Ya Right .... After Reading It Full And Then Seeing The Song Name ... Right... Author . . U ...🫠🫠

“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

Dance With Me - Xavier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I prolly wrote and rewrote this one seven times.

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

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

Xavier is as fast as light

he may appear laid back, harmless and “tired” most of the time—but u have to understand he’s very attentive and quick on his feet, particularly when it comes to defending or protecting MC

so imagine Jeremiah getting too comfortable with you, and playfully says “fuck off..”

before you can respond, Xavier’s much quicker to bark back “watch it”, now fully awake.

In which Jeremiah would raise his hands in defeat “sorry, forgot he’s here—don’t fuck off then”

What happens when the LADS guys are caught crying?

A/N: what the title says :) . I've always been someone that people have come to with their problems (forever the therapist friend) and comforting them. But I was thinking about what it'd be like to see the lads men cry, as there's a stigma around men crying (which is stupid but anyways). They're a lil short, but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: a lil angst, mentions of death, comfort, crying

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Rafayel 

When Thomas called you saying Rafayel had been dodging his calls all day, you weren't surprised. That was typical of your boyfriend. You decided to give him a call and maybe persuade him to finish a painting or two, but he didn't answer. Growing slightly concerned, you called again, but still nothing. Rafayel never missed your calls. He had even answered one day when he was using the bathroom, never wanting to miss a call from his muse. Since you were off work today anyway, you decided to pay him a visit, grabbing your keys and heading to his place. 

It was eerily empty in his house, which worried you even more. Something was off. Had he decided to go on a spontaneous trip out of town? He would have answered your calls then. You decided to try calling him again, not knowing what else to do. Your heart sank when you heard the familiar jingle play, going towards his phone that was going off. Rafayel had left his phone behind. Even more unheard of. The first place you thought of to look for him was the sea, the beach outside his house. If he wasn't there, there were a few more places to try, but that was the closest place. Opening his back door, you stepped out into his yard, leaving it and walking along the sand. 

You had almost decided to turn around and look somewhere else when you spotted a figure up ahead. The head of lilac hair told you it was Rafayel. His knees were pulled to his chest, sitting in the sand, his head gazing out to the sea, his clothes soaked as sat where the waves met the sand, the waves brushing up against him. A breath of relief left your lips, though you were still concerned. Picking up your pace, you jogged over to him, watching him as you got closer. You could tell that something was wrong in the way he sat and gazed out to the sea. Slowing down when you were close, you could see tears falling like pearls from his eyes, slipping down his face and splattering into the sea water. Your heart broke at the sight, carefully moving to sit next to him, not caring about getting your favorite pants soaked. When your arm wrapped around him, he jumped slightly, turning to see who had joined him. Saying nothing, you pulled him closer to you, his head easily falling onto your chest, a silent way of telling him it was okay to be crying. A way to tell him that you were there for him. 

His arms unraveled from his legs and wrapped around you, the sea beginning to soak your legs and his tears soaking your shirt. You brought a hand up to his head, patting his hair as he cried. When he seemed to settle, his tears slowing, you broke the silence. “What happened?” 

“It's nothing,” he muttered. 

“If it got you out here crying and not answering my calls it's not nothing,” you argued. 

“Sorry,” he hid his face. You gently placed a hand on his cheek, encouraging to face you. 

“You don't need to apologize, Raf. I'm more worried than anything. You know you can talk to me, right? You can cry or scream or pout in front of me and I won't run. I care about you so very much.” 

“I miss home,” his voice broke slightly as he admitted what was bothering him. You nodded in understanding, staying silent. “I miss Lemuria. My friends and family. My home. The stupid fish and whales. I miss all of them and I'm the only one I can blame for that. It's my fault they're gone.” His words sat heavy in your hearts. He had told you of his history and past. You didn't remember what had happened, but believed him when he told you, feeling that the two of you were connected, the bond proving it. 

“I can't say that's not entirely true, and I don't remember what happened, but I don't think you can blame just yourself. You still tried everything in your power to save your people. You fell in love. You were young. No one can blame you for that. I know my situation is completely different, but I miss home sometimes too. It's hard. I can't even imagine how much harder it is when your home literally no longer exists,” you told him. He nodded. “Do you regret what you did?” You suddenly asked. 

“Not at all. I'd choose you every time,” he stated. 

“Then you shouldn't take the full blame for what happened. You tried. You really did.” 

Silence fell over the two of you as you watched the waves. You held him in your arms as he sat silently, a few tears falling every now and then. “Is there anything I can do to make your home here feel more like home? I can try to cook a dish from Lemuria or decorate your house,” you offered.

“You feel like home. Just you being here helps,” he admitted. I nodded. 

“Then I'll be sure to come over more often. And if you find yourself missing home, tell me and I'll come. How about we head back and cuddle up? Watch a movie or something?” You offered, knowing snuggling was his ultimate weakness as well as comfort. He nodded in agreement. You stood first, offering your hand to him. He frowned, looking up at you. 

“Those are your favorite pants, why did you come sit here?” He asked. You shrugged. 

“Cause you're more important to me.” 

“More important than that stupid bird plushie?” His eyes narrowed. You smiled at him. He held such a grudge towards the plush, as you chose one time to have it in your arms while you slept. “Even more than the plushie,” you smiled. He nodded, smiling and grabbed your hand standing up. He pulled you into his chest, hugging you. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“Of course. Let's get going.” 

Hand in hand, you all walked back to his place. Once there, you both changed into dry clothes before ordering some food and picking a movie to watch. You had fallen asleep in his arms, too comfortable to not fall asleep. He smiled down at you, thankful that his bride had returned to him. Thankful that he still had part of his home. 

