#LaDS Rafayel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mephisto-reporting · 2 days ago

Text

Wearing This Dress Was a Mistake…or Was It?

Premise: You decide to prank him by making him think that you'd be wearing that risque, revealing outfit when you are about to head out... only to find out that pranks have consequences. Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is suggestive. Please do not interact if you are a minor. If you wanted to be added to my taglist, please DM, ask or comment :D Content warning: Suggestive. MNDI.

CALEB

Caleb was lounging on your couch like he owned the place, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other holding a can of soda that he swirled absentmindedly. He had taken a few days off, escaping from his duties as Colonel to come back to Linkon. And now, here he was, making himself right at home in your apartment like he had never left. The sight was almost domestic, but you knew better—there was nothing ordinary about Caleb. Not anymore.

He was on leave, a rare moment where he could shed the weight of his uniform and just be Caleb. It was a refreshing change to see him like this—less guarded, more relaxed—but something about it sparked mischief in you. You'd always had a playful, mischievous relationship with Caleb when you were younger. Pranks, jabs, teasing—it had all been part of the dynamic. And now that he was back, you couldn't help but feel a familiar tug to push his buttons just a little.

You'd planned this prank for a while. Slipping into the most scandalous, revealing outfit you could find in your closet, one that certainly wasn’t something you'd wear out in public. You had no intention of actually leaving—just giving Caleb the briefest hint that you were about to, and seeing how he’d react.

You walked into the living room, draped in the most inappropriate outfit you could manage. A fitted dress that barely covered your thighs, a deep V that left little to the imagination, and a loose, barely-there wrap that hung carelessly from your shoulders. Your intention was to get under Caleb’s skin, to push him just a little—just enough to remind him that the old pranks hadn’t gone anywhere.

When Caleb glanced up, his relaxed demeanor faltered for just a second, his sharp gaze lingering on you. There was a flicker of something darker in his eyes, something predatory. But he said nothing at first, just observing you with a cold silence that sent a chill down your spine. Your pulse quickened slightly under his intense gaze, but you pushed down the thrill crawling up your spine. This was just a joke.

You took a deep breath, feigning innocence. "I'm heading out to meet some friends," you announced, grabbing your purse.

The shift was instantaneous.

The lazy, relaxed Caleb from moments ago was gone. His can hit the coffee table with a soft thud, his entire frame tensing as he straightened up. His gaze darkened, trailing over your figure with slow, possessive deliberation.

"You're wearing that?" His voice was low, almost casual—but you could hear the undercurrent of something dangerous lurking beneath it.

You swallowed but kept up the act. "Yeah. Why?" You tilted your head, feigning confusion. "It looks good, doesn't it?"

"You’re not going anywhere dressed like that." he muttered, the words falling from his lips in a near-growl.

You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest. "What, you think I can’t pull it off?"

He stood in one smooth motion, and before you could react, he was standing in front of you, his hand gripping your wrist with a surprising amount of force. His fingers were warm, rough, as if he were trying to ground himself with the touch.

"If you're so insistent on showing this side of you to others," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, "then it’s only fair that I get to see more of it, isn't it?"

Before you could protest, he hoisted you effortlessly onto his shoulder, your legs dangling in the air as he carried you toward your room like a caveman claiming his prize.

"Caleb!" You gasped, half-laughing, half-embarrassed by the sheer force of his actions. But Caleb wasn't listening. His grip was firm, his footsteps purposeful as he crossed the room.

He threw open your bedroom door, his eyes locking with yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "You think you can strut around like this for anyone else?" His voice was dangerously calm, but the heat in his gaze betrayed the undercurrent of rage—jealousy, possessiveness—swirling just beneath the surface.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he silenced you with a heated kiss, his lips claiming yours in a way that left no room for argument. His lips were urgent, demanding, but still with an edge of care as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing you in that outfit.

"Do you want me to show you what that outfit can do to any individual with a working braincell?" Caleb murmured against your lips, his breath shallow as he gently pushed you onto the bed. He towered over you, his body a wall of heat and strength, completely commanding your attention.

You couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, still shaken by the intensity of the moment. "It was just a prank, Caleb. I didn’t mean—"

His fingers traced the line of your jaw with surprising gentleness before his eyes darkened. "No," he whispered. "You didn’t mean to tease me like this, but now that you have, you’re not going anywhere. Not until I’ve had my fill of you. I don’t like the idea of anyone else looking at you like this.”

You opened your mouth to explain, to tell you weren’t actually heading out like this, but before you could say a word, he was on you, his lips crashing against yours with a possessiveness that left you breathless. His hands roamed down your body, tracing the curve of your waist, gripping you tightly as if he were afraid someone might take you from him.

You could feel his breath on your neck, hot and heavy, as he pulled away just enough to whisper, “You’re mine, understand?” His words were both possessive and adoring, a dangerous combination you knew too well.

