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Check out the rest of my Horny thoughts list here.
The mattress let out a tired, metallic groan as he settled in, the kind of sound that made you realize just how heavy he actually is when he isn't pretending to be effortless. Xavier was sprawled out on his back, head propped up by a single white pillow. His shirt was still untucked, the top buttons undone to reveal the pale line of his collarbones.
You were sitting on the edge of the bed, a small plastic tub of your nighttime lip mask sitting between your thighs. The room was mostly swallowed by shadows, save for the warm, amber hum of the bedside lamp that turned everything a bit soft and hazy.
You dipped a finger into the thick, pink salve, catching your reflection in the vanity mirror across the room to smear it over your bottom lip. And there he was, you could feel his eyes on you. He was watching through heavy, half lidded eyes, arms tucked behind his head, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that was a little hypnotic.
"You're going to pass out before you even get to the toothbrush, you know," you teased, tilting your head to catch the light better.
"Mmm... I'm awake" He didn't even twitch. "What does that one smell like?"
“Strawberries and honey,” you murmured, wiping the leftover pink residue onto the back of your hand. You glanced back at him, noticing the way the light caught the dry, slightly bitten skin of his mouth. “Your lips are all chapped from being out on the roof earlier. You want me to put some on you?”
His arms dropped from behind his head, hands settling flat against the mattress. You watched his fingers dig into the fabric, a subtle tension coiling in his shoulders. Then, he tilted his chin his eyes locking onto yours, making the sleepy, lazy atmosphere in the room vanish in a heartbeat.
"Come here"
"Xavier, I just did my face," you protested, though your heart gave a traitorous little skip. "I'm going to get cream all over your shirt."
“I don't care about the shirt.” The softness of his voice was a total lie, it didn't match the weight of the way he was looking at you. He shifted, lifting his hips just enough to slide higher up the bed, splaying his legs wide to create a very deliberate, very empty space between his thighs.
The small click of the lid capping the tub sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. You crawled onto the mattress, the sheets bunching and sliding under your knees as you made your way toward him. When you reached his hips, you hesitated for a heartbeat before you straddled his lap.
As soon as you were there his hands were on you. His palms slid under the hem of your sleep shirt, settling firmly against the bare skin of your waist.
He looked up at you, his eyes tracing the faint sheen of the moisturizer on your cheekbones before dropping, slow and hungry, to the thick gloss coating your lips.
“You want to share?”
“Yeah, let me just get a cotton swab...” you started, but the words felt a little breathless even to your own ears.
"No.”
The word was final. His hands moved to the backs of your thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to take the brunt of your weight. Then, he slid his head off the pillow, his jawline looking sharp and tense as he stared straight up at you.
“Sit on my face.”
The bluntness of it was like a physical weight, just hanging there in the air, sucking the oxygen right out of the room. He looked perfectly serious, almost calm, but the way his fingers were bruising the skin of your thighs told a completely different story.
“Xavie...” you started, your voice trailing off into something small and uncertain.
“You said my lips were chapped,” a flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth “So fix it. Put it right here.” He tapped his bottom lip with his thumb, a silent gesture, before letting his hand drop back to your thigh. “Sit down.”
The contrast between his usual, soft spoken self and the weight of that demand made your chest tighten. You reached down, hands finding his shoulders to steady yourself, the fabric of his shirt bunching under your fingers as you braced.
Slowly, you lifted your hips, moving forward until you were hovering directly over his mouth. The movement caused your shirt to slide up, leaving nothing but the thin lace of your underwear between your skin and his face.
Xavier didn't wait for you to get comfortable. The second your weight settled an impatient tug of his fingers pulled the fabric aside, leaving you completely bare and hovering just inches from his lips.
The cool air of the room hit your skin for a split second, but it was gone almost instantly, replaced by the concentrated heat of his mouth pressing directly into you.
He didn't start with his tongue. He simply pressed his mouth flat against your center, inhaling deeply, his nose parting your lips as he took you in. The friction of his cheekbones rubbing against the skin of your inner thighs, combined with the slight, rough prickle of his evening stubble, sent a sharp jolt straight to your core.
"Xavier, the lamp..." you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just enough to make him react.
He resisted the tug, the muscles in his neck straining under your grip. He let out a short, rough breath that made your thighs twitch involuntarily. "Leave it," he muttered against your skin "I want to see how wet you get."
Then, he opened his mouth.
His tongue was broad, wet, and incredibly hot. He took one long stroke, starting from the very bottom of your entrance and sweeping all the way up to the hood of your clit. The contact made your back arch violently, your head dropping back as you stared up at the blurry ceiling.
"Don't move," he grunted. His voice sounded distorted and muffled against your wet skin. He used his forearm to pin your lower back, effectively locking you in place so you couldn't escape the sensation while his mouth went back to work.
Every sweep of his tongue was firm, flattening against your clit, smoothing the moisture he was drawing out of you across his lips. The wet sound of him sliding over you filled the quiet bedroom, the only thing breaking the silence besides the heavy drafts of air he was taking in through his nose.
"Xavie... please...” The word didn't even come out right, it just sort of broke in your throat as he swirled his tongue in a tight circle around your clit. When his teeth grazed the edge just a fraction of a second too much your muscles clamped shut around him in an involuntary reflex.
He let out a muffled chuckle, making your whole body shudder, and pulled his head back just an inch, the sight of him made you lose your breath. His lips were soaked, glistening under the glow of the lamp, smeared with you from his chin all the way up to the tip of his nose. His eyes were wide and bright, looking completely focused on you.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” the profanity made your stomach do a slow drop. He didn't look like a gentle man, he looked hungry. “Look at how much you’re leaking on my face.”
Your hands were trembling. His hair was a complete mess from your fingers.
"Is this how you like it?" he asked, his thumb sliding up to press into your opening, testing the slickness before pushing his finger inside you.
You gasped, head falling back again. "Yes—yes, Xavie, please—"
“Tell me,” he began to move his finger in a slow, torturous hooking motion inside you, while the very tip of his tongue played with your clit. He was being cruel, in the best possible way. “Tell me to eat you out until you come all over my mouth.”
“Do it,” you sobbed, your fingers digging into his shoulders so hard your knuckles turned white. “Eat it. Please, baby, just do it.”
“Good girl.”
He buried his face back into you. That slow, teasing rhythm? Gone. His tongue was fast and sharp, flicking directly over your clit with punishing precision while his finger drove deep inside you, perfectly mirroring the pace. He used his free hand to squeeze your ass, his grip firm enough to bruise.
Every time the pressure became too much and you tried to lift your hips to find relief he dragged you back down, forcing you to take every single ounce of it.
“Xavie...I’m I’m going to...”
“On my tongue, bunny” he ordered, the words vibrating against your skin. He pushed a second finger inside you, stretching you open “Give it to me. Let me taste all of it.”
The tension snapped. Your walls clamped down hard around his fingers, and your hips shuddered as you came. You screamed into the quiet of the room, your body shaking from head to toe.
Xavier didn't stop. He sucked your clit into his mouth, applying a firm, steady pressure as his fingers pumped inside you through the contractions, maximizing the spasm, riding out every single throb of your climax until you were completely spent.
He didn't move his face away immediately, he rested his forehead against your damp thigh. His entire lower face was wet, the hair around his temples sticking to his skin.
