That Night At 3:07 A.m. | Xavier

Headcanon -

Barista Caleb takes your order

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

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

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

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

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

Because he is breathtaking.

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

And then there’s the new barista.

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

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

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

“Wanna make this one?”

They freeze. “Uh—me?”

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

“…I mess it up?”

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

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

“Here, let me help.”

And then he does something devastating.

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

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

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

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

Because you are feeling the exact same thing.

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

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

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

And then, finally, he turns back to you.

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

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

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

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

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

But the words sit heavy on your tongue, unspoken.

You just nod. And walk away.

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

This isn’t just a barista.

This is a problem.

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

Caleb.

—————————————————————————-

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

The bite of Xavier

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

“what’s your dream job” im so glad you asked. picture this. i am the lone employee of a strange and mysterious tchotchke/bookshop in the middle of nowhere, full of fun and interesting things that i am allowed to take for the low low price of free of charge. i get one, exceedingly interesting, customer per hour. i work no more than twenty hours a week and am salaried 3 million dollars

caleb | 1:22 am

Your pillow is buzzing. Why is it buzzing? You groan and reach underneath your pillow, grasping at your phone. You pull it out, sit up in bed and blink at it. Caleb's name flashes across the screen. You swipe your finger across it.

"Caleb?"

There's a pause before the voice on the other end coughs awkwardly.

"Uh... is this... Pipsqueak?"

You're immediately alert. The voice doesn't belong to Caleb.

"Who is this?" you demand, your voice still thick with sleep.

"You were listed as this guy, Caleb's, emergency contact," the voice explains. "He's at the bar. We've had to cut him off. Can you come get him? We close in, like, half an hour."

You're immediately out of bed, pulling sweatpants and a hoodie on. "Oh my god, of course, I'm on my way."

You're stuffing your feet into shoes when you hear someone slurring his words in the background. "Hey, that's my phone, gi-gi-give it back!"

---

"You're too nice to him, my wife would have made me sleep and sober up outside."

You chuckle at the taxi driver's remark. You were lucky to flag down a cab at this time in the night. The driver had asked you were you were going so late, and you had explained everything to him. You and Caleb had been giving each other the silent treatment for two days now. It was over something stupid. He had left one of his unfinished models lying around on the floor in your apartment and you hadn't seen it - you had ended up stepping on it - on accident, of course - but you had never seen Caleb so upset. It ended with him storming out of your apartment and no calls or texts from him for the last couple of days. You had thought about apologizing first, but had decided he was being childish and that he would approach you when he was ready. But it turns out that he had decided to drown his sorrows in alcohol. You had known that he likes to drink socially once in a while, but he's never been totally wasted before - not like this. You wanted to seem calm and collected, but inside, your anxiety is tearing you up. Is Caleb okay?

The driver slows down and pulls up to the bar. He meets your eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Go get him, I'll wait here."

You thank him, and head inside the bar. The glass door is already locked, but you knock a couple of times, and a staff member appears from behind the bar and lets you in.

"Sorry," he apologizes, scratching the back of his head. "We would have sent him home in a cab but he wouldn't tell us his address. He kept saying he wanted 'Pipsqueak'. He's a regular here so we really didn't want to let him wander home by himself."

You nod at the bartender. "Thank you. Where is he?"

He points at one of the corner booths with his thumb. You make a beeline for it, and see Caleb, lying across the booth's cushion. His cheeks are flushed red and he's snoring lightly, his hand gripping his phone.

You shake him gently to wake him. "Caleb, let's go home."

He groans and lifts his head slowly. "Please, leave me alone. I have... I have a..." His eyes open and they widen when they meet yours. "Pipsqueak," he whispers.

You place a hand on his cheek. "Let's get you home, okay?"

---

It was a mission to get Caleb in the cab, even with the help of the bartender. It's an even bigger mission to get him into your apartment building and up the stairs. But you manage to do it, and get him inside the apartment without incident.

Almost there!

You practically haul him to your room, and push him onto the bed. He flops onto it like a ragdoll, one arm and both his legs hanging off the sides.

You stare at him, hands on your hips, panting quietly. "Well, that can't be too comfortable."

You take a few moments to catch your breath before you decide to tackle his jeans and shoes - they come off easily enough, and then you get to work on his shirt. His eyes are still closed and he's muttering something softly, but you can't take the time to figure out what he's saying. You start to put on some shorts for him, but it's awkward and you only manage to get one leg in.

"Caleb, Caleb." You squeeze one of his knees to wake him again. "I need your help, sit up for a little bit."

This seems to rouse him and Caleb lets out a low groan and rises slowly.

"Okay, let's just get these shorts on."

Caleb is still for a few moments, and you think he's fallen asleep again while sitting up. But he mumbles something almost imperceptible, and you almost miss it. He's saying your name.

You look up at him from where you're crouching next to the bed, and meet his bloodshot eyes. There are tears forming at their corners.

You're startled - you're not used to seeing him cry. "Caleb? What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. You can smell the alcohol in his breath. "I was so stupid. I'm sorry."

