THE LOVE OF A WRITER

II ▷ 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 — " orion's home "

part 2 of the 𝐥&𝐝𝐬 + 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 [other parts: zayne, rafayel, sylus]

— exploring Xavier as a father, both of your children’s relationships with you and their Dad, as well as delving into their passions and personalities

note: each LI has different MCs, meaning each child/ren of the other LIs have different mothers and aren't related

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, crack; xavier has some insecurities and secrets, recessive genes (take this as it is trust me), maybe a little canon-divergent bc of some hc inserts of xavier's myth lore, canon-timeline inaccuracies (?) bc of pop culture references, dirty jokes/references

❥ a/n: finally posted 😭 this has been in the drafts for too long.. if u want a tag in the next part, which is rafayel's, just let me know!! im planning on a permanent taglist post soon but i wanna finish this mini series first 🫶🏼 i apologize for the grammatical errors and if the character is a bit ooc as this is my interpretation of them. pls be nice c: and i absolutely appreciate every reblog and comments 🥺💗

0:03 ───|────────────────────────

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 has two sons, and definitely a present father to them. He never truly gave much thought about having kids with you in the first place, more content on having you all for himself. He wouldn't have a child unless you wanted one, seeing how you would look longingly at children and their families laughing together, and a part of him started to consider it as well. He's glad he did, because now he has his own personal constellation he calls home, you at the center, starlights that motivate him everyday. Given his own upbringing, he will never force his sons to do something they truly don't like and let them follow their heart’s desire. He had some insecurities at first, seeing he's never had a good relationship with his own father, fearing he might turn out the same as him. With enough reassurance from both you and his sons, he grew more confident that yes, he is a deserving dad and a great father despite the inevitable ups and downs.

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 

The eldest son, looks a lot like Xavier mostly because he's got the same puppy eye shape and face structure, but oddly he doesn't get any of you or Xavier's eye colors

Xavier is taken aback the moment his son first opened his eyes, cradling him in his arms, his breath caught for a moment

It's something Xavier thought he'd hoped to never see again, ironically; a distant memory he's buried away, memory from home

But when Lance's eyes—a shade of forest green, gleaming into jade under the sunlight, like an eternal spring—look up at him with innocent wonder, the resemblance of his father’s eyes stops there.

Xavier can't help shedding a tear or two.

You didn't question it further, knowing enough about his past at this moment. The look of aching familiarity in Xavier's gaze was all it took to have some understanding

Xavier grew up being told he resembled his mother a lot more—his overall soft features and crystal blue eyes—something he was more grateful for, but genes sure are.. funny.

Lance loooooves Xavier's presence so much as a baby (even until his teen to adult but he’s never saying that out loud)

You would struggle putting him to sleep some nights alone when Xavier is somewhere on a solo mission

His cries seemed endless as you tried everything, from feeding him, to changing his diapers, to swaying him with a lullaby, yet nothing seems to work

Xavier comes home, utterly exhausted from his mission. He goes straight to Lance in your arms, sensing your own stress and exhaustion, wanting to help

You insist he needs to rest too, but the moment he's taken his son in his arms, the cries almost instantly settles down

“Sshhh, Dad's home now, baby. Let's sleep now, okay?” Xavier whispers as he gently sways him, the movement you were trying to emulate. He places a feather-light kiss on Lance's forehead, and like magic, he's asleep.

You stare at Xavier in awe.

Since then, it's been kind of a thing that Lance immediately just falls asleep faster in his dad's hold

Even when he grows into a toddler, he treats his dad like a beanbag (Xavier doesn't mind, not at all. It’s very welcome, encouraged even)

He would curl himself silently on his lap and immediately be knocked out. It was their shared routine. 

You have a dedicated album for those moments that’s honestly an accurate montage of Lance’s growth. Every week there's a new wallpaper of them on your phone

Your personal favorite was when Lance is holding onto him like a koala bear and Xavier's splayed over the playmat like a starfish, sleeping without a care in the world

But then Lance hits puberty

So it gets awkward from then on, since he was growing taller by the day, gaining inches above Xavier's own height

“My baby is so big now..” Xavier pouts playfully, ruffling his hair.