And as your neighbors found out soon after, the only sounds that filled the air that evening were far less friendly than the teasing words you’d exchanged earlier.

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was early. Again.

Technically, he was supposed to be on time tonight—after all, it was his gallery event. But you knew better. You had predicted, with painful accuracy, that he'd find some way to ding-dong ditch his own damn celebration. Which was exactly why he was here at your apartment an hour before you needed to leave.

"I'm only here because Thomas would physically drag me if I didn't show up at all," he muttered from the other side of the door of your bedroom. "Consider this me being a responsible artist. All of you should be grateful."

You hummed, feigning disinterest as you checked your reflection in the mirror. "Oh, I am grateful, Rafayel."

"Good, as you shou—"

He cut himself off entirely as you stepped out from your bedroom.

You had planned this prank the moment you'd heard he was coming early. Because if Rafayel wanted to ditch the gallery, you'd at least make sure he suffered before he got his way. So, instead of slipping into something elegant and refined for an art exhibition, you had opted for something else entirely. It wasn’t even an outfit you would wear outside—it barely covered anything at all, and the material clung to your body in all the wrong places. A sheer, tight-fitting slip with lace accents, enough to leave little to the imagination. The fabric wasn’t completely transparent, but it did the job well enough to make every inch of your skin noticeable. Every inch of skin exposed was deliberate. Calculated. A direct attack on Rafayel's composure.

And oh, it worked.

His entire body stiffened, the lazy smirk on his lips frozen mid-form. His next grape missed his mouth completely, bouncing pathetically off his chin and rolling onto the floor. But he didn't even notice.

For a long, silent moment, all Rafayel did was stare.

Then, dramatically, he clutched his chest. "No."

You blinked. "No?"

"I can't take you anywhere like this," he lamented, waving frantically at all the exposed skin. "You—You will steal the show! The gallery will forget my masterpieces the moment you walk through the door!" Rafayel’s eyes flickered to the door, then back to you, his expression a mix of shock and something darker. “You’re kidding. You want me to take you to the gallery dressed like… this? Everyone will be staring, and I can’t have that.”

He turned his back to you with a huff, clearly flustered. He spun around to face you again, his eyes narrowing, and a flicker of possessiveness flashed across his face. “This is too much. I’m not taking you out like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?”

His expression faltered, and for a split second, you saw a vulnerability in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by his usual dramatic demeanor. “Embarrassed? No!! I just don’t want everyone gawking at my—especially when I’m the one who’s supposed to admire you tonight. How am I supposed to take you out like this? All eyes will be on you, and I don’t know if I’m prepared for that level of attention. How am I supposed to look at this…”

"Is that such a bad thing?" You teased, twirling a loose strand of hair around your finger.

"Yes!" Rafayel practically whined. He circled you like a predator, eyes flickering with a hunger he hadn’t quite named yet. "Some art should be displayed for the world, sure," he murmured, voice turning dangerously low. "But some art? This should be kept private. Mine."

You bit your lip, barely suppressing a laugh. "Raf, it's just a prank. I'm not actually going like this."

He stilled. Then, very slowly, he grinned.

"Oh?" he purred, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you. His fingers skimmed the edge of your exposed thigh, tracing your skin before gripping it lightly. "Then you should go change, hmm?"

You moved to step back, but Rafayel caught your wrist. His grip was loose, teasing, but there was no mistaking the heat behind it.

"Ah, wait," he murmured, feigning deep thought. "Actually… No. That would take too long."

You frowned. "What—?"

"We're already late," he sighed, tone laced with mock regret. "And if we're already late, then it doesn’t really matter, does it?"

Before you could say anything else, Rafayel scooped you up in one swift motion, his hands firmly gripping you. “Forget the gallery,” he said, his voice practically a growl. “You’re not leaving this apartment until I’ve taken my time enjoying this… work of art.”

“Rafayel, wait!” You tried to protest, but he was already striding toward your bedroom, his grip firm around you.

“You don’t deserve to wear something this distracting for anyone else,” he muttered, his voice laced with a possessive hunger. “I’ll be the only one to appreciate it properly.”

Before you could even respond, his lips were on yours, demanding and heated, the rest of the world completely irrelevant. You could barely keep up with the intensity of his kiss as he stripped away the fabric, each motion more urgent than the last.

As the sound of Thomas’ calls rang through both your phones, going straight to voicemail, Rafayel didn’t spare it a second thought. The gallery? It was already a lost cause. Tonight, he had you—and he was taking his sweet time with it.

