🩷 His Light (Xavier)

A RANT

I just realized something as i am on tumblr and on insta. .. it physically hurts me that i can't reblog LADS fic or art or comic ... any content on lads on instagram ..... 🙂🙂🙂 and here

I have become so confident and shameless at this point ..... its concerning 😆😆

Cuz at first i was afraid and scared to either reblog write or comment on any fic but then i realized

~ Wait .... they r writers and readers tooo.. and as a writer and reader i would love if anyone commented or liked or reblogged ny works.. so whats stopping me

So

Yes

Thats my rant

Thank you for coming to my rant 😉🤣😆😂😂

And be prepared for me to find posts and comment on them ... 🤪🤪

Love & Deepspace Men As Your Gym Instructor

pairings: sylus x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, xavier x reader, caleb x reader

A/N: A series of headcanons about the LIs as your gym instructor. Requests are very much open.

SYLUS

• Sylus isn’t just a gym instructor—he’s an executioner. He doesn’t train people; he breaks them. Every session is a test of survival, and he watches your suffering with just enough amusement to make you question if he enjoys this. “If you collapse, I’m leaving you here,” he deadpans as you struggle to get off the mat.

• He has absolutely no patience for whining. The moment you start complaining, he doubles the intensity of your workout.

“I think my legs are going to give out—”

“Perfect. Let’s add weights.”

• He’s unnervingly quiet when you struggle. No words of encouragement, no sympathy—just the piercing gaze of a man who expects results. You groan, dropping the dumbbells. He just stares. “…Say something.”

He blinks. “Pathetic.”

• He refuses to let you lift with bad form. He will physically adjust you without hesitation. Hand on your back, fingers pressing into your shoulders, grip firm against your waist. He’s indifferent to the proximity—you, however, are not. “Relax,” he murmurs, voice just above your ear. “You’re tense.”

• His personal space boundaries don’t exist—especially when spotting you. You’re struggling under a barbell, and suddenly, he’s there. Arms bracketing yours, voice smooth and unbothered. “Push,” he orders. You try, but all you can focus on is the way his breath fans against your cheek.

• He subtly tests your endurance just to see how much you can handle. He calls it training. It’s actually just entertainment. “You can take more,” he muses, adding another plate to the bar.

• Flirts without technically flirting. Everything he says could be taken as platonic—but the way he says it? Absolutely not. “You’re improving,” he muses.

You blink. “Wait… was that a compliment?”

He shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

• Refuses to admit he cares, but it’s obvious in subtle ways. He’ll shove a water bottle at you without comment. Drag you to a bench when you look exhausted. You pant, wiping sweat from your forehead. “I’m dying.”

He clicks his tongue, tossing you a towel.

• Competitive to an unhealthy degree. You mention beating him at anything, and suddenly, he’s taking it personally. “I ran five miles today,” you say, stretching.

He glances over. “Make it ten next time.”

• When he does praise you, it’s rare—but devastatingly effective. It’s not often, but when it happens, it lingers. “Not bad,” he murmurs, watching you finish your set.

Your brain malfunctions. “Wait—what?”

He smirks. “Nothing.”

SCENARIO

You’re on the ground. Not sitting. Not crouching. Collapsed.

Sylus stands over you, arms crossed, entirely unimpressed. “Pathetic.”

You groan. “I literally can’t move...”

He tilts his head. “You have another set.”

Your glare could burn through steel. “Sylus. My legs are gone.”

He crouches beside you, gaze unreadable. “You’re fine.”

“I’m—” You gesture weakly. “—not fine.”

There’s a pause. Then—without warning—he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you up like it’s nothing.

Your hands instinctively grab onto his shoulders, and for a second, the world tilts. His grip is steady. His voice, lower than usual.

“See?” he murmurs. “You’re still standing.”

You blink up at him, heart hammering. “I—”

He smirks, releasing you. You immediately stumble.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back, tone casual. “Next set.”

You hate him. You really do.

ZAYNE

• Zayne is a gym instructor with the patience of a saint and the intensity of a drill sergeant. He’s not the type to yell or get overly aggressive, but his expectations are high. If you slack off, he doesn’t scold you—he just looks at you. And somehow, that’s worse. “Again.” His voice is calm, almost indifferent, as you struggle through push-ups. “Don’t stop until you get it right.”

• He never sugarcoats anything. If your form is bad, he’ll tell you. If you’re being dramatic, he’ll call you out. But if you actually push yourself, he will acknowledge it.

• You pant, struggling to finish your reps. Zayne watches. “You’re stronger than that. Keep going.”

• The kind of instructor who gives subtle but sharp praise. He won’t shower you with encouragement, but when he does give a rare compliment, it sticks. “Well done,” he murmurs after you break your personal record.

• Prefers efficiency over flashy workouts. He doesn’t waste time with trends or gimmicks. He’ll give you a program that works, but you will definitely suffer. “No shortcuts,” he says, handing you a heavier weight than you expected. “Do it right, or don’t do it at all.”

• Not overly physical unless necessary. He’s not the type to adjust you constantly, but if your form is off, he will fix it—without hesitation. One hand at your lower back, the other guiding your grip. “Here,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “Straighten up.”

• Expects discipline, but isn’t completely heartless. He won’t let you quit, but he does notice when you’re genuinely struggling. His version of kindness? A short water break instead of immediate death.

• You groan. “Zayne, I think I’m dying.”

He hands you a water bottle. “Then hydrate first.”

• Completely unbothered by whining. Complain all you want—he won’t react. In fact, the more you complain, the more weight he adds.

• “My legs feel like jelly—”

“Then we’ll strengthen them.” He hands you a resistance band.

• Is meticulous about post-workout recovery. He doesn’t just push you—he makes sure you recover properly. That means stretching, hydration, and making sure you’re not being an idiot. “You better not skip your cooldown,” he warns.

You smirk. “Why? Will you carry me home if I collapse?”

His gaze flickers to you. “No, but I’ll make sure your next session is worse.”

• Doesn’t like distractions. If you come to the gym to chat or mess around, he’ll shut it down fast. “Focus,” he says when you start rambling between sets. “Or leave.”

• Gives zero reaction when people try to flirt with him. Other gym-goers have tried. He never takes the bait. You watch a girl giggle as she asks him for ‘help’ adjusting her form. Zayne corrects her stance in under five seconds, completely unfazed. “Done.”

She pouts. “That’s all?”

He turns to you instead. “You’re up.”

SCENARIO

You’re wheezing. Absolutely dying.

Zayne watches from the side, arms crossed. “You have five minutes left.”

You groan, gripping the treadmill’s handles. “I’m—gonna pass out.”

He tilts his head, unimpressed. “You said that ten minutes ago.”

“I meant it this time—”

The treadmill suddenly increases speed. You yelp.

“ZAYNE—”

He doesn’t react. “You’ll survive.”

You stumble, barely catching yourself. “You’re evil.”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Keep running.”

RAFAYEL

• Rafayel is the worst and best trainer you could have. He’s the type to look like he’s taking this seriously—clipboard in hand, stopwatch ticking—only to throw in something completely ridiculous halfway through your session.

• “Alright, time for squats. And if you mess up, I’ll make you do them while balancing a book on your head. Gotta work on that grace, cutie.”

• He is not a role model. Skips warm-ups, ignores cooldowns, and somehow never follows his own advice. He’ll sit there drinking an iced coffee while watching you struggle. “Push through the pain,” he says lazily, sipping his caramel macchiato.

• Absolutely makes things harder just to mess with you. If he sees you struggling, does he help? No. He makes it worse. “Oh, you’re having trouble with those weights? Here, let me fix that.” —and suddenly he adds more.

• Zero professionalism. If you start flirting, he will flirt back, and it’s a dangerous game. “You’re lucky I’m here to watch you suffer.”

You smirk. “Or maybe you just like watching me.”

He leans in. “And what if I do?”

• Overly dramatic when he works out himself. If you ever catch him actually exercising, he acts like it’s a life-altering event. “God, this is agony. Why do people do this?” —as if he’s not a personal trainer.

• Pretends he doesn’t care, but actually keeps a close eye on you. He’ll tease you for whining, but the second you actually look like you might faint, he’s already there, handing you a water bottle. “Tsk. You look pathetic.” A pause. “…Drink.”

