A Very Good Day🍃

Cosy Mornings // Multi x Reader

Hey guys! I come bringing tooth-rotting fluff. In this there's only Xavier and Raf (Separately) as I work on the other guys' fics, which will be in part 2 of this :)) Concept: A cosy morning with your boyfriend. Tags: Fluff, very fluffy, fem reader Word Count: 1060 in total Masterlist

Xavier

Music plays softly in the background as you sway to the beat. The sweet smell of pancakes permeates the air around you, the morning sunlight beaming through the open windows, the breeze cool on your skin. You flip the pancake in the pan before moving to prepare the fruit ready to top off your breakfast. Xavier’s hoodie hangs off of you like a dress, keeping you cozy in the morning daze, your hair still a mess, sticking up in odd places. 

It’s the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. He wouldn’t mind waking up early every day if it meant he could see you like this, in his apartment, in his clothes, swaying to music, a carefree atmosphere surrounding you. His blue eyes, still hazy from sleep, track your movements as you move around his kitchen, the sunlight illuminating your figure. He leaned against the doorway, giving himself time to admire you.

You were ethereal, a goddess walking the earth. You chose him, again and again, in this life and in the past ones. He was the luckiest person in the world to have you by his side, he never doubted that. A gentle smile was etched into his face as he pushed off from the wall until his arms wrapped around your waist, his face pressed into your neck. 

“Good morning love.” You smile sweetly, your voice was quiet in a way that added to the cozy atmosphere. His lips pulled into a full smile as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

“Good morning honey.” His voice was muffled, but the contentment that echoed through it was clear as day. 

“Breakfast is nearly done, could you set the table?” He grumbled slightly about having to part from you, but the complaint was quickly chased away with a soft kiss to his lips. He did as you asked, making coffee and setting up the cutlery, before turning the music up on your phone. 

You look at him curiously, turning the stove off once the last pancake landed on the stack.

He reached out his hand, grasping yours and pulling you into his embrace, swaying to the lyrics of the song. You giggled, wrapping your own arms around his neck as his snaked around your waist. 

“The pancakes are gonna go cold.” You whisper, not willing to break the serene atmosphere that settled around the two of you. A grin spread across your lips, heart skipping a beat. Instead of a reply, you’re greeted with a slow gentle kiss, his arms tightening around you. You sigh into the kiss, unhurried, content with just holding each other as you move to the music. Pulling away, you gaze into his eyes, deep blue and filled with admiration, overflowing with the love he held for you. 

Rafayel

The sky was still dark when you arrived on the beach, the waves crashing on the shore. You jogged ahead, pulling him along with you. The breeze hit you, chilly in the morning hour, fresh with the smell of the wide ocean in front of you. You take a moment to breathe, to take it all in, before turning to Rafayel, a wide grin already spread across your face. His smile is amused, an eyebrow arcing.

“Where’s all this energy coming from, Cutie?” He chuckled, letting himself be pulled along the sand until the two of you stood by where the waves greeted the land. 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to see the sunrise with you for a while. This is the first time we’ve managed to get up on time, let me be excited about this!” You laugh, pressing yourself closer to his side, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you look up at him. You get a chuckle back in response, as he presses a kiss to your hairline before taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Besides, you’ve been looking for inspiration right? Maybe this beautiful sunrise will help with that.” You say as you turn to look to the horizon, any minute now the sun will come up and will paint the sky into a stunning array of colours. 

You adjust your scarf before taking a sip of your own coffee, letting the warmth spread through you, nuzzling closer to Rafayel. His arm rests across you back, the hand on your hip holding you close as a comfortable silence fills the air between you. 

Within minutes, the first pinks and oranges spread across the sky, a breath getting stuck in your throat in awe. The sun rays finally peak across the ocean, showering the two of you in a golden light.

Rafayel’s eyes drop to you, as you admire the scenery. The view he’s more interested in is you, how the hue of the light brightens your face, how your eyes are full of joy, the small smile on your rosy lips. You are glowing, a blissful sort of comfort settles inside of him as he studies you. 

