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.”
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.
“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.”
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.
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.
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.”
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.”
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
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.
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.”
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.”
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.”
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.”
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.”
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.
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.
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.”
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.”
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.
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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 tĂŞte-Ă -tĂŞte feature to introduce Sylus to my mom and she was so weirded out by it, it was hilarious.
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.
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.”
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.
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.”
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! Your writing and stories are so like reassuring and fun to read. What about lads with pregnant reader?
lots of love!🤍
Hello! I was back and forth a little on this one on if I was going to write it or not because it's just on the verge of things I am not comfortable writing, but here we go!
This will also be my first fic featuring Valko! It's been hard for me to engage with lads content recently because I have so much disappointment towards infold and how everything has been playing out so I apologize how long it is taking me to get through my requests.
Being pregnant had done absolutely nothing to convince you that you should slow down.
You were still trying to carry grocery bags that were far too heavy, still insisting you could reach the top shelf without help, still volunteering for every little chore around the apartment.
Xavier was having none of it.
"You know I can do that."
"I know."
You reached for the laundry basket anyway.
"So...?"
"So let me."
You laughed.
"I'm pregnant, Xavier, not made of glass."
"No," he agreed as he lifted the basket from your hands. "But you're making a whole person."
He carried it down the hallway while you followed behind him with a sigh.
"You've become bossy."
"I've become practical."
"You've become overprotective."
He stopped walking just long enough to glance back at you, a smirk on his face.
"I've always been overprotective."
You couldn't argue with that.
It had only gotten worse after you'd told him you were pregnant.
If you mentioned craving strawberries at eleven o'clock at night, he came home with three cartons.
If your feet hurt after a long day, he was already kneeling in front of the couch, gently rubbing the ache from your arches before you even asked.
He insisted on carrying every shopping bag, opening every heavy door, reaching every high shelf.
Not because he thought you couldn't. Because he didn't want you to have to.
"You know," you teased one evening as he tucked another blanket around your legs, "people are going to think I'm incapable."
He looked up from where he'd been making sure your feet were warm.
"I don't."
"Then why won't you let me do anything?"
His expression softened.
"I will."
You blinked.
"The moment you actually need to."
You tilted your head.
"But right now..." His hand found yours, intertwining your fingers with his. "your body's working harder than it ever has."
His free hand drifted to your stomach, gently caressing.
"I can carry the groceries."
A small smile spread across your face.
"So can I."
"I know."
"I can still do laundry."
"I know."
"I can still..."
"You can do almost anything you want." His thumb brushed gently over the back of your hand. "But you don't have to."
Just then, a tiny flutter pressed against the palm resting on your stomach.
Xavier froze.
His eyes widened ever so slightly.
"Was, was that..?"
The baby kicked again.
It was as if he forgot to do anything else, and he could only stare at you in awe. Then the biggest smile you'd ever seen spread across his face. "They're saying hello." He said, moving his hand to wave at your stomach.
"I think they're telling you to stop fussing over me."
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead before resting his cheek lightly against your stomach.
Dating a doctor had its advantages. It also meant there was absolutely no room for misinformation.
The moment the pregnancy test came back positive, Zayne had started a folder. Every ultrasound, every blood test, every appointment summary, every recommendation from your obstetrician, it was all meticulously organized.
"You made tabs?" you laughed one evening as he handed you the binder.
"They're color coded."
"Of course they are."
"They're chronological as well."
You couldn't help smiling. Only Zayne would turn pregnancy into a research project. Not that you minded. He read every new study he could find, always separating evidence from old wives' tales. If you had a question, he somehow already knew the answer.
When your cravings started, he never questioned them.
One night you woke him at nearly two in the morning.
"I need peaches."
He blinked the sleep from his eyes. "Fresh?"
You hesitated, imagining the taste in your mouth. "...Canned."
He nodded once. "I'll be back."
You caught his wrist before he could climb out of bed. "I was joking."
"You weren't."
"Okay, maybe not, but I don't actually need them. It's late, you need rest."
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I know."
Fifteen minutes later, he returned with canned peaches, peach yogurt, peach juice, and even peach gummies.
"You bought every peach in Linkon."
"I prefer to be prepared."
You laughed, shaking your head. "You spoil me."
"I know."
It wasn't until your second trimester that he came home carrying a rather large box.
You looked up from the couch. "What's that?"
"A portable ultrasound."
You stared. "A what?"
He set the box on the coffee table before carefully unpacking it. "I've already spoken with your obstetrician. They approved it as long as we don't overuse it."
