This blog is dedicated to writing about the LaDS men —hope you enjoy your time here!
TAGLIST IS OPEN, TO ENTER GO TO THIS POST
REQUEST GUIDELINES
I have only a few rules:
I will not write content involving pedophilia, incest, zoophilia, or any similar themes.
I’m open to trying suggestive content, but I’m unsure about writing explicit smut.
Regarding topics related to mental disorders: You’re welcome to send in requests, but I can’t guarantee I will fulfill them. I want to ensure accuracy and avoid mischaracterizing any illnesses
Unfortunately, I don’t have as much free time as I used to, so responding to requests and posting in general may take longer than before. However, please don’t worry if I haven’t gotten to your request yet—I read and acknowledge every submission! Thank you for your patience and support. 😊
MASTERLIST
Sour - Part 2 of "Bitter"
A year has slipped through your fingers like sand, carrying away the sharp edges of bitterness— or so you thought. Yet, the past has a cruel way of resurfacing, and when you stand before your former lover once more, the question lingers: has time truly softened the wound, or does resentment still simmer beneath your skin? (all x non-mc!reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
Bitter
Watching the one you love partake in what you once pleaded to share—a quiet betrayal—feels like an arrow through the heart, swift and merciless. (all x non-mc!reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
SELF-DOUBT │ PART 2
Part 2 of "Self-doubt" - comfort!! (all x reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
Hugs Are Mandatory
Lately, your boyfriend had become impossibly dramatic—and hopelessly clingy. What's the reason for that? (clingy!all x gn!non-mc!reader)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
Me? Jealous?
Watching your new coworker grow a little too familiar with your boyfriend sent a sharp, unwelcome heat curling in your chest—an emotion you’d never dare to name, let alone admit. (Xavier x mc!reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
Sneakyyy
What did you expect when you woke your lover up in a panic, telling him to hide because your “boyfriend” just got home? Are you ready to face the consequences? (all x gn!non-mc!reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
WAS IT LONELY?
Xavier telling you a "bedtime story" when you have trouble sleeping. (Xavier x gn!reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
EVER AFTER, ALWAYS
You had known Caleb your entire life, yet never could you have anticipated this moment—standing before the altar, heart pounding, as you awaited the moment your lives would be bound together, not just for a lifetime, but for eternity and beyond. (Caleb x fem!reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
BUGGED AND BELATED
You're trapped in your room, locked in a silent battle with a bug that’s far too aware of your fear. Every move you make, it counters. Every escape plan, foiled. Dinner will have to wait—this thing might actually win. (all x gn!reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
SELF-DOUBT
Doubt creeps in, unraveling the fragile thread between you, pulling you further from him before anything even takes shape. (relationship not established) (all x reader)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
Oops..!
Caught in the tide of the moment, you let your true laugh escape—unfiltered, unguarded—for the first time in their presence. (all x reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
AFTER THE STORM
Part 2 of "Who do you love?" - As the sting of hurt and betrayal begins to soften, a quiet longing stirs—you find yourself wanting to seek them out. (Rafayel & Sylus x mc!reader)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
WHO DO YOU LOVE?
Doubt coils around your spine, relentless and unshaken, until the question slips free—do they love the person before them now, or the ghost of who you once were? (all x mc!reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
FEELS LIKE HOME
Your life together, in its quiet, domestic rhythm. (all x reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
PINKY PROMISES AND BUTTERFLY KISSES
Cute, random scenarios with them. (all x reader)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND
You notice their distance, the subtle avoidance, and decide it’s time to confront them. (all x reader)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
THE LITTLE THINGS
How they show you their love. (all x reader)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
I'VE GOT MY EYES ON YOU
How you started dating. (all x reader)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
HIS BRIDE
How would it be to be Rafayel's bride? (Rafayel x reader; based on a request)
──────────────────── ౨ৎ ────────────────────
SILENT TREATMENT
How would they react when given the silent treatment by you. (all x reader)
Just have to say HOLY SHIT you write so fucking good! You perfectly encapsulated feelings of low self-worth and rejection. Honestly, I could relate to this so much it was scary. Please never stop writing. So far I’ve only read self-doubt but I plan on finishing your masterlist. 🧎🏼♀️
Aww, thank you so much!! I truly appreciate your kind words, it means a lot to me. Hope my future works will be up to your liking, too!:)
this lowkey dumb but im a sucker for a happy ending if it possible for you to write one where after a year they do get back together
Hi there! Honestly, I'm not really sure if there's a point in me making a whole another post with a different ending. But if more people would like to see, I could come up with a quick drabble.
Just read sour it was amazing! So happy to see the reader get her happy ending.
But quick question what happened to MC and her relationship lads guy?
Did they a 180 once the reader left them for good?
Did they try to get in a relationship with MC once the reader left them? Or did the relationship didn’t go the way they thought it would? Or did she rejected them?
Just wanted to know if there some juice drama 😈
Since each of the guy's part was already around 2000 words, I just decided to not include whatever happened with MC - it's up to your own interpretation.
Hello! I love your writing! I was wondering.. would it be possible to request a sequel to Bitter for all the guys? The angst really got me good, but an end Where they see the Reader move on, whether it be with another LI or another person. Those sorts of fics soothe the angst for me even if they don’t end up together again.
Sour
Pt.1
PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader
SYNOPSIS: A year has slipped through your fingers like sand, carrying away the sharp edges of bitterness— or so you thought. Yet, the past has a cruel way of resurfacing, and when you stand before your former lover once more, the question lingers: has time truly softened the wound, or does resentment still simmer beneath your skin?
A/N: A lot of you guys asked for a sequel, and I must say - I'm so greatful for all of your support. It feels unreal, knowing that so many people enjoy my writing and get engaged in it. I tried to include every suggestion you gave me in some way. It ended up quite long, because I wanted to make sure they suffer. I really hope it's up to your liking, enjoy!
Xavier
A year had passed—one carved from sorrow, stitched with bitterness. Betrayal, mistrust, insecurities—every fracture in your heart laid bare, every ugly truth dragged into the light.
And yet, in some quiet, inexplicable way, you were grateful.
Grateful for the clarity, for the stripping away of illusions, for the lesson that love—no matter how fervent—could not thrive on longing alone. You had spent so much time searching for a deeper meaning, convincing yourself there had to be one. But sometimes, the truth was simple. Painfully, mercilessly simple.
He hadn’t chosen you.
There had been texts, calls, attempts at conversation. Words typed and deleted, ringing phones you never answered. You knew his tactics too well—the pleading eyes, the soft-spoken apologies, the way he’d paint his regret with honeyed words. But you had learned. This time, you refused to fall.
And so, the city became a vast and empty place, void of Xavier’s shadow. No accidental encounters, no glimpses of golden hair in a crowded street. It was as if the universe had granted you mercy, shielding you from the ghost of what could have been.
And with time, bitter turned to sour. Sour softened into something gentler, something warm. Until one day, you woke up and found yourself unburdened.
You were thriving.
A promotion at work. New friends. Doors opening where once there had only been walls. It was almost absurd, how small your world had been, how much of yourself you had given away for the sake of love that was never truly yours.
Because in the end, one heartbreak wasn’t the end of the world.
And when you finally let yourself step forward, the idea of meeting someone new no longer felt like a betrayal of your past self. It was slow at first—hesitant, uncertain—but why should someone else pay the price for wounds they never inflicted?
You were seeing someone. The phrase alone felt foreign on your tongue, strange in your mind. But it was real. It was different. No silent doubts, no waiting for the inevitable unraveling. Just laughter. Just affection. Just love, in the simplest, most effortless form.
You were distracted by happiness.
And maybe that was why fate decided to test you.
The bell above the café door chimed, a familiar sound that had never meant anything—until now. Until the moment you met a gaze you once knew better than your own.
Blue. Icy, calculating, flickering with disbelief.
Xavier.
He looked different. Sharper somehow, but worn. Dark circles framed those piercing eyes, his golden hair a little unkempt, a crease forming between his brows. There was no laughter in his expression, no easy charm. Just silence—thick, heavy, laced with something you couldn’t name.
Like he was seeing a ghost.
Like, after all this time, he still wasn’t sure if you were real.
He stood from his table, slow and careful, as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly. You straightened your posture, steeling yourself.
"Y/N..."
Your name left his lips like a prayer. Soft. Tentative. As if he didn’t deserve to say it.
And maybe he didn’t.
Still, you had promised yourself you’d be better than bitterness. That you wouldn’t let the past sink its claws into you.
So you smiled. Small, polite, but distant. "Xavier. Long time no see."
Something flickered in his expression, fleeting but unmistakable. Hurt.
"Yeah," he echoed, glancing down for a moment, hands curling into fists before he exhaled, gathering himself. "Long time no see."
A pause. A heavy, unspoken weight settling between you.
And then—"Would you sit with me?" His voice was quieter now, more hesitant. "Just for a little while? I won’t... I won’t nag you, I swear." A ghost of a smile barely touched his lips.
For a moment, you considered.
Curiosity stirred—how had he been? How had life treated him? And yet, you knew better. You had spent too long craving answers that would never change the past. The Xavier who stood before you was not yours to worry about. Not anymore.
So you inhaled slowly, steadying your heart, and said simply, "I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about."
Blunt. Honest. Kind, but final.
And for once, you didn’t feel guilty for choosing yourself.
The bell rang again, the door swinging open, and warmth enveloped you as familiar arms wrapped around your waist, a kiss pressed to your cheek.
"Love," a voice murmured, teasing and light. "You always make me chase after you." They laughed, and you did too, the sound effortless.
Your partner turned, glancing at Xavier with mild curiosity. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Nothing at all," you assured, slipping your fingers into theirs, warmth meeting warmth. "Let’s go."
And as you walked away, hand in hand with the person who had mended what Xavier broke, you didn’t look back.
But he did.
Xavier stood frozen, watching as you disappeared into the city, just as he had let you slip through his fingers once before.
And this time, there was no note left behind. No final words.
Only silence.
And the weight of a mistake he could never undo.
...
But it seemed fate was not yet finished with him. Seeing you again was a wound torn open, an ache that refused to fade. Xavier realized, with the kind of clarity that arrives too late, that he couldn’t let you go.
Not without trying.
And it didn’t matter that you belonged to someone else now—desperation made a man reckless. He would settle for anything. A glance, a word, a sigh in his direction. Proof that he had not become a ghost in your memory.
So he searched. Called. Texted. Every message fell into silence, his words lost to the void. He wandered through the places you once loved, only to find them hollow, emptied of your presence. It was as if you had evaporated, leaving no trace behind.
But then—when he finally found you, sitting on a weathered park bench beneath the fading gold of an autumn sky—his breath hitched. You looked different. Not just in the way time shapes a person, but in the way peace does. It softened you, made you untouchable.
He hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to seem like a desperate man chasing shadows. But wasn’t that exactly what he was? Obsessed, haunted, unraveling beneath the weight of his own mistakes.
And then you looked at him.
His heart stuttered. Your eyes—once a universe he had called home—held no welcome for him now. There was recognition, yes. But it was distant, indifferent. A ghost of a smile graced your lips, polite but hollow, and something inside him withered.
"I need to talk to you," he rasped, his voice raw from all the words he had never said.
You tilted your head, considering him in that quiet, unreadable way. Then, with a small sigh, you gestured to the empty space beside you. An invitation—not of warmth, but of duty. Perhaps you felt he deserved the clarity he had never given you.
He sat, feeling like a man standing at the edge of a cliff.
"I have no right to ask for forgiveness," he confessed, staring down at his hands as if the answers were etched into his skin. "I know that. But I feel... lost. Lost without you guiding me."
There was silence, heavy as the twilight creeping in around you. And then—
"What’s done is done." Your voice was steady, like the final toll of a bell. "You’re right—some things can’t be forgiven. And actions have consequences. I’ve moved on, Xavier. And you should, too. That’s the only clarity I can give you."
Your words struck like a blade, precise and inescapable. He had braced himself for anger, for screams, for the fury he knew he deserved. But instead, you looked at him with nothing but pity.
And that—God, that was worse.
"Y/N, please," he choked out, his resolve crumbling. "Just give me a chance. I’ll do anything. Anything."
He fell to his knees before you, the weight of his regret pressing him into the earth. Once, he had stood tall beside you. Now, he knelt at your feet, pleading for the remnants of something he had destroyed with his own hands.
You blinked, surprise flickering across your face before you exhaled softly. "I’m happily taken…" The words were gentle, but firm. And then, the final blow—"Engaged, actually."
You lifted your hand, and in the dimming light, the diamond on your finger gleamed like the last star in a dying sky.
Xavier’s breath left him in a ragged gasp. No. No, this couldn’t be real.
"Please—" He reached for you, his hands trembling, his world tilting beneath him. "I can’t do this without you."
You smiled then, and for the first time that evening, it was real. Soft, kind, but completely out of reach.
"I’m afraid that’s none of my business anymore."
You rose to your feet, turning away from him, your figure bathed in the golden light of a world that no longer had room for him. He watched, helpless, as you walked away—each step sealing his fate, each breath pulling you further from his grasp.
And when you disappeared beyond the trees, he realized the cruelest truth of all.
Some mistakes don’t come with second chances.
Zayne
A year.
A year since you had stood in the ruins of what you once called love, waiting for something—anything—to make sense. Since the walls of your world had collapsed beneath the weight of neglect, since the name Dr. Zayne had burned like acid on your tongue.
And yet, look at you now.
Thriving.
You had carved out a life that was entirely your own, no longer bending yourself into smaller, more convenient shapes to fit into someone else’s world. Your career—once just a dream, a hesitant whisper in the back of your mind—had become your reality, a space where your talents were not only recognized but celebrated. Your relationships flourished, no longer strained by the quiet loneliness of waiting for a man who always seemed just out of reach.
The girl who once sat by the phone, heart aching for a call that never came, was gone.
And yet, the ghosts of Zayne still lingered.
The recipe he once taught you? You still loved it, the taste laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. The song he always played while driving? Occasionally, you let it slip through your speakers, if only to remind yourself how far you had come. The pain of his absence had dulled into something quieter—no longer a gaping wound, but a faded scar.
You had learned to appreciate what his neglect had taught you.
Because he had shown you exactly what love wasn’t.
And now, you knew better.
...
It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.
Your partner—warm, steady, everything you had once begged for—had suffered a minor accident. Nothing dire, but enough to warrant a hospital visit, just to be sure. And so you stood there, waiting near the reception desk, arms crossed over your chest, glancing at the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. The air smelled of antiseptic and sterile linens, the faint beeping of monitors a rhythmic pulse in the background.
And then—
You felt it before you saw it.
A gaze. Heavy. Familiar.
You turned.
And there he was.
Dr. Zayne.
For a moment, the world seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between you and him. He looked... different. Or maybe it was you who had changed. His sharp, professional composure remained, but there was something wearier about him now. The pristine white coat did little to hide the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the slight furrow of his brows, the way he adjusted his glasses in that meticulous way of his.
And yet, despite it all—he was still devastatingly familiar.
"Y/N?"
Your name fell from his lips like a habit he had forgotten he missed.
There was something almost startled in his expression, as if he hadn’t expected to see you here, hadn’t expected you at all.
"Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He was already stepping forward, concern etched into every line of his face.
There was a time when that look would have unraveled you. When your heart would have stuttered at the mere thought of being the center of his attention.
Now, it felt… strange.
Performative.
Not because you thought he was faking it—Zayne never faked anything—but because it no longer mattered.
You blinked, taken aback for a brief moment before schooling your features into something unreadable.
"I'm alright."
A pause.
Why did he sound as if he had just seen you yesterday? As if a year of silence had not stretched between you like an ocean?
Why was he looking at you like that?
And why—why did it still taste bitter?
His gaze flickered over you, searching for something, before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Then why are you here?"
You raised an eyebrow.
"Actually, it’s none of my business," he amended quickly, clearing his throat, adjusting his glasses again—nervous. Zayne never used to be nervous around you.
"But since you’re here," he continued, voice carefully composed, "perhaps we could talk? If you wouldn’t mind, of course."
There was something almost hesitant in his tone. Like he was reaching for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for.
And before you could decide how to respond—
A warmth wrapped around you.
"Sorry I kept you waiting, baby."
A familiar voice. Soft lips pressed against your temple. A presence that felt like home.
Your partner.
Zayne went still.
You didn’t even need to look at him to know. You could feel it—the way the air between you turned sour, thick with something unspoken, something unacknowledged.
You turned to face your lover, melting into the easy affection they offered, their touch grounding you in a way Zayne’s never had.
"Is that your friend?" your partner asked curiously, glancing at Zayne with polite indifference.
You tilted your head, considering the question.
Friend?
No, that wasn’t quite right.
You let out a soft giggle, shrugging as you intertwined your fingers with theirs. "I guess?"
And then—without another glance, without another word—you turned, walking away.
Zayne remained where he stood, unmoving, silent.
He didn’t call after you. Didn’t reach out.
Because he knew.
He knew that if he had any place in your life, it would have been beside you, not behind you—watching as you disappeared into a world that no longer included him.
And now, the only thing he had left—
Was the taste of regret, bitter and lingering on his tongue.
...
Bitterness clung to Zayne like the aftertaste of a drink too strong, too sharp. And so, he sought sweetness in the only way he knew how—in thoughts of you.
Your touch, the gentle weight of your hand on his wrist.
Your voice, quiet yet commanding, soft yet certain.
Your presence, steady as the tide, once an anchor, now a ghost.
He had spent too long convincing himself he could let you go. That logic could silence longing, that reason could tame regret. But then he saw you again.
And the moment he did, he knew.
You belonged by his side.
So, it began. A pattern. A ritual. Lingering in the places you once adored, slipping into the coffee shop you used to frequent, hoping—praying—that fate would grant him another moment.
And fate, cruel and kind in equal measure, did.
You were alone, sipping your drink, fingers lazily scrolling through your phone. Every now and then, the corners of your lips twitched into a smile—small, fleeting, devastating. Zayne felt something in his chest splinter.
He wanted to be the reason for that smile again.
With a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, he stepped forward, lowering himself into the seat across from you.
"Y/N."
Your name left his lips like a confession, quiet, careful.
You lifted your gaze, expression unreadable, an eyebrow arching slightly at his sudden presence. But no shock. No warmth.
That alone made doubt creep in. But it was too late to turn back now.
"...That’s unexpected," you said, returning your attention to your phone. "I thought you didn’t like this café."
His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "I don’t," he admitted, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. "But I find myself drawn to places that remind me of you. Old habits die hard, it seems."
A pause. Then—
"Nice."
Nothing more. Not a smile, not a flicker of interest. Just a word, impersonal and distant, slipping from your lips with all the weight of an afterthought.
It caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected warmth, but this? This felt like standing outside in the cold, staring at a window where a fire once burned.
Still, he pressed forward.
"So," he began, voice smooth yet hesitant. "Have you been well?"
"Cut the small talk."
Your voice was calm, but your patience was thin, and when your eyes met his again, he saw it—exhaustion. The kind that settles after a storm, after too many words left unspoken for too long.
"What do you want, Zayne?"
He exhaled slowly, as if composing himself. "I see time has made you even more direct," he mused, before his gaze darkened, sharpened. "Very well. I won’t insult you with pleasantries. I came because I needed to speak with you—about us."
A flicker of something crossed your face, too fast for him to name. And then—
"There is no ‘us,’ Zayne."
Your words were soft, but they struck harder than a shout.
"We didn’t work out," you continued, your voice steady, final. "It happens. Move on."
His fingers curled against the table, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying the emotion he so carefully masked.
"You make it sound so simple," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "As if what we were—what we could have been—was nothing more than an inconsequential mistake."
"Not a mistake," you corrected. "A lesson."
He laughed then, low and humorless. "I see. And what exactly did I teach you?"
"That love is not enough."
It was cruel in its honesty. Devastating in its simplicity.
He looked away for a moment, staring at the swirl of steam rising from your drink, as if it held the answers he sought. Then, quieter this time, he said, "And yet, I find myself incapable of learning that lesson."
You didn’t respond. You only stood, preparing to leave.
That was when he reached for you.
Fingers wrapping around your wrist—gentle, hesitant, desperate. And in that moment, neither of you spoke.
Because you both felt it.
The ghost of what once was. The warmth of a memory neither had fully let go of.
His grip loosened, but he did not let go.
"Tell me," he said, voice softer now, raw in a way he had never allowed himself to be. "Is this truly the end?"
Your gaze met his, unwavering.
And then you nodded.
A single motion. Firm. Certain. Unshakable.
He let you go.
And though every part of him rebelled against it, though his heart ached with the knowledge that he would wake tomorrow with the same longing, the same regret, he told himself it was enough.
Because if you were happy—if someone else had succeeded where he had failed—then who was he to ask for more?
At least, that’s what he tried to believe.
Rafayel
A year had passed.
The seasons had shifted, weaving through time like a quiet symphony, their passage marked by sun-warmed afternoons and frost-kissed mornings. Life had carried on, carrying you with it.
And somehow, somewhere between then and now, you had left him behind.