• Loves making up fake ‘training techniques.’ Half the time, you don’t know if he’s being serious or just making things up for fun. “This exercise is called ‘suffering but make it aesthetic.’ Perfect for you.”

• Will absolutely let you take breaks if you bribe him. You want to sit down and do nothing? Cool. Just bring him a snack, and he’ll mysteriously forget how many reps you had left. “Fifty push-ups? Nah, I think it was… ten. Maybe five, if you’re cute enough.”

• Gets jealous if you take fitness advice from someone else. If you ever listen to another trainer, expect Rafayel to sabotage them in the pettiest way possible. “Oh, he told you to stretch like that? Ridiculous."

• The type to bet against you—then get personally invested when you prove him wrong. He wants you to fail, just so he can be smug about it. But when you actually push through? Yeah, now he’s impressed. “…Goos job,” he mutters when you finish a brutal set. Then, a smirk. “Do it again.”

SCENARIO

Rafayel leans against the squat rack, watching you struggle with your set.

“I swear—this feels heavier than last time,” you grunt, barely holding the bar steady.

He smiles innocently. “Hmm. Weird.”

You narrow your eyes. “You did something.”

“Moi?” He places a hand on his chest, mock-offended. “Darling, I would never sabotage my favorite student.”

You pause. “I’m your only student.”

“Exactly.”

It takes you a second before realization hits. “You added weight when I wasn’t looking, didn’t you?”

He hums. “Guess you’ll have to finish the set to find out.”

“…I hate you.”

He grins. “I love you too.”

XAVIER

• Xavier is terrifyingly efficient as a trainer. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t mock, doesn’t even look particularly invested. But somehow, he always gets you to push past your limits. “You said you were done? No. You have three more in you. Keep going.”

• His neutral expression makes him unreadable. You can be dying in the middle of a workout, and he’ll just watch with the same blank stare.

“Is this… supposed to be this hard?”

He blinks. “Yes.”

• Zero tolerance for excuses. You tell him you’re tired? He tilts his head slightly. “And?” Say your muscles hurt? “That’s the point.” Try to leave early? He will appear behind you.

• But he has an unexpected soft spot. The moment you actually can’t keep going, he’s already handing you water, fixing your form, making sure you don’t push past your limit. He won’t say it, but he’s watching closely.

• Deadpan humor that makes you question if he’s serious. “Xavier, I think I’m dying.”

He nods. “Yes. That is what training feels like.”

• He’s weirdly encouraging in a clinical way. He won’t shower you with praise, but when he does compliment you, it hits. “Your endurance has improved,” he murmurs, as if it’s just an observation. …But somehow, that makes you want to try even harder.

• Almost never raises his voice, but when he does? You listen. The one time you nearly drop a weight on yourself, his usual monotone disappears. “Stop.” You freeze, more from shock than anything. When you glance up, his eyes are sharp—focused entirely on you.

Then, just as quickly, he’s back to normal. “Fix your grip.”

• He doesn’t do ‘small talk’—but he remembers everything you say. You mention your favorite protein shake once, and a week later, he hands you one without a word. “Drink this. You’ll need it.”

• One time, when you were gasping for air on the mat, you look up to glance at your instructor for an approval, only to see him snoring on the floor.

• Stares at you a bit too intensely. You didn't want to assume, but you swore you caught him staring into your lower half when you were doing squats.

• He has a quiet but very possessive streak. If another trainer tries to offer you advice, Xavier is right there, staring them down. “She’s my student,” he says, and that’s the end of the conversation.

SCENARIO

You’re gasping for air, bent over after another brutal round of circuits.

“I can’t—” you wheeze. “That’s it. I’m done.”

Xavier watches you for a moment, then nods. “Alright.”

Wait. That’s it? No cold stare? No sarcastic remark?

You frown. “You’re not going to force me to keep going?”

He hums. “No. If you want to stop, you can stop.”

…You don’t trust him. “…But?”

He tilts his head, like he’s considering something. Then, his voice drops, just barely: “I just thought you were stronger than this.”

Your eye twitches. Oh. Oh, that bastard.

You grit your teeth, straightening up. “Fine. One more set.”

For the first time that day, he almost looks amused. “Good choice.”

CALEB

• Caleb is the ultimate ‘supportive but slightly terrifying’ trainer. He’s always smiling, always energetic—but somehow, that makes him even scarier. “C’mon, pip-squeak! Just one more set! You got this!”

…You’ve been doing ‘one more set’ for the last 20 minutes.

• He’s the type to bet against you just to make you work harder. “You? Finishing a full workout without whining? Nah, I don’t see it happening.”

…You push yourself just to prove him wrong.

• Runs next to you on the treadmill—effortlessly keeping up. You’re dying, but he’s jogging beside you, chatting like this is a casual stroll. “You hear that? That’s the sound of progress, babe.”

…The only sound you hear is your own wheezing.

• Looks like he’s playing around, but he’s actually analyzing every move. He’s laughing, teasing, but if your form is even slightly off? He’s immediately fixing it. “Tsk. You keep that up, and you’ll wreck your knees. Here—” He steps behind you, hands ghosting over your waist to adjust your stance. Too close.

• Not afraid to use distractions as motivation. If he catches you slacking? He leans in, voice dropping into something softer. “What’s wrong? Getting tired already? You know, if you do five more reps, I might have a reward for you.”

…You never ask what he means. You don’t want to know.

• Has no sense of personal space. He will absolutely drape himself over you if he thinks you’re resting too long. “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just waiting for you to stop being lazy.”

• If you ever try to beat him at anything, he makes it a whole event. You challenge him to a sprint? He smirks. “Oh? You think you can keep up with me?”Suddenly, the entire gym is watching.

• He absolutely loves reveling in the thought that he's physically stronger than you, sometimes even asking for you to sit on him as he do push-ups. You never agreed.

• He gets way too proud when you start improving. The first time you lift heavier weight than before, he whoops—loudly. “Hell yeah, that’s my girl!”

…You pretend it doesn’t make you feel weirdly warm.

• If anyone else so much as glances at you? He notices. And suddenly, he’s all over you—grinning, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “So, sunshine. How about we grab a smoothie after this? My treat.” …He’s not asking. He’s staking a claim.

• Will not let you leave without stretching—and if you refuse? He personally helps you. “Fine. We’ll do it together.” Then he’s behind you, hands guiding your arms, breath way too close to your ear. “Deep breath. Good girl." You’re never skipping cooldowns again.

SCENARIO

You collapse onto the mat, sweat dripping down your face. “I can’t anymore.”

Caleb squats down beside you, grinning. “Oh yeah?”

You glare up at him. “I’m done.”

He tilts his head, considering. “Hmm. Shame.”

“…Shame?”

He leans in, smirking. Too close. “Well, I was gonna say—if you did ten more reps, maybe I’d let you pick where we grab food after.”

You stare. “That’s—”

“—Or,” he interrupts, voice dropping, “I could just pick for you. And you know I have awful taste.”

You groan. He’s the type to drag you to some all-protein, no-flavor nightmare.

He grins wider. “So. What’s it gonna be, pip-squeak?”

You sigh, grabbing the weights. “I hate you.”

He laughs, standing back up. “No, you don’t.”

I have read this myltiple times and its one of my fav stories to reaf

Ahhhhhhhhh.. its too goooddddd

Thank you author

👻💌👻

Soiree

There have been recent sightings of a new savior in Linkon City named Soiree. Xavier was pretty much ignorant of the news until he encountered the said heroine.

Pair: Xavier x MC

A/N: A birthday gift for the Xavier girlies! Advance Happy Birthday Xavier! I really like that scene of Xavier getting jealous lmao

Word count: 3,350

Tags: Disguises, Lumiere hello, minor injuries and violence, MC being stubborn, being jealous

“There have been recent sightings of a new savior in Linkon City! Blending in darkness to fight for justice!” says the man on the radio. While preparing dinner and Xavier is doing the dishes, you two are listening to the city news as background noise and as awareness of what is happening.

“A new Lumiere on the loose?” You said, smiling a bit. Xavier gave you a look before the radio continued.

“This mysterious savior this time is a lady who blends in the shadows after skillfully defeating wanderers and evildoers roaming around, especially at night,” he said. “The other savior that graced us was Lumiere, who defeated powerful wanderers last sighted many years ago,”

“And there he is,” You chuckled, showing your appreciation for your hero. Xavier puffed his face in response.

