you should’ve known it would come to this, really.
the comforter, previously dumped unceremoniously on the floor from prior activities, now acts as a makeshift bed when xavier hikes one leg of yours over his shoulder. his silver hair lays a bit matted across his forehead, still warm from the shower you two took, but the hunger in his eyes is all the same—dark, prevalent, and ever growing.
“my hair is still wet…!” you try to complain, though it trails off into a small squeak when you feel the press of xavier’s blunt cock against your entrance. “xavie, we just—hnng, we just cleaned up.”
as you say this, your boyfriend only rocks his hips deeper, causing a soft moan to fall from your lips. your cunt weeps, still sore from the past few rounds, but yet graciously welcomes him home all the same.
xavier, to his credit, does pause when considering the situation you two are in: on the carpet of his room, his rock-hard dick partially in you, the bedsheets a soaked-through mess…
he blinks once. twice.
“we can always clean up again,” comes his soft yet firm decision.
then he’s pushing all the way in, stretching your gummy walls until the only think you can think of is how deliciously full you feel. your lips part in a whiny moan, one that xavier responds to by grabbing your other leg and hoisting it up onto his other shoulder.
“f-fuck, starlight,” xavier pants, head dipping lower as he loses control. “feels s’good, i just can’t get enough of you—please. please cum f’me again, haaah!”
you, meanwhile, are now scrambling for purchase, knuckles whitening as they grip the comforter for dear life. “xavie! please don’t stop, sh-shit—gonna cum—”
he gives the fat of your hips a tight squeeze, one that you hope leaves bruises, while his cock drills into your sopping pussy. at this point he’s got you in a mating press seeing stars, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
you’re so close, and he must be able to tell, because suddenly his thumb is on your puffy little clit rubbing circles, and that’s all it takes—you cum with a wail of a moan and a bowing arch, whimpers high and needy. he follows soon after, thick ropes of cum painting your walls, hot and gooey and dripping when he slowly pulls out.
xavier inspects the mess you two made with the casual interest of a man engaging in the news’ daily weather report.
notes: mild spoilers for xavier's 'eulogy of light'. banter/flirting. pre-relationship.
the favourite ✶⋆.˚
xavier / gn!mc
The guards nod as Xavier approaches the entrance to your private quarters. If they were surprised to see the former crown prince at such a late hour, they didn't make it known.
He opens the door with a press of his thumb and continues into your bedchamber, thankful that his previous life made him intimately familiar with this portion of the palace. How ironic that you occupy the very chambers he once did.
But times have changed, and he is no longer the Crown Prince. Now, his relation to power is entirely different.
If you're surprised by his arrival, it doesn't show.
"You're earlier than expected," is all you say. Careful, measured as always.
Xavier steps forward, holding your gaze through the mirror as you remove your earrings, carelessly tossing them onto the vanity.
"The Secretary said I am your favorite," he can't stop the amused quirk of his smile.
He lets the word hang in the air, watching as you suddenly avert your eyes. How curious.
"Favorite" feels nice on his tongue, perhaps a little foreign. He'd been the favorite to succeed the throne, the favorite to win duels and races in the past— but someone's favorite? Your favorite? That was a title he could get behind in this new age.
"It's an interesting choice of words, Your Highness."
You scoff, "It was the easiest way to give you access to the imperial archives and my chambers without raising eyebrows."
Don't get ahead of yourself, is the underlying message. Too bad, he thinks, it's an empty threat. If you didn't want him here, he would've been long gone. But instead you've showered him in luxury, given him unfettered access to the palace, taken the time to bring him to modernity, and accompanied him on excursions to the city. Even with the guise of "royal hospitality", it's a lot.
He wants to see this play out. He's fairly confident but he wants to be sure.
"Unless times have changed…" he drawls, gloved hand sweeping your hair back revealing the column of your neck. It would be nice to adorn your skin with something other than jewels, something a little more warm, more organic than cool metal. Something that he can give. "Being the Empress' favorite usually comes with certain responsibilities."
The hair standing up on your neck has nothing to do with the temperature inside the chambers.
He savors the shiver rippling down your spine— the subconscious movements that couldn't be quashed by years of courtly training, the ones that betray you. You blink and recompose yourself, looking back at him with a defiant jut of your chin.
"We should make this convincing," he murmurs, right into the shell of your ear, thumbing the clasp of your necklace. He's crossing the line of decorum here, assuming an intimacy he hasn't quite earned yet, but everything he wants right now is on the other side of polite.
And you're letting him get away with it, eyes darting to his hand at your neck, letting him linger, letting him get far too close.
"Only you and I know how cold the throne is," he whispers," but the other parts of your life don't have to be."
"What are you—?"
"I'm the Empress's favorite, and she's summoned me to her quarters in the dead of night," he presses a chaste kiss at the back of your hand, "I'm simply anticipating her needs at this hour."
Your eyes narrow, still unsure even as you lean into his touch, "And what would my favorite know about what I need?"
Xavier says nothing, merely smiling at you through the mirror, holding your gaze as he trails his gloved hand down the line of your back, letting you feel the weight of his touch. He circles his arms around your waist, relishing every sensation before responding.
"I know that it's the same as mine, Your Highness."
notes: yes there will be a part two!!1! I am just so in love with this card that I wrote this on my phone in between playing "Eulogy of Light". Xavier mains are being fed SO GOOD RN AND I'M SO FULL OF IDEAS AAAA. Tysm for reading! Comments/reblogs/likes are always appreciated
🔞🧵| Witness Statement | Xavier ⭐
↻+♡ appreciated
“Don’t furrow your brows at me, Xavier. I only gave him my number, because he might need a witness statement,” you argue.
“There were plenty of witnesses — Me, for example,” Xavier replies while angrily preparing a drink.
During your last mission, you both saved a couple of people from a Wanderer attack. A very handsome man your age insisted on thanking you personally and asked for your number—much to Xavier’s jealousy.
“Why are you mad at me? I should be the one upset,” you pout, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“What? Why? What did I do?” There’s a flicker of guilt in his voice, though he sounds unsure if you’re not just turning the conversation around.
“Well… for example, you didn’t need to do all that when you were protecting that pretty girl in the short skirt.”
Xavier looks at you blankly, lost in thought. “What girl in a skirt?”
You meet his big, sapphire-blue eyes and quickly look away.
“Don’t look at me like that, Xavier! Don’t act innocent. She was holding onto your arm. You should’ve told her to back off, if not for safety purposes.”
Xavier steps closer, backing you into the kitchen corner, arms braced on either side of you against the counter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, leaning in as if to kiss you. You push him away flustered. He smiles smugly.
“Whatever. Eye for an eye, I guess,” you say and go back to the couch.
“But you’ve been avoiding my eyes?” he says, dropping down in front of you on the ground, nudging his head between your knees, looking up at you.
“Uuugh, again, you’re looking at me like that!! It’s messing with my head and ruining my anger, Xavier!” You try to avoid his gaze.
“I see,” he says quietly. “I might have to make you look at me then.”
Before you can react, he’s on top of you, pinning one hand above your head and holding your face firmly with the other, so your eyes meet.
“So when another man looks at you, you give him your number… but when I look at you, you fight me?”
You try to look away, but it’s already too late. Despite his innocent face, his body is big and once it’s on yours, you can’t push him off nor free yourself from his grip.
He shifts, pinning you more vigorously to the couch, his knee pressing between your legs as he kisses you along your neck, all the way up to your lips.
“Don’t look away. Not even for a second,” he says while his hand slips under your skirt.
He gently moves his fingers along your slit, before pushing one into you. You let out a soft moan from the sudden insertion.
“I want you to look me in the eyes the entire time…,” his pace hurries, gaze fixed on you, “…so you remember them next time a man approaches you.”
Your body curls in, you involuntarily arch your back from his unrestrained rhythm. Xavier already freed you from your shirt and bra, sucking your tits and teasing your nipples with his tongue, always keeping his eyes on you though, making sure you won’t break eye-contact.
“Every second you look away adds more punishment. I can edge you all night,” he warns softly.
When he’s satisfied by hearing & feeling you climax from his fingers, probably adding hours of ‘punishment’ along the way, he unbuckles his pants.
He gives his cock a couple of strokes before slapping it against your clit and teasing it with his tip.
“I might need to confess something…” he said in a hushed tone, his cock now gliding along your slit, edging you and coating his dick in your fluids.
You know he manipulated you into this, but you can’t be angry — not with his cock pressed against you like this and his eyes looking… you don’t even know what it is. They’re soft & kind, yet a hungry urge to dominate you flickers through.
He leans in closer, his eyes a blink away.
“…the woman in the skirt was blind & asked for me to steady her,” he says and thrusts his cock into you in one swift move, his eyes still locked onto yours.
Xavier suppresses a smile, “…and the man asked for my number as well.”
In which you break the pact you have with your fiancé and suffer "consequences"
Warnings: xavier x nonmc!reader, pillow humping, p in v, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it), somno if you squint, established relationship, use of nicknames
Art by @/gemo38960050977 on X
Your fiancé and you had a pact.
Sure, it was an unrealistic one, but it worked for the both of you. Or it had been, really well, up until last month.
But as you listen to the voicemail he left apologizing for having to work overtime again, you sighed and crushed your face against his pillow. This was proving it to be its own twisted version of edging if you were being honest.
It could be harmless; you shrugged to yourself. Maybe if you relieved yourself a little bit of this building ache, made worse by tenfold thanks to your ovulation phase, you'd eventually get better at handling your fiancé's other commitments instead of hurling stuff at him when he did show up.
It did not help that your shared bed always smelled like him. And as you lowered your panties and slotted his pillow between your thighs, you decided to blame him for it.
How would he ever know? He was barely home as it was. As you rolled over, face planted in sheets that were enveloped with his heady lavender and vanilla scent, you inhaled deeply while your hips rocked against his pillow, slow at first as you found your pace. Even though it had been a while, even with your eyes closed you could feel the phantom touch of his fingers on you, how they moved featherlight over your bare skin, the touches he'd leave, the sensations he'd elicit.
You could almost hear him in your head, whispering sweet nothings, moving above you, the pace he'd set in perfect tandem with the drag of your hips against the pillow, your pussy lips parting on the seam as the corner rubbed against your clit perfectly.
With one hand gripping the sheets, you freed the other to reach inside your oversized t-shirt and circle around your nipple, feeling it harden against your fingers as you pulled at it mercilessly, a hopeless attempt at replicating the kind of treatment you were used to from him. The pain shot straight to your core, making your hips buck from the pressure.
Doubling downing on your efforts, the pace with which you were riding the pillow was dizzying, chasing that peak as the knot in your stomach tightened. You could feel your slick coating his pillow, legs shuddering from the effort before the knot snapped and your arched body smushed the pillow when you went limp, sighing contentedly.
Surely one more couldn't hurt?
When Xavier thought his day had gone terribly, he wasn't exaggerating.
After getting showered in the blood of a monster it had taken them weeks to find and subsequently defeat, the commander had asked for an immediate report. And so, him and his crew had stood there in his office, dripping the abominable liquid on the lush carpets as they briefed their leader. That was followed by an hour-long shower to get all the sticky blood out of his hair and off his body and another hour just to get the scent off.
He had really wished that would be the end.
But of course, there had to be a breach. Stupid monster had a twin who had come to avenge his brethren? And no, he couldn't have died without once again bathing them in his disgusting blood.
And thus, the loop repeated itself. All the excruciating briefing followed by the bath that could give princesses preparing for their debut a run for their money.
It was nearing 1 in the morning when Xavier finally stepped foot in his own house. He knew how upset you were likely to be and he would do his best to amenable. It was not easy for him to spend these many days away from you either.
But despite getting submerged in the bodily fluids of two deadly monsters, having to stand in the air-conditioned office of his commander, freezing as he debriefed the entire event for 45 minutes twice, and having to take an everything shower two times, back-to-back, Xavier realized the worst thing to happen to him in the past 48 hours was this.
He had wanted nothing more than sleep the weekend away with his fiancée, not getting out of bed for anything, maybe paying the door dash guy extra for delivering food till the bed but the sight of you curled up in bed sans panties, his pillow crushed between your thighs and the blanket tangled in your legs was the worst thing to happen to him.
It didn't take a genius to understand that you'd violated the pact.
On any other day, Xavier would've been more understanding. Probably even empathized with you. But after surviving hell these past few days, it was like you cumming anywhere but on him was the straw that broke the camel's back.
Taking his shirt off, he slowly climbed on the bed, thighs bracketing on either side of your lithe body, gently rising and falling with every measured breath. Xavier takes his time pulling the pillow out from between your legs, clicking his tongue at the barely dried damp patch on it.
"Nasty, nasty girl" He tsks under his breath, turning you over on your back and spreading your legs, orbs glazing over at the wetness lingering on your pussy lips.
Like a man starved, he dives in without preamble. Throwing your legs over his shoulders, tongue flat against the bottom running till the top before he pulled on the little nub, making you jerk against him.
You stirred, shifting as Xavier took a minute to inhale deeply, before he dug his face back in, tongue lapping at your folds, two fingers parting your pussy lips for his intrusion. One hand snaked up your body, palming your entire breast and massaging it roughly in his palm as an inhibited moan escaped your lips, hips bucking into his face, his nose bumping against your clit.
"X-Xavi?" Your heavy lids were fighting to open, but when you saw the mop of silver hair between your legs, your hips involuntarily arched, thighs locking his head between them.
"You've been bad" He murmured against your folds, entranced at the way you were gushing, eager and desperate to drink it all up "You've been really, really bad"
"Xavi-" You tried to sit up but Xavier pushes you back down, inserting two fingers in you at the same time, clit trapped between his teeth as you cry out "Ohmy- hah- Xavi please- please list- ohmyGod!"
"Were you that desperate, baby?" Icy blue orbs pin you in place as you shudder, whimpering at how good he feels when he tsks at you "Look at how you're soaking me. We just got started"
"I-I'm so-sorry" You breathe out, fingers grazing his locks, holding him in place as you shamelessly grind against his face "I-I really am"
Flicking your pearly bud once, Xavier bites down on it, making you explode as you moan his name, chest heaving at how your orgasm washes over you in one strong wave, making your entire body tremble.
You watch as your fiancé finally rises from between your legs, climbing above you till his hard on is in line with your dripping pussy. You groan at the outline of it grinding against you, pouting when you felt that he was still wearing his jeans.
He looks content to be there, just rubbing against you, making no move to give you what you actually want as you huff, crossing your arms "I said I was sorry"
"Not only are you not sorry" Xavier swoops down to kiss the pout off your lips by the way of finally greeting you "You are also not a good liar"
"I used your pillow" You try to reason, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close, pecking his lips between each word for good measure "You were there with me in spirit"
"The pact was that we orgasm only with each other" Xavier drives his point home by a particularly sharp thrust, making your mouth drop open "When both of us are present physically"
"Does it help that I was thinking of you the whole time?"
Xavier tries to hide it; he really does but he cannot disguise the slight raise of his eyebrows in interest when he learns that tidbit. And so, you are reinforcing your efforts with newfound vigor as you lock your legs around his waist, rubbing against his erection.
"I was thinking of how long your fingers are" You are speaking right above his lips now, licking your own and watching as his gaze zeroes in on them "How calloused and perfect they are. How they reach inside me so good" With a slight shift of your hips, you flip him over, straddling his hips now. Xavier watches with laser focus as your fingers pull your nightshirt up and over your head.
"How good you mistreat these" One breast in each hand, you're massaging them, counting down till Xavier can't help but take over the task to do right by them himself. Reaching behind you, you start unzipping his jeans "I can't feel good without thinking of you, Xavi"
You're stroking his cock behind you, hot and heavy in your palm and already leaking precum, moaning when Xavier pulls at your nipples to draw your attention back to him again "You're good at distracting me" Running the length of his cock against your folds, he's resisting the urge to thrust into you "Very good at avoiding punishment"
"God forbid a girl is ovulating and her fiancé is unavailable"
"Go ahead" The audacious man has the audacity to put his arms under his head as he watches you above him "Use me, then"
You didn't need to be told twice.
For all his nonchalance, Xavier is barely holding back the moment the mushroom tip of his cock is breaching your walls, head thrown back as pleasure from how tight you are makes him nearly black out "God-fuck-how are you s-so tight?"
You want to answer with something haughty, something that shows him how badly he needs just this pussy to lose control, but you are so terribly full of him, having taken him to the hilt in one go, feeling him in your throat as your hands find his chest to steady yourself, grazing your fingernails down his pecs as you slowly begin to move your hips in circles "F-Fuck- so-ohmygod- you feel so good"
His hands are back on your breasts, roughing them up, pulling on them and using them as a handlebars when you start finding your pace, slowly bouncing down on his cock, his balls slapping against the globes of your ass.
You're seeing white when Xavier begins to thrust upwards into you, slowly at first but then slowly pulling all the way out and bottoming out with every thrust, rubbing against that spot that makes you see stars behind your eyelids, two fingers pushing past your lips and pressing down on your tongue.
