Are You Hearing Things? Certainly, An Intruder Didn’t Break Into Your House Just To Clean Up The Mess

This brings comfort rn 😭😭😭

🗡️ “That time of the month again?”

because we all know that periods suck and characters are not immune to the horrors 🗡️ prompt list of comforting actions

Character A is bedridden from the cramps and Character B becomes their living heating pad (cuddles with arms wrapped around the waist >>>>)

B buys A their favorite chocolates a couple days before their period starts and keeps beverages with electrolytes on hand

A takes a day off to rest, bingewatch some episodes of a good show, and care for themselves (maybe do some yoga, and by yoga I mean curl up in the fetal position for a couple hours)

B thinks that making a nice bath for A will help and prepares everything for when A gets home (A laughs and explains why that’s not a great idea)

Searching for Shark Week’s episodes online to deal with shark week in person, but getting distracted by cute animal shows

B can’t be there for A in person so they send A $30 to cover extra snacks and/or medicine

Instead of getting emotional over posts online, A digs out an old book series and gets emotional over that (they are reliving their childhood, they swear it’s cathartic THEY SWEAR)

A can’t sleep with the back pain so B gives them a light back massage with several check-ins to make sure the noises are in relief and not pain

B keeps the lights dim and and TV volume low as A battles a headache

All meals are made with ahead of time and cravings humored (“You can’t just eat straight salt.” “I know that, which is why I’m putting all of it on this.”)

A asks for B to get more pads/tampons at the store, B calls and sends many pictures as they try to figure out what will work best for A

B quietly scrubs out any bloodstains from A’s clothes as they do laundry (and they’re really efficient at it, why are they so good at getting blood out of clothing—)

A snuggling up with their pet who knows the exact spot to be in for maximum comfy (B thinks it’s adorable and takes a picture to show A later)

“I’m sorry if I’m not really conversational right now…” “Dude you’re on your period and barely slept last night, you’re good. We don’t have to talk, we can just chill.”

B brings home a machine for homemade ice-cream and all the ingredients needed for A’s favorite flavor (they spend the evening making it and declare a “dessert before dinner” day for when periods strike)

Valentine's Favourites

Xavier x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: 2,1k word, allusions to intercourse/suggestive topics

Note: fanfiction for my Valentine's Event

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

← how Jeremiah is doing ★ continuation of the evening →

~★~

Xavier was preparing for that day for weeks if not months. Finding a perfect spot, making sure that you'll be free from work, writing down the things he'll need to get; food, a gift, flowers...

You couldn't catch a glimpse of Xavier since the morning, when he left your apartment after staying the night, saying that he had some 'things' to take care of and he'll see you later.

You tried messaging him, but the only thing you got back in response was 'I'll see you later' or 'please be patient sweetheart'. You knew he was planning something, but you had little to absolutely no idea what that could be.

Was he planning something? A date perhaps? Maybe a gift? Did he do something stupid and needed to fix it without your knowledge? What was he doing?!

The thoughts were eating you up, but you knew better than to stress yourself out with his secrecy. After all: it was Xavier out of all people, he was full of mystery. You just hoped that he'll be safe.

Your day went by with you doing basic chores and being lazy, since you didn't have anything planned or today. You still had the prince of your heart in the back of your head, was he doing alright?

Deciding to try once more to get some information from him you picked up your phone, entering chat with him.

'Hey, you doing okay there?'

You turned off your phone about to put it back down and focus on the TV, but the moment the screen went blank you heard the sound of notification and in a second you turned it back on.

'get ready, I'll meet u in half an hour, dress comfy'

Instantly you shoot up from your seat, going to change your clothes still staring at the message from him.

Half an hour? Alright, but dress comfy to go where? Comfy as 'home-kind-comfy' or 'we're going somewhere when you don't need to dress up' or 'dress whatever you feel like, you'll still be pretty'?

Why were you overthinking this?!

It's probably just a simple date, right? So you want to look pretty without looking like you tried hard to look pretty.

HOLY YOU HAVE ONLY 30 MINUTES!

Instantly you started looking through your clothes, what is comfy but looks pretty and not like your home clothes? Let's try to look cute in half an hour, sure.

After looking through all of your clothes, with half of your wardrobe now on your bed, you were finally somehow satisfied with the results. Lucky you; did your make-up earlier out of boredom...

You were fixing your hair a little bit when the doorbell sound rang. Instantly you run towards the door, screaming 'a moment' on your way, and stumbling around your apartment at least twice.

Finally you made it to the front door, unlocking and opening them without checking the peephole first. There he stood, perfect like always, with a slight gentle smile on his lips that you returned instantly.

"Hello beautiful." his arms opened, inviting you for a hug and without wasting a second you found yourself in his embrace.

"Hi handsome." you giggled, giving his cheek a peek before breaking the hug.

"Get some shoes on, we're going out." you turned around to follow his instructions, bending over and unintentionally gracing him with the sight of your perfect ass.

He bit his tongue, memories of last night started floating around in his head, but the moment you stood up, ready to go with an innocent smile on your lips, all the improper thoughts left, his mind instead focusing on the present you.

"I'm ready." your high shoes clicked with every step you took while leaving your apartment. Hopefully he won't make you walk around too much...

Without words he took your hand, leading you to the elevator.

During the wait you hugged him close in the tight space, only with you two in it. He let you rest your head on his chest, in his head hoping for the evening to go perfect, his earlier exchange of words with Jeremiah replaying in his head.

"She'll be delighted. Trust me."

"It's just... Maybe she deserves someone better than me to spend her life with."

"Are you kidding me? For someone this smart you're really oblivious sometimes, aren't you?"

Xavier looked at him with a threatening glance, but Jeremiah was completely unbothered by it, still focusing on placing the stuff in the right places.

"She's crazy for you, last time you two came to Philo she was staring at you the whole time, like you were the only thing in the room, no actually, like you were the only thing in the world. Don't doubt yourself so much, my Prince." finally sparing a glance at Xavier he only smiled teasingly. He enjoyed seeing the always calculated and collected person being stressed over his love life.

"Xavier? We can get out now..." your voice broke him from his thoughts, the doors of the elevator were open.

"Yes, sorry." he walked out with you, hands still joined together.

You were walking the streets of Linkon, light conversion about work and life making the time pass faster. You didn't think about your destination, trusting him even if that would mean walking to the stars and back. You would follow him everywhere.

The sun was slowly setting, the warm light making Xavier look more eternal than ever, you couldn't help but admire him from the side, not noticing that he stopped and looked at you too.

"We're here." you woke up from the daze, your head instantly turned and you saw the edge of the forest before you.

"We're going there?" he nodded your head at your question. You looked down at your shoes, you were not prepared for that... "Alright." you braced yourself to try and avoid spraining your ankle. But then you got swept off your feet - literally "Xavier!"

"What?" he asked, acting clueless. He started walking with you in his arms, carrying you like a princess.

"I can walk!" your voice raised in shock.

"I know." was his only answer, not even looking at you, focused on the path ahead.

Knowing that there's no arguing with him you decided to get comfortable in his hold and admire him.

Damn he looked so hot all focused and calm, and all yours. You closed your eyes, your head falling to rest on his shoulder with your arms hugging his neck. You could fall asleep like this, but before your consciousness left for good he spoke once again.