You were here, with him. By his side. He had found you again, his beloved bride, his most devout follower, the person who held his heart. After so many tragedies in the past, he finally had his happy ending, the love of his life by his side. His sunset coloured eyes don’t leave your face for a second, even as you turn to look at him. 

Oh. He has found his new favourite colour. Your eyes met his, shining with pure glee, before softening at the sight of him, a smile permanently planted on your lips. He must be making some sort of funny expression as all he receives is a soft laugh from you, before a gentle kiss is planted on his lips. Your soft lips glide across his for a moment, before you pull away, a hand coming to cradle his cheek.

“The view is over there, Love.” You say, a teasing tone in your voice. He huffed a laugh.

“I prefer the view over here.” He replies, a smirk appearing on his face, before his lips meet yours once again, his arm pulling you closer. The kiss was gentle, content. You bring your arms around his neck, pulling away to meet his eyes. His gaze was filled with mirth, full of love and joy and admiration. In that moment, he had found the inspiration he’s been searching for.

fiction | xavier

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe a particularly poetic hallucination.

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

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

Of course, that snapped him right out of it.

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

Stoic. Controlled. Maybe a little embarrassed.

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

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

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

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

So, marriage. Sure. Why not.

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

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

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

Great. Now you had to marry that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tried being the keyword.

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

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

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

Romance was off to a fantastic start.

—•

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

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

You could practically hear the wedding bells in their eyes.

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

He didn’t seem flustered at all.

Meanwhile, you were trying to remember how breathing worked.

The air outside was cooler, quieter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smooth.

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

“You’re nothing like I imagined.”

That time, you actually choked.

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

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

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

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

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

Xavier didn’t answer right away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That caught you off guard. “You read?”

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

“Wow. Multitalented and humble.”

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

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

Just like the quiet warmth growing in your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

—•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately, your brain had other plans.

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

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

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

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

You were engaged. To that.

And worse—you liked it.

—•

The first date was… heartwarming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told them we’d be fine at a café.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m with UNICORNS,” he said simply.

You blinked. “UNICORNS?”

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly choked on your steak.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

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

Of course he was a secret agent. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re worth the risk.

Nope. Still devastating.

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

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

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

Measured.

Like he was actually listening. Really listening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly tripped on the gravel. “Mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Terrified,” you muttered under your breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still.

He was sitting very close.

Not touching you, technically.

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

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

Steady. Quiet. Very hard to ignore.

You might’ve leaned slightly away from him.

And then just as quickly, leaned back.

No use pretending now. You were officially doomed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought I was.”

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

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

—•

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

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

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

You threw a pillow at her.

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

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

“Apparently, your absurdly attractive secret agent fiancé.”

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

“Yes?”

“I think I’m doomed.”

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

You let out a muffled scream into your blanket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mocked me.”

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

You narrowed your eyes. “Shaiya.”

“Yes, Mrs. Secret Agent?”

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

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

“I knew you’d cave.”

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

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

You were so in trouble.

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

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

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

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

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

Mini-yous and secret agents.

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

This was getting out of hand.

—•

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

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

It was awkward at first.

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

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

Meanwhile, you were trying not to combust.

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

Like this mattered to him.

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

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

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

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

Your brain short-circuited. Your stylist cooed.

And you?

You forgot how to breathe for about seven seconds.

This wedding might just kill you.

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

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

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

You blinked, thrown for a moment.

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

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

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

Your heart betrayed you again with an uneven thump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No teasing. No smug follow-up.

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

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

Yep. You were so doomed.

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

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

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

You felt powerful. Gorgeous. Slightly dangerous.

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

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

You shifted on your feet. “Too much?”

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

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

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

Either way, you were spiraling.

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

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

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

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

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

Your wedding dress.

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

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

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

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

Yep.

