Fiction | Xavier

fiction | xavier

synopsis : What happens when your fiancé turns out to be a guy who walked right out of one of the fanfictions you read? Tall, handsome, and surprisingly, not emotionally constipated. Time to find out.

content : arranged marriage!au, fluff, mentions of OC, comedy

writer’s note : soooo, sylus has an arranged marriage au (ahem two), so does rafayel, zayne? Not yet. It’s xavier’s turn first :D

“Wow,” Xavier whispered, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You blinked, caught off guard. He was staring—no, gazing—like you were something out of a dream.

Or maybe a particularly poetic hallucination.

You instinctively took a small step back, your fingers twitching at your sides as a shy warmth bloomed across your cheeks.

“Is there something on my face?” you asked, voice quieter than usual.

Of course, that snapped him right out of it.

He coughed, his expression smoothing into that carefully polite, vaguely princely calm you assumed was his default setting.

Stoic. Controlled. Maybe a little embarrassed.

You were currently seated across from him at a long, ridiculously ornate dinner table that looked like it belonged in a museum rather than someone’s actual home.

Your parents had brought you here for the grand unveiling—your fiancé. Surprise.

It was an arranged marriage, one you hadn’t really protested.

Mostly because the alternative involved crawling back to school, where existential dread roamed the halls like a vengeful spirit.

So, marriage. Sure. Why not.

You hadn’t seen a picture. Not a single hint of who this man might be. Just your mother’s breezy, “He’s charming, calm, and mature,” like she was describing a limited-edition tea set.

But as you sat there now, staring at the man who would somehow become your husband, you realized charming didn’t quite cover it.

Because Xavier—silver-haired, blue-eyed, and carrying that whole otherworldly melancholy like a tailored suit—looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a novel where people fall in love and die tragically.

Great. Now you had to marry that.

His mother, seated gracefully beside him, clasped her hands together with the kind of delight only aristocratic women and overzealous matchmakers could muster.

“Oh, what a lovely girl your daughter is,” she beamed at your parents, as if you weren’t sitting right there, very much alive and blinking.

You offered a polite smile, the kind you reserved for distant relatives and overpriced waiters, while Xavier glanced your way again—this time with something almost like amusement flickering behind those calm blue eyes.

Apparently, being praised like livestock was the beginning of romance now.

Dinner dragged on, the distinct hum of polite chatter between your future in-laws and your parents filling the air like a background track you hadn’t asked for.

Voices rose and fell in curated excitement over wedding venues, family values, and the excellent weather—as if any of that would help you survive this evening.

You tried to focus on the plate in front of you.

Tried being the keyword.

But cutting through steak while sitting across from your unnervingly beautiful, maddeningly composed fiancé wasn’t exactly conducive to concentration.

Especially not when you could still feel his occasional glances—curious, measured, and far too calm for someone who’d said “wow” like he’d seen a shooting star five minutes ago.

You stabbed at a green bean with a little more force than necessary.

Romance was off to a fantastic start.

—•

After dinner, you were gently—read, forcibly—escorted onto the terrace by none other than your future husband. The orchestration, of course, courtesy of four overly enthusiastic parents and their favorite phrase of the night.

“Go spend some time together, dear. It’s important to foster relationships.”

You could practically hear the wedding bells in their eyes.

Xavier walked beside you in silence, his steps unhurried, posture perfectly straight like he’d been trained for these situations.

He didn’t seem flustered at all.

Meanwhile, you were trying to remember how breathing worked.

The air outside was cooler, quieter.

The terrace opened out to a garden bathed in moonlight, which would’ve been romantic if it didn’t feel so much like the set-up to an arranged marriage-themed reality show.

You stopped near the railing, resting your hands lightly on the cold stone.

“So,” you started, “should we awkwardly pretend this isn’t weird, or lean into it?”

Xavier looked at you, a slow flicker of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “I vote for leaning in.”

You felt the heat creep up your neck, crawling right into your cheeks like it owned the place.

You looked away quickly, pretending to be incredibly invested in the night sky, only to nearly choke on your own spit.

Smooth.

Then, as if the moment hadn’t already thrown you off balance, Xavier spoke again—calmly, casually, like he wasn’t currently dismantling your ability to function.

“You’re nothing like I imagined.”

That time, you actually choked.

You coughed, spluttered, and did your best to recover whatever shred of dignity you had left, eyes wide as you turned toward him. “I—what?”

He tilted his head slightly, watching you with that unreadable expression of his. “In a good way,” he added, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re… unexpected.”

You weren’t sure if that was a compliment or a polite warning.

Either way, your heart decided to skip a beat just to be dramatic.

“Unexpected… how?” you asked, narrowing your eyes just slightly, curiosity now outweighing your embarrassment.

Xavier didn’t answer right away.

He turned his gaze toward the garden below, thoughtful, like he was sorting through a mental checklist he hadn’t realized he’d made.

“I thought you’d be quiet,” he said finally, “shy, maybe. The kind of person who keeps their head down and says yes to everything.”

You raised a brow at that. “Wow. Romantic and flattering.”

He glanced at you, lips twitching. “I meant that as a compliment.”

“Oh, sure. Everyone dreams of being described as ‘meek and agreeable.’”

That earned you a proper smile—small, rare, and slow to form, like he wasn’t used to sharing it. “But you’re not,” he said. “You’re… sharp. Funny. A little defensive.”

You blinked. “Again, not really selling it.”

“And honest,” he added, eyes lingering on you now, softer somehow. “Very honest.”

The way he said it made something flutter in your chest—annoyingly poetic and completely inconvenient.

You smiled—just a little—as you turned your gaze to the moonlit garden below. The flowers were in bloom, the air carried that faint, earthy scent of late spring, and for a moment, the world felt quieter than it had been all night.

“What did you think of this arrangement?” you asked gently, not quite looking at him.

There was a pause.

Long enough that you began to wonder if he’d heard you, or if he was calculating the safest answer.

“I didn’t think much of it at first,” he admitted finally, voice low and steady. “Just another political tie. Something expected of me.”

You nodded. Fair. You’d thought the same.

“But…” he continued, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, “then you walked in. And suddenly, it didn’t feel so transactional anymore.”

Your heart gave a traitorous little lurch. You told it to calm down. It didn’t listen.

“…Right,” you said, managing a soft laugh. “Well, thank you for not calling me a tax write-off. That’s reassuring.”

Xavier’s lips quirked again, eyes warm despite his usual calm. “I’ll do my best to exceed expectations.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant chirp of crickets—it all felt oddly soothing.

For the first time that evening, the weight of obligation on your shoulders began to ease, replaced by something quieter, lighter.

Maybe… this arrangement wasn’t so bad after all.