"We arrived." you heard his soft voice right above your ear. Your eyes slowly opened, reviling the beautifully prepared 'tent' from some kind of see-through fabric, with lots of lights everywhere and a blanket(s) inside accompanied by various pillows.

You looked at him, he was carefully studying your reaction.

"You prepared this?" you smiled already knowing the answer. He nodded his head slowly.

"With a little help." gently he put you down onto the blankets. You took in the details of his preparations.

There was a small table beside you, you saw there was a small board with the photos you took together adoring it, beside it lying were snacks and a tiny box, wrapped up like a present. You looked around a little more, imagining how much time he spent here, preparing all of this for you.

"It's really pretty." your gaze returned to the owner of your heart, he sat down beside you, his eyes not leaving your figure for a single moment "Thank you Xavier." you took his hand into yours, squeezing it lightly.

"It's really nothing that impressive." instantly you made the 'zip it' move with your fingers. He smiled and chuckled quietly.

"It's beautiful here, and I know that it took you a lot of thought and time to prepare this, I'm so thankful to have you in my life." you sealed your words with a kiss to his lips, what was supposed to be a quick and sweet peek turned into a make out session the moment his hand flew to the back of your head.

You didn't complain of course. Eventually he pulled away, still caressing your hair gently, with one hand he reached for something behind you, a second later you saw a bouquet made out of what looked like a hundred little flowers, resembling a thousand stars shining in the night sky.

Your smile softened even more, he really did his best today.

With the bouquet now in your hands he moved away a little bit to reach for your shoes, gently taking them off for you. You couldn't help but coo at him a little bit, how could someone look so innocent and angel-like but in reality- hold on wrong thoughts.

Next two hours you spend on cuddles, talking about your past years and the memories you made together, sometimes pointing to the photos for reminders of various moments that passed. You were overjoyed with having him in your life, proud to hold his hand and announce to everyone that this perfect man is all yours.

The darkness of the night sky peeked at you, the moon listened to your stories intensively, sharing your intimacy, watching you with a silent promise not to speak of this moment to anyone.

You were lying down together, desserts he brought already eaten. Your bodies facing each other, the warmth and feelings in your eyes worth more than a thousand words.

Slowly he raised from his lying position, sitting at the entrance of the make shift tent and taking something from the small table into his palm.

He looked at you over his shoulder, soft gaze meeting your eyes, you looked at him with a silent question, but instead of words he graced you with his hand, gesturing for you to take it, which you did instantly, pulling yourself up with his help.

He brought you up to your feet, and walked a couple steps with your palm resting in his.

The grass gently tickled your feet, before he came to stop with you in front of him. The little box now in his other hand.

"I thought a lot those past couple of weeks." his gaze dropped from your eyes to his hand "I can't imagine my life without you in it. A thousand lifetimes are not worth as much as your love." his eyes came back to yours. His hand never let go of yours.

You were confused, not understanding what was happening, but then...

You saw his body slowly leaning down, until one of his knees met the ground. For a moment you still couldn't grasp what was happening. But then it hit you, your eyes widen.

"I know that this is unexpected, but believe me, it's been on my mind for the longest time. I didn't know how to ask you, if there ever will be a right moment, but then I decided to make a perfect moment myself." you squeezed his hand a little to let him know you are listening "I'm sorry that this is not what a princess proposal should look like... But I know that you value little moments much more than grand spectacles, and that's probably one of the reasons I fell so deeply in love with you. With you there are no expectations, no questing my ideas, you're always there to support me, cheering me on every time." you couldn't help but laugh a little, to which he responded with a small smile of his own "So, if you'll only grace me with the honor of having you as my wife, I'll be the happiest man in the universe." he opened the little box, a beautiful ring hid there, now showing to you the prettiest gem you ever seen.

"Xavier I..." you laughed, overwhelmed with emotions, you were not expecting THAT to happen today, how did he manage to hide his plans so well? "Of course I'll be your wife." in a split second the ring found itself on your finger, fitting perfectly. A second later you were snooped up into Xavier's arms with him spinning you around.

Your laughter was his absolute favorite sound in the world. He stopped his spins, but still held you in his arms, a kiss fell onto your lips, instantly you got lost in the feeling, you cling to him like to a lifeline. He hugged you tighter, not letting you move away for even an inch.

You didn't know what gods to thank for sending him to you, but you will forever be thankful for the opportunity to share your life with this man.

You pulled back for air, breaking the heated kiss, your hot breaths mixing. He still didn't let you go. For a moment you could swear you saw tiny lights flying around him.

"I love you my starlight." he didn't even let you say it back before coming back to launch at your lips. Oh how much you loved your innocent looking freaky fiancé.

You had an argument, and in the heat of the moment, you took on a secret mission—disappearing without a trace or warning for six days. He won’t let that slide, will he?

(⚠️ Warning: Slightly angsty and dramatic) 🔥 UPD: Guys, I hear you loud and clear about Xavier, and I'm already working on his full story. Let me know if you want more about the others (or any specific one).

🖐️💥😈 Sylus 

You don’t even make it home.

One second—you’re stepping toward your door. The next—you're grabbed.

A sharp yelp leaves your lips, but it’s already too late.

One hand clamps down on your shoulder, the other hooks around your legs, and suddenly—you're airborne.

"Cargo secured."

A second voice. Muffled. Hollow.

You twist wildly.

Two figures in black masks, sharp beaked visors, curved horns on their hoods.

Luke and Kieran.

You thrash. “Put me down—”

"No can do, Miss," Kieran hums, flipping you upside down just slightly.

"Our Boss gave very strict orders," Luke murmurs.

Your stomach sinks. The car door swings open—

And you’re shoved inside.

Kieran and Luke plop down beside you, silent as shadows.

Then—

Luke sighs. Long and exaggerated.

"Such a shame," he muses. "She was so pretty."

Kieran hums. "So full of life."

Your eyes narrow. “What.”

They tilt their heads in unison. Luke’s fingers drum against the seat.

"He was so worried."

Kieran exhales. "On the first day, he simply waited."

Luke nods. "Second day, he sent people out. Checked hospitals. Crime scenes."

Kieran’s head tilts. "By day three… well, we all knew something had to bleed."

Your stomach drops.

Luke stretches, relaxed. "Four syndicates fell in one night. Just in case one of them had you."

Kieran sighs. "On the fourth day, he realized that wasn’t enough."

Luke hums. "So he started getting creative."

Your breath hitches. "Creative?"

Kieran taps his chin. "That warehouse in N109 Zone? The one that burned to the ground?"

Luke leans closer. "Day five. Still no sign of you. He collapsed an entire district."

Kieran shrugs. "Nothing personal. Just a message."

Luke tilts his head. "And then day six came."

A beat of silence.

Kieran chuckles. "You know, Miss… If you hadn’t shown up today, N109 Zone would’ve been repainted in blood by sundown."

Luke sighs dreamily. "It still might be."

Your blood turns to ice.

And then—Luke’s head tilts toward you.

"Now…?"

Kieran completes it, a beat later.

"Now he has you."

The car slows. Your chest tightens. And then—you realize where you are.

N109 Zone. His estate.

The car door swings open—

And you’re hauled out like luggage.

"Handle with care," Luke hums.

“I am handling with care," Kieran murmurs.

