Colonel! Xavier

Save me Lumiere~

Valentine's Favourites

Xavier x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: 2,1k word, allusions to intercourse/suggestive topics

Note: fanfiction for my Valentine's Event

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

← how Jeremiah is doing ★ continuation of the evening →

~★~

Xavier was preparing for that day for weeks if not months. Finding a perfect spot, making sure that you'll be free from work, writing down the things he'll need to get; food, a gift, flowers...

You couldn't catch a glimpse of Xavier since the morning, when he left your apartment after staying the night, saying that he had some 'things' to take care of and he'll see you later.

You tried messaging him, but the only thing you got back in response was 'I'll see you later' or 'please be patient sweetheart'. You knew he was planning something, but you had little to absolutely no idea what that could be.

Was he planning something? A date perhaps? Maybe a gift? Did he do something stupid and needed to fix it without your knowledge? What was he doing?!

The thoughts were eating you up, but you knew better than to stress yourself out with his secrecy. After all: it was Xavier out of all people, he was full of mystery. You just hoped that he'll be safe.

Your day went by with you doing basic chores and being lazy, since you didn't have anything planned or today. You still had the prince of your heart in the back of your head, was he doing alright?

Deciding to try once more to get some information from him you picked up your phone, entering chat with him.

'Hey, you doing okay there?'

You turned off your phone about to put it back down and focus on the TV, but the moment the screen went blank you heard the sound of notification and in a second you turned it back on.

'get ready, I'll meet u in half an hour, dress comfy'

Instantly you shoot up from your seat, going to change your clothes still staring at the message from him.

Half an hour? Alright, but dress comfy to go where? Comfy as 'home-kind-comfy' or 'we're going somewhere when you don't need to dress up' or 'dress whatever you feel like, you'll still be pretty'?

Why were you overthinking this?!

It's probably just a simple date, right? So you want to look pretty without looking like you tried hard to look pretty.

HOLY YOU HAVE ONLY 30 MINUTES!

Instantly you started looking through your clothes, what is comfy but looks pretty and not like your home clothes? Let's try to look cute in half an hour, sure.

After looking through all of your clothes, with half of your wardrobe now on your bed, you were finally somehow satisfied with the results. Lucky you; did your make-up earlier out of boredom...

You were fixing your hair a little bit when the doorbell sound rang. Instantly you run towards the door, screaming 'a moment' on your way, and stumbling around your apartment at least twice.

Finally you made it to the front door, unlocking and opening them without checking the peephole first. There he stood, perfect like always, with a slight gentle smile on his lips that you returned instantly.

"Hello beautiful." his arms opened, inviting you for a hug and without wasting a second you found yourself in his embrace.

"Hi handsome." you giggled, giving his cheek a peek before breaking the hug.

"Get some shoes on, we're going out." you turned around to follow his instructions, bending over and unintentionally gracing him with the sight of your perfect ass.

He bit his tongue, memories of last night started floating around in his head, but the moment you stood up, ready to go with an innocent smile on your lips, all the improper thoughts left, his mind instead focusing on the present you.

"I'm ready." your high shoes clicked with every step you took while leaving your apartment. Hopefully he won't make you walk around too much...

Without words he took your hand, leading you to the elevator.

During the wait you hugged him close in the tight space, only with you two in it. He let you rest your head on his chest, in his head hoping for the evening to go perfect, his earlier exchange of words with Jeremiah replaying in his head.

"She'll be delighted. Trust me."

"It's just... Maybe she deserves someone better than me to spend her life with."

"Are you kidding me? For someone this smart you're really oblivious sometimes, aren't you?"

Xavier looked at him with a threatening glance, but Jeremiah was completely unbothered by it, still focusing on placing the stuff in the right places.

"She's crazy for you, last time you two came to Philo she was staring at you the whole time, like you were the only thing in the room, no actually, like you were the only thing in the world. Don't doubt yourself so much, my Prince." finally sparing a glance at Xavier he only smiled teasingly. He enjoyed seeing the always calculated and collected person being stressed over his love life.

"Xavier? We can get out now..." your voice broke him from his thoughts, the doors of the elevator were open.