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

—•

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

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

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

And Xavier—of course—found you there.

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

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

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

And then, you exhaled. “You nervous?”

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

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

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Good? That’s it?”

He turned fully toward you, his voice lower now.

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

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

“It is kind of heavy,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poised. Steady.

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

Toward you.

He wasn’t smiling—not quite.

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

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

The music began.

Your hands tightened on the bouquet.

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

And the doors slowly opened.

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

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

Xavier.

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

The pressure in your chest eased, just slightly.

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

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

But his eyes—his eyes said everything.

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

A quiet certainty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t smile—he softened. Completely.

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

You weren’t nervous anymore.

You were exactly where you were meant to be.

woops!

sorry i'm just a man and can only spare one set of clothes per drawing

me when someone experiences voilence and the lesson they learn is kindness

lads LIs when you're sensitive to noise

xavier:

since he lives upstairs, he teleports around his apartment on busy days so his footsteps don’t bother you

he is the anonymous noise complaint demon in your complex. if something bothers you, he’s reporting it. and if your landlord doesn't do anything about it, he torments the offending tenants with blinding flashes of light every time they blast music at 1 am until they stop

let’s say your in-unit washer is really loud during the spin cycle. well, he comes over to sit with you until your laundry is finished. lets you use him as a stress ball so you don’t panic

orders you matching fuzzy earmuffs. they have bunny ears 

if you’re eating at a loud restaurant—maybe some guests are celebrating a birthday or a graduation—he asks to be moved to a quieter section

zayne:

lets you hide out in his office when you’re overwhelmed: you lie on the sofa with the lights off while he's seeing patients 

looks up expected noise levels, sensory guides, and accommodations in advance before you visit a new place

scarily mindful of his chewing. if you don’t like chewing sounds he makes his almost imperceptible when you eat together. you wonder if his jaw is even moving

researches your sensitivity and symptoms, consults his specialist colleagues about the details (keeping your identity a secret, of course #HIPAA)

comforts you whenever you feel like an inconvenience, holding you close and reminding you that you are not your condition—“don’t blame yourself for something you can’t control” (you’re one to talk, elsa)

sylus: 

the gun silencer stays ON when he’s around you 

when you arrive at the base one day and open the door, a legion of construction workers comes out. when you inevitably ask “hey sylus? um. wtf?” he leads you down the hallway and boom. soundproof paneling in all your favorite rooms

will put one of his precious vinyls on pause if you come to cuddle with him and get overstimulated from the sound

mephisto taps on your door one day. he is there to drop off 3 different pairs of thousand-dollar noise cancelling headphones 

if his men are working on a loud project while you’re with him, he’ll supervise through his cameras instead of in person. he’ll take you to a different room and hum to you to drown out the noise

rafayel:

i have decided that rafayel uses echolocation at times since his eyesight is bad. when he’s stumbling around his studio at midnight, he’ll make some sharp noises to help him find his way in the dark—a clap or a stomp of his foot. BUT when you’re around he switches to quieter alternatives—a snap of his fingers or a click of the tongue

will Always ask for accommodations at the museums and galleries you visit. might get pissy about it if they’re inadequate 

after seeing how your sensitivity affects you, he sets up a charity so a percentage of the proceeds from his exhibitions go to sensory disorder research and accommodations

won’t hesitate to ditch a showcase if you get overwhelmed and need to leave early 

if you’re at the movies or a play or anything that has an audience he will straight up ask people around you to be quiet. and somehow with this guy’s charm and allure it always works. no issue

caleb:

fixes up your childhood white noise machine and regifts it to you for your birthday

he’s like a bodyguard, ushering you out of loud areas when you’re in public. he’ll even put his hands over your ears to muffle the noise, no matter how silly it looks

when you text him that you’re overwhelmed or have had a bad day, he’ll prep your room so you can collapse in peace when you get home: he turns the lights off, sets out your favorite snacks, puts freshly washed blankets on the bed, and has the white noise machine going near max volume. basically makes your own sensory room for you to hide in until you’re feeling better

thunder’s too loud? he’s there. wraps his strong arms around you like a weighted blanket and distracts you with memories and stories until the storm has passed 

has a notebook solely for keeping track of your trigger sounds

if anyone at work or school mocks or questions your sensitivity, he finds a reason for The Colonel to pay them a visit and scares them out of their wits

💌 Cookie Chaos

• Xavier tries his best at baking, and though things don’t go as planned, the day still ends with warmth and laughter.

