summary: Xavier is a master at earning your forgiveness. The bat of a teary eyelash here, a few choice words there, and a perfectly timed kiss have never failed to get him back in his shimei’s good graces. Too bad you've really had it with him this time.
w.c.: 2.2k | AO3
notes: 18+, mdni, pwp, mortality's tenderness au, mildish femdom, subby xav, shixiong/shimei dynamics (xavier constantly calls you shimei in cn dub lol), orgasm denial, begging, hair tie used as cock ring, xavier is briefly tied up and edged, I wrote this while cooking dinner, barely proofread self-indulgence.
“Shixiong can only hope shimei is compassionate. Shixiong will accept any punishment.”
The way Xavier says shimei rankles you, causing you to chew on the inside of your cheek with irritation. If he had actually been sorry there were a whole host of flowery titles he could’ve picked from (guifei was right there!!). He chose shimei out of habit because he wasn’t actually sorry.
“Any punishment huh?”
Xavier purrs, certain he has you in his sights, “Any.”
“This one isn’t fit to touch the hem of shimei’s robe,” he continues, simpering, bowing his head, long hair fanning over his shoulders, peering up at you from underneath thick lashes, challenging smile on his lips as he prostrates in front of you. The effect is exaggerated, meant to be comical. “Although this one hopes shimei will show mercy, this lowly one will accept whatever justice shimei sees fit to dole out.”
The fact that he thinks he'll get away with it again makes your blood boil today.
He had sensed something was wrong earlier while at the market, when you didn't respond to his puppy eyes. He then tried to entice you with sticks of grilled meat and lamb, pressing them against your lips. Your foul mood persisted, and Xavier finally relented, pouting all the way back to your lodgings.
Distracting you was more difficult than he had anticipated. You glared at him, face dark, immune to even the most carefully constructed dewy-eyed, kicked small animal look. Instead, you just frowned, walking past him with a firm crease in your brow.
To be fair, Xavier did cause enough property damage to wipe out your combined savings. The two of you had actually come up short but the inn owner was so frustrated he just shooed the two of you out. Sure, Xavier had done it in the name of taking down a bandit ring, a noble cause, but—!!
Now, it was the dead of night, and your shixiong thought he was being slick, sliding his bed roll as close to you as possible, hands entwining around your middle, fingers drifting down to your center because of course…
“So not only are you responsible for our coin purse being empty, you thought you’d get away with it by batting your lashes at me.”
"I am unworthy of your forgiveness," he swallows, cheeks pink. Your eyes flick down to the obvious bulge between his legs. He always did harbor a fondness for your stricter side.
You look at him, cross. "It's not just this time either. You pulled the same thing over the salt merchant, and then with—" the list goes on and on. ""If shixiong wanted shimei's attention, he didn't have to go so far."
Xavier squirms, truly caught, and it’s delightful to watch. You want to see him do it again. Make him stew in all this just a little— and what better way than to beat him at his own game?
The pout of his lip, the way he tilts obediently towards you in a practiced manner tells you Xavier is trying to buy time to ascertain your mood. Blue eyes wide, he loosens the ties of his hair before presenting you with the lengthy ribbon. Next, he pulls off his belt, letting the layers of fabric pool off, catching at his elbows. He kneels in front of you, the picture of supplication— a pose better suited for a concubine, but nonetheless natural and seductive on Xavier. The pale silk shimmers in the moonlight, contrasting with the flushing pink in his chest as you tie his arms back with a length of rope.
“O-ohhh…” he keens quietly as you loop his hair ribbon around his cock. It forms a red ring at the base. You tug on the tie firmly and a muscle jumps in his neck.
“You thought that you could distract me with some food and some kisses.”
“I did…” he whimpers. He looks truly chastened, cock already leaking all over his thigh as he starts to hump the air seeking more friction than what the silky tie can offer. You pull at both ends lazily, ensuring he feels every slippery caress.
“Shixiong,” you tsk, shaking your head, “why is shimei the one that has to discipline you? Shouldn’t you be a better role model?”
“Using your body—” your hands fist over his cock, smearing the wetness all over, and he whimpers loudly, sucking in a breath through his teeth “—to try to get out of trouble isn’t something we should be teaching others to do.”
Your hands twist, gliding up and down Xavier’s length firmly. His thighs flex powerfully as he starts to thrust into your grip, chasing sensation as greedily as he can. Cries of “oh please—“ and “thank you—“ fall from his lips, but you’re too irritated to notice, scowling as you pull back to pinch at the soft skin of his inner thighs.
“Right?” your hands still and Xavier whines frantically, “Right shixiong?”
"Yes—yes you're right I should've—"
Without warning, you grab both ends of the hair tie still wrapped around his cock and pull. It tightens just enough, staving off his approaching orgasm such that he doubles over, crying out. His cock jumps against his thigh, tip flushed a rich crimson as it helplessly jerks it in the air.
A rush emanates from your spine, coursing through you at the sight of Xavier, kneeling in front of you, legs spread wide, back arched, bound chest heaving, hips hopelessly thrusting into nothing. All of this puts his hard cock on display in the moonlight, the soaked ribbon sitting atop it like a farce of a present.
"You really like this huh shixiong? I've never see you get so close to quickly."
“Please— please— I'm sor—-"
Nope.
Instead, you maneuver to sit behind him, knees on either side as you let him lean back. Blue eyes stare back at you, pleading wordlessly. His lips are parted and you can’t help but give him a little something, lips brushing over his. He kisses back greedily, tongue coaxing its way into your mouth. For a long moment, the two of you just kiss, moaning into each other, heads shifting, puling back only slightly before angling for more.
Your hands glide up his sides, and that’s the only warning he gets before your thumb and ring fingers close around his nipples, rolling them firmly in between.
“Look shixiong,” you whisper, nudging at his cheek with your nose, directing his gaze down “this is what happens to liars.”
Xavier cries out, shivering, helplessly watching, chest heaving as you start to pull and twist his nipples. Slowly at first with gentle movements, but then you remember again that it's his fault the two of you went to bed hungry tonight and pinch hard, much to Xavier's delight as he coos and twists in your grasp.
“Watch.”
He seizes up immediately, doubling over as you yank on the rapidly swelling nubs. They redden as you scrape the tips of your nails over them and he howls, sweat beginning to drip down his neck. By the time you release him his neck is covered in bites and his nipples are an angry, sore red.
"Ah—!!"
You flick over them just once more, pleased with their sensitivity.
Slowly, you rise up, taking his hand in yours as you lead him to the bed. He trails behind, utterly captivated. There, you lay back on the cushions, butterflying your legs right in front of his face. You hadn't paid attention to your own arousal until now, but the sticky way your folds part tells you all you need to know.
“You're smart right shixiong? You don't need any instructions?" he kneels again in front of you, pulling his silver hair back, transfixed.
"Get to work.”
You often think that if it came down to it, Xavier would trade never being able to stick his cock in you again for the chance to permanently attach his mouth to your pussy. He works himself into a daze quickly, resting his head on the inside of your thigh, eyes hooded and blank as he eagerly eats you out. He’s always extremely physical about it too— shaking his head back and forth, using his nose, every bit of his face possible to elicit more pleasure from your body.
"Shimei," he whispers, reverent against your core, "Please don't be mad at me--"
You tap at him lightly with a socked foot.
“Use your hands. I know you untied yourself ages ago.”
Xavier doesn’t even waste a second to apologize, swiftly planting his palms on the inside of your thighs, prying you open further, tracing your hole with a practiced finger. At this point, you're soaked enough that two fingers glide in easily— stirring up the building ache in your gut.
You let out an indulgent sigh, bucking your hips into Xavier's face once, twice for good measure before pulling him back by the hair. His lips are shining and he breathes loudly, looking almost affronted that you interrupted his task.
"I have something a little better I think." you smile, feeling wicked, "I'll let you stick your cock in me. For just a bit okay?"
"Thank you for this mercy--" he whines, pressing a kiss to your hair as he eagerly draws back.
Xavier thrusts the head of his cock up and down your slit in short, shallow movements, face utterly debauched, not bothering to fully step out of his clothes before he finally lines his cock up with your entrance. He cries out as he rolls his hips, sinking into your warmth. The red flush on his cheeks, paired with the pretty pleas falling from his lips is so enticing you’re reminded of why he gets away with everything so damn often.
It always takes just an extra moment to get accustomed to his size, and Xavier is keenly aware of what it takes to reduce you to a brainless lump. He's certainly "apologized" using that method one too many times. He's on his best behavior today though, diligently bracing himself on trembling forearms, waiting for your signal.
You nip at his ears, "Hurry up. Before I change my mind."
“T-thank you—- ahh —-you're so warm—oh— shimei—"
Your name tumbles off his lips, a steady mantra as his hips start to pick up speed. It doesn't take much before you feel your own climax start to build. Seeing Xavier prostrate in front of you, tears beginning to streak down his cheeks, had a greater effect than you had expected and soon your breath is stuttering, gushing around him as you hit your peak.
"Do you like this Xavier?" your voice is saccharine as you take him in, catching your breath. His tongue is lolling out of his mouth, eyes unseeing as he plunges in and out of you.
"I like this—-" he whimpers as you dig your ankles in, pulling him closer. His hip meets your ass with a loud slap, "— shixiong likes it so much."
You grin, fully intending to exploit his particular weakness for that title.
"Shixiong," you whine, heavy in his ear. He pants, clutching his arms tighter under your shoulder blades, lifting you off the bed as he ruts into you.
"You make shimei feel so good," you sigh, tilting your hips up towards him and he moans, burying his face into the crook of your neck, calling out your name against heated skin.
He starts to babble, leaving wet open-mouthed humid kisses everywhere he can reach.
"Shixiong is sorry— please— shimei—"
You dig your nails down his back, gleefully watching as he tenses up— he's getting close— closer…
"Do you want to come shixiong?"
To your surprise, he frantically shakes his head, laying his forehead onto yours, peering into his eyes.
"What I want—" he pants, eyes wide and red-rimmed, "S-Shixiong wants shimei's forgiveness."
On any other day, you probably would've just eaten that up. Kissed his cheek. Forgave him. Let him endlessly pleasure your body into the night as penance.
But Xavier is devious too, and a lesson is overdue.
"However, I've decided," you kiss his cheek apologetically as he blearily turns to you in confusion, still hard inside of you, "that for your actual punishment, you won't get to cum til morning."
Xavier blinks, growing still. His eyes narrow, and you can see him weigh several possibilities in his mind. His first: plea and bargain. His second: to fuck you senseless until you forgive him. Third: he'll acquiesce (for now) and regroup. He looks down and realizes that he's already at option three.
Before he can protest, you push him back, making a show out of wiping inside of your legs before delicately tying your shift back on. He licks his lips, caught, eyes wide in a panic, shoulders heaving.
"Shixiong said he would accept any punishment," you purr, voice syrupy, relishing his shocked expression before you turn your back towards him, settling into the quilt, "Surely waiting until morning wouldn't be an issue for someone of my shixiong's caliber."
—
The moon is still on the horizon, but something wet and hot is moving between your legs.
Xavier.
“The sun isn't—“
“Yes it is already,” a muffled reply from underneath your quilt.
"You owe me," you groan, "double with interest."
notes: xavier causing property damage in every universe makes me laugh. what if I told you this isn't actually the shixiong fic I've been working on these past two weeks?! That one is...at 6k words and counting. This drabble came to me in a daze-- it's been too long since I wrote a more subby Xav. Shixiong!Xavier is too charming. thank you to @sungodnika5 and @addiglessthanthree for looking over the full drafts!!
Comments and reblogs are always, always appreciated! Let me know what you liked <3
━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━
e.j. x hunter gn!reader
- nobody asked for this but i wanted to publish it anyway
summary: You were a monster hunter, and a damn good one at that. Your life had always been defined by instinct: act first, question later. Rage was familiar, fear useful, especially when everything was something to track, corner, and kill.
Hunting those monsters was always the easy part. Learning to coexist with one—especially one who keeps showing up at your safehouse, tracking your heartbeat, and materializing whenever you’re bleeding—is considerably more complicated.
words: 3.7k
tw swearing, injury/blood descriptions, suggestive proximity/touching, play biting, wound cleaning…but with tongue
The thing crouched on the windowsill didn’t answer.
Caked head-to-toe in black mud, dripping with stagnant swamp water, and smelling of rotting leaves and wet earth, you sat in the middle of the dark safehouse, frantically pressing a now-bloody, makeshift compress against your side, wincing hard as a deep gash leaked a thick, warm red stream down your ribs. Your shirt was torn half off, hanging in shredded strips that unfortunately exposed your skin, webbed with angry red welts and countless tiny, stinging scratches from tearing straight through the briar patch to shake whatever had been hunting you through the swamp.
The blood was still deafening in your ears from that chase, a hot rush of adrenaline that left your customary fury simmering. To top it all off, the first drops of rain had started when you were still outside, turning into a relentless downpour—because of course it did—and you loathed every second of it when you were already half-dead, soaked, and miserable.
“Fine, maybe not stare. But I know you can at least hear me, piece of shit. You could at least pretend to have some fucking manners.”
Nothing.
“Fuck you.”
He was almost invisible in the dark. The hood swallowed most of him, shoulders folded in on themselves with the strange stillness of something that wasn’t really resting, only waiting. One leg hung over the sill, tapping against the brick outside every few seconds. Tap. Tap. Tap. Driving you right out of your fucking mind.
A few minutes passed in silence.
“…Done?”
The low, vibrating rumble tore up from his chest, heavy like an animal growling deep in its throat, yet resembling something like patience. You knew he wasn’t exactly asking whether you were finished with the emergency medicare.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t move.
“…Well?”
There’s another wet plop as liquid drips slowly down the windowsill.
“What?” you sighed.
A low purr-growl in the dark, dragging out the syllables. “…Hungry.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Your heart skipped a beat out of sheer instinct. “Don’t say that.”
You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the shredded, barely covered ex-skin-tight top hanging off your shoulder, the expanse of bleeding skin mapped across your chest, and the way the shadows clung to him.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere over the trees.
Then, without warning, he was in front of you. The old springs of the couch groaned and dipped beneath his weight.
Instinct slammed you backward into the cushions, while every single survival lesson entrenched in your bones screamed threat, weapon, strike, your hand violently twitching for a weapon before your brain managed to slam the brakes.
Your thighs were pinned hard between his legs, trapping you beneath him. Up close, the stench finally hits you: the heavy smell of dried blood clung to him, even though you knew, with a bizarre flash of irritation, that he usually hated being messy and tried to keep himself sanitary.
Your mind violently shoved away the sudden, nauseating thought of where that smell of blood came from.
He leaned over your body. Unmasked tonight, his face dipped down with terrifying weight, pressing in close until his cheek hovered inches from your jaw. You knew how his features look exposed—taut, ashy skin, jaw clenched tight, and the hollow sockets where his eyes should’ve been. That had been a particularly nasty uncovery at the beginning.
A thick viscous drop of ink-black fluid leaked from the empty sockets. It fell, landing straight onto your blood-smeared collarbone, the black instantly smearing and bleeding into the red wetness of your skin. He stayed there, completely poised right above you, his face inches away from the crook of your neck as he inhaled, long and deep, drinking in the scent of open wounds and mud. There was an unnatural, suffocating heat radiating off him.
“…Blood,” he rasped, the sound low and vibrating with an ugly coiled bloodlust that made your stomach twist.
“Get off,” you breathed out, your hands shoving hard against his chest, though your fingers just sank uselessly into his unyielding chest. “I mean it. Get the fuck off.”
He didn’t budge an inch, pinning you deeper into the cushions.
“…Don’t,” you muttered automatically, your voice dropping shakily as you breathed harder.
“…Heart.”
“I know it’s my heart.”
“…Fast.” That was an understatement. Your heart was pumping blood at a breakneck speed up through your throat and ears in a desperate bid to keep you conscious and alive. A freak like him could probably hear the exact rush of it singing through your veins, smelling the hot and iron-rich panic sweating right out of your pores.
“I said don’t.”
Another pause, thick and heavy with the sound of your own breathing.
“…Sorry.”