His thumb caught the edge of his lower lip, wiping away a smear of wetness and licking it off his skin with a slow, dark stare.
"My lips feel fine now," he said, his voice quiet, regular, the familiar soft rasp returning as if he hadn't just completely wrecked you. "But we might need to do it again in the morning. Just to be sure."
Check out the rest of my Horny thoughts list here.
The mattress let out a tired, metallic groan as he settled in, the kind of sound that made you realize just how heavy he actually is when he isn't pretending to be effortless. Xavier was sprawled out on his back, head propped up by a single white pillow. His shirt was still untucked, the top buttons undone to reveal the pale line of his collarbones.
You were sitting on the edge of the bed, a small plastic tub of your nighttime lip mask sitting between your thighs. The room was mostly swallowed by shadows, save for the warm, amber hum of the bedside lamp that turned everything a bit soft and hazy.
You dipped a finger into the thick, pink salve, catching your reflection in the vanity mirror across the room to smear it over your bottom lip. And there he was, you could feel his eyes on you. He was watching through heavy, half lidded eyes, arms tucked behind his head, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that was a little hypnotic.
"You're going to pass out before you even get to the toothbrush, you know," you teased, tilting your head to catch the light better.
"Mmm... I'm awake" He didn't even twitch. "What does that one smell like?"
“Strawberries and honey,” you murmured, wiping the leftover pink residue onto the back of your hand. You glanced back at him, noticing the way the light caught the dry, slightly bitten skin of his mouth. “Your lips are all chapped from being out on the roof earlier. You want me to put some on you?”
His arms dropped from behind his head, hands settling flat against the mattress. You watched his fingers dig into the fabric, a subtle tension coiling in his shoulders. Then, he tilted his chin his eyes locking onto yours, making the sleepy, lazy atmosphere in the room vanish in a heartbeat.
"Come here"
"Xavier, I just did my face," you protested, though your heart gave a traitorous little skip. "I'm going to get cream all over your shirt."
“I don't care about the shirt.” The softness of his voice was a total lie, it didn't match the weight of the way he was looking at you. He shifted, lifting his hips just enough to slide higher up the bed, splaying his legs wide to create a very deliberate, very empty space between his thighs.
The small click of the lid capping the tub sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. You crawled onto the mattress, the sheets bunching and sliding under your knees as you made your way toward him. When you reached his hips, you hesitated for a heartbeat before you straddled his lap.
As soon as you were there his hands were on you. His palms slid under the hem of your sleep shirt, settling firmly against the bare skin of your waist.
He looked up at you, his eyes tracing the faint sheen of the moisturizer on your cheekbones before dropping, slow and hungry, to the thick gloss coating your lips.
“You want to share?”
“Yeah, let me just get a cotton swab...” you started, but the words felt a little breathless even to your own ears.
"No.”
The word was final. His hands moved to the backs of your thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to take the brunt of your weight. Then, he slid his head off the pillow, his jawline looking sharp and tense as he stared straight up at you.
“Sit on my face.”
The bluntness of it was like a physical weight, just hanging there in the air, sucking the oxygen right out of the room. He looked perfectly serious, almost calm, but the way his fingers were bruising the skin of your thighs told a completely different story.
“Xavie...” you started, your voice trailing off into something small and uncertain.
“You said my lips were chapped,” a flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth “So fix it. Put it right here.” He tapped his bottom lip with his thumb, a silent gesture, before letting his hand drop back to your thigh. “Sit down.”
The contrast between his usual, soft spoken self and the weight of that demand made your chest tighten. You reached down, hands finding his shoulders to steady yourself, the fabric of his shirt bunching under your fingers as you braced.
Slowly, you lifted your hips, moving forward until you were hovering directly over his mouth. The movement caused your shirt to slide up, leaving nothing but the thin lace of your underwear between your skin and his face.
Xavier didn't wait for you to get comfortable. The second your weight settled an impatient tug of his fingers pulled the fabric aside, leaving you completely bare and hovering just inches from his lips.
The cool air of the room hit your skin for a split second, but it was gone almost instantly, replaced by the concentrated heat of his mouth pressing directly into you.
He didn't start with his tongue. He simply pressed his mouth flat against your center, inhaling deeply, his nose parting your lips as he took you in. The friction of his cheekbones rubbing against the skin of your inner thighs, combined with the slight, rough prickle of his evening stubble, sent a sharp jolt straight to your core.
"Xavier, the lamp..." you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just enough to make him react.
He resisted the tug, the muscles in his neck straining under your grip. He let out a short, rough breath that made your thighs twitch involuntarily. "Leave it," he muttered against your skin "I want to see how wet you get."
Then, he opened his mouth.
His tongue was broad, wet, and incredibly hot. He took one long stroke, starting from the very bottom of your entrance and sweeping all the way up to the hood of your clit. The contact made your back arch violently, your head dropping back as you stared up at the blurry ceiling.
"Don't move," he grunted. His voice sounded distorted and muffled against your wet skin. He used his forearm to pin your lower back, effectively locking you in place so you couldn't escape the sensation while his mouth went back to work.
Every sweep of his tongue was firm, flattening against your clit, smoothing the moisture he was drawing out of you across his lips. The wet sound of him sliding over you filled the quiet bedroom, the only thing breaking the silence besides the heavy drafts of air he was taking in through his nose.
"Xavie... please...” The word didn't even come out right, it just sort of broke in your throat as he swirled his tongue in a tight circle around your clit. When his teeth grazed the edge just a fraction of a second too much your muscles clamped shut around him in an involuntary reflex.
He let out a muffled chuckle, making your whole body shudder, and pulled his head back just an inch, the sight of him made you lose your breath. His lips were soaked, glistening under the glow of the lamp, smeared with you from his chin all the way up to the tip of his nose. His eyes were wide and bright, looking completely focused on you.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” the profanity made your stomach do a slow drop. He didn't look like a gentle man, he looked hungry. “Look at how much you’re leaking on my face.”
Your hands were trembling. His hair was a complete mess from your fingers.
"Is this how you like it?" he asked, his thumb sliding up to press into your opening, testing the slickness before pushing his finger inside you.
You gasped, head falling back again. "Yes—yes, Xavie, please—"
“Tell me,” he began to move his finger in a slow, torturous hooking motion inside you, while the very tip of his tongue played with your clit. He was being cruel, in the best possible way. “Tell me to eat you out until you come all over my mouth.”
“Do it,” you sobbed, your fingers digging into his shoulders so hard your knuckles turned white. “Eat it. Please, baby, just do it.”
“Good girl.”
He buried his face back into you. That slow, teasing rhythm? Gone. His tongue was fast and sharp, flicking directly over your clit with punishing precision while his finger drove deep inside you, perfectly mirroring the pace. He used his free hand to squeeze your ass, his grip firm enough to bruise.
Every time the pressure became too much and you tried to lift your hips to find relief he dragged you back down, forcing you to take every single ounce of it.
“Xavie...I’m I’m going to...”
“On my tongue, bunny” he ordered, the words vibrating against your skin. He pushed a second finger inside you, stretching you open “Give it to me. Let me taste all of it.”
The tension snapped. Your walls clamped down hard around his fingers, and your hips shuddered as you came. You screamed into the quiet of the room, your body shaking from head to toe.
