This is something I had started writing right when I started and never finished, and just now got around to it. Please enjoy!
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Xavier:
You had been on a two-week solo mission, and the first thing you felt when you got back to your apartment building was longing. Without even thinking, you climbed the extra flight of stairs instead of heading to your own apartment.
Xavier’s door was exactly where you left it. You knocked once, impatient, then twice.
When it opened, his surprise barely had time to register before you were already there, arms around his neck, face pressed into his chest. He stiffened for half a second, then softened, wrapping his arms around your waist in response.
“You’re early,” he murmured, his smile evident in his voice.
“I missed you,” you said, voice muffled into his chest. You didn’t let go. Two weeks without him had been too quiet, too empty.
He laughed softly, resting his chin on your head. “You could’ve at least said hello.”
“This is my hello.”
You followed him inside without breaking contact, trailing him from room to room like you’d forgotten how to exist without him nearby. You sat beside him on the couch, basically on top of him, legs tangled, shoulder pressed to his arm. When he reached for a book, you leaned into him harder.
“You're touchier that usual,” he teased.
“Correct.”
Xavier shifted, wrapping an arm around you, tighter this time. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You smiled against his shoulder, finally home.
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Zayne:
Zayne was used to solitude. After long hospital shifts, his evenings were predictable, jasmine tea steeping, a book open, a comfortable silence surrounding him.
That routine disappeared the moment you started dating.
Now, when he unlocked his door, you were always there. Dinner already made. Shoes kicked off by the entryway. You greeted him before he could even set his bag down, arms around him, a soft kiss to his cheek.
Sometimes you talked immediately, about your day, your thoughts, things you’d missed while he was gone. Other times, you just held him. Minutes passed like that. Zayne never rushed you.
Tonight, you followed him through his apartment as he moved, into the kitchen, then the living room, hovering close, fingers catching on his sleeve whenever he tried to step away.
“You know,” he said gently, setting his tea down, “you don’t have to stay glued to me.”
You tilted your head. “But I want to.”
Zayne studied you for a moment, then sighed. He pulled you into his lap on the couch, one arm around your waist, the other warm against your back.
“…I suppose I don’t mind,” he admitted.
You curled into him instantly, satisfied. His book remained untouched, forgotten. Instead, he rested his chin against your shoulder, breathing you in.
For someone who once treasured his quiet routine, Zayne realized that this was better.
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Rafayel:
“I’m clingier,” Rafayel announced confidently.
You scoffed. “Absolutely not.”
He leaned closer, invading your space on purpose, eyes glittering. “I literally hate being alone.”
“And yet,” you said, hooking an arm through his, “you’re not the one following me around the studio.”
“But I invite you over more because I need you to be by me,” he countered. “Big difference.”
You trailed him everywhere, through his workspace, onto the couch, even hovering behind him while he painted. If he moved, you moved. If he sat, you were already there, pressed against his side.
“You realize,” he said, glancing down at you, “I haven’t taken a step without you attached to me all day.”
You smiled sweetly. “And?”
He laughed. “Unbelievable cutie. You’re stealing my brand.”
You tugged him closer, resting your head against his shoulder. He tilted his head toward yours, brushing his temple against your hair.
“Fine,” he said. “Maybe we’re both clingy.”
You grinned. “So it’s a tie?”
He smirked. “No.”
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Sylus:
Sylus had to notice everything. Throughout every life, there was always someone, or something out to get him.
So when footsteps echoed behind him in the corridor, soft, deliberate, his hand was on his weapon in an instant. He spun, ready.
“…Kitten?”
You froze mid-step, holding a bag of takeout like a peace offering. “Hi?”
He stared for a beat, then exhaled loudly. “You’re going to get yourself shot.”
You walked closer anyway, unfazed. “You heard me and thought enemy. That’s kind of rude.”
“You’re always there,” he muttered, shaking his head.
And it was true. You followed him everywhere, leaning against doorframes, sitting beside him no matter how big the room, drifting closer like gravity pulled you in. A shadow he hadn’t asked for…bout could never push away.
Sylus crossed his arms. “Don’t you ever need space?”
You stepped even closer, hands resting lightly on his chest. “Not from you.”
He hesitated, then sighed, placing a hand over yours.
Later, when you curled up beside him, head on his shoulder, he adjusted automatically, allowing you closer. Maybe he wasn’t used to having someone always at his side, but now he couldn't imagine another moment without you.
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Caleb:
Growing up, you and Caleb were inseparable.
Same scraped knees. Same shared snacks and whispered secrets under the stars. Being together had always felt natural, effortless.
So when life pulled you apart and eventually brought you back together, nothing felt strange about how close you were.
You gravitated toward him without thinking, standing shoulder to shoulder, sitting on top of him, reaching for him in crowded rooms like it was instinct. Caleb never complained, he just pulled you closer.
“You still do that,” he said one night, smiling softly as you leaned into him.
“Do what?”
“Stick close, pips. Like you’re afraid I’ll disappear.”
You shrugged. “Feels like home.”
Caleb pulled you into a tight hug, arms strong and familiar. “Guess that makes me home too, huh pipsqueak?”
You stayed like that longer than needed, neither of you rushing to let go. After everything, being together again felt right, easy.
How the Lads boys would react to a you falling asleep on them for the first time.
This is a lot shorter than what I normally write, I'm trying out cute and romantic short little scenes.
Let me know what you think!
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Xavier:
You and Xavier had settled into a simple routine of eating takeout and watching TV on the couch after a long mission. You were currently in the fifth season of an old crime drama about serial killers.