Lance sighs. “Dad, can you not say that.. please..” But he makes no move to stop him anyways.

Xavier gets slightly upset over it. In his perspective, he can never be too old or too big to be his nap time buddy

You and Xavier call him your baby even well into his teens much to his dismay

The more he grows taller, the more he's a victim of being mistaken for Xavier's older brother

It's funny at first but Lance is like “🤨 Isn’t he supposed to be 40 something?”

When both you and Xavier are away, toddler Lance was left to the trusty babysitter Uncle Jeremiah

It seemed like a hassle at first but Lance was so quiet, too quiet even sometimes just playing by himself.

Jeremiah would get him to open up by telling random stories from other planets and such

Lance's favorite was him talking about Lumiere's exploits, because it was so highly detailed unlike other stories.

Learned to make flower crowns from scraps. You get one every time you come to pick him up.

“Look, Mommy is princess!” Lance would say proudly as you hold him, wearing the daisy flower crown you received from him. 

Xavier smiles, leaning to place a kiss on both you and your son's cheeks. “No, Mommy is our queen, and you're our prince.” 

Best believe teen Lance is the no. 1 Hater when he catches you and Xavier being loveydovey. he just finds it so cringe.

He's giving you both a nasty side-eye as you laugh at his disgust

He's quite athletic, but he used to hop from sport to sport because he can't really a feel to what he likes the most

A natural genius, the one that sleeps at the back of the class but somehow still gets one of the highest grades in their batch 

He's unaware that he's the campus crush because of his weird intimidating but cool aura but in reality they have noooo idea he's a loser geek.

It’s really just his bitch resting face (courtesy of his mother), which image shatters when he smiles, bunny teeth and a small dimple on his cheek. 

Very reserved. Doesn’t keep secrets but won’t share about himself until you ask. Like he would casually tell you he survived jumping off a cliff and give no context until you ask.

More of a listener than a yapper, so he’s seemingly dry to talk to but will remember every single thing you say

He’s learned to read people really well–an empath if you will–an ability he inevitably developed when his dad had a vault full of secrets and masked emotions.

He was bluntly honest as a kid, growing more tact as he matures later on

Although he can take hints about what others feel/think, it doesn’t mean he’s a pushover if they’re crossing a boundary, He’s not a people pleaser in terms of he’s not trying to fit into whatever norm is going on, just doing his best to live true to himself

Other than napping, his favorite past time as a kid was sword fighting with the endless collection of lightsabers he's got, battling against you and/or Xavier

It kind of becomes actual training sometimes, and you BET Xavier's old ass be saying:

“When I was your age, I already know how to parry.”

You give Xavier a look. “Honey, he's 6.”

Star Wars becomes his personality for the inevitable part of his childhood

And you bet you were the one spoiling him with all that merch. Lance's favorite was the Millennium Falcon lego set. He cried opening that Christmas gift

Inherited his massive geekiness from you 

His core memory was sitting on Xavier's shoulders, his hands clutching his father's hair, you looping arms with Xavier side by side, as a Lego Star Wars parade marched on, fireworks in the background

Starstruck for an entire month after that

Loves it when you also tell stories about Lumiere at bedtime (unbeknownst to Xavier,) eyes twinkling and all.

Then he would also add his own stories he heard from Jeremiah, and you both just yap until you fall asleep

So respectful when he asks to borrow your Lumiere figurines.. and you LET him, which says a lot because those babies are expensive

Needless to say, Lance is also a talented swordsman, quite inspired to follow both of your footsteps as hunters

Your favorite memory of him was when you brought toddler Lance with you one time to the Hunter's Association, just to surprise Xavier for his birthday (yes, the man is still working, but you had a cake prepared for him and all)

The boy was a bundle of awe and wonder, loving how cool the hunters looked despite being shy to talk to them

He was literally being cooed and coaxed by your coworkers with candies and it was so cute to watch his round cheeks and ears become rosy from the attention

Xavier finally finished his mission, body growing heavy with exhaustion as he returned to HQ to fulfill his report. He settles down a bench, getting comfortable against the wall and about to lull into a nap when a loud voice echoes.