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Sylus

You waltzed into Sylus's office, excited to tell him about your promotion at work. But as soon as you entered, you froze mid sentence, looking at the sight before you. Your boyfriend, Sylus, sitting behind his desk, holding his head in-between his hands. When he looked up at you, his eyes were red, a few tears streaming down his face. He immediately looked away, praying you hadn't noticed. “Sy, are you,” you paused, stunned. “Crying?” 

“No,” he spoke, voice hoarse. You carefully walked over to him, as if afraid to scare him by moving too suddenly. He was lying of course, tears evident on his face. Moving behind the desk with him, you awkwardly hugged him, lightly pushing his face into your chest as your arms wrapped around him. 

“You know, you always tell me it's okay to cry and it doesn't make me any less strong, don't you know it's the same for you? It's okay to cry. Even when you're the big bad boss of Onychinus,” you whispered. He nodded, biting back tears. You stayed as you were, allowing whatever happened to happen. He was unsuccessful in holding back his tears, crying softly into your chest. It was still a shock to you. Sylus was the definition of someone who presented as if nothing could make him cry. It didn't bother you at all, it was just a surprise. Your concern though, was what had happened to make him cry. But you could ask later, and you did, when his tears stopped and he wriggled out of your grasp to grab a tissue. You watched him carefully, observing him. His nose and eyes red, expression downcast. It was unfamiliar to you. You had never seen or heard of him crying. “Wanna talk about it?” You asked. He licked his lips, unsure. 

“If you don't mind,” he finally decided. 

“Not at all,” you answered, moving to sit on his desk in front of him. He smiled softly up at you before taking a deep breath. 

“Some dickhead went on a rampage in the N-109 zone. Slaughtered hundreds of men, women and children for fun,” he spat. “About a year ago, I ran into a child walking around on the street. She had lost her parents and I surprised everyone by supporting her. I found a place for her to live, I visited often to make sure she was doing okay and being taken care of. She was on her way here when she was killed in front of my eyes. I couldn't do anything to save her,” he finished, looking down and biting his lip. You were stunned at the news and furious that something so horrible had happened. 

“Do you need me to go kill this guy? Because I will,” you offered. He chuckled at that. 

“He's been taken care of. Got what he asked for, I made sure of that,” he informed me. You nodded. 

“So it's the loss of this girl?” you carefully asked. He nodded. 

“It's weird and even surprised me, but she kinda felt like a daughter,” he admitted. Not knowing what else to do, you stood up and hugged him. 

“I'm sorry that happened. Truly,” you told him. He gave a slight nod and hugged you back, pulling you in closer. 

“I should have gotten there faster. I didn't know she was there. If I was quicker she could have lived,” he whispered. 

“You don't know that for sure. You didn't know she was there. There was no way to even know she was there. You did all you could, don't blame yourself. It's not your fault,” you soothed. 

“It feels like it is,” he admitted. 

“I know. But you weren't the one to take her life, you did all you could. It may be a bit too soon to think about, but do you want to hold a service for her? You said she lost her parents, so there's not really anyone to do a service,” you offered. 

“That'd be nice. Luke and Kieran have her,” he informed me, words getting softer as the reality continued to hit him. You nodded and moved to place your hands on his cheeks, guiding his lips to yours and pressing a quick kiss to them. “I'll plan it, just tell me what she liked,” you smiled softly at him. He smiled back, sadly. 

“Okay. Use my card for it all. She deserves the best service we can get.” 

“And the best she will. Wanna go get cleaned up?” You asked, he nodded and you guided him to his bathroom, showering with him both literally and with love. Making sure to scrub off any remnants of his fight and loss. You could tell he was still processing it all, upset but not fully grasping the situation. Once clean, you forced him to eat some food before getting into bed with him. Usually, he'd hold you, but today was different. He half laid down on you, head resting on your chest as he listened to your heartbeat. A few tears fell every so often, but he no longer tried to hide them, the grief hitting him. You stayed with him, whispering words of comfort to him, rubbing his back. 

It wouldn't be easy, but with you by his side, Sylus would hold the perfect service for the little girl and process his grief, thankful he had you by his side throughout the whole thing- whether he was strong or weak. 

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Xavier 

When you woke up you were immediately confused, the unfamiliar sterile white ceiling staring back at you. You tried to move, but nothing happened. So you took in the surrounding sounds. The steady beep of a monitor, the sound of a distant fan and talking. You figured you must be in a hospital. It was then that you heard a sniffle, making you blink. You couldn't remember what happened. Who was here with you? Were they crying? Your eyes finally moved, glancing to the side and finding your boyfriend, Xavier. His eyes were red and puffy as he cried. He still had blood from wanderers splattered on his uniform. He looked like he had been through hell and back…maybe he had. “Xav,” you managed to croak out. His eyes widened as he saw you were awake. 

“You're awake. How do you feel? Does it hurt anywhere? I'll get the nurse,” he rambled, standing up. 

“What happened?” You asked, ignoring his questions. He froze in place and returned to your bedside, gently grabbing one of your hands. His hands trembled slightly, making you grow more concerned. 

“I-im sorry. I couldn't get there in time, I was trying to warn you, but I failed and you were hit. Bad. I thought I was going to lose you and it was all my fault. All because I couldn't get to you in time. I'm so sorry,” he spoke, tears falling once again. You managed to shake your head. 

“It's okay Xavie. I know you tried. You did everything you could, I'm sure of it. I'm okay now. You're not gonna lose me,” you comforted him. You wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to hold him and comfort him while he cried. So you tried, gasping in pain when you tried to move. 

“Don't move yet, you'll make it worse,” he scolded you immediately. 

“I wanna hold you,” you admitted. He frowned slightly before getting up and laying in the hospital bed next to you, his arms carefully wrapping around you so he wouldn't cause any further pain. “Are you okay?” You asked him. 

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. “I don't know what I would have done if I lost you.” 

“You'd move on and live your life of course,” you told him. 