They carry you inside. Set you down with eerie gentleness. Smooth out your jacket. Brush imaginary dust off your shoulders.

Then—they step back. Bow, deep and slow.

“Welcome home, Miss.”

And then—they’re gone.

You whirl after them. “HEY—”

A quiet sound.

Fabric rustling. A slow, deliberate exhale.

You freeze.

And then—you turn.

Sylus is standing across the room. Calm. Collected. Expression unreadable.

But his eyes. They burn.

You swallow.

“What the fuck was that?” you snap, motioning toward the door.

Silence.

He just… watches you.

Then—slowly, smoothly—

He shrugs off his jacket. Lets it fall onto the chair. His fingers move to his cuffs. Undoing them.

One. Then the other.

Rolling his sleeves up, inch by inch.

Your stomach twists.

“Sylus.”

He doesn’t answer. His hands move to his belt. He unbuckles it. Pulls it free.

And you—

You fucking run.

You BOLT.

Straight toward the door. It’s locked.

You curse.

Behind you—he clicks his tongue.

“Oh, Kitten,” he murmurs, voice low, almost amused.

You spin, darting behind the desk. He follows. Casually. Slowly.

“You disappear for six days,” he murmurs, voice smooth, mocking, deadly.

You sidestep. He matches you.

“You ignore my calls.”

You swerve left. He steps right.

“I tear this city apart looking for you.”

You dodge back. He adjusts effortlessly.

“And now,” he exhales, tilting his head, smirking lazily, “you’re running.”

You hurl a stapler at him. He catches it. Drops it. Sighs.

Then—his patience snaps.

A sharp pulse of red energy explodes outward. The desk flips. The chairs crash against the wall.

And suddenly—

You are out of places to run. Before you can move—

He has you.

A sharp yelp rips from your throat as he grabs you, spins, and drops into his chair—

Bringing you down over his lap.

Your breath catches. “Sylus—”

"Ah, ah, ah.”

His palm glides down your back. Teasing. Amused. Smug.

"You made a very poor choice, Kitten."

Your heart pounds. His fingers hook into your waistband. And in one sharp motion—

He pulls your pants down.

Your entire body jolts. “Wait—”

The first smack lands. Sharp. Stinging.

You jerk violently.

Then—the second.

Then—the third.

“Sylus—you absolute bastard!”

A low chuckle vibrates through his chest.

“Six days, Sweetie.”

Another smack.

“You think you get away with that?”

You snarl, thrashing. “You—I’ll kill you!”

"Oh?" His hand presses against your lower back, keeping you pinned.

Then—lower now, smooth as silk, dripping with mockery—

“You sure you can handle that right now?”

You growl.

And then—

You bite him. Hard. Right on the thigh.

His breath hitches. Then—a slow, dangerous laugh.

He grabs you. Turns you over, setting you between his legs, hands gripping your chin—forcing you to look at him.

And then—

You see it. The rage is gone.

And in its place—

Something raw. Something wrecked. Like he’s aged years in just six days.

His voice—when it comes—is low. Hoarse. Unsteady.

“…I thought Ever carved you up for spare parts.”

Your stomach drops.

"You really think," his fingers twitch against your skin, "I was just waiting?"

His eyes flick over your face, scanning, memorizing. And then—softer now, almost broken—

"If you hadn’t come back tomorrow, I would’ve wiped them off the face of the earth."

Your eyes sting. Your hands reach for him, trembling.

You slide forward, onto his lap.

His breath stutters.

And then—you kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Unyielding.

He shudders.

Then—his hands clench around your waist, crushing you to him. When he pulls back—forehead pressed against yours, breath uneven—

“…Next time you disappear,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, voice shaking with something terrifyingly real, “I’m not looking for you.”

Your heart cracks. You shake your head. You cup his face. Hold him there.

“…You won’t have to.”

Silence.

Then—

His grip tightens. And just like that—

He is never letting you go again.

❄️🩸💔 Zayne

You already know where he is.

Zayne isn’t home. Of course, he isn’t.

So you do the only thing that makes sense—you head straight for Akso Hospital.

By the time you step through the pristine glass doors, you’re already talking.

“I know how this looks, but I can explain—”

And then—you see him.

Standing near the nurses’ station, uniform crisp, posture rigid, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat like he’s carved from ice.

For a second—just a second—his breath catches.

But then—

A switch flips. His entire presence shifts.

Cold. Professional. Untouchable.

His eyes meet yours. And he says nothing.

No relief. No anger. Nothing.

Just pure, hollow emptiness.

You swallow hard. Force yourself to continue.

“Zayne—”

“You need medical attention.”

His voice is calm. Impersonal. A doctor speaking to a patient. Not the man you know.

Your stomach twists.

He doesn’t ask where you’ve been. Doesn’t ask why you disappeared. Instead—he starts listing symptoms.

“You’re pale. Have you lost blood?”

You inhale sharply. “Zay—”

“Concussion?”

“No—”

“Fever? Infection?”

His eyes flick to your scraped knuckles, the dried blood on your sleeve.

And you realize—

He’s not angry. He’s protecting himself. He’s shutting down. Like he already convinced himself you weren’t coming back. Like he already mourned you.

And something inside you breaks.

Your legs wobble.

You sway—

And then—

You collapse.

The reaction is instantaneous.

A sharp inhale. A rush of movement. A sudden, firm grip catching you before you hit the ground.

Zayne’s arms lock around you. One around your back, one under your legs, holding you effortlessly. His breathing is uneven. His fingers tremble against your skin.

“Hey—!” His voice is no longer detached. It’s urgent. Terrified.

He tilts your face up, eyes scanning for injuries, pupils blown wide with panic.

"You—" His breath shudders. “Shit, you're—”

But you don’t answer. Because you keep your eyes closed. Because you know exactly what you’re doing.

And for a moment, it works. For a moment, he’s yours again. For a moment, his walls are completely, irreparably shattered.

Then—

His steps slow. His breathing evens.

And suddenly—

He stops. And you feel it. That one single, damning second of realization.

Your eyes are closed, but you can hear it. The sharp, cold click in his mind as he figures it out.

His arms loosen. Too loose. Too fast.

And suddenly—you're falling.

You gasp sharply, hands instinctively grabbing at him—

But he catches you at the last second, lowering you onto the cold, sterile floor of his office with just enough control to keep you from truly getting hurt.

But barely.

His jaw is tight. His nostrils flare. His hands press into his thighs like he’s physically holding himself back from losing control.

Then—flat, quiet, lethal—

“You lied.”

Your stomach drops. You open your mouth—and then you feel it.

A sharp, aching throb in your knee. It hits all at once—the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of everything that happened.

Your throat tightens.

And then—before you can stop it—

Tears prick at your eyes.

Your voice comes out small, weak, broken.

“Zayne… my leg hurts.”

Everything stops. The air in the room shifts.

And suddenly—

The rage is gone. His walls crumble.

His gaze snaps to your knee—swollen, bruised, torn fabric revealing skin already darkening with a deep, painful contusion.

And just like that—he’s on his knees. The doctor in him takes over.

His hands tremble as they press to your leg, fingertips ghosting over the bruised flesh like it physically pains him to touch.

He leans down. And presses a soft, lingering kiss to the bruised skin.

Your breath catches.

