Also I Needed Some Real Solars For His Trials Because He ONLY EVER GIVES ME BONFIRE OR BUNNY

Dance With Me - Xavier

You can feel the breeze rushing through the trees you hear overhead as their leaves rustle. The wind plays with the hem of your skirt, making it flutter around your legs. The gauzy material feels like a feather as it brushes against your legs.

"Where are we going, Xavier?" You ask as he leads you further into the woods. "You'll see, just trust me." He responds, squeezing your hand. You do trust him, Xavier would never lead you to harm. Of that, you are absolutely certain. But you can't deny that curiosity burning in you.

A week ago, Xavier had asked you to clear your day for the 14th. He wanted to take you somewhere. He'd also requested you wear the white dress with thin straps and the silver star pattern sweeping up the skirt. You paired the dress with white flats and left your hair down.

"How much further?" You asked, becoming increasingly antsy about where he was taking you. "We're almost there, promise." He answered as he grabbed your other hand. "Step up now." He said, guiding you onto a hard surface. Guessing that it had been a rock when he guided you to step down again right after.

The breeze blowing seemed more free here. The space felt bigger. A few more steps, and he stopped and let go of both hands and moved away. "Xavier?" You call holding your hands out in front, trying to search for him. Walking carefully so as no to tripnor stumbled.

Your hand came into contact with something warm, and you smiled in relief. Feeling the slow, steady beat of Xavier's heart. His hand curled over the top of yours. His fingers brushed your cheek as he carefully slid the blindfold off.

You blinked several times as your eyes adjusted to the light. Several orbs of light were floating around you, just suspended in air. Looking up, you saw that they had completely set and the stars were shining brightly, scattered across the sky without competition.

"Oh wow." You said in awe, looking around. A large checkered blanket had been laid out on the grass, and a wicker basket was set on one of the corners.

"You told me that you'd always wanted to picnic under the stars, so what do you think." He said, gesturing to his spread. He handed you a bouquet of red, purple, and burgundy roses. They were the largest blooms you had ever seen. "Happy Valentiens Day." He said softly, watching you intently.

"Oh, Xavier, these are beautiful!" You say after finding your voice. You hold the flowers in one hand and reach up to kiss him. Placing your free hand on his face as you do. He wraps his arms around your waist and bends down to you.

"I got your favorite foods. I did try to make something myself, but..". He trails off, scratching the side of his head. You laugh, knowing he was absolutely hopeless in the kitchen. He did much better when you cooked together, but on his own... You just couldn't understand where he was going wrong.

"It's ok." You say smiling up at him. His sheepish expression is just too cute. "I love you, not your cooking skills." He smiles softly, a faint pink on his cheeks and ears.

Xavier unpacks the basket and pours you a glass of wine. Sitting down next to him, you snack on the food, watching him quietly. He seems to be thinking about something.

"Did you know we're supposed yo have a meteor shower tonight?" He asks, showing you his phone screen. You glance down at the article he had been reading. "Wow, I wonder if we're in a good spot to see it." You say and go yo grab a cherry as Xavier is also reaching for one. Your fingers touch. Instead of grabbing one, Xavier laces his finger with yours.

You grab a cherry with your free hand and press it to his lips. He stared at you as he bites it. Your faces heats up from his intense eye contact. You blink and look away flustered.

"No fair." You mutter and hear him laugh softly. You never should have told him you loved his gaze and how deep his eyes were. He used the knowledge on you every opportunity.

He pulls out a portable radio from the basket and starts fiddling with it, seemingly trying to find a station signal.

A few minutes later and a voice comes out. "... and now, for all you valentine lovers out there on this special day, we bring you this next song." You recognize the opening notes of an old song that was popular about fifteen years ago.

Xavier stands up and offers you his hand as Adele's voice starts singing. "Dance with me." You smile and take his hand.

He brings you in close, holding you tightly against his body as he begins swaying with you slowly. The moon shines down on you brightly.

You press your ear against his chest, listening to his faster than normal heartbeat and close your eyes. The feeling of home was over you. Adele's sweet voice is in the background as her song draws to a close.

Even after the song is over, Xavier continues holding you as you slowly move about the clearing.

A while later, he's getting your attention and telling you to look up. Bright flicks of light are blinking across the sky one after another. Just a few at first and then dozens.

"Wow, how pretty." You reach a hand out as if to try and touch them. Leaning back into Xavier's arms, you watch the lights fly across the sky, thinking that there is no place in the galaxy you'd rather be than right here with Xavier right by your side.

****************************************************

Yes, I was listening to Adele while I wrote this. Guilty.

I know what you might be thinking. Why didn't I post Xavier's story yesterday? The answer is simple! I had a hard time writing his story and have myself an extra day! Hence why I posted the first one on the 9th.

I prolly wrote and rewrote this one seven times.

I love Xavier. But he is SO HARD for me to write without him being completely OOC! 😫

I did try really hard, I hope you love it!!

Headcanon -

Barista Caleb takes your order

Details: dokidoki fluffy coffee caleb, maybe he adds apple juice and a squeeze of lemon? 700ish words.

“Morning,” he says, a slow, easy grin tugging at his lips as he leans against the counter. His voice is smooth, low, but carries just enough amusement to make you feel like he’s been waiting all morning for someone interesting to talk to. “First time here?”

You blink, thrown for a second, before shaking your head. “Uh—no, I’ve been here before. Just… not with you taking my order.”

“Ah,” he hums, like this is important information. “Well, in that case, I’ll have to make sure your experience today is exceptional. What can I get for you?”

