ೃ⁀➷ FLUSTERING HIM — Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel X Gn!reader

⋆˚࿔ the best pillow 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

-the LaDS men cuddling with you and laying their heads on your lap (fluff)

୨ৎ── . Sylus

The living room was peaceful, bathed in the soft golden glow of the late afternoon sun. Sylus lay stretched out on the couch, his head resting on your lap, while a book was placed in his large hands. His white hair fell messily over his forehead, as his red eyes scanned the pages with sharp focus.

The low hum of music played from the speaker across the room, a slow, soulful tune drifting through the air.

You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair, scrolling through your phone, when you glanced down at him. “Hey, can I connect my phone to the speaker?”

Sylus didn’t look up from his book. “No.”

You blinked. “No?”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Listen and appreciate real good music, sweetie.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing dramatically. “You sound like an old man.” The comment made him smirk, but he didn’t respond, his eyes still on his book.

A slow, mischievous smile spread across your lips.

Sliding your fingers beneath the frame of his glasses, you gently pushed them down just enough to reveal his striking red eyes. Before he could protest, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss between his eyebrows, right at the root of his nose.

Feeling his body tense ever so slightly, you knew your 'attack' was effective. Bingo.

Sylus inhaled through his nose, his grip on the book tightening just a fraction. "I'm trying to read, kitten." he murmured, his voice as smooth as ever.

But you saw the way his ears tinged just the faintest bit red, the way his fingers twitched against the page.

A giggle escaped you and you felt him exhale, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Sylus shifted, pretending to be unaffected as he grabbed his phone to check what song was playing.

That’s when you saw it. Your gaze flickered to the screen and your teasing smile softened. The playlist title was clear as day.

“Songs That Remind Me of Y/N”

When Sylus noticed where you were looking, his thumb casually covered the screen, as if that would make you unsee it.

You grinned, warmth spreading through your chest. “You big softie.”

He scoffed but didn’t deny it. Instead, he flipped the page of his book, still looking entirely unfazed. But as you glanced down at him, you caught it—the barely-there smile playing at his lips.

Sylus’ free hand moved from your tight to intertwine with your own hand, before bringing it to his lips and plant a soft kiss on your knuckles.

୨ৎ── . Zayne

The clock struck midnight as Zayne stepped into the apartment, exhaustion weighing heavy on his broad shoulders. His dark hair was slightly disheveled from running his hands through it all day, and his sharp green eyes, usually so intense, were dulled with fatigue. But despite the ache in his muscles and the relentless pull of sleep, he made his way to the living room—because he had made a promise.

And Zayne never broke a promise to you.

You were sitting on the couch, papers spread out around the couch and the coffee table, biting your bottom lip in concentration. At the sound of his quiet footsteps, you looked up.

"You're home," you murmured, a mixture of relief and concern in your voice. "Zayne, you look exhausted."

"I'm fine," he said softly, his voice gentle despite the obvious tiredness in his tone. "Let’s get this done."

You sighed, but didn’t argue as he settled beside you, his broad frame sinking into the cushions. He leaned slightly toward you, your shoulders brushing as he picked up a form and started filling it out with his precise handwriting.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence. But with each passing moment, Zayne's pen moved slower, his eyes blinking sluggishly as he fought the exhaustion clawing at him.

Then, without warning, his head dipped forward before he caught himself.

You turned to him, your lips pressing together in fond exasperation. "Zayne…"

"I'm awake," he murmured, but his deep voice was quieter now, softer, laced with drowsiness.

Another few moments passed, and then—he slumped.

His head rested against your shoulder at first, his body leaning heavily into yours, before he finally slid down, laying his head on your lap with a deep exhale. His dark lashes fluttered once before his breathing evened out, the exhaustion finally winning.

You glanced down at him, your expression softening. Even in sleep, he looked serious, but there was a rare peace on his face that made her heart ache.

Gently, you adjusted his position, letting his head rest more comfortably on your lap. You ran your fingers through his black hair, smoothing it back, with a featherlight touch.

With a small smile, you picked up your pen again and continued working in silence, letting him recharge. After a while, you feel a big hand gently squeezing your leg. “You’re such a nice pillow, you know that?”

Zayne looks up at you with only one eye open and a tired but fond smile on his lips.

“Look who woke up! Hi sleepy head.” you tease him, caressing his cheek gently. “I’m almost over with these papers.”

He nodded as a small yawn escaped his lips. “I’m sorry, next time I’ll be more helpful.” he whispered softly before falling asleep on you once again.

୨ৎ── . Rafayel

Rafayel stretched out across the bed, his head resting on your lap, his eyes half-lidded with contentment. The soft fabric of your sweater brushed against his cheek as he exhaled slowly, savoring the warmth of your presence. But something was missing.

Your fingers weren’t running through his hair. You weren’t teasing him with a sly remark. You weren’t paying attention to him at all.

Instead, you were glued to your phone, your delicate fingers tapping away at the screen. Occasionally, you let out a quiet chuckle, further fueling his mild irritation.

Rafayel pouted. "Babe." No response.

He shifted slightly, pressing his forehead against your lap. "Baaaabe."

Still nothing.

A smirk curled at the edge of his lips as an idea formed. He nuzzled against you, his breath warm against your skin. Then, he let out the most dramatic sigh he could muster, his broad shoulders rising and falling with exaggerated defeat.

"Are you really going to ignore your very handsome, very lovely boyfriend, who just wants a little attention?" his voice was laced with playful desperation.

You hummed absently, still not looking up. "Mhm. Sounds tragic."

Rafayel gasped, clutching his chest as if you had mortally wounded him. "Tragic?! This is abuse, beloved. I'm starving for affection."

You snorted, shifting your head the slightest to peer down at him.

“Put your phone down..” he murmured, drawing patterns on your thighs with his fingers.

He was pouting, so you followed his instructions. “Yes?”

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Hi gorgeous.” he smirks, as you grab his pretty face between your hands.

“You really become a brat if I don’t give you attention for five minutes, don’t you?” you chuckle, brushing your thumbs along his cheekbones.

A pleased rumble vibrated from his chest as he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

"Yes," Rafayel declared, looking up at you with the biggest, most pitiful puppy-dog eyes his irises could manage. "Because my beautiful, sarcastic, heartless partner is ignoring me."

You bit your lip, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh. "You are so dramatic."

"And yet you love me," he shot back, smirking before going back to leaving pecks on her legs.

You feign a sigh, when you feel him playfully biting your skin.

“Ouch!” you immediately half-heartedly slap his forehead, while he laughs amused by his actions.

“Stop it or I’m gonna crush your skull.” you playfully glare at him, but he just shrugs.

“A nice way to leave this world, not gonna lie.”

He proceeded to nibble her thigh again, so you squeeze his head between your legs, chuckling.

“Now beg.” you challenge him, raising one eyebrow. But he simply cackled, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your thigh. "You really think I’m gonna complain about this?"

୨ৎ── . Xavier

The door clicked shut softly and Xavier stepped inside, his frame carrying an air of quiet exhaustion. His light-colored hair was slightly tousled, his big blue eyes dimmer than usual, lost in some distant thought. He didn’t say a word.

You knew this version of him well. The one that withdrew into silence when something weighed on his mind. He was lost in his own thoughts, tangled up in emotions he didn’t know how to put into words.

So you didn’t ask. Didn’t press. Instead, you took his hand, gently tugging him toward the bed. Xavier hesitated for a second before letting you guide him, his shoulders relaxing just a little under your touch. You pulled him down until he was lying on top of you, his head resting against your lap as you softly ran your hands through his hair.

With a small smile, you let your fingers drift from his hair down to his back, as you began tracing invisible shapes against the fabric of his shirt. At first, you just doodled—little swirls, hearts, nonsense patterns—letting him feel your presence without forcing him to talk.

Then, slowly, you spelled out the words.

I love you.

A heartbeat passed. Then another. You felt his breath hitch ever so slightly, his tense shoulders easing as if a weight had been lifted. So you kept going, tracing a small heart at the end.

Xavier shifted, turning his head just enough so he could glance up at you, his deep blue eyes no longer clouded. A soft, almost bashful smile ghosted his lips. Then, without warning, he rolled over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer in a way that was both shy and desperate.

His face was buried against your neck now, and you could feel his breath warm against your skin. Finally, he spoke—his voice quiet, but steady.

"…Again," he murmured.

You blinked. "Again?"

He nodded against you, his grip tightening slightly. A soft laugh escaped your lips before you resumed your gentle tracing of sweet nothings and hearts.

୨ৎ── . Caleb

Caleb sighed dramatically as he rested his back against the couch, his broad frame comfortably settled between your legs on the plush carpet. Your fingers worked gently through his thick brown hair, separating strands to weave into intricate braids. Every now and then, you’d clip a tiny butterfly or flower pin into place, giggling to yourself at how utterly adorable he looked.

He loved this. The feeling of your hands in his hair, your presence surrounding him. But there was one small problem.

He couldn't sit still.

His hands roamed absentmindedly, his fingers lightly tracing over the soft skin of your thighs. The warmth of your legs bracketing him was too tempting to ignore. Without thinking, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her knee, then another, higher this time.

