LADS Men And Their Green Flags

Flower prompts exchange

For @tillichan

Amaryllis- How would they act if you got sick or injured? How do you take care of them if they get sick or injured?

Xavier is somewhat of an airhead not gonna lie. Unless it concerns his lover aka you. When you get sick he’ll act somewhat like a mother hen but not a very good one. Xavier will insist on giving you some obscure medicine that he swears always helped him get better. That’s when you break it to him that…

“Xavier…baby…you are basically an alien”

Will he listen? Yes. Will he take it into consideration? Not really. Especially if the sickness lasts and isn’t getting better.

“Hey drink this tea I made you. Is there some medicine in it…? Maybe. Come on I even added honey so you can’t feel it!”

Now for food…Give him a star, this man learned how to cook your favorite dishes and even healthy snacks! Did he spend weeks training in his apartment and became the bane of existence of the fire department? Why are you asking questions you don’t want to know the answer.

But yeah, Xavier absolutely refuses to let you, his princess, do anything other than rest and get better when you’re sick. Unless it’s walks to have more fresh air. You even saw him speaking with you cat and dog, a serious expression on his face to explain the situation.

“Okay listen you two. She’s sick. Which means she needs to rest. You can’t demand snacks all the time now, yes I’m speaking to you adorable cat. Your mission is to cuddle with her, keep her warm and warn me if she’s trying to do chores. I’ll take care of the food- Why did you two whine?”

Even your animals fear him handling food. But as you can see, he takes over everything. Preparing tea just the way you like it, making sure you rest, even handling your responsibilities if possible. He is lowkey good at taking care of your garden. Your cat and dog immediately gravitate toward him, sensing his protective presence, and he doesn't mind at all. In fact, he makes sure they stay close, knowing their warmth and company bring you comfort.

At some point, he sits beside you, his presence both grounding and reassuring. If you struggle with the discomfort of being sick, he quietly soothes you, whether through reading aloud, playing soft classical music (he probably figures you’d appreciate that, given your background), or just staying near enough that you know you're not alone. And though he won’t admit it outright, you catch glimpses of how deeply he cares—like the way his brows knit together when you cough or how he lingers a second longer when tucking the blanket around you. Even when you’re sick, Xavier insists on cuddling. His excuse?

“I haven’t gotten sick in years. I doubt you can give it to me”

Famous last words.

Now if you’re feeling unwell due to an injury…it’ll be the same except he’ll have a guilty look in his eyes and will be more protective afterwards if it’s not a house injury of course. Xavier can’t help but think that this could’ve been prevented.

Now now now…a sick Xavier is a very stubborn Xavier. He’s still in denial that he got sick. It’s worse if he got injured, he’ll try to hide it but one of your animals will snitch on him by rubbing against the exact spot. Xavier will stay silent when you scold him for the reckless behavior. But you can see in his eyes that he’s touched by the concern and will let his guard down, letting you take care of him in his vulnerable moments.

By the way, if he gets sick right after you, he’ll tease you about it.

“Ah I seem to have caught the same illness as you how strange. And at such close interval. Perhaps this is the famous in sickness and in health”

Does he insist on taking his weird medicine? Yes. And they work on him because again it’s for his specie. So Xavier stop trying to argue.

It takes some effort to make him rest, but your patience and soft insistence are impossible to refuse. You prepare a warm drink for him, making sure it's not too sweet since you know he prefers subtle flavors. Your touch is gentle when checking for fever, but your concern is unwavering.

While he rests, you bring your cat and dog to sit near him, their calm presence acting as an unspoken comfort. You don’t overwhelm him with chatter, but you keep an eye on him, occasionally teasing him when he tries to downplay how bad he’s feeling. If he so much as tries to work while sick, you’ll give him a knowing look, one that silently says…

“Love. I dare you to accept that mission. I know you’re just looking for an excuse to buy snacks…ah ah! Don’t try to argue about this. Just sits down and sleep”

When he finally gives in and rests, you sit beside him, reading aloud from a book you know he might enjoy. The warmth of your presence, the softness of your voice, it’s more soothing than any medicine. And though he might not say it outright, the way he eventually closes his eyes and allows himself to relax tells you everything.

Xavier gets better rather fast. You’ve never seen a man rush faster to buy snacks in so called secret…But he also gets you a huge bouquet of flowers and your favorite food from the few restaurants that you like.

Begonia- Their reaction to you wearing their clothes

The moment Xavier sees you wearing his clothes, he freezes. His sharp eyes flick over you, taking in the way his jacket or shirt drapes over your smaller frame. There's no immediate reaction, just a pause, like he’s processing something he didn’t expect to affect him this much.

Then, his expression shifts. His eyes widen, mouth agape. Then he furrows his eyebrows. If you’re paying close attention, you might even catch the way his ears tint faintly pink.

“…did you lose your clothes? Not that I mind. I never thought my shirt could become such a cute dress”

Tease him about it. Maybe spin around or casually pull at the oversized sleeves. You’ll notice him trying to keep his composure in check. But ultimately failing.

“Did you pay for the rental? Or are you planning on excusing it with your cute face? You know what. I’ll forgive you if you pay with cuddles and wear my jacket so it smells more like you…”

Cue to him wrapping his arms around you for a long afternoon. He can’t properly explain it but it just makes him so happy when it’s you wearing his clothes. Despite Xavier often lending his clothes with no second thought to others, from now on he’ll refuse to do so unless it’s dire. He sees it as a you two things.

Fun fact, Xavier sometimes purposefully let you forget your jacket so you can wear his. He’s not being sneaky.

S/O With Depression- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader requested by: anonnie ⋆˚꩜｡ genre: comfort a/n: hihi lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i would like to mention that everyone has different types of depression and goes through different things! i wrote the ones i’m familar with and what the anonnie requested! what might be common for me or from the anonnie that requested can be completely different to someone else! if you want to see more then i’ll write a part 2! hopefully this brings some comfort to those that need it enjoy reading! <3 any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Will do his best to be a light and source of comfort for you

Xavier would stay close when getting out of bed feels impossible. But if you needed space, he’d respect that, keeping you company from a small distance in bed to remind you that you’re not completely alone. He wouldn’t let you stay curled up in bed for too long. He’d gently carry you to the kitchen to make sure you’re fed.

On days when your words don’t come easily and your thoughts feel jumbled, he never interrupts or rushes you. He stays quiet, a hand on top of yours, nodding along while letting you speak at your own pace even if your sentences come out jumbled. Occasionally, he might ask a question to understand the context. When you do finish what you’ve needed to say, he’ll work through it together with you

If you were taking any medications, he’ll go through the entire packet and read through any information about it online. He’ll remember all the side effects that come with it and checks up on you whenever you take them

When every little sound starts to feel like it was too much, he draws the curtains and does everything he can to make it more peaceful. He moves carefully, no sudden sounds will be made in this household. Even the way he eats or shifts in his seat would become more gentler. If you were comfortable with it, Xavier would gather you into his arms, holding you close against his chest. His hand rest gently over your ear, blocking out whatever noise is left.

Xavier would offer to listen and be the place where you can let it out. But if it’s an unexplainable feeling that you just can’t put into words then he’ll find a different way to cheer you up. He’ll settle beside you, pulling up your favorite comfort shows and have your snacks ready

Zayne:

Whenever getting out of bed feels like too much, he’ll leave a warm cup of tea and a few slices of fruit or your favorite snacks by the bedside table. He never rushes you so he waits. Sometimes he’ll sit nearby so you don’t feel alone. Other times, he gives you the space you want, trusting that you’ll reach out when you’re ready. But when it starts to feel like too much and the silence grows too heavy, he will step in. Never forcefully. He’ll encourage you to start off slow, a hand on yours. Maybe something as simple as sitting up or maybe just brushing your teeth.

Anytime you went through a depressive episode, Zayne has no problem doing the extra housework or helping you with your physical health. He’ll help you shower, brush through your hair gently, and help brush your teeth. He’ll praise you for each small step you take

The type to send you reminders to take your meds at the right time and that you should eat something before you take them so you don’t get nauseous.

Zayne would understand and has never taken it personally when you don’t want to be touched. He doesn’t try to hug or reach for your hand. Instead, he makes space for you until you you’re comfortable once again

He can tell when you get sad randomly. Zayne would never force you to explain but he will always remind you if you want to talk, he’s there. Sometimes when it’s just a quiet ache sitting in you for no reason, he’ll also understand that. He’ll suggest a walk out for fresh air or just for a different scenery if you’ve been inside for too long.

When the smallest sounds can feel too much, he’ll make sure to move extra quietly. He’ll offer noise cancelling headphones to drown out any sounds. Any open windows will be closed and he’ll draw the curtains to keep the noise out. He’ll make sure to close any of the doors inside softly, silence his phone and pager and he’ll make sure to give you the space you need.

Sometimes the words just don’t come out right but Zayne would never rush you. He would always be patient, even when your voice shakes or when you pause for too long. And when you do finally get them out, no matter how jumbled or messy it sounds, he listens. Every single word and every detail. Once you said all you needed to say, that’s when he speaks and helps

Reminds you that he is always there for you. Even if he was busy at work and you know he can’t reach you right now, you can still message him. He reminds you to never hesitate to reach out, spam him, leave him voice messages. He’ll read through every word and detail and he’ll find time to immediately reach out to you

Rafayel:

You would never feel alone if Rafayel was by your side. Even if he was away from an art exhibition, he would text you throughout the day. If you need him by your side, then he’s finding an excuse to get out of work and find his way to you.

When you’re having a hard time getting out of bed, Rafayel would be by your side under the covers so you don’t feel alone. However if you continue to have a hard time, he doesn’t hesitate to step in. He’ll scoop you up in his arms, carrying you to the bathroom. He’ll start with something simple, like a warm bath since it can maybe cheer you up.

When every noise seems to bother you, he’ll make sure to move around quietly in the studio. He’ll close up the windows and doors so his seagull friends won’t bother you. He’ll even breathe more quietly so he doesn’t bother you. Rafayel would still stay nearby but gives you your space to make sure you’re not alone. He’ll wait until you’re ready to talk with him

Rafayel would never take it personally when you did not want to be touched but he definitely does get a little pouty about it behind your back. He just misses holding onto you but he understands and gives you the space you need.