"Xavier!" His name is garbled as you suck on his digits, milking him for everything he's worth within an inch of his life.
"Only name.." He's panting too, sweat lining his brow as he pulls you down for a kiss "Only name that should ever be on your mind when you cum, yes?"
"Mhm" You can feel him even deeper in this angle, chests rubbing against each other, as he hits that spongey spot inside you over and over, clit grinding against his pelvis, fingers pulling at his hair as he gives you open-mouthed, sloppy kisses that turn your brain into mush.
When he feels your legs locking against his, only then is he pulling away "You're going to cum for me, Angel?" You're nodding, desperate and cock-drunk as Xavier thrusts into you to the hilt and holds you there, not moving as you break apart for him, whimpering at how good he feels, getting lost in the sensations he elicits from you.
You're about to go limp in his arms when he locks yours behind you, holding you upright as his thrusts pick up pace "You're so beautiful" He's murmuring, sitting upright and leaving wet kisses against your jaw and throat "You drive me insane-fuck-missed this" Every thrust is rubbing against that soft spot, making your thighs quiver as you feel yourself peaking again "Missed this tight pussy" His lips slot over yours as he holds you down while he fills you up "Missed you"
He's kissing the tears that escaped as you recover from that, chest heaving against his as he releases your arms and guides you into his chest "You were so good f'me" He's running his fingers through your hair, gently rocking you in his arms as you pout.
"You're mean" you tell him, finally pulling back to glare at him.
"So are you" He replies, but he's nuzzling against your chest, kissing your collarbone and moving lower to your breasts "How could you-" You can almost hear the sulking in his voice "Without me?"
He's planted his face in the valley of your breasts, making no move to let you go "Maybe the pact wasn't such a good idea?" At that his eyes peak out and he's shooting you a nasty look "Or-" You correct yourself quickly "-we need to add amendments"
Xavier hasn't even pulled out, and you still feel him twitching inside you, half-hard. It's so at odds with how he acts like a clingy kitten, refusing to part with your chest for a single breath "Like what?" He mumbles.
"Next time I'm missing this" You can feel his smile against your skin "I'll send you a video?"
"Or you could call me"
The idea of phone sex with Xavier...
If him getting hard while still inside you were any indication, he was thinking the exact same thing that you were.
"But right now?" He's pulling back and thrusting his pillow in your arms "Right now I want to see it in real time"
A/N: Please don't hesitate to reach out to me incase you spot typos!
pairing ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb [ separate ]
content warning ♱ extreme possessiveness, multiple creampies, marathon sex, squirting, cervix fking, mean brat tamer!zayne, body worship, slight spit play, orgasm denial, heavy praise, marking, dom/sub dynamics, needy, pssydrunk boys — MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY
kit says ♱ if you’re reading this then hello (^_−)−☆ this is my first l&ds fic ever! i have been yearning to write for them for a year and i finally did it teehee. feedback + comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated ⭑.ᐟ
medicli ⌇ masterlist ⌇send an ask ♡
CHOOSE YOUR COMPANION!
#XAVIER: THE POSSESSIVE ONE!
xavier is extremely possessive of what belongs to him, and you? well, you’re no exception.
it’s not that xavier sees you as an object– you’re way more than that. it’s just that you’re his whole world and he can’t have anyone taking that away from him.
so every time a male hunter requests to train with you or every time a man even looks in your direction, he feels the need to stake his claim.
and maybe there’s a study that needs to be done on his brain because you’ve told him countless times that you’re his. you don’t want anyone but him. but it’s almost like he can’t hear or understand you unless you’re saying it with his cock shoved inside of you and you’re babbling it out to him.
like right now.
with his silver brows drawn in, he grunts rolling his hips against yours, “i hate when he talks to you.”
he, is jeremiah, and the talking was a simple greeting followed by your name when you and xavier went to visit him at philo after work.
you grip at his arms with clammy hands and you let out a shaky laugh, “h-he’s your best friend, xavie, don’t– fuck, baby– don’t be cr-crazy.”
“you’re my best friend. don’t care about him– only you, you hear?” he’s literally splitting you open, thrusting into you like a rabid bunny with a pout on his face. “hate that he even said your name.”
“ah, xav, please!” you cry, but there’s no stopping him when he gets like this. “he was just– just being nice, jere–”
he cuts you off with haste, his sapphire eyes turning a shade darker. “don’t even say it.” he demands, voice dropping an octave lower. “don’t say his fucking name.”
and then he offers a deep, hard thrust and you moan, arching your back off the bed. your nails dig into his skin leaving red, little crescents in his milky skin.
he’s hissing out your name and leaning in to shove his face in the crook of your neck. he licks and bites and licks and bites until he’s sure that the entire right side of your neck is littered with hickies.
“you’re mine, right, honey?”
you clench tightly around him, breathing out all the words as they come from the bottom of your heart. “all y-yours, baby. always gonna be y-y– mmph– yours.”
he kisses your neck again. this time, it’s a soft, little peck which is a stark contrast from the way his cock ravages your cunt. “this is mine.” he mumbles against the tainted skin.
he pulls back, his hands coming to squeeze your tits gently. “these are mine.” they trail down, one on your hip and the other splayed right over your abdomen where he can feel his dick inside of you. “and this right here, baby?”
he pushes down with a lazy smile on his gorgeous face all while he watches you cum for him.
“this is me taking what’s mine.”
#ZAYNE: THE ONE IN CONTROL!
before seeing you again, zayne had nothing but med school and work. he never let loose, never made many friends, never had anything. the only thing he had holding him together was the memory of you and the thought of what it would be like to see you again.
then one day… he ran into you at that cafe and you’ve been practically inseparable since.
now you stand to be the one person in all of deepspace to make zayne completely and utterly lose his mind.
“keep quiet,” he said, pushing his pointer and middle finger down on your tongue. “bad girls don’t get to talk.”
you whine, the noise garbled by excess spit and his long digits. you wish you could say you were surprised that you’re even in this position, but you’re not. not shocked in the slightest.
you’d been teasing your busy boyfriend all week– sending him ‘i miss you’ texts, showing up to akso on your lunch wearing low cut tops and teasingly threatening to play with yourself if he didn’t fuck you soon. his last straw was when you sent him dirty pictures and videos of you doing that just that followed with a text that read:
fucking myself since you won’t do anything about it :/
it’s almost like you wanted zayne to turn you inside out with his cock…
and now here you were, fingers in your mouth, cock in your sopping cunt and a very, very angry zayne above you.
“you think it’s okay to tease me? think it’s okay to send nasty videos of yourself while i’m at work, huh?” and he’s fucking you so hard that the bed creaks with every thrust. it hurts– the way his cock bruises your cervix– but in a way that has the knot in your belly drawing in and your gummy walls tightening around him.
your eyes roll back as drool seeps out of your mouth down his hand. you’d think this would bother him, him being your (nagging) doctor and all, but it doesn’t. he loves this. seeing you so messy and disheveled– mascara running down your face and your chin drenched with your saliva. he loves doing this to you,
he pulls his fingers out, watching you splutter with a smirk on his face. he leans in, grips your chin and makes you lock eyes with him. “this is what you wanted, isn’t it? you wanted to see me like this.”
you pant his name, softly, “zayne–”
“answer me,” he demands, tilting your chin up all the while his dick drives into you deeper and deeper if it’s even possible.
you cry, overstimulated. “yes, wanted it s’bad! f-fuck, just wanted you to fuck me, zaynie,”
he smiles cockily, shaking his head, “what a troublemaker.”
then you’re empty, your orgasm dissipating to nothing.
you gasp at the abrupt action on his part. you sit up, your teary eyes widen in confusion, but he places his soft lip against your cheek and speaks before you can question him.
“bad girls don’t get to cum either. we’ll talk when you stop being such a brat.”
#RAFAYEL: THE ONE WHO WORSHIPS YOU!
rafayel loves having sex with you. he’s enthralled by your beauty and body– you’re his muse after all. so it’s no surprise that he enjoys reminding you how fucking gorgeous you are while his cock spears in and out of you.
you’re on your side and he’s behind you, chest pressed against your back where you can feel just how erratic his heart is beating.
“so good for me, cutie,” he moans, lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “so pretty ‘n perfect. god, you were just made to be worshipped.”
and it’s so overwhelming. every word, every praise, every single sound that slips past his swollen lips goes straight to your cunt and it merely spurs him on. the adoration never ceases.
rafayel doesn’t fuck you fast. no, not today. today, he needs you to feel it. to feel every second of it, every inch of his cock. he needs you to feel the way his tip french kisses your cervix. it wouldn’t be right otherwise.
“r-raf,” you whimper, bringing your hand to tangle in his hair. you guide him to your pulse point and he smiles against your skin. “faster, please.”
“you’re so demanding,” he teases as he sucks and nips at the thin skin until he knows there’s a splotchy, red spot left in his wake.
“but it feels better like this, no?” he asks after giving you a particularly sharp thrust. “bet you can feel me everywhere, can’t you, princess?”
his lips move up, placing soft, wet kisses along your jaw and you turn your head slightly to capture his with yours. you mewl into his mouth, body pulling taut.
you’re close, you both know it. he’s been fucking you like this for what feels like hours and you’re all pent up. all you need is a little push to have you seeing sounds and hearing pretty colors.
and rafayel has studied your body. you’re the best thing the universe has ever created… his absolute favorite thing, so of course he has you memorized. it’s how he knows to snake his hand down to your swollen, neglected clit.
you gasp, the sudden action sending shockwaves right through you. “right t-there, baby.”
“pfttt, duh,” he scoffs, slightly offended, giving you another rough thrust. “i already know, princess. you don’t have t’be so bossy. just make a mess for me, yeah?”
a few more thrusts is all it takes for you to give him what he wants. a choked sob slips out and you're drenching his cock in your slick, honey-like arousal.
he smiles big and wide, eyes shining with more adoration. he whispers in your ear and it sends another shiver running down your heated spine.
“my pretty girl.”
#SYLUS: THE ONE THAT LIKES TO SWITCH!
sylus is massive in every sense of the word. you’d think a man so domineering– the leader of onychinus– would have the filthiest sex, bending his girl every which way.
but… then you’d be wrong. so, very wrong.
sylus has a reputation for being a big, bad wolf, but the truth? sylus is an absolute sucker for you. always at your beck and call. you want him to sit? he sits, proudly, with the slyest grin on his face. you want him to come over? he’s there in 30 minutes or less no matter what he’s doing or where he’s at.
you want to ride him and you don’t want him to touch you?
he nods his head obediently and says, “whatever you want, sweetie.”
it’s how you wind up sinking down on his throbbing cock and fucking him senseless. and, fuck, does sylus love every second of it.
he’s so used to being in control, but with you? that’s not happening. he’s yours. mind, body and soul. he loves watching you take the reins even though you cutely struggle to take his girthy length at first. when he bottoms out, though, all he can think is that’s my fucking girl.
despite your demands to keep his hands to himself, he’s obsessed. “h-hands off, sy. you know the rules.” you pant out, peeling his hot and heavy paws off of you.
he all but moans– the sound you love pulling out of him the most. “you’re so cruel, baby.” he says, hooded, red eyes burning into yours.
you just smile, placing your hands back on his chest and bouncing up and down his cock like it was what you were made for. “you love it when i use you.”
he nods, and his next words come out a little slurred like he’s already pussydrunk. “love it bad, sweetheart.”
you tighten around him, the affirmation encouraging you.
your pulsating vice of a cunt has his brows furrowing and eyes rolling back. he longs to hold you, to feel your skin on his calloused hands.
but sylus has waited for you for lifetimes. he adores you. all he breathes is you.
so he’ll do anything you say, whenever you say it.
when you tell him to cum for you, to cum so deep inside of you that you’ll feel it for days… he does just that with a groan, fisting at the sheets so roughly that you swear you hear the faint sound of fabric tearing.
and the copious amount of warm seed that fills you to the brim triggers your own orgasm. it’s so intense that you’re clawing at his chest like the kitten he claims you are. you’re babbling on top of him, breathlessly going on and on saying, “love you, love you s’much, sy,” and “fuck me more, please,”
and he gives up all his restraint, grabbing your hips, flipping you over and filling you up all over again.
#CALEB: THE ONE WHO CAN’T GET ENOUGH!
caleb has always loved you unconditionally. the time without you was unbearable– it changed him. he yearned like never before. he put every rom-com male to shame.
so, now that you’re back in his life– now that you’re finally his girl, he doesn’t waste time.
his stamina is basically infinite when it comes to you. poor, pent up caleb has spent years upon years hiding his feelings from you and now it’s all coming out.
literally.
“more, you can take more, baby,” he whispers, eyes dilated and toned body layered in a sheen of sweat. “know you can take more.”
he doesn’t wait for your protest, not like you would, he just pins your legs back and watches his previous loads of cum seep out of your cunt with hearts in his eyes.
he uses his cock to scoop up his seed and he pushes back into you in one thrust.
“caleb,” you cry.
he nearly growls. it’s so out of character that you’re almost concerned but then his raspy voice rings in your ears. “again.”
you cock your head to the side, “w-what?”
he grabs at the back your thighs, driving in and out of you with fervor. “fuck, pips… say it again. say my name, lemme know who’s fuckin’ ya this good.”
you practically feel him in your throat, let alone your battered, painted walls. he’s fucking you like he needs it to breathe. like if he doesn’t give you at least 2 more loads of cum, then he’ll just die.
because… yeah, he just might. caleb can’t lose you ever again. he couldn’t bear it. he’d die for you and he’d be nothing without you.
“cal-caleb!” you cry, tears streaming down your face as your hands press against his rock hard chest. “‘s too deep, caleb. ‘s too much!”
he moans himself, cock twitching uncontrollably. it’s not deep enough for caleb. he needs more, he needs you stuffed full 24/7. he needs you to be his forever.
“i know, baby, i know.” he’s able to say even though the only thing he can hear in his unchaste brain is more, more, more, more. “fuck, i know, but you’ll take it for your caleb, right?”
you can’t. his words and the way his cock pistons in and out of you at the speed of light has your orgasm washing over you out of nowhere. you scream his name– so loud that it leaves your throat raw– as you gush all over his washboard abs, soaking him completely.
caleb malfunctions, cumming with a stupidly loud whine as soon as he realizes you’ve squirted for him.
he doesn’t even give either of you the chance to recuperate before he’s pleading.
“a-again… please, just one more, pips.” he lies. one will never be enough.
xavier likes that his shy girl is quiet in bed — mdni
you were soft-spoken in every sense of the word, and xavier adored that about you. he loved the way you shrank under attention, the way your voice dipped into shy mumbles when nerves got the better of you. he loved how easily you gave yourself away—how warmth bloomed through you at the smallest, most trivial embarrassment, heat he could feel every time you flushed.
but what xavier loved most about you, his shy girl, was how quiet you were even when speared on his cock.
most men would be deterred by this. their ego would take a blow if they heard how quiet you were, but xavier? it made him crazy. made his cock throb and ache. it made him want to ruin you.
because it’s not that you were mute—you made noise, but they weren’t the same moans you’d hear in porn. they were the cutest little squeaks and whines—precious gasps and whispers of his name. tiny pleas that he’s trained his ear to hear since they always come out so breathless and dulled.
it undoes him. your sweet, protective boyfriend—the one that orders for you, the one that never judges you for being so timid, the one that takes you home the second he sees an inkling of overstimulation or discomfort—isn’t so sweet in bed because all he wants… all he needs is to pull those noises out of you. fuck you till you’re reduced to mush, tears and squeals.
it always starts the same—he feels your heat, sees your pupils dilated, senses the restlessness. then he initiates. he’s gentle at first, caressing your face and working his lips into yours like he’s trying to warm you up. his hands cup your tits through the fabric of your shirt, eliciting a tiny gasp for you.
and honestly, the sound alone is enough to turn him into a monster.
a monster that tears at your clothes until you’re both left in nothing but underwear. a monster that pushes you back onto the bed and drinks you in—your chest heaving, your lips swollen and parted. a monster that shreds your underwear without hesitation, savoring your startled whine before murmuring promises of buying you more.
“you okay, angel?” he pants, the question breaking through once the haze lifts just enough for him to worry he’s gone too far.
but you nod, a wobbly smile tugging at your mouth as you whisper, “‘m okay… keep going, please?”
xavier can’t hold himself back, pulling out his cock and tapping it against your hardened clit and watching you jolt underneath him.