SYLUS

As Sylus prepared for his mission, a sense of anticipation hung thick in the air. He was packing his gear with the meticulous attention of a man who thrived on the chaos he created, readying himself for whatever dangerous task lay ahead. This lifestyle was no stranger to him —the dangerous, dark heart of his empire. But you couldn’t shake the worry that gnawed at you every time he walked out the door. Dangerous, illegal missions were a regular part of his life, and while you knew he could handle himself, the thought of him in harm’s way left you restless.

But you weren’t about to voice that concern—not when he took so much pleasure in riling you up with his teasing. Tonight, you had decided to give him a taste of his own medicine—payback, as you saw it. After all, his teasing and his ability to keep you on edge with his deep voice, knowing smirks, fleeting touches, and that intense gaze deserved a little retaliation. This time, you were going to make him work for it.

Fair was fair.

You stepped into the study, heels clicking against the floor, the sharp sound enough to draw his attention. His red eyes flickered up from his preparations, widening just slightly before narrowing with intrigue. You had dressed specifically to get a reaction—a short, black mesh dress that left little to the imagination, the sheer material teasing glimpses of lace underneath. The plunging neckline dipped scandalously low, while the cutouts along your waist accentuated every tempting curve.

Sylus let out a low, appreciative hum as he leaned back against the wall, taking his time raking his gaze over you.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going dressed like that, sweetie?” His smirk was lazy, but the sharp glint in his crimson stare was anything but.

You let your eyes linger on his figure for a moment, before casually offering, "Actually, I’m heading back to Linkon for a night out—clubbing with some friends." Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you took a few steps closer, and you could see his pupils dilate briefly, his reaction evident, though he masked it quickly with another smirk.

"Well, well," he drawled, his eyes still locked on your attire. "Funny, I’ve never gotten the pleasure of seeing you in such bold outfits before."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your lips curling into a playful smile. "I dress for the occasion."

A small chuckle escaped him, the sound rich and dark. "Interesting, these 'occasions' never seem to happen when I'm around." His eyes trailed over you once more, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse quicken.

He walked slowly, closing the distance between you in a few slow, measured strides. When he reached you, his fingers brushed against the exposed skin of your thigh, the touch featherlight, deliberate.

“I suppose I should consider myself unfortunate, then,” he murmured, trailing his hand higher. “But I’ll be damned, sweetie, you do look ravishing.”

You hummed, feeling the heat of his touch ghosting over your skin. "Maybe ypu were just not paying enough attention before."

His laugh was low, dark, full of amusement. "Oh, kitten," he purred, his hands drifting lower, tracing the dip of your waist before pulling you just a little closer. "Trust me, I pay attention. Especially when it comes to you."

Your breath hitched as his palm splayed possessively over your hip, his fingers teasing the hem of your barely-there dress. “Not worried about all the attention I’ll get?” you teased, meeting his gaze.

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound almost like a growl. "Sweetie, I know you can handle yourself if things go wrong." he said, his hands suddenly roaming over your skin, slow and deliberate, almost as if he were marking his territory. His touch was magnetic, entrancing. His fingers traced your jawline, grazing over the curve of your neck, and you felt the weight of his presence pull you in, closer to him with each movement.

He smirked, as if he could sense the effect he was having on you. "Go ahead. Have fun tonight," he murmured, pulling out his black card from his wallet and offering it to you. "Just don't have too much fun without me." His breath ghosted over your lips, hot and tantalizing, and you could feel his eyes trailing lower

You saw it then—the flicker of something dark and hungry in his stare, a silent challenge laced with possession. It made you want to push just a little further.

“What if I do?”

The moment the words left your lips, you barely had time to react before Sylus’s hands were on you. A startled gasp escaped you as he lifted you effortlessly, locking your legs around his waist. The back of your dress rode up, and his fingers pressed into your thighs, holding you firmly in place as his mouth found yours. The kiss was deep, slow, devastating. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was claiming you, drawing you in until the thought of leaving, of doing anything other than this, felt ridiculous. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure you’re more entertained...” he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with possessiveness, as if you were already his in every sense.

Without another word, he carried you through the mansion, his lips never leaving yours as his pace quickened. He didn’t even give you a chance to respond, his hold on you firm, commanding, as though the very idea of you going out tonight was laughable. His smirk never faltered, his confidence radiating in waves.

“You think I’d let that happen?” he said in a husky whisper against your lips, his voice thick with amusement. As he kicked open the door to his bedroom, he laid you down on the bed with a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. “Guess neither of us is going anywhere tonight…”

You tried to speak between stolen breaths, to tell him it was a prank, but he only smirked against your mouth, cutting you off with another slow, intoxicating kiss.His weight pressed you down onto the bed, his hands sliding over every inch of exposed skin. “It’s a good thing you weren’t actually going out,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Because I plan to keep you here… All. Night. Long.”

A thrill ran through you as you realized just how easily he'd flipped the situation in his favor. And you weren't sure if you could—if you wanted to—fight it.

