❄️ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Vaccine

how the boys would react when you have a migraine

woke up with a headache today, which wasn't fun, and had these ideas of how the lads boys would react if their love was suffering through a migraine. I get them a lot and I know people who get them even worse than me. anyways, this is the first time writing for some of these guys, so I hope they're not too ooc lol

Part I: Xavier (you/MC x Xavier)

It was a quiet day at work, one mainly just in the office, which you were grateful for. Only a couple minutes after you clocked in, you began to feel the dull pounding of a headache coming on. It hadn't been anything too bad at first. You took some painkillers to see if it would go away. But now, as you were staring at your computer screen, the headache wasn't going away but getting worse. It was beginning to feel like a heavy hammer was drumming on top of your skull in a dull, rhythmic motion. The pills weren't helping at all.

Then it happened. As you squinted at the blurry words on your screen, sudden bright lights flashed in your eyes. You looked away from the computer, tried to blink a couple of times, but they persisted, and the pain got worse. All you could do was hunch over your desk with your eyes squeezed shut.

"Hey, you okay?"

Xavier's soft, baritone voice came up beside you. You squinted up to see him standing there in his Hunter's uniform, watching you with obvious concern. You would usually shrug off the pain, say it's nothing, but not this time.

"Migraine." Is all you managed to get out. You held your head in your hands.

"Hm."

You glanced up at what seemed like a noncommittal response from him, only to see him walking away and towards the Captain's office. A few minutes later, he came back and laid a hand on your shoulder.

"I got the okay from the Captain. Come on, let me take you home."

"You didn't have to do that. I was gonna get up and ask in a minute..." you muttered, even though you felt relief wash over you. No matter how much you wanted to act tough, you knew you were no good to anyone with this migraine.

"It's fine. Besides, I know how bad your migraines can get. Here, let me help you."

He gently took hold of your hand to help you up. You were going to tell him you could walk by yourself when a wave of dizziness hit you. Fortunately, Xavier was there with a supportive hand on your back to make sure you didn't stumble.

"I'm right here. I won't let you fall."

The two of you left the Hunter's Association building and headed to the station. It was a sunny day out, which didn't help the throbbing pain in your head. You couldn't help but let out a quiet groan and placed your hand over your eyes.

"Here. Wear these." Xavier gently removed your hand and placed sunglasses over your eyes. With an arm around your waist, he led you to the station gate and got your card out of your bag to help you pass through the gate.

On the train, he led you to one of the seats and you slowly lowered yourself down onto one. The train, the people, everything was all so loud, they made you visibly wince. Xavier noticed right away, of course, and pulled out a pair of headphones you didn't know he carried with him.

"They're noise-cancelling headphones," he told you. "They might help." He placed them over your ears and through the dim shades of the sunglasses, you watched as he took off his outer coat and rolled it up.

"Lift your head a little," he softly told you. When you obeyed, he placed the folded clothing behind you against the window. It was a little makeshift pillow for you to rest your head upon.

"There. Just close your eyes. I'll let you know when we're at our stop."

You couldn't help but smile a little at how thoughtful he was being. As you tried to rest while on the train, you began to hear what sounded like white noise coming over the headphones. It was soothing. You heaved a deep breath and tried to relax as best you could while still being on the train. Xavier stood over you, watching you to make sure you were okay.

When you arrived at your stop, he let you know when it was time to get off and stayed with you on the way back to the apartment. The aura was not as bad as it had been at work, but you still could see a small orb in your vision that was messing with your eyes. You still also felt a little dizzy and leaned upon Xavier as you both rode the elevator to your floor.

"You're not going back to work, Xavier?" You asked as he punched in the code to your apartment.

"No," he answered. "I'm staying with you."

"You don't have to," you said, even though you were inwardly happy that he would be with you.

He smiled and squeezed your hand. "I want to take care of you. Come on, go get changed and lie down. I'll make you some tea."

Xavier struggled with cooking, but you had shown him the easiest way to make tea, and he wasn't too bad at it. You had to stress the importance of watching the stove, but after that, he had shown improvement. You could hear the sound of the tea kettle whistling as you changed into some comfy clothes and slid under your covers. The whistling sound didn't help the ache in your head, but you tried to ignore it.

Your room was dark, but not dark enough and the dim light was enough to make your eyes ache. You pulled the covers over your head and curled up into a ball, gripping the blankets. This is how Xavier found you when he entered the bedroom with a mug of warm tea. He gently set the mug on the side table, and you felt the mattress dip when he sat down beside you.

"Is your migraine still pretty bad?" He asked softly.

"Yeah," you answer.

"I'll make it darker in here."

You had blackout curtains in case a migraine like this hit you, and he tugged them together to cover up your windows the best he could. He then shut the door and unplugged the alarm clock so even that wouldn't shine any light. Even under your blankets, you could tell the room was much darker than before.

Xavier then pulled out his phone and again you could hear the low sound of white noise softly fill the room. Just like when he played it on the train, it was just enough to soothe you and didn't make your migraine worsen.

Xavier slightly pulled the covers aside to slide into bed beside you. You barely opened your eyes to see him next to you under the blankets. He gave you a soft smile and reached out to gently massage your neck.

"Try to sleep," he whispered. "When you wake up, I'll warm up the tea and we'll make something good to eat. You should also take some medicine again."

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Wrapping your arms around him, you nuzzled into his chest and closed your eyes.

"Thanks, Xavier."

Before you drifted off, you felt him rub your back and softly kiss the top of your head.