Xavier had been making a comment on one of the many inaccuracies of the show and how oblivious the FBI agents were when he felt an unexpected weight on his shoulder. He stopped mid-sentence and slowly turned his head towards you.
He moved carefully, reaching behind you to grab the blanket draped over the couch. He pulled it over you both, then gently brushed a few strands of hair from your face.
He leaned back, switching off the TV and the room became nearly silent, only your gentle breaths filling the space. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the darkened screen, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his side. Then, he rested his head lightly on top of yours.
Sleep came easier than he expected.
You spent the night like that, tangled in stillness, wrapped in each others' warmth.
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Zayne:
The moment your head landed on Zayne’s shoulder, concern washed over him. The angle of your neck wasn’t ideal, and if you stayed like that, you’d probably wake up stiff and sore.
He shook your shoulder gently, trying to rouse you. "If you’re tired, we should go to bed, love."
You groaned in response. "I’m not sleepy… we don’t need to move." Your words were slightly slurred as your eyes fluttered open for a moment, then closed again.
Within seconds, you were asleep again. He tried one more time to wake you, offering to carry you to bed. "Mmph, I’m comfy here," you protested, curling further into his side, your head resting at a sharp angle on his shoulder.
Zayne sighed, accepting his fate, and adjusted himself so your head rested comfortably. With the difference in your heights, it left him slouched awkwardly to one side, but he stayed that way all night, determined to keep you comfortable.
When you both woke, he stretched, and his back and shoulder cracked loudly.
"Are you okay?" you asked softly. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Your back is probably sore from being bent so weirdly."
He shrugged. Knowing you’d slept well was worth a little back pain.
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Rafayel:
Rafayel was sitting against a tree, and you lay in the grass with your head in his lap, watching the clouds. You’d enjoyed a leisurely picnic lunch and were soaking up the warm weather when the inevitable food coma hit.
He asked what you wanted to do next, and when you didn’t respond, he looked down to find you sound asleep on his lap.
"You better not be drooling on my pants, cutie," he teased, running his fingers through your hair. "They’re designer."
He continued stroking your hair absentmindedly with one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other. Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through, and you shivered, curling slightly against him for warmth.
The breeze picked up, and Rafayel carefully shrugged out of his cardigan, each movement careful and calculated so as not to wake you. Once free, he draped it gently over your shoulders.
Unconsciously, you pulled the cardigan tighter around you and murmured something that sounded like thank you.
"Anything for you, cutie," he said, resting his hand on your shoulder with a soft smile.
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Sylus:
You were determined to stay up until Sylus got home. For the first time in a while, you had a few days off in a row, and you wanted to make the most of your time together. Both of you had been so busy with opposite schedules that it had been weeks since you’d last seen each other.
You watched the clock, counting the minutes and hours. Finally, the door opened, and he stepped inside, kicking off his heavy boots and hanging up his jacket before he noticed you. Your eyes were bleary, and a loud yawn escaped your lips as you raised your hand to greet him.
"Kitten, what are you doing up so late?" he asked, watching you rub your eyes.
"I was waiting for you," you mumbled. "Wanted to spend time together."
"Let's get you to bed, sweetie. You can barely keep your eyes open."
"No!" you protested, patting the space on the couch beside you. "'m not tired. Come, tell me about your day." The sleepiness in your voice was undeniable, and Sylus chuckled at your insistence.
He sat down beside you, and you wrapped your arms around one of his, leaning into him. Before he could even start talking, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out cold.
"Oh, kitten," he murmured, brushing a kiss over the crown of your head. "Let's get you to bed."
With that, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to bed and holding you close until the sun rose.
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Caleb:
Growing up together, you and Caleb had fallen asleep together countless times. For years if you had a nightmare, you crawled into his bed, making him check under the bed and the closets before going back to sleep.
Now, years later, you leaned against his shoulder on a flight, eyes fluttering shut. Caleb froze, panic rising. You were already halfway asleep, and any movement might wake you. He wanted to adjust you, make you more comfortable, but he couldn't risk disturbing you.
In your sleep you murmured something he could quite make out and leaned in closer to him. Caleb’s arm hovered awkwardly, fingers stiff against the armrest. When turbulence hit, he held himself still and prayed you would stay asleep.
Your head felt heavy against his shoulder, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t risk disturbing your peaceful slumber.
Minutes passed. Caleb’s shoulder ached, his legs went numb, but he stayed perfectly still, unmoving like a statue. You were completely relaxed, breathing slow and even, trusting him fully and he took his job as your pillow seriously.
By the time the captain announced the plane's descent, Caleb’s body was screaming, but he didn’t care. One hour, two hours, it didn’t matter. You were asleep, and that was all that mattered.
How do you think our boys handle a MC/Reader who sleep walks?
Or one who adores cuddles but is the most fidgety person on the PLANET?
If you dont mind my requesting anyhow. Hope you've a wonderful day!
Hello! Thank you for the request! This came in minutes after I opened my requests and I am so grateful to know people enjoy my writing! This is going to be the fidgety cuddling one, because the idea of it made me giggle so much, but if you want the sleepwalking as well, please request it again and I will make it happen!
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Xavier:
You wake up already mid-movement, body shifting before your brain catches up. Your foot brushes his calf, your knee bumps his thigh, your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve like they’ve done this a thousand times before.
Xavier shifts slightly, in response to your fidgeting.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, carefully untangling yourself. “I didn’t mean to keep moving. I can, I’ll stop, let you sleep.”
You try to roll away, forcing your body to be still, an unnaturally stiff position. The bed dips as Xavier moves, and then his arm slides around your waist, pulling you back before you can get any farther.