XAVIER

You had been scheming for a while, setting the perfect trap to prank Xavier, and today was the day you were finally going to execute your plan. You’d texted him earlier, asking him to swing by your apartment to pick up the meals you had prepared for him. You knew full well Xavier could barely cook an egg without burning it, so he was always appreciative when you made him something special. You always made quite a batch of food whenever he came over to pick it up so he could store them in his freezer.

He had a spare key to your apartment in case of emergencies, but today, you were going to make sure he’d get more than just food when he came over. He’d always been so calm and collected in most situations that it was infuriating at times. You had tried to get a reaction out of him before but had always failed. But today, it would be different. Today, you knew you would get him to falter. You’d been thinking of a little prank to get a rise out of him—and you knew exactly what would get under his skin.

When you heard the door click open, you made sure to pick up your purse slowly, letting Xavier get a good look at the outfit you’d chosen: A tight, revealing midnight blue dress that clung to your curves like a second skin, the plunging neckline barely covering what was necessary and the high slit on the side showing just enough leg to drive anyone wild. The fabric was soft, almost like a second layer of skin, and you knew it would make his blood run hot.

Xavier’s footfalls slowed, and the air seemed to thicken with tension as he entered the room, his eyes immediately darkening the moment they landed on you. His usually calm expression shifted, but only slightly, and his voice, low and even, carried an edge. “You have plans?” His tone was casual, but you could tell it didn’t match the storm brewing in his gaze.

“Oh, yeah, I’m heading out with some colleagues,” you answered nonchalantly, knowing full well that would get him riled up. In your mind, this was all part of the prank. You were expecting a laugh, a joke, maybe even a playful remark.

His eyes narrowed, the calm veneer slipping away. “Wrong answer.”

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him with feigned confusion. “Huh?”

“I said, wrong answer. You are not going out to meet them… in that?” He spoke slowly.

“Why not? What’s wrong with the dress? I think it makes me look nice.” You looked at your dress pretending that you didn’t know what was wrong with it. “Plus, I already made plans with them…”

He didn’t hesitate, slamming the door behind him with a soft thud. His hand rested on the doorframe as he leaned in, towering over you. “Your plan,” he said, voice gruff with unspoken demand, “is with me. Right here. And only I should be the one seeing you in that dress. And outside of it.” he added, his voice dark with possessiveness.

Your heart raced, though you maintained an innocent air. “Xavier, come on... I’m just going out for fun. It’s not a big deal.” You tried to laugh it off, but your breath caught as his hands trailed over your skin, tracing your body with an intention that left no room for interpretation.

You didn’t have a chance to react before he was right in front of you, his frame crowding you against the door, his hands gripping your hips as he lifted you slightly.

He didn’t respond to your attempt at casualness. Instead, his gaze was fierce, intense, and utterly unyielding. The meals you had prepared was forgotten. The only thing on his mind was you—and the dress you wore, too.

“Why do they get to see you like this when it’s meant for me?” His voice dropped, each word heavier than the last.

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his voice. The heat between you was immediate, pressing, suffocating. Xavier reached up, his fingers gently grazing your neck, then sliding down to your waist, his touch possessive and slow.

You tried to laugh it off again, your playful nature not quite prepared for how serious he had gotten. “It’s just a prank,” you said, offering an innocent smile, hoping to break the tension. “I am not going anywhere…” You giggled, but it came out a little nervous. “I swear… It’s just a prank, Xavier.”

He blinked once, the twice, confusion flickering in his eyes. His boyish, innocent looked returned, stunned at your words. He seemed to process it for a moment. Then, the intensity of his gaze returned, fiercer than before. He took a step forward, closing the non existent distance between you, and his lips were suddenly on yours—hard, commanding. His lips crushed against yours, his tongue immediately claiming dominance as he growled low in his throat.

Before you could even process what was happening, you were on the couch, his body pressing you into the cushions. His hands roamed, touching you everywhere. as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Prank or not,” he said, his voice hushed but full of intensity, “you’ve got me thinking about you in that dress with them—with anyone else.” His hands moved lower, sliding over the fabric of your dress. “You thought teasing me would be funny, huh? Let’s see how funny it is now.” His tone was equal parts teasing and threatening, a dangerous mix that made your heart race.

You gasped as his hands found your thighs, pulling you against him, his body already pressing into yours. There was no more pretending, no more games. Xavier’s need was undeniable, and you couldn’t escape the heat between you.

His lips met yours again, deeper, more frantic this time, as if making sure you understood just how serious he was about what was happening between you. You didn’t stand a chance against him.

And when the night ended, teasing Xavier definitely wouldn’t be on your list of things to do again... or maybe it would be.

