Just A Dork That Loves Writing

"Where do you think you're going, kitten?"

A tug on your belt loop brings you to a stop right before the threshold of the no-hunt zone. You turn, coming face to face with sharp, scarlet eyes and a raised silver brow.

"Uh, to finish this mission?" you remind him, muting the beep of your Hunter's Watch. "That you promised I'd get done on time," you add, aiming a pointed glance at the muscular arm still restraining you.

"I did," Sylus concedes with a guiltless smirk, "And you will. But while we're on the topic of promises, what was it you promised me again?"

"Sylus, they're loaded." You don't even bother sighing anymore as you let him pull you back into the shadows and take one of your guns from its holster. "I checked before we even left the base."

"I know, I trust you, sweetie." He starts examining it anyway, taking his time with the chamber, the safety, the charge. "But you have me here, so why not use me, hm?"

He can’t. His hand freezes halfway, knuckles white around the small paper bag of apples he bought from the old orchard on the outskirts of Linkon, the same one they used to sneak into as kids, laughing until their sides hurt. The bag crinkles under his grip. He exhales once, sharp, and knocks anyway.

She opens the door like she’s been expecting someone else.

Her eyes widen just a fraction, the way they always did when he surprised her but the surprise melts fast into something guarded, careful. “Caleb.” His name sounds different in her mouth now. Softer. Sadder. Like she’s testing if it still fits.

“Hey, pipsqueak.” He forces a grin, the kind that used to make her roll her eyes and shove his shoulder. It doesn’t land the same. “Brought reinforcements.” He lifts the bag. “Thought… maybe pie? If you’re not too busy saving the world.”

She hesitates. Then steps aside. “Come in.”

The apartment hasn’t changed much. Same photos on the shelf, him in his flight suit, her at graduation, both of them grinning like the future was a promise. But there are new things too. A black leather jacket slung over the back of a chair that’s too big for her frame. A crimson scarf draped on the coat rack like spilled wine. He doesn’t comment. He just sets the apples on the counter and starts peeling one with the pocket knife he’s carried since he was sixteen.

They talk in fragments at first.

Safe things. The weather. Her latest mission. His “recovery” He doesn’t go into detail, even when he feels her concerned gaze on him. He just keeps peeling, handing her slices on the blade like he used to when they were kids and she refused to eat the skin.

She takes them. Their fingers brush. She flinches, tiny, almost invisible but he feels it like a slap.

Weeks turn into months.

He comes by every few days. Brings groceries when her fridge is empty. Fixes the leaky faucet she’s been ignoring. Sits on her couch while she works late, pretending to read flight manuals but really just watching the way her hair falls over her shoulder when she’s focused. Sometimes she lets him stay for dinner. Sometimes she lets him kiss her cheek goodbye. Once, she lets him hold her hand on the balcony while the city lights flicker below them like dying stars, and he thinks, maybe, maybe they can rebuild this from the wreckage.

He starts sleeping better.

The nightmares still come, fire, metal twisting, her voice screaming his name but they’re quieter when he knows he’ll see her tomorrow.

Then one night he shows up unannounced.

He’s got takeout from their old favorite place.

He knocks. No answer. He waits. Knocks again.

The door opens.

Not by her.

Sylus stands there, coat open, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair mussed like someone’s been running fingers through it. Crimson eyes flick over Caleb once, assessing, then soften into something almost pitying.

“She’s in the shower,” Sylus says, voice low, casual. Like this is normal. Like he belongs here. “You can wait inside if you want.”

Caleb doesn’t move.

The takeout bag suddenly weighs a thousand pounds.

Sylus doesn’t shut the door. Just leans against the frame, arms crossed, watching him with that unreadable calm. “She didn’t tell you.” It’s not a question.

Caleb’s throat closes. “How long?”

Sylus exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh. “Long enough that I stopped being surprised when she said your name in her sleep.”

The words land like a punch to the sternum. Caleb’s vision tunnels. He hears the shower shut off in the background, the soft pad of her bare feet on tile. She rounds the corner in one of Sylus’s shirts, too big, sleeves rolled, hem brushing her thighs and freezes when she sees him.

“Caleb-“ Her voice cracks.