Xavier shifted slightly beside you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance your way again.

There was something hesitant in his posture—not nervous, exactly, but deliberate. Like someone unused to starting conversations that didn’t involve diplomacy or battle strategy.

“So…” he began, carefully, “what do you like to do when you’re not being ambushed by marriage proposals?”

You turned to look at him, amused. “Oh, you know. The usual. Read. Nap. Avoid emotionally loaded dinners.”

He gave a soft chuckle at that, clearly trying to mask it with a cough. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“It’s exhausting,” you said with a mock sigh. “But someone’s got to do it.”

He smiled—genuine and easy this time—and leaned his elbow on the railing. “Any books you’d recommend?”

That caught you off guard. “You read?”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” he said dryly.

“Wow. Multitalented and humble.”

He shook his head, but his eyes were fixed on you now, open and interested. “I’d like to know what you like. What makes you laugh. What makes you… you.”

The words weren’t romantic, not in the obvious way. But the sincerity in his voice, the way he said them without trying too hard—it stayed with you.

Just like the quiet warmth growing in your chest.

“I hope things go well then,” you said with a small smile, the kind that lingered even after you looked away.

Xavier was quiet for a beat, watching you like he was memorizing the curve of that expression—soft, a little unsure, but hopeful all the same.

“They will,” he said, not with bravado, but quiet certainty. “I’ll make sure of it.”

It wasn’t a promise wrapped in poetry, but it settled deep in your chest, heavier than you expected.

And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

—•

Back at home, the moment the front door clicked shut behind you, all the calm dignity you’d maintained on that terrace evaporated like mist.

You spun toward your mother with wide eyes and a completely undignified squeal. “Oh my god, Mom—”

She barely turned from where she was removing her earrings, already smirking like she’d won some secret bet with the universe. “Let me guess. You like him.”

“Like him?” you repeated, pacing in chaotic little circles.

“He’s—he’s calm and composed and smart and he actually smiled at one of my jokes, and he said I was unexpected in a good way, and—”

“I knew you’d like him,” she interrupted with maddening satisfaction, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow like a smug matchmaking oracle.

You stopped mid-spiral. “You set me up.”

Her smirk only widened. “Technically, you agreed.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as your mother chuckled softly in the background, utterly pleased with herself.

And okay, maybe you did like him. Just a little. Maybe.

You settled into your room with all the grace of someone experiencing a slow, romantic meltdown.

Your mother’s chuckles echoed down the hallway like the smug laughter of a triumphant mommy duck who’d successfully nudged her chick into the pond of marriage.

You groaned and faceplanted into your bed, limbs sprawled dramatically as you tried to suffocate the feelings spiraling inside you.

Unfortunately, your brain had other plans.

It conjured him again—Xavier, standing on that terrace like he’d been carved from moonlight and good intentions.

You remembered the way his absurdly long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, so delicate it was almost unfair. His blond-silver hair had swayed in the breeze like it had been choreographed.

And those pale blue eyes… gods, they were unreal. Like someone had trapped the entire sea inside them just to make your life harder.

You let out a strangled sound and shoved your pillow over your face.

You were engaged. To that.

And worse—you liked it.

—•

The first date was… heartwarming.

Not in the overly romantic, violins-playing kind of way, but in the unexpectedly gentle kind of way—the kind that crept up on you and made your chest ache a little without warning.

Xavier sat across from you at a table set for two in the center of an otherwise empty, dimly lit restaurant. A chandelier hung above, its golden light casting a soft, intimate glow over the polished silverware and the quiet space between you.

It was like stepping into a scene from a movie—one you hadn’t realized you’d auditioned for.

You glanced around, taking in the surreal quiet, the absence of clinking plates or murmured conversations. “Is… is this entire place just for us?”

Xavier rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of color rising to his cheeks.

“My parents insisted I rent out the entire evening,” he admitted with a sheepish smile, looking both apologetic and awkwardly charming.

You raised a brow. “Of course they did.”

“I told them we’d be fine at a café.”

“But why settle for awkward silences over coffee when you can have awkward silences under a chandelier?”

That made him laugh—soft, but real. “Exactly,” he said, and for a second, that serious, guarded façade of his cracked wide open.

And just like that, the nerves in your chest loosened.

“So, what do you do? Like work and the likes,” you asked, casually between bites of steak, trying not to sound too curious or too invested—even if you absolutely were.

Xavier looked up from his plate, pausing for a second like he was deciding how much of the truth to hand over.

“I’m with UNICORNS,” he said simply.

You blinked. “UNICORNS?”

“United Nations Intelligence and Covert Operations Reconnaissance Network Squad,” he recited, completely straight-faced.

You stared at him, fork frozen halfway to your mouth. “…That spells UNICORNS?”

He gave the faintest shrug, as if he wasn’t aware how ridiculous that sounded. “Acronyms aren’t really my department.”

You snorted. “Right. So basically, you’re a space prince turned secret agent.”

He blinked. “That’s… technically accurate.”

You nearly choked on your steak.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

Silver hair. Calm voice. The whole mysterious aura thing.

Of course he was a secret agent. Of course.

“Okay,” you muttered, setting your fork down. “And here I was thinking I’d have to make small talk on this date.”

Xavier smiled into his glass, and you caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You still can. I’m excellent at pretending to be normal.”

“If you’re a secret agent,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him as you leaned forward slightly, “then how is it okay that you reveal yourself to me?”

Xavier lifted his gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a grin. “Classified,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip of his wine.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer.”

He set the glass down with infuriating grace. “Let’s just say… my clearance allows for certain disclosures under specific circumstances.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to be skeptical even as your curiosity prickled. “And this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—is one of those circumstances?”

He nodded once, almost solemn. “You’re my fiancée. It’s only fair you know who you’re marrying.”

You stared at him. “So if I were, say, a barista you had a crush on instead, you wouldn’t be allowed to tell me?”

He hesitated for a split second, then said with mock seriousness, “I’d have to fake my death.”

You burst out laughing, nearly knocking over your water glass.

“Well,” you said once you caught your breath, grinning now, “I’m honored to be cleared for top-secret fiancé-level intel.”

Xavier smiled softly, and this time it wasn’t sheepish or polite—it was warm. “You’re worth the risk.”

You blushed at that—violently, of course—quickly masking it with a cough and an exaggeratedly casual bite of steak, like that would somehow neutralize the weight of his words.

You’re worth the risk.

Nope. Still devastating.

The evening flowed gently after that, the tension between you easing into something quieter, more natural.

You found yourself laughing more than you’d expected—soft bursts of amusement over his dry remarks, while he watched you with that calm, almost amused smile, like he was cataloging every expression you made.

He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was thoughtful.

Measured.

Like he was actually listening. Really listening.

