You Drive Me Insane // Xavier X Reader

Imagine the six days scenario with the boys, but it turns out the mission was supposed to be done in one day, and the reader went through he'll to get out and is met with this reaction? Imagine when she finally tells the reason she was away, would they regret their actions? How would they react? Don't know if if you take requests, if you do, consider this one.

If not, I am glad I got to read this masterpiece, thank you ❤️

Thank you so much for the request — I absolutely do take them, and I really appreciate this one! ❤️

I tried so hard to keep it short, since the “Six Days” theme has already been thoroughly explored... but, well, I failed spectacularly 😅 So here’s another deep-dive into a what-if/imagine scenario — one that can be read as either an alternate branch of the original storyline or... something else entirely. I’ll let you decide 😉

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it — truly means the world to me!

I’ve received so many requests for continuations — especially for Xavier — and yes, his already has a full-length, dramatic follow-up (because how could I not?). This one here is more of a request-based scenario, but it can absolutely be read as its own kind of continuation. Think of it as an alternate path the story could have taken. (One day I’ll write full versions for all the boys… but for now, consider this a little taste.) Hope you enjoy — and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! 💬💔 Here are the links to the previous parts in the series, in case you want to revisit or catch up:

Original Post | Xavier's Story

CW/TW: Psychological trauma, PTSD themes, Forced isolation, Violence / combat injuries, Mentions of starvation, Emotional manipulation, Past emotional abuse, Mental breakdowns, Intense guilt / self-blame, Brief implications of suicidal ideation (in self-sacrificing context), Adult intimacy (emotionally driven, not graphic)

The Truth — What Really Happened

It was supposed to be one day.

A clean, strategic infiltration. In and out. No complications. No room for error.

But no one accounted for the Wanderer.

No one predicted that the target—some nameless, faceless shade masquerading as a rogue—would be more than just dangerous. That he'd found a way to twist Protocore into something ancient and volatile. That he would trigger a fracture in time itself.

In a single blink, the world split. You fell into it. And the loop began.

Six days for them. Six weeks for you.

You lived, died, and bled your way through the same endless day.

Again. And again. And again.

Locked in a cycle of violence, decay, and despair—while everyone else moved on without you.

You clawed your way back—half-starved, half-mad, barely remembering your name. And when you finally escaped the loop, stepped back into their world, broken and still breathing—

They were waiting.

Angry. Unforgiving. And utterly, terrifyingly unaware.

Until now. Until you tell them.

💛 Xavier

It only felt right to write Xavier’s piece after the continuation I posted earlier. The original scene stood strong on its own, but this one—this is what came next. The moment after the storm. The truth laid bare. A quiet, alternate branch of the story, or perhaps a natural consequence of the one that already unfolded. Either way—I’m glad it found its voice.

You don’t ease into it. You sit across from him in the quiet of the morning, sunlight creeping up the walls like it’s unsure of its welcome, and you tell him.

Not six days.

Six weeks.

A loop. A fracture in time. An engineered nightmare that left you bleeding against the same hours, over and over, clawing through shadow just to return to him. Alone. Lost. Dying.

Xavier doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

But something in him breaks.

Not loudly. Not violently. It’s quieter than breath. Slower than thought. His fingers slip from the edge of the cup in his hand, and it falls. Shatters against the floor with a sound so sharp it startles the silence—ceramic shards skittering like teeth across stone.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

He stands, but not with purpose. With instinct. His body moves before his mind can catch it. He turns, walks toward the far wall like he’s searching for air, like the room is suddenly too small to hold what’s happening inside his chest.

You rise—hesitant, aching—but he lifts a hand to stop you. Not cruelly. Gently. Like he’s afraid that if you touch him, he’ll fall apart in a way he can’t recover from.

He presses his palm to the wall. Just one. The other curls into a fist at his side.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he says at last, voice raw in a way you’ve never heard from him. “And I punished you for it.”

He turns back.

And there’s nothing left of the man who told you to ask again in six days. Nothing of the controlled strategist, the ever-collected ghost of war. His jaw is clenched too tight. His eyes are glassed over with fury—but not at you.

At himself.

“I accused you. I mocked you. I dismissed what little strength you had left and threw my pain in your face like it was the only thing that mattered.”

He crosses the room again, slower now. Purposeful. His hands don’t tremble, but his voice does.

“I let you stand there, in front of me, broken... and I thought I was the one who’d suffered.”

He kneels.

Not dramatically. Not for effect.

He lowers himself before you like a man who no longer believes he has the right to stand. His gaze stays down. One hand reaches inside his coat, and when it returns, you see it:

A blade.

Polished. Ritual-cut. Ceremonial. One of the old ones—etched with language you don’t recognize. But you understand that these words mean oath, atonement, belonging.

He offers it to you in silence. Flat in his palm.

“Where I’m from,” he says, quietly, “a wound like this is paid in blood. A betrayal like mine is not survived—it is surrendered to.”

Your hands don’t move. Your breath barely does.

“If you want justice,” he whispers, “take it.”

You stare at him. The weight of the blade between you. The weight of everything.

And then—slowly, gently—you take it from his hand.

Only to let it fall.

The sound is soft this time. Barely a whisper of steel on floorboards.

Then you fall with it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your tears fall freely.

“I don’t want justice,” you breathe into the curve of his neck. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, arms banding around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder like he’s trying to memorize what survival feels like.

When he finally speaks, it’s not confession. It’s surrender.

“After what you endured… after what I made you endure alone… I don’t know what anything means anymore. Not the mission. Not the cause. Not the point.”

You pull back, just enough to see him.

His eyes are hollow with grief. But deeper still—something flickers.

“I thought I understood devotion,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “But I was wrong. What I gave you wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t love. It was pride. Control. Fear, dressed in logic. And I used it to wound you when you were already bleeding.”

His jaw tightens. His gaze falls.

“I was cruel.”

It’s not said for effect. There’s no tremble in his voice, no self-indulgent break.

It’s simply true.

“And I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is soft. Dense. Not empty.

You brush your fingers across his cheek, tilt his face toward yours.

“I forgive you,” you say. Steady. Clear. “Because not everything in this world is black and white. And I understand why you did what you did. I know the shape of your fear.”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye. His breath catches.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt you. Or to punish you. I told you because…” You pause. Your voice thickens with truth. “Because you’re the only one I trust with all of it. The only one who would understand. Who wouldn’t fall apart under the weight of what I’ve lived through.”

You lean forward.

Kiss him. Gently. Not desperate. Not demanding.

Just there. Warm. Real. Home.

Your hands slide up to his temples, fingers massaging slow circles at his hairline, coaxing the tightness from his brow. You feel it—inch by inch—how he softens beneath your touch.

“Let it go,” you whisper. “Don’t carry this weight. Not for me.”

He exhales, shaky. Silent.

You hold him tighter.