“Soooo, Lancey, who's your favorite hunter?”

Xavier shot up his seat, wide awake, the drowsy weight on his eyelids evaporated. He stumbled in his feet slightly from standing up too suddenly. Confusion knitted his brows. Why was his son here? Or was it another Lance?

He's now noticing the empty desks and his colleagues gathering around presumably his son. Slowly, he comes closer from behind, unnoticed by your officemates. 

“But I have more than one favorite..” Lance says, and Xavier's ears perched. He found himself tiptoeing over the crowd trying to spot Lance. A smile graces Xavier’s face after spotting Lance– eyes glued on the floor, hands fidgeting over the candies given to him. He was sitting on your lap, hugging him in place, and you were smiling from ear to ear, your gaze on your son. Lance was slowly getting more comfortable, the shyness seeping out of him.

“Oohhh, so if you have to rank them then, what would it be?” someone quips, and your coworkers hit the dude’s shoulder playfully for the ‘scandalous’ query. 

But it gets everyone curious, even both you and Xavier.

“Hmm.. it's Daddy and then Mommy and..” Lance mutters, and everyone is gasping dramatically, including you.

“Mommy’s lower than Daddy in your list?” You pouted in mock sulking, and it had Lance panicking a little.

“N-noo, Daddy's in third, and then Mommy is second, and then first is Lumiere!” 

Everyone's laughing and hollering now.. except Xavier.

You finally notice him, standing as still as a statue–clear, utter, guttural, mind-shattering distraught in Xavier's face, and it unfortunately made you laugh harder that your stomach began to hurt. You swear his soul left his body.

Lance was confused why it was so funny to everyone, nervously laughing, then he also spots Xavier. He beams, a vibrant signature bunny smile with his two front teeth, and Xavier almost forgets he didn’t just rip out his heart a few seconds ago.

“Dad!” Lance hops off your lap, rushing over to embrace him around his waist. Everyone was cooing at them, greeting Xavier a happy birthday but he didn't really register them. His ears were still ringing from the revelation.

Xavier bends to his knees, giving him a proper embrace back. Lance looks up at him, still smiling, until he notices the pout on Xavier’s face.

“Dad, don't be sad..” Lance pouts too, patting Xavier's had the same way his father would if he was upset. Xavier nuzzles against his tiny hands.

“But why is Dad in third place..” Xavier asks, and you're dying at the back because his puppy eyes were at work. Everyone else was snickering to themselves.

But Lance wasn’t Lance unless he says his truth.

Lance tilts his head, thinking to himself. “Because.. um.. I don't know if Dad can beat Lumiere..?”

(Cue a series of ‘oooohhs’, and you scold them, telling them to go back to their stations now, and they do after much persistence.)

“Lanlan—now Dad's actually sad now.” You try to intervene before your son continuously bluntly destroys his Dad's heart.

“But why? My dad is still the best Dad in the whole universe.”

Lance states it like an undisputed fact, and Xavier's heart swells so much it tightens his chest.

Because Lance wasn't Lance unless he's saying his truth. 

(Cue a series of ‘awwws’ from everyone in their desk cubicles.)

To him, that matters more than any hunter ranking. A deep part inside Xavier he's been holding for years is finally exhaled, filled in turn with relief. Lance never talks a lot, but when he does he really means it. In the void in Xavier's chest, was a star that burned brighter twinkling in the pattern of your laughter at that moment—he is another major star in Xavier's personal constellation, unabashedly warm and tiny, spring in his jade eyes and Lepus in his smile, contained perfectly in his embrace.

“Ah! I-I’m sorry—No cry!” Lance stammers as Xavier's eyes water, hands flailing on his face to wipe them, but Xavier thinks to himself that Lance has got nothing to apologize for.

Xavier just embraces him closer, face buried on his son's shoulder. He smelled of strawberry kids liquid soap and baby powder—home.