"Yes, sorry." he walked out with you, hands still joined together.

You were walking the streets of Linkon, light conversion about work and life making the time pass faster. You didn't think about your destination, trusting him even if that would mean walking to the stars and back. You would follow him everywhere.

The sun was slowly setting, the warm light making Xavier look more eternal than ever, you couldn't help but admire him from the side, not noticing that he stopped and looked at you too.

"We're here." you woke up from the daze, your head instantly turned and you saw the edge of the forest before you.

"We're going there?" he nodded your head at your question. You looked down at your shoes, you were not prepared for that... "Alright." you braced yourself to try and avoid spraining your ankle. But then you got swept off your feet - literally "Xavier!"

"What?" he asked, acting clueless. He started walking with you in his arms, carrying you like a princess.

"I can walk!" your voice raised in shock.

"I know." was his only answer, not even looking at you, focused on the path ahead.

Knowing that there's no arguing with him you decided to get comfortable in his hold and admire him.

Damn he looked so hot all focused and calm, and all yours. You closed your eyes, your head falling to rest on his shoulder with your arms hugging his neck. You could fall asleep like this, but before your consciousness left for good he spoke once again.

"We arrived." you heard his soft voice right above your ear. Your eyes slowly opened, reviling the beautifully prepared 'tent' from some kind of see-through fabric, with lots of lights everywhere and a blanket(s) inside accompanied by various pillows.

You looked at him, he was carefully studying your reaction.

"You prepared this?" you smiled already knowing the answer. He nodded his head slowly.

"With a little help." gently he put you down onto the blankets. You took in the details of his preparations.

There was a small table beside you, you saw there was a small board with the photos you took together adoring it, beside it lying were snacks and a tiny box, wrapped up like a present. You looked around a little more, imagining how much time he spent here, preparing all of this for you.

"It's really pretty." your gaze returned to the owner of your heart, he sat down beside you, his eyes not leaving your figure for a single moment "Thank you Xavier." you took his hand into yours, squeezing it lightly.

"It's really nothing that impressive." instantly you made the 'zip it' move with your fingers. He smiled and chuckled quietly.

"It's beautiful here, and I know that it took you a lot of thought and time to prepare this, I'm so thankful to have you in my life." you sealed your words with a kiss to his lips, what was supposed to be a quick and sweet peek turned into a make out session the moment his hand flew to the back of your head.

You didn't complain of course. Eventually he pulled away, still caressing your hair gently, with one hand he reached for something behind you, a second later you saw a bouquet made out of what looked like a hundred little flowers, resembling a thousand stars shining in the night sky.

Your smile softened even more, he really did his best today.

With the bouquet now in your hands he moved away a little bit to reach for your shoes, gently taking them off for you. You couldn't help but coo at him a little bit, how could someone look so innocent and angel-like but in reality- hold on wrong thoughts.

Next two hours you spend on cuddles, talking about your past years and the memories you made together, sometimes pointing to the photos for reminders of various moments that passed. You were overjoyed with having him in your life, proud to hold his hand and announce to everyone that this perfect man is all yours.

The darkness of the night sky peeked at you, the moon listened to your stories intensively, sharing your intimacy, watching you with a silent promise not to speak of this moment to anyone.

You were lying down together, desserts he brought already eaten. Your bodies facing each other, the warmth and feelings in your eyes worth more than a thousand words.

Slowly he raised from his lying position, sitting at the entrance of the make shift tent and taking something from the small table into his palm.

He looked at you over his shoulder, soft gaze meeting your eyes, you looked at him with a silent question, but instead of words he graced you with his hand, gesturing for you to take it, which you did instantly, pulling yourself up with his help.

He brought you up to your feet, and walked a couple steps with your palm resting in his.

The grass gently tickled your feet, before he came to stop with you in front of him. The little box now in his other hand.

"I thought a lot those past couple of weeks." his gaze dropped from your eyes to his hand "I can't imagine my life without you in it. A thousand lifetimes are not worth as much as your love." his eyes came back to yours. His hand never let go of yours.

You were confused, not understanding what was happening, but then...

