Lads X Reader - Blog Posts

Summary: Sylus doesn't like you coming home injured Characters/Pairing: Sylus x GN!Reader Word Count: 391 Warnings: Mention of minor injury A/N: I'm trying a new way of formatting so pls bear with me lol

"Why didn't you call me?

"I didn't want to worry you..."

"What worries me is that you think I wouldn't drop everything in a heartbeat to help you, sweetie." Sylus' warm palm caressed your cheek before gripping your face between his fingers. With his gentle yet stern hold on your face, he carefully inspected every inch of your skin. The most damage he managed to find consisted of the cut that embedded itself in your brow with the swelling of your soon to be black eye to compliment it. You flinch and he takes careful note of how much pressure he should apply when taking care of your wounds.

It was nothing bad. A low-level wanderer had caught you off guard during your routine stroll around the area surrounding the man's safehouse in the N109 zone. You knew you should have told Sylus where you were going, but you simply assumed Mephisto would keep his watchful eye on you as he usually does. Besides, you had taken that path more than a hundred times (that was an exaggeration) and there was never a wanderer in sight, other than today of course.

"It's really nothing, Sy." The nickname flows of your tongue with a small sigh. It always ignited something within him, keeping Sylus on the edge of his seat. Your voice was the purest melody, blessing his ears like any angel would. His steady hands pulled your face close, slightly chapped lips brushing against yours before he rested cheek against yours. Although he seemed big and bad, Sylus was utterly wrapped around your fingers. He shook his head, and you swore his frown deepened just the slightest bit.

"It's not nothing... You are injured." He spoke sternly, "And you didn't think to come to me first." Your eyes widened and face fell into a pitiful frown. You trusted Sylus, but the thought of being a burden lingered in the back of your mind. Instead, you simply nodded and swallowed back your words as those crimson eyes stared deep into your eyes. You would never live down this feeling, the guilt that would bare its claws deep into your back. But for now, you shook the feeling away and let the older man tend to your stinging wounds, relishing in the warmth of his palms and the depth of his gruff voice.

These cards side by side looks kinda😏

So cute!

drunken confessions | xavier

synopsis : After finals, you and your friends head to your usual barbecue stall to celebrate—only for your longtime crush, Xavier, to show up unexpectedly. A few drinks later, he drunkenly (and then soberly) confesses he’s in love with you, turning a chaotic, hilarious night into something unexpectedly sweet and unforgettable.

content : college!au, comedy, fluff, another crackhead energy writing

writer’s note : i’m enjoying this type of writing too much. I think i’ve watched too much How I Met Your Mother. (This is the fic version of this)

Finals were finally over.

You threw your arms into the air like a victorious gladiator leaving the academic coliseum alive. “Freedom!” you cheered, walking down the campus path flanked by your equally war-torn comrades.

“God, it’s finally over,” your friend moaned dramatically to your right, sounding like she was about to crumple to the pavement.

“Right? We have to celebrate!” the one on your left chimed in, already scrolling through food delivery apps as if her life depended on it.

You chuckled, adjusting your backpack like a soldier laying down arms. “You guys go ahead. I need to shower—get this stress off me. Usual spot?”

They both nodded, disappearing into the horizon with the determination of people about to inhale an irresponsible amount of meat skewers.

Cut to twenty minutes later, you emerged from your dorm freshly showered and wrapped in your favorite jacket—the one that made you feel marginally less like a zombie.

You made your way to the holy grail of campus hangouts, the barbecue stall.

Ah yes, the sacred grounds of burnt chicken, cheap beer, and emotionally unhinged exam rants.

You stepped into the familiar haze of grilled smoke and MSG, and two seniors waved you over, already parked at the corner table with a spread fit for a post-war feast.

You lit up immediately, sliding into your seat like it had always been waiting for you.

The food smelled divine, the beer was cold, and most importantly—finals were over.

Banter filled the air as skewers were devoured. Eventually, the chaos mellowed, and the group began talking about future plans—internships, travel, sleep, mostly sleep.

That’s when the friend to your right leaned in with all the grace of a gossiping gremlin.

“Maybe Y/N will finally confess to that cute upperclassman.”

You nearly inhaled your drink through your nose.

You smacked her arm lightly. “Xavier is just a friend,” you said with all the conviction of a bad liar, even as your face turned a spectacular shade of red that had nothing to do with the beer.

You sighed in relief. At least the subject of your ongoing emotional crisis wasn’t—

“Oh hey, look. It’s Xavier,” one of the seniors announced casually, tilting their head toward the entrance.

You froze.

You turned.

There he was.

Xavier—silver hair soft under the glow of the stall lights, hands in his coat pockets, that calm, unreadable face that haunted your thoughts way more than was socially acceptable.

The first time you saw him, you forgot what your own name was.

Your soul left your body.

You lunged for your friend’s arm like you were going down with the ship. “Why is he here??” you hissed in a voice three octaves higher than normal.

She shrugged, entirely unbothered.

“I dunno. He’s alone though. Wanna invite him over?” Her brows wiggled like the devil’s own dance.

“No—!”

Too late.

A senior had already stood up and was walking over.

You watched, helpless, as he approached Xavier.

Your stomach folded in on itself.

Xavier’s eyes scanned the table—and then, like fate personally hated you, they landed on yours.

He smiled. Just slightly. Just enough to ruin your life.

Then he nodded and turned to follow the senior.

You screamed internally, gripping your friend’s arm again. “He’s coming! He’s coming over here!”

Your friend leaned in calmly. “Don’t worry. Just act normal.”

You stared at her, deadpan. “I don’t have a normal.”

She snorted—loudly—and you could already feel impending doom approaching.

“Hey, you can sit here,” she chirped sweetly, standing up and offering her seat like a traitor with no conscience, despite the death glare you were very clearly aiming at her skull.

Xavier murmured a quiet, “Thanks,” before settling down right next to you.

Right next to you.

There went your pulse.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice so calm it made you want to simultaneously scream and crawl into the nearest dumpster.

You turned your head, smiling a little too stiffly. “Hey,” you replied, sounding more like a malfunctioning toaster than a functioning human being.

Then, in a move of pure survival, you downed the rest of your beer in one desperate gulp.

From your left, your friend immediately started snickering. Snickering.

You didn’t even look at her.

You just sent a slow, withering glare in her direction that said, I hope your next skewer falls in the dirt.

She only laughed harder.

Xavier blinked, a little amused. “Rough exam?”

“No,” you said, still trying to recover. “Just… social interaction.”

“Ah,” he nodded, like he understood completely. “Terrifying.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then your friend—not knowing the value of peace and silence—stage whispered, “Just kiss already.”

You reached for another beer. Or maybe a skewer. Or maybe a time machine. Anything to get you out of this.

“I hope you trip and fall,” you muttered loud enough for your so-called friend to hear, punctuating it with another desperate gulp of beer.

She only cackled harder.

Next to you, Xavier chuckled under his breath—quiet, warm, unfairly attractive.

You caught the slight curve of his lips as he picked up a skewer and took a bite, looking far too composed for someone who just sat next to a human panic attack.

“So,” he began, casually, like this was a normal night and not a social emergency. “What was your last exam?”

You blinked.

Brain, Say words.

Mouth, “…Yes.”

He paused, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes?”