“so fuckin’ cute…” he mutters, pressing into you with a hiss. “and so fuckin’ t-tight, god, honey. doesn’t matter how many times i fuck this pretty pussy, you’re always gonna be so, so tight.”
your eyes squeeze shut, brows knitting together as pleasure takes over—making the prettiest face xavier has ever seen, and ever will. your expression says more than your voice ever could, the barely audible whines slipping past your lips as he pushes through the resistance and sinks fully into you.
he bottoms out with a groan, the tip of him brushing your cervix. a sharp, pained gasp tears from your throat as your walls clamp around him, tight and reactive, holding him there like you don’t want to let go.
he waits for your okay—he always does—and when you nod, slightly arching your back off the bed in silent permission, he grunts happily. he pulls out of you slowly, making you feel every inch of him leave your pussy till only a single inch remains and then pushes back into you. faster than his first thrust— harder.
“xavie…” you whimper and it makes him throb. from his head to his dick to his toes, he throbs. his name sounds so precious, so pretty when it falls meekly out of your mouth. he’d have to be ill to be immune to it.
“fuck, angel, you feel so good—so perfect. all for me.” he groans, snapping his hips harder, watching the last of your nervousness melt away. he knows that’s why you’re so quiet—why you’re so shy about being loud. he knows how easily embarrassment creeps in, even when you have no reason to feel it.
but he doesn’t care. you could be silent the whole time and he wouldn’t care.
because your pretty face says it all. your slack jaw, the drool slipping down your face, your eyes crossing beneath knitted brows, they all scream one thing:
it feels so fucking good.
and he knows when you’re close. your walls flutter and spasm around him like crazy and you can’t seem to find a place for your hands. they fall flat on his abdomen, then trail up to his chest, then back at your sides where they fist at the sheets. you get a little noisier—though barely. your breaths turn labored, a cute squeak slipping out with every thrust as you pant, murmuring a ghost of his name between shaky exhales.
and you completely shatter when he urges you on, cooing, “go on ‘n cum f’me, honey. soak my cock like a good girl.”
it’s too much—you can’t ever resist being praised like that. your stomach stirs and static fills your already-fuzzy brain as you clamp around him and cum. your arousal soaks him beautifully, leaving a milky-white ring around the base of his cock.
the cock that fucks you through your orgasm while you whimper his name, softly—gently, like a mantra. like it’s the only word you know and it drives him crazy. it makes his hips stutter, his moans grow louder, a whiny, “baby, ‘m cumming,” spilling past his lips.
then you’re full, cum flooding your pussy and spreading warmth through your body. he collapses on top of you, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck with his length still trapped between your messy, worn walls. he lays a few lazy kisses against your pulse point and his lips spread into a smile against your skin when he feels you gasp.
his lips trail up to your jaw, then your cheek, before his cobalt blue eyes meet yours—soft, adoring. “you always sound so pretty, angel,” he murmurs, voice like a vow, and then he seals the words with a gentle kiss to your lips. ♡
kit says… um hello…. i hope this is good LMAO. only proofread like once and based off this request!
♡︎ synopsis: When exhaustion becomes unbearable, you end things with Xavier - until one cold camping night brings you back into his arms, where old wounds slowly begin to heal beneath the stars.
♡︎ a/n: this is set some time after the Misty Silhouette card with Precious Bonfire mixed in. also, i edited this fic so many times (i actually wrote it in January 2025) I can't even tell if it's good or not. if you notice any errors, pls ignore them.
divider by @/strangergraphics
The evening air is crisp, carrying with it the faint chill of late winter. The sky above is a murky gray, the sign of an approaching rain, but the city streets remain dry for now. You step out of the Hunters Association building, the automatic doors sliding shut behind you.
Your shoulders ache, your legs feel leaden, and your head is a mess of swirling thoughts. The last-minute paperwork you filed had been tedious, but it wasn’t what had drained you. No – that slow, suffocating weight had been building for weeks. And the second you spot Xavier waiting for you just outside, that weight settles even heavier.
He’s standing near the edge of the sidewalk, his tall frame relaxed, silver hair catching the faint glow of the streetlights above. His eyes find yours as you step closer. There’s something about the way he looks at you – steady, expectant – that makes your throat tighten.
You manage a tired smile, one that feels more like an obligation, and it barely reaches your eyes. It’s enough to keep the air between you from growing heavier, though, and Xavier returns the smile with a faint one of his own.
“Hey,” he says, his tone quiet but warm.
“Hi,” you reply softly, brushing past him and starting the walk back to your apartment building. He falls into step beside you easily, his stride matching yours.
For a few moments, the only sounds are the faint hum of passing cars, the muted chatter of pedestrians, and your footsteps. Your hand brushes against his, but when he reaches to lace his fingers with yours, your grip is loose, absent. You don’t pull away, but you don’t hold on either.
You notice Xavier glancing at you, but you don’t meet his gaze.
Now, as the silence stretches between you, he speaks first again. “What do you feel like eating tonight?”
The question feels like it’s demanding more energy than you have to spare. You shrug, keeping your gaze on the sidewalk ahead. “I’m fine with whatever,” you answer, aware that your tone is too flat to be anything but dismissive.
Xavier’s steps falter for the briefest moment before falling back in sync with yours. He doesn’t press, doesn’t ask again.
The two of you continue your walk in silence. It’s not the comfortable quiet you used to share.
The apartment building comes into view.
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the faint crease in his brow, the way his jaw is set just a little tighter than usual. Then your eyes land on the white band-aid on his cheek, and your thoughts drift to last week.
When you reach the building’s door, he pulls it open for you, stepping aside to let you in first. You mutter a quiet, “Thanks,” as you step inside.
The elevator dings as it comes to a stop on your floor, and you step out first as the doors slide open, Xavier trailing just a step behind you.
You’re halfway to your door when a voice calls out, bright and cheerful.
“Good evening! How are you two tonight?”
You look up to see your friendly neighbor Charlie, stepping out of his own apartment, a warm smile lighting up his face. He’s holding what looks like a basket of muffins, the faint, sweet scent of chocolate wafting through the air.
“Hi,” you reply, your voice polite. Xavier nods beside you, his expression neutral. You feel the subtle tension in the way his hand brushes against yours as if testing whether you’ll let him hold it again.
The baker, oblivious to the storm brewing just beneath the surface, steps closer, his tone as friendly as ever. “Hey, I saw this new pastry shop downtown – their éclairs and croissants are apparently amazing. I was thinking of checking it out this weekend. You guys wanna come with me?”
Before you can even open your mouth, Xavier’s voice cuts in.
“We already have plans this weekend.”
Charlie blinks, his smile faltering for just a second. “Oh… okay, no worries,” he says, still trying to sound cheerful. “Maybe another time then. Have a good night!”
He gives a little nod and turns back toward the elevator.
You let out a quiet sigh as Charlie walks away. The polite smile you’d managed for the neighbor fades entirely as you step toward your apartment door. Xavier reaches for your hand again and your body reacts before your mind can stop it – you flinch away, yanking your hand back as if his touch burns, as a sharp, involuntary ‘tsk’ escapes your lips.
Xavier freezes for a split second, his hand hovering awkwardly in the space where yours had been. You catch the subtle flicker of emotion in his eyes – confusion, concern, maybe even hurt – but he doesn’t say anything. He steps back, giving you space as you finally unlock your door and push it open. He follows you quietly.
The second the door clicks shut, the air turns suffocating. You can’t hold it in anymore. You turn to face him and the words spill out before you can stop them.
“Why do you do that?”
Xavier blinks, his brow furrowing slightly. “Do what?”
“That!” you snap. “Cutting off conversations like that. Stepping in like – like you get to decide who I’m allowed to speak to.” Your chest heaves, the words coming faster now. “He was just being friendly, Xavier. And you – you shut him down like he was doing something wrong.”
You can see the way his jaw tightens. “I didn’t mean – ”
“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it. You always do this, Xavier! Every time someone talks to me, every time someone tries to be nice, you act like – like you have to claim me or something.”
He takes a small step closer, his voice soft. “I wasn’t trying to claim you. I just… I didn’t like the way he – ”
“The way he what?” you ask, exasperated. “Asked if I wanted to try some pastries? Invited both of us to a café?”
Xavier lingers at the entrance while you step into the living room, not even bothering to kick off your boots.
He doesn’t speak, but his gaze follows you as you start pacing.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you say finally, your voice trembling.
His brows knit together, confusion flashing in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks.
You stop pacing for a moment, turning to face him. “This!” you snap, gesturing between the two of you. “Do you think I don’t notice it? The way you get moody every time someone gives me the slightest bit of attention? I’ve tried to ignore it, tried to be understanding, but it’s – ” You stop mid-sentence, your breath catching as the words pile up too fast to get out.
Xavier doesn’t move from his spot by the door. His eyes are soft, almost pleading, as he waits for whatever comes next.
“But you know what’s worse?” you say, your voice growing tired. “You know what’s worse? The way you just disappear.”
He stiffens slightly, but he stays silent, letting you speak.
“Last week,” you continue. “You sent me a message saying you were home, and I went up there – because of course I did. I walk in, and there you are, bleeding like it’s no big deal. You just sat there, patching yourself up like it was normal.” Your voice breaks. “You always come back like nothing happened, Xavier! As if I haven’t sat here, wondering if this is the time you don’t come back at all. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is? How much it tears me apart?”
His eyes flicker with something – guilt, maybe, or pain – but he doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t try to explain. He just looks at you, his face pale and drawn.
You pause. The words feel heavy, but they spill out anyway. “I’m tired, Xavier. I’m so tired of waiting, of worrying, of pretending I’m fine every time you come back hurt. I… I can’t be with you anymore.”
He takes a small, instinctive step forward, his hand lifting slightly as if he wants to reach for you but stops himself. His voice drops even lower, almost pleading.
“Don’t say that… please,” he whispers, the words trembling. “I can try – I’ll change. Just… don’t say you can’t be with me.”
For a heartbeat the room feels too small, his quiet desperation hanging in the air. But the exhaustion in your chest is louder than anything else right now. You shake your head, cutting him off before he can say anything more.
“Don’t,” you interrupt, voice cracking. “I just… I need to be alone.”
You feel your eyes sting, and for a moment, you almost regret saying anything.
Xavier’s gaze drops to the floor, his shoulders slumping slightly. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and strained.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he says quietly.
You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I know,” you whisper. “But you have.”
He doesn’t say anything after that. He just stands there for a moment, staring at the ground, before finally turning toward the door.
When he finally opens the door, he pauses for just a moment. He doesn’t look back, but you catch the faintest quiver in his voice as he says, “Goodnight.”
And then he’s gone.
*
For a long moment you simply stand there, frozen, staring at the empty space he had occupied only seconds ago. The apartment feels suddenly vast and hollow.
Your knees give out before you can even think to move, and you sink onto the edge of the sofa. The tears come before you can stop them, hot and stinging, spilling over as you bury your face in your hands. A raw, broken sob tears from somewhere deep inside your chest, leaving you gasping for air that never quite fills your lungs.
His face refuses to leave your mind – those beautiful eyes that had always felt like your sanctuary, now wide with sadness, so quiet and lost. You keep seeing the way he lingered near the door, giving you one last chance to call him back, the faint tremble in his voice when he whispered “Goodnight.”.
I shouldn’t have said any of that, the thought claws at you. Your hands cover your mouth, muffling the small, hiccupping sobs that keep spilling out. You feel like you’ve just pulled the rug from beneath him after encouraging him to stand taller, to let the mask slip, to show you the parts of himself he usually kept hidden. You told him you loved it when he was expressive. You told him you wanted him to stop hiding. And when he finally started doing exactly that, you threw it back in his face.
The guilt wraps around your throat until fresh tears burn hotter and come faster. You clutch a throw pillow tightly against your chest, fingers twisting into the fabric as if the small, physical anchor might somehow keep you from shattering completely.
Beneath the guilt, exhaustion rests like something living, heavy and relentless. You think back to all of it – the nights you lay awake wondering if he would come back, the times you knelt beside him patching wounds he treated like minor inconveniences, the way you had learned to navigate his silences and sudden moods so the peace between you wouldn’t fracture. It had not been just today, or yesterday, or even last week. It had been weeks of bricks stacking one upon another until the weight finally became too much to carry.
You press the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears to stop, but they just keep coming. I had to say it, you tell yourself, your voice trembling inside your mind. I had to. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.
Yet even as you cling to that truth, the guilt refuses to loosen its grip. Because you know, deep down, that he had never wanted to hurt you. He simply doesn’t know any other way to exist – this gentle, distant, protective man who disappears into the night and returns as though the world outside never touched him.
Your gaze drifts toward the door, heart pounding with a sudden, desperate urge to run after him – to climb the stairs, knock until he opens, and throw yourself into his arms, saying that you didn’t mean any of it, that you’re sorry, that you’ll find another way.
Instead, you sink deeper into the sofa, wrapping your arms tightly around the pillow as fresh tears stream down your cheeks.
I can’t, you think. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending I’m fine, just to make him feel better.
Your shoulders shake as you let out a trembling breath.
Eventually, your tears slow, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. The apartment feels unbearably quiet now – or maybe it isn’t quiet at all. All you can hear is the high, persistent ringing in your ears, a sharp echo left behind your own sobbing. It drowns out everything else, turning the familiar space around you into something distant and muffled, as though the world has been wrapped in thick cotton.
You sit there, curled up on the sofa, staring at the door as if it might open again, as if he might come back.
But he doesn’t.
And you don’t go to him.
*
The days that followed blurred together like a half-remembered dream, fleeting and colorless – though you did everything you could to avoid dreaming at all.
Sleep became something you resisted.
You stayed awake long past the point of exhaustion, the harsh glow of your PC the only light in the apartment as hours slipped slowly into morning. You played games you had never touched before – ones he had never recommended, never sat beside you to play – letting the unfamiliar worlds occupy your mind just enough to keep it from drifting somewhere else.
When that was too exhausting, you read.
Not the books he had once suggested, not the ones still sitting half-finished on your shelf with his bookmarks resting like quiet memories tucked between their pages.
Different stories. Different voices. Anything that didn’t carry his presence on the pages.
Anything that didn’t sound like him.
By the time sleep finally claimed you, it was shallow and brief, more like passing out than resting. You woke disoriented, your body heavy but your mind already reaching for the next distraction before anything else could settle in.
You learned quickly that stillness was the enemy.
So you kept moving.
Missions became easier than staying home. You volunteered more often, took assignments without hesitation, accepted partners without preference. Anyone was fine.
As long as it wasn’t him.
Sometimes, returning to headquarters, you would catch sight of him in the distance – silver hair catching the light, posture calm, composed.
You always looked away first.
Then one morning, the elevator doors slid open.
And there he was.
Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your pulse jumping as you stepped inside, forcing your expression into something neutral, polite.
“Morning,” you said.
“Good morning,” he responded softly.
Nothing more.
You fixed your gaze on the panel of buttons, refusing to look at him, but you could feel it – the quiet, familiar presence beside you, the warmth you used to lean into without thinking.
Now it felt like something you had to endure.
The ride stretched endlessly.
When the doors finally opened, you stepped out too quickly.
“See you around,” you mumbled.
You didn’t wait for his reply.
*
In the apartment upstairs, Xavier had sat on the balcony night after night, staring at your contact on his phone. Countless times his thumb had hovered over the call button, needing to hear your voice, to ask if you were all right, to tell you how much he hated the distance between you.
But he never pressed it. His gaze would drift to the stars, eyes soft with regret.
Later, when sleep finally claimed him, he would slip into dreams where the two of you were together again – soft mornings wrapped in warm blankets, quiet walks beneath starlit skies, your laughter that always felt like sunlight. In those dreams he could hold you without fear, could speak every unsaid word that lived in his chest. The world felt gentle there, forgiving.
Yet the dreams were never fully his to control. Sometimes they would drift and darken, pulling him into endless, shifting streets. People passed him in blurred crowds, their faces indistinct. When he looked down at his own arms, his clothes would change – different fabrics, different eras, different names he had worn and discarded like old skins.
And then, among the faceless strangers, he would see you.
You would be walking just ahead, your silhouette clear and achingly familiar against the haze. His heart would leap with desperate hope, and he would start running – calling your name, reaching out, trying to close the distance that always felt both impossibly small and vast. His fingers would brush your hand, the warmth of your skin so close he could almost feel it…But you would dissolve into blur before he could truly reach you, slipping away like mist through his hands, leaving only the echo of your distant, hurt eyes staring back at him.
He would wake with a start, throat tightening as the hollow ache in his chest grew familiar.
*
Dawn has only just begun to warm the parking lot with its pale, golden light as you stand by the bus doors, tablet in hand. The cool breeze of early spring feels sharper than usual against your skin, and you draw your jacket closer, trying to focus on the list in front of you. The chatter of your group fills the lot – loud and scattered as everyone lugs their gear toward the bus.
You glance up occasionally, ticking off names as people climb aboard. Tara passes by with a bright grin, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “All set, Captain?” she teases.
You roll your eyes, but a faint smile tugs at your lips. “Just making sure no one gets left behind,” you reply, your tone distracted as your gaze sweeps the lot.
The last few stragglers pile on, and you’re about to follow when you hear footsteps behind you. Turning, you see him – Xavier.