Not in a single, heart-wrenching moment, not in some grand, dramatic farewell. No, you had left him slowly—like the tide pulling back from the shore, retreating inch by inch, until one day you realized there was nothing left to reach for.
And you were okay with that.
More than okay.
You had built something new from the pieces of yourself he had never cherished. A life that felt like yours, untouched by the weight of waiting, unburdened by the ache of almost-love.
And you had found someone. Someone who didn’t make you wonder if you were asking for too much. Someone who reached for you first, without hesitation.
You never thought about him anymore.
Not really.
But fate had a cruel sense of humor.
Because today, just as laughter spilled from your lips like honey, warm and golden, just as your partner squeezed your hand in theirs, grounding, steady—
You saw him.
Rafayel.
Standing at the entrance of the café, half-cast in shadow, his sharp gaze locked onto you like a man seeing a mirage in the desert.
Your breath did not hitch.
Your pulse did not quicken.
If there was an ache left inside you, it was nothing more than an old scar—a faint reminder of pain you had long since learned to live without.
But he—
He looked frozen.
Like he had walked into a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness.
Like the sight of you—laughing, radiant, untouched by him—was something he had never considered possible.
You met his gaze, tilting your head slightly.
Oh.
He hadn’t changed much. Still dressed in purple tones, still holding himself with that same quiet confidence, still looking at you like he was searching for something.
But he had changed.
His face was unreadable, but his eyes—once filled with amusement, teasing, always dancing just out of reach—were darker now. Heavier.
You knew that weight.
Regret.
Good.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with things left unsaid, ghosts of words that once sat on the tip of your tongue, always swallowed before they could escape.
And then, finally, he spoke.
“Y/N.”
Your name on his lips used to feel like the start of something. A promise. A quiet, unspoken longing.
Now, it was just a name.
You blinked at him, offering a small, polite smile—the kind you gave to distant acquaintances, to strangers who mistook familiarity for significance.
“Oh,” you said, as if realizing he was there for the first time. “Rafayel.”
The casualness in your voice was deliberate.
His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did—just the slightest shift, just enough for you to know he felt it.
“It’s been a while,” he said.
It had.
A lifetime had passed in that year.
“Yes, it has.”
You didn’t ask him how he was. Didn’t give him the opening he was waiting for.
The silence stretched between you, long enough to feel like a choice.
The café smelled of coffee and cinnamon, of sugar melting into warm pastries, but the only thing you could taste was clarity—light, crisp, sweet.
Then—
“Who’s this?”
Your partner’s voice, gentle yet firm, cut through the stillness.
You turned to them, your gaze softening the moment it met theirs.
And that—that was what made Rafayel’s breath hitch.
The way you looked at them.
The way you had never looked at him.
“They’re an old friend,” you said simply.
Not a lover.
Not someone who had once left you waiting in the dark, sifting through the scraps of his affection, trying to find something whole.
Just someone you used to know.
And you knew he heard the finality in your voice.
For a second, just a fleeting second, something flickered in his expression.
Loss.
Too little, too late.
You turned back to your partner, your fingers still laced with theirs.
The conversation resumed. Effortless. Unbroken.
And Rafayel—who had once believed you would always be there, lingering like an unfinished story—stood there, realizing he had become nothing more than a footnote in yours.
You didn’t look back.
And the only taste he was left with—
Was bitter.
...
Regret clung to Rafayel like salt on skin—persistent, inescapable, a reminder of tides that had long since receded.
And he remembered—oh, how he remembered.
The scent of your skin, like the last breath of summer before the waves stole the warmth away. The way your hair moved with the wind, as if it carried secrets only the ocean knew. The way your voice curled around his name, a siren’s call that had once lured him home.
How you understood him without words, how you indulged his recklessness, how—for once—someone had seen him for more than his name, his face, his fortune.
He still knew your favorite color, the way your smile tilted just slightly to the left, how every imperfection only made you more devastatingly perfect in his eyes.
And he couldn’t forget.
He tried, but he was a drowning man, reaching for driftwood, for anything that could bring him back to shore. So, he watched from a distance, fingers hovering over your name on his screen, refreshing, searching. Checking where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.
Love makes fools of men. But obsession—obsession turns them into ghosts.
And when he had mapped the rhythm of your days, he found himself drifting into them. Hovering at the edges of your world, waiting for the perfect moment to pull you back into his gravity.
When it finally happened, he caught you off guard.
You were walking, earphones in, humming a tune under your breath, lost in a world where he no longer belonged.
His hand found your shoulder.
Startled, you swung your bag on instinct, and it hit him square in the arm. He winced, clutching it dramatically.
“Ow, cutie! First, you break my heart, and now you try to break my arm?” His grin was lopsided, but his eyes betrayed him—searching, desperate.
You barely spared him a glance before rolling your eyes, turning away.
“No—wait.” His fingers caught your wrist, hesitant but firm.
You turned back, leveling him with a stare. "What? Want to get hit again?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it faltered under the weight of your indifference. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.
"I would much rather prefer just to talk to you." His voice softened, no longer laced with teasing, but something closer to pleading.
Then, quieter—more deliberate—
“Y/N, take me back.”
You blinked. For a moment, silence stretched between you, the space between each breath vast as the horizon.
Then, you took a step back. And he felt the distance like an undertow, dragging him deeper.
“Absolutely not.”
There was no anger in your voice, no bitterness. Just finality, as gentle as a wave washing over forgotten footprints in the sand.
His throat bobbed. “…No?”
"You heard me."
His fingers twitched at his sides. “Cutie, please reconsider—”
“Oh god, don’t call me that.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing.
He hesitated, but then his gaze turned serious, the teasing stripped away. “I know I made mistakes—”
“You broke us, Rafayel.”
His breath caught. The truth of it cut through him like cold water, merciless and clear.
“Y/N.” His voice was lower now, quiet in a way that made the world around you feel too loud. “I know I ruined things, but you can’t tell me we weren’t great. You can’t tell me what we had wasn’t—”
“It was.” You interrupted, your expression unreadable. “Until it wasn’t.”
Something inside him cracked.
"I've moved on," you said simply, shifting your bag over your shoulder. And then, with a ghost of a smirk—mocking, cruel in its lightness—
"You should too, fishie."
It should have made him laugh. It should have made him tease you back, call you something equally ridiculous.
Instead, it felt like the tide pulling him under.
He said nothing, only watching you, searching your face for something—anything—that might mean he still had a chance.
And then you turned.
He caught your wrist again, more desperately this time. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice unsteady. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Do you want to see me on my knees?”
You looked at him then, really looked at him.
"I just want to see you out of my sight."
The words landed like crashing waves against stone.
His grip loosened, and you slipped away like water through his fingers.
"Have a great life, Rafayel."
And you walked away.
He should have followed. Should have thrown pride to the wind, should have fallen at your feet and begged like a desperate sailor praying to the sea.
But something in your voice—calm, unwavering—told him the storm had passed. And all that was left was the wreckage.
So he stood still.
And for the first time, he let you drift beyond his reach.
For now.
Sylus
A year had passed since you walked away from Sylus, but time had done nothing to erase the ache in your chest, nor the memory of how effortlessly you had disappeared from his life. You had left as silently as a forgotten dream, taking your heart with you, and leaving him behind to rot in the wreckage of his own actions. The decision had seemed like a balm in the moment, a clean cut. But as the days turned into months, the absence had become a ghost. It hovered in the corners of your mind, a constant reminder of the man you thought you knew, the man who had ruined you. And yet, despite it all, you had learned to live again.
You had rebuilt yourself, piece by broken piece. You embraced the ordinary—the quiet routine of your life, the peace that had once seemed so elusive when he was around. Your life was no longer tangled in the complexity of him. You began to explore things you never had the courage to before, tasting freedom in ways that filled you with pride. The world, without Sylus, was kinder—gentler. You smiled more, laughed more, and found comfort in the simplest of things: a cup of coffee on a rainy day, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot in autumn, the glow of a sunset you hadn’t shared with anyone. You had learned to live for yourself.
And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, a part of you still wondered what he was doing.
The knock at your door shattered the quiet peace you had so carefully built.
You hadn’t expected visitors—especially not him.
Standing there, on the other side of the threshold, was the man who had once been your whole world, the man who had broken it. Sylus.
His appearance was jarring. His usual immaculate self was ruffled, as though the weight of the world had been wearing on him in ways he never allowed anyone to see. His sharp features were drawn, eyes darker than you remembered. There was something unfamiliar in the way he held himself—no longer the man who walked into a room like he owned it, but someone who had been worn down by the passage of time, by regret. And yet, his eyes, the same eyes that had once mesmerized you, still held that magnetic pull. Only this time, they were haunted.
“Sylus,” you breathed, the name slipping out of you before you could stop it.
There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you moved. And then, his lips parted—just slightly—and a flicker of something like amusement touched his face.
“Missed me, kitten?” His voice was smooth, but there was an unfamiliar hesitation there, something raw in the way he spoke to you.
You couldn’t tell if he was still playing games, or if this was something else entirely. You studied him for a long moment, trying to read him, trying to figure out why, after everything, he still seemed so... familiar.
But you no longer cared.
The words came out before you even thought them. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was soft, there was no venom, no fury. Only confusion. And a quiet indifference that was worse than anything you could’ve said.
His gaze faltered for a second, but he quickly regained his composure, though his smirk was tighter than usual. “I thought you’d be more excited to see me.”
His words were like a knife to the gut, but you felt nothing—not anymore. It was like you had been hollowed out over time, and there was nothing left inside you to give.
You tilted your head slightly, eyes cool. “Ah, where are my manners?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm that slipped out, though it wasn’t playful—more a shield against the weight of his presence. “Oh, how I missed my favorite liar! The one who broke my heart and threw me away like a piece of trash.” You rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.
The words should have stung, but somehow, you found relief in saying them out loud. For so long, you had kept the hurt buried beneath layers of careful silence, and now, here it was—raw, unapologetic.
Sylus’s face flickered, a faint shadow of hurt passing through his gaze before he regained his composure. “The kitten has grown some claws, I see.” His voice was flat, but there was a trace of something in it, something he was trying to mask.
He took a step closer, as if expecting you to let him in, but you quickly moved to block the door.
“Don’t,” you said simply.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised at your sudden resolve, but you didn’t care.
“You’re not welcome here,” you said, your tone final.
Sylus’s eyes softened for a split second, and in that brief moment, you saw the desperation that clawed at him. The weight of his regret that he never allowed to surface. “You’re hurting me, sweetie,” he said, though it was far from playful. It sounded like a plea.
Your heart didn’t twitch. It didn’t soften. It just felt... heavy.
“Good,” you muttered, looking him up and down, and for the first time, you saw him clearly—not the man you had once adored, but a man who had lost everything and had nothing left to offer.
Just then, a voice came from inside your home.
“Darling, what’s taking you so long?”
You didn’t need to look back to feel your partner’s arms slide around your waist from behind, their presence warm and secure, a reminder of the love you had found after him.
“Hmm, who’s this?” Your partner asked lazily, looking past you to the man who once consumed your every thought.
Sylus’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the newcomer, but you weren’t going to offer him any answers. Not anymore.
“He got the wrong address,” you replied evenly, your voice indifferent as you turned back to face Sylus, daring him to challenge your words.
And just like that, the man who once held your heart in his hands realized the weight of his own failure. The realization hit him like a tidal wave.
Sylus opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, as if he were choking on his own grief.
You met his gaze, and for the first time, you felt no anger—only a quiet, final resolve. “I think it's time for you to leave, sir.”
The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His heart, once so certain and confident, now shattered under the weight of your indifference.
“Have a good night.” you whispered, the finality of the words slipping from your lips. And with that, you closed the door on him—on the man you once thought you could never escape.
Sylus stood there, staring at the wood that now separated you from him, as though hoping it would open again. But it wouldn’t.
He swallowed, hard. The man who had always prided himself on his control was now nothing more than a broken shell of his former self.
And it was all his doing.
For the first time in his life, Sylus had lost. And he had no one to blame but himself.
...
Sylus was not the kind of man who accepted defeat.
Not when you were so close, so painfully out of reach, like a forbidden fruit dangling just beyond his grasp.
He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let you go so easily.
His mind clung to thoughts of you, obsessions blooming in every corner of his brain: your laughter, like the chiming of delicate bells, your playful words that always teased, always challenged him, your defiance that had once felt like the spark that kept him alive. You had been his equal, his match—two stars circling in an orbit of shared chaos and fire.
But now? Now you were slipping from him, dissolving into someone else’s arms, and that realization felt like a knife being twisted into his chest. He couldn't bear it. He could never bear it.
Bitterness seeped into his soul, a slow, insidious poison that clouded his thoughts. The feeling of helplessness was foreign to him, suffocating him in ways he had never known before. He had always been the one in control—always the one who commanded the world. And now you were gone, out of his reach, and it tore at him like a storm.
The thought of another touching you, breathing in your scent, seeing the soft glow of tenderness in your eyes—Sylus couldn't abide it. No. Not when he had once owned that gaze, that touch, that part of you that was his.
He needed one more chance.
Maybe it was for the peace of his mind, maybe it was his selfish longing, his desire to reclaim what he believed was his. Or maybe it was because he couldn't let go of the idea that you were a treasure meant for his eyes alone—his to hold, his to keep, like a rare, delicate jewel locked away.
And so, like the predator he was, Sylus followed you, carefully, subtly. With Mephisto keeping watch over you, it was easy to know where you'd be, when you'd be there.
Each time, he approached, his presence lingering just at the edges of your world—watching, waiting. But you rejected him. Rejected him with biting sarcasm, with icy silence that seemed to pierce his skin like a thousand knives.
It drove him mad.
The chase was maddening. The only thing that consumed him was the desire to have you in his arms once more, to feel the heat of your skin, the sweetness of your breath, the intimacy that he had once thought was infinite.
And then one evening, when he could no longer take the ache, he made his move.
You were walking home from work, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. The quiet satisfaction of surviving the day was tempered by the exhaustion that clung to you. But as you turned the corner, a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, yanking you into a shadowed alley. Your heart pounded in your chest, a burst of adrenaline flooding your veins. You opened your mouth to scream, but before the sound could escape, a hand pressed over your lips.
"Relax. It's just me."
His voice—his damn voice—sounded like a lure, familiar and dangerous. Your body froze, not out of fear, but out of recognition. You knew it was Sylus, and despite everything, despite the years of hurt and betrayal, a twisted part of you felt… safe.
When he felt you relax, he let go. You spun around to face him, heart still hammering, but now tempered with anger.
"You’re crazy," you spat, your voice sharp and unforgiving. "What do you think you’re doing?"
His gaze, that unnerving mix of calm and intensity, bore into you. His expression was disturbingly relaxed, too casual for someone who had just dragged you into an alley against your will.
"Getting your attention," he said, his tone smooth, almost mocking. "Seems like it worked."
The words hit you like a slap. Your fists clenched, your anger bubbling over.
"You can’t just pull people into a dark alley, Sylus! You’re actually insane!" You jabbed your finger at his chest, each word punctuating the fury that burned through you.
Sylus didn’t flinch, though you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.
"...I apologize," he said softly, his voice taking on a tenderness that was so unlike him. He reached out to touch your cheek, but his hand stopped halfway, as if he was still unsure whether he had the right.
The vulnerability in that simple motion—something so un-Sylus, so raw—stirred something inside you. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.
You sighed heavily, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "What do you want?" Your voice was laced with frustration, your patience wearing thin.
"I thought that would be obvious by now," he said, a faint smirk curling at his lips, the teasing edge still present despite the darkness in his eyes. "Guess you’re not as sharp as I thought, kitten."
The bastard. Even now, he played with you like a cat with its prey.
"I swear, I’m going to file for a restraining order against you," you muttered, your voice tinged with disbelief.
"You can try," Sylus responded smoothly, his words dripping with a dangerous calm. "But you know well enough that such things won’t stop me."
You clenched your fists, your resolve hardening. The walls you had so carefully built around your heart in the past year came crashing down in a flood of anger and pain. You had moved on, healed—didn’t he see that?
"I want you to come back to me," he said, his voice now serious, his gaze earnest, though still haunted by the traces of his past mistakes.
But you wouldn’t crack. Not now.
"Never in this lifetime," you said, the finality of your words a heavy hammer to his chest.
Sylus’s lips twisted into a small, bitter smile. "Then, in another?" His words were light, but they carried a weight that you both felt. It was his way of hiding the hurt, the pain that had followed him like a shadow.
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence hang between you, thick and suffocating.
"I’ll pray that I never have to meet you again," you said softly, the words filled with a quiet kind of sorrow. "Not in this life, and not in the ones after."
And with that, you turned, walking away from him, leaving him shattered in the cold, empty alley.
Sylus watched you go, his chest tight with regret. His heart—something he had long kept locked away, something he had never truly allowed himself to feel—was breaking in ways he had never imagined. The storm inside him raged, but he couldn’t stop it.
You were gone, and this time, he knew—he knew—there would be no coming back.
Caleb
It’s been a year since you last saw Caleb.
Well, not really. Sometimes you caught glimpses of him in the crowd—just a silhouette, a shape that might be his. Your heart would catch in your throat, and for a fleeting moment, you’d swear it was him. But the figure would turn, and it would be a stranger. Your imagination had been cruel to you, conjuring up ghosts from your memories and stitching together faces from your longing. Perhaps it was just your mind showing you what you wished to see, like a cruel twist of fate reminding you of what had slipped through your fingers.
A year filled with growth. You learned to be soft with yourself, to breathe through the pain instead of suffocating in it. You allowed yourself to be bitter—let the sadness claw through your chest and the anger burn through your veins. You let yourself crumble, and when the dust settled, you gathered the fragments and made something beautiful from them. A mosaic of healing. You thanked the universe for the lesson, no matter how brutal it had been. Whether it was God, fate, or simply the chaos of life, you accepted it. You learned that you were the only constant in your own story—the one thing that would always remain when everyone else faded to whispers.
In those months, you blossomed. You breathed in the world with new lungs, filling your soul with every small moment that once went unnoticed. The way sunlight painted golden patterns on cracked sidewalks, the way the ocean waves whispered secrets to the shore, the taste of ripe fruit on a sweltering day. You poured your energy into your work, rebuilt neglected friendships, and found comfort in the warmth of those who remained. You taught yourself that it wasn’t your fault—none of it had been—and that loving him too much was never a mistake. Only, you needed to love yourself first.
And when you finally felt steady enough to open your heart again, love found you. They were calm where Caleb had been chaos, steady where Caleb had been a storm. A lighthouse guiding you back to yourself, reminding you that love wasn’t meant to break you. Their hands held you like you were fragile, but their love made you feel strong. You didn’t compare them—Caleb was a different life, a different story. But maybe that’s what you needed. You were happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in what felt like ages.
The train station buzzes around you like a hive of restless energy, travelers weaving past each other with hurried steps and heavy bags. Your lover has gone to grab snacks for the journey, leaving you alone on the worn wooden bench. The air smells of old books and fresh coffee, tinged with the metallic scent of steel tracks. You lean back, glancing at the faded timetable, feeling content in the hum of life moving around you.
And then, like a phantom stepping through the fog of memory, you see him. Caleb. The world seems to stop spinning, frozen in that singular moment. He’s standing on the opposite platform, hands shoved into his coat pockets, head bowed as if weighed down by the past. A bitter wind pulls at his hair, and for a second, he lifts his gaze. Your breath catches as his eyes meet yours, recognition dawning like sunlight cutting through rain. He hesitates, lips parting, and you see the flicker of regret, raw and unguarded.
The hurt surges up unexpectedly, but it’s quieter than it used to be, muted by time and acceptance. You don’t flinch when he takes a hesitant step forward, his mouth opening as if to call out to you. A thousand words hang between you—apologies, confessions, explanations—but none seem to find their way into the open. You see the yearning in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you as if trying to remember every detail he once took for granted.
Your lover appears at your side, offering a small smile as they hand you a paper bag filled with snacks. Their presence grounds you, pulls you back to reality from the haze of memory. Caleb sees them too, and the pain that flashes across his face is like a knife carving regret into his bones. You watch as he realizes what he’s lost—how you’ve moved on, how you’ve found happiness that doesn’t depend on him.
He lingers there, stranded on the other side of the tracks, unable to cross over to where you stand. You almost pity him—the way his shoulders sag, the way his jaw clenches to swallow whatever plea was forming. But the ache that once ruled you has softened, transformed into something quieter. You’re not angry anymore. You’re not shattered. You’ve built something new from the ruins he left behind.
Caleb lowers his gaze, as if surrendering to the weight of his own choices. And as the train pulls into the station, you take your lover’s hand, intertwining your fingers like roots that hold you steady. You feel Caleb’s stare on your back as you step onto the train, but you don’t look back. There’s nothing left to see—just the remnants of a past that no longer defines you.
As the train moves away, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. It’s not triumph, not victory—it’s closure, as quiet and gentle as a sunset slipping beneath the horizon. You made it out the other side. And that, more than anything, is the proof that you are whole again.
