thedivinevera

[thedivinevera]

— PUSH AND PULL : honkai star rail.

premise. as someone who's always believed in the term “try and try again,” (peak delusion, you know) rooting yourself in their heart has always been your goal, no matter the cold rejections and curt declines you receive. however, even you have your limits; perhaps this little push and pull you two have going isn't worth your time after all... but what happens then, if the chaser becomes the chased? (oh, how the turns have tabled.)

...or, when you play hard to get with them.

— ft. sunday, aventurine, jing yuan.

warnings: angst n fluff, messy messy, these boys are in love but are wayyy too chicken to admit they actually adore you, genderless reader.

a/n. inspired by @/xiaowhore's playing hard to get headcanons! my holy trinity 😇 n MY FAVES RAHHH

NEXT : BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX

SUNDAY is perplexed. very much aware of his qualities which enlists him as one of the finer (finest) bachelors of Penacony (he was the Robin's one and only blood, and was also the head of one of the main guiding forces of the Family, after all), sunday isn't sure he's ever come across someone as.... tenacious as you.

foolish, to be more precise, for he cannot for the life of him comprehend exactly why you are the way you are with... him.

no matter his respectful declines of your invitations to promenade around Penacony (re: going on dates), you really didn't know how to leave him be. though he hasn't exactly said he hated it, sunday was, admittedly, rather... affronted. your gifts, in particular, were your loud declarations of your affection (that make his wings flutter more rapidly than he'd like); but sunday was rather inconvenienced at the whole thing.

nonetheless, he does still accept them. reluctantly, mind you. not because he was fond of your constant shower of affections, which seemed so permanent that he began to look forward to them got used to it. to your credit, your gifts were very much to his tastes. (Robin once gave him a rather soul-searching look when he found himself wearing the gloves you gifted, light blue and white in color. he still uses it, just not when his sister is in the vicinity.)

in fact, perhaps he may have gotten too comfortable. little by little, your constant intrusions on his time have thawed a way to his heart; making sunday look forward to your jovial greetings and grandeur elaborations on your day, and such a thing makes him feel scared sunday needed to nip this in the bud, and fast.

so he confronts you, abruptly one day as you give him his newest gift—a jewelry box for his earrings. (surely, the rapid thumping of his heart was due to his irritation at your constant persistence, right?) “i'm afraid this can no longer continue. i am flattered by your... fancy for me, but i do not wish to enter a relationship in the near future.”

the utter silence that follows is torture to him—but he endures. he tries not to look at the momentary flash of hurt on your face. you seemed to quickly recover, though. giving him a simple smile (it didn't reach your eyes. it shocks him how his chest ached at the realization) and shaking your head when he returns the gift to you.

“i understand, mr. sunday.” the formal usage of his name instead of your chipper ‘sunday!’ makes his face twitch. “but please, keep the gift. think of this as my last declaration. it... would do me a great comfort, just this last time, if you accepted it instead.”

(if he had grabbed your hand at that moment as you left for the door, would he regret it?)

when you leave, sunday thought it would put the conflicting feelings in his mind at ease—but it doesn't. a week and two days counting, true to your word, sunday receives no flagrant gifts, nor little messages on his phone that tell him to take care of himself, to eat, and to make sure to remember to check up on Robin.

instead, contrary to the feeling of ease, regret follows him instead.

it's at two weeks and five days counting when sunday could no longer stand the sight of papers that stacked atop his desk and the image of you leaving for the door replaying in his head far too many times for him to count, that he contacts Robin.

and she, once hearing about the situation, gives him a very, very enlightening talk. (of course, not without giving her brother a lecture of the lifetime. part of him felt shame to know that his sister knew of his... turbulent love life, but she was the only one who he could trust, anyway).

“absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she says. “but in your case, brother, your heart has already decided it's course, right?”

sunday eyes the smooth velvet of the jewelry box you gifted, ruminating. his earrings lie there, carefully pristine and beautiful, gold and silver intertwined. he has worn them without fail, clean and spotless. (of course it was. such a design so intricate was only chosen by you. the thought makes his ears warm).

the next days are agonizing. vigor renewed and epiphanies well-spent, sunday spends the rest of his time after finishing his duties researching and painstakingly finding the best jeweller he can find (even employing the suggestions of a certain gambler, much to his dislike), and spending a god awful amount of time revisiting and rechecking which spots you like, which places you enjoy, to the point it comes up in Penacony's headlines that sunday is interested in someone.

surely, it should've reached your ears by now, yes? sunday panics. your preferences are well-accounted for, and he's sure the Bloodhound family members that report to him have to tell you that the person he had in mind was you. even Robin, who was your closest friend, has probably told you already.

it's embarrassing to admit, but; to hell with it, the day he meets you after three weeks and sees you having a pleasant chat with aventurine, of all people, sunday thinks his heart had shattered into little pieces and stabbed themselves into his body. not so much as sparing him a glance, moreso.

so when, finally at his wits end, sunday chooses to corner you at the dewlight pavilion and spills out how he has royally screwed up in the worst way possible, no one is surprised. at this rate, you would be swept up in the charms of that wretched gambler, and what sunday lacked in, aventurine more than made up for.

“wait, don't go to that gambler just yet.” he's breathless, he's chaotic—and something in his heart squeezes when you finally look at him. “i... i wish to take up your time now, if that's possible.” (he wishes he would take up your time forever, really, but that was still too early).

you eye his getup. all of your gifts, lined on the man you spent so long chasing after—you see the gloves you gifted, the tie with not so much as a single crease, and the earrings that shine more brightly in the light of the pavilion. (it suits him. like you) it was as if sunday had completely surrendered himself to you, had all but decided to proclaim that he was yours, and this was nothing short of a plea for you to hear him.

“please.” he says. almost begs. “i can't bear not seeing you anymore. allow me to correct such a damning mistake.”

and if you were skeptical, the way sunday looks at you would dispel any doubt you could ever have. (his wings, they were fluttering.)

(months later, after a nerve-ending confession, many days of dinners, shared gifts involving matching jewelry and promenading to your wishes, it dawns on sunday he was absolutely dancing to your tune. did he regret it, though?

....no, most certainly not.)

if AVENTURINE were to be honest with himself, he saw you as a useful “friend” rather than a romantic interest. was it bad of him? of a sort. but risk cutting himself open and letting someone he might grow to care for know about all the ugliness that follows his life? no, he's fine as it is, thanks.

the first thing he notices is that you're kind—though he distrusted most of his colleagues and preferred none to get close to him, aventurine, in some morbid moment of curiosity, instead allowed himself to bask in your attention. instead of curtly disparaging you, he flirts back at your compliments (the way your face heated up in return was far too endearing that he can't help but want to kiss you he finds it amusing) and consistently texts you a “did you get home safe” or a “i bought you this because it reminded me of you”; at this point, it was like you two were dating.

was it leading you on? yes, but he supposes it was a win-win; he could send you those tiny bits of validation that was enough for you to stay respectfully at a distance while he probed at your intentions. unlike others who attempt to garner his favor, you're genuine, and you seriously take the time to know him. because you always text back with hearts, always reassure him, tell him to stay safe and wish him luck at every gamble, every high stakes bet he finds himself in. you even complimented his perfume once (and, if he had to be honest, he could not stop thinking about it all day—because that perfume he commissioned exclusively was based off of your own favorite scents and it was extremely embarrassing that he loved hugging you knowing that you loved the way he smelled and that it felt extremely domestic).

(sometimes, he doesn't reply. for months on end. suddenly the golden-haired man you love goes cold and you know then that aventurine ghosts you and then returns when he's in need of a friend—never a lover. it hurts you, but at the very least, you know he cares in his own way.)

and, if aventurine had to be honest, it was killing him from the inside bit by bit. as if to drive the knife deeper, you never danced around what exactly was going on with you two. you never ask why he ghosts you, then sends you a bundle of gifts all of a sudden and then rapidly spends time with you and repeating the cycle. no, you were consistently by his side, so warm and so caring—so unlike him—that aventurine wonders if it's really all right to open his heart to you.

if, by some chance, he actually wanted to be with you, would you treat him even more sweetly than before? aventurine thinks you would—you were beautiful in your entirety, and he was practically undeserving of you. he imagines himself kissing your hand and having you in his arms—and that feels like ice cold water being dumped onto his head, because you could do so much better and yet, why him?

so when aventurine hears about how a certain doctor was visiting you for some unknown reason, his already fragile sense of security in this little will-they, won't they crumbles.

and when he finds out that you were staying over with ratio? something twisted lodges itself in the little brushes of his heart, coiling and coiling—making him feel green. aventurine is aware you and the doctor are good friends, and ratio was the one who even told you to make a move on him! how could he just—suddenly interrupt?!

(was it dramatic? extremely. but knowing his friend and the person he secretly adores might end up together? you can't really blame him.)

he supposes this can be attributed to him. it was an egregious mistake, a blunder aventurine made—he never gave you a clear sight of whether he truly loved you or not and now you're slipping away from him.

so, he does something very unexpected.

at 3:00 AM in the wee early morning hours, aventurine practically barges into one Dr. veritas ratio's home, demanding what the hell was going on between you. and as if he had expected it, his doctor friend merely gives him a shrug in return.

“perhaps they were simply getting fed up by a certain IPC member—who is clearly head over heels in love with them—giving them mixed signals.” ratio's tone is stern, and aventurine definitely knows that the look he gives him is the one he gives only to fools.

you idiot, the doctor seems to say. yeah, yeah, he is; aventurine ignores the clear pinprick at his dignity.

yes, he supposes he is the fool here. “ah.”

“yes, ‘ah,’ indeed. now, let me propose a question.” the purple-haired man says. “will you react in such a way when i tell you that in order for my friend to stop their anguish, i managed to get them to fraternize with one of my colleagues?”

“...what?”

“they will be having a meet-up seven system hours from now.” ratio shrugs. eyes aventurine, who's looking at him like a gaping, stupid fish. “i can only hope that no one would dare to disrupt.”

...it doesn't take him long to be rid of the gambler by then.

(a few hours later, you stop by the Intelligentsia Guild to see one veritas ratio with a smug smile, eyeing the fur coat draped around your shoulders, and the flushed and happy expression written on your face.

“did it work?” he asks.

you laugh, “splendidly.”

indeed, that gambler was a fool, and there's nothing more than dr. ratio loved than to educate such fools to shape.

“that will teach him.”)

as a quote unquote ‘old man’ who knows that he's well up in his years for a relationship, JING YUAN finds you to be quite amusing.

it doesn't take a detailed analysis to know that you were smitten with him, really. you're a complete open book by his standards—if your heated face and slightly airy voice whenever you were even placed in the same vicinity with the Dozing General was anything to come by. while flattering, he also shares the similar mindset of being too old for any love his way—and he could be mara-struck at any given time, and jing yuan does not wish such a life filled with anguish and pain for the one who may steal his heart. but, worry not, brave suitor of the Arbiter General! unlike the other two above, this man has the experience of millenia, and is open-minded and aware that you truly wish to be perceived as a potential lover.

in fact, jing yuan's recent favorite habit is sneaking off the Seat of Divine Foresight purely to freak you out, watching you scramble up your words, seeing the heat crawl up your nape and bloom all across your face. adorable. you certainly knew how to appeal, that's for sure.

(“heh, it seems i've found a new place to stay in so that the Diviner Fu won't grill me alive when she sees me.”

and when he's rewarded with a bashful and speechless look in return, a smile and your, “i'm glad, general.” it surprisingly lightens up his mood by more than he expected.

that, in turn, gives him a frightening 30% energy boost; fu xuan was utterly shocked to see the languid man actually working and looking like he enjoyed it, for once.

“did something good happen today, jing yuan? why so enthusiastic?”

“i just felt like working more than usual, diviner Fu. i seem to have my energy levels at a high.”)

now, jing yuan is considerate and perceptive first and foremost, so there's a high chance that out of all the men here, he is the most open to giving you the chance to pursue him. he does inform you beforehand that he has no plans of accepting your confessions in the future, and that is where the ‘hard to get’ part comes in.

it's like playing a confusing romance visual novel with a fickle love interest—you never really know what you're doing, whether it's something jing yuan would like or not, and you don't know if he even thinks your attempts are moving his heart. (tldr: he friend zones you).

he maintains the same distance no matter his banters with you, no matter how many times you tell him that you'd help yanqing out with sword lessons. it's like he was just... treating you as he would a friend, and that you were basically stuck in the friend-zone forever.

(he keeps it to himself, but something warm stirs in his chest when he sees yanqing sleeping on your shoulder after training practice, with your arm protectively around the boy's side.

your sleeping face didn't make it easy to look away either; it's one of the few moments in which jing yuan shows just the slightest bit of reciprocating your pursuits; he brushes back the stray hairs covering your face, and drapes a blanket over the two of you.

of course, perhaps to tease yanqing, he also takes the calligraphy brush and makes a work out of his face, doodling all over it.

when you wake up, there's a lingering scent of ink and yellowed paper that fills your senses. when you turn to the boy beside you, you almost giggle out loud.)

it's a little disheartening—and while jing yuan did acknowledge that you were slowly, slowly burrowing yourself in his heart, he doesn't act on it fast enough, and instead lets the realization sit in his mind for a while.

it gets to the point where it feels as though he were preparing to distance himself, and even yanqing had asked if he was well. your visits with the Arbiter General also decrease, as he suddenly buried himself in his work even more than before.

he doesn't get to see you all that much afterwards, despite the lingering feeling of missing you filling his heart.

....that's until jing yuan hears word of a recent mara-struck incident involving the Sky-faring Commission; with your name listed among those heavily injured.

when he visits Bailu's clinic after yanqing urges him, jing yuan takes in the sight of you, littered in injuries from head to toe. your life, about to snap. he never even told you that you won; you did manage to steal his heart and for the first time in a long time, jing yuan allows himself to love.

so if, after three weeks later when you're finally healed up and ready to go, jing yuan brings you into his arms and drags you to let him sleep in your lap, you can't really blame him now, can you?

a/n: i love yearner hsr men,,, might do a pt 2 though. thinking of mayb ratio, jiaoqiu and f/heng next time...... sighs dreamily

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[thedivinevera]

HIRAETH.