Xavier didn't stop. He sucked your clit into his mouth, applying a firm, steady pressure as his fingers pumped inside you through the contractions, maximizing the spasm, riding out every single throb of your climax until you were completely spent.
He didn't move his face away immediately, he rested his forehead against your damp thigh. His entire lower face was wet, the hair around his temples sticking to his skin.
His thumb caught the edge of his lower lip, wiping away a smear of wetness and licking it off his skin with a slow, dark stare.
"My lips feel fine now," he said, his voice quiet, regular, the familiar soft rasp returning as if he hadn't just completely wrecked you. "But we might need to do it again in the morning. Just to be sure."
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do they prefer ass or tits? (or is there a secret option?)
xavier!
xavier prefers tits. he loves it when he gets to bury his face in your soft, squishy tits. when he gets sleepy during movie marathon at night with you, he rests his head on your shoulder first, before that freak suddenly turned his head to your chest and breathe you in as if he couldn’t live without having his face squeezed in between your soft tits. oh he doesn’t forget to cup one, or maybe two of your tits with his big hands if he’s feeling greedy (which he always does). when cuddling, his hands would always slipped under your shirt and if you’re wearing bra, he would just unhook it so he could cup it with his hands. “what do you need a bra for? i can hold it for you. i can keep it warm too.” oh another reason he prefers your tits is probably because he loves boobjob. he could feel his precum dripping out more and more when he placed his hard cock between your soft tits. the way your soft skin rubbed his cock and the heat between them makes him want to burst right at your face. you would let him tho, wouldn’t you?
zayne!
it’s known that zayne likes your back. he would always gets and spoils you with outfits and suspiciously all of it somehow has a way to show off your back. you figured it out yourself with the way he would always has you on all fours and him taking you from behind. he gets the meanest and roughest in that position. if he didn’t have any self control, he would love to breed you in that position too. but that’s his dirty secret and let it be that way. zayne wouldn’t hesitate to say your back if you asked him which part of your body is his favourite. but if you specifically asked, ass or tits, the doctor would probably go for ass. he loves how it jiggles whenever his hip thrusts into you. when the soft skin of your ass turned red from his spankings whenever you’re being bratty, he feels like being meaner. “you love getting on my nerves, don’t you? it’s like you actually want me to punish you.” it’s okay, zayne will just spanks you while he pounds you from behind! after all, you do love getting punished by him.
rafayel!
it is hard to tell which part of your body rafayel is into. the artist loves to worship every inch of your skin and body. he gives all of them equal love and affection, never forgetting to kiss every part of you. however, you do notice he gives your tummy a little more attention than the others. you don’t understand how he would love your tummy more, you don’t really like it but oh well. whenever you are cuddling with him, he loves to give a little rub to your belly. when things get heated, he would lower his head down to your tummy to give it kisses. if he’s feeling possessive, you would find him leaving a few bite marks and hickeys. he could get off to your belly alone. you would lay there feeling exposed, looking up at him while he strokes his throbbing cock above your stomach. “how could you dislike a part of you that i really love, cutie? i’m offended.” he would make sure to paint your belly with his warm cum so that you know how he really loves it and shouldn’t dare to dislike his favourite thing. ass or tits? tummy.
sylus!
sylus makes it obvious how he loves your thighs. his eyes shine bright whenever you wear shorts, mini skirts or a slit dress (bonus if the colour of the dress is red). he is shameless about it too, practically gawking when you dressed the way he likes it for your date with him. sometimes you wouldn’t even make it to the date! bad, greedy sylus is to blame. or is it you for wearing those? his favourite view is when you pair your shorts with one of his shirts. walking around the house, completely clueless that a certain predator is watching you from the corner. be careful to not bend over with that outfit. since he’s also fond of ass, that action isn’t helping you! the moment you bend over, you would feel your feet lifted off the ground, before getting thrown on the bed. “did you do that on purpose, sweetie? what a naughty kitten.” you would see the stars with how he’s eating you out after. his tongue shoved inside your hole while his finger keeps rubbing your clit. oh if you want to make him see stars too (and cums untouched), you should squeeze him with your thighs! he would die a happy man.
caleb!
caleb wasn’t breastfed as a child. that poor boy doesn’t get enough love when he was a kid. thank god you’re here tho! caleb loves to bury his face in your chest whenever you’re cuddling together. he loves how safe being in your embrace makes him feel. when he gets his hands on you, he never wants to let go. he wants you and him to fuse together, so he doesn’t have to worry about you leaving him. and vice versa. you loves burying your face in his chest. that’s the thing you two have in common, finding comfort in inhaling each other’s warmness. but caleb has it quite different. while he loves to rest his face in your chest, he loves it more to suck on them. he has this imagination when you bare his kids, and your tits gets all swollen with milk, he would love to help the ache go away with emptying the milk. he wanna be a good and useful husband. he’s also a pervert who sneak up from behind and grope your tits. he does this all the time, while you were doing your laundry, washing your face, or getting ready. you protested but it means nothing to caleb. he wanna touch you all the time. when you got mad, he would just gave you his stupid puppy eyes. “don’t be mad at me pips, please? i just love you so much… need you…” sometimes you’re grateful when the harmless groping didn’t turned out to both of you fucking like animals because most of the time, it did.
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onychinus wasn’t really an official office, but there existed a home-base of operations.
with clean-cut interior, bulletproof glass conference rooms, desks scattered with both paperwork and technology alike under the ambient warm light surprisingly considerate of people who are sensitive to brightness, the building stands central north of the N109 zone.
this, as far as dwellers and factions know, is the home of the infamous ruler of onychinus. the dragon’s den. the keeper’s castle.
and this young, new assistant who is trying to make something of himself in the tower of bodies trying to climb upwards on the social ladder starts work today.
onychinus promises worth in exchange for loyalty. no questions asked.
he can do that.
he hasn’t even been sat an hour yet on his new desk before the phone started to ring.
briefed that all calls should be handled with promptness and professionalism, he takes it barely at the first ring. not expecting the voice that comes through.
“helloo?”
it takes him a moment to recall the script. “service?”
“can talk to papa?”
papa? he’s spent all week memorizing the names of the organizations affiliates. not one is called papa. had he missed something? so soon shall this be the end of his career?
he swallows. ponders—this can either be an enemy with technology to change their voice, or… no, how could a child know this number?
“hello? can talk to papa?”
“who is this?” he demands, harsh.
it is lost on the voice. he dictates his own learned script slowly. “my name… is… keewo.”
keewo… neither was that on the list. had he missed a page? was it the phonetic alphabet? code?
his palms begin to sweat. phone calls should never last more than a minute unless necessary. and the time ticks dangerously closer to forty seconds.
and his supervisor seems to he counting with him, because across the room, polishing a newly shipped in protocore weapon, his eyes meet ones behind a crow’s mask.
“you are not in our system.”
“what tissem?” the voice breathes, mouth too close to whatever receiver he was using. “can talk to papa pease?”
“are you a child?” forty seconds… the masked man rises from his seat.
“no. i boy.”
“how old are you?” forty-three. he’s placing the weapon down.
“i two. oh-most, twee.” the boy says happily. “can talk papa now, pease?”
forty-nine. his eye twitches. “who is papa?”
“my papa!”
fifty. shit. the supervisor is a few steps— “what’s his name?”
“uhh… uh…” fifty-three.
fifty-four.
fifty-five.
“papa name is… uh—“
“you dialed wrong.” fifty seven.