“You realize you do this every night, right?” he murmurs.
You blink in surprise. “…Every night?”
“Mhmmm.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “And I still let you into my space.”
Your fingers twitch again, uncertain. “I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t relax because of me.”
Xavier exhaled, pressing his forehead against your own. “If I couldn’t relax with you like this, I wouldn’t sleep at all.”
You fidget again without meaning to, then tense, waiting for him to pull back.
Instead, he adjusts, breathing slower, deeper, until your movements begin to match his. Your restless energy slowly eases.
“You don’t need to be still,” Xavier adds quietly. “You just need to be here.”
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Zayne
You warn him every time, even though you’re already under the covers.
“I move a lot,” you say quietly. “If you want to sleep...”
Zayne is already rearranging pillows, expression focused like he’s diagnosing a problem only he can see. You shift again, foot brushing his leg, and immediately jerk away.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I know this isn’t relaxing.”
He pauses, squinting at the bed like it personally offended him.
“This is the third pillow arrangement,” he mutters. “Statistically, one should have worked.”
You try to stifle a laugh and end up snorting instead, then clamp your mouth shut as your knee shifts again. “I can stop.”
Zayne reaches for your hand and places it gently against his chest, holding you close.
“You’re not restless because you’re inconsiderate,” he says calmly. “You’re restless because you’re uncomfortable.”
“That still affects you,” you argue.
“Yes,” he agrees. “Which means it’s something we solve together.”
He lets you fidget with his sleeve, his fingers, the edge of his shirt. When you still out of guilt, he notices immediately.
“Don’t stop,” he says. “We’re collecting data.”
That pulls another laugh out of you.
He adjusts the blanket’s weight, shifts closer, anchors your leg with his. When something helps, he remembers. When it doesn’t, he reaches for a small notebook and writes it down.
As your body finally slows, Zayne murmurs, almost to himself, “Comfort doesn’t have to be quiet.”
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Rafayel:
The moment you start squirming, you pull away.
“I’ll give you space,” you whisper. “I know I’m not great at staying still.”
Rafayel clicks his tongue, arm looping around your waist before you can escape.
“See, now that’s worse,” he says. “If you’re going to be chaotic, at least commit.”
“I’m not trying to be,” you groan. “I just...move.”
He sighs, as though this is a personal burden. “You’re impossible.”
Your heart sinks. “I can stop.”
“Please don’t,” he replies immediately, shaking his head.
But you still freeze, trying to be still, fighting every urge in your body.
“No, no. That’s not better,” he says, shifting so you have more room to cling to. “Now you’re just being awkward.”
“I don’t want to annoy you.”
“If you were annoying me,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple, “I’d let you go.”
He doesn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he tightens it, smug and unbothered.
You fidget again, tentative, fingers finding his rings, the chain at his neck.
“You’re lucky I like fidgety disasters,” he mutters.
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Sylus:
You tense up the second you realize you’ve been moving again.
“I can sleep on the couch,” you offer quietly. “I don’t want to keep you up.”
Sylus let out a low huff of amusement and pulls you closer, arm locking around you with practiced ease.
“Relax,” he says. “I’ve dealt with worse threats than a restless cuddle.”
You laugh softly, then stop when you fidget again, guilt building up in your stomach, he notices the sudden stiffness immediately.
“You keep freezing,” he says. “Why?”
“I don’t want to be annoying.”
His grip tightens just enough to make the point clear. “If you were annoying me, you wouldn’t still be here.”
It sounded almost more like a threat than a reassurance, but it made you feel comforted nonetheless.
You shift again, testing, and he adjusts without complaint, pinning you securely.
“Go on,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
Your body settles faster when you stop trying to force it. You still worry you’re too much, still catch yourself mid-movement, but Sylus continued to adjust with you
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Caleb:
You hesitate before crawling closer, guilt already weighing on you.
“I know you’re used to this,” you say softly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s fair.”
Caleb chuckles, arm wrapping around you as if it is an instinct. “Remember when you kicked me in the face in your sleep?”
“…I said sorry.”
“You cried harder than I did.”
You groan, burying your face in his shoulder. “That was one time.”
“Sure,” he says. “One time a year.”
You fidget, then still, then fidget again. “I just don’t want to be annoying.”
Caleb squeezes you gently. “Pips, you’ve always done this. If you didn’t, I’d think something was wrong.”
“That doesn’t mean I should.”
“Maybe not,” he admits. “But it means I love you any less for it.”
You still feel bad, constantly moving, but he never once complains.
You shift. He adjusts.
You fidget. He lets you.
And even with the guilt lingering, you find comfort in knowing you've done this forever, and he's always stayed.
Could you do the same request but for a reader who's insecure about her big chest? It really isn't all that fun.
Yes! I knew this request was coming the moment I posted, and several others followed in suite. I do have a larger chest and most of the time I don't mind but there are moments where I wish it were different. I hope you and the other's who have requested this enjoy the read.
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Xavier:
You were barely three steps into the café before you felt it again. That familiar sting of eyes dragging across your chest like you were something on display. You crossed your arms, shoulders tightening as the irritation bubbled up.
Xavier noticed instantly, concerned about the shift in your mood.
“What happened, starlight?”
You sighed, refusing to look around. “I hate this. I hate that I can be fully covered and people still stare. I hate feeling like I’m being looked at instead of seen.”
His expression shifted. Calm, patient, but threaded with something darker. His evol flickered at his fingertips, a soft insistence of light he had not summoned intentionally.