It’s almost unfair, how casual he is about it. You manage to give him your order, your voice steadier than you expect, but the moment he nods and writes your name on the cup, you realize you might be in trouble.

Because he is breathtaking.

Not just in a pretty-boy, “oh, he’s attractive” kind of way. No, it’s the way he moves—fluid, self-assured, a quiet kind of charisma that doesn’t demand attention but holds it anyway. His apron is tied perfectly at his waist, snug but comfortable, emphasizing his lean build. He works with an effortless grace, hands moving with quick, precise motions as he sets up your drink like he’s been doing it all his life.

And then there’s the new barista.

You notice them standing beside him, apron still a little too crisp, movements stiff with nerves. He notices too.

“Hey, you good?” he asks, his tone light, but genuinely concerned.

The newbie nods, but hesitantly. He watches them for half a second, then gestures toward your order.

“Wanna make this one?”

They freeze. “Uh—me?”

“Yeah, you,” he grins, nodding toward the espresso machine. “C’mon, it’s just one drink. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“…I mess it up?”

“That’s the spirit,” he teases, nudging them lightly with his elbow. “But seriously, don’t worry. I’ll walk you through it.”

You watch as the newbie hesitantly steps up, hands fumbling with the portafilter. He lets them struggle for a second before stepping in behind them, close enough that his voice drops slightly, quiet and patient.

“Here, let me help.”

And then he does something devastating.

He reaches out, his hands brushing over theirs as he adjusts their grip, fingers steady and sure. “You wanna lock it in like this. Feel that little click? That means it’s in place.”

The newbie nods, but their breath catches slightly, and—yeah, okay, you can’t blame them. He is warm, too close, and entirely too unaware of how unfair it is to exist like this.

“Good,” he says, pulling back just enough to give them space. “Now, hit that button—yeah, that one. You got it.”

You swear you see the newbie swallow hard, cheeks dusted pink. He doesn’t comment on it—maybe he’s too focused on the drink, or maybe he’s just used to this.

Because you are feeling the exact same thing.

The drink comes together eventually, and the newbie looks both relieved and still slightly dazed. He claps them on the shoulder, offering a quick, reassuring grin.

“See? Not so bad,” he says. “Next time, I’m letting you handle it without the assist.”

They make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a nervous gulp.

And then, finally, he turns back to you.

He picks up your cup, spinning it slightly between his fingers before sliding it across the counter toward you.

“Here you go,” he says, his voice just a little softer now, a little more directed at you. “Hope you like it.” And then, after a pause, his smirk deepens.

“If not… guess you’ll just have to come back so I can make it up to you.”

Your fingers tighten around the cup, heat creeping up your neck. Your brain offers you several possible responses—flirty, cool, clever—and you say none of them.

Because all you can think about is how easy it would be to just ask. His number. His shift schedule. Anything that would let you turn this brief interaction into something more.

But the words sit heavy on your tongue, unspoken.

You just nod. And walk away.

And as you take your first sip, the new barista catches your gaze, their expression a perfect mirror of yours—slightly dazed, a little overwhelmed, and absolutely thinking the same thing.

This isn’t just a barista.

This is a problem.

And then you glance at the counter one last time, at the name tag pinned neatly to his apron.

Caleb.

—————————————————————————-

There’s more barista Caleb! Check my masterlist 🫶🏻

Weight

Love & Deepspace Men As Your Gym Instructor

pairings: sylus x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, xavier x reader, caleb x reader

A/N: A series of headcanons about the LIs as your gym instructor. Requests are very much open.

SYLUS

• Sylus isn’t just a gym instructor—he’s an executioner. He doesn’t train people; he breaks them. Every session is a test of survival, and he watches your suffering with just enough amusement to make you question if he enjoys this. “If you collapse, I’m leaving you here,” he deadpans as you struggle to get off the mat.

• He has absolutely no patience for whining. The moment you start complaining, he doubles the intensity of your workout.

“I think my legs are going to give out—”

“Perfect. Let’s add weights.”

• He’s unnervingly quiet when you struggle. No words of encouragement, no sympathy—just the piercing gaze of a man who expects results. You groan, dropping the dumbbells. He just stares. “…Say something.”

He blinks. “Pathetic.”

• He refuses to let you lift with bad form. He will physically adjust you without hesitation. Hand on your back, fingers pressing into your shoulders, grip firm against your waist. He’s indifferent to the proximity—you, however, are not. “Relax,” he murmurs, voice just above your ear. “You’re tense.”

• His personal space boundaries don’t exist—especially when spotting you. You’re struggling under a barbell, and suddenly, he’s there. Arms bracketing yours, voice smooth and unbothered. “Push,” he orders. You try, but all you can focus on is the way his breath fans against your cheek.

• He subtly tests your endurance just to see how much you can handle. He calls it training. It’s actually just entertainment. “You can take more,” he muses, adding another plate to the bar.

• Flirts without technically flirting. Everything he says could be taken as platonic—but the way he says it? Absolutely not. “You’re improving,” he muses.

You blink. “Wait… was that a compliment?”

He shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

• Refuses to admit he cares, but it’s obvious in subtle ways. He’ll shove a water bottle at you without comment. Drag you to a bench when you look exhausted. You pant, wiping sweat from your forehead. “I’m dying.”

He clicks his tongue, tossing you a towel.

• Competitive to an unhealthy degree. You mention beating him at anything, and suddenly, he’s taking it personally. “I ran five miles today,” you say, stretching.

He glances over. “Make it ten next time.”