You huffed, tightening your grip on his hair just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to warn him. "Caleb. Stop moving."

He grinned. "But you're so soft" he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing along the inside of your thigh now. "How am I supposed to resist?"

You rolled your eyes, though he couldn’t see it. "You're not supposed to try to resist. You're supposed to sit still and let me finish your hair."

Caleb chuckled, but he didn’t stop. His hands squeezed your legs gently, thumbs stroking the inside of your thighs in slow, teasing circles. "M’sorry, baby," he muttered, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. "You're just really distracting."

"I’m distracting?" You scoffed. "You’re the one squirming like a hyperactive puppy while I’m trying to make you pretty."

"Hm..pretty, huh?" He smirked, tilting his head back against your stomach, his striking purple eyes gazing up at you. "Does that mean you're finally admitting you like playing with my hair?"

You flicked his forehead, making him laugh. "I've always liked playing with your hair. I just don't like when you make it impossible to finish."

"Okay, okay." Caleb raised his hands in surrender. "I'll behave."

"Good." You started braiding again, your fingers moving deftly through his locks. For about ten seconds, he actually sat still. Then his lips ghosted over your thigh once more, this time leaving a soft bite.

"Caleb!" He burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking with amusement. "I tried to behave, I really did," he said between chuckles. But then he finally stopped moving around and let you finish your masterpiece. “Wanna grab something to eat later?”

“But it took me so long to make these braids.” you pout slightly, already sad at the idea of having to remove all the cute clips from his hair.

“Who said I’m gonna take them out? Everyone needs to see what an amazing job you did!”

It's Xavier rerun week!

A Request(if you like it): maybe Luminere x on-the-run mc(maybe even an MC that works in the n109zone for whatever reason/evilmc)? Maybe a lil demanding dom Xavier action?

Thanks in advance if you can!

I hope this is what you were looking for❤️❤️

TW:Smut

🌟You again?🌟

You find yourself in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the N109 zone, air thick with tension.

You hear a soft, almost inaudible sound behind you, like the whisper of fabric on fabric. You turn around and see him, Lumiere, the bane of your existence.

His eyes, as piercing and cold as you remember, are fixed on you with a intensity that makes your blood run cold. He's not smiling, but there's a cruel, almost sadistic glint in his eyes.

You see him take a step towards you, then another, his movements slow and deliberate. He's enjoying this, the hunt, the anticipation of finally ending your life. You know he won't hesitate, not after all this time. You've seen the way he looks at you, the hatred and disgust in his eyes.

You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. You're not afraid of him, no, you're afraid of what he's capable of. You've seen the destruction he can cause.

He takes another step closer, a grin spreading across his face. He loves this, loves the power he has over you, loves knowing that any moment could be your last.

"You look nervous y/n" he says, his voice a mocking drawl. "Don't tell me you're scared, are you? After all this time of chasing each other, you're finally going to give up?"

He's close now, close enough that you can see the slight twitch in his jaw, the way his hand clenches into a fist at his side.

You blink, disoriented, as Lumiere suddenly vanishes from your sight. The sudden absence of his presence leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable, heart pounding wildly in your chest.

You quickly scan the warehouse, your eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant drip of water and the ever present hum of the city outside.

You know he's still here, watching you from the darkness. He's not the type to run away, not when he has the upper hand. No, he's playing with you, enjoying the thrill of the chase, the anticipation of finally ending your life.

You tighten your grip on your dagger, the cool metal a comforting weight in your hand. You won't let your guard down, not for a moment. You've trained for this and you won't let him catch you off guard.

Suddenly, you hear a crash behind you, the sound of something heavy and metal hitting the ground. You spin around, dagger out in front of you, just in time to see a large, rusty pipe come tumbling down from the rafters above.

You dive out of the way, rolling to the side as the pipe crashes to the ground where you were standing just a moment before. You come up in a crouch, your dagger still out in front of you, your heart racing in your chest.

That's when you see him, his figure darting between the shadows, moving with a speed and agility that defies belief. He's coming at you, grin on his face, a long sword in his hand.

You know he won't hesitate, and neither will you. And only one of you will walk away from this warehouse alive. And as he charges at you, you let out a fierce battle cry and charge at him, your dagger out in front of you, ready to meet him head on.

He's fast, too fast, and he anticipates your moves, leaning back to avoid the blade. In that moment you see your chance. You drop to the ground, rolling beneath his outstretched arm, and come up behind him, dagger pressing against the small of his back.

"Don't move," you hiss, "or I'll run this blade through you."

He freezes, his body tense as he drops the sword. You can feel the slight tremble of rage and frustration that runs through his body. He's not used to being caught off guard, not used to having the upper hand taken away from him so suddenly.

"You think you're clever," he says, his voice mocking growl. "But you don't have the guts to do it, do you? You don't have what it takes to take a life, not even mine."

You press the blade harder against his back, until you can feel it digging into his flesh, until you can see the first bead of blood welling up on the surface.

"Don't test me," you warn him "I've been fighting for my life for months, been running from you, been looking over my shoulder every moment of every day. And now, now that I finally have you at my mercy, you think I'm going to hesitate?"

You can feel his muscles tense, can sense the way his mind is racing, trying to find a way out of this situation. But there is no way out, not this time. This time, one of you will die, and sure as hell it won't be you.

You hold your breath, staring at the glisten of his blood on your blade, a sense of satisfaction coursing through you. But your moment of triumph is short lived, shattered by his mocking words.

"You think you got me at a disadvantage?" Lumiere's voice is a dangerous rasp in the darkness, sending a chill down your spine, and then he disappears.

Before you can react, before you can tense and track his movement, you feel the cool silver of your own dagger pressed against the delicate skin of your throat. The edge bites into you, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to make your heart race with fear.

At the same time, you feel the firm press of his body against your back. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him, holding you in a grip that makes it impossible to struggle. He's so close, too close, his body a furnace of heat that seeps into your skin, making your blood run hot and fast.

His breath is hot against your jaw, his lips brushing against your ear as he leans in close, cold steel pressing harder against your throat as he traces the tip of your own dagger along your jugular" You know, you've been a thorn in my side for far too long. Always chasing you across the city, always just out of reach, always slipping through my fingers like smoke"

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry, your heart pounding so loudly that you're sure he must be able to hear it. But even in this moment of fear and vulnerability, you refuse to give in, refuse to let him see the terror that grips your heart. You lift your chin, your eyes flashing with defiance as you meet his gaze.

"You talk big for a man in your position," you retort "But I know you won't do it. You can't do it. Killing me here, like this, it's not your style. But I won't give you that satisfaction."

You feel the sharp sting as the dagger's tip pierces your skin, a single red droplet trickling down your collarbone. Your heart hammers wildly in your heaving chest as the cold steel drifts lower, the point pressing gently but insistently over your racing heart.

Lumiere's voice is low in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "Oh, I'm going to kill you, and I'm going to enjoy it. I've dreamed of this moment for months, and now, at last, I have you right where I want you."

"I would have thought you'd at least try to torture me for information." you say, holding his stare 

A smile curls his lips "I already know everything I need to know, this isn't about information," he breathes "This is about revenge.

Your fingers inch towards your pocket, moving with a deliberate slowness as you try to keep your action hidden from him. The cool metal of the dagger's hilt brushes against your fingertips just as he begins to speak.

"Don't think I haven't noticed your little attempt to grab that hidden dagger" he purrs, "I know everything about you. I've been watching you for months, learning your every move, your every habit...."

"Fuck you!” you cut him off.

"Watch your tongue" he snarls, the dagger digging a bit deeper into your flesh as a result of your outburst. The pain is blinding, white hot and searing, drawing a gasping cry from your throat.

But even as you cry out, you're already moving, adrenaline surging through your veins. Your left hand comes up in a swift, desperate punch, your fist connecting with the side of his jaw with a sickening crunch.

He grunts in pain, his head snapping to the side from the force of your blow. For a moment, his grip on you loosens, the dagger's edge slipping from your skin, a thin line of blood welling up in its wake.

Lumiere's angry snarl cuts off abruptly as your fist swings towards his face once more. He barely manages to jerk his head to the side, avoiding the blow. In the same motion, he slams you back against the rough brick wall, knocking the air from your lungs with a painful grunt.

His right hand drops the dagger and shoots out to grab your wrists before you can strike again, his fingers digging into your skin as he wrenches your arms above your head, pinning you more firmly to the wall with his body. You jerk and struggle against him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you try desperately to break free. Angry, vicious curses pour from both your mouths, your voices rising to a feverish pitch as you scream and snarl at each other.

The distance between you shrinks, your faces just inches apart, breaths mingling, eyes locked in a furious, hate filled gaze. And then, without warning, his lips are on yours.

It's a kiss filled with all the anger and frustration that has been building between you for months. Suddenly, he lets go of your wrists and your arms fall over his shoulders.

His lips move roughly over yours, demanding, brutal, punishing. He nips at your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste of it mingling with the taste of him.

You feel the sting of the bite, the pain searing through you, but it only serves to ignite something dark and desperate within you, so you bite back, your teeth sinking into his lower lip, tasting your own blood on his skin.