PAIRING: Yandere!Caleb x Blind!Reader TAGS: Disability and blindness, possessive Caleb, yandere tendencies, violence and blood, overprotective Caleb, taking advantage of a disability, SFW but contains mature themes, use of the nickname 'pip-squeak'. SUMMARY: You wore a pair of gorgeous eyes that could not aid you throughout your life. Luckily for you, your childhood companion would be the vessel of sight you always needed. And at the end of it all, you would have his warm embrace to return to. WORD COUNT: 2,775 words.

You had never known what a home was like. Not because you suffered from the lack of one, no. You had a home—a large, two-storey house with white walls and an isolated attic, or so you had been told. Your home had been inhabited by three people. You knew that, of course. As a child, you would lie on top of Grandma, press your ear against her heart, and listen to her rhythmic heartbeat. You had learned that the steady thump... thump... thump... of a person's heart was proof of their presence. Each day, you heard two sets of heartbeats in your home, belonging to the people you cherished the most.

You had been raised with piles of books engraved with odd textures, an endless supply of home tutors, and a heavy stick to aid you for the rest of your life. You remembered tracing your fingers down your first white cane, feeling the cold aluminium against your fingertips. "It will accompany you through your entire life," Grandma had said. But it hadn't. Your cane had broken two years later. It had snapped in half after you dared Caleb to play baseball with it. It had been entirely your fault, of course. You still cringed at the argument that had led to the inevitable. It had started when Caleb caught you referring to your cane as your best friend. In the end, the cane didn’t last. Neither had the bond you shared with it. When it broke, he'd promised to get you a new one. But it always took weeks. Your 'best friend' hadn't rushed to your aid during those weeks. But Caleb did.

"Can you carry me down the stairs, Caleb?" As you had grown, you had found people to be more reliable than poles or sticks. You had believed you were truly fortunate to have such a loving, accepting friend whose shoulders were always free for you to lean on. He had carried you through the roughest terrains, through the darkest of forests, without ever bearing a single crack. All the white canes you had after your first break had eventually been rendered unsuitable for bearing your weight. But Caleb had never complained. He had never asked a crumb of you when you had to rely on him to drive you to places. Never had he turned a blind eye to the constant bullying you had faced at the hands of the neighbourhood kids. Although you couldn't see, you could feel. And you had felt that you were right at home. Home had been where Caleb was. Only with him had you felt at home. With him, you had been seen, loved, and cherished.

"Where'd you get that bruise, pip-squeak?" A natural consequence of being born with a disability was having to face constant bullying. You recall the first day you'd received the white cane. That afternoon, you'd insisted on walking alone without the assistance of Grandma or Caleb. The warm sun kissed your skin as you inched along the gravel. Birds chirped with renewed fervour as if the world had applauded your confidence. Today is a great day, you thought. Not only had you received your first walking cane, but you'd also achieved a feat most normal kids could not-- you'd snuck out of your window all by yourself. Moments like these made you believe you were just a normal girl living life with a small hindrance. For the first time, you felt invincible. What you overlooked, however, was how their presence was not merely a means to protect you from tripping over your feet or getting lost in the streets. They'd also shielded you from what you couldn't see-- the ill gazes of people who wished to utilise your blindness.

It hurt a lot: the bruises. Many a time, they would flog you with your own cane, smacking it over your head and shoving you with its tip all while they guffawed and cackled as they would with an odd-looking dog. They would rub dirt into your eyes and mock you-- "What? They're useless anyway! Who cares if they hurt?" Their actions left large red stripes across your skin that would deepen into a dark purple as you limped home. Not that you could see them, of course. The cold of the evening settled in around you, causing a shiver to travel up your spine. You'd assumed it'd be dark by now. Not that it mattered in your world. But you were often told that the darkness bore nothing but cruelty. If that were true, was your world merely one of savagery and ill intent? Was it even darkness that you saw? Or do you simply see nothing? You couldn't tell. You could see neither darkness nor nothing. Were they even different?

You were blind. You couldn't see. But you could feel. You felt his anger radiating from him, causing a lump to form in your throat. All because you'd replied, "I just got bullied a little." A pregnant pause followed your confession. You were blind. You couldn't distinguish between an uncomfortable silence and a pleasant one. You couldn't decipher it from the looks on their faces, neither could you tell by the behaviour they exhibited. But you could feel the clench of his jaw, the grit of his teeth through which he forced his voice. His tone shifted-- farther from concern, farther from warmth, and he uttered a singular unsophisticated word that confirmed your doubts-- "Who?" You could hear his movements. The irk in his steps, the angry shuffle of his jacket, the creak of floorboards under his weight, and the abrupt slam of the door that left you speechless and bitter. You nudged Grandma's sleeve after analysing the silence the two of you shared. Your fingers curled around the hem of her maxi. You looked up to where you assumed she would be, and a single tear slipped down your swollen eyes. "Grandma," your fingers trembled, "Is Caleb mad at me?"

By the time you began to chase after him, it had started to rain. The downpour sliced through your skin, hampering your sense of sound. You'd ditched your white cane back at home and scurried after him as fast as you could, placing your trust in the enraged and hurried thumps of his boots against the concrete to guide you. Only for the rain to hail in and throw you off course by completely overwhelming the sound of his footsteps. Great. You'd gone too far to be able to find your way back home as well. But you'd called this upon yourself, hadn't you? They were merely the consequences of your foolish actions—the aftermath of being naïve and weak. You were not invincible. You were not a normal girl. You were blind. And you'd dared to overstep your authority. It was only natural that you paid for your actions. Your shirt clung to your chest uncomfortably, creating odd creases across your body. Your damp hair occasionally slipped into your eye. You swiped it away and tucked it behind your ear as you ran across the empty streets. If you were to find yourself under the wheels of a truck, nobody would be there to come to your aid. But that didn't matter. Because this was what you deserved. You were simply experiencing karma.

Hot tears mixed with the cold beads of rain. The mixture slid down your cheek. Some entered your mouth, leaving it saltier than it already was. Some fell to the ground, rendering it indistinguishable from the thousands of droplets that fell each second. You didn't know where you were headed. You'd followed the sound of the pavement to keep yourself off the road, but you had no idea where you were. Had you run to another city? Or had you circled back home? Earlier, you'd slithered out of Grandma's grip before she could lock you away in your room and go searching for him herself. But with you on the loose alongside Caleb, she was sure to come chasing after you as well. Had you run so fast she'd lost track of you? Perhaps. Because she wasn't coming. Judging by the absence of sound, she was nowhere near you. After half an hour of running, your knees buckled. You came to rest beside a railing. Your hands gripped onto it, subtly tracing the intricate design as you panted against it. You inched forward with its support. Your feet throbbed as you walked, and you were sure the soles of your sneakers were torn as well. Oh, well. All you'd hoped for was that Grandma would find you, miserable and soaked in the rain, and take you back home with her as she stuffed your ears with various reprimands. But you were okay with that. As long as you returned to the warmth of the fireplace by the living room window, you were content. You doubted whether you deserved that as well. Eventually, your fingers met the cold, wet metal surface of an indented sign. You traced the words—"Willow Whimsy Park." Your breath hitched in your throat, and your hands flew around in search of the place where the fence ended. You rushed in through the opening, your breaths escaping in ragged spasms. He must've been here. He must've!

"Pip-squeak?" The world stilled. The patter of raindrops against your head became insignificant when your ears caught Caleb's voice. You'd expected him to be angry, to lash out and yell for you to go away. You'd expected him to hate you. To call you weak and pathetic, as you deserved. Yet how he called out your name was none of that. It was soft. Surprisingly gentle. You treaded closer, and you broke down once you were near enough to feel his breath on your face. Tears streamed down your face, painting a sleek path down your chin. Your chest heaved as you wailed ceaselessly. Foul, ugly cries escaped from deep within your throat. You sobbed and sobbed, leaving no place for Caleb to squeeze a word in. With a burdened sigh, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer until your face was pressed against his chest. Despite your futile squirms, he held on tightly, his grip unrelenting. His fingers curled around your forearm a notch tighter, as if conveying his refusal to let you go in time of need. At last, you gave in. You nuzzled your face against his torso and cried your heart out. You sobbed until your throat screeched in protest. But Caleb did not move. Not a single word left his chapped lips. He simply stood there, willing to linger as long as you'd take to vent your sorrows. Even as you pounded your fists on his chest weakly, he did not complain. He simply stood, his arm coiling around you a little tighter with each sniffle. He treated you with unrelenting patience, and his gaze bore a devotion that gnawed at your skin and begged for a pathway into your soul. It was comforting. It was warm. He felt like home. When your sobs had died down, Caleb released his grip. You raised your chin. Your sleeve rubbed against your face as you wiped the remnants of your tears away. But the drenched fabric aided only in wetting your face further. You looked up at Caleb and swallowed the sobs that threatened to erupt from your throat. With a shaky voice, you cried, "Why did you leave me?!" You didn't know how, but you felt his eyes soften. The intensity of his gaze dissipated, leaving him with a gentle smile on his face. "What do you mean?"

"You were mad at me, weren't you? So you stormed off." You fumbled around before grasping his palm. "I'm sorry, okay? I won't ever sneak out ever again! I'll do all the dishes, and I'll—" Caleb cradled your face with his right hand. His thumb brushed over your cheek tenderly. You could swear, however, that his hand was far more calloused than usual. They also carried a scent that was unfamiliar to you, a scent you'd later go on to realise. But back then, that touch erased your worries, allowing you to sink into a whirlpool of warmth. It was as if he reached into your frozen conscience and brought upon it the warmest summer you encountered. "I wasn't mad." He said, his voice akin to a spring breeze. "Not at you. I stormed out to find the people that..." he spaced out, tracing a bruise under your eye. "That did this to you." You blinked, your sharp senses picking up on the harsh undertone of his voice. The emphasis left you baffled. Was the sun truly capable of such cruelty? You nuzzled into his palm to feel his marred skin graze against your cheek. Had he always hidden his anger behind the veil of your eyes? "They got away, though." His tone shifted, although unnervingly so. "I'll get them tomorrow. Let's go home, now, pip-squeak. Grandma must be worried." A smile graced your lips. Caleb returned your joy with a tap on the corner of your lip—a gesture that belonged to the two of you. He let out a hum, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. The downpour raged on. Thunder began to drum against your ears. "How did you find me without your cane? I guess we're meant to be." You giggled. Although you would've never known he truly believed what he said. Your mouth opened, "Achoo!" In a slow, deliberate movement, he interlocked your fingers with his and brought it to his side. "Let's go home. Or else, you'll catch a fever." He guided you through the entrance, looking back occasionally to ensure you didn't trip over your feet. At the entrance gate, Caleb paused, glancing over his shoulder to take one last look at the scene before him. He was relieved you couldn't see. He was relieved the boys had obeyed. If they'd as much as made a peep, his lie would be caught. What then? How could he have regained your trust? What reason did he have for the boys who were sprawled out in the mud, their faces littered with bruises he did not know he was capable of inflicting? What excuse would he propose in retaliation against your accusation—why had he frightened and 'persuaded' them into not uttering a single whimper or cry, despite their mangled states? And the worst of all was how he did not regret any of the choices he made under the shower of rain. He hadn't thought of taking back the punches that were delivered, nor did he ponder whether the consequences of his actions were too dire to endure. With each shove, with each kick, and with each crack, the lesser he began to feel. After all, he did vow to you.

"What's wrong, Caleb?" Caleb turned on his heels to face you. He leaned in, tucking a soaked strand behind your ear. "Nothing. I just wanted to let you know..." After all, he did vow to you: "I will always protect you, pip-squeak. I've made it my life mission." Caleb was grateful to the veil before your eyes. If you could see, you would have seen the sheer cruelty of this world. This world was far too pernicious for you. Blind or not, in every life, in every body, he would have covered your eyes. The darkness you'd have to endure was temporary, insignificant to the fruits of his labour. You didn't deserve a glance at the suffering that plagues your world. The storms you encounter in this world should not exist. You tilted your head. "You don't have to make up for leaving me behind. It was completely my fault!" He wrapped his hand around the back of your head. "I'm not. Well, anyway, let's find Grandma." Before he could lead the way, you leapt onto him from behind, fastening your arms around his neck. "Thank you, Caleb." He chuckled. "What for?" "For giving me a home." He ruffled your hair. His fingers latched onto your wrist, bringing them closer to his chest, right where his heart was. "As long as you hear these thumps, you will always have a home to return to."

That evening, you left the park with Caleb arm-in-arm. Perhaps, not having the ability to see wasn't that bad after all. At the very least, you did not have to cast your gaze upon the atrocities that occur past the foliage of nothingness. At the very least, you could be ignorant in bliss.

[thedivinevera]

Caleb: I’ve been dropping her the most insanely obvious hints for like, years now. No response.

MC: Wow. She sound stupid.

Caleb: But she's not. She's really smart actually. Just dense.

MC: Maybe you need to be more obvious? Like, I don’t know… “Hey! I love you!”

Caleb: I guess you’re right. Hey MC, I love you.

MC: See! Just say that!

Caleb: Holy fucking shit.

MC: If that flies over her head then, sorry Caleb, but she's too dumb for you.

Caleb: MC.

[thedivinevera]

A Face She Never Saw

Yandere!Fake husband!Undercover agent oc x blind!wife! Reader

Warning: sexual intercourse, mention of death, kidnapping, yandere themes, attempt to murder

_________________________________________

Veryon lips swallowed her pants and whimpers as his freshly showered wet hair tickled your head. He was half dressed ready to go to work but as soon as his eyes locked on your form tangled in sheets hickey's and bite marks littered on your soft body he lost it. Foot steps striding back to the bed as you flinched at the sound he loosened his tie and captured your lips in a seering kiss.