He’s dressed in his usual light-colored outfit, a single bag slung over his shoulder, silver hair catching the morning light like a halo, his eyes scanning the bus before landing on you.
Why is he here?
The message from last week flashes through your mind. You had asked if he was coming on the camping trip, and he had simply replied, I’ll be there when I wake up. You had assumed it was his polite way of declining.
But now he’s here, looking a little sleepy. “Sorry for showing up last minute.” he says, voice still raspy.
You blink, mind scrambling to catch up, and nod quickly. “Yeah… it’s fine. Come on.”
He follows you onto the bus. As you climb the steps, a fresh wave of worry hits you. You hadn’t planned for him – hadn’t brought extra food, an extra sleeping bag, anything. Once you’re both seated and he settles into the only empty spot – right beside you – you turn toward him.
“Xavier… I didn’t think you were coming. I don’t know if I brought enough for you.”
He glances at you, his gaze softening just slightly. “Don’t worry about me,” he says simply. “I’ll adjust.”
“But – ”
“I mean it,” he interrupts gently. “I’ll be fine.”
You study him for a moment, searching his steady expression, then sigh and lean back in your seat. “Okay,” you murmur, though the worry still lingers.
The bus jolts as it pulls out of the lot, the hum of the engine blending with the chatter around you. You sit stiffly, tablet balanced on your lap, staring out the window while acutely aware of Xavier sitting beside you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice him shifting. He reaches into a small paper bag in his lap, pulls out a golden hashbrown, and then offers a second one to you. “Want one?”
You blink in surprise before reaching out to take it. “Thanks,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended.
You take a bite of the warm hashbrown, letting its comforting taste settle over you.
The silence that follows feels a little easier to sit with.
*
The cool night air bites at your cheeks as you step out of the bathroom, a thin trail of steam from the shower trailing behind you. The campsite has grown quiet, the day’s chatter faded into hushed conversations, low laughter, and the rustling of sleeping bags inside the tents. You pull your jacket tighter as you walk towards your tent, your mind drifting back over how the day had passed.
You kept yourself busy – assigning tasks, checking supplies, making sure everything ran smoothly – and yet you couldn’t ignore how Xavier’s presence had lingered like a shadow. You hadn’t avoided him, exactly, but you hadn’t sought him out either. Still, he was always there: offering you a skewer at lunch, reminding you to slow down and take a breather, silently hoisting supplies you’d been struggling with, tending the fire pits without a word.
Always there when it mattered, even when you thought his attention was somewhere else.
Now, as you make your way toward your tent, your gaze drifts instinctively toward one of the still-burning fire pits.
He’s sitting alone near the edge of the fire, book open on his knee, firelight dancing across his soft features. He looks relaxed, peaceful.
Taking a slow breath, you walk closer, boots crunching softly on the frosty grass. He glances up, his eyes meeting yours in the flickering light.
“Hey,” you say softly, arms crossed against the chill.
“Hey,” he replies.
You shift your weight, breath visible in the cold air, then speak before you can overthink it.
“I was wondering… if you wanted to sleep in my tent tonight,” you ask, your heart picking up the pace. “You didn’t bring any equipment, and it’s going to get colder later.”
He hesitates, gaze searching yours before he shakes his head. “It’s no trouble. Nero offered to share his tent.”
You let out a small breath, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Do you really want to share a tent with Nero?”
A faint, low chuckle escapes him. “Not really,” he admits.
“Well, then.” Your smile softens as you point toward the tent in the more secluded spot. “That one’s mine. Come by whenever you’re ready.”
He studies you for a moment longer, expression unreadable, then gives a small nod. “Alright.”
You nod back, heart still racing as you turn to leave, the quiet warmth of his chuckle still lingering in your ears.
*
The tent is lit by a lantern in one corner, bathing the small space in soft orange light. Outside, the night air is sharp with cold, but inside the gentle hum of the heating mat wraps around you like a comforting cocoon. You sit cross-legged near the edge of the sleeping bag, legs tucked under the oversized fabric, the familiar scent of your laundry softener clinging to your pajamas.
Beside you, Bunbun sits nestled in a little nest of your hoodie and spare clothes. With Xavier about to join you – the thought sends a fresh wave of nerves rippling through your chest – you’re not sure the sleeping bag will have space for both him and your round, well-loved companion.
The faint crunch of footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. Your heart skips hard as the tent zipper slides open.
Xavier ducks slightly to enter, bringing a rush of cold night air with him, but he quickly zips the tent back up. He shrugs off his jacket, and the sight beneath it gives you butterflies – simple gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that clings softly to his chest and shoulders, his collarbone just visible at the neckline.
He sets the jacket near the entrance, then turns toward you. His eyes flicker briefly to Bunbun nestled in the hoodie, and his expression softens.
“It looks cozy,” he says quietly.
You glance down at the plushie, cheeks warming, as you simply nod in response.
The silence stretches for a beat too long, and it seems both of you are suddenly hyper-aware of how you haven’t been this close in a long time.
He shifts his weight, glancing at the sleeping bag. “You can… take the bag,” he offers.
You shake your head quickly, gesturing beside you. “It’s fine. It’s meant for two. Just… get in.”
He hesitates for a moment, then nods. After turning off the lantern in the corner, he slips into the sleeping bag next to you. The warmth of his body is immediate, radiating through the fabric even though you’re both holding yourselves stiff and awkward, trying not to let any part of you touch more than necessary. Your legs brush anyway, sending a small spark through your chest.
You lie there with your hands folded tightly over your stomach, eyes fixed on the mesh ceiling while the dim light from outside lanterns casts shifting shadows across the tent walls.
You let out a shaky breath.
“Goodnight,” you mumble, turning your back to him.
There’s a brief pause before he answers. “Goodnight.”
The tent falls quiet, save for the occasional whisper of fabric as you move, trying to settle. You close your eyes, willing sleep to come, but your mind refuses to quiet. Every small sound, every subtle shift of his body beside you keeps pulling you back to the surface.
You wonder if he has already drifted off – he always could, no matter the time or place. Your fingers curl into the fabric of the sleeping bag, nails digging in as you fight the overwhelming urge to turn toward him. You want so badly to close the distance between you, to reach for the comfort of his arms the way you used to, to feel them wrap around you without hesitation, warm and steady and safe. You miss the way his breathing would slow against your ear, the quiet strength that always seemed to soothe every ache inside you.
You roll onto your back again, as the same thoughts circle endlessly in your mind – Does he miss me as much as I miss him? Does he even want to be here, or is he only enduring this out of convenience?
The seconds stretch on, heavy and endless. Just as you begin to wonder whether this restless ache will keep you awake until dawn, you hear the soft rustle of fabric as Xavier moves beside you.
He turns onto his other side, until the soft brush of his breath grazes your cheek. For a moment you lie perfectly still, heart hammering, fighting the urge to look at him.
Then his voice breaks the silence, low and gentle.
“Can’t sleep?”
The sound of his voice sends a gentle shiver down your spine. You had been so certain he had already fallen asleep.
You nod, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.
The silence stretches again, as though he’s patiently waiting for more. Then his voice comes once more, quieter this time.
“Is something bothering you?”
You shake your head, hoping the small motion will be enough, but you can still feel his gaze resting on you.
Another pause lingers in the dark. When he speaks again, you can hear the concern in his voice.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks. “Am I imposing after all?”
The question hits like a sharp snap in your chest. It draws your gaze to him before you can stop yourself.
Through the mesh ceiling, the night sky spills faint silver light across his face, turning his features soft and dreamlike in the darkness. His eyes are clear and unwavering, searching yours.
He looks unsure, almost vulnerable in the gentle starlight.
“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling just a little. “I don’t want you to leave.”
You don’t look away.
How long has it been since you truly let yourself look at him?
“I miss you,” the confession slips from your lips, barely more than a breath.
A subtle flicker of surprise crosses his face, eyes widening just slightly.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words now spilling out. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away, Xavier… I just didn’t know how to handle everything anymore. And after all the things I said that day, I wasn’t sure you’d even want to hear from me again.”
Tears well up and slip down your cheeks in warm trails. You don’t try to stop them.
Before you can say anything more, he moves. His hand lifts, fingers brushing your face with feather-light care. His thumb catches a tear as it slides across the bridge of your nose, then another.
“I missed you too,” he says quietly. “Every single day.” His thumb lingers against your cheek.
“I wanted to reach out,” he continues. “But I didn’t know if you wanted me to. I thought… maybe you were better off without me.”
More tears spill as you shake your head, voice trembling. “No… I wasn’t. I’m not.”
His hand shifts, cupping your cheek fully now, palm warm against your skin.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For disappearing when you needed me to stay. For making you wait and worry every time I left, without ever explaining why.”
Another tear slides down and he catches it.
“And I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting… for getting possessive when someone talks to you. It’s not because I don’t trust you. It’s because I’m scared… scared that someone better, steadier, might come along and you’ll realize you deserve more than what I can give you right now.”
He pauses, breath shaky. “I can’t make the disappearances stop completely,” he continues. “But I’ll do everything I can to change how I handle them. I’ll tell you when I have to go. I’ll come back faster. I’ll stop leaving you to wonder if this time I won’t return. I’ll make it up to you, every single time – if you’ll let me try.” His eyes search yours. “Please… let me try.”
Under the stars, his eyes look so beautiful. They were so distant and hard to read when you first met him, but now, they look at you with so much hope and longing, not hiding anything. You want to say something, but the words catch in your throat for a second – the old exhaustion and fear still whispering that nothing might really change.
His thumb brushes your cheek, his breath catching just slightly. “Please,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to – I can’t lose you again.”
The desperation in his voice makes your chest ache.
But the flicker of hope that’s been resting in your heart begins to glow brighter.
Your hand rises to meet his. You gently move it away from your face, your fingers brushing his palm before curling around it, interlacing tightly. You lift it to your lips and press a soft, lingering kiss to the back of it.
For a moment, you just hold it there, lingering in the warmth of his skin.
When you lift your gaze to his again, your voice is barely more than a whisper.
“Hold me… please.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move, as if even now he’s waiting for the smallest sign that you might pull away.
You don’t.
His fingers tighten around yours, and then he draws you in, until there’s no space left between you. Your breath falters as your body follows without resistance, leaning into him as your head settles against his chest, finding its place there as if it had never been lost. Your eyes flutter closed as you listen to his heartbeat, the rhythm steadying as minutes pass.
He holds you like that for a while, his arms tightening around you just a little, the pressure easing the tension from the day, little by little.
You lift your head slightly from his chest, and your gaze meets his. His midnight-blue eyes are impossibly soft, the warmth in them making your heart stutter.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
You’re close enough to feel his breath, warm against your lips, close enough that it would take nothing at all to close the distance – and still, he doesn’t move. His gaze flickers briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes.
Slowly, you lean forward – and he mirrors your movement, your lips brushing against his in the faintest, most featherlight kiss.
You sigh softly against his lips. His mouth is so warm, so familiar, and yet it feels new after all this time. Your fingers trail upward, slipping into the soft strands of his hair. He lets out the faintest sound – a low, almost imperceptible hum of approval that vibrates against your lips. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer, as he savors you.
Time seems to slow inside the tent. The only sounds are your mingled breaths and the distant crackle of the dying campfire outside.
Gradually the kiss deepens. His tongue brushes tenderly against your bottom lip in a silent question. You part for him, and the moment his tongue meets yours in a slow, intimate dance, warmth blooms low in your belly.
Your hands clutch at his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. You can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm, the way his breathing has grown heavier, matching your own.
His hand slides up your back to cradle the back of your head as he eases you onto your back. You go willingly, heart racing, instinctively making space for him. The weight of him is perfect – warm, solid, grounding – pressing you into the sleeping bag. When his hips finally settle fully against yours, you feel it – the hard, unmistakable line of his arousal, hot and insistent even through the layers of fabric.
He begins to move, careful and testing, rolling his hips in the smallest, slowest grind. The hard line of his arousal drags along your core through the fabric, creating a maddening friction that makes your breath hitch.
He pauses again, breathing heavily, waiting to see if you’ll pull away. Instead, you tighten your fingers in his hair and instinctively lift your hips to meet him.
He groans softly and continues, rolling his hips in languid, gentle waves. Each slow drag presses him perfectly against your most sensitive spot, the layers of clothing teasing and making the sensations sweeter.
You can’t stay still. Your own hips begin to move, timid at first, then gradually finding his rhythm – rocking up to chase that delicious pressure. Soft, breathy whimpers slip from your lips into his mouth with every shared grind.
The quiet rustle of fabric and the sleeping bag shifting beneath you suddenly feels far too loud in the stillness of the night. Worry threads through the haze of pleasure. Your movements falter, hips stuttering to a stop.
Xavier notices instantly. He stills completely, his breath brushing hot against your cheek.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers, concern threading through his voice.
You swallow, cheeks burning. “I… I’m worried we’re making too much noise,” you murmur, barely audible. “The others…”
He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he nuzzles slowly into the curve of your neck, pressing tender kisses along your skin as his hips begin to move again – slower this time. Every roll sends sparks radiating through your core, making your toes curl.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your neck. “They’re probably already asleep. No one will hear us…” He kisses just below your ear, voice dropping even lower. “Let me feel you like this… please.”
You don’t argue. You can’t. The combination of his gentle voice, the teasing roll of his hips, and the sheer relief of finally having him close again leaves you dizzy. Pleasure curls tighter and tighter in your belly with every slow glide.
His hand slides down to grip your hip, guiding your movements so the thick ridge of his cock presses perfectly against your clit. The added pressure pulls a trembling moan from your throat, but it only heightens the aching emptiness inside you. The layers of fabric that separate you start to feel like torture – delicious, but maddening. You need more. You need his skin, his warmth, the feeling of him truly filling you.
You break the kiss with a trembling breath, forehead resting against his. Your hands slide down his back, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging lightly.
“Xavier…” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I need you… all of you.”
His breath stutters against your lips. He searches your eyes in the faint starlight.
Then, as silently as possible, he helps you. The sleeping bag zipper rasps as he tugs it open just enough to give you room. You both move together – you pushing your pajama pants and panties down your hips, him taking off his shirt and shoving his sweatpants low enough to free himself. The cool night air brushes your bare skin for only a moment before his warmth returns, the thick, hot length of his cock now pressing directly against your slick, aching folds.
You let out a soft, broken gasp at the feeling. Instinctively you spread your legs wider, tilting your hips up as your hands clutch at his shoulders.
He groans quietly, forehead dropping to yours. “Are you sure?” he whispers.
You nod, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him closer. “Yes,” you breathe against his mouth. “Please… I need to feel you inside me.”
He doesn’t push inside right away. Instead, he wraps one hand around the base of his cock and slowly rubs the thick, heated length between your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness. The sensation is exquisite – the smooth, heavy glide of him sliding up and down, catching against your swollen clit with every pass, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core.
Only when you whisper an impatient ‘Xavier’ does he finally position himself. He eases in with one slow, careful thrust – then another – sinking deeper until he’s buried to the hilt.
The stretch is overwhelming in the most perfect way – that familiar fullness, the way your body opens for him like it was made for him.
For a long moment he stays completely still. His breath comes shaky and uneven against your lips. You can feel the subtle tension in his body, the way his muscles tremble.
“...Honey,” he whispers, voice low and strained, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel… so good. I’m already so close.”
Your fingers graze the tense muscles of his shoulders. “It’s okay,” you breathe, fighting the urge to move your hips, “We can just stay like this.”
His eyes flutter open, searching yours. One of his hands gently cups your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your skin as he tries to steady himself. The thick length of his cock twitches inside you, and he lets out a quiet, breathy groan.
Then he begins to move – slow, deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls in long strokes. A soft, needy moan escapes your lips at the first real thrust. Your hands clutch tighter at his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm, defined muscle beneath warm skin as his body moves over yours. You can feel every shift and flex of those muscles under your palms – strong, yet trembling.
He keeps his rhythm steady and quiet, mindful of the thin tent walls, but his eyes stay locked on yours, soft and reverent in the faint starlight.
A particularly deep thrust nudges that sensitive spot inside you and a louder moan escapes before you can stop it. Xavier immediately leans down, capturing your mouth in a deep, muffling kiss, swallowing the sound as his hips continue their slow, steady pace.
He pulls back just enough to speak, lips brushing yours with every word.
“Are you okay, honey?” he murmurs. “Does this feel good? Tell me if it’s too much… if you’re too warm in here with me.”
You can only nod frantically, fingers tightening in his hair.
He angles his hips slightly, thrusting deeper, the head of his cock brushing that sensitive spot again and again, while his pelvis rubs against your clit with each movement, the dual sensation devastating. A broken whimper escapes you despite your best efforts. He kisses you again, but you feel his lips curve into a soft, tender smile against yours.
You feel the orgasm approaching, quick and inevitable with every thrust, your walls fluttering around him.
Breathlessly, you manage to whisper against his lips, “Just like that… Xavier, please… I’m so close.”