He looks at her. The faint bruise on her collarbone that’s not from a fight. The way her lips are still swollen. The guilt in her eyes that’s been there for weeks and he was too desperate to see it.

He sets the takeout bag down on the welcome mat. Carefully. Like it might explode if he drops it.

“I thought…” His voice is rough, barely there. “I thought we were trying again.”

“We were.” She takes a step forward. Stops. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you that I-“

“That you moved on.” He finishes it for her. Because saying it himself might make it real.

She flinches. “It wasn’t like that. Not at first. You were gone, Caleb. For so long. And I-”

“You thought I was dead.” He nods once. Slow. “I get it.”

He doesn’t. Not really. But he says it anyway because the alternative is screaming until his throat bleeds, and he’s already broken enough pieces of himself.

Sylus watches them both, silent now, like he’s giving them this last moment before he claims what’s his.

Caleb looks at her one more time, memorises the way her eyes shine with tears she won’t let fall, the way her hands twist in the hem of that too big shirt like she’s trying to hold herself together.

“I’m glad you weren’t alone,” he says quietly. And he means it. Even if it guts him.

He turns. Starts walking. Doesn’t look back when she calls his name. Doesn’t stop when the door clicks shut behind him.

The hallway lights buzz overhead.

He makes it to the elevator before his knees buckle.

Slides down the wall.

Buries his face in his hands.

And for the first time since the explosion, he lets himself cry, ugly, silent sobs that shake his whole body because the worst part isn’t that she’s with someone else.

It’s that she finally found a way to stop waiting for him.

imagine drunk!caleb, whos the most pathetic, whiny drunk ever. holding onto your shirt like you’ll disappear from his sight if he doesn’t cling to you like a vice.

drunk!caleb, who’s eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, his lips stuck in a perpetual pout because you refuse to kiss him.

drunk!caleb, who looks at you as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky, cupping your face while rambling on about how gorgeous you are and how he’s the luckiest man alive.

drunk!caleb, who presses open mouthed kisses on your neck, sucking and licking the bites as if his life depends on it.

(TW ED, CW bipolar)

Usually, I don't eat a lot when it's depressive episodes because I don't have appetite, maybe, once in a few days, so when I'm "leaving" that depressive phase, my friends make me eat, but recently I understood that I am kinda scared of eating? I try to distract myself just so I won't eat more than I did in depressive phase. I would love to see how Xavie would act in this situation, sorry if its too detailed!!

Hello again!

Thank you so much for the second request! I apologize that it took so long to get done, please enjoy!

Hope you have a great day! ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You were sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at the plate Xavier had put in front of you. Fruit. Toast. Eggs. It was simple, kind of him to prepare for you, but your stomach twisted at the sight. You hadn’t eaten much in days, honestly it had been barely enough to keep you alive, and now, with the depression lifting, clarity coming back to you, the idea of eating normally felt…terrifying.

Xavier slid into the chair beside you, his hand brushing yours gently. “Starlight,” he said softly. “You don’t have to eat it all. Just…Just try a bite. That’s enough.”

You shook your head, fingers hands twisting your napkin anxiously. “I…I don’t know. I’m scared,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “What if I, what if I eat too much? What if I...”

“You won’t,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Your body needs fuel. You need it. I'm right here with you, you're not alone, we can do this together.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to focus on him but the anxiety kept creeping up on you. Slowly, you picked up the fork, your hands trembling. Xavier’s eyes never left yours, you didn't understand how he could possibly be so patient with you.

“Look at me,” he said, voice soft but firm. “One bite. That’s all. I’m not asking for more than you can handle.”

You nodded, forcing the fork to your mouth. It was a small bite, you could barely taste it. Xavier smiled gently, squeezing your hand. “That’s it,” he said. “See? You did it. That’s enough for now.”

You exhaled, relief washing over you. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours. “We’ll take it slow. One bite at a time. No rush, no pressure.”

You swallowed, the fear still there but a little less now. “Okay,” you whispered. “One bite at a time.”

Zayne would definitely take off of work while you’re in a flare-up, you’d feel bad about it, but he’d reassure you, saying that you were his most important patient.

