lucillebelle

[lucillebelle]

Their reaction when you're sick

Summary: When you’re feeling vulnerable and under the weather, see how Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, and Caleb show their love in their own unique ways. From quiet protection to intense devotion, these moments reveal the softer side of the men who care for you most.

Xavier

The fever hit harder than you expected.

It had started with a scratch in your throat, then a headache, but you didn’t say anything. Xavier had been busy, as always, with meetings, fieldwork, and endless responsibilities. You didn’t want to distract him. So you waved it off, told him you were just tired.

But now, curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket you barely remembered dragging over yourself, you were shivering, your head swimming. The world tilted slightly every time you blinked.

You didn’t hear him enter. But you felt him.

“...You're sick.”

His voice was low. Concern hid beneath its calm surface like a current beneath still water.

You forced your eyes open. He stood by the door, arms crossed, gaze locked on you with quiet intensity. No panic. No raised voice. But you could see it—the shift. That barely perceptible crease between his brows. The stillness in him, like a soldier deciding whether to run into gunfire.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

He was already moving.

He returned minutes later with a glass of water, a small first-aid kit, and something that smelled like ginger tea. You blinked as he knelt by the couch, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead.

“You’re burning up.”

“I didn’t want to worry you…”

His eyes flicked to yours, sharp but not unkind. “You didn’t.”

“Liar.”

That pulled a small exhale from him. Almost a laugh. Almost.

He didn’t argue further. Just set down the tea and pull the blanket tighter around you, careful with every motion, like you might break.

Then he sat. Not too close, not touching. But near enough that the silence between you felt warm, not empty.

“Why are you always like this?” he said softly, watching the steam rise from the mug. “You take care of everyone but let yourself fall apart.”

You closed your eyes. “Habit.”

He was quiet for a long time. Long enough that you thought maybe he’d gone. But then you felt it: the weight of his hand gently resting on yours.

“I can’t protect you from everything,” he murmured. “But let me protect you from something. Even this.”

Your chest tightened, not from illness, but from the rare, aching tenderness in his voice. Xavier wasn’t a man of grand declarations. He didn’t say “I love you” easily. But it was in his every action. The way he brewed the tea was just right. In his hand, he placed it gently on your back when he thought you were asleep. In the way he stayed.

When your head began to nod, sleep tugging at you, his voice reached through the haze one more time.

“I canceled my mission briefing,” he said quietly. “They’ll survive without me. You’re the only mission that matters right now.”

You didn’t have the strength to reply. But you didn’t need to.

He held your hand until you fell asleep. And long after.

Zayne

The cough had started yesterday. You brushed it off, told Zayne it was nothing, just the recycled air messing with your throat. You didn’t want him to worry. Not when he already carried so much.

But by nightfall, the shivering had started.

Now, curled up on the narrow cot in his private lab, you could barely keep your eyes open. Your head pounded, and every movement felt like swimming through tar. Still, you tried to hide it.

You didn’t want him to see you like this, weak and needy.

But he noticed.

Zayne stood at the threshold, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “You’re worse.”

You blinked up at him, barely able to keep your vision steady. “M’fine…”

“Don’t lie.” He was already beside you, kneeling. His hand hovered near your forehead before finally resting there, cool and precise. You heard the quiet curse under his breath.

“You’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

He scoffed, but his tone wasn’t angry, just frustrated, and laced with something soft. “You’re not a bother. You never are.”

You let your eyes close as he moved around the room. You heard the clink of bottles, the rustle of blankets. When you opened them again, he was pressing a cold pack to your neck and holding a glass of water to your lips.

“Drink.”

You obeyed without protest. The water soothed your throat, and his hand lingered just a little too long against your jaw as he set the glass down.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmured.

He didn’t meet your eyes. “Of course I did.”

“Zayne-”

He cut you off, voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t try to brush this off. You don’t know what it does to me… seeing you like this.”

That vulnerability, the one he so carefully kept under lock and key, slipped into his expression. The tension in his shoulders, the slight tremble in his fingers, the way his eyes kept flicking to you like he was afraid you'd vanish.