“Her name is Soiree, a complement to the savior in the dark to the savior in the light,” The voice said on the radio.

“It has been a while since Lumiere was last seen,” You pondered. “I miss my knight so much,”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t need to show up,” Xavier said with a puffed face as he finished the dishes and turned off the radio to play music. “Maybe he has more important priorities at the moment,”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know… Maybe being with his beloved,”

You blushed.

You remembered the trick you did for Xavier to admit many years ago. You appreciate that he saved you twice in that identity, but you are more grateful he saved you so many times as the love of your life, Xavier, your favorite dummy who gets jealous and sulks whenever you talk about Lumiere.

“I wonder why this Soiree is showing up lately…” Xavier pondered. “Maybe because of the recent crime rates and wanderers rising in the city,” You suggested. The past months were no better, there’s just been much work lately in the Association.

“It’s going to be fine, she doesn’t have to do that,” Xavier said. “Anyway, time for your medication,” he ordered. You groaned as a complaint. Because of the recent events, your heart has been under a lot of stress lately. Hence, you currently have less workload in the meantime and are under the watchful eyes of Xavier.

“Same to you in changing your bandage,” You retorted back. “I will after you take your medicine,” he said in return. You’ve been worried about him the past weeks, he was often gone to do his duties as a Hunter. He goes home bruised and needs first aid. You feel bad for not helping him that much. Sometimes you miss him because he had to go away for days for missions.

“You’re doing that face again,” Xavier said. “You do not have to worry about me. You should focus on recovering more…” He placed a pill on your palm, which is your heart medicine, and then offered you a glass of water.

“I want to help you, your body has taken much damage lately,” You swallowed the pill before drinking the water.

“Focusing on your health more is already a help for me, the sooner you get better, the sooner we can be partners again,” He smiled. You sighed and smiled back. “Okay, okay,” He patted your head.

Suddenly, several warning beeps are heard in your watch and his. Your eyes widened.

“High leveled wanderers!” You exclaimed. “But Alpha hunters are currently fighting on the other side-” Xavier quickly gets ready to fight. “Xavier?” You stand up and realize. “You’re taking all of them?!”

“I can handle it, I don’t have a partner but I’ll manage,” he said. Then he stopped. “And no, you can’t, end of discussion,”

You know Xavier is strong but not in his state and in that many. You followed him but he only stopped you, and kissed you before leaving. You wanted to follow him but he wouldn’t want that.

Xavier dodged the attack as several wanderers were going in his direction. He summoned multiple light-fused swords and charged at them. He panted as he still had bruises and recovering from the last battle. He barely dodged an incoming attack and he flew to the ground. Despite the pain and his sight went blurry, he still gets up and kneels. He has to fight, someone is waiting for him back home.

He breathes, summoning more light to his sword. The wanderers rush towards him and anticipate the blow of their attacks.

Dark swords rush through from a distance as a black-clad figure gets down. Xavier gets up and runs to the wanderers, slicing through them. The swords are different and seem customized as he observed. In landing back to the ground, the wanderers are extinguished. Xavier looked at the figure, a woman wearing a black coat, covering her body. He stared at her eyes looking at the finished wanderers before she looked back at him. Her eyes widened.

“Soiree?” he said. The figure jumps and runs, he quickly turns into specks of light but as he appears near her, she quickly goes to the alley and vanishes in the dark.

After seeing she was completely gone, Xavier took deep breaths, taking internal information about what happened. He looked at his watch as he finished the mission, he saw your location, you were back in his room, waiting for him. He smiled as he returned.

“There have been reports that the mysterious individual that did the recent clearings of wanderers can be Soiree…” as the voice heard on the radio. You noticed Xavier tilted his head as if he was interested. You were tending to his wounds by putting on fresh bandages. The last mission was successful, but he was battered badly.

“I guess we got a new Lumiere,” You hummed. Xavier seemed to be deep in thought. “I saw her,”

“Huh?”

“I saw Soiree in the last mission,” he said. You gasped in response. “Oh! What does she look like? What did she do?”

“She… She helped me,” he replied. You raised your eyebrow, he seemed to be deep in thought. “I did warn you about the last mission…” You sighed. “But I’m just glad you are alright,” He is still deep in thought but smiles after. “How was she? Was she as good as the news said?” You asked further.

“She is a good swordswoman, that I can say,” he replied.

Footsteps are heard in the dark alley as Soiree finishes another slaying of the wanderers. She is panting as she sheathes her sword. She can hear her heart pounding hard as she runs to the other street to fight another set of wanderers. At the end of the alley, she saw a familiar figure running towards them. She runs faster and presses a button in her sleeve causing her to teleport.

Xavier can feel the toll on his body as he keeps on fighting wanderers nonstop this week. He sleeps all the time and longer whenever he manages to go home, to keep you from getting worried. But this is for your own good, he prefers dealing with it all than seeing you hurt in battle. In his peripheral vision, he saw swords going towards the wanderers. He turns to see Soiree, who has been around the past weeks, getting rid of the wanderers. He tries to get in contact with her, but she vanishes before he can do so.

He slashes using his sword and sees Soiree fighting as a wanderer gets closer to her. Xavier transforms into balls of light and speeds towards her, grabbing her body away from the wanderer’s smash. They tumbled down from a distance, Xavier quickly summoned a barrage of light swords, ending the wanderer. He shielded Soiree before looking at her again, she also looked exhausted even if all he could see were her eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Soiree quickly got up and seated away from him. She only managed to nod in response. Soiree stood up and ran. “Wait!” Xavier called but she was already gone, blending in the darkness of the alley. He could’ve teleported to her, but she looked really tired. He understood that. He looked at his watch, checking on how you’ve been, the dot on the screen representing you is in his kitchen. He smiled.

Xavier went home and smiled as you greeted him. “Welcome home!” you said as you hugged him. “I’m back… I also got some takeout for dinner,” he said, hugging you back and offering a bag of food. Your eyes lightened up. “Yay! I’m starving!” You grabbed the bag and started to set the table. After a few minutes, Xavier returns, wearing fresh, comfortable clothes. “You look tired. You should rest for a bit,” you said as you got a spoon to scoop some rice. “Same as you,” he replied. “Are you okay? You look sleepy,”

“Huh?” You blinked. “It’s probably the heart medicine, a side effect,” you replied and took a spoonful. He chuckled, as you looked adorable. The radio is turned on and hearing reports about Soiree saving the city today. You looked at him, he seemed engrossed in the news now.

“Someone is interested in the city heroine now,” you teased. Xavier looked at you, confused but his eyes showed something else you couldn’t pinpoint.

“No, I’m not… She is fighting a lot lately,” he said. “I don’t see her purpose on why she is doing this,”

You hummed. “I mean, what was your purpose when you were Lumiere?” Xavier stopped eating at the question and looked down. “Lumiere just wants to protect someone he cares about,”

You’re touched at his response, cheeks slightly went pink. “I think it would be the same for Soiree,” you said. “Maybe she just wants to protect someone… The people she loves,”

Xavier chuckled. “Hmm… Honestly, you reminded me of Soiree,”

You blinked, a bit stunned. Then you returned to eating a piece of dumpling. “How so?”

“Well, she is good with the sword,” he commented. “She is a reserved person, though,” You pouted while he smiled. You know that they come across multiple times, you can’t help but miss the action… And miss battling alongside him. The way he talks about Soiree, it is a compliment but you can’t help but to feel things.

After that wonderful dinner, you two cuddled on the bed. Xavier slept so fast that he was really tired. You stared at him, basking in his features. You were worried about him, you felt he was also fighting on your behalf, as you are currently out on medical leave.

You watched him sleeping soundly, missing his presence. You just wanted him to be beside you, and you beside him. He had a knack for leaving, with or without notice, in the past. So many coincidences of your wishes and hopes being granted, often in your worries about wanderers getting frequent and the next day, it was all normal. He did everything that he could for you, it made you feel you wanted to do the same for him.

Your watch suddenly beeped a warning, a wanderer was sighting in a nearby town. You panicked and looked at Xavier, he was still sleeping soundly.