“Dad's very very happy, baby.” Xavier mutters, muffled by his clothes. “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday, my love,” You greet, inching closer with a lit birthday cake. The radiance of your smile in that moment couldn't be dimmed by anything.

Lance jumps excitedly in his grasp. “Oh yah! Happy birthday, Dad!” 

That declaration was the best birthday gift he could ever receive. 

𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 — “Axel”, “Sandy”

youngest son, born 10 years after Lance

An unplanned baby (because of Freakvier) and the reason why Lance would give the both of you a nasty side-eye when you're both too lovey-dovey

“I thought Axel's favorite sleep buddy would be me, but now Lance has a mini-Lance the Koala Bear, part two.”

“Don't worry, honey. You're still my favorite pillow.” Xavier leans to kiss you, tender and soft, swallowing your giggles and the ‘you’re so cheesy’ you were about to say.

Lance walks in on that ill timing again, tangible disgust on his face, and with the meanest tone, he lets out—

“Ew.”

You're laughing, as Xavier pettily embraces you tighter, shameless that he's caught again. “You can knock you know, baby.” he says.

“Firstly, this is the living room. Second, one sibling is enough, please.” 

“Lance!” You throw a pillow at him, and he just catches it.

“I’m not joking, Mom!”

Incredibly touchy since birth, doesn't get lulled to sleep other than when he felt he was skin to skin contact every time

Axel is a mini you with freckles reaching until his back, matching your face structure and hair, big blue eyes like Xavier's, but a deeper shade, with hints of brown in the middle

The reason his nickname is Axel was because when he was in kindergarten to lower elementary, he kept misspelling his name as “Axelander”

You, Xavier, and Lance later understand it was because he is dyslexic

The nickname stuck because Lance was kind of a bully as a kid (aren't all older brothers really) and would never stop calling him that.

Axel never took it to heart though and finds it funny.

It takes a lot to actually upset him, because he's sometimes unnaturally optimistic about everything. Imagine Laios from Dungeon Meshi? Yeh. That.

Although Lance has absolutely 0 tolerance when other kids would bully him seriously with the nickname. That's only his privilege.

In actuality, Axel doesn't really realize he was being bullied at all and was just happy his peers were talking to him

Sandy was your nickname to him, because his favorite place in the playground park was the sandbox and he gets absolutely dusted quite literally.

Lance actually has multiple nicknames for him. These include but aren't limited to: “Axelander Sanderson the Great,” “Sandman Eater,” (he ate sand at one point) and his favorite, “Axelotle”

Does not care that you and Xavier call him their baby until his adulthood. 

The most creative comeback this boy can muster is.. “Uglancelot” and “Lame-cy” which doesn't even offend him it's just funny attempts

Despite that, he's actually very close to his brother even between you and Xavier, since he's taking care of him when you're both away on a mission

Unlike his brother and father, isn't easily sleepy; a light-sleeper.

His favorite pastime as a kid was recreating WWE moments on the mattress with any of you three.

And he looooves taking the Wanderer roleplay when they play swordfight with lightsabers

Because this baby’s special interest is Wanderers!

He would be listening to Lance and You rambling about Lumiere and he would ask more about what kind of Wanderer he defeated.

The little man's treasure was an encyclopedia of Wanderers he received from Xavier in his 10th birthday

He cried, yes. You took a picture and it's Lance's favorite one of all time.

Axel would bug you, Xavier, or Lance with questions or just asking help if he can't read a word properly the entire time

He has the whole contents ingrained in his memory since then. He can and will recite it given the chance just to annoy Lance.

Of course he ended up with more and more Wanderer related things, from books to figures to actual pictures

Learns to be secretive as hell because Lance tends to be super nosy when it came to his business and can read anybody like a book, a pamphlet even

Like father, like son I suppose

He still gets busted by dear bro though

Needless to say, this boy is loser geek doubled

Would be competitive as hell with video games against his dad and brother

The King of Rhythm Games, no one can beat him in that field.