• When he does praise you, it’s rare—but devastatingly effective. It’s not often, but when it happens, it lingers. “Not bad,” he murmurs, watching you finish your set.

Your brain malfunctions. “Wait—what?”

He smirks. “Nothing.”

SCENARIO

You’re on the ground. Not sitting. Not crouching. Collapsed.

Sylus stands over you, arms crossed, entirely unimpressed. “Pathetic.”

You groan. “I literally can’t move...”

He tilts his head. “You have another set.”

Your glare could burn through steel. “Sylus. My legs are gone.”

He crouches beside you, gaze unreadable. “You’re fine.”

“I’m—” You gesture weakly. “—not fine.”

There’s a pause. Then—without warning—he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you up like it’s nothing.

Your hands instinctively grab onto his shoulders, and for a second, the world tilts. His grip is steady. His voice, lower than usual.

“See?” he murmurs. “You’re still standing.”

You blink up at him, heart hammering. “I—”

He smirks, releasing you. You immediately stumble.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back, tone casual. “Next set.”

You hate him. You really do.

ZAYNE

• Zayne is a gym instructor with the patience of a saint and the intensity of a drill sergeant. He’s not the type to yell or get overly aggressive, but his expectations are high. If you slack off, he doesn’t scold you—he just looks at you. And somehow, that’s worse. “Again.” His voice is calm, almost indifferent, as you struggle through push-ups. “Don’t stop until you get it right.”

• He never sugarcoats anything. If your form is bad, he’ll tell you. If you’re being dramatic, he’ll call you out. But if you actually push yourself, he will acknowledge it.

• You pant, struggling to finish your reps. Zayne watches. “You’re stronger than that. Keep going.”

• The kind of instructor who gives subtle but sharp praise. He won’t shower you with encouragement, but when he does give a rare compliment, it sticks. “Well done,” he murmurs after you break your personal record.

• Prefers efficiency over flashy workouts. He doesn’t waste time with trends or gimmicks. He’ll give you a program that works, but you will definitely suffer. “No shortcuts,” he says, handing you a heavier weight than you expected. “Do it right, or don’t do it at all.”

• Not overly physical unless necessary. He’s not the type to adjust you constantly, but if your form is off, he will fix it—without hesitation. One hand at your lower back, the other guiding your grip. “Here,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “Straighten up.”

• Expects discipline, but isn’t completely heartless. He won’t let you quit, but he does notice when you’re genuinely struggling. His version of kindness? A short water break instead of immediate death.

• You groan. “Zayne, I think I’m dying.”

He hands you a water bottle. “Then hydrate first.”

• Completely unbothered by whining. Complain all you want—he won’t react. In fact, the more you complain, the more weight he adds.

• “My legs feel like jelly—”

“Then we’ll strengthen them.” He hands you a resistance band.

• Is meticulous about post-workout recovery. He doesn’t just push you—he makes sure you recover properly. That means stretching, hydration, and making sure you’re not being an idiot. “You better not skip your cooldown,” he warns.

You smirk. “Why? Will you carry me home if I collapse?”

His gaze flickers to you. “No, but I’ll make sure your next session is worse.”

• Doesn’t like distractions. If you come to the gym to chat or mess around, he’ll shut it down fast. “Focus,” he says when you start rambling between sets. “Or leave.”

• Gives zero reaction when people try to flirt with him. Other gym-goers have tried. He never takes the bait. You watch a girl giggle as she asks him for ‘help’ adjusting her form. Zayne corrects her stance in under five seconds, completely unfazed. “Done.”

She pouts. “That’s all?”

He turns to you instead. “You’re up.”

SCENARIO

You’re wheezing. Absolutely dying.

Zayne watches from the side, arms crossed. “You have five minutes left.”

You groan, gripping the treadmill’s handles. “I’m—gonna pass out.”

He tilts his head, unimpressed. “You said that ten minutes ago.”

“I meant it this time—”

The treadmill suddenly increases speed. You yelp.

“ZAYNE—”

He doesn’t react. “You’ll survive.”

You stumble, barely catching yourself. “You’re evil.”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Keep running.”

RAFAYEL

• Rafayel is the worst and best trainer you could have. He’s the type to look like he’s taking this seriously—clipboard in hand, stopwatch ticking—only to throw in something completely ridiculous halfway through your session.

• “Alright, time for squats. And if you mess up, I’ll make you do them while balancing a book on your head. Gotta work on that grace, cutie.”

• He is not a role model. Skips warm-ups, ignores cooldowns, and somehow never follows his own advice. He’ll sit there drinking an iced coffee while watching you struggle. “Push through the pain,” he says lazily, sipping his caramel macchiato.

• Absolutely makes things harder just to mess with you. If he sees you struggling, does he help? No. He makes it worse. “Oh, you’re having trouble with those weights? Here, let me fix that.” —and suddenly he adds more.

• Zero professionalism. If you start flirting, he will flirt back, and it’s a dangerous game. “You’re lucky I’m here to watch you suffer.”

You smirk. “Or maybe you just like watching me.”

He leans in. “And what if I do?”

• Overly dramatic when he works out himself. If you ever catch him actually exercising, he acts like it’s a life-altering event. “God, this is agony. Why do people do this?” —as if he’s not a personal trainer.

• Pretends he doesn’t care, but actually keeps a close eye on you. He’ll tease you for whining, but the second you actually look like you might faint, he’s already there, handing you a water bottle. “Tsk. You look pathetic.” A pause. “…Drink.”