Feeling sad randomly? Rafayel would never push you to explain what’s wrong but he encourages you that it’s good to let it out and that he’s always there for you. However, if it was unexplainable, he doesn’t make you feel weird about it. He’ll find ways to cheer you up as best as he can. He’ll pull up videos on his phone and you silly videos he found that might make you smile. He’ll even suggest a quiet walk by the beach just for a change of scenery and for some fresh air

Sometimes the right words just won’t come. They get lost somewhere between your thoughts but Rafayel has never once looked at you confused or has never been impatient. He watches you carefully, trying to understand your expression. Sometimes he finishes the sentences for you, not to interrupt but because he’s piecing it together with you. And if you grow frustrated, he offers to sketch it out with you.

Sylus:

On days when getting out of bed feels impossible, he stays beside you but he doesn’t let you stay there for too long. He understands the weight of it all but he will step in. First he’ll start with encouragement, asking you to sit up just for a bit. But if your limbs feel too heavy and your body refuses to move, he never gets frustrated. He’ll carry you in his arms. He’ll run you a warm bath and help bathe you. Later he’ll encourage you to do some small activities with him to get you a little motivated

He would never take it personally if you were not in the mood to be touched. There’s no wounded ego or disappointment. He gives you the space that you need until you are ready to curl up next to him again. He’ll make sure you were absolutely comfortable with it before he reaches back

Sylus would always give you the choice to talk or cry or let it out to him in whatever way you need. But if it’s those days where it’s just unexplainable, he doesn’t press on. Instead, he’ll offer distractions. He’ll pull out a new vinyl that he’s been saving for or maybe stepping out to a new scenery to get rid of whatever ache you have in your chest

When the world feels too loud and your thoughts won’t slow down, no matter how hard you try to explain to Sylus through hiccupped sobs, he doesn’t ask you to make sense of it. Instead, he pulls you into his arms. He doesn’t say much at first, his hand moves slowly up and down your back. He doesn’t need you to have the right words. He’ll listen, hiccupped sobs or not, to every detail you have to say. When your sobs begin to slow, when you start to breathe a little easier, he’s still there, helping you sort through the weight you've been carrying. It doesn’t matter if the problem is big or small. He’ll work them out with you together.

Luckily your shared bedroom is at the top floor to avoid any noises from the city. However if any noise continues to bother you, Sylus wouldn’t ask what’s wrong, he’ll just move around quietly as best as he can. He’ll stop playing any music on his record player unless you don’t want him too. He’ll make sure Luke and Kieran are not in the same building and he’ll make sure to mute Mephisto

Caleb:

Having a hard time getting out of bed? Caleb would give you the space you need, leaving you your favorite snacks and water by the bedside table with a cute little note and a doodle for you. He’ll check in on you often to see if you’ve eaten or just by ‘passing’ by the room. However if it does stretch on, he’ll kneel beside the bed and offer his hand, suggesting a few easy stretches. He’ll encourage just a small stretch for your arms and then legs next and then a small little walk to the kitchen where he has a little meal waiting in the kitchen just for you

As much as Caleb loves to hold you and have you in his arms, he would never be offended if you did not want to be touched. He would never hover and never pressure you. He gives you all the space and time you need when you’re comfortable again

Feeling sad out of nowhere? He would be SO worried, it would be written all over his face. His first instinct is to check in, offering to let you vent out if you need to. He’s always been a good listener. If it just feels unexplainable and you can’t quite name the reason, then he’ll find ways to cheer you up. Caleb would curl up with you and pull up your favorite comfort shows or movies. Or he’ll bring you your favorite snack or make your favorite dish that you love. And of course, he offers his signature big bear hug.

If any sounds were bothering you, he’d make sure to not make a single sound in the house. No loud footsteps in the halls, no clinking dishes, you name it. He’d even go as far as making sure no plane flies in the direction over your home to make sure you get the peace you need.

Sometimes you can’t get the right words to come out and Caleb would be patient with you the entire time. He lets you speak and lets you take all the time you need to get it out. His hand rests on yours, his thumb traces slow, soothing circles over your knuckles as he reads your expressions carefully. If any tears come out from frustration, he cups your face with so much care and wipes away any stray tears.

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯:

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! The Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

ʚɞ Others:

Wattpad ( still updating it rn )

twitter @/ tbaluverr but idk how to use twitter </3

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.

"Shut up!" - LaDS reactions.

LaDS boys reacting to you screaming at them to shut up.

Summary: How hard can it be to ask for a little peace and quiet when you're finally having a little bit of time for yourself? But they dismiss your request and have the audacity to pester you even further.

These are short stories, about a tired MC who keeps being called out to work, and whenever they're free they go out with the boys and spends no time to chill at home to recharge. So they snap.

Xavier - pt. 1 - 637 words

Rafayel incoming...

Caleb incoming...

Zayne incoming...

Sylus incoming...

• You're enjoying a much deserved break, sitting on your sofa and catching up with your games. You're finally able to log in, after it took hours to update the missing content.

• You'd taken a shower thinking it would help you pass the time, only to realise you missclicked the update button, once you came out refreshed.

• This time you made sure it started downloading before looking away.

• You decide to make a little trip to the convenience store to get some of your favourite snacks, but they were all out of it.

• Defeated, you come back home and prepare some tea, logging in and laying comfortably on the couch.

• The doorbell rings and you stand up to open it. Xavier greats you and makes himself at home. It's not that you don't want him there, but you'd spent the whole day together the day before, now you just wanted some time to think of nothing else and Xavier was someone that constantly demanded your attention.

• In the end you just go back to the couch, taking the controller and getting into your game.

• Xavier sits next to you, leaning his head on your shoulder and pressing himself into you.

• “Babe, I'm finding it difficult to play with you like this.” It comes out worse than you intended it to but he doesn't seem to register your tone. “Xav, please, just move a little.”

• He pouts and moves away. You sit back and get into a battle that makes you want to throw the controller at your screen. Your builds are all wrong for this one and you can't seem to find what's the problem.

• Feeling completely ignored, Xavier stands up and walks away. You feel him move but pay no attention to it, your focus on the task at hand.

• Sudden noises come in from the kitchen, his voice going “oh no, no nononono-” your patience is running low and the day hasn't been playing into your favour.

• “SHUT UP!” You scream at him, storming into the kitchen. You see his stunned face, but the state of your kitchen only senda you over the edge. You take a deep breath, calming yourself down. “Please, leave.”

• He leaves, defeated and still processing your outburst. You've never raised your voice at him like this. You don't go back to your game, instead take the time to cool down by cleaning the kitchen

• You notice the ingredients and realise he'd been trying to bake your favourite cookies. You sigh deeply, your heart clenching at his mindfulness. You shouldn't have screamed at him like that.

• As you finally sit back into the couch, the doorbell rings once again. It's him again. You open the door and look at him regretfully. “I'm so sorry Xav, I shouldn't have-” he cuts you off with a bear hug. “It's fine. You're clearly having a bad day and I'm definitely not helping out.” Pulling away, he tugs you in, gently guiding you to the couch.

• “Here.” He hands you a grocery bag. “What's this?” you look into the bag to find your favourite snack and some coffee cans, the kind that you usually have. You look up at him. All the frustrations and feelings from the day washing over you, making your eyes water instantly.

• He sits next to you and pulls you in for a warm hug, patting your head. “It's fine, take it all out.” Once you're finished, you go to wash your face. When you come back you see Xavier with the controller in hand, checking your teams. “Have you not set the artifacts back to the correct characters after last time?” suddenly you remember the bet you made with him the last time you played. You'd mixed up the characters’ builds to see who would win against more bosses like that.

After the Ithaca Saga, I believe that Odysseus thought he and Athena were officially done forever and would only occasionally see each other because she was mentoring Telemachus now. He really thinks there's no way they can reconnect anymore and attempt at a friendship this time, but he's fine with it, he can accept it.

That is until Telemachus goes up to him one day like:

"Hey father, can I ask you something?"

"Yes son, of course."

"You mentored under Athena before right? Do you happen to know a friend of hers?"

"Oh I... I wasn't aware Athena had friends before. She was very adamant about that "No Friends" rule back then... kind of stings."

"Oh really? She talks about him a lot."

"Does she now? *mumbling* must be so special about this fRieNd of Athena..."

"Yeah she told me about this one time he wanted to impress someone, so he climbed on all the way to the tree branch next to the balcony of their room and leaned against the trunk to look cool, but he kept talking to Athena in her owl appearance so he didn't notice the other person going to the balcony and he got so spooked when they called out to him, he turned too fast and lost balance, slipped, smacked his ass on the tree branch and broke his arm when he fell, so he had to wear a sling for 3 months and couldn't sit down for 2 weeks."

"....call Athena right now."

"Why-"

"ATHENA!!!"

The second Athena appeared, Odysseus threw himself at her, on one hand going "YOU CONSIDER ME YOUR FRIEND WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO!?!?!?!" and on the other going "WHY ARE YOU TELLING MY SON ALL MY EMBARRASSING STORIES!?!?! THAT WAS BETWEEN ME, PENELOPE AND YOU!!"

He was actually crying. Athena has absolutely no idea what is happening or what she should do. Telemachus just discovered a whole new side of his dad and might know where he gets it from now....

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The sound of tumbling and a series of thuds echoed through the hallway of the Hunter Association building as you lost your footing at the top of the stairs. Your body bumped and rolled down the entire flight before landing in an ungraceful heap at the bottom. Xavier, who had been walking a few paces ahead, turned at the commotion.

He blinked once, then twice, his eyes widening as you simply stood up, dusted yourself off, and continued walking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Are you okay?” Xavier finally asked, his voice carrying a note of concern. He stood perfectly still, analyzing you with careful eyes.

“Just a little slip. Nothing to worry about,” you responded casually, as if commenting on the weather rather than your spectacular tumble.

When you reached him and nodded casually, he continued to stare, his eyes tracking over your form as if conducting a silent assessment.

“The impact of your fall might cause potential contusions to your left side and possible minor fractures to your wrist based on how you landed,” he stated matter-of-factly, pointing back at the stairs. “Yet you’re displaying no signs of physical distress.”

“I’ve had worse tumbles than that during training,” you replied with a shrug, continuing to walk forward.

As you dismissed his concern with a wave of your hand, a subtle crease formed between his eyebrows.

He reached out, gently taking your arm to stop your forward momentum, and examined you more carefully. His touch lingered for a while.

“Your physical endurance is... unusual,” he observed quietly. “I’ve witnessed similar falls result in hospitalization for others.”

“I’ve had worse during missions,” you said with a hint of pride, meeting his gaze.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed slightly, the only indication that your comment had given him pause. He studied you for a moment longer before releasing your arm.

“If you say so,” he said, falling into step beside you. Yet throughout the remainder of your walk, he stayed unusually close, his hand occasionally brushing against yours. At one point, he subtly adjusted his pace when you winced slightly turning a corner—a reaction so minor most would’ve missed it, but not Xavier.