You run to the darkest alleys to get to the town. You saw the vast electrified cloud in the distance, spawning out wanderers. A voice was heard in your earpiece. “You can’t keep doing this, you’re not well enough for this type of wanderer!”

“Not now, Jeremiah! I can do this!” You yelled and summoned your sword. You start summoning more swords spinning around you as you get closer.

“Get back! The only Hunter that defeated this kind of wanderer was Lumiere!” He reported.

“Well, Lumiere isn’t coming back! I won’t allow it,” You started to slash as the swords around you went straight at the wanderer. You dodged the incoming attack but the wanderer was fast and pounded its fists on the ground, creating shockwaves as you were swept away. You got slammed on the wall, sight being dizzy and heart pounding. You stand up and barely dodge the attack. You ran and hid behind the alley wall, noticing you couldn’t lift your arm without causing so much pain. You use your other arm to hold your sword, using your Evol to enhance the sword, summoning multiple swords all at once to stab. You keep your distance as you continue to summon, and your heart starts to beat harder causing pain and making you dizzy. You stumbled as the wanderer gathered his fists again to create a shockwave towards you.

A tiny light appeared above and increased brighter, speeding to the wanderer and a huge illusion of a sword shoots down on it. It screamed in pain as it stumbled back. The figure gets down on the ground and flicks his sword.

You are stunned as he moves his head slightly, showing his mask. ‘Xavier… Lumiere?’ He didn’t speak, he returned his focus to the hostile wanderer. You saw him dance around the enemy and slash with accuracy. Your sight gets blurrier as you see him rush towards the enemy, you hear a roar before a complete silence, only the noises of the rubble. The bright figure dispels his sword as you try to stand and move. You only see sparkles of light that become warm arms before your sight turns dark.

You stirred and opened your eyes, your eyelids felt heavy but you had enough energy to function. You felt sore, in moderate pain and you still can’t move your arm. As you get up, you realize you are on the side of a building, watching the people below doing a clean-up and investigating the matter. You felt the mask fabric around your face, hence you convinced yourself that your face was not exposed.

“How are you feeling, Miss Soiree?” You snapped and looked, seeing Xavier- Lumiere beside you, as his face was covered by his mask and wearing the Lumiere outfit. You took a peek to his eyes, the cerulean orbs staring at yours intently, a lot more icier than usual. He is mad, mad.

“I’m okay,” you spoke softly, praying that he won’t notice anything, or even think anything beyond Soiree.

“I will accompany you for a medical assessment afterward and make sure you are well. What you are doing is dangerous,” He said sternly. You did remember Xavier saying that Lumiere is like a knight, handsome and gentle, while he is harsh and cruel. Well, he is wrong, as this Lumiere can be the other way around now.

“I can handle it… I’ve been worse,” You replied, still hesitant. Your answer ticked something to Lumiere.

“Miss Soiree, you almost died… People who love you would be devastated to hear that, especially… The one who wants to protect you,” he replied. Despite his mask obscuring his face, his tone and eyes feel like they would stab an enemy. You looked away, concluding to somewhat come clean by responding to his statement.

“He does, always,” You hugged your knees, unaware you said ‘him’, which surprised Lumiere. “I did this because I want to protect him. He… He has been away so much lately,”

Lumiere looked away as if he was feeling guilty.

“I felt I’m not helping him enough, in a direct manner,” you continued. “I thought, maybe if I can finish without constraints, maybe he would be around more,” There was silence afterward, while the moonlight shone on them.

“Maybe you can just ask him,” Lumiere said. “Seeing you being unresponsive earlier, it scared me… What more of him? You almost left him,”

“I’m scared he might leave me too,” you responded as your deep anxiety opened. You can see his eyes widen in a split second before looking away. 

“I just… I just want him to-”

Before you can react, he pulls down your mask as he leans close to kiss you. You were stunned, but you closed your eyes, basking in the warmth of the kiss as you placed your hands on his chest. You two parted, panting to such an intense kiss, as it has been a while.

You stared at his eyes, you saw there were so many emotions all at once. Your hand went to his cheek, then gently to his mask, his brow knitted, wanting to pull back, but when he didn’t look like he was opposing, you removed it. You can see his handsome face, Xavier’s, in full view. He was deeply worried as he pulled you closer to him for an embrace. His breathing is jagged, desperate to feel you again.

“I am still upset,” he whispered. “But I’m glad you’re okay,”

You leaned closer to feel Xavier’s chest. You can feel his breathing flowing near your ear. “I’m sorry… I’m really sorry,”

Xavier laid his head on your shoulder for rest and comfort, especially in hearing your heartbeat being steady. The awful memory of you being hit in the attack when he arrived, he lost his control.

He did release you after a few minutes, as he remembered that you were still injured. “Let’s go… I’ll bring you to the hospital,” You opened your mouth. “No buts,” he said, pouting. You quickly surrendered, you’re still not in the clear after all.

You were under the monitor now after being confined for a couple of days at the hospital. Xavier seemed to not be entertaining any conversation other than your well-being. He didn’t leave and tendered to your healing process. So much that…

“Ugh, healing porridge again,” You said in disgust.

“You need to recover and this is doctor’s order… I’m just simply imposing it,” Xavier said as he crossed his arms. He then sat beside you. “This wouldn’t happen if Miss Soiree just behaved herself,” his face is neutral but calm.

So he is opening it now, as you thought. “How…” you trailed off. “When did you know?”

He looked confused at first. “The moment you saved me,” He said. You were shocked. “Huh?!” That early! He went closer to you.

“I know those pretty eyes,” Xavier replied as you stared at him. “I know how you fight too,” You blushed in response as you looked away. “I was just trying to…” You stuttered.

“I understand… I’m sorry I keep going away,” he then looked away, rubbing his nape.

“It’s alright, sorry that I did… This,” you apologized. “You were really working yourself to the limit,”

“I’d rather do that than see you struggling and hurt. You were ordered to rest and now it was extended because of what happened. Your doctor even scolded you,” Xavier said and smiled a bit. “Still, I acknowledge my lapses. Just… Please don’t do this again. You can be Soiree again if you want… Just let me know,”

You can see his deep concern, he just thinks about your well-being as the top priority. You simply nodded and moved your head onto his shoulder.

“I know Jeremiah helped you,” he spoke.

“Uhh… Yeah,” You sheepishly responded. “Please don’t be too hard on him, I asked him-”

“Too late,” he hummed. You sighed, you have to make it up to him as well as you can just imagine what Xavier did to the poor florist.

“You modified your tracker synced in mine so you’ll be always at the house, despite you were actually outside,” he continued. “Soiree is clever, Lumiere would be impressed,”

You pouted. Xavier noticed your expression. He suddenly carried you to his lap. “Xavier!” you squeaked.

“What? Is someone jealous because I was giving compliments to the ‘savior in the darkness’, Soiree?” he smirked, feeling vindicated to what he felt about Lumiere.

You crossed your arms. “You were complimenting her a lot,” Xavier chuckled.

“Who do you like more - Me or Soiree?”

Xavier was a bit surprised at the question, then chuckled again. He touched your face and leaned closer for a kiss. Your foreheads are close together afterward, feeling the warmth of each other.

“My favorite… The dummy who was so stubborn that I had to call Lumiere to save her,”

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.

7-Days of Recovery With You 🍧🌸

SYNOPSIS: After getting injured and blacking out during a battle, you had not other choice but to take a week-long rest at home to recover. Unfortunately, the universe had a different vision for your dedicated rest & relaxation and decided to send in not just one but all five of your "emergency contacts". Oh the joy of being their favorite past time.

🍓A/N: Hello! I'm posting a little earlier since I got a sudden surge of writer energy for today lol. I'm so happy to know my previous fic got good feedback from you guys! I I'll try to make each part a stand-a-lone if I can so you could read it as it is or maybe I'll just dedicate some time to make oneshots and headcanons for each one, hope you'll like this one too .^◡^. I'll try to make more fluff/humor content for you guys to enjoy. My asks are also open for requests & suggestions if you have any~

˚₊·Zayne: Doctor-On-Call—̳͟͞͞♡

Part 1 (Xavier) | Next: Part 3

Ever since you and Zayne had been children, he had always been one of the boys a little closer to your age that you were comfortable being around with, especially during Winter.