"You're welcome, star light."

that night at 3:07 a.m. | xavier

synopsis : Sequel to 3:07 a.m.

content : angst(obviously), non-related to the game events, non-cannon, just purely xavier x reader but in our world :)

writer’s note : part one can be found here. I was inspired to write this peace thanks to the lovely @hiqhkey <3 you were right, the angst potential in this was wew. It took me awhile to piece together how to write this one because I wanted angst but I also wanted closure, I hope you enjoy this one as well :D

You came into his life like turbulence—unexpected, disarming.

And yet, your voice was the calm that followed the storm.

Xavier doesn’t remember how it began.

Maybe it was that first night. 3:07 a.m.

He had meant to call someone else—fingers fumbling, mind clouded, emotions in disarray.

But it was your voice he heard.

Soft. Quiet. A melody that lingered longer than it should have.

He didn’t hang up.

He listened.

And then he called again.

It became routine, though neither of you called it that.

He’d come home from work, shower, lie in bed.

Waiting.

Sleep never came easy for him.

But you did.

At 3:07 a.m., he would dial your number.

And you’d answer, always.

“Hey,” you’d breathe into the line.

His heart would falter, just a beat.

It wasn’t love. Or maybe it was.

He couldn’t name it, but it left him aching.

He wanted to tell you that your voice was beautiful, that it soothed something in him he didn’t know needed soothing.

But he never did.

Instead, he’d ask about your day.

You’d ask about his.

It was your thing—he calls, you answer.

No questions. No promises. Just presence.

But slowly, the lines blurred.

He caught himself thinking about you more. Wanting more.

But the words never came.

He’d see you sometimes—crossing the street, sitting in your favorite café by the window, head bowed in quiet focus.

He never waved.

Never approached.

Because 3:07 a.m. was sacred.

And he was afraid that in the daylight, it might mean something else.

Or nothing at all.

So he waited.

For nighttime.

For your voice.

—•

Then came a night that didn’t sound the same.

You answered, but your voice held sadness.

It rattled him, the heaviness of it.

He wanted to reach through the phone, hold you, take the weight from your shoulders.

But instead, he stayed silent.

You told him about a boy you liked.

His stomach turned.

He should’ve known. He should’ve seen it coming.

It was him. It had to be.

Still, he smiled where you couldn’t see.

And said, “Maybe he’ll come around.”

“Maybe,” you whispered.

If only he’d realized it then.

—•

“Do you think some people are just… meant to belong to each other?” he asked one night.

The question came unannounced. Raw. Honest.

You laughed, soft and almost shy.

But you didn’t answer.

And he didn’t press.

Neither of you ever did.

But that night, he told himself it was time to move on.

If you had felt the same way, you would’ve said something.

Wouldn’t you?

Still, the thought nagged at him, cruel and persistent.

You always picked up.

He opened his mouth. Almost.

But he swallowed it down.

“You still there?” he asked, knowing full well you were.

“Always.”

That word settled in his chest like warmth, and yet it ached.

“I saw a fox tonight,” he murmured. “It ran across the road like it didn’t care if it got hit.”

He didn’t know why he said it.

Maybe to see if you’d understand.

Maybe it was his confession in disguise.

“I thought about stopping,” he added, voice low. “I didn’t.”

Silence stretched between you. His breath hitched.

Then you said, “You never stop.”

His heart clenched.

“Maybe I should.”

It hurt, saying that. Like swallowing glass.

He changed the subject.

Pretended it didn’t mean anything.

And when your voice grew soft with sleep, he noticed—he always did.

“Go to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, ending the call before you could reply.

His heart was racing.

In the dark, he whispered to himself, “Why didn’t I just tell her?”

But the moment had passed.

The weight of everything left unsaid pressed down on him, suffocating and sharp.

He sighed into the stillness of his room.

“Maybe it was never meant to be.”

But oh, it was.

It really, really was.

—•

Eventually, life got busier.

Or maybe he made it that way—chasing distractions just to drown out the ache in his chest.

He didn’t know what it was exactly.

Rejection? An answer he didn’t want?

All he knew was that your silence—your lack of anything—gnawed at him until it became unbearable.

So he filled his days with noise. With work. With anything that wasn’t you.

But the nights stayed quiet.

Too quiet.

When he came home, the stillness in the air was heavier than usual.

He moved through his routine on autopilot, then lay in bed with his eyes shut, pretending he could sleep.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe I won’t call tonight. Maybe she will.

But curiosity clawed its way in.

He peeked.

3:05 a.m.

He watched the seconds crawl.

3:06.

His thumb hovered above your contact.

3:07 a.m.

Before his mind could stop his heart, he called.

Tonight, he told himself. Tonight, I’ll ask her.

“Hey,” your voice came through, soft and steady.

Like you had been waiting. Like always.

“Hey,” he echoed, but the word felt fragile—smaller than he meant it to be.

“Rough night?”

“No. Just… long.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

This was it—his window.

If he didn’t say it tonight, he’d let you go.

But then you asked gently, “Wanna talk about it?”

And he hesitated.

Why didn’t he just tell you?

He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Not really.”

“Okay.”

His mind swirled—What if she feels the same?

Will I regret this silence tomorrow?

Still, the words stayed lodged in his throat.

Instead, “Tell me something nice… anything.”

Because he wanted to hear your voice again. Wanted to feel close to you, even if you were slipping through his fingers.

And you did.

God, you did.

You told him about the dog you saw with its head out the window, tongue flapping like it owned the world.

You told him about the heart-shaped cloud that vanished before you could take a picture.