He snarls into the kiss as your nails dig into his shoulder. His hand fists in your hair, gripping the strands tightly, using them like a rein to control your head as he devours your mouth with hunger. You feel the sting of hair being ripped from your scalp, but it only adds to the sensations overwhelming your senses.

Your teeth sink into his bottom lip once more, biting down hard to taste his blood mingling with your own. He hisses, and in retaliation, he forces his knee between your thighs, roughly pushing your legs apart, the hard muscle pressing insistently against your core.

You both moan into the kiss.

You kiss him back with a fervor that matches his, your lips moving against his with unrelenting passion as he presses his thigh harder between your legs, forcing them to open wider, a primal need surging inside you, threatening to engulf you completely.

Unable to resist, you find yourself rolling your hips forward, grinding down against the hard muscle of his thigh. Your body moves on its own, instinct taking over as you mirror his movements, lost in a haze of sensation.

You gasp as his hand slides down your shoulder, your shirt strains against your chest, your nipples hardening into tight, sensitive peaks as his thumb grazes over the swell of your breast.

But before you can process it, his teeth are on you again, sinking into the soft flesh of your lip. You cry out, pain mixing with pleasure, the sound caught in your throat as his teeth pull and nibble at your lips.

Your own hand moves on its own, trailing down the muscles of his chest. Your fingers find the leather of his belt, wrapping around it tightly, desperately, pulling at the buckle as if your life depended on it

His lips leave yours, trailing a path of hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of your face, your jaw, your throat. You can feel his breath, ragged and hot against your skin, his tongue snaking out to taste you, to trace the contours of your jaw. He bites and sinks his teeth into the tender flesh, marking you.

You moan, the sound catching in your throat as your head falls back against the wall, giving him better access to your throat. Your fingers finally manage to undo the buckle of his belt, the leather slipping through the loops of his pants with a soft, satisfying sound.

At the same time, his hands move and roughly grab the fabric of your skirt. He pulls it up, the fabric slips over your thighs, the cold air hits your hot skin as he gathers the skirt around your waist.

You don't stop him. You can't stop him. Instead, you find yourself pressing harder against his leg, your hips rolling instinctively, seeking more of that delicious friction, that pressure, that promise of relief from the ache that consumes you.

He groans against your neck as you grind against him. His fingers trail down your thigh, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. You shudder as he shifts his leg away and his fingers reach the apex of your thighs, your core clenching, empty and aching, desperate to be filled.

A broken moan escapes your lips as he traces your slit and without warning, he's pushing your panties to the side, the scrap of fabric a flimsy barrier against the thick length of his fingers. You cry out, as he thrusts two fingers deep inside you, your walls clenching down around them.

Your head falls onto his shoulder, your nails digging into his chest as you struggle to gasp for breath. He thrusts his fingers in and out of you, and the wet sounds of your arousal fill the air. His thumb finds your clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves throbbing and swollen, begging for his touch.

His lips crash against yours once more, swallowing your cries of pleasure as he pulls his fingers from your dripping core. His hand moves to his own pants, quickly undoing the button and zipper with urgent movements.

You hear him growl, a sound of dark desire muffled against your lips as he grips your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to bruise. And then, with one hard thrust, he's inside you, his hard, thick length stretching you impossibly wide.

Your head falls back, a sound tearing from your lips that is somewhere between a moan and a scream. You feel every inch of his cock as it pushes deep inside you, the thick veins and ridges stretching you in a way that borders on pain, the sensation so intense, so overwhelming, that tears spring to your eyes.

He is big, unbelievably big, bigger than any man has a right to be. It stretches you to the limit, your walls squeeze around it, desperately trying to accommodate its girth.

His teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, as he pounds into you with a ferocity that borders on violence. His hips slam against yours, the force of his thrusts shaking you to your core.

Your fingers grip his hair desperately as you cling to him, nails raking over his scalp. You rake them down his back next, your short nails digging into the skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, leaving red lines in their wake.

He hitches your leg up higher, his arm sliding beneath your knee, lifting it up and out, opening you wider so he can fuck you deeper. You moan as he hilts inside you with each thrust, your back slams against the wall and you're sure it will be bruised by morning.

He kisses you again, this time deeper, his tongue invading your mouth, dominating it, claiming it as his own. It's a filthy, wet kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperation, and you feel yourself growing dizzy, your head swimming with the intensity of it all.

You wrench your mouth away, gasping for air, before you attack his neck with your own lips, your teeth sinking into the skin. You bite and suck, your own desperate need to mark him, rising up to match his own lust.

You had never known a passion so overflowing, a hunger so fierce that it threatened to devour you completely. It wasn't about gentle lovemaking, nor tenderly exploring each other's bodies. It was a battle, a war, the clash of two souls consumed by lust and rage and a need so desperate it bordered on madness.

Each hard thrust gives you a jolt of pain and pleasure, a sensation that leaves you wanting more. You are drenched, your arousal dripping down your thighs, coating his cock. Your body betrays you, welcoming his every touch, craving his brutal possession even as a part of you screams at the injustice of it all.

And yet, even through the haze of pain and pleasure, you feel a twisted sense of rightness, of inevitability. With him, in this moment, the old rules no longer apply. Boundaries crumble, leaving you raw, exposed and hungry for his touch like you've never been before.

You want to hurt him, to mark him, to make him feel a fraction of the agony and ecstasy that consumes you. Your nails dig into his back, your teeth sink into his skin, and still, you crave more because you fucking hate him. Hate him with every fiber of your being, with every ragged breath, every desperate, needy movement of your body.

Your body trembles like a leaf, shaking uncontrollably as he pounds into you with a force that threatens to shatter you into a thousand pieces. His breath comes in harsh, ragged pants against your skin, the heat of it mingling with the sweat that coats your body like a second skin.

You arch your back against the wall, pushing your hips forward to meet his every thrust, desperate for more, for everything he can give you. Your fingers claw at his collar, the fabric twisting and tightening around his throat, probably hurting him and choking him but you couldn't care less.

His movements grow harder and faster, his need as desperate as your own. You can feel him swelling inside you, stretching you impossibly wider, the coil of tension in your belly winding tighter and tighter until you think you might shatter from the force of it all.

Your eyes roll back, vision blurring, your world narrowing down to the feel of him, the scent of him, the heat of his skin against yours. And then, his fingers are in your hair, gripping it tightly, painfully pulling your head back, exposing your throat to his lips.

You come undone with a scream, your mouth opening in a cry of ecstasy as he bites down hard on your neck. Your body convulses, shaking and shuddering, waves of pleasure crashing over you, drowning you, consuming you, leaving you gasping.

And you hear him groan, the deep sound vibrating through your very bones. His hips twitch and jerk against yours, the aftershocks of his release coursing through him, his grip on your hair loosening as he struggles to catch his breath. Your head falls forward, your forehead resting against his shoulder.

Your legs feel like jelly, the muscles having turned to liquid, unable to support your weight. It's a good thing he's holding you up, pinning you to the wall with his body, or else you would have collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap. Your fingers remain curled into his skin, the red lines of your nails etched into his flesh, a physical map of your desperation, your need, your hatred.

You can feel the heat of his breath on your neck and as the fog of lust begins to lift, as your racing heart starts to slow, a sense of icy horror starts to seep through your veins. Your mind, once hazy and clouded, starts to clear, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.

Oh god. Oh fuck. What have I done?

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you frozen and stiff in his arms. You just fucked Lumiere.

A wave of revulsion crashes over you, the urge to push him away, to scream, to run, nearly overwhelming. But you're trapped, pinned, held in place by the grip of his arms, the weight of his body, the sickening realization of what you've done.

His body goes rigid against yours as the horrifying reality of what just transpired sinks in, his muscles tensing like a coiled spring. His head, which had been resting against your shoulder, jerks back slightly, the side of his head no longer leaning against yours.

How the fuck did this happen?!

Before he can say anything, you push him away. Your aching, trembling limbs suddenly find strength, a surge of revulsion propelling you forward, forcing him back.

He staggers, his softening cock slipping from your slick, swollen pussy with an obscene sound that makes your stomach turn. But he doesn't reach out to stop you, doesn't try to pull you back into his arms. He stands there, rooted to the spot, his eyes wide and horrified, as you yank your skirt down over your thighs, 

You walk away, your arms shaking, your legs unsteady. But as you put one foot in front of the other, as you force yourself to leave, you can't escape the echoes of his groan, the deep sound that still rings in your ears. The sound he made when he came inside you.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your panties growing wetter and stickier with the evidence of his release. You can feel his gaze burning into your back, the weight of his self loathing a physical pressure that urges you faster, desperate to escape. And then, just as suddenly as it began, it's over.

He is gone. Lumiere disappeared as suddenly as he appeared. But even as the sound of his disappearance fades, you know that he'll be back. That he'll return to torment you, to haunt you, to remind you of the terrible thing you've done.