You reached out, touching his wrist. “I’m okay. I just need rest.”

He sank down beside the cot, close enough that your fingers stayed intertwined. “You scared me,” he said, the words brittle. “I hate that.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. That’s the worst part.”

There was silence for a moment, and then his voice dropped, lower than you’d ever heard it. “I don’t let anyone get close. But you…”

Your fingers tightened around his.

“I need you to promise me something,” he said.

“What?”

“Next time, no pretending. No hiding. You tell me. No matter how small it seems.”

You nodded. “Okay. I promise.”

Only then did he breathe. And only then did he let his forehead rest gently against the back of your hand.

“I’ll stay,” he murmured. “You rest. I’ll be here.”

And with the steady sound of his breathing next to you, you finally felt safe enough to sleep.

Rafayel

You tried to hide it, you really did. But Rafayel noticed the moment you staggered into the room, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy.

“Cutie, what happened to you?” His voice was low, almost theatrical, but laced with deep concern.

You coughed, weak and wet, covering your mouth with a shaky hand. “Just a cold. I’m fine.”

He didn’t buy it. Not for a second.

He dropped everything, the paintbrush, the sketchpad, even the half-finished poem tucked inside his coat pocket. His eyes softened, losing their usual mischievous spark and settling into something more vulnerable.

“No, you’re not fine,” he said, kneeling beside you. “This is no muse’s glow. This is fire and ice battling in your veins.”

You gave a small, tired smile. “Poetic as always.”

He laughed softly, brushing his fingers along your hairline, careful not to disturb you too much.

“You are my inspiration, Cutie. When you falter, the world loses its color.”

You felt a warmth despite the chill coursing through your body. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You wanted to protest but found the strength slipping away. Instead, you closed your eyes and let yourself be held.

He fetched a soft blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders, his hands lingering a moment longer as he traced comforting patterns along your skin.

Then, almost like magic, he produced a small, crumpled sketchpad from nearby and began to draw. His eyes never left you, even as his pencil danced across the paper.

“Every line,” he said softly, “is a promise. A vow that I’ll be here when you wake, when you’re better, and even when you’re not.”

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, not from sadness but from the overwhelming affection pouring from him.

“Rafayel,” you breathed, “thank you.”

He kissed your forehead gently. “I love you, not just in grand moments, but in quiet ones like this. Even when you’re vulnerable.”

You nestled into his chest, heart pounding against the steady beat of his own.

“Rest now, Cutie,” he murmured. “I’ll keep the night for you. I’ll paint your dreams until you wake.”

In the silence that followed, your breathing slowed, and for the first time since you felt sick, you believed you’d be okay because Rafayel was with you.

Sylus

You hated being this vulnerable.

Your body ached, your head swam, and every breath felt like dragging through thick fog. But worse than that was the feeling of losing control, letting yourself be weak in front of Sylus.

He was in the room before you fully realized it, watching you with those sharp, red eyes that always seemed to see everything, even the parts you tried to hide.

“Kitten,” he said, his voice low and rough, the nickname a rare softness that twisted something deep inside you. “You look like hell.”

You tried to shrug it off, but your limbs trembled too much. You leaned back against the pillows, trying to keep some semblance of strength.

Sylus didn’t wait for permission. He moved closer, his hand firm on your hip, anchoring you to the present.

“Don’t hide from me,” he demanded, voice thick with a possessive edge. “I know when you’re hurting. And I won’t stand for you suffering alone.”

Your eyes flicked up to his dark, intense, but also… tender look; It was a side of him that few saw. A fierce protectiveness that bordered on obsession, but felt like safety wrapped in a dangerous package.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “It’s… wrong. You should be untouched by pain.”

You wanted to say something, but your voice cracked, so you settled for leaning into his touch, letting the heat of his hand chase away the chill.

He sighed, rough and deep, then stood, pulling the blanket tighter around you with deliberate care. Every movement was controlled, deliberate, like he was making sure you wouldn’t slip through his fingers.