“no! i pwactice.” he harrumphs on the other end. fifty eight. “my papa name sy-woos!”
fifty-nine.
sylus.
his blood runs cold.
at sixty, like clockwork the phone is snatched from his hand. but the masked man who’d given him strict instructions that day has frozen in his own place a few paces away.
behind him stands a ghost never meant to be witnessed by mortal eyes. this shadow clad in darkness that only allow his red irises’ glow to pierce through. he lowers his head—respect, fear— he cannot say. but his heart beats like hooves in of a stampede.
“kyros.” says sylus. mister sylus— he would be instructed to call him were it not deemed unnecessary because he never comes in. “papa is working, angel.”
he barely hears the commotion on the other end. doesn’t even register the way the ominous entity of a man’s voice softens to an unbelievable timbre just above him.
“i know, i miss you too.” he says. footsteps fade along with the voice as he retreats with the wireless into the private office reserved for him alone.
he’s done for, surely. how could he have dismissed the boss’s son? how could he have known? no matter; he should have. and now—
“hey.” the masked supervisor squeezes his shoulder and he jumps like a cat.
the man— he isnt sure which twin this is but there were two of them earlier— snickers. “scared?”
he swallows.
“don’t worry about it.” he points to the dock missing its handheld, towards the light glowing orange. “forgot to mention, if it’s this color, always redirect to the main phone.”
he swallows. the boss doesn’t like to be bothered with trivial things, is what he knows. right?
but his supervisor adds. “he doesn’t like missing calls from very important people.”
he has no time to process before sylus returns and the handheld clicks in place in the dock before him.
crimson eyes examine him and he feels like his skin is peeled apart and soul exposed for a moment before sylus slowly turns away.
hi vannie i hope youre having an awesome day!! i'd like to request some headcanons or a drabble of lads men x reader (or only caleb if all five is too much!) who's chubby and never got any love letters or confessions growing up, so on one hand they dont have to fight anyone off but on the other reader doesn't believe she's pretty or desirable, and when they confess she gets upset thinking he's doing it out of pity or taking a joke too far, and just hurt/comfort <3
you're my favorite lads fluff/comfort author and i love all your works!! even if you don't write this tysm for everything you have written!!!
𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x chubby fem!reader ꒰੭
𐙚˙⋆.˚ hurt/comfort! ꒰੭
𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭
𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭
﹙♡﹚ohhh, this one was so sweet :((( i'm not going to lie, i might have projected my own insecurities here and there, and i wish we could all be happy and feel worthy of love regardless of how we look like! one can only dream ( ˶•ᴖ•) !! anyway, how are we feeling about the new headers/dividers? i had such a blast making them, i hope you like them! ♡
your life had been quite… uneventful, or at least when it came to the romance department.
no suitors, no boyfriends, no flirty dms or flattering comments on your posts.
of course, you didn't need the approval to feel worthy of something beautiful and lasting, but it still sucked watching every other girl get praised and loved while you remained unseen.
in a way, it helped you make true friends; ones you could trust would never develop feelings that made things awkward.
it also helped you recognize genuine compliments and those that came out of pity.
however, it made you doubt yourself tremendously.
if someone stared at you in public, you automatically assumed it was because they were judging you, and not because they were admiring your appearance.
if someone said you were very attractive, you thought they were part of a bet or a cruel joke.
you tried not to judge that quickly, but time and different experiences made you realize that, at least in this lifetime, you weren't meant to be worshiped and adored like the other girls.
and you were starting to accept that fact, until a certain someone decided to flip your world upside down by doing the unthinkable.
genuinely liking you.
𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭
caleb was the perfect definition of the “guy next door;” helpful, handsome, charming, and kind.
he was every girl's dream, and, you couldn't lie, you felt flustered every time he helped you carry boxes or whenever he took care of your flowers in the morning since he left earlier.
you would also catch glimpses of him shirtless whenever he worked out with his window open, or when he went on his early runs.
of course, he was way out of your league (or at least that's what your brain constantly repeated).
he was a kind guy, presumably raised right by his mama, with a huge heart and puppy-like energy; you were almost certain he was just as nice and helpful to everyone else.
however, you failed to notice his burning-red ears whenever he talked to you, or that satisfied glint in his eyes when you acknowledged his presence.
he offered you rides, he came by to offer meals or to ask for sugar, he offered to babysit your pets…
and it wasn't because he was kind and sweet.
in fact, the other neighbors thought he was a bit distant and aloof, but with you, he was total sunshine.
and you didn't notice.
it didn't even cross your mind that it could be the case, and if it was, maybe it was out of pity.
perhaps he was one of those guys who liked to “fix” people and adopt those who were lonely or outcasts, and, in all honesty, you refused to be an experiment or a charity case.
one sunny day, as you came back home from grocery shopping, caleb was suspiciously close to your door, waiting with a huge grin and sweaty, sunlit skin.
“need help with that, gorgeous?” he offered as always, to which you hesitated.
his eagerness confused you.
“it's fine, caleb. but thank you so much,” you gave him a soft smile and opened your door.
he stayed close, hair clinging to his forehead, bare muscles glistening.
he had been exercising before you came.
“hmm… whatever you say, doll,” he stepped back, though his eyes remained glued to your moving form, even when you came back to retrieve the last bags.
he decided to finally approach, standing behind you so closely that you could feel his chest warming up your back.
“may i ask a question, angel?”
you froze in place, eyes going slightly wide.
he was too close.
too close.
you turned your head around to meet his gaze, his tangerine scent mixed with a manly, yet not unpleasant, musk invading your senses.
“uh… yeah, go ahead,” you nodded softly, gripping the shopping bags.
caleb's eyes softened as he smiled warmly, tilting his head just enough to seem curious.
“why do you keep avoidin' me?”
and you inhaled sharply, taken aback by the question.
fuck, fuck, fuck.
he noticed.
“i… uh, i don't know what you're talking about,” you whispered, your voice coming out a bit shaky.
he chuckled gently, his hand reaching out to softly fix your hair before falling to his side again.
“you don't have to lie to me, doll,” he whispered. “i just wanna know why.”
you took a step back, confused and slightly embarrassed.
but he was right.
you didn't have to lie.
“caleb, i… you don't have to be nice to me, you know?” you cautiously began, your eyebrows furrowing slightly. “i'm sure you're genuinely caring and kind, but i… i feel like you're also doing it out of pity. and i don't need that.”
his chest tightened at your words.
kindness?
pity…?
he stepped back, his sunset-like eyes darkening ever so slightly.
“huh,” he nodded quietly, processing and tasting the bitterness in your words. “so you think that's what i'm doin'...”
you sighed heavily.
“caleb, please. i'm so… so grateful for your help and everything you've done for me as a neighbor, but i truly, truly don't need to feel like… you know, a charity case,” you mumbled. “i mean, if i thought you were doing it to be my friend, i would gladly accept it, but i've heard people saying that it looks as if…”
you trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
it was way too crazy of a rumor either way.
“as if what?” he approached again, leaning down until his face was right in front of yours. “as if i liked you? as if i wanted you?”
you nodded again, your eyes going a bit wide.
he looked down at your lips before looking into your eyes again.
“you don't think that might be the case, gorgeous?” he whispered softly.
you froze.
you didn't know how to answer.