You told him about your hobbies. How you loved reading, writing, getting lost in stories and then furiously threatening to strangle fictional men for breaking your heart.

“They’re not even real,” you said dramatically, waving your fork in the air, “and yet they ruin my week. My mental stability. My skin.”

Xavier tilted his head, eyes crinkling just slightly. “Sounds like a dangerous habit.”

“It is,” you agreed solemnly. “But I’m too far gone.”

He nodded. “Noted. I’ll try not to become the inspiration for your next emotional breakdown.”

You paused mid-chew. “Wow. That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

And just like that, he smiled again—slow, rare, and entirely disarming.

Xavier dropped you off at your estate, the sleek car rolling to a gentle stop in front of the stone steps.

The lights from the veranda cast a soft glow across the driveway, and there she was—your mother—waiting with the patience of someone who definitely hadn’t been peeking through the curtains for the past ten minutes.

As you stepped out of the car, she descended the steps with a far-too-innocent smile.

“Oh, please join us for a while!” she called out brightly, clasping her hands together with the enthusiasm of a socialite and the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

You nearly tripped on the gravel. “Mom.”

Xavier blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude—”

“Nonsense,” she beamed. “We have tea. And leftovers. And years of awkward silence to fill.”

You gave Xavier an apologetic look. “She’s not usually this—”

“Yes, I am,” your mother interrupted, already turning on her heel. “Come along, dear!”

Xavier glanced at you, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Should I be worried?”

“Terrified,” you muttered under your breath.

But when he followed you up the steps without hesitation, you felt that warm little flutter return—just slightly out of rhythm with your heart.

Once inside, your mom wasted no time nudging the both of you toward the couch with all the subtlety of a seasoned matchmaker on a mission.

“Sit, sit!” she chirped, practically shoving you into place before plopping herself down across from you with a cup of tea and that glint in her eyes—the one that said she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

You landed on the plush cushion with a small huff, Xavier sliding in beside you like this was perfectly normal, like he hadn’t just spent the last two hours slowly dismantling your emotional walls with his quiet charm and devastating smiles.

You gave your mom a weak protest. “This is… not necessary.”

“Nonsense,” she waved off with a grin. “I’m just enjoying the company of my future son-in-law. That’s not illegal.”

You side-eyed her, but honestly, it wasn’t a big deal. You had just had a wonderful dinner. He was polite, thoughtful, and—surprisingly—not emotionally constipated.

Still.

He was sitting very close.

Not touching you, technically.

But the cushion dipped slightly where his thigh rested against yours, and suddenly you were acutely aware of everything—how warm he was, how tall he sat, how his cologne smelled like cedar and rain and danger to your composure.

You folded your hands in your lap, trying to focus on your mom rambling about wedding colors and seating charts, but Xavier’s presence beside you was magnetic.

Steady. Quiet. Very hard to ignore.

You might’ve leaned slightly away from him.

And then just as quickly, leaned back.

No use pretending now. You were officially doomed.

“Mom, the wedding is four weeks away,” you groaned, slumping back into the couch like it could absorb your embarrassment. “You don’t have to talk about it every day.”

Your mother only sipped her tea, entirely unbothered. “And miss the joy of watching you squirm every time I say the word bouquet?”

Xavier chuckled beside you, low and warm, and you immediately regretted everything. Because that sound? That sound was now imprinted on your soul.

You shot him a look. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m not,” he said, clearly encouraging her. “But it’s… entertaining.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I thought I was.”

Your mother clapped her hands lightly. “Look at you two. Bantering already. Like an old married couple.”

You sighed into your hands. Xavier smiled again—calm, amused, and entirely too comfortable. And even as you groaned, somewhere deep inside, a tiny part of you liked how it all felt just a little too natural.

—•

“He just smiled, Shaiya. Smiled!” you exclaimed, dramatically flopping onto your bed like you were in a period drama and the world was ending via attractive fiancé.

Shaiya raised an unimpressed brow from where she sat cross-legged on your rug, holding her phone in one hand and wearing the most amused smirk you’d ever seen on her.

“So you’ve got a crush on the guy you’re marrying. Tragic.”

You threw a pillow at her.

She dodged it effortlessly, grinning. “No, seriously. This is the dream. Arranged marriage and you’re catching feelings? You’re living in a slow-burn fanfic.”

You groaned into your blanket. “No, no, this is a problem. A very pretty, well-dressed, emotionally devastating problem. He said I was unexpected. He smiled. He rented an entire restaurant. Who does that?”

“Apparently, your absurdly attractive secret agent fiancé.”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “Shaiya.”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m doomed.”

She tossed the pillow back at you. “No, babe. You’re in love.”

You let out a muffled scream into your blanket.

She just laughed. “I’m giving it two weeks before you start writing ‘Mrs. Xavier’ in the margins of your notebook.”

You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face. “I’m used to writing fanfiction about fictional men, not marrying a guy who seems to have walked out of one.”

Shaiya cackled, absolutely zero sympathy in her voice. “Plot twist—you’ve been isekai’d into your own arranged marriage AU.”

You peeked out from under the pillow with a glare. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s hilarious. You’re the main character. Brooding husband with mysterious past? Check. Hidden softness? Check. Devastating smile that causes existential crises? Check.”

You groaned again. “He smells like a metaphor and talks like a deleted scene from a historical drama. I was not built for this level of emotional turbulence.”

Shaiya nodded sagely. “No one is. That’s how you know it’s real.”

You flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “If I end up writing love poems in the margins of my planner, please stage an intervention.”

“Oh, I won’t stop you,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “I’ll just record it for the wedding slideshow.”

“You’re officially disinvited from my wedding,” you deadpan, sitting up just enough to squint at her with all the fake seriousness you could muster.

Shaiya gasped, clutching her heart like you’d just stabbed her. “How dare you. After I emotionally supported your descent into fiancé-induced madness?”

“You mocked me.”

“I documented history,” she shot back, already typing something suspiciously fast on her phone. “Your children will thank me one day.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Shaiya.”

“Yes, Mrs. Secret Agent?”

You threw the pillow again. She didn’t even try to dodge it this time, just laughed as it hit her square in the face.

“Fine,” you muttered, collapsing dramatically again. “You can come to the wedding.”

“I knew you’d cave.”

“But only if you swear not to make a toast about fanfiction.”

Shaiya looked up from her phone, absolutely glowing with mischief. “No promises.”

You were so in trouble.

Soon after, Shaiya gathered her things, still grinning like she’d won a lifetime’s worth of blackmail material.

As she headed down the hallway, she called over her shoulder, sing-song and far too loud, “Can’t wait to see adorable mini-yous and secret agents running around!”

You groaned from your doorway. “Shaiya, go home.”