“You are my light, Xavier. You illuminate the path. You anchor me when everything else turns to ash. And in that place—those six weeks—do you know what kept me alive?”

Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me. That’s what kept me breathing.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Just rests his forehead against yours. One hand moves to your chest, flattening over your heart like he’s grounding himself with your pulse.

Then—softly, firmly, as if carving the words into stone:

“You will never carry pain alone again. Not while I draw breath.”

No grand vow. No poetry.

Just fact.

And somehow—that’s what makes it a promise.

💗 Rafayel

The morning sun slips in like melted gold, tracing the edge of the sheets, catching the soft arch of your cheekbone. You lie half-curled beneath the covers, his T-shirt clinging to your body like second skin.

And in that sacred hush before the world stirs—you speak.

Not because he demands it. Not because you owe it.

But because somewhere between the echo of his heartbeat and the way his arms wrapped around you like the only anchor you had left—you remembered how to breathe.

You tell him.

About the mission. The Wanderer. The fracture in time.

About the loop.

How six days for him were six weeks for you.

How you woke up every day inside the same nightmare. How you died. How you clawed your way back. Alone. Over and over.

And when you fall silent, your voice scraped raw from remembering—he still doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you.

Like the sun never rose until he saw your face again.

His hand brushes your cheek, feather-light. His voice—when it comes—is almost a whisper.

“Are you ready to share the rest?”

You blink. “The rest?”

“The weight of it,” he says. “Not the facts. Not the fight. The dark. The ache. The part that still won’t let you sleep.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle for a man like him. It trembles with caution, as if even asking is a violation.

You hesitate. The memories flicker like shadows across your mind—distorted, aching, sharp.

“No,” you answer truthfully. “Maybe not ever.”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

He nods once. No protest. No press.

Then his voice, lighter this time—almost a whisper:

“Then I’ll just have to help you forget.”

And he does.

He lifts you carefully, as if your body might shatter beneath his hands. You expect the weight of a blanket, but instead—he wraps you in something else entirely.

A covering like seafoam. It feels like nothing you’ve ever touched—gossamer, weightless, but cool and smooth against your skin. A whisper of silk and tide.

“It's from home,” he murmurs, adjusting it carefully over your shoulders. “Woven from the ocean’s first breath. They say it keeps sorrow out.”

Then—he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the kitchen with quiet reverence, as if this moment is sacred.

He sets you down on the marble countertop and kisses your knee.

Then he starts making coffee.

He hums as he moves—something aimless and tuneless and purely him. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of roasted beans and vanilla settle around you.

And then—

“So,” he says casually, not looking up, “a cat broke into the studio last night.”

You blink. “A cat?”

He nods solemnly. “Orange. Loud. Looked like he owned the place. Knocked over three canvases and nearly drank my turpentine.”

You raise a brow. “And naturally, you assumed this was my doing.”

“Who else would weaponize cuteness to such chaotic effect?”

You laugh—quiet but real. “I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” he agrees, turning to face you with a soft smile. “But I do suspect you’re still hoping I’ll change my mind about cats.”

You sip your coffee. “I might be.”

Later, the bath is warm, the water laced with something lavender and soft. He sits behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his arms a steady weight around your ribs.

His fingers move slowly—massaging your shoulders, your forearms, your palms, like he’s trying to erase every echo of pain from your body with touch alone.

You both talk, but nothing heavy. Just stories. Old memories. Little things. The shape of the moon that night. The smell of burnt sugar in his favorite gallery. How he once mistook a mannequin for a person and apologized to it for five minutes.

You laugh again, softer this time. And it makes something in him melt.

He wraps you in the softest robe he can find. Carries you again—this time to the bedroom. The ocean glows outside, waves catching the last of the sun like pearls tossed across the horizon.

But he doesn’t stop there.

“Come,” he says, offering a hand. “Tea. Sunset. Company far superior to mine.”

You smile. Follow.

And when you step onto the veranda—there it is.

A small white basket. A red ribbon.

And inside—

A snow-colored kitten, curled like a pearl in a nest, blinking up at you with impossibly blue eyes.

You freeze.

Turn to him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, just slightly. Nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for mockery. For rejection.

You blink again. “You—Raf, you hate cats.”

He exhales through his nose. “I fear them. Different thing.”

Your eyes shimmer.

He moves toward you slowly, hands lifted in surrender.

“I wanted to make you smile,” he says simply. “That’s all. Just—smile. Like you used to. Before I—” He swallows.

He crouches down before you. One hand comes up to gently stroke the kitten. The other finds your knee.

His eyes lift to yours—and there’s no performance left in him now. Just Rafayel. Just the man beneath the glitter.

“I was so awful to you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say it wasn’t that bad. I know what I am when I’m scared. I threw wine over grief and laughter over longing because I didn’t know what else to do. I ruined canvases with your name on my tongue and strangers in my house, and the whole time—I just wanted you to walk through that door.”

His fingers tighten on your leg.

“And when you did—when you came back—I was so full of rage at the idea you’d left me, that I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

He breathes. One hand comes up, presses lightly to your ankle.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. Any of it. You. The right to hold your hand. To be the one who touches you when you’re tired. Who makes you laugh. Who paints your name into the ocean.”

You slide your fingers into his curls, threading gently through the soft waves.

And he stills. Like he’s afraid to move.

You whisper, “I never wanted perfect. I wanted you.”

He exhales.

“I swear,” he says, softly now, firmly, “on every color I’ve ever touched—never again. I’ll never put my pride above your heart. I’ll never leave you alone in the dark I made.”

Then—he leans forward. Presses his forehead to your knee.

The kitten meows softly, curling into the basket.

And finally—you smile.

Because this?

This is home.

💙 Zayne

You expected something.

A tremor. A breath. A word. Anything.

Instead, Zayne listened. Like a doctor reviewing a chart. Like a man auditing loss.

He didn’t speak when you finished. He simply nodded—once—and turned away, reaching for the drawer by the bedside as though the moment hadn’t cracked the very floor beneath his feet.

His hands, always precise, always godlike in their stillness, carried a faint tremble now. Just at the edges. So minor you might’ve doubted your own eyes, if you didn’t know how obsessively exact they always were.

“I asked,” he said, adjusting a monitor. His voice was quiet. Neutral. Not for you—for himself. “I asked if you’d caught a cold.”

He finished adjusting the drip, typed something into the tablet. Still no eye contact. Still no softness in his voice. But the line of his shoulders was off. A degree too low. A breath too far from centered.

Then—he turned back to you.

His gaze met yours at last. And though his voice didn’t change, the words did.

“I would like to conduct a full diagnostic. Neurological, cellular, metabolic.” A pause. Then softer, with exquisite restraint: “Please allow me.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted him, but because you recognized the plea underneath the logic. He wasn’t doing this for the data. Not really.

You nodded.

And he breathed again.