“The human body often reveals what the mind attempts to conceal,” he remarked softly, hours later, offering you a small container of what appeared to be homemade salve. “For the bruising you claim doesn’t exist. Mission injuries included.”

His last words carried the faintest hint of what might have been amusement, gone so quickly you almost missed it.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The cascade of thuds drew Zayne’s attention immediately. He turned just in time to witness the last half of your tumble down the hospital’s stairwell, your body bouncing off the final steps before sprawling across the polished floor. His posture stiffened as you simply stood up, straightened your clothes, and began walking away as if you hadn’t just fallen down an entire flight of stairs.

“Stop right there,” his voice cut through the shocked silence of onlooking hospital staff, his tone commanding.

You turned around with an exaggeratedly innocent expression, eyes wide, pointing to yourself as if to say “Who, me?” despite being the only person who just performed an impromptu demonstration of gravity’s effects.

Zayne’s eyebrows knit together, clearly not amused by your feigned innocence. His footsteps quickened as he approached you in a few strides.

“As your doctor, I’m not giving you an option here,” he said firmly, moving directly into your path and effectively blocking your escape. “Come here. Now.”

“Is this your professional opinion or personal concern talking?” you asked, a hint of challenge in your voice as you met his stern gaze.

Something flickered briefly across his features—perhaps surprise—before his professional demeanor reasserted itself.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he said, his expression hardening as he gestured to his office that happened to be nearby. “You just fell down an entire flight of stairs. Adrenaline can mask symptoms of a concussion or internal bleeding. This isn’t negotiable.”

He guided you firmly but gently into the room, his trained hands already examining the back of your head for contusions.

“Follow my finger,” he instructed, moving it side to side before your eyes. His expression remained serious, but you caught the slight softening around his eyes—a look of concern he didn’t bother hiding from you. “Even if you feel fine now, delayed symptoms are common with trauma injuries. The human spine isn’t designed to bounce down twenty steps.”

“Is this really necessary?” you sighed, even as you complied with his instructions.

“Yes,” he replied curtly, not breaking his concentration as he continued his examination. “It is absolutely necessary. And if you were anyone else, you’d already be on your way to radiology.”

After completing his thorough examination, his expression softened slightly. He reached into his pocket and offered you a piece of candy.

“What’s this for?” you asked, surprised.

“Sugar. Helps with shock,” he explained, pecking your forehead. “Next time, please hold the railing.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel was midway through a call with Thomas, describing his latest artistic inspiration with gestures when the thunderous cascade of your body tumbling down the stairs interrupted him. His expression froze in horror as he watched you bouncing and rolling down the entire flight, wincing visibly with each impact.

“Oh—” His eyes widened comically as you hit the bottom with a final thud. But before he could rush to your aid, you simply stood up, brushed yourself off, and continued walking as if nothing had happened.

Rafayel stared at you, mouth slightly agape. He blinked rapidly, looking from you to the stairs and back again.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He ended the call abruptly, not even bothering with a goodbye, and hurried after you, his long legs quickly closing the distance. “Did you really just—? And you’re just—you’re just walking?!”

“Your face right now is priceless,” you said with a small laugh, watching his expressions shift rapidly between shock, concern, and disbelief. “Take a breath, Rafayel. You look like you might pass out.”

His face scrunched up in a dramatic wince as he examined you from all angles, hands fluttering near your shoulders as if afraid you might suddenly collapse.

“Are you okay? That looked painful…” His voice rose several octaves. “Do you have any idea how terrifying that looked?”

“I’ve had plenty of practice at falling gracefully. Well, semi-gracefully,” you replied with a casual shrug.

Rafayel’s jaw dropped a fraction further. “Practice? You practice falling down stairs?” He made a wild gesture toward the staircase. “That wasn’t graceful in any way, semi or otherwise! That was terrifying!”

When you tried to brush past him, Rafayel gently grabbed your shoulders, looking straight into your eyes, his expression still a mixture of disbelief and concern.

“Seriously? You’re just going to walk that off like it’s nothing? Like you didn’t just do a full somersault down those stairs?” He squeezed your shoulders gently. “Even cats have the decency to look embarrassed when they fall.”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me, you know? I thought I was about to witness a tragedy in five acts, complete with a dramatic finale at the bottom.”

“Would it make you feel better if I limped a little?” you asked with a mischievous smile. “I could throw in some groaning for dramatic effect. Maybe clutch my side like this?” You demonstrated with exaggerated theatrics.

Rafayel’s worried expression cracked slightly, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t you dare mock me when I’m genuinely concerned about you,” he said, though the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. “Though your theatrical skills need work. That limp was completely unconvincing.”

He continued to hover around you for the rest of the day, periodically reaching out to touch your arm or shoulder as if confirming you were still intact. Later, he appeared with an ice pack and painkillers.

“Just in case,” he said. “Also, I may have told everyone to clear a path when they see you coming. You know, for public safety.”

“Public safety or my safety?” you asked wryly.

“Both,” he grinned. “Clearly, stairs have declared war on you, and I refuse to let it win another round.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The sound of your tumble echoed through the corridor of Onychinus’s base. As you picked yourself up and continued walking as if nothing happened, Sylus, who had been observing from a few paces behind, arched a single eyebrow—a rare display of surprise crossing his features.

“Well,” he remarked at the unexpected scene he just witnessed. “Such a dramatic descent. I wasn’t aware you had an interest in impromptu acrobatics.”

“Just didn’t want to make a scene,” you replied, straightening your clothes casually. “Is my dignity still intact?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward in a subtle smirk. “Your dignity? Perhaps partially. Your reputation for grace, however, may require some rehabilitation.”

He fell into step beside you, his usual smug smile returning as he studied your face with those piercing eyes, missing nothing.

“Most people would at least acknowledge their intimate encounter with a flight of stairs,” he commented, his tone casual yet observant. “Your nonchalance is either admirable or concerning. I haven’t decided which.”

“Would showing weakness earn me special treatment?” you asked, meeting his gaze with a challenging look of your own.

Something intrigued flickered in his eyes. “From me? Sure. Though I find your stubborn resilience equally fascinating.”

He reached out, straightening a piece of your disheveled clothing with his fingers, the touch lingering just long enough to assess for a reaction of pain.

“While I admire your endurance, even remarkable individuals such as yourself are subject to the laws of physics and biology,” he observed, his words carrying a subtle undercurrent of genuine concern beneath the calm exterior.

He gestured for you to continue walking with him, matching his pace to yours, watchful of any irregularity in your posture.

“I do hope you’re not concealing injuries for the sake of appearances,” he added after a moment. “While I appreciate your fortitude, I prefer my favorite person intact and functioning optimally.”

“If I admitted it hurt, would that satisfy your curiosity, Sylus?” you asked, your voice deliberately light.

His smile widened. “Curiosity? No. That requires a far greater mystery than your apparent immunity to staircases.” He paused, studying you with increased interest. “But my concern might be somewhat alleviated.”

“Next time,” he murmured, “perhaps consider taking the elevator if you don’t feel like walking.” His hand found the small of your back as you walked, the gesture appearing casual but actually allowing him to subtly assess if you were truly as unaffected as you claimed.

Later that evening, a package arrived, containing an ornate bottle of sophisticated bath salts. “For muscles that may protest their earlier mistreatment, despite your claims to the contrary. Consider it a reward for providing me with such an entertaining diversion to my otherwise mundane day.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The moment you hit the bottom step and stood up as if nothing happened, Caleb’s expression transformed into one of shock and concern. He was at your side in an instant, hands hovering near your shoulders as if afraid to touch you.

“What the—? That wasn’t just a stumble, that was a full disaster in motion,” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you serious right now? You just… fell down the entire flight of stairs.”

“It looked worse than it felt,” you assured him with a small smile. “I’m fine, really.”

Caleb’s eyes widened further, clearly not buying your casual dismissal. “Looked worse than—? It looked like you were auditioning for a role as a human slinky!”

When you tried to brush it off and keep walking, he stepped in front of you, his hands finally settling on your shoulders to stop your movement.

“No, no way,” he said firmly, his authority briefly showing through his normally relaxed persona. “You know normal people actually feel pain when gravity wins, right? You don’t just walk away from something like that.”

“Fine, check me for injuries if it’ll make you feel better,” you conceded with a sigh.

He guided you to a nearby chair, kneeling in front of you to check for any visible injuries. “What happened? Did you slip or something?” he asked, his voice softening with a hint of teasing returning.

His hands gently examined your arms and shoulders, careful not to hurt you further. “Look, I need to know you’re actually okay, not just pretending to be tough. Those stairs didn’t hold back, and neither should you if something hurts.”

“Fine, it hurts,” you admitted with a slight grimace. “Happy now? But I’m still walking away from it.”

“I knew it,” he sighed. “And no, I’m not happy you’re hurt. I’m happy you’re finally being honest about it.”

He finished his inspection, seemingly satisfied that you were fine, and sat beside you, one arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “That was quite a fall, Pipsqueak. You scared the hell out of me,” he chuckled, but the worry hadn’t completely left his eyes. “Promise me you’ll be more careful next time, okay?”

“I promise to at least try to stay upright,” you said with a small smile.

“I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get from you,” he said, shaking his head with fond exasperation.

As you finally convinced him you were okay enough to continue your day, he helped you up, but didn’t let go of your hand, though you noticed he maintained a vigilant watch over you for the rest of the day, positioning himself on the stair side whenever you walked near any steps.

“Just in case gravity decides it wants another round with you,” he explained. “Next time, I might have to catch you. That would be more fun for both of us, don’t you think?”

“Next time I’ll just aim for you instead of the floor,” you replied with a grin.

“Deal,” he said instantly. “I’m much softer to land on than those stairs, guaranteed.”

Based on this request.

Little Things

➤Love & Deepspace…❥Multiple!

<Summary: Kisses to appreciate their features. And/or; places I wanna smooch on the guys that isn’t their mouth.> <Content: Fluff, but also some angst that came up suddenly and I couldn’t stop, hurt/comfort, some classic “consumption” metaphors in Sylus’s. Teeny tiny bit suggestive in Xavier’s(barely.) TW; mentions of vomiting in Caleb’s, mentions of losing patients & doctor guilt in Zayne’s.> (divider by @elfbar-baby )

❥Rafayel…

  The sky had turned shades of yellow and pink, blending down over the sea’s horizon into indigos, ready to turn to the darkness of night. Stars already beginning to glimmer under wispy, thin clouds. Rafayel sat in front of a medium sized canvas, already covered in cerulean & azure blue, strokes of a hyper specific pink pigment stained the brush bristles. He made calculated, perfected strokes through the base. His wrist had begun to have a subtle pain in it, but it had yet to reach the point of which he’d complain. Whine, more accurately. Even if the pain of developing carpal tunnel was hardly tantamount with past suffering. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle it, nor that he didn’t sometimes blame himself for the agony he’d been put in, be it his wrist or otherwise. But complaining felt good, he had the freedom to do so, no matter how aggravating it’d be.