He just can't get enough of you... Maybe.... His marriage with you was nothing but a sham but now he wants nothing but to marry you again and again till you forgive him for what he did.

You had been blind since birth, but you had never needed sight to love. You had fallen in love with him ... Your 'husband' through his voice, his touch, his scent—the only man who had ever held you with such warmth. Or so you thought.

He had come into her life suddenly, sweeping her off her feet with sweet whispers and gentle caresses. His voice was deep, teasing yet soft when it mattered. She never saw the mask he wore, never questioned the way he always avoided letting her touch his face. She was too in love to notice the distance in his heart.

For her it was her life... A chance to live like a normal person a husband a house maybe a few kids?? She used to blush on those thoughts...but now???

And for him it was nothing but a mission to spy on the person he needed and leave... He always did this to multiple people.. multiple identity... It's his job... And he is good at it...but this time??? He saw you as a trouble... Blind person?? Clingy... Demanding...it's hectic but he can complete his work...after all he is the best....

On their honeymoon, she had mewled his name so sweetly, so desperately, as she gave him her everything. And the next month, he was gone. Dissapeared.

She searched for him, waited, prayed. But he never returned.

Until tonight.

The air in her small studio trembled as a shadow moved inside. It's a saying that if god takes one thing he gives another .. which was same for you... You maybe blind but yound other senses were sharp, you instantly felt it .. another presence, now hollow and tired, clutched your cane but did not scream. You had no one to call for, no one who would come even if you did. Instead, you turned to the intruder with a broken smile and reached for the hidden drawer.

"Here… take it all," you whispered, pushing a bundle of money toward him. "Take whatever you need and leave."

The man....silent, frozen...watched her. He hadn’t expected this. She thought he was a thief ???He had only come back for a file he left, not for… this.

Not for her.

As she turned away, her cane tapping the floor lightly, she paused. Sniffed the air. Her brows furrowed.

That scent…His scent.

It was him.

But it couldn't be. Her husband was gone. Dead to her, if not literally. This man.....this thief .......was an impostor.

She reached out hesitantly, her delicate fingers brushing against his jaw. The second she felt bare skin, she flinched.

No that's not how his face has been.....Not him.

She backed away quickly, shaking her head, whispering apologies, as if she had made a mistake. As if her soul wasn’t screaming that her love had returned.

He didn't speak. He only followed.

Up the creaking stairs. Through the dim hallway. Into her private sanctuary.

And then he saw it.

A statue. Perfectly sculpted, detailed with devotion. A replica of himself—his masked self. He don't know why but the pang of jealousy he felt for that silicon mask at that time made his jaw tightened.

His breath hitched. His stomach twisted.

She had never seen his face. But she had memorized him. Every cut every puff ...Even in betrayal, she still held onto him.

And for the first time, he regretted ever leaving her......or more like using her.

He started coming back. Every night.

At first, he convinced himself it was just for the file he had left behind. Then, it was because he wanted to see if she was doing fine. And then......he stopped lying to himself.

He needed to see her. She knew...... It was him .....but also not him....

Y/N never said a word, but she knew. The way she brushed past him in the doorway, her shoulder lightly grazing his, never flinching, never hesitating. The way she poured an extra cup of tea, letting it sit on the table, untouched, until it went cold. The way she no longer locked the door.

But she never acknowledged him.

Not once.

She simply continued her routine. Every evening, she sat by the small wooden table, setting down two plates—one for herself, and one for the man she once called her husband.

And every night, after eating in silence, she would take his.... His masked self the identity he killed... of her husband plate and throw away untouched.

He watched from the shadows as she did it. Every. Single. Night.

One evening, he found a third plate placed carefully next to hers.

For him.

He stared at it for a long time, his chest tightening in something unfamiliar, something suffocating. She had never said a word, but she knew.

She accepted his presence, but not his existence.

That night, she took the stack of plates she had prepared for her vanished husband.....the ones she had been setting aside in foolish hope.....and with trembling hands, she shattered them one by one.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent but endless.

His hands clenched at his sides. His jaw tightened. He had thought she would forget him. He had hoped she would move on.

But seeing the broken plates, he realized something terrifying.......

She had never stopped waiting.

And now, she was trying to let go.

But could he let her?

Then one night, he found the door locked.

For the first time since he started coming back, he couldn’t step inside.

He stood there in the cold, staring at the wooden barrier that now separated them. His fingers twitched at his side, itching to knock, to demand entry.

He could easily break in without any efforts .....he have always been the best to crack codes and locks... But this time.

But he didn’t.

Because he knew.

She was closing the door on him.

Inside, Y/N sat by the table, running her hands over the smooth edges of the two plates she still used—hers and his. Her fingers trembled, but she didn't cry.

She couldn't cry anymore.

For weeks, she had let him linger in the space between knowing and pretending, between guilt and longing. She had let him exist in her world, let herself feel the ghost of the love she once cherished.

But now… it had to stop.

She wasn't the same woman who had once clung to him so desperately. The blind painter who had worshipped a man without a face. The foolish bride who had given him her everything, only to be left with nothing .......

She was done.

The next night, he returned.

And found the door locked again.

No brush of her shoulder in the hallway. No silent gestures of acknowledgment. No extra plate on the table.

She was shutting him out.

By the third night, he stopped coming.

And just like that—everything went back to normal.

Except for one thing.

She no longer cooked for two.

Because there was noone to cook for.

The first time he saw after this was a month later...at an art gallery with one of her paintings , he stopped in his tracks.

It was him.

Not his real face, of course—she had never seen it. But the masked version of himself. The man she had loved, the man who had abandoned her the identity he killed.

The piece was breathtaking. A faceless figure, wrapped in shadows, with hands that almost reached out, but never touched. Loneliness dripped from every brushstroke.

And it was sold.

He clenched his jaw. She was moving on.

More paintings began to appear in galleries, in shops, even in private collections. Her name was spreading.

She was thriving again.

He watched from afar as she transformed, her hands.....once delicate, trembling.... now steady with purpose. She no longer locked herself away. She went to exhibitions, met people, smiled more.

She painted without restraint, without sorrow.

One evening, he found himself outside her studio again, staring at the faint glow of light from her window. He shouldn’t be here. She had locked him out for a reason.

Yet, he couldn’t walk away.

Through the open curtains, he saw her.

Sitting at her easel, painting with quiet focus.

His chest tightened.

Because this time… she wasn’t painting him.

She was painting herself.

He wasn’t sure why he did it. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was obsession, or maybe it was just guilt.

But the moment he saw the painting in the gallery....her painting....he bought it.

Now, he sat in his dimly lit apartment, a glass of whiskey in one hand, staring at the canvas propped against the wall.

It wasn’t a painting of him.

It was her.

She had painted herself sitting alone, bathed in soft golden hues, her blind eyes turned toward a sky filled with unseen stars. Her hands were folded in her lap, serene, as if she had finally found peace.

She looked beautiful. Ethereal and untouchable.

He took a slow sip of his drink, letting the burn spread through his chest, but it wasn’t enough to drown the ache inside him. She was moving forward. And he was left behind, watching from the shadows. The mask he had worn as her husband.....the mask she had once adored.....sat discarded on the table beside him.

Useless. Meaningless.

Because the man she had loved no longer existed.

And the man he was now…

Was nothing but a stranger....

The ring was still on her finger....

He noticed it when he saw a photo of her at another exhibition.....standing next to a critic, smiling faintly, her hands folded in front of her. The simple gold band still clung to her left hand, gleaming under the lights.

She hadn’t taken it off.

Even after locking him out. Even after selling their memories through paint.

He closed his eyes and took another sip of his whiskey, feeling the cold weight of metal against his chest.

His ring.

It hung from a thin chain around his neck, hidden beneath his shirt, resting against his skin like a ghost of the past.... He had tried to take it off once. Held it in his palm, stared at it for what felt like hours.

But he couldn’t let go.

Just like her.

They were both trapped in something neither of them dared to name. Not love. Not hatred. Just… unfinished.

He exhaled, tipping his head back, eyes drifting to the painting of her across the room.

Still out of reach.

Still his.

It happened so fast.

One second, she was walking down the quiet street, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The next, she collided with a solid chest.....strong, familiar.

A gasp left her lips as steady hands caught her arms, stopping her from stumbling. The scent of whiskey and something deeper, something achingly familiar, wrapped around her.

No.

She didn't want to know.

Didn’t want to confirm.

Her fingers, trembling, accidentally brushed against his shirt......just where the fabric dipped slightly. And there, against his warm skin, she felt it.

A ring.

Cold metal. Hanging from a chain.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers curled into fists, as if trying to erase the touch, erase the truth.

She knew that ring. She wore its twin.

Her body went rigid, and before she could think, she turned and ran.

She didn’t care that she couldn’t see. She knew these streets. Knew every crack in the pavement, every turn. But even as she sprinted, she could hear him behind her.

His footsteps. Following. Chasing.

"Y/N—"

She shut her ears, heart pounding, panic clawing at her chest....

No. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t supposed to be real.

But the ring....His scent.... His voice....

He had never left after all.

He had taken leave from work.... He just can't leave her when she looked so fuckable.... She was sitting on the dining table wearing on of his t shirts.... The marks on thigh visible... He was cooking humming.... She grabbed the butter knife and softly padded to him . But before she could strike he softly took the knife away..

"You cannot even cut vegetable with that thing honey ..."

He softly said as he kissed her fingers now.

She flinched at the touch of his fingers and lips on her own... And then a chill ran down her spine when he sat her on the counter bunching up the shirt.

"I thought you are so weak that you can't even walk... After all you were squealing like a dying goose as I fucked you...saying it was too much... But thinking you are still able to walk... I think I was wrong.... Let's change that hmmm??? Breakfast can wait ...

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©️ Littlephoenix 2025 , do not plagiarize, distribute to other sites or translate any of my work , or ideas without my permission it's strictly prohibited.

[thedivinevera]

After reading "Mama Prince P.4", I had a thought:

What if mc wants to return to work after some time in marriage? Like, mc felt nostalgic after looking at old photos, or she just started feeling useless, felt like she wasn't bringing any real benefit to society. And I'm not saying that they already have children, it just happened at some point. Just imagine the mc wanting to go to work and get back into her old form and the boys wanting that to not happen. It looks comical in my head.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ You like being mine

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ yandere, scary men, fluff, brat tamer energy again, i honestly took this idea and made it dark cause i had so many other requests with a yandere version of this

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They will never let you go back into the real world

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

CRASH.

The heel hits the door with a dramatic bang.

Another one follows. Your voice is high, whiny, furious.

“I said I don’t want to sit in this stupid mansion all day! I’m bored, Rafayel! You’re always out at meetings or sketching or — or. I want to go back to work! I’m losing my mind!”

The bedroom is a chaos of thrown pillows, frilly dresses half-ripped from your vanity rack, tiara crooked in your hair like a war crown.

And there he is.

Standing at the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a pastel lollipop. He’s blinking slowly, messy purple hair, dressed in a half-buttoned silk shirt like he just woke up from a nap.

He stares at you for a beat.

Then, very calmly, he speaks around the lollipop.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Your breath catches.

He walks in slowly, each step echoing through the marble tiles of your shared estate. Your tiara slips a little more with each stomp of your bare feet, but you stand your ground.

“I’m not yours to keep locked up like some kind of, of pet!” you snap, trembling now. “You can’t just keep distracting me with dresses and jewels and, and kisses and expect me to shut up!”

He stops in front of you. He’s smiling now, all drowsy and sugary-sweet.

“Except I can, sweetheart. And I do.”

He takes the lollipop out of his mouth and gently taps it against your lower lip, tilting his head.

“Throwing shoes? Hm? Is that how you tell me you want attention now? I thought we were using our words.”

You pout. Glaring. “I was using my words, you weren’t listening!”

He exhales dramatically.

“Okay, tantrum princess. Strip.”

You blink.

“…What?”

“Strip. Off with it. The robe. The tiara. The attitude.”

You stay frozen.

So he comes closer, grips your chin gently, tilts your head up, and looks at you with that glowing, patient, deranged love.

“You don’t want to work,” he murmurs. “You want to scream and pout and fight so I’ll manhandle you into my lap and make you feel wanted. You want me to kiss the brat out of you until you’re soft and giggly and dumb again. Don’t you?”

Your cheeks heat. Your knees wobble.

“…n-no…”

“Lie,” he whispers.

And then his lollipop is discarded, and you’re in his arms, being tossed onto the nearest couch like a misbehaving doll. He looms over you, fingers slipping your robe off your shoulders as he hums:

“I’ll give you a little real-world reminder, sweetheart. You’re my wife. My spoiled, pretty, housewife. You don’t belong in boardrooms. You belong right here, whimpering in silk, covered in bite marks, too dazed to remember what a ‘job’ is.”

And god, you melt under him. Brattiness gone. Gasping and pliant and ruined. Just how he likes you.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The designer heel hits the marble wall with a crack, the second one skidding across the floor like it’s in a rage of its own.

“I’m sick of this!” you shout, voice sharp and dramatic as your silk robe flares behind you. “I’m sick of doing nothing! I used to have a job, Zayne! I used to matter!”

He says nothing.

He doesn’t even flinch.

You turn around, chest heaving, mascara already smudged from your fury tears, and there he is, leaning against the doorframe of your walk-in, arms crossed over his scrubs, lips pressed into a perfectly neutral line.

He tilts his head.

“Are you done yet?”

His voice isn’t cold. But it is calm, calm in that deadly Zayne way that makes you want to sob and submit all at once.

You glare at him, trembling, pout threatening to wobble.

“I just— I could’ve been someone, you know? Not just your stupid little—your—your housewife!”

“My stupid little housewife, hmm?”

He steps forward. Slow. Controlled. You try to take a step back but he catches your chin before you can even flinch.

“The same housewife who sleeps until noon. Whose closet is worth more than the average surgeon’s yearly salary. The one who pouts when her bath isn’t the right temperature and throws tantrums when the staff forget to bring her lavender pastries?”

You go quiet. Red-faced.