...
But the peace you felt wasn’t the same for Caleb. Seeing you again after what felt like a lifetime was like being thrown into the depths of the ocean—lungs burning, heart pounding, utterly helpless. He hadn’t known he was drowning until he saw you sitting there, your feet dangling off the edge of the bench, lips parted in a soft “o” of surprise. You looked at him with that same curiosity, that gentle tilt of your head, and it struck him just how far away you felt—like a dream that had slipped through his fingers.
It wasn’t his place to feel this way. Not anymore. But he couldn’t help the ache that gnawed at his ribs, nor the desperate urge to reach out and pull you into his arms, to whisper apologies into your skin until his words sunk into your bones. Yet even from a distance, he could see how your shoulders were relaxed, your gaze steady and unburdened, and it only made the chasm between you widen.
When another person’s hands found your own, threading fingers together with the ease of familiarity, his heart cracked open—raw and aching. It wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t care. But he did. Too much. More than he thought he still could.
He wanted to run after you, to say something—anything. But what would he even say? That he missed you so much it hurt? That he had spent a year convincing himself he’d made the right choice, only to realize how profoundly wrong he’d been? It all felt pointless now, tangled in regret and longing.
Endless scenarios crashed through his mind like waves against rock, and somewhere in that turmoil, he decided he needed to speak to you—one last time. He needed your attention on him, just once more.
He waited for you outside your workplace, nerves coiling tighter with every second that passed. He wondered if you’d be angry—if you’d tell him to leave and never come back. But when you appeared, you only offered a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You looked at him with the calm detachment of someone who had long since made peace with the past.
“Hey...” he murmured, forcing a boyish grin that looked so out of place on his troubled face. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to wring out the nerves clinging to him.
You smiled again—gentle, unbothered, and heartbreakingly kind. “Hi.” Your voice was soft, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, and it was that tenderness—free from bitterness—that made his chest ache. He had prepared himself for anger, for hurt laced in your words. Instead, you were kind. You always had been, like a flower that bent but never broke, even under the harshest of storms.
“I was wondering if we could talk,” he said finally, hesitating as if the words themselves might shatter.
You didn’t move, just nodded your head. “Talk, then.” Your tone was steady, as if he was just another passerby in your life, not the storm that once tore it apart.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke, words stumbling over one another. “I guess... I didn’t realize how much I missed you—until I saw you at the station. I just—” He took a shaky breath. “I wanted to know if you’d ever consider forgiving me. For how foolish I was. For being so... selfish.” His eyes, those familiar, pleading puppy eyes, bore into yours, searching for a sliver of the past warmth.
You glanced at him, and he saw the flicker of something unreadable in your gaze before you answered. “Forgiveness is too much to ask for,” you replied softly, but your voice held a quiet strength that hadn’t been there before. “But I’ve learned to accept what happened. You should too, Caleb.”
His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept it.”
You gave a sad, wistful smile, the kind that hurt more than any cruel words could have. “That’s on you,” you whispered, eyes glistening with a tenderness that had nothing to do with him anymore. “I’m happy now. I’ve built something beautiful out of the pieces you left behind. And I won’t let you take that from me.”
He lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.
Your smile faded, replaced by a quiet, unyielding resolve. “Intentions don’t erase consequences. Live a life without further regrets, Caleb.”
You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked away, each step decisive and unwavering, leaving him rooted to the spot—drowning in the knowledge that you were truly, undeniably gone.
And Caleb just stood there, feeling the hollow ache where your love used to be, realizing far too late that he had destroyed the only good thing he’d ever known.
hello! good day to youuu, can i make a request for the lads men? in which reader is not the mc and here's the prompt: having to beg them to do something with you then seeing them doing it with mc willingly, sorry english is not my first language but pleaaaseeee 😭 i love some angst.
Bitter
Pt. 2
PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader
SYNOPSIS: Watching the one you love partake in what you once pleaded to share—a quiet betrayal—feels like an arrow through the heart, swift and merciless. (angst, no comfort)
A/N: Thank you for the request, it came out more as a drabble. Hope you enjoy!
Xavier
What a bitter, gutting thing it was—to stand in the shadows and watch him shine for someone else. To see the light in his eyes, the easy laughter, the quiet devotion as he did for her what he had never done for you.
The one thing you once begged for. The one thing he had denied you.
But not her. Never her.
She was fate’s beloved, the one woven from the same celestial thread as him, bound to him in ways you never could be. You had always told yourself to be rational, to be understanding. Xavier came with a past. He came with baggage.
And inside that baggage, nestled close to his heart, was her.
The woman you would envy until the world turned to dust.
And yet—how could you ever bring yourself to hate her? When she was made of kindness, of soft edges and warm light? When she looked at you with nothing but affection, oblivious to the ruin she left in her wake? She was an angel. A blessing. A curse.
And fate, it seemed, had always been on her side.
So there they were, walking side by side, woven together so seamlessly it was almost poetic. Almost cruel. Her bags in his hands, the weight of them carried so effortlessly—as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
And yet, when you had asked for the same—just a simple day together, just a moment of his time—he had sighed, shaken his head, told you he was too tired. That work was too much. That he simply couldn’t.
But now, watching him with her, you couldn’t help but wonder—did she take his exhaustion away? Did her presence breathe new life into him in a way you never could?
The answer settled deep in your bones, cold and unrelenting.
Your friend beside you said nothing, only looking at you with that quiet, suffocating pity that made your stomach turn. Because there was nothing to say. Nothing to soften the truth you had known all along.
You were not his first thought in the morning. You were not the name on his lips when he passed a garden of wildflowers. You were not the presence lingering in his mind when the world grew quiet.
And you never would be.
You had spent so long fighting against it. Xavier loves me. He chose me. The words had been your lifeline, a fragile, trembling thing you whispered into the silence. But even your friends never seemed convinced.
And now, neither were you.
So you did the only thing you knew how to do.
You turned away.
No confrontation. No desperate pleas for an explanation that would only come laced with half-truths and empty reassurances. What good was honesty when it had never been yours to begin with?
When he came home that night, his lips still curved with the ghost of a smile, he found an emptiness he had never felt before. Your things, your presence—gone, as if you had never been there at all.
And in your place, only a single note remained.
"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Because clearly, it was never me."
And Xavier, poor Xavier, would stand there, reading those words over and over, grasping at the fraying edges of something he had never truly held onto.
But then again—
Xavier had never noticed his wrongdoings.
Not until there was nothing left but the weight of his own ruin.
Zayne
Zayne—or Dr. Zayne, as she called him—had always been a good man. A gentleman in every sense. Caring, affectionate, endlessly considerate.
But never for you.
His tenderness felt practiced, his affections routine. As if he wasn’t loving you, but fulfilling some unspoken obligation. A kindness given not out of devotion, but out of mere habit.
And you had tried to ignore it. Swallowed your doubts, convinced yourself you were overthinking.
Until you saw them together.
Her.
The one fate had tied him to. The one who never had to ask for his attention, because it had always belonged to her.
Her laughter lit up rooms before she even stepped inside. Her eyes gleamed like sunlight catching on water—brilliant, hypnotic, impossible to look away from. And neither could he.
And then, there was the picture.
A simple post, one she likely uploaded without a second thought, oblivious to the quiet devastation it would bring.
There she was, sitting in his office. Smiling. At ease.
Sharing lunch with him.
Something you had never been allowed to do.
You had asked once—just to drop by, to see him, to spend even a sliver of time together in the place he spent most of his days. But he had refused, brushing you off with a gentle but firm, “I don’t want distractions.”
And yet, there she was, sitting across from him, urging him to eat the food she had made, as if she had every right to be there. And maybe she did.
They had known each other forever. That was what you told yourself—Of course, they’re close. Of course, they understand each other in ways I never will. You had tried to accept it. To be understanding.
But then you saw the way he looked at her in the picture.
The softness in his eyes. The quiet, unguarded devotion.
Like she was the only one who could unravel him, the only one who could slip past his carefully built walls.
You had spent so long trying to do the same, but you never even made a crack.
And so, that was the moment you made a promise to yourself.
You would not be someone’s second choice. You would not collect the scraps of his affection while she—effortless, radiant, destined—was given everything you had ever wanted.
And Zayne noticed.
He noticed in the silence. In the missed calls that went unanswered, the messages left on read. In the bouquets left wilting at your doorstep, the petals curling at the edges.
Roses.
Her favorite flowers.
Not yours.
And that was all the confirmation you needed.
Zayne was never the gentleman you thought he was.
Or perhaps, he was. Just never for you.
Or maybe—maybe it was fate itself that was cruel.
Rafayel
Something inside you cracked, splintering like fragile seashells beneath careless hands—shattered beyond repair, beyond mending.
It wasn’t a sudden break. No, it had been slow, creeping in like the tide, eroding the edges of your love bit by bit, pulling pieces of you away before you could even notice you were unraveling.
And now, the final wave had come, and it had taken everything with it.
Because there he was—your Rafayel—kneeling beside her, smiling in a way you had longed to be the cause of.
The sight alone stole the breath from your lungs.
You had spent so long pretending not to notice. Ignoring the way his gaze always sought her out, the way his voice softened just a fraction when he spoke to her. You had swallowed the ache, told yourself it didn’t matter.
"That’s just the way he is," you had whispered, time and time again.
But it had never been the way he was.
It had only ever been the way he was with you.
And now, you knew why.
Rafayel hated cats.
You remembered the way his nose had scrunched when you had once tried to feed a stray by the docks, the way he had flicked his fingers as if to ward the creature away. “Little beasts,” he had muttered, half-amused, half-disgusted. “I don’t understand how you humans tolerate them.”
You had laughed then, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous they’re cuter than you.”
And yet—here he was.
Crouched beside her, cradling a trembling kitten in careful, delicate hands, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. His touch—usually teasing, fleeting, always just out of reach—was steady, warm, tender.
For her.
Not for you.
Something cold curled around your ribs, sinking deep, making it harder to breathe.
It was never about the kitten.
It was never about the things he couldn’t do.
It was about the things he never wanted to do for you.
And watching him now, so unguarded, so effortlessly kind, made you wish you had never met him at all.
Rage and sorrow burned through your veins, curling beneath your skin like a sickness. You wanted to rip that stupidly charming smile from his face, wanted to demand why he had never looked at you like that.
But there was no point.
So you turned and walked away.
Ignoring reality, just as you had once tried to ignore fate.
But fate never ignored you.
And something in the air told you—Rafayel wouldn’t either.
Sylus
Sylus had never been an easy man to love.
Sharp edges, cold precision—every move calculated, every word spoken with intent. He was not a man swayed by sentiment, nor was he one to entertain trivial affections.
You had known this from the start.
And yet, knowing had never stopped you from wanting.
So you learned to take what little he gave you—stolen moments in the dead of night, whispered conversations where he let the ice thaw just enough for you to believe there was something beneath it. But always, always, he kept his distance, his affections measured, restrained.
"This is who I am," he had told you once, when you asked why he never let himself soften. "I don’t have the luxury of being gentle."
You had believed him.
Until now.
Until you saw him, standing there in the dim glow of a high-rise restaurant, his head tilted ever so slightly toward her. The woman fate had written into his story, the one whose presence seemed to unravel him in ways you never could.
His fated one.
And in front of them, two untouched glasses of wine.
Wine.
The very thing he had refused to share with you.
"I don’t drink with others," he had said once, his voice clipped, final. "It's a pleasure reserved for my time alone."
But now, here he was. Sharing a glass with her. His fingers resting idly against the stem of his glass, his expression unreadable yet undeniably present. He was here. Fully. With her.
A man who never entertained distractions, utterly enthralled.
The way he looked at her—it was something different. Something you had never been granted. There was no calculation in his gaze, no careful restraint. No cold, distant amusement.
Just quiet acceptance. As if she had been meant to sit beside him all along.
And that was when you knew.
You could tear yourself apart, try to become everything he had ever wanted, and it still wouldn’t matter. Because fate had already made the choice for him.
And it wasn’t you.
Still, you lingered a moment longer, letting the pain settle, letting it carve its lesson deep into your ribs.
And then, without a word, you turned and left.
Because you, too, could learn to be cold.
Caleb
Caleb had always been warm. That was the problem.
He had a way of making you believe you belonged there—tucked into his arms, held close by quiet promises and easy smiles. He made you think you mattered.
But there was always her.
His childhood best friend.
Not bound by fate, not chosen by some cosmic force—just there. Always. In every story he told, in every old memory that made his eyes soften with something you could never quite reach. The one who had been with him before you, the one who had held his hand through storms you’d never even known existed.
And you told yourself it wasn’t a competition.
Until the night you saw them.
The neon lights of the karaoke bar cast the whole street in a soft glow, music and laughter spilling from inside as you walked past—until something, someone, made your steps falter.
Through the open doors, past the booths and glowing screens, you saw him.
Caleb.
Standing there, microphone in hand, singing.
With her.
The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.
"I don’t like singing in front of people," he had told you once, shaking his head with a sheepish smile when you begged him to join you for just one song. "It’s embarrassing. I just—I can’t, okay?"
But now, here he was.
Swaying slightly, smiling as their voices blended together in a song you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t perfect—his voice cracked in places, he missed a beat or two—but that didn’t matter. Because he was trying. Because he was enjoying it.
Because she made him feel safe enough to do what he had never done for you.
Your stomach twisted.
It had never been about singing.
It had been about you.
You should have walked away then. Should have swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back, should have spared yourself the cruel spectacle of watching them.
But you didn’t.
You stayed long enough to see the way he laughed when she nudged him playfully. The way he looked at her, unguarded, free. The way she reached for his hand without hesitation—because she knew it would always be there, waiting for her.
And for the first time, you realized—maybe you had never been holding his hand at all. Maybe you had only been grasping at the space he left behind.
Something cold settled in your chest.
You didn’t wait for him to notice you.
You just turned, and left, without a sound.
And Caleb, too caught up in a song meant for someone else, never even saw you go.
PLEASE PART 2 ON THE SELF DOUBT ANGEST PUHHHLEEEEEEASE
SELF-DOUBT │ PART 2
Pt.1
PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader (reader is implied to be the MC in Caleb's part)
SYNOPSIS: Part 2 of "Self-doubt" - comfort!!
A/N: Finally, it's here. Hope you enjoy!
Xavier
Finally deciding to go home and drown your sorrows in sleep, you stood, your limbs heavy, your breath unsteady. But before you could take a step, the sound of approaching footsteps stopped you in your tracks.
Soft at first, deliberate, hesitant—yet steady. Familiar.
You didn't have to look up to know who it was.
A quiet sigh left your lips. "Xavier."
He didn’t speak right away, but you could feel him watching you. There was no judgment in his gaze, no demand for explanation. Just patience. A patience that made something fragile inside you crack even more.
Wordlessly, he sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, even in the biting chill of the night. Neither of you spoke, and for once, the silence wasn't unbearable. It was different. Softer.
"You scared me," he finally admitted, his voice quieter than usual, as if he was afraid that speaking too loud would shatter whatever fragile state you were in.
You swallowed, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. "I’m fine."
Xavier hummed, unconvinced. "You’re not. But I’m not here to force you to talk. I just... didn’t want you to be alone."
Something thick lodged itself in your throat at his words. The lump of emotions you'd tried so hard to suppress threatened to spill over.
"Why?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, so raw it almost hurt to speak. "Why do you always—"
"Care?" he finished for you, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, though his eyes remained serious. "Because you matter to me. You always have. And I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but I know one thing for certain—you are not some afterthought. You are not unworthy. You are not less."
Your breath hitched, eyes burning. "You don’t understand."
Xavier exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustrated but not with you—with whatever had made you feel like this. "Then make me understand. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll sit here with you until you do. If you want to pretend everything is fine, I’ll let you. But I’m not leaving."
You turned to him then, really looked at him. At the certainty in his expression, the unwavering belief in his eyes. It was so infuriatingly Xavier—so effortlessly kind, so utterly steadfast—that it made your heart ache in ways you couldn’t put into words.
You opened your mouth, but no excuses came. No lies. No ways to push him away.
Instead, your voice cracked, and before you could stop yourself, you whispered, "I don’t know how to stop feeling like this."
Xavier didn’t hesitate. He reached out, hesitantly at first, as if giving you the choice to pull away. But you didn’t. You let him take your hand, let his warmth seep into your cold fingers, grounding you.
"You don’t have to do it alone," he murmured. "I don’t care how long it takes. Just… don’t shut me out."
The dam inside you broke.
A choked sob tore through you, your body shaking under the weight of everything you had been holding in for far too long. And Xavier—he didn’t flinch, didn’t let go. He simply pulled you close, wrapping you in the kind of embrace that felt less like comfort and more like something solid. Something safe.
You clung to him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as alone as you thought.
And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be.
His fingers traced slow, soothing circles against your back, his breath warm against your temple. "I don't want you to disappear into the dark. If you let me, I'll stay."
The words, so simple yet so profound, settled into your chest like an ember, slow-burning and tender. You lifted your head, meeting his gaze, and in the hush of the night, something unspoken passed between you—something delicate, something inevitable.
Xavier’s thumb brushed the damp trail of a tear from your cheek, his touch unbearably gentle. "I see you," he murmured, and before you could think, before you could hesitate, he was leaning in.
It was soft, barely there—a whisper of a kiss against your forehead, a silent promise. Not rushed, not demanding, just steady. Just real.
And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.
Zayne
The city had always been too loud, yet tonight, it felt impossibly quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed against your ribs, heavy and suffocating, filling the spaces between heartbeats with something unnamed and unrelenting. The café door had long since closed behind you, but the ghost of Zayne’s presence still lingered, his voice a phantom echo in your mind.
You walked without direction, only moving because stillness felt too much like surrender. The night air was crisp, laced with the scent of rain that hadn’t yet fallen, and you breathed it in as if it could cleanse the weight of everything left unsaid. But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t.
Your phone remained in your grasp, screen dark, thumb hovering over his name in your messages. A message unsent. A confession you didn’t dare put into words. You had told yourself you would let this go, let him go—but wasn’t that the cruelest kind of lie?
You stopped beneath the glow of a streetlamp, light spilling over you in fragile, golden threads. Your breath wavered, hands tightening around the fabric of your sleeves. And then, against every instinct screaming at you to forget, to move on—you typed.
“I’m sorry.”
It was inadequate. A pitiful offering for the storm that had brewed between you. But before you could backspace, before you could rethink, you pressed send.
The reply came faster than expected.
“I’m still here.”
Three words. Simple. Unwavering. And yet, they shattered something deep inside you.
You closed your eyes, letting the night swallow you whole. You should have walked away. You should have ignored him the way you had trained yourself to. But Zayne had never been someone you could ignore. And perhaps, just this once, you didn’t want to.
With unsteady fingers, you called him.
The line rang once.
Twice.
A third time.
And then—
“Come back inside.”
His voice was quiet, intimate in a way that sent a tremor through your chest. He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t demanding. Just offering. Leaving the choice in your hands, as he always did.
Your throat tightened. Your heart ached.
For a long moment, you said nothing. You listened to the silence stretching between you, to the quiet promise hidden in his words. And then, with a breath that felt too much like surrender, you turned on your heel, retracing your steps back to the light.
When you stepped back inside, the café was quieter than before. The world outside had not changed, and yet, everything within you had shifted. Zayne was still there, waiting, his gaze unreadable but warm. A cup of something hot sat across from his own, waiting for you, as if he had always known you would return.
You sat without a word, hands wrapping around the warmth of the cup. For a moment, there was only the quiet hum of the café, the soft clink of porcelain, the steady presence of him beside you. And then—
“I never wanted to be someone unreachable,” he murmured, his fingers resting just inches from yours on the table. “Not to you.”
Your breath hitched, something fragile pressing against your ribs. “Zayne—”
“I see you,” he said, voice as steady as the earth beneath you. “Not as an afterthought. Not as someone passing through my life.” His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and unwavering. “But as someone I want in it.”
Something deep inside you cracked wide open.
A shuddering exhale left your lips, and before you could stop yourself, your fingers brushed over his—hesitant, uncertain. But when he turned his palm upward, intertwining his fingers with yours, it was effortless. As if he had been waiting for this moment, just as much as you had.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight in your chest eased. The walls you had built so carefully, so stubbornly, faltered in the warmth of his touch.
And for once, you let them fall.
Rafayel
The world felt quieter without him in it.
You told yourself it was for the best, that you had made the right decision. And yet, as the days bled into nights, as the hours passed in dull monotony, you found yourself reaching—again and again—for something that was no longer there.
For him.
For the sound of his laughter, for the weight of his presence filling the spaces you hadn’t realized were empty. For the warmth he carried so effortlessly, the kind of warmth that lingered long after he was gone.
But you had done this to yourself.
And now, you had to live with it.
Or at least, you thought you did—until the knocking started.
Soft at first. A hesitant tap against the door, as though testing if you were even home. And then, more insistent. Steady. Patient. Unyielding.
You ignored it, at first. Pressed your hands against your ears and willed it to stop, to go away. But the universe was never that kind.