Actually more of a social butterfly than Lance, but sometimes assumes everyone is his friend even when they're questionable people (why Lance gets worried sometimes), it was worse as a kid

Is not a people pleaser but pleased around people type beat

His comfort movie series is How To Train Your Dragon

Influenced his ultimate dream of befriending a Wanderer, preferably also a Dragon-type

Horrible with swords, but a great marksman from almost any long ranged weapon` 

Would playfully steal you away from Xavier when Lance is doing his 😒 face again at you both being.. sus

Has a trouble magnet streak, absolutely stressing the hell out of everyone, especially Xavier

But Axel’s puppy eyes are the puppiest to puppy eye no other puppy can actually eye, ever (this isn't making sense but that's the point), so he almost gets away with it every time

Like you think you already built a tolerance from both Xavier's and Lance's double kill puppy eyes when they're trying to get something they want

But Axel's puppy eyes are a whole other level. It was heartbreaking and knee buckling, and you know damn well that Lance and Xavier uses him as last straw 

And it still actually works to your dismay

The privilege as the youngest, Lance would grumble

Imagine having to live with three pleading puppy eyes everytime you say no. You must be a strong woman.

Xavier though? Well..

Xavier should be mad, really. He already knew this boy’s tactic very well. He can already hear both you and Lance berating him already in the future just after this.

Axel was left under Jeremiah’s care as per usual after school, as the boy absolutely loves the greenhouse and chattering with Jeremiah in general. You confirmed you would be home later than usual, Lance was preoccupied with training for the Hunter Licensure Examination, so that left Xavier with the task to pick him up from Philo. He planned to take Axel out to the arcade, something they haven’t gone to in a while and the 11 year old has been insisting on getting the new plushie for you when you get back. Xavier even went on a quick trip from the store just to get him his favorite yogurt drink, a small smile on his face.

Which slowly dissipated after the scene Xavier witnessed just outside the flower shop window

By one of the lounging tables, Axel was sitting rigidly, had his head drooping down that his hair masked his face, and his knuckles paling from squeezing his own knees. Across the table was Jeremiah, palms rubbing all over his face in what seemed like exasperation. 

When Xavier caught on his son slightly trembling, the confusion brewing in him quickly burned into something else.

“What am I supposed to tell your dad—” Jeremiah groans, but gets cut off by Xavier bolting inside, the welcoming jingles of his shop door rattling violently. The gardener paled before the all too familiar tempered glare Xavier was throwing him right now.

“Tell me what?” Xavier spat, hurrying over Axel’s side, placing a careful hand on his back, but the sudden contact made Axel jolt, his face shooting up to look at him–big eyes swollen red from tears and snot–and something was crumbling in Xavier’s ribcage, eliciting an eye twitch.

Slowly, he turned his head towards Jeremiah in an unnerving manner, a terrifying look in his eyes as he utters again, “Tell me what?”

Jeremiah swears he’s had more close brushes with death whenever it comes to dealing with Xavier instead of actual apocalyptic cosmic threats, and this was no different. After an elongated sigh, he began to explain the situation.

Apparently, Axel found a way to get into the Hunter’s Association Database through Jeremiah’s computer for more in depth information of Wanderers, and apparently it alerted an alarm system from HQ sending Jeremiah’s computer a warning that it would seize everything that was in that device–all including some access to.. their past, if they did not stop and identify themselves. Xavier didn’t need that part elaborated, knowing Jeremiah’s crucial role in their expedition, and in all honesty? Xavier didn’t really care much about matters pertaining to that after everything he has now, until..

“He used [Name]’s ID and account to log in.”

Axel stiffened, his arms wrapping around Xavier’s waist flinching into tension, face digging into his side. Xavier’s soothing caresses slowly drew to a stop when he registered what he just said. Dread crept in his nerves when he remembered earlier this morning how You were going frantic the entire time on where the hell You could have lost Your ID while running late.

“Axel..” Xavier sighed, petting his hair, “..baby, look at me right now.”

He didn’t, shaking his head as he started to hiccup again, keeping his face stuck on his side now damp with tears. Xavier pulled him away slowly, kneeling down to meet his son’s eyes, but now it was glued on the floor as he fidgeted in his seat in guilt.