ZAYNE

The dress was daring—too daring, perhaps. The fabric clung to your body, smooth and sultry, dipping dangerously low in the front and riding scandalously high on your thighs. The sheer lace along the sides barely covered enough, teasingly revealing glimpses of skin beneath. It was the kind of dress that would have heads turning, and you knew it.

That was the point.

You had planned this all too perfectly. A new pastry café had just opened downtown, and you’d invited Zayne out for a date. You had been expecting a reaction when he arrived—maybe a subtle quirk of his brow, a small shift in his usual stoic demeanor. Something.

Instead, when you opened the door and greeted him with an innocent smile, his gaze flickered over you, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then, the door clicked shut behind him.

His expression remained unreadable, but his movements weren’t. The way he took his time removing his gloves, slipping them off with methodical ease before placing them neatly on the nearby counter. The way his fingers traced the hem of his coat, unbuttoning it in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Interesting choice,” he finally said, his voice calm—too calm—as his gaze finally lifted back to meet yours.

You grinned, shifting your weight just slightly to make the dress slide a little higher along your thigh. “Do you like it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a step forward, and you felt the weight of his presence settle over you. His fingers brushed your arm, barely there, before trailing down your wrist. The lightest touch. A doctor’s touch—controlled, precise. But beneath it was something else.

Something simmering.

“Tell me.” His voice was still even, his tone almost thoughtful as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your fingertips. “How far were you planning to go with this little game of yours?”

Your heart stuttered. He knows.

You feigned innocence, tilting your head as if confused. “Game? I was just dressing up for our date.”

“Is that so?” His lips curved, the barest hint of amusement slipping through. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if we went outside right now.”

Your stomach flipped. He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Before you could respond, his other hand moved—so subtle, so swift—and in one seamless motion, he pulled you closer, his fingers splaying over your lower back. Your breath hitched as your bodies pressed together, the warmth of him seeping through the thin material of your dress.

His lips were close now, brushing against your ear. “You forgot,” he murmured, “I know you.”

Your skin burned.

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “Okay, fine. It was a prank.”

Zayne chuckled softly. The sound was low, velvety, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “I knew that before coming over.”

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against the small of your back, and suddenly, you were all too aware of how little there was between you. How easy it would be for him to simply pull—just a little—and the dress would slide right off your shoulders.

You blinked. “Wait, you—?”

“Of course I knew.” He leaned in, his breath brushing against your jaw. “You think I don’t know when you’re trying to get a rise out of me?” The heat in his voice made your knees weak.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as his fingers traced a slow path up your spine, dragging along the zipper of your dress.

“I knew the moment you picked up my call earlier and sounded too innocent. The way you sent me a picture of the food but conveniently cropped yourself out.” His fingers pressed, teasing, against the small of your back. “And now? Now you’re here, looking like this and expecting me to just let you waltz out into a crowded café?”

You barely managed a breath before he tilted your chin up with two fingers, his expression unreadable save for the faintest glint of something more. “Cute.” His lips brushed against yours, feather-light. “But you knew better.”

You shivered at the subtle challenge in his voice, the sheer restraint beneath it. “Zayne, we have a reservation—”

“Mm.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate. “We’ll reschedule.”

“I—”

Whatever you were about to say was swallowed by his kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was deliberate. A slow, consuming thing that left no room for escape. His hands were firm but unhurried as he guided you back, step by step, until your back met the nearest surface—the couch, the wall, you didn’t even know anymore.

Zayne finally pulled away, but only just. His breath fanned across your lips, his fingers still resting against your waist. He looked at you then, truly looked at you, his eyes dark with something unspoken.

“You wanted my attention.” His voice was a whisper now, a dangerous kind of quiet. “You have it.” Your protests faded the moment his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs just enough to make your breath hitch. His lips trailed downward, past your jaw, tracing a searing path along your neck before murmuring, “Tell me, was the prank worth it?”

And as his hands began to move, taking their time, exploring, savoring—one thing became very, very clear.

Prank or not, you wouldn’t be leaving for that café tonight.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace@sinsodom@m00nchildwrites

2K notes · View notes

whosashan · 3 days ago

Text

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

The LaDS men x reader

In which - you realise they've been avoiding you and you decide to confront them about it.

Lately, you had noticed a shift—subtle at first, but impossible to ignore. He had grown distant. Plans that once came effortlessly were now met with half-hearted excuses, and more often than not, you found yourself alone, wondering what had changed.

At first, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe it was stress. But as the days stretched on, it became painfully clear—he was avoiding you.

And you had finally had enough.

Determination settled in your chest like a steady flame as you sought him out, your heart pounding with unspoken questions. Whatever was going on, you refused to let it linger in silence any longer.

Xavier

You knocked on your neighbor’s door.

Once. No answer. Twice. Silence.

By the third time, you were seconds away from kicking it down when, at last, the door creaked open.

