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drunken confessions | xavier

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

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

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

Finals were finally over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly inhaled your drink through your nose.

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

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

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

You froze.

You turned.

There he was.

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

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

Your soul left your body.

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

She shrugged, entirely unbothered.

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

“No—!”

Too late.

A senior had already stood up and was walking over.

You watched, helpless, as he approached Xavier.

Your stomach folded in on itself.

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

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

Then he nodded and turned to follow the senior.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right next to you.

There went your pulse.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t even look at her.

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

She only laughed harder.

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

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

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

You stared at him. He stared back.

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

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

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

She only cackled harder.

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

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

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

You blinked.

Brain, Say words.

Mouth, “…Yes.”

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

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

Smooth. So smooth you were practically sandpaper.

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

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

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

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

Actual sentences started leaving your mouth.

You laughed. You cracked a joke.

You even made eye contact.

Progress.

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

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

Until his fourth glass.

That was when you noticed it.

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

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

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

But it was Xavier.

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

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

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

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

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

He looked down. “Ah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

All around you, the chaos was beginning to unfold.

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

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

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

Xavier, though?

Xavier was in a league of his own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because this was criminal.

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

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

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

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

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

You stared.

Your brain short-circuited.

Your friend across the table dropped her chopsticks in delight.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t laugh.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even pretend like it was a joke.

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

And then, he did it.

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

You blinked. Once. Twice.

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

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

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

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

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

Your entire body malfunctioned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You short-circuited.

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

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

Your brain actually lagged.

Which part?

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

Or the part where your face was warm?

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

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

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

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

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

Calm. Collected.

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

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

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

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

And that’s it.

That’s your cause of death.

Not the beer. Not the stress of finals.

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Good.”

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

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

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

Ever.

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

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

Externally, you manage a calm, nurturing expression.

Serene. Unbothered.

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

Internally?

You are screaming.

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

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

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

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

You want to die.

You want to frame this moment.

You want to scream some more.

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

Yeah, they definitely are.

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

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

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

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

“Good luck!” one sings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. Burn.

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

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

“W-What—Xavier—no—what?!”

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

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

He tilts his head. “It’s efficient.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You set the bottle down.

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

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

“I got you,” he mumbles.

You freeze.

Brain, Critical error.

Heart, Left the chat.

Entire body, Flushed like a broken toilet.

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

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

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

You open your mouth.

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

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

And then he looks at you.

Really looks at you.

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

Steadier.

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

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

You blink. “Meant what?”

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

The air in your dorm goes still.

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

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

You swallow.

You can’t think.

You can only feel.

And you feel everything.

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

And there it is.

Real. Sober. Out in the open.

No laughter. No slurring.

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

Your chest tightens. Your cheeks burn.

You don’t know what to say.

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

And suddenly, it hits you.

You’re not screaming internally anymore.

You’re melting.

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

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

Then he smiles.

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

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

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

And then?

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

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

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

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

Because you just heard the words I love you.

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

I WAS LOOKING 4 THIS

thinking of ex-husband!sylus

ex-husband!sylus who was sickeningly generous during divorce proceedings. he had his lawyer agree to each one of your requests without batting any eye.

ex-husband!sylus who still remembers your anniversary. he sends over expensive gifts, tokens of his affection, hoping to win you back.

ex-husband!sylus who visits every month on his obnoxiously loud bike so the entire neighborhood knows that he's back.

ex-husband!sylus who brings along his pet crow, and then gets jealous when it cozies up with you.

ex-husband!sylus who has luke and kieran spy on you when you go out on dates.

ex-husband!sylus who acts like he doesn’t know why your dates have been ruined by unforeseen misfortunes (he pays luke and kieran extra if they manage to sabotage the date).

ex-husband!sylus who sees red when you manage to bring a man home, despite all of his interferences.

ex-husband!sylus who still has a spare key and waits inside for you to get home with that pathetic date of yours.

ex-husband!sylus who pulls you into the filthiest kiss, tongue and all, in front of your poor date who watches with wide eyes.

ex-husband!sylus who knows you miss him when you go limp in his arms and respond to his kiss just as eagerly.

ex-husband!sylus who knows how desperately you try to push him away, and yet will always come back to him.

ex-husband!sylus who is so riled up that he has to take you right then and there, up against the front door.

“w-wait,” you gasp out, feeling his lips suck harsh marks against your neck as he hauls you up into his arms.

“i've waited long enough,” he hisses, bunching your dress up at your hips as he rips your pretty, lacy panties off. he can't believe you'd wear such cute panties for another man.

you scrabble at his shoulders, trying to stay stable with the way you’re held against the front door whilst your ex-husband fumbles with his belt.

sylus pushes his cock into you roughly, his head falling against your shoulder when he feels the dizzying wet heat of your cunt. he’s finally back home.

the front door shakes with every thrust he delivers to your poor pussy and you quake in his arms, his movements tearing loud moans and whines from your throat.

you find yourself kissing your ex-husband desperately, hands in his hair and legs locked around his waist.

it's messy, rough and your breath hitches when you see his shirt shift, exposing the necklace around his neck. your wedding rings hang from it.

sylus grins at you, gripping your cheeks to hold your head still.

“i love you,” he says gruffly, kissing you over and over again until you wail and kick your legs out at the force of your orgasm.

he groans, his grip on you faltering as he comes at the same time, thick cum spilling inside of you.

you feel yourself slide down the door, legs too weak to hold yourself up until sylus catches you by the waist and tugs you close to him.

it’s not hard to see the adoration in his eyes when he cleans you up and pulls you into bed.

he lands soft kisses against your cheek, presses his forehead against yours and whispers his vows from years ago.

there's tears staining your cheeks when he slides your wedding ring onto your finger again, pulling you into a tender kiss.

sylus promises himself he’ll never let you go again, no matter what. 

because he knows you’re his. 

his precious darling.

lads LIs when you're hesitant to initiate kisses

sylus understands your hesitancy to make yourself vulnerable, but he also can't stand to see you unfulfilled. the first couple times he catches you staring at his lips, he offers nothing but lazy blinks and slow smirks, challenging you to come to him first. but when you look away in uncertainty one too many times, seemingly content to watch your own desires slip away as long as it saves you from embarrassment, he saunters toward you, maintaining eye contact all the way. placing one hand on your hip and the other on your chin, he bends to capture your lips with his, making you stumble with his intensity. his grip on you only tightens when he breaks the kiss, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he tugs you toward his lips. when you lose your balance and fall into his embrace, you realize his game: he’s making you kiss him first 

zayne empathizes with your shyness and hesitancy, afraid to so much as look at you the wrong way in case he offends you. since you’re both too frozen in overthought to make the first move, you don’t become intimate as quickly as most couples, trading physical closeness for emotional understanding. when he walks you to your door after a visit to the bakery, he leaves you with a warm goodnight hug, and you both assume the other is satisfied. only when you think he’s asleep on the sofa one evening and press a fond kiss to his cheek does he realize you share his private desires. the next day, after stoically psyching himself up for 20 minutes, he finds you in the kitchen and kisses you deeply, a pink tinge on his cheeks when he pulls away

caleb wants you to kiss him first—or at least ask him to kiss you—but what if you won’t? he needs to know that you want him—that you’ll willingly give him the privilege of kissing you—so he gives you a few pushes in the right direction. he teases you with heated glances and not-so-accidental touches until you walk up to him, dumb with desire. when you stare up at him helplessly, he settles a large hand on your waist and hovers over your mouth, giving you the chance to push him away. when you don’t, he leans in slowly, tantalizingly, as if wanting to drive home the fact that you’re letting this happen to you—letting him claim your mouth in a slow, consuming kiss. this way, maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the courage to take what you want from him next time—if you let him taste you, there’s no need to be shy anymore, right?