He worked in silence. Gentle. Thorough. Every sensor placed with hands that barely touched your skin. Each test executed with a reverence that spoke more than words ever could. He treated you like something sacred—something already broken that could not, must not, fracture further.

When sleep finally came, it swallowed you whole.

And when you opened your eyes again—the world was still. Dim. The sterile light of early morning filtered through the blinds.

Zayne sat in the chair beside your bed. Unmoved.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

The same shirt. The same faint stain near the cuff from yesterday’s blood draw. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curved over his mouth, gaze lost in some calculation too heavy for paper.

When he noticed you stir, his posture didn’t shift. But his eyes warmed—just barely. Just enough.

“I cancelled my procedures for the week,” he said simply. “Transferred patients to colleagues. For now, my only case is you.”

You blinked, silent. Then your gaze drifted down, to the low table by the bedside.

There, lined with the kind of hesitant care that comes from someone unused to gifts, sat a modest row of familiar things. A bouquet of white jasmine, fresh and fragrant. Two of your favorite candies in delicate wrappers. And—absurdly, heartbreakingly—three new plush toys, small and soft and so clearly chosen by someone who’d spent an agonizing amount of time in the gift shop second-guessing every decision.

Your heart folded inward.

“Am I dying?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, when it came, was soft and absolute.

“I won’t allow that.”

A long silence passed.

Then you shifted—carefully, your muscles aching—and reached for him.

“Come here,” you murmured.

For a moment, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because some part of him still didn’t believe he deserved the invitation. But he came. And when he lay beside you on the narrow couch, his body held a tension that didn’t ease until your head rested on his shoulder.

He stayed still. Let you move first. Let you curl against him the way you needed. His hand hovered over your back, uncertain, until you nudged it gently into place.

Only then did he hold you.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

But with the kind of quiet conviction that said he would stay as long as it took.

You felt his breath in your hair before you heard his voice.

“I don’t pray,” he said, low, clinical as ever. “I believe in medicine. In numbers. In protocols.”

A pause. His fingers brushed your spine, feather-light.

“But if you hadn’t come back... I would’ve made an exception.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because some things, even with Zayne, are understood in silence.

And in that silence, held against the rhythm of his heartbeat, you felt it clearly: you were no longer his patient.

You were his entire world.

❤️ Sylus

For a moment after you speak, the room holds its breath. So does he.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t demand proof or press for detail. He simply stands there, stone-still, with your words unraveling him from the inside out. The way you say it—quiet, unshaking, without accusation—is somehow worse than if you’d screamed.

His gaze drifts over you then, and you feel the moment the veil lifts.

It’s in his eyes first—how they widen, flicker, and fixate. He takes in the shadows beneath yours, the pallor of your skin, the hollowness in your cheeks. His breath catches when he sees how your clothes hang looser than before. How your hands tremble faintly, barely perceptible unless one knows you too well.

And Sylus knows you.

His chest rises once, sharp and shallow. Then he moves.

Not fast. Not sudden.

But with purpose.

The next second, he’s in front of you, reaching—his fingers brush your jaw, feather-light, as if afraid that even the weight of his touch might bruise. He doesn’t speak as he leads you gently—gently, from a man whose hands have broken bones—into the nearest chair. One knee hits the ground beside you. He opens your jacket with slow precision, not to expose, but to check. To see. To know.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like gravel sliding beneath steel. His fingers glide down your arm, finding the sharp edges of bone where softness used to be. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, already rising.

He moves through the room like a storm with no wind—silent, but charged. Opens drawers. Pulls out clean clothes, a blanket, a glass of water. Then he’s back at your side, crouching again, one arm draped over your lap like a bridge between his fury and your exhaustion.

His hand wraps gently around your ankle, thumb pressing lightly against the bone there as he stares at it like it personally accuses him.

“I told them to take you.” His voice is lower now. Hoarse. “Told them to scare you. Make a point.”

He looks up at you. And for once, his face is completely unguarded.

“I hit you.”

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t brutal. Not for someone like him.

But it was enough.

His voice falters, only slightly.

“And then I said I wouldn’t look for you.”

He exhales, and it’s not a breath—it’s a confession.

“That was the worst one, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Out of all of it. That’s the one that stayed.”

Your silence says enough.

And something in him breaks again—quietly, like a structure folding inward with no one left to hold it up. His forehead presses lightly to your knee, his arm tightening around your thigh. You feel him breathe you in, like scent alone might bring you back from the half-place you escaped.

“I should’ve known the second I touched you that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it on your face.” His voice cracks, just once. “But I was so angry. So fucking angry I couldn’t feel anything but the space where you weren’t.”

He pulls back. Looks at you again—slowly, steadily. And something inside him hardens, not with rage, but resolution.

“You’re not lifting a hand again. Not for food. Not for water. Not for anything. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to fix this—you—with my own hands, piece by piece.”

And when he stands, it’s not the usual slow menace or calculated power.

It’s reverent.

He lifts you—not like someone injured. Like something sacred. And when he carries you out of the room, wrapped in warmth and silence, there is no doubt in your mind:

Sylus will not let go again.

Not even if time itself tries to take you.

💜 Caleb

You aren’t even halfway through when it hits him.

Not like a punch. Not like a wound.

Like an organ failing.

He blinks once. Twice. And then nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

Then, quietly—almost absently—he mutters, “I’ll resign.”

You look up, startled, and the absurdity punches out of you in a short, cracked laugh.

It’s the wrong moment. Too sharp, too bitter. But it slices through the tension like a scalpel.

And still—he doesn't move.

His hands press against the table, white-knuckled. Not to steady himself—he isn’t swaying. He’s rigid. Locked. Like something in him has calcified to hold him upright.

“I’m not fit to lead,” he says, voice flat, low, scorched. “Not when I see betrayal in the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

Whatever breath of amusement you had left dissolves instantly.

“I didn’t just fail as someone who was supposed to protect you,” he adds. “I failed as your—” He stops. Chokes it down. His jaw clenches so hard you can hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “As your Caleb.”

And then—he moves.

Quick, purposeful. Gone in a flash. You hear the kettle filling, the sharp click of a drawer, the dull thud of something fragile hitting the counter too hard. The way he clutches at control would be laughable if it weren’t so violent.

Then the bathwater starts.

Hot. Too hot. He’s not measuring anything. Just pouring. He throws open the cabinet, snatches towels, drops one, curses.

When he returns—his phone is in hand. “I’ll call Dr. Navik. I want a full neurocardiac scan, and we need to rule out—”

He stops. Mid-sentence. Thumb poised over the screen.

You don’t say a word. You just watch as something slows in him. As if time, for once, is merciful.

He lowers the phone. Turns toward you.

His voice—when it comes—isn't clipped or cold or distant. It's frighteningly gentle.

“Pip-squeak.”

He kneels before you, as if he’s afraid standing over you might shatter what little is left between you.