His forehead presses gently against your knee. And then—a whisper, barely audible, like he’s afraid of his own voice.

“…I lost you.”

Your heart cracks wide open.

He inhales sharply, his fingers tightening against your leg, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real.

You slide off the chair. Sink onto the cold, sterile floor. Your hands come up, cup his face.

His breath stutters.

You press your forehead to his.

Hot. Unwavering. Eternal.

“Only death could take me from you.”

His eyes squeeze shut. And when they open again—

There’s nothing left but raw, agonizing devotion.

Then—

His hands reach for you. And this time, he doesn’t let go.

🪑🍎🎖️ Caleb

The door clicks shut behind you.

Something feels wrong. The air is too still. Too perfectly controlled.

And then—you see it.

The chair.

Placed dead center in the room.

The apartment is spotless. Too spotless. Like someone scrubbed it raw, wiped away every trace of warmth, every sign of life.

Your stomach tightens. And then—a voice.

Cold. Measured. Absolute.

"Sit down."

You turn sharply—

And there he is.

Colonel Caleb. Not your Caleb.

Not the man who kisses your forehead every morning. Not the man who makes you breakfast even when he’s running on two hours of sleep.

No.

This is the soldier. The commander. The man who could level entire cities with a single order.

And you are his captive.

Your jaw tightens. “Caleb, what the hell—”

"Sit. Down."

Your spine stiffens. “No.”

A flick of his fingers. The chair scrapes forward, slamming into the back of your knees.

You stumble, cursing—

But before you can react—a force clamps around you. G-forces shift. Gravity bends. The chair drags you back to the center of the room.

Then—weight locks around your limbs. You can’t stand. Can’t move. Your pulse spikes.

His face is unreadable. His eyes—stormy, dark, endless.

Like he hasn’t slept in six days.

A tablet activates in his hand.

Several floating screens appear around you, flickering with surveillance footage.

And then—his interrogation begins.

His voice is calm. Clinical. Devoid of warmth.

"In the hours before your disappearance, this man entered your building. Do you know him?"

You blink. “What—?”

He gestures at the screen. A blurry security cam shot.

You squint. “That’s—a fucking courier.”

"Interesting."

A swipe of his fingers. Another screen appears.

"You placed an order at a bookstore six days ago. Three books were delivered. For what purpose?"

You stare. “...For reading?”

His brows twitch.

"Curious. You spoke to the courier for over five minutes. What was discussed?"

Your hands clench into fists. “How the hell would I know?”

A beat of silence.

Then—softer now, dangerous in its evenness—

"You really expect me to believe you don’t remember?"

Your blood boils. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

He swipes again. More footage. More records. More evidence that means nothing.

And you snap.

"You are losing your fucking mind."

His jaw tightens.

And then—

The gravity releases.

You lurch forward, finally able to move—

But before you can get up—

he’s already there.

A single step. One hand gripping the back of your chair, tilting it back—

His face is inches from yours. His gaze burns.

"Are you fucking someone else?"

Your breath catches. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

And then—

You laugh.

Sharp. Bitter. Furious.

You gesture at yourself—the dirt, the bruises, the blood still crusted on your sleeve.

“Look at me, Caleb.”

He doesn’t move.

“Does this look like a woman having an affair?”

His fingers twitch against the chair. His voice drops to a whisper.

"I’m on the edge of it."

Your chest tightens.

“I don’t doubt that, you psychopath.” You shove against his arm, but he doesn’t budge. “Now let me up so I can strangle you.”

His fingers loosen.

And then—

"Six days."

Your breath hitches. His hand moves. Curls around your jaw, firm but careful.

"Six days. Eight thousand six hundred forty minutes."

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone.

"I couldn't breathe without pain."

Your throat tightens. Your rage collapses into something else entirely.

“Caleb—”

"I searched. I traced every lead. I turned this country inside out."

His voice wavers.

And then—softer, rawer, almost desperate—

"If you hadn’t come back, I would have burned everything to the ground."

Your chest aches.

“…I had a mission. It was classified.”

His jaw twitches.

"Then tell me—" His voice turns sharp, edged with something almost pleading. "Tell me you weren’t running."

You exhale shakily.

“You’re so obsessed with losing me, Caleb—maybe that’s why you always do.”

Silence.

Something in his face breaks. He straightens. Turns away.

Leaves.

The door slams.

And you collapse to your knees. Your hands come up—cover your face—

And finally, finally, the tears fall.

But then—

A soft creak. A shift in the air. Warmth.

Arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a crushing embrace.

You freeze.

His voice is hoarse, quiet, trembling with something raw.

"You’re the only one who can destroy me without lifting a hand."

Your breath shudders. His grip tightens.

"One word from you," he murmurs, "and I’m gone."

You shake your head.

“Caleb…”

His forehead presses against your shoulder.

"I tried. Every day. Every second. I tried not to hold on too tight." He exhales shakily. "But I can’t."

Your heart clenches.

“Caleb, I always come back.”

He flinches.

You pull back just enough to cup his face. His eyes are stormy, desperate, flickering with pain.

"You have to trust me."

His lips part, but no sound comes out.

Then—barely above a whisper—

"I can't lose you."

Your fingers tighten against his jaw.

"You won’t."

Silence.

Then—

He kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Devouring. Starved.

His hands tangle in your hair, holding you to him like he’ll die if you pull away.

A single tear escapes down his cheek. And you catch it with your lips.

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Caleb, I’m so sorry.”

His breath shudders. He shakes his head. 

“No.” His voice breaks. "You don’t apologize to me." 

Your brows furrow. “Caleb—” 

He swallows. 

"If you’re better off without me—" 

Your hand flies up, slaps over his mouth. He freezes. Tears well in your eyes. 

“Don’t. Say. That.” His chest rises sharply. You lean in, press your forehead to his. 

“…You are my universe,” you whisper. 

His hands shake against your back. 

“No matter what we do, no matter what happens—” You press your lips to his, slow, deep, endless. “I will always come back to you.” 

His breath shudders against your lips.

And then—his voice drops, quiet but unshakable. 

"You will never disappear on me again without warning. Not now. Not ever."

🗡✨🌥 Xavier 

The door clicks shut behind you.

You barely take a step inside before a voice cuts through the air—

Calm. Measured. Unshakable.

"Ah." A quiet exhale. "Look who finally remembered they have a home."

You freeze.

Xavier is already there.

Sitting in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a book balanced in his hand—like your sudden reappearance was nothing more than an interesting plot twist.

He doesn’t look up immediately. He finishes the sentence he’s reading first.

Then—calmly, unhurriedly—he turns the page.

And finally—his gaze lifts to yours.

Cold. Slow. Too calculating.

"Six days."

Your stomach tightens. "Xav—"

"Mm. No." He holds up a single finger.

The room falls silent. And somehow, that’s worse.

You watch as he closes the book. Carefully. Precisely. Then—without breaking eye contact—he sets it aside.

And then—a small smile.

Soft. Almost friendly.

Which means you’re in deep, deep trouble.

"You look tired," he murmurs, tilting his head. "Traveling, were you?"

You exhale. "Xavier—"

"Oh, no. Let me guess." His fingers tap idly against the armrest. "You were simply busy."

A pause.

"Too busy, in fact, to answer a single message."

Your jaw tightens. "It wasn’t—"

"Ah," he interrupts softly, as if realizing something.