“No,” he firmly stated. “I can't live my life without you. I promise I'll be faster next time.” 

“There's no need to beat yourself up about this Xavie. Part of our job is risking our lives. It was an accident. It'd take a lot more to end me.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise. I'm not leaving you any time soon, okay?” He nodded and hid his face in your neck. You managed to gain enough strength to lift your hand and rub his back, comforting him. 

The nurse came in and he refused to move, which the nurse eventually accepted, mostly because you said you were fine for now. She asked a few questions and took the vitals she could manage to get without Xavier in the way, before leaving and informing you she'd be back later. When she left you placed your hands on Xavier's face, guiding him to look at you. You wiped away a few more tears with your thumb. “I've never seen you cry so much,” you admitted. 

“Only because it's you,” he whispered, nuzzling into your hand. You hummed in acknowledgement. “We should get some hot pot when I'm released to cheer you up,” you mused. 

“If it's what you want,” he agreed, making you pout at him. 

“What I want is for you to cheer up. Of course it's okay to cry, but that doesn't mean I like seeing you cry. I want you to always be happy.” 

“Then don't ever leave me,” he said seriously. 

“I don't plan on it,” you smiled at him before softly kissing his lips. 

“Good. Now get some more rest so you can heal up and come home,” he instructed. You nodded, moving your arms to snuggle closer to him, allowing his warmth to lull you to sleep. 

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Zayne 

“Guess who's favorite patient is here?! Oh shit,” you suddenly stopped, still holding the door to Zayne's office, freezing in place. His head was in his hands, glasses thrown onto his desk, his hair messy. What really threw you off though, was when he looked up, fresh tears falling down his face. You hadn't seen him cry since you were children, crying over scrapes from concrete. He quickly wiped them away, unsure what to say. You were the same, still frozen in place. Once your brain decided to process that your boyfriend was crying, you hesitantly closed the door behind you and walked over to his desk. He watched uncomfortably. You weren't meant to see him in this state. Hell, he rarely was in a state like this, no one but him should see. “I- you- are,” you attempted to formulate a question, sighing when nothing that made sense came out. “Are you okay? What happened?” You finally asked. Your heart clenched at his reaction, his face welling up in pain before a sob left his throat. Concerned, you quickly made your way around his desk, pulling him into a hug. He buried his face in your stomach, gripping onto you tightly. You had no words, still stunned by the sight, hands instinctively rubbing his back. 

You stayed like that until your back grew sore from the position, Zayne's tears stopping. He broke the hug and leaned back into his chair, apologizing. “I'm sorry you had to see me like that.”

“Don't be. Are you okay though?” You asked, knowing something was obviously wrong. He nodded. 

“Yes. I guess I just got a bit overwhelmed. With the wanderer attack I haven't been home in days. I've barely slept or eaten. It's surgery after surgery, but I can't just not perform. That's someone's life. It hasn't been this back and forth in a while,” he explained. You nodded. 

“Is there no one else who can do the surgeries? You need to rest,” you chided him. 

“There wasn't. There is now. Fucking 72 hours later,” he breathed frustratedly. 

“That explains why you hadn't answered my texts,” you mused. “I figured you were busy, but not this busy to where you haven't slept in days.” He nodded. 

“Can we go home?” He asked, looking up at you. You smiled and nodded, bringing a hand to wipe away a stray tear. “I was going to leave after gathering myself, but you've already seen the worst of it.” 

“I'm glad I did in a way. Of course, I hate seeing you like this, but I want to be there for you. Overwhelmed and crying or stoic and loving. I wanna see all of it. Want me to get your things?” You offered. He smiled and shook his head, his hand guiding the hand that was once on his cheek to his lips, pressing a kiss to your hand. 

“I've got it. Thank you my love.” He stood and grabbed his things, packing away whatever he needed. You grabbed his hand and led him out of his office. 

When you got to his home, you immediately instructed him to wash up while you cooked him something. He agreed, not bothering to argue, though a shower was definitely what he wanted at that moment. Before cooking though, you quickly slipped out, walking down the road to his favorite dessert spot and getting some sweets for him. The woman at the counter recognized you and immediately got together your usual order- filled with your and Zayne's favorites. 

When you got back to his place you snuck back in, glancing to make sure he was still out of sight. Thankfully he was, opting to take a much needed long and hot shower. After placing the bag of sweets on the counter, you got to work. Zayne left the shower some time later, announcing his presence by hugging you from behind while you cooked, the scent of his body wash filling your nostrils. “Feel better?” You asked. He hummed in agreement. “Sleepy?” You chuckled. He made a noise of agreement, muffled as he hid his face in your shoulder, taking in your scent. He was relieved to finally be home. “I got you something,” you smiled down at the food you were making. 

“You did? When?” He asked. You nodded to the bag on the counter. 

“While you were in the shower. Thought you could use some sweets.” 

“That's an understatement,” he chuckled. When the food was done, the two of you ate, you doing most of the talking as Zayne was tired. He was happy to listen though. He could listen to you talk about your day for hours. You could be reading a dictionary and he'd happily listen to every word. After eating, you did the dishes, slapping Zayne's hand away when he tried to help, instructing him to head to bed first. With a kiss pressed to your cheek, he listened. 

Once done with dishes and getting yourself ready for bed, you joined Zayne, easily snuggling up next to him. He was half asleep, but still managed to thank you. “Thank you for this. You always know exactly what I need. All I wanted was to come home to you and sleep,” he admitted. 

“I would agree, though my days haven't been quite as intense. I'm happy to take care of you. I'll ask off tomorrow so we can spend all day in bed,” you offered. 

“You don't need to do that,” he insisted. 

“Too late,” you smiled. “Get some rest, I love you Zayne.” 

“Sleep well my love,” he mumbled out, falling asleep now that he has said everything he wanted to. 