“I’m not mad..” Xavier cupped his face, wiping his tears that slowly continued to tear in his heart. “Just tell me the truth and I will help, okay?”

“I-it’s–I–” hic, “I did–It’s true,” Axel sobbed, “I-I’m sorry–Sorry, Dad–”

“Sshh, it’s gonna be fine, alright? Let’s go home–”

“N-no!” he blurted, puffy, terrified eyes now meeting Xavier’s own. He clutched his father’s hands, shaking. “Don’t–don’t tell Mom, please?”

In all honesty, he was going to tell you the situation, as you both were past that stage in your relationship of keeping secrets–especially this kind. You already knew about his past, your shared ‘history’ with him, so this shouldn’t be that much bigger right?

But there it was, a pleading gaze of a deep blue–spheres of weeping Neptunes–eyes anyone can drown in. It drove Xavier’s instincts to just cradle him in his arms for as long as he can away from everything overwhelming–consequences be damned. 

He is a responsible father and a husband, but he is also just a man.

“Dad, please? I-I promise I’ll make up for it..” Axel continued to plead, sealing the deal for Xavier’s left resistance.

“Alright. But I’ll hold onto that promise right now..” Xavier gave him a stern look. “Don’t ever do something like this ever again, promise me, because I will tell your mother. You’ll have.. Different consequences for now, but.. I want you to remember this. Promise?”

“I promise.” Axel swore, calming down from his breakdown as Xavier pulled him into a proper embrace.

An exasperated sigh tore through their little moment, followed by a clearing throat. The two looked over to the source on the other side of the table.

“I think.. There’s also another one you need to say sorry to, baby.” Xavier nudged his son.

“I’m sorry, Uncle.. Please don’t hate me.”

And who is Jeremiah to do so when he looks at him like a kicked puppy who can do no wrong? He is also just a man.

(The two leave the shop after Xavier secured Jeremiah’s secrecy, going for the ice cream and arcade hang out like Xavier planned. He also made sure to clarify and sort the alarm with HQ with a quick call along the way. At the end of the day, they both go home in a happy note like nothing ever happened as Xavier returned Your ‘found’ ID.)

12:28 ──────────────────────────|──

ꜰᴜɴ ꜰᴀᴄᴛꜱ !!

Lepus is the Hare or Bunny constellation. It was a bird turned bunny by the goddess of spring, Ostara to escape the hunter. It rests under the foot of the Orion constellation.

Orion the Hunter is a huntsman in mythology and is often referenced due to the Orion's Belt. He is cursed to be a constellation, forever stuck in the sky, hunting something he can never reach alongside his two Canis Majoris and Minor hunting dogs, all because of his arrogance

Axel was born in the Winter Solstice (December 22)

You can take these facts however as you please ☺️😌.. ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

acc tags: @cordidy @dann-acalle thank you for your support and patience!!

Headcanon -

Barista Caleb takes your order

Details: dokidoki fluffy coffee caleb, maybe he adds apple juice and a squeeze of lemon? 700ish words.

“Morning,” he says, a slow, easy grin tugging at his lips as he leans against the counter. His voice is smooth, low, but carries just enough amusement to make you feel like he’s been waiting all morning for someone interesting to talk to. “First time here?”

You blink, thrown for a second, before shaking your head. “Uh—no, I’ve been here before. Just… not with you taking my order.”

“Ah,” he hums, like this is important information. “Well, in that case, I’ll have to make sure your experience today is exceptional. What can I get for you?”

It’s almost unfair, how casual he is about it. You manage to give him your order, your voice steadier than you expect, but the moment he nods and writes your name on the cup, you realize you might be in trouble.

Because he is breathtaking.

Not just in a pretty-boy, “oh, he’s attractive” kind of way. No, it’s the way he moves—fluid, self-assured, a quiet kind of charisma that doesn’t demand attention but holds it anyway. His apron is tied perfectly at his waist, snug but comfortable, emphasizing his lean build. He works with an effortless grace, hands moving with quick, precise motions as he sets up your drink like he’s been doing it all his life.

And then there’s the new barista.

You notice them standing beside him, apron still a little too crisp, movements stiff with nerves. He notices too.

