#lds xavier

[holyclitorius]

Why am I shedding LITERAL tears😭

✨Artist: sesamefruit✨

[amazinglyashy]

Too heavy for me? Never

LADS men reaction to you only somewhat joking about being too heavy for them

Sylus -

He'll raise an eyebrow at you, staring down at you as you realize the joke fell flat. You try to back peddle, not wanting to cause any confrontation that never helps you feel better about your body anyway, but he simply holds up a hand to stop you with a shake of his head.

"I don't want to hear it, sweetie. I already know the nonsense you're going to say. How about you just come with me right now to the gym instead?"

You don't know how to tell him that saying that truly shattered your heart into a million pieces, so you just follow him in silence instead. You didn't think he would insult you so casually, and you were now trying to brace yourself for the inadequate feelings and self-loathing you were about to experience by having to train at the gym with him.

But... he didn't ask you to do a workout. He didn't tell you to get on a piece of equipment or to lie down on a mat for a physical exercise.

He told you to sit on a small bench against the wall while he went to the free weights close by.

Wordlessly, he loads weights- two- no, three times your weight onto the bar, before moving to lift it. Once. Twice. Again, and again and again-

His eyes flicker over to you at some point, and instead of making any remark or reference to the emotions clear across your face, he flashes you a slight smirk, just like he always does.

"Have I made myself clear, sweetie?"

Zayne -

Zayne will definitely think you're just pretending to be stupid at first.

He will look down at you with his brows furrowed and a small smile creeping on his lips, thinking it's all a joke.

"I lift myself during my workouts fairly easily, and I am capable of lifting a lot more. Quite funny, though I wouldn't make this form of humor a habit. It isn't particularly good for your mental health."

Then he realizes you're actually being serious in what you're saying.

He's upset, to put it lightly, but hes trying not to let it show. Favoring a small frown across his usually firm expression as he studies your face. Your heart will jolt just a little bit when you process just how sad his eyes look though... obviously he's hurt that you would even think something like that about yourself, much less come to believe it as true.

"Allowing a part of your brain to lie to you is not healthy if you don't push back with the truth. And the truth here, is that you are nowhere near too heavy for me to lift or carrying, even for prolonged periods of time. To demonstrate-"

And like it's nothing, he's picking you up and carrying you. His destination is not important, and the protests spewing from your lips fall on deaf ears as you try to gentle squirm out of his grasp. He'll continue to explain why your viewpoint is flawed, methodically and with logic, and in a way that you find yourself unable to argue back.

He doesn't want you to.

He knows you're wrong, and he will stop at nothing to prove it.

Xavier -

He's more surprised at the statement than anything. At first, he thinks you're making a jab at his strength, and wonders if he slipped up in front of one too many Wanderers and now needs to prove himself just to get you to stop teasing him for being 'weak'.

Once he (quickly) realizes that you're talking about yourself, jabbing at your own body and state, rather than at him, it's like a spark igniting in him.

"What? What would ever make you think that? No- that's not right. That's not right at all."

He's immediately going to try and grab you to lift you up, he doesn't care where you both are or what you're doing. Even if you've just woken up in bed and are still relaxing, he's trying to pick you up right then and there.

He stumbles trying to lift you, falling backward onto the pile of blankets and plushies that has taken over his bed. He feels awful, worried that you'll take his misstep as him falling over from your weight, immediately apologizing and trying to sit up and pick you up again before falling forward from the plush surface he's trying to rise on giving out too much beneath him.

You're both a giggling mess by then, and it's obvious to you that he's going to keep trying to prove it to you, just... a bit clumsily so. Several more attempts will be made as the evening goes on, and pretty soon he's showing you just how easily it is for him to lift you up- especially if he keeps doing it over and over and over again.

And he will continue to do it over and over and over again, even after today. As many times as it takes.

Rafayel -

You definitely made a mistake saying anything self-depreciating around him. Especially with how much he likes to prove you wrong in playful situations, this is something similar, but a lot more serious to him.

He'll make fun of you for anything, as long as you know he's just being lighthearted even if he's grumpy or upset when he fires a quip off at you.

But the second you agree with him, or say something bad about yourself- whether jokingly or dead serious- the gloves are off. He won't accept that from you, and he's already on it to figure out how to turn the opinion you've formed of yourself on it's head and into a more positive outlook.