You looked between him and the machine. "You bought an ultrasound?"
"I did."
"For the house?"
"Yes."
Your mouth fell open, shocked.
"You don't like it?"
"No!" You laughed. "I just don't think anyone else gets a home ultrasound machine."
His expression remained perfectly serious. "You aren't anyone else."
Over the next several weeks, he taught you everything, how to apply the gel, how to angle the probe, what you were looking at on the screen.
"There."
He pointed gently. "That's the spine."
You squinted. "It looks like a tiny gummy bear."
"It does."
"And that's..."
He smiled. "Our baby waving."
Your heart swelled. Without thinking, you reached for his hand, and he squeezed yours, his attention never leaving the tiny image on the screen.
For once, there were no explanations. No medical terminology. No lectures. Just silence.
You glanced over and caught him smiling at the monitor. A smile you'd never seen on him, one of pure awe and love.
"You've seen thousands of ultrasounds," you whispered.
"I have."
"But this one is different?"
Finally, he looked at you. "I've spent my life watching other patients become parents."
His hand settled gently over yours. "This..." His eyes drifted back to the tiny heartbeat flickering on the screen. "this is the first time I've watched my own child grow."
Rafayel was absolutely certain the two of you were having the most beautiful baby in the world.
"Look at us," he said one afternoon as the two of you wandered through a baby boutique. "There was never any other possibility."
You laughed, bumping his shoulder.
"You are unbelievably humble."
"I am undeniably correct."
He held up the tiniest pair of shoes you'd ever seen and you couldn't help but smile at his excitement.
"Our child is going to look adorable in these."
"They won't fit for months."
"So?" He tucked them into the shopping basket anyway. "They're adorable."
Over the next few months, your apartment slowly transformed.
A crib appeared. Tiny clothes found their way into drawers. Stuffed animals somehow multiplied every time Rafayel left the house.
He claimed they simply "followed him home."
You stopped questioning it after the fifth one.
You found him one afternoon sitting in the nursery, paintbrush moving effortlessly across one wall as soft blues and golds slowly took shape beneath his hand.
"You've been in here all day."
"I have." He didn't look away from the mural. "I wanted it to be perfect."
You smiled, watching him add another careful stroke. "It already is."
For just a moment...His brush stopped. You frowned, confused at his hesitation.
"Raf?"
He was quiet.
"...What if they don't like it?"
You blinked.
"The mural?"
"No."
He finally turned toward you.
"What if I'm not..." His voice caught for the briefest moment. "...what they need?"
The question caught you completely off guard.
"If they need..?" You gently prompted him to continue.
He laughed softly, though it lacked its usual confidence.
"I've never done this before."
You crossed the room until you were standing beside him.
"You act like you're not scared."
"I know." His smile was small. "I thought if I sounded confident long enough..." He looked down at the tiny paint stains on his hands. "I'd eventually believe myself."
His admission of fear made your heart ache. You gently took his hand.
"You know what I think?"
He looked up.
"I think you're going to be the dad who paints bedtime stories instead of reading them."
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"The one who lets them mix every color together because they're 'finding their artistic voice.'"
He laughed quietly.
"The one who hangs every scribbled drawing on the refrigerator like it's hanging in an art gallery."
His smile grew.
"And the one who's already spent three months making sure the nursery is perfect because you love this baby so much."
Rafayel's eyes glistened ever so slightly.
"I don't think someone like that needs to worry about whether they'll be enough."
Silence settled between you.
Then, very carefully, he rested his forehead against yours.
"I've spent my whole life creating beautiful things."
His hand slipped down to rest gently against your stomach.
"But somehow..."
A tiny kick met his palm. His eyes widened. Then he laughed.
"I think we've already made my masterpiece."
You smiled as he dropped to his knees, pressing a gentle kiss against your bump.
"Oh, cutie," he whispered with a grin. "You'd better have your mother's personality."
You raised an eyebrow.
"And why's that?"
He looked up at you, completely serious.
"Because if you inherit mine..." He sighed dramatically. "your poor mother is going to have two hopelessly dramatic people to deal with."
Your laughter filled the nursery.
And just like that, the worry disappeared again, replaced by the quiet excitement of a father who couldn't wait to meet the little life the two of you had created together.
The first person to find out you were pregnant after Sylus wasn't Luke. Or Kieran.
It was Mephisto.
You had barely walked through the front doors of Onychinus when the mechanical crow landed on the arm of the couch beside you, tilting his head curiously toward your stomach.