You cleared your throat, scrambling. “I mean—econ. Not yes. I didn’t mean yes. Unless… yes to the exam. But no to—uh, wait, what was the question again?”

Smooth. So smooth you were practically sandpaper.

Xavier raised an eyebrow, amused. “I was asking about your exam, not proposing marriage.”

You choked on your skewer. Your friend howled with laughter.

Somewhere deep inside, your soul quietly filed for early retirement.

A couple more beers—and the gentle numbing of your social anxiety—and you finally found your voice.

Actual sentences started leaving your mouth.

You laughed. You cracked a joke.

You even made eye contact.

Progress.

Xavier, for his part, listened attentively, nodding along and asking questions with that same soft interest of his.

The conversation flowed easier than you’d expected, the awkward tension slowly dissolving into something… almost comfortable.

Until his fourth glass.

That was when you noticed it.

His cheeks were flushed, just a little pinker than usual. His gaze lingered too long on things that weren’t all that interesting—like the table, your cup, your face.

He swayed a little as he reached for another skewer, missing it by a good inch and playing it off like the plate had moved.

If it were anyone else, you might not have noticed.

But it was Xavier.

And you totally hadn’t memorized the way he carried himself or anything.

His composure was still there, somehow—his tone even, his voice calm—but his body? Oh no. His body was absolutely staging a rebellion.

You leaned in slightly, brow raised. “Are you… drunk?”

He blinked at you, then squinted like he was trying to read your face through a fog. “I’m perfectly fine,” he said, placing the skewer onto his plate with the delicate precision of someone who had just lost depth perception.

You stifled a laugh. “That’s not even your plate.”

He looked down. “Ah.”

Your friend, now watching from across the table like this was premium entertainment, whispered, “He’s gonna confess. I feel it.”

You turned to her with narrowed eyes. “If he does, you better start planning the wedding since this’ll be your fault.”

“I’m not drunk,” Xavier insisted, his voice smooth and composed, like he was delivering a formal report instead of swaying gently like a tree in a light breeze.

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped. “Oh yeah? Can you still drink?”

He nodded—slowly, like he had to process the question through a slight fog—and then reached for his cup with the determination of someone about to win an Olympic medal in denial.

You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the full-body urge to scream at how unfairly cute he was being.

All around you, the chaos was beginning to unfold.

Your friends and a couple of the seniors were starting to slump, leaning into one another with flushed faces and increasingly bold declarations of love for fried chicken.

One guy was trying to sing to a soy sauce bottle.

You were tipsy yourself—lightheaded, warm, giggly—but still functioning.

Xavier, though?

Xavier was in a league of his own.

He still sat upright, in that proper, princely sort of way.

A little hunched forward like he was concentrating deeply on not tipping over.

His fingers rested delicately on the rim of his glass, unmoving.

But his eyelids… oh, his eyelids were betraying him. Half-lidded, heavy, with the softest, dazed look. Like he’d drift off mid-sentence or start quoting poetic nonsense about the moon.

He blinked slowly, like the concept of time had just become optional.

You glanced at him—and promptly had to grip the edge of your chair to stop yourself from swooning like a Victorian lady in a corset.

Because this was criminal.

He was a soft flush of pink and sleepy eyes and subtle swaying, still trying so hard to be composed.

And you, poor mortal you, had to pretend like you weren’t enchanted by every second of it.

“You okay?” you asked, gently, quietly.

He turned to you, blinking slowly, like your voice was music.

“…Your eyes are really sparkly,” he murmured, out of nowhere.

You stared.

Your brain short-circuited.

Your friend across the table dropped her chopsticks in delight.

“What?” was the only semi-functional sound your brain managed to produce.

Xavier just blinked at you, slowly, like he hadn’t just casually dropped a romance-novel bomb in the middle of your beer-stained dinner table.

Your entire face ignited. Your soul, body, and spirit were currently rotating in a microwave.

You tried to laugh it off, punching his arm lightly in that awkward, ha-ha-we’re-just-buddies-right kind of way.

“U-Uhm, nice one,” you stammered, cheeks blazing, “Ha ha…”

He didn’t laugh.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even pretend like it was a joke.

Instead, he kept swaying gently in place, silver hair a little messy, his blue eyes half-lidded but unwavering—like he was trying to memorize your face in 144p resolution.

And then, he did it.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, slurring ever so slightly.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Your brain rebooted. “I’m sorry, what?”

He tilted his head lazily, looking dead serious in the way only drunk people and toddlers could manage.

“No,” he corrected softly. “I am in love with you.”

It wasn’t even dramatic. No violin swell. No romantic sparkles.

Just Xavier, stating it like he was confirming his name on a test paper.

Your entire body malfunctioned.

Across the table, your friend audibly choked on her drink.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Mostly because your thoughts were somewhere between did he just say that, what do I do with my hands, and oh no he’s so pretty when he’s drunk this is unfair.

Xavier blinked at you again, that tiny sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “You’re really warm,” he added, like that was relevant.

You were going to ascend. Or pass out. Or maybe both.

All you knew was, finals were over, the beer was too strong, and Xavier—your Xavier—just confessed to you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Without warning, Xavier reached up—slow, a little wobbly, but with full drunken confidence—and gently tapped your cheek with the back of his fingers like he was checking if you were running a fever.

“Even your face is warm,” he mumbled, slurring just enough to make your heart explode.

You short-circuited.

“Y-You can’t just say stuff like that!” you blurted, eyes wide, voice pitched several octaves above sanity.

He blinked at you, completely unfazed, expression dead serious. “But it’s true.”

Your brain actually lagged.

Which part?

The part where he said he was in love with you?

Or the part where your face was warm?

Because frankly, both were devastating, but only one had you questioning the very fabric of your reality.

He was still staring at you—head tilted slightly, like a confused puppy but hotter—while your internal organs were folding into themselves like origami.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. Failed.

Somewhere in the background, your friend whispered, “I knew it. I knew it,” like she’d just won the love confession lottery.

“I like being around you,” Xavier says, like he’s commenting on the weather.

Calm. Collected.

Unbothered by the fact that he’s casually dismantling your nervous system.

He pauses, gaze drifting downward to his hands like they just revealed a deep cosmic truth to him.

Then, in the same sleepy, matter-of-fact voice, he adds,

“I believe that also means… I love you.”

And that’s it.

That’s your cause of death.

Not the beer. Not the stress of finals.

But this. Xavier, casually confessing like it’s just another Tuesday.

You practically combust. “X-Xavier, s-stop!” you stammer, hands flailing like you could physically swat his words out of the air.

He frowns immediately, the expression so heartbreakingly sincere that you panic harder. “Should I take it back?”

“NO!” you blurt, horrified at the idea, mortified that you said it so fast.

He blinks, then—smiles. That slow, boyish, ridiculously soft smile that should honestly be illegal.

“Okay. Good.”

And with that, he flops sideways with all the grace of a tranquilized swan, landing directly on your shoulder like it’s the most natural ending to a love confession.

You sit there, stiff as a board, heart pounding loud enough to scare birds out of nearby trees, while everyone else continues drunkenly yelling about chicken wings.

Meanwhile, Xavier is peacefully nestled into you, blissfully unaware that you may never recover from this moment.

Ever.

You instinctively reach up and steady him when he starts to slump off your shoulder, your hand cradling the back of his head like it’s muscle memory.

He hums—hums—in approval, nuzzling a little closer like a sleepy cat that just decided yes, this is home now.