Lifts you up bridal carry while spinning- quite literally sweeping you off your feet while he whisks you away. You would think you were a princess with how he spins around his studio with you in his arms, with no regard to the paintings or projects around him as he dances with you in his arms. And no matter how hard you protest, he doesn't stop until he feels for himself that he's done enough, giggling the entire time.

"Are you really going to doubt a sea god's strength? Geez, I didn't realize you were such a rude human."

He'll hold you up enough to press his forehead against yours, nuzzling against you with a smile, the slightest sadness playing across his expression.

"Man, I must be pretty lousy that you would ever think something like that about yourself. That must mean I don't think to pick you up enough like you deserve. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you by whisking you away every chance I see you from now on."

[primalxeyes]

[quitesins]

Your Prince

Masterlist

Xavier x female reader

Tags: 18+, Suggestive, No smut, Prince!Xavier, Husband!xavier, pretty short, this is sort of an au since they don’t acc ever get married on Philos, I think.

One would think the life of a royal would come with all the time in the world for petty pleasures and selfish indulgences… However the crown prince, Xavier, knows all too well how much of a distant dream that really is.

You’re wading gently between dreams and the waking world when a kiss to your lips finally stirs you. The kisses follow their own trail, across your neck, settling into the curve where your collarbones meet.

They inch lower, the feeling of a smile trying to sneak it’s way under your nightie. He’ll rip it off if you aren’t careful. Without opening your eyes you let your hands sink into the softness of his hair.

“Xav’…” Your voice still laced with sleep, seems to rile him up further. “You have to get up…”

Xavier hums, barely listening, just a small noise to grace you with a response. His fingers linger where the strap now feels awfully heavy on your skin. You shouldn’t let him take it off. You shouldn’t…

“Xavier please.” You keep your eyes shut, knowing he’ll be looking right up at you. And with the way his body slinks down, head resting by your waist, you don’t think you could resist the sight. “You have a kingdom to run.”

“And a wife to please?” He says impishly, already at your thighs, manoeuvring you however he pleases.

You roll your eyes as they open, still refusing to look his way. Instead you draw your leg back, in preparation to playfully nudge him. But he catches you, pulling you by the ankle so suddenly you let out a half-laugh, half-yelp as your head falls to the mattress.

“This has nothing to do with me!” You try to sound stern, but the giggle in your voice gives you away. “You’re just insatiable!”

Xavier ignores your reprimand, kissing your ankle sweetly, trailing back up to rest his hand between your thighs. He doesn’t take it any further, yet. You know he wants to hear it.

You finally look his way. His eyes are wide and glossy, sprinkled with a desperate yearning. You’d think he hadn’t had his fill the night before. You yield, unable to resist the shine in his starry gaze. He can be so spoiled sometimes. Truly a prince.

Your fingers rest in the fluffy mess of white, almost pink in the early morning light, and curl where his hair brushes against the blush of his ears. Xavier nuzzles into your touch impatiently, reminding you of what he wants. He’s got that terrible look on his face, an innocence in his urgency that almost makes you feel bad.

“Such a puppy.” You furrow your brows, an attempt at looking indignant, but surrender with a sigh. “Go ahead.”

Xavier grins, boyishly smug, lifting your gown to get right under it. You’re not left to wonder what he’s up to as he kisses your tummy before hooking his fingers into the sides of your underwear.

He doesn’t pull them off, kissing the insides of your thighs, seemingly content with the makeshift handles. It’s the only thing separating him from your most intimate area. You suppress a whine, feeling his warm breath muffled through the material.

He enjoys it. The teasing. Proof in his annoyingly attractive ability to shift into innocent and become as patient as he pleases, all while you writhe under him.

The feeling of a wet tongue makes you groan back into your pillow. It’s a kitten lick, but the cooling sensation against your heated skin is something at least. Xavier continues his trail, getting closer and closer to your core, before pulling back to nip at your thighs. Your pout is evident and he chuckles, amused at how easy it is to turn the tables on you.

He’s being unfair. Though you certainly recall the night before in the comfortable ache between your legs, how can you be expected to resist the touch of your husband— your prince.

Still, he isn’t cruel, finally tugging at the dampening cloth. He’s slow, watching the string of lust stretch from the fabric leaving your flesh. He groans as the liquid snaps and lands back into your underwear, soaking it through. Xavier can’t wait to pocket the thing once it’s off you.