“let me tell you somethin',” he began, his voice turning softer. “i've never pitied you. not once, angel. i don't think i ever could.”
you swallowed loudly, your lips parting slightly.
“if anythin', i've been sufferin' for months,” he whispered, leaning in just enough for you to feel his breath brushing against your lips. “because i've wanted you, angel. wanted you bad. wanted to take that frown away from your pretty face.”
you inhaled sharply, turning around fully to face him properly.
what the hell was he talking about?
his eyes were glowing with something… intense; something you've seen before, but never directed at you.
attraction?
lust?
…love?
“been wantin' to take care of you, to please you, to be close. to see that pretty smile, to feel that flushed skin under my fingers…” one of his hands gently cupped your cheek, all while his eyes darkened. “because i like you.”
then, his thumb brushed your bottom lip softly, as you didn't seem to reject his touch.
“does that sound like pity to you, doll?” he whispered, his voice laced with genuine warmth and a hint of hurt and disbelief, as if he couldn't believe you considered his flirting a mere act of kindness.
“i… how can you like me?” you whispered all of a sudden, your heart acting before your brain could catch up. “how can you be so sure you… you find me attractive and this isn't just to feel like a savior or something? because guys like you don't simply like girls like me, and i'm sure there are plenty of other girls that— hmph!”
your rant was rudely interrupted by a kiss; a desperate kiss that made time stop.
he grunted and groaned against your lips, his eyes closed so tightly as if he were restraining himself from kissing you harder.
he was desperate; so, so needy for a kiss…
a kiss girls like you never usually received, yet you were experiencing it right in front of your doorway.
his arms coiled around your torso, pulling you impossibly closer, all while your brain still tried to process the turn of events.
when he pulled back, he panted against your lips, licking the remains of your taste with hunger.
still, his grip was gentle, his eyes were warm and sincere.
“i'll show it to you, yeah?” caleb mumbled. “don't care how, but i'll get through to ya', angel. you'll be convinced by the end of the week that i want to make you happy, and that i wanna be the man by your side.”
with a last, lingering kiss on your cheek, he pulled back. he grabbed the remaining shopping bags and carried them into your living room before you could.
“see you tonight, gorgeous,” he called out once he returned, rubbing his palms together. “call me if you need anythin' at all.”
just like that, he crossed the street and went home, leaving you standing there, looking absolutely wrecked and stupid.
he looked serious, he sounded serious…
so he had to be serious, no?
your walls were still up and strong, but… this guy jumped over them with ease, like they weren't even there.
seven days were enough for you to determine how eager and serious he was, so… giving him a chance wouldn't be so bad, would it?~
𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭
rafayel was the kind of guy one could only date in books or romance novels.
he was unapproachable, charmingly mysterious, the kind of guy who told you everything about him if you asked him to, yet didn't reveal a single genuine fact.
not to mention he was very, very handsome, tall, and rich; which wasn't the most important thing, but it did add to his allure.
you met him in the most random way possible, when he entered your workplace and begged you to help him hide from a group of foreign photographers.
naturally, you did, and from then on, you had a new friend visiting you every single day.
a friend, nothing more.
as the months progressed, both rafayel and you became very comfortable with each other, so much so that you started frequenting his house, and he crashed at yours whenever he pleased.
things would get a little bit physical, too, but nothing that could be easily misinterpreted.
for example, raffy loved hugging you, poking your cheeks, or even resting against your shoulder, and you let it happen because he would whine otherwise.
he would also say you were very pretty and drawable; that your body type had been worshipped for centuries, and he totally understood why, but, once again, you assumed he was just saying poetic shit to make you feel less insecure, and it didn't really resonate.
you lived in a modern era, and in this modern era, you were looked at as if you were a dead bug.
one night, as you were peacefully making dinner, rafayel came in with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and a huge smile that always led to trouble.
“so, my dearest dear to ever dear…” he began, slowly walking towards you. “would you do me a teeny tiny favor?”
you sighed heavily, stirring the stew with a wooden spoon and a dejected expression.
“what is it this time, raffy?”
he clapped in delight, arms coiling around you from behind, head nuzzling yours over and over.
“i swear you won't regret it! but, uh, you might want to finish that quickly, cutie. we're going to spend a lot of time at my place tonight. pronto.”
and, without much choice, you obeyed, trying to rush with the stew to let it cool down before leaving with rafayel.
back at his house, you immediately noticed the blank canvas and the brushes, all carefully placed as he always did before starting a new piece.
the lights were dimmed, and he became a little tornado of blue and purple, moving around and lighting strategically placed candles.
what the hell was going on?
“uh, rafayel…?”
he just turned to you and smiled softly, arching an eyebrow.
“patience, patience,” he stepped back to contemplate the layout, nodding in satisfaction. “now, my muse… i need you to undress.”
your eyes went immediately wide, hands clutching your sweater.
“excuse me?”
he tilted his head and soon smiled.
“oh, it's not what you think, silly! i just want to paint you,” he offered his hands. “buuuut, since i knew you'd get shy on me, i got a gorgeous white robe. you'll look like a goddess.”
you, however, stepped back.
no, no, and no.
“i'm sorry, there's no way, rafayel. i'm not— i'm not showing off my body like that!”
his expression fell, and his lips pouted ever so slightly.
“why not? i promise i won't do anything funny! i just had this… surge, this vision the moment i laid my eyes on you, and now that i have the inspiration, i really want you to be my muse.”
muse.
you?
yeah, right.
you huffed and grabbed your bag, brows knitted together.
it had to be a sick joke; maybe he'd sell the painting with a nasty title, or post it online for everyone to mock you.
you angrily walked to the door, tears streaming down your face.
he frantically followed, his eyes wide open.
“wait, my dear!” his hand quickly found your shoulder. “oh! i'm sorry… did i make you feel uncomfortable? i know i should've asked first, but i wanted this session to feel natural!”
“session?” you mumbled. “you call this a session or a humiliation ritual? what are you intending to do, rafayel? sell that painting for everyone to laugh at my body? or do you think fucking painting me naked will make you look like a body-positive artist to be praised by the masses?”
the words came out like venomous tides, each one drowning rafayel more and more, because they weren't true at all, yet you didn't even give him time to retaliate.
you were already twisting the knob when he suddenly gasped.
“i'm in love with you!”
the words echoed loudly in the silent studio.
rafayel didn't mean to say it like that…
actually, he didn't mean to say it at all.
not yet, at least.
your fingers froze in place, yet you couldn't bring yourself to turn around and face him.
“i… i love you. i am attracted to you. everything about you is… is worth capturing,” he whispered.
after some seconds of sheer silence, he continued.
“that painting would've been mine, mine alone. something beautiful to look at when you weren't around. something… beautiful to look at when i was in need of inspiration. something beautiful to just admire and cherish.”
you remained still, simply listening to his shifting, his ragged breathing, the flickering candles behind you, your own heartbeat.
“and if you deem me capable of such… atrocities, then i guess i haven't been clear enough,” his shoes clicked against the floor the closer he approached your trembling frame. “but i truly think you're breathtaking. the most beautiful woman i've ever seen in my life.”
you finally turned around to face him, cheeks glossy, lips parted.
“don't… please, don't do that,” you whimpered.
he, however, kept walking, his palms now pressing against your waist with the utmost care.
“don't do what, my dearest? tell the truth?”