You told him about a song that reminded you of him.

His heart faltered at that—but still, nothing.

He only hummed, listening like it might be the last time he’d ever hear you.

“Do you think…” he started, then stopped. His courage faltered mid-sentence.

A pause.

“What?” you prompted, gentle.

His breath caught. “Do you think we’ll still talk like this… a year from now?”

You laughed.

And it shattered him.

Why was that your reaction?

“You’re the one who calls,” you said simply. “I just pick up.”

He fell silent. One beat. Then two.

“Yeah… I guess you do.”

He gathered what was left of himself. “I hope you sleep well tonight.”

There was a pause, quiet but heavy.

“Are you not calling tomorrow?” you asked softly.

His chest ached. That was his moment—his chance to say something real.

But instead, “I don’t know.”

And he ended the call.

Alone in the dark, he whispered, “I need to move on.”

A tear slipped quietly down his cheek.

The next night, he stared at his phone.

Thumb over your name.

Hovering.

He shouldn’t call. He couldn’t.

His heart wasn’t whole enough to risk it again.

So he didn’t.

He shoved his phone beneath his pillow and closed his eyes.

If she wants to talk, he told himself, she’ll call.

But a voice inside him whispered something else—Maybe she’s waiting, too.

Still, he forced himself to sleep.

No more.

—•

Day One.

He woke with a racing heart and reached for his phone.

No missed calls.

No texts.

Nothing.

The absence stung more than he expected.

And there it was—his answer.

You hadn’t called.

He sighed, the weight of regret and hopelessness pressing into his ribs.

That was it.

That was the end.

He got up and started his day, pretending he hadn’t waited.

Pretending it didn’t hurt.

But good god, it did.

Day Three.

He didn’t mean to look.

But at 3:07 a.m., his eyes flicked to the clock anyway.

His chest ached with a hollow kind of yearning, the kind that sits heavy behind the ribs and doesn’t say a word.

He didn’t call.

You didn’t either.

The silence had settled into something familiar now.

It used to be comfort. Now it was absence.

Still, he told himself, This is what moving on looks like. You asked for this.

But it didn’t make the loneliness feel any less real.

Day Five.

He passed your favorite café on his way home.

The table by the window was empty.

Or maybe it wasn’t—you just weren’t in it.

He didn’t stop to look too long.

That night, he didn’t touch his phone.

He left it across the room, face-down.

But at 3:07 a.m., he still turned in bed, waiting for the sound that wouldn’t come.

Week Two.

He met someone new.

She was kind. Confident. The type who smiled with her whole face.

She asked for his number first, and he gave it without hesitation.

Not because he was ready, but because he wanted to be.

They started talking. Messaging.

Late night conversations, but never at 3:07 a.m.

That time belonged to someone else.

Still did.

But he didn’t say that out loud.

Week Six.

He liked her company.

She laughed at his jokes, touched his arm when she smiled, remembered how he took his coffee.

She made things feel easier.

Lighter.

And yet—some nights, when the world had gone still and he was finally alone with his thoughts, he still reached for his phone.

Not to call her.

But to scroll through your old messages.

The short ones. The long ones. The ones where you sent voice notes because texting was too slow.

He missed you.

Quietly. Constantly.

Like background noise he couldn’t tune out.

Month Two.

He was dating her now.

Their photos lived on social media—her head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her waist.

His smile looked real.

People said he looked happy.

And sometimes, he was.

But he never told her why he always seemed a little quiet around 3 a.m.

Why he never answered calls past midnight.

Why his smile never quite reached his eyes when a particular song came on the radio.

Because there were things he had buried—like old postcards you never send but can’t throw away.

He didn’t talk about you.

But sometimes, when he was with her, and the world was soft and kind,

he wondered if you ever stared at your phone too.

If you ever hovered over his name and decided not to press it.

If you ever missed him at 3:07 a.m.

And in that wondering, he realized—He hadn’t moved on.

Not really.

Not fully.

He was just learning how to live with a ghost that still answered the phone.

—•

Month Six.

He proposed.

It was quiet, understated—just the two of them beneath a canopy of lights and the hush of the evening breeze.

She smiled. She cried. She said yes without hesitation.

He kissed her like he meant it.

And he did.

He meant it.

But as the ring slipped onto her finger, something stirred deep in his chest—an ache, dull and persistent.

Not regret.

Not quite.

Just something unsettled.

Something he hadn’t named.

Something left over.

Because even now, even here, part of him wondered if you ever thought about him.

If you’d feel anything at all when you found out.

If you’d feel… nothing.

And maybe that would hurt more.

Later that night, while she slept soundly beside him, his eyes flicked toward the clock.

3:07 a.m.

He didn’t know why he still looked.

Maybe he just always would.

Month Eight.

Healing came slowly.

Not like a breakthrough—just a quiet fading of the noise.

The days stopped feeling like a performance.

The silences became lighter.

He caught himself smiling more. Meant it more, too.

And he started seeing her not as someone who filled a space, but someone who fit.

He still thought of you.

But not always.

Not the way he used to.

There were moments—brief ones—when your name crossed his mind in the middle of a song, or when he passed that café window you used to sit by.

But it didn’t sting as much.

It just… lingered.

Like something that might have been.

Something gentle. Undefined.

A feeling, not a fire.

Still, on some nights, when the world was quiet and he couldn’t sleep, he’d wonder.

Did you ever think of him, too?

Month Ten.

The wedding planning began in earnest.

Color swatches, catering menus, playlist drafts.

