Lumiere Re-run: Aftermath

Lumiere re-run: Aftermath

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Xavier, you're such a meanie... >n<!!! you better come home early the next banner or your cheeks will be so sore...!

A Nostalgic Dream

listen to a lot of orchestral music, and this is one of my all time favorite pieces. And ever since getting into love and deepspace l've associated it with Xavier.

I can't pin down an exact idea, just flashes of scenes.

A grand, silver and gold ballroom on Philos. The orchestra is practicing a slower melody for his highness' ball, and you stay with him as his soon to be grandis knight. Xavier isn't interested in the festivities but his blue eyes catch the way you sway to the music ever so subtly. The way you hum the melody and seem to float instead of walking.

So, without a word, he bows and offers his hand to you. Without a word, you bow or curtsy in kind and take his hand.

Each twinkle in the melody matches a twinkle in the light, each hum of the violin leads you into another step. Xavier is dancing you around the

empty ballroom with all the grace and poise a prince of his caliber should have. Fleeting glances, intermingled breath. The spin of the tail/skirt of your uniform, the way Xavier glows in unspoken delight.

And somewhere in a strange mix of past and future, you lay awake in your boyfriend's bed.

Beginning to hum a melody you've never heard.

A song from a nostalgic dream, where you danced with a prince that glowed under moonlight, with eyes bluer than a clear summer's sky. But you can never quite make out his face. So you simply hum the tune, unaware of Xavier's slightly widened eyes.

IDK I feel like this music piece deserves a Prince Xavier fic but l've already got the trowels series and I just can't quite hammer anything down for him.

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

Also I needed some real solars for his trials because he ONLY EVER GIVES ME BONFIRE OR BUNNY

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

This has a lot of little details, including: Polites' microphone has a Winion, Poseidon's trident is behind him, and Ody and Penny have their rings.

Pedí ayuda para los personajes a mis seguidores en IG y muchos coincidieron en que Poseidón era el derrotado JAJDJAJAA

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

≡;-꒰ 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | VALENTINE'S EVENT !

tags : established relationship, general teasing and banter, kisses, cuddles, lots and lots of fluff, xavier glows when he's happy <3

wc : 2k

an : I MISS HIM. I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM AHUHUHUHU i needed to get this out of my system omg,,, this is the happiest i've been with writing for a while tysm @bunbunnies for the request AND HAPPY WHITE DAYYY !! (p.s. please listen to the song i swear it adds to the vibes) (p.p.s. additional tag @ourlittleuluru for also inspiring this hehe)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

Everyday is enough of a special day as long as it's with you.

Your eyes blinked open.

The advantage of sleeping in Xavier's room was that the blinds were drawn—it was the perfect environment to be conducive for sleep, so much so that the peaked, late-afternoon sun, did little to stir you awake. The sheets were warm, and cozy, and soft… You could sink into the mattress, so cloud-like and weightless.

It was dangerous, in a sense. Staying here made you forget what other things you had on your to-do list for the day. But turning your head to the side to rest your eyes upon the soundly sleeping figure next to you made everything worth it. Warm sunlight peeked in slightly through the blinds, illuminating the room in a soft, dim glow, but you didn't really need it. If anything, the only light you felt that you needed was right here, right next to you.

You noticed faint, barely-noticeable particles of light floating around the crown of his head, and you smiled.

Those weren't from the sunlight.

He must be having a good dream…

You shifted slightly. The movement pulled you away from his embrace just a little bit, but it was enough to get him to stir.

"Mmmnh…"

He didn't open his eyes, but his arms tugged you closer by the waist. An instinctive reaction, you could only assume, and a soft laugh fell from your lips in response. Something about the way he held you made him feel akin to a weighted blanket; despite being clearly asleep, his grip on you was firm enough that you could barely wiggle free from him this time.

You felt sleepy nuzzles into your shoulder, and you smiled and pat his arm.

Pats wouldn't work, of course.

Gently, you shook him, trying to nudge him off of you.

Bleary eyes opened, vision unfocused.

"What… time is it?"

A playful scoff on your end. "Gee, I dunno, Xavier. I'm kinda stuck here."