His eyes flick over your torn sleeve, the faint bruises on your arms. Then, slowly—he smiles.

"Or," he murmurs, "did you lose your phone again?"

Your stomach drops. Because he knows.

You inhale sharply. "Xav—"

He shakes his head.

"No, it’s alright. I understand." He leans forward slightly, resting his chin against his knuckles. "I’m sure you had an excellent reason."

A beat of silence. Then—mild amusement, carefully laced with steel:

"Would you like to tell me what it was?"

You hesitate.

Because you were on a mission. A classified one.

Because he wasn’t supposed to know. Because you work together.

And yet—he knew nothing.

You try anyway.

"I had a—"

"A mission?" His brow lifts, a polite flicker of curiosity. "Fascinating."

His tone is smooth, unbothered. And that—that is when you know how angry he really is.

He gestures vaguely toward the stacks of reports on the table.

"Tell me, darling, which mission was it?"

You swallow hard. "I can’t—"

"Mm. Right. Classified."

Another small nod. A slow, deliberate blink.

"As are all major operations within the Association."

His fingers drum lightly against the armrest.

"And yet, strangely—" He tilts his head. "Not a single record of your assignment exists."

You say nothing.

Xavier exhales through his nose—almost disappointed.

"And here I thought," he murmurs, "we were supposed to trust each other."

You flinch.

His gaze softens. Not with kindness. But with something far worse.

Pity.

"You must have had your reasons, of course," he muses.

A small sigh, like he’s humoring a child.

"I imagine you thought it was necessary. Sensible, even."

His fingers lace together.

"Just as I found it necessary to send out a search party on day three."

Your breath catches.

"You what?"

He hums.

"By day four, I expanded my resources. You'd be surprised how quickly information spreads when you know where to look."

Your hands clench.

"Xavier—"

"Day five, I began considering alternative outcomes. Some of them, admittedly, rather unpleasant."

A flicker of something colder in his expression.

"Ever been forced to sit in a room full of people trying to convince you that your partner is dead?"

Your stomach turns.

"Xavier, I wasn’t—"

He clicks his tongue.

"Day six, I received word that you had finally resurfaced."

He leans back. Folds his arms. And then—a soft chuckle, utterly humorless.

"Imagine my relief."

Silence.

You exhale sharply. "Xav, I—"

"Did you know," he interrupts, voice light, conversational, detached, "that people tend to avoid looking a grieving man in the eye?"

Your throat tightens.

"Not that I was grieving, of course." He taps a finger against his chin. "I don’t make a habit of mourning people until I see a body."

He tilts his head slightly, studying you.

"But I imagine it must have been quite the inconvenience, being dead for six days."

Your chest tightens.

"You think I wanted to—"

"Oh, I know," he murmurs. "You didn’t want to disappear."

His voice lowers.

"But you still did."

And for the first time—he is no longer smirking. His blue eyes bore into yours, steady, sharp.

"You made a decision that left me in the dark."

A long, slow breath.

"And I need to know," he says softly, "if you would do it again."

Silence.

You don’t have an answer. You don’t think there is one.

He exhales.

Finally, he leans back. Gazes at you for a moment longer.

Then, calmly—he stands. Smooth. Effortless. Precise. And then—he walks past you.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

"Xavier—"

He doesn’t stop. You push to your feet.

"Xavier, you’re coming back, right?"

Finally—he pauses. Turns his head, just slightly.

And then—

"Ask me again in six days."

The door closes behind him. And this time—you’re the one left behind.

🧜🏻‍♂️🧑🏻‍🎨🌊 Rafayel 

You are exhausted.

Every part of you aches. Your body demands sleep, warmth, peace.

Instead—

You come home to chaos.

Loud music. Laughter. The scent of wine, perfume, candle wax, and indulgence.

And then—the sight of him.

Rafayel.

Lounging near the pool, half-leaning against an ornate chair, a glass of red wine dangling lazily between his fingers.

His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to hint at toned muscle beneath, his sleeves rolled up, his perfectly tousled hair falling over his forehead in an effortlessly careless way.

And surrounding him—beautiful women.

Drinking, laughing, leaning toward him like he’s some fallen deity of temptation and excess.

Your stomach twists. A tight, burning rage coils in your chest.

And then—

He sees you. His eyes widen—just slightly. And then—a slow, almost lazy smirk.

"Ah." He lifts his glass dramatically, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look who's finally returned!"

You tense.

He rises to his feet, arms spread as if welcoming royalty.

"My muse. My inspiration."

His voice carries over the music, over the murmurs of people starting to notice the tension.

"The very heart of my art!"

A sweeping gesture.

And then—

He motions toward the canvas-lined walls.

Your breath catches. Because they’re all of you. Dozens of paintings.

But—ruined.

Slashes through the canvas.

Paint smeared and splattered over your likeness like an artist in rage, in agony, in heartbreak.

The fury in you erupts. Your voice cuts through the music.

"What the actual fuck is this?!"

He gasps, mock scandalized.

"Oh, you don’t like them? What a tragedy!"

He downs the rest of his wine in one smooth gulp, tossing the glass aside with a careless flick of his wrist.

Then—he grins.

Crooked. Reckless. Infuriating.

"And here I was, drowning in sorrow, channeling my unbearable suffering into art."

A sigh.

"But alas." He shrugs dramatically. "Seems the muse herself has returned."

You march toward him. He tilts his head.

"Careful, cutie. You seem upset."

"You’re a fucking disaster."

He laughs.

"You’re six days late to that realization."

You grab his wrist, yanking him toward the exit.

“We’re talking. Now.”

His body moves, but his feet don’t follow. Instead—he pulls against your grip.

His smile widens.

"Oh?" His voice drips with amusement. "Dragging me away already? Jealous, cutie?"

Your jaw clenches.

"This is pathetic."

Another laugh, lighter this time.

"Ah, but it was all I had!" He places a hand over his heart. Theatrical. Overdramatic. Perfectly insufferable.

You snap.

And shove him into the pool.

He barely has time to react—water crashes around him, drenching his white shirt, dragging him under.

And for a brief, glorious second—silence.

Until—

His hand grabs your wrist. You yelp, but it’s too late.

He pulls you down with him.

Cold water engulfs you, shocking your senses.

When you resurface, gasping, furious, he’s already brushing his hair back, blinking at you through wet lashes.

And suddenly—

The playfulness is gone. The crowd has vanished. Thomas made sure of it.

And now—it’s just you and him.

And for the first time tonight—he’s quiet. His voice is lower, slower.

"You storm into my house. Onto my estate. Into my party. And then..."

He gestures lazily toward the water.

"You throw me in my own fucking pool?"

You pant, teeth gritted. “Your—house? Great! I’ll leave you in your fucking house—”

You turn to climb out—

And he grabs you again. A firm grip. Unshaking.

His eyes—darker now. Sharper. Focused.

"Make another move, cutie." His voice is dangerously low.

"And we’ll have problems."

You glare. "Let. Go."

He doesn’t. Instead—he pulls you closer.

“You’re not walking away from this.”

Your pulse spikes.

"Rafayel—"

"Do it," he whispers. "Say it to my face."

Your breath catches.

"You want to leave?" His hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer, forcing you to feel the heat radiating from his soaked body.