You saw his body slowly leaning down, until one of his knees met the ground. For a moment you still couldn't grasp what was happening. But then it hit you, your eyes widen.

"I know that this is unexpected, but believe me, it's been on my mind for the longest time. I didn't know how to ask you, if there ever will be a right moment, but then I decided to make a perfect moment myself." you squeezed his hand a little to let him know you are listening "I'm sorry that this is not what a princess proposal should look like... But I know that you value little moments much more than grand spectacles, and that's probably one of the reasons I fell so deeply in love with you. With you there are no expectations, no questing my ideas, you're always there to support me, cheering me on every time." you couldn't help but laugh a little, to which he responded with a small smile of his own "So, if you'll only grace me with the honor of having you as my wife, I'll be the happiest man in the universe." he opened the little box, a beautiful ring hid there, now showing to you the prettiest gem you ever seen.

"Xavier I..." you laughed, overwhelmed with emotions, you were not expecting THAT to happen today, how did he manage to hide his plans so well? "Of course I'll be your wife." in a split second the ring found itself on your finger, fitting perfectly. A second later you were snooped up into Xavier's arms with him spinning you around.

Your laughter was his absolute favorite sound in the world. He stopped his spins, but still held you in his arms, a kiss fell onto your lips, instantly you got lost in the feeling, you cling to him like to a lifeline. He hugged you tighter, not letting you move away for even an inch.

You didn't know what gods to thank for sending him to you, but you will forever be thankful for the opportunity to share your life with this man.

You pulled back for air, breaking the heated kiss, your hot breaths mixing. He still didn't let you go. For a moment you could swear you saw tiny lights flying around him.

"I love you my starlight." he didn't even let you say it back before coming back to launch at your lips. Oh how much you loved your innocent looking freaky fiancé.

The bite of Xavier

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

Xavier is for the people who have always listened to other’s woes but themselves never been on the receiving end of the same gratitude. He will hear you out and let you cry and rant to your heart's content.

Xavier is for the people who have always had to do everything on their own and have become used to only relying on themselves. He’ll let you do your thing but will always have your back when you need him.

Xavier is for the people who have always been in positions of responsibility. He’ll let you take the lead but will also be there to himself lead and take care of things if you ask him to.

Xavier is for those who enjoy museum dates and book fairs. He will share random historical facts with you. He will read to you as you two cuddle in bed. He will discuss and rave about those minor characters in obscure book series that no one talks about.

Xavier is for those who sometimes just don’t wanna head out and would rather chill at home. He’d order your comfort food, co-op with you on your games and join you for movie nights, and warm snuggles.

Xavier is for the people who sometimes don’t wanna talk and simply enjoy the comfortable silence. He'll lay out with you on the rooftop or join you at the balcony/window so you both can quietly stargaze, and enjoy the serenity of each other’s company.

Xavier is for those who find it difficult to express themselves, who have always been so guarded, who feel a lot but simply can’t find the right words to say. He will be patient and wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

Xavier is for the foodies. He will never judge your weird eating habits and will even join you for a late night snack.

Xavier is for the people who cherish small, seemingly insignificant gestures. He’ll place his hand on the sharp corners of a table when you bend your head to pick up a fallen spoon/fork. One look into your eyes and he’ll do that task that you wordlessly request him to. He’ll twirl your locks around his fingers, play with your hair, and kiss you out of nowhere at random times ♡

this was requested by someone on reddit DMs ♡ who saw similar posts for other LIs..

» MASTERLIST «

©️ Xavier divider is my own. Credit me if you use ♡

inspired by mine own Greatest Breakdown of the Century that took place last Wednesday

your husband had a very convenient advantage over you.

and that would be picking you up— whenever and wherever.

falling asleep anywhere other than your bed was never an issue, not with him around. because rest assured— your very strong, very responsible and very devoted husband, has made it his mission to pick up his beloved wife and deliver her to safety and comfort.