• Loves making up fake ‘training techniques.’ Half the time, you don’t know if he’s being serious or just making things up for fun. “This exercise is called ‘suffering but make it aesthetic.’ Perfect for you.”

• Will absolutely let you take breaks if you bribe him. You want to sit down and do nothing? Cool. Just bring him a snack, and he’ll mysteriously forget how many reps you had left. “Fifty push-ups? Nah, I think it was… ten. Maybe five, if you’re cute enough.”

• Gets jealous if you take fitness advice from someone else. If you ever listen to another trainer, expect Rafayel to sabotage them in the pettiest way possible. “Oh, he told you to stretch like that? Ridiculous."

• The type to bet against you—then get personally invested when you prove him wrong. He wants you to fail, just so he can be smug about it. But when you actually push through? Yeah, now he’s impressed. “…Goos job,” he mutters when you finish a brutal set. Then, a smirk. “Do it again.”

SCENARIO

Rafayel leans against the squat rack, watching you struggle with your set.

“I swear—this feels heavier than last time,” you grunt, barely holding the bar steady.

He smiles innocently. “Hmm. Weird.”

You narrow your eyes. “You did something.”

“Moi?” He places a hand on his chest, mock-offended. “Darling, I would never sabotage my favorite student.”

You pause. “I’m your only student.”

“Exactly.”

It takes you a second before realization hits. “You added weight when I wasn’t looking, didn’t you?”

He hums. “Guess you’ll have to finish the set to find out.”

“…I hate you.”

He grins. “I love you too.”

XAVIER

• Xavier is terrifyingly efficient as a trainer. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t mock, doesn’t even look particularly invested. But somehow, he always gets you to push past your limits. “You said you were done? No. You have three more in you. Keep going.”

• His neutral expression makes him unreadable. You can be dying in the middle of a workout, and he’ll just watch with the same blank stare.

“Is this… supposed to be this hard?”

He blinks. “Yes.”

• Zero tolerance for excuses. You tell him you’re tired? He tilts his head slightly. “And?” Say your muscles hurt? “That’s the point.” Try to leave early? He will appear behind you.

• But he has an unexpected soft spot. The moment you actually can’t keep going, he’s already handing you water, fixing your form, making sure you don’t push past your limit. He won’t say it, but he’s watching closely.

• Deadpan humor that makes you question if he’s serious. “Xavier, I think I’m dying.”

He nods. “Yes. That is what training feels like.”

• He’s weirdly encouraging in a clinical way. He won’t shower you with praise, but when he does compliment you, it hits. “Your endurance has improved,” he murmurs, as if it’s just an observation. …But somehow, that makes you want to try even harder.

• Almost never raises his voice, but when he does? You listen. The one time you nearly drop a weight on yourself, his usual monotone disappears. “Stop.” You freeze, more from shock than anything. When you glance up, his eyes are sharp—focused entirely on you.

Then, just as quickly, he’s back to normal. “Fix your grip.”

• He doesn’t do ‘small talk’—but he remembers everything you say. You mention your favorite protein shake once, and a week later, he hands you one without a word. “Drink this. You’ll need it.”

• One time, when you were gasping for air on the mat, you look up to glance at your instructor for an approval, only to see him snoring on the floor.

• Stares at you a bit too intensely. You didn't want to assume, but you swore you caught him staring into your lower half when you were doing squats.

• He has a quiet but very possessive streak. If another trainer tries to offer you advice, Xavier is right there, staring them down. “She’s my student,” he says, and that’s the end of the conversation.

SCENARIO

You’re gasping for air, bent over after another brutal round of circuits.

“I can’t—” you wheeze. “That’s it. I’m done.”

Xavier watches you for a moment, then nods. “Alright.”

Wait. That’s it? No cold stare? No sarcastic remark?

You frown. “You’re not going to force me to keep going?”

He hums. “No. If you want to stop, you can stop.”

…You don’t trust him. “…But?”

He tilts his head, like he’s considering something. Then, his voice drops, just barely: “I just thought you were stronger than this.”

Your eye twitches. Oh. Oh, that bastard.

You grit your teeth, straightening up. “Fine. One more set.”

For the first time that day, he almost looks amused. “Good choice.”

CALEB

• Caleb is the ultimate ‘supportive but slightly terrifying’ trainer. He’s always smiling, always energetic—but somehow, that makes him even scarier. “C’mon, pip-squeak! Just one more set! You got this!”

…You’ve been doing ‘one more set’ for the last 20 minutes.

• He’s the type to bet against you just to make you work harder. “You? Finishing a full workout without whining? Nah, I don’t see it happening.”

…You push yourself just to prove him wrong.

• Runs next to you on the treadmill—effortlessly keeping up. You’re dying, but he’s jogging beside you, chatting like this is a casual stroll. “You hear that? That’s the sound of progress, babe.”

…The only sound you hear is your own wheezing.

• Looks like he’s playing around, but he’s actually analyzing every move. He’s laughing, teasing, but if your form is even slightly off? He’s immediately fixing it. “Tsk. You keep that up, and you’ll wreck your knees. Here—” He steps behind you, hands ghosting over your waist to adjust your stance. Too close.

• Not afraid to use distractions as motivation. If he catches you slacking? He leans in, voice dropping into something softer. “What’s wrong? Getting tired already? You know, if you do five more reps, I might have a reward for you.”

…You never ask what he means. You don’t want to know.

• Has no sense of personal space. He will absolutely drape himself over you if he thinks you’re resting too long. “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just waiting for you to stop being lazy.”