Xavier stood there, disheveled—his light hair an untamed mess, eyes barely open, their usual sharpness dulled by sleep. He squinted at you, his brows furrowing in groggy confusion.

“Y/N?” His voice was thick with sleep, raspy and low. “What are you doing here?”

There was something in his expression—surprise, yes, but beneath it, something else. Panic?

Your gaze hardened, arms crossing over your chest in silent declaration of your resolve. You weren’t here for small talk.

“I want answers, Xavier.” Your voice was steady, unwavering. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

A tense silence settled between you. He shifted his weight, eyes darting away. The longer he hesitated, the deeper your suspicions grew.

And then, you noticed it—his cheeks. A soft flush of color dusted his skin. Was he blushing?

“I wasn't avoiding you,” he muttered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as though the motion would ground him. The question seemed to shake off the remnants of sleep, but it didn’t make him any more willing to meet your gaze.

“Don’t lie to me.” You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes. Your finger jabbed against his chest, and instinctively, he took a step back—giving you the perfect opportunity to slip past him and into his apartment.

“Suddenly, you’re always busy or conveniently not home everytime I want to spend time with you.” Your frustration bubbled over, arms flailing as you spoke. “I’m not stupid, Xavier.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Maybe I have been avoiding you a little.” His voice was more controlled now, but his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

You took another step forward, closing the space between you. “Care to explain why?”

He still didn’t answer, lips parting as if he wanted to speak, yet no words came.

Your shoulders sagged, irritation giving way to something softer—concern. You sighed, tone gentler this time. “Xavier… if I did something to upset you—”

“No.” His reply was immediate, cutting off your words. “You didn’t do anything.”

He finally met your eyes, and the sincerity in his gaze made your breath hitch. “You’re… amazing. And I guess that’s the problem.”

Your pulse quickened.

“I’ve caught myself thinking about you more than I should. Feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling—not for a friend.” His voice was quieter now, laced with something unspoken, something fragile.

For once, it was you who was speechless.

Then, a slow smirk tugged at your lips. “Xavier… is that a confession?”

His eyes flickered with something between exasperation and amusement as he shook his head. ��Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, but he didn’t deny it.

You hesitated for only a second before reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His skin was warm, his grip hesitant but firm.

“Good thing you’ve been on my mind a lot, too.” Your voice was softer now, sincerity replacing the teasing edge.

But then, the memory of the past few days resurfaced, and you frowned, tightening your hold. “That still doesn’t mean you should’ve avoided me.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “I know… I’m sorry.” He tilted his head slightly, lips curving into a small smile. “I’ll make it up to you?”

“You better.”

And before he could respond, you pulled him into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around him like you never wanted to let go. You felt his chest rise and fall beneath your touch, the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

He didn’t complain. Instead, he melted into you, arms circling around your waist, holding you just as tightly.

And just like that, the distance between you was gone.

Zayne

Of course, Zayne was never the overly affectionate type, but even then you could tell he was deliberately avoiding you.

At first, you chalked it up to his demanding schedule—after all, he was saving lives. But even that excuse couldn’t justify his abrupt change in behavior.

Whenever you did manage to catch him in passing, he kept conversations brief, his responses clipped and impersonal. The once effortless exchanges between you had turned into distant formalities, as though you were nothing more than another name on his patient roster.

And frankly, you’d had enough.

Determined, you made your way to his office, having learned from Grayson that Zayne was on break. You knocked sharply on his door, only to be met with a detached “Come in.”

As you stepped inside, you caught the briefest flicker of something in his expression—surprise? Guilt? Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual impassive demeanor.

“It’s not time for your monthly check-up yet,” he remarked, barely sparing you a glance as he returned his attention to his computer screen.

That made your blood boil. He was acting as if you were just another patient, as if the past weeks of tension between you didn’t exist.

“I’m not here for a check-up.” You sat down across from him, eyes fixed on his face, watching for any reaction. “I want to have lunch with you.”

His fingers paused momentarily over his keyboard before resuming their rhythm.

“Grayson told me you’re on break, so don’t even try to claim you’re busy.” You crossed your arms, already anticipating whatever excuse he was about to fabricate.

Zayne exhaled slowly, as if contemplating his next move.

“I need to prepare for surgery—”

“No, you don’t.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on his desk, dangerously close to his face.

“Tell me, Dr. Zayne… this isn’t how a gentleman treats a lady, is it?” Your voice took on a teasing lilt, though there was an unmistakable edge to it.

He sighed, removing his glasses for a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding them back into place.

“You are no lady,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You are the devil incarnate.”

You laughed, the sound light and amused.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You dropped the playful tone, cutting straight to the point.

Zayne was silent for a long moment, then finally, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. With an air of finality, he stood from his chair, rounding the desk until he was standing directly in front of you.

“So, even after all my efforts, you still insist on tormenting me at work.” His voice was its usual measured calm, but there was something else beneath it, something unreadable.