His fingers trace along your jaw, so gentle, so cruel, and he tilts your face up to look him in the eye.

“You want to go back out there?” he murmurs. “Back to that cold, thankless job where they ran you dry? You want to give up all of this? Give up me? Because that’s what this tantrum is saying.”

You try to speak, but the lump in your throat won’t let you.

He sees it. Of course he sees it.

“You can keep throwing things. I’ll wait. But we both know you don’t really want to go. You’re just acting out because you’re overwhelmed.”

He finally leans in, brushing his lips over your tear-damp lashes.

“So stop acting like a brat. Be good. Let me take care of you like I promised.”

And god… your knees just give out right there.

You cling to him, burying your face in his chest, voice soft and cracked:

“I’m sorry…”

His arms curl around you like steel and silk.

“There she is,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “My sweet girl. No more nonsense, alright? Let’s clean this up and get you back in your slippers. You’ve got a lunch reservation at the garden lounge in an hour.”

And you nod. Obedient. Docile. His again.

Like you were always meant to be.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

THUD.

Your pearl-studded purse hits the floor with a dramatic smack. “I’m bored!” you shout across the pristine, minimalist penthouse. “I’m bored and spoiled and useless! I want to go back to work, Xavier! I want to leave this penthouse, just for one day!”

From the kitchen, Xavier slowly turns his head.

He’s barefoot, wearing one of his loose, half-buttoned shirts, silver hair still a little messy from his nap. He’s holding a slice of lemon in one hand and a tiny crystal fork in the other. His expression?

Blank.

He blinks.

Once.

Then, softly, so softly it’s almost bored:

“…You’re being loud.”

You blink. “Xavi! did you even hear me?! I’m going stir-crazy in here!”

He gently sets down the lemon slice. Walks toward you with that lazy, barely-awake gait of his, eyes unreadable.

You start again, stomping your fluffy-slippered feet: “You can’t just keep me here like a little trophy! I used to be a hunter—I had missions, Xavier! I had—”

“No.”

His voice slices like a blade through velvet.

You freeze.

He stops in front of you, tilting his head slightly.

“You’re not going back,” he says. “You’re mine now. You don’t need to be anything else.”

You open your mouth to protest,

He raises one finger.

“Shh.”

You blink again. Shut it.

And then, then, he cups your face with his cool hands and leans in so close your pout quivers.

“You don’t want to work. You want to be pampered and spoiled and reminded you’re my pretty little thing. You want to yell until I pin you to the bed and kiss the noise out of your throat.”

You whimper. Weak.

He hums softly.

“Do you want me to ignore you again?” he whispers. “Like last time? For hours? Until you crawled into my lap and begged to be good?”

Your cheeks go red.

“…n-no…”

“Mm. Thought so.”

Then he scoops you up, just like that, princess-style, and walks you back to bed.

He doesn’t scold you. Doesn’t punish you.

He neutralizes you.

Lays you down gently. Crawls on top of you with the weight of someone who never rushes, who never loses control. His silver hair brushes your cheek.

“You’re not useless,” he murmurs, brushing kisses along your collarbone. “You’re mine. That’s more than enough.”

And your bratty tantrum?

Gone. Melted into kisses and breathless apologies. Because Xavier always wins.

Always.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You slam the cabinet door, hard enough to shake the glasses inside.

“I’m going insane,” you snap, pacing the length of the regal, high-security safehouse in nothing but your silk robe and fury. “I need to go outside. I want to go back to work. I want to do something, Sylus, anything that isn’t being locked in here like a spoiled doll—!”

Behind you, the fridge clicks shut.

You turn.

There he is.

Leaning against the counter, black gloves still on, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a single dark brow arched above those infernal red eyes.

Unbothered. Unimpressed. Unmoving.

“Try it, princess.”

Your stomach flips. Heat rushes to your cheeks. But you cross your arms anyway, trembling.

“I mean it, Sylus. I’ll walk out that door. I don’t care what security code you set”

He holds up a hand.

You go dead silent.

“One. More. Word.”

And just like that, he pushes away from the counter, strolling over like a predator to prey. Every step deliberate. Every click of his boots against the marble floor a countdown to your surrender.

You try to back up. You hit the wall.

He cages you in.

His gloved hand curls beneath your chin, dragging your gaze up to meet his.

“You don’t get to care about the outside world anymore,” he murmurs. “You gave that up the second you said yes to me.”

Your pulse hammers in your throat. He leans in, nose brushing yours.

“You are my wife. My darling, pampered, silk-draped little housewife. And if you think I’d let the world have even a fraction of you again, you’re more delusional than I thought.”

His voice drops, smooth as poison.

“You walk out that door, and I’ll burn the city behind it. So go ahead, sweetheart. Try it.”

Your lips part. But no sound comes out.

He smiles.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then he picks you up with no effort, slinging you over his shoulder like you’re weightless, carrying you into the master suite like a misbehaving pet that needs re-training.

You pound on his back, breathless.

“Put me down! Sy, I’m not a prisoner!”

He tosses you on the bed.

“You’re not a prisoner,” he says smoothly. “You’re mine. There’s a difference.”

He unbuttons his cuffs, slow. Deadly.

“Now. On your knees. I want to hear that sweet little apology before I fuck the attitude out of you.”

And you obey.

Of course you do.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

“I said no!”

Your voice bounces off the walls of the Skyhaven penthouse, high and frustrated, your tiny fists clenched as you stand in your fluffiest slippers and pink satin robe, glaring at him across the living room like you’re not half his size.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Caleb! I can make my own decisions! I can think for myself, I don’t need you watching my every move and deciding what I wear, eat, or do like I’m some dumb little pet!”

He sets his tablet down.

He doesn’t even blink.

Just tilts his head, watching you like a scientist studying a tantruming creature.

Then, gently, so gently, he stands up and walks over, the floor quiet under his polished boots.

You try to back up.

He catches you first.

Two gloved hands slide around your waist, pulling you in until your forehead is pressed against his chest.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, so soft, so calm. “Is that what we’re saying now?”

You open your mouth to snap again, but his thumb’s already under your chin, guiding your face up.

“You used to look at Gege just to figure out if you liked strawberry or lemon candy.”

You squirm. “That was when I was littl—!”

“You still do it,” he says. “You still look at me when the waiter asks what you want. You still can’t pick what earrings to wear unless I nod. You still curl up in my lap and pout until I fix it for you.”

You whimper.

His lips brush your forehead.

“You can pretend all you want, pipsqueak,” he whispers. “But you don’t want freedom. You want your Gege. You want to cry and throw things and make a fuss until I carry you back to bed and kiss the brat out of you.”

And oh, you’re trembling now.

“So let me take care of it, yeah?” he murmurs. “Let me handle the big stuff. You just be my good little wife. That’s all I ever wanted, the hunter association doesn’t deserve my sweet girl.”

You nod.

Teary-eyed, shamefaced.

“There she is,” he coos. “There’s my good girl.“

And then he scoops you up, effortless, practiced, carrying you back to the velvet-draped bed like nothing happened at all.

He tucks you in. Brushes your hair from your face.

And before you fall asleep in his arms, you hear him whisper:

“No more yelling. I doesn’t like when my pipsqueak’s voice gets so hoarse.”

[thedivinevera]

caleb with filipino reader yippiee ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

your legs are draped over caleb’s when you decide that you’re far too comfortable to make any sort of move that would ruin your position, even if it looks a little weird to the average onlooker. 

“psst.” you bend your leg slightly so you could poke him with your toe. unfortunately, your foot ends up at his side, and he lets out a quiet, disgruntled huff at the sensation. “hey.” 

caleb all but sighs deeply, a show of his poorly disguised faux-annoyance. “what. what could you possibly want, pips? you’re compromising my streak here.”

he turns his phone to you, gesturing to his current attempts at beating his high score on whatever block puzzle game he’s been playing. all you do is roll your eyes at his childishness. 

you don’t even raise your head from your phone, too engrossed in one of the ten-minute ads that feature parts of a chinese drama—something about an emperor disguised as a poor man who married a woman who was just disowned by her parents. absentmindedly, you pucker your lips and move your mouth in the general direction of the object you’re asking caleb to grab. “can you get me that?” 

there’s a noticeable dip in the couch, and you hold your hand out, assuming that you would soon feel the weight of the charger on your palm. however, you were sorely mistaken as caleb leans forward to sneak a quick kiss, pecking your lips with an exaggerated ‘mwah!’ before pulling away. 

that catches you by surprise. finally tearing your gaze away from your phone, you blink at him in confusion as to why he kissed you. 

“what was that for?” 

for a split second, caleb’s adorably proud expression falters. you really don’t mean to rain on his parade; he looks so proud of himself, too, with his signature boyish grin and sparkling puppy-dog eyes. 

“were you not asking for a kiss?” 

you shake your head. “no? i was asking you to get my charger.” you repeat the gesture, puckering your lips in an attempt to convey what you meant. 

it was caleb’s turn to blink at you, lips pursing in a line in mock annoyance as he reaches for the charger,  the precarious nature of your comfortable position long gone as he moves. “how was i supposed to understand that?” 

“i was literally pointing at it.” 

the complete deadpan delivery of your words causes caleb’s pout to deepen. with a sigh, he drops your beloved charger in your hand, purposefully slumping back on the couch cushions with added force to make some kind of a point.

“there’s a kiss tax, by the way. for my troubles.”

you can hear the smirk in his voice and he thinks he’s so sllick, but all you do is slide your legs off the couch and unceremoniously retreat back to your shared room, leaving him all alone.

“wha—hey!”

i haven't written in so long okay plz excuse me if there are any grammatical or spelling errors. btw kuya caleb realness

[thedivinevera]

!Self-aware Zayne! (part 3/3)

part 1 | part 2 | extra | ’Self Aware’ Series | LaDS Masterlist

mdni / nsfw (cunnilingus, overstimulation, p in v)

!Self-aware Zayne! felt guilty and ashamed once he realized that you had just been venting to your friends and that you weren’t really interested in anyone else but him. He hadn’t meant to use such foul names, ‘you were just frustrated’ he mussed, as he was for that matter. He chided himself for not reading the situation better, thinking back now he should have seen this coming. He had been aware of how quickly you unraveled under his touch so of course holding back had to be just as difficult for you as it had been for him. He should have at least made sure you were satisfied, even if he didn’t go all the way.

!Self-aware Zayne! was eager to see you fall apart under his touch as he worshipped your body, so he decided to invite you over at his place for dinner, instead of going to restaurants like you usually did. He made sure to imply it was a ‘Netflix and chill’ sort of date, hoping you would catch his drift. You quickly agreed, making him chuckle, ‘greedy little thing’, by the time the night was over he was going to make sure you had your fill. Never again will you get the chance to complain to your friends that he’s left you high and dry.

!Self-aware Zayne! cooked a simple dinner and popped in a movie, he made sure to pick a romantic comedy, but the genre was irrelevant, you weren’t going to be watching it anyway. A quarter of the movie in and he had you spread out for him on the sofa, dress hiked up, panties discarded somewhere on the floor. You were moaning continuously, your hands buried in his hair as he was eating you out like the finest of deserts.

!Self-aware Zayne! could feel himself straining against the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants, he’d gone for a more comfortable attire and he was thankful for it. He tried his hardest to ignore his throbbing cock as he swiped his flat tongue over your aching cunt, wiggling against the swollen bundle of nerves. His long fingers found your weak spot and prodded at it until you were seeing stars, you tried to squeeze your legs together but his wide shoulders didn’t allow it. He pressed his free hand on top of your pubic bone pressing lightly, the fingers on the inside crushing your gspot, as he sucked your clit between his lips, hard.

!Self-aware Zayne! was delighted when you rewarded him with your cum straight into his eager mouth, drinking away your warm squirts. You were crying out and thrashing under him from overstimulation, but he didn’t stop, he knew you had more in you and he was going to continue until you were thoroughly spent. He was finally satisfied when you were delirious, mouth slack, drool trailing down the corners of your mouth, gaze fucked out. Your cunt was a sloppy mess, all red and sensitive. He couldn’t wait to be inside you, but not today. Today was about you.

!Self-aware Zayne! noticed your skin was looking brighter these days and your eyes had a certain shine to them. You stopped working overtime and preferred to spend your free time with your boyfriend (you were official now), working your self to the bone just didn’t seem as appealing anymore. You’d always put your career above everything else, you loved the feeling of accomplishment, but at some point it devoured everything else in your life, leaving you as nothing but a mindless drone. In light of that, you decided to take a step back, do the 9 to 5 with no overtime and suddenly everything felt lighter.

!Self-aware Zayne! had been right, just because things had slowed down it didn’t mean they didn’t progress. You finally had time to pick up a hobby, take those baking lessons you’d wanted and of course, make memories with your beloved. Everything was as it should be, life was great again. You mockingly thanked the heavens for having brought Zayne into your life and he just looked at you silently, saying that you needed to talk. You felt your stomach drop, fearing the worst.

!Self-aware Zayne! took a deep breath before confessing his truth, where he came from and why he decided to step into this world, he expected there would be some fallout, but you just went quiet. You tried to make sense of his story, but any way you spun it, you always arrived at the same conclusion. He came here for you. He left everything and everyone behind to be with you. You started tearing up and saw him getting restless so you lunged at him, hugging him tightly.

!Self-aware Zayne! blinked back tears he hadn’t noticed forming, hugging you back. He didn’t expect you to be so accepting, though he should have seen it coming, this was the kind of person you were, seeing the good in everything and that’s why he fell in love with you. He confessed as such and you rushed to answer him back. He couldn’t have imagined a more positive reaction.

!Self-aware Zayne! made love to you that night over and over again, worshipping your body like a temple, careful even as he split your cunt on his stupidly large cock, waiting for you to get used to him before drilling you into the mattress, like he’d dreamt so many times before. He had you in any way you let him, making you drunk on his cock, his tongue and fingers. He used all of himself to pleasure you, he loved watching you loose yourself in everything he had to give.