you know rafayel, so you know he would be upset if you expected him to initiate everything—would it kill you to show a little interest in him? that said, you also know that initiating things isn’t really your thing. so, you find a trick that works like a charm: you goad him into kissing you. you’re comfortable enough with kisses to other places—anywhere but the lips—so you adorn his cheeks and neck with soft, chaste kisses until he’s riled up and flushed, his breath coming out in soft pants from the pleasure of feeling wanted. when you pull away, he chases your touch, and all it takes is an innocent giggle from you before he’s pinning you down and stealing your breath away, his tongue tangling with yours in passion and power.

xavier is confused and a bit discouraged when he realizes you never initiate—he thinks you just don’t want to kiss him. one afternoon, you find him sulking in bed, huddled under his comforter with the lights off. worried he’s sick or hurt, you ask what’s wrong, and he gives you 4 pouty non-answers before finally giving in. you can feel your face heat and gut tangle in guilt when he questions if you ever want to kiss him, and with one hand stroking his hair, you confess that you’re simply too shy to kiss him first. he responds with a blink and a whispered “so you do like me, then?”, and when you nod, he tackles you at the speed of light, pressing kisses all over your face before finally claiming your lips

a/n: anon who asked me if i’d ever write for zayne and i hinted at later this week this is not what i was talking about don’t worry, just an impromptu writing exercise to convince myself i’m not washed. also while this technically counts for xavier and raf i’m the least familiar with their cards so idk if/when i can write anything much longer than this for them (love them tho)

-> daddy caleb taking care of his exhausted baby

You didn’t hear him come in.

You were curled up on the couch, knees drawn to your chest, wrapped in a blanket that didn’t quite reach the ache beneath your skin. Your head was pounding, body trembling from exhaustion that sleep never seemed to fix. You felt frayed—like threads pulled too tight, about to snap.

Then… warmth. A hand on your ankle. Gentle pressure.

“There you are Pips,” Caleb murmurs, voice low and soothing like distant thunder on a rainy night. “Didn’t I tell you to call me when you feel like this?”

You open your mouth, but no words come. Just a little shake of your head. You don’t want to cry. You’re too tired to even cry.

He sighs, not annoyed—concerned. He kneels beside you and cups your face in one big hand, brushing his thumb across your cheek like you’re made of glass.

“You’re running yourself into the ground again, Angel. Always trying to be so strong.” You can’t help it. A little sob slips out—and he melts. Not into panic, not into pity—into purpose. In one swift motion, you’re in his arms. Picked up, held tight, carried like you weigh nothing but everything.

He sits down with you in his lap, blanket and all, wrapping you in his warmth. His chest is solid beneath your cheek. His heartbeat is steady, grounding. His hands roam—slow, reassuring, firm. One at your back, the other behind your head.

“You don’t have to hold it together with me,” he says quietly, breath brushing your temple. “You can fall apart, and I’ll still be right here. I’ll always be right here.”

You cling to him, and he lets you. Holds you tighter. Presses kisses to your hair, your forehead, your jaw. Soft, possessive, like he’s reminding you: you’re mine. You’re safe.

And then his voice—gravelly and low, close to your ear.

“Next time, you call me. You understand? I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing—if my girl’s hurting, I drop everything. Because you come first. Always.”You nod, tears finally falling. Not out of pain—but relief.

Because with Caleb… you’re not alone.

You’re loved.

And most of all, you’re held.

He feels it—the way your body starts to soften, breath slowing against his chest. That quiet surrender. That precious unraveling. And he waits. Holds you steady in it.

“There she is,” he murmurs, voice lower now, darker. “My girl, finally letting go.”

You shiver—not from the cold this time, but from him. The way he speaks it like a promise and a claim all at once.

His hand slides up your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You give and give until you break, don’t you?” He tilts your face to meet his gaze—those eyes like storm clouds right before the downpour. “But that stops here.”

He leans in close. “You’re mine. And I don’t let what’s mine burn out.”

You try to speak, but he hushes you with a kiss—just at the corner of your lips. Not quite giving it all yet. Teasing. Controlling. Patient. “No more running on empty, Princess. No more pushing past your limits while pretending you’re fine.”

His hand moves again, sliding under the blanket, splaying against your bare waist. “Next time, I feel you slipping, I won’t wait for permission. I’ll take you. I’ll pull you into my lap, pin you down if I have to, and remind you whose you are.”

Your breath catches.

And he smiles. That knowing, wicked little tilt of his lips that says: You’re mine to ruin gently. And I will. But then he kisses your forehead again, so soft it nearly breaks you.

“Not tonight, though.” His voice gentles again. “Tonight, I hold you until you fall asleep. But you remember this feeling—because tomorrow, when you’re stronger, I’m going to make sure you never forget who keeps you safe.”

And just like that, you’re wrapped in both fire and shelter.

His arms, his voice, his claim on you—

Home.

He feels the shift in you—the way your heartbeat begins to slow against his chest, your fingers loosening where they were curled into his shirt. Your body still pressed close, but no longer trembling. Just melting.

Caleb exhales softly, his breath brushing along your temple like a sigh of pride. His voice rumbles against your skin, low and tender. “That’s it. Just like that, baby. Let me take it from here.”

You hum something—a faint little sound, barely audible. Maybe a thank you. Maybe his name. You don’t even know anymore. You’re floating now, somewhere between sleep and him, the two starting to feel like the same thing.

He adjusts you in his lap just enough so he can lean back against the couch, one arm cradling your head, the other wrapped tight around your waist. And then his fingers start tracing soft patterns over your skin—up and down your spine, over your arm, along your side. Mindless, loving touches. The kind that say, “You don’t have to do anything. Just be.”

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” he whispers into your hair. “This soft. This calm. You were made to be held like this.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. One last bit of tension leaving your chest. His warmth, his voice, the strength of his arms—it’s everything you didn’t know you needed until now. And then, the final tether snaps. Sleep begins to pull you under—but this time, it’s not from exhaustion or desperation.

It’s safe. It’s soft. It’s him.

You shift once more, cheek nuzzling into the base of his throat, breath evening out. He feels it. Smiles to himself. “There she goes,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over your forehead. “My good girl. Finally resting.”

He stays there, holding you long after your breathing settles. Still tracing those same slow circles. Still whispering, even though you’ve already drifted far away. “You sleep now, Princess. And when you wake… I’ll still be here.”

LADS men finding out you SH

Part 2 - Zayne

tags: self-harm, neglect, gore, panic attack, hurt/comfort (kinda), angst, fluff and angst

!!By clicking ahead you are consenting to viewing media with disturbing topics!!

Zayne had his suspicions. Since you were younger, he would catch a glimpse of scabbing and blood on your wrists. He knew that you didn't know that he knew.

He was fifteen when he fully registered the cause behind your cuts. From that moment onward he vowed to help you in any way he could. But he couldn't help himself from being distant. A part of him wanted you to heal on your own, like he believed you could. Another part wanted to kiss your scars and hold you tight to his chest.

The years you were apart were more stressful than getting his doctorate. You lived in the back of his mind, constant worries and concerns about your well-being would flood his head once he had a moment of rest.

Becoming your PCP was a blessing in disguise. At first, he was wary. You'd become a Hunter since he'd been away, risking your life to protect Linkon City. He thought having a violent outlet would give you less reason to hurt yourself. How foolish.