“Who?” he asked quietly.
“It doesn’t matter,” you muttered. “It’s just exhausting. I’m tired of being objectified. I’m tired of feeling like my body is an invitation.”
He stepped in front of you, blocking your view of the room, gaze locked only on you. “You're not an invitation,” he affirmed, voice soft but edged with steel. “You're not something anyone is entitled to look at like that.”
You felt your throat tighten. “I just hate it. I hate being treated like I’m not even a person.”
Xavier reached for your hand, his touch grounding. “If someone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me,” he said. “I will make sure they never try again.”
You blinked. “Xavier.”
He worked his jaw, trying to calm himself. “I am not threatening anyone. I am promising that you are not alone. Not ever.”
A slow breath left your chest, and you smiled in response.
He squeezed your hand gently. “Walk with me, starlight. Let them look elsewhere. Your peace is mine to protect.”
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Zayne:
You sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at your hands. “Zayne, can I ask you something?”
He looked up from his notes immediately. “Of course.”
You hesitated. “I've been thinking about breast reduction surgery.”
His pen stopped moving. He placed it down carefully, giving you his full attention. “Tell me what brought this on.”
You exhaled. “My back hurts. My shoulders hurt. Clothes never fit right. People stare no matter what I wear. I just feel so tired of dealing with all of it.”
Zayne nodded slowly. “Those are valid concerns. Chronic pain alone is reason enough to consider it.”
You picked at a loose thread. “But…what if you don't find me attractive after?”
That made him pause. Not confused, but surprised you would even consider it. “Attractiveness is not determined by a single feature,” he said. “You are not defined by your chest. And my feelings are not dependent on its size.”
You looked down again. "“I just want to be comfortable in my own skin.”
“My job,” he said calmly, “is to advocate for your health. Physical and mental.”
He shifted closer, resting a hand gently on your thigh. “I want you to be comfortable in your body. I want you to live without pain. And I will support whatever choice helps you do that.”
Your eyes softened. “You mean that?”
“Yes.” He brushed a thumb over your knuckles. “Your body is already deserving of care. If surgery improves your quality of life, then it is worth considering. But don't ever make a decision based on fear of losing my attraction. You will not, it's impossible.”
You leaned into him, and his arms wrapped around you, steady and reassuring.
“You deserve relief,” he whispered. “And I will stand with you through every decision that brings you closer to it.”
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Rafayel:
You were already irritated before the third dressing room even closed.
“Why is everything either ugly or painful,” you muttered, glaring at the selection of bras hanging on the hook. “It is like designers think having a big chest means I want to wear something that looks like tactical gear.”
Rafayel lounged outside the curtain like he owned the boutique, legs crossed, expression relaxed. “Let me see.”
“No,” you groaned. “None of these fit right. They all hurt. And the cute ones are never made in my size.”
“Then show me,” he insisted, gentler this time.
You stepped out with the defeated slump of someone who had tried too many options. He took one look at the straps digging into your shoulders and stood immediately.
“Go change,” he said. “You are not wearing that.”
You rolled your eyes but retreated to change again. When you came out in the next one, he circled you thoughtfully. “Support is wrong. Band too tight. Cups too shallow. This is not your body’s fault.”
You sighed, staring at the mirror. “I just want something that fits. And maybe something that looks nice for once.”
Rafayel tapped his chin. “Then we will make it.”
You blinked. “Make it?”
“Yes.” He pulled out his sketchbook. “You tell me what you want. Shape. Color. Lace. Structure. Everything. I will design it myself and commission it from someone who actually respects you, and understands the human body.”
Your chest loosened in a way that had nothing to do with fabric. “Rafayel, that is so much work.”
“For you,” he said simply, “I am willing.”
You smiled, excitement brewing inside you as he began sketching.
“Let me build something beautiful for you,” he murmured. “Something worthy of you.”
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Sylus:
The impact of your punch echoed through the training room, but you hissed as soon as your stance shifted.
“Again?” he asked.
You frowned. “My chest hurts when I move like that. My back aches too. It throws my balance off. Having a big chest is annoying.”
Sylus stepped closer, reading your posture like a manual. “Turn around.”
You raised a brow. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
You turned, and his hands settled beneath your chest, lifting gently but firmly, redistributing the weight with startling precision.
You froze. “Sylus…you cannot hold me like this the entire session.”
“Watch me,” he said calmly.
Despite yourself, you laughed. “You cannot support my chest forever.”
He leaned in, voice quiet near your ear. “If it eases your pain, I will. But I can also adjust your routine, strengthen the right muscles, teach you ways to stabilize your frame. I'd do anything to make you comfortable, to make you happy, Kitten.”
Your breath caught. “Sometimes I just feel like my body limits me.”
“No.” His hands stayed steady, grounding you. “Your body is strong. It only needs support in different places. That's not a weakness.”
You turned slightly, meeting his crimson eyes. “You really think that?”
“I don't believe in faulty design,” he said. “Only in the wrong approach. And I will find every right one for you.”
His hands remained warm, steady, and you relaxed into his support without even realizing it.
“You do not have to endure pain alone,” he murmured. “Not when I can help carry it.”
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Caleb:
It happened again in the middle of the store. You tugged at your shirt, huffing as the fabric pulled in a way that made you instantly self conscious.
Caleb looked over from the cart. “Pips?”
You shook your head. “It's nothing. I just hate how my chest makes everything fit weird. I hate how noticeable it is. I feel like people stare.”
He frowned, walking over immediately. “Who stared?”
“No one! Not now anyway. I just feel…wrong in my own body sometimes.”