Because deep down, you know this isn't over. No, this was just the beginning. The first step down a dark path from which there may be no turning back.

that night at 3:07 a.m. | xavier

synopsis : Sequel to 3:07 a.m.

content : angst(obviously), non-related to the game events, non-cannon, just purely xavier x reader but in our world :)

writer’s note : part one can be found here. I was inspired to write this peace thanks to the lovely @hiqhkey <3 you were right, the angst potential in this was wew. It took me awhile to piece together how to write this one because I wanted angst but I also wanted closure, I hope you enjoy this one as well :D

You came into his life like turbulence—unexpected, disarming.

And yet, your voice was the calm that followed the storm.

Xavier doesn’t remember how it began.

Maybe it was that first night. 3:07 a.m.

He had meant to call someone else—fingers fumbling, mind clouded, emotions in disarray.

But it was your voice he heard.

Soft. Quiet. A melody that lingered longer than it should have.

He didn’t hang up.

He listened.

And then he called again.

It became routine, though neither of you called it that.

He’d come home from work, shower, lie in bed.

Waiting.

Sleep never came easy for him.

But you did.

At 3:07 a.m., he would dial your number.

And you’d answer, always.

“Hey,” you’d breathe into the line.

His heart would falter, just a beat.

It wasn’t love. Or maybe it was.

He couldn’t name it, but it left him aching.

He wanted to tell you that your voice was beautiful, that it soothed something in him he didn’t know needed soothing.

But he never did.

Instead, he’d ask about your day.

You’d ask about his.

It was your thing—he calls, you answer.

No questions. No promises. Just presence.

But slowly, the lines blurred.

He caught himself thinking about you more. Wanting more.

But the words never came.

He’d see you sometimes—crossing the street, sitting in your favorite café by the window, head bowed in quiet focus.

He never waved.

Never approached.

Because 3:07 a.m. was sacred.

And he was afraid that in the daylight, it might mean something else.

Or nothing at all.

So he waited.

For nighttime.

For your voice.

—•

Then came a night that didn’t sound the same.

You answered, but your voice held sadness.

It rattled him, the heaviness of it.

He wanted to reach through the phone, hold you, take the weight from your shoulders.

But instead, he stayed silent.

You told him about a boy you liked.

His stomach turned.

He should’ve known. He should’ve seen it coming.

It was him. It had to be.

Still, he smiled where you couldn’t see.

And said, “Maybe he’ll come around.”

“Maybe,” you whispered.

If only he’d realized it then.

—•

“Do you think some people are just… meant to belong to each other?” he asked one night.

The question came unannounced. Raw. Honest.

You laughed, soft and almost shy.

But you didn’t answer.

And he didn’t press.

Neither of you ever did.

But that night, he told himself it was time to move on.

If you had felt the same way, you would’ve said something.

Wouldn’t you?

Still, the thought nagged at him, cruel and persistent.

You always picked up.

He opened his mouth. Almost.

But he swallowed it down.

“You still there?” he asked, knowing full well you were.

“Always.”

That word settled in his chest like warmth, and yet it ached.

“I saw a fox tonight,” he murmured. “It ran across the road like it didn’t care if it got hit.”

He didn’t know why he said it.

Maybe to see if you’d understand.

Maybe it was his confession in disguise.

“I thought about stopping,” he added, voice low. “I didn’t.”

Silence stretched between you. His breath hitched.

Then you said, “You never stop.”

His heart clenched.

“Maybe I should.”

It hurt, saying that. Like swallowing glass.

He changed the subject.

Pretended it didn’t mean anything.

And when your voice grew soft with sleep, he noticed—he always did.

“Go to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, ending the call before you could reply.

His heart was racing.

In the dark, he whispered to himself, “Why didn’t I just tell her?”

But the moment had passed.

The weight of everything left unsaid pressed down on him, suffocating and sharp.

He sighed into the stillness of his room.

“Maybe it was never meant to be.”

But oh, it was.

It really, really was.

—•

Eventually, life got busier.

Or maybe he made it that way—chasing distractions just to drown out the ache in his chest.

He didn’t know what it was exactly.

Rejection? An answer he didn’t want?

All he knew was that your silence—your lack of anything—gnawed at him until it became unbearable.

So he filled his days with noise. With work. With anything that wasn’t you.

But the nights stayed quiet.

Too quiet.

When he came home, the stillness in the air was heavier than usual.

He moved through his routine on autopilot, then lay in bed with his eyes shut, pretending he could sleep.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe I won’t call tonight. Maybe she will.

But curiosity clawed its way in.

He peeked.

3:05 a.m.

He watched the seconds crawl.

3:06.

His thumb hovered above your contact.

3:07 a.m.

Before his mind could stop his heart, he called.

Tonight, he told himself. Tonight, I’ll ask her.

“Hey,” your voice came through, soft and steady.

Like you had been waiting. Like always.

“Hey,” he echoed, but the word felt fragile—smaller than he meant it to be.

“Rough night?”

“No. Just… long.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

This was it—his window.

If he didn’t say it tonight, he’d let you go.

But then you asked gently, “Wanna talk about it?”

And he hesitated.

Why didn’t he just tell you?

He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Not really.”

“Okay.”

His mind swirled—What if she feels the same?

Will I regret this silence tomorrow?

Still, the words stayed lodged in his throat.

Instead, “Tell me something nice… anything.”

Because he wanted to hear your voice again. Wanted to feel close to you, even if you were slipping through his fingers.

And you did.

God, you did.

You told him about the dog you saw with its head out the window, tongue flapping like it owned the world.

You told him about the heart-shaped cloud that vanished before you could take a picture.

You told him about a song that reminded you of him.

His heart faltered at that—but still, nothing.

He only hummed, listening like it might be the last time he’d ever hear you.

“Do you think…” he started, then stopped. His courage faltered mid-sentence.

A pause.

“What?” you prompted, gentle.

His breath caught. “Do you think we’ll still talk like this… a year from now?”

You laughed.

And it shattered him.

Why was that your reaction?

“You’re the one who calls,” you said simply. “I just pick up.”

He fell silent. One beat. Then two.

“Yeah… I guess you do.”

He gathered what was left of himself. “I hope you sleep well tonight.”

There was a pause, quiet but heavy.

“Are you not calling tomorrow?” you asked softly.

His chest ached. That was his moment—his chance to say something real.

But instead, “I don’t know.”

And he ended the call.

Alone in the dark, he whispered, “I need to move on.”

A tear slipped quietly down his cheek.

The next night, he stared at his phone.

Thumb over your name.

Hovering.

He shouldn’t call. He couldn’t.

His heart wasn’t whole enough to risk it again.

So he didn’t.

He shoved his phone beneath his pillow and closed his eyes.

If she wants to talk, he told himself, she’ll call.

But a voice inside him whispered something else—Maybe she’s waiting, too.

Still, he forced himself to sleep.

No more.

—•

Day One.

He woke with a racing heart and reached for his phone.

No missed calls.

No texts.

Nothing.

The absence stung more than he expected.

And there it was—his answer.

You hadn’t called.

He sighed, the weight of regret and hopelessness pressing into his ribs.

That was it.

That was the end.

He got up and started his day, pretending he hadn’t waited.

Pretending it didn’t hurt.

But good god, it did.

Day Three.

He didn’t mean to look.

But at 3:07 a.m., his eyes flicked to the clock anyway.

His chest ached with a hollow kind of yearning, the kind that sits heavy behind the ribs and doesn’t say a word.

He didn’t call.

You didn’t either.

The silence had settled into something familiar now.

It used to be comfort. Now it was absence.

Still, he told himself, This is what moving on looks like. You asked for this.

But it didn’t make the loneliness feel any less real.

Day Five.

He passed your favorite café on his way home.

The table by the window was empty.

Or maybe it wasn’t—you just weren’t in it.

He didn’t stop to look too long.

That night, he didn’t touch his phone.

He left it across the room, face-down.

But at 3:07 a.m., he still turned in bed, waiting for the sound that wouldn’t come.

Week Two.

He met someone new.

She was kind. Confident. The type who smiled with her whole face.

She asked for his number first, and he gave it without hesitation.

Not because he was ready, but because he wanted to be.

They started talking. Messaging.

Late night conversations, but never at 3:07 a.m.

That time belonged to someone else.

Still did.

But he didn’t say that out loud.

Week Six.

He liked her company.

She laughed at his jokes, touched his arm when she smiled, remembered how he took his coffee.

She made things feel easier.

Lighter.

And yet—some nights, when the world had gone still and he was finally alone with his thoughts, he still reached for his phone.

Not to call her.

But to scroll through your old messages.

The short ones. The long ones. The ones where you sent voice notes because texting was too slow.

He missed you.

Quietly. Constantly.

Like background noise he couldn’t tune out.

Month Two.

He was dating her now.

Their photos lived on social media—her head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her waist.

His smile looked real.

People said he looked happy.

And sometimes, he was.

But he never told her why he always seemed a little quiet around 3 a.m.

Why he never answered calls past midnight.

Why his smile never quite reached his eyes when a particular song came on the radio.

Because there were things he had buried—like old postcards you never send but can’t throw away.

He didn’t talk about you.

But sometimes, when he was with her, and the world was soft and kind,

he wondered if you ever stared at your phone too.

If you ever hovered over his name and decided not to press it.