You exhaled through your nose as he settled back an inch, the feral tension humming just beneath the surface without truly easing up entirely. Per usual. Tiny, shivery tremors rippled straight down your spine; it’s the electric flutter in your gut that usually felt like the hot rush right before a kill, the sickeningly familiar high of adrenaline when a blade met your hands.
But your hands were empty, your hunting knife discarded on the floorboards, and this wasn't a fight. You were entirely unsure whether your body was screaming to strike, if it was too cold, or was shivering from something else entirely.
He was still just sitting there.
The immediate threat had receded into that strange stillness, but he didn't actually get off you. He just stayed planted squarely across your legs, a heavy weight keeping you trapped in the cushions. The petty irritation flared up again in your chest, replacing the panic with a buzzing annoyance.
What is he doing? Just sitting there like an obedient dog?
It was utterly absurd. You exhaled another huffed breath, your gaze sweeping up to meet his—or where it was supposed to be. Making direct eye contact was always a deeply unsettling, surreal experience when there were literally no eyes to meet, just those indented hollows dripping that dark pitch down his jaw.
With a scowl, you yanked your arms tight across your chest, folding them self-consciously over your torso to shield the skin and bleeding gashes from plain view.
“What?” you snapped again, your voice thick with exhaustion. “Like I said, don’t tell me if you’re planning on going hunting today or drag me along lest I lose my job, I swear to god.”
He managed to look—against all laws of nature and anatomy—almost rueful. That stupid, seven-foot-tall, skin-crawling thing actually looked almost rueful.
Somehow, that recognition made you tremble even harder, even more pathetically, the residual adrenaline turning into a cold sinking feeling in your gut.
Your voice slipped down, suddenly small and thin against the drumming rain outside.
“…Don’t tell me you’re thinking of… eating me or something.” It was a stupid statement. The terrifying part was that you actually thought about it—you always thought about it whenever you were stuck this close to him.
Monsters had been plaguing your town and its outskirts for decades, killings its people and leaving strange mutilated “sacrifices” everywhere, and you’d trained your whole life, clawing your way into the hunter corps just to put an end to it. You wanted to be the one who stopped them. To stop generations fed to things that crawled out of the sinkholes, bleeding the local bloodlines dry until families just learned to leave an empty chair at Sunday dinner for whoever didn't make it back from the woodline.
But no, instead, based on some fucked up luck and circumstance, you were stuck in a cramped safehouse with this particular nightmare in the dark.
It was a weird and complicated story how you two got tangled up to begin with, the kind of annoying improbable collision of bad fortune and worse timing that no training could ever prepare you for. Words forced things into neat little boxes—monster, human, ally, enemy, friend?—drawing blurred lines where nothing made sense anymore. After countless silent intersections, a weary familiarity had somehow woven itself into your life. It had taken a long, agonizingly slow time for the distinction to shift in your own head—from it, to him, to Jack. He had told you his name somewhere a few months ago, but you never actually called him that. It was as if giving him a real name would somehow solidify it, make the impossibly strange reality of what you were doing a little too real to outrun. And he never said your name, either. You both just circled the fire that was burning you both to ash. You most certain of all.
He knew your irritable temper as well as you knew his shadow trailing you during a patrol. He started leaving before dawn every single night just because he knew you hated waking up to find someone watching you sleep. If you ever looked up at him and whispered, “you’re still a monster,” he would just quietly leave. And if he ever looked back down at you and said, “you should just kill me,” it would instantly make you furious, because the statement was just too damn easy. And sometimes you’d cross a freshly butchered carcass rotting in the bracken and realize with a sickening jolt exactly where he’d been, tracing the invisible lines of his path.
The attraction wasn't rational; hell, it was like leaning your bare throat into the bloody jaws of a rabid timber wolf. It was that fucking awful, fluttering feeling of butterflies, the tremor that’s the rush before a kill. Every time he approached, your body still whispered run. Every time he left, the silence felt infinitely worse. And yet, sitting there with him, that dark, morbid curiosity clawed at the back of your mind again.
What if this is the time? What if tonight is when he finally stops playing along? What if he just... snaps? Like a monster? The monster he is so-called to be? You just stared up into those black hollows, wondering how long this fragile wire act could possibly hold.
What a pathetic tangled mess you'd made of an otherwise simple life.
The air between you felt stretched to a thread, belied by the steady, miserable drumbeat of the rain outside. You were waiting for him to move, waiting for him to answer, or at least break the suffocating weight of his not-gaze.
Really, the fact that he wasn't answering was the most worrying of all.
His grip, where his hands rested against the cushions on either side of your hips, suddenly tightened, and you felt the curving pressure of his claws sink just a fraction deeper, nudging agonizingly close to your skin. It wasn't enough to pierce—not yet—but it was a sharp, distinct reminder of what he actually was. An apex predator casually flexing its weight.
Your chest rose and fell in a rapid, shallow panic, your gaze locked onto the dark tears weeping down his gray jawline.
“When's the last time you fed?” you asked tentatively, as much as you could muster to mutter the words.
He didn't move a muscle. He just tilted his head down at you, completely silent.
“Are you broken or just being annoying?” you said, your hands shoving uselessly against his chest again, your voice sharp and slightly irritated. “Stop being silent, damn it. Answer me.”
Right as you opened your mouth to snap at him again—
“…You…” he started, stopping awkwardly. “…make me nervous.”
Hearing this flesh-eating eldritch creature essentially admit that you made him nervous was so profoundly ridiculous that you almost laughed. And despite yourself, a tiny pathetic fraction of your human soul felt a bizarrely twisted pang of sympathy for him, even as you realized how completely unhinged that made you.
The blunt pressure of his claws immediately eased off your skin, the tension in his massive frame retracting just enough to let you breathe. You winced slightly as the phantom sting left your hips, your shoulders slumping a fraction against the cushions.
“…Almost two weeks,” he finally murmured lowly.
You let out a long, pained groan, throwing your head back. “Yeah. Definitely too long, you fucking idiot.”
That made sense. Looking back, he had been acting entirely cagey lately. If you didn’t know him better, you'd think he was tracking you—lurking around the edges of your shifts, showing up whenever you got hurt, even in obscure, out-of-the-way places. It had been happening for a while.
Then again, you remembered why. You thought about the explosive, one-sided shouting match you had a while back, when you finally snapped and gone off on him about killing civilians, laying down the law and forcing some unsaid twisted compromise out of him, spitting out reasons for why he couldn't touch humans, who were your family and friends.
Well, you hadn't exactly told him to starve himself or sit in a dark corner wasting away.
And now he was just... lingering. Making his pathetic, half-assed excuses like showing up because he wanted to see you instead, hovering over you like a possessive, starved animal guarding its only kill.
He didn't move away, but his head tilted slightly as he added, “...Don't like the taste of animal.”
You knew damn well what he meant. He didn't want the deer or livestock rotting in the deep woods; he wanted red meat, warm and complex and human.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, a wave of bitter disgust washing over you—not just at him, but at yourself. Here you were, a sworn officer of the hunters, trading casually morbid banter with the exact kind of freak you’d dedicated your life to putting in the ground. Every syllable exchanged, every second you spent letting him stay this close, felt like another brick chipping away at whatever fragile moral code you had left. You were rotting from the inside out, especially when you knew about this and hid it willingly.
What is wrong with me?
The scorching self-beratement sucked. You were losing your mind. Absolutely, irrevocably losing it. Here you were, lying bleeding out on a grimy safehouse couch, playing house with a cannibalistic abomination. What kind of monster hunter sits there negotiating meal preferences with the enemy? You were disgusting. Sick. Pathetic. Pathetic.
He leans in again and you stifle a breath, that massive frame blotting out the dim light. You have to violently squish your spine back against the cushions until the wood (the wood!) dug painfully into your back. Underneath your ribs, your heart went to a full-blown panic sprint, its rhythm accelerating instantly into a fast pit-pit-pit-pit sound, so loud you could even hear it echoing in the heavy silence between the drops of rain.
Instantly, a low rumble vibrated through his chest, acknowledging the sudden spike in your terror.
“...Faster again,” he rumbled softly, tracking the acceleration of your pulse.
His head dipped lower again, right toward the torn gashes on your side where the blood was still sluggishly leaking through your wounds and its haphazard dressing. A wave of ice-cold dread and darkly sickening fascination crashed over you simultaneously; you were revolted, your stomach churning, but also... paralyzed, waiting to see what he would do if you gave him free reins.
“Will... will blood be able to sustain you for a bit?” you blurted out before your brain could stop it.
Stupid stupid stupid. Do you want to die right now? You’ve seen what he does with those weird preserved things he tore and harvested from his victims. Hell, you still vividly remembered that one grim night he’d tried to offer you a glistening strip of intestines like some grotesque romantic gesture, and you had nearly vomited right into the dirt.
Another full-body shiver wracked your frame, your muscles locking up.
“...yours might,” he murmured right against your skin. Deep in his chest, a strange low vibration rattled outward.
Your head tilted back slightly, neck straining forward as your spine instinctively straightened your posture. You squinted up at the peeling paint of the ceiling while his weight pressed heavier into you, heart bouncing like a pinball inside your chest, and you could feel the blood rushing to your fingers as your fingernails clawed desperately into the upholstery. He was again completely ignoring any concept of human boundaries, but he was still. Maybe he was waiting. Maybe he was waiting for some sort of sliver of consent before he crossed the final line, except you knew better. Creatures like him didn't care.
“Fine,” you said.
Fine. Just take it. Take whatever it takes to get you to shut up, to get you off my chest, to make you crawl back out into the swamp so I can stop living like a cornered animal. And if letting him have a taste of your blood kept him from ripping apart some helpless patrol or civilian, then fine.
Silence swallowed the room, save for the fucking maddening drumming of the entitled rain.
The last remaining scrap of his “restraint” snapped in a low snarl as he completely flattened himself over you, all dense muscle, blood-like smell, and radiating heat pressed down until every ounce of your weight was crushed into the cushions. You let out a choked gasp as he began to lick, the wet, forked slide of his tongue dragging directly across the torn edges of your wounds and blood-soaked bandages.
Oh good god.
It was the most revolting sensation imaginable. Your stomach heaved violently though that was maybe from the pain, your eyes squeezing shut so hard stars danced behind your eyelids as you let out a wheeze, trying desperately to suck in oxygen through your teeth. The abrasive friction of his tongue against your still raw, stinging skin sent a sharp jolt through your ribs. It hurt—it actually burned like acid—mixed with a nauseating, liquid heat that felt entirely too weird.
Can you get some kind of disease from this? Tetanus? Some necrotic swamp rot? What the hell is tetanus? You were a monster hunter, but you sure as hell weren't well-versed in the pathogen portfolio of a literal corpse-eater.
Where else has this tongue been…
His massive hands tightened around your waist until you again felt the threat of his claws pressing into your bare flesh, pressing you so hard against his frame that you couldn't move an inch even if you tried. Another violent shiver started racking your frame, sending a wave of electric goosebumps exploding across every square inch of your skin. Slowly, agonizingly, the points of the claws began to sink at where they held you, biting into your soft flesh. You could barely even notice the exact moment they broke the surface, just a sting swallowed whole by the overwhelmingness flooding your veins.
Little, breathless gasps started spilling past your lips as his tongue kept doing its work, moving past the minor scratches and tracing closer to the open edges of your deepest wound. The sting was bad enough to make your vision swim, but it was overshadowed by the feeling of teeth, brushing against your wounded skin.
The sharpness of his canines grazed right over the sensitive edge of the gash, a deliberate, suggestive friction that made your stomach drop straight into a freefall. You were scared—genuinely, frantically terrified of how easily he could tear you open right then and there—yet your back involuntarily arched up into the cushions, pushing your spine deeper into the couch as your legs twitched slightly against him, trapped beneath his weight in a desperate, confusing response your body refused to authorize.
When his mouth closed over the torn, pulsing skin—right where the deepest gash throbbed—a sharp, white-hot explosion of pain and agony lanced straight through your body.
“Ah—ah—shit—”
Your voice was trembling on the edge of a pathetically pained whine. The dangerous curve of his canines pressed directly against the bleeding nerve endings, cold and sharp and entirely too close to drawing more blood for real.
“Don’t—don’t bite, don’t bite—!” you whimpered, your hands flying up to blindly shove against him as he did exactly what you just said not to do. Panic was a live wire sizzling through your veins.
This is so fucking bad. What in the actual hell am I doing, shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Instead, a low growl rumbled deep in his throat, vibrating straight into your collarbone as he sucked harder at the wound, a pull that drew a loud groan that sounded entirely too much like something else. The wet, abrasive drag of his tongue scraped raw over the torn edges of the flesh, turning the open bleed into an absolute agony. It made your toes curl slightly, your back violently arching upward off the cushions.
The tearing feeling of teeth against your side pushed you past the absolute breaking point, finally overriding the paralyzed haze in your brain, and you shoved your palms flat against his face, pushing him away with every ounce of strength you had left. “Okay, enough, get off—”
Your hands plastered hard against his cold forehead, shoving him back as he tugged and worried at your flesh with his teeth, reluctant to let go. When your palms finally came away, your skin was slick and smeared with that thick, tar-like black fluid—whatever ungodly ichor ran through his veins, staining your hands in the dim light.
He finally drew away with a low, disgruntled growl rumbling deep in his chest, head pulling back just enough to break the seal, though he still loomed over you like a mountain. Jarring back to reality, you stared straight up into those terrifying, eyeless hollows. How did my life come to this?
He was entirely silent, the heavy rain outside providing the only soundtrack to the suffocating quiet. Then, slowly, he parted his jaws. His mouth was completely coated in a thick, wet crimson, glistening under the shifting light. Your blood smeared across his gums, bright and sickeningly vibrant, framing his sharp, inhuman teeth as they peeked through the red.
Your blood.
The corners of his jaw stretched, maybe in a smile, one that wasn't quite human and wasn't quite beast—a slow unhinging grimace, the kind predators make when the taste lingers and the hunger hasn't been put to bed, the dripping crimson split across the lower half of his mask.
When Basilisk Sylphid find himself too exhausted to watch his mouth.
A pair of footsteps thundered through the hallways before a voice can be heard cussing gods knows what. The figure slammed the door to the specters' lounge room open, breathing heavily. It was none other than Basilisk Sylphid, a celestial star specter and one of the most powerful and well respected one amongst his peers.
"Gods I fucking hate this job–" Sylphid cursed out.
... And he immediately regretted it as soon as his silver hues landed on a particular figure on the couch. The girl looked up from the book she was reading, raising an eyebrow at him. His body froze underneath a pair of obsidian eyes, words caught in his throat.
There on the couch was the daughter of death, his higher-up and commander, the heiress herself.
Lady Lynxadea.
"Uh- C-Commander! Fancy seeing you here.. heh." The specter fumbled, trying to play it cool.
From the way Lynxadea only lifted her eyebrow higher, it's clear that she heard him cussing out about his job. Sylphid pursed his lips and looked at the ground, readying himself for an earful. He might have to grovel in front of her after this, hoping she won't place him in the cleaning duty after his unsavory words.
"I'm a damn idiot..." he cursed in his head, "Should've kept my mouth shut. Damn Queen and his influence."
But instead of scolding him or interrogating him, Lynxadea simply smiled softly. Her familiarly rough voice called, telling him to lift his head. So he did.
The commander shifted on the couch, patting the spot next to her and encouraging him to sit down. Sylphid was hesitant, still a bit tense in worry. But eventually he relented and walked over, slumping next to the brown haired girl.
"What's troubling you my specter?" Came Lynxadea's question, her voice filled with worry.
"Mhm..." Sylphid looked away, sighing. "Just... A tough day. Some souls keep tryin' to escape and shit, barely slept."
Keey let out a small 'ooh' in understanding. She turned back to the book in hand– it was about cosmos, he noticed– and stayed quiet. The silence was beginning to bother Sylphid, and he was about to let out an excuse, but her hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed gently.
"I'm sorry about that. I'll tell someone else to take your shift for now, you should rest." Lynxadea suggested.