He blinked, for a moment. Once, twice. It took a while, and you patiently waited, eyebrow raised as your words—and the way he was hugging you so firmly—finally registered in his head. A hint of sheepishness was present on his gaze as he allowed you free from his grasp. You were quick to soothe with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

He sat up with you as you moved to reach for your phone, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see him rubbing his eyes as if it would do anything to help the sleepiness subside.

12:30 in the afternoon.

This was new—you never got to sleep in this much when you were alone, but sleeping with Xavier seemed to bring out newer, sleepier, admittedly lazier sides to you that you didn't know you could have. It was a good thing, of course; at least this time, you could actually rest. There was something freeing about it. Xavier never judged you for sleeping in with him; in fact, he'd much rather have you do just that than wake up without him.

And then your eyes drifted towards the date.

February 14th.

A moment of realization dawned.

You'd gotten so caught up in this just being another simple, restful day off, that you'd completely forgotten…

Slowly, sheepishly, you set your phone down and turned to Xavier.

Still clearly a little out of it, he was sitting up, staring blankly in your general direction. It seemed as if his mind was still asleep, slow blinks not particularly focusing on even you, or anything else. His hair was a mess, a few strands sticking out. His pajama top looked a little skewed—no doubt, if he could still be under the covers at this very moment, he certainly would have been.

But he also looked so freaking cute.

A moment of silence passed like that, a silly smile on your face as you tilted your head—because how could you look away from that? Few others would have the privilege of seeing the Association's most formidable Hunter doing adorable little eye rubs and trying to stay awake in his own bed. In fact, no one else probably did aside from you. And it was a sight to appreciate.

It didn't take too long for his gaze to focus back on you, and, whether out of another instinctual pull or out of a slight sense of embarrassment for realizing you'd been staring at him this whole time, he pulled you back against his chest. Automatically you curled your figure into him, ear resting against his heart as you listened to its ever-steady thrum.

"…It's almost one in the afternoon," you huffed. Yet there was no resistance in your voice; your arms wrapped around him in a reciprocal manner.

"Mhm. But… I want to stay like this a while longer."

"This is unfair, you're just too comfy…"

He shifted, coaxing your head up to look at him. Upon meeting his gaze, you could see that most of the sleep had since melted away to give way to a certain sense of fondness. "We don't have plans today," he murmured. "Can't we stay in a little longer?"

It was so difficult to say no.

A smile peeked at the corners of your lips.

"Well… how about, what do you want to eat later? We've missed breakfast, so this might as well be…"

"Brunch… right?"

"Mhm!" Your eyes fluttered as he reached over to trace your cheek, light, gentle touches that lulled you into a sense of comfort. "We could… order some takeout, maybe? It's been a while…"

"Sure. We can order from that place you like."

You watched, your own gaze softening, as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead.

"Xavier…"

"What do you want to do today?"

He tucked an awry strand of your hair away from your face this time, but the question made your eyes light up. Something in you knew what he wanted to hear—that he probably, likely wanted to just stay in and sleep.

Yet, you sat up, and you could have laughed at his expression. He blinked, taking another moment to process, and his brows furrowed ever so slightly. Unlike last time, he didn't sit up with you.

"I… I have an idea!" you nudged him. "Listen, you said so yourself. We don't have plans today… And, remember all those movies we said we'd watch together? Isn't this the perfect time for us to—"

He cut you off.

Another second had you practically yanked back down to him, and you let out a laugh.

"Five more minutes…"

—

You wondered if it was supposed to end up this way.

Messing around in the kitchen turned brunch into an odd combination of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, another reminder of just how easily things could flow into their own thing, when it was just the two of you. You could argue about how unhealthy your habits had been today, but one day was just one day, wasn't it? You had no real plans today—in the end, what it settled into was a mutual agreement to indulge in the day a little.

But what you hadn't expected was to walk into a living room that no longer… looked like the living room that you knew.

You didn't think you'd spent that much time fixing up the kitchen, but the stark change to the living room space proved otherwise.

Prepped for your little home theater date, the room had been dimmed, lights switched off—except, even with the lights on, you wouldn't have been able to pinpoint where exactly the television was, or where exactly the couch was, or where exactly Xavier was. Instead, what stood in front of you was a large amalgamation of blankets, and bedsheets, and pillows… Not quite organized in the least, nor matched in shade or size, but certainly very… big. You knew that these were all the extras that you had stored, and you couldn't quite describe what was in front of you.

A canopy?

A castle?

A… fort?