If you ever missed him at 3:07 a.m.

And in that wondering, he realized—He hadn’t moved on.

Not really.

Not fully.

He was just learning how to live with a ghost that still answered the phone.

—•

Month Six.

He proposed.

It was quiet, understated—just the two of them beneath a canopy of lights and the hush of the evening breeze.

She smiled. She cried. She said yes without hesitation.

He kissed her like he meant it.

And he did.

He meant it.

But as the ring slipped onto her finger, something stirred deep in his chest—an ache, dull and persistent.

Not regret.

Not quite.

Just something unsettled.

Something he hadn’t named.

Something left over.

Because even now, even here, part of him wondered if you ever thought about him.

If you’d feel anything at all when you found out.

If you’d feel… nothing.

And maybe that would hurt more.

Later that night, while she slept soundly beside him, his eyes flicked toward the clock.

3:07 a.m.

He didn’t know why he still looked.

Maybe he just always would.

Month Eight.

Healing came slowly.

Not like a breakthrough—just a quiet fading of the noise.

The days stopped feeling like a performance.

The silences became lighter.

He caught himself smiling more. Meant it more, too.

And he started seeing her not as someone who filled a space, but someone who fit.

He still thought of you.

But not always.

Not the way he used to.

There were moments—brief ones—when your name crossed his mind in the middle of a song, or when he passed that café window you used to sit by.

But it didn’t sting as much.

It just… lingered.

Like something that might have been.

Something gentle. Undefined.

A feeling, not a fire.

Still, on some nights, when the world was quiet and he couldn’t sleep, he’d wonder.

Did you ever think of him, too?

Month Ten.

The wedding planning began in earnest.

Color swatches, catering menus, playlist drafts.

She filled journals with ideas, kept Pinterest boards titled forever.

He helped where he could.

Smiled. Showed up.

Even laughed when she made him try three kinds of cake in one sitting.

It was real.

And it was good.

But some nights, when she’d doze off beside him with a notebook still open in her lap, he’d scroll through his contacts until he found your name.

He never pressed it.

He never would.

But part of him still paused there.

Not because he wanted to go back.

But because he still hadn’t figured out if he should tell you.

Not to ask for anything.

Not to confess anything.

Just… to let you know.

“I’m getting married.”

A sentence he rehearsed and never said.

And maybe he was afraid that if he did, you’d say, “I always thought you would call.”

Or worse—That you’d say nothing at all.

So instead, he locked his phone and turned off the lamp beside the bed.

He wasn’t in love with you.

Maybe he never had been.

But there had been something.

And it never quite left.

Almost One Year Later.

3:07 a.m.

The numbers glowed dimly in the dark, like they always did—unchanged, untouched.

He hadn’t planned to call.

He hadn’t even thought about it.

But somehow, he was already staring at your name.

Already pressing call.

The dial tone echoed once.

Twice.

Three times—Then a soft click.

You answered.

There was only breath on the other end.

Faint. Familiar. Present.

His heart stuttered.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. Steady.

Silence.

He swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

Still, nothing.

Just you, breathing. Listening.

Maybe frozen in place. Maybe waiting for more.

And he gave it to you.

“I just…” he started, and the words stuck, catching in his throat. He let them fall anyway.

“I’m getting married.”

The quiet thickened. Not even a gasp. No sigh.

Just your silence.

“I wanted to tell you myself.”

There was a pause.

Then, your breath barely above a whisper, “Why now?”

He let the silence stretch before he answered.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I kept thinking about you. About how I never said goodbye.”

Another pause.

Your voice cracked, just slightly. “I would’ve answered.”

His chest tightened.

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence. Neither of you filled it.

He listened to the stillness like it was the last piece of a song he couldn’t finish.

And then, softly—like it cost you something, “I’m happy for you.”

His heart stuttered.

He hesitated.

There were words at the edge of his tongue—things he might have said if this were a different life.

But instead, all he gave you was, “Goodnight.”

And the call ended.

No goodbye.

Just the quiet click of something finally closing.

—•

The air was still.

Rows of guests sat under soft morning light, flowers swaying gently with the breeze, as music began to hum low and steady.

Xavier stood at the altar, hands clasped tightly in front of him, breath slow.

He wasn’t nervous—at least not in the way everyone expected him to be.

He felt the weight of the moment. The finality. The beauty of it.

And the ache.

Then—like a pull, a presence he couldn’t ignore—his gaze lifted.

And there you were.

Standing quietly near the back. Almost hidden. Almost not there.

But he saw you.

Your eyes met his, and the world narrowed.

Just for a moment, it was quiet.

Just for a moment, it was 3:07 a.m. again.

There were no smiles exchanged.

No nods.

Just something suspended between you—years of silence, almosts, and words that never made it past the throat.

But it was enough.

He understood.

So did you.

And then the music changed.

The crowd rose to their feet, turning.

She appeared—his bride, radiant and glowing, the embodiment of everything he had chosen.

He looked at her, heart steady.

And when she reached him, he took her hand with warmth, with care.

The ceremony moved forward.

Vows were spoken.

Promises made.

And when he leaned in to kiss her, he did so gently, tenderly, with a love that had grown slowly, earnestly.

Applause broke out.

The world opened again.

And when he turned, just for a second—just instinctively.

He saw you.

You were walking away, slipping through the crowd with that small, knowing smile on your lips.

The kind that said everything.

He watched you disappear around the corner, and it struck him.

That was your goodbye.

Not in words.

Not in tears.

Just in the way you let go—with grace, with quiet acceptance.

And maybe that was what you both needed.

Not closure. Not confession.

Just the soft acknowledgment of what once lived between you, and what would no longer linger.

He turned back toward the crowd, toward the life he’d chosen.

And the ache in his chest softened, like something finally exhaled.

✨ Xavier |❄️Zayne |🎨Rafayel |🐦‍⬛Sylus |🍎Caleb

Dad!Xavier falls asleep all the time on the play mats during tummy time. You have a lot of pictures of the two of them snoozing together, Xavier’s hand on the baby’s back to keep them safe.

Dad!Xavier can and will eat the baby’s food out of curiosity. I mean, it’s right there and he wants to know what the baby is eating. They like this weird peas and carrots mixture so it has to taste good, right? You’ve also definitely caught him stealing the baby’s unfinished cheerios.

Dad!Xavier likes to take the baby outside and sit with them under the stars. He loves the way the stars reflect in their eyes. He'll teach them about them when the baby is older.

Dad!Xavier always manages to put the baby down for bed easier than you do. You don’t know how he does it but they could be crying up a storm in your arms and the second he takes them, they’re out like a light. It always makes him smile.

Dad!Xavier spends hours in the rocking chair. He likes to hold the baby against his chest and just rock for hours. You’ve found them asleep like that.

Dad!Xavier likes to lay on the ground with the baby and just listen to them babble. He adds an encouraging word here or there but he just loves the sound of their voice. The baby loves the sound of his voice too, especially for bedtime stories.

Dad!Xavier sometimes gets a little jealous of the baby. He knows it’s silly but the baby has all your attention and he misses you sometimes. He mitigates this by stealing your attention while the baby is asleep.

Dad!Xavier is NOT a good cook. You still cook for the most part but he steps up by cleaning more. It’s not perfect since a child tends to cause a whirlwind of mess but you both try and that’s all you can really ask for from each other when you’re raising a baby.

Xavier (Lumiere) | Shimmering Moonlight Event Playlist

Twilight's Dawn Full Myth Another Dawnbreak Mini Stories Midnight Rainfall Kindled Midnight Whisper Kindled

L&DS BOYS - LOVE LANGUAGES

content warnings: fem!reader, fluff, sfw headcanons

XAVIER - PHYSICAL TOUCH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RAFAYEL - WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ZAYNE - ACTS OF SERVICE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆ Xavier, who is always thinking about you.

Xavier had always carried a quiet thoughtfulness about him, an attentive care that made you feel seen. He loved spending time with you, observing the little things that made you, you. That’s why it didn’t surprise you—though it still made your heart flutter—when he learned your favorite song on guitar. Not only to play it, but to sing it for you.

One day, while the two of you were messing around with the guitar, he positioned himself behind you, his presence close and comforting. The guitar rested in your lap as you strummed the strings, your movements tentative but growing more confident under his guidance.

“All you have to do is follow this count: one... two... three... four,” he explained softly, his voice low and steady. His hand, sure and practiced, expertly switched between the chords, his fingers brushing the frets with ease.

“Yes, just like that,” he said, a smile in his voice, as you repeated the motion. His hands briefly covered yours to adjust your positioning, and your fingers began to catch the pattern.

The first few notes were halting, but as you found the rhythm, a familiar melody began to emerge. Your breath caught when you realized what it was. Your song. A grin spread across your face as the chorus approached.

Then, just as the moment swelled, Xavier leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. His voice was soft but playful as he sang the words:

“You can act all shy, but you know that I want you.”