Sylphid immediately straightened up. His silver eyes returned to the girl, chest puffed in disapproval as he argued,
"What– No, it's fine. This is my job. I need to do it properly–"
"Which you can't do unless you're well rested." she cut him off, her tone firm. "You will rest. And I'll make sure someone else cover for you. If there's no one to do so, I'll do it myself."
"But–"
"My decision is final."
Obsidian met silver. Both were aware of how stubborn the girl can be, how unwilling she is to back down, especially when it comes to stuff like this. Ever since she became a commander, she took a lot of matter into her own hands.
Everyone knows that the commander cares too much about their well-being. They're not complaining, but sometimes her actions seemed hypocritical, as she often overworks herself too. It's not rare for the specters to find Lynxadea asleep on her desk, paperworks and blueprints scattered around.
"... Fine." Sylphid eventually sighed, giving up on arguing.
"Good." Lynxadea smiled, triumphant and glad.
The hand on his shoulder pulled, almost shoving Sylphid's back onto the couch. He'd complain, but was interrupted by his own yawn, exhaustion finally catching up to him. Great gods, looks like he actually needed some sleep. How embarrassing.
But his commander didn't seem to mind. Instead, her hand moved along his arm, rubbing and massaging slowly. The feeling almost lulled him to sleep, another yawn escaping.
Sylphid flickered his gaze from the ceiling to Lynxadea, finding her gaze on him, a small smile on her lips. Embarrassed, he wished he could tell her to look away, but his eyelids grew heavy. So, as the world around him blurred and his senses fell into the dullness of sleep, he simply murmured what last came to his mind.
It has been exactly three years since he first dyed his hair the atrocious, uneven, and untoned yellow that would finally, distinctly separate him from his twin.
Atsumu stares at himself long and hard in the mirror, golden eyes frequently returning to his lemonade locks. It has been exactly three years since he began processing his then-virgin hair. He cards a calloused hand through his hair, recalling the times when it wasn’t so healthy. The times after volleyball practice when his hair would become brittle and crunchy upon absorbing all his sweat. The nights when he fought with his twin over conditioner, and ultimately ended up using his mother’s.
The fateful morning when he found clumps of yellow on his pillow from the years of reckless bleachings and box dyes.
Atsumu flips his hair over varying parts and sections, eventually discovering that something was wrong. “My roots are gettin’ dark,” he thinks partially aloud. He decides that he’ll give them a touch-up before he retires to his bed for the night.
The short trip to his bathroom is mindless as he reaches for the bleach, mixing bowl, and toners that he knows all too well. He slides the metal end of a comb down the center of his head, minding the parts of hair that were longer than the others. Atsumu pours the proportions of his favourite bleach, the formula being child’s play to him now. He’s careful to only apply to the exact root but saturates the pieces accordingly. It’s therapeutic for him now, his only solitude coming from the self care he does at home, whether it’s fixing his grown-out roots or deep cleaning the floors.
His hair processes to his liking and he continues with his routine as normal, save for the extra time he spends being generous with the purple conditioner that his brother has so graciously recommended to him. It has been exactly three years since he insisted that he become blond on the account of “samu’s too grey, and I look amazin’ in yellow.” Although he cherishes his brother, Atsumu couldn’t stand having to look like the fool any longer.
Stepping out of the too-hot shower, Atsumu uses another series of conditioner that gets his hair to the sparkly lemonade shade that he so adores, the shade he’s worked so hard to accomplish. Gone are the days of cheap box dyes, harsh bleaches, and absent toners; instead, he finds solace in the products that don’t smell like a factory fire, ones that won’t dry his hair too too much. He drags his hands through the freshly dyed strands, admiring the years of personal growth that it took to learn to care for his hair. Blonds may have more fun, but not without the sacrificed time of perfecting their looks.
It has been exactly three years since Atsumu deemed the term “blondie” was meant for him.
summary: Xavier's had eons to think about how your first time together might go. Not once did he expect it would happen during his rut.
w.c.: 4.5k | AO3
notes: 18+, mdni, pwp-ish, werewolves, knotting, first times, Xavier and MC lust after each other like pent-up Victorians, reluctance on Xavier's part, my tenses are everywhere. Look I just wanted to write some good old fashioned werewolf smut. If I missed anything let me know! Please do not read if any of the above bothers you.
Xavier has been acting strangely.
For one thing, he's been clearly uncomfortable— running hot even in the frigid chill of Sindersfell. It's barely sunrise, and Xavier's already unbuttoned his shirt collar, beads of sweat pooling dangerously at the hollow of his throat. The innermost part of you cheered at the hint of collarbone over breakfast. You figure that was going to be as exciting as today would get.
By midday, he's down to an undershirt and his usual riding pants and boots. You're having the best day of your life since you woke up in the Order of Babel. Having only been "awake" for a few weeks, no one could fault you for not knowing staring was impolite.
And you stared.
By sundown he's shirtless, absentmindedly picking at his skin, unable to find relief. You approach him, balms and poultices in hand. Xavier does seem genuinely in distress, skin angry and dry and hot, and he manages a polite "thank you" at your help, even though he looks like he'd rather be anywhere than in your presence. It's a good thing you have ulterior motives right now, his mood be damned.
You pay little heed to his tempest moods, swallowing nervously as you rub the herbal balm into his back with sweeping circles. The pungent earthy smell of oakmoss prickles at your nose but it's far from your thoughts. Instead, you selfishly take this time to admire him as he sits with his back towards you, long silky hair pulled forward so you have an uninterrupted view as you get to work.
And it is quite the view. This close, you can feel his lungs expand and contract as your hands glide over the expanse of his back. If you press in just a little, you can almost feel his pulse, low and steady. It's a shame you can't just press your ear up to his chest to listen whenever you wanted. His scarred muscles ripple and shift under your hands, alive, thrumming with energy. You're energetic too, albeit for different reasons.
Just before you reach the waistband of his pants, you stop, abruptly standing up.
"All done!" you pat his head, awkwardly brushing imaginary dust off your skirts as he looks back at you with confusion.
"Oh—" he starts, before closing his mouth, thinking better of it. "Thank you."
He hasn't met your eyes, not once before he walks away, ears crimson.
Xavier's also been prickly and irritable, stalking the castle halls in a shadowy mass of sharp edges and heat. A group of Revenants call out as you both return to the castle, their religious fervor reaching a fever pitch with each praise sung.
By the time you make your short walk between the castle gates and your quarters, it's quiet.
Xavier's leveled them all in a stony fit.
You question him about it over dinner.
"The Dead are too noisy," he says flatly.
Now that you two are no longer in town, he's back to wearing little. Your eyes linger and you forget what you were asking to begin with.
This little dance continues for about a week. Xavier stomps around Sindersfell half-naked, clawing at his skin, you stare for a little too long, committing to memory the line of his waist, the way his arms flex, showing off the corded muscle usually hidden—
And trying to help him.
Of course.
Which is why you're shocked to turn the corner and see Xavier leave through the gates.
—
Old habits die hard, and Xavier leaves without a word, fleeing into the night. His rut is his problem, and his problem alone to deal with.
But he couldn't get very far.
He didn't want to get very far.
Not with the full moon sapping his faculties, not with the way his transformation took him by surprise after it had been dormant for so many years. Centuries in fact. The last time he had a rut he was barely a Knight on Philos. You never had to hear about it because the royal family kept that secret under even tighter wraps.
He spares a glance at the setting sun and presses Shadowbind onward. He can't help that his senses all sharpen as the full moon draws closer. It's bad enough when you're in your (his) room touching yourself, full of lush moans and soft whines as you please yourself on his bed. His body, ever traitorous, seeking its mate, responds instantly, knot swelling at the base of his cock so quickly it makes his head rush. His willpower crumbled as soon as his name left your lips— hand flying to fist his cock in time with your pace, imagining you crying for his knot, your body all soft and warm around him.
The woman he loves, crying around him, taking him, taking him like that. Even in his loneliest days he never allowed himself the fantasy of indulgence. Either you would run away screaming or he would hurt you somehow.
It's worse in the day because he can't avoid you, even if he really wanted to. You greet him every morning for breakfast, and he has the unscrupulous task of trying to focus and act normal even as his senses tunnel, seeing evidence of your arousal everywhere. Your eyes dilate every time you look at him, you squeeze your soft thighs together under the table, shifting quietly in your seat, and you smell amazing. Your scent tickles his nose, warm with a slight undertone of something maybe floral, maybe gourmand. Gourmand seems right, Xavier thinks, because you smell delectable, appetizing even, like the fruit you so enjoy stealing by the riverbank. He wants to take his time with you— he has to be a gentleman, treat you right, treat you kind—
Then you reach over and pat his hand, interrupting his thoughts, and he goes lightheaded because it's the same hand you used to touch yourself last night and suddenly all he wants is to rut you into the floor. Why bother with the niceties, his brain roars, seething, it'll end up like this regardless.
You smile at him from across the table, so soft and so beautiful, and shamefully all he can think about is mounting you and marking you. Maybe tie you to the bed so no one can ever have you or look at you or be near you or share your air ever again. How did it get so bad? It wasn't like this last time.
Time had worn away his defenses, he reasoned. Sanded them down until they were just a pithy little net, sized perfectly for you to get past it. Or maybe he had just missed you more than he could ever know.
He's had so much time to think about how your first time together would go but not once did he imagine it might take place during his rut. For your protection, and his, the only reasonable thing to do was to leave. Or at least not be in the general vicinity of Sindersfell.
As soon as he hears your chamber doors close for the night, he bolts. He reaches the edge of the forest in a few hours, pushing Shadowbind to it's limit. It doesn't seem to mind, although it pointedly looks at him before disappearing with a slight huff.
The last ray of light disappears over the horizon and he continues, on foot. The underground facility is still functioning, barely. Xavier had restored it in secret after returning to Philos.
"Your Highness. Is this necessary? You're…you're…no longer mated."
"Was I ever?" is what he wants to say. Jeremiah was right. There was no danger of a rut without a mate.
At this point you had been gone for over a hundred years.
There's no time to feel relief about his foresight. Inky black and gold clothing pool on the floor with each step as Xavier yanks his finery off, itchy and uncomfortable as he stumbles down the hall. The containment facility was cold, bereft of your warmth, bereft of any creature comforts. But at least he's alone, and far enough away that he couldn't just bolt back to the castle and smash your door open, ruining all of his plans, ruining you.
The realization is cold comfort.
Feverish, he attaches the manacles to his arms, dripping sweat making him clumsy as he struggles with the rusty iron.
The shift hurts. His skeleton is starting to transform, bones lengthening with solid snaps, muscles growing even taller and stronger. With each step his skin looks like it's alive, meat and bone bubbling underneath to accommodate the new form. A high pitched noise fills his eardrums as Xavier doubles over, grunting in pain, sweating as his body warps, biting down on his glove to minimize noise, giving his hearing a chance to adjust. Hands, already large, elongate, ending in sharp black claws. Eons of training had left him a more prepared shifter than most, but even then this was painful.
Above all, he hates giving into his baser self. The emotions he had spent lifetimes carefully compartmentalizing, carefully dealing with, all compromised by the accident of his birth.
The shift always happens first, and then the worst part. The rut itself. The all-consuming want makes a mockery out of Xavier, as if he hasn't spent his entire lifetime wanting. Wanting to escape. Wanting to leave. Wanting you. The desire that ripples through him is so heady it's almost nauseating as his brain makes desperate attempts to stay vaguely human.
But those thought are so, so enticing to explore.
Would you enjoy being claimed violently? He had never gone through a rut with you, but he imagines it'd be violent. The image of you, flushed when he refused to return your hand after kissing it the second time you met…you had liked that, he remembered.
You had liked that a lot.
No, no, no. Holding your hand for just a smidge longer than proper was nowhere in the same realm as wanting you underneath him, begging for his marks, begging for him, wanting him. Would you look at him in disgust and run? Or would you think differently?
The long-suffering romantic in him dares to hope. The practical realist knows better. The werewolf in him however, wants you come hell or high water. Wants to kiss your stomach, touch every curve, memorize every sound, feel every part of you on its tongue, see you impaled on his knot, claimed.
It, and he, knows that you'll be perfect, like coming home. With a sigh, he palms himself, hoping the relief of his hand will suffice.
It won't.
—
"Leave."
You hear him before you see him, a deep sonorous sound echoing through the halls. It's distorted, like he's speaking underwater, and disembodied, coming at you from all directions. The facility Xavier fled to was well-hidden in the trees, just at the edge of the forest. It seems both ancient and modern, the relic of a bygone era of Philos. There's only one small foyer, and a set of stairs that only go down.
With only the dim emergency lights as your company, you descend.
The basement door is ajar.
"Xavier, are you there?" you call out into the darkness. A cool, damp, earthy scent fills your nose, and the clink of metal gets louder as you gingerly make your way through.
"I said leave."
His voice, low, distressed, biting, is coming from deeper underground. You turn a corner, and that's when you see it.
A hulking, growling creature looms over you, wrists enclosed in heavy manacles attached to the wall. It's covered from head to toe in long shaggy silvery fur, so light that it reflects in the darkness, bathing it in an eerie glow. It's easily twice your size, ambling about the dark room on strange bipedal lupine legs. Every bit of it screams danger: hands big enough to palm your head ending in sharp black nails, glistening fangs covered in spit, muscled legs tight with tension. This wolf creature is on edge, sniffing, looming over you as it scents the air.
Adrenaline surges through your veins as your body wills you to move, run, anything. But shock and fear and anxiety keep you rooted to the ground as you gaze up at the monstrous creature chained to the wall.
Even in the low light, you know it's Xavier. You would know him anywhere, in any form.
"I told you to leave," the creature growls, lips curling back, showing teeth, "Not die."
Up close, his voice sounds even more distorted, as if he were trying to pluck at vocal cords not suited for such sounds. Cold, flat blue eyes bore into you, eerily reflective even in the dim light. He's emitting so much heat he's steaming— the air around him is shimmering in the darkness around his fur.
"I'm not leaving," you step forward.
He growls, shaking his head before lunging at you.
The chains go taut, just long enough at full length that Xavier's teeth are just centimeters from your face.
You reach forward, calling his bluff, and he backs away, skittish, tail between his legs. Scared of your touch? Of you?
"Xavier…"
He groans, retreating into the dark corner.
"Don't….I don't want to hurt you," is all he says.
You step forward again, this time slowly.
"You would never." Famous last words perhaps, from a person walking into certain doom.
The chains rattle as Xavier slams his fist into the wall, startling you. Dust falls as the walls rumble in protest.
"You can't know that—-" he growls, seething, "It wouldn't be just the regular kind of pain."
Regular kind of pain? From his teeth? From his nails?
Your eyes float down, and you see it. His need is obvious, hanging heavy between his legs, aching, glistening. Even shadowed, it's prominent against his belly.
Slowly you put two and two together. Xavier's behaviors up til today, this wolf creature, the way he cuffed himself to the wall, his comment about "regular pain"…
"Will this—" you make a vague gesture with your hands towards his crotch, warm in the face, "— go away if I help you?"
"I don't want your help," is the immediate clipped response, almost incandescent with barely suppressed rage.
Liar. You saw his cock twitch. He's been sneaking glances at your body, pale fathomless eyes darting to and fro, unable to hold your gaze. The cloak on the floor is damp with a suspiciously milky fluid. His hand was obviously not enough.
You cup his cheeks, digging into the soft fur. He's trembling, nails digging into his palms, unable to look away this time, eyes wild.
"Starlight," he whimpers, "You can't be serious—" he groans, panting, trembling into your touch.
"I am," you hear the words before you process them. "I'm not leaving. We're doing this." You take a step forward, stepping over your gown. "Or we'll spend the rest of our days thinking about it and wishing we did."
You place a gentle kiss at the tip of his nose.
"I don't want to live with that kind of regret, Xavier," you murmur, "Please don't let me live with that kind of regret."
—
Just like how he followed you across the stars, of course you followed him into the night. You're wide-eyed, alert, as you take in his form. Shivering slightly, although that seems to have more to do with being deep underground than fear. You don't smell like you're afraid— in fact, you're probably too stubborn and too insolent to even consider being afraid of him.