• If you ever try to beat him at anything, he makes it a whole event. You challenge him to a sprint? He smirks. “Oh? You think you can keep up with me?”Suddenly, the entire gym is watching.

• He absolutely loves reveling in the thought that he's physically stronger than you, sometimes even asking for you to sit on him as he do push-ups. You never agreed.

• He gets way too proud when you start improving. The first time you lift heavier weight than before, he whoops—loudly. “Hell yeah, that’s my girl!”

…You pretend it doesn’t make you feel weirdly warm.

• If anyone else so much as glances at you? He notices. And suddenly, he’s all over you—grinning, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “So, sunshine. How about we grab a smoothie after this? My treat.” …He’s not asking. He’s staking a claim.

• Will not let you leave without stretching—and if you refuse? He personally helps you. “Fine. We’ll do it together.” Then he’s behind you, hands guiding your arms, breath way too close to your ear. “Deep breath. Good girl." You’re never skipping cooldowns again.

SCENARIO

You collapse onto the mat, sweat dripping down your face. “I can’t anymore.”

Caleb squats down beside you, grinning. “Oh yeah?”

You glare up at him. “I’m done.”

He tilts his head, considering. “Hmm. Shame.”

“…Shame?”

He leans in, smirking. Too close. “Well, I was gonna say—if you did ten more reps, maybe I’d let you pick where we grab food after.”

You stare. “That’s—”

“—Or,” he interrupts, voice dropping, “I could just pick for you. And you know I have awful taste.”

You groan. He’s the type to drag you to some all-protein, no-flavor nightmare.

He grins wider. “So. What’s it gonna be, pip-squeak?”

You sigh, grabbing the weights. “I hate you.”

He laughs, standing back up. “No, you don’t.”

✨ LUMIERE, OUR LORD AND SAVIOR ✨

Artist: @Vega23al_

say my (real) name.

synopsis — the l&ds boys gently crashing out because you didn't call them by their pet name <3

warnings — pet names (baby, love, honey, sweetheart, etc.), extreme doses of fluff

featuring — xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, & caleb (separate fics)

notes — the entire time i was writing this i was tempted to just bite my laptop and swing it around like a dog. can you tell that i've been single for too long?

"I'm home!" Xavier called out to you as he locked your front door upon entering your apartment, settling the bags full of food down onto your dining table. He had texted you that he was going to arrive at 5:30 PM, but got caught up in traffic on the way home, making him 15 minutes later than the time he gave.

"Xavier?" you called back, stepping out of your bathroom and patting your hands dry from washing them earlier. Xavier furrowed his eyebrows together, immediately concerned.

"Baby, please don't be mad at me," he said, voice wavering, "There was traffic and the elevator kept opening at random floors."

You stared at him with a confused look. "I'm... not mad at you...?"

"But you didn't call me baby..." Xavier muttered, dejected.

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, "Oh, I'm sorry baby. I didn't mean to scare you." You giggled, approaching him with your arms open. Xavier immediately wrapped his arms around you and practically shoved his face into the crook of your shoulder.

"I'm not mad at you, okay baby? I just wanted to know if it was you." you reassured him, patting him on the head. Xavier's response was muffled against your skin, and you just nodded, pretending to understand your big baby.

As you finished cleaning up in the kitchen after dinner, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you spot Zayne hovering by the entryway, still in his doctor's coat looking distressed. You hadn't been expecting him back so early from his shift at Akso.

"Oh my god– you scared me." you jokingly reprimanded him, approaching him to greet him with a hug and a kiss. But puzzlingly, he stopped you, "Did I do something wrong?" he asked directly.

You blinked in surprise, "What? No!"

"I'm not sure what I did, my love, but I'm really sorry." Zayne said, holding your hands in his and bringing it to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles gently, "I don't want to upset you, and I want us to talk this out properly so we can go to bed tonight without any problems."

"I– Zayne, what's going on? Why would I be upset with you?" you asked, laughing at his worried state, unsure if he was being serious or not.

"You..." Zayne sighed heavily, his hand coming up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You called me by my name in your text. And just now, too. I thought I did something to make you mad."

You wracked your brain for the last text you sent him. You vaguely remembered telling him that you might not be able to text him back if he needed to check up on you because you were planning to sleep early. You looked up at your boyfriend with a fond smile, holding his face with both your hands.

"Love, I'm not upset with you." you reassured him, your thumbs gently caressing his cheeks, "I was just in a rush earlier, okay? I'm so sorry that I made you worry."

With a sigh of relief, Zayne kissed each of your palms and smiled. "Thank you for telling me, my love." he said sincerely.

"Of course." you replied and pulled him down for a kiss on the lips. "Now get out of your work clothes, I'll reheat some leftovers for you."

You walked into your boyfriend's studio armed with comfort food, expecting to find Rafayel working on the big painting he was complaining to you about. But all that was left in the studio was a big canvas and some of his art supplies sprawled about on the floor.

He had called you earlier to invite you over at his place because he said he was 'one paint stroke away from burning out'. Ever so concerned for your boyfriend, you immediately went to order from his favorite places and order a taxi to his place.

"Rafayel? I'm here! I brought some food for us." you called out. You placed the bag of takeout onto his coffee table.

"Excuse me? Rafayel?"

Just then, rapid footsteps emerged from somewhere in the studio. In came Rafayel, his shirt unbuttoned and his expression distraught. "What are you calling me that for, cutie?!" he gasped, pulling you into his arms to keep you from walking away.

"I–" you cut yourself off with an incredulous laugh, "Is it not your name?"