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Caleb 

You wanted to surprise Caleb. He was going to be in town and you hadn't seen him in a while. So instead of meeting him at your place, you decided to show up at his work. You were able to get through security pretty easily, as Caleb had brought you a few times when you visited. You excitedly knocked at his office door before opening it and stepping in. “Surprise!” You called out, a smile immediately turning into a frown when you saw him holding his arm, wincing as tears fell. You ran over to him, gently holding his mechanical arm and looking it over. “Caleb, are you okay? Where does it hurt?” You asked him. 

“It's nothing,” he answered, stopping his tears. It was the same as when they were kids. 

“How many times do I have to tell you it's not nothing if you're crying? That it's okay to cry in front of me?” You scolded him. “Now tell me where it hurts.” 

“I know. But I'm supposed to be there for you, not the other way around. I don't need to be taken care of,” he argued. 

“Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes. That's how a relationship works. You're there for me and now I'm here for you, so stop hiding,” you sighed. He looked down, avoiding your gaze. 

“It just got an upgrade. They usually hurt, but not this bad,” he softly explained. 

“Do you think there was a malfunction? Should I notify your doctor?” You asked. He shrugged. 

“I'm fine,” he got out, just before wincing again, his hand going to grab his shoulder. You frowned and picked up the phone on his desk, calling for the doctor. 

“Let me take care of you for once,” you told him after putting the phone down, hand reaching to wipe away a few tears that he failed to hold back. “Losing an arm is reason enough to cry anyway. You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt for me. I don't want you to do that at all.” He nodded, listening to your words. You wrapped your arms around him in a hug, patting his hair until there was a knock at the door. You moved to open the door, letting in two men dressed in lab coats. Caleb explained what was happening and the two worked together to take his vitals and work on his mechanical arm. You brought a chair next to Caleb, holding his hand as they worked. He tried his best to make it seem painless, but failed, wincing every now and then. After some time, the men left. “Better?” You asked him, rubbing his arm. He nodded. 

“Yeah, sorry you had to see that,” he apologized. 

“Apologize again and I'm leaving you. You were this bad when we were kids, how have you not changed at all? I cried all the time in front of you and still do and you don't think I'm weak, right?” You asked. 

“Of course not. You're the strongest hunter I know,” he scoffed. 

“Then why do you think crying is going to make you weak? You're still the strongest commander I know. Getting used to a mechanical arm can't be easy, not to mention, it's newer tech. There's going to be errors.” 

“Yeah I guess,” he half heartedly agreed. You sighed, knowing there wasn't really a way to convince him. You decided on cheering him up the same way you did as when you were kids, knocking the hat off his head and throwing it across the room. “Wha-” he began laughing. You shrugged at him. 

“Only way I know to cheer you up. Should I continue?” You threatened with a grin. He shrugged and you pounced, immediately your fingers finding the ticklish spot on his sides, attacking him. He bursted into laughter, attempting to push you away from him. Unfortunately for him, you were much stronger now than when you were kids. It wasn't until you felt the effects of his evol pushing you away, you were forced to stop. “That's cheating!” You yelled at him. 

“I'm doing what has to be done. There are other ways to cheer me up now, pipsqueak,” he grinned, standing from his chair. His hand found your cheek, caressing it as he grinned at you. “Like this,” he whispered before leaning in and kissing your lips. 

“Such a cheater,” you muttered, face flushed. He laughed and you felt the effects of his evol wear off. He wrapped his arms around you into a hug. 

“Thank you though. For being there and not telling me I'm a wimp for crying over a little pain,” he whispered into your ear. You punched his chest lightly, pulling back to look at him.

“A little bit of pain seems like an understatement, but I won't argue further. You're welcome though.” 

“Promise not to tell anyone about seeing me cry? I've threatened both of my doctors,” he admitted. 

“So you crying and being in pain happens often?!” You exclaimed. 

“I wouldn't say often-” 

“Why didn't you tell me? I would have made sure to come to all the appointments I could have,” you interrupted, disappointed in him a bit. 

“I'm sorry. I was stupid and truly believed you'd think I was a baby, still kinda worried about that if I'm honest,” he admitted. You crossed your arms on your chest. 

“I don't think that. Never will. You've always been way stronger than me. Promise you'll start telling me when you have appointments?” You asked. He nodded. 

“As long as you promise not to tell people I cry,” he agreed. 

“Deal. Now can we go spend the weekend together? A new arcade opened up down the road from my apartment.” Caleb smiled at you before grabbing his coat (and the hat that was thrown across the room). He took your hand and led you out of his office, ready to spend time with his favorite person.

I wonder if even after Odysseus returns, Telemachus still wakes up in a cold sweat some nights and goes to pace in front of his mother’s door. There’s light and loud talking and laughing and Telemachus grips his sword tightly, tense as he knows he can’t let anyone near.

The door opens and Telemachus jolts, turning to see a man standing in the doorway behind him. He lunges forward, but the man grabs his wrist and shoulder, disarming him and bringing him to the ground. He closes his eyes, bracing himself and feeling a burn in his throat. He failed. He can’t protect her. He-

Suddenly there are gentle hands on his face. A soothing voice replacing the cacophony that the prince realizes had never existed. He looks into his father’s eyes with shame, blinking back tears as the king gently takes him into his arms. Odysseus promises his son that he’s safe, brings him back to rest beside him and Penelope, and lets him have just a few hours of peace before it happens again.

Just thoughts.

hi long one but this is a very important hc / imagine that me and a friend felt is important to share, this is yet another part of the LADS future children series (i made one about rafayel and having twin lemurian babies you can find it in the masterlist here)

taglist: @feralkuromi (if you wanna be added lmk :D)

Anyway without further ado

Xavier adopting a son with you

Have we ever talked about how alienated and alone Xavier felt in his family? How estranged he is from his father and just doesn't seem to fit in?