“I suppose there’s no point in attempting to hide it any longer.” His gaze darkened, intense enough to send an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Avoiding you didn’t change anything. It didn’t stop my thoughts from straying to you, didn’t stop my eyes from seeking you out the moment you enter a room. You are peculiar, infuriatingly so… and yet, I find myself drawn to you in ways I cannot ignore.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, but you weren’t the only one affected. Though his face remained unreadable, the faintest hint of color dusted the tips of his ears.

“Do you…” You hesitated, swallowing the sudden nervousness rising in your throat. “Do you really feel that way about me?”

Zayne regarded you for a moment before giving a single, deliberate nod.

A slow smile crept onto your lips, the boldness you’d arrived with now tinged with a shy excitement. “Well then… how about we have lunch and talk about this?”

Something in his expression softened, and though he didn’t say it outright, his silence was answer enough.

Rafayel

There had always been a game between you and Rafayel—a never-ending dance of teasing and flirtation that neither of you ever seemed to tire of. It was effortless, a constant, something you had come to expect from him.

So when he suddenly became quiet, retreating from that familiar dynamic, it took you by surprise. It was unlike him—so unlike him. Instead of returning your playful remarks with an even more shamelessly flirtatious response, he simply looked away. Instead of seeking you out like he always had, he started keeping his distance. At first, you thought maybe he had met someone, that perhaps the easy banter had lost its charm for him. But then he didn’t just stop flirting—he started avoiding you altogether.

That was what finally pushed you to action.

The party was buzzing with music and laughter, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and expensive cologne. The warm glow of string lights cast flickering shadows across the walls, but you only had eyes for one person—the man who had been actively dodging you. Fueled by a mix of frustration and liquid courage, you found him lingering near the balcony, his back turned to you. Without hesitation, you strode over and cornered him against the wall, planting both hands beside him, effectively caging him in.

"Tell me, Raf," you demanded, voice slightly slurred but unwavering. "What have I done to make you avoid me?"

He blinked, clearly startled by your sudden boldness. For a moment, he was speechless, his gaze flickering across your face as if searching for something. Then, in a desperate attempt to regain his composure, he let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, cutie," he drawled, tilting his head with feigned nonchalance, "why would you think I’m avoiding you?"

You narrowed your eyes, unwilling to let him weasel his way out of this. "Is it because you met someone?" you pressed, frustration laced with something dangerously close to vulnerability. "You don’t have to avoid me, Raf. We don’t have to ‘joke around’ anymore, just… don’t act like I don’t exist."

The words felt heavier as they left your mouth, laced with an ache you hadn't meant to reveal.

Rafayel’s smirk faded. A quiet sigh escaped him before he reached up, his fingers grazing your cheek with uncharacteristic tenderness. The usual mischief in his eyes was gone, replaced by something softer—something real.

"You really are dense," he murmured, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin. "I tried to put space between us because it stopped being just flirting for me. It wasn’t just a game anymore." His voice was quieter now, steadier. "I was falling for you."

Your breath hitched. For a moment, all you could do was stare, his words settling over you, sinking in, unraveling everything you had assumed.

And then you acted on instinct.

Without a word, you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. It was brief, but it said everything—everything you hadn't been able to say before. When you pulled away, his expression was unreadable for half a second, and then a slow, almost disbelieving smile curved his lips.

"You’re a big, big dummy," you murmured, grinning up at him, finally feeling like you had him back.

And this time, he didn’t pull away.

Sylus

Oh, you were furious.

You had always known the kind of man Sylus was—disappearing without a word, leaving messages unanswered, slipping in and out of your life as if bound by no one’s rules but his own. But never, not once, had his absence stretched beyond two days.

Now, an entire week had passed.

You had called, concern gnawing at your chest, only to be met with silence. But when you saw the twins posting nonchalantly on moments, realization settled over you like a cold weight.

You were being ignored.

And you hated how much it affected you.

Was his absence truly taking such a toll on you? Was the lack of his attention enough to make your world feel unsteady? The thought alone was infuriating.

Enough was enough.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you were already standing in front of his house, storming inside like you belonged there, your every step heavy with emotion.

"Where’s Sylus?" you demanded the moment you entered the kitchen, finding Luke and Kieran lost in quiet laughter over some inside joke.

They startled at your sudden entrance, but it was the scowl on your face that wiped the amusement from their expressions. Without hesitation, they told you exactly where to find their boss.

You didn’t bother knocking.

The door to Sylus’ study swung open, revealing him lounging in a chair, a glass of red wine in hand, his robe—also red, because of course it was—hanging loosely off his frame, exposing far too much skin. The dim lighting cast golden shadows across the sharp angles of his face, only adding to the effortless air of danger that always seemed to follow him.

But you refused to be distracted.