You, Caleb, and Zayne had just come home from school and decided to play against each other in a snowball fight. Supposedly, it was a 1vs.1vs.1 kind of challenge but, Caleb couldn't leave you alone to defend for yourself as Caleb explained: "I'll always be here to protect you, I'd never leave you to fight for yourself".

But, in reality, that was only part of his actual reason. He actually just wanted to get back at Zayne for another one of his many petty reasons.

So, while you and Caleb were busy winning with a score leading of 5 against 4, Zayne decided to pull out his final blow. With no hesitation, Zayne formed a large snowball carefully placing it above his head and aiming it towards the small snow tower on the opposite side of the lawn.

You and Caleb were too busy building the fort to realize the huge snowball hurling towards you and could do nothing but stare at the size of the snowball and anticipate it's cold crash onto the both of you.

"Not fair, you used your evol!" Caleb yelled, digging himself out of the pile of snow and rolling a ball in his hands and tossing it over to Zayne. With Zaynezs evol in use, he freezes the ball before it could reach its impact towards him. "I could say the same to you, using your evol to control the weight of my snowballs was not a fair game at all".

The two began to bicker not realizing you were still very stuck in the snow pile. "Caleb! Zayne!", you called out, trying to dig yourself out of the pile of snow. Unlike Caleb and Zayne's taller and bigger physique compared to yours, it made it a lot harder for you to get yourself out of the pile. What a bunch of idiots, you'd think just 'cause they're older, they'd actually know any better than to bicker in a middle of a game.

It took you no longer than a good 10 minutes to wiggle yourself out of the snow and finally reach the surface. A mental note to yourself: never play with Caleb and Zayne at the same time during winter. As you were busy dusting off the snow from your jacket, you took a few peeks at the area around you to spot either or Zayne or Caleb nearby. "Where did they go, I could've sworn I heard their bickering nearby," you muttered to yourself, still scanning your surroundings to look for the two boys. It took a while, but you could see their silhouettes not too far from where you stood. While waving your arms you shouted: "Caleb! Zayne!"

It did not take long for the two to stop their mini snowball war to realize it was you who was calling them. Settling on a truce, the two boys walked towards you. "Hey, be careful climbing down!" Caleb yelled, walking a little faster than Zayne to get to you first.

"Don't worry too much, I got this!" You yelled back as you slowly made your descend down the pile of snow. But, as you climbed down it's sturdy surface, you did not expect to have your ankle twist against a bump of snow and fall onto your back and roll downwards, landing with a loud thud on the ground.

The pain was excruciating, not just from the sudden twist of your ankle but from the growing ache you felt landing on your back. You could feel tears start to sting your eyes from the pain of falling down and from embarrassment of having Zayne and Caleb see you fall from a short distance and still manage to hurt yourself in the process.

The aftermath of the fall did not register as all you could feel were a pair of warm hands gently soothing your back and another wiping out your tears as you sob uncontrollably. Not long after what felt like an eternity, a pair of hands scooped you up from the floor and carried you.

"It's alright," the voice said, hushing away your sobs. "I'm sorry, I won't leave you alone next time, I promise". Everything that happened in-between was a blur afterwards. It then became a habit that after every fall of Snow, instead of holding snowball fights, the boys would work with you to build snow angels, even snowmen. You couldn't remember a day during the season of winter where they left your side.

"I will always be here for you, no matter what".

But, you never brought it upon yourself to ask which one of them told you that. Leaving it as another distant memory in the void.

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

You were awoken by a loud ringtone to your right. Groaning and grumbling, you allow yourself to slowly come back to reality and turn to your right to see which one of your emergency contacts would grace you with their presence for today. With one eye open, you reach out for your phone and open it to read a message, rather, a line of messages from your favorite healthcare provider: Zayne. Even as a child, Zayne has never stopped looking after you even if distance separated you for quite some time.

After reading all the texts Zayne has left on your phone, your eyes widen in shock as you realize you've been sleeping for a whole day. The wounds from the recent battle with the Wanderers have not yet fully healed, still you are thankful the association gave you time to recuperate. More so, since you have your very own on-the-call doctor Zayne as your miracle healthcare provider. However, your peace had been cut-short with loud tapping on your windows. Quickly turning to your right and snatching your gun from the table near you, you turned your attention towards your tapping intruder only to discover it was none other than Mephisto.

Of course, the universe definitely has strange ways of granting you peace and quiet and for some reason, having all your five emergency contacts just fits the universe's standards on "rest and relaxation protocol".

"To what do I owe the honor of your visit?" You start off sarcastically, knowing with Mephisto on the clock-watch means Sylus' ever watchful gaze is on you too. Tucking away your gun under your pillow, you muster up all the strength to push yourself upwards until your back was fully lying on the board attached to the bed. "Just checking on my little miss. Doing any better, Kitten?" Sylus' voice greets you from outside the window.

"Still bound to the bed as you can see. Is there anything the might leader of Onichinus needs of me?"

"None as of the moment. But, I do have something for you. It should be on its way. Luke and Kieran should be there soon enough." With that, Mephisto caws and flaps its wings while perched on the small window sill, slowly preparing to fly off who-knows-where. But with Mephisto flying nearby could also mean Sylus is within the vicinity.

Still deep in thought about Sylus' words, a gentle knock breaks you out of your trance. Without a second thought, you knew who it was at your door: Zayne. Not sparing a second longer, the door could be heard opening with a light creak and sets of keys clanging against each other.

A tall shadow could be seen from beyond the door frame and you could confirm that it was definitely Zayne. With a gentle tap on your doorframe, Zayne greeted you with his oh-so-ever icy gaze. "I knew you haven't gotten out of bed. I'm assuming you haven't eating anything as well?"

"Well, you aren't wrong. What's the diagnosis doc?" You joked, trying to lighten the mood, knowing deep down that like Caleb, Zayne would also give you an earful amount of reprimanding about lack of self-care. "Without a doubt, it's definitely a rare condition, one I have not seen in a long time."

"What is it?"

"Laziness." As he walks towards you and flicks your forehead, making you wince at the sudden contact of his fingers against your forehead. "It's not my fault! My body hurts from head-to-toe." You argued, gripping the sheets tightly in your hands, feeling yourself huff and pout at his response.

"You know better than to go off a full day without eating a meal. What would your doctor have to say when he find out you haven't been taking care of yourself?" Zayne presses on, pulling out a nearby chair and dragging it closer to the bed, his icy gaze holding more than just one emotion directed towards you, emotions you fully couldn't figure out just yet. "The point of bedrest is to recuperate and regain what you have lost. Would it not make sense to take care of yourself too?" He asks, slowly lifting your chin, putting enough force onto you to have you meet him eye-to-eye.

Zayne had always had a presence that commands, that always calls onto you every time he is near. You've always thought that maybe Zayne just has this "magnetic personality" that pulls at you like a puppet and puppeteer, forever connected and attached to one another. Even as adults, Zayne still had this bit of control over you. A connection, you could not comprehend yet continue to allow and exist.

What felt like a long stand-off with nothing but silence between the both of you, you felt the pressure from your chin grow weak and slowly, Zayne pulled away. "I've brought you the basics for a good meal. I know the way around the kitchen. I want you to just rest". As Zayne begins to take a step back, the lights suddenly flicker for a brief moment before it makes a spark and goes out.

Zayne did not think twice, and began to work his way out of the room to check the apartment's breakers including the other lights and appliances within the other rooms. "It's a full blackout," Zayne states, opening your bedroom window to check the other apartments as well for any sign of light but, unfortunately you and other apartments are pretty much in the same situation.

"It might take a while before the power comes back on," you mutter underneath your breathe and releasing a deep sigh off your chest. "We might as well, open the windows to let some air inside the rooms."

"I'll work to it and then let's figure out how to kill the time". Grabbing his phone from the pocket and once again turning on the phone's torch mode to navigate through the dark path that would lead him towards the apartment's living room.

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

It did not take long for you and Zayne to find comfort in the darkness while sitting on your bed, as you both decided the best way to kill the time was to watch through videos to help lighten up the atmosphere. "You know, I really do miss this. When we were kids you'd always nag us about watching shows on the television in the dark. Come to think of it, you were such a mom at that point".