Caleb’s expression softened. “Come here.”
You knew that tone. One that was full of protection and concern. He tugged you gently into the aisle corner, shielding you with his body like he always had when you were kids.
“You know,” he said softly, “I have seen every version of you. Every stage. And this is still you. The you that makes me laugh. The you I want to come home to. Your chest does not change any of that.”
You exhaled shakily. “I just wish I felt comfortable.”
“Then we will find what makes you comfortable,” he said. “Different clothes. Different cuts. Whatever you need. And if anyone stares, they can deal with me.”
You raised a brow. “Caleb.”
He grinned. “What? I can be intimidating.” You smiled hesitantly, knowing he could be more than intimidating if needed.
He bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “You don't need to hide from me. You never have. You are safe with me, pips.”
Hi! Your works are so cozy, and I love them! I was thinking of how the boys would react to meeting Reader’s parents for the first time?
Thank you so much for the request! This was a lot of fun to think about and write. When I first started playing lads I used the tête-à-tête feature to introduce Sylus to my mom and she was so weirded out by it, it was hilarious.
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Xavier:
You squeezed his hand on the walk up to your parents’ door. He said nothing, but his grip was a little tighter than usual.
He had faced traveling time and numerous battles, yet the idea of meeting the people who raised you made his chest feel uncomfortably tight. He had waited lifetimes to find you. Now he was about to stand in front of the ones who had loved you first.
Your mom opened the door with a bright smile and Xavier's posture shifted instantly and his expression became almost too calm.
“Hello,” he said politely. “Thank you for having me.” Inside, he answered every question carefully. Where he was from. What he did. How long you had known each other. His face was steady and confident, but his hand never left yours.
Later, when your dad joked about whether he was nervous, Xavier smiled faintly. “There's no reason to be.” But when your mother complimented how attentively he watched you, his ears warmed. He glanced at you, softer now, like the mask had slipped.
After dinner, as you helped clear the table, he leaned close. “They are kind,” he murmured. “You look relieved.”
He hesitated. “I just wanted them to see how important you are to me.” He had, too, he had waited centuries for this moment. He squeezed your hand again, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.
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Zayne:
Zayne arrived precisely on time, dressed neatly, posture impeccable. He brought a small bouquet for your mother and greeted your father with a firm, respectful handshake.
Throughout dinner, he spoke calmly and clearly. When asked about his work, he explained hospital routines, patient care, long hours, and the importance of rest and nutrition. Everything sounded like a consultation. Your mom blinked a few times. “You really love your job.”
“It requires responsibility,” he replied. “And consistency.” He answered questions about your relationship the same way, as if listing vitals. How long you had been together. How you supported each other. How he made sure you ate on busy days.
“You take very good care of her,” your father said. Zayne nodded. “I consider that part of my duty.”
Later, when you were alone in the hallway, you teased him. “You sounded like you were giving them a medical report.”
He adjusted his glasses. “I wanted to be clear and reassuring.”
“You did fine.”
His expression softened. “I wanted them to trust me with you.”
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Rafayel:
He arrived with his arms full.
A bottle of expensive wine. A bouquet of elegant flowers. A carefully wrapped box of chocolates. Your mother’s eyes lit up the second she saw him.
“For you,” he said warmly, bowing slightly. “I heard you have excellent taste.”
She laughed, instantly charmed.
Throughout the evening, he complimented the house, the food, the stories from your childhood. He listened closely, asked questions, laughed at the right moments. When your mom talked about your favorite meals, he made a mental note of every detail. “You are very attentive,” she said, clearly flattered.
By the end of dinner, your mother was practically glowing. When she pulled you aside, she whispered, “He is very sweet. And very handsome.”
Rafayel caught the look and grinned. “I am winning, aren’t I? Clearly her new favorite”
You rolled your eyes. “Don't get cocky.”
He leaned closer. “Too late.”
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Sylus:
He introduced himself as Skye.
You nearly said his real name out of habit, catching yourself just in time. He noticed, fingers brushing your wrist in warning, a quiet smile on his lips.
Your father sized him up immediately. Sylus met his gaze calmly and handed him the bottle of scotch.
“For you,” he said. “I was told you appreciate quality.” Your dad’s approval was instant.
Throughout the night, Sylus was polite, controlled, almost disarmingly charming. He answered questions carefully, never revealing too much, never lying outright.
When your mother asked how you met, he simply said, “Fate has interesting timing.”
Later, when your dad invited him to sample the scotch, Sylus accepted easily, discussing flavor notes like he had done it a hundred times.
When you finally had a moment alone, you whispered, “You were perfect. I almost forgot you were the head of Onychinus”
He leaned close. “I wanted them to like me. It makes things…simpler.”
You smiled. He rested his hand at your waist and pulled you close, reminding you that he is never letting go again. ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Caleb:
Your parents already knew him.
They had known him since you climbed trees and shared lunches. He was the boy who always waited for you after school, who learned your favorite snacks and the way you hated thunderstorms. He had always been part of your life. But this was the first time he sat at their table as your boyfriend.
Your mother watched the two of you with a knowing smile. “So it finally happened.”
Caleb laughed, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess it did.”
Dinner was easy. Familiar. He joked with your dad, helped in the kitchen without being asked, slipped naturally into the rhythm of your home like he never truly left it. When your mom brought out dessert, he remembered which slice you liked best and passed it to you without thinking.
She noticed right away, how well he fit into the family.
“You always took care of her,” she said softly.
He glanced at you, expression warm. “Still do.”
Later, when you walked him to the door, the night quiet around you, he squeezed your hand like he used to when you were kids.