She just laughed, turning to wink at you before disappearing down the stairs. “Give my regards to Mr. Tall, Calm, and Tragic!”

You slammed your door shut with a huff, leaning against it as silence settled back into the house.

Mini-yous and secret agents.

You stared blankly at the wall, then promptly screamed into your hands.

This was getting out of hand.

—•

A week before the wedding, Xavier surprised you with a calm, “I’d like to take you to pick out your dress,” like he was asking if you wanted tea—not subtly offering to participate in one of the most emotionally overwhelming rites of passage in existence.

So naturally, you said yes. And then spent the entire morning internally spiraling.

It was awkward at first.

Mostly because you were trying very hard not to be a complete nervous wreck. The boutique was gorgeous—warm lighting, soft music, rows of delicate lace and silk that whispered life-changing decision with every swish.

And there Xavier was, sitting far too calmly in one of the velvet chairs, flipping through a bridal catalog like he did this every Thursday.

Meanwhile, you were trying not to combust.

You peeked at him between gowns. He didn’t look bored or out of place. In fact, he looked… focused. Thoughtful.

Like this mattered to him.

When you stepped out in the first dress, hands fidgeting at your sides, you half-expected a polite nod or something neutral.

Instead, his gaze lifted—and he just looked at you.

Not like you were trying on fabric. Like you were becoming something real.

“You look…” he started, then paused. A rare moment where words seemed to fail him. “…beautiful.”

Your brain short-circuited. Your stylist cooed.

And you?

You forgot how to breathe for about seven seconds.

This wedding might just kill you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing your pulse to calm down as you smoothed your hands over the fabric, trying to act like you weren’t melting under his gaze.

“Do you like it?” you asked, your voice more steady than you expected—only slightly breathless.

Xavier tilted his head, his eyes not leaving you. “I do,” he said, softly but certain. “But the question is—do you?”

You blinked, thrown for a moment.

“I mean…” You turned toward the mirror, taking yourself in again. The dress hugged you gently, not flashy, not overly grand—just enough detail to feel like you belonged in a dream. “I think I do.”

Xavier stood, walking over with unhurried steps. He stopped just behind you, enough distance to be respectful but close enough that you could feel the quiet weight of his presence.

His reflection met yours in the mirror, eyes still warm. “Then that’s the one.”

Your heart betrayed you again with an uneven thump.

“O—On second thought, I’ll try a few more,” you blurted, the words tripping over each other as your blush bloomed faster than your dignity could recover.

Xavier blinked, clearly amused, but—mercifully—didn’t say a word.

You turned so quickly you nearly tripped on the hem of the dress, fumbling your way back into the dressing room with all the grace of a flustered Victorian heroine trying not to swoon.

Once inside, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pressing a hand to your burning cheek.

Pull yourself together, you told your reflection. It’s just a compliment. From your devastatingly attractive, quietly intense, secret-agent fiancé who might actually be perfect husband material… oh no.

Outside, you could hear Xavier flipping pages in the catalog again, his calm voice murmuring something to the stylist.

No teasing. No smug follow-up.

Just… waiting. Patiently. Like he’d wait all day if you needed.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, then let out a very quiet, very overwhelmed laugh.

Yep. You were so doomed.

You stepped out in the second dress, holding your breath without meaning to. This one—this one felt different.

It wasn’t over-the-top, but it shimmered just enough under the soft boutique lights, with delicate embroidery trailing down the bodice and a skirt that moved like you were floating.

Like a fairytale—but not the soft, gentle kind. More like Cinderella on crack, if she ditched the glass slipper for a knife in her garter and a comeback locked and loaded.

You felt powerful. Gorgeous. Slightly dangerous.

Xavier looked up the moment you stepped out, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything at all.

Which, frankly, was worse than a compliment. Because he stared.

You shifted on your feet. “Too much?”

He stood slowly, eyes never leaving you. “No,” he said, quietly. “It’s perfect.”

You felt your breath catch again—because somehow, he didn’t say it like he was talking about the dress.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were ready to marry him… or fall headfirst in love with him.

Either way, you were spiraling.

Elegantly, of course. Like a fairytale heroine in heels.

Afterward, with the kind of effortless grace that should not be legal, Xavier handled everything—his posture composed, voice low as he spoke with the staff, arranging every last detail with calm precision.

You stood behind him, half-hidden near a rack of veils, watching the scene like you were in a slow-motion movie montage you hadn’t signed up for.

He moved like someone born to command attention but never demanded it—unassuming, composed, elegant in the way only someone dangerous could be when they weren’t trying.

And there he was, calmly signing forms and coordinating where to send your wedding dress, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your wedding dress.

You, meanwhile, were standing there with your heart doing somersaults in your chest like it had zero survival instincts.

It wasn’t just the way he looked doing it. It was the way he didn’t look at you while doing it—as if this wasn’t some grand gesture, but simply what he did.

Quietly take care of things. Gently, but without asking.

You pressed your hand over your chest as it fluttered again—annoyingly dramatic.

Yep.

This man was going to ruin you in the most inconveniently romantic way possible.

—•

The night before the wedding, the world felt hushed. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that settled in your lungs and refused to leave.

Everyone else had retreated—family fluttering with last-minute details, planners running over final checklists.

But you found yourself out on the balcony of the estate, the moon casting silver across the garden, soft and endless.

And Xavier—of course—found you there.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked up quietly and stood beside you, his presence grounding in that calm, ever-steady way.

For a while, the silence felt enough. The good kind.

The kind that didn’t need to be filled with nervous laughter or pointless words.

And then, you exhaled. “You nervous?”

He glanced at you, then shook his head. “Not really.”

You smiled, eyes drifting down to your hands resting on the stone railing. “I thought I’d be. But I’m not.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

You paused, biting your lip, unsure how to say it without sounding like a complete idiot.

“I think…” You hesitated, then braved a glance at him. “I think I might actually like you. Like… really.”

Xavier looked at you, his expression unreadable at first—but then something shifted in his eyes. Softened.

He didn’t speak right away, and for a split second, your heart lodged somewhere in your throat.

But then—quietly, gently—he said, “Good.”

You blinked. “Good? That’s it?”

He turned fully toward you, his voice lower now.

“Because I think I’ve been liking you for a while now. I just didn’t know how to say it without making it sound… heavier than it is.”

You stared at him, a warmth blooming deep in your chest.

“It is kind of heavy,” you whispered.

“I know.” He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made you still. “But I don’t mind carrying it.”

And under the silver night, with barely inches between you, that almost-confession settled between your hearts like a promise—unspoken, quiet, but real.

The day of the wedding arrived with a kind of dreamlike haze—everything moving just a little too fast, yet not fast enough.