Externally, you manage a calm, nurturing expression.

Serene. Unbothered.

The image of someone who’s got it all under control.

Internally?

You are screaming.

Full-volume, running-in-circles, kicking-the-wall kind of screaming.

The kind where a tiny version of you is throwing confetti and another one is passed out face-down on the floor.

Because Xavier—Xavier—just confessed to being in love with you, smiled when you told him not to take it back, and is now peacefully passed out on your shoulder like you’re his favorite pillow.

You glance down at him, at his soft silver hair brushing your jacket, his lips parted slightly in sleep, and that barely-there smile still lingering like he fell asleep mid-dream.

You want to die.

You want to frame this moment.

You want to scream some more.

Instead, you just hold him a little tighter, letting your fingers rest in his hair, and pray to every celestial being that no one at the table is taking photos.

Yeah, they definitely are.

As the barbecue stall starts closing up, your friends slowly stumble out one by one, still giggling, hiccuping, and occasionally bursting into spontaneous song.

Xavier, meanwhile, is still half-asleep and draped over you like a very warm, very handsome weighted blanket.

You gently coax him to his feet, letting him lean on you as you guide him outside.

Your friends snicker as they pass, waving like little gremlins of chaos.

“Good luck!” one sings.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” another adds, immediately tripping over the curb.

“Wait—guys—seriously?!” you call after them, but they just cackle and disappear into the night like the unhelpful heathens they are.

You turn to Xavier, sighing. “Hey, can you still walk?”

He nods—slowly, dramatically—like a prince trying to prove he’s still fit for battle. You start leading him back toward campus, his steps wobbly but determined.

“I don’t know where your dorm is,” you murmur, glancing at him, half-expecting him to pass out again mid-stride.

Instead, he straightens up a little, eyes still sleepy but focused now.

Then he turns to you—completely serious—and says,“I can sleep with you then.”

You. Burn.

Not just blush. Burn. Entire face. Neck. Soul. Torched.

You stop walking, staring at him like he just suggested marriage and tax forms.

“W-What—Xavier—no—what?!”

He simply blinks at you, unbothered, totally calm. “You said you don’t know where my dorm is.”

“That doesn’t mean the solution is my bed!”

He tilts his head. “It’s efficient.”

You are seconds away from combusting. “You are not allowed to be drunk and logical.”

He just smiles sleepily. “Is that a no?”

You throw your hands up. “It’s a blinking red question mark, Xavier!”

And yet… you’re still guiding him toward your dorm.

Because let’s be real—you lost control of this night the second he said your eyes were sparkly.

After several chaotic, borderline slapstick attempts to keep him from collapsing against your doorframe, you finally manage to wrestle your key into the lock and swing the door open.

Xavier immediately leans all his weight into you like a dramatic Victorian faint.

“Thank God my dorm mate isn’t here,” you mutter, half-dragging, half-guiding him inside.

He makes a content little noise before unceremoniously plopping onto your bed—limbs sprawled like a cat who’s claimed a sunbeam.

You let out a breath, briefly debating whether you should be concerned or impressed.

You rummage through your desk drawer for your water bottle, muttering something about hydration and not letting attractive upperclassmen die on your watch.

“Okay, sit up, come on, just for a second,” you say, gently propping him upright with one arm while pressing the bottle into his hands.

To your mild surprise, he drinks obediently, eyes fluttering shut with every sip like water was the most spiritual experience he’s ever had.

You smile a little despite yourself. “There we go. Good job. See? You’re still alive.”

You set the bottle down.

Only to be yanked by the wrist a second later as you let out a surprised, “Whoop—!” And stumble forward—right into him.

He wraps his arm around you like it was part of his plan all along, his face now way, way too close, that ridiculous sleepy smile on his lips.

“I got you,” he mumbles.

You freeze.

Brain, Critical error.

Heart, Left the chat.

Entire body, Flushed like a broken toilet.

You stay frozen, hovering awkwardly over him while his arm stays wrapped around your wrist like it belonged there.

His grip isn’t tight—just secure enough to say don’t go yet.

“You’re warm again,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded but locked onto yours.

You open your mouth.

To say what, you have no idea—something stupid probably, like “so is the room” or “that’s called body heat, genius.”

But before you can embarrass yourself further, Xavier shifts, just enough so he’s sitting up properly.

And then he looks at you.

Really looks at you.

Not with that sleepy, slurred haze from earlier, but something quieter.

Steadier.

Like there’s still a buzz behind his eyes, sure, but his words… they come out clear.

“I meant it, you know,” he says softly.

You blink. “Meant what?”

His thumb brushes lightly along the inside of your wrist, absent-minded and devastating. “What I said back there. About being in love with you.”

The air in your dorm goes still.

Your heartbeat roars in your ears, and you’re suddenly aware of everything—his closeness, the smell of his cologne, the fact that he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded in this world.

“I’ve liked you for a while,” he continues, voice quiet. “You’re the first person I look for in a room. You make everything feel… lighter. I didn’t mean to say it like that tonight—like a drunk idiot.”

You swallow.

You can’t think.

You can only feel.

And you feel everything.

“But it’s true,” he finishes. “All of it. I love you.”

And there it is.

Real. Sober. Out in the open.

No laughter. No slurring.

Just Xavier, slightly flushed and slightly unsteady—but honest.

Your chest tightens. Your cheeks burn.

You don’t know what to say.

But he’s still watching you, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before.

And suddenly, it hits you.

You’re not screaming internally anymore.

You’re melting.

He watches you for a moment longer, as if waiting—maybe for a response, maybe just to make sure you heard him.

But when you don’t bolt out of the room or push him off the bed, something in his expression softens.

Then he smiles.

That small, satisfied, heart-wrecking smile like he just crossed the finish line of something terrifying and wonderful all at once.

Without another word, he tugs gently at your wrist, pulling you into him. You stumble forward—again—and this time, he wraps both arms around you in a warm, grounding hug.

One that’s a little loose, a little sleepy, but completely sincere.

And then?

He flops backward on your bed, dragging you halfway down with him.

“Goodnight,” he mumbles into your shoulder, already halfway to dreaming, his breath slow and even.

Just like that—confession dropped, walls down, chaos behind him—Xavier falls asleep holding you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You lie there, heart pounding, brain fried, limbs refusing to move.

Because you just heard the words I love you.

And now, you’re the pillow of the boy who said them.

the spider’s sense! a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni

a/n. ┆ fanart art is by 长白山小葱头 on weibo. this is my first series on this app to celebrate hitting 1K! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post or send me an ask.

main masterlist. ┆ talk to me!

chapter one ┆ pest control. (coming very soon)

caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one. (4.2k)

𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌'𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒

With the weather getting colder, you might find yourself cuddled up in blankets and sipping on some hot chocolate. Perhaps you would have an old, rugged looking book right on your coffee table waiting to be picked up. With fairytale season being in full swing, perhaps you would like to indulge in some nostalgic stories of enchanted forests, wicked witches, cursed princesses and bloodhungry beasts?

But oh, were your favorite fairytales always this 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨?

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓

GRIMM'S NIGHTMARES is an exclusively dark content collab inspired by the dark fairytales collected and written down by the Grimm brothers.The central theme of the collab are dark fairytales, but you are more than free to enter the collab with mythical figures (werewolves, vampires, ghosts, etc) without any fairytale in mind. Despite being inspired by the Grimm brothers, you are more than free to be inspired by other classic tales from around the world. 