When he reaches out, it’s so slow. So reverent. The back of his fingers graze your cheekbone, barely there. Not because he doubts you—but because he doubts himself.

“How do you actually feel?” he whispers. “Not what I can fix. Not what the scans will say. Just you.”

You breathe. Only once. It shakes.

“Like roadkill,” you murmur. Then softer, almost smiling: “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt. And sleep. Maybe a week of it.”

Your faint attempt at a smile breaks him.

Not loudly. Not outwardly. He doesn’t cry. But something in his face folds in on itself, like it’s suddenly too heavy to wear. He draws a slow, trembling breath.

“I accused you,” he says, and now his voice is wrong. Hoarse. Quiet. Dismantled. “I accused you of being with someone else. After you went through six weeks of hell.”

You try to speak. He doesn’t let you.

“I thought you left me,” he says, and this time his voice cracks—just barely, but it’s there. A faultline in steel. His eyes are on the floor now, unfocused, as if he’s speaking to ghosts.

“I believed you would.”

His breath falters, like the truth is costing him oxygen.

“That it made sense. That I wasn’t enough.”

A pause. His throat works hard around the next words.

“Or worse—too much.”

His hand curls into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white. Not from anger. From restraint. From the effort not to collapse under the weight of everything he’s never said.

“That you’d finally find someone who doesn’t smother you with love that borders on obsession.”

He shifts, like his own skin is too tight. His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before he forces them open again, forces himself to keep looking at you—even if it kills him.

“Someone who wouldn’t try to chain you close,” he whispers, “just because he’s too selfish to breathe without you.”

He looks at you now—really looks—and the devastation in his gaze is endless.

His voice breaks on the last word.

“Someone who wasn’t… me.”

And for a moment, he’s not a soldier. Not a leader. Not even a man.

He’s just Caleb. That boy who loved you before he had language for it. And who never stopped. Even when it ruined him.

His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“I interrogated you. Like a stranger. Like a traitor. And all the while you were trapped—alone, dying, fighting—and I was worried about your silence in my bed.”

A breath. And another. Like he’s drowning in air.

“I loved you before I even knew what that word meant,” he whispers. “I carried it for years, swallowed it, starved it. I told myself it was wrong. Forbidden. And the moment I finally had you—really had you—I destroyed it with my own hands.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not until your fingers find his.

Then he shudders. And looks up.

“You always forgave me,” he says, voice breaking now. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. But this time… if you don’t. If you can’t…”

His hand trembles in yours.

“…I’ll understand.”

You shake your head. Just once.

And in that second—he folds into you, arms curling around your waist, forehead pressed to your stomach like a prayer he doesn’t believe he deserves to say out loud.

When he finally carries you to the bath, it’s not in silence. He keeps murmuring things—small things, promises, broken confessions, names only he calls you. He doesn’t try to be strong. He only tries to be there.

And when you’re finally in bed again, drowsy and warm, you find him already beside you. Fully clothed, facing the ceiling, his hand resting on the sheets between you like a lifeline.

You whisper his name.

He turns his head, eyes dim in the dark.

You reach for him, and he comes to you instantly, without hesitation. He lies down beside you, and when you press your head to his chest, he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in years.

His hand strokes your hair once.

And then, quiet—so quiet it almost isn’t real—

“I’ll never be the same.”

You don’t respond.

Because you both know it’s true.

And because you both know he doesn’t want to be.

nightlight.

xavier [沈星回] + female reader

synopsis. you have a wet dream.

genre & contents. 18+! MDNI! pure smut, porn no plot…, threesome (lol), oral (receiving + giving), p in v, established relationship. wc; 1.2k+

author's note. um… i don't even know how to explain this one. the idea just popped into my mind and i had to write it before i exploded. enjoy <3

Gloved hands caress your inner thigh slowly.

Your eyes flutter, a soft sigh escaping your bitten lips. His fingers hook onto the waistband of your sleep shorts, pulling them down in one swift motion. Your back arches off the bed, feeling his breath dangerously close to your wetness.

“I’ve barely touched you, angel,” he moans softly, hiking your legs over his shoulders. The white jacket he wears is cold against your warm skin. You can’t find the words to speak, only gasping in response when he pulls your panties to the side.

His hands grip your thighs; a tender, slow flick of his tongue that makes you thrust your hips up, entirely too impatient with his lack of urgency. He chuckles lowly at your shameless need. Another agonizing swipe of his tongue, and your hands come up to grip his silver hair.

“Nnngh— s-stop teasing m-me.” you plead, looking at his blue eyes, adorned by an ornate mask. His eyes glimmer with the moonlight seeping through your bedroom window.

“But I like hearing you beg for me.” he whispers, and you can feel every word against your dripping cunt. You sigh, making your frustration known. But you sense it only serves to indulge him.

“P-please,” you implore once again, this time his fingers coming up to toy with you.

“Mmm,” his gaze is heavy, admiring the sight before him. “Okay, angel. You know I can’t resist you.”

He steadies you, lapping at your dripping folds like a man starved. You’re writhing, moaning and pulling at his strands. He’s relentless, holding you down in place as he guides you towards your sweet release. You’re close, so close—

“Y/N?”

You still, turning towards your bedroom door where the sound of your boyfriend’s voice was heard. Your eyes widen, choking on your words.

“X-xavier?!” you gasp, coming up onto your elbows. You stare at him in disbelief, turning back to the man in between your legs. How… how could it be…?

Xavier walks towards the bed, hand coming to hold the back of your head. His face is inches away, pink lips tempting you. He’s completely covering your vision, but a small kiss to your thigh reminds you of the other him.  

Lumiere.

“So greedy,” Xavier whispers, pulling your head back. “You really need two of me?”

“I…” The words die on your tongue as the man below you hits a particular spot with his tongue.

“I can please you just fine.”

Xavier’s eyes darken, jaw clenching. He pulls you in, lips crashing against yours in a fervorous kiss. You moan, melting into his touch. It’s easy to lose yourself with him; you don’t even notice the absence between your legs until another hand grabs your jaw.

You barely have time to register what’s happening, Lumiere’s lips replacing Xavier’s. You wonder how they could feel the same but be so different. His kiss is rougher, messy and wet. He’s more controlling, guiding your tongue with his own. 

Xavier growls behind you, climbing over you and wrapping your legs around his hips. He grinds into you, his hard cock barely contained by his sweatpants. You moan into Lumiere’s mouth.

“Over here, angel.” 

You pull away, a string of saliva falling from your lips as you turn to look at your boyfriend. Beside you, there’s a dark chuckle. What the hell was happening? You were too turned on to question it further. 

Xavier revels in your redirected attention, pulling his sweatpants down. His cock slaps his skin, red and throbbing for you. You bite your lip, unconsciously spreading your legs wider. Your dripping cunt is ready for him, but you're pulled away before you can feel him inside.