She filled journals with ideas, kept Pinterest boards titled forever.

He helped where he could.

Smiled. Showed up.

Even laughed when she made him try three kinds of cake in one sitting.

It was real.

And it was good.

But some nights, when she’d doze off beside him with a notebook still open in her lap, he’d scroll through his contacts until he found your name.

He never pressed it.

He never would.

But part of him still paused there.

Not because he wanted to go back.

But because he still hadn’t figured out if he should tell you.

Not to ask for anything.

Not to confess anything.

Just… to let you know.

“I’m getting married.”

A sentence he rehearsed and never said.

And maybe he was afraid that if he did, you’d say, “I always thought you would call.”

Or worse—That you’d say nothing at all.

So instead, he locked his phone and turned off the lamp beside the bed.

He wasn’t in love with you.

Maybe he never had been.

But there had been something.

And it never quite left.

Almost One Year Later.

3:07 a.m.

The numbers glowed dimly in the dark, like they always did—unchanged, untouched.

He hadn’t planned to call.

He hadn’t even thought about it.

But somehow, he was already staring at your name.

Already pressing call.

The dial tone echoed once.

Twice.

Three times—Then a soft click.

You answered.

There was only breath on the other end.

Faint. Familiar. Present.

His heart stuttered.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. Steady.

Silence.

He swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

Still, nothing.

Just you, breathing. Listening.

Maybe frozen in place. Maybe waiting for more.

And he gave it to you.

“I just…” he started, and the words stuck, catching in his throat. He let them fall anyway.

“I’m getting married.”

The quiet thickened. Not even a gasp. No sigh.

Just your silence.

“I wanted to tell you myself.”

There was a pause.

Then, your breath barely above a whisper, “Why now?”

He let the silence stretch before he answered.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I kept thinking about you. About how I never said goodbye.”

Another pause.

Your voice cracked, just slightly. “I would’ve answered.”

His chest tightened.

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence. Neither of you filled it.

He listened to the stillness like it was the last piece of a song he couldn’t finish.

And then, softly—like it cost you something, “I’m happy for you.”

His heart stuttered.

He hesitated.

There were words at the edge of his tongue—things he might have said if this were a different life.

But instead, all he gave you was, “Goodnight.”

And the call ended.

No goodbye.

Just the quiet click of something finally closing.

—•

The air was still.

Rows of guests sat under soft morning light, flowers swaying gently with the breeze, as music began to hum low and steady.

Xavier stood at the altar, hands clasped tightly in front of him, breath slow.

He wasn’t nervous—at least not in the way everyone expected him to be.

He felt the weight of the moment. The finality. The beauty of it.

And the ache.

Then—like a pull, a presence he couldn’t ignore—his gaze lifted.

And there you were.

Standing quietly near the back. Almost hidden. Almost not there.

But he saw you.

Your eyes met his, and the world narrowed.

Just for a moment, it was quiet.

Just for a moment, it was 3:07 a.m. again.

There were no smiles exchanged.

No nods.

Just something suspended between you—years of silence, almosts, and words that never made it past the throat.

But it was enough.

He understood.

So did you.

And then the music changed.

The crowd rose to their feet, turning.

She appeared—his bride, radiant and glowing, the embodiment of everything he had chosen.

He looked at her, heart steady.

And when she reached him, he took her hand with warmth, with care.

The ceremony moved forward.

Vows were spoken.

Promises made.

And when he leaned in to kiss her, he did so gently, tenderly, with a love that had grown slowly, earnestly.

Applause broke out.

The world opened again.

And when he turned, just for a second—just instinctively.

He saw you.

You were walking away, slipping through the crowd with that small, knowing smile on your lips.

The kind that said everything.

He watched you disappear around the corner, and it struck him.

That was your goodbye.

Not in words.

Not in tears.

Just in the way you let go—with grace, with quiet acceptance.

And maybe that was what you both needed.

Not closure. Not confession.

Just the soft acknowledgment of what once lived between you, and what would no longer linger.

He turned back toward the crowd, toward the life he’d chosen.

And the ache in his chest softened, like something finally exhaled.

expect a lot of sylus shitposts throughout the next week or so

his birthday card is my new favorite thing. lord have mercy it’s so precious. but also heart wrenching?

i can only imagine what was going through his head when they were laying in the grass. the memories of him and his sorceress doing the same centuries ago. only this time, there was no sense of impending doom, no curse that threatened to tear them apart. this time, it’s just the two of them - like he always wanted. this time, it was peaceful. happy.

and the way he was so quick to tell her his actual birthday. everyone in the N109 zone, including the twins, have been guessing for ages. it seems everyone has yet to get it right. but when MC wondered? he answered immediately. he trusts her so completely, so implicitly. it’s like his heart and soul aches to share every part of him with her, and he won’t hesitate to do just that.

“you should know very well that i adore you. there is no love purer than mine.” when he first said it, i somewhat brushed it off. now though? i realize just how serious he was.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄

⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐄/𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐓

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You wake up early, stretching lazily before grabbing Xavier’s hoodie from where it hangs on the rack like it’s routine. He’s still sleeping soundly as you slip out of the bedroom. The hoodie envelops you completely, sleeves hanging past your wrists, carrying his distinct, comforting scent.

In the kitchen, you prepare a simple breakfast for yourself, and a plate for Xavier that you know will likely go cold. The morning news plays quietly on the TV as you settle onto the couch, legs tucked underneath you, swimming in the soft fabric of his hoodie, feeling wrapped in Xavier’s presence despite his absence.