“Cutie.”
Your breath caught.
Muffled through the door, but unmistakable. His voice—soft, coaxing, laced with something raw beneath the teasing lilt. A plea hidden in a single word.
You curled deeper into yourself, fingers tightening around the blanket you had wrapped around your frame. If you stayed silent, he’d leave. If you waited long enough, he’d realize you weren’t worth it. That you were doing him a favor.
But he didn’t leave.
He sighed, the sound heavy, filled with something you couldn’t quite name. And then—
“I’m not mad at you.”
The words struck harder than you expected. You squeezed your eyes shut, hating the way your heart clenched, the way your resolve wavered like sand beneath the tide.
“I just...” A pause. A shift, as though he had leaned against the door. “I don’t understand.”
You swallowed. You didn’t want him to understand. Didn’t want him to see the ugly, selfish parts of you, the ones that whispered that maybe—just maybe—you wanted him to fight for you. That you wanted to be more than just another passing moment in his life.
“I thought you knew by now.” His voice was quieter, words woven with something impossibly tender. “You don’t have to keep up with me, cutie. You were never supposed to.”
Your throat tightened.
“I just wanted you there.”
Your fingers twitched. Trembled. Your resolve, already fraying at the edges, threatened to unravel completely.
“I don’t care if you don’t want to see me right now,” he continued, and there was something steady in his voice now. Certain. “But don’t think for a second that I don’t see you.”
A shaky breath. Yours, not his. He was always so sure. So steady. A lighthouse in a storm you hadn’t even realized you were lost in.
The silence stretched between you, thick with everything left unsaid. And then, softer—
“I miss you.”
Your hands clenched into the fabric of your sleeves.
A choice.
A breath.
A surrender.
With trembling fingers, you unlocked the door.
The moment it cracked open, he was there.
Rafayel—bigger than life, impossibly beautiful in the dim light of the hallway. But his eyes, sharp as they were, softened the moment they met yours. He looked at you as if you were something precious. Something worth waiting for.
Something he would wait for, as long as it took.
You exhaled, the weight in your chest easing just slightly. And for the first time in days, you let yourself be selfish.
You stepped forward, barely a breath between you, and before you could think better of it, his arms were around you.
The embrace was immediate, crushing in its intensity. His hands found the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he held you tight, as if to assure himself you were real, here, not slipping through his fingers like a dream about to fade.
“Don’t do that again,” he murmured into your hair, voice uneven, raw in a way you had never heard before. “Don’t shut me out.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, knuckles white, grounding yourself in the warmth of him.
“Okay,” you whispered, breath hitching when he pulled back just enough to look at you. His hands cradled your face, touch achingly gentle, reverent, as if memorizing the details of you in case you disappeared again.
He searched your face, gaze flickering between your eyes, your lips, before he exhaled sharply, like he had just made a decision. And then—
Soft. Slow.
His lips brushed against yours, a question, a promise, a silent plea. You melted into him, sighing against his mouth, letting yourself be held, letting yourself be wanted.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the night.
“Come inside,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled, something warm, something yours, and just like that—the world wasn’t so quiet anymore.
Sylus
The hours slipped by in hazy disarray, the wine glass now empty, the room a blur of half-formed thoughts and aching silence. You could feel the chill of the night seeping deeper into your bones, but it wasn’t the cold air that made you shiver. It was the weight of your own thoughts—the gnawing self-doubt, the quiet loneliness that seemed to stretch out forever, wrapping itself around you like an unwanted lover.
You told yourself to be strong. You told yourself to forget. To move on.
But it was impossible to ignore the echo of his name in your mind, the memory of his touch, the way his eyes had looked at you—so soft, so gentle, like you were something more than just a fleeting shadow in his world. You had convinced yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter to him. But now, in the silence of your empty apartment, that lie was unraveling at the edges.
You were not enough for him, and yet you had never wanted anything more.
The sound of your phone vibrating again cut through the haze, and for a moment, you simply stared at the screen. The name flashed once more.
Sylus.
The familiar pang of longing twisted in your chest, a sharp, bitter ache. You didn’t want to open it. Didn’t want to be reminded of everything you couldn’t have. You had closed that door, hadn’t you?
But the phone buzzed again. And then again.
Without thinking, your thumb slid across the screen, the message lighting up the dim room.
"I’m outside."
Your heart stuttered in your chest.
You blinked, the words swimming before your eyes. Your pulse quickened. He was here. And for a moment, you almost convinced yourself to ignore him, to let him be just another chapter you could close. But that wasn’t you, was it? You were never one to run from what you felt, no matter how terrifying it seemed.
The sound of his footsteps echoed against the hallway, distant but unmistakable. The way his boots hit the ground with that gentle weight, as though each step was taken with purpose. You felt the air shift as he drew closer, your skin prickling with the intensity of his presence.
The door knocked softly, almost too softly, as though he was waiting for you to make the first move. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you hesitated.
“Please,” his voice reached you, quieter now, as if spoken through the layers of pain you had wrapped yourself in. “Let me in.”
Your breath caught, and without thinking, you turned the knob.
The door swung open, and there he was.
Sylus.
The light from the hallway cast him in a soft glow, outlining his silhouette in such stark contrast to the darkness behind you. His eyes—those eyes, the ones that could see straight through every defense you put up—were soft. Warm, even. There was an urgency to his gaze, but also a tenderness, as if he was afraid to touch you too suddenly, afraid to break the fragile moment that existed between you.
“I couldn’t leave,” he murmured, and his voice cracked just the slightest bit as he spoke, his own emotions laid bare.
Your heart ached at the sight of him, standing there, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. The man who had once seemed so untouchable, so unreachable, now seemed almost fragile in his need for you.
“You don’t have to do this,” you whispered, voice shaking.
But he stepped forward anyway, and in that moment, everything shifted. His hands were warm when they cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the traces of tears you hadn’t even realized you were still holding back.
“I do,” he said, his voice low and firm, yet undeniably soft. “I do, because I’ve never needed anyone the way I need you.”
And with those words, your world fell away.
Without another word, he pulled you into him, his embrace fierce yet gentle, as though he was afraid you would slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His scent enveloped you, familiar and grounding, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to sink into it. You let yourself surrender to the warmth of his arms, the only place that felt like home anymore.
“I was so afraid,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. “So afraid of being nothing to you.”
His fingers threaded through your hair, and he pressed his lips against the top of your head, the softest kiss, a promise more than a gesture.
“You were never nothing to me,” he whispered. “You were never a fleeting thing. I just... I didn’t know how to show you, not when I was so terrified of losing myself in you.”
You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, the depth of his words reflected in the dark pools of his eyes. For the first time, you saw it—the same raw vulnerability, the same fear of not being enough that you had harbored so deep inside.
And in that moment, it no longer mattered who was enough or not enough. All that mattered was that he was here. And so were you.
You kissed him then—softly, slowly, as if testing whether the world would allow such a moment of peace to exist. But his lips were insistent, and soon enough, the kiss deepened, your worries melting away with each touch, each press of his body against yours. The weight of your doubts lifted, replaced by something far more comforting, far more real.
In his arms, you were not lost. You were not a fleeting moment. You were everything.
And as the night wrapped itself around you both, the air no longer felt cold. It felt warm. It felt like home.
Caleb
It was almost absurd, how you could feel so much for someone, and yet, never have them see it. Caleb, your constant. The one who would always be there to crack a joke, to make you laugh when the world felt heavy. But as time passed, it became harder to pretend. Pretend that the ache in your chest was just something you could ignore, pretend that you could be content with the role of the background character, the one who never got the spotlight.
You stared at the ceiling, the dim glow of your phone still lingering in the darkness, his name burning through the cold night. You were so tired of pretending, tired of holding everything inside, locking it away like some precious treasure only you could see. But it was suffocating you, this secret love, this thing you never asked for but couldn’t escape.
The steady buzz of your phone in your hand felt like a pulse, like a lifeline, but also like a reminder of everything you couldn’t have. It hurt too much to answer. It always did. Because with Caleb, every conversation felt like an act of theater, a performance where you smiled and pretended to be happy, to be fine, when the truth was you were drowning. Drowning in a love that never had a chance to be returned, that was never meant to be returned.
Another message lit up the screen, and your chest tightened. "Pipsqueak, please answer me. I’m worried."
Worried. His words rang in your ears, his concern always just enough to make you feel seen, but never enough to pull you from the depths of your own feelings. You wanted to scream at him. To ask him why, after all this time, he still didn’t see you. Why couldn’t he see what was right in front of him?
But you couldn’t. Because if you did, you would break. And breaking meant losing him entirely. It meant letting go of the one piece of your life that was still solid, the one thing that still anchored you to the world.
With a trembling hand, you turned the phone face down on your nightstand, the silence between you now absolute. The emptiness felt suffocating, but you couldn’t take back what you had already done. You had locked him out, not just from the room, but from your heart. And maybe that was the best thing for both of you.
But as the hours passed, the weight of that decision grew heavier, until it felt unbearable.
Your phone buzzed again. It was him, and this time, you didn’t hesitate.
You picked it up, feeling that familiar pang of hope and fear coil in your chest. There was no turning back now. He was calling, and you—well, you couldn’t run anymore.
“Hey,” you whispered, almost too quietly. The sound of your voice was fragile, like it might shatter if you said too much.
“Y/N, you okay?” Caleb’s voice came through, low and concerned, but there was something more to it this time. Something you hadn’t noticed before—the way his voice lingered, the way it softened when he spoke your name.
“Yeah, just tired,” you replied, forcing a smile into your tone. It wasn’t enough to mask the sadness, but it would have to do.
There was a pause on the other end, and then he sighed. “You’re lying.”
You let out a small, bitter laugh. "Am I?"
“Yes,” he said simply. “I know you better than that.”
And for the first time, you felt the walls you’d carefully built between you begin to crack. Caleb, as oblivious as he was, somehow always knew when you were hiding something. It was frustrating, maddening even, but in that moment, you couldn’t deny it. His understanding of you, his ability to see through your armor, made everything feel even more impossible.
“I’m fine,” you said again, but it was weaker this time. "I just… I need some space, Caleb. It’s nothing. Really."
His voice softened, as though he could sense the lie even through the phone. “I don’t believe you.”
You were silent for a long moment, the weight of the conversation pressing in on you. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you had to say, but the words felt tangled in your throat.
“Caleb,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “I just—sometimes, I feel like I’m invisible to you. Like no matter how much I try to be there, it’s never enough.”
And there it was. The truth. The raw, aching truth that you had buried for so long.
You waited for him to speak, to laugh, to dismiss your feelings as something trivial. But instead, there was a silence so thick it felt suffocating.
And then, in the quiet, he finally spoke.
“I never meant to make you feel that way,” Caleb said, his voice unusually quiet, the usual teasing lilt replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “I… I never saw it like that. But I should have. I should’ve seen how much you’ve always been there. How much I’ve taken you for granted.”
You swallowed, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. You didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t know if you even could.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he continued, and there was something in his voice now that made your heart ache. “You’re not invisible to me, pips. You’ve never been.”
And in that moment, you allowed yourself to believe him, just for a little while.
You didn’t know what would happen next, what this would all mean, but for once, it didn’t matter. Caleb had seen you. Really seen you. And that was enough to keep you holding on.
“I’m here,” you whispered. “Always.”
And in the space between those words, something shifted, like the universe itself exhaled, allowing you both to breathe again.
SYNOPSIS: Lately, your boyfriend had become impossibly dramatic—and hopelessly clingy. What's the reason for that?
A/N: I feel like my writing has really downgraded lately, so I felt like writing whatever I had in mind instead of doing a request ;p
Xavier
It wasn’t unusual for Xavier to cling to you, especially when he was sleepy—his heavy eyelids fluttering, the warmth of your scent lulling him into drowsiness as he melted into your embrace.
But lately? He had reached a whole new level of attachment. It was as if you were the very air he breathed, as though spending even a moment apart would drain him of life itself.
You were in the kitchen, making hot chocolate for your video game night, and yet—even now—he was right behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. The soft tickle of his breath against your skin sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.
“Xavi…” You chuckled, the amusement in your tone obvious. “You could just wait on the couch, you know.”
“I’d much rather wait for you here,” he murmured, his voice honeyed and low, punctuated by a lingering kiss against your neck.
You exhaled, shaking your head in mock exasperation before turning to face him. His big, pleading eyes locked onto yours, his lower lip jutted out in a dramatic pout. And despite the sheer closeness between you, he still looked like he wanted more.
“What’s up with you and this sudden clinginess?” you asked, raising a curious brow, though your voice was tinged with amusement.
For a moment, he simply hummed, rubbing his cheek against yours like an oversized cat. You frowned. Now that you thought about it, Xavier did have some very cat-like tendencies.
But then… the silence stretched. Suspiciously so.
“Xavier.” Your tone sharpened slightly, prompting him to finally meet your gaze. That’s when you saw it—guilt. Clear as day. He looked like a scolded puppy.
“I… may have accidentally stained your favorite hoodie,” he admitted sheepishly. “With… curry.”
You blinked. Processing.
Then, in the calmest, most serious tone you could muster, you said, “Xavier, I suggest you start running.”
His eyes flickered with panic, scanning your face for any sign of mercy. There was none.
And so, he listened. He turned on his heel, ready to make his grand escape—but it was already too late. You leapt onto his back, tugging at his hair (just enough to make him suffer, not enough to really hurt him).
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU BETRAYED ME LIKE THIS!” you howled, whining dramatically as you clung to him.
“OW! OW—HEY—OWWW!” He yelped, flailing helplessly under your relentless assault. “I’M SORRY!”
...
After an intense battle, you sat victorious, hair disheveled, while Xavier nursed his wounds—namely, the light bite marks on his arms and his sore neck.
“Keep going,” you instructed, arms crossed as you watched him scribble an apology letter, his wrist cramping from the thousand-word essay you’d demanded as retribution.
He groaned, rubbing his aching hand. “I swear my love for you is being tested right now.”
Guess his clinginess wasn’t entirely unprovoked, after all.
Zayne
You stared at your boyfriend, bewildered, as he clung to you with a desperate intensity—his face buried in your chest, arms wrapped around you like he feared you might vanish. Zayne had his moments, always loved keeping you close, but this? This was… unusual. And incredibly distracting, too, as you felt the warm brush of his breath against your skin while you tried, in vain, to focus on your book.
“Aww, babe, did something happen?” You set the book aside, fingers threading through his hair in slow, soothing strokes.
He let out a deep sigh, his grip tightening instead of answering. The silence was enough to make worry creep up your spine.
Gently, you cupped his cheeks and tilted his face up toward you, only to be met with those eyes—big, soft, and guilt-ridden. Damn those puppy eyes.
“Zayne…” You narrowed your gaze, testing the waters.
His response? To promptly bury his face back in your chest, as if hiding from the inevitable.
Your fingers stilled in his hair. “Spill.”
For a moment, he hesitated. Then, in a voice lower than usual—like he was about to confess a mortal sin—he muttered, “Darling… You do know how much I adore you, don’t you?”
Your brow arched. Suspicion bloomed.
And then, it clicked.
“No. You didn’t.” Your voice teetered on the edge of disbelief.
Zayne sighed. “…I’m afraid I did.”
The limited-edition chocolate. The one your friend had brought from abroad. The one you had been saving for a special occasion.
Oh. Oh, he was dead.
"Zayne," you began, tone deceptively calm, "as much as I love you, I feel like I’m about to kill you right now.”
Finally, he had the decency to sit up, meeting your gaze with an expression that was somehow both stoic and dramatically sorrowful.
“I apologize…” he murmured, as if this was some tragic accident. “I’m not even sure how it happened. One moment, it was in the pantry and then… gone.”
You inhaled sharply. “AGAIN?”
And now?
Zayne sat in front of you, watching—suffering—as you mercilessly devoured all his favorite sweets. Every last thing he was craving, even the rare, limited-edition ones he had been saving.
You held up a delicate macaron, twirling it between your fingers. His eyes lit up, lips parting instinctively, hope flickering in his expression.
“Oh, I bet you’d love a bite, huh?” you mused, bringing it just close enough to tease him.
His mouth barely opened before—poof!—the macaron disappeared. Straight into your mouth.
You smirked. “But traitors don’t deserve sweets.”
Zayne let out a betrayed sigh, slumping back dramatically. As if things weren’t bad enough, you had also sentenced him to the ultimate punishment: a one-week kiss ban.
And for a man who craved your affection like air, that? That was the cruelest torture of all.
Rafayel
Rafayel was clinging to you—as per usual. His body shifted restlessly as he tried to find the perfect spot on your lap, his head nestled against your thighs, his face nuzzling into them like a needy cat.
But something was… off.
Normally, he'd be whining about how comfy you were, or dramatically declaring that he could stay like this forever. But right now? He was unusually quiet. And that immediately set off alarms in your head.
"Raf," you murmured, brushing stray strands of hair from his face, fingers gently tracing his cheek. "Is something bothering you?"
He blinked up at you, and that was when you saw it.
The guilt.
His big, guilty eyes—a look you knew all too well—sent a shiver of suspicion down your spine.
And then, in a deep, tragic sigh, he began.
"Cutie…" He stroked your thighs, voice dripping with exaggerated sorrow. "Is your love unconditional? Would you still love me, even if I committed the worst of crimes?"
Your stomach dropped.
"Rafayel." His full name left your lips like a warning, making him tense. His expression somehow grew even guiltier.
"What did you do?" Your voice was calm—too calm. Your eye twitched slightly.
He hesitated. Then, finally, he exhaled and averted his gaze.
"I... I didn’t mean to," he mumbled. "It just kind of happened..."
Your arms folded. "Go on."
He swallowed.
"I—" He sighed again, looking at you like a man on death row. "I watched the new episode of Love Island without you."
Silence.
The betrayal.
Your breath caught in your throat. "You did what?!"
The sheer audacity. The disrespect. The ultimate relationship crime.
"How could you do this to me?!" you gasped, yanking your legs out from under him so fast that his head hit the couch with a dull thud.
"Ow—!" He winced, sitting up in a panic. His hands grasped yours in desperation. "Wait, don’t do anything drastic! I didn't mean—"
"It's too late now..." You freed your hands from his grip with a slow, deliberate motion.
He stilled.
You both knew what that meant.
...
"OW! Cutie, have mercy—!" Rafayel hissed, thrashing slightly beneath you.
You straddled him with a deadly smirk, tweezers in hand, plucking his body hair with ruthless precision. A sharp yank—his armpit. Another—his stomach. Then his leg. He flinched every time, eyes wild with regret.
"This is cruel!" he whined. "This is inhumane!"
"You did this to yourself." You gave him a faux-sympathetic smile, reaching for his arm next.
Another pluck. Another wince.
Rafayel groaned, flopping back dramatically. "Never again…" he muttered.
You leaned in, whispering in his ear with a wicked grin.
"That's what they all say."
Sylus
You sat comfortably on Sylus’s lap, his arms wrapped around you with a vice-like grip, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Cuddling like this was nothing new—Sylus lived for moments like these—but tonight, there was a different edge to it. A certain... desperation.
His fingers pressed into your back as if to mold you against him, his body tensed yet unwilling to let go.
“What’s got you squeezing me so tight, Sy?” you teased, dragging your fingers along his spine, relishing the way he shivered under your touch.
“Perhaps I just like having you close.” His voice was smooth—too smooth. Normally, the words would’ve made you melt, but there was something in his tone. A certain something you knew all too well.
You stilled. “...Did you do it again?”
The moment the words left your lips, his hold on you tightened.
“…Have I mentioned how absolutely stunning you look today?” He cooed, his lips brushing your skin. Classic. His go-to distraction tactic.
“Nice try,” you deadpanned. “Sylus. Did you, or did you not?”
He sighed, dramatically, like he was the victim here. “He was getting too touchy.”
You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Sylus, you’re going to give the poor guy a heart attack!”
The guy—as in your coworker. The one Sylus had sworn up and down was too friendly with you. The one he had, on multiple occasions, subtly and not-so-subtly terrified to the brink of quitting.
“You don’t need that job,” he muttered, pressing his lips against your shoulder as if that would erase his sins.
You rolled your eyes. “You know what that means.”
He went silent.
You both knew what that meant.
...
"Must I really do this?” Sylus sighed, standing stiffly in front of your workplace like he was being sent to the gallows.
“Yes,” you said firmly. “You will apologize. Or no cuddles and kisses for a week.”
At that, his eye twitched. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would.” You smirked, sticking your tongue out at him, watching as his lips quirked into the smallest of smiles before he returned to his signature look of disgusted annoyance.
Just then, the door to the building swung open, and there he was—your coworker. Upon spotting you, he smiled… but then his gaze shifted.
And the second he laid eyes on Sylus?
He yelped and bolted in the opposite direction.
You blinked. “Did he just—”
You turned to Sylus. He was smirking. Smug. As. Hell.
“How am I supposed to ‘apologize’ now, sweetie?” he mused, feigning innocence, though the satisfied glint in his eyes betrayed him.
What a smug, infuriating bastard.