“It is strange,” he admitted. “Being here like this. Not just as the boy next door.”
“Good strange?” you asked.
He smiled, leaning his forehead against yours. “Yeah, pips. It just feels right being here with you.”
Hello, I hope you are doing well!! May I request the li's reacting with a reader who's insecure about having a small chest? Thank you and I hope you have a wonderful day / night! <3
Hello! Thank you so much for the request! I am a big proponent of body positivity, and I think it's important to note that every body is beautiful. I'm really excited to write this one.
Please enjoy!
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Xavier:
“Xavier?” Your voice broke the comfortable silence between you. “Can I ask you something?”
He turned quickly, attention settling fully on you. “Always, starlight.”
You hesitated, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “Do you ever wish I looked…different?”
The question had him hesitate, and a look of confusion overtook him. “What made you ask that?”
You shrugged, gaze dropping and hands fluttering awkwardly over your chest. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t have enough. Like there’s something missing.”
Xavier didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood and crossed the room, dimming the lights until the space softened into shadow. When he returned, his light evol flickered to life, gentle and warm.
Your silhouette appeared on the wall.
He stepped behind you, hands resting lightly at your waist. “Look,” he murmured. “That’s how I see you.”
The outline was unmistakably yours, familiar curves, soft lines. Xavier traced the shadow with his fingers, slowly, as though he was memorizing it.
“There’s nothing unfinished here,” he said quietly. “Nothing lacking.”
You swallowed. “It doesn’t feel like enough sometimes.”
He tightened his hold slightly. “You don’t need to be more,” he said. “You already are my everything.”
Xavier pressed a kiss to your temple, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t love an idea of you,” he added softly. “I love this. Exactly as you exist.”
You leaned back into him, letting the glow surround you, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours.
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Zayne:
Zayne noticed your quiet immediately.
You sat beside him on the couch, close enough for you to feel his warmth, but far enough to feel distant, eyes unfocused. After a while, you finally spoke. “Do you ever think bodies are designed unfairly?”
He paused, tea halfway to his lips. “That depends.”
You shrugged. “I just feel wrong sometimes. Like I don’t really measure up.”
He set his cup down carefully, considering your words deeply and measuring his response. “Come here,” he said, gently.
You hesitated but shifted closer, and he adjusted instinctively, one arm settling around you.
“There’s nothing wrong with your body,” he said calmly. “Medically, functionally, or otherwise.”
You huffed. “Very comforting, doctor.”
His mouth twitched. “Smaller chests actually make exams easier. Changes are easier to detect. There’s less strain overall.”
You glanced up at him. “I think if I ever found a lump I'd have to go up a bra size.”
He blinked. “…That’s not how that works.”
You smiled faintly, but the insecurity lingered. Zayne tightened his hold around you.
“I don’t see you the way you see yourself,” he said quietly. “I see someone healthy. Balanced. Beautiful.”
You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You don’t think I’m lacking?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I think you’re exactly as you should be.”
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Rafayel
You lingered beside the sculpture longer than usual.
“It’s beautiful,” you said softly. “The curves. The way everything fits together.”
Rafayel glanced over, curious. “What do you like about it?”
You considered. “It doesn’t exaggerate anything. It feels…real.”
He smiled, pleased, and set his tools down. “Good.”
You frowned. “Good?”
“That means I did it right.”
You laughed. “Did what right?"
"Captured your beauty."
You shook your head in disbelief and he got up quickly.
“Stand still,” he said, already grabbing a measuring tape.
You watched skeptically as he measured, your shoulders, your waist, the sculpture beside you. Again. And again. The numbers matched.
Your breath caught. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I am,” he said lightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You stared at the sculpture, realization sinking in. “You really see me like this?”
Rafayel stepped closer, voice softening. “I see you as art,” he said. “Every line. Every proportion.”
He bumped your shoulder gently. “You don’t need to be different to be worth admiring.”
You smiled, feeling comfortable in your own skin for the first time in a long time. “You’re too much, you know?”
“And you,” he replied, “are perfect.”
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Sylus:
You lingered in the doorway longer than necessary, the lingerie bag heavy in your hands.
“Sylus,” you said quietly. “If this is another thing that doesn’t fit...”
“Try it,” he interrupted calmly. “Then decide.”
You disappeared into the bedroom, heart racing as you changed. You expected the usual: straps that fell down, fabric that assumed more than you had. But when you looked in the mirror, you froze.
It fit. Perfectly.
No awkward pulling. No empty space. Just fabric that followed your body like it had been made for you alone. For a moment, you simply stared, unsure what to do with the unfamiliar feeling settling in your chest.
When you stepped back out, Sylus looked up, he couldn't help but stare.
“I’ve never had anything fit like this,” you admitted softly. “Usually lingerie, everything really, just reminds me of what I don’t have.”
He stood, crossing the room slowly, gaze steady and intense. “Clothing sizes are arbitrary,” he said flatly. “Designed without care. Built for averages, not people.”
You laughed faintly. “That’s one way to put it.”
He stopped in front of you, lifting your chin gently. “Your body isn’t wrong,” he said. “The standard is.”
You looked into his crimson eyes. “You really believe that?”
“I don’t deal in illusions,” he replied. “You are precise. Balanced. Exactly as you are meant to be.”
His hand settled at your waist, possessive in a way that felt protective rather than demanding. “Nothing about you is too little or improperly sized,” he added quietly.
You leaned into him, leaning into the gentle kisses he placed on your neck.