Caleb is no doctor like Zayne, but since he’s been by your side since childhood, he knows exactly how to make you feel somewhat better. POTS? He makes you salty foods. Asthma? He makes sure he has an inhaler on him at all times. He picks up your prescriptions from the pharmacy.

Rafayel would learn everything about your specific illness and this would inspire him to paint. He knows you feel worthless and guilty because of the things you can’t do with your chronic illness. He makes you see the beauty in yourself and your body, even through the hardships that you face. He loves every part of you and will make sure you know that through his medium: art.

Xavier would absolutely love having days off of work with you, because you two would spend the entire day in bed. Whether it’s intimacy or sleeping. He doesn’t mind. He just loves spending time with you.

Sylus in Passionate Appraisal. How caring he is, how soft he is with you… He feels as though he isn’t good at taking care of sick people, but you love it when he takes care of you. He carries you in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, and pampers you until you’re feeling better.

Xavier: *sees message Gone Hunting. See you soon.* *A worried Xavier checks Find my Phone, she's at Starbucks...at 1am.* Xavier: For....A.....Cup??? Does she not enjoy sleep? Humanity has survived the Chronorift Catastrophe only to now fight over an overpriced cup. *"Don't forget to make alliances in the line." He texts her before going back to sleep*

Rafayel: You won't find any. I bought up all in Linkon and customised them. I painted one to look like a polar bear and gave another an artsybloublou hat. Now I'm selling them back for 2x the price. You call it a scam and scalping, cutie I call it a smart business investment. 😌

Caleb: Pips....I'm coming with you. I can't have you fighting another mum in yoga pants again. When I pin down everyone in line with my evol, run just run, sprint in there and grab one for me too cause we gotta match. ♡

Sylus: You're seriously risking your life for a glass teddy bear wearing a hat? *gives her a gun* I heard there's only two per store, if there's two ppl infront of you, do what you need to do. If you end up on the news, smile sweetly, Mug Shawtys and all. Text me if you need bail.

Zayne: Are you seriously going to act like a fool at Starbucks at this hour in the morning? *gets up at 3am* *goes to 24/7 grocery store, buys a bear shaped honey jar* *empties it* *makes mc's coffee in it and gives her*

also me after posting a fic *refreshes ao3 every five minutes*

~ In honor of me breaking my 18 month streak of giving up energy drinks — maybe honor isn’t the right word for returning to an add!ction but you get the point — here are some random bad habits I think the LaDs men have / had before :)

Xavier is a nail biter, I’ve said this before in an older post but i’m doubling down. He genuinely bites his fingers bloody, and in order to try and break that habit you’ve started painting his nails. Not only does the polish taste bitter, but it makes him way less inclined to bite since he doesn’t want to ruin all the hard work you did for him.

Rafayel smokes cigarettes every so often. Please don’t k!ll me for this but tell me you can’t see that man up late at night, stressed over a project with a half burnt cig hanging from his lips. He doesn’t do it every day, maybe at most once a week. He tried to hide it from you until you made a comment on the way his lips tasted when he kissed you.

Zayne had a pretty bad energy drink addiction. He’s long since quit and found a better work/life balance and ways to keep himself energized without the fizzy battery acid. It was mainly during his time in college and as a medical intern. But even now, at 27, he can’t help but walk by the hospital vending machine and linger at the pretty line of colorful, slim 12oz cans of pure coke energy.

Sylus before you entered his life again, he had a habit of not sleeping for days. The longest stretch he ever went was four days without a single ounce of sleep. Surprisingly, it was the closest he had ever felt to death. Something he didn’t think was possible, but oh man the twins nearly tied him to his bed and he slept for a whole day because of it. The habit hasn’t fully disappeared, but he’s gotten better.

Now that the new promise card came out and we all agree that Sylus is a stomach sleeper.

Id like to add, he only props himself up on a pillow like that if you aren’t there with him, other wise he’d def sleep on top of you, arms curled underneath you, head squished to your chest KEKEKEKEKE

“Sylussss you’re heavy get off..”

“You’re strong kitten, you’ll be fine” he is GLUED to you.

