The Truth — What Really Happened
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.
More Posts from Xavierfrogprincess and Others
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!!
This is a gift of pure fluff for @whateversawesome, inspired by her wonderful Twiyor fanfics.
Thank you for being a good friend and beta to me for a whole long year, my pal 🤗 I hope our friendship will continue for as long as possible in the future too.
This brings comfort rn 😭😭😭
🗡️ “That time of the month again?”
because we all know that periods suck and characters are not immune to the horrors 🗡️ prompt list of comforting actions
Character A is bedridden from the cramps and Character B becomes their living heating pad (cuddles with arms wrapped around the waist >>>>)
B buys A their favorite chocolates a couple days before their period starts and keeps beverages with electrolytes on hand
A takes a day off to rest, bingewatch some episodes of a good show, and care for themselves (maybe do some yoga, and by yoga I mean curl up in the fetal position for a couple hours)
B thinks that making a nice bath for A will help and prepares everything for when A gets home (A laughs and explains why that’s not a great idea)
Searching for Shark Week’s episodes online to deal with shark week in person, but getting distracted by cute animal shows
B can’t be there for A in person so they send A $30 to cover extra snacks and/or medicine
Instead of getting emotional over posts online, A digs out an old book series and gets emotional over that (they are reliving their childhood, they swear it’s cathartic THEY SWEAR)
A can’t sleep with the back pain so B gives them a light back massage with several check-ins to make sure the noises are in relief and not pain
B keeps the lights dim and and TV volume low as A battles a headache
All meals are made with ahead of time and cravings humored (“You can’t just eat straight salt.” “I know that, which is why I’m putting all of it on this.”)
A asks for B to get more pads/tampons at the store, B calls and sends many pictures as they try to figure out what will work best for A
B quietly scrubs out any bloodstains from A’s clothes as they do laundry (and they’re really efficient at it, why are they so good at getting blood out of clothing—)
A snuggling up with their pet who knows the exact spot to be in for maximum comfy (B thinks it’s adorable and takes a picture to show A later)
“I’m sorry if I’m not really conversational right now…” “Dude you’re on your period and barely slept last night, you’re good. We don’t have to talk, we can just chill.”
B brings home a machine for homemade ice-cream and all the ingredients needed for A’s favorite flavor (they spend the evening making it and declare a “dessert before dinner” day for when periods strike)
So... at first it started out as a comic idea for my college work and then when i developed the idea to a story to write a script for college work purpose...
Tell me how did my college work turned into a short xavier fanfic with a script and comic idea .. and its angst . I never have written this type of angst ever or even angst ever.... how the hell is this man single handedly made my college work about him? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?
Not complaining though... cuz i made him sit there with me for 4 hours as i finished off my story and script 🥰🫡🥹🥹
Its 3 37 am. . Someone send help.😀🫡
Btw... a short note... was trying to pull for Xavier 5 star card but instead got Sylus's birthday card... not complaining but ya ... 🙃🫠 need to save up for lumiere rerunsssss😊🤪
Love Beyond the Surface
Part 1 !
Tag: Xavier x f!reader, Zayne x f!reader Warning: reader is not MC, angst, no comfort (yet), parallel universe(isekai), third-person
"You're in love with someone who is not me." "How can you be so sure?" "Cause I'm nothing like her" "It's not the looks or personality that I'm in love with. It's the soul"
You know them, but they don't know you. Still, no barrier you erect can conceal the truth of their discovery.
Part 2! [Rafayel, Sylus] x reader
✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦
You truly love the game, you really do. The atmosphere, the intricate details, the beautiful lighting that sets the perfect mood, and the voice lines that bring each character to life. It all comes together so beautifully.
The protagonist of the game is strong, smart, and undeniably beautiful, exactly like what you would expect in a game like this. And she’s nothing like you. Or rather, you're nothing like her. There are moments when you can’t help but feel a twinge of envy, but other times, you just push it aside and enjoy the ride.
But now, as you look at her across the street with your own eyes now, you're sure that you are definitely not her. You let out a quiet sigh, turning away and heading back to your temporary resting spot in this world. The weight of the different life is heavy in your thoughts. You need to find a way to get back.
✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦
🐇 XAVIER:
"No matter how many times it takes, no matter where you are… I will find you."