you fell asleep on the couch while reading a book or watching a movie? no problem, he had already anticipated it. cue him carefully picking you up bridal style, grip firm but gentle, your head comfortably cradled against his chest. then, he'd start walking to your shared bedroom with slow steps— but not before staring at your sleeping face for a moment with a painfully tender gaze and pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple. everytime you woke up, you would find yourself neatly tucked in bed with him holding you close to him or simply gazing at you in quiet awe, like you were the very embodiment of beauty itself. (to him, you were, even if you disagreed.)

now, that's not the only place where his strength came to use. whenever you decide to act stubborn and bratty, you'd best be prepared for a pair of large, steady and warm hands to suddenly settle themselves on your waist, hoisting you up over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. he'd go on about his day just like that as if he didn't have a living, breathing, adult-sized human creating a fuss over his shoulder. he'll only put you down when he feels like it. or maybe if you manage to bribe him with some affection… (spoiler; it always works.)

another time would be when you're feeling particularly lazy to get up from bed in the morning. you don't want to get up? that's fine too, he'll let you latch onto him like a koala— your arms lazily looped around his neck, legs around his waist, and his hand keeping you steady while he casually takes a sip of his coffee with the other. that's his life now. happy wife, happy life.

however, there was also a time when he had you questioning your entire existence. you were standing in front of a drawer, very much distracted by an item in your hands. it just so happened that your husband needed to get something from the said drawer. his solution? extraordinary. lift you off the ground by your waist, relocate you to the side, get his drawer business done and casually go on and about with his day. you only processed this a minute later and he had no idea why you kept on staring at him like he had personally rewritten the laws of the universe itself.

long story short, he loved picking you up— even during times when it was unnecessary. why? because he simply could. and also because it was the perfect excuse to have you in his arms yet again.

♡ nanami kento, kamo choso, ryomen sukuna, gojo satoru, geto suguru, fushiguro toji (jjk), sylus, zayne, xavier, caleb (lads), wriothesley, alhaitham, neuvillette, diluc, itto, kaeya, childe, zhongli (genshin), rengoku kyojuro, uzui tengen, tomioka giyuu, himejima gyomei (kny), ukitake jushiro, kuchiki byakuya, kyoraku shunsui, kurosaki ichigo, ishida uryuu, abarai renji, hitsugaya toshiro, jugram haschwalth (bleach), your favorite.

L&DS LI as fantasy historical manhwa tropes: pt. 1

Summary: What would happen if the game you once knew suddenly turned into a different kind of otome?

Content: SFW content + headcanons + non proof-reading; Xavier + Caleb.

Note: I love reading them, it's such a shame that most aren't finished when I read them. I have a lot of stuff to do for next week and tbh I'm so so exhausted even if I don't really do that much. I hope everyone is having a good week! I'm sorry if it isn't that well written... I keep trying to improve my use of English but it's so difficult to use more formal English...

Comments: Let me know if you want a part with the good endings + bad endings (that is, accepting or rejecting their proposal). I'm planning on making the rest of LI in a few days!

Xavier as the crown prince:

Prince! Xavier who you meet while he is working as a mercenary. He is covered under a heavy cloak, together with a silver mask which conceals most of his face. He doesn't talk much, eyes fixed to the front as the two of you walk to the mission you had been charged to.

Prince! Xavier who far excels the rest of the team. While the rest of the members struggle to kill a few of them every now and then, Xavier is able to slash them on a single blow, their limp bodies falling to the ground as Xavier was already making his way towards the next.

Prince! Xavier who soon disappears after completing the mission, not even allowing you to thank him for the potions he had given you after you had almost gotten cut by the sword of the enemy. You feel kind of disappointed, as you didn't even get the chance to properly thank him by buying him some kind of treat after the mission was completed.

Prince! Xavier who doesn't appear until the incoming ball. This time, he makes an appereance as the crown prince, his icy blue eyes scanning you from afar as he takes a sip from the glass on his hand. He is always surrounded by different families, all too busy presenting their daughters to him to notice how he kept stealing glances at you, his lips sligthly curving up as he kept remembering the night that the two of you spent fighting. It takes a couple of hours for the party to become a bit less tiresome, with many nobles already sat around the ballroom due to the alcohol. It is then that Xavier chooses to sneak away to a balcony, giving you a quick glance as if inviting you.