You stood there for a while, head tilted, noting a rummaging going around on the inside. It took a moment before you heard a little click, and the inside of the pillow fort glowed a warm, inviting orange.

Xavier poked his head out from under one of the blankets.

"Hi," he nodded at you.

The sparkle in his eyes told you that he was quite proud of yourself.

"…Hi," you laughed. "What's with the living room, Xav?"

"You… said you wanted to watch some movies. I figured I could turn it into something cozy."

"Except I'm always cozy with you."

"Then, extra cozy."

"Did you just want another place to fall asleep in?"

"…No…"

With a laugh, you waved your hand, and crawled under the fort with him.

The space was smaller inside than you'd expected it to be, all fluffy and warm and, true to his word—cozy. It certainly didn't look like much from the outside, but snuggling with him under a separate blanket of your own, leaning against the foot of the couch, the television settled in front of you… truly did make it feel like a personal little theater for the both of you.

Once again, perhaps instinctually, you curled sideways into him and lay your head on his chest. With one arm wrapped around you to keep you securely tucked into him, he used the other to point upwards.

Fairy lights.

Several strings of them, the very source of the little glow you'd been seeing from outside. The lights emitted from them weren't particularly strong, but all of it turned this whole thing into something that was—again—cozy.

A hand reached out, and you let out a soft laugh. "They look like stars."

He followed your motion, reaching out with you. His hand placed next to yours made yours incredibly small, but it made you smile. "Yeah," he agreed, "but they're also stars that don't feel too far away from us."

"Kinda like we're stargazing, huh? Without the cold…"

Your fingers intertwined with his, and he brought your hands down towards his mouth. A soft peck to your knuckles, before he nuzzled your hands against his cheek.

"Well… Anywhere with you feels like stargazing. Since the only star I really want to be looking at… is right here."

His words drew out the air from your lungs. Your eyes met—there was a certain shine in his, blue eyes glowing beneath the strings of light hanging above you. Even this alone, the way he looked at you, could have been enough to drown you. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks; such simple words had you floundering in an instant.

"You're so unfair," you murmured.

There was no bite to your words.

"Am I?"

He shifted to dim the fairy lights, and a flick of his hand had his evol playing around with the lighting. Barely a couple of tries were needed for him to secure a spot on the 'wall' of your little safety fort, where shadows danced along the lined sheets. Slowly, he brought his pinky over to draw your hand back to his, and the shadow of a rabbit formed on the wall.

A giggle fell from your lips. "Hey, that looks like Bunbun!"

"That you've gotten three of in a row just last week…"

You nudged him, pulling your hand to make another, smaller rabbit. "Weeelllll, it kind of looks like you, too~"

Sneaking a glance at him showed a little smile spreading on his own features, but you had little time to recognize the brief flash of mischief in his eyes before the rabbit he'd been projecting to the wall swiftly turned into the head of a wolf.

You gasped, drawing your own rabbit away. "Xavier!"

"I thought you were more sensitive to traps."

"But they're cute—!"

"Sometimes… you should expect the unexpected."

You let out a squeal as the 'wolf' began to advance towards your rabbit, and you immediately draw your hand away and buried your face into his chest. "Silly!" Laughing, you made light punches at his arm. "Take your wolfie away from me!"

And it was silly, but something about it made you feel all fuzzy inside. He laughed in return; it was the sound of it that made you stop, pausing to cherish the warmth that spread through you as a result of it.

Yet the more you look at him, the more you realize that the glow within your little blanket fort, pillow fort, castle whatever it was—wasn't quite coming from much of an external source, but from… him. Specks of those same little sprinkles of light scattered around him, and you could have sworn the very outline of his figure felt like it was glowing.

Smiling, you shifted closer to him, fingers moving to thread through his hair. "Xavier…" you chuckled. "What's going on?"

"What… do you mean?"

You reached out to poke his cheek. "Xavier glows when he's happy."

It took a moment.

You watched as his expression shifted ever so slightly, the flash of surprise making itself visible for a moment before settling into a fondness you knew was reserved only for you. You could marvel at it, really. There were many things about Xavier that you've come to know all this time that you've been spending with him, the past couple years of your relationship. Things like the subtle movement of his gaze when he's caught off-guard, or the twitch of his lips when he tries to keep himself from smiling. He was more expressive than people realized—moreso with the little things, and a little less, sometimes, with his words.