You squeak at the sudden movement, Lumiere’s strong arms pulling your head to the edge of the bed. He stands over you, a slight smirk on his face as he pulls his own pulsing length free. Your eyes widen, mouth falling slightly agape.

“I want my fun, too.” He brings his tip to your lips, and you part them without question.

Below, Xavier grabs your legs once again, spreading you open and teasing your pussy with his tip. You moan, and Lumiere takes it as an opportunity to bury his cock deeper into your mouth. A light slap against your thigh, a reminder of where to keep your attention.

“Mmmmph!” 

Xavier pushes into you slowly, inch by inch. The stretch makes you arch your back, moaning sweetly against the cock in your mouth.

“Fuck, angel,” Xavier groans once he’s fully inside. You tighten around him. “It’s like you were made for me.”

Then they pull their hips back, slamming back into your gaping holes. Moaning and whining with every brush against your throat, every stretch of your walls. You’re turned into a mess under their unabated pounding. 

Drool is dripping out of your mouth, Lumiere’s cock hitting the back of your throat with every stroke. Tears pool in your eyes, but you don’t pull away, his low groans encouraging you to take him even deeper.

Xavier holds you in place, nails digging into the sides of your thighs as he slides in and out of you. He’s whining, your tight walls coaxing him back every time he pulls away. You’re being completely defiled by them, but you don’t want them to stop.

Their thrusts are sloppy now, a sign they were close. And so were you.

“Hey!”

You ignore the little voice, trying to focus on the coil tightening in your belly. Xavier feels good, so good inside of you. 

“Hey!”

The voice is persistent, and suddenly you find your mouth empty. Lumiere nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, wake up!”

You groan, squirming away from the hands shaking your body. Flipping over, you yelp, falling over the edge of the bed.

“Ow!”

You rub your shoulder, opening your eyes to see that you’re no longer in your bedroom. Instead, it’s your boyfriends. The blue moonlight is gone, replaced by sunlight peeking through the white curtains. Sitting up, you look around, only to find Xavier looking at you with concern.

He’s on the bed, sheets pulled over his waist. Definitely not the boyfriend that was fucking you stupid.

“You okay?” he asks, voice laced with sleep. 

“Uh… what happened?” your voice is raspy. You stand to grab the glass of water by your bedside table, chugging it like it was the only water left on earth.

All you can do is nod and swallow, suddenly very aware of the wetness sticking to your underwear.

“I think you were having a nightmare. You kept mumbling my name in your sleep.” he pouts, tapping the space next to him.

You give in, crawling back into bed and into his warm embrace. Xavier caresses your cheek gently, and you can’t help the way your face heats at the lingering memory of your dream. 

“What was it about?” 

You nuzzle your head in his chest, unable to face him directly. He places a barely there kiss on the crown of your head.

“I don’t… I don’t even remember.” you lie, but he doesn’t press further. Soon his breathing slows, and he’s asleep once again.

You close your eyes, willing your mind to go back to that beautiful moonlit room with Xavier.

And Lumiere, of course.

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

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Based on this request.

When one goes out into the woods, perhaps it is wise to bring some way to defend oneself. Aurora had not learned that lesson, unaware of the danger watching her from the distance. As she bent down to pluck a wildflower, the snapping of a twig caught her attention. She turned, gasping as a lone Wanderer pounce. It was too late for the untrained woman to even dream of stepping out of its claws grasp. - @borealiscuriosities

The turning head of the wanderer told Xavier it had found a new target. Now that was distracted, he had an opening, the distraction wasn't met gladly. A new target could only mean another human was in the vicinity.

"Hey!"

He tried to get its attention, to no avail.

Reaching out he could feel the metaflux surge. The wanderer was fast, but Xavier was born to be faster. Just around his vision he could see a small figure, a black speck in the distance. Teleporting to it, he didn't have a chance to speak before he had the form wrapped in his arms and rolling out of the way.

"Don't move if you don't want to be Wanderer food." The instruction was sharp but his voice was soft, not intending to startle.

One whip of his blade and a flash of light composed the wanderer to dust and a brilliant green protocore was left behind. It was pretty. She was prettier.

"Are you hurt? Why are you in the No Hunt Zone? This area is off-limits."

Bunny!Xavier and his strange affectionate habits

there’s always something new with your bunny boyfriend. his habits are so strange!

✎ᝰ a/n: i guess this is a series now lmao. if i were to do zayne or caleb, what animals would they even be. cat and dog? we’ll have to figure this out >_>

dragon sylus version

mermaid rafayel version

𖤐

❥ he nibbles on you! it’s gotten to be a little bit of a problem, but xavier can’t help himself. he’ll nibble on your skin and hair until there are tiny little red marks painted on you. at first you thought these were little hickeys, but the real explanation is much more innocent.

bunnies nibble to groom you! he’ll especially groom you when you’re bed rotting or are too lazy to get up. he wants to make sure you’re clean and if you’re not taking care of yourself — he will! but he also nibbles to get your attention. xavier is known to be pouty and clingy, so if he’s low on your love today he’ll forcefully sit on your lap and nibble on your face until you give in.

❥ he hides in your hair. whenever xavier feels overwhelmed or stressed, he’ll go straight to you and dig his head in your hair. it’s a combination of your scent and your shielding hair strands that gives him a sense of safety. he likes the way your hair feels against his skin along with the way it keeps him warm.

but still — wet, dry, tangled, brushed; he really doesn’t care what your hair is looking like, as long as he can bury his nose in your scalp and close his eyes. this also makes for a good cuddling session!

❥ he eats everything. xavier has the appetite of three elephants and then another three elephants. whether he can cook or not is irrelevant, even if he burns something to the point of it being inedible, he’ll still eat it. snacks you’ve saved for later or baked good you’ve left out gets gobbled immediately by him, and it was only ‘til you scolded him that he stopped. stopped taking you food that is, he’ll still beg.

if he smells a meal in the house he’ll quickly sit next to you and smile silently, hoping that you’ll spare him a piece. he’s learned to be less greedy, go easy on him — but he’ll become extremely elated if you give him a quick nibble. he wouldn’t even ask for a full piece of chicken or bread, just a little slither is enough to keep him happy. he thinks of eating together as bonding.

❥ he mimics you. sometimes consciously, mostly unconsciously, xavier will pick up and mimic your habits. if you have a habit of playing with your hair, xavier will also start playing with his hair to mirror you. if you touch your necklace in thought, xavier will also touch his imaginary necklace while he thinks. it wasn’t until he picked up on your manner of sneezing that you realized you left an impression on him.

you didn’t say anything at first: finding it rather endearing how xavier unknowingly imitates you. but once you brought it up in passing xavier tilted his head in confusion. did he really mimic you that much? he was a little oblivious to that fact, apparently. but even with that realization, xavier doesn’t try and stop himself learning from you. in fact, he tries to tease you by imitating you even more. he loves being like you because he simply just loves you.