Xavier would adopt because he probably wants to give a home to some kid that feels just as alone as he did. He wants to give someone a family, a family he didn't have, and he wants to be a good father. He really just wants to be there for a child that doesn't feel like they belong, or even give a kid a home. Wants to give someone that was like him long ago and chance to feel like they belong, or that they at leave have somewhere they can return to and feel safe in.

He will discuss this with you at length, seeming calm, but super nervous because adoption is a lot and he doesn't know your thoughts on it. If you agree to it, just know he will be extremely happy. This doesn't push the idea of having kids being born off the table by the way, he just... really wants to adopt first.

Xavier will do EXTENSIVE research, by the way, this isn't a spur of the moment thing. He's probably been thinking about this for the longest amount of time, and he wants to make sure he does this parenting thing right, especially with a kid who already had a family and must have gone through so much. Genuinely, he is so thoughtful about everything, he will do research alongside you as well.

Paperwork is fun, but hey, you both get through it and end up getting approved.

You end up being matched with a young boy who's about 11-12. His parents were lost in a Wanderer attack when he was 3, and he has no relatives willing to take him in, so he was sent to a home. He had been in about 2 families before but sent back simply because there just wasn't that 'spark', or it wasn't the right fit, etc...

The boy liked taking care of the younger kids. He would tell them bedtime stories or fairy tales, he'd always reassure them... he got used to being there. So when he got matched with both of you, he was surprised (most people who visited usually went for the younger kids because they were deemed 'less troublesome' and had 'no baggage').

There are a lot of pre-placement visits once matched. The first one is nerve-wracking on both ends.

You end up taking the lead in the beginning, learning about the boy, trying to get him to feel comfortable in your presence (he's a little anxious himself), meanwhile Xavier is just quiet beside you (man is overthinking a lot about what to say or do).

In the end though, you leave the two to their devices for a bit (under excuse of 'going to the bathroom') and they start talking. And they get along well.

The boy wants to be a Deepspace Hunter when he gets older so no more kids end up losing their parents to Wanderers. He's currently practicing how to use a sword in school because he wants to be like the knights in stories he read when he was younger, and he always plays the knight whenever playing pretend with the younger kids.

Xavier explained that he's a Deepspace Hunter, and offers to see the boy's technique. And the two begin bonding almost instantly.

As the end of the visit drew near, the boy asked Xavier a question: "If I was your son and you were my dad, would you take me to eat hotpot?"

And Xavier replied: "I would take you anywhere, regardless of if you wanted me as your dad."

The next visit, at the boy's request, you and Xavier took him out to hotpot. And you found out that the boy also had quite the appetite on him.

He and Xavier are alike in many ways. He fit right into your little family. But of course, the boy is the one who must consent to the adoption.

This is a very slow process of building up trust with the boy, but Xavier is adamant on making it work. He's learning how the boy grew up, the environment he's used to, what his daily routine looks like, and already adjusting the home in order to be more familiar to him.

Xavier is also asking the foster parents on advice almost constantly. He's making such an effort to ensure the boy feels right at home (he really wants to get this right, he doesn't want to fail the boy). Man is scouring forums, reading books, everything.

Then the boy does end up being placed in your home with you and Xavier. Things still need to be legalized and finalized in court of course—right now, it's the moment of seeing how he ends up fairing in the household.

He ends up liking the place well! You and Xavier help decorate his room, there's new games that have been bought, and more snacks and food filling the kitchen. The pantries have more silverware, and now there's three plates at the table instead of the usual two.

You introduce the boy to the garden you and Xavier cultivated, you show him the piano (and even play a bit together)... he's making himself at home, really.

He does express fear that you and Xavier may return him back, that neither of you want to go through with this. Because this was the moment when he was sent back the past few times. But, both of you continue to shower him in love.

Xavier really is a good father-to-be, and you recognize that as he helps the kid study for school, knows when to be kind and slightly stern, is doing his best not to overstep boundaries... reminds you of when he was first navigating his relationship with you, and when you realized what a kind and thoughtful partner he is.

It's when the boy one day calls Xavier "dad" and calls you "mom/dad/[insert gender neutral parental title here]" that both of you break. Up until that point, he'd been calling Xavier "Mr. Shen" and you in a similar fashion". But then he told you he wants to be your son. For real. And you and Xavier could not be happier.

After everything is finalized and he's officially adopted, not much has changed. Because truth is, the boy had become a part of the family, had already been seen as your son the moment Xavier met him.

He will grow up into a fine young man, with both his and your guidance. And I know for a fact he will feel loved and cherished by the both of you.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♥︎ FOR YOUR TROUBLES

── . ✦ WORD COUNT : 2, 214

── . ✦ PAIRING : Zayne x Fem!Reader

── . ✦ SUMMARY : You though you'd surprise Zayne with a nice, homemade meal after a long day at work, but judging by his reaction, it would've probably been better if you hadn't.

── . ✦ CONTENT WARNINGS : fem!reader, she/her pronouns are used for reader, use of 'y/n', angst + hurt/comfort + very brief fluff, husband!zayne, petnames (love, my love), crying, hurting your feelings.

── . ✦ AUTHOR'S NOTE : the amount of work that i can get done when locked in is insane XD

── . ✦ WANT TO SEE MORE? : Masterlist ⋮ 'Console Me' Masterlist

── . ✦ TAGLIST : @elegant-face-tree @vyntheria @cheesemachine44 @aluvrina @adeptustemptations @etckristel @seris-the-amious @babygirl-panda19 @paint3dros3s @babyblue0t7 @autumn2534 @just-a-shapeshifter08 @ryus3i @jupiterswrld @thewiselionessss @yakanadesuu-blog @kooidoom @taisha-san @avylea16 @zaynes-w @teewritessmth @rjreins @ilovelishen @ridox @d4wnbreaker @kyanmeai @rosiesareblu @pomegranatepip @littlepotaaatosimp @c-t-r-l14 @emneedshelp @krystallevine @everythingistaken00 @knorreine @peacedreamer14 @buggs-1 @kozumelise

Humming a soft tune to yourself, you stirred at the big pot of marinara on the hot stove with a wooden spoon and a soft, tranquil smile on your face. Zayne had texted you that he was on his way home after two gruelling back-to-back eight and six -hour surgeries, and to say that he was exhausted would be a massive understatement.