"Because I am happy." He leaned in, closer. The tips of your noses touched, and he nuzzled against you gently. "Are you?"

His hand raised, a familiar bunny light bouncing around the both of you as he smiled softly. That bunny, the very same one from that campfire, the very same one where—as far as you could recall—you'd made one of your very first promises with him.

Tell me when you're overwhelmed next time.

Something in you told you this was a similar moment.

It was quiet for a while, your eyes staying locked. Bated breath formed a certain tension in the air that wasn't unbearable, but easily had your heart skipping a beat. If you leaned back down, listened to his heartbeat… you wondered if you would feel the same thing. Yet somehow, in this moment… it felt as if your hearts had never been this close.

It was Xavier who broke the silence.

"I didn't forget, you know."

You didn't pull away, but you blinked. "…Huh?"

"Today. It's Valentine's day… Isn't it?"

"Oh…"

"I didn't forget."

He nodded his head, once. The smile on his face never quite left, even as he assessed the traces of panic on your own.

"I— I did, though… Sorry. I don't have anything, I didn't really—"

"It's okay."

You blinked. Again. You noticed that Xavier had been catching you by surprise a fair amount this day. "Huh?"

"It's okay," he repeated, patiently. "Because the only gift that I want… is already right next to me. And she's the same star as the only star I wish to be looking at."

Once again, it was Xavier who broke the tension.

Before you could react, before you could fluster yourself over his words—

He leaned down, lips touching against yours.

One kiss. "I love you."

Another kiss. "I love you."

A third kiss. "I love you, still."

You were left dizzy at the quick succession of kisses, feather-light, barely there, and you could practically feel the way his lips turned up into a satisfied smile.

"They say three times' the charm… right?"

Cheeky.

And yet, looking back into his eyes pushed the mischief in them aside, and instead what you found in them was— love.

So, so, much love.

More than the three times he's said it today, and more than… whatever Valentine's Day was supposed to be.

Something swelled in your chest.

"Sometimes, I think that, from the far reaches of the night sky… A star has arrived on this planet." You spoke slowly, formulating your words, and then you bumped your nose against his with a smile. "And I also think that star happens to be laying right next to me."

Arms wrapped around his neck, and it was your turn to shower his face in a little flurry of kisses, relishing the soft laughs that fall from his own lips.

"So if I'm the only star you want to look at," you murmured, "then you're the only star I want to spend the rest of my days with. I hope… tonight won't be the last night we get to spend with each other. I want more nights with you. More like this."

And he chuckled.

"No, it won't be the last."

Slowly, his arms trailed to rest on your waist, gently guiding you to settle on top of him. Happily, you pressed your forehead against his. In this moment, you realized that you loved, all too much, to look into his eyes like this.

"…Your eyes look like stars," you laughed quietly.

"Yours hold all of them."

"No, that's wrong, Xavier. It holds one star. That's you."

He smiled.

"…Mn. It won't be the last, not tonight." He said again, brushing your hair from your face. "We've followed the pull of fate to this moment, so I'll make sure to stay by your side. Now, and always. Maybe, this night… holds the hope there is for us to always be together."

taglist : @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @darlingdummycassandra @daturasflower @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @cordidy @raiyuxa @xai-mery @oharasmommymilkers00 @pikachuzhc @fackeraccount @rafayelsgf @iloveboysinred @spotted-salamander @venussakura @love-and-deepstrays @evilgojo @keioxo @~Air_Heart~ @keymeadoww @strwbrychffoncke @nezuswritingdesk

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

285 notes View Post

xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

⋆˚࿔ the best pillow 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

-the LaDS men cuddling with you and laying their heads on your lap (fluff)

୨ৎ── . Sylus

The living room was peaceful, bathed in the soft golden glow of the late afternoon sun. Sylus lay stretched out on the couch, his head resting on your lap, while a book was placed in his large hands. His white hair fell messily over his forehead, as his red eyes scanned the pages with sharp focus.

The low hum of music played from the speaker across the room, a slow, soulful tune drifting through the air.

You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair, scrolling through your phone, when you glanced down at him. “Hey, can I connect my phone to the speaker?”

Sylus didn’t look up from his book. “No.”