!Self-aware Zayne! was restless, you’d been dating for half a year now and he wanted to take it to the next level, he knew that he might be moving too fast, but he simply couldn’t wait any longer. He’d invited you out to dinner, at your favorite restaurant. He was a classics sort of man, not overly complicated so he liked to keep things simple, that was why when the dessert came, he knelt down next to your chair, pulled out a ring and popped the question. You were smiling from ear to ear, getting overly emotional, before chanting ‘yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes’.

!Self-aware Zayne! watched you with a smile on his face. You were gushing to your friends over facetime, flashing them the ring, occasionally looking in his direction with your heart on a sleeve. You were happy. He vaguely recalled the first times he saw you, gone was that tired girl, buried in work, with dark circles under her eyes, who struggled to keep herself afloat. Here to stay was a new and improved version of yourself, one that was full of life and looked forward to every new day.

!Self-aware Zayne! vowed to himself to always be your pillar of support, the doting future husband, the sort of partner you needed. He was going to be your strength in weak times and make sure there nothing but bright days waiting for you ahead. He much more preferred this version of you and he was going to make it stay that way, by any means necessary, to the best of his ability and beyond.

——————————————

previous part ….. last part | back to ‘Self Aware’ Series

A/n: Sorry for giving you a scare, he is a good guy promise! Excepting the twisted version that is gonna be his dark side 😅

Tags: @ladyrosemone @mint-mai @sleepydang @huuvu @sadsaidthesadthing @plzdonutpercieveme @lostgirlinthewoodss @shi-thats-kiera @iamapotatoe @notleclerc @slovesyouuu @mephisto-with-a-knife @lobstersarecool @vigtore @that-dumb-bitch @myheartfollower @cchiiwinkle @littlewhitefairy7777 @izzieg3987 @littlebluepixxie @junebuggz @insidious-innocence @jadeloverxd @babyx91 @persephonejeon @paper--angel @animegamerfox @leftpoetrymoon @we-rice-boi @chiikasevennn @chewbrry @gkfofucha @lanxianschoenheit @leftpoetrymoon @crazyzombieblaze @rorel1a @mcdepressed290 @feralwolfkat @nm4565natty @thesevro @t4naiis @illusionaryennui

[thedivinevera]

hihi :3! First off lemme just say that I absolutely adore your writings they’re all so good I’ve spent the past few hours just reading thru all of them! And secondly I wanted to make a request for the obsessed LADS with an MC who’s pretty compliant with them from the start like “oh you wanna lock me away and make me ur pretty little house wife? Sound like a dream <33” or something like that basically an MC whose equally obsessed with them :)

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ I like this

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, crack? this is literally me cause i wouldn’t be fighting shit lmao

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You’re quite happy with this new arrangement

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

From the moment you stepped foot in his world, barefoot on the marble floors of his seaside estate, sunlight catching on your smile like it was made just for him, Rafayel knew. He didn’t need to break you. Didn’t need the slow, aching game of manipulation, coercion, or seduction.

No. You looked at his claws and kissed them. You saw the cage and asked for silk curtains and plush pillows inside.

And gods, he fell.

“You’re not going to run?” he asked that first night, a little disappointed, a little curious, watching you lounge across the velvet divan he had carried in just for you.

“Why would I?” You tilted your head. “You’re rich. You’re pretty. You adore me. And I get to stay home and be pampered like a princess? Honestly, I should be paying you.”

He blinked. Then burst into delighted laughter, sharp and glittering like shattered candy glass, before pouncing on you in a flurry of silk and perfume.

“You’re mine,” he purred, nuzzling into your neck like a smug cat. “Don’t say things like that unless you want me to go and have the entire staff fired for even looking at you.”

“Do it,” you hummed, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Let’s go full tyrant.”

He did.

Rafayel stopped pretending to function in society entirely. His meetings became virtual, or more accurately, delegated. His manager Thomas despaired.

He had you now. Why would he ever leave?

He got addicted to watching you drift through the estate in your soft pastel robes, tiaras in your hair just because, calling him pet names and snuggling up in his lap while he painted. You’d tell him what new shell you wanted for the fountains. What gem color suited your mood today. What dress you wanted copied in ten colors.

“D’you think we should get married?” you’d say casually, flipping through a designer catalogue. “Or should I stay your scandalous mistress forever? Like, hidden flower in the tower kinda vibe.”

“Wife,” he corrected immediately, voice laced with possessive heat. “You’re mine. You deserve the castle. The ring. The surname.”

He proposed three hours later. A box of seven rings, each more ridiculous than the last.

You picked the heart-shaped one with the pink sapphire. Naturally.

Now, no one dares question why you’ve vanished from the public. Why the estate security is tighter than a vault. Why the man known for his detached cruelty is now painting seashells with “my darling girl” scratched into the backs.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

Zayne expected resistance. Not because he wanted it, but because he was used to it. He’d prepared for the fights, the escape attempts, the begging. He’d even gone as far as reinforcing the estate with biometric locks and deleting your Hunter Association credentials behind your back.

But then you looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes the morning after he made you quit your job, and just… smiled.

“So I don’t have to risk my life anymore,” you said softly, curling into his lap like it was your natural place. “You’re just gonna take care of me forever?”

He paused. Scalpel-steady hands twitching.

“…Yes.”

You beamed. “Good. I hated those missions. They made me miss you too much.”

He blinked once. Twice. His jaw ticked.

“…You were going to come back to me,” he said quietly. “Always.”

“I was yours before you even asked.”

You tilted your head, eyes glimmering. “But I like that you made sure. That you made me stay.”

From that moment on, Zayne never questioned the decision again.

He gave you the master bedroom and moved his office into the suite next door, because you liked being able to sleep in his shirts and sneak into his bed whenever you wanted. He stopped accepting surgeries on weekends, because that was “your time.” Spa treatments. Cooking for you. Holding you on the couch while you rambled about the adorable new heels you bought with his money.

You’d kiss him in the mornings before he left and whisper:

“Don’t be late. Your pretty wife gets lonely.”

He became militant about punctuality.

You never questioned his control. You welcomed it. Handed him the leash with both hands. Every new rule, every vitamin he made you take, every tracker sewn into your dresses and discreetly implanted bracelet,

You adored it.

“I like it,” you once said, curling beside him in bed while he checked your vitals on his tablet. “When you act like I’m breakable. Like I’m something precious.”

Zayne looked at you like you’d just opened his ribcage and whispered inside his heart.

“That’s because you are.”

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“If anyone ever tried to touch you… I’d put them in the ground myself. Slowly.”

You just smiled and murmured, “I know. That’s why I married you.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Xavier genuinely thought he’d have to be careful with you.

He’s weird. Awkward. He lives in a world of wanderers and underworld corpses and secret identities. His penthouse is too big. His life too strange. He’s… not normal.

So when he told you, quietly, half-asleep on your stomach, words mumbled into your back, that he didn’t want you leaving anymore…

That he was going to make you quit your job…

That you’d never have to work or worry again, but in exchange, you’d be his,

You didn’t flinch.

You just rolled over and looked at him like he’d offered you the moon.

“Wait, really?” you whispered. “I can just stay here? Be your pretty wife and wake up with you every day?”

He blinked. Slowly. “…Yes.”

“Done,” you beamed, snuggling against him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He short-circuited.

Ever since then, Xavier has been in a near-constant state of dreamlike bliss. You wanted to be kept? You wanted to stay tucked in his arms in that oversized bed, scrolling outfits for the association Gala while he trailed kisses up your back?

“Pick the blue one,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and devotion. “Matches your eyes. Looks good when I hold you.”

He installed a custom closet for you. Got the entire place redesigned for your taste. A garden on the top floor, because you said you liked “something soft to look at.” A full kitchen even though he doesn’t cook, because you like baking him things and feeding him from your fork.

And when he’s in Lumiere mode, when the world is cruel and sharp and demanding, he comes home to you.

Crawls into your lap like a lovesick cat.

You always cradle his face. Cup it gently and murmur:

“Who do you belong to?”

“Who kisses your forehead when you fall asleep?”

“Who’s always going to be here, waiting?”

He’s so hopelessly in love it physically hurts.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

Sylus had everything, wealth, connections, a global weapons empire. He thought love would be an indulgence. A vulnerability. Something to manage.

And then he met you (again).

Sweet, gorgeous, ambitionless in the best way, perfectly content to let him build your world for you. You didn’t resist when he said you’d never work again. Didn’t fight when he said he didn’t trust anyone to protect you.

You smiled and asked if you could pick the color of your new closet.

“You’re not going to fight me on this?” he’d asked one evening, watching you admire your new pink diamond ring.

You gave a soft laugh, nestled into his lap like you belonged there. “Why would I fight the man who wants to pamper me, protect me, and make me his spoiled little wife?”

His red eyes darkened.

He kissed you so hard he left you dizzy.

From that moment on, he spoiled you mercilessly. Twelve armories worldwide? Now thirteen, one converted into a private resort just for you. Every gala dress custom-designed. Entire floors in luxury department stores cleared just so you could browse in peace.

And you, his darling little thing, you fed into it.

“Buy it,” you’d murmur, brushing your fingers along a jewel you wanted. “For me. Just to show everyone whose name I moan when I’m in your bed.”

He’s never signed a wire transfer so fast.

He adores how you never try to take the power from him. You respect it. Crave it. You let him rule, but you reign at his side. When he hands you your card, you kiss his knuckles. When he orders security to shadow you in public, you smile and wave at them sweetly.

When he comes home from business drenched in blood and smoke, you’re waiting on the couch in your silk nightgown, holding a wine glass and purring, “All done, my love? Did they behave?”

You don’t flinch when he talks about toppling rivals. You don’t question when you’re moved to a different penthouse in a new city overnight.

You just smile and say, “As long as you’re there, it’s home.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Caleb had been preparing for war.

Not military strategy, you.

He was ready for the heartbreak. The betrayal. The screaming. The way you’d fight tooth and nail when he finally took you. Locked you in his Skyhaven penthouse. Made you his and no one else’s.

Because you had always been free. Beautiful. Untouchable.

And he had always watched you. Protected you. Loved you in the way no brother, no soldier, no man should. From the shadows. With a military-grade obsession.

So when he brought you home after that final mission, bloody, injured, nearly lost, and told you you’d never leave again…

You looked up from the plush penthouse bed, eyes heavy with painkillers and love and whispered,

“Good. I only want to be yours anyway.”

He froze.

You blinked. Smiled. Reached for him with trembling fingers.

“I hated being away from you,” you breathed. “Please don’t let me go again. I’ll be good. I’ll be your pretty little housewife.”

He didn’t speak. Just cradled your hand like it was made of glass. Like you might vanish.

From that day forward, Caleb changed.

No longer cold. No longer quiet. No longer the stoic colonel hardened by war.

You brought out the boy in him. The one who used to blush when you shared a blanket. The one who used to memorize every little thing you liked. The one who used to dream about kissing you, marrying you, keeping you locked in his arms forever.

Now he had it.

You padded around the penthouse barefoot in his oversized shirts. Asked him if he liked the pink lipstick you wore. Curled into him on the couch while he planned missions, whispering,

“When will you be back? I get lonely without you, you know.”

“I’ll call off the deployment,” he said immediately.

You laughed and tugged him down for a kiss.

You encouraged his obsession. You made it beautiful.

You didn’t just accept your gilded cage, you helped him decorate it.

Matching rings. Matching loungewear. Little domestic rituals that made him feel like he had you in every lifetime.

“I belong to you, Caleb,” you murmured one night, forehead to his. “I always have. Even before you took me, I was yours.”

[thedivinevera]

Mine soon enough

✎ᝰ cw. professor zayne, tense atmosphere, teacher/student, suggestive, somewhat yearning, very conversational writing, TENSE!

✎ᝰ a/n. i’m inconsistent in everything i post lol. this is written in a very specific way, hopefully it comes across in the tone i want it to.

࣪𖤐

“am i really allowed to be here after office hours like this?”

zayne glances back at you from where he was standing by the tea kettle on his desk and smiles just slightly. “why not? this is my office after all.”

“yeah, but,” you hesitate, “most other professors are really strict on their schedules. i didn’t expect you to be so um… lenient about this.”

a small, almost imperceptible chuckle escapes zayne. “you do know i’m only this lenient on you, right? god the headache i’d have if i had any other pesky students showing up and bothering me after hours.”

you glance to the side awkwardly and nod. “yeah… i know… it’s just a little strange… being your ‘favorite’ and all…”

“does it make you feel uncomfortable?” zayne’s voice cuts in quickly. he was clicking off the tea kettle now and preparing the two mugs with their respective tea bags.

“n-no… no it doesn’t,” you respond just as fast, “it’s just… not familiar to me. don’t take it personally professor, i only—“

“zayne,” he corrects while pouring the boiling water into the mugs. “zayne is better. you should get over all your formal habits when you’re alone with me. we’re friends, right?”

there’s a beat between you two before you nod.

“yes, friends.”

“well then as long as you’re not uncomfortable and we’re in equal footing here, there should be no problem. you would tell me if there was a problem right?”

another beat.

“yes… i would.”

zayne smiles slightly again. he places the kettle back down and starts properly dipping the teabags into the mugs before throwing them into the small can on the side.

“good. here, come get your tea.”

you move from where you were sat on the leather couch to zayne’s desk. the room was quiet apart from your gentle footsteps and zayne’s spoon swirling. you take your mug, identical to his, and scoop up a few spoonfuls of sugar. your gaze remains on the task below you rather than the man in front of you. he notices this.

“y’know i prefer tea over coffee too. i’ve always hated the bitter taste of coffee beans… even with all the sugar and cream added to it,” zayne hums.

you glance up at him and almost cringe at his attempt at conversation. “yeah, same. i’m not a coffee person…”

zayne looks you up and down with brows furrowed from scrutiny. he picks up his mug and takes a sip, eyes darting to the side in slight annoyance.