"Defiant as always," he grits his teeth, tasting iron from the way he's been chewing the inside of his cheek for the last fifteen minutes. Your palm on his chest is barely enough and he's so hard he's almost embarrassed, whining.
"Xavier..." you smile, full of secrets of your own, "Don't you like me better this way?"
You look up at him, and he knows its over. No matter what else you say, what else you do, it's over. He's reached the end of his rope.
He's sorry your first time together is going to be like this—
And then you slide the strap off your dress, then the next, letting your gown pool at your feet. For a singular moment he sees you and the invitation you're giving him.
If he had been any more human he would luxuriate in the image of you, naked save for your smalls and the jewelry he had gifted you, glinting off of your throat. But his eyesight is magnitudes better and even in the dim light he can see your nipples are peaked and the want in your eyes.
He breaks free before it even registers in what's left of his mind.
Dimly, he registers that he's ripping the crown jewels of Philos off your neck as he pulls you close, diamonds clattering onto the ground, catching in the dim light like little stars. Priceless, his grandmother had mentioned once. Nothing is more precious than what's in his arms right now.
His his his.
He's so crazed that for a moment he just holds you, panting in your ear, relishing the feeling of you in his arms, a relief he didn't know was possible at your acceptance of him. But he can't take you right away. For all your bravery, he still needs, no, wants to prepare you before you can take him in this form.
The cloak he had stripped off finds its way under you as he maneuvers you onto your back. You titter, shouting in surprise as he presses his nose directly between your thighs, taking deep huffs. His tongue laps at the entirety of your crotch, hot and slick against your vulva, swirling at your clit. Your scent is so strong here that Xavier's head swims, tail wagging as he eats you out with intensity that he reserves for little else. Each pass of his tongue gets you higher as you start to moan, anchoring your hands in his fur. He opens his mouth wider, breath hot against your clit before his tongue dives inside your pussy, grunting as he fucks you with it. Your walls squeeze him as he swirls the muscle inside you, making a mental map of the places that make you sing out. He's so far gone that he's starting to hump the floor as he eats you.
"Xavier— Xavier!!"
That's the only warning he gets before you cum, back bowing as you arch. With a satisfied grunt he pulls down by the waist, holding you down on his tongue, lapping at the hot fluid as you shudder, sighing as you come down. You reach down and massage his ears, still loose languid from your orgasm. He whines in satisfaction, finally prying his mouth of of you, muzzle glistening in the low light.
Suddenly, you push away, chest heaving, gesturing for him to lay back with a steely look in your eye.
He whimpers, ears flat, suddenly uneasy as you move to straddle him, holding out his palm to assist you. For a second you just giggle as you sit astride his hips, running your hands over the silver and white fur of his belly, digging your hands in deep, much to Xavier's obvious embarrassment.
And then you raise your hips on top of his length.
"W-wait. Not—not like—" there's something perversely amazing at the sight in front of him: you, poised and determined, regal and beautiful and maybe a little insane for even just the thought of what you're about to do. Him, falling apart, torn between the demands of his form and his fraying self-control, hands now balled into fists, too afraid to touch you further.
"You need me," is all you say. He's always needed you. What else is new?
All he can feel, all he can see right now is the is the tip of his cock, red and aching, so close to your entrance he can feel it's warmth. You're so wet now you're shining. If your need smelled good before, it is in full bloom now, a potent calling card and an eternal reminder that he needs you. And somehow, despite or in-spite it all…
"I need you too Xavier," you breathe, just as you lower yourself onto him. Sweat beads on your brow as you breathe in and out, slowly rocking onto his cock. The air is still, save for your gasps as you will your channel to accept him.
"Let me," he pleads, licking the beading sweat from your brow. This shouldn't be your task, this shouldn't be your responsibility.
"No. This won't work unless you let go."
You give him a pointed look.
"Will you let go? Will you take what you need?"
Xavier stands on the precipice of the unknown.
He sobs, Yes.
He's so consumed with need that for moments he just fucks your thighs, one broad hand easily holding the entirety of your waist, licking and nipping at whatever he can reach, lightheaded as he watches the reddened tip of his thick length disappear in and out of you. It's different from his human one, more tapered, with little ridges to latch onto, leaking and hot against your thighs. He can feel you keen under him when your folds glide over his knot. Made for him, he marvels, as you get impossibly wetter with each pass between your lovely thighs. A little gasp escapes you as your clit catches on the ridges, and Xavier's head swirls with the possibility of hearing more, buoyed with proof that you're just as eager, just as wanting despite it all.
Xavier growls, his arms a cage around your head, hands encircling your skull, thumbs under your chin, holding you in place as he ruts you into the ground. The ache that had been present before has dulled now but he's still inhumanly big, stretching you out with each push and pull. It feels right somehow, this fullness, this pain. But there's little room for thought, only the feeling of his coarse fur on top of you, the claws gripping your skull, your moans mixed with his snarls, the inescapable fullness within, all swirling in a potent miasma.
And it is thrilling.
You relax into his hold, and he howls with delight, accepting your body's surrender, licking at your neck with a broad, flat tongue before sucking your breast into his mouth, rolling your nipple between his teeth, thumbing over the other. He's using you like a toy to get off, unable stop himself from humping you into the ground, one hand gripping your entire body and driving you down onto his length as he pants in your ear. Every snap of his hips sends your nerves flying, adding to the tense coil within.
His knot protrudes from between your legs, swollen at the base of his cock, bigger than your fist.
"I can take it Xavier," you moan, arching your hips up. Will it fit? You're not sure. But you don't care. The two of you will always figure it out, together.
Suddenly, you feel his hands underneath your hips, yelping as Xavier maneuvers you into a standing position, cock still deep within you as he supports your body with a big hand around your waist and another underneath your shoulders. With a feral, flat look in his eye, Xavier starts to lower you onto his knot, drool dripping from his jaws as he pushes, urging your body to open even wider.
It's a slow process, every centimeter a victory as he alternates between fucking you, keeping you elevated and needy, and working your hole open to accept him.
You're a rag doll, completely at Xavier's mercy. The only thing keeping you off the ground right now are a werewolf's grip around your body and his cock. The object of your desires, using you. You can barely register the words coming out of your mouth, some halfway intelligent sounds, broken moans punched out of your lungs with each heavy snap.
He finally gets it halfway down, licking and laving at your face in an attempt to soothe the pain, whining before pulling you off again, raising you to his maw to lap at empty, stretched out hole. You're dazed, every nerve alight as he lines your pussy up with his cock again. His claws tighten around you, almost imperceptibly, and that's the only warning you get before he snarls, ramming your body down onto his knot, stretching you to your absolute limit. It slips in with a loud squelch and a ragged scream— pain overriding pleasure, making your eyes water. You're so full you swear he's in your ribs.
You're not sure if it's the high from pleasure or pain but it feels right. It always does with him somehow.
He doesn't move right away. Instead, Xavier's eyes are glued to the center of where your bodies meet. Carefully, gingerly, he picks up your wrist, placing your hand at your distended lower belly.
Can you feel it? He wants to know if you can feel it.
"Yes," you moan, "you're right there—you're right—"
He grins wolfishly, punctuating your every word with a hard thrust.
"Wait—Xavier—" instantly, he stills, concern flickering through his eyes.
"C-can we get back on the floor? I—"
He tilts his head, confused.
"I want to feel you on top of me."
No longer held back by the possibility of you tearing, Xavier lowers you back onto his cloak, nuzzling your neck, patting your hair, giving you a short reprieve. You seem to have other ideas in mind though, because you're once again lifting your hips, urging him onward.
The press of your lips against him is his undoing.
His release finds him not in the throes of passion or from the way you're still impossibly tight and wet around him. It finds him as you gaze up at him with a dazed smile before reaching your arms around his neck, pulling him down by the fur into a facsimile of a kiss.
Xavier's entire body seizes up as his hips stutter, once, twice, knot ballooning as it finally locks inside you, arms trembling as his cock continues to pulse. You sigh, eyes rolling back once more at he grinds onto your clit, the coarse hair providing just enough simulation to your spent body for one final release. Carefully, he picks you up one more time, leaning back against the wall gently so as not to disturb the tie. You nuzzle onto his chest and he dimly hears the sound of wedding bells.
"It'll be a while before it goes down." he rasps.
"Oh good," you mumble, "I can enjoy this for a little longer."
"You can enjoy this forever," Xavier mutters, half-delirious, half-giddy as the enormity of what just transpired settles in. He touches his forehead to yours, wrapping his arms around you.
"I plan to…you're not getting away from me that easily…not like before."
Xavier starts. What did you just say?
But you're already fast asleep.
notes: posting this before I lose my nerve because it's been languishing in my drafts for forever (hence the chopped ending)! tysm for reading <3 always appreciate comments and reblogs <3
A familiar hand on your head, and then you're met with wiry hair. The unmistakable scent and taste of him fills your nose and tongue as Xavier elbows his way into all of your senses.
"Captain, why do we keep playing this game? You lie, and I pretend to forgive you."
A languid roll of his hips, and your eyes water.
"But then I lie, and you swallow every word." His eyes are dark, looking down at you in wicked triumph. You feel the brush of his thumbs pulling up your eyelids, ridding you of the luxury of blinking, bidding you not to look away even as the burn settles in. "And you let me get away with it..."
Without warning, Xavier comes, shooting down your throat in hot bursts. His hands return to the back of your head, holding you still as he steps over your shoulders, driving his cock down further down your gullet, paying no heed to your gurgled choking as as he empties himself inside with one, two, three--
You start to seize as bile works up your throat, your hand flying to the back of his thighs, this close to tapping out but Xavier finally pulls out with a satisfied moan. He looms over you, cock resting on your lips, your head still supported by his hands as you pant. A smug, possessive look descends upon him as he starts to drag his balls over your open mouth, grinning as you begin to lick.
"I need attention here too Captain~ I've been aching since you left me."
His mood sours visibly from the reminder. Great.
"You shouldn't have gone without me."
You turn away, panting into his thigh, "You seemed just fine whenever we called."
"Like you said Captain." He steps away suddenly, kneeling down to your eye level, nipping at your chest as you massage your sore neck, wincing. Blue eyes find yours again as is tongue curls around your nipple, hot and wet.
"Xavier always lies."
notes: surprise hi I wrote something!!!1! This was inspired by a line from The Freak Circus. I don't know what it is with Hermit and me and blowjobs but here we are!! Oral fixation Hermit nation!!
April and May disappeared in a vortex of work and personal life. Here's to hoping I get to write more soon :) let me know what you liked o/ comments and reblogs always appreciated.
king of darknight/lightseeker/hunter/f!mc (m/m/m/f)
summary: a chance encounter with a Knight and a King helps you gain a better understanding of Xavier. You make the most of it, and them. Part character study, part foursome. king of darknight/lightseeker/hunter/f!mc (m/m/m/f)
w.c: 15.2k (!!) | AO3
notes: 18+, mdni, this is a character/relationship study with a side of porn, foursome (m/m/m/f), porn with feelings, blowjobs, airtight, double penetration, anal, marathon sex, slight angst, slightly possessive Xavier, canon-compliant, myth spoilers, this one is for the claymore girls, i cram all my feelings about xavier and his myths and you all are just here for the ride. please do not read if any of the above bothers you.
hbd xavier <3
"Shit—- shit!!"
The Wanderer roars, vanishing in a puff of smoke as you collapse against a tree, willing your heart to stop beating out of your chest. There was no time to waste, you had to make sure Xavier was okay.
A large beam of light illuminates the forest and you take off, flying across the night.
The evening was not supposed to go this way. It was finally, finally, a night the two of you had time off. Frustration had been gnawing at you, the late nights you caught him teleporting onto his balcony, hurt, his dodginess about the derelict spaceship in the forest.
Relief relaxes your shoulders as you spot a familiar figure ahead of you clad in white, sword held in hand.
"Xavier! Thank goodness—"
A series of strange events occur immediately as you press your lips to his.
Xavier stiffens, stiffens, as if he doesn't spend every private moment all over you. Armored hands settle on your waist, sliding up your side, cradling your face, pulling you closer, the cool kiss of metal contrasts with the rising heat—
Armor? Since when did Xavier wear armor?
Relief turns into confusion as you pull back. Xavier is blushing, hard, eyes frantic, face so flushed you could almost believe he has a fever. His breathing is labored, chest rising and falling underneath his coat. There's no trace of red light underneath his shirt. An injury perhaps?
There's also the matter of his attire. A long fitted white coat, open at the chest revealing a black breastplate decorated with gold, iridescence shimmering at his throat and down his arms before being swallowed by black gauntlets. Unabashed joy adorns his face, full of equal parts wonder and something akin to grief as he caresses your face, putting his forehead to yours.
This "Xavier" finds his voice first, a shaky whisper. "You told me just before I left …." his lips find yours again, breathless frantic kisses, and he feels familiar, so familiar that you can't help but want to kiss him back. "I thought…I thought you had someone else."
Someone else? Who would you have but Xavier?
"She does."
A flash of light and a sword enters your vision.
This time, you're certain it's your Xavier, white Hunter uniform pristine while your knees are covered in grass. Keeping the sword at the other man's throat, he pulls you into him by your waist.
Side by side you can see some minor differences between the two of them. The other Xavier seems to be a tad younger, a little more stiff and formal in posture. He barely reacts to the sword at his throat. Instead, his eyes flit between the two of you trying to make sense of what is happening.
Xavier breaks the silence first, "How many flowers did you send to the Queen's coronation?"
The other man's eyes narrow, "How do you know about that? Only Jeremiah—"
He ignores the question, "Did we leave yet?"
We?
"We were just about to…" the other Xavier trails off, lost in thought, eyes widening.
You hear it just a fraction of a second before you see it.
A large black claymore arcs through the air with a deadly whistle, headed straight for you. Without thinking, you push Xavier aside just as the sword embeds itself in the tree behind you with a sickening crunch, a hairs breadth from the Hunter's head.
A warning.
“Step aside.”
The voice, familiar again yet laced with distinctive roughness.
An imposing figure steps from the shadows. Instinct tells you it's also Xavier but this Xavier is unlike anything from your imagination— clad head to toe in black finery, jeweled buttons catching the pale moonlight, golden steel flowers pinned above his heart. Long, slightly unkempt hair leaves a silvery trail down his back, and atop his head sits a black crown. A king?
The sharp piercing gaze that finds yours is the same, narrowing just slightly as he takes you in. His lips press themselves into a thin line, and you avert your gaze.
You should be weirded out, concerned even, by the two doppelgangers in front of you, but something tells you they're all the man you love (somehow). Judging by their reactions, you're important to these other two, although you're not sure how or why or when.
Xavier— well to be precise, your Xavier— swiftly steps in front of you, using his body as a physical barrier between him and the two other men. Silence stretches as they stare each other down, swords raised.
“Who are you to her?” is the unexpected question he lands on.
“Her knight,” the Xavier clad in white armor says, fist clenched.
“Her king,” the imposing Xavier in all black says definitively.
“And you?” knight Xavier asks pointedly.
The Hunter narrows his eyes.
“Her partner.”
A beat passes before the three of them speak up at the same time.
"Protofield—"
"Wanderers—"
"Anomaly—"
"We're from different times aren't we?" says the King. A simple summation for a situation that was anything but.
His gaze finds yours again, voice soft, "We meet again."
Your voice finds itself, "Again?"
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Yes, again. You're here." He speaks as though your reunion was inevitable, as though all this time he was merely patiently waiting for you.
"I'm going to need an explanation," the Knight interrupts. Of the three, he looks the most tense, fingers unconsciously toying with the two star-shaped charms on his sword. "It would seem that the two of you know me, but not the other way around."
The King's claymore vanishes into specs of light, a gesture to diffuse the tension perhaps. "The Queen's Grandis Knight yes? I suppose you're somewhere on your second mission."
"How do you both—" he starts, brows furrowing before realization dawns on his face.
"You're both from my future," he whispers, "But which?"
King Xavier looks at your Xavier, "I'm curious as well since she," a glance at you, "seems to be with you."