But it doesn’t get off you. It barely gets past the knee.

“Prince Xavier. The king requests your presence.”

Through the door comes a knock and a voice. The two of you stay quiet, as if the silence would send the servant away. But another knock you know he has to be up.

Xavier gives you a sympathetic look before standing, fingers lingering on your skin. You shiver when they leave you, and Xavier brings the blanket to cover your body. It’s not the same as his warmth, but you take comfort in the mingling of your scents.

He walks over to the door, tightening his loosened robes. It’s flimsy, and the tangle of his hair paints an embarrassing picture. However, frustrated by the interruption, Xavier can’t find it in him to care.

The prince and the servant talk for a few minutes, in a low murmur where the words evade your ears. When the servant leaves and the door is closed, Xavier approaches the bed slowly, as if to savour the sight of you.

You feel his gentle touch one last time, when he cups your cheeks to bring you in for a kiss. It’s unlike the chaste pecks he uses to say good morning, or the salacious ones to keep you in bed. There’s an apology in this kiss.

“I’m sorry, my love.” Xavier whispers, connecting your forehead to his. “I have to go.”

“It’s okay, my prince.” You don’t let him ruminate, turning your head to kiss his palm. “You have a kingdom to run after all.”

My truth is this is is recycled from a drabble I had with prince Shouto from like two years ago that I just edited and fleshed out a lil more. Initially it’s knight Bakugou who interrupts the happy couples morning lol. I changed a lot of course but Shouto and Xavier are soooo similar in my head…

Also tee hee the “such a puppy” line is a lil Easter egg 😼

[calqlate]

THE LOVE & DEEPSPACE MLS AND THEIR KDRAMA ML COUNTERPARTS

INCLUDES: rafayel + sylus + xavier + zayne

WARNING(S): might be ooc bc i don't really keep up with the lore so there might be some inconsistencies (oops) (pls be gentle) (it's 10pm here and my brain is running on adrenaline) + contains some canon lore drops ig

MASTERLIST

NOTE(S): i will never stop inserting my fandoms into kdramas bc i love seeing worlds collide. anw pls partake in this brainrot with me 🤩

— RAFAYEL

ryu sunjae from lovely runner - they are both absolute losers for their respective lovers. i can picture rafayel in that one scene where sunjae was blowing kisses towards sol's house. no matter how hard his beloved tries to cut him out from their life to save him, he will always find his way back into their life.

jeong guwon from my demon - similar to sunjae, guwon is also another loser for his wife. (tbh i can imagine rafayel as a down bad simp for his lover; cue thomas sighing and shaking his head.) i can picture rafayel in the scene whereby guwon and dohee were doing that tango while fighting off their enemies too?!?!

lee yeon from tale of the nine-tailed - continuing the loser boy train, we have yeon as the final dude to add in this group. (specifically yeon from s2, bc the way he wanted to go back to his timeline so badly to see jiah matches rafayel's "the only person i'll ever love is my lover" energy.) their backstories also match in the sense that yeon never stopped searching for jiah and rafayel never stopped waiting for his bride.

— SYLUS

myulmang from doom at your service - not me choosing myulmang bc they both made contracts to their beloveds [clown emoji]. but nonetheless they're similar in the sense that they won't think twice about eliminating someone who hurts their lover.

shin wooyeo from my roommate is a gumiho - again, another contract situation. wooyeo is a "classier" version of sylus imo, and one who uses less pet names. if sylus were the ml in this kdrama, he would defo keep an even more watchful eye on his beloved so that she doesn't go about losing his fox bead. (aur naur iw to write a gumiho au for sylus now...)

lee youngjoon from what's wrong with secretary kim? - similar to youngjoon, sylus will never let his lover leave. they want to leave his mansion? he will try 101 (legal) ways to make them stay. they will find snacks they like in their room more often. they will find new (and expensive) clothes in their wardrobe. heck, even an all-expenses-paid vacation! he wants to keep them close to him; he's afraid of them upping him to leave.