Your monthly check-ups were nothing special. Zayne would run tests on your heart and you'd get on with your day. It was the yearly physical that caused you problems.

You walk in the automatic doors of Akso Hospital, smiling to Yvonne as she checks you in. Your knee bounces rapidly as you wait for your name to be called, prompting the elderly man two seats away form you to watch you with concern.

You shoot from your seat as Yvonne calls your name, taking you to the examination room. The routine checks and measurements blur as your anxiety peaks. Then it's just you in the room. You stare at the gown in your lap.

You had gotten carried away the night before, cutting deeper than you wanted. Your skin had split, giving you a view of the veins beneath your epidermis. You had panicked, using a plaster as a makeshift suture and wrapping it tightly. You knew you needed stitches, but you refused to ask for help. You hid the bandages with bracelets and ignored it.

Zayne is perceptive, he notices. You hope he doesn't this time.

Reluctantly standing, you change into the hospital gown. You shiver at the cold hospital air against your back, the scars lining your thighs becoming more visible against the gooseflesh.

Just as you sit back on the exam table, a knock raps at the door.

"It's Dr. Zayne. May I come in?"

"Yeah."

The door opens and Zayne steps through, placing his clipboard on the counter and turning to you. His eyes meet yours and you feel exposed. Behind the cold exterior you find masked concern, a slight tilt in his brows.

"Today's visit is for your yearly physical, correct?"

You nod, playing with your fingers. Zayne pulls the rolling stool over, taking a seat. He senses your anxiety, so he narrates everything he does.

Scooting away a bit, he speaks, "I need to do a skin check. The Hunter's Association is requiring it as of the new year." Zayne meets your gaze, "Are you comfortable with me conducting it? Or would you rather one of my female colleagues?"

Your heart stops. A skin check!? Why would the Association mandate a skin check? Your hands start to tremble, your breath quick and shallow. Zayne immediately catches the signs of a panic attack, and is kneeling beside you before you can even blink. He keeps his hands on his knees, his voice calm as he calls your name.

"Can you hear me?" He asks, his voice is soft and level. You blink rapidly, your vision blurry with tears. Zayne hovers his hand by yours, looking into your unfocused eyes. "May I touch you?"

You shake your head, gasping a breath. He changes his question.

"What do you need?"

You whimper, hugging your shoulders, "I don't know," you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, your lip trembling as more tears wet your face. You repeat yourself, your chest stutters.

Zayne moves closer, but is careful not to touch you. "Can you look at me? I'm not going to hurt you."

Gasping for breath, you struggle to meet his gaze. He smiles softly at you, praising you for looking at him. "Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. I've got you, you're alright."

Inhaling shakily, you copy his exaggerated breathing. He guides you through each breath. He rests his hand near yours, giving you the option of holding him if you need. Feeling your lungs expand with every inhale gives you something top focus on.

"That's it, you're doing great," he praises, "Good, keep breathing with me."

Zayne's soft smile doesn't leave his face. He keeps his eyes on yours, monitoring you as you gradually calm. You grasp his hand, squeezing it. He reciprocates, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. He glances to the bracelets on your wrist, but keeps quiet.

"There we go, you're alright." Zayne's hand squeezes yours, his soft assurance grounding you. You lean forward, dropping your head onto his shoulder. He tilts his head, gently pressing his cheek to your hair. "I've got you, you're safe."

You stay like that for a while, letting your tears dry. You lean back, taking your hand from his to wipe your face. Zayne stays close, watching you with soft concern. You smile weakly at him, taking a deep breath. He carefully places his hand on your knee, rubbing soft circles with his thumb.

"Are you alright now?" He prompts, brows slightly furrowed.

You shrug, "Not quite, but better."

Zayne nods, rising to his feet. "I want to make sure you're alright before we continue with the examination."

"I'm okay, I just..." You take a deep breath, looking at your lap, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he chides, squeezing your knee softly, "I'm here to make sure you're healthy, not to judge you. For anything."

Blinking, you look up at him. His gaze is knowing, concerned. Your voice is soft when you whisper, "...You know?"

Closing his eyes, Zayne nods, "I've known for a long time now."

Fresh tears well behind your eyes. Your hands are shaky as you rub the tears away. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wanted you to overcome this on your own..." He starts, looking away, "I believed that becoming a Hunter would give you a different outlet."

"Zayne..." you murmur.

He turns away, retrieving supplies and gloves. "Please, let me see. I stood back for long enough, I'm not letting you do this anymore."

You nod, pulling your lip between your teeth. You take off your bracelets with trembling hands, struggling with the clasp of one. A scarred hand enters your vision, carefully unhooking the clasp and unwinding the bracelet from your wrist. Zayne's eyes drop when he sees the blood seeping through the bandages.

He looks up at you, his fingers pinching the tape securing the bandage. You nod, looking away. Unwinding the bloodied bandages is tedious, carefully working it off. Your blood worked like glue, the fabric adhered to the wound.

Zayne wets a towel with warm water and holds it to the last layer of bandage, moistening the dried blood. Circling the wound with the towel, he eases the bandage from the wound, without pulling off the scab. He carefully wipes the blood away, his eyes widening slightly as he sees the extent of the cut.

"You needed stitches." He states. Your skin has already started healing, leaving a wide gap between the edges of your epidermis. Zayne shakes his head, retrieving the rubbing alcohol and dabbing a soaked cotton ball over it.

You hiss, your shoulders tensing. You grip your arm by your elbow, curling your fist to deter the sting. Zayne sighs sadly, a frown carved on his face. He repeats the process a couple times, ensuring that it's clean before he continues.

The ointment is cold, but not unbearable. Zayne makes quick work of bandaging your wrist, securing the end with medical tape. He removes his gloves, setting them with the soiled bandages and takes your hand in his. He raises your joined hands, bringing them up to his face.

"I know you're addicted, but I can't bear it anymore," Zayne presses a featherlight kiss to the inside of your wrist, just above the cut. "Seeing you hurt yourself is worse than hell itself. I'm begging you, please don't do this to yourself." His lips forge a trail, kissing over the dozens of overlapped scars on your arm.

Hazel eyes shine with tears as they meet your gaze. Shame rears its ugly head in your stomach, making you feel nauseous. Your cheeks wet, your free hand covering your mouth to muffle your sobs. You collapse into his chest, your tears wetting his lab coat.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. Your shoulders tremble with each sob. Zayne wraps his arms around your shoulders, his own tears falling silently into your hair.

a bottom-tier autistic experience is being told throughout your entire childhood that you are just an overthinker when it comes to social situations and later finding out that your friends did, in fact, hate being around you and tried to communicate that through weird little hints

Sometimes it feels like everyone around me is speaking in a secret language and I'm the only one who doesn't know it.

I think some of you forgot that autistic people sometimes act strange and say things that are poorly worded and speak with incorrect tone and misunderstand or miss social cues because they are autistic

Dragon!Sylus and his strange affectionate habits

❥ you’re his mate, but you’re also human. his habits weird you out!

⭐︎

❥ he licks you! you could be sitting on the couch, minding your own business with a book in hand and sylus would come up right next to you and just start licking your cheek. you’d retract suddenly and look him up and down with a strange look on your face.

“what? i already explained this to you kitten.”

licking is his way of showing affection toward you. it’s supposed to tell you “i’m here to protect you” in a way. he also just loves tasting your skin and becoming more familiar with you since it brings him so much comfort. he’ll even lick your hair if he’s really getting into it!

❥ he feeds you really well. hungry? no you’re not, not with him at least. he’ll feed you until you’re completely and utterly satiated from his meals. when he sees you happy and drowsy from a full stomach it brings him very deep satisfaction.

sometimes he’ll put bags of snacks or containers of food where you frequent in hopes you’ll eat them. if you don’t, he’ll take offense or think he did something wrong and now you’re protesting!