He’s heavy asf, weighs a fucking ton. Brick house. Makes you wonder if he eats cement. but you do get used to it, the weight of him more comforting now than anything else, his heartbeat strong against your stomach, it lulls you to sleep just how your breathing and heartbeat against his ear lulls him.

He’s practically a weighted heated blanket, amazing during the winter months but absolutely awful during summer. You often wake up with his skin sticking to yours due to the layer of sweat accumulated overnight, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away with how he sighs dreamily and nuzzles further into your chest…so you just opt to sleep with a thin sheet thrown over the two of you, AC BLASTING lol.

“Hold still, okay?” he said gently.

She giggled, clutching her little dragon plushie. “Daddy… you made horns on me!” she exclaimed, tilting her head to admire the pigtails sticking up like little dragon horns.

Sylus smiled, brushing a strand from her cheek. “Horns, huh? Just like a little dragon.”

She bounced in her seat, eyes sparkling. “Look! They’re just like my dragon’s horns!” She held the plushie up beside her head for comparison.

Sylus’s chest tightened. He remembered his own childhood, the fear he had felt whenever his horns grew, and how he had chopped them off to hide what he was. Back then, being different had been dangerous. But now he could see beauty where he once saw tragedy.

“You know,” he said softly, leaning down to hug her, “your horns are perfect. They’re brave, just like you.”

She hugged him back, giggling into his chest. “I love my horns! My horns are brave, just like Daddy!”

Sylus rested his chin on her head, warmth spreading through him. She had no idea how much her small acceptance meant. She was just a little girl with high pigtails and a dragon plushie, smiling at him like he was the whole world. In that smile he felt it clearly. She had embraced the horns and in doing so, she had embraced him.

Your social battery is 0% near the end of your family's big gathering. During times like that, you'd find it hard to even smile. In the past when you were younger, your mother would scold you because of your rbf. Now, you were just so grateful to have Sylus by your side. He was a natural charmer around your relatives—his gorgeous smile and the way he carries conversation—that people no longer focus on you.

"Let's go home, shall we?" He whispered to your ear. You could count on him on leaving too soon. You didnt have to feel bad and tried hard to find an excuse to leave. Sylus knew just what to say to your parents.

For a long time you believed you are a loner, until he came around. You used to lock yourself in your room after a draining social event. Now you were no longer alone—and somehow, your nervous system didn't try to alarm you to run away. Maybe it was his voice. Or his gentle touches. Or his understanding nature that allows you to feel safe and sound when you have no energy to speak. Sylus never forced you to speak and listen to him. You could stay silent for hours and zone out, he would be fine with that—for as long as you are comfortable in his space. He'd usually fill it with gentle classical music. You either fell asleep before you know it, or start to crave some physical contact from him after you no longer overwhelmed by many social interaction during the day.

There was one endearing habit you developed. It was the way you cling to him when you crave physical contact. You'd be too bashful to fully cling to him. Instead, you went for a minimal contact like slowly scoot closer to his side or holding his hand while quietly wishing he will be the one who make the first move. Weren't you such a kitten? It was why he calls you kitten.

You had to convince yourself he can't read your mind because he is so good at reading you. Your quiet wish always came true—whether you need his touch, or need some space. Was that your gesture? Your expression? But your sibling once told you how difficult for them to know if you are upset or happy. Maybe, after all, he could read your mind...

"Could you?"

His low chuckle rumbling against your cheek when you nestle in his arms. He traced your back up and down, making you drowsy. But you were curious. So you needed to ask it.

"Yes, I can read your mind."

You shot a flustered glare. "Really?!"

He laughed even more. You didn't realize, but you are much more expressive when you are with him. That was why he can read you easily. "I'm joking, sweetie. I can't."

"... Really?"

"Really."

"So why you always know what I want even when I didn't say it?"

"Hmm." He leaned down, tickling your face with his warm breath. "Ever thought that maybe I'm just a really good boyfriend?"

“Mr. Rafayel, please! Your exhibit is this evening, and you’ve barely slept two hours. And you need to eat something!” Thomas pleaded, holding out a plate of what looked suspiciously like a deconstructed omelet.

Rafayel, sprawled elegantly across a chaise lounge, a sketchpad balanced precariously on his chest, merely waved a dismissive hand.