❥ he teases you with his ears. xavier knows how much you love his ears, so he’ll use them to his advantage to play. when you’re asleep and he wants you awake, he’ll climb the bed, lean into your face, and move one of his ears over your cheek to stir you awake. in a similar fashion, he’ll use his ears to wrap around your head or wrist as another way to embrace you. the fluffy feel of his ears was always welcome on your skin, it felt like a hug from a pillow.

but by far his favourite way to use his ears on you was when he lightly traced your midsection and thighs with the very tips of his fluff. it tickles you slightly, but the purpose of this tease was to get you riled up and beg for a little more contact. he obliges, of course, but slowly. he loves taking his time with you. by the end of it all, his ears around wrapped around your thighs as he satiates his hunger in a different way this time.

❥ he claps when he’s happy. this can be mistaken as a normal human habit, but xavier does it much more often and eagerly than any regular person. his hands will patter together rapidly to create a very quiet but joyful sound. he has no “normal” way of clapping, he only does it in one specific way to show how content he is. if he thinks the sound is too distracting for the moment, he’ll hide his hands behind his back and pitter-patter them there.

even over small things like finding his favourite ramen in-stock at the store, he’ll clap very quietly to himself before putting it in the cart, and later on, when he gets to show you what he got from the store, he’ll start clapping again from how happy he is to share his excitement. as reserved as he is on the outside, xavier is very chipper on the inside.

𖤐

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You drag yourself through the door, muscles aching from the day’s mission. Tracking Wanderers had drained every ounce of your energy.

“Welcome back,” Xavier says, his voice even as he glances up from his seat. His eyes linger on your exhausted posture.

“I just need...” you start, but don’t finish the sentence.

Xavier nods once. “I understand.”

Without another word, he rises and disappears into your bedroom. Curious, you follow after a moment to find him arranging pillows against the headboard and smoothing fresh sheets over the mattress. He’s placed a glass of water on the nightstand.

“You had a difficult mission today,” he states rather than asks. “Rest will help.”

You feel a wave of gratitude as he steps back from the freshly made bed. It’s exactly what you need—no questions, no demands for conversation.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

The corners of Xavier’s lips lift slightly. “I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.”

As he turns to leave, his hand briefly touches yours—a fleeting warmth that speaks volumes more than words could. The door closes quietly behind him.

You sink into the bed, appreciating how he knew exactly what you needed without you having to explain. Outside, you hear the soft sounds of him moving around, close enough to be reassuring but giving you the space to decompress.

Just before you drift off, your phone beeps once—a message from Xavier: 

Sleep well. I’ll be here when U wake up.

Simple, direct, but somehow exactly the comfort you needed.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You return to the Hunter’s Association HQ to report your mission. As you close the door, you finally muffle the chaos you’ve left behind. You text Zayne that you need space tonight—just a simple message before pocketing your phone.

When you arrive home hours later, you find the lights dimmed and a note on the counter: “Food in the fridge. Vitamins beside your plate. Take care of yourself.”

You open the refrigerator to find your favorite takeout neatly packaged beside a similar container labeled “Zayne” in his handwriting. A small smile forms despite your exhaustion.

After heating your meal, you sit at the kitchen island, grateful for the silence. The room door opens, and Zayne emerges, apparently just finished with his shower. His eyes meet yours briefly as he nods in acknowledgment.

“Rough day?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t press further, instead moving to heat his own meal. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable—it’s understanding.

Zayne places two capsules beside your plate. “B-complex and magnesium. You’re probably depleted from today.”

You take them without comment.

He sits across from you, both of you eating in a comfortable quiet. When your phone lights up with notifications, he reaches over and turns it face-down without asking.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Hmm,” he hums.

After dinner, he collects both plates. “I’ll be in the office if you need me. No obligation to talk.”

Later, you pass by the home office to find him reading, glasses perched on his nose. He doesn’t look up, giving you the space you requested, but the door remains purposefully open—an invitation without pressure.

When you finally decide to sleep, you find a cup of herbal tea on your nightstand, still warm.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

You close your apartment door, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. The text to Rafayel had been simple:

Need some alone time today. Nothing personal.

You switch your phone to silent and place it screen-down on the coffee table, determined to enjoy the quiet. Twenty minutes into your peace, the phone screen lights up repeatedly. Despite your resolve, curiosity wins, and you peek.

Flood of messages from Rafayel:

just found the most beautiful pearl today! [photo attached] not as beautiful as you though  do you think it belonged to a giant clam the ocean was perfect btw not rushing you but when you feel better we should go pearl hunting miss your face already cutie no pressure just know i’m thinking of you [photo of a ridiculous sand sculpture that looks vaguely like you] made special sand art for my miss bodyguard hope you’re feeling better take all the time you need but don’t forget come back to me  i love you cutieee

You can’t help but smile at his stream of consciousness updates. He’s respecting your space physically while still sharing his day with you.

Hours later, your doorbell rings once. When you check, there’s no one there—just a small package wrapped in colorful paper. Inside is a beautiful pearl, cleaned and polished, with a note:

For your collection of memories. Take all the time you need, and keep this little piece of the ocean with you. - Rafayel

The gesture is so like him—giving you space while still finding a way to connect. You place the pearl on your windowsill where the setting sun catches its iridescent surface, creating tiny rainbows across the wall.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You text Sylus that you need some alone time because you know how much he values communication between you two.

Take the time you need. Just keep me updated.

You sink into your couch with a sigh of relief, grateful for the quiet. A few hours later, your doorbell rings. The building attendant calls up: “Delivery for you that needs a signature.”

Inside the sleek black box is a soft blanket, a small air purifier, and some fancy tea with a handwritten note: ‘For your comfort. This should help you breathe easier. Let me know if it helps.’

You smile at the gesture and send him a quick message:

Got the package. Thank you.

His response appears almost instantly:

Good. how are you feeling?

You appreciate that he checks in without demanding your time or attention.

Better. Just needed some quiet.

Understood. dinner will arrive at 7.

True to his word, your favorite meal shows up, from a restaurant you mentioned once weeks ago. The note this time simply says, ‘Eat well.’

Before bed, you message him again:

Thanks for understanding today.

He replies quickly:

Your well-being matters to me. Now rest well. I’ll see you when you’re ready.

The message captures exactly what you appreciate about him—he doesn’t mind giving you space as long as the lines of communication stay open. It’s his way of showing he cares while still respecting your boundaries.

In the morning, when you finally feel recharged, you find another small gift outside your door—a sleek new communicator with a note: ‘This one has better reception. So we never lose touch, even when apart.’

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The door to your shared apartment closes behind you with a soft click. You’d texted Caleb earlier:

Not feeling too well. Need space tonight.

His reply had been immediate:

take all you need. I’m here.