The street is as busy as ever, people moving past in a blur. He can't wait to get home after his mission and take a nap. Somehow, he catches a glimpse of someone and instinctively reaches out.
The sharp honking of a car pulls him out of his thoughts, and his gaze snaps back to her, the stranger he had grabbed. For a brief moment, he's taken aback, confusion crossing his face as he processes the fact that she isn't the person he had mistaken her for.
Xavier exhales sharply, trying to steady himself. "Apologies." He says, his voice rough and edged with frustration. "I thought you were someone else."
"…It's okay…" The girl says softly.
Xavier nods silently, still feeling a deep sense of guilt and regret. He can't help but still notice the similarities. He looks at her for a moment longer before breaking the silence.
"It's just..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "You really do look like...this person I know."
She looked at him warily, as if caught off guard, her tone flat but with a slight edge. "How so?"
Xavier scratches the back of his head, his eyes roaming her face once again, as if trying to pinpoint the similarities. He catches himself, realizing how that might sound. "You're just…similar."
"…Whoever you’re looking for." She says, her voice flat, as she steps closer to him. "I'm afraid I'm not them. You must have mistaken." She adds, her words clear, as if she is offering him a quiet but undeniable truth.
Noticing that he didn’t respond, she huffed, a mix of frustration and resignation settling in, feeling like the conversation had reached its end. With no more words to say, she turned and started to walk away.
In a moment, panic sweeps over Xavier, a feeling that he's about to lose something important. His body reacts before his mind can catch up. His hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly, pulling her back.
"Wait." His voice is a little hoarse, a mix of urgency and uncertainty. His grip is firm, but not forceful.
Xavier watches her intently, his gaze never leaving her face as he studies her features. There's a comforting presence that he responds to in her demeanor.
"I...I was just wondering..." He starts, his voice faltering for a moment. "What food do you like?"
"Pardon?"
Xavier's cheeks redden slightly, realizing how odd the question must sound. He rubs the back of his head, trying to play off his curiosity.
"I just... I was just curious." He says, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and honesty.
"…Why? You're going to take me out for dinner or something?" She let out a small laugh, but it quickly fades when she notices he doesn’t laugh back.
Xavier's heart skips a beat at her laugh, a genuine smile almost forming on his lips. He'd be lying if he said the idea didn't sound appealing.
"I just thought it would be nice to know more about you." He finally manages to say it, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.
"... You do realize we just met, right?" She asked, tilting her head slightly as she studied him.
Xavier nods, unable to tear his gaze away from her. His heart rate is still quickened, the mixture of shame, curiosity, and newfound attraction swirling within him.
"Yes." He says, his voice soft and genuine. "That's why I want to know more about you..." He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his usual cool demeanor.
She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes softened, almost pleading, as if silently hoping she would say yes. The vulnerability in his gaze was impossible to ignore. She wasn’t sure if it was his sincerity or the weight of the moment.
"I'm sorry... It's just that I'm a bit busy at the moment." She said, her voice soft but firm.
Xavier's heart sinks, a mix of disappointment and understanding washing over him. He had been caught up in the moment, the closeness, the connection he felt.
He nods slightly, a small sigh escaping his lips. "Right. Of course."
He steps back, putting a little more distance between them, and averts his gaze
She nods, offering a soft, half-hearted smile. "I hope you find the person you're… looking for… Have a nice day."
The words hang in the air for a moment, a gentle attempt at parting that feels heavier than intended.
Xavier's gaze lifts, his eyes meeting hers for a final moment. The disappointment is still there, but he manages to force a smile onto his face, even if it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Yeah." He replies, his voice a little hoarse. "You too."
He watches she walks away, the space between you two stretching further with each step. Each footfall feels like a silent reminder of what’s slipping out of reach.
"I will find you." "I don't want to be founded."
✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦
🦭 ZAYNE:
"When you and the world wake up, I hope we do not met again"
Zayne was beyond exhausted. The hospital was packed with patients. He had been on his feet all day, working tirelessly to treat and care for everyone who came through the doors.
So he changed his course after work, heading for a nearby coffee shop. He noticed he was the only customer left, likely due to the late hour or approaching closing time.