Sylus disappeared briefly and returned with a steaming cup of herbal tea. He set it carefully on the bedside table, then returned to your side.

“Drink,” he ordered softly, but with an edge you recognized—it was an order because he refused to watch you suffer.

Your fingers found his, and for once, his grip relaxed just enough to let you squeeze back.

“Sylus…” you whispered.

“No,” he said, his voice stronger now, “no more whispering. If you’re mine, then you’ll let me be your strength when you can’t stand.”

There was a long pause, and then he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his white hair brushing your skin.

“Rest, kitten,” he murmured, the possessiveness giving way to something almost fragile. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here. Always.”

You closed your eyes, heart pounding, feeling the impossible weight of his promise.

And for the first time, being vulnerable didn’t feel like weakness; it felt like being fiercely loved.

Caleb

You hate feeling this small, tiny, and fragile under Caleb’s intense gaze.

He never misses a thing. The slight tremble in your hands, the faint flush creeping up your neck, the way your breathing quickens when you think no one’s watching.

Right now, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, you’re as vulnerable as you’ve ever been. Your body aches, your head pounds, and the dizziness threatens to pull you under. But all Caleb sees is the person he’s vowed to protect.

“Pipsqueak,” he says softly but with a sharp edge, sitting down beside you before you can protest. “You look awful.”

You manage a weak smile. “I’m okay, Caleb. Really.”

He doesn’t believe you. Never does.

“I’m not letting you off the hook that easily,” he insists, his hand covering yours with reassuring warmth. “You need rest, medicine, and… me.”

His voice breaks on the last word, raw and full of worry.

You want to tell him you can handle it, but your throat is dry and your voice barely more than a croak.

He’s already moving, wrapping the blanket tighter around your shoulders, fetching water, then medicine, carefully measuring every dose.

“Don’t try to be brave around me,” Caleb says, kneeling in front of you so his gaze can hold yours. “I’ve known you since you were a kid. You don’t have to hide from me. Not now.”

His usual confident, protective shell slips just enough for you to see the ache beneath—the fear of losing you.

“I just want you to be okay,” he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from your damp forehead.

You reach for his hand, gripping it tightly. “Thank you, Caleb.”

He smiles, tender, a little relieved, and pulls you closer until your head rests against his chest.

“You’re my pipsqueak,” he says softly, voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it means hovering like a broken record.”

You laugh weakly, the sound breaking the tension.

“I need you, Caleb,” you whisper.

“And I need you too,” he replies without hesitation.

He stays by your side all night, holding you close, his steady presence a shield against the cold and fear.

[lucillebelle]

Orbit

a short Xavier x reader drabble

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The stars outside blurred into streaks of white as the aircraft jumped to hyperspace. The familiar lurch of the jump passed, but the ache in your chest remained. He hadn’t looked at you once you decided to enter the control room.

Xavier stood with his back to you, hands braced on the console. His shoulders were always so strong and steady, but he looked tense. Too tense. Every time you see that posture, it’s either that he was fighting something, or maybe remembering a memory, or maybe guilt. Maybe himself.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said finally, voice low, each word clipped like he was trying not to feel them too much.

“And leave you behind?” you replied, stepping closer. “You know I never could.” He didn’t move. You wanted to reach out, to touch his arm to remind him you were real, but something was in the way as he stood, it made you hesitate. “It’s not safe around me.” He exhaled, barely a whisper, but the weight of it filled the room. “It never has been. I couldn’t protect-”

“You did protect me,” you cut in gently. “You always do.”

Finally, he turned. His eyes met yours, and for a second, the cold drift of space between you cracked. There was that familiar glow, the warmth beneath the quiet storm he always carried, and the guilt. Always the guilt.

"I almost lost you," he said, voice hoarse. "And I don’t think I could survive that again." You stepped closer. Close enough to feel the quiet heat radiating from him. "Then don’t push me away. Let me stay by your side, Xavier. Even if it's dangerous, even if it hurts."

His eyes searched yours like they were scanning for a threat he couldn't name, but you weren’t a threat. You were the one thing that had always stayed, no matter how far the galaxies stretched, no matter how haunted his past was.