He lets out a soft, shaky groan, and his arms tighten around you, cradling you even closer as he keeps that exact rhythm.
“That’s it, darling,” he murmurs. “Let go for me.”
You hold onto him – arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and back, fingers digging into his skin, your face buried in the crook of his neck. His scent surrounds you, familiar and comforting, while his own arms cradle you securely, one hand splayed across your back and the other gently supporting the back of your head. The sleeping bag rustles softly with every movement, the confined space forcing you even closer, skin sliding against skin.
The pleasure builds higher and higher, every graze of his cock against that perfect spot and every press of his pelvis against your clit pushing you closer to the edge. Your body trembles in his arms, thighs tightening around his hips as the wave finally hits.
With a shudder that runs through you, you come undone around him. A broken moan escapes against his neck, muffled into his skin as your walls clench rhythmically around his cock, pulsing with wave after wave. Your fingers clutch desperately at his back, your whole body arching into him as the orgasm washes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in his embrace.
Xavier holds you through it, his movements slowing but never stopping – gentle, soothing rolls of his hips that draw out every last sparkling aftershock, coaxing the pleasure to linger as long as possible.
He whispers soft, reverent praises against your ear. “That’s it… so beautiful… I’ve got you, princess. I’m right here.”
His words tug at something in you as the high of your orgasm starts to fade. The tenderness of his touch, his pulse against your cheek, the sheer relief of having him close again – it all crashes over you at once. Your eyes grow hot and misty, tears slipping silently down your cheeks before you can stop them.
Xavier notices almost immediately. He stills his hips, then gently eases back just enough to tilt your chin up with careful fingers, his eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes away the tears.
“Hey… are you okay?” he asks, a flicker of worry crossing his face. “Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head quickly, a watery smile breaking through as more tears spill over. Your fingers thread into his hair as you say softly, “No, I’m just… I’m just so happy you’re here. I never want to lose you again.”
For a heartbeat he doesn’t move at all, thumb still catching fresh tears.
Then, he whispers your name.
“You’ll never lose me,” he says quietly, forehead pressing to yours. “I’m yours… I’ve always been yours. You’re my everything.”
He swallows hard, hips giving the tiniest, involuntary twitch inside you. You can feel him throbbing, every muscle in his body taut with restraint.
“I’m… I’m so close,” he admits, sounding almost shy. “But I need to know you’re really okay first. Tell me you’re with me… tell me this is what you want.”
You nod, fingers threading deeper into his hair, pulling him closer until your lips brush his. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m more than okay. I want you… Please don’t stop.”
A relieved, broken exhale leaves his lips. Then he starts moving again, chasing his own release.
But even as the pleasure builds for him, he’s careful. When his rhythm falters and his breath turns ragged, when you feel him pulse inside you, he suddenly stills again, hips flush against yours.
“I… I have to pull out,” he murmurs, voice strained. “The sleeping bag… it’ll be uncomfortable for you later. I don’t want that.”
He presses one last lingering kiss to your lips, then – with a moment of hesitation – withdraws. He shifts to the side just enough to free one arm, then reaches down between you. His hand wraps around his slick, throbbing length, stroking himself quickly, desperately, while his other hand holds the back of your neck.
“Look at me… please,” he breathes. “I want to see your face when I – ”
You look up at him, cupping his cheek as you hold his gaze.
With a low, choked moan he comes, hot pulses spilling over your stomach and the sleeping bag beneath you. His whole body trembles against yours, hips jerking into his fist as he rides out the release, never once looking away from your face.
When the last shudder leaves him, he exhales a long, shaky breath and immediately pulls you back into his arms. The mess sticks to both of you, but you don’t care.
He buries his face in your neck, holding you so tightly it almost steals your breath. “Thank you for letting me come back to you.”
You wrap your arms around him just as tightly, tears slipping silently down your cheeks again – happy ones – as you press kisses into his hair.
Xavier holds you close for a long moment, his arms wrapped securely around you as if he still can’t quite believe you’re really here. His breathing slows down against your hair, and you feel the last tremors of his release gradually fade as he relaxes into you.
He moves a little so he’s facing you again. He peppers your face with the softest kisses: one to your forehead, one to the corner of your eye where tears had slipped, one to the tip of your nose, then another to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Each gentle press of his lips makes you smile, a small, breathless laugh escaping you as warmth blooms in your chest.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and shining in the faint starlight. When he shifts slightly to adjust against you, his gaze drifts past you to a corner of the tent. A tiny huff of laughter escapes him.
“Uh-oh,” he murmurs, voice light and playful. “Bunbun saw everything.”
You follow his gaze to where your plushie sits nestled in its little hoodie nest, ears peeking out innocently. A soft laugh bubbles up from your chest.
“Let’s pretend it’s sleeping,” you whisper back, still smiling as you nuzzle closer into his neck.
He chuckles quietly then reaches for the small pack of wipes you’d tucked near the edge of the sleeping bag. He cleans you first – careful strokes over your stomach and between your thighs – before wiping himself. The whole time he keeps one arm around you, as if unwilling to break contact even for a second.
Once you’re both clean and dressed, he zips the sleeping bag back up around you, cocooning you together in the shared warmth. You settle against his chest, head resting right over his heart, listening to the steady rhythm beneath your ear, while his fingers trace slow, soothing patterns along your back.
As you lie there, wrapped in his arms, a faint, flickering light catches your eye. You blink, lifting your head just enough to glance around the dimly lit tent, and that’s when you see them – tiny, glowing specks of light drifting through the air like fireflies, dancing gently around the two of you.
You don’t say anything. You simply nestle closer, pressing your cheek to his chest as the glowing lights surround you both like tiny stars. You smile softly as his arms tighten just slightly around you.
And for the first time in a while, you let sleep take you, knowing you’ll find him in your dreams.
the quiet darkness of the bedroom is perfectly still, lit only by the silvery moonlight filteringg in through the window. you’re sitting on the edge of the mattress, finally letting out a sigh, a little tired after attending the hunter’s association annual banquet.
xavier is standing right in front of you. he’s already unbuttoned the collar of his white dress shirt and rolled the sleeves upto his elbows, looking breathtakingly handsome in the dim lighting. before you can say anything, xavier slowly drops to his knees onto the rug right between your feet.
“xavier?” you whisper, blinking down at him. “what are you doing?”
he dosen’t answer with words, instead, his long pale fingers reach out and gently wrap around your ankle, his palm warm against your skin. xavier slowly lifts your foot, his thumb brushing over the strap of your heel. with a slow careful movement, he unbuckles the strap and slides the heel off, setting it on the floor. he does the same thing to your other foot, freeing you from the right pain of your rather uncomfortable heels.
but he dosen’t stand up right away.
xavier stays kneeling on the floor, looking at you through his messy bangs. his clear blue eyes are now hazy and full of intense affection. he holds you bare ankle in his large hand, his thumb tracing a slow heavy circle on the bone.
“does it hurt?” he asks quietly, his voice deep and soft. “you were standing in those for three hours.”
“a little,” you admit, you heart suddenly doing a happy flip. “but it’s better now.”
“good,” xavier whispers with a small smile.
then he leans forward and presses a soft, firm and warm kiss to the inside of your bare ankle. your breath catches completely. a sharp yet sweet shiver shoots up your leg. his soft and tousled hair brushes ticklishly against your skin, warm breath fanning over it.
“xavier....” you gasp out, face burning hot. “what was that for?”
“just because,” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with cozy drowsiness. “you looked very pretty tonight.”
you both stand up, with his massive frame looming over your until your back presses against the solid, cold door. he dosen’t drop his gaze. his warm hands slide around to your back, his slender fingers easily finding the metal zipper of your gown.
“you were too far away from me the whole time,” xavier whispers, his breathing slow and steady. “everyone kept talking to you.”
“i was standing right next to you,” you laugh quietly, putting your hands on his broad shoulders. “you wouldn’t let go of my hand.”
“still too far,” he insists softly. with a slow steady pull, he slides the zipper down. the fabric of your dress parts easily,and the cool air of the room hits your bare skin, instantly replaced by the heat of his palms resting flat against your waist.
“xavier...” you whisper in the dark. “the dress..”
“mhm?” he breathes, leaning down until his nose brushes your jawline. his lips graze the soft skin of your ear, his thumbs rubbing your sides. “the formal clothes are uncomfortable anyway. don’t you want to take them off?”
“yes, but—”
“shh, no more talking,” he says smoothly voice dropping to a soft, cozy register that makes your knees completely weak. he leans in closer, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing the seam of your lips.
“let’s take them off.....and stay right here in the dark.”
there’s a lull in time in the mornings for xavier. the moments where he wakes up before you, before the day begins as the sunlight bleeds through the curtains, the first birds beginning to chirp and cars beginning to drive.
he feels you before he sees you, eyes still closed as he squeezes his arms around your figure, making sure you were still in his embrace. your warmth makes his lips tug upwards ever so slightly, a tiny breath of satisfaction leaving his nose. he listens to your soft snores, your even breathing and the softest noises you make in your sleep.
when he opens his eyes he feels his stomach flip, the way it always does when he sees you. the curve of your lips, your messy hair, the twitch in your nose, your furrowed brows.
so beautiful, he thinks, he fights the urge to trace your features with his finger, not wanting to disturb your peace. xavier watches you for a minute or two, memorizing everything about you like he’s done every morning since the two of you began dating. he knows your every mole, every freckle, acne scar, stretch mark. he knows it all, and loves it more and more with every passing second.
you stir slightly, flipping on your side and burying your head into his chest, nose now squishes against his pec as you fall back into a deep sleep. xavier smiles, grateful you can’t hear how his heart pounds in his chest even after all these years.
xavier watches you for a while longer, loving the way the sunlight caught your hair, finally giving in and brushing a strand behind your ear. he smiles widely when you unconsciously lean into his touch, even asleep you still gravitate towards him.
when you finally wake up, xavier closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep. he can picture the triumphant smile on your face, the way your sleepy eyes slowly fill with life and love as you come-to.
“you still sleeping?” you whisper, voice slightly raspy. xavier stirs, fighting back a smile as he flutters his eyes open, feigning exhaustion.
“g’morning starlight,” he mumbles, half his face still squished against the pillow.
“i woke up before you today,” you grin, placing a kiss to his cheek before settling back into his arms, “so you have to make me breakfast.”
“you did,” he hums out, closing his eyes again as he scoots even closer to you, your legs intertwining with his. “what do you want for breakfast today?”
he has your mannerisms and facial expressions etched into his mind and heart, knowing the thoughtful pout you had on your lips. one eye opens slightly, the exact expression on your face, he smiles.
when you finally give your reply with a smile xavier hums in approval, placing a kiss to your forehead before snuggling with you for a moment longer. he lets the moment settle into his body.
xavier loves mornings.
a/n: small soft xavier drabble :3 I didn’t wanna study for histo so i did this instead :P i hope u guys liked it !!
summary: your gentle husband seeks you out, stoicism giving way to passion after you are approached with obvious intent by another.
★pairing: knight!husband!xavier x queen!reader
★wc: 3.3k
★content: arranged marriage au. jealous!xavier. smut, p in v, exhibitionism (he wants you to be heard, and you are), possessiveness, praise kink. bit of mild angst & comfort at the end. follow-up to wonderstruck but can be read standalone.
★a/n: I MISSED THEM RAAAHHHH!! I was looking at my notes for a part 2 and it's hard to really find something for a big follow-up to equal the first fic, but I did find bits I wrote of *gestures at fic* this smutty stuff here. I figured I'd just do a little standalone in the universe, because why not!!
★xavier masterlist
Lavender's sweet fragrance permeates the air as you rub the perfumed bath oils into your tense muscles. With a heavy sigh, you sink further into the water, until only your face was not submerged.
Staring up at the extravagant ceiling, you reflect on the long night that had brought you to some much needed relaxation.
Half a season has passed since the royal wedding, and tonight marked the first social event you had orchestrated since taking your place on the throne. A masquerade, you had insisted, and you bite back a smile at the memory of serene blue eyes by your side.
Your knightly husband hardly left you for a moment during the ceaseless politicking and socializing of the ball.
You were not unaware of the whispers throughout court of how he would fare. Not to mention how the nobles suspected he would look without the armor he had never taken off (a hidden sight only you were allowed in those breathless, stolen nights and soft mornings spent together in your royal chambers).
Would he be brutal? their gossip followed at your heels. Surly? Unfit for the intricacies of being prince consort?
You had known, since that fateful night in the garden just before your wedding, that your husband was a gentle soul. His presence had long since grown from a nuisance during your engagement period to a comfort now.
But the ease with which he took his place beside you tonight caught even you by mild surprise.
He circumvented any trap of social faux pas thrown his way, with precision that felt almost practiced. Often quiet, but offering an occasional thoughtful remark that would gather hums of appreciation, looks of approval cast over his pristine posture, his unassuming but steady presence.
And, gods, Xavier had been so handsome tonight, donning his golden mask and finely tailored black suit. Seeing him without his armor in the grandiose candlelit ballroom—the parts of his soft face visible from under the mask, the long silver hair tied back with a black ribbon—brought an unmentionable thrill through you.
The warmth of his palm through his glove whenever he placed his hand over yours, resting on his strong arm, had heat simmering up your spine. You were not too proud to admit it pleasantly warmed your stomach, making known the emptiness between your legs under the layers and layers of your gown's fabric.
And you were very, very proud.
Everything had been going all but perfectly. And then—
You groan, remembering vividly the only instance you had been separated from your husband.
How quickly had it been capitalized on by lurking parties. Of course, you could handle the errant proposition with polite disinterest, easing away from any smitten nobles without outright destroying their reputation.
But your beautiful knight, on the other hand…
The prince from a neighboring kingdom that tried to steal a second dance with you had not been a true issue. He was merely a nuisance, as he was bolder than any of the rest that night.
"I am sure you are aware I am married, Your Highness," you said airily as the orchestra struck up another song. You were speaking quite candidly, certainly, but it was gentle enough of a nudge away from the unwelcome territory he was trying to venture into.
"And I am sure you are aware a queen need not look only to her husband for company." The prince tried to lower his voice, a smile growing across his face, lips pursing and—is he trying to smolder?
Oh, good gods.
Words were already springing to mind to ease your way out of this. If he wanted embarrassment, you could deliver it subtly enough without outright increasing tensions with his kingdom.
Then a palm met the small of your back. Long fingers spread along your spine, and you could imagine the ridges of each callus beneath the glove from touch alone. Warm, familiar.
Then they press, gentle but firm, into your waist. Knowing. Claiming.
"If you would remove your hands from my wife," Xavier said slowly, a dark promise of violence curling through his careful, gentle voice, "then you may keep them."
You groan again. Sucking in a breath to hold, you slip beneath the bath water.
Oh, your sweet husband. Even in the time that has passed since he was only a stranger to you, there was so much of him that was still a mystery. Who could have known there was a jealous streak hidden beneath all that shining armor and gentle exterior?
Xavier had danced with you for the rest of the night, and you were still rehearsing ways to prevent war with another kingdom in your mind.
A knock sounds on your doors, though muffled underwater, and you surface with a soft gasp.
"Who calls for the queen at this hour?" you command, wiping drops of water from your eyelashes, even as the answer you hope for has your heart racing in your chest.
A moment of silence follows.
"It is your husband, Your Majesty," comes the reply you were expecting. The words sound soft as ever in his voice, though hardened at the edges in a way you cannot name.
"You may enter."
Only when you hear the doors click shut behind him do you lift your hand, waving around the edge of the partition that hides your bathing area from sight of the rest of the room.
"I am indecent," you announce, your smile evident in your voice, droplets of water dripping from your fingertips onto the pristine floor. "I do hope you do not mind."
You waited for the deep, airy chuckle; the quiet huff of laughter under a soft breath.
Silence.
You frown, sitting up straighter in the basin.
"Xavier?"
Footsteps sound, and when your husband rounds the partition, he is frowning.
A severe pinch has formed between his brows, his calm eyes unusually hard, as if formed from the steel of his blade.
The look is not directed at you, even as his gaze roams over you. Every part of you is plain to see through the still, perfumed bathwater, but he already knows the sight by heart.
Even so, you watch some of the tension ease from his broad shoulders when he sees you. The chill in his eyes softens, turning not quite the calm blue of rivers that you had seen on your wedding night, but more the midnight sky, limitless and unknown.
"Come to me," you say softly, palm turned up towards him in offering.
He takes it, kneeling next to the basin beside you. Xavier lifts your hand to his lips, pressing them to the lines of your palm. A breath shudders out of you at the soft warmth.
"How long have you looked like that?" You press your thumb to the furrow in his brow, trying to rub the tension out.
Your husband shakes his head gently, running his lips along your wrist, then up the veins of your arm.
"You smell divine," he sighs against your skin, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to where the dampness collects in your collarbone. You tilt your head back with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut. "Lavender?"