— XAVIER

goo yeonjun from a time called you - like yeonjun, xavier has literally went back in time to save his beloved. he wants to see then safe and sound, and as long as they're happy, he's happy. as long as they're alive and breathing, he's fine with not being by their side. just watching them live their life is enough for him.

haru from extraordinary you - totally not projecting my all-time fav kdrama on him (or am i?) but xavier and haru have similar mannerisms and personality traits. yk how in the first few episodes danoh was dragging haru around and this guy just remained silent and followed along until one day he just started speaking? yeah that's the same with this guy. the person he likes could yap all day and he would willingly sit and listen.

moon seoha from see you in my 19th life - similar to seoha, xavier loves once in his life and he will only ever love his little star. he would never get over their death and if he's the one responsible for their death, he would be all the more upset with himself. he would throw himself into work all day and refuse to love again, thinking he shouldn't be able to fall in love ever again since he took his beloved's one chance of staying alive and happy away.

— ZAYNE

moon suho from black knight - they're both so overprotective of the one they love. the way suho essentially told sharon that haera is the only woman he would ever love is something i can picture zayne doing. if someone is out there trying to harm his beloved, you'd best believe zayne would do his best to prevent that from happening, even if it means giving up his own life.

lee suhyeok from bora! deborah - when zayne loves, he loves hard. like suhyeok, he's clumsy at expressing his affections, choosing to keep everything to himself and wait until he's 100% certain it's the right time to say whatever he wants to say. and sometimes, that can lead to disastrous endings (see also: suhyeok getting dumped on the same day he went to buy an engagement ring for his girlfriend). both men are careful to a fault, all the more so with their beloved because they're scared of losing someone precious to them again.

yoo jihyuk from marry my husband - zayne, like jihyuk, would willingly stand aside and watch the one he loves fall in love with someone else. he would be supportive and wouldn't try to fight for their affection. his motto is "if they're happy, i'm happy" and he can live being an unmarried old man as long as he sees them happy.

© CALQLATE. all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, or translate my works on any platform.

[lunar-alden]

LaDS Boys Calling You Pet Names (English Dub)

Masterpost

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[All links should be fixed now! If any are still broken pls let me know<3]

Click the links below to find screen recordings of the Love & Deepspace boys calling you different pet names!

(If you want to see how to change your nickname with them, just scroll down to the bottom of this post!)

Please note that not all pet names/nicknames are voiced. So far there are only a few nicknames that are, but I’m going to post screen recordings of each individual guy saying them so this list will be updated periodically until I get through them all! (And if they ever add more nicknames I’ll be adding those too ofc) ❣️

Zayne

Cutie / Pt 2

Darling / Pt 2

Girlfriend / Pt 2

Honey / Pt 2

Xavier

Cutie / Pt 2

Darling / Pt 2

Girlfriend / Pt 2

Honey / Pt 2

Rafayel

Cutie / Pt 2

Darling / Pt 2

Girlfriend / Pt 2

Honey / Pt 2

Sylus

Cutie

Darling

Girlfriend

Honey

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How to edit nicknames

Click on the screenshots below to see how to edit the nickname each guy calls you! (Text based instructions are available if you click on ‘alt text’; make sure you capitalize the nickname too!❣️)

Note that once you’ve done this you may need to exit the game or just wait a bit as the dialogue doesn’t always appear right away! (The easiest/fastest way is to change one of their nicknames while a different guy is on the main screen and then switch to the one you changed the nickname for)

Also remember that you can only change your nickname with each individual guy once per day so it might take time if you want to test out a few (or all) of the above names 🤭

[schmellows]

A homecooked meal for the sleepy little star.

[yaxinqs]

i loved the serious face so much but at the same time he‘s just. angy >:( like a grumpy kitten

so close 🤏 to putting the damn cat ears and whiskers on him

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  6 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again. 

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched.  One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize.  But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right?  It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help.  You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him.  “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird.  Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”  Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone.  “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?”  ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful.  “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.”  Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.”  You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away.  “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.”  A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.”  This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away.  “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -”  “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood. 

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind. 

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream. 

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration. 

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt. 

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance. 

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.” 

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?” 

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

 “Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.” 

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth. 

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you. 

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat. 

Well, fuck. 

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it. 

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one. 

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other. 

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you. 

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew. 

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.” 

Oh God.

 There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed. 

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.” 

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented. 

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked. 

Everyone except for you. 

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.” 

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.” 

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!” 

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held. 

“How would I do that?” You asked. 

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head. 

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building. 

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed. 

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?” 

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?” 

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence. 

Dinner. Shit. 

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior. 

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest? 

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so. 

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.” 

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did. 

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?” 

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf. 

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church. 

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home.  She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect. 

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door. 

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket. 

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction. 