People buzzed around with clipped voices and half-screamed checklists, but all you could hear was the thud of your heartbeat as you stood behind the grand double doors, clutching your bouquet like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

Your dad stood beside you, his hand steady on your arm. “You okay?”

You gave a weak nod. “Yep. Totally fine. Just, you know… about to get married to a gorgeous secret agent I’m pretty sure I’m falling for. No big deal.”

He chuckled softly. “You’ve got this.”

You didn’t answer—not because you didn’t believe him, but because you were too busy trying not to throw up out of sheer romantic terror.

On the other side of the doors, Xavier stood at the altar.

Poised. Steady.

He wore a pale suit tailored within an inch of its life, silver hair catching the soft light from the stained glass above. And yet, despite the opulence around him, he looked only forward—toward the doors.

Toward you.

He wasn’t smiling—not quite.

But his expression held that familiar softness, that calm warmth that only you seemed to bring out in him.

Like the world could be on fire and he’d still be there, waiting.

The music began.

Your hands tightened on the bouquet.

You met your father’s eyes, took a deep breath—

And the doors slowly opened.

Warm golden light spilled into the chapel, catching on the soft fabric of your dress, the shimmer of the veil, the slight tremble in your hands.

Every pair of eyes turned toward you—but you only looked at one.

Xavier.

The moment your gaze met his, the world seemed to still. The music faded to a low hum.

The pressure in your chest eased, just slightly.

He didn’t look shocked or overwhelmed, didn’t do anything dramatic.

He just breathed, like seeing you walk toward him was the most natural thing in the world.

But his eyes—his eyes said everything.

There was awe there, yes, but also something gentler.

A quiet certainty.

Like he’d been waiting for you not just today, not just these past weeks, but his whole life—and only now realized it.

Your feet carried you forward, one step at a time, your father guiding you down the aisle, grounding you in each heartbeat.

You were aware of the petals scattered along the path, the subtle scent of white lilies in the air, the soft rustle of guests shifting in their seats—but none of it compared to the weight of Xavier’s gaze.

You finally reached him, hands trembling slightly as your father placed yours into Xavier’s.

Xavier’s fingers closed around yours—warm, steady, reverent.

“You look…” he whispered, leaning just slightly toward you, enough for only you to hear, “like you stepped right out of one of your stories.”

You smiled, despite the tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“And you,” you whispered back, voice shaking, “look like the ending I didn’t dare write.”

He didn’t smile—he softened. Completely.

And as the ceremony began, as vows waited on the other side of breath and silence, you realized something profound.

You weren’t nervous anymore.

You were exactly where you were meant to be.

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

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

dating xavier means naps, good food, cuddles, playing games, more good food, more cuddles, and just cozy vibes overall. comfy clothes, slow sleepy mornings, all that good stuff.

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

Smile

Pair: Xavier x reader

Wc:2k

Includes: Fluff, established relationship

"Stay right there," Xavier says, backing away from you. You turn to him with a confused expression. "No, don't move." With the second command, you grow anxious. If Xavier was this insistent on you staying still, there was most likely a Wanderer nearby. You curse. Today was your day-off so you hadn't brought your weapon with you.

"Xavier," you whisper his name in a worried tone. When he doesn't respond, your eyes scan the park for anything that can be used as a weapon. You hear a click, and your body acts fast. You roll off the trail and grab as many stones as you can carry.

"MC?" Xavier calls out for you. You body shoots up and your arm is reared back.

"Where's the Wanderer?" You ask.

"Wanderer?" Xavier shakes his head. "There's no Wanderer." You look around and notice that the park is still as peaceful as when you entered it. You drop the rocks.

"But...why did you tell me to stop walking?" You ask. Xavier pulls out his phone and shows it to you.

"There was a nice breeze that shook the leaves," He says. "And the sun was shining down on you so nicely, I had to take a picture." You look at the photo Xavier took. It looked better than the photo booths one you would take.

"Xavier, this is...wow," He managed to take a photo of you that, despite looking confused, made it seem as though you were posing professionally.

"I'm glad you like it," He smiles. He begins to scroll through his gallery. "I try to take pictures of you whenever we spend time together." His gallery is filled with pictures of you laughing, concentrating while playing kitty cards, and the claw machine and even aftermaths of your Wanderer fights. Xavier was able to catch the perfect moment of when you landed the last blows in those fights. You looked like an action movie star.

"They're so many photos," you say.

"Yeah. You look so good at everything you do. I wanted to make the moments last forever." Xavier says.

You kiss Xavier's cheek. "You dork." You take out your phone and hold it high above your head. You snap a photo of Xavier's warm smile and blushing face. You show it to Xavier.

"Perfect, now I have a wonderful moment to keep forever."

54 notes View Post

xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

LET THE LIGHT IN 𖤓

warning(s): anxiety attack, overthinking, rushed thoughts and emotions, use of y/n, angst/comfort

synopsis: xavier isn’t new to all of this, but he’s been noticing that the demanding pace of hunting Wanderers is starting to take a toll on you, his missions partner. he finds you spiraling and tries to assist, as best he can, whilst also trying to convey just how much you truly mean to him. ⟡ authors note he’s so yummy clueless boy with a soft spot for you supreme i love him okay byee ⟡

you can’t breathe.

you can’t breathe and your heart is beating frantically, trapped, a little bird against a cage, frenzied. you can’t breathe and the world has just turned on its axis.

your thoughts are ramped and you can’t breathe and your chest hurts and there’s a million things to do and — oh, what about that paperwork strewn across your desk, waiting to be filed? or that document you still need to do research on, and oh, didn’t captain jenna inform earlier that the squad had another meeting in ten, and didn’t you plan lunch with a fellow hunter at 3:00 and —

you feel a hand on your shoulder.

you turn and his blue eyes ground you.

his usual stoic face, flat of most emotions, is pinched at the corners. his eyes flicker across your features, scanning for physical injuries and the cause of your stress.