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𓆩𓆪 You have to be over the age of 18 to enter

𓆩𓆪 This collab is strictly a x reader collab

𓆩𓆪 All fandoms are welcome to enter

𓆩𓆪 Aged up characters are allowed, but please don’t age them down 

𓆩𓆪 Your entry has to be a minimum of 500 words long, otherwise the sky’s the limit

𓆩𓆪 Be aware that this is a dark content collab first and foremost. You are allowed to go as crazy as you would like, but make sure to tag all the trigger warnings accordingly

𓆩𓆪 As mentioned previously, you are free to enter with a mythical figure instead of a fairytale

𓆩𓆪 To enter, you need to send me an ask or message with the character(s) and the mythical figure/fairytale you wanna base your fic on

𓆩𓆪 You are allowed to submit up to two entries

𓆩𓆪 You are allowed ro write one fic with up to three characters (character x reader x character x character)

𓆩𓆪 No double entries!Meaning I won’t allow the same character in the same fairytale au (for example, I won’t allow two people to write about vampire Toji). First come, first serve

𓆩𓆪 I take the right of not accepting your entry. To ensure the best possible experience for me as the host, and you as the writer, I will have to make sure you don’t fit my dni criteria 

𓆩𓆪 Make sure to tag me and use the tag 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌'𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁 so I can reblog and add your fic to the masterlist

𓆩𓆪  The soft deadline for the collab is the 1th of April 2025. Please notify me if you need more time or if you would like to opt out of the collab  

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒

TOKYO REVENGERS

Werewolf! Baji Keisuke x Fem! Reader (Inspired by The little red riding hood) by @/ljubimaya

Mad hatter! Hanma Shuji x Reader (inspired by Alice in Wonderland) by @6ronze

Demon! Baji Keisuke x Reader by @keisukes-number1

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

Demon King! Sylus x Reader by @aztecbrujeria

JUJUTSU KAISEN

Vampire! Gojo Satoru x Reader by @avatarofstars

Death! Geto Suguru x Reader by @sugurouge (Inspired by Death's messengers)

ARCANE

Warwick/Vander x Reader by @fortluocha (Inspired by Beauty and the Beast)

MY HERO ACADEMIA

WHO HAVE I REMEMBERED? Dabi x Reader by @amalainse (Inspired by The Frog Prince)

HAIKYUU

Oikawa Tooru x Reader by @amalainse (Inspired by The Little Mermaid)

Olvidé subir estos curis, voy a hacer más porque son muy divertidos

Xavier Head-canons

• Hi Pookies! Just know this just for fun and I want more friends who enjoy Love and Deepspace!

No minors! This is Female Reader x Xavier!

Xavier is the type of boyfriend who is willing to spend hours at a bookstore with you. Hand in hand as you two drift into different aslies. You both gravitate toward a book that neither of you two has read but have heard much about. “I think you’ll love it,” you say as you hand him a philosophical book. He sneaks a kiss at your kind gesture and holds the book you picked out for him. The constant connection you both share for the love of novels keeps the conversation going. Passing by the spicy romance, you can’t help to pull a book out of curiosity. Flipping through pages of the book you land on a erotic part. You read a glimpse of the erotic part feeling the need to finish it. You could feel Xavier behind you reading the page. He lets out a small “mhm” as he his hand goes to your waist. You can’t help but giggle as you quickly close the book. “You know you should buy that book. Maybe we can try a few things out.” He says as his warm breath goes to your neck. You playfully roll your eyes as you grab his hand to go buy both books.

You were tossing and turning the entire night. Not being able to sleep even with Xavier next to you. You sigh as you sit up, grabbing your phone to check the time. The bright screen making you groan, seeing how late it was. You decide why not just get out of bed to watch some videos. As you’re about to get up Xavier realizes you’re awake. “What’s wrong? You can’t sleep?” He says softly with his eyes trying not to shut. “Yeah and I have work in the morning.” You say pulling the blankets on you again. Xavier notice your frustrations and smiles. He walks over to his small piano he has in his room. Your eyes follow him as you were curious what he was going to do. Xavier gives you a soft smile as he begins to play the piano. The melody is gentle, like a lullaby.

My Dad!Raf fic, as promised☺️

No Harm Done

cw// fem!reader(referred to as wife, mama, mother, etc), tooth rotting fluff, toy/bubble gun, some injury(soap in eyes and falling on soapy floor >:)), FLUFFFFF

wc; 1355 | proofread by the lovely @grievetheliving3311 | I'm calling the daughter Pearl bc I saw hc about Raf's first daughter being named Pearl and couldn't help myself☺️

A little girl really, absolutely, couldn't possibly do that much harm. Right? At least, that's what you assumed Rafayel must have been thinking when he gave your 5-year-old daughter a bubble gun.

You were simply sitting at the desk you had managed to cram into the bedroom, when you moved in with Rafayel. The desk was simple, wooden, not too tall, and not too short. Your laptop was propped comfortably in the rough middle of the desk, and there were various messy drawings, small paintings, and files scattered amongst the rest of your stationary. Your chair was soft, with a backrest that barely passed your head, and armrests at the perfect height. Not to mention how warm it was from the advancing dusk that infiltrated your pretty, white, curtains.

You weren't doing anything in particular, just scrolling on social media after a long day at work. You thought your husband was painting in his studio, letting your dear little gremlin run around and play. Yeah, you thought. Although, once you heard two sets of giggles, it became increasingly clear that you were wrong.

You decide to believe that Rafayel simply took a break to play with your daughter, and go back to what you were doing, when…

“Mama! Put yer hands where I can see ‘em!” The little girl bursts in with a huge grin on her face.

You can't help but smile as well, at the sight, until you see what she's holding.

It's hard to see in the dim, dusk lighting, but it looks somewhat like the weapon you use for work! Reasonably panicked, you quickly stand, and rush over to her.

“Sweetheart, where did you-” Relieved to suddenly find it isn't actually your gun, you wonder where she got a bubble gun from… Or rather, who.

“Baby, did Papa give you this?” You ask softly, tapping your index finger on the semi-hexagonal shape of bubble wands on the end of the ‘barrel’.

Pearl lets out an excited ‘mhm!’, and you can see where she previously lost one of her back teeth purely from how big she's smiling. It's kind of somber to see how fast your little girl is growing up, but, nevertheless, you have a culprit to catch.

You think for a moment…, how to scare your husband? Hmm… Aha!

“Do you wanna sneak up on Papa?” You propose, already preparing to let your little troublemaker climb onto your shoulders.

She beams, “Can we!?” Her eyes absolutely light up like the sea you swear is hidden in them.

You smile warmly, “We can,” You turn her around so you can pick her up and plop her on your shoulders.

Slowly, you stand up, a smirk playing on your lips. You secure the dear girl by gently holding her ankles, slowly creeping down the hallway. Quietly(though not quiet enough), you giggle, but Pearl playfully shushes you, and rests against the top of your head.

She holds the bubble gun so that your head acts as a stand for it. Your little shrimp giggles, gasping afterwards as if she'll shush herself.

Once you reach the end of the hallway, you hug the wall, scanning the living room-turned-art studio for your husband. You can hear the ticking of Rafayel’s analog clock, and the soft classical music he has playing.