❥ he makes you wear his treasures. part of being a dragon means hoarding pretty and shiny things. dragons are very protective and territorial about their things, but sylus makes an exception for you. he insists that you wear the jewels he’s collected and will drown you in his riches.

he especially loves it when you go out into public with his treasures on because it shows off his wealth via his beautiful mate. he’ll designate certain jewels or items just for you and if you’re even a little bit dissatisfied with them, he’ll throw them out right away.

❥ he builds nests for you. sylus will innocently steal your most precious items or the items that seem to bring you the most comfort and then bring them to an empty corner. it’s here that he piles up your cosmetics, clothes, bedsheets, pillows, stuffies—anything you could think of—and then he waits.

sylus would never force you to do anything, he wants you to come to the nest on your own volition without his input. he won’t even mention it, he’ll just wait until you find the nest and watch from afar what you do. if you finally do decide to nestle in, he’ll jump for joy knowing that you like it. he’ll also never come into your nest unless you ask him to, and if you do, let’s just say he’ll take care of you really well.

❥ he purrs, and really loudly too. you’ll hear him purring when you’re cuddling, when you’re eating, when you’re bathing, during sex, when you’re doing anything, really. dragons only purr when extremely content but sylus makes a habit out of it when he’s around you. the man is just very happy.

the sound of his purrs come from a deep place within his chest, making them loud and deep. even though they may startle you sometimes, the frequency and vibrancy brings you a sense of comfort and peace, and sylus knows this. whenever you’re upset or anxious, he’ll start purring loudly in hopes of calming you down.

❥ he walks around naked. of course, sylus only does this with you, but it never fails to catch you off guard. it’s not so much a sexual thing, per se, but more of a comfort thing. he’s so comfortable with your presence that he doesn’t feel the need to keep his tight, itchy clothes on when he’s alone with you. he’ll let everything hang and jiggle if he so calls for it.

although, there are times where he’ll purposefully walk around naked to seduce you like a peacock would. he thinks flaunting off his assets will make you want to pounce on him and make love to him all night—which is unfortunately true.

❥ he watches you while you sleep. at first it was cute, but when you awoke one night to his vibrant red eyes staring you down in the dark, it started to feel a little creepy. he explains it away by saying he needs to make sure you’re okay, which doesn’t really make much sense to you since you were in his secure territory.

because sylus doesn’t need much sleep, whenever you take your beauty rest, he feels the urge to look after you and your vulnerable form. he also just enjoys watching you do something so silly and human-like sleeping. this was one of your habits that he didn’t understand. he does finally back off a little bit after your complaining, though.

❥ he has a wild tail. sylus has full control over all of his body parts at any give time, so his tail is always indicative of how he’s feeling. he has a rather calm tail when you two are around others, but when alone with you? you have to dodge it sometimes from how erratic it is. he explains that it’s the equivalent of how your leg bounces. something you don’t even think about when it happens, but can have control over once you realize it.

it’s just another way of him saying to you that he’s comfortable enough around you to let loose with his body and do more natural, unconscious mannerisms.

NSFW — caleb would loatheeee you trying to be quiet. he’s waited so long to have you this way after all the daydreams and fantasies that would distract him. the ones that would make him reread his source articles in academy because the image of your collarbones in that v neck from your hangout blurred the lines, the ones that would make him improvise in conversation with friends because he was too busy thinking about kissin up your spine to hear what they said. and after all that you want to hide away from him. uh uh.

he’d finally have you sprawled out on his huge comfy California king, pressed under the weight of his body in a nasty prone bone. his shoulders and sculpted biceps would be caging you in and his forehead would rest gently in the crook of your neck, suffocating in the smell of your sweat mixing with the perfume you always wear that drives him insane. you were completely trapped and it was delicious.

but here you were, shoving your face into the pillow and squeezing your eyes shut in hopes to find the strength to stop being so loud. your were embarrassed at how primal he could make you sound like your noises were being ripped from your chest at the feeling of him.

he’d hear the hitch of struggle in your voice once and his eyes shoot open and his brows pinch together. he lifts his head to look at you through droopy eyes. ‘w’ya doin’‘ he slurs firmly. ‘stop it.’ he wheezes and shifts to lean on his forearm and uses his other hand to grip your jaw and tilt your head up.

you let out a gasp into the thick sticky atmosphere but you still don’t seem to ease up and he whines in something close to agony at your muffled noises. ‘nooo please baby sing for me gimme ‘ur pretty voice.’

he’d get so impatient that he hooks his thumb into your mouth and pries it open, moaning at the drool that trickles down his wrist. he starts to fuck you as if he’s trying to thrust through you and you can’t help but cry out in bliss, right into his ear, as he rams right into that sweet spot that’s just for him.

it was like a mountain was just lifted off of his shoulders and the relief coursed through him like euphoria. ‘my pretty girl. nothin’ t’be scared of stop hidin fr’me. let caleb hear you, let him hear baby’ he’d coo absentmindedly. he has to try like never before not to cum in you right then.

This is how I want to b fucked

˙ ✩°˖ ☃️ soft patience / zayne x reader

synopsis; zayne's the bestest boyfriend in the world when you're going through cramps — even though some misunderstanding led some tears to shed.

🍎 pomme's notes - psst! my asks are open! taking some quick requests :D i'm in a writing mood!!!!

⋆ 500 words / fluff / reader is afab (mentions of periods!) / 2nd person / super self-indulgent :3c

i think zayne would be so very patient during your periods. of course, there's the whole doctor thing, and while he is your physician, he is first and foremost your boyfriend.

that man's got the patience of a saint. if you ever blow up on him because of the cramps and the nagging, he stays quiet and steps out, and you're just left wondering if that was his last straw (spoiler alert — never. you're as stuck with him as he is with you).

you're left stunned. how could he just walk away like that? you're just having a hard time. you didn't mean to drive him away — you care about him so deeply, but god, does your head hurt, and your stomach has been aching so so badly.

when the initial shock dissipates, and you start feeling the tears welling in your eyes, the door to your shared apartment opens again, and zayne walks in with a bag of takeout from your favorite place and chocolates.

when he catches a glimpse of your teary eyes, his eyes widen in return, and he puts down the bags to focus on you, worried if your cramps were more painful than usual.

"are you okay love?", he says softer than usual, as if to not disturb you.

"i- i thought you had-" you stammer in between deep breaths, trying hard not to start crying, "i thought you'd had enough, zayne."

he tries to speak but you interrupt him again;

"i know i'm a pain right now but i can't help it, i'm — i didn't mean to be rude to you" a sob softly escapes you, "i know you care about me, but everything is just too much all at once now but please, don't leave me zayne, i'm so sorry."

his hands cup your face delicately slightly shifting your head up to see your face. his thumbs wipe away the tears now freefalling from your eyes, and he gives you an understanding smile.

"why would i leave you?", he hums a bit before speaking again, "i thought i'd let you breathe a bit and get some food for you. i know i was being overbearing, and forgive me for it, my love."

shaking your head, you profusely apologize in return and he laughs a bit.

"we look silly apologizing to each other this hard, don't we?" and that finally brings a smile to your face, managing to pull a breathy laugh out of you.

and in hindsight, maybe thinking that zayne;

the man who hides you away from jumpscares in the horror movies you insist on watching,

the man who texts you daily, checking if you ate,

the man who drops by your house just to give you a hug when you've had a hard day,

the man who would do anything to see you smile,

would leave you after an emotional outburst in one of your most vulnerable moments was a bit dramatic.

yeah. zayne would love you through it all. he's got the patience of a saint, doesn't he?