“are you hurt? y/n?”

he found you hunched in a corner, form tight and shoulders shaking. you may break any minute now, the tampered dam in your chest pushing and pushing and pushing till you feel you may choke.

xavier’s hand is warm, too warm on your shoulder.

you pull away from him. his voice keeps you close. you know how you sound right now, how your own voice sounds shaky and an absolute mess. “I— I can’t” your voice breaks off into a sob, and he’s there. “no— no it’s okay. it’s okay. what happened? I’m here, okay?”

his words sounded fuzzy in your head, distant and drowned in a fizz of bubbles. you take small, hiccuping gulps of air. you feel small. this was embarrassing. why are you crying right now, in front of xavier, of all people? he’s the top hunter in the association, unparalleled strength and a intuitive knack for the blade. he rarely ever shows signs of strain, which only makes you self-conscious as his blue eyes continue to flicker over you in worrying silence.

you jolted as you heard boots click outside, coming towards the break room you both were in. furiously you tried to wipe your tear-stained face to no avail, your shoulders still shaking. xavier raised his hand to you, hovering, hesitating, before softly murmuring “I’m going to get us out of here, okay?”

you felt a tingling sensation along your body and a white flashing light — when you blinked open your eyes, you found yourself sitting on a plush beige couch. the lighting was low, save for a few lamps and the distinctive smell of lavender you had grown accustomed to.

did he. . . just teleport you to his house?

your eyes flickered along the cozy display of warm mood lighting and modest decorating. in another situation, you would’ve laughed at how his home so easily mirrored him. you were definitely avoiding xavier’s presence, but he didn’t demand your attention. he had silently gone in the kitchen, returning with a steaming mug of tea and a box of tissues.

he sat down a respectful distance next to you, setting the tea on the wooden table in front of you and handing you a tissue. you silently eyed the cat themed coaster as he did so — cute.

“. . .y/n?”

you bawled up the white tissue into your fist, already feeling your bottom lip betray you and quiver. something about the way he uttered your name, soft and careful and delicate and full of concern, broke you. those blue eyes steady on you — a brilliant sky waiting for you to jump. to fall.

to trust him, fully.

the aloof man had a pull on you that you couldn’t describe in words. at first it was simple admiration as a fellow hunter. . .but it had blossomed into something more. you wanted comfort — you wanted him.

so you fell.

you collapsed into his chest, voice cracking and breaking along the seams as you sobbed, soaking the front of his hunters uniform. you expected him to pull away any minute now, grossed by your waterworks.

xavier didn’t. instead, his melodic voice quietly shushed you, rubbing circles into the small of your back. he pulled you closer, tucking your head underneath his chin in a smooth motion. his palms no longer felt too hot, but warm, familiar.

his voice spoke, both quiet and somehow taking up all the space in the room. “all of this hunter business can get to be a lot. for what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing. the best one. truly, I do.”

he held you together, molding your cracks with warmth and light and love in the form of his small smile.

you leaned off his chest to fully regard him, knowing you looked a puffy mess but not carrying, lost in the smell of him and the movement of his chest underneath the pads of your fingers. you wanted to hang onto every word he was saying now — breathed in the little enclave you two created.

“so don’t suffer in silence anymore, okay?” his cheeks were dusted a light pink, moving a piece of hair from your face. “this might be inappropriate for the job but, well, I… I care about you. more than a missions partner. more than I can ever put into words.”

his eyes were different, softer, kinder — the same look you thought you imagined he would give you after a successful mission together. he would always quickly look away if you caught him, rubbing at his nose with that nervous habit of his.

“xavier… what are you trying to say?” you croaked out hesitantly, heart dangerously beating in your chest as he comfortingly ran a hand down your stiff arm.

he cleared his throat, pale skin flushing a bit warmer at your direct stare. “I’m saying… let me take care of you, y/n. not just in battle but everyday of your life, of our lives.”

tears pricked in your eyes again, and you nodded, not trusting your voice as you looked into his blue eyes. he let out a content sigh in response, pulling you closer to snuggle his face against your ear.

“I don’t doubt your capabilities xavier, but will you truly be able to take full care of me? I really like those arcade plushies,” you teased lightly after a beat, feeling your body relax into his.

his eyes sparkled with mirth at your lighthearted joke, tightening his grip around you with a small laugh.

“…maybe you’ll have to get the plushies yourself. I’ll accompany you anytime for moral support. now, how about we call in sick for the day and take a nap together?”

“gladly.”

(a.n) — my first time writing for love & deepspace ! this game has me in a chokehold and I wanted to take a spin at writing the bunny boy :3 personally, im on chapter 6 so sorry if there’s some inconsistency in his character — this is simply my take on him <3

— taglist: @prttyangelz @elusivemoon to feed my fellow love & deepspace fanatics (degenerates) 😌

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

April the angel of months, the young love of the year

Vita Sackville-West, from Complete Works of Vita Sackville-West

5K notes View Post

xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄

⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐄/𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐓

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You wake up early, stretching lazily before grabbing Xavier’s hoodie from where it hangs on the rack like it’s routine. He’s still sleeping soundly as you slip out of the bedroom. The hoodie envelops you completely, sleeves hanging past your wrists, carrying his distinct, comforting scent.

In the kitchen, you prepare a simple breakfast for yourself, and a plate for Xavier that you know will likely go cold. The morning news plays quietly on the TV as you settle onto the couch, legs tucked underneath you, swimming in the soft fabric of his hoodie, feeling wrapped in Xavier’s presence despite his absence.

Movement catches your eye as Xavier appears in the doorway. His eyes find you immediately, taking in the sight of you wearing his clothing.

“Good morning,” you say, offering him his plate. “I made you breakfast.”

Xavier glances at the food but doesn’t take it. Instead, he shifts closer, arm sliding around your shoulders to pull you against his side. “Later,” he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep.

His fingers trace absent patterns on your arm through the fabric of his hoodie, and you can feel him breathing in deeply, as if taking in the sight of you wrapped in something that belongs to him.

You nestle closer, and within minutes, his breathing becomes more even. Looking up, you find his eyes have drifted closed, his posture completely relaxed. You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. Even in sleep, his arm remains securely around you, keeping you close as if unwilling to let you go now that he’s found you this way—comfortable, content, and wrapped in his clothing.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The mission had been longer than expected, and you’re exhausted as you make your way back home. Zayne had returned from his shift a few hours ago, and you’ve been looking forward to seeing him after days apart. You’re wearing his jacket—the black one with the subtle white trim that you’d taken from his closet before leaving. It’s become a comfort object during your mission, the lingering scent of his cologne providing reassurance during stressful moments.

You stop at the corner store for snacks before finally unlocking the apartment door. The place is quiet but warm as you kick off your shoes and pad toward the living room.

You find Zayne on the couch with journals spread around him. He looks up as you enter, his eyes immediately locking onto his jacket draped over your frame. Given his preference for professional coats, his collection of casual jackets and hoodies is small and meticulously maintained—making the absence of even one immediately noticeable to someone as detail-oriented as him.

“So that’s where it went,” he says. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he sets aside his work, creating space beside him.

You drop down next to him with a tired sigh. “Found me out.”

Zayne reaches out, fingers brushing against the collar of his jacket where it meets your neck. The touch is gentle, almost reverent. “It suits you better than me,” he murmurs.

His hand moves to your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side. “Next time,” he says, voice low near your ear, “take more than one. You know I don’t mind.”