Prince! Xavier who looks even more breath-taking under the pale moonlight. His hair shines as if it was made of silver while his blue orbs make him look as the personification of the moon itself. You close the glass door behind you, which makes him turn rapidly, relaxing once more after he realises it was you. "I suppose there's no point hiding it anymore." Xavier left the glass on the railing, getting closer to you with a strange glint on his eyes. "How did you know I was... me?" Xavier looked quite suspicious, after all, you hadn't been the best actress, your eyes constantly looking at his own, even screaming his name when he almost got attacked from behind. You tried to poorly explain yourself, telling him that you held no ill intentions towards him, and in fact wished to become friends, not as the crown prince and his subject, but maybe with his other self. He looked quite doubtful at first, but well, the two of you hadn't seen for over a month, if you truly had wanted you could have run with the news to some noisy reporter, so he simply sighed, his steps getting even closer. "It is a pleasure to meet you, I am Xavier, but when we meet I will simply be Lumiere, not anyone else." He had kneeled, kissing your gloved hand with extreme care. "I am nothing more than an adventurer who works to gain some money." You cursed at the fact that you were unable to keep this scene for the rest of your life.

Prince! Xavier who begins to work with you as a permanent pair, always choosing the same missions of killing the monsters that kept reaching the small towns far from the city. These missions always forced the two of you to spend the night together in some lost inn around the town. The interesting thing about this is that it is quite often the times that the two have to spend the night in the same room, as all the rooms were completely filled, that is except for one last room, the one that had a single bed. The two of you look at each other with a slightly embarrased look... at least in the outside. Who would have guessed that this was all planned by Xavier as a way to get closer to you? He never intended to do anything to you, but come on, he was the crown prince, he had more than enough money to rent the whole inn, could you really blame him?

Prince! Xavier who finally asks for your hand in marriage at his coronation, the whole kingdom is watching him when he suddenly looks at you, eyes glistening under the pale moon light as the first time you saw each other. He is still wearing his ceremonial outfit, together with the bejeweled sword when he suddenly gets on one knee, at your side, his deep blue eyes looking at you with pure devotion, his voice only reaching you: "I was planning on waiting some time until I was settled as king, but I do not wish to keep these feelings hidden any longer, I want to become yours, not as mere partners, much less as your king. I tried to hide it, as I was aware of what it meant for you, for your family... I do not wish to force you into it, nobody else is able to listen nor see us from this distance, I can wait as long as you need to. Let me know when you are ready." Xavier took your hand with extreme care, leaving a cast kiss on it, his fingers interlocking for a few seconds, leaving a silver ring on the palm of your hand. "If you do not wish for me to covet you, do not freat. I would never wish to harm you."

...

Caleb as the loyal knight:

Recommended song: Love Story - Taylor Swift

Knight! Caleb who has been with you since you were young. He was lucky enough to be born into one of the most powerful families of the kingdom, that is, if you ignore the tragic that soon knocked on his door, with his parents dying when he was still eight years old. This forced him to quickly grow up, having to get away from each of his relatives, as they simply wanted to get their hands on his family's wealth. This situation ended up with him living with your family with the excuse of your mothers being extremely close, allowing Caleb to keep his surname so he could become the head of his family when he came of age.

Knight! Caleb who becomes almost a kind of older brother, with him always carrying you around each place he went, his hand tightly wrapped around yours as he takes you on walks around your garden, sometimes even allowing you to sneak out to visit the city while your parents were too busy. He lets you buy those not so healthy meat sticks, his mouth biting on the first piece of meat before even letting you grab it. He keeps laughing telling you that it's just some kind of tax for him buying it for you, how could he tell you that he was actually testing if somebody had poisoned the meat?