Come on, breathe with me.

Sylus x MC/You

Scenario; Sylus helps you calm down a panic attack, fluff, comfort

Word count: 740 words

Warning: description of panic attack, use of pet names (sweetie, kitten)

You couldn't breathe.

Panic gripped at your chest so tight, it squeezed out the air inside your lungs.

In your mind, you kept telling yourself it was okay over and over again, like a mantra.

You kept trying to remind yourself of your own grounding techniques, the ones that would work every time you were alone.

But you weren't by yourself this time. You craved Sylus' touch, craved his voice like you had never craved it before. All you wanted was to see him, have him tell you it was okay.

You were shaking heavily as your legs carried you towards his office where you found the door slightly open, the gentle melody of a vinyl record drifting out of the room.

Usually, you'd rap your knuckles against the door before you entered but there was just this tightness in your chest, an inexplicable urgency.

When you burst into the room, Sylus' eyes lifted from the stack of documents he was holding to meet yours.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he questioned, instantly standing up.

The stack of documents he was analysing was instantly discarded onto his desk and in a few quick strides he was standing right in front of you, catching your hand which reached out for him within his gentle fingers.

As you told him what had triggered you to the best of your abilities, tears started flowing down your cheeks heavily, blurring your vision and making it hard for you to focus on the crimson eyes which gazed back at you attentively.

He listened to you closely, low encouraging hums rumbling from his chest, a big hand cradling your chin, the pad of his thumb wiping away the heavy tears as they kept falling from your eye.

"Oh, kitten," he cooed and even through the tears you could see his eyes soften.

Their usual cold crimson was warm, a vermillion ocean, so deep and tender.

You squeezed his hand and he let you, without a flinch, his thumb tracing over your knuckles back and forth at a slow, mindful pace.

"It's okay. You're okay," he reassured you in a low tone.

You sobbed and choked all at the same time, the emotions flooding you far too great.

"I c-can't breathe," you told him miserably, gripping onto him like a lifeline.

"Yes, you can. Come on, kitten, breathe with me."

The steadiness in his deep voice was soothing and you felt it in your racing heart.

"Come on, breathe in," and he did it with you, taking in a deep breath at the same time you attempted to.

When you shook your head, assaulted by another wave of sobs, he kept catching your tears, squeezing your hand in his.

"Shhh, it's okay. You're safe," he told you, gentle and firm. "There's no rush, take your time."

You wanted to close your eyes and focus on the slow stroking of his thumb over your knuckles but you were terrified he'd slip through your fingers if you did.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured you, as if he could read your thoughts.

Sometimes you were thankful for his ability to predict just what was going through your head, through your heart.

"Come on, breathe with me."

Sylus wasn't demanding but his tone was firm, always steady, like an anchor.

"Deep breath in, can you do that with me?"

And you did, shakily so, along with him.

"That’s it, good. Now out, slowly."

And you let out the air trapped inside your lungs, feeling his warm breath against your wet cheeks as he breathed out along with you.

"Come on, you can do it again. Deep breath in."

And he kept coaxing mindful breaths out of you, his hands never leaving you, eyes locked onto yours the whole time.

When you were finally able to breathe on your own, he reached back for the box tissues on his desk, plucking a few out. Always keeping a point of contact, with his hand still within yours.

"My sweet little kitten," he cooed, turning towards you again.

With a gentle touch, he helped you clean the remains of tears and snot off your face.

"How about we go get you some snacks and huddle up on the couch? We can watch that movie you mentioned?" he offered, thin lips curved by a small, gentle smile.

"What about your work?" you questioned, already being led out of his office.

"It can wait." He shrugged.

Love the idea of Aphrodite not having an actual physical body but rather took the form of the most beautiful person in the mind of whoever is witnessing her presence.

And realize that this concept combined with book 5 of the iliad can make a great DioOdy/OdyDio crumbs👀

Sylus, who doesn't just call you kitten from the start, but also treats you like one. He can't help it. Not when you remind him exactly of a fierce, scraggly stray kitten, hissing and arching its back at him whenever he comes close.

After coming to understand how uncomfortable you felt around him, he decided to adopt a different approach to getting close with you. A less forceful approach- a plan you didn't realise was implemented even when you were finally pliant and comfortable around him like a relaxed fat cat.

He had to coax you, silently and gently encourage you to put away your claws and start trusting him.

When you were at the base and basically sticking to the opposite side of the room as him as if you were glued there, sometimes he'd pretend to be deeply curious about something in front of him, such as a book or artefact, and pretend to pour over it as he clicked his tongue softly.

As expected, and just like a cat, the sound would catch your attention, and when you realised he wasn't making the sound to gain your attention but just casually clicking his tongue because he was interested in something else, you would slowly approach with a little furrow in your brow. He tried not to laugh as you took slow steps around the edge of the room to come closer, you yourself pretending to be interested in other books and things to seem as if you just casually ended up near him, meanwhile you had been eyeing him from the corner of your eye the whole time, little interest in anything else.

Treats. You hadn't though deeply about why Sylus' pantries were stocked with your favourite snacks. After a few visits to his home, you would naturally make your way to the kitchen to grab your favourite treats without a care in the world, happily munching them like a stray cat that had been lured over by temptation.

At the base, you would also be able to find your favourite toys (the cool guns in his armoury) and your favourite games, such as kitty cards. The blankets and pillows in the guest room you stayed in were all made of your favourite soft material, so expensive it felt like sleeping on a cloud. Sylus even tried spraying his cologne in certain areas of the house so you would become accustomed to his scent.

When in his home, Sylus would make sure to give you plenty of alone time while still ensuring you were aware of his presence, so as not to intimidate you but also to make sure you knew he was around if you wanted to approach him.

And you did, sometimes peeping over his shoulder like a curious cat to see what he was doing. Or sitting on the kitchen counter watching him as he cooked. The distance slowly closed before you even realised it. But he knew, and he was torn between smugness and the happy trilling in his heart.

You remained blissfully ignorant as the comforts around you grew. You naturally relaxed into your surroundings and his presence, not even noticing Sylus had planned it this way from the start.

Even now, he watches you- in your own small home this time- lounging on a fluffy, pink bean bag situated in a spot of the living area that catches the sun's soft glows through the window, and can't help but liken you to a cat. Especially when the sun moves through the sky and your eyes crack open, an unhappy frown creasing the top of your nose because you are now in a shady spot and even with a blanket covering you that will just not do.

He watches you stretch languidly, yawning, before dragging the bean bag to a new patch of sun and once again settling on it, falling into a comfortable nap once more.

He's come from the kitchen, and he approaches you to place a warm cup of tea beside you quietly. One of your eyes peek open to take him in.

"Sylussss," you whine sleepily, rolling onto your back. He squats in front of you and rubs the top of your head.

"Mm?"

You don't say anything else, just falling back into slumber, but he smiles and continues to pat your head. It's something he does often, and he wonders if you even realise that you've come to always expect these head pats, bouncing up to him when you're proud of something you've done and want his praise, waiting for his warm hand to tell you you did well.

Or when the two of you are just relaxing together, sometimes he'll scratch beneath your chin and you'll preen, lips twisting up in contentment and enjoyment, eyes falling shut as you lean toward him for more.

Of course, if you became aware of the fact he was treating you like a cat, you would start pretending to not like these small affections, so Sylus keeps quiet with his teasing.