"Well, the nagging had you and Caleb glasses-free for quite a long time. Didn't it?" Zayne comments, playfully nudging your side with his elbow. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh and a smile, recalling all those moments when you, Caleb, Zayne didn't have to bear the burden and struggles the world has to off to the three of you. Back then, life was simple and easy.

You were both half-way through a video when you heard a creaking sound from outside of the bedroom. It might just be your senses acting up, but you could have sworn you've been hearing repetitive creaking sounds from different places in the apartment for the past minute as if there was someone else just outside the room.

Not wanting to freak out, you tuck the thought behind you and continue to leisurely watch with Zayne. While watching the video with your head slowly leaning onto his shoulder and your eyelids feeling heavier by the second, you couldn't help but think about all the times when you were kids with Zayne. Looking at him now and comparing him from who he was before, you've come to realize that nothing had ever change. Zayne was always constant, before and now.

"You know, I put you as my emergency contact for a reason." You stated, suddenly feeling the sleepiness roll away from your body as you talked with Zayne. "You've always been one of the things in my life that has always been constant".

"How do you define constant?" He asks, slightly lowering the phones volume to get a better hearing of you as you speak. "You've always been here. Never-changing, constant."

"Even as kids, you'd always be there. Just waiting and watching, not too far from me. When I get hurt, you'd also be there to take care of me too." You continued, a small smile gracing your lips as you recall all the times Zayne had come to the rescue, no matter how miniscule the problem may have been because out of the many things in this world, Zayne had always been constant with you.

You could feel Zayne's heavy gaze on you as you lift your head to meet him eye-to-eye, wanting him to feel the sincerity of your words because even if you have time to spare, no amount of time would be enough to compensate with the amount of gratitude you feel towards Zayne and all that he has done for you.

"I don't say it often enough but I-," You were cut off when you and Zayne heard the unmistakable loud thud of a heavy bag being dropped onto the floor. Both being on high alert, you both wasted no time and carefully crawled out of bed, making sure no creaking sound would escape from the mattress and board. Glancing over at Zayne, you put your fingers towards your lips and point towards the room outside of the bedroom.

"I assumed with the amount you pay, this place would be a guaranteed safe haven".

"Nothing's ever guaranteed as a safe haven, you and I both know that." You whispered back at Zayne, quickly grabbing the gun tucked underneath your pillow and moving slowly across the floor in careful and calculated movements. Zayne on the other hand begins to prepare to use his evol to launch it towards our very uninvited guests.

"Did you invite the glowing neighbor over?"

"No, he's out of town. Second, even if he glows, he doesn't do it on purpose. Xavier doesn't work as a part-time bulb."

"Maybe he should reconsider his life occupations." Zayne responds, shooting a glare over to you as you quietly open the drawer beside your bed and grab a few extra bullets.

"Why are we even having this conversation in the first place?" You hissed, trying to manage to lower your voice as you load your gun with extra bullets.

"Because you wouldn't have gotten hurt if he did his job a little better." Zayne pointed out, hinting to a more complex reason underneath his steady and firm tone. You couldn't help but scrunch your brows together in confusion, baffled with the sudden confession coming from Zayne.

"Well, it isn't his job to protect me. I'm not a child". You could feel your voice escalating from a whisper to a much more audible volume. "You of all people should know that this is how my job goes. Being hurt is part of the job description."

"Being reckless isn't part of the job description either yet you constantly put yourself in harm's way."

"You have little to no faith in me, I know what I get myself into every single day. Why would you even care about what I have to do? I'm fighting to stay alive, to protect people."

"Then fight to protect yourself too," Zayne responds back, bringing back his cool and calm demeanor as he stares at you with what seems like longing and fear mixed together. "Because, I care for you more than you could ever know".

You were out of words, staring at the man to your left, wondering what to respond with his confession. Because, I care for you more than you could ever know, the words constantly ringing through your head. Before you could even let out a response, a nearby thud could be heard, slowly coming in closer towards the bedroom. Pushing away your thoughts and getting into your stance, you quickly shot up from your position, ignoring the growing ache of your muscles being forced to work to support your position, and fired a warning shot at the intruders.

"Arms up! Move and I'll shoot." You threatened, slowly moving out of the bedroom and towards the living room, keeping your stance still despite the aches crawling up from your legs to your upper body.

"Wait, Miss! It's us!" Two voices said in unison, with familiarity finally registering in your head, you slowly lowered your gun. However, before you could call out for them, Zayne stepped out of the room and bound the two intruders by their arms and legs in ice.

"Wait, Zayne. It's okay. It's just Luke and Kieran," you said quickly, putting your hands on Zayne's chest to put some distance between him and the twins, who were now uncomfortably trapped to the floor, rolling back and forth in attempt to break free from their ice shackles.

"I don't even want to hear your excuse, but I do hope you're not the reason behind the entire building going into a blackout." You start as you stare at the twins, crossing your arms across your chest. "We promise not, miss! We just came to deliver a gift from Mr. Sylus!" Luke explained, trying to ease away your growing anger with the peace offering A.K.A, the gift Sylus mentioned a while back.

"Why didn't you bother to call? You both have my numbers on your phones. What's the point of exchanging numbers in the first place if you're just going to barge into my home?"

"We promise it won't happen again miss! We just wanted to surprise you!" Kieran added.

"Well pretending to be home intruders isn't a pleasant surprise at all, do you even know what time it is?"

"Dinner time?" Luke responded with hopeful eyes, pleading for you to release them from their bounded shackles.

"No," you responded, pinching the bridge of your nose in hopes it would give you a quick relief from this sudden headache. Zayne, on the other hand, did not have to be told twice and partially dissolved the ice shackles from the twins. "And even if it was, how do you think we'd even cook at a time like this?"

"I'll see what I can do with what we have," Zayne quickly responds, grabbing his phone from his pocket and heading towards the kitchen with the torch button left turned on to make navigation of the still-dark environment manageable for Zayne.

Pushing aside your most recent argument at the back of your head, you let out a heavy sigh and look over to the twins. "I'll thank Sylus later. For now, just sit still and don't do anything. No more barging in next time, I'm taking away your key privileges from now on".

"But," the twins started, initially hoping you'd let them go after their 25th time in a row of breaking and entering your apartment. "Absolutely no, now hand over the spare keys."

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

With Zayne's talent, he was able to make cold but delicious sandwiches for you and the twins' consumption. As Zayne began to throw out used wrappers and other contents into the bin, you slowly approached him and gave a light poke to his waist causing Zayne to flinch and turn his attention towards you with one brow raised in curiosity.

"Thanks for dinner," you say quickly, swinging on the balls of your feet in a gentle back and forth motion. "And for everything". You continue, your voice almost coming off as a whisper, shyly averting your gaze from Zayne and focusing it towards the twins.

Without a second thought for hesitation, Zayne reached out and cupped your cheek while the other brushed away strands of hair from your face. With the moon's light shining upon you, no words could describe the beauty you held, even now with just the light of the sky highlighting your features.

"You are the very thing I care for, don't put yourself in harm's way because not every risk is worth the loss".

Moving himself backwards, away from you, he grabs his phone from the table and gives you a small smile before heading towards the direction of the bedroom. You were left stunned and at awe with Zayne's confession, not knowing what else to do. One can only hope that regardless of these new changes, what you and Zayne have will forever remain as constant as the stars above you.

𝙃𝙀 𝙍𝙀𝙈𝙀𝙈𝘽𝙀𝙍𝙎 (QP1)

Decided to post my brainrot/self-indulgent quick prompt on how the LIs handle MC's period... because, well, I’m dealing with the emotional rollercoaster myself right now...

After a long day at work, you step outside, only to find him waiting for you. Confused, you approach, wondering why he’s here, and he studies you intently before checking his phone.

It’s the first day of your period.

Xavier brightens (not literally) the moment he sees you.

“Hey. How was work? Are you feeling okay?”

You tilt your head, confused by his sudden concern. Before you can ask, Xavier glances at his phone, scrolling for a moment before looking back at you with a sheepish smile.

“It’s, uh… that time of the month, right?” His voice is gentle, almost hesitant. “I just wanted to check if you needed anything.”

Without waiting for an answer, he pulls a small bag from behind him. Inside are your favorite comfort snacks, a fluffy heat pack, and a bottle of warm tea.