"You've got to be kidding me," you laughed.
The bird let out a series of happy chirps before taking off down the hallway.
You frowned.
"Where's he going?" You thought out loud.
A loud crash echoed from somewhere deeper inside the base.
Then another.
A moment later, Luke came sprinting around the corner.
"Boss!"
Closely followed by Kieran.
"Is it true?"
Sylus hadn't even looked up from the paperwork on his desk.
"It would appear Mephisto has made the announcement for us."
Within seconds, the twins were talking over one another.
"I'm teaching the baby how to throw a punch."
"No, absolutely not. I'm teaching them card tricks."
"They're learning self-defense first."
"They're learning magic first."
"They're learning..."
"They're learning to let their parents make decisions." Sylus's calm interruption silenced them both.
For all of three seconds.
The next several months somehow became even more chaotic.
Everything a baby could ever need appeared in your room without explanation.
Luke insisted he'd found the "coolest baby blanket ever."
Kieran kept buying tiny shoes despite being reminded that newborns didn't walk.
And every few days, Mephisto proudly dropped another mysterious treasure into the nursery.
A shiny button.
A smooth stone.
Once, a stolen pacifier.
"...Where did he even get that?" you wondered aloud.
Sylus simply sighed.
"I've learned not to ask."
As your pregnancy progressed, simple things became harder.
Standing for long periods. Rolling over in bed. Walking after a particularly busy day. But you tried not to complain.
One evening, you were helping Luke and Kieran decorate the nursery when your lower back started to ache.
You shifted your weight.
Then again.
Sylus noticed quickly.
Without saying a word, he walked over behind you. One hand settled beneath your stomach. The other rested gently against your lower back.
He lifted, just enough to take some of the weight.
A relieved sigh escaped you before you could stop it.
"...Better?"
You nodded immediately.
"So much."
Luke stared.
"...Boss."
"What?"
"I didn't know you could do that."
Sylus raised an eyebrow.
"Neither did I."
You laughed softly as you leaned back against him, letting him continue supporting your bump.
"I didn't realize how heavy they were getting."
"You've been carrying them all day."
His voice was matter-of-fact, as though that explained everything.
"I can carry them for a while."
Your eyes stung unexpectedly.
"You do so much for me."
"I know."
"You never complain."
"Why would I?"
His hands never left their place.
"This is my child."
Then, after the briefest pause,
"And I love you."
He rested his chin lightly against your shoulder. "Taking care of you isn't a chore." His thumb traced slow circles against the side of your stomach. "It's a privilege."
As though they understood they were being talked about, the baby kicked.
Caleb had been talking to the baby since the day you found out. He claimed it was important for them to recognize his voice.You claimed they couldn't even hear him yet.
"Details."
"They're very important details."
He simply rested his hand against your stomach anyway.
"Hi, Pipsqueak," he said with a grin.
You looked down at him.
"...You know we can't both be called Pipsqueak."
"Sure you can."
"We'll never know which one we're talking to."
"You'll figure it out."
You laughed, shaking your head.
"You've put absolutely no thought into this."
"I've put lots of thought into it."
"Oh?"
"I've also considered Little Pip."
You groaned dramatically.
"I am not letting you name our child that"
He looked genuinely disappointed.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Fine."
He sighed as though you'd crushed his dreams.
"I guess I'll keep brainstorming."
You rolled your eyes affectionately before reaching for his hand.
"You are unbelievable."
"I've been told."
The months passed quickly.
Every little milestone seemed to unlock another childhood memory.
When you felt the first kick, Caleb immediately started talking about how you'd kicked him in the ribs once during a nap when you were little.
When you bought the baby's first blanket, he insisted it looked exactly like one you'd carried everywhere as a child.
"You dragged it through every puddle you could find."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I think you're making this up."
"I'm not."
"You have no proof."
He laughed and nearly dropped the tiny onesie he'd been folding. "I don't need proof."
Later that evening, you found him alone in the nursery.
The crib had finally been put together.
Tiny clothes hung neatly in the closet.
A rocking chair sat in the corner.
Caleb stood in the middle of the room, quietly looking around.
"You okay?" you asked.
He looked over his shoulder.
"...Yeah."
But his smile looked different. Softer.
You walked over, slipping your hand into his.
"What are you thinking about?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"I keep remembering you."
You tilted your head.
"When we were little."
His thumb brushed gently across the back of your hand.
"You were always following me around."
You laughed.
"I was not."
"You absolutely were."
"I was independent."
"You cried because I went to summer camp for three days."