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside. 

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming. 

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change. 

But, maybe - 

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow? 

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?” 

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.” 

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you. 

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true. 

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating. 

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura. 

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder. 

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up. 

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.” 

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.” 

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.” 

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate. 

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind. 

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?” 

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.” 

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you. 

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in. 

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -” 

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs. 

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words. 

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.” 

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern. 

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm. 

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged. 

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...” 

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression. 

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway. 

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.” 

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly. 

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way. 

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.” 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head. 

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in. 

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?” 

Of course you did. More than anything. 

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.” 

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin.  His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say. 

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin. 

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.” 

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth. 

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch. 

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way. 

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans. 

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded. 

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -” 

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready. 

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart. 

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan. 

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole. 

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more. 

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling. 

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat. 

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch. 

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse. 

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold. 

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked. 

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time. 

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer. 

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk. 

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible. 

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking. 

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing. 

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?” 

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable. 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense? 

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed. 

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath. 

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought. 

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb. 

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

[spacebunnie-e]

Hello I just started a new side blog for my newest obsession lmao. Anyway here is a quick sketch of my MC and the three babygurls we have in game

[softxsuki]

I now officially write for Love and Deepspace! For Rafayel, Zayne, and Xavier and Sylus :D

[amazinglyashy]

N/SFW Xavier Thoughts

A bit of a switch, but not in the way you would think just looking at him. If you want to get a bit dominant over him, go ahead- he’ll play right along with every single word and love every second of it- but don’t be fooled. He can reverse the roles in an instant if he thinks it’ll be fun, and dominating you comes like a second nature to him, and in a way where it’s like he’s a starving man and you’re the only meal in sight. 

Whenever he’s in bed with you for a session, you can feel the desperation practically dripping off of him- as if simply being around you awakens something inside of him. Definitely has jumped you to pin you suddenly to the bed, breathing heavy and labored as he stares down at you, his eyes flickering over every single inch of your body. You can only guess just what he’s thinking, and that guess is probably ‘he’s thinking of all the ways to ruin me’.

And don’t get him wrong, he can be sweet and fluffy, full of care and love in the heaps of blankets and plushies that take over a good portion of his bed, especially if you’ve had a long day but still want him. He’ll nuzzle into you, placing long and drawn out kisses down the crook of your neck as he moves lower, his hands sliding under your work clothes with some obviously fake excuse to get them off of your body. 

‘If you’re going to lie down with me for a nap, you’ll need to be a lot more comfortable. Let’s take care of this, shall we?’

Regardless of the role he plays, he’s definitely big on servicing you. He’ll say it’s to help you relax if he’s being gentle, or he’ll say it’s to punish you for teasing him if he’s in the mood to control you. You won’t even notice what he’s planning to do until his hands are working across your chest, or his mouth is inches away from clasping down on one of your most sensitive parts, and boy is he fake-innocently smug about it too.

‘Oh, I’m happy that it felt good for you. I didn’t know if you would like it.’

[my-soul-sings]

untitled | ch 01 - the day he fell in love

Fandom: Love and Deepspace Characters: Xavier x Reader Rating: T

Summary: "She was always able to find me, no matter where I was. This time, it's my turn to bring her home."

In a strange twist of fate, you find yourself employed as an auto-memory doll: one who travels all over to write letters for for your clients.

Your latest assignment? Writing a book for your client in his attempt at searching for his lost lover.

A/N: Inspired by the setting of Violet Evergarden - of course I had to after reading his birthday event story. :) Hope you enjoy! Will post to AO3 once I have more chapters prepped.

++++++++++++++

You’re not sure how long you’ve been doing this job for. Could be two years, or five, or maybe even longer than that. All you remember is waking up one day with no memory of yourself, your name, or where you even came from. It’s not uncommon among survivors from the war; you were told that there have been cases of people waking up from a coma like yours, with no memory of who they were before. “Amnesia” is what the doctors called it. Not treatable, although it isn’t exactly a disease.

While the memory loss certainly was a problem, there were far bigger things to worry about, such as making a living in this strange new town you had landed in. Acacia Town was its name, and everyone seemed to have settled in here. It had been almost three years after the war ended, after all. And with no memory or money to your forgotten name, you had to find a way to get a roof over your head. 