Although, he thinks of how cute you'd be, turning away with a pout after discovering he had been treating you like a pet. He could almost see an imaginary tail flicking irritably. Maybe you'd even hiss.

He chuckled quietly. Truly like a kitten.

MY LOVE’S MIND

~ sylus x AFAB/fem reader ~

————————————————————————————————————————

synopsis:

Sylus is heartbroken to become aware of his girlfriend’s horrific childhood trauma; he does everything in his power to reassure her into feeling safe when alone with him.

——————————————————————————

Sylus was known to be a stern leader. He had to be; coldness was something he had grown accustomed to showing in front of others.

But not when he met you.

You were his light. His sunshine in a world of darkness. His love for you knew no bounds, and he made sure you knew that every day, showering you with love, affection, gifts… he absolutely adored you. So when he became aware that you suffered as a child, he was beyond angry. He was absolutely heartbroken.

And he was determined to show you that the world would no longer be cruel to you, that no one else would ever hurt you. Not when he’s there.

———

Late at night, you were laying quietly in yours and Sylus’ bed. Your mind was toiling, filled with ugly thoughts of the trauma you once endured; it was hard to forget. Your mind was a whirlwind of negativity; eyebrows furrowed together, fist clutching the soft bedsheets with an intensity you weren’t too familiar with. After a few minutes, the oak wooden door clicked open, pushing you out from the depths of your head. A tall, silver-haired figure stepped into the bedroom, before shutting the door behind him. Sylus.

“My love,” He whispered softly to you, unbuckling his belt, taking off his jeans, and climbing into the comfortable bed. “come here. Let me hold you.”

Sylus was always a gentle man; but the tenderness his affection held that night proved something was on his mind. You kept quiet as his strong, muscular arms wrapped around you and pulled you against his chest. He pressed a chaste kiss to your head, his plump lips brushing against your smooth hair.*

“You’re being uncharacteristically sweet.” You murmured, your eyes flickering up to meet his ruby red hues. His eyelids were not fully open; he was gazing at you as if you were fine porcelain.

“Am I not permitted to show my love for my sweet girl?” He questioned lightheartedly — his voice was slightly raspy and all the more soothing. However, his tone then took on a more serious intensity. “I know what you endured as a child, dear. I cannot fathom how someone could hurt a sweet angel like yourself. I’m sorry.”

His sudden words were surprising. Overwhelming, even - he had somehow become aware of a deep secret you held. You kept silent and nuzzled your face into his chest, in an attempt to hide away from the world and remain in the safe haven of your lover’s arms.

“Oh, my darling…”

Never had he used so many pet names in such a short amount of time. It was lovely, but the sudden affection following the acknowledgment of your trauma made your eyes brim with tears. You rubbed your eyelids and huffed… to which Sylus lifted your chin with his finger.*

“Listen to me, love. You did not deserve what you went through. You are my everything. My angel, my princess, my girl. I swear on my life that no one will ever hurt you again. Not when I’m here, my darling. You deserve the world, and I will do my best to give it to you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, especially as Sylus leaned in. His lips brushed against your own, sending a shiver down your spine. You felt so loved, so cared for. He was truly and deeply in love with you.

“I love you.” You replied as Sylus pulled back from the tender kiss, feeling his palm cup your soft cheek.

“I love you more, sweetheart. More than anything.”

——————————

HII sorry this isn’t amazing, it’s my first post and i got lazy !! perhaps see u in the future.

today's inspo ! 🩰🎀

Me too gang

Ah isn't loss of appetite the biggest blessing?

• • • •

Perhaps I feel faint, perhaps I need the focus today.

Oh but I can't.

My head is spinning, reeling, and I can't stop thinking.

But at least it gives me a break from eating.

• • • •

18 hrs of work and nonstop thought.

Tonight I will stare in the mirror, as I always do.

Exhausted.

• • • •

But euphoric. I'll trace my bones, admire my stomach's concave. Know I'm in control.

At least of this.

• • • •

More work.

Then in 24 hrs the scale will show my progress.

Tell me in thin, worthy, beautiful... right.

• • • •

Oh to be perfect, see my flaws melt away.

To finally feel proud.

Are you really gonna eat that?

I mean, sure, go ahead. Just don’t whine about how fat you are later, it’s your fault that you have no self control.

Why are you crying about being fat when you’re the one who is deciding to eat like a pig? Stop making excuses, there’s no one to blame except you.

If you really wanted to get skinny then you would’ve actually put the effort in instead of shoving food that you clearly don’t need down your fat throat, and to make it even worse; you do that willingly.

If you really “didn’t mean to” eat that, you wouldn’t have.

Winter's Kiss

sylus x fem!reader

summary: luke and kieran rope you into spending christmas at the n109 zone (and kissing their boss).

cw: fluff, soft!sylus, kissing under the mistletoe, luke and kieran being idiots, found family

wc: 2.7k

a/n: merry christmas eve/christmas my lovelies!! some fluff for the holiday season! here's to hoping sylus turns up under our christmas trees :)

also on ao3!

Somehow, you’d ended up in the N109 Zone for Christmas.

It wasn’t like the barrage of texts from Luke and Kieran had weighed upon your decision, the rapid influx of messages from the twins demanding your presence for Christmas. That coupled with the image of Sylus alone on Christmas night hadn’t made your stomach churn and heart ache at all.

The year had been a tumultuous one. Wanderers, disturbing visions and wanted criminals had you on edge these past few months, so perhaps unwinding with said, now somewhat mellow, wanted criminals was warranted in some way. 

You heft the presents under your arms, moving your fingers to stabilize the wrapped goods when you feel one of them begin to slip. Shopping hadn’t been too difficult, although choosing a gift for Sylus had proved to be somewhat of a challenge. You weren’t sure whether to get him something heartfelt or to gift him a refurbished gun with new prototyped features that were advertised to the Hunter Association. 

The glittering streams of tinsel drags you out of your thoughts, a smile pulling at your lips as you imagine Luke, Kieran and Sylus decorating. You hear panicked, hushed whispers when you turn the corner, a laugh spilling out of you when you see the sight before you.

Luke perched atop Kieran’s shoulders, Kieran grumbling irritatedly when Luke flails and misses the tip of the Christmas tree, the golden star falling off only for Kieran to shift and have Luke catch it.

“It’s not that hard, you idiot,” Kieran grunts, his knees bending in an attempt to readjust to Luke’s weight.

“Then you try!” Luke protests.

“I thought you two were meant to be in tune,” you muse, stepping closer, over the strewn wrapping paper and bending down to add your presents to the growing collection under the Christmas tree. 

“We are,” they both say in unison, their eyes landing on you.

“You made it!” Luke says happily, squirming, “Boss will be glad.”

“ Really glad,” Keiran adds, his annoyance forgotten momentarily. “We’re glad too.”

You smile at them, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s nice to see you guys too. Maybe you should try holding the star at the tip, Luke?”

“That’s what I told him!” Kieran says, letting out an aggrieved sigh. 

Luke huffs indignantly, adjusting his position yet again as Keiran steps closer to the tree, giving Luke some more leverage. It’s another failed attempt and Kieran is rolling his eyes, dumping Luke onto his feet unceremoniously. 

“You do me now.”

“What about her?” Luke asks, pointing at you.

“You could ask Mephisto,” you offer, pointing at the mechanical crow that was currently preening his feathers. “What do you say, buddy?”

Mephisto gives an indignant squawk, his little head turning away arrogantly, tending to his feathers with care.

“Nevermind,” you sigh, before looking towards the twins. “Kieran is taller than me, though.”

“Just get on,” Luke whines as he bends his knees, waiting for you to climb up onto his shoulders.