His whispered lyric sent a shiver down your spine. You paused, the guitar momentarily forgotten as you turned to look at him, caught between laughter and bashful disbelief. Xavier only smiled, his eyes crinkling with amusement, as though he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄

⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐄/𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐓

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You wake up early, stretching lazily before grabbing Xavier’s hoodie from where it hangs on the rack like it’s routine. He’s still sleeping soundly as you slip out of the bedroom. The hoodie envelops you completely, sleeves hanging past your wrists, carrying his distinct, comforting scent.

In the kitchen, you prepare a simple breakfast for yourself, and a plate for Xavier that you know will likely go cold. The morning news plays quietly on the TV as you settle onto the couch, legs tucked underneath you, swimming in the soft fabric of his hoodie, feeling wrapped in Xavier’s presence despite his absence.

Movement catches your eye as Xavier appears in the doorway. His eyes find you immediately, taking in the sight of you wearing his clothing.

“Good morning,” you say, offering him his plate. “I made you breakfast.”

Xavier glances at the food but doesn’t take it. Instead, he shifts closer, arm sliding around your shoulders to pull you against his side. “Later,” he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep.

His fingers trace absent patterns on your arm through the fabric of his hoodie, and you can feel him breathing in deeply, as if taking in the sight of you wrapped in something that belongs to him.

You nestle closer, and within minutes, his breathing becomes more even. Looking up, you find his eyes have drifted closed, his posture completely relaxed. You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. Even in sleep, his arm remains securely around you, keeping you close as if unwilling to let you go now that he’s found you this way—comfortable, content, and wrapped in his clothing.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The mission had been longer than expected, and you’re exhausted as you make your way back home. Zayne had returned from his shift a few hours ago, and you’ve been looking forward to seeing him after days apart. You’re wearing his jacket—the black one with the subtle white trim that you’d taken from his closet before leaving. It’s become a comfort object during your mission, the lingering scent of his cologne providing reassurance during stressful moments.

You stop at the corner store for snacks before finally unlocking the apartment door. The place is quiet but warm as you kick off your shoes and pad toward the living room.

You find Zayne on the couch with journals spread around him. He looks up as you enter, his eyes immediately locking onto his jacket draped over your frame. Given his preference for professional coats, his collection of casual jackets and hoodies is small and meticulously maintained—making the absence of even one immediately noticeable to someone as detail-oriented as him.

“So that’s where it went,” he says. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he sets aside his work, creating space beside him.

You drop down next to him with a tired sigh. “Found me out.”

Zayne reaches out, fingers brushing against the collar of his jacket where it meets your neck. The touch is gentle, almost reverent. “It suits you better than me,” he murmurs.

His hand moves to your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side. “Next time,” he says, voice low near your ear, “take more than one. You know I don’t mind.”

His arm remains around you, a subtle but clear indication that while you may have his jacket, he’s pleased to have you.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The gallery opening had been exhausting—too many people packed into too small a space, all of them wanting a piece of Rafayel’s attention. You’d smiled and nodded and played your part perfectly, but by the time you returned to his seaside home, you were completely drained.

Rafayel had stayed behind to handle some business with Thomas, insisting you go ahead without him. You’d grabbed one of his hoodies—the soft blue one with white pattern of waves—and changed into it the moment you got home. Now, curled up on the couch with the artsy duckie plushie he’d won for you clutched against your chest, you’d finally found peace in the quiet of the evening.

The sound of the door opening and closing barely registers as you drift between sleep and wakefulness. You vaguely hear the soft footsteps approaching, then a delighted sound that could only come from Rafayel.

“Oh, look at you,” he coos, his voice soft. “Absolutely precious.”

You hear the click of his phone camera and crack open one eye to see him standing above you, a fond expression on his face as he takes another photo to set it as his home screen later.

“Are you documenting my crime?” you mumble sleepily.

“I’m documenting perfection,” he corrects, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Move over a bit.”

You comply, and he squeezes onto the couch beside you, pulling you half onto his chest. His fingers thread through your hair, and you feel the tension in his body from the event slowly release.

“Did Thomas give you a hard time about leaving early?” you ask, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

“Thomas always gives me a hard time,” Rafayel replies with a dismissive wave. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

You snuggle closer, the artsy duckie plushie squished between you, and feel him press a kiss to the top of your head as you both settle into the comfortable silence.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Snow falls in thick flakes outside the window, blanketing the forest view in pristine white. You stand before the floor-to-ceiling glass, mesmerized by the winter snow cascading from the gloomy sky. Sylus’s dark jacket envelops you like a protective shell, the sleeves long enough that you can curl your fingers into them. It smells like him—a blend of expensive cologne and something uniquely his—and wearing it feels almost like being wrapped in his embrace.

You’ve been standing there for nearly twenty minutes, lost in thought, when you hear the door to the residence open and close. You don’t turn, knowing exactly who it is from the footsteps entering the room.

“Enjoying the view?” Sylus asks, his voice closer than you expected.

You glance over your shoulder to find him watching you with an expression that makes your heart rate quicken. His eyes track from your face down to the jacket you’re wearing.

“It’s peaceful,” you reply, turning back to the window. “Everything looks so quiet from up here.”

“Indeed,” he agrees, though you can tell from his reflection in the glass that he’s not looking at the snow at all. He moves to sit behind you, close enough that you can feel his warmth. “Though I must say, my jacket looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

You smile, watching his reflection. “It’s warm.”

“If it’s warmth you’re seeking,” Sylus says, his hands coming to rest lightly on your shoulders, “perhaps I could offer something more comforting than a piece of fabric?”

You turn to face him, still wrapped in his jacket. “Is that an offer or a command?”

His lips curve into that familiar smirk as he pulls you closer. “With you? Always an offer.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The DAA jacket is practically a relic now—Caleb hasn’t worn it in years, not since he became Colonel in the Farspace Fleet. But it still hangs in the closet of your shared place, and on the nights when he’s away on missions, you find yourself reaching for it.

Tonight is one of those nights. The bed feels too big, too empty without him, and the jacket is a poor substitute but better than nothing. You’ve wrapped yourself in it, breathing in the faint traces of his scent that somehow still cling to the fabric after all this time.

You’re reading through reports on your tablet when the door slides open unexpectedly. You look up, startled, to see Caleb standing in the doorway, still in his Fleet uniform, a day earlier than scheduled.

“Caleb! You weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow,” you say, sitting up straighter.

His eyes immediately zero in on the jacket you’re wearing, and a slow, teasing grin spreads across his face. “Well, well. What do we have here? A thief in the house?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “Hardly stealing when it’s been hanging untouched for years.”

Caleb fully enters the room and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to finger the fabric of the jacket’s collar. “I don’t know,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Looks like theft to me. I should probably report this.”

“I’ll give it back,” you offer, starting to shrug it off.

“Don’t you dare,” he says quickly, catching your hands with a grin. “It looks better on you anyway.” He pauses, then adds with mischief, “In fact, I think you should raid my entire closet. Take it all. Every last shirt and sock.”

You laugh, leaning forward to kiss him. “Welcome home, Caleb.”

“Home is wherever you are,” he replies, pulling you closer. “Stolen jacket and all.”

Based on this request.

How the LaDS men react to you leaving a note in their lunch

pairings: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x F!Reader(separate)

content: corny puns(i’m sorry), tiny bit suggestive, mostly fluff, mentions of meals being skipped in caleb’s

a/n: caleb’s and sylus’s a teensy bit longer bc i got carried away at end oopsies

Xavier

You and Xavier usually ate lunch together, be it after a mission or after training. Perks of being partners at work.

Today, however, was different.

Xavier had to join the analytics department for a debrief after a special solo mission.

He originally planned on flaking and leaving with you as soon as you had wrapped up your work.

But once you had persuaded him a bit with promises of spending the whole day together tomorrow and a long cuddle session tonight, he caved.

You patted his head as he was pouting at you and pressed a small box to his chest, before turning around and waving goodbye.

He barely registered the tupperware he was holding, as he longingly stared at your retrieving back.

Once you were out of sight, he looked at what exactly you had given him.

Taking in the silver box, he smiled to himself.

The corners of his lips turned upwards and he went to sit down on the nearest chair.

You expected him to eat it during a short break during the meeting, but he couldn’t wait that long, knowing you prepared something for him.

He was contemplating taking out his phone and telling you to come back and join him right now, eat the food you had made for him, together.

He stopped that train of thought, thinking to himself that he didn’t want to drag you back here.

With a slight shake of his head and sigh escaping his lips, he went to open the box.

The first thing he noticed was the amazing smell of whatever you had packed him, the second wasn’t the food but a little yellow note stuck to the roof of the lid.

“Hang in there, Xavie.

I’ll make it worth your while tonight ;)”

The tips of his ears turned red, he stared at the note before breathing out a chuckle.

You really knew how to motivate him, didn’t you?

Before he could linger on the note for too long, he heard a chipper voice behind him.

“Oh, hey Xavier! Mind if we join you?”

He saw Tara and Simone put their bags on the table he was sitting at.

He gave them a small nod of acknowledgement, immediately tuning them back out again after.

He hid the note in his pocket, thinking about how to repay you later.

Zayne

Zayne was used to you preparing his lunch for him, he considered you bringing him his lunch during his breaks as part of his work routine.

He loved getting to see you amid his packed schedule, finding a way to sneak in some extra time for you two to spend together.