Thankfully, you had been lucky enough to be rescued by one of the residents here, who also happened to be the manager at the local post office, and happened to be in dire need of extra hands. So in a peculiar turn of events, you found yourself parked at a desk with a blank piece of paper and a typewriter in front of you. Sure, you might have amnesia, but your fingers were drawn to the metal contraption anyway, as if your body didn’t remember anything except how to write.

So naturally, you took up the job as a thank-you to your benefactor: a charming middle-aged woman named Jenna who sported a lovely brown bob and who carried herself with the sort of charisma you’d expect from the head of a huge organisation. You thought her fit to run for mayor of the town too, if only she weren’t so busy with work at the post office every day. As she had mentioned, they were short on hands, and after a quick test, had decided that you were the perfect fit for the job. 

The job itself? Pretty simple in concept: you write letters for people who can’t read or write. The letters could be for their family in a faraway country, to a crush of over a decade, or to an unborn child. Quite literally, anyone. While it has its strange moments (like the time you helped a young woman stuff paper messages addressed to an alleged sea god into bottles and threw them into the ocean), you do enjoy your work and find it meaningful. 

The only difficult part is travelling to your clients, especially when they live in places that aren’t accessible or are obnoxiously far away… much like the place you’re visiting now. 

When you found out your client stayed in Philos Village, all your colleagues had cast sympathetic glances at you. It wasn’t even like you could get out of that assignment; the client had apparently asked specifically for you. How your name came to be known to people located a whole ocean away from you was a complete mystery, but Jenna had asked you to set out as soon as possible anyway, since the journey itself would take about three weeks to a month. Apparently it wasn’t just the journey that was going to be long; the assignment would be a monstrous task on its own too. 

You thought Jenna was just exaggerating at first — at least, you had hoped she was — but as it turns out, she was not. 

So that’s how you wound up here: settled on a couch in a cozy little hut tucked away in the outskirts of Philos Village, face to face with the strangest client you’ve had yet. He’s a young man looking to be in his early twenties, with striking blue eyes and silky soft grey hair falling into them. You’ll admit, he’s easy on the eyes; you even found yourself tripping over your words when you first introduced yourself to him. 

But other than his looks, you’re not sure what to make of him. There’s a mysterious air about this man, perhaps in part due to his quiet and calm demeanour. His face is as expressionless as it has been since you entered his home, betraying no emotion whatsoever. It was no wonder then that your attempts at small talk failed miserably; he could be as interested in talking about the war and about the intricacies of the techniques for chopping firewood and you’d be none the wiser. 

So you quickly abandoned that sinking ship and dove straight to the matter at hand. Better to get this assignment over and done with as soon as possible so you can get on your way home, after all. 

And it was then that you realised exactly what Jenna meant by “monstrous”. 

“Sorry, I think I might not have heard you correctly,” you say with a nervous chuckle, after clearing your throat more times than needed. “You said you wanted me to help you write… a book?”

His eyes that have been boring holes into your head for a while let up for a moment when he nods his head twice. His lips curl upward slightly in what seems like a smile.  

“Yes. You heard correctly.” 

“I-I think there might have been a misunderstanding here. I work with the post office, and we write letters for people. Not books.”

“I know.” He averts his gaze for just a moment, fingers resting on his chin as if this is the first time it occurred to him. “Hmm… You could think of it as a very long letter then.” 

“Okay… Who is it for?” Might as well get more details out of him before jumping the gun and deciding that this was an utter waste of a trip. 

He hesitates for a moment before meeting your eyes, a familiar sorrow that you’ve seen many times surfacing in his blue irises. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, lips moving as if to speak, but then he purses them into a thin line, and settles for yet another vague answer. 

“It’s meant for a person I miss very much.”

++++++++++++++

His name is Xavier, you learn, and he’s a mercenary. He started working odd jobs after the war because there really weren’t many young and able-bodied men left after the war to help with rebuilding homes. Still, Philos Village was originally his home — he lived here in a little hut with his lover that got destroyed in the war. In the process, he lost her too. 

His is not an uncommon story. You’ve met many people with similar tragedies to tell, having lost their loved ones to the horrible war. To this day, some continue to hold out hope that the people they lost will come home one day, while others struggle to cope with the grief and slowly move on. 