Knight! Caleb who leaves your house as soon as you come of age. He doesn't tell you in advance, in fact, it was merely because you were eavesdropping around your father's office late at night, it was then that you heard him talk with Caleb, barely being able to hear how he was planning to leave tomorrow. You had to clench your hands as hard as possible, your nails digging into your skin as you kept trying to stop yourself from bursting inside and crossing Caleb's face with a slap. Instead, you simply chose to sneak back to your room, fat tears falling down your eyes as you tried to stop the hiccups from being heard. This was to no avail, as a few minutes after Caleb appeared in your room, his purple eyes glistening under the moonlight, his expression having a mixture of remorse and guilt as he kneeled in front of you. "I am sorry, I was planning this since I was young. I do not wish to become a nuisance, that is why I need to become as strong as possible, someone strong enough to defend you from anyone." Caleb took your hand, moving it to his face and snuggling against it. "I promise I will come back as soon as possible, will you wait for me?" You looked at Caleb through the tears, a knot forming in your stomach just from imagining all the things that could happen to him while he was on the battlefield. You could feel the mixture of anger and sadness bubbling up your throat, but unable to do anything else, you simply laid your head on his shoulder, letting the tears fall down your face as he kept petting your hair.

Knight! Caleb who returns after more than five years. You were walking around the garden as you used to do with him when both of you were younger, suddenly you heard something comming from the small gap that Caleb and you had found long time ago. Just as you were about to rush towards safety, two strong arms wrapped around you, a calloused hand covering your mouth before a velvety voice spoke in your ear: "Guess who?" Before you were able to respond, your whole body moved, turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck as you had done many years ago, Caleb soon corresponded, his arms now wrapping around your waist and giving you a few twirls before letting you softly on the ground. Just as he was about to speak you hit him on the chest, burying your face on it as you kept punching him on the chest, blaming him for not answering the many letters that you kept sending in hopes of getting any news from him. He let you do so, his warm hands petting you while the other kept rubbing up and down your back almost as if wanting to reassure you. "I know I was a fool, but know this, I tried to make it as fast as possible. I would never want to keep you waiting that long, I promise." Caleb looked at your face, now puffy and red from all the crying, he teased you a bit, his fingers rubbing against your reddened nose. "I missed you dearly..." Caleb suddenly let out, the words barely being audible despite the lack of background noise, merely a whisper that could have been carried by the night wind. "If you would grant me the honour of sharing the time that remains to me by your side, I should count myself as the happiest of men." Caleb looked deeply into your eyes, letting you take a peek into his feelings, the one he had kept hidden for all those years.

Knight! Caleb who makes his first appereance on the high society the next morning. He is now wearing his heavy armour, face still covered in marks as he simply rides on his horse with an extremely cold expression, only smiling the moment he saw your face among the crowd. Before you were able to tell him anything, Caleb had already spoken with the king, allowing you to be moved to the front so you could clearly see the moment Caleb was acknowledged by all nobles, soft petals falling around him and the other knights as the king provies them the highest reward possible.

Knight! Caleb who becomes one of the youngest dukes among the empire. Contrary to what many people expected, Caleb had no issue executing each and all of the members of his family that had been taking advantage of his abscence, with no nobles even thinking about stopping him in fear of him retaliating against their family. After all, who would even dare to confront the crazy dog of the empire? That was the titled that Caleb had won after the years he spent in the front, with all the soldiers feeling both hopeful and extremely scared each time Caleb was chosen to comand the soldiers. That was something you shouldn't know, of course, and rest assured that he made sure that the rumor was kept away from most nobles, good thing he had been able to quickly win the favour of the young king that had been crowned, right?

Knight! Caleb who proposes to you in your family garden. It had already passed over a year since he came back from war, his body still covered by the different marks done by the monsters, now being easily seen with Caleb's sleeves rolled-up . It was a warm afternoon of July when he suddenly kneeled in front of you, with the sun hitting the two of you just right, his hair shining under the amber glow of the sunset. Suddenly, he took you by your hand as he usually did, his face turning slightly red as his gaze kept drifting between looking at you and the grass under your feet. "I am nothing more than a knight, a man that has only known war most of his life, yet this time I would like to present myself as something much more than that, not as a knight, but as a man who vows to guard you as fiercely as possible. Tell me, do you wish for me to become your husband?" Caleb presented you the ring he had been waiting to be made, a silver ring decorated with three gemstones, all of them belonging to his family's heirloom.

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.

This is one of my fav xav arts i have seen ....🥹🥹

Its so gooood.. AHHHHHHHHHH