"You moron," you spat, striding toward him.

Sylus arched a dark brow, his lips curling in amusement.

"It’s wonderful to see you too, sweet thing," he drawled, his voice smooth and indulgent, like honeyed wine. He took another unbothered sip.

The nonchalance of it all only fueled your anger. You grabbed the glass from his hand and set it down—none too gently—on the nearby table.

"Don’t ‘sweet thing’ me right now. I thought you were dead!" Your voice wavered between frustration and something dangerously close to hurt.

He exhaled a soft chuckle, entirely unfazed. "Is it my fault you assume I can be taken down so easily?" His tone was rich with amusement, a teasing lilt behind every syllable.

"Oh, you’re about to be taken down if you don’t start explaining yourself," you shot back, eyes burning with a challenge.

That, at least, seemed to amuse him less.

"Explain what, exactly?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, though his gaze remained sharp. "Be specific, darling."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Explain why you’ve been ignoring me all week."

Silence.

It lasted only a moment, but in that pause, something in the air shifted.

When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its teasing edge. "What do you expect me to say? That every time I was near you, I was overwhelmed by emotions I have no business feeling? That you make me reckless? That I—" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "I shouldn’t let myself feel this way. It makes me weak."

Your breath hitched.

His voice, once laced with quiet amusement, now carried something else entirely—something raw, something unguarded.

"And now," he continued, stepping closer, his voice quieter but no less intense, "I’ve said it out loud. There’s no going back. You have the upper hand, sweet thing. You’ve wrapped me around your little finger."

His proximity made heat rise to your cheeks, but you held your ground.

"So, what now?" His voice was softer now, laced with the barest hint of vulnerability. "Is your curiosity satisfied?"

You glanced away, unsure of how to answer, but he was quick to lift your chin with a single finger, forcing your eyes to meet his.

There, in the depths of his gaze, was something undeniable—something entirely, devastatingly real.

"Instead of a weakness," you murmured, your hand covering his, "why not let it be your strength?"

For a moment, Sylus said nothing. Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours.

And for the first time in his life, love didn’t feel like a liability. It felt like power.

Caleb

Your normally talkative, bubbly best friend had become a shadow of himself—distant, reserved, and frustratingly unreadable.

At first, you tried to ignore it, convincing yourself that maybe he just needed space. Everyone had their moments, after all. But when he started canceling plans—your plans—that was what truly hurt. He shut you out without explanation, leaving you to wonder what had changed.

And you hated not knowing.

So when you finally managed to get him alone, seated beside you on the couch in the familiar comfort of your living room, you weren’t about to waste the opportunity. You wanted answers, and this time, you weren’t leaving without them.

The air was thick with unspoken words as you turned to face him. The dim glow of the lamp cast warm shadows across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows. He had been unusually quiet all evening, and you had reached your limit.

"What’s with the long face, Caleb?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, laced with quiet concern. "Tell me what’s wrong."

Your eyes searched his, willing him to let you in. His moods always affected you, but this… this silence was unbearable.

Caleb looked momentarily caught off guard, as if he hadn’t expected you to confront him so directly. He parted his lips to speak—probably to brush it off, to tell you it was nothing—but then he hesitated.

And instead of words, he took your hand.

Gently, he pressed your palm against his chest, right over his heart. You could feel it, the rapid beat beneath your fingertips.

"Did I do something wrong?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "You've been so distant lately…"

His grip on your hand tightened slightly. "Pipsqueak," he murmured, the nickname rolling off his tongue with quiet fondness. "You could never upset me."

There was something unreadable in his gaze—something raw.

"I've just been… confused," he admitted, his voice lower now, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to say the words aloud.

"Confused about what?" You instinctively moved closer, barely noticing the way your knees touched.

Caleb exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "It’s becoming harder to hide," he finally said. "To pretend I don’t feel something I’ve been trying to ignore for far longer than I should have."

Then, in a move so tender it sent a shiver down your spine, he lifted your hand to his cheek, closing his eyes for just a moment as he nuzzled against your palm.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Caleb…" Your voice wavered, warmth creeping up your face. His touch was intoxicating, his puppy-eyed gaze making your heart weak. "What are you saying?"

His lips curled into the faintest smile, as if the answer had been obvious all along.

"What I’m saying," he murmured, eyes locked onto yours, "is that I’m hopelessly in love with you."

Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest like sunlight breaking through a storm.

And in that moment, nothing had ever felt more right.

You wrapped your arms tightly around Caleb, burying your face against his shoulder—partly to conceal the heat rising to your cheeks, partly to soak in the warmth of his embrace. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips felt grounding, reassuring, like an unspoken promise.

In that moment, you felt whole. As if a missing piece you hadn't even realized was absent had finally fallen into place, completing a puzzle you hadn't known you were solving.