Xavier clearly falls in the former category, but in his case, instead of writing a letter with no address to leave at the post office (you’ve received similar requests before), he wants to write a book and publish it, in the hopes that his lover will chance upon it and find her way back to him. Apparently they had gotten separated during the war; he had ventured out of the village to look for some supplies one day but came back to find nothing but a pile of rubble in place of where their home used to be. It was probably a bomb or something similar that had decimated the place, and the damage was so extensive that not even a trace of her body could be found. 

Despite that, he seems to believe that she’s alive out there, somewhere. It’s not even in a desperate sort of way, like you’ve seen in mothers clinging to the only photo they have left of their children, but in a hopeful, almost confident manner. He genuinely believes she’s alive. 

To be frank, it baffles you. How can he have this much faith when the chances are slimmer than none that she might still be out there? 

Then again, you’re hardly in a position to tell people how they should or should not cope with their losses. You’re here for one reason and one reason only: to do your job, and write the story that your client wishes to tell. 

“So, where should I start?” he asks. 

“Well, like all stories, there should be a beginning. Maybe you could start there, and we can see how the rest of this will go.” 

“I… don’t remember much about my childhood.”

“Maybe not that far back; you could maybe start with… Hmm…” You pause to think for a moment. Then you perk up with a snap of your fingers. “Ah. How about the day you met her? We could start there.” 

A smile filled with nostalgia graces his lips. “We grew up together here, in Philos Village. I think we’ve known each other for about as long as we can remember.”

“I see… childhood friends…” You mutter to yourself as you scribble notes on your notepad. “And when did you fall in love with her? I imagine it must have started somewhere in your growing years?” 

Xavier thinks about it for a moment, tapping his fingers on the ceramic cup of tea in his hand. “I’m not sure, actually. But I remember the day I realised I was already in love with her — and had been for a while.” 

“I see. When was that?” 

Xavier recounts the short but romantic story in great detail, and the account is so vivid that you can practically imagine the scene playing out in front of you. 

He had been lying in an open field of flowers — one of his new favorite hiding spots to take an afternoon nap in peace. Except, he could never hide from her, not even when he was seriously trying. So despite his attempts to go undisturbed that afternoon, he found himself being awoken by the sound of someone plopping right down next to him. 

When he turned towards the sound, he was greeted by the sound of his name in between soft giggles, a sun-kissed smile, and the sight of little flower petals floating in the air around them. It had just been an ordinary day, but in that moment something in his chest had constricted with longing, and it became so tight he thought it might burst. The only thought he had clearly in his mind then was a simple wish: that time would stop so he could stay with her in that field, under the warm sunlight, forever. 

“She was always able to find me, no matter where I was,” Xavier tells you, a faraway look in his eyes as he thinks back fondly to his past. “After some time, the hiding places became more like an unspoken invitation for her to join me, so we could be alone together. And she always came, no matter the time or place.”

How the tables have turned, you think wistfully to yourself. You wonder if he’ll ever be able to find her, wherever she’s hidden now. Apparently that was one of the reasons he took up his mercenary job in the first place; to travel to as many places as possible so he can get clues as to her whereabouts.

Unfortunately, three years later, he still came up short. And this book that he wishes to write might be his last attempt. 

Hearing his story, a small part of you can’t help but wonder if anyone might be out there, like Xavier, waiting for you to come home too. You remember nothing about where you came from, or who you once were, let alone if you might have any family or loved ones left in this world. For all you know, you might be alone, just like Xavier is — at least, until he manages to find his lover.  

“I hope this time, you’ll be able to find her, wherever she is,” you tell him sincerely. His hand pauses mid-air, having been about to take a sip of tea from his cup. Then he lowers it back to his lap, and he meets your eyes with what looks like a genuine smile, for the first time since stepping foot in this little hut. 

“I know I will.”

The setting sunlight filters in through the window, casting a warm glow on his skin and his lifted lips.

A thought settles in your mind then:

You wouldn’t mind seeing that smile of his again.

[return2zero]

so... yes... plot bunny and drawing bunny both haunted my brain and took my one brain cell hostage

oh yes, read from Right to Left!

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Sudden mini idea caused by what happened earlier today with Xavier's lines and recalling a bit of his Heartstring Symphony moment...

Now, it's my turn to suffer from neck pains caused by drawing this up til 2am... time to mimir!

[calqlate]

won my 50/50 for the first time ever (65 pity) 🥳🥳🥳

[lunar-alden]

Xavier calls you “Honey” (English dub)

Pet Names Masterpost!