Because she wouldn’t scold him for it. Even if his dramatics got an eye-roll or a scoff every now and again, whether she’d openly agree to it, she’d come to console him. Sometimes, either because it was a real cause for concern, or his acting was simply too good to deny, she’d actually fuss over him. Regardless if she teased him or cooed sympathetically, she’d give in so sweetly. Her hands were calloused from all her hard work, but her touch had never been softer. Much like her gaze. Even her furrowed brow held some fondness, enough to make him flush under her attention, and sometimes deny it to himself. Because it was so genuine, so honest, her affection.  He still held the fear it’d be ripped from him, and when that anxiety worsened, he’d shake his head and brush it off. Deluding himself to keep away the agony, even if it was the very thing that fueled him. A paradoxical cycle.

But she did truly adore him, even now. Sat on the couch behind him, her eyes watching his back as he sat in front of the easel. The sunset had begun to dim the room more and more, but it was still enough light to bathe him in pink hues. The movements of his shoulder, the way he’d tilt his head and lean back slightly to check over his work, the subtle movement of his hair when the breeze from the open window would graze by. 

He was undeniably gorgeous. Even people who disliked him would point that out, as if it was the only thing they could think of to find him tolerable. Her jaw clicked a little as some specific people came to mind. To her, nameless nobodies with money and skulls empty. Even when he pushed her patience, how anyone could find him as anything but something to adore, she couldn’t figure out.

He was beautiful. But to only relate it to his softened cheeks, or the fall of his bangs, the slope of his lips? A disservice beyond any kind of reason. To delegate him only to the talents he had? For every gorgeous piece of art he made, there were a million pieces of his soul she’d collect in her hands to appreciate. Perhaps selfishly keep them to herself while the less observant and deserving were too distracted by what he’d put up in a gallery. She couldn’t fathom, how in any life, in any place in space or time, there wasn’t someone already revearing him. Whether he decided to be a brat or not.

Rafayel paused slightly when he heard the shuffle of couch cushions, and the rustle of clothes. He didn’t let it distract him too much, lest he lose the flow he’d found himself in, adding the blocking of coral at the bottom of the piece. He sank back into his own art, not realizing how close she’d gotten. She’d made it a point to try and avoid staring when he was aware of her, lest he get too cocky or she expose herself too much. Was there too much at this point? There were tiny details she’d found, the smallest things that only Rafayel would know of. Him and, of course, now her. 

No one else’s eyes lingered long enough. Sometimes she felt annoyed at that, both in him and his work, when someone’s superficial opinions would leave them. Gods forbid they misinterpret him, his soul in songs or sketch. He’d brush it off most times and maybe complain to her later, but she’d found it hard to keep a poker face when by his side at events, supposed to only be his bodyguard or guest, nothing more.

The way it was left side of his mouth that’d rise first when he went to smile. The smallest freckle on his chest, or on the side of his nose. The subtle hues of blue in his purple hair, and that one piece that would never stick down no matter how much he brushed. The hangnails on his otherwise perfect hands, dried paint in the creases of his knuckles, and the oh so subtle scars. She’d seen a few on his sides, along his neck. They were so, so subtle, even she forgot they were there unless she was scrutinizing under perfect lighting. His skin was essentially flawless to the passing glance, something she’d expressed jealousy of before. But as she stared, admired, every little detail rolling through her memories… Such a mix of adoration in her chest arose, blending with a strange sorrow she couldn’t place. If she was so endeared to him, and that she was, why did she ache with emotions, heartbreak, that felt like it wasn’t even her own? Like a sorrowful ghost passing through her body. And how it worsened when she’d see those little imperfections, indents on his skin, signs he’d been hurt in the past.

Rafayel’s shoulders flinched and he barely pulled his brush away when he jolted, preventing a missed stroke. The coolness of the air, no longer warmed by the sun, was gone as the softest pressure pushed across his back. Her perfume filled the space, delicate hands placed on his shoulder and grazing through his hair. His breath hitched softly. His mouth opened to speak, tease maybe, and he went to pivot his head to question her. But then the press of a kiss, warm and softened by chapstick, right behind his ear. He flinched again, though not from the suddenness. Blood rushed through the cartilage and across his cheekbones as she pulled back, but not so much that he lost the heat of her breath. He cleared his throat quickly. “Oh, what prompted this?” He intended to be sly, but the shiver that ran down his spine was too obvious to get away with it as she did it again. He barely managed a deep breath as the hand that pushed his hair back moved to the other side, subtly pulling him to face the other way, so she could do the same to the other side. His hands had come to fall in his lap, tightly holding the pallet and brush, but too lost in the moment to realize he’d stained his clothes with pigment. His eyes fluttered when her fingers reached from his hair to across his temple, a bit over his cheek. She leaned back subtly. “You have scars back here…” She whispered, grazing over the odd shape of the imperfection. Little divots, like holes left by thread now removed. His back flexed at the ticklish feeling and the warmth her words left. “Do I? …I hadn’t noticed…” He lied. He remembered what they were from. He could’ve never forgotten. There were still times the marks ached, and his body felt like it was missing crucial pieces. But she had, and as upsetting as it was, he knew it wasn’t her fault. Not this time anyway. Still, he wasn’t expecting such an intensity in her gaze when he turned to look at her. It was only her face, beautiful as ever in cold moonlight, a sight he’d seen a million times and dreamed of a million more. A human could only make so many expressions and the eyes could only tell so little in what words wouldn’t, things left unsaid could die with them. But at that very moment, he felt it all, and it grappled the organs in his chest with a tight, unforgiving fist. She missed the agony, otherwise she wouldn’t have let herself smile so sweetly, with such reverence. Like he was still worth worship despite what he’d thrown away. The sea outside was calm. Maybe one day it’d forgive him, and look upon moments like these, and begin to understand why he did what he did. Even if not, his apologies could only weigh so much. Sorrow & pain in his soul, but damn regret. He’d never say it was regret he felt, and if he ever considered it before, she washed it away with that little peck to his temple and the caress of her thumb over his cheek. Like drawings in the sand met by the tide. Like the water swallowed up the artistry, all for itself. All for him.

❥Sylus...

  It was so rare to see the Sylus Qin vulnerable. Unheard of to the general populace, really. If they even knew his name, they’d never suspect him to have fragility. Those who did were either so moronic that the man found them boring to consider, or they were already dead. The whispers of fear filled respect throughout the N109 zone of the Onychinus Leader, the devil of the city, the fiend, were all made with the assurance that the man had not one weakness. Invincible body, unshakable confidence, immensely powerful. And while for all of them, this was true, having to make assumptions based on knowledge provided? She knew better. He was all of these things, yes. Powerful, intimidating, cunning, even sometimes fiendish. But that was perhaps only a piece of his being, a small one, at that. She couldn’t claim she knew his soul, she didn’t have the arrogance. He was still enigmatic despite being so genuine with her, especially more as of now. She still wished to know more, sometimes so much it worried her. How independent she found herself, what pride she held for what she’d overcame and achieved, with little to no help. For every doubt spoken to her, her resolve to never be caught weak or helpless hardened. Sylus had scared her when they first met, but it wasn’t really for her physical safety. It was the fact she couldn’t get over him that scared her. Admittedly, it had been Sylus who’d reminded her what it was like to feel small and anxious at the idea of being embarrassed. That moment with the fake gun the twins gave her still kept her up at night sometimes.

But, she couldn’t hate him. No matter what she did. And the longer she knew him, the less she bothered to try, even if he still dragged his teeth along her last nerve like he liked the taste of his own blood it was about to be soaked in. She needed to know about him. And it worried her sometimes how she craved him. She could at least make an excuse had it only been lust. He was a handsome man, even when she’d genuinely disliked him, it was practically the only thing she could use to keep herself from losing her composure completely. Alas, lust was but a sliver of it all. So much complexity all at once, constantly threatening to break her into shards of sharp glass from the weight, so sudden and intense. 

It was his gaze, his cologne, his voice, his presence. When he’d run his eyes over her, when he’d reach out to her so casually, when he would praise her and tease her with pet names. It was so hard to keep herself steady when he’d speak her name, oh how softly he’d say it. For every shaky, anxious mutter about the terrifying demon in the N109 zone, his name said so fearfully, the letters dripping blood and rising with black smoke. For every fearful mention, she’d have a hundred thoughts of everything that made him so darling. Each time she got him to chuckle, roped him into something that was superficially out of character, and gods when she’d catch him off guard enough to make him stumble or gasp… It was indescribable how intense the feelings she had now, seeing him trust her so much, he slept. She’d come to know when it was genuine or not. The spacing of his breathing, the relaxation of his brow bone, the steady thump of his heart. It was incredibly rare for him to sleep at night, but various recent meetings and missions, combined with her desire to see him with her limited free time? He’d been up in the day for too long, and exhaustion was something he was sadly, not impervious to. She laid on her side, elbow keeping her up, cheek rested in her palm as she watched him. It was all she could do. Should she sleep, she’d miss the sight, and whatever dreams she might’ve had with him in it weren’t enough. None of it was enough anymore.

Sometimes, her hunger for him was different, and it was usually then that she’d distance herself, even if subconsciously. Something about him pulled out a ravenous and hungry part of her that she hadn’t been aware of. He’d call it her greed when he’d seen flickers of it in her gaze, and he’d smile when asking her about it, knowing the answer already. He’d grin and encourage her to lean into it. It was hard to tell back then why. 

Now, she knew it was because he wanted to see it. Perhaps he underestimated the severity of it, how it genuinely startled her with how badly she wished to sink her teeth into him. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why. She didn’t want to hurt him, she didn’t want him to ache. And so when her mouth would water and her teeth clenched, she fled, only to come back, floating in sugary scented air and a warmth in her breast bone that she couldn’t keep to herself.

Too many times did she feel them both at once, leaving her soul to writhe under her skin, clawing at itself with sharpened claws and pointed teeth. All while it’d sing sweetly, like the call of the birds in the morning he so despised. Her being in an existential plain tearing at it’s flesh while crooning delicate pleas to him to know her adoration, her endearment. A softened look with a gnashing jaw. And for fear either would be too much, for fear that the notes in the song of her devotion would lure him in, just for her jaw to clamp shut on his jugular… She kept her mouth closed entirely. No matter how much he begged for her to speak, she wouldn’t. Not until she could be sure she could say it clearly, and without the strange desire for the blood in his veins that startled her so. Even if denying herself what he offered so easily was like denying cool, clear water when her lungs were stricken with ash and the fires of the sun.