💌 Sylus 💌 Zayne 💌 Rafayel

The kitchen smelled faintly of sugar and butter, but it was far from calm. Chaos surrounded you: a cracked egg dripping onto the counter, a streak of flour-dusted across the stove, and somehow, a measuring cup wedged precariously in the sink.

“I don’t think that’s supposed to happen…” you said, staring at the disaster that Xavier had managed to create in less than five minutes.

Xavier, standing amidst the wreckage, appeared entirely unbothered. His expression remained neutral as he wiped his hands on an already flour-streaked dish towel. “It’s fine. I’m following the recipe.”

“Xavier, you’re not following the recipe.” you replied, grabbing the half-cracked egg before it slid off the counter. “For starters, it didn’t tell you to whisk the flour. Or use a fork to do it.”

“The whisk broke.” Xavier said, holding up the mangled remains of what was once a perfectly good whisk.

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. “How did you even—? You know what, never mind. I’m not sure if I want to live in a world where that question has an answer.”

To be fair, you’d known this was a bad idea from the start. Xavier had a reputation for being banned from the kitchen by nearly everyone he’d ever cooked for, including you. But when he’d suggested baking cookies together, his calm insistence had somehow won you over.

“We’re making memories.” he’d said in his usual flat tone, handing you a cookbook like that was a convincing argument.

Now, standing in the battlefield of batter, sugar, and broken utensils, you wondered if this was a memory you’d want to forget.

“Okay!” you said, rolling up your sleeves. “New plan. I’ll handle the actual baking. You…” You paused, looking him up and down. “You supervise.”

Xavier tilted his head slightly, considering your words. “Supervise?”

“Yes.” you said firmly, grabbing a clean bowl. “That means you stand over there, far away from anything fragile, flammable, or remotely edible.”

For a moment, you thought he might argue. Instead, he stepped back obediently, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Understood. I’ll monitor your performance.”

You shot him a look but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Don’t monitor me too hard, or I might crack under the pressure.”

Xavier’s gaze flicked to the egg in your hand. “The egg already cracked.”

You groaned, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. That was the thing about Xavier—he could deliver a deadpan joke without so much as a twitch of emotion, making it impossible to tell if he was serious or just messing with you.

As you worked to salvage the cookie dough, Xavier watched quietly from his corner of the kitchen. Occasionally, he’d offer a completely unhelpful observation, like, “That bowl looks unstable.” or “The sugar distribution seems uneven.”

“You’re really excelling at supervising.” you said dryly, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“Thank you.” he replied, his tone so genuine that you couldn’t help but smile.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the cookie dough was ready. You scooped it onto the baking sheet, carefully spacing each mound to avoid sticking.

“See? Easy~” you said, placing the tray in the oven.

Xavier straightened slightly, peering at the tray through the glass. “You forgot something.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to be calm. “What?”

He pointed at the counter. “The chocolate chips.”

Your heart sank as you looked at the bowl of untouched chocolate chips sitting smugly on the counter.

“Well, we’ll just call these sugar cookies.” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant.

Xavier gave a small hum of agreement. “Adaptability is a strength.”

“Or we just messed up?” you said, leaning against the counter beside him.

“Both can be true.” he replied.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as the cookies baked, the scent of butter and sugar gradually filling the kitchen. Despite the earlier chaos, it was difficult to stay frustrated. There was something oddly endearing about Xavier’s quiet presence, his calm demeanor grounding even the most absurd situations.