"Mm," you hum, thighs pressing together under the water at his answering hum of approval. "I bathed in these oils on our—"
"Wedding night," Xavier finishes for you.
You look up at him in shock, and his lips curve up in a fond smirk.
"You believed I did not take notice?" Your husband presses kisses up the slope of your neck, tongue flattening along where your pulse thrums for him. "You smelled just like the flowers we laid in the night before. The whole room smelled of it. Just before it smelled of us."
Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, thighs rubbing together. The slight sloshing of the water with your movement does not go unnoticed.
"Do you enjoy it?" you breathe.
There's the chuckle you had been searching for earlier, dark and vibrating through you, an ache answering between your legs.
"Let me bathe you," Xavier says instead, a teasing lilt in his voice to match your own.
You sigh, smiling fondly as you watch him gather your supplies. You had already done most of the work, but you were not complaining. Your heart warmed at the intimacy, always longing for these quiet moments with him. Fully present and fully seen.
"You did not answer me," you accuse, light but probing when his eyes flicker towards yours and away. "Twice."
Xavier washes down your arm, lifting your hand again, pressing a chaste kiss to the backs of your fingers. His gaze is breathtakingly open when it meets yours.
"I adore it," he breathes, the honesty and weight of the promise making you fidget restlessly.
"There is one," you tease. Your head tilts to the other side as you watch his hand skim up your leg, rubbing the sponge in slow, gentle circles into your thigh. It spreads easily under his wandering touch. "And the other?"
Your knight abandons his original task, and you watch with baited breath as his long fingers skim down your stomach, trailing through the thick patch of curls above where you need him most.
He will not answer, you think distantly through the haze of desire, and force your legs to close, trapping his hand between your thighs.
When Xavier looks up at you, it is with palpable frustration, an endearing pout to his lips. You arch an eyebrow.
"For what purpose do you seek out your queen in the middle of the night?" you decide to challenge directly.
That sweet, playful glint you had brought out in his eyes darkens. It is the same look that he had as he pulled you into dance after dance, sweeping you across the ballroom of your castle with the single-minded intention of not letting another have their hands on you for the rest of the night.
Your thighs part again by instinct, and you moan when Xavier's fingers dip between them, brushing against that bundle of nerves he knows how to circle just right.
He lowers his head, and you meet him halfway, seeking his fervent, claiming kiss eagerly.
"To touch you," he breathes against your lips. You part them with a whimper for his tongue to sweep in when his calluses catch on your aching, dripping entrance.
You whine when he pulls back too quickly, grabbing at the fine fabric he still wore from the ball that night. Xavier just huffs, that same frustrated furrow to his brow when he dips his fully clothed arms into the bath.
Gathering you easily into his arms, he lifts you out, uncaring for your yelp of surprise and the water that seeps into his attire. It leaves a long trail to your bed, where he lays you and promptly slides his thigh between yours, pressing it to where your sex throbs.
"To feel you fall apart in my arms again." Xavier presses kisses along your neck, your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts. "To hear you call out my name."
Your mouth falls open when his tongue circles around a stiffened peak, a quiet whimper escaping at his encouragement, "Xavier."
"Louder."
You bite your lip, whining louder, trying to hold back. "The guards will hear—"
"Let them," he growls, biting down on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You clench around where you grind on his thigh, with a cry of pleasure from how searing hot his possession is, how wholly you wish to be consumed by it. "Let them hear their queen calling for her husband. Let them know I will always come for her."
"Xavier," you moan, long and wanton into the heated air, and he smirks against your neck.
"Better," he praises in a dark, low tone that whispers promises of a long night.
The way you cry out when he has you facedown in your plush sheets, your fingers curled around the mussed up fabric as he fucks you into it, has a tentative knock at your doors.
"Your Majesty?" the guard calls out, sounding hesitant, and you bite down hard on your lip to hold back another depraved sound when Xavier slams his cock back into you again and again. Harder, louder, uncaring for the attempted interruption. "Are you—"
"Your queen is fine," your husband calls back, soft voice darkened with need. Soft pants hardly interrupt his calm, confident words when he adds, "I believe she has never felt better."
You hear the smirk of satisfaction in his voice when you whine his name again, too drunk on the pleasure he gives you to keep yourself quiet now.
When he slips out, you hardly have time to complain at the loss before he's flipped you onto your back. Laying his weight atop yours, he sinks back home inside of you, bucking his hips into yours with wet slaps of skin and heady grunts.
Your fingers trail up the broad expanse of his shoulders, his muscles flexing with the effort of making love to you. You tug at the ribbon in his hair until the silver strand falls around you, a curtain to shield you from the world that expects so much, everything.
You love how he supports you in the day with his every breath, and steals all of yours to make you forget the insurmountable weight of the crown in the night.
"Xavier," you slur his name, eyes unfocused as he peers down at you.
Your husband chuckles darkly, thumb rubbing at the corner of your mouth to collect the errant drool there.
"Look at you." Admiration shines in the dark glint of his eyes. He moans softly when your walls clench around him at his praise, and he laughs breathlessly. "As insatiable as me."
You moan around his thumb, mindlessly sucking on it when he slips it into your mouth. Xavier groans, hips grinding up into yours at the sight, and his eyes nearly roll back before he dives down to kiss you.
"My name." Each thrust he uses to punctuate his words sounds slick and obscene, and the pleasure coiling deep in your stomach threatens to snap. "Call for your husband."
"Xavier," you moan, clawing at his back.
When his wet thumb meets the apex of your pleasure, your back arches from the bed. Heat licks up your spine, your thighs trembling around him.
"Again," he demands, right as that bright point of pleasure finally bursts, and you cry out for him.
"Xavier!"
And you suppose the royal guards take that, along with the sounds of your large bed frame rocking against the wall, and the wet echo of skin slapping against skin in your sealed chambers, as confirmation that you had, indeed, never felt better.
With that ache between your legs long since satisfied from your husband's passionate lovemaking, you stretch out along your bed, humming pleasantly while he cleans his drying release off your stomach (he had not brought up the topic of bearing children again since he asked if it was something you actually wanted, and you had not changed your mind).
Xavier slips into bed beside you when he is done, and you laugh breathlessly at how quickly he fixes himself to you. He lays half-sprawled on top of you, holding you as securely as when he danced with you tonight.
You feel the hum reverberate from his chest into yours when you run your fingers through his hair.
"You know," you start slowly, watching the soft strands of his hair slip between your fingers in the flickering candlelight. "I will have my work cut out for me the next several days, ensuring a war does not break out with that kingdom."
Xavier buries his face into your neck. "I apologize," he mumbles into it, all but curling his long limbs around you, and you laugh again.
"Are you truly such a jealous creature?" you tease in joy at this new revelation of his personality, and he only burrows into you further.
"Do you detest me like this?"
"On the contrary, I quite enjoy it," you muse warmly. "But it does make my job a touch more challenging when you threaten to remove a prince's hands from his body."
Xavier mumbles something unintelligible against your skin, his arms tightening around you, and you giggle at the perplexity of this strong, silent knight sulking.
After a long moment when only your steady breathing and his join in the air, when you are sure that he has fallen asleep and you are well on the way, he surprises you by asking, "Do you find me petulant?"
"Perhaps a tad." You scrape your nails idly against his scalp. "Petulant, jealous, and quite adorable."
Your knight says nothing. You frown, and when you nudge him into showing his face, he is frowning as well. That severe pinch has returned between his brows, and you soften instantly.
Your husband was always so calm, his emotions nigh on unreadable. Even in the moments where he was bare to you, you had to learn what certain flickers of his facial features meant. Now, though, his internal conflict was plain to see on his handsome face.
"I have never seen you like this." You tuck a loose strand of fluffy hair behind his ear, curling your finger beneath his chin. "What weighs on your mind so heavily?"
He hesitates, and the question he asks has your stomach sinking. "Would you ever take a lover?"
You blink in surprise. Your initial reaction is to be affronted at the question, though you try and rein it in at the sight of your husband's face, sullen and vulnerable.
"Do you truly think I would?" you ask, unable to completely hide the hurt that slips out.
Xavier's eyes widen, and he shakes his head. "It is not that," he assures.
He falls quiet again, and you wait patiently for him to gather his words, rubbing soothing circles into his hip.
"I never expected to be wed." His hand finds yours, thumb stroking along the silver band on your finger. "I accepted that my oaths would lead me on a lonely path long ago."
Lowering his head, he presses a reverent kiss to your wedding ring.
"I cherish you. I wish only to protect your heart. And I am...unsure, if I am even worthy to have it. If you were to give it."
Your chest aches, and you cup his face in your hands. Shadows flicker over his elegant features in what remains of the candle's light, and you trace the path of the scars you now know by heart.
"Xavier," you sigh the name he had gifted only to you, despite whatever odd circumstances had led him to be bound to you for life. "You should know by now that I am unbearably fond of you."
His long lashes flutter, eyes wide and pleading as they meet yours.
"You are?"
You laugh softly, that very fondness warming your smile. Running your thumb across his bottom lip, tracing the scar that decorates it, you nod.
"I have already given it to you," you whisper, taking his hand to place over the steady beat of your heart.
The tension finally bleeds from him, and he sinks into you with a sigh.
"I am sorry," he repeats his apologies, pressing unhurried kisses to your neck.
You hush him gently, running your hand up and down the expanse of his back. Your fingers find the scars on them by memory, following the paths you'd first stumbled upon months ago on your wedding night. How unsure you had been if you would ever see them, see him with your own eyes.
How certain you were now of your affection.
"Be at peace, my love," you encourage him, and Xavier melts in your embrace. He holds you tighter, then relaxes, smiling into the kisses he places to your skin. "You are my knight, my husband, and the only one I would ever choose."
"You know, the only sleep schedule worse than mine is yours." Xavier murmurs.
You can't help but huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "At least I don't sleep all day."
"At least I sleep." He retorts. "Your eyes bags and the way you scavenge for snacks at night make you look like a raccoon."
"Hey I... I try." You mumble.
"Do you?" Xavier murmurs. "Because last I checked your phone stays on until at least 2am."
"I-- for your information I went to bed at 1 last night. Not everyone can sleep as easily as you, Xavier."
He's silent for a second. Thinking. "Well... if you can't sleep, at least put your phone away earlier."
"And then do what?"
"Read?"
"I read on my phone."
Xavier shakes his head, before stepping closer to grab your hand. "...Well, what if I read to you instead?"
"I'd still have to be on my phone to call you--"
He shakes his head with a huff. "Nice try. I'll just go down a floor to your apartment."
"...Your solution to me not being able to sleep is... sleeping with me?"
"...and? Whenever I sleep with you around, it's effective. What's the harm in trying?" Xavier asks, and when she doesn't give a response, he just smiles and shakes his head.
whenever you share a serving of fries with xavier, he never eats the smaller, crunchier ones. he passes them to you instead, and you take them, munching on them happily. you enjoy feeling the crunch when you bite down on them, and they're always more flavorful. you always wonder why he doesn't like them, but you never get around to asking. one night, when you order takeout for dinner, he gets himself some fries with his meal, and he offers to share with you, but you decline - you're not really feeling like fries that evening. you notice that he's not sectioning out his fries like he usually does - he just eats them all indiscriminately, including the small, crunchy ones.
"hey, i thought you didn't like the crunchy ones."
xavier blinks at you. "huh? i do. i like them a lot."
you frown. "then why do you pawn them off to me every time we share fries?"
he grins at you. "because i know you love them. and as much as i like them too, i like seeing you enjoy them more."
still his favorite - xavier x reader/mc
content: pre-relationship, flashbacks/dreams, yearning, angst from anecdote 3 refs
Napping at his desk has become a dangerous pastime for Xavier.
It's not a new habit by any means, let alone one tied specifically to his work desk. He'll gladly (and unwittingly, on occasion) snooze away just about anywhere.
But lately, the Hunter's Association has proven to be a troublesome place to sleep. Worse than missing his stop on the subway, or even more perilous than catching some quick shut-eye after a fight on the battlefield.
Because sometimes, when he wakes and sees you seated at your desk before him, Xavier sees sunlight filtered through the window to highlight your uniform. Not the protective leather and boots, but a soft yellow cardigan, sneakers squeaking against the floor each time you shift.
Caught in half a dream, he'll stare at the back of your head, and feel the urge to pass you a note; scribbles and doodles that say nothing and mean everything. Sneaking in a promise in the margins to share his earbuds after class.
When his fingers are too heavy to reach for his notebook, he sleepily concocts a plan to tempt you into letting him borrow your favorite eraser. He'll forget to give it back so you'll track him down later, even though you both knew you would've found him without the excuse. Still, in adolescent minds riddled with innocent rose-tinted daydreams, with anxious butterflies in your chests each time your eyes meet, an excuse makes it easier.
And other times, when he wakes to blink the haze from his mind, and sees your desk empty before him, he feels much, much smaller. Back to a time where the numbers of his age truly matched the youth of his face. When you were the only friend he'd known, and his favorite.
Still his favorite. Still gone.
Xavier stares now, bleary eyes half-open and fixed on that empty seat. Waiting to see the ghost of you turn around, pretending to check the time on the clock behind him.
His lashes flutter, nearly falling shut, but he clings to that mental image of your eyes sliding down to meet his. Just once more.
A tap on his shoulder rouses him again, but he groans, burying his face back into his arms.
Another tap, and then another. The poking is relentless until he stirs, frowning up at whatever classmate was disturbing him.
Xavier's heart stills when your familiar eyes peer down at him. There's a cup of instant noodles in your hand, steam billowing up into your face, which is contorted somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
"Back with us yet, sleepyhead?" you tease him, crossing the blurry gap between dreams and reality.
Your voice is a touch deeper, your smile a little more guarded. But there's a familiar lilt of fondness that has his eyes widening, his face softening, until you become visibly flustered.
"How long?" Xavier croaks out, fingers twitching as he yearns to reach for you, trying to shake the sleep from his heavy muscles.
Your brows furrow, and when you turn to glance at the clock over his head, his chest squeezes until it hurts.
"I went to check out that Protofield anomaly in the historic downtown area about…two hours ago?" You look back at him, a disbelieving smirk crossing your lips. "Have you been asleep that whole time?"
Protofields. Downtown. Xavier's mind plays catch-up, slow and ramping up until—ah, that's right. Linkon. Work.
He sits up slowly, rubbing at his eyes and stifling a yawn. It's always disorienting, how far back his sleeping mind could go, how he has to readjust in a split second across space and years (so many years).
"Mm, yeah," he mumbles.
When he hears you snort, he looks back at you, seeing clearly now the differences. Marks of age, of a different lifetime, of over three centuries since he last saw you.
How terrifying, how easy it was for him to slip back into a time so long past.
"Here. Saved you the last of that new hotpot flavor."
The savory scent hits him before he sees you sliding another cup of instant noodles towards him. It leaves a streak of condensation across his desk, and he wonders how long it had been sitting there.
How long had you been trying to wake him? How long before that had you been beside him as he slept, dreaming of you?
Xavier shakes the wistful thinking away. He lifts the foam cup to inhale the steam, and then the noodles. His happy hum at filling his empty stomach barely interrupts him between bites, and his heart stirs when he hears you laugh softly under your breath.
You turn on your heel, ready to head back and eat at your own desk. But then you stop.
"Why…"
You stop, hesitate, and Xavier tilts his head.
You look at him, then away, biting your lip before you suddenly blurt out, "Why do you look at me like that?"
"Like what?"
You wave your hand, dismissive, or maybe looking for something that eludes you. "Like…I dunno. When you wake up, it's like you can't believe it. Like it's the first time you've seen me in years."
Xavier pauses. Dangerous, he thinks again. That ache settles back into his chest, and he feels much, much older.
xavier's improving at handling his memories!
↳ (*´ω｀) psst! this includes mentions & themes of PTSD-related flashbacks, kindly read at your discretion ♡
Your kitchen is as silent as ever. However, it is the type of silence that allows you to swim in peace, without a care in the world, as your adoring boyfriend gently supports you on your back, rhythmically rocking you left and right. You feel safe in his embrace.
Your attention is on the vegetables you're cutting. He squeezes you a little tighter than usual, and you jump.
Maybe it's because you're paying more attention to the veggies. Maybe he wants meat instead. You raise an eyebrow and turn your head over your shoulder to look at him, chuckling.
"I'll be done with this in a minute, then we can go cudd— woah!"
Xavier's face is planted on top of your shoulder, his cheek nuzzling your neck. An odd type of sorrow is present on his face, which makes you drop everything immediately and check up on him.
"…Are you okay? Talk to me, please." Your voice rings softly in his ears, and he only pulls you closer to him. You lean into his warmth.
"I'm sorry," Xavier whispers, and as he does, you can feel his hot breath landing on your neck. "I'm being greedy right now. I'm sorry. I want to keep you as close to me as I can. So, I'm…"
His breathing is getting heavier. You turn around to face him entirely, catching his face in your palms. Xavier's eyes are closed, scrunched upwards with his eyebrows sitting awkwardly above.