Unfortunately, today you couldn’t drop by and bring it to him in person, since you had to go on a mission outside of town.

Instead, you had handed him his lunchbox this morning, kissing him on the cheek before heading out.

He usually looked forward to his break because he knew he’d be able to see you.

Today, that perk fell away, so once his break time rolled around, he kept on working on some reports.

Until he heard the notification sound he put specifically for you,

“Don’t forget to eat, Dr. Zayne!”

“I miss uuuu, can’t wait to see u later”

A small smile graced his lips, an expression you easily brought out of him.

“Take care of yourself. I’ll be alright, as long as you’ll return in one piece later.”

Once he saw you were offline again, he put his phone away, finally taking out the lunchbox you had prepared for him this morning.

He placed it on his desk, taking the lid off.

He immediately noticed the small sticky note you had left.

“I’m “nuts” about you ;D enjoy your break, my love.”

Zayne silently quirked a brow as he read the message you wrote for him.

He shook his head as a quiet laugh escaped him.

His face went back to its usual deadpan expression.

If anyone were to walk in, he’d appear the same as he usually did. You’re the only one who would’ve been able to make out his hidden amusement.

Before he went to eating, he quickly pressed the sticky note to the frame of the picture he had of you two on his desk.

He was looking forward to welcoming you home tonight.

Rafayel

Rafayel had been whining all morning.

He was being forced to meet up with some art brokers outside of Linkon.

He had come up with 10 different excuses and 7 different plans on how to get out of this, yet all of his attempts were shut down. By you.

Talk about betrayal.

You had spent the entire morning talking him into going, saying how it would benefit him and how he should just make Thomas’s job easier for once.

Why couldn’t you understand that he just wanted to spend as much time with you as he could!!!

The next best idea in his mind was coaxing you into coming along.

Too bad for him, you already had plans for the day.

“Just get going already, you big baby.”

You had said to him.

“The sooner you get there, the sooner you can come back. Probably.”

You paid no mind to his heart clenching pout(self proclaimed) and just pinched his cheeks.

Before he could attempt anything else, like tripping over a brush and pretending to have broken his back, or blowing up his car(who knew what lengths he was willing go to, just to get out of work? You certainly didn’t want to find out.) you pressed a chaste but sweet kiss to his lips.

“Have a good day, Rafayel. And be nice to Thomas!”

And before he knew it, you were out of the door.

A groan left his lips, as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

He was willing to go along with anything you had planned today, he just wanted to be with you a bit more.

Finally, wrapping up his sulking once he realised you weren’t coming back and he really did have to get going.

He grabbed his bag and left out the door you had disappeared out of, minutes before.

Fast forward a few hours later, he’d been sitting in some stuffy office, barely paying attention to what Thomas and the man sitting across from him were saying.

“Alright, let’s take five.”

At that, Rafayel perked up.

Immediately getting out of his chair and walking towards the door.

“Always nice doing business.”

Thomas gave him a pointed look,

“Rafayel, we aren’t done here yet. You better not take too long.”

The purple haired man hummed without looking back and left the building as quickly as he could.

While he knew Thomas was probably gonna think he left, as soon as he couldn’t find him inside, he didn’t care.

He got in his car and rested his head against the steering wheel.

He stretched and went to reach into his bag to grab his phone to text you, when he suddenly saw something he hadn’t noticed before.

There was a silver box sitting in his bag.

You sweet, cunning little thing.

He immediately pulled the lunchbox out, a look of intrigue in his eyes.

Of course, you wouldn’t just cruelly send him into hours of boring work, without rewarding him!

He took the lid off, being met with another sweet, sweet surprise.

Your handwriting immediately caught his attention.

“You’re doing amazing, baby!”

A chibi you doing a thumbs up next to the message,

and on the bottom you drew two stick figures holding hands, surrounded by hearts.

He chuckled quietly and if anyone told you about the lovesick look on his face as he stared at the tiny note, he would’ve sworn they were lying.

He reached back into his bag to grab his phone, snapping a picture of the note,

“seems like ur down bad for me lol”

You didn’t have to know about the goofy grin on his face as he ate whatever you had prepared.

Sylus

Whenever he could, Sylus would make sure you and him shared at least one meal together.

He knew, that due to your conflicting schedules, that wasn’t always possible.

By the time you’d wake up, Sylus’s day was slowly drawing to a close,

by the time you’d have lunch, Sylus would be fast asleep,

and by the time he’d wake up, you were finishing up the last of your work.

Yet he’d make an effort regardless.

Whether it be having breakfast, while you were eating your last meal of the day or keeping you company while he brought you breakfast, simultaneously getting ready to wind down after a night of work.

Obviously, that didn’t always work.

Sometimes you two would barely be able to see each other, missing one another due to your complicated relay race of a sleep schedule.

Today was one of those days.

Yesterday was your day off, but you had to get up early today to get to the Hunters Association on time, so you decided to catch up on some sleep and hit the hay early last night.

As Sylus had to get ready to leave, you had finished up your dinner.

Just as you got into the bedroom to call it a day, Sylus was heading out to tie up some loose ends.

With murmured declarations of love, you bid each other farewell. A quick kiss on the cheek, a soft peck on the lips and out the door he was and you were settling into bed.

Morning came rolling around, Sylus was taking longer than usual.

Before you knew it, you had to head out of the door, taking one of Sylus’s many cars to drive back to Linkon City,

not before sending him a quick text, though;

“I’ll get going now. Rest well, Sy!”

By the time he had gotten back to the base, you had long been gone.

He rubbed his eyes as he read your text.

Feeling groggy, he decided to skip his last meal and texted you back a good night message.

Once he had woken back up, he was half expecting you to be back, laying next to him but to his disappointment, you were no where in sight.

He headed to the kitchen as he checked the time.

5 pm. Surely you’d be coming back soon.

Sylus found Luke and Kieran lounging around the fridge and he quirked an eyebrow at them,

“You two usually don’t show your faces here, unless it’s time to eat.”

The twins looked at him, Luke scratching his neck and Kieran going back to looking around the kitchen,

“Well, boss…”

“Your bad luck struck again.”

“Very unfortunate, indeed.”

“Mhm, mhm!”

Sylus looked at them unimpressed, waiting for them to elaborate.

Luke and Kieran looked each other, silently trying to get the other to break the news to him.

“You see,”

“You might’ve just missed…”

“Miss hunter, boss-man.”

“Mhm, you totally missed her, boss.”

“She just left actually.”

Sylus could feel a headache forming, squinting his eyes at his henchmen.

“She was here? Why would she leave so soon, then?”

The twins shrugged in unison. Mumbling something about how unpredictable hunters were.

“She actually got here a few hours ago,”

“Said she didn’t wanna wake you.”

“Something about you needing the sleep.”

He heard one of them snicker, he couldn’t care enough to glare at the one who did.

Sylus ran a hand through his hair and a pointed look was enough to send the twins scurrying off.

He made a mental note to subtly complain to you about this later.

His mood souring after finding out he just missed you by a hair, he decided to have someone bring his breakfast up to his office, as he turned on his heel.

He spent the day in his office, working through a pile of reports and modifying Mephisto.

He sent you a few texts in between but gathered that you were busy, considering the lack of responses.

He was starting to think he shouldn’t have worked on Mephisto today, curious to see what you were up to, that was so much more important than answering his texts.

At around midnight, a knock resounded on his door.

“Come in.”

His hopes that it might just be you crushed, as he saw one of the twins walk in.

“Yo, boss-man, we were told to make sure you take a break. Instructions from the boss of all bosses.”

He placed a lunchbox on Sylus’s desk and disappeared as quickly as he had shown up.

Mephisto started cawing, reminiscing a laugh.

Sylus shut him up with a flicker of his gaze.

He reached for the black box and opened it.

His lips curled upwards into a half smirk as his eyes landed on the post-it note.

“The anticipation of seeing you later is driving me crazy.

Now, eat up!”

He could read you like an open book, even when you weren’t with him, yet having you be so open about your feelings made something inside of his chest bloom.

Even when you were busy, you still made sure to leave your mark on his day one way or another.

The soft look in his eyes was only ever reserved for you and he couldn’t wait to show it to you.

Don’t think he’ll forget about how you didn’t answer his texts, though.

Caleb

Growing up, Caleb always packed your school lunch.

He would cook for you whenever you were home.

And even when he wasn’t home, he’d make sure you were fed one way or another.

That habit never stopped as you two got older.

He loved cooking for you, it’s the reason he learned how to make all of your favourite dishes.

You always wanted to return the favour but a good moment never presented itself.

From starting college and becoming a pilot to becoming the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, his discipline only increased and so did his love for you.

Just when on earth could you find the time to make food for a man who got up at the ass crack of dawn to work out and make you a nutritious breakfast.

Well, once you found out that this same disciplined man skipped his own meals in favour of getting his work done, you decided to step your game up.

You had it all planned out, you’d take a few days off without telling him, meal prepping for him and getting to his apartment in Skyhaven without telling him.

As you arrived at his place and unlocked the door, stepping inside, your phone vibrated.