“no… no, you're lying just— just because you know i've never had someone say those things to me. and i don't need your pity, rafayel, i don't!” you pushed him away, yet he barely moved.
that's when he grabbed your wrists softly, pulling you closer.
“do i look like a saint, hmmm?” his forehead met yours, making your breathing hitch. “that i go around doing favors, opening up my heart just because? because if that was the case, my studio would be filled with thousands of portraits of all of those poor souls i chose to save.”
you stared into his eyes, trying to find any hint of deceit or foolery.
“but i don't want to paint you to prove a point. i want to paint you to relish your body, to feed my desires, to satisfy my needs,” his smile turned bigger, charmingly predatory in a way that didn't seem creepy. “i selfishly want to enjoy every crevice and curve, to drown myself in you… or in what you'll allow me to have.”
your knees went weak, legs trembling as his fingers traced your wrists.
“so… if being my muse really makes you uncomfortable, i'll understand. but i won't stop telling you how beautiful you are, and i won't stop trying to get you to believe me.”
you stared at him, dumbfounded.
was this real?
was he really confessing his feelings?
your trembling hands slowly moved up to his chest, fingers curling around his shirt.
“i— i can't trust this… i can't,” you mumbled. “i can try, but—”
he pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering there.
“that's more than enough for me,” he assured you. “in the meantime… i'll save space for all of the paintings i'll make of you, my muse. one day, hopefully, you'll see yourself with the same adoration i do.”
and those words sounded distant; impossible, even.
yet he spoke with a conviction and a determination he didn't even use at work or in other serious matters.
a tiny flicker of hope ignited inside of you, and, if he kept trying, maybe it would burn as bright as the candles surrounding your close, almost intimate forms.~
𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭
becoming sylus' acquaintance wasn't as hard as one would think, or perhaps you got incredibly lucky.
he said you were lovely after he heard some of your bad jokes in a bar, and from then on, you had a huge and mysterious friend, a mechanical crow following you, and two crackheads spamming you with texts every day.
needless to say, you knew right away he was way out of your league.
he was hot as hell, tall, incredibly smart, rich, handsome, patient, gentle—
simply perfect.
and if you couldn't even get the attention of mere mortals, getting sylus' would be, undoubtedly, impossible.
so, to keep your own mind at peace, you decided to enjoy the friendship while it lasted, never once focusing on the what ifs or surreal scenarios.
so far, it worked out perfectly, but he made it a bit challenging whenever he acted too gentlemanly or way too nice.
for example, he took you on expensive outings, cooked dinner for you, or suddenly surprised you with gorgeous bouquets.
again, to protect your peace of mind, you chose to believe he was being kind and attentive, as the old-fashioned man he was.
a man like him wouldn't possibly like someone like you, so fantasizing was basically useless and self-sabotaging at this point.
however, when you thought you were strong enough not to get any ideas, this wonder of a man decided to take you on a trip; just the two of you.
restaurants, stores, bars, luxurious suites… separate, of course, gifts; everything you could possibly ask for, he'd provide.
you wanted to know why, naturally. friendships didn't usually involve this, but he'd just say you were special, and he wanted to do something worthy of your attention.
but the days went by, and sylus got closer, and closer, until one fateful night, you went back inside your hotel room and found a gorgeous dress in your size, as well as shoes and jewelry over your bed.
what was the meaning of this?
your hands trembled slightly as you picked up a small letter from over your pillow, immediately recognizing his handwriting.
it was an invitation to the rooftop bar in two hours.
your body and mind protested; what if the dress didn't fit? what if you looked like you were trying too hard, even when he was the one who bought the outfit for you? what was he trying to achieve?
in that instant, all of the thoughts you were trying to suppress finally broke through the barrier, bringing with them ugly, catastrophic ideas.
what if this was a bet?
what if this was his plan all along?
what if he decided to mock you for ever believing you were worthy of this level of attention, especially coming from a man like him?
your chest felt heavy, your eyes blurry.
you couldn't go.
you wouldn't go.
you locked yourself inside the bathroom and closed your eyes, wishing the hours could go by quicker, faster. that he wouldn't knock on your door, that he wouldn't text you, asking where you were.
on one hand, you had no reason to believe he would mock you. he had been very generous this entire time, and he never expected anything in return.
but, on the other hand, your brain couldn't process the fact that a man like him would take you out on a date, because this whole ordeal surely had to be one.
the sky outside grew darker, your hands were shaking, and your phone rang outside the bathroom.
once, twice.
then, silence.
five minutes later, someone knocked on the door.
“no, no, go away,” you mumbled repeatedly, hoping he would leave or think you'd fallen asleep.
but that wasn't the case, and when you heard his voice, you just couldn't ignore him anymore.
you stood up and took a deep breath before approaching the door, opening it with caution.
sylus was right there, looking absolutely dashing in his black suit and slicked-back hair. his crimson eyes softened almost immediately upon seeing you, a warm palm finding your cheek.
“sweetheart, what happened?” he quietly asked, concerned. “are you alright?”
“i— i'm fine,” you lied, looking down at your feet. “i just… didn't feel like going, i'm sorry.”
“no, something's bothering you,” he insisted, gently tilting your chin up. “talk to me.”
his patience was unbearable; how could someone like him care so much for someone like you?
before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out of your mouth, shaky and weak.
“why are you doing this, sylus?”
he blinked, confused.
his eyebrows furrowed slightly.
“doing what, sweetie?”
“this! everything! whatever this… this is!” you gestured around wildly, stepping away from him. “the… the clothes, the shopping, the gifts!”
he studied your expression, his own softening immediately.
he understood where you were coming from, he could taste your pain and uncertainty from afar.
“because i want to,” he simply said, his voice calm and low.
“but why? what do you get out of this?” you rubbed your temples, genuinely distressed and confused.
he stepped closer, almost as if approaching a wounded animal, and leaned down so he could reach your level.
“you, hopefully.”
the entire world fell silent.
your eyes went wide, your head cocked to the side, your lips forming a perfect “o”.
“sy… you're not— this isn't funny…” you mumbled, shaking your head. “are you doing this because you feel sorry for me? are you? that must be it. that has to be it!”
yet his hands found your waist as he pulled you closer, making you gasp.
“i like you. i thought i had shown my interest the first day we met,” he softly said.
and if he recalled correctly, not only did he say you were lovely, but his voice was more like a purr than a casual compliment.
and, on top of that, sylus isn't one to praise strangers.
…and he paid for your bill, too.
your cheeks felt immediately hot, and you looked away.
“i— i didn't know! i don't like to assume, because… because—” your words died down as he gently held your cheeks.
“because you don't see yourself the way i see you,” he whispered.
your chest felt tighter than before, your hands holding onto his wrists.
“but… but look at you,” you protested, weakly pointing at him, then at yourself. “and look at me.”
“oh, i've been looking at you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his eyes going up and down your entire body. “trust me.”
your breath hitched, your stomach twisting in knots.
“but—”
“unless you don't want this, i'm not letting you go,” he whispered, his gaze falling to your lips.
“sylus, i…”
“are you rejecting me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “it's okay if you wish to, but i need a proper answer.”
you hesitated.
you wanted him, but your insecurities were louder than your desires.
he noticed, of course, so he tilted your chin up.
“may i kiss you?” he asked, softly brushing your bottom lip with his thumb.
your heart was beating so hard, you thought you would pass out.
against all odds, your answer came out weak and shy.