"To the rest of the world, I am Rafayel. The greatest painter of the world, the nephew of a prodigal opera singer, yada-yada," Rafayel said, his tone completely serious, "But to you, my cutie, I am your baby. And you should address me as such!"

You laughed once more as you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him and giggling against his plush lips. Pulling away, you rested your forehead against his and smiled fondly up at your dramatic lover. "Okay baby, I won't forget that next time."

"You better not! Or else." Rafayel threatened playfully, then smiled back at you. He gave you one more kiss before letting you go to make way for the food you brought.

You stood in front of your mirror with the dress that Sylus bought for you, unsure of how the color looked on you. It was yet another red dress, long-sleeved and backless, but it had more of a purple undertone compared to the ones he previously gave you.

"Sylus? Can you come in here for a second please?" you called to your boyfriend absentmindedly, tilting your head to get a better angle at your dress.

Sylus walked into the bedroom with his arms crossed and an irritated face. "Yes, honey?"

"Does this look okay?" you asked, not looking back at him. "I love the dress, don't get me wrong – but I don't know about the color..."

"I can get you a new one in the color you want, honey." he replied.

"Mmm, but I want your honest opinion on this dress first."

"I think it looks ravishing on you, honey. Anything looks good on you."

"Okay, why are you saying it like that?" you asked him with a giggle, which only irritated Sylus even further.

"Saying what like what, honey?"

"That, the honey!" You laughed, finally noticing how upset your boyfriend actually looked. "Did I say something wrong?"

Sylus narrowed his eyes at you for a moment before he sighed. "I thought that... you were messing with me." he admitted softly, "I've grown accustomed to you calling me by honey instead of my name."

Your mouth formed an O in realization, then you threw your head back with a laugh, "Oh honey, please don't be sulky. I didn't mean to mess with you." you cooed, walking closer to him, pulling him into you for a hug with your head resting on his chest.

Sylus held your head in his large hand and gave your hair a kiss. "Oh, it's quite alright, Y/N." he replied, feeling his smirk against your strands.

You lifted your head from his chest with a pout. Sylus just chuckled and turned you back to the mirror to focus back on your dress.

You could barely call it a miracle Caleb could work from home for a few days. Despite not having to stay at the Farspace Fleet's sterile buildings, Caleb was still swamped with paper work. He stayed most of the time at the dining table, folders and papers piling up on the surface like mountains.

But you didn't mind – at least he was far away from the fleet for now. So you made it a mission to make him more comfortable at his home in Skyhaven, doing his chores for him while he made his rounds on the paper work.

You sat in the living room, scrolling through your phone when you came across an ad for a new chicken place that was nearby Caleb's house. Your stomach grumbled like clockwork, and you glanced at the time – it was almost dinnertime.

"Caleb, do you want anything specific for dinner tonight?" you called, "Or should I just order–"

"What're you calling me Caleb for?!" Caleb cut you off loudly from the dining table. You turned to look at him and flinched when you saw him already standing directly behind you on the sofa. His eyes wide and pleading, he pouted at you.

"I–" you scoffed, laughing at how he genuinely looked upset. "But that's your name, isn't it, sweetheart?"

"No." Like a disobedient puppy, Caleb crossed his arms, his pout somehow becoming more prominent. "I am your sweetheart or baby or honey or darling or whatever you feel like calling me – you lost your privileges of calling me by my first name the moment you became my partner." he declared.

You giggled uncontrollably as you walked around the sofa to hug him. Caleb hummed as he hugged you back, his secure arms tight around your body. "Okay, sweetheart, I'm sorry." you cooed, giving his chest a kiss, "So do you want me to order take-out for us, baby? It's almost dinner time, my baby should take a break from work at least."

Caleb brightened up instantly at the flurry of pet names and nodded.

some of us have just never known ease.

we've known so much fear energy, and we've spent our lives with this feeling… like we're always on the verge of being in trouble for something. it's intangible, but it's always there… and the dream is to close our eyes someday and to just feel safe, to feel held by a universe that loves us.

- butterflies rising

A Special Night

Content: Fluff, nonsexual nudity that's really just one sentence

You stumble your way to your apartment door. Colors fill your vision, and the pressure in your head makes you want to cry. You ran around Linkon City chasing potential wanderers without the chance to eat or rest all day. To make matters worse, some of the civilians affected by wanderer attacks lashed out at you for not making it to their businesses in time to prevent damage. You are beyond exhausted to the point to where you can barely speak. On your way back to the apartment building, the only form of communication you could manage with Xavier was a brief text:

I’m on my way home. Everything hurts. I just want to go to bed. 

You open your door to see Xavier standing in your living room. Fairy lights twinkle across the TV and along the walls. You also see all your most comfy blankets covering the couch in front of the paused title card of your favorite movie. You look at Xavier with raised brows and your jaw slightly ajar. You don’t need to say any words for Xavier to understand what you’re thinking. “What is all this?” your expression says for you. 

Xavier gives you a peck on the cheek. “Tara called to tell me what happened today, so I wanted to surprise you. You don’t have to do anything. Let me take care of you tonight.” 

Before you know it, tears run down your face. You lean against Xavier’s shoulder and begin to cry. “Thank you,” you manage to whimper. 

Xavier rubs your back as he embraces your sore body. “Please don’t cry, and there’s no need to thank me. I’m here for you.” Xavier leads you first to the kitchen where he has dinner waiting for you on the table. It’s not hot pot, but braised chicken wings from a local restaurant. “Eat first. You’ll feel much better after eating something.” He, then, hands you a glass of water that you down in seconds. You don’t have to worry about lifting a finger. Xavier fills your glass again and hands you utensils, napkins, whatever you need before you can even ask. You eat to your heart’s content, and your headache begins to dull. 