"Then say it."

Your hands shake. You flick water into his face, desperate to break the tension.

He doesn’t even blink. Instead—his eyes drop.

To your clothes.

Soaked. Clinging. Revealing everything.

His pupils darken. And then—his jaw tightens.

"You left me for six days," he murmurs.

Your breath stutters.

"I left for work, not you, you hysterical maniac."

He tilts his head.

"That’s the same thing. And your phone?"

"A Wanderer shattered it!"

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Ah, yes. And I suppose you were also too busy fighting for your life to send me one. Single. Fucking. Message?"

You exhale sharply. "Raf, you’re insufferable. A party? Seriously?"

"How else am I supposed to handle soul-crushing heartbreak?"

His voice drops.

"Tell me, cutie." His fingers skim your waist, trailing fire in their wake. "How else was I supposed to drown my suffering?"

He leans in, breath hot against your lips.

And then—

He kisses you. Desperate. Possessive.

Your legs wrap around his waist, instinct taking over.

His grip tightens.

"You threw me in a pool," he whispers against your lips.

"You deserved it."

His fingers dig into your hips.

"You waltz in after six days and just—throw me?"

"Maybe I should throw you again."

He grins against your skin.

"I should make you pay for that."

"Raf—"

"Mm. Shh."

His hands travel lower, pressing you harder against him.

Your breathing turns shallow.

"Your paintings," you murmur.

"I’ll paint more."

"You hated me for six days."

"Endlessly." He kisses your throat, voice dropping further.

"You didn’t want to see me again?"

He grins against your collarbone.

"Try leaving me again, cutie."

His grip tightens, unshakable.

His breath is hot against your ear.

"And I promise—"

His hips press forward, slow and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt of heat through you.

"You won’t be able to walk for a week."

Spring arrives... bringing... Lumiere!! ( •̀ ᴗ •́ ) و ✨

📖⬅⬅⬅

xavier | 11:53 PM

"Xavier, is that you?"

"Yeah."

You hear the front door close gently, and it's immediately followed by the shuffle of heavy footsteps heading towards you. You look up from your phone, which you had been scrolling mindlessly on for the last hour, to see Xavier, still in his uniform, standing at the end of the sofa.

Before you can greet him, you see his knees buckle, and he falls face first onto the sofa, his face just landing next to your thigh, his long legs dangling from the arm rest.

You gingerly place your hand on his head, your fingers finding their way into his light hair.

"Xavier," you whisper his name, trying to stop him from falling asleep.

He grunts, the few syllables he tries to say muffled by the leather of the sofa. Then, you start to hear him snore.

"Xavier," you say, a little louder, giving the hair in between your fingers a soft tug.

He rolls his head to the side. "Tired," he mumbles, his eyes closed. "Sleep now."

"I know," you say, starting to get up from the sofa. "But you're still in uniform. Can you at least take a quick shower, get into some comfortable clothes and then go to bed?"

He gives you no answer. Instead, another soft snore escapes his lips, and you roll your eyes to yourself, before walking off.

There's a beat of silence before you hear his rushed, heavy footsteps.

---

"Xavier! Xavier, help!"

The door to the bathroom swings open, and you see Xavier, one hand gripping the handle, and the other the doorframe.

"What-"

Before he can say anything else, you rise from the side of the bathtub, and reach for his arm, pulling him into the bathroom. You close the door, and lock it behind you, preventing him from attempting escape.

Xavier stares at you, then his eyes flicker towards the bathtub, then back to you. You motion with your head towards the tub, which is covered in bubbles, with small tendrils of steam rising from it.

Xavier, having sensed your plan, sighs. "Are you serious?"

You press your back against the bathroom door. "Deadly. Get in the tub."

He shakes his head. It's dim in the bathroom, with only a few candles lighting the room, but you see a shy grin tug at the corners of his lips.

Wordlessly, he starts undressing, and you realize that you're still in the room with him. You inhale sharply, hoping that he doesn't notice, but his eyes meet yours, and he smirks.

"Are you going to watch me get naked?"

You immediately spin around, nose pressed against the door, hoping that he didn't see the flush spreading across your cheeks. You hear him chuckle as the last of his clothes fall to the ground. He lets out a soft hiss as he steps into the tub, and you hear the water splash at the sides of it.

"Oh... oh my..."

There are another few splashes as he submerges himself, and you turn again to see Xavier's head just slightly peaking out from the bubbles. He dunks his head into the water, then rises out of it again, his hair plastered to his forehead. He glances at you and gives you a drowsy grin.

"Thank you. This is heavenly"

You nod, and you turn to head out of the bathroom, but Xavier's arm shoots out of the tub and his soapy fingers wrap around your wrist. They're slippery, but his grip is tight.

"Can you... can you stay with me a little bit?"

You take a deep breath in before you give him a smile. "Of course."

You kneel at the edge of the tub, watch as his eyes start to flutter shut again. You reach for the shampoo bottle on the bathroom counter, pop it open, and squeeze some of it into your palm. You then shuffle around to the end of the tub where Xavier's head is, and you rub your hands together, producing some foam. You reach for his head, your fingers finding his hair once again. Xavier lets out a drawn out groan, which causes heat to spread across your cheeks, but you say nothing, and you continue massaging the shampoo into his hair.

You hear him start to snore again, and this time, you can't bring yourself to wake him up. You admire the small droplets of water that have formed on his eyelashes, the warm feeling going from your face to the pit of your stomach. His forehead is covered in suds, but you can't resist - you press your lips lightly against it, murmuring into his damp skin.

"Good night, Xavier."

Just Be Yourself

Xavier; Zayne; Rafayel; Sylus; Caleb x female!reader || with teenage kids!

Genre: fluff

Warnings: 300-600 words, lgbtq+ kids!, married lads&reader, reader likes women too in Sylus's part!

Note: as a pansexual person I know how much of a struggle coming out to your parents may be, but I believe our dear lads men would do a great job at creating a safe space for their kids to come out to them

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

How would they react to their kids coming out to them?

Xavier was lying on the couch, peacefully watching tv and falling asleep when his 16 year old son interrupted his tries to take a nap.

"Dad?" he walked around the couch to get to him and shake his shoulder a bit.

"Hm..?" was the only response he got, Xavier not even bothering to open his eyes.

"I have something to talk to you about. Can you quit sleeping for a moment please?" and finally he saw his dad opening up his eyes (only half way) and sitting up.

"Yes?"

"Well I..." his son turned to look at the carpet, clearly stressed about something judging by the way he played with his fingers nervously.

Not rushing him Xavier simply stayed in one position, trying not to fall asleep.

"I'm... Gay..." finally he said, looking into his dad's eyes matching his own.

The next moment of silence seemed to last eternity, the teenager would lie if he said he wasn't afraid of his dad's response, even if you already assured him he'll accept him no matter what.

"Okay." that... Was it?

"Okay?" Orion repeated after Xavier, tension leaving him, allowing confusion to take place.

"Okay. It's not my business to tell you who to love." he stated like the simplest thing in the world.

In a second he was wrapped in a tight hug which he reciprocated a little too slow from the lack of his afternoon nap.

"You're the best, dad!" his son cried out into his shoulder, squeezing Xavier tighter before letting go of him to run somewhere "Mom, you were right! I can't wait to tell my boyfriend that he can come over for lunch!"