“...yes.”
and before you could blink, his lips were on yours, hands pulling you closer.
your hands shyly traveled to his chest, wrinkling his perfectly ironed suit.
his tongue brushed against your lips, gently asking for permission, and you couldn't help but grant him access.
his hands moved down to your waist, squeezing softly as he pulled away.
“still unsure?” he asked, his lips brushing yours. “you can reject me.”
you shook your head, averting your gaze.
“good,” he whispered, pulling away completely. “now, go change into the dress i bought you. i've waited long enough to take you out on a proper date.”
“...okay,” you whispered, nodding shyly.
he grinned, pressing another kiss to your forehead before leaving.
“i'll be waiting for you outside, sweetheart.”
and he left, leaving you alone with your racing mind.
you had nothing to lose… or well, maybe some hours of your time if the date sucked, but other than that, you deserved to give yourself a chance, and today was the day to do so.~
𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭
xavier was an enigma.
you've seen him around a lot, and while he's charming in his own way, he didn't really… talk.
he was unreadable, really, and you thought that could be because he didn't know you back then, but now that you —somehow— became friends, nothing changed at all.
he was often considerate, yes, attentive, unintentionally funny, and surprisingly cuddly, especially after long days.
your days next to him could either be quiet and slow, or unpredictable and fun, and it slowly became a precious friendship you didn't expect, but treasured deeply.
now, the problem came when he started giving you… mixed signals.
he would blush if you caught him staring, he would nuzzle against your body unprompted, almost like a shy and unsure cat around his favorite human, and he would also become protective of you whenever you two went out.
your most vulnerable side told yourself it was just a kind gesture; something friends did.
but there was this tiny, hopeful voice bugging you; one you hadn't heard since you were very, very young, when having crushes and fantasizing was very normal.
what if he felt something for you?
…but how possible was that?
yeah, he was a bit hard to get to know, and he had just a few friends, but he was still undeniably attractive and very kind to strangers.
people looked at him, women looked at him, guys looked at him; he was simply charming and had eyes that could make someone sell their soul without hesitation.
and that, to you, meant that he was absolutely out of your reach, even when his actions confused you.
as the months progressed, he didn't get any better. he slept on your bed because, according to him, it made him rest better, and, recently, he'd started taking your hand while walking outside.
things felt more intimate, no matter how hard you tried not to think that way and make assumptions that could, potentially, ruin everything.
but he'd give guys nasty looks if they stared at you, and he'd pull you closer to his side, fingers intertwined with yours.
your heart was melting, but your brain was on fire.
what the hell was he doing, and why?
was he protecting you from the judgmental looks of others?
was it because he cared a lot, or out of pity?
you were going insane.
one night, you both came to your place to watch a movie and share some snacks. there was some tension in the air, since xavier had scared the shit out of a man who had been staring at you.
you didn't know how to react, quite frankly, especially not since xavier's hands had held your waist on the way home, refusing to let go of you.
when you sat down, he was looking down at his hands, while you awkwardly turned the tv on.
“so, about that,” you began, clearing your throat. “i… appreciate the gesture, xav. it was very nice of you to protect me.”
he perked up, those pretty eyes meeting yours through his eyelashes.
“but, uh…” you mumbled, your breath catching. “it's fine. i mean, it's not fine, but i've been dealing with judgmental looks all of my life. confronting them won't change their mindsets.”
xavier grunted in acknowledgment, before averting his eyes again.
“he wasn't judging you,” he whispered. “he was eating you up with his gaze.”
you sighed and smiled softly, shaking your head.
“i highly doubt that, xavi.”
he suddenly looked up again, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.
after a brief pause, he finally spoke.
“you don't know how gorgeous you are, do you?”
…
your heart briefly stopped before beating faster than ever. you parted your lips to speak, but only a humorless, awkward chuckle escaped your mouth.
“what… what are you saying, xavier? that's not true.”
he moved closer to you, until his scent wrapped around you like a thick, impossible-to-ignore blanket.
“have i ever lied to you?”
“xavier—”
“have i?” he insisted, leaning in so that you couldn't possibly avert your gaze.
you swallowed thickly, clenching your hands.
“xavier, please. stop,” you mumbled. “if this is your attempt to make me feel better, it isn't working. knowing that men stare at me with… god knows what intentions doesn't make me feel desired or better about myself.”
he leaned back, his head tilting to the right. his eyes darkened just enough for you to notice.
“is that what you think i'm trying to do? making up the way men look at you, and protecting you out of pity?”
you wrapped your arms around your torso and nodded your head, making yourself smaller.
a flash of blond hair rushed towards you, and before you knew it, you were pinned down on the sofa, his body weight on top of yours.
some of his soft strands fell over your forehead, and his nose brushed against yours.
“you don't understand,” he whispered, palms pressed beside your head.
you managed a small gasp, your body freezing under him.
“w-what don't i understand?” you whispered shakily.
he looked down at your lips, then your body, and then up at you again.
“i won't let anyone else take you away from me,” he closed his eyes when he nuzzled your neck, taking in your scent. “i don't want anyone else looking at you the way i do.”
“xavier, no one is—!”
“they are, because you're gorgeous, and easy to love,” he quickly interjected, pulling back to look into your eyes.
your lips parted again, but no words came out.
you were speechless.
he was… jealous?
like, genuinely jealous and scared of other people liking you, when that had been a very rare occurrence?
but why?
“don't make me say it,” he mumbled against your skin, once again hiding his face in the crook of your neck.
you, surprising yourself, lifted your hands to cup his cheeks, forcing him to meet your gaze.
“say what, xavier?” you mumbled, needing to know the reason, needing your brain to stop rambling and for his words to make sense.
he sighed deeply, looking away for a second, before meeting your eyes again.
“…that i'm in love with you.”
lies.
he had to be lying.
you closed your eyes and shook your head, but his lips met yours in a desperate, needy kiss, as if it had a message to convey, or a point to get across without room for doubt.
his hands held your wrists gently, pinning them above your head, while his lips moved against yours.
he was pouring his feelings into this kiss, his tongue tracing your bottom lip, begging for entrance.
and god, you wanted to give in, but your insecurities were louder, and you pulled away, breathing heavily.
“xavier,” you whimpered, your brows furrowing.
“no, please,” he whispered against your lips, eyes half-lidded. “please, i can show it to you better than words ever could… only if you allow me to.”
however, you looked around and then back at him with a troubled expression.
this had been too sudden, too surprising. you weren't even sure of your own feelings, or if this would ever work out.
xavier, upon sensing your concerns, gently backed up and kissed your cheek reverently.
“not today if you don't want to,” he quietly added. “but i'll wait for you.”
your mind was still racing with thoughts, both good and bad.
but yet again, as xavier said, he'd never once lied to you.
he was very straightforward with his words, even when his feelings weren't clear to anyone but himself.
however, he left it very clear what his intentions were, and if he was willing to wait for you to make up your mind and… finally listen to that pesky little voice of hope deep inside your heart, then you'd grant him the benefit of the doubt.
so, with a soft and almost imperceptible nod, you allowed him to show you what no one else had before, no matter how enigmatic or unsure the path ahead seemed.~
𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭
the day he confessed his feelings, you felt as if you had stepped inside a different timeline.
it was sudden; slow, gentle, seemingly genuine, but ultimately shocking.
him; the doctor.
the role model with a perfectly constructed life, with many nurses and researchers going after his not-so-little butt, and with a face that could make the angels swoon…
in love with you.
needless to say, you went out of the cafeteria in a matter of seconds, utterly convinced he was playing with you.
he had to be.
maybe he saw you as an experiment; maybe he saw the “potential”.
maybe he was doing research on how many months it would take for a doctor like him to change your appearance completely against your will, all while using psychological tactics.