But now, her admiration was gentle, and she let herself have a taste of what it’d be like to give in. Because while letting go would be the kindest thing for him, she was selfish, and it didn’t seem like he was unaware. Even if she doubted he knew the extent. With the sun beginning to rise, she shifted her body to block its light from his eyes, allowing her to keep the moment a little longer. She raised the hand not keeping her upright and delicately traced the sharpened edge of his jaw, and across the plains of his cheeks, admiring the prominent bones. She let out a breath and the muscles in her shoulders weakened as she admired the softness of his eyelashes and the little creases on the inner corner of his eyes. The lines that’d crinkle up when she got him to laugh. There was hesitance and a subtle tremble to her fingers when her heart began to ache. He hadn’t stirred, still peaceful, and vulnerable. If he did know just how badly she wished to devour him, even if she’d savor every bite like an act of worship, then he was a fool for letting himself be so at peace by her side. But he was a smart man, and even if he didn’t know just how much she’d love to taste the blood pumped fresh from his heart, he knew good and well how much she wanted to hold him carefully. Cradle him close to her own chest, perhaps tuck him into the spaces between her ribs, keep him warm and safe there. How foolish did that desire make her? She sighed and brushed back some fallen strands of his white hair, and she couldn’t help herself as she leaned down to peck his nose. It was one of her favorite parts of his face, if not his whole being, as far as physical appearance went. The prominent hook a feature often detested by beauty standards. And while she’d hated the industry before, she’d found she adored his features so much that she’d get actively angry when she’d see it now. Once going as far as to find a way to sneakily break an electric sign outside a store in Linkon, advertising contour by denouncing hooked shaped noses. She’d punctured the lower corner of the screen with a set of heels he’d bought her, and admittedly, if that hadn’t worked? She probably would’ve shattered the whole thing.

She leaned back after the light kiss. He hadn’t moved, but his face seemed to relax further, and she couldn’t fight the curve of the corners of her lips. She let out some breaths that formed a near silent giggle. With a swallow, to keep herself composed, she leaned down to do it again, risking it all by holding his cheek in the lightest caress of her palm she could manage. Icarus’s lessons be damned, because she couldn’t even complain when she pulled back again, only to find his eyes slightly cracked open. He took in a deep breath through his nose as she twirled the ends of his bangs around her index. 

“What a nice alarm clock you are…” He said, voice gruff and a bit slurred from exhaustion. She let out an amused huff, grinning despite the crushing weight in her chest. Even if she said it hurt, with the way he nuzzled slightly into her palm, she’d never complain.

“You have a nice nose.” She said, comically understating what she really wanted to confess. Still, her pulse spiked when he chuckled a little. “Is that so?” He questioned. She bit the inside of her cheek for a moment before she sighed, leaning down to peck him there again. He unknowingly let out a hum, more like a purr, of content. Only to have his breath hitch when her teeth, just barely, nipped at him. He rose an eyebrow when she leaned back. She nodded, having not forgotten he’d asked her something. “I like it.” She said calmly. Sylus’s exhale was full of memories of floral scents and the warmth of candlelight. But his gaze was on her, lounging on satin sheets, lit by the sun, making her glow like something angelic. What a contrasting sight to the darkness around her, what a wonderful sight it was.

She blinked when he reached up and poked her on the nose. “Ditto.” He yawned. She paused, only then to giggle, letting herself escape the ache momentarily. Maybe, with enough moments like this, she’d be strong enough to pull the suffocating feeling off. Then, she could let him know the extent of her desire without fear. He wouldn’t mind.

He could wait, he was patient enough.

❥Zayne...

  Autumn leaves swayed outside, trees in their planters along the busy sidewalks, lining the streets, turning into reds as the time turned. The sun’s warmth lessening by the hour each passing day. Longer and longer were darkened nights. The sky was still in the sky, but had long since rolled over the curve of the planet, and the yellows had begun to soak through the windows. It was a beautiful sight. Every sunset and sunrise was. But in passing days, no matter how much one tried to appreciate the little things, twenty four hours was plenty of minutes for stress to procure and begin to weigh heavy.

Statistics would show it. Mathematical equations of the average minutes between deaths, a common & inescapable plight on the human race. Even if they’d tempered it with amazing medical advancements. Being near death was a strain on the psyche. Be it one’s own passing, be it watching the life leave others.

As a doctor, one constantly praised for his own betterment of his industry, Zayne wasn’t any stranger to the perils of being in the field. He’d seen just about every tragedy, and of course, he didn’t wish to denounce the beauty he saw. Whether it was his own work, or the work of one of his talent colleagues. He tried his best to remember every success he’d had. He wasn’t one to dwell on the praises of others much, especially not the times he was adored by professors and the like.

Quite frankly, he’d grown to find his face twitched in a mix of irritation and exhaustion when the word “prodigy” was brought into a conversation. It didn’t feel like a compliment anymore. He knew, logically, that was the intention. He was so young for all the accomplishments he’d acquired. But not only did he get sick of endless repetition, as much as he liked routine. But it was every failure that hit him in the back and dragged him down like chain links welded to the bones of his spine, tied to the core of the earth, tugging painfully as more time passed. 

Transplants given too late, needing to tell families that even his talented, prodigious hands, skilled as they could be, wouldn’t be enough to save a loved one. The elderly, unfortunate children, mothers who’d never see their babies faces again, husbands who just couldn’t last another night. He never forgot a single one and for every success he had, it always fed a shadowy and icy creature that’d linger in the corners of any room he entered. Sharp and so frigid it burned, and when he tried to remind himself of how much good he’d done, it ensured to do its job in keeping him humble. Lest he forget he truly was just a man and no amount of skill he could hone would save him from the hubris & the wishful thinking he’d, one day, overcome what’d ruined him so many times over.

Composed as he was, the most anyone would see of his personal suffering would be the occasional slump of his shoulders when he retired back to his office. Always perfectly clean, not a pen out of place. The windows angled just enough to never get a clear view of the sun, or the stars, but only to have the room bathed in their light. Should he be lucky enough to notice how lucky he was to have that. He did his best not to wallow. He did truly try, but he was nothing but human, and the furthest from infallible. He sat in silence and stared at pages and pages of inked words, signing his name at the bottom when it called for it. A deft movement that he’d grown to do robotically. Flip, read, check, sign, stack. It might as well had been cold steel in Zayne’s shape. 

However, his world wasn’t all shadows & sharp spurs of ice hailing through heavy winds. Even if periodically he’d forget. The sun would still rise, Spring would come back, jasmine would bloom, and his reprieve would visit him.

Stepping gracefully over white tile, past a desk with a friendly wave to the woman behind it. Needing no words. The sun had begun to set and the breeze outside had begun to grow chilly, the hospital was starkly colorless & plain. But she walked with steps that bloomed in flowers behind her, and the white lights bounced off her like a prism, glowing in iridescent shattered specks of color. And while Zayne had no clue she was approaching, almost subconsciously, his soul’s dusk began to retreat. He’d set his dead steel pen in the trash, and a momentary piece of delight when he’d gone for the cup of them, and accidentally pulled one that was pink. Gold cap, a heart pattern print, and smooth gel ink. It’d helped him not get too lost in his own sorrow. And in case his metaphorical lantern in the mountain cave, signing his name smoothly on the pages in his woeful cavern, the embodiment of comfort came just in time to pull him out from under the avalanche. “Cute pen, doctor.” Her voice hit his ears like a melody breaking an ear ringing silence. Hot tea soothing the rawness of his sickened esophagus, a cat stretched out in the sun, steam rising from a bath, blankets swaddled around his skin. He hadn’t heard her knock, nor enter. But the thought of playfully scolding her lack of guest manners hadn’t even crossed his mind as his head, instinctually, raised to see her. Further seeking the soothe of her presence.

She pushed his office door shut gently. The click signifying the closing on his melancholy demons. Keeping them at a distance as she filled his prison with the scent of her perfume & her picturesque brightness of her grin. Suddenly, he found no strain on his chest keeping him from breathing. The chains that pulled him further from the heat of humanity, fires of creation and the warmth of rushing blood, all fell to the ground like dead serpents.

She held a paper bag in one hand and a singular cup in her other. She approached calmly, and heaven’s symphony seemed to be paced at the metronome beat of her heels hitting the floor. He barely remembered to respond, adjusting his glasses with the hand that wasn’t holding the pen she’d gifted him. “Mine had just died. Your gift came in handy.” He said, wearing that subtle smile so specific to his face. The one many missed at a passing glance, and what she often missed, in the other sense of the word. She could see it. Fatigue, something somber lingering in the air around him. His doctor’s coat was still on despite the fact he was sat at his desk. She knew good and well a good day at the hospital would lead him to resign the physician’s coat on the back of his chair.

She smiled back at him and stepped around him, setting the bag and cup on his desk, once he’d moved the papers over. “And this is?” He asked as she slid the cup closer to his hand. “Decaf coffee, but it’s basically all creamer, sugar, and whipped cream. And there’s some caramel in there for you.” She replied with a hint of teasing in her tone. It was still warm, and while she’d tried to wipe it away, he could see the subtle color stain from her lipstick on the edge of it.

“And where is yours?” He questioned, bringing the drink to his mouth. She chuckled as she watched as, slowly but surely, his expression began to thaw. Making sure she wouldn’t disrupt his desk, she shifted some stuff over before sitting on top of it. “I drank it on the way here.” She answered whilst digging in the paper bag. “I sincerely hope this isn’t your dinner, or your lunch. Too late for the latter, too early for the former.” He said, and she snorted and shook her head. “None of this is for me, but I ate lunch, don’t worry. At noon, no less. You should be proud of me.” He chuckled faintly and set the cup down. “Following doctor’s orders, finally?” He teased. She shook her head with a short eyeroll, fondness blooming in her chest as she grabbed hold of the plastic container contained in the bag. “I’m following Zayne’s orders. And in return, you’ll follow mine.” She instructed. She watched his face loosen further, and his shoulders brought down.