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Caleb:
You didn’t mean to say it out loud. It slipped out between breaths, barely more than a thought.
“I wish I looked different.”
Caleb stopped immediately, turning toward you. “Pips,” he said gently. “What’s that about?”
You shrugged, suddenly very interested in the floor. “I just feel inadequate sometimes. Like I don’t really measure up.”
You thought he was going to tease you, making a joke about you being a pipsqueak, but he stepped closer instead, pulling you into his arms like it was instinct.
“You’ve always fit right here,” he said quietly.
You rested against his chest, familiar and steady, the sound of his heartbeat comforting you. Growing up, this had always been where you ended up, after scraped knees, after bad days, after everything.
“I don’t think about you in parts,” he continued, voice low. “Never have. You’re just…you.”
You let out a small breath. “You’re really bad at letting me spiral.”
He smiled into your hair. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta stop you.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “You don’t wish I was different?”
Caleb shook his head without hesitation. “No. I just wish you could see yourself the way I do.”
He tightened his hold, resting his chin on your head. You stayed like that longer for what felt like forever, wrapped up in his warmth and comfort.
HI CAN I REQUEST ACCIDENTALLY WALKING UNDER A MISTLETOE WITH ALL THE LADS GUYS IF YOU HAVEN'T DONE IT ALREADY!!
Love your fics♡♡
Hello, thank you so much!!! This one gets to jump the line a little to keep it timely. Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you have a wonderful holiday if you celebrate, and if you don't, I still hope it's a wonderful day.
Please enjoy!
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Xavier:
Your apartment is loud with laughter, music, and clinking glasses. It's chaotic and your space is filled with too many people, but you couldn't be happier. You’re weaving through guests when you spot Jeremiah standing directly beneath the mistletoe. Without thinking, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
Jeremiah freezes and blushes hard, but before he can say anything a look of sheer terror overcomes his face.
Xavier appears instantly at your side, smile tight, eyes sharp. “Jeremiah,” he says pleasantly, “don’t you have…an alpaca or some flowers to tend to?”
“What?”
“Go.”
Jeremiah is gone in seconds. Xavier turns to you, gaze dark and possessive. “You don’t kiss other people,” he whispers. “You're mine.”
Then he tilts your chin up, steps fully beneath the mistletoe with you, and kisses you properly.
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Zayne:
You glance up, then grin. “You know you’re standing under the mistletoe, right?”
Zayne looks up immediately. Pauses. Adjusts his glasses.
“Actually,” he says, “that’s holly. A very common misconception. Mistletoe has white berries and is parasitic. Also mildly toxic, which is why it’s rarely used in real...”
You’re still listening, patiently for about a minute, but he doesn't stop. So you reach up and cover his mouth.
Zayne stops mid-sentence, eyes widening slightly as he looks down at you.
“You can explain later,” you say sweetly. “Will you just kiss me already, idiot?”
He hesitates for a moment, registering your words as a gentle blush creeps up his neck.
“…Fine,” he murmurs against your palm. He pulls your hand away and kisses you.
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Rafayel:
Rafayel had been staring at you so intensely and it took you what felt like forever to figure out why.
It’s only when you stop in front of the framed portrait on the wall that he speaks. “Finally, cutie.”
You glance up. The portrait of you, painted as if an ethereal goddess framed in greenery. Mistletoe.
“You did this on purpose,” you say.
He beams. “Of course. Every time you admire my art, you’re technically under the mistletoe.”
“That’s cheating.”
He steps closer, hands behind his back, eyes sparkling. “I didn't make the rules, cutie.”
You sigh dramatically and lean in. He laughs against your lips, kissing you deeply.
“See?” he hums. “Now you’ll never look at my work without thinking of me.”
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Sylus:
You’re mid-conversation when Mephisto swoops overhead, wings flapping once before hovering suspiciously close.
Sylus’s voice follows, amused. “Kitten,” he says, “you’re under the mistletoe.”
You look up to see it dangling from Mephisto’s claws.
“…You planned this.”
“Obviously.”
You kiss him, a quick peck on the lips and when you pull away he looks a unamused. "That was barely a kiss, sweetie."
But you just shrug and walk away. The only problem is, wherever you go, Mephisto follows, mistletoe in claw.
“Again,” Sylus murmurs later, when the mistletoe appears above you for the fifth time.
You laugh, but you kiss him anyway.
By the end of the day, Mephisto is still following you. Sylus strokes its feathers fondly. “Good work,” he says. “Make sure I don’t miss a single one.”
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Caleb:
“Pips,” Caleb says casually, gesturing above your head. “You’re under the mistletoe. You know what that means.”
You glance up, and shake your head.
He’s already moving toward you, lips curved into an overly confident smirk and when he reaches you and bends down to kiss you, you duck out of the way, laughing.
“Oh no you don’t,” he says, his tone is amused, but his eyes are very serious.
He tries again, reaching to grab your waist and you twist out of his arms. Your laughter echoes as he corners you step by step.
“Stop running,” he mutters, finally catching you and gently pinning you against the wall.
“You cheated,” you tease.
He laughs and presses his forehead against yours.
Then he kisses you, deep and possessive.
When he pulls back, his breath fans across your face. “Next time,” he says softly, “don’t make it a challenge.”
How do you think the boys would react to being jealous about a male f riend from college coming to visit ?? 👀
Hello! Thank you for the request! This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy!
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Xavier
You were already smiling when you introduced them. “We actually met at my university’s Lumiere fan club,” you said, proud of your past self for having friends with shared interests, interests you knew would make Xavier squirm.