Movement catches your eye as Xavier appears in the doorway. His eyes find you immediately, taking in the sight of you wearing his clothing.

“Good morning,” you say, offering him his plate. “I made you breakfast.”

Xavier glances at the food but doesn’t take it. Instead, he shifts closer, arm sliding around your shoulders to pull you against his side. “Later,” he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep.

His fingers trace absent patterns on your arm through the fabric of his hoodie, and you can feel him breathing in deeply, as if taking in the sight of you wrapped in something that belongs to him.

You nestle closer, and within minutes, his breathing becomes more even. Looking up, you find his eyes have drifted closed, his posture completely relaxed. You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. Even in sleep, his arm remains securely around you, keeping you close as if unwilling to let you go now that he’s found you this way—comfortable, content, and wrapped in his clothing.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The mission had been longer than expected, and you’re exhausted as you make your way back home. Zayne had returned from his shift a few hours ago, and you’ve been looking forward to seeing him after days apart. You’re wearing his jacket—the black one with the subtle white trim that you’d taken from his closet before leaving. It’s become a comfort object during your mission, the lingering scent of his cologne providing reassurance during stressful moments.

You stop at the corner store for snacks before finally unlocking the apartment door. The place is quiet but warm as you kick off your shoes and pad toward the living room.

You find Zayne on the couch with journals spread around him. He looks up as you enter, his eyes immediately locking onto his jacket draped over your frame. Given his preference for professional coats, his collection of casual jackets and hoodies is small and meticulously maintained—making the absence of even one immediately noticeable to someone as detail-oriented as him.

“So that’s where it went,” he says. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he sets aside his work, creating space beside him.

You drop down next to him with a tired sigh. “Found me out.”

Zayne reaches out, fingers brushing against the collar of his jacket where it meets your neck. The touch is gentle, almost reverent. “It suits you better than me,” he murmurs.

His hand moves to your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side. “Next time,” he says, voice low near your ear, “take more than one. You know I don’t mind.”

His arm remains around you, a subtle but clear indication that while you may have his jacket, he’s pleased to have you.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The gallery opening had been exhausting—too many people packed into too small a space, all of them wanting a piece of Rafayel’s attention. You’d smiled and nodded and played your part perfectly, but by the time you returned to his seaside home, you were completely drained.

Rafayel had stayed behind to handle some business with Thomas, insisting you go ahead without him. You’d grabbed one of his hoodies—the soft blue one with white pattern of waves—and changed into it the moment you got home. Now, curled up on the couch with the artsy duckie plushie he’d won for you clutched against your chest, you’d finally found peace in the quiet of the evening.

The sound of the door opening and closing barely registers as you drift between sleep and wakefulness. You vaguely hear the soft footsteps approaching, then a delighted sound that could only come from Rafayel.

“Oh, look at you,” he coos, his voice soft. “Absolutely precious.”

You hear the click of his phone camera and crack open one eye to see him standing above you, a fond expression on his face as he takes another photo to set it as his home screen later.

“Are you documenting my crime?” you mumble sleepily.

“I’m documenting perfection,” he corrects, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Move over a bit.”

You comply, and he squeezes onto the couch beside you, pulling you half onto his chest. His fingers thread through your hair, and you feel the tension in his body from the event slowly release.

“Did Thomas give you a hard time about leaving early?” you ask, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

“Thomas always gives me a hard time,” Rafayel replies with a dismissive wave. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

You snuggle closer, the artsy duckie plushie squished between you, and feel him press a kiss to the top of your head as you both settle into the comfortable silence.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Snow falls in thick flakes outside the window, blanketing the forest view in pristine white. You stand before the floor-to-ceiling glass, mesmerized by the winter snow cascading from the gloomy sky. Sylus’s dark jacket envelops you like a protective shell, the sleeves long enough that you can curl your fingers into them. It smells like him—a blend of expensive cologne and something uniquely his—and wearing it feels almost like being wrapped in his embrace.

You’ve been standing there for nearly twenty minutes, lost in thought, when you hear the door to the residence open and close. You don’t turn, knowing exactly who it is from the footsteps entering the room.

“Enjoying the view?” Sylus asks, his voice closer than you expected.

You glance over your shoulder to find him watching you with an expression that makes your heart rate quicken. His eyes track from your face down to the jacket you’re wearing.

“It’s peaceful,” you reply, turning back to the window. “Everything looks so quiet from up here.”

“Indeed,” he agrees, though you can tell from his reflection in the glass that he’s not looking at the snow at all. He moves to sit behind you, close enough that you can feel his warmth. “Though I must say, my jacket looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

You smile, watching his reflection. “It’s warm.”

“If it’s warmth you’re seeking,” Sylus says, his hands coming to rest lightly on your shoulders, “perhaps I could offer something more comforting than a piece of fabric?”

You turn to face him, still wrapped in his jacket. “Is that an offer or a command?”

His lips curve into that familiar smirk as he pulls you closer. “With you? Always an offer.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The DAA jacket is practically a relic now—Caleb hasn’t worn it in years, not since he became Colonel in the Farspace Fleet. But it still hangs in the closet of your shared place, and on the nights when he’s away on missions, you find yourself reaching for it.

Tonight is one of those nights. The bed feels too big, too empty without him, and the jacket is a poor substitute but better than nothing. You’ve wrapped yourself in it, breathing in the faint traces of his scent that somehow still cling to the fabric after all this time.