True to his word, he’s nowhere to be seen when you enter, though evidence of his presence remains—your favorite comfort foods in the fridge, a freshly made bed, and your laundry neatly folded.

You curl up on the couch, wrapped in silence. Hours pass as you decompress, your mind slowly unwinding.

At 7 PM, a gentle knock at your door. “Hey,” Caleb’s voice, soft through the wood. “Dinner’s outside if you’re hungry. No need to talk.”

When you open the door, he’s already retreated to the other room. A covered tray sits on the floor—your favorite meal still steaming.

Later, as you’re about to tackle the dishes, you discover they’ve already been done. The kitchen is spotless.

Around midnight, you hear the front door open—Caleb returning from a late Fleet meeting. His footsteps pause outside your door before continuing to his guest room. He’s giving you the space in the bedroom reserved for you without being asked.

In the morning, you wake to find your uniform pressed and ready, your boots polished, and a travel mug of your preferred morning drink waiting. A note leans against it:

Hope you slept well. I had to head in early. Take your time today. I already called your Captain to clear your morning schedule. - Caleb

Through the window, you catch sight of him in the distance, his Colonel’s uniform crisp as he strides toward Fleet Headquarters. He glances back once, spots you in the window, and gives a simple nod before continuing on his way.

Based on this request.

I legit had to open the game and check the chats just to see how they typed, lol, so I tried to match the format as closely as possible.

Would My Asian Parents Approve? — Love & Deepspace Boyfriend Edition

Ranking how approvable LADS men by my asian parents if I bring them home for dinner

note: ‼️ This headcanon is just my interpretation of how my Asian parents might react. It’s also a bit of a stereotype, reflecting the typical dynamics of a staple Asian household, but it’s all in good fun so please take this with a grain of salt, this is just my own personal interpretation and meant to be taken light heartedly.

another note: based on their personality and their interaction in Love and Deepspace game when introducing themselves to your parents + my own interpretation! Uses she/her mainly, and also "you" instead of "me"

written and published by orieriee on tumblr. Please do not copy or repost in any other platform.

👑 Number 1 : Zayne ☃️

Zayne is definitely the top number one of most likely to get approved by my asian parents

Heck, he put has their blessing the moment he sits down for dinner for the first time

It's definitely not because he's a doctor with a stable job

I mean he's a cardiac surgeon at 27! With an award at that! Immediate approve 💯

He's the kind of guy who brings thoughtful souvenirs for your parents when he comes over for dinner

I can already picture him bringing a premium tea gift set that he specifically got according to your parents' taste, beautifully packaged and looks expensive 🍵

Honestly, he's already the son-in-law! Came for dinner, stayed for marriage plans and the future

What can I say? He’s polite, good-looking, and probably smells wonderful—like a hint of jasmine mixed with a bit of antiseptic due to his work

He’s the type to compliment my mom’s cooking, and she'd be so pleased that she'd serve him the best portions instead of giving them to me 😔

"Here, eat more meat! I made plenty just for you,” she would say with a happy smile

Even dad would probably like him immediately, pulling him aside and ask privately, “So, when's the wedding?” — like, dad, chill, it's Zayne's first time coming over for dinner

They know their daughter is in good hands with Zayne as her husband

👑 Number 2 : Caleb 🍎

I'm putting Caleb as my second in the most likely my parents would approve list because he works for the government as a pilot (a stable job)

There is a consideration though: my mom would ask "If he’s a pilot, wouldn’t you be lonely since he’s often up in the air?”

She also worries about the risks associated with being a pilot, given the dangers involved in the profession

But Caleb is the type of guy who immediately gets along with mom and dad, probably because they already knew him as their daughter's childhood friend but coming over for dinner (as a partner) is a different matter

From the very first meeting, he accidentally introduced himself as “son-in-law” as an accidental slip of the tongue

During dinner, he is charming and a great conversationalist, which creates a wonderful atmosphere

He openly expresses that "I adore your daughter very much, you guys did a great job creating her" and reassures parents that he will protect you. He often joking around to ease the mood

He enthusiastically offers to wash the dishes and is a fantastic conversation partner for mom

With dad, he can discuss all the mechanical topics that only fathers understand, which makes sense since he’s a pilot

Relatives probably adore him too, as he easily makes friends with everyone.

He’s the kind of boyfriend who prompts mom to frequently ask about him, like, “When is Caleb coming over for dinner again?”

(The last 3 are under the cut!)

🌟 Number 3: Xavier ✨

Xavier is third because he is the last one with a "real stable job," while the next two would likely be questionable in my Asian parents' eyes

His primary hobby is sleeping, and since that doesn't lead to productivity and is sometimes seen as lazy in a typical Asian household, it could raise some concerns

However, mom really likes him because he looks like a prince

He is the type of boyfriend who makes my Asian mom ask, “How did you manage to attract someone like Xavier?” like, as if he's out of my league because of his prince-ly beauty which I take personally

With his princely, ethereal looks and charm, it raises the question of how I managed to win over such a beautiful man

He is polite, has a soothing voice, and can cook and clean, which is great since their daughter barely tidies up around the house hey

Xavier works in the same field as we do, which reassures parents that he can support their daughter in her career

Although he may appear innocent, the protective Asian dad senses that there might be something “impure” about him

He’s not very talkative but insists on helping around the house, which is a plus

My mom keeps insisting that he stay over, but we all know that it won’t end well

My dad implicitly disapproves of him staying over, as we all understand what might happen ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

And it's something inappropriate

💫 Number 4: Sylus🐉

Ok... Sylus girlies, don't come at me, but man I think Sylus is somewhat awkward at first if he's meeting the parents for the first time

My parents personally might find him intimidating because he is quite the large guy... With silver hair and red eyes and all (but mama I'm in love with a criminal)

He introduced himself as the owner of a family business, which is a relief since it shows he is responsible and established

As he shares more about himself, my mom starts to relax and feel more comfortable with him

However, when he mentions his hobbies of shooting and racing and wanting to ask them to join, I worry because my dad has back problems, which Sylus, honey... I don’t think that helps😭

So yeah, imo I think he is the type of boyfriend that my family needs time to warm up to

But once they start to get to know him, he quickly becomes their favorite

Like in some days, you'd be surprised and ask, "What do you mean you're going to the opera too with Sylus?" showing how much mom enjoys his company by asking him to go with her because he also enjoys music

It surprises me that Sylus even asked my mom to join him for the opera; they’re practically best friends now!