Once you finish your meal, Xavier immediately picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. “What are you doing?” you ask.

“Helping you get a bath,” Xavier says nonchalantly. “We can’t watch the movie until we’re both comfortable in our pajamas. I’ll even wash and dry your hair for you.” 

You are unable to protest. Xavier begins undressing you as he waits for water to fill the tub. You sigh in relief when he removes your shirt. Your arms are so sore that you knew you could not lift them enough to take your shirt off yourself. You could forget washing your hair. “I don’t deserve you,” you say. Xavier kneels beside you as you sit on the edge of the tub. He takes your hands into his. Your cheeks turn red when you process he is making this gesture while both of you are naked. 

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” he says, his azure eyes softening even more as he meets your gaze. Your exhaustion melts away as you admire his warmth and gentleness. “You have helped me more times than I can count when I was injured while hunting. It is a privilege to do the same and more for you. My purpose in this life is to take care of you to the best of my ability.” His words touch your heart so much that you tear up from happiness a second time that night. 

You and Xavier take a quick, warm bath. True to his word, he washes and dries your hair for you. He also grabs your pajamas from the bedroom, so you wouldn’t have to walk all the way over there to get them. Once the two of you are warm and dry, Xavier carries you to the couch where he tucks the two of you in under the blankets. 

You lean against Xavier’s chest as you both watch the movie in silence. His warmth, the dimness of the fairy lights, a full belly, and the peace from watching your comfort movie cause you to nod off. You catch yourself from falling asleep in an attempt to stay awake, at least until the end of the movie. You don’t want this perfect night to end. Not yet. However, Xavier notices your struggle to remain conscious. 

“Starlight,” he whispers, “are you ready to go to bed?” 

“Nooo,” you mumble. “I want to stay awake. We have to finish the movie.” Xavier chuckles as he kisses your forehead. 

“Alright, but I’m bringing you to bed the moment you fall asleep.” You really try to keep your eyes open. You want to appreciate every second of this thoughtful night that Xavier gifted to you, but, unfortunately, you are just too tired. It is about half a minute before you pass out from your exhaustion. Your body goes limp on top of Xavier, falling into a deep sleep. He caresses your face, giving you one more kiss before bringing you to bed. That night, you have the best sleep you ever had in years. 

SILENT COMFORT

❥ First time wearing his clothes

✎ AN: Xavier and MC are the best hunter duo, neighbours and close friends. A sudden predicament now threatens to change that dynamic (no angst, they're good). Reader is referred to as MC.  Word count: 1.7 k Disclaimer: I cannot guarantee these are 100% compatible with the story and lore, I don’t have all cards and my memory only stretches so far.

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❥ Xavier: You and Xavier finally return to HQ after a grueling long battle fighting wanderers on the outskirts of Linkon. Upon your arrival several coworkers showered you both with praise and applause earning awkward smiles from you, whereas Xavier remained as calm as ever as you both made your way toward the locker room. Suddenly you heard someone declare you and Xavier the best team of your branch. Feeling a warmth rise on your cheeks you carefully turn to look at Xavier who adorns a soft smirk whilst keeping his gaze firmly on the floor. He would never dare admit it, but he loved when people praised your teamwork. Not your skills individually, but the fact that you made each other better hunters and everyone knew it.

The door to the locker room closes behind you and a calm silence soothes both your headaches. Xavier looks at you for the first time since you got back and you both sigh in unison. A gentle smile plays on his lips as his body tries to relax. He stretches his arms out and turns his neck left and right in an attempt to loosen the strained muscles. You do the same. No one says anything but there is nothing awkward about this silence. You’ve worked together for so long now that you know the need for silence after long missions is a necessity, before you’re in any position to discuss the mission and how your tactics worked. You move toward your locker leaving muddy shoe prints in your path. Xavier disappears around the corner.

“Oh no…” You whisper as you stare at the contents of your locker. It’s not as full as you expected it to be. You look down at your uniform. It is covered in dirt, dust and mud. Taking the train home in your uniform usually grants you attention from strangers, but in its current state you’d basically be littering on the train. 

“What is the matter?” You jump at the sudden sight of Xavier peeking out from around the corner. He’s in the middle of pulling a clean shirt onto his toned arms. You can’t help but stare and let your gaze linger a bit too long on his sculpted torso. Only when you notice he’s started working on the buttons of his shirt are you able to regain your sanity. His brows furrowed at your strange behavior and he pauses his buttoning to cross his arms and give you a concerned stare. 

You swallow hard before you’re properly able to voice your concern. “I don’t have any clean shirts. I forgot I spilled coffee on my other one before we went out this morning.”

“Hm, this shirt is not really public transport friendly.” He moved closer to you and attempted to dust off the dried mud on your shoulder. He frowned. Not only was your shirt still dirty, his hand was too. He grabbed your wrist with the muddy hand and dragged you over to his locker. 

“You can borrow my hoodie?” He reached into the locker and grabbed his neatly folded white hoodie with his clean hand. 

“Why do you have your hoodie here? I thought everyone wore their uniform back and forth from work.”

“I faced a similar predicament as you are facing now, this morning. I had no clean shirts at home, but knew I had an extra here. I was supposed to do laundry yesterday, but I took a nap after work and forgot.”

You smiled at the thought of him napping, thinking of all the times you had accidentally woken him up when you’d call asking if he needed anything from the store, or if he wanted to join you for a jog. 