“lighten up a bit,” he murmurs. “i invited you to spend time with you. you know how much i enjoy your presence. i'd rather you not feel… weirded out.”

you finally stop stirring and meet zayne’s eyes for the first time. “i’m not… i don’t feel weirded out…”

“you do though,” he rebuttals, “you’re all tense and avoidant. am i doing something? we can take our leave, truly. just tell me.”

a small exhale escapes you after a moment of thought. you shake your head. “no, i’m… like i said im just not used to this. this type of treatment. the… personal hangouts we have in your office. the gifts. the grades. i think… i think we both know things are…”

zayne puts his mug down and mimics your earlier exhale. he moves around the desk and your eyes follow him. right behind you is where he stands, taller and towering, with his chin hovered just over your shoulder.

“i don’t want that to be a problem,” he whispers by your ear. “the hangouts, gifts, grades. i don’t want those to be a problem. i want to give you more, y’know? more… more of everything. are we overstepping lines? sure… but—“

“you are over stepping lines,” you murmur with a slightly shaky voice. the lingering warmth of him behind you was almost trapping you against the desk. “i… i haven’t done anything, you’ve done… you’ve made all the…”

“have you… not liked the attention?” zayne asks almost vulnerably.

“i never said that…”

“then is there an issue? you’re right, i’m overstepping lines, not you. if we got into some heat, i’d take the responsibility. does that mean something to you?” in the moments you hesitate to answer, zayne’s arm wraps around your waist and gently pulls you closer to an embrace. “i want it to mean something to you. what do i have to do?” he continues.

you wet your lips and search the desk below you for answers your mouth couldn’t form. you weren’t sure how long had passed before zayne backed off, but once he did, you quickly turn around to face him. he steps away with his arms up innocently, a look of shame on him.

“i’m sorry, im making you uncomfortable. im not sure what im doing.”

with your eyes avoiding each other, a long silence ensues between the both of you—charged with emotion and uncertainty.

“your tea is going to get cold, professor.”

zayne knits his brows together and trails his gaze slowly across the room, and then on you, and then on the tea.

“right.”

he steps back to his side of the desk and takes his still warm tea and avoids your presence while drinking. whether he wanted you here anymore or not, it was unclear. he notices your rogue, discarded mug of tea on the desk. barely touched and getting colder by the second. maybe it looked like regret.

your back was turned to him and facing the rest of the room, but you were still so close to the desk. unmoving. what was going through your mind, that was also unclear.

slowly, you put down your arms that were crossed in a defensive position, and glance down at the desk. zayne was no longer sipping his tea. you could only assume he was standing as silently and awkwardly as you were.

without much thought, you step back and sit on the desk, back still to zayne.

“my face is turned away, if it makes you feel any less guilty,” you whisper.

zayne’s eyes widen slightly. he looks over your body that was perched up on his desk. what a sight. “don’t say that like i’m some sort of… some sort of…”

“i’m not… insinuating anything, professor… or i guess ‘zayne’. i’m simply saying that, in the situation we’re in right now, guilt is normal to feel. but that… curiosity is too. so… i’m looking away.”

more tense silence.

“are you curious too?” zayne asks with a voice that’s barely there.

you don’t answer for a few moments.

“i’m a woman, zayne,” you murmur. “i can make my own decisions. we’re not too far off in age, yknow. we think similarly… i hope.”

amidst the quiet of the room, zayne walks closer to the desk. he stares right into your back and all of the crumpled fabric lines from your shirt.

“you’re a woman,” zayne whispers while reaching out and ghostly tracing a simple line over your shoulder blade. “and i’m a man. it works like that, doesn’t it? this is natural… isn’t it?”

you swallow. the very faint sensation of zayne’s fingertip makes you tense.

“y-yeah…”

zayne’s finger goes down to your mid back. here he feels you arch away instinctively, but still not rejecting him. he grows bolder with his touch, insisting a bit more with his finger tip until he’s tracing letters.

letters Z through E of his name. ZAYNE was on you.

“my attraction to you is natural, isn’t it?” he whispers. he reaches for the top hem of your shirt and then parts your hair from your neck, exposing your nape. with the pad of his thumb, he rubs there gently. the sensations on your skin were hair-raising.

“i… it is.”

“then does it come naturally to you too?”

you shudder softly as you feel more of zayne’s fingers rake over your skin. he abandons your neck, moving downward again until he was touching the small of your back.

“please, answer me.”

there’s more silence from you, but you break it with a whisper. “my face gives all the answers, but i already told you i’m not letting you look at me.”

“then how will i know how you feel about me too?”

no answer.

zayne looks down at where his hand is on your back and moves it lower to the bottom hem of your shirt. gently, he lifts it—so slow that a million thoughts came and passed in those long seconds.

at the top of your back, he scrunches up your shirt and admires the lines and curves of your skin.

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine.”

zayne rests his head against your back and closes his eyes. he felt stressed but also relieved. this far… he’s gotten this far…

“are you sure you’re okay?” he asks a little bit more desperately this time. his voice and breath tickled your skin a bit. “how am i supposed to know when i can’t even face you?”

you tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. the lights should be dimmer, you thought.

“i’m okay,” you whisper. “i don’t feel fear, i don’t feel nervous, i don’t feel anything. can you… will you make me feel something?”

zayne’s eyes fluttered open slightly. he turns his head back to the expanse of your smooth back and rubs his lips together. oh your words…

“i’ll become a man that’ll be capable of making you feel anything you want.”

the hands that were rested by your side went up to your upper mid back and touched the rough feel of your bra clip. with slight hesitation, zayne’s delicate fingers undo the clip and let it pull away to reveal your fully bare back. his eyes flutter even more now.

the moles and freckles of your usually hidden skin was an experience to his eyes.

“i’ll become a man so good that you won’t have to hide your face away in shame. after all, it’s natural, isn’t it?”

cool lips make contact to your back making you perk up instantly. the kisses were spread out, small in sound and in touch, and soon warm. zayne’s free hands not only steady you by the hips but also anchor himself through each press of his lips.

“i want you,” his voice rumbles against your skin.

“i know,” you respond.

“after graduation?”

“it’ll still be scandalous.”

“it’ll be scandalous regardless. who has to know?”

you bite your lip. “is it just a lustful thing, professor?”

your words make zayne stop his affections and stand straight.

“never,” he whispers. “have i… made you feel that way?”

swallow.

“no… no you haven’t, i’m not lying either. but… i mean dates and stuff, it’s all so public. we’d get noticed immediately, it’d be risky. but… everything else, that’s done privately. so i’m just wondering… how… or where… or what…”

zayne lets out a small humorless laugh. “you’ll be mine soon enough, without all those worries meaning. i get scared too, yknow? but i’m scared enough for the both of us, so don’t… doubt me.”

you smile a little, unsure of what exactly is humorous. “don’t doubt your ability to keep me a secret, you mean.”

“don’t put it like that, you have such a harsh way of saying things,” zayne exhales.

“right, right, i’m sorry.”

you reach back for his hands and gently pull him forward so that his arms crossed over your stomach.

“but that’s what i am, a secret. you’re a secret too. just… become a man capable of taking care of me, secret or not.”

zayne tightens his grip around you just slightly.

“i’m your professor,” he whispers with his forehead against the back of your cranium, “and if nothing else, my job is to you guide you. you’ll be mine soon enough.”

he presses one kiss to your hair.

“you will.”

࣪𖤐

[thedivinevera]

the little twins — masterlist

— a compilation of stories about sylus as a father of two little boys who love & heal just by being

sorted according to the age the twins are depicted to be in the corresponding story (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

☆༉ = new addition!

hello, lucian & kyros! (snippets from dif. ages)

— an introduction to the boys as Sylus’s little twins. read before or after any story to get to know them a little more ♡

peek-a-boo (12 months)

— sylus puts his evol to good use— social games with his toddlers

home (1.5 years)

— little twin debut! a little look into the difference between the (then unnamed) little twins & their perception of home

birthday snaps (2 years) ☆༉

— the twins turn two and what a happy day it is! big twins almost smothered accidentally

messy spaces (2 years)

— your boys try their hands at keeping papa’s big secret… but what’s a ‘secret’ again?

cat nap (2 years)

lucian and kyros very much take after their father, but despite it all, sylus is still just a dragon among kittens

theory of mind (2 years)

— a test of empathy: you give all your boys marshmallows except for papa. what will they do?

off guard on duty (3 years)

— big twins, kieran & luke, babysit the little twins for a day, and realize they are no longer who they thought they were.

from papa, with love (3 years) ☆༉

— a fight between a treasure, overcoming instincts and exploring kyros & lucian's dragon traits from papa.

maybe a dragon (4 years)

— lucian is very fond heights, scaring sylus of the dangers and implications of it all.

maybe a turtle (4 years)

— kyros thinks papa is always running too fast. sylus longs to be caught.

two birds on a wire (4 years) ☆༉

— two little boys follow their papa on an 'ishun (mission), and send the whole family into a tailspin

fairies, goblins & crows (6 years old) ☆༉

— a class example of how this family deals with milestones— through tricks and treats

more coming soon ♡

extras ☆

littles on: trinkets & treasures

littles on: hats

sylus on: pranks

kyros on: morning observatios

littles on: papa’s missions (post-two birds)

littles on: an itty bitty sister

littles on: least favorite foods

kyros on: little animals

littles on: mephie & sunfire-roar

sylus on: persuasion and puppies

the family on: cuteness aggression ☆༉

dividers by @saradika-graphics ♡

[thedivinevera]

Imagine handing divorce papers to your arranged marriage husband Zayne because the past 3 years of this marriage have been nothing but a farce and you're tired of chasing scraps of affection from a husband who's almost never home.

You leave the documents (signed from your end) in his office at Akso and skip on your way home, treat yourself to a luxury dinner, self care, a good soak in the bath all while humming under your breath. You go to bed, relieved that you'll be a free woman by the end of the week.

Except Zayne shows up in the middle of night still in his hospital scrubs kneeling by your bed (the first time he's entered your bedroom in a long while)

He clutches your hands in a death grip, tears in his eyes, begging you, "please don't leave me."

[thedivinevera]

LEAVING AFTER AN ARUGMENT. . . you leave for an unrelated reason after an argument and he panics lads & f! reader

( I. ) first time writing for these guys kinda nervous eeeeeek ALSO what nicknames are we calling the boys? like is it baby, honey, or what cuz sometimes i wanna write dialogue for reader when she calls him and it's not his actual name if that makes any sense? lol

( II. ) send any lads reqs if you want ! i can't guarantee i'll get to them, but i'll try :)

. . .

it seemed like all you did was argue lately. tensions were high as both your schedules clashed, leaving no time for any meaningful connection. he was busy with work, irritated beyond belief as his colleagues continued to piss him off; you were drowning in missions, sorely overdue for some time off. everything you did annoyed him, and everything he did annoyed you.

you came out the shower, clad in your pajamas. you applied some lip balm while your eyes drifted to where he sat in the living room. despite your own exhaustion, you could tell he was stressed and wanted to offer some comfort. but after just one question of are you okay—

"for the last time, don't worry about it." he snapped, his jaw clenching as he attempted to retain control on his emotions.

your eyes narrowed at his tone, swallowing the hurt stuck in your throat as you carefully chose your next words. "i only want to help you—"

"well, you're not. in fact, you're making things worse."

your mouth opened... then closed. you stepped back, shaking your head at the audacity, emotionally clocking out of the conversation.

"right." you muttered, grabbing your phone and keys before snatching your coat off the rack impatiently.

he was so consumed in his own problems and how he would fix them that he hadn't noticed the uneasy silence that followed. he looked up, his discerning gaze scanning his surroundings. he caught the slam of the front door, blood draining from his face. he'd done it now.

🍎 CALEB

"...pips?" he asked the empty room, his voice quiet as if hoping to attract wildlife. the couch creaked as he stood slowly, his heart racing erratically in his chest. "hello?"

when he was met with no response, he ran over to the door. his throat constricted when he didn’t see your shoes next to his. shit. he shouldn't have said that. he groaned and ran his hands over his face. he really shouldn't have said that.

"makin' things worse? really, caleb?" he mumbled to himself in disbelief.

though his hand flew to the door handle, he hesitated to turn it. his thumb tapped on the handle anxiously. stupid, stupid, stupid. every fiber of his being ached to run after you, scoop you up into his arms, and take you back home where you belonged.

a part of him was scared—what if he ran after you and you finally told him to go away for good? he wouldn't do that in a million years, of course, but... he didn't want you to hate him, whatever the reason was. especially if it was his own doing. he couldn't live without you, and the empty house he stood in was a painful reminder.

he thought back to all the times he's brushed you off for work recently, leaving you in his flat with a placating kiss to your cheek. he didn't expect the fleet to demand so much of his attention, and now both of you were suffering for it.

caleb cursed under his breath and shoved his feet into his shoes, ripping the door open and sprinting down the street. he called your name, spinning around on the road to cover his bases, searching for any rustle, scent, or noise that would lead him to you.

"caleb, what are you doing?" you sighed from behind him.

he straightened up and turned, his hopes refusing to sink even after seeing the glare on your face. you just looked so cute in your pajamas and puffy jacket. he frowned, a new wave of guilt washing over him.

"get out of the road, please? and put on a shirt if you're outside—" your lecture was cut short as caleb hugged you tight, worming his warm hands under the wings of your coat and clothes "...what is up with you?" you asked softly, returning the embrace.

he squeezed you tight, savoring the feeling of your skin under his fingers. "i thought you left."

"i mean, i did. i just forgot my headphones in my car—"

"you scared me," he whispered into your neck.

an unbelieving laugh bubbled out of you, put off by his strong reaction. "what—did you think i left left?"

"yes." he whined, standing back and tilting your head up to face him. "you don't ever make things worse, princess. i don't know why i said that—"

"caleb."

"no, you're the only good thing i have left and i—" he choked up, his eyelids squeezing shut. "you don't deserve that. i love you, you know that right? i love you."

"i love you, too." you gripped his wrist, bringing him back down. "our lives aren't easy, and i don't expect you to be perfect all the time. we're both going to get to stressed and maybe annoyed with each other, but... i don't want us to grow apart because of it."