You’re reading through reports on your tablet when the door slides open unexpectedly. You look up, startled, to see Caleb standing in the doorway, still in his Fleet uniform, a day earlier than scheduled.

“Caleb! You weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow,” you say, sitting up straighter.

His eyes immediately zero in on the jacket you’re wearing, and a slow, teasing grin spreads across his face. “Well, well. What do we have here? A thief in the house?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “Hardly stealing when it’s been hanging untouched for years.”

Caleb fully enters the room and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to finger the fabric of the jacket’s collar. “I don’t know,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Looks like theft to me. I should probably report this.”

“I’ll give it back,” you offer, starting to shrug it off.

“Don’t you dare,” he says quickly, catching your hands with a grin. “It looks better on you anyway.” He pauses, then adds with mischief, “In fact, I think you should raid my entire closet. Take it all. Every last shirt and sock.”

You laugh, leaning forward to kiss him. “Welcome home, Caleb.”

“Home is wherever you are,” he replies, pulling you closer. “Stolen jacket and all.”

Based on this request.

In honor of the Ithaca Saga and Epic the Musical in general🫡🫡

Ody and Penelope have my heart🖤🖤

Weight

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

full credit to artist: @fishbone0306 on X!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♥︎ FAMILIAR GLOW

── . ✦ WORD COUNT : 2,945

── . ✦ PAIRING : Xavier x Fem!Reader

── . ✦ SUMMARY : He takes his anger from a mission gone wrong out on you when all you tried to do was talk to him.

── . ✦ CONTENT WARNINGS : fem!reader, she/her pronouns are used for reader, use of 'y/n', angst + hurt/no comfort, use of petnames (honey), swearing (fuck, shit), depictions of injuries (cuts and bruises), minor depictions of blood.

── . ✦ AUTHOR'S NOTE : sorry for the repost... IN MY DEFENSE- i didnt even mean to POST THE FIRST ONE. BUT TUMBLR DOES THIS STUPID THING WHERE IT THINKS IT'S SILLY AND CHANGES THE 'SAVE DRAFT' BUTTON TO 'POST' BUTTON *bangs head into the wall*

── . ✦ WANT TO SEE MORE? Masterlist ⋮ 'Console Me' Masterlist

── . ✦ TAGLIST : @elegant-face-tree @vyntheria @withering-dream @cheesemachine44 @aluvrina @adeptustemptations @etckristel @seris-the-amious @babygirl-panda19 @paint3dros3s @babyblue0t7 @autumn2534 @just-a-shapeshifter08 @ryus3i @jupiterswrld @thewiselionessss @yakanadesuu-blog @kooidoom @avylea16 @zaynes-w @teewritessmth @rjreins @ilovelishen @ridox @kyanmeai @rosiesareblu @pomegranatepip @littlepotaaatosimp @c-t-r-l14 @emneedshelp @knorreine @peacedreamer14 @buggs-1 @alinacore @mo0nforme @joy-laufeyson @axane @certainduckanchor @sillyfreakfanparty

Xavier languidly opened the front door to his apartment, being met with complete silence — apart from the usual bustling of Linkon City that never seemed to rest — and complete darkness — apart from the lights from the other buildings in the city surrounding the apartment building and the bright full-moon outside the windows. He pulled his phone from his back pocket to check the time. 23:35.

“Y/N must be asleep...” He thought, placing his right hand on his left shoulder and slowly rolling the sore joint in a circular motion after placing down his keys in a tiny dish on the console table a few feet from the front door.

“I suppose that it's for the better, though.” His body was littered in fresh bruises in various hues of deep purples and blues and lacerations of varying lengths and depths that were still leaking small beads of blood, soaking through his bandages and — apart from the blood — pristine, tightly wrapped sterilized gauze. He could barely move without every single muscle and joint in his body screaming at him to stop.

He knew that it was better that you didn't see him like this, since it would've definitely distressed you too much if you had to see him like that. He knew that you would notice his discomfort in the morning and begin to ask questions, but he luckily had a few hours to figure out how he was going to explain his state to you, while also downplaying the severity of his injuries as to not make you worry too much.

A few days prior, when Xavier was assigned the mission, you had begged him over and over to let you join him, adamant that it wasn't a good idea for him to go alone. He thought that your concern for his safety was cute and he watched you ramble on and on about his health with hearts and stars — quite literally — in his eyes.

Now, he wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that you didn't join him. Good, because otherwise it would've been you littered with lacerations and bruises just like him; or bad, because if you had gone with him, all of his injuries could've been avoided because you would've been there to help him beat the wanderer.

He ran an aching hand through his silver hair while making his way to the couch with slow, dragging feet. He grimaced when he brought his hand out of hair and turned it over to inspect the back of it, noticing the large, reddish-purple bruises littering his knuckles and the valleys in between his fingers.

“Now it just looks like I've gotten into a bar fight...” Xavier sighed and flexed his hand, feeling the bruised skin stretch and a stinging pain compared to that of thousands of pins and needles repeatedly poking into his flesh.

“To be honest, I don't know which one would be worse in Y/N's eyes...” He chuckled lowly with a slight shake of his head, wondering which scenario would elicit a more displeased reaction from you.

“There's no way I'm going to be able to hide this from Y/N...” He muttered, bringing his hand up to his chest and rubbing the palm of his other hand over his bruised knuckles, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt a small stinging sensation pulsing from the bruises.

Xavier walked over to the couch and began to slowly bend his knees with his hands on his knees, trying to alleviate the pain that was gnawing at every single ligament in his body as he sat down on the couch with a strained groan.