Sylus has a way of showering them with luxury, frequently brings thoughtful gifts when he visits, like gourmet snacks and special treats he got from overseas

Despite his intimidating appearance, he has a gentle side that puts parents at ease, proving that he genuinely cares about their daughter

‼️Number 5: Rafayel

He's a painter, and no, I'm not a Rafayel slander

I mean, a creative job?? In an Asian household??? My parents would definitely question how he could possibly support himself AND their daughter with such work

An artist as a job = no money in the eyes of Asian parents 😭🤡 (trust me)

We'll also hear "You own a home by the sea?? Wouldn't you catch sea sickness? Isn't it a bit dangerous at night?", as they ask in concern

From the very first impression, Rafayel comes off as casual and laid-back with mom and dad, which... Doesn't seem to earn their approval 🤡

However, I think my little sisters and cousins would love him because he's sassy, encourages their creativity since he's an artist, and is a merman

While parents may not approve of him, younger relatives have already declared him their favorite "brother"

But once Rafayel shows them that even an artist can be rich by inviting them to his house

So, once the parents visit his art studio and see the stunning view, they are likely to be amazed by the beauty of his surroundings

His home resembles a vacation house, and he drives expensive cars, which further impresses them

He probably took them on a cruise ride and had the most delicious seafood dinner, which definitely win their hearts

Although my parents might still have some doubts, they will gradually come to accept him once they see how in love we are

I actually have a lot of headcanons ideas and stories to write about LADS men but I just don't have the time to write 😭 they're occupying my head 24/7 just by floating around my head space.

*Nudges Season Three Lauren with foot* Doing okay there, sport?

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS AND KISSES

warning(s) mention of insomnia, comfort, established relationship, pet names, food/eating, physical touch and affection

synopsis xavier gets a call from you in the middle of the night. you have a last minute sleepover to help soothe nerves and connect more with your silver-haired lover! . ⟡ authors note a request from @sadfragilegirl hope you enjoy and sorry for the long wait! ⟡

the relationship between you and xavier was a new thing; a bit awkward and fidgety in the beginning, but blossoming and soft. you were used to his distinct smell of lavender and fresh laundry drifting through your apartment, the twinkle of his blue eyes, and his soft laugh that spread sparks of warmth through your body.

tonight, you were missing his presence. your apartment felt foreign and the silence all too loud. you bit your lip in the darkness of your room, finger hovering over the call button of his contact. you both had just finished a hard mission earlier today and decided to part ways for the night to rest and recuperate.

but the spot beside you in the bed felt too cold, empty of his long limbs and soothing voice lulling you to sleep. now, that sleep refused to come, and you tossed and turned until you finally bit the bullet and pressed call.

“what’s wrong?” his voice, still thick with sleep, immediately answered the phone. you could distinctly hear the rustle of linen bedsheets shift as he sat up, patiently waiting for your response.

you chewed your lip before answering, embarrassed beyond belief and nervous that you completely interrupted his rest. “I…well, I can’t sleep. was wondering if you could come over tonight—?”

you waited with bated breath, heart beating in your chest as there was a pause. then, “I’m heading over now. want me to bring some snacks?” you didn’t even have to respond— you heard the rustle of your favorite chips he kept stocked in his kitchen, making you giggle softly.

“see you soon, xavi.”

“I’ll be over soon.”

you occupied yourself with tidying up a bit before his arrival, setting comfy blankets and pillows onto the couch. you both loved soft mood lighting, no glaring overhead lighting to be seen, so you even lit a few candles around the surfaces of your apartment.

soon, you heard the distinct rap of your boyfriend at the door. you couldn't help a little thrill buzz through you in anticipation, quickly padding to the door and opening it with a flourish.

there stood your loverboy in fluffy checkered pajama pants and a plain white shirt, still rubbing sleep from his hazy blue eyes. his arms were wrapped around a bag of chips and a blanket.

you grinned up at him and a loopy smile greeted you back, as you then pulled him into the apartment with a click of the door. “y'know I gave you a key so you could come in yourself,” you teased lightly, watching as xavier dumped the assortment of objects onto the dining room table before turning back to you.

“I know. but still…” he murmured back, still wiping at his eyes before wrapping his arms around you for a hug. you greatly accepted it, immediately feeling better with his arms around you.

“I didn’t disturb you— did I?” you whispered after a beat, still a bit nervous at disturbing your cat-like boyfriend from his slumber.

in response, you felt the chuckle rumble through his chest before you heard it. his arms pulled you impossibly closer and lithe fingers soothed down your waist.

“silly, of course not. I missed you too, it was hard to sleep in my bed.” he confessed easily, patting your head affectionately when you pulled away to glance up at him. love is what you found in his eyes, steady and pure and adoring.

“so what should we do first?” he mused, yawning into your ear and practically leaning his full body weight onto you. you fought a dopey smile from breaking across your face, enamored by his relaxed aura he openly showed to you.

“skincare!” you clapped your hands together, startling him a bit as you pulled him to the bathroom. you pushed a pink my melody headband onto his head, securing his silver locks back. you fitted a kuromi one onto your head as he stared into the mirror.

“why do I get the pink one?” he questioned after a beat.

“because you’re adorable and cute, just like my melody.” you answered smoothly, grinning through the mirror as xavier’s cheeks immediately blushed a light pink. he rubbed the back of his neck as you laughed, setting the various bottles and ointment on the sink. he followed your instructions slowly, until you both walked out with matching hello kitty face masks.

“xavi, look over here!” you hummed excitedly. when he glanced over, you quickly whipped out your phone and took a picture with lightning quick reflexes.

he let out a startled gasp, playfully reaching for your phone as you laughed and twisted away from him. “hey!”

“now all our coworkers will know how cute you are at home. not the stuck-up they think, huh?” you purred, smiling as xavier groaned and slumped onto you again. you stumbled for a second under his weight, laughing once you realized this was another one of his tactics to get you to hand over the condemning evidence.

“I’m just joking. I have to keep your cute side all to myself,” you pouted, setting the picture as his contact photo instead. “this’ll do.”

xavier perked back up at that, but not before pinching your cheek as a warning. “‘m a little hungry. let’s make some cookies?” the silver-haired boy piped up, pulling you into the kitchen as you nodded eagerly. there was no way you were going to turn down his chocolate chip cookies— you had quickly realized that he was an astounding cook, able to make most anything from scratch, and his cookies were the best.

you hummed out a soft alexa, play favorite comfort song as you both maneuvered around each other. naturally, you found yourself sitting on the countertop watching as his distinct silver-hair moved back and forth. light conversation easily flowed between you both, and all you could feel was peace.

soon xavier came over to you, slotting between your legs and holding a finished cookie to your lips in a silent request. you obediently bit down, chocolate warmth and a nutty goodness spreading throughout your tastebuds. xavier’s eyes twinkled at your satisfactory hum of approval, popping the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

after removing the face masks and setting the cookies on a plate to cool, you both ended up wrapped in a shared blanket on the couch. a movie cut down on low played quietly in the background as you snuggled up closer to xavier’s distinct warmth.

“thank you for coming over,” you whispered up at him. he hummed back softly, setting his chin on your head as he gazed down at you.

twinkling eyes met you back. “of course. anytime you need me, I’ll be here. now let’s get some sleep.”

and sleep came easy again.

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