“And what orders do you have for me, doctor?” Zayne replied jokingly, to which her grin widened. She quickly pulled out the first box. His eyes fixated on it and his already widened pupils expanded a fraction further when he recognized it. “Firstly, you’re gonna need to let your shoulders relax. And to help you with that, I have some…medicine.” She held it out to him with a satisfied expression. He took it with an exhale, the corners of his mouth now stuck up, rather than stifled in a scowl. He slid the box open and as expected, an assortment of his favorite macaron flavors. “Then, once you’ve done that, you can have your reward for listening to me.” Her words made him look up again, and she pulled out a container with a single slice of cake, a plastic fork held on top of it with the pressure of her thumb. Victory fanfare arose in her head when he chuckled again, and after setting the macaron box down, he moved to remove his doctor’s coat. A habit he didn’t even realize he had, let alone something he’d figure she’d notice. Shedding the skin of his prodigal aptitude, the coat that every heavy experience in the world of medicine seemed to stick to. Leaving him without his title, and just as himself. Where she liked him best. Because he wasn’t some famous physician, he wasn’t a colorless, calculated genius, he wasn’t responsible for the lives of millions. Even if she held a deep pride for him because of all of those things, she could gush for days, perhaps years on end. He deserved it all. But, at the end of the day, Zayne was hers. And he was the more unreserved and true when she indulged that.

“I see you’ve taken the myth of doctors & dentists being enemies quite seriously.” He said. He’d taken a macaron despite his words anyway. “You’ve got plenty of time to brush your teeth later, you’ve also got the time to enjoy yourself now. I’m just making sure you don’t waste the opportunity.” She shrugged.

No matter how delicious the treats she brought were, and she wasn’t one to turn down a confectionary, she didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything. Watching him begin to properly enjoy himself with each sugary bite. She watched him with immense devotion and adoration. A feeling so deeply complex, even the most flowery language would struggle to capture it. It’d take a whole library of dedicated books written right from her heart to capture it in a physical form, and even then, each passing day they’d need to get a whole new shelf. She’d fill each one in a matter of minutes. 

She helped him step away from his duties further by talking about mindless things. Conversation flowing seamlessly and lightly through the air, and he enjoyed her chatter like one enjoyed a lullaby. He’d reckon too many composers would try for their entire lives to capture the exact addictiveness to the tune of her voice, and he was sure they’d all fail. 

He’d leaned back in his chair completely by the time he got to the cake. He sighed at the first bite, savoring the softness of it. It was only after the third bite that he realized she’d stopped talking, and he looked up to be met with the most summery gaze. She was bathed in golden toned light and it only seemed to make her glow, but as enraptured with her visage as he was, even he couldn’t miss the intensity in her own gaze. He blinked a few times and looked around at himself. He wasn’t sure what he’d be looking for, and looking didn’t give him a clue. He lowered his fork and the cake box into his lap when she stood, and he managed to swallow the bite he’d taken, on the cusp of asking what got her to look so thoughtfully. But the words clutched in his throat when she, carefully, grabbed his glasses by the temple. He managed the first syllable of “what”, but her hands on his face beat down the sentence.

Like the spark of a stray ember from a campfire, her lips pressed against his cheekbone. Soft, with a passion but not rough. And how sweet her perfume was. Invoking the feeling of nights spent admiring the lights for holidays & the times she dragged him out to enjoy the day. But when she pulled back to look at him, it brought back memories of more peaceful moments, ones between only them, only kept in their memories and whatever the stars could record. Her head on his shoulder as she listened to crickets on his patio, his fingertips over the line of her jaw, her voice whispering his name like an angel calling him to safety. 

She huffed and squished his cheeks, giving his face a little shake as she let out a sound past gritted teeth. “I cannot believe you. You’re too damn cute!” She said, as if she was complaining. Blood rushed to his ears as he stared at her dumbfounded, and once again, he could only get out the start of a word before she left him speechless again. Leaning down to kiss the softer portion of his cheek, then his cheekbone again, another closer to his jaw. There was a faint stickiness left behind, and when she managed to turn his face to give the other side the same treatment, there was considerably less pigment on her lips. He let out a mix of a snort of amusement and a scoff of disbelief when she landed a longer kiss against his cheek. She lingered this time, even rubbing her face against his own before pulling back with a dramatic sound. 

She looked rather proud of herself when she stood up, his face still in her palms. She giggled at his expression, how the redness had infected the skin under his eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “You…” He said, only to let out a sigh, glancing to the side with some bashfulness. Or maybe it was an excuse to hide against the skin of her hand. She giggled again and left another delicate peck to his temple. “You’re adorable.” She praised. Zayne took a deep breath through his nose and managed to turn to look at her. Just close enough to want, but he was only a man, and a little cowardice was something even he couldn’t escape from. But at least he could meet her gaze. How warm and darling it was. He pecked the inside of her wrist in return, allowing himself to lean into it. “You’re incorrigible.” He said with no bite. Her thumb lovingly stroked his face. “No, I’m a doctor. And based on how you look now compared to when I came in, my treatment is most effective.” She said, grinning so hard it hurt when he actually laughed. He turned to look up at her, and if she could read his mind, she’d know his gaze like this was reserved for her alone. An act of worship in a religion he’d made all himself, and what a dedicated devotee he was. “I suppose I can’t say you’re wrong.” He tilted more into her palm, melting like the frost on flowers under the dawn of a Spring day. “I feel much, much better.”

❥Xavier...

  The job of a hunter was an intense one. It was taxing & risky, and that was something every professor in the academy made clear. Not a day passed where a hunter, seasoned or new, wasn’t reminded of the perils of the job. One needed a strong mind and body, and one needed to be able to handle themselves under the most intense pressures. Those who loved the job would still attest there were times where they wondered if they could keep going. Be it the monotonous paperwork wearing at the psyche, or the burden of keeping the public safe. Most of the people that did drop out chose to because of direct contact with Wanderers. 

Monsters constantly popping up in places. Destroying things, taking lives, infecting people even. The pressure of being the frontline soldier, hoping to either kill the beasts and save lives, or use their own life as a sacrifice to give time to those who could take it down. It was a lot. And every successful mission came with its strain. Scrapes, cuts, sprains. A broken bone or mild concussion. Sometimes even strange effects that the association was constantly working on antidotes for. A most common ailment however? Bruises. Deep marks of broken blood capillaries that left a deep soreness. 

Sometimes, when one was quite gnarly, the hunters would show off their newly gained wounds around water coolers. Stories for scars and stitches, along with proud displays of how they took a whack that left an artistic stain across their skin. Most preferred to save medical leave for more intense afflictions. A giant bruise across someone’s torso did not a nearly-severed-arm make. But that wasn’t the fault of the company, shockingly. Plenty of companies existed that created a sense of pressure to hoard days off like dragons with gold. The Hunter Association wasn’t one of those. But the workers who lasted were so dedicated to their jobs, they preferred not to leave, even if it was for their own good. Practically every person in the building had the experience of loved ones or coworkers begging them to just go home & rest. 

Someone who didn’t need much convincing was Xavier. 

To his credit, he did get up and get ready to clock into work. But just a day prior, a relatively routine mission went a bit awry, and he was left a little beaten. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had it happen before. As strong as he was, Wanderers were, of course, unpredictable. However, when Xavier went to leave his apartment, he wasn’t met with an empty hallway. Instead it was his beloved upstairs neighbor. She was out of uniform and her expression was stern, hands on her hips. “And where do you think you’re going?” She’d asked him, and he’d barely opened his mouth to respond before she gently pushed him back into his apartment.

Being his partner, she’d been there. And while the mission hadn’t been the worst in the world, it was still tough. Rather than one towering, strong monster? There had been waves and waves of smaller ones. She’d handled herself well, and one thing Xavier always did that she appreciated deeply, was not underestimate her. There were various reasons over her life that people underestimated her, but she’d yet to have Xavier be one of those people. He recognized her strength and helped her, but he didn’t overtake her either. Even if he could’ve. 

That didn’t mean he’d never take a hit for her. He’d done so many times, and she, despite his protests, had returned the favor. So when the wanderers came in, wave after wave, they’d both gotten their fare share of small injuries. But Xavier had seen a movement from Wanderer Type; Thunderoar. It’s tail winding back for an attack she wouldn’t have time to dodge, and, instinctually, he’d moved to take it for her. They both walked away from the battle, but as soon as he’d gotten her to the hospital for a standard check over, he was gone. Admittedly, she was pretty annoyed when all he’d given her was a text that he was fine, just tired.

He hadn’t been lying, not really. He was able to patch himself up fine, and the bruises weren’t enough to keep him from a heavy slumber. But she definitely seemed upset with him, but not enough to yell. She’d pushed him back to his room and demanded he change back into his comfy clothes, but her hands didn’t push too hard. She scolded him when he came back and instructed he sit on the couch. Now? She was still mumbling to herself about how foolish he was while holding a bag of frozen vegetables to the worst place of bruising, his neck.

“You were already at the hospital, I don’t get why you wouldn’t just come in with me. You could’ve napped on a cot! Or at least a couch in the waiting room!” She hissed as she pushed his hand to hold the cold bag to his esophagus. She needed both of here to look him over. Xavier’s chuckle was a little wheezy and rough. He let her push up his sleeve, smiling when she clicked her tongue at the scrapes. “I didn’t need it.” He insisted, but when he spoke, his face held a visible wince.

She cringed at his voice and, even though she was still irritated, she couldn’t stay mad. “It wouldn’t have killed you to check in anyway. You got tail whipped in the neck! That could’ve been really bad.” She frowned. Her face was softened now, less furrow in her brow but a more intense downward curve to her mouth. She sighed and reached for the icy bag of vegetables, pulling it away to look at the damage. He let out a slow exhale when the uncomfortable chill left his skin, allowing him to focus on feel her body heat gave off sat beside him. Close enough she was practically glued to his side. 

Xavier rubbed one of his eyes tiredly. He was content with resting them, but she made a sound that caught his attention again. A little whine, or maybe a coo of sympathy. A mix of both. She felt a tightness in her chest as she traced the splotchy purple mark that wrapped around his neck. He was lucky it was a dull hit. Had it been a blade, his head would’ve probably come off. The mental image that stirred made her more sick than seeing the actual wound, and that broke her head even more. 

“Poor baby…” She whispered. Xavier exhaled, content, as her hand raised to cup his cheeks. Eyes closed, nuzzling into the gentle stoke of her thumb over a little scrape on his cheekbone.

She swallowed. She hated this feeling. The worry, the deep concern for him. Sure he was strong but that didn’t mean she didn’t get worried sick whenever he took on an enemy. Bad nights had her tossing and turning with anxiety. A few times, she’d forced herself awake, and she’d walk the length of her apartment. Only settling if she heard noise above. She kept any nightmares about him leaving her, in a more permanent sense, to herself. Because he’d chuckle and wave it off. Maybe he thought that’d comfort her. Seeing him so sure of himself, and sometimes it did, sometimes she just needed a reminder of how powerful he was. But then he’d get hurt and no matter how small, the reminder he wasn’t infallible made her want to cradle him in a cocoon made of clouds. 