“I wasn’t sure what would help, so I got a little bit of everything.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes full of warmth. “And, uh… if you need distractions, I found a cute cat café nearby. Thought it might help.”

His concern is pure and unassuming, and he’s not teasing, not overbearing, just genuinely wanting to make you feel better.

Zayne watches you closely, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. When you look at him confused, he sighs, as if expecting this reaction.

“You tend to forget to take care of yourself,” he murmurs, unlocking his phone and glancing at his notes. “It’s the first day of your period.”

You initially assumed it was just a regular stomach ache.

“You usually get cramps around this time. Have you eaten?” He states it like a fact, like something he’s committed to memory as part of his duty to take care of you.

Before you can even respond, he pulls a small bag from behind him—inside are heat patches, painkillers, and your favorite snacks.

“I don’t want you passing out on the way home,” Zayne says, voice gentle. “Come on, I’ll take you back.”

He doesn’t make a big deal of it. He just makes sure you’re taken care of. Because, to him, that’s what love is.

Rafayel doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. As soon as you approach, he checks his phone before speaking.

“You’re late.”

You blinked in confusion. “Late for what?”

He looks at you, unimpressed. “To take care of yourself, obviously.”

Without another word, he hands you a neatly packed bag. Inside is a precise selection of herbal teas, pain relief patches, and a carefully balanced meal.

“I researched the best remedies,” he states matter-of-factly. “And that is you should rely on me more.”

Well… it’s the closest thing to an admission that he worries about you... very much.

Sylus grins the moment you spot him.

“Took you long enough.” He lifts his phone, scrolling lazily before stopping. “Looks like I got the timing just right.”

You frown. “Timing for what?”

He slings an arm over your shoulders, walking you toward his parked motorcycle. “For me to kidnap you. Thought I’d save you from work misery and get you some comfort food.”

You halted him with a frown, and he released you.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m a very attentive man.” He crosses his arms, tilting his head. “You always get extra grumpy around this time, so I figured I’d do something about it.”

“I'm not grumpy—” Your words were cut off as he gently patted your head.

“I got a whole day planned… comfort food, bad movies, and all the attention you can handle.”

Before you can protest, he grabs the helmet and secures it on you, his usual cocky smirk softening just a bit.

“Don’t argue, sweetie—just let me spoil you today.”

He might play it cool, but the fact that he remembered your cycle down to the day? That says more than his words ever could.

Caleb holds up his phone, wiggling it between his fingers like it’s some grand reveal.

“Today’s a special day.”

You just stare at him, then he leans in closer, voice dropping into a whisper.

“Pipsqueak, don’t tell me you forgot again.”

You looked confused as he let out a low chuckle.

“Your period started, didn’t it?” His teasing grin widens when you gaped at him. “What, don’t look at me like that. I keep track of the important things.”

He tucks his phone away and steps closer, his hand ghosting over your lower back.

“I was wondering if you’d need me to carry you home. Or…” He leans in, lips just by your ear. “...if you’d rather be pampered in bed.”

You gave him a quick smack on the arm, earning a chuckle from him. Then, he ruffles your hair before slipping a warm drink into your hands.

“Drink up. I can’t have you suffering on my watch.”

Hope you all like it, and maybe it helps a bit with period stress and discomfort too! Which one do you like most, and why? Let me know!

"Hey, I can't sleep..."

Xavier mumbles something in reply, totally incoherent to you. He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand next to his side of the bed, and a warm glow fills the room. He yawns, and he sits up in bed, leaning against the headboard, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Okay, come here, then."

He pats his lap twice. You stare at him, and then at where he was patting.

"You want me to sit on you?"

He raises an eyebrow. "No. Come put your head here."

You oblige and lie down with your head in his lap. He reaches for something else on the nightstand - it's a book. He flips open to a page and clears his throat.

"Once upon a time–"

You can't help but laugh out loud, and you end up shaking the whole bed. Xavier clicks his tongue and shushes you.

"I'm trying to read you a bedtime story, if you don't mind."

"Okay, okay," you concede. "I'll be quiet. So quiet."

Xavier continues, putting on a storyteller voice. "There was a young girl whose mother had sadly died, and she lived with her father whom she loved dearly..."

He continues with the story of Cinderella, and you're enthralled by all the voices he puts on for the different characters. They sound ridiculous and ill-fitting, but you're entertained nonetheless. All the while, one of his hands is in your hair, gently brushing his fingers through it. The other holds the book, and in the moments where he takes the hand in your hair to flip a page, you instantly miss it - you would be happy for him to read a page over and over again if it meant keeping his hand right where it is. There are a couple of times where he yawns, and it's contagious - you yawn along with him.

"... and they all lived happily ever after. The end."

Xavier closes the book, but you turn over in his lap to look up at him. You push your bottom lip out in what you hope is a cute pout. "Can you read me another one, please?"

He rolls his eyes, but obliges, and opens the book again. He flips around for a little bit before clearing his throat again. "This is the story of Sleeping Beauty..."

You're not sure when it is that you doze off, but the next time you wake, sunlight is streaming through the gaps in the curtains. Your head is still in Xavier's lap, his hand still resting in your hair. The book he was holding is next to him on the bed, opened to a random page, and you can hear him snoring lightly. You turn, just a little bit, to take a look at him. His eyelids are twitching just so slightly, his mouth moving as if in conversation with someone in a dream. You feel a warmth spread across your chest, your heart beating just a little faster. Sleeping Beauty indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kintsugi

xavier rafayel sylus zayne caleb

cw; self harm, razor blades, hurt comfort, angst, fluffy ending, reader/mc is slightly hinted at being chubby (body dysmorphia + negative body image), self-isolation (reader/mc), dddne (proceed with caution).

authors note: this is a mere work of fiction and i do not condone or am encouraging people to inflict bodily harm upon themselves. if the contents in this ff will trigger you in any sort of way, please do not read it!! as a person that is/was going through similar situations shown in this ff, i want to raise awareness and help support others in need.

this rough patch in our lives will soon pass <3

ps: the sh in this ff is very vague and up for interpretation. there is no exact place mentioned for where the sh is taking place on the body, nor where the scars are. i tried to make everything very vague so it's easier for everyone to relate to. it is HINTED!!! at that reader/mc in this ff is slightly “chubby” and/or has body dysmorphia. this can be interpreted however you like :)

also, in this ff the boys haven’t had any major sexual intimacy with reader/mc due to the scars, it's explained further in the fic.

xavier: 2.2k wrds

stress ridden, you frantically fled through the hallways of the hunter’s association, your mind in shambles.

there was a rapid influx of wanderers flooding into Linkon, thus causing mass chaos among the citizens.

this led to more and more being added onto your plate, more missions, which led to more paperwork, more unorganized files, ect, ect.

and most importantly, as the days went on your mental health slowly deteriorated. eyes constantly wandering to that tucked away box within your cabinet that would give you temporary relief.

it wasn't until a particular day until you caved into your cravings, your desire to feel the rush of blood, the rush of adrenaline, your little secret, your little safe haven.

the feeling you ravaged at like a man starved, the place you resided as the blade cut through the awfully abused skin, the sensation of the bathroom’s cool hard-tiles contrasted the pounding of your head.

the feeling of shame after. the feeling while cleaning up. the feeling of shame as you stood under the shower head and blood pooled.

the stinging sensation as the water trickled down your skin, the signs of your voluntary abuse was permanently etched onto your skin.

the hot tears that pooled down your face as you looked at your own reflection. the image of your body frightened you no matter what anyone told you. the newfound scars only heightened your insecurities.

and since that box was opened the cycle would repeat, over and over again.

rot, repent, repeat.

over and over again.

when will it be over?

the next day at work was the same, wanderers were relentless and your coworkers were restless.