Xavier lied down again, getting comfy under the material of a blanket when...

BOYFRIEND?!

He looked in the direction his son disappeared to, not feeling sleepy any longer.

Sitting in the dining room with his laptop and a half finished coffee Zayne continued filling up patients reports regarding his last surgeries.

He heard footsteps coming from behind him, recognizing them as his child's he continued with his work not turning around to acknowledge the teen, expecting them to pass by the room on their way to the kitchen.

"Dad? Can I talk to you about something?" he heard the hesitation accompanying their voice.

"Of course, what's bothering you?" he said not taking his eyes off the monitor.

"Could you... Not focus on your work for a bit..?" the presence of vulnerability accompanying their quiet words made him worried.

"Yes, forgive me." he took his hands off the keyboard, turning his head towards the teen.

What he saw made him pause for a moment, brows arching in confusion.

There he was, his 16 year old son, standing with eyes dropped to the floor, nervous, almost crying and in... Make-up?

Seeing how they didn't seem eager to express what was bothering them Zayne decided to push the topic a little bit, already expecting what the conversation was going to be about.

"You look nice." he simply stated, not a hint of anger or disappointment in his voice.

The shock he saw on the teen's face the very next second spoke loudly, tears forming in their eyes.

With a hand gesture he asked them to come forward, taking their hand into his.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he gently stated, brushing one tears away from their cheek.

Nodding their head they tried to compose themselves enough to make a sentence leave their closing on the air throat.

"I... I want you to call me Ivy from now on." Zayne brushed their hair away from their eyes, the warm present in his eyes, reserved only for his little family.

"Ivy." he said, testing it on his tongue and nodding approvingly "I like it."

He saw the way his daughter bit her lip so as not to let out a sob before crashing her dad into a hug.

"Don't ruin your make-up, I know mom worked hard on this one." she laughed at the comment "To this day I remember how your mom cried at the party once, with a napkin under her eyes, refusing to smear her mascara."

"Mom's always been a girl boss, wasn't she?" they laughed together.

"That she was, and you're exactly like her." he felt the hug tightening up even more.

"Those god-damned SEAGULLS-" Rafayel screamed, looking at the mischievous bird that stole his paintbrush simply because he put it on a table for a second too long to take a sip of the tea made by you.

"Why are we yelling?!" now the artist didn't only scream but also jumped, startled.

"When did you get here?!" he looked with hurt at his daughter, holding a hand to his chest to calm his heart down.

"Stop yelling!" he heard you, his wife, screaming from the kitchen.

"Of course, cutie!"

"Sorry, mom!" they both answered, turning in the direction of your voice, your figure hidden behind a wall.

Rafayel looked at his daughter, waiting to see whether she wanted something or if he could come back to his peaceful (not really) lookout for inspiration.

"I have news~" she said, almost singing it, and swaying to the sides with a huge grin on her face.

"Hit me with it." he watched her happiness, preparing for the news of the century.

"I have a girlfriend!" she jumped up and clapped her hands in joy.

Rafayel almost fell from his stool.

"A what?!"

"I said something!" your voice rang from the kitchen again, with your head peeking out to send him a firm glare.

"I'm sorry, honey, love you!" he said to you before turning back to his daughter "A what." he pointed at her in shock.

"A girlfriend! You know, a girl, that I really, really like? Like you like mom?" she explained to him sarcastically, watching as he tried to process the information.

"Okay, first of." he raised a finger and looked at her with disappointment "I don't like your mom, I love her." he said firmly, it was important to correct that huge HUGE mistake his daughter said.

"I love you too, darling!" you butt in again, to which he pointed approvingly in your way, still hidden behind a wall and busy.

"And second." he didn't move his eyes away from his grinning daughter "You're too young to have a girlfriend!"

"Dad, I'm 16 years old! I'm turning 17 in half a year!" she protested.

"You're still a baby!"

"I'm not a baby anymore."

"To me you'll always be a baby!" he cried out, upset that his child grows up.

"Dad, pleasee-" she groaned in disbelief.

"Also since when do you like girls?!" he looked at her sternly "How come I didn't know about it?"

"Oh please, I couldn't be more obvious about it, I had a crush on every single one of the female characters in every single movie we watched together." she deadpanned to him to which he responded with his lips turning into a straight line, eyes half closed, a hand on his chin and thinking.

"Okay, yeah, the signs were there." he nodded his head "But didn't you have a boyfriend like a year ago?"

"Yeah, I'm bi, dad." she explained.

"Oh shit double the idiots to protect you from." his eyes widened in panic.

"Daaad." she groaned again, he was unbelievable. She raised her head to look up at the ceiling before her eyes fell back to him "So, you're okay with this?" she asked, a little bit unsure, but still calm.

"What, with you being bisexual? Sure, love who you want to love and all that. What I'm not okay with is all the idiots that are gonna try to win you over that don't deserve you. No one deserves you!" she laughed at his antics.

Yeah, she loved her drama queen dad.

"Father, I have something important to tell you." Sylus stopped humming, turning his head to sneak a glance at his 17 year old daughter. He was currently cooking dinner for you, since you were in too much pain to move due to your period, he wanted to spoil you in every way he could.

"Yes, Lilith?" he asked while taking out plates.

"I hate men." she said, standing with her arms crossed over her chest and sending a dead glare from those red eyes of hers.

"Just like your mother." he muttered, completely unfazed, still focusing on the task at hand.

"No, dad, I mean I'll never be with one, I hate looking at them, and want to throw up anytime I see one without a shirt." he still didn't look like the information shocked or hurt him "I like women, okay?" she said firmly, annoyed at his lack of reaction. Now he finally turned to look at her again.

"Like I said; just like your mother." he deadpanned. His daughter's mouth fell open in confusion.

"Wait, mom likes girls?" he nodded, not caring too much for the topic "But she married you?!" now he chuckled.

"Yes, you see, Lily, your mother hated men, always did, still does, saying that they are all scums and she'll never find herself in a relationship with one." she smiled gently, as if reminiscing his wife's words brought him joy "But then I came along, and now she hates every single man, except for me. Now, your mom is attracted to all genders, in case you haven't noticed yet." he looked at the teen, crocking an eyebrow.

"How was I supposed to notice?! Every time I am with the both of you somewhere in public all you two do is stare at each other and tease each other to the point I want to cry, cause I'll never have someone love me like you love each other!" she argued with him, making some very energetic hand gestures. Sylus only chuckled, yes, him and his wife are crazy over each other.

"Now, now, sweetie, I'm sure you'll find someone who'll love you just as much. Now I do have to say, I prefer you liking women too, I'm not a... Huge fun of teenage boys anywhere near my daughter." he said, coming back to focusing on the cooking.

"Thanks, dad, I knew I could count on you to understand." she said, more calmly this time, grinning right after "Oh! Also, I sneaked to mom like 10 minutes ago, we're doing a self-care evening today while watching movies, wanna join?" she asked, clapping her hands, like a kid talking about sweets.

"Sure, I don't see why not. Just make sure not to hug her too tightly on the sad scenes, she doesn't feel too well today." Lily nodded, running out of the kitchen right after to get into her pajamas.

She loved days on which her always busy father found the time to indulge in her little plans.