Eventually, you find the chance to sneak up on him. Watching as he sits on a low stool to work on a smaller painting, you begin to creep forward with a big grin on your face. Slowly, once you might as well be breathing down his neck, you trail your right hand from your daughter's ankle and jolt! Rafayel’s shoulder with it.

“Hands up, Papa!” Your baby girl giggles.

Thinking nothing could happen, little Pearl pulls the trigger of her toy… just as her father yelps and turns around to face you…

“Oh! Raf, are you okay!?” You quickly, and gently, place the new culprit on the nearby couch.

You hurry back over to your husband, but…, you underestimate how slippery your daughter's earlier playtime has made the floor. You slip, clattering to your butt, right next to where Rafayel is wincing on his knees.

You can't hold back your laughter, but Pearl breaks first. She's giggling and writhing on the couch, while you and Rafayel begin to double over in laughter instead of pain. You're pretty sure the soap bubbles are making his eyes water, and despite the sting, and the soapy-salty tears on his cheeks, it's obvious his two guppies are his favorite people in the world. But you do have a mess or two to clean now…

Your daughter gasps loudly, “Mama! Papa! It got painted!”

The two of you look over in confusion, laughing when you see the tiny bit of paint that got on the toy. You look back at each other and your hand reaches out to brush some bubbles away from Rafayel's cheeks.

“Thank you, Treasure,” He smiles.

You had always liked the nickname. Though he wasn’t a pirate or anything, being the God of the Sea was close enough for you.

With a content sigh, you plant a chaste kiss to your husband’s lips, sneakily ruffling his perfect hair, “Let’s get all this cleaned up, yeah?”

You help Rafayel to his feet, moving to snatch your daughter up onto your hip. You guide Rafayel to the bathroom, letting him wash his eyes as you wander to the kitchen to take care of Pearl’s dilemma.

Kissing her forehead, you set the small girl down on the counter beside the sink. You start humming a soft tune, the one you always hum to help your mischievous guppies fall asleep. You turn on the faucet. She hands you the bubble gun, smiling giddily at the thought of it being cleaned.

You run the spot of paint under the warm water, figuring it'll get the paint off faster than cold water can. Pearl watches, mesmerized by the water whirlpooling in the drain as her father quietly approaches.

Much to your surprise, Rafayel gets his revenge. Sneaking up to hug you from behind, he lets the remaining water on his face drip down your nape. Out of surprise, you jump and end up letting go of the bubble gun. It hits the bottom of the sink, knocking the soap cartridge loose. You giggle obliviously, turning your head to receive another innocent kiss, as your beloved wipes away a few drops of water from your neck.

“Mama, look!” Pearl squeals, pointing at the sink.

And that's when you notice the sink is filling with bubbles, all thanks to the warm water and loose bubble cartridge. You let out a surprised yelp, quickly turning off the water.

“Oh…, Raf, ‘m sorry; lemme-”

“No, let me,” He interrupts, “You go lay down with Pearl.”

With a sigh, you wrap your husband in a grateful hug. Lifting your daughter into your arms, with a small ‘c’mon, sweet-pea', you wander back down to her bedroom.

After putting her into her favorite mermaid pajamas, you shuffle off to yours and Rafayel's bedroom. You lay down with her, humming as the two of you cuddle up under the huge blanket.

Without much effort, you both drift off as quickly as all this fun unfolded. Like a typical little kid, Pearl snores softly in your hold, safe in her mother's embrace. Rafayel’s pillow is soft beneath your cheek, justifying your habit of stealing his half of the bed.

Soon he comes back, figuring he could watch a movie with his wife and daughter, only to find you both out cold… on his pillow.

He sighs, shaking his head with a soft smile. He climbs into bed to face you, one arm sliding under you to rest your head on his toned-yet-cushy bicep. Rafayel wraps his other arm over your waist, trapping Pearl between your chests, rubbing your back while your mini-me curls up against her parents’ chests like a baby shrimp.

With the messes cleaned, and a happy sleeping family, the night goes off without a hitch; your dreams intertwining and your smiles softer than the pillows beneath you.

© a-yciecat

Fandoms and No-No's for requests!

The Rafayel fic is done! I'll be posting it this afternoon, sorry for the long wait everyone!💜💜💜

@grievetheliving3311

I have this one friend who absolutely loves Rafayel. Would you guys like it if I wrote a fluff fic about girl dad!Rafayel's and your daughter where he gave her a bubble gun and all chaos ensued?

Perfect Worship | Caleb x fem!MC

This blurb is told from Caleb's pov :) (unedited also I don't play the game but I get lots of info from my bestie and obviously...tiktok)

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, kissing, obsession, heavy petting, fingers in mouth, glove play (?), dirty talk, childhood best friends are going to FUCK?, pussy rubbing, fingering (slightly), talks of raw vaginal penetration, teasing, edging wc: 1.6k a/n: O///o I need a stiff drink after that... and by a stiff drink I mean *** from Caleb's stiff **** ... I would be ashamed but let's be honest... I'm too far gone at this point

You’re staring at me with that look in your eye. It’s one I can’t ignore. “How could you…” those whispered words brought me out of my thoughts. How could I? What exactly did you think I did? I want to scoff, throttle you for believing any nonsense spewed about me. Though… the way you clench your fists in remembrance of our childhood is very endearing. It sends a stinging wave of happiness through my empty chest. 

“Haa…always so naive pipsqueak.” I breathe out, bringing my gloved hand to my lips. I gauge your reaction, watching your skin bristle at my words. That’s it. “When are you going to grow up?” Break for me. Your eyes narrow into slits, glowing with beautiful anger. Anything you felt for me was glorious as long as it was something. Your hatred for me was going to bring me to my knees. What I don’t expect is your hand to make a loud thwack against my right cheek. The action pushes my head to the left, the breath whooshing from my lungs. My fingertips caress the stinging sensation of my cheek, my eyes wide. Okay, so maybe you were stronger than I remembered. So then why? I want to groan with the flooding arousal to my groin. Fuck. Then I get a glimpse of you raising your other hand, ready to strike. 

This time, I stop your assault, catching your wrist in my hand. For a moment we just stare at each other, too caught in the moment to continue. I decide to break the stare off, slipping my hand further down your arm, then yanking you into my own body. You fall onto your knees, in turn, straddling me. I leave the choice up to you. Submit or drive me to insanity. 

Your lips close around mine in a desperate attempt to convince me you still had control. I let go of your arm, spotting my handprint outlined in red against your skin. A primal need pulses through my body, driving me to move my hand to the nape of your neck. More, I had to have all of you. 

A whimper falls from your mouth as I slot my mouth against yours, slipping my tongue to lap at your lips. Let me in. You oblige, allowing my tongue to swirl against yours in a dance of passion and yearning, built up over years. Even when I could see you everyday, it was never enough. 

I slide my knees apart so that you sink further into my lap, the apex of your thighs flush against my stiff cock. You moan into my mouth, pressing yourself deeper into the kiss. “Please,” you mewl, lips swollen from my aggression. Ah, begging me are we? 