The sound of ringing fills the air as the door opens. A person steps in behind him, moving to the counter to place an order.
"Hi, can I get a…?"
The person's soft, clear voice pierced Zayne's ears as he heard them place her drink order. He blurted out the name of the drink before he could stop himself.
The person tensed, quickly turning to face him, her eyes widening in surprise as if she recognized him.
Zayne quickly averted his gaze, pretending to be completely engrossed in looking at the decorations.
She stared at him briefly before returning to her order, speaking quickly. "Yeah and I would like a dessert with it too... "
"It seems we're out of dessert for tonight, he’s already taken the last one." The attendant said with a regretful tone.
"Oh." Her voice tinged with disappointment
With a hint of hesitation, he spoke up. "If you’d like, I can give it to you."
"That …won’t be necessary. You come first, after all." She stammered, offered a polite smile
Zayne shook his head slowly. "No, it's really alright." He said, his voice calm and reassuring. "I can go without it for tonight." He paused, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment.
Zayne was caught off guard by his own actions. Why on earth was he offering his dessert to a complete stranger? Was it just an impulsive gesture, or was there something else driving him?
After a brief pause, he discreetly looked her up and down, his expression thoughtful. "Have we met before?"
She widened her eyes in surprise, then offered a sad smile. "I don't believe we did."
Odd… Zayne thought, his suspicion not quite quelled. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was so familiar about her. She didn't look like anyone he knew, and yet he was convinced he had seen her somewhere before. Regardless of it, he strangely feels a sense of contentment when he sees her.
She glanced at him briefly, uneasy under his gaze. "You... just got off work?" She asked, hoping to shift the focus.
"Yeah, the hospital nearby." Zayne replied casually, his gaze still fixed on her.
His suspicions were not eased, no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. There was just something so oddly familiar about her, as if he had seen her before somewhere, in some other place in time. He couldn't quite place it, and it was driving him crazy.
She nodded slightly, her gaze flickering briefly. "You work quite... late."
"It's a part of the job." Zayne replied with a shrug, his expression remained neutral.
She smiled nervously, each question she asked only deepening the awkwardness. Feeling the tension grow, she fell silent, unsure of what to say next, hoping the quiet would ease things.
Zayne found himself wondering if she visited the coffee shop frequently. The location was slightly out of the way and secluded, which made him question if she came here often.
"Do you come here often?" He asked suddenly, breaking the silence between them. "There aren't many places open this late."
"Not... really." She replied, a slight shrug lifting her shoulders. "I just discovered it a few days ago…"
Zayne nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. He couldn't shake off the feeling of worry growing inside him. Here she was, a lone girl in a quiet area so late at night.
"You know, you really shouldn't be walking around alone... especially at this hour." Zayne found himself saying without thinking, his concern finally getting the better of him.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, a defensive edge creeping into her tone. "I can handle myself." She said, her words sharp but quiet.
The waiter approached and handed Zayne his drink first, breaking the conversation for a moment. He gave a small nod of thanks.
Zayne glanced at his watch, realizing just how late it had gotten. He took one sip of his drink, holding up the cup before turning back to her.
"I better get going. Got an early day tomorrow."
The words slipped out almost instinctively, as if he felt the need to let her know, even though there was no real reason to. His gaze lingered for a moment, unsure if he should say anything more.
She didn’t answer or glance at him, keeping her gaze fixed ahead. A sense of disappointment washed over him, he must have offended her. Without a word, he turned and walked out, silently hoping their paths would cross again.
"I hope we do not meet again." "So do i."
✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦ Picture: belong to Love & Deepspace official (not me) ✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦
I know it sound deludelu but i just need some angst in my life a bit. I'll post the rest later. Also no hate to the MC. Her character is well-built, and i love her personality.
A Nostalgic Dream
listen to a lot of orchestral music, and this is one of my all time favorite pieces. And ever since getting into love and deepspace l've associated it with Xavier.
I can't pin down an exact idea, just flashes of scenes.
A grand, silver and gold ballroom on Philos. The orchestra is practicing a slower melody for his highness' ball, and you stay with him as his soon to be grandis knight. Xavier isn't interested in the festivities but his blue eyes catch the way you sway to the music ever so subtly. The way you hum the melody and seem to float instead of walking.