You open your mouth to protest, but there’s a warm hand curling over your hip, pulling you back gently, flush against a firm chest. “Let’s not badger our guest, hm?”

Deep and velvety, you have no doubts as to who this voice belongs to. Your head tilts back to find Sylus smirking down at you, his expression amused.

“Glad you could join us, sweetie. The N109 Zone isn’t usually so… festive.”

“Yeah, well, apparently you were missing me, so I figured I’d drop in,” you tease, a sly smile spreading across your face.

Luke and Kieran snicker until Sylus’ stern expression silences them, his hand squeezing at your hip in warning.

“I never said that.”

“Must’ve been the wind,” you murmur.

“Right,” Sylus deadpans.

You squeak when the red mist wraps around you, lifting you off of the ground, the golden star being thrust into your hand by the same swirling mist. The trio of men beneath you seem amused as the tendrils sweep you higher, closer to the top of the tree, giving you enough height to place the star right where it needs to be.

Sylus’ Evol dissipates as it sets you down onto your feet, the mist sweeping across playfully and making your dress flutter. 

“That’s one way to do it,” Kieran remarks, slinging his arm over Luke’s shoulders before they shoot each other knowing glances and disappear from the living room.

“You came,” Sylus says once the twins have left, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I did,” you reply, peering up at him, your hands clasping behind your back, “too bad you never sent me a personal invitation.” Sylus smiles, and you can’t help but think he looks softer in this light, the ruthless leader of Onychinus replaced by a man who seems less intense and more accommodating than usual.

“I figured Luke and Kieran would’ve gotten through to you,” he muses, his head tilting as he lets his gaze dip over you.

You do the same, taking in his sweater and trousers, trying to quell the inconvenient yet undeniable pull of attraction you feel towards him. 

“Well, they did,” you sigh, managing to drag your gaze back up to meet his, “although I can’t say I appreciated how many texts they sent.”

“The twins tend to get excited,” Sylus replies, reaching out towards you, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s hard to not notice how Sylus’ touch lingers for a moment, his expression looking a little absent-minded as though remembering something from the past. Your brows furrow, unable to decide between asking him or letting his touch linger further. His hand drops away after a few moments before he clears his throat. 

“I made dinner,” he announces.

You laugh, eyes lighting up at the thought of Sylus in the kitchen. You don’t quite believe him though, not when Sylus had enough money to hire at least a dozen personal chefs.

“You’re not serious,” you say, head tilting in amusement.

“I am,” Sylus smirks, his hand landing on your lower back as he guides you forward, towards the hallway, “Luke and Kieran pitched in.”

“Now I feel special,” you muse.

“I suppose you are,” Sylus replies, his expression sobering, “to all of us.”

You’re taken aback by the sincerity in his words, heart giving way to a flutter that you attempt to squash down by pinching yourself, not that it helps. This sense of belonging isn’t what you’d planned on, warmth blooming in your chest as you stare up at Sylus and remember the twins. It’s nice, really, to be valued like this. You can’t help but think you could get used to it. 

Laughter echoes through the hallway as you and Sylus move through it. You startle when Kieran shouts, his voice urgent. 

“Don’t move!”

“Oh, look at that ,” Luke sighs dramatically, feigning innocence as he peers upwards, directing his gaze above you and Sylus.

Bewilderment flashes across your face until you hear Sylus let out a low laugh. You tip your head back, eyes narrowing when you spy the sprig of mistletoe hanging right above where you’re standing. Mephisto adds in something that sounds like a suspiciously happy squawk, and you stare at the crow, realising you’ve been betrayed. 

“Funny,” you say drily, shaking your head. 

Kieran sighs just like Luke, as though he can’t quite believe the situation. The cunning expression in their eyes gives them away. 

Devious, little brats.

“Well, you can’t move now,” Luke says, sounding positively aggrieved. 

“I suppose you’ll just have to kiss, isn’t that right?” Kieran says, looking towards Luke. Luke nods, a self-satisfied smile settling on his face. “Those are the rules.”

“What rules?” you shoot back, glaring at the pair of twins, “there are no rules. I could quite literally just walk away.”

“Christmas tradition !” Luke and Kieran both argue, their faces looking a little crestfallen when they hear the tone of your voice, “you have to kiss!”

You can feel your heart twinge at the earnest tone present in their voices, your eyes flickering up to meet Sylus’. Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem to have any protests, his gaze boring down into yours expectantly. 

“You seriously have nothing to say?” you grouse, head tilting.

“It’s just a kiss, sweetie,” he replies, his arm wrapping around your waist to bring you closer to him. “What’s the matter, hm? Afraid you’ll fall for me?”

“The thought is laughable,” you retort, trying to ignore the soothing squeeze of his hand against your side; the unrelenting warmth that was currently seeping into you and melting your hardened resolve.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers gripping your chin to tilt your head. “We have time.”

“Move a little to the right!” Kieran calls out, waving his hand.

“What for?” you ask exasperatedly, feeling Sylus step closer, moving you with him.

“For- for the aesthetic !” Luke huffs out.

The twins look a little impatient as you stare at them, your brows furrowing further when you see Kieran whisper something to Luke.

Sylus doesn’t let you dwell longer on the twins’ antics, his calloused hand cupping your cheek to turn you towards him. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his lips slot over yours, your hand curling around his wrist. Sylus kisses you like he means it, lips soft yet insistent, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. You forget where you are momentarily, knees feeling weak as you fist his sweater pulling him closer, rising up on the tips of your toes to meet his kiss better.

Sylus tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Your stubborn resolve weakens pitifully and you can only think about how perfect this moment is, how good Sylus’ lips feel, how warm his embrace is-

There’s a blinding array of flashes, white sparking out from under your closed eyelids until your eyes snap open, head turning to the side to find both Luke and Kieran with cameras in hand.

“Oh, shit,” Luke begins.

“I thought the flash was off,” Kieran mutters, frowning.

You grit your teeth, taking one step towards them, your eyes narrowing. “Give that to me.”

Luke and Kieran hug their cameras to their chest protectively.

“Christmas memories,” Luke laughs nervously when he sees the determination in your eyes. “Wouldn’t- wouldn’t want to lose those.”

Kieran nods in agreement.

“Boss!” They cry out when the cameras get swept out of their hands by Sylus’ Evol, one of them landing in your hands.

You click through the images, heat blossoming in your stomach when you see how intimate the kiss looks, Sylus’ body pressed firmly against yours, his hand on your cheek. It’s romantic, your somewhat eager response, Sylus’ tight hold, all captured closely through the lens.

“‘s nice,” Sylus murmurs, his chest pressing up against your back as he peers down at the little camera screen.

“ No ,” you shake your head vehemently, “it’s not nice.”

“We look good,” he whispers, his voice dropping lower, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

You try to ignore the way his hands feel on your hips, his body pressing a little closer into yours. It’s hard not to agree with him the longer you stare at the images though, you do look good, and Luke’s interjection about Christmas memories has you feeling a little forgiving. 

“Fine, keep them,” you sigh, handing the camera back to Luke whilst Sylus does the same to Kieran, “but don’t share them, please.”

Luke and Kieran nod enthusiastically and you snag onto Kieran’s arm before he can leave, your voice dropping to a low whisper.

“Send them to me,” you whisper, “and not a word to anyone.”

Kieran smiles deviously and you roll your eyes, reaching up to ruffle his hair. 

“You’re such a jerk, Kieran.”

“C’mon,” he whines, “you love us.”

You smile up at him, your arm hooking with his. “Maybe just a little.”