Xavier’s expression didn’t change at first. Then his eye twitched. Just slightly. His smile tightened, polite in a way that should have warned your friend to run.
Your friend held out a hand. “So, are you a Lumiere fan too?”
Xavier took the handshake. His grip tightened to a level that made your friend’s shoulders rise, and Xavier shook his head once. “No,” he said. “I am not.”
The rest of the visit was…tense. Not for you, but for them.
Your friend tried to make conversation. Xavier answered curtly. Your friend laughed nervously. Xavier didn't laugh at all. You could practically hear the murderous intent flowing through his mind each time your friend mentioned Lumiere’s name. And that sharp, flashing glint in Xavier’s eyes? Your friend definitely noticed.
You kept having to hide your snickers in behind your hands.
When the visit finally ended and the door closed behind your friend, Xavier inhaled slowly, like he’d survived a battle.
You nudged him. “Thank you for not exploding any lights and letting him leave unmaimed.”
He looked at you flatly. “Starlight, I was very close.”
You burst out laughing. He didn’t. But the way he wrapped an arm around your waist afterward made it clear he considered the threat eliminated.
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Zayne
Zayne greeted your visiting college friend with perfect manners. Too perfect. Polite tone, impeccable posture, exact handshake pressure. You watched your friend blink, a little startled, like they’d just met a very gentle, very polite wall.
Throughout the conversation, Zayne kept smiling that calm, serene, doctor smile that somehow managed to be both comforting and deeply intimidating.
Your friend told stories from your college days. Zayne listened closely. At one point, he tilted his head just a fraction, eyes narrowing in thought, and your friend immediately lost their train of thought.
Later, you all stopped at a café. You barely sat down before Zayne quietly started preparing his coffee.
One packet of sugar.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Your friend stared in horror.
Zayne stirred. “It has been a long week,” he said simply, entirely unfazed.
Your friend leaned in to whisper to you, “Does he always drink it like that?”
You shrugged. “That’s actually less than usual.”
By the time the visit ended, your friend still couldn’t tell if Zayne liked them, hated them, or was clinically evaluating their entire personality.
Zayne kissed your forehead on the way out, perfectly calm. “Your friend seems kind. Slightly anxious. Understandable.”
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Rafayel
Your friend recognized him immediately.
“Oh my god,” they whispered. “You’re Rafayel. Like…THE Rafayel.”
Rafayel beamed. “Finally. Someone with taste.”
Your friend practically vibrated with excitement, listing all the pieces of his art they’d seen online, all the reviews, all the critiques.
Rafayel basked in the compliments, revelled in them. Chin lifted, shoulders back, radiating smug satisfaction like sunlight.
“You know,” he said lightly, nudging you with an elbow, “you never compliment me like this.”
You rolled your eyes. “I do.”
He gasped dramatically. “Lies. My bodyguard never appreciates my genius. But you,” he pointed at your friend. “You understand.”
Your friend looked delighted. You looked exhausted. Rafayel looked like he’d just found a new favorite person.
“Do you want a picture?” Rafayel asked them casually. “Most people do. My good side is all sides, by the way.”
You groaned. He winked.
He was charming through the entire visit, effortlessly stealing the spotlight, effortlessly keeping an arm around you the whole time.
When your friend finally left, Rafayel stretched like a cat.
“Nice person,” he said. “Very correct opinions.”
You shoved his shoulder. “They’re going to worship you.”
He grinned. “As they should.”
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Sylus
You introduced him as Skye.
Your friend stared at him. Then stared at the fruit sign over his stall. Then stared at him again.
“He’s…your fruit guy?” your friend whispered, weary.
Sylus smiled pleasantly, all teeth. “I have many talents.”
Your friend’s eyes darted to Sylus’s arms. His height. His scars. His whole aura of quiet danger.
“Some people in my line of work have been disappearing lately,” Sylus added conversationally. “Accidents happen.”
Your friend went pale.
You kicked Sylus lightly. He didn’t stop smiling, the smile that made children cry.
The tension only worsened when the twins arrived, flanking you with casual precision. Your friend froze, sensing instinctively that these were not fruit vendor coworkers.
Sylus draped an arm over your shoulders. “You alright?” he asked, tone warm. “Hope things aren’t too…overwhelming.”
Your friend swallowed. “I...should probably get going...”
“Safe travels,” Sylus said cheerfully.
Your friend practically sprinted.
When they disappeared around the corner, Sylus smirked. “Friendly guy.”
You sighed. “You scared him off.”
“I did nothing,” Sylus said, utterly unbothered. “People scare themselves.”
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Caleb
You weren’t home when your college friend arrived.
Caleb was.
He opened your apartment door, saw a stranger standing there, and immediately slammed it in their face.
You got a call two seconds later.
“Pips. Why is there a random guy at your door?”
You groaned. “Caleb, that’s my friend from college. Let him in!”
There was grumbling on the other end, then the door creaked open again.
By the time you arrived, the tension inside the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Caleb sat stiffly on the couch, arms crossed, watching your friend like they were a suspicious package.
Your friend whispered, “He hates me.”
Caleb answered immediately. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t know you. And I’m not letting anyone get close to them unless I know they’re safe.”
Your friend blinked. “Oh.”
Caleb didn’t look away, and the poor guy looked ready to cry.
The visit was short. Very short. As soon as the door shut behind your friend, you turned to Caleb.
“Caleb. You do not control my life.”
He held up his hands. “Never said I did, pips. But I’m not letting some stranger just stroll in like they own the place.”
“You slammed a door in his face.”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
You groaned. He smirked. And then he hugged you, protective as ever.