His arm remains around you, a subtle but clear indication that while you may have his jacket, he’s pleased to have you.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The gallery opening had been exhausting—too many people packed into too small a space, all of them wanting a piece of Rafayel’s attention. You’d smiled and nodded and played your part perfectly, but by the time you returned to his seaside home, you were completely drained.

Rafayel had stayed behind to handle some business with Thomas, insisting you go ahead without him. You’d grabbed one of his hoodies—the soft blue one with white pattern of waves—and changed into it the moment you got home. Now, curled up on the couch with the artsy duckie plushie he’d won for you clutched against your chest, you’d finally found peace in the quiet of the evening.

The sound of the door opening and closing barely registers as you drift between sleep and wakefulness. You vaguely hear the soft footsteps approaching, then a delighted sound that could only come from Rafayel.

“Oh, look at you,” he coos, his voice soft. “Absolutely precious.”

You hear the click of his phone camera and crack open one eye to see him standing above you, a fond expression on his face as he takes another photo to set it as his home screen later.

“Are you documenting my crime?” you mumble sleepily.

“I’m documenting perfection,” he corrects, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Move over a bit.”

You comply, and he squeezes onto the couch beside you, pulling you half onto his chest. His fingers thread through your hair, and you feel the tension in his body from the event slowly release.

“Did Thomas give you a hard time about leaving early?” you ask, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

“Thomas always gives me a hard time,” Rafayel replies with a dismissive wave. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

You snuggle closer, the artsy duckie plushie squished between you, and feel him press a kiss to the top of your head as you both settle into the comfortable silence.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Snow falls in thick flakes outside the window, blanketing the forest view in pristine white. You stand before the floor-to-ceiling glass, mesmerized by the winter snow cascading from the gloomy sky. Sylus’s dark jacket envelops you like a protective shell, the sleeves long enough that you can curl your fingers into them. It smells like him—a blend of expensive cologne and something uniquely his—and wearing it feels almost like being wrapped in his embrace.

You’ve been standing there for nearly twenty minutes, lost in thought, when you hear the door to the residence open and close. You don’t turn, knowing exactly who it is from the footsteps entering the room.

“Enjoying the view?” Sylus asks, his voice closer than you expected.

You glance over your shoulder to find him watching you with an expression that makes your heart rate quicken. His eyes track from your face down to the jacket you’re wearing.

“It’s peaceful,” you reply, turning back to the window. “Everything looks so quiet from up here.”

“Indeed,” he agrees, though you can tell from his reflection in the glass that he’s not looking at the snow at all. He moves to sit behind you, close enough that you can feel his warmth. “Though I must say, my jacket looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

You smile, watching his reflection. “It’s warm.”

“If it’s warmth you’re seeking,” Sylus says, his hands coming to rest lightly on your shoulders, “perhaps I could offer something more comforting than a piece of fabric?”

You turn to face him, still wrapped in his jacket. “Is that an offer or a command?”

His lips curve into that familiar smirk as he pulls you closer. “With you? Always an offer.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The DAA jacket is practically a relic now—Caleb hasn’t worn it in years, not since he became Colonel in the Farspace Fleet. But it still hangs in the closet of your shared place, and on the nights when he’s away on missions, you find yourself reaching for it.

Tonight is one of those nights. The bed feels too big, too empty without him, and the jacket is a poor substitute but better than nothing. You’ve wrapped yourself in it, breathing in the faint traces of his scent that somehow still cling to the fabric after all this time.

You’re reading through reports on your tablet when the door slides open unexpectedly. You look up, startled, to see Caleb standing in the doorway, still in his Fleet uniform, a day earlier than scheduled.

“Caleb! You weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow,” you say, sitting up straighter.

His eyes immediately zero in on the jacket you’re wearing, and a slow, teasing grin spreads across his face. “Well, well. What do we have here? A thief in the house?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “Hardly stealing when it’s been hanging untouched for years.”

Caleb fully enters the room and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to finger the fabric of the jacket’s collar. “I don’t know,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Looks like theft to me. I should probably report this.”

“I’ll give it back,” you offer, starting to shrug it off.

“Don’t you dare,” he says quickly, catching your hands with a grin. “It looks better on you anyway.” He pauses, then adds with mischief, “In fact, I think you should raid my entire closet. Take it all. Every last shirt and sock.”

You laugh, leaning forward to kiss him. “Welcome home, Caleb.”

“Home is wherever you are,” he replies, pulling you closer. “Stolen jacket and all.”

Based on this request.

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

"All you have to do is not open this bag." "HERMES?!"

Finished some silly art for "Dangerous!"

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

dumping these here

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xavierfrogprincess

1 month ago

Their favorite positions - Xavier's

A.N: Xavier is just a lil mean in this one - but he still adores you most of the time. That man TAAAALKS. Hope you like it! W.C: 1815 words. MDNI! NSFW Ahead. Every LI will have its own post.

The ideal session would start with him doing what he likes most - teasing you. Making you ask, making you say out loud what you want before giving it to you, always finding a way to play with your mind as he plays with your body. “Why so whiny.. you want something, angel? What is it?”

You'd be sitting between his legs, where his hands knead your thighs and breast after pulling you closer to him by your hips; As he trails his lips where your shoulder meets your neck, being the biggest talker when it comes to loving on you.

He can't help but praise, getting you and himself buried in the moment by the way he describes and worships your voice, the little sounds coming from your lips after you finally told him you needed his fingers on you. “You have no idea what your pretty sounds do to me, starlight… makes me want to play with you like this forever..”

When it finally comes to slide himself in, he’ll stop playing with your clit for a moment, his hands exploring your breasts and tummy before lifting you just a little bit by the waist. He whispers softly to your ear, almost inaudibly as your back rests against his chest.

“Can you put it in for me, pretty girl?”

“mhmm..” you nod with a whiny hum.

“Good job.” he almost inaudibly praises. And as he holds you up, you reach for his cock, already so worked up you just slide it in without teasing or stroking it first, desperate to feel full. You moan lustfully and as soon as he feels your slick and warm walls engulfing his tip, he slowly lets your weight sink on his toned thighs with a heavy breath on your neck, as if relieved. “So warm f’me.. did you want it that bad? poor thing..”

His hands now travel back to your tummy, squeezing it possessively as he loves to feel your flesh against his long fingers as he licks and nibbles the bottom of your neck, groaning just under your ear. He cockwarms you for a bit, smirking as he loves to delay your desires for his own entertainment. As you squirm too much, he gets even harder with your pleas. “Xav.. please..” you whine softly. He leaves a contrastingly soft kiss to your earlobe. “Patience, starlight.” One of his hands goes lower to play with your clit again as the other slowly ascends to lightly hold your neck closer to him; not choking - just delivering a message. As you feel his firm middle finger circling your bud, you whine and rock your hips against his hand, his cock throbbing inside you, making you feel so full as you clench, and purposefully or not, his hand tightens on your neck. His soft deep voice warns you. “Behave. Take what I give you or I won’t give you anything at all.” How he manages to be mean and sweet at the same time always amazes you - but now, under his ministrations and feeling so pliant, you just nod and accept.