You soften your voice as you brush his cheek with your thumb tenderly. "Hey, I'm here, okay? Look," you coo as you bring his hand to your heartbeat, "I'm here, alive, in your arms. Yeah? We belong here, like this, together. Don't worry."
Xavier goes silent. This usually happens. However, you've been well-equipped ever since the first time the flashbacks hit him. It's a good thing you're near him now so that you can comfort him. Since, most of the time, he'd isolate himself from you, deem himself "unworthy" of your love and affection, and feel guilty each time he'd try to feel your warmth.
But he's improving, and you're incredibly proud of him, too.
"Okay, how about this," you start, nuzzling his cheeks a little. "We go cuddle now, theeen we get back to our food. How's that?"
"Yes." His reply is almost instant. That makes you giggle. "Please."
…
Xavier adds on; "Actually, we should just have takeout instead."
xavier x queen of philos!reader | hanahaki au | 1757 words | also on AO3
“—let the old flowers wither and nourish the soil for new seeds to grow.”
Or, the adventures of queen of philos!reader after being transported to present day Linkon
note: reader is not the mc in present day Linkon; not canon compliant
prequel | next chapter
There’s a large tree in Starfall forest that stands dead center in the clearing where you’d theorized the planet’s core would be, teeming with life and glowing with a soft golden hue. Its branches stretch out far and wide, its golden leaves densely distributed all across its expanse.
As if sensing your presence, the tree glows brighter, seemingly beckoning you closer. Or perhaps it’s all in your head, the metaflux emanating from the planet’s core altering your perception. Whatever the truth may be, it doesn’t change your purpose.
You walk towards the tree and just as you expect, just as you remember from the last time you entered the forest, the pull from the planet’s core grows stronger, almost crushing in its weight. It makes your steps stagger and slow but still, you push yourself to keep moving. Your planet’s survival depends on it.
Just as you reach the base of the tree, you fall to your knees, the pull of the planet’s core even stronger now, your hands flying out to catch yourself against the rough bark of the tree trunk.
There’s a soft sigh from above you, a sound you think you’re imagining but then the whole tree shakes gently in time with its now pulsating glow. You wonder if perhaps the core’s metaflux has turned your brain to mush and now you’re hallucinating.
“Silly child,” the tree says, tone as if chiding a mischievous little one—because the voice is coming from right in front of you and the pattern of its glow matches the cadence of the voice, so what else could be speaking to you? Still, you haven’t ruled out hallucinations just yet.
“You almost sound like him when you talk like that,” the voice notes quietly, a longing in their tone but for who or what, you don’t know. Perhaps if you had the freedom to be curious, you’d ask more but the fate of Philos rests in your hands. You can’t afford to waste any more time than you already have.
Closing your eyes, you push your senses outwards, looking for the planet’s core so you can connect and let it merge with your own. The tree sighs again and suddenly you’re forced out, your energy blocked and pushed away.
“What—”
“Do you think this would truly save Philos, my dear?”
You look up to see golden leaves sway with a gentle breeze that ruffles your hair and clothes. You’re not sure why but you feel as though you were a child seated by a parent trying to guide you through a lesson they want to teach you.
“You may not remember, but you have been here before. You have made the exact same decision and both of you have only suffered for it,” the tree tells you with a melancholy voice.
You frown, brows scrunching together as something tugs at the back of your mind at its words. Was it referring to the time you had chased what you thought had been your prince into these very woods so many years ago? But that can’t be right, you hadn’t gotten this far before Xavier carried you back outside. And what does it mean by both?
“I didn’t have the power then, but let me grant you this chance now that I am able,” the tree hums just as you feel a power grow, one that was both foreign and familiar all at once. Something presses against your feet and when you look down, you find two different sets of flowers sprouting from the ground and blooming.
You feel an ache in your chest when you see on one side, flowers you are intimately familiar with—powdery blue with white at the tips where it tapered off into a narrower edge. Several of them look dry, color faded as if close to withering.
But the other blooms, you have never seen before. They glow softly when you lower yourself and reach for them, fingers grazing along their soft golden petals. Beneath the bloomed flowers, you find buds yet to open, sprouts yet to grow.
“What are you trying to tell me?” you whisper quietly.
“That it doesn’t have to end like this,” the tree murmurs, equally soft, “that the cycle doesn’t have to continue. Let the old flowers wither and nourish the soil for new seeds to grow.”
You swallow against the lump in your throat as the words settle in your mind.
“You would ask me to give up a chance to save my home for… what exactly? How do I know you’re not just lying to me? How—”
“Because I love Philos as much as you do. Because I, too, gave my life to nourish a core that will never stop taking. Because I tire of seeing this unending cycle of sacrifice.”
A breeze sweeps past you and you get the distinct feeling of fingertips softly grazing at your cheeks.
“But most of all, I want you—both of you—to have a chance.”
“...who are you?”
The tree simply laughs softly, its light twinkling in rhythm.
You rise from your crouch to stare at the tree.
“Even if I choose to stop this cycle, I’ve already—”
“Like I told you, my dear,” the tree hums just as a gust of wind blows towards you, strong enough to make you hold up your arms to shield your eyes. Leaves brush against your skin just as a light shines bright enough you can see it through your eyelids. An inexplicable power envelops you just then, resonating with your core and perhaps you should be wary—you’ve never heard about this tree from the palace archives, and you don’t even know what exactly you’ve just agreed to.
And yet.
Something in you, perhaps the remnants of a heart you’ve had to carve out, thrums with a certainty that everything would be fine. That Philos would be saved, that the cycle of sacrifices would no longer be needed, and that maybe, just maybe, your story didn’t have to end in tragedy.
“—let the old flowers wither and nourish the soil for new seeds to grow.”
.
Your eyes snap open to a clear blue sky, wafts of clouds lazily wading through its vast expanse. When you breathe in, the air feels clean, fresh, carrying with it a familiar floral scent. When you sit up and glance around, you find yourself lying in a bed of golden flowers glowing softly as they sway to the whims of the wind.
Uneasy with the lack of familiarity in your surroundings, you hurriedly pat yourself down, relieved to find your earpiece still on you. Waving a hand, a holographic screen materializes in front of you and you tap on the geolocating function. Your heart pounds with each jump in the progress bar, mind kept carefully blank until you have your bearings. Because what if all of it had just been a weird dream your mind conjured? Nevermind that you’re now sitting in a bed of flowers you’ve never seen before except in Starfall forest, brought to life before that strange glowing tree.
You’re brought out of your musings when you hear a soft ping.
Analysis complete — unable to identify current location
You stare hard at the screen, as if willing the words to transform themselves into something else. When the text remains unchanged, you take in a deep breath, following a pattern your teacher had taught you long ago when you were just a knight-in-training, newly inducted and nerves constantly aflutter. It helps you ground yourself even to this day.
Could be metaflux interruptions, you tell yourself. Don’t jump to conclusions.
You summon your sword as you rise, but before you can pick a direction to start investigating in, the sound of rapid footfalls has you tensing and next thing you know, you find yourself surrounded by heavily armed combatants in strange looking suits. Your body immediately takes a defensive position, muscle memory pulling your limbs into place as you rapidly assess your newfound threat.
For a tense minute, no one moves.
“Wait!
Your eyes snap towards the figure slipping past the ring of armed people, all of whom had their weapons trained at you. Holding his hands up, he walks closer to you, stopping just a few paces away from the tip of your sword. Smart of him, especially since he’s never once beaten you in a swordfight.
“Soren,” you call out, voice quiet as if to not break the layer of tension settled over all of you. Soren nods, gesturing towards the people behind him. Slowly, they lower their weapons.
Your name escapes him in a whisper, the sound disjointed and unfamiliar, as if he’s long forgotten the shape of it in his mouth. It makes your skin prickle with unease as your mind starts to fit the pieces of information you had together. You’re not sure you like the implications.
“Let’s talk, there’s a lot of things you’ve missed out on,” he says with a steadiness you haven’t seen in him before. Coupled with the firm set to his shoulders, confidence when there had once been uncertainty, and an older, wizened look in his eye, it’s yet another piece to a truth you’re not sure you want to know.
Still, you have long since been trained to face the unknown head on. You’re not backing down just because you feel uncomfortable.
“Lead the way,” you tell your once fellow knight-in-training.
.
Xavier glances around the ruins of what was once likely a park, scanning for any sign or manifestation of the sudden surge in metaflux in the area. As he heads deeper into the no hunt zone, he feels a slight tug on his energy, beckoning him to a particular direction. Summoning his sword, he follows the invisible pull all the way into the center of the zone where the pull feels strongest.
There, he finds a bed of glowing golden flowers, swaying softly with the gentle breeze. His breath leaves him in a quiet, heavy breath, eyes locked onto a sight he’s only ever seen in his dreams. As he nears the flowers, they glow brighter, as if sensing his presence and responding in their own way.
Xavier crouches down, letting his fingers graze along the delicate petals of a flower he never thought he’d see in person and wonders why they’re here at all. Then he sees the disturbance in the soil, hints of footsteps that fade away and quiets his mind.
Something happened here and he’s going to figure out what.
xavier x queen of philos!reader | hanahaki au | 1510 words | also on AO3
note: heavy references to xavier’s lightseeker & kod myth (do not read if you don’t want to be spoiled)
When it comes, you receive it quietly—no tears, no denial, no fuss. Just a quiet acceptance of reality. Because there in your palms lay a truth you had long since known but never dared to give voice to—
—a petal.
Powdery blue with white at the tips where it tapered off into a narrower edge. It lay on your hand light as a feather, droplets of clear liquid glistening like little stars all along its body. It reminds you of him.
You stare at it for a moment, wondering if perhaps the increased metaflux abnormalities of Philos had allowed a long dead ailment to take root in you. Or was it perhaps that your body could no longer keep your own feelings contained after so long that it bloomed into such a beautiful atrocity. Either way, there was no denying it. Not that you had any plans to.
With a wave of your hand, a light blue screen pops up in front of you.
“You called, your grace?”
“Please send for a physician at once. To my office, please.”
There’s a minute pause just as you finish speaking, one that feels heavy with concern and an ever growing list of questions, but just as you keep your emotions carefully concealed, so do the people you have chosen to keep as trusted aids.
“Right away, your grace.”
.
A year.
At most, if you were optimistic.
That’s all you’ve been given. It’s a laughably short period in the lifespan of a Philosian. Nothing but a small blip compared to all the years you’ve spent longing for a boy you’d once promised to serve. And now here you are, only a year left of life all because you fell in love with the man who gave you his throne, the very same one who left you in hopes of saving the woman he loved—someone who wasn’t you.
“But it’s not yet too late, your grace,” the physician says, bringing you out of your thoughts. With steady hands, the physician summons a holographic display showcasing compiled notes on the disease. “Several records have shown that surgical removal would successfully cure the disease. However—”
At this point, you let your mind drift. Not because you don’t want to listen but because you already know what happens. So instead you think about the room in the palace that you have left untouched for over a century, the flowers you have meticulously maintained in the palace garden, all the letters sitting in your drawer sealed in envelopes that have long since yellowed with age.
It is only when the physician’s steady voice calls out to you that you return to the present.
“Your grace, I understand it may be a lot to take in but—”
You raise a hand, silence immediately following.
“Are you available for the surgery in a week’s time?”
“I—uh—yes! Yes, I am, your grace.”
“Please have it scheduled then,” you respond resolutely. “If that is all?”
The physician leaves with little fanfare after leaving a dossier of all the things you’d need to prepare prior to surgery. In the silence that follows, you take a moment to simply think of nothing, not the consequences of your feelings, not the weight of your decision, nothing.
Then you turn to your aid and motion for her to speak.
“Your grace, forgive my impertinence, but why wait a week if you have no qualms proceeding with the surgery?”
You look towards the sky outside your office window, bright blue and clear, only wisps of clouds crawling lazily through the atmosphere. You’re taken back to a time when you had shown up late to your own coronation all so you could watch as a ship—his ship—rose up into the bright blue sky, shrinking further and further until you could no longer perceive it at all.
With a quiet exhale, you turn away from the window, meeting your aid’s curious gaze with a small smile.
“To say goodbye.”
.
In your days as a knight-in-training, one of your instructors often liked to quote an old earth slang whenever an assignment came up that no one wanted to do.
“Just rip off that band-aid!” she would always say.
You repeat that same phrase to yourself now as you stand in front of a heavy-looking set of double doors, hands hesitating where they hover over the holographic panel innocently asking if you’d like to access the prince’s room.
It’s been years since he left and yet here you are. Still hesitating. Still hoping for his return. But the world will not wait and neither will your body it seems.
You told your aid that this week would be spent to say goodbye. You know she thinks it is a farewell to him—and it is. But what they don’t know is that it’s also a farewell to yourself.
After all, once the flowers are gone, you will not be the same person as you are today. So you remind yourself. You chose this. You want to do this for the you that still cares, still hopes, still loves—because the you that emerges after the surgery no longer will. They will not see meaning in all the things you’ve held dear, the ones that all remind you of him.
With that thought, you find the courage to push through and finally enter the room you’ve never dared to in all the years you’ve been queen.
It’s neat, if a bit dusty.
There’s very little left in the way of important items, so you quiet your mind and set about packing away the things that were left, each item put away feeling as though they were nails hammered onto your coffin.
But then you reach his closet and somehow, the clothes he left behind withstood the test of time, carrying still traces of his scent. In this moment, you let yourself be weak, let the weight of your longing bring you to your knees as you hug his clothes to your chest the way you wish you could with him. Centuries worth of feelings kept hidden finally spill, the proof of your hurt laid bare in the wetness seeping into cloth.
In the stillness of a long forgotten room, crownless and alone, you whisper—
“I miss you.”
.
The garden you decide to leave be.
Your letters, you toss into the fire burning away in your personal chambers.
.
A week passes and before you know it, you’re sitting in front of the very same physician you called into your office.
“Is there anything else you’d like clarified, your grace? This is your last chance to voice out any concern you may have before we proceed with the surgery.”
“Just one thing,” you say, fingers tracing over the image of the flowers growing in your chest. “Could I get the flowers preserved?”
The physician pauses for a moment before nodding. “We can certainly try, but I can’t guarantee the integrity of the flowers as our priority is you, your grace.”
“I understand. All I ask is that you try.”
.
When you next wake, there’s an ache in your chest that you’re told is from the incision they’ve had to make in order to remove the flowers growing in you. But something in you tells you that’s not quite why but you don’t have the will to correct them nor the care to explore it yourself. Because this ache, this feeling of loss, it’s not really yours anymore is it?
Because you can remember the reason you’re here, why you woke up in the medical wing of the palace with bandages packed on your chest, your choice to live for the people under your care.
But all your feelings, your hurt, your longing, your love, everything you’ve ever felt for him—it’s all gone. You understand, then, a truth you don’t think anyone else would see.
And that is you’ve died—or at least the you that loved him that is.
Because you have all the memories, the weight of years spent missing him, listening for echoes of him in the palace that was once his to own, everything, it’s all still in your head.
But you feel nothing.
It’s all been filed away like nothing more than a report for you to review with the quiet detachment of a third party.
And so you let the past be. You have a kingdom to run and you can’t afford to be distracted. Not when the destruction of Philos looms ever closer with each decade that passes.
.
Centuries later, when the crown prince returns to Philos, he’s told that you are gone, having sacrificed yourself to sustain the planet when you could find no other alternative.
When he searches through the palace for traces of you, anything he could keep as a reminder of the life you’d once lived with him, all that he finds left of you are the flowers that once bloomed in your chest encased in glass, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the royal palace.
★pairing: xavier x f!reader
★wc: 4k
★content: xavier's pov. flashbacks, crushes & mutual pining. angst & fluff. xavier has chronic fatigue & academic burnout. references to a strained relationship with his father & depression. anecdote 3 analogies.
★a/n: brain going brrr from all the new xavier content in game that I am making so much progress on this fic right now.
★part vii ★read on ao3 ★series masterlist ★part ix (coming soon)
You were looking at him again.
He could tell before he even glanced up from his notes.
The weight of your gaze had become familiar, something his skin prickled in anticipation for whenever it wasn't on him. Waiting for your attention to land on him again.
Xavier waited. One second, two, then three.
Once ten seconds had passed, he would look up. Just subtly, barely glancing through his lashes. Trying not to startle you away.
It worked. He's able to watch you for just a moment as you watch him, in a held breath before you would eventually catch on and whip back around to face your desk again.
Since he had to do this carefully, he could never quite catch the full expression on your face.
But it was soft, he thought, in a way nobody else looked at him. In a way that made his chest squeeze, unfamiliar in sensation before you started making a habit of staring. He still couldn't quite put a finger on the feeling.
Xavier blinked, tilting his head up further, and your chair squeaked in protest at how sudden your movement was when you turned away again.
He sighed, a gentle huff of breath while he watched the back of your head. It shook from side to side before you hunched back over your desk, scribbling furiously in your notebook.