“Xavier.” She said. Her voice was sweet but stern enough to make him open his eyes. Just enough to look at her. His brows furrowed slightly. Her expression read with too much genuine hurt for him to playfully wave it off. She was serious. “The next time this kind of thing happens, don’t disappear. It’s worrying enough when I see you get hurt, but just…leaving? You can’t do that to me.” She insisted. She pressed her thumb to his mouth when he opened it, knowing already what he’d say. “I know. You can handle yourself, it’s just a bruise, blah blah- But what if it’s not. What if it’s worse than you initially think? And- and sure, fine, maybe it’s not a big deal to you but it is to me!” She insisted.

“I…I hate seeing you hurt. It comes with the job, sure, but that doesn’t make me worry any less. Just- Imagine if I did to you what you did to me yesterday.” She asked. She waited, watching his expression shift from being in thought to an expression that could only be described as mild horror. “Exactly. My heart can barely take it when you get a paper cut, much less something like this.” She tilted his head up so she could look at the bruise again. She sighed and dropped her hands in his lap, holding his hands in her own. “Promise me. Promise me you won’t do that again.”

Xavier softened. He sighed softly, and he only took a second before he nodded. He swallowed and winced again. Admittedly, the bruising might’ve hurt a little more than he let on. “I promise.” He replied, the ache radiating through his esophagus. She smiled softly. “Thank you.” She replied, her smile faltering when the next time he swallowed, he grimaced. She clicked her tongue sympathetically again, opening her arms to him in a welcoming motion. Xavier took the change to rest his head against her shoulder, soothed by her hand running through his hair.

“Poor thing. What am I gonna do with you.” She said rhetorically. Xavier’s eyes fluttered nearly closed, though his breath hitched when he felt her kiss the blemish across his neck. The second one made him shiver slightly. When he nuzzled his forehead more into her shoulder, she giggled, amused by his cat-like return of affection. “Maybe,” He spoke through the ache. “Letting you coddle me isn’t so bad.” His admission got her to chuckle again.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll coddle you more.” She left little peppered kisses along his neck, nudging his head back with her nose under his jaw to get at his throat. Xavier’s hands clenched and his breath shook when her lips lingered on his adam’s apple. He sighed when she pulled back and held his face again, and she smiled when she recognized the face he was making. Lowered eyelids, reddened cheeks and ears, a bit wobbly. Like he was drunk. “Mmmhmm, don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of you.” She said with a little shake of his head in her hands. Xavier leaned further against her palms. “Yes please.”

❥Caleb...

  There was something amazing about the universe, that much Caleb could attest to. He’d seen it up close and personal plenty of times, sometimes enough to where one might figure he’d be sick of it. Being high in the air, amongst the stars, astounding sights and awe inspiring views. Swirling colors of stardust and glimmering lights. He’d been lucky enough to view rare phenomena and brilliant pictures in real time. He could even note some favorites, and he often spoke about them in length, almost poetically. Even if he wasn’t much for frilly words.

But whenever he’d be on the ground, he might miss the sky for a moment. In the sky, there was an ache of loneliness. On longer ventures, ones that lasted weeks, he’d even been known to question why he’d gone into the line of work he did.

He’d never forget his love of flight, planes, all of it. Of course not. He did adore this part of his job, even if he was only in the clouds and not the stars. But every time he broke the atmosphere, he’d dream of coming back home. Not for the reasons others might. He could do without his bed, he didn’t sleep very well anyway. Not for the food, even if the flight meals were stale, they did him fine. It wasn’t for sunsets, or the breeze, or the comfort of his favorite sweater. None of that was what would pull him back down to the ground. No.

His reasoning was sweet scented perfume, fruity flavored lip gloss, fleeted glances and, ironically, a melodic tone delivering scolding, nagging, and playfully immature banter. No matter how beautiful the sky was, it was that which always made him want to be home, and what kept away the desire to leave again. Even if his days on land weren’t great…like now.

“How in the hell did you manage to hide this from me? You know, you never learn!” She scoffed, both outraged and in disbelief. If Caleb wasn’t busy resting his cheek on the edge of a small trash can, spacing his breaths, keeping his inhales longer than the exhales because every breath out risked more than carbon dioxide coming out. If that wasn’t taking his focus? He’d smile. He’d grin like an idiot and playfully tease her.

Alas, he was on the verge of vomiting. He’d gotten sick, not something he’d never had, but still something rather rare. He often pushed himself too far and took care of himself too little. He had a pension for headaches, sore joints, stiff muscles, maybe a bit of a cough. The worst of it being times he’d get light headed. Admittedly, he’d fallen too many times in his own home from his knees buckling in under his own weight. But he was nothing if not an amazing actor. He saved face like it was his profession, and if he’d been more into the arts, maybe he’d make a killing at it. But even professionals broke character here and there, and he happened to let himself slip when she could see it so plainly. Hence why the universe was so god damned funny, in a cruel way. Of all the times for him to get sick as a dog, so much so even he couldn’t hide it. She had a long weekend and she wanted to spend it with him, she’d arrived unannounced and he’d never been happier. He’d done a good job. She hadn’t noticed when he’d flinch at the overhead lights or his subtle sluggishness. She’d been so excited to eat the food he cooked she hadn’t noticed how his portion was far less.

But then, he woke up with a blistering fever. It was disgusting really. The guest room sheets drenched in sweat and his skin clammy, and though he felt the heat around his eyes, he couldn’t stop shivering. He wasn’t sure what had happened to prompt her out of bed at four AM, let alone into the room he was in, and he had yet to ask despite his curiosity. He’d been less lucid then, but he remembered how she poked her head in, then her little gasp.

At the side of his bed, her hand pushing back his hair to feel his forehead. She’d said something to him in a delightfully worried tone, but he couldn’t make it out. He still needed to thank her for saving that fluffy rug when she, quick as lighting, ran for a trash can for him to unload into. It was awful, it burned, and it was embarrassing really. Even if she’d technically seen him this way before, long ago.

Every time she was sick as a child, he stepped up, arguably more than the woman his fake tombstone sat beside. He learned young how to care for her and he made it a mission, even at the risk of his own health. Only once did it switch, and he replayed those memories often when he could. He hated being sick. Every kid did, of course. But he couldn’t even call it miserable, it’d do her younger self a disservice. She was thirteen at the time and it was the first time he’d felt guilt because, admittedly, he underestimated her. So wrapped up in how he couldn’t care for her he almost missed how well she did caring for him. Even if she was young, and even if she chewed him out for his stubborn attempts at getting out of bed. Some things never really changed.

Caleb managed a little laugh, all breathy and stuffed up. He wasn’t sure what happened after he puked his guts up at four AM, though he remembered her pushing back his hair and her worried eyes. But it was morning now, enough that the sun was starting to rise, earlier than she ever liked to be up. He was in new clothes, and there was still a vague minty taste on the back of his tongue. The wave of nausea subsided enough for him to lean back into the couch, though one hand still weakly held the lip of the plastic bin.

He shuddered and only clenching his jaw would keep his teeth from chattering. Maybe she’d carried him to the couch, that mental image was certainly comical, given their size difference. But she’d gathered almost every quilt he owned, and at least three pillows for him to lay on. She was messing around in the kitchen whilst whispering to herself about reprimanding him. He couldn’t see what she was doing now that he’d laid down, nor smell it, thanks to the clogged nose.

“Honestly, what if I wasn’t here, huh? You’d just chug some sports drinks, eat a sleeve of crackers, and call it a day huh? You know, one of these days you’re gonna collapse and what then?” She rambled as she came from the kitchen. She’d gotten dressed in a hurry, he could tell. Her shirt was buttoned two buttons off, and her hair had yet to meet even the first step of her routine. He swallowed mucus with a grimace, shivering again as he watched her set a circular tray down on the coffee table.

Two yunomi cups and the teapot set on it, steam rising from them. She slid it over enough to sit on the corner of it. Just too far for his liking, but close enough that his arm could feel the fabric of her jeans. She looked at him with her mouth open to say more, but she paused and her mouth twitched into a frown. Even in his haze he could catch the way her eyes softened, and even past the wretched gravelly feeling in his lungs, he could feel adoration blossom around the disgusting illness.

“You’re lucky you look so miserable.” She said as she took out a thermometer out of the apron she wore. It was too big, because it was his. Of course she wore it better anyway, that’s how it was any time she took his clothes. “Under your tongue.” She instructed gently, having moved to the tiny sliver of cushion she could sit on, after moving his arm to rest on top of his stomach. He opened his mouth and blinked lazily. Her brows pushed together and created worry lines on her forehead as he shivered again. He melted internally when she brought the blankets higher. He smiled when the thermometer was taken away, turning from her to cough into his fist, a wretched sound. 

“I’ll be fine in a day, pip-” “Oh no you don’t.” She held up her finger and cut him off. “Don’t you brush me off, no sir. You’re cute but you’re not cute enough to get away with that, not anymore.” She looked at the tiny screen and clicked her tongue at the numbers, shaking her head as she set it on the coffee table. “You worry too much. I’ll be right as rain soon enough. You know that.” He said, and his voice sounded like running gravel through a washing machine. She flicked his nose and he made a short, involuntary whine-like sound. He barely had time to pout or look offended before she rested her hand on the arm rest behind his head, close enough to let him smell her soap despite the swelling of his sinuses. “Enough.” She stated, her voice firm, but it didn’t match her face. She looked over his features with such concern, a deep seated and genuine want for his recovery, and such frustration that he couldn’t take it seriously. Even if he’d always been like this. “You are sick.” She stated. She didn’t miss the flick of his gaze, how his eyes seemed to struggle on deciding where to land on her face. Limited the human body was, too weak to take it all in at once. She softened and leaned back a little, patting his cheek before she went for a bottle in one of the deep apron pockets. He made a face when she opened it and grabbed a spoon from the same pocket. “Don’t, you need to take it.” She said as she poured it into the spoon.

“Pipsqueak, that stuff is awful. Can’t we compromise with a pill?” He asked. “No, because this is your punishment for not telling me you were sick sooner.” She replied, capping the bottle. She leaned over him again and held out the spoon. “Caleb, don’t make me force you.” She insisted. It was playful when he refused, even if he really did hate the stuff. But by the third time he leaned away, he regretted it, because her upset was serious now.