God, that wanderer really did a number on him...

How could he let the mission botch as badly as it did? It was supposed to be an easy mission that shouldn't have taken him more than thirty minutes at worst to complete, but a measly miscommunication between Xavier and the Hunters' Association resulted in Xavier misinterpreting that he would be battling a low-ranking wanderer, one who's behavior would be so predictable that he could defeat it with his eyes blindfolded.

But it was, in fact, not a low-ranking wanderer. It was an Elite Carmine Talon, one of the toughest that he's ever had to battle, and he had to battle it alone.

Normally, even a Carmine Talon would be relatively easy for him to defeat; but he was so caught off-guard by it when it first appeared that it completely threw him off his groove. For the entire duration of the battle, Xavier was horribly disoriented and scatter-brained, resulting in him getting tossed around the battle vicinity like a ragdoll.

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, slowly running his hands over his face and taking a deep breath. He debated whether he should bring up miscommunication between himself and the Association to Captain Jenna, because even if the miscommunication was small, it did nearly cost him his limbs more than a few times since he was highly unprepared for — and caught completely off-guard by — the Carmine Talon's ambush.

“Xavier?” Your soft voice brought his train of thoughts to an immediate, screeching halt and broke the silence in the living room from behind him, and he turned around a bit too quickly — almost as if he was startled — , immediately regretting it once searing bolts of paint shot throughout his entire body, down to the furthest tips of his fingers and toes. He hissed at the stinging sensation and involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut, before slowly opening them up again.

“Hey, honey...” Xavier muttered lowly, stiffly turning his upper body back around on the couch to face forward again, feeling the stinging pain gradually start to subside again.

Xavier missed how you furrowed your brows as you took notice of his pained expression and disheveled— almost distressed — appearance when he turned back around. His usually neat hair was tousled; little strands of silver fly-away hairs standing in every direction imaginable, catching the faint glow of the moonlight shining through the thin gossamer material of the curtains.

“You look like you've been in a bar fight.” You quipped with a teasing smile, walking over to the couch and slowly sitting down next to Xavier. Xavier’s lips twitched up in a a small smile, so small that you would not have noticed it if you weren’t watching his face with the utmost adoration.

He was still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen; even when his body was covered in large, dark bruises, pristine — except for the blood specks already leaking through the gauze's woven sheer — bandages and his clothes were caked in dirt-marks and rips, revealing the red abrasions decorating his skin underneath.

“I'm assuming that the wanderer you fought was not a low-ranking wanderer, was it?” You softly giggled with an amused smile, bringing your arm up to rest your elbow against the backrest of the couch and rest your cheek in the palm of your hand.

You brought your other hand up to gently run your fingers through his hair to try and flatten the straying strands. Xavier pulled away almost instantly when your fingers touched his scalp, and you involuntarily pulled your hand back, confusion — and a flash of hurt — swirled in your eyes.

“Xavier?” Your voice was soft — only loud enough to barely exceed the meaning of a whisper — and carried a tint of hurt. ‘Am I annoying him?’ ‘Does he want to be left alone?’ ‘Should I leave?’ ‘Should I have never gotten out of bed in the first place?’ Your train of thoughts stilled when you felt a soft, warm hand encase your own that was still hovering in the air from where you’d pulled back.

“I'm sorry, honey,” Xavier slowly brought your hand up to his lips, placing a gentle, feather-light kiss over your knuckles, “I'm just... really, really sore...”

“Oh...” Obviously you knew he was sore; look at the state of him! You’d be more concerned if he weren’t in any pain.

“Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need a warm compress? Or a cool one?” You stood up from the couch and began walking in the direction of the kitchen. If you couldn’t make his pain completely disappear, you could at least try to help and minimize it; even the smallest bit of pain-relief would be enough to reassure you that you were helping.

“Um... no, I'm alright, thank you...” Xavier’s voice was soft; softer than it usually was. He looked down at his hands for a second, slowly running his middle finger over the dark bruises lining his knuckles. Your soft steps came to a stop just as you were about to pass the kitchen island

“Actually... could I maybe just get a cup of water, please?” He slowly brought his eyes up to meet yours, and your heart momentarily shattered at the exhausted look swirling in his deep blue eyes.

“Of course.” You sent him a caring smile — which he was too exhausted to return — before turning around and going to grab a glass cup from one of the kitchen cabinets.

The soft rippling of cold water flowing from the faucet and gathering in the cup resonated throughout the hauntingly quiet apartment. The silence was awkward and felt crushing as you and Xavier always had something to talk about, even if it was something as simple as a funny post one of you saw on Moments. You didn’t say anything though; you knew he was tired, and probably a little bit embarrassed at the damage that the Carmine Talon had done to him.

Turning the knob to bring the flowing water to a stop, you turned around with the cup wrapped between both of your palms, walking back over to the couch to slowly sit down next to Xavier. You nudged the cup in his direction with one hand holding the bottom of the cup and the other wrapped around the body of the glass cup, and he brought a faintly trembling hand out to grab the cup while keeping the other splayed on his knee. You watched him heavily bring the cup up to his lips and tip the cup back to take a sip, his adam's apple bobbed up and down as the cold water flowed down his sore throat.

“I’ll go get the bath running so you can freshen up, and in the meantime, I’ll help you remove your bandages and we can change them when you’re done with your bath, okay?” You rested your hand over his own on his knee with a soft smile

Xavier only nodded with the rim of the cup still pressed against his lips, though he had tipped it back so the water was no longer touching his lips. His eyes flicked back at the floor, dancing across winding patterns of the white oak wooden floorboards.