"That was one time."
"It was adorable."
You nudged his shoulder.
"You still haven't answered my question."
His eyes wandered back to the crib.
"I just..."
He let out a quiet breath.
"It feels like yesterday you were that little."
Your heart melted.
"And now..."
He looked down at your stomach before smiling to himself.
"...my Pipsqueak is having a Pipsqueak."
The words hung softly between you.
"I don't know where the time went."
You reached up, cupping his cheek.
"You know they're going to adore you."
"I hope so."
"They already do."
As though on cue, the baby gave a firm kick beneath your hand.
Caleb's eyes widened.
"There it is again."
He dropped to his knees without hesitation, resting both hands against your stomach.
"Hey, little Pip," he whispered.
"You be nice to your mama, okay?"
You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair.
"They're probably kicking because they already know you're talking."
"I'd like to think they're saying hi."
He looked up at you, his eyes impossibly warm.
"I've spent my whole life looking after you."
His smile softened even more.
"I think I'm going to like looking after the two of you even more."
And in that moment, surrounded by tiny clothes, half-built toys, and the future the two of you had dreamed of, home had never felt so full.
Pregnancy had done something very strange to Valko. It had turned an already meticulous scientist into, into whatever this was.
"You bought another blanket."
He didn't even look up from the shopping bag he was unpacking.
"It's different."
You blinked.
"It's beige."
"The other one was cream."
You stared at him.
"They're different."
"They're both fluffy."
"They're different kinds of fluffy."
You couldn't help laughing.
Over the past few months, your home had slowly filled with things neither of you had intentionally bought.
Soft blankets draped over every chair.
Tiny socks tucked neatly into drawers.
An emergency diaper bag.
A second emergency diaper bag.
A third emergency diaper bag that he insisted would stay in the car.
"Valko."
"Hm?"
"How many diapers does one newborn need?"
His expression remained perfectly serious.
"I'd rather have too many than not enough."
"You bought enough to raise triplets."
"You never know."
You walked over, wrapping your arms around his waist.
"We're only having one."
"So far."
You laughed so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes.
"I love that your reasonable brain completely disappears when it comes to this baby."
"It doesn't disappear."
"Oh?"
"It simply..." He considered his words carefully. "prioritizes different variables."
You smiled.
"Uh huh."
"It does."
You reached into one of the shopping bags, pulling out an impossibly tiny sleepsuit.
As you unfolded it, Valko quietly took it from your hands. Without thinking, he brought it closer, pausing for just a moment before carefully folding it again.
You watched him.
"...Did you just smell it?"
His ears immediately flushed pink.
"No."
"You absolutely did."
"I was checking the fabric."
"With your nose?"
"Maybe..."
A grin spread across your face.
"You've been scenting the baby's clothes."
His embarrassment only deepened.
"It's instinct."
"I know."
"I can't exactly explain it."
"You don't have to."
He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I just..."
His voice softened.
"I want everything around our pup to smell like home."
Your heart melted.
"Our pup?"
He froze.
"I said that out loud."
"You did."
A bashful smile tugged at his lips.
"I suppose I did."
You stepped closer, resting one of his hands against your stomach.
The baby shifted almost immediately.
His entire face lit up.
"They're awake."
"They always seem to be when you're talking."
He smiled to himself, absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles over your bump.
"I've been reading another paper."
You laughed.
"Of course you have."
"It said babies can recognize their parents' voices before they're born."
"So you've been talking to them on purpose?"
"Absolutely."
You smiled warmly.
"I think they already know who their dad is."
He looked down at your stomach before leaning forward, pressing a gentle kiss against it.
"I hope so."
Then his expression shifted ever so slightly. That quiet, protective edge you had come to know so well. His arm instinctively settled around your waist as he guided you toward the couch.
"You've been standing too long."
"I've been standing for five minutes."
"Exactly."
"I am perfectly capable of," you started but he cut you off immediately.
"I know."
His voice was warm, but left very little room for argument.
"But if I can make things easier for you..." He helped you sit before kneeling in front of you. "...why wouldn't I?"
You threaded your fingers through his hair.
"You know," you teased softly, "you're nesting."
He frowned.
"I am not."
"You've reorganized the nursery three times."
"It wasn't efficient."
"You alphabetized the baby's books."
"They're easier to find."
"You scented their clothes."
"..."
"You bought seven blankets."
"They're seven different blankets."
You laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
Valko sighed dramatically before resting his forehead against your bump.
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.
“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.
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.”
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.
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.