"no, never." he gripped your face with both hands, holding you firmly as if he were trying to communicate his pledge into your skull. "i'll never lash out like that again, pips, i promise. i know you were just trying to help—i'm so sorry." he peppered kisses all over your face until you wriggled out of his arms.

you extended your pinky, an expectant look on your face. he smiled gratefully and hooked his pinky with yours, allowing you to string him along back to bed and into your arms, where he belonged.

SYLUS

he checked the cameras surrounding his home, watching you storm down the pathway to your car. his heart thumped when the car door slammed shut, and he turned off the camera feed to save his thoughts from running wild.

he rose calmly from his chair, abandoning his drink and phone as he paced. ...he shouldn't have snapped at you. your look of hurt and betrayal was seared into his mind. the echo of you persisted even as he closed his eyes. i only want to help.

sylus debated enlisting the help of luke and kieran to keep an eye on you. he didn't want to pressure you to return home if you were upset with him, but he also wanted to be the one to comfort you... for a slight of his own doing... hm. what a paradoxical feeling.

his work required much of his time and effort, as did yours. of course the N109 zone had to act up when you finally found the time to spend the night. his stomach twisted with disappointment. what kind of man was he to put work over the most precious treasure of his life?

sylus gritted his teeth, grabbing his robe and tying it on before racing out the door. his motorcycle buzzed to life as he approached. mounting it with ease, he pulled up the map on his phone to check—

"where are you going at this hour?" you cast him a sideways look, judgement written all over your features.

...perhaps he should have checked the garage cameras before rushing outside with the intent of chasing your car down.

for once, his expression did not reflect his usual collected demeanor. "i... i thought you had left."

you held up your headphones. "forgot these in the car."

"i see." sylus cleared his throat, turning off his bike's engine. he swallowed thicky, choosing his words carefully as he had failed to do earlier. "i didn't mean what i said, kitten. making things worse is something you are not capable of."

you waved him off, turning to retire to bed. he frowned, hopping off his motorcycle and catching your hand, halting your withdrawal.

"i'm tired, sylus." you sighed, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

of me? he thought in a panic, his throat suddenly bone-dry. sylus always had something to say, but in this moment, nothing he came up with seemed right. "what i said was in error. i never want to hurt you, so for tonight, i deeply apologize."

"sy..." you quirked an amused smile up, and his brows furrowed in confusion. "i am really tired. and i imagine you are, too. we're both high-strung, and you're not going to be perfect all the time."

"you deserve nothing less," he argued with a firm shake of his head. his hands rested on your waist, rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

"you demonstrate that to me everyday, but i don't expect that of you all the time. you're human." your hand lifted to hold his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin after he leaned into your touch. "but when we fall short, i don't want us to take it out on each other."

his hand covered yours, pressing a kiss to your palm regretfully. "...i know, sweetie. i'm sorry. i love you, and seeing you walk out today reminded me that you mean the world to me. i would sooner abandon my work than push you away."

"i love you, too." you smiled and he brought you closer to his chest, hugging you as though he were afraid you would disappear.

when the night breeze made you shiver, he lifted you in his arms and tumbled into bed with you, his work long forgotten the moment your soft giggles hit his ears.

RAFAYEL

rafayel didn't look up from his blank canvas after realizing you left, but painting was the last thing on his mind. his knee bobbed uncontrollably, his brush wagging between his fingers nervously.

why did he say that? he always had to have the last word, even when he didn't mean anything that left his mouth. he might as well have said get out, i don't need you, when the truth was the polar opposite.

he heard your car engine rumble to life and fear seized his chest. you weren't—you weren't leaving were you?

rafayel knew his attitude was a lot to deal with sometimes. getting snippy when you were both upset was a recipe for disaster, and he often envied your patience in those instances. he always wondered when you would finally get fed up with him though he never believed it would happen.

until it did, today.

you were one of the few that loved him as he was and he was not letting you go because he let his exhaustion screw everything up.

he let his tools clatter to the floor as he sprung to his feet, speeding to the driveway. he spotted your car and practically ran into it, slamming his hands against the driver's window.

huh? rafayel peered inside but the driver's seat was empty. weird, he swore he heard you scream...

the backseat window rolled down, your annoyed head popping out soon after. "what are you doing?! you scared me!"

he scooted over to the back window sheepishly, his confusion apparent on his face. "what, uh... what are you doing?" he coughed to cover up his quivering voice, resting his arms on the door.

you bent over, searching under the seats. "i'm looking for my headphones. i'm pretty sure they rolled under here somewhere..."

his eyes darted to the front, seeing the dashboard lit and ready to go. "you turned the car on, so i thought..."

"i needed the lights. my phone wasn't enough." you explained hurriedly, then paused. you sat up and stared at him. "...you thought what?"

"i thought you left." he mumbled. rafayel's fingers rapped along the roof of your vehicle that it could've passed as rain. after a moment, he gave into his need to be close to you, opening the door and slipping into the backseat.

"you know i didn't mean it, right?" he began.

you glanced at him, shrugging. "i don't know. did you?"

"i didn't." he said indignantly, but his tone softened when he remembered his goal: apologize, not defend. "i would never mean something like that, cutie. i say stupid things when i'm backed into a corner. that's no excuse, though."

"yeah." you concede, sitting beside him. the soft melodies from the radio made the dip in the conversation less uncomfortable. "you really thought i was going to leave?"

he ran his hand through his hair nervously. "i thought you finally got tired of me."

"raf..." you frowned, your hand reaching to his. "we'll get tired of each other from time to time. it comes with being life partners—there's good days and bad days. doesn't mean we love each other any less."

you pulled his head into your shoulder and he didn't waste any time curling into you, clinging to you like his life depended on it. you could feel his racing heartbeat against your skin, but with every deep breath of your scent, it calmed down. little by little. his hair brushed against your cheek as he nuzzled impossibly closer.

"i know. but as your life partner, i should be making you happier. i'm sorry for losing sight of my top priority." he pressed an apologetic kiss to the crook of your neck. "i love you more than anything."

you smiled, stroking his fluffy hair. "i love you, too."

thomas found you two cuddled up in the backseat together the next morning.

ZAYNE

regret flooded him immediately. he let his head drop into his hands in disappointment, but his shame found him even as he closed his eyes. he didn't give himself time to wallow in self-pity—he got up, grabbed his jacket, and flew out the door after you.

he called your name just as he sees a flash of your pajamas turning around the corner into the garage. keys. he vaguely remembered the jingle of keys—did you intend to leave?

he burst into the garage after you, his breath short as he locked eyes with you over the hood of your car.

you raised an eyebrow but didn't stop moving. you were about to open the door when he grasped your arm, turning your body to face him. his grip fell from your biceps to your hands, lacing your fingers together pleadingly. you looked up in confusion—

"forgive me. i did not mean to snap. you were only trying to help, i know that—"

"zayne—"

"please, allow me to finish. i will never force you to do anything you do not wish to, but i promise i will never let my stress cloud my judgement in a way that makes you suffer. please don't go. i will—"

"zayne," your lips curved into a smile and zayne's brain had to buffer. "i'm not leaving."

he blinked, his eyes darting between you and your car. "but..."

you nodded to the center compartment through the window. "i left my headphones inside."

"oh."

your smile only grew as he released your hands, stepping back to allow you to open the door and retrieve your headphones. you pocketed your stuff and hooked arms with him, a gesture that weighed guilty upon his shoulders. he didn't deserve your affection after he lashed out at you, at least not so easily.

"i accept your apology." you hummed, leaning your head against his arm as he walked you back inside. "i wasn't mad, just... annoyed. we're both stressed out, and stuff like this will happen when we're both in bad moods. let's try not to make a habit of it."

"of course." he whispered. then, even quieter, "i don't deserve you."

you pursed your lips. "i don't like it when you talk down on yourself."

"i know," zayne murmured. "though it's hard not to when you... you make things so easy."

you smiled up at him. "loving you is easy."

his eyes communicated his gratitude, but the way he stopped in his tracks to embrace you said much more. i love you.

XAVIER

shit. xavier frowned, leaning back and peering through the window. he caught you walking down the street, dialing someone on your phone. when you spun around, he quickly let the curtains fall back into place. he didn't know what to do.

he was an idiot, that much he knew. xavier often got short when he was sleepy, but even more so when sleepy and stressed. he never meant to lash out at you, and normally he wouldn't, but... you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. with the sorry state he was in, the next person that talked to him was going to be unfairly assailed.

his palms grew clammy as he caught your voice muffled through the glass. you sounded upset. he peeked outside again, watching you vent. he winced and sunk back into the couch, his mind racing—what does he do? what does he say?

next, he heard a car pulling up to the house. his heart dropped in panic—he whipped around, watching someone park right where you stood. you opened the door...

oh, no. xavier scrambled off the couch, running past his coat and shoes out the door. he called your name as he sprinted down the sidewalk.

"what're you doing, xav?" you gave him a look before you entered the car, keeping a foot on the pavement to stabilize yourself as you climbed inside.

"wait—!" xavier came to an abrupt stop behind you, ready to pull you out if he needed to.

"yeah, that's my boyfriend." you laughed softly to tara. your friend ducked her head to catch a glimpse of him through the open door and waved in greeting.

huh?

"he looks like he's seen a ghost." tara mirrored your odd look from earlier.

xavier shifted behind you.

"he's been out of it all week, you know... working pretty hard." you rifled for something in the backseat, exclaiming happily once you recovered your headphones. "thanks for coming all this way, i appreciate it. have fun on your vacation."

"of course, no problem. think about having one yourself, hm?" tara smiled, honking her car in farewell as she disappeared down the street.

"i—i thought—" xavier took deep breaths to calm himself. "i'm so sorry."

"you thought what?" you asked, stuffing your headphones in your pockets.

"that you were going to leave." he admitted, blue eyes filled with panic and worry. "i'm sorry for snapping at you, you didn't deserve it. you never deserve anything like that, it won't happen again."

you flattened your hand against his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. "it's okay, xav—"

"it's not." xavier's eyes hardened, guilt welling up inside him. why were you being so forgiving?

"i trust you won't do it again. even you seem surprised by your outburst. this isn't you, and both of us know that." you continued calmly. "sometimes the stress gets to us. i get it."

he bowed his head, covering your hand with his own and squeezing it every so often to soothe his nerves. "you could never make things worse. i love you, so much."

you smiled. "i love you, too. let's sleep in? i'll call in if you will."

"yes, please." he groaned with relief, nodding. he intertwined your fingers, swinging your hands between you as you walked back home.

──── love, honey.

[thedivinevera]

Can I request a Yandere Lads x Reader where the reader gets easily jealous over them, and one day she decides to prank them, but they think she’s actually hurt and take things a little too far, which ends up scaring her?”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Prank

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ reader being jealous for no reason, you really scared them lol.

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ A prank is never truly harmless around them.

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You weren’t mad.

Not really.

Just…a little stupid.

Okay, very stupid.

You quit your job to sit at home waiting for him, he’s home most of the time..yes. But every now and then when he goes to his exhibitions without you (only because you were too tired to go), your jealously rages. Imagine all the people staring at your beautiful husband, thinking they can have him.

And worse of all, He smiles,

One of his usual lazy, detached smiles. Never one of those soft, amused ones he saved just for you. Yet somehow your silly jealousy blinds you.

So when you got home, with that little knot of jealousy still warm in your chest, you had a brilliant idea.

A little prank. Just to get a reaction out of him.

Something dramatic. Something that’d make him worry, just a bit.

You dabbed a smear of red paint near your temple, knocked over the stool in the hallway, and lay down at the base of the stairs with your eyes closed and your phone beside you.

Then you texted him:

[Come quick. I slipped by the stairs. I think I hit my head.]

You didn’t expect him to answer in under ten seconds.

You really didn’t expect the door to burst open like a bomb had gone off.

“Pearly?”

His voice echoed, loud, raw.

You peeked.

He was soaked. Hair dripping, white shirt half-open, no shoes, no bag, no keys. Just wild blue-pink eyes scanning the room like he was ready to kill someone.

And when he saw you, He didn’t scream. He froze.

Dropped to his knees beside you like something inside him had been ripped apart.

“Cutie—love—no, no, no, no, no—look at me, please look at me—” His hands were trembling as they cupped your face. His breaths came in shallow, panicked bursts. “Don’t close your eyes. Don’t go quiet on me—don’t you dare—”

You sat up in a panic. “Rafayel! Hey! I’m okay—I’m okay! It was a prank, I was just playing—!”

The silence that followed was worse than his panic.

He stared at you.

Just stared.

Like he didn’t understand the words coming out of your mouth.

“…A prank,” he repeated. His voice had dropped to something distant. Something too calm.

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t think you’d freak out like that. I just—I wanted to see if you’d care, that’s all. It was dumb, I know—”

He laughed.

Low. Quiet. Too soft.

“You wanted me to care?” he whispered, a tilt to his head, a coldness to his smile. “You made me think you were gone.”

His gaze dragged over your body like he was confirming you were still whole.

“I was going to burn down this whole building looking for whoever hurt you,” he murmured. “I didn’t even bring shoes. I ran here. I thought—” His voice broke. “I thought I’d lost you.”

You tried to reach for him. “Raffy—”

But he grabbed you first.

His arms wrapped around you too tight, his grip shaky but unrelenting. He buried his face in your neck, exhaling raggedly. “Don’t do that to me. Ever again. Don’t even pretend.”

You felt your heart thud painfully in your chest.

He was smiling again, but his tone hadn’t softened.

“I’ll forgive you. Of course I will.” He pulled back just enough to kiss your cheek gently. “But next time, love… if you want my attention…”

His hand slipped up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“Just ask. No more fake blood. I don’t want to learn what I’m capable of if I think you’ve been taken from me.”

You blinked, wide-eyed. Breath caught in your throat.

He kissed your forehead like nothing happened.

“…Now come to bed. We’ll wash the paint off together. And maybe I’ll show you how real bruises feel.”

You didn’t speak. Just nodded slowly as he led you away, barefoot steps quiet on the marble.