So, without a word, he bows and offers his hand to you. Without a word, you bow or curtsy in kind and take his hand.
Each twinkle in the melody matches a twinkle in the light, each hum of the violin leads you into another step. Xavier is dancing you around the
empty ballroom with all the grace and poise a prince of his caliber should have. Fleeting glances, intermingled breath. The spin of the tail/skirt of your uniform, the way Xavier glows in unspoken delight.
And somewhere in a strange mix of past and future, you lay awake in your boyfriend's bed.
Beginning to hum a melody you've never heard.
A song from a nostalgic dream, where you danced with a prince that glowed under moonlight, with eyes bluer than a clear summer's sky. But you can never quite make out his face. So you simply hum the tune, unaware of Xavier's slightly widened eyes.
IDK I feel like this music piece deserves a Prince Xavier fic but l've already got the trowels series and I just can't quite hammer anything down for him.
Pancakes at Sunset
content: fluff, xavier x reader, soft teasing, domestic, cozy vibes
word count: 893 words
requested by — @sadfragilegirl
now playing: Best Part by Daniel Ceaser ft H.E.R
You place the plates on the table as Xavier settles into the chair beside you. You had cooked pancakes with bacon and eggs—definitely not your usual dinner choice. The savory scent of sizzling bacon mixed with maple syrup still clings to the air. It’s oddly comforting, but also… well, odd. It was already dinner time.
Xavier glances at the spread, then up at you. One brow arches, his golden eyes narrowing with amused suspicion. “Breakfast?” he says, tone smooth and relaxed, like velvet draped over mischief. There’s no judgment there, just that usual playful cadence in his voice that makes your stomach flutter—more than it probably should.
You shrug, sliding into the seat across from him. “Yeah. I was craving it.”
“Craving,” he echoes, slowly, drawing the word out like he’s tasting it. His fork hovers over the pancakes for a moment before he stabs into them. “That’s a new one.”
You tilt your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and swallows. “Just that you usually go for something more… balanced. You’ve never made breakfast food for dinner before. This is a bold choice.” He gestures to the pancakes dramatically, like he’s hosting a cooking show. “An unprecedented one.”
“Maybe I just wanted comfort food,” you say, folding your arms and trying not to smile.
“Or…” He trails off, leaning back in his chair, fork spinning between his fingers. That sly smirk starts forming—the one you know all too well. “You’re being weird lately.”
Your brow lifts. “Weird?”
“Yeah. You’ve been… emotional. Sleeping a lot. Getting all huffy at me over nothing—don’t think I didn’t notice you almost cry when we ran out of strawberry jam.”
Your face warms. “That was a traumatic moment, thank you.”
He chuckles, low and warm. “And now pancakes for dinner? Something’s up.”
You narrow your eyes. “Maybe I just missed you.”
That seems to catch him off guard. He falters for half a second, eyes softening, that teasing edge dipping into something gentler. “I missed you too,” he says, sincere and quiet.
And just like that, your heart stumbles.
But then—he’s grinning again. “Still… this isn’t just missing me. You’re like… glitching.”
You scoff. “Oh, shut up.”
“I mean, first the jam, now the pancakes? You’ve been acting like a walking mood swing.” He props his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s next, singing to the plants? Crying over a commercial again?”
“It was a dog reunion ad, Xavier. You cried too.”
“That’s beside the point.”
You take a deep breath and lean back in your seat. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Oh, absolutely.” He doesn’t even try to deny it. “Because now I get to ask the big question.”
You pause, fork halfway to your mouth. “What?”
He leans in slightly, lowering his voice, but still laced with that teasing edge. “Are you… pregnant?”
You nearly choke. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, it would explain the weird cravings, the naps, the moodiness.” He waves his fork like he’s presenting evidence. “You’ve been late too, right?”
Your cheeks flush instantly. “You are not seriously—”
“I’m just saying.” He takes another bite, talking through the mouthful. “Maybe there’s a little me in there already.”
You drop your fork. “Xavier.”
“What?” He’s laughing now, head tilted back just slightly, the kind of laugh that feels like a warm breeze—easy, light, completely him. “You’ve been looking at baby clothes on your phone too.”
“That was one time and it was an ad!”
“Sure it was.”