Xavier looks less than forthcoming as his fingers flex against your side, "Is it a good idea to share information? If this is a closed timelike curve—"
"It wouldn't change anything, not for him," the King interrupts, gesturing to the Knight, "You would stay your course no matter what."
"Of course," Knight Xavier doesn't even blink, "Since the meteor shower I swore…" And I have, is the unspoken declaration in the air.
Somewhere, sometime, you had crossed swords with him. Somewhere, sometime, you had shared earbuds on a school roof.
The King looks back at Xavier, "And you?"
He sighs as he flicks his lightblade away, "My answer is the same."
The King laughs softly, "We're stubborn like that. Wouldn't you agree?"
You start, so engrossed in the back and forth that it takes a moment before you realize he's referring to you. Despite the circumstances, a small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.
"Stubborn where it matters, yes."
--
The three Xaviers get along well, better than you expected given Xavier's tendency to get hideously territorial. By their best estimates, the spatial anomaly you're trapped in should disappear in about a week, give or take. The four of you settle into a quasi-domestic routine quickly, setting up a temporary camp, filtering water, foraging for food; never mind that the food responsibility quickly became a you thing, seeing as all three Xaviers had a tendency to pick poisonous berries and the King and Knight didn't seem to eat, ever.
Despite Xavier's general acceptance of his other selves, there seems to be an unspoken arrangement that he always sits next to you, arm snaking around your waist in a not-so-subtle claim. The other two certainly notice, especially when you come back late for dinner, hair mussed and pink in the face, but say nothing.
—
"Are you sure you don't want anything?"
The Lightseeker is up to his elbows in laundry, carefully washing grass stains out of his jacket. As comfortable as they were, spatial anomalies did not tend to come with a change of clothes, and the Knight had quickly taken to the domestic tasks. Underneath the soft hoodies and blankets, Xavier had always been fastidious, desk neat, condo clean despite the odd hours he worked. You're learning now that this is where it comes from.
A spartan, militaristic upbringing, a demanding father, a cage of expectations.
No wonder he chafed under them.
Being with your Knight is like meeting Xavier again for the first time, when you first found him sleeping in the no-hunt zone, long before the relationship you have now. He reminds you of what Xavier was like before— quietly confident, adoring, a little stiff, endlessly captivating. He accepts your presence quickly, eagerly following you around camp, teasing you about your swordsmanship skills (or lack thereof) and regaling you with tales of Philos. Eager and happy in a way only Xavier could be.
But today, something about the way his hair glows in the morning sunlight takes your breath away, and you find yourself at a loss for words.
So you settle for small talk,"You're really good at laundry."
The Knight huffs a laugh, "Any knight worth their salt is, it's part of the requirements for being a squire."
You hum, having a hard time imagining Xavier running errands for his teacher. Now that you thought about it, you never considered that he would be under the tutelage of anyone— so confident was he in his abilities that you never stopped to think that someone must've taught him along the way.
He passes you the tub, "Help me dry these?"
The two of you fall into an easy silence as the Knight wrings excess water from the clothing before passing it to you to be hung on the clothesline, dotting the meadow with a banner of anachronistic garb.
It's hard not to look at him.
Not when the three of them are the only other living beings in the Protofield, not when you're suddenly thrust into close proximity with two identical copies of your boyfriend. You find yourself stealing glances at the Lightseeker in between hanging up shirts and pants, taking in the line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the same maddening quirk of his lip as if he found something privately amusing, something just for him. Broad shoulders, thick arms, lean muscle evident now that he was no longer covered from the neck down in armor and leather. You will yourself not to gawk every time his biceps flex, stray droplets of water cascading down his forearms and past his fingertips back into the bucket.
A black high neck tank top seems to be a particular favorite of all the Xaviers, each of them wearing some version of it under their customary attire.
You're thankful and resentful for it at the same time.
His fingers brush up against yours again, seeking your touch as he passes you the final piece of laundry. It's only by virtue of knowing him (well, his future self) so well that you know those touches are carefully planned, just casual enough to seem accidental, true intentions hidden under a thick veneer of plausible deniability.
How very like Xavier indeed.
This time, you grant him the mercy of clarity, clasping his hands in yours, smiling brightly at him before kissing his cheek. Instantly, the Knight glows, ears blushing red as his wide blue eyes search yours in confusion before leaning forward, angling his face towards yours. He stops just short of kissing you, so close that you can feel traces of his breath caress your skin, instead putting his forehead to yours.
All the while, he keeps his hands in yours, hanging onto your touch.
--
Where Lightseeker is guarded under layers of courtly decorum, the King of Sindersfell is hidden under the sands of time. The long millennia the King has spent without you, with barely another living soul have eroded Xavier down to only what was vital for survival. Gone was the young idealistic knight, in its place was a king who wore aloofness like a crown, rarely spoke unless was necessary, and referred to himself as a tyrant.
You wonder if this is what Xavier, your Hunter, would be like if you never met in Linkon. He already had a reputation as a lone actor at the Hunter's Association. Was it loneliness that made the King this way? Would he, your strawberry-growing, cat-feeding, cardigan-wearing Xavier grow cold? Grow distant?
Initially, the King seems to prefer the company of the other two Xaviers, sparring with the Knight and Hunter. Those sessions always capture your attention— after all, it was Xavier in his element, free from the pretenses and expectations of others. It didn't escape you that although you were all trapped here outside of time, this was the one place that Xavier could truly be himself.
The King seems purposefully unwilling to be alone in your presence. Whether out of deference for your Xavier or because you've done something to offend him, you don't know. The rare times you two are alone, his behavior is…a little awkward to say the least. Once, he chastised you for carrying too much firewood, all the while grabbing the entire stack in his arms, leaving you to catch up to his long strides. Another time, he taught you how to weave a corsage with wildflowers, but before you can tie off the stems on his wrist, he abruptly stands, face indecipherable, and walks away.
This sunset, you chanced upon him on one of your walks, napping in a field of flowers. Unlike the other two, the King came and went as he pleased, always looking upon you and your Hunter with a slight furrow in his brow. When he did speak, he spoke of Philos with scorn and disdain— about how a planet and its people were unworthy of redemption. Yet he said nothing of trying to change anything, as if the destruction of Philos was inevitable, just a foregone conclusion he had accepted long ago.
"But you must have a plan,"Lightseeker says, "I—you— wouldn't let it end this way."
The King says nothing.
How did Xavier come to believe he was beyond saving?
Right now, he seemed utterly defenseless, sword propped up, crown beside him, long hair cradled by blue wildflowers. The setting sun bathes him in its glow, setting a vivid contrast between the dark of his attire and the pale strands of his hair and skin. How strange, seeing as Xavier always preferred white, yet the King was swathed in total darkness.
Fitting perhaps, for the king of the damned.
You trace the golden floral pin on his chest, the metal still cool to the touch despite the rays. Instinct (and experience with Xavier in particular) tells you that the King hasn't shared his whole story with you. He seems to want for very little, not food, not sleep, not your company. What mattered to this Xavier? What was he waiting for back on Philos?
Asleep, he is every bit the man you are in love with. Awake, he is nigh indecipherable, glimpses of phantom affection only present in his awkward, almost clumsy actions. In every universe, Xavier was a mystery to be unraveled. Your Xavier is no different. This Xavier is no different.
You want to get to know this Xavier too.
He doesn't stir when you sit beside him. Unsure of what to do with this sudden opportunity, you reach for his hair, smoothing the silver locks between your fingers, brushing out the stray grass that had made itself home. When he doesn't respond, you braid it, weaving in the surrounding wildflowers into a plait. It reminds you of the silly hairdos you try on Xavier when he's dead asleep on the couch, and you smile.
Unable to resist, you reach out and caress his cheek. Xavier frowns slightly, and you start, jerking your hand away as his eyes flutter open. Immediately, his gaze is on you, eyes wide, blue nearly swallowed up by black.
The moment hangs there for a few beats too long before he pulls you into his arms.
"You're here."
He grasps you tighter, crushing you against his chest.
"I missed you."
To your utter shock, he nuzzles the side of your neck, pressing a soft kiss there. The gesture, so unexpected, so intimate, makes you flinch despite yourself.
"You don't want me to kiss you?" he grumbles, voice hoarse with sleep, barely audible against your heartbeat thudding in your ears. "At least let me kiss you before I wake up," the soft plea makes your heart clench with realization.
He thinks he's dreaming.
He misses you.
Just the other day, the King had barely spoken to you with anything other than ambivalent disinterest. Now he was pleading you to kiss him, desperation making him close his arms around you like a vice. His pleas continue, the whispered confessions of a lonely man with nothing. What could you even say to a man who has been in mourning for all this time?
"I know you wouldn't want to see me like this, what I've become in your absence. But…"
With renewed determination, he grabs the back of your neck, firmly planting his lips on yours. Xavier lived long enough to watch the story of you warp from fact to myth to dust. Walked side by side as your name and sacrifice was erased from history, watched himself go from sentinel to sinner. Watched himself become a tyrant in your his people's eyes. You don't know what to say to a man who has been in mourning for all this time.
"But I do," you pull back, fumbling over your words, unsure of how you could even begin to ease his pain. "I do want to see you. Is that alright?"
The wildflowers tickle your neck as he pulls back to look at you, the blue eyes which journeyed across the cosmos hold no answers, just something that looks like the beginning of relief. You don't know, and he doesn't say, just traces the bow of your lip with his thumb in silence.
--
You don't turn when you hear the grass stir beside you, fingers trailing in the cool stream next to camp. It's Xavier, the one you met on your very first mission as a Hunter, the one whose thumbprint is on your door lock, the one you play board games with.
Your Xavier.
"When I said that I wanted to get to know you better, I didn't expect it to be like this."
He chuckles and offers you his hand, pulling you against him. "So what have you learned?"
So much. And so very little at the same time.
"You're like the stars," you say, leaning back against his chest, comfortable as his arms encircle your waist.
"They appear so close in the night sky but the moment you try to get closer," you turn to look at him, "You realize just how far away they are."
Xavier lowers his gaze, eyes dim.
You don't say this to hurt him, far from it. It's just a statement of fact. Experiencing the last few days with him have made you realize just how little you know about Xavier beyond the carefully crafted narrative he spoon feeds you. The Backtrackers, his run-ins with EVER, his actual involvement with the Hunter's Association, his past lives, even his age.
The Knight is keen to tell you everything you want to know, so long as it doesn't actually concern you or your present. The King has opted for a simpler route of not telling you anything at all beyond the little you can glean from your run-in at the meadow and his little gestures. Even the two other versions of him are just the same, guarded, relentlessly driven towards a singular purpose, a life with you.
He is nothing if not consistent.
What these last few days have taught you is that as frustratingly stubborn Xavier is, every single action, every thought has been about you, in service of you, of a future where he could keep his promise to meet again.
Xavier seems to be taking your silence for discontent, nervously fidgeting, arms holding you imperceptibly tighter, as if trying to hold onto dust.
"I—" he starts.
"You'll take me right?" you interrupt.
"What?"
"To Uluru? You'll take me there in this life?"
Xavier's breath hitches and his eyes go wide. When you both return to Linkon, there will be a lot to clear up, a lot that he has to answer for, but you hope that in this moment, he'll understand that despite how infuriating his secrecy is, you know it's coming from a good place. A frustrating place, one that he's cultivated without any discussion about your own needs and wants, one that needs to change if you two are to move forward.
He smiles, sincerely, eyes just a little watery before interlacing his fingers with yours, bringing your hand up to his lips.
"I promise."
Xavier nuzzles the side of your neck before turning your face towards him.
"For all of my planning," he says, voice unsteady, "I always thought finding you again would be the hardest part."
He smiles ruefully, "It turns out being with you, being a good partner, a good boyfriend, a good— that is much harder."
All the secrecy, the white lies, rooted in idealistic naivete he had done that before on Philos with your past. It seemed to work, until it didn't. All that was left was a Queen who thought her Knight had forsaken her and left her to rule alone. A one-sided betrayal. What you wanted Xavier to understand was that keeping you in the dark only ever resulted in pain and loneliness- your relationship needed to be a joint effort.
This time, you swore to yourself quietly, it would be different. Because you don't just want his presence, as grateful as you are for it. You want to be the one that knows him best, knows the inner workings of his mind, his doubts, his fears, his dreams, his heart just as well as he knows yours. You want to trust that not only will the two of you visit Uluru, that no matter where the cosmos takes you, he'll be yours. That he knows you love him just as much.
"I knew something was special the moment I saw you," you say, cupping his face with your hands.
Xavier looks at you quizzically, but you shoulder on, trying to model honesty despite your nerves. Saying it out loud made you feel raw— exposing your fear that you were the one who was more invested, that you wanted him more, that someday Xavier would disappear from your life just as quickly as he entered it.
"I knew I wanted this for forever," is what you settle on lamely, hardly an adequate summation, but it'll have to do, "I love you so much I can hardly stand it."
Sheepish, you release your hands only for him to pull you back towards him. His lips move slowly against yours, also hesitant, also vulnerable, also seeking your assurance. He deepens it for just a moment before pulling back ever so slightly, forehead against yours.
"I love you too," he kisses you this time, gently, "I'll prove it to you, always."
The story of your relationship had a long prologue. Finally, the next chapter can be written. This time not just by his hand, but yours as well.
--
A barrier seems to have been broken once you were able to speak to the three individually. Maybe you got past their defenses. Maybe they're particularly weak to you. Perhaps a little of both. But the King spends a little more time around you, hanging just off to the side as he watches you spar with your Knight.
The movements come to you more easily than anticipated, thanks to the long training sessions at the Association with the Hunter sword. Still, you are no match for the Lightseeker, as he easily parries and evades your every move with a hand behind his back. In the distance, you see your Xavier has arrived, and he and the King are talking.
The split second you look away proves to be your undoing as the Knight grabs your wrist right as you thrust your sword forward, pulling you off-balance. With a yelp, you stumble into his chest.
"Distracted?" he looks down at you with a smile, like he's just won a prize, and you're suddenly very aware of the heat of his palms at your waist.
Over his shoulder, you can see Xavier and the King watching the two of you with keen interest. You're a little too far away to be sure, but the look on Xavier's face seems more contemplative than anything.
Before you can turn that over in your mind, Lightseeker releases you.
"You should try him next," he says, jerking his head in the King's general direction. Your eyes widen, remembering the heavy black and gold blade arcing towards you, the sickening crunch when it embedded itself in a tree. You must look incredulous, because your Knight laughs, charming and effortless, hands moving up and down your sides.
It was meant to be a reassuring gesture, you think, nothing else.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," he leans in conspiratorially, voice low against the shell of your ear. Suddenly your mouth is a desert, as it always is when Xavier is around, and something starts to stir unbidden deep within you, "My claymore can't harm the living."
You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding, slowly, carefully, hoping that he'd mistake your trepidation for nervousness and not growing desire.
"And this is supposed to help me how…?"
"Good luck." the Knight whispers before stepping back. The sharp amusement in his eyes lets you know he got exactly what he wanted.
--
"I'm told you're exceptional with a claymore."
There was no preamble, no "let's have a friendly match", no assurance that you wouldn't get humiliated in seconds. Not that Xavier would ever do that, but your nervousness is justified, you think. You can't beat his younger self or his current self, how would you fare against an even more experienced Xavier?
Your eyes flick over to where your Hunter is at the edge of the clearing. Observing, again. He mouths "good luck" at you before leaning back against the tree, practiced eyes taking in every detail in front of him. Good luck? You would need a lot of that.
"I wasn't aware you all were talking about me behind my back."
The King of Darknight treats you to a rare smile, "Why would I want talk about anything else?"
The way he says it, its as if you're the only thing worth his time, his attention. It makes you want to preen, just a little.
"Having a diverse repertoire of weapons is wise," the King continues, arms loose at his sides, grass crunching afoot as the two of you start to trace a circle around the clearing, sizing each other up. You readjust your grip on your claymore, the familiar weight a comforting reassurance. He hasn't even summoned his blade.
"It makes it easier to be flexible if the situation calls for it."
You hum thoughtfully, "That's strange, seeing as I rarely see you use anything but a sword."