You gave his hand a few gentle pats — careful not too tap directly on his knuckles in fear of making the bruises decorating those areas sting — before standing up and walking in the direction of the en suite bathroom in Xavier's bedroom. Technically, it was yours as well; since you slept in his apartment more than you slept in your own.

In the bathroom after twisting the knob to let the warm water begin to flow and gradually begin to fill up the room with warm steam, you heard the sound of glass shattering against wooden floors from the living room and your socked feet nearly slipped on the smooth bathroom tiles as you rushed out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and into the living room to see what happened.

Grabbing onto the bedroom’s doorframe to balance yourself as your feet came to an abrupt halt once you were stood on the threshold of the living room, your eyes widened upon spotting Xavier stood over a pile of shattered, scattered crystals of glass in a puddle of water with his head hung low and fists clenched at his sides.

“Xavier, what happened?” you walked over with hurried steps to stand in front of Xavier and examined the shattered glass shards on the floor, not exactly toe-to-toe with him but close enough for him to be able to see your feet without having to lift his head.

“Why won’t anything go my way today...” You heard him mutter, and you looked up with confusion visible in the crease between your furrowed eyebrows, only to still be met with his silver bangs still dangling over his eyes, concealing his eyes from you.

“What are you talking about?” It was just a cup, why was he saying that nothing was going his way today?

Well, there was the mission that went south, but none of that was his fault in the slightest and this also wasn’t the first time that a miscommunication such as this one had happened, but he was never this upset about it before.

“Everything’s going wrong today...” He hissed through gritted teeth. You could see his fist visibly tighten in its clenched position, and his fists began to shake from the pressure of his nails digging into his palms.

“Like what? It’s just a cup, Xavier. It’s not the end of the world.” There was humour behind your voice since you didn't quite grasp the seriousness of the situation, and this only added fuel to the fire quickly growing in Xavier's eyes.

“It’s not ‘just’ the cup, Y/N! Everything’s gone wrong today!” He finally looked up at you, and the humour quickly disappeared from your voice once you noticed the scary amount of ire swirling behind his eyes. “The cup practically flew from my grip the second you left the room; and the mission botched because the Association can’t seem to get their god-damn information straight and now it looks like I don’t know how to properly do my job!”

“There’s no need to yell at me, Xavier,” You brought your hands up in a placating gesture to try and alleviate his anger. “And what happened today really wasn’t bad enough for you to conclude that everything's going wrong. Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” Your question held absolutely no malice and he knew that; it was a genuine question since while what happened today wasn’t exactly ideal, you didn’t feel like it was enough for Xavier to act out like this.

“Overreacting?!” His eyes widened in disbelief at your way of phrasing it, then the flame of rage returned in his eyes, burning even brighter than it was before. “Of course you would think it wasn’t that bad since all you did today was lay around and do nothing!” Your mouth fell open in absolute disbelief at what he just said. This was your first day-off in months, and the last thing you did was lay around all day. You were out running errands for hours, you deep-cleaned the apartment and helped one of your friends build a shelf in the apartment a few rooms down the hall from your own. You were doing everything but laying around.

“What are you getting so mad at me for? It’s as if you’re saying it’s my fault that the mission botched!” You weren’t serious when you stated that last part, but your heart plummeted into the deepest point of your stomach when he didn’t deny it.

He stayed silent when you said it, and you felt your hands begin to shake at what he was basically insinuating. It was as if he was saying ‘if the shoe fits’.

“Wow...” You laughed in disbelief, finding his innuendo so utterly ridiculous and offensive that you could’ve sworn that it was a joke if the tension in the air wasn’t so thick that even a chainsaw couldn’t cut through it.

“Low blow, Xavier. Low, low blow.” You scoffed and turned around to head for the direction of the front door, completely missing the way the flame of rage immediately extinguished in his eyes once he realized what it was that you concluded from his silence.

‘Shit,’ He thought, ‘That wasn’t what I meant!’, He wanted to chase after you and let you know that that wasn’t what he was thinking. He’d never think like that. Ever. So to think that he made you think that he was blaming you for the Association's mistakes made his heart shatter into an unfathomable amount of pieces.

You grabbed your keys from the tiny dish on the console table and harshly shoved the key into the keyhole, gripping the handle once you heard the key click in the keyhole.

“You know, Xavier...” You muttered with your head down, rapidly blinking your eyes when you felt the familiar sting of tears start to well up in your waterline, “I never knew you thought that lowly of me.”

You twisted the doorknob counter-clockwise, feeling the subtle latch disconnect from its hook in the wall, “I would've told you if I knew that the Association's wanderer prediction was false...” You opened the door and stepped over the threshold, feeling the lump in your throat swell as a salty tear ran down your cheek.

“Stop thinking so lowly of me...” And with that, you pulled the door shut behind you.

Xavier fell back down on the couch after watching the door close behind you, ignoring the physical pain in his body since the emotional anguish he was currently going through exceed the physical pain tremendously.

He ran his hands over his face, moving over his forehead and moving his hair away from his eyes in the process. ‘What the fuck did I just do...’

© aeyuriameow. All rights reserved. DO NOT copy, modify, translate, plagiarize or repost ANY of my work on ANY social media platform. DO NOT claim my work as your own. DO NOT mention, promote or recommend my work on ANY social media platform outside of Tumblr. Violators will be prosecuted in accordance with the law. I currently ONLY post my work on Tumblr under the username @aeyuriameow.

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!