You throw a napkin at him. He catches it mid-air with a casual flick of his hand and smirks. “Reflexes of a starship pilot.”
“You’re impossible.”
He leans forward again, eyes crinkling at the corners with the fondness he always tries (and fails) to hide. “You know, if you were pregnant,” he says softly, “I’d take it in stride.”
You blink. “You… would?”
His voice turns warm, serious for a beat. “I’d be terrified. But I’d also be all in. No running. No hesitation. Just me… and you… figuring it out.”
Your chest tightens in the best way. You hadn’t really thought about that. At least, not seriously. But now, hearing him say it, tease it—mean it—it sends a pulse of warmth through you that pancakes alone couldn’t have managed.
Still, you roll your eyes. “Well, I’m probably not. I’m just… late.”
“Mmhm.” He hums, biting into a strip of bacon. “For now.”
You point a finger at him. “Don’t start nesting. We’re not naming anything.”
He grins devilishly. “Too late. I’ve already got five options for a girl and seven for a boy.”
You groan dramatically and cover your face. “I’m never making breakfast again.”
“You say that now,” he murmurs, sliding his chair closer so he can wrap an arm around your shoulder. He kisses your temple, a whisper of warmth against your skin. “But wait till the cravings hit again tomorrow.”
“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
The teasing continues until the plates are cleared and the night grows soft around you. And even though you’re sure you’re not pregnant, the way he looks at you… the way he smiles like he already sees a future unfolding with you in it—maybe, just maybe—you let yourself imagine it too. Just a little. Just enough.
Thank you for requesting! Requests are open. Reblogs and liking would help a lot!! Thanks for the past support. My heart is warming. - Zane 𖹭
イケメン
📖⬅⬅⬅
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
Anatomy Study 📝
-
findingnuii liked this · 2 weeks ago -
dixbolik-bby liked this · 2 weeks ago -
devotedebauchery liked this · 2 weeks ago -
asgardiancoffemaker liked this · 2 weeks ago -
appleslicetm liked this · 2 weeks ago -
exitingmusic liked this · 2 weeks ago -
rcvcgers liked this · 2 weeks ago -
a-thief-of-many-books liked this · 2 weeks ago -
onlyafterrain liked this · 2 weeks ago -
thequeenofthecastle531 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
baekhun1exory liked this · 2 weeks ago -
nickeltoadscissors liked this · 2 weeks ago -
rainingstars59 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
hazycottagedreams reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
lunatheroyal liked this · 2 weeks ago -
nod4mnm3rcyy liked this · 2 weeks ago -
marz-era liked this · 2 weeks ago -
apexqueenfallen liked this · 2 weeks ago -
parkjiminswifeparkcharlie liked this · 2 weeks ago -
khalsy16 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
pookiebookie26 reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
youresirius liked this · 2 weeks ago -
bonnieinnit19 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
spntrashfangirl liked this · 2 weeks ago -
lelelkr liked this · 2 weeks ago -
seaofworlds liked this · 2 weeks ago -
tomuchaurasstuff liked this · 2 weeks ago -
lani-gurl liked this · 2 weeks ago -
secretsstash liked this · 2 weeks ago -
jamangos liked this · 2 weeks ago -
jooheonpout reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
viistarlyy liked this · 2 weeks ago -
nubecy liked this · 2 weeks ago -
kismetarchive liked this · 2 weeks ago -
screamingforests liked this · 2 weeks ago -
h3artthr0b liked this · 2 weeks ago -
wannareadsstuff liked this · 3 weeks ago -
loafing-zone liked this · 3 weeks ago -
angelbeat994 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
euphorichumanart liked this · 3 weeks ago -
chuun-chuun liked this · 3 weeks ago -
cat-cats-stuff liked this · 3 weeks ago -
awesomefuzzytriumphworld liked this · 3 weeks ago -
bellblubell liked this · 3 weeks ago -
vonpew liked this · 3 weeks ago -
zuzuxzy liked this · 3 weeks ago -
derpmeep liked this · 3 weeks ago -
luvxoxo reblogged this · 3 weeks ago -
mrs-schoenheit reblogged this · 3 weeks ago
loyal to my man ~Xavier .... Life is delulu at this point and other fixations
237 posts