You blinked. “No?”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Listen and appreciate real good music, sweetie.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing dramatically. “You sound like an old man.” The comment made him smirk, but he didn’t respond, his eyes still on his book.

A slow, mischievous smile spread across your lips.

Sliding your fingers beneath the frame of his glasses, you gently pushed them down just enough to reveal his striking red eyes. Before he could protest, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss between his eyebrows, right at the root of his nose.

Feeling his body tense ever so slightly, you knew your 'attack' was effective. Bingo.

Sylus inhaled through his nose, his grip on the book tightening just a fraction. "I'm trying to read, kitten." he murmured, his voice as smooth as ever.

But you saw the way his ears tinged just the faintest bit red, the way his fingers twitched against the page.

A giggle escaped you and you felt him exhale, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Sylus shifted, pretending to be unaffected as he grabbed his phone to check what song was playing.

That’s when you saw it. Your gaze flickered to the screen and your teasing smile softened. The playlist title was clear as day.

“Songs That Remind Me of Y/N”

When Sylus noticed where you were looking, his thumb casually covered the screen, as if that would make you unsee it.

You grinned, warmth spreading through your chest. “You big softie.”

He scoffed but didn’t deny it. Instead, he flipped the page of his book, still looking entirely unfazed. But as you glanced down at him, you caught it—the barely-there smile playing at his lips.

Sylus’ free hand moved from your tight to intertwine with your own hand, before bringing it to his lips and plant a soft kiss on your knuckles.

୨ৎ── . Zayne

The clock struck midnight as Zayne stepped into the apartment, exhaustion weighing heavy on his broad shoulders. His dark hair was slightly disheveled from running his hands through it all day, and his sharp green eyes, usually so intense, were dulled with fatigue. But despite the ache in his muscles and the relentless pull of sleep, he made his way to the living room—because he had made a promise.

And Zayne never broke a promise to you.

You were sitting on the couch, papers spread out around the couch and the coffee table, biting your bottom lip in concentration. At the sound of his quiet footsteps, you looked up.

"You're home," you murmured, a mixture of relief and concern in your voice. "Zayne, you look exhausted."

"I'm fine," he said softly, his voice gentle despite the obvious tiredness in his tone. "Let’s get this done."

You sighed, but didn’t argue as he settled beside you, his broad frame sinking into the cushions. He leaned slightly toward you, your shoulders brushing as he picked up a form and started filling it out with his precise handwriting.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence. But with each passing moment, Zayne's pen moved slower, his eyes blinking sluggishly as he fought the exhaustion clawing at him.

Then, without warning, his head dipped forward before he caught himself.

You turned to him, your lips pressing together in fond exasperation. "Zayne…"

"I'm awake," he murmured, but his deep voice was quieter now, softer, laced with drowsiness.

Another few moments passed, and then—he slumped.

His head rested against your shoulder at first, his body leaning heavily into yours, before he finally slid down, laying his head on your lap with a deep exhale. His dark lashes fluttered once before his breathing evened out, the exhaustion finally winning.

You glanced down at him, your expression softening. Even in sleep, he looked serious, but there was a rare peace on his face that made her heart ache.

Gently, you adjusted his position, letting his head rest more comfortably on your lap. You ran your fingers through his black hair, smoothing it back, with a featherlight touch.

With a small smile, you picked up your pen again and continued working in silence, letting him recharge. After a while, you feel a big hand gently squeezing your leg. “You’re such a nice pillow, you know that?”

Zayne looks up at you with only one eye open and a tired but fond smile on his lips.

“Look who woke up! Hi sleepy head.” you tease him, caressing his cheek gently. “I’m almost over with these papers.”

He nodded as a small yawn escaped his lips. “I’m sorry, next time I’ll be more helpful.” he whispered softly before falling asleep on you once again.

୨ৎ── . Rafayel

Rafayel stretched out across the bed, his head resting on your lap, his eyes half-lidded with contentment. The soft fabric of your sweater brushed against his cheek as he exhaled slowly, savoring the warmth of your presence. But something was missing.

Your fingers weren’t running through his hair. You weren’t teasing him with a sly remark. You weren’t paying attention to him at all.

Instead, you were glued to your phone, your delicate fingers tapping away at the screen. Occasionally, you let out a quiet chuckle, further fueling his mild irritation.

Rafayel pouted. "Babe." No response.

He shifted slightly, pressing his forehead against your lap. "Baaaabe."