“You’re grown, use your words.” I want to hear it from your lips. Hear your voice beg me to fuck you. The pitch and timbre give into moans. Let me worship you. Your brows furrow, frustration building on your face. Resistance. Something I know how to deal with all too well. “Fine then,” I coo, tracing the line of your neck with my leather covered fingers. “Be that way.” My evol surges, forcing you further downward until it feels like I’m in you. Your eyes widen and your hands immediately grip my shoulders. I can see it on your face, you feel it too. “How about now? Feel like talkin’?” I tilt my head, watching a shudder course through you. I lean back against the cushioned sofa, taking in the sight before me. 

Your face is a deep red as your trembling arm tries to hide your beautiful face from me. Damn if I was fucking you right now I could see everything. I blow out a breath, meeting your heated gaze from over your arm. “Ca…Caleb.” 

Oh. Did you think you could say my name like that and not have to deal with the consequences? I grab your hips, sinking my fingertips into the meaty flesh. “C’mon pretty girl, tell me exactly what you desire.” I’m begging you now. I can’t handle it. I’m going to go fucking insane. 

You slowly drop your arm, blinking at me through those thick lashes. You grind your hips down, eliciting a growling hiss from behind my clenched teeth. “Ruin me.” Your voice is low, almost too low. I want to hear you say it again, but my body moves on its own. I shift my hips to create an unbearable friction between us. “Please Caleb, I’ve missed you so much,” You’re ramblings couldn’t be a finer melody to my ears. 

There’s a part of me that wants to fuck you right here on the sofa, splay my cum all over your face like I’m some horny teenager again. But you deserve better than having my cock slam into you until dawn erupts through the windows. My first time should be making love with you, but I’d grown too accustomed to the art of war. “On your knees darlin’.” I command, observing the way you slip off my lap – disappointed by the briskness of the air around my legs since your warmth had left. You sink to the floor, using my thigh as stability, defiantly maintaining eye contact with me. “So brave,” I reach for your cheek, running my thumb over your plump lower lip. “If you do a good job I might go easy on you.” I warn, tightening my grip to where your cheeks squish inward. Your brows knit together and I can tell you want to fight back. There’s nothing you can do on any inch of your body that I don’t already know about. 

Your mouth parts, allowing my gloved-hand to sink into your warm and wet mouth. I hum, fascinated by the way your tongue glides around my digits. You close your lips around the length of my fingers, mimicking a sucking motion until my cock grows harder. You release me, saliva connecting the tips of my fingers to your mouth. “Did I pass?” You inquire, brushing a strand of your hair behind those lovely ears. How down bad did I have to be to call your ears ‘lovely’? 

I shrug my shoulders, leaning back once more. “I’m unsure, I think you might need something a little bigger to test your capabilities.” It makes your eyes perk up and your mouth quirk into a grin. My legs surround you as sturdy pillars as you move between them. Your eyes watch me like a hawk as you undo my belt, pulling it off with tantalizing slowness. It’s tossed to the side, the zipper of my trousers next. My cock immediately feels less stifled, but there was a part of me that misses that overwhelming pressure. The surrounding air was too empty, I needed something. Lucky for me, you can read me like a book. 

You pull my boxers down exposing my erection, which you stare at for an insufferable amount of time. I’m at my breaking point and there’s nothing you can do to save me. Your wet mouth wraps around the length of my cock, pressing your tongue under the head. Okay, maybe I was wrong. I’m obsessed with the way you push my length further into your throat until tears stream down your face. You hum against my shaft, eliciting a low growl from me. Your eyes glow with lust, keeping me on the edge. This was your way of punishing me, reclaiming control. Usually I’d be more than eager to allow your little rebellion, but unfortunately I’ve run out of patience. I click my tongue, wrapping my hand around your hair, then pulling taunt. Your eyes shutter as I pull you off my cock. 

“Hmm,” I like how pliable you are in my hands. Your eyes dart around my face, searching for an explanation only found in my words. “Shall I show you what happens when you're insubordinate?” The slight movement of your head is all it takes for me to yank you to your feet, tossing you toward the sofa yet again. You place your hands on the back, sticking your ass toward me. “You get punished.” I use my teeth to pull off one of my gloves, using the other to loosen your pants. They fall around your ankles, exposing a simple pair of black panties. Doesn’t matter, they’re going to be staying on my floor for most of this visit. 

I use my ungloved hand to rub your clit through the fabric, growing high off the soft moans escaping your mouth. “I’ve barely touched you down here yet you’re already so wet.” I comment, leaning over your back to hold you steady. I kiss on your shoulder blades and down until I reach bare skin. “Who knew you were so filthy?” I mutter against your back, slipping my fingers into your folds until I tease the entrance to your warm sex. “You gonna cum for me?” I inquire, not really caring if you answer with words because your body will be doing most of the talking here in a moment. “Haa, I bet I could just fuck you raw right now right?” I muse, drawing my hand from your throbbing pussy and to the hem of your underwear. “You want me to shove my cock in you huh? You’re practically serving me your wet cunt.” I’m hungry and you were going to feed me. “Don’t tell me you were waiting to see me again just so you could jump my bones?” I laugh, running a hand through my hair as you hang your head. “Well I’d hate to disappoint you, so I’ll show you everything I learned while I was gone. Come on, let me make it up to you.”

Caleb giving backshots

18+ audio

not a want. a need.

the world when you're with me

synopsis: you seek out sylus for comfort after realizing you were wrong about him.

tags: comfort, fluff, implied avoidant!reader learns to trust sylus, implied avoidant!reader clings to sylus, sylus takes care of reader from afar, sylus has mephisto and the twins follow reader but wbk pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mostly mc word count: 802

a/n: is this the peak of literature? no. did i need to write it after the day i had? yes. did i need to post it today? no, because i’m trying to stagger my posts more, but here we are. anyway 4k caleb pwp coming tomorrow 

For the first few weeks after you’d infiltrated the N109 Zone, you’d avoided Sylus Qin like the plague. 

After being scared out of your wits by the first version of him you'd met—the cold, unavailable criminal mastermind who’d forced you to shoot him within 5 minutes of knowing one other—you were unashamedly wary of working with him again. 

But Sylus’s intel was unrivaled. More and more often, you found yourself visiting the N109 Zone to meet with him, eventually not even bothering to book a place to stay. There was always a guest room at the Onychinus base prepped for your arrival.

As you spent more time with Sylus, he’d noticeably changed his approach to interacting with you. Rather than forcing you to resonate with him, he’d explained to you how his Evol worked, letting you aim his hands at some training dummies to test it out yourself. Instead of unceremoniously shutting you out when he was tired, he’d drag his robe-and-slippers-clad self to sit beside you on the sofa, answering your cautious questions by practically giving away all his secrets. 

His shift in attitude hadn't stopped there. Sylus had clearly been using that endearingly incorrigible crow to keep tabs on you, but for the strangest reasons. 

Whenever you had a bad day at work, some building-wide maintenance emergency would magically appear, forcing your team to cease operations for the rest of the day. He’d text you a couple hours after your early dismissal, saying he was in the city and inviting you on an evening joyride to clear your head.  

The day after you’d lugged a case of water up the stairs to your apartment, having to pause a couple times to catch your breath, you came home to see your fridge mysteriously stocked with groceries. The only traces left behind were the masked twin figures you spotted scurrying away from your window. 

When a new phone showed up at your doorstep one day—you never even told him you’d shattered your screen, you thought—you’d decided that Sylus wasn’t as bad as you’d once assumed. Not anywhere near as bad, in fact. He was thoughtful, generous, and helped you without taking credit or forcing you to ask for it. You’d never had that before.