He’s been working significantly more these past few days — weeks now that you think about it —, coming home later and later after every shift, some days even after you’ve already gone to bed and missing each other completely. On some days, you would try to stay awake late enough to at least get to greet him, but you weren’t used to staying up so late, especially when you had to get up early in the morning to make it to the Hunters Association on time.

When he texted you that he was on his way home at 19:13 PM, you decided that there was still enough time for you to prepare a proper meal to welcome him home with, as well as enjoy the meal together for the first time in what felt like forever. You couldn’t recall when the last time you and Zayne ate a meal together that wasn’t something simple like ramen or a sandwich was, as Zayne’s late return from the hospital left barely any time to cook and eat said meal together.

Your humming came to a stop when you turned your head towards the sound of keys jingling outside the front door, turning and clicking inside the keyhole with the adept precision that only one person you know could have.

The door handle turned down and the front door opened, revealing your tired — no, utterly exhausted — husband with his shoulders slouched and his head down, causing his glasses to slip down the bridge of his nose.

“Welcome home, Zayne.” You tapped the wooden spoon against the rim of the pot a few times, excess droplets of sauce that was clinging to the wood splashed back into the bubbling ocean of red marinara.

“Hey, love.” He blinked slowly, the somnolence in his hazel green eyes was clear as day as he began to remove his creaseless, crisp white laboratory coat, throwing it over the back-post of one of the dining room chairs. If his eyes didn’t already express how exhausted he was, the fact that he just threw his laboratory coat — which he would normally hang on a clothing hanger the second he got home to avoid creasing and wrinkles — over the back of one of the dining room chairs, was another clear indicator that he was nearly at his breaking point.

“How was work?” You placed the wooden spoon down after tapping it against the rim of the pot a few more times, turning around and moving some of your hair that had fallen in your face while you were cooking back behind your ears. You walked around the kitchen island while taking in your husband’s exhausted appearance.

“Rough… and long,” He began, moving around the island as well to meet you halfway and pull you into his warm — cold — embrace, “I knew when I chose to become a surgeon that it would be excruciating work… but these back-to-back surgeries are starting to become ridiculous.” He leaned down to rest his mouth against your shoulder, placing a small, feather-light kiss against the fabric of your shirt, his arms tightening around your waist ever-so-slightly, closing even the smallest semblance of distance — if there even was any to begin with — between you and him.

He took in a deep breath, inhaling your comforting scent and immediately feeling some of the tension in his shoulders relax a bit.

“How was yours?” His voice was muffled by the fabric of your shirt.

“Same old, same old. Mostly encountered low-ranking Wanderers, so they were somewhat easy to deal with. Nothing too out of the ordinary.” You explained, running your hand through the short, black hair at the nape of his neck, and you felt him shudder at the action.

As much as you didn’t want to, you began to pull away from the hug, feeling Zayne’s grip on your waist faintly falter before he eventually let go, standing upright and taking your hands in his instead, gently rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

“You must be hungry,” You began to gently sway yours and Zayne’s hands from side to side, “we haven’t eaten a proper meal together in so long because of our clashing schedules, and when you texted me that you were coming home at a somewhat reasonable hour today,” You wiggled your hands out of Zayne’s grasp, causing his own hands to limply fall down by his sides, and stepped closer to the stove, gesturing to the large simmering pot of bubbling marinara with a bright smile, “I figured we could finally eat together!”

“Perhaps not tonight, love. I’m sorry. I’m exhausted… and all I want is to rest.” He muttered and his eyes fell shut while he pointed his head down, removing his glasses and folding up the temples before putting it in the breast pocket of his — also creaseless — white dress shirt.

“Oh…” Your arms dropped from their gesture to the simmering pot to awkwardly fiddle with your fingers over your abdomen. “Well… that’s alright, but… um… wouldn’t you like to eat dinner with me first? Before we go to bed?” You questioned awkwardly.

‘Shit.’ You thought to yourself. You should’ve known that he wouldn’t be in the mood to have dinner this later at night, especially not after two incredibly long back-to-back surgeries. You knew you should’ve asked him first, but you just assumed that he wouldn’t mind having dinner with you since he has also been complaining about barely ever seeing you anymore.

“Of course I would, love. You know it’s nothing against you personally. I’m just… not hungry right now.” He didn’t mean for his words to have the hostile undertones that they did, but he just wanted to sleep and his patience was quickly beginning to wear thin. Of course he’d like to eat with you, there’s nothing that he’d love more, but he could eat with you in the morning when he doesn’t feel like falling asleep where he’s stood, and he could’ve already been cozied in his bed with you in his arms, about to fall asleep.

“Oh… okay then… that’s fine…” You awkwardly turned around and picked up the spoon to continue stirring the marinara, “but what am I supposed to do about the food then? It’s not going to be fresh by the time the morning rolls around-” You were cut off by the sudden boom of Zayne’s voice.

“Y/N!” He snapped, his voice came out louder than he intended for it to be, “I don’t want to eat right now!" He paused and took a deep breath, "we can eat your food in the morning, just… please let me go to sleep, damn it.”

You fell silent, your hand stopped its stirring and you slowly turned around to face your husband. Did he just… yell at you? He’s never yelled at you before. He always promised that he wouldn’t. No matter how angry he got; no matter what the situation was, he always promised that he would never yell at you.