Then you glanced over and realized he’d fallen asleep.

Somehow, he’d managed to drift off standing up, his head tilted slightly to the side, his arms still crossed over his chest. You blinked, torn between amazement and exasperation.

“Xavier…” you said softly, poking his shoulder.

He stirred, his eyes opening slowly. “Hm?”

“You fell asleep.”

He blinked once, his expression as neutral as ever. “Only briefly. I was…monitoring the cookies.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sure you were.”

When the timer went off, you pulled the tray out of the oven, setting it on the counter to cool. The cookies weren’t perfect some were a little lopsided, and they definitely could’ve used those chocolate chips, but they smelled wonderful.

Xavier picked one up, inspecting it with the same intensity he’d given the flour earlier. He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

“They’re good.” he said finally, his tone as even as ever.

You shot him a questioning look, raising an eyebrow. “That’s it? Just ‘good’?”

He glanced at you, his gaze softening slightly. “You did well.”

There was a faint warmth in his voice, subtle but unmistakable. For someone as reserved as Xavier, it might as well have been a standing ovation.

You smiled, picking up a cookie of your own. “Well, we did it together. Guess you’re not entirely banned from the kitchen anymore.”

Xavier tilted his head, clearly considering your words. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

Despite his deadpan delivery, there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes and together, you both sharing the cookies with occasional quiet laugh, you realized that maybe the chaos was worth it after all.

At the Time of my Death

I've never fully understood why I feel so strongly in the manner of my death until very early this morning on a call with one of my good friends. I began to tell her how I wish to die, alone in the forest listening to the sound of wind blowing through the trees. Whatever age my death materializes makes no difference to me, as long as I have stayed true to myself, I will accept my end.

As I went on, I began to feel myself get excited at the idea of my body returning to the earth in a way in which the government would be most disappointed. I plan on disappearing, and every time I say it out loud, I'm met with uncomfortable stares and sometimes depending on who I say it to, I gain a lecture about how unfair that would be to my loved ones. Sure, whatever.

Why must people control every aspect of our lives in the name of loving us? I love you so you must... Even my own death wouldn't be mine if I allowed others to have a say in it. So much for final moments! The idea of dying in an institution meant for profit, then being placed in a plastic white bag to be brought down to a metal table, pumped full of chemicals, sounds exhausting.

Not to mention the viewing of my body in the morgue. Following with the wake, where everyone will show up in all black as if no other color exists, and cry as if losing me greatly affects how they wake up and make their coffee in the morning, ridiculous! Then there will be my subsequent burial or cremation, both are shit. Then a tombstone.

My tombstone would read something like Beloved Daughter and Mother. Is that all I amount to in this life, my titles? What about who I was? No, I'll gladly disappear into the woods and take my last moments away from prying eyes, medical supplies, and metal tables. Let my body break down into particles to enmesh with the earth the way it was intended to. Give me one final moment with the earth at the time of my death.

Source: At the Time of my Death

Xavier and his continued love for scaring and teasing MC 😭

he's such a bully sometimes lol

via: Love and Deepspace IG

Thinking about how soft Xavier is with MC...

MC: That movie was so good, and the hotpot was yummy. All in all I feel like it was a good day off!

Xavier: ✨️ Yes... it was a good date.

Xavier: *gently intertwines their fingers together and matches his pace with MC*

MC: ☺️ yes, a good date.

Xavier: *pulls MC close*

Xavier: But I still... want to show you something... is that alright?

MC: Sure, what is it? 😇

Xavier: Come with me.

Xavier: *leads MC to a small hilltop that over looks a cute park*

Xavier: Soon the fireflies will come, and this place will be filled with nature's light... but for tonight. Let's create our own.

*lights dance like stars in the trees below and in the sky above real stars twinkle, making it look like they are in space*

Xavier: I want... I want to give you this light tonight, will you accept?

MC: *stares at him and smiles*

MC: Of course, this light can be ours.