…okay, maybe that was a reach.
but it was still way more possible than him just being attracted to you.
so, as one does, you ignored him for days; not even bothering to pick up his calls or answer his texts.
your brain was wise, your mind was trying to protect you based on your past experiences or rather lack thereof, and you trusted your gut a hundred percent.
on the other hand, zayne was heartbroken.
he had built up the courage to open up his heart, to reschedule some appointments to have an entire evening just for you, and he had also taken you to his favorite café in town.
however, he knew you had run away because of your insecurities and thoughts, and not really because you were appalled by him.
or well, so he hoped.
he respected your decision after trying to reach out whenever he had free time, understanding you needed to process everything and come to terms with your thoughts.
but it was hard; it was the hardest thing he had ever had to deal with in his life.
when a week went by, you tried to put some distance between the two of you.
though you didn't expect to actually run into him as you went inside your favorite cat café.
there he was, kneeling down to caress a fluffy, fat black cat who was still asleep; otherwise, his hand would've been slapped away.
you froze in place, staring at him with wide eyes.
he, perceptive as always, met your gaze, his own eyes mimicking yours.
ten seconds went by in sheer silence, and you gathered the courage to turn around and flee, only for zayne to quickly run behind you, reaching out with something you hadn't heard in his voice before.
desperation.
“please… please, wait,” he called out, the cold air hitting his face the more he stepped towards you.
both of you faced each other, chests going up and down, lips parted to let out little clouds of air.
“may i talk to you?” he quietly asked, his gaze tender yet urgent. you averted your gaze, hands hidden inside your pockets.
your silence and stillness were enough of an answer, so he proceeded, his tone becoming softer.
“i did not mean to upset you,” zayne began. “i… i am aware we have been acquaintances for less than a year, but that day i deemed it appropriate to voice my feelings.”
you remained quiet before whispering.
“why?”
his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
“come again?”
“why me? why? how or when did you realize you… you liked me?” you mumbled, pressing your nails against your palms, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to keep you from revealing your biggest insecurities.
his eyes softened, and he gently reached out to pull your hands out of your pockets and into his.
“you are everything.”
his hands were cold, but his touch was warm. his fingers squeezed yours, gently rubbing his thumb against your knuckles.
his eyes met yours, unwavering and sincere.
“you are kind, compassionate, and thoughtful. you make me laugh, you make me feel… at ease. and i find you breathtakingly beautiful.”
your breath hitched, your cheeks burning hot.
“i cannot think of a specific date, but i do remember feeling… abnormal flutters in my chest when you kissed my cheek on my birthday.”
you gasped softly.
that had been months ago.
“zayne…” you mumbled. for a moment, the icy walls around you started to melt under his warmth.
however, you came back to your senses when your mind started to replay all of the dismissals, the jokes, the judgmental comments, the disdain, all directed at you and your body.
you pulled your hands away and turned around, not yet leaving, but ready to if the situation became more vulnerable for you.
“you… you might be confusing sympathy with attraction, zayne,” you whispered. “it is your job to save people, and, subconsciously, you might be trying to… save me by being merciful.”
zayne froze, his hands trembling slightly before he clenched them into fists.
“...i do believe myself capable of discerning between desire and compassion,” he stated, his voice gentle but firm. “and i can assure you, what i feel is not pity, nor is it a way to feel better about myself.”
he stepped closer, his breath visible in the cold air between the two of you.
“i have felt unworthy of affection my entire life,” he suddenly admitted, reaching out to fix your coat with his slender fingers. “so i do understand why you would doubt my sincerity. however, i would like a chance to prove my honesty.”
“unworthy of affection…? but zayne, you're… you're you! you're perfect! have you not seen yourself?” you frowned, tilting your head.
how could he not see himself?
how could he not recognize that other people could find him absolutely easy to love?
how could—
…then it hit you.
you couldn't see yourself nor understand your worth either.
he offered a faint smile, the tips of his ears going red.
“perfect is not the word i would use, flower,” he whispered.
your heart fluttered at the pet name and how natural it sounded coming from his lips.
“but i, however, would use it to describe you. you are perfect in every way; there is not a day i spend without thinking about you, or… well,” he blinked quickly, fixing his glasses again, as if it were a nervous habit of his. “or without planning dates for when i finally clear up my schedule.”
your eyes widened, your knees feeling weak.
“dates?”
he nodded and stepped closer to you, closing the distance between you two.
“dates,” he confirmed. “if you would grant me the honor.”
could you…?
could you really accept and give him the chance he was asking for?
your lips parted to speak, but nothing came out.
zayne patiently waited, his hazel eyes never leaving yours.
you already knew how he felt about you, since he was very clear the day he confessed, and by accepting, you would be entertaining the idea of seeing how things progressed.
just when he thought you would reject him, you nodded.
zayne's breath hitched, his lips curling into the softest smile you had ever seen.
“thank you,” he whispered, gently taking your hand in his once more, pressing his lips against your knuckles, sending a shiver down your spine. “thank you, flower.”
you giggled nervously, your entire body feeling warm despite the cold weather.
“shall we go back inside?” you asked, glancing back at the cat café.
he nodded, intertwining his fingers with yours as he guided you back, his thumb gently caressing yours.
the black cat he was petting earlier was up and about, rubbing against the chairs.
zayne helped you out of your coat, his skin flushed, but his hands steady.
he was serious about proving his point, and, by now, the fog blurring your mind had dissipated.
he wasn't a man who would deliberately lie or play with your time, given he barely had time for himself.
and while you still had some doubts that wouldn't just disappear overnight, your previous… wild misconceptions about the man you called perfect without even noticing melted like ice against warm skin.~
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Thinking about Sylus who loves a particular kind of gentle skinship: pressing his nose on your skin.
Waiting in line for your sudden milk tea craving and he’s behind you nosing into your hair (he claims it makes the waiting better)
You’re preparing some food on the counter and he’s there behind you pressing his nose on your shoulders as he watches your hands move
You just wanna feed him some fries but he’s grabbing your wrist to press his nose there then playfully nip the side of your thumb instead of the fries
When he’s in a bad mood, just holding you and pressing his nose on your chest and he’s instantly cooled down
You wear an off-shoulder top and you bet he’s gonna be perching his nose there as if he’s Mephisto
Or nuzzling into the crook of your neck when he wants a cuddle
Or catching you right after a shower and he’s running his nose down your arm and giving little pecks
Maybe it’s the feel of your skin, maybe it’s your scent he wants to inhale all the time
Maybe it’s his dragon’s way of showing affection
You’re lying down on one side relaxing and he’d playfully rub his nose on your waist to tickle you and hear you laugh
And when your scent changes he knows you’re ovulating, it’s sweeter he says, with that hungry look in his eyes, because his very favorite place to bury his nose in is—
Wait am i ovulating? (ignores my empty period tracking app, opens Lads instead to consult his notes)