Which is why, somehow, you find yourself standing in the doorway of his armory, studying him silently as he polishes an antique-looking gun.

When he notices you, Sylus looks up, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Something wrong, kitten?” he drawls, subtly checking your body for injuries. 

Mind numb from your absolutely dreadful day, you stay silent while Sylus looks at you expectantly, his hands forgetting their earlier task. 

But for the next minute, you remain hovering in the doorway. You expect him to get annoyed—you almost want him to, so you have an excuse to go back to relying only on yourself—but all you see on Sylus’s face is patience.

When you start shuffling toward him, that patience mixes with a glimmer of anticipation that he visibly tries to suppress. You need him to be calm right now—an anchor, he thinks. If he loses his composure, if he startles you with his excitement at your approach, you might bolt at any moment. 

Sometime during his inner struggle, you reach him. Meekly, you stand before his chair, briefly opening your mouth before closing it. 

“What is it, sweetie?” he asks softly. “Tell me, and we can figure it out together. I’ll personally track down whoever seems to have stolen your words from you.”

At his offer, you break, collapsing into his lap. His large, warm hands immediately encircle your waist, and you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his leather and spice cologne. 

“Aw,” he coos in his baritone voice, rocking you slowly in his embrace. When he lifts your head an inch, you resist, letting out a soft whine. Gently, he guides your head back to his chest, his quickening heartbeat thumping in your ears and grounding you in the the moment. 

After several moments of silence, your deep, shuddering breaths the only interruptions, Sylus murmurs into your ear. “When I noticed you never ask for help, I was worried the world may not be treating as well as it should. You must be very tired, hmm?” he asks, rubbing his chin against your hair. 

Tightening your arms around him, you sit there for a while, his steady breaths seeming to mend a decades-long rift in your heart.

The next time Sylus tries to lift your head, you let him. He pulls your face from his neck so he can look into your eyes, hoping his gaze conveys his sincerity, before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. 

“You don’t need the world when you’re with me,” he promises. “I’ll treat you better than it ever could.”

Xavier is a thigh biter/squeezer during sex. Especially when he is eating you out.

Caleb who follows you around, everywhere, all the time.

Caleb who wakes up before you every morning, preparing you breakfast- or even lunchbox if you have work that day. He takes pride in knowing your preferences, even if you never explicitly told him. With proud smirk placing it before you.

Caleb who binge watches/reades all the shows,books you ever talked about, both before and after dating. He immerses himself in everything that interests you, so he can love you better.

Caleb who swears he is not jealous type- he is.

Caleb who In crowded spaces, positions himself between you and others, acting as a barrier, for your safety- also because he wants to be close to you- he craves it- and if there's chance he is grabbing it straightaway.

Caleb who is always there to comfort you during tough time- it doesn't matter if you are just crying because you acrylic figure fell and broke- it hurts him to see you upset. And your new acrylic figure collection can't help but agree.

Caleb has a whole folder of your photos - all the photos on his phone are only pictures of you. He just finds you cute, ok?. snoring? he must record it, this is too adorable for his heart. just drinking water? he must take photo, this is future wife after all. You never even notice him taking pictures, he is so sleek with it...

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — AND THEIR HOBBIES IN FREE HOURS.

amongst the many hobbies of your beautiful hard working husband, one of them stood out the most: racing. zayne drives with such grace, he probably would have received 16 missed calls from whole cast of fast furious asking him to be part of the next movie. treating patients with such patience by day, racing by night… what a man! He can afford it after all, so why not? he is the type to make you fresh orange juice with pulp in the morning and then go outside drift so effortlessly, it makes professional racers question their entire careers. he doesn't even need a coach—he learns purely through vibes and sheer elegance. he steps into a car, smells the air, analyses, feels it, does a couple of stretches, and suddenly it's like watching poetry in motion. you have no idea how he does it, you're not about to question a racer who hugs the apex like it's his favourite granny-who can explode- and still flips the softest, fluffiest pancakes before the next shift in hospital.

xavier, on the other hand, has the raw power for basketball but none of the coordination. you made him join the basketball club, this man had to do something sportif after all! though he got very passionate about basketball he could not play. his idea of a "drabble" is launching the ball into another building, and if you ask him to do a serve, he’ll literally twerk- he is serving after all?

he gets the hang of it eventually—almost a full year later, when everyone else has already moved on to their next hobby. now he’s just waiting for the basketball season to come back so he can finally convince everyone to play with him again. poor thing. you can find him standing outside the court with his basketball, looking like a stray dog waiting to be let inside.

sylus is… passionate about tennis. let's just leave it at that. he swings the racket like he's trying to destroy all his enemies along with it, and any unfortunate soul who dares to play against him ends up fearing for their life. And no, zendaya would NOT call him to join the cast of next challengers movie- he will still arrange it- every ball he hits sounds like gunfire, and the courts have a dedicated "sylus damage fund" because he’s broken so many rackets, fences, and possibly the willpower of a few umpires. he can not play, but he doesn't believe in "low peasant" talk - the racket he accidently sended to the orbit made scientists go insane. news headlines for the next month were "A RACKET SPOTTED IN SPACE!! ALIENS ARE REAL?!"

there’s also rafayel. or "rafayel-the-fashion" as he calls himself. the man who buys everything-everything- that is trending, both for you and himself. "We gotta slay honey" he tells you while buying latest glamour lois luivitton purses-not that you complaining. The man, the artist, the diva- he feels the aesthetic whenever he walks to any room and he adjusts to it, he buys closes which match with room design, he slayes.

"Design is soo gnarly an-" and now as soon as his art editor who he asked politely-made-to come to his house at 3am to discuss his new art piece he straight away indulges in description of the piece, untill he spots something, he stops, he squints, he watches, he observes- he notices something even lucifer would have diarrhea out of from.

"IS THAT FAKE CHANEL ON YOU?!" he shrieked in utter horror, falling to the nearest sofa, clutching to his chest. He couldn't believe it, he couldn't! the shear audacity! To come into his house in....in....this!- it is 3 am -"oh, I think I am having have heart attack or heart dead whatever you people call it!" he wailed "this is,th- I HOPE SOMEOME FARTS INTO YOUR BREATHING MACHINE WHEN YOU GET OLDER, YOU FASHION TERRORIST!!"

someone actually did fart into editors breathing machine years later- rafayel made sure of it.....

and finally, there's caleb, apart from his many hundred jet models collection, he buys you underwear. now, when he met you in university he knew- knew that he needs to be in charge of your underwear department. Though he restricted himself in takeover of such honourable post until you two got married.

you lost him in the mall? no, you didn't, he is in lingerie section, nodding at some cheetah print lingerie's like it was some soldiers doing admirable job in serving their country. he doesn't even ask for help, he knows. he knows what he is buying, what size he is buying, he feels it and he is not embarrassed, no. this man watched so many documentaries on "art of lingerie" you are surprised he doesn't even open his own business. you kind of found it cute until he crossed- bended- the line like now with his: "Baby maybe we just need to take one cup bigger so i can put my hands through it, yeah?"- people turned around passing by, eyes wide, desperately trying to not make eye contact.

your eye twitched, hell you think even you whole brain twitched. with voice which could be mistakenly taken for sweet you smiled "Caleb?"

"Yes, pipsqueak?"