“new missions”

“new paperwork”

“new deadlines”

when will this stop?

it was truly suffocating, and painful. the talking of your subordinates that filled the room, half assed conversations on your end, all while the fabric pulled and tugged on your raw skin.

a battle where a wanderer ripped your uniform, the scars barely visible but it was enough to put you on edge for the rest of the day.

walking back to the dreary office building that was filled with a vast amount of high tech, you hurriedly maneuvered past people, avoiding conversation at all costs.

your little plan was going well until you saw him.

the person you considered your lover, the one that always knew how you were feeling solely based upon observational skills was standing right infront of you.

you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. it was so obvious with your demeanor that something was off with you the entire week.

your phone has been shut off for days on end. sometimes, if someone sent you a somewhat important message, you’d send them a quick thumbs up to show that you're acknowledging their presence.

xavier’s gentle voice called out for you as you hurriedly scurried away from his gaze, exiting the building in the same fashion you entered it.

it wasn’t until you got home you had realized a good 75% of your belongings had been left behind at the office building.

you shuddered at the thought of willingly walking into that horrid building again, not on your one day off.

your phone was left at the building, but it wasn’t like you had much use for it anymore.

you fled into the bathroom before freshening up, replacing the haphazardly placed bandages over your fresh wound.

the bathroom was dark. you didn’t want to see any of it, you didn’t want to see yourself.

the thought of doing more damage crossed your mind, before you quickly dropped the thought, and the box. shame slowly creeped up your shoulder, reminding you of the feeling of cleaning up after yourself, and basking in the sadness of your own mistakes.

finishing up bandaging your wound, you simply put the box of your tools on the bathroom counter, before moving back into your disarranged room.

clothes were askew on the floor, the lighting was dark, the windows only opened enough to see what was in front of you.

moving under the bed covers, you began to close your eyes, basking in the silence.

however, that silence was quickly broken after a series of knocks cascaded at your door.

you tried to ignore it, but loud knocking every 2 minutes was a horrendous sound to sleep too.

groggily getting up from your bed, you exited the room and made your way to the door.

you slightly cracked open the door to see xavier in all his glory standing there.

his soft blue eyed gaze landed directly on your face, his eyes held a warmth that was hidden for you soley. your bag from work was hung over his shoulder, all of your belongings resided within the bag.

a sense of adoration fluttered in your heart as you looked at him, his face slightly flushed due to the weather, his serene complexion that contrasted the pink dusting his cheeks.

it wasn't until a few moments after xavier basked in your presence he spoke.

“have you been okay? you left in a rush today, and your phone has been off” xavier’s voice came out hesitant as he asked you, his brows furrowing as he attempted at asking without sounding too brash.

“no i've been fine, thanks for getting my stuff xavi” you rushed out the words before hastily grabbing the bag that xavier had extended out to you.

you attempted to shut the door before xavier’s hand grabbed a hold of the door.

“can i..stay? just for a bit i promise. just want to make sure your okay” xavier spoke to you softly as his eyes raked over your figure, your eyebags had become darker as the days went on, the skin around your eyes looked slightly irritated as if you had been rubbing it.

you looked at him blankly before nodding and walking away from the door.

“sorry its a little messy in here, just haven’t had enough time to clean up, you know?” your attempt at enthusiasm didn’t go well, your voice slightly shaking as you spoke.

you were uncovered, the bandages covering up your fresh wounds did little to hide the rest of the scars you had accumulated over the years.

you felt xavier’s gaze on your skin. hurriedly you began to make your way back into your own bedroom before saying,

“i'll be right back—just stay put for a while. I need to get changed” your voice came out more harshly then you had intended, your shaky hand lifting to open the door before closing it shut.

xavier’s eyes widened in shock, a pang of sadness reverberated throughout his heart as he saw the marks upon your skin. what had been going on that you didn’t want to tell him?

fumbling through your dressers, you immediately found something that covered up the scars on your body, your mind was in a haze, your body moving on autopilot as you changed.

when you exited the bedroom, xavier was nowhere to be seen, that was until you saw the bathroom light shining, the light from underneath the door casting a glow onto the living room floor.

you began to move onto the couch, pulling one of the many blankets that littered the couch over yourself.

a slow click resounded throughout the room as xavier exited your bathroom, the atmosphere was tense and dreary as he sat next to you on the couch.

xavier called out your name before speaking,

“have i done anything wrong? recently?” xavier’s question rang out in your ears as your eyes blankly met his.

“no xavi you didn’t do anything, i've just been a bit busy lately” your voice sounded hesitant, as if you were lying. your eyes avoided his gaze as you began to look away to another part of the room.

you knew xavier well, he craved your presence, a few days without you and he was better off dead. it had been a week before the two of you had sat down and had a conversation, a week since you simply sat in each other's company.

well enough time had passed for you to fall into your bad habits again.

“i went into the bathroom, i saw everything, the gauze, the razors, your scars. how long were you planning to let this go on for?” xavier’s voice stated this gently, with a firm undertone to it.

xavier’s body moved closer to yours, his body heat burned your skin. but you still felt yourself subconsciously moving closer to him, his comforting scent filling your nose, making you feel more at ease.

“xavier, it's really not a big deal. it's just skin, it will eventually heal.” you responded with a half-assed lie. with every mark you made on your body, a scar always remained.

your insecurities just grew and grew as the days went on. you began to question if you really deserved xavier, he was handsome and strong willed. while here you were, a person with a fragile heart that shattered at every moment and every situation.

“it's a big deal to me. i don’t want to see you like this, you don’t have to suffer alone.” xavier responded sincerely, he cupped your face, moving your gaze back to his eyes. his eyes were gentle as he held your face with care, as if you were fragile porcelain that would break at any given moment.

hot tears pooled down your cheeks as you heard his words. the sincerity in his voice, the soft touches, everything warmed your heart.

xavier’s thumbs wiped away your tears before he leaned in close to your face, before giving a soft kiss on your cheek, where the tears once resided.

everything made sense to him now, why you always turned down his advances, your nights together that always ended at a few kisses down your neck, it all made sense.

“my star, don’t feel forced to do anything. i’m sorry i didn’t notice this this sooner” xavier’s arms wrapped around you as his neck craned down to your shoulder

“xavi it's okay, it’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself for my mistake” you responded to him, your voice coming out nasally due to the tears prior.

the word mistake rang through xavier’s ears. his head bolted up from your shoulder to look you in the eyes once more.

“no—it's not a mistake, these scars just make you more beautiful. there is nothing wrong with them. as long as if it's you i’m with, no marks will define who you are to me” xavier said sincerely, beginning to move his face closer to yours

“may i?” xavier inquired, his gaze flickering from your eyes down to your lips

you nodded, before melting into the kiss. it was different from the ones you usually shared, it was soft and gentle. xavier’s hand made its way through your hair, gently brushing his hands through it as the kiss slightly deepened.

your lips disconnected as xavier’s mouth left soft kisses down your body, whispering praises onto your skin each time his lips disconnected.

his lips hovered over the area where your scarred skin was, lifting the fabric of your clothing and pressing his lips on the scars, a glint of adoration filled his features as he basked in the sensation of your skin.

“perfect, my perfect pretty girl.” xavier’s lips left a warm sensation over your scarred skin, it was like the pain and shame went away in an instant. it felt as if a weight was lifted from your shoulders as he whispered multiple praises against the area.

xavier’s negative thoughts were soothed when you didn’t jerk away from him, your hands simply ran through his hair as you looked down at him with the same admiration he had given you.

he eventually stopped, resting his head on your lap, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as his eyes looked up at you.

your hands ran through his lightly colored hair, playing with the strands as xavier began to leave kisses along your stomach.

“xavi stop that tickles!” your giggles echoed throughout the dimly lit living room, as xavier simply just smiled at you.

he eventually stopped, getting up from his lying position, freeing your lower body from his torment of kisses.

when he returned to his sitting position, he was suddenly shoved back onto the couch. his back was pressed against the cushiony material as your lips crashed onto his. a sudden abrupt movement that caused his eyes to widen, and his cheeks to flush even more.

as you pulled away from the kiss, his normally pale complexion was a rosey shade of pink, his ears were also shaded a dark red.

xavier pulled you down onto him, suddenly crashing into his arms. he left an array of kisses on the top of your head, and your face.

“don’t leave me again please. nothing physical will make me want to separate from you. i just want it to be you, your most authentic self is all i want.” xavier’s words were said softly as he whispered them into your ear, leaving a few soft kisses along your neck before pulling you into another soft kiss.

the rest of the afternoon was filled with love, and acceptance as you stayed in xavier’s soft embrace, his hands tracing along the scars, his body enveloping you in his sweet, secure, embrace.

Eury working his way up from poverty to become Odys second in command and wooing Ctimene is my roman empire all over again