“Nonsense, Thomas. I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, a new wave of inspiration is… ahem… brewing.”

He shot Thomas a look that dared him to question the veracity of his artistic genius, though the faint dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.

The truth, Thomas knew, was that Rafayel would rather face a dozen deepspace monsters than endure another art exhibit.

Just then, the door creaked open, and you walked in, looking utterly spent.

Your hunter gear was still on, slightly askew, and your usually vibrant aura was replaced by a visible cloud of annoyance. The scent of ozone clung to you, a tell-tale sign of a particularly rough mission. You tossed your comms device onto a nearby table with a thud that echoed in the quiet room.

"Breakthrough, my ass," you muttered, your voice rough with fatigue. Your eyes, usually warm, narrowed dangerously as they landed on Rafayel and the untouched breakfast. A growl rumbled in your stomach, loud enough to draw Thomas’s wide-eyed attention.

Rafayel, sensing the shift in the atmospheric pressure, sat up a little straighter. "Cutie, what a pleasant surprise! Come, sit. I was just explaining to Thomas the delicate nature of artistic creation—”

“Oh, I’m going to show you the delicate nature of a hungry hunter,” you interrupted, stalking towards him. Thomas visibly gulped, inching backwards towards the safety of the hallway. You snatched the plate from his trembling hand.

“Eat. Now.”

Rafayel’s usual defiance flickered.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to retort with some witty, self-aggrandizing quip, but then he saw the unholy glint in your eyes. The very air around you seemed to crackle with an unspoken threat.

“And after that,” you continued, pointing a stern finger at him, “you’re going to sleep. At least six hours. Then, and only then, will you even think about that exhibit. Or,” you leaned in, your voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, “I swear to the Deepspace Council, Rafayel, I will use your fine, arrogant ass as wanderer bait.”

A gasp escaped Thomas’s lips. He’d never, in all his years of managing the notoriously unmanageable Rafayel, seen him look so… chastened. Rafayel’s mouth was agape, his bluish-pink eyes wide with a mixture of shock, amusement and, dare he say it, genuine fear.

“W-wanderer bait? You wouldn’t dare!” he spluttered, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

You crossed your arms, an eyebrow arched.

“Try me. I’m tired, I’m covered in god-knows-what, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday. So unless you want to find out what a hangry hunter is truly capable of, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

Rafayel swallowed hard, his gaze flickering from your furious face to the untouched food.

A long moment of tense silence stretched between you, the only sound the frantic thumping of Thomas’s heart. Then, to Thomas’s utter astonishment, Rafayel let out a long, put-upon sigh.

“Fine,” he grumbled, though a faint blush was creeping up his neck. “But only if you join me. You look like you’re about to collapse. And,” he added, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes, “you’re coming to the exhibit with me tonight. As my date.”

You stared at him for a moment, the fury in your eyes slowly softening into a weary amusement.

“Deal,” you said, reaching down to pull him up. “Now eat.”

Rafayel eyed the plate suspiciously, picking up a fork.

“To think, the great Sea God, humbled by a mere mortal’s grumbling stomach,” he muttered, but as he took a bite, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

He glanced at you, watching as you finally started to unwind, leaning against him slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased.

He was still grumbling, but deep down, a warm, fuzzy feeling began to spread through him. It was a strange sensation, this feeling of being taken care of, of having someone fierce enough to tame even the most stubborn of gods.

Thomas, peeking in from the hallway, could only shake his head in disbelief. It seemed the sass had finally met its match. Yet, still reeling from the unprecedented display of Rafayel’s submission, he practically fled the room, leaving the door ajar in his haste.

The moment he was gone, Rafayel’s carefully constructed façade of indignation crumbled, replaced by a slow, knowing smirk. He pushed the plate of half-eaten breakfast aside, his eyes, now free of fear, locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Now that Thomas is gone,” he purred, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper that was pure velvet, “we can discuss more… efficient ways to ensure I get my rest.”

He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw, sending a jolt of heat through you. “You look just as exhausted as I feel, Miss Bodyguard. And I know a method that guarantees deep, satisfying sleep for both of us.”

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, a suggestive caress that made your breath hitch.

You rolled your eyes, a dramatic sigh escaping your lips, a perfect imitation of his earlier exasperation.