“Hey, you good?” he asks, his tone light, but genuinely concerned.

The newbie nods, but hesitantly. He watches them for half a second, then gestures toward your order.

“Wanna make this one?”

They freeze. “Uh—me?”

“Yeah, you,” he grins, nodding toward the espresso machine. “C’mon, it’s just one drink. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“…I mess it up?”

“That’s the spirit,” he teases, nudging them lightly with his elbow. “But seriously, don’t worry. I’ll walk you through it.”

You watch as the newbie hesitantly steps up, hands fumbling with the portafilter. He lets them struggle for a second before stepping in behind them, close enough that his voice drops slightly, quiet and patient.

“Here, let me help.”

And then he does something devastating.

He reaches out, his hands brushing over theirs as he adjusts their grip, fingers steady and sure. “You wanna lock it in like this. Feel that little click? That means it’s in place.”

The newbie nods, but their breath catches slightly, and—yeah, okay, you can’t blame them. He is warm, too close, and entirely too unaware of how unfair it is to exist like this.

“Good,” he says, pulling back just enough to give them space. “Now, hit that button—yeah, that one. You got it.”

You swear you see the newbie swallow hard, cheeks dusted pink. He doesn’t comment on it—maybe he’s too focused on the drink, or maybe he’s just used to this.

Because you are feeling the exact same thing.

The drink comes together eventually, and the newbie looks both relieved and still slightly dazed. He claps them on the shoulder, offering a quick, reassuring grin.

“See? Not so bad,” he says. “Next time, I’m letting you handle it without the assist.”

They make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a nervous gulp.

And then, finally, he turns back to you.

He picks up your cup, spinning it slightly between his fingers before sliding it across the counter toward you.

“Here you go,” he says, his voice just a little softer now, a little more directed at you. “Hope you like it.” And then, after a pause, his smirk deepens.

“If not… guess you’ll just have to come back so I can make it up to you.”

Your fingers tighten around the cup, heat creeping up your neck. Your brain offers you several possible responses—flirty, cool, clever—and you say none of them.

Because all you can think about is how easy it would be to just ask. His number. His shift schedule. Anything that would let you turn this brief interaction into something more.

But the words sit heavy on your tongue, unspoken.

You just nod. And walk away.

And as you take your first sip, the new barista catches your gaze, their expression a perfect mirror of yours—slightly dazed, a little overwhelmed, and absolutely thinking the same thing.

This isn’t just a barista.

This is a problem.

And then you glance at the counter one last time, at the name tag pinned neatly to his apron.

Caleb.

—————————————————————————-

There’s more barista Caleb! Check my masterlist 🫶🏻

*throws odypen doodles at you & runs very fast*

also I sketched out my new penelope design shjskdj

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

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

My boy, sweetest joy I’ve known ;-;

"Shut up!" - LaDS reactions.

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

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

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

Xavier - pt. 1 - 637 words

Rafayel incoming...

Caleb incoming...

Zayne incoming...

Sylus incoming...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

some of us have just never known ease.

we've known so much fear energy, and we've spent our lives with this feeling… like we're always on the verge of being in trouble for something. it's intangible, but it's always there… and the dream is to close our eyes someday and to just feel safe, to feel held by a universe that loves us.

- butterflies rising

When You Shatter A Glass

Love and Deepspace Fanfic

When you broke a glass by accident, what would be his reaction? And when he sees you scared, what will he say to you as a response?

Genre: fluff, comfort/no hurt Pairing: Xavier x fem!reader (usage of Starlight as nickname) Words: 965 Warning: none!

Writing commission || Ko-fi || AO3 acc

Zayne's || Rafayel's || Sylus' || Caleb's

ENJOY~!

The loud shattering glass sound resounds in the small apartment.

After finishing a full week of additional work, killing Wanderer in places that were not their verdict, the long-awaited holiday has come. Xavier who loves his sleep has no problem finishing his workload, even faster than what Jenna told him. With his own work finished, he decided to help his partner, knowing fully that it was a high-level fight and not wanting his partner to be hurt.