Still nothing.

A smirk curled at the edge of his lips as an idea formed. He nuzzled against you, his breath warm against your skin. Then, he let out the most dramatic sigh he could muster, his broad shoulders rising and falling with exaggerated defeat.

"Are you really going to ignore your very handsome, very lovely boyfriend, who just wants a little attention?" his voice was laced with playful desperation.

You hummed absently, still not looking up. "Mhm. Sounds tragic."

Rafayel gasped, clutching his chest as if you had mortally wounded him. "Tragic?! This is abuse, beloved. I'm starving for affection."

You snorted, shifting your head the slightest to peer down at him.

“Put your phone down..” he murmured, drawing patterns on your thighs with his fingers.

He was pouting, so you followed his instructions. “Yes?”

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Hi gorgeous.” he smirks, as you grab his pretty face between your hands.

“You really become a brat if I don’t give you attention for five minutes, don’t you?” you chuckle, brushing your thumbs along his cheekbones.

A pleased rumble vibrated from his chest as he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

"Yes," Rafayel declared, looking up at you with the biggest, most pitiful puppy-dog eyes his irises could manage. "Because my beautiful, sarcastic, heartless partner is ignoring me."

You bit your lip, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh. "You are so dramatic."

"And yet you love me," he shot back, smirking before going back to leaving pecks on her legs.

You feign a sigh, when you feel him playfully biting your skin.

“Ouch!” you immediately half-heartedly slap his forehead, while he laughs amused by his actions.

“Stop it or I’m gonna crush your skull.” you playfully glare at him, but he just shrugs.

“A nice way to leave this world, not gonna lie.”

He proceeded to nibble her thigh again, so you squeeze his head between your legs, chuckling.

“Now beg.” you challenge him, raising one eyebrow. But he simply cackled, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your thigh. "You really think I’m gonna complain about this?"

୨ৎ── . Xavier

The door clicked shut softly and Xavier stepped inside, his frame carrying an air of quiet exhaustion. His light-colored hair was slightly tousled, his big blue eyes dimmer than usual, lost in some distant thought. He didn’t say a word.

You knew this version of him well. The one that withdrew into silence when something weighed on his mind. He was lost in his own thoughts, tangled up in emotions he didn’t know how to put into words.

So you didn’t ask. Didn’t press. Instead, you took his hand, gently tugging him toward the bed. Xavier hesitated for a second before letting you guide him, his shoulders relaxing just a little under your touch. You pulled him down until he was lying on top of you, his head resting against your lap as you softly ran your hands through his hair.

With a small smile, you let your fingers drift from his hair down to his back, as you began tracing invisible shapes against the fabric of his shirt. At first, you just doodled—little swirls, hearts, nonsense patterns—letting him feel your presence without forcing him to talk.

Then, slowly, you spelled out the words.

I love you.

A heartbeat passed. Then another. You felt his breath hitch ever so slightly, his tense shoulders easing as if a weight had been lifted. So you kept going, tracing a small heart at the end.

Xavier shifted, turning his head just enough so he could glance up at you, his deep blue eyes no longer clouded. A soft, almost bashful smile ghosted his lips. Then, without warning, he rolled over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer in a way that was both shy and desperate.

His face was buried against your neck now, and you could feel his breath warm against your skin. Finally, he spoke—his voice quiet, but steady.

"…Again," he murmured.

You blinked. "Again?"

He nodded against you, his grip tightening slightly. A soft laugh escaped your lips before you resumed your gentle tracing of sweet nothings and hearts.

୨ৎ── . Caleb

Caleb sighed dramatically as he rested his back against the couch, his broad frame comfortably settled between your legs on the plush carpet. Your fingers worked gently through his thick brown hair, separating strands to weave into intricate braids. Every now and then, you’d clip a tiny butterfly or flower pin into place, giggling to yourself at how utterly adorable he looked.

He loved this. The feeling of your hands in his hair, your presence surrounding him. But there was one small problem.

He couldn't sit still.

His hands roamed absentmindedly, his fingers lightly tracing over the soft skin of your thighs. The warmth of your legs bracketing him was too tempting to ignore. Without thinking, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her knee, then another, higher this time.

You huffed, tightening your grip on his hair just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to warn him. "Caleb. Stop moving."