Your head snapped up and down again, from the teacher writing on the board to your notes as you caught up. Xavier covered his mouth with his hand, smiling against his palm.
Then he cleared his throat, and set his pencil back to paper again.
Sometimes, when you were at your locker, you weren't looking.
Good, because it gave Xavier a chance to.
His locker was only a few down from yours, set up in a way where he could glance around his open door to you.
Your own door had a little star shaped mirror in the center. Every other free space of metal was covered in magazine clippings of your favorite bands, and mini instant photos of you and your friends, the two that would stop by to talk to you between classes and after school.
They seemed nice. You'd grin and laugh with them, shining with a bright personality that shied away under his gaze.
He wished it didn't. He wished he could talk to you, laugh with you like they did.
Sometimes, Jeremiah would stop by your locker too, talking about your science projects or planning a time to hang out at his place.
The way Xavier's gut turned at hearing you talk to his closest friend wasn't pleasant, not in the slightest. It made something unfamiliar creep up his spine, an urge to walk right up and pull him away.
He didn't know why he felt like that. He was glad you were friends with each other.
His best friend always spoke of you fondly. It was a friendship Jeremiah truly treasured, among all the ones he seemed to effortlessly make. Xavier wasn't even friends with you at all.
When you giggled at one of Jeremiah's jokes, and turned enough to catch a glimpse Xavier's eyes before spinning around to shove your face inside your locker, he thought of how he'd like to be that.
He thought of how he'd like to be your friend.
Sunlight pours through the floor to ceiling window of the library, casting golden rays on your study table. The textbooks on medical terminology, anatomy, and the cardiovascular system were piled up around you, so high that he could barely make out your face.
It didn't help with how hunched over you were, absorbed in the notes you were taking. Your wrist moved rapid fire across the paper, stopping every now and then to shake it out before you turned another page in your books; eyes stubbornly scanning the information, dedicated to taking in all the knowledge you could.
Xavier found it admirable. He also didn't know exactly when he got into this habit. The one where he'd find a spot across the library with a clear line of sight, his head resting on his arms, eyes heavy as he watched you study. You got so absorbed in the process, it was one of the only times you truly wouldn't notice him.
He wondered if you were planning to get into medical school someday. You worked so hard, surely you'd be able to get a scholarship to any college you wanted after you graduated.
And that meant you would leave.
His gut did a lurch when he thought of that, and he quickly buried it away, turning his face down into his arms.
Of course you'd get out of here. Everyone would. Jeremiah already had a list of schools he'd start applying to in a couple years. Meanwhile, Xavier struggled to find the energy to tie his shoelaces some mornings.
When he looked back up, your face was buried into a new book. His brows furrowed, trying to catch the title from this distance.
You were absorbed in reading, taking notes in a new notebook. When you shifted, and the light caught on the cover, his heart skipped a beat.
Fencing.
You were reading about fencing.
His cheeks burned when he buried his face in his arms again. He stayed like that, perplexed at the racing of his heart, hoping nobody would see his ears turning red.
Hoping you wouldn't see.
Xavier must've ended up dozing off for a bit in the warm afternoon light, the cozy scent of ink on old, worn pages lulling him into a light nap. It's noticeable only by a soft gasp tugging him out of it.
He fought off the haze of sleep, shifting his gaze to the edge of the table without lifting his head.
There, a foot or so away, he saw your neatly tied shoelaces.
His heart thundered in his chest while he watched your feet shuffle in place, breath caught in his chest. He pictured lifting his head and meeting your gaze. He thought of what he'd even say.
Then you scurried away, and Xavier lets that breath out slowly, deflating against the table.
He lifted his head, looking at your now empty table. Wondering what it would be like to sit across from you at it.
Xavier stopped in his drills before the match, glancing towards you right as you looked away.
You timed that so well now, he had to stay on top of his game to catch you.
His coach stood by his side, taking phone calls from college coaches. He kept prattling on and on about which universities had showed interest in his promising fencing career, wanting to already stake a claim on getting him on their team.
He didn't really care about that. He didn't care much about winning at all. He knew he would.
But there was an unfamiliar twinge of pride in his chest when he thought of you in your regular spot on the bleachers, witnessing him be victorious.
Maybe he'd meet your eye in the seconds after he won. You wouldn't be able to tell with his mask on, after all. You wouldn't know how your shining eyes locked with his.
His chest felt fuzzy thinking about it, and he shook it away.
But the adrenaline that coursed through his veins during the match tightened into something terrified when he heard the commotion after he won. It grew ugly teeth that pierced his flesh, mercilessly shaking him in its maw when he glanced towards the bleachers by instinct.
You weren't in your spot. It was now a startlingly empty space surrounded by gasping onlookers.
There, on the ground next to where you'd been. Curled up, unmoving—
Xavier's sabre fell from his hand, gasping for breath as his visor joined it. He pushed through the rapidly growing crowd, shoving aside bystanders both obnoxiously curious and contagiously nervous.
He'd only been this afraid once before. He hoped he would never feel it again.
Other kids in your grade talked about you sometimes, how you were sick. He didn't know with what. But you've missed class for days at a time, sometimes weeks.
He saw your face when you were late for class today. Your brows were pinched, and your head stayed down for most of the lesson. When you rose after the bell rang, you swayed a little.
He should've known.
When Xavier got to your side, you were stirring, exhausted and disoriented. At the sound of his voice, you reached for him before you saw him, and his heart hurt.
Your weight slumped against his back when he carried you, fingers holding tight onto his fencing uniform, but trembling. Your voice he's listened out for, bright and passionate with your friends, had lost its natural wonder. You struggled for breath.
He understood the books now, all your studying in the library, when you explained your heart condition to him. His own sunk in his chest, heavy, weighing him down with each step to the nurse's office.
He couldn't remember getting back to the near empty gym afterwards. He didn't process being in the locker room, going through the motions of changing back into his school uniform, limbs sluggish like moving underwater.
A few teammates congratulated him on his win as he sat on the bench, staring at his untied shoelaces.
By habit, his gaze was drawn to the empty bleachers when he passed back through the gym. He frowned when he saw the familiar bag left behind.
He took the steps up two at a time. The star keychain smiled up at him when he picked it up, swinging from a zipper, and Xavier's throat felt thick.
He checked the time on his phone, and swung the strap of your backpack over his shoulder.
If he was fast, he could get to the little grocery store down the block. They sold those cartons of strawberry milk you drank everyday.
Xavier could get back before you left.
He had to.
You were gone from school for two weeks that time.
He got a B on a Literature test. His father stewed in silent disappointment over it, already quiet dinners gone colder with the atmosphere over the long table.
But he couldn't help it. How was Xavier supposed to focus on the hubris of Hamlet when his own stared him down in your empty desk, dust collecting where your pencils should be lined up?
He found himself staring out the window most days, watching the drops of rain patter against the glass.
Maybe he wasn't Hamlet, but Ophelia. Drowning. In what he hoped for, in what could've been.
On the day you returned, sunlight broke through the clouds, dispersing the haze of gray.
He didn't even have to look outside to see it.
Multicolor lights flashed through the windows, reflected by the rotating mirrorballs overhead his dancing classmates. The thrumming base of pop music is palpable in his chest, in the cement underneath his feet, even outside.
The suit is uncomfortable in its perfectly tailored fit, the soft, expensive fabric scratching against his skin.
He hated wearing it. He hated everything like this.
Xavier sighed, staring from his dress shoes and back up to the shadows flickering past inside the gymnasium.
Jeremiah said he should come to at least one dance before they graduated.
"Especially since you're literally prom king," he heard his friend's voice echo, fond but accusatory even in his mind. "You doofus."
"I didn't ask to be king, though," Xavier had replied with a frown.
He rubbed the back of his head now as he remembered Jeremiah smacking it.
"She's coming too, you know," Jeremiah sang, and Xavier's face heated up as he remembered just how he perked up at the hint, even without a name. Neither had to say it to know. "She doesn't have a date, either."
"She doesn't?" He hadn't even tried to deny the teasing. Too curious, too relieved.
"Yeah. Gee, I wonder why!"
Xavier startled out the memory when the side door of the gym opened.
His feet shifted, ready to dart away from whoever came out to get a breath of fresh air.
But he stopped short when he saw you.
Your eyes closed as the door clicked shut behind you, and you inhaled the cool night breeze. The light of the full moon illuminated the fabric of your dress, shimmering when you shifted. Your feet were bare against the cold cement, flats dangling in your hand.
With your face tilted up towards the moonlight, you looked ethereal, intangible. Pretty.
You looked so pretty.
Your yelp brought Xavier out of his thoughts.
His eyes widened when they met your own, wide as saucers as you stared at him.
"Xavier!" you gasped, and his skin tingled.
That's the first time he ever heard you say his name to him.
Xavier tried to think of something to say, and came up with nothing.
You just stared at him, and he stared back. Like two stranded aliens spotting another lifeform for the first time on some distant planet.
"Uh." You shifted on your feet, and he wondered if they were cold. Then you rubbed your shoulders, and he thought about taking his jacket off for you, if he wasn't sure his fingers would fumble from nerves with the stupid buttons. You were too pretty to think properly. "Are you…coming in?"
Xavier looked past you towards the doors. His phone weighed heavy in his pocket, remembering his text to his dad's assistant. It wouldn't be long before they got here to pick him up.
But your eyes…there was something in your eyes when you asked. They glimmered in the night, and his words stuck in his throat, so he just shook his head.
"Oh."
You fidgeted with your hands. They looked so soft.
His face felt unbearably warm.
You surprised him by adding quietly, "I know people would be excited to see you." Your words are almost lost in the night breeze, and he shifted forward a small step. "You are king, after all."
Your lips tilted up in a small, nervous smile. For him.
You smiled for him.
"What about you?"
The question flies from his lips before he can think better of it.
You went still, eyes wide again.
"I…" Your mouth opened and closed. "Um…"
You blinked rapidly, looking like a frozen deer, enhanced by the headlights that suddenly cut through the parking lot.
Xavier's heart sunk in his chest when he recognized the sleek black car, the very one he'd called in for a rescue.
He scratched at the back of his neck, looking from his escape and back to you. Clouds passed over the moon, hiding your expression from view. In the gym behind you, a slower song began to play.
For just a moment, he imagined staying.
"I'll see you around," Xavier said instead, opening the back door and slipping inside.
He couldn't bring himself to look at you through the window. His heart hurt again.
Xavier didn't like to dance much, but it would've been nice with you.
Xavier never did see you around again.
After graduation, you left town.
You left, by why wouldn't you? You were bright: in mind, in spirit, and those eyes that pierced through him wherever he stood. There was a long future ahead of you, one that you'd go chasing down, leaving all of them behind.
He'd stay here. His father had countless universities lined up, personal essays waiting to be written, an ungodly amount of tuition ready to be paid in the uncaring blink of an eye.
But Xavier was tired. So, so tired.
He could feel it creeping onto the edges of his vision, chilling his bones when he couldn't get out of bed.
All those excused absences from school, the visits to specialty doctors and their fancy sleep clinics, hardly helped at all.
Chronic fatigue syndrome, they called it, but there were no known causes, and no cure. Exercise didn't help like with other issues of pervasive tiredness. He had to keep a close watch on exerting energy so he doesn't lose it altogether.
But now, all he wanted to do was sleep. Jeremiah was leaving. Soren and Isaiah were accepted at big universities in Linkon. Isaiah was going into political science, and that would have to be enough for his father. Xavier would never follow in those footsteps.
It seemed like everybody was moving to the city, aiming for bigger and better lives they would thrive in. There were things he wanted once, too. But now just the mere thought exhausts him.
He'd find something here. Something to make him happy. He had to.
With time, he finds those things he needed to. The library, the cat shelter, the local gardens; there's things he can put his love and patience into, nurturing until he gets to watch it grow.
He saves up the money he earns from all the odd jobs he takes up across town, and moves into his own place. The apartment is small compared to the size of the house he grew up in, but it's full instead of empty. He feels like he can breath in a home of his own. There's a stray cat that he lets in when it rains, and not a single button-up dress shirt in his closet.
He's happier when Jeremiah comes back after getting his degree. They hang out when they can, and Xavier helps with setting up the flower shop. It's fun to be a part of, and nice to feel like he's needed.
And when he gets tired, or doesn't answer his phone for days, Jeremiah doesn't get mad either. Just smiles when Xavier shows up again, and tells him what flowers need watering.
Every now and then, he wonders if Jeremiah kept in touch with anybody from school.
Or one person. But he doesn't ask.
The thoughts don't come as often as they used to, all these years later. Only on nights when the moon shines bright, and the breeze is cool. He'll think of the shoebox stuffed in the back of his closet, the collection of old, well read letters inside.
Maybe, with time, he'll stop thinking of you entirely. You'll become a distant, fond memory.
He'll forget the things he wanted to say. What he would never get the chance to.
The years pass, and you came back.
You came back, and when you look at him, same bright eyes, wide as they take him in (as wide as they were all those years ago, all the times he caught you watching, every instance he waited with baited breath for you to catch him too), his mind goes blissfully blank.
It's you, he thinks, mind suddenly spinning, wondering what kind of cruel mirage could appear like this on a mundane spring day.
"It's you," he says, and hopes he doesn't sound as breathless as he felt, winded by the sudden startling proximity of you.
Xavier can't think straight. Not with you right there, fretting over something on his hoodie. A stain he didn't even want to wash off because it was a mark of you, a reminder that you were here, that you were right in front of him, back home again and breathing the same air as him and god had he always been this insane? This obsessed? Would it scare you to know just how much?
He can't think of anything to say, any words to encapsulate the joy and terror he felt at your sudden appearance, so he doesn't.
He brushes past you. He feels like an idiot. He curses himself for cowardice.
And by the time he chances a look back, you're already gone.
Xavier didn't know if fate was on his side, or mocking him.
Just a week ago, you tried to introduce yourself to him, like he didn't know your name. Like he had ever stopped thinking it.
He watches you in the library now, and thinks of back then. Thinks of stolen glances across the room, the study tables between you. Admiring how the sun lit up your face while you studied tirelessly for your future.
A future that had brought you back to where he was, in front of him now, and he feels like the luckiest man alive.
How many times were humans granted a second chance? How could he let it slip through his fingers again?
He admires the sunlight dappled through your hair, how the golden rays caress your cheek as you turn another page. There's a little smile on your lips, and his chest squeezes.
He knows what to call it now.
"You look pretty today," he tells you, because you do.
Because he wants to tell you every day. But in this moment captured out of time, he'll settle for right now.
But your face goes blank.
The daunting prospect that he'd fucked this up in no less than two seconds makes him self-conscious. He apologizes, another two seconds away from cracking his composure, begging you not to leave.
But then you shout, echoing in the silent sanctuary of the library. Effectively erasing any of his doubts, and he wants to laugh in giddy, pure relief.
You're staying, he thinks, drunk off the close proximity between you. Your giggles join his softly over the table you shared, books forgotten just for this breathless levity. You didn't leave. You're staying.
And you're smiling, and you're saying it's okay, and he wants you to never stop smiling and laughing and looking at him like that.
He wants you to stay forever.
Xavier had never really stopped to think of where you'd gone, or why you left.
It was natural, of course. To leave your hometown, to grow, even if he hadn't. Even if he'd grown stagnant, sideways, a plant without proper sunshine.
But you'd gone and bloomed before coming back.
He just never considered that you had never wanted to return.
Your heart is soft and beautiful, as it has always been. But you cup your hands around it now and hold it tight, hiding it away in your chest instead of on your sleeve.
Xavier watches it curl in on itself. Because of what his idiot cousin shouted, and the following words that had stunned him, the glass of water he was getting for you slipping from his grasp.
He remembers it shattering around his feet. Listening to your voice waver, so very far away.
It trembles again now as you confide in him, and his own heart aches.
He wants to protect yours. He wants to cup it in his hands and count each beat, to hold it close.
Your soul was too bright for this small town. It shocked him to hear that you worried it wouldn't be.
So he opens his own heart, and shows you yourself through his eyes. The way he knows you to truly be: bright and brave, kind and strong. He'd known it years ago, and knows it even more now, with all the breathless moments he'd stolen away with you since you came back.
Something shifts in the way you look at him, and clicks into place. You look at him the same way you always have, but different. There's that same spark, but softer. Seeing him new under the fairy lights.
And that something between you, growing slow, tended to carefully under where your hands meet his, starts to bloom.
Xavier would miss you so much if you leave again. But if that's what you wanted, he wanted it for you.
He'd revere every moment he could get with you before you left. You were a shooting star, radiating that breathtaking beauty, here and going far.
He dreamed of chasing you, of finding you again someday wherever you landed.
Maybe then you'd always think of him too.
And when you turn to smile at him, eyes shining like he's never seen, the light of the fireworks painting your visage into an unforgettable memory in his mind, Xavier dares to think that maybe, just maybe, you always have.