“Oh, Rafayel,” you mimicked, your voice laced with a mock weariness that barely hid the sudden quickening of your pulse.

You knew exactly what he was implying, and despite your fatigue, a fierce, undeniable longing ignited within you. The sexual tension that had been simmering between you two for what felt like an eternity was now threatening to boil over.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your chest as he pulled you closer, his other hand finding the small of your back.

“Don’t pretend you’re not intrigued, darling. After a day of battling wanderers and a morning of battling me,” he paused, his gaze dropping to your mouth, “you deserve a reward. And I, my dear, am an expert in… relaxation techniques.”

His eyes held a playful challenge, a promise of something deliciously forbidden.

You leaned into his touch, your own hand finding its way to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his purple hair.

“You’re insufferable,” you whispered, though the words were devoid of any real heat. Your body was already betraying you, molding itself against his, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. The exhaustion that had plagued you moments ago was still there, but now it was a pleasant ache, a prelude to something far more profound.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, a feather-light touch that promised more.

“But you wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?” His voice was laced with a sweet arrogance, a knowing confidence that only he possessed.

“Besides,” he added, his eyes darkening with a potent mix of desire and tenderness, “I believe you said something about using my ‘fine ass as wanderer bait.’ I’d much prefer it be used for… other purposes.”

A soft gasp escaped you as his lips finally claimed yours, a kiss that was both gentle and demanding, full of the unspoken longing that had been building between you.

It was a kiss that promised comfort, passion, and the kind of deep, soul-stirring connection that only you and Rafayel shared.

The world outside, with its demanding exhibits and dangerous wanderers, faded into oblivion.

All that mattered was the feel of his lips on yours, the scent of his skin, and the intoxicating promise of a very efficient, and very intimate, way to fall asleep.

Probably after a nice bath, or maybe with him in the showers with you.

⁞ɞ⁞ pairing ⟶ Knight!Caleb x fem!reader ⁞ɞ⁞ tags ⟶ Fluff, Caleb being wrapped around reader's finger

How is it possible that even as your sworn protector, Caleb seems to always find himself distracted by you?

You’re currently sitting on the edge of your bed, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on your figure as you go on and on about your day. Caleb is sitting right across from you, peeling an apple. Perhaps you were slightly spoiled, for you would always have him peel and cut up your fruit.

He regarded you with a soft expression, a sigh escaping his lips as he shook his head. A knowing smile was plastered on his lips—you had spotted him on his break and promptly drawn him away from his duties, all to sit while he cut up your fruit. He couldn't even say no to you, not when you'd look at him with those sparkly eyes of yours. You knew your father would give him an earful if he found out Caleb was slacking off, but well, would it be slacking off if he was right by your side?

“I have a job to do, you know?” he mused as he started cutting up the apple. You stopped mid-sentence to pout at him.

“Isn't it your job to protect me? And, aren't you protecting me by staying close?” He can see the sparkles around your head as you speak, like you just stated the obvious. Caleb hums as he waves an apple slice around.

“Why, of course—if an intruder comes in, I'll throw these apple slices at him.” He speaks while grinning. You quickly lean forward to reach out and steal the slice away from him before popping it into your mouth.

“Sounds like a waste of a perfectly good apple slice!” you exclaim, gulping it down. Caleb only sighs again—he can't win against you, the proof being his very presence here. “You can just use your sword; you shouldn't waste food, Caleb.”

He laughs at your remark, passing you another apple slice as he cuts them. “Or I can just go back to doing my job, so I won't have to throw apple slices at anyone.” He, after all, didn't enjoy the thought of unsheathing his blade in front of you. However, his words only earned a frown from you, which promptly got his hands up in the air and in defeat before you could even speak.

“I'm not done talking about my day and what I wish to do… I'll cry if you leave. Do you want to see me cry?” You put on your best about-to-cry face, as you purse your lips in a pout. Caleb almost wants to curse you for having him wrapped around your finger.

“Of course not. Don't be so mean to your Caleb—I may be the fiercest knight, but I can't handle my princess crying,” he muses softly, leaning back after passing you another speck. “Go on, my attention’s all yours, pips.”