"You make it sound so easy," he murmured.

"It isn’t," you admitted. "Loving you has never been easy, but I never wanted easy. I wanted you."

There it was again, that flicker. The tiniest crack in his armor. His hand lifted slowly, hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch you. But when his fingers brushed your cheek, it was like gravity itself shifted. "You’re reckless," he said, almost smiling. "You should know better than to trust a man like me."

"I do." You leaned into his touch. "But my heart’s never listened to logic."

He let out a soft, shaky breath. And then he pulled you into him carefully at first, like you were something fragile. He held you tighter, as if the universe might tear you from his arms if he didn’t hold you hard enough.

The stars beyond the glass continued their endless dance, unaware of the quiet ache and warmth inside that little aircraft, and for a moment, the silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It was full of memories, regrets, and hope of everything that you’d survived. "I can’t promise I won’t fail again," Xavier said against your hair.

"You don’t have to promise," you whispered. "Just stay. That’s enough."

[lucillebelle]

LaD as Dads

Xavier

Scenario: The Nap Battle

Your toddler is full of endless energy, while Xavier… is not. You find them both in the living room, your child bouncing on the couch cushions, and Xavier asleep, a soft snore escaping him, a crayon still in his hand from earlier. The two had been drawing “space cats.”

When your child climbs onto his chest and declares, “I win!” Xavier cracks one eye open and, with a rare, soft smile, murmurs, “You win… but only because I let you.”

Then promptly falls asleep again, your child giggling like it’s the greatest game ever. Later, he wakes up long enough to finish the cat drawing, lets your kid color it purple, and tucks them in with the same care he used to reserve just for you.

Zayne

Scenario: The Dissected Sandwich Incident

Your child walks into the kitchen, holding a peanut butter sandwich that’s been taken apart piece by piece.

“Dad said deconstructing things helps us understand them,” they say proudly. Zayne, completely unfazed, is standing behind them with a clean scalpel and a napkin tucked into his collar like it’s a surgical bib.

“I was demonstrating the anatomy of snack architecture,” he says smoothly, barely hiding a smirk as you try not to laugh. Later, when tucking your child in, he gently brushes their hair aside and adds, “No one else will ever understand you the way I do… but that’s a good thing.”

Rafayel

Scenario: The Glitter Uprising

The art room looks like a sea of glitter exploded.

“I only turned away for five seconds,” you say in disbelief, looking at your sparkly child and an even sparklier Rafayel, who’s holding a glitter-drenched seashell like it’s a trophy. He shrugs, brushing some sparkles off your child’s nose and kissing their forehead.

“Art doesn’t ask for permission. It demands to be messy.” He later convinces your child to title the chaos “The Cosmic Storm” and frames it, glitter and all. You’re still vacuuming sparkles out of the furniture three weeks later.

Sylus

Scenario: The Power Game

Your child is playing chess against themselves. Sylus sits nearby, sipping tea and watching like it’s a high-level political negotiation. “Daddy said if I beat myself, I win both ways,” they say proudly.

Sylus smirks, voice velvet-smooth. “A valuable lesson, sometimes your greatest opponent… is the weaker version of you.” You give him a look. He grins wider. Later, your child runs to you, holding a paper crown Sylus crafted from a luxury food wrapper.

“He said I earned it,” they beam. Sylus catches your gaze and adds softly, “I’ll raise a ruler. One who takes what they deserve and never bows.”

Caleb

Your child refuses to go to bed without "official orders," something Caleb apparently started.

He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his voice low and commanding, “Operation Pillow Fort is a go. Mission: Sweet Dreams. Any resistance will be met with tickle fire.”

Your child salutes him and dives under the covers, grinning. Caleb turns to you with that boyish smile you still remember from Skyhaven and whispers, “Too easy. You should’ve seen my negotiation skills during nap time.”

Later that night, he sits beside your sleeping child’s bed, one hand protectively on the edge.

“I’ll protect them… just like I protected you.”

Little note: This is how I imagine them to act with their kids.