It was early morning, Caleb as usual woke up first to start off his day with making breakfast for his family. On any other day it would be you who'd join him in the kitchen first, before your kids wake up, especially on the weekend like this, but this time his oldest son was the one to greet him first.

"Hey, dad." he simply said, reaching out for a glass to pour apple juice into.

"What's got you to wake up at 7am on Saturday?" Caleb asked, focused on cutting vegetables.

"Didn't sleep well last night, I have something to talk to you about, I already talked to mom about this last week when you were gone on a mission, decided it's better to do it before Skye and Ethan wake up." he stated, as calm and collected as his father.

"Sounds serious, what's up?" he sneaked a glance at his son, still working on the breakfast.

"Well I... I have a partner. We hit six months together recently, and I wanted to... Invite them for dinner sometime, you know, so that you'll meet them." he explained slowly, Caleb listened in silence, connecting dots in his head.

"Where's the catch?" he said instantly when Alec stopped talking.

"No catch just..." the teen exhaled.

Caleb looked at the 18 year old boy, waiting for him to finish the thought.

"They're... Non-binary." he finally said, his dad's expression didn't betray how he felt about that "And since we never talked about stuff like that, I wanted to ask if that's... Okay with you."

"Date who you want to." he simply said "I just want you and your siblings to be happy." he put the perfectly chopped veggies on the pan.

"So you won't have a problem with addressing them accordingly?"

"Nope." he didn't hesitate "Now if that topic is over, go and set the table, usually your mom is the one helping me with that, but today you were faster than her, congrats." Caleb chuckled hearing his son groan.

"Waking up early is no fun." he stated before getting to work.

©alexrosa13 on tumblr

taglist @pozuki

Caleb's new myth X-02 sketch

Pancakes at Sunset

content: fluff, xavier x reader, soft teasing, domestic, cozy vibes

word count: 893 words

requested by — @sadfragilegirl

now playing: Best Part by Daniel Ceaser ft H.E.R

You place the plates on the table as Xavier settles into the chair beside you. You had cooked pancakes with bacon and eggs—definitely not your usual dinner choice. The savory scent of sizzling bacon mixed with maple syrup still clings to the air. It’s oddly comforting, but also… well, odd. It was already dinner time.

Xavier glances at the spread, then up at you. One brow arches, his golden eyes narrowing with amused suspicion. “Breakfast?” he says, tone smooth and relaxed, like velvet draped over mischief. There’s no judgment there, just that usual playful cadence in his voice that makes your stomach flutter—more than it probably should.

You shrug, sliding into the seat across from him. “Yeah. I was craving it.”

“Craving,” he echoes, slowly, drawing the word out like he’s tasting it. His fork hovers over the pancakes for a moment before he stabs into them. “That’s a new one.”

You tilt your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and swallows. “Just that you usually go for something more… balanced. You’ve never made breakfast food for dinner before. This is a bold choice.” He gestures to the pancakes dramatically, like he’s hosting a cooking show. “An unprecedented one.”

“Maybe I just wanted comfort food,” you say, folding your arms and trying not to smile.

“Or…” He trails off, leaning back in his chair, fork spinning between his fingers. That sly smirk starts forming—the one you know all too well. “You’re being weird lately.”

Your brow lifts. “Weird?”

“Yeah. You’ve been… emotional. Sleeping a lot. Getting all huffy at me over nothing—don’t think I didn’t notice you almost cry when we ran out of strawberry jam.”

Your face warms. “That was a traumatic moment, thank you.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “And now pancakes for dinner? Something’s up.”

You narrow your eyes. “Maybe I just missed you.”

That seems to catch him off guard. He falters for half a second, eyes softening, that teasing edge dipping into something gentler. “I missed you too,” he says, sincere and quiet.

And just like that, your heart stumbles.

But then—he’s grinning again. “Still… this isn’t just missing me. You’re like… glitching.”

You scoff. “Oh, shut up.”

“I mean, first the jam, now the pancakes? You’ve been acting like a walking mood swing.” He props his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s next, singing to the plants? Crying over a commercial again?”

“It was a dog reunion ad, Xavier. You cried too.”

“That’s beside the point.”

You take a deep breath and lean back in your seat. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Oh, absolutely.” He doesn’t even try to deny it. “Because now I get to ask the big question.”

You pause, fork halfway to your mouth. “What?”

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice, but still laced with that teasing edge. “Are you… pregnant?”

You nearly choke. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, it would explain the weird cravings, the naps, the moodiness.” He waves his fork like he’s presenting evidence. “You’ve been late too, right?”

Your cheeks flush instantly. “You are not seriously—”

“I’m just saying.” He takes another bite, talking through the mouthful. “Maybe there’s a little me in there already.”

You drop your fork. “Xavier.”

“What?” He’s laughing now, head tilted back just slightly, the kind of laugh that feels like a warm breeze—easy, light, completely him. “You’ve been looking at baby clothes on your phone too.”

“That was one time and it was an ad!”

“Sure it was.”

You throw a napkin at him. He catches it mid-air with a casual flick of his hand and smirks. “Reflexes of a starship pilot.”

“You’re impossible.”

He leans forward again, eyes crinkling at the corners with the fondness he always tries (and fails) to hide. “You know, if you were pregnant,” he says softly, “I’d take it in stride.”

You blink. “You… would?”

His voice turns warm, serious for a beat. “I’d be terrified. But I’d also be all in. No running. No hesitation. Just me… and you… figuring it out.”

Your chest tightens in the best way. You hadn’t really thought about that. At least, not seriously. But now, hearing him say it, tease it—mean it—it sends a pulse of warmth through you that pancakes alone couldn’t have managed.

Still, you roll your eyes. “Well, I’m probably not. I’m just… late.”

“Mmhm.” He hums, biting into a strip of bacon. “For now.”

You point a finger at him. “Don’t start nesting. We’re not naming anything.”

He grins devilishly. “Too late. I’ve already got five options for a girl and seven for a boy.”

You groan dramatically and cover your face. “I’m never making breakfast again.”

“You say that now,” he murmurs, sliding his chair closer so he can wrap an arm around your shoulder. He kisses your temple, a whisper of warmth against your skin. “But wait till the cravings hit again tomorrow.”

“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

The teasing continues until the plates are cleared and the night grows soft around you. And even though you’re sure you’re not pregnant, the way he looks at you… the way he smiles like he already sees a future unfolding with you in it—maybe, just maybe—you let yourself imagine it too. Just a little. Just enough.

Thank you for requesting! Requests are open. Reblogs and liking would help a lot!! Thanks for the past support. My heart is warming. - Zane 𖹭

I turn to Ares.

Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK

⚔️ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon

You know what's better than fluff? Dark fluff.

The kind where devotion borders on obsession, where love isn't just tender—it's consuming.

"I'd do anything for you, love," he murmurs, voice smooth, unwavering. "Anything you desire, and it's yours."

And the other doesn't hesitate, voice laced with something raw, something desperate.

"I want her to split me open—dig her fingers into my ribs and pry them apart. To hold my heart in her hands, feel the pulse of it against her palms, my blood staining her skin. I want her to pick my bones clean, crack them open, suck the marrow dry. I want to be ruined by her, consumed until there's nothing left of me but the taste of her name on what's left of my tongue."

Because love, when it’s deep enough, is a hunger—one that begs to be fed.