“Whatcha up to, pips? ;)”

You squinted around the room trying to see if he had any cameras inside.

Arriving at the conclusion that he probably(hopefully) just got a notification from his door being unlocked, you texted him back.

“Got the day off, gonna wait here until you come back.”

You felt your phone vibrate a few more times after you tucked it back into your pocket, you made your way to his fridge.

Wishing he could see your face of absolute disbelief at the sight of his pathetic fridge.

Empty. Entirely empty, aside from a few apples.

Who lives like this?

Does this man live off of apples?!

You placed all the tupperware you had prepared ingredients in, in his fridge.

Some rice, boiled veggies and proteins.

You’d have to give him a good talking to about this later.

A weird feeling settled in your chest, realising he only really takes good care of himself when you’re around, which is also just a by-product of him taking care of you.

With a sigh you closed his fridge, one more lunchbox remaining at the bottom of your bag.

Still ignoring the messages he had sent you, you left his apartment again.

Caleb was lounging in his office, he still had some time before he had to attend another meeting with the other Colonels and their subordinates.

He was wondering why you weren’t answering him, he was about to check the cameras around his apartment, when a knock resounded in his office.

He put his phone away, knowing he was about to get busy again.

-

His authoritative steps echoing through the emptying hallway.

The nurses and soldiers hurrying off after seeing his annoyed expression.

He paid them no mind, as he unlocked the door to his office.

As soon as he stepped inside, he took his hat off, running a hand through his hair.

Caleb couldn’t care less what the other people working there thought of him.

He gets his work done and he gets it done well.

Nothing else mattered, yet he couldn’t help but feel annoyed at these stuck up old men who dared to doubt his capabilities, be it out of sheer jealous or fear.

They got another thing coming, if they think they could mess with him.

He doesn’t take lightly to his duties, and he doesn’t take lightly to protecting you.

You. That’s who all this was about.

He would put up with about anything, as long as it meant you’d be safe.

Because you were everything to him, his sweet pipsq-

He lost his train of thought as he spotted the silly lunchbox sitting on his desk.

A pattern of red and green apples on it, decorated with stickers that had started to wear off.

It’s your old lunchbox.

He looked around his office, a grin finding its way onto his lips.

You’ve always been a sly one.

He sat down in his chair, inspecting the childish box.

As he took a look inside he was hit by the smell of braised chicken wings.

But he immediately lost interest in the food as soon as he saw the note you had snuck inside of the box.

“Learned from the best.

Eat well and rest well, Caleb.

Or you’ll have to face my fury >:(“

He chuckled to himself, you managed to get into his office undetected, just to drop off some lunch for him?

Caleb loved taking care of you.

It’s what he lived for, but he couldn’t lie.

He liked the feeling of you looking out for him as well.

You always manage to make all his doubts and worries disappear.

He’ll have to get creative with thanking you later.

Forget-Me-Nots

Xavier x reader

summary: Both you and xavier take time being extremely domestic, caring for the plants he has.

word count: 1.3K

masterlist!

Usually during this time, it was easy to laze around with Xavier, both of you lulled by the warm sun rays, the sound of chirping outside of the window providing a cozy feeling. But alas, the plants out in the balcony needed some caring for. Wilted leaves scattered across the floor, and soil that needed to be hydrated. 

You sat there staring at the plants, taking in the breeze from the outside when all of a sudden you heard the sound of the screen door sliding open.

“Are you just gonna sit there and stare at them?” Xavier ruffled your hair, a soft smile gracing his lips as he took a seat next to you. Pouting you fixed your hair, “I was waiting for you.” Xavier chuckled, placing down the watering can on the floor and handing you some gloves. “We might need to re-pot the forget-me-nots” he said softly, leaning to the side to grab the brand new pot. You looked at him curiously, grabbing his arm to see it closer. It was round in size, the glossy deep green color shimmering slightly in the sun. “pretty” you mumbled, leaning your cheek on his arm. He hummed, setting it down and grabbing the older pot. Sitting up, you slipped on the gloves, grabbing it from him, while he opened a new bag of soil. You set the pot down on your lap, watching the small blue flowers sway in the sun, each of them standing proudly. 

“Do you think they’ll like their new home?” you asked, your finger brushing against one of the petals. “I’m sure they’ll love it.” Smiling you began to push against the soil, loosening it up in order to free it without ripping any roots. Finally pulling it out, Xavier held the new pot in front of you, softly putting it in. He set it down, sprinkling more soil on top before handing you the watering can. “I don’t think I'm ready for this much responsibility.” you said, humor glittering in your eyes as you looked at him. Shaking his head softly, he smiled “I trust you.” 

Taking the watering can from his hands you tilted it slightly in front of the flowers, watching as it showered them. The soft sound of the water sprinkling around. Xavier got up and knelt down in front of the other plants, shears in hand. Clipping away at the dead leaves. You set down the watering can, picking up the newly potted flowers and setting them down in their old place. Smiling as you gazed down at them. Arms wrapped around your waist from behind, Xavier leaning his head on your shoulder. 

“We still have to clean up the leaves.” you said, melting into his embrace. He nuzzled your cheek, “We can do that later.”

A gentle smile graced your lips before slowly pulling his arms away. Turning around you looked up at him, softly placing a palm on his cheek. “If we finish this now, we can get some snacks and watch a movie.” He sighed, leaning his forehead on yours, “Okay.” pressing a small kiss on your lips. He pulled away, “Let’s hurry then.” grabbing the broom that was leaning against the wall. You sweeped while he held the dustpan, each of the leaves being thrown away. Both of you working silently, taking pleasure in these serene moments where you were just in the comfort of each other. Finally picking up the last of the leaves, Xavier quickly went to toss them in compost. Coming back and reaching to grab your cheeks, stopping him, “Let’s wash our hands first.” you grinned, pushing them down. He pouted slightly before agreeing. Walking inside and closing the door, you made your way to the sink in the kitchen, Xavier trailing behind you like a lost puppy.

Standing next to you, he looked down before putting his hand out, waiting for you to pump some soap. You side-eyed him, “Does the poor baby need help washing his hands?” you teased. The tips of his ears turned red, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “it’s closer to you.” he mumbled. Eyes softening, you reached for the bottle, pumping the soap. The fresh smell of citrus wafted into your nose, putting some into your own hands. The only sound that could be heard was the running water, you bumped your hip against his lightly. He turned to you, running his hands under the water. Booping his nose with some of the soap in your hands you giggled, Quickly washing off the soap and turning off the faucet. 

   “Where do you think you’re going?” he teased as he saw you try to run away, grabbing your waist from behind and pulling you against him. Giggling, you tried pulling away, “Xavier, we need to go get our snacks.” you said trying to be serious. 

You felt him shake his head behind you, burrowing his face into your neck inadvertently cleaning his nose with your sweater. “We don’t need to do anything, we can just order delivery.” his breath tickling you. “Xavierrr…” you whined, turning around in his arms you gazed into his blue eyes,  huffing before smiling softly. “Okay, I'm lazy anyways.” 

He pressed you flush against him, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. “We really have to order something star.” you mumbled against his lips, pressing your hands against his chest. He tightened his arms, lowering his head down, brushing his lips against your ear, “we’re still watching a movie right?” he mumbled. You chuckled, “That’s if you don’t fall asleep like you always do.” pulling his arms off you, grabbing your phone and plopping yourself down on the couch. 

“Should we get the usual?” you asked, he settled down next to you, laying down on his side and resting his head on your thighs. You smiled down at him, running your fingers through his silver hair. He nodded, eyes fluttering closed. The warmth of the sun, shining through the windows. Basking the both of you, typing away at your phone, scrolling through the various options. While Xavier slowly let himself succumb to the comfort of your presence, lips parting slightly as he fell deeper into sleep. 

A gentle smile graced your lips, lightly brushing his fringe away from his face. Putting your phone down next to you. Eyes scanning his face, your fingertip brushing the shape of his eyebrows, following the slope of his nose and then finally reaching his pink lips. Running your thumb across his bottom lip. Mesmerized by him and not noticing he opened one eye to peek at you. The corner of his lips lifting slightly, amused. 

“See something you like?” 

Pretending to think about it, looking off into the distance. “Hmm, I don’t know.” a teasing smile playing at your lips. He glared playfully, sitting up and squishing your cheeks together. 

“Rethink your answer.” 

“I rethink that I might have to go see Charlie to compare.” smirking at him, he furrowed his brows, eyes darkening. He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a fervid kiss. His hand cupping the back of your neck, tilting his head slightly, “You’re not going anywhere.” he mumbled against your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, gripping his sweater, kissing him back with the same intensity. His tongue brushed your bottom lip, lightly prodding them open. You obliged, sighing softly against his lips. 

Xavier deepened the kiss, pushing you down onto the couch. He pulled away, kissing down your neck. Your breathing heavy, reaching up to place your hand on his hair. 

“Any changes?” he mumbled, lightly biting the space between your collarbone. 

“I love you Xavier.” you breathed out, meeting his eyes as they softened with affection. Pulling him up for another kiss, running your hands down his back. He cupped your cheek, pulling away to look down at you. His thumb brushing against your cheek. 

“I love you too.”