Caleb
Caleb was glued to you—more than usual. His arms wrapped around your waist like a lifeline, his face buried in your shoulder as he let out a deep, dramatic sigh. You barely moved an inch before he was pulling you back in, holding you tighter.
Now, Caleb was always affectionate, but this? This was next-level.
“…Okay, what did you do?” you asked suspiciously, stopping your fingers from running through his hair.
He stiffened.
“What?” He forced out a laugh, lifting his head to look at you with far too much innocence. “Can’t a guy just be madly in love with his gorgeous partner?”
You squinted.
“Caleb.”
“…Yes, my love?”
“What. Did. You. Do?”
He hesitated. His eyes darted to the side. Then—a guilty smile.
Your stomach dropped.
“I may have tripped and somehow landed on your bed, and somehow the diary was open, and somehow my eyes just happened to read the page about how much you love my arms—”
“CALEB.” You pushed him away (he immediately latched back on). “You read my diary?!”
“Hey, hey, don’t be mad!” He tightened his hold, nuzzling into your neck. “I love you even more now! You think I’m devastatingly handsome, and I quote—”
You groaned. “Caleb, you absolute menace—!”
“You wrote a whole paragraph about my voice, pipsqueak” He grinned, shameless. “I didn’t even know you paid attention to—”
“You’re dead to me.”
"Noooo!" He practically climbed into your lap, pulling your arms around him like you had to hold him. “You can’t be mad at me! I am your devastatingly handsome boyfriend, after all—”
"You know what this means." You cut him off, smirking.
"You’re my slave for a whole week."
Caleb gaped at you. “That’s cruel.”
"You deserve it."
"But—"
"You will be fetching me snacks, running my baths, giving me foot rubs, carrying my bag—"
“This is inhumane.”
"Oh, I’m not done." You grinned wickedly. "You will also cook me breakfast every morning, write me a love letter every night, carry me whenever I want, and—oh, this is my favorite part—you will officially be my personal hype man. If I so much as walk into a room, you will dramatically announce my presence and remind everyone that I’m the most beautiful person alive."
Caleb’s jaw dropped.
"You’re insane."
"You read my diary."
"...Fair."
"Oh, and one more thing," you added. "You're now on kiss restriction for three days."
His entire world shattered. "WHAT?!"
"That's right." You tapped his nose condescendingly. "No kisses. No cuddles unless I initiate them. No sweet-talking your way out of this, Mr. Snoops-Through-My-Diary."
He groaned, flopping back onto the couch. "I regret everything."
"You should." You smirked, patting his cheek.
But deep down, you knew Caleb was about to be the most over-the-top servant in history. And honestly? You were so ready for it.
Can I request Jealous!MC where there’s a new colleague whom everyone respects (lets say shes only in Linkon for a week for a short mission) but MC sees how that colleague lowkey and subtly flirts with Xavier? (y’know how guys can be dense at times)
he sets boundaries though, it’s just “colleague” tries to push her luck— for the ending m not so sure, how about Xavier catches on and bluntly turns her down and makes it up for MC? :3
thank you!!!!!! you r very talented🫶🫶🫶
Me? Jealous?
PAIRING: Xavier x mc!reader
SYNOPSIS: Watching your new coworker grow a little too familiar with your boyfriend sent a sharp, unwelcome heat curling in your chest—an emotion you’d never dare to name, let alone admit.
A/N: Thank you for the request. I twisted it a little, so hope you won't mind. I'm not really good at writing jealousy-related stuff, but I hope I'll get better with time!! Hope you enjoy!
Xavier - your sweet, devoted lover. A man of quiet strength and effortless charm, wrapped in an air of aloof detachment that only made people want to be closer to him.
Somehow, despite his reserved nature, he had a gravitational pull. Perhaps it was his unshaken confidence, the way he moved with the quiet assurance of a skilled hunter who had nothing to prove. Or maybe it was that face—carved with sharp angles and softened by golden strands that always seemed to fall just right. Whatever the reason, people wanted him close.
You never minded. In fact, you were proud. Admired, respected—a man like that was yours, after all. And Xavier was never one to indulge in unnecessary conversations or fleeting acquaintances. His world was small, intimate, built on a foundation of loyalty and shared trust. You had never been given a reason to worry.
Until now.
Standing next to Tara, your stomach twisted as your gaze locked onto the scene unfolding across the room.
A woman—tall, poised, exuding an effortless confidence—stood by Xavier’s desk, leaning in just enough to blur the lines between casual and intentional. She had the look of someone who had never been denied, her gaze slow and deliberate as it traced the sharp lines of his face before slipping lower, taking in every inch of him like he was something to be appraised.
Like he was something to be claimed.
Your jaw tightened.
She wasn’t subtle. Her eyes lingered, drinking him in like a fine wine, her expression betraying nothing but intrigue and unspoken intent. If you didn’t know any better, you would have mistaken her for a predator, circling its prey with the patience of something that had never known hunger.
“Who the hell is that?” Tara’s voice was low, hushed, but tinged with the same disbelief you felt.
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.
“She’s the hunter Jenna assigned for the new mission,” Simone’s voice cut in, her sudden presence making you jolt. “They say she’s one of the best in the field.”
Your lips parted slightly. “The captain of the aviation department?”
Simone nodded, watching your expression carefully.
She was young for such a high-ranking position, but that wasn’t what unsettled you. What unsettled you was the way she carried herself—like she already knew the outcome of a game you hadn’t even realized you were playing.
And the worst part? Xavier seemed oblivious.
His responses were polite, clipped, maintaining the professionalism expected of him when speaking to a superior. He didn’t return her lingering gaze, didn’t acknowledge the subtle shifts in her tone, the way her lips curved when he spoke.
And yet, it still made your blood simmer.
You hated it—the feeling curling in your chest, the way it coiled around your ribs like something dark and unspoken. You didn’t want to name it. Didn’t want to admit that, for the first time, you felt something dangerously close to threatened.
It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Xavier. Quite the opposite.
It was her.
"She’s supposed to be here for a week or so,” Simone added, eyeing you warily as if she had just glimpsed a side of you she wasn’t quite sure how to handle.
Tara shot her a nervous glance. You didn’t miss the way they exchanged looks, as if silently agreeing that this was unfamiliar territory—you were unfamiliar territory.
Finally, your feet moved before your mind had time to catch up.
You wove through the room with careful, measured steps, every movement precise, controlled. By the time you reached Xavier’s side, you had already tucked away the wildfire burning beneath your skin, smoothing out the edges of your expression into something unreadable.
Xavier turned at your approach, and in an instant, everything about him changed.
His guarded expression softened, his posture easing as that rare, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Warm. Familiar. Yours.
The woman noticed.
“Ah, Y/N.” Her voice was smooth, practiced. She straightened slightly, taking you in with an unreadable gaze. “I’ve heard about you.”
Your eyes met hers, searching, assessing.
“All good things, I hope?” Your words were polite, but there was something beneath them—something carefully measured, just shy of warning.
She didn’t answer. Not really. Instead, a slow smirk curled at her lips, her amusement flickering like the first embers of a fire.
She turned back to Xavier, dismissing you entirely.
“Well, Xavier,” she mused, her voice taking on a honeyed lilt, “I hope you’ll consider my proposition.”
And then she walked away, hips swaying just enough to make her intentions clear.
Your fingers curled at your sides.
“What was that about?” You turned to Xavier, making no effort to hide the edge in your voice.
He blinked, glancing between you and the retreating figure. “…She wanted to meet up to discuss something about the mission.”
Casual. Dismissive. Utterly oblivious.
Xavier reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin in that familiar, grounding way. It was instinctive, absentminded, as if he had done it a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times again.
It was enough to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. Almost.
Because while you trusted Xavier implicitly, one thing was certain:
You were not about to let someone like her think she had a chance.
And with the welcome party set for later that week—a gathering meant to formally introduce the aviation captain to the association - it was the perfect moment to make sure she knows he's yours.
Yes. This was going to be fun.
...
Having heard about the party, you weren’t about to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. This was your chance to ensure the captain understood something crystal clear—Xavier was not, and never would be, one of her playthings.
With Tara and Simone’s help, you looked nothing short of lethal. Your makeup was flawless, enhancing every sharp edge and soft curve of your features, making you appear both untouchable and irresistibly tempting. Your hair was styled to perfection, cascading in a way that made you feel like a walking temptation, and your skin glowed with the scent of the perfume Xavier adored—the one that always seemed to awaken something predatory in him, darkening his gaze whenever you wore it.
And the pièce de résistance? A dress—the dress. Baby blue, the color of summer skies and lingering daydreams. It clung in all the right places, teasing with just enough skin to drive anyone who laid eyes on you to the brink of madness, yet leaving enough to the imagination to make them crave more. You knew the effect it had on Xavier. Knew the way his eyes darkened, how his hands twitched as if resisting the urge to pull you close and claim you on the spot.
And tonight, you planned on making sure everyone knew it too.
You had chosen to surprise him, arriving separately so he wouldn’t have a chance to drag you back to the safety of his arms before you had even stepped through the door.
The club was dimly lit, pulsing with the deep bass of music that thrummed beneath your skin. The scent of alcohol, expensive cologne, and faint traces of smoke clung to the air, mixing with the hum of conversation. Association members littered the room, some drinking, others caught in quiet discussions about missions and assignments.
And then you saw him.
Xavier was easy to spot—even in a crowded room, he stood out like something carved from myths, his golden hair catching the glow of the overhead lights. Dressed in his usual understated yet effortlessly attractive manner, he leaned against the bar, engaged in polite conversation.
But then his eyes found yours.
For a moment, he stilled.
And then—oh.
It was subtle at first. The slight parting of his lips, the way his grip on his drink tightened ever so slightly. His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, before snapping back to your face, sharp and hungry. If he had been holding a conversation, you wouldn’t have known—it was as if the world had ceased to exist around him, leaving only you.
Your lips curled into a knowing smile as you strode toward him, reveling in the way his pupils dilated, his usual composure slipping for just a fraction of a second.
You were used to catching Xavier’s attention. But tonight? Tonight, he was absolutely enthralled.
And of course—your lovely new colleague took notice.
She had dressed for the occasion as well, a deep crimson gown hugging her form, exuding confidence. Perhaps she had the same plan you did—to steal Xavier’s attention, to lure him in with beauty and presence.
But she had made one miscalculation.
Xavier’s attention wasn’t hers to steal.
You reached him just as she did, her voice silky as she tilted her head, a charming smile gracing her lips. “Xavier, I must say, you clean up well.”
Xavier, who had just barely managed to tear his gaze from you, turned toward her with his usual polite indifference. “Thank you, Captain.”
She placed a hand on the bar beside him, inching just a little too close, feigning casual conversation. “You know, I never did get a proper answer about my earlier proposal. A meeting—just the two of us. I think we could make an excellent team.”
Your blood simmered. The sheer audacity.
But before you could even open your mouth, Xavier did something that made your heart skip a beat.
He stepped back. Just enough to create space, his movements smooth yet unmistakably intentional.
“I appreciate the offer,” he said, voice calm but firm, “but I’ll have to decline. I don’t mix work with anything that could be… misinterpreted.”
The captain faltered for a fraction of a second, clearly not expecting such a direct rejection.
Still, she recovered quickly, letting out a light laugh, as if amused rather than deterred. “Oh? And here I thought you’d at least consider it.”
Xavier’s gaze flickered toward you then—brief, knowing, filled with something warm and unshaken. And then, with the faintest hint of amusement lacing his voice, he spoke again.
“There’s nothing to consider.”
The words were final. A dismissal. A line drawn in stone.
The captain seemed to realize that any further attempts would be futile. With one last lingering glance, she lifted her drink to her lips, her expression unreadable, before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.
You exhaled, finally allowing yourself to breathe.
And then—Xavier’s hand was on your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him.
“Enjoying yourself?” His voice was low, edged with something darker, something teasing.
You tilted your head up at him, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Maybe. Though, I was a little concerned for a second there.”
Xavier’s lips twitched, his free hand tracing idle circles against your lower back. “Oh?”
You smirked, eyes gleaming with something playful. “I mean, she’s confident, gorgeous, highly respected—”
Xavier cut you off with a quiet scoff, his thumb brushing over the exposed skin of your waist. “So are you.”
Your laughter was soft, but before you could say anything more, he leaned down, his lips ghosting just below your ear.
“I only see you,” he murmured. “I only want you.”
A slow shiver ran down your spine.
You turned to face him fully then, hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “Good.”
He smirked. “Good?”
You leaned in, your lips just barely brushing his before whispering, “Because you’re mine.”
Xavier’s breath hitched—just barely, just enough for you to catch it—before he let out a quiet chuckle, pressing his forehead against yours.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I am.”
And with that, he kissed you—slow and deep, in a way that left no room for doubt.
A statement. A promise.
And a reminder to anyone who had dared to think otherwise.
hello helloo!!! ♥️♥️ sending you love 💕 i want to ask for a request about lads. yk the tiktok prank where the bf is sleeping and the gf was waking him up, telling him he have to hide bc her "bf" is here? 😂 i know this would ate hard with xavier. anyhow you can make headcanons about it?? <3
thank you and have a nice day 🧚♀️
SNEAKYYY
PAIRING: lads men x gn!nonmc!reader (Caleb calls you pipsqueak, though - I just think it's cute:(()
SYNOPSIS: What did you expect when you woke your lover up in a panic, telling him to hide because your “boyfriend” just got home? Are you ready to face the consequences? (a little suggestive, I guess?)
A/N: Thank you for the request. Hope you enjoy!
Stumbling upon a new TikTok trend, you couldn’t resist the temptation. The setup was simple—wake your lover in a panic, tell him he needs to hide because your “boyfriend” just got home, and see how he reacts. A harmless prank, really.
Or so you thought.
With a sly grin and your heart thrumming with anticipation, you turned toward the man peacefully asleep beside you. His breathing was slow, steady, his face relaxed in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. He looked so serene, so blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash.
But oh, if only you had known.
Xavier
Xavier’s face was peaceful, content in the depths of sleep. His breathing was slow, steady, and every now and then, a soft sigh escaped his lips. From the way his brows twitched ever so slightly, he had to be having a good dream—you wondered what it was about.
And you were about to ruin it.
Suppressing a giggle, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders and started shaking him frantically, your voice laced with urgency.
"Xavier! Wake up!"
He groaned, his face scrunching up in sleepy protest as he buried himself deeper into the pillow. His lips formed the smallest pout, reluctant to part from the dream world. Slowly, his heavy eyelids fluttered open, hazy and unfocused as they met yours.
You took your chance.
"Xavier! My boyfriend's here! You need to hide, quickly!"
Your voice dripped with manufactured panic, and honestly? Your acting was Oscar-worthy.
For a moment, he just stared at you, his brain clearly not catching up yet. He let out another sleepy hum, eyes lazily shutting again. With a huff, you grabbed his face between your hands and pinched his cheeks in an attempt to wake him up faster. But instead of reacting, he only nuzzled into your touch, a content sigh leaving his lips.
Adorable.
And then—his entire body tensed.
His eyes snapped open, sharp and alert, and before you could register it, he bolted upright. His expression had darkened instantly, any trace of sleep now completely erased.
"What—" His voice was rough, hoarse from sleep. His brows furrowed, confusion flashing in his eyes before it was quickly replaced by something else. Something much, much more dangerous. "I'm your boyfriend."
Your heart skipped a beat.
"Hide under the bed!" You insisted, struggling to keep a straight face, though his reaction was making it very difficult.
But Xavier wasn't having it.
Ignoring your words entirely, he grabbed your wrists and, in one swift motion, flipped you beneath him. You gasped, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he hovered over you, his grip unyielding.
"Who are you talking about?" His voice was lower now, edged with something possessive, almost feral. His usual easy-going demeanor was long gone, replaced with something far more intense. His fingers dug into your wrists, firm yet careful, as if he was fighting the urge to squeeze harder.
You blinked at him, momentarily speechless. This was not what you had prepared for. Chaos? Yes. A dramatic reaction? Of course. But this? The way his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling heavier, his entire body radiating something primal—oh, you had underestimated him.
"Xavier—it was just a prank!" you finally stammered, eyes wide.
He searched your face for a moment, his grip still tight. Then, before you could say another word, he dipped down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. A gasp escaped you before you could stop it.
“…Is that so?” he murmured, his warm breath fanning against your pulse. His teeth grazed the spot lightly before sinking in just enough to make your body jolt. "Do you think that was funny?"
A shiver ran down your spine, excitement creeping up your skin at the sheer dominance in his voice. It wasn’t unusual for Xavier to get jealous, but this?
Lord have mercy.
"I'm sorry," you said quickly, your voice slightly breathless. "I just wanted to see how you'd react—"
His rough hands suddenly cupped your face, tilting it up so you had no choice but to look at him. His gaze was unreadable, but the corner of his lips curled just slightly—oh, you knew that smirk.
"I’ll show you real fun," he muttered darkly.
And just like that, his mouth was back on you, his hands traveling lower, as he made sure you understood exactly why no one else could ever take his place.
And… other places, too.
Zayne
Looking over at your boyfriend, you almost felt guilty.
Zayne looked utterly at peace, his face relaxed in deep slumber, the steady rhythm of his breath tickling your skin as he lay half-draped over you. He almost looked angelic, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting golden hues over his features.
Almost.
Because in just a few seconds, you were about to drag him straight down from his heavenly repose.
A devilish grin crept onto your lips as you admired your handiwork. You had rehearsed this moment—every word, every inflection. Zayne was sharp, observant to an almost terrifying degree, and if you wanted this prank to work, you had to be convincing.
Taking a deep breath, you launched into your performance.
“God, Zayne! My boyfriend’s here! Wake up!” you whisper-yelled, lacing your voice with expertly crafted panic. To sell it further, you lightly patted his cheek—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to jolt him from sleep.
His reaction was immediate.
His brows furrowed as he cracked open one hazy eye, the sleep still thick in his expression. For a brief moment, it seemed like he was still lost in his dreams, but then, as if on instinct, he swiftly rolled off you and pushed himself upright.
Without a word, he started toward the door.
Your lips parted in shock. Wait, was he actually leaving?!
But then—he stopped.
His body went unnaturally still, tension creeping into his frame. And then, ever so slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder, pinning you with a sharp, unreadable gaze.
“…Excuse me?”
The sheer offense in his voice nearly made you break character. His brows were slightly raised, his mouth parted just enough to showcase his disbelief.
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
“Zayne, quick! He’ll be here any second now!” you urged, pressing your hands against his back in a futile attempt to move him.
But he didn’t budge.
He turned fully to face you, his towering presence suddenly suffocating. His eyes, darkened by the lingering haze of sleep, now held something far more dangerous beneath their surface.
“…Are you cheating on me?”
The way he asked it—low, slow, as if he could barely force the words past his lips—made your stomach drop.
For a fleeting second, you actually felt guilty. Not because the prank was cruel, but because of how easily your performance had convinced him.
“No!” you blurted out, dropping the act entirely. “It was a prank! A stupid TikTok trend! I swear, I’d never—”
Before you could finish, Zayne moved.
In one smooth motion, he lifted you off the ground, making you gasp as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His arms locked around you, holding you effortlessly, his grip firm but controlled.
His eyes darkened in an unfamiliar way.
“I see,” he murmured, voice like silk wrapped around steel. “So, you think deception is funny?”
You swallowed, heart hammering against your ribs as he tilted his head, his breath ghosting against your jaw.
“I-I didn’t mean—”
“I hope you’ve already thought of a way to compensate me for this emotional turmoil,” he mused, his fingers tightening around your thighs just enough to send a shiver down your spine. His tone was teasing, laced with amusement—but there was something else beneath it, something dangerous.
A warning.
Zayne was nothing if not thorough in proving a point.
And by the way he looked at you, you had no doubt that by the end of the night, you would never dare to prank him like this again.
Rafayel
Rafayel lay sprawled across you, his long legs draped over your form as he slept soundly, his soft snores barely audible. His body was heavy with exhaustion—he had been painting non-stop for days, pouring himself into his art until sleep had finally claimed him.
You smiled to yourself, suppressing the giggle threatening to escape. He looked so peaceful, so utterly lost in his dreams.
And you? You were about to ruin it.
Without hesitation, you wiggled his shoulders dramatically, shaking him until his brows furrowed and his lashes fluttered open.
"Rafayel!" you whisper-yelled, gripping his hand in faux urgency. "My boyfriend's here—quick, hide!"
A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he blinked up at you, clearly still tangled in the fog of sleep.
"What nonsense are you spewing now?" His voice was rough, hoarse with sleep, but something in his gaze darkened—not with confusion, but with something else.
Before you could react, his arm wrapped around your waist, effortlessly yanking you back onto the bed. You let out a startled squeak as your body collapsed onto his, your palms pressing against the firm warmth of his chest.
"What—Rafayel! He'll see you!" You struggled to maintain the panic in your voice, but the way his hooded gaze settled on you made it very difficult.
"Good." His response was unexpected, unnervingly calm.
Your breath hitched.