A lump in your throat forms and you have to turn away before he can see the tears in your own eyes. You clear your throat before speaking again. "Let's talk about it in the morning, okay? Just get in the shorts and then we can go to bed."

Caleb nods, and pulls his shorts up so that they're on properly. You breathe a sigh of relief, and help him get under the covers of the bed.

You go about settling down for the night again, making sure the front door is locked, all lights are off, and placing a packet of headache medication and a glass of water on the nightstand next to Caleb's side of the bed.

You slide in under the covers next to him, and notice that he's still awake, his eyes struggling to focus on you.

"Pipsqueak," he mutters, his eyelids fluttering. "Please, don't be mad at me any more."

You smile at him, amused at the fact that he fought to stay awake to tell you that. You brush the hair away from his forehead with your hand and plant a small kiss on it. Caleb sighs, and he closes his eyes, surrendering to sleep.

"You're the one who didn't call or text for two days, dumbass," you mumble, knowing that you'll go unheard. You don't care. You continue raking your hands through his hair as he snores softly.

AT LAST SOMEONE WROTE A SICKFIC ..OMG THANK YOUUUU

𝑺𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒆. - 𝑋𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑑𝑎𝑦.

✧───── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ─────✧

𝖠 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖷𝖺𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗆!

─˙✶ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲: 𝘟𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘔𝘤 (you)

─˙✶ 𝖦𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

─˙✶ 𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 594

─˙✶ 𝖠/𝖭: 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴! 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵.

The door clicks shut behind you as you step inside, groceries in hand, only to freeze at the sight of Xavier curled up on the couch. His normally pristine posture is replaced with a slight slump, shoulders tense under the weight of a thick blanket. His hair’s a bit messier than usual, and there’s a flushed look to his face — one that screams he’s barely holding it together.

You’re already walking toward him before he even looks up.

“Don’t,” he mutters, voice rougher than usual. “I’m fine.”

You raise an eyebrow at the disheveled state of him. He looks far from fine.

“Uh-huh,” you say, clearly unimpressed. “Sure, you’re fine.” You set the groceries down with a soft thud, walking closer to the couch. He doesn’t meet your eyes, though his jaw tightens at the movement, like he’s debating whether to stay silent or argue.

“Really,” he insists, trying to sit up straighter. “I don’t need—”

You place a hand on his shoulder before he can push himself up, your touch surprisingly warm against his skin. He stills instantly, and you feel his muscles relax under your fingers.

“Xavier,” you say, soft but firm, “you’re burning up.”

“Didn’t ask for a diagnosis,” he says, voice hoarse but laced with that typical Xavier dryness. But you know the edge of it isn’t just irritation — there’s a hint of something else, something he doesn’t want to admit: vulnerability. He hates it.

“Too bad,” you reply, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You grab a damp cloth from the table and press it gently to his forehead. His eyes close in a long blink, and for a moment, he lets you.

“I’m fine,” he repeats in a murmur, but there’s no conviction in it this time. His words sound more like a plea than a statement.

You watch him for a moment, the way his brow furrows and the way his hand instinctively twitches toward the hem of the blanket. His breath is shallow, his body betraying him even as his mind tries to hold onto that veneer of strength.

“Yeah, sure you are,” you say softly, your thumb brushing his temple. He doesn’t pull away, but instead, he exhales deeply, letting the tension in his shoulders melt. It’s almost imperceptible, but you catch it.

“I hate being like this,” he mutters, barely audible.

You don’t say anything at first, letting the quiet stretch between you both. He’s always been the one to keep everything close to his chest — the walls built high, the walls that never seemed to crack. But right now, in the dim light of your apartment, his walls are lowered just a little.

“It’s okay,” you say after a beat. “You don’t have to be perfect all the time.”

Xavier finally opens his eyes, meeting yours with a steady gaze, though there’s still a flicker of something soft beneath the cool exterior. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. You can see it in the way his body slowly sinks into the couch again, the way his hand relaxes against your wrist.

He’s never liked being cared for — not like this, not when he can’t hide behind his usual self-assurance. But tonight, he lets you care for him, lets you be there in the ways he doesn’t know how to ask for.

“Stay with me,” he says quietly, a simple request that makes your heart tighten.

And you do. You stay with him. You don’t argue. You don’t press.

You just let him rest.

Side note: ☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*

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.”

© SWEETEAAS 2024 do not repost/edit/copy my works. જ⁀➴ reblogs are appreciated!

(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) 😌

It's just one of those times of the month... where it just HURTS and all you want is to just be in bed and hug something comfy _(:‚‹」∠)_

He can't imagine arguing with us, stawp- (it reminded me of this fic actually). The fact that his "biggest concern" is that we send him to sleep on the couch seems so sweet to me... ( ;´ ᵕ `;)

It doesn't cross his mind that an argument could break up his relationship with the MC. I mean like, he's so secure that you'll always be together that the thought of a fight doesn't cause him to have the thought of "we'd break up if that happens."

I DON'T KNOW IF YOU GET WHAT I MEAN- I hope you do-.

uhh, dazai loses his ability for a day so he can pet the big cat <3