t like when you ran.”
He steps closer, forehead nearly touching yours. His voice drops to a whisper, thick with something vulnerable and fiercely devoted.
“If you kiss me don’t run. Stay. I want you close.”
He pulls you in by the hips with a firm, possessive grip, kissing you hard enough to steal every breath you have left. His fingers slide into your hair, holding you there like he has no plans of letting go. When he finally breaks the kiss, voice low and rough, he murmurs, “Run again… and I’m carrying you back.”
zayne isn’t obsessed with your scent. he just cherishes it, that’s all.
but as he contemplates donning your puffy purple sweater, he wonders if he’s reached the point of excess.
you left it at his house the last time you came over. ever since, it’s been hanging on the back of the sofa, calling to him like a candy bar.
in your absence, all he wants is to be surrounded by the scent of you. if he only wore it for a few seconds, just long enough to imagine you're next to him, surely you wouldn't mind? it isn't as though he'd offer up the information, regardless. even he has to indulge in secrecy when appropriate.
with shaky resolve, he prowls to the sofa, sliding the shirt down his shoulders.
but like a maine coon who still thinks he’s a kitten, it seems he’s underestimated his size.
the way your scent floods his nose is but a momentary comfort.
he is stuck.
the first rule of being a surgeon: do not panic.
he wriggles around gently, trying to coax his biceps free, but does not thrash. if he thrashes, he might tear something. and the thought of you knowing what he’s done is just as daunting as ruining your favorite sweater.
his attempts are fruitless. not even his dexterous hands are enough to find a way out. as he sighs to himself, his phone chimes on the coffee table. he hobbles over to read the message, leaning stiffly over the screen.
you: good morning! i’m in the neighborhood, so i thought i’d stop by to pick up the shirt i left. i’ll see you in 5!
now, zayne panics.
he flails his arms wildly. he tries to make himself smaller. he bites the end of one sleeve, tugging it with his teeth. but when he hears a tiny rip, he freezes entirely.
then, he hangs his head in defeat.
there’s a knock on the door not long after. it’s both a physical and mental struggle to open it.
when he does, you’re turned around on the patio, distracted by your phone. he clears his throat. “hello.”
“hi, zaynie. sorry for the short notice, i just came for my—”
while you gape at him, his cheeks flush pink. “i believe i have the item you’re looking for.”
“i can see that. it seems to be suffocating you, too. why, exactly?”
“it smelled like you.”
you blink back and forth in a battle of wills—him trying not to melt into the floor, you trying to hold in your laughter.
“can i take a pictu—”
“could you help me out of i—”
you cut yourself off when he frowns at your request, giving him an impish grin. “how about this?” you say, petting one of the fuzzy sleeves. “i’ll help you out of it, after we take a picture.”
a shiver runs down his spine, unfitting for how warm he’s become while trapped. but he has no other options.
“keep it to yourself, please. i’d like to get over this one day. if yvonne and greyson catch wind of it, that won’t be possible.”
[Door 03:] Sleeping In
─ .✦ Established relationship, waking up together
─ .✦ word count: 0.9k
─ .✦ christmas countdown masterlist!
The little gap in between the curtains make way for a strip of glistening light as morning arrives and tries to squeeze itself into your shared bedroom.
‘It’s not 9 yet’, the little display next to you on the nightstand indicates and you let out a quiet groan before pressing your eyes close, turning away from the brightness back into the familiar warmth next to you.
You nuzzle closer, searching for any warmth to hold onto as you feel a slight shiver run down your back, the cold air from the window you left open the night before now a horrible decision when you even think about having to get up later, especially because you went to sleep in just a big shirt and a pair of shorts.
Next to you, still peacefully dreaming away and lightly snoring to himself, is Xavier. You wonder how he didn’t wake up with all the rustling and moving you were doing, his arm still draped over your body tightly, subconsciously pulling you closer.
You can spend hours like this; watching as his body rises and falls in a steady rhythm - how incredibly cozy and comforting the sight of him sleeping is to you. You honestly don’t understand, but it always feels like you are able to rest better when falling asleep next to him. And according to Xavier, it is just the same for him.
Therefore since you two started dating you feel like the time spent alone at your or his place has vastly decreased over time. You don’t remember going to bed on your own for the past two weeks. Or was it three? You couldn’t really tell anymore - not that you were counting.
You reach your hand out, fingers gently tracing his cheek, down to his chin and then up to his lips, where they halt and feel how soft they are. Xavier makes a small sound; it barely makes out to a little hum and you let out a little giggle, fingers moving up to give his nose a little boop.
As if sensing that you were playing around with him, Xavier’s breath starts growing irregular; he lets out a little groan, before slowly opening one, then his other eye. It takes him a moment to register everything around him, and then another breath until his eyes focus on you and stay there.
“Good morning”, he whispers, voice still groggy, and he cannot help but let out a yawn. You yawn in response, eliciting a tiny giggle from him. “Good morning, honey”, you reply, hands darting out to flatten out the immense bedhead he was spotting.
He lets out a delighted hum, “I like when you call me that.” and proceeds to nuzzle against your hand, taking in your warmth. “How long have you been awake for?”, he asks, his hand settling on your waist, pulling you closer little by little.
“Just for a couple of minutes”, you respond, yawning once again. “but it’s way too cold to get up right now.”
He nods, pulling the duvet up to cover your body more and simultaneously drawing you closer into his arms “It is. Maybe we should just spend the whole day in bed today”
You laugh, shaking your head, “I have to head into the office later today, I can’t.”
He lets out a noise in disapproval, a small pout forming on his lips as he nuzzles his face into the top of your head. His arms wrap around you protectively, providing you with a little bit more warmth. “Just call in sick for today”, he tries, hands caressing over your surprisingly cold skin. It’s no wonder you sleep a lot better with him by your side, considering how cold you usually would get without him.
Xavier vaguely remembers how he pointed out the amount of blankets you have stored in a box inside your wardrobe and how many throws you have placed on your living room couch.
“Can’t do that. I promised Tara that we are heading to her favorite coffee shop to get their exclusive dessert later. It’s a tiramisu cheesecake, Xavi, I need to try that one!” His pout increases, the oh-so familiar ‘kicked puppy’-look when he wants to convince you otherwise evident by the way his brows are furrowed and he blinks his eyes at you. You feel something inside your chest respond to it almost immediately, but have to remind yourself to stay strong and not fall for it again.
Last time you did, you took a three day break from work where you two spent half of the time in bed - the other half lazying around at home and catching up on shows and movies you were meaning to watch for a long time but couldn’t due to work or other appointments.
“No can do, honey”, you mutter, making sure to use that nickname he loves to hear which always makes his ears turn a pretty shade of pink. “But I can stay for another thirty minutes before I really have to get up and freshen up”
Xavier hums, satisfied, cupping the right side of your cheek with his free hand, the other still tightly holding you, caressing your back and drawing silly patterns against the fabric of the shirt you are wearing. “Alright, next time then”, he grins.
Before you can retort with anything, he gives you a quick peck, then another, uttering you speechless by his sweet gestures, “Alright, close your eyes. I’ll wake you up in a couple of minutes so you can get ready, don’t worry.”
Sleeping in with Xavier is dangerous - it really is.