"I have a gun on me"

"Yes. pipsqueak." though his poker face didn't match the way he clutched the bra of your size from the section, size bigger magically disappearing in air - he threw it across the shop, if he doesn't see it nobody sees it..

@uzmacchiato dividers!

Caleb who falls in love with a picky eater

Caleb who from a very young age knows that you’re not willing to touch most foods. he- not so- secretly observed you at lunch every-single-day for years to see what parts of you lunch you end up neglecting and now when he once again can cook for you, he is back at his not so subtle glances.

Caleb who never teases you about being picky, after all that’s what made him start cooking. making your life nicer is his biggest reward - nailing the flavours that you love and not even touching the ones that you don't like. He prefers to eat your leftovers as well- long finished his meal, he patiently waits for you to finish and give all that's you couldn't take anymore- with the portion size he is giving you, you might think you are an Olympic weightlifter.

Caleb who attempts -and succeeds- at bribing you through his food- he did win your heart through stomach after all- he is very giddy about it, giggling like a schoolgirl whenever he thinks about it - you love his food.

Caleb who knows it’s his life’s mission to make sure you are well fed.

Caleb who cooks for you three proper meals everyday, with no skip. you had to put a lock on kitchen door, to physically restrict him from cooking when he is sick, which did end up with him wailing about his "sugar" dying out of hunger.

Caleb who telepathically knows what you are going to prefer on specific days- Raining? Oh, he is already preparing soup, but not "just" soup. no, he is preparing "that one"- the Thai chicken soup, that you two tried once(3 years ago), while on a trip in Japan, the one you called delicious five times (he counted) -just to suggest it politely after.

Caleb who will take away any items off of a dish in any events-everywhere, all the time- you two visit before you even ask, hell even before you even can think about it, if he is not the cook.( his food, after all does not contain anything you have no taste for) nothing to be embarrassed about! food is meant to be enjoyed! and he will do anything, just for you not to worry.

Caleb who will quite literally do anything- backflip, sell his soul, be a monk, go bald, can even explode!- to make sure you’re happy, healthy, and not hungry!!

“Please?”

“No.” 

“You’re missing out.” 

“Caleb, we’re literally in a Burger King.”

"Doesn't mean you can't be my main meal"

You didn’t mean to hit him. You really didn’t.

You were just trying to push him back playfully, hands on his chest as he teased you relentlessly, grinning like a devil. But he leaned forward at the exact wrong moment, and your palm connected—not with his shoulder, but squarely with his face.

There was a sickening little “thump.”

Then silence.

“Oh my god—Xavier!” you gasped, rushing to him as he stumbled back, hand instinctively flying to his nose. “I didn’t mean—Are you okay? I’m so sorry—Xavier, shit, you’re bleeding—”

Panic flared in your chest as you reached for him, trying to tip his head back, your hands fluttering uselessly. “I didn’t think—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

But then he looked up at you.

And smiled.

That lopsided, heat-slicked grin that melted your words right off your tongue. His nose was bleeding, face flushed, but his eyes—half-lidded, dazed, hungry—locked on yours like you were the most intoxicating thing he’d ever seen.

“Oh...wow..” he murmured, almost in awe. “that was…”

He licked a drop of blood from his upper lip, and his smile deepened, that dazed, turned-on look spreading across his face. “That was really hot...”

Your jaw dropped, he can not be for real right now...right??Maybe you accidently gave him concussion too, he is probably deluded from pain an—

He tilted his head slightly, his hair sticking to his damp forehead, and that pleased, breathless grin widened. “You get so worked up when you’re worried,” he murmured, leaning forward, and you couldn’t tell if the tremble in your hands was from guilt or the way he was suddenly looking at you like that.

“…You gonna kiss it better?”

Saw this piece of a masterpiece by juyo (in tumblr @stardustdusting) and had to get out of bed at 5 am to write about this. (JUST LOOK AT HIM GAWWD)

@uzmacchiato dividers!

Masterlist

Bèl, she/her

Requests are open, both for lads and jjk~

If you're one of the lovely people that reblog my posts with reaction images or amusing hashtags, I LOVE YOU. Seriously, I live for those.

Love and Deepspace

Caleb:

A Lovestruck Caleb (crack, fluff)

After Boombayah (fluff)

Actors!AU (crack, fluff)

Caleb, in love with a peaky eater (crack, fluff)

His main meal (crack)

Xavier:

Freaky Xavier (fluff?? suggestive)

@uzmacchiato dividers!

You and your co-actor Caleb are currently the hottest topic in the industry, since the newest movie where you two played tragic couple, bound to die- went VIRAL.

Nobody could ignore the chemistry between the actors. Fans, media alike are buzzing: "Are they dating? They are not? What you mean, no?"

No one knows for sure, but during the latest Vogue 30+ Q&A, Caleb's lovestruck puppy eyes directed your way didn't go unnoticed. The way he looked at you—like a lovestruck puppy—set social media abuzz.

Edits of the interview have gone viral, with fans dissecting every glance and smile. The quote of the month now is "Find yourself a man who looks at you the way Caleb look at MC"-did led to some people crying- and same old "SO ARE THEY FOR GODS SAKE DATING?" this one is followed by bitter "NO" (Caleb would want it though, which is emphasised by his not so rare comments on ship edits of you two). Some are convinced it's just exceptional acting chemistry; others are certain there's something more.

But latest Instagram post- where he is on his knees crawling towards you, looking up at you with a satisfied gleam in his eyes,holding your leg in gentle touch. He is worshipping you and it's obvious-after all he is truly the happiest when he is on his knees before you, but you don't need to know that for now (You already know)- did send some people to coma. Some printing it on their shirts, some making it a poster as an absolute "femdom" symbol- hell, someone even did stick it to their face.

The "photo" in question.

@uzmacchiato dividers!

A lovestruck Caleb would do anything for you. He didn’t care about appearances and how he looked to anyone else but whenever you were on sight he is hiding- under bed??(please save his roommates)or whatever surface he can hide beneath of, to just quickly check his hello kitty hand mirror- your gift. He can't appear in front of his drop dead gorgeous girl with any flaw, after all.

Long day of walking and your feet are sore? He is already kneeling before you like a damn dog, no questions asked, taking your shoes off for you in a swift movement and is already massaging your feet -he watched too many massage videos on youtube, to do the best massage for you, everything best for you(save his roommates, on whom he experimented his massaging skills, before even dared to touch you)-smiling giddily, like this what life was all about. Something else sore? Go ahead and tell him! He is already taking his jacket off, warming up (FOR WHAT?!).

Cold around him? He’s taking off anything he can to give to you in hopes it would keep you warm— was actually kicked out of restaurant once because of him actively "stripping".

Dropped something? Oh, and it so happened to fall in the depths of the ocean? He’s diving right into the depths of it-years of training in the fleet weren't for waste after all! No equipment is needed for the colonel(he almost drowned that day).

God forbid he see you with another man. He’s coming - running- up to you like his life depends on it, slinging his arm around you and butting straight into the conversation. If the guy’s far too close for his comfort, he’ll make sure to pepper you with wet, loud kisses wherever he can.

Colonel Caleb hates losing after all, and he vowed to never lose you to another.

Caleb, all tangled up with you after the filthiest, toe-curling, back-arching, forgot-your-own-name kind of sex, just holding you close and murmuring sweet things against your skin like you’re his whole world.