Behind you, the door locked with a soft click.

And your phone?

Gone.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It started with a nurse.

Pretty. Young. Laughing way too loudly at something Zayne said in the hospital corridor.

You knew he wasn’t interested, Zayne barely tolerated small talk, let alone flirtation, but still… it made something hot and petty spark in your chest.

You’d teased him about it at dinner.

He just gave you one of his cold, unreadable stares and replied, “If I wanted ‘just anyone,’ I wouldn’t have fought this hard for you.”

You knew that. but you wanted to be stupid.

Just a little prank.

Something small. You were always the dramatic one anyway, his pampered housewife, lounging in silk robes while he returned home exhausted from saving lives. What was one tiny guilt trip between soulmates?

You picked the marble stairs in the east wing, just outside the private library he bought for you.

Dabbed some foundation to your cheek. Scattered your robe belt. Let one slipper fall off halfway down.

Then sent the text:

[Zayne. I think I fell. I hit my head. Can you come home? Please.]

You even ended it with a heart.

Because it wasn’t that serious.

Until it was.

You didn’t expect his car to screech up the driveway in less than ten minutes.

You didn’t expect the front door to slam open like he’d kicked it in.

You didn’t expect the sound of his polished shoes running across the marble, Zayne never ran.

When he found you at the stairs, he stopped breathing. His chest didn’t even rise.

Then: “Sweetheart?.”

His voice—low, clinical, urgent. Already scanning.

You tried to sit up with a nervous laugh. “Zaynie, wait—it’s just a—”

He was on his knees in an instant. Hands already on your face. Fingers searching your skull for trauma. “Where does it hurt? Did you lose consciousness? Answer me. Right now.”

“Zayne—babe—it’s not real, I was just—”

He paused.

Slowly.

His hands stopped moving.

Then dropped.

“…What?”

You flinched. “It was just a joke. I wanted to see if you’d rush home. Because of the nurse, and— I know it’s stupid, I didn’t think you’d—”

His eyes were stone.

“You… pretended to be injured.”

“…Yes?”

He stood up so slowly it chilled your blood.

“I canceled two open-heart surgeries.”

You blinked. “Zayne—”

“I drove through five red lights.”

“Zayne, wait—”

“I thought I’d find you unconscious. Bleeding out. Maybe dead.”

His voice didn’t rise. But it cut.

You tried to step toward him, but he held up a hand.

That same hand that always held you against his chest while you napped. That now made your stomach twist.

“I can’t believe you’d play with me like that,” he said softly. “With this.”

There was no fury in his face. No tantrum. Just pure, restrained rage. And beneath that, hurt.

Real hurt.

It made your heart sink.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was jealous. I wanted you to—”

“Be afraid you died?” His voice was sharp now. “Mission accomplished.”

You flinched again.

Then silence.

And finally, He stepped forward and gently took your chin between his fingers.

“You don’t ever need to fake an injury to get my attention,” he said quietly. “You’re my wife. You already own all of me.”

His fingers curled just a little tighter.

“But if you ever do something like that again… you’ll regret it.”

You nodded, throat tight.

Zayne leaned forward and kissed your forehead, slow, almost reverent.

Then he picked you up effortlessly, carrying you down the hall without another word.

The lights dimmed behind you. The doors locked with a quiet chime.

And your phone?

It disappeared into his pocket.

He had surgeries to reschedule.

But you wouldn’t be leaving the house for a while.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You should’ve known better.

You’d seen what Xavier looked like when someone even threatened you.

The quiet shift in his expression. The way his blue eyes lost their light. That eerie silence that fell before someone vanished from the N109 zone like they’d never existed.

But…he’s talking with someone.

Talking. Willingly talking.

It was some girl from the association HQ, blushing and handing him a cup of something warm, too close, too casual, saying something like “You should smile more, Xavier.”

So… you got a little jealous.

And then, stupidly, you got petty not knowing he was only talking to her because she was telling him about a new restaurant, pink, frilly, something you’d like.

You slathered fake blood (lip stain, technically) on your forehead, dropped to the ground near your shared penthouse balcony, and sent him a text with just five words:

[I think I’m bleeding.]

Then you laid down and waited, fully expecting a dramatic “Darling, are you alright?” and some doting forehead kisses.

What you got was silence.

Then the unmistakable, terrifying sound of the glass balcony door shattering as Xavier sprinted through it, gloves still on, eyes wide, weapon in hand.

He dropped to his knees beside you without a sound. Gloved fingers ghosted over your skin.

“Y/N,” he murmured, eyes fixed. “Stay still. Don’t close your eyes.”

“Xave—wait, wait, it’s not real—”

His hands paused.

The blood-red smear didn’t match human injury patterns. Too perfect. Too glossy.

He blinked once.

“…What?”

You sat up awkwardly. “It was a prank. I’m not actually hurt. I just—I got jealous. I thought maybe—if you thought I was in danger—”

He didn’t speak.

Just stared.

Expression perfectly blank.

“…Oh,” he said softly. Too softly.

“Xavier?”

“Understood.” He stood up so slowly it was mechanical. Clinical.

Like he’d just been given a new protocol.

You expected a sulk. A quiet pout. One of his awkward huffs as he curled around you sleepily to make you feel bad.

Instead, he walked calmly across the room, hands still stained red from the fake blood.

Picked up your phone.

And crushed it in one hand.

“Xavier!”

He tilted his head at the broken glass door. “You didn’t open it. You were lying there bleeding, and the door was locked.”

“It was part of the—Xave, I didn’t think you’d—”

“I thought someone hurt you while I wasn’t here.”

His voice didn’t rise. But his tone was flat. Unreadable.

“I was prepared to kill someone.”

Your mouth went dry.

“…But no one’s here,” he added, blinking slowly. “It was just you. Pretending.”

He turned back to you, quietly stepping over the broken glass.

And knelt down again.

“You’re mine,” he said softly, cupping your cheek with his gloved hand. “I do not respond to false alarms.”

“I’m sorry—”

He nodded once. “You won’t do that again.”

You nodded too. More quickly.

Xavier blinked again.

Then… gently kissed your forehead, right where the fake blood had dried. “Next time you want my attention, tell me. Or pull me away. Or just sit on my lap. I’ll listen.”

You hesitated. “Are you… mad?”

“No,” he said immediately.

And then, like a flicked switch, his expression melted into a soft, sleepy one. As if nothing happened. “But I think I’ll hold onto you for a while now. Just to make sure you don’t try it again.”

You didn’t sleep much that night.

But Xavier did, right beside you, arms wound tight around your waist like a peaceful lock.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You wanted to get a rise out of him.

Sylus never panicked. Never wavered. Never looked anything less than amused or five steps ahead.

Even when others tried to flirt with you in front of him, he’d just smile. That smug, unreadable smirk, followed by a slow sip of wine or a lazy drawl:

“You can do better, little crow.”

So when he came home late, again, smelling like smoke and battle and someone else’s perfume (from interrogation, always), you thought: Fine. Let’s see how he likes a little drama.

You smeared fake blood (scarlet ink) on your side and curled up in the marble hallway near one of the antique armory cabinets. You even knocked one of the swords to the floor for effect.

Then called out, weakly: “Sylus…”

A whisper.

Enough to draw him in.

The front doors opened within minutes.

Bootsteps. Slow. Measured. His usual confident stride.

“Kitten?” his voice echoed. Smooth. Calm.

He found you a second later.

And everything changed.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t shout.

He knelt beside you, silent as death, his red eyes glowing faintly.

You tried to grin. “Gotcha.”

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

“…It’s fake blood,” you added. “A prank. I’m fine.”

He still didn’t move.

“…Sylus?”

Finally, he reached out.

Ran a gloved thumb through the red stain.

Tasted it.

Then looked you dead in the eye, that ever-present smirk gone.

“…Do you think death is funny?”

His voice was low. Even. Controlled.

Your heart skipped.

“No,” you said, suddenly smaller.

He rose to his full height slowly, towering over you now, shadow stretching long in the low light.

“You were lying here. Still. Cold. Covered in blood.”

“It was a joke—!”

“Was it funny?” His tone was deadly soft. “Did it feel good to see me scared? Did you want to see what I looked like when I thought I’d lost you?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

He knelt again.

Not to comfort you.

To lift you.

Effortless. Like you weighed nothing.

He carried you through the halls, past the security doors, into the reinforced wing of the penthouse. Where none of his men were allowed. Where all the security feeds went dark.

Your throat tightened.

“Sylus—”

He laid you down in silk sheets and climbed in beside you.

“You frightened me,” he murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of his finger. “You know I don’t like being frightened.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

He leaned down, voice a breath against your ear.

“I could’ve killed someone for this.”

And he meant it.

Fully.

You shivered.

Sylus kissed your neck once, then again. Slower. Tender.

“You’ll stay here for a while,” he said casually, brushing fake blood from your collar. “No events. No distractions. No exits. I’ll cancel everything else.”

You blinked. “You’re cancelling your schedule?”

He smiled now. That dangerous, knowing smile. “Why not? If you wanted attention this badly, you could’ve just asked for it.”

His eyes gleamed.

“I’m yours. Every last drop.”

You swallowed.

You had wanted more attention.

But maybe… not like this.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

It was just a joke.

Caleb had been all over you lately. Fussing. Shadowing. Acting like you’d break if you so much as yawned too hard.

So when he left for a short military inspection, one of the few times he wasn’t glued to your side, you thought you’d pull a little prank.

Just to remind him you weren’t completely helpless.

You spilled a vial of red dye across the living room floor of your Skyhaven penthouse. Dropped your comm beside it. Then curled up just out of sight, peeking to see his reaction when he got home.

And oh, he came back fast.

Boots slammed against the metal flooring as he ran, voice sharp through the door:

“Pipsqueak?”

You suppressed a laugh.

He burst in, gaze instantly locking onto the red stain and your dropped communicator.

And everything stopped.

His smile vanished.

His hand twitched toward his holster.

You peeked your head up from behind the couch. “Surprise?”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

You stood slowly. “It’s fake! Just dye. I was just—”

“…Just dye,” he repeated, voice flat.

You nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to scare you. Just messin’ around—”

“You pretended you were injured,” he said softly. “While I wasn’t here.”

The tone of his voice wasn’t calm.

It was controlled.

And that was worse.

“Caleb, I didn’t think—”

“No,” he said, stepping forward, now towering over you in his black and purple Farspace uniform. “You didn’t.”

His eyes, usually that warm violet glow, looked dark now.

Disappointed.

Deadly.

“Y/N,” he said, voice barely a whisper, “do you have any idea what I would’ve done if I thought someone touched you?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I would’ve launched a full-scale lockdown. Grounded every civilian ship near Skyhaven. Put the entire security team through interrogation. Pulled Fleet funding. Threatened command.”

You stared at him, horrified.

He exhaled slowly. “For a joke.”

There was a pause.

Then, with a faint buzz of static, his Gravity Evol activated. The air shimmered, those purple wings forming behind him, haloed in a soft glow.

He picked you up gently.

You didn’t fight it.

He floated you both up, off the floor, toward the private observatory level.

“Where are we—?”

“You’re grounded,” he said. “No comms. No public access. No contact with anyone for the next 72 hours.”

You blinked. “Caleb—are you serious?”

He smiled again.

That same gentle, boyish smile he always wore growing up beside you

But his arms around you were steel.

“Dead serious,” he said, nose brushing yours. “If you want attention, sweetheart, you don’t need blood. Just say the word.”

Then he tucked your communicator into his jacket pocket.

Smashed it.

And kissed your forehead, warm and possessive.

“You’re lucky I love you so much.”

[thedivinevera]

vintage photobooth with simon riley

“come in si! it’ll be fun,” you grinned as you pulled simon towards the old vintage photo booth on the street, his reluctance visible as he refused to take a step closer. “don’ think it’s even working swee’heart,” he sighed as he tried to pull you back, “come on, let’s go.”

but you were stubborn as hell, god he knew that quite well.

“it works si, just one ok? pretty please?” you batted your lashes, simon’s stubborn frown softening ever so slightly before giving a reluctant sigh.

you knew quite well that the true meaning of his hesitation stemmed from his insecurities, believing that he was ugly due to all his scars and flaws from the military. all the photos that you took… or well, tried to take of him often resulted in him hiding his face.

getting into the booth was a struggle, simon crouched down awkwardly due to his height where his frame almost took up the whole booth, the flimsy stool barely doing anything as he adjusted.

his strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his lap as he stared blankly at the camera, juxtaposing against your cheery smile.

“give me a smile si,” you coaxed as you gently poked his rough cheek, your nose scrunching up as simon eyed you before giving in, flashing a small shy smile as the camera went off.

“kiss,” you demand softly as you went to poke your cheek, simon rolling his eyes before he gently tilted your chin up, his calloused hand gently caressing your cheek before planting a soft loving kiss on your lips.

safe to say that he kept that photo in his wallet.

@happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666 @ghostsd8s @ama-eve @webmvie @your-internet-tenshi @novthewolf @1ilo @simpingreader @angeldoll1e @avgdestitute @anonymouse1807 @chaieanne @i-live-in-spite @angel-z-xdx @trashaccount19

[thedivinevera]

Caleb’s birthday banner pmo so bad I’m gonna start flirting with Sylus, cause that old reptile mf kinda growing on me.

[thedivinevera]

Caleb: I’ve been dropping her the most insanely obvious hints for like, years now. No response.

MC: Wow. She sound stupid.

Caleb: But she's not. She's really smart actually. Just dense.

MC: Maybe you need to be more obvious? Like, I don’t know… “Hey! I love you!”

Caleb: I guess you’re right. Hey MC, I love you.

MC: See! Just say that!

Caleb: Holy fucking shit.

MC: If that flies over her head then, sorry Caleb, but she's too dumb for you.

Caleb: MC.

[thedivinevera]

I’m proud to identify as morosexual. I’m attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses exclusively. A guy asked me what the Spanish word for tortilla was once and now I dream of kissing him under the moonlight