“I… Y/N…” Zayne stuttered once he realized what he’d just done. He, himself, could not believe that he just did that. ‘Why did I do that?’ He looked down, he noticed his fists were clenched at his sides, and he quickly unclenched them, hoping that you had not seen them. But you already had, you were looking directly at them in that very moment. Your eyes were wide, and he could see a slight gloss to them.

‘Did I just make her cry?’

You took your lip in between your teeth, your throat felt dry and your tongue felt like harsh, gravelly sandpaper against the roof of your mouth. “Okay.” You whispered and looked up with a curt nod, fearing that if you used your voice it would break. “Fine then. Leave the food. Throw it in the trash for all I care.” You stomped past him, unintentionally — but also intentionally — harshly bumping your shoulder against his own. This caught Zayne off guard as he stumbled backwards, scrambling to catch himself by grabbing onto the corner of the kitchen island, and watching your figure with wide eyes as you stomped away to your — shared — bedroom before slamming the door shut behind you without looking back.

Zayne exhaled a shaky breath, looking at the simmering pot on the stove and moved to turn the knob and turn the stove off, the bubbling of the marinara quietly echoed for a while after he turned off the stove. And it looked — and smelled — delicious.

"Fuck," He muttered under his breath and ran a hand through his hair, "I fucked up…" He dragged his feet to the couch and fell down with a heavy flop, the only sounds that could be heard throughout the apartment was the soft bubbling of the marinara cooling off and Linkon City’s usual city ambiance.

He wanted to go after you; to tell you that he didn’t mean for it to come off as if he didn’t appreciate your efforts, but he decided that it would be best to give you some time.

The clock on the wall read 20:31 PM.

The forgotten pot of marinara has now gone cold on the stove, the bowl holding the spaghetti was no longer steaming, and there was a heavy tension in the air as Zayne sat alone on the living room couch with his glasses in his hands, slowly turning them over betwixt his fingers as he stared at his slumped reflection in the dark TV screen.

He's given you enough time by now, right? He could try to talk to you now, right?

He put his glasses down beside his leg on the couch before standing up and turning to the bedroom door that was still closed and nervously rubbed his hands over each other. Why was he so nervous? It's not like this is the first time he's ever spoken to you, though he's never yelled at you before, so he didn't know how you'd react when you saw him again.

He slowly walked toward the door, taking note of how loud his polished, black oxford shoes sounded as they clicked against the wooden floors in the dead silent apartment.

He stopped outside the bedroom door, and he brought up his fist, hesitating a few centimetres away from the surface of the door, before he sucked it up and his knuckles made contact with the door to knock.

You didn't answer.

Of course you didn't answer, why would you?

You had every right to not want to answer him at that moment.

"Y/N?" Zayne's voice broke the silence. His hand gripped the door handle as he waited for a beat to see if you would answer to his call.

When you didn't answer, Zayne took a deep breath before pushing down the door handle, slowly pushing the door open until there was a small crack between the door and the doorframe that he could peek through. He saw you, fast asleep on the bed with his pillow tucked comfortably in your arms.

A soft smile found its way onto Zayne’s face, and he pushed the door open all the way, putting in the extra effort to not make a single sound as he tiptoed his way closer to your side of the bed. His smile immediately fell, however, when he noticed the dry tear tracks staining your cheeks and reflecting the full moon’s bright lucence outside the windows, and small, wet patch next to your face in your pillow.

‘I really did make her cry…’ Zayne felt his heart shatter into millions of pieces when the realization dawned on him that he caused this; he made you cry yourself to sleep.

Zayne quietly slipped off his shoes, leaving them next to his side of the bed and moving to lay down next to you. The sheets rustled in the silence, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be loud enough to wake you. Not even bothering to get out of his work attire, Zayne’s slender fingers moved to gently move a piece of hair behind your ear, and you stirred at the action.

“Zayne…?” Your raspy, sleepy voice broke the silence, and you squinted in the darkness to try and utilize the bright moon’s lucence make out his facial features — though, you didn’t really have a need to, since you’d already memorized every single feature on his face by now. From every single speck of gold in his eyes, to each individual eyelash lining his eyelids.

Zayne’s hand instinctively came up to cup your cheek, gently running his thumb over your cheekbone, and he smiled when he felt you lean into his touch.

“Thank you… for your troubles, my love. I really do appreciate it. I promise that I never meant to make you feel that I didn’t.”

© aeyuriameow. All rights reserved. DO NOT copy, modify, translate, plagiarize or repost ANY of my work on ANY social media platform. DO NOT claim my work as your own. DO NOT mention, promote or recommend my work on ANY social media platform outside of Tumblr. Violators will be prosecuted in accordance with the law. I currently ONLY post my work on Tumblr under the username @aeyuriameow.

L&DS BOYS - LOVE LANGUAGES

content warnings: fem!reader, fluff, sfw headcanons

XAVIER - PHYSICAL TOUCH

Xavier knows he is smart, and witty enough. But when things get a little too real, he finds it hard to express himself.

And the feelings he has for you are the most genuine ones he has felt in his long, long life.

While he might not be someone who can wax poetic about his affection for you, he shows it in other ways, and physical touch in his favorite way to get his feelings across.

When you walk next to each other, he sticks close, arm brushing against yours. Occasionally, the back of his hand makes contact with your own. It's almost as if the tension builds and builds, until he finally connects your fingers, either intertwining your hands together or linking his pinkie with yours. No words leave his mouth. His touch says enough.

If the train is too crowded, he will pull you closer to him with a firm touch on the small of your back, making sure you don’t receive any unwanted bumps from strangers.

For a few weeks in your relationship, he developed a strange habit of pinching your cheeks and lightly pulling on them. You let him do it, knowing he would eventually move on and find some other part of you to focus on. Though the action did make your face heat up.