MC: *cups his cheek*

FADE TO BLACK 😈

Brother ... someone at last.. wrote it

THANK YOUUUU

Omggg

Bookish MC .. lets goooooooo

Hello again May I humbly request hcs for the LADS with a bookish MC wherein they are a voracious reader and they love going to bookstores and book fairs to collect and read books

Sorry for the wait @yukiotacon hope you enjoy. sorry for any mistakes i didn't catch

Sylus

The moment he realized books brought you peace, Sylus took it as his personal mission to create a sanctuary for you.

He literally bought you a whole bookstore. Not just any bookstore a gorgeous, two-story haven filled with sunlit reading nooks, old wooden shelves, plush velvet chairs, and a built-in café that always has your favorite teas, pastries, and snacks.

The store's stocked with both modern titles and incredibly rare finds. You never know what's going to show up next on the "New Arrivals" shelf but it always happens to be a book you've been dying to read.

He never interrupts your reading, but he always makes sure your space is comfortable adjusting your blanket, slipping in a warm cup of tea, or brushing your hair back when it falls over your eyes.

Quietly watches you read with a small smile, because seeing you that content is his favorite view.

Zayne

Zayne isn't showy with it, but he's so deeply thoughtful. He remembers everything you say in passing, including those hard-to-find books you've mentioned once five months ago and somehow, they appear.

You'll come home to a package on your desk with a note in his handwriting

You said you read it once in middle school but couldn't remember the title. Thought this might be the one." And it always is.

Loves curling up in bed with you, both of you reading in peaceful silence under soft lighting. Sometimes your legs are tangled, other times he has an arm wrapped around you while reading over your shoulder.

he really enjoys discussing books with you. He asks thoughtful questions, and he listens because your mind fascinates him.

Secretly uses your favorite quotes in conversations. You catch him sometimes and it always makes you smile.

Xavier

Your shared love of reading is your love language.

You and Xavier have a weekly book club, just the two of you. You pick a book each week and meet in your favorite cafe or your living room floor with snacks to discuss it like you're presenting at a conference.

Sometimes you read the same book aloud to each other, switching off chapters. It often ends with him laying his head in your lap, eyes closed, just listening to your voice.

Your dates often involve indie bookstores, secondhand shops, and seasonal book fairs. He lives for seeing your face light up when you find something new.

Also the type to annotate books you've both read with little notes in the margins like "This reminds me of us." or "Tell me what you think of this scene....I had....ideas"

Caleb

Caleb's not a huge book guy, but you loving books? He's been supporting that since day one.

He used to save up his allowance to buy you books when you were kids and to this day, if there's a release you're excited about, he's already preordered it for you.

Has surprised you with signed copies of your favorite author's books more than once. You're still not sure how he managed it, but you caught him on the phone once saying, '"Yeah, she cried. Worth it."

Loves watching you get immersed in a book, your little facial expressions, the way you chew your lip or gasp dramatically and will absolutely tease you, "Don't fall in love with some fictional nerd when you've got the real deal right here."

Will carry your books for you without complaint and has mastered the art of finding a cozy spot to wait while you spend two hours in a bookstore.

Rafayel

he loves that you're a passionate collector of stories.

Uses his vast network of connections to do the most youve met your favorite authors, attended private book launches, and once, he surprised you with a signed first edition of a book you thought you'd never even see in person.

When you're stressed, he whisks you away to iconic libraries around the world

And he's always right by your side, letting you explore at your own pace, hand intertwined with yours.

Has a whole room in your shared space set up as a private library, complete with elegant shelves, hidden reading nooks, warm lighting, and a lounge that practically whispers "read here."

He may not always understand your love for fantasy or tragic romance novels, but he loves hearing you talk about them. His eyes are glued to you as you rant, theorize, or quote dramatic lines with flair.

Occasionally reads something you love just to impress you and of course he always pretends he didnt cry at the sad parts (he did).