"When I like something, I don't let go, " he says simply, coming to a stop.
Your palms start to sweat. It's unclear if the King is actually trying to have a conversation, trick you, or if he's giving you the opportunity to set the rules of engagement. Either way, you decide to make the first move. The King's claymore is larger than your own, and definitely bulkier to wield. Xavier would have to be extremely deliberate about how he uses it. From what you could tell, the King was more used to fighting revenants, not humans. You could take advantage of that, dash in, and engage him in close combat. At a distance, you don't think you'd last more than a few seconds.
There's a look of polite surprise on his face as you run at him with full speed— closing the distance, leaping straight in the air, arcing your claymore towards his head. It's an uncomplicated maneuver and you fully expect him to just side step you.
He has the audacity to stand there, unmoving as the arc of your sword draws closer and closer. At the final moment— just as you actually start to worry— warm light becomes solid around his hand into a heavy blade, intercepting you.
The loud clang of metal on metal at such velocity makes your teeth vibrate, and you take a step back, momentarily dizzy. You look up just in time to see Xavier's claymore block out the sun, and now its your turn to be on the defensive. The sound of your match fills the clearing as you trade blows, blades sparking upon contact. It's nothing like how you've seen Xavier in combat, elegant and precise. No, the King wields his sword like a cudgel, trading grace for raw power, scarring the forest floor with each upward stroke.
And doing it all with one hand.
That cocky bastard, you sulk inwardly, it was made worse by how attractive he looked while doing it. Hair swaying with each movement, starry eyes practically tunnel-visioned onto you, lips faintly turned upward. The longer this continued, the greater likelihood that victory would elude your grasp. Xavier would certainly win a battle of attrition, and every second that ticked by was another opportunity for him to throw you off.
You had to find a way to put him on the back foot.
Opportunity strikes, a small opening on his left flank. Without thinking you grit your teeth and run at him, shoulder aimed squarely at his midsection. This time, you see genuine surprise overtake him with a small "oof" as he doubles back a half-step in shock. Good, he's off-balance. Bad, not off-balance enough.
Adrenaline takes over as you grab your hidden boot knife, silver arcing straight for his wrist, hoping to get him to drop his sword. Blue eyes calmly track your knife as he steps to and fro to evade, unable to make full use of his claymore in such tight quarters. The light catches in his hair, and a very devious thought comes to mind.
After all, no one said anything about playing dirty.
Maybe if you grovel enough he'll forgive you. You whisper a slight apology before reaching out, wrapping your fingers around a stray lock of his hair and yanking.
Wide-eyed with shock, Xavier drops his blade just as you swipe his legs from under him, landing him on his back with a gasp of surprise. You roll on top of him, knife tapping his crown.
"I win," you crow triumphant, as you try to catch your breath.
He gazes up at you from underneath thick eyelashes, unfazed, amused even.
"Insolent."
Before you can retort, a solid arm suddenly grabs you by the middle, and you let out a surprised yelp as the sky suddenly spins, reversing your positions.The smirk on his face makes your stomach flutter as you test his iron grip— he's rendered you immobile under him.
Warmth starts to bloom on your cheeks at this familiar position. Those were long nights.
"Perhaps a punishment is in order," he murmurs as he leans closer, breath intermingling with yours. His eyes linger on the corners of your mouth, taking in the heat of your cheeks, the way you start to tilt your head towards him. Yet, just like before, he always seems to be waiting for something.
He's off of you before the warmth of his chest has time to settle on yours, leaving you bewildered on the grass, heart in your throat, confusion gnawing at your brain.
--
It gets worse.
Or better?
You're not sure what changed, but the other two begin to flirt with you relentlessly. Lightseeker has taken it upon himself to hold your hand at every possible opportunity, interlacing his fingers with yours as you both walk back from gathering water. He offers you piggyback rides so often that you wonder if your feet will ever touch the ground again.
Meanwhile, the King slips flowers in your hair when you aren't looking, tucking them behind your ear, fingers slowly tracing the back of your ear, down your neck, leaving sparks in its wake. He carves little figurines from scraps of wood, all your favorite animals. Some of which you have to describe to him. Who knew Philos didn't have octopi?
Flirting isn't the right word. It's the Philosian equivalent of a courtship ritual.
And they're doing it right under Xavier's nose.
If it had been just you and Xavier stuck here, you'd be going at it like rabbits. The lack of privacy made anything beyond hugs or the occasional kiss with your Hunter was impossible. Impossible for you, that is. Xavier himself didn't seem to have issue with it given the multiple times he tried to corner you against a tree, knee between your legs while the others were within earshot.
It's unfair really. You were hardwired by now to react to his glances, his touch, his desires— but you can barely survive the direct attention and affection of one Xavier on a good day, let alone three.
The arousal that had been simmering since the beginning was quickly becoming unmanageable. It's as if you were starving at a feast, surrounded by all your favorites, eager to partake. All you'd have to do is ask…
Grey and white boots suddenly fill your vision.
Your Hunter looms over you, wide-eyed. He's got that air on him like he wants something, and he's trying to ascertain if you want it too.
You squint at him. "Don't push your luck."
"I haven't even said anything yet," he blinks, innocent.
You get the feeling he's trying to fast forward this conversation somehow, as if he wants to speed you along to a certain outcome.
Xavier lays down beside you, right as the last traces of light disappear from the horizon. Not for the first time, the spectre of the unsaid hangs between you two.
"Is there something on your mind?" he asks casually, thumb tracing the inside of your wrist.
He's choosing his words carefully, and you're unsure if he's about to reveal something earth shattering or tell you the stew he made was poisoned. Knowing Xavier, it could go either way.
"There is actually," you do your best to match his tone, but you're sure he can feel your pulse start to race.
"I—" you steel yourself, but there really is no elegant way to phrase what you want to say.
He looks at you, expectant.
"Do you think we can y'know…with the others?"
"Know…what?" he tilts his head.
"Y'know…can I…? Maybe we can both…?"
This was going swimmingly.
Xavier eyes your discomfort with great amusement. Again, you're fairly sure he knows what you're about to say, but true to infuriating form, he wants you to voice it aloud with minimal prompting of his own. Some part of him must get off on that. The crisp night air in your lungs does nothing to steady you.
"I was wondering if we could invite the other two…yous to our bed." you trail off lamely, mortified beyond measure.
"Why partner," you peek at him, and he's pouting, blue eyes quivering just so. "Do I not satisfy you enough?"
His reply is a little too quick. Then you see the corner of his lips twitch and Xavier starts to laugh.
"If this is a sign you've gone off the deep end and are going to go on a rampage, please take me out gently," you say with a scowl, turning away from him. "I'd hate to be there for the inevitable space-time paradox that happens if you kill off your past and future selves."
Xavier takes this opportunity to pull you back against his chest, his arms a comforting presence despite your embarrassment. He's still chuckling despite the stern poke of your finger in his side.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry—" his laughter dies, but you still feel his chest vibrating. That bastard.
More crucially, Xavier didn't outright say no. But you need him to say it, out loud, just to be sure.
He continues, "I'm surprised you waited this long to bring it up."
You turn back to look at him, "I didn't know if you'd be okay with it."
"Why wouldn't I be?" he asks, as if your partner wanting to sleep with your past and future selves was just a regular occurrence in Xavier-land. It never fails to surprise you what Xavier chooses to take seriously and what he doesn't.
You look at him incredulously, "Xavier…you turned off the streetlights because someone from the Association was saying goodbye to me for too long."
He shrugs, "It was too long. Twenty one minutes in fact."
"So what was that with Charlie then?"
"You're really going to bring up another guy right now?" he sulked, holding you tighter. "This time I'll really push my luck."
"With three of you, I'm the one who needs luck," you trail off, ears burning.
"Do you want to know something?" Xavier asks, calmly, low voice settling deep within you. The kisses he leaves on your neck are feather light, innocent even as he tilts your head back to meet his lips. His hands are anything but, grasping at your shirt, fingers skating under the curve of your chest, hips pushing into you as he deepens the kiss, eager fingers brushing over your panties.
Suddenly, he pulls back, releasing your middle only to push you face down into the ground, climbing on top of you on all fours, one arm easily pulling your hips back up against his. The circles he's rubbing get tighter, and you try to close your legs, to no avail.
"We've been talking about it for a while."
Delight and mortification bubble in your gut, sending your imagination into overdrive at his admission. The three of them, talking about you, about how they might all take you…did Xavier share stories of what you had done? Did he tell them about that rainy night when it was your first time?
Your thoughts evaporate as Xavier's fingers make a more compelling argument to your attention as he winds you up even further, coaxing you quickly towards familiar heights.
"Not just the first night, but every single night—"
"And you're okay with that?" you shudder, embarrassment leading you to seek shelter in the crook of his neck, every fiber of your being trying to stave off the inevitable.
"It is me after all," he continues, other hand playing with your nipple. "And this way—" he whispers, breath hot on your ear as your eyes start to roll back, "I'll be your only in so many more ways."
--
This newfound knowledge puts a new spin on your interactions with your King and Knight.
Curious eyes follow as you and Xavier reemerge from the trees, taking in evidence of your tryst. You meet none of them, Xavier's words refusing to quiet down in your brain. They talk about you every night, and then look at you dead in the eye the next morning and you're none the wiser. Until now.
Some part of you is a little annoyed.
The less rational part is flattered, deeply. It's a roundabout confirmation that Xavier only wants you. That fact was true back then, true now, and will be true again. A constant in every life with him.
But from what you can ascertain, this was the first time in Xavier's life that you were actually lovers. Not just fellow knights-in-training, not just classmates, not just coworkers. Xavier crossed time and space in search of you, for you, even when he thought you only wanted his friendship, nothing more.
That revelation puts your Knight in a different light.
You sit across from him in silence, hugging your knees to your chest. Why did your past self never admit your feelings to him? The love you held for Xavier filled your chest so much that you want nothing more than to talk about it to the first person that asked. Surely your past self felt the same way. Surely he felt the same way he did now.
"Something on your mind?" Lightseeker peeks at you, brilliant blue glittering in the morning sunlight.
"Can you tell me about myself?"
That question draws out the crinkles in Xavier's eyes as he smiles. He idly touches the two star charms on his sword before continuing. Your Knight tells you all about how your greatest desire was to be a Grandis Knight, sworn protector of the King. But Xavier never wanted the crown, and who was he to take your dream from you?
"Xavier, you're a dummy," you lay next to him, propping yourself up on one elbow, "Did you ever stop to think that maybe, being Grandis Knight was an excuse to stay by your side? That I wanted to stay by your side regardless of you being king or not?"
He frowns as he weighs your words. "I…I wanted that to be true, but I didn't dare to—"
His words die as you seal your lips on his.
"You should be more daring Xavier." you whisper as you pull back.
His eyes are still closed, lips parted before he speaks, "Please….please I need to hear it. If I hear it I can keep going."
You brush the hair from his eyes, overjoyed at having the key to his relief.
"My beloved Knight, my Xavier," you sigh against the cup of his ear as you pull him close. Face to face, you can see every emotion flashing through his eyes. Love, adoration, longing, trepidation, loneliness, and hope.
"I love you. I've always loved you."
He shakes his head as if in disbelief.
"I should've been clearer from the outset," a self-deprecating laugh, "I've only ever wanted you. I've been in love with you from the start."
You look at him, endlessly adoring. "When we meet again, will you promise to let me know sooner?"
"I promise," he presses a soft peck to the corner of your lips before pressing his forehead against yours, bringing your palm to his cheek. For a moment, he just breathes in and out, eyes closed.
Not content with just this, you pull him closer. A silent question.
There's no hesitation on his part this time. He makes quick work of your clothes, somehow managing to keep his lips on yours the whole time with deep, demanding kisses, and soon he's kneeling in front of you, in too much of a hurry to fully undress himself.
It's everything like the first night you had with Xavier, the same reverent touch gliding over you accompanied with a hypnotic, heavy gaze. There's no trace of his earlier impatience as he explores your body for his first time, taking particular care at the line of your collarbone, the swell of your chest, the softness of your stomach, like he was trying to memorize all your different textures.
He shivers when his fingers brush along the line of your pubes, using both his hands to carefully part your folds, exposing you to the air. From your vantage point you can see his mouth start to water, but before you can say anything, he sets his tongue on you and thought becomes difficult.
--
You find your King in his favorite place by the river among the flowers. He's endlessly fond of the blue forget-me-nots, and you make a mental note to grow some for Xavier when you both return to Linkon. Taking a seat next to him, you steel yourself for what you're about to say.
"I'm sorry. For not remembering."
Xavier isn't a man often surprised.
"What?"
You trace the outline of his face reflected in the clear stream."I wasn't there when you came back. Maybe I could've done something— anything. I'm sorry you had to take on the crown."
Backlit by the setting sun, he's never looked this vulnerable, and like this, he almost looks younger. Like he's being seen after so long. He'd seen his own kingdom rise, rise, rise, and fall to dust.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, you…you were a good queen," he says simply, looking away "I know you did all you could."
"Yes but—" you shake your head, unwilling to let him brush away centuries of pain with so few words, "— it's okay you know, to be upset, to blame me—"
Blue eyes narrow, "Why would I want to do that?". There's a faint sound of grass snapping in his fingers, the beginnings of irritation.
"Because I left you with nothing," you whisper, "just a title and responsibilities you never wanted." The full picture of his strife was still unknown to you, but this much was clear. Xavier had left Philos with nothing but a dream and returned with nothing to show for it.
Just a crown and a misplaced obligation to a dead queen.
It wasn't the first time he gave up so much for nothing either, you realize, as you remember the sickly look on Xavier's face from his EVOL collar. He'd been searching all this time for one, just one opportunity to be yours. His greatest failures and his greatest victory, all for you.
This was the story of the downfall of Philos, the story of his life, of his binary star caught in your endless orbit.
"Left me with nothing?" he looks equal parts stunned and furious, jaw set in a grimace, eyes boring straight into yours, daring you to voice your thoughts aloud, "Are you saying I shouldn't have come back to you? That I shouldn't keep waiting—?"
"No, no—" this was not where this conversation was supposed to go.
"Then what is it," he snaps. "Speak plainly."
"You shouldn't…you should live for yourself too Xavier. Not just for me, or your people, for yourself."
He laughs ruefully, shaking his head, "Have you ever considered that living for myself means doing this?"
Xavier continues, a man possessed by centuries of thoughts unsaid, "Traceback II…the mission…those were all things that I wanted. I looked for a way to save you, I left Philos because I wanted to do this. I can't ….I won't hear you say this isn't worth it."
"How do you not have regrets?" you stare at him incredulously. Centuries, if not millennia, of being alone, of carrying the promises of the dead, trapped in a place that he loathed ever since Starfall Forest. In the small amount of time you'd been alive, merely a fraction of his, you already harbored regrets. How could he not? Especially at the sheer scale of his life?
For the first time this evening, he takes your hands in his. The leather is warm from the heat of his hand as his thumb sweeps circles. He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, letting his shoulders drop.
"Regrets are just lessons for our future selves. My biggest regret…" he trails off, frowning as he looks at you with such palpable longing you ache.
"I've only ever kissed you in my dreams."
For sleep, perchance to dream. In dreams he could have you in his arms again, in dreams he could revisit happier times before either of you ascended the throne. Maybe that was why Xavier never let a moment go by without linking your arm in his, or entwining his fingers with yours, or putting a hand on your back. Touch was the only thing unavailable to him in those long dark nights in space.
Longing makes his eyes soft, you discover. It makes Xavier look a little weary, a little tired, the faraway look in them— maybe that is why he's always looking towards the stars. You shouldn't have doubted him. Despite the weariness, despite everything, Xavier was the embodiment of knighthood, loyal to the last promise. Always able to put one foot in front of the other so long as he believed in his oath.
"But you're not dreaming right now," your mouth is suddenly dry, words falling from your lips in a hoarse whisper. In a few short days, you'll part ways with your King. You want so badly to at least do this for him and for yourself. Nothing kept you together except his will and your own. No prophecies, no preordained ending, no fated connection. Just the hard efforts of two souls who chanced upon each other once upon a time. The story of a girl trying to get to know her classmate better, a boy who felt the skies part and light touch him in her presence.