"...Huh?" That was not the reaction you anticipated.
He exhaled slowly, fingers curling around your wrist as he brought it to his lips. His mouth ghosted over your skin before his teeth grazed it, a slow, teasing drag that sent a shiver down your spine.
"Let him see," he murmured, his voice deep, deliberate. "Maybe I could teach him a thing or two."
Your heart skipped a beat.
Your carefully rehearsed act? Gone. Completely obliterated by the way he looked at you, by the way his fingers brushed over your pulse point as if he could feel the way it had started to race.
"W-what?" You stuttered, your mind suddenly blank.
He hummed in amusement, his hands gripping your waist before flipping you beneath him in one smooth, effortless motion. His lips skimmed the sensitive skin along your neck, his breath warm against your pulse.
"Next time," he murmured against your ear, his teeth lightly grazing the shell, "if you plan to prank me, be prepared to deal with the consequences."
Your breath caught as his fingers trailed lower, his tone as smooth as silk yet laced with something undeniably dangerous.
"Waking me from a perfectly good dream just for this?" He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "I do believe you owe me proper compensation."
Oh, you were in trouble.
But maybe—just maybe—you didn’t mind one bit.
Sylus
Sylus lay beside you, his breathing steady, his chiseled frame relaxed against the sheets. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast golden shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the smooth lines of his jaw and the way his dark lashes rested against his cheekbones. He looked untouchable like this—serene, at peace.
But not for long.
A mischievous grin curled on your lips as you hovered over him, suppressing a giggle. You had this planned perfectly. Sylus was sharp, calculated—always ten steps ahead—but if you played it right, maybe, just maybe, you’d catch him off guard.
You shook his shoulder dramatically, gasping.
"Sylus! My boyfriend’s here—you need to hide, now!"
His eyes opened immediately, dark irises meeting yours, unbothered, unreadable. A slow blink. Then another.
Silence.
Then, as if waking at his own pace, he stretched, exhaling through his nose. His lips quirked into something between amusement and irritation. "Mm," he hummed, voice still thick with sleep, "interesting."
You pushed his chest, trying to feign urgency. "Sylus, go! He’s gonna be here any second!"
For a fleeting moment, he almost humored you—his body tensing slightly, his gaze flicking to the door as if he were genuinely considering it.
And then, just as quickly, his amusement won.
He tilted his head, lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. "As if someone else would dare to even look at you."
Your stomach flipped at the certainty in his tone.
Before you could react, his hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you down until your breath hitched and your body pressed flush against his.
"Nice try," he murmured against your ear, his voice a low, teasing whisper. "But you forget—I know you." His grip tightened, firm but never painful. "And I know you wouldn’t be so careless as to let another man think he could have what’s mine."
Your breath caught, completely thrown off your game.
He chuckled, deep and rich, enjoying the way your face betrayed you. "Mm. What’s wrong?" His fingers trailed down your spine, deliberate, slow. "You were so convincing a moment ago."
You swallowed hard. "It—it was just a prank," you admitted, voice smaller than you intended.
"I know," he murmured, tilting your chin up with two fingers. "But tell me—was it worth the consequences?"
Before you could ask what consequences he meant, he had already flipped you beneath him, his knee pressing between your thighs, his lips ghosting over your pulse point.
"You just love testing me, don’t you, sweetie?" he mused, his breath warm against your skin.
You should have known better.
Playing games with Sylus?
You never really won.
Caleb
Caleb was sprawled out beside you, limbs thrown haphazardly across the bed, his cheek smushed into the pillow, messy hair falling over his closed eyes. His chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm, the steady sound of his breathing almost lulling you to sleep.
He looked so peaceful. Sweet, even.
Too bad you were about to ruin that.
Suppressing a grin, you shook his shoulder frantically. "Caleb! Wake up!"
He groaned, face scrunching up as he tried to burrow deeper into the pillow.
You slapped his arm, urgency laced in your voice. "Caleb! My boyfriend’s here! You have to hide!"
That got his attention.
With a confused grunt, he blinked up at you, eyes bleary with sleep. His lips parted slightly as he took in your panicked expression, still groggy. "Huh?"
"Go! You need to hide!" You tugged at his wrist.
For a second, he seemed to actually consider it. He rubbed his eyes, blinking sluggishly, as if his brain was trying to reboot. Then, suddenly, he stopped.
Something clicked.
And then he smirked.
"Ohhh," he drawled, stretching his arms over his head. "That kind of prank."
Your stomach dropped. Of course he would know.
Oh no.
Before you could react, Caleb grabbed your waist and flipped you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His boyish grin was still there, but there was something else beneath it now—something darker, something sharp.
"You really think that’s funny, huh, pipsqueak?" His voice was still light, teasing—but his grip on your waist? Not so much.
You swallowed. "I—I thought you’d freak out more."
He snorted. "That's funny." After all, he knew your every move.
Your breath hitched.
Caleb was the laid-back type, all smiles and easy laughter—but push the right buttons? And suddenly, that warmth turned into something possessive. Something dangerous.
His fingers dug into your waist just enough to make your skin tingle. "But now that I am awake," he murmured, leaning in close, "I think I deserve some kind of payback for my so-called emotional distress and lack of sleep."
"Caleb—"
"Shh," he cooed, lips ghosting over your jaw. "You wanted to see me riled up, didn’t you?" He grinned, but his eyes held a warning. "Congratulations, pipsqueak. You got exactly what you wanted."
Hi chootie! I absolutely love your works and how you write😭
I was wondering if I can request fluff!Xavier, wherein MC is struggling to fall asleep, so she shifts alot in bed and Xavier notices so they face each other in bed and MC asks him randomly what space looked like and how it felt to be around sea of stars? Maybe Xav says something about how beautiful it was but also how lonely it felt and idk how fluff ending goes 🥺🥺🥺✨✨✨🤍🤍
WAS IT LONELY?
PAIRING: Xavier x gn!reader
SYNOPSIS: Xavier telling you a "bedtime story" when you have trouble sleeping.
A/N: Thank you for the request. Hope you enjoy!
The storm whispered against the windowpanes, rain tapping a restless rhythm against the glass. Beyond the darkened skyline, the city slumbered in muted stillness, but within the cocoon of your apartment, silence felt elusive.
Xavier’s warmth pressed against you, his limbs tangled effortlessly with yours, his arm draped over your waist as if to shield you even in sleep. His face was nestled in the crook of your neck, breath slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest in perfect synchrony with yours. The room was painted in silver hues, the moonlight catching in his pale hair, casting delicate shadows over his features—serene, untouched by the worries of the waking world.
Usually, this was all it took for sleep to claim you. His presence, his scent, the way his touch anchored you. But tonight, rest remained stubbornly out of reach. A nameless anxiety clawed at you, weightless yet suffocating, like the vast expanse of the sky pressing down on your chest.
You shifted for what felt like the hundredth time, sighing quietly. The frustration of it burned beneath your skin. Xavier’s hold on you was firm, even in unconsciousness, his fingers curled slightly against your hip, as if some part of him refused to let go.
Your gaze traced the curve of his cheekbone, the gentle slope of his nose, the soft part of his lips. He looked so peaceful like this, so utterly at ease. You reached out without thinking, brushing a few strands of silken hair from his forehead.
The movement stirred him. His breath hitched slightly before his violet eyes fluttered open, still glazed with sleep. He blinked at you once, then again, before his grip around you instinctively tightened.
“Mmh... why aren’t you asleep?” His voice was thick, husky in that way it always was when he was barely awake, and it sent a quiet shiver down your spine.
You swallowed, guilty for waking him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, baby.” You whispered, pressing the lightest kiss to the tip of his nose.
Instead of obeying, his hand slid from your waist to your stomach, tracing slow, mindless circles on the fabric of your shirt. The lazy touch sent warmth unfurling through you.
“Trouble sleeping?” His voice was quiet but laced with knowing.
“A little. It’s nothing.” You covered his hand with yours, squeezing gently in reassurance.
Xavier hummed, unimpressed. “You’re a terrible liar.”
You let out a soft chuckle, conceding, and finally turned onto your side, fully facing him. His blue eyes—now open and alert despite the drowsiness still clinging to him—searched yours, waiting.
You hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Xavier… what was it like? Being in space. Drifting among the stars.”
His fingers, lazily tracing circles on your back, stilled for just a second before resuming their soothing motion. His eyes darkened slightly, as if sifting through memories he hadn’t revisited in a long time.
“It was quiet,” he murmured finally, his voice softer, deeper. He shifted, pulling you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you. “Almost too quiet. The stars stretched on endlessly, and time… it slowed. There was a beauty to it, something otherworldly, something infinite. It makes you feel small. Insignificant, even.”
He exhaled, the breath ruffling your hair slightly. “At first, it was breathtaking. But then, the loneliness creeps in. You realize that no matter how many stars surround you, they are just that—distant. Silent. Cold. And you are nothing but a speck among them.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pressing closer. “Were you scared?”
A pause.
“…Maybe,” he admitted, and the vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten.
You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, your lips lingering against his skin. “You’re not alone now,” you whispered, feeling his hold on you tighten in response.
“No,” he murmured, his lips pressing against the top of your head. “I’m not.”
The weight of exhaustion, the restlessness from before—it was fading, melting into something warm and safe. Your eyelids grew heavier, the lull of his steady breathing, his voice, his presence pulling you into the embrace of sleep.
“Close your eyes, love,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your hair. “I’ll be right here when you wake.”
The last thing you felt was the slow, rhythmic stroke of his fingers against your back, and the last thing you heard was his voice, soft, unguarded, and so full of love—
Can I request what it’s like marrying Caleb? Maybe how he proposes, what it’s like leading up to the wedding and then the big day?
EVER AFTER, ALWAYS
PAIRING: Caleb x fem!reader
SYNOPSIS: You had known Caleb your entire life, yet never could you have anticipated this moment—standing before the altar, heart pounding, as you awaited the moment your lives would be bound together, not just for a lifetime, but for eternity and beyond.
A/N: Thank you for the request. It came out a little longer than I intended it to be... but oh well! Hope you enjoy!
From stolen childhood laughter to whispered teenage confessions, from playful pillow fights to deep conversations beneath an endless night sky, your story with Caleb had always been written in moments—woven together like the fragile threads of fate, pulling you both toward this very day.
And now, here you stood, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, the evening air thick with the scent of roses and lavender, your heart caught between past and present. The garden around you was alive with color, petals swaying gently in the breeze, as if nature itself had paused to bear witness.
And there he was.
Caleb.
The boy who had grown beside you, who had laughed with you, fought with you, held you when the world was too heavy. The boy who had always been there, waiting, even before you realized he was meant to be yours.
He knelt before you now, one knee sinking into the soft earth, his fingers curled around your own as though he were afraid to let go. In his other hand, a velvet box rested—deep red, like the ripest apple, like the first blush of autumn. The color of first love and forever.
Time seemed to hold its breath.
The world around you softened into a hush—the rustling trees, the distant hum of birdsong, the gentle whisper of the wind fading into nothingness.
Because in this moment, there was only him.
Caleb looked up at you, the amber glow of dusk catching in his violet eyes, turning them into something ethereal. Eyes you had memorized long ago, eyes that had seen every version of you—the reckless, the broken, the whole—and still, still, they looked at you like you held the entire universe in your hands.
And for the first time, you saw something else there, something that made your breath catch in your throat.
Not the usual mischief, not the teasing grin that so often curled his lips.
No, this was something deeper. Something unguarded.
Love, raw and aching and endless.
He exhaled, a breath that trembled ever so slightly, and then he spoke.
“Y/N,” he murmured, your name a prayer on his lips. “All my life, I have searched for the words to describe this feeling—this vast, uncharted love that has always led me back to you. And yet, standing here, with you before me, I realize there is no language vast enough to contain it.” His fingers tightened around yours, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. “So I will not search for words. Instead, I will promise. I will promise you the first light of every morning, the warmth of every embrace, the last whispered thought before I sleep. I will promise you my laughter in times of joy, my strength in times of sorrow, and my hand in yours for every moment in between.”
His voice dropped lower, steady yet laced with something fragile, something sacred.
“So I ask you, not just as the love of my life, but as the keeper of my soul—Y/N L/N, will you take this ring, take this heart, take everything I am and everything I ever will be… and make me yours forever?”
The breath you had been holding shattered into a quiet, trembling sob.
You had known this man your entire life, but never had you felt the weight of his love so profoundly as in this moment.
Tears traced warm paths down your cheeks, your vision blurred, your chest aching with a love so full it threatened to consume you.
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. None that could possibly be enough.
So instead, you moved.
A soft, choked laugh escaped you as you threw yourself into his arms, knocking the both of you slightly off balance. Caleb let out a breathless chuckle, catching you as if he had always known you would fall into him. As if he had been waiting for it.
Your fingers curled into his hair, holding him close, closer, as if pressing yourself against him could somehow make this moment last forever.
“…I take that as a yes?” he murmured into your ear, his voice laced with amusement, yet thick with emotion.
You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips trembling, your nod fervent. “Yes,” you whispered, and then again, firmer, surer, as if the word itself was sacred. “A thousand times yes.”
His breath hitched.
And then, with a slow, reverent smile, he pulled back just enough to slip the ring onto your finger.
It glimmered in the last rays of sunlight, delicate yet strong, timeless yet new. Just like your love.
You stared at it for a moment, watching how it caught the light, how perfectly it fit—how perfectly it was chosen, as if Caleb had always known exactly what belonged on your hand.
“I love you,” you whispered, the words escaping you before you could even think.
And then, at the exact same moment, he said it too.
“I love you.”
You both stilled, eyes locking.
And then, laughter. Soft, breathless, unrestrained. The kind of laughter that came from something deeper than happiness—from something destined, something infinite.
He cradled your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath fanning over your lips.
“This,” he murmured, so softly it was barely a sound, “was always meant to be.”
And as the last light of day faded into the embrace of night, you knew—with every beat of your heart, with every breath in your lungs—that he was right.
This love, this moment, this life… it had always been written in the stars.
...
The wedding preparations were nothing short of nerve-wracking. No matter how much you had anticipated this day, no matter how eager you both were to begin forever, the sheer weight of ensuring perfection made it feel like an impossible feat.
You and Caleb had agreed on one thing from the start—you wanted it to be personal, intimate, a reflection of the love you had nurtured over the years. So, despite his many (many) attempts to convince you otherwise, you had stubbornly refused a wedding planner.
And now?
Now, the florist had canceled at the last minute, and you were seconds away from losing your mind.
"I can't believe this is happening," you groaned, burying your face in your hands. A frustrated whine escaped your lips, muffled by your own palms. "Flowers. We don't have flowers, Caleb! Do you know what kind of catastrophe that is?"
He did not, in fact, look like a man who knew the depths of this catastrophe. In fact, he looked entirely unbothered—leaning against the counter with that infuriatingly calm expression, as if you weren’t one disaster away from a breakdown.
You felt him move before you saw him, his presence as grounding as ever. With gentle fingers, he pried your hands away from your face, tilting your chin upward, his warm palms cradling your cheeks as if they were something delicate.
"Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against your frayed nerves, "breathe."
You did. Instantly.
Because Caleb had always had that effect on you—steadying you, anchoring you, reminding you that no storm was too great as long as he was by your side.
His thumbs brushed against your cheekbones in soft, lazy strokes. "I’ll take care of it, alright? No stress, no worries. Just leave it to me."
And somehow, just like that, you believed him. Because he had never once let you down.
You sighed, a slow exhale as your body leaned into his touch, as if drawn by something greater than gravity. "What would I ever do without you?"
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, rich and full of amusement, sending a warmth through you that settled deep in your bones. "Well," he mused, his lips curving into a smirk, "lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out."
And just to prove his point, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, his embrace swallowing you whole, shielding you from the chaos that loomed outside these walls.
For a moment, everything felt lighter.
"How about this," he murmured, his lips brushing against your hairline, "I’ll give you a massage. Help you relax."
You hummed, already melting at the thought of his skilled hands working out the tension in your shoulders. "That sounds lovely… but no funny business, Caleb."
He laughed, the deep timbre of it sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "I’ll try," he murmured, his hands already kneading at your muscles, drawing a contented sigh from you. Then, after a moment of silence, he leaned in just a little closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.
"But you make it incredibly difficult to behave."
...
The hours leading up to the ceremony were a blur—a chaotic, beautiful blur.
Morning arrived with golden sunlight spilling through the windows, warming your skin as you lay in bed, eyes fluttering open to the realization that today was the day. The day you would become Caleb’s wife.
Excitement and nerves danced in your stomach, making it impossible to stay still. Your bridal suite was a flurry of movement—soft laughter from your friends, the gentle hum of music, the scent of fresh flowers and perfume mixing in the air. Your dress hung by the window, bathed in sunlight, waiting.
As your hair was carefully pinned and your veil adjusted, your mind drifted back to the night before. To the way Caleb had held you close before you parted ways, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “Tomorrow, you’ll be mine in every way possible. How am I supposed to survive the night without you?”
You had laughed softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “You’ll live. Barely.”
He had groaned, pressing a lingering kiss to your hand before reluctantly letting you go.
Now, standing in front of the mirror, dressed in white, the reality of it all settled deep in your chest. You were about to walk down that aisle, towards him, towards forever.
On the other side of the venue, Caleb was battling his own whirlwind of emotions. Gideon was fussing with his tie, muttering about how he looked like a man about to either pass out or run away. Caleb just huffed a laugh, shaking his head.
"Run away? Are you insane? I’d crawl down that aisle if I had to."
The teasing and laughter didn’t settle the way his heart was hammering, though. He kept glancing at the time, pacing, rubbing the back of his neck. He had waited his whole life for this moment—what was another hour? And yet, it felt like an eternity.
...
The air was thick with the scent of roses and fresh earth, the kind of aroma that carried the promise of something eternal. The sky above stretched vast and endless, a delicate shade of blue, as if the heavens themselves had softened for this moment. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily, painted in golden hues by the morning sun, casting a warm glow over the garden where your life was about to change forever.
Flowers—more than you could name—lined the aisle in an unbroken path of color, swaying gently in the breeze, whispering secrets of love and forever. The soft murmur of guests filled the air, their voices laced with joy, but none of it truly reached you. Not the delicate music played by the string quartet. Not the rustling of leaves. Not the faint laughter that danced like wind chimes in the distance.
Because standing at the end of that aisle, waiting for you, was Caleb.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
He looked breathtaking. Dressed in a tailored suit, dark and crisp against the sunlit backdrop, he was a vision of effortless grace. But it wasn’t the suit, nor the way his tie was slightly undone at the collar—as if he’d grown impatient and loosened it himself—that had your breath catching in your throat.
It was his eyes.
The same ones you had memorized over the years, the ones that held the weight of childhood mischief, teenage rebellion, and a love that had only deepened with time. They were locked onto you, filled with something indescribable—something vast, infinite.
A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, and you swore your knees almost gave out beneath you.
As you took your first step down the aisle, the world seemed to slow, each moment stretching into something eternal. Every petal, every blade of grass beneath your feet, every brush of the wind against your skin—it all felt sacred, woven into the fabric of this moment.
Your dress trailed behind you like a whisper, delicate lace catching the sunlight, turning it into something ethereal. With every step closer, the weight of the past—the late-night drives, the whispered confessions, the laughter, the fights over who got the last slice of pizza—all of it bloomed into something tangible, something undeniable.
And then, finally, you were standing before him.
Caleb reached for you immediately, his fingers brushing against yours, grounding you. There was something reverent in the way he looked at you, as if you were something divine, something he had spent lifetimes searching for.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
"You’re beautiful," he murmured at last, voice barely above a whisper, meant only for you.
A soft laugh left your lips, your heart thundering against your ribs. "You’re not so bad yourself."
The officiant spoke, but the words barely registered. All you could focus on was the way Caleb held your hands in his, the way his thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your skin, as if committing every inch of you to memory.
And then—
"Do you, Caleb, take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love, to cherish, in this life and the next?"
His gaze never wavered, his voice steady as he said, "For as long as the stars burn in the sky, for as long as my heart beats, for as long as forever exists—I do."
A sharp breath hitched in your throat.
"Y/N," the officiant turned to you, his words warm, gentle, "do you take Caleb to be your husband, to stand beside him in all that life brings, to love him fiercely and without end?"
Your lips parted, but for a moment, the words refused to come. Not because you didn’t mean them, but because no string of syllables could ever truly capture the magnitude of what you felt for him.
So, instead, you laced your fingers with his, squeezing them gently, as you whispered, "Caleb, I have loved you in every way a person can love another. As a friend, as a partner, as someone whose soul has been intertwined with mine long before we ever knew to call it love. I would choose you a thousand times over. In every lifetime, in every version of reality, it will always be you."
The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
And then—
"You may now kiss the bride."
A slow grin tugged at Caleb’s lips, something smug, something utterly breathtaking. He tugged you close—so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.
"About time," he murmured, before pressing his lips to yours.
The world dissolved.