He snorts and you let out a laugh, following after Luke and Sylus who had left earlier, talking about something else. Dinner goes smoothly enough and you refuse to tell Luke and Kieran what their presents are, despite their whining.

You feed Mephisto little bites of your food, your finger petting his little feathery head gently every now and then. He preens at the attention, letting out an odd sounding chirp every now and then when you tap his little beak and offer him some more food.

Sylus is seated beside you and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to stop stealing glances at the side of his face. The longer you stare, the more you can feel yourself falling deeper, a pressing crisis unfolding in your mind. 

Fuck . You think you might like him.

Deep rooted feelings of yearning never lead to any good, and yet, you were too impatient not to act on them.You wait patiently, fingers playing with themselves in your lap, for the perfect opportunity. 

It presents itself when Luke and Kieran break out into an insignificant quarrel, their eyes moving elsewhere. Sylus is already looking towards you and you’re leaning forward, cupping the back of his head to bring him closer, lips meeting his in a slow, sweet kiss. 

“What was that for?” Sylus murmurs when you break away, his eyes roving over the flush settling on your cheeks.

“No reason,” you reply nonchalantly, leaning back in your chair.

Sylus scoffs out a laugh, behaving seemingly unaffected. There’s a light flush dusted across his cheeks however, his tongue darting out to taste the remnants of you on his lips.

“This is for no reason too,” he says, grabbing your chin and pulling you closer.

You sigh contentedly when he kisses you, arms wrapping around his neck, your lips working against his a little feverishly as though you can’t get enough.

A cacophony of protests breaks out from the twins when they see you and Sylus kissing at the table.

“Gross! Get a room!”

You roll your eyes, breaking away from Sylus to peer over at them. 

“You were the ones that made us kiss,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, we didn’t mean all the time,” Luke corrects.

“Deal with it,” Sylus interrupts, brushing a kiss to your cheek.

You hum happily, Sylus’ hand warm as it encases yours under the table. Luke pouts and Kieran mirrors him, both of them slumping back in their chairs.

You and Sylus get a little more privacy when you step outside, snow dusting across both of you, covering the shrubbery and trees. Mephisto swoops through the air, his mechanical wings flapping as he lands on a tree branch above. The icy chill of the wintery air isn’t so bad, not when Sylus is stepping up behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he holds you close to him.

“It was bound to happen,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again as you stare up at the night sky, glittering with stars.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” you reply, squeezing his forearms.

“Let’s just say… I had an inkling. I know you, sweetie.”

“I don’t understand what you mean sometimes,” you sigh, peering up at him, head resting on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers, dropping a kiss to your temple.

You sway gently in his arms, pressing yourself closer, eyes slipping shut. You’d kill for more moments of peace like this.

It never seems to last for long.

The beginnings of torn wrapping paper begin to fill your ears and you peek through the glass window to find the twins tearing at their presents.

“Oh, these are sick !” Luke announces, beginning to twirl around the pair of knives you had gotten him.

“They have to wait!” you protest, reaching for the door, “Sylus, they have to wait!”

“Let them,” Sylus murmurs, dragging you back into his arms, his chest rumbling with laughter.

You can’t help but let out an exasperated noise, smiling up at him. Sylus lowers his head and you nudge your nose against his gently, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

“What?” he asks quietly when you trace the curve of his cheek, your fingers splaying across his skin.

You kiss him again, revelling in the softness of his eyes when you pull apart. There's a strange warmth in your chest, an unknown pull in the back of your mind as though something familiar were evading you.

You feel like you know him too.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

Sometimes, I think about how I used to let life overwhelm (still do, but not as bad), and I'd take it out on people. The slightest thing would irritate me whether it was someone's voice or touch. I can't count how many times I was anxious and didn't know why 🥹 anyways this MC X Sylus bit is for those that can relate 🫠 even if you can't happy reading

"Do you feel better now?"

Sylus' gaze on you almost burns. The half-hearted smile still faintly on his lips, his eyes remained ocked on you.

It had been a very bad day, week, and month in general. The emotional build-up was sure to cause an eruption of feelings at some point. Sylus only watched you silently over the last few weeks waiting for you to come to him with what you were feeling. He'd already learned the hard way once before about trying to get you to open up when you weren't ready.

He'd watched you mope around the base and Linkon with an unsettling fire behind those eyes. He'd kept the twins on you when he couldn't be around because he knew the day was fast approaching. It was telling in the way you slapped his hands away or had your day ruined over the tiniest mishap. Angry tears seemed to be a constant on your eyeline as you continued your day to day routine.

The part that made you most upset is that you didn't even know why you were angry or sad. Was this depression? Everything started to seem like a chore, the smallest things and sounds began to overwhelm you. You didn't want to be touched or talked to, but some days you didn't even want to be alone.

What's happening to me?

The lingering question in your mind took root in your troubles, which only stoked the flames of irritation. You just wanted it quiet. You wanted to feel calm, and you needed something to uproot this rising storm.

And then the day arrived, Sylus becoming your victim. The moment his hand touched your head, you'd blown up. Strings of curses left your mouth, your voice raised with angry tears marking your face. Shrill cries, leaving your mouth, your hands waving around orchestrating madness.

Sylus watched your descent with that knowing smile. He'd wanted this, your anger. You'd been holding it all in for far too long. It was time.

Let it out, he demanded it.

When you'd seemingly finished, his eyes monitored your erratic breaths. He'd taken another step closer as he had done earlier. His hand laced with yours, pulling you into a firm hug. His scent floods your nose, commanding your breathing to regulate.

"Do you feel better now?"

You couldn't look at him. A man you'd love so much, you blew up on him without reason and still he only worries about you.

"Don't feel sorry, sweetie, you needed this. You've been climbing higher and higher into unknown madness, and I was simply waiting for you to fall." Your grip tightens on his forearm, your face buried deeply into his chest.

"I don't deserve you." Sylus was silent for a moment. He pulls you away slightly, his hands secure themselves on your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

"I think we both know it's me that doesn't deserve you. The beautiful thing about having a loving partner is that we are there for each other when we can't be there for ourselves." He signs his words with a quick kiss on your lips. The tenderness of his lips melts any remnants of subdued frustration.

There was a lot that needed to be said and addressed, but it would have to wait until later. You'd spent the better part of your month yelling at someone who didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry." He gives a soft chuckle.

"I know."

Your bone structure is so positively stunning.

Why go through the struggle of covering it up by eating excess food?

• • • • •

Don't you want to feel the delicacy of your collar bones?

Don't you deserve to trace your fingers between your cheek and jaw?

I think so.

Feeling your hips peek out is a reward.

• • • • •

We've all been working so very hard.

I think it's high time you push through that last mile and experience the euphoria of pretty rib outlines, separate thighs, tiny wrists, and sleek fingers.

• • • • •

You were always meant to be thin.

• • • • •

Always meant to be lovely.

• • • • •

It's time to embrace it 🤍🤍

If you develop an eating disorder when you are already thin to begin with, you go to the hospital.

If you develop an eating disorder when you are not thin to begin with, you are a success story.

So when I evaporated, of course everyone congratulated me on getting healthy.

Girls at school who never spoke to me before stopped me in the hallway to ask how I did it.

I say, “I am sick.”

They say, “No, you’re an inspiration.”

How could I not fall in love with my illness?

With becoming the kind of silhouette people are supposed to fall in love with?

Why would I ever want to stop being hungry when anorexia was the most interesting thing about me?

~When The Fat Girl Gets Skinny, Blythe Baird

Crying.

I wanna smell like cake, not look like I eat it

(𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓣𝓲𝓴𝓣𝓸𝓴)