It was so simple. yet so profound. You promised each other. For Xavier, that promise was his guiding star, all he needed to move heaven and earth. He always kept his word.
Without thinking you close the distance, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He barely reacts, sitting there in stunned silence, your hands still in his, eyes locked onto yours. What is it like when you're finally faced with all you've ever wanted?
"What's wrong?" the silence stretches for a beat too long as he sits there just breathing, "Was I not supposed to kiss you there?" You fidget, tracing his fingers in yours right as his lips find yours again. Insistent, hurried, desperate as he rises to his knees, pulling you closer by the nape.
"You want me to do what I want?" he breathes in your ear, gravelly voice echoing as he crowds your being, all-consuming, "I want this," a nip at your neck, a kiss on your shoulder.
"I want this now."
---
Not twenty-hours after your initial conversation with Xavier, you find yourself naked in front of the three of them.
"You're nervous."
"Oh pardon me, Your Highness, for not being used to bedding three men at the same time. Or would you prefer I be used to it?"
The pinched expression on the King of Darknight's face does little to offset the field day your nervous system is having. Embarrassment at the situation threatens to overtake the arousal inside you, and you squirm in Xavier's arms. At this point in your relationship, you had been naked in front of Xavier often enough to not feel embarassed, but this was quite different.
Your Lightseeker had shrugged off his coat, laying it alongside the King's cloak, creating a makeshift bedspread. All three of them were down to that awfully tight undershirt. You find yourself thankful they weren't pantsless just yet. But the clearly obvious bulges reminded you that they too are just as affected by the promise this night held as you are.
Xavier hugs you from behind, holding you tightly against his chest, pressing soft kisses to your hair and temples as he tries to soothe your nerves.
"Look at me," he whispers, the ask rolls off his tongue like silk and your eyes snap up, grateful for the instruction. The moonlight gives him an otherworldly glow, reflecting off the thin ring of blue in his eyes. For a long moment, Xavier does nothing, just studies you, blinking in a slow, almost hypnotizing fashion. You feel like you're being x-rayed and you hope he likes what he finds. Secure in his arms and attention, tension starts to bleed out of you and soon your breathing mirrors his. His fingers skate just under your shirt before moving to your inner thigh, smiling as your hips eagerly buck forward, seeking more.
"Do you trust me?"
A wordless nod. Another kiss as reward. Your stomach churns.
"I think this will feel very good for you, and I want to make you feel very good. Can I do this for you?"
You nod, frantically. Your skin feels like its coming alive.
"Just close your eyes for now," Xavier's soft voice fills your ear, "You don't need to open them right away."
You don't need to confront reality just yet, is what he means.
The loss of sight is a welcome balm for your nerves. Slowly, carefully, they divest you of your clothes. Callused fingers begin to map every curve of your body, softly massaging your muscles, working you into a dreamy, tingly haze of sensation as you begin to relax. Someone is kissing your neck, and you whimper when not one, but two wet tongues swipe over your nipples before starting to suck.
"We'll get you used to our touch first."
His voice is coming from another direction now, and you briefly wonder if you can figure out exactly who the speaker is before all thought evaporates as curious fingers graze your core. The owner pulls your thigh up so that your leg is draped over his shoulder, exposing you to the night air. You feel a strange sense of deja vu as he kisses your knee, whisper light, leaving a trail of sparks down your inner thigh, right atop your pubes, down the other leg. You feel his nose brush against you— the deep inhale he takes makes your blood pulse.
The first swipe of his tongue up your slit has you gasping aloud— you feel him groan at what he finds.
"You're wet." the voice says raggedly. The longing in his voice squeezes at your heart and you dig your hand into his hair.
A different hand reaches down, spreading your folds, dipping a finger into your heat. You hear the sound of him popping the same finger into his mouth with an appreciative murmur.
"I knew you just needed to be eased into it."
Two fingers hold you open, exposing your clit to the Xavier below. He takes this opportunity haul your other leg over his shoulder, throwing you off-balance — now you're sitting atop his shoulder, held upright by firm hands around your middle. This allows him to use his hands however he likes, and he pulls your thighs apart, plush lips enveloping your clit, eagerly sucking.
Your thighs tremble with effort, trying to keep you upright. Xavier doesn't seem to like this and suddenly, his palms cup your chest, squeezing and rolling your eager nipples. This forces you to arch back towards his chest with a gasp, goosebumps apparent as you shiver in the moonlight. Suspended off the ground, you have no choice but to roll your hips forward, deeper onto his wet tongue. Xavier moans, shaking his head, smearing your wetness all over his lips and chin with a loud wet noise.
The orgasm comes slowly, building with each swipe of Xavier's tongue, every pinch of your nipples, every whisper of praise in your ear. It breaks over your without warning, right as he's complimenting you on how much you're soaking his chin, leaving you to cry out as you shudder in Xavier's arms, grabbing onto his hair as your thighs quiver around his ears.
Gentle hands move you around once more, guiding you onto your hands and knees atop the plush heavy fabric of the King's cloak. You lean forward on your forearms, gasping, eyes still closed, mind still reeling from your orgasm. The sound of zippers being pulled and the rustling of fabric around you sends a jolt of thrill down your spine as you realize they're fully undressing.
The King of Darknight kneels before you, taking your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "You look beautiful, my Lady" he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours. Something about the way it rolls off his tongue, like he's been practicing all his life makes you squirm with delight.
"Your Highness—" you bat your lashes at him, breath not fully recovered, dizzy with excitement.
He shakes his head, long silver strands falling over his shoulders highlighting the expanse of muscle all over his scarred body.
"Just Xavier," he whispers, before he brings his lips to yours. He licks at the seam of your lips with his tongue, taking advantage of your surprised "oh" to slip inside your mouth. You pull him closer towards you, deepening the kiss just as you feel a warm hand slide down your back, circling at your waist. The curious hands move up your stomach, under the curve of your chest, over your nipples, kneading softly. The additional sensations make you moan, trying to twist to look back so you can see whose hands they belong to, but the King holds your face against his firmly, swallowing each of your moans with appreciative sounds of his own.
Someone settles behind you, caressing your thighs, spreading your folds with a sticky sound, digging in just enough that you know its your Hunter. His hands explore you with a confidence the two others don't have just yet—- he knows all your favorite spots, exactly what kind of pressure to apply where and when. You brace, expecting him to enter you, but all he does is circle your clit with his fingers and pet your pussy, making a soft humming sound.
The King pulls back, almost reluctantly, before rising onto his feet, lazily stroking himself in front of you. He meets your gaze, eyes blown black as he rubs the tip of his length on your lip. With a sly grin, keeping your eyes on his, you kiss it, tongue flicking out just so, tasting the pre-cum already starting to bead at the tip.
The pronounced shudder that rolls through him makes you salivate. Xavier was always more keen on giving you oral than the other way around, but tonight you would have ample opportunity to make him cum on your tongue for once. Your King shivers, breathing out through his teeth with a barely controlled hiss, hand flexing at his side before he guides the head of his cock inside your mouth, letting you lap at the tip with your tongue, feeling the weight of it, warm and heavy and thick. He pushes in slowly, exploring the warmth of your mouth with slow, fluid motions. All the while your Hunter continues to stroke your wet lips, pulling them apart, finger circling your pussy, wet sounds getting louder as you give into desire. You already know he's staring, watching your greedy hole flutter and clench around nothing.
For a while, you close your eyes, losing yourself in the motion, enjoying the bitter musk of your King in your mouth and fingers on your clit. With each pass, you push your head down lower and lower until finally, your nose is pressed up against him, lips stretched out as you take him in as deeply as you can. He lets out a choked moan when you swipe your tongue against the underside of his cock and again when you gently suck on his balls, savoring his every reaction.
"Starlight—" he slurs, throwing his head back as he entwines his hand in your hair. With a soft pat, you encourage him to tighten his grip just a little, and he obliges with a satisfied murmur. Your hand skates over his thighs, gripping the solid muscle for better stability as he starts to thrust harder into your mouth, abandoning the gentle front he had started out with in favor of more, deeper sensation.
Just as he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest, your Xavier takes this opportunity to quickly insert two fingers into your pussy. You're so wet that you coat his fingers instantly, whining as you push your hips back, silently demanding more.
Suddenly, you feel warmth on your back as your Xavier bends over you, kissing your shoulders, his other hand reaching under to pinch your nipples while his fingers continue their messy ministrations between your legs.
"What do you need?" he murmurs, voice clipped and needy as he kisses down your spine. He's so hard against your thigh that you're certain you're dripping onto him. It only serves to exacerbate the emptiness inside you, the space where he should be in, clouding your thoughts until all that's left is a primal need for more.
You pull your lips of your King with an audible pop, pulse racing. You're so dizzy with desire that for a few long moments you can do nothing but moan, lips wrapped around his cock while your Hunter's fingers pick up their pace, relentlessly stroking your walls, teasing you by thrusting his cock in between your thighs, awaiting your command. You whine, pressing your ass against his crotch, but he doesn't budge, just continues to rub your clit and tease you.
"I need your cock," you blurt out, breathless, "I need you Xavier, please."
Your King looks down at you, ears a faint red, pupils blown out as he lets the weight of your words settle.
"It's all yours," he groans, sliding his cock all over your face, painting it with spit. It's such a possessive move, like he's aiming to mark you, to brand you, that it makes your stomach flip. He guides his cock back in front of your mouth and you part your lips once more, eager to taste him again.
It's then that you feel it. Your Hunter's hand on top of your hair.
"How do you want me?" his voice is low and seductive, laced with dirty promises against the cup of your ear, "Do you want us to fuck you while you lay back? Do you want to take us? We'll give you everything, anything, as long and as hard as you need." His words burn in your ears.
Xavier could get you to exchange heaven for hell with just his voice. Everything he says, even in the thick of sin, is so loving, romantic even. Or at least it would be romantic if he didn't start using his full weight to push your head onto the King's cock, making your eyes water with a surprised "mmph" as the King sucks in a surprised breath at the depth.
"Answer him," the King says, encouraging as he watches his cock disappear down your throat. He's close, you can tell.
The realization of what you're doing makes your stomach twist. Your boyfriend, your lover, is holding your head down, playing with and petting your pussy, forcing you to take another's cock deep in your throat while a third person watches. It's the hottest air you've ever breathed in between the three of them.
"I need it hard," you whine, wrenching your head back with a gasp, all pretenses of shame leaving your vocabulary as the weight of all the teasing, the flirting from the last week roars to life in your gut.
You feel Xavier grin against your back.
"Good girl," he coos, "It's yours."
He pulls back, lining your hips with his before sliding into your pussy with a practiced motion, filling you in the way only he can. The moan that falls from his lips makes your heart sing and your walls flutter around him.
With his fingers still tangled in your hair, he starts to fuck you in earnest.
You melt into the sensation of fullness, rocking between both their bodies on your hands and knees in the night air. Every time Xavier's hips meet your ass with a loud smack it pushes you further down the cock in your mouth, an endless feedback loop that threatens to short circuit your brain.
"Keep your eyes on me," the King orders, voice low and silky. "That's it—"
Demanding, just like your Xavier.
His breath hitches, other hand squeezing the base of his cock to stave off the impending orgasm. He forgoes his grip on your hair to hold your head with one hand, relieving some of the strain from your neck. Then, he drives his cock into your mouth, angling your head to avoid brushing on your soft palate. His fingers massage your throat, willing you to relax, when all of a sudden he pinches your nose shut.
Your eyes widen in shock as you inhale shakily. Saliva pools in your mouth, forcing you to swallow around the hot length. At that very instant, he angles the tip of his cock down your gullet, plugging your throat.
Far deeper than your Hunter had ever gone.
He holds it there as you tear up, chest heaving as you fight the urge to fight him. His thumb sweeps the tears from your eyes. Behind you, Xavier picks up the pace, planting one foot down on the ground, driving deeper into you. The new angle makes your eyelids flutter. There's nowhere to go, nothing to do but take it all.
After a few more moments, the King pulls out out your mouth, cock bobbing against his abdomen while you gulp in air. Your eyes flutter open, and you're met with Lightseeker's cock this time. He looks at you with such eager naked adoration that you both blush.
"Don't be shy." he says, fondly, ears red, fingers stroking your hair. Keeping eye contact, you hollow your cheeks out with a particularly noisy suck, satisfaction zipping through your body at the way his knees buckle. Unmistakable arousal pools between your legs and you squeeze your eyes shut with embarrassment, unused to so much direct attention, tucking your head against your Hunter's shoulder. He kisses your forehead tenderly before redirecting your gaze to the man in front of you.
"You—hah—" your Knight sucks in a breath through his teeth. The way his throat bobs in the dim light betrays his nonchalance— he's just as affected as you are.
Emboldened, you keep your eyes glued to his as your fingers circle the base of his cock, twisting your hand as you start to bob up and down his length in earnest. You lose yourself in the task, relishing the way your Knight's fingers tighten in your hair, enjoying the pleasurable ache at your scalp and the weight of him in your mouth.
"So good…" his eyelids flutter as you swirl your tongue over the head, "Just like I knew you would be."
You smile, sticking your tongue out, inviting him in. He surges forward, emboldened, plunging deep into your gullet. Fighting every other instinct you go slack and swallow around him, just like how you learned earlier. The feeling of your Knight's thighs shaking next to your ears is worth the lack of oxygen as he doubles over you, unabashedly moaning every time your throat convulses.
"Fuck—ahh—I'm not gonna last—"
His orgasm overtakes him with a surprised yelp as he holds your head in place, desperately fucking your skull, chasing his completion. Each deep thrust down your throat has you clenching around the cock in your pussy, and the way Xavier is dragging his hands over your bouncing tits is winding you up more quickly than you could've imagined.
"You gonna cum for us?" Xavier, now you're not sure which one, growls in your ear. Dazedly, as Lightseeker shoots his cum down your throat with a shout, you realize you're so close that you're aching. You moan around Lightseeker's cock and the taste of the bitter cum makes your eyes roll as you gulp it down. He watches you, cheeks aflame, eyes dark like a man possessed as you swallow the last of his load, absolutely enthralled.
"Gonna cum after sucking all that cock?" Lightseeker teases, grinning as you try to twist away from him, cheeks hot with embarrassment. Your complaint quickly turns into a breathy sigh as your Hunter grinds deep into your body, panting harshly, monstrous strength rendering you immobile as he pulls your hips as close as he possibly can. Now you're short of breath for an entirely different reason— Xavier may as well be in your chest with just how deep he feels. You gasp, mouth gaping, so sensitive you can feel him throb inside you.
Xavier leans forward, pinning you down to the floor as Lightseeker steps back. His body weight alone is enough to immobilize you, and he resumes a brutal pace, chasing your shared end.
"Open your mouth—" you feel his fingers pull at the corner of your mouth, prying your lips apart "— there you go."
Each thrust rips a choked mew from your throat, and the coil inside you threatens to snap. There's no use running. All you can do is accept that it's here.
You start to sob, " X-Xavier—"
"Cum— c'mon starlight— cum for me— please" he pleads, raining kisses all across your cheeks as you gaze ahead, eyes unfocused, sliding back. His fingers finding their way once more around your throat. He doesn't even have to squeeze. Just the presence of his fingers around your neck is enough to send you over as you start to cum, eyes rolling back.
"Xav—Xavi—ohhh—I—"
Xavier is relentless, maintaining his pace even as your pussy tightens around him. By now, all you can hear are the wet sounds of his balls slapping against your cunt as he forces you to ride out your orgasm trembling on his cock. Just at the right moment, on a sharp intake of breath, you feel him squeeze your neck, just so. Your vision goes white, bursting at the edges as you shake in his arms. The wet squelches get louder as you gush around him. You don't know how long you cum for, unthinking as you twitch in Xavier's grasp, white-hot euphoria working its way through you in waves.
Xavier kisses you, all over. "So pretty, just look at you." He says it with such sincerity that you have to believe him.