There was no audience, no fluttering petals, no music swelling in the background. There was only the warmth of his hands on your waist, the soft sigh against your lips, the unspoken promise that this was only the beginning.
And as he kissed you, the wind carried the sound of laughter, of cheers, of love—wrapping around you both like a whispered blessing.
...
The reception was a blur of soft candlelight, laughter, and the gentle hum of conversation. The scent of roses and jasmine lingered in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of champagne and something sweet—perhaps the wedding cake waiting to be cut. Everything had been beautiful, everything had been perfect, but none of it compared to this moment.
The moment Caleb held out his hand to you, his gaze soft, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Dance with me, love.”
The words were a whisper, but they wrapped around your heart like silk. Without hesitation, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours as he guided you to the center of the dance floor. The lights dimmed slightly, and the first chords of your song filled the room—soft, slow, intimate.
Caleb’s hands found your waist, pulling you in close, your bodies fitting together effortlessly, like two halves of a whole. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
For a moment, you simply stood there, swaying gently before he spoke, his voice so low only you could hear it.
“You’re breathtaking.” His violet eyes shimmered under the golden glow of the chandeliers, pure adoration pouring from them.
A small, breathless laugh escaped your lips. “You’ve already married me, Caleb. You don’t need to keep sweeping me off my feet.”
“Oh, love,” he murmured, spinning you slowly, his grip never faltering. “I plan on spending forever doing exactly that.”
Your heart clenched, warmth blooming in your chest as you gazed up at him, memorizing the way he looked in this moment—his dark hair slightly tousled from your fingers, the softest smile gracing his lips, his hands holding you like you were something precious.
The world faded.
The guests, the music, the laughter surrounding you—it all melted into the background.
There was only Caleb.
Only the way he was looking at you, like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Like he still couldn’t believe you were his.
Your forehead rested against his, the slow, rhythmic movement of the dance feeling more like an embrace than anything else.
“I love you, husband” you whispered, feeling the words press against his skin.
Caleb let out a soft breath, his hands tightening around you as if he never wanted to let go.
“I love you more, wife” he murmured, pressing the lightest kiss to your lips before pulling you back into the dance, his voice a promise in the quiet.
Could you do hc's for the boys where MC is like. Later for dinner or something but before the bois can go and see what's up, MC sends them a text that's like
"Yea I'm gonna be late for dinner. Not sure how late, but I'll be there. I've been trynna find a way out of my room for like 20 minutes, but there's this very big bug between me and the door, and every time I move, it moves. When it flies its wings make this whirring noise akin to some vassal horror. We're locked at a stalemate, I'm at every disadvantage, and I wholeheartedly believe the bug is aware of this."
(I don't hate bugs or anything but this sounds so funny in my head)
BUGGED AND BELATED
PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x gn!reader
SYNOPSIS: You're trapped in your room, locked in a silent battle with a bug that’s far too aware of your fear. Every move you make, it counters. Every escape plan, foiled. Dinner will have to wait—this thing might actually win.
A/N: Thank you for the request. Hope you enjoy!
You were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago. Twenty. For a date. With a man you had just started seeing—a man you actually liked, which was rare enough to be considered a cosmic event. You wanted to make a good impression. Show up on time, looking effortlessly stunning, exuding charm and mystery. Just like the diva you were.
Instead, you were crouched behind a chair like a soldier in enemy territory, locked in a silent battle with a creature that had no business being this menacing.
The bug sat there, unmoving, yet radiating pure malice. To be honest, you couldn’t even tell what species it belonged to—somewhere between a beetle and a winged nightmare—but what you did know was that this thing was an opponent of the highest caliber. Every time you so much as shifted toward the door, it twitched, its wings lifting just enough to emit that sinister, high-pitched whirrrr.
And like a rational, fearless adult, you responded by screeching and diving right back into hiding.
This was a hostage situation. A Mexican standoff where only one of you had the advantage—and it sure as hell wasn’t you. The bug had taken control of the room, standing guard like a tiny, exoskeletal bouncer blocking your exit. If it had arms, you were certain they’d be crossed. Maybe even holding a clipboard with your name on the Do Not Pass list.
To be fair, you weren’t afraid of it, not exactly. It’s not like you thought it would launch an aerial assault and drag you into the vents. No, this was something worse. This was the principle of the matter. You were bigger. You were (presumably) smarter. You had evolved beyond your primal ancestors who once feared such creatures. And yet, here you were—hiding. Defeated. Outplayed by something a fraction of your size with the IQ of a rock.
It was a battle of wits, and the bug was winning.
You were moments away from accepting your fate, contemplating whether it was time to draft a farewell message to society—“Tell my date I died bravely in combat”—when your phone rang.
Loud. Sharp. Invasive.
The bug moved.
And so did you—by nearly launching yourself out of your own skin.
Xavier
You glanced at your phone, still flicking your eyes toward the bug every few seconds, refusing to trust the little menace. It had already robbed you of your dignity—you weren’t about to let it rob you of your life, too.
The screen lit up with a message from Xavier.
"You could've just told me if you didn’t want to meet today. I could be asleep right now instead of waiting 20 minutes for my date, who didn’t show up 😔👎"
You groaned, slapping a hand to your forehead. Great. Just great. His text was clearly teasing, but the guilt still hit like a truck. Xavier was sweet, kind, patient—all things you did not deserve while currently cowering behind a chair, engaged in psychological warfare with a bug.
You shot a death glare at your opponent.
The bug, as if personally insulted, spread its wings again with a menacing whirrr, as if to say "Do something about it, coward."
You squeaked and pressed yourself further into hiding. The sheer audacity of this thing.
Frustration bubbled in your chest, so overwhelming it almost made you want to cry. This was it. The bug had won. You were defeated.
Desperate, you called Xavier. He picked up on the second ring.
"Bug!" you shrieked—because apparently, that was the only thing your panic-ridden brain could muster.
Unfortunately, your enemy took offense to your attempt at reinforcements.
With an unholy BZZZZZZT, it lunged.
You screamed and made a break for it, sprinting toward the bathroom like your life depended on it—which, at this point, it probably did. You barely managed to lock the door before stuffing a towel under the gap to ensure the beast wouldn’t crawl its way in.
From the other end of the phone, Xavier’s voice came through, laced with concern. "Y/N?"
"Xavier! There’s a murderous bug in my apartment! It wants me dead! Oh my god—I'm too young to die!" you wailed, slapping your thigh in frustration.
Which, in hindsight, was a mistake.
"Ow."
You winced, rubbing the sore spot like an idiot.
There was a pause on the line before Xavier simply said, "I'll be there in a second."
You barely had time to process that before the call ended.
Outside, you could still hear the bug, hovering around like a tiny, winged executioner.
"Stupid bug," you muttered under your breath, arms crossed, sulking in your self-imposed exile.
A minute passed. Then—a knock on the bathroom door.
"Y/N?"
You practically leapt up, flinging the door open. Your eyes darted around the room, scanning for any signs of your sworn enemy before finally landing on Xavier.
“…Did you get rid of it?” you asked, breathless.
He simply nodded, expression unreadable.
For a moment, you could only stare at him—your knight in shining armor. And then, overcome with relief, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck like a lifeline.
"My savior!!" you cried, rocking the both of you side to side, your gratitude radiating off you in waves. For extra effect, you even pressed a dramatic kiss to his cheek before pulling back, hands settling on his shoulders.
Xavier was visibly flustered, the tips of his ears burning red. But there was also something else in his expression—a quiet, barely-contained laugh.
And then he did laugh. A soft chuckle, amused and way too smug for your liking.
He reached out, smoothing down your slightly disheveled hair. "You're adorable when you're terrified."
"Don't you dare laugh at me," you pouted, though the small smile on your lips betrayed you. "You don’t understand how bloodthirsty that thing was."
"Mm, sure," he mused, eyes gleaming. "But now that I’ve saved your life, and considering you did ditch me tonight…" He tilted his head, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips. "You’ll need to make it up to me."
You narrowed your eyes. "I’m going to kick you."
"Okay, okay—" He held his hands up in surrender, still grinning.
…You did end up baking his favorite cookies as a thank-you, though.
Zayne
You snatched up your phone with the urgency of someone fleeing an inferno.
“Is something the matter? We were supposed to meet 20 minutes ago,” Zayne’s voice was impossibly calm, though you could hear a hint of something softer underneath—a trace of disappointment, perhaps, that you weren’t there.
“Help!!! Me!!!” you wailed into the phone, your eyes fixed on the fiend in front of you. It was perched in the doorway like a guardian of doom. A creature so vile, it made your pulse quicken with panic.
You swore it was mocking you.
“Where are you? I’ll be there in five minutes,” Zayne responded, his tone laced with concern that might’ve been heartwarming if you weren’t currently engaged in a life-or-death standoff with an insect that seemed capable of understanding the emotional depths of human suffering.
“In my apartment... There’s a bug. It’s holding me hostage, Zayne, I’m not kidding. I can’t get out,” you explained, backing away slowly as the bug twitched. The sheer audacity of this tiny creature to hold you prisoner in your own home had you flabbergasted.
You could almost hear Zayne’s sigh through the phone, a mixture of concern and, dare you say it, disbelief. You could practically picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, probably contemplating the universe's cruel sense of humor. Was this how living a life by your side would look like?
“…I’ll be there in five minutes.”
You tried to wait. You really did. You took a deep breath, lifted a pillow, and threw it at the bug. It fluttered back, as if taunting you, and your confidence plummeted faster than the falling stock market. Next came the slipper, but that only made it angrier. You briefly entertained the idea of throwing the chair at it—seriously, what was the worst that could happen? But common sense prevailed.
Still, the bug didn’t relent. In fact, it seemed to be toying with you, edging closer with each passing second, its wings fluttering like the harbinger of doom.
And then, like a knight in shining armor—if that knight was slightly irritated and impossibly poised—Zayne entered.
He didn’t knock. He didn’t need to. He knew you’d open the door for him.
The scene he walked into was something straight out of a tragedy, but it lacked the nobility and grandeur. You were cornered like a mouse by a cat. The bug sat there, wings spread in a challenge. You, in your finest cornered-animal panic, clutched the edge of the couch as if it could save you.
Zayne surveyed the situation, his brows knitting in disbelief. The word “seriously” almost visibly hovered over his head. He muttered something to himself under his breath—something along the lines of “A grown adult, reduced to this…” and grabbed the slipper you had unsuccessfully used in your battle. With one deft movement, he swatted the bug dead.
It was over. The monster was slain. You were free.
He turned to you, expression still a mixture of confusion and disbelief.
“Are you… Are you quite finished?” Zayne asked, his voice a low, cultured lilt, tinged with something that could almost be construed as amusement. His gaze flicked to the corner where you’d been backed into, and then back to you, who was now clinging to his arm like your life depended on it.
"Oh, thank God you're here," you sighed, utterly dramatic, “I thought I was going to perish in this apartment, alone and forgotten, just me and the bug in an eternal standoff!” You fluttered your eyelashes at him with all the flair you could muster, trying to inject some levity into the situation, though your chest still heaved in relief.
He blinked, visibly softening, but his voice remained stern, a tad patronizing as he gave your cheek a light pinch.
“You and your antics. Unbelievable,” he sighed, shaking his head. “What on earth possessed you to try and fight the insect with a pillow?”
“It wasn’t my fault!” you huffed, pouting as you gripped his arm tighter. “That thing had too much intelligence—I’m telling you, it was strategic.” You let out a dramatic sigh, as though recounting the tale of a great hero's struggle. “But, I’ll make it up to you. You’re my hero, after all.”
A sudden mischievous gleam flickered in your eyes. “How about I treat you to a massage for those tired, heroic muscles of yours?” you said, raising an eyebrow playfully, leaning in just enough to make your intentions clear.
Zayne raised an eyebrow in return, his lips twitching into a small but unmistakable smile. “A massage, hm? How very… unconventional of you,” he said, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “And here I was, expecting a thank you cake or perhaps a trophy for my valiant deeds.”
“I’ll bake you cookies later,” you said with a wink, already turning toward the kitchen. “But right now, I’m focused on making sure you aren’t walking around with tense shoulders from saving me from certain doom.”
Zayne’s smile softened, his eyes glinting with fondness as he crossed his arms. “Well, I suppose there’s no point in disobeying you now, is there?” He reached up and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, his voice soft but teasing.
You grinned up at him. “But if that thing ever shows up again…” you glanced at the now-dead bug lying on the floor, “we’re going to need more than just a slipper.”
You smiled to yourself. The bug was defeated, your date was salvaged, and Zayne… well, Zayne was a keeper.
Rafayel
Your phone was practically drowning in notifications from Rafayel. Each ping was more insistent than the last, almost like he thought you were hiding under a rock and couldn't see them.
"Where are you??"
"I've been waiting for you for like, an hour now."
"The audacity. I'm leaving. Fishes would start walking faster than you would get here."
"AND you're not replying."
"I'm this 🤏 close to blocking and reporting you."
You groaned, every word a reminder of how you were literally about to die at the hands—or wings—of a bug. You cursed under your breath and, with all the dignity you could muster, typed back: "House. Bug. Come!!!!!" That was all the energy you could spare before the creature—an absolute demon with wings—flapped them in your direction. Your heart skipped a beat. You dove behind the couch, praying it didn't have night-vision, or a complex plot to kill you slowly.
Your phone pinged again.
And again.
And again.
You didn’t dare check it—no, not while the little monster was hovering like it was plotting your demise. It was a battle of wills now, and you weren’t about to let your phone ruin your chance of survival.
You grabbed the nearest weapon: your expensive perfume. Maybe, just maybe, a spritz of it would do the trick. You aimed it like a champion—but the bug? The bug didn’t even flinch. Instead, it got more aggressive, flapping its wings with a smirk, if bugs had expressions. And the worst part? You just wasted your last drop of your favourite, expensive perfume. A tragedy on all fronts.
With no other options left, you waited for salvation. Where was anyone when you needed them? What kind of sick joke was this? How could you be outsmarted by an insect?
And then, the sound of footsteps. Hallelujah.
It was Rafayel.
You couldn’t decide whether you were filled with relief or utter terror. Was he here to rescue you? Or was he about to bail on you and leave you in a dramatic, bug-induced death scene worthy of a low-budget horror flick?
The door swung open with zero drama—Rafayel just barged in. He saw you, crouched behind the couch, practically whispering to yourself like you were in a hostage situation. His eyes immediately locked onto the bug, and for a second, time stopped.
His mouth opened, and you could practically hear the gears in his head turning before he spoke: “You are so in trouble right now, young lady. I—”
But then, the bug made a dramatic entrance. It flapped its wings in a show of pure, unadulterated confidence, like it knew it had just broken Rafayel's spirit. Rafayel froze, his eyes widening in horror, and within seconds, he was out the door, like a man running from a natural disaster.
“Rafayel! Don’t leave me here, you fish!” You whined, your voice pitched high in a way that made you sound like you were either five years old or on the verge of a mental breakdown. You weren’t sure which one it was.
The bug flapped its wings once more, mocking you. It was taunting you. You were being outwitted by something with a brain smaller than a grain of rice.
“I am not coming in there unless you get rid of this disgusting thing!” Rafayel’s voice came from the safety of the hallway, an unmistakable whiny tone in his words. He was refusing to enter, as if you had just asked him to enter a lion’s den while wearing a steak costume.
“You’re a fish! Don’t fishes eat bugs??” You groaned, still peeking out from behind the couch like a small animal in danger of being eaten alive.
“I have never been more insulted in my entire life,” Rafayel shot back, his voice dripping with melodrama. "Never in my—"
Before he could finish his Oscar-worthy speech, the bug made a beeline straight toward him. It was clearly hunting him now, and if you could hear its evil little thoughts, you were sure it was laughing at him. Rafayel yelped in sheer terror, darting behind the door like a child avoiding a splash of water.
“Take it away from me!!” He whimpered, his voice cracking in an almost comical way. If this were a reality show, this would definitely be the most embarrassing moment of the season.
You rubbed your temples in exasperation. This was fine. Everything was fine. Sure, your dignity was shattered. Sure, Rafayel was now questioning your survival instincts. Sure, you were the one who brought a broom to a battle that required grit and determination. But you were ready. It was time to defeat the beast. You needed to. After all, you couldn't get slain by the monster. you still had the whole Lemuria to repopulate.
“If I die right now,” you muttered to yourself, glaring at the bug like it was the villain in the movie of your life, “just know… I think your cooking’s actually terrible. And I once purposefully placed a brush next to your bed so you would slip on it. And—”
You were cut off by the sound of the bug’s wings buzzing, louder and more threatening than ever.
You grabbed your broom with the determination of a warrior and—without hesitation—charged. You swung it like a sword, taking out all your frustrations in one glorious, wild swipe. The bug was in mid-flight, doing its best to dodge your clumsy strikes, but eventually, victory was yours.
The demon bug, defeated, fluttered weakly out the window, and you stood, panting, broom still held high, like you’d just slain a dragon.
And then—silence.
You turned to Rafayel, still holding the broom like you were the hero of the story, waiting for your applause. But no. Instead, he stood there with his arms crossed, his lips pressed into a disapproving frown.
“You did WHAT?” he asked, the disbelief in his voice thick enough to spread on toast.
And in that moment, you realized—you’d won the battle against the bug. But now, a greater danger awaited you - an angry fish.
Sylus
You barely had time to register the sound of your phone ringing before bam, your door was obliterated like it was made of cardboard.
There stood Sylus, a whirlwind of concern and urgency, his brow furrowed, eyes scanning the room with that signature intensity.
He must’ve assumed you were in immediate danger, and, well... he wasn’t entirely wrong.
You were hiding behind the chair, poking your head out like a startled meerkat, a wave of relief washing over you at the sight of him. Sylus, your towering savior. The person who could fix anything, even the most horrifying of circumstances.
The bug, though? It seemed just as startled as you, its wings twitching nervously as though it could sense Sylus’s unyielding presence in the room. If bugs could feel power, this one was now thoroughly aware of its impending doom.
You almost giggled to yourself. Game over for the bug.
Sylus, meanwhile, stood frozen in the doorway, his gaze shifting between you and the bug with an expression that could only be described as... confusion.
"Kitten, what’s the matter?" His voice had that smooth, no-nonsense tone, but there was a definite edge of concern hidden beneath the sternness.
You pointed dramatically at the bug on the floor, your finger trembling slightly as you did. You could feel your pulse racing, that primal fear creeping back. Sylus’s eyes followed your outstretched arm to the bug, then shifted back to you, his expression unreadable. He took a beat, processing the situation. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he deadpanned:
"You’re not actually serious, are you?"
You couldn’t even muster a comeback. Instead, you whined, ducking further behind the chair as the bug flapped its wings once again, preparing for round two.
"It’s trying to kill me!" You squeaked, clutching the chair as though it were your only line of defense against the monstrous thing that was quite literally the size of your thumb.
Sylus’s gaze lingered on you. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—was it disbelief? Amusement? Maybe a little bit of both. He stood there, dead silent, taking it all in. And then, to your horror, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
"Sylus, wait!" You squeaked, your voice rising with panic. The bug was closing in! Would your hero really leave you to face your untimely death at the claws—or wings—of this vile creature?
But just as quickly as he’d left, Sylus returned, striding in like the cavalry had just arrived. In one hand, he held a can of bug spray. No grand entrance, no dramatic speeches, just a weapon of mass destruction for your foe.
Without another word, he unleashed the spray like a warrior wielding a sword of justice, a small but fierce hiss filling the air. The bug’s frantic wing-flapping turned into a lazy, defeated flutter as it crumpled into oblivion.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, cautiously peeking from behind the chair, making sure the battle was truly over. The bug was definitely down for the count. You waited another second, just to be sure, then, with all the grace of a startled deer, you leapt from your hiding place and ran straight into Sylus’s arms.
Without missing a beat, you buried your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around him as though he were your personal superhero—because, in this moment, he definitely was.
"Thank you, my hero!" You chimed, looking up at him, your voice a mixture of gratitude and—okay, maybe a little bit of dramatics. But could you blame yourself? It was a near-death experience.
Sylus’s face didn’t shift much, but his lips curled up at the edges in that trademark sly smirk of his. Oh, here it came.
"My, my... Whatever shall I do with you?" His voice was smooth, filled with an undertone of amusement as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you in closer, his presence overwhelming and comforting all at once.
You couldn’t help but giggle, your heart still racing from the excitement of it all. “Whatever you wish, oh my savior.” You batted your lashes dramatically, trying—and failing—to hold back a grin. "But first, let's get this dinner! All this near-death experience made me starving!"
With that, you grabbed his hand and began tugging him toward the door like a child dragging their parent to their favorite amusement park. Sylus followed, his chuckle rumbling through his chest as he matched your pace.
“As you wish, my lady,” he replied, his voice warm and amused.
“Oh, and by the way, you need to replace my door. You did kinda knock it down.” You gestured at the gaping hole in the doorway, now very much ruined by his heroic entrance.
Sylus raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I can just buy you a new house.”
“No,” you said flatly, shaking your head with conviction. “Not a new house. Just the door. And maybe some new furniture to match the hole you made.”