He grinned. "But you're so soft" he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing along the inside of your thigh now. "How am I supposed to resist?"

You rolled your eyes, though he couldn’t see it. "You're not supposed to try to resist. You're supposed to sit still and let me finish your hair."

Caleb chuckled, but he didn’t stop. His hands squeezed your legs gently, thumbs stroking the inside of your thighs in slow, teasing circles. "M’sorry, baby," he muttered, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. "You're just really distracting."

"I’m distracting?" You scoffed. "You’re the one squirming like a hyperactive puppy while I’m trying to make you pretty."

"Hm..pretty, huh?" He smirked, tilting his head back against your stomach, his striking purple eyes gazing up at you. "Does that mean you're finally admitting you like playing with my hair?"

You flicked his forehead, making him laugh. "I've always liked playing with your hair. I just don't like when you make it impossible to finish."

"Okay, okay." Caleb raised his hands in surrender. "I'll behave."

"Good." You started braiding again, your fingers moving deftly through his locks. For about ten seconds, he actually sat still. Then his lips ghosted over your thigh once more, this time leaving a soft bite.

"Caleb!" He burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking with amusement. "I tried to behave, I really did," he said between chuckles. But then he finally stopped moving around and let you finish your masterpiece. “Wanna grab something to eat later?”

“But it took me so long to make these braids.” you pout slightly, already sad at the idea of having to remove all the cute clips from his hair.

“Who said I’m gonna take them out? Everyone needs to see what an amazing job you did!”

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

LADS men and their green flags

Rafayel

Reassurance

He never lets you wonder if he still loves you, if he still finds you attractive. You don’t even have the chance to finish the horrible thought before he’s complimenting you, telling you how much he adores you. He’s not afraid to bare his heart to you, in fact, he does it quite often with sweet nothings and tiny notes left in your purse. Though he may never be able to express the depth of his love for you, he’s sure as hell going to try.

Xavier

Communication

While he may seem reserved, Xavier has no problem talking through an issue with you. He doesn’t fight - he refuses to. He’s calm, collected. He never wants you to feel unheard, so he listens, even when you feel like you’re talking in circles. You’re not going to bed upset on his watch. He’ll sit with you for as long as you need. He wants you to feel at ease with him, always, even when your thoughts are going a million miles an hour.

Zayne

Support

He doesn’t offer guidance in the way a parent would, but rather, in a way that ensures you’re always feeling your best. Too tired to cook dinner? He’s got it. Don’t feel like washing your hair? Sit down, he’ll handle it. He encourages you to take breaks when you feel like the weight of the world is crushing you. When you feel like your to-do list is simply too long, he shortens it, taking care of as many things as he can so that you can relax. He’d rather die than let you be stressed.

Sylus

Protection

One thing’s for sure, you’ll never feel unsafe around him - physically or emotionally. The strange man that’s been following you? Taken care of. The guy sending lewd texts to your DMs? Vanished. And while your physical safety is of the utmost important to him, your emotional wellbeing doesn’t go uncared for. Pour out your soul to him, he’s listening. And when you can’t, lean on him, cry on his shoulder. He won’t move.

Caleb

Attentive

If you think you can hide anything from him, you’re sorely mistaken. He notices every micro expression, every slight change in your tone, the way your hands fidget when you’re anxious. He knows exactly what to do to bring your smile back. He picks up on the tiny hints you give him when you want something, and he’s eager to provide it. You’ll never lack anything as long as he’s around, he’ll make sure of it.

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

I wonder if even after Odysseus returns, Telemachus still wakes up in a cold sweat some nights and goes to pace in front of his mother’s door. There’s light and loud talking and laughing and Telemachus grips his sword tightly, tense as he knows he can’t let anyone near.

The door opens and Telemachus jolts, turning to see a man standing in the doorway behind him. He lunges forward, but the man grabs his wrist and shoulder, disarming him and bringing him to the ground. He closes his eyes, bracing himself and feeling a burn in his throat. He failed. He can’t protect her. He-

Suddenly there are gentle hands on his face. A soothing voice replacing the cacophony that the prince realizes had never existed. He looks into his father’s eyes with shame, blinking back tears as the king gently takes him into his arms. Odysseus promises his son that he’s safe, brings him back to rest beside him and Penelope, and lets him have just a few hours of peace before it happens again.

Just thoughts.

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