“Okay I-” She cut him off with a look again. “Caleb.” She said, not rough, not mean. It was still sweet, even if she said it without a smile. “I know you care for me. I see it, I do.” She began in a tone that felt like soothing aloe to the burn in his veins. “I appreciate all of it, really. But we’ve been through this before. You cannot have me rely on you for everything. This is exactly why! You-” She looked away with a heartbroken expression before she composed herself with a breath. “I won’t go too harshly on you now, but hear my words, damnit. You cannot keep pushing yourself into the dark to let me soak up all your sunlight, do you understand? You say I blossomed well, and you’re right, I have. I have worked hard, I have fought tough, I have grown well.” His breath hitched and shook when her hand came to his cheek, stroking the reddened skin with her thumb. “I have you to thank for a lot of that. I look at what I’ve achieved and yes, I see how much you’ve done and how much it’s mattered. I wouldn’t be where I am without it. But I will not allow you to keep nurturing me and not letting me return the favor.” She let out a breath with a deep sadness. “If you are wilted, who will continue to help me face the sun, hm? When you’re weak, if I fall, what then?” Her question went unanswered, but not because it missed him. He swallowed as she brushed through his hair again. She held up the spoon again and he took it without complaint, though his nose scrunched at the bitter taste. She grabbed the tea quickly, even blew on it before she guided the edge of the cup to his lips. 

She fought the urge to coo sympathetically at how little he could lift his head to reach the drink. He rested back with the taste of tea, rather than medicine, and the sweetness of her affection. She set the cup down and used her other hand to hold his face in both her palms. Fever be damned. “Stop. For a day, at the very least. Let me help you this time.” She said, both a demand and a plea whispered so softly. “Let it be mutual for once. Give me the grace of returning the favor. There’s enough sunlight for the both of us if you let me in close enough, do you understand me?” She asked. Caleb shivered again, but he wasn’t convinced it was the sickness this time. He couldn’t speak, three words caught in heavy chains, pulling it back down his esophagus and to his heart as he swallowed. He could only nod. He floated inches above the mortal plain when she smiled, graced with the illumination of the sun behind her.

He exhaled when her lips pressed against his forehead, lingering for a moment, allowing him to feel it enough to remember it. Even past the fog. She leaned back and stroked his cheekbones again. “Thank you.” He whispered. She huffed a short laugh and pecked his forehead again, this time for herself. “Don’t bother. You never need to thank me for this, you just need to believe me when I tell you that I mean it when I say I care about you.” She replied. He pulled her closer, as much as he could with weakened limbs. He hid against her chest, hearing the heart he wished to sync with forever. Closing his eyes as she brushed his hair with her fingers. “You’re my strength, you’re your own. I’m my own strength, you’re mine. If I’m weak, you’re strong. And…” She trailed off expectantly. He inhaled. “If I’m weak…you’ll be my strength.” “Atta boy…”

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

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

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

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

LaDS React to a Reader with a Skin Condition

Request: Anon- Would you be comfortable writing headcanons about how the boys would react to you having skin problems? Like acne and eczema. I get really self conscious about my skin and I just feel like they’d know just what to say.Whether or not you choose to write this thank you for taking the time to read this. I really appreciate all you do, you’re an incredibly talented writer and you’re such a wonderful part of this community. 💕

AN: Hi anon, thanks for requesting! As someone with psoriasis this is close to home. I hope you like this >< evil laughter because I changed the OG reaction order

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

Ingredients: 90% comfort, 10% sulking

My Fav: None. I felt writer's block writing this :(

Caleb:

He’d seen you grow up with psoriasis.

He remembers the way you never let go of your long sleeves. The way your friends’ eyes lingered in the summer, glancing at your covered arms with quiet curiosity. The way your smile would dim when someone’s gaze lingered too long.

Hell, he was the one who held you when you sobbed, terrified before every new school year. The one who sat with you in silence while you rubbed at your sleeves until the fabric thinned.

But he had also seen you change. Watched as long sleeves were traded for shorter ones. Saw how you learned to love your skin through the endless cycle of steroids, topicals, and shots.

Flare-up or not, you were strong. You became more than the spots on your skin. And he was proud.

The person he once comforted no longer needed saving. You had learned to love yourself.

But even now, if you stumbled, if you slipped, he’d still be there. Not because you needed him. But because he never stopped wanting to stand beside you.

And when you catch him watching you, when you raise an eyebrow and say “What?” he just smiles.

"Nothing." He wraps his arms around you, his hands mapping your arms with utmost focus. He watches the way you don’t flinch anymore. The way you let him touch you without hesitation.

"You’re just beautiful."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush. He sees the quiet pleasure in the smile on your lips.

"I mean it." His pulls you closer, against his chest, burying his face in your shoulder.

Zayne:

He held your hands, applying the topical carefully. His fingers moved slowly, brushing over the irritated skin with quiet precision. Your fingers twitched in his grasp, skin red and peeling. It looked painful.

Just a night out had done this. The restaurant soap had reacted poorly.

And now here you both were.

"I'm sorry, Zayne. I was stupid." You whisper, trying to pull your hands back. "I ruined our plans."

His grip tightens slightly, keeping you from slipping away. His breath steadies as he rests his forehead against yours. Warm. Soft. Familiar.

"You have nothing to apologize for." His arms circle around you, pulling you carefully into his lap. His hand slides to your wrist, thumb brushing over the curve of your pulse.

He blows gently over the drying cream on your skin. His breath ghosts over your fingers, the warmth easing the sting.

"I prefer this." His lips brush your temple. "How else do I get to hold you like this?"

Your breath hitches. His mouth curves faintly against your cheek.

"And kiss you however much I want?"

You laugh weakly. "You’re ridiculous."

"Probably." His lips trail down the side of your face, soft and deliberate. His touch light and careful as he smooths over the cream.

"But you think too much." His forehead presses against yours. "You didn’t ruin anything."

"Zayne, it was your time off in so long, and we-"

His fingers lace between yours. His thumb strokes along your palm, calm, steady. "I’d rather be here with you, holding you, than anywhere else."

You close your eyes, breath slowing beneath the weight of him.

"So stop apologizing." His voice drops to a whisper. His mouth hovers over yours. "You’re already giving me exactly what I want."

Rafayel:

He finds you crouched in the closet. Crying. Clothes scattered around you in every direction.

"I look awful." You look at him tearfully. "Everything looks terrible with the breakout. I can't go to your exhibition, Rafayel."

Your face crumples, eyes red and swollen. Your period isn’t helping, it makes you even more susceptible to unwarranted emotional breakdowns every passing hour. You bury your face in a dress and sob like a kicked puppy.

Rafayel stands there for a second, his brow furrowing. Then he sighs and sinks down beside you, his knees brushing against yours.

His hands rise to your face, caressing your cheek with care. "My bodyguard always looks the most beautiful." He tilts your chin to kiss the tears away.

"Don't kiss me, I feel gross." You try to pull away. "And look at all this acne. How can you even...?"

"I'm not kissing the acne." Rafayel smiles faintly. His eyes soften as he takes in the sight in front of him. "I'm kissing you, you dummy."

"And right now?" His grin sharpens as he leans back slightly. "You look adorable."

"I can’t go to the exhibit, Rafayel." You whine annoyed by the sound of your own voice as overstimulation crowed your senses.

"Good." His voice is lazy, his arms sliding beneath your legs. Without warning, he lifts you effortlessly, adjusting you against his chest like you weigh nothing.

"Rafayel this is ridiculous." You bury your face in his chest.

"Shhh." He silences your protests with a peck to your lips. His arms tighten around you, carrying you toward the bed.

"You know how much I hate those things." His tone is light, but his hand slips beneath the curve of your knee, holding you securely. His mouth skims the side of your temple. "Honestly, you just gave me the best excuse to skip."

"But..."

"Nope." He sets you down on the bed, brushing your hair back from your face. "We’re staying in."

He slides in beside you, one arm looping beneath your shoulders. His hand splays low across your back, pulling you closer.

"If you feel awful, the least you can do is suffer with me." His mouth tilts against your temple. "And if you think this breakout makes you less beautiful, I guess I’m going to have to kiss you until you figure out how wrong you are."

"Starting now." He pulls you into an onslaught of kisses.

Sylus:

You drag another air purifier into the room, sneezing hard enough to make your head spin.

"God, this sucks." You flop onto the floor between the circle of purifiers, rubbing at the irritated skin of your neck. "How did natural selection fail this badly?"

Your breath hitches, throat burning. You close your eyes. Maybe if you just stay here, the purifiers will summon clean air or a new respiratory system.

That’s when you feel him.

"Did I interrupt your ritual, darling?"

You crack an eye open. Sylus stands above you, arms crossed, looking thoroughly amused.

"This is serious." You sniff, voice wrecked.

"Sure it is." He crouches down, invading your circle of air purifiers. "Should I sacrifice a goat or something?"

"You could bring me a tissue."

Sylus grins. "Or…" His hands slip beneath your arms, lifting you effortlessly. "I could just kidnap you and nurse you back to health myself."

"Sylus, what are you...?"

Without a word, he drops you onto the couch, pressing his hand against your forehead. His eyes narrow. "Hm. You might not survive the night."

"Stop it,"

"I’ll have to keep you in bed." His mouth curves wickedly. "For observation."

"Sylus!" You protest, trying to get up.

"No talking. Doctor’s orders."

His lips press against your burning cheek. His hand slides through your hair, nuzzling into you. His smile softens at the sound of your stuffy breath.

"Just relax." His voice lowers. "I’ve got you."

Xavier:

"You don’t have to stay." You reason trying to get your boyfriend out of your misery cave. "You’re tired. You’ve been running around all day."

"So?" His voice is quiet.

You glance at him through swollen eyes. Your skin is blotchy from the allergic reaction, red patches climbing up your neck and across your cheeks. You feel gross.

"So you don’t have to deal with this."

Xavier sinks down onto the floor beside you, resting his head on the bed where you lay draped. His gaze drops to the irritated skin on your throat.

"I’m not here because I have to." His hand lifts, hesitates, then curls gently around your hand. His thumb traces the tender skin of your palm.

"You look uncomfortable." You wince, voice thin.

"Yeah. I am." His smile is faint, almost fragile. "Because I hate seeing you like this."

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off.

"Not because of how you look." His hand rises to your neck, cupping it carefully. His thumb brushes over a reddened patch of skin. His eyes darken. "Because I hate not knowing how to make it better."

"It’s just allergies."

"I know." His breath steadies. His eyes soften. "But I still wish I could fix it."

"You’re not going to scare me off." His voice drops lower. "You don’t have to look perfect for me to stay."

"But I feel—"

"I know." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. His breath catches as your gaze meets his. "Stay with me anyway."