Another weird hyperfixation he has is nibbling at your fingertips absentmindedly. He plays with them often, but when he is distracted by a movie you two are watching, he will bite at them every so often. Sometimes, he is so focused on the screen that you doubt he even realizes what he is doing.

(He realizes. He just thinks every part of you deserves love. Don’t question it. It makes sense in his head.)

Cuddling with him is the perfect gift for your senses, stimulating you wonderfully.

Small nips on your skin, little lingering touches. He traces your skin with eager yet gentle hands, as if trying to memorize every curve and dip.

He buries his face in your neck and breathes in deep, and in that moment, bodies tangled with each other and the sheets, vulnerable and open, he will whisper, “I love you”.

It’s an affirmation more than a revelation, since his actions up until this point have all shown you that he really, truly does love you. So you whisper it back, trying to pour all your love into it, before slotting your lips together and using physical touch to convey your feelings right back.

RAFAYEL - WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

Rafayel is, in the simplest of terms, a yapper.

This man could talk for hours if you don’t stop him. About his art, about the meaning of life, about his experiences. He can express so much while also having an impeccable talent of being completely vague. Sometimes, you don’t even understand the things he says. And you’ve given up trying to decipher his every word.

But when Rafayel is talking about you, he makes himself abundantly clear. There’s no ambiguity about it; he loves you. And he will say it a million different times in a million different ways. Whether it be a bold declaration of how much his heart yearns for you, or endless teasing that is meant to rile you up and get a reaction out of you.

“I don’t think your talent lies in art, babe. It’s a good thing you’re a walking art piece yourself. No wonder I’m in love with you.”

“You’re leaving so soon? But I don’t think I’ve admired you enough for today. Don’t leave me!”

I’m impressed, Miss Bodyguard. You’re talented, and easy on the eyes. No wonder you captivated me from that very first day we met.”

Expect to wake up with a lot of voice notes on your phone. Minutes long. Sometimes rambling, sometimes actual ideas for new pieces that he wants to run by you. You better reply to all of them individually.

When you cuddle at night, you can talk for hours. No topic on earth is off limits with him. He will lay you down on a blanket on the beach, and as you watch the stars, he will tell you stories from olden times about star crossed lovers and tragic fairy tales. And he will turn to you, tell you how beautiful you are, how ardently he loves you, how he will never forget any moment he spends with you.

It’s almost like you can tell the exact moment he falls in love with you. Because he tells you. He never stops telling you. He voices his fears of you leaving him, he makes you promise you will never go away. He is clingy and he is whiny, and he is so endearing.

It’s hard to dismiss him when he is so loud about his love. And it’s hard to not fall for him just as he falls for you.

ZAYNE - ACTS OF SERVICE

This is an indisputable fact. Dr Zayne shows his love through acts of service.

He is intensely aware of your needs, and is miles ahead of you in determining what you require at any given moment.

It’s his way of showing you that he cares. He worries for you, and born from that worry is the urge to take care of you.

If you have had a long day, you will come home to a text from him saying he has ordered takeout and it will arrive at your house shortly, since he knows you are too exhausted to cook anything. It is always something different, but it is always food that he knows you enjoy. He will mix it with some healthy options too.

If you ever crash at his place, you will wake up to a tall glass of water and two aspirin on the side table, along with a note in his neat handwriting telling you that there is fresh cooked breakfast in the oven (he made it before he left for work).

Once you two are in a steady relationship, he keeps his house stocked with products you use. A spare shampoo and conditioner, toothbrush, a bathrobe of your size, a hair brush, you name it.

When you mumble something about the hand cream in your purse that is nearly running out, you will find a brand new tube next time you open the purse, and there is no need to even ask. You know Zayne put it there.

He is intensely observant. Even after knowing him for so long, it catches you off guard. He knows which of your clothes need to be dry cleaned and which ones are good for the washing machine. He knows which scents you use. Which products are harsher on your skin. He knows that contacts irritate your eyes after long hours of wearing them, so he keeps a small bottle of eye drops in your side table for that very purpose.

He scolds you for neglecting yourself, and he won’t hold back the harsh tone if he thinks your behavior is particularly destructive. To him, the best way to show love is to make sure your beloved is living the best life they can.

It is the littlest things, the tiniest details. And it shocks you, even after so long.

Love & Deepspace Men As Your Gym Instructor

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

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

SYLUS

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

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

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

“Perfect. Let’s add weights.”

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

He blinks. “Pathetic.”

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

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

He clicks his tongue, tossing you a towel.

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

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

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

Your brain malfunctions. “Wait—what?”

He smirks. “Nothing.”

SCENARIO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks, releasing you. You immediately stumble.

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

You hate him. You really do.

ZAYNE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• “My legs feel like jelly—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She pouts. “That’s all?”

He turns to you instead. “You’re up.”

SCENARIO

You’re wheezing. Absolutely dying.

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

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

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

“I meant it this time—”

The treadmill suddenly increases speed. You yelp.

“ZAYNE—”

He doesn’t react. “You’ll survive.”

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

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

RAFAYEL

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leans in. “And what if I do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

SCENARIO

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

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

He smiles innocently. “Hmm. Weird.”

You narrow your eyes. “You did something.”

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

You pause. “I’m your only student.”

“Exactly.”

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

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

“…I hate you.”

He grins. “I love you too.”

XAVIER

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

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

“Is this… supposed to be this hard?”

He blinks. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SCENARIO

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

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

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

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

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

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

…You don’t trust him. “…But?”

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

Your eye twitches. Oh. Oh, that bastard.

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

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

CALEB

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

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

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

…You push yourself just to prove him wrong.

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

…The only sound you hear is your own wheezing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SCENARIO

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

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

You glare up at him. “I’m done.”

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

“…Shame?”

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

You stare. “That’s—”

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

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

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

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

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

Save me Lumiere~