At one point, Xavier was glad that he arrived on time, not letting his partner get any wounds. The only problem was the overtime and how they barely got any time to rest. Xavier could just sleep all day to get his energy charged, but knowing his partner, Xavier has decided to prepare something for the two of them so they can relax together.

Yet, when Xavier calls her over, she wants to help him prepare for their leisure time. With the food that he has ordered and the drinks that they bought before they got the mission, Xavier has to tell her that she didn’t need to lift a finger. He was the host, he was the one who invited her to his house, and it was his responsibility to prepare everything. Her stubbornness left him to let her do anything she wanted in exchange for him to cuddle with her.

“Starlight?” Xavier called out, his voice laced with worry. It didn’t take too long before his face popped up in the kitchen. He could see the way her shoulders shiver, face full of worry and fear. “Starlight, what happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m … I’m so sorry, Xavier. I … I didn’t know what happened to me, my hand suddenly became weak and I accidentally dropped your glass.”

Xavier notices the change, how her voice becomes shaky and smaller with each second. Her eyes never found his since he stood near her. Still trying to find what worries her so much, Xavier reaches out his hand towards her, trying to be the anchor for her and calm her down. He didn’t like how she responded with just a glass being broken.

“Starlight, will you look at me?” With his guiding voice, calm and grounding, she slowly looked at Xavier’s blue eyes, trying to see if there was any anger inside his eyes. “Are you hurt? Did the shard of the glass get into you? Or did you step on it by accident?”

Xavier could see how she shook her head, hand still shaking a bit. It took a lot from him to keep calm, he didn’t like the way she got cautious around him—over a broken glass. Is there something bothering her? Is there something that left her shaking like now? What was the real reason for her response? Was there someone who shouted or scared her when she clumsily broke a glass?

With a shake of her head, she said, “I’m okay … but I need to clean this. I … I will be the one responsible for it! I will also pay you, or I will buy you a new one …!”

“Starlight, it’s okay.” Xavier’s voice became softer, clenching her heart more. Why is his response like this? “You can just sit and rest, I told you I will be the one to prepare everything. Ah, I’m not blaming you.”

“Why are you … so calm about this?”

“Because you didn’t need to overthink it.” Xavier’s hand finally reached her cheek, caressing it and grounding her even more.

His touch was gentle, telling her that she didn’t need to think about anything, to be scared of anything, or for her to be wary about her surroundings. He wouldn’t ever shout, nor blame her for breaking his glass. He could easily get another one, and he could replace it anytime. All Xavier wanted was for her to be safe.

“Now, let’s get you out of this mess first, okay?” Xavier offered a smile, asking for permission. When he got a nod as an answer, he didn’t waste time before lifting her and bringing her to his couch, letting her rest there. “I will be back in a short while, so wait here.”

“I’m sorry, Xavier.” Her words cut deeper than he could have imagined. He could even feel how her finger held onto his hoodie. “I’m so sorry, Xavier. I didn’t mean to act though and mess it up. I didn’t … I shouldn’t have ….”

“Starlight, I’m not mad at you. I’m not angry at you too for not listening to me. What’s more, I’m worried about you. If you’re hurt or if you got the shard by accident. You’re really sure that you’re okay, right? That alone is enough for me.”

Xavier squatted down in front of her, holding both of her hands before stroking the back of her palm with his thumbs. He could sense a cold feeling from her, showing how much she was scared about his reaction. Yet, the smile, the look Xavier gives, and the way he speaks to her, everything made her realize how important she is to him. As long as she is safe and unhurt.

“Let me take care of it, it won’t be too long and I will be back by your side in no time. Will you wait for me?” With a nod given by her, Xavier finally stood up, making sure he left traces of a kiss on her face. Her cheeks, her forehead, and the crown of her head. “Next time, you didn’t need to be so scared, I won’t ever get mad at you. And it was only glass, we can buy a new one, also I prefer it to be a couple. For you and me, okay, Starlight?”

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

my babyyyy! 😣 look at him sulking and pouting😭🤍

full credit to artist: @fishbone0306 on X!