The feeling of his hand on your neck makes everything feel sharper, slowly getting unaware of how loud and whiny you’re getting. He shuts his eyes to concentrate on your whimpers, finger still playing with your clit as he grows impatient, wanting nothing more than to just fuck you senseless but loving your desperation for him; your need for him, showing just as explicitly as he feels the same need for you. His cock twitches inside you with every small movement your body does, his hips grinding against you subconsciously. After some time he can’t take it anymore - just playing with your clit, listening to your beautiful voice. He needs more, and he needs it louder.

He slides you both down, now laying on his back as you’re almost cumming, just almost there. You squeal, feeling your clit flutter as you start twitching.

“I’ll make you feel so good..” He mutters more to himself than you, his hands leaving your clit and neck. You protest of course, hands finding the side of his thighs under you to scratch. “Xav, no! Please-” you cry out. “I was’ just- aghnn, no! - please,” He chuckles.

His forearms hooking behind your knees as his hands go behind your head, placing his intertwined fingers and palms on the back of it - making you face the way he enters deeply into you. “Xav!” you whimper in surprise.

“Fuuuck baby…” He groans as he starts thrusting slowly. “‘m so sorry, I need to feel her cumming with me,” he throws his head back on the pillow. “you understand, right? You want me to do this, right? - fuck’!” He moans deliciously as you nod, finally feeling his girth stretching you properly, forced to watch it going deep inside before he pulls back, his shaft glazed with your wetness. He opens his eyes briefly and realizes you’re watching him move. “My sweet girl, you like it?” You nod shyly. “Oh you're loving it?! You're such a depraved one..” He chuckles a bit breathlessly, going faster. “And here I thought I was being too mean with my angel.. So dirty..” He chuckles condescendingly before his brows furrow, lips falling open as he concentrates on how good you feel around him, clenching so hard everytime you hear his voice. He loves knowing how he gets to play with you, to hear the sinful noises caused by him. Skin against skin, a fast and loud ‘plap’ repeats itself across the room.

He gets off at how easily you let yourself break for him. It fuels his own need and possessiveness, getting lost in the way you feel around him, your weight on him - knowing he can move you around like this, like his own personal doll. How he gets you all to himself right now, how only he touches you like this. And that’s why he always coos at you, his voice sweet and breathy as always, contrasting to the roughness he displays. “Ah you sound so beautiful.. love my angel s’much..” He adjusts his feet on the mattress to fuck you faster, harder. “You love me too, princess? Say you love when I do this to you,” Aaand he’s back at teasing you again, knowing you’re shy. He fucks you fast like a rabbit, moaning indiscreetly under you.

“I- I love when - you do-,” you start, crying out. “Do what?” he interrupts with a commanding strained tone, holding you tight in place as he fucks you, mean.

“Xavieeer…!” you whine in a protest, crying out loud as you feel a wet knot deep in your stomach.

“Gosh, I love when you call out for me like that.” He unhooks his hands from behind your head and knees, shifting to hug your waist on top of him. “What were u saying, angel?” it's almost like you can hear the smugness in his voice.

He slows down his pace and looks at your flushed face, his own not so different. Free from his hold, now you get to look to the side and really look at how he comes undone with you just as much as you do with him. “Let Xav hear you, hm? Hear his pretty girl?” He thrusts sharply. “Will you do that f’me?”

You whimper as you feel your orgasm fading at the slowness of his movements. He knows you were close again, he could feel it. But he won’t relent until you say it for him. And you know that.

You give in. “I love when you fuck me, Xav.. like this..” your voice is shy and faint as your head falls to the side, but his ego now is just as big as the smile on his face.

“You’ll be the death of me, princess.” He groans. He starts thrusting faster again, holding you tight to his torso, arms across your body; Having enough of his own games and just wanting to relish the way you feel around his shaft - warm, welcoming. The way you feel on his tip - slick, giving way.

He savours your body with an open mouthed kiss before his hands go behind your knees again, bending them and bringing your legs closer to your head. You start getting louder - and he does too.

“fuck-” the word slips out of your lips as you get tighter, silent. He knows you’re almost there and he knows it’s because of him. His own climax gets closer thinking of it. The knot deep in your stomach tightens until it snaps - you tense up, lips parted in an ‘O’ as your walls swallow him. A hot and big shiver goes around your thighs and core, your folds wet and swollen.

He starts panting. Thrusting fast, hard. He can't get enough. You feel so fucking good. Fuck fuck fuck-, you feel s'good. Shit.

He squeezes his eyes shut, a loud groan escaping his lips and then - white behind his eyelids.

His cock twitches inside you with a few more staggered thrusts, cum leaving his tip in liquid spurts, enough to start dripping out as he doesn’t stop thrusting - but now slower. Too focused on his high to really notice you came with him. He inhales deeply, kissing your hair mindlessly. And then you moan with a sigh, a choked back sound of relief and ecstasy - that’s when he realizes you’re riding your high with him. He slowly comes to a stop, but one of his hands let go of your knee to press on your clit, enhancing your climax.

“Fuck!” you complain silently.

He chuckles, his eyes scanning your flustered face. “Just feel good baby.. I got you.” he leaves a kiss on your temple. You whine quietly in response, enjoying the intimacy of it, your orgasm subsiding and leaving space to pure adoration.

“I love you..” you whisper, your voice tinged with a roughness he’ll never admit he adores.

“I know, baby.” He kisses your hair, above your ear. “Are you okay?” You turn your head to face him. “I am.. but.. Don’t you love me back?” You playfully pretend to be hurt.

He chuckles, seeing through your theatrical banter. “Want me to show you again how much I do?” He caresses your head, pulling a few strands of hair away from your face.

You giggle. “You know what, It’s fine, no, really!” You start squirming away from his hold in a jest, whimpering quietly as his cock slips out of you. He groans softly too.

Now laying by his side, he takes the opportunity to get on his knees and place his hands on each side of your waist to hover over you.

“No, no, where do you think you’re going?” He starts kissing your collarbone, going lower until he almost reaches your nipple. You run a hand through his hair.

“Xav-,” you start. He doesn't let you finish. “Since your highness is so unsure..” He playfully teases, “Let me show her how much I love her.” He kisses your ribs, your stomach. And he starts going lower… lower. "And her." And as soon as he adjusts himself to lay between your legs, arms hooking under your thighs, you sigh. He’s not leaving so soon.

Masterlist | Other LI's

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