The rumble in his throat reverberates throughout your chest as Xavier groans against your throat, licking and biting at your neck. Your pussy is milking him for all he has, and he lets it overtake him, hips stuttering as he drives into you as deeply as he can. Xavier moans, breath hot against your ear as he cums. He shudders with each spurt, cock flexing deep inside you, hips twitching, pinning you down with all of his weight. The two of you catch your breath, and Xavier brushes the damp hair from your temples before pulling out with a soft hiss.
"We're just getting started starlight," he breathes against your cheek.
You roll onto your back, chest heaving as you collect yourself, skin still buzzing with sensation, clenching around the sudden emptiness. You make a lazy show out of licking your lips, deliberately provocative, and note with glee as three pairs of hungry eyes track your every move.
The night was about to get a little darker.
Their heavy gaze makes your skin crawl and your nipples harden. Eyes hooded with desire, your Hunter sits beside you again, pulling your upper half onto his lap before drawing your knees towards your shoulders, spreading you open. Even from where you're laying, you can see the three of them zero in on the cum leaking out of you, naked lust in their gazes.
Xavier holds your legs open, unmoving as your King steps between your legs. He's still hard, cock shiny with precum and your spit. He kneels, sliding the length up and down your slit, sighing at the contact. You press your hips towards him, inviting.
"Still wet I see," he smirks, "Good."
With an unyielding push, he fills you up again to the brim, knocking another breath out of your lungs. Xavier drops your ankles on the King's shoulders before gliding his hands down your legs and across your body, leaving fire in his wake. He takes your hands in his, pressing a soft, wet kiss to the backs of your hands, gazing down at you, flustered with arousal as his other self puts you into a press with a groan. The King practically folds you in half, firm hands at the backs of your thighs, opening you up as much as your body would allow so he can get ever deeper into your tight hole.
You gaze up, vision cloudy, at two versions of your Xavier. The one holding your hand is the one you wake up next to each morning and the last person you see at night. The other you could swear you knew him as well, Xavier's been so thoroughly imprinted onto your soul that you just know. You know is that this version, the King of Sindersfell, the Sentinel of the Stars, he loves you too.
'Every version of me belongs to you,' Xavier had once said.
You unclasp your hand from your Hunter's and cup the King's cheek, pulling him in for a kiss. He moans, open-mouthed against you as he melts into your touch. His kiss is hot, breathy, and desperate, rough and adoring at the same time, so addicting that you never want to break it. He cums beautifully, eyes never leaving your face as he spills into you.
Without pulling out, he unfolds your aching legs from his shoulders, moving you to your side while he lays down next to you, snuggling into your shoulder, breathing deep. Still holding your other hand, your Hunter brushes the damp hair from your forehead, handing you a wooden cup of water. He holds your head up while you drink— you didn't realize how parched you had become.
"Thank you," you mumble, pulling him down for a kiss. What just transpired felt like something out of your wettest fantasies, but the very real ache in your jaw and the throbbing between your pussy remind you otherwise. That and the very real, very solid King and Knight laying behind you
The three of them give you their undivided attention once more, although this time all they do is sweep their hands up and down your body, warming you back up, softly massaging the inside of your thighs, places where you'd be sore later. You drift off to Xavier's touch, allowing the three of them to soothe your overworked nerves with gentle kisses until your eyes are once again glassy with want.
"You looked so beautiful," the King murmurs as he strokes your cheek with his thumb, "I could watch you take me forever." The possessive, unrestrained satisfaction in his voice makes your heart skips. He smirks as you chase his thumb with your lips, trying to draw him into your mouth.
"We're not done yet," Lightseeker pulls you onto his lap, legs on either side of him. The way you're straddling him makes your crotch stick out as you wrap your arms around his neck. He has a familiar glint in his eye, the kind that Xavier gets when he's particularly pent-up after a long trip away from you.
If anyone was pent-up, it would be your Knight.
"My starlight" he murmurs, lips low at your throat. You ache all over, but the hard curve of his cock against you has you stirring again. You let him kiss your neck, your shoulders, your chest, all over, fingers tangling themselves in his hair. Your head falls back when his eager lips meet your nipples, lavishing them with his attention, quickly zeroing in on how your toes curl as he continues to nip and suck on them.
He starts to rut against you, unconsciously seeking your warmth again.
"Xavier," you whisper. Your Knight pulls back from your nipple with a pop, ears red, eyes glassy with want. He nuzzles the space between your boobs, looking up at you with an easy smile, as if he was also drunk off the atmosphere.
You reach under him, lining his cock with the entrance of your hole. Before he can react, you drop your thighs, impaling yourself directly onto his cock.
"Oh fuck--!!" he gasps, hands flying to your hips, back arching with surprise. From this angle, he feels bigger than before, and your chest heaves as you push down on his cock, past the tight ring of muscle until you're fully seated on top of him, knees giving out as you catch your breath.
Lightseeker is caught between wanting to watch your tits bounce in his face and watching his cock disappear into you every time you bear down. He rests his hand on your hip, encouraging as you bounce up and down his cock, each hand full from the other two men. With each bounce you feel your brain get hazier, more so when the head of his cock presses deep into your gut, right against a particular bundle of nerves.
At this point in the night, you've abandoned all pretense of control, of decency. Xavier's stripped it all away with his mouth and fingers and cock, all you are is a mass of need. You need him, you need him to soothe this ache.
"T-this is all your fault," you whimper. Every time you slide back onto his cock it hits your sweet spot with a loud squelch, and you're finding that you're so sensitive from prior orgasms that you can feel the next one building in you already.
Your Knight, your Xavier, cocks an eyebrow, "My fault?"
He curses as you lean forward, grinding his cock deep in you as you pant, riding him with all the weight you can muster.
"C-can't believe—" you huff, trying to maintain your rhythm on top of him "—- I want you so bad I can't take it," you wail. You're not sure who you're addressing anymore as your eyes start to unfocus.
"Starlight," your Hunter growls from behind, bringing you back to reality by sucking a huge bruise into your neck, "I'm going to open you up now."
Open you up?
He coats his fingers in your wetness, feeling around where your pussy stretched around the Knight's cock. Before long you feel a slick finger on your other hole and it breaks through the haze of need.
Oh.
"I'm going to finger you until you can take my cock."
A noticeable shiver ripples down your spine, and your Knight pauses. He runs a soothing hand up and down your back, pressing soothing kisses on the curve of your breast, hugging you tighter to his chest.
"And then…" Xavier trails off, "they're going to fuck your mouth and pussy while I cum in your ass."
"You know I'd never hurt you," he whispers. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and draw a deep breath before wiggling onto your Xavier's hand. He takes it as an invitation to test your newfound courage, the tip of his finger pressing in just slightly.
"Breathe," Lightseeker mouthes as your King presses a kiss onto your cheek.
The clearing is suddenly devoid of every sound but your heartbeat between your ears as his fingers slowly work your ass open. Your mind floats to the pleasurable warmth of Knight Xavier's cock in your pussy, grinding down ever so slightly. Before long, the feeling of his fingers stuffed in your hole begin to meld with the ache in your pussy
That's when you feel it, the blunt tip of his cock seeking purchase as he grips your ass cheeks, holding you in place. Suddenly, skilled fingers find your clit in the space between your bodies, caressing the sensitive nub. The sudden sensation makes you push your hips back, right back onto your Knight's cock, and right onto the Hunter's as well.
With a slow, inexorable slide you feel him enter.
Your teeth chatter as you let out a tortured moan, you can feel every bit of the thick head of his cock sliding into your ass, just past the thick ring of muscle. You're rewarded for the intrusion with appreciative murmurs and soothing touches all over your body.
His breathing stutters right as the head of his cock fully disappears into your hole.
"I knew you could take it," he says warmly, proudly even. You pull your lips from your King and turn your face towards your Hunter. He pushes forward, one final deep stroke into your ass, capturing your lips with his right as he bottoms out.
Your cries echo through the night as you will your body to yield, to adjust, nostrils flaring as you try to even out your breathing. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, being so full of him that you're certain you'll tear.
The fingers at your clit distract you well and soon enough you're pushing your hips forward, cautiously looking for more. Lightseeker takes this as a sign to move, thrusting up experimentally, picking up speed when he hears you moan with satisfaction and not pain. He holds you tightly with arms around your middle, sucking on your nipple while thumbing over the other.
For the third time tonight, your King kneels in front of you, eyes full of dark adoration. He looks almost crazed as he takes in the sight of your form, split open, his beloved, all filled up, bouncing on two cocks.
All filled up except for your mouth. Almost like you're reading his mind, your lips part as the Hunter and Knight punch the breath out of you with another punishing snap of their hips.
The sight of his cock, heavy and alluring, makes you swallow. He watches your throat move, and licks his lip.
"Open," is the stern voice, the one that makes you pliant, makes you want to eagerly say yes to whatever he wanted. Xavier could ask anything of you and you would be thankful for the mere privilege of hearing him speak. You're so fucked out at this point that you just accept him in your mouth again.
"Mmm..there we go."
The taste of your King floods your senses and your mouth waters as you receive him.
"I've got you," he says lovingly as he holds your head down, voice shaking as you gag.
You know he means it from the bottom of his heart.
A dreamy haze settles in your mind. You can't think, and breathing feels almost impossible. There's too much to focus on, and you've never been at multitasking. It's all too much, you're too full, you're too warm, you're not warm enough, you can't get enough. You could never get enough of him rearranging your insides like this. He's ruined you. Not just in this lifetime, but the next and the next. You will never be the same.
"You like it so intense," the King's voice is rough in front of you.
"Did I—" a sideways glance at your beloved Hunter, "—make you this way?" he coos, voice unrecognizable.
Among the twist of bodies and breaths, the push and pull of sensations from all sides, you come to a sudden realization.
He's always been like this.
He's loved you for a very, very, very long time. Courted and married you over and over in his lonely thoughts. Made love to you in his dreams for longer than you can fathom.
You're each others first and only.
The way you pulse and twitch sets off a chain reaction: you tighten around the cocks in your holes, in turn making them fuck you even harder, threatening to knock the breath out of your lungs. Every time you moan Xavier sinks in just a little deeper everywhere.
"I can't believe you're letting me do this to you," is the next broken whisper, disbelief bleeding into wonder.
How dare he talk to you with such tenderness while breaking you apart? You don't know if you'll survive this, survive him. There's no room in you left for anything. He's taken it all. There was never going to be anyone else but him. You could never accept anything less than his laugh in your ear and his cock splitting you open.
You love him.
You love him.
You love him.
"Aww. I know that look."
His thumb grazes the corner of your stretched out lip before resting on your rapidly jumping pulse. You try to twist away, but he holds you tight in his grip, fingers tightening just enough to send a message. The squeeze is almost enough to make you cum.
"How are you this tight?" is a murmur from behind, rich in appreciation. He bounces you off his cock, hips firm in his grasp. Every time his nails dig in your eyes roll back in your head. It all feels so good, the fullness in your ass from Xavier married with the way Lightseeker pounds your pussy as you suck off your King. You cling to him and hold on, closing your eyes in ecstasy.
It devolves soon after that, each Xavier chasing your shared end. All around you are wet slapping sounds, the sound of skin on skin from Xavier in all your holes. The hand around your throat is barely enough to hold you up and keep your mouth on his cock. Feeling generous, he holds you by the hair instead to make it easier.
The seconds dilate as you hang there, hands around Lightseeker's neck, otherwise weightless in a viscous hold, allowing him to dictate every sensation zipping through your body, coiling deep inside— right about where you feel the echo of two cocks slamming into your gut. It's all you can do to take it, breathless with each upstroke and still short on oxygen on the out.
Tension curls your spine as you clench in on yourself, looking for the last burst to take you out. Suddenly, you can breathe, and Xavier tilts your head back towards him, eyes wild. It's like he can't decide where to look, your ass split open by his cock? The stretch of your pussy as well? The strain of your arm from where you're being held up?
He cradles your face in his hand, pressing open mouthed kisses on your lips and cheeks as you gulp in air, the taste of your King still so strong on your tongue.
"Starlight."
Now you taste yourself, a present from his tongue sweeping in your mouth, desperately seeking more. It takes every remaining lucidity in your body to focus on him and not allow yourself to get swept away.
"Tell me you love me."
He always let you off with the easiest of requests.
"I love you Xavier," you croak, back arching as your nipples are pinched and pulled, chasing the edge of pain by his fingers.
His lashes flutter.
"Louder."
You obey as best you can as the myriad of sensations start to close in. You feel yourself fluttering around him, accompanied by a sudden gush of fluid on his cock as you whimper out a final plea.
He cups your cheeks again, gentle as he unmakes you.
"Every version of me belongs to you, and only you. Give me everything, starlight."
You are powerless to do anything but obey, and he swallows your scream as you bear down on him one last time, letting the sensations finally boil over in a toe-curling buzz. All you see in between the flutter of your eyelashes is what's left of the blue in Xavier's eyes.
A dreamy haze settles in your mind. You can't think, and breathing feels almost impossible. There's too much to focus on, and you've never been a good multitasker. It's all too much, you're too full, you're too warm, you're not warm enough, you can't get enough. You could never get enough of him rearranging your insides like this. He's ruined you. Not just in this lifetime, but the next and the next. You will never be the same.
"I-I—-!!"
It's the last thing on your mind as you succumb, his name on your lips, the faint memory of cherries on your tongue. Distantly, as you convulse, you register the feeling of liquid streaming out of you, and a warmth in your belly as cum floods both of your holes as your body takes him for all he has.
Because you're not content unless you have all of him too.
Xavier falls apart behind you, splitting your ass open with his cock as he cums deep inside you with a grunt. The King's cock is hot on your tongue as you ride out your orgasm with your mouth around it again, whimpering with each swallow, clenching desperately around your Knight and Hunter's cocks.
What follows after is a blur of sweaty bodies and wetter sounds. They take you in every conceivable position possible, showing no signs of exhaustion, not once, even after your fifth or sixth orgasm, when you break down shuddering in the King's arms.
"You can fit both of us in you right starlight?" your Knight looks at you from under his eyelashes, as he ruts into you, hard again against your ass, "I wanna see how you look like."
Something about the fact that your polite, mild-mannered Knight being the one to suggest filthier and filthier things thrills you, and despite your exhaustion, your fatigue, you want to give it to him.
Slowly, carefully, his finger traces the stretch of your pussy, looking for give. One additional finger next to the girth of Xavier's cock already feels like too much, and you whimper at the feeling of fullness. You're straddling the King this time, arms around his neck as he distracts you from the intrusion by gently rocking his cock in and out of you, keeping you in a haze with slow and deep movements.
You're held in place between the King and Lightseeker, carefully split in two as your Lightseeker wedges his cock into your hole beside the King's. They're whispering affection and praises in your ears, stuffing your brains with cotton and words.
"Taking us so well—"
You're not sure if anyone has ever died during sex like this, but you feel like you might. What bliss.
"Made for me—"'
By now you're non-verbal— it's all you can do to hold on as they alternate, sliding in and out of your hole, keeping you oh so full.
"So lucky—"
Just when you finally adjust to their pace, suddenly they still. Your Hunter comes back into your peripheral vision, cock erect in his hand. He gives you a slow, languid kiss, wiping the sweat from your brow. He looks at you expectantly, eyebrow raised, eyes glowing, hair mussed from the endless sex but showing no signs of exhaustion.
You catch on quickly, shifting in the King's arms. Tired, but not unwilling. Never with him.
"I don't know if—"
He interrupts you with an easy smile.
"You will," he promises.
Xavier always makes good on his promises. In his own way.
After all, now that he has you, he'll never let you go.
notes: wheeze. I started this in…July? Maybe August? It started out as "haha wouldn't it be nice to get one Xavier in each orifice" (I have biblical levels of greed). Then it became all this after I digested his new myth some more. Shoutout to Joy and the folks at the Planetarium for their patience every time I complained about the musical holes I had to play with this fic. Consider this my love letter to you Xavier! Happy Birthday! I hope I did him justice, I just love him so much.
reblogs and comments always appreciated! thank you for reading this monster of a fic! for more check out my -> masterlist <-
3.2.2026: if you've read this far--I'm in the process of doing a major revision of this and aaaa I'm so excited.