“Take it. I don’t mind sharing with you.” He smiled and you melted. It was just an innocent smile, but his hold on you was growing with every passing day. You had shared many things over the course of your friendship. Books, drinks, dinners… Nothing beat sharing the couch with him, napping in opposite corners with your legs tangled in the middle. He was too tall for either of you to get properly comfortable, but you easily dozed off each time anyways. However, sharing his hoodie seemed more intimate… Such a clichè… 

A familiar warmth reclaimed your face once more as you muttered out a thanks whilst returning his caring smile. You grabbed the hoodie and slowly turned around savoring an extra second of him in his half buttoned shirt before moving back toward your locker. That famous Xavier smirk reappeared when he carefully studied your frame as you walked away.  

You returned from the bathroom clean and dressed. His hoodie reached the middle of your thighs, and the sleeves reached beyond your fingertips. You were certain no item of clothing had ever fit you so perfectly. Clutching the collar you lift it to your nose and take in his scent still lingering on the fabric. Xavier… My Xavier… At least you wished he was. Such a terrifying thing to admit to yourself. You were coworkers and neighbours, adding a romantic relationship to the list seemed very risky. What if it didn’t work out? 

You reluctantly release the soft fabric from your grasp and take a few more steps to discover Xavier sitting at a bench waiting for you. Staring at you. His mouth stays quiet but his mind is racing at the sight of you being hugged by his favorite hoodie, almost an extension of himself. How he longed to wrap his strong arms around you. My MC…  

The train ride home is the same as any other day. You shared earbuds whilst engrossing yourselves in literature. He was reading a sci-fi novel about time travel, your recommendation. You had attempted to discreetly nuzzle your face into his hoodie keeping your book intentionally low so you’d have to crane your neck down to see it. Every time someone walked past you the wind would aid his scent to your nose and make you lose your spot on the page, but you didn’t mind. You were not able to maintain focus on the book anyways. Xavier seemed enthralled by the drama happening in his fictional world and for the first time you found yourself wishing the normally welcomed silence to finally come to an end. Speak, Xavier… Look at me, really look at me… But he doesn’t. 

You’re in the elevator slowly approaching the fifth floor. Each ding bringing you closer to an afternoon pining for the neighbour. You felt silly. You’d thought about Xavier a lot, but being engulfed in his essence seemed to have triggered something deep within you. 

Xavier had purposefully positioned himself slightly behind you in the elevator. He had been sneaking glances the whole way home, but with your gaze safely away from him, he could look for as long as he wanted. The incessant dinging of the elevator snapping him back to reality for a split second before his body refills itself with the warm and fuzzy feelings he always got when he was around you.

He felt such a strong sense of pride walking home with you today. He always hoped that any stranger who passed you would assume you were in a relationship, but today surely, no one could question it. The hoodie draping over your smaller frame was clearly his. You looked beautiful. His hand slowly crept upward as if to stroke your hair, but he did not dare to actually touch you. He swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath as he longingly stroked the air behind you. 

The final ding of your journey startled you enough to make you lose your balance a bit. The back of your head was met by a soft palm that did not linger. You quickly turned to face Xavier and an unfamiliar expression stared back at you. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly opened and his ears were bright red. A stark contrast to his silver hair. 

“I’m sorry, I-I was just, uh.” The quilty hand that was still suspended in the air attempted to find refuge at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t come up with a response, too scared to make any assumptions regarding what his hand was doing so close to you.

“Oh, the door!” Xavier called out but the doors closed before he could get his feet to move. The sixth floor was now the next stop. His stop. Another ding and you’ve reached your final destination. He slowly cowers out of the small elevator and turns to face you as he exits. It looks like he’s about to say something but you beat him to it. Shit… You wish he had gotten the chance to speak first. 

“I’ll wash your hoodie and return it t-to you t-tomorrow.” Your vocal cords betray you as you can barely stutter out the words. Xavier slowly nodded before the action transitioned into him shaking his head vigorously. 

“No!” He exclaimed as he reached out to grab your arm. He misses but get’s a firm grasp on the sleeve of his hoodie quickly pulling you out of the elevator before the door closes, threatening to separate you from him once more. He wrestles with the idea of pulling you further into his embrace but settles on grasping your wrist with his other hand and holding it securely to his chest. 

“Would you maybe like to join me for dinner, MC? We can make something together, or get take out, whatever you feel like.” There is a sense of urgency and desperation in his voice and you can’t help but lean into the hope that his sudden lack of composure might mean what you hope it does. Your hand hovering over his racing heartbeat certainly gives off such an impression. This dinner invitation was different to past meals you’ve shared. 

You look up at him and smile fearing that your words will fail you. He catches on and lets out a sigh of relief as you both move toward his door. He suddenly pauses and reaches out to stop you.

“Just in case my intentions weren’t clear.” He says as his hand wanders up the sleeve of his hoodie searching for yours. His slightly sweaty palm gently grabs yours and you suck on your bottom lip trying to contain the smile threatening to explode. You slowly move further down the hallway as you both relax into the security of each other's touch. It feels so right… 

The door unlocks but before he enters he turns to you and says “Oh, um, please don’t wash the hoodie before returning it to me.”

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✎AN: And they lived happily ever after. Had to get a tiny bit of freak Xavier in at the end there, hope you don't mind. English is not my first language, so I hope you'll cut me some slack.

- Colonel Kaboom

This is one of my fav xav arts i have seen ....🥹🥹

Its so gooood.. AHHHHHHHHHH