Caleb
You ignored your phone's ringing for now - afraid to move your gaze away from the bug.
You'd tried everything: pillow throws, shoe swats, even a half-hearted attempt at swatting it with a hairbrush. But every time you tried to inch your way to the door, the thing flapped its wings with an eerie, almost taunting precision. You were fairly certain it was actively laughing at you. The worst part? You couldn’t figure out what it even was—was it a cockroach? A beetle? No, it had the terrifying charisma of a tiny dragon.
At this point, your phone was pinging like crazy, full of messages from Caleb.
"Where you at, babe? :P" "You good? 😬" "Okay, I'm seriously starting to get concerned. Did you get abducted by aliens? XD" "Or worse... did you bail on me??"
You groaned, knowing you had to respond. With one eye on the bug (now doing an actual flyby of your head), you typed out a frantic reply: "Bug. Help. Please. I’m literally being held hostage."
The "send" button clicked just as the beast made a bold move toward you, sending you diving behind the couch. You muttered something obscene under your breath, praying to whatever higher power existed that Caleb would get the message.
You heard the front door creak open, and the sound of footsteps entering your apartment. Caleb’s unmistakable voice rang out immediately.
"You alive in there, or did you get eaten by a mutant insect?" His tone was teasing, light, but you could hear the hint of concern buried underneath it.
The moment you saw his face peeking around the corner, you almost burst into tears, then immediately regretted not thinking of this sooner—why hadn't you just called him earlier? This was a disaster.
"There!" You pointed shakily at the bug, now circling you like a demented helicopter, "It’s... it's trying to kill me, Caleb. Please get rid of it before I lose my mind."
He looked at the bug, then back at you, arching an eyebrow. "So, you're telling me this... thing has been keeping you hostage for 20 minutes? I’d say I’m impressed, but also... I’m honestly a little offended you didn’t call me earlier."
You shot him a pleading look. “I didn’t want to bother you! Plus, I thought I could handle it myself, but clearly—" you gestured at the bug dramatically, "—I was wrong."
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I’ll take care of it. But you owe me one for this. You owe me big time."
As if on cue, the bug lunged towards him, its wings buzzing aggressively.
"Look at this thing, Caleb! It knows I’m weak!" you shouted, half laughing, half panicking. You watched him as he calmly reached for the nearest object—a broom—before striding toward the creature like a true warrior.
"Relax, pipsqueak. I’ve got this." His voice was smooth, dripping with that signature teasing tone, but there was a flicker of protectiveness in his eyes. You knew he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.
With one swift motion, he shooed the bug out of your apartment, making sure it was well and truly gone before turning to you with a satisfied grin.
You practically threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Oh my god, Caleb. Thank you. I would’ve died in here if it wasn’t for you.”
He chuckled softly, his lips brushing the top of your head as he held you tight. "You owe me, sweetheart. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. I came here expecting a romantic evening, not to play exterminator." His hand gently ran through your hair, a soft gesture of care that made your heart flutter despite everything.
"I’ll do anything," you said, your voice a little too serious.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Anything? Hm, we might need to revisit that offer later, but for now..." He paused, leaning back to look you over. "I think we can still salvage the evening. After all, we’ve got the whole night ahead of us, right?"
You smirked, playfully brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Yeah, and you’re not getting out of dinner that easily. You still owe me a real date after this."
He laughed, pulling you closer. "Alright, alright. But just so you know, next time, I’m sending you a bug-catching kit as your official starter pack for dating me. You’ve been warned."
You couldn’t help but grin, a weight finally lifting from your shoulders as you found yourself safe in his arms.
"And Caleb," you said, trying to hide a mischievous smile, "You look hot when you move around with a broom."
PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader (reader is implied to be the MC in Caleb's part)
SYNOPSIS: Doubt creeps in, unraveling the fragile thread between you, pulling you further from him before anything even takes shape. (relationship not established)
A/N: I wrote this with a glint of mischief—hope you enjoy it!
Xavier
You sat on a bench, swallowed by the vast silence of the night. Darkness draped over you like a heavy cloak, its quiet lull almost enough to pull you into slumber. Almost. But no matter how exhausted you were, sleep never came. The streets stretched empty before you, hollow and waiting, save for the restless whisper of leaves dancing in the wind.
Beside you sat a half-empty bottle of wine, an offering to quiet the storm in your mind. But instead of drowning your thoughts, it only seemed to amplify them, making every ache more vivid, every insecurity more unbearable.
You were burning—boiling in the realization of how effortlessly Xavier existed.
How carelessly he moved through life, how mistakes never seemed to chain him down. He would stumble, but he would never fall. And if he did, he would rise again, never sparing the past a second glance.
He was magnetic in ways he didn’t even try to be. People were drawn to him, lured by something unseen, something inexplicable. A presence so commanding, so sure. The kind of certainty you would never know.
And you—you were nothing like him.
Every small misstep clung to you like an unforgiving shadow, dragging you back, keeping you tethered to doubt. You were plain where he was extraordinary. Silent where he was effortlessly captivating. A mere bystander in the presence of someone who burned so brightly, he could outshine even the stars.
You exhaled sharply, pressing your palms against your temple, trying to steady yourself.
You were unfit for him.
He was a constellation—distant, celestial, unreachable. While you were the remnants of a flower long past its bloom, wilting under the weight of your own self-doubt. Once, perhaps, you had been something more. But now? Now you were just a shell of what you wished to be.
The thought alone made your head throb, your chest ache in that quiet, suffocating way that reminded you you were still alive.
How ridiculous—how utterly foolish—to believe you could ever be his equal. That you could be worthy of his attention, his time, his kindness. The very same kindness so many others already fought for, already deserved far more than you ever could.
Your gaze drifted upward, meeting the expanse of the sky. A tear slipped free, streaking down your flushed cheek. You let it fall. For once, you wished you could have something that was meant to be yours. Just one thing. Just this.
But fate had never been kind. And you had long since learned that some wishes were never meant to be answered.
Your phone buzzed, the brightness of the screen making you squint.
"You up?"
Xavier.
Probably wanting to watch a movie, play that new game he wouldn’t stop talking about. Something easy, something simple.
But doubt had already woven its way into your bones. You weren’t going to reply. You weren’t going to pretend.
And then, the phone rang.
You should have ignored it. You should have let it ring into oblivion. But maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the ache in your chest—whatever it was, you answered.
"So you're not asleep."
His voice was soft, wrapped in that familiar gentleness you had always admired. No matter what happened, no matter what he said, there was always that warmth beneath his words.
It was unbearable.
"You should stop contacting me." The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, sharp and cruel, colliding violently with the tenderness of his voice. "I don’t want to speak to you."
A lie. A desperate, pathetic lie.
Silence. You could almost picture his expression—the slight furrow in his brows, the way his lips would part just slightly in confusion.
"What are you talking about?" His voice, once steady, wavered with the weight of worry. "What happened?"
You hated it. Hated that he cared. Hated that he was giving you an out, a chance to explain. Hated that he was proving, yet again, that he was good, too good.
And you? You were selfish. Weak.
"Goodnight, Xavier."
You didn’t wait for his response. Didn’t let yourself hesitate. You hung up, turned off your phone, and let the silence settle in.
It was just you and the stars now.
You wondered if he was looking at them too. If he could feel the weight of your absence the way you felt the unbearable gravity of his presence.
For now, you convinced yourself you were doing him a favor. Letting him go. Giving him the freedom to chase something greater, something more.
Because that something could never be you.
Zayne
Zayne was the kind of man who belonged to the world. A man of purpose, of unwavering resolve—one who mended shattered lives and stitched together the fragile threads of existence. He was a savior, a beacon, the kind of person people clung to in their darkest moments, the reason they saw another sunrise.
And you hated how much you envied him.
Because you, too, had once longed to be someone like that—needed, irreplaceable. Someone whose absence would be felt, whose existence bore meaning beyond the mundane. But the truth was far less poetic. You were no savior, no guiding light. You were painfully, cruelly ordinary.
Drifting through life on autopilot, grasping at dreams that always seemed just beyond reach. And then there was him—Zayne, the ever-composed gentleman. The embodiment of grace under pressure. Always calm. Always certain. Always right. And perhaps, in some twisted way, that certainty made you resent him. Because deep down, a part of you whispered—maybe you could have been that, too. Maybe, in another life, you would have stood beside him as an equal.
But you weren’t his equal. You were a footnote in his story, an afterthought. And it was foolish—so terribly foolish—to believe you had ever belonged in his orbit. To think, even for a fleeting moment, that you were worthy of his time, his presence, his affection.
Yet a quiet, desperate part of you clung to the fragile hope that perhaps—just perhaps—he needed something ordinary to anchor his brilliance. That in the midst of his immaculate world, he might have craved something simple, something real. That maybe, against all logic, there had been a space for you beside him.
But hope was a dangerous thing. And you had long since learned to silence it.
The notification of a new message shattered the silence of your thoughts. You glanced at your phone, breath hitching as Zayne’s name appeared on the screen.
"You’ve been awfully quiet these past couple of days. Is something bothering you?"
Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t type a response. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
You had become quite skilled at keeping your distance. At building walls around the parts of yourself that longed for him in ways you couldn’t control. And now, as your feelings for him grew into something perilous, something unbearable, your instinct was to retreat. To destroy what little remained before it could destroy you.
You prayed he wouldn’t push. That he would let you slip away unnoticed. But deep down, you knew better. Because Zayne was kind. So painfully, frustratingly kind. And his kindness made you furious.
You didn’t want his concern. You didn’t want his pity.
And then—the phone rang.
You stared at it, heartbeat hammering in your ears. For a moment, you almost answered. Almost let yourself believe in the impossible.
But instead, you let it ring.
It was better this way. That’s what you told yourself. That’s what you would keep telling yourself, over and over again, until the bitterness was all that remained.
Every time you stepped outside your apartment, a quiet dread curled around your ribs, squeezing tight. You feared crossing paths with him—not because you despised him, but because you feared what his presence would unravel within you. Would he say anything? Would he even care?
You followed a familiar path, the one your feet had traced countless times before. The setting sun stretched long, spindly shadows across the pavement, casting the world in hues of gold and sorrow. The evening breeze whispered against your skin, grounding you in the present, yet your mind was elsewhere—trapped in memories you had no strength to relive.
You sought solace in the scent of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries, in the soft murmur of a café that had once been a haven. But even that, it seemed, was not yours to keep.
As you scanned the display, preparing to order, a voice—low, steady, unmistakable—cut through the air behind you.
"A slice of cheesecake for me, and—" a pause, deliberate and weighted, "_____ for the lady."
Your heart clenched. Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t turn around—you couldn’t. But your fingers curled at your sides as if bracing for impact.
He remembered.
Even after everything, he still remembered.
Silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, taut with everything left unsaid. You should have walked away. You should have spoken, filled the empty space with something, anything. But hope—foolish, insidious hope—kept you rooted in place.
"Would you grant me a moment of honesty?" His voice, smooth and measured, held an undertone you couldn't quite place. A plea? A demand? Perhaps both.
You swallowed, your gaze fixed on the counter. "I'm not sure what you'd like to talk about."
"Come now," he said, his tone impossibly gentle, "do not insult my intelligence—or yours—by feigning ignorance. We are both aware of the distance you have so carefully placed between us. I only wish to understand why."
There it was. Direct, articulate, impossible to misinterpret.
Panic stirred in your chest, a quiet, insistent thing.
"Zayne, please—"
"Please what?" His voice softened, yet his words remained precise, deliberate. "Pretend I have not noticed your absence? Ignore the way you avert your gaze, as if the very sight of me has become a burden you can no longer bear? Is that truly what you wish of me?"
Your breath hitched.
"Sometimes," you whispered, "some things are best left unknown."
You turned before he could see the way your expression crumbled. Before he could see the way your hands trembled at your sides.
The café door chimed as you stepped outside. The reason you had come here in the first place—the pastry he had ordered for you—lay forgotten.
But he didn’t follow.
He didn’t reach for you.
And that, somehow, was the cruelest part of all.
Left standing in the empty hollow of your own choices, you wondered—was this truly the only way? Or had you simply chosen the path that hurt the most, just to prove to yourself that you still felt something at all?
Rafayel
It was all too easy to drown in self-doubt when standing beside Rafayel.
He moved through life with an effortless grace, as if uncertainty had never dared lay its hands on him. Confidence clung to his every step, an unshakable certainty in the way he spoke, the way he created, the way he existed. No matter the circumstance, he would find a way—because that’s just the kind of person he was.
And you? You were a spectator in his orbit, a mere shadow to his brilliance.
You hated how easily he captivated others, how rooms seemed to hush when he entered, drawn in by the cruel beauty he possessed—not just in his features, but in his very being. There was something infuriatingly magnetic about him, something that made people linger, hoping for even a fraction of his attention.
And you? You lingered too.
Not because of his art, though his talent was undeniable. Not because of the way the world adored him, though it was impossible to ignore. But because he was him—a force of nature, a storm and a masterpiece all at once.
You tried to keep up, you truly did. But no matter how quickly you ran, he was always ahead. Already reaching new heights, already standing atop mountains you hadn’t even begun to climb.
Rafayel was the ocean—vast, unknowable, and devastatingly beautiful. Deep with mysteries, with uncharted depths you would never be allowed to explore. You had always been afraid of drowning, but with him, you almost welcomed it.
How pathetic.
You resented how easily he had wrapped you around his finger, how effortlessly he kept you tethered without even noticing. You were there, always there, like a loyal dog at his heels, waiting for scraps of attention, pretending it was enough.
But it wasn’t. And deep down, you had always known it wouldn’t be. You wanted to be selfish, just this once.
Because one day, he would move on. He would walk into a world filled with greater things, greater people, and you would be left behind—forgotten, discarded, chained to memories he would not care to revisit.
You refused to let that happen. You refused to be another fleeting thing in his life, another season passing unnoticed. So, you did the only thing you knew how to do—you vanished before he could make the choice himself. You let yourself slip away, gradually, like the last breath of winter surrendering to spring.
Your phone buzzed. Unread messages. Missed calls. His name appearing again and again on the screen.
You read them. Or, at least, you skimmed the words before doubt crept in, wrapping itself around your throat like an invisible hand. You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let him see you like this, drowning in the weight of emotions you could never voice.
"Cutieee, did you forget about my art exhibit??? You were supposed to be there."
No, it was better this way. You would return to the life you had before him—a quiet, simple life, untouched by the chaos he had introduced into your world. A life of routine, of predictability. That was what you needed, wasn’t it?
Then why did it feel like suffocating?
You exhaled, sinking deeper into the couch. The room was messier than usual—evidence of his recent visit, his presence lingering in every overturned book, every misplaced sketch, every forgotten jacket draped over the chair.
You refused to clean it up. Not yet.
Not yet.
Your fingers hovered over your phone, mindlessly scrolling—until an advertisement flashed across the screen.
His new exhibit. His name in bold letters, his work displayed for the world to marvel at.
You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would erase the ache in your chest. As if it would silence the part of you that still longed to be near him, even now.
But longing was dangerous. It was cruel, deceptive.
Your jaw tightened as you closed your phone, fingers moving with practiced finality. One tap. Then another.
Blocked.
You shut your eyes, swallowing down the lump in your throat, willing yourself to believe the lie you had been repeating for days.
It’s okay.
You’ll figure it out.
Even if it kills you.
Sylus
The night air curled around you like an old lover—cold, indifferent, familiar. It filled your lungs, sharp and biting, yet no matter how deeply you inhaled, it wasn’t enough. You were suffocating, drowning in something invisible, something that clung to your ribs like a parasite.
The glass of wine in your trembling hand felt like an anchor. Heavy, grounding. The very same wine Sylus had once recommended, his voice smooth as he described its velvety texture, its lingering finish. You had listened, hung onto every syllable, because that was what you did with him. You listened. You remembered. You cared. And you hoped he did, too.
Your reflection in the glass balcony doors was pitiful—ruined mascara streaking your face like ghostly remnants of hope, smudged lipstick from where you had worried at your lip too many times. You looked desperate. Because you were desperate. And wasn't that the most humiliating thing?
You were nothing more than a fool playing house in a mansion you were never meant to enter. A child trying to hold onto a storm and then crying when it slipped through their fingers.
Because it had slipped.
You had slipped.
Sylus had made you believe, even if only for a fleeting moment, that you could be something—someone—to him. That you were different, special. That the way his gaze lingered meant something, that his rare smiles were meant for you alone.
What a lie. What a cruel, beautiful lie.
You tilted your head back and emptied your glass in one swallow. The burn was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the fire in your chest.
Foolish.Pathetic.Naïve.
You had let yourself believe you could matter to a man like Sylus.
Sylus, who was untouchable. Who could have anything and anyone. A man whose very presence commanded rooms, whose name carried weight heavier than entire empires. He was revered, feared, an unstoppable force of nature.
And you?
You were nothing.
A momentary amusement, an interlude between greater things.
The worst part?
He had never once given you a reason to think this way. Never lied to you. Never made empty promises.
No—this was all you. Your own mind, your own doubts, curling around you like a noose, squeezing, whispering, you are not enough, you were never enough, you will never be enough.
Your phone buzzed against the railing, the sudden vibration slicing through the quiet. You didn't need to look to know who it was.
Sylus.
Of course.
Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t answer. Not yet. Instead, you let your eyes fall to the lock screen, to the photo you refused to delete—Sylus, asleep, his features unguarded, softened in a way you rarely got to see. It had been a stolen moment, a cruel mercy the universe had given you, because you had wanted to believe he was yours in that moment.
But he wasn’t.
And he never would be.
Your chest ached so deeply it felt like your ribs would crack under the pressure.
You should block his number. End it now before it consumes you whole.
But you couldn’t. Because you were weak. Because even now, when every voice in your head screamed at you to run, you wanted him to call again.
You wanted him to tell you you were wrong.
You wanted him to chase after you, to demand answers, to prove you wrong.
But he wouldn’t.
Because Sylus didn’t need you.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the most painful part of it all.
With a heavy exhale, you turned off your phone, shutting out the only person who had ever made you feel alive.
For now, you would convince yourself this was the right choice.
That you were doing this to protect yourself.
That you weren’t just running away before he had the chance to leave first.
Caleb
Oh, how much you loved and hated that man.
Caleb, the golden child. The one who had always been effortlessly everything.
The one who turned heads when he entered a room—not just because of his sharp jaw or the way his stupidly soft hair always fell into his eyes, but because he was Caleb. Because he had that energy, that confidence, that natural magnetism that made people want to be close to him.
And you—well, you were just the one who had always been there.
The one who followed a step behind, the one who laughed at his ridiculous jokes even when they weren’t funny, the one who made sure he stayed grounded when his reckless nature got the best of him. His constant. His safe place.
But never his choice.
Never the one he reached for in the way you reached for him.
You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling of your dimly lit room, your fingers gripping your phone like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. The screen glowed softly, Caleb’s name lighting up in the dark.
Missed call.
Another missed call.
A message: "Pipsqueak, Where are you? You good?"
It was almost funny. Caleb always knew when something was wrong. Always had that frustrating intuition when it came to you.
And yet—he never really knew.
He didn’t know what it was like to stand beside someone so bright, so undeniable, and feel like you were flickering out. Like you were just background noise in a song that was never really yours.
You clenched your jaw, heart twisting painfully. It was suffocating—this love, this stupid, unwanted love that had lodged itself in your ribs, too deep to remove without destroying something vital.
God, how had it come to this?
When had your best friend become the thing that hurt you the most?
You weren’t even sure when the shift happened. Maybe it was the first time you realized how beautiful he looked under streetlights, his laughter warm enough to make your chest ache. Or maybe it was when you started noticing the way his lips curved just slightly before he smirked—like he already knew exactly what you were thinking. Maybe it was the nights he snuck to your room just to ramble about some nonsense, and you let yourself believe—for those fleeting moments—that you were the person he wanted to be with.
Maybe it had always been this way, and you were just too blind, too hopeful to acknowledge it.
But hope was a dangerous thing. And you were so tired of losing to it.
Your phone buzzed again. Another call.
You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers trembling.
You wanted to answer.
You wanted to hear his voice, let him pull you back in with that stupid, teasing warmth, let him fix this in the way only Caleb could—without even realizing what needed fixing.
But you couldn’t.
Because every second you spent with him, you fell a little deeper. And Caleb… Caleb never even noticed he was holding the rope that could either pull you up or let you drown.
Your throat burned as you stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the call.
And for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself imagine what it would be like. If you answered. If you told him everything. If you laid your heart bare and let him see just how much of it he had taken without even trying.
Would he laugh? Would he be kind? Would he let you down gently, tell you that you were important to him, but not in the way you wanted?
Or worse—would he pity you?
The thought made something inside you shatter.
No.
You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t let yourself be that vulnerable.
So instead, you did what you had always done. You swallowed the ache, buried the yearning deep where he would never find it, and turned off your phone.
Maybe in another life, things would have been different.
Maybe in another life, Caleb would have looked at you the way you looked at him.
